daily booth

I recently left Daily Booth after over 1300 postings. I left some friends, some good times, and, I hope, some significant contributions to the adult part of the site.

I also left a bunch of little entitled princesses (AKA “little blinking blanks“) and spoiled brats who left messages like “u r 2 old” or “u stink“, the sort of comments that stun you for their ignorance and lack of respect. Their generation will have arthritic, twisted thumbs no matter how much they truncate the English language now!

There is no upper age limit on users of Daily Booth, though children under 14 are not allowed to participate. The demographics of the site show teenage girls between 14 and 17 make up most of the boothers. Teenage girls, yup!

There are written community guidelines to use to stop accounts of people who abuse others directly (“u r 2 old“) or indirectly (such as suggestive photos or hate language, among other things).

There is even a thing called the “10 Commandments”, which show ten ways to make the website a pleasant, fun experience.

To add teeth to the formal guidelines, there are two ways a victim or observer of victimhood can draw attention to the bad seed: a blocking feature, which prevents them from posting comments on your account; or a reporting feature where you turn them in to the site managers for punishment or banishment from the site.

It works, mostly.

You still have these little impudent twits to deal with through the safeguards provided. I just reached a point where I no longer felt like dealing with them.

There is an anti-American, antichristian bias on Daily Booth.

Oh! And one young man, who’d earlier indicated he appreciated my comments on his booths, finally admitted he thought my comments were “too long“.

There, in 338 words, is why I’m off Daily Booth. I hope this hasn’t been too long for you.

William G. McAdoo

It is impossible to defeat an ignorant man in argument.-
William G. McAdoo, US industrialist, lawyer, & politician (1863 – 1941)

medicaid, nebraska style

Governor Heineman looks friendly enough.

“…As governor, Heineman worked with the Nebraska Legislature to pass the largest tax cut in state history. He also has pushed for legislation that would make the state’s Department of Health and Human Services more accountable to citizens….” Excerpt from Dave Heineman’s Wikipedia entry.

New years usually mean little to me and often are the start of the next round of bureaucratic nightmares associated with my mother’s finances. This is a Medicaid episode, courtesy of the gutted Nebraska Department of Health and Human Services, the agency Heineman “made more accountable to citizens“.

Today, I had a telephone interview appointment with the Nebraska Department of Health and Human Resources. The letter notifying me gave a toll-free telephone number and the numbers to punch in to get to the service I needed. My interview was for 7:30 this morning.

I called the provided telephone number at 7:30. An automated voice gizmo tried to direct me through the stages of hell, but, when I became frustrated and yelled some obscenities into the phone, it became confused, even sad that it no longer knew what I wanted. Neither did I. I punched the end call button on my phone.

I redialed the toll-free number. The pleasant male voice had forgotten I existed, so was more cooperative the second time…until I accidentally hit a wrong key on the instruction to give my mother’s birth date. SHIT! I punched the end call button on my phone. Twenty minutes passed from start of ordeal to nowhere. I called again.

A human female answered, but informed me I had the wrong number.

Yep! Dialing error! I called a fourth time.

I mean, he's a politician, but an honest and sincere bloke.

Finally, my brain and fingers worked together to get me on to the right line. The male voice assured me I’d get to talk with a human as soon as one was available.

Thanks to Governor David Heineman and the State Legislature of Nebraska, the human I used to talk with face to face in my home town no longer existed as an employee of the Department of Health and Human Services. Her position was one of many cut in the effort to make the DH&HS “more accountable to citizens” (Sic).

The two DH&HS humans I talked with in my hometown over the years both were helpful, caring, competent individuals who walked me through the process of documentation and certification for the services my mother required. I tried to focus on that while I waited, and waited, and waited for this human the automated male voice promised me was still unavailable: I WAS MAD!

Yeah. Then the human came on the line, 36 minutes after the ordeal started, the interview took less than five minutes, plus ten more for me to rant on about the changes the governor’s budget cutting cost in terms of convenience, ease of access to the system, and general satisfaction with a necessary bureaucracy.

The human was helpful, caring, competent, and I told her so, thanking her for being part of the humans I’d had positive experiences working with in her agency. Actually, every human in her agency has been very helpful.

Sometimes the price of saving dollars by cutting labor is reduced service, dissatisfaction, confusion, a desire to eliminate the politicians responsible from their positions. My nearly 98-year-old mother could not deal with this. I can but catch myself thinking I can’t wait until I don’t have to (i.e. when my mother is dead, so I feel shame and guilt for the thought because it isn’t what I wish for her) or thinking I hope I’m dead before I have to make use of the service (i.e. a death wish for myself or a sign of a self-destructive nature, though I actually hope I live as long as God wishes for me).

No, I hope Heineman, who hopes to win the seat of Senator Ben Nelson (Democrat, Nebraska), who isn’t running again, has a terrible fall from his high and mighty position to become a pauper dependent on the hand outs of the Nebraska Department of Health and Human Services. He’s never experienced deprivation, and I wish tons of that on him. I’ll start the process by voting for anyone but Heineman for Senator to replace Nelson.

I hope to participate in a revolution to wipe that smile off your face, Dave. I wouldn't vote for you for dog catcher!

