The Baseline:
One of my favorite young friends is confronted with a life changing dilemma occasioned by Obamacare. This young man is very fit, outgoing, pleasant, hard-working and ostensibly as healthy as an organic all-veggie salad without dressing.
He's my "go to" guy at work: dependable, willing, and good. He lives in a sweet little efficiency apartment right off Napoleon, which he rents for a relative pittance because the landlady who owns the "Big House" likes him a lot. And, ahem, I'll just bet she does.
Several times a week he works out at a "Cross-Fit" business on Tchoupitoulas Street, not far from my house. Often enough, he'll fly by on his bicycle when I'm outside tending to the yard, yell out a greeting and wave. Sometimes, when he's returning from a hard go at it, he'll stop to chat, shirtless, sweaty, and sated physically in the way only work, exercise, or sex can deliver. Other times we'll cross paths on Magazine Street on our bikes as I'm headed to or from Breaux Mart and he's headed to or from home. Yes, we both bike in defiance of irrational drivers on Magazine because we have that right; and, contrary to finger-waving scolds, the bordering, narrow, two-sided solidly parked streets are just as dangerous. Also, I'm old and careful; he is young and "bullet-proof."
Several weeks ago, my young friend met a girl at the "Cross-Fit" facility. She is a former U.S. Olympic Team gymnast who has come back from significant career ending sports injuries, and continues to work out regularly. Oh, and yes, she is a knock out. And, of course, they've hit it off.
But the last time he saw her was the Monday after Jazz Fest. They did all day at Jazz Fest on the closing Sunday, then next morning coffee and beignets in the French Quarter, and said goodbye as she left on the drive to Atlanta in her already packed car.
Who Would've Thought It?
As it happens, the young lady works in marketing for a large pharmaceutical company. Because of the anticipated surge in drug sales resulting from the expanded insurance coverage engendered by Obamacare, she was offered a new position which pays lots more money. But she now will have to live in Atlanta.
So, there she goes. In this terrible economy, who could blame her?
Maybe you saw this coming. She wants my young friend and associate to relocate with her. He has asked me what I think. Heaven only knows why.
Me And My Badass Advice:
I have turned-down an offer to relocate from New Orleans for a better job. But I was older than my friend and well settled, married and with a family.
Except that he loves New Orleans like I do, along with the caveat that he originally hails from Wisconsin, he could be happy and easily make it anywhere. So, what should I say?
Not being very smart or particularly original, I resorted to referencing a fairly icky line from an equally icky song. The only reason I'm conversant with the lyric at all is because I often listen to the Jimmy Buffet Pandora stream through my Bluetooth device at work. In that mix is included some pseudo-country sounding artists I can't even identify for this writing, and think not important enough to research. Anyway, here, more or less, is the line: "Don't be falling in love as she's walking away."
Obamacare Might Bank Shot Disrupt My Life.
The jury is still out. But if I had to guess, the long distance relationship is going to be between me and my young friend, not him and his girl. Probably it should be.
See, I told you Obamacare can disrupt lives. Get Mary on the phone. Unlike the other tales, it's true. And she may actually want to hear about this one.
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