Tomorrow the plow becomes the sword...

Well, I have something to be extremely proud of today. My oldest son, John, has passed the long and arduous hiring process of the Kenner, LA, Police Department and is scheduled to start with them on Monday. This is a great accomplishment for anyone to meet. Although that really wasn' the hardest part of the whole ordeal, it was in preparation for what is to come. As an ex-law enforcement officer, I know what to expect for him, in general. He will now enter the training academy to eart his POST Certification. This is a gruelling and character building ordeal that will shape his future and earn him the spot he has sought since beginning the process.

"I'd have to be a warrior,
a slave I couldn't be.
A soldier and a conqueror,
fighting to be free."

Wishbone Ash - Argus

CONGRATULATIONS TO JOHN, FROM YOUR DAD!

And catch the grey men when they dive from the 14th floor...

                                                       When Black Friday comes
I'm gonna dig myself a hole

Gonna lay down in it till
I satisfy my soul.
Gonna let the world pass by me

The Archbishops gonna sanctify me

And if he don't come across

I'm gonna let it roll.
When Black Friday comes

I'm gonna stake my clain

I guess I'll change my name.

Gosh. Our version of (ooooooh) BLACK FRIDAY has come and gone and there weren't many bodies left in it's wake, But in social conscience, the name should be changed next year. Call it something more condusive to business and shopping, please. "Shoppers Friday" or "Retail Sale Friday". Black Friday has the undertones of death. It conjures up visons of the Crash of 1929, which saw brokers jumping out of the windows of skyscrapers because the were finished.

Yeah, right. Now we affectionately refer to this pigfaced and poor example of how we have turned into a society that can act like animals as fast as Pavlov's Dog. "Attention Wee Mart Shoppers! We have Rodeo Bob dolls, complete with testicular action for THIRTY-FIVE cents off! Get them while they're hot!" Meanwhile, two female shopping imbeciles slap and pull each others hair while their moronic husbands stand by and laugh at them. "Looks like Tuesday night ECW, eh Bra?" "HA! You is right, Boy! My Betty sorta looks like the Junkyard Dawg!"
                                                                

No one appreciates how our society is the luckiest, most productive and most advanced society in history. We have things now that would have gotten most people burned at the stake five to seven hundred years ago! A simple BIC lighter witnessed by the wrong person would have you at the guillotine for heresy. You make fire and Satan is the only one who can make fire at will, therefor you must be a relation to Satan. AHA! Kill him now. Televison - WHAT!?! You must be mad. Faces and figures in a box that talk!? By Hells Bells, this is demons in a box and only could be the work of Beelzebub! Stick his skinny white ass in the Iron Maiden! That will give him some "entertainment pleasure", courtesy of Mel Brooks and the Inquisition dancers.

The woman in the black and white shot with her two kids in the "dust bowl" was a stark example of pioneer spirit. She didn't give a shit about Barbie dolls or Malibu Mike and his kung fu shorts. In her eyes you can see desparation and the worry that only a mother can show when her children are suffering and she cannot alleviate that for them. It shows in the little girl's eyes; a faraway gaze with a side order of hopelessness. They sit with all of their worldly posessions around them. They don't care about Lord & Taylor and know nothing of any Blue Light Special. This is their Black Friday; their entire life at this point is a Black Friday. We are spoiled rotten and overgrown children and have no idea what it means to really do without. Myself included!

So how do we get out of this death trap we're in? We don't. People are inherently selfish and will never give up their comforts. End of story. No happy endings. Sorry.

BUT! All is not lost. Give what you can; help when/where/who you can; sacrifice something that really means something to you; deliver meals to shut-ins on a holiday; give of yourself. And above all, don't do it for the recognition. Humility is the key to Heaven...

She's a talented girl; She's got her head down tight...

With the week comes the day that strikes fear in the heart of every turkey in the United States. Well, not every turkey. Old bastards like the one shown at right are hiding their asses out deep in the forest. They are thumbing their combs at hunters who furtively don ultra-camo and use squeak box calles that are supposed to sound like a Miss Turkey giving her holler for fun. More like Miss-take.

Now at the turkey farms where the turkeys that are bred and live for the sole purpose of propping their asses in the middle of a family table for our celebratory Thanksgiving dinner. Hell, some may even get lucky and end up packed in styrofoam and delivered to some poor shut in as part of the local charity "Meals on Wheels". God bless them, for they give their lives to sustain the life of a higher being. Ya. Sometimes I wonder who the higher being is.

Enough about turkey. Let's talk about Pilgrims and Indians. They were both present at the first Thanksgiving. Let's do a quick study. We'll start by looking at a Pilgrim... Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. John Wayne. Now if he isn't the best example of a Pilgrim you've ever seen? Everyone reading this just HAS to be able to conjur up the mental picture of the Duke letting off a hearty, "Well, Pilgrim, it's about time we got along with them dogies! Hop Sing! Where's Mrs. McClintock? Well, find her now and tell her that her husband wants to see her! Chop-Chop!" Off runs the Chinaman to find an irate Maureen O'Hara in her Kelly green, looks-like-a-drapery, dress. Of course she's perusing the fabric at Smythe's General Store and Dry Goods and is supremely ticked off because of her lummox of a husband dared to summon her. She storms off to meet Wayne/McClintock; stumbles in the middle of a fight and ends up falling down the wash with Dukey, both of them covered in mud. Seems to me there was a customary toss over the shoulder, slap on the bottom, and walk to the bedroom. Well, Pilgrim, just what did you expect from Mr. Wayne?

