I’m all for universal healthcare, but not in the United States. As a resident of those States, and an advocate for the migration to some sort of similar system, you would assume the opposite. Understandable, but the American ideal would immediately render it completely useless.
To start of, I’ve seen Sicko. I’ve read the latest in op-ed pieces and vaguely know some of the statistics behind it. I know there’s a gigantic propaganda campaign against it waged by the medical industry. It’s much like the tobacco industry and the oil industry; the government inherently means less freedom; the service will suffer. Some of that may even be true, but that’s not why it won’t hold water.
We need universal healthcare. This isn’t a want issue. Those that want better service will always have private physicians and specialists to go to. This is about the dying middle class and the growing legions of poor or destitute. It’s about those that have to choose between a house or a surgery. There should be no question in anyone’s mind that this is a necessity and something that needed to be addressed decades ago.
It’s obvious that support is there. The corporations will happily stop cutting their profits in order to insure their employees. No one should have to choose between their health and financial ruin. It’s barbaric and, as far as top economies go, obsolete. The fact that we are behind in every category of health, except for costs, is undeniable. Some of the numbers are closer than others, but as a whole we are taking up the rear on the list of first world nations as far as overall health. Even if you factor out the over indulgence in edible materials, we’re the rusted iron pipe to the rest of our peers’ golden faucet.
But it won’t work. Years of creating a new Gilded Age have prevented even the slightest chance of an effective and efficient healthcare system from being produced. The emphasis on profits, the focus on consumerism, the priority of war, and the fear of socialism have rendered any attempt at such a thing as a universal system impossible.
Look at how the government runs things currently. We contract out as much military power and secondary support as we do voluntary troops. Contracts for planes, weaponry, and facilities are given out in no-bid, hand-shake agreements. We propose budgets that include ridiculous construction projects and reduce funds to something as invaluable as education. Medicare is one of the most inefficient and financially absurd programs to date. And, even when enrolled in the program, pharmaceutical companies have been able to charge astronomical prices for necessary drugs.
That ties into how corporations currently operate. They are built on a platform of greed. They are made up of a pyramidal hierarchy that focuses the wealth on disproportionately small percentage at the top of that pyramid. They are making the decisions and profiting from them while those below them do the work and eek out a living.
With these two entities, the government and the market, working together, there is no possible way for universal healthcare to be an efficient project. The corporations will fight to keep their profit margins high while the government offers contracts to the most connected bidder, not the lowest. The products will be ridiculously sub-par and borderline unhealthy, but when claims are made to that effect, the corporations will claim they have no choice because of the constraints of a cheaper product. But, that’s assuming we get to even that point.
Any attempt to put this through channels will be squashed like a centipede under a flip-flop. The medical industry already spends billions in keeping their connections. Their fear-mongering has everyone ignorant enough to believe it thinking that they will be taxed out of their homes. The pro-business members—I’m sorry, all—of government will perpetuate this impression that we will lose financial freedom into the succubus of socialism. The threat of raising taxes will dry up large chunks of the support even with a large campaign in the direction of healthcare for everyone.
It boils down to the new American way. We are fed messages of being the greatest country on earth even with substantial evidence to the contrary. But we believe it, because we want to know we are better. Things have changed immensely since we worked together to defeat a world terror—please don’t confuse that with the current manufactured and abstract “war on terror.” The first Gilded Age ended in a catastrophic depression. This one will do the same, but without such a fall, we will never see universal healthcare in any form.
The media and government are supported and lead by corporate influence. Corporations will never give up their right to generate profit. The rich will never give up their wealth without a well-funded fight. Consumers will never give up their right to choose. People who have advanced enough not to rely on charity will never significantly give to those who still need similar charity. The poor will never have a voice. And until, after some financial, military, or governmental catastrophe, that changes, we will be treading water down stream from the countries that used to look up to us as they swim quickly past.
The people in those countries realize they are a part of a greater whole. They know that everyone, even the richest, have to rely on someone at sometime in their lives. They know that without strong basic necessities everyone is hurting. They have found ways to exist with each other, not just to be around them. Until the “me first” attitude of even the poorest of Americans fades, we have no hope of something like universal healthcare coming to fruition in a reasonable way.
But maybe you know a way to change the nature of what it is to be American while convincing everyone else. I’m only going on what I’ve seen to date. Any ideas?
