Yes, it may be stupid to complain, since they are actually buying, but... really!
After all those hours of work, all the TLC, honing the skills... wasted? I'm referring to two-plus years of lapidary, selecting the stones, sawing, shaping, polishing, mounting, and finally stringing on a chain to sell as a necklace. Some get rejected by the committee, very properly, for using the wrong gauge of metal, a less than ideal example of wrapping, a bad job. I get that. Make corrections. Resubmit.
Then I get a call from the club President. Somebody wants to buy one! Yay! Well, not exactly. How about if he just buys the (really, really) cheap necklace it's strung from because he's really just looking for one in that color, and leaves the rest behind? Oh yeah, he'll pay full price, but nevermind the beautiful stone, we can keep that, put it back on sale with a new (really, really) cheap necklace.
OK, a sale is a sale, I still get my money. It's just the appreciation of my work that's missing. It chafes.
A few weeks later I get another call: would I sell just the (really, really) chain from another necklace, and if so, for how much? Again, I can restring the pendant, keep it in the shop to resell.
Dang!
Oh, all right. Quick calculation: about $.45 of factory preformed unidentifiable metal chain; two jump rings, albeit hand made, about $.03; one lobster claw fastener, I forget how much but surely not over $.30 each. They're tiny, so maybe just half that. Insult brings the cost up to $10, take it or leave it.
They take it.
Wasn't it P.T. Barnum who said something memorable about the stupidity of the consumer? I checked in the club store the other day because I'm doing a project in sterling and was looking for a quick necklace to hang it on, since we can only get sterling prices if all metal parts of the item are sterling. I don't do that level of work yet. We sell sterling necklaces for as little as $10.00 each! But hey, if you want to pay the same price for a piece of crap, who am I to argue? Still, I do wish the hard work would be considered worth something. I'm really selling the wrong thing.
I got another of those calls today.
Tuesday, January 30, 2018
Sunday, January 28, 2018
Still Incurable, Still A Killer
I just lost someone I cared about to liver cancer. She's the third one of my acquaintance. And she will be greatly missed.
First was Mary Jo. We served on a nonprofit board together many years ago. I knew she owned her own company in St. Paul, much more than I knew about many others on that same board, because that space, when empty and silent, became a regular meeting space for one of the board committees we both served on. One day another member made a phone call. It was the kind that goes, "If you want a chance to say good-bye, you better get your ass down here pretty quick." It was, of course, much more polite than that, but, being the busy person I was, it taught me the hard way that when the subject was liver cancer, quick did not translate to a month or so.
I didn't not make it before it was too late.
The second was my sister-in-law, the one married to my ex's brother. Pamela fought the diagnosis with everything she had and could do, including trying some treatments she had to travel to Mexico for. I don't know if it was the strength of her fight, or the early diagnosis of her disease (since most cases aren't caught until very near the end when pain drives one to the doctor and all kinds of other causes are ruled out) but she lived about 4 years knowing how ill she was.
I wasn't too late this time. Still busy living and working, I managed to put it off by putting it out of my mind, but one day I was startled out of my procrastination by the stray thought that there couldn't be much time left, no matter how long and well she had fought. I had a vase of tulips delivered. It turned out that she was alert enough to appreciate them for as long as they survived with any semblance of flowerhood left in them, but she was heading downhill fast at that point.
I had a delivery out in that neighborhood around then, and decided to take some time off workafterwords to try to invite myself by for a brief visit on the way home. Do note that where she lived was about 165 miles from where I did. A quick visit just didn't happen. I talked my way over the phone into a provisional stop, contingent on how she was at the moment I arrived, knowing and agreeing that her condition might easily prevent or end any time we might have together. As it happened, we had about 15 minutes. She was in a hospital bed in her home, looking to have lost about 300 pounds by then. She'd been a large woman, about as big as her generous heart. Now there was little more than a skeleton curled up in her bed.
