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'88

Columnists Do Their Thing

Every new year it seems that newspaper columnists have to do their "thing"—their glowing observation on the slovenly use of words. They particularly feel compelled to advise others that they should avoid lazy words like "thing" or "went".

The thing is—does anybody really care? Perhaps the thing should be more clearly put. But first it should be said that what I mean by "put" is "spelled out". No, that isn't right either because everyone knows how to spell "put". What I really mean by "put" is "expressed". Yet "expressed" is just another one of those vagaries. Perhaps if I tried to delineate the thing—the thing of "put", I mean, not the thing itself—then I would be less put out—excuse the slip; of course, I mean beset. Still, one would want to know how beset—maybe distressingly beset? But why beset? After all, didn't I just imply—or is it infer?—that no one really cares about anything? True, but I am uncontrollably and “besettingly” beset because the thing of "put" is standing in the way of the "thing".

I shall begin this thing over—that is, the above paragraph—though it may be better to leave it as a thing since some would question its unity and therefore not a paragraph at all. Anyway—well, what I mean by anyway is not just any way. Maybe I mean anyhow—well, not just any old how. Permit me to pursue this thing, that is, discourse(?) from another perspective since I would not want you to think I meant just anything.

Anyway—oops—at any rate—well, what I mean is that in this particular instance of particularity, "thing" is a handy thing to obviate the probability of insulting one's intelligence that already has had its fill in a graphic-prone society. It's something like "it's". You know, "It's raining out." Even though I know I should say, "The ambience on the other side of this window is dismally drenched by the precipitation of balking, weathered clouds—how fortunate we are to have a roof over us."

Rather than constantly stick someone with the "point is" or to be more graphic and say, "That she was decapitated by the chain-saw madman was an incident of pathos.", we simply mutter, "Tragic thing,...this thing." Then, of course, "thing" is helpful when we have an idea of what something is but really can't explain the thing; yet, unlike the linguistic purist, we commoners go ahead and say it anyway—I mean, notwithstanding the vague implications— "The thing is I really don't understand the damned thing; but one thing is certain that thing is a humdinger."

The other day I rubbed my tired eyes and closed the thing—I don't mean my good eye—but the page of Francisco Goya's, Saturn Devouring His Children. I fondly pressed the book to my chest and rose from the outmoded dirty blond maple table. I went by...I mean, I bumped into a table at which two young girls were reading with apparent delight some back issues of Seventeen (forgive me for not noticing the dates I went by so quickly). Reluctantly I returned Gardner's ART Through The Ages, Sixth Edition to the reference desk behind which was a matronly, warmly smiling librarian assistant who whispered, "It looks like you went and had a good day for yourself."

Then I went home. I mean, when I left the library of 50's decor—that is, when I pressed against the door that opens in I bloodied my nose and broke my glasses. Embarrassed and in some pain I boarded my helicopter and flew home half blind. I tore off a tree top in my yard, but I landed safely. I went into the house. No, in spite of my agony, first, before entering I made the great sacrifice to pet my tail-wagging, whimpering dog—happy to see me and scared to death of flying branches and whirling blades.

Having applied an ice-pack to my nose, I went...I pathetically dragged myself like a wounded tiger to its den. I went and opened the wood burner—well, not that simply, you understand—first I had to put on my barbecue mitten and carefully swing open the hot Belgian, decorative cast iron door. I went and stoked the embers—with a decorative poker, of course—and added more kindling from the wake of the whirly blades. The fire went not unlike Channel 11's Christmas Eve flames. I crumpled up Newsday—that is, Ed Lowe himself, and watched him burn. Satisfied that he was black cinders, I went and flicked on the TV—well, not that simply, you understand—first, I had to find the misplaced remote to the converter and then the remote to the set—both always seem to work against each other—after which I went to find the other thing...program guide.

After a while my wife returned. "Where were you?" I asked.

"Oh, the usual,...King Kullen, mall,...went and rented a tape....And where did you go?"

