Bad Faith · Building Contractor Scam · Civil Court · Criminal Organizations · Disaster · documents analyses · fraud · Homeless People · Homeownership · housing · Insurance Claims · Insurance Scam · Law · Paralegal Studies · Probate Housing Creditors Mortgages Mortgage Fraud · research · social observation · Sociology · trauma

With Little Commentary

I lived in my home more than 60 years.

I have an insurance company generated engineering report that details the condition of my my home and workshop. It was effective from May 2016 through March 2018.

I have demolition reports where my name is not listed as the owner, though I have been the legal owner since close of probate in 2015.

I filed a legitimate homeowner insurance claim, had it insurance company assessed, and settled in 2016.

I have a second insurance company generated cost analysis of the structure and work that replaced my home without my authorization, pre-demolition inspection, or set of approved plans as required by Los Angeles County Public Works.

I have no documentation that supersedes the initial engineering report in effect from May 2016 through March 2018.

I have no documentation of a legal or structural reason for the complete razing of my property.

observations · racism · social observation · trauma · white nationalism · white supremacy

Notes to Myself in the New Year

I should write something. The month is nearly over.

I feel propagandized. Not relieved. Not empowered. Not convinced. Just chattered at.

Still hearing the name of the idiot. Still seeing pictures of him and his…wife. Is it wrong that every time I saw her I thought First Whore? The oldest profession really pays. Wonder who named it the oldest profession?

George Washington Carver was a crochet genius. I knew he painted, but he could make lace, do Irish crochet, make collars and cuffs, all without pattern or the ability to read. He picked up handicrafts, fancy work, before the age of 11. His works are on display at his museum in Neosho MO.

So many COVID variants. People just spreadin’ that virus around, helping it mutate, thinking it is their right to be foolish in a pandemic and take no precautions. People viewing us from without often say we only think of ourselves, never of people outside of this country. They underestimate our narcissism. We only think of our individual selves or of our tribe or clan. Our orbits of concern are mainly foreshortened.

Pearl S. Buck. So glad I started reading her work and very glad she was such a prolific observer and writer.

Never again read Jude the Obscure unless you love tedium.

New year. Feels a lot like the old one with a little less tension. Gotta worry, though, about whether or not a neighbor can be trusted. January 6 was a demonstration. You can’t expect to trust your colleagues, neighbors, the average Jane or Joe on the street. Gotta be color conscious. I really expected better of us in 1965. So much for expectations.

Biden is the second Catholic president. Let that not be an omen.

bankruptcy · Class · Homeless People · Homeownership · housing · Law · Paralegal Studies · social observation · Sociology · trauma

This Is Not Rhetorical

What banks that received CARES ACT monies own the mortgages and auxiliary agencies that manage the homes and businesses of renters and owners who are looking at eviction and foreclosure?

We need to take action against them. NOW. Billionaires got bailed out. We, the people, are being left high and dry. No one should be put out on the street in a pandemic in winter in America. Not a one. No one should lose what they worked hard to attain because the government shut us down in a pandemic.

We are in pandemic. Where is the government support? Where is the support our taxes should be supporting rather than them financing golfing trips, expensive dinners, lavish ice-cream freezers?

We need to make the banks uncomfortable. We need to make our elected officials uncomfortable. We need to make them pay attention to us and to respond to us right now. Banks got trillions. We are hungry. Elected officials are working at our behest. We are hungry. We are hungry and about to be put out on the street, some of us losing what we worked a lifetime to attain.

We, as a class, need to take action to stall out this eviction crisis in the current context. The people need to stand together. We are the precariat. We are the working poor. We are the middle class. We are those who live paycheck to paycheck. We are those who receive money in exchange for our labor, be it manual or mental. We are the redundant.

We better wake up and take a stand.

Bad Faith · Class · Community · death · Disaster · Economic Anger · excess death · power · Refugees · social observation · trauma

Notes to Myself

There are websites dedicated to hating women. Incels, involuntary celibates, think women should be punished for not giving up sex on deman. Seems time to read Of Men and Women: How to Be for Each Other by Pearl S. Buck.

