Fast Cars and Baltimore

Last month, our men's book club read and discussed Outliers The Story of Success   by Malcolm Gladwell. For those who haven't read this excellent book: Through a series of anecdotal profiles,  he defines the reasons that people become successful,  and also the the reasons for the lack of success of others. There are two main themes to the success stories. One is the 10,000 hour rule, that is, that it takes at least 10,000 hours of hard work or practice to become proficient in a chosen field. One of the examples he uses is that of the Beatles, who, before bursting onto the scene in 1964, had spent years together playing in clubs in England and Germany. While many of their competitors were three chord wonders, the Beatles had, by the time they appeared on Ed Sullivan, become accomplished musicians. Of course, the 10,000 hour rule is no guarantee of success, but that much work is necessary to reach the peak of proficiency.

The other theme, that he stressed, is that essentially no one becomes successful without help along the way. That, the concept of the "self made man" is bogus. This help that successful people receive can come in many forms, and it is very often a series of intervening helpful circumstances that lift people up in this world. These compounding circumstances can be as simple as being born in October or November so that a person might be 20% or so more mature or coordinated than his peers. In these cases, a teacher or coach might take interest in one's development. It may be the advantage one receives by being born into an upper middle class well educated family that can afford to spend the time and effort needed to guide a child to excel and to learn the interpersonal IQ needed to make one's way in society. It may be some special circumstance, such as being afforded computer time on a mainframe at an early age, or having a truly accomplished musician take interest in your piano studies

So now I come to the point of the title of this post. We are all hearing about the rioting and violence occurring in Baltimore and other cities over the death of Freddie Gray at the hands of the Baltimore police. The cries from the right are redolent with racist remarks about the Baltimore thugs, too lazy to work, and eager to burn and loot their city. And, I admit that that there is a certain amount of thuggery involved, and a short sighted inclination to shit where you sleep. But, there is also the hopelessness of the fact that the vast majority of the poor blacks in Baltimore and every large urban metropolis in this country will never get a single one of the aforementioned breaks or, much less, a combination of these breaks necessary to break out of their situation. They are raised by poor and poorly educated parents and grandparents, unwilling or unable to give them proper guidance. They are warehoused in underfunded and under performing schools, administered by school boards, county commissions, and states that are not willing to take on the roll of surrogate parenthood that these children need. They live in neighborhoods where unemployment is high and the hope of employment is low, and because their experiences of the world outside their boundaries is limited, they are unwilling or unable to leave.

And the fast cars portion of my post title? The song "Fast Car" by Tracy Chapman, which portrays the reality and hopelessness of the inner city better than I can ever express. It's enough to make me cry.

If I were a Republican

The definition of conservatism: A general preference for the existing order of society, and an opposition to efforts to bring about sharp change. With that definition in mind, let me pretend to be a member of the Republican party. Not your typical ill informed Republican, constantly being bombarded with right wing propaganda in order to be convinced to vote against his own best interest, but instead, a member of the elite, wealthy, powerful inner circle of Republicans working to guide national policy to achieve their own very narrow goals.

Here are my goals as a member of this powerful Royal club. Note that this is truly a club, in that in this very exclusive group, members all know each other, associate with each other, and conspire with each other. Some of these members are household names, like the Koch brothers, or Sheldon Adelson, but for everyone in the group you can name, there are hundreds of other lesser Royals  pulling the strings of their own self-interest. As a member of this group, my number one goal is to insure that I can maintain and increase my wealth for my benefit and for the benefit of my heirs. Each of my other goals are simply subordinate to my number one goal. I will attempt to reduce taxes on my wealth and on that of my heirs. I will at all costs attempt to prevent the existence of a voting majority that might threaten my status and my wealth.

My Royal club that is tirelessly working to achieve it's goals, and is supported by a cadre of lesser Royalty, the Dukes and Earls of America, if you will, who benefit from the policies of their superiors and, the soldiers,or knights you might say, who enforce the royal will upon the American serfs. These knights, otherwise known as politicians and pundits are directly or indirectly on the payroll of the lords.

