Socialized ... education?

Hi,
Just for the heck of it I recently perused a right wing column about the dangers of socialized medicine. For kicks I replaced every place it said "medicine" with "education." I made a few more changes, but mostly left it as it was. I think it reads perfectly now. For the original you can go here.

--BBD

Lest We've Forgotten, Education Is Not a Right
By Wendy Milling

The advocates of socialized education have insisted for decades that education is a right. They now feel emboldened enough to proffer the absurdity that education insurance is a right, and they do not bother to make a distinction between the two. "Education is a right, not a privilege," proclaims Sen. Bernie Sanders in a Huffington Post op-ed calling for the nationalization of education. Education has become "a business" instead of a higher calling of selfless service, President Obama ruefully tells the American Teachers Association.

A right is a political principle defining and sanctioning freedom of action in a social context. It imposes a negative obligation-the obligation to refrain from violating the rights of others-not a positive entitlement. Since government produces nothing, for the government to provide goods and services to some, it must first take them by force from others, which is a violation of their rights.

A privilege connotes a benefit conferred upon individuals or classes by virtue of some factor such as birth or social position, as opposed to merit. The criterion by which people receive education is payment. Education can only exist because its suppliers earn profits that justify their initial substantial investments of money, energy, and time. That makes education a business, whether anyone finds this distasteful or not.

Students must pay for their education somehow. Money is obtained through effort; people receive money in exchange for productive work. Sen. Sanders' objection, then, is to people obtaining education because they have earned it. By advocating the redistribution of educational resources, he is seeking to elevate the needy to a privileged class. For education to be a "right," it must be a privilege.

The economics of socialized education are well-known. When free education becomes available system-gamers line up at the socialized education trough, along with genuinely unlearned people who seek more services than are justified for their condition. Demand overwhelms supply, and costs go up. Government then imposes price caps on educational goods and services and limits payments to providers to control the escalating costs. This attempted end run around the law of supply and demand forces the suppliers to cut back on the availability, quality, and quantity of educational care. Again, governments produce nothing. They can decree coverage for everyone, but they have no power to turn this coverage into adequate educational care. Only those who produce educational goods and services can provide them.

Knowing that Americans do not tolerate the impractical, the proponents of socialized education have engaged in all manner of contorted exercises lately to make the unworkable appear workable. They back up their calculations with a secret weapon: The citizen's feelings of guilt. "It's a moral issue," assert the advocates of socialized education. It certainly is, but not in the way they think. It is immoral to steal and coerce. Teachers are not chattel, and taxpayers are not piggy banks to be broken and raided for the next claimant in line.

The advocates of socialized education argue that people should not have to go into bankruptcy just because they are burdened with educational bills they cannot pay. Yes, they should. Bankruptcy does not mean death in this country. It means officially recognized insolvency, which merely puts conditions on the defaulter's financial activity for a specified amount of time into the future. Bankruptcy is a consequence of the defaulter's failure to meet legal financial obligations. The principle at work is justice, the application of cause-and-effect to human affairs.

Those who wish to insure their education have a number of proper choices: They hey can accumulate wealth or credit to pay for educational expenses, they can purchase private education insurance, they can seek employment that provides educational coverage, they can seek a teacher who is willing to provide payment terms or free services, or they can rely on the charity of others. If a person fails to take any of these measures for any reason and he incurs educational expenses he cannot meet, he must enter into bankruptcy. What he may not properly do is claim that education and educational insurance are "rights" to which he is entitled at the expense of others.

Consider the full meaning of such a claim. Millions of working poor will see a portion of their meager earnings confiscated. Educational technologies will not be created when they otherwise would, because there is no economic incentive to develop or produce them. Teachers and other education professionals will work under increasingly primitive and coercive conditions, potentially facing de-licensing, fines, and even jail time for making decisions the government deems too costly or politically out-of-favor.

Students will see the quality, quantity, and availability of educational care evaporate. The gravely uneducated will be denied learning and forced to face the end of their scholarship, because saving their minds is too costly under a system of socialized education. For what noble purpose will millions of people be effectively enslaved or burdened to the point of suffering or death? To preserve the FICO score, credit lines, and self-esteem of parasites.

