They certainly are...

I just saw something on TV that may make Bob Dylan unhappy. Kaiser-Permenente, an insurance company, just used the song “The Times They Are A Changing” in a commercial to stir fat people to action. They showed a man, overweight, changing his thinking about being fat, apparently because he was listening to Bob.

(A skinny) Bob Dylan, 1962.


Now you can call me a cynic, but I think it is an insult to reduce such an important song to a commercial for an insurance company claiming to care about their customers (this is where Dylan might disagree. He claimed his songs meant lots of things, some obvious, some not so much, and occasionally he meant what he said - but the reality of that song is strong...I digress.). We must not fall into the delusion that the insurance company actually wants people to be healthy. That is anti-profit. If people were generally healthy and exercised effort in taking care of themselves, health insurance rates would go down. Dramatically. It is naïve to think insurance companies want this to happen.

It is these commercials that make me want to train the fat [m]asses, moving them off their couches and into gyms, or onto running trails, because fewer instances of heart attack, high blood pressure, high cholesterol and other environmentally induced conditions would actually lower our health insurance. Few would disagree that less-crowded hospitals, increased life expectancies, and lower health-care costs are good things.

I pay for my own insurance. For health coverage, I pay $100 each month. I have a $2000 deductible. I don’t smoke, I’ve never had anything worse than the flu, and that’s only happened once or twice. I had surgery once at the age of 10 months. I’m not the healthiest person I know, but I’m far closer to the top of the healthy heap than most. I am being fleeced. Insurance companies know that with the ever-rising cost of even the most standard medical treatments, it is simply insane to go without insurance. They can charge whatever they like. You and I will pay.

I was recently confronted with the possibility of surgery for a potential hernia I earned working for the US Forest Service. After a couple doctor visits and one ultrasound, the doctors concluded that I didn’t need surgery. That came as a relief, because the government wouldn’t have paid anyway. They have some loophole regarding non-specific injuries on the job that gets them out of what must be thousands and thousands of dollars worth of medical bills. Therefore, the burden falls upon me.

Individuals are powerless when caught in the void between mega-insurance companies and mega-employers. Both have the financial power to screw the individual, who has not the resources, intellectual, financial, or temporal to compete on such a grand scale. Lawyers for these companies operate behind closed doors, 24 hours a day, in teams with unlimited income, because finding the newest ways to stay ahead of someone who’s getting close to being treated fairly is always worth the cost.

Treat your body with some respect. Join a gym. Walk your dog for longer than 5 minutes. Try and get from the “obese” category of our society into the “overweight” one. Set some kind of self-respecting goal. Don’t believe what you see on TV, and don’t resign yourself to a preconceived fate. I pay way too much for insurance, and it’s your fault.

Buckle up, this could be a bumpy ride.

Currently, Colorado law stipulates that a police officer may only write a ticket for not wearing a seat belt if the motorist is pulled over for another infraction. This is known as a secondary violation.

On Tuesday, February 14, the Colorado House of Representatives passed by one vote House Bill 1125, which if approved by the full House, and then the Senate, would make not wearing a seatbelt a primary offense. This means a police officer could initiate a traffic stop only because you are not wearing your seat belt.

Who has the right to make a decision regarding whether or not I choose to wear a seatbelt? If lawmakers have their way, that decision may be out of my hands (if I don’t want to risk a ticket). Those same lawmakers will also be receiving the sum of $12.6 million from the federal government. I’m not saying that a politician would trade a vote for money, but…

I don’t want my taxes, which are high enough already, to fund a national campaign for mandatory seat belt laws. Allowing an officer to initiate a traffic stop under these pretenses is unconstitutional. Fortunately, opponents to the proposed law were able to add an amendment requiring officers to actually witness a driver not wearing a seatbelt. In many other states, officers are able to pull someone over under a “reasonable suspicion” clause.

"You can see if someone is swerving," said Rep. Morgan Carroll (D-Aurora). "You can see if they're not using their signal. You can detect if they are speeding, but you cannot, you cannot really see if someone is or is not wearing their seat belt until you're right up on them. Folks, that is a random stop."

Now don’t get me wrong, I believe seat belts save lives, and I also believe it is a responsibility of someone to those about whom they care to take precautions regarding their own safety – but that’s where I draw the line. In my opinion, you are more than welcome to choose not to wear your seatbelt. Your decision does not affect my safety on the road. Should you become injured in an accident, or perhaps even be killed, that is unfortunate, but that is also your decision.

Jumper? Where?

A typical night in Sitka when I wasn’t working involved watching the endless summer sunsets. Most nights I chose the bridge that spanned the water gap from Baranof Island to the airport island because its surface was about 70 feet above the water. Much taller than anything else in town, the bridge also yielded an unobstructed view north.

