Don’t know when I’m going get a doctor to check on this swelling that’s been growing in pain for weeks now. First I have to choose a primary care provider from the network of my DC exchange plan and it takes time to comb through credentials (as anyone who’s switched plans knows). Other reps are annoyed they had to move to an exchange-based plan, though they themselves mandated it to demonstrate I’m not sure what. But I think my new private insurance is cool, since until this year I had pre-expansion Medicaid.

Yes, I was that poor.

Now, I’m a-travelin’ through the muck with the muckety-mucks. Like, last night, I got to attend what will presumably be the last of Henry Waxman’s annual Super Bowl parties. I never went to any of Phil Spector’s bowling parties, but THIS tradition I’ll have touched.

Haven’t agreed with Waxman on everything, but he has, in many ways, been a great man through his 40 (count ’em) years of service to the nation. He was my congressman in L.A. and I remember affixing my “I Voted” sticker to my bare chest and feeling a great deal of pride after doing my part to keep him in the chamber, doing (mostly) what was right.

Only time I ever met him before entering Congress was in the Beverly Connection Souplantation at lunchtime, when the House had recently turned Republican and he was wondering if, powerless, he should go on. This was during the Clinton years.

Twenty years later, he legislates still, and will continue through the year. If they let him.

He must look back at THAT spell in the minority as a glorious epoch of power.

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