Well, there are fewer limits on what you can promise than on what you can deliver. — Milton Friedman
Newton’s Cradle
Do You Have a ‘Right’ to Health Care?
The general point is that a positive right to health care – no matter how splendid you hold that right to be and no matter how lovely is the provision of that right – requires that its recipients receive at others’ expense the services to which these recipients have a ‘right.’ Someone (or a multitude of someones) must supply those services whose recipients self-righteously insist be supplied as a matter of ‘right.’ This fact is undeniable and inescapable.
Note that – although undeniable and inescapable – this fact does not by itself establish a case against treating health care as a right. But recognizing this reality does reveal certain potentially ugly aspects of all this ‘rights’ talk about health care – namely, to exercise your ‘right’ to health care requires that someone else be forced to serve you. Someone else must not merely refrain from interfering in your life and business. Instead, that someone else must be obliged to exert positive effort to help you – and not because you make it worthwhile for that person to exert that effort on your behalf, but because the government will ultimately execute him or her if he or she refuses to supply you with that to which you have a positive ‘right.’
I’m aware that such positive “rights” strike many people as being evidence of a highly progressive and especially civilized and caring society. They strike me as being quite the opposite: evidence not only of economic ignorance, but of collectivized and mutually destructive predation camouflaged with a pretty mask and falsely scented with absurd oratory.
Gay Divorcee Wants $94,000 a Month
Jane Lynch’s ex wants $94,000 in monthly spousal support — MSN TV News
You’ve gotta be careful what you wish for.
We want to be able to marry our same-sex partners. We want to enjoy the blessings and sacraments of love just like straight people.
O-kay . . . do you also want to pay $94,000 a month to your same-sex partner when things don’t work out?
Back in the pre-gay-marriage era, Jane Lynch could have ended the relationship with a handshake and perhaps a modest gratuity if she felt like it.
People don’t know when they’re well-off. Group A feels put upon in comparison to Group B, wants to be more like Group B, and doesn’t think about having to give up the advantages of NOT being like Group B.
As Bobby Fischer used to say, “To get squares, you’ve got to give squares.” Everything’s a tradeoff.
Interview Tips: You’re a 10 in Everything
One of my least favorite interview questions goes something like this:
On a scale of 1 to 10, rate yourself on [insert personal attribute here].
This is a bad question because while some quantities – speed, weight, temperature, earthquake magnitude – do have an agreed-upon scale of measurement, personal attributes like, say, leadership, do not.
Person A might give himself a 10 in leadership, while a third party might say, “Oh, I know that guy. He’s a 3.”
You might be tempted to answer like this: “I consider myself a good leader, better than most, but I’m humbled by the challenges of leadership, and I’m always learning something new, so I’ll give myself an 8.”
Absent any information about how that number is going to be used, I’d say that’s a pretty good answer. It’s honest and reflective.
BUT — the question itself is so misguided that I don’t expect someone asking it to use the answer in an intelligent way. I expect the asker of “rate yourself” questions to take the answers at face value, write them down and then do one of two things, maybe both:
- Compare the answers to some meaningless threshold. Ooh, we really need someone who’s at least a 9 in leadership.
- Compare the answers with the answers of other candidates. Candidate A is an 8, Candidate B is an 9 and Candidate C is a 10. Advantage, Candidate C.
Just play it safe and give yourself a 10 on everything.
The only reason I can come up with to give yourself less than a 10 on any attribute is the remote possibility that the interviewer could discount a candidate giving all 10s as being lacking in self-awareness, but no one asking me “rate yourself” questions has ever struck me as being that subtle.
Husband Descending a Staircase
The White Lexus Strikes Again
“I just tried to get into my car in the parking lot and I couldn’t open it. Do you know why?”
“Let me guess. Do you drive a white Lexus SUV?”
“Yes.”
“Because you were trying to get into someone else’s car.”
“How did you know that.” (Answer here.)
See You in HEL
HELSINKI (AP) — Would you board flight 666 to HEL on Friday the 13th?
