I Won't Be Calming Down Any Time Soon

[WARNING: Freakishly long, screedy post follows. Run. Run like the wind. You’ve been warned.]

smiling

At the official back-slapping, high-five-ing ceremony at the White House today, VP Joe Biden introduced the Commander-in-Chief and, while, well . . . slapping his back . . . leaned into his ear and said, “This is a big f#$%ing deal.” (It’s true.)

Well, yes. Yes it is. For once the vice-president and I agree on something. It is a very big deal. Today the Californiafication of America took a giant leap forward.

California is, of course a dysfunctional nanny state, insolvent, and a hostage to its powerful public employee unions. That last condition is why it is powerless to take the necessary steps to remedy the first two.

This is why a group of Tea Party protesters rioted in California the other day, setting  stuff on fire and clashing violently with police. No, wait. That was actually a bunch of 28 and 30-year-old “students” in Berkley enraged over some modest increases in their massively tax-payer-subsidized tuition.

Just how much trouble is California in and how intractable are its problems? It is long, discouraging reading, but you won’t find a more thorough tour of the wreckage than the piece by Prof. William Voegeli I saw in my fall issue of The Claremont Review of Books. It’s appropriately titled, “Failed State.

For a stiff chaser, throw back this Steven Greenhut piece from City Journal called Plundering California.

It’s instructive reading because its a peek at our near-term future as a nation, no matter who ends up running the show in Washington two years or four years from now. The damage has already been done. The boulder has already been pry-barred from its ledge and its rolling happily down the hill.

Want a longer term preview? Look to Greece, only one of several candidates for the title “the sick man of Europe” as I write.

An anecdotal post by Victor Davis Hanson beautifully illustrates why Greece (literally) doesn’t work:

I lived in Greece for more than two years, and one of my best memories is of a small hotelier at a seaside resort. He checked you in; he cooked; he did the landscaping at night; he did all the maintenance during the day.

I asked him why he didn’t hire more help, since his hotel wasn’t all that small and he seemed to be going 24/7.

What followed was a harangue about the cost of hiring a permanent worker in Greece, the difficulty of ever firing him if he proved worthless, and why he preferred to do everything himself rather than fill out all sorts of forms and hire unmotivated but tenured employees. Besides, he said, almost everyone was on some sort of pension, disability, or government benefit, and was unwilling to work, so his choices were either illegal immigrants or broke foreign students.

Then he launched into a blast against socialism, and explained how he was forced to become an expert tax dodger, how he would barter for all the transactions he could, and why he hated the government. He finished by sighing that in Greece, the people spend their time either devising ways to get government money or scheming to avoid the tax collectors — or, preferably, both.

I think the medicine for Greece’s current crisis will prove more unpalatable than the wasting disease.

Hanson titled the above story, “Is Greece our Future?” I suspect it is.

In response to my previous post expressing both dismay about the Obamacare cram-down and the latest advance of creeping sharia, an old college buddy left the following comment.

Armaggedon, end-of-times, cats and dogs living together, mass hysteria!!!

Great, can we all calm down now? If we could survive 8 years of George W. Bush, we can survive this. And it will give Rush, Hannity, and Beck some more show material.

The commenter is a good man. And I always enjoy a good Ghostbusters reference. But I’ll have to leave it to my friends who are state and federal government employees to be all Zen-like about the rocket-sled to national insolvency and servitude we’ve been on the last 14 months. They’ll be the last to feel the pain. But it’s coming–even for them. (Ask the state employees in California holding IOUs instead of checks.)

Meanwhile, those of us in the lowly entrepreneurial class have been under increasing attack for a couple of years now. Calm down? I guess I lost my smiley-face button when I had to lay off every single one of my employees one-by-one over the last year. Good people. People I kept on paying longer than I could really afford to–to the detriment of my own family.

Starting a business means risking all; pouring blood, sweat and years into it with no guarantees; working ridiculous hours in order to build something that, hopefully, will not only provide well for your family but generate jobs for other families as well.

For this privilege, the business owner has to hack through a dense and expanding jungle of government regulations, taxes, fees, and conflicting expectations. And deal with the default presumption that he or she is evil and greedy.

Right now our government has six or seven regulatory guns pointed at the head of every business owner in the country. Retirement plan? The success of the business IS the entrepreneur’s retirement plan. But today’s Beltway hootenanny was only the beginning.

If the bunch grinning and congratulating themselves in Washington today have their way, the top marginal tax rate will increase. So will the tax on capital gains, the tax on gasoline, and we’ll get a “carbon tax” that will essentially be a penalty for breathing.

