On the Trail

So, there I was, walking down the W&OD Trail, minding my own business, when I saw this coming at me:

It would just be Tuesday pretty much anywhere in California, but a bit unusual for The People’s Republic.

 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

State of confusion

Filed under the conundrum that is the healthcare system in America:

A couple of weeks ago, CenterWell, which is the mail order prescription subsidiary of Humana’s pharmacy benefit management (PBM) operation, emailed me that they were processing autorefills of three prescriptions. Fine.

A few days later, I got a message from my PCP indicating that she’d received the request for refill, but that it’s good practice to check in periodically with patients on maintenance meds, so would I make an appointment? Only—she’s not the prescriber for these particular drugs. I replied asking if she wanted me to transfer the management from my other provider to her; she declined for [reasons]. Fine.

(Well, actually, not entirely fine. Seems to me that she could have looked at my history and realized that she is not, in fact, the prescriber, and maybe reached out to me for clarification. I mean—the meds are listed in my portal records; you knew there was a portal, right?—but there’s clearly no record that she or any other provider in the practice prescribed them. I know things get muddled when Amazon takes over, but still.)

So I called CenterWell to find out why this practice and not my actual prescriber got the refill request and got through to a representative who identified herself thus: “This is Betty [I’ll say], your pharmacy advocate.”

I explained the situation—for some reason CenterWell contacted my PCP and not the (sole-practitioner) specialist for the refill; what gives? Well, Betty, my pharmacy advocate, put me on hold for a while and then came back to say, no, they’d sent the fax request (they only do fax) to [specialist’s] fax, so everything was as it should be. I asked why, then, did it show up at PCP and not [specialist]. Well, she couldn’t say, because that’s the fax number they have, so…

I replied that whatever number they have is clearly not his, because it ended up at PCP. Betty, my pharmacy advocate, asked if [specialist] isn’t part of that practice. No—he’s a sole practitioner and in fact operates in a different state.

To give her credit, Betty, my pharmacy advocate, did try calling him to find out what gives, but she got no response, as I knew she would. He’s a sole practitioner and has appointments and no receptionist. She returned to the line and reported her lack of success, and I explained why that would be. I said that if she left a voicemail, he’d get back with her, but she’s not allowed to get callbacks.

Again, she asked if I was sure that [specialist] isn’t part of the (admittedly huge, found in many states) practice. I said no—the specific PCP is in Virginia; [specialist] is in DC. Betty, my pharmacy advocate, didn’t quite get that—what state? The District of Columbia.

“He’s in the state of Columbia?”

“No—he’s in the District of Columbia; our nation’s capital.”

Well—in the end, I could see that I was not going to get anywhere with Betty, my pharmacy advocate, so I said I’d just contact [specialist] and have him submit new prescriptions every three months, instead of one 90-day script with a refill; would that work? Yes, she said (probably relieved); that will work.

So I thanked Betty, my pharmacy advocate for her time and emailed [specialist]. He called me back and we had a good laugh about it. I knew he had, in fact, once worked for the gigantic PCP—like 10-12 years ago; evidently that fax number (which is in the 617 area code, not 202 for DC or 703 for this part of Virginia) still appears in databases and the effort to correct it is more than your life is worth. We agreed on the every-three-months plan and there it is.

The thing about this encounter is that these gigantic companies give their frontline customer service/pharmacy advocate people a script and no agency so that they are not really able to provide service or advocate. Betty, my pharmacy advocate, and her colleagues have no ability to do anything that can’t be realized in real time—no voice mails, no emails, no call backs; only what they can do while the customer is actually on the line with them. She tried, within the strictures Humana/CenterWell placed on her, to help, but she had no ability to move outside a very small box. It took two individuals—me and [specialist] to work out a solution, which places the burden on getting the products/services for which I pay Humana (market cap: $36.7B) delivered. Me, a retired person, and [specialist], a sole practitioner.

Seems to me that this is kind of backwards, but they make it so exhausting to even get what you’re paying for that trying to get them to fix their system is just beyond the beyond.

You know—a conundrum.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Fan mail from some flounder

I don’t know what list I’m on that resulted in Erika Kirk sending me junk mail, but imagine my words when I saw this envelop in my mailbox:

Yes—the level of narcissism to just have your name as the complete return address is stunning.

The pitch was what you’d expect:

(The “personal reply” I was to send was framed in $25 increments.) As was my response: “Oh, hon—no.”

Ripped it all up and tossed it in the recycling bin.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Gratitude Monday: calm before the inferno

Both April and May this year were absolute yo-yos, weatherwise. We’d go from 90+ to low 60s in 48 hours, then back up to the 80s. I switched between heat and air conditioning in my house at least seven times. The Memorial Day weekend was four days of overcast and rain, so I was kind of surprised to see the sun peep out late last week.

