Today is Someday: Book 3 - Franny and Zooey
This. Goddamn it. THIS was what I was hoping for.
There seems to be a growing and yet infinite amount of "Best Book" lists (one maybe might want to use the term innumerable). An aggregate collection of those best-of-the-bests now contains hundreds of books—thousands when they are spread-grouped by genre/decade/language. J.D. Salinger's Franny and Zooey is on almost all of them and near the top of many.
When I walk into my favorite bookstore on the planet I head straight for the Gold Room where I begin browsing the Fantasy/Science Fiction shelves and then the Action/Suspense/Thriller sections before I cross the isle to take a gander at the Mysteries; if I'ven't (is a double contraction too many?) found enough to sate my brain for the coming weeks, I try the coffee shop and scan the graphic novels before walking down a few steps to the Blue Room in order to peruse the Small Press/Literature areas. Still not carrying enough? Green Room for New Release/Non-Fiction and then Sale Books.
The first reason I've avoided reading F&Z for so long is because it was in the Red Room (World Religion) or the Blue Room (Classic Literature). Also, I have a clear economic aversion against small books because I want my entertainment money to stretch and F&Z is only a four-hour book at best.
I've avoided reading F&Z for so long because when I was but twenty-one years old Mark Chapman became, overnight and forevermore, Mark David Chapman (one maybe might want to use the term with a bullet...but should immediately suppress that urge). Chapman caused me to read my first J.D. Salinger: Catcher in the Rye. At the time and in hindsight, I recognize my own scorn at my least common denominator pandering and (for more than the obvious reason) I wish I could, instead, say that I learned the metaphor of Holden Caulfield's dream after a smoky-eyed Yugoslavian college girlfriend recommended it. The truth is rarely so. But. I didn't identify with Caulfield, or his surroundings, or life, or outlook. Even a little bit. And I was a full-time art college student at the time.
Franny and Zooey is non-abstract, photo-realistic, character based, and the most tightly descriptive successful balancing...nay juggling act I have ever read. With the complete human condition rendered perfectly in the center, unchallengeable objective knowledge solidly detailed on one end of the fulcrum, and spiritual belief critically explained on the other. It gets my highest recommendation. I'm really happy today was someday.
There seems to be a growing and yet infinite amount of "Best Book" lists (one maybe might want to use the term innumerable). An aggregate collection of those best-of-the-bests now contains hundreds of books—thousands when they are spread-grouped by genre/decade/language. J.D. Salinger's Franny and Zooey is on almost all of them and near the top of many.
When I walk into my favorite bookstore on the planet I head straight for the Gold Room where I begin browsing the Fantasy/Science Fiction shelves and then the Action/Suspense/Thriller sections before I cross the isle to take a gander at the Mysteries; if I'ven't (is a double contraction too many?) found enough to sate my brain for the coming weeks, I try the coffee shop and scan the graphic novels before walking down a few steps to the Blue Room in order to peruse the Small Press/Literature areas. Still not carrying enough? Green Room for New Release/Non-Fiction and then Sale Books.
The first reason I've avoided reading F&Z for so long is because it was in the Red Room (World Religion) or the Blue Room (Classic Literature). Also, I have a clear economic aversion against small books because I want my entertainment money to stretch and F&Z is only a four-hour book at best.
I've avoided reading F&Z for so long because when I was but twenty-one years old Mark Chapman became, overnight and forevermore, Mark David Chapman (one maybe might want to use the term with a bullet...but should immediately suppress that urge). Chapman caused me to read my first J.D. Salinger: Catcher in the Rye. At the time and in hindsight, I recognize my own scorn at my least common denominator pandering and (for more than the obvious reason) I wish I could, instead, say that I learned the metaphor of Holden Caulfield's dream after a smoky-eyed Yugoslavian college girlfriend recommended it. The truth is rarely so. But. I didn't identify with Caulfield, or his surroundings, or life, or outlook. Even a little bit. And I was a full-time art college student at the time.
Franny and Zooey is non-abstract, photo-realistic, character based, and the most tightly descriptive successful balancing...nay juggling act I have ever read. With the complete human condition rendered perfectly in the center, unchallengeable objective knowledge solidly detailed on one end of the fulcrum, and spiritual belief critically explained on the other. It gets my highest recommendation. I'm really happy today was someday.
Today is Someday: Book 2 - A Clockwork Orange
Today is Someday: Book 1 - Watership Down
Today is Someday - Book 2 A Clockwork Orange
I'm pleased with the 50th anniversary edition of Anthony Burgess's A Clockwork Orange (2012, Nolton & Co) not only because it includes the original last chapter which has been omitted from earlier US editions, but—more importantly—because it contains the 17-page nonfiction article, The Clockwork Condition, written after the Kubrick film catapulted Burgess onto the international stage in 1973.Burgess's nadsat 'teen-language' caused me to quit reading this book when I, myself, first attempted it as a teenager and, later, after I saw the film, I chose not to re-attempt reading it.
