Tag Archives: evil

Evil People

I have always maintained that people are basically good. I believe we are born good. All capable of empathy, good morals, and, most importantly… Love. In order to be anything else in life, a hard-hearted criminal, a manipulator, a murderer, a corporate CEO, the 45th President of the US, you have to be taught to do evil.

So, if all people are basically good, and most of us believe in a loving, benevolent God, why are we on a downward spiral of climate change grinding out the eventual extinction of all life on Earth?

You have to be taught to be evil. But there is more to it than simply having a father and a grandfather who were deeply involved with the KKK. You can be taught evil things by circumstances you simply can’t control due to their complexity and unsolvable problematic nature. Being raised in poverty is a big one. Being raised in poverty and having your fears and disappointments massaged and amplified by the propaganda on FOX News is an even bigger one. Intolerance, bigotry, and, most of all, hatred are a very human reaction to personal suffering, and they become an evil thing if you don’t properly place the blame on the real causes of things and then solve those problem-perpetuating causes.

Greed and narcissism are real causes of many evils that largely go un-dealt-with. In our modern world unregulated capitalism means the worst offenders have an automatic incentive to choose increasing profits over the well-being of the general population. Paying carbon taxes and taking carbon out of manufacturing emissions don’t help profits as much as being able to simply pour the waste into the air we breathe and the water we are literally made of. The temptation is simply too great to those raised on excessive wealth and privileges. In fact, it can be too much for those who built their own fortunes without being evil too. Staying good is not always a choice that wealth allows. Few are altruistic enough to give away an entire fortune once they have it in their hands. Whether they see how it affects them or not.

I can see these things are true, but I also have no power, no magic wand to wave, to solve these miserable problems. Evil is a feature of being human. And only our collective will can solve it. We are not inherently evil, deserving of every bad thing that’s coming to us. But even the worst villains think of themselves as the heroes of their own story. So, how do we solve it all? You tell me. And then we’ll solve it together.

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The Devil in the Details

There tends to be a good reason behind certain expressions.  Let me take a moment to explain it to you in the vaguest sort of way meant to protect the innocent, the privacy of the sufferer, and my privacy, and yet still get at that little old devil who is making my life a living hell.

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The problem stems from factors beyond my control, and the mental health of a family member who is not me, but I am responsible for paying for, because I can clearly see what the problem is (as can doctors and licensed practitioners)  while other members of my family (mainly for religious reasons) can’t see.  And, of course, you can imagine who the insurance company, who is supposed to pay for at least part of it, wants to believe.  I am the one who sat through the day in the ER two years ago, giving the best support and care I could while footing the bill.  (The truth is, Jehovah’s Witnesses have a complicated time in the ER because they don’t accept blood transfusions, and they worry about the practice of Psychiatry leading to some kind of evil mind control.)  In the ER it was determined for the sake of safety and protection of the patient, we needed to be sent to a psychiatric hospital.  Of course, the insurance gets to tell you where and what doctors you can work with, so we were sent to University Behavioral Health Hospital in Denton, the one facility that my family has determined CANNOT perform any more services for my family on pain of religious condemnation and angry black stares that ripple through time from then to now.    A weeks’ worth of time in UBH, determined by UBH to maximize profits, led to a bill of over a thousand dollars payable by me.  That, added to my own medical bills (from six incurable diseases) and the bill from the ER that the insurance pays less than half of because of deductibles, added up to a debt that maxed out my credit cards and brought me to the brink of bankruptcy. (A thing I narrowly avoided by engaging a lawyer for debt-reduction services).   I was forced to retire from teaching at that point because the time away from my job for the family member’s illness, plus the work missed from my own illnesses, was reducing my income to the point that I might’ve owed the school money at the end of every working month otherwise.  I was fortunate to have enough years in service to have a good pension.

Now, of course you know that mental health conditions aren’t the kind of thing that goes away by taking a pill… or even a hundred different pills.  It requires constant monitoring, prescribing, and proper therapy.  UBH will not even release a patient unless you can prove that you have set up appointments with both a psychiatrist and a therapist.  We found excellent ones of each.  But, of course, along comes the insurance company to have their say.  (This insurance company shall remain nameless… but it rhymes with FAetna… and that is not a capitalization error, no matter what the spell-checker says.)  We lost the services of one of the best adolescent psychiatrists in North Texas because he refuses to take the crappy insurance.  I don’t blame him.  I blame him less now that I know so many more of the devilish details than I did then.  So, I tried to replace the good doctor.  I called the insurance provider for a list of doctors we could use.  I was given only two names.  The first doctor, a well-respected lady psychiatrist, let us make an appointment.  When I was filling out the required paperwork in the office on the day of the visit, we were informed that due to a technicality, the only way we could see that doctor would be to pay 100% 0f the bill.  The receptionist graciously let us end the appointment without charging us the late-cancellation fee.  We went to the other doctor, one that had unpleasant memories of my family from UBH, and were rejected by the doctor.  So… no psychiatrist anywhere in the State would treat my family ever again thanks to the crappy insurance.  (I tried to think of another adjective besides “crappy” to use here, but couldn’t think of any I could use that would not melt my keyboard.)

Now, recently, we have lost our only other professional help.  We had been seeing the excellent therapist weekly for over two years.  Previous insurance had no problem paying for the preventive services he provided.  I got by with a simple co-pay every week.  But when we had to transition to crappy FAetna, a stealth problem occurred.  Apparently there was a form that needed to be filled out to transfer the payment obligation from one provider to the next.  The form had an expiration date on it that absolved the crappy insurance from any payments at all once it was passed.  They, of course, did not tell the poor therapist about the existence of this critical document until long after the expiration date.  All claims during that time were recently nullified and payments denied.  We actually owe the doctor doing the therapy well over a thousand dollars. But he knows we can’t afford it, and he feels bad that it was caused by an error that was technically his.    We are still trying to dipsy-doodle through the nightmare health-care system to find needed services.  I have had my fill.  I don’t try to call Satan’s member-services department for the crappy insurance any more.  They won’t tell me the truth, and they won’t do anything helpful… only things that are harmful.

If I were to go to the main offices of FAetna Crappy Insurance Corporation, I would fully expect the front doors to be guarded by a massive three-headed dog-thingy.  The receptionists would all be red-skinned succubi with fangs and horns.  You would have to descend in an elevator to the Pit of Hell to see any of their superiors… You know, like Beelzebub, Asmodeus, and Lucifer.  Apparently all the premiums we pay to health insurance companies entitle us only to arguments with intractable employees who don’t even know what the word “approved” means.  So, the Devil is indeed using the details to rule in Hell… and he is doing a Helluvah job.

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Why I Hate Stoplights… Or, Rather, Why They Hate Me

Ancient Aliens Theorists assert that Zeus and Poseidon were actually powerful alien beings who came to Earth and presented themselves as gods.  I now know this to be true, because I have run afoul of an old Greek god with a foul temper and a vengeful spirit.  Umussnago Pastus is the ancient Greek god of the traffic light, and for reasons unknown, he has decided to do to me at least as much damage as Poseidon once did to Odysseus.

 Now, the reason I have to worry about Umussnago’s foul humors is that I am a city dweller.  I live in Carrollton, on the Western side of the Dallas part of the DFW metroplex.   My teaching job, however, is on the East side of Dallas in Garland.  That means my morning commute (which I must begin at 6 o’clock A.M. to avoid traffic) is liberally blessed with 45-plus stoplights.  Depending on what circuitous, weaselly route I must follow, I can pass through the jurisdiction of as many as 52 stop lights.

A stop light, for you country bumpkins who have to face only one or two in your entire town, is a hideous time-consuming torture device.  They were invented in the late eighteen hundreds by the British, particularly on engineer named J.P. Knight, who apparently knew in advance that they would one day inflict far more harm and mental duress on the rebellious colonies than they would on the honorable homeland.  A four-way light, which almost all of them are in the Dallas area, can force you to sit for as much as four minutes.  I have a morning commute that at its absolute best takes twenty minutes to travel by car while following a safe speed limit (actually with Texas drivers, anything less than twenty miles per hour over the limit will get you killed from behind… killed by car crash, too, not just by sixgun).  Four minutes multiplied by fifty-two stoplights is… a major commuting problem.

Those of you who managed to stay awake during high school math class already see that by the statistical probability of hitting red out of three whole choices should not cause me to sit and percolate at a red light for the almost four hours of extra commute time that this makes possible.  However, I have, in fact, counted forty red lights in one drive five different times.  How many times have I had forty or more greens, you say?  Never.  This led me to suspect that old Umussnago didn’t like me.  But a number of other factors encountered time after time, have led me to believe he positively loathes me.

If you are approaching a green light, especially a stale green light that you know is soon going to turn yellow and then the deadly red, you can increase your speed and try to skate through the intersection  on yellow.  Does this work for me?  Ah, no.  Umussnago will somehow make the yellow light into a super-short nano-second flash so that you end up driving through the intersection not on yellow, but on red.  Why is this a problem?  Red-light intersection dashes equal a three-hundred to four-hundred dollar ticket.  And there is almost always a lurking cop to see it.  If not the cop, there are those insidious intersection cameras that snap a quick video of you committing the capital offense of red-light violations.  Try arguing with a Garland or Richardson or Farmers’ Branch traffic court that you didn’t actually violate a sacred red light!  They have the video.  I have paid enough tickets that I start slowing down to a stop while the light is still green.

Then, too, if you think you can’t make it through the intersection on green, or at least yellow, before you contemplate the stop, you have to remember the average Texan driver behind you is thoroughly convinced that he is going to get by being the last car to zoom through as the light is changing to red.  He is, in fact, speeding up behind you as you make the horribly unwise decision to stop.  You are going to die.  Umussnago is pleased by this.

People who ride with me comment that I must have the most incredibly bad luck with stop lights of any human being on Earth.  They see how I go from one light turning from green to red and trapping me for the maximum stop-light sit-time to the next where exactly the same thing happens, to the next, and the next, and… well, this just gets ridiculous after a while.  Apparently no one but me sees him sitting up there laughing at me.  Umussnago Pastus, Greek-dang god of traffic lights!

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