Heading off into the IT sunset on this the last day of my contract, today’s UMG all-hands finale comes live from Abbey Road Recording Studios in London (see the link, here). There was lots of cool retro tech from music recording’s bygone golden era, and the latest in live music. Alright, I admit, that last is maybe not exactly my cup of English Breakfast tea. Yes, the times they definitely are a-changin’. But while Sir Paul and Bob Dylan may still hold some echo of appeal for me, I’m sure there are those for whom the latest and greatest in live studio performance is the greatest thing since sliced bread. More power to ’em, that’s what I say. And yesterday’s penultimate “Donald Duck” post, here? Well, it must of course be followed by today’s “Porky Pig” post. I mean what else is there to say? Nuthin’ else. That’s all folks.
Porky Pig said it best, with a stutter.
Now, for me it’s high time to get that passport updated. Going forward, you may reach me via email, though I promise nothing in terms of rapid response. Yeah, Robert Zimmerman (AKA Bob Dylan) definitely said it best. See the link, here.
At last night’s GOP confab being held at the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library in Southern CA, Chris Christie called out a missing Donald Trump for “ducking” the debates. He said that in future, the former POTUS should be referred to as “Donald Duck.” To no one’s surprise, the Internet lit up with memes, both pro and con. That included this one which I found rather clever.
45 was quick to respond to Christie’s “Duck” monicker.
Donald Trump is giving Chris Christie a nickname — “bum” — after the former New Jersey governor called him Donald Duck, and later said he would vote him off the 2024 island after a Survivor-themed question from the debate moderators. The former president fired back at Christie in posts on his Truth Social social-media platform around the time the debate ended. Trump shared a photo of Christie walking arm in arm with former President Barack Obama. Christie had called out Trump at the debate for not being on stage. Trump has famously coined nicknames for his opponents but – at least so far – hasn’t been on the receiving end of a moniker that has stuck.
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That’s the best you got? Really? C’mon man. This Christie guy has had bariatric surgery for obesity and has been on the receiving end of a notorious New Jersey toll bridge scandal, and all you got for him is “bum?” Geez, I almost miss the good old days of “Crooked Hillary” and “Sleepy Joe.” Those were both at least B+ efforts in the insult game. All I can say is, something must have put you off your game. If we’re supposed to suffer through another 4 years of your BS, the least you can do is provide us with some decent entertainment value. Let me be the first to tell you, “bum” just isn’t gonna cut it. And you can quote me on that too, Duckie.
Tell you what, folks: If you can come up with something better than “bum,” I’ll send you a signed floating bathtub toy. Signed by me, of course – not CC or DD.
Today’s all-visual post includes a double dose of Calvin and Hobbes, pumpkin spice just in time for fall, and a couple of reminders about the importance of perspective.
Remember, the difference between a dead rhino and a hungry buzzard is mostly which side of the banquet table you’re sitting on. And the difference between a 6-minute and a 12-minute mile? With the 6-minute mile, you have 6 additional minutes to spend doing something besides running for the rest of your day. Something to consider, at least.
Friday morning’s walk along the paths of Plum Creek south of Chatfield Reservoir brought with it memories of school daze. DCSD having just started back up again, there were at least 4 groups of students (so, maybe 100 total?) on a field trip, identifying plants and capturing bugs. The best instruction is hands-on instruction, that’s what I always say.
For those of you unfamiliar with the area – or for those of you seriously into orienteering – my 4-mile jaunt today started at a parking lot just past the High Line House off Titan Road near the south-east entrance to Chatfield State Park and looped over Plum Creek to the far south end of Chatfield dam.
The author in early morning shadow.
When I hike this section of trail, I always like to include the following image (see previous post here) as an homage to an old college roommate who now lives with his wife and boat on a lake near Alexandria, MN. That’s where this footbridge over Plum Creek originated. The full scoop on central-MN’s small-town manufacturing boom is here.
The pride of Alexandria, MN.
Of the town – and CONTECH‘s low-tech work force – he had this to say:
It has a strip club and a pizza joint and a Wal-Mart. In fact, it has everything a young man needs for a full life.
Happy birthday this week to Robert M. Pirsig (1928-2017), author of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, a novel of ideas which became an unlikely publishing phenomenon in the 1970s and a counter-cultural touchstone for many, including me. A New York Times remembrance on the occasion of his passing is here.
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“The place to improve the world is first in one’s own heart and head and hands, then work outward from there.”
“The truth knocks on the door and you say, ‘Go away, I’m looking for the truth.’ So, it goes away. Puzzling.”
“It’s the sides of the mountain that sustain life, not the top…. The only Zen you can find on the tops of mountains is the Zen you bring up there.”
The scene from the book I remember most vividly is the one where his bike breaks down on the road in Montana. After hitch-hiking to some small town nearby, he happens upon a mechanic with stained coveralls and callused hands and grimy fingernails. Although the mechanic doesn’t have the needed part in stock, he machines it from scratch, then charges next to nothing, just happy to see it work – because he cares so deeply about his craft. That’s the spiritual kernel at the core of this novel. It’s Zen and the art of whatever you care about most deeply. The motorcycle maintenance part? That’s merely incidental. Well, unless you happen to be a mechanic in rural Montana – or a broken-down traveler on the road. Then, of course, it’s absolutely everything.
