We’re not Barbarians, are we?

Denied

Cigna has denied my going to the Mayo Clinic because it is out of Network. Yet, no Doctor within Network can diagnose my disease and they have referred me there.

I HAVE insurance and have been able to meet the bottomless pit of deductibles, co-pays and out-of-pocket expenses, and I will STILL have to use the equity in our home to simply get a diagnoses and prognoses by putting up $5,000 in advance to see a Doctor, and $5,000 retainers for different tests.

Doubtless, after I am diagnosed, some administrator without a medical degree will decide I don’t need the treatment prescribed and deny me that, too.

This is just one reason why we need single payer health insurance.

Healthcare is a Human Right, not a privilege or a luxury.

Medicare For All – because we’re not barbarians, are we?

 

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She said No

Every woman reading this post has been punished simply for being in close proximity to a disagreement between two men, and the need for the man with least power to over-assert what little power he has.

What happened to Charge Nurse Alex Wubbel of the Burn Ward at the University of Utah Hospital is criminal – and Detective Jeff Payne of the Salt Lake City Police Department should be charged and face the consequences of his actions.

Detective Payne arrested Nurse Wubbel when she refused to allow him to illegally draw blood from the unconscious victim of a fiery head-on crash that happened when a police chase ended with the suspect smashing head-on into the victim’s semi-truck in Logan, Utah. An Officer of the Peace, Payne has also been trained as a phlebotomist, and should have known he was trying to break law. Speculation online is that the police were trying to dodge responsibility for the chase and crash by hoping the victim had drugs or alcohol in system.

Hospital policy is based on Constitutional law and was developed in conjunction with the Salt Lake City PD, and does not allow for collection of blood without patient’s consent (you cannot give consent if you are unconscious), without a warrant, or unless the patient has been charged with a crime.

Simple, right?

Not to Detective Payne and his Enormous Ego.

The 20 minute unedited body cam footage infuriated me (link below with time notes to specific actions). Actual fury enough at the abuse of power and misogyny to spend 5 hours on a stunning Friday afternoon on Labor Day Weekend writing this piece, and another 2 hours editing and pulling screen shots.

It should infuriate you, too, that 2 Salt Lake City Police Department officers had so little regard for the Constitution that they sought to punish a citizen who was defending it. These men, who are charged to uphold the law, thought the best way to protect and serve was to arrest the Charge Nurse of the Burn Unit when she sought to protect her patient.

Payne alleges Lt. James Tracey, the Watch Commander, advised him to arrest Wubbel. This allegation needs to be investigated, and if found true Tracey should be demoted to the lowest pay grade for instructing Payne to violate the 4th Amendment.

As if the arrest weren’t bad enough, Payne’s partner tried to Gaslight Wubbels into violating her oath as a nurse, and manipulate her into breaking the law. His partner’s ‘Good Cop’ routine is positively sickening to watch, the worst part being when he says sincerely that if the blood draw is illegal it’ll get thrown out in court. Like THAT makes it okay!

The story is shockingly egregious and captured on video, yet Payne and his partner remain on active duty. What? You’re surprised that people who abuse their power are rewarded?

What made me shake my head and purse my mouth in disgusted recognition was exactly *when* Payne loses his shit: Pay attention to genders here.

Officer Power Trip is ignoring what Wubbel is saying or trying to show him: The printed policy prohibiting blood draws without consent, a warrant or an arrest that the SLCPD helped draft.

Wubbel has the paperwork in one hand and her phone in the other, where her boss, Brad, is on the speaker.

 

She Said No 18

“He’s told me repeatedly he has no warrant and the patient is not under arrest,” Wubbel says into her phone,” I’m just trying to do what I’m supposed to do – that’s all.”

“So, I take it without those in place,” Payne says angrily, dismissively waving his hand over the notion of warrants and consent, “I’m not going to get blood? Am I fair to surmise that?”

“You don’t have the authority… You’re not a representative of your department,” Brad reminds Payne through the speaker, “You’re an employee… Why are you blaming the messenger, Sir?”

“She’s the one that has told me ‘No’,” Payne says flatly.

And there you have it.

“She’s the one that has told me ‘No’.

That Brad *literally* just told Payne ‘No’ he cannot collect blood seems lost on Payne, who also ignores being told by a man with more authority than him that he has no representative agency,  nor the authority to take any  actions.

Hearing all this Payne inexplicably contends, “She’s the one that has told me No”.

‘She’s the one that has told me No’ is the all-purpose excuse for modern gynophobes and misogynists everywhere.

The Constitution and consequences be damned – She had the temerity to say No to ME, a Man! So, She deserves whatever happened next.

She had it coming.

Ever thus it was.

 

She Said No 19

“Sir, you’re making a huge mistake right now…’  you can hear Brad warning Payne, “You’re making a huge mistake because you’re threatening a Nurse.”

It’s more than Payne can take and he suddenly snaps, quickly trying to snatch the phone from Wubbel’s hand – she recoils, blinking in disbelief.

She Said No 1

Payne tries to grab the phone again, and Wubbel takes a step back, avoiding him.

“We’re done. We’re done here,” Payne says in blooming anger, lunging for Wubbel’s phone as she continues to back up. Arms rigid in fury, fists clenched, Payne stomps up to Wubbel and assaults her, dragging the screaming woman away to be arrested.

He has her against a pole as he roughly handcuffs her, and she sobs, “I didn’t do anything wrong! This is crazy!”

Hands cuffed behind her back, Wubbel is roughly forced over to the cruiser, while she protests, “You’re hurting me!”

She Said No 22

A second by second examination of the events shows a Law Enforcement Officer flouting the law, enraged at not getting his demands met. This man who is paid to uphold the law – a man who has a gun strapped to his waist and the ability to arrest people at will – openly abused his power because his authority was not just questioned, but rightly denied.

It was no accident that Detective Payne chose the woman to punish for his impotence, even though he was angry at her boss and the law. The only way Payne would have only gotten a bigger thrill out of abusing his power is if it was a woman of color he could have unlawfully arrested.

