This was originally going to be mailed privately to a commenter on one of my "3 is average" entries, Jace ; I hope he doesn't mind me posting his name there but his comment is available to whoever wants to see. I thought it might be unfair for me to send it privately as it could be seen as an attack or something, plus, posting it publicly might clear this up and get everyone else who might feel inclined to reply to just never mind, since I'm getting tired of the matter.

I haven't read the other comments as, truthfully, I use my blog just to vent and really do not like to get into debates in it. Seeing as I'm not a moderator, and am not really close to any, I have no idea what prompted the "3 is average" campaign--you seem to indicate knowledge that it's to convince site members of the proper usage of the 3-star rating as true average (i. e., not to overrate things)--and if that's so, I have nothing against THAT usage of the rating. 3 really is average, and I have never had anything against giving an average rating to an average item (as long as the review explains why). (My average rating given is above 3 as, truthfully, I just don't like spending time reading average items. I used to try giving helpful reviews until I found out most people really do not want them, so I gave up. My experience reviewing items on the site has been a lot more discouraging than yours, based on what I just read in your blog, so I mostly keep to myself.)

I'm thinking maybe some of the moderators who replied to my entry missed the point I was making, based on your comments here, since I never once said I was against the point that "3 = average"; the only thing I was against is that everyone's handles seemed to be indicating that "Average is GOOD," which it's not. It's just average. 4 is good, and 5 is excellent. Saying that "average is good" seemed to be indicating that we should not strive for anything other than mediocre, which makes little sense to me on a site where we're encouraged to write our best.

Since I'm not privy to the reason why the moderators used these handles, I of course had only my own POV to talk about. I have nothing against them encouraging people to use the ratings system appropriately. (Another reason I stopped reviewing, there were too many "average" items and I didn't want to wade through them all.) I do have something against the mentality that "average is good," which unfortunately seemed to be what they were saying. Since I had no idea why they were saying this in their handles, I could not know the reasoning behind it, just what it LOOKED like they were saying. (I. e., to those of us not in the know, something got lost in translation.)

I apologize if you get the impression, since I'm replying to you alone, that I'm lambasting you; the truth is yours is the only comment I've had the courage to read so far (it was much more courteous than I expected), and I'm just kind of getting fed up that everyone went after my opinion on ratings when I've posted other stuff since then and it was really just one unimportant person's opinion. Most of the people who replied to those posts have never visited my blog or my port before so I find all the attention mystifying; I really never get this much of a response to anything else I write, so all these moderators and such replying at once seemed rather threatening.

I should honestly post this as a comment or entry on my blog, but that would require me viewing the others that have been posted, and I still don't know 100% of the story so should not contribute further confusion to the matter, and I would probably get a bunch more replies, and I just haven't the heart to debate further. Perhaps I'll post this at some later point if I gather the courage, though maybe not, I don't know, I'd really rather nobody had noticed the entire thing. So I hope you don't mind me clearing it up with at least one person (you).

My apologies also if this sounds irked or anything, I'm not very good at replying to people and have been rather stressed lately.

So okay, there it is. Okay? I stand by my opinion, BUT keep in mind that since I'm not up on site events or anything, I have only my own biased, half-ignorant view of things to go on. And I really am getting irritated that I'm here having these health issues and depression and whatnot and have been for months and very few people cared whatsoever, fine, but all of a sudden I post a little unimportant rant on ratings (not even on ratings, but apparently a half-mistaken view on how they're used), then people show up out of the woodwork and disappear again. Cripes already. This is why I keep out of most site matters. Why did so many people care so much? Don't answer that, it's rhetorical. I'm just saying. I'm a nobody here. I said my two cents, a bunch of other people did, okay, it's over. Moving on. There's more to me than my stupid opinion on ratings.

My apologies to the few people who DID post legitimate comments--there was one moderator who I think has read my blog in the past (I'm sorry, I'm bad with names) and posted their response before my health entry, so even though I haven't read that comment, I had nothing against that particular member--it was just all these comments on my ratings entries that came AFTER I posted the health entry. I really felt like I was being ganged up on when I'm not feeling very well, and that hurt. I also keep fearing that should I criticize something on the site, I'm going to end up demoted. Not that it should matter much, but for some reason to me it does. Every time I try to show a little backbone I just get a lot more reason to keep my mouth shut, it seems.

I would really, truly appreciate no more comments on the whole thing, unless they're supportive. Yes, I just said no criticism, only support. It's stupid to do that on my writing but I can do that in my own blog as this is personal and isn't really up for critical review. Cripes. It was better just being ignored most of the time. Now I REALLY hope I don't regret posting THIS clarification, as I seem to regret posting most of the stuff I post.

 

Really nice how when I finally post two entries after months of silence, a whole bunch of members can notice my rant about user handles and ratings, but none of them can notice my more recent entry (posted BEFORE most of them commented) about my health situation. As far as I know, most of these people have never shown any interest in my blog before, and they probably won't in the future, fortunately. I wonder who pointed out my entry to them, since it's not like this blog gets much notice aside from its few regular readers. Did my little personal rant, which otherwise would barely have been noticed, really matter that much to them?

Needless to say I won't bother reading the comments since it was an opinion entry (we're all entitled to one) and I figured that none of them would agree with it anyway, but in addition to what I find unfortunate in aiming for mediocrity (I stand by what I said), I find it sad that so many people found my opinion on that far more important than, say, my health, or my POSITIVE comments on anything.

Recall the good old days of Skew whenever I'd share something nice and nobody would notice, but heaven forbid I should rant about something, THAT would get loads of attention, mainly from people telling me to shut up? In my own journal? Recall how I ended up just abandoning that journal because I got too discouraged reading such comments? I hardly have the strength of mind to deal with loads of people criticizing my OPINIONS in my PERSONAL JOURNAL. If I'd posted the entry in a forum, it would be fair game for criticism, but this journal is my own turf. I've been putting up with enough crap lately to deal with more, and it saddens me that the respondents didn't seem to notice or care about that. This is just my notice to anyone who ever vehemently disagrees with an entry of mine and feels like saying so--you're free to, but don't assume I'll read it. My blog is MY space. That includes this entry.

I'd take certain disagreeing opinions more seriously if the people posting them ever showed any interest in me ASIDE from when I'm posting a rant they disagree with. Would you really take somebody seriously if they only ever showed up to talk to you when they have something to criticize? I know I wouldn't. In fact I'd assume they just like to seek out the negative in everything, which is usually what I'm accused of doing.

Some things just never change. I think it's good I kept my mouth shut for so long if my opinion on ratings is vastly more important than my health and personal wellbeing.

