Wednesday, March 23, 2005

If Symptoms Persist, Call A Senator

Dear Senator Doctor Frist:

As a tax-paying citizen at the third notch of the Bible Belt, I have a problem that can only be solved by a Senate Majority Leader with an M.D. I have very expensive, high-deductible health insurance, purchased in the consumer-driven marketplace of the ownership society, and I feel fortunate to have the minimal coverage it provides. I hesitate to make any claims under this insurance policy for fear that it will be nonrenewed. With your help, I hope to remain a profitable non-claim-filing customer of the health insurance industry.

My left elbow has been a source of physical pain for several weeks now. If I send you a picture of my elbow, will you render a diagnosis of the malady? I don’t expect you to call any special sessions of Congress, prescribe a treatment regimen, or provide any self-surgical instructions; just tell me if I should continue to take nourishment and hydrate myself. I’m guessing I fall somewhere between comatose and a vegetative state, but then again I do watch a lot of TV. I still respond to external stimulus, and I’ve been told my eyes brighten when a family member enters the room, but my elbow really, really hurts.

I understand you are on holiday recess now, and I have enough frozen pizza to get me through Easter. Please get back to me before I invest in another trip to the grocery store, though. I do not, under any circumstances, wish to sustain myself via any artificial means.

In spite of the fact that, for many of us, there is no longer a doctor in the house, I take great comfort in knowing that there is one in the Senate.



Dear Friend:

Thank you for your e-mail, and I look forward to reviewing and responding to it as soon as I can. Unfortunately, due to the high volume of mail I receive daily and the press of Senate business, your response may be regrettably delayed. In the meanwhile, you may find my website at http://frist.senate.gov to be helpful, as I endeavor to post my positions on most major policy issues there regularly along with other information of interest.

Again, thank you for contacting me and know that I always appreciate hearing from you!

Sincerely,
William H. Frist, M.D.
Majority Leader
United States Senate


Doctor Bill probably appreciates hearing from some more than others, given the press of Senate business.

U.S. Aldermen?

Dear Representative Hastert,

I never would have considered drafting this correspondence to you previously, but recent events have shattered my paradigmatic thinking for the better and I now feel confident that I can appeal to your Congressional sense of fair play.

My neighbors and I have been trying for years to get a stop sign on the corner of our residential city block, but our efforts have fallen on deaf ears. We contacted our Public Works Department, but their representative said the traffic count does not warrant the installation of any traffic control device. We appealed to our Alderman, but he insists on deferring to the decision of the Public Works Department. I don't think these people comprehend the magnitude of the endangerment to human life that is occurring on a daily basis in my neighborhood. Not only are the residents of my city block at risk, but these hurried drivers are exposing themselves to mutilation or even death by ignoring the speed limit.

The U.S. Congress is clearly the "go-to guy" with the moral wherewithal to save these people from themselves. I believe an "Easter Sunday Compromise," resulting in a yield sign at the corner, would help preserve human life while redirecting focus to the need for a full-fledged stop sign. When news of your leap to action becomes public, I'm certain the citizenry of the 14th District of the State of Illinois, as well as the American public at large, will respond warmly to your efforts to "do the right thing."

If this works out well for all of us, I have an idea for a "Memorial Day Compromise." You see, these pesky squirrels have been running amok with my bird feeders..........


Rep. Hastert's response:

Thank You for Writing

Your opinions are important to me. Due to Congressional franking rules I cannot send a personal response to people outside the 14th District of Illinois. Your opinion is still important to me though and will be registered.


That's OK, Denny. I just didn't want to be caught walking around with an unregistered opinion.

Guess Which One's Bigger?

Men have two testicles for a reason. One produces testosterone and the other produces stupid. Look at the Harry Stoneciphers of the world. As the ousted head goomba at Boeing, he is the most recent proof of my hypothesis that there is no such thing as an ugly rich guy. At an age when he should be building birdhouses with his Shopsmith, he was stricken with a case of slippery zipper syndrome. He’ll spend some time in the penalty box at family court and come out approximately half as handsome as he is today. When will these guys learn that they have an ATM in their pants and every Anna Nicole has the PIN?

Sunday, March 20, 2005

Civics 101, Texas Style

When I was a kid, I had to pass the "Constitution Test" to graduate from high school. I also learned esoteric reading, writing, and arithmetic skills, which have since become technologically obsolete. Likewise, my Constitution knowledge has become politically outmoded.