The next time a socialized education advocate prattles about compassion for those who need educational care, wonder aloud where his compassion is for those whose lives would be destroyed by his scheme.

A Confederacy Of Assholes

I sit at my computer as down the hall someone throws something out that sounds very loud as it crashes to the ground. Upstairs Stompy McGee our insomniac, big-footed mechanic of a neighbor is probably gearing up for tonight's autoclinic, replete with lots of dropped tools over Stella's room. Our downstairs neighbors now smoke so much they have to open their front door to get the smoke out, which wafts into Stella's room, making her cough, god dammit.

Yes, living in what often feels like a former Soviet Satellite republic isn't all that it was cracked up to be. We thought we would give up a few amenities by moving to Kensington, such as decent restaurants but we really had no idea what we were truly in for.

Fact is, it's been a bad trade DESPITE living in what is objectively a gorgeous apartment.

We knew Kensington might be our speed. Fact is we came out here a few years ago and weren't interested. Then we saw this big, open apartment, twice the size of our last place, for the same cash. We felt that we had no choice, as so many other places had fallen through our fingers. We pounced, because that's what you have to do in New York, pounce, on everything.

The first tip off that all might not be right is we moved in and the floors had been so polished the polish material was making our heads spin. The place looked like a roller skating rink, and Randi had to get on her hands and knees with a lemon to strip off some of the overly-shiny finish.

Then we noticed some of our paint was peeling, this was maybe a month in, maybe less. We had it tested, and of course, it was lead positive. After that we had to fight our building management for months to get them to do the job right. They threatened us right from the git-go, saying we should leave because we'd caused so much trouble about this.

Trouble? From my mind, they caused it by telling us not to tell the city, and then sending over some undocumented fuckabouts to do the job. We sent them off. Lead paint is serious stuff. Then they sent someone with lead experience to clean it, and they still did the job all wrong, scraping off the dry paint -- which you should never do.

There was more fighting after this. The City of New York tested and found more lead paint chipping in the front of the apartment. It took three to four times for them to finally get the job right. They would send some off the turnip truck fuckwits to do the job -- sometimes armed with little more than a screwdriver and NO documentation -- and we'd send them away. Finally, only because we FORCED THEM TO DO IT, the job was done right, in every way. Almost.

Then we had a fight about our upstairs neighbor. He's stopped blasting his Smooth Balkan Jams, but every night it sounds like he's dragging a goddamned titanium sarcophogus across the floor, multiple times, and then showering our ceiling with a rain of balpeen hammers. All day, all night, ever day. We have tried to be nice to him, to explain to him that he's waking up our daughter. He doesn't care, he keeps going. He, a fat middle aged Balkan jackoff, answers the door in his bananahammock. I have now argued with him about this at least 10 times since moving in. We've told the building, nothing changes. We've sent them a certified letter telling them, nothing changes.

Now it's the smoking. Despite there being signs in our lobby saying NO SMOKING in big red letters everybody smokes. And it wafts into Stella Bella's room, making, as I mentioned cough. I called the Board of Health, our building management and our super to ensure that this crap has to end. We'll see.

I am not a predjudiced person, but the callousness of these people, the hardness of their approach to life and even a little, defenseless child has made me not like the former Soviet Socialist Republics all that much. It makes me think Borat was being kind to them. And I am from Ukraine, or at least my family is. They couldn't get the fuck out of that rathole fast enough, though. And if they'd stayed they all would have died. So, no great warm feelings here.

I am being unfair, I know. If we hadn't drawn the short straw living above a chimney and below a one man rock band/garage it probably wouldn't be so bad.

Sigh, Stella's crying again. Happy Monday!

Unemployment Made Me Who I Am

Yes, it's grim out there. The best you can say about the latest unemployment figures is that they are only slightly less bad than some feared. But they're not good. In fact, nothing about being unemployed is good, trust me, I've been there. But if I can get through it, and I did, you will to.

Unemployment and I are old acquaintances. I first joined the ranks of the underworked in the mid-90s, when I quit the job I had as managing editor of a small magazine for college students. The irony is I quit because I felt I was underpaid, but I quickly learned how much less payment was out there. Month after month I watched my pitiful savings dwindle as I "freelanced" articles. Eventually I found salvation in the form a traffic accident, as I totaled my car and lived off the insurance money. Now that's financial planning.

