Impact

Life surprises me sometimes with delightful beings who leave a lasting impact. I wish this happened every day, though lately it has been happening frequently each week thanks to interviewing sources for articles. 

Last Friday I chatted with Paula Goldman, a wonderful woman and gifted photographer. Her voice echoed Hudson's aunt's voice, warm and wise. We chatted for about 45 minutes, exploring tangents, sharing laughter and ending the conversation with a brief discussion of frustrating life in sprawling Los Angeles. Among the many things she said that grabbed my attention, I really liked this: "That's where all the work comes from, right? Just from life. Part of it's decaying, part of it's kids, part of it's laughing." She splits her life, not sure how evenly, between her work and family. Some day I will understand how women do it. How they juggle it all and keep everything in motion. Life is chaos as-is. I am unable to fathom adding a dependent being into the equation and come up with an answer. It all amazes me, this extraordinary mess we call life...

But back to Paula!

Please swing on by the west side before March 27th and check out her exhibit at The G2 Gallery. Her work is so unique as is the gallery's mission. My beat is environmental arts; G2 is sort of my haven. They donate all proceeds from art sales to various environmental groups. Paula's opening reception is this Friday, so if First Fridays on Abbot Kinney is your thing, definitely go! You'll get to meet the lovely Paula and immerse yourself in her work and live music. Go ahead, indulge.

You can read my article on the show here.

Your Oscars Buzz: Best Picture Cocktail Pairings

With thoughts of the Oscars swimming around in my head last Wednesday night, I had an idea. Why not pair a cocktail with each movie nominated for Best Picture? Planning to attend a friend's Oscar party, it seemed like the perfect guide for hosts. The next morning I pulled all four of my trusty cocktail books from my bookshelf, dusted them off and started flipping through the pages of libations and mocktails. Shortly thereafter I had my first list of pairings and pitched the article to my LAist editors. They loved the idea, and by Friday afternoon the piece was ready for publishing. You may indulge here.

I must admit, I indulged a bit too much during Sunday's party, mostly because I was joined by a fun group of fellow celebrities (I may have been wearing my bridesmaids dress from my brother's wedding last June and pretending to be Cameron Diaz) and partly due to my recent research.

Though I didn't catch every speech from last night's show, I witnessed my darling Natalie win a well-deserved Academy Award. I slept soundly.

One question still remains: Where was James Franco for most of the night? I assume he was backstage taking bong rips, but seriously, Hathaway carried the duo. All the more proof that women are superior.

Harlan Ellison - Paid to Piss

I love this 3.5 minute rant by Harlan Ellison on the lack of funds bestowed to writers. This video is almost 3 years old but still sadly relevant.

"I sell my soul but at the highest rates. I don't take a piss without getting paid for it."

Blunt but honest, Harlan.

Vagina Art

Karen LeCocq, a feminist artist, lecturer and activist, is not particularly fond of the term "vagina art." After chatting with her last Thursday, I understand her stance. To refer to feminist art in this way, as many people do, undermines the entire second-wave of the Women's Movement. Feminist art shocked our nation and plowed through boundaries that, without female fists, might still repress women today. Karen spoke passionately yet playfully about how we, as a society, tend to ignore the past. I agree that we must learn from the past in order to not repeat it, to appreciate the present and to anticipate the future. My respect for her and the other women who ignited the feminist art movement in the 1970s grew considerably while listening to her stories.

This elation intensified while crafting the article on her lecture, which took place this past Sunday at Craftswoman House in Pasadena. It lasted through Saturday afternoon until I read a disturbing article, courtesy of MoveOn.org, listing ten disgusting Republican proposals affecting women's rights. Striking and  destroying my jolly lady power bubble, the list opened my gates and in flooded worry. I panicked for our future. But the knowledge of how much we've accomplished for women's rights and how undeniably strong and capable we are quickly replaced my fears with a wonderful sense of empowerment.

