Why We Need Socialized Medicine

I was thinking about the lovely Vega, what with all the birthday preparations and talk going on. And I remembered a blog she wrote almost exactly a year ago, about health insurance. I wish she was around to write and yell, to her friends, elected representatives and at town halls. I have been thinking a lot about the letters and phone calls I will be making to my own elected officials in the next few days, fighting to keep abortion legally covered by private health insurance (it is already not covered on a federal level, but, it is covered by Medi-Cal). And that it is ridiculous that we are fighting to keep access to family planning services for people that already have them, instead of trying to expand coverage, help the under or un-insured. How did the healthcare reform debate get to this point? Anyway, possibly I will include this in those letters. Because this should be what we are talking about, not fighting to keep what little care we have.

Anyway, here is her blog entry, titled Why we need socialized medicine, written on September 27, 2008.

Why we need socialized medicine

I'm back in the Phoenix metro area for a little while at least. It's kind of weird. I've finally started coming to terms with the fact that I kind of like it here and most of my best friends have left. Or are planning on leaving. Or are busy with jobs, significant others, and kids. It seems like in the nearly two years since I got sick again, everyone suddenly grew up. I'm okay with it, but at times it's lonely. I'm starting radiation soon for my most recent tumor and then...I don't know. The rest of my body seems to be alright. (Knock on wood.) The doctors say that my disease is "stable." Meaning it's not aggressively advancing and trying to kill me. That's good. It needs to stay that way so I can go out and get a life. Maybe find some nice guy to claim me on his insurance so I'm set for the next time. Canada's looking good right now or maybe Hawaii. Although, Hawaii freaks me out a little because you can't just get in your car and leave the state. In case you didn't pick up on it, my insurance runs out on Dec 31st. There are few options in America for someone in my sitch. My hope is that my disease will be stable enough for me to go out and get a full time job by early next year. In which case my parents and I will only be paying an exorbitant insurance rate for a few months. Or my cancer can get worse, I'll remain unemployed and leave the burden on my family. They'll work and work to help keep me alive, I die anyway, and they end up destitute in their retirement. But, as my father pointed out, he has a reasonably wealthy sister who could take them in. Or the insurance companies can refuse to cover me because of some fucked up technicality, my insurance can run out, I can be responsible for out of pocket medical costs, and file bankruptcy before I'm 30. Woo-hoo. I'm hoping that by getting these thoughts on paper, they'll get the fuck out of my head.


Mollies post script
This is the last blog she wrote. (Un)luckily, she never had to find out what would have happened when her insurance ran out. By December 31st, she was at the hospital for the last time, soon to be surrounded by those friends that had either moved away, or were planning to. She only spent 5 days burdening her family, in her words.

traveling

Today, I stood in the rain listening to eagles cry and ate blackberries right off the bush. Then, I walked back up to this lovely little house in the middle of so many trees and had a cup of tea and baked 2 kinds of cookies. Soon, I'll be eating fresh wild salmon and zuchinni out of a neighbor's garden. This is as close to perfection as I've been in quite some time.

287(g)

Really? REALLY?

Oh, Janet, this is going to make me yell a bit.

I mean, despite the obvious super liberal immigration reform ideals that I have, there is also Sheriff Joe.

This is why it should be obvious to EVERYONE that this is a bad idea.

A good friend of mine got pulled over twice in one day in Phoenix. The officers gave no valid traffic reason, he's just...you know...hispanic. He showed his driver's license, told them that he's a US citizen, and then went on with his day. A little bit angrier.

Our tax dollars hard at work.

don't ask don't tell

I'm buried in news of health care, but still wanting more information. And the newly passed, but not yet signed, California budget (which still leaves a gap of 3.6 billion, and Arnold has said he'll line item veto several things that the legislature were particularly passionate about). Buried in the headlines I read daily, one caught my eye: Senate to hold hearings on "Don't Ask, Don't Tell."

