Again, Dangerous Insurance

Every now and then our health insurance company decides that an in-network provider isn't, pays the out of network benefit, and we get a bill from said provider for the difference between what the insurance covers and what they charge. When you call them, of course, they're apologetic as can be, and fix the problem promptly. I am sure it's all an administrative hassle, but...after a couple of these incidents one does begin to wonder if there's someone at the insurer with his finger on the button that says "Not." If you catch them, they're gracious, but if you don't...oh well.

Ow

Last night I went back to fencing after a three week hiatus occasioned by 1) a stomach bug; 2) exploding children; 3) scheduling conflicts. It was the first class of the new session, which means lots of new students and lots of footwork. My thighs have been glaring at me all day; did you know thighs can glare? I didn't until this morning. Ow.

In Which I am Interviewed

Adventures Underground: Interview with Madeleine Robins...all typos and idiocy regrettably mine, but I think it turned out okay.

Guilty Pleasure

When I was a kid I wanted to be a clothing designer. I had big pads of newsprint, which I would fill with designs (nine to a page) drawn on "model" forms I had made. My idea was that I wanted to design for women with imperfect figures: big breasts, or wide hips, or no waist or long waist or short waist. I designed a cocktail dress in 1962 which I saw two years later in a fashion spread in LIFE Magazine, and you can bet I was incensed...how dare Oscar de la Renta steal my design! Of course I grew into a woman who almost never looks at anything resembling a fashion magazine, but when I was nine I was passionate about clothing design. So it makes sense that for the last month or so I have been totally absorbed by Project Runway. Like most reality shows (and can I saw without sounding like a snob that I don't watch much reality TV?) it has all manner of outsized personalities and is cleverly edited so that there are the divas (and divos? Is that the masculine of the word?) and ego-monsters, the people who go into screaming fits or burst into tears. And yet it's almost impossible not to be drawn in to the drama at the same time that you're trying to examine the seaming on an evening dress. They started out with sixteen designers; each week one or more was eliminated, until they were down to three, who went on to show full collections in the final competition. Tonight was the finale, and the final outcome of the competition. ( (caution, spoilers ahead) )