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Easy Life in France Just a Dream

May 15, 2012 By Leave a Comment

Photo courtesy of Trey Ratcliff

Ah, to be French.

In the face of high taxes, high unemployment, poor economic growth, massive government spending and powerful public-sector unions that are gobbling up tax dough, the French people just voted against austerity measures to get their finances in order.

President Nicolas Sarkozy, a conservative, was defeated by Socialist Francois Hollande, who promises to hire more government employees and increase the tax rate for “the rich” to 75 percent.

I’m just an English major, but even I know it sounds too good to be true — and therefore, probably is. The only way France can meet its massive financial obligations is to unleash its private sector to produce growth that will increase tax revenues. But that would require real reform and a bit more austerity, so to heck with that.

Surely many French folks understand that increased spending cannot work, but I have to admire them for their pluck.

The truth be told, I am tired of being a fiscal conservative. I’m tired of having the freedom to rise or fall based on my own decisions and actions.

I’m tired of paying for my own health insurance, tired of worrying about bills and taxes and business insurance policies to protect against lawsuits in the event that somebody slips on a banana peel in front of a piece of ground I own.

The truth be told, a part of me has rooted for President Obama, the closest thing we’ve ever had to a French president.

I dreamed of free health insurance that somebody else would pay for. I’d be able to quit working so hard — and worry so much less.

I dreamed of a powerful federal government that hired lots more federal workers. Could I attain such a job and the job security that goes with it? I would gladly give up the stress of having to satisfy communications clients endlessly to ensure they’ll keep giving me work.

I dreamed that the president would use more taxpayer funds to support the arts. Might I get a massive financial grant that would allow me to cease working altogether, so I could work on the great American novel?

Or maybe America could provide generous unemployment benefits like France does, allowing me to live off the fruits of others’ labors for a good long while.

Sure, I know France’s socialist ways will be that country’s undoing. I know that if France’s new Socialist president actually carries out his plans, the French could face real economic collapse and be in for a world of hurt.

I know that America isn’t that far behind France, where our financial situation is concerned. We cannot sustain our current spending unless our economy begins to undergo massive growth — and that growth will not be possible without massive reforms to our tax system and entitlement spending. But Obama hasn’t shown any interest in that.

Still, I dream of a government-mandated, stress-free existence.

I dream of enjoying several weeks of vacation, basking in the waters of some exotic location.

I dream of sitting around quaint cafes, sipping cognac and nodding approvingly as pretty women stroll by.

I dream of finally being able to relax, knowing that if anybody tries to take away my government job or vacation or generous unemployment benefits, millions of people, also on the government dole, will march into the streets in my defense.

Nice as it would be if America could be more French, even for a little while, I know it is just a dream.

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Shedding My David Cassidy Hair

February 8, 2011 By Leave a Comment

First-wave baby boomers will begin turning 65 this year — and they’re STILL imposing their ways on younger people, such as tail-end boomers like me.

Though maybe I’m still upset about the David Cassidy haircut my sisters made me get in 1973.

Like every teen girl then, my sisters were smitten with Cassidy. They exploited my chief insecurity to get me to cut my hair like his.

“If you part your hair down the middle and feather it over the sides, you’ll be able to hide your big floppy ears,” they said.

And so it was that I would do the unthinkable: I would become the first kid in St. Germaine School to don the Cassidy look.

I pedaled my bike three miles to the unisex hair salon. I approached the salon’s owner, a cranky middle-aged woman with a cigarette dangling from her lip, and set a pile of crumpled bills and coins on the counter.

“Make me look like David Cassidy,” I said.

She clipped and she cut, she styled and she set. She applied goops and sprays of every kind.

When she finished, she turned the chair around so I could see in the mirror what she had done. I didn’t look a whit like David Cassidy.

I looked like Danny Bonaduce.

I pedaled home as fast as I could and I hid in my room the rest of the day. I finally had to come out when my father called me down for supper.

I took my seat to his right. He sensed something was off immediately.

As he washed his burger down with man-sized gulps of Pabst Blue Ribbon, he kept looking over to me.

