Quality Time

A few years back the Environmental Protection Agency announced a policy change that called for re-pricing the lives of our citizens over seventy at 63% of the value assigned to those under that age when assessing the costs and benefits of environmental regulations. The change was the result of new guidelines from the little-known Office of Information and Regulatory Affairs, an agency set up under the Reagan Administration to do statistical cost-benefit analyses of all draft rules and regulations for the federal government, giving the executive branch approval (and effective veto power) over how new laws are interpreted and implemented by federal agencies.

As soon as the details of the EPA’s decision came to light it caused a heated controversy, forcing the agency to beat a hasty retreat. The reversal was as predictable as it was unfortunate, because the abandoned OIRA guidelines held the essence of a revolutionary insight: that our government has for too many years placed an unbalanced and fiscally irresponsible priority on assuring the longevity of average Americans.

Much of our debt and deficit problem can be traced to this interference by the federal government in the personal lives and choices of We the People. If our federal, state, and local agencies were mandated to pursue only life expectancy neutral regulatory regimens, not only would individual and corporate liberty soar to new heights, but over time popular programs like Social Security and Medicare could very well offer improved rather than reduced benefits. All we need do is look at a country like Afghanistan, where the average life expectancy is 46. As many seemingly impossible challenges as that nation is facing, paying for entitlement programs like Social Security and Medicare is not one of them.

I’m not suggesting we need to aim that high (or low, in this instance). But even with some minor and relatively benign deregulation, such as raising the national speed limit; eliminating seatbelt, airbag, and motorcycle helmet laws; and cutting back on the intrusive federal inspection of meat, we could trim 12-18 months off the national average in no time. Since approximately 80% of Medicare expenditures come during the last two years of a recipient’s life, the savings would be more than enough to pay for a real (if somewhat counter-productive) prescription drug benefit.

Best of all, the changes would usher in a new era of freedom of choice for financially strapped consumers, who could opt for cheaper cars – and meats. They would also offer relief for that other class of oppressed individuals who have just recently gotten their due from the Supreme Court; our corporate citizens, by reducing production costs for two major industries; a clear win-win.

While there are bound to be the usual objections from the usual suspects, I predict that before too long the surviving public would be won over by its newfound personal freedoms, its access to cheaper products, and the peace of mind of knowing that if you make it to 65, your benefits will be waiting for you. At that point these same principles could be more broadly applied to create whole new sets of incentives for government, business, and the individual alike. To mention but a few:

1. Instead of ever more punitive “sin taxes” on alcohol and cigarettes (which are particularly burdensome for older Americans on fixed incomes) add both substances to the aforementioned prescription drug benefit. “Here’s your carton of Kools and your quart of Wild Turkey. You go, Granny!”

2. End the endless debate on juveniles and the death penalty by mandating it for all juvenile crime. Such a “One Strike And You’re Toast” policy will not only bend the life expectancy curve early in its arc, but will eventually result in a precipitous drop in adult crime, saving untold taxpayer billions on what has for several decades been the fastest growing budget buster for our state governments: the prison-industrial complex. Collateral benefits will include fewer courts and police, and smaller class sizes for our struggling secondary schools. We’ll even save money on last requests. How much is a Happy Meal?

3. Rather than unconstitutionally restricting the freedoms of our corporate citizens by oppressive regulations that force them to spend billions cleaning up toxic waste sites, give them tax credits if they donate the land for day care centers and nursing homes. West Virginia already has at least one enormous coal slurry pit (Marshy Fork) perched above a Head Start school, which could serve as a pilot program.

I realize that this sounds a little draconian, if not unjust. But if we accept that government exists solely for the purpose of leveling our enemies, and has no legitimate role to play in the leveling the fields (or slurry pits) of domestic opportunity, then the road forward is clear. Yes, Adams famously declared that “America does not go abroad in search of monsters to destroy”, and Jefferson recommended that “we crush in its birth the aristocracy of our moneyed corporations”. But that was before Jimmy Carter even more eloquently reminded his fellow Americans that “life is not fair.”

I don’t relish offering the approach outlined above. But considering the size of the bill, I think I’d prefer a shorter lifespan of quality time over living long enough to see who gets stuck with it, let alone how and where it winds up getting stuck.

Besides, as our humble servants at the OIRA were trying to tell us, the numbers don’t lie. With debts like these, there is ultimately no avoiding the human toll. The only questions are: who pays now, who pays later, and who decides. As anyone who has ever fallen behind on a mortgage, credit card, or IRS payment can tell you, freedom is never free, especially not freedom from creditors.

Falling Down

About three weeks ago I got my first mention in the New York Times. The most interesting thing about getting a mention in the Times is how people react to that information. They are either impressed or suspicious, including a substantial group of people that harbor a near-religious hatred for the Gray Lady. I’m sure that by their metric the Times deserves it. The newspaper had had its share of credibility and gullibility issues over the last decade. Still, I find it more comforting than frightening that the forces of evil would be so far behind the curve as to seize the flagship of a decaying media like the newspaper, my own mention notwithstanding.

