Benjamin Franklin Spins Like A Stuck Pig In His Grave

“Those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety.” ~ Benjamin Franklin

Some of this information you’re about to read I’ve cribbed from a newsletter titled Imprimis. It’s a periodical sent out by Hillsdale College, a Liberal Arts university in Michigan.The ideas expressed match so seamlessly with mine I see little need to re-word what has been already written. So notice is hereby given . . . I have attributed the source.

One of my big contentions with “health care for everyone” is that not “everyone” pays for it. You, I, and others who feed the tax revenue system pay for it. Our system is hamstrung due in part to overuse by illegal immigrants. I’m not talking about immigrants or foreigners, or even naturalized citizens. Arizona and Southern California especially have HUGE problems with illegals crossing the border to have their children and obtain medical attention on our dime. This creates a mind boggling expense for hospitals, not to mention takes away from treating legal citizens who have health concerns as well. That kinda thing really pisses me off. I’m powerless to do much about it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t harbor ill feelings about it.

To make matters worse, some of these illegals feel they are entitled to many services, not the least of which is health care. I have a profound issue with that. They feel entitled to it. Yet they have no idea whatsoever what it is to be American at heart. They don’t care. They just know their country sucks and is corrupt beyond imagination, so they come here. I’m an Arizona native, so I can assure you I’m not talking out my ass on this.

Before I go on I need to say this: I have ZERO problem with those folks who are either in the pipline for naturalization, or for those who TRULY want to become American because they love this country and want to be contributors. My heart goes out to those folks.

So, having said all that, illegals, and other folks like them, feel they’re entitled to it.

They’re wrong. Period. Nobody is entitled to it. It is not a right guaranteed by our (note: OUR) Constitution.

The terms of our Constitution declare that every individual has a right to care for their health—that is not the same as a “right to health care.” Each of us has an obligation as an American to be accountable for our own well-being, to the degree we can be. You and I, for instance, are fairly healthy people. We have no business demanding that others take care of us ‘just because.’ I’d wager you and I both have too much pride for that anyway.

The right to take care of ones health is integral to our natural right to life; note the word ‘natural’. Government’s chief responsibility is to secure our natural rights. To secure them, not provide them. You can’t provide a natural right. Only God can. Any right man sets forth is typically in the form of law; man’s law does not equate to God’s law.

The right to care for ones health does not imply that government must provide health care, any more than our right to eat—in order to live—requires government to own the farms and raise the crops.

Hmmmm . . . does that sound hauntingly familiar?

It has the foul stench of Socialism to it.

The Constitution left the administration of public health—like that of most public goods—decentralized. The ubiquitous “marketplace” that occupies a cornerstone in our industrial and economic might does a pretty good job of guiding such things. I wouldn’t say it’s perfect, not by a long shot. But when you ask the government to take over you invite fraud and corruption on a gargantuan scale.

Here’s something that may surprise you: I firmly believe that the health care system needs a serious enema. Few on Capitol Hill would argue. We want to embrace reform out of compassion for those who can’t get proper access to it, or who have been egregiously cheated by insurance companies in the name of profits. That sort of behavior sickens me. I wish a plague upon all insurers who pull that kind of shit. Same goes for those perpetrating fraud upon insurers, who now will be only too happy to let us foot their health care and that of their 12 children, too. Here’s a novel idea, folks—keep your legs closed!

Placing healthcare in the hands of bureaucrats is not compassionate. Bureaucrats don’t make decisions about health care according to personal need or preference; they ration resources according to a dollar-driven social calculus. Think I’m kidding? Feast your eyes on this . . .

One of the Obama administrations’s point people on health care reform—a Dr. Ezekiel Emanuel—advocates something he calls a “whole life system”—one in which government makes treatment decisions for individuals using a statistical formula based on average life expectancy and “social usefulness.”

Oooooh . . . do you smell it too? There’s that stink again. So, the government will decide what’s best for you based on some actuarial table and your “social usefulness.” But wait, it gets better.

The plans which emerged from Congress have a Medicare board of unelected “specialists” whose job it would be to determine the program’s treatment protocols as a method of limiting costs. Again, you’ll get the treatment the government best feels you deserve so long as it’s cost effective. Nice, huh?

