January 6, 2015--Snowbriding: Domestic Goddess

"You won't find anything there."

I was looking at the blackboard where breakfast specials were listed. "Why's that?" I asked the fellow sitting at a communal table with half a dozen pals who were clearly regulars at the Lamplighter, reputedly the best place for breakfast in Florence, South Carolina.

"If you look closely, you'll see they're only available Monday through Saturday. I know you haven't had your coffee yet, but today's Sunday." He said this more to his friends than to me and they slapped their considerable thighs in pleasure.

I muttered, "I know that." And then directly to him, trying to be friendly, "So what do you recommend? From what I read about this place I understand they make great biscuits."

"Read about it?' he said, mocking me. "I don't know anyone who'd do that or anyone here who could read what got written." His friends rocked back and forth as he toyed with me. "But to answer you--southern hospitality, you know--anything with country ham. And don't forget the grits. It'll cost you a little more--with the specials they give you a break on the price--but you won't get hurt too bad." He winked at me and grinned.

I rejoined Rona at our booth and told her the country ham was recommended. Looking at the menu she noticed that they served it and an egg on a biscuit. "I think I'll have that. And," she whispered, "It's only $1.90."

"We're not in New York anymore. And look, two eggs, country ham, grits, two biscuits, and coffee or tea, not on the special board, is $5.95."

"Including the coffee?"

I looked at the menu again, "That's right."

Both orders came in a flash and were delicious, Rona, who is an authority on grits declared the Lamplighter's the best she ever had.

Feeling pressure to get on the road--we had quite a distance to cover if we were to get to Ocala, Florida before dark--we asked for the ticket (how they refer to the bill or check in the South) and when it arrived Rona scrutinized it as if there was a problem. "It looks correct, but," she leaned toward me and whispered, "it's less than ten dollars. In fact less than nine. How do they make a living charging so little?"

The place was crowded. "Maybe," I offered, "they make it up in the volume. In nay case I think we pay at the cash register over by the communal table."

We gave it a wide berth and kept my eyes averted, but we weren't able to slip by unnoticed. "You folks live here?" the original fellow asked, obviously knowing from my accent that we were from up North.

"Nice of you to put it that way," Rona said. "That makes us feel welcomed about being here. But, no, we stopped here overnight on our way to Florida and heard this was the best breakfast place in town."

"And?"

"And you were right," I said, "about the country ham and--"

"And grits," Rona said, "About the best I ever had."

The boys at the table exchanged glances and head nods. "Where you from then?"

"From New York," I said.

"The city part of New York?"

"That part."

"Isn't Al Sharpton from there?" he asked, sounding ominous.

I muttered something, feeling eager to pay and get out of town.

"Didn't hear that," he said, twisting his finger in his ear. "Don't hear so good these days. You know, that little fella they put on TV all the time? Sharpton?"

"I think he is," Rona said. I glared at her. "You have a problem with that?"

Before he could answer, thankfully one of his buddies said, "I know someone from up there. He's in the honey business. Sells his honey at, whatcha call it, the green market."

"There's a big one right near where we live," Rona said, "At Union Square."

"That's the place," he said.

"Did you say Union Square?" the first fellow asked, again with a mocking tone. "For the soldiers who came down here during the War of Northern Aggression?"

"The very one," I said, feeling somehow bold. Why not, I thought. What could happen? It was 2015, not 1965, and we weren't in Selma.

"We're your people from?" he asked, sounding less threatening.

"From New York."

"I mean originally."

"Oh, my mother's from Poland and my father's family--"

"From a cabin in a forrest in Poland," Rona added. "But when they got to Ellis Island they changed the family name to Mooney. So she passed for being Irish. Which helped her when she began teaching. The school system at the time was all Irish." I had no idea where all this was coming from. Maybe the caffeine. But though things seemed calmed down still I wanted to pay and leave.

"The Irish, they're the ones built America," he said, again nodding toward his companions. "Then the slaves came and they did nothing."

"Slaves?" I gasped. "Did nothing? I think you got that all backwards and wrong. I mean the Irish--"

"I'm just playin' with you, that's all," he said with the beginnings of a smile.

Taking no chances, I said, "Gotta hit the road. Nice talking to you guys. Really. And thanks again for--"

"Everyone from New York has a beard and wears something black."

"Well I--"

"And has a beautiful women with him," the fellow in a Vietnam Vet cap sitting in a wheelchair at the end of table said with a nod of appreciation.

"Thank you kindly," Rona said, with an emerging South Carolina accent. "We've been married 30 years."

"Thirty-one," I corrected her.

"Thirty, thirty-one," he said, sounding all flirty, Why she don't even look thirty-one."

"That's right nice of you," Rona said.