“What the hell happened to your hair?” he finally said.

“I got it cut.”

“But it’s parted down the middle.”

“Yes.”

“Who parts hair down the middle?”

“The unisex hair salon.”

“The uni-what?”

“A place that cuts hair for both men and women.”

“You went to a lady’s hair salon!”

“A unisex salon.”

“But your hair is parted down the middle!”

My David Cassidy haircut was as painful for my father as it was for me. Our suffering had a common source: first-wave baby boomers.

Since the first boomer was born in 1946, boomers have been setting the pace. They’ve foisted their politics, their music and their clothing on younger generations.

Now, as they begin pushing 70, they’re foisting all kinds of problems on us.

As millions retire, they will stop contributing to Social Security and begin receiving payments. Our taxes will surely rise to keep their cash flowing.

That’s because older boomers have the numbers to demand lots of government goodies from politicians eager to trade taxpayer dough for votes.

Will hair transplants and facelifts be paid for by government-directed healthcare programs?

Though it’s not like older boomers are broke. Dow Jones reports that many have amassed a fine nest egg — which they do not intend to leave for their kids.

Some will sell their suburban homes and flock to resort areas in other countries, further driving down the value of homes here, while driving up the home values elsewhere.

To be sure, younger generations have spent their lives fighting off the influence and agitation of the older boomers, and we�ve failed at every turn.

It wasn’t until my mid 20s that I finally got rid of my David Cassidy haircut. I told the hairdresser to try something modern and original.

She cut my hair short and slicked it straight back. When she spun my chair around to show me her work, I was horrified by what I saw.

I looked like Eddie Munster.

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Laughing Not To Cry

February 1, 2011 By Leave a Comment

How is President Obama doing as he enters the second half of his first term?

Late-night comics know better than pundits. Let’s start with some of their earlier jokes:

• Jay Leno — “President Obama plans on training 10,000 new math and science teachers. How about teaching math to that economic team of his?”

• Jimmy Fallon — “In an interview with Rolling Stone, President Obama said he has Stevie Wonder, Bob Dylan and the Rolling Stones on his iPod. Unfortunately, the question was, ‘Do you have a plan to fix the economy?’”

• Fallon — “A year into Obama’s first term in office, unemployment is higher, the national debt is higher and there are more soldiers serving in Afghanistan. When asked about it, Obama was like, ‘Well, technically that is change.’”

The 2010 elections worsened the comics’ tone:

• David Letterman — “Voters didn’t like how President Obama was handling the economy. Wait a minute — he was handling the economy?”

• Leno — “President Obama will be laying out a new economic plan. Apparently, we had an old economic plan.”

• Leno — “(President Obama and President Bush) had a cordial conversation. President Bush said for the last 19 months, he’s been relaxing and playing golf. President Obama said, ‘You too?’”

Obama’s government expansion and increased spending — trillion-dollar deficits making us more dependent on the Chinese — have the comics worried:

• Conan O’Brien — “At the state dinner for Chinese President Hu Jintao, Hu opened a fortune cookie that said, ‘You will lend us another trillion dollars.’”

• Leno — “Obama and Hu had a private dinner the night before. When Obama tried to pick up the check, Hu said, ‘Your money is no good here.’ Obama laughed, and Hu said, ‘No, really, your money is no good.’”

• Letterman — “China’s President Hu is visiting the United States. If he likes what he sees, he may put down a deposit.”

With unemployment stalled at nearly 10 percent, comics are unimpressed with Obama’s economic promises:

• O’Brien — “President Obama met with the CEOs of top companies about creating more jobs for Americans. After the meeting, the CEOs went home to China.”

• Fallon — “China is expected to overtake the United States as the world’s biggest economy in the next two years. Americans couldn’t believe it. They were like, ‘That hasn’t happened already?’”

• Leno — “Barack Obama’s daughters are very smart. They told him they will take the same responsibility for their dog that he is taking for the economy. That way, if the dog leaves a mess in the White House, it’ll be cleaned up by future generations.”