Favorite quote from this article: At this point, it does seem inevitable that Congress will, at some point, repeal DADT. The question is just how long it will take -- it's not exactly a priority so far, and there's no pressure coming from the White House to make it one.

Least favorite quote: And if nothing happens until next year, there's the issue of whether supporters of repeal might lose some votes because it'll be an election year. Public support heavily favors ending DADT, but that might not be enough to keep everyone in the fold.

I'm pretty sure that I don't need to state how I feel about don't ask don't tell, but it's pretty much the same as I feel about selective service. So, good that it seems inevitable.

And now, back to being frustrated about what information is readily available about the health care fight, and the CA budget implementation.

on abortion

It should be legal. And safe. And funded. And easy to get. The decision is hard enough, the physical effects are hard enough, you shouldn't have to jump through a billion hoops and wait weeks and weeks. You shouldn't have to see the ultrasound, know the gender, have the development of your child described to you in detail. That won't make people not have abortions, it will just make it significantly more traumatic.

I used to sort of agree with the partial-birth abortion ban. With some exceptions (life of the mother or the child were in danger, mostly). Then, I read this article: Between a Woman and her Doctor. There are always exceptions. Sometimes, we have no idea these cases exist, or that this law applies to these situations. I can't even imagine how hard, terrifying, frustrating, devastating it was for this woman in her battle to get decent healthcare.

Health insurance companies, pharmacists, doctors, they provide drugs so a man that physically couldn't get it up can go all night with one little pill. But they won't cover abortions, or Plan B, or birth control. And, one of the things the Republicans are foucsing on in the health care battle is making sure that those health insurace companies, pharmacists and doctors don't have to. And making sure that state funded ones can't.

In my governor's latest budget proposal, he wants to cut food stamps. And healthy kids, which is a program to give poor children under 5 cheap health insurance. And the welafre to work program. And state funding to HIV/AIDS programs. Not reduce the funding to these programs, but eliminate them. Among other things.

Anyway. Every child a wanted child.

Dear Republicans,
If I must have my unwanted baby, will you at least help me take care of it? Instead of abandoning me without health insurance, food, a home, any hope of a decent life for myself and my child.
-Women

relationship advice

When things are a little (or a lot) rocky in your relationship, don't call your significant other 21 times in a single day. Especially if they aren't answering your calls. Especially especially if it is actually impossible for them to accept your phone call from a payphone in a correctional facility on their cellphone, and you are aware of this fact. It only makes the receiver of phone calls annoyed and angry and their cell phone battery die, and (I'm assuming) makes you single minded, obsessed, and crazy with listening to a ring over and over again and unable to calm down or get your mind off the troubles you can do nothing about from your concrete cell across the country (and that you have really caused yourself by being a selfish asshole that refuses to accept any responsibility, and continues to blame all your problems on the recipient of 21 phone calls in one day despite the fact that they hadn't even met you yet when you fucked up enough to cause current incarceration. and that said recipient stuck by you, even when faced with a year sentence.).

My life is more hilarious than ever. And this dating disaster story, I think, trumps all of my others.

fail

If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all.

avant garde jazz

More commonly know as "new music." Yes, friends, this is really the name of a very interesting genre of music. Much of it is improvised, and it has it's roots in jazz. The outer edges of it is called "noise" (for reals, this is what the musicians call their music. and it really is just noise). One of my housemates is very into this scene, and we have a decent amount of shows of this new music at my house. Generally, I try to work the door for these events, as to not have to sit in the theater and listen/watch. One of the locals that is well known in this genre is also a good friend of mine. Some of you may know him as inappropriately older man. He is a lovely person, and very passionate about his music. However, as one of my lovely housemates put it last night, it makes me want to kill small children. I don't feel that strongly about the sound, but it's certainly not my cup of tea.

So, last night we had one of these new music events. My darling friend, IOM, played in a trio with a visiting musician from New York, and I sat at the door and read Ex Machina. Then there was a little break. And then the "headliner" went on. A cellist/vocalist named Theresa Wong, and a percussionist named Gino Robair. I snuck away from the door to go watch for a minute, several housemates had seen Theresa perform a few weeks back and raved about her. I sat down on the steps to the booth. And. It was amazing. In a way I can't describe at all. It was totally crazy, maybe the music equivalent of Guillermo Gomez Pena, in that same chaotic, somewhat violent, entirely involving and passionate way. I don't know that I would call it music, as much as performance art. The percussionist ripped his drum apart, which was part of the incredible sounds he was making, playing the ripped but still attached pieces with a bow. The cellist complemented, sometimes drowning out, her crazed cello playing with a vocal range of sounds that would make any of us experimental theater fans step back in awe. They worked together with the true partnership of great improvisers, the sound had peaks and valleys, moments of extreme violence and chaos, and gentle saddness and recovery, it told a story (though, I'm not sure of the plot). They effectively played with one another, never competing, just complementing. The amazing thing: this was their first gig together. Anyway. I was really surprised and totally blown away. I was so glad I snuck into the theater for a moment, and saw some off the wall crazy art happen.

i wish

that my posts were witty, funny, cheerful, and interesting. But they aren't. And, I think, this year they've been particularly dreadful. So. I'm starting over. With rules:
1) I will blog at least once a week.
2) It will not always be about me, or my life. There is a lot going on in the world. Let's talk about it.
3) I will not get lost in this vortex of negativity that it seems I've become lately (most obviously manifested here).
4) My life is, overall, pretty great. And interesting. I will figure out how to communicate that, and to better remember it myself.

lonely

So. I met a boy. The L word has been exchanged. Disgusting amounts of happiness have happened. Friends have been met. Mom has been met. Rooms consolidated in to one (my bed, my sheets, my comforter...his sponge bob blanket). And now. Now. I'm here on the couch watching a movie by myself and wearing his flannel robe. He's gone to Georgia for 6 months. 6 months of lonely. Empty bed. No meals cooked for me by the perfect. Our garden has to be tended (and continue to be build) alone. He's going to miss the tomatoes completely. Hopefully the California poppies will be blooming when her gets back.

Anyway. Today sucks.

TT TWSTR

So. Once upon a time, I was ridin' shotgun in a little black car drivin' through Mesa....god knows where we were headed, but my guess is Bookmans....we were probably listening to music a little too loud, and the heat was shimmering off the asphalt. We're sitting at a stoplight, and the girl in the driver's seat bursts into laughter and points at the car in front of us. I look ahead, and also burst into laughter. The car. It had a custom license plate. It read: 1papi4u. The vato was waaaaay too cool for school. And certainly too cool for Mesa, in his beater car, cruisin' down the street in the middle of summer with his windows rolled down.

After that, we would text each other any custom plates that were particularly good. Even after she left Tempe. Even after I moved farther away to San Francisco. About once a week, maybe every two weeks, I would get a text with only the characters of the license plate.

Today, I was driving to rehearsal for a show she would really love, and I was on the bay bridge and I saw it. A sports car with a midlife crisis guy. And the license plate read TT TWSTR. I burst out laughing. And then I started to cry.

Those texts will never again show up on my phone, and I won't ever send one again. Chances are, though, that it's a long time before seeing one doesn't make me cry.

my biggest connundrum has been answered

by this yahoo headline: A's to Oakland: We're Just Not That Into You.

Apparently I don't have to be an A's fan now that I live in Oakland. Whew.


