New and interesting developments.

Apparently, some doctors are no happier with the crazy religious fundies telling them who they can and can't see, and in what order, than they were the government.

Jenni called me, all excited, about a clinic being opened up on a co-op basis. Apparently, a group of about fifteen doctors and a concomitant support staff, have banded together and bought a large, eight-story building. Jenni told me that the top floor would hold a surgery, the next floors down a multi-bed recovery ward; single-, double-, and four-bed rooms; then offices; then exam rooms.

And this clinic/private hospital is open to paid members only, and the only people who can buy into the co-op are (drum roll, please) sex workers, political market workers, recreational pharmaceuticals users and dealers, and CPAs.

In other words, this private clinic is one that serves the sections of society that the radical evangelical fundamentalist women's clubs have lobbied to cut off from medical care because we offend their delicate morals and sensibilities.

And, since this is a for-profit clinic, Jenni's pretty sure that the concept will be spreading, and the more traditional hospitals (which are having some difficulty transitioning back to a free-market system from the single-payer travesty forced on us ten years ago) will have trouble keeping up. Jenni's pretty sure that the model will wind up the only game in town, and that the evangelical women's clubs will have a very difficult time getting one set up for themselves because of their attitudes.

I can't help but be amused.

Update: According to the press release/news story I just heard on the radio, the building being used for the new clinic is--get this--a brand new, state of the art hospital built for the city's main hospital system, ten years ago. It's never been used. Apparently, once the socialized medicine was pushed through, the hospital found out that they wouldn't be able to afford to move, much less make the mortgage payments. It was foreclosed on pretty much within a year of it having been built, and the bank let it go for a about ten percent of what it's actually worth.

And I love what they're going to call it: St. Mary Magdalene's Mercy of the Angles hospital and clinic.

I'm not quite sure what to make of this.

I've spent the past week setting up the new filing system for new contracts, and ran across something incredibly disturbing. I thought that maybe I was seeing things, and didn't say anything.
So, I went back today, looked through all of the new contracts, and used the excuse that the closed contracts would be easier to sort through to find at need if we filed them under the same system to look through those, too.

I'm really glad now that I didn't say anything. Because I'm pretty sure I'm right.

There have been an awful lot of contracts taken out on people who work in the political futures market within the last six months. A lot of them. With little things put into the files as justification: this one has extremely violent sexual tastes (though, so far, they've been merely expensive tastes, not illegal), and that one has had one DWI in his life that caused an accident (with no one besides a telephone pole hurt, much less killed). Another one may have bribed a politician before it was legal (after all, he was a lobbyist).

Thin reasons. All of them. That's a huge risk for the clients.

Who are all younger than I am.

I'm getting a little worried, here. My brother-in-law is one of the big names in the futures market--owner and president of the first Fortune 500 company that deals solely in political futures.

And even better, my fiance is a (spectacularly less successful) day trader of political futures. Who insists on driving the same route every day, dropping me off and picking me up directly outside my building.

I'm...going to have to think about how best to handle this. I'm pretty sure I can get my brother-in-law to hire protection (and hire who I tell him to), and carry a gun.

My fiance already thinks I'm paranoid. It's caused fights in the past. I only hope I can win this one without losing him.

Sometimes it's fun to be a sociopath.

I decided to play a bit of a (late) April Fool's Day joke on my boss. Since I had to go on a quick job that my boss convinced me that only I could do, I missed my initial flight to Germany, a month ago, to go get a couple new magazines. So, since I've been shifted around to "off duty," I'm blogging from Germany--which means that I'm not currently in the office, putting the new contract filing system I came up with into place.

I figured, since the spare magazines for the new Walther I picked up, are all still in Germany, and I need at least one (though two more would be better), I'd just go get my own, rather than wait, like my boss suggested.

As I said, I have noticed one thing I don't like about the gun. The P22 is a royal cunt to put back together after cleaning--you have to seat the guide rod and spring, and slip the cleaning rod through the hole on the front of the slide, through the spring, and maneuver the slide back onto the frame, compressing the spring as you go.

The PK380 is worse. First of all, you have to use the special key that locks the trigger to unlock the takedown lever. And turn it farther than 90 degrees counterclockwise. And jigger with it to get it to work. Then, and only then, can you remove the slide, which takes barrel, guide rod, spring, and all with it. Then, to get the barrel out to clean, you have to remove the guide rod and spring. Which is not just a royal cunt to put back, but a sloppily fucked royal cunt. The lovely little bitch spit the spring across the room, twice. I'm going to have to try this guy's solution (number 9 down on the forum) when I get back home.

And if my boss complains about my little jaunt here, I'm just going to point out that little clause in my contract that says that my job is Certified Public Assassin, not secretary, even if that is my most common cover. And maybe make a bit of noise about going freelance.

Karma's got puppies.

My car's engine lost its magic blue smoke this morning, while I was on the freeway on the way to work. I know when the magic blue smoke escapes, there's nothing I can do to get it to start again, so I called my garage to come tow it in. Early this afternoon, they told me that it would be about $650 for a rebuilt engine. My mechanic says it might well be time to buy a new car. I said put a new engine in, and I'll save up for one.

And, like that wasn't bad enough, the boss decided he wants me working in the office until my car is running again. He's got me organizing the filing system, today, and wants me to start on coming up with a better system for incoming contracts as soon as I'm done with the closed files. And, I had to fight to get him to pay me even a bottom-rung secretary's wage, since I'm usually on commission.

Happy April Fools' Day to me!