Who Are These People?

I reckon every major city in America has something that calls itself an "alternative" newspaper. I know I've seen them all over the country. They are mostly-left-wing publications that buy feature columns of a certain slant -- an alternative slant, of course, from the generally-more-conservative "mainstream" media -- and have mostly second-rate local reviewers of food, movies, art, and so on, with an emphasis on counterculture. (Well, let's face it: anything that hasn't been noticed by the "mainstream" is, almost by definition, "countercultural.") In my home town, the local weekly rag includes such features as:

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  "The Que Que," a locally-written review of stories that ought to concern taxpayers, but that seem never to make it into the public consciousness. This is the type of muckraking column that is the raison d'être for alternative media; when I read it, I feel like there is a beneficial purpose to having this piece of crap freely available city-wide after all.
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  "Reasonable Doubt," another locally-written column, this one dealing with legal issues, and written by a populist local lawyer. I particularly like that column, because he often reports on and analyzes issues that I have only thought about and said, "Somebody ought to do something about that." He takes it at least one step farther than I do.
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  "Ask A Mexican," a vulgar, often racist nationally-available column celebrating the oppression of the noble Mexican people by white people, which it slanderously and routinely labels as gabachos -- a term the column's author admitted was the equivalent of "nigger," but which he uses as a default term. I guess we white people are too polite to express our displeasure by threatening his cojones in any meaningful way.

Otherwise, the paper features restaurant reviews of questionable reliability (their primary use to me is in pointing me to new places that I otherwise wouldn't hear of); movie reviews of no reliability; and local music and art events; always with gushing praise for the crap that passes for art in the postmodern era. Occasionally there's a nugget of quality, but then I understand sometimes people will still pull lumps of gold out of streams in California too. It's about as likely as finding recent art of any quality in this cultural backwater I live in.

 

Anyway: all that by way of introduction. What I really was wondering was, Who are these people who spend so much of their discretionary dollars on sex? Because this throwaway weekly alternative newspaper is chock full of advertisements for sex-related businesses and services. How can there possibly be enough money being spent on such things, to justify the expense of these advertisements?

And what is it they're really offering? Take, for example, the ad that asks, "Looking for excitement?" I admit, my curiosity was sufficiently piqued that I checked out the web site named in the ad for the city's "premiere couples-only private club." Now I really have to wonder what goes on there, and just how many people are willing to pay a membership charge of $1,850 per year to do whatever it is they do. (I think I know what they do; I just have to wonder why they would pay good money, and lots of it, to do it.) (I also wonder if they allow smoking inside.) Because unless there are lots and lots of other members willing to make their attractive bodies available for my amusement (and provide current medical information), it wouldn't be worth that to me. Especially since I'd still have to bring my own liquor.

Or how about the ad that promises, "Hookup [sic] with HOT Men Fast! Gay & Bi Cruise Line!" One of these days I'm going to call one of these places and find out just what it is they're offering. I mean, are they just providing conversation of a prurient nature for lonely guys? Or are they really fronting for an escort service or call-boy operation? I have to wonder.

And right next to that is an ad that says "Meet hot Latino singles NOW!" Apparently aimed at straight Hispanics. And right next to that is a picture of a hot chick, wearing only a bra, asking "Are you ready to experience more?"  And another ad says "Chat with 100's of HOT naughty girls!" Twenty-five dollars for 50 minutes. I guess that's a good way to practice your talking dirty, in case you ever do actually get laid. And another says "All real, all local ... singles in your city!" Like there was actually a chance one of these girls would meet you for coffee and not charge you for her time. Also $25 for 50 minutes.

Then there's another one offering something called a "table shower, $10 off with coupon." Maybe one of these days I'll need "stress relief" enough to take them up on whatever that is -- I hope it's not related to a "golden" shower.  Or how about the one that promises to provide "the REAL information you need to know" about professional escorts? I actually tried that URL ... and got the message that the page could not be displayed because the web server was too busy. It also shut down my browser.

I suppose back when I was single, in the last century, there were times when I might have given some thought to ads that told me where to find "attractive & sweet Chinese girls" or a "full body rub by beautiful transsexual." Hell, to be honest, I did actually think about it; but I was too cheap to do more than think about it, and still am. But what does "Pretty Valerie," the "busty Hispanic beauty, sweet, friendly, fun," offer to "select clients only, mature gentlemen preferred" that's "nonsexual"? Is she like the hooker in that Tom Cruise movie, where he danced in his underwear to Bob Seger? The ad for "Nicole" ("be a guest in my home") makes me picture those Hollywood-version 19th-Century whorehouses where respectable gentlemen went to be served drinks by scantily clad women with unnaturally blond hair, before going upstairs for a quick roll in a creaking cot. (I notice all these ads, which are obviously for prostitutes, include the disclaimer "Non-sexual." They must think that means something, legally speaking, like the sign on the back of the dump truck claiming a lack of responsibility for cracked windshields.)

