Unwelcomed Sanity: A Short Story Inspired by COVID-19

A foreign and awful noise jolted Dr. Hirochika Takada from sleep. Characteristically groggy after a long day of working in his personally owned health clinic on the outskirts of Osaka, he found himself instinctively reaching for the source of the noise. His right hand clasped a small and rectangular electronic device.

A cell phone? Takada had not seen one since he was a boy, but without hesitation and using muscle memory he did not know he had, he swiped the screen to silence the alarm, noticing in a fleeting moment that the message attached to the alert had been written in a language other than Japanese. Prone to over-stimulation and not wanting to begin his day in that brain state, he was more content with the renewal of quiet than he was concerned about what prompted the noise or about the fact that he was holding a cell phone, a machine long since rendered obsolete. Another sudden burst of auditory activity left little time to ponder the unusual circumstances.

Takada was greeted by his daughter, Kaisuka, but not with the radiant smile he so loved to see first thing in the morning. Instead, grim features covered his beautiful 7 year old’s face like a mask. She spoke in English. “Daddy, is it the Anoroc,” she asked. All he could understand was her listless tone because, like the words on his phone, her dialogue was not registering; had the cell phone’s alert also been in English? Her body language spoke volumes. Slumped shoulders. Disappointment. Eyes looking around him rather than at him. Resignation. Takada and his daughter, he assumed, had had a similar discussion before. He took a deep breath, hugged her tightly, and said in a perfect English that startled his ears, “It’s going to be OK, sweetie.”

He needed a minute. Surely this was a dream. He asked Kaisuka to leave the room, which he could see now that his eyes had adjusted to the morning light was not the room in which he had fallen asleep the night before. Yes, definitely a dream. Everything about this room was different. The processing of details so early in the morning had always flustered Takada, so he had learned through repetition not to try. Get up, go through your morning routine, have a cup of tea. He reasoned that he would probably wake up soon anyway.

Much of the weirdness washed away in the shower, so Takada made his way downstairs (downstairs?) with his usual morning sense of purpose. Nice house. As he walked into the kitchen, his wife, Aja, approached with a sympathetic smile. “Here we go again,” she said. “How do you think things are going to be at the clinic tomorrow?” And the weirdness was back. Confusion took a firm grip on his mind as he tried to process her words. He stood there looking at Aja for what seemed like minutes but was actually a few seconds. “I suppose we’ll see,” Takada replied, the perfect English again surprising him as he attempted to disguise the uncertainty of his response. She kissed him while his son, Kota, hugged his leg just above the knee. Kota was unbridled enthusiasm personified. He reached down and hugged him. “I love you, daddy,” Kota said in that heart-melting way that only he could. I understood what he said! This feels real; not like a dream.

His sharp memory for detail then recalled his wife’s comment and both she and their daughter’s questions. Anoroc. Again? Something different about the clinic? He ate breakfast lost in thought, took the vitamins that Aja had laid on the napkin next to the food, and gathered his things, aware certainly that it was not his typical morning meal and that the vitamins were unfamiliar, but at that point too busy being confused and overwhelmed to spend much energy on it. He needed his cup of tea, though, and a quick search for its location snapped him into focus. Sweet Iron Goddess of Mercy, his preferred oolong. Needed now more than ever. Where was it? “Aja, I’m feeling a little off this morning; where is the tea?”

Aja’s momentary consternation was replaced quickly with empathy, one of Takada’s most treasured of his wife’s traits and one he loved to be reminded about in dream states. “It is still on back order from the last shutdown,” she said. “Remember?” Takada nodded knowingly, hiding (perhaps not so well?) his continued struggle to discern whether he was dreaming, whether he had met up with his best friend, Minoru, and had too many drinks last night, or if he was plain losing his mind.

He then looked at the clock and instinctively asked Kaisuka, “You ready to go, sweetie? It’s time for school.” The three sets of eyes that turned on him immediately were hard not to notice; even the dogs (dogs?) seemed to be staring at him cross-eyed. “Babe, are you okay,” Aja asked. “You saw the alert right? Schools are closed.” Babe? Is that me?

With no room in his headspace left to process additional information so early in the day, Takada acknowledged his apparent foolishness, kissed his wife and kids (and dogs) and got in his car to leave under the guise of checking in at the clinic. Okay. Let’s just get out of here, find a place of serenity, and figure out what the hell is going on.

The drive was like that state of consciousness you reach when you can tell what you’re doing, but at the same time it’s as if you are floating next to yourself, watching your own actions. This town Takada was driving through was familiar enough that he was driving with a purpose toward a destination he clearly knew. It was not, however, his home. This is America. Oddly, there was nobody on the road, like driving through a movie scene. After parking at his clinic, he got out of his car and heard nothing but nature, peaceful and disturbing all at once. Takada walked downtown to a tea/coffee shop he had passed on his drive. People in store windows who he did not recognize but who clearly recognized him pointed fingers of shame in his direction, their scowls so loud that he need not hear the details of their scolds. He took a deep breath near the entrance of the tea shop. “Iron Goddess of Mercy, let your nectar of life infuse me with clarity,” he said quietly to himself (please have it available here).

He pulled at the door into the tea shop, but it was locked. Again, he pulled, and then even tried to push, but to no avail. The tea shop’s owner, a middle-aged woman wearing a surgical mask, who apparently had become attuned to the sound of her locked door rattling, came to the window in the door and told him in a both annoyed and matter-of-fact tone, “We’re closed.” Noting and then pointing to the shop hours on the window, he simply and kindly asked, “Why?” She rolled her eyes and walked away.

Takada sat down on the bench outside of the tea shop, then pinched himself increasingly harder three times, both hoping that he would wake up and just to see if he could feel pain (I cannot recall ever having felt physical pain in a dream). The instinctive rubbing of his leg that followed the pinching would have confirmed that the pain, at least, was real had his attention not been diverted to the police officer walking toward him. It was his friend, Minoru (who owns a restaurant in Osaka…), but he was wearing a gas mask with a clear face pane. “Tak, what are you doing, brother,” he asked. “You have to get inside. Where’s your mask?”

Gathering himself and taking another deep breath, he looked at his friend and said, “‘Ru, I need you to pretend I woke up from a coma this morning and you’re catching me up on the world I’ve come back to. What is going on? Why do I need to go inside and why did you ask me about a mask? Why are schools closed? Where is this place? And why can’t I seem to get my much-needed cup of tea?” Minoru smiled at first, but when Takada did not change his expression, the officer simply asked him, “Didn’t you check your phone?”

Pulling the device from his pocket, he unlocked the screen and saw the morning message still prominently featured. The alert on the phone read, “Code Yellow: Infectious Disease Warning. Lock down to commence in 12 hours. Make immediate preparations. God help us.”

