The conversation started amiably enough. A co-worker and I agreed that the U.S. is quickly approaching a financial crisis. Beyond that generality, however, we started wandering into territory dangerous for work discussions.
At first, she overlooked a potential point of disagreement regarding education. I voiced the opinion that if tax money followed children instead of children being assigned to where money was already going, home-schooling might become more appealing. Parents might find it more affordable to stay home with their children if their own tax money stayed home too. Children could learn at their own paces. The co-worker said, “Home-schooling is hard.” I had a lot more to say about taxes and education quality, but I let it go.
Then I overlooked the next potential point of disagreement regarding elder care. My co-worker’s sister cared for their mother rather than place her in assisted living. No disagreement until she mentioned in her sister’s state, an adult could be paid by the government to take care of her own elderly parents. I said, “Sure, that’s a tax break if the elder is a dependent.” But what she meant was that someone should be paid by government to stay home and care for the elderly. I wanted to ask whose responsibility it was to pay for that, but I let it go. After all, no one wants to see older Americans suffer.
Finally we arrived at the real disagreement: taxation. The co-worker declared that the problem is the government really needs to “tax the hell out of the rich.” I said, “I disagree.” I pointed out that “the rich” (the definition of which is another debate) are also employers and if they were penalized additionally, they might have to let some workers go. She said, “The government can take of them [the workers].”
Next I asked, “What is my incentive to get promoted or otherwise earn more money if I know I will also have to pay more money if successful?” She said, “You would want to earn more to get more things you want.” I thought to myself that I would want to use ALL of my money as I see fit, not just the portion the government decides I can use, but I didn’t voice this.
The co-worker then went on to claim that half of her wages go to taxes because she is single. Half? 50%? I can’t disagree because I don’t see her paycheck, but huh? Later, I looked up the current top tax bracket: 35%. The lowest is 10%. Based on knowing where she works, I would guess her income tax rate is actually either 15% or 25%. She says is tired of the rich getting all the tax breaks. I said, “Well, everyone should get a tax break. Why does there have to be an income tax at all?” She said, “Because there has always been one.”
Disregarding for a moment that there was not always an income tax in the U.S. (16th Amendment, 1913 – looked it up later), I asked “Does that make it right?” At this point, the conversation devolved into her stating in various ways that there is always an income tax and me asking again just because something has “always” been there, does that make it right?
Eventually, I excused myself to use the bathroom. While I was sitting there like the thinker, I decided that next time this conversation comes up with anyone, I will ask the questions below to stir things up a bit. Do any of my loyal blog readers (Mom?) have any questions to add?
1. What income level (individual or couple) do you define as rich?
2. Are you aware that earners in higher income brackets already pay more taxes by percentage than those in lower brackets?
3. Are you aware that even if there was a single tax percentage across all brackets that top earners would still pay more because that is how percentages work?
Friday, April 22, 2011
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Fate? A farce. Destiny? Doubtful. Hall & Oates? Universal.
In recent weeks, I have noticed an unusual amount of Hall & Oates references in casual conversation and songs playing on the grocery store PA. I had chalked this up to coincidence. But something niggled (Hey, I’ve never used that word before. Niggled. Haha. Fun.).
Anyhow, today I decided to use my private eye skills to sleuth out whether there may indeed be something going on in the realm of Hall & Oates. It was a very quick search. I did it in a minute. There it was in my Google search results. John Oates is 62 today, April 7. Now some may say it was destiny, but I can’t go for that. Indeed, I say it isn’t so.
Instead, I posit that perhaps Hall & Oates is an important part of the universal force that binds us all together. Either that, or there is a Hall & Oates revival going on and I am just out of touch.
Anyhow, today I decided to use my private eye skills to sleuth out whether there may indeed be something going on in the realm of Hall & Oates. It was a very quick search. I did it in a minute. There it was in my Google search results. John Oates is 62 today, April 7. Now some may say it was destiny, but I can’t go for that. Indeed, I say it isn’t so.
