Skip to main content

Money and Smart People

Money and Smart People - 2008-07-02 10:06



Money and smart people

I worked with cardiologists in the early 90’s and found that every patient that came into their office had an EKG done. I suppose that if they walked into a neurologist’s office they would get a brain scan, so this all seemed straightforward
.
The Cardiologist would get a fee for reading the EKG and his office a fee for doing it – it helped to pay for the salaries and infrastructure.

Medicare changed its policy and started to refuse to pay for EKG’s done in a doctor’s office.

Within a week, every Cardiologist I worked with stopped doing EKG’s in the office and started doing 2D-mode echocardiograms for every patient who came in.
If the patient needed to be admitted to the hospital – the EKG was done there – and was charged to Medicare.

2D-mode echocardiograms cost $350 dollars, EKG’s $100.

The Echocardiograms were better diagnostically, but the change was done for clearly financial reasons.

The moral is – don’t fuck with people that survived graduate school when it comes to their money.

All people have a nut they need to collect – it’s what they need or expect and they will do anything to make it happen. It is human to do this and should be expected.

If you cut hours, humans figure out how to get overtime, if you stop paying for one thing, they find another.

And smart, educated people are really good at this.

Which leads to the probable answer as to why oil costs $140 a barrel?

Housing collapsed, Banks have no money, and commodities are priced to crazy town – what’s left?

The word on the streets is: speculators.

What does that mean, and why can’t I get a straight answer in a newspaper?

Seems like a good story – kind of reminds me of the electricity crisis that California went through in the early Bush year. In retrospect, it became clear it was Enron manipulation – but the media only reported in after the fact – when the money was done – the damage done.



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Wedding and Funeral

Went to a wedding and a funeral this weekend with Mary. Sacramento, Santa Rosa, then home– a whirlwind trip through weekend bay area traffic. The traffic was horrible – life changing horrible, but not unusual.
As with most things, it’s a balance of an the unnamed terror and an easy chair in a padded room that rocks. 
The wedding was delightful, part of an interconnected strong woman’s club that marries off their daughters to provably weaker men. And so, the cycle continues, but the company was nice and I’m too old to wonder at the process anymore.
The funeral was for another interconnected strong woman, who, by hinkey or dinky, was a scary woman that I used to work with as a nurse. She would have been surprised that I outlived her, much as Charles the cat was. Please pay attention out there – this is how life works.
(To be fair, she didn’t put up with shit and I liked to throw handfuls of it around as if I were Christ standing on the back of a broken piñata heaving candy cigarettes to the…

Only once

For clarity, I think I will write this only once.I do not write confessional poetry, and I do not write things down as a form of therapy. I write because I have something unique to say in a unique sort of way, a way that I think is universal in an analogous manner, not as any sort of literal telling of the truth.  I trowel spackle onto pages with a straight edged blade, I don’t paint aging widows with a brush. (My soul has been psychedelicized, but this shit’s not about me.)It comes in this form – that this relates to that, in this way – A form that I think illustrates things that are too true to be looked at straight on – personal truths that are usually discovered through interactions with other people – truths that are often relational, unreliable and subject to the weavings and debris of human beings. Truths that sneak out and become a miraculous surprise of insight – like a Zen master hitting you on the head with a baseball bat at just the right time.I don’t think I’m the only on…

How do I know when I'm done?

I left a message on Facebook for someone I care about that ended with the words, “one won”. I did it just because I thought was funny. That led to a whimsical discovery that I no longer had to place a period at the end of my sentences – in fact to do so would be rude and identify myself as an old person. 
It seems that, for online use anyway, a period has become a loud shout -- a purposeful exclamation point useful only in drawing unnecessary attention, or as a way of making an angry burp of anti-social angst. Sentences no longer end, they gently back out a side door when no one is looking -- they’ve become bars without a jail, or that angry driver just ahead of you who hesitates before moving through an intersection just to make a point of how stupid you are.
Since a period is no longer an end to a thought, its new function has evidentially become nothing but a stuffy ritual of formality that writers can now use to mark up or down generalized feeling of huffiness, or perhaps a way to s…