Thierry Sagnier's Blog, page 13
June 22, 2019
Reparations
This is tough. I’m usually just short of being an oozing heart liberal, but the reparation issue has me conflicted.
On the one hand, I’d be willing to bet that every single ethnic group and people have, at some point in history, been enslaved by conquerors and raiders. In fact, if there is a commonality to be found in the past of nations, it is that of war, invasion and conquest, plunder and enslavement, war again, and freedom.
Should I be seeking reparations from Italy because some 2000 years ago Romans enslaved my ancestors, the Gauls, and pretty much everyone else in Europe and England? The Danes used to go Viking along the shores of the British Isles. They took slaves. Will the Brits sue the Danes? And then, of course, there is the issue of Central African tribes enslaving West African tribes and selling them to Arab and European slavers. Who should pay, and who should get what and how much?
Trying to be logical, I hit a wall. How would such a program be set up and organized? Who would decide what goes where and to whom? Will documentation be needed? Surely an initiative of this type would require the creation of a new government entity. Or perhaps it would be run like those massive class action lawsuits where anyone who used a particular faulty or dangerous product might receive a buck or two.
According to the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade Database, between 1525 and 1866, in the entire history of the slave trade to the New World, 12.5 million Africans were shipped to the West, and 10.7 million survived the dreaded Middle Passage, with a small percentage disembarking in North America while the majority ended up in the sugar cane fields of the Caribbean and South America. But these numbers are misleading. According to Wikipedia, some 310,000 slaves were imported to the thirteen colonies before 1776, and a total of approximately 400,000 slaves were brought to British North America and the United States by the time the African slave trade was abolished in 1806.
Add to this the fact that the ancestors of many present-day African-Americans were never slaves. They came to the US after passage of the Slavery Abolition Act in 1833.
In 2017, there were 74.5 million African Americans in the United States. Who will get what?
These are all just numbers, and only the very latest ones can be seen as remotely accurate. What I suppose really matters is that numbers cannot reflect human suffering, yet reparations mean to do just that. Reparation implies that if you are the descendant of slaves, the present powers-that-be will assign an arbitrary number to atone for your ancestors’ suffering.
That’s not going to work. The bureaucracy will choke half to death before a single dollar is awarded. It will be mired in lawsuits, demands and counter demands, and, in the end, attorneys involved will get the brunt of the allotted funds.
Here is a glimmer of an idea. Take this guilt money and invest it. Create scholarships for students who can’t afford a good education. Open more neighborhood clinics in disadvantaged areas. Support the artistic efforts of the marginalized. Provide healthcare to those who can’t meet the expense of care. And let us not limit ourselves only to African-Americans. Let’s create a movement to help ALL the disenfranchised.
The better part of American history is witness to unending attempts to create a society of equals. Some—a small number—have had a modicum of success. Let us be honest: Reparations will not create equality.
The United States is a prosperous nation with a wealth of guilt. We can afford atonement for all.
On the one hand, I’d be willing to bet that every single ethnic group and people have, at some point in history, been enslaved by conquerors and raiders. In fact, if there is a commonality to be found in the past of nations, it is that of war, invasion and conquest, plunder and enslavement, war again, and freedom.
Should I be seeking reparations from Italy because some 2000 years ago Romans enslaved my ancestors, the Gauls, and pretty much everyone else in Europe and England? The Danes used to go Viking along the shores of the British Isles. They took slaves. Will the Brits sue the Danes? And then, of course, there is the issue of Central African tribes enslaving West African tribes and selling them to Arab and European slavers. Who should pay, and who should get what and how much?
Trying to be logical, I hit a wall. How would such a program be set up and organized? Who would decide what goes where and to whom? Will documentation be needed? Surely an initiative of this type would require the creation of a new government entity. Or perhaps it would be run like those massive class action lawsuits where anyone who used a particular faulty or dangerous product might receive a buck or two.
According to the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade Database, between 1525 and 1866, in the entire history of the slave trade to the New World, 12.5 million Africans were shipped to the West, and 10.7 million survived the dreaded Middle Passage, with a small percentage disembarking in North America while the majority ended up in the sugar cane fields of the Caribbean and South America. But these numbers are misleading. According to Wikipedia, some 310,000 slaves were imported to the thirteen colonies before 1776, and a total of approximately 400,000 slaves were brought to British North America and the United States by the time the African slave trade was abolished in 1806.
Add to this the fact that the ancestors of many present-day African-Americans were never slaves. They came to the US after passage of the Slavery Abolition Act in 1833.
In 2017, there were 74.5 million African Americans in the United States. Who will get what?
These are all just numbers, and only the very latest ones can be seen as remotely accurate. What I suppose really matters is that numbers cannot reflect human suffering, yet reparations mean to do just that. Reparation implies that if you are the descendant of slaves, the present powers-that-be will assign an arbitrary number to atone for your ancestors’ suffering.
That’s not going to work. The bureaucracy will choke half to death before a single dollar is awarded. It will be mired in lawsuits, demands and counter demands, and, in the end, attorneys involved will get the brunt of the allotted funds.
Here is a glimmer of an idea. Take this guilt money and invest it. Create scholarships for students who can’t afford a good education. Open more neighborhood clinics in disadvantaged areas. Support the artistic efforts of the marginalized. Provide healthcare to those who can’t meet the expense of care. And let us not limit ourselves only to African-Americans. Let’s create a movement to help ALL the disenfranchised.
The better part of American history is witness to unending attempts to create a society of equals. Some—a small number—have had a modicum of success. Let us be honest: Reparations will not create equality.
