A Civet’s Perineal Gland

The civet produces a musk highly valued as a fragrance -- a Wiki entry

Would viewer’s like this implosive and still not master of the blogger format to walk it back, offer an expression of remorse against tantalizing aspects of destructive impulses? Let’s listen to the planks creak under a plodding tread and see where we wind up this Monday morning. I was going to try to explain some of this to the caretaker, with the pressures she’s under, colliding with mine, leading to another failed outreach, in my continuing attempt to rebuild a support system. I don’t wish to diagram her as I have Karina, (and even here, my diagram of white post-beatnik flakes is meant to illustrate that trying to circumvent regulated paradigms has failed me, more than once in recent months) but for women in their 30’s, they seem to share certain attributes of fragility in common beyond grieving for their mothers. We all grieve for mothers if we live long enough, although in Arrival we have an inverse loss of a mother losing a daughter to a terminal illness. I tend to agree with Renner’s physicist that Amy Adams, in character, made the wrong choice. Vileneuve created an excellent film, made me interested in Chaing’s novella, but I have to reject the transcendental consolations of the director’s vision. It is bad enough having cerebral palsy, but I’ve had so much cut out of my life that so many of you in my class have had, and a studio in which I am sick of living looks more like a storage locker in a bus depot. It makes Dinklage seem nearly art deco chic in The Station Agent What my father is doing to his third wife is exactly what he did to me as a child, and the incessant drama of this woman’s hammock swing between life and death, for the last ten years, wears on me, wears on my sister, it’s wrong, and I vow not to prolong my pain on that road, even though I am in a dreadfully vulnerable tumult at the moment.

Medicare, which Krugman announced as an event on his eligibility day, cannot go on like this indefinitely. If I balk at my freefall, look at my stepmother’s. She is bedridden, barely cogent on a good day, in constant pain and in need of round the clock care, for ten years, a virtual trade deficit in her own right. All I’ve ever really been in need of was a decent power chair, good technology, an efficient transport and my career back. Regardless of your politics, I never intended, regardless of my belief that an urban grid would be easier, to have the clock stopped because the Commonwealth’s rehabilitation governance is a joke everyone knows. I get mad because it is up to us, the people, to change it, but we don’t, certainly not in Pennsylvania. Aging, the end of life, it is neither easy, nor efficient, but we could do better, unlike the Visiting Nurses Association. They have no authority to get Mike from Mr. Wheelchair to undo the damage he’s done; they shoved an unsafe generic hospital bed down my throat, and then Nancy Lotz says “oh, sorry, call your father, put your bed back together.” It isn’t that simple, and I’d have to pay people for their time, non-linear or not, and the VNA bills Medicare—for taking my temperature. That’s fraud. So was my week in the hospital. I wasn’t sick, I’m simply being killed by a scooter a shady jackass foisted on me, and I need to pick a day to stay up until morning to find a lawyer. I’d have an easier time sleeping with Peter Thiel.

Robert Byrd’s White Nigger Echo Chamber

"I have to go to Norristown--" The Mechanic

I am literally teasing matted locks of my greying and now wiry hair out of my scalp, ever slowly, and to my mortification, it looks like Gilda Radner's worst day of chemotherapy, the original anti-prime timer, and yet persisting, slowly, tackling the worst before I let a cosmologist do what they can with it, but as it is now, it perfectly symbolizes what 14 weeks of being at the mercy of Medicare has done to me, and this is what Paul Krugman champions, how long and punishing this has been, trying so hard to fend off the iron jaws of “means testing,” my case is now under review at County Assistance. No idea why, as my savings were depleted by 2014. I held off reapplying for Medicaid as long as I could, but knew I would need it (late in the day) for another power chair, but all of a sudden, I am “under review,” in order that the Commonwealth can ensure it protects itself. No one is willing to ensure I am protected from it. The dynamic nigger duo, Trudy and Debra, contracted with Liberty Health to at first pressure me to comply, and then Tom of Liberty Health did his damnest to talk me into signing myself away, but didn’t know his job, that Hahnemann University Hospital couldn’t put me away. I had no condition they could treat me for, but Hahnemann and the Visiting Nurses association, and Mike's bucket seat ingenuity, have virtually incapacitated me. Libertarian political philosophy, perhaps traditional conservatives, as well, may not have an answer for disability, dependence, and rationed care, but the system has some serious dystopian fissures. Maybe it will right itself after boomers have their mass die off, but I am not so sanguine about Western medicine’s  market correction. My father cannot afford to let his wife die in the most compassionate manner, my body has taken fourteen weeks of a prolapse break down, to the point even my arms are now affected by tremors, and these are my options:

