I'm angry. It's not often that a youth culture has the kind of power that the Baby Boomers wielded. For years during the 80s, Baby Boomers used TV and movie platforms to push the positive contributions they made to our society; Ending war, lowering the voting age, pushing one schmo out of office. But as dawn rose on the 21st Century, that power-to-the-people attitude of the Baby Boomers seemed to fade into the distance.
With apologies to my parents, here is a list of the biggest baggage ever left a modern generation:
The Telecommunications Act of 1996
Thanks, Bill, for signing this one into law. It overhauled the infrastructure of America's airwaves, opening the floodgates to corporate ownership of every small market media venture in the country. Thanks to this act, there's not such thing as local radio and TV or, in most places, newspaper. With this kind of consolodation, it's much easier for radio stations and record companies to decide who will be a big hit. Newspapers can better control what we read and TV stations can better reflect the corporate agendas. I miss the days of actual local programming and local commercials. The push to digital-only signals was the final death-nail to any local airwaves.
Cable TV
Who let this get so out of control? Companies owning multiple networks, showing trash shows owned by companies trying to make a buck by creating and perpetuating marketing trends through their specialty channels and we pay to have this in our home? And even paying for it doesn't get us out of having to watch commercials? What a lousy idea.
The Corporate Culture
Thanks to this one, everything from restaurants to electronic stores to gas stations are standardized over much of the country. Too bad those hippies were so into homogenization once it came with a paycheck. Not only that, but it opened the floodgates to materialism being the all mighty god of the country. House sizes have doubled since the 70s just to accommodate more stuff! Stuff sold by corporations!
No Child Left Behind
This is another great tool for coast-to-coast homogenization. There's nothing like having a bunch of kids sharing experiences on TV and the foods they eat and exactly what they learn! It's nice to know that future generations won't be able to retain any cultural uniqueness beyond the weather.
Credit
Credit is out of control these days. The credit card companies prey on the worse debtors, knowing they're the best customers. The credit market is easily seen as responsible for post-capitalist serfdom, where it is possible to have a great job, make good money, and never afford to send your kids to college.
That Whole Environmental Thing
With all that peace and love going around, you'd think they'd stop to do a thing or two about combustion engines and fossil fuels. Using hindsight, this all becomes obvious with the rise to power of OPEC. And while I'm not personally a global-warming alarmist (not that there's anything wrong with that), I do hate smoggy air in cities and crappy gas prices.
Thinking Drugs are Cute
They thought they were playing with drugs, but drugs played them. The kids smoking pot today are smoking something 50 times more potent than what the hippies smoked in 1968. Besides the endorsement (or perceived endorsement) of something that wastes time, money, energy, and is illegal, their inability to handle the epidemic they started helped to promote the use of harder drugs and create a market for illegal substances, providing underprivileged youth with a direct route into the penal system. It's not a pretty picture.
I realize that our strong economy (it is still strong) and our high quality of life to the Boomers, too. But while they were busy changing the world, it would have been nice if they thought a little harder and longer about what they were changing it to and who would have the power when the dust settled. For a generation that was so powerful and had such lofty ideals, why did they have to become corrupt and and ditch those ideals for the pragmatism of being seen in a Lexus?
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Fighting the Insurance Company Part II
We did it! After weeks of time and hours on the phone, we are being treated "in-network" for our birthing center. This is the biggest weight I've had off of my shoulders in years.
We were quite intent on getting to have our baby in this birthing center. We liked the people we met there and the setting was very comfortable. It's close to us and close to the hospital, in case things get messy. We are nearing the end of the first trimester (so quickly) and we haven't been to the doctor yet.
It was a two-part fight, as a matter of fact. First, we successfully got them to cover the midwife in-network. We thought that was going to be the hard part, since there are actually several nurse-midwives already in-network. Then, I argued our right to not only have the midwife deliver the baby, but to let us deliver it where she practices. Since she doesn't do homebirths, I suppose the insurance company expected us to give birth on the sidewalk.
Today I got news that we are go. I called the insurance company's customer service department to make sure that in-network meant that they would pay for everything. The woman confirmed that all we have to pay is $30 for the first visit.
A wave of peace and relief passed over me like the washing tide on the beach.
At last, there would be no point in me continuing to be a jerk to the insurance company. They did the right thing. They agreed to make concessions so that we can have the birth of our choice, despite several different policies--no matter what I think of those policies. There is no reason for me to continue to harbor animosity toward them. So I told the woman on the phone that if there was indeed a private and/or secret note next to my name that I was some kind of jerk customer, that I understood. But that what they've done for our family is greatly appreciated and treasured by us all; if there was a place to make that note next to my name, I asked her to make it. She denied such a thing existed, but was very happy that I sounded so happy.