As a member of this American Royal family, let me explain how we achieve our goals. First of all, as I have said previously, we convince a substantial percentage of the voting public to vote against their own best interests. Through our knights, we promote xenophobic ideas regarding race, religion, and poverty. We convince the public that it must have guns to protect itself against potential uprisings of minorities, the poor, and the undocumented immigrants. We convince the public that we are an exclusively Christian nation, and that Christianity is under assault in America. Then we denigrate the poor, claiming that they are all lazy "takers", undeserving of government help, and beneath contempt of "hard working, God fearing Americans". Under the guise of religion we use gay and abortion issues to compromise the will and rights of individuals and to lure the religious zealots to our party.

We have very successfully made the words, socialism and communism, synonymous, and used the cold war fears of totalitarian Russia and China, to convince citizens to despise programs that universally help people, by labeling them socialist. We hate programs such as Medicare, Medicaid, Social Security, and now, the Affordable Care Act, because on the one hand  they take money out of our pockets, while on the other hand, these programs make people more independent and less beholden to us.

So far, these moves have helped us achieve most of our goals, except for the two major prizes, a permanent Republican Presidency and a majority court system under our control. We are currently hard at work on policies to overcome the demographic obstacle of a nationally elected president, and have mounted a grass roots approach to co-opting the court system and obtain even wider margins in the house and senate.

The weakening of the nation's campaign finance system now allows us to pour in vast amounts of dark money to not only national campaigns, but also increasing into local elections. As it has been said, "all politics is local", and as we build up a large cadre of Republican county commissioners, judges, and state legislators, we are building the future of the party. Our efforts in these areas have already reaped rewards.

Many states now have majority Republican Legislations working tirelessly to restrict Democratic voter turnout, roll back the political power of unions, thus cutting of important campaign finances to our Democratic opponents, making judicial positions partisan, and in some states, revamping electoral college laws to allow proportional representation where that would be an advantage to us.

Of course the main interest of the wealthy is to become more wealthy, so on that front, we, through our knights, have mounted a battle against the intellectual liberal elite. We simply cannot have people going around saying that air and water pollution is harming us, fossil fuel is driving Carbon Dioxide levels to irreversible highs, or that mankind is causing global warming and sea level rise. Our knights are working to discredit scientific study, reduce research, and actually decree that terms derogatory to the business climate not be used by government employees. When the time comes, we will retreat to higher ground and our knights will protect us.

Each of us looks forward to a time when our Knights obtain insurmountable political power and we can begin to completely unravel the social fabric of our country, and return our Royal families to the Utopian servant economy we so richly deserve.  

Birthday thoughts and wishes

It's a quiet day for the birthday boy. So far I've managed to bake four loaves of bread, and download five Bob Dillon CD's using the DVD/CD Rom player my wife got for me. (A lot of new laptops don't come with one). I also purchased Peter, Paul and Mary's greatest hits. My music purchases reminds me of this old guy (about the age I am now) from Kannapolis that several of us young guys carpooled with to McGuire Nuclear Station back in the early seventies. Each day he would turn on the car radio at 7:00 and listen to the news. Then, as soon as the first song after the news began playing, he would quickly turn off the radio and, like clockwork, say "ain't make any good music in twenty years."

My favorite chair in the den developed a big hole in the leather cushion, which I could have lived with, but coupled with the fact that the chair was quite low and increasingly hard to get out of, I got a new chair for my birthday. You know you're getting old when you get your own recliner. After I retire, I suppose I'll spend the majority of my leisure time with my feet elevated to the same level as my head. I'm developing more and more aches and pains, but I read today there may be hope.

I researcher today announced that head/body transplants may be possible within two years. I'm happily married to what I consider a trophy wife, so now perhaps I can get a trophy body as well. Of course, some might say the body got the short end of the stick. Can you imagine putting the grumpy head of an old man on to a 20 year old body. Talk about being a creepy, lecherous old fool. And, what would the doctor say after a successful surgery: "He's alive, he's alive." I guess when my head wears out, they could then transplant a new head onto my new body. I'd be like George Washington's axe, all original except for replacing the head and handle a few times.