a)      Hang on until I can manage a better power chair fitting and ditch hospital bed and hope for partial recovery

b)      Attempt suicide and hope I don’t fail

c)       Give up and allow Inglis House or equivalent facility to torture me into hospice

The Medicare medical equipment model failed me from 14 forward. The Trump Administration had nothing to do with it. I did not have a primary care doctor or practice that met my needs, and still don’t. The VNA is an outsource model staffed by nurses and other therapists near retirement. Mike and I are in agreement here. They know jack shit, this VNA, but private contraction failed too. Hiring Karina from Craigslist was a mistake, and utilizing Mr. Wheelchair broke my strength, my resilience, and the fucking liberal majority insisting I need an attendant has taken 98 days to put my Medicaid eligibility under review. I’m sure Krugman would blame austerity, but that would be too linear. I was in the beginning of needing to curtail and be cautious, in September 2017, but I wasn’t failing; Pennsylvania seems determined to rectify that. I should go lie down, as the grease monkey is coming early evening. Should you pray all goes well for the dowager’s scathing mouth? All I ever wanted was a career, to make something of myself, to have some freedom to achieve certain things, maybe have a good man, but no, 32 years ago, I moved into an accessible 811, and that anguish and rage permeates this one wee blogging platform. 

The Abandon

Can you explain your views? Do you think ADAPT and others shouldn't protest in House/Senate office buildings?

— Kim Nead (@kim_nead) September 25, 2017

I promised Kim Nead, a woman whom I assume to be a Krugman sympathizer, that I would offer her an explanation of my views on predominantly left wing disability protesters. Shall we do a numbered list?
1. Most of them suffer far too much cognitive impairment to understand the crippling ideology of their dependence.
2. Those that used to, like Erik, or Cassie, people whom I've linked to-- you can research them on your own, ultimately derive their own power by unifying the mentally retarded.
3. All humans may do this, but in independent living, dissenters who get ostracized suffer more severe consequences than most. There are startlingly few Title IX violations which lead to murder in the work place. I viewed one such incident at 3M, but in disability culture, once you are driven out, it might as well be an economic execution. This is why I have gone rightward, although the toll I have taken by not holding my hand out for the Commonwealth's astringent mercy has been exacting. I do not deny exhaustion permeates every aspect of my life, at this point, although the state GOP gave me enough advance notice about the young Republican awards in Allentown that I could commit to going and then fail. I know Pittsburgh slightly, Harrisburg a little better, but Pennsylvania is a bizarre colony of origin, and Allentown, other than a recording refrain, my have been a drive through in my younger years.

Flaming Krugman, as I have learned, is no fun. His nasty reputation precedes him, and though I can give as good as he does, it would be a wrestling match with wounds afflicted on both sides, so I mute the extent of my rancor with his obnoxious knowledge acquisition. This is not to say I grasp economic theory. I'm interested, but the mathematical skill needed would strain my failing acuity. His smugness, however, triggers nausea, hostility from other economists who have taught me things, like Dr. Ferguson. I'd personally like to put Niall and Paul in the ring, and back my Scottish bay, if you get the analogy. Here is another: the left justifies itself exterminating an innocent fish, one bred for our pleasure. Nazi gas chamber, if you ask me.