I don't know who said that thing about the customer always being right. Anyone who has worked extensively in customer service will tell you that it's total bullshit, anyway. But it's nice to be treated like I know what I'm doing, for once. It's nice to feel like a major company like that can see the reasons I've come to my conclusion and meet me on my side of the fence. I really don't know when the last time when I've fought city hall ways, but I don't think I've ever won.
You watch. Now we'll have twins in that belly of ours and we won't get to be in the birthing center after all. Wouldn't you love a blog about delivering twins unassisted?
We were quite intent on getting to have our baby in this birthing center. We liked the people we met there and the setting was very comfortable. It's close to us and close to the hospital, in case things get messy. We are nearing the end of the first trimester (so quickly) and we haven't been to the doctor yet.
It was a two-part fight, as a matter of fact. First, we successfully got them to cover the midwife in-network. We thought that was going to be the hard part, since there are actually several nurse-midwives already in-network. Then, I argued our right to not only have the midwife deliver the baby, but to let us deliver it where she practices. Since she doesn't do homebirths, I suppose the insurance company expected us to give birth on the sidewalk.
Today I got news that we are go. I called the insurance company's customer service department to make sure that in-network meant that they would pay for everything. The woman confirmed that all we have to pay is $30 for the first visit.
A wave of peace and relief passed over me like the washing tide on the beach.
At last, there would be no point in me continuing to be a jerk to the insurance company. They did the right thing. They agreed to make concessions so that we can have the birth of our choice, despite several different policies--no matter what I think of those policies. There is no reason for me to continue to harbor animosity toward them. So I told the woman on the phone that if there was indeed a private and/or secret note next to my name that I was some kind of jerk customer, that I understood. But that what they've done for our family is greatly appreciated and treasured by us all; if there was a place to make that note next to my name, I asked her to make it. She denied such a thing existed, but was very happy that I sounded so happy.
I don't know who said that thing about the customer always being right. Anyone who has worked extensively in customer service will tell you that it's total bullshit, anyway. But it's nice to be treated like I know what I'm doing, for once. It's nice to feel like a major company like that can see the reasons I've come to my conclusion and meet me on my side of the fence. I really don't know when the last time when I've fought city hall ways, but I don't think I've ever won.
You watch. Now we'll have twins in that belly of ours and we won't get to be in the birthing center after all. Wouldn't you love a blog about delivering twins unassisted?
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
I Hate Yard Work
If the sun is up, my neighborhood is alive with the sound of small gas-powered engines. Lawn mowers, leaf blowers, hedge trimmers, driveway vacuums, wood chippers, noise makers. I sit inside feeling like the Grinch on Christmas morning. I don't know what kind of a kick these people get from wandering their lawns all day long keeping them in order like some kind of supernatural drill sergeant.
Maybe they didn't get the memo that we live near Houston, that's it's a billion degrees and humid outside, that it's not fun to do yard work. Or maybe they're tapped into some kind of hidden pleasure that completely eludes me. Or maybe my heart is two-sizes too small. I just don't know.
We spend lots of time with our neighbors. We all get along. Not in the sense that if we lived far apart we would buy airline tickets to make sure that we all held hands at Thanksgiving, or even that we would be friends if we all met at work. We just get along and the kids get along and sitting outside on lawnchairs while the kids play is a nice way to spend an evening.
But we all have our downsides as neighbors. Our downside has got to be our total lack of respect for a respectful yard.
The woman who lived her before us was old and tidy. She kept the "garden" nice and neat. She watered regularly and had someone make sure that all the bushes, trees, and grass conformed to certain angles that expressed order and civilization.
We could give a shit.
While our messiness is sure to irritate the neighbors, their noisiness tap dances on my nerves. Our next-door neighbor mows his lawn twice a week. When he's not mowing, he's out there with a little garden hose making sure that individual blades of grass are refreshed. Then he edges, blows the drive, and cleans off the roof. It's exhaustive to watch. I can't imagine doing it.
When we got back from our vacation, we saw a jungle where our backyard used to be. To me, the overgrown look is peaceful, natural, and comfortable. But it is also comfortable for snakes. So I had to take my mower to it this weekend. Easier said than done.
