Germany, Netflix, true crime, Virginia

Just watched Till Murder Do Us Part on Netflix…

Welcome to Saturday, y’all. A week from now, I plan to be in Yerevan at long last… if all goes well, that is. I expect it will go off without a hitch, and we’ll be roaming the streets while we wait for check in. Unfortunately, our flight arrives in Yerevan in the wee hours of the morning. This is how it’s always been, for as long as Armenia has been in my life. Flights arrive and depart at obscenely early hours. Fortunately, we’re used to being up in the wee hours of the morning.

Today, Bill is coming home from Bavaria, four days ahead of when he was supposed to come home. I’m delighted, because it’s been kind of a boring week for me. I did manage to record a couple of songs. I might even do another one this morning, since I won’t be around during our week in Armenia. Why not? I seem to be better at singing songs than writing blog posts.

I did want to mention, though, that I actually tuned into Netflix yesterday, and it’s all because of this blog. Seriously… I pay for subscriptions to both Hulu and Netflix, and I very rarely use them. Hulu is pretty much a pain in the ass to use if you aren’t in the States. I subscribe so I can watch The Handmaid’s Tale. Once that’s done, I’ll probably quit paying for it. German Netflix is pretty good now, but I just don’t watch it very often. I like watching YouTube and shows I download from iTunes.

I noticed I kept getting hits on a blog post I wrote back in 2o18 and reposted in 2020. It was a review of Ken Englade’s 1990 book, Beyond Reason: The True Story of a Shocking Double Murder, a Brilliant, Beautiful Virginia Socialite, and a Deadly Psychotic Obsession. I bought the book in 2015, but didn’t get around to reading it until May 2018. And then when I moved my blog in February 2019, I slowly reposted some of the more interesting posts from the original blog… my review of Mr. Englade’s book didn’t get put up until January 2020.

The book review was about the 1985 murder case involving Elizabeth Haysom and Jens Soering. I was interested in the story because the couple were UVA students, and I’m from Virginia. Haysom is Canadian, but her parents owned a home in Boonsboro, Virginia, which is in Bedford County. I have a lot of family from that area; my parents grew up in neighboring Rockbridge, County and Buena Vista. And Soering is German, and as you probably know, I live in Germany.

Haysom’s parents, Derek and Nancy Haysom, were brutally murdered in March 1985. I was in the seventh grade, living in Gloucester, Virginia. I don’t remember hearing about this case, even though it was a real sensation at the time. Legal wrangling went on for years, mainly because Soering and Haysom fled the country and wound up in England. Since Soering is an EU national and the crime he was accused of put him at risk of the death penalty, there was a lot of controversy over whether or not he should be extradited to Virginia. It was only after Virginia authorities promised not to ask for the death penalty that Soering was sent back to face a trial in Bedford County. He and Haysom were both found guilty and spent years locked up in Virginia, but they were released in November 2019 and deported to their respective home countries.

Soering did his time at a men’s prison in Dillwyn, Virginia, which is very close to where I went to college. Haysom did her time at the women’s prison in Fluvanna, Virginia, which is where fellow murderers Erin McCay George (who went to my alma mater) and Jennifer Kszepka (who is from my hometown) are currently incarcerated. Thanks to Democratic former Governor Ralph Northam, Virginia has abolished the death penalty (a real shocker for me, as Virginia has historically been a big death penalty state). Northam is also responsible for allowing Soering and Haysom to go back to their home countries. I know a lot of my fellow Virginians were not fans of Governor Northam, but I think he was a great Governor. I didn’t vote for him, though, because I haven’t been a Virginia resident since 2007. I fully support abolition of the death penalty in most cases.

The trailer for the Netflix series, Till Murder Do Us Part…

Soering has been very outspoken about the case and apparently appears on a lot of talk shows in Germany. I haven’t seen him here, because I don’t watch a lot of German television. But apparently, Till Murder Do Us Part, a new miniseries on Netflix, was made with his full cooperation. That’s why my blog post on a 1990 book has been getting a lot of hits lately.

I also have a 2017 true crime documentary about this case in my iTunes movie collection called Killing For Love. I did include a trailer for the documentary in my review of the book, although the documentary probably doesn’t offer any information that isn’t in the Netflix series. I found the Netflix series very comprehensive and interesting, except for the part when I dozed off. But that’s not necessarily because of the show, but because I tend to doze off in the early afternoon if I’m on my bed. I spent most of yesterday afternoon binge watching the series, so it was definitely nap time. 😉

A video about the true crime documentary, Killing for Love.

I would recommend the Netflix series, Till Murder Do Us Part for the sheer reason that it’s an interesting case, but the one thing about it that I found especially compelling about it was listening to the prosecutor, Jim Updike, who is now a judge in Bedford County. Updike was fascinating to me on many levels. He had the aura of an especially gifted orator. If he hadn’t been a lawyer, he could have been a very good Baptist pastor. I even looked up his credentials. He is a UVA graduate, and went to law school at the College of William and Mary, which is a school near and dear to me. It must have been electric to watch him in the courtroom when he was prosecuting Elizabeth Haysom and Jens Soering.

Now, according to both the documentary I mentioned, and the Netflix series, there is evidence that Soering wasn’t alone in Elizabeth Haysom’s parents’ house, Loose Chippings, when the murder occurred. Soering has said repeatedly that he took the fall for the crime, thinking he’d get a light sentence or be deported to Germany. It surprises me that he thought that, as brilliant as he supposedly is. But then, when this crime occurred, Soering was still a teenager at 18 years old. He wrongly assumed that Virginia authorities handle crime like German authorities do. And he did find out how wrong that assumption was.

I still don’t know where the truth lies regarding this crime. It was an absolutely brutal murder, and my heart goes out to the victims. The only people who know what really happened are Soering and Haysom, and evidently another person, whose type AB blood was found years after the murder occurred, when advanced DNA testing became available. The fact that this testing wasn’t available until many years after the crime is one reason why I strongly oppose capital punishment in most cases. Because even today, in 2023, we think we have extremely advanced testing available for crime scenes… as I’m sure they thought they had in 1985. Twenty years from now, what new science will be available? And if we put people to death when we aren’t absolutely certain without any doubt that they are 100 percent guilty, how do we make up for the inevitable mistakes that will be made?