Now we come to the guys who have worn many hats over the years since we came to these shores. Native Americans, Indians, Injuns whatever! They were here first and were quite right to be worried about our pale faces landing here. But instead, the story was made up about hoofy-hoofy Thanksgiving. Awwww. We all came together and made snoo-snoo and ate turkey and baked apples and they didn't slit everyones throat. But you can believe that our forefathers were eyeing up our native brothers and looking for an angle in which they could gain some kind of edge in this new world the landed on. Bottom line is that we were semi-civilized and came from a land with mud streets and plagues and unchilled meat. No refrigerators and no Gatorade; religious persecution and people who, although they came to a new world to escape religious persecution, would be more than happy to hammer the cross of their redeemer right in the forehead of these red skinned heathens. This would be necessary to prove God's point. Unfortunately, God had told the Native Americans a different story.

MORE TO COME...

i hate it when i can't find the words

I hate it when I can't find the words to describe how I feel. I hate it when I cannot express myself without getting angry. I hate it when that anger is based on my inability to control my emotions. I loathe having my heart fall from my chest and hit the ground like a child tossing a water balloon. The most helpless feeling in the world is lack of trust. Why are there emotions and who and the Hell invented them? God? What a cruel display for a loving creator. Emotions are the root of all things evil. It's as though we live in the movie, "Seven". The Seven Deadly Sins are merely the excess product of human emotion. And at the root of it all lies love and anger. I hate myself when my anger consumes me and I can't bring it under control. I hate my anger when I can't control it long enough to realize that I am only making a situation worse. No matter who is at the center of it.

Is there anyone capable of controlling free will? That's also what fills emotions. I believe it's just how God and his Angels, not only test us, but create their amusement. Toss a bit of anger at the human monkey and see how he reacts. If he stands tall and handles his test with aplomb, then they leave him with a gold star in the Book of St. Peter. But just let him screw it up and they throw a couple of curve balls in there. The target of his anger turns round and pitches a pot full of teasing at him. Does he handle it well or does it make his blood boil and spew more anger from his heart? What's a man to do?

"But first, are you experienced. Have you ever been experienced? Well, I have..."

Despair is like forward children, who, when you take away one of their playthings, throw the rest into the fire for madness. It grows angry with itself, turns its own executioner, and revenges its misfortunes on its own head.
- Pierre Charron

The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation ... A stereotyped but unconscious despair is concealed even under what are called the games and amusements of mankind.
- Henry David Thoreau

D     E     S     P     A     I     R

To understand despair is to have never really experienced it. In the cycles of my days, my various maladies reach out at different points. What they are trying to do is a mystery to me. Today, despair is my companion. Through the events of yesterday and today, the obsessive-compulsive disorder built up inside me like air in a childs balloon. It fills and fills until the latex turns the color white on its way to tearing at one point with a characteristic, "POP"!

So just what does one do with this? It's a juggling act in your psyche; a walk down the balance beam with an off-weighted pole. When more than one psychiatric illnesses converge on you at one time, it can literally throw you off your feet. Bipolar Disorder; I hate that name and always did. Makes me feel like I've got a disease that places half of me at the North Pole and half of me in Antarctica. Manic Depression; now THAT'S a name for a disease that fits me.

Manic Depression's touching my soul,

I know what I want,

but I just don't know

(how to go about getting it).

Feeling, sweet feeling

drops from my finger, fingers

Manic Depression's captured my soul.

It's straightforward and right to the point. No mish-mash or pussy-footing around. You're MANIC or DEPRESSED or BOTH AT THE SAME TIME! WOW! Sounds like it needs more cowbell! "or", he said in a fit of piped blue edging, "you can rapid cycle which is pretty much self explanatory, I THANK you!". Not to be confused with, "IWANTOTHANKYOUFORLETTINMEBEMICELFAGAIN". Thanks to Mr. And the Family Stone. So now that we've established the fact that I live life in a ping-pong game. I never know who will be laying a paddle on me.

 

So we can go on to the next ugly ogre that haunts the space in my skull, OCD. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Yummy! This hits at various stages of severity, depending on the day of the week and the severity of my stress level. This is also one of the most misunderstood mental maladies that I have. That's my unlearned opinion, of course. I do know that it does get me in the most trouble with everyone and everything. I get in particularly hot water with my Honey. I also like the really stupid names they have for forms of OCD. Anal Retentive. What in great horny toads is that supposed to mean?

 

When I was much younger and before I had been diagnosed as having faulty circuits, I remember watching a Saturday Night Live sketch with Phil Hartman (RIP). He was cast in "Cooking with the Anal Retentive Chef". I can recall wondering what the shit was anal retentive? Some kind of butt trouble? Then I saw how he threw out all the little things that I was great at doing. Hand washing; obsessing over stupid things like PRINCIPLES; (Principles are good? Not when arguing with a Security Guard over your ability to park in a loading zone while he's handcuffing you!) The placement of objects; Cleanliness; a whole list of things that continue to drive me stupid in more ways than one. At the severity level that I enjoy it, though, it's called OCD.

 

Then there is the one that is the most mystefying to me, Schizoaffective Disorder. The DSM III says, "it represents one of the most confusing and controversial concepts in psychiatric nosology". Yep. That's me, alright. What I can determine is that you have schizophrenia and manic or depressive episodes all at one time.

 

Taggart: I got it! I got it!
Hedley Lamarr: You do?
Taggart: We'll work up a Number 6 on 'em.
Hedley Lamarr: [frowns] "Number 6"? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that one.
Taggart: Well, that's where we go a-ridin' into town, a-whompin' and a-whumpin' every livin' thing that moves within an inch of its life. Except the women folks, of course.
Hedley Lamarr: You spare the women?
Taggart: Naw, we rape the shit out of them at the Number Six Dance later on.
Hedley Lamarr: Marvelous!  

Now. My despair isn't gone yet. But it's taken a back seat for a few hours. See you soon...

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...