The depression that accompanied this period was horrific. I lived in Boulder, Colo., one of the most beautiful places in the nation, but I couldn't enjoy any of it. Life suddenly became very circumscribed, as I feared going outside lest I spend money. This period lasted almost a year.

Eventually, though, I kept plugging away and got another job as an editor, and a better job at that. This one paid $8 an hour! But I got to write, and had enough money for the occasional beer.

By the time I was 28 I was working full time as a financial journalist at a small newsletter in New York. It wasn't exactly what I wanted to do. I felt constrained, again. It was 2000, and my peers, it seemed, were all out making mega-bucks working for .com firms. They had cool things called stock options, and foose-ball. And here I was, such a free spirit, I thought, wearing a tie to work every day, and making in the low $30,000s. What a salariman. I saw a possible ladder here, but I didn't want to climb it. So I quit again, this time to take an internship at National Public Radio's "On The Media." Now that’s cool.

Due to cheap rent, generous family and some frugality I had managed to save a nest-egg of just under $10,000 while I had been working. I watched it slowly dwindle to nothing as my internship went on and on. Making matters worse I didn't get the job, either. I had gambled and failed. Then the recession of 2001 hit, and I was caught short … again! They say wisdom is recognizing a mistake as you make it again. Well, I say that, I don't know if they do. But it's true.

Once again, I had no money, and now lived in an even more expensive city, New York. Then, the depression came on once more, as I realized what a fool I had been to quit a job that paid, because it hadn't been quite cool enough. Quickly, though, I learned you can't eat hipness, which might explain the recent craze for "skinny" jeans.

I spent most of my time in the summer of 2001 sitting in my hot studio apartment, under-using my air conditioning because it cost too much. Sometimes I would go out to a local bar in Hell's Kitchen in New York -- Rudy's -- that had, and has, free hot dogs. Possibly the same hot dogs, too.

Eventually, I broke down and begged my dad if I could work for him, doing anything. I had vowed years before that I would never do this, but my pride was gone. And of course I am extremely lucky that I had just such a fallback position. I do realize this.

My father had to let someone else go to hire me, but he did. This is when blood truly is thicker than not only water, but than anything. I saved up a few pennies, and then blew it all, once more, in a pointless and disastrous trip to Burning Man, but still, overall, things were looking up. I had fought unemployment, and it won. But as I slowly picked myself up I learned a lesson: I will never fire myself again.

I also learned another lesson, this one about love and self worth. You see, around this time, in late 2001, I went on a blind date with Randi. We met at a small, local bar, and had red wine. Conversation was easy and fun, and she had the most beautiful eyes and the kindest, sweetest face -- and still does. We then went on another date, and another. Even though I was broke, and felt like a loser who had missed his shot she still appreciated and wanted to be in my company. She liked me for who I was, and told me it didn't matter what I did. The lesson was clear: some people, the people who matter, care about you no matter what your career. And believe in you, no matter what.

Eventually I moved on from working for my dad, to working at a local cheese market. I was hungry to write again even if I wasn't physically hungry due to the copious amounts of free cheese I consumed during this multi-month stretch. I called my old newsletter back, and they invited me in for an interview. I put on my sharpest suit, the one they hired me in, and was told that they didn't actually need me. Crushed, I bowed my head in shame, feeling the fool. And old.

Eventually I got a job from the cheese market selling musical equipment, and from there, another job, at last, writing for a financial newsletter. I threw myself into the work this time. I was 30, and was tired of being my own worst enemy. It had been over two years since I'd last had a real writing job and I vowed to never take what I do well for granted ever again. And I vowed to never leave a job without having another one lined up.

From there I eventually upgraded to Forbes, and then Forbes.com. Not a moment too soon, either, as this second newsletter folded and few noticed.

For those unemployed folks supporting families my heart goes out to you. Everything suddenly is made of dollar signs, and you start mining your savings. It's not fun, but going through this grew me up the hard way. Twice.