"Uhhh,...I went...went...uh...for something."

'92

Social Security: A Constitutional Right—For All

Fears abound that there will be no social security when the X-generation reaches senior citizenship. If it comes to this, today's youthful generation would be partly to blame for failing to meet head on the shameless political dialogue blathering extensively today. It matters little what your party affiliation might be: political awareness hinges on very basic political truths in this constitutional government of ours. One very important truth is that the American matrix of governance is that the general welfare of all its citizens is on an equal plane to the nation's defense. In a nation such as ours grounded in enlightenment, there was to evolve a nation with but a shadow of tension past among the haves, have little, and have-nots. The politicians of today ruthlessly obviate this principle because we have disgracefully allowed ourselves to lose sight of the prima facie foundation of a proud nation once dedicated to enlightened good will that was to wing us to a truly humane society.

This becomes clear if we view the underlying theme of social security for what it is in spirit—the stamp of civilization—a very basic right. However, in order to launch social security almost sixty years ago it had to be called by another name. Today the term insurance is no longer valid. The benefit is now institutionalized and an integral division of government and should be thus appropriated. Therefore, it is a governmental expenditure as any other service rendered, but keep in mind it is also the stamp of currency for old age: because one retires does not mean one retires from the consuming public. This ostensible entitlement, virtually all of which is re-circulated, is a huge boost to the economy and in actuality pays for itself tenfold. Millions are gainfully employed as its direct result. In Florida alone, countless thousands of young people are employed and pay tax—state and federal— because of these monthly checks and in turn consume for other businesses to employ, flourish and pay more tax—all on the strength of what short-sighted politicians still perceive as a give-a-way. Politicians and regretfully voters, forget this fundamental truth of economics: it is far better to have a government of tax and spend than one of tax and not spend.

Nor should we forget the moral stance of an enlightened government to award those who lived and worked by the rules for a laboring lifetime, or those disabled physically, mentally or economically.

The prevailing problem today is not its "cost" but the way social security is paid for. Any thinking senior citizen would resent his children having to pay dearly for his old age leisure as seems to be the case today. If indeed it is believed, as has been said many times, that ensuing generations should enjoy a higher standard of living, then it would follow that the younger generations should not be taxed seven times over what their parents and grandparents were taxed for this benefit. This will only worsen because the commonwealth stubbornly clings to the mythology of terms—"insurance" as though it were a legitimate premium. It is not. It has always been a regressive tax to help those in need. It is, however, dramatized currently by the harsh surtax on the young's labor. It is heralded as a design for investment in the future, but used in the grim politics of now.

From social security's inception, the future was always now. My mother in the 30s never paid a cent toward a widow's pension for the obvious reason of theretofore being none. My father's insurance barely carried the burial and a couple of years of bringing up four kids. Roosevelt's concept was that she was "entitled" to the $16 a month per child. What he would say today is that my mother had the constitutional responsibility of rearing four citizens who in turn would contribute in some modest way to the nation. There was no such modesty with Bill Clinton's mother: her pension helped rear a president!

Careless terminology leads to careless thinking: "What I get is what I paid for all my working days." And like Senator Gramm's ludicrous statement to the effect that Clinton had better not tamper with the only part of government in black ink. "Social security is not the problem," he went on, "it didn't run-up the debt." [ He forgot to mention how it was running up youth's debt.] Then he whined, "My mamma doesn't want her social security reduced. And when my mamma says something, I have to listen." A classic amorphous aphorism that still pervades the nation. [ Currently, Gramm obscenely is against universal health care because his mamma has Medicare and he has federal medical insurance that neither can be taken away—the hell with those who don't have it.] This black ink is the result of the ruthless FICA tax on the workers and employers of the past twenty-five years.

