Cadillac, Golf and What’s Really Important

Is Eric Snowden a hero or a traitor? Will yet another attempt to reform our immigration system die in the House? Has the economy turned the corner? Did you find a new job before your unemployment ended? Does anyone know what George Zimmerman’s lawyer was trying to do when he started with a knock-knock joke? What do you think Kanye and Kim should name the baby? Can analysis be worthwhile? Is the theater really dead? (Special thanks to Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel for the last two questions.)

Practicing putting at Trump National Golf Course.
We know what is truly important.

Certainly, nothing is more important than what is happening in your life at this moment. That’s why I was so excited to have Cadillac back in my life on Monday. All right, maybe it’s more appropriate to say it’s in my brother’s life, because he’s the one who actually owns, or is it leases, the 2013 powder blue Cadillac CTS coupe. Sixteen years ago, I owned a 1972 cherry red Cadillac Eldorado convertible that Midwestern winters had turned into something Californians wish not to have exposed to their sensitive eyes. To make my brother feel more like part of the family,

Cadillac invited him to a golf clinic at the Trump National Golf Course in Rancho Palos Verdes, a secluded portion of the coast between Long Beach and Los Angeles. He was able to bring a guest, and was kind enough to choose his older male sibling.

A Cadillac on the golf course.
No, they didn't give them away as door prizes.

Neither of us had played golf in more than a year, but that was of little consequence. We closed his office at 9:15 AM and took the hour-long trip in Cadillac style. After registering, we each drove the new ATS model, which Cadillac designed to compete with the BMW 3 series. Not that it’s important, but it was by far the best handling Cadillac I have ever driven. (I’ll retract the qualifying clause if Cadillac wants to pay me for the endorsement.) Then, we had what Cadillac referred to as breakfast, an egg and cheese burrito with salsa and juice, but the two of us, early risers, considered lunch.

For the next hour we received a golf lesson from the clinic host, David Ledbetter and South African PGA tour player, Trevor Immelman, who won the Masters in 2008. (This may be a good time to note he beat Buick spokesman, Tiger Woods, by 3 strokes.) Our mouths definitely hung open as the young professional launched one perfect shot after another. He did acknowledge he was born into a golf family. Poor chap.

The last two hours of the clinic were spent going from one hole to the next, where the group received instruction in putting, driving, chipping and the use of hybrid clubs, before everyone took a turn practicing the lesson. When it came time to video each invitee’s swing on their drive, Neil and I were glad to let a few duffers go ahead of us.

The drive back to his office, where he decided to catch up on some work and I was glad I am retired, didn’t take any longer than the morning trip, despite increased traffic. Somehow, it doesn’t seem as long in a Cadillac. (I’ll take whatever GM is willing to pay me.) Later, I would discover I hadn’t properly coated my neckline with sunscreen and have lobster neck as a result. Small price to pay for doing what is really important—spending a day with your brother on an exclusive golf course, and allowing the luxury automobile company that he pays every month let us think we’re getting it all for free.  

Health Insurance Makes Me Sick

Truth in advertising?
These look like medical symbols.
They're not; they're insurance symbols.

Two words in the English vernacular that should never have been joined together are health and insurance. An industry that already found ways to detach people from their money by having them bet against their homes, businesses, automobiles and lives decided they could get people to bet against staying healthy. When premiums no longer provided the huge margin of profit the industry had grown to expect they started throwing curves at their customers. “Oh sorry, we can’t have you as a client, you are sick.”  If you weren’t so intimidated that you responded with, “But, that’s why I purchased your product in the first place,” you probably only received the retort, “However, you didn’t tell us about this latent tendency of yours, (insert here: diabetes, muscular dystrophy, Parkinson’s, et.al.); I’m afraid it’s a pre-existing condition.”