Republicans, you have waged a war on women. You have attacked our basic rights to own control of our bodies. You are a mindless mass of ignorant bodies, devoid of compassion, unworthy of being called humans. You wish to test us, GOP? Bring it. We will fight you to the death. And we will win. We are civil soldiers armed with tenacity, vigor and good ol' fashioned intellect. We will destroy you.

Recent Articles for Circus Lovers and Contemporary Art Enthusiasts

I love writing for LAist. I've been doing so for the past month, and I've never felt so creatively fulfilled and proud of my work. All topics I've pitched, they've accepted. Recently granted access to their posting platform, I won't need to bug my editor quite as often, plus I feel like a part of the family.

A large portion of my research is interviewing subjects. Since I'm still a gimp, I've been forced to rely on phone interviews. Don't get me wrong, I love doing them and they're much more convenient than actual rendezvous, but I like people. I enjoy talking to them, face-to-face, noting their quirks, their style, their treat preferences, all those delightful traits to which I'm blind when conversing on the phone. 

Having recently discovered Google Voice, phone interviews are much more enjoyable now. I'm no longer pounding on my keyboard in a desperate attempt to capture every word and quote. I love quotes. And with this system, I record all conversations for reference. No typing as I'm interviewing means full engagement in the conversation. It's quite wonderful. One thing - Google Voice, you really need to upgrade your system to record received calls. I can't complain much since this system is free, but it's not ideal to call someone, then ask them to call you on a different number. But c'est la vie. I'll go cry in the corner since there are no other issues plaguing the world.

My most recent interviews and articles inspired me greatly. I chatted with Patrick, the owner of C.A.V.E. Gallery in Venice to gain more insight into the gallery's newest collection, 'Outside, Looking In,' which opened last Friday. He's a warm man with a giant heart for art. I cannot wait to meet him. Checkout my article here.

The other event I covered last week was 'Behind the Striped Curtain,' an insane circus art exhibition at Rothick Art Haus in Anaheim. I interviewed Michael White, the featured artist. Our chat consisted of much laughter, as he's quite a funny lad, and great amounts of information on his inspirations, life and excitement for the show's opening. Never able to include all the tidbits, I'll save them for the next piece on White. You can enjoy my coverage here.

If either exhibit interests you, they're both still on display. In fact, they both better interest you, or I haven't done my job. Or you're boring.

Polenta Pie with Wild Mushroom Filling

Sounds tasty, doesn’t it? I know it does. That’s why we chose it as the dish I will conquer this evening to celebrate Valentine’s Day. Currently an avid calorie counter using MyFitnessPal, I began entering in the teaspoons, tablespoons, ounces, cups, sprigs and pounds of ingredients into my food tracker to create the recipe and determine how many slices of savory pie I can enjoy tonight. Hopefully the result > 1. While building the list, I’m thinking about Valentine’s Day, remembering the days when I was single and bitter, hating on this annual commemoration, agreeing with the many others who refer to it as a “Hallmark holiday,” a sad excuse to stop being a lazy lover and neglecting your loved one for a day, a slap in the face reminder that YOU ARE SINGLE. NO ONE LOVES YOU. YOU ARE GOING TO DIE ALONE. So sad. So solo. I recall plans to steal my father’s bow and arrow, hunt down Cupid and maliciously prick his chubby white ass. Several times. But now these thoughts are just silly. One mate always outlives the other. You run the risk of dying alone anyways. Someone has always loved me. And so what if I was single? I was never more independent in my life.

As I typed “extra-virgin olive oil,” I started thinking about sex because that’s just how my mind works. I began to really appreciate this romantic day. Admittedly, I am quite the corporate-hating petition-signing activist who just wants the world to be a better place. And if there’s a time when I can hate on an event, a commercial farce that’s become a multibillion dollar day which wastes resources, promotes the creation and selling of paper cards and wrappings, fosters the sale of blood diamonds, encourages supporting flower farms where violent labor abuses transpire, Valentine’s Day is it. But I don’t hate this day. I actually love it. Hudson is my first and hopefully last love, and while we’re a pretty kickass team, there are days when I should grab him a gift just because. I should cook dinner to thank him for taking outstanding care of me since day one of this year. I should make dessert, too. But sometimes I just forget. And we’re all a little guilty of lacking in habitual romantic gestures.