Congratulations, America! Don’t you feel better already?

I, as many Americans, find nauseating the thought that government should make decisions about how long people should live and who should be denied care. So if you should need any further proof that we, much like the ancient Romans, have frittered away our liberty for some false security, then ponder this: The idea of government-run health care is in direct conflict with our idea of America as a free society and the constitutional principles at its foundation. How far removed are we from decrying our current form of government and installing a Caesar? I can’t make this stuff up, That’s precisely what Rome did when the Roman Senate couldn’t pull it’s collective head out of its collective ass and get any work done. Sure, that certainly helped restore prosperity to Rome; it flourished for centuries, but at a cost of their political freedom, and to a lesser degree, their individual freedoms.

We are rushing headlong—and apparently, gleefully—into a welfare state. Do you really think that government subsidized health care is going to steer us clear of that? Do you want to chip in to take care of those who refuse to take care of themselves? I don’t mean people with legitimate ailments or infirmaries. I mean people who absolutely could get more exercise and eat better, but simply refuse to because, now, it costs them a whole lot less to see the doctor. Thanks to you and me.

I’m not real keen on that idea.

America will have little choice but to enter into a European-style welfare system if we continue to pour on entitlements. In some parts of Europe few people pay taxes—or pay none at all—while being simultaneously dependent on government benefits. Tax reduction becomes nigh impossible because more people have a stake in welfare than in producing wealth.

Let that bounce around in your brain for a few minutes: more people have a stake in welfare than in producing wealth. America didn’t become the nation she is without people who innovate, educate, research . . . people who do things, not wait to have them done for them. Is that what we’ve come to?

America has the best medical treatment in the world; without doubt, the most expensive. I don’t begrudge anyone that point. People come here from other countries to get care they can’t get in their own countries, in some cases because they are trapped by nationalized medical systems.

What really cheeses me about this whole thing, is that despite what Washington tells us, it won’t take long for lobbyists, special interests, and insurance companies to innovate new ways of fleecing the governent and us. They will prosper in the wake of what politicians clamored for. They have essentially gambled on pleasing a greater number of people for political gain—really, for votes. They will talk a good game about how they did it for Americans. What a steaming load. If they truly had our best interests in mind they would have given it time to be digested by we the people. Instead they opted to pull out the smoke-and-mirrors routine and set the PR dogs upon us.

Sit back and rub your tummies, America. This won’t bear fruit right away. I bet we may all be wagering our lives that in the next decade the fallout will begin. If not before.

I’m glad I have my own American flag. Now I can look at it and remember what it used to look like.

Considering the road we’re paving, Ben, I’d say you’re right . . . we deserve neither.

Read Full Post »

Inglorious Bastards

I’m rather enjoying the repeated news stories about America’s outrage over
bail-out banks and their princely CEO’s. If I may be so bold as to use current
vernacular: Bank Fail.

I’m in complete agreement with the frustrated masses—so for those of you who
think I’m a Republican, I can assure you I am not; not in political affiliation
anyway. The word you’re looking for, America, is egregious:

adjective: extraordinary in some bad way; glaring; flagrant

We, the taxpayers, give these tail-chasers BILLIONS of dollars because they
couldn’t properly self-govern themselves when it came to fleecing consumers. They used words like “risk’ and “market-driven.” I use words like “salaciously greedy” and “stupid.” Worse still, we weren’t even asked if we would mind if our government bailed them out. Personally, I’d have said no—that goes for the auto industry too.

Oh please, enough crying about how big they are. No one, especially the
government, gives a rats ass if you spend your way into personal oblivion. Sure, others around you may feed your monetary black hole, but unless you fix the problem yourself you’re pretty much screwed. We, as individuals, don’t rate a bail out—unless we’re a lobbyist or influential minority. White women and men, you don’t count anymore—unless you’re a lobbyist . . . or bank CEO.

Bitter? Just a little. How about the rest of us, you know, Joe and Mary everyday taxpayer. Where’s our fat bail out and golden parachute?