“‘Ru…are you messing with me,” Takada asked. “Look, you as well as anyone know that I don’t like to be screwed around with like this, not on my birthday (it’s my birthday…) or any day. So, if this is some kind of elaborate charade you and Aja are playing, my head feels like it is about to explode and I would appreciate you just letting it end here and now.”

Minoru was taken aback. His eyes were wide and his mouth agape. It took a lot to render his friend speechless. He’s not messing with me. Minoru changed suddenly and became uncharacteristically stern when stating, “Dude…I don’t need you messing with me today. You know how crazy days like today are. I’m supposed to arrest anyone who fails to comply with the edict. If you’re outside, masks are required, and it better be for a reason other than trying to enter a shop that you damn well knew would be closed today. I have a lot to get done before the lockdown. So, get inside or put your mask on. Better yet, just go home. This isn’t the time for another one of your goofy speeches. I love you and respect what you do, but people are in danger and we need you to comply.”

Okay

Seeing his friend since grade school snap at him and leave signaled to Takada that it was time to get going (no answers coming from Minoru), so he walked (sulked?) back to his clinic, which was apparently closed today anyway.

The next few hours were a blur. Dream or not, though, these were the details of his reality, as discovered through the use of his cell phone: he woke up in or was dreaming about the year 2022; his family, clinic, and friends were in a small town in North Carolina and it seemed that the world had reverted back to a more primitive understanding of healthcare. Anoroc was the world’s fifth “global killer” in two years, a virus thought to spread like wildfire to an unsuspecting population. The lockdown was the government’s chosen response, hoping to prevent mass infection. So, this has all been a dream. Takada reasoned that he was in his bed in Osaka, reliving the events that his father had told him about – the events that had brought about what he knew to be the “Healthcare Revolution,” which drastically altered the way that the world thought about infectious disease.

Confident that he was dreaming indeed, he returned home. By then, he had reached a place in his mind where, now that he knew he was dreaming, he could enjoy seeing out the remainder of the events until he woke up. Cool, I’m an American living in a time of crisis to remind me how good we have it now…let’s see where this goes. Unfortunately, his wife’s greeting when he came inside snapped him out of his excitement. “Babe, it’s your dad,” she said solemnly. “He’s in the hospital. They think he has Anoroc and they are preparing extreme measures to save his life.” Takada often dreamed about seeing his dad again, but never like this. His father died a decade ago.

He usually loved dreaming about his dad, hanging out with him as if he was still alive. It put a smile on his face when he woke up. The news (in this dream) that his father was hospitalized, however, blurred the lines between dream and reality once more. “I’ve got to get over there and prevent them from using those measures; he doesn’t need them,” Takada said matter-of-factly.

“What do you mean he doesn’t need them,” his wife asked. “They’re his best chance to stay alive.”

The furrow in his brow was so pronounced that he felt like it might be cemented permanently. Straining to maintain his grasp on the situation, he replied, “Aja, don’t you remember from Health History class that those measures killed more people than they saved? Iatrogenic deaths from the treatment options of the early 21st century got so out of control that they completely flipped the focus of healthcare. Remember that quote from the American inventor that was on the wall at school? What was his name? Edison? ‘The doctor of the future will give no medicine, but will instruct his patients in the care of the human frame, in diet, and in the cause and prevention of disease’? I need to get my dad out of there! He just needs to let his body fight the virus! I can save him this time! Let’s go! I’m going!”

As Takada headed for the door, Aja moved swiftly toward him while demanding the kids go upstairs to their rooms. Blocking his way to the garage, she said, “Babe, I know this kind of thing bothers you, but you just have to let this go. I don’t know what you’re talking about right now. Take a breath. Let the doctors do their job and save your dad.” Incredulous, Takada fired back, “You know better than this, Aja! The germ theory of disease was definitively disproven for the last time before we were even born! You don’t know what’s going on? I don’t either! It’s like I’m stuck in a Tozawa film. If I can spend another second with my father, though, I’m going to try! Stay here, please. I need the drive to get my head right.” Aja pleaded, “You shouldn’t go anywhere in the frame of mind you’re in. The way you’re talking…are you okay? Please just stay.”

Before Aja could say another word, Takada had pushed past her and gotten in the car. I award this dream negative 1 star and can’t wait to wake up. He made his way to the hospital and struggled to keep calm as he fought his way through media trucks. Apparently, something was being filmed just inside the hospital, adding to his frustration since he could not get in the front entrance. Everyone stood there in surgical masks like it was…well, it was 2022…so like people did back then (or now…or whatever!). Nobody paid much attention to him at first and he could hear loud and clear the “state representative” while making his speech.

The most memorable part was this: “…so I’d like to remind all citizens to remain quarantined from 7PM tonight until this virus is contained. As in previous years, public safety is our number one priority, and for the good of your fellow man, you need to stay in your homes indefinitely as infectious disease experts handle this situation for us. Only necessary workers will be allowed outside of their homes until this crisis is averted. Stay calm if you are among the 85% of workers on the non-essential list; stimulus checks are the primary topic of legislation set for one week from today, and we hope to make electronic deposits within 8-10 weeks. The Anoroc vaccine is currently undergoing human testing and should be available in 12 weeks at the latest, and once completed will be ready for every citizen. After vaccines have been given, life can return to normal. The National Guard has been deployed to protect us from anyone who fails to comply with the governor’s edict; necessary force has been authorized. Please just be patient and stay home. It is in the best interest of all Americans.”

It’s amazing that anyone ever thought this was necessary or OK…

After the speech concluded, Takada tried to go into the hospital’s front entrance, but was forcibly blocked. “Sir, you need to leave immediately. No visitors are allowed in the…”

Takada cut off the lady when he spotted a familiar face and yelled, “Hey,” hopeful that she knew him like he seemed to know her. “Dr. Takada,” she said, walking swiftly toward them. “What are you doing here,” she asked. “My dad is here. He…has some unique things in his health history that he’s often not forthcoming about…and I’m his healthcare power of attorney,” he improvised. She nodded affirmatively. Thank goodness. “Ma’am, I’m the head nurse on the floor that Dr. Takada’s father is on,” his acquaintance said to the lady. “I’m going to take him up there and confirm a few things.”

She handed him a mask. “You’ll need this, of course.” He begrudgingly put it on.

When they reached the door of his dad’s room, Takada gasped. There he was. Tagomi Takada. It had been 12 years. Tears welling in his eyes, he said hello. His dad turned to him, smiled, and said, as he had ever since Hirochika had earned his doctorate, “DOCTOR Hirochika.” It sounded strange hearing that nickname in English, but he barely cared; hearing it at all was a dream come true.

