Can't
a girl spend a couple of days in the hospital without all hell
breaking loose in the world? I guess not. Before I get to my personal
update, let me first review the nonsense that has occurred in America
in my absence.
A
shooting in Charlotte (a black cop shooting a black person) has
resulted in riots and at least one innocent person being killed.
Congratulations, Black Lives Matter. Who cares who dies, so long as
you get to loot, riot, and run America the way you see fit? But, nah,
there is no resemblance between you and the Islamic State. Not much.
Another
shooting, this time in Tulsa. A young white female police officer
shoots a black man who not only disobeyed police orders but who
reached into his vehicle for God-only-knows-what. I see pundits on
Twitter, talking about how cops are taught to shoot first, ask
questions later. The investigation is ongoing, and there will be a
trial, but let me ask all of the arm chair police officers in this
country: If you tell someone to be still, and instead he turns
around, heads for his car, and reaches through the door for
something, do you send out for donuts and coffee and wait to see if
he is giving you an early birthday present?
Back
to Charlotte. This seems to have been a case of mistaken identity,
but why in God's name did he pull out a gun? Was that supposed to
prove to officers they had the wrong man? Do people think anymore?
And
then there is Washington. An “Hispanic” man kills five people.
“Hispanic”. How do we know this man is not Muslim? Because the
media does not want to believe it? Because we know his religious
affiliation? I am quite certain the FBI still cannot find its way to Facebook, so
we have zero facts on which to base anything.
So
much for arm chair police work.
Maybe
people should stop trying to judge from the sidelines and wait for
something those in law enforcement call “evidence”.
As
I am writing this, I just heard the latest news conference out of
Charlotte, and with it one of the dumbest questions I have heard
since a reporter asked Donald Rumsfeld “When will this war be
over?” five minutes after we began bombing Tora Bora. The question
was, “Why is it that police are taught to shoot-to-kill?” I have
watched police procedures evolve over the years, and here is the
brief of it. Most street cops are not trained snipers. I urge this
reporter to shoot a target in the knee (not that this would not
enrage others who would think that was “cruel”). We are taught to
shoot at body mass. It is the largest and easiest target to hit.
Would the reporter prefer officers fire off a barrage of bullets in
an attempt to wound the suspect, possibly killing a woman and/or her
baby behind him? How about a “warning shot”? Well, those were
outlawed decades ago due to something called “gravity”. You know,
what goes up must come down? This is about public safety, people.
Pure and simple. If and when an officer has the need to pull his gun
the goal is not to shoot an apple off the man's head. The goal is to
put him down. Safely, and quickly.
Again,
more arm chair law enforcement. Maybe more people should undergo
police training and spend some time on a “beat” before they jump
to these Rambo conclusions.
P.S.
After I wrote this, the Charlotte video was released. Lost in all of
the “Did he have a gun, or was he standing there minding his own
business?” is the cop calling for a medical bag afterward.
Regardless of whether this turns out to be a “bad shoot” or not,
one thing is clear: This was not murder-by-cop, or the officer would
have stood there and watched the suspect bleed out.
One
other thing: Now, according to the family lawyer, the suspect had a
TBI. So now we want our law enforcement offices to do psychological
assessments on everyone they encounter? “Excuse me, Sir, but would
you put the gun/book/cell phone/whatever-that-is down so we can call
in the duty shrink?” Gimmie a break.
* *
* * *
Two
controversial issues. The first: Gennifer Flowers. She had an affair
with Bill Clinton for ten years. Now she complains. Maybe I am a
heartless bitch. But she did it, and she did it willingly. Now this
is Hillary's fault? No, I have no use for Miss Thing (Hillary), but
you play, you pay. Sorry you did not get what you wanted out of it,
but obviously you got something out of it or you would not have done
it. Sorry, but that was your moral decision.
Second.