I'm planning to retire in September, or at least mostly retire. I still need to make enough money to fund my hobbies. Actually, Kathy thinks I'm mostly retired now. Bought some new panniers for my bike and have a few trips in mind. I think my friend Tim and I are going to ride down to Greenville, NC in April. Kathy and I are going to do the three day Cycle NC coastal ride on the tandem in April, and maybe do a big 300 mile coastal loop sometime this summer. I just hope my health can hold out at least for a few more years. I've toyed with the idea of riding cross country, probably by myself, maybe next year, but I don't know if that will actually happen. It may be like some of my other dreams in that my reach may exceed my grasp. I probably should not have mentioned this trip, because I expect that Kathy will not be too keen on the idea. I would like to get in one grand adventure before I can't remember my way home. While writing this, the line "the places you'll go the people you'll meet" came into my head, and I became curious as to it's origins. It comes from the book "The Places you'll Go" by Dr. Seuss. Here's a YouTube link to the burning man version of the poem. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ahv_1IS7SiE . I know, Burning Man is just a bunch of crazy hippies camping in the desert, but this is worth a watch, because this is about the me that I wish I could be.

Nightmares and Neighbors

My recurring dreams and nightmares have followed a few basic themes. I've dreamed of walking through the woods where at every step there were snakes underfoot. I've dreamed of being in a public place clad only in my tighty whiteys. I've dreamed of flying, or more accurately being able to levitate myself over my surroundings. All of these themes began occurring in childhood, and for the most part occurred less frequently as I got older. I guess all dreams are somehow anchored in reality, although the complete tapestry of each dream is woven of many nonsensical threads. I'm not particularly afraid of snakes, so the snake dream seldom reappears, I have a lot more self-confidence than I had as a child or even as a young adult, and unfortunately the flying dream, which I understand indicates comfort or happiness does not occur as often as it once did.

My most terrifying dream sequence is also the most difficult to explain. It never seems to jolt me awake as it did when I was young, but the reality of this theme often occurs to me. Once, as a writing assignment in high school, I tried to articulate this dream, but I'm afraid my feeble attempt only got me a C or a D, and illustrated to the teacher how screwed up I was. I'm going to give it another shot.

In my dream, I would find myself suffocating under an ever increasing pile of sand being heaped upon me by my parents, one shovel full at a time. Although I would plead with them to stop, each parent was intent upon getting one last shovel of sand onto the pile. That's it, not a complicated dream where one nonsensical thread leads to another and another, just sand, dusty and dense piling up on me. I understand now that my dream was just a reaction to the parents, in my dysfunctional family, engaging in one more escalating argument where neither was willing to back down. My parents resorted to psychological, not physical violence, although at times the one felt as bad as the other. In any case, I survived my childhood, and I doubt that my family was more dysfunctional than many others. It was ,however, my introduction to the escalating argument, a phenomenon I've grown to greatly appreciate and fear.

I've seen, and been a part of these arguments, and the mitigating factor in almost every one I have engaged in or witnessed is that ultimately, one party or both were constrained by the potential loss of something they valued. Be it their freedom, their marriage, their children, their teeth, or their life, there was almost always some limiting factor that stopped the escalation before it lead to violence. But, as I have often joked, the cemeteries and jails are full of people who would not back down. These are the losers in our society, people without valuable constraints.

Couple this mentality with another theme that I have often written and thought about, that is, the psychopath next door. There has been a lot written about the sociopaths around us, including one titled "The Psychopath Next Door". What I have read indicates that about one in one hundred people exhibit some degree if antisocial behavior. Most of these people are not unremorseful killers like Chigurh in "No Country for Old Men", instead most simply have difficulty empathizing with their fellow man.

The danger, thankfully remote, is that you cross paths with an individual with some combination of the lethal traits I've just described. I suspect that this is exactly what happened to the three people of Muslim faith killed by Craig Hicks, their next door neighbor. There is a lot of talk about labeling this as a hate crime, but I think this is putting the cart before the horse. I have no knowledge of Mr. Hicks uttering anti Islam slurs about his neighbors, although I will not be surprised if evidence of this sort is revealed. But, I suspect that had his neighbors been black or red, or to his knowledge, Mormons or Jehovah's Witnesses, he would have, by the time of the killings, worked himself into a xenophobic rage against his neighbors. A thoughtful look at the notorious  mass killings we have witnessed in past years, reinforces my premise. I think, better that believing this a hate crime, the lesson to be learned is to beware of engaging an enraged psychotic loser.

