Prisoners May Trade Get Out Of Jail Free Cards for Student IDs

I’m over at The Nudge Wink Report today talking about college tuition and prison reform. I promise the topic’s not as much of a snooze-fest as it sounds.

pegoleg's avatarnudge. wink. report.

Don't do the crime if you can't...pull an all-nighter for your English 101 final. Don’t do the crime if you can’t…pull an all-nighter for your English 101 final.

Time for a pop quiz on current events, kiddies.  Which of the following statements is true?

  1. It costs a boatload of money to go to college
  2. Most Americans can’t afford to go without taking out student loans that they’ll be paying on for the rest of their natural lives and beyond
  3. It’s against the law for U.S. tax $$ to be used to pay for college tuition for criminals while in jail
  4. U.S. tax $$ will be used to pay for college for criminals while in jail
  5. All of the above

Did you choose answer # 5, “All of the above?” Good job, boys and girls!

It was recently announced that the U.S. Education Department plans to provide federal student aid so that criminals can attend college while behind bars. This would come in the form…

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And Then There Were More

peg6

Me, looking grateful.

It has been 5 years almost to the day since I started a blog.   Given how ephemeral these electronic flashes of word and image can be, that makes me an elder statesman.  Practically a blogging Methuselah.

My first post was about dropping my youngest daughter off at college.  I hadn’t figured out how to upload pictures yet and it was rather wordy.  My daughter, my sister-in-law and an anonymous stranger were the only humans to read my efforts.

A couple of months later,  bolstered by the fact that I was now a genuine writer, courtesy of having this blog, I got up the courage to approach the local paper about doing a little ditty in one of their occasional magazines.  They took the bait.  I had to pay them in the form of advertising, but still – I was published!

A couple of months after that I learned about something called Freshly Pressed when, for the first time, strangers started reading my stuff.

I’ve written almost 500 blog posts in the last 5 years, been Freshly Pressed a couple more times, and this year started writing a monthly humor column for which I am getting paid.   I’m now trying to get it syndicated.

Some blogging efforts were a riot.

  • My plot to take over WordPress.  In 2012 they featured 19 blog posts at a time on their front page as their choice for Freshly Pressed. I cooked up an elaborate scheme and enlisted 18 other bloggers to help.  We all posted with the same title at the exact same time: Better Living Through Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.  Our coup failed, as takeovers often do, but it was a scream.  I can’t tell you how much fun it was working with 18 of the best bloggers working at that time or since.
  •  The Jacket writing competition, which was won (strictly on the level, by the way) by my good blogging buddy, Darla at She’s a Maineiac.
  •  Freshly Pegged, my attempt to give an airing to bloggers’ favorite posts which had NOT been selected for Freshly Pressed.  That feature is enjoying a very long hibernation, by the way, but is not dead.

Mostly I do humor, but sometimes I’m serious, especially when writing about cancer.  My feisty sister, Lib, is battling it.  Both my close friend, Jane, and my dear, dear cousin Moe have  almost reached the end of their struggles.

I have made some absolutely amazing blogging friends over the years; people I’ve never met, but care about deeply.  Many have dropped off the radar.  A couple have died, but most slipped quietly away to focus on other things.  I miss many of them.  But change is the nature of the beast.  For every blogger who turns away, thousands – nay, millions – more take their place all the time on this constantly growing platform, and I’ve had the chance to make new friends as well.

By now most of you are asking, “What’s with this trip down memory lane? Are you retiring?  Dying?  Practicing an acceptance speech in case the Pulitzer people call?”

Today I hit 15,000 subscribers.

I know there are mega-blogs out there and I’m obviously not one of them.  But this is a milestone for me.  Growth in my readership has been organic and steady.  I haven’t had a post go viral (although one keeps getting spurts of readers and I STILL can’t figure out why.)   People have merely wandered in, a few at a time, pulled up a tuffet and decided to stay.

To all of my WordPress friends, to those who stop by to read my scribblings, to those who take the time to comment, I appreciate how you’ve found a place for me in your busy lives.

And I humbly thank you from the bottom of my heart.

p.s. Since I hit Publish 5 minutes ago, it seems that 3 readers dropped me from their roles, so I don’t have 15,000 subscribers any more. Which just goes to show…something.

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A Tale Of Two Women

Hillary and Phyllis2

Former Univ of Illinois Chancellor
Phyllis Wise

Employed by governmental entity in a position of power.

