Haven’t we learned over the years that insurance companies know best? Why, just today I received a phone call from my doctor saying Blue Cross wasn’t allowing me to take a drug she prescribed. I’m glad that a faceless person in a call center somewhere denied me my medicine. Obviously they have access to all the most advanced medical technology in the world and can judge, far better than my doctor, what’s best for me.
There are no mountains.
That’s the first thing I notice around here at The Mountain Workshops, the absence of mountains.
Hills, sure. Ridges, you bet. One could even argue there are crags, escarpments or even bluffs. But mountain may be pushing it a bit. Not that I’m one to talk. Coming from the decidedly flat suburbs of Detroit, our biggest “mountains” are converted garbage dumps that developers covered with dirt and ski lifts then waited for snow.
But the term Mountain Workshops adds a sense of majesty, purple and above fruited plains. That sort of thing.
January is the wicked step-mother of months. Contradictory and contemptuous, January is sun, rain and snow, all in a half-hour’s time. It’s slushy toboggan runs and black ice on I-75. January is your passive aggressive co-worker who smiles in your face then shoves daggers of ice in your back. It’s not surprising, since the month is named after a two-faced Roman god.
Scooping poop in the backyard I noticed, quite clearly, a bar code sticking out from one of Bernie’s turds. Being on doggie duty I couldn’t help but be amazed at how far-reaching the packaging phenomenon has spread. When crap comes out of your dog’s butt already assigned a specific code, we’ve either taken a great leap forward in biotechnology, or Bernie’s just gotten into something he shouldn’t have. Read More
When we finished talking the other day I couldn’t help but feel I left you hanging. You’ve been my friend for many, many years and even though I couldn’t completely explain what it all means, I felt as though I just gave you some pat, standard answers. I apologize for that.
But it’s a tough question, “what’s the meaning of life?” Read More
They monitor my urine here. The total cost of my stay to the insurance company will probably be about $250,000, but to the people that have to dump my collected urine, that cost is far too low. The nurses down here at Karmanos need to know how much my output is keeping pace with my input, so no toilet for me; it’s a series of random jugs, some of them placed bedside in the middle of the night, some elsewhere. I’m the Easter Bunny of pee.
On September 11th, after both twin towers were hit, I called my buddy Peter to find out what was happening. Peter lived in lower Manhattan at the time and my little paper in Midland was like every other news organization trying to make sense of the madness. Peter’s partner Masood got on the line and gave us some good, solid quotes about what he was witnessing.
They burst into my room on stars, trailing unseen comets, the three-person team from Eternity Network News. Moments earlier I was simply conversing with the great Unknown, explaining why I knew death wasn’t near. Our conversation had been delightful and I think I impressed the Unknown. But then these yahoos showed up.