Tonight, as Manager Dad went through an unpleasant cleansing ritual in preparation for a medical test (I will spare us all a retelling of the details) I decided to show some solidary to his discomfort by spending the evening reviewing our medical policy coverage.
After several hours, two broken pencils, and a splitting headache, the only thing I know for sure is that as mad as I thought our tax situation made me, it pales in comparison to the utter, impotent, quasi-homicidal rage that I feel toward Aetna U.S. Healthcare.
Eff.
Yes, I know – you’re thinking, ‘But you’re so lucky! More than 43 million Americans don’t have health insurance at all, so suck it up, you damn ingrate!’
But we still PAY for it, and I can't think of any other product you pay so much for, yet understand so little about. Insurance companies are the most inscrutible, incomprehensible lot around, and they seem to go out of their way to make sure that people don't have the slightest idea of what they're paying for. I have a Master's degree and an MBA (Ok, so the Masters is in advertising, so maybe that one doesn't count), and I STILL can't figure out exactly what my company’s health plan covers.
Those of you who have met me know that I am proudly anal-retentive. I have pre-printed grocery lists that are organized by store, by aisle, hanging on our fridge; items must be circled immediately when we run out or they are not purchased. I have Quicken, a top-of-the-line HP financial calculator, and a custom-built spreadsheet that tracks every cent that has ever come in or out of our family budget. I can tell you things like the out of pocket cost for my epidural (worth every penny) or how much we spent on Aunt Mary's 2002 Christmas present (too much, since she hated it anyway).
I spent hours with a magnifying glass, the benefits manuals, the aetna & merck-medco websites, and a variety of free web-based analyzers. I built a spreadsheet that I THOUGHT accounted for all costs, copays, and prescription fees. The spreadsheet was so detailed, so complicated, so hyper-linked, so formula-and-function-laden, it would make a University of Chicago economist weep in sheer, helpless awe, assuming (s)he could stand to look directly at it for more than thirty seconds before it seared his/her corneas.
Unfortunately, as my inappropriately hot high school math teacher once explained to me, it’s the inputs that matter.
I believe his exact words were “Shit in, shit out”.
So because of all of the shit that I THOUGHT I understood, I switched my family from Manager Dad’s health insurance to mine, mainly because I liked more of the doctors in my network. We pay slightly less per paycheck for my coverage. (Good). But I lost a $500 annual credit from my company that I was getting for NOT taking their health coverage. (Tolerable, because it was a wash when you factored in the lower premium costs).
Where the feathers really start to fly is that after I signed us up, they dropped my chosen method for the prevention of future Manager Kids from the approved medications list. (Bad). So now instead of paying a $10 copay, I pay $50 out of pocket per month. (Very bad). And while they cover Manager Dad’s extremely expensive, no-generic-substitute daily maintenance medication, I somehow didn’t realize that they only cover 20% of said medication’s cost, whereas they had covered 80% under our old policy. (Disaster).
And finally, I somehow managed to miss this little tidbit – that every family member has to meet a $300 deductible before I see one bloody dime from Aetna.
So the end result is we’ll pay thousands more out of pocket than if we’d just stayed with our old policy.
Manager Dad, a kind, patient man who is not type A like me (which is probably the reason our marriage has survived thus far), keeps telling me not to beat myself up for additional health care costs. But I am furious with myself, especially at the thought of the time I wasted trying to get us what I thought was a better deal. I will never get that chunk of my life back - I could have done something MEANINGFUL during the 36 hours between the receipt of our benefits manuals and the end of our open enrollment period besides develop a lasting eye-twitch and a dependency on legal stimulants.
A pox on those effers at Atena and their ‘manuals’. A double pox on my company’s HR staff and their lousy ‘benefit’. A triple-dog-dare, pre-existing condition, unqualified expense, non-HCRA reimbursable pox on them all.
Eff.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Effing Health Insurance
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Easy, Cheap, & Fun - That’s How We Roll In the OG
I just sent away for our Stamford beach parking sticker, which is a huge psychological milestone – summer is on its way. Although I’m sure we’ll have at least one freak April snowstorm, and if history is any guide, it'll most likely the be weekend that I’m trying to have my kids’ birthday party in the back yard.
Now, don’t get me wrong- the Cove is a great park – the kids love riding the tram to the beach and checking out the turtles at Soundwaters. But unfortunately, like many things in Stamford, it doesn’t quite pass the white glove test. It’s just a hair seedy, whether it’s the condition of the facilities or some of the clientele it attracts.
