A big dog Happy Birthday to John Mayall, and if you don't know who he is you should. His musical influence spans generations and genres. Good God Awmighty, the Blues Breakers are legendary. His album "Road Dogs" (2005) is a classic. John turns 78 today, Nov. 29, and still rides the tour bus. He physically wore out in 2008, said the "retirement" word, and then came back with another tour in 2010. How can this guy not be the hero to all Road Dogs?
In Road Dog style, the music dedicated to him today on the office iTune is his.
BUT, the finale set for this evening won't be his. They'll be in his honor by other old dogs, Elton John and Leon Russell just did their future-classic album, The Unon and the song for John Mayall, the rest of the dogs out there will be "Never Too Old". Follow that one up with Willie Nelson and Julio Iglesias singing "To All The Girls I've Loved Before"; and you've got a Road Dog birthday.
Happy Birthday John, you've influenced more than you know.
.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Thursday, November 11, 2010
The Dog Returns for Veterans Day
It's Veteran's Day... the big news is people "stranded" on a luxury cruise ship being forced to eat Spam with their free alcohol. Not having ice is apparently a major hardship. In other news, Marines of the 3/5 are pinned down in Afghanistan and I'm pretty sure they're worried about those folks on the ship with the smelly toilets.
Anyway, enough sarcasm Dog, get to the point. It's Veterans Day and people around the country give their token "thank yous" and wonder how to treat these dogs of war. To answer that question, I give you the following definition of Vietnam Veterans. If you, or someone you know, is a veteran of another "conflict", all you have to do is change the enviornment adjectives to get to the root definition.
In 1996, a college student asked "What is a Vietnam Veteran?" Following is the answer written by Dan Mouser. It is the truth.
Vietnam veterans are men and women. We are dead or alive, whole or maimed, sane or haunted. We grew from our experiences or we were destroyed by them or we struggle to find some place in between. We lived through hell or we had a pleasant, if scary, adventure. We were Army, Navy, Marines, Air Force, Coast Guard, Red Cross, and civilians of all sorts. Some of us enlisted to fight for God and Country, and some were drafted. Some were gung-ho, and some went kicking and screaming.
Like veterans of all wars, we lived a tad bit -- or a great bit -- closer to death than most people like to think about. If Vietnam vets differ from others, perhaps it is primarily in the fact that many of us never saw the enemy or recorgnized him or her. We heard gunfire and mortar fire but rarely looked into enemy eyes. Those who did, like folks who encounter close combat anywhere and anytime, are often haunted for life by those eyes, those sounds, those electric fears that ran between ourselves, our enemies, and the likelihood of death for one of us. Or we get hard, calloused, tough. All in a days' work. Life's a bitch and then you die. But most of us remember and we get twitchy, worried, sad.
We are crazies dressed in camo, wide-eyed, wary, homeless and drunk. We are Brooks Brothers suits wearers, doing deals downtown. We are housewives, grandmothers, and church deacons. We are college professors engaged in the rational pursuit of the truth about the history or politics or culture of the Vietnam experience. And we are sleepless. Often sleepless.
We pushed paper; we pushed shovels. We drove jeeps, operated bulldozers, built bridges; we toted machine guns through dense brush, deep paddy and thorn scrub. We lived on buffalo milk, fish heads and rice. Or C-rations. Or steaks and Budweiser. We did our time in high mountains drenched by endless monsoon rains or on the dry plains or on muddy rivers or at the most beautiful beaches in the world.
We wore berets, bandanas, flop hats, and steel pots. Flak jackets, canvas, rash and rot. We ate cloroquine and got malaria anyway. We got shots constantly but have diseases nobody can diagnose. We spent our nights on cots or shivering in foxholes filled with waist high water or lying still on cold, wet ground, our eyes imagining Charlie behind every bamboo blade. Or we slept in hotel beds in Saigon or barracks in Thailand or in cramped ship berths at sea.
We feared we would die or we feared we would kill. We simply feared, and often we still do. We hate the war or believe it was the best thing that ever happened to us. We blame Uncle Sam or Uncle Ho and their minions and secretaries and apologists for every wart or cough or tick of an eye. We wonder if Agent Orange got us.
Mostly -- and I believe this with all my heart -- mostly, we wish we had not been so alone. Some of us went with units; but many, probably most oof us, were civilians one day, jerked out of "the world", shaved, barked at, insulted, humiliated, de-egoized and taught to kill, to fix radios, to drive trucks. We went, put in our time, and were equally ungraciously plucked out of the morass and placed back in the real world. But now we smoked dope, shot skag, or drank heavily. Our wives or husbands seemed distant and strange. Our friends wanted to know if we shot anybody.
