4/17: E. Tennessee

We all got up pretty late, and pretty hungover; mine more from being allowed to smoke inside a bar again. Devin had moved the bus to a theater parking lot at some point, and immediately went into cleaning mode for quite awhile. It reminded me of trying, still, to remove all remaining evidence of last night's March of the Pigs.

My skepticism surrounding Chad's veggie oil was proven ludicrous. The barrel was completely full of the cleanest oil I have seen to date, and in such a place behind the strip mall where we could simply pull along side, using the electric gas- pumpy- thingy to take it straight into the tank. Chad was working, so we gave he and his co- workers a tour of the bus and then were off, completely full, with an extra 15- gallons loaded in extra buckets they had given us. Even the weather was perfect. 75... sunny. I honestly got the impression that Tennessee was trying to make good on the night before!

While we were there, Chris received a call from his friend, Trent, who lives outside of Washington, DC confirming that we had a place to stay when we arrived. We now had our next destination solidly in place.

Devin made a quick stop to pick up filters, then we were off for a quiet day of reflection, riding, and watching the beauty of E. Tennessee pass us by. There were lots of thoughts considering that we were doing this part MUCH too quickly. This part of the country would be killer on foot! I didn't dwell on it much however; something else is driving us, and to continue the metaphor, I am making a conscious effort to play the role of that side- car passenger.

Chris and I also discussed our different perspectives regarding Oklahoma City, and some budding ideas regarding the perception of "moral superiority" as it applies to imposed dogma. I need to step the fuck back occasionally and try to remember that I often don't have nearly enough information to presume to judge. Oklahoma City was one of these times. I wasn't "one of them" because I had been brought there, randomly, as a passenger with people who DID belong! Duh, douchebag.

We finally left I-40 after nearly five full days, getting on I-81, then crossing in to Virginia sometime around midnight. Devin decided to skip Virginia Beach, choosing instead to take the route thru Washington to Delaware. We've set a tentative off- load point: Annapolis, MD. Another fucking "plan" (ha!)...

4/16: Nashville II

We finally arrived in Nashville shortly before midnight, after the 45- minute detainment. Kim's boyfriend, Chad, had suggested a place next to the catering business he works for. It was easy to find, and there was a handy place to park the bus, right across the street, with built- in security: a bank. It was good to see Kim again. I enjoy her energy, and the week I spent here last summer. I feel fortunate that we got the chance to at least hang out for a few hours after the "plan" (ha!) to stay with her fell thru. Chad's a neat guy, too. He's a big boy... probably 6'3" and 250 or so. He grew up in Alabama, and has that good ol' boy attitude which makes him accessible. He has an authenticity about him that was missing from Rich last year. Not a lot of bullshit with Chad. I LOVE that!

The six of us got quickly acquainted in the parking lot, then it was off to Players Inn. We had envisioned it as some sort of dirty- south meat market, but quickly realized it wasn't THAT kind of players they were catering to specifically. It was a sports bar. I'm sure that appealed to Devin & Leif!

As it turned out, it didn't matter at all. We got a large table next to an outlet to charge my phone, and proceeded to drink away the East Memphis Molestation. The bad karma from the cops was about to be replaced with an abundance of the good stuff. Thankfully, Tennessee bars are open until 3 so Kim and I had time to get caught up nicely. Chad decided to buy Chris an early birthday shot, which he returned in kind, while I was happy chugging my share of the Bud Light pitchers. I felt like I REALLY needed that outlet, and was glad to have it!

Chad also divulged that he had a 50- gallon drum full of barely used veggie oil behind the caterers, which was literally two doors down from the bar, in the same strip mall. How convenient is that? He was eager to dispose of it, and we could top off again in the morning without having to deal with Nashville- at all. I confess, I was a bit skeptical because that seemed just too easy!

We got to bunk at around 4am. Chad had left a bit earlier, choosing to sleep at the shop, rather than drive home. Kim, being the eternal trooper, stayed until the end, and I was sorry to see her leave after such a quick visit. She had pointed out that both she and Chad will be back in Michigan at the end of June, so there's the possibility we may cross paths again before we return west. No "plans" (ha!) however!

4/16: Memphis- Lawdogs

When we last saw our hero, he assumed he was riding toward Little Rock and pondering contact possibilities. In reality, he would awake in the hamlet of Searcy, AR, nowhere near Bill Clinton's old whorin... er... stomping grounds. Devin had decided to bypass it via my old friend from last summer in Asheboro, NC: US-64.

I scoped out the unfamiliar Walmart parking lot area, then Chris and I stopped into IHOP to feed ourselves and our cells. From there, it was a pleasant couple of hours riding thru back country Arkansas toward West Memphis, then across my Rubicon into "The East". I always get an odd feeling crossing the Mississippi, it's a much different world on the Memphis side, at least to me. I then repeatedly mocked Chris's goofy notion that we were now on the "east coast".

We needed veggie so, once thru the city, Devin chose an area to scavenge where Chris and I paired up for the now- familiar routine of chatting up eateries. We are quite good at this, as you can imagine, and after perhaps an hour, we hit the used- grease motherlode at The Cajun Catfish Company, a swanky seafood place.
The manager was all about bio- diesel and, more importantly, they had a FULL dumpster full of nearly pristine oil. In addition, there was ample space out back to park the bus and do our thing. The weather was perfect, sunny and in the mid 70's, and once we got going, the whole process was fun. The people we chatted with through the course of the day were all friendly, and some quite amusing. Particularly Bob at "Bob's Place". He reminded me of the owner of "The Country Bunker" in the Blues Brothers. Was that character's name Bob, too? "Well, I sure would appreciate it..."

We filled the tank and all the spare receptacles at the Cajun Catfish Company, and got back on I-40 in good spirits, happy to be in Tennessee, and making arrangements to meet up with Kim and her boyfriend when we got to Nashville to stop for the night. It was a great day... and then...

Flashing lights.

Leif had passed an unmarked cop parked in the median. We noticed them, and commented on the fact that they were gawking madly at the bus as it passed. The pullover was half- expected... what happened next was a disgusting display of misplaced power, paranoia, and pathetic futility... all under the guise of your "safety and security."

The reason given for the pullover was that they "couldn't read the dirty license plate", which is Piggie for "we think you look suspicious." If you're over the age of 15 and believe differently at this point in your life, please go away. Then keep going...

Chris has already provided a rundown of the details, so I'll try to conserve space, but it entailed having all of our IDs pulled, being interrogated (complete with poorly- veiled threats), then pulled off the bus to sit on the side of I-40. All with the machismo that even Pancho Villa would find better suited to a frat house.
I've discussed my disgust for these arbitrary, Gestapoesqe "I don't like your look" searches, and at length with Chris, Shalain, and Kim before. I see them as the primary, singular example of un- Americanism; abuses of authority. The one thing that anyone living in this country should be immune from, based on (what used to be) our ideals.

It occurred to me to ask, forcefully, WHY they were running my ID. What cause did they have to search me? My blood was boiling rapidly, but quickly realized that these weren't ordinary highway cops. These were drug- hunters looking for traffickers. To my amazement, and perhaps everlasting shame, I managed to keep my mouth shut. I answered their questions, and sat on the ground watching in quiet rage as Devin signed a search consent, they brought in the dog, then proceed to literally ransack the bus. All for NO real reason.

Amerika, I love ya!

