If you've surfed the Web of late, you've no doubt encountered a blog.  And if you're reading this you've encountered another, as my blog offerings follow this preface.  But what, exactly, is a blog?  My dictionary doesn't carry the word, nor could I find it in an up-to-date, online dictionary.  In fact, to find any mention of blog and its meaning, I had to turn to the Britannica Book of the Year 2003. 

This tome had little to say on the subject beyond that a blog is a forum for personal expression.  "Tooting one's horn," you might say. 

Well, I'm not a horn tooter, but I am a fan of personal expression.  With this understood, then, Bob's Blog is simply a collection of articles reflecting my point of view on an array of subjects.

Your mileage may vary (think of this as the gulf between your personal expression and my own), so proceed with caution as you view the following.

Responsibility?

Freedom

Lady Justice

Progress?

Why me, Lord?

The Grand Coulee Gallon Counter

Sour Grapes

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Responsibility?

 

The United States is known as the greatest country on earth.  But have you ever considered how much greater it could be if the country's leaders acted responsibly, in ALL matters?  No political tirade here.  That's not my point, only the matter of irresponsibility---a shortcoming that has become an all-too-common practice, regardless of party lines. 

 

So who's involved in setting an overall example of responsibility for this Nation?  In few words it's our leaders: 100 senators, 435 congressmen, 1 president, and 9 Supreme Court justices.  Space does not allow for addressing ALL responsibility, so let's discuss fiscal responsibility, a matter that impacts every citizen in one way or another. 

 

Who among these leaders is charged with overseeing appropriations (a political-speak word for spending money)?  It's the 435 members of the House of Representatives.  That's right.  The President can only "propose" a budget.  The House controls the "yea and nay."  At this point you'd rightfully expect House members to be financial gurus.  You'd be wrong.  In support of this, consider the House banking scandal of a few years ago when an investigation determined that during a 39-month period, 355 (that's over 80%) current and former House members had written one or more bad checks on their House bank account.  Now consider the impact if 80% of our citizenry acted in like manner.  The outcome?  Chaos, says it all.

 

In short, then, the elected group charged with overseeing this Nation's checkbook has failed to demonstrate ability to balance their personal checkbook.  If private enterprises ran their businesses this way, we'd have no private enterprises; they'd all be bankrupt.  That's a harsh statement, and some may view it unfair, but consider the track record of these Federal Enterprises before making up your mind:  Amtrak, the US Postal Service, and the IRS. 

 

With each of these three, failure has not resulted in belt-tightening or improving fiscal policy, it has simply been met with a greater budget paid for from this Nation's checkbook.  This fixes nothing; it only compounds the problem.  And, of course, it's the taxpayer who makes all the deposits into this checking account. 

 

And it gets worse.  Much worse. 

 

In December of 2003, Eileen T. Powell became Chief Financial Officer for the Internal Revenue Service, an outfit with an annual operating budget of 10 billion dollars.  But, to borrow words from an IRS memo, this agency is struggling under rising workloads and stagnant staff levels. 

 

Why is this?  One answer might be their history of "Paper reduction acts."  Each such move has failed to streamline tax collection; it has, however, compounded the problem.  There's an adage to address this: "When you find yourself in a hole, quit digging."  Obviously, the IRS has never subscribed to the practice.  They have, however, embraced the adage, "Out of sight, out of mind."

 

This is easily seen, as a Treasury Department document recently stated that the IRS walked away from more than 2 million delinquent tax accounts last year.  What was the cost for sweeping this under the rug?  Still quoting the Treasury Department, it was nearly 16.5 billion dollars.  A one-time deal?  No.  The write-off from the year before was 14.1 billion dollars.  In two years, then, the IRS has written off enough to have funded their operating budget for three years.  Senator Max Baucus (D-Mont.) called this "Another example of one step forward, two steps back." 

 

Such a statement is fitting, but it falls short of what's needed.  The IRS write-off for last year amounts to financial hemorrhaging of over 45 million dollars a day. Sadly, if history is a guide, Congressional action will not be admonishment demanding agency reform; it'll be reward of a larger operating budget, funded, of course, by taxpayers who are still paying their taxes. 

 

In my view, IRS policy redefines "irresponsibility."  If you agree, make some noise.  Baucus is the ranking minority member of the Senate Finance Committee.  Send him a card, letter, email.  Be heard.  Demand responsibility.  It's your money.

