Medicaid Country: Dawn In Rural America
Call 866-246-9371 and urge your Senator to REJECT the Better Care Reconciliation Act, which unfairly affects HIV-positive Medicaid recipients, and weakens consumer protections....
Showing posts with label poverty-shaming. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poverty-shaming. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 27, 2017
Sunday, February 28, 2016
I Asked Someone For Spare Change and Was Told To Get a Job
Thank God at least one of us was using his brain. No wonder he's where he's at and I'm where I'm at...
"It’s called Housing First, because 'You have to have a home first. It’s pretty hard to solve your personal problems when you’re living under a park bench.'"
(I can't believe this approach is revolutionary, and yet of course it is. All these degrading and mortifying programs that society persists in implementing from San Francisco to New York, programs modeled on first "fixing" what's wrong with people, and that people in need must be forced to change their maladaptive, undesirable behavior before they've earned the privilege of housing -- a mindset many unthinkingly share and assume we should all just go along with -- these programs have always put the cart before the horse, and in addition are highly ineffective and counterproductive. An imperfect socioeconomic system, economic inequality, and institutionalized prejudice and injustice are the main root causes of poverty. It is pointless and monstrous to blame poor choices made by the poor. Paternalizing, uninformed and arrogant meddling, and human inertia among those in a position to render aid cannot continue. And by the way, homelessness is the problem of those who are homeless but would rather not be -- it is not the problem of people whose ill-considered aesthetics, inexcusably fragile sensibilities, and inability to cope with reality are offended insofar as they perceive and are aware of the homeless; the latter group has real problems that are best addressed by swift kicks in the ass.)
"It’s called Housing First, because 'You have to have a home first. It’s pretty hard to solve your personal problems when you’re living under a park bench.'"
(I can't believe this approach is revolutionary, and yet of course it is. All these degrading and mortifying programs that society persists in implementing from San Francisco to New York, programs modeled on first "fixing" what's wrong with people, and that people in need must be forced to change their maladaptive, undesirable behavior before they've earned the privilege of housing -- a mindset many unthinkingly share and assume we should all just go along with -- these programs have always put the cart before the horse, and in addition are highly ineffective and counterproductive. An imperfect socioeconomic system, economic inequality, and institutionalized prejudice and injustice are the main root causes of poverty. It is pointless and monstrous to blame poor choices made by the poor. Paternalizing, uninformed and arrogant meddling, and human inertia among those in a position to render aid cannot continue. And by the way, homelessness is the problem of those who are homeless but would rather not be -- it is not the problem of people whose ill-considered aesthetics, inexcusably fragile sensibilities, and inability to cope with reality are offended insofar as they perceive and are aware of the homeless; the latter group has real problems that are best addressed by swift kicks in the ass.)
Monday, January 25, 2016
Old Beach Haven Ain't My Home
The old bolsheviks admonished us to kill all the landlords, but in my opinion (one echoing the experiences of Woodie Guthrie), low-income housing profiteers are the worst. It's ugliest in the middle echelons. #TNDC.
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
Who Didn't See This Coming
I've said it before: if you're on welfare, that's pretty damn rough, and I don't begrudge you any drugs you want to do. Besides, nobody proposing the drug testing of welfare recipients has a fucking clue about behavioral healthcare, addiction, or the root causes of poverty.
Anyway, cocaine is a helluva drug...
Anyway, cocaine is a helluva drug...
Saturday, November 28, 2015
Sanders For President
"Our country is not going broke from feeding the poor and caring for the elderly, it's from all the huge tax cuts for the ultra-rich, and subsidies for their corporations."
Thursday, November 26, 2015
Do You Know Where You're Going To?
This Thanksgiving I'm curling up with my favorite holiday movie -- one in which Diana Ross has all sorts of adventures in a magical realm. No, I'm not talking about THE WIZ. I'm talking about MAHOGANY (1975). Mahogany was such a mean, hateful bitch. Does she get her comeuppance? Is there a happy end? You have to watch to find out. My favorite quotes:
"I'm a winner, baby. You're a loser." To Billy Dee Williams.
"My saints are a camera and a gun. They're both fiercely truthful." Sean
I hate Mahogany. I'd love to see her get her just desserts.
"I'm a winner, baby. You're a loser." To Billy Dee Williams.
"My saints are a camera and a gun. They're both fiercely truthful." Sean
I hate Mahogany. I'd love to see her get her just desserts.
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
Dad At Colusa Regional Medical Center
When I was a little boy, my father would always tell me, "Life isn't fair." But he was wrong, like he proved to be wrong about everything. Life is exceedingly fair, and no one gets away with anything for very long. My mother was more correct: "It always catches up with you in the end and kicks your ass." Whose to say? It's not about naivete or cynicism, delusion or realism. It's beyond blame and fault. It's about memory. How does our memory serve us?
In most non-sociopaths, memory is a faulty thing. Better to rely on faith than on memory. I personally have a memory like that of an elephant. I can't remember specific calender dates (making me a bad plaintiff), but I can remember the tone and gist of what's come to pass. I'm kind of unique. (Also, I smell funny to some people, but that is a nonsequitur...)