In my opinion, February 14 is a needed reminder to stop and think about the one who has claimed that once empty chamber in your heart. The one person you go to for everything. Your best friend. The one being who knows everything about you, probably too much. The man or woman who sees you for everything that you are and still loves you - who sees you, studies you, arranges you into neat little sections and scrutinizes those and still decides you are worth his or her love, time and life. In a world where we’re racing through life, sometimes failing to LIVE life, reminders are good. Reminders are great. And if you celebrate Valentine’s Day efficiently, where, in my opinion again, you send an eCard or recycled paper card, you buy local flowers thus support your local florist, like from my wonderful friend, Bubba AKA Adriene, you purchase handmade jewelry, you choose chocolates from a local sweetery, why not glorify today? Or don’t buy a thing. Just say “I love you” too many times (which is impossible) et donnez des baisers all over your beloved.

If you don’t have a mate, you must have a friend. You must have family. There is someone out there who you at least like. Call him. Write to her. Do something to show your appreciation of that person. If not amorous, it’s at least supportive outreach. Make someone feel special, even if society is practically forcing you to do so.

Tonight, I award my love with the awesomely vegan dish titling this blog entry plus not-quite-vegan but healthy-ish homemade truffles. A big production for a woman who rarely squeezes into an apron and mitts, it is oh so worth it.

Happy Valentine's Day!

From Laguna Art Museum with Love

Yes, I titled my most recent LAist article after the second James Bond film starring my favorite Bond, Sir Sean Connery. Yes, I'm quite Bond savvy. And for that I thank my brother.

Chatting with Bolton Colburn, Director of Laguna Art Museum, on the phone yesterday, I learned a great deal about the museum and particularly this year's art auction. Appropriately themed "LOVE" and taking place just two days before Valentine's Day, the auction is not only a highly anticipated event that brings the community together with artists, collectors and museum staff, it also helps support this non-profit learning institution. What I was unable to detail in my article due to length are the impressive educational programs that the museum runs and how it's generally funded.

One of the museum’s educational programs welcomes third and fourth graders in the Southern California region to visit the museum and study primary objects that deal with the regional and state history curriculum they are currently learning. Additionally, a gallery within the museum circulates artwork from creative classes in Orange and Los Angeles Counties. How awesome is that?

Producing between ten and twelve exhibitions each year, the museum benefits from fundraisers like the art auction to help fund these displays. Existing as a prominent non-profit establishment, Laguna Art Museum relies heavily on individual gifts, grants, corporate support, major fundraising events and admissions prices, according to Marni Farmer, Director of Communications.

Click here to read my LAist coverage. Click your seatbelt and head to the auction this Saturday!

Writing Warmup

Once a week my writing partner, Gaby, and I rendezvous at a nearby cafe and join forces. Admittedly we chat for the first 30 minutes, sometimes about writing-related topics, but then we snap to it. Our sessions are productive, and Gaby comes armed with a writing warmup. They help energize our creative muscles, exercising both hemispheres of our brains. It's like speed walking that first song of your running playlist before picking up the pace. It's very necessary.

Last Friday's warmup was a fun one. We were to think of 3 or 4 of our earliest memories and construct a scene using all of them. We had 15 minutes. And this is what I wrote.