Nonplussed Sunsets, McCain's Blood Clot over Osha Regulators

"When I was a little kid, I had a problem with God," David Carradine, Endless Highway, location 1


The Newshour itself belies Paul Krugman's righteousness when it runs stories about the naval yard worker who got his skull crushed in by the very piece of equipment of which he complained, because here we have yet another mode of horrifying existence, a human named John Williams operating on one half of a hemisphere, past any age beyond viable recovery, whose care takes away from the more functional who are no longer welcome contributors to recruiters. I am not a regular reader of Krugman, and do not know what all his bullet points are on tax and spend, and I am capable of distinguishing between his advocacy of rationed systems as not being responsible for the corruption embedded within them, while still being angered by the fact that he blinds himself to the suffering beneath these compliance models, the video footage of Williams horrific countenance just more gawker shock, the kind of modern peeping tom recoil, which, if run on PBS, or investigated by Politico, is a secular hagiography, similar to this Mephistophelian waltz over McCain's decline. It is not my business to tell eligible voters in Arizona to relinquish their maverick, but how is it this on which we hang our hats?  VT Halter is not the villain simply due to the fact that heavy metal construction is dangerous. Risk is a fact of life, and if American workers can't accept it, then walk away. What is it we expect, that civilian regulators can snap their fingers and eliminate hazard? But when harmless if overzealous tweeters like Sherry Willoughby post about blackheads and human hyper parasitic issues, they get suspended by social media administrators for spam. Normally, I stop following people like Sherry, but left him in peace in case he came up with something useful. I am the one who should be banned. Sherry just wanted attention. I want to overthrow government and restore some form of retrenchment, but because I am a battered invalid, one whose ethics have been repeatedly trampled, I'm given latitude, at least until I initiate my plan to agitate. I cannot yet discuss this in detail, as the agrarian neanderthals Trudy and Debra, with their slovenly minority postures, are capable of adducing my intentions. It isn't that I'm not sorry for Williams wife. We're all capable of commiseration, but yes, defense capability is more important than surviving a graphic injury which in any normal parameters, we shouldn't. I'm the spastic outcast forcing herself on the energies of a dynamic libertarian youth, a spastic outcast fully versed in institutional hells, despite all the regimentation we deploy, and my first instinct is to cry for legal euthanasia for cases like these, not that I know enough. Perhaps he is partially cognizant, and we'll all foot the bill for his cranial reconstruction.

The Dana Andrews Menace in Pursuit of Freedom

"I never thought you were worth killing, until now." Lines in a script

Whether we desire to see it as to his credit or detriment, Otto Preminger creates an ugly scenario in the Joan Crawford vehicle, Daisy Kenyon, and he creates it in the standard conceit of patriarchal dominion we all know, a married lawyer discontent with trivial familiar discord who manages to worm his way into an independent career woman's affections. You would think Crawford's Daisy would be smarter than that, and to some extent she is, weary, even in 1947, of being icing on a layered cake, from the opening. So she marries her date, here a loquacious Henry Fonda being as nearly bohemian as I've ever seen him on screen, a World War Two veteran with PTSD and a dead wife in the closet. She unifies herself to this damage, much as she kills for the sake of the Helen Keller knock off in the roman de clef Esther Costello, ten years later, and then she essentially becomes a bean bag between Dana Andrews' Dan, the antagonist lover who cannot let go, and Fonda's passivity in the face of doubt. Beneath the surface hair gel and aerosol, Preminger extracts a good deal from his matinee idols with their linear one note line readings. Dana Andrews has the second rate affectation for a migraine mastered, as, when men were men, they displayed suffering by rubbing the bridge of their nose. Fonda, being the father of Jane, who isn't dead yet, and should be, is the only human on the set. Yet Crawford, loved by the camera even in grandiose derangement, something shared with Bette Davis as their glamour withered before our eyes, does a decent bit of work here as the permissive mistress torn between being needed, desiring to heal a damaged soldier, and having her reputation torn to shreds while we're waltzed through sanitized variations of child abuse and domestic violence. However stylized Preminger's direction is, this film isn't all that much different from the sheer comic unpleasantness of Jeff Daniels and Laura Linney scarring their boys in The Squid and The Whale, two selfish, narcissistic Protestants who rebel against the limitations of middle age. Are we really any better off for the exorbitant rise in case management as a result of Otto's negative exposures of what we still never see until a beat reporter back drafts some tragic saga of a schizophrenic delusion unchecked until a family is destroyed? My vehemence toward Krugman with his word choice of "serfdom" and employment flexibility in Iowa was not an act. The controversial economist, with his aggregate flag waving for rationed state model systems, never really looks at how hard it is to navigate the bureaucracy of poverty. For all the tons of paper Pennsylvania wastes keeping me poor, Medicaid is now essentially useless to me. In the nineties, at a minimum, at least it got me repairs, dental treatment. I have not had a primary medical practice to help me in well over 24 months, and never see anyone but some half assed Asian resident who knows nothing. This is my health insurance, which is why I rarely pay attention to deadlines. I can't even get anywhere to be evaluated for a new power chair. What does Paul, the obnoxious gold shitter, know about spending a lifetime fighting over medical equipment and wait times, due to his blessed rationing? I am happy to see age wearing down the prodigiously read professor with his self sanctified halo.

