I’ll Care About Health Care When I Get Cancer
If you’re like me, then you’re a devastatingly handsome 6′2 white man with a weakness for gyros and The Kinks. (If these things are true, congratulations on leading an awesome life.)
But another way you might be like me is that the current health care debate has you bored out of your skull. And that is because you, like me, are not dying of anything at this particular moment.
I’m sure if I had cancer or AIDS or a burning desire to teach interpretive dance to Hell’s Angels, I would care about universal health care. Those people care because they need it. But we’re young and invincible — we’ll never need a doctor or surgery or a flu vaccine.
And so we can’t be blamed for ignorance and apathy — well, we CAN be blamed, we just don’t care enough to do anything about it — because that’s for somebody else to worry about.
So, you know, let’s let old people decide. I mean, surely they’ll be as invested in keeping us healthy as they are in getting hip replacements and being kept alive by increasingly expensive machines.
Or let’s leave it up to rich people. Certainly they care more about making sure we can get health coverage despite a pre-existing condition than they do about saving a few bucks on their taxes. I mean, there’s no question, right?
And don’t forget the religious nutbags! We shouldn’t worry that they’ll try to collapse the whole thing because it doesn’t outlaw abortion — which the U.S. Supreme Court has ruled is legal — because they care so much more about helping the poor.
Everybody cares about poor people. It’s why their lives are so great.
No, if you’re like me, you’re just going to sit back and enjoy “More to Love,” the fat-friendly “Bachelor” rip-off with a big pint of ice cream and a bucket of corndogs.
Because we’re young and invincible. I’m sure everybody else is looking out for us. Right?
I would also like to apologize to Rihanna
Rihanna,
Girl, I know a lot of people are apologizing to you right now, like that guy you used to date, Chris Brown. Of course his apology is kind of vague, talking about “the incident” and “what happened.” I’ve used super new technology to embed it below, in case you’d like to watch again.
But unlike Chris, who savagely beat you in a car and then waited six months to say “sorry” as part of his community service, I’d like to make my apology very clear.
I am sorry that I don’t know who you are. Really, really sorry. I heard there was some song about an umbrella you did? But all I can think of is this song from the ’50s or ’60s they’re always playing on KOMA, and I don’t think that was you.
The fact that I only know you because Chris Brown beat you up is not cool. Then again, I though Chris Brown was a running back for the Detroit Lions, but I don’t think that skinny dude in the video could play in the NFL — even for Detroit.
So let me sincerely beg your forgiveness. I will try and figure out who you are beyond police reports posted on the Smoking Gun. And after that, I’ll get to work on the mystery of who gave Tyra Banks a damn talk show.
Sincerely,
Greg
p.s. Seriously? Who gave Tyra a talk show? Were you worried America was getting too smart?
Live from CityWalk — anything but news!
I knew things were rough when I started listening to KJ103.
Now, I like dance and pop music as much (or even much, much less) than the average guy, but lately I’ve found my radio dial tuned to pounding synth and constant remix channel that is KJ103. Why? Because everything else is so damned depressing.
Everybody complains that there’s too much bad news in the world and the newspapers and TV stations only ever report bad things. Which is complete and total bull, but that’s because nobody is actually reading newspapers or watching TV news — they just need something to say when people talk to them.
But I will admit, I have been getting very depressed when listening to the news lately. Not that the news is so bad, just that all the people involved in the news are so stupid.
For example:
Health Care Reform — It’s going to cost a bunch of money! But people need health care! Can we blame it on the immigrants? No? Let’s scream about it being partisan, then! PARTISAN, PARTISAN, PARTISAN!
The California Economy — There’s no money! Wait, there is money, but we don’t want to take it! Taxes are bad! Services are good! Nobody can make a decision! Can we blame it on the immigrants?
Michael Jackson — Still dead! Can we keep talking about him some more? He had kids! He might have molested children! Who gets the money? He was broke! Let’s blame it on the immigrants!
I want to listen to NPR. I want to be informed. But I just cannot stand to listen to another “balanced” story that involved two people talking back and forth about how the other guy is wrong about everything. And apparently, people still don’t like immigration. Big surprise.
So I’m listening to KJ103. It’s like pouring a milkshake over third-degree burns. I’m sure it’s not doing much to help, but at least it feels good for a little while.
Don’t Be Famous
Michael Jackson. Steve McNair. Karl Malden.
These famous people are all dead. And what can their deaths teach us? Don’t have radical plastic surgery and then spend years eating nothing but narcotics-grade horse tranqs? Don’t have a crazy mistress? Don’t get old?
No. Those are lessons you learn from your parents.
The real thing to learn from this trio and the legion of minor-to-mid-level stars who have passed away recently is this: Don’t Be Famous.
Think of every famous person you’ve ever heard of. Guess what? They’re all dead. Yeah. And you’re killing them just by knowing who they are.
As a science-fabulist, I can tell you that awareness emits a toxin that is both photo- and aural-sensitive. When we know of celebrities, we force their brains to release this toxin. The more people who know about them, the more the toxin gets into their system.
Alone this is bad news, but when combined with other symptoms of fame — excessive picture taking, screaming fans — suddenly, the toxin becomes deadly.
Ever wonder why famous writers live so much longer than famous actors or sports stars? It’s because they only get their picture taken once for the book jacket. Plus, the only screaming they hear comes not from fans, but from dissatisfied spouses.
Of course there are a few celebs who are immune. Paris Hilton has miraculously survived, as have Heidi and Spencer. There’s a theory in the science-fabulist community that being well-known but loathed provides a blood-brain barrier to the toxin. That also explains Kobe Bryant.
So what can you do? For your own safety, remain as un-famous as possible. If you do gain some small measure of fame, do like Joe the Plumber and be as annoying and unloved as possible.
And for the celebrities you do love, the best thing you can do is to stop loving them. Stop watching TMZ. Stop buying OK! magazine. It’s the only way to keep old what’s-her-name and that one dude from dying. You know who I’m talking about.