Thursday, July 26, 2007
temperate
A year ago I woke up at six fifteen. I was told at five the night before when, and to which office, I was to report to work. Once there, I was handed a clipboard with a few sheets of paperwork. On top of the papers was a map. It was derived from a Mapquest best-guess set of directions and was rarely completely correct. By seven-thirty the day would begin.
As the day, already in the mid-seventies, got warmer, the sweat would start to pour out of me. I’d drink two or three thirty-two ounce reused Gatorade bottles filled with water. I’d be dehydrated.
The day’s work consisted of moving large objects up and down stairs between a house or apartment and a truck. The lifting and walking weren’t bad because I’d already adjusted, but the heat was overwhelming. Pieces would slip in my sweaty grip. The strain of the overworked muscles was only compounded by the sun on the black-on-black uniforms every trip out to the truck. The interior of the truck was stifling and musty. The sweat soaked through each layer of clothes and my deodorant failed miserably to keep up. A stench filled the truck and followed everywhere.
The houses and apartments we moved from had their air conditioning units, if they were equipped with one, on a low setting to reduce cost. The places we moved to were either without, because it was brought along with the move, or not on to reduce the cost of having the doors open for prolonged periods of time. The nice customers kept the air on, but forced us to close the door upon entering or leaving—thus adding about a third to our overall move time. The very nice ones kept the conditioner running and accepted the cost. The very nice ones were rare.
Waters were offered and rarely a lunch would be paid for, but the vast majority of customers wanted the move done as quickly as possible so they could get to their unpacking or pay less. While understandable, this led to more exertion. On the hottest days the morale was entirely too low for polite conversation. The tips, erratic in size, were not at all correlated to the amount moved or the heat of the day.
Today I woke up at six-thirty. I get up at the same time—aside from a snooze or two—every day. I get to work and start a series of mind-numbing maintenance projects before getting into relevant pieces. Some of the work is tedious or repetitive or unnecessary. I work until four forty-five almost every day. I’m rushed only when a project is due.
I started today with an email. A site is being reviewed by a new employee before going live. The email was worded with subtlety, but wreaked of condescension. It implied that only small changes should be suggested because most decisions were made before they were employed here. It also defended the necessity of a redundant and unnecessary page. It was a pathetic attempt to show power in the office politic.
The head of the department routinely yells out of her office door for people thirty to forty feet away instead of dialing their extension. She speaks at a volume at or near the bark of a rottweiler. The words are raspy and strained with the aural tinge of cigarette smoke. The power struggle between personalities in the department is absurd and laces even the most mundane project. Communication is low and project turnaround is high. The office is a relatively consistent seventy degrees.
It’s not that bad.
As the day, already in the mid-seventies, got warmer, the sweat would start to pour out of me. I’d drink two or three thirty-two ounce reused Gatorade bottles filled with water. I’d be dehydrated.
The day’s work consisted of moving large objects up and down stairs between a house or apartment and a truck. The lifting and walking weren’t bad because I’d already adjusted, but the heat was overwhelming. Pieces would slip in my sweaty grip. The strain of the overworked muscles was only compounded by the sun on the black-on-black uniforms every trip out to the truck. The interior of the truck was stifling and musty. The sweat soaked through each layer of clothes and my deodorant failed miserably to keep up. A stench filled the truck and followed everywhere.
The houses and apartments we moved from had their air conditioning units, if they were equipped with one, on a low setting to reduce cost. The places we moved to were either without, because it was brought along with the move, or not on to reduce the cost of having the doors open for prolonged periods of time. The nice customers kept the air on, but forced us to close the door upon entering or leaving—thus adding about a third to our overall move time. The very nice ones kept the conditioner running and accepted the cost. The very nice ones were rare.
Waters were offered and rarely a lunch would be paid for, but the vast majority of customers wanted the move done as quickly as possible so they could get to their unpacking or pay less. While understandable, this led to more exertion. On the hottest days the morale was entirely too low for polite conversation. The tips, erratic in size, were not at all correlated to the amount moved or the heat of the day.
Today I woke up at six-thirty. I get up at the same time—aside from a snooze or two—every day. I get to work and start a series of mind-numbing maintenance projects before getting into relevant pieces. Some of the work is tedious or repetitive or unnecessary. I work until four forty-five almost every day. I’m rushed only when a project is due.
I started today with an email. A site is being reviewed by a new employee before going live. The email was worded with subtlety, but wreaked of condescension. It implied that only small changes should be suggested because most decisions were made before they were employed here. It also defended the necessity of a redundant and unnecessary page. It was a pathetic attempt to show power in the office politic.