Oh yeah, in the toilet, along with the rest of the economy. Thanks Wall Street and cold, impersonable financial institutions.

Don’t give me any crap about these institutions being “too big to fail.” And
yes, I understand they paid the money back, startling quick if you ask me. Which makes me question how bad off they truly were. They not only live off our collective wallets, but they turn around and shower their CEO’s and such with bonuses large enough to comfortably support several families for a year. But that would mean hiring and spending money. Can’t have that—unless you’re a Democrat.

I heard that the Huffington Post has put in motion a campaign aimed squarely at the core of this frustration. They are encouraging consumers to move their money from these pantheons of indifferent fiscal terpitude to community banks. Now, I have never visited the Huffington Post, but I can say I have no problem firmly supporting this idea.

Sadly, I am fairly confident this will have little effect on the largest of
these institutions: Wells Fargo, JP Morgan Chase, Citicorp, and (laughably
named) Bank of America. Why? Because we Americans love to talk a good game, but we rarely suit up and take the field. Look no further than most every election cycle—every damn time there are huge cries to oust the incumbents because they refuse to get anything done. And what do we do . . . vote them back in.

Almost two decades ago I moved my meager account from what was then one of the largest banks in the state to a local credit union. I almost wish I would have waited until now. I can scarcely convey the delight I would take in closing my account with a large institution, smiling as I informed some lowly management drone that I could no longer stand the bitter taste of their contempt for the average consumer. I really don’t think they’d care, but I would enjoy it. More enjoyable still would be my personal campaign to encourage others to follow suit.

See folks, the only thing these people understand is money. They don’t care about you—they care about your money, and how much more of it they can insidiously extract from you. They’ll tell you they want you to stay with them, but if you told them they could keep the money but you were leaving anyway they’d shake your hand and wisk you out the door—and do so happily.

They need a bigger message to be sent. The don’t need a warm scolding with a finger gently wagged at them. They need a steel-toed boot in the crotch.

If you have the actual fortitude to embark on such a bold endeavor, you get extra brownie points from me—like it matters. Seriously though, you might be surprised what the smaller local banks can provide, starting with something as forgotten as the human touch.

I’m no economist. To be completely honest, to say math is not my strong suit would be generous. But I can perform the basic calculations that tell me I can’t afford to own my own home, nor could I qualify for the Cash For Clunkers program. I’m employed, thankfully, so I don’t qualify for food stamps, but I can’t get any extra help to so much as take one step toward upward mobility. I take somber comfort in knowing that I’m not alone.

I’m really not complaining. I do what I need to do in order to make ends meet. I try to be responsible with my money (you know, as opposed to reckless breathtakingly idiotic irresponsible). I don’t believe this will take any kind of deep root, but with enough word-of-mouth at the very least we might make them sweat a little . . .

Admit it, you want to see it too.

Read Full Post »

On The Second Day

It wasn’t the best of weekends. Sure, I enjoyed the time I spent with my son. I always do. Dad drove an hour-and-a-half up from Tucson to watch the SuperBowl with us. We’re not, by any stretch of the imagination, big football fans, but the local boys were playing in it, our own Arizona Cardinals. The mere fact they made it to the big show was amazing enough, and all the more reason to watch it (well, besides the commericals, of course). I think all three of us would almost certainly rather have been sitting at the ballpark watching the Diamondbacks, but when in Rome . . .

Now for what in television parlance is called a “jumpcut” — As necessary and challenging as any work or job can be, the constant wear and tear of unending demands and drop-your-life expectations takes its toll eventually. Seems there’s always some fire that needs tending to, some project that can’t plausibly wait until the week because the clients gravely need their data on the weekend, even though they’ve many times only given it to us on Friday evening. But that’s out of our control and the way the industry works. It had been some time since I can recall genuinely having a full weekend off without having to worry about such interruptions.

This past weekend was supposed to be one of those. As usual, it turned into a fresh steaming pile of s*** with an unruly quickness.

