Tuesday, October 23, 2012

The word I jammed into the search box tonight to find my last missive on voting wasn’t “civic duty,” tellingly enough, nor was it even “vote.” It was “stripperly,” and that about describes the size of it. I hit the booth today to take advantage of early voting. But the experience was markedly different–different era, different motivation, different frame of mind.

That’s one of the benefits of maintaining a journal like this, I guess. I mean, I referenced the Nintendo Wii, last time I submitted a ballot. There’s a bittersweet symmetry about this, because I’d say I was as excited about voting today as I am about the Wii. Now, I understand the electoral process is a privilege, at least on paper. It’s also a circus, with the barrage of tasteless ads and carney-looking campaigners and small plots of grass crucified by garish placards with unfamiliar names on them. The wait in line was short, thankfully, which meant I only had to feign interest in whatever the elderly gentleman in front of me had to say for 10 minutes.

I sound salty here, I know. I’m not exactly sure why I went, honestly. Probably some vestigial sense of civic duty to be performed via touchscreen as quickly as possible. I put some effort into checking the big boxes, certainly, but then it was a free-for-all. Whereas I sought to sow balance last time in the ensuing five pages of state offices, chaos was my directive this time, and neither party was spared. If I was asked to choose three candidates for a position, I picked one. Questions were answered out of order, in the interest of watching the little swatch of paper go apeshit. I held true to one of my voting principles, though: never vote for anybody who stands outside the precinct and asks for my support or, even worse, my hand. It’s annoying and smacks of desperation. And when I finally grabbed my sticker, I realized my political apathy wasn’t new by any stretch. It’s been the real incumbent, all along.

Thursday, October 18, 2012

Sure, my leg muscles may have atrophied and my lung capacity may have diminished, but the secret crevasses of my brain responsible for prose have some life in them yet, and so we find ourselves here. The goal of running the 5K has receded considerably–indeed, it may be dead–and it’s been a good week or so free of exercise. The topic of health, though, has been unavoidable, despite my best efforts.

For one thing, the first cracks of my high deductible health plan began to show yesterday in the form of sticker shock, when two prescriptions that normally would’ve called for $95 out of pocket skyrocketed to more than $600. I decided to give the plan a whirl this year, buoyed by my track record of infrequent doctor’s visits. I understood the underlying change in plans, too–a trade-off between risk and financial gain.

But I had pictured coughing up my $2,000 deductible in the dead of night at the ER for an exotic procedure in the wake of some horrific accident. I didn’t think I’d blow through 30% of it at the Target pharmacy. That’s the moral of the story, I suppose. You’re not really choosing between different plans, so much as indicating whether the healthcare industry should fuck you sideways or straight-up. Come next year’s enrollment period, I’m going to raise my hand for the latter again.

I also gave the paleo lifestyle some serious consideration a few days ago, as if it would somehow put me back in the 5K game. I combed through the menus, weighed the price differential, and then came face-to-face with a key question: how much squash and brisket can a man possibly consume? I want the greatness of change without the burden of effort, or forsaking cheese and fries and the delicious intersection thereof.

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Secondhand Rants will return on Thursday, October 18.