To this day my mother still regrets moving from our house at Lake Wynonah. While we only lived there until I was about 5, I have a few wonderful memories of it and attribute part of my love for the outdoors to my life there. My brother, Ryan, and I explored the great Pennsylvania outdoors every day. Surrounded by nature and very few humans, we made friends with bugs, animals, sticks, leaves, trees, wild berries and, of course, each other. Siblings develop a strong love for one another during those early years that sometimes darkens into something resembling hatred once the teenage years begin. Usually, hopefully, this is just a layer clouding that love, which evaporates as both siblings mature. Thankfully this was our case. There weren’t many other houses around ours at the lake, which my mom loved. My dad probably loved the seclusion, too, but that’s a question I’ll never be able to ask him. Tromping through the fallen brown leaves, Ryan pointed to a tree, excited about a bug. Straining my eyes, I failed to see it. What this a trick? Probably. But as he pushed me closer, as older brothers love to do, love to test, I saw it. Stealthy camouflaged as tree bark perched the stick bug. Its body was similar to a praying mantis, and I think for that reason I wasn’t afraid. And Ryan’s presence certainly calmed my fears. If alone, I would’ve ran screaming back to the house, probably tripping over a rock. Oh the bruises, scrapes and gashes my knees and elbows endured due to my recklessness. Not to mention stubbed toes. My skin still displays some of those scars.

During another adventure we stumbled upon a field of wild strawberries, plucking and dropping them into a bucket. Perhaps it was just a small patch of them, and maybe they weren’t even strawberries, but I remember their juicy, red appearance, existing free of human destruction. That is, until a 4 year old and a 6 year old discovered them. My parents may have been there too, but I mostly remember Ryan. About seventeen years later I’ll befriend a man named Doug and find that we were neighbors at the lake. He, too, will remember the strawberries.

I wish so badly that I could better remember my father. But no matter how hard I try, how hard I close my eyes and try to recall life with him, I can only produce a few moments, those of which were mostly at our last house while he was alive, between the ages of 5 and 9 years old. I can still hear his voice, jolly and loud. Full of life and a proud York County twang. My brother sounds like him.

The one early memory I do have of my father is vivid, though the rest of my family claims it was a dream. But I know it wasn’t. It was real. I was 2, I think, possibly younger. I was still sleeping in a crib. My room was down one level from my parents’ bedroom. I awoke, peered at the open bathroom, and to my horror was a blue martian. Electric blue, glowing in the night, enjoying our bathtub. I stood up, staring at this creature. And then I started to scream. MOM! DAD! I needed them now. I needed them to see this. And I needed them to lift me from my cell and carry me away from harm. They flipped on the lights and came rushing down the short flight of stairs, their faces wrinkled with worry. I pointed at the martian, but as soon as the lights went on, it disappeared. My mom comforted me as my dad checked the tub. No martians here. I assured them I what I saw. They said it was just a dream. I assured them it was not. Who knows what else they told me to calm my fears, but I didn’t believe them. And to this day, about a quarter century later, I still don’t. I saw a blue martian in the bathtub at the house in Lake Wynonah.

Latest LAist Article

Check out my latest LAist coverage on an incredible mustachioed man and his recent creations. Click here.

Only 7 days left to experience it - hop on over to Curbside Gallery in Santa Ana!

Au Revoir, Yellow Pages!

GOOD has done it again, ladies and gents. Impressive with its infinite wisdom on how to make the world a better place, they've uncovered the simple process for opting out of receiving, in my opinion, an obsolete resource - Yellow Pages. I understand those lemony pages are helpful for those without internet and smart phones. I'm sure the Silent Generation and some Baby Boomers love this service. But for those of you who use these as door props, recycle or, environment forbid, trash them, opt out!


It's effortless. Click here and follow the quick instructions to register. You'll be directed to your email, and once signed in, you can check off all paper monsters you never want to see at your front door again! Sitting at the bottom of the opt out page is a button to remove them all, so use it! I did, and all of the below were removed, most of which I never knew existed.