After a few minutes of idle chatter that ended with his dad commenting on another cancelled American football season, Takada was consumed with motivation to get his father out of there. “Dad, we need to bring you home,” he said. Tagomi replied, “But I don’t want to get Aja and the kids sick.” Takada pressed. “You won’t. I promise. Trust me.” His nurse friend (name tag reading T. Austin) re-entered the room. “Excuse me, Dr. Takada, but what’s this about taking your dad home? He can’t leave; he has been confirmed as an Anoroc patient…”

“Who do I need to speak with to get him released to my care,” he asked. Dream or not, I want to spend as much time with my dad as I can. Nurse Austin was joined by a man in a hazmat suit, who she introduced as “Dr. Johnson, the medical center’s infectious disease expert.” The man spoke directly and rather condescendingly to Takada. “Mr. Takada, your father is scheduled to undergo mandatory treatment for his condition.”

Tagomi spoke up. “I told them I feel fine.” Takada’s father informed him of how he was at the grocery store preparing for the lockdown when, several minutes following a few sneezing episodes common to him during allergy season, he was escorted to an ambulance and taken to the hospital. Apparently, someone had called the authorities because he sneezed. This is ridiculous. Why does nobody else in this room find this ridiculous? “Pardon, but you’re saying my father needs mandatory treatment, you made him come here, and you called my wife to tell her that he was dying….because he sneezed,” he asked, trying to hide his own condescending tone.

“Yes, Mr. Takada, that is correct,” said Dr. Johnson. “The state has retained authority during this time of public health crisis to protect the citizens at large by admitting anyone with symptoms that could be related to Anoroc. It’s for your own…”

Takada interrupted, “Really, doctor? He sneezed. It’s allergy season. Besides, if your theory about this virus were true, nobody would be alive to refute it. Please release my father to me and I will handle his case personally. Does that sound acceptable?”

Dr. Johnson looked at Takada as if he had suggested he set the hospital on fire. “Absolutely out of the question,” he sneered. “It’s time for you to go, Mr. Takada.”

Frozen in that moment, Takada thought about when his dad died and how in the years that followed he had emotionally struggled with the idea that he had not advocated strongly enough on his father’s behalf; he had never been able to shake the thought that he could have done more to save his dad. In Takada’s world, his father had never even met his grandkids. It was then that Takada figured to have discovered that the point of this dream was for him to put to rest his lingering shame and advocate for his father’s health with uncanny zeal. After that, he would wake up, tell Aja about it, retell it to his emotional counselor, and move forward without regret.

With a burning fire in his belly, Takada unleashed 50 years of wisdom on them all. He drew quite a crowd during his impromptu lecture, which he had given hundreds of times before. Among the on-lookers was the state representative whose speech he had heard earlier. Takada explained that the philosophical errors which had led the United States to far outpace the rest of the world combined in pharmaceutical usage and consequent deaths from adverse reactions, at a rate higher than any other condition including heart disease and cancer, finally caught up with Americans in 2024. That was the year when the latest in a series of viral infections caused the country as it had been known to break; the economy was in shambles, the people sicker than ever and feeling hopeless. The president who took office that year, elected largely because of his healthcare platform, brought in experts from countries who had health systems that were thriving – the American system had for decades been considered the world laughing stock because it produced the worst results but cost the most. Takada’s uncle was part of the team from Japan.

During President Johnson’s two terms, healthcare in America was completely overhauled. The world came together to study health less from the viewpoint of what causes people to become sick and die and more through the lens of what causes people to remain alive. “Each person carries his/her own doctor inside and we are our best when we give the doctor inside a chance to work” became the primary motto of the Healthcare Revolution. The germ theory, the linchpin of the pharmaceutically-driven, disease-based model of healthcare, was eventually disproven unequivocally through several long-term, worldwide research projects confirming that germs preyed on unhealthy hosts. Rather than concentrate nearly all resources on creating chemical concoctions to rid an infected, unhealthy body of germs, funds were heavily reallocated to studying the various avenues through which people could optimize health; the statistics were staggering, as within twenty years rates for the most common causes of death (iatrogenic/pharmaceutical-related fatalities, heart disease, and cancer) plummeted.

Takada’s uncle’s research on the terrain theory, which states that healthy bodies are well-equipped to prevent disease, had already been making huge strides for Japanese healthcare. It became one of the foundational pieces of the Revolution. By 2030, American use of pharmaceuticals had dropped by 50%. There was no more reliance on the germ theory to perpetuate the fear of disease, and thus no more need to lockdown the country whenever a new virus was discovered. Healthcare research, within a decade, had completely shifted its focus to prevention, with Health taught in schools alongside language and mathematics. Takada continued his Health History lesson for several more minutes.

By the time that Takada had earned his doctorate in health sciences, the world economy was booming like never before, with coordinated efforts to reduce the pollution that the 20th century had created and that the early 21st century had perpetuated. In Health History classes, it was written in wonderment how much the fall of the pharmaceutical industry as it had been known seemed connected to the return to prominence of America’s worldwide reputation. Mass shootings plummeted. Political turmoil calmed considerably. The ideals of the western world had long been shaped by America, and the western world followed America’s lead when it broke free from the shackles of its dilapidated healthcare system, which was not just causing an inordinate amount of deaths from the methods professed to save lives, but also causing generally poor health, malaise, and weakness. The food, the water, the medications, the cleaning products, etc…it was collectively the by-product of a strange fascination with trying to treat the human body as a petri-dish for science experiments; and it colossally failed.

“My uncle had so much respect for President Johnson,” Takada told them in closing. “He used to tell us that many people referred to President Johnson as the second coming of the Messiah because the cultural shift that he initiated was of Biblical proportions. He changed the world truly. By 2070, few of the problems that you concern yourselves with now even exist. So, again, I’m taking my father out of this facility. Infectious disease doesn’t spread the way you’re claiming, my dad’s body may have tested positive for Anoroc, but it is quite clearly self-containing it and he is not a threat to spread it unless you drop him in a room full of already ill people and have him sneeze directly into their faces. Dad, gather your things.”

Moments later, Takada’s world became fuzzy. He felt a sharp pinch in his neck and everything went dark. His last image before losing consciousness had been of his dad, hand outstretched toward his. He longed to reach out and grab it, but he had been subdued.

Well, I advocated for my dad. Now, it’s time to wake up from this roller-coaster of a dream and get back to the real world. I’m thankful that I got the chance to see what it must have been like for people who could see the ridiculousness in the approach to disease back in those days, but having not grown up in that world, I don’t know if I would’ve had the strength to endure the insanity. How could anyone in their right mind believe something so illogical? It’s terrifying. The January 2070 World Health Journal stated that the number of viruses we encounter daily is 1.23 million. To convince the world that one virus was stronger than the human body designed to fight off millions per week? Uncle once told me that western medicine in the early 21st century was the dominant religion of the culture; so few questioned its teachings, even though its failures were consistently epic across a half century. Not even childhood illness skyrocketing at alarming rates was enough to jar people out of their faith in a false prophet; instead they eventually accepted required doses of nearly 100 chemical concoctions in just the first few years of life. To live in that world? Oh my. To have my children grow up in that world? Unimaginable until now. Thankfully, we live in a wiser time in human history.