A sincere thank you to the one person who DID comment on my health. It does help to know that my negative opinion on something isn't the ONLY thing that a few people notice about me. I'd probably be a lot more positive if more people would notice the positive things I say!

I think I'm going to have to, sadly enough, start posting "This is just my opinion, take it or leave it" disclaimers on my own journal entries. Really lame, I shouldn't have to do that here.

 

I haven't written in here in so long as I wanted to wait until I'd reached a definite point, and this is as definite as it's going to get for a while. Am not sure where exactly I left off on the whole urinary thing, but here's a basic rundown/update on how things stand:

*Started taking Elmiron and generic Atarax in December for a tentative diagnosis of interstitial cystitis, though I was pretty sure that wasn't the main problem, which I believed was some sort of endocrine issue as I really felt I was urinating way too much based on how little I've been drinking--I've been limiting myself to around 30oz a day (two lousy 12oz mugs of cold tea, plus my stupid Activia smoothie which doesn't seem to be working anymore, and sometimes a bit more water when I'm incredibly thirsty--I mostly avoid soup and large ice cream dishes, so have been eating lots of applesauce and Live Savers lately to stave off the thirst) since November, but I regularly put out over 100% of that. The urologist had asked if whenever I went to the bathroom (which, as he had seen, was at least once an hour, based on my bathroom compulsion which I've had for years) I was letting out tiny amounts or a lot--it really felt like a lot, so that's what I told him. I was to try the medications for three months, then get back to him.

*Waited two months with no improvement. Called the receptionist, got in to see him in February. He had planned a cystoscopy to look into the bladder to see if all was as it should be, but seeing as I did not yet believe it was truly a bladder issue, I finally got him to actually listen to me. Was hoping he would then refer me to an endocrinologist or at least a gynecologist, just to keep the ball rolling, but he didn't; he said that since we had no idea what the issue was with, the best he could do was send me to U of M or the Mayo Clinic--far, far out of our range of travel. Would not even give me a referral. Plus, decided against doing the cystoscopy, which, although I felt it would be useless, I was prepared to get out of the way. I left the office and broke down crying. All this crap and he would not even refer me anywhere. I was left hanging just like I always am in life. What's more, my mother was angered by how upset I was, but I won't get into that here; I know she tries but I really could have used a bit more support at that particular moment.

*Called my primary doctor, Dr. D., to beg her to refer me somewhere; the receptionist tried to put me off with "Well, Dr. M. (the urologist) is the specialist in urology in the area, so you should follow his advice." I insisted, so they agreed to let me come in to take more blood and urine tests for an infection, which they'd pretty much proven I do not have.

*Went to see Dr. D.--they found nothing wrong with my urine--and reiterated how I felt it was endocrine (she agreed), begging her to try to find me an endocrinologist. She agreed; my mother brought up the thought that this could be a female issue, so Dr. D. also scheduled a CT scan.

*Received a call from Dr. D.'s office--they'd had no luck so far in finding an endocrinologist in the northern Michigan area who takes Medicaid (my heart broke), but had scheduled me for the CT scan. I went, to my dismay had to drink a ton of contrast dye (which made my bladder act up all over again), had the scan done.

*CT scan found a cyst on one of my ovaries. Dr. D.'s office set up for me to see a gynecologist, Dr. C. I looked up ovarian cysts online and saw how they can cause issues like I've been experiencing, so I hoped this might be the problem. I honestly would not mind an ovary being removed, even the frigging uterus if that's what it took. It's not like I'm ever going to use it.

*Psychologist and I discussed what Dr. C. would probably have to do to check out the cyst. Naturally, I was not thrilled, but by now I'm willing to do just about anything to get this resolved. Felt quite stupid about how little I know regarding this part of the anatomy.

*Went to see the gynecologist. Was crying and upset when he arrived, but he was a lot more communicative and easier to deal with than Dr. M., who I'm sure is a decent doctor but who I do not really like dealing with much. He told me the cyst was probably normal since that's what happens during ovulation (my heart broke again), but they would check me out. He checked out my uterus with a scope and it must have given him trouble since it hurt, probably because I've never exactly used my uterus or anything down there for anything; he palpated around and found that the area of the urethra seemed very tender and sensitive. Asked if I wanted him to do a Pap smear while he was at it, I said he may as well. (Seriously, it couldn't get much worse.) He did that too (it also must have given him trouble since he said he couldn't get a "perfect" sample but it was good enough, also, apparently my cervix is skewed to the side or something, WTF), and told me that since the urethra area seemed so tender, it was most likely a urology issue after all--especially seeing as I can't hold in more fluid than around 4-6oz. I hadn't known, until looking online, that I should be able to hold about 3-4 times this much, and 4oz should just make me feel a TWINGE to urinate, it shouldn't feel like my bladder is full to bursting. (Dr. M. had never bothered explaining this to me. I had to find it out through Wikipedia.) Scheduled a pelvic/vaginal ultrasound just in case, to check out the cyst. Requiring a full bladder again.

*Sometime along in here while being weighed I found out (because Ma mentioned it, I hadn't wanted to know) that I've gained about 15lbs, I don't even know why.

*Called the doctor's office to beg to know if there was another procedure that could be done that didn't require a full bladder, since Dr. C. had mentioned a test involving them inserting an even bigger probe into the vagina, seriously, by now I would have preferred even that to yet another full-bladder ultrasound. Was informed I would have to have the full bladder and just do the best I could. My heart broke yet again.

*The day of the ultrasound, got a card in the mail with the results of the Pap smear. Results normal. My cervix is apparently hunky-dory, if somewhat skewed to the side or whatever.

*Drank the stupid water (only 20oz this time, since I'd tested myself at home and it worked just as well as 32oz) and waited. Go figure that this time the technician showed up early--and my bladder decided to fill up LATE. I had done this test at home at least three times and it had always taken 25-30 minutes for my bladder to be filled to maximum capacity, but for some reason, this day it ran late. So humiliating. The tech left, came back, even gave me a cup of water; feeling that she wanted me to drink it, I drank some, then felt awful because that just meant the urinating would act up even longer. Then she told me the ultrasound was already in use by another patient. And of course, as soon as she told me that and left, my bladder filled up. I tried to wait, but could take it no more and was about to go let it all out and ruin the test. Ma and a nurse had to go looking for the tech as she had disappeared. They found her and got me in; I was practically crying by now, it hurt so much. Barely made it through the scan--I remember her asking me, "Do you know if Dr. C.'s nurse is in?" and I had no idea, how would I know?--then heard her on the phone, saying, "Do they want a bladder ultrasound or just a pelvic?--because her bladder isn't full." She did that part of the test, then let me use the bathroom. By now I didn't even care about the vaginal ultrasound--they had thought THAT was what I was afraid to have done when I'd tried to ask for another test, but no, a full bladder upsets me far more than them sticking things in my vagina. That's the state I've reached. I braced myself for some real pain but...well, she didn't insert it into the vagina. I thought maybe she'd made a mistake, or was doing the wrong kind of test (my mother suggested maybe I was mistaken, but WTF, I do know my vagina from other parts of my body), but my bladder was already filling up again and I did not want to tell her she'd gone in the wrong end, could I get up and go to the bathroom again before she resumed the right way? So she prodded around, I heard swishy noises on the ultrasound, then she was done; I had some wiping up to do, used the bathroom again, and left, and was in and out of the bathroom the rest of the day. I want that to be the ABSOLUTE LAST ultrasound requiring a full bladder. They have ultrasounded my bladder, my kidneys, my pelvis and my vagina, they can NOT need any more frigging ultrasounds of that region. They can stick me full of probes if they want, but no more full bladders. I'm sick of them.

*Went to see the gynecologist again. Results normal. He could prescribe me something for my heavy periods if I wished, but I'd rather have no periods at all, or at the very least, just keep them regular and on time as they are, so declined for now. He mentioned that my bladder had been holding only 4oz during the ultrasound, way below what it should hold. Said he would send my results to Dr. M.'s office along with the recommendation that he try the cystoscopy I was originally going to get in February, along with bladder hydrodistension, which I'd read about in an interstitial cystitis forum. Seeing as the drugs aren't working, I was willing to try this next, though the info online says it works for only 20-30% of patients and it needs to be redone on occasion; plus, if you need to be conscious while they're FILLING YOUR BLADDER UP TO MAXIMUM CAPACITY TO STRETCH IT OUT, that thought was just horrific to me. Would they knock me out? Dr. C. assured me they could do both tests at once and yes, I'd be unconscious. I really wanted him to set this up with Dr. M.'s office since I have such trouble communicating with Dr. M. and he said they would. I went home feeling considerably better.

*Got a call from Dr. C.'s office. They'd called Dr. M.'s office to schedule the cystoscopy and whatnot, only to learn that I already had an appointment set up for May (which I had, but I hoped they'd get me in sooner, keep that ball rolling). Told me that I should talk with Dr. M.'s office myself and decide whether I wanted to wait until May or get in sooner. In short, they didn't set the thing up with his people at all, and left it entirely in my hands. I hung up and cried. I am so tired of phones. Psychologist said that such things get easier the more you do them, but in my case, they don't. I hate phones.

*Called Dr. M.'s office and mentioned Dr. C.'s news--apparently something got lost in communication, as there was no report that Dr. M.'s office had ever even heard from Dr. C.'s, even though they must have else they wouldn't have known about the May appointment. Bit down my anger long enough to tell them about the recommendation for cystoscopy and hydrodistension. The receptionist said she didn't think Dr. M. did hydrodistension, even though Dr. C. had told me he did. Told me she'd get back to me. I hung up and cried again.

*Dr. M.'s receptionist got back to me to say that yes, Dr. M. does hydrodistensions after all, and yes, the cystoscopy could be done at the same time. It's a same-day procedure requiring general anesthetic. Did I want to wait until May or try to get in sooner? I hadn't originally intended it, but decided to try to get in sooner. She gave me a date, on a Wednesday, when my mother is unable to drive me there; I agreed only because I thought that was for the procedure itself. Only after I had agreed was I told that no, this was not for the procedure, it was just to talk to the doctor about the procedure. Hung up, incredibly fed up.

*Spent quite a while agonizing over whether hydrodistensions are covered by Medicaid. Ma contacted Dr. M.'s receptionist, who said she "thought" they were. Isn't anyone SURE of anything anymore?

*Went to see Dr. M. for the consultation; had to have Dad drive me and go in alone since Ma was at work. Told him for the millionth time all that's going on; even apologized for my earlier insistence that this was an endocrine issue and the putting off of the cystoscopy (even though I hadn't told him not to do it, I was even angry that he didn't), but he didn't seem to notice any of that, so oh well, I tried. Lots of silence as he looked around on the computer. Told him what the gynecologist had said and he apparently dug up my ultrasound results or some such to look at. I could swear I heard him snort when I said the gynecologist had recommended the cystoscopy and hydrodistension, but perhaps it was just me. He told me a bit about what the procedure entails, as his receptionist had earlier told me--it's a same-day procedure done in the hospital, under general anesthetic, during which he also does the cystoscopy, and it takes perhaps an hour, I would be observed briefly afterward and then probably sent home. I asked if it's covered by Medicaid; he didn't know (CRIPES already), and left to ask. Heard him and someone else (a nurse?) conversing outside; he returned and asked what kind of Medicaid I had, I didn't know and offered to show him my card, he waved it off and said they were looking it up. He had asked me before this if I wanted to see if it was covered before scheduling it and I'd said yes; now he started rattling off all the risks and whatnot involved, so I'm guessing it must be covered, I do hope it is else I don't know what I'm going to do, I've had so many setbacks and letdowns I can't take much more. He listed everything that could go wrong as if reciting a shopping list from memory; I recall hearing mention of "bladder perforation, requiring long-term catheterization," and "possible death" and "no guarantee of beneficial results." Also rattled off the risks of the anesthesia and said I would need bloodwork and an EKG done, then asked if I had any known heart problems; I said not that I'm aware of, and he said that at my age they probably just need bloodwork. Asked if I had any religious beliefs that could prohibit me from receiving a blood transfusion if needed?--I shook my head no, what an odd question. Gave me some consent forms and whatnot ("You can check to disallow technicians and medical students from watching or participating; there probably won't be any there, since this hospital doesn't really have them, but..."--I plan to check to NOT allow them if they aren't needed), told me they could get me in on the Monday following next or any Monday in May so far; I asked what date that was, it's the 26th, that's four days before the due date of my period so cutting it a little close but I decided to do it. Apparently I get the bloodwork and EKG, if needed, done beforehand, so have to do that first.

So that's how things currently stand, I'm now awaiting this cystoscopy (I doubt he'll see anything, many people with IC have bladder pain and "Hunner's ulcers" (sic?) or something, but I haven't any pain, just this frequency and discomfort, God I would far rather have the pain than this--I can handle most pain better than the feeling of a full bladder, which to me is probably the worst feeling there is, aside maybe from difficulty breathing) and hydrodistension. I worry about the anesthesia and the possibility of them overfilling the bladder and perforating it (how do they tell when it's full enough?), but I'm just so tired of all this, I want to be better, the way I used to be. I want to be able to drink when I'm thirsty. I want to be able to sleep through the night. I want to be able to sit through a movie. I want to be able to sit through a car drive without stopping every half hour (that's when it's NOT acting up). I want to be able to take long walks. I want to be able to just sit comfortably without having to get up and pee every ten minutes (when it's acting up) or 1/2-1 hour (when it's not). My bladder has always been tetchy, but there were times I could handle two hours, even three with little difficulty, if I really wanted to. Now when I can make it an hour with only moderate discomfort, I count myself lucky. Which is really pathetic. The only reason I make it through most days is because I drink so very little. But I get so thirsty. I miss drinking when I'm thirsty. And going to bed without wondering every damn night, "Am I going to lose a few hours of sleep tonight...?"