Many nights I liked to write letters from this point. It served as a nice introduction. It allowed me to talk about the ocean to my west, the fishing boats returning to harbor below my feet, or the never-setting sun to my north. Apparently, many of the attributes of this bridge also make it a prime location for locals to end a long, depressing winter early.

I was having an especially good evening in July of 2004 and was writing a very long letter to a friend. A complicated relationship, this letter contained much and required a lot of thought. As usual on the bridge, I lost awareness of time and of the passing cars just feet behind me. They didn’t pass often and didn’t drive fast and didn’t require my attention.

I was just wrapping things up around 10:30 pm when out of the corner of my eye I noticed something strange. It seemed that a car from the far lane of traffic (my left) was driving across the near lane, straight toward me. My natural reaction was to get out of the way, so I grabbed my journal and jumped to the right. Preoccupied, I failed to notice the two cars that had simultaneously approached from the opposite direction and stopped half on the sidewalk, half in the road, just feet to my right.

Sizing things up (what were my options? I couldn’t move anyway), and with the aid of their flashing lights, I realized that these crazy drivers were in fact the local police - all of them. Unbeknownst to me, they’d stopped traffic on both sides of the bridge and initiated a coordinated attack on my position. My first thought, after realizing that I wasn’t going to die, was that perhaps I’d violated some type of homeland security act regarding sustained time spent on one bridge without exiting.

As the cop from the closest vehicle on my right exited his car, he slowly approached me and casually introduced himself as Officer John. Still not having any idea why I was being approached, I made what must have been perceived as an aggressive move in his direction, removing from my pocket and extending my hand meaning only to introduce myself (also as Jon). I was, however, cut off and told to keep my hands where they could be seen, and not to make any sudden moves.

Looking north from Suicide Bridge at midnight.



Officer John asked me what I was doing on the bridge for so long that night, and still not aware of their purpose, explained that I was writing a long letter to a good friend. It was at about that point that I realized someone must have mistaken me for a possible suicide, and called the police to investigate the situation.

In the process of clarifying my situation, I learned that Officer John was married to one of my co-workers, we’d both lived in Montana, and we were both enjoying the drier-than-normal summer.

The stressful situation successfully resolved, I apologized for taking their time. They explained that it was a slow night and all of the on-duty officers had responded, mostly out of curiosity. I also explained that they may want to re-assess their approach philosophy regarding potential jumpers. I was not suicidal and almost jumped myself, fearful of being smashed into a guard rail by an SUV.

This event propelled me to near-celebrity status for about a week.

Who wants to go skiing?

In the middle of the best snow season for Colorado's ski resorts since I've lived in the state, I find it harder than ever to commit myself to even a day trip into the mountains. It's not that I don't have time - I live in Denver and don't have a job. Money is a realistic issue, but I suppose if I wanted it badly enough, it could happen. I've just been so spoiled, it doesn't seem worth it.

Last season, I lived in Telluride working a ski lift. This means I got about 115 days on the mountain during an epic southern-colorado winter. During work days, I enjoyed a two-hour ski break, only 30 minutes of which were unpaid. On my days off, I'd wake up at 8:45, eat a pop tart, put on my ski clothes, and walk 50 meters to the lift, where I'd cut in front of the masses and grab first chair. I'd ski hard for about 4 hours, stop into the bar where a pretty girl I know worked, and eat and drink free pizza and beer. If I still felt like skiing, I'd head back out for the afternoon, but when you have a free pass there's no pressure to "get your money's worth." In the afternoons I'd poach a hot tub with friends, grab supper, and shoot pool for a few drinks in town before riding the gondola back home. Repeat the following day.

Now, there's an entirely different process. At least a day or two previous, you have to find someone else interested and able to ski on the same day. You have to buy a lift ticket at king soopers for discount, or if you forget, get butchered at the window. if you're lucky like me, you might have friends working at resorts who hook you up, reducing your personal financial hardships.

Next, you have to wake up at 6:30, grab a bite, and hit the road. Normally, its only about 1.5 hours to the nearest resorts, but with denver rush-hour traffic on weekdays and ski traffic on weekends, you can plan on adding 45 minutes to 2 hours. If you get stuck, it's conceivable that you'll spend 3 -4 hours in traffic if there's fresh snow on the road. All of a sudden you're stuck with a $55 ticket for one day of skiing and you've already missed the most important part - first tracks. Adding to the frustration, you still need to find a parking spot. You can pay more and be within walking distance, or park for free 5 miles from the nearest lift and wait 20 minutes in the cold and blowing snow to ride a crowded shuttle bus with 70 of your cheapest friends - if you're lucky. More realistically, because you're parked in the farthest lot, there are no spaces on this bus, and you wait longer.