It’s shameful that once Wubbel was in custody Payne’s partner didn’t try to stop the unnecessary force, but instead tried to manipulate her with the Good Cop act, reasoning that if it turns out she *did* break the law with the blood draw the evidence would be thrown out, and it wouldn’t count as violating her patient’s privacy. Payne stands over her, arms crossed, glowering

The final indignity of the tape isn’t Payne pompously explaining why the law doesn’t apply to him to the shocked, yet undetained, Male Hospital Administrator who had been standing next to Wubbel during her arrest. Using his hand expressively, Payne opined that the hospital was getting in his way of his illegal quest for a blood sample.

“I understand what your policies are – Okay? I’m trying to tell you what I NEED legally. Okay? There’s a very BAD. HABIT. up here of your policy interfering with MY law. Okay?”

The final indignity comes as Payne lounges against the cruiser, his left hand resting on the billy club strapped to his waist, while Wubbel sits inside with her head bowed. Payne tells the Male Hospital Assistant in a we-fellows-can-be-reasonable-but-I’m-in-charge kind of way, that even if their jobs are at odds he appreciates the job the MHA has to do. Then, without a trace of irony, he says with a sniff and a sigh that spoke of the heavy burden of men abusing their power against women everywhere, “So… I gotta decide what we’re gonna do with this young lady”.

She Said No 25

This young lady.

This caricature of every insecure man everywhere derisively refered to the Charge Nurse of the Burn Unit at the finest hospital between Denver and Los Angeles as ‘This young lady”. He acted as if the MHA were her parent and Wubbel were a tween in handcuffs for shoplifting at Forever 21, instead of treating her like an educated professional of unquestionable integrity who dedicated her life to burn patients.

Alex Wubbel is a Patriot in the highest sense of the word, in that she was willing to stand up for the law and what was right, and stand up against tyranny and abuse of power. She has more courage than Jeff Payne will ever have in this lifetime or any other, and he isn’t fit to wash her socks.

Young lady, indeed.

A final thought on what happened to Alex Wubbel: We have become so inured to violence against women and false arrest from the Jeff Paynes of this world, that few people dare to make a peep or speak truth to power – even when they know they’re right. Look at how many police and guards and administrators stood silently as Alex Wubbel begged, “Somebody help me!”

What does that say about us – the USA – that most people fear that the long eye of The Law might gaze upon them and thus encourage the long arm to do a little attitude adjustment.

 

Link to 20 minute unedited body cam videa of Nurse Alex Wubbel’s arrest:

The broken link has been fixed – thank you to those who brought it to my attention

Payne’s escalation and Wubbel’s arrest is between 5:30 to 8:30 on the tape

Wubbel’s gaslighting by Payne’s partner runs 10:00 to 15:00 on the tape

Final Indingnity: 15:00 to 16:30

Coca Cola Hand Grenades and Critical Mass

Neo-Nazi No-Shows threatened to block the Golden Gate Bridge this morning, but backed out: A smart move in the worst traffic in the country. Blocking the Bridge during morning commute with Nazi flags would have turned real ugly right quick like (as an old colleague used to say).
Critical Mass 8
It brought to mind a Critical Mass protest I saw on a July evening in 2007. For those of you who aren’t familiar – CM is a monthly ‘unorganized’ protest of cyclists formed in 1992 with the intent to ‘Reclaim the Streets’ for riders. I have no problem with that mission, but 10 years ago the movement turned violent and delighted in paralyzing traffic into and out of San Francisco on the last Friday of every month. Even people sympathetic to the cause couldn’t endorse their tactics and refusal to get a permit.
What started as this:
Critical Mass 6
Turned into This:
Critical Mass 7
The last Friday night before moving out to Ocean Beach and a 7 mile commute to work – as I did one final hellacious drive from KGO on Front street to the Willowglenn neighborhood of San Jose, that was 45 miles and 70 minutes away – I got stuck on Jones Street (an incredibly steep street) a *half-block* from up the intersection at Pine when the light turned red.
Just as the light cycle was about to give us the green, a sea of humanity on bikes came along Pine Street and refused to give way when the light turned red. The insult to injury was when the tricycle with the giant speaker mounted on a trailer stopped in the intersection to party. People with lighted Hula-Hoops began to do their thing, while others danced. A blue pall of pot smoke hung over the crowd down below.
Critical Mass 5
Horns began to honk, people shouted, the party continued.
It was 7:30 pm, I had just finished producing 20 original hours of news, booked 40 guests and probably written 10,000 words that week, and I was already running late, but I didn’t even have the energy to be pissed: I just texted my husband I’d be late meeting him at the restaurant and could he push the reservations back again?
I was glassy eyed about 5 minutes into it, when this guy 2 cars up, who had been laying on the horn, just lost his shit. He got out of his Audi and was doing the ‘Hands On Head, I Don’t Believe This Shit’ foot to foot pee-pee dance.
Finally, in desperation, he opened his back door, and pulled out a 12 pack of Coca Cola and began to shake a can up. In a ballet of fury he wound up like Hunter Pence and heaved a can of Coke down Jones Street. I watched the can arc high, spinning lazily end over end, sailing down toward the intersection, where it bounced just short of the cross walk, the pop top exploding. As the can rolled downwards into the stationary crowd at Pine Street it shot sticky, fizzy streams of soda on the dancing ‘protesters’, who shouted surprised obscenities.
It was a thing of beauty.
Drivers around Mr. Audi shouted out encouragement as he lobbed a second shaken can, and then a third. They were fairly cheering as the 4th, 5th and 6th cans went in quick succession, and bicyclists began to flee the scene of the mass caffeinated assault of Coca Cola Hand Grenades.
Mr. Audi let up after 8 cans – saving his ammo in case a second assault was needed – shifting his weight on the balls of his feet, throwing can #9 from hand to hand, at the ready.
Alas, further Coke Bombs were not needed, as the rolling, monthly protest intended to piss drivers off began to move on, all the riders agreeing that it was “NOT cool, man – totally NOT cool!”
Mr. Audi received at standing ovation and extended horn honks from two lanes of said pissed off drivers – as far up Jones Street as they could see what was happening. He went home a hero. He had solved our Friday Night Problem without violence – a True San Franciscan and American Hero.
I imagine it is a story he tells his rapt grandchildren, even now.
Critical Mass 2

You Could Die Laughing

I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody and I wouldn’t lose any voters” – Donald Trump, January 23, 2016

I will probably vomit on the next Trumpologist who feigns surprise and pretends to condemn the terrorism and murder committed by Nazis in Charlottesville this weekend.