Takada awoke feeling cold and groggy. Light filled his room and he heard the sound of Aja’s voice. Thank goodness. His eyes tried to adjust to the brightness. He began to roll over, but something prevented his movement. “It’s going to be okay, babe,” Aja said. “Just let them help you. You’ve got Aronoc too.” His attempt to reply was muted somehow; he couldn’t speak. He struggled to move his arms and legs; they were each shackled to a hospital bed. Dr. Johnson came into focus above him.

Mr. Takada,” he said, “This will only take a moment. I assume you consent to the mandatory Anoroc treatment. It’s for your own good.”

-THE END

(This short story was written as part of my on-going trek through Ray Bradbury’s Zen in the Art of Writing. He advised in the introduction to just go write something and do it with zeal)

Cast Away, and What Makes a Movie Rewatchable

Cast Away, up until recently, was not a movie that struck me as particularly rewatchable. Some films seem better suited to the original viewing only, and the 2000 Tom Hanks performance on a deserted island had previously fit that bill for me. However, a recent listen to one of my favorite podcasts, The Rewatchables (on the Ringer podcast network), made me reconsider. The podcast championed the film’s most engaging scenes and decisions regarding the score as some of the century’s best film-making, so I sat down earlier this week to put those ideas to my personal test. In doing so, I started thinking about what makes me so prone to rewatch movies.

I’m one of those people that can watch a movie fifty times (or over a hundred in the case of my favorite from youth through college, Top Gun). Why? No doubt at first because my father found a great deal of entertainment in doing so and it was a pattern of his that well suited me. Then, at some point, it became a natural instinct to seek joy in it. Rewatching movies, simply, put me in a good mood. Later, I started to notice that movies brought a little something extra to the table when of a particularly good quality.

Top notch filmmaking across every genre shares the ability to connect to us psychologically. Die Hard is a blast of a movie to rewatch if you’re looking to be entertained; everyman tough guy John McLean, iconic ’80s heel Hans Gruber, Nakatomi tower, a couple of memorable supporting players, and a sprinkle of emotional depth for “seasoning” combine for an all-time Top 10 action flick. Cast Away was sold to me as rewatchable because of its weighty emotional punch; the near-engagement sets the stage for a gripping plane crash scene, then the island plot (with making fire, Wilson, et al, complimented by the inspired decision to feature zero musical score, sucking you into the bigness of Chuck’s desperate reality. It’s all about what it brings to the table for you, psychologically.

So, at this point, I think my desire to reinforce positive aspects of my life is the main thing that makes movie rewatching so enjoyable. It’s like catching up with an old friend. Sometimes, the conversation makes you laugh at your memories, at others it makes you feel a deep resonance or nostalgia or lucky; maybe it makes you think about it for days after because it was so interesting. Honestly, at this point in my life I appreciate opportunities to get into a deeper state of feeling, but without any pressure from real life. Movies have proven to me their ability to draw emotion out of me, so I rewatch the ones that do so very effectively.

The best thing about re-watching a movie is that you catch little pieces of the art-form that you may not have noticed the first time. Viewed in the right frame of mind, those artful moments can stick with a person forever. I, for one, think that to be the underlying magic of the movie watching experience. Cast Away is ripe with those moments. In my recent rewatch, the scene that really stood out to me was the climactic conversation that Chuck (Tom Hanks) has with his best friend over twice losing his beloved Kelly. The message was palpable: you can lose everything, overcome great obstacles, regain a lot, and still not get what you wanted most, but “you never know what the tide may bring,” so you just keep pressing forward.

So, yeah…Cast Away is definitely rewatchable; probably too heavy for it to make my regular rotation with other Hanks films like Big, A League of Their Own, Forrest Gump, Apollo 13, or Catch Me If You Can, but thanks primarily to Hanks and his masterful performance – he made me care about his relationship with a volleyball as if it were a dog and pulled hard at my heartstrings when he lost Wilson at sea – Cast Away is highly rewatchable.

The End

An Existential Look at WrestleMania 36

My relationship with WrestleMania certainly is not what it once was. Whereas it used to be the event that gave my pro wrestling fandom its yearly shot of adrenaline, helping me get through the doldrum periods of a never-ending calendar of events, in recent years my philosophical disagreement primarily with the usage of modern stars and the bloated, “more is more” presentation style left me jaded with wrestling’s grandest stage. Without the medicinal boost of enthusiasm each spring, my WWE fandom was dying.

WWE has played a huge role in my existence, as those who know me best can attest. If I’m passionate about something, I take it very seriously; in accordance with that mindset, if something causes one of my passions to sour, it is to me very serious. My message to my kids in the dedication I wrote for my second book stated, “Nothing you are passionate about is trivial” and I stand by my unbridled enthusiasm for this wonderfully whacky performance art-form. Only through writing this article did it fully sink how awfully weird it has been to have reached a place where AEW and even New Japan rather than WWE are my go-to sources for pro wrestling. WWE’s brand of sports entertainment is my oldest past-time, dating back to 1987.

A separation from my WWE fandom needed to happen, though. Some can watch and be alright with WWE doing the equivalent of, if the NBA was scripted, “booking” Michael Jordan at 50+ years old and a shell of himself for the NBA Finals every year (and extending the Playoffs to include every team, too, #endrant). I no longer could. To paraphrase a famous Triple H promo, “Evolution passed WWE by.” CM Punk once said, “Everything that happens in WWE could be better.” When I started to feel like the vast majority of everything happening in WWE could be WAY better and the product had suffered from a half decade of devolution, that was when I knew it was time for a change.

WrestleMania this year, however, took on a very different context, what with the stressors of real life quite challenging to escape.

Like a lot of things I had been grappling with, my recent issues with WWE did not seem to matter and I was borderline desperate for their brand of escapism, especially in the absence of any other sports to consume as healthy distractions; that dynamic combined with several months spent recharging, ironically, through isolating myself from the WWE product made me more than willing to give WrestleMania a clean slate to connect with me on as deep a level as it could.

Knowing their backs were against the wall, I went into the show with my curiosity piqued to see how they would handle the adversity of having no crowd. Personally, I had already been conditioned through AEW Dynamite for three prior weeks to watch wrestling with zero live audience factor, so the weirdness was largely gone already for me (though I, myself, have written for a decade that the level of audience participation is one of the key factors in evaluating the overall success of the pro wrestling performance). To be a wrestler, though, whose professional existence has been built on engaging people to elicit their reaction? And at an event like WrestleMania known for packing 75,000 or more into a football stadium fashioned by WWE for ultimate exhibitions of grandeur? The lack of a crowd, for wrestlers and for WrestleMania, was an enormous hurdle to leap.

