CRIME STATISTICS WHAT DO THEY SAY ABOUT OUR COUNTRY?

sorry the print is so small. I can't read it either.

 

 



I tried looking on line  for data because I wanted to know how the violent crime rates break down. You know, who attacks who or whom, [it's been a long time since I took grammar].

I saw a few articles and I know that people who don't want to read about what I saw will say the data is skewed.  I can't really say. I tried several different sites, including the justice department and FBI, but don't know who the papers or blogs are affiliated with.

It's just so upsetting. Everything that is going on in the world now seems to be racing to some tipping point. I don't know what it will be, or how or when, but it certainly makes me think. First, I think about what happened to my "I don't want to know anything, policy", and "how have things gotten to this ugly place"?

I only stepped out of my cave briefly, but all I saw were policemen being murdered by black men. Even black policemen.  Even I couldn't duck back in and hide. I mean WTF?

I remembered from years ago that "black on black" crime was one of societies biggest problems. What I read seems to imply that it is still a huge issue, except that the blacks have been expanding to criminalizing behaviors against whites and Hispanics as well.

I am wondering why the news media isn't focusing on the fact that more black men kill each other, than do the police. The black men, are also the majority of men being arrested, so it would stand to reason they would be more likely to be killed.


THEORY: it is far easier to blame a problem on someone else ,rather than look at ones-self.

I know that emotions trump (pardon the use of the T word) logic and reasoning, but it would appear that logic has been dumped for ratings.

The more coverage the media gives these incidents, the more incidents they have to show us. The higher their ratings, the more they can charge for commercials. So, it is again, not about justice, hate crimes, law and order, but money. Whether it's the conservative or the liberal news media makes no difference. Of course the news used to be unbiased, kind of like the court system was supposed to be.  If that were the case, though,  no one would be so worried about who gets elected and gets to choose supreme court justices.

I know this is going to sound hateful. It is not meant to be. It's just my opinion.

Don't start a group called Black Lives Matter unless you're willing to go into your own neighborhoods and fix them, before protesting against the government and the law. ALL LIVES MATTER.

Three and a half years ago (approx..) there was a shooting in Fort Pierce Florida. A sergeant stopped a car for a broken tail light. As he sat in his car, the man he'd stopped, jumped out, went to the officer's car and shot him in his chest. Killing him.    Why?    Because he felt harassed.

Sergeant Gary Moreles

Gary Morales was the officer. He had been one of my university students and I had been his advisor on his master's thesis. I didn't read about his death  in the news, because I avoid the news. I saw it posted on Face Book and broke down.

He was a 35 year old married man with two young daughters.  He was charming and smart and a great person.  His parents live in my community. Every time I go out the back entrance, I pass the monument that was put up for him. For quite a while, I couldn't go out that way. He had been to my house.  I am still really upset.

I never knew that his killer was black until he recently  went to trial. The case was being dealt with by a good friend who works with judges on death penalty cases.  She'd forgotten that I  knew Gary and talked about the waste of this murders' life. He had an associates degree and his aunts talked about him spending his life in jail for a five minute, poor decision. He was no where near as awful as the men she was used to reading about. If that gives you a clue about something being wrong with our world, I don't know what would.

Eriese Tisdale

I was really upset. It turned out my friend was just venting because the judges who can't speak about the cases, can talk to her and she is the repository for things we do not want to know. I can understand that. I can even feel bad for the young man who threw his life away when he took Gary's. It took me time to see that he too was/is some kind of victim. However, I will never understand how someone can have a loaded gun in his or her car and walk up to a person and shoot them. That, I cannot wrap my brain around.  

I really, really, really , really hate guns. I really, really, really hate what poverty does to people. I really hate feeling helpless.

Are we just animals? Sometimes I think we are. I think even wild, four legged animals are greedy. They want, how do they put it?  The lion's share?  If we cannot figure out how to deal with one another, using our brains rather than our fears, we will end up living in a human jungle. I guess then, I'll probably need a gun.
    A question on gun etiquette. Does each gun color have to match my bag and shoes?

A FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON MY WAY TO THE ER LAST NIGHT

emergency rooms in port saint Lucie Florida

 

I was looking forward to an evening of reading. In peace. My husband was going surf casting at high tide ( maybe it was low) and it was happening at, get this, 7:30 PM.

That meant he's leaving at 5PM, not am,  and not return until 9PM.
Usually he goes in the morning so that he's home by the time I'm ready for my peace and quiet. This was a very special bonus with a bow on top.

