Living the Dream

So we have snow here in the Southeast of the US, and not the usual "zomg find the camera before it's gone" type we normally get. The streets are covered (as is my car) with snow and ice and people who can work from home are doing so. The occasional family decides they must go somewhere and so they bundle up and spend a half hour digging their car out as a family project. It probably would go faster, but nobody here owns silly things like snow shovels and ice scrapers. It's fun to watch a group of four work on a car with a push broom, a board, and a dust pan.

Inside I'm warm and snug, I have booze and chips and salsa and beans and toilet paper (I buy the 36 packs of the double rolls, so BRING IT, INTESTINES!). All the utilities work, and I finally have an acceptable excuse to work from home. As a result, I've put in more hours, resolved more issues, AND I feel better and have enough leftover energy to do things such as clean my apartment. This will all go away next week when the snow finally melts, but I'm loving it for the time being. I would be a totally awesome shut-in, happy and productive.

Holiday Drama

I'm lucky enough to have no family and very few friends, so I'm usually spared any extra drama around Hannukwanzaramadamas time. This year, however, reality is giving me a candy caning.

First, Deathstar hospital continued their attempts to bill me. Their latest communique states that because they are now billing me under a slightly different name, my only recourse is to pay them or petition the courts to add the new billing name to my list of debtors. Since you should never take legal advice from lawyers retained by companies trying to screw you, I turned the issue over to the law bunny. No response from anyone recently on this issue which is fine since I'm trying to cut added drama from my life (HA!), but it's nice to have this hanging over me like mistletoe made of poison ivy.

Since I only had two takers on the "who wants an xmas card from me?" dealy, I decided to kick things up a notch and go with presents instead. I tried to Amazon some cool Lego Star Wars toys to a Canadian blogger, but this is not allowed. I can only imagine it's because Canada is nearing success on their nuclear program and tiny plastic toys will give them what they need to finally invade and nuke NY city, which would be bad because there could be tourists from decent parts of America harmed as well. But screw them - I decided to ship the toys to myself, then reship them to Cannuckland, patriotism be damned. Amazon contracted one company to send these items and another company to ship these three items. FUN GUESSING GAME - guess which package got lost in the mail? Yes, you guessed it - it was the package with the three cool items.

So thus began the fun of tracking the missing package. The tracking web site simply said "delivererd". After much clicking, the only support I could get was by phone (which I hate, btw). This led to an automated system asking for my tracking number which said the package could not be tracked and that I should contact the local post office for help. Tired of dealing with the postal system, I returned to Amazon for help. Their site told me to call the postal number. After further digging, I was finally able to open a complaint via e-mail and was asked if I would like a refund or a replacement. I asked for a replacement. Apparently they lost the last Assassin Droid / Shadow Stormtrooper / Mace Windu's in existence because they said no more were available, so they went with the refund.

Now flash back to late October when my bank was overtaken by another bank. As part of the fun of transitioning I had to destroy my old debit card, activate a new one, and update all of my accounts. Shortly before the fun with the post office ordeal, I reconciled some old payments and discovered that my new account was still honoring claims against my old debit card, three of which were made to a vendor I didn't recognize. I looked for online support, discovered they only handle these issues over the phone (grr) and began the fun process of having my debit card canceled (which makes no sense because it was the previous card being charged, but they insisted it was the thing to do), living off cash for a week (which felt like touring a foreign country), and then doing all the fun activities with debit card yet again. Plus I received paperwork from them to fill out with a bunch of neat categories from which to select, none of which covers my situation, and a phone message asking that I call and talk to them again (whee). And although they honored claims against the old card they told me to destroy from the old bank, they're very efficient at not allowing refunds to their first debit card.

So, to my Canadian blogger pal, I say sorry that you will only be getting two really cheap toys that will have cost me around $50 in total payments to have some shipped to me, other toys lost in the mail, and then reship the remaining ones to you, and if you ever visit our superior nation then I will most likely attempt to kill you for your involvement in my latest round of drama.

And now I understand why people add booze to their egg nog. It's time to nog the rest of 2010 into submission.

30 Day Meme Thingy, part messianic

Day 19a → What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?

I’m not against many religions. I’m against organizations that try to define and regulate religious practices, especially when they think their laws should apply to us nonbelievers as well. They tend to take a good idea and twist it into something obscene over time. Religious beliefs are good when they provide comfort when you are feeling lost or troubled. They suck when they’re a constant source of misery. If your religion is giving you grief, then whatever you are – don’t be that anymore.

As for the type of religious people I prefer, I like people who believe in something good (whether or not one or more gods needs to be involved), honestly try to be true to their beliefs, don’t feel compelled to convert me, have a reasonable sense of humor about quirks in their religion, and tolerance for other beliefs that don’t actively interfere with their own lives. By “actively interfere” I mean situations like “I can’t sleep while you sacrifice goats on your side of the bed”, not “it bothers me that you’re in your house behind closed doors persistently not worshipping Jesus.”