There have been a few cases in which I thought capital punishment was entirely justified. They involve people who absolutely committed the crime, have no remorse whatsoever, and would definitely be a danger to everyone in society if they were ever released or managed to escape. The vast majority of murderers don’t fit those criteria, in my opinion. Too many times, the death penalty is about politics, racism, or revenge. And I think if we have a bunch of politicians who champion people to give birth, they should be equally passionate about the lives of people on death row.

Anyway… I am glad Jens Soering survived his time in Virginia. He’s apparently doing well in Germany. I don’t fear for my life with him on the loose. On so many levels, I think it’s a real shame that this happened. By all accounts, Soering and Haysom were people with bright futures, and Elizabeth’s parents did not deserve to be slaughtered. And I feel like if this couple hadn’t come together, this never would have happened.

If you have access to Netflix, I hope you’ll watch the miniseries and let me know what you think of it in the comment section. I am going to sign off now, take Noyzi for a walk, and then, maybe, try a couple of songs while I wait for my husband to come home. Have a nice Saturday!

celebrities, condescending twatbags, mental health, rants, sex

People hate the successful…

I’m happy to report that I’m feeling somewhat well this morning. Over the past few days, my stomach and, I suspect, my gallbladder, have been giving me issues. Add in the residual cough from my recent cold/acid reflux, and you have someone who isn’t super sick, but has been feeling pretty crappy lately. It got bad enough the other day that I actually started looking at hospitals in Yerevan, not because I want to seek medical treatment there, but because I figured I might need emergency gallbladder surgery.

To be clear, I don’t WANT to have surgery in Armenia, or anywhere else, for that matter. I just wanted to see if the facilities had improved since I lived there in the 90s. I did once visit a friend who was in the hospital in Armenia in 1996, and it was definitely a “rustic” experience for her. I think the hospitals are probably markedly better now, but I’d still rather have any medical procedures done in Germany or somewhere similarly first world. This isn’t even to say that there aren’t good doctors in Armenia. I know there are. But I’d still much rather have surgery in Germany, if I can help it.

This morning, I’m feeling like I can put off surgery. I got a relatively good night’s sleep after I took some NyQuil, and my stomach is feeling a lot better. The nagging pressure and vague pain have mostly disappeared. I will probably need to have my gallbladder taken out at some point pretty soon, but it no longer feels like it has to be this week. I haven’t been eating dinner since Bill left on Sunday, since I can’t be bothered to cook. I’ve also been teetotaling. If I manage to stay off the sauce until next week, maybe I’ll feel like a teenager again. That, of course, is a joke… 😉 Also, it’s entirely possible that I need medication, instead of surgery.

I do think I have gallstones, though, because I’ve infrequently been having the classic symptoms for about twenty years. Plus, my dad had to have his gallbladder removed, and these things can run in families… Or, he had it removed because it was inflamed and he was in pain. Unfortunately, he never recovered from the surgery and died shortly after he had his gallbladder excised. I don’t expect that would happen to me, since I’m a lot younger than he was when he had his out, and I don’t have Lewy Body Dementia. Pity… 😉 (sorry, a little black humor creeping in there)

Since I do feel much better today, I want to write about something I’ve noticed in the wake of Britney Spears’ new tell all book hitting the market. People really hate the successful, don’t they? Poor Britney can’t catch a break anywhere, especially from empathy challenged men, and their equally tone deaf female counterparts.

In her book, The Woman in Me, Britney Spears disclosed that she had an abortion when she was dating Justin Timberlake. She explained that she hadn’t wanted to have the abortion, but Justin was adamant that he didn’t want to be a father at that time in his life. They were too young. At the time of Britney’s unplanned pregnancy, Justin and Britney were just barely legal adults. Both had extremely successful careers going. While I think it’s likely Britney could have chosen differently, she decided to defer to Justin and terminate the pregnancy.

Britney took pills to end her pregnancy while she was at home, so no one would ever know about her decision. Justin and an assistant were there as she did it. She wrote that he strummed the guitar in an effort to help her feel better, and that the abortion was “excruciating”. Below is a passage from The Woman in Me regarding how she decided to have an abortion…

Well, Justin was right that they were too young… It was very pragmatic thinking. Too bad they weren’t practical enough to either use birth control or abstain.
Poor Britney… Her description of this scenario is one reason why I don’t think men have any right to have a say at all in abortion decisions. They aren’t the ones who will be physically hurting.
She may have loved him, but he sure as hell never loved her. But at least she doesn’t have to maintain ties to him today.

Justin Timberlake is now getting a ration of shit because of Britney’s book. It was so bad that he turned off comments on his Instagram. Now, people are flooding Jessica Biel’s Instagram to vent about this. Jessica Biel, for your information, is Justin Timberlake’s wife. They have children together.

I’ve seen so many awful comments about Britney’s decision to do as Justin demanded. Many people blame her entirely for her choice to have an abortion, rather than ignoring Justin’s wishes and having the baby. I think it’s important to remember how very young Britney Spears was at the time, and how a lot of young women at that age often want to please other people, particularly when they come from small Southern towns. Yes, Britney Spears was a legal adult when she made this choice, but she was also still a teenager… and, I think, much too young and immature to be having sex with anyone.

Britney Spears does also have a long, documented history of mental illness. Having an abortion probably was the most practical decision for Britney to make at that time, which doesn’t mean that it wasn’t an absolutely horrifying experience for her, or anyone else who chooses to have an abortion. I hasten to add, it also doesn’t mean that Britney’s experience with abortion is every woman’s experience with it. I hope Britney’s story doesn’t end up being used as “pro-life/anti-choice” propaganda. I don’t think anyone WANTS to have an abortion for fun. It’s a sad, difficult, and ultimately very personal decision that absolutely should be 100 percent the pregnant woman’s sole decision. It’s still HER body, at least until the fetus is developed enough to safely be born. She’s the one who went through the excruciating cramps and pain as Justin played guitar. I guess I can give him a couple of points for at least hanging around while the deed was done.

This should have been a private matter; but because Britney Spears has been a public commodity since she was a teenager, her abortion is now fodder for public commentary. Predictably, the comments are very judgmental and sometimes pretty cruel. I’ve seen a lot of people complaining about Britney acting like a victim and– horrors!– SELLING her story, instead of donating the proceeds to a charity. How DARE Britney Spears make money off her story! Even though she has had an abusive, alcoholic, asshole of a father dictating her every move for 13 years!