"A domestic goddess," he gushed, "A regular domestic goddess. You sure are lucky, boy." He meant me.

"S'pose I am," I said. "S'pose I am."

We paid and drove west to get back onto I-95.

"I like that," Rona said after a while. I knew what she was referring to.

October 17, 2104--Liberal Wusses

For about 10 minutes last night, on TV, I stumbled onto the Maine governor's debate. That's all the time it took--actually, five minutes would have sufficed--to figure out who will win: current Republican governor Paul LePage in a walk.

It will help that he has two opponents, both in effect Democrats, and they will split the progressive vote so that LePage, as last time, will win with less than 40 percent of the vote. Actually, his two opponents this time are such wusses that he could easily get close to that magic 50-percent-plus-one.

Even as a part-time resident I know enough about LePage's record to cause me to hate the idea that he is one of my governors. (The other two, Rick Scott in Florida and Andrew Cuomo in New York, are in their own ways as terrible as LePage.)

I know--so what else is new.

I see LePage winning easily in spite of the fact that he's currently in a statistical dead heat with Mike Michaud--he's at 40 percent, Michaud 39 percent, and Eliot Cutler trails with less than half that.

Here's how I know--

LePage has an awful record when it comes to government programs targeted to make life a little easier for low-income Mainers. Of course he's against Obamacare and refuses to support it here. He also turned down federal support for the expansion of Medicaid. And you should only hear what he has to say about Food Stamps and minorities, even though Maine is almost all white.

Michaud and Eliot favor all of these programs and then some. They even look like central casting governor material--tall, slender, full heads of hair--while LePage has a weight problem, is height challenged, and has a snarly-looking face.

So, what's the story and why am I so sure that LePage will trounce the two of them?

I needed to hear responses to just one question to convince me who will win--

One of the things LePage has not done is expand food programs for poor, school-age kids. The host of the debate asked all three candidates what they would do about the 20 percent of Maine youngsters who do not get adequate nourishment. This should have been an easy one for Michaud and Cutler. Who doesn't want to see kids get fed? Especially if the federal government picks up most of the tab.

The two governor-types, all earnestness, took weak shots at LePage (missed opportunities) and proceeded to rattle off a long list of forgettable statistics, none of which scored any points with the audience or this viewer.

Then it was LePage's turn to respond.

He leaned forward, depositing his full weight on the podium (I feared for it) and snarled, "I know what it's like to be hungry. I didn't grow up rich [a swipe at his two rivals]. There were days I went to school hungry. I know about hunger. So don't lecture me about feeding kids. I favor that and have done everything I could during my first term to work on the problem [a lie]. And if I'm reelected I'll do more [probably another lie]."

Case closed. Election over.

One reason Republicans are doing better than Democrats is because Republican politicians, as insincere and hypocritical as they are, are better at coming across as authentic.

Take George W. Bush as as example--people thought that Yale-Harvard graduate George W, a third generation Brahmin Prescott-Bush who never wanted or worked hard for anything, was actually one of them. Just plain folks who it would be fun to hang out with and have a (nonalcoholic) beer. This also explains the appeal of a Chris Christie. Another faux-authentic.

Most Democrats, in contrast, come off as effete know-it-alls, telling people that they know best what's good for "ordinary people." Think John Kerry and Hillary (not Bill) Clinton. People are tired of hearing this, being treated this way. Lectured to.

I hate the idea, but I am trying to get used to the idea that I'll have four more years of LePage and probably Rick Scott. Cuomo I can swallow. But if liberals want to make a comeback, they had better practice being real. Or at least how to pretend to be.

October 8, 2013--Stagehands

"It's not that I'm antiunion," Stan said, which surprised me. He tends to take conservative positions on most issues of public policy.

"But from what I'm hearing about your stagehands, I'm not so sure."

"My stagehands?" I looked at him quizzically, "I'm a bit confused. I don't have any." We were sitting together in a booth at the Bristol Diner, with the sun streaming in, whiling away the morning.

"Well, you are New Yorkers, aren't you?"

"Still, I'm not following you." At times Stan tends to speak elliptically. Or playfully when tweaking us about being from the Big City. "Stagehands?"

"Don't you read your own paper? The one you're always writing about?"

"The Times? The New York Times?"

"There was something there, I think on the front page, about how they were on strike."

"I've been busy and somehow must have missed that."

"Not for more money but because they were insisting that Carnegie Hall hire more stagehands to work for the new education program they're planning to launch."

"What does the work entail? Traditional stagehand work? Moving props and scenery?"

"I don't think so. The Carnegie Hall people say it's mainly moving chairs and other lightweight chores. And so they want to hire people who will work for less money than the stagehand's union requires."