Second favorite types are the ones who are devout and overly serious about it, but are willing to not preach to me constantly as long as I avoid their place of worship. At least they’re fun to play with.

Third favorite type are the ones who think the baby (insert messiah) will cry and they will BURN BURN BURN if they do not spend every waking moment trying to convert everyone who breathes their air, and that tactics like making up false statistics (“studies show evangelicals are 30% prettier and are much less likely to be mauled by bears”) are okay because anything done in (insert god)’s name must be good, right?

Fourth is the not religious but very pissy about it, the kind who believe that it’s in the American constitution that we’re all supposed to be Christian and who pitch a fit when the government fails to create laws that enforce what they think is in the bible (not that they’ve read one, but it’s common knowledge).

Fifth are the atheists who act like the ones above, the kind who have a conniption if they hear Silent Night in public or if they see people celebrating Christmas as the birth of Christ. They’re no worse, I just hate to see non-believers acting life wannabe fundies.

Last are the ones who believe their god wants them to rub out a segment of the population to attain heaven.

Correction - #1 (一番) fave is Satanic metal bunnies. But I think that went without saying.

Direct link to metal bunny video.

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Update - posting this caused some Mormon missionaries to drop by and pester me. At least I think they were Mormons. They knocked, I opened the door, before it was fully open I saw dark suits and name tags and fake leather-bound books, I said "Not interested" and shut the door again. It's a shame the local ordinances don't let me set intruders on fire.

Picture Post

Here is an awesome image I found when I googled "hot Japanese woman" from home with safe search turned to maximum naughty. Note the lack of boobage, as opposed to the full blown porn it returned when I searched from work with safe search set to Amish prude.

It's supposed to be a picture of an open-air onsen, a kind of healthy hot spring public bath, although those are usually indoors and large enough for many bathers. People with tattoos are sometimes forbidden from these venues because a tat in Japan is generally associated with being in the yakuza (J-mafia).

And here is a picture of me in Germany sitting on a tiny one-man armored vehicle.

We're unlucky in that our country hasn't been invaded so we don't have cool relics like this scattered about like so many dandelions. Sure, we have plenty of civil war battle sites here in the South, but they're just empty plots of land with signs that say "once a lot of people fought and died in this here field". If I could find one of those babies locally, I would totally fix it up and drive it to work. It would come in handy on days like today. This morning I narrowly missed a multiple car pile-up (I was literally in the middle of it forming) that happened because people were ogling several vehicles that had been pulled to the right of the interstate from a previous multiple car pile-up.

Answer to quiz

Nobody guessed correctly that in the soldier pic post I was the guy behind the camera, so you get no reward. I was going to enhance this post with bunny, but I googled "hot Japanese woman" with safe search on and it returned nudes and I'm in a cubicle in the US, where beheadings rank PG-13 but breasts are the ultimate evil, so I had to cancel out of that. And since I'm back from a 4 day weekend, all the automated systems failed while nobody was around to keep them working and the world is depending on me to fix it. So basically you get no post from me today. Don't even bother reading this.

Photo Blog

For a long time, I wanted to share some old photos I had from my pre-digital days, but I never owned a scanner. Then I bought a new printer with built-in scanner and I forgot that I wanted to scan my old photos. While scanning the latest batch of medical bills to e-mail to my lawyer*, I remembered and went to collect the old photos. Unfortunately they were in my briefcase which has now been converted to the bankruptcy paperwork storage bin and I couldn't find them. Finally, I did a full search and discovered they were in the coffin. Since a lot of you are traveling and on holiday with family this week, I'll save the ultra macho soldier pics until next week. For now, here are two from the pile of photos I have saved (click to embiggen).

This is a really nice shot of a dolphin I took in the 80's (if you look closely, you'll notice that it has poofy hair and leg warmers):

And this is the contents of a typical soldier's refrigerator in Germany, away from family and the fundie-inspired liquor laws of the US:

* It's been a year since I filed for bankruptcy and, yes, the rotten hospital is still trying to collect

Showing the LGBT love

I've heard today we're supposed to wear purple to show some kind of support for the gay community. As it happens, I was wearing purple when I got the message, so I was ahead of the curve. Then I took off my purple to go out into public because the only purple I have is a t-shirt which is not kosher for the office. So, since I didn't get to gay it up in public, I decided to do the LGBT community a service by patiently explaining what actions they can take beyond occasionally duping haters into wearing something that could be misinterpreted as support.

1. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em (and then act like a complete twat). What's better than carrying around a sign hating on the haters while trying to impart your wisdom to the community through a superior force of lungs? Joining up with them and discrediting their movement by acting even crazier than they do. Bring coffee and donuts to an early demonstration, treat them to some delightful hateful conversation (sprinkled liberally with words like "Jesus" and "wedlock"), then when the demonstration begins whip out a hidden sign and start screaming your agenda. "Free abortions for gay fetuses! Kill all the attractive gay guys in the name of Jesus so more women will have to turn to me for comfort which hopefully leads to them getting drunk and me going for anal!" Note - the second one makes for a really great chant.
   
2. If you can't join 'em, beat 'em. If the previous one sounds like too much work, just kick the crap out of them and move on. Moving on.
3. Announce loudly and with plenty of warning what the supporters will be doing. And then make it something only the hardcore haters will avoid. Instead of something silly like "today, anyone who supports us will wear a tutu and snorkel" and then hoping to catch some haters off guard, post everywhere that "November 23rd, 2012, is the day we show our support by not publicly eating our own intestines." Any hater who manages to avoid that demonstration has earned his right to hate.
   
4. Remind them that if the LGBT's go away, they'll take their girl on girl porn with them.

And once again I have made this country a better place through the judicious use of bunny. As usual.

My life as designed by Joseph Heller

Three weeks ago I was sick, overslept, and arrived late to work. By the time I had arrived they had called my mommy and asked if I was in the hospital again. (we're estranged, btw) They told me I needed to inform them if I'm going to be sick again. Then yesterday I was sick again, e-mailed them with the news, and then came to work later in the morning. I was then pulled aside and told that, despite my outstanding work, they couldn't tolerate my excessive tardiness anymore. The new deal is a) I get healthy enough to work a consistent schedule, or b) I arrange downtime in advance (i.e. I have to call in before my shift and inform them that I need x hours more rest before I can get to the office). It's important that I do my job from my cubicle because it can be done from anywhere in the world with a computer and Internet connection, so naturally my employers have canceled telecommuting because the poor economy provided them with the excuse they needed to stop improving efficiency. I was further told that if I they weren't relying on me so heavily they would have more flexibility, but my work is very important and of high quality which is why I may need to be replaced.

I used to be in management before I decided to pursue a career path that ostensibly rewarded having actual job skills and I knew from previous seminars that Georgia is an "employment at will" state, meaning you can be fired for any reason or none at all, so my only legal protection lies in federal law. I contacted a lawyer and he advised me that he can't give advice over the Internet and then added me to his mass e-mail list so I now get spammed by him. I checked the Social Security website to see what criteria has to be met to be labeled disabled, and in plain terms you have to a) be unable to do your job and b) be unable to do similar work under reasonably adjusted conditions (e.g. telecommuting instead of working a rigid office schedule). If you meet those conditions you can be disabled which will then require your employer to work with your medical issues and keep you employed. If not, you can be fired for your poor health and can become a burden on society (but not a disabled one - just a healthy bum).

Also my recent downturn has left me unable to exercise (my life now consists of being in the office, or at home resting so I can return to the office), which in turn leads to a rise in my blood sugars which leads to me being sicker. However, experience has taught me that exhausting the little energy I have during these periods leads to serious downtime and missed work and less exercise as a result. Basically I have to get healthy so I can exercise and get healthy. I also haven't been eating much lately. I think I've gained (more) weight.

And in other fun news, the first hospital that kicked off this whole adventure continues to ignore the bankruptcy ruling and to pester me with old bills, new bills, and collections agencies. My bankruptcy lawyer is taking action against them. Her e-mail to me read, in part, "This should be fun." With luck, that means we'll sue them and win easily and I'll have enough money to live without working for my remaining time. With my luck, that means I'll get to pay her much money to go to court to convince the court that they need to tell the hospital to do what the court said in the first place.

There's some subtle irony in here somewhere, but I just don't see it.

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Update - they agreed to let me work from home. If you own stock in anything, sell it and spend the money on hookers and beer because the world is ending. Seriously though, that's good for both of us. They'll get their data when needed (before, actually) and I can focus on work and my health instead of expending energy to sit in a cubicle for eight hours a day. As for the above - forget all that. Now I'm good.

The Awesomeness That Is My Life

The benefactors holding the title of my shiny new car didn't send me a payment book, just a letter welcoming me to the fold and telling me of the many wonderful ways I can pay them back, most of which involve getting on the phone with their sales people. I hate talking on the phone, especially talking to sales or customer service, so I chose the option to enroll and pay via eft online. On Sunday I tried and was told the site was down for maintenance. Last night I tried again and was told my personal information was wrong. (excuse me, I think I know my date of birth better than you) I called their help line figuring it was run 24/7 out of India since no hours were listed, tried their automated menu to no avail, attempted to speak to a human, and was told I had to call during Texas business hours (but not what those hours were). At least that promised the chance of reaching a fellow American who presumably spoke proper English. "Howdy, y'all. Whut can I dew ye fur tuhday?" So today I called, was connected to "Amy" with an unmistakable Indian accent, and then...AND THEN...

