Job Lock? Tell me about it...

When the Congressional Budget Office released its latest assessment of the impact of Obamacare on the economy this week, we discovered that nearly 2.5 million jobs will be lost because people have been “liberated” from something called job lock. Apparently, this is a condition afflicting many Americans who have been holding on to their jobs for one reason and one reason only, so they wouldn’t lose their health insurance. Now that Obamacare has broken the bond between employment and health insurance, and provided tax-payer subsidies to pay the premiums, millions of Americans will now be freed from their jobs, freed to pursue their dreams, perhaps to write poetry as Nancy Pelosi predicted many months ago.

So, job lock enters the lexicon, defined as a horrible dream killing condition that heartlessly requires people to work for a living. Thanks to Obamacare, we can now tell our bosses to take a hike, secure in the knowledge that our neighbor’s taxes will pay our health insurance premiums. This is what passes for liberation in 2013 America.

Well, I should point out that some of us have been suffering from job lock for years, and it has had precious little to do with health insurance. Below is a partial list of the many factors that have had me locked to my job for 31 years now:

My wife

My mortgage

My pesky kids and their education

My desire for nice vacations

My fondness for fine dining

My selfish insistence on driving a Cadillac CTS

My pending retirement

Now, before any of you start plastering my Facebook wall with accusations of insensitivity, let me say that I’m sure for some of the 2.5 million people in the CBO report, Obamacare has indeed allowed them to quit a job they may have only kept for purposes of having health insurance, and for them that is a good and happy thing. I can and have made the argument in the past that coupling health insurance with employment was a policy mistake made after World War II that has hidden the true cost of coverage from ordinary Americans and therefore distorted the market for it. But to hear every Democratic politician greeting the news that there will be 2.5 million LESS people working as magically transformative news has been rather disgusting. Yes, in an era that has seen record numbers of people simply stop looking for work and at a time when only 62% of able bodied adults are participating in the work force, we celebrate the news of even more?

I can’t wait for the New York Times headline the next time some big American business announces a mass layoff…Microsoft Liberates 5,000 Job Locked Workers!

The Curse of February

February has been the author of more than one bout of depression in the history of this world. The French have a word for it, ennui, that is, a feeling of listlessness brought on by a lack of excitement. Leave it to the French to come up with a five letter word that perfectly captures the essence of an entire month.

My back yard looks like a breeding ground for mud pies.  Five days in, the sun has been out once. Today it’s raining and this weekend there may be two days of snow. The good news is that there are only 28 days in February, irrefutable proof that God is merciful. Just 23 more days. We can endure anything for 23 days, right?

February is to the Gregorian calendar what your boring idiot uncle is to the Thanksgiving dinner table…an excruciating experience that must be patiently endured.

February’s favorite book of the Bible is Ecclesiastes. “Meaningless! Meaningless! Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless!”

Man has attempted many times through the years to break up the relentless boredom and hopelessness of this wretched month. The most enduring attempt was the invention of Valentine’s Day. I’m told that this day has its origins in the Roman church. Whatever its beginnings, it has morphed into a financial windfall for the Greeting card, flower and chocolate businesses. I have nothing against Valentine’s Day. I celebrate it with great vigor and imagination, especially since there is literally nothing else to do. But, how a day dedicated to love got assigned to February remains a mystery. After all, the old proverb goes something like this, “springtime, when a young man’s heart turns to thoughts of love,” not “February, when a young man’s heart turns to thoughts of suicide.”

Thanks to the writer of Ecclesiastes we know that there is nothing new under the sun, so my struggles with this time of year are nothing new and certainly nothing that my ancestors didn’t also wrestle with. They survived, and so will I. All I’m saying is, it’s no wonder that the Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre happened when it did. Can you imagine the horror of having to endure the month of February in freaking Chicago??

Al Capone: J***s f*****g C***t, if I have to spend one more night cooped up in this G******d hotel room, I’m gonna f*****g kill somebody!! Hey, wait…that’s a GREAT idea!

So, at least I don’t live in Chicago or North Dakota or Newark. It could always be worse. Besides, pitchers and catchers report in less than two weeks.

What Does it Mean to be American?

