The Dog Thing

When you marry, people always start to ask, "So, when are you going to have kids?" When you have a boy, people always start to ask, "So, when are you going to get him a dog?" I don't particularly like either question but I especially loath the second. The first is intrusive but the second question always seems to come dressed as a duty, as part and parcel of electing to have a boy. A guilt thing. That, and it always seems to include absolute disregard for the fact that a dog-- like a boy--  is a living, breathing, eating, crapping creature and-- like a boy-- requires your attention.

Being a blogger myself, I have the good fortune of enjoying close relationships with some of the most celebrated bloggers on the Internet. In a post yesterday, my very close personal friend and colleague, the famous Short Jewish Gal, devoted several paragraphs herself to this subject. For that I thank her and have shamelessly lifted the subject. But for good reason: We struggle with the subject of dog ownership.

The problem on our end is that Ev had a very close relationship with his grandparent's dog, a dog that passed on about 6 months ago. Everyone seems to assume we are going to replace that dog. We even wonder if we should replace that dog. His pediatrician thinks we should replace that dog! 

Now, as my Dad used to say: I like dogs-- as long as they belong to someone else and stay out of my yard. Tam and I have gotten as close as contacting breeders but remain enrolled in the "no dog" school of thought. Heartless? No. Selfish? Yes. But here's the rub: Having a dog should be like having another member of the family. A member who will never be able to feed himself, brush his teeth, comb his hair, or do any of the necessary functions to promote life and health other than breath, eat, drink, and eliminate.

When we had a place in Chicago it used to be fun to watch people out on the beach in the morning with their dogs. They would be throwing balls or sticks for the dogs. Or they would be walking along the water's edge like an illustration for a piece of feel good emotional crap from the 70's. Then came winter. Those same people would be out in the blowing freezing cold, waiting for those same dogs to do their business so they could collect the frozen little turds and be on their way back home where, hopefully, their ears, fingers, and toes would re-vascularize and survive the frigid assault. And all the while the dog seems oblivious to both the weather and the plight of the human companion.

Maybe this summer we'll start to waffle on the subject once again but, for now, it's too damn cold to own a dog.

The Man in the Mirror

I like to get up early and have an hour or so to myself. I can exercise (usually), write, read the news, listen to a little music or lose myself mindlessly following the trail of stories on the Internet. Mostly just pad around in the peace and quiet.

The other morning, as I was about to head out to the den, I caught myself in a full length mirror wearing a loose fitting old sweatshirt and a pair of boxers (that answers that). No photo evidence here (you’re welcome), but I looked thin! I had to stop and do a double take. I looked like I did back in school. Granted, the light was dim and I didn’t have my glasses on, but I looked pretty trim. Bitchin'!

It took a minute but, after walking away from that mirror, I realized that experience, that deception of seeing an image of something other than the reality, is all too common these days. Too often we invest our time and money in appearances rather than substance. The key to being fit and trim is responsible eating and vigorous exercise—but there’s little fun in either. Instead we can dress to look athletic (Lululemon, anyone?), we can dress to look youthful (frequently a very bad idea), we can dress like we’re thin (always a bad idea)—we can perform all kinds of wardrobe manipulations but the bottom line is always the same: A person looks best in what’s genuine. And if you want to be trim, genetics aside, you gotta do the work.

There's another lesson in all of this and I'll spare you the sermons for now. But, suffice it to say, too many people waste their time and lives promoting image rather than substance. Too many of us are interested in enjoying life's benefits without doing the work, without being a connected participant, without any form of sacrifice, without making the investment. All sweatshirt and no abs.

I still dig my old sweatshirt and shorts but I think I’ll let the look inspire me rather than drive my wardrobe selections. Time to make the investment and do my sit-ups. Dammit anyway.

Parsimonious Doctors: Salvation for US Healthcare?

NPR reports that the American College of Physicians have published new practice guidelines calling for physicians to be "parsimonious" in the use of health care resources in an effort to rein in costs. According to Virginia Hood, president of the group, this recommendation comes in light of the fact that healthcare costs are twice that of other civilized countries when our outcomes are not as good.

The story is linked to another entry in which NPR comments on medical schools and academic medical centers, places like the Mayo Clinic, increasing their advertising budgets in an effort, in part, to capture more market. I see similar events on a local level: Driving down the freeway one sees billboard after billboard promoting birthing centers, cancer centers, orthopedic centers, heart centers.

It amazes me that, in discussions of healthcare, supposedly knowledgable people continue to look to the physician as the gatekeeper when it comes to cost control. If medical centers have to accommodate advertising budgets, if pharmaceutical houses spend billions on advertising, if insurance interests are beholden to investors and pay seven figure salaries to top executives, if many physician decisions are modulated by concern with legal defense, then healthcare costs will be very, very high. And outcomes will not correlate with the increased expense because these costs have little or nothing to do with providing care. I would argue that the lion's share of healthcare costs are generated by the desire to maintain healthcare as a very lucrative profit center. What's more, I would contend that, outside of practicing defensive medicine, doctors' decision making has very little impact on the bloated fiscal landscape of US healthcare.

Call me naive, but the math in all this appears academically simple and politically complex. Until the political is separated from the clinical and the commercial from the humanitarian, healthcare will be neither affordable or sufficient.

Christmas Sh*t

Here we are, the first week in January off to a good start and well under way. Suddenly Christmas is over. We've gone from "Christmas is Coming the Goose is Getting Fat" to "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" to "What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?" and almost to "My Funny Valentine" in no time at all. Around town and in the country you still see a few homes with lights. Several yards are still populated with inflatable holiday figures like Santa and Frosty although many of them are now neglected deflated dirty carcasses.