Instead, I posit that perhaps Hall & Oates is an important part of the universal force that binds us all together. Either that, or there is a Hall & Oates revival going on and I am just out of touch.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
The Shaping of a Capitalist - Anita's Tale
Names have been changed for my own protection.
My first “real” job was in a distribution warehouse for a large pipe, valves and fittings company. Most of the employees were order-fillers, taking products off shelves and shipping them out. A huge office staff wasn’t necessary, so I was one of just a few. By “real” job, I mean a standard 40 hours per week with paid vacation. It didn’t pay much, but it didn’t bother me. I still had the illusion of possible advancement and the work was not unpleasant. The environment, however, was different.
Job duties changed. Management changed. These were not issues. The real challenge of working there was Anita. Anita was a little older than my other officemates and me. She hadn’t yet received the memo that you didn’t have to scheme to hold back other women anymore. More than one woman can now be on a board of directors. We can actually help each other. We don’t just get the coffee these days.
Additionally, Anita was intimidated that the receiving clerk and I had attended college. Obviously, we thought we were better than her due to our education. Mostly we tried to have as few dealings with her as possible and just stay out of her way.
It quickly became apparent that Anita delighted in our misfortunes. Walking into the office bright and chipper and saying “good morning” elicited a frown. Slinking in with downcast eyes got her attention immediately. She’d smile like Jaws (she got her teeth fixed later, but it was scary for a while) and be concerned at your unhappiness.
Anita was absolutely in her glory when others were miserable. Her favorite self-appointed duty was Thermostat Nazi. At first, I had some sympathy. She was menopausal and I understand the concept of hot flashes. But NO ONE sets a business thermostat at 60 degrees Fahrenheit. NO ONE. On the hottest days of the year (in Atlanta, GA), I wore a scarf at my desk. It’s not easy to use a PC with gloves on, but I managed. The colder it was, the bigger Anita’s smile.
At this point, Anita sounds like a real…er…witch. But here is where she deserves some credit for reinforcing my free market ideals. I came to have a greater understanding that her motive was envy. We were better-educated and had good teeth. She had barely been to high school and had a miscreant son that required his parents’ caretaking long past the start of adulthood. Our lives were fluid and hers was etched in stone. Because we were perceived as having more, we were to be punished.
This, today, is what our government is doing. The productive and successful among us have more. So they must be punished. They must pay a higher percentage of the money they EARN to help those that are neither productive nor successful. You can’t raise up the lazy among us by bringing down the motivated.
The day I realized Anita’s true feelings of hate and jealousy toward us was the day I noticed her shivering with cold. She was willing to endure privation and discomfort as long as others were equally uncomfortable. She was unwilling to empower herself in her personal life, so she chose to make our lives more difficult.
By the way, she hated the name “Anita.” Apparently, her husband had dated a girl of that name right before her. Naturally, I had to use it.
My first “real” job was in a distribution warehouse for a large pipe, valves and fittings company. Most of the employees were order-fillers, taking products off shelves and shipping them out. A huge office staff wasn’t necessary, so I was one of just a few. By “real” job, I mean a standard 40 hours per week with paid vacation. It didn’t pay much, but it didn’t bother me. I still had the illusion of possible advancement and the work was not unpleasant. The environment, however, was different.
Job duties changed. Management changed. These were not issues. The real challenge of working there was Anita. Anita was a little older than my other officemates and me. She hadn’t yet received the memo that you didn’t have to scheme to hold back other women anymore. More than one woman can now be on a board of directors. We can actually help each other. We don’t just get the coffee these days.
Additionally, Anita was intimidated that the receiving clerk and I had attended college. Obviously, we thought we were better than her due to our education. Mostly we tried to have as few dealings with her as possible and just stay out of her way.
It quickly became apparent that Anita delighted in our misfortunes. Walking into the office bright and chipper and saying “good morning” elicited a frown. Slinking in with downcast eyes got her attention immediately. She’d smile like Jaws (she got her teeth fixed later, but it was scary for a while) and be concerned at your unhappiness.