The Rohingya in Bangladesh are being moved to a remote island that only emerger from the sea within the decade and is prone to flooding and cyclonic upheaval. Why is this allowed to happen? Bangladesh is sinking, losing land mass rapidly. Is this a reason to abuse people who have fled persecution and death and isolate them out to sea?

277,000 dead and the lame duck is concerned only with his ego. He did say he didn’t like losers, so I guess that means he really doesn’t like himself. Such a despicable individual, supported by people looking for a savior. I hate to think all of them are as despicable as he is; they are misled. There must be a way to reach them, to pull them away from the fringe. So many of us are lost.

Lies. Why do people want to believe lies?

Is California the most corrupt state in the union? I do wonder.

Who is looking out for consumers? Who is looking out for the rank and file of us? I never expected to see a worse version of the Great Depression. At least, at some point, there was a concerted government response. America is supposed to be the richest nation in the world, but money doesn’t translate into empathy, compassion, or care.

Why are we so up in arms about socialism when we outsourced all our good paying jobs to a communist country? Communism was the threat when I was younger, so imagine my surprise when I graduated from college to discover we were in debt to communist China. My country lists towards fascism now and no one seems up in arms about that.

Reading Pearl S. Buck I found a kindred spirit who believed American men did not like women. I have often expressed this notion and been thought mad. The basis of my thought is based in observations of reality and history of the relations between the sexes. We no longer value history, reality, or truth.

The American people have been abandoned by the government that is supposed to represent us. Trillions of dollars for corporations and donors, nothing for first line workers, general workers, any workers. We are being exploited while elected representatives go on living their lives as if our unemployment, sickness, and death is our fault. Suicides are surging along with infection rates. Doctors and nurses are in that number along with the working classes. We are all working classes if we cannot count ourselves among the donor class.

We truly are a failed state.

Farmers protest in India and Peru. The largest general strike in the world is happening in India. 250 million strong. Young people are losing the lives in Peru protesting for relief. We have protested here, but has anything changed? Is anything changing? The incoming administration will change nothing. More of the same only cloaked in incessant grinning and “decency”.

We are living through a pandemic that many people believe is a hoax. Millions are in danger of losing their homes. Millions are in danger of having insufficient food. Millions of young people face no future. Hundreds of thousands are dead, dying, ill, and suffering from sequelae of COVID.

Homelessness is spreading. Poverty is spreading. Hunger is spreading. Not even bread or circuses.

aging · Community · death · Disaster · excess death · Health and wellness · Migrants · observations · power · racism · social observation · sociological imagination · trauma

What I’m Seeing

Don’t go for a run in Georgia. Don’t try to enforce masking rules and laws. Don’t respect your neighbor’s legitimate fear of infection and go right ahead and wipe your nose on them or spit on them. This is what I’m seeing.

Sick people are processing the meat some people desperately want. We have no decent information about this virus, which seems to have mutated and become more virulent while it has the ability to hide in plain sight in asymptomatic people. If the virus could jump from meat to humans just through exposure, not consumption, might it have the ability to jump from asymptomatic meat handlers into the meat? The virus does not like warm, moist environments. Could it possibly like cold, raw meat? I don’t know about you, but I’m going meatless unless I know for certain where the meat was processed. I loved Peculiar, Missouri. There were meat processors in the rurals who hunted, slaughtered, and dressed all the meats they sold. They catered to the exotic selling squirrel, opossum, and chitterlings! Of course, I didn’t eat these meats, but it was interesting to know there were some people who still possessed the skills to get their own meat independent of the corporate processors.

I want to see the sick people get care. I want to see them get food and shelter for themselves and their families. I want to see corporations place people before profits.

I believe I’m gonna go blind.

aging · Community · Disaster · Diversions · friendship · Health and wellness · observations · social observation

Ramadan in a Time of Virus

This is a fascinating time. La Peste taught me that you do not go back to normal before the virus has been eliminated. I liked that book because it really did suggest how to get through a pandemic. Keep busy. Do something for someone else. Reflect on yourself and make yourself better.