I'm glad I (finally) chose to read it. Reading nadsat seemed to speed my reading rather than slow it. It entered my brain in this manner:
My nouns and I were verbing at the adjective bar when an adjective noun, who'd previously been sitting with a group of rather odd adjective nouns across the bar from us, stood, and began to sing in the most adverbially adjective way imaginable. Her voice sounded like it came from the adjective noun. My friend Dim made a adjectively-noun noise with his noun, which displeased me in an extreme way.Rather quickly I began to intuit (without a glossary) that what I was reading was:
My friends and I were getting stoned at the local bar when a beautiful woman, who'd previously been sitting with a group of rather odd older men across the bar from us, stood, and began to sing in the most amagingly wonderful way imaginable. Her voice sounded like it came from the topmost heavens. My friend Dim made a rude-raspberry noise with his lips, which displeased me in an extreme way.While the book's story adheres to the film's plotline reasonably close, there are a few important points where the film failed and those failures affect the intent of the author and deserve comment:
1 - Burgess's teenage gangs are all between the ages of thirteen and fifteen. Burgess's main character is in High School and the two girls he picks up at the music store are 11-year old tweens. Kubrick's gangs are all young adults and so are the women he has sex with.
2 - Burgess's main character spends several years in prison, but is still only about 17-years old when he's released from prison. Kubrick's character seems to be incarcerated a very short time and when he is released we wonder why a 24-year old is bitching at his parents for renting out his room.
There is nothing to see or hear except what is not here to see
Sometimes it's more important to note the absences, what's missing, than to focus on what is visibly present.
In 2002, within a few short months of each other, I stopped investigating and stopped husbanding after twenty years and ten years of service, respectfully. That was the year I let my hair down for the first time in my life (literally as well as figuratively).
Before I retired, my latter years as a military investigator was spent supervising (an essential element of which was inspecting case files). One way to review closed criminal cases is to look for what the first-echelon investigators and supervisors overlooked.
Example criminal case: accident or suicide - after ingesting a relatively large quantity of intoxicants (legal and illegal) the victim apparently disrobed, placed his folded clothes on the hallway floor outside his hotel room, opened the window and stepped out (or fell, or was pushed). The scene (in Amsterdam, Holland, The Netherlands) was described, sketched and photographed in detail. Witnesses were interviewed thoroughly. Autopsy, check. Toxicology, check.
The only important thing I discovered missing: the height fallen. Nowhere in the file was there a distance from the second floor windowsill to the sidewalk. Added confusion: the European second floor is the third floor in the US (the ground floor in Amsterdam is 0). The investigators and their immediate supervisors failed to determine how far the victim/subject fell. [Based on examination of crime scene photographs, I estimated it was over thirty feet—because "ground floor" was, maybe, half a flight of steps above "street level" and ceiling-heights appeared almost three meters high—but, guessing is not investigating. I directed the investigators to go back and measure/document the exact distance.]
"Why drive three hours to measure that distance, Chief, seems like a extreme waste of time and money for a closed accidental fatality case."
I looked sternly at the investigator while I "air typed" with my fingers, "Dear Senator Helpmeout, my son's death is listed under 'accidental means' and the file, which I obtained under a FOIA request, says he 'stepped or jumped' out of a 'second-story window'. My son was a good boy and I do not think that he would have voluntarily taken all the drugs listed in the toxicology report, but even if he did, how is it possible for him to have died falling from a second story window? I could jump out of my bedroom window - on the second story of our house - and the worse thing that would happen is I might sprain my ankle."
Non-sequitur:
Most people let their hair down when they first move out of their parent's house. I didn't. With never a pause, I morphed from overly responsible teenager putting himself through college to young soldier taking care of an unplanned family to adult with two cats in the yard and we'll get-together then, son, you know we'll have a good time then. So...when I found myself retired and single in Prescott, Arizona at the age of 42...I dove head-first into a auto-didactic double major of meditative self-awareness and immersion in nature. During which, I experimented with—among other things; some foolish, others less-so—automatic writing.
With my eyes closed, in a light meditative state, I spoke questions aloud and my hand scribbled answers on a large sheet of paper. After a large much of nothing memorable the following happened:
Me: How old will I be when I die?
My right hand (eyes still closed): Fifty three.
Me: What day of the year will I die?
My right hand (eyes still closed): 31 December.
Even at the time I never paid much heed to it. Over the past decade, I mentioned it, jokingly, a few times when a conversation topic turned to "weird experiences."
Around 2007, when the 21 December 2012 Myan-apocalypse began to hit fringe people's radar, I - again - recalled my own faux-ominous date o' death based on nothing but my own foolishness. One which was, then, supposed to be 31 Dec 2012.
That was a week ago, and all of our heads, including my own, are still snapping.
I'm fine.
How you doin?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I am attempting to point out that we all rarely pay attention to the obvious, staring-us-in-the-face, always present thing-on-our-mind, which is (may be) not thought about very often.
We would-maybe-kinda like to know when we are going to die.
We always consider it will happen sometime in the future. And not just the future. Distant future. Ten years from now. At least. We assume that it will happen when we are old. And we never think we are old. Not old enough to die of old age.
We all always assume: 'tomorrow will be another day'.