And life went on, had been going on, as if we hadn't been there, as if Vietnam was a topic of political conversatioin or college protest or news copy, not a matter of life and death for tens of thousands.
Vietnam vets are people just like you. We served our country, proudly or reluctantly or ambivalently. What makes us different -- what makes us Vietnam vets -- is something we understand, but we are afraid nobody else will. But we appreciate you asking.
Vietnam veterans are white, black, beige, and shades of gray; but in comparison with our numbers in the "real world", we were more likely black. Our ancestors came from Africa, from Europe, and China. Or they crossed the Bering Sea Land Bridge in the last Ice Age and formed the nations of American Indians, built pyramids in Mexico, or farmed acres of corn on the banks of Chesapeake Bay. We had names like Rodriguez and Stein and Smith and Kowalski. We were Americans, Australians, Canadians, and Koreans; most Vietnam veterans are Vietnamese.
We were farmers, students, mechanics, steelworkers, nurses, and priests when the call came that changed us all forever. We had dreams and plans, and they all had to change...or wait. We were daughters and sons, lovers and poets, beatniks and philosophers, convicts and lawyers. We were rich and poor, but mostly poor. We were educated or not, mostly not. We grew up in slums, in shacks, in duplexes, and bungalows and houseboats and hooches and ranches. We were cowards and heroes. Sometimes we were cowards one moment and heroes the next.
Many of us have never seen Vietnam. We waited at home for those we loved. And for some of us, our worst fears were realized. For others, our loved ones came back but would never be the same.
We came home and marched in protest marches, sucked in tear gas, and shrieked our anger and horror for all to hear. Or we sat alone in small rooms, in VA hospital wards, in places where only the crazy ever go. We are Republicans, Democrats, Socialists and Confucians and Buddhists and Atheists -- though as usually is the case, even the atheists among us sometimes prayed to get out of there alive.
We are hungry, and we are sated, full of life or clinging to death. We are injured, and we are curers, despairing and hopeful, loved or lost. We got too old too quickly, but some of us have never grown up. We want, desparately, to go back to heal wounds, revisit the sites of our horror. Or we want to never see that place again, to bury it, its memories, its meaning. We want to forget, and we wish we could remember.
Despite our differences, we have so much in common. There are few of us who don't know how to cry, though we often do it alone when nobody will ask "what's wrong?" We're afraid we might have to answer.
If you want to know what a Vietnam veteran is, get in in your car or cage a friend to drive you to Washington. Go to the Wall on Veterans Day weekend. There will be hundreds there...no thousands. Watch them. Listen to them. We'll be there. Come touch the Wall with us. Rejoice a bit. Cry a bit. No, cry a lot. We will. We are Vietnam Veterans; I am a Vietnam Veteran, and after 30 years I think I am beginning to understand what that means.
Anyway, enough sarcasm Dog, get to the point. It's Veterans Day and people around the country give their token "thank yous" and wonder how to treat these dogs of war. To answer that question, I give you the following definition of Vietnam Veterans. If you, or someone you know, is a veteran of another "conflict", all you have to do is change the enviornment adjectives to get to the root definition.
In 1996, a college student asked "What is a Vietnam Veteran?" Following is the answer written by Dan Mouser. It is the truth.
Vietnam veterans are men and women. We are dead or alive, whole or maimed, sane or haunted. We grew from our experiences or we were destroyed by them or we struggle to find some place in between. We lived through hell or we had a pleasant, if scary, adventure. We were Army, Navy, Marines, Air Force, Coast Guard, Red Cross, and civilians of all sorts. Some of us enlisted to fight for God and Country, and some were drafted. Some were gung-ho, and some went kicking and screaming.
Like veterans of all wars, we lived a tad bit -- or a great bit -- closer to death than most people like to think about. If Vietnam vets differ from others, perhaps it is primarily in the fact that many of us never saw the enemy or recorgnized him or her. We heard gunfire and mortar fire but rarely looked into enemy eyes. Those who did, like folks who encounter close combat anywhere and anytime, are often haunted for life by those eyes, those sounds, those electric fears that ran between ourselves, our enemies, and the likelihood of death for one of us. Or we get hard, calloused, tough. All in a days' work. Life's a bitch and then you die. But most of us remember and we get twitchy, worried, sad.