An ad from Coca-Cola has set off quite a debate on social media sites this morning. The ad featured America the Beautiful being sung in many different languages by people from many different ethnic origins. The point of the ad, as far as I can tell, was to demonstrate how from many we become one as Americans. Instead, along with most everything else nowadays, it seems to have divided us once again. While some thought that it was beautiful and touching, others were offended that such an iconic patriotic song wouldn’t be sung in English, by those teaming masses yearning to be free. Shouldn’t it have shown these people singing in their native tongues at the beginning but then all singing in English at the end? Wouldn’t that have been a better illustration of what it means to be American?

I have not commented on any of this because honestly, I’ve been thinking a lot about what exactly it means to be American. My kids will tell you how overbearingly patriotic their Dad can be. I take a back seat to no one in that department. I still hold a grudge against the Japanese for Pearl Harbor, for heaven’s sake. I still get choked up when I hear someone sing the National Anthem well, like the opera singer did last night. In short, I love my country. But, is there more to being American than merely being born here? I think so. In fact, I believe that being an American is as much an idea as it is an accident of birth. Unlike any other place on Earth, we Americans are all from somewhere else. We aren’t burdened with 1500 year old families and the peerage system of Great Britain. We aren’t old enough as a nation to have taken on a caste system or an archaic aristocracy. We’re a place that people have chosen as a means of escape from that old world straightjacket. We are the place that offers that rarest of benefits…freedom. In the over 4000 years of this world’s recorded history there’s been nothing else like it. We welcome the stranger because we were all welcomed here ourselves. I heard a speaker one time put it this way... The boat people weren’t headed for Vietnam. People don’t try to squeeze through the fence to get to Mexico. People haven’t plotted and schemed all of their lives thinking, “Boy, if I can just get to Poland, everything will be better.” America is the place, we are the dream.

And yet, tomorrow morning I will wake up at 6 am, pick up my cell phone that was assembled in China, and go downstairs to brew my Guatemalan coffee. I will eat an English muffin, then go upstairs and brush my teeth with toothpaste,(Aquafresh) from the Netherlands. After my shower I will use Vaseline lotion courtesy of Unilever, a British company. I will iron my dress shirt made in India and pick out an Italian tie. I will then drive to work in my American car (Cadillac CTS), which was manufactured in Canada. Once at work I will fire up my Japanese laptop while trying to decide whether to have Italian or Mexican for lunch. Ain’t it great to be an American?

Part of me understands the frustration of some of the objections I read on Facebook, mostly about the importance of sharing a common language. While we may not have an official language, English is the language of commerce both here and abroad. It is also the common civil language that for two centuries now immigrants have learned to better equip themselves for success. It seems a reasonable request for a country to make of its new citizens, to require them to learn English.

But when I watched the Coke commercial I felt proud to live in such a country as this, a country that welcomes and embraces. The generations of immigrants that have made America their home have added much to our cultural fabric. They have brought spice and color and music and art. We have benefited from their labor. America isn’t now nor has it ever been diminished by the other. We are the other!

My brother’s wife is from the Philippians. She became a citizen a few years back. I have a close friend who has been like one of my own children to me, whose parents are from Korea. They are 100% American, and it is this blessed fact that makes this country so great. E pluribus unum.

God Bless America.       

Super Bowl Observations

Along with tens of millions of my fellow Americans, I watched the Super Bowl last night. It was a terrible game in the sense that it wasn’t much of one, with Seattle winning 43-8. Although I was happy for Russell Wilson, it was hard watching Peyton Manning suffer through another big game disappointment. As great as he is, last night he looked old, slow, and confused.

I’ll tell you someone who didn’t look old, slow and confused…Bruno Mars! Watching him in his black pants and gold sparkled jacket and skinny black tie was like going back in time. This guy’s act looked like a cross between the Temptations and Earth Wind and Fire. What a talent! But, I digress.

Watching the game last night was like watching a live refutation of modern sports theory. In practically every sport except soccer, the powers that be want one thing, offense, offense and more offense. In baseball it led to the steroid scandal. Chicks dig the long ball so load up! In football, the people that make the rules have been on a 20 year campaign to handcuff defensive players. The result has been gaudy passing statistics, unheard of offensive production from mediocre players and higher TV ratings. If you take the time to think about it, it makes sense. The casual fan wants sizzle, and offense is sizzle. Offense is action, defense is reaction. Offense is flashy, defense is stubborn. Offense is fleet, graceful athletes running like gazelles in the open field. Defense is the hungry lion waiting for his chance to kill. Offense is “yes we can!” Defense is, “no you can’t.” Offense wants everything now. Defense is ruthlessly patient.