Who KNEW that the guy who bragged about getting away with murder might collect Fascist admirers?

Who could imagine that the guy who retweeted Nazi slogans and images of himself  would attract Nazis?

 

pepe-the-trump

 

It was all one big laugh riot when Trump said Mexicans are rapists, Blacks are lazy and Journalists should be imprisoned or murdered!

Wasn’t it a hoot when he said POWs aren’t heroes because they got caught, and how US soldiers with PTSD aren’t strong? Hey remember that lighthearted day he attacked the grieving Gold Star Parents of a dead US soldier because they’re Muslim?

Gosh – didn’t we all know it was just funnin’ when he said a woman questioning him has to be on the rag? Such a gigglefest to see a thin-skinned narcissist rage-tweet to his followers to watch a non-existent sex tape of the Venezuelan Miss Universe who had the temerity to complain about his fat-shaming. Calling women disgusting, fat pigs is just in jest!

 

Trump Inauguration

 

Oh, my, but how I laughed and laughed and laughed when Trump mocked a disabled reporter!! Although I *was* confused by the folks who lied to themselves and me in self-righteous fury at the pictorial proof.

I’m sure we all looked at his proposal of putting Syrians in concentration camps and deporting them as the jackanapes it was intended to be. And really, who *wouldn’t* chuckle deeply at the notion of Muslims being forced to register with the government and wear ID tags in public, while their mosques are closed by government decree? Trump continuing to lie about seeing ‘thousands and thousands of Muslims cheering in New Jersey on 9-11’ – despite an utter lack of evidence and the (Republican) NJ Governor & the head of the 9-11 Commission saying it’s an absolute fabrication – is really just an elaborate prank, doncha know?

 

Trump Protester Beaten

By gum – who thought Trump was serious when he encouraged crowds to beat up protestors? You’re reading FAR too much into it if you heard Trump say he’d pay the legal bills for those committing assault in his name.

‘Maybe he should have been roughed up‘. Donald Trump, Nov 22, 2016, on a protester

‘Knock the crap out of protesters, I’ll pay your legal fees’ Donald Trump, Feb 1, 2016

‘Go ahead and punch someone in the face and I’ll pay your legal bills.’ Donald Trump, March 13, 2016

Certainly NO-ONE could infer a message from those ratcheted-up statements, and to try to read into it the encouragement of violence and lawlessness, or look at his statements over the last 2 years and see an appeal to Nazis and Fascist is just horrible identity politics, and you should feel ashamed of yourself!

Who could have foreseen that encouraging THIS in March 11 of 2016:

 

Trump Nazis March 2016

 

Would lead to THIS in Charlottesville, August 11, 2017?

 

Nazi March in VA Aug 2017 5

 

Trump suporters can spare me their fake hand-wringing and denouncing this weekend’s terrorism as something coming out of the blue!

Trumpologists’ mealy mouthed denials of seeing Nazis in their midst are no better than Captain Renault from Casablanca standing in Rick’s Cafe collecting his winnings, while being shocked – SHOCKED I TELL YOU! – to find gambling in this establishment!

Fuck your False Equivalence, and Whataboutism with a side of ‘He was just joking’!!

 

Whataboutism

 

Is it REALLY that fucking hard to denounce the terrorism that killed peaceful protestor Heather Heyer?!!

If you don’t denounce the whole Nazi business – including Trump – you have Heather’s blood on your hands.

If you’ve ever wondered what you would’ve done during slavery, the Holocaust, or the Civil Rights movement…you’re doing it now.

Remember to Keep Laughing at the truth, Trumpologists, and Grab Them By The Pussy!!

Nazi March VA Day 2 Car 2

Fake Men and Angry Women, Part 2

 

It’s been an interesting couple of weeks in Fake Men and Angry Women Land.

Fake Man got himself an honest-to-gosh viral Tweet while Real Me got back a stalker I thought I shook 15 years ago, *plus* I got a private message from a total stranger who thought it was perfectly fine to swoon and ponder over my ability to give him a blow job.

I’m curious, David Thomson from Houston, Texas: What did you think would happen when you sent me that message? Did you think I would be wet in the drawers because some anonymous chump thinks the way to compliment a woman is to tell her that she’d probably be good at gobbling your knob? Were you expecting cyber-sex from a desperate, thankful sperm receptacle? Did you honestly think I’d hop on a plane to show you my prowess in choking on your pubic hair? Sigh!

Or, perhaps you thought I wouldn’t say anything at all, that I’d be embarrassed, or most likely ashamed?

Did you mistakenly think MY part in your tableau was to silently endure ONE MORE asshole reducing my value to sex?

Boy did you think wrong.

Let me be perfectly clear, Dude-Bro David Thomson from Houston Texas: I wouldn’t play your withered skin flute if it was the very last instrument on Earth.

Big Dick and the Twins will NEVER go to the Moist Drive-In Movie. Baloney Pony is not on the Menu. The Crotch Cowboy won’t be riding into the Canyon. Your Disco Stick has no Partner. The Kipper Ripper has nowhere to play Hide-And-Go-Seek. The Flesh Submarine will not be descending into the Cave.

To put it in a way you’re SURE to understand, David Thomson from Houston, Texas: I wouldn’t suck your dick with YOUR mouth.

Have I made myself perfectly clear Brosephus Andronicus?

Super.

Stalker (2)

Now let’s talk about my stalker.

Less than a day after publishing Part 1 of this piece, where I detailed the excessive abuse a woman with an strong opinion gets online, I received a Facebook friend request from a man who stalked me at the turn of the century.

