Category Archives: sociology

ALCOHOLIC AMNESIA.

addiction, commentary, Deep Questions, Deep Thoughts, education, human behavior, personal testimony, psychology, sociology, Uncategorized

*this post is a video transcript.

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alcoholic amnesia.

that’s really at the crux of any argument that could win the case for amber heard, in my opinion, and I am not an attorney.

the video she captured of his behavior in the kitchen, slamming the cupboards around and drinking a lot of wine while he was already drunk in the morning, is enough evidence for anyone who has been in a relationship with somebody who is an active alcoholic. and, anyone who has been in a relationship with an active alcoholic knows that the potential for violence is always there.

many have actually seen aggressive behavior perpetrated toward inanimate objects, and have come very close to either being struck or being restrained or moved harshly -shoved – whatever; the potential is always there, and I would say it’s a matter of random luck of the draw who gets struck and who does not. because, when an alcoholic is in a binge drunk in the surly phase all bets are off as to whether or not that person can a) control what they do physically, or b) remember it.

it’s about whether they even remember it.

so, that’s the real issue. because, in a court of law, when you’re asked if you did or did not do something, as an active alcoholic how can you testify truthfully to something you cannot recall?

and, how can you defend it, if someone else has seen you do it?

that’s at the crux of this.

apparently, they both drank — we have enough evidence that Amber drank as well as Johnny — and, maybe all her wine consumption provoked her to slap back and and do the things that she did physically. maybe they both have alcoholic amnesia (although, her patterns seemed to be more about continuous drip, rather than black out) but, I don’t know how you enter alcoholic amnesia into a courtroom and assess it and measure it for its value. I think that should be considered because, obviously, it’s at the heart of this case.

alcoholics don’t remember what they say and do when they’re in the surly phase or in the pre-comatose phase, and if they have a habit and a behavior pattern of binging then they have a whole lifestyle of long episodes that they cannot retrieve – and, to them, don’t exist.

that side of the person as demonstrated

can’t be defended

nor can it be testified.

the alcoholic doesn’t realize or believe, in large part, that they’re capable of that kind of behavior.

now, some may remember some aspects of what they say and do. they may remember how they felt, perhaps, during the phase; but, they don’t remember what they did or said.

and, they may acknowledge evidence if they see it on film — ( they have to; they can’t deny that kind of evidence) — but, do they palpably, viscerally, tactiley, kinesthetically remember with their bodies and their minds?

that’s the issue, in my opinion. and, that’s just my opinion.

God bless the jurors, and Johnny and Amber – still vulnerable, both to each other and to themselves.

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Previously presented on YouTube @ Ruth Ann Scanzillo’s Music & Musings. Verbatim, until the end.

5/31/22.

Guns: Lapel Pin of the Powerful Elite.

blog site access problems for littlebarefeetblog.com, civic commentary, commentary, education, human behavior, political commentary, politics, psychology, slum culture, social behavior, social commentary, sociology, Uncategorized, WWII, , , ,

I have a brass lapel pin in the shape of a cello.

In earlier years, the sterling silver eighth note or Treble clef populated these accessories, bestowed by the aspiring or devoted student, and my jewelry box is peppered with several.

( However, I can’t say whether I have ever actually worn any of them. As a working professional, I guess the doing always trumped the wearing; after all, musicians don’t generally feel the need to bear labels. They just show up and play. )

What we pin to our chest is a moniker. It tells the world of affiliation pride. From the American flag to the Masonic cross, so many associations and clubs require them of each member. But, what of such symbolism, and its affect on the subconscious?

Those who “pack” don’t wear theirs on the lapel. But, they might as well.

Because to these, the weapon is a mark.

They are part of the collectors’ culture. Some do use their rifles, to kill game in sport. Others place value on the history of the guncraft, its material detail and design, much as that of the fine wristwatch or other outmoded accoutrement.

