When Michael Moore's documentary, "Sicko" opened in the theaters, I was not one of the few that camped out and waited in line. I took my own sweet time. A Moore documentary often contains: heavy handed editing, a blatant left wing bias, closeups of tear stained faces cued to swelling musical scores, and Moore's omnipresent narrative. For the record, I happen to be a bleeding heart liberal, and a card carrying member of the ACLU. That being said, I also shy away from documentary films that are low on the "fair and balanced" quotient.

I was "Wrongo" with a capital "W." "Sicko" lives up to it's critical acclaim. And surpasses it.

"Sicko" didn't make me want to move to France, Cuba, or the UK - all countries with socialized health care. It didn't make me any less proud to be an American (sheepish, yes, but not ashamed). "Sicko" didn't tell me anything that I didn't already know about how medical directors at HMOs receive bonuses for approving the highest number of claim denials, or enlighten me to the plight of the poor and uninsured. The latter have already received their fair share of press from the media, and rightly so.

Because, as Moore states at the beginning of "Sicko," this movie isn't about the 19 year old crack dealer, who lives in a flophouse, is HIV Positive and does not have access to medical attention. This is about the 200 million people in the US who have health insurance. People who have jobs, own property, pay taxes, and are, by all accounts responsible American citizens. People who aren't millionaires, but can afford to dine out, go on vacations, and indulge in a shopping spree now and then. Middle-class people. People like...you and I.

I wasn't prepared for the nausea that welled up inside me. I wasn't expecting the ensuing feelings of incredulity, helplessness, and finally - rage. Rage, that a 50-something couple who raised 6 children and put them through college, were forced into bankruptcy and foreclosure because of escalating medical bills, and had to move into with their 20-something kids. Anger, that a single mother's claim for cervical cancer was denied coverage, because she was "only 22," and therefore too young to have cervical cancer. And, finally - a horrifying, chilling moment of clarity.

That could easily be me. Me, with the decent paying job, the health insurance, the gym membership, the well-balanced diet, and the vigor of youth. Plainly put, it doesn't matter if you have all of the above - I am - we are - all just a twist of fate, and a heartbeat away from the emergency room. Is this just a sad fact of life? Absolutely. But is it fair that I should stand lose my house, my job, my dignity, all because my insurance company won't cover the astronomical medical bill? Welcome to the American Dream. Big business has hijacked our healthcare system, and they are here to stay.

Throughout the documentary, Moore makes the all too important connection between the personal and the political. However, with another year and half to go before the Bush administration is a distant nightmare, I'm going to take my mom's advice. Eat right, sleep right, play outside, and lay off the candy. With the state of American healthcare these days, it pays to not get sick. I simply cannot afford to.

I just realized something.

In "Pretty Woman:, Richard Gere offers Julia Roberts $3,000 to spend a week's worth of time with him. I was 12 when I saw the movie for the first time, so obviously the implications of this number escaped me. I'm a little older and wiser (and coincidentally, listening to "The King of Wishful Thinking"), so let's do some handy long division here.

$3,000 divided by 7 days is $428.50 per day. Now, since Julie Roberts is a hooker (with a heart of gold, I know, I know), and hookers don't work regular 8 hour workdays, it is safe to assume that Richard Gere hired her for a full 24 hours a day. $428.50 divided by 24 hours comes out to $17 per hour.

$17 per hour?!

If my recollection serves me right, the $3,000 figure was the result of a sassy, increasingly heated negotiation between both parties (him clothed, her naked and encased in bubbles, no power differential here). And what was Julie Robert's reaction to his final offer? She yelped with pleasure, then duck dived under the freakishly soapy bathwater, and popped up, grinning wide like an Alaskan seal on crack.

Now, I may be overlooking some key points here. $17 per hour isn't too shabby. In 1990, Clinton had just initiated a minimum wage "hike" from $3.80 to $4.15. So fine, our girl Julia's doing good. She's at least making more than the 16 year old Dominican kid at McDonald's. If she keeps blowing more slumming millionaires like Richard Gere, she might accumulate enough stash to make that important symbolic transition from storing your cash in the toilet water tank, to stuffing it in your mattress. And, let's not forget that she does get to kick it at the penthouse suite in the Wilshire Beverly Hills, swill champagne and strawberries, attend the opera in diamonds (borrowed, mind you), and go shopping on Rodeo Drive with his platinum credit card.

On the other hand, she also suffers the humiliation of getting kicked out of upscale fashion boutiques because they "don't serve people like her," the anxiety of having to learn how to eat a proper seven course meal with appropriate silverware, the identity obliterating designation of herself as Richard Gere's "niece," a near rape by George "shrimp store" Costanza, and the ensuing cognitive dissonance at the end of their 7 day fee agreement, when she has to pack up her things and turn tricks on Hollywood and Vine.

After her self-esteem is shattered and her future is deemed uncertain (cuz hey, an educated hooker is a sad hooker), Richard Gere saves the day by pulling up to her place, overcoming his acrophobia, and scooping her up. Presumably, they live happily after after in domestic bliss, and Julie Roberts continues to create controversy at derby races by whooping and making fart sounds like Arsenio Hall.

Well negotiated, Mr Gere. Not a bad deal for $17 an hour. And man, what an awesome soundtrack.

Once upon a time,

There was a puppy named Mango. Mango lived in a house with a couple and their two children. The children were a boy and a girl named Jade and Jason. Their father and mother loved Jade, Jason, and Mango very much.

Every morning, Jade and Jason would take Mango on his daily morning walks. They like to walk up and down the streets, pointing out interesting things that caught their eye. There were many interesting things to see on their street.

There was Gigi the cat. Gigi liked to sit at the window sill, very still and quiet like a statue, and watch the world pass her by. Sometimes, Gigi would run up a tree, quick like an arrow, just so she could sit on tree branches and see the world a little better.

There was Alonzo the bird, who liked to sit on rooftops and sing. Alonzo had a beautiful voice. When Alonzo wanted to see the world a little better, he would spread his wings and fly away.

There was Jose the fish, who liked to swim around and around the neighborhood. Jose had shiny fins, and could swim faster and farther than anyone in the neighborhood.

One day, Mango tried to run up a tree trunk, but couldn't. He kept falling off! Then, he stretched his paws out and tried to fly, but he couldn't! And, he wanted to swim across the creek to say hi to the people in the other houses, but he couldn't!

Mango was sad. He wanted to see the world, just like they did. "Why can't I sit up on tree branches like Gigi the Cat? Or fly away like Alonzo the bird? Or swim really fast, like Jose the fish? What's wrong with me?"

Mango was so sad, in fact, that he didn't do all the things that made him happy anymore. When Jade and Jason came home, he didn't play fetch with him. He didn't want to sit up for a milk bone, and he didn't want to run and skip anymore.

Jade and Jason were sad too. They loved Mango, and wanted to see him wag his tail and be happy.

Then one day, something happened. A magic plant started growing in between the cracks in the sidewalk. This plant was really cool, and had petals full of neon shades, and glistened pink and green and blue in the sun. It was was tiny - about the size of your little finger. You could really miss it if you weren't looking closely.

Did Gigi the cat see the magic plant? No. She was up on her tree branch, looking down at the whole street. Right now, flowers and bushes were but a speck to her.

Did Alonzo the bird see the magic plant? No. He was flying away on his merry way, looking down at the neighborhood. Right now, people and cars were but a speck to him