The more I read about Britney’s book, especially after having read it myself, the more I think a lot of people are just plain bitter about Britney Spears and people like her. She happened to be born with formidable talents that could be packaged and sold to the masses. A lot of the decisions made about her destiny were made when she was a just a child. Before she even hit 18 years old, she was a product responsible for the livelihoods of a lot of people. Yes, she was legally an adult who could technically make decisions, but she was also being controlled by family members at a time when her brain wasn’t fully developed. Add in mental health issues and being sheltered and immature, and you have someone who might decide to listen to her boyfriend when he says he wants her to have an abortion– even though it’s HER body, and ultimately her decision!

And then, Britney Spears has a mental health breakdown that is very public, with people ridiculing, shaming, and laughing at her, and that lands her in a very restrictive conservatorship, where she can’t even decide what to eat every day. But she’s well enough to perform, and make money for all of those people handling her career! Now, some people are using her book as “proof” that the conservatorship was a good thing… because how dare Britney write about having an abortion and make money!

I tell you what… my heart goes out to Britney Spears. As a woman– as someone who sings– as someone who had a controlling, alcoholic, abusive father– hell, as someone from the South– I can identify with her predicament. I wish Britney Spears had never had sex with Justin Timberlake, or anyone else who had so little respect for her. I’m glad I waited for marriage, and I’m glad I never had any desire to be a famous pop star, nor did I have parents who knew I could sing when I was still a minor. Of course, I also wasn’t blessed with the kind of raw and natural sex appeal Britney has. Is that a blessing or a curse? Because a lot of the men who are blaming her for getting pregnant as a teenager, probably, would have happily “hit that”, regardless of Britney’s mental health issues. A lot of those men would “hit that” even today, in spite of thinking she’s a victim who “blames everybody” for her problems.

I think people should be a lot less casual about sexual activity. It’s not because I’m a religious prude or anything. I just think it’s the most practical thing to do, especially when you’re very young and still figuring out life. But, I also know that most people will have casual sex, and most of them won’t take every precaution. I don’t know if Justin Timberlake was using a condom when he was having sex with Britney Spears, nor do I know if she was using birth control. My guess is that they weren’t being as careful as they could have been at the time… because they were very young and very horny. Young bodies are made to reproduce, so it makes sense that it happened. It could have been avoided, but again– they were kids, and not quite ready to be having sex with anyone.

Anyway… this is all water under the bridge. It’s been a long time… and I don’t think either Britney or Justin should be harassed for making this decision. The fact that so many people are getting upset enough about it to send hateful comments to either party is just more proof that these two famous people– beautiful, talented, and wealthy– have been reduced to products that perfect strangers feel perfectly free to judge. I guess it gives them something to do before they head off to their perfectly, average, mundane jobs.

I probably should quit reading comment sections… they always make me realize just how awful so many people are. I just read about Frances Bean Cobain getting married again. There were so many disgusting jokes referencing Kurt Cobain’s suicide. I mean… what prompts people to be so cruel? My guess is that it’s just plain old bitterness and envy. Such a shame.

Well, I think I’ll end today’s post and move on to my next chores… folding laundry, walking Noyzi, cooking a chicken, and practicing guitar. See you all tomorrow.

book reviews, careers, travel

Reviewing The Truth About Cruise Ships, by Jay Herring…

Okay… so I have just finished Jay Herring’s book, The Truth About Cruise Ships: A Cruise Ship Officer Survives the Work, Adventure, Alcohol, and Sex of Ship Life. If you are among the three people who visited yesterday’s post, you may already have an inkling of how today’s review is going to go. It may surprise one or all three of you that my mind has changed slightly since I posted yesterday.

Mr. Herring kind of redeemed himself somewhat toward the end of the book. Now, instead of feeling repulsed and disgusted by his stories of drunken debauchery while working as a computer specialist on Carnival cruise ships, I’m left feeling more ambivalent about his story. I still take a dim view of a lot of his behavior when he worked for Carnival Cruise Line, but I was heartened to see that he recognized that he’d grown up a lot during his time working on ships. That’s a good thing. On the other hand, reading the book still kind of made my skin crawl. Allow me to explain, as I delve into my review of The Truth About Cruise Ships.

Who is Jay Herring and why did I read his book?

Sometime in the early 00s, Jay Herring was a regular college graduate living with his parents near Dallas, Texas. He’d had a land based job he hated, fixing computers. He told his boss that he didn’t enjoy his job and was looking for a new role. Two months later, his boss laid him off, and he moved back in with his parents for the second time since college. He needed to find a new job– preferably one that would get him out of his parents’ house.

After unsuccessfully looking for gainful employment for three months, Herring had a brain storm. He could be a bartender on a cruise ship. This idea came to him even though he’d never seen a cruise ship, let alone taken a cruise as a passenger. Nevertheless, he found himself on Carnival Cruise Line’s website, scouring career opportunities. He noticed an opening for “shipboard I/S manager”. The idea of traveling, leaving the boring 9-5 lifestyle, and moving out of his parents’ house really appealed to him.

Herring filled out an online application; then he later found out who the hiring manager was and sent his resume directly to him. The manager interviewed him on the phone for five minutes, then told him about some of the unusual conditions of the job, such as working for eight months straight, then getting a mandatory eight week vacation. Although the lengthy vacation requirement was odd to Herring, he was still interested. The manager invited him to Miami for an in person interview, where he learned even more about the job and what it would entail. He learned that most people who work on cruise ships end up drinking and smoking to excess; he’d have to carry a pager 24/7; and eventually, the ship would feel like a prison.

Still okay with those conditions, Herring reiterated that he was still interested in working for Carnival. Two months later, Herring got the job; with it, he also got a tiny shared cabin with bunk beds, an officer’s uniform, which later came with epaulets, and raging drinking and sex habits. At the beginning of the book, Jay Herring explains that he was a “nice guy”, who was saving himself for marriage to the “right” woman. When he boarded his first cruise ship as a brand new officer in charge of computers, he was practically a virgin who hadn’t had sex for 12 years. By the time he quit working for Carnival, he was practically a manwhore. I know I probably shouldn’t use that term, but that’s a pretty accurate way to describe what happened. Even Herring admits it; he’d become a man with far fewer inhibitions and qualms having meaningless sex with almost anyone who suggested it.