WWE had not faced any significant adversity in a long time. It is a company that I feel has coasted on its historical reputation for years now, content to milk nostalgic resonance for its past at the expense of its present product’s quality (albeit not its financial bottom line). COVID-19 forced WWE out of its comfort zone like nothing else in a decade has. I think that, as they often have in eras gone by when they needed a big hit, WWE and its performers truly stepped up last weekend. WrestleMania was innovative, splitting up the event across two nights instead of exhausting its loyal viewers with another monstrous 7 straight hour spectacle and using the largely untapped genre of cinematic wrestling (as modern pioneer Matt Hardy dubbed his baby) to put a uniquely definitive stamp on the 36th Showcase of the Immortals. It also, to my immense appreciation, put the bulk of its focus – from the opening video montage to the run-times of the matches to the chosen victors of said matches – on the current generation of stars.

I’m thinking only hindsight will fully contextualize the following statement, but I loved WrestleMania this year and walked away from it feeling as good about where WWE is headed as I have in several years. Most importantly, I just had a blast watching it in the moment. I watched Night 1 on Saturday live and then Night 2 Tuesday without spoilers, giving myself the most opportune times on my schedule to best appreciate their presentation and avoid getting sucked into my old critical patterns. My second favorite act of all-time, Edge, came back from a nine year retirement and had a match that I thought echoed Bret Hart’s praise of it looking and sounding like a real fight; my namesake, Drew McIntyre, won the WWE Title in the main-event; my daughter’s favorite wrestler, Charlotte Flair, furthered a legacy that is beginning to legitimately look like her father’s; and again those cinematic productions were tremendously well put together (see more in-depth match thoughts here at my old stomping grounds). I needed catharsis, and WrestleMania was cathartic.

Going through the rough patch in my relationship with WrestleMania has been akin to having an on-going political argument with a best friend that neither of us could quite move beyond to resume our friendship as it was previously, and COVID-19 subsequently became the thing that made us realize that our squabble no longer mattered enough for it continue impacting our relationship. I’ve made some new friends, if you will (in AEW and New Japan), that I enjoy hanging out with a bit more than WWE right now, but it feels good to know that a trying time has built a bridge for me and my old pal WrestleMania to reconnect and get back on good terms.

Zen in the Art of Writing, Part 1

Years ago, one of the friends I made through our mutual love of sports and entertainment suggested we together embark on a journey through Ray Bradbury’s Zen in the Art of Writing, but while I bought the book, the project with my buddy, Shane, never came to fruition. Sports being my primary escape from the real world and sports being currently inactive, however, I have been seeking other avenues to avoid allowing my world to get too serious; and I happened across Zen. I thought I’d go through Bradbury’s book on my own. I will share here my musings, chapter by chapter. If you feel so inclined to join me, this is a link to the book.

The preface is where I’ll start my musings because, frankly, the preface was rather eye-opening. I don’t interact with many people who enjoy writing as much as I do, who find the escape in it like I do, or at least I have never talked about that joy and escape with many people before. I imagine that, if I did, what Ray Bradbury wrote about writing in the preface would be an underlying theme of each conversation.

He talks about writing being a way to process the world through art. God I love that way of putting it. I’ve not thought enough about the art of writing to reflect on the various things that I’ve written over the years as me processing the world through it; I guess I was too busy writing to think much about why I was doing it. I shudder to think, though, of what my life would look like without the written word.

So much of my life has revolved around writing. It has been for me a therapeutic exercise, for my mind what jogging is for the body; it has been my outlet to escape from the real world; it has been one of my greatest passions, having written two acclaimed books under a pen name and thousands of articles about sports entertainment and health; it has been my language of love, my preferred method of expression to the people I care about most; it has blocked out the noisy world that tends to trap me inside my headspace, where lies plenty of self-judgment among other things.

In the closing lines of the preface, Bradbury says, “Every morning I jump out of bed and step on a landmine. The landmine is me. After the explosion, I spend the rest of the day putting the pieces together.” To be honest, if not for the written word, I might always find myself picking up pieces of me and never be able to start the day whole again before jumping onto the next landmine.

After thinking about it for several days, I think what I appreciate most about writing is the focus it brings, which speaks to Bradbury’s point about using it to process. I wear my heart on my sleeve, ever decreasingly volatile but assuredly worthy of the label “an emotional guy.” Writing is a way to express myself carefully, with emotion still but in a far more controlled manner. I’ve always felt that my best written work clearly exhibited my passion for the subject matter, but in an efficient presentation that left little doubt as to my central point. Words can be messy and emotions make them messier; the spoken word is the most frequent harbinger for the messiness (with social media “writing” vying for first place on that list for reasons on which I’m still marinating). Life is messy, of course, but writing gives some better structure to the mess.

Processing the world through art, though? I guess I had never thought of it that way. Though I can certainly vouch for the feeling of artistic achievement I’ve had after finishing a piece that I just knew in my bones was top notch, there have been but a very few things I’ve written that I’ve honestly thought of as “art.” This writing project, going through the book, is going to be spent exploring the art form.

WWE’s Greatest Matches of the 2010s

Last night, a friend of mine texted me, “What are your Top 10 WWE main roster matches of last decade?” After we chatted back and forth about it for a while, I thought “it sure would be a nice escape to lose myself in a pro wrestling podcast for an hour.” And it was indeed.

You can listen to this special, one-off edition of “The Doc Says Podcast” here.

It can also be found on various podcast-downloading platforms, including iTunes. Simply search for “The Doc Says”

Joker is Haunting Social Commentary on the Various Causes of Mass Violence

Great familiarity with The Joker character of DC Comics and particularly Batman canon in my generation means knowing that the actors who played him on the big screen were changed by it. Jack Nicholson’s portrayal in 1990’s Batman led him to speak to Heath Ledger about the psychological toll that it took; Ledger’s turn, of course, has become as infamous for his post-filming death as it has become famous for his breathtaking, posthumous Oscar-winning performance. Joker is a complex character, and a fascinating one. Tapping into his psyche and donning the face paint would understandably put any performer into a strange headspace.

The first degree I earned was in Psychology and I am accordingly drawn more to the mind of a complicated persona with a warped moral compass than I am black-and-white villains or white-bread heroes. Sometime in the last decade, The Dark Knight overtook the top spot on my favorite movie of all-time list, in large part due to the performance of Heath Ledger as The Joker; its brilliance warrants its own soon-to-be-written blog entry. So, when I went to see Joaquin Phoenix’s take on the Caped Crusader’s greatest foe, I assumed I’d leave the theater comparing one to the other, contextualizing Joker and much of my opinion regarding its quality on a ranking of actor performance.

Yet, that was not the case at all. Maybe one day I’ll come back to that train of thought, but I truthfully do not upon first viewing consider Joker to be what I think it was originally intended to be. Joker is many things, but it is less an origin story for the famous Batman antagonist and more a disturbing, perhaps masterful piece of social commentary on one of modern society’s top ever-worsening problems that just so happens to use a love-to-hate comic book heel to express it.