And then Saturday and yesterday were absolutely pristine, clear, sunny days with highs in the low 70s. Zero (or at least, very low) humidity. Just beautiful. Patio door and windows open beautiful.

This being the environs of The District They Call Columbia, I know we’re headed for at least three months of bad hair day—temps in the 90s, with humidity right up there, when walking out of an air conditioned building fogs your glasses. So my gratitude today is for these two lovely, clear-the-air days.

Here’s a family that also enjoyed the respite.

 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

I am dangerous

So, the Kleptocrat & Co. are taking over the National Mall to perpetrate something they’re calling the Great American State Fair as part of his notion of a 250^th birthday celebration of US independence. It runs from 25 June to 10 July (following the 14 June UFC match taking place at the White Trash House, to celebrate his 80^th birthday. You may recall that last year he commandeered the US Army to stage a military parade down Pennsylvania Avenue for the occasion; it did not whelm).

I don’t know exactly what this particular clown show is about; their PR says something about “the future of AI” and a 110ft ferris wheel. It’s meant to be an extravaganza with all 56 states and territories represented, but I’m imagining it hasn’t been especially well organized.

Viz: this is the stated lineup of performers, as released Wednesday:

I mean—it’s kind of a second-chance for a lot of these 20^th Century performers, but half of Milli Vanilli is dead, so maybe there will be some kind of séance element?

As of yesterday, Morris Day and the Time, Young MC, The Commodores and C+C Music Factory have announced they are not, in fact, going to perform. Oh—and Milli Vanilli (Millo Vanillo?) claim they were never contacted about the gig. (And, Martina—girl, run!)

So our earworm for today is Morris Day and The Time, performing “Jungle Love” from Purple Rain.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Among us

We here in the environs of the District They Call Columbia have been in a Seattle weather pattern for nearly a week. It’s been completely overcast since last Friday; Friday and Saturday it rained all day; every day since has seen at least some sprinkles.

(The rotting Kleptocrat cited "bad weather" when he moved yesterday's Cabinet meeting from Camp David to the White House. Right after returning from Walter Reed, where he got his third "annual" medical check-up since taking office 15 months ago. I mean...)

So of course the mushrooms are loving it. This crop is just from yesterday morning, when the weather was 71F and soupy at 0800.

I did not harvest any. I just let them live their best lives.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Prime seating

I came across this on my walk Monday morning:

It was alongside the W&OD Trail, near absolutely nothing; closest office building 100 yards across Sunset Hills and closest residential enclave beyond the third hole of the golf course. So I don’t know whether this is some kind of statement, or a prank, or what.

But it was gone yesterday morning.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Waiting for me

I noticed this after one of our recent rain storms. It seemed beautiful to me, so I took the photo.

It’s all around us, if we look.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Gratitude Monday: Full measure

It seems appropriate that Memorial Day is a Monday holiday, because it’s the day we’re meant to reflect upon the sacrifices of the men and women who defend our country.

You know—to express gratitude in some way for their willingness to trade their lives for the security of our society.

As a military historian with a focus on the human element of conflict, it’s always been clear to me that the real cost of war isn’t the treasure, it’s the blood. It’s the sons and daughters who go into harm’s way and never return, or who return so altered as to never really find their way back. As we reflect upon those costs, we really ought to consider the suicide rate of combat veterans; per Department of Veterans Affairs figures, 17.5 veterans killed themselves every day in 2025. That’s 6500 per year. I’m not going to talk about drug and alcohol addiction or homeless rates resulting from PTSD; they’re line items on the butcher’s bill, too.

I wonder what that says about our society that we send these people out to do terrible things on our behalf and then essentially shrug our shoulders and avert our eyes when they come back not in bandbox tiptop condition? Kinda feels like a broken contract to me.

Memorial Day marks the “official” start of summer in the US; rather like acknowledging the dead who made possible the picnics and fireworks of Independence Day. I kind of shudder to think what Cadet Bonespurs will do to mark the occasion, in this, our 250^th anniversary of nationhood. He’s certainly been doing his part to increase the population at military cemeteries, although of course that’s just a collateral part of his primary goal, which has always been self-aggrandizement and -enrichment.

But it’s Memorial Day and Gratitude Monday. I’m grateful to my brothers and sisters who, through the generations, have given, as Lincoln said, “the last full measure of devotion.” I take it personally.

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

It's a crime

In honor of the Kleptocrat’s latest massive theft from the US treasury—the “settlement” his acting Attorney General handed him of $1.8B to disburse as he sees fit to his minions, today’s earworm is Pink Floyd’s “Money”.

Thanks, Republicans—we are so fucked.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu