It’s a Gas!

Hillary2.0 began the first rally of her campaign with a sharp attack on Republicans. “There may be some new voices in the presidential Republican choir,” she said. “But they’re all singing the same old song.”

Would those lyrics be “Dem policies cost too much, cost too much!”?

I drove the east coast last week, right through the heart of red states and blue states.


3-Month Gas Price, US v. San Francisco

The cheapest gas I saw was in South Carolina at $2.339.

Prior to the 1960s, Democrats were “firmly in control of the government of South Carolina at all levels. The state Republican Party was little more than a country club group… [but] from 1964 to present, the Republican Party has gradually gained strength and by the 1990s it became the dominant party of the state.”

It turns out that the Hillary constituency digs deeper at the gas pump than most North Puffin Perspective™ readers. Drivers in Santa Barbara, for example, pay 75 cents more per gallon than drivers in Tulsa, OK. The pattern repeats in all the liberal strongholds from the Left Coast where gas prices are on the wrong side of $3.50 per gallon to New England and the Northeast where $3 per gallon is the rule. The solid Republican regions across the Midwest and South have the nation’s lowest prices, well below $2.50 per gallon.


3-Month Gas Price, Vermont, NY, and South Carolina

On my road trip last week, I paid more for gas in the Peoples’ Republic of Vermont than in the Keys. In fact, I paid more for gas in Vermont than in any other state.

Florida $2.639 (in the Keys)
Georgia $2.459
South Carolina $2.339
Virginia $2.499
Pennsylvania $2.799 at the Sunoco at Davisville Road (I didn’t buy any)
New Jersey $2.429 (the attendant pumped it and washed my windshield)
New York Northway $2.839
Vermont $2.839

Blown away I was when I saw the price at the pump over the bridge in Vermont was exactly the same as the price in New York State. I drove into Vermont on fumes because I refused to pay that New York price.

New York stations have always charged a dime or two more than Vermont stations because New York gas taxes total 62.9 cents per gallon but Vermont gets “only” 48.9 cents per gallon. Now that extra 14 cents is going straight into gouging in an oh-so-very liberal state but that’s another story.

As a general rule of thumb, every penny we save on a gallon of gasoline results in about $1 billion of money that you and I can spend on stuff. That’s not trivial, even when all the 140-ish million U.S. car owners have to split it. Let me do the math for you. A penny puts seven bucks in your pocket if you drive an average number of miles. I get more because my truck gets lousy mileage. A dime at the pump gets us $71 each. A dollar difference at the pump means my road trip from South Puffin to North Puffin cost me $100 less.

One hundred dollars.

So, here’s the $64 question: Why do liberals vote against their own self interest, let alone against yours and mine? I mean does the liberal really like paying more for gasoline and food and doctoring and taxes and Kool Aid™?

 

The Seven Words I Can’t Use Anymore

(And It Makes Me Mad)

Girl.
Boy.
Guys.
Lady.
Gentleman.
Old.
Gay.

Before any impressionable younger (experience-challenged) readers get excited, none of these are the seven words that once upon a time could not be repeated on television. I’m not sure if this is a lament for the natural mutation of language or an ode to a politically correct lexicon. You decide.

There is one other caveat. Correctness is in a terrible state of flux. By the time this column appears, all the words may have changed again. Bomb shelters (underground symbols of the fearful manipulation of other-thinking nations) became swimming pools (environmentally appropriate aquatic exercise centers) a few decades ago. The millenial milestone (measured from a date Before the Current Era) has passed. Today that tumult has turned inward. Today we might hear a gentleman with a conservative agenda called a fossilized futzwuffle by a lady of a liberal persuasion. Does that mean the lady is a tramp? This column may cook my personal goose.

Ed Note: some of the names have been changed
to protect privacy. The street names haven’t.

Gay Lombard was a high school classmate. She lived up to her name: cheerful, engaging, involved in good works. The main intersection in a small Pennsylvania city is the corner of High and Gay. Except the long blue nose of Standards and Practices hasn’t allowed us to get higher since Ed Sullivan presented the Doors.

Gay was once a delightful word but because kindergartners titter, certain congressmen grow red faced, and most others with the mentality of five-year-olds get flustered when they hear it, many of us have forsaken gaiety. That’s a loss to Mr. Penn’s sylvan commonwealth, to Ms. Lombard, and to the language.