I have read a number of books written by people who have worked on cruise ships. One book that immediately comes to mind is Cruise Confidential: A Hit Below the Waterline, by Brian David Bruns. Indeed, Mr. Herring credits Bruns in his acknowledgments. I reviewed Bruns’ book for and reposted it on my travel blog. Now that I’m looking at that reposted Epinions review from 2011, I see that I actually read and reviewed Jay Herring’s book before I read Bruns’ book. Incredibly enough, I had completely forgotten that I’d read Mr. Herring’s story before. This is unusual for me; I normally remember the books I’ve read, even if I don’t like them.

It’s kind of telling that I completely forgot about having already read Herring’s story. However, based on what I wrote in my review of Bruns’ book about working for Carnival, I seem to have liked Herring’s book the first time I read it, as it led me to read Bruns’ (vastly superior) book. But, in my defense, I did read the Kindle version of Herring’s book sometime around 2011. That was a long time ago, and I’ve downed a lot of booze since then. I’m sure I’ve killed some brain cells, even if I seem to have matured since 2011.

What I didn’t like about The Truth About Cruise Ships

To be honest, I was pretty disgusted by many of Herring’s stories. He often came off like a shallow creep, as he described how he was constantly looking to hook up with the women who worked on cruise ships with him. At the beginning of the book, he wrote about how he’d been a “nice guy”, although he seemed a bit shallow. But, within his first days on his first ship, he was propositioned by a woman from Trinidad and Tobago. He turned her down, but it wasn’t long before he’d become a lot more willing to have sex with anyone who offered. At the same time, he worried about catching diseases and causing pregnancies, so he wisely used condoms… until he tried having sex without one and realized it was much nicer for him. After awhile, he worried less about sexually transmitted infections and unintended pregnancies.

Below are a few samples from the book that I found kind of gross. They aren’t necessarily the worst anecdotes; they’re just snippets that I thought to highlight. Maybe you can see what I’m referring to when I comment on how gross some of the “truth” is…

Herring was in his late 20s when he was working for Carnival, but he came off as much younger and less mature. He had what seemed like a shallow and selfish attitude toward women, reducing to warm beings who should be “hunted” for his own gratification. It was depressing to read about it, especially given that a lot of the people he wrote of were married– sometimes even to other people on the ship. Combine this gross attitude toward women and sex with extreme booze drinking, and you quickly turn into someone who is very unappealing.

I might be able to overlook this distasteful and sleazy aspect of Herring’s book if the writing had been stronger, but I didn’t find Herring’s writing especially compelling. It was serviceable enough, but he doesn’t have a flair for story writing like fellow former Carnival officer Bruns does. Bruns also comes off as a much nicer person than Herring does, and keeps his stories a lot more tasteful. Most people can learn how to write in a competent way, but there’s also an art to writing well. It takes talent and empathy. I didn’t get the sense that Herring had much of either.

What I liked about The Truth About Cruise Ships

I do think Herring’s book offers an interesting look at what it’s like to work on cruise ships. So many people take cruises and have no concept of what it’s like to live on one. Beneath the passenger areas, there’s a whole underworld where the people who make the ship work are living their lives.

Some of the realities of life working on cruise ships are kind of sad. I can almost see why so many people on ships become so fixated on vices like smoking, drinking, and promiscuous sex with practical strangers. The work can be very stressful, depending on the job, and the living conditions are neither private nor comfortable. But for a person from a poor country, the tiny cabins might not be so bad– at least there are hot showers and flushing toilets, and they can make a lot of money that goes far in developing nations.

I appreciated the fact that Herring realized that he was rapidly becoming a scumbag. He was also smart enough to know when he’d had enough of working on ships and went back to a land-based life with his Czech born wife, Mirka, whom he’d met while they were both working for Carnival. I liked how he’d had a chance to realize how Americans come across to people from other countries, and I appreciated that he took the opportunity to travel. I can personally attest to how travel and meeting people from other countries can change your life and your world view. That part of the book was inspiring.


I think Jay Herring benefitted immensely from expanding his horizons by working with people from all over the world. I just wish he’d focused less on the sex and drinking in his story. I don’t think he did his image any favors, especially given that some of the stories seemed kind of juvenile and “Porky’s-esque“. If you were around in the 1980s, you probably have an inkling of what I write.

I know Herring is conscious of image, since he writes about it in his book. That was another thing I liked less– that he would go into a pseudo-philosophy mode at times, offering some half-baked theories on human nature, some of which didn’t seem very insightful to me. Given how casual he was regarding his health and basic decency when he worked for Carnival, it seemed ridiculous that he was including these lofty passages about his theories on life. He’d go from writing about hooking up with some woman he barely knew, to some theory about human nature. It just came off as disingenuous to me.

In the end, I didn’t hate the book as much as I thought I did yesterday. But I do think there are much better books about cruise ship life out there. I see the Kindle version of The Truth About Cruise Ships is apparently no longer available. I’m not sure I’d recommend paying for the paperback version, but I can also see that some people on Amazon enjoyed the book. So if you think you would, go for it… and leave me a comment on what you think. Personally, I’m glad to move on to another book now. I don’t think I’ll be reading this book a third time.

As an Amazon Associate, I get a small commission from Amazon on sales made through my site.

mental health, narcissists, politicians, politics, psychology

The more I think about Enough…

Please excuse today’s title. I use a headline analyzer on this blog, which turns green when I come up with a “good” title for SEO purposes. I probably ought to ditch that particular blogging tool, because I think a lot of the headlines it thinks are “good” are actually crappy. Like, yesterday’s title, which is literally what the post was about, got a “yellow” rating rather than green. But I think yesterday’s title is better than today’s, because what you read is what you get. On the other hand, maybe the tool is pushing me to write cryptic titles for my blog posts.

I’m writing today’s post because I can’t stop thinking about Cassidy Hutchinson’s book, Enough. It’s not because I think it was a great book. I’ve read much better books. I’ve also read much worse books. It’s not the writing or even the basic story that has me so intrigued. I think it’s the bizarre phenomenon that propelled Cassidy Hutchinson into the position she’s in today that has me ruminating on her book.

