Friday, July 25, 2008
I think it's done...
Letter Head
Should we call me a cat’s toy
poor tired mouse? Wound,
rewound, rusty key wrench
thumb flat on my
back back back. Click
grind. How we see
me… that’s not quite
it – a double-breasted bauble
a mailbox slit rammed with
letters, ink seeps
from my nose and collects
spreading over plains
to pool between our legs. We
won’t extend one finger,
probe an envelope licking line
on a brief paper kick – not for old
time’s sake or even a bubble of gas,
a laugh. We, fog of loose’d pages
a sigh, leaves that never hit
the ground. Wet boats sink
paper melts from our mouth.
We are the page, slicing
each pad of the fingers I own.
I the whole hand open
wide (ever willing)
and grope.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
Die Kaiser Permanente, Die!
I miss United Health, I really do. I had this great ob/gyn, she was Finnish and quick and thorough. Exactly what counts in a good gynecologist. Well, at least the latter two. And I could call her office and schedule appointments with her receptionist. Who sat in the next room.
But right now I am stuck with this sub-standard, conveyor belt health provider that is supposedly the bastion of innovative health care. My ass. Kaiser's approach is to centralize their care around cash registers and give you minimal physical access to you actual doctor. To make an appointment you call a cube-farm and they tell you can't get an appointment for another two months and no, you can't see another doctor. It's an inconvenience for me - but what really gets on my tits are all the poor and obviously very sick old people I see stumbling in and out of their facilities whenever I manage a 20 min appointment with my doctors. How do they manage? I'm young and have the resources (and patience) to work around the system - I also have access to the internet, which helps because they're obviously trying to move their client services away from phone-based help. And their ad campaigns? Downright maddening. They say cheery things like "get out and walk 20 minutes a day, it's good for you! Thrive!" This translates, in my mind to - "take care of yourself, lard-ass, because we sure as shit aren't going to help you if you get sick."
Two phone calls and visit to the website and I'm still without an appointment. I finally asked them to have my doctor call me for a referral - I hate to bug her, but the customer "care" people were highly unhelpful. I even had an argument with one about what does and does not count as part of a woman's menstrual cycle.
Oh yes, I can feel the thriving already.
I guess it goes without saying that I have no immediate plans to seek medical consult about my most definitely broken toe. I'm ashamed to say I Googled "broken toe" last night to check out the usual symptoms. Ungodly purple color? Check. Pain and stiffness? Check. Since my nail is relatively unaffected, the toes isn't bend at any weird angles and nothing down there is numb (if only!), I figure there's nothing they can do for me anyway. To help it along I "buddy taped" it to the nearest toe and will avoid yoga poses such as "the toe stand."
Guess it's time for lunch. Going to a happy place...
Aren't baby elephants cute? I think so.
But right now I am stuck with this sub-standard, conveyor belt health provider that is supposedly the bastion of innovative health care. My ass. Kaiser's approach is to centralize their care around cash registers and give you minimal physical access to you actual doctor. To make an appointment you call a cube-farm and they tell you can't get an appointment for another two months and no, you can't see another doctor. It's an inconvenience for me - but what really gets on my tits are all the poor and obviously very sick old people I see stumbling in and out of their facilities whenever I manage a 20 min appointment with my doctors. How do they manage? I'm young and have the resources (and patience) to work around the system - I also have access to the internet, which helps because they're obviously trying to move their client services away from phone-based help. And their ad campaigns? Downright maddening. They say cheery things like "get out and walk 20 minutes a day, it's good for you! Thrive!" This translates, in my mind to - "take care of yourself, lard-ass, because we sure as shit aren't going to help you if you get sick."
Two phone calls and visit to the website and I'm still without an appointment. I finally asked them to have my doctor call me for a referral - I hate to bug her, but the customer "care" people were highly unhelpful. I even had an argument with one about what does and does not count as part of a woman's menstrual cycle.
Oh yes, I can feel the thriving already.
I guess it goes without saying that I have no immediate plans to seek medical consult about my most definitely broken toe. I'm ashamed to say I Googled "broken toe" last night to check out the usual symptoms. Ungodly purple color? Check. Pain and stiffness? Check. Since my nail is relatively unaffected, the toes isn't bend at any weird angles and nothing down there is numb (if only!), I figure there's nothing they can do for me anyway. To help it along I "buddy taped" it to the nearest toe and will avoid yoga poses such as "the toe stand."
Guess it's time for lunch. Going to a happy place...
Aren't baby elephants cute? I think so.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Fuckin' meow... fuckin' meow*
I'm confident that I broke my toe this morning - I stubbed it full force on a rocking chair. God, I could have at least injured myself doing something cool (cat juggling?) or noble (delousing orphans?). Guess I'll have to sit out a couple of poses in yoga for the next month. Rats.