P.S. Have I ever told you how I actually could have saved time driving to the next town to the Social Security Administration’s office rather than trying to contact them by telephone for a simple change of address on my mother father and me? Yep, An hour and a half wrestling with an automated voice system, with no human making an appearance.

In frustration, I drove to that nearby town (a fifty minute drive), stopped by the office, where, after the armed guard decided I wasn’t a terrorist – he had his hand on his gun, and asked suspiciously paranoid questions of me – he directed me to a pleasant, unarmed lady in a cubicle. Whew! Maybe he thought I had a saber in my cane!

The lady asked me for my parents’ Social Security Numbers, which I’d forgotten to bring with me. She said it didn’t matter, that she could pull up their information by their names. She asked me a couple of verification questions on the files she pulled up on her terminal, made the changes, and I was on my way home, mission accomplished! No gunshot wounds or worse.

P.P.S. This website’s proofreader doesn’t like my characterization of the various humans as “ladies“, though I can assure you they are, and “Bias Language” (sic) is a silly reason to highlight under the circumstances. It does allow “women” and “female humans“. I’m in no mood for political correctness today.

P.P.P.S What’s that saying about governments that fear their citizens? Must Google that.

call me crazy

Sometimes I forget about this blog. Months pass, I don’t update it. I wonder why but fail to type something in this block. I guess I don’t expect anyone to read it anyway, the classic blogger’s nagging doubt!

Hmm. So why haven’t I written since September? New kittens.

Andy was a sick with diarrhea, as were his litter mates. Apparently they got into a bad grasshopper or two, became infected with an amoebic disease that caused diarrhea (most distressingly!). He appeared better by the time I picked him up.

In the week or so after I first took Andy home, however, he lost ground. I called the lady who gave him to me, telling her about his continuing diarrhea and apparent decline. I was afraid I was going to lose another cat, a kitten, if he didn’t have medical care!

She took Andy that night, and put him in the veterinarian clinic for observation and determination of the specific cause of his illness. Probiotics and antibiotics helped. A week later, he seemed on the mend again, and was released to me.

I placed Andy in the carrier, a cathedral-sized one meant for a Louie-sized cat, and waited for the bill. The technician came out with another kitten, a kitten from Andy’s litter that’d become his best play buddy that previous week.

Would I be interested in another kitten, she wondered, noting Andy and this little guy’d played so well together. She knew my plan was to find a companion cat for Andy at the pound. The issues of finding a cat Andy liked and played with came up earlier, and this little brother looked like a good deal!

Yes! I’ll take the kitten, I told her.

These kittens are pedigreed or pure bred. I never can keep the distinction clear in my mind…one of the two! They were mostly black when I got them, and, at a little over five months in December, show the handsome coloration of smoke Persians. Andy in particular has the lovely silver and black combination, though Dougy shows the colors in a darker shade.

Oh! I hadn’t mentioned the new kitten’s name yet!

Andy is named after the patron saint of Scotland, St. Andrew, since I have significant Scottish ancestry. The second kitten, I felt, should have a good, Scottish name as well.

I posed the question on Daily Booth, where several people who follow me are Scottish. What should I name this second male kitten? Archibald. Angus. Murdoch. And so on. Then it occurred to me my own name, Douglas, is about as Scottish as you can get! To stave off suggestions I am egotistical, I settled for Doogie, the Scottish diminutive of Douglas.

I started out calling the new kitten Doogie. I no time, it gravitated toward the easier, friendlier Dougy. To hell with it. I named one of my kittens after me! The more ornery one, it turns out! Judge me if you wish, world! Ha!

Videos? Yeah, I made videos and posted them on YouTube. They are a hoot to watch.

Diarrhea and normal kitty problems managing to keep themselves cleaned up continued to plague the kittens and me. I never had to give Louie a bath, yet the kittens needed them practically daily! Whew! I called the veterinarian to determine if the kittens should go back in for further work.

Andy, in particular, seemed worse off, and I sent him to the clinic first. He was there eight days, then I took Dougy in. He wasn’t as bad off, but he just wasn’t right. I couldn’t see continuing with more of the same. If one was sicker, both were sick with the same thing. Dougy needed to be there for treatment, too.

I missed the hubbub of kittens, but I didn’t miss the diarrhea and the sense that the kittens were more than I could handle after the death of Louie. They, their health issues, definitely weren’t lightening my mood.

Kitten poop. Kitten baths. Long stays at the veterinarian’s and long examinations of whether it was crazy to keep the kittens or not: That’s the summation of three months past.

Someone said “There is no such thing as a free cat.” The two kittens given me, pet quality smoke Persians, can retail between $500-$1000, per one internet source. I don’t know. I’ve never had such fancy pets, let alone for nothing. I’ve never asked the lady at the clinic why she chose to give them to me. It seems if someone does something nice for you, you should graciously accept that good deed and not worry about motivation.

The veterinarian bills so far hover near $1000. That includes routine vaccinations, of course, but largely is for kenneling and treatment of the root cause of the diarrhea. The kittens are well-known to the staff, and have spent more time in the clinic than at home, I think, but that’s starting to turn around.

Now, the kittens and I are bonded for life. Often, when I fall asleep in my recliner, one or both will be sleeping on my lap when I wake up. I find one or both in bed with me when I wake up. I suspect it is so they can monitor me until it is time to wake me up to feed them.

Call me crazy, but I’m keeping them!