When I lose my water weight, it's just horrific. It used to hit me on schedule; now I can never know when it will act up, except that, almost without exception, it happens at bedtime.

I also don't want to spend another summer and autumn stuck at home in the house because I can't handle a car drive or a walk anywhere. My life is isolated enough; I feel like God is having a good laugh at my expense. I can't imagine why He would want to, but it sure feels like it.

I've acquired an intense interest in Gothic literature since picking up from the bargain table a slightly battered (possibly why it was on sale?) copy of Two Gothic Classics By Women with Radcliffe's The Italian and Austen's Northanger Abbey--I've never been interested in Gothic before, but when I read the description of "abandoned castles, secret passages, and storm-tossed landscapes," I thought, damn, that sounds interesting. I explain this better in a dream I had recently. http://www.dreamjournal.net/index.cfm/do/journal.getdream/dream_id/150476 Anyway I've been buying some Gothic literature books and that got me interested in some Victorian(?)-era fantastic fiction like Arthur Machen and William Hope Hodgson so we'll just see how that all goes. I've long adored Lovecraft's work; I know Machen and Lord Dunsany were influences of his (will have to look more into Dunsany sometime, I read a bit of his public-domain work a long time back). You know one thing I love about what I'm reading of Gothic literature so far? How damn wordy it all is. They didn't CARE about pruning every single "unnecessary" word. They seemed to delight in wordiness. In Radcliffe's day they released three-volume novels. That's my kind of thing.

I have so very many books and am such a woefully slow reader. But it's not like I have much else to do with my time anymore.

Psychologist also gave me the phone number of another patient of hers (she'd asked both of us ahead of time if this was okay) who's apparently very into local native culture and who had said sure, she'd love hearing from me, but I was too scared to use the phone and so at last said an e-mail address would be better. She called the woman and was given her e-mail address. I e-mailed this person on the 29th...waited, then tried again on the 8th in case it had gotten lost...and never heard back. I am so tired of people. I don't understand why they always say sure, they'd love to hear from you, contact them any time, when they don't ever mean a word of it. So that just made me feel even lousier. Even people into the same stuff I am don't want to hear from me. I don't know why I thought it might be different this time; it's not like this is the first time somebody really did seem like they'd like to hear from me and then didn't. Stupid me. I honestly feel like, aside from God laughing at me, I just came along in life too late, and everybody already has all the friends they need; I'm unnecessary; superfluous. Nobody needs my friendship.

I haven't written in ages--who bothers reading any of my stuff?--even Mya showed she stopped caring about me long ago (of course, only AFTER getting back in touch with me, getting my hopes up, just to tell me she didn't have time to keep in touch with me, what was the point of that, really?--is this that funny to you, God?)--so my days pretty much consist of reading, dozing (I'm so tired all the time now, only the promise of dozing off again later on manages to get me out of bed in the morning), and watching birds. And I thought my life was pathetic before. I didn't know how lucky I was.

And it looks like my bladder is starting to act up again, close to bedtime, same as always.

Have to go now.

 

I've seen at least two usernames/handles today commenting on the fact that 3 stars equals "average"; one handle even states that average is "okay!" (their exclamation mark, not mine).

I have no clue what prompted these user handles but I remember the same mindset prevailed years ago (mostly among higher-ups on the site) whenever I or others would rant in the General Discussion forum about receiving three-star ratings with no comments attached to explain why the writing deserved three stars or how it could be improved. "Why so upset? Three stars is average and that's fine!" we would be told. This always irritated me to no end, but back then I couldn't put into words why. Now I can. So here goes.

Three stars is average. Meaning not lousy, yet not exemplary. Just plain middling. ("Middling--ordinary and unexceptional," according to my dictionary.) We're being told, on a writing site whose purpose is supposedly to help us improve our writing, that average is "okay." Is it? "Average" is not what gets published. Average is not what gets praised or gets the attention. For the most part, average isn't even what gets read or enjoyed. It's neither bad nor good. It just is. Average may be "okay," but since when are aspiring writers, most of whom are seeking eventual publication (or, if not that as in my case, attention and devoted readers), encouraged to be "just average"? Since when are we told it's just fine to be "unexceptional"?

I'd like to ask these people if they would ever tell their kids, or any kids, that getting consistent Cs in school is just fine and there's no need to shoot for anything higher? Would that be considered "okay"? Cs might earn you a diploma, but they sure don't earn you much else. Average grades in school do not earn you scholarships or honors. Doing "average" in life and work does not look particularly promising on your resume. So how come it's "okay" for writers to get 3s, and if you complain not that you got the 3 but that the reader didn't even bother telling you how you could improve, hey, stop complaining, a 3 is an average and that's fine? (I'm willing to bet that many of the complaints about average ratings are not about the ratings themselves but about the fact that many of them don't come with any constructive advice. Most of the average and poor ratings I got way back when came without any comments whatsoever. Now almost all of my items are set to require reviews, but still once in a while, including recently, I'll get a 3-star rating along with a review like "Really great story, I loved it!" and that just perplexes the hell out of me. I sure wouldn't tell somebody whose story I found average that it was "really great.")

So, when "average" isn't what gets attention, isn't what gets published, isn't even what gets read and enjoyed, how can one really say it's "okay" seeing as most of us post our writing here specifically to get attention, to get published, and to have our work enjoyed? The logic here, that a three is average and that's just fine ("Fine--outstanding; far better than the average," in my dictionary), fails.

I have an entry in which I update on my health condition over the past several months but it's not done and that's for later. Just felt like getting this niggling issue off my chest while it's fresh, since I gave up attempting this logic in the General Discussion forum ages ago. I find it sad that we writers are being encouraged toward mediocrity. That's why TV is nothing but reality show crap nowadays. Take a look, even "The Learning Channel" (quotes deliberate) is almost nothing but shows about little people and families with huge litters of kids; where's the learning in that? A lot of viewer ratings told TLC that average is just fine, so there you go. No more exceptional programming. No more learning. Just average.

ETA: Correct that, I've seen at least six "average" handles now, all of them moderators. Interesting that the moderators, who had to have been more than average to gain their status, are encouraging the rest of us to be unexemplary.