As bad as this was for the rest of us, what they did to Leif was unconscionable. He suffers from Social Anxiety Disorder so naturally stammers a bit, and gets visibly perturbed when he's nervous. These investigative "geniuses" thought they were REALLY onto something while all four loomed over him, in ATF/ tactical- ops looking outfits complete with sidearms on display, asking him why he was "so nervous." Mocking him. I still don't have the words to tell you how disgusted I was, and still am. I've never had a great admiration for cops, due to my own "adventures in justice", but this was something different; it had a sinister, authoritarian stench to it.

Of course they found nothing, much to their obvious chagrin. They seemed perplexed as Scooby Doo bounded off the bus to play with his handler next to the highway, while the rest of The Corp of Futility had finally had enough and told us we were "free to go". They were going out of their way to let all of us know that Snoopy had snooped out a baggie that had "once had held pot, he'll find anything!" Obviously Blondie's sniffing powers were something to behold. Yeah, that's amazing... except Wonderpup and his Band of Merry Fascists missed the jarful of weed, sitting in plain sight, next to the driver's seat. I had to laugh when a certain, distinct smell made it's way to the front as we approached Nashville.

So... consider all the shady ethical examples presented by Tennessee's Finest. THEN consider that they missed the very thing they were after? THAT'S the illusion of safety & $ecurity that erodes freedom and liberty. Maybe you Tea Party people should start there rather than with approved- party dialectics.

We all felt quite violated after this, and tried to console Leif who was feeling guilty and was obviously traumatized after the way they tried to humiliate him. I've grown quite fond of him. He's a gentle, good- hearted person who's just uncomfortable and nervous in his own skin at times. He most certainly did not deserve that.

The next few hours to Nashville were a bit edgy. I set up a place to meet Kim and Chad on the far NW side, keeping in mind that we ALL needed a drink or ten.. .

8/26 & 8/27 Nashville to Santa Fe

Kim and I were at the bus terminal early… very early… to assure that I would not be shut out due to Greyhound’s notorious policy of overselling, leaving those at the end of the line to wait for the next bus. I threw the pack onto the floor behind the two people who had gotten there before me, chatted with a couple of young women going to Clarksville, and finally boarded the bus when it arrived… an hour and a half late.

The bus went through northern Tennessee, into eastern Kentucky, the extreme southern end of Indiana (Evansville), then thru southern Illinois into St. Louis. I had some graphic memories of the St. Louis terminal from a trip to Asheville a few years ago, and was initially pleased to learn that they had, just the week before, opened a new station. It was nice. Clean. Sterile. Creepy. It resembled something directly out of a futuristic totalitarian- state film! There was a definite presence of over- the- top security, and as I went through only the SECOND security checkpoint I have ever seen (Albuquerque being the other), I remember thinking that this is what I imagine Fascism smells like. Feels like. We were required, once inside, to remain in line and if we whose to smoke we were ordered to completely leave the property, cross the street, and go back through security. I have never understood searching people who have just gotten off another bus, and the attitudes of the Brown Shirts reminded me of something I had seen on “Lockup”. I was seething as I compared today to 10, 15, and 20 years ago. The experience was topped off by a rather poor, dirty, young woman sitting on the floor wailing because the Brown Shirts had told her she was not going allowed on her bus because of something she had “said” to the security thugs. Her kid was crawling all over her wondering what was wrong. By the time I got on the bus I was fuming… barely beneath the surface. In the end the woman did board the bus, but the whole thing reminded me of a totalitarian “run through”. I hope I never set foot in that shithole again.

Of course, the St. Louis- Los Angeles bus was overcrowded. Very overcrowded. I have figured out that one of the benefits of working for the Dirty Dog is access to free rides. I have seen as many as four employees just riding along, in full costume, and this was no exception. There was an employee sitting in the front seat, with the seat next to his empty, while the rest of the bus was filled past capacity, meaning some had to stand. This route passed through Ft. Leonard Wood, MO thus there were GIs on board, and one of these had to either stand or sit on the floor… in uniform. I was still steaming from my Nazi- experience beneath the Gateway Arch, and not in a mood to keep my mouth shut. I began pointing out—loudly—to the people sitting around me that there was a serviceman sitting on the floor, while this employee who was either riding “space available” or working-- getting paid-- was sitting in the front row isolated in a little bubble. The other passengers expressed their displeasure as well, but the employee did not budge. I decided that it was best in this situation to shut up and go to sleep. I was tap-dancing around the edge of trouble… and being bounced off this cattle- car myself.

I slept on and off, and had a very interesting political conversation with a guy from Arkansas. He was returning from his summer job in Pennsylvania to his winter job in Arkansas. He and I agreed on many things and he had noticed the “Big Brother” feel back in St. Louis as well. He had even worked for a carnival for a few weeks, and had some of the same experiences as I. When he got off the bus in Joplin, I was shocked to realize that he was MAYBE 4’9”. He conversed much bigger. Later on I chatted briefly with a South African woman about the non- existent customer service with Greyhound. She pointed out, accurately, that it was due to the monopoly the have on bus- travel. If there were ANY competition, or if Amtrak was closer cost- wise, I would never touch another Greyhound and neither would any of the people I have talked with. It’s pretty pathetic when the occasional driver expresses embarrassment about it, as the driver from Nashville to St. Louis had.

The rest of the ride was as any other. Boring. We got to Oklahoma City shortly before dawn, and then it was on to Amarillo. From Amarillo to Albuquerque I had the privilege of listening to the young man behind tell how insane he is; how he suffers from paranoia, and schizophrenia, and that he had been in jail a “shitload.” And… he liked guns. I chatted with Chris a bit, and finally heard from Ken too. He said that he had lost the charger to his phone, and since my number was in there, had no way to let me know that things had changed. In no way did I believe him but honestly, it did not matter! He had done enough already, and I knew that there was a slight risk in going to Atlanta to meet him. It was a risk/ reward decision, and I lost. I did not like what had happened, but it seemed ludicrous to be mad at him.

As we got closer to Albuquerque, the realization that the trip was essentially over began to set in, and I rather enjoyed the solitary time to reflect on everything that has happened since May. It has been quite a summer, and now the prospects for the winter began to take center stage. Mexico. South America. Getting there.

The bus was close to on- schedule for once and I arrived in Albuquerque shortly after 4:30. Shalain picked me up, and that was that.

We made a b- line for the Albuquerque REI so I could return the shoes, backpack, unused rain fly, and the shoe- inserts they had sold me in San Francisco. As expected, I had attached myself to the shoes and the backpack! We had been through a lot and I hated to see them go, but had long since realized that I did not need a pack that large, and that the shoes were probably overkill.

The lead up to the trip had been maddening in the sense that I could NOT decide on a backpack for the life of me. I had gotten the Gregory at the last minute when I found it at the Denver REI for at about half- price. I began to realize that the old Coleman external- frame pack I already owned would have worked fine. From here on it may serve me better in the sense that it is older, and less flashy; less of a target. The shoes were entirely too expensive, and I already had a pair of German Army surplus boots that were not as fancy (or as comfortable), but had only cost me $15. I decided to see if I could make them work. I was also thrilled to learn that the Santa Fe REI was opening in about 2- weeks meaning NO more driving to Albuquerque for stuff!

Once I got home, I mentally exhaled. I needed some time to process everything, and deal with nagging feelings of disappointment and failure. Todd being Todd. The time in Randleman with the church- folk had been nagging me a bit, and I wanted some time to compartmentalize it.