Juanita Broderick. I have never heard where Bill Clinton held her
down at gunpoint, but even if he did, having been raped myself I am
always put off by people who still cry over something that happened
over thirty years ago. Maybe I am heartless, but having been there I
learned when I was nineteen-years-old...when I woke up screaming in
the middle of the night...that the only reason my perpetrator was
still victimizing me from 3,000 miles away was because I was allowing
him to do so. He has since died. Should I dig him up out of his grave
and beat the shit out of him? Would that solve something? Unless you
were held down at knife-point, and even then, there is a point where
you are allowing your attacker to continue attacking you.
How
many rapists tell their victims, “You will always remember me”?
For God's sake, you let them control you? The best thing you can do
is say, “Fine. You took my body for a minute. But it has always
been mine, and you have zero control over it now.” THAT is winning,
ladies. THAT is how you conquer this. NOT by crying over it decades
later.
* *
* * *
So,
now to my current situation. As readers will recall, The Shade Tree
told me my stay was over. The VA failed me (big surprise). Clark
County Social Services failed me (another big surprise). So, I found
myself sitting on a street corner for the day, not feeling well at
all. Finally the pain got the better of me and I called an ambulance.
I ended up spending a couple of days in the hospital from lactic
acid, which occurs when the body does not receive enough fluids.
After umpteen IV's (both saline and antibiotic) I was released.
The
problem was I had already spent what little money I had on a motel
room, so I spent the day panhandling. It was a good day, but not
enough to get another motel room. So I decided to stop for a hot dog
and go back out (sometimes late at night someone will drop by if they
see you sitting by yourself on a street corner). While I was there,
someone hit a jackpot. He had no ID (I know; he should not have been
in there in the first place). I did not know the guy at all, but he
promised me a cut if I would cash it in for him. I have no idea what,
if any, gaming laws I may have broken, but being in need of money I
agreed and he paid me. So I went to find a motel room. Well, there is
some stupid music festival in Las Vegas this weekend (as if concerts
are only available here), and the only room I could find after much
walking was a place called the Chalet Motel, which advertised Wifi
and low rates. Well, I got a decent rate, but no Wifi. When I
complained that they needed to reset the access point, the clerk
shrugged and said he knew nothing about it. When I complained the
following morning, the new clerk shrugged and said she knew nothing
about it. Meanwhile, their marquee advertises Wifi.
Did
I mention that this room, for which I paid $64, not only had no Wifi
but had no ash tray...and apparently was bring-your-own-trash-can?
That's right. No trash can. And I do not even know how to describe
the “drapes”. They look like a huge tarp into which hooks were
inserted and nailed into the wall. The air conditioner? Thankfully,
it works, but there is no adjusting the temperature. In fact, there
are no knobs. Yet, the marquee says the rooms have been “newly
remodeled”. By whom? A drunk ninety-five-year-old former interior
designer?
Yes,
at least it does have a bed, and a television. But $64? Maybe $34.
Maybe. Especially since the bathtub looks like it was brought here
from a tornado zone and there is a glaring gap in the tile that
brings sunshine into the room.
Don't
get me wrong. It is better than sleeping in an alley. But, then
again, an alley does not cost me $64 a night.
I
wonder what the BBB will think about all of this when I report it?
Not to mention the Chamber of Commerce? Booking.com? All the other
websites that book for this motel? We shall find out.
Thankfully,
my disability comes through in a few days, but unless I get lucky
some more I will be sleeping in an alley somewhere until then. (No, I
am not delusional enough to think there will be a repeat of what
happened the other night. It does make for a great story, though.)
As
a footnote, false advertising means nothing to the Chalet Motel.
Their marquee advertises $249 per week. Nope. Try $300. This morning
I renewed my room for one last night because I am not feeling well
again. Despite it being Sunday (which is an off-night in Vegas), I
was charged another $65. Again, the marquee says $35. So, who cares
what you advertise? Apparently in Las Vegas ads are mere suggestions.
In my next life I want to own a motel here. I could make a fortune
stealing people blind.