Required, by law, to conduct all work-related email correspondence via employer-provided email service.

Decided that she was above that law.

Used personal email account to discuss sensitive and controversial issues about hiring, firing, and construction of a new building. As a result, emails were not available for public scrutiny.

 

Forced to resign. Said resignation has since been rejected and she has been  fired. Said firing has since been rescinded and she’s been rehired but demoted.

One of these things…

Former Secretary of State
Hillary Clinton

Employed by governmental entity in a position of power.

Required, by law, to conduct all work-related email correspondence via employer-provided email service.

Decided that she was above that law.

Used personal email account to discuss vital matters of national security, some of which have already been verified as classified, some possibly top secret.  As a result, emails may have been available for scrutiny by enemies of the USA.

Poised to accept the nomination of her party in the hopes of becoming the next president of the United States of America.

 

is not like the other.

 

 

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And The Oscar for Best Performance in a Dickens Tragedy Goes To…My Dog

sallyasolivertwist

 

Dogs are man’s best friends and devoted companions.  And if they had fingers, most of us would be wrapped around their littlest one.

Our dog, Sally, is a master manipulator.  Here’s a typical evening at home.

We live out in the country and Sally, a frisky, 3-year-old black lab, has been (pretty much) trained via electronic collar to stay within 90 feet of the house. When she wants to go outside we open the door and out she dashes.  No matter what doggy business she’s engaged in out there, however, her 6th sense alerts her if a family member heads toward the kitchen. She’s back on the deck in a flash and she wants in.  Now.

Her “let me in” routine starts with a little whimper.  It quickly escalates to DEFCON 1, a high-pitched whiny cry so pathetic a 1-year-old child would think such babyish tactics beneath him.  Anyone hearing Sally would assume we are inhumane monsters who have driven this poor animal out to freeze in a snow bank.  Never mind that it’s a balmy 75 degrees, and a mere 10 minutes earlier she was doing her, “How can keep me cruelly trapped  in this dungeon?” bit to get outside.  We go through this cycle approximately 579 times each evening.

Once back in the house, she investigates to see if, indeed, there is food to be had.  Woe to the person who is carrying.

Sally generally interprets even simple commands like “sit” and “come” as having an “if you feel like it” rider.  But let one of her humans be in possession of food and she is eager to show how well she can do “sit”, thereby earning a treat.  She does her furry statue imitation, sitting ramrod straight, right next to the knee of the person with the food.  She gets as close as caninely possible to the snack and keeps her gaze fastened with single-minded purpose on her quarry.

If sharing of said food does not begin immediately, Sally goes into her Oliver Twist routine. Her anxious, pathetic expression and tiny, snuffling whimpers say with an eloquence worthy of an Oscar, “Please sir, I want some more.”   You can practically hear the tiny violins playing!   Anyone watching would be considering calling the Humane Society right about then, because it’s obvious we do not feed the poor creature.

The starving, obedient orphan act lasts as long as the food does, and then it’s playtime. Sally retrieves one of the many bones and toys that form the minefield otherwise known as our living room floor and dumps them, one at a time, in my lap. Her favorite toy is her corduroy Kitty. She wants me to throw it, but as I frequently remind her, I do NOT approve of throwing toys in the house.

I hand Kitty to my hubby to toss.

After a few moments of this game, she plops down on her bed, head on paws and lets out a heartfelt sigh, the living picture of a bored teenager. If she could talk, she would be saying, “There’s NOTHING to DO around here. I HATE my life!”

Then a sound comes from outside.  It could be crickets chirping, the hoot of an owl or the wind in the trees.  Whatever the source, it must be investigated – she heads briskly for the door.  If we don’t immediately follow to open it (damn this lack of opposable thumbs!) she trots back to where we sit.  Then back to the door.   Back and forth she goes, pacing and panting, until one of us, driven nearly mad by the pacing, gets up and lets her out.  To clarify; I am the one who is driven mad, and Bill is the one who gets up to let her out.  He’s doggy-whipped.

Sally stays outside until the menace has been driven off or she thinks one of us might possibly be heading in the general direction of the kitchen, and then the cycle begins anew.

I’m typing this on our screen porch right now, and Sally is whining to come out here.  As soon as I open the door, she will lick my hand to say hello, walk around in a circle, and then beg to go either back in the house or outside.  We’ve gone through this routine 263 times already this evening.

