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David Mitchell

Joe,

As you know, there are so many tax loopholes in just real estate alone that could be adjusted (not even completely eliminated) to drastically narrow the deficit. But they are considered sacred by our congress, (and their influencers) who I am certain have magnificent benefits from threir Real Estate investments. Benefits that working people cannot receive because they have no wealth to invest in the first place.

Mortgage Interest deductions, "Asset Depreciation" methods ("straight line", "double declining balance", etc.), and Capital Gains rates are areas I learned a great deal about in my 4-year BSBA in Real Estate Development. I was fascinated by those concepts and the positive math they provided. I "sold" those convepts to buyers and investors for years before it occured to me that they were contributing in a huge way toward aiding the wealthy in ther efforts to avoid taxation.

I suspect these areas of tax codes are so confusing and boring to the average person, that most peple simply don't try to grasp them and choose to leave it tot the "experts". 

I am not against some incentives, but I believe some gradual adjustments could go a long way towards narrowing the budget deficit.

Added later - - I beleive the new trend of "Private Equity" owning single family homes for rent should not be allowed. It is having a horrific effect on stable residential neighborhoods and adding pressure on buyers who already cannot afford housing.

Daniel Brown

Joe,
 

if this format had a "thumbs up" icon, you would have received two of them from me. Consider it done anyway.

John Jackson

Add my thumbs up to the last four posts.  

The U.S. is by far the wealthiest big country in the world  (although there are a few tiny countries that are tax havens that are wealthier per capita than we are).  Trump justifies his tariffs because he claims other countries are getting rich at our expense but, like virtually everything he says, that's a lie. Twenty years ago U.S. GDP per capita was on average 20% above Canada, Europe, and other advanced nations.  Today the gap has widened and our GDP per capita is 40% higher.  Our economy is pulling away from the economies of other advanced nations.

I won't argue that we've gotten rich by exploiting other countries (the opposite of Trump's argument).  But the reason why so many working class and middle income people are struggling is that the incredible wealth our highly productive economy generates is increasingly concentrated in the upper 5%.

Capitalism is by far the most efficient economic system but, left unchecked, it creates huge wealth imbalances (like we see today in the U.S.).  These imbalances undermine our democratic system and lead to the kind of political instability we see today where charlatans like Trump (aided by the emerging class of tech and other oligarchs who support and bribe him by investing in his family's crypto and other schemes)  gain power and wealth by appealing to and exploiting the legitimate grievances of those who are losing out. 

John Maxwell

David Mitchell

It would seem that this is a week when food is on our minds.

This "food story" comes to mind.

14 - JIM LOVES HIS TUNA FISH  

 One of my good buddies, and my eventual platoon leader was a guy named Jim. He was a first Lieutenant on arrival, but by this time he was a Captain, and I often flew his “wing”. We were a good team. He happened to be a very tiny, skinny guy, but with a huge appetite. The lunches we ate in the field (those days on which we were flying and away from our “Mess Hall”) were the legendary “C-rations”, most of which weren’t very good. Some of us went to great lengths to acquire other food sources for our flying days. I personally had acquired two cases of individual cans of VanCamp’s Beenee Weenee’s that I lucked into on my one and only visit to the tiny PX at Soc Trang - a smaller, quieter base where I went to take one of my semi-annual “check rides” (a sort of pilot proficiency exam).

 Jim had acquired a large stash of his favorite - canned tuna - probably in a care package from home. He would take not just one, but two or three cans of tuna in his Loach on days he was flying. And we all had our trusty “P-38” folding can openers on our dog tag chains. We Scout pilots stuffed our “C-rats”, or whatever meal we had, in a space down beyond our anti-torque pedals and at the bottom of the cockpit “bubble” in the front of the ship. You could actually see it through the plexiglass from the outside front of the cockpit better than from the inside.   

It was a day we were working way south, out of Vi Thanh (“vee taun”) - a place where we often ran into trouble. I was flying Jim’s “wing”, and we were slowly weaving our way along a small canal with the typical thin wood line along side of it, so we were up at about 25 feet. We came to another canal and tree line intersecting this canal, and Jim made a hard banking right turn and I followed him along the new canal line. As soon as I made the turn, I had this immediate sense of something or someone beneath us and called out to Jim, “One six, I think we’ve got some people down here.” Not that I could actually see anyone - just a sense of their presence. (A common feeling after we became more experienced). Maybe it was the sight of a few fresh cut "Nipa Palm” leaves (camouflage) - I don’t recall exactly.

