You’ve Gotta Be Kiddin’ Me, Right?…..


Partying at A’s, the math genus, apartment includes way too many doctoral candidates in a confined space. But thanks to large quantities of booze, brain activity is muted and conversation comes down from the academic to realistic.

I was standing next to A’s roommate pounding tall-boys of Olde English and comforting the fact that the kick-ass loft they now lived in would soon become condos and send their butts looking for new housing.

“That blows.”

“Yup.”

Our drinking had come to the point that multi-syllable words were used sparingly.

“Ya’ll thinkin’ of buying it?”

“Too expensive.”

“How much they want?”

“$250,000.”

“$250,000, you’ve gotta be kiddin’ me, right?”

“Nope.”

“For this place. Don’t get me wrong its nice. I like it, but $250,000.”

“They are revitalizing the whole neighborhood. Things that were $100,000 two years ago are double that today.”

“Fuckin’ ridicules.”

“Tell me about.”

“We’re gonna get to the point were no one can afford a house.”

“Maybe.”

“$250,000! What a joke.”

“Yup.”

Seriously, I want to know who pays $250,000 for a three bedroom two bath loft. I say that three bedroom liberally considering one bedroom is mini-loft that looks down upon the other sleeping areas. For $250,000 at least buy a nice loft with exposed brick in a chic neighborhood with great restaurants; not an over-sized hotel room in the middle ground between city and suburbs.

Best Health Care Money Can Afford…

Two weeks ago, I took a little vacation to get my pacemaker fixed and wired up with the newest gadgets. Three scars later, I am slowly getting back to 100%. Small baby steps each day: eating out becomes driving becomes my parents going back to their house becomes going to work for a few hours becomes a full day and tomorrow, exactly fourteen days from when the doc started cutting, being on plane to Chicago for work.

Through this exhausting and tedious recovery time, there was one worry that never crossed my mind. Who is going to pay for this?

Am I going to have in to my retirement assets? Will I need a second job? Will this put off my plan to by a home in the next year? None of this bothered me. Instead, I am highly blessed with some wonderful health insurance paid for by my employer. So, while I will have a small out of pocket cost, it is nothing compared to the tens of thousands that would be required if I didn’t have medical coverage.

Simply put, I cannot fathom what it would be like to try and recover from surgery while at the same time keep a job that does not give sick time and insurance. The stress of employment is enough without the pain associated with the operating table.

I believe this makes me a more efficient employee. Instead, of forcing myself to work when I am not ready. I took my time and was able to come back and immediately start my schedule again. It paid for the organization to have me home watching Jerry Springer with a short recovery time than to have me at work being miserable with a longer time.

And yet, some companies do not see it this way. They would rather punish, employees for being sick or having ill family members. But that is not what angers, yes angers, me the most. It is the fact that citizens of this country still believe that health care is not a right but a privilege granted to those who just happen to luck into it. The argue that medicine paid for by the government would be of either a) poor quality that it drags down the whole medical system or b) be something that people take advantage of and become less productive citizens when jobs and insurance are no longer tied together.

Both I believe are wrong and worse case scenarios of those who would rather reward the rich for being rich rather than raise taxes to help a man whose down. And that is what gets me the most what is more immoral paying taxes or refusing to help one another. Which is worse having people die because of the lack of health care or becoming destitute because of its cost or sacrificing for the good of everyone?

Something I have learned through my life. As soon as you say you will never need someone to help with health care you will.

The New American Hunger…


"But I am absolutely certain there's a hunger in this country. A hunger to be inspired again."-John Edwards, April 2006.


In the months following the attacks of 9/11, the American people came together as one. Races forgot the differences. Economic classes were gone. Citizens no longer saw what divided one another, but our shared struggle. America was place that showed its strength and unity when others thought that was impossible.

With this unity, we became the great nation that is our reputation and history. As our forefathers had done, we fought for what was right and defeated the wrongs. We fulfilled the prophesies of our greatness.

Yet, four years later, America is divided once again. We struggle and fight with one another about: race, immigration, economics and benefits for the wealthy. The war that brought us together, now tears us apart. The rich and powerful make money on oil stocks, no-bid contracts, while the poor fight, die and loose jobs to outsourcing. This situation has not come about because we wished it. Instead it came about because of sub-par leadership and the blind faith of citizens in elected officials.

While leaders enacted legislation that gave the rich tax breaks, oil companies a freer hand in polluting the planet and took an aggressive nature not on those who caused 9/11 but on nations who had no hand in the attacks, the American populace yawned and tuned into American Idol.

Yet, not one of us would turn down the opportunity to be inspired again. Not one American would settle for being divided over unity. We are starving to be inspired.

Inspiration can come from another devastating attack. Yet, it can also come from within. The right person can inspire a nation. Washington, Lincoln, MLK, and Rosa Parks inspired a nation, but did it not only in their own actions, but by turning the limelight back onto the population. The success of inspiration does not come from the greatness of one but from the actions of many. Those who make us great strive not attract attention to their own accomplishments, but to the ability of everyone else.

Should a leader come along who does that and inspires the nation, he or she can not fight every battle alone. Yet, it is the responsibility of Americans to put behind them their differences and the nay sayers who profit of division, and follow the better angels of their nature.

Keep your heads up…

Best Wishes to the Women at the SoKol…

The waiter at PF Chang’s was high on life or something. (College daze, college daze, it is fun to be in the college daze.) He loved Omaha; for him, it equaled his hometown of San Francisco. In fact, there were some great bands around the town, and if I wanted, he recommended I check out this benefit concert tonight with five great local artists.

“What’s the benefit for?”

“Survivors or something like that.”

I admit I was thinking hurricane or tornado survivors. Despite, it being a school night the thought of seeing some bands appealed to me more than another night in the hotel watching NBA playoffs. (I can’t stand basketball, but sadly it beats the droll on most of TV.)

I went to the great event location of the SoKol Underground. (It was my first SoKol experience and needless to say it is now one of my favorite venue’s. The place hasn’t been decorated since the 70s, but that just adds to its hipness. A huge floor below the stage is adjoined to a room with a bar, equally enormous standing area and couches.) I paid my ten bucks, and glanced around.

A number of the women were wearing buttons with blue ribbons on them. I explained, to the lady selling the tickets, I was just in town for business and was wondering what the benefit was for.

“Survivors of rape.”

“Great, thanks.” Walking away with thoughts of: what the hell do I say. We are used to supporting those who natural disasters touched or have been affected by cancer or even AIDS. But rape is something different-something much more underground and behind the curtain.

I got a beer and found a folding chair in the corner. Sitting by myself, I tried to blend in. Eventually, two ladies sat down next to me and the show started.

The first guy Chris Glover, from the band named Glover, was awesome. With just an acoustic guitar, he had the crowd laughing and cheering as he described getting DWI, being a guy (working out, farting and drinking) and the always humorous being a complete and total underachiever.

The next band sucked, and their name isn’t recallable. Maybe, that is a good thing.

Most of the time, I sat in silence; occasionally, I dropped a line to young ladies about what the name of the band was or why I was there. A guy sitting by himself at a rape survivor concert looks just weird.
I left after the second band. It was a school night, and I had an early class. Though it was a little awkward to be there, I commend the ladies for coming out and saying that being a victim of rape will not end their life. I was happy to support them in any way I could.