Only 316 more to go.

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Are You A Wuss?

wussjaws

I’d like to think I’m the kind of person who would rush into a burning building to save somebody’s cat.  But when it comes to scary or gory stuff?   I’m a total wuss.

My friend Susie at Susie Lindau’s Wild Ride went to see the movie Jaws  projected onto a big screen behind a swimming pool for ultimate impact.  She said it was fun, but I’m not buying it.  I don’t care if the special effects look like a couple of 4-year-olds playing with toys in the tub by today’s standards.  I saw that movie when it first came out, and it was super-scary.  Hearing that theme song when I’m near any body of water bigger than a wading pool is enough to make me pee my pants.

Lots of people love horror films and graphic games, my own kid included.  Not me.  Once I’ve been introduced to a gruesome menace (be it alien or domestic) it is just a hop, skip and a jump for my vivid imagination to put said menace on the road leading straight to my house.

I’m a wuss; how about you?  Now there’s any easy way to tell.

Peg-co’s patented Wuss-o-Meter* gauges wussosity using a scientifically developed psychological profile.  Take this quick survey to see where you stack up.

Wuss-o-Meter* Questionnaire

I.  You hear a strange noise downstairs late at night. You:

  1. grab a baseball bat and go down to investigate.
  2. send your significant other down to investigate.
  3. send your 6-year-old child down to investigate.

II.  You find mouse-droppings in the kitchen. You:TomAndJerrywoman on stool

  1. go on the hunt, armed with enough firepower to subdue an enemy army, vowing not to rest until this rodent scourge has been eradicated.
  2. put out a mouse trap and shut the kitchen door until it has been caught.
  3. don your house slippers and do a Tom & Jerry on the nearest stool.

III.  A friend invites you to see the sequel to Mutant Axe-Murderer Zombie Apocalypse of Gore. You:

  1. say, “Great –I just got my Mutant Axe-Murderer Zombie Apocalypse of Gore super-fan costume back from the cleaners. Let’s camp out overnight to be first in line!”
  2. go and have fun, but pretend you dropped your phone during the especially gruesome parts so you have an excuse to look away.
  3. say, “Sorry, I can’t make it. I feel a cold sore coming on.”

IV.  There’s no better way to unwind at the end of a long day than by playing video-games. Your go-to favorite is:

1. Resident Evil: Deadly Silenceresidentevil

 

 

 

legolordoftherings2. LEGOs, The Lord Of The Rings

 

 

 

puttputtjoinsthecircus3. Putt-Putt Joins the Circus

V.  You overcome your fear of the original, black and white Night of The Living Dead movie, which gave you nightmares as a kid, and go see a revival showing at the Bijou. As a result, you:

  1. have a great time eating popcorn and laughing at the film, which now looks campy with its overly dramatic acting and dated special effects.
  2. have a great time but leave the nightlight on when you go to bed.
  3. pretend to have a great time, but whennightoflivingdeadwpopcornyou get home you run in, dead-bolt all the doors, nail boards on the windows, and then hide under the covers armed with an economy-size bottle of holy water. You would have hidden under the bed if you weren’t convinced that space was already occupied by formerly beloved family members who have been turned into flesh-eating undead.

Score: Add up each answer’s allotted points and check your score against the Wuss-o-Meter* handy classification guide:

  • 5- 7 points: Bad-ass. You ain’t afraid of nothing; not nobody, not no-how. This spirit is exemplified by Katniss Everdeen of The Hunger Games saga.
  • 8-11 points: Everyman. You’re brave enough when you have to be, but temper that with a healthy dose of caution, like Woody from Toy Story.
  • 12-15 point: Mr. Chicken.  You’re not exactly afraid of your own shadow, but you don’t trust how it always seems to be right behind you.  The poster-child for wussiness was Don Knotts in The Ghost and Mr. Chicken, who narrowly beat out The Cowardly Lion to claim the title.
I'm a 12.  How 'bout you?

I’m a 12. Mice don’t scare me.

*The Wuss-o-Meter  is another fine product from Peg-Co.’s Behavioral/Health Sciences Division, a subsidiary of Peg-o-Leg Industries. Peg-o-Leg Industries – making money any way we can.

 

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What Does Your Avatar Say About You?

Look, how spontaneous!

