As a kid, I looked forward to the annual playing of The Wizard of Oz on TV as much as Christmas and Halloween combined. The music, the friendship, the scary witch. Until high school, I’d never seen it in color, so I hadn’t even witnessed the magical transformation from Kansas to Oz, or what was so funny about the line “A horse of a different color” being a horse that actually changed colors.
In high school, I was invited to my friend Laurie’s house to watch it in color. And it was magical. To see something so very familiar that looked so very different, well, it was, as I already said, magical.
Interestingly, Laurie’s mother actually knew the actress, Margaret Hamilton, who terrified me for years as the Wicked Witch of the West. I learned about the fact that Ms. Hamilton’s costume had actually caught on fire in one scene, putting a stop to several other would-be fiery scenes. But mostly I learned that she was just a nice lady who played a memorable part. It all took place while I was dreaming of becoming an actress myself.
I saw this clip on dailykos.com. Showing the transformation of Margaret Hamilton into the Wicked Witch of the West, and her explaining that she was just playing dress-up. Anybody who has kids might want to share this video with their very scared kids!
As the blogosphere’s most acclaimed fake medical expert, today I am writing to tell you how you can easily and cheaply eliminate your chronic pain.
You’re welcome.
You see, a new study of 1,500 people found that pop music was the most effective pain reliever. Not classical. Not Rock. Not Indie. Pop music. Not drugs.
According to this article in an online publication I’ve never heard of before, the best songs to ease your aching back are, in this order:
Before 1986 there were two things in life I was certain about. Things I never got wrong on a pop quiz. Things that I could recite in my sleep.
First my name. Elyse Ellen E….
When I got married I didn’t have to change my name. That was until the woman I worked for at the time announced that I absolutely could not change my name. So naturally the decision was made and I changed it.
Besides, nobody ever pronounced my maiden name correctly; it drove me crazy. Nobody pronounces my married name right either, but it’s John’s name not mine, so I don’t care. Butcher away, folks.
The second thing I always got right was my birthday. January 18, 1957. Simple. Easy. I had a document from the State of Connecticut with a raised seal to prove that I was born on that date around 3 a.m. in the morning (sorry Mom and Dad). But I didn’t know that I would end up changing my birthday when I got married too.
Actually, I can blame this one on the same boss. It was Anna’s fault. Yup.
The summer before we got married, I was working as a high level lobbyist and John was a lowly government employee. OK, actually, I was a lowly lobbying flunky and John was pretty high up in the U.S. government. But still.
One afternoon when I was supposed to meet John for some wedding prep stuff, something earth-shatteringly important happened involving my job. It was so vitally important to the rest of the history of the world that I can’t at this moment quite put my finger on just exactly what it was.
Anyway, we were supposed to go to the DC City Office and get our marriage license. Now stop it, readers. This event was nothing like you see in those old movies, with movie stars in great hats.
Really, there was nothing romantic about it at all. I don’t think. Not so I’ve heard, anyway.
So anyway, John got our marriage license, and we got married a month or so later in a lovely church service in the church where John’s parents had been married 40 years earlier. Family and friends were in attendance.
All was good until my birthday rolled around, when John made a major confession.
“Ummm, Lease,” he said quietly. “When I got the marriage license, I mistakenly put down January 17th not 18th as your birthday.”
“You what?”
“Yeah. Oops. I guess that means that either your birthday is January 17th or we’re not married.”
“No, I’m pretty sure it just means that I married an idiot.”
We would have happily left it at that if it hadn’t been for my family. They betrayed me. Each and every one of them called me on the 17th to wish me a Happy Birthday that year — thinking my new husband would be taking me out to dinner on my actual birthday January 18th.
I have a large family. Even distant cousins nine times removed called on the 17th.
“See,” John said proudly, “I was right. Your birthday is obviously on the 17th because everybody is calling to wish you a happy birthday!”
This scene has been replayed every blippin’ year for 25 years. This year it will be an even 26 birthdays. And never a call on the 18th.
To make matters worse, though, I put the final nail in my own coffin myself last year. You see, I wanted to let all my bloggin’ buddies know it was my birthday. Plus I needed to address the glaring issue of my stupid blog name. And so I wrote this post: People My Age.