The head of the department routinely yells out of her office door for people thirty to forty feet away instead of dialing their extension. She speaks at a volume at or near the bark of a rottweiler. The words are raspy and strained with the aural tinge of cigarette smoke. The power struggle between personalities in the department is absurd and laces even the most mundane project. Communication is low and project turnaround is high. The office is a relatively consistent seventy degrees.
It’s not that bad.
Monday, July 16, 2007
symphonic
I don’t have a good memory. This is fairly well known. I’m horrible with names. I’ve grown so accustomed to forgetting names that I sometimes don’t even try. Recently, I’ve taken steps to try and curb the trend. I’ve started trying harder to remember names of even the most insignificant of introductions in an attempt to grow into the habit of remembering the important ones.
I’ve started quizzing myself and repeating names. This last weekend was the first trial and I think it worked relatively well. But on the way back and forth I realized that I had been remembering names and events easily for quite some time. While listening to assorted songs on my iPod I noticed that certain songs immediately brought back pieces of my past and the key players therein.
There were specific songs, like Tim McGraw- Sleep Tonight: Carol; G. Love and the Special Sauce- Milk & Cereal: Gina; Tim McGraw- Bbq Stain: Alexis; Jibbs- Chain Hang Low: Ray and Val; Rick Springfield- Jessie’s Girl: Tess; Big Tymers- Still Fly: the Milwaukee boys; Incubus- Drive: Dolphin; or Lifehouse- Everything: Steve [Stephanie].
Sometimes it’s the band, like Eve 6: Natalie; Tim McGraw: Jenny; Backstreet Boys: the girls; Default: Aaron; Guster: Heather; Snow Patrol: Jess; Jason Mraz: Emily; The Roots: D; or Something Corporate: Sarah.
Sometimes it’s just a mood that I remember, like somber when I hear Modest Mouse; tired when I hear James Blunt; relaxed when I hear Nelly; or aggressively upset when I hear Stabbing Westward.
Putting my iPod on full shuffle is like flipping through a gigantic photo library or strolling down my own personal timeline. Whether the names of new people I meet stick or not, I’ll always have a list of people from my past and present set to music.
I’ve started quizzing myself and repeating names. This last weekend was the first trial and I think it worked relatively well. But on the way back and forth I realized that I had been remembering names and events easily for quite some time. While listening to assorted songs on my iPod I noticed that certain songs immediately brought back pieces of my past and the key players therein.
There were specific songs, like Tim McGraw- Sleep Tonight: Carol; G. Love and the Special Sauce- Milk & Cereal: Gina; Tim McGraw- Bbq Stain: Alexis; Jibbs- Chain Hang Low: Ray and Val; Rick Springfield- Jessie’s Girl: Tess; Big Tymers- Still Fly: the Milwaukee boys; Incubus- Drive: Dolphin; or Lifehouse- Everything: Steve [Stephanie].
Sometimes it’s the band, like Eve 6: Natalie; Tim McGraw: Jenny; Backstreet Boys: the girls; Default: Aaron; Guster: Heather; Snow Patrol: Jess; Jason Mraz: Emily; The Roots: D; or Something Corporate: Sarah.
Sometimes it’s just a mood that I remember, like somber when I hear Modest Mouse; tired when I hear James Blunt; relaxed when I hear Nelly; or aggressively upset when I hear Stabbing Westward.
Putting my iPod on full shuffle is like flipping through a gigantic photo library or strolling down my own personal timeline. Whether the names of new people I meet stick or not, I’ll always have a list of people from my past and present set to music.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
shrub
She’s nice. She’s too nice. Since before i can remember she’s had a genuine place in her heart for even the most tertiary of strangers. She easily becomes emotionally entangled in many decisions. She is empathetic, sympathetic, and thoughtful. She is filled with emotions and they shift quickly. She can relate to anyone feeling pain or remorse or just slightly down. Her mood tends to reflect the moods of those around her. When tension builds, so does her stress. She puts effort toward making those around her happy because that’s when she feels at her best. Her talents do not relate well to a classroom, but will be invaluable as she adjusts and matures.
Because she brings so much of herself to relationships, she is at ease around people. People sincerely enjoy having her around. She befriends people quickly and strongly. She’s genuinely altruistic and exceedingly generous when she feels it’s warranted. This, unfortunately, can be easily taken advantage of by many different types of people. She puts others’ concerns above her own more often than she should.