In other news, life is crazy at the Flux. We're doing a bunch of events, one or 2 each weekend. It's neat, and stressful, and takes up a lot of time. I'll be heading to AZ mid-April. Win. I'm stage managing Caridad Svich's new play, Wreckage, for it's world premiere. She's going to be in residence for parts of the rehearsal process, so I get to work directly with her. And it's with a company that I've wanted to work with for a while. Win. I'm dating a very nice young man. For our first date (about 2 weeks after we started dating...can i call it dating if we hadn't been on a date?) he brought me a flower, but not a cut flower, but one to plant in my garden. He makes me tea, and made me soup from scratch when I was sick, and has endured me totally wigging out, yelling and crying, and still keeps coming back for more. I'm designing lights for a circus in June...not that kind of circus...dreamtime circus. So, life is crazy and complicated and messy and stressful, but good. Know that I have left out the bad (housemate disputes, major issues to deal with at my teaching job, the ever present money scarcity), but that I'm pretty darned happy about life at the moment. Sorry I've been so crazy busy, but soon my teaching gig will be over and I'll have more time for y'all.

fluxology

So, a few of the residents of Flux 53 have decided that we have our own religion. It's called Fluxology. And, it's all about how our lives are in a constant state of change. Let me tell you, there's nothing like starting a business, rehabbing a theater, living in old offices/lofts/hidey holes/on the couch, and figuring out how to do all of those things as a collective of 9 people to remind you of that. Each day, each hour is different. Different roommate squabbles (unfortunately, most of them are between the girl I share a room with and me), different house disasters (the circuit breaker popped on half of the building! the drains are backing up again and we can't use water for 2 days while we fix it ourselves! there's a fire!), work meetings every 3 steps (for serious, while heating water for tea, brushing your teeth, watching a movie...we live at work with our co-workers). It all changes from minute to minute...the only constant is how much freaking work we have to do. I feel like my moods have taken on this life, as well. It's a problem. But, understandable. Flux 53 is a rollercoaster, can the rest of my life stop being one, please?



Anyway. We had our first event. It was AMAZING. After all the squabbling, stress, money worries, and time, everyone came together and we put on a show. It was a huge undertaking. We used all 3 of our performance spaces....side show acts on our second stage, band on the second stage, dj on the second stage, show in the theater (including blacklight poi, trapeze artist, burlesque, clown, juggling and so much more), and fire performers in the back yard, plus a housemates only art exhibit in our art gallery. Then we all boogied down to the sounds of Strida. Oh, and finished 2 kegs, a case of wine, and some emergency out of beer 24 packs (i think we finished 2?). We had about 300 people, the theater was so packed we had people sitting in the aisle, on part of the stage, in the booth with me, and still have people standing outside the door. Everyone left happy. And the most amazing thing: the look of happiness and accomplishment on every housemate's face. Although, when I got up after about 3 hours of sleep for work the next morning, all I felt was cranky and a tad hungover. Check out the website for more pictures, including a lovely one of yours truely after being dressed up by 2 housemates.

My lovely friends, Izzzy and Rosie, hosted the cabaret.


I think this is Fire Arts Collective. Anyway, this is my backyard.


And this is my living room, also a second stage.



And the art gallery.

Neat.

Flux 53

The first month of 2009 is coming to a close. I really hope the rest of this year is much less eventful. A friend reminded me today that there is a lot of good coming with the bad in my life...but it's hard for me to remember that right now. All I feel is drained, lost, lonely, and stressed.

However.

I live here. Which is totally amazing and crazy and like a rollercoaster ride I didn't know I wanted to take. In fact, I'm still not sure, but I'm all strapped in and the car has departed.

So. Come to our first big event. It's Friday. If you can't come to that, come over some other time and poke around. Better yet, come poke around and then rent rehearsal or class space! Or have a show or an event or an art exhibit here!

my lack of words is startling

I tried to write this post while on an plane from Phoenix to New York today. It started well enough, but quickly became...I don't know....meaningless. Black letters can't possibly describe all these feelings and stories and thoughts and endless amounts of love. So, I'll just say what I've been telling everyone on the phone today and yesterday, as I call to say the hardest thing to people who, like me, loved that girl like no other. She was stubborn and beautiful and totally crazy and loving and a bitch and blunt and obstinate and passionate and amazing and the most loyal friend anyone could ever hope for. So, stop crying damnit, and celebrate her life and yours. Raise your Jack and Coke (and it better not be Pepsi) high, in honor of Julia Lynn Vega, 10/9/81-1/5/09. Bitches.