We are crazies dressed in camo, wide-eyed, wary, homeless and drunk. We are Brooks Brothers suits wearers, doing deals downtown. We are housewives, grandmothers, and church deacons. We are college professors engaged in the rational pursuit of the truth about the history or politics or culture of the Vietnam experience. And we are sleepless. Often sleepless.
We pushed paper; we pushed shovels. We drove jeeps, operated bulldozers, built bridges; we toted machine guns through dense brush, deep paddy and thorn scrub. We lived on buffalo milk, fish heads and rice. Or C-rations. Or steaks and Budweiser. We did our time in high mountains drenched by endless monsoon rains or on the dry plains or on muddy rivers or at the most beautiful beaches in the world.
We wore berets, bandanas, flop hats, and steel pots. Flak jackets, canvas, rash and rot. We ate cloroquine and got malaria anyway. We got shots constantly but have diseases nobody can diagnose. We spent our nights on cots or shivering in foxholes filled with waist high water or lying still on cold, wet ground, our eyes imagining Charlie behind every bamboo blade. Or we slept in hotel beds in Saigon or barracks in Thailand or in cramped ship berths at sea.
We feared we would die or we feared we would kill. We simply feared, and often we still do. We hate the war or believe it was the best thing that ever happened to us. We blame Uncle Sam or Uncle Ho and their minions and secretaries and apologists for every wart or cough or tick of an eye. We wonder if Agent Orange got us.
Mostly -- and I believe this with all my heart -- mostly, we wish we had not been so alone. Some of us went with units; but many, probably most oof us, were civilians one day, jerked out of "the world", shaved, barked at, insulted, humiliated, de-egoized and taught to kill, to fix radios, to drive trucks. We went, put in our time, and were equally ungraciously plucked out of the morass and placed back in the real world. But now we smoked dope, shot skag, or drank heavily. Our wives or husbands seemed distant and strange. Our friends wanted to know if we shot anybody.
And life went on, had been going on, as if we hadn't been there, as if Vietnam was a topic of political conversatioin or college protest or news copy, not a matter of life and death for tens of thousands.
Vietnam vets are people just like you. We served our country, proudly or reluctantly or ambivalently. What makes us different -- what makes us Vietnam vets -- is something we understand, but we are afraid nobody else will. But we appreciate you asking.
Vietnam veterans are white, black, beige, and shades of gray; but in comparison with our numbers in the "real world", we were more likely black. Our ancestors came from Africa, from Europe, and China. Or they crossed the Bering Sea Land Bridge in the last Ice Age and formed the nations of American Indians, built pyramids in Mexico, or farmed acres of corn on the banks of Chesapeake Bay. We had names like Rodriguez and Stein and Smith and Kowalski. We were Americans, Australians, Canadians, and Koreans; most Vietnam veterans are Vietnamese.
We were farmers, students, mechanics, steelworkers, nurses, and priests when the call came that changed us all forever. We had dreams and plans, and they all had to change...or wait. We were daughters and sons, lovers and poets, beatniks and philosophers, convicts and lawyers. We were rich and poor, but mostly poor. We were educated or not, mostly not. We grew up in slums, in shacks, in duplexes, and bungalows and houseboats and hooches and ranches. We were cowards and heroes. Sometimes we were cowards one moment and heroes the next.
Many of us have never seen Vietnam. We waited at home for those we loved. And for some of us, our worst fears were realized. For others, our loved ones came back but would never be the same.
We came home and marched in protest marches, sucked in tear gas, and shrieked our anger and horror for all to hear. Or we sat alone in small rooms, in VA hospital wards, in places where only the crazy ever go. We are Republicans, Democrats, Socialists and Confucians and Buddhists and Atheists -- though as usually is the case, even the atheists among us sometimes prayed to get out of there alive.
We are hungry, and we are sated, full of life or clinging to death. We are injured, and we are curers, despairing and hopeful, loved or lost. We got too old too quickly, but some of us have never grown up. We want, desparately, to go back to heal wounds, revisit the sites of our horror. Or we want to never see that place again, to bury it, its memories, its meaning. We want to forget, and we wish we could remember.
Despite our differences, we have so much in common. There are few of us who don't know how to cry, though we often do it alone when nobody will ask "what's wrong?" We're afraid we might have to answer.