 

The appointment I just got cancelled on me without notice and then rescheduled has again been cancelled and rescheduled already, to February. Almost 7 weeks since I last saw her.

I don't see the point in this anymore. I'm not meant to talk to anybody.

 

Yet another appointment cancelled at the last minute. I even made sure of it being scheduled (due to them "forgetting" to note it down and then cancelling and rescheduling on me repeatedly the last time) with Psychologist herself and she herself said it was already scheduled for January 7th at 11AM; she made note of no problems being with that day and time. I call them up this morning (after waking up early, tired and depressed as always, to wash my hair) to make sure. Different day, same old shit.

Me: "I'm calling to see if my appointment is still on for today."

Receptionist: "Your name?"

Me: "Rachel H."

Her: *random mumbling and rustling* "Let me just check..." *pause and more rustling* "There should have been a letter..."

Me: *rolling eyes* Of course.

Her: "I'm glad you called."

Me: "Uh-huh." I saw this coming a mile away.

Her: "Psychologist isn't going to be in today...I try not to reschedule you on Thursdays..."

Me: WTF?? "Well, the problem is, Thursdays are the only day I have a ride there." I've only been telling you guys this for f**king MONTHS.

Her: "Well, if you have an appointment on a Thursday, chances are it will end up cancelled." *rustling noises* "We can get you in on the 28th."

Me: Wow, like a month from now, and maybe like a month and a half or two months since I've last seen somebody I'm supposed to see every two weeks. How lovely. "Okay. Thank you." Hang up, tell my mother she might need to talk to her boss to ask about getting a different day of the week off because heaven forbid I should be able to get therapy on the only day I have a f**king RIDE there. Psychologist never, ever made mention of Thursday being a bad day...in fact, as my mother angrily informed me, the only reason her day off from work changed from Tuesday to Wednesday and then to Thursday was because of all the cancellations I kept getting on THOSE days. She can't get any other day off. Her hours aren't flexible. Apparently my psychologist's hours aren't, either.

The last appointment ran late, I had so much I needed to talk about, and I still didn't manage to go over it all. By the time I finally get in to see her, so much time has elapsed between sessions that I never get to go over all the important things I really need to discuss. I only ever have time to talk about this stupid bladder thing, never mind anything good that might have happened, no matter how infrequent or small. Not to mention all this shit regarding so-called "friends" on the Internet and whatnot. By the time she's done questioning me about my bladder, it's time to leave, then I'm lucky to see her again any time within a month.

There's no affordable public transport to get me there on a moment's notice (due to them cancelling on me with no prior warning--I'm supposed to give them 24 hours' notice), and nobody else, no family, no friends, to drive me there. Looks like yet another message from God/life/whatever that I'm just meant to be stuck here with nobody to talk/connect/reach out to. Guess I should take the f**king hint already, I can't even talk to somebody when they're PAID to listen.

No big surprise there. Like I said, different day, same old shit.

 

I am now the owner of a laptop, and of a strange mechanical toy dog which looks eerily realistic as it just lies there sleeping and...breathes. I feel rather lame in saying that this laptop is the first time I have ever actually used one or even seen one up close while it's actually turned on; I've gazed at them from afar, but the closest I've ever been to them is when looking at the (turned off) display models in the store. It takes getting used to. I'm glad I never succumbed to the temptation to buy one of those little tiny cutesy ones; whenever I placed my fingers over their keyboards, they were just so small I could never hope to type anything properly (and as anyone reading this knows, typing is like 90% of what I do on a computer), so I refrained from buying one of those. Lo and behold a fullsize one shows up unexpectedly at Christmas. It's running Windows 7, which isn't terribly different from Windows Vista but does have a few differences, mainly in small but useful details that Microsoft for whatever asinine reason decided to do away with. It hadn't a mouse so I navigated by running my finger along a touchpad and pushing a button; this grew bothersome so we invested in a wireless mouse, which is incredibly fast and touchy and hard to control, yet after I use it I keep finding the regular mouse on the PC to be slow and clunky and hard to control, so I keep bobbing between the two. It has a battery, which means it can run without electricity for a couple of hours; we in fact suffered a +5-hour blackout 12/27, but I was so leery that it might be a days-long outage that I refrained from using the laptop lest I need to use it even more later on during the blackout, which in fact ended later that night. It has a CD/DVD player/burner in it as well--my mother paid extra for that feature alone, though I'm indifferent to it. I plan to use the thing as nothing more than a glorified word processor, but that's what I've always been wanting anyway, a way to work with my files someplace besides the PC in the dining room. The new version of Wordpad is horrific; seeing as I do most of my work in HTML, I believe I'll be using Notepad a lot more often. I've already transferred all my writing files so they now exist on the PC, the laptop, and my flash drive, which works to move things between the two.

So we shall see how that all works out. I have the temptation to put stickers all over the thing (it's shiny and black and plain) but have refrained.

I had the most humiliating afternoon while out eating at Big Boy on Saturday before shopping. Sometime during the meal of a club sandwich and French fries, part of one of my bad teeth disappeared, and it was left with a sharp edge which scraped the inside of my cheek and made me uncomfortable. I got to thinking about this and for some reason it began to nauseate me. Before I knew it, my head was starting to swim. I tried putting it down, putting it back, resting it in every position I could short of putting it between my knees, but to no avail. I know the feeling of losing consciousness when it happens, I'm so used to it. The last time I recall this happening was at the Northwood restaurant (see the 10/5/08 entry), when I didn't fully lose consciousness but came close. This time, I passed out. It was very weird and seemed to last forever and it took me a while to figure out what was going on.

I recall all the dizziness and nausea and fuzziness that preceded it.

Then I remember a bunch of nothing.

Then I recall I seemed to be dreaming, but I can't recall what it was. I think there were lots of people and/or lots of activity, but I'm unsure.

Then everything was black and I heard noises, voices, faraway and muffled, like I was coming up from underwater or something, like the beginning of Saving Private Ryan or something. They grew louder and clearer as if my ears were slowly being cleared. I at last heard some discussion going on, and a man's voice saying to my mother, "I'm an EMT. In training. I'm from Dearborn." Somebody was holding my wrist and I thought, "Ah, cripes," because I had merely passed out, it was nothing big, but here was an EMT already, what the heck was going on? Nobody had ever called an EMT on me before.

More voices and talking. I can't recall if it was before or after I tried opening my eyes, but I heard someone--the EMT-in-training, or my mother?--say that my lips were turning blue, and the EMT-in-training said, "Her pulse rate is really slow, and that's not good." The question kept getting tossed around, what had happened? I felt incredibly sludgy and weak, too much so to respond, but was fully lucid and aware of what they were discussing and why. My lips were blue? Weird. No wonder they were worried, but it was just a faint. No reason to call anybody, I always come out of these things.