I mentioned in yesterday’s review that I think Cassidy Hutchinson has some “daddy issues”. I believe part of the reason she fell into the MAGA movement is because she was seeking a connection with her father. I also think she might want to work on that with a psychotherapist.

I don’t mean to sound condescending, because I know my suggestion that Cassidy seek therapy probably comes off that way. I also want to make it clear that there is absolutely NO shame in seeking therapy. I’ve done it. Bill is doing it. It’s been absolutely life changing for Bill, and when I did it years ago, it was life changing for me, too. In my case, therapy helped me recognize and treat lifelong depression, which I now know is a genetic issue. I know this because I know others in my family have struggled with depression, and 23andMe even verifies that I’m at a higher risk of depression. In Bill’s case, therapy has helped him explore who he is, and ease the complexes he’s struggled with all of his life. He also really likes his therapist, just as I really like mine– although he’s now my friend, rather than my shrink. 😉

I am making this suggestion from a place of empathy. I’ve had dealings with narcissists and I know the damage they can wreak on a person’s psyche. If Cassidy Hutchinson was my friend, and we had the kind of relationship in which I felt I could be totally honest with her, I would strongly encourage her to see a psychotherapist. I would do so, even if her actual father wasn’t an extremely right wing MAGA nut.

I think being exposed to a toxic narcissist like Donald Trump for as long as she was can cause serious mental health issues. Add in the fact that she was raised by a man who insisted that his daughter be a “warrior” and berated her when she cried for legitimate reasons, and you have someone who has learned to suppress her own good sense in favor of the wants and needs of the crazy. There are quite a few examples of this behavior in Enough. Moreover, Trump was certainly not the only narcissist Cassidy Hutchinson had close dealings with during her work with the MAGA folks. Narcissists are masters of mind fuckery, and it can take some time and effort to unpack that shit. Trust me, I know firsthand.

At the beginning of her book, Cassidy Hutchinson thanks her stepfather, Paul, for being her “chosen father”. Based on her book, I would agree that Paul is a good man, and it’s good for her to lean on him. However, also based on her book, it hasn’t been that long since Cassidy realized that her real dad isn’t someone she can count on. In fact, at the very end of her book, she’s gone to his house to speak to him one last time, only to find that he’s vanished… and he never told her that he was going or where he would be. She then declares herself “free”. But I’m not convinced she is. Check out these passages from her book. I’ve bolded the toxic behavior from her dad.

In the very first paragraph in Chapter 1 of Enough, Cassidy Hutchinson writes about how she and her dog, Abby, waited for her dad to come home from work. She writes:

Barefooted, I sprinted down our long gravel driveway alongside Abby as the trucks came into sight. Dad led the caravan in his white 1992 Ford pickup truck. Slowing down, but not coming to a complete stop, he would open the passenger door for Abby and me to hop in. We would belt “Black Water” by the Doobie Brothers and Glenn Miller’s “Chattanooga Choo Choo” at the top of our lungs as we drove to the back of the property, where Dad rested the equipment for the evening.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (p. 3). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

She explains that her parents weren’t big believers in doctors or hospitals, so her mother gave birth to her at home. They found a holistic midwife to help deliver Cassidy on December 12, 1996. She further explains that her mom is the eldest of seven. She never really knew her father’s family. Her mother’s mom was a very hard worker and taught her to look at things other people overlooked. Then, when Cassidy was four years old, her mother got pregnant with her brother, Jack. While she and her mother were snuggling in bed one night, Cassidy found out that her middle name was Jacqueline, after Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. I think it’s interesting that Cassidy was named after the wife of a legendary Democratic president, yet she fell into the Trump regime.

After 9/11, when she was five years old, Cassidy’s father took her turtle trapping. This was where she watched her dad and some friends obliterate a turtle in front of her. Cassidy was completely traumatized by what she watched them do, which was abject animal cruelty. She writes:

On our drive home, I told Dad I never wanted to go hunting again. Dad nodded. “That’s fine, Sissy Hutch,” he said. “But just so you know, warriors are not afraid to hunt. If you want to be a warrior just like Daddy, you must learn to hunt, Sissy. What you saw today is the circle of life.”

Dad always talked about how he was a warrior, and I wanted to be one, too. I knew how important it was to be a warrior. But I didn’t want to be a hunter, at least not yet. I decided to become a vegetarian.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (p. 9). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

Later, when it became clear that Cassidy’s parents were going to divorce, the idea of being a “warrior” was presented again, when Cassidy had an accident and her dad wouldn’t take her to a hospital.

Recently, I had been injured while I was in the yard with Dad and his employees. The yard was junked up with machines that Dad had taken apart to fix, but he had not gotten around to finishing the projects yet. I was out back with Abby and tripped over a machine part and fell on an old lawn mower blade.

Mom had begged Dad to take me to the hospital for stitches, which I probably needed. The cut was deep and bled more than I thought I had blood. Dad thought Mom was being ridiculous. Working with Dad made me stronger, and warriors don’t get stitches for little cuts and bruises. I was just happy that Dad still thought there was a chance I could be a warrior, even though I had decided to become a vegetarian after the turtle incident.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (pp. 11-12). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

Cassidy’s parents said they were going to move to Indiana. Cassidy’s dad brought a moving truck to the house, but wasn’t around to help pack or load it. Cassidy writes:

…At one point, I saw Mom muscling our baby grand piano through the house on her own. I scolded Mom to stop—she was going to hurt herself, and that was a project Dad should do, since he was the strongest person in our family. Mom lowered the piano onto the ground and calmly walked over to me.

She was slightly winded as she told me that the biggest mistake a woman could make was to think she couldn’t do the same thing as a man.

Mom walked back to the piano before I could respond. I watched her maneuver that piano right out of the house and hoist it into the moving truck by herself. Mom repeated this process with every large piece of furniture we were bringing to Indiana.

Dad wasn’t the strongest person in our family after all.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (pp. 12-13). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

So… Cassidy has described her father as a man who doesn’t trust people in authority, abuses animals, abandons his family when they need him, and neglects his daughter’s medical needs. And yet, throughout her book, she continually goes back to him, hoping he’ll be someone different. She also describes other men she knows who are more forthright and responsible. Her dad doesn’t like guys in the military, and avoids Cassidy’s Uncle Joe, who is in the National Guard and has bravely fought for his country. But Cassidy admires him, and she enjoys life in Indiana with her mom’s relatives. Her father puts an end to that carefree existence when he declares that he can’t leave Pennington, New Jersey. They sold their new house in Spencer, Indiana and moved back to Pennington.