In baseball, offense is a 10-9 slugfest. Defense is a 1-0 pitcher’s duel. Offense is a box score full of numbers. Defense is capitalizing on one little mistake to win a game you might have and probably should have lost. Home run hitters get paid insane money, sure handed infielders don’t. That amazing wide receiver making that athletic catch over the middle stars in commercials. The guy taking his head off doesn’t.

But last night for all of the world to see was the awful truth that no matter how heavily the deck gets stacked against it, defense still wins championships. It’s the brute force of the immovable object that still humiliates the flashy irresistible force. It’s why the Oregon Ducks might be fun to watch, but it’s the Crimson Tide that racks up National Titles. It’s why run and gun basketball teams don’t make it past shut down defenders like Michael Jordan and Lebron James. It’s why the team with the best pitching almost always wins the World Series.

There’s probably some broader lesson about society and culture to be learned here, some metaphor for life lurking in these truths. But, I’m not smart enough to make it. You’ll have to figure it out for yourself.

One more thing, I thought that the commercials were excellent this year. Other years have featured more laugh out loud moments maybe, but these were clever and interesting for the most part. All in all, a fun night.

My Turn as a Music Critic

Writing a blog about music is a dicey thing, since everyone's tastes are different. Had I written such a blog back in my twenties it would have come to a different conclusion. Back then I was crazy over the Beatles, Rock & Roll, the classical guitar work of Christopher Parkening, and anything by Merle Haggard or Johnny Cash, not to mention an odd fondness for Beethoven. In other words, I was all over the place.

Now, with the innovation of Pandora, I get to listen to a ton of music for free, even create “stations” of my own. As a result, I believe I have finally stumbled across my favorite type of music. About two years ago I created a “Frank Sinatra” station. Through it, I have gotten to hear not only all of his great recordings, but a virtual treasure trove of other artists from his era, an era that spanned 60 years. What follows is a partial list of the more memorable:

Ella Fitzgerald, Count Basie, Duke Ellington, Artie Shaw, Bennie Goodman, Glenn Miller, Nat King Cole, Louis Armstrong, Tony Bennett, Lionel Hampton, Chick Webb, Billie Holiday, and Woody Herman.

Many of the songs made popular by these artists comprise what is known as the American Songbook, songs recorded over and over by hundreds of singers and players over the years. Some of the great song writers were people like George and Ira Gershwin, Cole Porter, Hoagy Carmichael, and Sammy and Gus Kahn.

The swing jazz bands of Basie and Ellington are nothing short of phenomenal, with amazing rhythms and jaw-dropping improvisational solos flying out of everything from pianos to flutes. The beauty of Ella Fitzgerald’s voice, the emotional power of Sinatra, the silky, effortless delivery of Nat King Cole, are marvelous beyond description. But there’s something else.

Much like Haggard and Cash, these singers deliver every lyric in understandable clarity. The diction is always impeccable. And it’s a good thing since one would hate to miss a single word of lyrics such as these:

Stars shining bright above you

Night breezes seem to whisper, I love you

Birds singing in the sycamore tree

Dream a little dream of me

Say nighty night and kiss me

Just hold me tight and tell me you’ll miss me

While I’m alone and as blue as can be

Dream a little dream of me.

There’s a sweetness to these standards that attracts me. Today it might be called campy, I suppose, but compared to the garish exhibitionism of your average Grammy performance, these type of lyrics wash over me like cool, clean water. Of course not all the songs from the Frank Sinatra station are this sentimental, some feature darker themes. But all of them seem intelligently written, filled with emotion and tender thought.

So whether listening to a soulful Fitzgerald ballad or the uproarious chaos of Goodman’s “Sing, Sing, Sing,” this station brings it! Give it a try.

Weird Stuff My Mom Used to Say...Part II

During dinner with Dad last night, the subject of my Mother’s peculiar phrases came up once again. I wrote a blog some time ago about some of her favorite formulations like “John Brown”, “draw back a nub”, and “I swannee.” But I have a few more today, and one of them I would like the readers help in determining its origin.

My Mom often used the phrase, “getting up in the pictures.” It referred to one of us usually, since according to Mom, Dunnevants were always doing it. The best I can tell, to “get up in the pictures” meant to become hysterically overdramatic. Perhaps “pictures” was her term for movies, and to get up in the pictures referred to becoming like actors in a movie, being all dramatic.