Our country has three branches of governance: Executive, Legislative and Judicial. Theoretically, the three branches are independent and serve as checks and balances against one another. Heh-heh.

The Chief Executive of the Executive Branch, you see, is the guy who wins a quadrennial game of rock-paper-scissors. He wins the right to do anything he wants to do. He can avenge his daddy’s enemies, push Jesus on Muslims, reign disgust upon queers, meddle in the personal trauma of a Florida family, and take lots of vacations. Not only can he do anything he wants to do, he can take his friends with him.

Who are his friends? They are the majority membership of the Legislative Branch. So they can also do whatever they want. They can change rules to permit felon friends of the Executive Branch to serve in the Legislative Branch. They can muster heroic Saturday sessions to meddle in the personal trauma of a Florida family. Sure, there are members of the Legislative Branch who are not friends of the Executive Branch, but they are relegated to the role of the fat kid who doesn’t get picked in gym class.

The Executive Branch and Legislative friends choose the hall monitors of the Judicial Branch, so the hall monitors are also friends of the Executive Branch. The hall monitors live a Vatican-like existence and wear scary black robes. Their job is to deflect any imposition upon their time and pose for a class picture every year. The class picture also serves as a head count to make sure none of the hall monitors have died and must be replaced. The hall monitors preside over the Judicial Branch field offices, which are staffed via uncontested democratic election. The field workers are forced to dwell amongst the populace and wear robes with embroidered targets. They are the clay pigeons for people who are driven to hysteria by the actions of the Executive Branch and Legislative friends. Not only do the field workers duck bullets, but they also have to endure the minimization of their efforts by the Executive Branch and Legislative friends. If the field workers litigate and adjudicate an issue and the Executive Branch and Legislative friends don’t like the result, the Executive Branch and Legislative friends can, for example, call a heroic Saturday session and meddle in the personal trauma of a Florida family.

In summary, the Executive Branch and Legislative Branch enjoy one another’s companionship, and the Judicial Branch provides class pictures and target practice. In concert, they assure the citizenry of its right to pursue happiness in a god-loving, heterosexual and pro-life manner.

Thursday, March 17, 2005

Be A Man, Biff

Despite our politically correct, genderless twenty-first century society, I think it’s not only acceptable, but also MANDATORY, for a man to be a man. I will be simple, direct and heavy-handed, and I reserve the right to be wrong. I will stop being wrong when I decide I’m wrong, but if you insist on arguing with me, I reserve the right to become wronger.

The feminization of man has laid waste to the physical attributes of manhood. It’s OK to have fingernails that are dirty and toenails that are too long. It’s not OK to have a bathroom counter brimming with skin and hair care products. If a man’s skin is dry, cracked and bleeding, that’s manly. Ralph Lauren doesn’t have the balls to concoct a cologne that smells better than sweat. Tassels belong on a stripper’s nipples, not on a man’s shoes. The most effective immunization is dirt ingested via every orifice of the body.

Too much flight …… not enough fight.

If I’m wrong, fuck you for noticing.

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

I'll Puke On You For A Buck

"At least you have your health"

How many times has that insipid observation been repeated, implying a mutual exclusivity between wealth and health? Sure, money isn’t everything, unless you DON’T HAVE ANY! The implication is that you have a choice between being rich and sick or poor and healthy. Apples and oranges. The scientific method dictates that you hold one variable constant while changing the other variable to note the reaction. Therefore, the logical question is not whether you would rather be rich and sick or poor and healthy, but would you rather be rich and sick or poor and sick? Would you rather be rich and healthy or poor and healthy? See how rich always becomes the favored choice?

Friday, March 11, 2005

Visions of Sugar Plums

As a retired CPA with obsessive-compulsive disorder, this is what runs through my head all day:

47 times 5 equals 235, therefore 47 times 50 equals 2,350. 47 times 3 equals 141. 2,350 minus 141 equals 2,209. Therefore 47 times 47 equals 2,209.

Some wives leave because hubby won’t answer the question "what are you thinking?" Mine left because I did.

Now, please excuse me while I check the stove.

