FEUDALISM: You have two cows. Your lord takes some of the milk.
PURE SOCIALISM: You have two cows. The government takes them and puts them in a barn with everyone else's cows. You have to take care of all of the cows. The government gives you as much milk as you need.
BUREAUCRATIC SOCIALISM: You have two cows. The government takes them and put them in a barn with everyone else's cows. They are cared for by ex-chicken farmers. You have to take care of the chickens the government took from the chicken farmers. The government gives you as much milk and eggs as the regulations say you need.
FASCISM: You have two cows. The government takes both, hires you to take care of them and sells you the milk.
PURE COMMUNISM: You have two cows. Your neighbors help you take care of them, and you all share the milk.
RUSSIAN COMMUNISM: You have two cows. You have to take care of them, but the government takes all the milk.
CAMBODIAN COMMUNISM: You have two cows. The government takes both of them and shoots you.
DICTATORSHIP: You have two cows. The government takes both and drafts you.
PURE DEMOCRACY: You have two cows. Your neighbors decide who gets the milk.
REPRESENTATIVE DEMOCRACY: You have two cows. Your neighbors pick someone to tell you who gets the milk.
BUREAUCRACY: You have two cows. At first the government regulates what you can feed them and when you can milk them. Then it pays you not to milk them. Then it takes both, shoots one, milks the other and pours the milk down the drain. Then it requires you to fill out forms accounting for the missing cows.
PURE ANARCHY: You have two cows. Either you sell the milk at a fair price or your neighbors try to take the cows and kill you.
LIBERTARIAN/ANARCHO-CAPITALISM: You have two cows. You sell one and buy a bull.
SURREALISM: You have two giraffes. The government requires you to take harmonica lessons.
(Original source unknown)
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
"Healthcare system not to be improved in the near future...or ever'
Although I'm an advocate for our president, Barack Obama, I believe that a universal health care plan will not work...or happen in the near future. Although I would love to see restrictions put on medical practitioners, I think there will no compromise between government and the health care system in the end. Canada offers their citizens a universal health care program and the United States does not. Most people claim that they "pay outrageous amounts of taxes" and "that's why we are better off with a free reign." This is not completely true. A single citizen pays 31.6% tax in Canada whereas in the United States we pay about 29.1% in taxes. As a married citizen with two children you will pay approximately 21.5% in taxes and 11.9% here in the United States. In Indiana sales tax is 8%; in Canada the most expensive sales tax region is 15.25% on Prince Edward Island. Sure, this is higher than we currently pay, but are the extra few percentage points worth it?
I hear others discussing how the poor are taking advantage of the middle class for their use of health care assistance programs. Though they are already fortunate to have health care from their parent's place of work or other means, no one considers the other side of the spectrum. For most of my life I have lived without health care and have had to bear the costs of getting any medical attention. Instead of the $20 co-pay that most have, we have to pay the full amount. You're sick and need medication before it's serious? That'll be $100. Medicine? Forget a $10 generic prescription, because now it's $30. Not only do you feel horrible because of the ailment you got from someone, but you are now down $130 because you cannot afford in the first place because of the situation you or your parents are in being in and out of jobs.
This past year I have been to the doctor way too many times to count. I have had these horrific sores growing about my mouth for the past years and it got serious. I saw a couple of specialist doctors, of which the horrible insurance we DID have, rejected to pay. Not only do I now owe over $500 in doctor visits, but I owe another $2,000 for having a fancy camera go down my throat while passed out so that I could get some sweet body shots of my esophagus (usually called a endoscopy). The lady then told me I had to take Aciphex, which is a acid-reflux medicine that costs $200 a month without insurance. Do I suffer or live in debt instead?
A friend of mine was diagnosed with Celiac Disease, which means she is allergic to gluten. She also has allergies to quite a few things and takes various other over-the-counter medicines. Every inhaler she pays for is over $100 a month, and that's not even including any of the allergy medicines or over-the-counter goods.