Sometimes, I like to go to a place where you can feel pretty confident that you WON'T see a drunken, unemployed vagrant passed out on the sand with an angry sunburn and an empty bottle of gin clutched in a nicotine-stained hand. A place where a family of four can pretend to be stinking rich for a day, without actually having to spend a lot of money. A place where the outhouses are stocked with toilet paper and are infused with the sweet scent of Febreze.
That place, my friends, is Old Greenwich.
Just a mere 10 minutes from downtown Stamford, take Route 1 to Sound Beach Avenue and keep driving past Binney Park until you hit town. Turn right on West End Avenue and park behind the CVS.
Start by letting your kids run off their carsickness on the playground or athletic fields behind Old Greenwich School on Sound Beach Road. If the child happens to sustain a playground-related injury, bring them over to Greenwich Pediatrics, just across the parking lot. Tell Dr. Korval that Manager Mom says hi and we’ll no doubt have an infection of some new exotic parasite for him to diagnose soon.
Stroll by the fire department, and check out the super shiny fire trucks. Occasionally, the nice fireman will treat you to a “jaws of life” demonstration, tearing up an abandoned car. This is officially about the coolest thing a 4-year-old boy can witness in person outside of a monster truck rally.
By then, if you’re getting hungry, grab a cheap slice and a hot toasted Panini wrap sandwich at Sound Beach Pizza (formerly Arcuri’s). Or, carbo-load at the Upper Crust bagel company. Either way, finish off your meal with a stop at Darlene’s Heavenly Desires for an overwhelming array of candy and ice cream treats. This store is bursting with evilly enticing diet busters; you’ll gain 5 pounds just walking in the door.
Work off the sugar high by continuing your stroll along Sound Beach until you get to Binney Park. This is a beautiful, peaceful park which - beware – is dotted with tiny landmines of black, glooby goose poop. Shade yourselves in the pergola and watch dog owners and bridal parties wander by. This is especially entertaining once the bridal parties first become aware of the goose poop issue.
End the afternoon browsing books and playing computer games at the Perrot Memorial library and pick up some used kid’s books for a buck a book as a souvenir of the day. On weekends, they'll sometimes have story readings and performances from children's authors and musicians.
Old Greenwich is also one of the best places to watch Fourth of July fireworks. Parking can be a challenge, but it’s totally free and you can get there as early as you’d like and picnic (pre-order from Lexzee’s or Garden Catering in town.) The park is beautiful and the fireworks go on forever. Be forewarned: your children will covet the huge helium balloons. Don’t give in. The balloon vendors charge, I kid you not, TWENTY dollars for the damn things. Manager Family has been going every year since the kids were born, and highly recommends. Look for us - we'll be the only family who kids are sobbing because we won't get them a balloon.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
YouTube Is So Yesterday
We're in the thick of March Madness now, and Manager Dad (who is on probation due to the subpar picks he turned in for my brackets this year) just told me about an absolutely brilliant feature that cbs.com) built into their Final Four coverage - the "Boss Button". Apparently you can watch streaming video of the basketball games, and if you are in danger of being spotted by someone important, you just click on the Boss Button and it immediately damps the volume and covers your screen with a faux spreadsheet. Note to Bravo TV, can you please install a similar feature attached to the videos featuring your exquisitely dumb, beautiful wannabe supermodels?
As we are all aware, the web affords a breathtaking array of ways to better occupy your attention than work or spending time with family. In no particular order, here's my current top 4 recommendations:
Television Without Pity - If you don't have time to actually watch TV, or don't really like the shows but are forced to make awkward chitchat with Bob from Accounting and need a few "American Idol" tidbits, this site is for you. Filled with comprehensive, snarky, and brilliantly written recaps of all of the shows you care about, and many that you don't. The women who write Go Fug Yourself (another great time waster) cut their chops on this site.
Dickipedia - Yes, it's like Wikipedia, but substantially more entertaining. With entries on the likes of Kanye West, Dr. Phil, and Billy Packer, among others, this site is all about the insufferable, self-righteous jerks that annoy you, but you were never quite able to articulate exactly why. I eagerly, eagerly await the launch of the companion "Skankepedia," referenced in the Tom Brady post.