Vermont now has two cool “oldies” stations. One, serving the Champlain Valley, doesn’t quite reach our friends in North Puffin, but does play neat car tunes for them whenever they drive south of the county seat. The North Country station hits every hill and valley in the county, giving folks less reason to travel. Oldie in this sense is, of course, merely a statement of chronology that relates solely to the musical era of the baby boomers. My dad thinks oldies means big bands, but we can’t convince any radio magnates of that, so he suffers through the Beatles, and Jerry Lee Lewis, and the Sensations. We who grew up as musically challenged baby boomers enjoy the tunes. No one over the age of five would dream of using the word to describe anything (or anyone) calendar-measurement challenged. Not even my mom who complains whenever I have a birthday.

The oldies station played the O’Kaysions’ I’m a Girl Watcher. One of the songs of the sixties with the usual intricate melody and complex lyrics:

“I’m a girl watcher.
“I’m a girl watcher.
“Watchin’ girls go by.
“My my my.”

Liz Arden scowled at me again recently for describing a colleague as “the tall girl with gray hair.”

My mom always joined the “gals” (her word, not mine) for bridge club. Your dad went out with the boys. Although mine are in their seventies (persuns-of-a-chronologically-advanced-stature), they can’t use those terms either. And the word cop best not catch us calling them oldies.

What to do? I teach a college course most semesters. Since I enlighten male and female students alike, I need an acceptable device showing my thoughtfulness when addressing the entire class. “Girls” obviously fails. “Boy” is perhaps worse. I thought guys might work, as in, “Hey guys. May I have your attention?” Honk! Wrong answer.

They told me Youse guys would be all right if I could fake a Brooklyn accent.

I suppose we could rewrite the song:

“I’m a persun-of-the-XX-chromosome-persuasion
observer, which is not to demean those who
watch persuns-of-the-XY-chromosome-persuasion
or those who don’t watch anybody at all on the
principle that the least eye contact with an
individual’s shadow invades the shadow’s domain.

“I’m a persun-of-the-XX-chromosome-persuasion
observer except for ignoring those persuns
who fear the least shadowy eye contact.

“Watchin’ persuns of any chromosomal variance go by.

“Huh huh huh?”

Do you think that changes the melody, too?

It occurs to me, in these days of political correctivity, that if boys weren’t girl watchers and girls weren’t boy watchers, there would be darned few hupersuns here to watch.


Editor’s Note: This column first appeared in the Burlington Free Press in 1996. I have made only minor updates.

 

Memorial Day

Today is Memorial Day in the United States. The holiday once known as Decoration Day commemorates the men and women who perished under the flag of this country, fighting for what sets our America apart: the freedom to live as we please.

Holiday is a contraction of holy and day; the word originally referred only to special religious days. Here in the U.S. of A. “holiday” means any special day off work or school instead of a normal day off work or school.

The Uniform Holidays Bill which gave us some 38 or 50 Monday shopaholidays moved Memorial Day from its traditional May 30 date to the last Monday in May. Today is not May 30 but perhaps we can shut up and salute anyway.

Editorial cartoon from Pittsburgh Tribune-Review

Lest we forget, the Americans we honor did not “give their lives.” They did not merely perish. They did not just cease living, check out, croak, depart, drop, expire, kick off. kick the bucket, pass away or pass on, pop off, or bite the dust. Their lives were taken from them by force on battlefields around the world. They were killed. Whether you believe they died with honor, whether you believe our cause just, died they did.

Today is not a “free” day off work or school. Today is not the big sale day at the Dollar Store. Today is a day of Honor.

2,312 U.S. men and women have died in Afghanistan since 2001.

More than 665,000 Battle Deaths have occurred since the U.S. was founded.

“All persons present in uniform should render the military salute. Members of the Armed Forces and veterans who are present but not in uniform may render the military salute. All other persons present should face the flag and stand at attention with their right hand over the heart, or if applicable, remove their headdress with their right hand and hold it at the left shoulder, the hand being over the heart. Citizens of other countries present should stand at attention. All such conduct toward the flag in a moving column should be rendered at the moment the flag passes.”

The American flag today should first be raised to the top of the flagpole for a moment, then lowered to the half-staff position where it will remain until Noon. The flag should be raised to the peak at Noon for the remainder of Memorial Day.

150 Years since the Civil War Ended
The National Moment of Remembrance, established by the 106th Congress in 2000, “asks” Americans, wherever they are on Memorial Day, to pause in an act of national unity for a duration of one minute. Public Law 106-579 states that “the National Moment of Remembrance is to be practiced by all Americans throughout the nation at 3 p.m. local time.”

