Friday, December 16, 2011
WHY TIS SEASON?
Hey, I've been busy. See you right after the holidays. We'll have lots to catch up on.
Friday, December 9, 2011
A HUELLTIDE XMAS
The holidays have never been good for my mood swings. Personally, I hate saying the word "joy" out loud. I've never been a gatherer. Hate to gather. I'd rather have a conversation with a Jehovah's Witness than listen to a caroler. My wife, on the other hand, makes Andy Williams look like Scrooge. We have a menorah and a tree. Luckily we are home for Christmas. No traveling. More importantly, no traveling here by family or other unwanted folk. It's not that I don't like family. It's just that I hate anybody staying at my house.
I'm not good with out of town guests. A couple of reasons stand out. 1. I am not an innkeeper. 2. I am not cordial. I don't have skills that are conducive with showing people a good time. I am too set in my ways. I hate disruption. I refuse to have any kind of conversation with the friendly UPS driver; so you can only imagine my rage when I hear my wife end a phone conversation with, "sure, you can stay here."
It takes me weeks to prepare for the visitors. I practice smiling in front of a mirror. I try to explain to the cats about the upcoming upheaval. They don't handle the news very well and begin to miss their litter box on purpose. I take down the trapeze in the bedroom. Practice keeping my robe tightly fastened. I make my wife feel guilty as much as possible for inviting the invaders. She calls them family.
First off, I don't live at Tara. I love my home, but my abode is more of a Nathaniel West old Spanish bungalow than a place for the Waltons. I'm sure in the forties that my house provided residence for an out of work cinematographer and the alcoholic stand-in named Daisy. We have a two bedroom house. That works for two people. Just two. Only two. Can I be any clearer!
The wife elbowed me in the stomach just before she went to pick up the soon-to-be "guests" at the airport. Her way of ordering an attitude adjustment on my part. I was also given a list of chores to do. I was supposed to put fresh towels in the front bathroom. Why couldn't we have fresh towels in my bathroom too? A fair point I thought. Who knew we had so many towels? I had difficulty narrowing down the color selections. I'm ripping up the next bed, bath, and beyond coupon the minute I see it. I was also assigned the task of dialing up the air freshener to pine extreme. Finally, I had to hide some naughty sites on my computer.
My displeasure continued with their arrival. Once they are here - you are supposed to do something with them. These folks have no sense of the the expanse of L.A.. No knowledge that it is easier to get from Capetown to Minsk than from Malibu to Disneyland. The wife had been using her "what to do in L.A." app recently to be prepared for the necessary excursions.
"We can see the Hollywood sign from here", I said through clenched teeth. No need to get nauseous winding up those streets to get a better view. I warned the visitors to not get too close to the guy in the Superman outfit in front of the Chinese Theater. That blue suit hadn't been to the laundry since 1985. Kinda cold to be going to Venice beach I thought. After a steely stare from the wife we headed for the sands and saw one skateboarder weaving down the boardwalk. Hope that was memorable. Universal Studios, Beverly Hills, and the rest were soon to come. I complained of an old war injury and luckily got out of going to Universal. They, of course, wanted to know if they were going to see any stars. I told them that if they didn't see any stars not to worry. There was a guy living around the block from us that once was on an episode of the Mentalist.
I know there are others like me out there. Those who value not running a Best Western. If you don't want visitors to stay at your place; or have these lodgers even think about planning a return visit to your place - I have a plan. Two words. Huell Howser. That's right, Huell Howser. He's the guy that travels all around California doing inane shows for public television. Visiting the most obscure sites and talking to forest rangers named Earl.
My idea is to bypass all the popular tourist spots when these out of towners show up on my doorstep. Take them to places that Huell has visited. For instance: 1. The warehouse in Downey where candied-apples were invented. 2. The railroad tracks in Chatsworth where Will Rogers' horse once relieved himself. 3. A cave in the Hollywood Hills where a non-Manson family member lived. 4. A place in El Monte that just looks like a tar pit. 5. The high heel museum in Upland.
I'm telling you, that this plan may seem devious on the surface, but would you want to come back to L.A. after visiting those places. I don't think so. For all of you dreading your holiday visitors - I offer up this idea as a gift from Santa Simon. All I want for Xmas is an empty house and a full litter box.
I'm not good with out of town guests. A couple of reasons stand out. 1. I am not an innkeeper. 2. I am not cordial. I don't have skills that are conducive with showing people a good time. I am too set in my ways. I hate disruption. I refuse to have any kind of conversation with the friendly UPS driver; so you can only imagine my rage when I hear my wife end a phone conversation with, "sure, you can stay here."
It takes me weeks to prepare for the visitors. I practice smiling in front of a mirror. I try to explain to the cats about the upcoming upheaval. They don't handle the news very well and begin to miss their litter box on purpose. I take down the trapeze in the bedroom. Practice keeping my robe tightly fastened. I make my wife feel guilty as much as possible for inviting the invaders. She calls them family.
First off, I don't live at Tara. I love my home, but my abode is more of a Nathaniel West old Spanish bungalow than a place for the Waltons. I'm sure in the forties that my house provided residence for an out of work cinematographer and the alcoholic stand-in named Daisy. We have a two bedroom house. That works for two people. Just two. Only two. Can I be any clearer!
The wife elbowed me in the stomach just before she went to pick up the soon-to-be "guests" at the airport. Her way of ordering an attitude adjustment on my part. I was also given a list of chores to do. I was supposed to put fresh towels in the front bathroom. Why couldn't we have fresh towels in my bathroom too? A fair point I thought. Who knew we had so many towels? I had difficulty narrowing down the color selections. I'm ripping up the next bed, bath, and beyond coupon the minute I see it. I was also assigned the task of dialing up the air freshener to pine extreme. Finally, I had to hide some naughty sites on my computer.
My displeasure continued with their arrival. Once they are here - you are supposed to do something with them. These folks have no sense of the the expanse of L.A.. No knowledge that it is easier to get from Capetown to Minsk than from Malibu to Disneyland. The wife had been using her "what to do in L.A." app recently to be prepared for the necessary excursions.
"We can see the Hollywood sign from here", I said through clenched teeth. No need to get nauseous winding up those streets to get a better view. I warned the visitors to not get too close to the guy in the Superman outfit in front of the Chinese Theater. That blue suit hadn't been to the laundry since 1985. Kinda cold to be going to Venice beach I thought. After a steely stare from the wife we headed for the sands and saw one skateboarder weaving down the boardwalk. Hope that was memorable. Universal Studios, Beverly Hills, and the rest were soon to come. I complained of an old war injury and luckily got out of going to Universal. They, of course, wanted to know if they were going to see any stars. I told them that if they didn't see any stars not to worry. There was a guy living around the block from us that once was on an episode of the Mentalist.