If you want to know what a Vietnam veteran is, get in in your car or cage a friend to drive you to Washington. Go to the Wall on Veterans Day weekend. There will be hundreds there...no thousands. Watch them. Listen to them. We'll be there. Come touch the Wall with us. Rejoice a bit. Cry a bit. No, cry a lot. We will. We are Vietnam Veterans; I am a Vietnam Veteran, and after 30 years I think I am beginning to understand what that means.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Mickies Dog Food for Thought
The Dog had breakfast with another old "dog" this morning, in an old diner with memories and scars going back a long time. It has been the home to a lot of radical people and thoughts over the years.
Among our ponderings were some questions for everyone in our generation:
When did we become the people our parents warned us about?
When did the radicals of the '60s become the pseudo intellectuals of today?
When did we stop being passionate about our world and stop trying to fix it?
When did we give up the revolution and actually buy into the idea of political process?
When did we become wimps?
The Dog's generation felt real frustration with politics "as usual" and were hell bent to change the world. We were surrounded by corrupt politicians and government at almost every level. We were being "regulated" on everything we did and paid taxes for things we didn't want. We were fighting a pointless war in a land we couldn't understand. Corporate pigs exploited people and resources like they were both expendable...and laughed in the face of anyone who challenged them.
Sound familiar? My reference is 1968, what's yours?
A big difference between then and now is that we did more than write about it on blogs. We didn't suffer the passive aggressive convenience of the Internet and blackberry politics. We took physical action and challenged on an in-your-face strategy. We may have been a little extreme, at times, but we fought a good fight and were not afraid to stand up for what we believed in. We weren't afraid of getting dirty. Chicago in 1968 was a whole lot different than it was in 2008.
I miss those days.
What happened?
Some of us gave up the idea that we could change the world. Some of us felt we could only change the way we dealt with it. Our passions were subverted by our material success. We settled on the idea of singing kumbaya around the campfire with a good income to pay for the firewood...was being what we wanted.
We told ourselves that we would take "revolution" underground and change things from the inside out. Unfortunately, I think that strategy overwhelmed a lot of us and compromised a lot of others. The mantra changed from "Revolution" to "Money is nice to have".
We became the people we used to despise.
We became the people we used to despise.
We became hard charging to make a better life for ourselves and our future generations. We blasted forward to create technologies and opportunities for an easier way of life, without fully considering how those things would affect people who never had to struggle for them.
We became the people we used to despise.
The problem is that our generation created a lot of entitlements, enablements (my new word), and other collateral damage that set the stage to lose touch with the realities of life -- and living. We never expected anyone to learn from what we did -- or what they were doing.
We did not honor the past for what it did accomplish... until it was too late. We forgot a lot of what we believed. Worst of all, we actually believed our own "press" about our accomplishments.
We traded our passion for big houses, nice cars, and giving our kids "things we never had".
We are now in a world having to deal with that.
Speaking for my generation, I am sorry. I am truly sorry for the mess our generation is leaving for our children to live down.
What we realized at Mickies was that a lot of us are now rethinking the past 40 years and looking to bag it all, grow what's left our hair back into ponytails, and head for hills and a simpler way of life. We don't want to burden our kids, our society, our anything. We just want to live again, because we forgot how to do that while we were changing things.
I hope the future generations take the time to read up on what we did. Ask us about it while we can still remember it. And, try, please try, to learn from our mistakes.
I hope the future generations take the time to read up on what we did. Ask us about it while we can still remember it. And, try, please try, to learn from our mistakes.
Places like Mickies still crank out the platters and the milk shakes. The ghosts of past dogs live on. I hope somebody hears them.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Guest Road Dog
The Dog doesn't share this space with other's, but this is an exception. Written by a true Road Dog, this "parable" should be required reading for anyone in a leadership position. Susan Butcher, Four-time winner of the Iditarod sled race, as quoted in the book, "The Nature of Leadership":
"One spring day early in my career, I was taking my team on a trail that crossed a frozen river -- the same trail we had used almost daily all winter long. As we started across the river, my lead dog suddenly veered to the right. I gave her the command to go left and she went back for me, but then she immediately veered off to the right again. Several times I tried to get her back on the trail, and each time she responded the same way. I couldn't figure out what was happening. She had never disobeyed me before. Finally I went ahead and let her have the lead, and just as she pulled me and the team off to the side of the trail, the entire river collapsed ! Her sixth sense saved our lives."