There are those in this country who would use today to legislate the man out of the fight. They can do that but the men and women we honor today knew you cannot legislate the fight out of the man. They have fought and they have died to protect us from those who would kill us. And perhaps to protect us from those who would sell out our birthright.

There is no end to the mutts who would kill our men and women in uniform even faster than they would kill their own. If I had but one wish granted on this day, I wish not another soldier dies. Ever. But die they did around the world again this year and die they will. For us. For me.

Because those men and women died, I get to write these words again this year. And you get to read them. You get to rail about Islam or Presbyterianism or Frisbeeism without fear of the government. And I get to read it. Please pause and reflect as you go to a concert, stop at an artist’s studio, grill a burger, or simply read a book in the sunshine the price we pay to keep our right to do those things. Remember a soldier who died in combat today. Thank a living soldier today. And then do it again tomorrow.


Editor’s Note: This column is slightly updated from one that first appeared in 2008.

 

65 Cents Lost

I found 65 cents on the road this morning. Since that’s a nickle more than I made in an hour on my first job, I was aghast.

Marlboro Reds
This poor, abandoned pack of smokes fell out of someone’s pocket to be run over by at least one small truck.

I always hated it when the pack fell out of my shirt pocket but I hated it even more when it was my Zippo lighter and I was on the boat. If you find a 40-year old Zippo in the grassy bottom at the bend of the Chester River at Devils Reach off what used to be a corn field, it’s mine. It will probably still work.

Regular readers may recall that I quit smoking for my birthday in 1976, in large part because it had gotten so expensive. I smoked Between the Acts, a little cigarette-shaped nicotine delivery device (NDD) made with cigar tobacco. It was a convenient package because one could smoke an entire “cigar” during a short intermission. I liked the taste and the fact that they cost only 35 cents per pack because cigars weren’t subject to the same taxes as cigarettes.

Minimum wage was $2.30/hour in 1976 except for farm workers. Farmers reached parity with nonfarm workers in 1977 but anyone “working for tips” such as restaurant staff and theater ushers remain uncovered by minimum wage laws.

Marlboros (we didn’t have to call them “Reds” in 1976), jumped to $5/carton that year on state taxes and the state legislature planned to add the taxes to cigars like mine.

Minimum wage smokers then had to work about two-and-a-half hours, after deductions for Social Security and a dime of income tax, to buy a whole carton of cigs.

I called the local drug store this morning. That single pack of Marlboros cost $6.03 plus state and local sales taxes for a total price of $6.48 here today. Embedded in the price (and therefore doubly taxed) is $1.339 per pack in excise taxes. In 2013, the same pack of smokes cost $6.00 here in Florida, down 5% from $6.29 in 2012. Last summer, Florida prices came back up 5% to $6.30. We won’t even talk about New York where that same pack would cost you $12.85 or more.

All told, that’s $65 per carton here today.

Every year, the Awl “checks the prices of cigarettes in all fifty legally recognized states of this fair Union.” Founded in 2009, the Awl publishes “the curios and oddities” of the Internet.

The 2015 minimum wage in Florida is $8.05 per hour, with a minimum of at least $5.03 per hour for tipped employees. Plus tips.

Minimum wage smokers today need to work about ten hours or a quarter of a work week, after an 89 cent deduction for Social Security and Medicare and another half a buck of income tax, to buy a carton of cigs.

So I have to wonder, How does anyone afford to smoke, let alone to lose, cigarettes?

 

Perp Walk

Back in the days that our kids were still in school, I got roped into helping to found and run the North Puffin Parent Target School Development group (fortunately both kids were graduated and have gone on to live happy and productive lives with only the slightest of tics) and the Mooselookmeguntic Rural Health Center.

Northern Vermont was rural and underserved in telecommunications, in the arts, and in medicine three or four decades ago. RHCs answered part of that by staffing small, local storefronts with a team that usually included a nurse practitioner or physician assistant, and often a nurse-midwife, and a physician to supervise the mid-level practitioners.

Our acute care regional hospital provided the expertise and the towns found grant money to found the Mooselookmeguntic Center. We provided outpatient primary care services and basic lab work on site but the hospital was close enough to transfer patients or samples easily. RHCs qualify for Medicare and Medicaid reimbursement.

I got to know an osteopath, Ned Mitchell, when he was a young doc at a clinic in one of the neighboring towns. He subbed for us at the Mooselookmeguntic Center as well as volunteering in sports medicine for a hockey team that played in the North Puffin Arena.