Whether I write illegal threats or not, and I came close Sunday to seriously giving my audience a frightening dose of sadism, it should not be this difficult to fast track spastic quadriplegic vulnerability, to have some certified loan system available that doesn't require so many back stops. My poor mind has simply moved from one generic environment to another: Dixon Hall with my best friend's sister Carol Davison, Marie's row home, tossing my own commode waste on her stoop, Diamond Park, which turned me into Fonda's character with his cold sweats, and Riverside isn't even accessibly designed, this heartless, impoverished studio, shriveling my strength. I am having a harder and harder moral struggle every day: I might have had a decent excursion had I planned ahead and attended the American Revolution museum with LOTR, but knew I'd be impacted, focused, concentric on beating disaster in the bathroom, so couldn't engage even this venture, but as usual, had I tried, always by myself. If I succeed in shortening all this, some of you will feel sorry about it. If I cross any other line, then I am just another brand of American psychopathy. But like Andrews lawyer, there is no trump card in being the relegated scapegoat, a denouement of recrimination for those who fool themselves about trade offs.

Sidebar to Wisdom's Impatience

When I am in the mood to give concessions to Vladimir Putin's true socialist allies, like Paul here, they might want to prick up their ears. The general consensus of the establishment, of which Krauthammer is a stalwart member, is the Obama presidency is a failure, and Trump is an omen, a burning wet dream infected by syphilis. This may be correct, but correct in varying degrees. Obama too was Poetus in late 2007, and we watched his president elect briefings biting our nails. What was going on in Philadelphia's poverty housing had not yet threatened my life. It is hard to sequence the Riverside Presbyterian renovations with the end of Bush and the dawn of Barack, but I believe those briefings took place before I had to spend over a month on the second floor and afterwards went through living hell to get this chair which I now sit in, battered, with a short in its wiring, and I still don't have the process in place for a new chair why because I had to switch from one set of indifferent residents to another set which I loathe more. See me working on this vital problem? I should just be able to bypass doctors and go to a vendor and fast track the issue, but oh no. Medicare's hoops have driven me berserk, and Krauthammer, being a true paraplegic, one with a medical license, probably gets his feces prepared by a pastry chef. I grant that Obama's Poetus briefings were processional, nothing like what Donald is doing, but Obama too eclipsed his predecessor, one whom we still dislike, and the financial crash wasn't his fault; perhaps it consumed most of his political capital, with Geithner at the helm. While I cannot argue over TARP, not having the expertise, I think credit goes where it is due, and Geithner, modest federal civil servant, probably saved the country from something worse. Perhaps my libertarian sympathizers, online or otherwise, might contest this notion, but Geithner wasn't a liberal. No one in the business of regulating capital is liberal. That said, I do not blame Obama for the subprime mortgage default credit swap meltdown which even today, has me living like a shelter resident, in the exact same building where I was, in 1995, part of the professional middle class, never never happy with where I resided, its environment, my neighbors, or the managerial class using me as an unpaid in kind support case manager, and some of you marvel at my present homicidal hostility. I have a visceral disdain for Paul Krugman. That may be a developmental flaw. He and I may have exchanged a few words, but we're not peers. I have little less affinity with Krauthammer. He is still pontificating as if his was a vital psychiatric practice. He believes in the military's ability to kill our way into nation building, even if this is an over-simplification of his hawkish policy stands, but his column yesterday jibes with my utter political weariness. My zenith under George W Bush and Bill Clinton's public erections were short lived, and my earnings writing about disability dribbled to piss stains under the out going Kenyan Messiah. Barack is an astute visionary, but not an equally astute executive. By the time Carson changes HUD's policy, probably giving Presbyterian Homes virtual police power, I may have already wound up a hate crime, if I can even manage to roll out when Riverside moves to evict over non-compliance. And yes, I voted for it. Let's see what happens.

