Will Work For Housing/Food

Coming on three weeks of homelessness and hunger. The response so far? One offer to sleep in my car (don't have one) for a fee to park it, two offers of prostitution (contingent on photos), and multiple (lost count) responses of I don't believe you, and I'm sure it isn't so bad, and you never know what's around the corner, and I just want you to tell me you're alive (so I don't feel any guilt - it's all about me and really not about you at all. Hey, I asked, didn't I? That's helping - sort of - well, who cares - it's the thought that counts, right?).

The Royal Bank of Scotland commercials get it.





Suicide is the only escape. For real. There is no recovery from homelessness, from black listing, from whistle blowing.

Hope is false. Optimism is delusional.

And suicide hotline that promised anonymity and then called the cops? They can't find us ghosts who don't have an address to trace. Liars.

All In the Family

Check the brothers Agwunobi: John and Andrew

John Agwunobi was a Bush HHS appointee (had the rank of Admiral in the Public Health Service and was an assistant Sec. of HHS) under Michael Leavitt: totally bollixed pandemic flu planing public health information - used Greg Dworkin (Dem from CT) to front for him on the bogus HHS Pandemic Flu Leadership Blog. Here's good old Johnnie backstroking to try to close the gap between the false information that he spewed on the blog and Greg's "reality has a liberal bias" blog contributions.

Last week I met Dr. Greg Dworkin - in the flesh - at the HHS Pandemic Leadership Forum. It was nice to put a face to the man whose postings I have read on this blog. His comments at the forum highlighted his unique insight into the importance of the flu blogging community. As founder of FluWiki, Greg is clearly a respected “elder” in the pandemic influenza blogging community. He has helped me understand the power and unique importance of the flu blogging community and its collective voice.

I have learned a lot from the comments I have read on the blog and my conversation with Greg last week. In my first posting, it was not my intention to dissuade advanced preparation or to down play the gravity of pandemics. Advanced preparedness is critical and individual preparedness and a culture of self sufficiency are essential. No one can afford to wait until after an emergency begins in order to prepare.

No one can predict with certainty what the next pandemic will look like. There are no guarantees or promises that can be made regarding its impact on society. The next pandemic may be mild, as in 1957 and 1968, severe, as in 1918, or somewhere in between. The next pandemic could even be worse than 1918. There is simply no way of knowing.

It’s important to know that the Federal government alone cannot respond to and address the unique challenges brought on by a pandemic. We are urging a sense of shared responsibility, as it is the only way we can help each other, those less fortunate, and ourselves. Shared responsibility includes all levels of government, private sector, civic organizations, businesses, faith-based communities, education sector, communities, families, and individuals.

He recently resigned from his wingnut welfare job at the HHS and went directly to Wal-Mart as its new "Director for Health/Wellness" - selling the point of care retail health clinics and putting spin on horrible worker health insurance benefits.

John's brother is Andrew Agwunobi, who appeared in the WSJ report 10/25 about the WellCare raids. The brothers have almost identical histories: med school, MBAs, then political appointments as wunderkinds - all courtesy of the Bush clan.

Current and former WellCare officials have been unloading shares as the company's share price climbed higher and higher, the WSJ reports. The company, which provides managed care plans for Medicare and Medicaid patients, was raided by federal agents yesterday, and its stock tumbled today.

Andrew Agwunobi, who now heads Florida's Medicaid agency, served on WellCare's board from June until December 2006 and sold $1 million worth of shares in December of 2006, according to an SEC filing. Agwunobi wasn't immediately available for comment, the WSJ said.

The Atlanta Daily World story includes a picture of Andrew Agwunobi and more of his bio.

Agwunobi joined Grady on June 1, 2003. Dr. Andy, as he has become affectionately known, has been on the forefront of change for the health system during a very difficult period faced with financial challenges.
"We have been fortunate to have had the leadership, energy and skills of this remarkably talented individual at the helm of Grady during this sensitive period in the history of the health system," Brown said. "He will leave a legacy to be remembered and admired."
During his short tenure, Agwunobi negotiated the potential merger of Hughes Spalding Children's Hospital with Children's Healthcare of Atlanta, launched a public information and transparency campaign to raise awareness and brand the health system, oversaw a portfolio analysis with KPMG to identify financial strengths and weaknesses in all service areas in Grady, created a plan to grow revenues within the profitable service areas to help fund the mission of Grady Health System, created a plan to eliminate services to the uninsured who live outside DeKalb and Fulton counties (ed. note - my emphasis), served as a catalyst for philanthropic support, improved pharmacy operations and won much recognition and praise.
Grady's new interim chief also has a list of accomplishments and awards that are numerous. They include being the past chairman of the board of the Georgia Hospital Association, past regent of the American College of Healthcare Executives, service on the regional policy board of the American Hospital Association, the board of the Atlanta Chamber of Commerce and the board of the Georgia Chamber of Commerce.

How's that for stories of heartwarming and pocket-picking brotherly love?