For superstitious travelers, that might be tempting fate. But Finnair passengers on AY666 to Helsinki — which has the 3 letter designation HEL — don’t seem too bothered. Friday’s flight is almost full.
At the Drive-Thru
“Hi, would you like to try our new [insert product name here]?”
“Do you think I’ll like it?”
“Uh, I don’t know.”
“Then why are you recommending it? Don’t you want me to be happy?”
A (Nearly) Perfect Murder
A Montana woman was charged on Monday with killing her husband of eight days by pushing him off a cliff at Glacier National Park during an argument and after expressing doubts about the marriage, court records show.
Jordan Graham, 22, was charged with second-degree murder in U.S. District Court in Missoula stemming from the July 7 death of her husband, Cody Johnson, 25, of Kalispell. . . .
Graham on July 11 reported to emergency dispatchers at Glacier National Park that she had found her husband’s body below a steep hiking path. It was not immediately clear how far he had fallen.
Graham later admitted to authorities that she had lied about Johnson’s death and that she had shoved him off a cliff during an argument while hiking.
Jordan Graham taking a page from my playbook, in which I postulated years ago that the best way to murder someone and get away with it would be to push them off a cliff, because it would be very hard to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the fall wasn’t accidental.
Maybe I should have added, although it seems obvious, “unless you confess to the crime.”
On the flip side: Don’t get into an argument with your spouse when you’re standing at the edge of a cliff.
If You Quote Poetry at My Death, I Will Haunt You
If you know me, and you outlive me, and you want to say something on the occasion of my demise, please do not quote a snippet of poetry or other literary material, e.g., “He did not go gently into that good night.” Or: “I think Wordsworth said it best . . .”
Bullshit . . . Wordsworth did not say it best. Wordsworth didn’t know me. You knew me. Go ahead and say something from the heart if you have something. Keep it real.
He was not a good person.
He had the most appalling social skills, which is why he had no close friends.
After his son moved out, he just unraveled like an old sock.
I remember at Jackie O’s funeral, her kids — was it just one kid, or both? I think both — read a poem. A poem! That’s when you really know that your life was not well-lived, when your own children have nothing to say about you.
Don’t you hope to god that your children at least will have some personal remembrance to share after you’re gone?
I remember when we used to go to the park and he pitched baseballs to me.
He spent a year of his life helping me with algebra homework.
He always believed in me.
To anyone tempted to eulogize me with a literary reference, I swear I will rise from the grave — in spirit if not in body, although body will be my preference — and cast a shadow upon your soul.
Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, first make sure you are not just surrounded by assholes. — William Gibson
The Aliens Have Landed in Irvine
It’s about one in the afternoon at the Irvine In-N-Out Burger. A guy who looks to be in his early 20s comes in wearing a backward baseball cap, dark sunglasses (which he never removes) and — despite a temperature in the high 80s — a pullover sweater.
To simplify the storytelling, let’s call this guy Alf.
Alf waits in line, places his order, then immediately walks over and stands in front of the pickup counter. The place is packed, and I can tell from looking at the number on my own ticket that there are about 10 more orders ahead of me, and since I ordered before him, there are about 15 more orders ahead of Alf, so there’s no reason for him to be standing at — in fact, leaning on — the pickup counter.
After a few moments, the kid at the pickup counter asks Alf what his number is.
“Eleven,” Alf replies.
“OK, we’re calling numbers in the 90s, so it’s going to be a few more minutes.”
Alf then sits down on a bench to the left of the pickup counter, where he waits patiently until they call order number 6, which happens to be my number, at which time Alf asks the kid at the counter if his order is ready yet. It’s the same kid he talked to before, and the kid knows Alf’s number is 11, so he says, “No, not yet.”
When the alien invasion come to your town, you will know them by the following signs:
- Inappropriate attire, e.g., sweaters in a heat wave, dark glasses indoors, caps on backwards . . . no, scratch that last one. Some Earthlings do that too.
- Ignorance of the most basic social scenarios, like how to order and pick up fast food.
