I spent the summer building us a small house, one room, a bed made from feathers I found around the forest and from a few birds I’d managed to kill with an ever impressively growing skill at throwing rocks quickly and accurately, a stone fireplace for warmth and cooking, a small desk for sewing or writing or sharing meals over. She built a chicken coop, a fenced in area for the animals and planted a garden. The summer was full of long hours of toil, the good, fulfilling kind of work that comes from building your own life, not the kind of “building a life together” that people call securing a 401k and going to Home Depot for solar powered driveway lights, we were actually building our life, carving it out of the mountain forest home we were procuring. She would bake flat breads for us and I would bring home fish or nuts or whatever wild vegetables and fungi I could find, she would check them over and let me know which were potentially poisonous. We mended our own clothes, kept one another warm through the nights and took Saturdays, or whichever days we imagined were Saturdays, time had been lost on us, to hike around our new woody neighborhood or lay naked in a small nearby field and I’d tell her stories or read poetry and she’d pull out any ingrown hairs that may have been trying to get back into the warmth of my neck. She learned to make cheese and we had fresh milk and eggs every morning. The Summer lasted forever, and the house was complete. The area had been properly readied for Winter, and we had just finished the second and most bountiful part of the Harvest as she was cutting open a great squash to prepare for dinner. That night it began to rain, the temperature dropped, and snow fell over the house, the garden, the land. I held her as close to me as I could, we were layered thick in blankets and were prepared for the coming cold, well prepared.

I woke in the morning, our first snow plated mountain morning together, we were to celebrate with a feast of rabbit, vegetable stew and a bottle of homemade wine. I opened my eyes and went to stir her awake, to dive into this great new day. She didn’t move. I leaned over her to kiss her into the morning, but she had died in the night. This dream of mine, perhaps much more mine than hers, had brought her up here, set her to work, and then taken her life, and with it the dream.

I carved a hole into the ground that afternoon, the bottle of wine emptied, and laid her body — wrapped in a thin Afghan blanket — in the ground. I slaughtered the goat and let it’s blood run down into the spaces between her stiffening, bluing form and the cracks in the dirt, and falling snow mixed with the crimson as I said some final thing, perhaps outloud but of course, no one to hear or know what was happening. I ate what portion of the goat could fill me, raw, and lit the whole thing on fire. The flames licked at my boots and then raged up to singe eyebrows and beard. I turned and left everything behind me, one footprint in the snow at a time.

Within a month the chickens would be eaten by some wild hungry animal, the mule left to wander through the mountain cold, Question, who’d stayed behind at her burning side when I left, would go off to join or be killed by some pack of wolves. Eventually I returned to the town, though not on purpose, famished and pointless. When two people have spent so much pure energy together, for so many long decades, well when one dies they both die, one to burn up or be eaten by worms or locked forever in some casket, the other to roam for some many more years on this planet wandering how hard he might have to beg for an end.

We are so rarely satisfied with our current station in life, too often trapped in reminiscent nostalgia or making plans for future ambitions that we miss the only part of existence that matters, as it is the only part that is real, the living present. I am a happy camper for every day I learn to live a little closer to the moment. I am endlessly intoxicated by a drive to explore, to adventure, to sit and ponder the future and what grand goodness it will unfold before me, though I’ve noticed that life doesn’t unfold as much as it unravels. The analogy of time passing is perhaps more akin to kicking the sheets off of the bed throughout the night rather than making the bed in the morning.

I find it interesting, my current desire to live now, the shedding of my recent love of thinking toward the future, and how those compare in contrast to my younger self, always full of desire to get back to the past, to when things were better, the good old days. Maybe we’re not in control of how we look at our lives in the universe at all, perhaps the situations we find ourselves in dictate our ability to enjoy present over past or future.

The means, not the end.

Now fast forward to the future. Over the next 16 years, India, the European Space Agency, Iran and Japan intend to send up their own vessels, as well as tentatively planned but as of yet unscheduled programs by North Korea, Turkey, Malaysia and Romania. The last one particularly intrigues me, as I have always thought of Romania as being one of those few remaining Eastern European countries that still lives in the days of Dracula, of Vlad the Impaler, where dirt roads leading up treacherous mountain passes to cliffside castles still exist.

Keep in mind that in the past, Japan, Iraq and the European Space Agency have all abandoned plans to send manned shuttles into space, and as one might imagine, the organization, funding and even the very prospect of the mission is daunting. We have trouble enough packing up the minivan to take the kids to visit Grandma in New Hampshire, let alone making it out of our own atmosphere. Even still, as our robots explore Mars and we contemplate sending humans there, as satellites continue to clutter in orbit, and we have a full time outpost where astronauts are living and working right now, the possibilities of tomorrow are exciting, and certainly frightening.

