(And by "bitches" I mean those of you who are complaining in any way, shape or form about our so-called "Obamacare.")
I know that swearing up a storm in a personal essay or blog post is at best a show of laziness and at worst a hallmark of unimaginative and unoriginal writing. But sometimes, bitches, it just fucking needs to be done.
Because I am fucking sick and tired of listening to people on both sides of the aisle talk about what a "disaster" the Obamacare rollout has been.
I am sick of listening to the media harp on Obama's "lies" about people being able to keep their shitty, expensive plans with minimal coverage. Boo fucking hoo. For one thing, you are taking Obama's mistaken use of the word "period" too fucking literally. Seriously, bitches. Do you have nothing better to do than split hairs about what it means to "keep your plan"? For example, can you possibly conceive of the notion that having a plan cancelled and then immediately replaced by a similar or better plan at a similar or better price could be construed as somewhere in the neighborhood of "keeping your plan"?
Well then go fuck yourself, because I am tired listening to you bitch about your fucking little first-world problem. You have a fucking insurance plan, so go fuck yourself after you get back from your doctor's appointment. And have her prescribe you some anti-psychotics while you're there, because if you think this "problem" that this "liar" of a president caused you is a bigger problem than not having access to a health plan at all, you're too fucking insane and/or just plain stupid for me even to deal with.
That's right. Fuck off.
And those of you who have nothing better to do than complain about the buggy websites needed to sign up for "Obamacare" can go fuck yourselves even harder. That's right. And please, fuck yourselves raw, with no lube.
Because guess what, bitches? IT'S A FUCKING WEBSITE. I DO NOT GIVE A FUCK IF THE WEBSITE IS NOT WORKING PERFECTLY.
What the fuck do you think this is, people? For the first time in modern US history, we are at the cusp of joining the rest of the civilized fucking industrialized first world by guaranteeing basic healthcare to every citizen. THAT is a FUCKING BIG DEAL, bitches. If you can't look one inch beyond your little pea brains to recognize the magnitude of this achievement, go live on some fucking desert island because you don't even deserve to be here.
So we're worried about the "disaster" that this rollout has been, huh? Well, bitches, try THIS on for a disaster: Say you get laid off from your job where you're making a comfortable upper middle class income, something close to six figures, or just over six figures. And you're 50. Say your Cobra runs out and you still haven't found a job, because remember, you're fucking 50. You probably carry a little more weight than is ideal, and you may have some hypertension or cholesterol issues. Or you're a cancer survivor. Or you have well managed diabetes.
Without Obamacare, what the FUCK are you expecting to do if you get sick? Or get into a bad car accident? Do you think any fucking insurance company is going to sign you up for a health policy? At least one that provides any reasonable level of coverage? FUCK NO.
You have a house, and some savings. Do you think that if you get cancer, or a brain injury, or anything else that will cost a million fucking dollars to treat, that you will get to keep that house and savings as well as get medical treatment? FUCK NO.
That house and those savings will be GONE in a matter of days, bitches. And there won't be a goddamn thing you can do about it. Everything you've worked for your whole fucking adult life will be GONE, just like that. All because you got hit by some fucking uninsured drunk driver. Or an insured one, even. Or because you got cancer. Or fell down and broke your spine. Etc. etc. etc.
I just don't understand you, bitches. For the first time in modern US history, we can all go to bed and sleep at night because we now know that by law we are entitled to a reasonable health plan.
And that is such a fucking disaster.
Oh, but wait. The website doesn't work. Fuck the whole thing. Let's just go back to the way it's been. Just make sure you have a job until the day you're eligible for Medicare. We all know from 2008-2009 how realistic THAT is.
That's right, bitches. I'm done. I'm going up the river and I'm taking names.
Shut the FUCK UP about Obamacare. Unless you have something nice to say.
So coming back to Blogger feels a bit like returning to a childhood home that has been abandoned. I was looking at the link list of blogs I used to follow, which are organized on the right side of my screen, in order by which they were last updated. Only the very few at the top have been active within the past few months. After that, there are a series of blogs on the list whose latest posts say "So long!" or "The end!" or something similarly foreboding.
