Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Women and Men (Or, What the Hell’s the Matter With Men?) Part 1: A Small Sample of Problems













“Men marry women with the hope they will never change. Women marry men with the hope they will change. Invariably they are both disappointed.” -Albert Einstein

“A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle." I really hate this expression. I bet fish would totally want bicycles.” -Meg Cabot

“Whatever women do they must do twice as well as men to be thought half as good. Luckily, this is not difficult.” - Charlotte Whitton

“When men see an attractive woman, they fantasize about sex. When women see an attractive man they fantasize about a relationship.” -Alexandra Potter

“Unfortunately, he still hadn’t asked for my number, or a date, or my hand in marriage, and my drink was getting low.” -Kimberly Novosel

“To come across as younger than they are: Women buy creams that promise to slow aging; men buy fast cars.” -Mokokoma Mokhonoana

“He - and if there is a God, I am convinced he is a he, because no woman could or would ever fuck things up this badly.” -George Carlin

“Sadly, in any industry and in any work-related environment, females always strive to achieve a certain amount of perfection, whether that be skinny or pretty. It's a constant, in our society.” -Mila Kunis

“Life is not fair... yet being alive is a hell of a lot better than being dead, because being dead is worse than being unfair... it’s really, really boring.” -Richard Joyce

“A woman brings so much more to the world than birth, for she can birth discovery, intelligence, invention, art, just as well as any man.” -Shannon Celebi



   And often better.

    Freshman Veronika Weiss, 19, was into sports and great at math.  Katie Cooper, 22, was about to graduate with a degree in art history.
   “They were both two very incredible, beautiful people. And that’s how I want them remembered,” Bianca de Kock said.
   Ms de Kock is using the past tense to describe her two sorority sisters because she was the only one who survived a drive by encounter with 22 year old Elliot Rodger last May 23, in Isla Vista, California, after being shot 5 times herself.
   A few minutes later the girls attacker would be dead by a self inflicted gunshot wound to the head, after being pursued and shot in the hip by police, but not before he had killed 4 others, 20 year old Christopher Ross Michaels-Martinez, 20 year old Weihan "David" Wang, 19 year old George Chen, and 20 year old Cheng Yuan "James" Hong. All the victims were students at the nearby University of California, Santa Barbara. 
   Rodgers managed to injure 13 others before killing himself. 
   The motive for this insane act of unmitigated violence? 
   Apparently he couldn’t get laid. 

   Last year, 19 year old Corey Batey, 20 year old Brandon Vandenburg, 19 year old Brandon Banks and 19 year old Jaborian McKenzie were kicked off the Vanderbilt University football team, in Nashville, Tennessee, after they were arrested on five counts of rape, and two counts of sexual battery, allegedly committed upon an unconscious 21 year old female student.
   Vandenburg’s lawyers have filed a 128 page motion for dismissal with the court, because  the alleged victim was “a promiscuous and heavy drinker who had a history of dating football players, even working with [Coach James Franklin] to recruit football players.”  
     Which of course gave the four men license to rape her after she had passed out. 

   Last Monday a judge in Billings, Montana, G. Todd Baugh, sentenced Brandon Daniel Turell to 10 years in custody of the State Department of Corrections, with five years suspended, and ordered him to pay about $13,600 in restitution, for using a stolen BB gun to shoot out the windows of approximately 100 vehicles and at least one house on Dec. 11 and 12 of 2012.
   The same judge, with 30 years on the bench, sentenced former teacher, 47 year old Stacy Rambold, to one month in jail last August, for repeatedly raping a 14 year old student, Cherice Moralez, in 2007, arguing that the girl shared responsibility for her rape because she appeared “older than her chronological age” and “as much in control of the situation” as her teacher. The judge technically sentenced the former Billings high school teacher to 15 years in prison with all but 31 days suspended and gave him credit for one day served.
   Cherice would committ suicide with a gun on February 6th, 2010, two and a half weeks before her 17th birthday. It is believed that constant ostracism and bullying by her classmates after the rape charges were made helped to lead her to the decision to end her life.
   "When a big rain would come, she'd always get out and dance in the rain," the teen's mother, Auliea Hanlon, said. "She taught me how to dance in the rain."
   On April 30th, the Montana Supreme Court  ruled that Baugh used an inapplicable statute to impose the 31-day sentence. When read properly, Montana law mandates a minimum four-year prison sentence -- with a suspension of no more than two years -- for the rape of children under 16 by someone at least three years older.
   The court ruled that Rambold's original sentence was inadequate and outside legislative guidelines, which it said should have ensured he spend at least two years behind bars.
   Two years.
   On June 4th, the same court  ordered the suspension and public censure for District Judge Baugh.
   In a six-page ruling, the court said Baugh’s actions warranted suspension without pay for 31 days. Noting Baugh's term expires at the end of the year and that he did not seek re-election, the court said the suspension would begin on Dec. 1st.
   The court also set July 1st as the date for a public censure.
   "There is no place in the Montana judiciary for perpetuating the stereotype that women and girls are responsible for sexual crimes committed against them," the court said.

   Democratic National Committee Chair Debbie Wasserman Schultz (D-FL) talked about the wage disparity between men and women with the Huffington Post last Monday, saying it costs an average woman nearly half a million dollars over her career.
   "We still have women that earn 77 cents for every dollar a man earns doing the same work," she explained. "Over the average woman's lifetime, working life, she loses $430,000 in income based on that disparity."
   When you compare women and men with the same education and experience levels working the same jobs, the disparity shrinks, but there is still an unexplained gap of 7 to 9 percent, economists estimate, suggesting persistent pay discrimination against women.
   Why?
   "The problem is that too many women don't have the ability to know what their coworkers, who are doing the same work, earn, and their coworkers can be penalized by their employers for sharing that information," the Congresswomen said. "The Paycheck Fairness Act would take away that penalty and allow for the exchange of salary information and also make sure that there is another measure of accountability so that we can actually enforce the Equal Pay Act."
   Last April, Senate Republicans blocked a vote to open debate on the Paycheck Fairness Act, which would prohibit retaliation against employees who share their salary information with each other, which supporters say would eliminate the culture of silence that keeps women in the dark about pay discrimination. Additionally it would require the Department of Labor to collect wage data from employers, broken down by race and gender, and require employers to show that wage differentials between men and women in the same jobs are for a reason other than sex. The Senate voted 53 to 44 to move forward on the bill, falling short of the 60 votes needed to overcome a Republican filibuster. 
   Most Republicans in Congress have objected to all Democratic proposals related to women's economic security. Senate Republicans have blocked the Paycheck Fairness Act twice before, claiming that it will only result in more lawsuits against employers. 
   It seems unlikely that employers would be sued if they voluntarily followed the dictates of the Paycheck Fairness Act, or if they simply paid women the same as men for the same work.
   Republican lawmakers also consider the Act "condescending" to women. "Many ladies I know feel like they are being used as pawns, and find it condescending [that] Democrats are trying to use this issue as a political distraction from the failures of their economic policy," Rep. Lynn Jenkins (R-KS), the GOP conference's vice chair, said at the time.
   As a member of the House of Representatives, Rep. Jenkins’ salary is commensurate with her male colleagues. I wonder if the “many” ladies she knows fair as well.
   "This is not just an issue of fairness," President Barack Obama said. "It’s also a family issue and an economic issue, because women make up about half of our workforce and they’re increasingly the breadwinners for a whole lot of families out there. So when they make less money, it means less money for gas, less money for groceries, less money for child care, less money for college tuition, less money is going into retirement savings."

