"Please sir, may I have some MORE?"

H.L. Mencken, back in the days of the New Deal, offered this gem as he surveyed a divided America:  "There are two kinds of people, those who work for a living and those who VOTE for a living.  All these years later it appears that the vote for a living crowd is firmly in charge of our country.

Not only do we have more than 44 million citizens receiving food stamps, up from 26 million in 2007, the costs have more than doubled to $77 billion from $33 billion.  And, because government can run NOTHING well, food stamp fraud and theft has created a thriving black market that Washington shows neither the inclination or ability to stop.  How else can we explain the recent discovery that fully thirty percent of the inmates in the Polk County, Iowa jail were collecting food stamps being sent to their non-jail mailing addresses?  Clearly the same folks who gave us the IRS, the DMV and thousands of other useless mismanaged bureaucracies are in charge of our money.

You do pay taxes, don't you?  If not, and currently half of the country doesn't, feel free to get back in line.  There is more free stuff coming!

"My mom says I'm not fat...I'm "big boned".

For example:  Just the other day, in the San Diego Union-Tribune, there was a page one story regarding "free" lunches for children who need them.  It is a federal program from the wonderful humanitarians at the U.S. Department of Agriculture called "Seamless Summer Meals".  The purpose of this scam--er ahh program--is to provide a "hassle free" way to feed a hot meal to children from poor areas during the months that school is not in session.  There are a couple of problems with this. First of all, the need for a "hot meal" has always been problematic.  Who says a tray full of chicken nuggets, mac and cheese, fish sticks  or some other hot mess they throw at a kid is more nutritious than an apple, some carrots, a boiled egg or just about anything else, though cold, that packs a ton more food value?  Any parent too poor , stupid, or lazy to pack something better and cheaper than the "free" hot lunch should have their kids taken away.  Mom and dad--if he can be found--also need to make time for a visit to the spay and neuter clinic.

What?? Those are only available for animals?  Let's get to work on that.

Anyway...here is what prompted me to action:  The free summer lunch program is now being offered in LA JOLLA.  Yes, that's La Jolla, California, only one of the wealthiest zip codes in the U.S.A.   If you've been there, no doubt you find this both as laughable and outrageous as I.  The state and local bureaucrats are defending the handout and offer in their defense that ALL children--regardless of income--should benefit from the program whenever possible, especially given the economy.

"It's a good thing for everybody," said Tina Woo-Jung, a mouthpiece for the state Department of Education.  "You can't tell me that some kid in designer jeans with a cellphone is coming in and saying, 'Feed me,'  And if they do, the last thing we want to say is, 'Show me your tax return.'"

How do you argue with idiocy of that magnitude?

As Mencken opined, we now have a constituency that is made of people who vote for a living.  They, and the politicians who pander to them, have taken our country onto shoals so rocky we may be incapable of rescuing the ship of state.  As we approach the election of 2012 it is imperative that those who work, pay taxes and keep the country vibrant take back the helm from those who pander to the "gimme" contingent who just can't seem to say "no" to freebies the politicians use

 to BUY their votes.

There is nothing in the constitution about a free lunch.  The founding fathers, in their infinite wisdom,  knew there was NO SUCH THING.

. 

Shoulda Killed Me When He Had the Chance

It's really amazing that he didn't croak me.  God knows I was an idiot kid; my brother not much better.
The older I get and the longer he has been gone the more I remember my dad.  It HAS to be one of the toughest jobs--raising sons.  Daughters cut you some father slack, probably because they are smarter than you from the day the stork drops them.  No doubt moms and daughters provide the only buffer between men and their own dysfunction and destruction.  Given enough unsupervised time, we males would turn the whole damn place into a gaseous cloud in about fifteen minutes, and no I am not talking about  that unfortunate extra spicy bean dip on the Fourth of July 1996.  Give us enough alcohol and a moderate amount of explosives and we're  a lock to start World War III.  Testosterone poisoning is a terrible thing to waste.


Sometimes it is overwhelming.  I recall misadventures from grade school through high school that would have had most dads booking a reform school reservation.  There was the incident with the saw and my parents bedroom furniture, also taking the car for a spin when I was eight or nine, and the famous 1958 or '59 caper resulting in multiple broken windows for a neighborhood building.  I blame the latter on bad companions, (Phil Brown), and a sugar buzz.  In junior high and high school most infractions were tobacco and booze related.  I watched my dad's hair turn gray with each offense.  He was cursed.