Fist

In 1979 I quit my job with Duke Power and went to work for a specialty piping company as a quality assurance manager for it's Charlotte operation. Not long after I began work, The warehouse workers joined a union and immediately went on strike for better wages. Hoping to break the union, the company began rotating in younger salesmen from the various offices around the country to work in our warehouse. This was an ill conceived plan, as it was pretty costly to fly eight or ten guys in from Philadelphia, Houston, Pittsburgh, and even Anaheim, California for a week at a time, and then send them home and bring in another crew.

The warehouse workers on strike were a pretty tough bunch, and they had been pumped up by watching the movie "Fist" which had just come out. (Here is a wikipedia link about the movie for most of us who did not see it: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/F.I.S.T.)  Fist, starring Sylvester Stallone, was a takeoff on the forming of the Teamsters Union, and it used considerable cinemagraphic license in depicting the violence of the union effort. To give you an idea of the character of the warehouse workers on strike (real life, not the movie), one of the strikers, Bubba, whose sole occupation before working at the warehouse was selling drugs, was married to a girl who I don't believe weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet, but was big enough to have stabbed to death Bubba's best friend at a party at their house. Another striker, Bobby was awaiting trial for raping a girl in downtown Charlotte on his way home from visiting his sick wife in the hospital. Of course, in Bobby's defense, he claimed that he only picked up a prostitute, and without paying her, left her naked on the side of Tryon Street. ( I'm not making this up!) There were several motorcycle gang types as well, including David who I will come back to later in this tale. They were on strike outside our gate for about 6 weeks, and each day we had to run the gauntlet to go to work. They discovered that the nails used to nail cardboard to pallets, with one inch square heads and one inch long spikes, did an excellent job of flatting tires as we went in. There were always catcalls and cursing, and I remember Bubba once jumped up on the fence and claimed that he could have me killed for fifty dollars. A threat that I did not take lightly considering his family ties. They shot into the building several times and once shot at a trucker carrying out a load of pipe. After about six weeks, the company offered, and the strikers accepted a contract which allowed everybody to kiss and make up.

A few months later  I took over as manager of the warehouse, and Bubba became my foreman. This worked out pretty well. Bubba was no longer in the union, he was a part of management, the workers respected him, he was fairly conscientious, and he was no longer a threat to my life. Things were going pretty smoothly, although I continued to keep a gun in my car. A few months later, Bubba comes into my office and tells me that David is about to get into a fight with a truck driver, there at the plant to pick up a load of pipe. I walked back to rear of the office, and there is David faced off with this driver, and as I am about to try to get things calmed down, (by this time we are all three in a little scrum, just a foot or so apart) the truck driver, who is about a head shorter than David, threatens to "kick David's ass". David whips a big Buck folding knife out of his pocket, puts the tip of it against the driver's breastbone, and says, "I'll kill you". Well, the driver and myself quickly backed up a step to assess David' bluster, and fortunately no blood was shed.

This episode put me in a bit of a quandary. David had to be disciplined, but valuing my life, I was admittedly reluctant to do what I knew I had to do, which was of course, to fire David. The next day, I called him into my office and did so. He left the building without any bloodshed, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

My relief was short lived, because the warehouse workers took exception to my unfair firing of David over this one little incident, and went on strike to get David's job back. Having already experienced one strike by these guys, I decided to take a different tack on this one. At one point, I had considered hiring refugees from Vietnam who were quite desperate for work, and somewhat accustomed to gunfire as well, but I did not have to resort to that  tactic.  I got on the phone, and soon found a company willing to bring temporary workers (scabs) through the gates to operate the warehouse. This worked out very well. The strikers were seeing their jobs taken away, and they really weren't that fond of David anyway, so after about a week, they all came back to work.

After the fellows came back to work, I mounted a personal campaign to convince them that the union was doing nothing for them, and that they should decertify themselves from the union at the next opportunity. In reality, the national union they had joined, did not have much of a local presence, and truly was not doing much to support my workers at the warehouse. Sure enough, when the window to vote for decertification came open, they rejected the union as I wished. I was quite proud of my "achievement".

If you know me, or have read my blog posts, you might be surprised by my little union busting story, but here is a different take on the matter.

On the one hand, workers were underpaid, had little benefits, and no say in their work conditions. They took a tack that is often deplored by affected companies and by many nonunion citizens, especially in the south. Their heavy handed and sometimes violent behavior has become the stereotype of union behavior. They did, however, make some gains. Their pay was increased, benefits were extended, and they gained some say in the workplace, however miss placed that might have been. And, these gains carried over even after they left the union. Had they behaved differently, would those gains been realized?