Sleeveface - a site featuring user-submitted pictures of people holding up record covers where their faces should be. This site is a consummate example of why we needed an Internet in the first place...to feature utterly pointless, yet extremely cool sites like this one.
The Anagram Generator - simple, straightforward, interactive. Type in a name and it spits out an exhaustive list of associated anagrams. Functionally useful, and with an eerie prescience about the anagrams it's supplying- upon inputting Manager Boy's name, the Generator returned "Common Torment" as the first choice.
These are three of my current favorites...any other suggestions? I'm going to have some free time in the next few weeks- my boss is going to be tied up with his "spreadsheets".
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Revolting Excretions At A Low Low Price
I'm a classic Type A personality with a demanding job. I'm also the also mother of two children who think nothing of wandering into our bedroom at various times of the night, just to tell me that they're thirsty. No suprise then that I often have trouble sleeping. But one upside of the insomnia is my exposure to dozens of infomercials for a whole world of new, exciting products that are only available if you CALL NOW!!!
I've always had a weakness for the tempting promises of these miraculous products. At the least, they promise to streamline my life. Why have a colander AND a spaghetti pot if they can be combined into one? They also provide infantile self-entertainment (if you've ever seen a dog vacuumed with a Flo-Bee haircutting system, you'd know what I mean).
Sometimes they can even be life-altering. Why, if it wasn't for my Jack Lalanne Power Juicer, Manager Dad and I might not be married today. Back in the early 90's when we met (I was a DJ, he was a doorman at the cheesiest bar in all of Chicago), I lured him to my apartment with the promise of freshly made apple juice. I must have ground up at least three pounds of apples to get about two ounces of liquid, but he proved worth the investment.
But nothing can compare to the sheer, morbidly fascinating grossness of the Kinoki Foot Pad.
Not since they first introduced the Biore Pore Perfect blackhead strips have I ever coveted something so completely on first sight.
I don't feel toxic, mind you, but the idea of putting a nice clean white sheath on my foot at night and waking up to a mottled, greenish-black pad filled with micrometals and poisons from my body just sounded too good to pass up. And the prospect of having the fascinatingly repulsive visual evidence made it even better! All for only $19.95 plus shipping and handling! It's amazing how the receipt of one's annual bonus, coupled with a few glasses of wine, can help you rationalize that giving your credit card information to people who sell giant, charcoal-filled foot bandaids is a good idea.
I did my first set of pads last night. I could take a digital photo and show you, but I'm sure you'd rather trust me on how nasty they look. WOW. The way those pads looked, I am suprised that I have not been walking around emitting a constant nuclear glow. Do they really detoxify people? Who cares. What I know is, they are spectacularly yucky to look at.
I have to wait 48 hours before doing my next set of pads. I'll be looking for ways to continue detoxing. No Diet Wild Cherry Pepsis for me today - I'm all about the clean living.
Why, I might even slice up some fresh veggies with my Ginsu knives.
Read more about these ancient mystic Eastern herbal miracles for yourself at the kinoki website.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Sub-Literate Guilt
I can, however, always find time for a magazine. I have about twenty magazine subscriptions. I am a conflicted magazineaholic. I love 'em because they're bite-sized chunks of portable, disposable fun that requires very little mental investment. I hate 'em because they are meaningless, repetetive, catty, and written for the sensibility of a 13 year old.
They waste paper, clog landfills, make me feel alternately inadequate/fat/uninteresting/incharitable/unstylish, and are about as intellectually satisfying as eating a bag of Cheetos. As such, they are the perfect brain candy to offset the boredom of riding the stationary bike.
So in the spirit of shallowness, here are the mags I read, despise, and then despise myself for reading them:
In Style - I think this is secretly funded by an association of B-list celebrities in order to have a vehicle for free, fawning publicity. NOBODY really belives that Formerly Washed Up Middle Age Actor Who Lucked Onto A Hot TV Show regularly serves chowder to the homeless, do they? Plus, I have it on good authority that they make up their letters to the editor. Think about it. What normal human being really has the time to write a letter about how much they love Drew Barrymore's eye shadow?
People - More of the above. It also has the added downside of too many inspirational stories of hope featuring regular people. If I really cared about regular people and their problems, I'd pay more attention to the random bitching of my coworkers, which I can now hear in abundance now that they have remodeled our office to be a 'collaborative workspace' (read, 'no privacy').