But I'm still going to hang out here, because I need a place to deposit the noise in my head (the music is so pretty!) However, something tells me this isn't going to be any sort of homecoming or return to the high days of blogging circa 2006.
And that will have to be ok. It's a new beginning, and who knows what we may find lurking in the shadows. Hopefully it just won't be that creepy babysitter/neighbor I had as a young boy. I never cared much for his "games."
I've said it before, and I'll continue to say it: I will never permanently delete or retire CPW. The blogosphere needs it.
(For what, I have no idea, but it sounded like a good thing to say.)
Normally around this time CP would pretend to sit down with former blogger and current West African superstar Lulu to ask her a load of embarrassing questions, but tonight we have a reverse format where Lulu is going to pretend to interview CP. At least that's the intention; one never knows the twists and turns these things can take.
Lulu: So CP, I hear you're a little depressed these days. What is going on, and what makes you think this is appropriate fodder for a blog?
CP: You mean everyone doesn't want to listen to the soothing, plaintive sounds of my ennui?
Lulu: Nice word, CP - you do recall you learned that from me, don't you?
CP: Well it's actually just a derivative of a French word that I learned long before I ever met you, Lu. I did learn a thing or two in my pre-Lulian existence. But you may have been one of the first in my circle to make regular use of the English version, and for that I thank you. Heartily.
Lulu: Touché, CP. So you're a bit off these days, as a polite person might put it?
CP: Yeah, I guess so. But I'm sure I'll bounce back. I'm considering taking a week off work and reorganizing my house. That's the kind of thing that can give me a lift and shock me back into reality.
Lulu: I've been to reality CP, and it's no picnic. If you've found somewhere else to live for a while, you might want to just hunker down until the storm passes. Plus, this thing about you wanting to "organize" things is giving me hives.
CP: Sorry Lu, I forgot that it wasn't all about me. So, what suggestions do you have for me other than to go off on a compulsive decluttering binge?
Lulu: I don't know CP, this whole thing is just you pretending to be me asking you questions. But I can see your alter-ego trying to take control of the interview, so tell me whatever you'd like. Just try not to sound psychotic. This whole "reality" discussion is starting to give me the creeps.
CP: You're not going to complain that I'm making you sound like a bitch again, are you?
Lulu: I've given up any hope of that. So, what is next on your agenda?
CP: I'm not sure. I think I'll try to slog through my emails to make sure I haven't skipped anything that would result in a fireable offense. I'll take care of my expense reports and a few other administrative duties that are several weeks late. Then I'll schedule some time out of the office so that I can declutter and try to pull it back together.
Lulu: That sounds like a plan. Pretend to be me again in a few weeks and let me know how things turn out.
CP: Thanks Lu. Any closing words of wisdom for me?
Lulu: Post as many cat pics as possible Kiss kiss.
I’ve decided to revive Coaster Punchman’s World, not that I
ever took an official reprieve.But I
miss writing, and CPW was a convenient outlet.
Things have gotten shaky on the family front, with my
elderly parents having a variety of health and other problems.The stress I’ve felt from dealing with it is
now settling into a semi-debilitating depression.Not the kind of depression (yet) that keeps
me from leaving the house, but the kind that slows down, significantly, my
ability to tackle anything even remotely challenging.The thing suffering the most is my work.
I am almost completely unable to concentrate, and the effort
that would be required to do the things that I know would help (exercise,
bathe, declutter my surroundings) feels overwhelming.
I am able to get myself out of the house for non-stressful
socializing, for which I am grateful.For the moment I’ve just lost interest in almost everything else that
requires any amount of planning or effort.
Enough whining about that for a few minutes.I just wanted to get that out of my system.
Next on deck:some of
the quandaries of Facebook and its implications on social interactions.
I read with interest the following Miss Manners submission,
and find it fascinating.People do have
different takes on Facebook.With the exception
of a few odd celebrities, I generally do not friend or accept friend requests
from people I wouldn’t care to socialize with in person.Not everyone feels that way, though.I’ve noticed not a small number of people who
merely enjoy some of the online banter, and who want to know what people are up
to, but who otherwise don’t really want any kind of relationship to speak
I’m not sure how I feel about that – but, thankfully,
decisions don’t need to be made every day on that front.I’ve made peace with the quandary by
interacting with people I care to interact with, and not worrying too much about
Some people actively “unfriend” people they find annoying,
but I don’t see the need to do that since it’s easy enough simply to remove
someone from your newsfeed so that you are not bombarded by posts and images from
a person you’d rather not see.