To such afficionadi, history is what drives their interest. But, the lines blur here. Historian > politician……….many a retired general, on a visit to the officers’ club, might discuss his latest acquisition with those from whose social circle he or she seeks acknowledgement. Unfortunately, these are those whose power over legislation holds sway, and which has brought us to the scrutiny of the world stage.

Why? Because another “club” has arisen in our society, born and bred in its underbelly, populated by the disenfranchised, remotely located, and easily alienated. The anarchy of assault weapon acquisition is a burgeoning subculture, and poses a palpable threat to our social stability.

In fact, there are more assault weapons available in the United States per capita than anywhere else on earth. And, every time a lone shooter has massacred innocents, from Parkland to Uvalde, the assault weapon has been chosen to accomplish the deed.

The disparity between the culture of the elite collector and that of the stockpiling insurgent must be vanquished. Laws governing ownership are antiquated, and serve only the former while emboldening the latter. Those in leadership must recognize to which group they might belong, and legislate accordingly. And, the time to do so waits for no man, woman, or child.

My cello pin has a tiny, engraved bridge, set of strings, and protruding post known as the endpin. My real cello’s endpin is, when fully extended, almost two feet of sharpened steel, a weapon in itself. I know the difference.

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Copyright 5/29/22 Ruth Ann Scanzillo. All rights those of the author, whose name appears above this line. No copying in whole or part, including translation; sharing permitted via direct blog link, exclusively. No RSSING. Thank you for respecting authenticity.

littlebarefeetblog.com

Surviving The Abortion.

contemplation, grief, healing, psychology, relationships, sociology, Uncategorized

The spermicide stung.

A suppository, which dissolved on the inside, the bullet shaped insert created a sudsy barrier to the cervix.

The birth control of choice in the back end of the 1980s for a late-twenty something to whom the pill was entirely too deliberate and required a schedule of intent. Planned unpregnancy was unacceptable to the morally ambiguous.

The conception, therefore, was never expected.

Waking on up on day 49 in the context of a cycle which rarely deviated from 33, swollen, doubled over in cramping pain, crawling the length of the second floor apartment to vomit into the toilet and then the call to mother was also not to be predicted.

Being asked as soon as she arrived if there were any possibility of pregnancy was the moment of clarity, like the climax in a Woody Allen movie. Maybe because the topic of deliberate fornication had not, up until that point, ever been insinuated let alone confronted head on.

Starkly deliberate, almost methodical, was the manner in which mother and daughter prepared to travel to the lab to obtain the pregnancy test. The trip was entirely without drama, outside of what the situation inherently bore.

Sitting for the blood draw, followed by a need to urinate and the discovery of brown spotting indicating flow made the day shorter and the issue apparently self resolving. The test was negative.

The aftermath proved protracted. This potential mother had to face decades later the very likely reality that, in spite of one test result, what had since been revealed about the lability of hormone levels before and after a conception failed suggested that, for probably less than three weeks in the late 80s, the daughter had been with child.

Nobody survives abortion.

The woman experiences – unless drugged – visceral, cramping pain and nausea. The conceived embryo bears disengagement from the warmth of the womb and a perilous trip down the vagina at the hand of either muscular contraction or mechanical suction. But, once completed, the process leaves a wake.

Thought waves. Turbulent speculation. Transient recollection. Lifelong wonder.

Whether spontaneously induced, by the body, or provoked by surgical procedure the abortion separates the giver of life from life. How can this enmity not persist until time becomes eternity?

The awareness that life was, and then was not, plants its own seed. A name. Features, on a face. Hands. Feet. Grasping to assign place, a certain purgatory, allowing imagination to become a branding memory and remembrance to burn its own birth.

The sting, of death.

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Copyright 5/13/22 Ruth Ann Scanzillo. All rights those of the author, whose story it is and whose name appears above this line. No copying, in part or whole (including translation). Sharing by direct blog link, exclusively – no RSSING. Thank you for being trustworthy.

littlebarefeetblog.com