The boy and I had been at the park practicing baseball—that part I enjoyed. Each of us worker bees has a company-issued Satan’s Leash that we’re required—presumably by State employment law (yes, I’m being facetious, but it’s not too far from the truth)—to keep on our personage at all times, excepting those times when we’re cleared to sleep. Naturally some project from earlier in the week blew up (more on that in a moment) and since I was the only one who had the slightest inkling about it then I was the go-to guy . . . soon to be whipping boy. Didn’t matter the least that I was supposed to have the weekend off. I’m on the payroll, it’s that simple. As such, the call came and I had no choice but to heed it.

Dad had driven up from Tucson solely to spend some time with us, and I got to talk to him for all of five minutes. Who needs time like that when you can spend quality time with a client? (This is hardly the first time this has happened, hence my rant. It’s my blog, I can rant if I want to!)

So now you have the set up, a little discordant background music to enhance the reading experience.

The project wasn’t helped in the least due to my misunderstanding of the workings of the software being used. I wasn’t the only chef stirring the pot, but I’d been the last one at the stove. To say things didn’t go well would be about as appropriate as saying John McClane had a bad day in any of the Die Hard movies. You get the gist.

So the project was more monkeyed than I originally thought, absolutely aided by my ill-advised minstrations. None of us had set out to achieve such a piss-poor outcome. I got the brunt of the backlash because I was the last in line. The powers-that-be had placed all faith in me to know what the f*** I was doing, and as it turns out, I didn’t. So without further detail, I felt really bad about the results. Had I been of clearer understanding I could have made the necessary adjustments, and would still have taken heat but there would have been a tiny modicum of grace in the end.

Hell, who wants grace when you can put a gun to your head and spin the chambers? Grace . . . that’s for pussies.

I spent a fair part of the next day getting schooled about what went wrong, what was said, what shouldn’t have been said, what should have been done, etc. Days like that I feel like my stack of concerns is already one too many high, and I think we’ve all been there. It’s the least bit of fun any human should have. I let everything seep into every pore, absorbing every bit of fault and blame for something that should have gone much more smoothly. I’m just a lowly pawn in the overall scheme, but I hadn’t played chess that well in high school either. I worried and allowed myself to wade naked into the cesspool of angst.

And on top of all that, I learned about halfway through the day that my boss’s father had quite unexpectedly passed away. I felt bad for him, too.

Guilt, shame, concern, loss, anger, frustration. The mere thought of losing credibility assuredly leads to a deeper resolve (eventually), but in the overcast moments during the storm it’s like standing in a dust storm—there’s no direction you can turn where it doesn’t sting

I stewed most all day and into the early evening. Then I get a call from one of my co-workers. He was kinda checkin’ up on me. We talked for quite some time, mostly about work matters. Slowly the conversation turned to matters of faith and life in general. I didn’t know it at that moment, but deep within I had just peeked around the corner. I still felt like I had a better grasp on things when I stayed in the shadows, but damn if the view around that corner didn’t beckon me. We spoke of souls and why we’re here and speculated on where we were going. Suddenly, all the stuff I’d been fretting about seemed dwarfed, even stupid, by comparison. It was work, deserving of my attention and best efforts when I’m there, certainly, but it wasn’t life. I’d allowed it to overtake me, which is something of a huge flaw of mine.

So we hung up, and I hopped online to read a few blogs: SlightlyIgnorant, Good, Bad, and Ugly, WTF, and Ugly Ass Opinion. I laughed out loud, I smiled, I commented on a couple. It had the added value of completely removing me from my prior stupor. These are people every bit as real as you and I, people who have opinions, frustrations, heartbreaks, and say some of the strangest things . . . but it’s real folks. It has meaning beyond how much money we can make for someone else. It has perspective and color. It has humanity. Something lacking in other aspects of our daily lives.

So I finished up my reads and got ready for bed. I trod barefoot upon the carpet to my bedroom, turning out the lights as I went. The instant I sat on the edge of the bed my epiphany happened . . . it’s only work! I still retain my usual desire to pay attention to detail and get the job done the best I can, but you know what, it doesn’t—dammit, it shouldn’t—be part of every f***ing waking moment of every day of my life. I don’t have all the pressures and headaches that upper management has—nor do I have the juicy payday that comes with it. They’ve all worked hard to get where they’re at, and they all accept the positions they’re in and respond accordingly. My time is theirs when I’m on their clock.

