ASSISTED LIVING—NOT SO GLAMOROUS

My dad suffered a major stroke in February. After 3 weeks of rehab Medicare (don’t get me started with them) decided he had reached a “benchmark” and could no longer stay.  My sister found an assisted living residence and off my father went.  That should have been the end of the story, but it was just the beginning!

 

Now the place that accepted my dad is new (just 8 years old), has a friendly staff, decent food, and a nice bucolic setting, so I won’t critize them on that front.  That being said, here comes the bad part. 

 

My dad’s suite was fairly nice—a large, sunny bedroom, huge bath (no tub, but a shower you can roll a wheelchair into), nice sitting room with a kitchenette (no stove, under the counter fridge, small sink).  It also came UNFURNISHED, so the first thing I had to do was get furniture: a new bed (his queensize bed was to large), a small snuggle chair (that opens into a single bed, just in case his girlfriend decided to come & stay with him for no more than a week), a shower seat (Medicare wouldn’t pay for it), a raised commode, shower curtain, linens, toilet paper, all personal care products, etc.  Now that might not bother some people, but for $3810 per month, I felt that the LEAST they could do was supply toilet paper!!!!!

 

Since my dad suffered mobility problems due to his stroke, he needed assistance—custodial care as it’s termed.  Ok fine, I have no problem with that EXCEPT everything is extra.  Need to be wheeled to the dining room 3 times a day?  That cost $450/month.  Need to have your medications handed to you?  That’s $300 per month.  Laundry? That’s $100/month!!! I can go on, but you get my drift.  Since my dad isn’t that bad, his custodial care only cost an extra $1400 per month.   So now he’s paying $5210 PER MONTH!!!!!

 

Still doesn’t sound bad until you realize that after all  your savings are used up, you’re no longer able to stay in assisted living (unless you have long term care insurance which is expensive for most people).  So what do they do with you (FYI medicare WON’T PAY for assisted living) when all your savings are used up?  Assisted living residences won’t use the term, but I sure will—they DUMP YOU.  Send you to whatever nursing home is available (could be a good home or a hell hole—you don’t have much choice, it’s based on who has the available bed). 

Now being disabled myself, I know what it’s like to live in a rehab setting (I was in the hospital for 4 years).  I also know that no matter how something is packaged, an institution is an instituiton.   Want to sleep late—sorry, no can do, breakfast is at 8AM, so the aides start getting people up at 5AM (you have to, considering the aides may have 10 people to get up & dressed before 8).  After breakfast it’s back to their rooms (seems to me that most of the people there looked lost, bored, sad, etc & used the TV to keep them company).  Now I’m not saying there were no activities because they did have things every day for the “residents” to do—-chair exercises, bingo, games, etc., but these activities lasted no more than 1 hour, so you might get 2-3 hours of entertainment for the entire day.

 

It also broke my heart that there were so few visitors.  I saw my dad at least 4 times a week.  I became friendly with the other “residents” and believe me when I say, it would bring tears to my eyes when I would leave, because these people would be asking me to stay longer, to visit with them, to talk to them.   Now I know that people have to work & don’t have a lot of time for visiting, but give me a break.  Saturdays & Sundays were just as empty as the weekdays!

 

The director I talked to before my dad was moved there made this place sound like heaven on earth.  Sadly I feel that that was a total LIE!!!   For all it’s newness, to me it’s still an institution—a nursing home for people who have MONEY and are not so severly disabled that they can fend for themselves. 

 

My dad is home now—-happy to be in familiar surroundings.  He can’t live alone anymore, so my husband and I are moving in.  I’ve hired a fabulous aide who comes in for 3 to 4 hours in the morning, and an aide that comes in for an hour at night.  Staying in assisted living would have cost $62K/year.  Having aides will cost about $20K/year.   Had he’d stayed, his savings would have been exhausted in 3 years and he would have been sent packing.  Dad’s got a strong constitution, hopefully he’ll be around to see 100, but if he doesn’t, at least he’s home and happy. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

RESPONSIBLE FREEDOM OF SPEECH

I saw a story on the evening news last night & then read an article today (Sept. 21) in Newsday (courtesy of my dear friend Ronnie Ann who happens to agree with the 2 boys in the article)  about 2 grade school students who were protesting the Bayonne, NJ school district’s new uniform dress code.  Last fall the 2 boys came to school wearing protest buttons.   To quote the Newsday article: “The buttons bear the words “no school uniforms” with a slash through them superimposed on a photo of young boys wearing identical shirts and neckerchiefs. There are no swastikas visible on the buttons, but the parties agreed that they depict members of Hitler youth”.    The boys were threatened with suspension if they wore the buttons again, so their parents filed suit saying their first amendment rights  were being violated.  The parents are also challenging the uniform policy.   A Judge upheld the rights of the 2 boys in wearing the buttons.  The Bayonne Superintendent of School said the school district was disappointed in the decision. 

