How Much Is Enough?

Living in an 872 square foot condo, you begin to realize that you have to do without some things. There just isn't room to have "regular dishes" and "good dishes". There just isn't room to buy everything in bulk. There just isn't room to keep bringing home stuff.

This past weekend, Paul and I were eating in a sandwich shop and found this quote on the wall. It really made me think. I have edited it slightly. I hope you enjoy it.

* * * * The Story of the Mexican Fisherman* * * *

An American investment banker was at the pier of a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the small boat were several large yellowfin tuna. The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them. The Mexican replied, ‘only a little while.’

The American then asked why didn’t he stay out longer and catch more fish?

The Mexican said he had enough to support his family’s immediate needs.

The American then asked, ‘but what do you do with the rest of your time?’

The Mexican fisherman said, ‘I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take siestas with my wife, Maria, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine, and play guitar with my amigos. I have a full and busy life.’

The American scoffed, ‘I am a Harvard MBA and could help you. You should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds, buy a bigger boat. With the proceeds from the bigger boat, you could buy several boats, eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman you would sell directly to the processor, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing, and distribution. You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then LA and eventually New York City, where you will run your expanding enterprise.’

The Mexican fisherman asked, ‘But, how long will this all take?’

To which the American replied, ‘15 - 20 years.’

‘But what then?’ Asked the Mexican.

The American laughed and said, ‘That’s the best part. When the time is right you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich, you would make millions!”

“Millions - then what?”

The American said, “Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siestas with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos.”

Bicycle Pants Are Black

We had the envious position of being able to choose to move anywhere we wanted. One of the main reasons we chose to move to Colorado was that we thought it would be healthier place to live - a place that might foster a more healthy lifestyle for us.

Since I hurt my back, I have not wanted to try to use the workout room here at the condo complex. But I have discovered that we have miles and miles of paths that meander through parks and open spaces to walk on. It's really wonderful not to have to walk next to the traffic.

I've been trying to walk six miles every day until my back is healed enough to use the machines at the gym. During my walks, I noticed all these people on bicylcles. At first, I thought it was a fluke. Then I thought that maybe their cars had broken down. As more and more little Lance Armstrongs whizzed past me this week, I realized they were doing it on purpose! Can you believe that? Riding a bike on purpose? Toto, I don't think we're in Vegas anymore.

You just have to laugh at some of the bicycle people. They think they look so cool and of course they are very aerodynamic. Apparently, the more angles your helmet has on the back of it, the faster you can go. If the back of your bicycle helmet looks like the bridge of a Klingon's nose, you are especially speedy.

And the outfits - they look so ridiculous. They are all stuffed into those shiny bicycle pants we all thought were cool way back when. And of course, there's the brightly colored shirt made entirely of some unnatural fiber and sporting an advertisement for something Italian. They all look like Cinzano umbrellas zipping around on two wheels.

One thing I have noticed is that apparently, there is an unwritten code that while your shirt can be any color of the rainbow (as long as it says something Italian), your shiny little shorts must be black. Bright yellow shiny shirt? Cool. Bright yellow shiny shorts? Not so much.

Just Call Me "Grace"

The other night while walking back to the car from a store, I didn't see a rock on the ground in the parking lot. When I stepped on it, I twisted my ankle. It all happened so fast that I didn't have time to get my hands out squarely in front of me. I was close enough to the car to stumble quickly head-first into the rear passenger door, like a lovesick goat battling a rival. The car won, although I left a good-sized dent where my head hit it. I think it learned its lesson anyway.

I heard a "crack" in my back and the wind was knocked out of me. I fell to the ground in a heap writhing in pain and unable to breathe. I remember thinking two things while I was gasping for air:

1) I hope nobody is looking at me.
2) I wonder if I just paralyzed myself?

This morning I woke up early because of the pain between my shoulder blades. I know that I should go to the doctor, but I just switched health plans due to the move, and don't have an insurance card to show. Heck, I don't even know where a doctor is yet.