Anita was absolutely in her glory when others were miserable. Her favorite self-appointed duty was Thermostat Nazi. At first, I had some sympathy. She was menopausal and I understand the concept of hot flashes. But NO ONE sets a business thermostat at 60 degrees Fahrenheit. NO ONE. On the hottest days of the year (in Atlanta, GA), I wore a scarf at my desk. It’s not easy to use a PC with gloves on, but I managed. The colder it was, the bigger Anita’s smile.
At this point, Anita sounds like a real…er…witch. But here is where she deserves some credit for reinforcing my free market ideals. I came to have a greater understanding that her motive was envy. We were better-educated and had good teeth. She had barely been to high school and had a miscreant son that required his parents’ caretaking long past the start of adulthood. Our lives were fluid and hers was etched in stone. Because we were perceived as having more, we were to be punished.
This, today, is what our government is doing. The productive and successful among us have more. So they must be punished. They must pay a higher percentage of the money they EARN to help those that are neither productive nor successful. You can’t raise up the lazy among us by bringing down the motivated.
The day I realized Anita’s true feelings of hate and jealousy toward us was the day I noticed her shivering with cold. She was willing to endure privation and discomfort as long as others were equally uncomfortable. She was unwilling to empower herself in her personal life, so she chose to make our lives more difficult.
By the way, she hated the name “Anita.” Apparently, her husband had dated a girl of that name right before her. Naturally, I had to use it.
Friday, March 11, 2011
The True Meaning of Sharing
My little brother Jeff is awesome. He is the source of good advice on auto, plumbing and various mechanical issues. He is smart, loyal, funny and can reach stuff on higher shelves than me. But aside from all that, there is an incident in our past which may really be the glue that bonds us together today.
We were not particularly well-off as kids. Neither of our parents were raking in the big bucks. We never lacked for anything critical, but some items were still luxuries nonetheless. Soda pop was one of those luxuries. We lived in an apartment with a Pepsi Mom in a Pepsi town. She bought it when it was on sale in whatever form was cheapest. Sometimes this was a two-liter plastic bottle. Other times, the eight-pack of 16 oz. glass bottles was more economical.
Two-liter bottles went fast. You had to drink it within a couple of days or it went flat. Most Coke drinkers will tell you that Pepsi already tastes flat. I agree. So imagine Pepsi three days after opening with zero carbonation remaining. Ack! It makes smaller bottles much more attractive.
Enter the eight-pack.
The eight glass bottles would beckon from their place next to the fridge. The conditions were cramped. The wallpaper was loud. But all we could see was the sweet dark liquid gleaming in the incandescent light.
Now, I’m sure anyone with basic math skills can see an issue already. Me, Mom, Jeff. Three people. Eight bottles. But Mom was generous. Jeff and I were allotted three bottles each while she owned only two. For all we knew, she was drinking it every day from the vending machine at work, but that is pure speculation.
Jeff and I made our Pepsi last as best we could. We were not greedy children, but who could resist a bottle the first day? The next hit was usually in three or four days. Mom would drink a bottle too. Then reality would start to set in. We only had one bottle each. At this point a minor miracle would happen. A few days later, my brother and I would actually share a bottle. We’d split it even in those old colored Tupperware cups, 8 oz. each. As time wore on, we’d split our last bottle. We could milk our Pepsi for at least a couple weeks. Who knew when we’d have it again?
Cute story, right? My brother and I had supplemented our knowledge of sharing gleaned from Sesame Street with real life experience. But it’s not over. No, it’s not.
Next, we’d move on to Kool-Aid, biding our time between Pepsi purchases. We’d even drink water or instant iced tea. But all the while we were both working very hard to ignore one fact. There was still one full bottle sitting there in the eight-pack with the empties and it wasn’t ours. Eventually it was torture. Every day we’d come home from school and the first sight straight ahead to the kitchen was that full bottle. No Berry Blue could sate us. No Tropical Punch could sustain us. Sigh.