Ok so what’s wrong with this picture?  I’m all in favor of free speech, it’s what makes this country great.  But with free speech comes responsibility.  Exactly what were these 2 boys trying to get across.  For the life of me I can’t understand how a picture of kids in the Hitler Youth Movement has any bearing on wearing uniforms.  Why not use a picture of oh say—a group of parochial school kids? Or a group of Buddist Monks?  Or Astronauts?   The point I’m trying to make is that any picture of  people wearing uniforms would have gotten the point across.  According to the Newsday article “District lawyers asserted that the image of the Hitler youth was abhorrent because it conveyed intolerance and racial inequality represented by Nazism”.  I happen to agree with them.

 There’s nothing wrong with uniforms.   Wearing uniforms takes the pressure off of children who don’t have the means to wear the latest in fashion.   The school district feels that with less pressure on who wears what, there will be less distractions in the classroom setting, making for a better learning experience.    I happen to agree with that thought.  

These 2 boys are creative, you have to give them that credit.   It’s too bad they are ignorant of how intolerant Nazi Germany was.  They should have done their homework (no pun intended).  That said—-How about taking that energy and putting it to better use—-like tutoring younger students who are having problems in school.

As for the parents—-maybe you should go back to school for it’s painfully obvious that you missed the history class that talked about how vile Nazism & all the it represents is.  

  

CHICHI’S PASSING-A CAT’S STORY

Chichi was my cat. He was 13 years old when he passed today (July 31) after a short but valiant bout with cancer.  To the end he did things his way—–no way was he going to go into the “box where cats go into but never come back from”.   Catharsis is good for the soul.  Writing about his life makes his passing a bit easier to handle.  Yes this may be long, you may think I crazy for writing it, but he was my cat, my friend, he loved me unconditionally, he listened to me when I had problems, he consoled me when I cried.  It’s my tribute to him. 

 Chichi was born in Dec. of 1994, an orange feral kitten who was determined to move in with me.  I already had 3 cats when I moved into my new apartment in Feb. of 1995.  Friends who were painting the apartment for me mentioned the 3 wild kittens that were in the yard.  After I moved in, I noticed that these 3 little babies, no more the 2 1/2 months old, would wait for me to park my car in the driveway (coming home from a day’s work), then they would run under it to keep warm from the engine heat.  Every day started the same—-bang on the car to make sure they weren’t under there, check to make sure they weren’t in the engine compartment (you know how it is lol).

As winter gave way to spring I noticed that the orange kitten was very bold, jumping up onto my window ledge to peer inside the windows, watching my cats staring back at him.  Of course being the softie that I am, I had been leaving food out for the kittens from the day I moved in.  Since Chichi was the boldest & was always on the window sill, I started leaving food on the window ledge for him to eat—sitting patiently, watching him eat, getting him used to me.  One day I opened the window & touched the tip of his tail.  He didn’t move.   Every day I did this until after 2 months I was ready to run my hand down his back.  It was amazing—he got so excited that he literally rolled off the ledge, purring loudly  (not to worry, it was a 1st floor apt), jumped right back up and started to rub on my hand.  Till the end, he would purr loud and long when I petted him, especially when I started by playing with the tip of his tail.

 So it continued for a few more weeks.  Me feeding the kittens, Chichi coming up for his daily rub, etc.  One day I came home from work & was greeted by my 3 house cats—a multi-toed calico named DJ, a Siamese mix named Sparky & an orange marmalade cat named Bogart.  WAIT!!!!   Did I just see a second orange cat?  Sure enough Chichi was in the apartment (Bogart had learned how to take the stripping from around window & door screens out of their tracks, he just like to play with that rubber stripping).  Aha—that’s how Chichi got in.  At any rate, but July, Chichi was a constant visitor. 

