I’m not one to intentionally eavesdrop on a conversation but when stuck in a slow moving grocery line, what else is there to do? A woman ahead of me was talking to her friend and telling her about her mom’s recent trip to the ER. It seemed that her mom was admitted to the hospital where a CT scan and  MRI of her head had been done, along with other testing and extensive blood work drawn. “Wow”, the friend commented, “what did they find wrong?” “They have no idea. They gave her some meds and sent her back to the nursing home.” “That’s awful, how old is your mom now?” “She’s ninety eight.” As they continued talking I gleaned that the reason her mom had been taken to the ER in the first place was that she wasn’t acting like herself. Apparently she seemed a little ‘checked out’ and not entirely with it. Really? She is in her late nineties, I would think she would be allowed to stray from herself every now and then. Personally, I have to knock back a handful of beers to achieve what her mom was getting naturally. If I make it anywhere close to that age, nobody better be rushing me to the hospital to be prodded and probed out of my good buzz! Leave me alone while I try to figure out why the old lady in the mirror keeps staring at me.

This is the problem with healthcare today; it makes absolutely no sense. Insurance companies are forever trying to limit or deny coverage to folks with pre-existing conditions, even if they are otherwise healthy. Meantime they are shelling out tens of thousands of dollars in a quest to figure out why someone almost 100 years old is starting to slip a bit. Gee, why would that happen? Could it be because we aren’t immortal? Is it because we will all die and the odds start stacking up against you when you have already lived nearly 10 decades? I like to think that quality of life is more important that quantity of life. Do what you can to make someone comfortable but draw a line with the heroics. Where are all those death panels we were promised a few years ago? When my best accomplishment for the day is maintaining core body temperature and drooling, please, somebody bring them in for a vote. Because lets face it, we have yet to come up with the product needed when a Depends Undergarments no longer does the trick. We haven’t pushed the envelope that far. But we will and it will be an expensive and stinky envelope. I for one, want no part of it.

In a sane world, people could think logically about how to approach rising healthcare costs. This would include how to decide when to run a battery of tests and when to let someone die with grace and dignity. But sadly, we don’t live in a sane world and you can’t just take granny down to the veterinarian to be put down even if she has started eating all the puppy treats and urinating on the sofa. I’m afraid all we can hope for is some pragmatic discussion to reach some reasonable consensus  on the subject. Oh yeah, and some of those death panels. Just in case.

Frankly, I won’t even consider going to a church unless they have a really kick ass slogan on their outside sign. It needs to be edgy and preferably a bit scary. Not an outright threat but close enough to make you feel uncomfortable about your immortal soul. Personally, if my church can’t scare the hell out of me, what good is it? The job of any church worth it’s weight in sinners is to convince you that you need them. Or as one church sign put it, “Go to Church or the Devil will Get You!” Pretty effective marketing I’d say.

To me God is like food and the individual religions are merely stores selling their brand of God. You would think there is enough God to go around as a single chunk but for some reason we feel the need to slice God into pieces and then fight over which one is the right one. How appropriate that so many churches hold services on Sunday, the same day the NFL is playing. Maybe John Madden could start a fantasy league where players draft and trade various religious ideologies in a quest for the ultimate prize – human salvation. Of course it would be hard to measure who had won so you’d have to build in a sort of two soul ‘conversion’ as a tie breaker. I think this would really excite the base and make services more interesting.

Let’s face it, competition is tight when it comes to all matters religion. The Mormons have just lowered the age for missionaries in an attempt to flood the market with willing young annoyers. Now you can slam your front door in the face of children whose bikes still have training wheels. I think all religious organizations should make their attendees mount up and take to the streets. We could bring down obesity and bug the crap out of innocent people minding their own business, all at once. The slogan could be,”Will Your Ass fit Through the Gates of Heaven?“. And since the numbers of Baptists has been dropping over the last five years, I think it’s time they start giving out Baptist Bucks based on your tithing totals. They could have a church store where you could turn them in for useful stuff. Call it,” Redemption Starts Here!” Even the church leaders could benefit from a ” how to” department. They could get help on matters of keeping your relationship with a minor hidden from the wife and kids.* And not one to take second fiddle, the Catholics could one up them by auctioning off, “Get out of Hell Free” cards to the highest bidder. Oops, I mean contributor. It’s not like anyone is trying to buy their way into heaven. Right?