However, she was alert and welcoming. She'd loved the tulips, probably her last bouquet she could appreciate. We chatted until her nurse shooed me out, emphatically. I spoke with my niece for a bit before heading home, and was unsurprised to hear shortly of a family funeral to attend. I was and still am grateful that something prompted me to those final gestures while they actually meant something, not just one among a plethora of condolences. Pam was quite religious and would have attributed them to God. I'm not, and am simply glad it happened as it did.
The third I just heard about today. Her name was Christine, and both she and her husband have been very active members of the Sterling and Stones club where I spend my spare time. I had not even known she had liver cancer. Unlike many of us, she was never one to talk about the latest ailment or treatment or fight to get a medical appointment. One person I talked to earlier today had known, and knew of another who had recommend an oncologist since getting a local and quick appointment was proving impossible. Yes, she'd gotten her diagnosis while up north avoiding the summer heat, but the small northern community had little access to hospitals and less to qualified oncologists. They decided to come back down here for treatment.
This was my year in the club to spend less time at the lapidary wheels with my back to the room, and more time working with metals and interacting with other club members. As a result, I got to know Christine a little better. She was one of those people who was always cheerful, never letting her personal problems show. I remember her working on a recent acquisition of small opals, slowly polishing away the bad rock to reveal the multicolored treasures beneath. She never was bothered by my question for permission to watch her process, and not just because it was accompanied by drop-jawed admiration for both the quality of stones and her skillful technique. She was also willing to answer any question, from a "Where do I find...?" to a "How do I ...?" If she had an answer, she'd share. If not, she could point out somebody who might know.
As it happened, the couple were getting ready for a Monday chemotherapy treatment. She'd had to wait for her blood sugar to drop before starting, and it finally had. They were going to take their RV over to a town diagonally across the entire metro area tonight and avoid morning rush hour traffic to arrive fresh and early for chemo. But she became ill yesterday, finally winding up getting rushed to the hospital by the EMTs, with her heart giving out before their hopes did.
There was no chance to say, "Good-bye." This time I can only hope that she knew how much she was liked and appreciated, and not only by me. She will be greatly missed.
First was Mary Jo. We served on a nonprofit board together many years ago. I knew she owned her own company in St. Paul, much more than I knew about many others on that same board, because that space, when empty and silent, became a regular meeting space for one of the board committees we both served on. One day another member made a phone call. It was the kind that goes, "If you want a chance to say good-bye, you better get your ass down here pretty quick." It was, of course, much more polite than that, but, being the busy person I was, it taught me the hard way that when the subject was liver cancer, quick did not translate to a month or so.
I didn't not make it before it was too late.
The second was my sister-in-law, the one married to my ex's brother. Pamela fought the diagnosis with everything she had and could do, including trying some treatments she had to travel to Mexico for. I don't know if it was the strength of her fight, or the early diagnosis of her disease (since most cases aren't caught until very near the end when pain drives one to the doctor and all kinds of other causes are ruled out) but she lived about 4 years knowing how ill she was.
I wasn't too late this time. Still busy living and working, I managed to put it off by putting it out of my mind, but one day I was startled out of my procrastination by the stray thought that there couldn't be much time left, no matter how long and well she had fought. I had a vase of tulips delivered. It turned out that she was alert enough to appreciate them for as long as they survived with any semblance of flowerhood left in them, but she was heading downhill fast at that point.
I had a delivery out in that neighborhood around then, and decided to take some time off workafterwords to try to invite myself by for a brief visit on the way home. Do note that where she lived was about 165 miles from where I did. A quick visit just didn't happen. I talked my way over the phone into a provisional stop, contingent on how she was at the moment I arrived, knowing and agreeing that her condition might easily prevent or end any time we might have together. As it happened, we had about 15 minutes. She was in a hospital bed in her home, looking to have lost about 300 pounds by then. She'd been a large woman, about as big as her generous heart. Now there was little more than a skeleton curled up in her bed.
However, she was alert and welcoming. She'd loved the tulips, probably her last bouquet she could appreciate. We chatted until her nurse shooed me out, emphatically. I spoke with my niece for a bit before heading home, and was unsurprised to hear shortly of a family funeral to attend. I was and still am grateful that something prompted me to those final gestures while they actually meant something, not just one among a plethora of condolences. Pam was quite religious and would have attributed them to God. I'm not, and am simply glad it happened as it did.