She took my information, identified and fixed the problem immediately, and even volunteered to stay on the line until I completed registration to ensure no further issues arose. My next course of action is clear - I have to complain to her supervisor. I wonder if their online complaint form includes "Failure to provide blog fodder" as a selection? "I contacted your so-called customer service department today, and was given absolutely nothing to complain about. What are you people thinking? Maybe it's in your improper language skills. Your department obviously doesn't understand concepts such as 'incompetence', 'willful neglect', and 'fiduciary misconduct'. Your pitiful country will never rise to the grandeur that is the United States until you do, and you will all be forced to live in squalor or marry a pudgy white blob of American man-flesh to escape it. Speaking of which, please give my e-mail address to 'Amy' because she sounded cute. And now let's practice some of that proper English - 'I'm a-fixin' to have a-hankerin' for some deep-fried pig intestines, y'all.'"

The Great Light Beer Challenge of 2010

Many doctors have given me permission to stop trying to get healthier and start relaxing and enjoying my remaining years, but old habits die hard. According to the doctors and Web MD, they strongly recommend you do / do not mix alcohol and diabetes because the effects will definitely / possibly cause your blood sugars to spike / plummet / remain unaffected, two of which could kill you, and most of the doctors agree that is bad. However, on one topic they do agree, and that is if you are a beer drinker, you should be a light beer drinker.

I've never been a big fan of light beer because I think, if you're going to drink beer, it might as well have a little taste and booze in it. If I carelessly run out of the German beers I like, I'm forced to fall back on the Coors Light I keep for people who don't like my normal stuff, and there's just no beer in that beer. To me, most mainstream American beers taste like fermented sewage anyway. But when I saw that Sam Adams Light was on sale (still more expensive than my regular brands), I thought maybe what I needed was a better class of light beer and so I bought a twelve pack.

Since I never know how my body is going to react to anything new, I save all trials for Saturday night after I've had a day of rest, but don't have to get up early for work the next day. So last Saturday I performed my normal ritual, namely sitting in front of my computer with a beer while playing Dragon Age. I can honestly say the Sam Adams Light did not taste bad. In fact, it barely had any taste at all. It had all the flavor of a rice cake, or maybe liquid cardboard. But I had paid for it and it was drinkable, so I focused on my game.

I have a strict formula for determining the number of beers I need to get tipsy and kill the pain while still staying lucid enough to fight evil monsters effectively, which is x-1, where x represents the point where I make a careless remark, embark on a gay relationship with an elf, and then get myself and my companions killed. With my Warsteiner (330ml, or about 11.2 oz each), that number is precisely "about three". (yes, I know I'm a light-weight drinker) So, I played DA and managed to kill the right people and have sex with the right people, and I went to bed feeling okay and not really sure about the whole light beer thing but still willing to try another brand in the future.

Sunday I awoke after 1 PM with the worst hangover I've had since I was young and healthy enough to handle them, then I spent the rest of day in bed (and still feel sick today). When I felt well enough, I checked the rinsed-out empties to see what X-1 had equaled, and found it was nine. NINE! I couldn't handle nine beers at once when I was in the Army and rampant alcoholism was considered manly.

So, to recap: I paid more for this beer, drank three times as much, probably consumed more calories, felt no drunker during the evening, felt much sicker the day after, and to top it off the stuff tasted like watered-down seltzer.

So ends the great light beer challenge of 2010.

Today's post is just to remind you I have a shiny new car

I've only worked for my employer for about ten years, but in that short time I've learned that you can't get into any of their buildings or parking lots without proper ID. Sadly, some veteran colleagues never internalize that fact. I'm often late to the office because I get stuck behind a line of cars trying to solve the riddle of the sphinx, by which I mean get the flimsy wooden barrier thingy to rise. This is apparently a daunting task despite the signs by the roadside that warn you to have your ID ready, the sign at the gate that says to badge in, and (I repeat) the fact every location requires you to have your work ID available at all times.

Several times I have been stuck in the street as a car sits and waits for the gate to decide to open itself (with only over a half million employees worldwide, it's reasonable to assume security will recognize everyone on sight), then out of boredom the driver reads the plethora of signs explaining how the gate isn't judging you but the card reader needs your ID badge, then they put the car in park and go to the trunk to dig their ID out of their rolling luggage (despite the computers and e-mail and electricity and bathrooms and cafeteria and stuff, many people can't survive in cubeland for eight hours without enough equipment to hunt and skin buffalo). Because it would be indecorous to use any of the outside pockets, their ID is invariably buried deep inside the luggage because, despite the warnings and years of service, they had no idea they would be asked to show their ID again. They just did that yesterday, for chrissakes. And then, finally, the car is through, free to take one of the last good parking spaces* while the next car pulls up and (get this) REPEATS THE ENTIRE PROCESS.