The company, and by extension, myself, did not act exactly saintly in the matter. Fighting the union organizing effort cost untold thousands in lost business and expenses, and in the end, only to avoid what turned out to be modest increases and benefits. It, as nonunion companies always do, fought tooth and nail to avoid affording it's workers a fair shake in the workplace.

This is the only direct union experience I've ever had, so I'm no expert, but I did work for several nonunion companies. The owner of one company, upon my complaining to him that I could not keep good help because of the low wages, said to me: " Mike, I have no respect for a man that cannot support his family on $5.00/ hour". This was in 1986. We had 85 turnovers out of a workforce of twelve. Another employer, after one employee screwing or another, would simply explain, "It's just business". I hope to write a book about that experience one day, but I'll have to change some names.

Today I read that the governor of Illinois, Bruce Rauner, by executive order, blocked public employee unions from collecting fair share dues, and has called for Illinois to become a "right to work" state. If you don't know what fair share dues are, here's a  link http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/02/09/bruce-rauner-unions_n_6648818.html?utm_hp_ref=mostpopular The Republican right would like to see trade unions completely destroyed in this country, and here's why.

Union membership in this country is down to 7% of the workforce, as opposed to the 35% share it enjoyed in the fifties. In my lifetime, the poorest areas of our country have always also been the least unionized. Even while these areas have be poorly represented by unions, they have benefited by union activity in other parts of the country. The forty hour week, child labor laws, minimum wages, sick leave, vacation, and employer provided health insurance, items which most of us enjoy, and take for granted, were negotiated for by unions, or were granted to forestall union influence. It is no coincidence that as union influence wanes, these benefits are being scaled back, and the inequality gap has exploded. It is also no coincidence that this country has been politically pushed to the right by both the waning influence of unions and by the people that would see us return to a state where the comfort of the rich is truly supported by an abundant supply of the poor. Here's a link to today's column by Robert Reich, (the smartest man in the world) who eloquently covers what I've just said.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/robert-reich/back-to-the-19th-century_b_6648940.html

Let me make myself clear, I believe that every hourly worker in America should belong to a union, and to not belong to a union reduces a worker to servitude. I also believe that with rights come responsibility, and that union workers should bargain in good faith, and work diligently to produce a profit for their employers.

I hope you read my rant and pass it on. I know it will piss off a lot of my friends, but better pissed off than pissed on.

Notes From The Common Man: Drunken Christianity

Notes From The Common Man: Drunken Christianity: I like to ride a bike, so I was doubly struck last month when I read that the newly appointed and first female Episcopal Bishop of Maryland ...

Drunken Christianity

I like to ride a bike, so I was doubly struck last month when I read that the newly appointed and first female Episcopal Bishop of Maryland hit and killed a cyclist, and, without stopping, left scene of the accident. According to the news stories, Bishop Suferagan Heather Cook hit the cyclist on a wide residential street while he was riding in the designated bike lane. The biker was struck by the front of the car, and he then caved in the windshield of the car on his way to the pavement. Bishop Cook kept on driving. She was followed by another motorist, who witnessed the accident, back to her gated apartment complex where, not being able to enter he lost sight of her. After about 20 minutes she returned to the scene of the accident and accepted responsibility for the hit and run. This same woman was arrested in 2010 for drunken driving and possession of marijuana. Perhaps her level of self awareness has improved since that first incident, because, in the hit and run accident she only blew a .22, while back in 2010 she hit a whopping .27 blood alcohol content. In both cases, she was dead drunk, while in the latest incident her unfortunate victim is just dead. I'm sure she's very sorry this happened. Particularly, now that she has been charged with vehicular manslaughter. As I said, I'm doubly struck by her apparent ability to compartmentalize her Christianity and her regard for her fellow human beings.

I don't think my blood has ever enjoyed the intense high that a .27 BAC can provide, but I know I've been on the road having had too much to drink. I've often joked that M.AD.D. has taken all of the fun out of drunk driving, but in truth, there is not much fun in the death or injury of someone because of negligent behavior. Of course, you don't have to be drunk to be cavalier about the safety and welfare of the people around you.

