STROP GOES THE RAZOR AND THE RAZOR GOES STROP

And the whip comes down. How could I not expect it? When all the Social Security mess started out, I was advised to do two things; First, pore over the paperwork and forms that the SSA sent me and read all the fine print. Then do everything within the time schedule laid out for me. Second, get an attorney capable of handling the complicated SSA/ALJ System.

I did both. First, filling out and delivering the forms within the ten day window that kept my benefits from stopping. Second, I enlisted a large and high profile law firm that specialized in Social Security cases.

Now, the forms I sent in were specific about the SSA examiner not securing an evaluation from my current psychiatrist. This, I felt, was the biggest reason for them cancelling my benefits. I was quite thorough in completing the forms and adding my own information. I also wrote to my U.S. Congressman, Steve Scalise, who ran some interference for me. His office is a great help when you're backed in a corner in a civil matter.

Forms in, it was time for the attorney. WAY back when I was a claims manager, I was still a compugeek and communicated with people over a network called the FIDO echoes. One of those people was a up and coming attorney whose specialty was Social Security. As any new barrister would do, he asked for any clients I could swing his way. I had no problem with that. I also answered a few questions about how he would set up the web site for his practice.

Years passed and he became a big, multi-partner firm. I continued to refer people there, saying that he was the best.

Then I needed help. The only one I could think of going to was him. I made an appointment and came across the lake to meet him. After being shuffled around, we finally ended up with a legal assistant-attorney. He took all the info and gave us the scoop on timelines, fees and details. I told him I would be paying a lump sum amount instead of a monthly extraction from my check. He was confused, but said that it was OK. I asked that he just tell me when he needed it so I could make the arrangements. He told us that the time line we should expect is a reconsideration hearing at four to six months. But don't worry; no one ever wins that. The ALJ hearing would take place in a year or more. We left feeling confident that we were in good hands.

I went to my doctor, shortly thereafter, and found out the info about SSA NOT getting an evaluation. I called the law office and was told that it was allright. They were just gathering information from doctors and getting it all together.

On November 17th, I got a letter from SSA reinstating my disability. Up until this point I had NOT heard anything from the attorney's office. I did call them to let them know and faxed them a copy of the letter.

Later in the day, I got a call from Now Big Attorney, personally. Of course he didn't remember me. He was interested in how I got away with not paying the fees and wanted to know how I was going to pay the $118*.00, lets just make it $700.00. He took me completely aback, as I was unaware that they had done ANYTHING on my case, since I had not heard or been contacted by them in two and one half months. Social Security sent the letter to me without even a CC: to his office. Had they even sent a letter of representation to the administration? I asked him on whose correspondence and information had the SSA made their decision. He said he would like to think that it was a combination of both of us... "teamwork". I'm sorry, I need to see some proof of his end of that "teamwork" before I shell out any of my money. I KNOW how much hard work I did trying to get the paperwork straight. I gotta pay $700 for someone generating a form letter to a doctor's office and securing a DVD from the SSA on my file? And on top of it, what about the clause in HIS contract and in the SSA letter that says ANY fees must be approved before he can collect it. I guess I need to make a phone call...

Something is rotten in Denmark... And I never go down without a fight. Fair is fair. More to come...

AND OH, WHAT HAPPENED THEN WAS RICH!

Slowly I moved, inch by inch, step by step; Fearing for what would happen in the future should the Government rule against me and deny my benefits by declaring me fixed. Playing the waiting game was such fun.

I had done all I could do. I met with the attorneys and gave them every bit of information I had. They reassured me by saying that they'd be in touch. Right. Between August 27 and November 18th the only contact made was by me calling them to find out what was going on.

But yesterday came news of such stunning proportions that it almost knocked me off of my feet. A letter from SSA at my Parents home, for me. After leaving the shop, I made hot tracks, as fast as I dare. When I got there, I grabbed the envelope, said a prayer and calmly opened it with my knife. I was vindicated! I had been declared disabled again! Thank God! Now I could go on with life without the fear of having no medical coverage or pharmaceuticals that make my life easier and tolerable. And the people around me, too!

Is it all "A Wonderful Life"? Hell no. But it IS a pretty damn tolerable one. I thank the Lord and the Blessed Mother for prayers answered. And I thank my family and friends for prayers delivered up. My girl loves me, my family loves me, my friends like me a little (LOL), and my cat & dog are pretty damn cool. We've even managed to adopt "Porch Kitty", a stray who really appreciates those bowls of cheap food and a heating pad in an old ice chest, fashioned into a warm bed for really cold nights. Does God smile upon mortals who take care of his small beasties? I sure hope so, because we've been doing it for as long as I can remember and should have a tab built up.