We bought an old-fashion push-mower. I need the exercise and the environment needs our support. The unregulated engines on mowers can cause as much pollution mowing a .5 acre yard as a 200 mile trip in an SUV. By using the spiraling blades of a push mower, I contribute to the peace of the neighborhood while adding years to the lifespan of all human beings---if I did the math right.
But our amazonian backyard was more than I had bargained for. Half way through, I was taking breaks after every circle. Then I started to wonder if the push mower was meant to be pushed quite so hard. Then, I noticed a crack in the metal handle. Sure enough, I broke my push mower. So as not to leave an offensive Mohawk in the backyard, I covertly fired up our old gas-guzzler and finished the job. It was a humbling moment for me.
A student of mine--a recently divorced mother of two--suggested that my neighbors are trying to avoid spending time with their wives when they devote so much time to the yard. A religious friend of mine once suggested that these yardaholics worship their yards in a strange way.
One of these days, I have to make peace with yard work, I know. There must be some common ground. Nurturing what you love is certainly a good thing. I love spending time outside, but I'd prefer not to do it while laboring to tame the outside.
After I've made peace with yard work, I plan to make peace with house cleaning. I just feel like World Peace is a more realistic concept.
Maybe they didn't get the memo that we live near Houston, that's it's a billion degrees and humid outside, that it's not fun to do yard work. Or maybe they're tapped into some kind of hidden pleasure that completely eludes me. Or maybe my heart is two-sizes too small. I just don't know.
We spend lots of time with our neighbors. We all get along. Not in the sense that if we lived far apart we would buy airline tickets to make sure that we all held hands at Thanksgiving, or even that we would be friends if we all met at work. We just get along and the kids get along and sitting outside on lawnchairs while the kids play is a nice way to spend an evening.
But we all have our downsides as neighbors. Our downside has got to be our total lack of respect for a respectful yard.
The woman who lived her before us was old and tidy. She kept the "garden" nice and neat. She watered regularly and had someone make sure that all the bushes, trees, and grass conformed to certain angles that expressed order and civilization.
We could give a shit.
While our messiness is sure to irritate the neighbors, their noisiness tap dances on my nerves. Our next-door neighbor mows his lawn twice a week. When he's not mowing, he's out there with a little garden hose making sure that individual blades of grass are refreshed. Then he edges, blows the drive, and cleans off the roof. It's exhaustive to watch. I can't imagine doing it.
When we got back from our vacation, we saw a jungle where our backyard used to be. To me, the overgrown look is peaceful, natural, and comfortable. But it is also comfortable for snakes. So I had to take my mower to it this weekend. Easier said than done.
We bought an old-fashion push-mower. I need the exercise and the environment needs our support. The unregulated engines on mowers can cause as much pollution mowing a .5 acre yard as a 200 mile trip in an SUV. By using the spiraling blades of a push mower, I contribute to the peace of the neighborhood while adding years to the lifespan of all human beings---if I did the math right.
But our amazonian backyard was more than I had bargained for. Half way through, I was taking breaks after every circle. Then I started to wonder if the push mower was meant to be pushed quite so hard. Then, I noticed a crack in the metal handle. Sure enough, I broke my push mower. So as not to leave an offensive Mohawk in the backyard, I covertly fired up our old gas-guzzler and finished the job. It was a humbling moment for me.
A student of mine--a recently divorced mother of two--suggested that my neighbors are trying to avoid spending time with their wives when they devote so much time to the yard. A religious friend of mine once suggested that these yardaholics worship their yards in a strange way.
One of these days, I have to make peace with yard work, I know. There must be some common ground. Nurturing what you love is certainly a good thing. I love spending time outside, but I'd prefer not to do it while laboring to tame the outside.
After I've made peace with yard work, I plan to make peace with house cleaning. I just feel like World Peace is a more realistic concept.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Fighting Hospitals vs. Fighting Insurance Companies
I don't want to step on any toes here. I don't want to come off mightier-than-thou (or crunchier-than-thou). So I will walk gently through this next statement. I can't imagine why someone with a healthy pregnancy would want to give birth in a hospital.
Okay, I know some people who had fine birthing experiences; they all had 2 hour labors with no complications. And I know some people who are very glad they went to a hospital; and they had several complications, most of which they knew of before hand. But barring the quickest labors imaginable and the most complicated and deadly labors, I can't imagine why the middle majority of people would want to give birth in a hospital.