Unfortunately, I am not making that up.

So this week, some idiot pulls up to the security gate and, to the casual observer, appears to be just sitting there looking down and doing nothing more productive than masturbating while he holds up the line, and to make matters worse that idiot is me because I'm still learning how to work my shiny new car.
Granted, I don't take as long as the people who have to unpack before entering, but I still feel embarrassed when I'm unable to roll the window down on approach and I end up fumbling with the window button only to realize that I just readjusted the mirrors and so then I hit the window button and the window doesn't roll down because my shiny new car is ALREADY BROKEN and so I look closely to ensure I'm using the right button and then I press some other buttons and discover one of my earlier attempts activated the button to lock the windows in place (relief) and then I get back to the right button but I push it the wrong way because a lot of stuff in my shiny new car works the opposite of the old one.

But no longer. Today I actually managed to have the window down by the time I made it to the gate. At first I didn't know where stuff was. Then I progressed to knowing where it was, but trying to use it like the old way. Then I remembered to do it backwards, and that worked for about twelve seconds. Then I began to both remember the right way and remind myself to do it the other way, so I did it wrong again. But today I remembered the right way, reminded myself to do it the other way, then remembered that that didn't work and decided to do it the opposite of the opposite way, and so IN YOUR FACE - VICTORY IS MINE the window came down. I dub myself Bunnycus, Slayer of Giants, Bringer of Doom, Roller-Down of Windows.

Yes, of course that was an electric window. I couldn't have managed all that AND had to manually operate it at the same time. I'm not Jesus or Batman, you know. And now, loins properly girded, I shall go forth and attempt to put gasoline in my shiny new car.

* in this part of the country and this time of year, good parking space = under a shade tree. It has no relation to the distance required to walk to the building.

New Letter from Old Friends

Dear Mr. Grant,

Thank you for the opportunity to inflict pain and injury on you in the name of healthcare in June of 2009. If you thought you were through paying us for what we did to for you, then HA HA HA HA HA moron. You will never be rid of us. And don't think we didn't notice that you tossed a law bunny in our path. We simply don't care. You think the American legal system can stop us? They only affect ethical businesses like banks, credit companies, and debt collectors. If you think the doctors believe themselves gods, consider this: they only affect whether you die or accidentally survive. We will control the tone of your remaining time on Earth, and your file has been flagged "Unending Torment". Following is a brief list (by no means complete) of things that will stop long before us:

1. The Terminator
2. Irresistible Force
3. Perpetual Motion
4. Hello Kitty
5. God
6. Infinity
   

Our records indicate you recently bought a new car (nice pick, btw), so surely you can afford to give us a little more money. We're only asking for slightly more than a monthly car payment, and if you pay this bill we promise we'll never bother you aga- A HA HA HA okay I couldn't type that and keep a straight face. But anyway - pay us. The sooner you pay this bill, the sooner we can all move on, by which I mean to your next bill.

And, no, your failing eyes do not deceive you. We are re-billing for work for which you've already paid. It's just that we thought about it long and hard for a couple of seconds and decided that we want to be paid more than logic / decency / your insurance plan would dictate. Sick people don't deserve their money anyway. Besides, we are combating the encroachment of socialism upon our great society. We don't support that commie claptrap of "from each according to his ability, to each according to his need". We believe in "from each however he can get it, to us". People like you are ruining our freedom. So pay us, and keep America strong. Or we'll shoot you.

Yours in Christ,

your pals at Deathstar Healthcare, Billing, and Anal Rape, unlimited

I'm probably a cheap date also

When I bought my awesome new car, hereafter dubbed the Bunnytroller, I was happy to get the salesman that I did - helpful and personable, but not trying to sell me a bunch of junk I didn't want. He asked what I wanted, which was basically a station wagon that's not called a station wagon, not too small and sits up higher than a regular car, which lead us straight to the RAV4. That experience is the complete opposite of the first dealer I ever visited. I went to Hyundai, a brand new to our shores, and asked to see something cheap with air conditioning and a cassette player. The salesman was adamant that I look at this one lonely car sitting that he insisted was perfect for me - a tiny red piece of crap with black vinyl interior and no a/c. In Texas. In July.

Question - why do you think a tiny car from Korea, a country not associated with car production at that time, with no a/c and black vinyl interior would fail to sell in the Jesus-intensive republic of Texas in July? Was it maybe infested with robot ninja monkey mice? Discuss.