The United States is a prosperous nation with a wealth of guilt. We can afford atonement for all.
June 19, 2019
Prednisone
For the past four months or so, I’ve been battling a particularly nasty episode of sciatica. For those not in the know, the sciatic nerve is the longest nerve in the body, traveling roughly from your butt to the bottom of your feet on both sides of your body. Sometimes it gets inflamed, other times it gets jammed between joints. In either case, it hurts a lot.
This is the third time this has happened to me in the past four years. It begins with a slight ache in the lower back, and inexorably travels down the legs and worsens. Sometimes it’s on the right side, other times on the left. Sitting is painful; sciatica interrupts sleep and in general makes life miserable. It’s also exhausting, as is any chronic pain.
Neither over-the-counter meds or non-narcotic prescription painkillers have any effect. Specialized exercises help a little, and so would Percodan or Percocet, but I don’t take opioids.
What does help is a drug called prednisone, a prescription steroid that, taken in increasingly large doses, is both a pain reliever and an anti-inflammatory. The trouble with prednisone, however, is that it has multiple side-effects, one of which is to raise the body’s glucose level. This is not good for a person like myself who has otherwise-controllable Type 2 Diabetes. A year ago I ended up in the emergency room because the prednisone had raised my glucose level to roughly that of a box of Domino sugar cubes. I was on an IV for seven hours before the level diminished to an acceptable level. Then I was put on insulin for three months, injecting myself every morning.
The other thing prednisone does is reduce the body’s production of cortisone, the natural anti-inflammatory we all produce. This is not good either.
According to the Mayo Clinic, prednisone can also cause:
• aggression
• agitation
• blurred vision
• dizziness
• fast, slow, pounding, or irregular heartbeat or pulse
• headache
• irritability and mood changes
• numbness or tingling in the arms or legs
• pounding in the ears
• shortness of breath
• trouble thinking, speaking, or walking
• troubled breathing at rest
• weight gain
My new doctor was unhappy with my prednisone consumption. She suggested another drug with far fewer side-effects, and told me it was time to detox, which is what, unhappily, I am doing now.
So why am I writing this blog? Because prednisone is a very popular drug and my research shows most people who take it have no idea of its darker sides. It is commonly misprescribed by physicians who order it for their patients but suggest it be used much like an as-needed painkiller, which is wrong.
I’ve also found most users have no idea that the detox period can last from weeks to a year, and has some side-effects as well,. These include severe fatigue, weakness, body aches, joint pain. lightheadedness, and nausea. The only positive side-effect, a loss of appetite—has unfortunately not manifested itself, at least not for me.
All this to say prednisone may be a good drug, but it’s also chancy.
If you’re taking prednisone for any reason, do some research if you haven't yet done so. There are other, less dicey drugs that will make you feel better quickly without making you feel worse in the long run. Ask your doctor.
This is the third time this has happened to me in the past four years. It begins with a slight ache in the lower back, and inexorably travels down the legs and worsens. Sometimes it’s on the right side, other times on the left. Sitting is painful; sciatica interrupts sleep and in general makes life miserable. It’s also exhausting, as is any chronic pain.
Neither over-the-counter meds or non-narcotic prescription painkillers have any effect. Specialized exercises help a little, and so would Percodan or Percocet, but I don’t take opioids.
What does help is a drug called prednisone, a prescription steroid that, taken in increasingly large doses, is both a pain reliever and an anti-inflammatory. The trouble with prednisone, however, is that it has multiple side-effects, one of which is to raise the body’s glucose level. This is not good for a person like myself who has otherwise-controllable Type 2 Diabetes. A year ago I ended up in the emergency room because the prednisone had raised my glucose level to roughly that of a box of Domino sugar cubes. I was on an IV for seven hours before the level diminished to an acceptable level. Then I was put on insulin for three months, injecting myself every morning.
The other thing prednisone does is reduce the body’s production of cortisone, the natural anti-inflammatory we all produce. This is not good either.
According to the Mayo Clinic, prednisone can also cause:
• aggression
• agitation
• blurred vision
• dizziness
• fast, slow, pounding, or irregular heartbeat or pulse
• headache
• irritability and mood changes
• numbness or tingling in the arms or legs
• pounding in the ears
• shortness of breath
• trouble thinking, speaking, or walking
• troubled breathing at rest
• weight gain
My new doctor was unhappy with my prednisone consumption. She suggested another drug with far fewer side-effects, and told me it was time to detox, which is what, unhappily, I am doing now.
So why am I writing this blog? Because prednisone is a very popular drug and my research shows most people who take it have no idea of its darker sides. It is commonly misprescribed by physicians who order it for their patients but suggest it be used much like an as-needed painkiller, which is wrong.
I’ve also found most users have no idea that the detox period can last from weeks to a year, and has some side-effects as well,. These include severe fatigue, weakness, body aches, joint pain. lightheadedness, and nausea. The only positive side-effect, a loss of appetite—has unfortunately not manifested itself, at least not for me.
All this to say prednisone may be a good drug, but it’s also chancy.
If you’re taking prednisone for any reason, do some research if you haven't yet done so. There are other, less dicey drugs that will make you feel better quickly without making you feel worse in the long run. Ask your doctor.
June 17, 2019
Confrontation
I am standing in line at the coffee shop, bagged newspaper in one hand and five-dollar bill in the other. It is 8:15 a.m., and I need my bagel and espresso. In my pocket are an avocado and an orange, part of the strange diet I have espoused without much weight-loss success.
In front of me is a woman in gray leggings and a loose tee shirt. She suddenly turns around and hisses, “Don’t stand so close to me!” Her face is tight, lips thin and eyes narrowed.