I remember wondering while in Oregon how this trip would end, and how I would look back on it. Now I know. The next few weeks would be a mixed- bag, and although I hoped that through reflection I would feel that metaphorical “lightning bolt of enlightenment”, I knew better. I was curious to get back to familiar, comfortable surroundings, not only to relax, but to see how I had changed. I enjoy playing the part of the guinea pig.

8/25 Atlanta

As always, Greyhound was running late. The driver had tried through the night to recapture lost time by driving like a crazed lunatic, and we arrived in Atlanta at about 7:45. The terminal was better than I expected, rather clean at least by their standards, had a decent snack bar, and most importantly—coffee.

I loaded up on the caffeine, and after about an hour I went to investigate the public transit system that I would use to meet up with Ken later in the day. I figured I would get a grip on it, and then explore Atlanta if the weather and now tropical storm Fay held off. I thought of getting a picture of MLK’s Ebenezer Baptist church, and then going to the CNN building for a picture of their sign—with me flipping it off. Always making statements…

The MARTA station was next to Greyhound’s, but I had to buy the $1.75 ticket just to get through the security doors to the map. Ken’s vague directions on the location of the truck stop made next to no sense, at least on the map. The one thing that he had told me that I could find, Forest Park, is on the extreme south end of the metro. The train (not subway) did not appear to drop me near I-75, let alone a T/A. I called Shalain to see if I could get a little Internet- guidance on T/A's locations, and in the end the only one in Atlanta was NOT in Atlanta at all, but 30- miles south of the city and FAR from being “right next to where the subway drops you off.” This was mildly disturbing, but Ken had promised to call early that morning. I guessed it would be easy enough to recalibrate a connection point when we talked so I went back to Greyhound, continued to charge my phone to the taste of overpriced coffee, and waited.

As a precaution, I also had asked Shalain price the tickets from Atlanta to Albuquerque and Santa Fe, as well as compare prices and arrival times with schedules leaving Nashville. Greyhound has cut its service, presumably due to the price of gas, so you need to be careful about checking itineraries, or risk 12- hour layovers in places like El Paso, Amarillo, Wichita Falls, Raton, or worse yet... Utah!

If I chose to go all the way to Santa Fe: a five- hour layover in Albuquerque to go 60 miles up I-25, the main route to Denver!. In addition, since I had bought the ticket to Atlanta, I was now going to need to return the backpack to REI if I booked a ticket to New Mexico—thus arrival times became an issue. To avoid an unnecessary drive BACK to Albuquerque, and more unneeded expense, I needed a schedule that got me into New Mexico during business hours AND at a time that where Shalain could pick me up. Leaving from Atlanta offered none of these; the bus either got in at six in the morning, where I would have either to sit all day, or endure the five- hour layover to get to Santa Fe… only to make the return trip to get to REI!

Gotta love the Greyhound!

The Nashville schedule was more direct. One transfer in St. Louis, and scheduled to arrive in Albuquerque at four in the afternoon. The problem was that I had already missed it for Monday, so I would to buy the 1:15 ticket from Atlanta to Nashville and wait there from 5pm until 11am Tuesday morning, or rely on Kim to put me up for another night. I hoped I would still hear from Ken and it would not come to that.

The phone was still charging, and it had begun to rain quite heavily (Fay), so I nixed exploring Atlanta. I was preoccupied with what was going to happen with Ken, and what I would do if things fell through. I was sure I would at least hear from him soon, so I chose to remain in the terminal, hang out, and see what developed.

I met a couple of interesting people here; one young person from Honduras who was returning there from New York City, where he said he had been living for a number of years. He was thoroughly grooming himself in the restroom, haircut and all, and not- so- cleverly trying to work me for money, getting none.

I then chatted with a woman who had been on my bus from Greensboro, a very gregarious black lady who reminded me of Whoopi Goldberg, although she looked nothing like her. She appeared to be in her 40’s and told me that she was returning to Louisiana from New York City after meeting with her lawyer. She was suing a hospital for $30 million after falling and breaking her wrist there.

$30 million for that? No.

When the same hospital performed surgery to repair it, they screwed it up, and ultimately they had to fuse her wrist and she has no mobility left.

“I’m gonna be a rich bitch!” she said.

She had also had a stroke (unrelated), but somehow managed to make her recovery stories seem amusing. I enjoyed chatting with her immensely, and told her about the people I had met over the past few months, and how this was by far the most common theme. “Stick it up their asses!” I told her, and that I hoped she got every penny from these bastards, and then some. I never got her name, but as she was leaving to board her bus, she unexpectedly handed me $5, “for food.” I am not exactly sure why she did, but I took it. It was close to noon, still no Ken, and the prospect of buying more Dirty Dog tickets made me think I may need every cent.

The reality set in at about 12:30. I knew that for whatever reason, I was not hearing from Ken. I tried calling him, but it went straight to voice mail. My indecisiveness and disappointment in not reaching the coast took over so I began to mull options, none of which seemed promising. I thought about the night before and “Sherman’s March”, I entertained the thought of heading west out of Atlanta toward Alabama, Mississippi, and eventually New Mexico. I even considered hitching to Nashville to save the cash.

I then had the recognition that I was… toast. Weary. I needed to step back, take a deep breath, and evaluate everything. Trust that things are where they should be. We all have a tendency to think that “this moment” is the end- all; that we are never simply on yet another stepping- stone. Yet I had begun to see that this is exactly what these experiences are: Never ending stepping- stones— at least if I am doing things right! When I realized that this was not the ‘end’, of the whole story, but merely a chapter, I felt better about, and accepted it. (for the most part)

At 12:50, I talked to Kim, and let her know the situation, that unless Ken called in the next 10- minutes I was buying a ticket to Nashville, and would be on the road in a half- hour. She generously offered to pick me up (again!), and let me stay with her. (again!)

I gave Ken until 1:05, and then I had to act. I got the $45 ticket, and despite the outside speakers, somehow missed the boarding announcement while outside smoking. When I returned, if not for the help of some friendly Amish folks, I would not have known that my bus was boarding! I scrambled out of the terminal, thinking I was close to missing it, only to wait another 20 minutes. This bus was late before it even left!

Viva Dirty Dog!

We finally got on the road at about 1:40, and from Atlanta all the way to Nashville it was nothing but heavy rain, and sleep. We went through Chattanooga, ironically, I thought, and saw some of the most beautiful parts of the country, right there in Southern Tennessee. I called Kim when we arrived and we were off to the familiar surroundings that I had left not even a week before. “Really?” I thought. “Not even a week?”

I immediately showered, before I even sat down, and that was it. Rich had let Kim bring his laptop over for me to use (thanks!), so I bought tomorrow morning's ticket to Albuquerque, edited and uploaded pictures half the night, and got to bed at about 3am. Did not matter how late I stayed up; like anesthesia, sleeping makes the Dirty Dog more bearable! Especially a dog- ride lasting 30- hours!

I never heard a thing from Ken.

8/21 Nashville- Headed East

For once, things seem to have gone as planned. We're getting ready to hit the road for... somewhere. I have no idea when I'll be able to update again, or from where, but I'm trying something new: updating via email. If this looks screwed up, that's why!

A big thanks to Kim, Rich, and Kim's roommate Roslyn for having me here. It's been great seeing Kim again after so many years, and glad that we were able to reconnect!

For those of you that are getting the updates via email, let me know if you'd like to be removed from the list. The rest of you can subscribe to email updates, or RSS feeds on the actual page: www.ToddDuBay.blogspot.com There are links to tons of pictures on the website too, along with some other links including Kinga Freespirt, Chris's travel journal from '03- '04, and Gary "Walkingman" House, who is a guy that is trying to set the World Record for miles- walked. I met him a few years ago; interesting cat!