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Well, to be honest, the other scene I remember from the novel is the one near the beginning where he’s sitting at an oak conference table in a philosophy seminar at the University of Chicago discussing Plato and Aristotle. He gets so fed up with pointlessness of it all, he ends up taking off, heads west, and never returns. But in my own case, that’s another story for another day.
All due respect to Hawkeyes and Cyclones fans, but though the following news item, here, about their upcoming college football game this weekend caught my eye, it also left me a bit puzzled.
Former President Donald Trump loves him some college football. The 45th President of the United States plans to attend a big-time college football rivalry game this weekend. Trump will be in the crowd when the Iowa State Cyclones host the Hawkeyes of Iowa at Ames Stadium on Saturday.
“We’re thrilled to invite Donald J. Trump to the Iowa vs. Iowa State football game this weekend,” Matt Whittaker, Trump’s Acting Attorney General and a former Iowa Hawkeyes tight end said in a press release. “President Trump attended this game in 2015 and remembers the incredible passion and electricity of the fans.”
OK, “passion and electricity,” I get it. But as power rankings go, this one is not going to determine any of the teams who will be making it into the national playoff picture come season’s end. Iowa will be lucky to finish in the top 5 of the Big Ten. As for Iowa State? It’s listed 4th in the Big Twelve, and that’s only because the listing is alphabetical. I mean, c’mon. REALLY? This is the best you got?
Of course, the Former Guy is welcome to attend any sporting event he so chooses, even if it IS a junior varsity football contest. And with his private jet (a Boeing 757) he has the means to get there in style too – though the closest major airport to Ames is Des Moines (DSM) some 35 miles away. Still, one has to wonder about this one. There are any number of other games this weekend that are at least as interesting, and likely more pivotal in the grand scheme of things in college football.
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Maybe it’s related to Iowa’s 6 electoral votes in the upcoming 2024 election? But I’ve gotta say, even on that score, the following matchups carry way more political weight:
Nebraska v. Colorado – a combined 16 electoral votes, not to mention the up-and-coming (also telegenic) Coach Prime on the Buffs sideline.
Notre Dame v. NC State – a combined 26 electoral votes, plus over 60 million Catholic voters (mostly ND fans) spread clear across the U.S.A.
Texas A&M v. Miami (FL) – a whopping combined 67 electoral votes in these 2 prime red-meat Red States.
Ah well, Hawkeyes and Cyclones it shall be… Go Hawks!
We had one in hospice recently (Anne’s dad passed away last night after suffering a stroke last week), so I found the following about end-of-life care both timely and interesting. For those without an immediate need or connection, maybe file it away under “when the time comes.” Of course, what you get out of a story often depends on what you bring to it, so you may want to take it all with a grain of salt. But for me the takeaway here is this: Even the best, most humane impulses can be corrupted when unregulated capitalism is allowed to take root and grow unfettered. Your results may vary. But in any case, in this as with so much else in life, caveat emptor (buyer beware).
New Yorker subscribers can get the full scoop, here. Everyone else, let me know and I will be happy to send it to you free-of-charge. Not even Medicare gives you that good of a deal.
A teaser.
It might be counterintuitive to run an enterprise that is wholly dependent on clients who aren’t long for this world, but companies in the hospice business can expect some of the biggest returns for the least amount of effort of any sector in American health care. Medicare pays providers a set rate per patient per day regardless of how much help they deliver. Since most hospice care takes place at home and nurses aren’t required to visit more than twice a month, it’s not difficult to keep overhead low and to outsource the bulk of the labor to unpaid family members — assuming that willing family members are at hand.
Up to a point, the way Medicare has designed the hospice benefit rewards providers for recruiting patients who aren’t imminently dying. Long hospice stays translate into larger margins, and stable patients require fewer expensive medications and supplies than those in the final throes of illness. Although two doctors must initially certify that a patient is terminally ill, s/he can be recertified as such again and again.
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The philosophy of hospice was imported to the United States in the 1960s by Dame Cicely Saunders, an English doctor and social worker who’d grown appalled by the “wretched habits of big, busy hospitals where everyone tiptoes past the bed, and the dying soon learn to pretend to be asleep….”
Forty years on, half of all Americans die in hospice care. Most of these deaths take place at home. When done right, the program allows people to experience as little pain as possible and to spend meaningful time with their loved ones. Nurses stop by to manage symptoms. Aides assist with bathing, medications, and housekeeping. Social workers help families over bureaucratic hurdles. Clergy offer what comfort they can, and bereavement counsellors provide support in the aftermath.
This year, I spoke about hospice with more than a hundred and fifty patients, families, hospice employees, regulators, attorneys, fraud investigators, and end-of-life researchers, and all of them praised its vital mission. But many were concerned about how easy money and a lack of regulation had given rise to an industry rife with exploitation. In the decades since Saunders and her followers spread her radical concept across the country, hospice has evolved from a constellation of charities, mostly reliant on volunteers, into a twenty-two-billion-dollar juggernaut funded almost entirely by taxpayers.
