I want your readers to know about my ongoing insurance issues as it's an issue addressed in your pages in the past.
Recently, we were dropped from Green Mountain Care with little notice or indication of why.
I called my state representative, Valerie Stuart.
I lived in New York City for much of my adult life and had no idea how quickly a small bureaucracy like Vermont might respond.
It was 1942. My father joined the Navy and moved my mother, my sister, and me from New Jersey to Rhode Island to be near my mother's family. All I knew was that everything I knew simply disappeared: friends, school, playground, and neighborhood. I have a vivid memory of...
My mother is like the earth - always there and easy to take for granted. Her obvious flaw: she cares. Her robin's-egg-blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair, now gone the color of wheat, are highlights of her small yet athletic appearance. She wants only to be liked, so she'll...
Oh, to be 17-years-old again. To know the world as one knows a black-and-white photograph. To know one's parent and his many flaws. To have a fixed idea of who Dad is and what your story is as a result. That is the situation Ben (Samuel Schneider), the protagonist of Caroline Link's coming-of-age film Exit Marrakech, finds himself in. We meet Ben as he takes off for summer vacation from his German prep school for a trip to meet his...
When I was coming of age around New York City in the early 1980s, there was a local sports broadcaster whose signature phrase was, “Let's go to the videotape!” What would follow would be a fascinating few minutes as games were reduced to their most dramatic highlights. Going to the videotape has changed our perception of the world. In recent history, we've seen the rise of broadcast journalism, surveillance footage, and the increasing prevalence of the recorded moving image. The...
As my pupils dilate, I can actually feel the black expanding while my blue iris contracts. Blood leaves my extremities and thunders toward my heart. My peripheral vision gets blurry, and directly in front of me is the only thing I see: his nose, which looks like it's made out of flesh-colored Play-Doh. I say, “Now you're in my personal space.” He backs up, rolls some deodorant to his underarms, and calls me another name. I forget now which one.
Careful readers of these pages might recall a piece I wrote less than a year back. In that one, I railed against capitalism and, more pointedly, an insurance industry I likened to gambling for putting profit before health. A secondary target was the entire Western medical model that failed to deliver service at a price anyone could afford. I know it's like shooting ducks in a barrel - easy targets - but now that the blowback has come squarely on...
Let's pause a minute on this whole health insurance thing. This is not a story about a website that doesn't work. Or even a government. It's about gambling. Before I delve in, a few facts: I'm 55, married, and have not had health insurance for the past 20 years. Once, I was an actor with what any reasonable European socialist would call a good health plan. As I was transitioning out of that career and into another, a few years...