I know there are others like me out there. Those who value not running a Best Western. If you don't want visitors to stay at your place; or have these lodgers even think about planning a return visit to your place - I have a plan. Two words. Huell Howser. That's right, Huell Howser. He's the guy that travels all around California doing inane shows for public television. Visiting the most obscure sites and talking to forest rangers named Earl.
My idea is to bypass all the popular tourist spots when these out of towners show up on my doorstep. Take them to places that Huell has visited. For instance: 1. The warehouse in Downey where candied-apples were invented. 2. The railroad tracks in Chatsworth where Will Rogers' horse once relieved himself. 3. A cave in the Hollywood Hills where a non-Manson family member lived. 4. A place in El Monte that just looks like a tar pit. 5. The high heel museum in Upland.
I'm telling you, that this plan may seem devious on the surface, but would you want to come back to L.A. after visiting those places. I don't think so. For all of you dreading your holiday visitors - I offer up this idea as a gift from Santa Simon. All I want for Xmas is an empty house and a full litter box.
Friday, December 2, 2011
OCCUPY A LA MODE
Of course I am frustrated. Pissed off. Venting more than ever. Young women call me "sir". I am mocked for refusing to pay my bills online. I have lost the ability to parallel park. How do you think I feel? This country is definitely not the same as when I grew up in Beaver Cleaverville. There seems to be no management to my anger. That being said, I have mixed feelings about these occupations. Partly because of their lack of specificity and partly because I really really hate camping.
I know that the Constitution talks about the right to assemble. It also talks about the right to bear arms. As I don't want people bringing in AK 47's to Spago; I don't feel that everyone has a right to put a tent down at the Staples Center. Especially since the NBA will be back in action soon. Go Kobe.
I don't want to sound like I have morphed into the "get off my lawn guy". When I was a college student I embraced the outrage. I knew the difference between Phil Ochs and Sherman Oaks. I still remember all the lyrics to Neil Young's Ohio. I went to Woodstock. The screening, not the real event. I was there when my fellow students stormed the administration building. I would have joined their advance but it was time for my History of American Cinema class. Somewhat ironic; was that they were showing Potemkin that afternoon.
A few years ago I attended a single payer healthcare event in downtown L.A.. I felt compelled to go. Instead of being enthused at the proceedings I was turned off. I was handed every left wing leaflet that you could imagine. I've always been a Lennon fan. Not a Lenin fan. I was there because I was beyond upset with my insurance company. I was not there because some five star hotel had been mean to their workers. Besides, I like the Polo Lounge. "Si, se puede!" Again with that. Oy!!! I wasn't going to buy the "I Hate Michael Vick" t-shirt either. I was there about healthcare.
That is what concerns me about these encampments. You have taken a great piece of pie and now put chocolate ice cream, sprinkles, and caramel sauce all over it. One can barely see the pie. Don't let this well-intentioned movement get lessened by the sprinkles.
In fairness these protests have accomplished the most important thing - getting people to pay attention. A tough thing to do. Better now than when the new ipad 3 comes out early next year. Then no one will listen to the shouts.
This past Wednesday morning the L.A. police moved in on our city's shouters. Thank God both sides didn't go Richard Daley on each other. That would have been a painful distraction for the movement. Two hundred arrests were reported. Make sure that those arrestees hire a lawyer that is a 1%'er. You don't want a lawyer that is a 99%"er. You really don't.
This eviction is not the end. It is important to keep that momentum going on for all of us that feel so disenfranchised. Continue to rise up for what you believe in. Pack up. Don't pack it in. You won't be able to roast marshmallows with your tented-neighbor for awhile. You'll have to start paying for yoga classes again. That's all. Besides it's the holidays and there's fake snow at the Grove.
The activists next step should be civic action. The Tea Party certainly did that. They had their voices heard with their wins in many elections. The elections of the obstructionists. Why can't the next step be for the occupiers to work hard in elections to get candidates that are "structionists" elected? Don't let Elizabeth Warren lose. Clone Bernie Sanders. End the campaign financing structure. Cut lobbyists out of the game. Work for tax reform. This to me, advances the movement more than drum lines and meditation groups in Pershing Square.
I certainly don't have all the answers. I wish that I knew more about economics. I am more aware of Kinky Friedman than Thomas Friedman. I know that I am a member of the 99% club. Yet, I buy lottery tickets hoping to join the 1%'ers. The wealthy should be paying more taxes. Yet, I know folks that are able to deduct a dog sitter as a business expense. So, who am I to bark at the affluent. We can all agree that the banks need more regulation. Starting with a rule that every teller must have a vowel in their last name. There's lots to be done. Lots.
The occupiers have turned on my light switch. I do feel that I am more engaged. Not enough to get my sleeping bag out of the garage, but I have been awakened. I choose to bypass despair and honestly believe there is hope not that far away. I mean, who knew a few years ago, that you could make more money selling tents than being in the stock market.
I know that the Constitution talks about the right to assemble. It also talks about the right to bear arms. As I don't want people bringing in AK 47's to Spago; I don't feel that everyone has a right to put a tent down at the Staples Center. Especially since the NBA will be back in action soon. Go Kobe.
I don't want to sound like I have morphed into the "get off my lawn guy". When I was a college student I embraced the outrage. I knew the difference between Phil Ochs and Sherman Oaks. I still remember all the lyrics to Neil Young's Ohio. I went to Woodstock. The screening, not the real event. I was there when my fellow students stormed the administration building. I would have joined their advance but it was time for my History of American Cinema class. Somewhat ironic; was that they were showing Potemkin that afternoon.
A few years ago I attended a single payer healthcare event in downtown L.A.. I felt compelled to go. Instead of being enthused at the proceedings I was turned off. I was handed every left wing leaflet that you could imagine. I've always been a Lennon fan. Not a Lenin fan. I was there because I was beyond upset with my insurance company. I was not there because some five star hotel had been mean to their workers. Besides, I like the Polo Lounge. "Si, se puede!" Again with that. Oy!!! I wasn't going to buy the "I Hate Michael Vick" t-shirt either. I was there about healthcare.
That is what concerns me about these encampments. You have taken a great piece of pie and now put chocolate ice cream, sprinkles, and caramel sauce all over it. One can barely see the pie. Don't let this well-intentioned movement get lessened by the sprinkles.