I am standing three feet from her. I say “Hun?” because I am not sure what is happening and a confrontation before coffee is unthinkable.
She says, “Move back, you fucking pervert!”
I do, not because she orders me to but because the sheer intensity of her hatred is almost physical.
The woman behind the cash register slithers away. I know her, and see her every morning. She is a tiny Peruvian named Anna with two children, and in a moment she returns with the coffee shop’s manager. I know her as well, a robust lady who could run a biker bar. She asks, “Is there a problem?”
The leggings woman points at me and says, “This… man is harassing me.”
The manager is a pro. She looks at me severely, but not too severely. “Is that true?”
I shake my head. I decide I will not engage. It would be fruitless. This is not a win-win situation.
The manager asks the leggings woman, “Have you ordered yet?
The woman shakes her head. The manager takes the woman’s elbow gently and leads her to a table. She returns to the ordering counter and tells Anna to bring the order to her table.
Then she says to me, “Espresso and sprouted grain bagel, right?”
I am thinking that I am an aging man with an avocado in my pocket and the day’s paper awaiting my perusal. Could I possibly be less threatening?
The leggings woman is at a table some fifteen feet away. I consciously do not look at her but I can sense her staring at me.
The manager delivers my order and whispers, “That was sort of strange…” She pauses, “Maybe she thought the avocado in your pocket meant you were happy to see her.”
Maybe so.
In front of me is a woman in gray leggings and a loose tee shirt. She suddenly turns around and hisses, “Don’t stand so close to me!” Her face is tight, lips thin and eyes narrowed.
I am standing three feet from her. I say “Hun?” because I am not sure what is happening and a confrontation before coffee is unthinkable.
She says, “Move back, you fucking pervert!”
I do, not because she orders me to but because the sheer intensity of her hatred is almost physical.
The woman behind the cash register slithers away. I know her, and see her every morning. She is a tiny Peruvian named Anna with two children, and in a moment she returns with the coffee shop’s manager. I know her as well, a robust lady who could run a biker bar. She asks, “Is there a problem?”
The leggings woman points at me and says, “This… man is harassing me.”
The manager is a pro. She looks at me severely, but not too severely. “Is that true?”
I shake my head. I decide I will not engage. It would be fruitless. This is not a win-win situation.
The manager asks the leggings woman, “Have you ordered yet?
The woman shakes her head. The manager takes the woman’s elbow gently and leads her to a table. She returns to the ordering counter and tells Anna to bring the order to her table.
Then she says to me, “Espresso and sprouted grain bagel, right?”
I am thinking that I am an aging man with an avocado in my pocket and the day’s paper awaiting my perusal. Could I possibly be less threatening?
The leggings woman is at a table some fifteen feet away. I consciously do not look at her but I can sense her staring at me.
The manager delivers my order and whispers, “That was sort of strange…” She pauses, “Maybe she thought the avocado in your pocket meant you were happy to see her.”
Maybe so.
June 8, 2019
Incels
Hey, you! Yeah, incel guys! Get off your self-absorbed pity pots and listen up. We’ve all been there—male, female, short, stout, tall and skinny, gay or straight, every color of the rainbow, at one time or another we’ve been involuntary celibates. What most of us have not done is cry about it publicly, making us look even more loser-like than we already were. And we haven’t blamed the other gender, either. I mean, seriously, look at yourselves? Would you pick yourself as a mate, or even as a one night stand?
Didn’t think so.
If you’re an involuntary celibate, it’s your fault and no one else’s, unless you are seriously physically handicapped, like in coma. Your choice—whining about your situation on social media and banding together to appear as if you’re a bona fide movement—is absurd and self-defeating.
Ah, my apologies to readers who are not among this sorry lot. Incels are males who claim a dearth of romantic or sexual female companions. This, they tell us, is because females do not appreciate them; females focus their attention only on the rich, the successful, the popular, and the good-looking, instead of on that puling male minority incapable of accepting responsibility for whom and what they are.
In a society based on blaming others, the incel culture is bubbling up. Think swamp gas, but stinkier.
The internet has allowed incel groups to proliferate and stew in their own misery, which, as we all know, loves company. A few incels have crossed the line and perpetrated acts of violence on women, not realizing perhaps that such behavior is the ultimate in cowardice. These acts have flashed through social media, sometimes giving the perpetrators the sort of fame and recognition generally associated with death camp guards.
Ok, this movement doesn’t deserve any more space here or elsewhere.
Let me close with some advice.
Join a Meetup. Go for a hike. Turn off your laptop; quit your sorry social media sites. Get a life. Offer to help the homeless, the aged, the indigent, the strays. Get a bicycle, or get a pet. Small yappy dogs are known to find appreciative audiences and if you walk one and don’t act like an asshole, you might meet someone. Or not. There are no promises, save that staying in the dark hole you choose to inhabit virtually guarantees you will remain a celibate.
A voluntary one.
Didn’t think so.
If you’re an involuntary celibate, it’s your fault and no one else’s, unless you are seriously physically handicapped, like in coma. Your choice—whining about your situation on social media and banding together to appear as if you’re a bona fide movement—is absurd and self-defeating.
Ah, my apologies to readers who are not among this sorry lot. Incels are males who claim a dearth of romantic or sexual female companions. This, they tell us, is because females do not appreciate them; females focus their attention only on the rich, the successful, the popular, and the good-looking, instead of on that puling male minority incapable of accepting responsibility for whom and what they are.
In a society based on blaming others, the incel culture is bubbling up. Think swamp gas, but stinkier.