So, if universal health care is not the answer, what is? Do we set government regulation on practicing doctors or do we let them continue raking in ridiculous amounts of profit in the hands of the underprivileged. Don't even get me started on health care financial assistance... I've applied this year in February and haven't heard anything since.
I hear others discussing how the poor are taking advantage of the middle class for their use of health care assistance programs. Though they are already fortunate to have health care from their parent's place of work or other means, no one considers the other side of the spectrum. For most of my life I have lived without health care and have had to bear the costs of getting any medical attention. Instead of the $20 co-pay that most have, we have to pay the full amount. You're sick and need medication before it's serious? That'll be $100. Medicine? Forget a $10 generic prescription, because now it's $30. Not only do you feel horrible because of the ailment you got from someone, but you are now down $130 because you cannot afford in the first place because of the situation you or your parents are in being in and out of jobs.
This past year I have been to the doctor way too many times to count. I have had these horrific sores growing about my mouth for the past years and it got serious. I saw a couple of specialist doctors, of which the horrible insurance we DID have, rejected to pay. Not only do I now owe over $500 in doctor visits, but I owe another $2,000 for having a fancy camera go down my throat while passed out so that I could get some sweet body shots of my esophagus (usually called a endoscopy). The lady then told me I had to take Aciphex, which is a acid-reflux medicine that costs $200 a month without insurance. Do I suffer or live in debt instead?
A friend of mine was diagnosed with Celiac Disease, which means she is allergic to gluten. She also has allergies to quite a few things and takes various other over-the-counter medicines. Every inhaler she pays for is over $100 a month, and that's not even including any of the allergy medicines or over-the-counter goods.
So, if universal health care is not the answer, what is? Do we set government regulation on practicing doctors or do we let them continue raking in ridiculous amounts of profit in the hands of the underprivileged. Don't even get me started on health care financial assistance... I've applied this year in February and haven't heard anything since.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
The meeting house
The house was warm and cozy, sort of like a snow day with the heat on full-blast. Grandma’s house was so welcoming, as if it were a meetinghouse for the family; the smell of freshly baked cookies, hugs and kisses, and not forgetting the toys, too. Upon visiting, I could feel the warmness and comfort and acceptance my family gave off. Oh, how I always looked forward to Sundays at Grandma’s.
Grandma’s house was an escape; a trip down 3rd Street, one of the last brick roads that remain intact in Fort Wayne. Her house was one of those houses downtown without a garage—but instead, rather, an alley-way. In the front of the house Evergreens dominated the porch with their bristles littering the rustic swing of the porch. Inside of the house flaunted antique dressers, an old record player the size of Texas, and a weathered davenport—as Grandma used to call it.
Grandma Josephine—shortened to Grandma Jo—was one of my favorite grandparents; she was caring and wasn’t the stereotypical mean elder seen in the movies. Always wearing her flowered blouses, reading her TV Guide magazine and baking, she brought our family together for one day of the week to spend time with each other and catch-up in between our busy lives. Every weekend I found myself playing with my two cousins, whether it was house, building a fort, or running around outside tagging each other. Our mothers worried, crying, “Don’t you go anywhere near that street you three, you’ll get killed!” We always listened.
Our family was pretty big; Jo had three sons and three daughters, and plenty of grandchildren to go around. I never got the chance to meet my grandfather, as he passed away about two months before I was born. My grandfather had built the house from the bottom up. He was a pretty clever man, interested in radios and trains—he made a living working for General Electric and invented new technologies for our constantly innovating world.
Grandma Jo’s house seemed really magical. My cousins and I would peek into drawers and rooms we thought looked mysterious, only to be amazed at what we found. What we found was treasure to us; whether it be in picture form or army gear from my grandfather serving in World War II. Oh, how we believed we were pirates.
My favorite part of the house was the basement. Filled with all kinds of memories and antiques, it always kept me amazed. My grandfather showed an interest in trains and had a large train track set up in the basement of the house with tons of train cars and small model homes—even a model McDonald’s. Whenever I went over to Jo’s, I would ask Uncle Jeff to help me set up the trains. This was probably one of my favorite childhood memories, because I liked to pretend I was the conductor when moving the many controls.