And because I didn’t know how to schedule posts in those days, and because a lot of my readers were from Europe and Asia, well, I posted it on January bloody 17th.
So this year I’ve given up. My birthday is January 17th from now on. Or the 18th. Whenever. Gifts will be gracefully received all month long, however.
He’s been a hero of mine for more than thirty years. A short little guy who I’m pretty sure was bald in high school. But over the years I’ve watched him fight. He’s fought tirelessly for a cleaner environment, a safer world, and for all kinds of tools, programs and systems to help improve the health of Americans.
I’m speaking of course of Representative Henry Waxman (D-CA), past and future Chairman, currently Ranking Minority Member (head Democrat) of the House Energy and Commerce Committee.
Representative Henry Waxman (D-CA) (Roll Call photo credit)
Energy and Commerce isn’t just any crummy old Committee. Nope. E&C has jurisdiction over a zillion things that touch our lives. Energy (fossil fuels, wind, solar, alternatives), environmental issues (Clean water, clean air, pollution controls on cars and trucks), interstate commerce, the internets (Al Gore was on E&C when he really was instrumental in the start of what became the World Wide Web. So he is actually the father of all blogs, too — thanks Al). E&C is a seriously powerful committee. And when I was a young professional, well, I was an Energy and Commerce Committee groupie. More about that some other time.
Early on, Henry became my hero. And not just because he is incredibly funny. He’s also incredibly smart and quite crafty. Isn’t it nice to know that sometimes heroes just keep on keepin’ on? Henry? Congressman Waxman? Yup. He’s like that. He’s still my hero. He doesn’t disappoint.
You see, today I read that he, along with Rep. Frank Pallone, Jr. (D-NJ), Ranking Member of the Health Subcommittee, released a treasure trove of information to help Americans sort stuff out for November’s election. But it’s simple, clear, and easy to use. That is especially helpful, don’t you think? You’ve got to admit that all of these Medicare/Social Security/Vaginal issues are getting confusing.
But now, now thanks to Henry, now we can sort out just what the Ryan plan will mean closer to home. Because they just released a compilation of what the Ryan Plan will mean in each and every congressional district in the United States. These were put together by an assortment of independent, government and academic thinkers who have analyzed the Paul Ryan Medicare Changes to see what it will mean to you and me. Yup, everybody can now see just exactly what GOP Candidate for Vice President Paul Ryan’s Medicare plan will mean to them and the people in their own little congressional districts. As in right here at home.
The Paul Ryan Medicare Plan; How will it affect your district?
So go ahead. Check it out. Click on it. It took me forever to figure out how to do that, too. Humor me. What would these changes mean in your district? In your life?
Medical care in today’s America is really no more than a Ponzi scheme. Just ask Rick Perry.
In my case, it seems that whenever I go to the doctor, I end up going to doctorS. Plural. Somehow, radiologists are always involved. What did folks do before they split the atom? I think all these tests is a Russian (Iranian?) plot to get Americans to wipe themselves out with radioactive dyes so that they — The Russian/Iranians — can take over our country and get up there on the CT Scan machine themselves. They are seriously cool machines. I want one for my living room.
Oops. I digressed again. So back to our hero in the U.S. medical system.
Me, I have a chronic condition that has a nasty habit of wandering around the temple that is my body. (I am quite sure it is a temple, because it keeps expanding.) So I do know the medical system, ummm, intimately.
No, no, no, the illness is not such a big deal. More than anything it is annoying. And gross. And time-consuming. Because when I go to one doctor, she sends me to another, who invariably says, “well you know, you really should see … and along the way there will be tests.” Needles will be stuck into veins, dyes will be injected, and incredibly disgusting potions will be consumed. The doctors don’t feel a thing, though. It hardly seems fair.
But I have something over most patients: Doctors are terrified of me:
I work in drug products litigation
And
I am married to a lawyer
Besides,
I do my homework;
I ask questions that I have thought about in advance;
I write down their answers;
I do not let them leave the room until I am satisfied;
I call them with all those questions I forgot to ask the first time around;
When they don’t call me back, I threaten to haunt them after I am dead.
That last one is REALLY effective.
Tomorrow, I have an appointment with a new specialist. So, I am taking bets here:
FiftyFourandAHalf 