The World As It Could Be

Do you remember the television series “The West Wing”? If so, do you remember the feeling of optimism wash over you in witnessing politics as it could be? Well, Aaron Sorkin is at it again with HBO’s “Newsroom”. I watched the first episode last night and feel the same waves of wistfulness in witnessing news as it could be.

There’s nothing wrong with such nostalgic emotions, you know. How can we envision a better tomorrow without tying that vision to some quixotic crusade? What’s wrong with a world of “us” instead of “you” and “me”? Or a world where leaders share a common goal of the advancement of our society as a whole? Impossible? I think not, although unrealistic might apply in the realm of today’s events.

But we have to start somewhere and where better than a television program where ideals outweigh pragmatic agendas. And profanity is allowed, to boot! I urge you to watch this show regardless of your political persuasion. It could well cause you to reflect on a time in this country when we did great things rather than resting on our laurels. For those without access to HBO, episodes can be downloaded. Please?

OK, that’s it for now...short and sweet. The next two weeks are filled with traveling abroad so you won’t be hearing from me until my return. Something tells me that little will have changed thus providing ample fodder for my future musings.

Much Obliged

“Much obliged” is a term that historically refers to a statement made by someone receiving a favor from someone else. It infers that the first person is now obliged to return the favor at some future point in time.

I’m going to bend that phrase a bit by interpreting the “obliged” as an obligation (or promise) made by one person (or entity) to another. And the more numerous the obligations the more appropriate to use the word “much”.

The public and private sectors alike have made promises to those they employ to ensure an uninterrupted effort in providing a particular service. You know the drill: pay, benefits, and so on. And a big part of the benefits package was the pension that all the worker bees could plan on receiving after dedicating a career to the Golden Goose.

It has now become almost ordinary to read that some company or municipality has chosen to abrogate those pension promises through the bankruptcy courts or, at least, the threat of such legal action. And you know this drill, too: “We can no longer guarantee lifetime payments to an ever expanding number of retirees when our workforce has remained stagnant or decreased.”

Economically, it makes sense. But an obligation is an obligation, isn’t it? Apparently not and the biggest source of angst is the fact that both sides (labor and management/politico) knew that it was unsustainable when they signed it! And they also knew that they would both be lounging on a beach somewhere when the house of cards came crashing down. And, in an effort to make up the shortfall, those charged with keeping the pension funds reasonably secure chose to invest in riskier opportunities that resulted in even greater losses when the bubble burst.

“Well, it serves labor right, you know. I’m not a union person, anyway.” Yet another opinion voiced all too often today. But our system is rife with similar obligations: how about Social Security? Or Medicare? These, too, are unsustainable as more retirees look to a shrinking workforce to fund the promises made in the past.

No, we all have a seat on this boat regardless of our age, income, or social standing. But what to do about it? Well, the popular thing is the aforementioned bankruptcy option for corporate America while city, state, and federal legislators seek to redefine and readjust obligations that they no longer care to honor. Bankruptcy, too, is in their bag of options and we have seen cities waltz down the aisle to that tune, too. And that’s bad for a number of reasons.

First of all, many folks have planned their lives around the promise of a set amount of dollars coming in every month. They’re not greedy nor selfish. They simply operated in good faith and expect that the quid will appear for their quo. Now, at the last possible moment, that revenue stream may be curtailed if not eliminated altogether.

In addition, and perhaps more important, a message is sent that past promises can be ignored when times change. “Kings X...and my fingers were crossed, to boot!” How can we expect the next generation to have any grasp of integrity or ethics when they watch their elders routinely disregard pacts that were made in good faith, but ignored when it became expedient? And we wonder why the kids today seem to have no respect for established institutions or figures of authority.

While pension obligations and such should still be adhered to, the fact remains that the systems under which they exist must be altered. Forward thinking leaders in the private sector (both labor and management) have recognized this and adopted new agreements that provide for limits on pensions while offering self-funding options. Different? Yes. Not as lucrative? Perhaps. But, if given enough advance notice, manageable. So we grandfather everyone within, say, 10 years of retirement and then slowly reduce the guarantees available to the younger workers. Graduated through the ranks of the workforce, significant cost reductions can be achieved without cutting the legs out from underneath anyone.

The public sector, unfortunately, relies on political will (i.e. leadership) for such changes to the various pension provisions and social programs. Such leadership has been in short supply of late and the political polarization we currently see gives little hope for progress.

Answer this for me: in any given stalemate with your spouse or your kids or your boss has a mutually agreeable solution ever been found in one of the extreme views held by one participant? I doubt it. No, the answer generally lies somewhere in the middle. No one can declare outright victory, but no one is left holding only shitty end of the stick, either. Compromise, in other words.