Prelude to a Double Edge

"She said Americans were too PC to search a man in a wheelchair."-- Stephen Schnetzer

Carrie Fisher's timely medical crisis not only points to a certain coldness in your narrator. It has an interesting parallel to her own mother's death, which may have involved psycho-tropic interaction. The same sort of fatal interaction killed a woman of similar condition who used to live here, briefly my client. She also had cerebral palsy, was 24, and made my problems with anxiety seem pedestrian by contrast. If the door rattled, she was frightened, Cheryl Ward, and she died, probably much like my mother, because practitioners don't know what they are doing. The fabled ambulatory practice at Jefferson,which spastic regrets, equally admitted as much, hence my relative impatience with arrogant asses like Krugman when they pontificate on the percentile at which the US is already in the stranglehold of socialized medicine. The last time spastic listened to anything Paul had to say, the figure he used, lumping the VA and Medicare together, was 60%. I cannot argue with economists on their damn metrics; if we threw them in a jar and let them kill each other, much as has been suggested of poets, we'd all be better off. Ryan has to speak this way, of course, as one day he may become emperor of the last empire, smoldering like a charred forest fire, because policy sometimes runs afoul of individual variance. Joanne Cristinizani was neither as compliant nor as healthy, though less mentally ill, less affluent, than the actress--but the parallel between their cases illustrates physicians over reliance on medication, as opposed to behavior modification. Fisher had a rather optimistic fealty to medical model mitigation of her delusions; the problem with that is cocktails build up tolerance, the body changes, the script ceases to have the same potent effect. She also liked ECT. but might not electroconvulsive therapy, however tame it is, contemporaneously, in comparison to what we saw Nicholson act out in his Cuckoo cult classic, make the aging body more vulnerable?
I am a skeptic of western medical models, as they never did me any favors, but I do not want this skepticism to be misleading. I have seen some really tragically fucked up mental health clients in my day, and they would be eating feces without anti-psychotics, much like drug addicts in Portland Oregon correctional detention centers, but I am poking holes in our complacency towards pharmaceutical miracles, especially when physicians are tone deaf to succinct individual circumstance. The cookie cutter syndrome. I am not the first journalist to highlight it.