The internet has allowed incel groups to proliferate and stew in their own misery, which, as we all know, loves company. A few incels have crossed the line and perpetrated acts of violence on women, not realizing perhaps that such behavior is the ultimate in cowardice. These acts have flashed through social media, sometimes giving the perpetrators the sort of fame and recognition generally associated with death camp guards.
Ok, this movement doesn’t deserve any more space here or elsewhere.
Let me close with some advice.
Join a Meetup. Go for a hike. Turn off your laptop; quit your sorry social media sites. Get a life. Offer to help the homeless, the aged, the indigent, the strays. Get a bicycle, or get a pet. Small yappy dogs are known to find appreciative audiences and if you walk one and don’t act like an asshole, you might meet someone. Or not. There are no promises, save that staying in the dark hole you choose to inhabit virtually guarantees you will remain a celibate.
A voluntary one.
May 16, 2019
War
Get ready, war’s coming…
We haven’t had a good one since the Iraq thing, and Afghanistan is pretty much done. Nobody cares anymore about that primitive dustbowl. Iran is next.
It’s a common misconception that war is about killing the enemy. It isn’t. It’s about disrupting finances, causing hardship, destabilizing, and realigning powerful and not-so-powerful nations, but first and foremost, it’s about economics.
In the old day, war was simpler. You needed land to grow food, and men to harvest and be soldiers whenever necessary. When Rome got too big to be self-sustaining, the emperors conquered Germany, Gaul, England and Egypt. Outposts were set up and land given away. Rome thrived, for a time, until its borders got too distant and tenuous and the empire fell.
In modern times, war is stupendously good for everything and everyone except the people who are wounded and die and their families, and the survivors of defeat. It’s also wonderful at creating smokescreens. You get involved in a conflict, the smaller issues besetting an invading nation get lost. Infrastructure, social needs, political divide, logic and smarts, all go out the window.
It’s good for manufacturing because war-time economies thrive with new machinery, arms, equipment and inventions. It’s good for employment. It helps the military get more money and more stars on their epaulets. It creates heroes and great media stories, some of which might even be true.
John Bolton, the Captain Kangaroo look-alike and the slug’s National Security Advisor, was one of the principal architect of the war in Afghanistan, a dismal failure that brought nothing to either country but pain and suffering. He wants war. Look out.
Right now, we’re poised. The arrow is notched and the bow is drawn.
Trump’s sole success (and really, it was Obama’s, not the slug’s) is that the economy was charging along at a pretty good pace, with unemployment falling and production growing. The China embargo is going to bring this to a halt by harming small manufacturers who operate on skinny profits, and raising costs of basic materials imported from the East. It will cost the average American about $76 a year, not a princely sum but one that’s just large enough to matter. For an average couple, $76 is dinner and a movie but maybe not a baby sitter.
War will stir the blood of the right-wing and chill that of the left, which is exactly what the slug wants. His xenophobia will be satisfied by destroying non-American lives overseas, a goal he has attempted and failed at here.
War will further damage America’s reputation held by its present and former allies. We have already lost much respect among our erstwhile friends. They will not fight a war alongside us. They’ve learned their lessons—that Trump always chooses the wrong man to back, and, in the end, is not to be trusted under any circumstances.
So if we fight Iran, we may have the Saudis on our side, led by yet another murderous autocrat, and we will be judged by the company we keep.
We haven’t had a good one since the Iraq thing, and Afghanistan is pretty much done. Nobody cares anymore about that primitive dustbowl. Iran is next.
It’s a common misconception that war is about killing the enemy. It isn’t. It’s about disrupting finances, causing hardship, destabilizing, and realigning powerful and not-so-powerful nations, but first and foremost, it’s about economics.
In the old day, war was simpler. You needed land to grow food, and men to harvest and be soldiers whenever necessary. When Rome got too big to be self-sustaining, the emperors conquered Germany, Gaul, England and Egypt. Outposts were set up and land given away. Rome thrived, for a time, until its borders got too distant and tenuous and the empire fell.
In modern times, war is stupendously good for everything and everyone except the people who are wounded and die and their families, and the survivors of defeat. It’s also wonderful at creating smokescreens. You get involved in a conflict, the smaller issues besetting an invading nation get lost. Infrastructure, social needs, political divide, logic and smarts, all go out the window.
It’s good for manufacturing because war-time economies thrive with new machinery, arms, equipment and inventions. It’s good for employment. It helps the military get more money and more stars on their epaulets. It creates heroes and great media stories, some of which might even be true.
John Bolton, the Captain Kangaroo look-alike and the slug’s National Security Advisor, was one of the principal architect of the war in Afghanistan, a dismal failure that brought nothing to either country but pain and suffering. He wants war. Look out.
Right now, we’re poised. The arrow is notched and the bow is drawn.
Trump’s sole success (and really, it was Obama’s, not the slug’s) is that the economy was charging along at a pretty good pace, with unemployment falling and production growing. The China embargo is going to bring this to a halt by harming small manufacturers who operate on skinny profits, and raising costs of basic materials imported from the East. It will cost the average American about $76 a year, not a princely sum but one that’s just large enough to matter. For an average couple, $76 is dinner and a movie but maybe not a baby sitter.
War will stir the blood of the right-wing and chill that of the left, which is exactly what the slug wants. His xenophobia will be satisfied by destroying non-American lives overseas, a goal he has attempted and failed at here.
War will further damage America’s reputation held by its present and former allies. We have already lost much respect among our erstwhile friends. They will not fight a war alongside us. They’ve learned their lessons—that Trump always chooses the wrong man to back, and, in the end, is not to be trusted under any circumstances.