The third I just heard about today. Her name was Christine, and both she and her husband have been very active members of the Sterling and Stones club where I spend my spare time. I had not even known she had liver cancer. Unlike many of us, she was never one to talk about the latest ailment or treatment or fight to get a medical appointment. One person I talked to earlier today had known, and knew of another who had recommend an oncologist since getting a local and quick appointment was proving impossible. Yes, she'd gotten her diagnosis while up north avoiding the summer heat, but the small northern community had little access to hospitals and less to qualified oncologists. They decided to come back down here for treatment.
This was my year in the club to spend less time at the lapidary wheels with my back to the room, and more time working with metals and interacting with other club members. As a result, I got to know Christine a little better. She was one of those people who was always cheerful, never letting her personal problems show. I remember her working on a recent acquisition of small opals, slowly polishing away the bad rock to reveal the multicolored treasures beneath. She never was bothered by my question for permission to watch her process, and not just because it was accompanied by drop-jawed admiration for both the quality of stones and her skillful technique. She was also willing to answer any question, from a "Where do I find...?" to a "How do I ...?" If she had an answer, she'd share. If not, she could point out somebody who might know.
As it happened, the couple were getting ready for a Monday chemotherapy treatment. She'd had to wait for her blood sugar to drop before starting, and it finally had. They were going to take their RV over to a town diagonally across the entire metro area tonight and avoid morning rush hour traffic to arrive fresh and early for chemo. But she became ill yesterday, finally winding up getting rushed to the hospital by the EMTs, with her heart giving out before their hopes did.
There was no chance to say, "Good-bye." This time I can only hope that she knew how much she was liked and appreciated, and not only by me. She will be greatly missed.
Monday, January 22, 2018
Whaddya Mean, Like A Lawnmower?
There's nothing like the stress of a little emergency to help you feel like a complete idiot. Or that's how it worked for me, anyway.
After a couple weeks of feeling the all-over body aches and an intermittent cough we both associated with a mild case of the flu, Steve suddenly developed breathing problems. When he couldn't manage about 10 feet without needing to stop to catch his breath, we both decided it was time for an ER visit. His walking was so wobbly that I was not about to try to get him to walk into the ER even with my assistance. Besides, I knew firsthand when you hit an ER and let them know somebody in the car is having breathing problems, they stand up and pay attention.
So I parked right at their door and walked in, requesting help in getting him inside, explaining why. Rather than another able body to assist, I was pointed to the entryway where their really weird wheelchairs are lined up. She added helpfully, "They work just like a lawnmower."
Say what?
Now, I've actually run a lawnmower or ten, many years ago. So long that my memories of their workings are kinda fuzzy. I recall using a pocket knife to scrape the carbon build-up off the spark plug and regapping it before putting it back in place. I know about lifting the little metal band off the plug before doing any work on it, because I value my fingers and other assorted body parts. There are clear memories of pulling and pulling and pulling on a cord in hope that it would finally start, and of some taking gas-oil mix and some not, of cleaning off filters, even sharpening blades. That was where I first learned what a cotter pin was.
Somehow as all that flashed through my mind, none of it seemed remotely relevant. These had no motors, no blades, but were just big slant-backed chairs on wheels that were supposed to move easily to the person needing a ride, then with the person in them heading back into the hospital. I'm used to "normal" wheelchairs with a brake that functions by a lever swinging a bar over onto the back tires to keep it immobile. Nothing like that here. These were stacked each into the back of the one in front, like a row of shopping carts when not in use. Nothing moved. I saw one by itself and thought I could at least move it, but not a chance.
I turned back through the automatic doors to yell, "How the h-e-double-toothpick do I move these things?" No, really, I said "hell". Politeness was gone. Need was paramount. I was full on into vinegar mode to catch my flies.
