The other night I went out to howl at a “super” moon. Unfortunately I couldn’t figure out how to unbuckle my belt. Opportunity missed!
Meanwhile, while flying high in my ballon chair, I spied the IKEA moon base where my wife and I had recently shopped. I decided to take a photograph and immortalize the moment for my friend Blogdramedy.
Curse my luck! Mount St. Helens photobombed the shot. What were the odds of that? Nothing ever goes right for me!
Office of Deck Seating, RMS Titanic
We’ve all heard it said so many times our eardrums want to vomit:
“You gotta love what you do.”
For me, work is an ongoing exercise in fighting natural and innate human tendencies. For example, if you think your boss is screwing you in a myriad of ways, you might be tempted to embark on a route of passive resistance. Maybe something like steal from the boss? After all, he/she deserves it, right? I’ve felt the allure of this particular demon but so far I’ve found the urge to resist. It’s a little something to cling to: Even in this bleak landscape I can find at least one little thing to feel proud about. I am still me and they can’t change that.
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If health care was a boat named Titanic …
I had a thought today. “What if health care in the United States was a little boat known as the Titanic?”
The first thing I realized is that rich old white men would probably be the owners of all the lifeboats so they’d be tasked with determining the order of loading those lifeboats. I’m sure they’d be completely fair and unbiased about it.
Rich old white men safely loaded onto lifeboats. Check!
After that, though, what then? I’d assume pregnant women and young children would still get some consideration regardless of their scrilla status.
After that, the remaining folks would be prioritized by wealth and in an indirect way, pretty much by race as well. That’s an excellent way to do it, right?