In fairness these protests have accomplished the most important thing - getting people to pay attention. A tough thing to do. Better now than when the new ipad 3 comes out early next year. Then no one will listen to the shouts.
This past Wednesday morning the L.A. police moved in on our city's shouters. Thank God both sides didn't go Richard Daley on each other. That would have been a painful distraction for the movement. Two hundred arrests were reported. Make sure that those arrestees hire a lawyer that is a 1%'er. You don't want a lawyer that is a 99%"er. You really don't.
This eviction is not the end. It is important to keep that momentum going on for all of us that feel so disenfranchised. Continue to rise up for what you believe in. Pack up. Don't pack it in. You won't be able to roast marshmallows with your tented-neighbor for awhile. You'll have to start paying for yoga classes again. That's all. Besides it's the holidays and there's fake snow at the Grove.
The activists next step should be civic action. The Tea Party certainly did that. They had their voices heard with their wins in many elections. The elections of the obstructionists. Why can't the next step be for the occupiers to work hard in elections to get candidates that are "structionists" elected? Don't let Elizabeth Warren lose. Clone Bernie Sanders. End the campaign financing structure. Cut lobbyists out of the game. Work for tax reform. This to me, advances the movement more than drum lines and meditation groups in Pershing Square.
I certainly don't have all the answers. I wish that I knew more about economics. I am more aware of Kinky Friedman than Thomas Friedman. I know that I am a member of the 99% club. Yet, I buy lottery tickets hoping to join the 1%'ers. The wealthy should be paying more taxes. Yet, I know folks that are able to deduct a dog sitter as a business expense. So, who am I to bark at the affluent. We can all agree that the banks need more regulation. Starting with a rule that every teller must have a vowel in their last name. There's lots to be done. Lots.
The occupiers have turned on my light switch. I do feel that I am more engaged. Not enough to get my sleeping bag out of the garage, but I have been awakened. I choose to bypass despair and honestly believe there is hope not that far away. I mean, who knew a few years ago, that you could make more money selling tents than being in the stock market.
Friday, November 25, 2011
AISLE BE BACK
The rains last Sunday morning not only washed away hillsides and probably closed PCH but also forced my farmer's market to not be open for business. Which was a drag; as I had just run out of my Merlot-induced plum preserves. You can't get those at Von's. Not to be snobbish - but - what can you get at Von's?
I used to be fearful of farmer's markets. Never before had I shopped for produce where there were no aisles. There were corridors. There were lanes. There were no labeled aisles. Finding kale was pure happenstance. Also; the vendors had more dirt under their fingernails than Farouk, the guy that works at the Jiffy Lube on Pico.
I wondered, perhaps too much, about how some of the booths actually turned a profit. No one seemed to be buying the mango-scented candles. The gentleman selling the tiny Asian trees looked depressed. Kettle corn? Are you serious? How do these folks pay for their kids to go to Harvard-Westlake? I was tempted to ask the chef at the Peruvian ovens about his feelings on this matter. He was machete-loaded and not in the mood. I asked him if he had any chili; or did I have to find a Chile chef? His eyes showed no sign of appreciation.
I still don't know why regular markets can't have the same stuff that is in these farmer's markets. It would make life simpler. Especially on a rainy day. Don't say Whole Foods or Trader Joe's. Not the same. Those establishments have aisles.
My bucket list had never included socializing with vendors. Buying roughage had not been a top priority. But, once I got married, my feelings about these open air food theaters changed. The wife took me by the hand and told me not to fear the parsley choices. That it was okay to buy fish from the fish monger. I had always thought that the "fish monger" sounded like a character from an old Charlie Chan movie. I quickly learned that the prices were cheaper and most of the time the tuna and salmon were better than Gelson's. I also learned, that if you want your marriage to continue, to never purchase yellowtail. That's the last time I plan on being spontaneous.
We have three farmer's markets that we get to. Let's start with the one in Beverly Hills. Attended mostly by scary frequenters. Definitely not an attractive crowd. Sweat suits and leathered complexions. Think multi-Larry Kings with pull carts. The market usually has a petting zoo. This is where I spend some time and get stares from parents thinking that I am a pedophile. Well, I'm not. I have however; named the duck Quacky and the pot-bellied pig Earl. We usually get seduced into buying way too many fruits and vegetables. Most of them find their way to the garbage after changing color. Sorry, we don't compost. The main reason I go to this particular farmer's market is for the rhubarb something-or-other from the Rockenwager's bakery. My wife gets some phallic cheese thing from the same over-priced bakery. Batteries not included.
Next up, the Larchmont farmer's market. In, surprisingly, Larchmont Village. A made up suburb of L.A.. This farmer's market is smaller in a claustrophobic-like-way. Everybody seems to have a latte or mocha-something. Kid friendly. Pet friendly. Frankly, too friendly. I bought some beautiful bath soaps for my wife there. They cleaned her up rather nicely and I'm sure corroded the pipes in our tub. Never buy soap that is right next to a booth selling organic jerky.
Our local farmer's market is at La Cienega and 18th St.. Not pretentious. Borderline third world. This is where our fish guy puts up his shingle. He says he goes to the docks and gets his fish fresh every day. I questioned him on what dock he hung out at to get his New Zealand salmon. He took the fifth and then took our money. Sometimes there is a woman that looks like a cross between Sally Struthers and Chris Farley. She entertains the shoppers by singing some Joni Mitchell. No one seemed to be throwing coins her way. Rightfully so.
Time and marriage have now allowed me to embrace these farmer's markets. No more fears. Trepidations. I don't feel silly asking about arugula. I've been making better grape selections. I'm still not comfortable enough to joke around with the Peruvian guy, but overall I now consider myself a functioning farmer's marketeer. In fact I can hardly wait to go back this next weekend, weather permitting, and get my Merlot-induced plum preserves and say hi to Quacky and Earl.
I used to be fearful of farmer's markets. Never before had I shopped for produce where there were no aisles. There were corridors. There were lanes. There were no labeled aisles. Finding kale was pure happenstance. Also; the vendors had more dirt under their fingernails than Farouk, the guy that works at the Jiffy Lube on Pico.
I wondered, perhaps too much, about how some of the booths actually turned a profit. No one seemed to be buying the mango-scented candles. The gentleman selling the tiny Asian trees looked depressed. Kettle corn? Are you serious? How do these folks pay for their kids to go to Harvard-Westlake? I was tempted to ask the chef at the Peruvian ovens about his feelings on this matter. He was machete-loaded and not in the mood. I asked him if he had any chili; or did I have to find a Chile chef? His eyes showed no sign of appreciation.