Here’s a news flash for my chipper friend. We can’t all work for the government. Someone’s going to have to actually run businesses (profitably) and employ enough folks to keep the giant Ponzi scheme going.

In 2008, 48% of American adults either paid NO federal taxes or worked in a taxpayer funded job. That figure has been creeping higher every year. Ironically, Obama-Reid-Pelosi speak of the creation of tens of thousands of new government jobs if it were a type of “stimulus” rather than an additional load for the beleaguered productive class to carry.

Think about it. If that continues, a clear electoral majority of Americans will soon be able to vote themselves raises and cradle-to-grave benefits programs for which the tax-paying minority will have to shoulder the financial burden. This is precisely what has happened in California.

My Dad was a teacher. A wonderful one. After putting 25 years in as a teacher, he retired at the age of 54, fully vested in the Oklahoma teacher retirement system. He’ll be 81 in June. Ponder the math of that for a moment.

Growing up, Dad told my brother and I that our smartest course of action was to go to work for the federal government. As usual, he was right.

Instead I followed my heart and have been self-employed virtually all of my adult life. As things currently stand, I will have to work until I’m 90 and the government will continue to confiscate large chunks of everything I earn all along the way.

My brother listened to dad. He went to work right out of college for an agency of the federal government in a job that, along with the paycheck, gave him the equivalent of an officer’s commission in the U.S. Navy.  In the next year or so, he’ll be able to retire before his 50th birthday with a gold-plated Captain’s pension.

Today, I’m the one feeling like a sucker. But 10 years from now when the government is faced with the no-win choice of either defaulting on its debt or plunging us into hyper-inflation. The Ponzi scheme will catch up to even the Cadillac federal pension holders.

The real losers in all this will be our children and grandchildren.

It’s always the last ones into the Ponzi scheme who end up holding the empty bag. Sorry kids.

Gut Punch #424

Here on the 424th day of the Obama-Pelosi-Reid Administration, those of us who love this country; treasure liberty; and understand that free market capitalism is the only true engine of prosperity on the planet, have just received our 424th punch in the gut. Actually, tonight was more of a groin kick. Come to think of it, over the last year and two months, it’s been gut punches on even numbered days, groin kicks on the odd.

In any event, I don’t think there has been a single day since January 20, 2009, that the news out of Washington D.C. hasn’t brought us an atrocity, a travesty, or something truly heartbreaking. It has been something. Every. Single. Day.

For example, yesterday brought news that our President had appointed a new senior adviser to the Transportation Safety Administration. His pick? A gentleman named Nawar Shora, the legal director of the Arab-American Anti-Defamation Committee–an organization that is, among other problematic things, wildly anti-Israel.

As Paul Mirengoff over at Powerline points out:

The Washington Post, in what I would describe as a celebratory article, is very clear about what Shora’s role will be at TSA. It states (under his picture in an article appearing today) that Shora “is used to fighting for the civil rights of Muslims and Arabs, but now he will do so as a federal government official.” Shora is equally clear, saying “it is about time I cross over to the government and start working within the system.”

But TSA is not a civil rights organization; it is (or should be) an organization dedicated to promoting safety and thwarting terrorism. Shora’s appointment is more evidence that TSA is not sufficiently dedicated to that purpose. Shora’s mission in life is not promoting safety and thwarting terrorism; it is promoting the interests of Arab-Americans

Think about this. Our President has just appointed the Arab-American’s version of Al Sharpton to the agency charged with keeping the next 9/11 from happening. Just let the implications of that sink in for a moment. This was gut punch #423.

Of course that was just a ball peen hammer blow to the foundation of our freedoms compared to the wrecking ball Pelosi & Co. successfully swung against that foundation tonight.

On Leaving Alaska

In 1879 the great naturalist, John Muir, took a steamship and began to explore Alaska. In the early pages of the journal he kept on that trip, he wrote: “Never before this had I been embosomed in scenery so hopelessly beyond description.”

I understand. I spent most of my last full day in Alaska with my mouth hanging open in slack-jawed wonder and astonishment.

For the previous six days the weather here has been gray and snowy, with low-hanging clouds obscuring views of the sea and of the distant mountain ranges. But today . . . Well, today was different . . .

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Grasping the twin gifts of a beautiful day and clear schedule I took the rental car, my camera, and a Garmin Nuvi and headed out of town.

In the morning I took Alaska Highway 1 south and east along the coast of the Turnagain Arm of the Chickaloon Bay. Around every corner, I was greeted by views like this:

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And this:

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In the afternoon I headed north to Palmer and tried to keep the car on the road while gawking at sights like this:

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By the end of the day I was reminded of another entry in John Muir’s Alaska journal:

To the lover of pure wildness, Alaska is one of the most wonderful countries in the world . . . Chasing shining ways through fiord and sound, past forests and waterfalls, islands and mountains and far azure headlands, it seems as if surely we must at length reach the very paradise of the poets, the abode of the blessed.