Nice fellow. And unusual for an osteopath these days since he still practiced bone crunching.

“I crunch,” Dr. Mitchell told me, “to restore movement to the stiff joints of the spine.” Manipulation is becoming something of a lost technique as more and more docs move to ultrasound and other gadgets that let them avoid touching a patient.

“I need to touch,” he said. “That connection often tells me more than a normal patient interview.”

As Gregory House liked to remind us, “patients lie.”

Ned wasn’t “our” doc because his practice and clinic was a couple of towns over but he has laid hands on my back more than a couple of times and managed to keep me standing upright. At least he did until the cops perp walked him out of the Arena in front of the TV cameras one cold, snowy afternoon.

It was a divisional championship game between the fierce rival North Puffin Hawks and the South Burlington Rangers. Ned was subbing again as team doc for the Hawks.

Channel 3, the local CBS affiliate, was on site broadcasting the game.

Justin Dupuis had just scored his second goal. That tied the game.

Three Vermont State Police cars and two Sheriff’s deputies rushed the parking lot. The deputies covered the western exits to the arena. Two troopers took positions at the south and north corners of the building. Four more troopers moved into the arena and onto the ice.

The game stopped.

The troopers located Ned on the home bench. They forced him to the ice, searched him, handcuffed him, and walked him out.

This isn’t a story about priests or boy scout leaders or teachers diddling kids.

Page 1, Above the Fold.
Physician Arrested
PUFFIN CENTER (UPI)–Edward G. Mitchell, D.O., a 35-year-old physician in Vermont, has been arrested for allegedly instructing students to cut and burn themselves to get rid of demons.
Mitchell faces charges of aggravated child abuse and child abuse.
One teenaged student suffered second-degree burns. “Dr. Mitchell told me to spray deodorant on my hand and light it on fire,” he said in an affidavit released by the Vermont State Police. Mitchell allegedly also cut that student with a broken bottle and cauterized the wound with a key he heated up with a flame.
Authorities were alerted after one of the hockey teens told his parents.
Mitchell is being held on $50,000 bail and has been put on unpaid suspension from his Rural Health Center clinic.

The hospital released this statement: “Edward G. Mitchell is a physician in our Rural Health Center system and has privileges in this hospital. He has our full support but has been put on leave per hospital policy.”

Page 1, Above the Fold.
New Charges Against Physician
PUFFIN CENTER (UPI)–Edward G. Mitchell, D.O., the 35-year-old physician in Vermont arrested for allegedly performing cutting and burning rituals on students, has been arrested again.
“Our continuing investigation shows that Mitchell was allegedly selling and employing hockey players to help sell, prescription drugs around the sports centers” according to a Vermont State Police statement.
Mitchell was housed in the Northwest State Correctional Facility in lieu of $100,000 bond.
“I’m okay,” the 17-year-old teen forced to participate in the sales and the ritual burning told the Gazette. “I’m fine. All I know is he’s in custody.”

The hospital released this statement: “Edward G. Mitchell was a physician at the East Puffin Rural Health Center from June 1980 through May 1986 and had privileges in this hospital. His contract was not renewed effective the end of May 1986.”

Page 12, Section 2.
Charges Against Physician Dropped
PUFFIN CENTER (UPI)—Edward G. Mitchell, D.O., the 35-year-old physician in Vermont charged with felony drug possession, drug dealing, pandering, theft of services, and performing rituals on students, has been released.
“The student recanted his statement,” according to the Vermont State Police.
That former student, now 19, told police he was angry with Dr. Mitchell for benching him for drug use during a playoff.
“The Centers for Medicare Services Inspector General’s Office performed a complete audit of the prescription medication inventory and of the complete financial books of the clinic and of his private practice,” a CMS spokesman said. “We found no discrepancies.”

After his release, Ned Mitchell, D.O., moved to open a new practice “far from the rumor mill.” He accepted a post in the Emergency Department at a small hospital in rural western Maryland.

Someone uncovered the page 1 stories.

In December of 1989, Dr. Mitchell’s new posting in Maryland told reporters, “The employee has been terminated. As termination is a personnel matter, we will not make any further comment.”

Ned Mitchell, D.O., is now working as a commercial fisherman, catching sockeye salmon, Bering Sea crab and pollock, in Alaska.

And I have no one to keep me straight, all because some kid lied and the system ran with it.