Bogart (who had diabetes) passed away in July of 95.  Chichi became a member of the household.  Sparky passed the next year.  Chichi, being the bully he was, started picking on DJ, so we got another kitten, a tortie cat that we named Lola.  She & Chichi became the best of friends.  All was right with the world.   A 4th cat was added to the household, a black cat with a white patch, named Mookie (who for some reason just could not get along with either Chichi or Lola).  DJ passed.  Down to 3 cats, but boy what a house full—Mookie always felt like a 3rd wheel, for neither Chichi nor Lola cared much for her.

Chichi was always MY cat.  He would tolerate my boyfriend, would come to him to be petted, but Chichi  only slept with me.  He would lay down next to me when I was working on the computer or reading, etc, and when he wanted attention he would first rub his face against my arm.  If that didn’t work, he’d rub his face against my arm again, but would make sure his canine tooth was exposed.  If that didn’t do it, he would start to nibble on me—not hard, but to let me know he wanted attention & he was going to get it no matter what!!!  He was a big cat, weighed about 15 pounds & while he was always a gentleman, I only picked him up a few times.  He did not like being picked up!!!

I noticed in November of 2006 that Chichi was starting to lose weight.  I started watching him carefully for I had seen 2 cats go through diabetes,  the first sign was weight loss & increased thirst.  But he didn’t seem to have any symptoms of diabetes, just a very gradual, but steady weight loss.   I started doing research & thought that maybe he might have a thyroid problem.   In April I took him to the vet—-thinking it would be a routine blood test, a thyroid problem diagnosis & that would be that.  Unfortunately, the vet found lumps on the liver & said “Uh oh”.  He felt at that point that Chichi had cancer, but did the blood workup anyway, to check the thyroid (which turned out to be negative).  The vet (a wonderful & caring man I might add) & I talked about cancer.  He was honest & said I can’t tell  you how long Chichi has—it could be days, weeks, months, a year.  No one can tell you what the future holds.  It’s up to you to decide what you want to do with Chichi.   I made the decision to bring Chichi home & let nature take it’s course.

I had 3 good months with Chichi.  Yes he had problems.  He was always hungry as he wasn’t absorbing as much food as possible.  So I fed him every 2 hours.  I made him a special diet of rice, chicken & tuna, pureed so it was easier for him to eat.  Every morning he got a tiny bit of half and half with his morning meal.  He still had enough strength to bully my service dog Hanna, keep Mookie in check & lavish love on his darling Lola.  He also had enough strenght to try and steal a 3 pound chicken I was getting ready to cut up for dinner last thursday (what a tug of war that was—Chichi with the wing  in his mouth, me pulling on the chicken, my boyfriend trying to pull Chichi off of the chicken).  We had a good laugh at that one.  Of course, Chichi was so determined to get that chicken that I gave in & gave him the wing tips to eat.

Yesterday I talked with my best friend Ronnie Ann.  We talked about Chichi & I had said that I thought it was time to take Chichi in & put him to sleep.  He wasn’t his usual self.  He was hungry, but really not interested in eating.  Last night he was a bit wobbly.  He ate his dinner, then went to lay down under the hutch.  About 10pm he got up from under the hutch, came over to me, rubbed against my foot & went into the bedroom.  He laid down under the tv.  At 11pm my boyfrend went to bed.  He checked on Chichi.  Chichi woke up, looked at him, then put his head back down.  About 3am, Lola started to walk around the apartment squalling to beat the band.  This morning, I went to check on Chichi & he was gone, cold to the touch.  He passed peacefully.  He did it his way & although I wonder if I did the right thing, I’m glad he went in his sleep, for I hated the thought of bringing him back to the vet to be euthanzed.

Chichi brought me many years of joy.  He was a cat who chose his family, he was loved, he was spoiled, he was a bully towards Mookie & Hanna the service dog (yeah but so what lol).  He will be sadly missed. 

IGNORANCE SHOULD NOT BE REWARDED

I was reading the NY Daily News today (Jun. 13, 2007) when I came across a story that really, really got my blood boiling.

A bit of background information first. On Mar. 7, 2007, a fire broke out in a home in the Bronx.  10 people, mostly children, died.   It was tragic.  The NYFD, NY City’s Bravest, arrived within 3 minutes, but the house was already pretty much consumed by the time they got there.  