Johnny has made me prouder than I can say by going through a series of tests that are most difficult for anyone to take. But he came through and is only days away from beginning a career in Law Enforcement. My daughter has brought one Taylor Andrew into this world. He is beautiful and cute and healthy. And then there's Barack Obama... I heard that a carving of his face was found on the Mayan Calendar for the year 2012. I wonder if they found Pelosi yet?

One more year, Pierce, we are without you. The pain is as severe now as it was in the beginning. I pray to the Lord that you are at peace, wherever you are.

In any case, I look forward to Thanksgiving this year. We have much to be thankful for...

It's the Time - Of the Season

IN THE ROOM WHERE THE GIANT FIRE PUFFER BLOWS, THE TORTURE NEVER STOPS

What's your name?

(What's your name?)

Who's your daddy?

(Who's your daddy? He rich?)

Is he rich like me?

Has he taken

(Has he taken)

Any time

(Any time to show)

To show you what you need to live?

Oh Sweet Jesus, it is about to begin. One of those periods in time that occur twice a year; the time when we are subjected to physical and mental torture of the utmost, compliments of Mother Nature. Actually, it han not one thing to do with Ma Nature. It is a whim of governmental creativity that supposedly keeps the cows from being miked in the dark hours of the morning; Keeps kids from standing at a dark bus stop waitng to go to school; You know what I'm talking about - DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME; Specifically, the lack thereof. People like myself, android mutants with bodily and mental goofistrations, go into complete spasm when DST ends. Mother Naturee gives us the Autumnal Equinox. That was back in September and signaled the beginning of Fall. But this DST crap is not hooked to anything. In fact, they change it around as they see fit.

Now, here's the rub. I LOVE DST! The extra hour of power flowing sunlight is a boost to the system. Why not just KEEP it 365? Why screw up everyones face by switching on and off? If it wasn't so damn cold, I'd just move to Alaska or Greenland where they have days, even months, of sunshine. And the downside of the same amount of time in the dark. Pfftht. Oh my God, Taylor... What a world you are coming into. A president whose very citizenship and qualification to be president is being questioned, with some success, in the Federal courts. Crime, drugs, crazy people, cats & dogs sleeping together! Well, cats & dogs aren't so crazy. Sounds like my house!

In other news: Bradford Wade - fifteen years plus six supervised probation... worm. I hope and pray that Leroy Largethang finds a special place at the head of his line for you and yourself.

Here comes the holidays. On us before we know it. God, please blank my mind out so I don't have to see any of it. Wake me in January...

The Sweet Indulgence of Good Nature

My younger brother loves to refer to our family as being directly descended from the Biblical Job. I must admit that most of our maladies and malcontent seem to originate from some power greater than we could ever control. And it has an axe to grind with an ancestor! But for now I have nothing but glad tidings and great news. Lirette has delivered unto this world an 8 pound, 2 ounces beautiful baby boy who shall go by the name of Taylor. I thank the Blessed Mother for her intervention in the delivery and extending her protection and love on mother and child.

And now, without further adieu, I present Taylor for your enjoyment...

"Taylor,  you are my first grandchild and hopefully not the last. Karen said that your little face is the most perfect face she has ever seen on any baby. I believe I have to agree. You're pretty damn cute. I'm praying for you. It's not in my character right now, I know. But we all need all the help we can get. And you're a huge step in the right direction. Growing up, take your own road; Keep your own counsel; Don't let anyone pull you down and out; Remember that family is the most important thing and that your Mother loves you more than anything in the world. And most important, never, never, ever burn the bridge that carries you back home..."

We'll talk again soon...

Dude Looks Like a Lady...

 

 Nah na na na - Na na na na - Heh heh hey - Good Bye!

Ah, if I was only satisfied at the results of yesterday... Since no one really reads this blog, 'cept me-self, I post my most inner, cynical & sarcastic thoughts. If someone really DOES read it, then I make no apologies; navigate elsewhere or stick around for some of my truth.

The "victory" was hollow as Judge Feldman spoke the words that we had waited so long to hear. Mr. Shanon Frank would be going to the federal penitentiary for tweve long years. And with a little "icing on the cake", he added six years of supervised probation.

Now that, my friends and readers, is a good old fashioned piping up the roto-rooter. Twelve years in jail is a long time. But the six year supervised probation is a more joyous torture than I could have ever hoped for. For the uninitiated, "supervised" probation means that when he gets out of prison, butt hole several sizes larger and wearing an apron for underwear, he will have to return home and report to his Probation Officer within 72 hours.

Once he gets registered, he'll need to report for a pee test every week. No drugs and no alcohol or it's the express bus back to bein' Bubba's bitch. If he gets sick, he'll have to report whatever prescriptions that he gets to his PO. If they test him and the levels of whatever drug he has is too high for their comfort... what's that ZZ Top song? "Waitin' for the Bus"? He'll live with a curfew and someone looking over his shoulder. He'll have to maintain a decent job. We all know how easy that is for a convicted felon...

His feeble and insincere attempt at reading an apology letter made my stomach turn. I sat and watched as this bottom feeding piece of shit read a contrived, and probably required in the terms of his plea bargain, apology that mean nothing to us, much less him.

His attorney ranked right down there with Frank as he made excuse, after pitiful excuse as to why "Poor Shanon" was a victim of his upbringing and Katrina and vomit, ad infinitum. I watched as the Judge grew weary of his inane ramblings and grew angrier by the minute. Without saying, Mr. Attorney was arguing with fervor against the Judge going outside the sentencing/plea bargain guidelines and adding time to his sentence. He did have the power to do that and he knew that the Judge was very close to that very same thing.

Your new pals waving a welcome to you...

The Probation Office had been kind enough to give the Judge a copy of the letter I was asked to write for them to consider in recommending sentence. It seems that the letter had a profound effect on the way the Judge felt.

If you would like to read it, I have it posted in this Blog. Ripples in the Surface - Rocks in Their Heads (Letter)

He read it more than once. I guess it gave him a little more insight on how Shanon's actions had impacted a large group of people who loved and cared for Pierce. What was even more comical was that a convictee, who stood before the bench earlier, tried to bullshit the Judge into thinking that he really just needed a rehab program and that he was another "victim". The Judge explained that his present plea bargain of eleven months in jail was not sufficient for him to complete a drug rehab program. So the Judge went outside the sentencing recommendation and sentenced him to TWO YEARS in jail, just so he would have ample time to complete a rehab program. Boy was that guy pissed!

The thought came to me of Richard Pryor's Mudbone character when he visits the Voodoo Lady with Toodlums to shrink his feet from the hex his girlfriend gave him. Mudbone was watching all the things she was doing to him when her pet monkey, or spider jumper on him. He said, "That's when I pulled out mah knife!"

That same thought hit, as Frank had been goofing around and laughing and smiling with friends and family in the courtroom. When the Judge did this, he sat erect and all traces of a smile left his face pronto!

I'm sure his little brown-eye did a twitch in his seat. His own attorney, whose name I'll refrain from posting here for fear of ruining my Blog totally, slapped his stack of files and made a disgusted comment concerning the Judge. I thought it funny that it bothered him so much. I could even bring a trace of pity to bear when Shanon's Father went to the lectern and proceeded to apologize to every person he could think of. I was beginning to feel a slight tinge of embarassment for him when he stepped over the line; at least in Judge Feldman's opinion.

He said that "he knew how our family felt". The judge said "NO, you don't". He said it again and the Judge repeated himself in a more firm manner. That did it. To pay for the sins of your child for something you didn't do sucks pretty bad. But then the saying does state, "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn".

SO, off we go, or he goes; Off to his requested prison facility in Oklahoma where he will spend his next twelve years. I hope he cries himself to sleep every single night and lives in constant mortal fear for his life. I hope that every gang member that CAN get close to him and intimidate him, DOES get close to him and make him feel very small. Make him feel as small as I do when I wish and pray with all my heart that I could hold my son and tell him how much I love and care for him. But I am robbed of that... robbed by thieves who stole his life... stole his soul... But as more of these these carrion come to face their judges, I gain a very small dot of satisfaction. But the only way I'd be totally satisfied is to have Pierce standing next to me. And God won't let that happen. He's gotten him and is holding him hostage... hopefully until I can get there. Until then, have fun...

Is it something I said (in a previous life)?

I don't think I've been so prolific with my writings in quite a long time. But then I haven't had such a wealth of internal pain to write about. Don't get me wrong; there's always the regular old daily grind. But lately there's been a lot more added to the funk bucket.

Last night I got a call from a very old friend. We're talking high school old. I spent a great deal of my sixteen through thirty year old days and nights with him and or his brother. I had basically lost touch with him. However, I maintained contact with his brother and spoke to him by phone every one to two weeks.

Now the second brother we'll call, Vince. Vince and I had gone through some amazing times together growing up. We graduated high school in the mid 70's and spent a good ten years straight living the wild party life. Sex, drugs & rock and roll. The seminal birth of the "new wave". I was entranced by it and with the help of Vince's brother, I became emerged in it, beginning what I thought would become a lifetime career as a rock and roll technician.