It may have been only two weeks, but it felt like two months. Then finally one day, Jeff and I would just look at each other. We knew what we had to do. I got the cups. He got the bottle opener. There was never a more even and equitable pour as both us tasted sweet caffeinated heaven.
Unfailingly, that was the day Mom finally decided to drink her Pepsi. She summoned us.
We stood together. No blame. No accusations. We knew what we’d done. Forgotten were the times I didn’t tell Jeff what was on TV when he couldn’t yet read and also the times he borrowed my walkman without asking. The moments we had to be restricted to our own side of the couch or the rear seat of the car were unimportant. We were on each other’s side now and forever.
We endured in silent solidarity pondering her past threats of punishment. Would she turn our noses upside-down so we would drown next time it rained? Would she make us ride in the trunk finally after all these years?
Mom said “I was thinking about that Pepsi all day.” That was it. I remember no other punishment, simply the crushing oppressive guilt fostered by that simple statement. Yet Jeff and I shared this just as readily as we’d shared the sweet nectar of life an hour or two earlier. Perhaps that was why Mom was a little easier on us. We’d somehow learned something together.
We were not particularly well-off as kids. Neither of our parents were raking in the big bucks. We never lacked for anything critical, but some items were still luxuries nonetheless. Soda pop was one of those luxuries. We lived in an apartment with a Pepsi Mom in a Pepsi town. She bought it when it was on sale in whatever form was cheapest. Sometimes this was a two-liter plastic bottle. Other times, the eight-pack of 16 oz. glass bottles was more economical.
Two-liter bottles went fast. You had to drink it within a couple of days or it went flat. Most Coke drinkers will tell you that Pepsi already tastes flat. I agree. So imagine Pepsi three days after opening with zero carbonation remaining. Ack! It makes smaller bottles much more attractive.
Enter the eight-pack.
The eight glass bottles would beckon from their place next to the fridge. The conditions were cramped. The wallpaper was loud. But all we could see was the sweet dark liquid gleaming in the incandescent light.
Now, I’m sure anyone with basic math skills can see an issue already. Me, Mom, Jeff. Three people. Eight bottles. But Mom was generous. Jeff and I were allotted three bottles each while she owned only two. For all we knew, she was drinking it every day from the vending machine at work, but that is pure speculation.
Jeff and I made our Pepsi last as best we could. We were not greedy children, but who could resist a bottle the first day? The next hit was usually in three or four days. Mom would drink a bottle too. Then reality would start to set in. We only had one bottle each. At this point a minor miracle would happen. A few days later, my brother and I would actually share a bottle. We’d split it even in those old colored Tupperware cups, 8 oz. each. As time wore on, we’d split our last bottle. We could milk our Pepsi for at least a couple weeks. Who knew when we’d have it again?
Cute story, right? My brother and I had supplemented our knowledge of sharing gleaned from Sesame Street with real life experience. But it’s not over. No, it’s not.
Next, we’d move on to Kool-Aid, biding our time between Pepsi purchases. We’d even drink water or instant iced tea. But all the while we were both working very hard to ignore one fact. There was still one full bottle sitting there in the eight-pack with the empties and it wasn’t ours. Eventually it was torture. Every day we’d come home from school and the first sight straight ahead to the kitchen was that full bottle. No Berry Blue could sate us. No Tropical Punch could sustain us. Sigh.
It may have been only two weeks, but it felt like two months. Then finally one day, Jeff and I would just look at each other. We knew what we had to do. I got the cups. He got the bottle opener. There was never a more even and equitable pour as both us tasted sweet caffeinated heaven.
Unfailingly, that was the day Mom finally decided to drink her Pepsi. She summoned us.
We stood together. No blame. No accusations. We knew what we’d done. Forgotten were the times I didn’t tell Jeff what was on TV when he couldn’t yet read and also the times he borrowed my walkman without asking. The moments we had to be restricted to our own side of the couch or the rear seat of the car were unimportant. We were on each other’s side now and forever.