So why is my blood boiling?  Well a notice of claim has been filed with the City Controller by Mr. S (I won’t mention his full name) preserving his right to:  SUE THE CITY OF NEW YORK, THE NY CITY FIRE DEPT., THE DEPT. OF HOUSING and PRESERVATION & THE OWNER OF THE HOUSE (who also lost 6 people in the fire) for $100 MILLION, that’s right $100 MILLION.  

The fire was sparked by  a faulty space heater.  The  smoke detectors had no batteries.  The tenants tried to put the fire out before calling the fire department, a backdoor was opened which fanned the flames up the stairwells, cutting off escape. 

 Now Mr. S says that he feels conflicted  by filing a notice of claim and he doesn’t want to sue, but his BLOOD SUCKING, LEECH-LIKE LAWYER says this is to give investigators time to determine whether anyone is liable for the fire.  HUH?  

Now I’m sorry for the families who lost loved ones,  but…..IGNORANCE SHOULD NOT BE REWARDED Mr. S.  You should be ashamed of yourself for listening to that lawyer and even considering a lawsuit.  As for your blood sucking, leech-like lawyer, he should be run out of town on a rail—what a joke.

A “LEG” UP ON THE OLYMPICS?

As I was going thru the sports section of AOL a few days ago (5/15/07), I came across an article about a young man from South Africa who has aspirations of running in the Olympics.  Ok so what’s the big deal? 

Well Oscar Pistorius was born without a fibula in his left leg & problems with both feet, resulting in the amputation of both of his legs, below his knees,  when he was 11 months old.   He uses prostestics to walk, run, etc.   Now the debate is on—does he have an unfair advantage, should a disabled person be allowed to compete in the regular Olympics as opposed to running in just the Paralympic World Games, etc.

Seems to me that it’s more about a disabled person winning an Olympic event then anything else.  I mean, afterall, the Olympics are supposed to show the ideal man—perfect in form and performance.  What a kick in the head if an upstart, double amputee should win!!!!!  Now some people would say he has an advantage—-BULLS**T.  He is defintely more disadvanteged.  Read the article on AOL  & see what the downside to running with artificial legs is.  The Olympic Committee allows athletes to sleep in special hi altitude chambers which enriches the blood with oxygen—–is that not an unfair advantage?  

As a disabled person—I had polio, have 1 leg that is 6 inches shorter than the other, use crutches to walk, I applaud his courage.  Disabled people are always told they can’t do this, they can’t do that.  This is so untrue.  If you set your mind to it, all things are possible.  It’s just a shame that some able bodied people feel so threatened.   Instead of throwing roadblocks in front of this remarkable young man, let him try out.   He has to qualify before he can run, and if he does, that’s great.   What’s the worse that can happen?   He wins?

SERVICE DOGS ARE NOT PETS!!!!!!!!!

I am handicapped, due to childhood polio.  Now I’m not complaining, you play the hand that life has dealt you.   I worked for 30 years, finally retiring in 2003, due to the increasing dibilitations of post polio syndrome.  That’s when I got Hanna, a Standard Poodle.  She is my service dog.  Service dogs come in all shapes and sizes and are trained for that person’s disability, whether they are blind, deaf, physically disabled and even for people who have mental disorders such a panic disorders.

Service dogs are wonderful animals.  They give disabled people new found freedoms.   Now Hanna is NOT one of those service dogs what will turn on lights, open doors, etc.   At this point, I don’t need a dog that is that highly trained.   Hanna helps pull my wheelchair when I need to use it, will lay down next to me if I fall, so I can use her to balance myself  when I stand, but the best thing about Hanna is her sensitivity.  She knows the days that I have strength and will make sure I walk, and walk, and walk—-this is her primary function, to keep me moving.  On days that I have little strength, she knows that our walk will be short and she understands.  She will go for a block, turn and look at me, then turn back for home.  She is a clever girl, lol.