The thing is, I love to read in [the living room ]and he talks to me even though he knows that with my ADHD, I need to concentrate without distractions. His being out at night was a gift.

I was cherishing my gift until a little after 7 pm when the house phone rang. Normally I let the machine pick up and left the caller hang up. That's what it is 98% of the time. But,  I had the feeling that I shouldn't ignore it like I always do and I got up and saw it was my husband. Then it stopped ringing. I assumed and ass dial.

"You're the one that I want" [from Grease} starts singing which is my hubbies' ring tone. I ran to the room where the phone was because I never have it near me,  and he's like, oh hi, how are you, I'm going to the ER.

What???  "Well, I cut myself on my leg and it's kind of bad so I think maybe I should go to the ER. You don't have to come but if you want you can meet me there."

My stomach is in my mouth. Apparently also up in my ears.  I asked him where he was. He said he was maybe 20 minutes away. I now know that time is not an actual location which is what I should have gotten.  I asked which ER.As you can see on the above picture, there are many in this area.  He said St. Lucie. This is where our memories differ. I assumed he was still near wherever he had been fishing, so he would go to the nearest ER. He was already on his way home and not where I thought he was. This is why communication is so important. And why we get an F.

He need clothes, since everything he had was soaked. I told him I'd get his clothes and I'd be on my way.
I packed up his stuff. And being so considerate I even remembered his Kindle in case there was a wait.

There hadn't been time to ask what he'd done to his leg. He just mentioned that he was worried because of the toxic algae and his cut had been in the water.
I thought maybe he hooked himself or maybe worse, used his knife and slashed his leg by mistake. I drove safely , which was hard, but it took about 25 minutes to get there.

I went in and asked for him. He wasn't there yet. The guard was very nice.

He gave me a visitor's pass.


Don't pay attention to pad I put it on. It's supposed to help me be organized but I forget to use it.

 

The guard couldn't find him on the computer. So, I called his phone from the outer desk only  it went to voice mail.

 

I had visions of him passing out from lack of blood and I had no idea where he had gone so I had no clue where he might be bleeding out in his SUV or crashed or dead. The guard sent me into the waiting room because maybe he'd check in and he missed it.  While the woman told me he wasn't there my phone rang. "you're the one that I want" too loud and at that moment, it was more like you're the one that I want to strangle.

 

He asked where I was and I asked where he was. Bloody Hell. He'd gone to the ER in St. Lucie West, five minutes from our home.  I was at the wrong ER. Or he was. Depends on your point of view.

 

I left and was really, really pissed off. You moms know how it is. When you find our your child isn't dead and just scared you, you want to kill them.

Ditto for husbands.

 

And so I drove back and went to the ER where he was.

 

 

 



this isn't the exact place but I didn't think to take a photo last night.

 

Of course the fist thing I did was yell at him. Anger is my friend. When all else fails, I can count on my anger to keep me grounded. It also keeps me focused so I don't have an accident while I'm driving.

 

So, we had a fight in front of the nurse and he did the usual crap about his wife always being right, while insisting he told me St. Lucie WEST. Fuck!

 

Okay. time to calm down. I'm with him. He's waiting for the Dr. to staple his calf and I'm about to pass out. Did I mention that I get queasy and faint when he's in the ER?

 

The nurse practitioner ( hereto be known as the NP)  comes in and looks at the wound, which by the way was gotten when he slipped on the rocks and got more scratches than from an angry bob cat.

 

There's only one bad one that's bleeding a lot. The nurse instructs him to hold the gauze on it to apply pressure to stop the bleeding. He does, but then he decides to take a look, so it starts bleeding again. This time they apply a pressure bandage and wait. And wait.

 

The NP comes back and decides he needs either two or three staples and that the numbing process will hurt more than just doing the staples so he forgoes that part. Two staples and he's hurting. We both wince. Okay.   He's done.

 

Now we divide up the division of labor. I'll go to the pharmacy and get his prescriptions and gauze rolls and Neosporin and he'll go home. He wanted to go to IHOP because he's hungry. I'm nauseous. We go our separate ways.

 

I'm checking out at Walgreen's and again, my phone rings. It's already 10 PM. The news flash.

He's going back to the ER because it's bleeding. I don't have to meet him, I can go home or whatever I chose to do. He's very kind that way.

 

I still have his kindle, so I think, okay. I'll deliver that and go home. I'm tired, nauseous and can't take any more drama.  Plus, I have the water to bring because of course there wouldn't be any in the hospital. Yeah. I think I had lost it a few hours ago. I also have his antibiotics and other meds so I'd best go back to the ER.