We rarely consider that tomorrow could be the last day. And we don't focus on the idea that when our last day arrives, just like yesterday arrived—that it will almost always be unknown that it is the last day. Period. The end of the world, from our perspective, is the end. Full stop.
Even as we are falling thirty-five feet to our seconds-away demise, hope I don't sprain my ankle from this second floor window is our minds last.
Open Letter to Senator Wyden
Dear Senator Wyden,
My suggestion is for a new national law which would immediately employ over a million people in 48 states. Because this suggested new law wouldn't effect our state or the state of New Jersey, I think this bill should be co-sponored by someone like Senator Menendez (D, NJ).
Using the Emergency Highway Energy Conservation Act of 1974 as a template, and incorporating sunset provisions (for no shorter than five years) I suggest a bill which would duplicate ORS480.315 making self-service gas stations illegal nation-wide.
Additional suggested requirements which should be included in the bill (which would affect Oregon and NJ):
- Require a dispensing license (which will have a fee which is similar to an alcohol certification or a food preparation license). This training can be made available online, but could only be issued in person (by a licensed gasoline retailer) to US citizens who are at least 18 years old. (The purpose of the law is to employ out-of-work adults, not high school students and illegal immigrants.)
- Require each State Fire Marshal to employ additional Inspectors, funded by the additional fees and fines.
There are many safety and equality justifications cited as to why full-service may be better than self, but I suggest this new national law only be proposed in order to quickly employ a large quantity of Americans. I estimate this law would employ between 1.2 and 1.8 million people.
Obviously, all—or almost all—of these employees would be minimum-wage, less-than-full-time, non-benefit, employees. And, also obviously, the fuel distribution companies would raise the cost of gas and pass the added cost to the end-consumer (I estimate that the cost of gas would increase between 10 and 15 cents a gallon). None the less, the added jobs would definitely spur spending and grow our economy at a time when it is most needed.
My quick calculations indicate there would be about 240,000 gas stations affected.
I've been wondering, for some years now, about the incessant "job creation speechifying." I think if this new law were proposed by an Oregon Senator, he would be seen as proposing a fix which (because it would have no direct benefit in his state and was only an attempt to improve the national economy) would quickly employ millions of Americans.
I hope my suggestion is of some use.
Veach Glines
My suggestion is for a new national law which would immediately employ over a million people in 48 states. Because this suggested new law wouldn't effect our state or the state of New Jersey, I think this bill should be co-sponored by someone like Senator Menendez (D, NJ).
Using the Emergency Highway Energy Conservation Act of 1974 as a template, and incorporating sunset provisions (for no shorter than five years) I suggest a bill which would duplicate ORS480.315 making self-service gas stations illegal nation-wide.
Additional suggested requirements which should be included in the bill (which would affect Oregon and NJ):
- Require a dispensing license (which will have a fee which is similar to an alcohol certification or a food preparation license). This training can be made available online, but could only be issued in person (by a licensed gasoline retailer) to US citizens who are at least 18 years old. (The purpose of the law is to employ out-of-work adults, not high school students and illegal immigrants.)
- Require each State Fire Marshal to employ additional Inspectors, funded by the additional fees and fines.
There are many safety and equality justifications cited as to why full-service may be better than self, but I suggest this new national law only be proposed in order to quickly employ a large quantity of Americans. I estimate this law would employ between 1.2 and 1.8 million people.
Obviously, all—or almost all—of these employees would be minimum-wage, less-than-full-time, non-benefit, employees. And, also obviously, the fuel distribution companies would raise the cost of gas and pass the added cost to the end-consumer (I estimate that the cost of gas would increase between 10 and 15 cents a gallon). None the less, the added jobs would definitely spur spending and grow our economy at a time when it is most needed.
My quick calculations indicate there would be about 240,000 gas stations affected.
I've been wondering, for some years now, about the incessant "job creation speechifying." I think if this new law were proposed by an Oregon Senator, he would be seen as proposing a fix which (because it would have no direct benefit in his state and was only an attempt to improve the national economy) would quickly employ millions of Americans.
I hope my suggestion is of some use.
Veach Glines
Dangerous Artists?
Although this banner is riddled with wrong on many levels, it is that very fact which explains why people are drawn to it.This is not an actual poster from the McCarthy-era (a claim made by the type of individuals who also choose to think that contrails are chemtrails and be-damned with hot exhaust/cold atmosphere physics).
Artists don't mix. They certainly are a part of all of human society no matter how one decides to pigeonhole or categorize, but—mostly—creative types don't mix very well. We try, dammit, but we don't often succeed.
Creative people want to be perceived as out-beyond-the-edge and as non-conformists. And those who are driven to create would absolutely love to wear the label: most dangerous. However, every artist I've ever known is no more threatening than a drifting cloud of condensed water vapor.
Today is Someday: Book 1 - Watership Down
This is the first book in my Today is Someday series. I'd hoped
to like this more than I did and I hope the next should-already-have-read-classic is better. A few more like this one and my list will quickly relapse back into I'm Fine With Tomorrow Being Someday.I first failed to read Watership Down in High School (at that time it had been around for only a few years and was assigned reading). I could only get through a few chapters back then and wrote a paper from the cliff notes...as I occasionally did when I was fifteen.
Now, I can truthfully say I've read it. I've lied to myself and others for almost forty years.
The plot was interesting. The suspense was deftly handled. The characters are wonderfully solid. But...the author was not able to always keep me in the story (as I believe is the job of good authors).
Violations of proper grammar abound. Odd, clunky, and irritating changes in tone and point of view continually throw the reader off the page. First person becomes third person singular switches to third person dual which slides into omniscient and then quickly shifts to detached. It feels like two dozen short stories instead of a 24-chapter book (which made more sense to me after I read the introduction, which I did after reading the book because whenever a forty year old book contains a 'new introduction' it most-probably contains spoilers).
Then there is this type of constant foolishness:
"I need to clearly explain my dissatisfaction," Veach thought. "But I wonder what would be a good way to do that?"
"There are some problems which could easily have been fixed with a good editor," Veach said. "Because. Of all the many ways to smoothly mix a character's thoughts and dialogue this, dear reader, is definitely not one of them."
Jesus Henry Christ - review (☆☆☆☆)
Although Wes Anderson had no part in the production of this film, the director—Dennis Lee—is to Wes Anderson as Blind Melon is to Led Zeppelin.Jesus Henry Christ is one of those 'hidden gem' feel-good films that (unfortunate for those who enjoy intelligently scripted, well-acted, films on the big screen) slipped in-to and out-of theaters almost a year ago without notice...mine, yours, or anyone else's. It's now available on all home-viewing formats. To miss it now is nobody's downloadable fault but your own.
It's not as whack-a-doodle as a Wes Anderson, but in many places it looks, feels, and sounds so much like a Royal... Aquatic... duck... (named Rush) that one may desire to pause the film and check IMDB to determine if, maybe, Mr Anderson was some kind of Producer (He was not, Julia Roberts was).
also don't continue to avoid:
Stop blowing smoke up my ass!
The first time I heard 'Are you trying to blow smoke up my ass?' was in this context:
Drill Sergeant: What's wrong with you private? You failed to accomplish a simple task! Why?!
Private: I thought you said, "place all open liquids in the trash can," Drill Sergeant.
Drill Sergeant: (holding a green plastic bottle at eye level) What is this, Private?
Private: Shampoo, Drill Sergeant.
Drill Sergeant: Is it a half-empty bottle of shampoo, Private?
Private: Yes sir.Drill Sergeant: WHAT?
Private: Yes... Drill Sergeant!
Drill Sergeant: Why is it not in the can, Private?
Private: Because it's... I didn't think it was... liquid.
Drill Sergeant: Is it a gas?
Private: (starts to shake his head) N...
Drill Sergeant: Is it SOLID?
Private: (still shaking his head) no...
Drill Sergeant: Then what?!
Private: A.. a.. gel. Drill Sergeant.
Drill Sergeant: Are you trying to blow smoke up my ass?
Private: n... No, Drill Sergeant.
Drill Sergeant: (twisting the top off of the bottle) cup your hands in front of you, Private.
(At this point the Private placed his cupped palms together in front of his belt.)
Drill Sergeant: (peering closely at the side and front of the Private's face as if he were looking for the smallest flaw, or eye movement, or shift from the position of attention) PALMS UP! Are you an idiot, Private?
Private: No, Drill Sergeant!
Drill Sergeant: (tipping the bottle over the Private's hands) We. Will. See. Private. We will see.
(At this point the shampoo began to ooze out of the bottle and coat the Private's hands.)
Drill Sergeant: Does this feel like a glob of gel has fallen into your hands? Or. Does this feel like a liquid is pouring into your hands?
Private: A.. a liquid. Drill Sergeant. Sorry, Drill Sergeant.
Drill Sergeant: So you were trying to blow smoke up my ass, weren't you?
Private: No Drill Sergeant.
Drill Sergeant: (pointing) Go in that latrine. Wash the liquid soap off your hands. And get back in my formation. You have thirty seconds. GO!
(At this point the Drill Sergeant handed the bottle and cap to another Private in our formation and directed him to dispose of the bottle and return to the formation.)
Drill Sergeant: It appears that my instructions were unclear. ALL liquids are prohibited in my barracks. All medications OF ANY KIND are prohibited in my barracks. I asked if there were questions, got none, and - yet - I still found a liquid. On the command of move, you all will have another FULL MINUTE to search your belongings for liquids and medicines, dispose of them in the center trash bin, and return to the position of attention in formation. MOVE!!
(At this point some soldiers began to scramble again and more bottles of various types were thrown away. The Private returned from the latrine and the Drill Sergeant began to holler at him about the mess he made by dripping shampoo on the floor and the latrine door. The private then wiped up the drips with paper towels.)
Drill Sergeant: (over the sound of the Private counting off his push-ups) You ALL better be back in my formation by NOW! If I find ONE more liquid, or ANY medicine of ANY kind, that means you're ALL blowing smoke up my ASS!
(Three duffle bags later he found a small bottle of saline solution for soft contacts. We all began to do push ups, until it was time to do squat-thrusts, until it was time to do wish-bones, until it was time to do more push-ups.)
It is nice to know the (supposedly true) origin of the phrase. I must admit I find it difficult to take this explanation 100% seriously; even after seeing the actual device and seeing the old drawings. It's too easy to fabricate an item and fake the explanation for me to swallow anything this far fetched hook-line-and-sinker (as it were).
I have used the phrase in it's bastardized form of either "I-think-you-are-being-less-than-truthful" as well as "Stop-using-foolishly-overt-flattery-because-it-isn't-working".
Until today, if someone were to tell me about an old British custom of reviving drowned people by blowing smoke up their ass...I would have replied: "Do you believe it was a real custom? If so, I think you are blowing smoke up my ass."
But—ever willing to play devil's advocate—why be so positive it doesn't work? Just because it sounds like a bag of leeches?
I've heard about butt-chugging. I've read how Marlyn Monroe insured her last suicide attempt was successful. Is it possible that a gust of nicotine absorbed through the rectum will cause someone who just inhaled a few cups of water to violently cough?
WOOL by Hugh Howey - review (☆☆☆☆)
This is a first for me: a 540 page, self-published SF book that's
can't-put-it-down good. I plan to immediately hunt for more Hugh Howey
books.To accurately review this book I need to explain why it was not 5-star 'amazing' and only 4-star 'really liked it'. Simply put: for a novel to get my highest rating it needs to stir emotions and my intelligence. The first current-day author who comes to mind (who always does both) is Patrick Rothfuss.
PROS: The milieu in WOOL is expertly described and imaginatively revealed. Every character is rendered with finesse; we quickly care about these characters. The story unfolds at the right speed...the reader figures out what will come next just a bit before the characters do. The grammar is flawless. The plot exposition is perfect with a great beginning, an informative middle, and an explosive third act.
CONS: Even with a large variety of death on display, WOOL isn't gory, gritty, or dark and it is barbie-and-ken asexual. The target audience is pre-teens and teens; adults will like this book as much as they liked Harry Potter, but they'll quickly recognize that—other than the thrill of suspense—it doesn't make you laugh or cry or shudder or...you get the gist. Also, at no point did I learn a new way of thinking about an old idea, let alone anything novel. In fact, there's a massive flaw in the physics around page 400. If the author did any research on scuba diving he could have fixed it with a few added sentences (and, thus, proof that editors and first-draft readers are valuable).
KIND OF A SPOILER: Note to Mr Howey - Air, trapped in a flexible container under water, is compressed by the weight of the water. As that container rises to the surface the air expands. Under hundreds of feet of water the air will expand exponentially when surfacing. (Juliette's suit would have exploded as she surfaced quickly and if she weren't continually exhaling her lungs would have exploded too).
For me, the Pros massively outweigh the Cons. This would make a great holiday gift for any young fan of Speculative Fiction (and especially those who like post-apocalyptic SF).
Dishonored Review (☆☆☆+)
I completed all of this game's nine-levels in 25 hours. My style of gameplay was stealthy and I enjoy searching for—and finding—hidden treasures. I suspect an aggressive gamer might complete the game in less than 15 hours.
This game is only worth about $15. For a new sixty dollar game to be considered good-to-great (four or five stars) it should take someone like me no less than one hundred hours to complete and an aggressive gamer no less than sixty hours start-to-finish.
Also, unfortunately, there are no mini-games or puzzles in DISHONORED. It isn't a bad game. I enjoyed playing it. It's just not worth the price.
Today I'm Standing and Ovating For:
The State of Washington - Marriage equality; Marijuana legalization
The State of Maine - Marriage equality
This should be titled The Two-Party Political System Explained:
Cancer The Forbidden Cures
Got 90 minutes to learn why I distrust every person who has worked, is working, or will work in the medical profession?
Amazon Feedback
Fifteen years ago, I owned the pants which are pictured top-left. They were rad, commando-comfy, and lasted about 60 washings before they fell apart. I especially loved the large splashes of blue and purple.
A few weeks ago I saw them on Amazon. $46 (with shipping). Feeling nostalgic, I ordered. A few days ago the package arrived containing a different pair of pants.
They fit. They were comfortable. I didn't hate the pattern. And I'm the type of guy who would only deal with the hassle of returning them if they didn't, weren't, or if I did.
I wrote this ☆☆☆ review on Amazon:
I received different pants. It's now obvious the photo isn't a model wearing pants but a close-up swatch of photo-shopped material. Although they're of a similar palette, the picture shows a large print with splashes of color every five inches; the actual pants have tiny color specks every inch. Size, delivery, and material OK. I'll use them, not return them, but they aren't what I ordered.Today, I got a call from the seller. He acknowledged the pants I received (bottom left) weren't those pictured and asked if I wanted to return them for a full refund. I explained my quantity of dissatisfaction (and how it wasn't enough to merit returning the pants). He offered me a 50% rebate if I removed my review.
I erased. He paid me.