“Yes Paula, we ARE having liver and onions for dinner, and if you don’t like it, don’t eat it, but don’t even think about getting up in the pictures with me!”

The thing is, none of us have ever heard anyone else use the term. We asked Dad if before he met Mom had he ever heard the expression. He said, “no.” A google search reveals nothing. Could this be an original expression made up by my mother? If any of you out there have used this phrase or heard it used elsewhere, please let me know.

Another favorite phrase of Mom’s was, “duck dying fit.” Again, keeping with the theme of hysterical drama, it referred to someone losing their composure, or throwing a temper tantrum.

“I swannee! They will spend any amount of money on a barbeque in the fellowship hall, but you ask those worthless deacons to approve a thousand more dollars for Lottie Moon and they have a duck dying fit!”

Its odd how many of Mom’s formulations had to do with people in various stages of dramatic meltdowns. Perhaps this gives you some idea of what life was like growing up in the Dunnevant home.

Mom also constantly used the term, “fixin-to.”( please…drop that annoying G) It meant “preparing to”, or “getting ready to.” Whenever she referred to her home in Buckingham, she would say, “Momanemms”

“I’m fixin-to start packing so we can head over to Momanemms for supper.”

For years I thought that the Dixon farm was named “Momanemms.”

Although Mom only had a high school education, and despite her colorful country vocabulary, I don’t want to leave the impression that she lacked intelligence. Nothing could be further from the truth. Mom was extremely well-read and had an insatiable appetite for knowledge about the world. She was an amazing story teller and entirely self taught know-it-all. I would give any amount of money to hear just one more.

Faith in Humanity...Restored

When I woke up this morning I glanced at my phone and saw that it was 1 degree outside. Frankly, I could go for a little global warming about now. Also, I would like to thank the good people of Atlanta, Georgia for making the winter driving skills of Short Pumpians look positively Olympian by comparison. Of course in their defense, Atlanta gets a snow storm once every ten years or so, we get snow 4 or 5 times a year, EVERY year and still manage to wrap our cars around telephone polls as if we are shocked, SHOCKED that the roads are slippery.

A little further south in Birmingham, Alabama comes a story that helps restore my confidence in the human race. A Chick-fil-A restaurant near highway 280 found itself snowed in and the nearby interstate filled with iced in travelers stuck in a parking lot for hours. The owner, Mark Meadows, sent his employees home early, but soon they all returned because the roads were impassable. It was then that Meadows realized that he had stumbled upon a potential gold mine, hundreds of stranded, hungry potential customers trapped on the interstate, the quintessential captive audience. He could walk out to that highway with hundreds of chicken sandwiches and waffle fries, charge triple the normal price and sell them all in less than thirty minutes. Some of those people had been trapped in their cars for seven hours! This would be like taking candy from a baby, it would make his month!

Only, that’s not how this story turned out. We’ve become accustomed to profiteers, opportunists who line their pockets by jacking up the price from everything from plywood to diapers during a hurricane, it happens so often we expect it. People who behave in this manner talk about supply and demand, covering their greed with talk of economic theory, as if academic discussions of the laws of scarcity can possibly salve their consciences. Not so with Mr. Mark Meadows of Birmingham, Alabama.

He instructed his employees to help him carry as many warm sandwiches as they could make through the snow and ice a mile walk to highway 280…and give them all away. Then he opened up his store for the entire night for anyone stranded who might need a warm place to sleep. The next morning everyone who took him up on his offer got a hot breakfast biscuit before they were sent on their way, all on the house.

Chick-fil-A is a money making machine of a franchise. Many of its most successful operators are among the evil 1%, no doubt. But, there is something else going on at many of their restaurants. Many of them have figured out the central truth that being in business isn’t always about money. Listen, we all want to make money. I take a back seat to no one when it comes to celebrating the notion of profit. But if the profit motive is the only thing a business has, an empty life will be the result.

I have friends who own a Chick-fil-A franchise. Mark and Becky Baldwin are the kind of people who would do the same thing as Mark Meadows did. In fact, they have done so before. They give away an awful lot of food, the cost of which comes off their bottom line. But it doesn’t take a government program to force their generosity, just the noble hearts of good men and women. If more of us out of simple gratefulness for our good fortune would develop a generous spirit, the world would be a far better place.