It’s all a &^$*ing load of $#!^

 Posted by at 21:36  Plain 'ol Cantankerous, principles, Problems and solutions, rants
Mar 232021
 

So my son has decided that this world is not good enough for him. Damn 17 year olds and High School anyway. We got to deal with him being sullen and bitchy through December, and finally getting violent toward his younger brother. That led to a round of mental health intervention, and a visit to his doctor. That didn’t go so well, and we had to watch him and put away all of the kitchen knives and ropes and medicine and other things that he could hurt himself with.

But that wasn’t enough for my son, no, he had to get to the doctor again and scare the poor guy so bad that he was put into the ER and finally to an inpatient psych facility on suicide watch. *^&&^er. That was a hard week. We would get updates from the social worker and the psychaiatrist that told us my son didn’t want to try to get better and we had to watch him closer.

He finally came home and was a bit better, and things seemed to be going ok, until I got a call at work that my wife was taking him to the hospital because the son of a bitch skipped school, went to Wal-Mart and took a whole big bottle of ibuprophen. One of the things he said he would never try because overdoes didn’t always succeed. I couldn’t do much so I stayed at work and ranted. And raved. and plotted painful things to do to my own son.

He went from the ER to the ICU because he was delirious, vomiting, and could have trouble breathing. He managed to get through all of that but doesn’t remember any of it. *&^%^$er. He couldn’t even pee for a while, at least he had to be cathed 7 times and he remembers how uncomfortable that was. He didn’t need a ventilator and ultimately didn’t have any kidney or liver or heart damage. I want to still give him brain damage. With Dr. Justin’s new Axe Handle Therapy.

He went to another inpatient psych unit after that. With a suicide attempt he has screwed himself out of so many opportunities in his life. Allfor attention and the hatred of me and my wife. (^%*er. He spent a week there facing hard truths and hopefully seeing his crap for what it is.

He wants to leave home as soon as he turns 18. He will fail at it. He is not prepared for life. No, I don’t want him to leave. I am not kicking him out. but the (^&*&%er is going to do it anyway just to spite me and my wife. He is home now, and we are trying to figure out all of this life again. He has lost all trust, most priveleges and his debit card.

I don’t know what to do most of the time now. I vacillate between wanting to let him just go, locking him in a closet, or handcuffing him to the bed. I wan’t things to be normal, or at least better. I don’t want the axe handle therapy to be a real thing, but it may or may not be sitting right next to my bed.

All in all, this world is falling fast to the depths of hell. With so many kids getting down and suicide being a thing that is nearly socialliy acceptable that is so far from right it is not funny. These kids think that they can get some attention and get what they need without working on it themselves and trying. Let’s give these kids everything and teach them to quit when things start to get hard. Yea that was a great plan. If you try to push the kids to be normal and learn how to work they bitch to their friends and then this shit happens.

It is all screwed up for sure. What do you all think?

-Justin

The one about the Hospital…

 Posted by at 21:07  Down with, Plain 'ol Cantankerous, principles, Problems and solutions, rants
Mar 232021
 

Ok, so this blog has been gathering dust for a while now, but I need to rant, and it will not be PG rated like my other blogs.

So, backstory. My second daughter is now 14. When she was 1 we found out she had a genetic kidney disease that required 4 months in the hospital, both of her kidneys removed and then 2 years of dialysis and finally a kidney transplant to “fix”. That transplant was her birthday present when she was 3. Well that transplant has now lasted 11 years and is finally failing. She is now on the transplant list again. That is a whole other world of headaches.

Now the rant portion. Apparently Primary Children’s hospital here in Salt Lake City, Utah is one step down from God’s own throne. I keep returning to calling it the glass castle on the hill, and boy do they act like they should be deified. Not everyone up there, but the team we are working with now, hold deep fried crap I want to punch some of them. One good thing about the COVID beast’s rampage: It is keeping me from homicide.

Ever since they (and by they I mean the kidney doctors and nurses or “team” from now on) got a ton of new kidney patients, they had to reallocate the care managers for each kid. We went from a completely competent ex ICU nurse to a sniveling little toad of a man who doesn’t even deserve the title of RN. My wife, an ex ER nurse, could out nurse him any day of the week from a wheelchair, blindfolded. He may know what he is doing, but I am not convinced. The worm does not get to try and pass off his insecurities and lack of proper manhood, not to mention his sticking his foot in his mouth, on my wife, saying that she is not capable of relaying his messages. People would die if she couldn’t relay messages in the ER, and do 4 other things at once. Yes there has been more than once where we have almost made him cry, overloading his tiny brain with big words and information. Now she will not talk to him without me being on the phone too, because she doesn’t want to kill him either. I still want to kill him, but I will hold off for a while, at least until I won’t be the first suspect.