I am not sure why, but Grandparents seem to have the most entertaining stories; ranging from my crazy aunts and uncles or my mother’s childhood. She told me about how my mother’s Aunt Sammy gave haircuts to all of my aunts and uncles. The best part was finding an old picture of my mother in a spare bedroom upstairs from when she was in the fifth grade; she looked almost exactly like me as a child—buzz cut and all. Oh, how I felt bad for my mother and the dreadful Aunt Sammy haircuts.
Not even a block away stood Most Precious Blood Catholic School, the elementary school my mother, aunts, and uncles all attended. In the summer we played on the playground for hours and hours and went to the school’s carnival. With all types of fun things to do, my cousins and I would spend hours winning prizes, teddy bears, and even catching a few handfuls of cotton candy. At the end of the night, my two closest cousins and I would spend the night at Grandma’s house; she would make us bacon and eggs in the morning to fill our bellies. And that was why I loved Grandma’s house.
Grandma’s house was an escape; a trip down 3rd Street, one of the last brick roads that remain intact in Fort Wayne. Her house was one of those houses downtown without a garage—but instead, rather, an alley-way. In the front of the house Evergreens dominated the porch with their bristles littering the rustic swing of the porch. Inside of the house flaunted antique dressers, an old record player the size of Texas, and a weathered davenport—as Grandma used to call it.
Grandma Josephine—shortened to Grandma Jo—was one of my favorite grandparents; she was caring and wasn’t the stereotypical mean elder seen in the movies. Always wearing her flowered blouses, reading her TV Guide magazine and baking, she brought our family together for one day of the week to spend time with each other and catch-up in between our busy lives. Every weekend I found myself playing with my two cousins, whether it was house, building a fort, or running around outside tagging each other. Our mothers worried, crying, “Don’t you go anywhere near that street you three, you’ll get killed!” We always listened.
Our family was pretty big; Jo had three sons and three daughters, and plenty of grandchildren to go around. I never got the chance to meet my grandfather, as he passed away about two months before I was born. My grandfather had built the house from the bottom up. He was a pretty clever man, interested in radios and trains—he made a living working for General Electric and invented new technologies for our constantly innovating world.
Grandma Jo’s house seemed really magical. My cousins and I would peek into drawers and rooms we thought looked mysterious, only to be amazed at what we found. What we found was treasure to us; whether it be in picture form or army gear from my grandfather serving in World War II. Oh, how we believed we were pirates.
My favorite part of the house was the basement. Filled with all kinds of memories and antiques, it always kept me amazed. My grandfather showed an interest in trains and had a large train track set up in the basement of the house with tons of train cars and small model homes—even a model McDonald’s. Whenever I went over to Jo’s, I would ask Uncle Jeff to help me set up the trains. This was probably one of my favorite childhood memories, because I liked to pretend I was the conductor when moving the many controls.
I am not sure why, but Grandparents seem to have the most entertaining stories; ranging from my crazy aunts and uncles or my mother’s childhood. She told me about how my mother’s Aunt Sammy gave haircuts to all of my aunts and uncles. The best part was finding an old picture of my mother in a spare bedroom upstairs from when she was in the fifth grade; she looked almost exactly like me as a child—buzz cut and all. Oh, how I felt bad for my mother and the dreadful Aunt Sammy haircuts.
Not even a block away stood Most Precious Blood Catholic School, the elementary school my mother, aunts, and uncles all attended. In the summer we played on the playground for hours and hours and went to the school’s carnival. With all types of fun things to do, my cousins and I would spend hours winning prizes, teddy bears, and even catching a few handfuls of cotton candy. At the end of the night, my two closest cousins and I would spend the night at Grandma’s house; she would make us bacon and eggs in the morning to fill our bellies. And that was why I loved Grandma’s house.
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