Phred seemed like a harmless enough fellow when I met him at the Denver Press Club some time around 1997, assuming he was a journalist. He wasn’t, though – he was a bus driver hanger-on who had a small amount of money to spend at the then-struggling club.

We were mildly friendly in a club with a few hundred members. I knew he had a thing for me, but I was not interested in him in the least. He asked me out a few times (Okay, MANY times) and each time I declined politely. My built-in true-to-life excuse was that I’d sworn off dating until my son was old enough to go out with friends, himself. I had 2 failed marriages and thought perhaps the best thing to do was re-evaluate my priorities: I knew I only had so many hours in a day to work, sleep and do mom stuff. If I started dating then that time would only be able to come from my son, and I didn’t think that would be fair.

One afternoon, during the summer of 1998 (if memory serves), Phred approached me as I was leaving the Press Club, clutching a fist full of gift certificates for the Denver Broker, a restaurant that passed for swanky back in the day. It was famous for being situated in an old bank vault and for an all-you-can-eat bowl of iced shrimp to start the meal of red meat. It was the epitome of Denver in the mid-80s oil boom, but it was now the late 90’s tech bust and the old lady was a bit frayed at the edges. They tried to offset the lack of upkeep by dimming the lights, but that just made it drearier.

Swag, gift certificates, concert and sports tickets were a stock and trusted non-taxed item in the journalism trade – it’s what made us put up with with endless shit deadlines and asshole bosses. The only thing more certain than the sun rising in the east is that the Press will show up for free food and booze.

“Hey, you wanna go spend some freebie gift certificates with me next week?”

“Umm.. Well… Are other people going to be there? This isn’t a date, right?”

“No!”

“Will other people be there?”

“It’ll be a party!”

“But, not a date.”

“Not a date. In fact – I can even be the designated driver. I can pick you up after work – I work really close to your condo.”

I was in a rush, and gave him my number so that we could finalize plans.

I was halfway home before the obvious question bubbled to the surface: “How does he know where I live?” I told myself he must have heard me say at some point I had to drive to Golden, and it’s not a big town after all, and I put it out of my mind.

It was a warm afternoon when we went to the Broker a week later. My son was spending the night at his Grandma and Grandpa’s, just a few miles away. Phred showed up about 10 minutes early, and when I answered the intercom instead of buzzing him up he insisted we needed to go NOW! because the cab was waiting.

The cab?

The Cab?!

There were about 14 cabs in the entire city of Denver at the turn of the century, and they all did a loop between the airport and downtown. I don’t think I had ever seen another cab in the foothills of Golden in… well – EVER. I hadn’t ridden in a cab since I lived in New York City 20 years before.

The phrase, “Hurry up – the cab is here,” mentally felt like the ‘Vweeep!!’ of a needle screeching across a record.

It was a ridiculous extravagance for a 15 mile ride downtown (in rush hour) that I never would have agreed to under any circumstance had I known in advance, one that put me in a place where I felt vaguely obliged to him for spending the money I didn’t want and didn’t ask him to spend.

Clearly Phred didn’t think this was a date: It was something much bigger.

I stood outside my building looking at the yellow cab. Every instinct was telling me not to get in that cab. My lizard brain was yelling ‘Run, you fool!!’ I almost turned around, and maybe I would have saved myself a bucket load of stress and fear. Probably not. People like him don’t take no for an answer.

Instead, I bent to the pressure of the cabbie tooting his horn, and allowed myself to be manipulated into feeling bad that Phred would get stuck with the cost of the cab if I backed out. I wouldn’t admit it, but I was nervous and felt like I was being backed into a corner. And on top of all that was the youthful certainty, “I got this. I can control the situation.”

The meal itself was inconsequential, except to say I insisted several times we weren’t out on a date, and he nodded at the middle distance. Do I need to say no-one else was there?

Perhaps the highlight of this intimate tête-à-tête happened between the too-rinsed-to-be-slimy bowl o’ shrimp and the cold prime rib: It was him taking the red linen napkin and blowing his nose into it vigorously, and then handing it to the server. I nearly vomited.

Yes, the meal finally ended. Yes, I straight armed him as he tried to get cuddly in the cab back. And, yes, he was VERY angry I did not invite him up, mentioning all that money he spent that I hadn’t asked him to.

I jingled my keys, and told him I had to pick up my son, and nearly left skid marks on the way out of my own place. I sat in the 7-11 parking lot not knowing if he would still be in front of my building when I got back. I decided to park in front of a different building and took the back way in.

After that things started to get weird.

Just as I got home from work a few days later he called, the hale-and-well-met-fellow, acting like he hadn’t been pissed when I turned him down on our Not-Date. I was relieved he was being jovial and ended the call as soon as I could.

I saw him in the weeks to come at the Press Club, refusing his drink offers and doing my best to avoid him. I voiced my concerns about him to a few of the bartenders. The linen-napkin-as-a-handkerchief story never failed to raise a gorge with loud protestations.

When I continued to avoid him at the club he began to sit in front of my condo, waiting for me to get home, and calling when I turned on the lights. It took me a few week to figure out what was going on. “Damn! He sure has good timing. Why, I just got home and turned on the lights—-Ohhh.”

On a hunch I came home one night and I didn’t turn the lights on for 15 minutes. When I turned them on he called seconds later. He was calling from his cell phone in the lot below me.

I felt sick. He knew my schedule.

I began parking in another lot in the complex, leaving my lights on always, so he would not know when I was coming and going.

He began to call incessantly.

I got caller ID

For months I avoided him and his calls.

Finally, in a fit of pique he stole my Day-Timer calendar out of my latched bag at the Denver Press Club, pretending to find it on the floor just after I’d left. Several people – including the bartender – tried to stop him from removing the book from the club, but he pushed his way out the door. An hour later he left a message on my home phone, “I have your Personal Planner. I guess NOW you’ll have to talk to me and see me in person.”

I went to the police where he lived to report the theft, and they said “the crime didn’t happen here”. I went to the police where I lived and they said ‘It didn’t happen here.” I went to the police in Denver, where it happened, and the rotund desk jockey suggested, “Just go out with him a few times. It’s all he wants. It’s not like he’s hurt you.”