Thursday, March 10, 2005

America the Confused

Witness the automobiles bearing the red, white and blue ribbon sticker with the text that reads "Bring Our Troops Home Safely." On the same vehicle is a sticker that reads "Re-elect Bush-Cheney." Imagine, if you will, an automobile negotiating the streets of 1945 Germany with a sticker that reads "Stop Persecuting Jews," and another sticker that reads "Support Adolph Hitler." Flip a coin, people. Straddling a fence like that can only lead to sore balls. If a leader sends hundreds of thousands of young men and women, and middle-aged men and women, into an armed conflict without cause, and brings most of them home alive and in possession of their body parts, is he a hero? When did we start revering the arsonist who fights his own fires?

This Ain't Your Grandma's Grammar

The Chief Executive Officers of the three hospitals in my Illinois hamlet have formed a Collaborative. I know it’s so because it was published in the Gannett Gazette serving my community. A collaborative what, you may ask? A collaborative effort? A collaborative group? A collaborative collaboration? No, just a Collaborative. Apparently the capitalization of an adjective transforms it into a noun.

The Collaborative is publishing a pamphlet entitled "Patients Play a Vital Role in Patient Safety." So the Northern Illinois Patient Safety Collaborative is effectively an adjective in search of a noun which is going to litter us with handbills warning us that health care may be hazardous to our health. Smells like a preemptive malpractice defense to me.

Why don’t the Collaborative’s collaborators cut to the chase and provide us with a flier informing us of the anesthesiologist that makes them cringe when he shows up in their operating rooms? Or the orthopedic surgeon they wouldn’t let operate on the family pet? As long as we’re playing Let’s Make A Deal, at least drop us a hint that Door Number 3 is the booby prize.

The Best Health Care System On Earth

On Saturday 11/13/04, Vice President Cheney awoke with a sniffle and shortness of breath. He was escorted by motorcade to a Washington, D.C. hospital, where he reportedly did not spend 45 minutes in admissions filling out paperwork and funding his deductible and copay. He underwent a day of diagnosis and treatment by a team of physicians led by his cardiologist. Upon his release, Cheney was escorted by motorcade back to the VP residence. His cardiologist informed the media that the VP was suffering from a respiratory infection. Cheney surmised he contracted the infection while on a hunting trip in Wyoming.

On Saturday 11/13/04, Bill Smith awoke with a sniffle, shortness of breath, no health insurance and no motorcade. He drove himself to work. His wife said he had a cold. Bill said he probably caught it at work.

No Hanging Chads For This God

This letter to the editor appeared in my local newspaper:

"Praise God. President George W. Bush was reelected! President Bush kept all his 2000 promises to me. This year we had another act of God keeping the president in office. In 2000, I knew before the election Gov. Bush was God’s choice as president."

Are you as frightened as I am?

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

Socialism Isn't A Four Letter Word

The social security system, currently under fire and dismantlement by the Republichristians, is indeed a socialistic endeavor. Socialism is a cuss word to the current powers and their obedient followers, but it is really nothing more than a manifestation of our sense of community. In the agrarian society of lore, if a neighbor’s barn burned the neighbors rose to the occasion with a barn raising. If the farmer suffered a disabling accident, the neighbors joined together to get his crops in. Socialism. Community. And so it goes with social security. Some of us are exceedingly successful, perhaps because we persevered and won through hard work and intellect. Or perhaps we just chose our parents and grandparents well. In any event, the social security system is there to provide a minimal spread of the spoils to the fella who was not blessed with strong intellect or good parentage. He worked 35 years in a shop at a couple bucks more than minimum wage, raised kids and sent them to college. Social security is the light at the end of the tunnel that allowed him to make the extra effort, knowing that he can spend his twilight years in the only home he ever owned, and that took thirty years to pay for, kicking back in his rocker watching Jeopardy, knowing there is food in the Norge. He has done a good job.

On Gravedigging

Do I feel any sense of reverence when burying a deceased person’s remains? No, I am disposing of toxic waste. I am burying a carcass that has been pumped full of chemicals and sealed within two containers. The burial site is a construction site intended to protect the groundwater from contamination by the slow seepage of chemicals and bodily fluids. Is it not the occultist’s belief that the body itself is just a container for the spirit? That the body dies and the spirit moves on? Then why all the fuss over the disposition of the body, which was just a vehicle that allowed the spirit to go to the grocery store, whorehouse and casino?

Experience

The best, and most memorable, way to learn not to fuck up is to…fuck up.

