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Our shared custody agreement

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Our shared custody agreement

Christmas morning dawned shockingly warm, so I loaded up Hazel and Jack in the truck and drove the 10 miles to town for a walk on the trail. 

The trailhead doubles as the parking lot of our county extension building. As I leashed up the dogs, two small older-model cars pulled in and parked beside one other at 9 a.m. sharp, and in palpable, polite silence, a young man and young woman exchanged a little dark-haired preschool girl, still in her pale pink princess pajamas, from the father’s backseat to the mother’s. 

The divorced parents neutral parking lot exchange.

Parents and children of divorce will recognize this scene. As a stepchild three times over, I felt for these young parents. Christmas was always the worst holiday for shared custody agreements. Competition. Lack of money. Yelling and tears. Clock watching. Dread. A never-ending season fraught with tension from the minute stores brought out their sparkly decorations until after New Years. 

I was always waiting for Christmas to be over.

Our current political situation has the same vibe. I live in rural Kentucky – deep red Trump country – and this time around I had a strong feeling all year that Mr. Trump would easily win re-election. 

This election was over before President Biden’s disastrous June debate performance. 

This election was over before Vice President Harris consistently filled every big stadium in the alleged swing states with massive, exuberant crowds and top celebrity entertainers.

The election was over before the massive ad campaign targeting the trans community or the fake stories about Haitian immigrants eating pets in Ohio or that time Mr. Trump appeared to fellate a microphone on stage.

This election was over before Mr. Trump raised his fist and yelled “Fight, fight, fight!” for the cameras, right after being shot at in rural Pennsylvania. Yes, even before this.

This election was over the instant Mr. Trump became the nominee.

This election was over the instant Mr. Trump became the nominee because we have a citizenry obsessed, first and foremost, with unobtainable wealth and celebrity.

For all of Mr. Trump’s flagrant ignorance, meanness, lawlessness, pettiness and continued inability to discuss policy at any level because he does not understand governing, he is what half of Americans crave most in today’s TikTok scroll, Facebook comment section, Twitter/X snark, Instagram perfection, lottery ticket dreams, internet porn, and Joe Rogan bro muscle culture. Americans want everything Mr. Trump has – the fame, the money, the mistresses and wives and sexual assault, the planes and limos, the proud depravity, the laziness, the I-don’t-give-a-shit-and-fuck-you attitude, and he’s gonna show ‘em how to get it all with zero consequences, you just watch.

Half the country handed him the keys to the White House again because what they really want are not lower gas prices, cheaper eggs, or even a regulated southern border. Like an addict jonesing for their drug of choice, Americans want their Donald. They recall fondly the 2016-2020 season of The White House Apprentice and have been praying for the Season Two launch, which promises to far outshine Season One.

Even as these same voters fear his policy decisions could destroy their lives.

If that’s not addict behavior, what is?

In a Dec. 26 Washington Post story titled “After backing Trump, low-income voters hope he doesn’t slash their benefits,” reporter Tim Craig writes, “Steve Tillia, 59, receives $1,600 a month in Social Security disability payments and $300 in food stamps to support himself and his son. Tillia, who said he is unable to work after suffering from mini strokes, still drives around New Castle with a Trump flag anchored on the bumper of his SUV. Tillia said he’s confident that Trump and GOP leaders will reduce spending by “cutting the fat” out of government — and not slashing benefits. “It’s not cutting government programs, it’s cutting the amount of people needed to run a program,” he said. “They are cutting staff, which could actually increase the amount of the programs that we get.”

Mr. Trump is going on 80 years old. He has been on the national political stage for a decade and dominates all platforms. The press, from whom we expect better, worships at his ratings-making, click-baiting altar. He has already been president, but I still can find no evidence that Mr. Trump understands how any government program works, including social security.

No matter. 

He promises, like a divorced daddy promising Disneyworld, to entertain us to death.

