Health, Care?

Not that I know all there is to know about the machinations of working through the nooks and/or crannies of the Health Care Industry, but there are surely some changes that must be made on both sides of the receptionist's desk.

I have had moments in life where I surely needed my health coverage to handle the paperwork and bills that would have otherwise submerged me. Leg carpentry, wisdom teeth, child birth, and general quality of life stuff, thankfully, have all been handled by my health insurance. For the past 19months I have been without my own insurance (THANK YOU, horrible economy, bad borrowers, bad lenders, and California!) while working under my wife's insurance policy (Thank you Touchstone and later, the $1100/month COBRA Payment, and thankfully we had the money to pay for it). Not everyone has been in our position.

In 1999 I was in Ireland where I had a fantastic golf trip completely sideswiped by the evils of having to go to bed early in the morning after a few drinks. One night I was bowled-over by a couple of dorks wrestling in a nightclub (not a lot of women around), which ended when my knee went sideways. The next day it had swollen to the size of a grapefruit, and a trip to the local emergency care was in order. 2 hours later I had X-rays, crutches, and a couple of minor painkillers. It cost me $60, American.

There are so many facets of health care that I cannot go into right now because I have to fold laundry, but I'll tell you this:

* If you have a job that supplies health care, even on just a subsidized basis, think of toughing it out before you bail. It's tough to get coverage if you've been without it for a while.

* If you pay taxes, you should be entitled to getting at least enough coverage to keep you from throwing up too often, keeping your teeth in your head, and surely keeping your kids in good health. A healthy human is a happy human, and that's a productive human. And we gotta produce something sooner or later.

As I move forward with getting private health insurance via LifeWise, there have been some speedbumps, but I've been through much worse. The amount of $ one must pay varies greatly, but with this new plan, hopefully, when you need that $ returned to cover a claim, you won't have to fill out more than 5 forms.

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Lotts Angeles II

Absolute craziness.

We quit jobs, rented our condo out, and moved. 2 states and 1400 miles away. The only thing that’s the same is the time zone. It’s safe to say that cultures are clashing outside our door in Culver City.

Moving to Los Angeles is about energy, opportunity, and adventure. I had this feeling hit me when we really thought about this move, a feeling while sitting at my desk at my job that felt like a comfortable jacket. A jacket I could wear daily. Even when it went out of style. And that feeling of comfort drove our decisions. That Seattle is a place of finite opportunity for a writer/comic/actor to make a living as any of those is an understatement. I know only a couple of comics in Seattle who only do stand-up, but they are well-known, well-respected, and could close any room in the country. But it will be years before I’m there, and I don’t have years to make things come true. I have what feels like a few months.

And that’s what I need. Drive. Deadline. Accleration. I had coffee with a friend yesterday who has been here 5 years. He’s connected. He’s knowledgeable. He’s funny. He’s sincere, and sincerely a great guy. Two hours with him put me probably 18 months ahead of schedule in LA. Irons are just going into the fire, but I cannot wait to start pounding for the craft, whatever it is.

But why do it? Why shake up my comfort level, and that of my wife, especially? I have never felt more selfish, more unhinged, nor less in-control than through all of this. But what I think I’ve lost control of is “Life.” I know that Life, to progress on a larger level, a more evolved level, is about taking care of others. But this, this seems like it's squirming in my grasp.

CHECK OUT MY BIG THROBBING EGO.

Like I have any control over that? Ten years ago I was, on this day, getting released from Harborview, a week after getting admitted, a few hours after getting slammed into by a drug addict on a financed Harley-Davidson. My left leg in bandages and stitches, wrapped around bruises and shattered bones, encasing a titanium rod, 9 screws, and a small plate. That’s what I get for crossing the street at 10 in the morning on a clear, gorgeous September day.

What I feel I’ve lost control of I haven’t ever had in my grasp. Life is that fishbowl we don’t know we’re in. Life is just part of the gig. But what I DO have control over, I’m figuring out and really trying to apply, are the following things:

• My reactions to situations in Life
• How I treat people, all people, in any situation
• What I do with my free time
• What I do with my Gifts
• What I say to people, and how I say it
• How I treat myself in the wake of disappointment, or achievements
• When and where and how loudly I break wind (I don’t “pass gas,” I blow heartily)
• How I give thanks and praise and worship the God that put me here with these Gifts

That’s all mine. I can only control that. I can’t control the guy with the attitude at the Culver City Target. Hell, if I were 38 and working there, I wouldn’t want to see ANYBODY, let alone some white boy returning an unused camping mattress.

I can’t control the people whistling at my wife as we walk down the street. I deplore their decorum, though I appreciate their taste in women. Still, they should be sat down and given a stern talking to with a ball-peen hammer and a socket wrench.

And those things all constitute My Piece of Life. A dear friend and Mentor told me that in LA, “It’s not that they think you’re not a fish in the pond; they don’t even want you to think you’re a fish!” Funny thing is…

I didn’t move to LA to “make it” in LA.
I moved to LA to “make it” everywhere else. And I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing with my life.

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Customer Holds Serve

I had to call a place today and speak with, shudder, their Customer Service department.
It doesn't say anything about "hospitality," or "quality," just Service. No promise of anything positive.

By the way, dumbass as SRC... you don't have a "Medical Review Board." I know, you called it the "Medicine Review Board." But you don't have that, either.

Knowing that you were way the hell off in left field, I called back, and had to type some stuff at a job that pays for your days off, what what?, I had to use the "voice-activated" menu instead of pressing numbers.

I said "One" for Claims.
"Three" for information on forms.
"Three!" for information on ...
"THREE" for information on the muddyflapping FORMS YOU FART STAIN!
And when The System AGAIN said "Sorry, I did not understand you," I said

"Worthless shit-pile of turds."
"One moment while I connect you to a Customer Service Representative."

So there you go.
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Communication Degree, part 1

TV was on, so I came in and MUTED it for a second.
It had been on most of the day, as I went room to room with laundry or what-not, and the NFL provided a nice soundtrack. I was busy all day. All day.
All F'ing day.

Wife, in the kitchen, had returned from a quick trip East for wine re-con, returned with 3 botts I can't wait to go belly-first into. DE-LISH.

So I MUTE the teev, and say "aaah, quiet, that's nice."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I mean the quiet, it's nice, it's a nice break to have a little quiet."

"So, what, I'm making all the noise?"

"No, it's just nice to have the quiet. Which now we don't have, ironically."

"I wasn't making all the noise, I was watching a TV show."

"I know (head spinning at the ridiculousness of this)... "

Long story short, I love PERSPECTIVE. It is the litmus, the acid-test of a moment. Feel good and recognize it? Because you've felt bad before, that's why, so enjoy it.

Sun warming your back? Because you've been cooled by the shadows, is why.

Brain and body feel calmer with the peace and quiet? Because the constant noise of the TV and the commercials was vibrating in you at an unpleasant frequency, that's why.

And I couldn't even have that. I wasn't allowed to. I had to explain myself.
I had to explain why I liked the quiet. I had to talk, outloud, about my feelings about the QUIET.
I had to zombie-stomp what I needed in order to explain why I needed it, justifying my need for it while it resounded in the ears of the person who couldn't underF'ingstand why I would need it, and why, for the love of Manilow... I WOULD DARE EXPRESS MY FEELINGS ABOUT IT.

Next time I need to say something, I'm gonna do the right thing, and keep my mouth shut.


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