Yet.

I went to the management at the Denver Press Club, where the club manager, Carmen, said “Eh… It’s a He-Said She-Said thing.” He-Said She-Said? The son-of-a-bitch had my address book, calendar, bits and pieces of writing and my sketches in a book he refused to give back unless I met with him in person – and I HAD IT ON TAPE!!!

I stopped going to the club.

I will only say the situation was resolved nearly a year later when a former club member, who, upon retrieving my Day-Timer, suggested Phred make himself mighty scarce when he saw my car in the lot, and to never ever call me again. It was only when another man ‘claimed’ me (in his mind) that he backed off.

I couldn’t bring myself to touch the thing when my planner was given back to me, and a dear friend bought me a new brown, leather checkbook wallet I have to this day.

Fake Men Real Women Wallet (2)

 

It was good for a couple of years. He didn’t call, I never saw him at the club.

Then, one day, just before I left Denver for a decade, I was having dinner and someone sent over a drink. I asked the bartender who my benefactor was and she pointed down the bar to Phred: 5 years older, 40 pounds heavier, and waving like an old friend.

In a rage I leaned over the bar and poured the drink into the service sink, and handed the empty glass to the bartender, all the while giving Phred the stink eye. He looked confused.

In a ball of fury I went up to him and dressed him down at the top of my voice in front of a bar full of people, “I don’t want your drinks or your smiles, you Fucking Freak!! You stalked me nearly 2 years! I had to move! I had to change my fucking phone number because of you, you pathetic psycho! FUCK. OFF. LEAVE ME ALONE!! NEVER, EVER CONTACT ME EVER AGAIN!!!”

You can imagine my delight at finding his friend request after a searing piece about on-line abuse.

That crazy son-of-a-bitch saw that piece about being harassed, and in *his* mind he thought, “Hey – remember that women I got told in no uncertain terms to leave alone? Looks like she could use another aggressive male in her life.”

So – to be clear, Phred Riggs: The next time you see my name on Fabebook scroll past. If you see me at the Denver Press Club – walk on by, asshole, and do not attempt to interact with me. I am not interested in you in any way shape or form. You are crazy, and the shit you did 20 years ago? I will make sure you go to jail if you try half of that shit today. If you ever, ever trespass on my property again you will live to regret it. These are promises I will keep Phred.

 

 

McCain's Conscience 1 Week Twitter Activity (2)

While Real Me was getting stalked and offered the treat of a stranger’s One-Eyed Trouser Snake, Fake Man was knocking it out of the park by averaging nearly 30,000 views a day on a week where I only bothered tweeting on 4 days.

In his first month Fake Man garnered 70% of the followers it took Real Me took a year to get. Fake Man says all the things without repercussion that once caught a ration of shit when Real Me said it. Fake Man has not gotten called a name ONCE. Not once.

But, I took it further. I began posting the same things on Fake Man’s twitter account and on Real Me’s Facebook page.

Perhaps you recall this throw away comment from my feed?

McCain FB Message (2)

 

Facebook was whole-heartedly ‘Meh’ for Real Me, with 25 likes off 5 shares from my 332 friends.

On the other hand, Twitter fucking LOVED it from Fake Man!

Tweet Activity McCain_LI (2)

Fake Man got 2,040 likes, 329 re-Tweets, and 84,000 views off of 60 followers.

If you squint real hard you can see the difference in the numbers.

Fake Man saw his Twitter followers raise by 50% in 3 days, and got ridiculous traction for saying ‘Oh, fuck him’ regarding Bernie Sanders possible run in 2020. Really, internet? 71 likes for ‘Oh, Fuck Him’?

Oh Fuck Him Tweet 1_LI (2)

It’d be funny if it wasn’t so pitiful.

Do you remember this blast from a few weeks ago?

Nick Cage What Have I Done

That meme I made along with 2 comments got 60,000 impressions on Twitter and a total yawn on Facebook.

I’m not saying Facebook should clap hands better – I’m saying Twitter laughs its collective ass of at the jokes they think a man is making. To be certain, not every one-liner I make as Fake Man gets traction on Twitter, but not one post I’ve made on Facebook has achieved anywhere near the traction that Fake Man gets on Twitter daily with the same material – and Fake Man has only ¼ the Twitter followers Real Me does on Facebook. What does that say about how we’re willing to hear things from men that we aren’t from women?

Ever thus it was to the woman who learned it was better to sell my jokes to men and have them be told and laughed at, rather than trying to tell them myself and have most of the crowd look at me like I was showing a dog a card trick.

Now? It’s not so much about anyone laughing.

In the space of 2 years men think it’s okay to shout down a woman – most especially if the man doesn’t know a damn thing about what they’re spouting off upon. It really didn’t used to be that way.

Men have come to believe that demanding and screaming and pretending they are in charge is the same thing as actually being in charge. Their justification for continued abuse is more about the need for rage and control than about anything intellectual.

The worst thing you can do to a man like that is ignore them and make them feel unimportant – unless maybe you laugh at them. Laughing is cause for primal rage.

The day after I published part 1 of this piece I started to have people post to my wall the story of the woman beaten to death in front of her children by her husband on their anniversary, while on a family reunion cruise in Alaska, just 6 hours after the trip got underway. The reason why Daddy brained Mommy with a blunt object, the young child who fled the cabin in mortal fear told the crew? Mommy laughed at Daddy.

“Men are afraid that women will laugh at them. Women are afraid that men will kill them.” Margaret Attwood

Post Script:

Real Me is keeping screen shots of Real Abuse and plain old dickish behavior that is happening with alarming frequency that I’ll address in Part 3.

Keep Resisting. Please.

It’s the only thing we have.

Fury and Truth

All of us know what it’s like to be white hot with rage over having been wronged on a grand level.

Perhaps it was a friend, a colleague or a loved one who betrayed you, cheated you – cheated *on* you. At the crescendo of your rage you hurled the accusation like the self-righteous Hammer of Thor, “How could you?!”