I had barely finished speaking when Jim calls out “Receiving Fire, Receiving Fire”! He abruptly banked his ship away to his right and I laid down a quick burst of cover fire underneath him with my mini gun. Then I pulled away hard in the opposite direction. 

Then followed a bit of radio silence, and I could not see Jim’s ship anywhere. I flew a quick, tight circle to get a good look around in all directions and still could not see him. I thought he’d been shot down, but where?  I called out for him, “One-six, One-six - this is One-three. Where are you One-six?”  No response.

Then our AMC, Major Rittenhouse called out, “Oooone-Six,,,, Oooone-Six, this is Six, Where are you One-Six?”  No response, another pause, and then again, “Comanche One-Six, this is Comanche Six - C’mon back buddy.”   Another long silence.

Finally, I caught sight of Jim’s ship. He was several hundred yards out and circling up at about fifty feet of altitude. And he finally responded to the Major’s call.

“Comanche Six, this is One-Six. We took a couple hits in our bubble and have some visibility problems,”  Another pause - “We have tuna fish splattered all over the inside of the cockpit and a clump of it on my visor”.  He had taken a direct hit right through several of his cans of Tuna and they had splattered everywhere in his cockpit.

For about a second, Major Rittenhouse had his microphone open, and you could hear just a moment of his hysterical laughter over the air. And I started to laugh out loud myself. We all headed back to Vi Thanh to switch teams and let Jim assess the damage and clean up his cockpit. There were several large clumps of tuna on the inside of his plexiglass bubble, along with some larger spots of smeared fish oil. With a bit of cleanup, his ship was still flyable. The bubble would later be replaced back home by our maintenance guys.

We teased Jim about it for weeks afterwards. I seem to recall someone even suggesting he might be safer if he switch to canned salmon. 

The dreaded "C-Rations"

And the legendary P-38 (can opener). One of the mankind's greatest inventions!

Michael McLeod

Dave: your combat rations reference made me sentimental, weird as that may sound.

it reminded me of the most ingenious device I remember from all of the various bivouc and combat thingamabobs that you encounter in the army -- not that I was out in the field much after basic training.

Yeah sure the m16 was a thing of beauty and amazing in its light weight and soft recoil -- but i was more impressed by the tiny but mighty p-38 can opener -- that squirrely little ingeniuous thingamajig the size of a dime that you could use to open up c-ration cans.

greatest invention evar. and man were you outta luck if you were in the bush without it.

Michael McLeod

Happy National Bavarian Creme Pie Day, everybody!

I'm not joking. You can look it up.

James Hamilton, M. D.

Jack M.

This article appeared on the front page of today's Colorado Springs Gazette newspaper. I guess even the editors didn't catch the error of calling this rafter of turkeys a "flock" 🙄!

(And no, I did not take this photo.)

Jim

Joseph D. McCarthy

For those who haven't heard about one firms attempt to keep cents in use.

Sure hope they didn't break any rules.

Michael McLeod

I recommend a book by Dick van Dyke :"Living to 100" - it details his cheerful strategy for doing so. 

Michael McLeod

I have a friend named "santa."

The friend is not a fat ho ho guy. This friend is a she. A rather funny and attractive she who did the layouts for the magazine I wrote for. 

Her dad gave her the name - he must have been quite a character. 

I've gotten so accustomed to her name that I forget how odd it is and I'll mention her in casual conversation and people will give me looks and I'll have to explain that no I'm not nuts. 

I think her dad was. But she's quite a success and a lovely lady.

Anyway I just had an odd moment when I absent mindedly told my cell to call santa and it hooked me up to some weird holiday line.

David Mitchell

Go Bucks!

Michael McLeod

So I am eating a frozen-food breakfast burrito and realizing I can hardly taste anything and wondering if it is because I am old and my taste buds have crapped out on me or if the frozen food burritos are just second rate.

James Hamilton, M. D.

Mike McL.,

It is true that as we age our taste buds suffer in their numbers and efficiency thus affecting how our foods taste to us. That sometimes may cause certain individuals to use more spices on their foods, including salt which is a substance that is often not a good thing for many people, especially seniors and people with various medical conditions, to be increasing.

Ain't aging fun 😭!