Cassidy dad, who had told her “warriors don’t cry” when five year old Cassidy watched him blow up a turtle and when she’d fallen and hurt herself due to his negligence, was sobbing over the idea of moving to Indiana. And there was Cassidy, consoling him… as if she was his parent.

Through the window, I watched Dad wringing his hands and sobbing. He walked over to the pool and laid flat on the diving board as he continued to cry. My heart hurt so much, I could not wait a moment longer to be with him, so I ran outside. I asked him what was wrong, but I could not understand what he said. Mom was frozen, like a statue, and did not say a word herself.

Eventually I understood enough of Dad’s words. He could not do it, he said. He could not leave Pennington, the only place he had ever called home, to move to Indiana. Dad’s chest was heaving as he tried to calm himself down. Mom went to tend to Jack, since I had irresponsibly left him alone inside to console Dad.

I sat on the edge of the pool next to Dad and dangled my feet in the water. I rubbed his leg and tried to reassure him that everything would be okay. We would never leave him behind in New Jersey.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (pp. 13-14). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

To add insult to injury, Cassidy’s parents had rehomed Abby before their temporary move to Indiana. She adds that she had lost many pets because of her dad and his whims.

When Cassidy was eight years old, her father presented her with a four wheeler. Her mother didn’t think it was a good idea, but Cassidy’s dad insisted that she needed to learn to ride. Without so much as a proper helmet (she had a bike helmet), Cassidy and her dad took off on their four wheelers. What could possibly go wrong?

Cassidy hit an ice patch and wound up pinned under the bike. Her dad came over to help her, then asked if she was hurt. When it turned out Cassidy hadn’t been seriously injured, he said:

“See, Sissy. You’re not hurt, you can move perfectly fine. Now, get up,” he ordered, as he kicked the bottoms of my snow boots again. I screamed that I hated him, and that surge of anger gave me the strength to get out from under the four-wheeler. As I staggered to my feet, Dad effortlessly flipped my four-wheeler upright.

I screamed again that I hated him. Dad did not say a word as he twisted my key back in the ignition, roaring the vehicle back to life. He told me to sit down. I was trying not to cry, but my face was so numb, I did not know how successful my efforts were. I sat down, and Dad started walking back to his four-wheeler. I screamed a third time that I hated him.

Dad turned around. There were two deep lines etched between his eyebrows, and I saw his jaw clench. Almost immediately, his expression softened, and a smile grew across his cheeks. “Sissy, I helped you. What would you have done if I wasn’t here?” he asked, in a syrupy tone. “Warriors are self-sufficient, Sissy.”

“I would not have been on this stupid thing if you were out plowing, where you should have been anyway!” I screamed. Dad spun around and stormed toward me. In one swift movement, Dad ripped my key out of the ignition and chucked it overhand across the field. “You better find that key before it gets dark, or you will not find it until spring,” he instructed. Then he stomped back to his four-wheeler and sped away.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (p. 18). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

She easily found the key, but purposely waited before leaving. She didn’t want him to think she hadn’t had to look for the key. She worried it would set him off, or cause him to fight with her mother. Her dad worked for animal control and also started businesses, which often became projects for Cassidy’s mom. Later, he took Cassidy to the dump to search for treasures.

Cassidy writes that her father, who used to hate TV, got hooked on a new reality show, starring Donald Trump. He loved watching The Apprentice because he admired Trump, whom he claimed was a “warrior” who had built his multi-million dollar business from the ground up. She writes:

Dad fixated so much on Donald Trump. I wished he would pay attention to us like he did to The Apprentice. When I told Dad this, his dinner fork clamored across his plate and he said that Donald Trump was teaching him how to become a better businessman so he did not have to work as much. The other option, Dad said, was that he could stop working altogether. Dad didn’t think his family would like how suffering felt, and since he had worked so hard, we had no idea what it meant to suffer.

In a way, Dad was right. I did not know what it felt like to suffer—to worry about not having food in the house, or a warm home to sleep in. But I felt like we were suffering as a result of his absence. I wanted Dad to be at home with us—with his family. And I wanted Dad to acknowledge how hard Mom was working, too.

Dad was gone so much, and as Jack and I got older, it was clear to me how essential Mom was to our family. In my opinion, Mom’s work was far more important than his. But Dad was growing more sharp-tongued with Mom, and I did not want to spark an argument. When I was not at school, I tried to help Mom with household chores and caring for Jack to take any load off her that I could.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (p. 21). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

It’s at this point in the book that I started to see how Cassidy Hutchinson was the perfect candidate for Trump’s administration. She’d been groomed from childhood to take abuse from men who were important in her life. Her father worshiped Trump, and she missed him, even though he was abusive, neglectful, and batshit crazy. So it makes perfect sense that Cassidy would come to adore Trump, too. Loving Trump was a way for her to connect with her dad.

There are more stories about Cassidy’s dad and his abusive and neglectful parenting style. Cassidy clearly loved her father in spite of his unpredictable behavior and insistence on turning her into a “warrior”. She worked very hard in an effort to appease him. But her efforts never seemed to be enough for him. As his antics became more bizarre and sickening, Cassidy writes that she’s started to realize he’s toxic– especially when he gives her and her brother two deer hearts, both still warm and dripping with blood.

When she was in high school, Cassidy’s mother went away for the weekend with Paul. She was taking care of her brother while her friends were spending the night. She was feeling sick, with a pain in her gut. Her mom told her to call her dad, who offered to perform surgery on her. Cassidy drove herself to the emergency room. She writes:

Not much time had passed when the doctors determined that I needed an emergency appendectomy. The next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital room with Mom and Paul standing over me. Mom was sympathetic at first, apologizing profusely for not listening to me sooner. But then her temper flared. She said that I had been reckless for driving myself to the hospital in my condition and that I should have called Dad. I needed to be less stubborn, she said.