Just Another Manic Monday

Yesterday was a fun day, though. Woke up, took care of the Brooklyn Baby Baby so the Brooklyn Baby Momma could stay in bed. Changed the diapers, fed her, or tried to -- she's gotten to be quite picky with me about what she eats.



Eventually Randi woke up and I made her breakfast while she sat with Stella, or ran with Stella or crawled after her. Made breakfast, gave Randi her presents, including a nice cardigan sweater, and then she tutored.



After that we hit the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens. The cherry blossoms were gone, but the Japanese were in full bloom and as big as salad plates. They smelled absolutely divine.



Though the flowers were gone yesterday was a gorgeous day all the same, with a nice gentle breeze, lots of sun and slightly bracing air. It was a great gift from god on Mother's Day. Thanks God!



As we sat on the grass there, Stella looked up at the trees, pointed at them. She doesn't like grass, so she snuggled close to us. I would lie on my back and hold her up and she'd scream in delight and then collapse onto my chest, burrowed tight, for a few seconds at least. Then we sat together and enjoyed being three, realizing how precious this moment is. But we realized more. Without trying to kill it by writing about it, Randi and I both knew, at the same time, that this was what everything had lead to, why things had gone as they did, that our lives were really leading to that moment, on the grass, together, us three as a family. If you'd ever done illicit substances, and god knows I sure haven't, it was a moment of clarity akin to when you feel the heart of the world pulse through your veins, the wind, the leaves, the breeze the one beside you, the girl, the woman, the man. Everything became very still, and very calm.



Following that we got back in the car and Stella Bella took one of her totally unpredictable naps. She slept in the car for over an hour, and we didn't want to jostle her so we stayed in the car, too.



When Stella finally woke up we went to the playground and swung her in the bucket swings, her screaming, so happy. Looking, again, at the sun.



Then we sat down again, lakeside, on the grass, as people grilled all around us, mmm, it smelled so good. We wanted to ask for a few handouts, maybe they could throw a burger over their shoulders to us, and we would catch it in mid-air. But no luck, not that we asked.



It was getting late, so we drove back to our pad, and played with Stella, she had naked playtime, and then it was time for her bath. I tried to brush her teeth, but without much luck. She does have teeth now, though, as there are two of them. Bottom front, very cute, except for when she used them to bite my finger, or Randi's nipple. Which she does, quite a bit.



Then, one more topper on the day. Randi's great friend Colleen was kind enough to agree to babysit, and she dropped by. It was supposed to be a surprise, but Randi had smoked me out that afternoon, by asking if we could go to Five Guys Burgers. In a moment of utter lying I said I didn't want to go. Randi knows I love that place, so she smelled a rat.

But, even though the surprise was ruined, or "fucking ruined" as Simon from the "Real Housewives of NYC" would say, we made it to the Farm On Adderly, in Ditmas Park anyway, for a truly great dinner.

It was one of those perfect days. But nothing less than Randi deserved. She's been working so hard on herself and this marriage, that it makes me more proud to be married to her every day. It was an honor to share Mother's Day with her. Stella even slept the whole time Colleen was over. Now THAT'S a Mother's Day present.

10:00 p.m. Wednesday Night

Right now Randi is nursing the little one, who just woke up screaming and crying, for no real reason that I could tell. It's times like these that I know she is still very, very hooked on the boobie. At over one year old she's a little old for this, I fear, but it is what it is. Hey, we've never had a kid before and even a year in we still don't have all the answers.

Tonight we had pasta primavera for dinner, which was really nice, healthy and even tasty. Our apartment has been rather cold the past few days, as NYC is experiencing a rather wet and rainy spring, more's the pity.

Oh, the Brooklyn Baby Momma just came out.

Our idiot upstairs neighbor is banging and banging around upstairs, doing god knows what. These days we suspect he either has a girlfriend or his wife came back, if he's ever been married. We don't really know. You know, we're not really friends. The last time Randi went up there to tell him to turn it down it was 11:30 p.m. at night and he answered the door clad only in a banana hammock. So, you know, we're not tight.

Other random thoughts:

I lift Stella up when I get home, like my dad used to do to me.