   Women spend nearly an hour more per day on household chores than men. That’s approximately two weeks a year. 

   “And now, now we are going to have a fight over women’s health, Give me a break. This is the latest plank in the so-called war on women. Entirely created, entirely created by my colleagues across the aisle for political gain.” -Rep. John Boehner (R-OH), Speaker of the House of Representatives
   “The Republican War on Women” is an expression used in United States politics, nationally and in the states, that characterizes certain Republican policies as a wide-scale assault on women's rights, especially their reproductive and health rights.  Prominent Democrats such as Rep. Nancy Pelosi (D-CA) and Barbara Boxer (D-CA), as well as feminists, have used the phrase to criticize proponents of these laws as trying to force their social views on women through legislation.
   In 2011, state legislatures across the country introduced over 1100 bills related to women's health and reproductive rights, with an additional 944 provisions, half of which would restrict access to abortion, in the first quarter of 2012, This legislation has focused on mandatory ultrasounds, shortening the time when abortions may be performed, and limiting insurance coverage for abortion. 
   In 1973, the Supreme Court of the United States, in a landmark decision, ruled 7–2  that a right to privacy under the due process clause of the 14th Amendment extended to a woman's decision to have an abortion, but that this right must be balanced against the state's two legitimate interests in regulating abortions: protecting prenatal life and protecting women's health. Arguing that these state interests became stronger over the course of a pregnancy, the Court resolved this balancing test by tying state regulation of abortion to the third trimester of pregnancy. This decision is commonly referred to as Roe v. Wade, and is the law of the land. Republicans have attempted to undermine it since it was made.
   The Life at Conception Act, is a bill to allow 14th Amendment (an Amendment to the Constitution which addresses citizenship rights and equal protection of the laws, and was proposed in response to issues related to former slaves following the American Civil War) 
equal protection rights to extend to each "preborn" human person. The bill was introduced by Sen. Roger Wicker (R-MS) on January 29, 2009 and referred to the Senate Judiciary Committee. The bill did not advance to a vote, but similar bills, such as  the Sanctity of Life Act and the We the People Act, which would negate the Roe v Wade decision, keep be introduced by Republicans. 
   All of these bills and acts and sometimes laws (many of which have been deemed unconstitutional by federal courts), that affect the health and wellbeing of all women, seem to be a sop to elected Republican’s base voters, and are intended to get said politicians reelected, rather than to improve the health and welfare of a large percentage of their constituency, similar to the actions of many state legislatures that are controlled by Republicans, that have denied access to health care for the poor in their states through the implementation of Medicaid expansion, even though that implementation would initially cost the state nothing. The Republican war on women extends to the poor, the elderly, children, minorities, stray dogs and cats, and anybody else who doesn’t vote for Republicans. 
   For Rep. Boehner: Denial, in ordinary English usage, is asserting that a statement or allegation is not true. Simple denial: deny the reality of the unpleasant fact altogether. Minimisation: admit the fact but deny its seriousness (a combination of denial and rationalization). And projection: admit both the fact and seriousness but deny responsibility by blaming somebody or something else.
   
   On 16 December 2012 in Munirka, a neighborhood in South Delhi, India,  a 23-year-old female physiotherapy intern, Jyoti Singh (her name was not initially  released, as per Indian law, and for months she was only known and referred to with a pseudonym. With the permission of her family it was eventually announced), and a male friend, Uttar Pradesh, were returning home after watching the film, “Life of Pi,” and were lured onto a private bus with the promise that it was going by their destination. Six men were already on the bus, including the driver and one seventeen and a half year old minor, the one who had made the promise. When the bus deviated from it’s normal route, Uttar protested and was beaten, gagged, and knocked unconscious with an iron rod.
   Jyoti was dragged to the rear of the bus where the men beat her with the rod and gang raped her while the bus driver continued to drive.
    She attempted to fight off her assailants, biting three of the attackers,  leaving bite marks on them. After the beatings and rape ended, the attackers threw both victims from the moving bus. The driver tried to drive the bus over the woman, but she was pulled aside by Uttar.
   About an hour later the two were found on the road by a passerby who contacted the New Delhi Police, who transported them to Safdarjang Hospital, where Jyoti was given emergency treatment and placed on mechanical ventilation.  According to reports, one of the accused men admitted to having seen a rope-like object, assumed to be her intestines, being pulled out of her by the other assailants on the bus. Two blood-stained metal rods were retrieved from the bus and medical staff confirmed that "it was penetration by this that caused massive damage to her genitals, uterus and intestines"
   Uttar Pradesh suffered broken limbs but survived.
   Jyoti was less fortunate.
   She underwent multiple surgeries, removing most of her intestines. By the 25th,  she remained intubated, and on life support. Doctors reported that she was running a fever of 102 to 103 °F  and internal bleeding due to sepsis (a blood infection that can lead to organ failure), was somewhat controlled. It was reported that she was "stable, conscious and meaningfully communicative".
   The incident gained national, international attention, and outrage. Public protests took place in New Delhi December 21st,  at India Gate and Raisina Hill, the latter being the location of both the Parliament of India and the official residence of the President.  Thousands of protesters clashed with police and battled riot squad units.  Demonstrators were baton charged, shot with water cannons, and tear gas shells, mass arrests being made. Similar protests occurred throughout the country.
   What were they protesting? A national sense of permissiveness toward the type of behavior by men toward women that encouraged Jyoti’s rape and beating. 
   Police found and arrested some of the suspects within 24 hours of the crime. Eventually six men were arrested in connection with the attack. They were Ram Singh, the bus driver, and his brother, Mukesh Singh, Vinay Sharma, an assistant gym instructor, and Pawan Gupta, a fruit seller, were both arrested in New Delhi, Akshay Thakur, who had come to New Delhi looking for work, and the minor, Akshay Thakur.
   At a cabinet meeting chaired by Prime Minister Manmohan Singh on 26 December, a controversial decision was made to fly Jyoti to Mount Elizabeth Hospital in Singapore for further care. 
   During the six-hour flight by air-ambulance to Singapore the next day she suddenly went into a "near collapse," which a later report described as a cardiac arrest. The doctors on the flight created an arterial line to stabilize her, but she had been without pulse and blood pressure for nearly three minutes and never regained consciousness.
   On the 28th, at 11 am (IST), her condition was extremely critical. The chief executive officer of the Mount Elizabeth Hospital said that Jyoti suffered brain damage, pneumonia, and abdominal infection, and that she was "fighting for her life." Her condition continued to worsen, and she died at 4:45 am on the 29th,  Singapore Standard Time. Her body was returned to New Delhi and  cremated on December 30th. 
   On the 11th of March, 2013, Ram Singh, the driver of the bus, was discovered hanging from a ventilator shaft in his cell at about 5:45 in the morning.  Authorities said it was unclear whether it was a suicide or a murder.
   On September 10th, the four remaining adult defendants were found guilty of rape, murder, unnatural offenses and destruction of evidence. Three days later they were sentenced to death by hanging, a verdict and sentence that was reaffirmed on March 13th of this year by the High Court of Delhi. The Supreme Court of India stayed the executions of the condemned, who are currently appealing their sentences.
   The seventeen and a half year old minor, said to be the most brutal of the attackers, was tried as a juvenal, and sentenced to 3 years  in a reform facility, the maximum sentence allowed under Indian law. 