Maybe instead of voting for far left or far right candidates, we should seek out those residing more to the middle of the road. They are the ones most prone to find a reasonably amicable solution to the financial challenges faced by every citizen. We’ve all got a dog in this fight, folks. Let’s remember the myriad of obligations while finding ways to adapt to tomorrow’s reality. Unless, of course, you’re not interested in progress. Then just stand in your corner, holding your breath, and giving the guy in the opposite corner the finger. That should solve our problems now, shouldn’t it?

De-Sensitivity Training

This is a column from March 13, 2011 that mysteriously disappeared.  A reader pointed that out, so here it is: 


As I arrived at my jet for a departure last week, one of my Flight Attendants asked me if I would like a Brazilian soda. He showed me a can that I didn’t recognize and I assumed it was left over from an international flight. With my tongue firmly in cheek, I said, “No, I try to avoid drinking anything from third world countries”. Several minutes later, he took me aside and told me that he was offended by my comment as he was from a third world country.

Rather than pursue the matter, I stated that no offense was intended and moved on. My company, much like most others, has created an offense-free work environment where almost anyone can claim umbrage at almost anything said, regardless of the tone or context. With a relatively short time before reaching my retirement date, I chose discretion over valor in letting his remark go unchallenged.

But this venue is anything but offense-free, so allow me to vent a bit and offer a counter strategy to blunt the ever-encroaching politically correct police. First of all, Brazil is far from a third world country: it is the 8th largest economy in terms of GDP and the 7th when comparing purchasing power. If my flight attendant friend took his offense based on his Brazilian roots, he needs to take a bit more pride in his heritage. If, on the other hand, he hails from another country that doesn’t enjoy such a high degree of success, how am I to know? Once again, without further discussion, nothing is learned and no one is better served. He considers me an insensitive prick and I see him as a hyper-sensitive pain in the ass suffering from a shortage of self-esteem.

So be it, but what can be done to stymie such exchanges? I propose a new organization: the NAAYP, or the National Association for the Awareness of You People. That’s right: you people. You see, to everyone else, I qualify as “you people”. The categorization could be one of many traits: ethnicity, religion, skin color, income status, political affiliation. The list is endless. Regardless, I am “you people” to others just as they are “you people” to me. So what’s so great about the NAAYP?

Well, the first benefit is the slow realization that everyone has preconceived notions about most everyone else in one form or another and most of these notions are false. Rather than hold them in, let’s share them with our friends. “You people sure know how to drink.” “Why don’t you people learn to take better care of yourselves?” “The world would be a better place if you people knew how to get along.” Or, with a sigh and a shrug, “You people...!”

It wouldn’t take very long before we started laughing at such observations instead of reacting with pretended offense and haughty indignation. And, in so doing, we’d eventually get over ourselves and accept each other with a bit more understanding and less resentment. Would “you people” then disappear from our lexicon? No, unfortunately, there will always be “you people” in the form of nay-sayers and such. But their numbers will be less and they will continue to offer comedic relief for the rest of us folks. 

Finally, when we’ve achieved this new level of interaction and awareness, we could change the name of our group to the NAAWP: the National Association for the Advancement of We People. We people are all a bit different, but we all share common traits that should be embraced rather than emphasizing differences to exploit and shun. We people all bring unique qualities to the table of humanity and, once recognized, we can achieve great things together. 

Learn From Thy Neighbor

Picture, if you will, your back yard. And there you are standing in the middle of it. You are surrounded by fertilizer and grass seed. Bermuda grass seed, to be exact. You intend to spread the fertilizer and sow the seeds in the hope of enjoying a lush and robust lawn come next summer.

You casually look over the fence into your neighbor’s back yard and notice that it is in great need of repair. Coincidentally, he, too, has planted Bermuda grass, but it is not flourishing. Rather, it has died in spots while others are marginal, at best. This strikes you as odd because the rest of the grounds look wonderful. Could it be that Bermuda grass simply does not do well in your area?

Now picture yourself spreading the fertilizer and planting the Bermuda grass seed as originally intended. “What? Am I nuts?” you ask. And rightfully so. Who would maintain a course of folly in the face of less-than-hoped-for results? Well, it looks like we would, economically speaking, at least.

Our political debate currently revolves about the best way to reinvigorate the economy. One side (the Right) maintains that austerity alone will bring about prosperity. They reason further that, as the deficit is reduced and tax rates are kept low confidence will return, companies will hire, and all will be well. The other side (the Left) argues that what is needed now is a combination of more government spending and higher tax rates. Then, as good times return, the deficit can be addressed as more money flows into the federal coffers.