8/20 Nashville

The intentions were there, but it just did not quite work out! We got up late, and took our time getting around for me to leave. I had to wrap up the odds and ends of packing, and simply remembering how to organize for the road.

I eliminated some clothes (pants, t- shirt, socks) and a mosquito- net I had thought I'd try to use, since I spent $15 on it a few years ago. With that 2 1/2 pounds gone, and if I were to get rid of the canned food, I'd officially be well under 40- pounds before water. Along the way since May 20th, I've found a way to eliminate 15 pounds of dead weight. There's still more I could probably lose, but if I do the backpack would need to be replaced because it will be too BIG. When I have time, I'll take a picture of it and do a comparison shot from one of my May pictures. It's quite remarkable how you discover what you don't need when you have to carry it everywhere.

The afternoon was spent going to the Post Office to mail the excess home, then to Wal Mart for food (shut up, hippie), Dick's Sporting Goods (for the hell of it), and Best Buy to price jump drives. In the end, I spent something like $12, and unhappily discovered Tennessee's 9.25% sales tax, and 7.5% ON FOOD! Should last me a few days though, and get me going on Thursday.

We decided well after 4:30 or 5:00 to postpone the departure, then we went back to Rich's, hung out, and watched The Matrix.

That, as they say is that. As far as I know, nothing has changed except for the departure day, and we're planning on getting an early jump on that in the morning. We will see how that goes!

Today also marked three- months since this trip really started. May 20th at Jackson Lake State Park in Colorado, then on to Ft. Morgan, Glenwood Springs, then Wyoming before returning home for 11 days then setting off toward Santa Barbara. It's odd to think of all that's happened in just 90 days. One interesting summer, no doubt. More to come it appears; I'm becoming obsessed with the stupid notion of sticking my foot in the Atlantic just to get the picture. I feel like Forrest Fucking Gump...

8/19 Nashville- Health Care Meeting

I was awake rather late Monday night watching half of ‘Into the Wild’, so did not get up until about 11:30, and Rich left shortly thereafter to go run errands. McCarty and I hung out at his apartment until Kim returned home from work, then we all went to the Tennessee Health Care Campaign meeting at 6pm.

After the conversation with Kim, I was very interested to see what was happening with these people, and this issue.

I do not generally get involved with organizations, or even take an interest in them. In early 2006, I decided to take a closer look at the Colorado Libertarian Party, and went to a few of their state- level meetings in Denver. It was pathetic. The meetings were full of high- minded talk, and not much else. They liked to complain about the fact that the media ignores them, and sing the “Woe- is- Me Song,” yet are not willing to do anything to garner coverage. They seemed to think that cameras and newspaper stories should magically flock to them just because of their ‘ideas’. It was maddening.

I asked them why, if they believe in what they are doing, they were not on every street corner shouting their message, or trying to plan an event or demonstration that would demand media coverage. They said that they were afraid to ‘piss people off’ or, to ‘project a negative image’. A fringe, third POLITICAL party! Astounding.

It seems that the worst ‘image’ you could project, in their case, is that of irrelevance. If they believe in what they were doing, beyond sitting in a conference room and practicing group- mental masturbation, it seems that they would be spreading their message by any means. It seems they would be confident it would catch on.

“The Party of Principle” was more concerned with accommodating the very people that keep them compartmentalized and locked up, out on the fringes. They remain there today, with very few exceptions. As long as they remain inside the accepted framework of discussion and action, within the system, the system leaves them alone to die of apathy and obsolescence. Political starvation. What they do not realize, or choose to ignore, is that the two factions of The Political Party have already monopolized and booby-trapped the accepted ‘left- right’ spectrum. Trying to interject REAL change, within that structure, is political suicide.

Ultimately, “The Party of Principle” was more concerned about what people said about them than what they believed. Principle, eh? I did not last with them long due to that, and the realization that they are the Predatory Capitalist’s wet dream. No Ronald Reagans’; just Milton Freidman minus the IMF/ World Bank.

I mention all of this because this is what I expected of this organization here in Nashville. Kim was more optimistic than I was, and she had been in contact with them, so I gave the benefit of the doubt. It is also something that is critically important to her, so I wanted to at least try to put my disdain for those trying to change things ‘within the system’ on the shelf.

The people at the meeting were good people. Most of the items on the agenda, and the discussions that followed, surrounded what they are doing, on a state level. The Tennessee Health Care Campaign has no party- affiliation, and remarkably, I heard no indications of political bias. I expected them to be performing verbal- fellatio on Obama, but heard none of that. Nor did I hear any unkind words directed toward McCain. That was a good sign. Not a democratic front- group posing as advocates, like the “Work for Change!” ads you sees in newspapers and on Craigslist.

Their ideas and goals are admirable, and they are working with what they have to provide some coverage to many of those that have none, or not enough. However, it struck me that they are operating on a state- level when the situation demands federal money. Most of the discussion revolved around funding. For example, one of the programs recently started in Tennessee is ALREADY broke. I could not help remembering the rant I published in Denver about Iraq and Corporate Socialism. Funding for every state IS there… it is feeding the War Pig and providing corporate bailouts to banks and airlines.

There is also a Presidential debate, one of three, scheduled for Nashville in October. They are planning a ‘rally’ to try to gain attention the night before, are hoping for 1,000 people, and have arranged speakers and ‘entertainment’. One of the members was very quick to point out that this was NOT a protest or demonstration. That immediately sent up the red flags, mainly due to my experience with the Libertarians. Afraid to step on toes?

Why not invite everyone in the region; Tennessee, Kentucky, Arkansas, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, North and South Carolina, Virginia, and West Virginia; who are WITHOUT insurance or accumulating medical debt to come to Nashville to be seen and heard? Why not encourage the people who normally have NO voice to show up, participate, and DEMAND it? Why be content to sit passively and politely ask for something that OUR FEDERAL TAXES should rightfully provide? Why sit idly by and hope that a Tea & Cookie party attracts the cameras? Why not force the issue? Ah, yes, “within the system.” Let the backroom deals and special- interest influence continue out of fear that you may ‘piss them off’’. I get it.

From that moment on, I was biting my tongue out of respect for Kim.

We left the meeting after an hour and went off for pizza near Vanderbilt University. The discussions mostly revolved around what more the organization could be doing, the philosophy of Civil Disobedience, the term Predatory Capitalism, and how to exist without lending it support.

I tried to explain my views that PEOPLE hold the ultimate power, not the economic or political elite. All they have to do is REALIZE it. We hold the gold. All of us. Imagine what would happen if we all decided not to shop for a week. Imagine if we all just called in sick to work. What would happen if the ‘cogs in the machine’ suddenly stopped spinning? Do you think that we would get universal health care then? Would that get their attention? Of course, it would. Why do you suppose that corporate America and the media have worked so hard, for decades, to neuter the unions (literally and figuratively), and perpetuate fear of one another? Because an organized people, united against a common, and LEGITIMATE threat (economic power, corruption & exploitation) is dangerous to the elite power structure. In fact, it is ultimately lethal.

I told Kim & Rich the same thing I had suggested to Ken. If we could ever figure out a way to create some sense of unity, across racial lines, among the poor and underprivileged, in this and every other country, the injustice could almost certainly cease. THAT is where ultimate power lies. In your hands. (Not yours Skippy… head back to the Hill, and I will get to you in a few minutes!)

