Monday, April 6, 2009


I was going to write a post about the Republicans today, but I've changed my mind. Quite frankly, they irritate me.
Representative Michelle Bachmann is calling for armed rebellion, for God's sake. I can't believe these people.
I just returned from downtown to buy some salt. After all it is my favorite season.
As I was leaving my bank after getting some cash to pay for my salt, I heard an angry black man yelling his head off across the street for no apparent reason. He was really pissed off about something, and he didn't mind letting everyone know about it. Then he went to a nearby trash receptacle, throwing it's contents onto Fifth Street. Everyone on his side of the street attempted to stay out of his way, and the people on my side of the street stood and watched his antics with fascination.
I tend to avoid people like this. Generally, there's no talking to them. I also avoid getting into a conversation with folks who talk to themselves. I've seen many do this. On the bus I've seen men and woman have lively, animated conversations with themselves. Perhaps they have a Pooka sitting next to them, as James Stewart did in the classic film, "Harvey."
When Ronald Reagan closed many of the Mental Hospitals in California, many patients were let lose with no form of treatment available to them. This also increased the homeless population in the state, which tends to increase nationally when Republican's have the White House.
Thank you Republicans.
I've wound up writing about Republicans anyway! I can't believe these people.
Close to downtown is the Twin Towers Correctional Facility, the largest jail in the world. It is run by the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department, a law enforcement agency, who as it turns out have become the largest mental health providers in the county by supplying psychiatric drugs to those in need inside the jail.
I can't tell you the percentage of mentally ill people who live on Skid Row. No one knows for sure. But there are many, many homeless on the streets of Skid Row who remain homeless because they are mentally ill, and are receiving little, or no treatment, even when it is available. Anyone can walk into the County of Los Angeles Mental Health Department on Maple Street, right in the heart of Skid Row, and receive free treatment. But many do not because, well because they are mentally ill and don't know any better, or just don't trust anyone.
The problem of the homeless mentally ill in our nation is a tough one, and will never be completely solved, but the steps to be taken are completely clear. Replenish the Middle Class so homelessness decreases, provide more resources for social programs like Mental Health agencies and hospitals, and stop treating mental illness as if it were a crime, all things the Republicans will never do, for they in a large part have created this problem, then complain about all the lazy homeless.
I suffer from depression, so technically I'm mentally ill, and proud of it! I take some pills for it, go to Depression Group, see a psychiatrist to get meds, and usually I'm okay. Some days are better than others. But I have a nice box to live in.
I love my box, except for in the summer when it gets unbearably hot.
Speaking of the Garden Club, we planted some jalapeno pepper, onion, and mints seeds into little pots this morning. Shannon, Case manger Paul's roommate donated some gardenia plants, and tomato trellises for our tomatoes, although they're still little baby's. I also hung a hanging plant of unknown variety onto a tree.
Ants had invaded our hummingbird feeder, and what self-respecting hummingbird would feed from a hummingbird feeder with dead ants inside of it? I certainly wouldn't if I happened to be a hummingbird. I took the appropriate and needed action by unhooking it and taking it inside to my kitchen to wash it out. Erin saw me do this, and was slightly appalled by all the ants crawling on my hands and arms. Regrettably I had to drown most of them. Generally I dislike killing anything, and avoid it if at all possible. But the stupid little bastards were drowning their own selves by entering the feeder and getting caught in its nectar. So actually I saved countless ant lives by my actions. I should be made an ant saint.
If it had been an ant feeder it would have been a whole different story.
Paul planted a scarecrow in our garden, and when he stuck it into the ground, a whole stampede of earwig insects erupted from the mulch and swarmed over our garden. This ignited Paul's latent homicidal nature, as he kept repeating, "We've got to find a way to kill them. Scalding water maybe? I'll look it up on the Internet."
Lovely Erin was sunburnt from farming over the weekend. Interesting girl. She spent the weekend helping her friend, Ricki, prepare some land for later cultivation, and spent too much time in the sun.
I asked her how Gatsby, her dog was doing.
"A little shit factory. That's what I call him. He's fine."
Paul spent part of the weekend visiting his girlfriend's parents. He pretended to enjoy it, but maybe he really did. Paul is a very amicable individual, except when earwigs are involved.
I spent my weekend doing what I do everyday, write and edit. But on weekends I do this while watching unfortunate science fiction movies on the Sci Fi Channel. It would seem I'm addicted.
They never show the classics though, like "Attack of the Giant Crab Monsters," and "Caltiki, the Immortal Monster." Now they show mostly CGI generated monster movies of the week.
Oh hail the days of the black and white Godzilla!

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