We did, twice. Both times we had terrible experiences. It wasn't that our doctors were bad (well, one of them, at least) and it wasn't that we weren't prepared. It was that there was so much monitoring, i.v.-ing, and a constant push for intervention. We've had two really rough labors. And even the time that the hospital followed our birthing plan, the nurses got fed-up with our insistence that we be given privacy or our refusal to have a monitor strapped on, or the fact that my wife wanted to take a walk during the labor.
It's a simple thing, really. While we are at a holy and magical moment in our life, these men and women are at their jobs. They have a long day ahead of them, their own kids in childcare, etc. and they just want to make their day easier. Their easy customers come in and ask for the intervention and keep their mouths closed. Then in come my wife and me, long-hard labor and a refusal to let them get the paperwork done that they want filled out right now.
Then, afterward, they want to inexplicable take the baby away to put it under a heater and monitor its heartbeat, despite the fact that it's better for the baby's temperature and breathing to be sitting skin-to-skin while nursing from its mother.
We're not doing it this time. We won't fight the hospital anymore. We found a birthing center.
And despite the fact that a birthing center is cheaper than a hospital birth, we can't afford it without insurance. And our insurance company doesn't want to pay. So instead of fighting the hospital, we're fighting the insurance company.
Bureaucracy. There's no other way to put it. Well, except for nightmare. Our policy states that it will cover any in-network birthing center. Yet, there are no in-network birthing centers in our state. So, according to our state laws, they have to cover the birthing center of our choice. And they are covering the birthing center of our choice for at least two other couples with our same plan. Yet when you talk to them on the phone, they act like such a thing is downright unheard of.
I've been on the phone for about three hours with them this last week. They trade me off from person to person, department to department, each one claiming that they aren't the one to talk to, that the next person can take care of that for me. Until, finally, I am either lost during a call transfer or I hit an answering machine.
It's crap, I tell you, crap.
But I'll go on fighting. I know my rights and I know it can be done. I'd rather spend hours navigating a bureaucracy than have nurses trying to frighten my wife into medications and watch a nurse cart my child away to a heat lamp. It's a choice we've made and we're sticking with it.
Okay, I know some people who had fine birthing experiences; they all had 2 hour labors with no complications. And I know some people who are very glad they went to a hospital; and they had several complications, most of which they knew of before hand. But barring the quickest labors imaginable and the most complicated and deadly labors, I can't imagine why the middle majority of people would want to give birth in a hospital.
We did, twice. Both times we had terrible experiences. It wasn't that our doctors were bad (well, one of them, at least) and it wasn't that we weren't prepared. It was that there was so much monitoring, i.v.-ing, and a constant push for intervention. We've had two really rough labors. And even the time that the hospital followed our birthing plan, the nurses got fed-up with our insistence that we be given privacy or our refusal to have a monitor strapped on, or the fact that my wife wanted to take a walk during the labor.
It's a simple thing, really. While we are at a holy and magical moment in our life, these men and women are at their jobs. They have a long day ahead of them, their own kids in childcare, etc. and they just want to make their day easier. Their easy customers come in and ask for the intervention and keep their mouths closed. Then in come my wife and me, long-hard labor and a refusal to let them get the paperwork done that they want filled out right now.
Then, afterward, they want to inexplicable take the baby away to put it under a heater and monitor its heartbeat, despite the fact that it's better for the baby's temperature and breathing to be sitting skin-to-skin while nursing from its mother.
We're not doing it this time. We won't fight the hospital anymore. We found a birthing center.
And despite the fact that a birthing center is cheaper than a hospital birth, we can't afford it without insurance. And our insurance company doesn't want to pay. So instead of fighting the hospital, we're fighting the insurance company.
Bureaucracy. There's no other way to put it. Well, except for nightmare. Our policy states that it will cover any in-network birthing center. Yet, there are no in-network birthing centers in our state. So, according to our state laws, they have to cover the birthing center of our choice. And they are covering the birthing center of our choice for at least two other couples with our same plan. Yet when you talk to them on the phone, they act like such a thing is downright unheard of.
I've been on the phone for about three hours with them this last week. They trade me off from person to person, department to department, each one claiming that they aren't the one to talk to, that the next person can take care of that for me. Until, finally, I am either lost during a call transfer or I hit an answering machine.
It's crap, I tell you, crap.