I can’t help but think about Columbus setting foot on New World soil. The centuries it took to get from then to now, the advancements, the genocide, slavery, destruction of Earth that ensued. The glorious advances and enlightenment that followed, as well. There is such an overflowing mug of human potential, used or abused, and to be alive in 3000 looking back over our current new century would be an exciting prospect.

Computers are eating your children. The average child is smaller than an adult, their brains are not yet quite as developed, and as anyone who’s ever seen a 12 year old wreck his bike into a barbed wire fence at 25 mph and not feel the need to cry until he realizes no one will wait up for him to hear his story, they are nearly invincible. My point is, that children are not real, they are simply a developing organism which will someday turn into a jumbled twine of conscious thought, buried emotions, and ever-mounting divorce papers. The only “real” thing about children is their immense propensity to spew energy and imagination, breaking all laws of science and nature by both running at 110% of capacity on 13% of the fuel and imagining the most wonderful scenarios for play, whether they’re hiking down into the Grand Canyon or sitting in the backseat of a car on a long trip to Grannie’s.

So if we are all in agreeance, and at this point I believe we are, that children are precisely made of 50% energy and 50% imagination, how can we most easily destroy them? By transforming them into an input rather than an output. Television, including that damned Big Bird, is the succubus of the 20th century, and just when you thought it was safe to sell your HD TV and move into an old station wagon to live in a Walmart parking lot, the Internet appears on the scene. High schools across these great United States are all faced with a monstrous dilemma: How to afford computers for each and every child. Technology is important, and keeping our children at the cutting edge of the latest Firefox download will ensure that we are able to survive well into an Asian dominated future, right? Correct. Even before our children can read, they’re given a username and password in the hopes that when someone does get around to teaching them the fine art of connecting verbs and nouns, penning out their thoughts and distancing themselves from the shackles of the momentary nature of thought without graphite, we’re literally signing them onto the instant access Wide Web of Worlds. I write loosely, in jest today, perhaps, because it is a lovely summer day, cool in the desert as the rain flirts between a trickle and a downpour, but I am being quite serious in undertone. NPR today reported that schools across the country are concerning themselves with how they’ll be able to afford new computers, personal laptops in fact, for each and every child that comes through their doors. One little girl had to have her teacher spell out her password for her, because she is not yet even able to read.

And what will a child who can’t read, or a teenager for that matter, do when they finally dial in? Read the Wikipedia article on the history of the collapse of the Roman Empire? Research their genealogy on Ancestry.com? Youtube a monkey getting it’s head stuck in an elephant’s ass? That’s the one.

Children are meant for but two things: doing chores that are too mundane for parents and running wildly through the forest expending all of that unbridled energy and imagination so that one day they might have some semblance of reality. And not the reality that involves house, babies, cars and jobs, and then insurance for each of those items, but the one that so few of us ever have the pleasure of realizing, the one that involves doing what makes you happy for these short 8 or so decades we have on this planet.

In short, if you’ve ever thought about how you wish you could have gone to Spain, or would have taken up knitting, or actually written that novel or tried out for that play, and you’re still wishing it, project that onto your child and then remember that you yourself were born in a time when having a Nintendo was the chief distraction, and that was only something that could be played at home. Now look in the rear view mirror as your little boy becomes part of his little Game Boy. Take a break from coffee at Grandma’s as your teenager is checking out the singles ads on Myspace from his cell phone. In Nevada, you can’t walk into a store without reaching across a gambling machine to pay the clerk. In the rest of the United States, you can’t walk ten feet without reaching across an iPhone to chat with a friend.

In summation: children, eat your parents before they let the computer that lives under your bed eat you. And that #1 Dad mug, handmade by my very own son, only moments before I allowed the very same Internet I make my living from and love to badmouth like a good boss gone drinking, eat me.

It really puts into perspective what kinds of people are being affected by guns and in what ways. For example:

• Children 17 & under are the least likely to die from guns. Black & white boys are killed at the same rate, about 1 / day. Girls die, either accidentally or via homicide, police intervention, at 1/2 that rate.
• Age 18-24, more black men are murdered every day than men of all other races and women combined.
• Age 18-24, four times as many white men commit suicide as any other race and all women.
• As white men get older, their rate of suicide seems to double, and then triple after 40. The vast majority of suicides are white men.
• Black men who make it to 40 years of age have their chances of being murdered dramatically reduced, by 60%. In fact, after 40, more white men are murdered than black men.

All in all, by far children and women are the least likely to die due to gun related injuries. Black men are the most likely to be killed. White men are the most likely to kill themselves.

President Clinton strongly hinted for the first time Thursday that he might raise tobacco taxes to finance medical benefits for all Americans.

So reported the Baltimore Sun in 1993¹. Back then, Clinton estimated that by 1997 it would cost between $30-$90billion to “guarantee universal access” to health care. The tax has come, and increased, and increased again, and in April the largest cigarette tax increase in history was passed, raising taxes $0.62 in one go, and another hike is scheduled to go through any day now³.