"Can you tell me your name?" I heard the EMT-in-training ask me.

"Rachel H.," I managed to murmur.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Big Boy."

"Do you know who's the president of the United States?"

Jeez, this was lame. I'd just passed out, I hadn't lost my memory or anything. Still, this question made my brain stumble. Bush, I thought; then, No, Clinton. Then, No, the black guy, I always think his last name is his first name so that's why it's taking me so long to answer. "Obama," I mumbled at last. I wanted to tell him I knew why he was asking me these questions and they weren't necessary, but I just could not summon up the strength. I kept trying to clutch at my shirt with my right hand, but could barely do so, and it kept slipping back to the seat. It didn't seem worth the extreme effort needed to do so.

"Rachel, can you open your eyes and look at me?"

I don't WANT to look at you, I thought--even in a faint, my inability to make eye contact prevailed, yet I dragged my eyes open and turned them in his general direction just the same. I saw no faces, just bodies. The EMT-in-training was kneeling beside me, scribbling on a napkin while holding my wrist. Beside him, I saw a shirt and pants--that's all I saw, shirts and pants, but I recognized the restaurant manager. Ugh, cripes. My mother was standing at her side of the booth, answering a question here and there--they kept wanting to know what had precipitated the event, and there was no real answer, merely that I'd just been eating, had started feeling dizzy, and then had passed out.

I saw another shirt-and-pants--a blue uniform--approaching. A city policeman. UGH, cripes. He, too, stopped at the booth and started to question me, though he seemed to be there more to keep me calm than do anything else, for the only specific comments I remember him offering were, "You know, Rachel, you look familiar," at which I thought, You probably saw me in the DARE program when I was in elementary school. Well, that was the only place where I figured a policeman would remember seeing me. "I think I saw you on America's Most Wanted," he quipped, and I felt like offering a groan of a laugh, but was too weak to do so. Mentally, at least, I rolled my eyes. What a weird joke to make. I must look a lot younger than I really am.

I started to come out of it, so my vision grew clearer and I wanted to sit up a bit more; I kept blinking and making grasping motions with my free hand, trying to ground myself. Someone--the manager?--said an ambulance had been called. Ah, cripes. I didn't need an ambulance! I don't even have insurance! Over and over, I wanted to tell them all it was okay and I didn't need all this attention, but I just didn't have it in me to speak up. I noticed that our food dishes had been moved aside and one of Ma's saucers set atop my unfinished plate of fries. I wanted to reach out and grab a few of them. The fries had been good and I hadn't even gotten to finish them. It was such a waste. Throughout the entire rest of the episode, I kept longing to finish those fries, but it would have looked remarkably stupid for a half-conscious person to be grabbing at fries while being checked over by an EMT.

Two more people arrived--paramedics. Cripes. I wanted to apologize profusely for all this bother. One of the paramedics conversed with the EMT-in-training, who gave him the napkin with the information written on it and told him about his observations and who was thanked before heading on his way. I don't know what his name was. One paramedic knelt down beside me and started chattering while the other one stood back a bit, maybe talking with the policeman or manager; I don't know what became of the latter two. The paramedic, too, was cheerful and chatty and kept joking as if to keep me calm; he said the policeman was Officer F. and that he was a "good guy." Put anybody in a police uniform and I'll assume they're a good guy. I was again asked what had happened and I managed to explain that I'd felt nauseated and had fainted; I informed him the last time had been perhaps a couple of years ago (the Northwood incident, which seemed longer ago than it really was), and that it happened now and then, usually caused by overheating or by me thinking about something that nauseated me. Nothing serious. When I told him (and earlier, the EMT) about what medications I was on--Elmiron and generic Atarax--none of them had ever heard of those. No, I had no medical conditions I was aware of, this was just something that happened now and then. As I explained when I became a little more lucid, "I start to get lightheaded and then it's like my blood pressure just plunges." I remember one day at home, every time I merely stood up from kneeling, I'd get so dizzy I'd have to sit back down, so it's nothing new.

By now I was just about awake, but still very weak and in a cold sweat; I kept making the grasping motions with my hands and blinking and abruptly shaking my head. The paramedic checked my pulse, took my blood pressure, put electrodes or something on my arm and leg to check something, and even took blood from my finger--I had to turn away, cringing lest I get nauseated enough to pass out again--it hurt so little, it didn't even leave any mark, not even a prick or a tiny bruise, I can't even remember which finger it was. My pulse rate was almost back to normal, my blood pressure too, and my blood sugar was normal. "I was wondering about that," my mother said. "Is this like a vasovagal thing?" My mother heard that term in the past and likes to bring it up, even though it's just fancy talk for fainting. I mean, I could have told them, I'd just fainted, that was all. They weren't going to find anything immensely wrong with me.

The paramedic kept asking/urging me to let them wheel me out to the ambulance to be checked out further; I kept putting him off, even though first a wave of exhaustion--I suddenly felt so sleepy and heavy, I just wanted to shut my eyes and nod off--then a second, smaller dizzy spell passed over me; I just didn't see the point in wasting their time and resources when it was just a faint. I wanted to tell them how I'd passed out during a graphic description of an injury in a college science class and had been wheeled out to a woman's van in a computer chair to be transported to the hospital, but didn't have it in me to go into that. That had been in the dead of winter, too, me being wheeled through the parking lot in a computer chair by a bunch of strangers, I hardly needed to go through that again, much less get in an ambulance (even though it would have been a novel experience), much less go to the hospital. I have Medicaid, for crying out loud. I hardly need to rack up a bill over a mere faint.