The ease with which Arthur Fleck (aka The Joker) obtains a gun, the “seven” medications (presumably all or mostly anti-psychotic drugs) that he takes trying to feel better, the half-assed counseling that he receives and the half-assed effort he puts toward it (followed by the funding for both being cut by the government), his terrible upbringing, the brutally mean-spirited responses that he often receives from people, etc. collectively remind us of how challenging it will be to stop the trend of mass violence from disturbed individuals who have deemed human life expendable.

I have not read many interviews with director Todd Phillips to know if that was what he meant to do, but as a friend of mine whose book I helped publish is apt to say, “Sometimes artistic achievement trumps authorial intent.”

“Stunning” would be a fitting description of Joaquin Phoenix’s take on The Joker. His haunting presentation is a real artistic achievement. It paints the visual portrait of a human-being who has already been beaten down by several societal worst-case scenarios getting even further pummeled, literally and figuratively, all the way to violent madness. That does not seem fit to be tied into wider shared-universe storytelling and it will require a decided tonal shift in future Batman movies to integrate this version of The Joker into its more traditional setting of foil to the Dark Knight. No, it was a movie instead about how a person loses his value of human life whose nickname just happens to be “Joker.”

Prove It Saturday: Week 6 College Football Preview

Last week, I read an article about things that best describe extroverted-introverts like me and it perfectly fits the theme of my weekend. After 9 weeks of the #2 most stressful “adulting” activity (moving), my brain is about to explode from over-stimulation. I am, thus, taking a “me” day to prepare myself for the finals months of this decade. Attention turns to the wonderful world of college football and an abundance of my go-to escape from the world: writing. Here are a few pre Week 6 thoughts for my own enjoyment and also for that of fellow college football diehards.

My post from the pre-season about the teams most likely to end the four year-running Clemson-Alabama stranglehold on the national championship has proven prophetic to date, but of course championships aren’t won in September. Ohio State, with Justin Fields at the helm looking like another Kyler Murray in the making, looks as impressive to me against Blownout Tech as Alabama does against Cupcake State; Georgia has the best win if Notre Dame ends up being as good as I think they might be as the autumn wears on, but watch out for LSU; Joe Burrow has given the Bajou Bengals their best offense of the decade with a slew of impressive receivers, and they look scary, but forgive me if I’m not buying it until they play a team with a better defense; Oklahoma’s (nee Alabama’s) Jalen Hurts has torched my rather humbling assessment of him giving the Sooners 80% of the Mayfield-Murray standard, and has actually exceeded their statistics – Hurts probably would win my “September Heisman,” and that offense combined with an improving defense under a new coordinator (Alex Grinch) is going to be tough to beat; there again, prove it to me against a legit opponent.

My College Football Play-off Foursome heading into this week is 1 Alabama, 2 Ohio State, 3 Georgia, and 4 Clemson. I have a hunch that we’re heading for the kind of controversy at season’s end that will yield an 8-team playoff sooner than TV contracts suggest.

The Most Interesting Games of Week (and thoughts)

Michigan hosts Iowa needing to right its ship quickly before a once promising season is lost to what might’ve beens. I was very much in “prove it to me” mode with the Wolverines going into 2019, and they just seem stagnant as a program. Now, Iowa comes to town undefeated and hopeful of competing with a wild-card national title contender in Wisconsin for Big Ten West supremacy. Can they match the statement win made by the Badgers against Michigan and join the conversation of barely dark-horses? Harbaugh tends to win games like this when expectations have tempered and there seems like much less to lose; so I’m going with Michigan, but I’m rooting for the Hawkeyes (I’m a quiet fan of the upper-midwest trio of Iowa, Minnesota, and Wisconsin – would like to visit all three for games next decade). Hopeful that my kids will enjoy “touring.”

Oregon vs. Cal lost its luster when the Bears lost both the game and their starting quarterback, and the Ducks are hot, blowing people out to re-establish themselves as fringe contenders. That said, give Cal a week to prepare for a new QB and hope their stout defense can form an iron wall around the end zone. Feels like a likely Oregon rout to me, nevertheless.

Ohio State vs. Michigan State shouldn’t really be close, but this is the first “prove it” game for Justin Fields and the Buckeye offense. Having watched the MSU vs. Arizona State game a few weeks back (a 10-7 slugfest…and eyesore), I struggle to see the Spartans move the ball enough to allow Michigan State’s very good defense some rest, so even if Fields has trouble early against his first real competition of the season, he should get no shortage of chances to find his groove as the game advances considering the maze-and-blue-like style of poor offense thus far employed by Sparty in 2019 and Ohio State’s own nasty D. OSU rolls.

Notre Dame should be hoping for little more than quality reps for the back-ups and no more injuries to starters against Bowling Green, but I think this is the warm-up to the Fighting Irish proving they’ve got another special season in them. ND fought like crazy and nearly knocked off the ‘Dawgs two weeks ago…much was made of Georgia’s key injuries, but the Irish showed how good they were with back-ups across the offensive skill positions. Oddly, the Irish could run the table, be more complete than last year’s Playoff team, and actually get left out of the Top 4, but I’d enjoy seeing Notre Dame put the pressure on the selection committee’s openness to a narrative change.

Auburn at Florida is the game of the day. I want to see how Bo Nix handles the hostile Swamp. Trevor Lawrence obviously reminded a year ago that a great defense and some skill players can turn a true freshman quarterback into a legend, but – again here’s that word again – you gotta prove it on stages like Saturday’s. The Gators have a heck of a defense too and this could be a bowling shoe ugly game, but Auburn – which feels like the odd team out with LSU streaking and ‘Bama ascending as per usual to the top of the rankings – could legitimize its name in a more serious conversation with its SEC West peers, particularly if they emerge convincingly victorious. For whatever reason, I feel like a Florida win says less about the Gators SEC contendership and more about the pretender status of the Tigers. The narrative being so much about Auburn, I’m picking them to win on the road.

Any thoughts feel free to share. I enjoy a good sports chat.

An Ode to My First Man Cave

Watching sports is a big deal at my house. I’ve been an avid sports viewer since right around the spring and summer of 1992, when Christian Laettner’s shot and the Dream Team happened within months of each other. When we moved into the house I am currently sitting in for the final night, the first thing organized was the “man cave.” I had been looking forward to that moment since it became obvious to me in college that diehard sports fandom wasn’t just a childhood thing for me, but my great escape from the stressors of life. It has been everything I always wanted it to be, my man cave, host to some of my favorite memories over the past several years. To leave it is unquestionably bittersweet, though my second one is coming soon!

In honor of a wonderful 5 1/2 years, here are my top “first man cave” memories:

WrestleMania XXX: Pro wrestling is my oldest pastime. If it takes 10,000 hours of study to become an expert on something, then I’d surely have to be as much of an expert on pro wrestling as any non-pro wrestler can be. Most people don’t get it, focused as they often are on the pre-determined outcomes (“it’s fake”). If you told me that, I would counter that pro wrestling is the world’s most misunderstood performance art, a storytelling medium as readily capable of telling tales of betrayal, camaraderie, ultimate achievement, etc. as anything seen in books, on Broadway, in Hollywood, etc. Close those agape mouths; I’m quite serious.

