An Open Letter to Congressional Republicans From a Guy With a Gaping Hole In His Side

Hey, Remember that time Congressional Republicans shut down the government for the express purpose of halting Obamacare? Yeah. That was pretty messed up, especially since it was before the whole website debacle, so it's not like they even had that as a talking point; it was just Socialism and Death Panels blah blah blah. As someone who values being healthy but whose body often seems to have other ideas, I was more than a bit pissed. 

Dear Congressional Republicans,

Hi there. I'm a guy with a gaping hole in his side--not even slightly kidding about that. You're killing me over here.

Obamacare will literally change my life, improving my lot, along with that of millions of other people like me. And when you threaten to shut down the government in hopes of preventing this life-saving, money-saving program from ever coming to fruition, well, I kinda take that personally.

*

Credential Check, or Who The Hell Does This Guy Think He Is?

Don't you dare lecture me about the value of hard work and sacrifice and aspiring to be your best. I know it, I've lived it.

About that hole in my side. I have an ileostomy. Translation: my colon was surgically removed and now I poop into a bag. It's not something I particularly wanted to say here on my blog--or to anyone, anywhere. Hello, I'm Doug, I poop into a bag. What's your name? 

But you, Congressional Republicans (and with a special shout-out to Senator Cruz), seem pathologically incapable of understanding that there's a vast world of people and experiences beyond your own. So here you go; here's mine. I’m thirty-two years old, healthy, active, clean-living ... and I poop into a bag. Health care isn't some abstract thing for me. It's a weight that I carry every day--for years, a weight of constant, debilitating pain and anxiety, and now a literal weight, in the form of the poop-bag attached to the hole in my side.

Major Scoop: Presidential Debate Rules

This just in: The Obama and Romney campaigns recently met to draft a few rules for the candidates' upcoming debates. These were supposed to be top-secret, but I've got the scoop for you thanks to a friend on the inside, who I'll give the code name Bo Jiden.

1. Failure to say "God Bless America" in closing remarks results in automatic forfeit.
2. If no clear winner identifiable after debate, candidates may use rock, paper, scissors (best two out of three) to decide outcome.
3. Candidates allowed to put each other into "jinx" if both say same thing simultaneously.
4. Excessive note-taking for sole purpose of inhaling Sharpie fumes is not allowed.
5. Orange light will flash after each misuse or mispronunciation of words greater than four syllables, names of foreign leaders, or popular culture catch-phrases/memes.
6. Candidates must remain fully clothed for the duration of the debate. They may not, for rhetorical or other purposes, tear off shirts, Hulk-style, or lower pants to show off religiously-affiliated undergarments or lucky Chicago Bears boxer briefs. 
7. If candidates exceed time limit for response to question, red light flashes; if candidates stutter, pause or otherwise temporarily halt their response for more than five seconds, moderator allowed to squirt candidate with Super Soaker.
8. Moderator barred from glaring, cursing, shaking head in disbelief, throwing glass of water, or otherwise reacting in any way to gross misstatements.
9. Candidates may use voice-filtering devices to warp voices with robot, chipmunk, Darth Vader or professional wrestling announcer effects, but may not switch voice effects during debate.
10. Cheerleaders will perform at halftime.
11. Candidates may not question each other directly, but may taunt using terms “Booya!,” “Yeah, sucka!” and “Y’all trippin’.”
12. Each candidate must do at least one impersonation, lasting at least thirty seconds, of either Mahmoud Ahmadinejad or Angela Merkel, or, for domestic-policy debates, John Boehner or Nancy Pelosi. 
13. Candidates may not poke, prod or hit other candidate directly, but may do so using giant foam "We're #1!" hand.
14. Comeback zingers may not include fart jokes or "that's what she said." 
15. Laugh track will be played after all jokes or attempted jokes; sound clip "Ooooh!" wil be played after all direct attacks on opponent's record.
16. Discussion of Chumbawamba's recent break-up is off-limits, including but not limited to saying that "America got knocked down, but we'll get up again, you're never gonna keep us down." Discussion of LMFAO's rumored split is fair game.
17. Paul Ryan allowed to substitute for Romney at halftime or any other stoppage of play.
18. Use of sports metaphors limited to those sports in which candidate actually participates.
19. Candidates not required to attend debate if assurance cannot be made that there will be cookies and punch afterward.
20. Productive, reasonable discussion on genuinely important matters, with no gratuitous pandering, impossible-to-keep promises, or shameless distortions of reality, is forbidden.

The American Dream and the freelance writer

I try to keep this apolitical. This is a travel blog, and, frankly, the world doesn't need another pundit. I want the discussion here to be about travel, and I'm wary of getting off-topic (as when I incurred the wrath of the Esperanto people, to whom I say, please, Bonvolu las mi sole).  But I'm going to bend my self-imposed roles for second here, because,  quite frankly, it's incredibly stupid that the health care debate here in the U.S. was considered such a political one. Even the weird libertarian side of me, which sometimes pops up to keep my lefty tendencies honest, thinks universal health care is just implicitly logical and important in every way; it's a matter of moral, business, and common sense. And this needs to be said; my story needs to be told: 

We're going to hear a lot of griping from health care foes in the coming days. But here's one guy's story that you can tell them, proof of why this legislation matters.

This will literally and profoundly change my life. Millions of others, too. But let's use me as a case study, shall we?

I was diagnosed with Crohn's Disease in 1993. I was 12 years old. I'll spare you the full details of what that entails, but basically it causes massive inflammation of the colon, which is every bit as fun as it sounds. It's often just not a big deal, not at all factor in life ... but when it is, wow. The technical term is, I believe, "severefuckingpain." I've had kidney stones; those seem easy in comparison.

Because of this little-tiny-major issue, it would be essentially impossible for me to buy health insurance on my own, thanks to pre-existing condition clauses. Even coverage through an employer is by no means assured--friends with much less debilitating medical issues have been turned down for insurance because their employers' pools couldn't absorb them. And, obviously, I can't go without insurance--I'd go broke in a matter of days (seriously, days) trying to pay for the meds that I need to keep me a normal, functioning human. So I have to work for an organization of a certain size, that has a pretty good insurance plan.

Here's the thing. What I really want to do, more than anything, is be a freelance writer. (Yes, even in this economy, even with a dozen publications closing each day.) I've made a go at it--and this blog is a testament to that--but under the circumstances, I just haven't had the time and energy to put as much into it as necessary. And there are tons and tons of people like me who want to do similar self-employed things: make music, open a doughnut shop, do their own thing. That's the American Dream, is it not? Being an entrepreneur, taking a risk, making something awesome and new, whether it's a book or a song or a computer program or a widget?

Instead, I--and, again, tons of people like me--am compelled to work a day job, for a sufficiently large business, for a sufficient number of hours per week, to ensure that I have the health care that I desperately need. And I enjoy my day job (jobs plural, actually). But stress-wise and time-wise, it does pretty significantly interfere with the Pursuit of the Dream. And, not incidentally, I strongly suspect that my issues make my co-workers' premiums higher, which isn't exactly fair to them.

It's no overstatement to say that a national health care system will literally change my life. I'll finally have the freedom to chase the dream. I might fail. I might have a period of surviving on cat food and ramen. But I'll at least have the chance to give it a shot. So will lots of other people. I'm convinced this will cause a boom in entrepreneurship and innovation as people feel the freedom to chase their dreams. We'll finally get our own shot at the pursuit of happiness, to succeed (or, yes, fail) on our own terms, in our own ways.

I'll confess: when the bill passed last night, I started bawling. You have no idea. . . .

Thanks for listening. We now return you to your regularly-scheduled, commentary-with-a-sarcastic-smirk travel blog.


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Note to my non-USA readers: So, "the American Dream." Is this a widely-understood phrase/concept? I'm suddenly very curious. For a full explanation, if needed, click here. Is there a specific term that you have in your country for some sort of myth-enhanced concept of success and prosperity? Or does the fact that such a term exists, in such a patriotically-branded form, make us seem even stranger than we did before? Just wondering.

Canvassers v. Tourists (Or, Apologies For the Rant)

This was supposed to be a short post about how one of the benefits of tourism is increased numbers of street performers. This afternoon, I saw the most amazing living statue--a living fountain, actually. Worthy of his own post. Ditto the contortionist, the guitarist, and the jazz trio (they did not all perform together, although they totally should). The post was going to be hilarious and insightful and would basically explain the entire modern tourist experience by way of a series of short vignettes and observations, all tied together in the tidiest but most unexpected of ways, and presented in prose that was at once astonishingly lyrical and deliciously clever. Your mind would have been blown. But then some clowns got in the way. . . .

I recently heard someone describe canvassers as "the pop-up ads of real life." This was especially true in Copenhagen today.

I spent the morning tracking down the various restaurants that Frommer recommends here. No success. Not one was still open. A Blockbuster was in one space; another is now the town's requisite Hard Rock Cafe.

Instead, I found--or rather, was found by--a swarm of people from Greenpeace, Unicef, and Some Organization That Would Like You To Know That AIDS Is Very Bad. Now, I support these organizations' work, in general. I just don't particularly care to be on one more e-mail list or to give my credit card number to a complete stranger. Mostly, I just don't want to be bothered. I'm not a talker, particularly when I know the conversation will be one-sided, overtly political, and assertively boring.