I at last managed to say I had no insurance; the paramedic said it cost nothing for them to merely take me out to the ambulance to be checked out, I didn't have to go to the hospital or even be checked out if I didn't want to, but he really felt I should be. There was quite a lot of time spent with them making sure my vital signs were stable and me putting off their offers to escort me to the ambulance. I was at last presented with a form to sign, informing anyone who read it that I'd refused to be treated or whatever; I got hung up signing my last name since cursive is hard for me (I recently tried writing a sentence of it on a paper of mine then, when I noticed this a week or so later, didn't even recognize my own writing, it was so foreign) and it's always been hard for me to sign my last name, so I told him that, lest he think I was having trouble writing due to whatever my condition was. Ma went to settle the bill while they continued trying to convince me to at least go to the ambulance; she returned as I was at last standing up, still insisting I was able to walk, I really did NOT want to be wheeled out of there like an invalid. So embarrassing. "I'm sorry I took up your time," I apologized to the paramedic (he'd told me their names, though I promptly forgot them, was his name Pat or something?), but he quickly assured me that's what they were there for, to make sure I was okay. Ma stated that Big Boy had refused to charge us for the meal; I was astonished and dismayed at that, it's not like it was the FOOD that made me pass out, Big Boy has great food. Only later on did I learn she didn't get to finish her meal, either, and I felt lousy, and still wished I'd gotten to finish my fries. I was perplexed to find that my purse, which had been sitting on the seat beside me, was gone. It showed up on Ma's side. My DID book was still on the table so I picked that up and put it in the purse, which Ma offered to carry, but I insisted on carrying it, and merely kept my right hand out to balance against anything in case I needed to on the way out. At some point during all this I stated that this was too much drama for one restaurant--not long before this, our waitress had tripped on a knife near the kitchen and had fallen with a thud and a loud yell, so of course adding my incident to that was humiliating. I hoped nobody thought I was faking. It's not like I'd wanted them to go to all this trouble. Poor waitress, with me stealing her thunder.

I saw the ambulance waiting in the parking lot. The paramedic kept his hand on my back the entire way out to the car. I felt so lame. What an immense waste of their time and resources. I got in the car and he even tucked the edge of my coat in so it wouldn't get caught in the door, and told me again that I was free to call them back at any time if I changed my mind about being brought in, whether it be ten minutes from now or tomorrow. We thanked them and left.

Ma mentioned that the call to 911--made by the restaurant manager--had probably been broadcast over the scanner that my dad is always listening to. Ugh, CRIPES. Turns out he had missed hearing that particular call, so I can only imagine how it went. "Such-and-such-so-and-so-babble-that-starts-every-call, you are needed at such-and-such-street-address, Big Boy restaurant, for a 33-year-old female; unconscious, lips turning blue, very slow pulse, no known medical history, such-and-such-so-and-so-babble-that-ends-every-call." I wonder if Dad would have known that was me had he heard the call. I can't even think of all the times we've heard stuff like that and have quipped, "That doesn't sound good!" It was weird to possibly be the subject of such a call for a change.

Ma explained, to my insistent questioning (I always wonder what I looked like and how others reacted every time I pass out), that the EMT-in-training had just shown up--"I don't know if he was just passing by, or if he came over to us, he just popped up right there"--as if out of the blue, offering to help. The manager had called 911 and that was why the police officer had shown up. It felt like I was out for ages but it hadn't been long at all. It would really have been free to go out to the ambulance without being transported, but there was no way I could have known that. My own reaction had almost caused my mother herself to pass out--"When your legs just spread out, I knew that wasn't good!" (I remembered spreading my legs out to try to relieve the swimmingness in my head, not that it had helped much, either.) Even more later on she exclaimed, "I thought your head was going to knock against the guy in the booth behind you!" and laughed--I remembered that I'd been trying not to put my head back too far lest that very thing happen. I just couldn't get over my lips turning blue. They really did that? Ewgh. That's the first time I've ever heard of that happening, usually I just turn white.

Ugh, it will be so embarrassing going back to that restaurant.

Resuming typing up this entry on the laptop aforementioned. Good God, the calculator on this looks weird. (I can never remember my age--my date of birth, yes, but not exactly how old I am--so had to subtract, and could not find the "clear" button for a moment or so.)

I also discovered that what I had assumed to be a sickly chickadee is in fact not sick at all, but crippled. He's the only chickadee I can tell apart from the others in that whenever he lands, he keeps splaying his wings out and losing his balance; it's hard for him to maintain his balance enough to hammer at a seed while clinging to a branch, so he often simply eats on the ground or from the plate. I assumed he had salmonella, but the other day when he landed, I saw that he kept one foot elevated while balancing on the other. The only reason he flutters and splays his wings is because he's perching on only one foot. I then noticed that the lame foot was dangling from his leg by a mere thread, and I think I even saw him trying to peck it off, though I don't know if he was successful. Poor thing. Yet he still keeps coming to eat and has been doing so for weeks. I wish I had that sort of perseverance.

I can't think of a way to end this, and am not sure whenever I might have anything else to say since my mood plunges so much and so often...and this issue is starting to act up again, right on cue...so I suppose that's it.

 

I sent a short letter to Dianne a while back to try one more time to reopen communication. Received a nice letter from her a while later. Sent a nice longish letter in response. Today received a Christmas card with a short note inside which didn't really reply to anything in my letter, basically just says she hopes I'm doing fine. I reached out to her again in the hopes that we could open real communication, but it looks like it's failed yet again here, too. Yes, she replied, like so many other people have. But what kind of reply? Almost a non-reply. I feel like I wrote an entire letter for nothing, if there's practically no response to its contents, and she's not really left open any means of response for me. Didn't ask anything specific, didn't tell anything specific, just pretty much said she hopes I have a happy holiday and that I'm doing okay. I can't really think of anything to say in response but the obvious, I hope you're doing fine too and happy holidays to you too, which would make the entire "communication" boil down to the meaningless "Hi-how-are-you"s I dread. That's not communication. It's empty parroting that eventually, inevitably, dwindles to nothing and leaves me wondering yet again why I even bothered.

I don't see the point in getting in touch with people if all you ever really feel like saying is, "How are you? I'm fine, hear from you soon." When people ask me in person--and even often online--how I am, I've programmed myself to mechanically reply, "Fine." No matter how lousy I feel. Because people don't want to hear the truth. People don't want real answers or real communication that requires a commitment. It's too much time and trouble. Shooting off a simple "How are you? I'm fine, hear from you soon" is what "communication" boils down to nowadays, and I see no point in it. I really don't want people asking me how I am unless they've already invested enough time and energy in getting to know me through REAL communication for the question to actually MEAN something. (Why do you care how I am or how I'm doing if we don't really know each other? What does it contribute to your life knowing if I'm doing fine or lousy if you have no clue who I am?) If somebody you've just gotten in touch with runs all their conversations like this, you never get to really know each other. You AVOID getting to know each other by keeping it all shallow and superficial, thus you avoid all the effort involved. That's not communication or friendship. I don't know what it is...apparently it suits most people nowadays just fine, but I assume these people already have all the friendships they need. Why take the time to really get to know more people nowadays when you already have what you want? The unfortunate thing is, I haven't managed to find this. Everybody has paired off while I'm left on my own. And no one has time for anything more meaningful than a "How are you? I'm fine, hear from you soon." Which, to me, means absolutely nothing.