I still don't know why regular markets can't have the same stuff that is in these farmer's markets. It would make life simpler. Especially on a rainy day. Don't say Whole Foods or Trader Joe's. Not the same. Those establishments have aisles.
My bucket list had never included socializing with vendors. Buying roughage had not been a top priority. But, once I got married, my feelings about these open air food theaters changed. The wife took me by the hand and told me not to fear the parsley choices. That it was okay to buy fish from the fish monger. I had always thought that the "fish monger" sounded like a character from an old Charlie Chan movie. I quickly learned that the prices were cheaper and most of the time the tuna and salmon were better than Gelson's. I also learned, that if you want your marriage to continue, to never purchase yellowtail. That's the last time I plan on being spontaneous.
We have three farmer's markets that we get to. Let's start with the one in Beverly Hills. Attended mostly by scary frequenters. Definitely not an attractive crowd. Sweat suits and leathered complexions. Think multi-Larry Kings with pull carts. The market usually has a petting zoo. This is where I spend some time and get stares from parents thinking that I am a pedophile. Well, I'm not. I have however; named the duck Quacky and the pot-bellied pig Earl. We usually get seduced into buying way too many fruits and vegetables. Most of them find their way to the garbage after changing color. Sorry, we don't compost. The main reason I go to this particular farmer's market is for the rhubarb something-or-other from the Rockenwager's bakery. My wife gets some phallic cheese thing from the same over-priced bakery. Batteries not included.
Next up, the Larchmont farmer's market. In, surprisingly, Larchmont Village. A made up suburb of L.A.. This farmer's market is smaller in a claustrophobic-like-way. Everybody seems to have a latte or mocha-something. Kid friendly. Pet friendly. Frankly, too friendly. I bought some beautiful bath soaps for my wife there. They cleaned her up rather nicely and I'm sure corroded the pipes in our tub. Never buy soap that is right next to a booth selling organic jerky.
Our local farmer's market is at La Cienega and 18th St.. Not pretentious. Borderline third world. This is where our fish guy puts up his shingle. He says he goes to the docks and gets his fish fresh every day. I questioned him on what dock he hung out at to get his New Zealand salmon. He took the fifth and then took our money. Sometimes there is a woman that looks like a cross between Sally Struthers and Chris Farley. She entertains the shoppers by singing some Joni Mitchell. No one seemed to be throwing coins her way. Rightfully so.
Time and marriage have now allowed me to embrace these farmer's markets. No more fears. Trepidations. I don't feel silly asking about arugula. I've been making better grape selections. I'm still not comfortable enough to joke around with the Peruvian guy, but overall I now consider myself a functioning farmer's marketeer. In fact I can hardly wait to go back this next weekend, weather permitting, and get my Merlot-induced plum preserves and say hi to Quacky and Earl.
Friday, November 18, 2011
DEBATE IS ENOUGH
Just when you thought that reality television couldn't get any worse, CNN picks up the remaining 37 GOP debate episodes. Come to CNN for gaffes and laughs. Maybe I shouldn't be expecting Lincoln - Douglas. After all, the candidates are asked to answer questions posed to them by an anchor named Wolf. But, come on GOP hopefuls. Dial it up. You are running for President of the United States.
Quite a cast of characters these GOP candidates. In a previous life, for thirty years, I was a television casting director. Responsible for putting actors into the right roles. I was pretty good at it. However; there was always that one show where things just didn't go right. The material sucked. No one that you wanted for the show was available to do it. It shot in Vancouver. Various reasons. These Republican candidates seem like the cast I put into a pilot that included a bunch of unknowns and Gary Busey as the Father figure.
Mitt always stands in the center. The others flank him as if they were his help. Santorum smiles for no apparent reason. Bachmann wears her "Proud To Be A Stepford" t-shirt. Newt checks out the audience members for number 4. Perry is practicing his ad libs to himself. Huntsman is on his cellphone talking to his wife to see if she has given birth to another kid. Herman Cain is checking with his military advisors as to what side of his coat he should put his flag pin on. Ron Paul is hoping that the federal government is not paying for the electricity in the building.
There is a sameness to these get-togethers. Each debate starts with the moderator explaining the rules. Whereupon Newt Gingrich immediately challenges the rules citing left wing media bias. Then the Mitt-bashing begins. How many times can you call Mitt a flip flopper? Apparently numerous times. He was for healthcare mandates. He's now against mandates. He was pro-choice. He now is pro-life. He is a Mormon. He was a Muslim. The repeating theme is for everybody on stage to take a poke at Mr. Front Runner. Instead of a spirited discussion on the issues; you feel like you are watching a roast on Comedy Central without Gilbert Gottfried.
The other pinata in the room is of course President Obama and those no good Democrats. Gov. Perry is still not sure where Obama was born. No one has told him that Hawaii is now a state. Romney doesn't believe that Pres. Obama really knows just how much the people are suffering with today's economy. Romney says he does know how they feel. Citing that he still gets cards and letters from the workers that got laid off because of the acquisition of their company by Mitt's venture capital firm Bain Capital. Michele Bachmann could have Herman Cain's hand going up her skirt and all she would be spouting was, "We need to repeal Obamacare". I have my own problems with Obama, but at some point in time you have to say, "Herman, move that freakin' hand!"
Herman seems to go after the Democrats more than he does go after Obama. After all Barack is a "brutha". Cain refers to former Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi as Princess Nancy. He also refers to Congressman Barney Frank as Princess Barney.
At this point in the debate the first Ronald Reagan reference is uttered. Usually by Rick Santorum. This is when Gov Perry jumps in and directly challenges Santorum. "I knew Ronald Reagan. Let me tell you Mr. Santorum...you are no Jack Kennedy."
Time now to insert the religious component. Rick Perry and Herman Cain believe that God told them to run. What they don't know is that God told Obama that he/she was really going to mess with the GOP. Thank God!
Usually towards the end of the debate the anchor introduces into the dullness - one "hot topic" issue. At the last debate waterboarding was that topic. Here come the sound bytes. Huntsman called it torture. Ron Paul wanted to know if the federal government was paying for the water. Michele Bachmann believes that waterboarding is necessary. She, in fact, would like to try it out on the cast of the local Minneapolis production of Rent. Cain wouldn't hesitate to use it. He would actually enhance it by having a naked Gloria Allred in the room while the waterboarding was taking place.
