The use of physical restraints on nursing-home patients declined nearly 40 percent nationally in recent years as the federal government, states and the nursing-home industry placed greater emphasis on eliminating what once was a common practice.Update: Reader question: "Mister Drunkablog, darling, why do you diss your own readers? Didn't you recently reveal the embarrassing fact that many blogs ranked with yours in traffic haven't been updated for years? Shouldn't you therefore treat the readers you do have with respect?"
To which I reply: What were we talking about, again?
Update II: Occasionally I give money to streetcorner signholders. Not a good idea, I know, but it's way too easy to see myself standing there, and if I were, I'd want me to give me a buck.
Anyway, one of those signholders is "Dave," who often stands on a 6th Avenue off-ramp. I like Dave because he says things like, "Dave's just got to sing his song," and "Dave's not happy unless he's singing," while showing no sign of actually bursting into song. (One time he said, "Dave's got to sing, but the carbon monoxide is killing Dave.")
Dave just lost himself a patron, though. The other day he asked if I hadn't come through that intersection earlier. I said no, must have been some other extraordinarily handsome guy. Dave peered in at me and said "no, you're just like me."
Dave, of course, is a 46-year-old crack addict (so looks 66) who apparently wears the same olive-drab coat, filthy ski cap, verminous jeans and holey sneakers every day of the year. Scraggly beard, matted hair, many missing teeth, the few that remain crooked and stained a rich walnut--you get the idea. Keeps me humble, it does.
Update III: Yep, my good buddy Dave. Think I'll invite him home to supper.