Every one of us knows how shaken a rage like that leaves you: The pounding heart and headache from cortisol screaming through your veins, and that queasy feeling when you realize you were not quite in control, and said things you regret. But, ‘Dammit!’ you say, ‘I’m not the bad guy here!’

The next day you felt that horrible emotional hangover of being wrung out, fuzzy headed with a sour stomach, and detached. There was always that betrayal staring you in the face, but at least you had the mantle of indignation to wrap around you to get through the days to come.

Imagine being THAT angry Every. Day. Of. Your. Life.

No – let’s crank it up even higher.

Think about leveling up to that kind of fury a dozen times a day.

You could not be an effective parent, partner, boss – or really anything. Partly because being in that many fights would be a full time job, but mostly because no-one can be that continually choked with rage and make sound, well-considered decisions.

Here’s the thing: There’s a difference between Being Angry and Being Right.

Trump thinks if he’s Angry he’s Right, and if he’s Right he’s Justified in meting out insults, threats and punishments.

It’s as simple as that – Trump has conflated the raw fury of not getting his every whim granted with that being a reasonable thing to expect.

There is not one thing reasonable about it.

In fact, every American should be keenly aware that our President’s Spiral of Rage is causing him to lose control every hour he is awake, and it appears to be accelerating.

I’m frightened by Donald Trump’s complete lack of self-control, his erratic behavior and constant self-aggrandizement. Above all, I am terrified at his need to make every snag and denial a scorched earth confrontation.

It is only a matter of time until Trump has a Grand Mal Tantrum and does something we ALL regret.

It’s such a simple thing to say Rage is not Truth, but it’s easy to forget when you’re caught in the undertow of toxic behavior and nonstop lies.

I’ll be here in the weeks and months to come to remind you to guide your boat by the stars of these absolute truths: Being Angry is not the same thing as Being Right, hurtful behavior is never okay, and this is NOT normal.

Fake Men and Angry Women

Last month I opened a parody account on Twitter, spoofing a well-known male politician’s name. In *3 weeks* I garnered 35% of the followers it took me a year to get with an account using my own name. Fake Man is averaging 10,000 views a day – totally smoking my Real Name’s views, due to his being liked hundreds more times a week with a clearly fake male name than with a real news woman’s name.

McCain's Conscience Numbers_LI

My latest tweet under Fake Man’s name was simply ‘Interesting Read’ in response to a linked article at the end of a *28-post thread* by the original poster. I received 16 likes off of 2,900 views, and one retweet off of a stupid throw away compliment. Why in the name of all that is logical would ANYONE retweet ‘Interesting Read’??!!!

Suddenly, one liners Claudia couldn’t get an inch of traction on have become an endless flow of positive reinforcement for Fake Man. I’ve had to turn the Twitter notifications off of my phone at night because the continual pinging was waking my husband and I up.

The best part? I’m tweeting EXACTLY the same things as before, but in the last 3 weeks not 1 person has called me angry, stupid, crazy, old, ugly, fat or bitch. You cannot BELIEVE the amount of abuse an opinionated woman who won’t be bullied takes on the internet. A fake man gets far more respect than a real woman.

 

McCain's Conscience Intersting Read_LI

 

The ‘go-to’ phrase for insecure men is that I’m angry. I bet I’ve heard, “You’re an angry woman,” every day that I post in earnest as myself on social media. It is – almost without exception – men possessed of a certain attitude that women aren’t as smart as men. Any good point I make based in fact must be made because I’m angry, not because I’m smart. Therefore, they can dismiss anything I say – thus preserving their bubble of past-its-expiration-date testosterone.

Women almost never accuse strange women of being angry – they prefer bitch, cunt or cow – and being accused incorrectly of harboring anger is something insecure men latch on to. For whatever reason (chauvinism, anger at equality, projection or intimidation) these men unconsciously reproduce the dynamics of being in an argument with a partner, not a stranger. They take it from casual to personal in 3 seconds flat. They beat their chest and pronounce their superiority and attack like a screeching baboon flinging poo. I would find it even more hilarious than I do if it weren’t so damn pitiful.

I look at these keening men who are clearly battling an inferiority complex and wonder at the women these wretched souls deal with on a daily basis. So often I am utterly grateful I don’t have to deal with them in any fashion in real life. I feel bad for the women in their personal circles, but feel deep empathy for the women I will never meet who must deal with these Rageaholic men in a professional manner.

Because that’s what it is: Rage. Pure, unadulterated rage.

Joe Knab Bullying

These tiny men are enraged that they have to share, or observe simple manners or treat women as equals.

You see the problem is they *don’t* see me as an equal. My approaching them as such causes such fury as to make them apoplectic and my laughing makes them reckless.

There is a sad little man on Facebook (a friend of a friend and a retired cop) who borders on the frightening now because it seems he is obsessed with me. He seeks me out on her posts to hurl invectives and he becomes unhinged when I refuse to be cowed by his pathetic behavior. When I grow bored with his antics and stop responding, this lonely little troll comes and shit posts on my page. Yes – a man who wore a gun for a living cannot grasp boundaries and believes it’s his right to harass me ad nauseum because I dared to answer him as an equal. I cannot imagine how this awful man abused his power over the decades as an officer of the peace.

Barry Kittay 1 (3)_LI

 

He is only one of dozens of angry impotent men I see every month who project their Rage on any woman foolish enough to imagine herself an equal. This trend really took off in earnest in 2015 when bigots and sexists got permission to let their freak flag fly by Trump. “Grab ‘Em By The Pussy!!” was their rallying cry – and Oh! The sweet relief of finally being reassured that you ARE the biggest, brightest boy and it’s okay to threaten those mean scary girls until they get back in their place.

A tremendously well written, well thought out piece by Sara Robinson for Rewire stopped me in my tracks as I read it last night. You should read it, too, because Robinson nails it completely:

“This is something most women know in their bones, but which most men don’t have to reckon with to nearly the same degree. This is the truth Margaret Atwood got at in one of her most famous passages: Men are afraid that women will laugh at them; women are afraid that men will kill them. Robert Heinlein put the same idea another way: “Never frighten a little man. He’ll kill you.” Women learn young—as a matter of basic survival—that if you so much as crack a grin in the direction of a fragile man, you put yourself in grave danger. You may possibly provoke him to violence so brutal and so disproportionate that you could end up beaten, sexually assaulted, or dead. And in his mind, you will have had every bit of it coming, since your disrespectful laughter is the one thing in the world that can deflate his sense of masculine control and power in a matter of seconds.”