The debate ends usually when Ron Paul raises his hand. Don't know if he wants to make a point or has to go to the men's room. CNN pundits then review the debate through James Carville's squinty eyes. There are no winners. Usually they say that Romney didn't do anything to harm his campaign and that Huntsman didn't do anything to help his. Then there is the banal talk of Iowa and New Hampshire.
I guess the one thing that we can all be grateful for is that there are no Democratic Presidential debates this time around. But, we all can look forward to four years from now when taking the stage for the Democrats will be the likes of Hilary Clinton, Chelsea Clinton, Joe Biden, Jerry Brown, Yo Yo Ma, and Alec Baldwin.
Quite a cast of characters these GOP candidates. In a previous life, for thirty years, I was a television casting director. Responsible for putting actors into the right roles. I was pretty good at it. However; there was always that one show where things just didn't go right. The material sucked. No one that you wanted for the show was available to do it. It shot in Vancouver. Various reasons. These Republican candidates seem like the cast I put into a pilot that included a bunch of unknowns and Gary Busey as the Father figure.
Mitt always stands in the center. The others flank him as if they were his help. Santorum smiles for no apparent reason. Bachmann wears her "Proud To Be A Stepford" t-shirt. Newt checks out the audience members for number 4. Perry is practicing his ad libs to himself. Huntsman is on his cellphone talking to his wife to see if she has given birth to another kid. Herman Cain is checking with his military advisors as to what side of his coat he should put his flag pin on. Ron Paul is hoping that the federal government is not paying for the electricity in the building.
There is a sameness to these get-togethers. Each debate starts with the moderator explaining the rules. Whereupon Newt Gingrich immediately challenges the rules citing left wing media bias. Then the Mitt-bashing begins. How many times can you call Mitt a flip flopper? Apparently numerous times. He was for healthcare mandates. He's now against mandates. He was pro-choice. He now is pro-life. He is a Mormon. He was a Muslim. The repeating theme is for everybody on stage to take a poke at Mr. Front Runner. Instead of a spirited discussion on the issues; you feel like you are watching a roast on Comedy Central without Gilbert Gottfried.
The other pinata in the room is of course President Obama and those no good Democrats. Gov. Perry is still not sure where Obama was born. No one has told him that Hawaii is now a state. Romney doesn't believe that Pres. Obama really knows just how much the people are suffering with today's economy. Romney says he does know how they feel. Citing that he still gets cards and letters from the workers that got laid off because of the acquisition of their company by Mitt's venture capital firm Bain Capital. Michele Bachmann could have Herman Cain's hand going up her skirt and all she would be spouting was, "We need to repeal Obamacare". I have my own problems with Obama, but at some point in time you have to say, "Herman, move that freakin' hand!"
Herman seems to go after the Democrats more than he does go after Obama. After all Barack is a "brutha". Cain refers to former Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi as Princess Nancy. He also refers to Congressman Barney Frank as Princess Barney.
At this point in the debate the first Ronald Reagan reference is uttered. Usually by Rick Santorum. This is when Gov Perry jumps in and directly challenges Santorum. "I knew Ronald Reagan. Let me tell you Mr. Santorum...you are no Jack Kennedy."
Time now to insert the religious component. Rick Perry and Herman Cain believe that God told them to run. What they don't know is that God told Obama that he/she was really going to mess with the GOP. Thank God!
Usually towards the end of the debate the anchor introduces into the dullness - one "hot topic" issue. At the last debate waterboarding was that topic. Here come the sound bytes. Huntsman called it torture. Ron Paul wanted to know if the federal government was paying for the water. Michele Bachmann believes that waterboarding is necessary. She, in fact, would like to try it out on the cast of the local Minneapolis production of Rent. Cain wouldn't hesitate to use it. He would actually enhance it by having a naked Gloria Allred in the room while the waterboarding was taking place.
The debate ends usually when Ron Paul raises his hand. Don't know if he wants to make a point or has to go to the men's room. CNN pundits then review the debate through James Carville's squinty eyes. There are no winners. Usually they say that Romney didn't do anything to harm his campaign and that Huntsman didn't do anything to help his. Then there is the banal talk of Iowa and New Hampshire.
I guess the one thing that we can all be grateful for is that there are no Democratic Presidential debates this time around. But, we all can look forward to four years from now when taking the stage for the Democrats will be the likes of Hilary Clinton, Chelsea Clinton, Joe Biden, Jerry Brown, Yo Yo Ma, and Alec Baldwin.
Friday, November 11, 2011
THE LEGALIZATION OF POTHOLES
'Tis the season. The rains have returned after taking much of the year off. Here we go again. Everybody starts to drive like Sam Kinison when the slickness appears. News stories about mudslides in places like Acton or Tujunga Canyon dominate the airwaves. You kinda feel sorry for those homeowners, but also wonder - why the hell would you ever live in Acton? Plus, we have the reappearance of God's precious divots.
Divots? We know them better as potholes. Nature's way of messing with a Prius' front end. Our streets look like Robert DiNiro's face in Raging Bull. I'm positive that some droned avenues in Tripoli are in better shape than Wilshire Blvd.
You know, at my age, I am a hernia waiting to happen. Every time that I hit a bump in the road there is one less opportunity for me in the Cialis hot tub. I certainly have a vested interest in the necessary street repairs. This is not road rage. This is raging at the road. Let's do something!
This past February, after a couple of days of flooding and Malibu closures, my wife drove to the local UPS store. Normally an uneventful trip. It's about a mile and a half and six homeless people away from where we live. The recent rains had wreaked damage to our roadways; yet my wife did not feel that her short sojourn would turn into an off-road adventure better suited for Baja.
She wasn't driving at a Danica Patrick pace. The wife always drives responsibly. She has blue tooth. She pays attention. At the first pothole she navigated around it successfully. She might have shaken a fist at it too. At this point there was no need for the middle finger to be used. That would happen soon enough when she slammed into the next pothole. By slamming, I mean about $700 worth of slamming.
Auto insurance is like the drunken brother of health insurance. Logic is never written into one of their policies. Mr. Auto Insurance refers to potholes as stationery objects. The driver is considered 100% at fault. Their rules not ours. Call the city they say. "You might get some money back." They don't say call the city with much conviction.
This past winter a crater appeared at the bottom of our driveway. We figured the chance of getting anyone from the city to come to our burb was minimal. Normal channels are not for sissies. I went to my best option. The wife's authoritarian voice. She actually got a human being on the phone and proceeded to scare the lack of concern out of the disgruntled city employee. Within a couple of weeks a crew actually showed up at the bottom of our driveway. I found this to be about as surprising as Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa missing a photo op.