So, I didn't buy a Hyundai in '91. This time when I went to get a Toyota, the sales guy asked what sort of amenities I wanted - Bluetooth, leather, moon roof, heated seats, nav-system, etc. I asked for a cloth interior, CD player, and a/c. "Base model," he said. Apparently I'm easily satisfied. They had a sport model without the spare tire on the rear, but I actually think that adds to the appearance. Leather makes me sweat and is hot in the summer and cold in the winter. I don't have or want a Bluetooth. Nav-system sounds neat, but I rarely travel and I can already find work, the grocery, the library, and home. I don't see the appeal of (or know the difference between) a sun and/or moon roof, but I bought a car so I could be shielded from the environment (read: heat, light, bugs, humidity, and stench) and I have no desire to add ways to let in outside air. I sat on heated seats once, and the feeling of warmth spreading from my anus to my butt cheeks left me with the feeling that I was soiling myself. I will pay extra not to endure that. I wonder, if I pay them an extra grand, will the dealership offer to remove the a/c and punch holes in the body?

I just said all that to remind you that I have a new car and you don't.

I'm one of the initiated now

So, now I have glasses and I can see things again. I missed that. I also got a haircut, so below is an updated portrait of me:
I got the glasses from a regular optometrist, the kind that takes "about a week" to get them in, which in this case really meant two weeks. I have no idea why I went to them instead of a one-hour place. Are the slow places really superior in any way?

Naturally, the optometrist wants me to go to another specialist and then see him again in three months. That's SOP for American medical care. He only violated procedure by actually helping.

I also got prescription sunglasses so I can see outside in the daylight:
For some reason, there are a lot fewer speed bumps on my way to work now that I can see. On an unrelated topic, unsolved vehicular homicides are also down in my neighborhood.

Now I just have to develop good eyeglass-owning habits, such as not putting them in a chair before sitting down to think about where I may have left my glasses (that almost happened last night). Ironically, when I take off my glasses I can no longer see well enough to find my glasses.

Clear vision and irony - totally worth the price.

More on Healthcare

On the subject of healthcare in the US, a topic with which I have way too much experience, I previously argued that a good solution would be a system that is privately owned and operated but government regulated. I also said that there is no such thing as a perfect system, but that should never stop us from trying to improve what we currently have. Based on some of the comments I received and other reactions to my idea, I decided that healthcare needs to go in the same category as religion and dieting - one of those things that are often based on the beliefs handed down by mommy and daddy and should never be questioned or re-evaluated because then the baby Jebus will cry and the terrorists will have won.

In any case, despite my interest in Japanese culture, at the time I didn't realize that my idea was exactly how it is handled in Japan. Since then I have read several articles and blog posts describing the state of healthcare in Japan, and it appears I was 100% correct in that it's both a better system and yet still imperfect. In case you disagreed with me, allow me to extend the olive branch by saying NEENER NEENER NEENER ha ha on you, fuckers. Besides, I think we're all agreed that the universe just makes more sense when I'm right.

The funny thing is that the negative things I've read about Japanese healthcare have often come from Americans living in Japan who apparently believe in the myth of American healthcare and don't think the problems in Japan are already shared by us. Inexperienced doctors misdiagnosing? We have that. Older doctors who don't listen or show concern for their patients? Check. Rural clinics with limited resources? Ditto. Doctors scheduling unnecessary follow-ups to pad their wallet? If we didn't invent the concept, we at least mastered it. Issuing prescriptions that are too weak to be effective. Okay, I'll admit I don't hear that one often, although I have known several people who got addicted to industrial strength pills who informed their doctors of a desire to get off the medication only to be answered with a new prescription, so I think we're working the opposite end of the spectrum on that one.

An interesting story written about one gaijin's experience with J-care is here. If you're too lazy to read the whole thing, basically the man got cancer while living in Japan, went to a hospital, had a week-long stay including surgery and treatment, then at the end had to pay about $1,000 (full disclosure - that amount was the 30% of the full bill his insurance didn't pay). I agree with the author that the amount was "probably" less than he would have paid in the US. In fact, that's what I paid for a single day in my hospital room, not including any actual medical care - just the room fee. The writer of that article complained that the front desk nurse was brusque and that you have to bring things like toiletries and eating utensils because they're not "free" like in a US hospital, but if my weeklong bill of $85,000 could have been reduced by $84,000, I would have gladly provided my own washcloth and fork.

And now, of course, I close my brilliant post with a picture of a hot Japanese nurse.

Bunny!

Dear Mother Nature

I'm sick of scraping ice in the morning and having open sores on my body. Plus I'm tired of all the stupid conversations I have to hold on the way to my cubicle just because I'm wearing a short shirt. "Yeah, I'm from way up North, the Canadian territory called Tennessee. Eh? Aboot? Maple syrup!" This is March already and we're in Georgia, so make with some heat and humidity, bitch.