If memory serves, I was subject to abuse at the hands of those who had me as their charge to keep. I was mistreated, invaded, assaulted, constrained, and tormented. I was subjected to chemical restraint at Saint Francis Medical Center in San Francisco -- illegal in the state of California. I was told by the property management at 230 Eddy, "I don't want to know why you're qualified to live in subsidized housing. Then I'd be guilty of discrimination." I was told by my social worker at San Francisco's General Hospital's Ward 86 (get it? You're 86'd: the last bar you can be thrown out of in San Francisco) -- I was told this: that in the case where I was powerless against the powerful, I was to blame for the situation in which I found myself. The only defense those who did these things had was that it left no physical mark besides the cigarette burns I inflicted on myself in order to obey the voices, using pain to anchor myself in reality to save myself.
But this is not about me. A lot has been about me, but this is about everyone but me. I've never needed a boyfriend I could cuddle with more in my life. I'd even sleep with Matthew Barney right now if it meant a modicum of comfort and a transient moment of bliss. I'm so blind to the world of cause and effect sometimes, no matter how in it I am mired.
So my dad left the hospital against medical advice. At least, that's their story and he's abiding by it. There's only these key pieces of evidence I have: he was non-ambulatory patient who for months had threatened to leave, and had accused staff of holding him against his will, but only last night did they call and say, "He's threatening to leave against medical advice." I told them, "So all you have to do is refuse to assist him in leaving. No sweat." Then this morning, I got a call from dad saying he was at the casino and needed a ride home. I assumed it was a bullshit call. I phoned the medical center's skilled nursing facility and asked the nurses station, which is right next to my dad's room,, "Is he still there?"
She put me on hold. Big tell.
She came back on the line to say he left AMA. I swear to God (of whom the sociopaths have a certainty -- bless their hearts -- and in whom the rest of us have to gin up faith), I'm going to get a lawyer (possibly via this blog post) and have a case. We are a poor, well-educated family which has always turned it's nose up at litigation. But this smells like an out-of-court settlement situation.
What do you, the Perry Mason fans at home think?
In most non-sociopaths, memory is a faulty thing. Better to rely on faith than on memory. I personally have a memory like that of an elephant. I can't remember specific calender dates (making me a bad plaintiff), but I can remember the tone and gist of what's come to pass. I'm kind of unique. (Also, I smell funny to some people, but that is a nonsequitur...)
If memory serves, I was subject to abuse at the hands of those who had me as their charge to keep. I was mistreated, invaded, assaulted, constrained, and tormented. I was subjected to chemical restraint at Saint Francis Medical Center in San Francisco -- illegal in the state of California. I was told by the property management at 230 Eddy, "I don't want to know why you're qualified to live in subsidized housing. Then I'd be guilty of discrimination." I was told by my social worker at San Francisco's General Hospital's Ward 86 (get it? You're 86'd: the last bar you can be thrown out of in San Francisco) -- I was told this: that in the case where I was powerless against the powerful, I was to blame for the situation in which I found myself. The only defense those who did these things had was that it left no physical mark besides the cigarette burns I inflicted on myself in order to obey the voices, using pain to anchor myself in reality to save myself.
But this is not about me. A lot has been about me, but this is about everyone but me. I've never needed a boyfriend I could cuddle with more in my life. I'd even sleep with Matthew Barney right now if it meant a modicum of comfort and a transient moment of bliss. I'm so blind to the world of cause and effect sometimes, no matter how in it I am mired.
So my dad left the hospital against medical advice. At least, that's their story and he's abiding by it. There's only these key pieces of evidence I have: he was non-ambulatory patient who for months had threatened to leave, and had accused staff of holding him against his will, but only last night did they call and say, "He's threatening to leave against medical advice." I told them, "So all you have to do is refuse to assist him in leaving. No sweat." Then this morning, I got a call from dad saying he was at the casino and needed a ride home. I assumed it was a bullshit call. I phoned the medical center's skilled nursing facility and asked the nurses station, which is right next to my dad's room,, "Is he still there?"
She put me on hold. Big tell.
She came back on the line to say he left AMA. I swear to God (of whom the sociopaths have a certainty -- bless their hearts -- and in whom the rest of us have to gin up faith), I'm going to get a lawyer (possibly via this blog post) and have a case. We are a poor, well-educated family which has always turned it's nose up at litigation. But this smells like an out-of-court settlement situation.
What do you, the Perry Mason fans at home think?
Saturday, July 25, 2015
Personal Gossip About A Private, Reclusive Woman
"I just love Syd. She knows exactly who to snub. And opinions! Honey, that girl has an opinion on everything and everyone. Just ask her if you don't know what to think, and she'll tell you. And she's so frugal with other people's money -- she should have an MBA from Bennington..."
Thursday, July 23, 2015
Not That I Would Begrudge Anyone On Welfare Their Drugs, But...
...This story cinches it. I told you drug-testing welfare applicants was impractical, unworkable, and insensible, not to mention demeaning to those already going through the undignified and stigmatized process of getting on welfare. Shame on Arizona -- the money spent on drug-testing people who are in crisis could have been spent on those people, instead of spent insulting everybody.
(And to those who would say the welfare application process cannot take away one's dignity or be demeaning unless one chooses it to be, all I can say is that I envy that person's self-awareness and self-mastery. I myself used to think I knew my own heart pretty well, but looking back over it all, I'm not so sure I'm as familiar with my emotional landscape and all the feelings that such a situation can bring about as I thought I was.)
(And to those who would say the welfare application process cannot take away one's dignity or be demeaning unless one chooses it to be, all I can say is that I envy that person's self-awareness and self-mastery. I myself used to think I knew my own heart pretty well, but looking back over it all, I'm not so sure I'm as familiar with my emotional landscape and all the feelings that such a situation can bring about as I thought I was.)
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