We endured in silent solidarity pondering her past threats of punishment. Would she turn our noses upside-down so we would drown next time it rained? Would she make us ride in the trunk finally after all these years?
Mom said “I was thinking about that Pepsi all day.” That was it. I remember no other punishment, simply the crushing oppressive guilt fostered by that simple statement. Yet Jeff and I shared this just as readily as we’d shared the sweet nectar of life an hour or two earlier. Perhaps that was why Mom was a little easier on us. We’d somehow learned something together.
Monday, March 7, 2011
The First Amendment, Part 2: Speech & Press
Here’s what the first amendment says:
“Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.”
Freedom of speech can be perhaps more accurately defined as freedom of expression. A photo or drawing or symbolic action can represent this particular right just as easily as written or spoken words. One could theoretically choose to fart in the boss’s office when she’s not around and that would be self-expression. Incidentally, I have never done this.
Freedom of the press overlaps significantly with freedom of speech. The amount of published information and opinion continues to increase exponentially as our population gets more and more plugged in to the Internet. Blogs in particular blend the definition of free speech with free press. A blog is an exercise in free speech published in a public forum, the ultimate independent op-ed.
Love you, Blogger!
When the CON was written, the press consisted of printed news. There were no radios, TVs, computers or telegraphs. Even the nuances of semaphore were not fully explored. Today, the Internet sets up everyone from mainstream media sources to the Bob Loblaw Law Blog as “the press”. I say this is a good thing. Mainstream sources are not the government watchdogs they used to be. Everyone has an agenda. Facts are overlooked when they don’t support that agenda. Again, I say that can be a good thing.
WHAT?!? How can ignoring facts and spinning a story to fit your own personal goals be good?
Ok, it’s NOT good when the source purports to be neutral and presents supposition as fact. But it is completely liberating and excellent when a hundred people state their opinions and back them up with select facts. That means a hundred different viewpoints. Even reading a handful of different sources helps each of us refine our own thoughts on an issue.
Now that I have clearly stated that I believe everyone should be able to say or print whatever they want, I’ll briefly explore some potential problems with that. There’s treason, hate speech and of course, porn! Or slippery slope, slippery slope and…never mind.
The slippery slope arises when even small acts start to be counted as treason due to a progression of sensitivity. There are some pretty clear cases of treason. Providing the location of your country’s top secret military base, revealing the technology behind your country’s top secret mind control device or bragging about how Brenda Rafalski let you touch her in top secret areas all come to mind as direct treason. The problem with using the treason label is that things can go too far. One day you can’t reveal military codes, the next you can’t burn iconic symbols of your nation then suddenly you can’t even comment that you think the President’s healthcare mandate is a mistake. Citizens should always be free to criticize their government without fear of wire-taps without due process (cough, Patriot Act).
Our forefathers were treasonous bastards. That doesn’t mean they were wrong.
Next we have hate speech. It’s often cruel, hurtful and focused on a particular race, lifestyle or other aspect of a group of people. Despite all that, it’s completely legal in the U.S. Good! We are not a free civilization if we can’t state our opinions, even when those opinions are short-sighted and bigoted. This turns into another slippery slope type situation if nasty comments begin to be banned. Also, we do have recourse when the hate speech is unfounded. At that point, we call it defamation (or libel if it’s published). We can litigate the heck out of folks for false statements.
Now I believe I mentioned porn earlier. I saved it for last to try to keep male attention throughout this long ramble. This is a situation that we are really still feeling out. In legal terms, anything considered not socially acceptable is considered “obscenity”. The problem with obscenity is that every generation, every social niche, every subculture, every person has a different picture of what is obscene. What is acceptable to one person may rub another the wrong way. There is little consistency in defining the concept as it changes constantly.
So how do we determine if porn is obscene? The only way I can see to fairly define this is to ask if it violates the rights of someone else. For instance, child pornography most definitely violates the rights of another person. Hence, it is completely illegal to produce and distribute that product. Owning it is also illegal, but whether that specifically violates anyone’s rights is another topic.