Can you imagine a coalition of “Poor X”? Poor Blacks, Whites, Hispanics, Asians, Native Americans… Eskimos… Venusians, Martians & Atlanteans! Where the “X” would not matter? What would happen then? The elite, by killing the middle- class, are sealing their fate when that happens. When that 1% controls 99% of the wealth, that 1% is doomed. They had BETTER hope that the 99% continue to fight amongst ourselves for as long as possible. If we ever stop, gaze upon the Palatine, and realize that it is not “Whitey” (or any other euphemism) “keeping us down”, that the 99% consists a vast collage of races, religions, and beliefs who are standing right there next to us, scrambling for the same scraps thrown from the ‘hill’ we are? If that realization ever comes? Well, the Palatine is easy to find, and I like 99:1 odds.

I have become convinced that the answer lies in that Pollyanna Unity.

The powerful and the wealthy are NEVER going to redistribute what they have already stolen. I have no interest in the “nuance of law.” When the government taxes me, without my consent, to fund a war I vehemently disagree with, war waged based on a corrupt foundation of blatant LIES, and I have no recourse to recover that money, money I generated with MY OWN labor? That is theft. I see no distinction between this fraud and Enron. When my government takes my money, without my consent, and while refusing to provide basic medical care to its own citizens, then freely provided CORPORATE Socialism to mortgage companies and airlines to keep THEM afloat? Theft. I don’t give a frog’s fat- ass about "legalese and terminological ambiguity." I am not blind; I can see the thief in my kitchen with my own eyes. The one who repeatedly pillages my cupboards claiming it’s “for my own good.”

“Unjust laws exist.” It IS theft.

Just my kind of chit- chat! I was quite surprised at how interested Rich suddenly seemed to be, and amused at the fact that the yuppies at the next table quickly went silent when they heard our conversation.

The chatting continued on the way to Blockbuster to rent ‘Motorcycle Diaries’, then it was back to Rich’s to watch the movie and kid around the rest of the night.

I had decided to leave the next day, and they offered to take me somewhere. I had told them that I might as well just let THEM decide, not tell me where it was, and just drop me off there! Indecisiveness blows! Rich offered, to my astonishment, to take me to Knoxville, near the N. Carolina border if I wanted. That is 160 miles east, and it would put me close to either Asheville, NC or Virginia. I began to look at the map and realized that if I chose to, I could actually go northeast thru W. Virginia and Maryland into Delaware. A bridge connects the southern tip of Delaware with Virginia Beach. It crosses Chesapeake Bay and I could then walk or hitch all the way to the Outer Banks.

Decisions! Decisions!! Where are the fucking dice?

8/18 Nashville- McCandless

Yet another day of unbearable excitement, the kind that makes for compelling travel- writing. I left Kim's house.

WooHoo!!

We transferred home- base from Kim's to Rich's place in Goodlettsville (NE of Nashville). They both had to work, so I hung out with McCarty and did more 'research' on Chris McCandless, looking for more detailed information that may indicate, as I've long suspected, that there is more (or less) to that story than that peddled by Jon Krakour. Always seems to be the case.

I did not realize it at the time, but it happened to be the day, August 18, that they estimate he died. Of simple starvation. There are aspects of this story that, when you think about them, simply do not add up.

It is quite suspicious that Krakour would fail to mention in the book that McCandless DID have a map, instead of cleverly saying "... if he had had a good map." Alternatively, Sean Penn failing to fully- disclose his employment history on the road. Penn conveniently omitted how long he actually worked at McDonald's in Bullhead City, AZ (not Burger King), and glossed over the fact that he worked with Westerberg long enough to earn $1,000 AFTER he'd met 'Ron Franz', and immediately before he set off for Alaska.

These are NOT minor details or meaningless omissions. McCandless has reached Anti- Capitalist Cult Status in no- small part because Krakour and Penn "took the liberty of bullshitting you.”

The fact strikes me that there are legions of kids whose ideas are coming from his "story". They are burning their money and social security cards, and chopping up their credit cards (not a bad thing). Then they are trying to live on dandelions because they are trying to emulate what amounts to a fairytale.

The full story would indicate that he failed at living sans- cash. Why else would he have worked so much, if as Emile Hirsh says in the movie, he "didn't need money"? Is making Quarter Pounders THAT satisfying? A question Penn chose not to address when he almost deleted one of the more interesting aspects of the book: Bullhead City. Did McCandless conclude that living without money was either impossible, or just not worth it?

I wonder if he experienced a bit of the frustration I did, and in the end concluded that it best to "invert" the system. Working just enough to provide necessities, while eliminating the 'illusory' necessities (comforts) as time went by.

Maybe he got to the point where he was frustrated by a lack of ability to be as self- sufficient as he would like, and decided Alaska was the place to go to get that knowledge. Or die trying.

Believe me, this is NOT just idle speculation for speculation's sake, although we obviously will never have any way of knowing. I have experienced similar thoughts and frustrations, and find it maddening that these 'entertainers' intentionally ignored them, needlessly corrupted a story that would have been just as remarkable on its own, then marketed it (Krakaur) as fact. Creating the mythical- superhero living out the Heroic Epic helps sales.

I doubt McCandless had any preconceived ideas about becoming a poster child for anything. He did what he did because he felt it was the thing for him. I have never seen the actual journal entries published-- anywhere, and know of no one who has. Why? What I do know is that, if my thoughts are correct, it could have served as a better example than propping the kid up as some sort of superhero, whose Kryptonite happened to be bad roots. This is why I've tried to include as much of the not- so- flattering reality as I could!

Hero worship and idolization is folly. For whatever reason, we seem to need examples of people who do amazing, almost impossible things. We need to look up to people who accomplish things we believe we could never do, then deify them as means to an excuse as to why WE should not even try. "Only ‘Saints & Superheroes' accomplish anything worthwhile."

Santa Clausification.

I've been guilty of this as much as anyone, but the more I learn about these prestigious pedestal- occupants, the more I see that, with few exceptions, they belong right down here with the rest of us. We all have doubts, faults, neuroses, hypocrisies, and skeletons in the closet. No one out there is superhuman. HOWEVER, if that is true, then we all have the SAME capacity to accomplish 'great things' anyone else has.

Why do we never hear about our idol's shortcomings? Struggles in the beginnings of whatever the endeavor of choice? Why are we so 'crushed' when we do? Why do we never hear about King's depression? Plagued by self- doubt and needing members of his staff to push and encourage him; remind him that he WAS indeed right? Martin Luther King Jr.? DOUBTED HIMSELF?? Wow.

I cannot get past this. Why? Is it because if we take away their perceived 'superpowers', we are left with the stark reality that we too are capable, and perhaps that injects uncomfortable senses of responsibility, to ourselves, that would be more comfortable to avoid?

Heroes are fabrications. In my not- so- humble opinion, we should view them as examples of ourselves, complete with OUR faults, but the ability to transcend them. I doubt that most even thought about transcending shortcomings. Most, I suspect, are driven by something they simply 'must' do. They probably had no choice but to follow it. Is that superhuman- courage? Or something else?

Who knows, but do me a favor? Consider pulling your heroes back from their pedestals. Try being your own.

That was pretty much my day. Not much for singing happy- songs, but interesting nonetheless!