Addiction is a predisposition of our complex mammalian biology, but under this large umbrella, the cookie cutter syndrome leaves a certain minority of patients with addictive propensities swinging in the wind; if we stopped putting labels on it (no, it is not a disease, but can destroy brain activity that presupposes empathy and the like) and decriminalized narcotics, we'd solve a lot of problems, shrink incorporating prisons, which would be a good thing.
Note to twitter: I am going to cease following accounts that block me due to this blog, especially when I've done naught to proud union plumbers to deserve it. I push lines. I admit that, and I cannot forgive the disabled community of my generation for hanging me out to dry, and I hate Riverside, hate it, so a Democrat who believes in unions, leaping first, asking questions later, blocks me because of what? Intensity? Blocking is a forming of scolding. I don't do it often. All he and others ha to do was unfollow. I feel like I'm being punished for being inclusive, when I normally wouldn't, and this will remain an issue, although I just gave "in" to the latest six accounts.
I hate what Riverside has done to me despite the episodic violence of my other building. In 94, when my father dumped me here, cursing, I was 31 years old, I think. That is a long time to be ostracized and afraid of vicious seniors. My career was destroyed, and the shit I've gone through would make Hustler rich if they had the nerve for a graphic memoir. I'm trapped, and I'm rolling out of here in a battered power chair this summer come hell or high water, and if Google wants to suspend me, fine, but I'm hanging by a thread, and so intend to push. My entire damn life in this city has been a frayed twine since I got here. It is the holiday, and I haven't seen most of my family sine 05. Poppa stopped by with his ineffectual dismay in 07. All I have to show for everything is eleven dollars in the bank. Blocking me for bad tude when I'm not trolling users is disingenuous, and it irritates me especially when I hold abandonment by newcomers in abeyance.
Don't read me. You don't have to, but I refuse to be a pariah of leftist do gooders, capiscimi? My candle burns lower, but fiercer for it.

Delusions of American Syndicalism

As Morris describes members-only unionism, it is based on voluntary membership, and does not rely on NLRB-recognized exclusive representation (which recognizes exactly one union as the representative of an entire bargaining unit)--Life-Long Wobbly

It has often been noted, that within his directorial framework, Frank Capra was very dark in his journey toward his egalitarian, if heavily Westphalian, utopia, and this is just as true for Lost Horizon as for his more successful films. The point of contention for a skeptical viewer resides as much in Capra's wobbly axis as it does in the metaphor as a struggle for faith. The script falters, unsure of itself and the price of doubt, and fails to acknowledge that even the nirvana of Shangri-La is striated on the belief of ethnographic European superiority.

It also illustrates the danger of allowing adamant visionaries too much power in Hollywood. Capra must have known something about the Wobbly anarchy which in his time was just beginning to fade, not really libertarian, simply a reversal of polarity toward labor rather than managerial processes, which, in the Depression era collectivism of the American village, was dangerous. Dissimilar to any president since, Hoover actually faced the threat of rebellion, and his passing of the reigns to a benevolent blue blood like Franklin was simply the course of genealogy from which the country has never recovered. These days it isn't so simple, of course. We've moved from leftist radical to "the liberal progressive spectrum," to quote Krugman, who looks increasingly frail.

As an historical artifact, Lost Horizon is absolutely worth viewing, and sets a precedent for future surrealist poses, even if they obfuscate their way toward disaster, but critically, the metaphor is rife with contradiction, particularly as it relates to how the original pilot was vanquished. Someone would have heard a struggle, found a body, so the European passengers must have been dead in the first place, with the exception of Conway, whose brother George cannot accept the truth, and thus perishes trying to give his brother back to the world as the absolutely essential Foreign Secretary.

Is Maria's discontent analogous to Lucifer's rebellion? Does Capra feel evil is the reality set against sedate metaphysics? 

The man was a loon, and his amputee lama Perrault just as sinister as Ahab, his legacy problematic, very much alive. The number of human beings who can recall what any existence was like prior to Its A Wonderful Life is dwindling, as it must, but we believe in Stewart's triumph with the bump on his head in our collective noggins, and that, too, is the folly of American sentiment. Bill Gates certainly contributed to what he became, and deserves credit in his current status as the last American tycoon, whether or not his ferocity with his geniuses was trumped up, but circumstances played a part in his fate, like smaller computing units, and he and his wife should be able to see damaged potential and offer it a hand while they're curing malaria for Africans.

There is a mind here.