Jim

Mark Schweickart

Mike-- Being the writer and wordsmith that you are, you could start by spelling "joie" correctly.

Mark the snark. 

Michael McLeod

As I sit here typing on my roll-top desk if I look up and to my right I see a prized possession:  a six-inch-tall plaster bobblehead statue of Woody Hayes that I've had for years and years, going back to when I still lived in Columbus.

He's standing with his arms folded across his chest, a resolute expression on his face, wearing a baseball cap, brown pants, a white, short-sleeved shirt and a grey and red striped tie.

I met him briefly; i forget exactly where, decades ago when I was a young man, in my late twenties or so I'm thinking, and still living in Columbus. I was with my mom. It was a public place, outside a store of some sort, but it was not too crowded and nobody was making a big fuss over him. But I mustered up my courage and I walked up to him and said "I just want to shake your hand," as I did. He wasn't at all surprised or put off by my boldness and was quite at ease and friendly about the whole thing.

I had said to my mother, before I mustered up the courage to approach him:  "I'd rather meet him than the pope." 

As he and I shook hands, my mother came up and spoke to him. 

Mom said to Woody: "This is my son, Michael. And he said he'd rather meet you than the pope." And Woody just grinned and said to her, by way of explanation:

"Well, the pope doesn't have a football team." 

It's one of the most treasured memories of my life.

His steadiness, his quiet, behind-the-scenes literary obsession, his down-home gracefulness: yeah he was a football coach, but there was something beyond that, a presence that was more professorial than macho, a depth and folksy solidity to the man that was a significant influence on me, as inspiring and motivational as any hotshot professor or bigshot editor or successful writer I envied and tried to emulate. Even had I not met him face to face Woody influenced me, as he influenced who knows how many young men -- and, I wouldn't be surprised, a few women in the crowd. That meeting is a favorite memory in my life that shifted me somehow, solidified me somehow. And I do not think I am the only one who found a source of lifelong inspiration, extending far beyond Ohio Stadium's yard markets, in that gruff, growly guy who paced the sidelines in short-sleeved white shirts despite the cold winds that blustered through Ohio Stadium as if to say: "g'head. I can take it. I can take anything you throw at me -- and fling it right back atcha."

David Mitchell

Mike,

I have been thinking about Woody lately in all this news about coaches changing schools for bigger paychecks (or being fired - still with mamouth paychecks). If I recall correctly, Woody's salary was about $30,000 a year. He was also on the faculty as a History teacher - one of the more popular classes in the department. 

And when he was invited to be a guest speaker, he would receive a small check for his appearance -often in the range of $1,000. He would ask what the local charity was, then endorse the check, and give it back to the hosts to donate to that charity. (slightly different than Lane Kiffin)

My dad, aslo a faculty member in those days, crossed paths with him a few times.

NOTE: But Woody wore brown pants at the games.

David Mitchell

Mike,

I have something in common with Woody (sort of).  

For 4 years - about 1998 to 2001(before I moved to SC) - I got to be a guest speaker at an Ohio State history class. It was the sophomore class "Vietnam War" at the time, the largest class in the department - about 200+ kids in a large old theater style classroom taught by the late Dr. John (Joe) Guilmartin - himself an Air Force "Jolly Green" helicopter pilot based in Thailand. His mission was to fly into Cambodia, Laos, and southern portions of North Vietnam to rescue downed American pilots. He has authored a number of history books - not all on Vietnam.

It was quite a rewarding experience - from a rather chance meeting. I was pulling into a parking lot in Linwortth one day to dump a bunch of recycled cans. I would have been the only car in the parking lot except for a car following right behind me. I got out, worried that he was after me for some threatening reason, and he pops out - yelling "Is that your bumper sticker" ("Vietnam Helicopter Pilot's Association")?

I responded, "Uh,,, oh Yeah" and he walks up to me and says, "I'm professor Joe Guilmartin of the Ohio State History department. I teach a class on the Vietnam War and would like you to come and speak in front of my class."  I did for one day each of the next four years.

Over that time, we formed an interesting friendship and I learned some bizarre facts about Vietnam and Vietnam Veterans. He shared with me about some (would be) Vietnam Veterans who were complete fakes - claiming Vietnam experiences that were completley false and made-up. He had one speak to his claas one time and grew more and more suspicious as the guy told his story. Joe decided he would ask some qustions that would prove his authenticty - or lack therof. The guy was lying through his teeth and Joe knew it. At the end of the class, Joe went up on stage with the guy and confronted him with his lies. Then he told the guy never to come back.