Admit One

I'm working on a novel outline for this year's National Novel Writing Month: NaNoWriMo.

Something wicked this way comes. A synopsis of the plot I'm working on:

A very conservative senator who may or may not resemble Inhofe from OK - known for untreated strain of Bush rabies, anti-science and boot strapping non-torture has a businessman Bush pioneer brother-in-law. B-I-L has an auto accident (he may or may not have imbibed a beer or two hours before the accident). He is med-flighted to his state's premier level one trauma center where he is treated for his traumatic brain injury, multiple fractures, blunt chest and abdominal trauma (of course he doesn't wear a seat belt, and yes there is a gun rack in his dually -why do you ask?) by a crew of conservative emergency department physicians and nurses.

After maxing out his insurance bennies (with lots of hilarity during the claims denials and appeals process), he incurs enough debt and slowly goes bankrupt. The senator, meanwhile, of course, is still voting to kill children via S-CHIP vetoes. He follows the twin religions of fundamentalist xtian dominionism and Bush boot strap conservatism.

As B-I-L is discharged and tries to get into a rehab facility to treat his TBI, he rooms with an Iraq veteran who is also suffering from untreated TBI's who was drummed out of the Army with a Chapter 5-13 general discharge.

More hilarity ensues.

The ending?

Haven't decided yet - but consider the possibilities: red state turns blue, homelessness, joblessness, homicide, suicide, domestic violence, conversion of the heathen from Repubs to progressives....

Whaddya think?

Also - in the hospital subplot, patient delays based on reimbursement source and diagnosis will predominate, the schism of faux nurse leaders who are organizational prostitutes instead of nurse advocates will have a supporting role, and passive aggressive nurses who blame everyone except themselves for their working conditions (who needs collective bargaining or self-governance?) will get some face time.

Who's the hero/ heroine? Stay tuned.

NaNoWriMo begins at 0001 on November 1. Watch for updates.

Street Walker

Weeks on the street have proved several truths: the homeless are ghosts - invisible, unseen, unheard and ignored. Not human, not fully counted - not even 3/5ths.

They - we - haunt in broad daylight.

Life in the Balance

She looked at the entry labeled simply, "help". Opening, then snapping closed the cell phone, she vacillated.

But then, with nothing risked, she clicked the entry and listened while the number rang. And rang. And rang.

The telephonic greeting was just as artificial and plastic and unreal as every other business non-greeting greeting. After ignoring the instructions to push one if Spanish was desired, she simply sat mutely with the phone to her ear, but hearing nothing.

Three times there was a long silence while a disembodied robotic voice instructed patience during the call transfer to who knows where.

"Can I help you?" a fuzzy voice queried in a slow, unanimated voice.

"I don't know if you can. I'm looking for a reason not to commit suicide."

"What?" the man's flat response half questioned, half dismissed.

"I can't find a reason not to commit suicide."

"You are looking for a reason NOT to commit suicide?"

"Yes."

Silence. And more silence.

"Do you want to commit suicide?"

"No. I don't have a reason not to."

"Do you have friends?"

"No one."

Silence

"Do you have family?"

"No."

""

""

"Do, uh, er, you have a job?"

"No. I whistle blew and was fired. I've been blacklisted, and I can't compete for any job."

""

""

"Where are you living?"

"I'm homeless."

"Are there shelters?"

"I won't go to a shelter."

"Oh."

"How old are you?"

"50."

"That's not too old to get a job. Can you work at McDonalds?"

"My hand doesn't work. I can't physically do that kind of job. But I have applied for jobs requiring no skill set. I'm over qualified. No one who sees my resume or work history will hire me for an unskilled job."

"You could work for a hotel. You know - cleaning rooms."

"I can't lift and do that work. I have bad arthritis."

"You could go to an employment bureau."

"I can find open jobs. I can't compete for them. I've been blacklisted. I played by all the rules, and I can't sustain myself."

""

""

"Maybe you could get disability."

"I am not disabled in my field. I wouldn't qualify. I don't fit any need category."

"Oh."

""

""

""

"I won't take any more of your time. Thank you for speaking with me."

"You're welcome," said the uninterested, but relieved voice.

As I thought and now have verified. Worthless. I have no reason to prolong this unending suffering.

If Music Is Played In A Deserted Hall, Does It Make Any Sound?

Jordan Hall is a literal gorgeous music box of a hall. The acoustics are stunning - every seat in the house feels intimate with the performers, and the music washes over and through the audience.

Boston has its share of music venues, but Jordan Hall is special. Its entire program season is underwritten by generous philanthropic gifts, and so the admission price is - zero! The New England Conservatory of Music calls Jordan Hall home, and one would expect to find the not-quite-comfortable - but-just-right-for-staying-alert seats to be filled to overflowing.

One would expect, but one would be very wrong.