Cookie - Dedicated to the idea of celebrating your children as a lifestyle accesories. Filled with ridiculously overpriced clothing and labor-intensive, time consuming quote-unquote kid-friendly yet healthy' recipes which have doubtless tortured many a Greenwich nanny. I mean, $200 Baby Phat sweaters for a toddler?
Better Homes & Gardens, Ladies Home Journal - If YOU want to use a doily to stencil a festive spring pattern on your wall, cheers to you. I hate the cheesy, cheery, cabbage-rose chintz aesthetic of their projects. I especially hate their ridiculously deliciously looking, hugely fattening recipes that make me even hungrier as I'm dripping sweat on the elliptical trainer. I read these with the knowledge that I am a complete and utter failure in the domestic arts.
Lucky- A magazine about shopping. Can't we figure that out for ourselves without supplemental research aids? Do I even need to rant further?
Vanity Fair - Presumptious, elitist, pretentious, America-bashing. And the articles are WAY too long - editorial self-indulgence masquerading under the guise of intellectism. Does anyone find Dominick Dunne to be relevant anymore? Or even interesting? I do like Annie Leibowitz' photo spreads though.
More- My hatred of this is complicated. I actually find the magazine to be intelligent, interesting, relevant to me, and well written. Why do I hate it the? Because their target audience is a "mature" (read, late 40's) woman. In this case I don't hate the magazine, I hate having to admit to myself that I am aging into this demographic cohort. No offense to my mature women friends...but I'm still only 37.
Time - the exact same news stories as Newsweek and US News & World Report. But they charge double the subscription price because they consider themselves a "brand name".
Runner's World, Health, and Self- I read, absorb, and then soundly ignore all of the fitness, nutrition, and training advice that I pretend to care so much about.
What do I actually LIKE reading? Mostly newspapers - the Wall Street Journal, our city Advocate for local news, the crossword in the USA today. For periodicals, there is only one magazine that I wholeheartedly love, and that is US Weekly.
They seem to write the magazine embracing the principle that they are not trying to stand for anything other than complete, unabashed fame-whoring. They seem to have just enough clout that they have access to actual celebrities to get the inside dirt. And I have a sneaking suspicion that they put this magazine together every week with tongue firmly in cheek. In Touch, Life & Style, OK, Star, and the rest are just left behind in their sparkly, celebrity-laden dust.
Ahhh... my new issue came. I can't wait to get back on the stationary bike.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Restaurant Smackdown!!!
My husband and I don't get out much. The going Fairfield county rate of $15 per hour to hire even the most underage, inexperienced, mouth-breathing child care provider pretty much guarantees that. But this Saturday night my Mom announced her intention to visit, providing us the opportunity to exploit her for free babysitting under the guise of grandmotherly love.
To set the context for our evening, you should know I have been fully brainwashed by child rearing experts as to the critical developmental importance of family dinners. According to said experts, if we do not eat dinner together at least 3 times per week, our daughter will wind up a teen drug addict/prostitute and our son would be destined to grow up an illiterate germophobe who regularly beats up his classmates. Or maybe they'd just have low self esteem, get bad grades, and wind up toiling in a dead end job such as professional VCR repairman or something.
Either way, it ain't worth the risk. So we do the dinners, although typical dinners with a 5 and 7 year old are MUCH closer to the side of pain than of pleasure. There's nothing more satisfying to a mother than lovingly crafting a home cooked meal, and putting the plates in front of your angelic children... to have them say, even before the plate hits the table, "yuck...I hate this!"
The meals themselves are not as much family bonding time as they are Manners Boot Camp, as we try desperately to keep it all together and impart some social graces while actually consuming food. Each meal follows a pretty well-defined script, consisting of eye-rolls, fidgeting, dropped food or spilled drinks, and one parent or the other barking shopworn phrases such as "please sit down;", "Use your manners," "Are you going to eat that?" "please don't throw vegetables at your sister," and "Why are you smearing honey in your hair?"
Hence, the prospect of a dinner with just the two of us is something we jump on at any opportunity, whether it's at Morton's or McDonald's.
We had dinner at the tiny, yet warm and welcoming, Emme of Capri on Summer Street. (Manager Mom highly recommends.) We were able to relax and have a delicious meal as well as some semblance of a coherent conversation. We were enjoying ourselves so much that we decided to go for a drink and dessert elsewhere, just to prolong our time away from home. So we decided to stroll around downtown to find another place to try. We even held hands while we were walking (awwww) although my hands are so chapped from overwashing it could not have been a pleasant experience for Mr. Manager Mom. (Manager Dad?)