It seems that religion is the sort of thing that needs to be force fed to the masses till they can regurgitate it on command. No thank-you, I can’t eat one more bite. For myself and the rest of us choosing to partake in the uncut version of God, you can count on seeing me out worshiping nature instead. And to all you undecideds seeking proof that there is indeed some form of higher power, I offer this: Bristol Palin is no longer on DWTS. Hallelujah, Jesus!

*  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_convicted_religious_leaders 

Sometimes inspiration comes from the least likely of places. It was Friday morning and I was one car of hundreds speeding along 22nd Street during rush hour traffic.  A silver Beemer and I were courting one another as we jockeyed our way through the masses. It’s like adult go cart racing but without the fun as we make our way to important places. Important is the key word here. But if you interviewed everyone in the motorcade, probably only about half of them even want to go where they are heading. The other half is going only because they feel they have to. It’s what we humans do, stuff we don’t want to but feel compelled to do. Personally, I was on my way to the dentist. So while I absolutely, positively didn’t want to be going there, it was imperative that I be on time. Because that’s what crazy people do.

Gauging the clock on my dashboard, I calculated an arrival time of approximately 3 minutes before my scheduled appointment. Plenty of time, I thought. I released my grip slightly, allowing myself to enjoy the ride. I was driving along behind Reid Park which was teeming with shiny bodies in motion. There were half dressed people of all varieties involved in physical activities. As I watched the endless stream of sweat a thought occurred to me. ‘Why didn’t these people have to be going to work?  How come they get to play when the rest of us are busy feeling trapped and miserable?’ For a moment I hated them for being able to work out in the blistering morning sun when I was stuck in an air-conditioned car cruising along listening to my favorite CD. Then I remembered that I loathe running or pretty much any mundane activity of physical exertion. Still, it would have been nice to have the opportunity.

As I comfortably continued past the zoo my reverie was interrupted by the sudden yellow flashing lights above the crosswalk. Really? I glanced down at my clock and knew that this was going to put a definite drag on my schedule. Looking around at my fellow humans I saw the same reflection in their eyes, terror at the thought of being late. So here we sit, impatiently waiting for something to happen so we can keep going to where we don’t want to be. At first I didn’t see anyone or any reason for the crosswalk signal to be activated. And then I saw him. A homeless man emerged from the area of Reid Park and slowly began to push his shopping cart toward the other side. The cart was filled to overflowing and I wondered briefly if this made him seem snobbish to his other homeless friends. I mean surely there is competition within the ranks of those on the streets, isn’t there? Does that make him a rock star or just a show off? Is there envy or talk of an intervention? Hmmm, I knew that if I found myself living on the streets, I would have a cart bulging with stuff. Not because I’m a hoarder, I’m just overly prepared. Because you never know when you might need a glow stick and some dog treats as you go about your day.

Anyway, homeless Pete, (I named him that because he had a ‘Pete’ face), was inching his way across the road, impervious to the watchful eyes trained on him. He was staring straight ahead as if on a mission of utmost importance. He appeared not to care that he was holding us up. He didn’t seem interested in where we needed to be or that time was mercilessly marching on. No, the only matter to be dealt with was getting across the road to the other side.

As I watched this all play out, I felt myself becoming anxious and a little peeved. I mean, where did this guy have to go? Couldn’t he wait until after rush hour, it’s not like he has to punch a clock like the rest of us. It was this last thought that snapped me from my self-centered diatribe. Who the hell was I to judge this man? Was I really so much more important than him because I’m a slave to time? Suddenly I went from feeling anxious and peeved to amused. “Good for him”, I said aloud to no one in my car. Talking to myself made me feel even closer to Pete. I felt respect for him as a person, a person entitled to cross the street whenever he desired. I realized that I was even a little bit jealous of his freedom from any discernible dress code or hair considerations. It also helped me to remember  that I have options in life, I have choices. Pete inspired me to not be concerned with what other people think.  Because I know that if I were in his shoes, I’d be stopping traffic every chance I got.