Look, how spontaneous!

Avatar noun av·a·tar \ˈa-və-ˌtär\
1:  the incarnation of a Hindu deity (as Vishnu)
2a :  an incarnation in human form
b :  an embodiment (as of a concept or philosophy) often in a person
3:  a variant phase or version of a continuing basic entity
4:  an electronic image that represents and is manipulated by a computer user

(Definition courtesy of Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary)

Those of us in the blogging world are most concerned with the 4th definition. Our avatar is our calling card. It represents us wherever we go in the WordPress world, and it even follows us beyond the WordPress friendly confines when we venture onto other internet sites.

When you’re out and about, visiting other blogs, a brief glance down at the avatars attached to comments tells you who’s already come to the party. You perk up when you see a friend and gravitate toward them.  Or you may be drawn to an unfamiliar face when their words lead you to investigate a possible new friend.

Your avatar is uniquely yours, and the same goes for your blog’s header. Instead of being a traveling calling card, however, it’s the welcome mat at your home.

The problem with avatars is they’re so small that you sometimes can’t make out the detail. Even if you can, you may not know what it means. We choose our avatars and headers for very specific reasons, but the significance isn’t always clear to others.  Inquiring minds want to know.

Here’s what my avatar and heading mean to me.

The avatar is a picture of me playing on a sproingy, metal sheep. It was taken when I was in Frankenmuth, Michigan with family about 6 years ago. We were strolling, shopping and trying to digest a huge lunch when I spotted the sheep at a kiddy playground. I had to hop aboard. This picture (carefully arranged, then selected from an exhaustive series of shots taken by a professional photographer, and then meticulously Photo Shopped), shows how fun and spontaneous I am.

I used to use a landscape photo of the Connemara region of Ireland as my header.   The beautiful austerity of the area touched my soul.   I changed it because that poetic crap isn’t funny.

My current header depicts the evolution of mankind from dumb primate to fully-upright, evolved Man.  Things went kinda downhill from there until it arrived back at me. The tag, “you say you want an evolution” is a play on words from the Beatles’ song, “Revolution.” You’ll notice the ever-present picture of me on the sheep now sports painted-on yellow hair and red shoes. This highlights the fact that I am a glamorous, (used to be) natural blond.  I also like to think of myself as having the kind of life that calls for fire-engine red, stiletto heels, even though I can usually be found in Easy Spirit Fun-timers with the Dr. Scholl’s orthotic inserts.

That’s me, now what about you?

Fellow bloggers, what does your header show? How about your avatar? If it’s a picture of you, why did you choose that particular shot?  And are you really a Hindu god?

 

I left my heart...in Connemara

I left my heart…in Connemara

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The 3 Most Powerful Letters In The English Language

wordsshieldWords can be powerful weapons, but one little suffix can beat them all.  Three letters provide a mighty shield for the user to hide behind.

I’m talking about “ish.”

“ish” means neither yes nor no.  It admits while admitting nothing.  It agrees while reserving the right to disagree.  It appears to condemn while allowing a backdoor escape hatch that leads straight to wholehearted approval.  This versatility is why it is a favorite screwdriver in a politician’s tool-belt.

“I did not have sex with that woman.  It was sex-ish.”

“I know there are weapons of mass destruction there.  I have proof-ish.”

“Obamacare will be better-ish for 98.9%-ish of Americans.”

“We MUST make the border secure-ish immediately-ish! “

Add this bad boy to just about any utterance and you’ve got the holy grail of political speechifying:  deniability.

“ish” is the backbone of Euphemish.

Euphemish noun \’yü-fə-mish\
      a: A language, or dialect, featuring the substitution of an agreeable or inoffensive expression for one that may offend or suggest something unpleasant.
      Synonyms: Sugarcoat, spin, mislead, lie
      Origin: from the Greek, euphēmos auspicious, sounding good.

As the world’s leading authority on Euphemish, I have done several academic treatises (otherwise known as blog posts) on the topic.  You can read more about it here, here, and here.

With “ish”, you can CYA (cover your assets) when you:

  • think something is POSSIBLY true
  • are pretty sure it’s not even REMOTELY true
  • do not want to be called out when it is revealed to epitomize the TOTAL ABSENCE OF true
  • are sure IT IS true and are even more sure that most people DON’T WANT IT TO BE true

Unleash the power of “ish” in your life.  Because in the immortal words of a very famous politician who I just made up:

They can’t nail you, if they can’t nail you down.