- No copies of Los Angeles Spanish - Seccion Amarilla USA, LLC
- No copies of Japanese TD&G-So CA - Japan Publicity, Inc.,/Telephone Guide
- No copies of Marina DelRey-Venice - SuperMedia
- No copies of Los Angeles Westside - Yellow Book
- No copies of Los Angeles Co(B) - AT&T Advertising Solutions
- No copies of Santa Monica C - SuperMedia
- No copies of Los Ang Co-Iran - Ketab Corporation
- No copies of Santa Monica Comp(Y) - SuperMedia
- No copies of Culver City C - AT&T Advertising Solutions


Be sure to read GOOD's story.


Thanks again, GOOD. You are my hero.

One Month In!

Remember a month ago when you made that list of things you would do this year to make you a better person? You replayed 2010 in your mind, flagging failures, highlighting triumphs. You vowed to be nicer, healthier, smarter, more caring, more giving, less judgmental, less and more of everything of which you have too much or too little. Remember that list? Your RESOLUTIONS?!?!?!?! *your world shakes and a hanging wall ornament smashes to the floor.

How's it going? Are you becoming a superior human? Is 2011 YOUR YEAR? Hopefully you won't have to, but here's my friendly reminder to dust off that list and dig back in. It's not too late. It's only February 1st. You still have eleven more months to divide and conquer. There's still time to lose those pounds, stop talking smack, volunteer, take your vitamins, stop beating your wife, stop cheating on your boyfriend, recycle, etc., etc. Haven't picked up a book yet? No sweat. You know there are several lurking on your shelves, under your bed and possibly on the top of your toilet. Just turn to page one and do not stop until you're thirty pages in. If the book is worth your time and brain, you'll be hooked.

Me, I'm doing pretty well. I followed my dream and am working tirelessly to write every day. I'm blogging. I've lost 14 lbs. I plucked The Yiddish Policemen's Union from between other unread paperbacks and am 1/3 of the way through. I've stopped screening my calls. I'm drinking at least 8 glasses of water each day. And besides the broken foot from day one, I'm feeling pretty good about 27 and in a few, 28.

I just need that golden retriever and that yard for him to run around in... Oh, and to be published in the New York or Los Angeles Times...

Here's to goodness. Don't give up.

New Published Work!

As I hung up the phone last week after interviewing artist, Taka Sudo, I experienced a tinge of regret that I'd never moved to Canada. Taka resides in Vancouver and is a genuinely nice guy, full of energy and giggles. Most Canadians I know are similar - amicable, intelligent and inspiring.

Checkout my latest LAist article on Taka's current show in Venice, CA. Click here.

And checkout the show, too!

Things We Do Big

Obama's State of the Union address earlier this week failed to inspire me. Honestly, the words of politicians have little effect on me. It's their actions that ignite my interest. Though Mr. President's speech was teeming with strong quotes, the phrase/theme, "We do big things," has unfortunately stuck. Are we finally giving into the "dumb American" stereotype and abandoning any motivation to prove educated?


Appearing in my inbox shortly thereafter was a pitifully titled email from Mr. President - "We do big things." After noting a few key points from his discourse, he reiterated, "Yet the story of America is this: We do big things." I know we do. While a bit shaken, we're still a superpower. Don't get me wrong, I strongly support Obama. But team, couldn't we have dreamed up something a little better? Something with more gusto, more hope and more brain? 


In another email I was offered a free t-shirt if I donated just $25 to the Obama campaign. What does this shirt say? You guessed it! WE DO BIG THINGS. Topped with a tiny picture of our country like a dainty maraschino cherry. Le sigh. It claims to be a limited edition, and I really hope this holds true.


This gutless slogan brings to my mind elementary phrases like:


See Spot run! (& just about any line from a Dick and Jane book.)
I ate a big red candle.
I am job.
Hooked on Phonics worked for me.
I like crayons.
I want to go to there.
Stuff is cool.
I like things.
Are we there yet?
Have you seen my baseball?
Dude, what's mine say?
Sweet, what's mine say?
The horse goes "neigh."
Never go full retard.