1st Presidential Debate
The first presidential debate is over. Every sheep in the herd has now had plenty of time to listen to their favorite pundit, comedian, and/or talking head to learn what their opinion is. Most of ewe decided Romney won.
It seems many measured the debate performances of Mister Romney and President Obama using the criteria of High School Debate Team judges...and if this had been a High School debate, I might agree.
Why has nobody pointed out the obvious? We all saw President Obama not debate, not engage, and not argue. Instead, he speechified. He stuck to the talking points, re-hashed, and never raised his voice.
In a game of American Football, if the clock shows several minutes remain in the final quarter, your score is 300 and your opponent's is 238 (and one only needs 270 to win) a quarterback may choose to "take a knee" and run down the clock.
President Obama did just that. He didn't fumble, didn't try for a hail mary pass, and—most important—didn't give any ground. He seemed to be aware that debate performance has rarely, if ever, been important in a US Presidential election (although some point to the first Nixon-Kennedy debate as a game changer). He chose not to participate and, today, he still has the same amount of (more than enough) electoral college votes to be re-elected (if the election were today).
I understand the desire to watch both teams bang into each other and scramble for the ball until the last second. When your team is winning and your own quarterback takes a knee, one feels a twinge of regret, because (having been there before) we empathize with the other team. Wanting to watch a more thrilling game, we may even wish our own team's quarterback wouldn't make the tactfully-justified and technically-intelligent choice to run down 40-seconds on the clock...and we may voice our derision.
Give President Obama some credit. He knows what he is doing. If you have forgotten, just U-Tube a few of his 2008 dust-ups with Hillary or McCain.
He took a knee. Stop bleating about it with all the other sheepish Monday-moaning armchair quarterbacks.
Socialized Medicine (a conversation)
More than a decade ago we discovered that it needed to be put in our 'agree to disagree' warehouse. Two years ago we took it out, added a few bits on Obamacare, confirmed we both still disagreed with the majority of the other's opinions, and put it back.
This week, she decided to bring it out again. Some people get a rush out of whacking a hornet nest with a stick (metaphorically) and I think there was more than a little bit of that guiding her decision to dredge this up from the depths.
She was discussing her job (which she can detail quite successfully, for hours, without touching on national policy) but ended up making a broad blanket statement demeaning everyone in the US without health insurance. She knows neither I nor my fiancee have any, so I took her criticism as an opening gambit. In order to test her resolve and determine if she actually wanted to re-open this topic, I said, "There are millions, tens of millions, of US citizens who can't afford the luxury of health insurance."
"I know."
"Then how can you make a statement like that? Do you know how naïve you sound? What you just said was, effectively, 'all poor people are idiots'."
"That's not what I said."
"You said, 'all those uninsured fools'. Who were you talking about?"
"There are tons of people with moderate incomes who could afford to pay for health insurance but, instead, they don't. They live in expensive houses, own several cars, boats, campers, and go on fancy vacations, but don't have health insurance for themselves or their kids. When they get sick or injured they go to the emergency room."
"I assume the hospital sends them a bill if they don't have insurance."
"Sure. But even a minor operation could cost fifty-thousand dollars. They don't have that. They end up going bankrupt. Not paying."
"And those type of people will get a bill from the IRS if they pull that shit after 2014. The IRS will seize their tax returns and even garnish wages. Another good thing about Obamacare." At this point I could have said: 'But we've previously agreed to disagree about this so... how are your horses?' And changed the subject. But the hornet nest had been whacked and I wanted to buzz around so I added, "Which is just one more justification for socialized medicine."
"No it's not. Socialized medicine will ruin health care as we know it. I'm on the inside and I see all the machinations of the insurance industry, the pharmaceutical companies, the hospitals, the doctors, the patients, and the government Medicare-Medicaid programs. Medicare is completely broken. Socialized medicine would be the same as Medicare for everyone. Broken."
"As someone who has benefited almost my whole adult life from socialized medicine, I can tell you—from a patient perspective—it's better than the current insurance company's for-profit system."
"You've said that before, but the US military medical system isn't socialized medicine."
"You don't think so? Why not?"
"With true socialized medicine, like they have in many European countries and Canada, you don't have the freedom to choose your treatment. No options. They make the decisions for you. They follow an algorithm. One size fits all. The military is just another sub-group of the American system..."
"You tend to speak in broad generalities in instances such as this. I need specifics. Describe how a patient's treatment would differ, today, in a US hospital and a Canadian hospital."
At this point my sister began a lengthy diatribe of a hypothetical elderly woman with multiple certainly-fatal symptoms. She then explained how US doctor's would use extensive tests and many high-tech machines to come up with their diagnosis before explaining all the various surgical and prescription options available to the old cancerous crone. According to her, the Canadian doctors would weigh the availability of limited resources against an actuary table and decide what, if any, treatment the old crone would receive. At which point I said, "Death panels! You think they have death panels!"
"That's not what I said. You're putting words in my mouth."
"No no. I get it. And I agree."
"You agree with what? Death panels?"