We wound up at Ferrante, where we each ordered glasses of wine and something sweet. Our bartender was friendly and took care of us, but she had a curiously dour air about her - and after getting our drinks and placing our food order, she vanished for about fifteen minutes, leaving us to stare longingly at the hazelnut ice cream melting all over our lava cake as it sat on the bar's serving station two feet away. Somehow, the kitchen staff that delivered the dessert could not be convinced that it was ours, despite the fact that we were the only people sitting at the bar.
Finally, one of the waiters took pity on us and slid our dessert over. We dug in with relish and single-minded focus. All of the sudden, we became aware of a commotion! A kerfluffle! A brouhaha! A to-do, not more than 5 feet away at the back of the restaurant! Said ballyhoo (thank you by the way, thesaurus.com) resulted a man lying flat on the ground and a small crowd of people yelling for someone to call 911.
Somehow, we managed to miss the moment of impact (were we drunk? chocolate-crazed? you decide) - but the other bartender, a comely young Russian lass, was only too happy to dish that OUR bartender got in a fight with the manager and called her boyfriend, who came in to take a swing at said mananger, rendering him prone on the floor.
Needless to say, we assumed she would probably consider herself fired, and wasn't coming back.
The ambulance was called, and the manager seemed OK, and we were done with our drinks and dessert. As we got ready to leave, we suddenly became aware of a short slippery slope of potential moral dilemmas:
- We could easily live life on the edge and skip out on the bill.
- Knowing that we could, should we? Did the universe or the moral powers that be owe us a freebie to compensate for the bystander trauma we might have incurred by witnessing the aftermath of this senseless violence?
- If we did wimp out on the dine-n-dash, did we have to tip, since the person who served us would never see the benefit?
- And if so, how much of a tip was sufficient?
For the record, we DID pay, and we tipped about 15%. But there was definitely a moment where we were inspired to get our Bonnie & Clyde on. Hey, us minivan-driving, corporate-working for, suburban-living average Americans have to stay dangerous somehow.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Shop Shop, Hooray!
While I like to think that my blog can be meaningful and thought provoking, I have had WAY too many rants about gloomy topics lately - taxes, school closings, and Mary Kate Olsen, among others.
So please indulge my desire to celebrate something completely frivolous: the continued resurgence of the Stamford Town Center. No longer do us Stamfordites have to hang our heads in shameful subservience to the hushed, marbled glory of the Westchester Mall, with it's fancy stores and overpriced parking.
It wasn't so long ago that the Town Center was teetering on the brink of irrelevancy. One could smell a not-too-distant future where even the Macys would flee, destined to be replaced by a Sears and/or a Steve and Barry's, while the rest of the mall became overrun with Dollar Trees, Fashion Bugs, magazine shops with large inventories of porn, and maybe even a check cashing store.
But just as the mall teetered on brink of going toe up, the Mall Gods did unleash hell, annihilating a whole wing and birthing a shiny new structure from whence the H&M and the Barnes & Noble did emerge . Along with a bunch of soul-sucking, overpriced, mediocre chain restaurants.
Don't get me wrong - while I am PHILOSOPHICALLY violently opposed to the idea of eating at a chain restaurant instead of a local place (with the possible exception of the PF Changs, and OK, I have been known to take the littlings to the California Pizza Kitchen once in a while because the little heathens hate food that has any real taste), in PRACTICE, the presence of a Capital Grille means that the gods of bland upscale mediocrity think this little mall just might make something of itself.
And so...the improvements begat Starbucks! And an Apple Store! And now comes news that Zara is on its way! And more tax revenues through increased shopping traffic, leading to more cachet for the downtown area, leading to appreciated home prices, which will spawn even more pseudo-upscale stores from which we can purchase more stuff to tastefully appoint our renovated Cape Cods. It's a perfect suburban bourgeois storm! We might even be deemed worthy of a J. Crew someday!
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
The Closing Of A School
I just got back from a Board of Education meeting, and although it has not yet been made official, it appears inevitable that they are going to close my daughter's school, Toquam Elementary. The official vote is on March 19th.
This decision is baffling, enraging, and heartbreaking. We've been fighting with the school board, the mayor, and the superintendent for over 8 months to try to save our school. Our parents group has invested time, money, sweat and blood trying to work with the administration to find alternate solutions.