Just at that moment, the door to the inner sanctum opened and through it came a nurse wheeling one of the chairs my way, simple as anything. I asked her, in the process of loading up Steve and getting him over to triage, how the dang things worked. Turned out it was simple if you knew the trick, impossible if you didn't. Behind the top bar of the chair was a another, little bar running across which, if pushed forward and held next to the top frame of the chair, released whatever immobilized the wheels and let it be easily moved. Incidentally, it is out of the reach of the patient in the chair so they can't move their chair themselves.
Oh. Yeah. Like the extra bar on a lawnmower that works as a dead-man switch when released. Like that. Except it doesn't also act as a brake on the wheels.
As we were heading back in, she pointed, very nicely, to the tape across the top of the bar that explained how to move the two bars together and hold them so the chair would move. I suppose I could brush it all off as it being night and the entryway not being well lit. Not my fault then. But in fact, with the stress of trying to get Steve inside, it never occurred to me that there might be actual instructions on the chair. I simply never thought to look.
And really, isn't "like a lawnmower" just a little devoid of information?
* * * * * *
Addendum: Steve is spending his 2nd night in the hospital. They ruled out a whole bunch of stuff, gave him nebulizer treatments, and kept an eye on him, seemingly content with a blood oxygen level that bounced from 92 to 87. He was to be released this afternoon, but before discharging him they gave him a couple things to lower his blood pressure. Within 10 minutes he was in pain, neck to fingertips, and his BP bottomed out at 70-something over 34. So they are keeping him. Last report was it was finally coming up, helped no doubt by a couple boluses of saline, done on whatever their term is for doing it on a rapid push. We could see the liquid streaming rather then dripping from the bag into the little plastic tube connecting to the IV line. It took just over 5 minutes to empty the 1st 100 ml into him, and the Doc ordered another 150 more right away. Steve's too shaky to risk him getting up, so use your imagination on the consequences of all that liquid influx.
But his numbers are improving, and along with them his mood, despite the Vikes doing, yet again, what we expected them to.
After a couple weeks of feeling the all-over body aches and an intermittent cough we both associated with a mild case of the flu, Steve suddenly developed breathing problems. When he couldn't manage about 10 feet without needing to stop to catch his breath, we both decided it was time for an ER visit. His walking was so wobbly that I was not about to try to get him to walk into the ER even with my assistance. Besides, I knew firsthand when you hit an ER and let them know somebody in the car is having breathing problems, they stand up and pay attention.
So I parked right at their door and walked in, requesting help in getting him inside, explaining why. Rather than another able body to assist, I was pointed to the entryway where their really weird wheelchairs are lined up. She added helpfully, "They work just like a lawnmower."
Say what?
Now, I've actually run a lawnmower or ten, many years ago. So long that my memories of their workings are kinda fuzzy. I recall using a pocket knife to scrape the carbon build-up off the spark plug and regapping it before putting it back in place. I know about lifting the little metal band off the plug before doing any work on it, because I value my fingers and other assorted body parts. There are clear memories of pulling and pulling and pulling on a cord in hope that it would finally start, and of some taking gas-oil mix and some not, of cleaning off filters, even sharpening blades. That was where I first learned what a cotter pin was.
Somehow as all that flashed through my mind, none of it seemed remotely relevant. These had no motors, no blades, but were just big slant-backed chairs on wheels that were supposed to move easily to the person needing a ride, then with the person in them heading back into the hospital. I'm used to "normal" wheelchairs with a brake that functions by a lever swinging a bar over onto the back tires to keep it immobile. Nothing like that here. These were stacked each into the back of the one in front, like a row of shopping carts when not in use. Nothing moved. I saw one by itself and thought I could at least move it, but not a chance.
I turned back through the automatic doors to yell, "How the h-e-double-toothpick do I move these things?" No, really, I said "hell". Politeness was gone. Need was paramount. I was full on into vinegar mode to catch my flies.
Just at that moment, the door to the inner sanctum opened and through it came a nurse wheeling one of the chairs my way, simple as anything. I asked her, in the process of loading up Steve and getting him over to triage, how the dang things worked. Turned out it was simple if you knew the trick, impossible if you didn't. Behind the top bar of the chair was a another, little bar running across which, if pushed forward and held next to the top frame of the chair, released whatever immobilized the wheels and let it be easily moved. Incidentally, it is out of the reach of the patient in the chair so they can't move their chair themselves.
Oh. Yeah. Like the extra bar on a lawnmower that works as a dead-man switch when released. Like that. Except it doesn't also act as a brake on the wheels.
As we were heading back in, she pointed, very nicely, to the tape across the top of the bar that explained how to move the two bars together and hold them so the chair would move. I suppose I could brush it all off as it being night and the entryway not being well lit. Not my fault then. But in fact, with the stress of trying to get Steve inside, it never occurred to me that there might be actual instructions on the chair. I simply never thought to look.
And really, isn't "like a lawnmower" just a little devoid of information?
* * * * * *
Addendum: Steve is spending his 2nd night in the hospital. They ruled out a whole bunch of stuff, gave him nebulizer treatments, and kept an eye on him, seemingly content with a blood oxygen level that bounced from 92 to 87. He was to be released this afternoon, but before discharging him they gave him a couple things to lower his blood pressure. Within 10 minutes he was in pain, neck to fingertips, and his BP bottomed out at 70-something over 34. So they are keeping him. Last report was it was finally coming up, helped no doubt by a couple boluses of saline, done on whatever their term is for doing it on a rapid push. We could see the liquid streaming rather then dripping from the bag into the little plastic tube connecting to the IV line. It took just over 5 minutes to empty the 1st 100 ml into him, and the Doc ordered another 150 more right away. Steve's too shaky to risk him getting up, so use your imagination on the consequences of all that liquid influx.
But his numbers are improving, and along with them his mood, despite the Vikes doing, yet again, what we expected them to.
Wednesday, January 17, 2018
Not Flake Either ... Yet.
I just listened to Senator Jeff Flake's speech on a free press from the Senate floor addressed to Trump. I admire him greatly for that. Somebody has needed to put it out there, and he did it eloquently. I'm just a tad concerned that he'll be running to replace Trump in the next election. Sounds like a good deed getting punished, eh?
So, why my concern?
I first heard of Flake well before I moved down here. MPR aired a segment on an interview with him, one of those you do when a new Senator or somebody of like ilk needs to be introduced to the rest of the country. I was prepared to despise him before I heard the first word. After all, Arizona? Republican? It seemed an invitation to just another right wing extremist. Despite myself, I found him thoughtful and often reasonable - about the highest praise I could give a Republican back then. Or now, even more so. Even considering my sometimes-respect and sometimes-tolerance for the decisions of (now) our ex-POW Senator McCain.
While Flake often sounded good, his voting record still has too often been further to the right than his avowed stance on issues. So there is something of a trust issue for me. But the combination of that and the party affiliation are not the only reasons I would oppose the rumored political ambitions of Senator Flake. After all, there will be a pendulum swinging both directions in the future, and his time may very well come after a while. He is fairly young, after all. And right now he can appear to be one of the better of the possible choices on the political map of possible right wing candidates.
But first, the political pendulum has swung so far to the right of mainstream Americans that it has to swing back first. I mean, really, REALLY has to. The constant barrage of extremism and crazy have become normalized. We can't go any further down that path and remain a real democracy. We barely are one now.
One Republican candidate who is a little more sane than Trump is not going to cut it. Stepping 6" back from the edge of the cliff is not enough to be safe from falling off the edge. We need to move a mile back and sit there a bit before that pendulum heads back again. In other words, the Republicans need to lose. Not a whisker's worth, where one or two losses from election or resignation would shove us right back to the cliff's edge, but by a firm and decisive margin that would teach the Republicans that they can't serve this country and its people by letting the most extreme of the extreme control them. They need to become aware again that negotiation and compromise between parties, or even within their own, are the way to serve the most Americans in the best way. (I'm going to be kind, and against my inclinations give them the benefit of the doubt that at least some part of why they are there is to accomplish that, not just gain power and riches.)
