The 3:18 AM Vow

One day I will sleep again, peaceful and resting, through the night.

One day.

ERH. MEH. GERD.

BERST. PREZINT. EVERH.

From my AHRSUM friends, Bef and Bert:

It does pay to answer a knock upon the door.

And it was seriously hard on my brainium to figure out how I had wired my stuff before, all in order to rewire.

Ultimately, I realized I just needed more HDMI cables. Mother Effer.

And then, while going through the painstaking process of converting to the HD channels available (screw you, Verizon!), I came across many wonderful things. A great PBS detective story on Masterpiece Theatre. And then, the new series Newsroom. 

Sam Waterston saying "fucking." Tracking camera shots. An unabashed love letter to the possibilities of America. A clarion call for all that is lost in journalism: objectivity, truth, integrity.

DAMN YE, SORKIN!!!!

And this guy was cute, as well.

And some other stuff.

SRSLY

Here are some things that make me smile.

My very good friend Omey-pie sent this a few days ago. I cannot look at this without laughing my ass off.

Bless  you, Omey.

Tears. Tears.

I find it terrifying that people produce things like the below. It's as if they have a window into my soul. How do they know? How?

McCoy at ye olde wrytyng deske. Nonsensical? Yes.

Damnation, James! Thou knowest mine skills lay with leeches, not in the laying of bricks!

A pictorial summation of the arc of the David 8 character, if not the entire film Prometheus.

This entire movie wouldn't have happened if there had been a Mom onboard.

And just to prove that all memes eventually meet, I leave you with this.

One joke. One joke to rule them all.

On Joblessness & Duty Phone Calls

I've made a few "good faith/duty" phone calls the last few days. You know the kind: the obligatory phone call to wish someone well/check in that you make out of a sense of propriety, decorum, and regard for people's feelings. They're not meant to be serious calls, just to touch base and let people know they are not forgotten, etc.

In these recent calls, people have felt compelled to bring up the unhappy subject of my lack of employment. Despite my best efforts at diversion, the conversations persist. Once again proving that no good deed goes unpunished.

But here's a thought: we live in a world of artificial supply and demand. My jobs have never been vital, they have always been constructs to fulfill inflated demands.

There is no real need for me.

Despite the fact that I'm a hard worker and willing to do just about any job, no job currently exists that requires fulfilling. All the artificially created jobs are foundering and reducing in number. Because I never did anything integral to society in the first place, my type of job is the first to go.

Furthermore, all the vital jobs are filled--maybe this is a problem our society is just beginning to face. In light of financial troubles, unnecessary jobs disappear, leaving the work force overpopulated with marginally skilled candidates. Perhaps it's unrealistic to expect to make a living in one location. Perhaps the future involves itinerant careers, following the work wherever it may lead.

Maybe I'm supposed to get on a boat, and go live somewhere that there is work to be had.

If you had asked me 5 years ago what my life would be like if I had a year off from work, I would never have envisioned this. It's not fun, it's not empowering, and I'm not having a good time. It's like being stuck in molasses, watching the world go by. I've tried to make the best of it, but let's face it: it really hasn't been my year.

When people talk about the habits and practices of successful people, they always leave out a key ingredient: luck. I'm not bitching about the vagaries of fate, because I suspect that life is ultimately what you make of it. But to compeltely discount the role of Chance is ridiculous.

You can make all the correct decisions, wise investments and proper choices in the world and it's not enough. You can work your hardest, fulfill your obligations and follow all the rules and it won't make a bit of difference if you're not also a little lucky. Or rather, all your efforts and intentions can be erased by just a bit of bad luck. One chance thing goes awry, one missed meeting, one accidental turn, and you've got bupkis.

And since so many of us live on the teetering edge of ruin, it can be really hard to come back from the One Big Miss. Not that it's impossible, it's just logistically horrific and non-intuitive. It's not just a matter of redoubling efforts.

Which is to say, I'm not jobless because I'm lazy. I think I might be jobless because I'm useless and unlucky.

Aetna Insurance Are Scumbag Liars

This is outrageous and insupportable.

They suck. Across the board. They've sucked since I signed on with them over a year ago. Their suckage grows.