 

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Freedom

 

Thoughts on the Forth of July should conjure an array of images in the minds of Americans.  Joyful reflections of vacations and picnics past might be a couple, but it would be a mistake for any thought to hold plateau above the reason we are able to enjoy these things.  The anniversary of that reason is now upon us, Independence Day, a day set aside in the U.S. to commemorate the adoption of the Declaration of Independence. 

 

Unfortunately, mistakes abound in current thinking.  The truth is the freedom enjoyed by this nation was not a gift, nor was it a byproduct that magically surfaced when our Founding Fathers signed the Declaration of Independence.  Not even close.  Freedom as we enjoy it today was won only after a long fight. 

 

This fight was the Revolutionary War, a conflict spanning the years 1775-1783.  But it's the reasons leading to this war, all linked to the goal of independence, that go to the core of our being as a nation.  When thinking of freedom—as we should every day—nothing is more essential than knowing how ours was won.  That seems simple enough, but here's the troubling part.  A recent review of schools across our nation revealed that an ever-increasing number of school children could not explain the meaning behind the Fourth of July?

 

Why is this?  And why has it been allowed to happen?  Do those who now teach history simply dismiss all mention of our greatest asset—FREEDOM—because they take it for granted or have grown complacent?  If so, this is troubling, as the contentment and self-satisfaction of complacency is usually joined at the hip with an unawareness of danger ahead.  Apathy in this regard is not acceptable.  And you can do something about it.

 

This year as you celebrate Independence Day with family and friends, speak out to our younger generation, reminding them that while our freedom is precious, it has never been free.  Our freedom was won through war and that we still enjoy it speaks well of those who have fought to preserve it throughout our history.  Don't allow this truth to be lost or withheld from those who will follow us.

 

"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it."  George Santayana (1863–1952), U.S. philosopher, poet.

 

William L. Shirer used this quote as an epigraph in his The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich (1959).

 

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Lady Justice

 

Lady Justice dates to antiquity, and while various cultures over the years have depicted her in different ways, the prevailing image shows her blindfolded while holding an upraised sword in one hand and a pair of scales in the other. 

 

When pondering this representation of justice, what assumptions come to mind?  That Lady Justice sees no favorite because of her blindfold?  That the scales signify equal justice for all?  That the sword means decisiveness? 

 

These are worthy assumptions, but they are wrong.  In reality, justice is not blind, it is not equal for all, and there's nothing decisive about it.

 

A recent article in Reader's Digest spoke of killers and ended with this sentence: "If you kill one person, you go to jail; if you kill 20, you go to an institution for the insane; if you kill 20,000, you get political asylum."

 

Supporting the validity of this quote is the track record of Charles Taylor in Liberia, Pol Pot in Cambodia, Idi Amin in Uganda, Mengistu Haile Mariam in Ethiopia, and Haiti's Jean Claude "Baby Doc" Duvalier, to name a few.  But why is this?  Why is the severest punishment dealt to the obscure while the well-known or powerful are given a pass?  Also troubling is that this inequity of justice is not limited to despots; it has permeated all veins of wrongdoing. 

 

For example an apprentice bank robber is usually apprehended quickly, the miniscule amount of money taken is recovered, and the robber ends up with a hefty prison sentence.  On the other hand a more prolific robber—one who, let's say, has held up 20 banks—will suffer no worse fate. 

 

But what of the CEO who defrauds a company and its investors of millions?  In most cases the human suffering is incalculable and the monetary recovery, if any, is usually pennies on the dollar.  Bad enough, but then deals are cut insuring the CEO will not spend an hour in jail.  Blind Justice?  Not on my scale.

 

And how about the child abuse case in the news recently?  No, not the Michael Jackson mess.  I'm speaking of a local case.  From the moment this single count of child abuse was filed, the case moved forward in an orderly fashion as mandated by law.

 

When the warrant was issued, an arrest was promptly made.  After a warrant was issued in the Jackson case, however, authorities asked Jackson when it might be convenient for him to stop by. 

 

Our local case wrapped up this past week, and the defendant received an 8-year sentence for the single count of child abuse.  How will the Jackson case end?  Time will tell, but don't look for an orderly progression as mandated by law; and, above all, don't expect to see meaningful retribution if Jackson is found guilty. 

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When the severity of the law is to be softened, let pity, not bribes, be the motive.

Miguel de Cervantes (1547–1616), Spanish writer. Don Quixote’s advice to Sancho Panza, in Don Quixote.

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Progress

 

In 1982 seven people in the Chicago area died of cyanide poisoning after taking Extra-Strength Tylenol capsules.  Within days the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) issued tamper-resistant packaging requirements for all over-the-counter drug products.  Consumer safety was enhanced as a result of this legislation, but it also created a few headaches.  Here's one example.