In chapter two of his 2021 book Our Own Worst Enemy (which I highly recommend, along his recently updated audiobook of The Death of Expertise) Tom Nichols describes what a 48 year-old Los Angeles, California male voter told the NY Times back in 2016, that “he would much prefer Mr. Trump to Mrs. Clinton. Though he said he disagreed with some of Mr. Trump’s policies, he added that he had watched The Apprentice and expected that a Trump presidency would be more exciting than a boring Clinton administration. ‘A dark side of me wants to see what happens if Trump is in [he said]. There is going to be some kind of change, and even if it’s like a Nazi-type change, people are so drama-filled. They want to see stuff like that happen. It’s like reality TV. You don’t want to just see everybody be happy with each other. You want to see someone fighting somebody.’”

I would like to know what new national Democratic strategy competes with this.

We are stuck with Mr. Trump and his voters the same way a divorced mother is stuck with a miserable human being of an ex-husband. So here is what we will do. We will focus on our own health and attitude; we will keep him out of our house; we will meet him in a neutral location when we have to; we will ignore his attention-craving antics; we will pick our battles while keeping the peace; we will spend our energy taking care of the most vulnerable. 

This is our shared custody arrangement with the country.

I moved into this mode back in October. I am rarely on social media, and God knows I avoid cable TV news, and even some regular TV news, like a woman holding out a crucifix to stave off Dracula.

And unlike how I spent the last 8 years openly talking with Trump voters and patiently listening to their conspiracies, reasons and rationalizations, this mother has moved on. 

Good luck with that, I say, as I leash up Hazel and Jack. Good luck.

--30--

&&&

Cross-posted from Reporting from Dog Lake.



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cjheinz
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Lexington, KY; Naples, FL
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Charles Dickens on Seeing Poverty

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Charles Dickens wrote what has become one of the iconic stories of Christmas day and Christmas spirit in A Christmas Carol. But of course, the experiences of Ebenezer Scrooge are a story, not a piece of reporting. Here’s a piece by Dickens written for the weekly journal Household Words that he edited from 1850 to 1859. It’s from the issue of January 26, 1856, with his first-person reporting on “A Nightly Scene in London.” Poverty in high-income countries is no longer as ghastly as in Victorian England, but for those who take the time to see it in our own time and place, surely it is ghastly enough. Thus, I repeat this post each year on Christmas Day.

Economists might also wince just a bit at how Dickens describes the reaction of some economists to poverty, those who Dickens calls “the unreasonable disciples of a reasonable school.” In the following passage, Dickens writes: “I know that the unreasonable disciples of a reasonable school, demented disciples who push arithmetic and political economy beyond all bounds of sense (not to speak of such a weakness as humanity), and hold them to be all-sufficient for every case, can easily prove that such things ought to be, and that no man has any business to mind them. Without disparaging those indispensable sciences in their sanity, I utterly renounce and abominate them in their insanity …” 

Here’s a fuller passage from Dickens:

A NIGHTLY SCENE IN LONDON

On the fifth of last November, I, the Conductor of this journal, accompanied by a friend well-known to the public, accidentally strayed into Whitechapel. It was a miserable evening; very dark, very muddy, and raining hard.

There are many woful sights in that part of London, and it has been well-known to me in most of its aspects for many years. We had forgotten the mud and rain in slowly walking along and looking about us, when we found ourselves, at eight o’clock, before the Workhouse.

Crouched against the wall of the Workhouse, in the dark street, on the muddy pavement-stones, with the rain raining upon them, were five bundles of rags. They were motionless, and had no resemblance to the human form. Five great beehives, covered with rags— five dead bodies taken out of graves, tied neck and heels, and covered with rags— would have looked like those five bundles upon which the rain rained down in the public street.

“What is this! ” said my companion. “What is this!”

“Some miserable people shut out of the Casual Ward, I think,” said I.

We had stopped before the five ragged mounds, and were quite rooted to the spot by their horrible appearance. Five awful Sphinxes by the wayside, crying to every passer-by, ” Stop and guess! What is to be the end of a state of society that leaves us here!”

As we stood looking at them, a decent working-man, having the appearance of a stone-mason, touched me on the shoulder.

“This is an awful sight, sir,” said he, “in a Christian country!”

“GOD knows it is, my friend,” said I.

“I have often seen it much worse than this, as I have been going home from my work. I have counted fifteen, twenty, five-and-twenty, many a time. It’s a shocking thing to see.”