"Since that time, I've learned a lot of leadership is about team work. I usually have about 10 leaders in a 15-dog team, and one of the leaders will let me know, "Hey, we're getting into a storm. This is not my bag. Can you get me out of the lead?" And another member of the team will tell me, "I love this stuff! Put me up there." They are constantly changing off the lead based on who is most adept to handle a particular problem."
"I own and run a business, and this has certainly helped me to know that when I am dealing with something that I may not be the best expert in, I can turn to my employees and let them take the lead. Success is a total team effort, and it sometimes takes letting go and trusting in the talents and instincts of those whose "paws are on the ice," so to speak."
This Road Dog parable to not only about teamwork and reminding us to listen to those front-line peope with their "paws on the ice".... but also to remind us that oftentimes, in order to find the best path we have to go off the path we are on, even for an instant.
That's risk-taking. That's trust. That's answering to yourself, in that instant these questions......
- What's the difference between being the sole voice in the crowd crying for change.. and the sole voice crying not to change?
- What makes the difference between right and wrong here?
- What makes one voice more correct than the other?
- What makes one person seeing something, different from another person not seeing something?
Such are the questions we are asked... and we have asked.
This is what makes leaders.
This is what breaks leaders.
"One spring day early in my career, I was taking my team on a trail that crossed a frozen river -- the same trail we had used almost daily all winter long. As we started across the river, my lead dog suddenly veered to the right. I gave her the command to go left and she went back for me, but then she immediately veered off to the right again. Several times I tried to get her back on the trail, and each time she responded the same way. I couldn't figure out what was happening. She had never disobeyed me before. Finally I went ahead and let her have the lead, and just as she pulled me and the team off to the side of the trail, the entire river collapsed ! Her sixth sense saved our lives."
"Since that time, I've learned a lot of leadership is about team work. I usually have about 10 leaders in a 15-dog team, and one of the leaders will let me know, "Hey, we're getting into a storm. This is not my bag. Can you get me out of the lead?" And another member of the team will tell me, "I love this stuff! Put me up there." They are constantly changing off the lead based on who is most adept to handle a particular problem."
"I own and run a business, and this has certainly helped me to know that when I am dealing with something that I may not be the best expert in, I can turn to my employees and let them take the lead. Success is a total team effort, and it sometimes takes letting go and trusting in the talents and instincts of those whose "paws are on the ice," so to speak."
This Road Dog parable to not only about teamwork and reminding us to listen to those front-line peope with their "paws on the ice".... but also to remind us that oftentimes, in order to find the best path we have to go off the path we are on, even for an instant.
That's risk-taking. That's trust. That's answering to yourself, in that instant these questions......
- What's the difference between being the sole voice in the crowd crying for change.. and the sole voice crying not to change?
- What makes the difference between right and wrong here?
- What makes one voice more correct than the other?
- What makes one person seeing something, different from another person not seeing something?
Such are the questions we are asked... and we have asked.
This is what makes leaders.
This is what breaks leaders.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Road Dog Music
The Dog heard an old song this morning. "Conquistador" by the British group Procol Harum. Did you know that group's name came from a cat? The Dog was troubled that such fine music would be tied to a feline, but upon research he found that that was one dog looking cat, so we'll let it slide. You probably thought it had some deep rooted meaning related to protocols in harems or something, didn't you?
Take a few minutes and go find that song on some machine you have and crank it up. That song is good Road Dog music, bluesy, rambunctious, grabs-you-by-the-chest-and-gets-you-going kind of music... and it carries a wonderfully scripted, thought provoking message... but for the fact there's no way anyone can understand all the words. There is no way that you can understand those words, even the chorus: "And though I hoped for something to find, I could see no maze to unwind."
Another Road Dog trait. Rare is the individual who can figure out Road Dogs. Usually they're off and gone down the trail by the time you figure out the maze to unwind. (Pause here... think about that one... )
Let's add a music theme, here's the CHORUS for this epistle:
"The Dog Brain then drifted off into the world of "communication" thought, and how things get screwed up when humans try and communicate. Fascinating to think that we may have communicated better before we could talk...at least then people were tryiing to figure out what you were trying to say." (END OF CHORUS)
How many times have you been in a conversation with your mates (personal or work), your local barkeep or barrista, or any such personna and at some point, you realize you're not saying what's on your mind, s/he's not saying what's on their mind, and at the end you wander off thinking, "WTF? I should have said this." The best part is that the other person is probably saying the same thing. Don't feel too bad, we all do it.
REPEAT CHORUS...