It is indeed a wonderful place. God willing, I’ll be back.

Alaska Bonus

dogsledcrossing

I didn’t realize when I planned this trip that my next-to-last day would coincide with the start of the 38th running of the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race.  But I consider it a pretty cool bonus. At 10a this morning (1p Dallas time) the teams took off here in downtown Anchorage amidst a festive, party atmosphere that engulfed the entire city. It’s a very big deal here.

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The dogs are amazing and seem to be having the time of their lives:

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Another full day of work and research here tomorrow, and then I head for home Monday morning. I like this place. Wouldn’t want to live here. But I like it. In an email to a friend yesterday, I described it this way:

Snowy. Gray. Gorgeous. Alien. There is much about the culture and vibe that reminds me of Texas. Just replace Hispanics with eskimo/indians, add ice, and stir.

I’ve learned a lot here, too. Maybe I’ll write a book about it.

Anchored in Anchorage . . .

It’s better than being ensconced in Escondido or sequestered in Susquehanna, I suppose.

I’m safely and warmly nested in my hotel room here in Anchorage–my home for the next week. This is my first time in Anchorage, if you don’t count the time back in ’88 when I flew through here for an hour on the way to South Korea (long story).

Anchorage in March feels a lot like our winters in Minneapolis in February (except for the gorgeous snowy mountain peaks off in the distance.) Piles of dirty snow on every corner. Constantly using your windshield washers because of the spray from the car in front you you. Black slush in every parking lot.

Off in the distance, however, the views are spectacular.

anchorage

The Chugach mountains which surround the city are beautiful. Tomorrow I get to leave the city for a day trip into the countryside. Looking forward to it.

Long, Rambling Catch-Up Post

I think I’ve sufficiently recovered from moving now to resume blogging. Why, I’ve regained almost full use of my hands! And I don’t collapse into a weepy puddle every time I need to find something I last saw laying on a counter back in the other place. So . . .

Stand by for news!

Yesterday marked the one year anniversary of Paul Harvey’s passing. In a more just, more perfect, more lovely world, I would have been on radio and television this last weekend talking about Mr. Harvey and giving the book another little goose up the Amazon sales charts. But alas that’s not the world we live in. (Of course, it’s never too late to send a father or grandfather the Paul Harvey’s America as a gift!)

Speaking of news. I still can’t share any about the new book project. It’s still top secret, but I’ll spill when I can. Or you can ask my wife. She’ll tell you.

In other, utterly-unrelated news, I’m off to Alaska today–Anchorage and environs for a week. The forecast is for mild (by Alaska standards) weather. Highs in the mid-30s, snow showers most days. In other words, about the same as in Mineeapolis. I mention that because in the six years we lived in Minnesota, I developed a habit of comparing the winter temps in Minneapolis to those in Anchorage. Nine times out of ten, it was warmer in Anchorage.

Look for my Twitterings and Twit-pics to be all Alaska-y over the next few days.  Why follow me on Twitter? I can’t think of a single good reason. Unless you enjoy random musings like this one from the other day:

Regrets? I have a few. e.g., I rooted for Taylor Hicks on American Idol a few years back. That one still stings a bit.

Here’s something I came across on BoingBoing the other day that I’ve been meaning to mention. I can’t express how much I loved the story that relates to this picture:

spit-and-whittle

The photo is from a 1949 LIFE magazine pictorial/article about the great battle of the bench that roiled Whitney, Texas back in ’48/’49. You can get the full story here. But at issue was a long, rough-hewn bench which had sat outside the local drug store in Whitney for as long as anyone could remember. From almost the very day that it appeared, it had been occupied all day long by old ranchers and farmers who would chew tobacco and comment on everyone and everything that moved into eye-shot.

I loved this story because my home town of Wilburton, Oklahoma had a bench that performed pretty much the same function. It sat outside Fern’s Cafe, (which burned to the ground a few years back) and was always occupied during daylight hours by gentlemen I called the Spit and Whittle Polo Club.

The Battle of the Bench in Whitney erupted when some image-minded busybodies tried to have the bench removed. My favorite quote from the article was this one:

“I’ve never heard of such foolishness”, ‘cried 97-year-old Tom Rose, dean of the bench sitters’. “Come here in ’77 from Tennessee, been married 76 years, and my wife ain’t whipped me yet.”

That was “1877” he was referring to, by the way.

Now I’m off to Alaska!