I wanted to tell her that I had called him, but there was no point. It wouldn’t change what had already transpired, and I didn’t want Mom to feel bad. Plus my story was much more fun to tell because of it.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (p. 33). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

When she got waitlisted at Gettysburg College, she thought about taking a gap year. But then she visited her Uncle Joe in Stuttgart, Germany. That’s when she decided to go to Christopher Newport University:

Late one night when we were visiting Joe and Steph in Stuttgart, Germany, Joe crept into the bedroom that Mom, Jack, and I shared and motioned for me to follow him outside. He asked if I was considering a gap year because it was what I wanted, not Mom. I considered his question before shaking my head no. He nodded, and then asked if I had heard where his next duty station was: “Williamsburg, Virginia. Fort Eustis. Didn’t you apply to a school near there?”

I had. Christopher Newport University.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (p. 35). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

I feel it’s important to note– Fort Eustis is in Newport News, which is also where CNU is. Newport News is a very different place than Williamsburg is. 😉

At her high school graduation:

Dad was standing outside the fence with a few of his buddies. “Sissy Hutch graduated high school!” he shouted, and whistled loudly to summon me in his direction. I cringed, and with a glance appealed to the rest of my family. And then I walked over to Dad.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (p. 35). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

All I’ve written about so far is just from the first part of Enough. The rest of the book is a study of what happened to Cassidy after she finished high school. There are many stories of her calmly accepting what men tell her she should do– everything from getting blonde highlights in her very dark hair (one of Trump’s suggestions) to ignoring mask mandates during a dangerous pandemic. Some of the men she encountered were good people with her best interests at heart. But a lot of them were selfish and abusive– highly polished versions of her father. And it just seems to me, reading Enough, that Cassidy was searching for some kind of bond with them… a substitute for her real father, who is clearly not a well man. This paragraph kind of sums it up for me:

Hundreds of Trump supporters gathered outside the airport gates, but my eyes locked on just one. Dad. He was wearing his formal clothes—a purple Ralph Lauren polo, dark wash jeans, and sneakers. His hair was neatly combed and thick with pomade. One of his arms was extended toward the sky, waving dramatically. He held his cell phone in his other hand, video-recording the motorcade. Our SUV rounded the corner, and I was close enough to see the lines on his face, the divot and tan line on his ring finger. I saw pride in his wide smile, too. Pure pride.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (p. 160). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

She continues:

Most of the cars and supporters had cleared out, including Mom. But not Dad. He was still there, still smiling, still waving frantically at the motorcade. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard that my mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (pp. 160-161). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.


Throughout the day, Dad sent me dozens of texts with videos of the motorcade, pictures of homemade signs people had brought, voice notes saying how proud he was of me, and that he wished he had seen me through one of the windows. “My Sissy Hutch, the Apple of My Eye, with the President… you work so hard, Sissy…,” one message read.

We were flying to our final rally of the day when I received one last video from Dad. It was of the C-17 aircraft that transports the motorcade vehicles, taking off against a stunning sunset. I stopped watching it when I heard Dad sniffle and begin to talk. I didn’t want to hear what he had to say. In a way, I preferred his cruelty. I was proud of the life I was building, but I couldn’t risk contaminating that life with the confusing, conflicted reality of my past. He had never shown up before, I reminded myself.

But he had that day. For a moment, I acknowledged that the shame I felt was not Dad’s fault, nor was it Mom’s. I was desperate to fit in the world that I had worked hard to become a cherished member of, but below the surface I felt displaced and undeserving. I did not know how to marry the two worlds I loved dearly: the world I came from, and the world I now lived in.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (p. 161). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

On January 6th, Cassidy is still planning to move to Florida. Her mother begs her to reconsider her move. She writes:

I feel physical pain when I see the Capitol dome as I cross the bridge into Washington. I want to scream, but I feel paralyzed.

I don’t turn on any lights when I enter my apartment. My body is on autopilot as I walk from my front door to the living room. I collapse onto my couch, staring at the ceiling. I feel my cell phone vibrate. It’s Mom and Paul.

Mom is crying. She’s begging me not to move to Florida. Paul interjects, trying to defuse the argument before it begins. He doesn’t realize how little I care, how far gone I am.

My tone is flat, uninflected. “I have to go. I’ve already committed. The boss needs good people around him. The only reason today happened is because we let bad people, crazy people, around him. I need to try to fix—”

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (p. 219). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

Cassidy still thinks it’s the people around Trump who have caused this mess. And worse, her savior complex, coupled with plain old egotism, cause her to think she can FIX Donald Trump, when other people, presumably older and wiser, couldn’t. She continues:

“Cassidy. Listen to yourself.” My mom’s tone shifts to parent mode, and I dissociate even more. “This isn’t you. You know better than this. You can’t fix him. You know you shouldn’t go. Listen to me, Cassidy. Listen to me…”

I hang up and put my phone on Do Not Disturb. Heavy, loud sobs escape from my chest. I have to go, I have to go…

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (p. 219). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

Even though Cassidy has seen the horrors of January 6th and they make her “sick”, she thinks that she can make it better and than Trump needs her. She doesn’t think of what she needs. It’s the same kind of thing she experienced with her father. She doesn’t seem to realize that she can only fix herself, and that is what she should focus on.

At the end of the book, Cassidy seems to have come to a conclusion about her dad…

Dad was never very fond of holidays, even when I was young. But for some unknown reason, there have been certain holidays when I’ve felt compelled to check to see if he was home. There was never a holiday I found him at home. I never knew where he was, but I also never asked. And I never told him I did this.

The pragmatic and optimistic scenarios were the same, year after year. His truck would either not be in the driveway or it would be. If it wasn’t, I would keep driving. If it was, I planned to stop, and hoped he would welcome me inside.

On Thanksgiving Day 2022, my optimistic scenario was that his truck would be in the driveway, and that he would agree we could talk.

As I approached the house, the first thing I noticed was not that his truck wasn’t in the driveway. I noticed that other cars were.

And a U-Haul. And small children.

I slammed on my brakes in front of the house, unsure what to do.

But what I had to do was clear. I had to keep driving.

I drove until my breath choked my lungs.

He left without notice, without a goodbye or a new mailing address.

He was gone.