Which one is right? How do we know? Well, it turns out that we have a neighbor with experience in such things (just like those in our Bermuda grass analogy): Europe. As the Euro crisis unfolded, countries chose austerity as a way out of the doldrums. Less government spending would decrease debt and low tax rates would encourage “job creators” to do just that. Britain is now in a second recession, Greece and Spain have received large bail-outs, and Iceland (once the darling of austerity) has not delivered on its promise of prosperity.  

I’m not an economist, but I read Paul Krugman’s column in the New York Times regularly. And I am struck not so much by his position, but the history upon which it is based. He looks back at our Great Depression, the Japanese “lost years” and Europe’s current dilemma and draws eerie similarities between those failed agendas and the current popular idea of running our national economy as we would our personal one.

Oddly, the comparisons of how we operate our family budget and how the feds should run the country’s are diametrically opposed. I’ll leave it to Mr. Krugman to elaborate, but the bottom line is the fact that if the government doesn’t spend and companies do not hire there is no one left to spend any money on anything.

No, the time for our government to spend is now. And it needs to spend a lot. The Japanese tried using small stimulus plans which only served to stagnate their potential for a decade. The time for deficit reduction is when the economy prospers. (Of course, in good times politicians are tempted for tax roll backs and the like so as to endear themselves to the electorate. But no one wins, long term, in that scenario.) And we need only to look over our fence and take a look at our neighbor’s lawn to see that our present course of action will lead to less-than-desired results. Nothing complicated: austerity, alone, will not work for, if it did, Europe would be flying high.

I believe the Right knows this, too, but has discovered a mantra that resonates while allowing the pursuit of their “true agenda”: the dismantling of both social programs and an organized workforce. I could be wrong, but regardless I urge you to Google Mr. Krugman and read his op-eds. They offer more than a debatable solution. They offer historical perspective and real-time comparison to our European neighbors. Or you could always go out and plant that Bermuda grass.

Lance

Hoping to have retained at least one or two loyal followers, allow me a moment to update you. Since we last wrote/read I have completed my “Big Adventure”: an around the country cross-country in which I landed in each of the lower 48 states at least once and completed six days of storm chasing in Texas. You may have followed me along on Facebook...or maybe not. Nevertheless, I’m back, rested, and ready to resume my place at the keyboard.

There are a few changes to my madness, though. First of all, no more deadlines. For the past 3+ years I have striven to maintain a Sunday night/Monday morning deadline for my weekly “column”. Now, I will write when the spirit moves me, but no more than twice a week and no less than once every two weeks. I want to neither inundate you nor starve you and feel this may be the best way in seeking the elusive happy medium.

Additionally, I will no longer refer to my effort as a column simply because it isn’t nor am I a columnist. A columnist, you see, writes in a given, cleansed way that is suitable for mass dissemination and is compensated for the effort. While I have tried to promote that facade, I now admit to my limitations in both scope and recompense. As such, expletives are no longer taboo when I feel they add to the discussion. No gratuitous profanity, but rather a bit of spice to the recipe. I trust you will find both changes acceptable.

Having dispensed with the formalities, allow me to turn to a more timely matter...

Dogs have been a major part of my life. I had a Collie (Lassie) as a boy and, after a lengthy absence for college and the Air Force, adopted a Collie rescue (Maggie Mae) in 1987. Since then I have had a Collie in my life. Until four days ago, that is.

During Maggie Mae’s tenure I acquired another Collie: Lad. The timing was a little off, but I had formed a relationship with a renowned Collie breeder in Northern California (Mary Wells of Blossom Hills Collies). One of her bitches had a litter of 10 in late 1992 and she asked if I was interested in one of her blue merle rough males. I was in the first stages of moving to Northern California and had planned on getting a second dog after relocating. And a male was in my plans so as to have a Collie named Lad.

“Lad:A Dog” is a children’s book written by Albert Payson Terhune and was based on an actual dog who lived in the early 1900’s in Pompton Lakes, New Jersey. I must’ve read that book a dozen times as a kid and then, after stumbling upon Terhune’s sequel “The Further Adventures of Lad”, read that one a dozen times more. It simply made sense to pay homage to the Lad of literature and so the new, blue Lad came into my life.

Maggie grew old gracefully, but by early 1997 her quality of life had diminished to the point where my wife and I felt it in her best interest to put her down. Our vet, Bob Atton, came to our home and we held her, said our goodbyes, and shed our tears as she quietly slipped away from us.

Lad carried on the tradition nobly until, on July 6th, 2001 he died suddenly at the early age of 8 1/2. I was not home at the time and can still vividly recall the phone call from my wife. To this day I recoil when my phone rings while away from home. 

At the time, we also had a Yellow Labrador Retriever: Riley. More my wife’s dog, Riley was unable to fill Lad’s shoes when it came to companionship and soon after his passing I was open to the possibility of giving a new Collie a home. Of course, no one animal could take Lad’s place, but I was willing to consider the possibility of a “substitute”. 

