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There’s something I’ve noticed lately. People are vehemently resistant to the notion of “some bureaucrat in Washington” making decisions regarding their healthcare. The ironic thing is that if you are one of the Americans lucky enough to have health insurance (and there are 47 million who are not as fortunate), then – quite literally – you already have bureaucrats making decisions regarding your healthcare. Is a bureaucrat in Chicago or Hartford or Des Moines really that much more worthy of our trust? I think not.
See, insurance companies are corporations and the primary purpose of every corporation is to make money for shareholders. And the only way to make money is to take in more than you pay out. Thereore, insurance companies really don’t have our (customers') best interests at heart. How could they? The natural inclination of every insurance company is to take your money and deny your claim. There are only a couple of things, as far as I can see, that prevent this from happening:
1) fear of litigation
2) fear of losing customers to the competition if customer satisfaction falls below the industry average
So even when insurance companies pay a claim they’re only doing it keep the money rolling in. The even have a word for canceling your policy once you get sick: rescission. And it's legal even if you've been paying into the same plan with the same company for decades. Isn't the reason that you pay into a plan year after year when you're healthy so that it's there when you get sick and need it? Compare that to a government who issues no-bid contracts and fights to keep buying more obsolete bombers that have never seen action in combat. I think I prefer the wasteful apparatus of the federal government to the corner cutting, bottom-line-obsessed machinations of the insurance industry when it comes to making decisions about the quality of my healthcare. But that's just me. More thoughts to follow...
I was at the Dodgers-Brewers game tonight and Craig Counsell came up to bat. My first thought was: "shouldn't he be providing color commentary for a minor league affiliate in Duluth by now?" An inning or so later Jason Kendall came up to bat and my first thought was: "I could have sworn he was dead."
That's about the time I got the idea for a team made up entirely of diminutive white guys who, despite a near constant stream terrible stats year after year, still - somewhat inexplicably - make it onto big league clubs year after year. They are commonly referred to as "scrappy."
Side note: Only white players can be labeled "scrappy." It's an unwritten law of sports journalism. If you're small, white, and not particularly athletic you're scrappy. Especially if you play middle infield.
Well, the backbone of my team would be Craig Counsell and Jason Kendall. And right off the bat (so to speak) I added David Eckstein and Dustin Pedroia to my roster of hardworking munchkins. A little more thought brought me to journeyman Adam Kennedy and the A's Mark Ellis. Once I got home, five minutes on ESPN's website (your worldwide leader in sports) led me to add Scott Posednik and Ryan Freel into the mix. Let's toss Ryan Theriot in there as a totally superflous utility player as well. The great thing about this team is that it doesn't really matter who plays where on defense, because they're all pretty much the same player. And they're all so scrappy and selfless that they'll gladly play any position. Truth be told, most of them are just happy to be on a big-league roster. That just leaves leaves a pitcher - and is there anyone better for this little thought experiment than the wily veteran Tim Wakefield? I think not. You don't really need anyone else on your staff when your ace is that crafty. And Craig Biggio would be my manager.
And there you have it: a team that would hit 50 home runs over the course of a season, but would have 300 ground ball base hits. They'd grind games by scores like 2-1 and 3-2 with smart baserunning and gritty defense and by running out ground balls like it's their first day in the pros. And everyone's jersey would be dirty by the third inning. It would be the most boring baseball ever.
Well, I saw my first real client at 6:00 on Friday. And I was expected to do real therapy. In a real session. I guess you could say that the reality of the situation was what struck me.
He's an adolescent male who does not want to be in therapy. He did not make eye contact with me for the entire 50 minutes. He also did not say a word. We passed the session in awkward silence, broken only by my futile attempts to engage him every few minutes. Awesome.
On the plus side the whole experience inspired me to create a new drink upon arriving home. I call it the tequila sec. It's equal parts tequila and triple sec, which is pretty much all I had on hand It's surprisingly good, though ... at least I was surprised at its goodness. But maybe at that point my expectations had been lowered to the point that clam juice and diet slice would have seemed fantastic to me. It's hard to say.
It's all right though. If that's all he's got in his arsenal I can handle it. And if it's a battle of the wills that he's after I'll be up to the task. I'm confident in my ability to wait him out. Hopefully healing can be found on the other side.
If, as they say, a million monkeys pounding on a million typewriters for millions of years would eventually produce the works of Shakespeare ...
Then how long would it take my cat to produce Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea by walking back and forth across our laptops as we attempt to work (which apparently one of her favorite sources of entertainment, judging by the frequency she chooses to do it)?
Thoughts like these prevent me from actually being productive and getting my finals done early.
Well, on Monday the wife and I were feeling a bit stressed after a schoolwork-filled and altogether unrestful weekend so we decided to catch an afternoon movie, a rare treat for us. Curious about what all the fuss was about, we opted for Pixar's Up.
I accept the proposition that last year Wall-E redefined what an animated film can be. Up does that, only much more so. While appropriate for the younger set, it's definitely not a kids' movie. It's a 96 minute meditation on grief and loss and regret featuring an elderly widower (Ed Asner) as its protagonist. It's heart-felt and emotionally raw, but the emotion feels genuine and never contrived. It's also hilarious. But it'll still make you cry. Seriously, it will. I can't remember the last time I cried because of a movie. I didn't even cry when I was 6 and Bambi's mother was shot, but I had a tear roll down my cheek during Up.
The verdict: I submit that this is the best film of the year so far. It's really not even close, especially if you only consider wide releases. Go see it. If you regret it come see me so I can tell you that you're an inhuman monster to your face.
I'm sad now. It's a deep, pervasive, penetrating sadness with which I am all too well acquainted. At the same time, since my sadness is so familiar to me, it's a little like a friend coming home after a long vacation. A friend that you hate with every fiber of your being because he's such a jerk to you all the time but then he'll be nice to you for just long enough to make you think that maybe this time it will be different but then it's not and you'd think it would stop hurting eventually but somehow it never does because each wound is a little different. That's what it's like.
And the season's not even over yet. I'm a little ahead of schedule.
There’s something I’ve noticed lately. People are vehemently resistant to the notion of “some bureaucrat in Washington” making decisions regarding their healthcare. The ironic thing is that if you are one of the Americans lucky enough to have health insurance (and there are 47 million who are not as fortunate), then – quite literally – you already have bureaucrats making decisions regarding your healthcare. Is a bureaucrat in Chicago or Hartford or Des Moines really that much more worthy of our trust? I think not. 