I decided to go to a Tennessee Health Care Campaign meeting with Kim on Tuesday evening, so I would be staying until at least Wednesday. I really wanted to see what exactly was going on at a grassroots level, but not optimistic that I will come away happy. I hope there is something more than "progressive", idealistic chit- chat and something that resembles courage; or at least a little anger!

8/17 Nashville

Kim and I spent most of Sunday afternoon re- discussing her history and making sure that I got the facts and time line correct. I interviewed her, and spent the entire afternoon writing what, by far, is my longest post to date. I like writing apparently!

Shalain later called to let me know that out Couchsurfer had arrived at our place in Santa Fe, and she wanted info on what to see in California. I sent her directly to Santa Barbara and Highway 1! Jennie is here from England, and had been working at a Boy Scout ranch in northern New Mexico, and will now be traveling the US through the end of the year. It was a bit odd setting up a Couchsurfer at my home when I'm not there, but I didn't see the phrase "World Citizen" anywhere in her profile, and ultimately Shalain ran with it and seemed to be enjoying herself.

Rich came over again last night and we sat on the couch playing on You Tube. I like You Tube. Seems to be that last bastion of original art and entertainment, and I find it much more entertaining than TV. A bit late to the party, as always.

I did some research on Digihitch trying to get more information on hitchhiking in Tennessee and the rest of the Southeast. The people from the website seem to give good reviews, with the exception of recommending that I hide the fact that I may be a 'yankee'. Yeah, a few are still fighting THAT war! I got an email from a guy in Kentucky who was interested in chatting to see if we'd like to travel together. Preston I believe was his name. I wrote back to say hi, we'll see how that goes.

Later, I found an interesting website, Terra Incognita Films, who have done their own documentary on Chris McCandless and "Into the Wild". I've had a slight problem with the movie, since I have read the book. Sean Penn took a bit too much creative license, even for Hollywood.

In the movie, McCandless burns all of his IDs and Social Security Card, then eventually all his money. Unfortunately, there's a picture of the man who found his backpack, which was mysteriously left in the bus after they found his body. It held about $300, A MAP, and his wallet... with a drivers license, social security card, library cards. It's interesting to read how Krakour seems to have conveniently omitted or nuanced the facts to fit a story. One that he has been VERY successful in selling.

I am NOT saying that everything in the book and movie is bullshit, and I am NOT diminishing McCandless; his story is still remarkable. I'm just wondering if he has been a bit bastardized, Santa Clausified, for the purpose of exploiting his story for obscene profit. If so, the 'McCandless Cultists' are chasing a fairytale.

“Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth.”
—Henry David Thoreau

Apparently McCandless loved that quote, and so do I. I wonder, if this is the case, how he would feel about the book and the movie.

Fay was still a tropical storm, and they have no clear idea as to where it is going to strike, other than the Florida Keys. I decided to wait on calling Ken until I had a better idea of how that was going to play out.

8/14/08 Nashville: Kim

Kim and I decided to tour a bit of downtown Nashville and have a beer while we caught up. She knew of a quiet little bar off the main- drag, and it was one of the few bars left anywhere where you can still smoke while you drink your damn beer! What a privilege!I gave her the quick, encapsulated version of what happened with the job in Santa Fe, and touched lightly on how everything tied into what I have been doing since May. Then it was her turn.

Many people have commented to me personally, including Kim, about my conversation with Ciel back in Idaho, and the talk I had with Pat in San Luis Obispo. These, so far, were the two people that have had the greatest effect on me on this trip. Kim is a powerful combination of the two. While her story isn’t as ’tragic’ or ‘dramatic’ on a personal level as Ciel’s, it is perhaps more intense to me because of the combination of factors; factors that not only make a person feel for her but, if you’re empathetic, will take you on an express trip to White Rage. It did me.

Kim and I first met in 1994 as classmates at Specs Howard School of Broadcast Arts, in Detroit. We were VERY different people. She has always been the type who refused to follow the crowd or to fake an effort to fit in. She was not ostracized by any means; rather her own separate little entity, peacefully coexisting next to the herd. I was a bit the same although, since I was still firmly entrenched within Camp Budweiser, and in the embryonic stages of figuring out who I was, I had my little circle to which I played to feed my need of approval.

Kim adamantly chose not to, and had a quiet, humble self- assurance about her. You could just tell that she was one of the more ‘solid’ people you would meet, and considering where I was in my own life and where I‘d ultimately go, that GREATLY appealed to me. We became good friends much to the amazement of our other friends. They just could not understand it.

Kim also was, and is still, a remarkably talented voice. Between the two of us, we swept the major class- awards as “Best Newscaster” (Kim) and “Most Entertaining Air Personality” (me). She has the best pure- voice of anyone in our class, and I was certain that SHE was going to be the one who went on to do something in radio, if anyone. I mean, in a perfect world she SHOULD have. Life has a funny way of getting in the way of our grandiose plans and visions. Fair is a quaint, outdated concept--- like religion.

The last time we saw each other was in Detroit in 1995, after I had worked one of my last games at old Tiger Stadium. We met at a bar with friends then sat in her parking lot until sunrise, just chatting-- and again-- much to the amazement of her roommate!

We quickly lost touch, as often happens, especially before the Internet Infestation, and didn’t talk again for 11 years when, in 2006, she found me on a networking site. We chatted off and on, and did the ‘we should get together’ stuff, but never did. She had told me that she had had some health problems, been divorced, and indicated that things had been challenging, but never really elaborated until

Thursday night. I am not a doctor, so I am going to use very simple terms to describe what I understand them to be. She was born with her heart literally reversed, so that the blood flow through her body is opposite of most people. The doctors scheduled her for heart surgery at 20 months or 20 pounds, whichever came first, in order to correct the blood flow. Life after that was normal. She went through her childhood and early adulthood like the rest of us. She went to school, got married in August of 2000, and was living a relatively normal life.

However, in May of 2003 at the age of 30, she began to develop problems with blood clots in her entire right leg. A massive clot, from hip to ankle, hospitalized her in Intensive Care for about 10 days. After using blood thinners and catheters to clear the immediate danger, the doctors performed surgery to insert stents that, hopefully, would prevent future clotting. This happened literally FIVE days after she and her husband had moved from Nashville, TN to Lexington, KY. She had left her job in mid- April in anticipation of the move, and was now left with COBRA. The hospital’s financial coordinators gave Kim a good indication of what was to come when, upon discharge, they demanded she expedite the process of initiating COBRA, i.e. “PAY COBRA,” so that the hospital knew they were going to be paid. “Glad you’re alive. Pay us.”

She had hoped that the move to Lexington, closer to her husband’s family, would help her marriage, but the move began with her spending six- weeks recovering from surgery at her in- law’s home. During this time, she obviously could not work, and was struggling to pay COBRA’s premium.

Eventually Kim was added to her husband’s insurance, and thankfully, the group- policy could not deny new- additions due to pre- existing conditions. Kim eventually got back to work in Lexington, a 6-week temporary job as an assistant in a dental office, followed by a permanent position doing the same thing in another office. Pearson & Justice, DMD. The irony would be rich… She was with this DMD for nearly two- years, and had been there for 21 months when the next major hospitalization occurred.

All along, since the initial surgery, she had been experiencing nearly constant pain and swelling in the leg. In June of 2005, Kim’s sister had a heart attack and she flew back to Michigan from Lexington to be with her family. The night she arrived, she went directly to hospital to see her sister, and went on to her parent’s house for the night. She had been experiencing greatly intensified pain for the 2-3 hours before arriving at her parent’s house, but had attributed it to the traveling. After relaxing off her feet for a couple of hours and realizing the pain had not relented, she realized that she had trouble. She called her primary doctor in Lexington at about 10pm, and he told her to get to the ER immediately. Her parents put her in the car, and took her to the same hospital in which her sister, their daughter, was recovering from a heart attack.

