(no subject)
Couple o'few things before I stumble off to bed:
1. I accepted the gig I posted about a few days ago. I was all like, "am I selling myself short if I do it? is it a self-esteem booster if I don't?" Then I evoked the wise words of my beloved Grandmom when I was a wee urchin of eight or nine years old: "Let me tell ya something, Jackie. Remember this - MONEY TALKS AND BULLSHIT WALKS." (Yes, she kisses her great-granddaughter with that mouth. The old people swearing, it's an East Coast Jew thing. You either get it or you are probably better off if you don't.)
Yes! I forgot the most important thing of all - it PAYS! Not a lot, but no change is too chumpy for me right now.
Sidebar: I was telling a friend a few days ago about dear Grandmom's axiom being the dealmaker and she said, "Maybe another way you can look at it is letting go of ego."
Nah, I told her. I really just need the money.
2. Healthcare is a cause near and dear to my heart. Mostly it's because I have been at all points along the insurance spectrum in my adult life. I've been unemployed and uninsured and pissing in a cup in a storefront operation with gang graffiti on the walls so I can get antibiotics for a UTI. I've had the Cadillac of PPOs, with my pick of the specialist litter and the luxury of snubbing generic prescriptions. I've been employed but uninsurable because of a pre-existing condition. Currently, dear hubby gives a fat chunk of his paycheck just so that our little three-person operation here can be insured under some low-tier HMO plan - yet, I still have to beg, barter and write grants to get my kid any sort of fancy developmental therapy outside of the one-size-fits-some pediatric clinic model.
Yes, I am aware the last one is still waaaay better than a lot of people in this country have it. I am an edumacated native English speaker with an HMO living in a major city with access to a lot of services (or at least the wait-list for them). What is grinding my gears here is that it shouldn't have to be like this. FOR ANYONE! As my old housemate John put it during the blazing hot Boston summer of 1988 (gee, I am quite the carrier pigeon of some old BS up in here today), "Life is like a shit sandwich. The more bread you have, THE LESS SHIT YOU HAVE TO EAT."
Haw, haw! But really? AIN'T IT THE FUCKING TRUTH.
I am not going to even get into it with anyone who wants to make access to health care a moral issue. You people, you just go to hell. You go to hell and DIE. I will get into it with anyone who wants to make it a financial issue, however. I will get into it just long enough to say UH YEAH ACTUALLY THIS COUNTRY DOES HAVE THE MONEY TO SUPPORT AFFORDABLE HEALTHCARE. We have enough money to bomb the fucking fuck out of three different countries at once and we have billions of dollars for corporate tax breaks and bailouts, so don't say the money isn't there. Tut! Tut tut tut! (a la Judge Judy) And even with affordable healthcare we'll still have the money for flat screen TVs, clean drinking water, and very-berry-Tofutti-vegan muffins, so don't get all hyper about your quality of life being compromised.
3. Countdown for getting out of Dodge begins on Sunday. I'll be gone for a month, the first two weeks of which I will be the primary caregiver for the girl until Patrick meets up with us. For this reason I am really, REALLY hoping I have my shit together by July 18th. I will be in big trouble if I pull an all-nighter packing Ellie's and my various clothings and specialty items, then land in Baltimore and drive us solo to (shudder) my mother's for a week. Pat's mother, not so much, but still. I can't predict how many shards of self-esteem and/or sleep I am going to have to work with by the time I get to Maine. For now...the lists are made, the items are in the process of being purchased, the crafts and visuals in the process of being assembled. I'm still a long way off from having all our shit in suitcases, though. Wish me luck.
4. I am very much looking forward to caring for my neighbor's cat this weekend. Since Lucy's passing, I am running on a huge deficit of kitteh love. Maybe kitteh won't like me, maybe I won't want kitteh on me when it's 98 degrees and sticky out, but one thing is for sure: I know I'll have an instant BFF for at least 30 seconds once she hears that can opener.
5. In an attempt to screw ComEd out of two hours' worth of AC power, I took Ellie on Thursday to see "Pirates! Band of Misfits" at the Logan. Now, we all love ourselves some Wallace and Grommit, but Aardman's latest aminations? HELL to the YES. I am still singing Jimmy Cliff songs three days later. S'sly, loved it. Will of course see it eleventy billion times once it goes to DVD (a la "Fantastic Mr. Fox")
Ciao. Stay cool, peeps!