   In the impoverished Layyah area of Punjab province in Pakistan, 20 year old Muzammil Bibi was attacked by three men in a field, probably last Friday. She resisted the attack, and the men raped and strangled her.
   Senior police officer Sadaqat Ali Chohan said: "This is the first time in my 22 years of service in the police that I have seen such a case, where a girl was raped in this way and found hanging from a tree. 
   We have heard of such cases in India but never in Pakistan. The girl's clothes were torn. We took her down and moved her to hospital. Her body had signs of resistance. We have arrested three individuals who have confessed to the crime."
   Two teenage cousins were found hanging from a tree after being raped in the north of India in May.

    On the night of 14–15 of April of this year, approximately 276 female students were kidnaped from the Government Secondary School in the town of Chibok in Borno State, Nigeria. The kidnapings were claimed by Boko Haram, an Islamic Jihadist and terrorist organization based in northeast Nigeria.
   Boko Haram is opposed to the Westernization of Nigeria, which they maintain is the root cause of criminal behavior in the country, which apparently prompts and legitimizes their own criminal behavior. Thousands of people have been killed in attacks perpetrated by the group. 
   Boko Haram’s ideology stipulates that girls should be educated in the Islamic tradition only, which is to say they should not be educated at all. Girls found in government schools are kidnaped, and used  as cooks or sex slaves, which seems to not interfere with Boko Harum’s religious sensibilities.

   More than 370 girls and women have been violently murdered since 1993 in the Mexican city of Ciudad Juárez, Chihuahua, a border town across the Rio Grande from El Paso, Texas. 
   The murders have received international attention. The 2006 film “Bordertown,” starring Jennifer Lopez and Antonio Banderas, is loosely based on these violent and mysterious acts.
   International outrage over the murders is primarily due to perceived government inaction in preventing violence against women and girls in general, and bringing those who murdered them to justice.

   According to the Hope Alliance, 1 in 3 women will experience domestic violence in her lifetime. 1 in 5 high school girls report being physically assaulted and/or sexually abused by a dating partner. 1 in 6 women and 1 in 33 men will be sexually assaulted in their lifetime. In the United States a woman is beaten every 9 seconds. Each year, intimate partner violence results in an estimated 1,200 deaths and 2 million injuries among women and nearly 600,000 injuries among men. Domestic violence is the leading cause of injury to women between the ages of 15 through 44  in the United States, more than car accidents, muggings and rapes combined. Almost one-third of female homicide victims that are reported in police records are killed by an intimate partner. Witnessing violence between one’s parents or caretakers is the strongest risk factor of transmitting violent behavior from one generation to the next. Boys who witness domestic violence are twice as likely to abuse their own partners and children as adults. 50% of girls who grow up in an abusive home will go on to be victims of abuse themselves. Domestic violence is the leading predictor of child abuse: 30% to 60% of perpetrators of intimate partner violence also abuse children in the household. Family violence costs the nation from $5 to $10 billion annually in medical expenses, police and court costs, shelters and foster care, sick leave, absenteeism and non-productivity. Every year domestic violence results in almost 100,000 days of hospitalization, almost 30,000 emergency room visits, and almost 40,000 visits to a physician according to WomanKind Inc.

   Unfortunately, I could go on and on documenting injustices committed mainly against women, who are men’s partners in life, whose goals are more or less the same, and who quite often, throughout the world, are treated as chattel, rather than the wonderful human beings that they are.
   Why is this?

To be continued.  

Monday, June 23, 2014

Skid Row Diary 28











23 September  2003   Tuesday   day 73


   While using the computer in the day room to update some files (they never seem to need downdating), the new, young, black, male, case manager came up to me and asked if I lived in room 590.
   “Yes.”
   “I need you to test today.”
   “Okay.”
   I’ve administered thousands of urine tests, but I dislike being given them. I can never pee when around people who are waiting around for me to do just that. I can’t take the pressure!
   I have a hard enough time when I’m by myself.
   “Come out... come out now,” I call down.
   I drank a cup of coffee in my room, and read from “Hellstrom's Hive.” At 11:00 I went looking for the guy, but his office door was closed.
   I read some more.
   I found him about a half hour later, and he took me to one of the restrooms, and after a prolonged effort I squeezed out a good and fine, Grade A sample of fresh urine. I sure hope he enjoyed it.
   Unfortunately, the disease I suffer from cannot be tested in this manner.
   The person I’m voting for for governor in the upcoming run off election was on “The Tonight Show” last night. Mary “Mary Carey” Cook. She looked very nice, in a short, dark, skirt. 
   She’s a big, pretty, blonde girl. Jay Leno said she was the only candidate who’s hole had already been punched. 
   I believe he was making some kind of crude sexual reference, and wondered exactly how much he knew about the other candidates to make such a bold accusation. 
   Mary, quite appropriately flipped him off on national television, the producers attempting to hide her fingers electronically, but you could easily tell what she was doing.
   Mary gets a lot of attention from men and the media in general due to her work in adult entertainment (which was the purpose of her candidacy I imagine), but most won’t have the guts to vote for her, even though her credentials are equal to Arnold Schwarzenegger. They’re both actors, and have never served in office before. The only thing Arnold has that she doesn’t is money which he’ll use in an attempt to buy the election through television ads. In this country you’re considered respectable if you’ve got a lot of money no matter what an asshole you may be. 
   I’m not saying Arnold’s an asshole. I’ve never met the man.
   I’ve seen him do some assholish things though.
   After lunch I read and wrote, exercised, and meditated.
   I watched a “Nova” program concerning the history of the search for a genetic link between the Neanderthal folks and modern humans.
   Some people take offense that we evolved from less advanced animals (as far as intelligence goes) or that we are even animals at all. Some want to believe that humans were placed in a pristine manner in the garden by God. How silly. We share so many of the same characteristics that most animals share (especially mammals). We eat, sleep, defecate (except for Rush Limbaugh, who seems to reabsorb his own waste products), mate, groom, play, experience death... how could it be otherwise? The chimpanzee shares 98% of our DNA. To me it’s not even an issue. Evolution is a fact, not a theory.
   After sleeping I dreamt I was in a fake courtroom with the lovely and talented Leelee Sobieski (star of “Eyes Wide Shut”) and Bambi Lee, the star of “Valley Girls,” “Scoundrels,” and other fine films. We were part of a cast re-enacting scenes from the film “Inherit the Wind.” Bambi, of course, was playing the Henry Drummond part. I was the defendant, Bertram T. Cates, and Leelee, as Matthew Harrison Brady. 
   It went really well! However, I thought it odd that both girls were dressed in matching black, string bikinis.
   Did they even have those back then?!


24 September    Wednesday    Day 74


   “It is traditionally said that when the Buddha was born he exclaimed, 'Above and below the heavens, I alone am the Honored One.’ Master Yunmen commented, 'If I had been with him when he said this, I would have killed him with a single blow and thrown his corpse to the hungry dogs.’”

   I spent the day in deep meditation, waiting for something to happen. I didn’t even write. Some days I don’t.
   I did finish reading “Hellstrom's Hive,” and began “The Forbidden Zone,” by Whitley Strieber, who is either very smart, or certifiable, maybe both. 
   During meditation I decided on a course of action, and made appropriate preparations.
   Later, I watched “Enterprise,” and the season premier of “The West Wing.”  Both of these episodes I found self-absorbed and uninteresting. Unless you’re the type of person who would like a never ending tour of the White House, I really can’t recommend the show. It seemed a twidge soap operaish to me, but to be fair it was the first time I’ve watched a whole episode straight through.
   I turned off the T.V. after, read awhile, thought about what Carl had said, then went to sleep.
   I dreamt I was in the West Wing of the White House being escorted on a never ending tour by the beautiful and talented Amanda Detmer, star of “Saving Silverman,” Marisa Coughlan  of “Super Troopers,” and Nikki Charm of “Charmed and Dangerous,” and many other fine films.
   I was again a little surprised that the executive branch would allow it’s tour guides to wear bikinis, but I suppose that policy does save the taxpayers dollars on cloth.
   Our government must be thrifty.