So the taxes have gone through, but where is the “guaranteed universal access”. Of course, all dreams of a Clinton-era public health care program went out the window when he was lame-ducked a good year or so early by the Lewinsky scandal. Leave it up to Republicans to convince Americans that it’s worse for their President to have oral sex than it is for them to have free, easy health care.

Cigarette taxes raise $99billion in revenue every year. Universal health care in the US would cost $1trillion.

Today, an estimated $45.3 million Americans smoke cigarettes. Since cigarettes cost $1.10 in 1994 and cost about $7.00 a pack today, it would seem that those Americans are now paying roughly $6 / pack in taxes. Do the math and that results in $99.2billion in revenue from cigarette taxation. So how does that compare to the cost of universal health care?

Well, Obama stated during the campaign that his plan involved $50-$65 billion / year to fund. Fox News claims it would cost $1.5trillion / year. The Guardian (a UK paper and in my opinion therefore neither as biased as Obama or Fox), puts the number at approximately $1trillion, right in the middle².

So cigarette tax alone would nearly cover the cost of universal health care if it weren’t being diverted to whatever it’s been diverted to over the past 15 years. Not to mention the taxes we should be similarly imposing on alcohol, guns, driving, and marijuana, the other big causes of hospitalization and expensive deaths in this country. Well, not marijuana, I just think we should tax it because then it’ll be legal.

The bottom line is that Republicans successfully befuddled health care reform in the Clinton era by exploiting America’s love affair with a love affair, and Democrats are now successfully following in their dream party’s footsteps by bickering amongst themselves while they hold complete power. The money is there, it’s just being used for purposes it wasn’t originally designed to be used for, as confusing as it might be to discover exactly where those funds have been diverted. While this seems like statistics and numbers for the most part, what it means is that 700,000 Americans go bankrupt every year, while Congress bickered and guffawed¹. Bankruptcy sucks, sure, but realize that when they’ve gone bankrupt, they have no money to continue to pay for their medical treatment. For many, that simply means they die.

Supporting Links

1. 700,000 Americans go bankrupt every year due to lack of health insurance. PBS Frontline.
2. Universal health care in the US would cost $1trillion. The Guardian, UK.
3. April 2009, $0.62 tax raise on cigarettes, largest in history. USA Today.
4. Tobacco taxes to be spent on health insurance. The Baltimore Sun.

Also, thank you for proving to me how very, very tough and/or gay you are by staring at me from across the cafe, the bus and the parking lot for as long as I am in your presence.

So the government socialized roads and we still have a world class highway system, so much so actually that America has become such a bunch of fat asses that going to the beach, once a feast of curves and tanned lady skins, is now the leading cause of blindness in young males between the ages of 14 and 37.

Of course, the roads aren’t actually free. Every time you fill your tank up you pay a gas tax which goes toward highway maintenance, as do various other fees associated with having a car such as registration, title, etc. It’s actually a pretty solid system because the more gas you use, and therefore the more you travel/use the roads, the more you pay for them. Perfect.

So why couldn’t health care be the same? We currently trust the government to run a completely socialized version of health care for our veterans, and these are our greatest heroes, right? And to pay for this would be simple, just tax the hell out of everything that is fiercely known to make you sick. The more expensive things are that are “bad” for your body, the less people will be able to participate in their use, thereby lowering the amount of sick people considerably, and for those who wish to continue in their harmful actions (I will smoke, for example, until cigarettes are $25 / pack), they are able to do so and help to pay for the care they’ll one day require.

Examples of items that should be taxed:

1. Alcohol in any amount greater than 1 regular bottle of wine, 3 beers or 3 shots at a time. All alcohol served in bars.
2. Cigarettes, which are already ridiculously taxed and when Clinton first put that taxation in place we were told this would go to pay for health care, which it doesn’t. I should know, because I smoke like a fiend and I don’t have health care.
3. Fast Food. $1 for a bacon double cheeseburger? Not in my new health care plan, any food that was served up in a fashion that was meant to allow you to consume 500 – 2500 calories in less than 15 minutes would come with such a hefty tax on it that people would only eat it because they needed to consume that many calories, not because it was cheap and easy.
4. All fake food, in fact. Partially hydrogenated whats, modified soy this and high fructose that would all come with way too high a tax to make these ingredients the primary staples of our diets. If the label can’t be read by a child just learning to read, add another 20% tax to the product.
5. Driving your own automobile. What is more dangerous than trusting average people to drive around 2 ton death machines at 75 miles an hour only inches away from one another while traveling in the opposite direction? Driving is dangerous, to the people in the car and outside, and should be taxed big time.

The list goes on and on, basically anything that contributes to x% of health care costs which isn’t a natural factor (for example, rebuttals such as “Well then we should tax breasts because they cause breast cancer” are precisely as idiotic as the person who thought of it.)