"What kind of money are we talking about?"

"I think that's why the dispute wound up on the front page."

"So, how much? As I said, this is the first I'm hearing about it."

"I'm glad you're sitting," Stan said with a broad grin. He leaned across the table to make sure I couldn't avoid making eye contact.

"On average, $400,000 a year in salary and benefits."

"What?" I was incredulous.

"You heard me--400 grand. More than most Carnegie executives make and a lot more that any of the musicians in the orchestra."

"I can't believe this is true. I know they have a strong union and at times have gone on strike and shut down Broadway theaters. And I know they make a lot and . . ."

"Here's how I think it works," Stan said, cutting me off and getting out his pen, using his napkin for scratch paper. "They get whatever their base is. For working 9 to 5 Mondays through Fridays. Like the rest of us. But since everything at Carnegie Hall is at night or on weekends they get paid for that at double or triple overtime."

"So you're thinking that even though there's not much to do weekdays during the day, still they come to work then and wait for after hours for the actual work to kick in and at those times they make a lot more than they do for the first 35 hours?"

"It's gotta be. Otherwise how does it add up to $400,000 a year?"

"And there's probably no way for Carnegie Hall to change the deal. Or on Broadway, for that matter, where it must be pretty much the same situation."

"I don't know about that," Stan said, "But about Carnegie Hall I only know what I read in the paper."

"You mean my Times?" I winked. "I didn't know you read that."

"My son-in-law, who knows my views, showed it to me on-line. Probably to make me crazy."

"So," I couldn't resist poking at him, "If it was up to you, you'd let them stay on strike while not just resisting hiring more $400,000-a-year men for the new program but also demand all sorts of givebacks from the current stagehands? To bring their compensation into line with management and, more important, the musicians?"

He smiled back at me in answer.

"They'd probably stay on strike forever," I said, "if the Carnegie board insisted on that. But I take your point about union overreach. I'm pretty liberal . . ."

"Don't I know it," Stan said. This time he did the winking.

". . . but this doesn't do the union movement any good."

"You're right about that," Stan said. But then, as he occasionally does, he surprised me, "Look, there are only four or five stagehands at Carnegie Hall and this is not a typical union situation. In fact aren't you surprised that your leftwing paper made such a big issue out of it? About four or five people making a ridiculous amount of money?"

"Good point," I said.

"This will be all over talk radio tonight. Another thing to make people feel they're being taken advantage of and that everything's unfair. There are many unfair things," Stan continued, "But not everything is unfair. It doesn't help to simplify things this way. If we want to dig out of the mess we're in we need to be smart. And blowing this all out of proportion makes us stupid."

I nodded. "What's more, it distracts us from looking at what's really unfair. I know we'll disagree about most of that but at least we'll be talking about the real problems. Not sideshows."

"That's why I love you Stan. So much so that I'm paying for your coffee."

"For today or the whole week?"

July 18, 2013--Affordable Health Care in NY

There was a report in yesterday's New York Times about the rollout in early 2014 of the Affordable Care Act in New York State.

One might expect that since New York is about the highest-cost state in the United States the cost of mandatory insurance to New Yorkers would be in line with what one needs to come up with to buy a one-bedroom apartment in Manhattan. In other words, a ridiculous fortune.

But in spite of all the alarmist ranting about how Obamacare is socialized medicine and that people will have their health care rationed with end-of-life decisions taken aways from patients and their families and be assigned to government "death panels," when all is said and done, tens of millions will for the first time have health insurance, hundreds of thousands of lives will be better and even saved, and the cost, it appears, if administered correctly, will go down. Actually plummet.

In New York, for example, because of the competition engendered by having various health care insurers compete for new clients, to quote state regulators, because of the on-line purchasing exchanges, the rates they have approved for insurers are "at least 50 percent lower on average than those currently available in New York."

For those now paying $1,000 or more a month, as early as October, they will be able to purchase comparable insurance for as little as $300 a month. If one cannot afford that, with federal subsidies, the cost will be even lower.

I suspect that politically we will see a situation similar to the mid-1960s when Medicare was rolled out. It was condemned by organized medicine (the AMA in the lead) as socialized medicine and this was echoed and worse by most Republicans. But now, even Tea Party members though wanting to eliminate much of what government provides, make an exception for Medicare.

When I have at times confronted some who have nothing good to say about any government program, pointing out to them that Medicare is a government program, and in fact is socialized medicine, still they say, poking a finger in my chest, "Don't you touch my Medicare."

Five years from now people will be saying the same thing about the Affordable Care Act--though it is far from socialized medicine (it is after all based on a Republican model), they will be poking fingers in chests and warning, "Don't you touch my Obamacare."