The diagnosis was not good for her leg. The stents had failed within the first six- months, and the surgery had weakened and damaged her veins to the point where further procedures would not be an option. Bypassing an area that large was out of the question, and since the scar tissue from the last surgery compounded the clotting, operating again would only make the situation worse. As things stand now, the only treatment is maintenance; blood thinners. They also told her that if the circulation problems and clotting continue, amputation was, and still is, a real possibility.
At the time of the trip back to Michigan, she was employed nearly two- years with the dentist in Lexington, and insured. The procedure in Michigan was covered; however, she had a $1,000 deductible. Kim was treated at a metro- Detroit hospital, Oakwood in Dearborn who, the morning after her admittance, ordered to stay OFF her feet while she was in the hospital. The stay would ultimately last 10- days, but the next morning and even though they knew she was insured, the financial people informed her if she could not pony- up the $1,000 deductible, she would have to LEAVE immediately and seek treatment at another facility. A facility that would treat life- threatening conditions regardless of ability to pay, unlike Oakwood, apparently.
Human Kapital.

Let’s see if we understand this, shall we? One minute the doctors forbid you to WALK due to concerns that these clots could break free and find their way to your heart or lungs, and the next morning the same medical facility’s Ministers of Finance tell you to leave, DESPITE THE DOCTOR’S DIAGNOSIS, and simply due to FINANCIAL CONCERNS? Really? Where do we live? Still think ‘you’ are a priority, beyond that portfolio?

Kim and her mother of course challenged them on that point, but their response was that ‘maybe the other hospital would send an ambulance’ for her. Luckily, her mother was able to cover the deductible, but was on a fixed income being retired. How many of ‘us’ have $1,000 lying around? If you do, let me know and I will set up a Pay Pal account.

Remember Dr. ‘Justice’ and Friends?

This is a small office in Lexington that employs LESS than fifty people. The Family Medical Leave Act does NOT protect their employees. The FMLA protects your job if you are hospitalized long- term. It also provides maternity- leave time for husbands, and protects family members who need to provide care for terminally- ill family members, among other things.

Yeah, pure Socialism.

She was, according to their- own reviews and "ambiguous" other little things like promotions and regular- raises, an exemplary employee prior to this surgery. However, when her doctor refused to provide a conjecture- driven date for her return to work, they began to conjure up stories about fading productivity, a deteriorating attitude over time… blah blah blah... It reminded me of the feces I was force- fed when I was read the Terms of My Termination last year. Find that loophole, Skippy…

They terminated her. With the job went her insurance. This was her Rubicon, although unlike Caesar, she did not choose to cross— they threw her. In addition, it was NOT cliche' boogie men like Wal Mart, AT&T, Comcast, even Halliburton, doing the tossing. She was tossed by a LOCAL, small business who simply wanted to be rid of her health issues and felt no guilt or obligation to protect her access to insurance, nor her income.

Human Kapital.

Hey Hippies… Pay more to buy local? Why is that again?

My dealings with and conversations about these idealistic, local, "small businesses" have been as bad as with any corporate entity. The problem, as it pertains to dealing with the Human Kapital phenomenon, is NOT just fighting corporatism; it is fighting Predatory Capitalism in general and being particularly fierce with those that disguise themselves as some throwback to a ‘better America”. Many want to throw us back to the time before Organized Labor .

So again Hippies, fill in the blanks: F_ _ K Y_ _!!

But, back to Kim.

The doctors discharged her after 10- days, and Kim returned to Lexington toward the end of May. Dr. "Justice" and friends immediately terminated her, and her insurance was history by the end of June. Six weeks later, she and her husband separated and she would file for divorce toward the beginning of ’06. With no job and her marriage ending, Kim returned to Michigan, and its wasteland of a job- market, at the end of July.

Luckily, she had family to fall back on, but the condition with her leg makes sitting, standing, or walking for long periods impossible. She needed to work, but imagine trying to find a job and telling the HR- drone that you cannot sit, stand, or walk for 8- hours. What exactly are you going to do? They, in theory, created “Disability” for exactly this!

When we reconnected in May of 2006, she was living in Michigan and working for a bank doling out mortgages. The pain in her legs, coupled with (I like to think anyway) that she has a soul led her to quit the bank in January of 2007, in favor or a serving job at Red Robin in Brighton. Serving appeared to be the most physically- tolerable option. Sitting all day with her leg bent is the absolute worst.

From January ’07 until July, things were going pretty well. She was working full- time, had moved out of her family’s place to her own apartment and finally felt like her life had restarted. Her divorce had become final in October of ’06 and she was single again. Life was good, except for the fact that Red Robin’s insurance did not take effect for six- months, and getting COBRA from her time with the bank would have cost $400 a month. She was uninsured. Uninsurable. She had made dozens of calls to independent insurance companies trying to get coverage, but they ALL refused-REFUSED- to cover her at all because of her medical history.

Things were fine, but that peace was obviously fragile. It was broken in July, when the clotting issues resumed. She went to the ER to discover that she had a newly- formed clot, and two of the former obstructions had recurred. Again, not much they could do. They kept her in the hospital for about two days while they administered some intense blood- thinning medication that could lead to bleeding.She got rather lucky this time, because the University of Michigan Health Care System has a charity fund set up that was able to defer the cost of the latest hospitalization.

On August 1, she finally got coverage through Red Robin, but after being off work with no disability coverage, she actually had to pay Red Robin’s insurance premiums out of her OWN POCKET. Because she was off work, and there was no institutional protection, there was no 'check' from which to draw money. Try to figure that one out.

After a month recovering, she tried to go back to work with the same workload, 40+ hours a week, but it was physically impossible. This forced Kim to cut back to 25 hours a week, losing the income, but keeping the insurance.
The loss of income of course led to the loss of other things. She could no longer afford her apartment and was on the brink of eviction when she gave it up and moved in once again with her brother. She was unable to keep car payments up to date, and had to give up her vehicle.

Recap:
- * Loss of ½ of her income
- * Loss of home
- * Loss of car

All having NOTHING to do with laziness or a refusal to work. Exactly why, in theory, they created "Disability."

Kim had tried to avoid filing Disability despite the fact that she appeared, on the surface, to be a case study on who SHOULD get it. She told me that she had a difficult time accepting the fact that she is literally unable to work the hours that it would take to be on her own. Eventually, after a lot of wrangling and discussions with family, she relented and filed in September 2007. Of course, the State contested and denied the Disability claim. Twice. She is on her third appeal now. She was put through the process of having to list EVERY job she had EVER had in an effort to calculate how much TAX REVENUE she had provided the State so as to determine whether or not she was ‘qualified’ to receive Disability. It seems as though they are solely concerned with how much you have fed The Pig, rather than how ‘disabled’ you are. The first questions they ask pertain to your work history; not your health.

Human Kapital.

Ultimately, Kim may lose her right leg. There is nothing more that the doctors can do for her. Surgery will now do more harm than good. Like Ciel, and like the Kim I knew in 1994, she is amazingly positive, although she admits that she has fought bouts with depression. Even with health coverage through the most expensive procedures, she has accumulated in the neighborhood of $100,000 just in medical debt, which comes complete with calls from collection agencies. Not only that, but consider the lost income, which has led to an inability to provide a home for herself, and until recently a car. She also has her old apartment complex coming at her trying to collect for her breaking the lease.