The "crew" filled the driveway crater. Of course, they used the same crap that washes away the minute the clouds start spritzing. I'd like to know who runs that tar ponzi scheme. The workers told us that this would only be a short time fix. Next time it happens, just go to Home Depot and get some quikrete blacktop repair. Don't tell the city. Just do it yourself.
This doesn't work for me. I don't do well in Home Depot. I hyperventilate when I see men with tape measures. I get lost in a maze of ladders. Think Macaulay Culkin without skillz. I'm not purchasing orange cones. Another approach is needed.
After careful consideration...I say that we embrace the potholes. That's right you heard me. Call them our city treasures. Raise money for their preservation. Put them in the travel brochures with the Hollywood sign and Pink's. Visit L.A.'s "Smokin' Potholes". Celebrate "Sinkhole de Mayo". Time for a ballot initiative to Legalize Potholes. Instill public fervor.
Ok, sarcasm can only go so far. But, maybe through some national public humiliation our city might actually do something. The Mayor currently has a proposal in front of the city council that uses future transportation monies to repair the city streets. So much for that bullet train to Van Nuys. While the Mayor and the City Council blah blah that idea to death, let's get the citizenry to help out now. That's right, the citizenry must do its part too. Holy Republicanism! I have figured out who that citizenry should be. The ones that are in a financial position to help out right away. Some pocket-rich biggies.
For starters, how about AEG and the potential new owners of the Dodgers? You know AEG - the Staples Center guys. Hey AEG - we less than pocket-rich biggies are letting you build a multi-purpose stadium downtown - that will create future traffic nightmares - here's a thought - while you are waiting for the all important environmental approvals to start building - how about filling every pothole in the city? Hey, Mark Cuban and others - you want to buy the Dodgers - start pouring the tar. Then we could support you and your efforts to bring Albert Pujols to L.A..
AEG and the Dodgers' potential new owners have a lot of money. Our streets have a lot of holes. While we wait for the local politics to sort itself out this private funding sounds like a win win. A mediocre football team re-locates to our city. The McCourts leave town. Our streets return to some form of normalcy. But what about the people of Acton? Call Jerry Buss.
Divots? We know them better as potholes. Nature's way of messing with a Prius' front end. Our streets look like Robert DiNiro's face in Raging Bull. I'm positive that some droned avenues in Tripoli are in better shape than Wilshire Blvd.
You know, at my age, I am a hernia waiting to happen. Every time that I hit a bump in the road there is one less opportunity for me in the Cialis hot tub. I certainly have a vested interest in the necessary street repairs. This is not road rage. This is raging at the road. Let's do something!
This past February, after a couple of days of flooding and Malibu closures, my wife drove to the local UPS store. Normally an uneventful trip. It's about a mile and a half and six homeless people away from where we live. The recent rains had wreaked damage to our roadways; yet my wife did not feel that her short sojourn would turn into an off-road adventure better suited for Baja.
She wasn't driving at a Danica Patrick pace. The wife always drives responsibly. She has blue tooth. She pays attention. At the first pothole she navigated around it successfully. She might have shaken a fist at it too. At this point there was no need for the middle finger to be used. That would happen soon enough when she slammed into the next pothole. By slamming, I mean about $700 worth of slamming.
Auto insurance is like the drunken brother of health insurance. Logic is never written into one of their policies. Mr. Auto Insurance refers to potholes as stationery objects. The driver is considered 100% at fault. Their rules not ours. Call the city they say. "You might get some money back." They don't say call the city with much conviction.
This past winter a crater appeared at the bottom of our driveway. We figured the chance of getting anyone from the city to come to our burb was minimal. Normal channels are not for sissies. I went to my best option. The wife's authoritarian voice. She actually got a human being on the phone and proceeded to scare the lack of concern out of the disgruntled city employee. Within a couple of weeks a crew actually showed up at the bottom of our driveway. I found this to be about as surprising as Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa missing a photo op.
The "crew" filled the driveway crater. Of course, they used the same crap that washes away the minute the clouds start spritzing. I'd like to know who runs that tar ponzi scheme. The workers told us that this would only be a short time fix. Next time it happens, just go to Home Depot and get some quikrete blacktop repair. Don't tell the city. Just do it yourself.
This doesn't work for me. I don't do well in Home Depot. I hyperventilate when I see men with tape measures. I get lost in a maze of ladders. Think Macaulay Culkin without skillz. I'm not purchasing orange cones. Another approach is needed.
After careful consideration...I say that we embrace the potholes. That's right you heard me. Call them our city treasures. Raise money for their preservation. Put them in the travel brochures with the Hollywood sign and Pink's. Visit L.A.'s "Smokin' Potholes". Celebrate "Sinkhole de Mayo". Time for a ballot initiative to Legalize Potholes. Instill public fervor.
Ok, sarcasm can only go so far. But, maybe through some national public humiliation our city might actually do something. The Mayor currently has a proposal in front of the city council that uses future transportation monies to repair the city streets. So much for that bullet train to Van Nuys. While the Mayor and the City Council blah blah that idea to death, let's get the citizenry to help out now. That's right, the citizenry must do its part too. Holy Republicanism! I have figured out who that citizenry should be. The ones that are in a financial position to help out right away. Some pocket-rich biggies.
For starters, how about AEG and the potential new owners of the Dodgers? You know AEG - the Staples Center guys. Hey AEG - we less than pocket-rich biggies are letting you build a multi-purpose stadium downtown - that will create future traffic nightmares - here's a thought - while you are waiting for the all important environmental approvals to start building - how about filling every pothole in the city? Hey, Mark Cuban and others - you want to buy the Dodgers - start pouring the tar. Then we could support you and your efforts to bring Albert Pujols to L.A..
AEG and the Dodgers' potential new owners have a lot of money. Our streets have a lot of holes. While we wait for the local politics to sort itself out this private funding sounds like a win win. A mediocre football team re-locates to our city. The McCourts leave town. Our streets return to some form of normalcy. But what about the people of Acton? Call Jerry Buss.
Friday, November 4, 2011
MRI MY ASS
Healthcare is not solely for the people that are broke. It is also for the people that are going broke because of healthcare. We have a healthcare system that doesn't help you manage your colitis - We have a healthcare system that gives you colitis. No, I'm not moving to Canada. It's too cold. So, shut up.
There are some non-Obamacare moves that make perfect sense to me. Stuff to do right away. No reason for a committee to study. Just some simple fixes. Not a panacea. "Go wait in those long Canadian lines!" I said, shut up. For your information buster, it takes me three weeks to get an appointment with my dermatologist. That's kinda like waiting in line. Am I right? Oh, and by the way, the people in Canada that wait in line can return to their homes without fear of foreclosure after seeing their doctor. In Los Angeles, I need to refinance my home to pay for a gallbladder operation. So, shut up.