In general, if we want to remain in freedom and liberty, we can’t restrict people from expressing their opinions. It is wrong to violate the rights of others via those same expressions, but how can you legislate against an opinion? It’s problematic at best. The framers of the CON were rebels who expressed their own opinions in opposition to the powers that were. They would not have wanted us to try to control each other. It looks like we just have to depend on people’s parents to raise them right.
“Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.”
Freedom of speech can be perhaps more accurately defined as freedom of expression. A photo or drawing or symbolic action can represent this particular right just as easily as written or spoken words. One could theoretically choose to fart in the boss’s office when she’s not around and that would be self-expression. Incidentally, I have never done this.
Freedom of the press overlaps significantly with freedom of speech. The amount of published information and opinion continues to increase exponentially as our population gets more and more plugged in to the Internet. Blogs in particular blend the definition of free speech with free press. A blog is an exercise in free speech published in a public forum, the ultimate independent op-ed.
When the CON was written, the press consisted of printed news. There were no radios, TVs, computers or telegraphs. Even the nuances of semaphore were not fully explored. Today, the Internet sets up everyone from mainstream media sources to the Bob Loblaw Law Blog as “the press”. I say this is a good thing. Mainstream sources are not the government watchdogs they used to be. Everyone has an agenda. Facts are overlooked when they don’t support that agenda. Again, I say that can be a good thing.
WHAT?!? How can ignoring facts and spinning a story to fit your own personal goals be good?
Ok, it’s NOT good when the source purports to be neutral and presents supposition as fact. But it is completely liberating and excellent when a hundred people state their opinions and back them up with select facts. That means a hundred different viewpoints. Even reading a handful of different sources helps each of us refine our own thoughts on an issue.
Now that I have clearly stated that I believe everyone should be able to say or print whatever they want, I’ll briefly explore some potential problems with that. There’s treason, hate speech and of course, porn! Or slippery slope, slippery slope and…never mind.
The slippery slope arises when even small acts start to be counted as treason due to a progression of sensitivity. There are some pretty clear cases of treason. Providing the location of your country’s top secret military base, revealing the technology behind your country’s top secret mind control device or bragging about how Brenda Rafalski let you touch her in top secret areas all come to mind as direct treason. The problem with using the treason label is that things can go too far. One day you can’t reveal military codes, the next you can’t burn iconic symbols of your nation then suddenly you can’t even comment that you think the President’s healthcare mandate is a mistake. Citizens should always be free to criticize their government without fear of wire-taps without due process (cough, Patriot Act).
Next we have hate speech. It’s often cruel, hurtful and focused on a particular race, lifestyle or other aspect of a group of people. Despite all that, it’s completely legal in the U.S. Good! We are not a free civilization if we can’t state our opinions, even when those opinions are short-sighted and bigoted. This turns into another slippery slope type situation if nasty comments begin to be banned. Also, we do have recourse when the hate speech is unfounded. At that point, we call it defamation (or libel if it’s published). We can litigate the heck out of folks for false statements.
Now I believe I mentioned porn earlier. I saved it for last to try to keep male attention throughout this long ramble. This is a situation that we are really still feeling out. In legal terms, anything considered not socially acceptable is considered “obscenity”. The problem with obscenity is that every generation, every social niche, every subculture, every person has a different picture of what is obscene. What is acceptable to one person may rub another the wrong way. There is little consistency in defining the concept as it changes constantly.
So how do we determine if porn is obscene? The only way I can see to fairly define this is to ask if it violates the rights of someone else. For instance, child pornography most definitely violates the rights of another person. Hence, it is completely illegal to produce and distribute that product. Owning it is also illegal, but whether that specifically violates anyone’s rights is another topic.
In general, if we want to remain in freedom and liberty, we can’t restrict people from expressing their opinions. It is wrong to violate the rights of others via those same expressions, but how can you legislate against an opinion? It’s problematic at best. The framers of the CON were rebels who expressed their own opinions in opposition to the powers that were. They would not have wanted us to try to control each other. It looks like we just have to depend on people’s parents to raise them right.
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