My life is not, when I’m off the clock.

So, thanks to my co-worker, and some faceless folks who like to write too, I’m doing much better on the second day.

Read Full Post »

And The Panda Wept . . .

If I mention Lynne Truss, and you know what she’s about, then you may simply gaze upon the photo below and partake with me a generous portion of loathing for Non-Sticklers.

If you don’t know who Lynne Truss is—or for that matter what a stickler is—then here’s the skinny on both:

• Ms. Truss is the author of Eats, Shoots and Leaves, a clarion call for all Sticklers to unite in the daily struggle against Publi Illiterati. Translation: She’s a champion of proper grammar, especially in any public forum.
• A stickler is someone who can’t stand to see improper grammar publicly flaunted (much less incorrectly used anywhere else).

In that spirit I submit the first image below of a furniture store near me that is closing its doors for good. I’m sure the economy had everything to do with it, but the fact they opened directly across from an IKEA probably only expedited the eventuality of it.

Behold - The Dethroned Leather King

In case you can’t see the large painted letters on the window, allow me to paraphrase: “We gave it a shot, but didn’t play as good a game as we thought we could. Come take advantage of us!” Now, look at the image zoomed in:

“We Loose You Win”

My son and I have seen this a number of times now, and each time we have to mention it aloud yet once more, because we’re both incredulous. And in case you’re wondering, no, I never did go in and tell them it’s spelled wrong. I’m hopeful that they heard it from several people. I’d be willing to bet big money they never misspell “lose” again.

Read Full Post »

Now Showing

After mulling over the current recession, I have had something of a media-related epiphany. It seems obvious to me now that the economy is analagous to the marketing of a movie. Consider the following, if you will . . .

The Spin and Hype
You’ve paid your admittance (taxes, everywhere you burn cash . . . or earn cash)
You sit in the darkened theater waiting for your feature to start.
You are shown a number of previews for upcoming releases (Government spin doctors explaining how the scent of manure actually means the economy is rosy; sort of a ‘plausible deniability’ ploy).

The Previews
Most often, it’s the best or funniest bits of a movie that make it into the preview. That’s just Marketing 101. There’s little hint of the bad parts (unless the movie itself is just awful to begin with, and we’ve all seen at least one of those, haven’t we?) So we get the short attention span version of the movie, the warm fuzzy version that the studio wants us to see, to draw us in.

“It’s worth shelling out to see. C’mon, you’ll enjoy it Bring the family, have some popcorn!”

So based on what we’re shown, things seem in control and pretty good. Slick production, decent casting.

Months, or a Year Later . . . The Movie
We sat through the previews, we saw the commercials, read the ads in newspapers and magazines, and blissfully waited for the big premier. It promised to be quite the event, a true enough blockbuster.

And then it hits the screen, and you begin to question the hype. You feel cheated, maybe even angry that you were suckered into plunking down your hard earned (well-taxed) cash for this stinker. What really galls you is you could have waited to rent it, much less “own it on DVD or Blue Ray.”

Yet own it we do, while all playing parts as extras. It’s the Heaven’s Gate of economies.

The really scary part is some villian somewhere gave the greenlight to produce this mess, and is now skulking in some darkened corner, coveting all the cash he’s siphoned off in the process.

Out here in the desert Southwest, we’re seeing lots of empty storefronts, and not just mom-and-pop shops either: Mervyn’s, Linens And Things, large K-Marts, and numerous car dealerships. Unemployment is above 6% and rising. Assuredly that’s just scratching the surface. Things are at least as bad, if not worse, in other parts of the country.

This script needs a serious re-write, and an entirely new production team, starting with the director. Throwing money at it, Hollywood-style, isn’t going to do much but provide some cool special effects—and once those have passed then what do you have?

Things will get better, they always do. Meanwhile, however, I can tell you that ain’t butter on your popcorn, and those Raisinets may not be what you’re accustomed to. There’s an old adage which holds true for anything bad, not just movies and economies . . .

You can’t polish a turd.

Read Full Post »