I get knocked downI’m deaf (remember?) so this is playing in my head, not on some audio device.
But I get up again
You're never gonna keep me down
And, of course, the next lines to come into my head were:
He drinks a whiskey drinkAt this point in my big old life, I drink more like a Gen Z-er than a Gen Joneser so, to me, this is funny. I’d be passed out cold for many hours if I had four drinks. Many, MANY hours.
He drinks a vodka drink
He drinks a lager drink
He drinks a cider drink
What was the Tubthumping about? That doctor visit yesterday regarding my stupid problem toe. I had, naturally, horror show amounts of anxiety as to how things were going to go (based on my last experience). Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to see a podiatrist but the intern and doc that I met with (both very nice and credentialed up the wazoo) determined that I do NOT have another infection (*PHEW*) and the toe is not broken. I still need to get in to see the foot doc, which they’re trying to arrange, but those folks are seriously backed up AND, apparently, work strict 9-5 hours.
WHAT?! Are there no foot medical emergencies? Are toes and feet not considered serious parts of the body, worthy of after biz hours care? Are feet now in the same class as eyes and teeth? You know, with dental offices (featuring "Hollywood white” bleaching) and optometry exam rooms closeted behind fashion sunglasses sellers in strip malls?
Is this the future of podiatry? Are they three minutes away from becoming no more than an offshoot of mall concourse nail salons? I mean, I need a podiatrist NOT a pedicurist, goddamnit!
Will America’s rapacious health insurance industry start treating feet the way they do eyes and teeth – that they shouldn’t be insured? I don’t think we’re far from feet being considered mere style supplements. Their primary purpose being to show off Jimmy Choo, Prada, and Christian Louboutin’s three grand sneakers. Right? I mean, those multi thousand dollar shoes aren’t going to buy themselves are they?
We peasants are no more than easily replaceable cogs in the great capitalist machine. By the by, THIS is how the oligarchy ends up shooting itself in the foot. You see, if Sally and Jim (or Donna) can’t afford to get their feet fixed up, they can’t afford to buy the expensive shoes and sneaks. Maybe they can’t afford other important healthcare shit either, like chemo or insulin (or *ahem* brigatinib or levETIRAcetam fer instance), then maybe, probably, they die. If we’re all dead, WHO’S buying the very expensive footwear, the televisions, cell phones, Cool Ranch Doritos, 6-packs of Bud Light? WHO’S going on the expensive cruises, buying tickets to see the latest sportsball game, staying at the pricey spa/hotel? 
WHO’S feeding the billionaire’s and trillionaire’s bottomless pit of capitalistic greed if we’re all dead because they made healthcare a luxury item? Hmmmmmm?
*OOPSIE* I’m off on a rant again, aren’t I? Bound to happen with Darth Dementia and his astronomically dimwitted Pedophile Protector Party in control of the country.
Anyway, the best part of yesterday was that the very good docs didn’t feel that I needed to be kept in hospital and fed massive amounts of intravenous antibiotics (like last time). I could go home and eat ice cream (which I did). The next best part was the traffic – seriously. It was Friday afternoon rush hour BUT it’s summer in Boston. Everyone who was going down the Cape had either left Thursday night or by noon Friday at the latest. Any later and you’re facing obscene backups at the Bourne Bridge. (NB: around these parts, this is the way we say we’re going down to Cape Cod – we’re going down the Cape. K?)
He sings the songs that remind him of the good times
He sings the songs that remind him of the better times
Don't cry for me
Next door neighbor
~ Tubthumping, Chumbawamba




























