Mercy for the Merciless

Welfare State

Death-panels aside, the fundamental assumption in the current debate seems to be that federally-run healthcare would be a step toward the establishment of a welfare state. I agree that a universal entitlement to sufficient medicine, once set, would probably become as immovable as the expectation that everyone should be allowed to go to school for free through the twelfth grade. Universal healthcare could also lead to a widespread belief in the advisability of universal food and universal housing– add all of these together and you gradually get a cradle-to-grave welfare state. The real debate is whether that would be a good thing. Or would it be un-American?

Many of the things in history that were American were bad. Slavery was our peculiar institution. Al Capone happened in Chicago, which was also the home of the nuclear bomb. Besides those things, there has been a general streak of meanness against poor and weak people running through this country from way back– see, for instance, the folk song "Penny's Farm." From the historical perspective, it seems perfectly American to have only these two options: either be able to take care of yourself or die.

That isn't usually what people mean by "American." The word is supposed to refer to our highest ideals or, as it is put without specificity today, our "freedoms." I like freedom too, but I have another idea of what people think they would lose if their government threw too many safety nets under them. My reliable informants from Sweden tell me that they have a common phenomenon of able-bodied people just giving up. If you live and don't work in Scandinavia, you'll apparently get enough money from your government to keep an apartment and to keep eating. You may not be comfortable, but you don't have to look for a job. Ultimately, some people don't want to. They have the security to do nothing until they die. Nobody forces them to try anything different.

In America, we have welfare-to-work. Realistically, it's probably more often welfare-to-hoping-there's-a-jar-of-peanut-butter-left-in-the-local-church-foodbank-so-your-kids-don't-go-hungry. All the same, there's no lifelong security without the effort that gives lives meaning. What do people do after the state's generosity runs out? Here in Chicago, many of them start to feel shooty and stabby. Having been on the receiving end of a few who felt merely punchy, I can say that if the result isn't pleasant, it at least represents an entrepreneurial fighting spirit.

Americans who give up show that they are angry because something is wrong. We have a bad habit of going down shooting. In general, though, I like that people here aren't pacified. American events, attitudes, and governments may often be tiring, but they never sedate the soul. Would you rather live in a land that spawned ABBA, or the place that made Woody Guthrie, Duke Ellington, "Boom Boom," and "Born in the USA?"

Werewolves

750cc (The Diner)

In honor of good, old, and (relatively) small motorcycles that don't quit, here's a song about a woman on one:

In Praise of the Thing

Here is a conversation which I had with my wife:

Me: I think I could use a pocket knife.

Her: Okay, let's see what they have at the store.

Me: It looks like mostly Leatherman tools. Why is there plastic in the handles now?

Her: Yeah, they used to be better made.

Me: I just wanted the Thing.

Her: I know.

A plainer pocketknife would be a good example of the Thing, which is a tool that has been designed with as much simplicity as it can bear. Simplicity brings several benefits, including the following: The Thing performs its task very well. The Thing, because it lacks superfluous gewgaws, has a minimum number of moving parts. It usually lasts a while, is repairable, and can be relatively cheap.

Compared to the Thing, human beings come up a little short. We have an infinite number of superfluous gewgaws: tonsils, trick thumbs, hiccups, agoraphobia, and music, among others. We are expensive. Our high costs include college tuition and the difficulty of childbirth. We break down easily, we are difficult to repair, and we only last for a few decades.

The main similarity between people and Things is that they all have occasional beauty or grace. However, the beauty of the Thing is a result of the thought that went into making it fulfill one purpose very well. What is the source of the beauty of people?

Retro/Weirdo

You might have noticed that I'm reading some Vonnegut. Listen: what would have given anyone that idea? The novel of the week is Timequake, in which Vonnegut, Kilgore Trout, and the whole world have to go through the nineties twice. Something like this had occured to me even before I got the book from the library yesterday, as fashionable people on the streets of Chicago moved from the seventies to the eighties.

You can't miss the faded jeans, the mohawks, and even the occasional neon leg warmer walking around Hyde Park. I know that the seventies preceded the current fad, because I recently bought a lot of t-shirts on sale that were yellow or blue with retro bands of black around the collar and sleeves. Before the seventies came the sixties. There have been at least two complete cycles of the styles of 1960-1989 in my living memory. A girl I had a crush on in middle school wore bell bottoms.

But why does the cycle start at 1960? This is the thing I noticed recently: there's a porous barrier that floats between 1920 and 1959. Fashions from after the barrier are retro, anything from before is just weird. Sunglasses that go from dark on top to clear at the bottom? Retro. Top hat? Weirdo.

A closed loop of styles has been repeating itself since the early nineties. This conveniently removes free will when setting trends, but it also requires a never-ending series of periodic updates to wardrobes. Cha-ching! Here is my theory: the loop seems to be defined by those styles that appear without comment in the movies that we watch. Those t-shirts I bought? "Boogie Nights." Slicked-back hair on over-monied jerks downtown? "Wall Street."

My theory also explains two outliers. First: we have occasional flashes back to the forties. This is either because of all the noir and war movies that are still watchable, or because of the style and mood of "Blade Runner." On the other hand, a few years back my brother got for Christmas (and wore happily) a knit cap with a short bill and a sort of squat, cylindrical construction– a hip, knit version of the kepi hats worn by various militaries through history. Where would it occur to my brother that something from the Civil War would be stylish? Ask Arch Stanton.