This was rather touching for me because I didn't include any slides on my first visit. But over the next few years when I did, Joe was quick to explain how comforting it was to know that I wasn't making it all up. A book "Stolen Valor" deals with this subject in depth (so I am told - haven't read it myself)

Joseph D. McCarthy

As long as you are talking Football.  I just wanted to share one picture of a former OSU football coach.  Oh, and it includes Gloria (Ganz) McCarthy my ex-sister-in-law.

James Hamilton, M. D.

Winter Finally Found Us

First good snow of the winter took it's time arriving this year but brought about 6-8 inches to our neighborhood yesterday. Unable to as of yet shovel it due to my post-op status, I hired a teenage girl who was going around the neighborhood earning a few bucks with her snow shovel to do the job. 

Typical of the post snowstorm Colorado morning is that gorgeous blue sky and sunshine that will make short work of all that remains of yesterday's storm.

Jim

Mark Schweickart

Jim -- Nice photo, but it makes me wonder how you took this. Standing on someone's shoulders, drone shot, up on a ladder, who knows? 

James Hamilton, M. D.

Mark,

Good photographer's eye and curiosity! 

Back in 1994-95 we built a 2 story addition on the back of our home which made it "L" shaped. Since it was placed where our original deck was, we also built the new deck that is on the top floor as seen in the photo. A window on the second floor of that addition allows a good view of that deck and faces west. That is the window through which I took the photo.

Jim

James Hamilton, M. D.

Mark,

One more comment:

To me, the mark of a good photographer, and one who can evaluate other's photos, is a person who analyzes the picture in their minds as to how a photograph was framed, from what angle it was taken, what elements in the picture emphasize the reason for the shot and try to imagine what the photographer wanted to convey to the viewer. 

You fit these very well and I really appreciate your input! Thanks for your comments!

Jim

Michael McLeod

Thanks for the correction, dave. I changed it. 

David Mitchell

12th Man

Many of you have probably agonized over the specail significance of the "12th man" on a basketball team - or probably not.

Why 12, you ask?

I learned the reason for this through personal obseration in our sophomore year in those hallowed halls at 99 East Cooke Road. By some inexplicable stroke of luck I was allowed to be that person on our Junior Varsity basketball team. (I did not make the freshman team). Actually, it could be argued that Tom Dodsworth also held that title with me. I'm reasonably certain he would agree and that we both shared the honor (therefor making each of us number 11.5 - but let's not quibble over the half point digit.)

When we held practice in the gym, we always spent part of the time in a full-court scrimage - pittting two full squads of five against each other. Tom and I were the two on the sidelines, watching our buddies. We sometimes got a few minutes on the floor on one of the two sides. But more importantly, there were days when one of the first ten were missing due to illness. One of us then became a "starter" on one of the teams on the floor. And there were days when two were absent, so we both got to play as "starters". In fact, there was a day or two when three of us were out sick, and that brought on a special sub for the scrimage - Coach Mentel himself. I cannot recall a time when we were ever four short of team members.

 But what about actual games, you may ask?  Well, even if you don't ask, I'm going to tell you.

Tom D. and I enjoyed a special priveledge. We sat at the end of the "bench" - where 12th men belonged. And we remained there throughout the games - unless we got waaay ahead - or waaay behind. (then we got put in the game) We watched the game - some of the time - commenting on the game and critiquing our fellow teammates. But our minds wandered and sometimes the conversation drifted toward the crowd in the bleachers.

But one of our favorite subjects were our own cheerleaders - most of whom we thought were well worth commenting on. Our cheerleaders had a cheer for us when we went to the foul line to shoot "free thrrows". The chant ended something like "sink it Bob (or Tom, or Steve) - sink it."

One memorable night I was at the foul line and I heard one of the freshman cheeleaders yell to the other cheerleaders, "what's his first name?". Standing at the foul line, I could hear this, and I burst out laughing right there at the foul line. Then came their cheer - "Sink it Mitchell - sink it!"

Being a "twelfth man doesn't get you much name recognition.

#33 and #43 (below) were the guys to root for. Our 11th and 12th man.

(if your mising Jim Hamilton or Gene Rodgersc - they were photographed with the Varsity that year)