 

Receptionist: "Hi, he's in room six, go on in".  And back I go. At least this time he's dressed. I sat down and gave him his antibiotic which should be spelled Keflex but starts with a ce and I can't spell it.

 

The NP comes back and decides that maybe he could use some more staples and gives him three more. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. He asks if it's an artery. It's not, but it's a skin arterial something but they wrap him up real good this time and leave the pressure bandage on. Why am I still here?

 

He was reading Men's Health, so I didn't need to bring his kindle. Before he leaves they say he should walk around a bit to make sure it's okay. I guess they don't want him to come back.

So, I'm sitting with his magazine. He's very nice and as he leaves me in the room, he says they usually have some very hunky men in that magazine so I should enjoy myself. So, I take a look.

 

I sit and read. About will female sex robots take over for real women. This is in men's health?  The only pictures are of Mike I think that's his first name,  Cena. He's too dammed big for my likes. However, there was an Armani perfume ad on the back cover of Chris Pine's head and shoulders.  So, while no one was looking, I ripped it off and took it home. I apologize for being a thief.

I'm looking at him now. On my bulletin board next to my computer.

 

My husband got two stickers for being a good boy. All I got was the loss of my quiet night. 

 

thanks for listening.

I'M SERIOUSLY WORKING ON GETTING THE COMMENTS TO GET POSTED. SO FAR, SO BAD

I just want to give an update on how things are going with increasing my readership. It's working. A little. My husband and one of my God daughters were able to tell me how frustrating it is that they try to comment and it never goes through.

This has been a problem since day 1. I gave  fixing this a shot, but was unable at that time to do anything. So, I did what every red blooded American does with a problem. I forgot about it.

PS. There is no where in the help page or tools about comments. At least not that I could find.

Now, since it's come up again, I thought. Ah. Maybe if I pay for whatever "they" offer, it will allow comments to be posted.



So......... I looked this up on Blogger and it shows up as 'ads'.  So.
 I don't want what in the hell I'd be advertising, but I looked anyway to see what the cost was. Get this. For only $30, and I think I remember this right, but it doesn't seem possible, any time someone clicks on your link, you pay 30 bucks. Maybe I read it wrong. Maybe it was 30 bucks a day. But, even at that, who can spend that kind of money for people to click and possibly/probably not even read the damned thing?

I have friends who own a business and they pay big money to be at the top of engine searches. Some years ago, I think they paid $5 a hit, plus whatever it cost to be listed on top.  Any time anyone clicked on their site it cost them five dollars. Or did.  Well, Thank God they have a really thriving business, although I still can't imagine the cost.




In my fiendish little mind, though, I did have an idea. If I wasn't happy with a particular seller, I could repeatedly hit their site and cost them lots of money. On the other hand, they probably would have trackers and I'd get arrested. So, I'm glad I didn't do it. I know. I have morally reprehensible thoughts but I don't act on them. I suppose if I were Catholic I'd be going to Hell anyway. At least I wouldn't be lonely. So.  If I could, I'd hit Walmart's. Constantly. For hours and days.  Could I be sued if I suggested doing this to all of my readers?  On general principal I hate Walmart. Not just for what they did to our mom and pop stores. That was bad enough. So I have basically boycotted them for 4 years. Like they care.

When I found out that they are such horrible employers, I decided I couldn't shop there. They pay shit wages. They don't take full time employees so they don't have to pay medical or over time. They don't give their staff their schedules in advance, so having a second job, which when you work for them is necessary for survival, they almost can't have that second job, because you have to know what hours you can work for someone else. 

 Last year they made a big hoo ha ha about increasing wages. Apparently my boycott is working.
 My sources tell me it was a weak and unfulfilling gesture for most of their workers.  We, the public are not appeased you Bastards.

 

There I go off topic. Anyway, I am trying. On the comment thing. Maybe you forget also what I started out with.

 Remember you can comment on my face book page or on Google + or write an email to (I wasn't thinking when I made this ridiculously long address) Dr.gsridiculoustheories@gmail.com.




OMG. I hope that is an actual link. Maybe you won't have to retype it and can just write to me.  I will not get excited in advance. That leads to disappointment. I won't get excited in advance. I'll keep saying that to myself, and say, til the next time.

oops.  theory:
Life is difficult. It becomes more difficult when we care about something or someone.

          HYPOTHESIS:
If you don't care about something or someone, you will shrivel up and die.

ps.  I'M NOT GOING TO TRY TO PROVE THIS ONE. WE ALL KNOW IT'S TRUE.


So, again. Until the next time. keep reading. no matter what it is. Knowledge is power.