For those of you who are frequent readers of this column, you are aware (painfully, at times) that I love clichés. As I move forward into my seventh decade of life, I have discerned that most clichés contain nuggets of truth. I could proclaim the virtues of “old wives’ tales,” but that would be unforgivably politically incorrect. In contradiction to “Cosmopolitan Magazine,” I submit that smaller is better. My greatest argument for that proposition is that “bigness” diffuses accountability thus leading to unproductive inefficiencies.
Let’s examine some examples of how bigness has affected you. When you’ve had a service problem with an appliance that was purchased online or from a huge corporation, how much time did you consume while pushing “1”, then “3”, followed by a “7”, then back to “1”, resulting in the dial tone as you were inadvertently (?) disconnected. After repeating the process, you finally get to speak with a live person whose accent makes him/her nearly impossible to understand. Ever happen to you? When you conduct business with a local “Mom and Pop” store, the customer service issues are a little different, aren’t they? I am not trying to discourage you from using larger enterprises for your commercial activity. There is generally an economic advantage in large scale production or distribution. Larger organizations have their weak spots, however, but in the commercial world we have the option of choosing a smaller, more customer-friendly business. In the realm of government our choices are limited.
No matter the venue…local, state or federal…we have no true choice of which government we have. We do have, for now, the opportunity to relocate to another locality or state if we are unhappy with government in place. On the federal level, however, we have no choice – short of renouncing our citizenship and moving somewhere else. As our individual liberty continues to be consumed by an increasingly intrusive federal presence, our options for forcing the federal government to be more responsive to us become severely limited. There must be a tipping point beyond which the people cannot reclaim the power. Clearly, if the electoral patterns from the past continue and voters blindly support the same two parties, can we expect the inexorable slide into tyranny to subside?
Now is the time for patriots to say “Halt!” Now is the time for citizens to support candidates who are truly committed to smaller government. Now is the time to cease voting for duopoly politicians who give lip service to restraining the reach of government. The Libertarian Party stands on “smaller government, lower taxes, and more freedom.” If you are alarmed about the unwieldy growth of government…if you resent having the Nanny state control much of your daily living…if you are fed up with exorbitant taxes that are siphoned from your pockets and frivolously spent…if you would rather be left alone to chose your own priorities and preferences, then YOU are a Libertarian.
Your response is welcome. Comment or email: cnpearl@woh.rr.com
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
A Life's tale.
This is a story about the lives of four people: Fred, Florence, Farley and Francis. Any resemblance to persons, alive or dead, is purely accidental and coincidental. These four characters lived on the same street in a small village in Middle America. They were of similar ages, incomes and education, but their lifestyles and priorities were different. Those differences are the basis for our story.
Some people thought that Fred was a clever lad, but others found him unexciting and dull. Some people thought that Fred had the potential to do great things, but others believed him to be a heartless stick-in-the-mud who needed constant supervision and guidance. Some thought that Fred was a kind and compassionate soul who would risk all to help others, and the others surmised that Fred’s vision of compassion was much too limited. Some believed that Fred was a solid, reliable member of the village, but others thought that he lacked vision and idealism.
There were some interesting dynamics at work on that pleasant little street in that quiet little village. Some of Fred’s extended family was very close to Farley’s family while some others had developed long-standing relationships with Florence’s kin. At times, during family gatherings, the kith and kin of Fred’s would discuss their preferences for either Farley’s group or Florence’s. Sometimes the discussions would become heated as each member of the family-at-large would defend his or her allegiance to either the Florence or Farley group.
As a child Fred would often play with Farley and his cousins. He would return home after playtime bloodied and broke as Farley and his family would cheat, beg for mercy, and cheat again. Farley’s family was a fun loving bunch who often broke the rules and lacked self discipline. Farley, himself, epitomized the tribe’s culture. Sometimes he extorted Fred’s lunch money when they were at school. He was a habitual liar and frequently cheated in school. Nevertheless Fred would play with him or defend him at school because they had been neighbors for a long time.