Social security is begrudgingly but rightly perceived among youth as a rip-off of its own economic right to develop because the entitlement is foolishly structured and accelerated to be self-supportive by "premiums." In truth, social security is a natural right in virtue of the advance of civilization that insists its senior citizens have access to the consumption continuum instead of left—in the end even more "costly"—to the havoc of unconscionable abandonment. It is also implied in the constitution as the transvaluation of the natural instinct of the individual to protect his parents in old age—the natural reward for a responsible, productive life. That there are rotten apples in the barrel of social security is immaterial. That all our founding fathers were not saints is of no consequence. It is the embodiment of the spirit of helping others to wind down their lives with some dignity is what matters most. Because of this natural imperative and trust there is no need for "insurance". The Constitution is the policy under Article I section 8.1—insuring the general welfare. There can be no "general welfare" if agÉd citizens are not protected; but neither is there when other generations are left unprotected.

With or without a trust fund the constitutional mandate is undeniable. Had the natural evolution of the New Deal not been diverted by the all too many insensitive regimes, social security would have been merged—not to mention national health—into OMB as an inviolate item of expenditure tantamount to national defense and undulating with the ambience of preservation and primary needs. Social security would have merged into a system of general levy that calculated the needs of its current senior citizenry—and lent breathing space to the younger, if so desired, to invest savings for their old age in the custom of their earlier years of secondary needs beyond the basics of social security. Here there would be no suspicion of a trust besieged; for—as the normal cost of an enlightened government—it would be an inviolate constitutional right for everyone who reached the age of retirement—all would have the right to survive commensurate with this advance of society. But it also means that in a storm of crisis, sacrifices do leak through the umbrella and all would have to lift the collar. It is not the ghost of JFK that jars the consciousness of "ask not what the country..." but the moral imperative of constitutional government that should have long sent into oblivion the hatred and greed flowing into a divisive morass oozing over the country.

The giant step of the heavy boot to splash in this mess would be to restore the income tax structure to unadulterated fairness and appropriate social security within the general fund of governance. Blatant garnisheing from kids and young adults who work barely above minimum wage over 8% in FICA and Medicare is oppressive and ignoble. It would make far better sense to allow that income to flow in the marketplace. On the other hand, for those who are well above the minimal income to pay the same rate is another example of defending those that already have. If the income tax index had remained where it was before Congress, Kennedy, Carter and Reagan started tampering, FICA would have remained at its nominal range of 1½-3% and the economy would have remained targeted to a high standard of living for all.

The X-generation is virtually the last line of defense for this country that has lost political integrity. The sophists have taken over the media and politics. There are few heroes to protect the future. Not a day goes by in congress, in the written or electronic media, that a talking head or columnist does not express an arrant falsehood of political persuasion that invariably infers economic expertise in cost analysis in order to protect those and their progeny that have. Fewer of the X-generation are progeny of those that have; and the Y-generation will have even fewer. Gone are the champions of the helpless. [ No one reads Profiles in Courage; they rush to limbo, wallowing in thoughtless self-righteousness.] It is for today's youth to wear the favor of their nation, loved ones and future loved ones: It is for them to mount the charger and lance the dragon of corrupt sophistry that has denigrated what made this country great.

Welcome

Index 2

Joan's Page

'87

Coupons and Cash Rebates

Sales coupons are great for profitable advertising space of newspapers and magazines but a hassle for the shopper and burdened check-out clerk. But at least the coupon is a ticket to honest, up-front transactions. On the other hand, mail-in-cash-rebates are sadistic in overburdening the post office and in taxing the patience of the poor purchaser who has to be a filing genius to keep track of his receipts and wrappers. Aside from the unique coupon queens who probably initiate chain letters on the side, most shoppers tear out a coupon here and there to save two bits—a buck for an economy size—on an item normally they wouldn't buy or their brand loyalty is imposed upon and his or her conscience is troubled. Why there should be loyalty today is beyond me. I mean, I was practically brought up on a famous cow's milk, but one has to squint at the milk case or turn the package around on a bag of potato chips to find that brand name today. Saltine lovers are fearful that tobacco shreds of conglomerates will find their way into the box. Man's best friend, which is supposed to be a creature of habit, is now beset with a weekly change of diet predicated on the most profitable coupon.