There’s a comics’ consensus that Obama’s chances for a second term aren’t good:

• Craig Ferguson — “President Obama is getting ready to leave Washington. Not leaving for good — he’ll do that in a couple years.”

• Seth Meyers — “President Obama’s recent speech to a women’s conference was interrupted when his presidential seal on the podium fell off — two years early.”

• Fallon — “President Obama is going on a 10-day vacation to Martha’s Vineyard in August. Obama was like, ‘This is my longest vacation ever,’ and voters were like, ‘Wait’ll you see the one we’re planning for you!’”

If there is truth in humor, little about Obama’s first two years as president is funny. One senses Obama sees little to laugh about, too:

• Leno — “According to a new poll, 51 percent of Americans feel that their lives were better two years ago before President Obama took office. To which President Obama said, ‘Join the club.’”

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Metaphor Madness

January 25, 2011 By Leave a Comment

“Now that I’ve had a chance to think about it, I probably could have used a different metaphor.”

“This is going to be good. Please explain.”

“I’ve been coaching our high school’s basketball team for a long time. We don’t have the most talented kids, but we have the most heart. I’ve developed quite a knack for firing them up before big games.”

“Firing up?”

“We were about to play our archenemy in our biggest game of the year — but our kids wouldn’t get the lead out. They should have been warming up, but instead sat around, shooting the breeze.”

“That’s no good.”

“I understood why, though. They were still shellshocked over the loss we suffered a few days before. That game was murder.”

“Shellshocked! Murder!”

“Well, they figured I was going to console them, but I came at them with both barrels blazing. I told them point-blank that they were at fault for the loss. They were not prepared and went off –“

“Half-cocked?”

“That’s right. I called out my guard for having an itchy trigger finger — he’d rather shoot than pass and he couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with a bazooka.”

“Oh, my goodness.”

“Well, after I shamed them a while, I figured it was time to start building them back up. I told them we’re bloody but unbowed. Then I threw down the gauntlet. I told them it was no time to retreat; it was time to –“

“Reload?”

“That’s right. We needed to bite the bullet, after all. We had a real pitched battle ahead of us. Our opposition had a lot of weapons. If we had any hope of beating them, we had to draw first blood.”

“How did the game go?”

“Son of a gun if we didn’t annihilate our archenemy! We started slow in the first period, but our kids stuck to their guns. The momentum shifted our way. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. But that’s when my metaphors got me into trouble.”

“Trouble?”

“I assembled our kids after the game. I praised them for their excellent play. I told them the rest of the season was up to them — it was a shot in the dark, but if we didn’t shoot ourselves in the foot, we might make the playoffs.”

“And that got you in trouble?”

“One kid’s father overheard my speech. He’s had me in his sights all year and finally had a clear shot. He complained to the school that my metaphors were vitriolic. He complained to the police that I was inciting violence. I was suspended as a coach and the cops may press charges.”

“In these highly sensitive times, it might be a good idea to choose your metaphors more carefully.”

“That may be true. Nobody ever accused me of being a great orator or choosing the best metaphors. Still, they’re just metaphors. But apparently weak-minded people think we’re too stupid to understand what metaphors really mean? Really? Have you ever seen anyone shoot fish in a barrel?”

“A fair point.”

“Everything is backward, if you ask me. In the process of trying to attribute rational, political motives to a crazy man, people in the media and political arena make themselves look, well, crazy. Now they’re afraid to use such metaphors at all. They’re missing the target. They need to take more careful aim.”

“You can’t help yourself with the metaphors, can you?”

“Not by a long shot.”

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Fascinating, Not Famous

January 4, 2011 By Leave a Comment

Every year about now, the media introduce us to the most fascinating people of the prior year.

They always overlook people like Joe Horne.

A tailgunner in the Army Air Corps during World War II, Horne and his crew enjoyed 11 successful missions.

They didn’t expect to survive their 12th: orders to bomb a heavily guarded munitions plant in Munich.

As they approached their target, Horne fought off German fighter planes. German flak was another matter.

Heavy flak hit the plane hard. It lost altitude so fast that its windows shattered. The landing gear was destroyed.