Fortunately all these crosscurrents of opinion about the Times won’t affect me, as I wasn’t actually mentioned by name. The article was headlined “Hurt at Home, and a Fall Is Likely to Blame”, and it lays out recent statistical analysis that the most common cause of injury to Americans is falling down, with most of those falls happening at home.
I’d fallen just the day before, tripping on something that wasn’t there while walking the dog. Somehow I managed to stab one shoe awkwardly into the sidewalk, where it caught, sending me tumbling to the ground.

It must’ve looked pretty bad, because a passing car to stopped to see if Grampa was okay. Pride aside, he was for the most part fine, though he had ruined his jeans and for the first time in 45 years skinned his knee. As my dog vacillated between concern and embarrassment, I picked myself up and waved off the driver, making it the rest of the way home without incident, only to find out the next day that I’d accidentally stumbled into the statistical mainstream.

In second place behind falling down came transportation injuries. Accidental poisoning was third, which raises a statistical red flag. It seems likely that a substantial number of those poisoned also fall down at some point, with more than a few winding up in traffic accidents while rushing to the emergency room. Are these incidents counted in one or multiple categories?

The article also noted that women are more likely to be injured in a fall than men, whereas men are more likely to be struck by an object. How many of those women were pushed by men, and how many of those objects were thrown by women, are questions that apparently escaped scrutiny.

This points out the problematic nature of all statistics. Numbers can be accurate without offering any clear insight into exactly what they measure. For example, gun control advocates constantly harp on the disproportionate number of gun-related deaths in our society versus the rest of the developed world, but they make no attempt to quantify how many lives may have been saved by the presence of firearms.

Nor do they ever mention that 56% of all gun deaths in America are suicides. You’d think that would be a comforting statistic to those concerned with reducing the collateral damage of gun violence, as it indicates that the number of gun owners predisposed to using their weapons is to a large extent self-limiting.

It also calls into question the efficacy of restricting ownership of the most lethal weapons and ammunition, if only for the sake of holding down the substantial costs to the health care system of all those failed firearm suicide attempts. In this context, the grenade launcher and the killer bullet are simply the most efficient means to the end. It is the wounded who are bleeding the system dry.

As to what to do about the epidemic of slips, trips, tumbles, dives, plunges, and toppling over; my suggestion it to stay in bed whenever possible. It may not be the magic bullet, but you don’t need a statistician to tell you that the best way to avoid falling down is to not get up to begin with.

Abbey Roads

By my rough count, I’ve just bought my 18th copy of the Beatles’ Abbey Road album. That includes somewhere between 10-12 vinyl copies before the CD version was released in 1987, plus 4-5 CDs before the advent of the iPod, and culminating today with what I have to believe will be my once and future absolute final copy.

Having gone through more rebirths than a bodhisattva and more re-releases than Benson the Carp, there’s no arguing that the Beatles’ music is beyond timeless. Word is this latest digital re-mastering of their last studio album has been purified to the point where you can actually hear the sound of one hand clapping as the group achieves sonic nirvana.

Or something like that. I haven’t been able to work up to taking off the shrink-wrap yet. In part, that’s because I’ve been performing to the final medley on Abbey Road for as long as I’ve been performing. I have probably spent 40 days and 40 nights of my usable lifespan with those five minutes as my personal soundtrack (I just did the math, and that’s 11,580 performances and rehearsals, or roughly 400 listens a year for 30 years – alarmingly close).  Also, by the time you hit your 50’s the thrill of the new isn’t so new, which is especially true when it’s mostly forty years old.

Back then, when you bought a record it would be on the turntable the minute you got home, with liner notes in hand; the same way that your stereo was the first box you unpacked and set-up after moving in. Today it’s easily thirty years since I read my last liner note, and almost that long since anyone’s written one. And even though I’ve got one seriously kickass sound system that can feed multiple audio sources to distinct speaker zones at the touch of a universal remote, it’s still boxed up in the storage attic of the house we moved to in July. Amid the multi-tasking gadgetry and nonstop complexity of every waking modern moment, silence is now the music most thrilling to my ears.

Kick ass stereo or not, I’m still looking forward to giving Abbey Road a fresh listen, as soon as I can find the time. I’m hoping to squeeze it in tonight, maybe right after I finish my workout, answer my email, feed and walk Titan (our minpin), and skype Daisy (my wife) in Brazil. And post this damn blog.

But it’s the fresh part that’s most problematic. I still remember the excitement of hearing Hey Jude for the first time, when it debuted on the Smothers Brothers’ show, and how I got chills when the lights came up as the final chorus kicked in, revealing a studio filled with people who surged around the band to sing along. Finding my way back to those fresh eyes and ears (and heart) gets trickier every day, but I know the mind must stay open to stay alive. After all, a man never crosses the same river twice, especially if he forgets how to swim.