Exterminate! Exterminate!

I just spent ten minutes on the phone with a freaky robotic voice from Blue Cross (my insurance provider) asking me various questions about the effectiveness of my current therapist situation. I've had to take very short phone surveys from robot voices before, but not for TEN MINUTES. Nor did previous robot voices ever actually RESPOND to my answers other than a standard "thank you" or (in the case of the prescription refill robot at my pharmacy) a confirmation of my last name.

For instance, the Blue Cross phone robot asked me to tell her/it the effectiveness of my visits to my therapist by stating "no improvement, some improvement, much improvement." When I said "some improvement," the robot voice said, "that's great!" I found this profoundly disturbing. I wonder if I'd said "no improvement," it would have said "sorry to hear that." Plus I kept trying to psych out the robot because I was suspicious whether my insurance company is trying to weasel out of paying for my therapist visits by tricking me into saying I no longer need them. A robot! I was trying to PSYCH OUT A PHONE ROBOT! Something is seriously wrong.

Tuning In To Say...

No, I haven't dropped off the face of the planet. Not yet, anyway, though various and sundry forces seem to be attempting to conspire to make me do so. But I WILL BLOG! Today all you get is a LINK, but trust me, it's a good one. It comes courtesy of TadMack and will remind you of the bad old days of portrait photography (still alive and well in some places, I assure you). Speaking of portrait photography, there is a picture of me and my dad that horrifies Rob every time we go to my dad's house for a visit, because in the photo it's just so obvious that I was just crying my eyes out. I can't remember exactly why I was so upset, but I think it was some combination of not wanting to visit my dad in the first place + not wanting to go get some stupid Sears photo taken + not wanting to be forced to wear a traditional Pakistani outfit + being eight-ish years old.

Anyway, speaking of childhood trauma, I do fully intend to finish that story (started below) about Groter School and my fun and fabulous second year there. Mouths washed out with soap! Bare bottoms spanked with rulers in front of the class! (Neither of those inflicted on me personally, thank God.) Woefully old-fashioned reading material! Random German songs! Pink Floyd! You'll just have to wait to hear the stories.