Her self worth is heavily reliant on the opinions of others. She many times reaches beyond her means in order to try and meet the goals set by others. She tries to appease them. In failure, she takes on the weight of others’ disappointment along with her own. Because she relies on the judgments of others to determine her personal value, she can be easily brought down by slander. She is highly stressed in situations without support. With scoffs of “who cares,” she tries to hide or weaken her emotional bond. She strives and adapts to try and fit in rather than setting an example for others. She consistently goes out of her way to prove herself to people who take little heed.
I could never be the person she is. I could never be as good as she is. I learned early on to distrust and internalize emotional attachments. I am selfish and prioritize almost everything based on its relation to me. I can only hope to be “the funny one.” I am there to provide advice to a select few, but more as an observer than an emotional confidant. What I’ve spent the last years trying to develop came naturally to her. Many of my relationships are based on utility instead of strong connection. I have tried to put more of myself into those relations close to me, but she’s been doing that easily since before she could talk.
I respect her and admire her. I can only hope that she learns to better read people. If she continues on course she could find herself brought down by those around her. I hope she can be more selective. She will choose the people that are worthy of her company and develop strong connections. Those relationships will be healthier than many of mine. She will always be able to relate to people quicker, better, and more strongly than I will.
She’s better than me, but she doesn’t know it. Her value to everyone around her is not pecuniary. She is genuine, and that is becoming more and more rare with each episode of My Sweet Sixteen. I love her because she has one of the biggest hearts I know of. That, and she’s been my sister for twenty-two years.
Because she brings so much of herself to relationships, she is at ease around people. People sincerely enjoy having her around. She befriends people quickly and strongly. She’s genuinely altruistic and exceedingly generous when she feels it’s warranted. This, unfortunately, can be easily taken advantage of by many different types of people. She puts others’ concerns above her own more often than she should.
Her self worth is heavily reliant on the opinions of others. She many times reaches beyond her means in order to try and meet the goals set by others. She tries to appease them. In failure, she takes on the weight of others’ disappointment along with her own. Because she relies on the judgments of others to determine her personal value, she can be easily brought down by slander. She is highly stressed in situations without support. With scoffs of “who cares,” she tries to hide or weaken her emotional bond. She strives and adapts to try and fit in rather than setting an example for others. She consistently goes out of her way to prove herself to people who take little heed.
I could never be the person she is. I could never be as good as she is. I learned early on to distrust and internalize emotional attachments. I am selfish and prioritize almost everything based on its relation to me. I can only hope to be “the funny one.” I am there to provide advice to a select few, but more as an observer than an emotional confidant. What I’ve spent the last years trying to develop came naturally to her. Many of my relationships are based on utility instead of strong connection. I have tried to put more of myself into those relations close to me, but she’s been doing that easily since before she could talk.
I respect her and admire her. I can only hope that she learns to better read people. If she continues on course she could find herself brought down by those around her. I hope she can be more selective. She will choose the people that are worthy of her company and develop strong connections. Those relationships will be healthier than many of mine. She will always be able to relate to people quicker, better, and more strongly than I will.
She’s better than me, but she doesn’t know it. Her value to everyone around her is not pecuniary. She is genuine, and that is becoming more and more rare with each episode of My Sweet Sixteen. I love her because she has one of the biggest hearts I know of. That, and she’s been my sister for twenty-two years.
Sunday, July 8, 2007
solitary
as written, Thursday July fifth:
You won’t read this for at least a couple days. I won’t even type it out until probably four days from now. But I miss you. I miss the feeling that I get when you’re around. I miss your conversation. I miss your smile. I miss your laugh. I miss your eyes. I miss your kisses.
I’m out in the middle of nowhere and I can only think of how great it would be if you were around. How great it would be to walk around the trees with you. How great it’d be down by the river. I want to share this with you. I see things in relation to how you’d enjoy it—if at all. I think you’d like it here. And that’s why I wish you could be chilling along with me.
It’s not that I’m distracted, but more that you’re on my mind. And because of that, I can’t seem to enjoy myself as much as I know I could. My enjoyment has never really been determined by someone, but I have no complaints.
There are quite a few people. There are a ton of things going on. There is nature. There is the river. There is the alcohol. There is television. There is a chipmunk. There are assorted bars. There are games to play. There is fire. But you’re not here. And I find that it is harder and harder to feel content when there’s no you.
You won’t read this for at least a couple days. I won’t even type it out until probably four days from now. But I miss you. I miss the feeling that I get when you’re around. I miss your conversation. I miss your smile. I miss your laugh. I miss your eyes. I miss your kisses.