So why am I writing this?  Well, the other day friends of mine came over to the house with the intention of going out for brunch and then a trip to the park, so Hanna could have a little free time. (She’s always on duty, so it’s good for her to have at least an hour where she can just run and sniff and scent mark like all dogs do).  We get to the restaurant and what happens?  I am told I cannot bring Hanna in because pets are not allowed.  Of course, this sets my hair on end.  I tried to explain to the waitress that Hanna is a service dog (note, she has a vest that has SERVICE DOG written on it, on both sides and wears a photo ID tag that says she’s a service dog).  Well it was like talking to a wall.  I asked the waitress if she would refuse service to a blind person with a seeing eye dog and of course she said she would never do that.   So I asked her why she was denying me service.  Her answer—well you’re not blind.   WHAT?!?!?!?!  I explained to her that the Americans’  With Disability Act states that you must afford my dog the same accomodations that you would a seeing eye dog.  She still said NO, people will complain.   Finally another waiter came over and said just sit down.  My friends wanted to leave, but on principle I said no, I’m going to stay and eat. 

This has happened to me on two other occasions.  Once at TARGET—where the assistant manager rudely and in a very loud voice screamed at me that no dogs are allowed in TARGET.  Of course rising to the challenge, I informed him that he was discriminating against me and violating my rights under Federal law.  The other incident happened at BOULDER CREEK, where again I was told I could not bring in my dog because I am not blind.  Needless to say, after a stand off, I was showed a table (while TARGET ignored my phone calls & e-mails, BOULDER CREEK’S manger did apologize profusely and said to come back anytime and the meal would be oh him.)

I ask owners of businesses and people who work in business to understand that I have a right under the Americans With Disability Act to bring my service dog with me, as stated in AMERICANS WITH DISABILITIES ACT III-4.2300-SERVICE ANIMALS.   Owners, inform your employees about the rights of service dogs, employees, show some sensitivity to the disabled person who wants to patronize your establishment.  We’re not looking for your pity, BUT we do expect to be treated like any other PAYING customer.  Causing a scene is bad for business, for if you insist on NOT serving me, you can be your bottom dollar that another business will.  It’s your loss, not mine, as there are plenty of options for me—I can take my business elsewhere. 

Hanna is a part of the family and I love her dearly.  She’s spoiled when she’s not working.  We have a very strong bond.  When she’s on the job, she’s all business—well mannered, quiet, and accomodating to anyone who asks my permission to pet her.   Just don’t think that she is a pet. 

LIVING IN LIMBO?

My mother passed away in 1993.   She had gone in for what was supposed to be routine heart surgery.   A mistake caused irreversible brain damage and she was placed on life support.  We kept her alive only as long as it took for my youngest brother to get to her bedside to say his goodbyes.  Now we could have gone a different route and kept her alive indefinitely, but we knew that that would not be in the best interests of my mother, my family, the hospital and any patient that would be denied a bed in intensive care because my mother was there.

Why talk about this very sad day?   Well today (Apr. 10), on AOL, I saw a report  about an Austin  hospital that is using a Texas law to remove a 17 month old child from life support.  The child has a terminal disease, resulting in his higher brain functions being destroyed.  Unlike the Terry Schiavo case, he is not in a vegetative state, being kept alive with a feeding tube.   He does not have the ability to breathe on his own or take nurishment.   His condition requires vigorous monitoring.   Is it right to terminate his life?  As cold as this may sound, yes it is the right thing to do.

His mother knows that he will die, she is just not ready to let go.  How totally selfish of her.   Her child died when his brain stopped functioning.  You may think I am cold, but knowing that thousands of dollars are being wasted (your tax dollars I might add, as Medicaid is footing the bill) on delaying the inevitable is just down right wrong.  Think of the resources that have been squandered.  Had nature been allowed to run its course, this child would have died  months ago.  He’s not living, he’s not even functioning.  He’s in limbo, between life and death.

Life is precious, life is fleeting, but as with  all living things, life comes to an end.  Sometimes earlier than people want.   I feel for the mother’s pain on losing her son, but to keep him alive for her own purpose is wrong.   

As a post thought, let me add this.   Yes, I felt the same way about Terry Schiavo. 

MADDER THAN A MARCH HARE

I just read an article on AOL (Apr. 8th) about a school district in Rhode Island that has decided that the Easter bunny is too Christian and should be renamed Peter Rabbit.  I am absolutly astounded!!!! Political correctness has gone over the edge. 

People have lost all sense of reason when it comes to political correctness, as far as I am concerned.  You can’t say Merry Christmas, you can’t put up nativity scenes,  Halloween is offensive to Wickans, etc, etc, etc.  The list is endless and personally I think it’s time to STOP THE MADNESS!!!  