Still, what I find rather problematic about Facebook is
having “friends” who live nearby.For a
while I had a policy of not friending people in my own city, since it can make
social interactions awkward.For
example, not everyone in a particular circle is always invited to every dinner
party or outing – which means it is not a good idea to post photos of local
events for fear of insulting the people who were excluded.
Same goes for major events like big parties and
weddings.When these things are made
public on Facebook, it becomes obvious who is valued enough to an individual to
warrant an invitation and who is not.On
the one hand, it’s useful information to know where one stands with specific
people, but in my opinion it’s easier and certainly more convenient to do things
the old fashioned way.If Billy is
having a birthday party and Bobby is not invited, the party should simply never
be mentioned to Bobby.The kind of stuff
we (should) learn at a young age about basic manners.Facebook complicates all of that to a
On to the Miss Manners letter and reply to which I referred
earlier in this post:
Dear Miss Manners:I joined Facebook when I had cancer, as a way
of posting my current status. I was following others’ suggestions and did not
like it for this use. I do, however, like it for other reasons. I can keep an
eye on my daughter, as well as my nieces and nephews.
I can also reconnect with old
friends and, as a nostalgic person, I enjoy this. I also enjoy the ability to
share photographs of said friends. I befriend only people I have fond memories
of, or whom I just liked.
But that doesn’t necessarily mean I
actually want to resume an old friendship! As a mother of young kids who works
part time and volunteers, I have a hard enough time finding time for my friends
and myself as it is.
Now an old friend in a nearby town
has befriended me. While I enjoyed her company in my 20s, the friendship ended
when I realized how badly she was an alcoholic. Still, there were things I
really enjoyed about her.
Now, 15 years later, she mentioned
on Facebook that she would like to get together. I don’t know if alcohol is
still a problem, but I just can’t extend myself that far, both in terms of
where she lives and the potential for toxicity.
Can you think of a polite way to
tell her (or others in similar situations) that I really enjoyed hearing from
her and seeing her occasional posts, her family, etc., but that I don’t
particularly want to reconnect with her in person? Am I kidding myself about
the possibility of a polite way to convey such a message?
Gentle Reader: No, there
is no polite way to tell someone that you want to know their personal business
but don’t actually want to talk to them. This phenomenon used to be known as
gossip, and in Miss Manners’ opinion, Facebook has ruined its fun for everyone.
When you want to avoid human
contact, the usual social rules apply. Tell her that this is an extremely busy
time for you, but that you hope to connect in the (unspecified) future. To make
it more convincing, for goodness’ sake don’t post your social life on Facebook
I do like to cook. For some reason I prefer to do it when Poor George is not around - I'm not sure why. Because when I do cook with Poor George, I have fun and I learn things, even if he chastises me severely and then mocks me openly for every gaffe I make. He claims his Chinese heritage and his father's instruction methods as the reasons he does this to me. According to George, the Chinese have such a reverence for food that to screw around with your ingredients is the height of disrespect to the universe, and in situations where animal products are used, disrespect to the animal who gave its life so that you can stuff your fat face.
I suspect there may be more going on with PG's admonishments than that, but I'll work with that for now.
Yesterday morning I got it in my head that I would like to spend the day cooking and that I would make myself a super fancy meal. I had lofty visions of my friend Brandon, who was raised in a stereotypical New York Italian home where lasagna was served as a first course to any meal. I decided I would make myself a lasagna to start.
Of course, being the imbecile that I am, I searched the Web for an "ultimate" lasagna recipe, and ended up going with one that requires its own tomato sauce from scratch.
"I don't think you're going to want to make your own sauce - that will take too long," said Poor George gently over the phone. At present George is in Illinois helping my parents move, an act that should in itself qualify him for sainthood.
Since I didn't actually start until after 8 pm last night, Poor George turned out to be exactly right. My lasagna was not ready until well after midnight - at which point I had no desire to eat it. (I did take one tiny little square, and while not being the best lasagna I've had in my life, I will say that it is still pretty good.)