- Inability to count.
Taco Warmer
“Jack in the Box tacos have to be eaten when they’re hot, so when I buy them at the drive-thru, I also buy a bag of french fries, set the fries on top of the tacos and use them as a taco warmer to keep the tacos hot until I get them home and eat them.”
“Do you eat the fries as well?”
“No, I don’t eat the fries. I just use them to keep the tacos warm.”
“The french fries keep the tacos warm?’
“Right.”
“What keeps the french fries warm?”
Ronald Coase, 1910-2013
To ignore the government’s poor performance of its present duties when deciding on whether it should or should not take on new duties is obviously wrong.
Eating in Restaurants
Before venturing out of your home to eat in a restaurant, learn to chew with your mouth closed.
This applies whether you’re 7 or 70 . . .
I Killed a Guy in Florida
Hi everybody! it’s me, Lightning!
I knew I should have killed those two guys under the truck so there wouldn’t be any witnesses.
HA HA! Kidding! I wasn’t even in Florida!
— Lightning 
See You in Hell, New Orleans
[See You in Hell is a feature by our guest blogger, Satan — PE]
A 1-year-old girl was shot dead in her babysitter’s arms in New Orleans, prompting the city’s mayor to declare “enough is enough” as police hunted for two suspects with little help from witnesses.
Londyn Samuels, who was just learning to walk, was struck by a bullet fired into her 18-year-old nanny’s back as she carried the toddler home from the park.
There’s a train they call the City of New Orleans, and it is on a fast track to Hell.
First of all, let me say for the record that everyone is equal in Hell — regardless of race, color, religion, creed, national origin, blah blah blah, or any other legally protected status.
That said, when I see a headline like 1-year-old shot to death on New Orleans street, I know when I click through, I’m going to see a black face on the other side.
White people have their own peccadilloes, but they don’t shoot babies in the street.
As for the second part of the headline — “Enough is enough” — an 11-year-old New Orleans girl rocking her baby cousin to sleep was killed a few days later when gunmen started shooting into her house.
It’s getting to where I myself am afraid to go to New Orleans. Ha ha, no I’m not, but you see what I mean.
Anyway, here’s some advice from a guy who’s been around: If you’re black, and you want to be remembered fondly, or remembered at all, make sure you get shot by someone who’s not black.
For example: a kid in Florida named Trayvon Martin was shot by a Hispanic man with a white name: George Zimmerman. Everyone remembers Trayvon Martin. Even the president talks about him. Black “leaders” shuffle his parents in front of various assemblages demanding Justice for Trayvon.
He’s remembered lovingly by people willing to overlook the fact that he was trying to beat George Zimmerman to death when, unfortunately for him, Zimmerman pulled a gun and shot him.
Trayvon Martin is . . . well, let’s just say that God doesn’t like violent troublemakers, despite being a violent troublemaker himself. What a phony.
Londyn Samuels is in heaven, of course. She led a short, blameless life.
But because the man who shot her was black, not only is no one demanding Justice for Londyn, witnesses won’t come forward to ID the shooter, and no black “leader” has directed so much as a “shame on you” toward anyone involved.
See you in Hell!
Seeing the Thing Through
Ah, poor fellow!–and Herzog momentarily joined the objective world in looking down on himself. He too could smile at Herzog and despise him. But there still remained the fact. I am Herzog. I have to be that man. There is no one else to do it. After smiling, he must return to his own Self and see the thing through.
The Life That Exhibits Itself
“In paths untrodden,” as Walt Whitman marvelously put it. “Escaped from the life that exhibits itself . . .” Oh, that’s a plague, the life that exhibits itself, a real plague! There comes a time when every ridiculous son of Adam wishes to arise before the rest, with all his quirks and twitches and tics, all the glory of his self-adored ugliness, his grinning teeth, his sharp nose, his madly twisted reason, saying to the rest — in an overflow of narcissism which he interprets as benevolence — “I am here to witness. I am come to be your exemplar.” Poor dizzy spook!