Some Congresscritter from Arizona that nobody’s ever heard of – except for when he held up a baby on the House floor, and told us how much the baby hated the thought of health care reform – (what is it with Arizona, anyway?) apparently has apologized for suggesting that if the US puts those scary terrorist dudes on trial in NYC, Mayor Bloomberg’s daughter will get kidnapped. I know what you’re thinking, “Bloomberg has a daughter? I thought he was, you know, like Ed Koch?” 😉 Or maybe I’m thinking of Malcom Forbes? I dunno, I get all those rich guys mixed up. Speaking of former NYC mayors with ambiguous sexual preferences, Guidi Ruliani must be bummed that Bloomie managed to get out of his term limits, while the hero of 9/11 couldn’t even exploit a major terrorist attack to get a third term.

Harry Reid unveiled what Senate Democrats will attempt to pass off as health care reform yesterday. The details will ooze out over the coming weeks (the National Right to Life Council is pissed, so it can’t be all bad), but it’ll supposedly cover 94% of the people (the other 6% can go Cheney themselves, I guess). Time for Ben Nelson and Joe Lieberman to start throwing tantrums in order to get somebody to pay attention to them. Hey guys, if you want some real attention, make some “solo” sex videos. :barf: OK, now I’ve managed to gross myself out.

Reid also came out as solidly pro-boob (or pro solid boob or something; I dunno, I don’t have time to fact check these things what with all the searching for Carrie Poupon or Dijon or whatever the hell her name is sex videos on the Internet), saying that women shouldn’t have to wait until they turn 50 to get mammograms – whether it does more harm than good or not. Give ’em hell, Harry! Women everywhere are outraged – outraged, I tells ya – at the new recommendations. Well, except my wife, who has long thought they were bullshit. But then she thinks flu shots are bullshit, too.

Speaking of boobs, Guidi Ruliani will be on the Today Show this morning. Whoopdie-doo.

A new law went into effect on November 1st here, decreeing that thou shalt not smoke within 100 feet of a hospital. What with today being the “Great American Smokeout” and all, the institution for which I work chose this day to begin enforcing the ban. Which is odd, since I didn’t realize that hospital officials had the authority to enforce laws (I just pray they won’t try the offenders locally – it’d be giving them exactly what they want, and that’s just not safe).

But, whatever. I gave up smoking cigarettes many years ago (something I once considered almost as unthinkable as the thought of smoking one is to me now), don’t work at the hospital per se, and don’t really care if people want to smoke (as long as it isn’t in my house, car, or indoors anywhere near me). In fact, if people actually do quit smoking, we’re gonna have to figure out how to replace all that $4 or whatever it is per pack tax revenue they bring in (and then we won’t be able to afford to buy the “No Smoking” signs, let alone pay the $125 per diems for our State Legislators to sit around Albany and do nothing).

But it makes the “big thinkers,” important people, and do-gooders feel as if they’re doing the big work and justifying their six and seven-figure salaries, so that’s good. I guess. Patients, nurses, and other smokers will just have to walk a little bit farther to light one up (kind of a hassle when the temperatures get down into the teens around here; sucks to be a smoker these days), so their smoke breaks will just have to last longer, and the non-smokers will have to pick up the slack. No biggie.

In a fit of desperation, I not only renewed my annual Mega Millions subscription, but also added one for the regular NYS Lotto. This means I can be a loser 4 times a week instead of just 2 (oh, I know what you’re thinking: “dude, you’re a loser every day of the week.” True, but paying to be a loser makes it more poignant, doncha think?). It’s really all I can think of to get me out of this “get up, go to work, come home, go to bed, get up again” rut that my life seems to have become. If I win the lottery, I can eliminate the “go to work” part.

On the bright side, drinking excessively is good for a man’s heart. Not so much for you women, I’m afraid. You’ll just have to content yourselves with mammograms. On a happy note, though, if we men drink to the point of passing out, at least we won’t be pestering you in the boudoir (which reminds me of a scene from the Sopranos, where Sil’s wife tells Carmella and Rosalie “I’m glad [Sil] has a goomar; that’s one less thing I have to do around here”).

Anyhow, I just want to take a moment to wish everybody a Happy Thanks…. Oh, wait. That’s next week. Crap.

I guess that means I gotta go to work.