Why is that? Simply put, we're afraid. Most human types are wimps who under/overthink their impact on other people. We don't want to fight, so we lie or hide the truth or we only tell part of the story. Go ahead admit it, this Dog won't bite you. Why do we do that? Why do we care? Why do we want to change?
REPEAT CHORUS...
Maybe because like the Conquistador, we're afraid people will see our armour plated breast has long since lost its sheen? Maybe we're human and that worries us more than anything else? Not sure we'll ever overcome that, I'm afraid. So, carry the day with love in your heart. The rest will take care of itself. Just try and figure out what the other side is saying....it's hard to face yourself and that's what get's you in the end, doesn't it?
REPEAT CHORUS
Final note... The Stones came on after Procol Harum with "Start Me Up". Another Road Dog song.... love the closing lyrics. And Mick's a Road Dog too... pedigree from the London School of Economics. Didn't know that either, did you?
Take a few minutes and go find that song on some machine you have and crank it up. That song is good Road Dog music, bluesy, rambunctious, grabs-you-by-the-chest-and-gets-you-going kind of music... and it carries a wonderfully scripted, thought provoking message... but for the fact there's no way anyone can understand all the words. There is no way that you can understand those words, even the chorus: "And though I hoped for something to find, I could see no maze to unwind."
Another Road Dog trait. Rare is the individual who can figure out Road Dogs. Usually they're off and gone down the trail by the time you figure out the maze to unwind. (Pause here... think about that one... )
Let's add a music theme, here's the CHORUS for this epistle:
"The Dog Brain then drifted off into the world of "communication" thought, and how things get screwed up when humans try and communicate. Fascinating to think that we may have communicated better before we could talk...at least then people were tryiing to figure out what you were trying to say." (END OF CHORUS)
How many times have you been in a conversation with your mates (personal or work), your local barkeep or barrista, or any such personna and at some point, you realize you're not saying what's on your mind, s/he's not saying what's on their mind, and at the end you wander off thinking, "WTF? I should have said this." The best part is that the other person is probably saying the same thing. Don't feel too bad, we all do it.
REPEAT CHORUS...
Why is that? Simply put, we're afraid. Most human types are wimps who under/overthink their impact on other people. We don't want to fight, so we lie or hide the truth or we only tell part of the story. Go ahead admit it, this Dog won't bite you. Why do we do that? Why do we care? Why do we want to change?
REPEAT CHORUS...
Maybe because like the Conquistador, we're afraid people will see our armour plated breast has long since lost its sheen? Maybe we're human and that worries us more than anything else? Not sure we'll ever overcome that, I'm afraid. So, carry the day with love in your heart. The rest will take care of itself. Just try and figure out what the other side is saying....it's hard to face yourself and that's what get's you in the end, doesn't it?
REPEAT CHORUS
Final note... The Stones came on after Procol Harum with "Start Me Up". Another Road Dog song.... love the closing lyrics. And Mick's a Road Dog too... pedigree from the London School of Economics. Didn't know that either, did you?
Monday, April 19, 2010
The Dog's Dog In Training
It takes years of intense training and experience to become a true Road Dog Dog. The lineage is rich with history and strength. The latest aspirant to the title is progressing at a good pace. She's met the basics (vehicle adaptability and assumed ownership of space, including high scores in window awareness and scourge to anyone who takes her seat). She also scores high in beer ingestion (only the last few drops, mind you - but god forbid you forget to give it to her). Moderation in all such things is key to Road Dogdom. She is well on her way to developing the intangible attitude that goes with the position of Dog's Dog. She's developed the ability to intimidate beings several times her size with a wiry dexterity and loud growl when necessary. She's developed the patience to allow small beings to play, cuddle, poke and prod to a point. She then growls to let them know it's time to move on. These are key developments. A Road Dog, and a Road Dog's Dog's Patience should never be mistaken for weakness by large or small. The true Road Dog knows when to convey the message. This one knows how to place teeth in appropriate places without pain. Good sign.
On yesterday's sunny afternoon, she reached the next level in the 'tude category. After adjourning to the front porch for a cold one, she took her lap position to survey the 'hood and the watch the activities. After a minute of that, Dog boredom set in and it was nap time. This gave opportunity for the "hat test"; one of the most challenging to be completed. Road Dogs must be comfortable and secure enough in their surroundings to nap with hat over their eyes. This does not mean Dogs are oblivious to their surroundings, just that they are secure in their being. Pain awaits the being who doesn't understand the difference.