Well, I must be naive. I just can't picture who uses these services in such quantity.

Observations on the Health Care Issue

I've been doing my best over the last year to ignore the flap about a national health-care reform bill. Not being one to believe that the federal government is the first best place to resolve serious issues, I tend to view the entire debate as being between politicians on the one hand who want to give my money to insurance companies and big nationwide hospital chains to take care of people, including at times myself, who are too careless or ignorant or just plain stupid to take care of themselves; and politicians on the other hand who want to give my money to oil companies, defense contractors, soi-disant security contractors, and a host of other international corporations to take care of people who have the intellectual wherewithal to take care of themselves.

So I am hardly the best source of opinion as to what, if anything, should be done to fix our national health-care system. However, I am in possession of certain bald facts that may have a bearing, however slight, on the extent of the problem, owing to the fact that, a couple of weeks ago, I was dragged against my will into the national health-care system, courtesy of what may or may not have been a heart attack.

Just after midnight on a Saturday morning I had to have the wife call for an ambulance. I won't describe what all went on, that being, frankly, none of your business. The aspect of the entire episode that does impinge on public debate is the cost associated with that ambulance ride, and with my subsequent hospital admission, treatment, and discharge.

I am covered for health care by a policy offered through my wife's employer, the federal government. The theory is that a large coverage group can negotiate a favourable price for services, and according to the various "Explanation of Benefits" notices I've received since the event, this group insurance has negotiated very favourable prices on my behalf.

There are four figures that are of some interest to the public debate: amount charged, plan allowance, benefit, and amount owed. I'm paraphrasing the nomenclature of these figures in the interest of clarity, but they boil down to this: a doctor or hospital bills the insurance company for what is, presumably, its "retail" price for the services provided. The insurance company has negotiated a lower price with the doctor or hospital, and that's the plan allowance. The amount the plan actually pays to the doctor or hospital is the benefit, and any amount not paid is what I owe, after insurance.

The insurance company has also contracted with the doctors and hospitals to provide that I am, in many cases, not responsible for payment of any non-covered amount; in essence, the doctors and hospitals are giving me a discount -- sometimes, as you will see, a very steep discount -- so they can participate in the overall insurance plan and ... I guess get lots of business?

Now, I don't have any issue with any of this. If doctors and hospitals want to offer discounts to group insurers, that's their business, and it is, at least in theory and adage, still a free country. My only concern is in the debate about the cost of health care in this country.

Here, then, the bald facts I promised: I've received four "Explanation of Benefits" notices so far: one for the hospital, two for the cardiologist's services, and one for the general-practitioner who saw me when I was admitted.

The GP -- the guy who acted as my personal physician, though only while I was hospitalized (since I otherwise didn't have a regular doctor) -- put in a bill for $140. This strikes me as a very nominal amount for professional services; if he'd been a lawyer he would have billed something on the order of $1,250 for the work involved in checking on me. But okay, $140 it is. And this amount is discounted to $96 and change, the amount my insurance plan allows and the amount it paid. And since he's a "preferred provider", nobody has to pay the other $44; I guess he makes it up on the next uninsured patient he gets.

Then there's the cardiologist. I don't know why there are two separate Explanations of Benefits, but no matter. One is just for "professional medical charge" -- I'm guessing here, but I think that's the doctor's time. That one charge is $105 -- again, far too little to my lawyer's mind, but I ain't complaining, just remarking. The discounted amount, paid by my insurance company, is a little over $73. I owe nothing, so the next uninsured clogged artery gets to make up the difference somewhere down the road.

The other Explanation of Benefits related to the cardiologist includes surgery, inpatient physician charges, and x-rays. These submitted charges come to $2,951, but they are discounted through contractual arrangements with my insurance company; the doctor gets paid $1,486, and I owe him a hundred bucks.

Last, but certainly not least, there's the hospital. Services listed here include medical care, drugs, medical equipment and supplies, lab tests, x-ray technicians' services, and surgery. I haven't gotten any bills from the hospital, so I have no idea what these various things entail. I presume, however, that every last aspirin and IV drip is covered somewhere, along with every inedible meal and probably even the Diet Coke the nurse gave me on the sly after telling me that the weak lukewarm coffee I was getting was decaffienated. God bless her.

Prescription drugs given to me in the hospital on Saturday, Sunday, and Monday total $5,582. Wow. If I had been asked, in my throes of agony, if I wanted nitroglycerine and morphine and a "GI Cocktail" and whatever else at those prices, I'd've had to think it over real hard, but considering the pain involved I might've gone for it. Luckily, though, my insurance company has negotiated real hard on my behalf, and the plan only allowed $1,837. The difference -- you guessed it -- is neither paid nor owed; it's made up for by the next uninsured ER admission funded through the public purse.

Medical equipment and supplies, whatever the hell that is, totalled $12,876. The plan allowance -- the amount the insurance company paid -- came to $4,237.  The other $8,640 goes on the public tab next time some uninsured person drops in for a visit.

X-ray tecnicians and diagnostic lab tests were billed at $12,408; the plan allowance was $5,892, and that's how much got paid. I owe nothing for those charges.

Finally, "medical care," which seems to me to be a sort of catch-all miscellaneous category, and surgery were billed at $33,529. Again, Wow. But what was paid -- the discounted price offered to members of my insurance group -- was $10,733. I owe a co-payment of $300; the remaining $22,496 will be made up on the next customer.

There are a couple of things that I find noteworthy. First, as I mentioned above, it seems to me that the charges for professional services are surprisingly modest, even before the discounts. Having been a professional myself, I'm curious as to why the market prices for professional services are such a small part of the overall charge. These guys need to raise their rates: not only do they have exorbitant student loans to pay -- or did have, at some point -- but I want my professional healthcare providers, my doctors and nurses, to be well-compensated for looking after my needs. It appears that they aren't, particularly. If the supposedly free market is working as it should, there are too many doctors in the world, or they have too little bargaining power in relation to other market actors (i.e., hospitals and insurance companies).

The other thing -- and this, I think, is the gist of the problem in our healthcare system -- is the exorbitant "regular" charges for services. I don't for one minute suppose that the hospital is taking a loss on my care, even though it's only getting about 32% of its "retail" charges. What it tells me is that the actual cost of providing three days of quality hospital care, with all the accoutrements, is something less than $22,700, and that the $22,700 actually paid includes a modest profit.

(The ambulance ride, by the way, was billed directly to my by the City at $579; I don't know yet what part of that the insurance company will pay.)

2012?

Take a simplistic new-age take on an ancient idea, mix it with postmodern relative humanism, throw in a raft of mediocre acting and dramatic, even melodramatic, special effects, and you have the makings of 2012. If you pay full price for your ticket, you will either feel cheated, or you have very low standards for entertainment. On the other hand, if you see the bargain matinee or, even better, a second-run showing at the dollar theater, you'll thoroughly enjoy this meaningless and predictable high-tech adventure.

I predict -- I'm going out on a limb here -- that by the time the actual year 2012 is history, this film will have worn out its audience's interest with thousands upon thousands of opportunities -- that, perhaps, should be in quotes -- to view it for free.

Another commentary on the movie "Avatar"

I went to see James Cameron's new movie, Avatar, yesterday, something I've been planning, and trying, to do since the movie was released. Normally I don't bother with seeing movies in 3D, but I've heard so much hype about how much better the technology is that I decided it'd be worth the extra money to see it in that format. (But not all that much extra: while local high-end theaters are charging up to $14 for the 3D version, I saw it in very clean and comfortable surroundings for $6.25, on the po' side of town. Figure an extra dollar for the gas to get there, and I saved enough to see another movie.)

The 3D technology is certainly better than it was decades ago, but it's still no big deal. It only makes a difference for those moments when something on the screen comes directly at the camera, and that isn't very often in Avatar. There was no scene I can think of in this movie that begins to compare with the moment in Jurassic Park when a velociraptor launches himself up toward the air vent where the humans -- and the camera -- are. All in all, I wouldn't pay extra again to see a film in 3D. (I was at Disneyland a few months ago; the 3D they use in some of their shows appears to be exactly the same: good, but not worth much of a premium price.)

I won't trouble you with describing the plot. Avatar is, basically, Dances With Wolves with computer-generated aliens instead of Sioux Indians, and a happy ending,  as predictable as the prize in a box of cereal, instead of a poignant one. I've heard this movie described as having a "heavy-handed environmentalist message," but I'm relieved to say it's not as heavy-handed as people have made out. Still, the message is simplistic, completely lacking in nuance, as are all of the human characters. Colonel Quaritch, played by Stephen Lang, could not be more of a cardboard cut-out if the part had been written by Dick Cheney (who probably considers the character an heroic one). Corporate lackey Parker Selfridge, played by Giovanni Ribisi, is an insult to cardboard characters, and of course to corporate lackeys everywhere. (I wonder if the corporate lackeys at Twentieth Century-Fox Film Corporation felt anything personal?) Even Sigourney Weaver's character, Dr. Augustine, has all the depth of a Melba toast square. Only the computer-generated characters had depth and detail.

But this movie isn't about characters. Sitting in the theater watching it, you are perfectly content to dispense with agonizing over the subtleties of characterization, or looking for any nuance in motivation, and concentrate instead on the lush visual experience on offer. It is amazing. No wonder many viewers are suicidally depressed at not being able to go to Pandora themselves. Sometimes, when my life is as dreary and empty as theirs must be, I feel the same way about not being able to go to London.

The detail in the computer-generation of scenery, flora, fauna and characters is as mind-blowing in the 21st Century as the first Star Wars movie's special effects were in the 1970s. Every detail seems to have been given full attention; I can't recall any moment when I thought something looked incomplete, half-baked, or out of perspective. This is especially surprising in those moments when the elegantly tall Pandorans, the Na'vi, are shown interacting with real human actors. Even Peter Jackson's magnificent Lord of the Rings trilogy didn't quite get that sort of juxtaposition right every time.

Still, for all the fabulous images and beauty in this movie, I predict it will not join the ranks of Timeless Great Films. Its message, its meaning, is essentially a currently-popular political viewpoint; it won't be that long before it seems naive, trite and hackneyed. This gorgeous movie is no Titanic, no Gone With The Wind, not even a Star Wars. At bottom, it's a phenomenally well-crafted piece of money-making entertainment, a technological tour-de-force instead of a classic for the ages. Go. See. Enjoy. Get over it.

I'll call you in the morning from Mzuzu

I had kind of a Wow moment yesterday. I was listening to "The Splendid Table," a public-radio show about food and cooking, something I listen to fairly often. One of the regular features on the program is a segment where somebody calls in and tries to stump the show's host, Lynne Rosetto Kasper. The caller lists five -- presumably abstruse -- ingredients he or she has in his or her refrigerator (don't you just hate all that "his or her/he or she" crap? But we live in an age where elegance is underappreciated), and Ms Rosetto Kasper has to come up with a tasty dish using only those five ingredients, plus salt, pepper, water, and one kind of fat (oil or butter or such). 

I don't want to belittle the thesis of the game, but it's not really as difficult as it sounds; usually, I can do it myself. What's difficult is making of this olio a dish that somebody would actually want to eat a second time, and at this level Ms Rosetto Kasper leaves me in the dust.

Anyway, yesterday the caller was a Peace Corps volunteer serving in a small town in Malawi. That's right, Malawi, a smallish country in southeastern Africa, smooshed in between Zambia and Mozambique. Well, naturally, under the circumstances, it wasn't a question of what the woman had in her refrigerator. She had no refrigerator. Instead it was five ingredients she could find in the local village market, and it had to be something that could be cooked over an open fire.

I won't say I found the resulting recipe appealing. It involved throwing in the cheeks of a small anchovy-like fish, for seasoning, and I'm sorry, but I detest small anchovy-like fish sufficiently that I would never make this dish. But that's beside the point.

Still, Ms Rosetto Kasper came up with a stew that, laying aside the fish cheeks, as I would be wont to do, didn't sound all that bad. But that, too, is beside the point.

The point is, I was amazed to learn that we have progressed sufficiently in the technological blitz our lives have become, that Peace Corps Volunteers -- people with almost no money, mind you -- can now pick up their telephone in Malawi and call in to some radio game show in the United States.

This floors me. Last time I checked, my cellphone won't work in Mexico or Europe, and if it did it would cost an arm and half a leg to call home.

Big Brother Shops at Ralph's

Grocery shoppers in San Diego are getting ripped off.

I've just come from doing our krogering for the week at a Ralph's Market near this condo, and am of course aghast at the prices charged here. Everyplace I've ever been, prices on groceries seem at least a little higher than we pay in San Antonio (with certain local exceptions, of course); but the prices here are royally exorbitant.

I won't go into details, as that would be tedious, and even my best friends don't want to know exactly how much more a can of coffee is here than there. But what really gripes me is the "card savings prices." If you get a Ralph's Rewards card (and I did: it was free, and let them collect all the data on my shopping habits that they want) you get big big savings on many many items.

Now, I don't believe for a minute that Ralph's is taking a loss on those prices; even with the Rewards card, the prices are higher than we pay at home. So what that tells me is how valuable the store considers the detailed spending patterns it can glean from their computer banks. It also tells me that Ralph's is really soaking anybody who doesn't have a Rewards card, figuring that they don't shop there regularly anyway, and so won't provide a reliable source of sales.

So I'm leaving the little key-fob card on the condo key rings, in the hopes that future tenants of this place will earn me big big rewards with their purchases of coffee and breakfast cereal.