The "Hastert Rule" has to go. For those of you not familiar with that term, back when Dennis Hastert was Speaker of the House, he started a policy whereby any legislation that couldn't win on a vote within his own (Republican) party members adding up to a majority of the total House, and thus not needing any input whatsoever from Democrats or Independents, would not even make it to the floor for a vote. If it wasn't a forgone conclusion, all their way, nothing would happen. A whole lot of nothing did.
Just for a comparison, when it was time to pass the Affordable Care Act, aka Obamacare, input and amendments from both sides were a part of the process. The basic idea was a Republican one. No, they will have you believe it was way too socialist and left wing to ever come from their party, but it was originally Bob Dole's plan. It wound up not being ideal for either party, but despite all the noise and disparaging hype, it was the best possible advancement politically possible at the time. Also it was the best policy for the whole of the country, not just a few, possible at the time. Of course, the "poison pill" amendments inserted by Republicans and accepted by Democrats in the hope of not just starting the process, but making corrections as we went along, haven't helped. A Congress swinging more right and refusing to actually improve anything, working instead on sabotaging the whole idea, haven't helped either.
That's just one example of why the pendulum needs to swing left again. Wa-a-a-ay left. So: not Jeff Flake. Not yet anyway.
So, why my concern?
I first heard of Flake well before I moved down here. MPR aired a segment on an interview with him, one of those you do when a new Senator or somebody of like ilk needs to be introduced to the rest of the country. I was prepared to despise him before I heard the first word. After all, Arizona? Republican? It seemed an invitation to just another right wing extremist. Despite myself, I found him thoughtful and often reasonable - about the highest praise I could give a Republican back then. Or now, even more so. Even considering my sometimes-respect and sometimes-tolerance for the decisions of (now) our ex-POW Senator McCain.
While Flake often sounded good, his voting record still has too often been further to the right than his avowed stance on issues. So there is something of a trust issue for me. But the combination of that and the party affiliation are not the only reasons I would oppose the rumored political ambitions of Senator Flake. After all, there will be a pendulum swinging both directions in the future, and his time may very well come after a while. He is fairly young, after all. And right now he can appear to be one of the better of the possible choices on the political map of possible right wing candidates.
But first, the political pendulum has swung so far to the right of mainstream Americans that it has to swing back first. I mean, really, REALLY has to. The constant barrage of extremism and crazy have become normalized. We can't go any further down that path and remain a real democracy. We barely are one now.
One Republican candidate who is a little more sane than Trump is not going to cut it. Stepping 6" back from the edge of the cliff is not enough to be safe from falling off the edge. We need to move a mile back and sit there a bit before that pendulum heads back again. In other words, the Republicans need to lose. Not a whisker's worth, where one or two losses from election or resignation would shove us right back to the cliff's edge, but by a firm and decisive margin that would teach the Republicans that they can't serve this country and its people by letting the most extreme of the extreme control them. They need to become aware again that negotiation and compromise between parties, or even within their own, are the way to serve the most Americans in the best way. (I'm going to be kind, and against my inclinations give them the benefit of the doubt that at least some part of why they are there is to accomplish that, not just gain power and riches.)
The "Hastert Rule" has to go. For those of you not familiar with that term, back when Dennis Hastert was Speaker of the House, he started a policy whereby any legislation that couldn't win on a vote within his own (Republican) party members adding up to a majority of the total House, and thus not needing any input whatsoever from Democrats or Independents, would not even make it to the floor for a vote. If it wasn't a forgone conclusion, all their way, nothing would happen. A whole lot of nothing did.
Just for a comparison, when it was time to pass the Affordable Care Act, aka Obamacare, input and amendments from both sides were a part of the process. The basic idea was a Republican one. No, they will have you believe it was way too socialist and left wing to ever come from their party, but it was originally Bob Dole's plan. It wound up not being ideal for either party, but despite all the noise and disparaging hype, it was the best possible advancement politically possible at the time. Also it was the best policy for the whole of the country, not just a few, possible at the time. Of course, the "poison pill" amendments inserted by Republicans and accepted by Democrats in the hope of not just starting the process, but making corrections as we went along, haven't helped. A Congress swinging more right and refusing to actually improve anything, working instead on sabotaging the whole idea, haven't helped either.