When she was a little girl, Florence was very pretty. As she matured, she became beautiful. Fred was enraptured by her bright eyes and her lovely face. In his dreams at night he pictured her as his constant companion in a mystical future. Whenever Fred became discouraged, Florence would say the words that would rekindle his hope. If Fred and Farley had a disagreement, then Florence would soothe Fred by taking his side. Florence always seemed to have just the right words for Fred whenever he faced a vexing problem. As the time for the 8th grade dance drew near, Fred screwed up his courage and asked Florence to be his date. She said yes. Fred was overjoyed, and as the big night drew near, his excitement began to crescendo. Beautifully dressed and coiffed Florence was the epitome of junior high elegance. Fred was in awe of his young date and all her promise. Later that evening Florence excused herself to go to the ladies room as Fred patiently waited at their table. After what seemed to be an inordinate amount of time, Fred began to search for his missing dream date. He saw her (play dramatic organ music here). She was in the cloakroom…passionately embracing Farley. Fred spun around and left the school…running home as the tears cascaded from his eyes. Later that evening Florence stopped by Fred’s house and apologized profusely. He forgave her, but her intermittent infidelities with Farley continued through high school. Finally Fred faced the final reality and moved on without Florence, the girl of his dreams.
Meanwhile, Francis grew through her early years. Her gangly movement freckles and braces all faded away, and a stunning elegant woman appeared. She was confident and self assured, and Fred was astounded when they met while both were home from college. He asked her out. She accepted. Fred discovered that Francis had simple tastes and unbending principles. She encouraged Fred to achieve his full potential. When he was with Francis, Fred felt as if he were complete. She was always loyal…always faithful. They were married…and were fruitful and multiplied. THE END
Endnote: Fiction writers are often asked if their stories are autobiographical. Well, yes this story is conceptually mine, but not in facts or details. Fred represents me and every other citizen of the United States. Farley is the standard bearer for the Democrats, liberals and progressives. Florence is the symbol of the GOP, and Francis is the representative for the Libertarian Party. For me, this has been a life long journey. I’ve had family members who were strident D’s and diehard R’s. For many years I was a Republican…filled with hope and anticipation. Too often, however, I found them in the closet with Farley (the D’s). Now, I’ve joined with Francis. Keep it simple, keep it solid, and follow the principles…works for me.
As always, your comments are welcome or email: cnpearl@woh.rr.com
Some people thought that Fred was a clever lad, but others found him unexciting and dull. Some people thought that Fred had the potential to do great things, but others believed him to be a heartless stick-in-the-mud who needed constant supervision and guidance. Some thought that Fred was a kind and compassionate soul who would risk all to help others, and the others surmised that Fred’s vision of compassion was much too limited. Some believed that Fred was a solid, reliable member of the village, but others thought that he lacked vision and idealism.
There were some interesting dynamics at work on that pleasant little street in that quiet little village. Some of Fred’s extended family was very close to Farley’s family while some others had developed long-standing relationships with Florence’s kin. At times, during family gatherings, the kith and kin of Fred’s would discuss their preferences for either Farley’s group or Florence’s. Sometimes the discussions would become heated as each member of the family-at-large would defend his or her allegiance to either the Florence or Farley group.
As a child Fred would often play with Farley and his cousins. He would return home after playtime bloodied and broke as Farley and his family would cheat, beg for mercy, and cheat again. Farley’s family was a fun loving bunch who often broke the rules and lacked self discipline. Farley, himself, epitomized the tribe’s culture. Sometimes he extorted Fred’s lunch money when they were at school. He was a habitual liar and frequently cheated in school. Nevertheless Fred would play with him or defend him at school because they had been neighbors for a long time.