Their only hope was to make it across the Swiss border for a crash landing.

As the plane’s belly hit the ground — as uprooted earth and stones whipped through the broken windows — the pilot told the crew to evacuate before the plane exploded.

Horne dived out a window and was bruised and cut as he tumbled along the ground — but he survived.

The Swiss would detain him in internment camps in Adelboden, Switzerland, for six months — camps, writes Cathryn Prince in “Shot from the Sky,” that were a dark secret of World War II.

So long as he did as told, he was free to move about the town. He learned to ski and even had time to fall in love with a beautiful Swiss girl.

But he and a few others crossed the line when they got into a fistfight with Nazi sympathizers.

They spent 30 days in the Wauwilermoos military prison in Lucerne, where they received little food or water and occasional beatings.

After his release there, he and his crew were about to attempt an escape from their camp when word arrived that all Americans detained in Switzerland were being repatriated.

On leave in Pittsburgh, Horne attended a dance. He fell hard for a striking woman across the room — love at first sight. Her name was Dorothy Kvederis. He would marry her four years later.

He joined the post office in 1946, when he was discharged. After two and a half years of attending college at night, Horne decided to suspend his studies.

He was happy with his life.

By 1954, he and Dorothy had saved enough to buy a house — the house in which he still lives.

He and Dorothy would be blessed with a daughter and two sons — a teacher, dentist and corporate executive, respectively.

He loved his job. During the last 40 years of his 46-year postal career, he delivered mail in a predominantly black section of Pittsburgh, PA.

Despite numerous opportunities to take over cushier routes inside air-conditioned high-rise buildings, he loved his route and would give it up only when he retired in 1992.

He and Dorothy finally had time to enjoy life. They traveled. They attended church every morning. They spent time with family and friends.

Their carefree existence ended on Oct. 4, 1992, when Dorothy suffered a stroke. Horne would spend the next 14 years caring for her — getting no more than two hours of sleep every night — until she died in 2006.

Now 85, he misses her desperately, but his days are full.

The old Irishman (his grandfather changed the family name from “Horan” to “Horne,” hoping it would help him find work at a time when the Irish faced “need not apply” signs) is a passionate Notre Dame fan.

He has a zest for living, a fine wit and he puts a spring in the step of anyone lucky enough to cross his path.

Yeah, he was never famous or rich, but he was surely influential. Great civilizations are built on the shoulders of such giants.

If only the media featured more people like Joe Horne at this time every year.

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For New Year’s, Partying Like It’s 1999

December 28, 2010 By Leave a Comment

Ah, New Year’s Eve. What a great night to revisit the past year.

Though I’d rather revisit 1999.

The unemployment rate was 4.2 percent in 1999.

Dot-com stocks were still creating lots of paper millionaires.

The U.S. deficit for that year was $1 billion — that’s right, “billion” with a “b,” a far cry from the $1 trillion to $2 trillion it is nowadays.

Things were going so well, we had to make up crises, such as Y2K, the Millennium Bug!

Because computerized devices used only two digits to record the date — “99″ for “1999″ — numerous glitches were expected to occur at exactly 12:01 a.m. on Jan. 1, 2000, when at least some of the devices would mistake “00″ for “1900.”

Senators held press conferences to warn the public to prepare for the worst.

President Clinton told us to keep a lookout for terrorists, who might take advantage of the potential chaos.

Federal bureaucrats even appeared competent.

They established mobile command centers on the National Mall, where thousands of New Year’s Eve revelers would celebrate.

They directed police, firemen, FBI agents and CIA operatives to crawl around our nation’s capital to thwart anyone looking to pull any funny business.

They made detailed preparations — cots, blankets, bottled water, canned goods, shelter, portable lighting — to respond to any and every contingency.

But nothing happened.

When the clock struck midnight that New Year’s Eve, there were few glitches, no chaos and zero mass hysteria of any kind.

Y2K, wrote The Wall Street Journal, was, essentially, a giant hoax.

That was the downside of America then. We were at our best in preparing for crises that weren’t real.

We lived in a fiction of our own creation — fake wealth, fake security, fake spending promises at the local, state and federal levels that we’d never be able to afford.