Catharsis Resolution

In the aftermath of the bombing, I wrote that I felt pity for Jadar Tsarnaev, and that still holds true despite my anger at Mueller's lack of proficiency. I pity Tamerlan's corpse even while home grown outrage flows in my veins, veins desirous of expatriation and powerless to effect this transition. (Ah, I blaspheme for this dream) I have always been one of those annoying tight asses. Never cheated, never swindled, and this city of my birth has done absolutely nothing but punish me for my efforts to be a straight arrow. My anger may be concentrated on Linda's utter lack of consideration for the games she plays with our limited lives, my former supervisor, but this state insurer is a criminal enterprise, and the suffering Keystone cost me in 2007 when they dropped me after I lost Medicaid cannot be undone. I anticipated cuts in benefits after my mother died and did not care, as I wanted to resume my career, but I did not foresee that Medicare would kill me in order to protect itself from the fact that I depend on durable, functioning power chairs. Krugman, or John the Baptist with a .222 scope rifle, likes to point out that 60% of US healthcare is already socialized medicine, but leaves it to Keifer to fight veterans administration medicine regulatory overload in typical Hollywood point guard fashion.

The punishment my body absorbed from state retraction and federal compliance protections cannot be undone. It may be biopsied, and may be treatable, and may even be partly related to the fact that I am a feline pin cushion, but it can not be undone without impairing me to a point of questionable helplessness, and then the mighty mice progressives wonder at my lack of civility when minority rubes surround me in my doorway with the threat of making me someone else's problem. This is how the Presbyterian protestant exploitation deploys itself in the name of good works?

Putting young Jadar to death solves nothing. American autonomous notions remain threatened, however illusory they may be in fact, regardless of whether or not young Tsarnaev's lethal injection, if it comes to that, emerges as a ludicrous telecast on Good Morning America, so what does the administration of justice ever truly achieve? Have McVeigh's victims been able to heal? Are they satisfied or does our home bred insurrectionist haunt them?

What we hope for, I think, is the retraction of the corruption, and if I can pass away knowing that I have curbed the worst excesses of this segregationist model, I will at least have some measure of peace, even as I search for a new support network. I could try becoming the Rosenbach loon, having finally written their name, but wouldn't that be a test of secular tolerance.

I opened up with the group a little at our last meet, now that closure is coming. They are not so bad. Don't faint. I'll retype it if you want me to reaffirm the majority bipedal species can actually be tolerable.

Active Theatre Rations

Meeks died--thinking the El Serrano Motel looked just like the Alamo. James Ellroy, LA Confidential, pg 6



To augment my brazen temerity, and to object to a simplistic tirade by Jonathan Rauch in the August 2012 kindle edition of The Atlantic Monthly, where Rauch claims that conservative libertarians are not being honest, and that the Tea Party wants to deny health care to the poor, and suggests the right wing wants to repeal this 1986 Act, I am suggesting no such thing, whether due to the cognitive limitations of my uncle's dementia, or certain classes of those sustained with little quality of life in nursing homes.

I have seen horrors in the field, in institutional environments, and in active surgical wards that maybe you have or haven't, and dare to suggest that we begin to make value judgments over who gets more aggressive treatment and who doesn't. The average cost of heart bypass surgery is 60K. My father had many viable and productive years left when he had his procedure. His little brother, with his behavioral disorders, does not, and my aunt's aggressive do everything approach is a misguided drain of resources as opposed to utilizing compassionate palliative efforts. And if that sixty thousand dollars had been invested in giving me the technology I needed in my 30's to give me the most proactive independent environment possible, I would be paying my taxes and have remained a viable and more affluent citizen who could pay her debts. NYT's favorite flatfoot is absolutely correct that the US has practiced socialized medicine for years, but the end result is a horrific nightmare of fraud and sometimes questionable treatment, and what Keystone 65 plus did do me over procuring a power chair from a non-certified rehabilitation facility nearly cost me my life, not that the coordinating jackasses from my favorite center could do more than say "oh, you have to impoverish yourself through spend down!"

It may not be all about me, but what I went through up to 2008 caused me sustained trauma and nearly killed me, and a woman of my intelligence deserved better.