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

Dennis, We Hardly Knew Ya

What happened to Dennis Miller? He belongs in the Brainwash Hall of Fame along with the Manson family and Jim Jones’ parishioners. How did a once pithy observer and critic of politicians, both republican and democratic, become such a staunch punch-drinker? I can only hope that his behavior is an Andy Kaufmanesque gag, and that he will unveil the satire and irony during a keynote speech at a future republican convention. Perhaps his weight gain is a display of method acting prowess honed from years of studying Brando and DeNiro, and not simply the fact that he’s carrying Pat Buchanan’s love child. Perhaps his single- and simple-minded stump thumping is his composite caricature of the right-wing, and not the result of cerebral mushiness brought on by financial comfort. If not, why don’t his friends mount an intervention, and force him to watch his old standups in Clockwork Orange fashion? Are they willing to ignore the warning signs, as his eyes glaze over and his depth shallows? Is this what marriage, family, and a CNN contract do to idealism?

Investing As Lotto

I have always explained to my advisees that one does not invest in the stock market. You invest in the stock of publicly traded companies, and the stock market is simply the conduit via which you make the investment. The stock market is the vehicle that allows you to choose the equity stakes in which you invest.

I have changed my mind.

I now believe that you do invest in the stock market. It has become a living, breathing monster in it’s own right. The value of a profitable widget manufacturer with good cash flow and a strong customer base does not plummet because Alan Greenspan farts. Microsoft does not shut down production of standing orders when some loon straps dynamite to himself in Tel Aviv. However, their value does drop precipitously upon those occurrences because they are now valued by a highly emotional market which is made by pseudosophisticates responding to every aberrant belch in international political relations as well as the potential formation of an occluded front over the Atlantic Ocean.

As an appraiser of closely-held companies, I readily assigned a discount for lack of marketability, i.e. lack of ease of disposal, to the value of stock in closely-held corporations. I now wonder if there isn’t also a corresponding premium for lack of marketability in that same stock. The premium arises from the fact that your fellow shareholders can’t run to the retail market counter and unload their shares because it’s cloudy today. They can’t dump their shares on the open market because they are afraid that gay couples will marry and bring Armageddon. They are in the investment for the long haul, and that forces a focus on the meaningful attributes of value, such as building product and selling it at a profit.

Are You Christianized?

A middle-aged white guy told me that Republicans are more Christian than Democrats. He unknowingly raised two talking points with this comment, not just the one that he thought he was raising:
  1. Are Republicans more Christian than Democrats? What are the criteria? Frequency and duration of church attendance? Purity of thought? Level of tithe? Like any game, the criteria of measurement must be established in order to form a conclusion. After all, the winner of a basketball game can change by altering one simple criterion: low score wins! We have to settle on the criteria, no matter how arbitrarily, in order to proclaim a winner.
  2. Is Christianity a pro or a con? A listener could agree that Republicans are more Christian than Democrats, yet construe that as a negative trait of Republicans. To one constituent, Christianity may represent all that is good in the human animal, while another constituent may view Christianity as the root of all evil. One constituent may believe Christianity is the light that guides us to rapture, while another constituent believes Christianity embodies the narrowness of constraints that limit our full potential. To one, Christianity means inner peace; to another, Christianity means warlike in character.

Republican Ritalin

I think Prince George has ADD. He darts like a hummingbird from one crisis to the next. First, we had the WTC attack crisis, which gave rise to the hunt for Osama Bin Laden. George lost interest in that search, but decided as long as we had all of our stuff in Afghanistan we should bomb Baghdad and address the lack-of-democracy crisis in Iraq. After that fire was stoked and self-sustaining, George attacked the health care tort reform crisis. When it came to his attention that the nation’s population was unable to identify with starving doctors, the reform crisis turned to lawsuits against asbestos manufacturers. Upon learning that most Americans stopped suing the asbestos industry for serving fiberglass insulation as a side dish years ago, he donned his white hood and tackled the anti-queer amendment to the Constitution. While his crack staff was trying to manufacture the correlation between homosexual sex and heterosexual divorce, George lost interest and made a beeline for the root of communism: Social Security. He is now criss-crossing the country in his private jet shouting "I know something’s wrong with it; will somebody tell me what it is?"

Not to worry. As soon as someone rolls another sparkle ball across the carpet, George will be off and running in a different direction. Have you ever watched a cat paw at the litter box looking for just the right place to shit? Maybe, just maybe, before his eight years are exhausted, George will find the crisis with his name on it, shit on it, cover it up, and spend his twilight years chasing sparkle balls around the Presidential Library at Crawford Community College.