I once had a News Director come over a conference room table in a wild fury – with Human Resources and a Union representative in attendance – because I pointed out with a smile during a contentious meeting his multiple egregious spelling errors in a ‘Company All’ email. Look: Apologizing for the ‘incontinence’ you caused someone is fucking funny no matter who you are. Unless you are a rage-filled impotent little man absolutely terrified by a laughing woman. I will say that his physically threatening me was a main factor in the state finding in my favor that ‘any reasonable person could not continue working under such hostile circumstances without fear of reprisal,” and granted me extended unemployment benefits when I quit.

This morning in a freewheeling thread with 33 posts a man’s jabbing at a poster was tolerated without comment, while I was called ‘angry’. For what it’s worth? I have been hit by a bus AND I have Hashimoto’s – so my question was only 33% smart assery.

Angry Woman 1

Who ARE these men so addicted to fury at women? These insecure masters of projection who know deep down that they will never have the control over others they so desire, and who so shrilly demand that women acquiescence to them through fluttered eyelashes and muttered demurral?

Why do they imagine it’s their RIGHT to cruelly dominate women in conversation and the work place, in act and deed?

Any woman who DARES to resist and speak up the same way a man would in the same situation is labeled ‘Angry’ and attacked, often by multiple male strangers – weak Omega wolfs emboldened by the pack mentality who materialize out of the woodwork to provide a mealy-mouthed echo chamber of Rage.

If Angry Woman does not show immediate submission to the Omega she is to be ground down and bullied until she knows her place. If she cannot be properly tyrannized into submission she is labeled Crazy – the ultimate sentence of Excommunication for worshipers at the Temple of the Perpetually Enraged.

A Crazy Woman’s facts needn’t be taken any more seriously than you take her. Who cares about *facts* when a good Ad Hominem attack coupled with a bullshit Straw Man argument are ALWAYS good for dismissing stupid Wimmin.

Rageaholic Math: Sexist Character Assassination + Putting Words In My Mouth = I’m Crazy

Uh-huh. Got it.

My experience isn’t singular, and one has to look no further than how shamefully the most powerful women in the country are treated.

Senator Kamala Harris was spoken to appallingly during Attorney General Jeff Sessions’ Senate Intelligence Committee hearing regarding his lying about Russian contacts under oath. Harris – a self-possessed brilliant woman of color who is a former a prosecutor and the former Attorney General of California – was described as *hysterical* by Fox pundits after dispassionately pressing the current Attorney General to cite which policy or law prohibited him from answering every question that was put before him that afternoon . This was Harris’ wheelhouse as a prosecutor & AG, yet she was unsuccessful in getting Sessions to co-operate because she was interrupted and chastised by Senator John McCain and Republican Committee Chair Senator Richard Burr. Sessions ridiculously claimed Harris’ behavior made him nervous – dog whistle for ‘The Pushy Black Woman Is Scary!!!”

Burr was simply repeating his performance of a week previous when he interrupted Harris’ questioning Rod Rosenstien about his role in firing James Comey. She was chastised both times for her aggressive behavior, and I’m surprised Burr didn’t tell her to act more ladylike and that she’d be a WHOLE lot prettier if she’d just smile once in a while.

Perhaps you think Kamala Harris WAS being too pushy. Well, then why were her male counterparts not interrupted or prevented from speaking when they asked the SAME questions using the same vernacular Harris did?  Democratic Senators Ron Wyden, Angus King and Martin Heinrich were allowed to ask tough questions and make snarky remarks – and The Good Old Boys demanded that only The Angry Woman know her place.

Afterward, Heinrich, Wyden and King spoke up for Harris, saying she’d done nothing wrong and she was being subject to an unfair double standard. Unfortunately, these statements were made to the press and on social media; they were not entered in the Senatorial Record, where it belongs.

Harris’ treatment goes hand in glove with the most stomach turning, cringe worthy treatment of Senior Senator Elizabeth Warren as she used her time to read a 1986 letter by Corretta Scott King, the widow of Martin Luther King, Jr, detailing Attorney-General-Nominee Sessions’ horrific and well documented Civil Rights record over the decades – a letter which would have allowed Warren to point out that Sessions was too racist for even the Reagan judiciary and his appointment was rejected resoundingly.

Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell used his power to exercise a little known rule to allow the GOP majority vote to silence Warren. Warren protested by continuing to read and her mic was cut off. McConnell thought his on-camera finger wagging diatribe meant to humiliate an equal colleague was a brilliant stroke. Instead, “She was warned. She was given an explanation. Nevertheless, She persisted” became a rally cry for women across the country.

McConnell Nevertheless She Persisted

Imagine that, Senator Pearlclucther – a WOMAN staring at you unblinkingly, nonplussed by your attempts at intimidation. It must have made his blood boil and caused him to work his mouth like was gumming a piece of lettuce, right up until Elaine Chao put him back on his feet and reassured him that men ARE the Big Daddies in control. You know Elaine – Mitch’s wife and the utterly unqualified 18th Secretary of Transportation in Trump’s cabinet. A position tendered only when McConnell refused to throw his support behind PEOTUS. Elaine is undoubtedly thought of as ‘one of the good ones’ on SO many levels.

A majority of Congressmen are AGHAST and offended that female Senators intend to do their job and expect the same respect and courtesy from their male counterparts as they are required to give. These men are holdovers from a day when slapping your Secretary’s ass was A-Okay, and they are positively flummoxed that these Crazy Women won’t back down and aren’t subservient. It is a downright affront and assault to their very Maleness that these inferior females Don’t. Know. Their. Place.

If you think the whole damn GOP isn’t full of ugly men like this, kindly remember that not ONE woman was included in the committee to design Trumpcare, nor was there ONE concession made to female needs in the Whip or reconciliation processes. It was just one giant ‘Women are chattel who belong to us and whose physical needs are unimportant – They have no Personal Agency or Self Determination and do not even get to decide when they have children’.