So if we fight Iran, we may have the Saudis on our side, led by yet another murderous autocrat, and we will be judged by the company we keep.
May 13, 2019
Donald and Lucrezia
We haven’t been hearing much from the military lately. I know they’re busy setting up the Space Rangers force, and planning a 4th of July parade in our nation’s capital. My sources tell me they’re moving money around to find a couple of billion for the slug’s wall, hoping it will keep him at bay. Some, I’m sure, are still dealing with the LGBT issue. Others are working with the logistics of sending soldiers to patrol the border to the south and pick up trash. Others still, I sincerely hope, are meeting in a secret sub-basement of the Pentagon figuring out how to get rid of POTUS.
To the best of my knowledge, there’s never been a military coup in the US. But then again, there’s never been a raving, amoral lunatic president, either. So it’s time to abandon the idea of impeachment. Think depose. Think start over.
The Democrats have not come to their senses. They’re squabbling and whining and moaning, playing into the hands of the slugites. If there ever has been a time in American history when the personal tiffs of our elected representatives should be put aside, it’s now. Instead, the sole opposition party is split into two dozen meaningless factions, and this will cost them the election. Mark my words. Unless the Democrat old guard and the outspoken (sometimes stupidly) new kids on the block get their acts together, and do so very soon, we’re going to get four more years of the slug.
The present government’s theory of leading is rule by misdirection and chaos. Important issues are shunted aside when one of our present halfwits utters an outrageously stupid announcement. Trump believes he should have an extra two years of governing because of the Mueller report. Instead of dismissing this ridiculous statement, the media goes wild. Pundits opine; professors perorate; a nation of Chicken Littles decides the sky is falling. Trump laughs—mission accomplished, and one of the worst businessmen in modern history (endless bankruptcies, bad debts, lawsuits) is forming economic policy and costing small enterprises all over the country their livelihoods.
Trump as president makes as much sense as putting Lucrezia Borgia in charge of the Food and Drug Administration.
My friend P, a smart woman whose opinion I respect, tells me the armed forces will never act to restore a semblance of order in the US. Unfortunately, I believe she’s right. But still, a small voice in me wants to say, “C’mon, you uniformed he-men! We’re sinking fast here! Come to the rescue! Do you really want the orange slug to be in charge? Do you—who have risked life and limb to make the country safe—really respect the Draft Dodger in Chief and think he’s an able ruler?”
Nah. I didn’t think so.
To the best of my knowledge, there’s never been a military coup in the US. But then again, there’s never been a raving, amoral lunatic president, either. So it’s time to abandon the idea of impeachment. Think depose. Think start over.
The Democrats have not come to their senses. They’re squabbling and whining and moaning, playing into the hands of the slugites. If there ever has been a time in American history when the personal tiffs of our elected representatives should be put aside, it’s now. Instead, the sole opposition party is split into two dozen meaningless factions, and this will cost them the election. Mark my words. Unless the Democrat old guard and the outspoken (sometimes stupidly) new kids on the block get their acts together, and do so very soon, we’re going to get four more years of the slug.
The present government’s theory of leading is rule by misdirection and chaos. Important issues are shunted aside when one of our present halfwits utters an outrageously stupid announcement. Trump believes he should have an extra two years of governing because of the Mueller report. Instead of dismissing this ridiculous statement, the media goes wild. Pundits opine; professors perorate; a nation of Chicken Littles decides the sky is falling. Trump laughs—mission accomplished, and one of the worst businessmen in modern history (endless bankruptcies, bad debts, lawsuits) is forming economic policy and costing small enterprises all over the country their livelihoods.
Trump as president makes as much sense as putting Lucrezia Borgia in charge of the Food and Drug Administration.
My friend P, a smart woman whose opinion I respect, tells me the armed forces will never act to restore a semblance of order in the US. Unfortunately, I believe she’s right. But still, a small voice in me wants to say, “C’mon, you uniformed he-men! We’re sinking fast here! Come to the rescue! Do you really want the orange slug to be in charge? Do you—who have risked life and limb to make the country safe—really respect the Draft Dodger in Chief and think he’s an able ruler?”
Nah. I didn’t think so.
May 9, 2019
Greed
Whenever I have surgery and I’m put under, the next few days are a mess.
Since I was diagnosed a long time ago with sleep apnea, the anesthesiologist has to put a tube down my throat while I’m out to make sure I keep breathing. Afterwards it hurts to swallow. I can’t sleep. My digestion is screwed up. I want peanut butter at three in the morning. I wake up a half-dozen time each night. I don’t think clearly.
So it’s three in the morning, I’m resisting the peanut butter and pita but giving in to buying the new John Sanford novel. I’m bored. I know my bookshelves by heart. I’ve read everything Sanford has done in the last two decades. Like an addict waiting for his next fix, I recognize my purchase will fill a need, but I’ll be disappointed anyway. Sanford is beginning to repeat himself. The start of any Lucas Davenport adventure is fun, but after page 50 or so of the last six books in his Prey series (there are 29 now, I think) the prose and plot and dialogue have all become mechanical. That’s disappointment number one.
Disappointment number two verges on anger. Sanford is a best-selling author who by this time probably owns the greater part of the state of Minnesota where he lives. He’s a multi-gazillionaire. He could give his readers a break and offer his latest eBook cheap but he doesn’t. It’s $14.95 of pure, unadulterated profit. The online books have no production cost, no paper, no distribution, no shelf space at Barnes & Noble. It is pure greed.
Greed is my latest bête noire.
I see it absolutely everywhere, unashamed, indeed almost proud. We have evolved into a society of petty money-grubbing and it honestly sickens me.