I said at the beginning of this stay-at-home interval that Americans have no discipline and they are proving me correct. Ramadan is a discipline as well as a requirement of Islam. Military service will instill discipline, but who wants to serve under the Orange Menace?

Can you believe this government that does not want to have the people access safety-net benefits? Employers do not want to pay unemployment benefits. That’s why the big push to “reopen the economy.” Codswallop. Cheapskates.

Have you gotten the idea that our government does not give a rap about any of us? Have you gotten the idea that those muckety mucks who want their mani-pedis and haircuts and other frou frou perks just want to be catered to at the expense of the working classes? Working classes better wake up and rise up, else we’ll all be dead.

Every time I read the Qur’an I learn something new or read something new. My Qur’an has many notes of commentary, appendices, and a copious index. It is very easy to get lost in the commentary and get behind in my daily portion reading.

Hope you are all coping as well as you can. May you avoid infection.

PEACE

aging · AS · Books · Craft · Diversions · Health and wellness · observations · social observation · Therapeutics

A Good Day

I found the new Phryne Fisher movie on AcornTV through Prime Video. I confess a great fondness for the adventures of Phryne and Detective Inspector Jack Robinson. Phryne has a very healthy sexual appetite, uses a diaphragm, flies a plane, is polyglot, dances tango, has a diverse set of friends, and always looks like she just stepped out of a band box even after being pulled from quicksand! I adore Phryne. I can watch her for no additional charge for 30 days. I’m going to enjoy myself some more for my birthday.

Birthdays are to be celebrated for an entire month. They should be danced in and danced out, as with death. There must always be dancing.

Reading a most hideous book by Willie Faulkner, who was a dark and dirty guy! Jeez, Sanctuary is a wreck of a story. Good competition for reality.

Got some beautiful cotton yarn today. I imagined I’d make myself a blanket, but maybe a dress or skirt.

Actually had a really positive time on Twitter. Lots of fun watching people think Patrick of TX should fuck off or lead the way to the gas chambers because he thinks seniors, grandparents should be willing to die for the Dow. What a putz.

Then, there’s the Hate Yam and his ill-advised and ill-considered desire to get the economy rolling again. He cares not a whit for anyone, ya know it? He seems to be running scared. I want to see the showdown between him and the States if he tries to override the lockdowns to send people back to work, vulnerable to the virus.

Have you seen what has to be done to try and treat the pneumonia that results from the virus infiltrating the lungs? Haven’t worked in hospital in a long time, so I was fascinated with the gear that looks like a bubble, placed over the head of the patient, pumped with O2, to attempt to equalize the pressure in the lungs. I read something that said just before things really go south, patients bring up a pink froth or foam. That’s bubbling up from the infiltrated lungs. Next comes high fever, then unconsciousness. I couldn’t unsee that post, though I tried.

The day started off particularly well when I saw people proposing a general strike if the Hate Yam wanted to send people back to work against the advice of public health medical professionals. He must be unfamiliar with the 1918 Spanish Flu. That spread because people refused to follow admonitions from public health officials to not gather in crowds. The people had a parade to welcome the returning soldiers home. The rest is history.

I found I, Claudius on AcornTV. This is my last bit of advertising. I love I, Claudius as much, or more, than I do Phryne, but for different reasons. I don’t watch much television because I can’t stand the commercials. Always selling crazy sounding drugs for ailments they try to convince you you have. Ridiculous. But there are movies and documentaries, theatrical productions, and music that I can access through a tv, and I’m grateful for the entertainment and company sans commercials.

A little reading, a little social media, a little creative craft planning, new yarn, and I am well.

Thanks for reading. Hope you had a good day, too.

Bad Faith · Community · death · Disaster · Health and wellness · News and politics · power · racism · Religion · social observation · sociological imagination · trauma · white nationalism · white supremacy

SHUNNING in the Name of Public Health

It is my fervent belief that the Hate Yam needs shunned. He should not be heard. He should not be seen. He should be paid no attention because he is an incompetent.