When she was a little girl, Florence was very pretty. As she matured, she became beautiful. Fred was enraptured by her bright eyes and her lovely face. In his dreams at night he pictured her as his constant companion in a mystical future. Whenever Fred became discouraged, Florence would say the words that would rekindle his hope. If Fred and Farley had a disagreement, then Florence would soothe Fred by taking his side. Florence always seemed to have just the right words for Fred whenever he faced a vexing problem. As the time for the 8th grade dance drew near, Fred screwed up his courage and asked Florence to be his date. She said yes. Fred was overjoyed, and as the big night drew near, his excitement began to crescendo. Beautifully dressed and coiffed Florence was the epitome of junior high elegance. Fred was in awe of his young date and all her promise. Later that evening Florence excused herself to go to the ladies room as Fred patiently waited at their table. After what seemed to be an inordinate amount of time, Fred began to search for his missing dream date. He saw her (play dramatic organ music here). She was in the cloakroom…passionately embracing Farley. Fred spun around and left the school…running home as the tears cascaded from his eyes. Later that evening Florence stopped by Fred’s house and apologized profusely. He forgave her, but her intermittent infidelities with Farley continued through high school. Finally Fred faced the final reality and moved on without Florence, the girl of his dreams.
Meanwhile, Francis grew through her early years. Her gangly movement freckles and braces all faded away, and a stunning elegant woman appeared. She was confident and self assured, and Fred was astounded when they met while both were home from college. He asked her out. She accepted. Fred discovered that Francis had simple tastes and unbending principles. She encouraged Fred to achieve his full potential. When he was with Francis, Fred felt as if he were complete. She was always loyal…always faithful. They were married…and were fruitful and multiplied. THE END
Endnote: Fiction writers are often asked if their stories are autobiographical. Well, yes this story is conceptually mine, but not in facts or details. Fred represents me and every other citizen of the United States. Farley is the standard bearer for the Democrats, liberals and progressives. Florence is the symbol of the GOP, and Francis is the representative for the Libertarian Party. For me, this has been a life long journey. I’ve had family members who were strident D’s and diehard R’s. For many years I was a Republican…filled with hope and anticipation. Too often, however, I found them in the closet with Farley (the D’s). Now, I’ve joined with Francis. Keep it simple, keep it solid, and follow the principles…works for me.
As always, your comments are welcome or email: cnpearl@woh.rr.com
Monday, December 28, 2009
Safety first.
Article I, Section 8 of the Constitution of the United States lists many of the duties of the federal government. Among them is the requirement for protecting and defending the nation. This latest little fiasco in Detroit featuring flight 253 reveals that the feds are failing miserably in the fulfillment of their assigned Constitutional duties. While aggressively seeking to expand the reach and power of the federal government, they come up short in doing what they have been mandated to do. With the passage of the ill conceived and misnamed “Patriot Act,” Congress and the previous administration broadly and intrusively increased federal interference into our personal lives and liberty.
Remember back to the halcyon days when the Patriot Act was being promoted, and one of the critical provisions was the nationalization of the airport security apparatus. Formerly, each airline provided its own gate side security force, but Big Nanny desired to take this woefully inadequate gaggle and transform it overnight into a civil service protected inadequate gaggle. I’ve done quite a bit of air travel over the years, and I suspect that many of those TSA security “professionals” couldn’t qualify as a greeter at my local Wal-Mart.
So we have this Nigerian, Abdulmutallab, flying one way—Amsterdam to Detroit—RED FLAG. He pays cash for his $2800.00 fare. RED FLAG. He has no luggage to stow. RED FLAG. He had no valid passport. RED FLAG. He was on the “terror watch list.” SUPER, DUPER, RED FLAG. His father had reported his concern about his son’s activities some weeks earlier. TRIPLE DECKER RED FLAG. He carried incendiary material in his underwear. EXPLOSIVELY SCARY RED FLAG. Who is watching the security gate? Mr. Magoo and Stevie Wonder? How’s that Patriot Act working out for you, huh? This entire FUBAR would alarm me, but my concern has been heightened by the fact that my wife had traveled on that same flight several days earlier. She had been to Dubai on a business trip and had changed planes in Amsterdam for her last leg home.