So now you've got to ski ALL DAY because you've purchased a day pass. Because you were in such a hurry this morning, you forgot to bring lunch and must pay $21.75 for a 2-hour old, burned 1/4-pound burger and half order of fries. You can't afford water. This means that at 3:30 when you're tired (because you don't have anymore calories to burn and are severely dehydrated) and cold (because the day you selected last week turned out to have a high of 6 degrees F with clouds and a 35 mph wind), you force yourself to take "one more run," and you fall, tearing you ACL, MCL, and LCD, in front of the Hawaiian Tropic girls, who are doing their annual winter photo shoot.

So on top of paying for a day pass and a day's gas, you also have a hospital bill and owe the guy next door a new TV.

Who wants to go skiing?

Hunting...for jobs.

About two weeks ago I began my job search in Denver. My goal was to get a job waiting tables at decent restaurant, but I had no idea where to begin. I called a friend of mine, the chef at Buca D'Italia, and explained my situation. He made a few calls and told me where I should apply. When I asked about my lack of experience (that would be NO experience), he told me to "make it up. No one ever calls references - you'll be fine."

Later that night, I spent about 10 minutes building a bare-bones, real-but-fake resume. I tried to follow my uncle's advice (given during a night of vodka shots) and "anchor the lies to some truth," in order to keep things straight in my mind. I didn't go in to depth with anything, didn't list any phone numbers, names of supervisors, or dates worked (outside of listing the year). I decided to use the names of real restaurants in towns where I'd worked, hoping to stay on track. The next day I handed out 7 or 8 of these resumes.

Probably because my resumes sucked so much, only one restaurant called me for an interview. When I arrived, I met with the owner, and the first thing she said was that she knew the restaurant I'd listed from Napa. Wow, what a great way to get things rolling. The short remainder of the interview consisted of her asking questions exposing my lack of food knowledge, and probably my lack of any knowledge regarding food service outside of my days at mcdonalds in omaha 10 years ago. How could I have known that "caramelizing" an onion didn't involve caramel?

I also filled out an application at C B & Potts, a local restaurant chain serving moderately priced entrees. Things were going well - they only wanted two previous jobs, so I gave them real ones, and they only asked for the number of years experience at certain food-service-related positions. However, I was tired, and at the end of a long day, and some of my answers to their "personality" questions may have waivered a bit. For example, one question asked, "Does the word 'merchandizing' mean anything to you?" I responded, "It sounds corporate." And another question asked, "Please comment on a recent personal triumph or achievement." I don't know if I just couldn't stand to not lie on an application, but I responded, "I am most proud of my recent winnings on a three-way parlay bet with the steelers winning the super bowl. seriously."

I have yet to hear from C B & Potts. I will call today.

Other notes from the weekend...

-Big city burrito (the original) is still the best thing going.
-Free beer almost always tastes better than not-free beer.
-Pugs do not have discriminating taste.
-Cigars make me smell bad for about 48 hours. A shower cuts the residual odor by 75%.
-Finally, "The more things change..."

Points of reference: my previous roommates.

My first blog hasn't cast my current roommates in the best light - rightfully so, they are strange. However, by reviewing the highlights (I suppose lowlights would be better...) of some of my previous roommates, you may better understand why life isn't so bad. Because I may have inadvertantly emailed the link to this blog to some of said previous roommates, I will change their names to prevent further embarrassment and/or me getting my ass kicked later.

California: In Napa I lived with Bernice. She seemed nice enough. Forty five minutes after moving in, she let me touch her boobs (they were fake, it's not as bad as it sounds, trust me). I should have taken this as a warning.

Cooking dinner after work one night, I slowly became concious of a rhythmic sound I realized was a bed hitting a wall. At first I tried to deny that this was actually happening, but walking up stairs, other sounds confirmed my suspicians. This pattern repeated itself multiple times with 2 or 3 other guys during my stay in Napa. Often, Bernice and ______ would walk in the door, head up stairs, make the bed hit the wall, and then about 10 minutes after entering, he'd leave and she'd step outside to smoke a cigarette. As a note, 2 of the guys were roomates who lived 2 doors down. And yes, to the best of my knowledge, they knew they were each sleeping with Bernice.

As I alluded to above, Bernice smoked cigarettes. While she had some moral qualm with smoking them inside, the same cannot be said for her marijuana habit. The same guys who lived 2 doors down also dealt pot (I'm not insinuating anything here) - and I dont mean small amounts. They were licensed "care givers" in california, which means they had doctor issued cards stating they were only growing pot for "cannabis-card" holders, those with pain only pot can heal. All I'll say is that more than once I'd find pot in a cabinet, or in the bathroom, or on the coffee table, or in the kitchen, or next to the vacuum, and I was often awakened by the amount of smoke permeating the entire apartment (so much so that she'd deactivated the smoke detectors)... there was enough pot in our apartment to send us both to prison for a long, long time. and I don't think she paid for any of it (well, not with money, anyway).

speaking of prison, while I was living there, one of her friends went to san quinten for 18-25 years after being convicted of attempted murder, and another for possession of 2 lbs of pot.