The Hate Yam needs shunned. He lies. He lies. He lies. He lies. He lies. He lies. He lies.

The Hate Yam needs shunned. He is endangering all our lives. He is profiteering on our collective catastrophe.

The Hate Yam has no medical knowledge. Neither does that eyed potato that is his second and leading a task force on COVID19. He is the worst representative of the elites, but elite he is. Why is the Hate Yam not funding the acquisition and distribution of necessary medical supplies out of his boundless wealth? Why is he not temporarily nationalizing whatever industry we have left to generate the ventilators and other medical supplies we desperately need?

The Hate Yam should have been 25thed a while ago. He should never have gotten into office. He should be shunned and we need to let the PIC (people in charge) know that we are shunning him because we have no confidence in his sanity, his word, because of his failure to act for the benefit of the public health of the American people.

aging · AS · Bad Faith · Building Contractor Scam · Civil Court · Class · Criminal Organizations · Disaster · documents analyses · Economic Anger · ethnography · fraud · gentrification · Homeless People · Homeownership · housing · Insurance · Insurance Claims · Insurance Scam · Law · observations · Paralegal Studies · power · Probate Housing Creditors Mortgages Mortgage Fraud · racism · social observation · trauma

What I’ve Lost

I am certain it is not clear to you the extent of my loss. The lemon tree that took 19 years to bear fruit; buried atop my son’s placental home; planted by my mother who died in my son’s nineteenth year in her bedroom, in the house I’d lived in all my life-she knew him, she helped birth him, she drove like a javelin to Santa Monica, to the converted farmhouse that served as a freestanding birthing center, ensuring his literal birth in a barn. This lemon tree was cut down…by the subcontractor…who is now dead.

My son grew up in that house. He called it a crapshack because he was, in childhood, quite gangling and sometimes ungainly. He was forever stubbing his toes. It was a cottage. It couldn’t be helped that he was a bull in a china shop. Nevertheless, that crapshack was his childhood home and the satellite around which we wove our travels in the world.

We built, my mother and I, a library in that house. Venice thrift shops provided much of our largesse.  We collected, and read, hundreds of books. Destroyed, now, many of them, the bookcase standing in the yard with many of my other klediments.

I knew the man who built my crapshack, by hand. He was a JW. His name was Elmer Lambert. His wife’s name was Ima. I remember they had a daughter, but might also have had a son. The house was a one-bedroom cottage with hardwood floors, built in cabinetry, a counter between front room and kitchen that could be used as a table, serving area, and lookout point. The front door boasted a barn-door type window, giving an unimpeded view of the front and side yard. The doorway was wider than average.

All the doors in my house, save the front entry, opened to the left. Behind the door to the bedroom, Mom had built a linen closet to house our dishtowels, cuptowels, bath towels, sheets, small blankets, some small kitchen appliances. The left-opening door, when left open, provided cover for the cabinet.

I had to step down once into the kitchen. I had a white ceramic sink that was deep, and boasted knobs for hot and cold. It was a piece of a countertop, cookware storage, and under the sink storage unit. Facing the sink, my stove was to my right. I had hooks, hangers, cabinets on the upper walls to the left; a hanger for mugs, a couple of places to hang dish towels. Had a mirror mounted in there, and a light. The large rectangular window above me provided morning light from the east.

I love to cook. My son loves to cook, but he has to have a whole lot of room and prep area. Me? I can whip up something palatable with a couple of burners, but it gets monotonous. I’ve been living like poverty for over a year now with a gas stove that is not connected to the gas line because the contractor left the line capped, providing no connector. There are many gas lines under this structure because a gas line was run to operated the gas dryer I do not have and to the hot water heater that was placed alongside the “driveway” because this structure was built without plans.

The flooring in the bathroom is mushy and feels about to give way at any moment; there’s a leak somewhere, likely because the shower was not installed properly and was not sealed. I have no warranties, even thought I was promised three years of warranties by Safeco Liberty Mutual if only I worked with their preferred contractor.