I am spending more monthly on medical copays than I am on food, gasoline, and entertainment put together. Some of the copays are stupidly small--$5.00. Others are not and seem to have no bearing on reality. Provider greed.
I fly to Europe. I reserve a seat. I pay. But wait! I really don’t have a seat! I have to pay extra for an actual crappy chair. I have to pay extra for baggage. I have to pay extra for leg room. Airline greed.
At my morning coffee shop, there are five cash registers. Rarely is more than one manned (or womanned, actually). Only when a line of customers are waiting to be helped does the store manager assign a second cashier. I asked her about this recently, and she said the practice was dictated by the franchise owners who want to develop a delivery service without hiring more staff. Restaurant greed.
If I order something online, I notice more and more that shipping costs are not mentioned until it’s time to check out. These shipping and handling (what does that mean, anyway, handling?) are normally four to five times the actual price of a delivery. Sales greed. I don’t buy and for the next several days will get increasingly frantic emails from the seller telling me I have not finished my transaction.
We now pay to put air in the tires of our cars at the gas station. It used to be free. Garage greed.
The income and salaries of the rank and file have not increased greatly in the past few decades, while the cost of living has soared. Does that have something to do with this surge in financial gluttony or has it always been there, and am I just now noticing?
Since I was diagnosed a long time ago with sleep apnea, the anesthesiologist has to put a tube down my throat while I’m out to make sure I keep breathing. Afterwards it hurts to swallow. I can’t sleep. My digestion is screwed up. I want peanut butter at three in the morning. I wake up a half-dozen time each night. I don’t think clearly.
So it’s three in the morning, I’m resisting the peanut butter and pita but giving in to buying the new John Sanford novel. I’m bored. I know my bookshelves by heart. I’ve read everything Sanford has done in the last two decades. Like an addict waiting for his next fix, I recognize my purchase will fill a need, but I’ll be disappointed anyway. Sanford is beginning to repeat himself. The start of any Lucas Davenport adventure is fun, but after page 50 or so of the last six books in his Prey series (there are 29 now, I think) the prose and plot and dialogue have all become mechanical. That’s disappointment number one.
Disappointment number two verges on anger. Sanford is a best-selling author who by this time probably owns the greater part of the state of Minnesota where he lives. He’s a multi-gazillionaire. He could give his readers a break and offer his latest eBook cheap but he doesn’t. It’s $14.95 of pure, unadulterated profit. The online books have no production cost, no paper, no distribution, no shelf space at Barnes & Noble. It is pure greed.
Greed is my latest bête noire.
I see it absolutely everywhere, unashamed, indeed almost proud. We have evolved into a society of petty money-grubbing and it honestly sickens me.
I am spending more monthly on medical copays than I am on food, gasoline, and entertainment put together. Some of the copays are stupidly small--$5.00. Others are not and seem to have no bearing on reality. Provider greed.
I fly to Europe. I reserve a seat. I pay. But wait! I really don’t have a seat! I have to pay extra for an actual crappy chair. I have to pay extra for baggage. I have to pay extra for leg room. Airline greed.
At my morning coffee shop, there are five cash registers. Rarely is more than one manned (or womanned, actually). Only when a line of customers are waiting to be helped does the store manager assign a second cashier. I asked her about this recently, and she said the practice was dictated by the franchise owners who want to develop a delivery service without hiring more staff. Restaurant greed.
If I order something online, I notice more and more that shipping costs are not mentioned until it’s time to check out. These shipping and handling (what does that mean, anyway, handling?) are normally four to five times the actual price of a delivery. Sales greed. I don’t buy and for the next several days will get increasingly frantic emails from the seller telling me I have not finished my transaction.
We now pay to put air in the tires of our cars at the gas station. It used to be free. Garage greed.
The income and salaries of the rank and file have not increased greatly in the past few decades, while the cost of living has soared. Does that have something to do with this surge in financial gluttony or has it always been there, and am I just now noticing?
May 3, 2019
The Law
Laws are reactive, made to protect the many from the few. Most of us are pretty good people who don’t prey on others, but we need to be shielded from that small minority that survives by taking advantage of others’ good natures, ignorance, kindness, or gullibility.
The bad guys are experts at playing the odds and skirting the letter of the law. They realize the chances of getting caught red-handed doing something illegal are slim, and they are smart enough to know that the more time elapses between a crime and an arrest, the smaller the chances of prosecution or conviction.
The authorities can’t protect us all the time from everyone and the truth is, most of us have done something outside the law in our lifetimes. I seldom drive at the speed limit. I walk past blinking Don’t Walk signs, and make left or U-turns where I shouldn’t. Despite this, I consider myself very much a law-abiding citizen.
My father, a good and upstanding man, once got so irked by the lack of attentive sales people at Sears that he pocketed what he was going to buy—a box of nails—and for years felt a mixture of pride and shame over this small dereliction. My mother smoked in the bathrooms of restaurants, and was known to ask for extra rolls, that she would then pocket in her spacious purse. When I was unemployed, very, very poor, and finally found work in a large international organization, I would take my backpack into the men’s room and steal as much toilet paper as I could. I also purloined silverware from the company cafeteria. I returned the latter a decade-and-a-half later when I moved on to a new job. Never once did I feel a sense of guilt, so perhaps I am, if not a hardened criminal, at very best a petty thief without a conscience.