 

My cardiologist said taking a baby aspirin each day was a good practice, but at breakfast on Monday the aspirin bottle ran dry.  This was not a problem, as my wife maintains our supply panty with efficiency "Our People" at Wal-Mart only dream of. 

 

I quickly located a replacement, but it was attached to a chunk of cardboard and hermetically sealed within a clear plastic bubble.  No amount of chewing or tearing would allow entry, so I sawed it open with a steak knife.  Now I had a fresh bottle of aspirin in hand. 

 

Actually, the term "bottle" is misleading.  In the days of yesteryear bottles were indeed made of glass, but this was not now the case.  This container was plastic, and despite all my twisting and prying, I couldn't open it. 

 

Access Denied.

 

My wife leaned across her bowl of cereal and pointed at the cap.  "You have to tear that little thingy off first."

 

How does she know this stuff?  I suppressed curiosity and tore off the "little thingy."  With this roadblock eliminated, I continued twisting and prying.  Still nothing.

 

Waving a piece of toast like a baton, she added, "Now you have to press the cap down as you twist."

 

Someone had lost much sleep designing this wrinkle, but pressing down as I twisted produced success.  Partial success, actually, as taking the cap off simply exposed another barrier, a foil seal, shining like an astronaut's helmet.  Press as I might it would not give. 

 

Enough. 

 

Men don't care for instructions and my wife was opening her mouth to offer more when I plunged my butter knife through the foil. 

 

Mission accomplished?  Not at all.  I had to use a toothpick to dig out a wad of cotton and then coax a cylindrical object from the container.  The object's size and shape suggested it was an errant round from a kid's popgun, and I was about to toss it aside when my wife said, "That's to absorb moisture."

 

Shaking out a half-dozen aspirin, I said, "It took two knives to open this thing and you're telling me they're worried about moisture?"

 

Ignoring my sarcasm, she said, "You're only supposed to take one aspirin."

 

"One's for my heart," I said.  "The rest of the pile is for the headache I got fighting this thing."

 

"Well, don't take those; I'll get you some Tylenol."

 

She did, but the capsules were arranged on a chunk of cardboard hermetically sealed within a clear plastic bubble.  I'd just lost a similar battle.  "Forget it," I said, "I'm going for a walk."

 

For two decades tamper-resistant packaging has prevented another poisoning incident like the one in Chicago.  On one hand this is good; on the other it's sad each step of gain must come with one of setback. 

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Why me, Lord?

 

I love the suspense of uncertainty in a mystery novel, but I long for the exact opposite in life.  Don't get me wrong.  I'm not naïve.  The act of living is not just a long walk on the beach, a truth that no doubt spawned the words "Into each life some rain must fall," it's just that I'd love a handle on the timing.  Here's an example.

 

Recently, after mowing the lawn, I was sitting on a bale of hay in the barn and giving heavy thought to this thing called Life.  Due to a couple of medical problems, which later turned out to be no problem at all, I was a little long in the jaw, giving place to worry instead of counting my blessings.  On top of that my not-so-new truck needed tires, it was license-tag-renewal month, and if I didn't get busy and finish the patio addition the building material stacked in the back yard was going to rot.  But I couldn't get into a construction project until my lower-back pain eased.

 

The thought playing heavy in my mind was "Why me, Lord?"  As if expecting a direct reply from God, I looked up.  But it wasn't a whisper from heaven that grabbed my attention; it was a pair of bats hanging from one of the rafters.  Wow!  This was the third year these micro bats had returned to our barn.  During their first visit my wife and I had named them Bart and Bess, a leap in assumption it turns out, as we've seen no offspring. 

 

My self-pity was forgotten as I wondered about the bats and the life they lived.  Yes, they had a roof over their head while here, but how about the interval between their visits?  And how did they find their way back to the exact spot where we'd first seen them? 

 

Then, for a few moments, I compared the woes of my life with the carefree nature of theirs.  They had no maintenance costs for their transportation, no need of maps as they traveled, and as long as nature provided flying insects in the night, they had a steady supply of food. 

 

For my part housing wasn't a series of barns, I could afford the new tires and tag, and the pantry was stocked.  On top of that, with a few back rubs, I'd be able to resume work on the patio. 

 

But how about the bats?  What if they were injured and unable to fly?  The answer was obvious and it mocked my reasoning for sitting on the bale of hay in the first place.  I muttered a prayer for the bats, wishing them many safe returns, and headed for town to buy a license tag and shop for tires. 