Boy, would the realities of the next decade be a bear.

No sooner did 2000 begin than the dot-com bubble burst, wiping out trillions in paper wealth.

In 2001, terrorists would catch us with our pants down, striking us hard.

A worried Federal Reserve would begin a series of interest-rate cuts to pump “easy money” into the economy.

That easy money, combined with bad government policies to both create (Citizens Reinvestment Act) and buy (Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac) bundles of risky subprime home loans, would fuel a housing bubble.

The housing bubble would burst in 2008, wiping out trillions in wealth and kicking off the worst recession since the Great Depression.

Voters would kick Republicans out of office. Democrats, controlling the presidency and both houses of Congress, would make more fake promises we will never keep and would spend, by New Year’s Eve 2010, nearly $4 trillion more than we had.

The unemployment rate would be stuck at nearly 10 percent. State and local governments would begin to default on debt payments.

And all these woes would seem small compared to the $100 trillion in unfunded liabilities that generous politicians saddled our country with — liabilities we may never be able to pay for.

To be sure, our reckoning has finally arrived.

As bad as the past decade has been, the next decade will be plenty worse — unless we embrace the difficult, painful business of getting our house in order.

So while many in the media look back at the high points of the past year — while many neglect the sizable problems facing us — I will escape to a happier time.

This New Year’s Eve, I’m going to party like it’s 1999.

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Socially Conscious Toys for Tots

December 20, 2010 By Leave a Comment

Ah, the Christmas season is upon us. What better time to make our children more socially and environmentally aware.

I refer to an interesting item in The National Post: More toymakers are producing products designed to make children sensitive to important issues.

Little Billy wants a truck this year? How about a bright green recycling truck made from recycled milk jugs?

Little Susie wants a doll? How about the American Girl doll? The doll and her single mother are homeless and live in the back seat of a car.

Unfortunately for me, my parents were unenlightened in the ’60s and early ’70s.

When I was 5, they gave me a set of wood blocks for Christmas. They didn’t care about the trees that were felled — or the fossil fuels that were consumed — to produce such an environmentally “damaging” toy.

One Christmas, they got my sisters an Easy-Bake Oven. That thoughtless product encouraged my sisters to become homemakers — rather than pursue important careers in government or academia — at the same time it employed an energy-gobbling incandescent light bulb to bake the cake.

I trust this menace of a product will cease production when Congress’ ban on the incandescent bulb goes into full effect in 2014.

Worse than the Easy-Bake Oven were the Barbie dolls my sisters got one year. Barbie was unrealistically trim, busty and beautiful and, therefore, bad for their self-esteem — not to mention she was made from nonrecyclable plastic.

And worse than the wood blocks I received as a youngster was the GI Joe action figure I got another year. That toy, of course, taught me to celebrate war and aggressive male behavior.

Whereas testosterone-induced risk taking has been bred out of many American men, I still suffer from its effects — in no small part because of the lessons Joe instilled in me.

As my sisters and I grew older, our parents gave us other wrongheaded gifts for Christmas.

One year I received a Hot Wheels set. Hot Wheels are miniature die-cast cars — replicas of popular muscle cars — that whipped around a plastic track at lightning speed.

I credit that awful product with my lifelong passion for cars that go fast at the expense of the environment.

The worst gift we ever got, though, was the board game my parents bought us in the ’70s: Monopoly.

It taught us to celebrate property ownership and that it is better to own than to rent.

It taught us to celebrate capitalism and that only through cautious risk may one attain wealth.

It taught us to be unconcerned for the needy or the precious resources American capitalists so mindlessly consume.

It is because of this heartless game that I registered as a Republican.

I know my parents did the best they could to raise their six children.

I know they thought a child’s job was to play, invent, roam and discover, not be indoctrinated by adults about matters of the adult world.

I know they were so consumed with teaching us basic morals and values, they had little time for much else.

Still, Christmas would have been so much more productive had they been as enlightened as parents are today.

As I said, the Christmas season is upon us. What better time to make our children more socially and environmentally aware.

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