Now, this is not a kid. He is at least 40, and may not make it much past that if he keeps at me. He doesn’t get to tell me how to care for my daughter and what she needs without consulting either me, my wife (who I have already said is in the thousands of percentage points better at being a nurse than he is) or even, wait for it, the patient herself. At 14, my daughter is more than capable, and expected to be part of the care of her own body. I don’t need some wormy little son of a bitch half assed nurse telling me about her care. If a doctor tells us something, well that is where diagnoses are supposed to come from.

***************************************

That rant was written about 6 months ago now. I no longer want to kill the sniveling son of a bitch but i wouldn’t mind beating the living hell out of him most of the time.

Now I am still annoyed with the inefficiency of the clinic and the fact that they have no respect for the time of anyone but themselves. I am also annoyed at the University of Utah’s transplant program and how freaking slow they are to get me worked up to donate a kidney for my daughter. That is another rant, that I will get working on for this site.

-Justin

Cantankerous at the car wash

 Posted by at 09:55  Plain 'ol Cantankerous
Apr 032019
 
At the car wash – NOT!

Washing a car is a waste of time. It provides no functional benefit and it doesn’t last. Once a car is washed it just starts getting dirty again.

Washing a car is a waste of time. It provides no functional benefit and it doesn’t last. Once a car is washed it just starts getting dirty again. The car functions just as well dirty as clean. So why do it? And the answer, for any rational being is: to shut busy bodies up- the ones that rub ‘wash me’ on the side of my car for example. I have developed a basic principle that I follow for car washing built from years of living in California where it never rains. I wash my car once a quarter whether it needs if or not. In Texas, where rain is a possibility anytime, I may need to adjust this principle but it will take years to work out the details. So for now, I stick to my principle.

Since going to the car wash is a special, and functionally useless, event, I view the time spent as a total waste, I want it over fast. Any thing that holds up the process is a red flag. I’m a busy man and time doesn’t grow on trees. You can’t do anything useful while waiting and car washes don’t have pretty views to distract you while you wait. I have accepted this annoyance as unavoidable and tolerable up to now but I just have to say that washing my car annoys me more in Texas than it did in California. You may ask ‘Why’?. And I answer, ‘Because it just does.’

I don’t know if being in Texas activates a different level of cantankerosity or if the entire car washing process, though superficially similar is fundamentally different. It annoys me more because I am more annoyed. I can’t say more than the truth. I am a cantankerous old coot. Why I am more annoyed is a PhD thesis in waiting and knowing the answer would probably not make me any less annoyed so lets move on to details. I definitely believe that it takes longer for a car wash here in Texas than in California. It may not literally be true but those minutes in the car wash seem like hours.

Because the wait seems longer I pay more attention to the process to see how I might speed it up. I accept that the parts of the process I can’t control are a lost cause. But they still take time. I watch them anyway, I tick off the milestones eager to move to the next.

It starts when I leave my car at the vacuum station to pay. At least up to this time I can listen to the radio so it’s not a total loss. But once I release my car to the wash line the clock starts ticking and time is wasting, Having paid and found a seat I watch for Bertie (my mature British sedan) to poke his nose out of the wash line.

This always seems like the longest time, probably because I have no way to monitor the progress and often there are so many people waiting that I have to stand or go outside (always a risk in Texas). There are usually three lines for the vacuum station but only one for the wash. Even though I must wait in the car until I reach the vacuum station, I don’t really start my countdown until I go in the building to pay. At that point I’m probably half way done but it definitely doesn’t feel like it. I’m not pissed yet but it won’t be long.

It shouldn’t be long because there are only three lines. But because the wash moves slowly there is a backlog of cars waiting. I wait and watch. After what seems a lifetime, my car sits dripping on the pavement. But now the process stops while waiting for a drying slot to open. Hurry up and wait.

The attendants work over the cars in the finishing area in alternating teams. Some dry the drips, some clean the tires, others work on the windows. At some point a consensus decides that the car is ready to release and they look for the owner. I’m OK up to this point, Yes it seems a long time but I can’t see anything that might speed up this process and I don’t want them to do a bad job. It is here where my frustration grows. While my car continues to drip – or actually dry in the hot Texas sun- the ready car’s owner is otherwise occupied or gone on vacation. He/she had one job- pick up their damn car. But somehow the delights of the waiting room have distracted them and they’ve gone AWOL. They page and search but it takes an interminable amount of time to persuade them to take care of their prime directive- pick up their damn car. But, unfortunately, it gets worse.