Take, for instance, this brilliant night on pro wrestling’s grandest stage, WrestleMania (the 8th most profitable event franchise in the world). ‘Mania XXX was the first big event viewed in my first man cave and the featured attraction was the story of Daniel Bryan – the modern “everyman” perceived (and otherwise) as the antithesis of what WWE wanted its marquee name to be – overcoming massive odds (again, perceived and otherwise) to be positioned with a chance to both topple an overly authoritative power regime (by defeating the corporate bully) and win the championship (by defeating two corporately chosen golden boys) in the spot that has become wrestling’s Holy Grail: the main-event of WrestleMania.

The more pro wrestling you watch, the harder it can become to get lost in the fiction. For me, a 32 year fan of the industry, the pinnacle of Bryan’s saga, which began in earnest several years prior off-camera (he was considered too small and plain-looking to even get signed by WWE), was actually the moment on Monday Night Raw a few weeks before ‘Mania when it became apparent that Bryan would face three of the Top 20 wrestlers of the WrestleMania Era, but the climactic final act culminating a story that enveloped me more than any other in my adult wrestling fandom very much stands out as one of my favorite man cave memories.

Clemson vs. Alabama, Parts 1 and 2 – As an avid college football fan, I always hope to see a dramatic national championship game close out the season, but as fellow CFB enthusiasts can attest, that does not happen as often as we’d like. I sat in my first man cave for five national title game viewings, however, and three of them were outstanding.

Honorable mention to Georgia vs. Alabama to close out the 2017 season, but Clemson vs. Alabama for the 2015 and 2016 titles, respectively, was especially memorable to me. My personal college football tour made its way to Clemson in 2014, and it was a particularly awesome stop, so I was more heavily invested in the Tigers reaching their peak and was, accordingly, all the more invested in the gut-wrenching momentum swing that gave the Crimson Tide full command of the 2015 title game. I said to myself right before a bam-bam one-two ‘Bama punch of a desperation throw to set up a field goal and a recovery of the ensuing onside kick, “I’m not sure how the Tide is going to wrestle control away here.” A minute later, they had control and never gave it up.

The rematch for the 2016 title was even better than the original, coming down to the final play of the game. Back and forth they had gone all the way; then Tide QB, Jalen Hurts, scored what could have been on any other night the game-winning touchdown very deep into the fourth quarter, but Clemson’s now legendary QB, Deshaun Watson, engineered a quick drive that ended with a TD pass to Hunter Renfrow and put the finishing touch on a game in the running for the best I’ve watched in 25 years.

One 3-1 Series Comeback Begets Another – In the 2016 NBA Playoffs, a finally healthy Oklahoma City Thunder team used its size to overwhelm the defending NBA Champion and regular season record-breaking, Golden State Warriors. When the Warriors stormed back from down three games to one in a best-of-seven series to advance to the NBA Finals for a second consecutive year, I’ll never forget the look on Kevin Durant’s face. It was the same look LeBron James had in the series that segued to his infamous “Decision.” KD psychologically crumbled, and his ensuing free agency decision – equal parts understandable for basketball reasons and deplorable for competitive reasons – now lives in infamy too.

What is fascinating about the series of events that spring is that Durant and the Thunder going up 3-1 created the perfect emotional storm. On the brink of ultimate glory, KD suffered his greatest professional failure instead. If the Warriors had defeated the LeBron’s Cavs to repeat as champions, KD logically might have used his experience to motivate him for a rematch. However, the Warriors fell apart despite their own commanding 3-1 lead in the Finals and the King capitalized, fundamentally altering Durant’s mindset. If the Warriors had won, KD couldn’t possibly join them, could he? Since they lost, though, it gave Durant an “in” to downplay his probable “he couldn’t beat them, so he joined them,” pariah status in favor of embracing a sort of basketball nirvana. The psychology of sport…I love it.

Of course, as a long-time fan of LeBron, just as memorable as the 3-1 comeback that fed right into another 3-1 comeback (and how it caused one of modern basketball’s most significant domino effects) was that the prodigal son returned to the Cavaliers team he spurned for the Heatles in the aforementioned “Decision” and one a title for Cleveland. To this point, the 2016 comeback squad represents the peak moment of LeBron’s career. I was too young to fully appreciate Michael Jordan’s all-time greatness, but I have optimized my experience of LeBron’s.

There’s nothing like a Game 7 in sports, so to have seen two of them in back to back rounds of the same playoffs, and for those two Game 7s to have been so influential on contemporary and overall basketball history…man…let’s just say that I have a great appreciation at this stage in my life for witnessing history.

Notre Dame’s Undefeated 2018 Season – Obviously they lost to Clemson in the Semi-Finals of the College Football Playoff, but an undefeated regular season for the Irish is the closest to sports nirvana that I have reached in my lifetime to date. Watching the Irish in the 2012 BCS Title game and the 2018 Playoff, like my viewership of the 2009 NBA Finals that my Orlando Magic lost to the Lakers, was ultimately a trio of negative experiences, but the journeys leading up to them were magical. If one my teams wins the title, sports nirvana will be newly defined for me, but in the meantime, it has gotten no better for me in the last half decade than sitting in my man cave watching the Irish run the table last year.

I have a lot of good Notre Dame football memories from my first man cave – the Irish crushing USC in 2017 was probably the most cathartic ND blowout victory I can recall and last second TD throws in 2014 and 2015, the former captured in what I consider to be an iconic father-daughter photo from when Jordan was two years old (it’s framed in my office), were the unforgettable sorts – but the totality of the 12-0 run in 2018 was an example of the escalatory nature inherent to an undefeated season. At 4-0, with quality wins, the belief in a higher ceiling of achievement begins; at 8-0, belief is strong, but it’s also tough to keep the “pride before the fall” feelings at bay; from then on, within each game, the emotional peaks are steep and the valleys are deep. It’s a ride worth the drive when the final seconds tick off the 12th victory.

My daughter got into it, too. Regularly, she would ask to watch the games with me and would throw on her Irish jersey during day games. When Notre Dame narrowly escaped with a victory against Pitt, Jordan suggested that we do something special after each Irish win, so for about seven straight weeks, we did just that. There’s no expectation on my end that my kids share in these extracurricular passions of mine – they are my escapes, after all – but if they eventually find the joy in them that I do, then that’s an added bonus that I’ll greatly appreciate.

Farewell, first man cave, and thanks for the memories!

What is The Medtrix?