I celebrate Easter.  I don’t celebrate the Easter bunny.  And if i remember correctly, no where in the traditions I learned was the Easter bunny ever included.   I don’t have to explain what Easter is to a Christian.   Nor should I have to hide my religion because someone who is not Christian might be offended.  I don’t take offense when Ramadan is celebrated.  I don’t take offense when Passover is celebrated.  I respect other people’s right to practice whatever they want.  But I do take offense when these same people say they feel uncomfortable about Christian celebrations.

Instead of worrying about offending non Christians, politicians should be concerned about the state of affairs of this country.  Unemployment, the ever widening gap between the haves and the have-nots, health care, Iraq, Iran, etc. 

So I say to anyone who is offended by a Happy Easter greeting, or a Merry Christmas greeting, etc., GET A LIFE. 

And on that note I  will say HAPPY EASTER (and if you don’t like it TOUGH COOKIES).

LIVING WITH, NOT DYING FROM, CANCER

I picked up my copy of the NY Daily News this morning, March 27th,  and was dismayed when I saw the headline: “ELIZABETH EDWARDS. Her brave breast cancer fight that’s dividing a nation”.  

It brought to mind a friend’s son, George,  who was diagnosed with bone cancer when he was 20.  His mother was devastated when the oncologist said he had 6 months to a year to live.  George would have none of that!  He decided that he was going to LIVE with cancer, not DIE from it.  He had things he wanted to do in life and with what time he had left, he was going to do all that he could.  When doctors said it would be best if he had the leg that was riddled with cancer amputated, he said “No, I came into this world with 2 legs and I’m going to leave it with 2 legs”.  The cancer had already spread to his lungs when he was diagnosed—so removal of his leg, to him, was a moot point. 

He started chemotherapy, but was determined not to let it get him down, so he decided that he needed a project to take his mind off the terrible side effects of his treatment—-he bought a used car and rebuilt the engine.  For the next SEVEN years, he lived on various forms of chemotherapy, always telling people that he was living with cancer, not dying from it.   Totally amazed, his doctors could only wonder how someone who had been given at best a year to live, was still with them 7 years later.   Yes, George did finally die from cancer, although it wasn’t bone cancer that took his life, it was leukemia—-which moved so quickly, that from diagnosis to death there was less than a week.  He was truly brave, a young man who fought the odds for 7 years, choosing to live his life to the fullest—cancer be damned.

My sister has battled cancer twice in the last 6 years—-she refuses to let it stop her.  My cousin has pancreatic cancer, diagnosed last year—–she’s still with us, having said to me “I have too many things to do yet, I’m not ready to go”.

Which brings me to Elizabeth Edwards.  I applaud her, I weep for her, I cheer for her.  Some people think she should just go home, wrap her arms around her children and wait for death.  She, on the other hand, is showing the American public, that there is hope.   No one can tell for certain how much time someone with cancer has—sure, doctors will say with this type of cancer you have X amount of time.  But what happens when that alloted amount of time comes, and goes, and that person is still alive? 

I don’t think Elizabeth Edwards is being selfish, or overly ambitious.   She and her husband have made a decision, and ONLY they can make it.    People should be applauding them for the courage they are showing under fire, from conservative critics like Rush Limbaugh who said “most people when told a family member’s been diagnosed with the kind of cancer Elizabeth Edwards has, they turn to God.  The Edwardses turned to the campaign.”

It is Elizabeth’s decision, no one else can make it for her.   She feels her husband has something to offer to America (I make no judgements there).  If this is what she wants, then damn the torpedos, full speed ahead.   I wish her well.

HOPE YOU BRING YOUR WALLET

I live in New York City and have become used to high prices, but today was the icing on the cake. You’ve heard of  $1000 dollar omelets, $41 dollar hamburgers.Now for the ultimate: a ONE THOUSAND DOLLAR PIZZA!!!

Yes you read that right, a $1000 pizza. Ok so what’s so special about this pizza—-creme fresche, caviar, tissue thin slices of lobster.  NO gooey cheese, tomatoes, basil or garlic.  

So, if you in the mood for a wallet busting pie (by the way, you only get 4, count them 4, slices), head to New York City.   Me, I think I’ll just call the corner pizzeria and order a medium with pepperoni for $15.