I worked at the local music store and mixed sound for local bands. Vince partied with me on the weekends and worked in a stable, responsible job that he had held for several years. One thing that I always admired in him was his ability to be responsible and his unwavering convictions. Money, work, cars... He always had it together. While I went from gig to gig; barely had a running vehicle; traveled all over the country with bands that were always "almost" going to make it big. When I finally got a respectable gig with a well known band, I was so sick of the scene that I actually refused a job with Alabama as their road sound engineer. What a dumb ass I was. But that life is hard on anyone, especially on with morality and mentality as weak as mine. Toss in the bipolar mix and you have a recipe for disaster and wreckage. And all the while, Vince remained stable, worked at his job, earned promotions and did all the things a normal responsible adult would do.

I ended up married and a father. I tried to go the responsible route and ended up in San Antonio. We still kept in touch, long distance. When I came back to New Orleans, he had bought a home with a pool and was living with his long time steady girl, (we'll cal her LSTG). He had changed jobs to a more responsible and stable position and was working himself up the ladder. But he had developed physical problems with a bout of diverticulitis that almost killed him. For the gastrointestinally uninformed, a diverticulii is a pocket that forms in the wall of the lower intestine. Most are minor and annoying. His was large and had collected enough "matter" to be toxic and start to kick his ass. After surgery and removal of his gall bladder, he made it through and returned to his normal life.

Here, I have to admit that I admired Vince more than any of my friends because he was able to beat the outside world and hold a steady & responsible job and buy a home with a pool and, for all practical purposes, maintain a normal life. All things that I found incredibly impossible to do. And now he had beat this physical thing and was on the road to recovery.

After some time I divorced and remarried, still trying to hold on to some semblance of sanity and responsibility. Everyone hated the new wife. Deservedly so. She was off by a hinge or two and grated of most peoples nerves. What I found in her I can't explain. I visited Vince at his new employer a couple of times. That was before I moved to the Northshore.

Once on the Northshore, I developed a phobia for the South and came across as little as possible. But our love for cutting edge music kept us in contact and we met up and attended the Tubes show at, (gasp!) Kenny's Key West in Metaire. With a crowd of about ten people, it was an almost private show. I'll never forget how incredible that performance was and how much fun we had.

In opposite manner, Robin Trower came to the House of Blues and we agreed to go. Wife Two just HAD to go along. We picked up Vince and travelled downtown. As the opening act was burning up the stage, W2 had a sudden attack of "imanassmossis" which required that she INSIST that I bring her home to Mandeville. Sullenly and embarassed, I explained the situation to him and offered cab fare. In his usual manner, he blew it off and stayed to enjoy the show while I grew another resentment on the ride across the twenty-four. He later told me that LSTG had picked him up. I never felt so horrible in my life.

THEN CAME KATRINA...

His home was devastated and he lost LSTG. My home was devastated and I divorced W2.

His health went on the fritz again. He needed a kidney. He managed to roll the lucky dice and get one. His home was rebuilt. He was again enjoying life. I found my most wonderful love. We continued to talk every couple of weeks, vowing to get together very soon.

Over the last few times we spoke, he had found a girl who he cared for. Details are unimportant, but he sounded happy. We spoke a great deal about Social Security, as he was scheduled to get it and they had taken mine away. When very last we spoke, he sounded bad. I asked what was wrong and he blew it off to a cold.

His brother suprised me when he called last night. He said he had gotten my number off of Vince's cell phone. Vince is in the hospital in an induced coma. Through circumstances that they're still trying to ascertain, Vince took a couple of falls at home. One of those falls fractured his shoulder. He failed to go to the hospital or call for help and ended up with pneumonia. Other things he'd done had lowered his resistance and compromised his immune system. The drugs they're giving him to bring his resistance back up may damage his new kidney beyond repair. He may never come out of the coma.

Again, God. Thanks so much. I know you do what you do for a reason. But this guy worked his ass off and was responsible and all the crap he was supposed to be responsible for. Put him through all this stuff then give him another chance at life, only to yank it away? I need to see him. I need to see him pull through and come out of this! Please! For a change... Or is it his destiny to fail?

DEAR GOD, PLEASE BRING L'IL JESTER BACK...

We all miss you so much... Won't you please let him come back home, God? Was it that bad? Did he not make amends in the time hes been gone? Had he not built up enough credit in St. Peter's book to warrant a return trip? Yeah... Whimsical dreams and unanswered prayers of a father torn asunder by a loss that will not release it's icy talons from his heart. Every picture, every song, every time I repeat the same thing as an expression of my grief brings only more grief. It does NOT go away. Time does NOT cure the pain. My mind is a scrambled mess of WTF and I can't seem to move away form it. I think that those who say that our time on Earth is really Hell are probably correct.