(Author’s Note – the following was inspired by the 1999 film, The Matrix, which the author has long found to be philosophically consistent with the American healthcare crisis)

The Medtrix is everywhere.  It is all around us; it is visible or audible in almost every room.  You can see it when you look into your cabinet, when you drive down the street, when you read a magazine, when you scroll through social media, and when you turn on your television.  You can feel it when a healthcare topic comes up, when you go to the doctor’s office, and when you pay your insurance bills.  It is the blinder that has been pulled over your eyes to keep you ignorant to a rather harsh reality…

What harsh reality?

That healthcare in America, though a highly influential and profitable system, is broken.  For multiple generations and counting, it has been imprisoned by a fundamentally flawed mindset that health is, rather than a multi-factorial personal responsibility, a state of being that can seemingly be achieved only by surrendering control to various forms of pharmaceutical medicine and its supporters. 

Unfortunately, no one can be told what the Medtrix is…you have to see it for yourself.  So, this is your chance to gain clarity on a subject that can make you feel a bit like Alice, tumbling down the rabbit-hole.  You cannot unlearn the information about to be shared.  Figuratively, you may take the blue pill, stop reading this, and move on with your day; but you may also take the red pill, read on, and learn how deep the rabbit-hole goes.  All that is being offered here is the truth, nothing more. 

Consider the definition of health by American standards – when you are free of injury or illness or symptoms – and the means about which that definition of health is achieved – drug therapies primarily, followed by surgical procedures.  80% of all the pharmaceuticals in the entire world are consumed in the United States, despite Americans making up just 5% of the world’s population.  Doctors and researchers at the prestigious medical universities of Harvard and Johns Hopkins have attempted to make public knowledge that, in large part because we over-consume pharmaceuticals, the 3rd leading cause of death in America is medical error; and both institutions have made inferences to the accuracy of conclusions drawn by other researchers that medical error is actually the #1 cause of death in the United States.  Is it really so hard to believe?  We see and hear drug ads that warn of these dangers daily, but they rarely register.

The USA also ranks #1 worldwide in unnecessary surgeries.  In fact, a quarter of the spending on healthcare in America has been deemed unnecessary – unwarranted labs and diagnostic imaging included.  Of all the industrialized nations, the United States grossly outspends its peers, with nearly 20% of the gross domestic product dedicated to pharmaceuticals and surgeries; dollars spent on so-termed “alternatives to medicine,” for reference, is 0.001% of the $10,379 average per person spent on drugs and surgery.  Yet, while we spend far more than the other industrialized countries, we rank last among them in outcomes.  The truth, it seems, is not without a sense of irony; we spend more money than everyone else to be sicker than everyone else. 

“Health” insurance premiums being so high are both a by-product of the above and fuel to sustain it.  Whereas once it was used to protect against the financial burdens of hospitalization, it has in modern times been heavily over-utilized for situations that are mostly inappropriate.  The third party payer trend has created a dynamic in which premiums organically keep rising.  After all, the law of insurance states that the greater the likelihood of grim circumstances, then the more money it will cost to purchase insurance against them.  Free your mind, walk through the door; insurance is most affordable when fewer claims are being filed, but if the majority of health issues are designated as “in need of a conventional doctor’s pharmaceutical recommendations” and if those physician-recommended drugs are only affordable through insurance, then premiums cannot decrease. 

What is the Medtrix?  Control.  The Medtrix is a system of diagnosing and treating symptoms and disease masquerading as something it is not by attaching words like “health” and “wellness” to its literature and social lexicon; it has tragically convinced the population, including most doctors, that health is an instantly-gratifying proposition that requires little to no personal effort, stimulating reliance on its methods and its methods alone.  We have adopted rules and regulations perfectly suited for the Medtrix that are built not on being healthy, but rather on addressing the various symptoms that stem from being unhealthy; and the insurance industry that supports it is no more about health than life insurance is about life. 

Many who are reading this already knew something about the Medtrix.  What you knew, perhaps you could not have explained, but you felt it.  You have likely felt it ever since the first time that you questioned the teachings of conventional medicine; that there is something wrong with American healthcare.  You may not have known how to fully contextualize it, but the feeling had been there, like a splinter in your mind, at odds with simple logic and basic laws such as cause and effect.  Some of you have even attempted to speak out against the flaws of the system and encountered great and at times torrid resistance from those so inured and so hopelessly dependent on the system that they would fight for it even in the face of overwhelming statistical evidence.

To you and the others in the process of getting unplugged, if you will, from the Medtrix, there is a difference between knowing the path and walking the path.  The information shared today is not a reflection of how the story of American healthcare is going to end; rather, it sets the stage for how the story of American healthcare is going to begin.  The grassroots movement away from the pharmaceutical philosophy is going to continue to exemplify that health can be achieved without its methods, to empower people with proper education on healthy lifestyles, to prioritize drugs and surgery as the last resort instead of the only option, and to only use third party payers for emergencies, as is the case with all other insurance types.  We can change American healthcare.  Where we go from here is a choice left to you.

Thinking good things for you, as always,

-Dr. Chad

The Art of Racing in the Rain, and the Book to Movie Challenge

Transitioning a popular book to the theater screen is a fascinating challenge. One of the fun facts I learned while dabbling in the book publishing industry was that the number of pages in a book is typically a good indicator for the number of minutes it would take the average person to read it. The mean number of words read per minute is about 300, which is also the average number of words on a book page. So, with a book like The Art of Racing in the Rain, the endearing story of a dog’s relationship with his human family, told from the perspective of the dog, the task of making it into a movie is rooted in translating essentially a 5 ½ hour read into a 2 hour watch.

For something like Jurassic Park, the task is made easier by the book being such a ready-made cinematic experience, but it becomes more arduous trying to capture the emotional backbone of a story like that in Art of Racing. Being a film about a dog, there is a natural aesthetic hook for any dog lover – from the cuteness of the puppy phase to the thoughtful canine expressions once the pup has shifted into the part of its life that defines the phrase “man’s best friend” – but the book was masterful at capturing an answer to the great question that runs through any dog owner’s mind throughout their furry friend’s life, “What would he/she say if capable of talking?” You cannot help but wonder about it, during the joyous moments to the “potty” training to the addition of kids to the dynamic to opening presents on Christmas and through anything and everything in between them and the heart-wrenching final moment; that is the essence of the book. The drama is in the details in prose, and replicating it with less dialogue and more visuals one could argue is a futile exercise. Art of Racing does its best, and its best was good enough for me and my wife.

43 million families in the United States have dogs. That target audience would get this movie; others likely (and predictably) would not. Like with Marley & Me, it would have been hard to mess it up for the target demographic. Enzo the dog, voiced by Kevin Costner, certainly anchors the film, but the cast, particularly Denny, the owner (Milo Ventimiglia of This Is Us), and the ensemble featuring his wife, daughter, and in-laws does well to compliment the inherent canine-appreciation with a range of human psychological components. By the end of the movie, I felt triumph for Denny and Enzo…and, of course, I cried.