They don’t just mosey over and drive off, they delay again. They decide to make absolutely certain that they are getting their money’s worth. They lead the attendant in a detailed inspection of their newly washed vehicle. Perhaps they have a tip that the wash line decided to skip their car or maybe they just want to show the attendant who is boss but every one seems to need another five minutes to walk around their car gesturing from time to time so the attendant will swipe the offending areas one last time. Whether it is just due diligence or an opportunity to exercise control which is otherwise lacking in their world, I don’t know or care. But it takes time and the car is already clean and ready to roll. Move on. After another eternity they are satisfied and drive off, smug at being in charge and working every penny they invested in the car wash.

Now, finally, they begin to work on Bertie. Not with lighting speed but not careless either. They seem competent and serious. We are finally in the home stretch. I begin to relax. They work their magic and finally the crew moves on the next car. One stops to signal me to pick up. Unlike virtually everyone else, I am ready. I have my receipt and my tip in hand and present myself for the hand off.

“Do I want to look the car over?” she asks. “Not on your life,” I reply. “I have important things to do.”

Seeing Red about Amber Alerts

 Posted by at 16:24  Reflections, Texas
Mar 182019
 

It’s a quiet Sunday afternoon. I’m feeling at ease after a pleasant midday repast and a quiet snooze as I settle in for some diversion- maybe a ball game or a movie on demand. But no repose for me.

As my mind drifts to neutral, my phone shrieks like a banshee being ravaged. I panic, wide awake again.

I’ve never heard this sound before and I sure as the dickens never want to hear it again. But, right now I can’t make it stop. It is out of my control. It won’t stop whatever I try.

This sound is no ring tone that I can ignore or answer. It’s a siren that I can’t silence and it certainly won’t let me do anything else until it stops. I fumble with my phone but nothing helps. Then I look at the screen and find—-It is an amber alert. WTF!

Somewhere, in a Texas town I’ve never heard of a silver Honda has done something bad and I am supposed to do something about it. What that that ‘bad thing’ is or how I am going to find the Honda in my living room doesn’t matter to the powers that control this klaxon- I assume this means the state government or some damn bureaucrat because nobody else feels entitled to annoy me. They damn well want me to know that they are pissed about that ‘bad thing’ done by the silver Honda and since they are pissed, they want me to be pissed as well. They succeeded- I am but much pissed but more at the government than the Honda.

Texas takes these phone alerts seriously but clearly not rationally. They don’t seem to care about whether a particular alert matters to me or if I am in any location or activity where I might be able to do something about it. They just let it rip and not just once. They keep doing it- again and again….and again. They won’t give up until I find that Honda for them – unless I go crazy first.

Back in California I don’t remember ever getting amber alerts on my phone. They had message boards on the freeways for that purpose. And those message boards didn’t make a sound. Here in more primitive Texas, it seems necessary to put them on my phone. They come in like a phone text message but with a very loud and irritating sound. It’s apparently designed to get my attention and it does that very well. I can do nothing until it stops but nothing makes it stop. to shut it off. I don’t have any control over the volume or any ability to make it go away. Until they give up.

You might expect that these would be local alerts where you at least have the possibility of helping someone but so far the location has been someplace other than where I am. Furthermore sending a text message to my phone for my help makes no sense. It seems quite unlikely that I will spot the vehicle from my living room or office if I am not driving. Even if I am driving, there is no way I can legally read the message on the phone assuming that I didn’t lose control of my car from the noise in the first place. Which leaves the question. What do they expect to accomplish by sending an annoying and ear-splitting messages on my phone?

It is quite clear that the intent is only to make sure that the bureaucrat is not the only one pissed about that silver Honda because no matter what I might be doing, I am in no position to know what the alert is about or make that Honda behave. And did I mention that it repeats?

I am not opposed to catching criminals- particularly in the act of doing bad things. I am even willing to help. Still since we tax ourselves to fund trained professionals enforcing our laws and bring criminals to justice why spend so much effort forcing amateurs to take the lead?

I continue to believe that the world is a safer place when amateurs like me mind their own business and let trained police do their jobs. And along the way how about firing the bureaucrats? Spend the money on more cops.