“A shocking thing, indeed,” said I and my companion together. The man lingered near
us a little while, wished us good-night, and went on.

We should have felt it brutal in us who had a better chance of being heard than the working-man, to leave the thing as it was, so we knocked at the Workhouse Gate. I undertook to be spokesman. The moment the gate was opened by an old pauper, I went in, followed close by my companion. I lost no
time in passing the old porter, for I saw in his watery eye a disposition to shut us out.

“Be so good as to give that card to the master of the Workhouse, and say I shall be glad to speak to him for a moment.”

We were in a kind of covered gateway, and the old porter went across it with the card. Before he had got to a door on our left, a man in a cloak and hat bounced out of it very sharply, as if he were in the nightly habit of being bullied and of returning the compliment.

“Now, gentlemen,” said he in a loud voice, “what do you want here?”

“First,” said I, ” will you do me the favor to look at that card in your hand. Perhaps you may know my name.”

“Yes,” says he, looking at it. ” I know this name.”

“Good. I only want to ask you a plain question in a civil manner, and there is not the least occasion for either of us to be angry. It would be very foolish in me to blame you, and I don’t blame you. I may find fault with the system you administer, but pray understand that I know you are here to do a duty pointed out to you, and that I have no doubt you do it. Now, I hope you won’t object to tell me what I want to know.”

“No,” said he, quite mollified, and very reasonable, ” not at all. What is it?”

“Do you know that there are five wretched creatures outside?”

“I haven’t seen them, but I dare say there are.”

“Do you doubt that there are?”

“No, not at all. There might be many more.”

”Are they men? Or women?”

“Women, I suppose. Very likely one or two of them were there last night, and the night before last.”

“There all night, do you mean?”

“Very likely.”

My companion and I looked at one another, and the master of the Workhouse added quickly, “Why, Lord bless my soul, what am I to do? What can I do ? The place is full. The place is always full—every night. I must give the preference to women with children, mustn’t I? You wouldn’t have me not do that?”

“Surely not,” said I. “It is a very humane principle, and quite right; and I am glad to hear of it. Don’t forget that I don’t blame you.”

“Well!” said he. And subdued himself again. …

“Just so. I wanted to know no more. You have answered my question civilly and readily, and I am much obliged to you. I have nothing to say against you, but quite the contrary. Good night!”

“Good night, gentlemen!” And out we came again.

We went to the ragged bundle nearest to the Workhouse-door, and I touched it. No movement replying, I gently shook it. The rags began to be slowly stirred within, and by little and little a head was unshrouded. The head of a young woman of three or four and twenty, as I should judge; gaunt with want, and foul with dirt; but not naturally ugly.

“Tell us,” said I, stooping down. “Why are you lying here?”

“Because I can’t get into the Workhouse.”

She spoke in a faint dull way, and had no curiosity or interest left. She looked dreamily at the black sky and the falling rain, but never looked at me or my companion.

“Were you here last night?”

“Yes, All last night. And the night afore too.”

“Do you know any of these others?”

“I know her next but one. She was here last night, and she told me she come out of Essex. I don’t know no more of her.”

“You were here all last night, but you have not been here all day?”

“No. Not all day.”

“Where have you been all day?”

“About the streets.”

”What have you had to eat?”

“Nothing.”

“Come!” said I. “Think a little. You are tired and have been asleep, and don’t quite consider what you are saying to us. You have had something to eat to-day. Come! Think of it!”

“No I haven’t. Nothing but such bits as I could pick up about the market. Why, look at me!”

She bared her neck, and I covered it up again.

“If you had a shilling to get some supper and a lodging, should you know where to get it?”

“Yes. I could do that.”

“For GOD’S sake get it then!”

I put the money into her hand, and she feebly rose up and went away. She never thanked me, never looked at me— melted away into the miserable night, in the strangest manner I ever saw. I have seen many strange things, but not one that has left a deeper impression on my memory than the dull impassive way in which that worn-out heap of misery took that piece of money, and was lost.

One by one I spoke to all the five. In every one, interest and curiosity were as extinct as in the first. They were all dull and languid. No one made any sort of profession or complaint; no one cared to look at me; no one thanked me. When I came to the third, I suppose she saw that my companion and I glanced, with a new horror upon us, at the two last, who had dropped against each other in their sleep, and were lying like broken images. She said, she believed they were young sisters. These were the only words that were originated among the five.