The simple coupon most people can live with because aside from oversight in the expiration date, it is relatively clean negotiation at the checkout. It is the cash rebate that is perplexing and sinister to say the least. If you happen to be a video-phile and purchase quantities of blank tapes, you like to store them in their original wrapper until its their time to be used. But if you bought them with a rebate you find yourself tearing the wrappers apart with a vengeance in order to beat the expiration date; then after that you have to stomp on the plastic to fit into the envelope along — if lucky enough to rip it coupons and rebates off the bag in one piece — with your cash receipt to get back your buck and a half. When I lived in the north rebates on fire logs—you know, those gummy, waxy overgrown tootsie rolls—are another hassle. Directions caution you to cut into these flammable items, and they should be burnt along with their wrapper; yet if you want your cash rebate you have to cut out the form on the wrapper and fill it out. If you bought a case you have to cut into all of them to send them off.

There are those always thinking ahead who like to have on hand a double or triple pack of film for occasions that pop up. Normally you would neatly store the unopened pack in your camera case. But the hucksters would have you cut a hole in the package in order to show additional proof of purchase. That's the hassle. But the worse part is sinister. The manufacturers deliberately make it tough on the customer, hoping that most will be discouraged and be content with the full price. At the store, the item is displayed at the rebate price until you read the small print on the sign. People are lured by this advertised price and then when discovered some can't be bothered, or forget to ask for the rebate form at the counters. Those who do, have every intention of following through on the ritual but usually put it off. When they finally get around to it, they usually have to rummage through the garbage for the original wrapping. Yet even for those who faithfully store away the wrapper before someone in the household throws it out, this stage of good intent is foiled because the same aforethought was not due the original receipt. And even those who have found the receipt cannot find the rebate form and when they get around to it might remember to pick up another blank. When those few successfully reach the final stage, they have to trigger their memories to begin looking for their hard earned cash in the mails some six or eight weeks down the road.

There are still others who have everything in readiness only to discover that they had foolishly bought two different manufacturers' rebate items in the same store on the same day and, of course, the manufacturers do not accept copied receipts unless the check-out clerk had the presence of mind to make a duplicate coupons and rebates on the day of transaction or the customer—even less likely— insisted on it. There isn't much soul searching, however, since one can readily dispose of the dollar rebate for the two dollar one. Still, they are ticked off that they were out-foxed. The solution to this latest Fifth Avenue nightmare is for the consumer groups to insist on fair sales practices so that these rebate con-artists be up front like the coupon people. As for me, I say bring back the green stamps — and whatever happened to free glasses and dishes?

'83

Cunning Survival

Ultimate tragedy sooner or later affects all of us mortals. There is no escaping this definitive truth of fate's cruelty. The degree of this tragedy in cold mathematical terms is life expectancy minus the years actually lived. The impact of this is cruelly dramatic when it is underscored by the death of a young person.

When chunks of time in traumatic quantities of fifty and sixty years dissolve, the vast waste of death is chilling. Out of this gaping hole—the potentials, the dreams, the aspirations, the heartache and loss—erupts the specter of horror beyond the wildest perversions of Hollywood.

Though there is no escaping fate, there are alternatives offered in face of the deadly ladies spinning their deathtraps. Significant among these traps is the camaraderie and trust youth demonstrate among friends. There are times, however, when youth would be wiser to put survival before trust by not placing themselves in precarious situations, such as getting into a car with a friend who has had one drink too many. Better to stand firm by placing a call home and facing up to the static and wrath of parents than to face the Wrath of the Fates.

Flak from parents are transitory — particularly when they acknowledge that a call in the night beats a call from the morgue.

When partying permeates, when prom and graduation are approaching, youth should cut the puppet string of peer pressure and be chicken, be prude, be proud — and live. Else the Fates might cut the thread on them.