Where to begin? How about - why the f..k does everything need an MRI? I remember when a doctor took an x-ray, set a bone, and sent you on your way. Not inexpensive, but not the same as when you get a bill for an MRI and then have to immediately pull your kids out of that pricey private school Campbell Hall.
You have slight congestion. You need an MRI. No, I need Vicks. You are walking with a limp. You need an MRI. No, I need Dr. Scholl not you. Your neck hurts because of stress. You need an MRI. No, I need my financial planner to pay a little more attention. Less MRI's. More diagnoses.
Newt Gingrich wants the government out of the healthcare business. He wants to go back to the patient/doctor relationships of the past. Well Newt, for a variety of reasons, Marcus Welby is not walking through that door any time soon.
How about we start with out of network doctors. No, I don't mean doctors that have a show on cable that airs between Hung and Boardwalk Empire. I'm talking about those doctors that are not taking on any patient that has insurance. That's right, any patient that "has insurance". It is very hard to have a "relationship" with a doctor that penalizes you for being insured.
Well, perhaps they will add you to their practice if they are a "concierge doctor". Have you heard about this one? Talk about spin doctors. For a fee you will have the privilege of joining his or her practice. He/she will offer you "special services" that you should have been getting anyway. Your family doctor has now become a country club without a driving range. Newt, it is not 1960. Take those baseball cards out of your bicycle spokes and wake up.
If you have insurance you should be able to see any doctor you want. I know "Doc" that it is hard dealing with insurance companies. That is what we patients do all the time. You doctors should have that pleasure too. So; take one less trip to your villa in St. Barts and hire someone else in your office to deal with Blue Shield. If there is a mandate that everybody should have to buy insurance there certainly should be a mandate that every doctor must take patients that have insurance. No more out of network doctors allowed.
As for concierge doctors - to paraphrase Groucho Marx, "any doctor that wants me to pay for service before I receive service is not a doctor I want to be with!"
I have decided it is impossible for me to reach my insurance deductible. I have tried and tried. I'm willing to have a liver transplant to prove my point. I have threatened my insurance. company. "If I ever reach my deductible, I am going to really get sick and stick it to you!" The insurance company just laughs and says, "Bring it on". What am I supposed to do, get Hodgkin's disease. Then call them up and say, "I showed you".
You have a procedure. Perhaps a mole removed from your inner thigh. You receive a hospital bill for $4800. Then the fun starts. The insurance company will then give you some psycho babble as to why only $200 will go towards your $5000 deductible. "You got a better surgeon than you were supposed to get." "During the procedure they had to cut deeper than what was approved." "The devaluation of the peso."
Let's put an end to the screwy math. Yep, it's time for a little socialism. The horror! The horror! Reasonable, regulated insurance rates. No more deductibles.
These three things that I have just written about are the types of issues most of us really care about. I could go on. Fighting to get itemized hospital bills. That pillow cost $450. Really? Insurance company contracts with doctors and hospitals. Try getting that top secret classified information. Really? Co-pays? I thought my insurance covered this. Really?
You don't need an 11,000 page bill or a Michael Moore film to do some applicable practical things. Let's stop debating mandates, vouchers, and funding for planned parenthood. Stick with reality.
1. Less MRI's. 2. Doctors have to take patients with insurance. How backwards is it that you have to put a regulation in place to force a doctor to take a patient with insurance. Ain't we civilized. 3. No more deductibles. These three simple proposals put a little sense into the nonsense we call Healthcare.
Finally; as I find myself wishing I could Usain-Bolt my way to Medicare, I'm not moving to Canada. So; shut up.
There are some non-Obamacare moves that make perfect sense to me. Stuff to do right away. No reason for a committee to study. Just some simple fixes. Not a panacea. "Go wait in those long Canadian lines!" I said, shut up. For your information buster, it takes me three weeks to get an appointment with my dermatologist. That's kinda like waiting in line. Am I right? Oh, and by the way, the people in Canada that wait in line can return to their homes without fear of foreclosure after seeing their doctor. In Los Angeles, I need to refinance my home to pay for a gallbladder operation. So, shut up.
Where to begin? How about - why the f..k does everything need an MRI? I remember when a doctor took an x-ray, set a bone, and sent you on your way. Not inexpensive, but not the same as when you get a bill for an MRI and then have to immediately pull your kids out of that pricey private school Campbell Hall.
You have slight congestion. You need an MRI. No, I need Vicks. You are walking with a limp. You need an MRI. No, I need Dr. Scholl not you. Your neck hurts because of stress. You need an MRI. No, I need my financial planner to pay a little more attention. Less MRI's. More diagnoses.
Newt Gingrich wants the government out of the healthcare business. He wants to go back to the patient/doctor relationships of the past. Well Newt, for a variety of reasons, Marcus Welby is not walking through that door any time soon.
How about we start with out of network doctors. No, I don't mean doctors that have a show on cable that airs between Hung and Boardwalk Empire. I'm talking about those doctors that are not taking on any patient that has insurance. That's right, any patient that "has insurance". It is very hard to have a "relationship" with a doctor that penalizes you for being insured.
Well, perhaps they will add you to their practice if they are a "concierge doctor". Have you heard about this one? Talk about spin doctors. For a fee you will have the privilege of joining his or her practice. He/she will offer you "special services" that you should have been getting anyway. Your family doctor has now become a country club without a driving range. Newt, it is not 1960. Take those baseball cards out of your bicycle spokes and wake up.
If you have insurance you should be able to see any doctor you want. I know "Doc" that it is hard dealing with insurance companies. That is what we patients do all the time. You doctors should have that pleasure too. So; take one less trip to your villa in St. Barts and hire someone else in your office to deal with Blue Shield. If there is a mandate that everybody should have to buy insurance there certainly should be a mandate that every doctor must take patients that have insurance. No more out of network doctors allowed.
As for concierge doctors - to paraphrase Groucho Marx, "any doctor that wants me to pay for service before I receive service is not a doctor I want to be with!"
I have decided it is impossible for me to reach my insurance deductible. I have tried and tried. I'm willing to have a liver transplant to prove my point. I have threatened my insurance. company. "If I ever reach my deductible, I am going to really get sick and stick it to you!" The insurance company just laughs and says, "Bring it on". What am I supposed to do, get Hodgkin's disease. Then call them up and say, "I showed you".