Sean and I went to the Palo Alto Farmer's Market this morning, our first visit. It wasn't huge, but had some gorgeous produce and was just packed with children - almost everyone there had kids or appeared to be pregnant. There were a lot of dogs there, too.
Speaking of shopping, kind of, I've joined Wasabe.com, an online budgeting site that downloads your banking transactions and helps you figure out exactly where your money is going. I figure that if we're going to spend a whole month is Europe in 2010 it's going to take some organization... I'm going to assume that the exchange rate will still suck and try to put away more that we'll probably need. (I credit Get Rich Slowly with leading me to Wasabe.)
OK, I'm off to wash my in-laws' windows.
*George Carlin reference - what cats say in private, behind the couch, after hurting themselves.
Sean and I went to the Palo Alto Farmer's Market this morning, our first visit. It wasn't huge, but had some gorgeous produce and was just packed with children - almost everyone there had kids or appeared to be pregnant. There were a lot of dogs there, too.
Speaking of shopping, kind of, I've joined Wasabe.com, an online budgeting site that downloads your banking transactions and helps you figure out exactly where your money is going. I figure that if we're going to spend a whole month is Europe in 2010 it's going to take some organization... I'm going to assume that the exchange rate will still suck and try to put away more that we'll probably need. (I credit Get Rich Slowly with leading me to Wasabe.)
OK, I'm off to wash my in-laws' windows.
*George Carlin reference - what cats say in private, behind the couch, after hurting themselves.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Closer still
Rest assured, it's great to come home to a mailbox jammed with mail. Even though most of it is crap, there were two magazines, a Netflix movie I can't wait to see and a notice from Alaska Advantage stating that our respective student loan interest rates will be dropping by 3%.
Fuck, yeah.
But, it gets BETTER. My snail mail cache also included a very familiar SASE I'd included in one of my poetry submissions. Well, it's true that when you get such a letter, they've rejected you. And they did. BUT, there was a handwritten note at the bottom saying that one of my poems almost made it and to try again soon.
In the poetry world, this is very, very good. I've yet to actually publish, but this is my second "not now" note. High five.
Fuck, yeah.
But, it gets BETTER. My snail mail cache also included a very familiar SASE I'd included in one of my poetry submissions. Well, it's true that when you get such a letter, they've rejected you. And they did. BUT, there was a handwritten note at the bottom saying that one of my poems almost made it and to try again soon.
In the poetry world, this is very, very good. I've yet to actually publish, but this is my second "not now" note. High five.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Grrrrrrrrr
Yeah, I'm having one of those days - where everything seems like a personal affront. Coffee spilled on my shirt? It's a conspiracy. Missed a green light? The Department of Transportation obviously timed the traffic lights to thwart me and only me. Not the MILF in a huge suburban assault vehicle who made the light, despite not having a job to go to. Aarrrgggh.
I can't explain this mood, either. I got plenty of rest and exercise this weekend, ate great food (including fish tacos at the best taquería we've found yet) and we're crashing at my in-law's place, which means luxury and comfort.
Ah well, guess I should finish my coffee and suck it up. Life, that is.
I can't explain this mood, either. I got plenty of rest and exercise this weekend, ate great food (including fish tacos at the best taquería we've found yet) and we're crashing at my in-law's place, which means luxury and comfort.
Ah well, guess I should finish my coffee and suck it up. Life, that is.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Latest Revision... Modified first draft
I hesitate to call this a second draft. It's coming along.
Letter head
Should we call me a cat’s toy or
tired mouse? Wound
rewound, rusty key wrench
thumb flat on my
back back back. Click
grind. How we see
me… that’s not quite
it – a double-breasted bauble
a mailbox slit rammed with
letters, ink seeps
from my nose and collects
rushing across the continent
to stand unread. We
won’t extend one finger,
probe an envelope licking line
on a brief paper kick – not for old
time’s sake or even a bubble of gas,
a laugh. We, fog of loose’d pages
a sigh, leaves that never hit
the ground. We boats sink
paper melts from our mouth.
We are the page, slicing
each pad of fingers I own.
I the whole hand, cup
at the sea, open.
Letter head
Should we call me a cat’s toy or
tired mouse? Wound
rewound, rusty key wrench
thumb flat on my
back back back. Click
grind. How we see
me… that’s not quite
it – a double-breasted bauble
a mailbox slit rammed with
letters, ink seeps
from my nose and collects
rushing across the continent
to stand unread. We
won’t extend one finger,
probe an envelope licking line
on a brief paper kick – not for old
time’s sake or even a bubble of gas,
a laugh. We, fog of loose’d pages
a sigh, leaves that never hit
the ground. We boats sink
paper melts from our mouth.
We are the page, slicing
each pad of fingers I own.
I the whole hand, cup
at the sea, open.
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