Finally, one night I was sleeping when I was awakened by loud yelling, and someone saying "call Bernice and tell her to get that dude roommate out here, we're going to kick his ass!" Seems the guys from 2 doors down had gotten stoned with some friends, then smoked some meth, and really wanted to fight someone. lucky I was so close. at this point it's 2am and they're banging on the front door. I think it might break down, so I'm trying to think of somewhere to hide so 5 guys don't beat me to death if they come in. it occurred to me that the back door is not usually locked, and that I should check it. about 5 minutes after locking the door, they jumped the back fence and preceded to pound on that door, too. the whole thing ended when they decided to drive somewhere at 2:15. and after 20 minutes passed and my heart rate dropped back below 100, I fell back asleep.

Idaho: My roommate inTwin Falls, Gustavus, liked to drink. Some might say he had a problem with alcohol. At least 12 times last summer, Gustavus, who was about 6'4" and 235 lbs., drank enough to pass out and urinate repeatedly on the floor. see, we both slept on the floor because we never bought beds. so it's not like he stood up and peed in the corner, mistaking it for a toilet. I mean he just started peeing on the floor, between his legs, like a dog, all while very asleep. Sometimes this would wake me up, causing me to become nauseated, and I would sleep on the floor in the living room. Upon reentering the room in the moring, Gustavus would asked, "why were you in the living room?" I'd respond, "well, it was a little awkward when you started peeing on yourself last night, so I left." he then tried to play it off like an accident (which I hoped was true), but the next 11 incidences dispelled that notion.

Alaska: Leon was a character. His favorite passtime was drinking lots of alcohol and going "hogging." his favorite slogan was, "go big early," which he based on the idea that fat girls aren't as thankful if you don't give them attention early in the night. the summer of 2004 provided leon with a high "snout count." and honestly, I don't care about what leon does as long as leon doesn't bother me. but leon liked to bring the girls back to our apartment. he also encouraged them to be "loud." many more times that summer leon woke the rest of the roommates with his exploits, and after the first incident, it no longer provided humor.

that said, my current roommates are relatively benign.

Living with notes.

For those of you who don't know, I live with two sixty year old women. The owner is a co-worker of a friend of a friend. She's taken me on as a renter because she needs a couple extra bucks these days. She's nice enough, but she's also OCD and passive/aggressive. She has this habit of leaving notes around the house, notes which are not addressed to anyone (as if anyone else would be here, reading these notes). I will give some examples:

On the toaster oven ( 2 notes ): "Please reset toaster after using oven."
Simple enough, but why the hell can't you do this on your own? I managed to turn it to "oven," and you're too lazy/old/stupid to turn it back? Give me a break.

Also on toaster oven: "Make sure bread is over sensor in center of oven. Thanks."
Oooooooooooh. That's how it works.

On the kitchen table: "Please reopen the blinds and slide the chair back under when you finish eating. Thanks, Cheri."
Directions for using a table. Very helpful.

On the dishwasher: "To use, select 'water-saver' and 'no-heat dry'."
Again, very helpful.

On the computer: "This computer is OFF LIMITS. Thank you."
What makes you think I want to use your Tandy brand, Windows '95, no-internet, piece-of-shit computer? Step back and ask yourself that question. Then ask if the note is still necessary.

On her bedroom door: "Cheri's bedroom is OFF LIMITS when she is not home."
Give me a break. You're sixty, and I live in the basement. What could you possibly have in your room of any interest to me? Also, I'm not five years old. Grow up.

On the bathroom door: "Please re-open door if it was open after using bathroom."
Is this a joke?

One time on the counter: "Can we meet to talk about refrigerator space on Saturday morning. My food is freezing."
Sure, but how are the two connected? The refrigerator has a thermostat, which is like a thermometer to control the temperature. When the inside is cold, the cold-maker slows down. Adding food does not cause the level of cold to grow. If your food is freezing, turn the little knob with numbers in the direction of the word "warmer."

The other woman who lives here is a friend of the owner who has fallen upon hard times, financially. She has no job, two "rescued" cats, and leaves the house only once or twice a week. Sometimes when I come home, she'll be making food and ask me "how's the weather?" Sometimes I say sunny. Or maybe cold. Or maybe you should replace your slippers with shoes and walk outside. Do I look like your weatherman?

You ask, why do I live here? Well, for $200 a month, I get a furnished bedroom in the basement, complete with TV, bed, and dresser. I also get garage space and we live on a lake. I'm 5 minutes from the interstate, and 15 from downtown. I take care of things at home during the day, when the cat lady is in her room and Cheri is at work, and I leave at night. And this situation is MUCH better than my last two roommates...