The problem with the law, in almost any society, is that it never works quite as it should, and it favors the rich. In fact, realistically, if you’re rich, break the law and somehow are punished for it, it means that:
1. You considered yourself above the law and
2. Never thought you’d get caught, so
3. You kept breaking the law with impunity until
4. Your actions became so blatant that
5. Society had no choice but to prosecute you.
Or you thought yourself too smart to hire a lawyer, but the reality was, you were too cheap. Still, if you’re wealthy, you can tie things up for years in the court system, and you’ll have wealthy friends whose influence will very likely bear favorably upon your case.
What we have going on now with the Mueller/Barr situation involves all of the above:
1. A miscreant (the prez) who
2. Routinely lies, misrepresents, and breaks the laws of the land, yet
3. Thinks he’s above it and therefore flouts it, and
4. Is relatively certain he’ll never be prosecuted
I think he will be. But I also recommend you don’t hold your breath. This will take time.
In olden days a captain went down with his ship. In modern times, the captain throws everyone—rats included—overboard and keeps the lifeboats for himself.
Still, a few rats will probably manage to make it to shore at the same time as the captain. Then the fun will really begin!
The bad guys are experts at playing the odds and skirting the letter of the law. They realize the chances of getting caught red-handed doing something illegal are slim, and they are smart enough to know that the more time elapses between a crime and an arrest, the smaller the chances of prosecution or conviction.
The authorities can’t protect us all the time from everyone and the truth is, most of us have done something outside the law in our lifetimes. I seldom drive at the speed limit. I walk past blinking Don’t Walk signs, and make left or U-turns where I shouldn’t. Despite this, I consider myself very much a law-abiding citizen.
My father, a good and upstanding man, once got so irked by the lack of attentive sales people at Sears that he pocketed what he was going to buy—a box of nails—and for years felt a mixture of pride and shame over this small dereliction. My mother smoked in the bathrooms of restaurants, and was known to ask for extra rolls, that she would then pocket in her spacious purse. When I was unemployed, very, very poor, and finally found work in a large international organization, I would take my backpack into the men’s room and steal as much toilet paper as I could. I also purloined silverware from the company cafeteria. I returned the latter a decade-and-a-half later when I moved on to a new job. Never once did I feel a sense of guilt, so perhaps I am, if not a hardened criminal, at very best a petty thief without a conscience.
The problem with the law, in almost any society, is that it never works quite as it should, and it favors the rich. In fact, realistically, if you’re rich, break the law and somehow are punished for it, it means that:
1. You considered yourself above the law and
2. Never thought you’d get caught, so
3. You kept breaking the law with impunity until
4. Your actions became so blatant that
5. Society had no choice but to prosecute you.
Or you thought yourself too smart to hire a lawyer, but the reality was, you were too cheap. Still, if you’re wealthy, you can tie things up for years in the court system, and you’ll have wealthy friends whose influence will very likely bear favorably upon your case.
What we have going on now with the Mueller/Barr situation involves all of the above:
1. A miscreant (the prez) who
2. Routinely lies, misrepresents, and breaks the laws of the land, yet
3. Thinks he’s above it and therefore flouts it, and
4. Is relatively certain he’ll never be prosecuted
I think he will be. But I also recommend you don’t hold your breath. This will take time.
In olden days a captain went down with his ship. In modern times, the captain throws everyone—rats included—overboard and keeps the lifeboats for himself.
Still, a few rats will probably manage to make it to shore at the same time as the captain. Then the fun will really begin!
April 25, 2019
Drugs
I’m tired of reading about the drug crisis, even though I am relieved to see Trump is taking credit for the fight against opioid abuse.
Anyone with half a brain can figure out that all the hand-wringing and media hype is exactly that—hype. Nothing is going to change as long as there are practicing addicts. Nothing is going to change as long as there are immense profits to be made from drugs and from addiction, and by Big Pharm, pain clinics and doctors whose understanding of the Hippocratic Oath is at best spotty. We are still acting as if interdiction works, when, after billions of dollars wasted trying to eradicate and interdict other drugs (cocaine, heroin, meth, marijuana, alcohol, among them) our dependence on drugs keeps growing.
Addiction is a disease. Might as well try to outlaw cancer.
For years now I’ve been saying that the only way we will ever get a handle on the drug issue is to legalize everything. Everything… Legalize, oversee, and tax. Imagine the billions of dollars of income from taxing what are now illegal drugs. Imagine how such moneys could be used to train counselors and set up free or minimal-cost rehabs for anyone wanting to quit. Imagine, as well, how legalizing drugs would change the political systems in Central and South America, in Afghanistan, Pakistan and the other Stans responsible for growing and exporting deadly drugs mostly to the US. Imagine Russia’s loss of income once the market price of dugs collapses. Putinland might go bankrupt.
We would cut the cost of caring for addicts. We would no longer see our swamped hospital emergency rooms dealing with the ravages of addiction and drug-related gang wars. We would free law enforcement from the thankless task of busting users and dealers big or small, and officers of the law could return to preventing and solving real crimes, those of hate, violence, and human abuse. We would relieve the overcrowding of prisons and free the judiciary from having to adjudicate the hundreds of thousands of drug trafficking offenses tried annually. Drugs could be made purer and therefore less dangerous. The petty crimes committed by desperate addict would end. Big pharm would be happy and might be encouraged to devote more funds to researching cures for other, equally devastating illnesses.
We could, in less than one generation, completely change the world.
The downside? There would be a massive die-off as hardcore addicts perish quickly instead of slowly from having access to limitless drugs. This might be avoided somewhat by implementing a rescue system for those who, though they might deem themselves almost beyond help, retain a glimmer of hope. Programs already in place that are both non-punitive and non-judgmental would benefit from an infusion of funds. Think education, think training, think hope and healing, not coercion, force or fear.