Health problems? Fuck you. Pay me.

She is a very gifted writer and still a tremendous public- speaker, so a Tennessee health- advocacy organization approached Kim about becoming a spokesperson. I have tried my best to encourage her to that, and her fighting spirit is refreshing, but the fact that the 'system' would like to throw her away boils my blood. I cannot express how much anger I was feeling while Kim was recounting her story at that bar, then again when I essentially interviewed her over the weekend. It was the kind of anger where even I was at a loss for words, which if you have read enough of these, you KNOW is nearly impossible; I have had suffcient time to recover.


*** RAND ADVISORY*** (Not Quite a Full Rant)

Still wonder if I’m just paranoid? Remember the phrase “Human Kapital.” This is YOUR system at its finest: Humanity with a Price Tag. Your WORTH as a dignified human being IS in direct correlation to the numbers on that pay- stub, right next to the word ’tax’.

However, what if you are 35 years- old and cannot work 50- hours a week?
Should we be content to be treated as a "peasant- class" while living in the richest country the world has ever known? Compliant while they presume to define us as the “Plebs of New Rome?” Passive while the economic, political, and social elite happily throw us to the streets to fight for the rats? What is our crime? Simply losing the ability to generate their wealth through our labor?

The poor and powerless have LONG since known the score, and the rules of the game. The difference is that today, the system is creating a greater number of plebeians. The "proletariat" is growing, and injustice is beginning to spread far beyond Blacks in the projects; Mexicans in the barrios… it is coming to your neighborhoods. Noticing the foreclosure signs multiplying in your neighborhoods? Rest assured, before long it will come to YOUR family too. God help you if it's you yourself.

The poor and powerless have long since known the score, and the rules of the game: Step into the “justice” system; do it with NO money. Try suing to get what is rightfully yours after you have been “loop- holed. “ No money for the lawyer? Fuck you! Don’t have the money to file the suit? Fuck you! Falsely arrested and need ADEQUATE representation? Fuck you; take what we give you, and be happy for it! Want REAL justice? Fuck you, get a REAL job!"

Am I paranoid? Just cynical? Lose your insurance & get sick. I dare you. Prove me wrong. Have some sweaty, greasy, little predator (henceforth known as ’Skippy’) find that loophole and fire you when your body makes it impossible to work.

Talk to Kim. Is she paranoid?

Talk to Pat. Is he just cynical?
Talk to my 70- year old mother.

Talk to any one of the millions just like them. Are they ALL paranoid? Or just... whiney?

Justice may be blind; that bitch sure can count.

*** END RANT ADVISORY *** Brought to you by Blue Cross/ Blue Shield

The Disability appeals process is still going on, and Kim relocated to Nashville early this year simply because she wanted to; she has had a bit of an awakening. Somewhere along the line, after all of the health problems, and fighting this ‘system’ to get what her taxes legitimately SHOULD have provided her in order to SURVIVE with a shred of dignity, she has realized what’s important. She has decided to ENJOY life. She wanted to live here, so she is.

Kim is doing her best to make the most of what she has. She has pointed out, and it is obvious, that she is one unlucky- hiccup away from being homeless. She was lucky to find a friend who lets her stay and works as much as she can, serving at Red Robin again, although working more than two days in a row is nearly impossible. These are not the only health problems that she has had, but this is enough for this space.

After a bit of reflection, everything has became a bit clearer. How EVERYTHING seems to be connecting. I’m beginning to see, and more importantly UNDERSTAND the patterns of these ‘coincidences’, inner- turmoil, disgust, the intense and long- term allergic reactions I have always felt toward illegitimate, assumed authority (both moral and otherwise) AND how these things seem to dovetail with some of the experiences I have had; the people I continue to meet and connect with. The conversations I continue to have with people who actually have something important to add to this tapestry.

Yes, I was indeed supposed to come here. I just do not have any clue as to what I am supposed to DO with all of this! I sense that it is all tying together; even the stuff I cannot talk about here. Rest assured, you will most definitely hear about THAT… eventually.

Later Thursday night we chatted over a few more drinks after we got to their place. It was amazing in that, as different as we may have been 14- years ago, how similar we have become and for completely different reasons. It seems to be truth: Though the rivers change course sometimes, they, ultimately, do reach the sea… if you are willing, or forced, to follow them.

8/14 Ken II: Ft. Smith to Nashville

We were back on the road at about 8:45 after our coffee & hygiene routine. The night before, we had missed that the Cherokee Truck Stop had a full Internet kiosk, complete with full- computers, and charged only $2 per hour. Had we noticed that, things would certainly have turned out differently!

We immediately crossed into Arkansas where of course I tried, and failed, to get my silly little picture. There was nothing of note worth talking about in Arkansas. It was Arkansas. I was again struck by how green every thing is out here. I have grown accustomed to New Mexico and Colorado’s lack of vegetation, and the brown texture to everything… even where it IS ‘green’! Also, the humidity. I am no longer conditioned to deal with higher humidity levels, and as soon as the truck’s windows went down or I stepped outside, it felt damp. This will take some adjusting.

Little Rock came and went. From there it was 150 miles or so to Memphis. I was stationed near Memphis, in Millington, during my brief fling with the Navy eons ago. Memphis triggers funny memories whenever I drive through, and it struck me how long it has actually been since I have lived there! Ugh!

"I’m still only 25... I’m still only 25... I’m STILL ONLY 25!!"

From Memphis it’s 200 miles up I-40 to Nashville. I had called Kim the night before to tell her that I was indeed coming, I was arriving Thursday, and I would call her when we were close enough to know when we would be in the city. I thought Memphis would be that point, but Ken had more time than he originally thought thus he was less stressed about arriving late. I put off the phone call until we were almost IN Nashville where we had stopped at a Petro truck stop which had a shitty little “Quick Skillet” restaurant. “Quick Skillet” is like “Iron Skillet” (my favorite restaurant), but… shitty. No buffet, just a … shitty… salad bar. We decided mid- meal to forego “Quick Skillet” in favor of whatever awaited us at the T/A in Nashville where we were meeting Kim. It was that bad. The two plates from the salad bar wound up costing us $13. We won’t be visiting your neighborhood Petro again, unless they rename "Quick Skillet" "Shitty Skillet".

The "Shitty Skillet"was a quick 20 minutes from the Nashville Sprawl, and after navigating rush hour traffic then hunting down the hidden T/A off I-65 next to the football stadium, we were finally here. The ride from Denver had taken 49- hours.

Ken parked the truck; I called Kim to give her directions, and bought Ken dinner as a token “thank you” for the ride. We chatted about other possible connections, and he again said that anytime we were in proximity, I was welcome to tag along. I told him, again, how appreciative I was for the rides then he actually thanked ME, saying something to the effect that it was nice to have someone intelligent to chat with on the road. The fact that HE was thanking ME for anything astounded me.

We had dinner, and Kim predictably called saying that she too was having trouble finding this poorly- placed T/A with no visible sign! I guided her in, by phone, and for the first time since 1995, I was hanging out with my broadcasting school- pal Kim. I introduced her to Ken, we retrieved my pack from the truck, I said goodbye to Ken, and we were off. Time to see exactly why I am in Nashville. That was a mystery to me; for about 45 minutes. And, oh! how that mystery was solved.