Got a letter in the mail from Aetna. It says:

• I have several (read: two) controlled substance prescriptions.
• This could lead to problems for me.
• They suggest I seek some counseling.
• Oh, and they've sent a copy of my prescription history to all my doctors.

Now, here's where it gets really fun.

THE PRESCRIPTION HISTORY IS WRONG.

• It has the wrong doctors listed as writing scrips. Scrips that should technically be impossible to fill, as THEY DON'T EXIST BECAUSE THAT DR. NEVER WROTE THEM.
• It has the wrong fill dates listed for picking up meds--in fact, the fill dates listed are IMPOSSIBLE because they don't follow the prescription instructions.
• The information listed comes from an unknown source, and doesn't even match the online big brother tracking system that lists all the meds I've gotten scrips for while with this company.
• Read that last one again--this info comes from a list that, until now, I didn't even know existed, but apparently runs parallel to the tracking system online. 
• DID I MENTION THAT THE FUCKING LIST IS DEAD WRONG?

Essentially, my insurance company has just accused me of knowingly obsfuscating my prescription history and seeking out drugs in an addict like behavior. And they've provided falsified records to back up this claim, and sent it to all my doctors.

Aside from the blatant inaccuracy, and therefore falsehood of their claims, does this protocol strike anyone else as a complete violation of doctor/patient confidentiality, and/or HIPPA basics?

Hours on the phone today have lead nowhere. I can't even get through to the department that's "responsible" for sending out this missive. And I  now have to defend myself for getting prescriptions filled as designated by a doctor. I have to justify a treatment course that was okayed by my own physicians? Oh, wait, there's been a paperwork mix up?

Fuck you, Aetna. Even if the basis of these accusations wasn't fundamentally false, that would not justify the irresponsible, unprofessional, and violating nature of your company behavior on this matter. You have just inserted a third party editorial process into the patient/doctor relationship, with no preamble and no attempt to discern or confirm your conclusions before flinging accusations. Conclusions and information that are contradicted by your own website records, much less that might be explained through other circumstances. Like the fun fact that one of the pharmacies entered in the wrong info on several scrips.

Fuck you, Aetna. I pay a huge amount of money every month for your mafioso racket services, and you have the gall to accuse me of improper behavior and then announce it to my physicians? Your behavior in this instance highlights a fundamental truth about health insurance: you don't give a shit about the patients. And since you don't give a shit about patient welfare, then please feel free to take a giant step back from that arena and literally go fuck your own faces.

I am so incredibly angry right now that I can't even speak.

How dare you interject yourself into the patient/doctor relationship? You blood sucking fuck weasels can't even be bothered to fact check your information. Furthermore, what good could come of this approach if it was directed towards a person with some type of drug problem? You think ratting him out to his doctors (that you asssume don't know what's going on) is going to solve something? Congratulations, he's now in full freak out mode and will be getting drugs illegally. Way to help out there, you disgusting pricks.

FUCK YOU, AETNA.

Prometheus Midnight Showing

Happy to report that Prometheus is a fun, tense, skeevy film. If you like the Alien movies or just a good sci fi action flick, check it out.

I have a rocky relationship with Ridley Scott, but I think he's in his element here and it shows. The film itself is quite beautiful (when it's not being nauseating). From the exterior shots utilizing amazing Icelandic terrain to the special effects that integrate almost seamlessly, the movie has a wonderful polish.

Speaking of special effects, they are pretty damn good. Good as in "I just realized one entire segment must have been CGI and I didn't even notice at the time" level good.

The plot itself is pretty straightforward and the script telegraphs most everything that's going to happen well in advance, but that doesn't detract from some of the really fun jumps and scares. I feel like the screenwriters took extra care to try and make all the pieces of this plot fit together. There are a few scenes that have me wondering what really happened, but overall I didn't see any gaping plot holes. (Yes, sci fi does get a bit of slack from me in this department. I'm far more credulous for this genre than, say, romances.)

As far as weak points go, the dialogue is a little wooden and over expository at times, a little too lacking in other times. The script doesn't spend adequate time developing certain characters or allowing characters to evolve in an understandable way. The actors do their best with the material.  And their best ranges from creepily good to serviceable. Nobody turns in a boner performance, which is nice.

