Commentary on SICKO
SICKO, of course. My son and I saw it last night. Great laughs. But actually a tragicomedy. Reinforces my good judgment in that I would rather push a shopping cart around town than work for another insurance company, which I could do, I am sure, tomorrow morning, with a headset plugged onto my head all day, denying claims, pretending to give advice and case management. I can’t sell my soul to the devil. We celebrated with some great Thai food. You might ask where the money is coming from? So should I.
My friend in Pennsylvania hasn’t seen it yet but says it had a poor review by the New Yorker. Well I don’t consider that rag to be the bastion of liberal political thinking. It is fine and should keep to its art and literary agenda. To me the New Yorker is something to buy at the airport and leave in the seat pocket when you deboard. The cartoons are funny. And I like to see who is playing what jazz at what club in NYC. My friend lives in Doylestown, Pa. I have been there. I would call it Burlingame, or Lafayette, Ca. She has been a freelance writer who now needs to make some bucks. So where did she find work? Insurance. And she is trying not to show her true feelings, yet not get fired. It doesn’t work. When the time comes to impress the share holders, usually between july and the day before thanksgiving (yes; I have seen this happen), so many must get axed. That’s the way it is. Your manager meets with you, followed by the HR ladies with the boxes, and you are GONE. It usually happens at 7:30 in the morning or at 4:30 pm. They don’t want you to talk to the staff and get sympathy. They need to keep their dirty underwear hidden.