Previous tests were met with the hat being shaken off immediately. This time the hat went on and she went on to sleep. She met all of the time and noise requirements. She zoned in the zen of porchdom, and stirred only when a group of passers by, with dogs, came upon the scene. She went on alert, greeted the visitors with a watchful eye, and then resumed her zendom.
She was given an immediate promotion to Road Dog Apprentice.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Road Dog's Top 10 Realities of Healthcare "Reform"
"All is flux." Hericlitus said that in 450 AD. One might assume that he was talking about healthcare reform. The Dog wrote a paper on the crisis in American healthcare in 1978, and could pretty much just update the reference from Jimmy Carter to Barack Obama and republish the same paper.
We read... and hear... and read... and hear.... about all of the pending reformations to our healthcare system; and some of us actually believe it.
You know, as I think about this.... I'm not even sure if we know what we believe. (That's your deep thought for the day). Ask someone what healthcare reform really means? Whoa...
Bottom line road dog realities:
1. Healthcare in America is an unlimited demand for a limited resource. Americans go to the doctor for things they don't need to go for; and don't go for things they should go for. If your nose is running, just wipe it. If your nose has been bleeding for over an hour, go see the doctor. We have too many runny noses clogging up the system. We need a decongestant.
2. The American healthcare system will never be reformed by the "government" until someone realizes that the system is based on "cost-reimbursement"; and so it will never have any incentive to reduce cost. Duh, read your basic economics book. Some of this should be in an IQ test.
3. The system is focused on treating disease, NOT maintaining good health. There's no incentive to be heatlhy. Should healthy people get a better deal than the unhealthy? Can you spell "political suicide"? Consider the idea of providing free medicine for everyone with diabetes, IF they agree to follow guidelines for diet and exercise, and maintain regular medical check ups. Diabetes would go down, and so would drug costs. Pity the poor fool who suggests that idea, much less tries to enforce it.
4. The Healthcare industry is not one industry. It is doctors, nurses, hospitals, administrators, group practices, numerous associations and other groups all representing their own vested interests rather than the greater good. Everybody's got their own lobbyist working against everyone else's.
5. The American healthcare system has become so good at keeping people alive as an animal, vegetable, or mineral, that a lot of people have forgotten the basic fact of life that "everyone has to die" at some point. That doesn't mean creating death squads, that means life ends at some point. Sorry. Consider that a dollar saved on treating terminal patients could be used to maintain a family's lifestyle, or even redirected to research for prevention of a disease. The vast majority of cost is expended in the last 18 months of someone's life. A lot could be saved if terminal patients were allowed to die; but who's going to vocalize that? Who's going to determine "terminal" with all of the potential for breakthrough cures and treatments? Who's going to decide? Who's going to tell the terminal patient?
6. Americans have an over-inflated sense of entitlement in too many ways. We can't have great healthcare and not expect to pay for it. Unfortunately asking the questions, "what do you want?" and "what are you willing to pay ?" are political death wishes. We want it all, but we don't want to pay for it.
7. Likewise, some Americans have no sense of accountability for their health. For some reason, some of us think that it's okay to eat everything that isn't moving while we sit in our lounge chair gurgling with our remote. For exercise we'll smoke a few cigarettes as we waddle over to get on our ATV and get some fresh air on the trail to the country bar where we can slam a few cool ones before we double-vision it back. Never fearing for our health, because we know the doctor can fix us up !!
8. Even if all of the above were addressed, America is a very big country. The healthcare needs of one state maybe be vastly different from the healthcare needs of another. Do you think the same system that would work in Mississippi would work in Alaska? How about California and Rhode Island? Hawaii and Wisconsin? If you think one size fits all, you're wrong.
9. And, if you like that one, think about some other "demographics". Should the plan be the same for the twenty-something as it is for the fifiy-something?
10. Drugs. Everybody carps about the high cost of pharmaceuticals. Yes, they are, because we are a medicated society. "Better living through chemicals", the mantra of the '60s is playing out like we never thought it would. But...forget that and forget the fact that the drug companies fund a lot of research in creating the drugs you take. Seriously, forget all that and just take a minute to consider that if you have a pension plan with any sort of mutual fund in it, odds are that you own stock in a pharmaceutical company. If that company doesn't make a profit and loses money, the stock value goes down and so does your retirement plan. Hmmmm, never thought about that one.