Now, as almost anyone reading this blog knows, the Affordable Care Act or Obamacare disallows the use of pre-existing condition as a method of refusing coverage. It’s still the big flaw with our supposed national healthcare plan: insurance. They’ll just jack the premiums and continue. Ever wonder why the World Health Organization (WHO) ranks the U.S. 38^th in quality of healthcare, but 1^st in per capita cost of healthcare? My answer: Insurance!

How much does this procedure cost?

Most people can tell you what their grocery bill and the gym cost them. I mention these items, because food and exercise are generally considered what keeps a person healthy. On the other hand, almost nobody knows what an MRI or gall bladder surgery costs. As with groceries and gym facilities there is some variance. However, recent investigations have found hospitals within a few miles radius charging ten times as much for the same procedure. Why didn’t the patient check? Unlike food and exercise, the medical world doesn’t tell you what something costs. They only tell you if your insurance will cover it. There it is, again. In the treatment portion of healthcare the consumer is not expected to ask for a menu, like in a restaurant, or a price list, as you might when your car is being repaired. All a patient/consumer needs is coverage and the ability to cover the deductible.

Can you decipher this bill?

Now, don’t get me wrong, under the current system I am grateful for the insurance plan I have. My good friend, Mike, tells me I have a Cadillac plan because I was a teacher. He may be right. For example, last month I finally realized I needed hearing aids and the audiologist told me my insurance company covered them completely. I was shocked, but then realized it was about the same amount as the 10 months of premiums we have been paying since we retired and have to pay the difference between the single plan provided retirees and the family plan we need.

For the past couple months I have been fighting with my insurance company to pay the pharmacy for my regular cholesterol medication. They fight with me every year because I found one that actually reduces its level. Unfortunately, the generic does not. So, my doctor has to give “prior authorization” every time. At times like these I’d prefer the Ford, Chevy or whatever model gets me results. Do you really think the government could screw it up any worse? Am I truly un-American because I don’t want the insurance company giving me a heart attack? If you’re an agent, go back to life, home or auto.  

My First Trip to Tahoe

Since we were already going north to Palo Alto for the bat mitzvah of my cousin’s second daughter, we decided to continue three and half hours to the east to Lake Tahoe. Deb was there with a girlfriend around thirty years ago. This was my first trip, although I did travel just to the north of it when I drove through Donner Pass on I-80 on my initial visit to California. We detoured off our route around the lake on Wednesday to see this amazing gap in the mountains through which these pioneers came with horse and wagon.

Debbie waits patiently for just the right moment
to capture another sunset.

Given ski season had ended and summer hadn’t truly struck yet, we were able to find a resort for an exceptionally good price. My sole purpose for this vacation was to kick back and enjoy myself. Sitting on the beach, eating at some of the fine dining places nearby, and reading a good book were on my agenda. Finding beautiful sunsets, and there were a lot to be found at this gorgeous Alpine lake surrounded by snow-capped mountains, was all I needed to keep my wife happy.

Sunday, we slalomed in the car down Ski Run Boulevard and parked in the lot next to Riva’s Grill, so we wouldn’t have to pay for valet parking. Then, Deb wandered out onto the pier to capture the first of many orange and pink hued sunsets.

Actual chair and desk where Samuel Clemens
became the author Mark Twain
sits next to his portrait.

Monday morning we went to the vendor presentation session our resort sponsored and won a two for one trip to Virginia City that we took today. I am a huge fan of Mark Twain, and he started his writing career in this mining town. We also had the opportunity to ride a train through the Comstock Lode, get a free drink at the Delta Saloon and see the Suicide Table, which was retired after three gamblers on separate occasions took their lives after losing everything while playing at this particular furnishing. While it rained Monday, Deb was still able to capture some sunsets from the roof of our resort.

Tuesday, we hiked to see a magnificent lake off the southern tip of Tahoe. Our concierge pointed us to the more secluded body of water and the waterfalls at its far end. We saw a second falls that spills into Tahoe and Inspiration Point that overlooks Emerald Bay. In the evening we dined at Beacon Café at Camp Richardson. The coupon we had for a free appetizer provided us with a mouth-watering ceviche. Even though there is no direct view of the sun setting, our waiter assured us the reflections on the water would be worth waiting to see. He definitely undersold the sensational way Mother Nature brushed colors across the sky and surface of the lake that night.

