Health Care Bonanza: Mental & Otherwise!

Beloved Readership,

you are no stranger to my recent burning infatuatory glee at the throbbing sensations provided by that carnival ride in Vancouver (ie, the Winter Olympics!) and you are aware that my attentions are there of late 24/7. But let me share with you the fact that yesterday there was something equally as invigorating: the bipartisan health care summit!! My cube-mate had it on stealthily so I listed to some of it as well and I learned many things, primarily among them that Republicans don't like the 2400 page Congressional proposal or President Obama's 11 page proposal (which can only mean they don't like to read!)! Also, according to that curiously orange-hued man from the House, John Boenher, we have the best health-care system in the world! He actually said that. Well, hold the press(es) sir because at this juncture I would like to jump in and contest with that fact Mr Bohener and I will do so by sharing a story with you:

Now, let's be clear, this did not happen to me but to a friend of mine. This friend was having pains in the backside area rearward, (ie, anus) and there was bleeding when he (or she) defecated. This is not a good thing and there was lots of straining involved. Not knowing what to do my friend went to the emergency room and waited in urgent care for hours (!) while other people who came after he (or she) did got to go in first!! Reached for comment, my friend says: I understand that a kid with a broken arm gets priority but do you not see the man out there pacing up and down and squirming in the plastic seats!!? He is in such discomfort that he can't sit and he's inadvertantly barking at small children "it hurts!, ooh, it hurts!". At long last, they let my friend in to an examination room and he (or she) was attended too by an unkind health-care worker who appeared to sneer at his concern (granted the friend was sobbing profusely at this point) as she said "It's just a hemorrohoid, jeez relax". She then sent him home with a pat on the back and a tube of cream that he had to apply to his parts (ie, anus) in a very undignified manner!

So, that's the tale. It is quite unfortunate! I would urge you to share this story with your Congresspeople and let them know that there are Americans with serious medical issues that demand attention, not disregard and laughter and tubes of ointment. Healthcare needs more than just slathering some medicated lotion on it and calling it a day. No friends, healthcare needs gentle massaging and nudging and probing. Republicans should know that! (note: I am an independent!).

Dream Fantasy: Twizzles & Bits!

Dearies,

were you to let your gaze fall into the confines of that humid, dark box I call my head you would surely find an endless loop of bounding, leaping, triple-axled, sweaty-bodied mania. That's right: I am still in love with the Winter Olympics! (note: this despite the semi-constant hovering of that elfin creature they call Bob Costas who pops up at the most inopportune times saying things like "let's cut away from ice dancing and go back to Whistler for the men's ski jump flip-o-rama". hey guess what Costas? some of us don't want you to cut away from mother-effing ice dancing! some of us are just now falling in love with mother-effing ice dancing!) Which brings me to my point: I love mother-effing ice dancing!!!!

Yes, you probably thought that with the appearance in my dreams a few nights ago of the shimmering tree-sprite that is Johnny Weir that it was all sewed up, and that I had found my calling (or at least the luring trills of a potential BFF) and that the Winter Olympics had soared to the highest roost possible but my god, after watching a few minutes of ice dancing, my jaw fell into my lap, my skin broke into goose-pimples and I heard myself making involuntary little chirping sounds as a microwaved burrito lay untouched on the paper plate below me. Which is to say: I was transfixed, transformed, transgendered and transported! (note: not literally on the third one). It was a glorious, body-quaking event, one that I felt resonate to the core of my being with such a strength and potency that I have not felt since Christmas time when I saw a double-feature of "Did You Hear About the Morgans" and then a few minutes later "Did You Hear About the Morgans".

Here's what happens: 1)Boy and Girl enter ice rink in fantabulous costumes, some with feathers and boas and straps. 2) Boy and Girl ice dance!!!! and then, hours later 3) Taffy McKittrick lays awake, still quaking with delight.

This morning I am not quick to anger. This morning I am happy to be steeping in the heady brew of incompetence that my day-job supervisor fosters like so many fertile eggs. This morning I am a-soar as I listen to my cube-mates discuss the banalities of their lives. For you see gentle reader, this morning is not like other mornings. This morning I have ice dancing.

Me and Johnny Weir: Olympic-sized BFF!

Friends,

the glorious shimmer of the white-hot winter Olympics is blazing in my heart!! Everywhere there are bodies hurtling through half-pipes, slaloming down bunny slopes, twirling in triple-axle fantasy-lands in amazing looking stretch pants! My body trembles and my heart explodes! Last night I dreamt that I was taking part in the festivities. I was rink-side, cheering my best mate Johnny Weir on. He was wearing a large doily with a pink ribbon tied across the waist, making him look much like a hyper-masculine french maid. He skated vigorously and was sweating profusely like a lean water buffalo and then he won the gold medal! Afterwards, he got on the podium and said "I could not have gotten this far without my main man, my shining beacon, my vibrant sunburst: Taffy McKittrick!" (!). Afterwards we both hugged and went out boozing and whoring on the streets of Vancouver!! We drank a lot of drinks and met a lot of nice people but none of them were good enough for us so we left them alone. At the end of the night Johnny patted me firmly on the shoulder and said, in his tender dulcet tones: "Whatta you say we skate awhile Taffy"? and so he and I put on matching outfits and went out onto the rink. And we spun. And spun. And spun. Until I was gooey with bliss, like so much spun-honey!! Oh, this life!!

Olympic-Mania!!

how long has it been since your hefty eyes have lain upon my bloggery? My witchy words have tucked themselves out of view, between my proverbial legs, where the sun refuses to shine. There are multiple reasons and intersecting data-points to point the blame at certainly. I won't get into all of it but let's just say I needed a little time away from the constant contemplation of my own perceived greatness and also needed time away from the computer because I was googling inappropriate things at work (note: since when is it a crime to google the name of a hot receptionist just so you can learn more about her? bafflement!)...

When last I left you you'll recall that I had dreamt of the glorious she-yeti and then by sheer coincidences befriended her on facebook. things got weird from there. things were said and misinterpreted on both sides but I am happy to report that I have moved on from she-yeti and that she is a piece of dust in the wind to me now and the reason for this, as you can probably tell from my gurgling and excited blog title post: I have olympic-mania!!

As I sit here in my cubicle taking crap from people, listening to my supervisor order a soft-drink dispenser and reading information she's sent about her imminent stroke, I wish I were elsewhere: namely in front of the television, so I could lose my self in an endless ribbon of skating coverage, frosted with so much snow, like dust from fairies world-wide. Can I admit something to you: If I were not a musician and songwriter I would most certainly be a figure skater, a steely man who has charm and elegance and who's masculinity is never in question! Oh to be twirling on the ice, tossing maidens hither and thither into the sky as I bound and leap through the air with all the grace and force of a gazelle eager for a meal! The spinning! The twirling! The sensible but form-fitting pant-suits! Oh it's all too much. I am suddenly transported. My arm is quaking as I type this and I'm afraid that I can't wait to get home to collapse onto the futon. I'll man up and admit this: I sobbed last night watching the figure-skating pairs. If it wasn't for such a beautiful reason you'd probably think there was something wrong with me mentally!!