I often see (what's the right word?) obnoxious, rude, uncaring, irresponsible, aggressive, psychotic, impatient, dangerous, thoughtless,unkind, (wait; I've got it.) sadly human behavior when I'm out on my bike. Not that I don't see these traits elsewhere, but I'm more aware of them when I'm at my most vulnerable, that is, on the side of the road, on wheels that have less than one square inch of contact with the pavement, and I'm being approached either from behind or from ahead by a 3000 pound + vehicle perhaps driven by a person exhibiting one or more of the above traits.

I've often commented that religion is of practical use to only about half the population. That is, I suspect that around 25% of people have a good enough moral compass without the need  of religious guidance, 25% of the population is irretrievably immoral, and the other 50% can accept proper moral training, if the trainers themselves have proper moral grounding, which, when it comes to religion, is not guaranteed.   I'm afraid that this also is analogous to the drivers I encounter on my rides. So here is a rule for the trainable 50% of drivers, so that I can live when you approach me on my bike.

Act as if an impatient or thoughtless move on your part could result in death or injury on my part.

I'll come back to this topic later with some more specific suggestions that can help us co-exist.

Note: When writing this blog, for some reason I was unable to edit a few places properly. The blog site would not let me use my space bar to enter commas or additional words in a few paces where they were needed. As in the above sentence where I left off the s on spaces. Strange!

Wild Flowers

Here's another maudlin observation about getting old, but stick with the tale because I want to speak of the sad loss of a very nice lady. One of the unpleasant things you do more often in the last third of your lifespan, besides frequent urination, asking people to repeat themselves, and occasional constipation, is going to the funerals of friends and family. I convinced my cousins to have a monthly lunch together, because, we are just about out of parents funerals to attend and get to see each other. This has really worked out well, and if you love you cousins as much as I do, I suggest you start your own monthly family reunion. I've not always been the best at paying my last respects, and I regret some of the funerals I missed, but should have attended. I'm trying to do better. Today was one of those days.

Sarah Howard was my third grade teacher. She was one of only a few, whom, I felt sincerely liked me. Every time our paths crossed, she would always, to my embarrassment, comment on how much "horse sense" I had. This, in opposition to the "mulish stubbornness" opinion that most of my other teachers had of me. I must have responded in kind. I don't remember many details of my third grade class, with the exception of singing "16 tons" in front of the class with Michael Allman, and first displaying my lifelong love of reading, but, that year I don't think I got into any fistfights (an exception for me), went to the Principal's office, or spent any time in the utility closet where I spent a good portion of my second grade. She was a good influence. She had a kind, sweet voice that, whenever I heard her, made me feel I was still in the third grade, and wish I was.

I often ran into Sarah, because her husband, Bill, befriended me when I as a high school student worked for him at the Coca- Cola plant. I worked there through most of college, and also helped him with the ice skating rink. It's always been a treat to see and talk to Bill. He grew up here and has lots of interesting stories about Concord, and about his time in WWII as a pilot instructor. He told me once how he first met his wife, and it was as they say "love at first sight".

Sarah had transplanted wildflowers into her front yard with little signs indicating their plant names. I guess I'll think of her every time I see a Trillium, Turks Cap, or a Pink Lady Slipper.

My sincerest condolences to Bill and his family.

Pogo

This should cheer you up.

Here it is, a few days into 2015, and my 67th birthday is fast approaching. I've become an old man. When you are young, your life stretches out seemingly without end into the the future, and your past is only yesterday. But now, a large part of my history happened before the majority of people on this earth were born, and the future is a line of falling dominoes with the end in sight. Fortunately I seem to be in pretty good health, with, so far, only the aches and pains of a much abused body. I can still read, remember, and comprehend. I can still ride my bike for hours on end, and I still work, although I'm not going to much longer. But when these things fail me, I may decide that life is not worth living. Of course, things can change for the drastic worse in a heart beat (or the lack of) as some of my friends have already found out. In any case, I'm going to cling to life and make the best of the time I have remaining, for, after all, time is the most valuable, yet dwindling commodity I own.

Life expectancy in America was, for men, 45 years in 1900. In 1948, (the year I was born) it was 65, and today it is almost 75. By the standard of the year I was born, I have already lived beyond expectation, and it is likely, but not guaranteed, that I will live beyond today's standard. I am a small part of our country's, and most of the civilized world's greatest problem. I have lived too long. Pogo the possum was born, or should I say, was first drawn in 1941, making him 74 years old. More than ever, he would surely say today, "We have met the enemy, and he is us".