There is a bottomless well of terrible behavior to draw upon: Sean Spicer verbally attacked reporter April Ryan (a WOC) when she shook her head ‘no’ at his direct contradiction to his own statement made days before, and one that Spicer was peddling as today’s version of the truth. He dressed down Ryan in a shocking fashion, flexing his power. Bill O’Reilly took it a step further and mocked Congresswoman Maxine Walters’ hair, asking if she was wearing a James Brown wig instead of addressing her real concerns and points – because terribly executed Ad Hominem attacks never get old.

What do you expect from a party who decided to bet the farm on the phrase ‘Grab ‘Em By The Pussy!!’ and who bats nary an eyelash when POTUS ogles and paws the First Lady of France? (Yer Honor! Look what she was wearing! She was in such GREAT shape – Beautiful!) Is it any wonder the First Lady of Japan spent 2 hours at the G-20 dinner seated next to Trump pretending not to understand a word of English when she is perfectly fluent?

The example has been set at the top, and is flowing down like some noxious champagne pyramid, filling every glass with a bubbly mix of chauvinism and cruelty. Men who chafed at having to display a modicum of control around women have been released to wallow in a perpetual Rumspringa of Misogyny, drinking deeply from the Cup of Rage.

The public push to control women is worse now than it was when I first became aware at 16. The anger and hatred and need to punish women is horrifying and palpable. Women have fewer rights and health care options now than they did in the 1980s – and goddam if I wasn’t FURIOUS at how few rights I was ‘granted’ then.

Here’s the thing, though: I had some wonderful male mentors who taught me from the earliest age that my opinion mattered. Norman Lear indulgently squandered 10  or 15 minutes with me every week or so when I bum-rushed his personal assistant – wait no! I joyously ran across KTTV from the commissary, ignoring my mother’s protestations, leaving her arthritic knees behind flights of stairs. Dashing across the lot at full speed and into the building where his office was I took the stairs 2 at a time, swinging around the corner to see if Norman’s door was open: If it was I waved at his assistant, and galloped across his office to throw myself into his arms. After our hug I would sit across from him and tell him about life on the set, school and the stories I was writing. He always made me feel like what I had to say was important, and encouraged me to write. At the start of the 2nd season a top of the line IBM Selectric auto-correct type writer was in my school room when I got to work one morning. That was a big thing. To this day I remember the solid weight, the way it vibrated when I turned it on and how it responded to the words in my head that came out my fingers. I could write and make mistakes and change my mind.

That kindness has given me an art, a craft, several livelihoods and the way to express myself almost as fast as I can talk.

Claudia and Norman

Oliver Hailey really taught me the hard basics of how to write and put in the work you must do to make a piece original and polished. Oliver allowed me to join a writing class with 7 other students – two of whom were Brett Somers and Charles Nelson Reilly. Need I mention the level of wit required to keep up with that class, which was held at the Debbie Reynolds Studio? I was 15 and was doing a dual enrollment in High School and Community College. Oliver believed in the value of my writing and my ability to tell of a story, and he never let me off easy. I remember with absolute clarity the first time I nailed a short story and the class gave me actual respectful applause instead of just nodded heads. I cannot tell you the personal power that gave me – it is a compass I carry with me as I write: A burden that nags me into making a piece, a paragraph, a sentence or even a word be exactly right and to always *Pay Attention*  and to write in sequence – not matter how long that takes.

Greg Mullavey taught me about timing, NEVER denying a premise and allowing another performer to have the last word.

Martin Mull (probably doesn’t know it) taught me to believe in my comedy, to commit to it completely, and to develop a 1,000-yard gaze with a nod – A shield I carry with me always and wish I’d taken out of my armory sooner.

Claudia Gridiron 2002 2

 

 

There were men who hired me in radio *because* I could match the worst people wit for wit – Bruce Kamen being the most loved. He told me the thing that some General Managers would hate would be the very thing others would love – but to stay true to myself always. In other words: Don’t change your stance for the paycheck. It is advice that allowed me to leave Talk Radio with my dignity, and move into News with a good reputation – plus one HELL of a reference.

I would have walked across coals for Mickey Luckoff, the greatest General Manager of the greatest Radio station in the United States for 35 years (voted by our peers). Under his management at KGO I was part of the News Team that won 4 Associated Press Mark Twain Awards and 5 Edward R. Murrow Awards.

It bolsters me to know that there are men everywhere who are allies and accomplices to Equality.

Here’s the thing, though: I didn’t feel like I could tell my truth on my own blog about the abuse I take online without also acknowledging there were positive male influences in my life. I wanted to head off the “Yeah, but… Is she a man hater?” questions at the pass.

I love men. I’m married to one. I gave birth to one. 5 are my brothers, and I can count on more than 2 hands the number I consider dear friends. (Why, some of my BEST friends are male…)

It doesn’t change the fact that too many men are raging assholes who mean harm to women and too many men won’t stand up to their dickish behavior, chalking up online harassment toward women as inevitable and innocuous. It’s not.

Online Harassment of Angry Women is meant to silence the smartest, strongest and most outspoken among us. It’s nothing any of us should put up with, and I am so proud of all of my friends who brook no bullying on their timelines – and that includes me when I’m being an asshole. We all make mistakes or act like a dick and we *must* be called on it and admit it (admitting before being called is preferable) or it never changes.

Guys? If you see a another guy acting like a dick towards a woman and you don’t call him on it you’re not minding your own business – you’re enthusiastically encouraging dickish behavior. If a woman looks like she’s handling herself just fine and you don’t add a voice of encouragement? You’re part of the problem and a voyeur. Nothing ever changes until the majority stands up for what’s right.

I won’t hold my breath that folks will suddenly see the light and be counted among the righteous. That’s why we’re where we are.

As for me? I will Resist to my dying breath – a proud Angry Woman. It would be an honor to be scolded, “She was warned. She was given an explanation. Nevertheless, She persisted”