I happen to be reading Paul Krugman's The Conscience of a Liberal. And I just happened to read this passage commenting on the federal government shut down of 1995:
". . . But the rawness of the event was still remarkable: Republicans were willing to play chicken with the government's ability to function in their drive to take down one of the pillars of the U.S. welfare state (medicare). As it turned out, Gingrich had misjudged both Clinton and the voters. Clinton held firm. The public blamed Gingrich, not the Clinton administration, for the standoff, and the Republicans eventually backed down."
And here we are again. Krugman also spends a lot of time highlighting our current income inequality and comparing it to the Gilded Age. He explains in detail how the most conservative wing of the Republican party has hijacked social issues and glossed over or overtly lied about economic inequality to secure support from individual voters who's interests are not really in line with the party. Put another way, and in my terms. Joe the Plumber became a Republican "standard bearer" during the McCain campaign. He would have been better served as a newly minted business owner by Democratic policies, at worst, and at best, might have found more income and job security in a union. I reference all of this to give context to something I've noticed.
I spend time with a lot of people who are adamant Republican voters. Shockingly, they vote so in direct conflict with what seems like their self interest. One family loathes Obamacare, but fortunately receives substantial aid from Medicaid, and WIC. Others own small businesses and struggle to provide healthcare for their employees, make less than $250,000 a year but are somehow convinced that it serves their interest to vote Republican.
So I've gotta know. And I don't usually do this, but rather than simply post thoughts and see what sticks--What am I missing? Most of my readers know me. Do any of you wonder about me the way I wonder about others? I want to start a discussion. I know reading Krugman is like drinking the Liberal company cool aid. So humor me. But be advised, keep it data based, keep it civil, and keep it vigorous.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Drawn In
The surf was pretty phenomenal yesterday.
If your car is covered with salt, the weather has been unseasonably cool, traffic has been unseasonably heavy, and then all the sudden it's ten degrees warmer and all of the tourists are at the beach, you can bet the surf is pumping. At the moment the wind switches to come out of the southwest, the surf spends about an hour getting organized and then it is a race against time. The swell is falling. As the gentle west wind grooms the face of each wave, it begins to equalize the force of the wind driven sea. If it's blown over twenty five miles per hour onshore for more than three days, it should be head high. At low tide, it will be fun, and in most places serious enough.
If you are on vacation and it has been blowing northeast over twenty miles per hour for more than three days, you may be contemplating going home. At least you can cut the grass before you go back to work. You've over payed for several movies, and some t-shirts that you don't need. You haven't been on the beach, because to do so is to risk death by micro-derm abrasion. And then, the clouds part, the wind shifts and the angry sea (and roadways) give way to the pristine beaches you had been hoping for all along. There's just one thing...the waves still look pretty big, even though they look far less threatening in organized lines.
When the wind shifts, surfers will be standing on dune crossovers gazing to the east, as I was yesterday when I saw a familiar sight: lifeguards speeding down the beach on four wheelers. They stopped about two hundred yards north of our beach access, and I commented to some strangers checking the surf that it looked like a rescue. There was someone stumbling out of the water with the kind of surfboard that indicated that he didn't know what he was doing. We figured that was it, but then, there in the impact zone was a head bobbing. The lifeguard was in the water in seconds, and thanks to the rip current that had caught the victim, was within feet of the individual in distress in less than one minute. As the guard offered the float to the swimmer, who's head was still above water, I commented to the strangers that it looked like the show was over.
I surfed literally until I was exhausted. I caught great waves. I watched friends catch great waves--hollow tubes that fully cover a crouching man. I made it out of some, and was crushed by others. The surf was serious enough to demand complete attention but it was familiar. The waves aren't that good that often, so I'd say it was like being with a great friend that you don't see all that much of. I should have gone back to work when the lunch hour ended. But I knew conditions were fleeting. I stayed until I couldn't.