Charles Durning shows the art and science of doing a little sidestep in “The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.”

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I Know Why The Caged Chicken Clucks

costcobradpittwchickens

 

 

 

 

 

Actually, I don’t know why the caged chicken clucks.  But Brad Pitt does.

Pitt lashed out at retail giant Costco last week, saying they are laying an egg with their treatment of the chickens that supply their stores with our favorite breakfast food.  He alleges that Costco buys eggs laid by chickens who spend all of their short lives crammed into little cages.

The Hunky McHunkster threatened to stop shopping at Costco if they don’t take immediate steps to address this issue. When reminded by a flunky that their household doesn’t actually shop at Costco, as each of his 23 mansions is stocked via goodie baskets home delivered by Dean & DeLuca, Brad responded, “that’s not the point.”

Pitt joined fellow humanitarians – oops, no, I meant poultritarians – Ryan Gosling and Bill Maher in calling for action now. Fans weren’t surprised to hear that Gosling is concerned about this issue since geese and chickens are so near one another on the food chain.

Industry insiders say this may be just the tip of the Chicken-gate iceberg.   A Costco boycott may be next.  As animal rights activists rightly point out, even those of us who are meat-eaters have a moral obligation to ensure animals are not tortured.

In other news this week, a film surfaced which shows a Planned Parenthood director discussing the aftermarket parts side of the abortion industry while enjoying a large Caesar salad and a glass of Pinot Noir.   She explained that docs must be very careful when performing the procedure.  It’s OK to crush the rest of the merchandise, but in the competitive business of unborn baby parts, end users want the choice bits kept intact.

Some critics have said that, regardless of where you stand on the abortion issue, such a callous, matter-of-fact commentary ought to be disturbing to any person possessing even the merest shred of feeling.  Other critics have remarked that a chilled Chardonnay or a nice Sauvignon Blanc would have been a better choice with that salad.

In a you-tell-me-if-it’s-related story, parents shared an ultrasound video showing their unborn baby clapping.  They freely admit the video was edited because they thought it would be cute to make it look like the baby was clapping along to their singing.  The fact remains that the blob of fetal tissue that they refer to as “their baby” was clapping.  In utero.  At only 14 weeks gestation.

While interest in Chicken-gate is high and is almost certain to escalate among elites in Hollywood and the media, their response to these non-poultry-related news items was a collective shoulder-shrug accompanied by a bored, “meh.”

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Merely A Slip Of The Tongue

I’m working as an ace reporter over at The Nudge Wink Report today. Head on over and get all the news that’s fit to print…or not.

pegoleg's avatarnudge. wink. report.

arianagrandedonut

An apparently famous person, Ariana Grande, set off a minor firestorm last week when her tongue came in contact with a tray of donuts. Said donuts were on the counter of a donut shop at the time. Her tongue had a busy day indeed as it followed this up by leading the rest of her mouth in saying a rather filthy curse word, then “I hate Americans. I hate America.” Her tongue finished up its Tacky Tour by tangling with her boyfriend’s.

What at first glance appeared to be an unbelievable lapse in good manners made by someone who thinks she is above the rules that govern the rest of society, was actually a protest statement. Adriana was motivated solely by concern for America’s children. When she said “I hate America” what she really meant was “I hate (that so many children have had their health negatively impacted by…

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How I-94 Construction Traffic Is Like The Greek Debt Crisis

Greekdebttraffic

 

It’s human nature to look out for #1, but those who make this their life’s mantra are full of #2.

Last weekend I drove from my now-home in Illinois to my childhood home in Michigan for a quintessential 4th of July celebration. We enjoyed family, fireworks, barbecue, flags and patriotic songs.  On the way back I experienced another American summer tradition: highway construction.

My wheels had barely kissed the pavement on I-94 in Southwest Michigan when traffic slowed to a stop.  A sign warned that the left lane would be closing at an as-yet-unknown point ahead.   This advance warning is supposed to give travelers who are in that lane ample time to move to the next in a gradual fashion – organically, if you will.   That way there is little or no disruption to the flow of traffic.