I had a back door, through which I could generate cross-ventilation, get to my back yard easily. I still have the t-poles for my clothesline, but my undamaged workshop was torn down to make way for a “garage”. There was a scheme to turn my verdant paradise into a heat island, bordered by asphalt and cement. My yard was full of green and flowering plants, including succulents, bougainvillea, lavender, night-blooming jasmine, honeysuckle, a variety of roses. This in an area zoned for livestock and farming. I live in the County of Los Angeles. There are horses here. There are chickens here. There are nurseries here. But the County is gentrifying, which brings me to my property tax status.

In California, in Los Angeles County, in 2015, my property taxes were ~$650 per year. Now, in 2019, my property taxes have tripled. This job, done by Vince Paglia, was accomplished by tearing down my 1923 hand built Rambler home. I had a workshop in the back yard with a waist-high, full-length hard wood worktable. There were shelves that I remember saving magazines in because of the vertical dividers in the cabinet. There were shelves and cubbyholes on the walls. There was a great, heavy wooden drawer, that I possess still, that fit into the worktable. Vince Paglia tore down my workshop, the unpermitted expansion that was used for storage to put up a parking lot and I don’t eeeven have a car.

I miss Segovia. Segovia was a death cactus that grew in a ring of tires. Segovia was very tall, perhaps 7′-8′, and bloomed at night. When in bloom, Segovia’s scent wafted over the yard, blending with the night-blooming jasmine, sometimes the honeysuckle and lavender very faintly. Segovia provided most of the privacy in my back yard, grown along with the honeysuckle that grew on the fence. When Mama Gin lived next door, she was a homeowner who worked for the IRS. Her son served in the Air Force. Her daughter was a flit. She and Mom shared the care of the trees planted along the property lines between the houses. Mr. Lambert took care of most general maintenance, but Mom was pretty handy with tools.  Mom and I took care of the gardening and yard maintenance when I was growing up.

I remember Mr. Lambert gave me my first nickname. He called me Sputnik because I was his satellite as he worked about the place, prattling to him with my 2 or 3 year old self. Ima, Mrs. Lambert, always offered me fruit. I grew up kindly towards the JWs because I grew up with experience of the Lamberts.

I used to play and work in my workshop. I haven’t been able to use my spinning wheels because the inadequate garage is packed to the gills with my household goods. I haven’t been able to unpack because the house is now smaller, configured differently, has not even a closet, though a one-bedroom, one-bathroom was paid for. More than $80K was given to Paglia for goods not in this structure. I wish I did have the vent-free, infra-red heaters for which he received pay. I wish I had my back door. I wish the attic vents had been installed instead of the fire sprinklers for which I have no instruction manual. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with these things because I never had them in my home before.

Vince Paglia and Kent Stiles of Safeco Liberty Mutual have put me in a bad way, I tell you what. I learned from reading the legal bric-a-brac that your insurance provider is not supposed to leave you any worse off than you were before you filed your homeowner’s claim. Maybe this is why Stiles has changed my claim number from 12-digit number to 22-digit number, and when I call to inquire about this claim number that I don’t recognize, no one else recognizes it either.  This brand new claim number is recorded on my claim history with the databases that record such data and hold it for seven years, along with the date of loss of every claim I’ve ever allegedly filed with Safeco Liberty Mutual, the cause of said loss, and the amount paid out to mitigate the loss. This brand new to me claim number even says my loss was caused by water. Imagine, the insurance company is recording false information; my loss was caused by the wind.

If my claim settled and paid out $48K under one claim number, why are $430K and $439K recorded under that new claim number as the amount paid out on those official records? Those records can impact the premium I’ll have to pay for insurance when I manage to escape from Safeco Liberty Mutual.

I have referred to the scam through which I’ve been put as GASLIGHTING. I hate being gaslighted, especially by a corporation that should have a fiduciary responsibility towards me, the insured, who paid premiums, on time, since 2011. Instead of being appreciated, I’ve been robbed.

I believe Safeco Liberty Mutual and Paglia and Associates do not appreciate the severe loss they have caused me. I think the dead contractor kindled the wrath, though….