I have missed more of my kids' bedtimes (attending meetings, working on presentations, talking to reporters, etc) because of this than I care to think of.
And for what?
I won't rant in detail here, but what is profoundly disappointing is the fact that the BOARD OF EDUCATION, whose job it is to ensure the highest quality education for the children of Stamford, would decide it's a good idea to save money by closing one of the only two elementary schools in the Stamford School district that succeeding academically. It is one of only two elementary schools (out of 12 total) that is passing all No Child Left Behind standards - and the only one doing it with a racially and socioeconomically diverse student base. Toquam is has a staggering 59% non-white population - and almost half of the kids are on reduced/free lunches.
And yet, the school is not only passing, but thriving. In any sane universe, this school would be celebrated as a model and held up as a crown jewel of what the Stamford Board of Education should be striving to replicate at ALL schools.
Instead, they are choosing to close it, to save $5 million. And they are choosing to spare other schools where the buildings are in disrepair and students are plagued with the twin curses of low expectations and limited opportunities.
I feel like the Toquam community is going through the five stages of grieving. The loss of this school is almost like a death to many people. I sensed this in the questions and remarks made by the people in the room last night. I saw resignation and sadness in so many faces.
And as I looked around at all of the people that have worked so hard and invested so much in lifting this school to where it is today, I couldn't help but think, as have so many many others, WHY? How did we get here?
What kind of message does it send to people that the Board of Education chooses to close one of the only two schools that is NOT failing by state and federal standards? And how could they sleep at night knowing this could take 500 children that have been thriving in a successful environment and send them to schools that are failing instead?
My first grade daughter wrote a speech for me to deliver to the board. She was convinced that all I had to do was tell them how happy she was at Toquam, how much she was learning, and how wonderful her teachers are. She thought that if the board heard this from her, they wouldn't close the school.
How do I explain to my daughter that the very people who are supposed to be looking out for her best interests have lost sight of the end goal? That they are so focused on the means - saving money, reducing bus routes, adhering to strict ethnic percentages - that they are failing to focus on the true objective - which should be to provide Stamford's children with an excellent education?
How can the right answer elude a board of grown men and women when it is so crystal clear to a 7 year old?
Effing Taxes
I just received an email from my tax adviser, Steven T at the accounting firm of Laventhol and Horwath (actually, Van Brundt Du Biageo on Summer Street). Help me out here - why do I always think of Laventhol and Horwath when I think of accounting? Did they sponsor the People's Court or the Academy Awards or something like that? Anyway, I digress.
Thanks to our nation's crappy tax code - one that penalizes people that happen to live in high cost areas (such as, let's say, oh, I don't know, Fairfield and Westchester counties), my family is getting reamed. First of all, we pay a HUGE amount in annual federal taxes. We work in New York but live in Connecticut, so we have the privilege of paying tax in BOTH states.
And because of our income, even with 2 kids we no longer qualify for any deductions outside of our regular mortgage interest. To add insult to injury, for the last 3 years our household has been an unwilling member of the Alternative Minimum Tax Club.
Granted- by 'absolute' standards, we bring in a healthy income. But by the RELATIVE standards of this country, and the high percentage that our average living expenses eats up of our income, we are firmly middle class. We live in a 1500 square foot house in a mixed blue/white collar area. We drive a Honda Odyssey and a Honda Civic. We take one vacation a year, and I clip coupons to save on groceries.
Every year come spring, I am afflicted with Seasonal Affective Tax Anxiety. Every year, the AMT takes a bigger bite out of our butts. We're already claiming zero exemptions...what else is a family supposed to do to try to keep up? Oh, and as far as the 'stimulus package', thanks for nothing, effing Congress. You can cram your rebate checks where the sun don't shine, because my family ain't getting squat.
And who should I vote for? I'm a fiscal conservative and a social liberal. Because I'm a feminist I should probably be a Democrat. But nobody, Democrat OR Republican, has the stones to pursue a flat tax code that would have everyone share a fair proportion of the tax burden...and eliminate all of the money we waste maintaining the IRS, which has to be one of the most hated government bureaucracies outside of the Cold War KGB.
So McCain, Obama, Clinton, Paul, LaRouche, I don't really give two hoots today...the day I got my tax results from my accountant. None of you are really going to make a difference in MY fiscal life.
