I never played sports. I reckon if I did I’d probably be the guy warming the bench by the Gatorade cooler fuming at the self-centered golden boy who insisted on making all of the plays while the rest of us played Supporting Cast. In the tip of the iceberg of a post for another day, I’m also a bigger fan of George Hincapie than Lance Armstrong.
I prefer the people who show up quietly and do the grunt work. The bulk of society, who go about their business without being annointed.
That’s probably why all this ruckus about the Town Hall Meetings has me seething. I don’t want any of these new half-witted health care proposals. All of them are neither fish nor fowl and will only accomplish the side-effect of giving the government more to louse up. People who want good cheap health care won’t get it. People who want liberty over their own health care won’t get it. Bureaucrats and lawyers will be the only true beneficiaries.
Scratch that. Signpainters and talk show hosts also appear to making a good living off the mess.
Because as I’ve discovered upon opening my Twitter account and following @billhobbs, apparently there is some movement afoot to demand Town Hall Meetings on Health Care just so the aggravating minority of yelling agitants can drown out any possibility of conversation. These same people whom I suspect of having dartboards with Abbie Hoffman’s face in the bullseye are taking a page from the Yippie handbook and being obnoxious to get their point across.
Unfortunately the only point that comes across is that they are obnoxious.
Ironically, I agree with their stance on health care. But I don’t want them making fools of my agenda by tying it to their desperate bid for attention. I want to have a chance to approach my representative like a sane and rational human being, to present my case–in person–to that representative. I am one of the people who would be very hurt by any of the new initiatives. My medicines would no longer be covered, and the government bills under advisement would sentence me to a life of pain-killers, with no coverage for the disease modifying medicine that increases my life expectancy from 55 to 89. Bonus for them if I die 34 years earlier, I suppose.
But that’s beside the point. I don’t get to say that to my representative while dressed nicely. I don’t get to show them my twisted left hand, with its fingers starting to point due west instead of north.
I’ve sent letters and pictures, but I’m being denied my face-to-face opportunity by those who think it’s cool to shout the rest of us down. I resent that mightily.