You have a procedure. Perhaps a mole removed from your inner thigh. You receive a hospital bill for $4800. Then the fun starts. The insurance company will then give you some psycho babble as to why only $200 will go towards your $5000 deductible. "You got a better surgeon than you were supposed to get." "During the procedure they had to cut deeper than what was approved." "The devaluation of the peso."
Let's put an end to the screwy math. Yep, it's time for a little socialism. The horror! The horror! Reasonable, regulated insurance rates. No more deductibles.
These three things that I have just written about are the types of issues most of us really care about. I could go on. Fighting to get itemized hospital bills. That pillow cost $450. Really? Insurance company contracts with doctors and hospitals. Try getting that top secret classified information. Really? Co-pays? I thought my insurance covered this. Really?
You don't need an 11,000 page bill or a Michael Moore film to do some applicable practical things. Let's stop debating mandates, vouchers, and funding for planned parenthood. Stick with reality.
1. Less MRI's. 2. Doctors have to take patients with insurance. How backwards is it that you have to put a regulation in place to force a doctor to take a patient with insurance. Ain't we civilized. 3. No more deductibles. These three simple proposals put a little sense into the nonsense we call Healthcare.
Finally; as I find myself wishing I could Usain-Bolt my way to Medicare, I'm not moving to Canada. So; shut up.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
KEEP THE WINE - FIRE THE GARDENER
Budget cuts. Schmudget cuts. That's all we have been hearing about since the Republicans gained back some self-esteem last November. The net amount so far is that wealthy tax cuts remain and NPR and Planned Parenthood are on the outs. The Republicans feel that wealthy Americans never listen to NPR anyway. Plus the women that they know are more concerned with botox than abortion.
Citing the obvious; the lessening of the deficit seems more political than practical. Both sides are at fault. The Dems really shouldn't be asking for funding for ballet research and the Republicans don't need to give their kid a Hummer for his high school graduation gift. Everybody and everything should be reeled in.
That's why I have decided to do my part. I need to make cuts to lower my own personal deficit. Some tough decisions appear on the horizon. No, I am not giving up my XM radio. That Flock of Seagulls continuous loop is important to me. I could cut back on wine, but I don't want to begin there. Then, what? Where to start?
Do I really need a gardener? I have been meaning to talk to him about his early morning appearances anyway. This could be the perfect time. Jorge has been with us for almost twenty years. He is like a family member to us. Except for the fact that he lives in Palmdale and we never even think of socializing with him. I began our chat about the mischievous stock market. Globalization. Cutting back. It was hard because he had his leaf blower blasting. After careful consideration, and the fact that I didn't own an edger, I decided to keep Jorge.
Did my wife really need to continue taking pottery classes? It was therapy for her. It was therapy for me too, as she was gone one night a week. But, do we really need another ceramic salad bowl? I'm thinking that my wife needs to make a sacrifice. After all, I gave up pilates. Granted it was five years ago when my cute instructor moved back to New York. After careful consideration, and the fact that my wife can easily go to rage, I decided to let her continue glazing.
Golf? Ok, I'll go back to playing city courses. I can learn to adjust to five and a half hour rounds and playing with three others that I know didn't score well on their SAT's. We have bundled everything. Phone, internet, cable television, and dry cleaning. At the end of the day that saved us $13 a month. I have instructed my wife to not use a coupon that says 30% off just because she got it in the mail. Pet treats are currently not happening much to the displeasure of our feline Sniffles. We have decided to not travel anywhere that we can't go to by car. Luckily we got our two week Italy trip out of the way earlier in the year. Garage sale? Are you out of your freakin' mind!!!!
After my own personal deficit-cutting exercise I now have a better appreciation of how hard a gig it is for our elected officials to decide what to do away with. Fewer teachers. No more tomahawk missiles. Let's hold up on super rail construction. The job of repairing over-spending ain't easy. But, it can get done. Growth can be accompanied by fixing. Not every social program has to have its plug pulled. Not every wealthy American has to give up their beach house. We can all agree that a change is needed. So; let's stop all of the bickering and get something done. We need to get this country back on its feet again. I can't play five and a half hour golf rounds forever.
Citing the obvious; the lessening of the deficit seems more political than practical. Both sides are at fault. The Dems really shouldn't be asking for funding for ballet research and the Republicans don't need to give their kid a Hummer for his high school graduation gift. Everybody and everything should be reeled in.
That's why I have decided to do my part. I need to make cuts to lower my own personal deficit. Some tough decisions appear on the horizon. No, I am not giving up my XM radio. That Flock of Seagulls continuous loop is important to me. I could cut back on wine, but I don't want to begin there. Then, what? Where to start?
Do I really need a gardener? I have been meaning to talk to him about his early morning appearances anyway. This could be the perfect time. Jorge has been with us for almost twenty years. He is like a family member to us. Except for the fact that he lives in Palmdale and we never even think of socializing with him. I began our chat about the mischievous stock market. Globalization. Cutting back. It was hard because he had his leaf blower blasting. After careful consideration, and the fact that I didn't own an edger, I decided to keep Jorge.
Did my wife really need to continue taking pottery classes? It was therapy for her. It was therapy for me too, as she was gone one night a week. But, do we really need another ceramic salad bowl? I'm thinking that my wife needs to make a sacrifice. After all, I gave up pilates. Granted it was five years ago when my cute instructor moved back to New York. After careful consideration, and the fact that my wife can easily go to rage, I decided to let her continue glazing.
Golf? Ok, I'll go back to playing city courses. I can learn to adjust to five and a half hour rounds and playing with three others that I know didn't score well on their SAT's. We have bundled everything. Phone, internet, cable television, and dry cleaning. At the end of the day that saved us $13 a month. I have instructed my wife to not use a coupon that says 30% off just because she got it in the mail. Pet treats are currently not happening much to the displeasure of our feline Sniffles. We have decided to not travel anywhere that we can't go to by car. Luckily we got our two week Italy trip out of the way earlier in the year. Garage sale? Are you out of your freakin' mind!!!!
After my own personal deficit-cutting exercise I now have a better appreciation of how hard a gig it is for our elected officials to decide what to do away with. Fewer teachers. No more tomahawk missiles. Let's hold up on super rail construction. The job of repairing over-spending ain't easy. But, it can get done. Growth can be accompanied by fixing. Not every social program has to have its plug pulled. Not every wealthy American has to give up their beach house. We can all agree that a change is needed. So; let's stop all of the bickering and get something done. We need to get this country back on its feet again. I can't play five and a half hour golf rounds forever.
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