And now let me close this terrible account with a redeeming and beautiful trait of the poorest of the poor. When we came out of the Workhouse, we had gone across the road to a public house, finding ourselves without silver, to get change for a sovereign. I held the money in my hand while I was speaking to the five apparitions. Our being so engaged, attracted the attention of many people of the very poor sort usual to that place; as we leaned over the mounds of rags, they eagerly leaned over us to see and hear; what I had in my hand, and what I said, and what I did, must have been plain to nearly all the concourse. When the last of the five had got up and faded away, the spectators opened to let us pass; and not one of them, by word, or look, or gesture, begged of us.

Many of the observant faces were quick enough to know that it would have been a relief to us to have got rid of the rest of the money with any hope of doing good with it. But, there was a feeling among them all, that their necessities were not to be placed by the side of such a spectacle; and they opened a way for us in profound silence, and let us go.

My companion wrote to me, next day, that the five ragged bundles had been upon his bed all night. I debated how to add our testimony to that of many other persons who from time to time are impelled to write to the newspapers, by having come upon some shameful and shocking sight of this description. I resolved to write in these pages an exact account of what we had seen, but to wait until after Christmas, in order that there might be no heat or haste. I know that the unreasonable disciples of a reasonable school, demented disciples who push arithmetic and political economy beyond all bounds of sense (not to speak of such a weakness as humanity), and hold them to be all-sufficient for every case, can easily prove that such things ought to be, and that no man has any business to mind them. Without disparaging those indispensable sciences in their sanity, I utterly renounce and abominate them in their insanity; and I address people with a respect for the spirit of the New Testament, who do mind such things, and who think them infamous in our streets.

The post Charles Dickens on Seeing Poverty first appeared on Conversable Economist.

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cjheinz
4 days ago
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Lexington, KY; Naples, FL
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Bogiemas

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Everyone have a merry Bogart’s Birthday!

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cjheinz
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And here I thought the Winter Solstice was the Real Reason for the Season!
Lexington, KY; Naples, FL
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Hoodoo

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From 2006, taken from a balloon adrift over Cappadocia, in central Turkey. The terrain in Cappadocia is spectacular and craggy, featuring “fairy chimneys,” hoodoo spires, cliffs, hidden valleys, and signs of habitation going back thousands of years. The closest analog I’ve seen to this country are parts of the Colorado Plateau, like the Cedar Breaks— except that the hoodoo spires at the Cedar Breaks don’t have homes carved into them. There is at least one entire castle carved out of a big rock, Christian monks carved monasteries into cliffs and dwelt there until the 20th century, smaller spires were converted into single-family homes. Entire cities, including stables, churches, air vents, and wells, were carved underground and used to hide populations during invasions, which were frequent.

Now the place is invaded by tourists, who croggle at the lunar landscape and buy local products like pottery and carpets, stay in “troglodyte hotels,” and watch the dervishes whirl. Our hotel offered balloon tours, and I signed up. I was rained out the first day, but I got into the air the day following. The gondola held sixteen people crammed elbow-to-elbow, but leaped into the air nimbly enough. The air was full of balloons. We went up, we went down, we sailed along valleys and leaped over obstacles.

It was all quite wonderful, and I took over 200 spectacular photographs, of which this is one of the best.

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cjheinz
9 days ago
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Wow!
Lexington, KY; Naples, FL
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Thanks to a large donation, lift tickets will be free all season...

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Thanks to a large donation, lift tickets will be free all season at Storrs Hill Ski Area in NH. “We hope this initiative brings neighbors together and inspires a love of skiing in a fun and accessible way.”

💬 Join the discussion on kottke.org

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cjheinz
11 days ago
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Hope they get some snow.
#ClimateCrisis
Lexington, KY; Naples, FL
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Pluralistic: Nurses whose shitty boss is a shitty app (17 Dec 2024)

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A nurse, pouring medicine out of a bottle; she is terrified because she is being held a gunpoint by a male figure whose head has been replaced with the staring eye of HAL 9000 from Kubrick's '2001: A Space Odyssey.' The background is a sepia-toned early 20th C wartime infirmary, crowded with wounded men. In the top left corner there is a subtle 'code waterfall' effect as seen in the credit sequences of the Wachowskis' 'Matrix' movies.