I’ve been on both sides of the drug issue. I know for a fact that telling an addict to stop using drugs is akin to telling a clinically depressed person to have a nice day. It doesn’t work. Legalizing drugs would.
Anyone with half a brain can figure out that all the hand-wringing and media hype is exactly that—hype. Nothing is going to change as long as there are practicing addicts. Nothing is going to change as long as there are immense profits to be made from drugs and from addiction, and by Big Pharm, pain clinics and doctors whose understanding of the Hippocratic Oath is at best spotty. We are still acting as if interdiction works, when, after billions of dollars wasted trying to eradicate and interdict other drugs (cocaine, heroin, meth, marijuana, alcohol, among them) our dependence on drugs keeps growing.
Addiction is a disease. Might as well try to outlaw cancer.
For years now I’ve been saying that the only way we will ever get a handle on the drug issue is to legalize everything. Everything… Legalize, oversee, and tax. Imagine the billions of dollars of income from taxing what are now illegal drugs. Imagine how such moneys could be used to train counselors and set up free or minimal-cost rehabs for anyone wanting to quit. Imagine, as well, how legalizing drugs would change the political systems in Central and South America, in Afghanistan, Pakistan and the other Stans responsible for growing and exporting deadly drugs mostly to the US. Imagine Russia’s loss of income once the market price of dugs collapses. Putinland might go bankrupt.
We would cut the cost of caring for addicts. We would no longer see our swamped hospital emergency rooms dealing with the ravages of addiction and drug-related gang wars. We would free law enforcement from the thankless task of busting users and dealers big or small, and officers of the law could return to preventing and solving real crimes, those of hate, violence, and human abuse. We would relieve the overcrowding of prisons and free the judiciary from having to adjudicate the hundreds of thousands of drug trafficking offenses tried annually. Drugs could be made purer and therefore less dangerous. The petty crimes committed by desperate addict would end. Big pharm would be happy and might be encouraged to devote more funds to researching cures for other, equally devastating illnesses.
We could, in less than one generation, completely change the world.
The downside? There would be a massive die-off as hardcore addicts perish quickly instead of slowly from having access to limitless drugs. This might be avoided somewhat by implementing a rescue system for those who, though they might deem themselves almost beyond help, retain a glimmer of hope. Programs already in place that are both non-punitive and non-judgmental would benefit from an infusion of funds. Think education, think training, think hope and healing, not coercion, force or fear.
I’ve been on both sides of the drug issue. I know for a fact that telling an addict to stop using drugs is akin to telling a clinically depressed person to have a nice day. It doesn’t work. Legalizing drugs would.
April 19, 2019
Frightening Words
The most frightening word I know is biopsy. The most frightening six-word sentence I know is we’ll need to do a biopsy. The sentence and the word when uttered by a medical person keep me up at night, wide-eyed in the dark, with foul thoughts competing for preeminence. My stomach gets queasy and my shoulders lock up.
Most people who know me also know that for the past seven years I’ve been dealing with bladder cancer. I’ve undergone almost twenty cystoscopies, a very nasty and dehumanizing procedure that involves a tiny camera exploring my bladder. I’ve been operated upon fourteen times, and received more than fifty rounds of brutal chemotherapy. I mention all this because this past week, I’ve had two medical tests done to determine whether my existing cancer, or perhaps a new one, was continuing its stealthy invasion.
It’s not.
I’m tempted to yell, “F*ck you, stupid cancer!” but I won’t. I’m superstitious enough to believe baiting the beast is plain stupid. Instead, I’ll just express my gratitude.
The biopsy results showed nothing amiss.
The oncologist who did the cystoscopy put his probe away and said, “Looks good!”
I said, “Are you sure?”
He laughed. I’ve asked him that question before. “Yeah. No recurrence. No tumors, no cancer. There’s some scar tissue from all the surgeries, but everything looks good. I’ll see you in three months.”
I’ve now been cancer-free nine months. That hasn't happened before, and for the first time in weeks, I slept a full, uninterrupted seven hours.
No cancer. I can begin making plans to go to Europe this spring or summer. I can keep writing the sequels to books recently published or about to be published. I can breathe without having that small catch in my lungs that makes me hiccup in fear.
Yowzah! No cancer. Perhaps the two most reassuring words I know.
Most people who know me also know that for the past seven years I’ve been dealing with bladder cancer. I’ve undergone almost twenty cystoscopies, a very nasty and dehumanizing procedure that involves a tiny camera exploring my bladder. I’ve been operated upon fourteen times, and received more than fifty rounds of brutal chemotherapy. I mention all this because this past week, I’ve had two medical tests done to determine whether my existing cancer, or perhaps a new one, was continuing its stealthy invasion.
It’s not.
I’m tempted to yell, “F*ck you, stupid cancer!” but I won’t. I’m superstitious enough to believe baiting the beast is plain stupid. Instead, I’ll just express my gratitude.
The biopsy results showed nothing amiss.
The oncologist who did the cystoscopy put his probe away and said, “Looks good!”
I said, “Are you sure?”
He laughed. I’ve asked him that question before. “Yeah. No recurrence. No tumors, no cancer. There’s some scar tissue from all the surgeries, but everything looks good. I’ll see you in three months.”
I’ve now been cancer-free nine months. That hasn't happened before, and for the first time in weeks, I slept a full, uninterrupted seven hours.
No cancer. I can begin making plans to go to Europe this spring or summer. I can keep writing the sequels to books recently published or about to be published. I can breathe without having that small catch in my lungs that makes me hiccup in fear.
Yowzah! No cancer. Perhaps the two most reassuring words I know.