25  September   Thursday    Day 75


   Giselle had taken another well deserved day off.
   Get some rest dear, and come back to us fresh and pure. Fresh at least. Take tomorrow off as well if you need it. We, your adoring public, understand.
   I meandered down to the front desk just before 9:30, and signed in for today and yesterday, then returned upstairs to shower.
   I made it to the Levi Center by 10:00 for the Super Search Job and Motivational Class. Richard Cairns was absent, and my job developer, Larry, spent a good 40 minutes letting us know what a good and sincere guy he was, and how hard he worked for us vets, how far he had to drive to work each day, and how much he would be able to do for us, before letting us get the hell out of there. 
   I would have preferred if had just done something for us rather than talk about it.
   I didn’t leave motivated at all. 
   I felt vaguely nauseous instead.
   I returned to my room and cooked up my last four eggs in the day room microwave, adding some cheese, jalapenos, and sausage. It was wonderful.
   I called up old Larry and asked him for a phone pass at the Levi. They have an entire room dedicated for phone use, and I used one of those phones to check my voice mail. No jobs, but McCree had left a message asking me if I’d like to go on a free trip to the beach tomorrow. I called back, leaving a message on his new answering machine letting him know I couldn’t make it, but that I hoped to see him Saturday morning.
   Then I walked north to the VA Clinic for the 1:00 Phase II meeting. Kathy was in Palmdale for some reason. I hope she makes it back safely. I hear that strange things happen in Palmdale. People go there and never return.
   One of the meeting’s regulars leaded. A young psychiatrist, Dr. Dooley, a pretty female type, was in to observe.
   There was no topic, the guys just talking about whatever problems they were experiencing recently, and without Kathy being there sharing her vast amount of experience, it was all rather boring. 
   After the meeting I took a Dash to the library and voted early on a new computer system the state was trying out. 
   This is what happened. I was sick of Grey Davis’s whining, didn’t care for his argument against the recall, pissed at some pro-big-tobacco legislation he had let slide into law recently, so voted for the recall election.
   I was truly torn between my devotion to Mary “Mary Carey” Cook, and the Green Party candidate, Peter Camejo, who had made an impression on me during a recent debate. I generally agree with that party’s positions on most issues, but had never voted Green, and thought that doing so would not waste my vote. 
   And I certainly didn’t want to do that.
   So I voted for Camejo.
   Continuing on with the ballet, I voted no on the initiatives 53 and 54, then all I had to do was punch one more little button and my ballet would be cast.
   But I couldn’t do it. I began to feel so bad about withdrawing my support for Mary, who I had sworn all my allegiances  to, that I had to erase my vote for Camejo, and cast my vote for Mary “Mary Carey” Cook, by God, and may the lord bless her soul (if he’s not too busy hiding out there in the universe somewhere).
   Feeling much better, I checked my E-mail before leaving, then walked across the street to check my physical mail at the Post Office, and found nothing in both outlets. About finding a job at least. I did receive one E-mail from Amnesty International, which gave me the opportunity to sign an E-mail letter which allowed me to voice my outrage  over the fact that children were being used as combatants in three African nations.   
   Children 12 or 13 years old being forced to fight under threat of death. 
   I would return to my room and read an article about the same thing happening in Columbia.
   This is part of the world we live in. This is what God allows.
   In my room I read the paper, from the book about closing criminal records, and the outer space book. I watched Myrka’s newscast, Jackie Guerrido’s weather report, “Married with Children,” and “The Simpsons.” I listened to Phil Hendrie on the radio, bitch about last night’s gubernatorial debate. Then at 9:00 I watched a PBS special documentary, “Dying to Leave,” concerning the plight of refugees fleeing from economic and political oppression, and the state of modern trafficking in human slaves exploited as agricultural workers or forced into prostitution. I was amazed to learn there are approximately 27 million slaves in the world today, more than twice the number that were exploited during the entire history of the African trans-Atlantic trade. A half million women and children a year are recruited and trafficked, 20,000 into the United States. At present the traffickers have a tremendous incentive to continue their trade. Profits are huge as demand is huge. Risks to them appear to be minimal. Their product can be used over and over again. If caught and prosecuted, penalties tend to be low in proportion to their crimes. One example in Japan (which apparently is heavily involved in the sex trade), a trafficker received 22 months imprisonment to what amounted to mass, serial kidnaping and rape.
   This is the world we live in. This is what God allows. This is what most American citizens are unaware of, or too busy to care about.
   I am ashamed to be a human being today.