Hill Country Texas First Impressions

 Posted by at 10:42  Plain 'ol Cantankerous, Reflections, Texas, Uncategorized
Jan 122019
 

Six months in Texas and counting. It is way past time for reflecting on life in the Texas Hill Country. I plead confusion from a 50 year sojourn in California. Thinking again is difficult. In California, thinking for yourself is considered risky. It is also discouraged and disparaged. So eventually you stop.

You recall Alfred E Newman and tell yourself, ‘What, Me worry?’.

You know that somebody knows best and it sure to hell isn’t you so go along with the program, This works in California where thinking can only get you in trouble. In Texas, not so much. No one is looking out for you. You are on your own. Texans like it that way. In California when you make a mistake there is an army of government employees to save you from yourself. In Texas, you break it, you own it.

In preparation for the move to Texas, I subscribed to ‘Texas Monthly’. I learned that there are at least four distinct regions with different climates, lifestyles and histories. I learned that, in spite of these differences, there is a commonality of Texasness somehow uniting them all. There is even a column by someone calling himself the Texanist who each month answers serious questions about this quality. And yes, apparently there is a quality which bonds alums of UT and A&M, residents of Houston, Lubbock and Dallas and cattlemen and farmers into one happy family. Imagining trying to do that with San Francisco, Fresno and LA or USC and Berkeley. The mere thought wears me out. I get it but I don’t understand it. I respect the Texas spirit which is independent, proud and self-confident. It’s an admirable quality. I just don’t identify as having it or even aspiring to have it. And I , sure as hell, don’t want to pretend. Texans are tolerant of outsiders but not pretenders.

Compared to California, Texas is prickly and real. Not quite harsh or unfriendly. More uncompromising and honest about doing it their way and expecting you to do likewise. No big brother and no nanny state. Texas expects you to be a big boy or girl and take care of your own messes. And if you can’t do that then you deserve what you get.

California works overtime at making life pleasant, at least superficially. Unfortunately you pay for it, through the nose by taxes and regulations and the endless army of bureaucrats who are here to help. (Don’t ask who they are helping.) You don’t notice at first but before long you just accept and even welcome this as the way things have to be. So what if it takes twice as long and limits your options. So what if there is a tax (or fee) attached to every thing you do. Money is like Fritos. If we run out, the government will make more.

Life is easy in California and thinking is hard Before you are aware of the change you buy into the new you. You don’t worry and you go along. You learn not to be troubled by obstacles, unpleasantness and the high cost of everything you do. And you accept that everybody agrees with how wonderful things are and that you had better not think about changing it because everyone will be mad at you. You go along without even being aware that you have given up control of your life.

Our free country and independent way of life may be doomed but there is still some of that old thinking left in Texas. Texas may be traveling the same arc as California as demonstrated by the number of voters Robert Francis (Beto for you all from Rio Linda) got last November but has a long way to go to match California. You are still allowed to make choices. You can choose what charities to support because the taxes don’t include all the ‘free’ stuff the California politicians love to give away. And you know what you are giving up when you send your money to help. You can decide who deserves to be helped- and who doesn’t. You are spared the waste from bureaucrats spending money which is not theirs on things you hate- like the bullet train.

California has committed billions of dollars to building a train between two cities which people are abandoning- San Francisco and Los Angeles. Not only a train to nowhere but also a train from nowhere. It seems obvious to everyone except for politicians and voters that it will never be completed and, if completed that no one will ride yet the farce continues. And that California can’t afford it.

To my dismay, I discover that rail fever is rampant in Texas as well with a campaign to connect Dallas and Houston by way of Berkeley in the hills (Austin, unless the SJW locals have succeeded in renaming the place). No locals seem concerned about this effort and categorically reject any comparison to California. I will defer to their judgment since I have no power to affect this one way or another. Still I will not be surprised when the Texas Rail Authority (or whatever they call themselves) hires Jerry Brown to manage their program. And when they do, I may have to consider another move. He may have destroyed California but surely Texas is too smart for that.

Texas takes itself seriously. California likes to pose. Being Californian is fun. No obligations or costs to participate. Anybody can be a Californian. Being Texan is a commitment. You have to live it. You have to be a grownup. At this point in my Texas residence, I have only a vague inkling what this means. I do know that this Missouri boy never became a Californian in 50 years and I know I will never be a Texan- merely a Texas resident. I’m OK with that- not being a joiner and all. As I see it, hard work and commitment is required to be a Texan. You have to embrace the lifestyle and six months into Texas, I still don’t have a clue what that means and probably don’t want to know. Still, for as long as it lasts I’m ready to give it a try.

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