Hugs and kisses and butt sex,

Grant

Quick movie reviews, plus other stuff and bunny

In the Name of the Father: story set in the mid 70's in England. When the government decides the normal laws are insufficient to deal with the threat of terrorism, the laws are relaxed for anything deemed terrort-related. This leads to several innocent people being accused of a bombing and then being tortured until they confess and go to prison. Fortunately, we are Americans and learn from the mistakes of others, so that could never happen here. Four bunnies.

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Anvil! The Story of Anvil: a documentary about a Canadian heavy metal band considered an early influence by major groups like Metallica, Guns-n-Roses, and Motorhead, except that fame never happened for them. It's like This Is Spinal Tap (true fact - their drummer is named Robb Reiner), except not as funny because it's happening to real people. For example, the lead guitarist took vacation time away from his job delivering lunches to schools in order to go on a European tour in which one club tried to pay in goulash because the band was late and which ended at a metal festival that drew a capacity crowd of 187. At the end, the band self-produced their 13th album (no record company would touch it), sent demos to all corners of the Earth, and received an invitation to play at a festival in Tokyo. When they arrived, they found they were slated to open the festival at 11:30 AM. On the way to the stage, the lead guitarist mused about how it was devastating to get your hopes up only to go on stage to be met with the sight of five people in the audience. Fortunately, it ends on an up note. On the way to the stage, the sound of an enormous crowd can be heard. They didn't say how many, but the venue could seat 20,000 and none of the crowd shots showed any available room. Bonus sight - hot Japanese women in French maid outfits chanting the band's name, at least as best they could in a language that doesn't have short vowels, v's or l's. And so the day was saved, thanks to the hotness that is Japanese woman. As usual. Four bunnies.

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Waltz with Bashir: an animated film that is seriously not filled with cute talking animals and aimed at 6 year old kids. It follows a former Israeli soldier as he attempts to piece together what happened during a blank spot in his memory during the Lebanese war. It unfolds as a series of interviews with other witnesses, including conflicting memories, and leads to the remembrance of the massacre of citizens in Palestinian refugee camps by a Christian militia while the Israelis watched and did nothing. Animation was a good way to deliver the story as it allows you to focus more on the underlying issues of the atrocity rather than special effects needed to simulate bombs and bullets. The end is jarring as the movie abruptly stops and switches to news footage of crying survivors and piles of fly-covered bodies. Four and a half bunnies.

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Red, White, Black and Blue: lackluster documentary about a forgotten battle in WWII, when American troops fought in a frozen hell for 19 days to remove Japanese troops who had landed on Attu island, the furthest of the Alaskan islands. Yes - in 1942 Japan actually landed troops on American soil, but news of the battle was suppressed to keep the public from hearing. One item of interest was that in the 80's the Japanese government built and donated a monument honoring the dead from both sides. Younger soldiers appreciated the gesture, while surviving members of the battle were driven to tears because the fallen Japanese were also honored. Two bunnies because the material deserved to be in a better made documentary.

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I wouldn't presume to judge the survivors for hanging on to their hatred - by all accounts the fighting was as fierce as that on Iwo Jima except that they received no awards or recognition afterward since the location was politically inconvenient. I count myself lucky in the way things played out for me. The first three years of my time in the military was spent training to fight Russia. All of the propaganda was anti-Russia, from government TV / radio ads to crude hand-drawn posters on the wall saying "Ivan is watching you train!" And then we went to the middle east. The effect was like "THE RUSSIANS ARE COMING! THE RUSSIANS ARE COMING! THE RUSSIANS ARE COMING! Let's go to Kuwait." Iraq was considered a half-assed ally at the time (kind of an enemy of an enemy is your friend thing), so nobody harbored any resentment against their soldiers. The Attu documentary included several interviews with survivors laughing about how they shot the Japanese who tried to surrender. In my case, I remember other soldiers reminding me to remove the MRE's containing pork products before feeding the prisoners.

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Bunny!

We're finally safe

Note - the links in bold are safe for work; the others, not so much.

Thanks to Jebus Bush's 2003 Protect Act, Americans are now safe from racy manga*. I, for one, feel much better knowing that Osama Bin Laden may still be out there and a lot of foreign nations hate us for no reason except that they envy our freedom, but at least the courts are locking people up for possessing images that the judges deem lacking in “serious literary, artistic, political, or scientific value.” I'd like to point out at this time that in no way do I have a game on my computer that allows the possibility of a romantic coupling between consenting teens, nor could I be interested in anything labeled "Do You Like Horny Bunnies?". To further show my support for former President Bush's wonderful "protection" acts, I think I'll campaign against trying to create a nanny state by making sure healthcare is only available to those who can afford it. I'm going out to picket with my "Hellthcare No! Jebus Yes!" sign right now. If xtian fundies have taught me anything, it's that Jesus was all about the hate. Note - the misspellings on the sign are so the others won't suspect I'm not one of the faithful.