26  September   Friday    Day 76


   I had a great dream last night, despite the mood I was in after watching the PBS program. I dreamt I was sitting in a large ombu tree with Haley Mills, the beautiful and talented star of “The Parent Trap,” and the very first girl I ever had a crush on... a secret crush, so please don’t tell anybody. The tree was located in what looked like the middle of an ancient dry lake bed. All we could see for miles and miles was cracked mud. 
   “So you voted for the porn star, huh?” she asked in her cute English accent.
   “Yes,” I admitted. “An actress... like you.”
   “Good Oh!” she exclaimed.
   Soon a great flood came and we jumped into a passing canoe and floated off to Laughlin, Nevada.
   Just as we were about to check into the Riverside Hotel and Casino, my alarm woke me up at 3:30. It was alright as I had set it for that time. 
   I turned on the Mark and Brian preview show. I was still too tired to move, so I just laid there listening, while Mark read off some magazine’s list of 100 things that turn men on.
   When he got to #58 (naked Indian wrestling), I got up and went to the showers.
   I wrote before going down to a scrambled egg and sausage breakfast at 8:00. I went to the Levi Center and tried to get another phone pass from Larry, but he was hiding and could not be found. I left the Levi Center lonely and dejected.
   I picked myself up, dusted myself off, and walked to the 9:00 Relapse Prevention Group at ASAP.
   Sam, the “Addiction Therapist” was responsible for making all of the referrals to the CWT program in West L.A., and the facilitator of the Relapse Prevention Group, which was why I was attending, hoping to catch him there, not having seen him at his office lately.
   I hadn’t been to this meeting for quite awhile, mainly because I didn’t care for it. Actual prevention of relapse was rarely discussed, the meetings usually degenerating into raucous bullshit sessions, Sam often being the most pronounced bullshitter. Still, it was supposedly mandatory for the clients of the ASAP program... not only that, clients were required to attend as well. Accordingly, I expected to be mildly chastised for not attending these hour long debacles.
   When I arrived I discovered the group had been split into two parts during my absence. Relapse Prevention Phase I and Relapse Prevention Phase II. 
   I walked into, and participated in the Relapse Prevention Phase II meeting, run by Dr. Lo, a handsome, young psychologist of Asian decsent, and where relapse prevention was actually discussed.
   Sam, a tall black man of indiscriminate age, was hosting the Relapse Prevention Phase I meeting in another room, and I caught up with him afterwards and told him what I needed.
   “Okay,” he said, and took me to his office.
   He looked up my file in the computer system and started to give me shit about not attending enough meetings, and not being tested enough. Noting my attendance record, his comment was, “This does not a recovery program make.” Witty, isn’t he? 
   Not a program make? According to who?
   He was right of course. I hadn’t been demonstrating an abundance of healthy stability lately, but I certainly wasn’t going to let him know that. I let him know that the program must be working despite my flimsy and spotted attendance, as I continued to remain sober, I attended 12 Step meetings, and was able to maintain my housing at the Weingart, which did not tolerate behavior of a besotted nature. I told him I had also stopped smoking, and furthermore I told him this and that.
   What it came down to, what he wanted was that I attend two more weeks of constant attendance, and testing as much as humanly possible during those two weeks, so that the computer record of my program at ASAP would be readily accepted by the good folks in Westwood.
   “Okay,” I told him. 
   He was so nice I even gave him a  nice hot cup of fresh, steaming urine, right then and there, which he greedily accepted. And, I waited around for the 11:00 group, which of course I needed to attend anyway. We discussed self disclosure in that one.
   At noon I set off for Trimar, taking a Dash to Pershing Square, transferring to the Red Line subway, then catching the illusive 154 in North Hollywood, which transfered me, by way of Sherman Oaks (why are the oaks there named Sherman?) and Encino, all the way to the plasma center.
   I was shocked and appalled to discover a new policy enacted since I had last been there (that’s twice today) that videos would no longer be played while the clients donated. 
   I asked Juan why we were instead watching Jerry Springer (which I would never inflict upon anyone, even Slobodan Milosevic), and was told that due to some obscure legal technicalities concerning rented videos not being lawfully allowed to be played to an audience, such as the donors in the plasma center, videos were no longer going to be shown.
   First they took away the cookies, and now the movies! My days here are numbered. Pretty soon they’ll stop paying us because of all of those dirty germs located deep within the $20 bill.
   But I had the Straub book, “Floating Dragon,” and was able to keep myself entertained. 
   Aurica stopped by to say hello.
   “Hello,” she said. “How are you?”
   I told her I was doing well. She was doing well also. We were both doing well. 
   Her granddaughter was doing well too, and her son was returning from Iraq.
   I asked her when she was going on vacation.
   “Oh, we are not,” she told me. “My passport is expired. I found now I must wait six months to a year for a new one. It’s okay, we will wait.”
   “Six months to a year! That seems an awfully long time to get a passport renewed.”
   “I don’t know. But it’s okay. We will wait.”
   Maybe she has some special Rumanian passport. I don’t know. I didn’t pursue the matter.
      She got busy somewhere else, and I finished and left, pursuing a Supper Lotto ticket at the 7/11 across the street, and then catching the 165 to Van Nuys.
   Where I picked up some cheese, pre-popped cheddar popcorn, eggs, and 2 packages of frozen pizza rolls from the 99 Cent Store.
   I also stopped at the 99 Cent Store at Macarthur Park and got some Three Musketeers Bars and bread.
   Back in my lonely room I watched last night’s “Charley Rose Show,” which I had taped. He had interviewed the foreign minister of Iran (who insisted his country is not building nuclear weapons), and the President of Peru.
   He gets some good guests, that Charley Rose.
   I also read from various books.
   At 7:15 I left the building, taking my notebook with me, walking east on 6th to Gladys Park, for the 7:30 Drifters AA Meeting. 
   The San Fernando Valley contingent was there tonight, which our old friend Ron Collins occasionally attended. Tonight’s panel was headed by my ex-housemate, Randy Thompson.
   A tall, muscular black gentleman, Randy looks like The Hulk on steroids, but black instead of green. I first met him after leaving Pasadena, at the Canoga Park ARC. He had been the dock foreman, and I worked for him for a day or two when I first got there. We eventually became housemates at the ARC’s group home.
   I wrote while listening to Malcolm with 14 years, Kara with 7 months, and Terri and others. A friend, Mike, came up to me and told me of his efforts on getting into nursing school. At one point the Goodyear Blimp passed a couple of thousand feet directly above my head. It continued on to the southwest.
   After the meeting I returned to my room and the pizza rolls, which I consumed while watching a new sit-com on ABC, starring the lovely and talented Kelly Rippa, Regis Philbin’s co-host on a national morning talk show. I’d never seen her act before.
   She’s very pretty... and talented.
   Later, after reading enough to get sleepy, I changed the radio station from Mark and Brian’s KLOS, to the classical music station, KMZT, which I usually have playing while asleep, and which may be influencing my dreams in some strange and wonderful way... I don’t know.
   But as I was doing that, I noticed that the DJ on KLOS at the time, Jim Ladd (no relation to Alan or Cheryl... I think) was playing a block of old Jethro Tull songs (and I’m not talking about the 18th century agriculturist, who had never recorded any music as far as I know) which I had recently recorded myself. The music made me a tad nostalgic, instilling in me the desire to be with my girlfriend in a warm, cozy summer cottage during an overcast and rainy afternoon, near a fireplace, drinking  hot chocolate, and smoking a big doobie.
   That was a good feeling. Tull is good that way.
   When I went to sleep I dreamt of the first girl that I personally knew, that I had had a crush on (I hate using the same word twice in the same sentence, especially right next to each other, but I’m dreaming now, and too lazy to rephrase) while in grade school. A pretty, short haired blonde, 7 or 8 years old, named April Rolston. I had loved her from afar as I had been too shy to declare my intense admiration. We were in the same class at Colfax Elementary School in North Hollywood. She lived across the street from my friend, Byron Palmer (whose parents had been famous actors and performers. Byron’s dad, Byron had appeared in “The Best Things in Life Are Free,” and many other fine films, and appeared on Broadway and television. His mom, the lovely and talented Georgine Darcy, is someone you’ve probably seen yourselves dear readers, as she played the part of Miss Torso in Alfred Hitchcock’s classic, “Rear Window.” She was a blonde in that movie, but when I knew her she was a brunette... and liked to wander though her big house in her underwear a lot. She would pass away next year, on July 18th, 2004, at the age of 73, still married to her husband Byron. They were both very nice to me), and I would climb on the fence at Byron’s house, hoping April would catch a glimpse of my athletic prowess. 
   Someone must have told her that I liked her for one day she came up to me in class and said this, “I’ve heard you fancy me. Is that true?” Her brilliant blue eyes fluttered.
    “No,” I said, shaking my stupid head.
   What a dork I was, and remained until last February, or so. My whole life could have turned out differently if I had only answered her truthfully... that I adored her.
   But probably not. She would have used me and chucked me away as soon as she depleted me of all of my precious bodily fluids, just like all of the rest. Yep, especially those young blondes, they’re the one’s you really have to watch out for. They’ll tear your heart out, grind it up into pulpy bits, and hand it back to you with a smile on their pretty faces.
   Yeah, I did the right thing. Better to play it safe.
   In my dream April and I were in the school’s playground playing tetherball. She had just smashed one which came around me from behind smacking me in the back of the head hard. I hadn’t been paying attention because I had been staring at the school’s flagpole because the flag was half way down.
   “What happened?” April asked.
   A teacher came up to us, trying to gather all of the children in. She said, “It’s the President. He’s just been shot. In Texas. I think he’s dead.”