Dad traveled for a living.  Every year he put thousands of miles on his car as he peddled farm loans for Prudential around the upper Midwest.  Cars were important to him.  He traded most every year and not just because he wore them out.  He loved new cars with lots of gadgets.  Never able to justify a convertible in a section of the country where Summer lasted just three quick months, he did the next best thing by always having a very sporty hardtop with the biggest engine and often in a cool color.

Like all boys I counted the days until my sixteenth birthday and MY DRIVER'S LICENSE.  I studied for the written test and had practiced the dreaded parallel parking part of the test many times in our driveway.  When March 16, 1964 dawned I was ready.  School lasted forever that day; I couldn't wait for it to be over so that I could get to the Iowa Highway Patrol office to take the test for my license.  Naturally, having all but memorized the answers to the test, I aced it.  I even impressed the trooper who administered the driving portion of this very big deal.  I was pure gold.  Look out adult world here I come!


When I got home I asked dad if I could borrow his car for a date I had already set up for that night. (Talk about confidence.)  I had expected him to reject the request and offer mom's old 54' Buick as the perfect set of wheels for my first solo ride.  He surprised me and said it would be okay to take his new car.  I couldn't believe it.  Wow!  I had a date with Debbie, a redhead who still had that "new" girlfriend patina, and I had a car worthy of a profile in Esquire magazine.  I was a young man on a mission.


The evening started out just fine.  I drove to Debbie's house, made nice with her parents, opened her door like a gentleman and then promptly backed dad's car into a truck parked across the street.  First driver's license, dad's new car, first accident-- all in one day.  I was making real headway in grown-up land.  Surprisingly enough, I did the right thing and called home to report my driving screw up.  Dad told me to get all the pertinent information from the truck owner and to give him our insurance information and that we would "talk" when I got home.  


Debbie and I went to the drive-in where we, as was the custom, never watched a minute of the movie.  (I have vivid memories of the soundtrack of several 1960's era movies, but no recollection of having seen any of them.)  We made out like I was going to "the chair".  That part of the evening I would rate as very satisfactory. When the date ended and I headed home to what I was sure would be my sudden death I reflected on my life and decided it had been good even if it was to be short.  Dad was waiting for me when I slipped in the side door.  He seemed calm as we inspected the damage to his newly crumpled right rear  quarter panel.  We discussed his conversation with the owner of the truck and he told me that they had agreed to settle the damages without getting the insurance company involved.  He had already figured out how much per month I was going to pay him back from my part-time job at Swanson's Super Store and--- that was it.  No yelling, no "I told you to be careful", no "you'll never drive my car again", no NOTHING.  I was relieved and wary at the same time, but nothing more happened.  Perhaps he had lost his fastball?  Or, just maybe he thought that cracking up your old man's car on the first day you got your license was punishment enough.  I'll never know, but boy did I appreciate it.  It is one of the many things I should have asked him before he shuffled off the planet sixteen years ago last month.  We were finally able to talk to each other like a couple of adults there toward the end.  For that I am grateful.


Somebody, I can't remember who, said, "A father is someone who carries pictures in his wallet where his money used to be."  My hope is that wherever he is dad has a couple of pictures of my brother and me---right behind the shot of that beautiful new, but slightly dented, red Buick with the Wildcat engine.
It really was a sweet ride.

Life's Endless Seminar

I realize that most people my age probably figured this out years ago...

You really DO learn something every day.

Most mornings as I emerge from the ether and note the time and my whereabouts, I often reflect on something new that has managed to penetrate my skull.   Often it is a new word or a word that I finally got around to looking up in the dictionary after years of thinking I had grasped its meaning from context.  Or, more often than not, it is the knowledge of how to fix something like a sprinkler head in the back yard, the kind of thing I used to call somebody to fix because I was too busy "working".  (Retirement from goofing around is not an easy transition.)

My dad used to tell me that I always learned things the hard way.  He was right.  From sticking forks in electric sockets to falling in the lake because I got too close to the edge,  or eating yard snails because it was cheaper than a trip to France, it was never enough for me to hear about it, I HAD to DO it to etch it on my frontal lobe.