This is particularly true when I'm away from home: I'm out of my element, I'm already a bit disoriented, just leave me alone. Don't remind me of the real world and its ills. Leave me in my bubble. Just point me to the bakery and the nearest tourist landmark and get out of my way. Please.

But sometimes I overcome my natural aversion to such interactions because the message the people are promoting is just . . . well, just so fucking batty and offensive that I can't walk by without comment.

Case in point: This afternoon, I was strolling down the Købmagergade (I think that's where I was, anyway) when a sandwich board stopped me in my tracks. It was a doctored photo of Barack Obama, with a Hitler mustache; beneath the image was the caption "I've Changed." I spotted a young woman standing near a table covered with Lyndon LaRouche literature.

"Hey, what's ..." I began.

She smirked. "He's grown a little mustache, you see. He's a fascist."

I'll spare you the full details. It was a long conversation. Too long. It can be summarized by the following exchange:

Me: ". . . So what you're saying is, there's a huge conspiracy that we're all just too blind to see, and it's run by a couple of guys sitting in a dark room, rubbing their hands together, cackling, evilly plotting everything that goes on in the world and basically trying to destroy us."

Batty LaRouche Lady, with complete sincerity: "Yes, that's exactly it."

Our conversation was broken by an American speaking on a cell phone, looking pissed off. He was saying (and this is a direct quote, as best as I remember it): "There are some seriously fucked-up people saying some seriously fucked-up things down here, spewing some genuinely offensive, outlandish shit."

As soon as he hung up, Batty LaRouche Lady started yammering at him instead of me. So Phone Guy and I basically tag-teamed it, swapping Very Reasonable Points to counter the frankly nonsensical and vitriolic claims. Soon a Batty LaRouche Dude from Boston joined the fray. (What a lovely way to pass a beautiful late-summer day on an otherwise charming and bustling street in Copenhagen!)

Several other passersby joined our cause, including one Danish guy who looked old enough to actually remember Hitler--who, you may recall, invaded Denmark, among a few other nasty things. This guy really, really, really did not appreciate the Obama/Hitler comparison. "You're planting the seed," he said, pointing to the photo. His tone was calm, but his face was contorted with incredulity and despair. "You're spreading hate."

All in all, a pretty jarring experience. I'm not big on confrontation, but I have gone to a few protests in the States and had some interesting conversations with counter-protesters. I'm always up for debate with people of differing views; in fact, I enjoy it. This was different. I've never encountered that level of hatred and virulent, over-the-top political extremism first-hand--it's something I've only seen in articles or on TV, where it always seems a world away, something happening in Some Other Place. I certainly didn't expect that Other Place to be seemingly-idyllic Copenhagen. Everything here felt so calm and happy--as I said yesterday, even the "slums" were awfully mundane, if not precisely charming.

The phone guy's name was Harold; he's an American who married a woman from Denmark and has lived here since 1997. I gave him the blog address and by the time I got back to the hotel, he'd already e-mailed me. He called the encounter "the Three Stooges/Dumb & Dumber reunion," which is about right--the level of discourse was roughly even with those esteemed individuals, although we never did resort to poking each other in the eyes or bopping each other on the head. Maybe the silver lining of the encounter is a new e-pen pal (Hey, Harold: write to me any time, and if you're ever in Minneapolis, I'll buy you a beer and we can rehash today's encounter and our incredible display of political acumen, intellectual brilliance, and superhuman ability to remain calm when talking to scary, not-calm nutjobs).

So that's one of today's bad ideas: talking to political extremists who are itching for a fight. I really should have just walked past. Oy.

(Also, I get that most issues are global issues these days, and that U.S. policy affects the world . . . but what the hell were LaRouche people doing distributing their propaganda in Copenhagen? When I walked by the same spot a few hours later, they were gone. I almost hugged the Greenpeace guy who had taken their place.)

I will say this: it was kind of refreshing to see the reactions of most Danes to this ugly scene, to be around Europeans defending the American president and supporting Americans in general. That was not my experience last year--not at all. I wonder how Bush-as-Hitler would have gone over. It's been interesting to see people's varied reactions, a year ago and now, when they find out I'm American.

. . . And then I went to Tivoli Gardens, which was much more enjoyable, if a bit cheesy. I wandered the grounds and marveled at the astonishingly overpriced food (35 DKK for a Slushee--that's seven bucks!) and the even more astonishing array of spinning, Slushee-disgorging rides. I also discovered Danish honky tonk music. Ten seconds later, I discovered that I really, really dislike Danish honky tonk, that it is almost as annoying as canvassers. But I'll take hours of it over another ten seconds with the Lyndon LaRouche people.

UPDATE: Interestingly, Arthur has also gotten a bit politically active lately, calling for a boycott of travel to Arizona after some protesters were spotted carrying guns outside a Phoenix venue where the president was speaking last week.