I stopped the car and let my tears fall, until no more remained.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (p. 352). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

I’d like to remind everyone that, as of this writing, Thanksgiving 2022 was less than a year ago. Moreover, Cassidy Hutchinson has been through a lot since June 2022. So, if she was a friend of mine, I think I would tell her that she might like to seek therapy. I think it would do her a world of good. And I think it’s too bad she didn’t consider joining the military to become an officer. She seems very well suited to the work. She has a strong work ethic, a sense of right and wrong, and a willingness to put up with a lot of shit, particularly from men. She’s approachable and works well with others. Apparently, she’s willing to work for low pay, too.

In a weird way, I see some similarities between Cassidy Hutchinson and Monica Lewinsky. They were both young, ambitious, brunette women with significant issues with their parents, who eventually got tangled up in scandals with US presidents. Granted, Monica grew up with a lot of privilege– much more than Cassidy had. But if you read up about her upbringing, you find evidence that her father was abusive and neglectful. They both worked in the White House, got close to very powerful people, and wound up fodder for the paparazzi. I may have to explore this more in another post. This one has gone on long enough. 😉

Anyway, I hope Cassidy Hutchinson does get some support in the wake of publishing her book. I think she’s going to need it. Especially if Trump winds up finally being held legally responsible for all he’s done.

healthcare, law, misunderstandings, Police

When your chronic illness makes strangers think you’re a coke fiend…

I woke up at about 5:00 this morning, thanks to Bill’s alarm. He forgot to turn it off last night, which is understandable, since we went to the wine fest in Wiesbaden yesterday afternoon. Since I was awake at that hour, I decided to see if I could make some progress in my current book. It’s about a woman who had cystic fibrosis. I write “had”, because unfortunately, like most people with cystic fibrosis, her life was cut short by the disease. She kept a diary, which has now been turned into a book.

I don’t want to write too much about the book yet, or reveal the title or author’s name, because I will soon be reviewing it. However, I do want to address an excerpt I read in the wee hours of this morning. The story the author shared really gave me pause, especially since I’ve been watching a lot of cop/arrest videos on YouTube. Those videos illustrate how completely crazy the United States is right now, and how easy it is to get arrested. Granted, police officers have to deal with some pretty awful situations, and because there are a lot of guns and drugs in the U.S., they really never know what they’re going to face at any one time. Still… this situation that I read about this morning really drove home how insane it’s gotten.

In 2015, the author had gone to Las Vegas with friends. They were staying in an extremely expensive villa at the Mirage. They had a great day. It was a lot of fun hanging out with friends, drinking and dancing. One of the things cystic fibrosis does is cause a lot of coughing. Drinking and laughing, which the author had been doing a lot of during her trip, also made her cough a lot. When her coughing got too disruptive, she excused herself and went to the restroom.

Because they were in such an expensive property, the restroom had an attendant. While the author was in her stall, she started coughing so violently that it sounded like she was vomiting. Also, due to the coughing, having cystic fibrosis, and being in the dry desert air, her nose started bleeding. Unaware of what the situation might look like to a casual observer, she emerged from the stall and went to the mirror to wipe her nose.

Apparently, unbeknownst to the author, there was also evidence on the sink that someone had recently done a fuck ton of cocaine in the restroom. Since the author had been coughing so violently that it sounded like she was vomiting, and she also had a bloody nose, the restroom attendant wrongly assumed that she’d been doing cocaine. Consequently, the attendant “whisked” her away to security, where she was confronted by a beefy man named Stefan who accused her of snorting cocaine in their “high class” establishment. He told her he was going to call the police and have her arrested, based entirely on circumstantial evidence. Unfortunately, this happened to be one of the rare times the author wasn’t wearing her medical bracelet. She also wasn’t carrying her I.D., probably because she’d never expected to be accused of snorting cocaine!

Imagine this… you’re a young woman with a fatal disease who is enjoying a fun time with your friends. You go to the restroom to take care of some troublesome symptoms entirely caused by your illness, and someone whose job it is to sit in a bathroom all day assumes that you’re a coke fiend! As I read this in 2023, it occurs to me how fortunate the author was to miss the COVID-19 pandemic. Things would have been much worse for her!

Naturally, the author was extremely upset and she eventually became hysterical. Her friend tried to explain to Stefan that this wasn’t a case of someone using an illegal drug. He didn’t want to listen to her. She screamed that she would never do cocaine, because she had cystic fibrosis and it would probably kill her by her twenty-fifth birthday. She reminded him that this was a violation of the Americans with Disabilities Act.

The friend went to see if she could find the author’s I.D. She came back with another friend, who also tried to explain. Stefan completely ignored him and repeated that he was going to call the police. Finally, the friend found the author’s prescription medication, which was in a biohazard bag and looked pretty serious. She told Stefan that they were guests of a bigwig at the Mirage, who would not be happy about the way he was treating the author. She also told him about the author’s father, who was an attorney and would happily sue them for this treatment. Stefan then relented and apologized.

I was amazed when the author wrote that not only did Stefan apologize, but his demeanor did a complete 180 and he started complimenting her, telling her she looked like a model! The security guy’s groveling only made things worse, as the author realized that she must look like a drug fiend, but it was completely due to a genetic disease that she had no control over whatsoever. And, unlike most people, she needed to wear her medical bracelet, if only to prove to people like Stefan that she was very sick, not a drug fiend. This was a rare day of fun and pure enjoyment for her, a chance for her to forget her illness. And there she was, being accused of snorting cocaine and threatened with arrest! I would imagine being arrested would have had a very serious effect on her fragile health status.

If she hadn’t had her completely sober friend with her to explain things, Stefan would have had the author arrested. She would have been hauled to the police station. She would have had to call her parents for help. It would have been completely horrible on all levels.

As I read about that ridiculous incident, I realized that things have gotten completely chaotic in the United States. When someone who is suffering from a very real physical illness can end up being threatened with arrest, and the security guard won’t listen to reason, it’s just gotten totally crazy. So much for the land of the free and the home of the brave, right?

Anyway… I hope to be finished reading this book very soon. I look forward to reviewing it. Suffice to say, reading about that incident made me feel grateful to be basically healthy… as far as I know, anyway. I can’t imagine that I would have been very forgiving over such a misunderstanding. But, as I’ve noticed in a lot of the bodycam videos, sometimes cops have a tendency to shoot first and ask questions later. What an awful ordeal to have to go through, in addition to being so very sick. I hope Stefan learned from that experience, as anyone should.