Fortunately, an alert and resourceful Dutch engineer subdued the Nigerian nihilist. Plus, he must have pee’d on his fuse in the restroom because it failed to ignite properly. If either of those factors had not occurred, we would be discussing more than 280 dead on the plane and who knows how many on the ground. What was the initial response from Homeland Security Secretary Janet Napolitano? “The system worked.” She later backtracked and admitted there were some flaws in security procedures. You can’t get anything past her: she’s way too smart. She’s so smart that I wish she would explain to me how the civil-service protected goobers at our gates are protecting and defending us.
The HS-TSA bifecta has already implemented some radical new measures to ensure event-free flights. For the last hour of a given flight, passengers will not be allowed to visit the restroom or to have anything on their laps. Travelers will be required to sit in the upright position with their hands placed on their laps. I bet that’ll work. Bennie the bomber has already begun to circumvent the rule makers’ latest inane restrictions. It hasn’t yet been mentioned, but given that Abdulmutallab stowed the explosive in his “Fruit of the Looms,” each of us will have to endure an undergarment check. You mother was right. Always wear clean underwear…skid marks could be mistaken for an explosive substance. Get used to the idea that you may hear the following as you check in at the airport: “O.K., drop your drawers, bend over and grab your ankles.” Of course, Big Government has been telling us that for years. Nothing new there.
As always your comments are welcome or email: cnpearl@woh.rr.com
Remember back to the halcyon days when the Patriot Act was being promoted, and one of the critical provisions was the nationalization of the airport security apparatus. Formerly, each airline provided its own gate side security force, but Big Nanny desired to take this woefully inadequate gaggle and transform it overnight into a civil service protected inadequate gaggle. I’ve done quite a bit of air travel over the years, and I suspect that many of those TSA security “professionals” couldn’t qualify as a greeter at my local Wal-Mart.
So we have this Nigerian, Abdulmutallab, flying one way—Amsterdam to Detroit—RED FLAG. He pays cash for his $2800.00 fare. RED FLAG. He has no luggage to stow. RED FLAG. He had no valid passport. RED FLAG. He was on the “terror watch list.” SUPER, DUPER, RED FLAG. His father had reported his concern about his son’s activities some weeks earlier. TRIPLE DECKER RED FLAG. He carried incendiary material in his underwear. EXPLOSIVELY SCARY RED FLAG. Who is watching the security gate? Mr. Magoo and Stevie Wonder? How’s that Patriot Act working out for you, huh? This entire FUBAR would alarm me, but my concern has been heightened by the fact that my wife had traveled on that same flight several days earlier. She had been to Dubai on a business trip and had changed planes in Amsterdam for her last leg home.
Fortunately, an alert and resourceful Dutch engineer subdued the Nigerian nihilist. Plus, he must have pee’d on his fuse in the restroom because it failed to ignite properly. If either of those factors had not occurred, we would be discussing more than 280 dead on the plane and who knows how many on the ground. What was the initial response from Homeland Security Secretary Janet Napolitano? “The system worked.” She later backtracked and admitted there were some flaws in security procedures. You can’t get anything past her: she’s way too smart. She’s so smart that I wish she would explain to me how the civil-service protected goobers at our gates are protecting and defending us.
The HS-TSA bifecta has already implemented some radical new measures to ensure event-free flights. For the last hour of a given flight, passengers will not be allowed to visit the restroom or to have anything on their laps. Travelers will be required to sit in the upright position with their hands placed on their laps. I bet that’ll work. Bennie the bomber has already begun to circumvent the rule makers’ latest inane restrictions. It hasn’t yet been mentioned, but given that Abdulmutallab stowed the explosive in his “Fruit of the Looms,” each of us will have to endure an undergarment check. You mother was right. Always wear clean underwear…skid marks could be mistaken for an explosive substance. Get used to the idea that you may hear the following as you check in at the airport: “O.K., drop your drawers, bend over and grab your ankles.” Of course, Big Government has been telling us that for years. Nothing new there.
As always your comments are welcome or email: cnpearl@woh.rr.com
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