Mother's day is coming up and I asked mom if we could meet up with her on Saturday, so that we could have a nice day in Brooklyn on the actual day. I got my mom a pretty cool gift, but I won't disclose it here yet, although there is no way my mom would ever learn about it, since she doesn't have email.

Outside my door I hear lots of loud talk in some kind of Slavik language. What's being said, god only knows.

My barber believes that black market gun and ammo sales are going through the roof right now. Oh, summer ought to be a blast.

New thought: If I don't do whatever it is I think I want to do by age 40 I will go into teaching.

Another new thought: They had Twitter 100 years ago. It was just called the telegram.

Okay, short and sweet tonight. Sweet dreams.

Tuesday Night In Stately BBD Manor

You know, I did write the second part of my last fact checker piece, but I have been on the fence about posting it as I still work at the firm I wrote about. Pooping where you eat is typically not a great survival strategy. So this might have to stay in draft form ever more. Sorry fact-checking fans!

Just got finished watching the season finale of the "Real Housewives of New York City." Why, oh why, do I do this to myself? I first start out watching these reality shows with complete contempt and then, you could set your watch by it, I develop a rooting interest in the show. It happens like that! For example, Randi and were flipping through the channels one boring evening and there was some ballroom dance show featuring British school kids, with one endearingly dorky little prat who looked like a pint-sized Prince Charles. That was it! I was hooked, and Prince Charles was my boy. It took about five seconds.

It was thus with the Real Housewives of NYC. I started watching the show as a joke, because I had to see just how spoiled, self absorbed and arrogant some human beings could be. Not to mention dumb. And the answer was: much more than even I realized. But then I got into it, of course, and I saw that I had been too harsh. Sure, Simon and Alex were little more than clothes horses and social climbers, but he didn't seem that bad, in a way. Jill reminded me of every nasally Jewish chick that I spent my summers with in the Catskills, which made me kind of like her, although I didn't like them. Bethany was pretty until she starved herself to death. Ramona seemed kind of dumb, and still does. And the Countess LuAnn was so out of touch it was enjoyable. And then this season Kelly, a striking but astonishingly ego-driven former model came on the scene to round out the dysfunctional picture. And, sadly, I was hooked. No matter how petty their rivalries, how pointless their endless self promotion and "branding", no matter how intentionally vapid all their lives seemed and likely are, I watched it until the bitter end, and I will almost certainly watch the reunion show next week. Because it looks like the Countess is going to give a smack down to Kelly. Oh snap!

But this blog is about parenting, and Stella Rae, right?

Well, things are working in our favor in the sleep department, in that most nights are actually pretty good, touch wood. I do realize, of course, that I just jinxed us. I am very sorry Randi.

As for Stella herself, she is just starting the rudiments of walking, which is really cool. She crawls like a champ and verbalizes a few words very well. I figure not having teeth yet is probably getting in the way of her enunciating sounds more clearly. I say this based on my close observations of toothless beggars.

She's grown a lot longer, and has a full blond mop of hair, after being bald for the first six to seven months of her life. Sometimes when I look at her little face I see me, sometimes I see Randi and a lot of the time I see Stella herself, as she is.

I look forward to the day when we can walk and talk together, and when she wants to snuggle and sit on my lap. As of now she isn't so into the snuggling, it's just not her thing, but I know that Randi and I can be counted upon the brainwash her in that department sooner or later. Snuggling rules.

When I get home from work it's usually naked playtime, when Randi takes off Stella's diaper and lets her roam around the apartment free from the confines of the diaper industry and their products. Often I will sit down with her on the floor and put her in my lap and read her a book or two. It's really sweet to sit with her like this, and she loves her books! I do need to add here, though, that often these little sessions will end with her peeing in my lap. I put a towel down under her tush, but it's to no avail. I still get wet ankles. But I do it anyway, because otherwise I just wouldn't get all that much together time with my little girl.

Anyway, back to the books. "Barnyard Dance" and "Snuggle Puppy" by Sandra Boynton are two favorites. "BD" has the rhythm of a square dance in its prose, so we tap our hands on our legs while I read. She will actually start tapping in advance of me opening the book, so she knows I know which books she wants me to read. It is amazingly cute.