Tuesday evening found a two-thirds filled hall of appreciative listeners for the piano and viola duo of Robert Levin and Kim Kashkashian, respectively. They transported us into far away places with JS Bach's Sonate No. 3 in G Minor, BWV 1029; with Benjamin Britten's Lachrymae, Op. 48 (Reflections on a song by John Dowland); with Carlos Guastavino's Se equivoco la paloma, Abismo de sed, Pampamapa, Bonita rama de sauce and La Rosa y el sauce.

While savoring those over the intermission, the chimes rang to call us back for the remainder of the program. We were enchanted by Alberto Ginastera's Triste and cancion a la luna lunanca. Next, Enrique Granados' El majo olvidado and El majo descreto lfew out and around us. Carlos Lopez Buchardo's Oye me llanto and Prendiditos de la mano followed.

Just when it seemed that we were being carried to lands of sun and warmth and tender memories, Levin and Kashkashian gently led us on their magic carpet back to the romance of Johannes Brahms and the Sonata in F Minor, Op. 120, no.1.

The applause was insistent, and the standing ovation was heartfelt. The encore was light, loving and a real gift back tot he audience - what little there was of us.

Wednesday evening, I arrived to find a hall only one quarter occupied. And to those of you who didn't bother to attend, you missed an amazing performance of the self-led (conductor-less) NEC Chamber Orchestra. The began with Handal's Concerto Grosso in d Minor Op. 6, no. 10, HWV 328, changed gears completely with Frank Martin's Etudes for String Orchestra, and then finished the evening with Piotr Ilych Tchaikovsky's Serenade in C Major, Op. 48.

You can enjoy a sampling of Frank Martin's work for yourself, again courtesy of the New England Conservatory of Music.

Thursday evening, the rain kept just about everyone away from the music hall, and this time Boston missed two gems: the composers Peter Child and Barbara Kolb were in the audience. Glass listened to the premiers of his work, Triptych, and Kolb was pleased with the performance of her All in Good time. Charles Peltz got the best of his performers, who are obviously enamored of him.

He began the program with Six Dances from the Dansyre by Tylman Susato, and bang! There we were in the 16th century!

Mozart's Divertimento in E-Flat, K. 166 followed, and one could almost hear the sounds of dining in the Great Hall as we time travelled to the 18th century.

Glass' Triptych whizzed us to the present, and then we hopped a couple of squares back to revisit the twentieth century for Darius Milhaud's from Suite Francaise: Bretagne and Alcace-Lorraine before finishing with a thunderclap of Kolb's All in Good time.

Boston better get with it if it wants to cultivate musicians and classical music.

Money isn't the sole means of supporting the arts. People must attend, learn about the music, the musicians and the aspirations of the venues producing artists.

An empty house is a devastating message to send musicians, faculty and their communities.

Each and every musician, composer, conductor, teacher and supporter deserves at least a modicum of support from its neighbors.

Does Boston no longer field a body of people who appreciate music and the pursuit of it?

TC Hate Crime IS Terrorism

There was a hate crime at TC earlier this week. Teachers College - the graduate school of education at Columbia University - is where I took my masters and doctorate. I enjoyed my time there and appreciated what the education I received did for me personally.

To read that some sick soul placed a hangman's noose on the door of an African-American professor makes me physically ill, but not perhaps for just its threat to her.

I have been threatened - explicitly threatened - several times over with death. By an elected official and by an adjoining property owner who land-locked my property, as well as by being assaulted by another adjoining property owner.

I have been stalked, threatened, harassed, had my home broken into and vandalized - I think by local law enforcement as well as private individuals, had my property defaced, vandalized, destroyed and ruined by elected officials and private individuals who were organized and informed me of that, and I was threatened by agents of a law enforcement agency and officers of the court.

In my world, there are no good guys. All of the white hats are bad guys in disguise. I have been threatened with loaded weapons pointed at me, with a post hole digger swung like a baseball bat at my head, and by people shooting weapons behind tree lines, so that I could hear that I was in firing range, but I couldn't see where the firing was coming from.

Neighbors had motion detectors operable so that they were alerted whenever I left my house, entered my farm buildings or moved around my property.

Sometimes they shouted obscenities from the road which was just feet away from my front windows. Sometimes they blasted hate radio so loud that I couldn't hear someone literally speaking into my ear. Sometimes when I called the sheriff's department just to have a record, the responding deputy would allow the tresspassers onto the property, and on one occasion, a deputy pointed out my security camera locations to a terrorist. Sometimes they just tresspassed and swore at me at my own home.

They peered into my windows. They intruded into every aspect of my life.

They followed visitors in their cars and trucks and blocked them in my driveway. They swore at me when I was outside with visitors. They scared everyone, and they scared me, so I stopped having visitors. I didn't want anyone to be hurt or intimidated.

Those who knew - and know - what happened - did nothing.

They terrorized.

They still do.

So learning that terrorists have invaded a school that I found refuge in for its academic rigor and freedom of ideas and expression causes real grief and anger and - terror. For the professor who is the victim of it, and for me, because I feel terror every day. It wakes me every night. I am never free of it and never without it. It has sickened me, and I hope for her sake, that the culprit is found.