"Yup. I think it's an unfortunate and misleading label for something that already exists, but hey...semantics. And putting aside the label, I don't think every last drop of life needs to be squeezed out of every lemon. I'm afraid I don't pray to the sanctity of life like some do. We live. We die. Some early. Some later. I don't agree that every last treatment should be made available to the soon-to-be-departed. Your hypothetical old woman with late-stage cancer should go home with some great pain medication and update her will."
"I guess I don't completely disagree. But you said death panels already exist?"
"When only one donor organ is available and two or more people desperately need that organ, who makes the list and who decides that the healthy thirteen year old gets to be higher on it than the sixty year old alcoholic?"
"I see where you're going with this, but it's not the same thing."
"No, not the same, but similar. And we're veering too far from the point, which was that I said the US military health care system is socialized medicine and you said it wasn't. Your example of doctors deciding treatments based on resources is EXACTLY what is done in the military. Military doctors, military administrators, and military pharmacists all get paid a salary; none have any incentive to perform tests, surgeries, or prescribe drugs to turn more profit. And the very first thing everyone in that military socialized medical system does for every patient—from triage nurse to neurosurgeon—is weed out the malingerers. Then they treat the real sick and injured people. Not many options are provided. Directives are given; focused on fixing the sick and injured and getting them back to work."
"But when it's your loved one, you want absolutely every possible treatment. No matter the cost."
"Nope, that's not me. I think one must weigh the cost of treatment in not only dollars, but in probability of survival and in the quantity and—most importantly—quality of life after treatment. How many quality years would your hypothetical cancerous lady have, if she survived the full million-dollar treatment of surgery, chemo, et cetera?"
"There's no way to measure that."
"Sure there is. Probability. Statistics. Medical history."
"Not with any accuracy. Define quality years."
"The quality baseline for any given person is equal to their mental and physical activity level before they were sick, with allowances made for the normal aging process."
"So you're saying if the probability that our lady with cancer will only have two or three years she should not be afforded a million dollars worth of treatment?"
"Two or three years! If she can have two years of quality life every effort should be made...hold nothing back. But. I suspect that isn't realistic. I think after months and months of treatments she'll never get back to her same old self. That she won't even have one more month of quality life. That even if she's lucky enough to be cancer-free for a few years, the therapy will cause her to be mentally and physically handicapped and dependent on caregivers for every remaining day.
"In America, we have that option. You don't think we should have that option?"
"No. If that woman happens to be lucky enough to have a million dollars she can choose to spend it on a bed-ridden, increasingly depressed and ever-weakening body that can't wipe it's own ass.
"America's for-profit system encourages expensive tests and treatments which result in increased profits for all concerned. The insurance companies pass the gouging of the hospitals and doctors on to the policy holders.
"Remove the ability to profit and all unnecessary tests and treatments stop. In socialized medicine, which is what military medicine is, every doctor earns his or her salary. With no chance of making more money for prescribing more drugs or ordering more tests, their focus shifts to repairing or curing the patient. That's it.
"And, in a social-medicine environment, what treatments are offered that woman with late-stage cancer would be determined by weighing the availability of doctors, surgeons, and medicine against the patients expected future quality of life. And—all other things equal—the thirteen year old cancer patient receives priority over an alcoholic sixty year old."
"Ahh, I see...full circle. But you know as well as I do that entrenched government employees just sit around and do nothing all day. Now you want every hospital to be staffed with them?"
"You and your stereotypes. Are you saying your mail doesn't get delivered? Your fires don't get put out? Your crimes don't get solved? Your wars don't get fought? I'm not saying everyone drawing a government paycheck is a workhorse, but in my military experience shiftless lazy fucks got kicked out. I see the same percentage of lazy punching-a-clock civilians and most of them get fired."
"I know that if you remove the profit incentive from the medical profession that innovation will freeze in place. Nobody will strive to create the next high tech gadget, the next super drug, or cure the next disease, nothing will move forward and, eventually, advances which have already been made will fall into disuse."
"Your opinion of mankind is much more dreary and pessimistic than I thought. You depict a dystopian medical environment where nobody will do anything to help anyone unless they can make money off the procedure. But you must know, even when you say it, that it isn't true. Billions of people live on this planet in countries with socialized medicine. They are treated their whole long lives by salaried doctors. Every military doctor I dealt with worked hard to help their patients."
"And now you're going to tell me there are pharmaceutical companies, somewhere, that produce drugs to help people and aren't just interested in making as much money as possible?"
"OK. I'll give you that one. But on the count of socialized medicine in the military?"
"Agree to disagree."
And back in the warehouse it went.
The Next 25 Years
I'm, currently, entering old-age.
Everyone ages at a different rate. For my mind and body, I was a child until I completely stood up to my parents; a young adult until I took total responsibility for myself (and got my first divorce); and I fully entered middle age when I retired from the military ten years ago. Today, aches and pains combined with a decrease in gumption (hard to believe I'm more lazy than ever) marks the cusp of my winter years. Only hindsight can confirm that prediction, because I might have an Indian Summer just over the horizon.
I think the following things will happen over the next twenty five years:
- President Obama is re-elected. [✓ 6 Nov 12]
- Obamacare is re-vamped to include government single-payer option.