Don't get me wrong. I love people asking how I am...when there's other, real communication going on too. I love people asking after me, if we already know each other and I know this person cares whether I'm doing fine or not. But how often does that happen? If all I ever get from somebody is this trivial shallow stuff, then I'm just going to clam up and give up. The guy who e-mailed me did this, Mya did this, other old "friends" from Facebook keep doing this, Dianne basically did this, I can't count how many times people have done this, I guess because they already have all the friends they need. I just wish I understood why they bothered me when they didn't want to take the time or commitment to really get to know me, but I guess that's not ever for me to know. I also wish I knew what it takes for me to find somebody who really cares to keep real communication open. I just always seem to show up too late. I came along in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nobody needs me. So I wonder why I'm here.

I wish I hadn't bothered sending her another stupid letter. The only reason I did was because I was so desperately lonely, especially now with whatever this condition is, and since she too has an illness I thought maybe she would understand. But yet again there's just the empty "How are you? Hope you're doing fine, bye" with no real attempt at further communication behind it. I feel like such an idiot, thinking over all the long letters and e-mails I've written numerous people over the years. All the things I said, all the things I shared, all the times I poured my heart out to people who only had time to say, "Sorry I didn't have time to reply to all that, but I hope you're doing fine, hear from you later" in response. People who probably had little time or interest to read even a fraction of what I wrote, people who probably thought about how stupid and desperate I must be to write so much. I'm so stupid. I have so much I want to share with people, with the world, so much that I could never hope to get it all out, I've been holding it in so long, but nobody cares to hear it. Not only that hurts, but the fact that I've tried so many times, and have been rebuffed so many times, that hurts. Not knowing why I'm even here if my life means nothing to anyone else, that hurts. Not having a purpose really hurts. Everyone else seems to have one. I don't understand why I don't. Why I continue to wake up every morning.

I really thought there was a time people really communicated, and my life really mattered to someone besides myself, but something happened and I don't know what. I don't understand why I became so meaningless. Not understanding hurts.

Having tried so many times, only to achieve nothing except to grow to hate myself, really hurts. What am I supposed to find any meaning in if not in myself?

I might not post in here for a while anymore. It doesn't seem to be doing me much good, so tar.

 

Not to belabor the point, but on seeing their website yet again updated, I again have to ask--honestly, what is the point in e-mailing somebody, e-mailing them again several years later to say you didn't hear back from them before but you'd sure like to hear back now and get to know them, replying to their reply to assure them that you really mean it and can't wait to start corresponding, then apparently forgetting about this or changing your mind and deciding not to bother replying at all? Seriously? Why do people keep deciding to do this to me? (As mentioned in my restricted entry, I didn't even have enough fingers to count how many times this has happened to me. How many people out there find it amusing to get in touch with me and make me think they're honestly interested when they're not, or else whose attention spans are about as big as a gnat's, and whose consciences, in admitting to me that they're no longer interested, apparently don't exist.)

I already know I'm boring. I'm the first person to admit it, as these people could attest if they'd bother staying interested for more than one minute. I really do not need a bunch of people e-mailing me assuring me I'm not, then quickly proving that I am. Anyone else who e-mails me in the future to tell me they aren't really into my work or my interests but gee, they'd sure LOVE to get to know me, can expect no answer from me ever again. No matter how sincere they seem. ESPECIALLY NOT if they seem sincere--the sincere-seeming ones are the ones who disappear fastest. I don't have the time, energy, or self-confidence for this. Enough. This is the end of it.

If you want to get to know me, really know me, then read my f**king writing first (THAT'S where you'll find my heart, my passion, the "real" me), show me you MEAN it; don't e-mail me insisting you want to get to really know me if you really don't. I'm sick and tired of these people, which seems to be just about everybody. I don't seek them out and bother them. I really don't understand why they seek me out and bother me. Find something better to do with your time, because I'm not falling for it anymore.

And it's this attitude of mine that gets such people thinking, gee, what a bitch she is, sure glad I decided not to keep writing to her. Like it's my fault for being pissed off. Fitting.

 

I just knew when I saw this scene that somebody was going to get whiny.

Bill O'Reilly lashes out at 'Law & Order' executive producer

Fri Dec 11, 1:34 pm ET

Fox News' Bill O'Reilly lashed out at "Law & Order" franchise creator/executive producer Dick Wolf Thursday night. The bombastic host, upset over how he was recently characterized on the long-running NBC drama, called the "far left" Wolf a "despicable human being" whose show is "out of control."

Sparking O'Reilly's ire was an episode of "Law and Order: Special Victims Unit" that aired earlier in the week, in which a crazed anti-immigration activist set out to murder the children of illegal immigrants. In one scene, a character named Randall Carver, played by veteran actor John Larroquette, is sitting on a park bench talking to Fin, the detective played by Ice-T. In defending the actions of the man who killed the immigrants’ children, Larroquette's character says, "Limbaugh, Beck, O'Reilly, all of 'em, they are like a cancer spreading ignorance and hate...They've convinced folks that immigrants are the problem, not corporations that fail to pay a living wage or a broken health care system..."

After playing the clip of the "defamatory and outrageous" scene, O'Reilly slammed Dick Wolf as a "coward" and a "liar" before playing a montage of clips demonstrating his past defenses of "poor people who only want a better life." O'Reilly went on to explain that his "beef" isn't with illegal immigrants themselves, but rather with the federal government for doing little to control immigration and the "violent aliens who wreak havoc once they get here." He concluded by chastising Wolf for "distorting and exploiting" the issue of illegal immigration.

When contacted by Yahoo! News, a representative for Dick Wolf declined to comment on O'Reilly's accusations.

See Bill O’Reilly’s reaction:


- Brett Michael Dykes is a contributor to the Yahoo! News blog

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ynews/20091211/en_ynews/ynews_en1030

Bawwwwww.

O'Reilly apparently doesn't recognize the difference between truth and fiction, a writer's opinion and a character's opinion. Yes, I get the strong feeling the L&O franchise is definitely more left leaning than right. (I always joke about the growing inclusion of "public-service announcements" in SVU.) So? O'Reilly's show is definitely more right leaning than left. Live with it, Bill. And just because a character says something means the writer behind it must mean it? (As if Dick Wolf even wrote the episode? Thought he was the producer or something. Why aren't'cha going after the writer, Bill?)

What about the characters in the episode who were ranting and railing about how nasty immigrants are and how their kids should die, do their opinions hold for Wolf's, too? Don't hear O'Reilly complaining about Wolf "defaming" the poor immigrants. How selective of him. Bawwwwww.

I do hope he only learned of the scene because somebody pointed it out to him, and not because he's, you know, a fan of the show or anything.

Somebody needs a thicker skin. Or else to stop watching shows he hates. I don't watch O'Reilly, for example! He's so surprised that maybe somebody doesn't like him? "Waaaaah Mommy, Dick Wolf hates me!"