My daughters were much better learners than I.  It's probably safe to say that most females fare better at listening to advice than males.  Although, I do remember youngest daughter, Katie, having to learn
the hard way about speed, cars, and traffic tickets.  Come to think about it, she was a bit slow on the uptake regarding booze and bad companions.  A chip off the old block.
Never mind.

As time passes I think we all get better at this, but it's those first fifty years or so that leave their mark.   With that in mind I will make an effort to pass on as many of life's truisms to my grandson, Dan, as I can so that he might be spared the time tested family tradition of learning everything the "hard" way.

A few of the gems I intend to impart as he enters his twenty-first month on the planet are these:


Never turn down an ice cream cone.

All politicians are dirtbags; liberal ones lie the most.


You'll never make money in airline stocks...NEVER.


Never suffer from insanity, enjoy every minute of it.


Wall Street will take your money and their experience and turn it into their money and YOUR experience.


If it requires a uniform, it's a worthless endeavour.


Life is made for people not encumbered by self awareness.


Pain is mandatory, suffering is optional.


Opportunity knocks once...temptation leans on the doorbell.

Always in life's Top Ten...an ice cream cone.

When shopping for a car, always check the punches on the radio.  If they are all set to rock stations, the transmission is shot.


You should get bitter as you get older.  It shows you're paying attention.


Never give soup to a harelip horse.  

Food can be fun AND artistic.

Here are a couple more...

Always have a backup plan for dismounting.

I really feel good about helping this youngster get off to a good start.

If you have kids or grandkids who might benefit from some of these very fine life lessons, I am available for personal consultations and seminars.  (I have my own car and bail money.)

New York State of Mind

Looking West from Queens as a storm waits to pounce.

I never wanted to like New York.  My parents, Midwestern and firm believers in small towns, demonized city life to my brother and me.  They both grew up in a town of less than 300 and were positive that nothing good came from exposure to the inherent cynicism that festered in the souls of people condemned to metropolitan life.  Naturally I couldn't wait to shake the hayseed out of my hair and plant myself in urban America.  I've pretty much spent my adult life in cities and been happy in the choice.  City people, for the most part, are no different than rural and small town folk.  They merely live closer together and have a hell of a lot more options when it comes to entertainment venues and opportunities for mischief--a happy situation in my estimation.

I didn't make the acquaintance of New York City until I was in my forties.  Frankly, its reputation as a meat grinder of humanity and cesspool of crime was enough to convince me that my hillbilly ass couldn't handle it.  Like a baseball rookie, I was content to confine myself to the metros I thought I could navigate and save the Big Apple's fastball for those from sturdier stock.  

Then, in 1993 my oldest daughter moved to New York.  Unlike her old man she had the guts to "make it there" so that she could "make it anywhere", and she did.  She and her husband created a theater company, "The Nature Theater of Oklahoma"--the name has something to do with Kafka--and after fifteen or sixteen years of struggle, became Obie Award winning overnight successes.

Every time I'm in New York I wonder why I never gave it a shot.  Radio, like most everything, creates opportunities for those who simply ask.  Like Woody Allen says, "Half of life is merely showing up."

No regrets here.  There is only so much you can get around to doing.  Perhaps if I had spent less time in saloons?

My wife and I are in New York for a couple of days to help us unwind after a trip to Ireland.  Dublin to San Diego is more than we care to attempt in a day; so a New York intermission seemed a good idea.  

The weather is mid July hot and muggy.  A portent of a blistering summer?  Rain storms, high humidity and temperatures in the high eighties make things icky sticky.  We stopped here for a day or two on our way and were treated to clear skies and comfortable temperatures, so this obviously is payback.

This evening we are people watching from a table open to the street in one of our favorite restaurants on East 41st street.  I especially appreciate the women in summer dresses and how they manage to look so cool and fresh.  Maybe it's the fact that they've ditched the omnipresent black duds of winter or it could be that most of them are so young, but they "do" heat much better than the guys.  Men, myself included, whether in shorts or a suit, sport a sheen of grease not unlike grandma's Easter ham.  (Perhaps that explains why we're always roughly a quart low.)

Later, we'll turn in early in order to grab that first Jet Blue flight to San Diego, but for now we let the energy of this city so big "they had to name it twice' seep into our travel weary bones.  It's starting to feel like a second home.

A pigeon takes a break atop George M. Cohan's dome in Times Square.