Nurses whose shitty boss is a shitty app (permalink)

Operating a business is risky: you can't ever be sure how many customers you'll have, or what they'll show up looking for. If you guess wrong, you'll either have too few workers to serve the crowd, or you'll pay workers to stand around and wait for customers. This is true even when your "business" is a "hospital."

Capitalists hate capitalism. Capitalism is defined by risk – like the risk of competitors poaching your customers and workers. Capitalists all secretly dream of a "command economy" in which other people have to arrange their affairs to suit the capitalists' preferences, taking the risk off their shoulders. Capitalists love anti-competitive exclusivity deals with suppliers, and they really love noncompete "agreements" that ban their workers from taking better jobs:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/21/bondage-fees/#doorman-building

One of the sleaziest, most common ways for capitalists to shed risk is by shifting it onto their workers' shoulders, for example, by sending workers home on slow days and refusing to pay them for the rest of their shifts. This is easy for capitalists to do because workers have a collective action problem: for workers to force their bosses not to do this, they all have to agree to go on strike, and other workers have to honor their picket-lines. That's a lot of chivvying and bargaining and group-forming, and it's very hard. Meanwhile, the only person the boss needs to convince to screw you this way is themself.

Libertarians will insist that this is impossible, of course, because workers will just quit and go work for someone else when this happens, and so bosses will be disciplined by the competition to find workers willing to put up with their bullshit. Of course, these same libertarians will tell you that it should be legal for your boss to require you to sign a noncompete "agreement" so you can't quit and get a job elsewhere in your field. They'll also tell you that we don't need antitrust enforcement to prevent your boss from buying up all the businesses you might work for if you do manage to quit.

In practice, the only way workers have successfully resisted being burdened with their bosses' risks is by a) forming a union, and then b) using the union to lobby for strong labor laws. Labor laws aren't a substitute for a union, but they are an important backstop, and of course, if you're not unionized, labor law is all you've got.

Enter the tech-bro, app in hand. The tech-bro's most absurd (and successful) ruse is "it's not a crime, I did it with an app." As in "it's not money-laundering, I did it with an app." Or "it's not a privacy violation, I did it with an app." Or "it's not securities fraud, I did it with an app." Or "it's not price-gouging, I did it with an app," or, importantly, "it's not a labor-law violation, I did it with an app."

The point of the "gig economy" is to use the "did it with an app" trick to avoid labor laws, so that bosses can shift risks onto workers, because capitalists hate capitalism. These apps were first used to immiserate taxi-drivers, and this was so successful that it spawned a whole universe of "Uber for __________" apps that took away labor rights from other kinds of workers, from dog-groomers to carpenters.

One group of workers whose rights are being devoured by gig-work apps is nurses, which is bad news, because without nurses, I would be dead by now.

A new report from the Roosevelt Institute goes deep on the way that nurses' lives are being destroyed by gig work apps that let bosses in America's wildly dysfunctional for-profit health care industry shift risk from bosses to the hardest-working group of health care professionals:

https://rooseveltinstitute.org/publications/uber-for-nursing/

The report's authors interviewed nurses who were employed through three apps: Shiftkey, Shiftmed and Carerev, and reveal a host of risk-shifting, worker-abusing practices that has nurses working for so little that they can't afford medical insurance themselves.

Take Shiftkey: nurses are required to log into Shiftkey and indicate which shifts they are available for, and if they are assigned any of those shifts later but can't take them, their app-based score declines and they risk not being offered shifts in the future. But Shiftkey doesn't guarantee that you'll get work on any of those shifts – in other words, nurses have to pledge not to take any work during the times when Shiftkey might need them, but they only get paid for those hours where Shiftkey calls them out. Nurses assume all the risk that there won't be enough demand for their services.