Yesterday afternoon I was in the town office (completely exhausted) picking up a building permit. I overheard a comment about an ocean rescue that was unsuccessful. I asked if it was the one I'd seen and my fears were confirmed. I didn't see that one going that way. I once asked a friend of mine who is an ER nurse if her experience made her see life as extremely fragile or extremely durable. She said working in the ER just made life more mysterious because she would lose people who seemed to have relatively minor injuries and see people with horrific trauma pull through.
Our quaint little town hides a secret. We are on the margin--on the edge of human habitat. Through practice, familiarity, and probably some hubris, some learn to enjoy the ocean. We may survive there, we may revel, but we cannot thrive. Walking the beach, seeing the ocean turn from angry to inviting and back again reminds us of our fortune and our frailty. The sea, is another world, and the beach is the border. But there is a lot of nothing on that horizon. Sometimes in that nothing, we see what we need to. That is why we are drawn in. And sometimes any one of us can be drawn in too far.
If your car is covered with salt, the weather has been unseasonably cool, traffic has been unseasonably heavy, and then all the sudden it's ten degrees warmer and all of the tourists are at the beach, you can bet the surf is pumping. At the moment the wind switches to come out of the southwest, the surf spends about an hour getting organized and then it is a race against time. The swell is falling. As the gentle west wind grooms the face of each wave, it begins to equalize the force of the wind driven sea. If it's blown over twenty five miles per hour onshore for more than three days, it should be head high. At low tide, it will be fun, and in most places serious enough.
If you are on vacation and it has been blowing northeast over twenty miles per hour for more than three days, you may be contemplating going home. At least you can cut the grass before you go back to work. You've over payed for several movies, and some t-shirts that you don't need. You haven't been on the beach, because to do so is to risk death by micro-derm abrasion. And then, the clouds part, the wind shifts and the angry sea (and roadways) give way to the pristine beaches you had been hoping for all along. There's just one thing...the waves still look pretty big, even though they look far less threatening in organized lines.
When the wind shifts, surfers will be standing on dune crossovers gazing to the east, as I was yesterday when I saw a familiar sight: lifeguards speeding down the beach on four wheelers. They stopped about two hundred yards north of our beach access, and I commented to some strangers checking the surf that it looked like a rescue. There was someone stumbling out of the water with the kind of surfboard that indicated that he didn't know what he was doing. We figured that was it, but then, there in the impact zone was a head bobbing. The lifeguard was in the water in seconds, and thanks to the rip current that had caught the victim, was within feet of the individual in distress in less than one minute. As the guard offered the float to the swimmer, who's head was still above water, I commented to the strangers that it looked like the show was over.
I surfed literally until I was exhausted. I caught great waves. I watched friends catch great waves--hollow tubes that fully cover a crouching man. I made it out of some, and was crushed by others. The surf was serious enough to demand complete attention but it was familiar. The waves aren't that good that often, so I'd say it was like being with a great friend that you don't see all that much of. I should have gone back to work when the lunch hour ended. But I knew conditions were fleeting. I stayed until I couldn't.
Yesterday afternoon I was in the town office (completely exhausted) picking up a building permit. I overheard a comment about an ocean rescue that was unsuccessful. I asked if it was the one I'd seen and my fears were confirmed. I didn't see that one going that way. I once asked a friend of mine who is an ER nurse if her experience made her see life as extremely fragile or extremely durable. She said working in the ER just made life more mysterious because she would lose people who seemed to have relatively minor injuries and see people with horrific trauma pull through.
Our quaint little town hides a secret. We are on the margin--on the edge of human habitat. Through practice, familiarity, and probably some hubris, some learn to enjoy the ocean. We may survive there, we may revel, but we cannot thrive. Walking the beach, seeing the ocean turn from angry to inviting and back again reminds us of our fortune and our frailty. The sea, is another world, and the beach is the border. But there is a lot of nothing on that horizon. Sometimes in that nothing, we see what we need to. That is why we are drawn in. And sometimes any one of us can be drawn in too far.
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