I started working full time in 1973. I've never made a lot of money, but between me and my employers, around $200,000 in Social Security and Medicare has been paid into the Social Security fund. Since going on medicare, I have had one major surgery, which cost Medicare probably $50,000. If I stay perfectly healthy and die in my sleep, Social Security will be in the red with me in about 6 more years, although it is most likely that I will have exceeded my contributions in much less time. But wait, you might argue, the Federal government uses that money to pay off previous claims, and borrows the rest to fund the government, and pays the money back with interest when there is a deficit in the Social Security pay outs. Currently, the fund is about 3 trillion in the black, but the government has loaned all of that money to itself, and going forward, as claims exceed contributions, the government is required to pay this money back to meet future claims. There are only two legitimate ways to do this. One, we borrow from someone else, (maybe the Chinese or  Vesuvians), or two, we raise the money through taxation.

Of course it was not supposed to be this way. At least in theory, each generation would have paid in enough to cover the pay outs required by claimants. But, the baby boom spike, and more importantly, the longevity spike, and the increase in health care costs, and advances in health care technology have profoundly altered this dynamic.

This new dynamic has had a huge impact on every 1st world country. In most third world countries, older people are still dying at a convenient rate, with only a modest increase in longevity. But, in 1st world countries, a reverse pyramid has been created, where a declining birth rate combined with the aforementioned increase in longevity has created a situation where fewer and fewer working people are available to support those that no longer work. It's as if a destitute parent has moved into the spare bedroom, and you no longer have the money or the room to have children. Today, America's fertility rate is only about 1.93, compared to a 2.1 rate needed to maintain a stable population. And, as you go up the socioeconomic ladder, the birthrate declines even more, to around 1.6, equivalent to the Chinese one child policy. In Japan, the birth rate is down to 1.4, and by 2050 it is projected that only 51% of the population will be in the workforce age between 20 and 65. You can hardly find a 1st world country with a sustainable birthrate. On the other hand, you can hardly find a third world country without a surplus birthrate. I wonder where all these extra people will go?

I don't have a grand solution to this problem, I'm not quite willing to agree to take a "Social Security Pill" when I reach a certain age. But I'm sure that if we don't do something, our children, grandchildren, and future generations will face an increasingly dismal future.

Advice

My wife, Kathy, and I are rapidly approaching retirement, and I'm trying to decide what I'm going to do with the next 30 years of my life. So, today, as we are headed to the movies, and as we go through town, Kathy comments on the old empty gas station at the corner of Corban and Union Streets. She wonders if it will ever find a use, as it is small and has very little parking.

This gets me thinking, and as my stream of consciousness progresses, I come up with a use for the building, and a retirement project for me. I think I will go into the advice business. Now, I've lived a long life and have learned from my numerous mistakes, and from a few good decisions, so, I think that I am well qualified to tell others what they should do. Stay in school, don't major in English Literature or medieval history, don't join a cult. Having thoughts about marrying you boyfriend when he gets out of prison, come talk to me. I've been doing a lot of this work on the side for free, so why not get paid for it.

I know I can't charge like a doctor, lawyer, or a plumber, but advice demands a high price. After all, who wants free or cheap advice. You get what you pay for. Charging a fee ads credibility to the advice, and the higher the fee the more profoundly it enhances the advice and increases the chance that it might actually be followed. I think there is a huge market for this service. It seems that every time I turn on the TV someone is offering free advice. There's Dr Phil, Suzy Orman, Joel Osteen, Martha Stewart, and  Bobby, giving advice on things that support their products, whether it be prosperity religion,  recipes, or high priced heating and air service. I simply propose to cut out the ulterior motive. You pay me directly for my completely unbiased expert advice.

I'm not even sure I can handle the work load. I'm thinking of offering positions to a few of the old guys in my morning coffee klatch. They have the immense wisdom of the ancients, and have shown an unselfish desire to offer their advice to someone almost every day.

I do have some concerns. How should I charge for my services, by the hour, or by the amount of intellectual capital I invest in the solution to a particular problem. Another concern is the potential liability I might incur in the unlikely occasion of someone following my advice to an unacceptable result. I plan to consult with the experts over coffee in the morning.