Each Shiftkey nurse is offered a different pay-scale for each shift. Apps use commercially available financial data – purchased on the cheap from the chaotic, unregulated data broker sector – to predict how desperate each nurse is. The less money you have in your bank accounts and the more you owe on your credit cards, the lower the wage the app will offer you. This is a classic example of what the legal scholar Veena Dubal calls "algorithmic wage discrimination" – a form of wage theft that's supposedly legal because it's done with an app:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

Shiftkey workers also have to bid against one another for shifts, with the job going to the worker who accepts the lowest wage. Shiftkey pays nominal wages that sound reasonable – one nurse's topline rate is $23/hour. But by payday, Shiftkey has used junk fees to scrape that rate down to the bone. Workers have to pay a daily $3.67 "safety fee" to pay for background checks, drug screening, etc. Nevermind that these tasks are only performed once per nurse, not every day – and nevermind that this is another way to force workers to assume the boss's risks. Nurses also pay daily fees for accident insurance ($2.14) and malpractice insurance ($0.21) – more employer risk being shifted onto workers. Workers also pay $2 per shift if they want to get paid on the same day – a payday lending-style usury levied against workers whose wages are priced based on their desperation. Then there's a $6/shift fee nurses pay as a finders' fee to the app, a fee that's up to $7/shift next year. All told, that $23/hour rate cashes out to $13/hour.

On top of that, gig nurses have to pay for their own uniforms, licenses, equipment and equipment, including different colored scrubs and even shoes for each hospital. And because these nurses are "their own bosses" they have to deduct their own payroll taxes from that final figure. As "self-employed" workers, they aren't entitled to overtime or worker's comp, they get no retirement plan, health insurance, sick days or vacation.

The apps sell themselves to bosses as a way to get vetted, qualified nurses, but the entire vetting process is automated. Nurses upload a laundry list of documents related to their qualifications and undergo a background check, but are never interviewed by a human. They are assessed through automated means – for example, they have to run a location-tracking app en route to callouts and their reliability scores decline if they lose mobile data service while stuck in traffic.

Shiftmed docks nurses who cancel shifts after agreeing to take them, but bosses who cancel on nurses, even at the last minute, get away at most a small penalty (having to pay for the first two hours of a canceled shift), or, more often, nothing at all. For example, bosses who book nurses through the Carerev app can cancel without penalty on a mere two hours' notice. One nurse quoted in the study describes getting up at 5AM for a 7AM shift, only to discover that the shift was canceled while she slept, leaving her without any work or pay for the day, after having made arrangements for her kid to get childcare. The nurse assumes all the risk again: blocking out a day's work, paying for childcare, altering her sleep schedule. If she cancels on Carerev, her score goes down and she will get fewer shifts in the future. But if the boss cancels, he faces no consequences.

Carerev also lets bosses send nurses home early without paying them for the whole day – and they don't pay overtime if a nurse stays after her shift ends in order to ensure that their patients are cared for. The librarian scholar Fobazi Ettarh coined the term "vocational awe" to describe how workers in caring professions will endure abusive conditions and put in unpaid overtime because of their commitment to the patrons, patients, and pupils who depend on them:

https://www.inthelibrarywiththeleadpipe.org/2018/vocational-awe/

Many of the nurses in the study report having shifts canceled on them as they pull into the hospital parking lot. Needless to say, when your shift is canceled just as it was supposed to start, it's unlikely you'll be able to book a shift at another facility.

The American healthcare industry is dominated by monopolies. First came the pharma monopolies, when pharma companies merged and merged and merged, allowing them to screw hospitals with sky-high prices. Then the hospitals gobbled each other up, merging until most regions were dominated by one or two hospital chains, who could use buyer power to get a better deal on pharma prices – but also use seller power to screw the insurers with outrageous prices for care. So the insurers merged, too, until they could fight hospital price-gouging.

Everywhere you turn in the healthcare industry, you find another monopolist: pharmacists and pharmacy benefit managers, group purchasing organizations, medical beds, saline and supplies. Monopoly begets monopoly.

(Unitedhealthcare is extraordinary in that its divisions are among the most powerful players in all of these sectors, making it a monopolist among monopolists – for example, UHC is the nation's largest employer of physicians:)

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/its-time-to-break-up-big-medicine

But there two key stakeholders in American health-care who can't monopolize: patients and health-care workers. We are the disorganized, loose, flapping ends at the beginning and end of the healthcare supply-chain. We are easy pickings for the monopolists in the middle, which is why patients pay more for worse care every year, and why healthcare workers get paid less for worse working conditions every year.