Sarah Silverman Similarity

Sarah Silverman and I have something in common. We both lie to our calorie counters. She revealed her treat deceit this evening via Twitter. Funny thing is, I lied to mine pretty badly last night, "forgetting" to enter the bread, cheese, beer AND chocolate I consumed during late hours of the night thanks to my dear friend Erin. It's ok though. I paid for it today, stomach growling at the crap I dumped into it, head angry at those three beers. Now that amount may not sound like a lot, but for someone who's consumed booze once in the last four weeks, it hit me pretty hard. I wonder what else she and I have in common... Obviously millions of dollars and Jimmy Kimmel. Cheers, my cheating amie. I'll probably lie a little tomorrow night, too, in your honor.

Laptop Talk

We've all see it in movies. The happy (or unhappy) couple lies next to one another in bed, both reading books, enjoying the other's presence and warmth (or not). Last night Hudson and I were happily doing the same, only instead of books, we were busy clicking and clacking on our laptops. We'd been doing so for a good hour before I even noticed the scene. I looked up from my dancing fingers at the two of us and giggled. Such a funny world in which we now live. We're so attached to our devices. Sure, there are books next to our bed. But why would I pick one up when I have my sexy MacBook Pro feeding me Gmail, Facebook, Twitter and the countless other sites and distractions that devour embarrassingly large portions of my days? Why would I bother flipping paper pages when I can simply click icons? Why would I embrace traditional learning and relaxation? I really should. And I will. Just as soon as I finish this blog, check my email, Facebook and Twitter and watch Kick-Ass.

State of the Union Address

Here's yet another reason why I love GOOD: They've scoured the web in search of the best place to watch tonight's State of the Union address. And they've landed on the Sunlight Foundation's live blog. Click here.


According to GOOD, "Not only will Sunlight be streaming video of the address, reporters from CQ Roll Call, the National Journal, the Center for Public Integrity, and the Huffington Post will be on hand to fact-check and offer context as the president speaks. We can almost guarantee that the information provided will be more objective and less dry than what the White House is offering. Happy viewing."


Merci beaucoup for making this so simple, GOOD. Provided my internet behaves appropriately, happy viewing, indeed.

New Published Work!

LAist published my article on Ted Yeager's current photography exhibit at The G2 Gallery. Read it here.

Heal the Bay Presents: Jack Johnson Beach Cleanup

This is a review I wrote last year simply for myself, simply to remember the event...

Set against a breathtaking backdrop of the winding SoCal coast, the iconic Ferris wheel turns atop the Santa Monica pier. It’s an incredible site every time I see it. Although I live just a few miles away, it never gets old. Santa Monica boasts a beautiful beach, and that’s one of the reasons why I’m here today, Saturday, May 22, 2010. I’m here to preserve its beauty, to pluck the traces of human ignorance from the grains of sand. I’m also here because I deeply respect Jack Johnson. It’s my first beach cleanup with Heal the Bay, and it’s a special one. All registered volunteers who complete today’s beach cleanup will receive a ticket to the free Jack Johnson concert the following Monday on the Santa Monica pier.  Sounds too good to be true, doesn’t it? That’s what I thought, too. Turns out Heal the Bay organizes beach cleanups every third Saturday of the month. To kickoff his summer tour for his new album, To the Sea, Jack Johnson teamed up with Heal the Bay for this exculsive combo event.

The registration line is long and impressive.  It’s refreshing to see so many locals volunteering two hours of their sacred Saturday mornings. Flying solo, I team up with another solo lady, and we begin our mission. Our ammunition: two latex gloves, one plastic trash bag, one checklist and one pencil. A Heal the Bay marine biologist explains that while we may not recover giant pieces of trash from the sand, we will most likely find small shards of plastic, Styrofoam and other non-biodegradable particles. We reach for anything our eyes register as not sand. After the first hour the bag is still weightless and blowing in the wind. Our checklist, however, is teeming with tally marks. Cigarette butts and plastic pieces compete head-to-head for most common trace of human destruction. We spot 4 triple-A batteries scattered along the shoreline. Shocked, we grab them, cursing the human race while shoving them into our bag. Finally, some weight. Both hours fly by, and the feeling of accomplishment as I tie and set our bag on top of the massive pile energizes me. Burning in my back pocket is my concert ticket. As I walk away, I’m grateful for nature and apologetic that my people are responsible for its demise. 