I’m out in the middle of nowhere and I can only think of how great it would be if you were around. How great it would be to walk around the trees with you. How great it’d be down by the river. I want to share this with you. I see things in relation to how you’d enjoy it—if at all. I think you’d like it here. And that’s why I wish you could be chilling along with me.
It’s not that I’m distracted, but more that you’re on my mind. And because of that, I can’t seem to enjoy myself as much as I know I could. My enjoyment has never really been determined by someone, but I have no complaints.
There are quite a few people. There are a ton of things going on. There is nature. There is the river. There is the alcohol. There is television. There is a chipmunk. There are assorted bars. There are games to play. There is fire. But you’re not here. And I find that it is harder and harder to feel content when there’s no you.
Monday, July 2, 2007
looks
Perspective is at least seventy percent of reality. I personally think it’s more like ninety. We have learned to rely on our senses for reality, but they, by nature, are deceptive. But beyond just the senses there are secondary perceptions. These are based on predetermined judgments. There are many, many different examples of this, but there’s one that I’m more familiar with than the others.
My natural facial expression is not inviting. It’s not necessarily cantankerous, but by no means overtly friendly. I’ve come to terms with it. It’s notable that others were less turned off by this look about six months ago. I smile here and there, but I’m so disappointed in the majority of sheeple that I’ve lost interest in portraying myself as friendly. Fewer boisterous people interrupt my day. I’m also less likely to invite unwelcome conversation.
The reason for mentioning this is not that my natural look has changed. It still falls into the same relaxed state. What’s changed is the perception toward it. I now spend an excessive amount of time downtown. It’s a different culture within those twelve square blocks. The dress is business casual. Hair gel, briefcases, and heels run amok.
When I looked at someone with the general look of contempt in the black-on-black garb of a full-time mover there was little to know reaction. In fact, it was almost expected. I never had a second glance. If anything, the look brought a certain sense of camaraderie. When I stepped out of my ten-year-old Integra no one took the time to have an offended reaction.
But while walking between the office and the rail, or even on the rail, no one has any perspective on my financial status. There’s a perceived notion that anyone in business casual is of a certain status. I don’t normally have issue with this, because these aren’t people i would normally interact with, but I’m almost offended that people would be put off so quickly. I realize I’m not the nicest of characters, but to glare back at me as a stranger seems a little over the top.
I look the same, walk the same, and have the same look. The only thing that’s changed is the clothes I’m wearing at the time people see me and where they see me. I have to admit that I may portray more disdain while walking downtown because of my own perceptions. But it’s hard for me to believe I have a more unfriendly look while glancing at those downtown than I did when I was moving their furniture. I would actually assume I generally look more friendly.
But how I look is of little import. Instead it’s how I look through the eyes of those seeing me. And I have very little control over their eyes.
My natural facial expression is not inviting. It’s not necessarily cantankerous, but by no means overtly friendly. I’ve come to terms with it. It’s notable that others were less turned off by this look about six months ago. I smile here and there, but I’m so disappointed in the majority of sheeple that I’ve lost interest in portraying myself as friendly. Fewer boisterous people interrupt my day. I’m also less likely to invite unwelcome conversation.
The reason for mentioning this is not that my natural look has changed. It still falls into the same relaxed state. What’s changed is the perception toward it. I now spend an excessive amount of time downtown. It’s a different culture within those twelve square blocks. The dress is business casual. Hair gel, briefcases, and heels run amok.
When I looked at someone with the general look of contempt in the black-on-black garb of a full-time mover there was little to know reaction. In fact, it was almost expected. I never had a second glance. If anything, the look brought a certain sense of camaraderie. When I stepped out of my ten-year-old Integra no one took the time to have an offended reaction.
But while walking between the office and the rail, or even on the rail, no one has any perspective on my financial status. There’s a perceived notion that anyone in business casual is of a certain status. I don’t normally have issue with this, because these aren’t people i would normally interact with, but I’m almost offended that people would be put off so quickly. I realize I’m not the nicest of characters, but to glare back at me as a stranger seems a little over the top.
I look the same, walk the same, and have the same look. The only thing that’s changed is the clothes I’m wearing at the time people see me and where they see me. I have to admit that I may portray more disdain while walking downtown because of my own perceptions. But it’s hard for me to believe I have a more unfriendly look while glancing at those downtown than I did when I was moving their furniture. I would actually assume I generally look more friendly.
But how I look is of little import. Instead it’s how I look through the eyes of those seeing me. And I have very little control over their eyes.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)