This is the one area where the Biden administration indisputably took action, bringing cases, making rules, and freaking out investment bankers and billionaires by repeatedly announcing that crimes were still crimes, even if you used an app to commit them.

The kind of treatment these apps mete out to nurses is illegal, app or no. In an important speech just last month, FTC commissioner Alvaro Bedoya explained how the FTC Act empowered the agency to shut down this kind of bossware because it is an "unfair and deceptive" form of competition:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/26/hawtch-hawtch/#you-treasure-what-you-measure

This is the kind of thing the FTC could be doing. Will Trump's FTC actually do it? The Trump campaign called the FTC "politicized" – but Trump's pick for the next FTC chair has vowed to politicize it even more:

https://theintercept.com/2024/12/18/trump-ftc-andrew-ferguson-ticket-fees/

Like Biden's FTC, Trump's FTC will have a target-rich environment if it wants to bring enforcement actions on behalf of workers. But Biden's trustbusters chose their targets by giving priority to the crooked companies that were doing the most harm to Americans, while Trump's trustbusters are more likely to give priority to the crooked companies that Trump personally dislikes:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/12/the-enemy-of-your-enemy/#is-your-enemy

So if one of these nursing apps pisses off Trump or one of his cronies, then yeah, maybe those nurses will get justice.

(Image: Cryteria, CC BY 3.0, modified)


Hey look at this (permalink)



A Wayback Machine banner.

This day in history (permalink)

#10yrsago A modest proposal for Wall Street’s future https://web.archive.org/web/20141215195720/http://www.bloombergview.com/articles/2014-12-15/michael-lewis-eight-things-i-wish-for-wall-street

#5yrsago From Enron to Saudi Arabia, from Rikers Island to ICE’s gulag, how McKinsey serves as “Capitalism’s Consigliere” https://theintercept.com/2019/12/18/capitalisms-consigliere-mckinseys-work-for-insurance-companies-ice-drug-manufacturers-and-despots/

#5yrsago A profile of Cliff “Cuckoo’s Egg” Stoll, a pioneering “hacker hunter” https://www.wired.com/story/meet-the-mad-scientist-who-wrote-the-book-on-how-to-hunt-hackers/

#5yrsago With 5G, 2019 reached peak bullshit https://www.lightreading.com/5g/2019-the-year-telecom-went-doolally-about-5g

#5yrsago Kentucky’s governor insisted that investment bankers could provide broadband. He was wrong https://www.propublica.org/article/there-are-kentuckians-who-still-dont-have-broadband-because-the-former-governor-chose-an-investment-bank-over-experts#173512

#1yrago Debbie Urbanski's 'After World' https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/18/storyworker-ad39-393a-7fbc/#digital-human-archive-project


Upcoming appearances (permalink)

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Recent appearances (permalink)



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Latest books (permalink)



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Upcoming books (permalink)

  • Picks and Shovels: a sequel to "Red Team Blues," about the heroic era of the PC, Tor Books, February 2025

  • Enshittification: Why Everything Suddenly Got Worse and What to Do About It, Farrar, Straus, Giroux, October 2025

  • Unauthorized Bread: a middle-grades graphic novel adapted from my novella about refugees, toasters and DRM, FirstSecond, 2025



Colophon (permalink)

Today's top sources:

Currently writing:

  • Enshittification: a nonfiction book about platform decay for Farrar, Straus, Giroux. Status: second pass edit underway (readaloud)

  • A Little Brother short story about DIY insulin PLANNING

  • Picks and Shovels, a Martin Hench noir thriller about the heroic era of the PC. FORTHCOMING TOR BOOKS FEB 2025

Latest podcast: Daddy-Daughter Podcast 2024 https://craphound.com/overclocked/2024/12/17/daddy-daughter-podcast-2024/


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"When life gives you SARS, you make sarsaparilla" -Joey "Accordion Guy" DeVilla

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cjheinz
11 days ago
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Horrifying.
Lexington, KY; Naples, FL
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