So, while every parent in the US rejoices at having the kids back in school, those of us who were unable to get it done New Year's weekend now face the dreaded clean-up. As Tam so aptly put it Wednesday morning: "I gotta start taking care of all this Christmas sh*t."  Hmmm. Not a phrase my mother would have chosen but certainly succinct and to the point. So much for "Deck the Halls." The holidays have definitely lost that new car smell, so to speak.

By Wednesday evening our house was pretty much swept clean of all the Christmas decor. I'm grateful for that for a couple of reasons. First, it's a tedious job, one I thoroughly dislike. Second, I hate the thought of being that house you drive by the second week in January and still see the tree through the window.  You see those houses with the decorations up well into January and you know: They're not observing the twelve days of Christmas. No. They're just lazy bums.

I'm happy to report we've done our job. The Christmas sh*t is just about all cleaned up. Just one more half-gallon of peppermint-stick ice cream and we'll have completely purged the place. I'll do my part.

No More, please. No More!

4 minutes left in the game and Michigan is up by 3.  I don't know if I can take it anymore. The Michigan State game Tuesday, the U of O Ducks in the Rose Bowl Tuesday evening, and now this late night madness of the Sugar Bowl and I am done. Done. I didn't even know I could watch this much football, let alone sustain the pulse and blood pressure spikes and dives like I've experienced the past 24 hours. I am sick and I can't take anymore. When did I start watching college football anyway??

I'm not sure how I've come to this point in my life but it's now 11:40PM and 5 seconds remain in the game. I'm strung out like a junky and I should've been in bed a hour ago. Next year, no football. None. Nada. This is a crazy use of my time and (as we now go into overtime) I swear-- no more football for me. Read my lips: None. Over. Finis. Period, paragraph, end of story.

A trifecta! Michigan Wins!! I can't wait 'til September!

Back to Work

I look forward to Tuesday. It's back to work day. I have enjoyed the holidays, the visits with friends and family, the great treats, and several really fine meals. The decorations, the lights, even the busy malls. It's all been good and, frankly, I'm looking forward to next year. Who knows, next year might even warrant a trip to the Big Apple to really experience full immersion in the holiday experience. But, for now, that's all way, way in the future.

Right now I'm looking forward to a few weeks without any meals to plan, gifts to buy, or obligatory visits. Just the old day to day work. Go to work, come home, and continue to ignore all the projects I should have resolved to complete.

Speaking of resolutions, that is probably the one aspect of the return to work I am not looking forward to: "Oh I'm not_________anymore. I've given it up for the New Year." As in giving up coffee, candy, bread, pop, gum,what ever. It's far worse than Lent, that season in the church year when Catholics forego some item for the 40 days before Easter.  At least that misery is limited and motivated by religion. The stuff we'll be running into Tuesday is the bad stuff: Motivated by guilt or in response to nagging or harrassment. The kinds of decisions that have little potential for success and significant potential for frustration, aggravation, and, ultimately, failure. Please, spare me the cost of your silly resolution.

It could be a long week or two. Or three. But eventually we'll got back to normal. For now, I'm just glad to get back to business as usual-- and I thank goodness I have no promises to keep.

The Tug of a Tugboat

The Sally S

Being a single guy has its advantages. When I was single I was able to indulge my whims. Being single, combined with drinking way too much, not only let me indulge my whims, it also let me spoil the hell out of my inner child. That kid got damn near anything he wanted! I could never quite satisfy the needy little bastard but it was fun trying. 

Needless to say, I indulged a few whims. But, in spite of my best efforts, I never succeeded in checking a few big-ticket items off that kid’s “want” list. A vintage Ferrari, a railroad dining car (Justified: potential revenue source), an antique pick-up truck, and a first generation jet airliner (Justified: Intended to donate to museum= tax deduction) and a vintage wooden cabin cruiser—all unmet “needs.” And there were others. Fortunately, I never really had the means to get too close to the fire in this madness. That, and I was so easily distracted by the next shiny object there was never enough time to act before moving on to the next great thing.

Lo and behold, on New Year’s Day, that snotty little inner child showed up again. Among the people who dropped over that day, one couple are boat owners. Well, as sometimes can happen, one thing led to another and next thing you know, there I am with Jim and Amanda drooling all over Tam’s new iPad… looking at boats! I even got my wife looking at boats with us. It was all fun and good-natured until I went too far.

To understand, you need to appreciate that a tugboat has been on my list since the first time I heard the story of Little Toot. And, too, one has to know these material impulses are like chicken pox: The virus can lay dormant for years until, one day, you’re exposed again and, presto!, another out break. And that’s how it happened. One minute you're just sitting there going, “wow, oooh, aaaah.” It’s all smiles and good-natured fun. The next minute I’m sitting there wondering how much it would cost to transport a 70 foot long, 17 foot wide, tugboat to Michigan. Or maybe we could just get a slip in Washington and call it good?

By the light of a new day I realize I will (probably) never have my tugboat. The good news today, however, is that I already have all that I need. My life is good and I know that many great adventures and opportunities lie ahead.

Still, I may just buy a lottery ticket this week. I don’t buy lottery tickets but, then, it is a new year.

p.s.  If, after watching the video, you want a tug of your own: http://retiredtugs.org/3/boat-roster/display-boat-details/?id=24