She also is a big fan of the works of Eric Carl. We have "The Very Hungry Caterpillar," of course, but also "The Very Quiet Cricket," "The Very Busy Spider," "Have You Seen My Cat?" and a three part book about living in the air, on the surface and in the water. These are beautiful books, and Carl is some kind of genius. I think my favorite is "The Very Quiet Cricket" which has lavish illustrations throughout. And it has a nice message, which is that when the time is right and you meet that special other being they bring your inner music out of you, often in ways that you yourself could never have imagined.

Sometimes I feel that I am just getting to know Stella and she me, but mainly I think this is because she is changing so fast, it's hard to keep up. But other times I realize that she has known me every day of her life, and we just are as we are, and that's good. On occasion now when she is feeling extra affectionate she will lick my face, but I think my rough beard gives her kind of an unwelcome surprise.

And at other times she shocks me. Last night, for example, nothing we did could get her back to sleep. She nursed at about 3:30 a.m. and every time I picked her up off our bed to take her back to her crib she started to arch her back -- which is always a warning sign -- and cry. But I couldn't allow her to comfort suck all night, and roll around our bed, as it's dangerous.

So I carried her back to her room anyway, despite her protests, and cries. Then once we were inside her room and I closed the door I held her and rocked her. No dice, more crying. Then something unexpected started to happen, she started to root around my hairy chest, looking to comfort suck.

Okay, I thought, this is kind of weird, but if it makes her sleep ... I let her suck on my upper pec and continued to rock her. Then I got tired of standing, she's pretty heavy you know, and sat down in our gliding rocker. Normally she HATES when I sit in the chair with her, but last night she was okay with it, as long as she could keep sucking. And after about five minutes she was fast asleep. It was weird, but it worked and it allowed me to get some more sleep. But I really hope this doesn't become a pattern.

I am 37 today -- 4/28/1972

A birthday is a cool day to take stock of your life, as if a reflective type like me needed an excuse. I don't know what Randi has in store for me tomorrow, but I am sure it's something delicious. I am a lucky man.

Inspired by Anne Stesney, who was inspired by Maggie Mason I wanted to write a list of all the things I would still like to do with my life. I am sure I will think of more stuff later. So here is the list for who I am today.

My List Of Things Worth Doing, or That I Really, Really Want To Do With My Life:

1. Always make time to write for myself. This can lead to great things and opportunities down the line that I could never predict. But I have to first be prepared and do the work.
2. Go back to Scotland with Randi and Stella. There's so much we didn't see on our honeymoon.
3. Strive to work harder on my marriage. Take better care of my wife.
4. Always work hard to have a strong relationship with Stella.
5. Take better care of my Mom.
6. Take better care of my sister, Barbara who has Down's Syndrome. I am her legal guardian.
7. Communicate more and better with my brother and other sister.
8. Own property some day. Not just an apartment, but a place with some land. Maybe even a vacation home.
9. Have enough to be able to do nice things for Stella like pay for summer camp.
10. Live in a place where Stella can be happy and free. Maybe this place is in Brooklyn, maybe it's not. But it's on my mind.
11. Try to not only take better care of my wife, but let her know I care about her. But show her more than tell her. So writing this doesn't really count.
12. Publish a book. Maybe even a crazy book, filled with all my old stories. Some might even be kind of racy, so inlaws, you're warned!
13. Maybe I won't write that kind of book after all, but something else entirely. Maybe something journalism based. Maybe something serious. I think about this kind of stuff.
14. Be a better friend in the next year of my life than I was in the last year. I feel sometimes that I was sucked into a tube, because having a kid is that intense. I need to manage my time better so I can see my friends more. For their sakes and my own.
15. Dance more. It sounds cliche, but it's true.
16. Sing more, and with other people. It feels good.
17. Compete in sports more. It's a lot of fun when you win, and not so bad when you lose. Drinks help both typically.
18. Take better care of my heart. Move around more.
19. Do standup comedy. At least once. I have some jokes, I think.
20. Participate in The Moth storyslam.
21. Reach out to those who can help me get to where I would like to go next with my life and career. In Yiddish there is an expression: the shy person never learns. So I need to get over myself and open myself up to professional rejection and failure more. And, also, opportunity. It's the only way to grow.
22. Someday, by god, I will own a dog. I've wanted to have a dog since I was born, and I have NEVER had one. I'm 37!
23. Learn how to relax in situations that are stressful. I take things too seriously.
24. Write more in this blog.
25. Host a TV show. I would be very good at it.
26. Find those baby pictures of me that my Dad says he has somewhere. As it is I have never actually seen baby pictures of myself other than one time when I was very young. This is because my dad put all his pictures on slides, and he took very few of me when I was young. It's a part of my history that I've missed out on.
27. My mother has letters written in Yiddish from her family in Europe from before World War II. Though they might break my heart I would like to know what these letters say.
28. Become more organized at work, so I can do more and enjoy it better.
29. Spend some more time doing actual investigative journalism. I miss it, and had been good at it.
30. Retire.
31. Consider another career other than writing someday. Maybe there is something else I am meant to do. I should consider it.
32. Live in a nice small town with my family for a little while. Maybe in Europe.
33. When there is time learn to become much better at the acoustic guitar and perform for kids. They are the best audience there is.
34. Spend more time with my sister and her family, as I love them.
35. Try to figure out how to improve my relationship with my dad.
36. See the day when Stella recognizes my mom as her bubbie.
37. Invest carefully and with discipline so we are taken care of later in life.
38. Save more on a regular basis.
39. Put more into Stella's college fund.
40. See the Northern Lights with my family.
41. Give back to nature. I have donated to environmental causes throughout my life, but I need to do more on that end. Extinction is truly forever, and if we can't take care to save magnificent animals like tigers what will we preserve?
42. Take Randi and Stella to the Swiss Alps in the summer. Maybe to Gimmelwald, where I stayed when I was 21 and travelling through Europe on my lonesome. It may be the most beautiful place I've ever seen.
43. Go to Strasbourg, France with Randi and Stella. She's talked about it so much that it sounds fantastic to me.
44. Drink real mead. Where, oh where, can I get some?
45. Let my mother in law Judy know how much I appreciate her and care for her.
46. Read more history. How did we get to where we are? I would like to learn more about Lyndon Baines Johnson, for example, and Robert Cairo wrote a three book history on him and his era. I read the first book and it changed my view on American history. I would like to read the other two next.
47. See Les Paul before he heads to the Great Gig In The Sky. He's 94, so time's running out.
48. Become much better at playing my Gibson Les Paul. As it stands I love how it plays but sound pretty bad on it.
49. Play music live again in a band, but I feel like I can wait on this one as I used to gig quite a bit.
50. Make my bed every day, exercise every day and clean my house regularly. I hate mess, flab and roaches, so this works for me.
51. Recognize when I am being neurotic and looking for reasons to be unhappy. I do this a lot. If someone doesn't call me back or email me back quickly I feel I must've have offended them. This is false 99.9% of the time. I have developed a default where I gravitate toward worry and self-criticism even when nothing's going wrong. This is not the right way to live, forever finding reasons to be down about something. It all seems so reasonable at the time, there are always things to do and worry about. But really it's just another emotional crutch disguised as "responsible" thinking. As if being calm and happy is somehow frivolous. I have finally started to recognize that I am doing this, and catching myself in the act. Now I need to become better at cutting these thoughts off. Because, really, being unhappy and neurotic really ain't all that great. You might get a little bit more done, but you'll still be miserable. It takes courage and strength to be happy. I need to get better at it. And the nice part is if I do this everybody wins.

As I read the list above I am struck by how much my goals have changed in the past decade or so. Most of these are not all that "me" focused. I could travel more, of course, but it's not worth it unless I can do it with my family. And nothing on this list really matters if things aren't working right at home. This list is kind of stodgy, I realize, but this is where I am. I hope I can do these things. I am not rich, and never lived my life just for money, but I want us to be comfortable and never be afraid of not having enough. Everyone's definition of comfortable is different, but mine is having Stella never wonder about the future with fear. A great childhood is the best gift a parent can give, not only to their child, but to themselves. I hope I can do that for Stella, Randi and for me. That would be a great birthday present!

--Dave