Dear Doctor

The Illinois medical community has mounted an aggressive and concerted campaign to market tort reform to its constituency. The campaign is anecdotal in nature, and the complainants’ pleas carry two common themes:

1) If you do not give us what we want, we will not treat you.
2) Every patient who walks through our doors is buying a scratch ticket for a pot of gold.

The first is an unveiled threat that flies in the face of the oath that each and every one of you swore to uphold. The second is a grievously offensive assumption about the patients who fund your practices.

You zealously report the dollar amounts of your malpractice insurance premiums in the media, but you don’t volunteer the context of those premiums. Publish your practice’s income statement! Your patient chokes on the gross dollar amount of your insurance expense, but let him put it into perspective by revealing your salary expense, conference expense, and travel and entertainment expense. If our legislature is contemplating a taxpayer-funded pool to subsidize physicians’ malpractice premiums, then your benefactors are entitled to full disclosure.

Your American audience includes 43 million people who cannot afford health insurance and, no, they are not all lazy and stupid. These people do not populate your waiting rooms. They do not live in your neighborhood; they live in mine. Medical malpractice insurance premiums comprise only 0.56% of health care costs in this country, so tort reform will not change the predicament of the uninsured. Nor will it change the incidence of medical malpractice. A bad doctor will still be a bad doctor, but one cog in the check and balance wheel will be removed. A physician’s skills cannot improve via legislation, but his insurability can. Without the arbitrary and contrived safety net of tort reform, if the insurance industry actuarially determines that you are a risk that cannot be adequately measured and underwritten, then you are certainly a risk that cannot be measured and underwritten by a patient.

For those of us fortunate enough to afford the coverage, the term "health insurance" is a misnomer. We are not insuring our good health; we are insuring ourselves against you. We are protecting ourselves from the certain financial extirpation our families will suffer should we darken your doorway uninsured. The insurance pool allows us to take up a collection to pay your fees should a member of our group suffer a misfortune requiring medical services. We, as individuals, cannot support your lifestyle, but collectively we can make the payments. Our insurance policies indemnify us for the financial detriment caused by a covered peril. You are the peril.

The jurors who levy malpractice case judgments are also not lazy and stupid. The legal system serves as a reminder to you that we are your peers, in spite of your efforts to be peerless. Rather than heed the message sent to you by our courts, you choose to arm a powerful and wealthy lobby to gag the messenger.

In accordance with your design, your patients fear and revere you. Yet you shamelessly prey upon your patients’ fear of ill health and death as you persevere for preferential treatment by our legal system. You practice self-serving, costly and time-consuming defensive medicine, cherishing your own well being at the patient’s expense. Rewards carry risks, and when we bestow financial rewards upon you, we do not expect you to make a career of protecting what we already gave you while adding to the stash risk-free. We are also at risk when we deal with the medical community, so don’t ask us to sign a blanket hold-harmless contract in the form of a pre-settlement of future malpractice claims.

By providing the fruits so quickly, and while the laborer is still green, we have created a protectionist class of professional that has too much "stuff" to lose before ever having proven that it has the "right stuff." If architects were as defensive as physicians, all of our buildings would be boxes. If engineers only made the safe play, we would ferry across rivers rather than cross bridges.We have placed you on a pedestal and showed you that we respect you and expect much of you. Do not peer down on us from the rarified air, spit on us and tell us how complicated your job is. Simply climb down and find a vocation that better suits your temperament. According to the Association of American Medical Colleges, nearly 16,000 fresh-faced physicians and surgeons are minted every year, and they are all looking for work as you were at one time. An Illinois practice was not the dream date for most of you. You came here because the job was here. Supply and demand is a beautifully pure economic mechanism, but the medical community has enjoyed an aberrant supply-sided microeconomy for many decades. Assisted by managed care and the judicial system, the pendulum is swinging back to neutral territory.

Is my measured trust in the medical community devastated? Not yet. In fact, I recently entrusted my vasectomy to a Rockford surgeon. Apparently I am not averse to risk. Thankfully, I was not ushered into a cutting room brimming with scalpel-wielding surgeons eager to educate a captive audience on their financial woes. The true professionals are still out there, and their offices are not wallpapered with greed-induced anti-patient propaganda. Yes, there are still doctors who greet their patients with "what can I do for you?" We just have to wade through the whiners to find them.