Saturday, May 31, 2014

Skid Row Diary 27



























19 September 2003   Friday    day 69


   “The corpse that scares you is walking around with you now. Underneath this thin coating of skin, we are already white bones. All of us - rich and poor, man and woman, honored and despised - walking white bones. In death there is no difference, so what do these differences matter now? Meditate on this and you will also find something the same in all of us that could not possibly die, because it was never born” -Tao Shan

   I made myself a nice smoked sausage sandwich for breakfast, utilizing a large French roll I had brought back with me from dinner last night. I used my last two sausages, cheese, and mustard. I had to wash off the white scum that was beginning to attack my sausages, before I zapped them in the old microwave. Such is life without a refrigerator. 
   I finished eating, and dressing and all, just in time to walk up to the VA Clinic, for Dr Lo’s group about groups. 
   Today we discussed groups... and goals, and that goals are a good thing to have. Especially for recovering addicts as we get so carried away with euphoric recall that we forget the bad things that happen to us when we were using, and the misery, just like women forget how painful it is to give birth and keep on having babies. We addicts selectively, but not consciously, remember just the good things, the fun we thought we were having... and sometimes we were having fun.
   A specific goal to help us remember is a good thing, and everybody should have a goal. I have many.
   One of them is to help bring a little sanity into the world, just a little, but that is a very difficult thing to achieve because of the prevalence of insanity, desperation, and denial which exists. Our leaders often act as if their in kindergarten. And my goal is more difficult due to the fact that I’m not all here myself. 
   But that’s no reason to stop trying.
   Another goal is to move away from Los Angeles, up north, to Monterey maybe, or Morro Bay. That goal is much easier to achieve than the first, and shall happen within the next year or two I hope, if I live that long.
   I felt like trying to be “a part of” today, and joined in the conversation to a large degree. It was a small group, seven or so, and no one was trying to dominate the group’s time, so it was rather easy to jump in now and then.
   Sam wasn’t around, or Earl, or whoever it was that referred people to the CWT program, so I left right after the meeting and checked my mail. John Manzano’s letter was waiting for me. I also stopped at the mental health office. Anthony was there today, finally. In fact he was behind the counter as I entered and I was able to give him the two forms I needed for him to fill out. I told him I’d be back at 1:30 to pick them up, and walked three blocks east to 6th and San Pedro, where the Weingart was located.
   I wasn’t particularly hungry. The smoked sausages had filled me up, as smoked sausages are want to do, so I skipped lunch. I went to my room and wrote, and listened to an interview on NPR, of the British singer/songwriter/actor David Bowie, a favorite of dinosaur rock and roll fans like me, and one of the few performers I’ve actually seen live, right at City Walk, where the movies are.
   I was a little surprised to learn that he really didn’t like to perform. I can’t say as I blame him.
   Anthony made me wait until 2:00 to get my forms back. No matter. I had brought “Floating Dragon,” with me so I had something to do while sitting in the crowded lobby with my fellow lunatics.
    My illness is designated by the abbreviation DSM IV-311. DSM meaning the “Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders,” IV designates the 4th Edition of such, and the 311 nails it down to Depressive Disorder Not Otherwise Specified (DD-NOS), which could mean just about anything really. 311 is often used because it takes quite a lot of effort and time make a more exact diagnosis, which doctors don’t like to do because they’re so busy and all.
   Always a good idea to know these things.
   I returned to my room and watched one of the videos that I had recently purchased, “The Dish,” starring Sam Neill, who can be an enormously affecting actor, if not altogether a brilliant one. I’m a fan though, and I wish we’d see more of him. 
   This film, “The Dish,” was a wonderful surprise. I’d seen a couple of scenes from it on HBO while staying at the Frontier Hotel, and knew it concerned a radio telescope (the dish in “The Dish”) in Australia, picking up the signals Apollo 11 sent back from the moon on July 20th, 1969. There were a few mishaps it seems. In general, I love Australian films. I even like films that were made in Australia. And I love the Australian culture, and their young women in their Australian space bikinis. Be that as it may, I’m a little prejudiced as I’ve visited the country on two occasions and was engaged to one of it’s citizens, but I truly enjoyed the warmth, humor, compassion, and passion of those I’ve met, and those who are depicted. It’s a rare thing to see a depressing Aussie movie. And I’ve so enjoyed the work of the British writer Nevil Shute, who relocated to Australia in th 50's and wrote one of my favorite books, “A Town Like Alice,” about a young English woman who while a prisoner of the Japanese during World War II in Malaysia, falls in love with an Aussie man, also a prisoner, and emigrates to Australia with him to make a life in small outback community, "a town like Alice" i.e. Alice Springs. A few years later he wrote “On the Beach,” which turned into one of my favorite films, starring Ava Gardner, Fred Astaire, and Gregory Peck, who passed away just last June. 
   Actually, “On the Beach,” is pretty depressing, but it was an American film, now wasn’t it (based on the work of a British/Australian author, which took place in Australia (for the most part))?
   “The Dish,” besides being very funny, and boasting a lively sound track of popular music from that era, also recreated the feeling that those of us who witnessed this event via television (the landing at  20:18, and Neil Armstrong’s first step on the surface at 2:56 Coordinated Universal Time). The film points out that it wasn’t only America, which sponsored this politically motivated response to the Soviets deployment of the Sputnik satellite, but the entire world uniting (even the Soviets) for just a brief moment, setting aside it’s immediate cares, and getting caught up in the tension, excitement, and the danger of the moment. I don’t think there was anyone alive at the time that wished those astronauts harm, or the mission to fail, or who wasn’t affected by our species first tentative step onto another world, and by extension, the universe.
   During his telephone call from the Oval Office, President Richard Nixon had this to say to the astronauts:
   “It inspires us to redouble our effort to bring peace and tranquility to Earth. For one priceless moment in the history of man, all the people of Earth are truly one.”
   It’s unfortunate that we are incapable of keeping this sentiment alive, and at the forefront of our thoughts.
   It’s also unfortunate that we’ve never really been to the moon, and all of this occurred on a sound stage at Warner Brothers in Burbank (just see the film “Capricorn 1“ for proof).
   I spent the evening reading and in deep meditation. I ate a big, fat filled 3 Musketeers Bar before going to sleep just after midnight, which may explain the dream I had of the lovely and talented Carl Sagan and Salma Hayek both attempting to explain to me the subtleties of quantum mechanics as applied to our daily lives, Bologna Detection Kits, and invisible dragons in America’s garages. 
   It was also unfortunate that I was somewhat distracted during this discussion (see picture above) and don’t remember anything at all of what they told me. 
   Fortunately, Carl wrote a book about it.