 

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The Grand Coulee Gallon Counter

 

It's been four decades since I visited Grand Coulee Dam, but I still remember the guest book I signed, the huge, water-driven turbines, and a meter set in one wall that registered the amount of water flowing over the dam.  And while this entire facility was fascinating, to this day I'm still unsure if the gallon counter contributed to anything beyond the American obsession with counting stuff.

 

And count we do.  An Internet search revealed there are 342 million acres of prime farmland in the United States.  Another exciting listing for not-so-prime farmland may be in the works, as I recently saw someone measuring my one-hundredth of an acre patch of wilted tomatoes.

 

Moving to wheat, the U.S. totaled nearly 2.2 billion bushels.  How 'bout them apples?  Well, apples are produced in most states, but Washington alone produced 6.1 billion pounds.  And you ask where does all the fruit go?  That's easy.  Yearly fruit consumption stands at 276.5 pounds per person in our country.

 

How does all this get to market?  Depends on the route you'd like to take.  If it's the Interstate, we have nearly 50,000 miles of it-and each mile has its own little sign courtesy of the We-Count-Miles Department.  But these Interstate miles are just a smidgen of the total miles of road in this country, a number now standing at nearly 4 million.  If you opt for rail, we have 230,000 miles of railroad track, 1.2 million freight cars, and about 20,000 locomotives.

 

That's a lot of counting, but it all pales before that of the Census Bureau, the true Heavyweight in the counting arena.  This bureaucracy emerges each decade, counts everything under the sun, and then spends the next nine years writing reports. 

 

One such report was spotlighted by a January 23, 2002 article in the Washington Times stating: "An analysis of census figures shows that at least 58,000 Middle Eastern men from countries other than Israel are residing illegally in the United States . . .."  The same article goes on to say (and this is still according to the Census Bureau) there were 8,705,421 illegals residing here in 2000.  The key word here, of course, is "illegal."  This begs the question of how we were able to count them if we were unable to prevent their entry in the first place.

 

While absorbing these disturbing numbers, I had a thought.  All this counting comes at a cost, and with the soaring budget deficit, we must be careful of how we spend our money.  What to do?  Well, in the face of approximately nine million illegals in the country, it's apparent the U.S. Border Patrol doesn't deter they escort.  Eliminating this bureaucracy, then, would save gobs of money.  But in doing so we shouldn't destroy America's obsession with counting.  Is there a solution? 

 

Yes!  Clone the Grand Coulee gallon counter and install these devices in turnstiles at all border crossings.  Like measuring water over the dam, these gizmos would count illegals flowing across our borders, which would allow more budget cuts by eliminating half the Census Bureau. 

 

Finally, with little extra effort these turnstiles could be equipped to dispense ID's, driver's licenses, and voter registration cards, a move that would give acceleration to states like California in their headlong quest for bankruptcy. 

 

Note:  My view is satire, but the financial failure of California is real-a situation brought about in large part by not having dealt responsibly with the issue of illegal aliens. 

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Sour Grapes

 

Today's news, just a day shy of Super Bowl XXXIX, carried a story about Chuck Bednarik who played both center and linebacker during part of his 14-year Hall of Fame career with the Philadelphia Eagles.  He's now resentful of the salary and spotlight today's players receive. 

 

Bednarik stated that he never made more than $27,000 a year as a player and had to supplement this income with a job selling concrete.  BTW, this was in 1960, and the NFL season then was 12 games versus the 16-game regular season of today. Bednarik was a pro at the time and he was making top dollar.

 

This was all interesting but in the digesting it did not strike a sympathetic cord with me.  You see, I was also a pro in 1960, and I, too, was making top dollar.  My income was enough to afford my own apartment and a new car and to leave enough left over to do the town on weekends.  However, unlike Bednarik's 4-month work year, mine was 12 months. 

 

In a head-to-head financial match up with Bednarik, then, how would I have fared?  Over a 12-week season he made $27,000 for playing 12, 1-hour games.  During this same time, while working a 40-hour week at the journeyman pay scale of $3.40 an hour, I would have worked 480 hours and earned $1632. 

 

Hmm.  I would have worked 97% more hours and would have earned only 6% as much.  Sorry, Mr. Bednarik, but I believe you are suffering from an advanced case of sour grapes.  I do agree with you, however, that many of today's athletes are overpaid.  But you, sir, were paid well for what you did during the time you did it.  My advice.  Shuck the resentment and grasp reality.  You'll be the better for it.

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