FIRST FLIGHT

Recently, I took my first flight in a long time—a long, long time. In fact, the last flight was in the previous millennium. Okay, so my life lacks excitement. Not the point. The point is that this was a traumatic event for a cranky old guy.

For one thing, major surgery had occurred since the last flight, and I have various leftover wires and perhaps other surgical paraphernalia embedded in my being. For another thing, airport security procedures had been substantially tightened. Horror stories of fondling, strip searches, and other aggressive intrusions abound. I had visions of shivering naked in a cold room as sadistic individuals entered various bodily orifices in pursuit of offending images on the x-ray machines.

The other matter of concern was that I would be separated from a faithful companion for a period of time, a companion I was much dependent upon, both physically and emotionally. That companion was my Swiss Army knife with its plethora of useful blades and tools. I had been led to believe that in the post-9/ll environment, one could be imprisoned for life for even thinking about carrying a pocketknife on a plane. Since I was trying to avoid checking any baggage, I would be without the faithful companion for several days. The thought made me even more cranky.

In preparation for the flight and the possible examinations of my person, I decided to break down and wear underwear and clean socks; or was that socks and clean underwear? Whatever the case, I wanted to avoid as much embarrassment as possible.

To my surprise, the trips through the various security checkpoints went without a hitch. Profiling might have had something to do with it. Each time I went through the security gauntlet, I was in the middle of a group of sinister-looking characters who corralled the attention. Tattoos seemed to particularly wet the appetites of the checkers. So all the concern about being pawed by strangers turned out to be unwarranted.

But the absence of the Swiss Army knife was a problem, and for an unanticipated reason. Cranky old guys have their habits, and one of mine is two beers before bed. The kind of places I stay in do not have room service, so I purchased my beer—in bottles—at the local minimart. Bedtime approached. I reached for the trusty Swiss Army knife to pop the caps, and Holy #&*#!

So if you ever stay in a motel near the town of Woodstock, Vermont, and wonder about the various gouges in odd places—such as on the door frame near the hinges, around the sink, below the shower faucet handles—you know that the cranky old guy was there.

DSH

OWNERSHIP SOCIETY

If one owns Kennebunkport, the appeal of an Ownership Society is certainly understandable. For many of the rest of us citizens, however, the attractiveness of the concept is somewhat nuanced.

Ownership Society is a term that was being bandied about several months ago in support of adding some form of personal investment accounts to the social security system. The whole topic of social security reform seems to have fallen off the radar screen here recently, but it will no doubt resurface.

The Ownership Society argument apparently is that the more control we have over our own wealth and finances, the better off we will be, both monetarily and emotionally. But the proponents of the argument do not pay a great deal of attention to how different levels of wealth and finances might fare under an Ownership Society, or how citizens in those different levels might view an Ownership Society.

Those at the top of the wealth pyramid are probably all for a 100 percent Ownership Society. The fact that they have wealth is evidence to them that they can do a much better job of creating and maintaining wealth than can the government. (The fact that many of them inherited their wealth rather than created it is something they often overlook.) A goodly proportion of those with less wealth, however, aren’t as convinced that they can beat the system. Oh, they certainly want a considerable degree of freedom to handle their own finances, but they aren’t adverse to, and may even desire, some form of common safety net.

Moreover, if the matter comes down to what may be no more than a small annuity, say a social security payment of $ 750, $1,000, or even $1,500 a month, do many people really want to incur additional risk in order to have more “ownership?”

So the proponents of the Ownership Society concept might want to refine their arguments a bit. To date, the Ownership Society has sounded like a great thing if you already own a lot of stuff. But it hasn’t sounded like a way to get a lot of stuff if you are starting from little or no stuff.

And one other thing. One of the backers of such concepts as the Ownership Society is the Hoover Institution of Stanford University. Is it just me, or is anyone else bothered a little that some policy makers appear to put so much stock in advice from an organization named after the President who presided over the Crash of 1929 and the onslaught of the Great Depression?

DSH

LIBERALS & CONSERVATIVES: A PRIMER

Liberals think too much. Conservatives don’t think enough.

Conservatives want to conquer nature. Liberals want accommodation with nature.

Liberals love all government regulation except regulation they don’t agree with. Conservatives hate all government regulation except regulation they agree with.

Liberals are permissive. Conservatives are, well, not.

Conservatives see absolutes. Liberals see nuance.

Liberals endlessly and agonizingly fret over conflicts among their values, beliefs, positions, and actions. Conservatives embrace hypocrisy.

Liberals consider sex an end in itself. Conservatives are suspicious of something so potentially pleasurable.

Conservatives view taxes as an evil second only to sodomy. Liberals would rather pay taxes than eat.

Liberals wonder why. Conservatives respond because.

Conservatives say the answer is obvious. Liberals can’t agree on the question.


DSH