*For you dumb rednecks, manga are the Japanese equivalent of comics / graphic novels, except that (as with animation) they're considered a more mainstream form of delivery and so have a wider range of topics, from stories involving women with big boobies to stories about women with super huge mutant boobies.

Update on American Public Schools

Yesterday was entertaining because my across the aisle cubicle neighbor had to call his son's school and talk to the teacher. Basically the entire conversation consisted of him forcibly maintaining a calm demeanor and repeatedly trying to finish a sentence while the uptight bitch threw a hissy fit over his kid's delinquent behavior (I could hear her even though the phone was not on speaker). What was his crime, you might ask (if you were here)? Did he shank another student? Graffiti "The principal is a poo-poo bubble" on the walls? Chew gum? Write "omit" for every test answer he didn't know*? No, he asked for permission to go to the bathroom and was denied, but went anyway. You just know he'll be into running guns and gang rape next.

I don't know how old the kid is, although his father admitted he's not old enough to know how to be diplomatic in those situations. The father did manage to calm the teacher long enough to explain that he already informed the school administration that his son has bladder problems, that he needs to be allowed to use the restroom whenever he asks, and if he is denied he is to go anyway and then call his dad. The teacher countered by saying it is school policy to not let children leave the classroom to use the toilet, and that she believes the kid should have to carry a note at all times saying he has parental permission to make wee-wee. At the end of the conversation, the father was forced to leave work early because the teacher was still shouting about the lack of respect shown by his son. There's probably some irony at play here, but it's too subtle for me to see.

This is why I'm glad I don't have children. I remember what the twats who run public education were like, and I would be too tempted to kill one just as an example to the others that they are neither the world's highest authority nor untouchable. At the very least I would have instructed my kid to, in the future, ask for permission to go and if denied, piss on the teacher. Repeat until a sense of decency sinks in.

My teachers / principals / guidance counselors / coaches / wardens always said I would come to understand their point of view once I grew up, which apparently never happened because I still think of them as a bunch of petty tyrants who lack the intelligence to handle a real job more difficult than food service (that belief was bolstered by the number of faculty members I saw working in Shoney's during summer break). But, I admit I am neither a parent nor a public school worker. If you have experience with either, please let me know if there is a good reason for our so-called educators to employ such twattery. Linking to a statistic that proves making piddle in the middle of class time leads to impotence and heroin abuse would be a big help.

* They hate that.

Wiiview

For my initial review of the Wii, I'm focusing on the console and the accompanying game, Wii Sports. For the record, this is only my third console game ever. While the Wii is designed to be fun while tricking you into being active, the same cannot be said for my first console, the beloved Atari 2600, and its free game, Combat.

With the simple joystick and single red button, it was possible to sit and play with one hand while the other was free to masturbate and/or eat fried snacks that left orange powder on your fingers. Decades later and with large portions of the world (especially corporate America) engaged in lifestyles that keep them in front of a computer with said snacks at hand, the Japanese decided that we are all fat and smelly gaijin and we need to work off some of that flab before we all drop dead of massive coronaries around age twelve. I believe that was the initial pitch to the Nintendo board of directors.

At first, the Wiimote feels too sensitive, but it doesn't take long to overcome, assuming you don't have DT's or some kind of palsy. (as a general note, the Wii is not designed for people with serious handicaps or missing limbs) Once past that, the interface is mostly intuitive and when not the instruction manuals are reasonably easy to use. It can connect wirelessly to the Internet, or via ethernet cable with the purchase of additional equipment. (additional note - the Wii is kind of like Barbie - generally cheap but nearly useless without a million accessories) The best part about connecting your Wii to the Internet is that you can tell all your friends that you connected your Wii to the Internet, assuming you hang out with people geeky enough to care. Otherwise, the weather and shopping channels are inferior to using a desktop browser and I have no interest in online gaming.

The Sports game, however, is a perfect intro. The five games are simple to play but difficult to completely master. Bowling and golf are so low-intensity that they don't trigger shart attacks if I play, and they allow multiple players with a single Wiimote. Tennis and baseball can accommodate multiple players with extra controllers, and the games are simplified (baseball focuses only on pitching and hitting) to keep the learning curve easy. Besides, there are other titles out there for people who want the full experience of those games. The fifth game, boxing, introduces the user to the use of the attachable nunchaku (included) and is intense enough to tire healthy people.

One missed opportunity - the Wii people allow very few adult titles, which is a shame because the motion-sensitive Wiimote would be great for びしょうじょ games. You could just tuck the Wiimote into your shorts and get busy - fun, and great exercise. Wiimote wipes sold separately.

Total score: 4.5 out of 5 bunnies.

*EDIT* - I created some tiny J-bunny images to enhance my ratings system. I know she's wearing kitty ears - SHUT UP!