By that time, we had become good friends with our Collie breeder, Mary, and she offered a year old sable male, Lance. We traveled to her home for a first-hand look. It was no surprise to me that Lance, while handsome in his own right, could not hold a candle to the image Lad had built in my heart and my head. But I thought it was worth a shot and when I asked Mary about the purchase price I was stunned by her response: nothing...take him home,,,see how he fits in and if all is good, keep him.

The first week was Hell! Lance would pace through the night, looking at the ceiling and barking. My only respite was a three day trip, but my wife endured every night. After a week we voted to return him to Mary and chalk the experiment up to nothing but a good effort. The day we were to drive him back we went to a nearby town to run some errands. Upon returning to our car it would not start. Nothing...Zip. By the time we called a tow truck and got back home it was too late to drive the 2 1/2 hours to Mary’s even if we had an operational vehicle. Since this was a Friday, we would have to wait until Monday at the earliest to return Lance.

Suddenly, the pacing stopped. And the barking stopped, too. It was as though Lad (Lance’s uncle) had returned to advise him of how bad he was fucking up a good thing. By Monday, Lance was a new dog. And, strangely enough, the mechanic could find nothing wrong with our car. Make of that what you will, but I have my theory.

For the next 11 years, Lance served faithfully as my stalwart companion. His thyroid required meds (nothing new to Collies) and he had some kidney failure in the latter stages of his life. Through it all, he was the constant in my daily routine. We had other dogs and cats, but Lance was the senior member and enjoyed all the perks of such a position.

When I departed on my Big Adventure (May 1st), his health was suspect. Nearly blind and hard of hearing, he had taken to snoozing through most of the day and I had no reason to believe that he would be alive upon my return. So I hugged him and kissed him goodbye as if we would not see each other again all the while hoping that he would find a way to maintain.

I got home last Tuesday to find him rail thin. My wife said his eating had become more sporadic than usual (he was never a ravenous eater) and that his pacing had become the norm. Apparently, it was hard for him to stand and hard for him to lie down. I weighed him on Wednesday to find that he had shed 20% of his weight in the last two months. Basically, he was wasting away in front of us and to allow this to continue was unconscionable.

I made the call to our vet, affectionately referred to as Dr. Jan, and told her of our decision. My main concern was allowing him to pass in a setting other than a stainless steel examination table. Dr. Jan said that we could work that out and the appointment was made for the next day.

In circumstances like these, one can feel like the executioner awaiting the carrying out of the sentence. Having been faced with a similar situation with Maggie Mae, I knew this was but an opportunity to embrace our beloved partner one last time. We fed him scrambled eggs, chicken, and steak. Sadly, his appetite had waned to the point where even these delicacies did not evoke significant interest. He slept next to me in bed for several hours that last night until we both became too warm. And the morning routine was as normal as it could have been.

We drove to Dr. Jan’s office and laid in the grass out front. She came out and gave Lance a brief examination before confirming our lay-diagnosis. It was time for him to be at rest. After a sedative, she injected the solution that would stop his heart and bring his fight against the indignities of old age to an end. We cried as he passed and I am shedding tears as I write this. While my head was prepared for this moment, the heart never is and it matters not whether the patient is an animal or human. The finality of death, even under the most humane circumstances, takes an emotional toll. 

Even though we still have 3 dogs in our menagerie, the loss of Lance is deep and cannot be filled by a surrogate. Yes, we will heal and move on, but we will always remember him as well as all others we have lost: a unique, irreplaceable individual. There are those we describe as something other than “dog people” who may read this and wonder why it’s such a big deal. I can’t (nor will I even try to) explain such a loss to them for they simply do not get it. I think of them as young souls who have yet to appreciate the unconditional love a canine brings to a relationship. After all, shouldn’t we all strive to be as forgiving? Maybe in time, as their own soul ages, but in the meantime I can only shrug and shake my head.

And since I’m waxing theologically, I believe in one thing after death: the Rainbow Bridge. Google it if you’re curious, but I assure you that most “dog people” are fully aware of its existence and believe in it, too. Let me just say that it is a place where I will be reunited with the dogs of my earthly life after I die. Crazy? Well, if you’ve ever experienced the joy a dog can bring into your life you know that it just wouldn’t be Heaven without them.

I sense one more Collie in my future: a tri-color rough male named Payson. I’ve never had a tri and paying tribute to the author that so enriched my life is a no-brainer. Not today or tomorrow, but someday, hopefully. 

Either way, such thoughts are for another time. This time belongs to Lance: much more than a mere substitute. A noble companion in his own right and without peer. Rest easy, my dear friend. We will meet again...