That's just one example of why the pendulum needs to swing left again. Wa-a-a-ay left. So: not Jeff Flake. Not yet anyway.
Wednesday, January 10, 2018
Oprah? President? No Way!!!
Hey, I kinda like Oprah. This is not about that. I've neither had nor taken the time to more than incidentally follow her career, but the bits which have floated into my awareness have all been positive. She's climbed her way up to fame and fortune, apparently works hard, gives away cars and stuff, is a savvy businesswoman. She's articulate, intelligent, has world-wide name recognition, and cleans up a whole lot better than Steve Bannon.
I know, that last is a low bar, but in this world the way it is, appearances, especially for women, count a great deal. Much as I bemoan the standard, Oprah is gorgeous.
So what's my problem then? That's not what qualifies somebody for President. Sure, intelligence, hard work, and the ability to speak in complete coherent sentences would be really welcome in the office right now. But their lack comes from too many people in this country believing that celebrity and business success are all one needs. Heck, maybe just celebrity.
It hasn't worked out well for us yet. Reagan wasn't the worst example of the consequences of voting on that belief, but with our short memories, who needs to look further than the current "like, really smart" office holder?
What we need are dedication to the principles of our constitution, and governmental experience. Being CEO isn't the same thing as being, say, Governor. Business doesn't work the same way as government. It's goals are different. It's power structure is different. Its ethics are different.
Government is of, by, and for its people. Under our constitution, that means all of us. Business is of, by, and for wealth. That means the wealth of the person / people at the top, and shareholders. Screw the employees.
Government has the power to tax to raise the money to do its job. Business has to produce the cheapest product/service at the highest price to do its job. Screw paying taxes, screw environmental protection, screw worker safety, etc., etc., unless forced by... oh, hey: Government!
If you can't get that, I won't bother to explain it all in more depth to you here. It could take pages. Another time, perhaps. I'm just saying, while Oprah would have a hard time being worse than Trump, I'm more of an idealist. I want somebody who can really do the job, who is genuinely qualified for the job. Not just different, an outsider, and famous.
Those latter qualifications are not what somebody needs to solve this country's problems.
But we can start by voting. We have enough caring, thoughtful, informed people in this country that if we all got out there and performed that one little civic duty, a whole lot could change, for the better.
I know, that last is a low bar, but in this world the way it is, appearances, especially for women, count a great deal. Much as I bemoan the standard, Oprah is gorgeous.
So what's my problem then? That's not what qualifies somebody for President. Sure, intelligence, hard work, and the ability to speak in complete coherent sentences would be really welcome in the office right now. But their lack comes from too many people in this country believing that celebrity and business success are all one needs. Heck, maybe just celebrity.
It hasn't worked out well for us yet. Reagan wasn't the worst example of the consequences of voting on that belief, but with our short memories, who needs to look further than the current "like, really smart" office holder?
What we need are dedication to the principles of our constitution, and governmental experience. Being CEO isn't the same thing as being, say, Governor. Business doesn't work the same way as government. It's goals are different. It's power structure is different. Its ethics are different.
Government is of, by, and for its people. Under our constitution, that means all of us. Business is of, by, and for wealth. That means the wealth of the person / people at the top, and shareholders. Screw the employees.
Government has the power to tax to raise the money to do its job. Business has to produce the cheapest product/service at the highest price to do its job. Screw paying taxes, screw environmental protection, screw worker safety, etc., etc., unless forced by... oh, hey: Government!
If you can't get that, I won't bother to explain it all in more depth to you here. It could take pages. Another time, perhaps. I'm just saying, while Oprah would have a hard time being worse than Trump, I'm more of an idealist. I want somebody who can really do the job, who is genuinely qualified for the job. Not just different, an outsider, and famous.
Those latter qualifications are not what somebody needs to solve this country's problems.
But we can start by voting. We have enough caring, thoughtful, informed people in this country that if we all got out there and performed that one little civic duty, a whole lot could change, for the better.
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