Some spoiler stuff after the cut.

Born Stupid or Learned Idiocy?

or

Stupid Is As Stupid Does

or

Still Stupid After All These Years

So, tomorrow I'm going to the bank. To get them to subtract about $650 out of my account. Not to withdraw it, but to get them to correct a mistake which mistakenly added that amount to my coffers.

But BlatherBlahg (you query in your most bewildered voice), aren't you hurting for cash very badly right now, with your unemployed, health expense beleaguered, no-opportunities-on-the-horizon self?

Yes, gentle reader, this is so.

But BlatherBlahg, isn't that $650 the very same debit/credit that never should have occured in the first place? The one that was a fraudulent charge you just happened to catch before it dropped, and prevented (theoretically, it turns out) the whole mess from even happening?


Yes, that's the one.

Umm, BlatherBlahg. Is this the same charge you've already contacted the bank AND the police about, more than once a piece? The one where the Bank Douche called you pregnant and still cocked up the works?

Why yes, what an excellent memory you have, m'dear.

Erm, so the bank has screwed themselves over by debiting and withdrawing this unauthorized (and allegedly cancelled) transaction from your account numerous times over the past few weeks. So many times that they lost count and have now accidentally left you with a $650 credit?

Clever reader, you should work in finance. You have caught on better than any of the banking employees I've spoken with about this matter.

And you're going to the bank to give this money back to them?

Yes.

Why?

Because I'm an idiot.

Oh, yeah.

As the title implies, I don't know if this kind of stupidity is innate or the product of intense conditioning at an early age. If it is learned, it's the kind of behavior that's learned early and cannot be undone by later input.

That is to say: at no point in my life have I found there to be any reward for being scrupulously honest. Not monetarily, not in the esteem of your peers, not in easing your life path, not even in a karmic sense. In fact, the opposite seems true--the attempt to be honest causes extra grief and strife.

I would not be surprised if, after I inform them of their mistake, the bank were to foul up my account further. That would be par for the course, as far as I can tell.

So, even though decades of experience have shown that adhering to this ethos is Counterproductive, Unrewarding, and Dead Stupid, I continue on. Perhaps giving credence to the idea that there must be some inborn proclivity towards this behavior. Genetic coding that produces a compulsive honesty and a constitutional inability to commit thievery.

Glorious.

I must confess, I am heartily sick of my case of scruples, and desperately wish they would come up with a cure for it.

Why Do The Birds Sing At This Hour?

It's such a strange time to hear birdsong--so dark in the house, but the suggestion of a washed out shade of midnight peeking in the skylights. But no light, not yet.

They trill away, sounding the inevitable dawn, and I look up from whatever piece of glowing electrical technology I've used to pass away another night and I think: this is really just silly, at some point I will have to start sleeping at night again. What will it take? How little sleep can a person survive with?  This is just silly.

Pushing, pulling, and prodding myself through the days. Trying in small, mostly pathetic ways to effect improvements, better the situation. And it seems to be just one long continuous cycle of experimentation--fussing with the recipe, tweaking the volts, tightening the screws--with no real results.

And certainly no real improvements. Logic dictates that half assed endeavors lead to half assed results. But where is the moment that you can recharge yourself, replenish your stores, to run full tilt at life once again? When you have drained the reserves, what's left to draw upon?

I'm actually not being bleak, I'm really asking.

People here like to ask you where you come from. When you know that about someone, you feel that you know something about where they are going. It's not an easy question for me to answer--people hear the wrong things in what I say. I try to answer "This is where I lived last," or "This is where I went to elementary school." I try to say something in context and relation to their question, because for some insipid reason I am haunted by the need for precision and veracity even in the most mundane of topics.

But something has changed. Because I don't think that even knowing, really knowing, where I come from matters anymore. I don't think it reveals what you think. I don't think there's much to say about me, at all.

The crows are cawing now. What do all those warbled notes mean, what are the birds so intent on saying to each other? Do they sing all day, and this is just the only time I ever notice?