Last point: "Coverage for everyone" is another one of those phrases we've been hearing for years and years and years and years. Everyone should have a basic set of benefits. Okay, what is that? Seriously, is it the basic plan that covers everything from sneezing to proshtheses, with a $10 co-pay... or is it the basic plan a $500 deductible with a few exclusions? Who's going to decide that one?
No politician this dog has ever seen.
The good news? The system was broken and in crisis 30 years ago and, somehow, it's still functioning. How do they do that?
We read... and hear... and read... and hear.... about all of the pending reformations to our healthcare system; and some of us actually believe it.
You know, as I think about this.... I'm not even sure if we know what we believe. (That's your deep thought for the day). Ask someone what healthcare reform really means? Whoa...
Bottom line road dog realities:
1. Healthcare in America is an unlimited demand for a limited resource. Americans go to the doctor for things they don't need to go for; and don't go for things they should go for. If your nose is running, just wipe it. If your nose has been bleeding for over an hour, go see the doctor. We have too many runny noses clogging up the system. We need a decongestant.
2. The American healthcare system will never be reformed by the "government" until someone realizes that the system is based on "cost-reimbursement"; and so it will never have any incentive to reduce cost. Duh, read your basic economics book. Some of this should be in an IQ test.
3. The system is focused on treating disease, NOT maintaining good health. There's no incentive to be heatlhy. Should healthy people get a better deal than the unhealthy? Can you spell "political suicide"? Consider the idea of providing free medicine for everyone with diabetes, IF they agree to follow guidelines for diet and exercise, and maintain regular medical check ups. Diabetes would go down, and so would drug costs. Pity the poor fool who suggests that idea, much less tries to enforce it.
4. The Healthcare industry is not one industry. It is doctors, nurses, hospitals, administrators, group practices, numerous associations and other groups all representing their own vested interests rather than the greater good. Everybody's got their own lobbyist working against everyone else's.
5. The American healthcare system has become so good at keeping people alive as an animal, vegetable, or mineral, that a lot of people have forgotten the basic fact of life that "everyone has to die" at some point. That doesn't mean creating death squads, that means life ends at some point. Sorry. Consider that a dollar saved on treating terminal patients could be used to maintain a family's lifestyle, or even redirected to research for prevention of a disease. The vast majority of cost is expended in the last 18 months of someone's life. A lot could be saved if terminal patients were allowed to die; but who's going to vocalize that? Who's going to determine "terminal" with all of the potential for breakthrough cures and treatments? Who's going to decide? Who's going to tell the terminal patient?
6. Americans have an over-inflated sense of entitlement in too many ways. We can't have great healthcare and not expect to pay for it. Unfortunately asking the questions, "what do you want?" and "what are you willing to pay ?" are political death wishes. We want it all, but we don't want to pay for it.
7. Likewise, some Americans have no sense of accountability for their health. For some reason, some of us think that it's okay to eat everything that isn't moving while we sit in our lounge chair gurgling with our remote. For exercise we'll smoke a few cigarettes as we waddle over to get on our ATV and get some fresh air on the trail to the country bar where we can slam a few cool ones before we double-vision it back. Never fearing for our health, because we know the doctor can fix us up !!
8. Even if all of the above were addressed, America is a very big country. The healthcare needs of one state maybe be vastly different from the healthcare needs of another. Do you think the same system that would work in Mississippi would work in Alaska? How about California and Rhode Island? Hawaii and Wisconsin? If you think one size fits all, you're wrong.
9. And, if you like that one, think about some other "demographics". Should the plan be the same for the twenty-something as it is for the fifiy-something?
10. Drugs. Everybody carps about the high cost of pharmaceuticals. Yes, they are, because we are a medicated society. "Better living through chemicals", the mantra of the '60s is playing out like we never thought it would. But...forget that and forget the fact that the drug companies fund a lot of research in creating the drugs you take. Seriously, forget all that and just take a minute to consider that if you have a pension plan with any sort of mutual fund in it, odds are that you own stock in a pharmaceutical company. If that company doesn't make a profit and loses money, the stock value goes down and so does your retirement plan. Hmmmm, never thought about that one.
Last point: "Coverage for everyone" is another one of those phrases we've been hearing for years and years and years and years. Everyone should have a basic set of benefits. Okay, what is that? Seriously, is it the basic plan that covers everything from sneezing to proshtheses, with a $10 co-pay... or is it the basic plan a $500 deductible with a few exclusions? Who's going to decide that one?
No politician this dog has ever seen.
The good news? The system was broken and in crisis 30 years ago and, somehow, it's still functioning. How do they do that?
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