Instead, that first sign acts as a signal for dip-wad drivers to move INTO the left lane. Then they can go as far as possible before merging into the right lane at the last millisecond. This means the rest of us idiots, who stayed in the right lane or moved over early, get to enjoy 5 miles of alternately surging forward and slamming on the brakes as we are forced to accommodate the a**holes nosing in at the front of the line.

I experienced this thrill-ride 5 or 6 times during the several hours I was trapped in construction zone hell.

I whiled away much of that time listening to a program on BBC radio about the Greek debt crisis.  That crisis looms ever more ominously since the Greek people said overwhelmingly this week that they aren’t all that keen on austerity, and don’t want any more of it, thank you very much.

There are multiple layers of nuance in the Greek situation, of course, but as I understand it the basics are this:  the government provides generous social welfare benefits for its citizens, mainly in retirement.  Many people do not like paying taxes – no surprise.  In Greece, however, skipping out on your taxes and getting away with it is part of the culture.  Greeks retire earlier than those in many western countries and people in hazardous occupations, like hairdressers and trombone players, get to hang up their combs and spit-valves as early as age 50.  Promising generous retirement terms is a sure-fire way for politicians to get elected when the voting majority is on the receiving end of benefits.  As with most entitlement programs, citizens now feel, well, entitled to these benefits.  The problem is that Greece can’t pay for them.  Many pension funds are invested in sinking Greek debt so retirees are seeing their incomes shrink as well.

Even if someone pays into the retirement system for their entire working lives, those contributions cannot possibly cover what might be another 40 years of living without working.   The job of supporting the retired falls to younger citizens and immigrants.  There aren’t enough of those workers, nor are there enough good jobs for them to carry the burden.

America has just such a Ponzi scheme, called Social Security, but our retiree-to-worker ratio is better, our retirement terms aren’t quite as generous, and we have a relatively healthy economy so we’re in better shape – so far.  The Greek economy is on life support.

The Greek government has been borrowing to provide the promised benefits and the time has come to pay the piper, which are European banks and the International Monetary Fund.  Greece doesn’t have the money.

When you look at the question on a personal level, most people would agree that someone who borrows money should pay it back. If you loaned me $100 you would expect me to make good on my promise to pay you back, wouldn’t you? Even if it wasn’t easy for me, and I had to eat Ramen noodles for a year to do so?  Because it is YOUR money, not mine.

The ethics seem to be a little murkier when it is a group who owes the money.  An individual might understand and agree with the theory, but when it hurts them personally the response is: no way.   Let someone else in the group pay that piper. This response becomes easier to justify when the creditors have been neatly and conveniently demonized as rich, fat-cat bankers. Never mind that the money that was lent to Greece doesn’t come from the pockets of some Monopoly guy in a silk top hat.  It comes from all of the little you’s-and-me’s who paid their taxes and/or deposited their money in those banks who made the loans.  They…we…are the poor suckers who follow the rules and end up stuck in the right lane of life.

I really feel for the Greek people.  I do.  How horrible to see your income shrinking, to have the banks closed so you can’t withdraw your own money.   I’m at the age where I would be looking longingly toward retirement if I lived in Athens.  To think of that brass ring being pulled back just as you were reaching for it, or to have to go back to work when you’ve been living the life of leisure for years would be tough.   Incredibly tough.  But what is the alternative? Who else should pay for the benefits that Greece promised its people and can’t afford to provide?

This sounds much like the situation we have with our public sector employees in the soon-to-be-Greek state of Illinois.

I don’t know the best answer for Greece.  I don’t see any way around the hard truth that they will have to bear a heavy burden as a result of bad luck and worse choices.  At the same time, it seems clear that if decisions on how to handle this crisis are up to the majority vote, they will not choose to make things tougher on themselves.

Which brings me back to the scene of my cogitations about all this – stuck in construction traffic on I-94.   Anyone with half a brain knows that merging early and gradually is the best solution for all travelers as a group. If everyone gives up a couple minutes of travel time, all will get where they’re going more smoothly.  Waiting until the last possible second, however, is better for that individual, jerk-wad driver.  He chooses that path because he will get to his destination 10 minutes earlier, so to hell with the rest of the herd.

The bottom line for both the Greek debt crisis and highway construction traffic is the reason why Communism sounds good in theory but never works in practice. “People,” as individuals, tend to be generous, especially if they know the recipient, or can see them, face to face.  “People” in general, however, especially when they can be anonymous, tend to look out for #1 above all else.

 

 

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