- Erratic weather/earthquakes around the globe intensify. A catastrophe for some, a boon for others.
- Droughts and fracking causes ranches/farms in the US Midwest to become uninhabitable.
- A population paradigm shift occurs in many parts of the world.
- The US elects a woman president.
- The Internet replaces all current TV and film entertainment formats.
- Everything is streamed and downloaded instantaneously and in HD-quality.
- Paper books, magazines, and newspapers are obsolete.
- The global recession becomes a planet-wide depression. [ ? 2020?]
- A large-scale war erupts involving many of the "major" governments.
- Nuclear weaponry is used.
- Same-sex marriage in the US becomes federal law.
- A manned habitat is begun on Mars.
- Apophis does not crash into Earth.
- A viral pandemic kills tens of millions. [✓ 2020 - ?]
- International travel is suspended for an extensive period.
- Cannabis is legalized in the US.
- Intelligent non-human extra-terrestrial life is identified.
- Korea is unified.
- Cost to mail a first class letter in the US tops one dollar.
- US minimum wage reaches $20 an hour.
- Massive "employee" shift occurs (from: full-time staff members; to: self-employed contractors).
- Roads become predominantly filled with battery powered cars.
- The US gas price tops $15.00/gallon.
click and drag by xkcd
IrReSponsible
17 April: I mail six income tax returns (federal and state for: me, her, and our LLC).29 June: My refund arrives.
11 July: Her refund arrives.
2 August: We receive a letter from the IRS explaining that our LLC return was not mailed on time and, consequently, we owe $195.00 per person/per late month/plus interest (which, the letter alleges, equals $1,695.00).
3 August: I surmise our LLC's tax return got delayed in the mail and try to do the math but nomatterwhat I fail to reverse-compute the numbers. Our LLC's total income for 2011 was $3,950.00. I can't figure out how we could owe more than half the money we made. No...the comma isn't in the wrong place; we grossed slightly less than four thousand dollars last year.
6 August: I learn that LLC late penalty fines are legally this exorbitant. Because of the intrinsic workings of partnership LLC's (normally they report no income because profits are divided by the partners who report the income on their individual tax returns) the IRS can't penalize LLC's like other companies and individuals (levy late penalties based on amount owed plus interest).
7 August: Long phone call with IRS.
"Our documentation shows your LLC did not file its tax return on time."
"The tax return was mailed at the same time as our personal ones, was the LLC tax return due prior to April 17th?"
"It was due on April 15th. Our records show it wasn't posted by that date."
"I was given to understand by the IRS website as well as most major news outlets that the due date was actually April 17th this year, bec..."
"All tax returns are due on April 15th. We show yours wasn't posted on that date."
"Because that was a Sunday. I mailed it on April 17th. Which I believe was the due date."
"Our records show it wasn't posted on time."
"OK. Wow. I guess I need to come at this from a different perspective. What's the postmarked date on the envelope?"
(pause)
"On my LLC's tax... er... which contained my LLC's tax return?"
(pause)
"Hello? Ma'am?"
"If you desire to refute the amount you owe, late fees, and/or interest due, the IRS has sixty days to locate any and all pertinent documents. However, interest and penalty months will continue to accrue during this period. If you pay the amount due, by credit card, at this time, and it's later determined any or all of the amount wasn't due, it'll be refunded."
"You don't have the envelope in front of you?"
(pause)
"At this time?"
(pause)
"the IRS has sixty days to.."
"I feel like I'm talking to a computer. Are you a computer?"
"No sir. I'm explaining how to stop the aforementioned penalties from continuing to accrue."
"If you're a computer and I ask if you are a computer, you're legally required to say yes."
"That's very funny, sir. You can mail a check. Upon receipt, the penalties would..."
"I don't believe I owe penalties, fines, or interest. I mailed the tax return on time."
"In that case, you are refuting the..."
"Yes. Please. I'm refuting."
"And you're not interested in paying the..."
"No. Thank you. Not interested in that."
"And you understand about the interest and penalties continuing during the..."
"Yup. Completely understand."
"Very good. Thank you, sir. You will hear from the IRS by US mail no later than sixty days from today's date after a full examina..."
"Which is what?"
"Excuse me, sir?"
"Today's date. What is it?"
(pause)
"You said From Today's Date and I was wondering what today's date was."
(pause)
"So I could compute when the sixty days would be up."
"The seventh of August is today's date."
"Thank you."
"Is there anything else I can help you with today?"
"Are those sixty days, calendar days or business days?"
"Ummm. Days. Calendar days."
"Thanks."
I'm still not sure if I spoke with a person or a computer at the IRS call center. She said ummm there at the end, which could have been programmed faux-humanity, but I think she was just a lackey reading from a script who was already mentally hanging up and forgot to hit the mute button when I asked one more parting question.
We got a letter in the US mail today from the Internal Revenue Service.
...After a review of your LLC's tax documents and related paperwork it was determined your tax return was posted on time. All previously levied fines, penalties, and interest amounts have been rescinded...
I should feel relieved. I don't. I am confused...about the whole thing. Was it a scam? A IRS-run old-school come-along? Hummm.
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