But I'll go on fighting. I know my rights and I know it can be done. I'd rather spend hours navigating a bureaucracy than have nurses trying to frighten my wife into medications and watch a nurse cart my child away to a heat lamp. It's a choice we've made and we're sticking with it.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Throwing Up in Public
When I was younger, nothing grossed me out more than vomit. I felt terrible for my parents when they had to clean up after me or my brothers and sisters. And the time that my brother puked all over my hair was as traumatic a moment as I could imagine at the age of five. But now that I'm on the parental side of things, I'm happy to say that being grossed out by vomit has gone the way of being grossed out by the idea of changing diapers.
There's nothing worse than when one of your children is sick. They're miserable and all you can do is sit there and wish it was you instead. What's even worse is when all the signs are there that your child is sick, you ignore them, and then things get nasty in public.
My wife woke up in the middle of the night complaining of a sore throat. I mean here no offense when I am used to her complaining in the night, as this pregnancy has her nauseated and she frequently can't sleep, but a sore throat was something new. And despite the fact that she has complained of feeling sick for the past few weeks, it was a surprise when my wife--with her stomach of steel--started throwing up.
I decided to get myself and the kids the hell out of there.
We went to a restaurant and were planning on hitting a park for a while. My girls were excited about the prospect of going to the park for a couple of hours to run off some steam. But my younger one was also crabby as all get-out. She just couldn't stop whining and griping and she couldn't keep her hands to herself. In all my concern about my wife, I neglected to see the obvious.
Until it was obviously all over the floor of the restaurant.
So that's what she meant by "My mouth hurts." So that's why my usually ravenous daughter didn't eat much for breakfast or lunch. So that's why we've been having such a genuinely crappy day.
She puked in colors I've never seen come out of someone and in quantities that would have been staggering even for me. To top it off was the bright blue tooth paste that she had made such a mess of that morning (why didn't I know that she was eating it when she took so long to "brush her teeth all by myself," I kept wondering).
People who don't have kids are often surprised by how easy it is to deal with your child throwing-up. There's even the strange and surprisingly logical conclusion that a parent jumps to to catch the vomit in one's hand.
In no time at all I was surrounded by sympathetic old ladies with handfuls of napkins--some of them even wet. I think the vivid colors made some people stare a little more than I was comfortable with, but I made quick work of concealing the offending matter with the napkins. A kid who worked there showed up with a bucket and mop and assured me that he had it from there.
Poor kid.
I guess my point is that throughout the whole graphic affair, all I was worried about was if my daughter was feeling well or not. It's reassuring to know that in the thick of such matters, being petty or grossed-out is a hard thing to do. Yet another little tidbit about how being a parent changes you.
There's nothing worse than when one of your children is sick. They're miserable and all you can do is sit there and wish it was you instead. What's even worse is when all the signs are there that your child is sick, you ignore them, and then things get nasty in public.
My wife woke up in the middle of the night complaining of a sore throat. I mean here no offense when I am used to her complaining in the night, as this pregnancy has her nauseated and she frequently can't sleep, but a sore throat was something new. And despite the fact that she has complained of feeling sick for the past few weeks, it was a surprise when my wife--with her stomach of steel--started throwing up.
I decided to get myself and the kids the hell out of there.
We went to a restaurant and were planning on hitting a park for a while. My girls were excited about the prospect of going to the park for a couple of hours to run off some steam. But my younger one was also crabby as all get-out. She just couldn't stop whining and griping and she couldn't keep her hands to herself. In all my concern about my wife, I neglected to see the obvious.
Until it was obviously all over the floor of the restaurant.
So that's what she meant by "My mouth hurts." So that's why my usually ravenous daughter didn't eat much for breakfast or lunch. So that's why we've been having such a genuinely crappy day.
She puked in colors I've never seen come out of someone and in quantities that would have been staggering even for me. To top it off was the bright blue tooth paste that she had made such a mess of that morning (why didn't I know that she was eating it when she took so long to "brush her teeth all by myself," I kept wondering).
People who don't have kids are often surprised by how easy it is to deal with your child throwing-up. There's even the strange and surprisingly logical conclusion that a parent jumps to to catch the vomit in one's hand.
In no time at all I was surrounded by sympathetic old ladies with handfuls of napkins--some of them even wet. I think the vivid colors made some people stare a little more than I was comfortable with, but I made quick work of concealing the offending matter with the napkins. A kid who worked there showed up with a bucket and mop and assured me that he had it from there.
Poor kid.
I guess my point is that throughout the whole graphic affair, all I was worried about was if my daughter was feeling well or not. It's reassuring to know that in the thick of such matters, being petty or grossed-out is a hard thing to do. Yet another little tidbit about how being a parent changes you.
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