Even I with my point and shoot iPhone
couldn't screw up such a beautiful sunset
at Zephyr Cove of Lake Tahoe.

As previously noted, we drove around the lake on Wednesday. For anyone who has ever had to deal with a spouse that is permanently attached to a camera I need not say how many vista points, or anything remotely resembling a possible point of interest, we had to stop to examine. Now, for those who have grown tired of this post because it is mainly travelogue and lacks satire I am posting this photograph of Zephyr Cove. Although, we passed it up on Wednesday, because Deb didn’t want to pay eight dollars for parking, due to technological advances in the digital age I’m able to post this sunset that was taken tomorrow, Friday, June 14.     

Take Me Out to the Ballgame

The ballpark is a wonderful place to hang out on
a warm spring or summer day or evening.

Last Friday, my brother treated me along with his ten-year-old and her friend to an evening at the ballpark. Treated might be too strong a word, and I’ll get back to the reason I say that a little later. First, I have to give credence to the lyric I stole from a popular song to be the title of this post.

As kids, my brother, Neil, and I rarely went to the ballpark. Our parents were not very interested in sports, and if we did get to Milwaukee County Stadium, it was most likely for the annual Police-Fire Department rivalry that was a fundraiser for some worthy cause. The only time we actually went to see the likes of Henry Aaron, Eddie Matthews, Warren Spahn or any of the other Milwaukee Braves, a team that had a winning season each of the 13 years it remained in our hometown, were knothole days. On those days, member of organizations like the boy scouts, girl scouts or church youth groups could sit in the bleachers for ten cents.

Eddie Matthews, Hank Aaron and Frank Torre
made baseball history in Milwaukee.

Everything changed in 1965. The Braves decided in 1964 to move to Atlanta, but Bud Selig, the current commissioner of Major League Baseball who at the time owned a car dealership and a small portion of the team franchise, sued to keep the team in Milwaukee. An injunction was issued for the 1965 season, and attendance that shrank from nearly 25,000 a game in 1953 to under 10,000 a game in 1964 fell to the point where some games there were less than a thousand people to watch them their final year in the North. It was, however, for Neil and I, the season we would always remember. Dad gave his fourteen-year-old a five-dollar bill that I used to buy upper grandstand seats, hot dogs, soft drinks and peanuts for my eleven-year-old brother and me. Since the stands were so empty, we often ended up sitting in seats right behind one of the dugouts by the third or fourth inning. That was a treat.

Going to see the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim play cost around a hundred dollars for the four of us, part of a silent auction package my brother bought at a school fundraiser. So, our attendance was benefitting a worthy organization. It also benefitted the $25 million a year contracts of Albert Pujols, who had the night off due to injuries, and Josh Hamilton, who came to bat in the seventh inning with the Angels down by three runs, runners at the corners and two outs. Despite the urging of Pat Monahan and Train singing their “Calling All Angels,” he popped the ball up ending any chance of his team defeating the worst team in baseball, the Houston Astros.

Mark Trumbo,  Mike Trout, Albert Pujols and Josh Hamilton
are four reasons the Angels should be winning.

After tossing the ball back and forth prior to the Astros coming to bat in the eighth, I noticed Mike Trout, last year’s rookie of the year, and Mark Trumbo, a candidate for the same recognition the previous year, get together in right-center field to chat. I told my brother I figured they were discussing how they could let their new, high-priced teammate know they were disappointed he left them on base. Skeptics would say, once they have the big money they don’t perform anymore. I like to think that like Aaron, Matthews, Ruth, Gehrig, Musial, Koufax and Williams, they play for the love of the game. Fortunately, it didn’t matter to the two ten-year-olds that accompanied my brother and me. They had a great time at the ballpark!