This got me thinking about health care and the two major candidate's policies on health care. I went to each web site to look up their plans. They are not terribly dissimilar in actuality.

The major difference is that McCain wants to provide people with a $2500 tax credit to purchase private insurance. Those who are denied private insurance would be relegated to a state plan of some sort.

Obama's plan is to provide employers with tax credits of 50% of their employee's policy premiums if they cover their employees, otherwise, if they provide nothing they will be subject to a payroll tax. For those who fall through the cracks, there will be a national affordable health plan available for purchase. The cost of the plan will depend upon one's income.

While these plans have some similarities, McCain's plan puts the burden on the individual states, while Obama's puts the burden on the federal government. I suppose my biggest question is, how does the federal government go about forcing the states to insure their populations? I didn't realize the feds had this power. I can only imagine the disparity that will exist between each state's plan. And those states with lower tax bases will have inferior plans, creating a huge set of differences in care from state to state. Sounds like a real mess to me.

I think if we are going to do something to ensure that we all have access to at least basic health care, it has to be an "all or nothing deal", and not relegated to each state to figure out. I don't know what the answer is.

I do know that we have to do something to see that we all have access to health care. Either that, or we are going to have to create federal oversight to see that all rocks are swept away from parking lots.

One Of LIfe's Greatest Mysteries Has Been Answered

At least twenty years ago, my younger brother and I decided that there were three great mysteries of life that would probably never be answered:

1) Why do men have nipples?
2) Why don't you ever see any baby pigeons?
3) If Denny's is "always open", why do they have locks on the doors?

That last one confuses me especially. Their sign specifically states that they are always open. They NEVER close. So, why the locks? A newspaper article I found the other day has answered this great question.

Coke User Tries To Sever Arm In Denny's

(Modesto, Calif.) Police say a man tried to cut off his arm at a restaurant because he thought he had injected air into a blood vessel while shooting cocaine and feared that he would die unless he took drastic action.

Authorities said 33-year-old Michael Lasiter rushed into a Denny's restaurant late Friday and started stabbing himself in one arm with a butter knife he had grabbed from a table.

They said that when the butter knife didn't work, Lasiter took a butcher knife from the kitchen and dug it into his arm.

Police Sgt. Brian Findlen said Lasiter told officers he thought he needed to amputate his arm to ward off dying from the cocaine injection.

Lasiter was taken to a hospital for treatment of sever cuts.

The Denny's closed for the night.

The Saga Continues

Well, we are all moved in. So far so good....except for one thing. We can't figure out how to get the dang phone and internet turned on.

When we were in Florida, I made the dumb mistake of thinking we could order phone service from any of Denver's major providers, assuming they agreed to serve us when I called. Wrong.

Company A said they would be happy to set us up with phone and internet service via DSL. They schedule a technician to come out this past Wednesday. The technician arrived on Wednesday afternoon, but asked me if I knew where the "box" was. Hell, I don't even know where the dumpster is yet. He went off to find it and returned later to tell me that he just found out his company doesn't serve my area. He advised me to call company B.

Company B said they would be happy to set us up with phone and internet service, but couldn't find my address in their system. It turns out that my address is so new, that their database hadn't been updated. They said they would add the address o their database and give me a call back. "In an hour or so?", I asked. "In a couple of days", they said.

Two days go by. No call. I called company B back and it turns out that I can now order service. They just neglected to call. "Whatever", I'm thinking. "Just get on with it." "Oh. Wait.", the agent says. "We can only provide television and phone service. We aren't allowed to offer internet service for you. We can have a technician out there tomorrow to turn your phone on. What number can we contact you at?" "I don't know. You tell me.", I replied.

So, I call the HOA office and they tell me that the builder has signed some dumb contract with some no-name internet provider we'll call "company C."

I called company C to get service. Some guy answers me on a speakerphone. He tells me that he'll email me a form to fill out that I can fax back to order service. "What's your email address?", he says. "I don't know. You tell me.", I replied.