20 September    Saturday     Day 70


   I reached up from my bed. “What the fuck!” I quietly exclaimed to myself.
   I got up and showered. Today I would see my friend Aurica.
   While riding on the Red Line subway, I continued reading from “Floating Dragon.” At the 99 Store in Van Nuys, I re-stocked my supply of smoked sausages, as well as acquiring some nice spiced luncheon loaf (whatever that may be), sliced turkey breast (poor turkeys), 2 blank VCR tapes (at least one of which was defective), sliced fake American cheese, smoked cheddar and Monterey Jack cheese, two 3 Musketeers and Nestles Crunch bars (for the protein), two bottles of instant coffee, two cans of meatballs in tomato sauce, beef jerky (poor cows), one 6 once bottle of picante salsa, microwave and pre-popped popcorn, butter, and a dozen eggs (poor chickens).
   Live college football was on the telly (with horrid reception) as I entered the Trimar Center. I hadn’t seen football being displayed on the television there before. Not being as in tune with my Hunter/Gatherer ancient instincts as my fellow males, I would have rather watched a movie, as I assumed the female patrons would. 
   I read from the Peter Straub book.
   I only saw Aurica briefly. She was working in a different room than where I was donating. We did say hello, and she asked me is I’d been “busy at school.”
   I lied to her.
   Weight 181 pounds, pulse 87, blood pressure 130/70, height 5 feet 11 inches, sexual orientation yes, political affiliation Whig. The young lady who took my vital sings complained to me of her stomach distress, and that her doctor had advised that she get more sleep. She was having a little trouble getting enough sleep because she was too busy going out and partying. She looked like she hadn’t brushed her teeth in three weeks. 
   I let her know that I hoped she would feel better soon, and that I agreed with her doctor... like I’m one to talk.
   I almost left “Floating Dragon,” at Trimar! After buying a Super Lotto ticket at the 7/11 across the street, while waiting for the 165, I felt the absence of the book. There was only one place I could have left it and I decided to risk missing the next bus to retrieve it. Thank God nobody likes to read anymore, and my book was waiting for me at the front desk.
   And I made my bus, getting back to the Weingart by 4:00.
   Meat loaf for dinner. 
   I taped the demented lobotomist episode of “The X-Files,” then moved everything off of the floor of my room, including 7, 247, 861 cans of pasta products, and meatballs in tomato sauce, onto my bed and desk, in order to sweep and scrub. This took two hours or so. I am nothing if not conscientious. I used the Weingart disaster blanket Gary had given to me to pick up the excess soap and water I had used while scrubbing, then had to let it dry. My $14 fan had broken down a few days ago, so I propped my door open in order to aerate, with a device specifically designed for that purpose. 
   It is against the rules to prop open doors here at the Weingart. I don’t know why. The case workers, like Labrien, are allowed to prop open the doors to their offices. She has her door propped open all goddamn day!
   I watched a nice volcano movie starring the lovely and talented Lynda Carter while waiting for the floor to dry. She is probably best known  for her performance in 1991‘s “Posing: Inspired by Three Real Stories,” which of course concerned Playboy magazine. A true classic.
   It took about an hour to put everything back in place, onto my new clean floor and dusted desk. I rolled about on the floor for a good 30 minutes relishing in it’s sparkling cleanliness. 
   Then I wrote. I set my VCR’s timer to record “Trains, Planes, and Automobiles,” at 3:00a.m. on channel 13, and put in a fresh tape.
   And before going to sleep I read from the rescued “Floating Dragon,” while consuming a 3 Musketeers protein bar. 
   Then I dreamt I was hang gliding in Ithaca, New York, with Carl Sagan’s lovely widow, Ann Druyan. She was dressed in jeans with a “Skateboarding is Not a Crime” T shirt, and I was wearing a polka dot bikini. I don’t know why. It was kind of weird actually. My body is not suited for this kind of dress, but what can you do. 
   Ann was sipping on a Mai Tai while floating through the air. I was nursing a Dr. Pepper.
   And we were having a hell of a time.


21  September    Sunday   Day 71


   “I awakened, although I had not been asleep, but lay there in a semi-conscious state.” -Fyodor Dostoevsky

   I woke to a clarinet reaching for the slippery, piercing, 1st notes of Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue,” 
   It was 4:30a.m., and I leaped out of bed to try to get it on tape, but I could not get clear reception on the radio Gary had sold to me. Another radio station’s transmission kept cutting into kmozart’s. I filthered and tortured those radio knobs, but to no avail. I gave up after a brief eternity, and dripping with sweat, returned to the cold comfort of my empty bed.
   But not for long. I had slept fitfully, and soon it was time to get up and do some yoga and sit ups, hoping my heart would not burst, while listening to another rhapsody, this time the Swedish., by Hugo Alfvén. 
   I showered and got a load of laundry sorted. I read John Manzano’s letter, and would have relayed  what he had to say if I hadn’t misplaced it, although he reiterated his desire to come back to the downtown area. 
   Why did he leave in the first place? Good question. Because he’s a little sissy boy, that’s why.
   After putting my clothes in the dryer I meditated for 400 breaths, then made a nice spiced luncheon loaf sandwich for later. It would come in handy if I happened to get hungry at some time in the future for spiced luncheon loaf, no matter how improbably that was. 
   I moved my dead fan out of the room, placing it by the garbage can by the elevator. 
   Goodbye old friend. 
   Although summer does not end until the day after tomorrow, and Canoga Park will record a record 108 degrees out in the north west valley today, that fan had got me through most of the heat this year, cool and in one piece.
   I listened to a classical music program on KMZT, talking with accomplished, young musicians mostly in their early teens (like gymnasts, to play classical and excel (or any kind of musical instrument, or type), one must have demented parents who force you to start practicing early. It was on this program that I became aware of the hazards of playing the clarinet. I had been completely unaware of them until this time. I’m certainly aware of them now.
   At 9:30 I left the residence in such a rush that I forgot my sunglasses, leaving them upstairs. I was forced to us my emergency “John Lennon” glasses that I keep in my utility belt, and which have no nose guard. 
   Even after stopping at the 99 Cent Store at MacArthur Park for sodas, I arrived at City Walk and the movie theater an hour early. I sat up on the second level near Tommy’s and watched music videos on the outdoor Panasonic television monitor they have there, until it was time to go in. Rooney, Cooler Kids, Scotty Emerick, Sinead Lohan, Something Corporate, Black Eyed Peas (which I have to say was pretty good despite my intense hatred of Rap. I even hate to capitalize the word ”Rap” There I’ve done it again!), Caetano Veloso, Nickelback, U2, and Rufus Wainwright’s rendition of John Lennon’s “Across the Universe.” 
   It is a sad testament to this modern generation of song writers and performers that the Beatles song was the best of the samples. This, I surmised, was undeniable proof that the 60s, 70s, and early 80s spawned the best rock songs ever, and that music videos and the advent of VH1 and MTV ruined popular music.
   Prove me wrong!
   At 11:30 I entered theater number 10 to see “Underworld,” starring the lovely and talented Kate Beckinsale, in a documentary of epic proportions, recounting the recent hostilities between our Lycan and Vampire brothers and sisters in 2001. This was just before both sides developed nuclear capabilities, a time in which the world trembled as if sitting atop a lighted powder keg. Oh, can’t we all just get along!? 
   Well directed, acted, and produced, I was pleasantly surprised at how much I enjoyed this film. All the characters looked as if they were refuges from the Matrix, all decked out in black, skintight spandex (a nice polyurethane-polyurea copolymer, brought to us by the good people at Dupont). 
   There was not a single ounce of humor in this dark work (no daytime shots. I thought I was back in “Dark City,” floating between suns on top of a giant spacecraft), as befitting the seriousness of the subject matter, and although the musical score was at times rather oppressive, I was swept away by the film, and no one can ask more than that.
   Could have used a tad more action though.
   And the film’s premise was completely feasible... except for the werewolves and vampires.
   “Second Hand Lions” starring Kyra Sedgwick (married to her 9th cousin, once removed, Kevin Bacon), was just an excuse to get two veteran actors together to see what they could do  (Michael Caine and Robert Duvall). 
   Duvall, who along with Jack Nicholson, are probably the two best male American actors who haven’t died off yet and are still working, is not known for his work in comedy, and this film is a great example why. I don’t think he knows what comedic timing and pace means, and in all fairness, I don’t think he could have made much of this contrived mess if he did.
   “Cabin Fever,” starring Cerina Vincent,  which I accidentally walked in on, was not as horrible as Ebert and Roper would have you believe, however it was intensely stupid. Everything about this film was stupid, and all of the characters (except Cerina of course) were too stupid to live, and deserved what happened to them (except Cerina... and Jordan Ladd, daughter of Cheryl. Everybody... everybody died in this film, even you and me supposedly Don’t drink the water!), except the two girls. They were very nice (they had stupid boyfriends though).
   I returned to the Weingart and my room, and for some stupid reason (“Cabin Fever” made me stupid) I watched the Emmy Awards, which is intrinsically hampered by having the same actors win, year after year. A notable exception was Debra Messing’s much deserved win for Best Actress in a Comedy. 
   Even though I’m not caught up in the current “Will and Grace” craze, I think Debra is great.
   A huge injustice was done to the beautiful and talented actress Uma Thurman (who doesn’t look half bad in spandex herself), who wasn’t even nominated for her performance in “Hysterical Blindness” (she did win a Golden Globe, but those things are a dime a dozen. Ben Gazzara and Gena Rowlands won Emmys for Best Supporting Actor and Actress). 
   I was shocked and appalled, and will never, ever watch the Emmys again.
   Helen Mirren lost as well! What color is the sky these Emmy people live in?!
   The Emmy Award show preempted “The X-Files,” which is another reason not to watch them. 
   Actually “The X-Files” was postponed. I was forced to stay up to 2:00 in order to see the gripping climax of that three part episode I’ve been taping. And do you know what that big climax was? It’s well that you ask, my dear friends. 
   Agent Scully gives Mulder a kiss on the forehead.  
   I didn’t even get to see a little slap on the ass for all of my trouble, and to send me off into pleasant dreams.     
   Instead I dreamt I was a Lycan in the Underworld, with Kate  Beckinsale, Debra Messing, and Aja, the beautiful and talented star of “Timeless,” “Habits of the Heart,” and other fine films.
   They vamped me.