1. I accepted the gig I posted about a few days ago. I was all like, "am I selling myself short if I do it? is it a self-esteem booster if I don't?" Then I evoked the wise words of my beloved Grandmom when I was a wee urchin of eight or nine years old: "Let me tell ya something, Jackie. Remember this - MONEY TALKS AND BULLSHIT WALKS." (Yes, she kisses her great-granddaughter with that mouth. The old people swearing, it's an East Coast Jew thing. You either get it or you are probably better off if you don't.)
Yes! I forgot the most important thing of all - it PAYS! Not a lot, but no change is too chumpy for me right now.
Sidebar: I was telling a friend a few days ago about dear Grandmom's axiom being the dealmaker and she said, "Maybe another way you can look at it is letting go of ego."
Nah, I told her. I really just need the money.
2. Healthcare is a cause near and dear to my heart. Mostly it's because I have been at all points along the insurance spectrum in my adult life. I've been unemployed and uninsured and pissing in a cup in a storefront operation with gang graffiti on the walls so I can get antibiotics for a UTI. I've had the Cadillac of PPOs, with my pick of the specialist litter and the luxury of snubbing generic prescriptions. I've been employed but uninsurable because of a pre-existing condition. Currently, dear hubby gives a fat chunk of his paycheck just so that our little three-person operation here can be insured under some low-tier HMO plan - yet, I still have to beg, barter and write grants to get my kid any sort of fancy developmental therapy outside of the one-size-fits-some pediatric clinic model.
Yes, I am aware the last one is still waaaay better than a lot of people in this country have it. I am an edumacated native English speaker with an HMO living in a major city with access to a lot of services (or at least the wait-list for them). What is grinding my gears here is that it shouldn't have to be like this. FOR ANYONE! As my old housemate John put it during the blazing hot Boston summer of 1988 (gee, I am quite the carrier pigeon of some old BS up in here today), "Life is like a shit sandwich. The more bread you have, THE LESS SHIT YOU HAVE TO EAT."
Haw, haw! But really? AIN'T IT THE FUCKING TRUTH.
I am not going to even get into it with anyone who wants to make access to health care a moral issue. You people, you just go to hell. You go to hell and DIE. I will get into it with anyone who wants to make it a financial issue, however. I will get into it just long enough to say UH YEAH ACTUALLY THIS COUNTRY DOES HAVE THE MONEY TO SUPPORT AFFORDABLE HEALTHCARE. We have enough money to bomb the fucking fuck out of three different countries at once and we have billions of dollars for corporate tax breaks and bailouts, so don't say the money isn't there. Tut! Tut tut tut! (a la Judge Judy) And even with affordable healthcare we'll still have the money for flat screen TVs, clean drinking water, and very-berry-Tofutti-vegan muffins, so don't get all hyper about your quality of life being compromised.
3. Countdown for getting out of Dodge begins on Sunday. I'll be gone for a month, the first two weeks of which I will be the primary caregiver for the girl until Patrick meets up with us. For this reason I am really, REALLY hoping I have my shit together by July 18th. I will be in big trouble if I pull an all-nighter packing Ellie's and my various clothings and specialty items, then land in Baltimore and drive us solo to (shudder) my mother's for a week. Pat's mother, not so much, but still. I can't predict how many shards of self-esteem and/or sleep I am going to have to work with by the time I get to Maine. For now...the lists are made, the items are in the process of being purchased, the crafts and visuals in the process of being assembled. I'm still a long way off from having all our shit in suitcases, though. Wish me luck.
4. I am very much looking forward to caring for my neighbor's cat this weekend. Since Lucy's passing, I am running on a huge deficit of kitteh love. Maybe kitteh won't like me, maybe I won't want kitteh on me when it's 98 degrees and sticky out, but one thing is for sure: I know I'll have an instant BFF for at least 30 seconds once she hears that can opener.
5. In an attempt to screw ComEd out of two hours' worth of AC power, I took Ellie on Thursday to see "Pirates! Band of Misfits" at the Logan. Now, we all love ourselves some Wallace and Grommit, but Aardman's latest aminations? HELL to the YES. I am still singing Jimmy Cliff songs three days later. S'sly, loved it. Will of course see it eleventy billion times once it goes to DVD (a la "Fantastic Mr. Fox")
Ciao. Stay cool, peeps!