The recipe told me to boil two whole pounds of lasagna noodles. I was dubious that I would be able to use that much, but I followed the recipe dutifully and as a result ended up with an entire batch of unused cooked noodles.
So this morning I whipped up nice little tuna noodle hotdish, made with my own bechamel in place of a UBI. For the uninitiated and non-Midwesterners among you, "UBI" stands for "Universal Binding Ingredient" used in hot dishes, more commonly known as Cream of Something Soup. None of that church basement stuff for me today, Gentle Readers. Today is the Real McCoy.
And lacking any potato chips to layer on top, I opted for buttered panko bread crumbs. That, coupled with the generous dollops of Tobasco and cayenne pepper I threw into the mix, seems to give my tuna noodle dish the "innovative taste" lacking in most church cookbook recipes.
Some further investigation into my refrigerator contents prompted me to throw together a potage of potato, leek, broccoli and cauliflower which is now cooling on top of the stove. Alongside a delicious looking swiss chard souffle I just removed. (I used leftover mozzarella instead of gruyere so I'll let you know how that turns out. Smells wonderful.)
Inside the fridge I still have a nice piece of wild red sockeye salmon that I intended to eat with a miso glaze as my main course last night, but seeing as how I didn't make it through the first course the salmon remains uncooked and uneaten.
I have all this wonderful food surrounding me right now, with no appetite to eat it. I hope I feel hungry around 5 tonight because I will be enjoying a real feast. Wish some of you could join me.
I need to start tracking my Internet browsing history more carefully, because doing so might explain the surreal twists my insomnia-provoked web surfing seems to take. Last night I started around 3:00 am on a quest to find an online recording of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s actual speaking voice, and ended at 7:00 am by watching old YouTube videos of the ladies on “The View” discussing Prop 8. How the first led eventually to the latter is anyone’s guess. If you’d like me to email you my browser cache, maybe you can make sense of it.
I hate to have to say it about all of them, but here it is: the ladies on “The View” are morons. Even the ones I like. Even Barbara, sadly.
I know I’m a lawyer and all, but do none of these ladies even remotely understand the strength of religious freedom in this country? Did they miss that day of school in first grade where kids learn that you get to practice whatever religion you want here without being thrown in jail because of it? I mean, seriously? Barbara, Whoopi, was this really a question?
Holy shit. I know Elizabeth Hasselbeck is a bona fide idiot with the sense of morals and ethics God gave an acorn squash, but I would expect more out of Barbara Walters. Hasselbeck started off by saying that people should have voted “Yes on 8” because a minister in Sweden was supposedly jailed because he refused to marry a gay couple. And we can’t let that happen here! If Prop 8 had failed and gay marriage became the right of Californians, then ministers in California would have to marry gay couples or go to jail.
Neither Whoopi nor Barbara said a word to contradict this, or even to question it.
Seriously ladies? Holy f*cking sh*t. As I said, I am a lawyer, but I don’t think I had to pay Georgetown $70k to understand that we don’t jail church ministers for preaching to their congregations.
The next day (or sometime later) Whoopi was prompted to do a little research when GLAAD called to protest the complete asininity of this “conversation” these women had on the air in front of the even stupider general public. And so Whoopi cleared it up for the group. At which point Hasselbeck and the black chick who replaced Cherry Jones, or whateverthef*ck her name was, both said “well this information came from GLAAD. We’d like to hear what the other side had to say about it.”
The “other side?” What other side? Like Fred Phelps?
Oh. My. God. If you have not yet seen the movie “Idiocracy,” I advise you to watch it as soon as possible, because it’s coming true.
*As noted on the brilliant website NoMoreAffleck.com
I am Coaster Punchman and you have just entered my world. I rule it with an iron fist, so if you're looking for First Amendment protection, you will not find it here. I have a now deceased crazy Chinese mother-in-law, and sometimes I wear Crocs around the house. I don't like flip-flops or Mormons. I'm also a cyberstalker by trade -- so I could look up all sorts of random shit about you if I wanted, but I probably won't because I'm pretty lazy.