22 September    Monday   Day 72


   Mark Thompson, of Mark and Brian, didn’t like “Cabin Fever” either. He thought it was stupid.
   Brian Phelps, of Mark and Brian, said he had just seem “Terminator 3,” and liked it. “Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines,” came out in early July, making Brian a tad behind the times.
   Too much geezer golf.
   Giselle was decked out in a marvelous short black skirt and white blouse. Simply marvelous.
   I had gotten up at 5:00, and by the time breakfast came around was rather hungry. 
   Dry waffles.
   I prefer my waffles wet.
   Yesterday I had done something I hadn’t done for two years, cook myself some eggs. I used the microwave to cook them, the first batch consisting of 3 eggs (of various colors), a chopped up smoked sausage, cheese and hot sauce. 
   The secret to cooking eggs in a microwave oven is to do it in stages. Cook for 35 seconds, stir them up (a ring of cooked egg will form around the bowl), heat for another 25 seconds, stir again, then add the cheese, cook some more until done, leaving them just a little runny as the eggs will continue to cook after being taken out of the oven. 
   They were wonderful, although they probably would have tasted better, purer at least, without the sausage. As an addict I tend to believe that more of something will make anything better. Left to my own devices I’ve made omelets with so many various ingredients there was no room for the eggs.
   I displayed more restraint (proof that I’m getting better) when I made a 2nd batch in the evening, and again, later today, when I returned from my journeys.
   First stop was One Stop. I was there when it opened and was able to get some free computer time on the Internet, looking up several items of interest, none of which had anything to do with finding work. I did send my resume to 4 or 5 places, and faxed my mental health evaluation to the DPSS.
   DSM IV, 311: Depressive Order (NOS) Not Otherwise Specified. essential features: A disorder with depressive features that does not meet the criteria for one of the mood disorders. Adjustment Disorder with Depressed Mood, or Adjustment Disorder with Anxiety and Depressed Mood. 
   How depressing.
   Anyway, after leaving One Stop, I took the Dash to the V.A. Clinic mainly to just use the restroom. I say “just,” but at the time it all seemed rather imperative.
   I can’t seem to get together with the referral guy at ASAP. Drastic action is in order.
   I took another Dash back downtown, after which I walked to the Skid Row Housing Trust housing office to turn in another form from mental health. Still no openings they told me. I shall need to press the issue soon, but not now... not now.
   I walked to the Central Library and looked up the DSM IV information. I also found a library card that someone had dropped by the catalogue computers near the main entrance. I used it to check out Peter Straub’s “The Hellfire Club,” Frank Herbert’s “Hellstrom's Hive,” Whitley Strieber’s homage to H.P. Lovecraft “The Forbidden Zone,” Dickens “A Christmas Carol,” a scholarly work on Joyce’s “Ulysses,” a “Special Forces Guide to Unarmed Combat,” and Stephen Hawking’s “Theory of Everything.”
   I’m despicable.
   And I shall have to return these books on time (in three weeks), as I can’t stand the idea that the lost card belonged to a child, who after misplacing it, found that a couple of hundred dollars worth of unreturned books had been checked out on it. 
   I’m moral yet despicable.
   I took this bounty back to my room and began reading from Herbert’s book, “Hellstrom’s Hive.” I’ve read it before and found it fascinating. In it the author of “Dune,” had created a hive society, based on the behavior of insects, in an immense, underground facility in Oregon, where 50,000 “workers” lived and bred. Nothing illegal in that I suppose, except for zoning laws of course, and that none of those who lived there had social security numbers, or cards, or appeared in the national census, or were registered for the draft. Except for that there was nothing illegal going on.
   A tale of the ultimate form of communism, I suppose. It reminded me of A. Harbinson’s “Genesis,” where another scientifically advanced society of slaves located in the antarctic prospered, and which is always one or two steps ahead of whatever authorities may be sniffing about.
   Both books would make fine films.
   I would have liked to know a bit more of the hive’s origen, which is only alluded to in Herbert’s book, but it’s a good read if you’re into that sort of thing.
   Many are.
   I meditated, exercised, yogaed, wrote.
   At 8:00 I watched a depressing John Candy movie on KPXN, “Only the Lonely,” featuring the last theatrical film performance of the incomparable Maureen O'Hara (up to now), one of my very favorite actresses. Anthony Quinn was in there too, and Ally Sheedy.
   Then at 10:00, the premier of “Las Vegas,” on NBC aired, which I watched only because another of my favorite actresses, Nikki Cox, starred in it. She was, in my unbiased opinion, the best thing about the show. I didn’t even mind the fact that she was wearing more clothes than I’m used to seeing her in.
   Jordan’s mom, Cheryl, was in it as well, another lovely and talented lady, probably best known for her role in “Satan's School for Girls.” 
   And James Cann, who is unlovely, but not without appeal.
   But if it were not for Nikki, who I’d be happy to watch brushing her teeth (I’m so sick. I thought I was getting better. The eggs proved it, didn’t they?), I wouldn’t have watched it. I’ve already seen “Casino.”
   I went to sleep soon after the movie, and dreamt of two fiery redheads.  
   Maureen O'Hara, Nikki Cox, and I were in a casino in Las Vegas, playing poker at one of the many tables that they have there. I was the dealer. 
   The two beautiful and talented ladies soon ran out of money, but didn’t want to stop playing trying to win their funds back. 
   “Oh please Mr. Rick, can’t you give us some credit,” Maureen pleaded.
   “Yes, please,” Nikki added. “I have to have some money to get home.”
   “I’m sorry ladies. House rules you know.”
   “Please,” they both cried.
   How could I refuse. 
   “Alright,” I said,” I’ll tell you what I can do. We’ll play one more hand, and if you win you get your money back.”
   “Oh, thank you. Thank you,” they cried.
   “But if I win...” And I told them what I got if I won, which involved some horseback riding. Hey, it’s a dream.
   And even in dreams the house always wins.