That Monday I race out of work like I was escaping high school at the sound of the afternoon bell. Coasting along the beach path towards the pier, I pedal my bicycle towards the best concert I’ve attended to date. The masses are flocking by bicycle, car and on foot. A sizable crowd of concert crashers has formed beside the pier and enjoys a decent view of the stage. The setting is intimate; the crowd is grateful. Besides the loud man a few bodies back smoking a cigarette on the wooden pier, I believe we are not only happy to witness such an amazing artist perform live, but we hold fast a sense of fulfillment and purpose. I love you California, Heal the Bay and Jack Johnson for all that you do to help the environment. We can change the future if we acknowledge the past and present.  See you at the next beach cleanup.

Pre-Existing Condition

Rejection. Oh how it hurts. Well, in my case, not really. Any communication I've ever had with a health insurance representative leaves me scratching my head, wondering why such a powerful country is incapable of caring for its people. Why doctors in London make house calls for the sick (at least they did in 2003), yet here in the states health care depletes your savings, joining you with a doctor who, not always, often does not appear to have time for you. I know reform is happening. And I know other countries are struggling with their systems. I'm not going to traipse around my choices. I shall sleuth.

When people are sick, they are in a vulnerable state, one of the most vulnerable states in which a person can be. You feel trapped within your body, and you just want, you just need help. As luck would have it, I broke my foot on 1/1/11 and lost my health insurance on 1/14/11. COBRA is offering me an affordable package that matches the plan offered to me at my previous employer. It's just $533.89 per month for medical, dental and vision. Just in case sarcasm does not carry well on my blog, I'll let you know it's currently oozing out of my finger tips. Since I'll surely be visiting my orthopedist a couple more times to ensure proper healing, I spent the majority of today flipping through pages of benefits jargon, underlining dates, noting terms I did not understand, chatting with health insurance reps. Quite the thrilling Friday afternoon. Vicki from Anthem Blue Cross and I really hit it off. After firing a few questions at me, she recommended a "popular plan for young people," which was accompanied by a whopping $5,000 deductible. Now, maybe they assume most young people don't understand deductibles, but I do. I may be in my twenties and still require a few rereads to soak it all in, but I'll never hit that deductible should my health remain as-is. Vicki and I understood each other, a far more reasonable plan was presented and we were friends. Scrutinizing the online brochure, I turned over all stones, ensuring no hidden costs, percentages or waiting periods. And there was just one thing that I'd forgotten to share with Vicki. A four letter word in the health insurance industry, if you will. PRE-EXISTING CONDITION. The ground shook. Immediately after I broached my lame foot, Vicki replied, "Oh..." while pausing for a few moments. I helped her out. "So this means I'm denied?" "Well, yes," she replied. Adding, "But we'll take you once your doctor clears you of your condition." My condition? I broke my fucking foot. I'm not dying. I'm not going to require (hopefully) extensive surgery or countless bottles of medication. I just need to see my orthopedist to ensure my foot heals properly. I need proper medical attention to avoid more health issues in the future. My future. My life. My body.

DENIED.

Sadly, c'est la vie. I called my orthopedist, inquiring about the fees for visits and x-rays sans insurance. Turns out, the rates are affordable. Plus, dear Josie offered to cut my x-ray costs in half. Noting my shock, she informed me that sometimes she does things like this to assist the uninsured.

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but curiosity is saving me a few hundred dollars each month.

VIE

Upon looking up the definition of the word "vie" today, I found the following very interesting. The French word for life is vie. In English, vie is defined as "to strive in competition or rivalry with another; contend for superiority." 


C'est tres similaire, non?