The Triumvirate of ADD, Depression, and Substance Abuse

You know what goes together? Chocolate and peanut butter. Orange and vanilla. Salsa and chips. Starsky and Hutch. Rain and sleep. Beach and Sun.

Unfortunately, there are some things that always go together that we would rather not: flies and dining al-fresco. November and political commercials. Donald Trump and his hair. Worst of all, for me, is the triumvirate of Attention Deficit Disorder, Depression, and Alcoholism.

When you cannot think like normal people, cannot concentrate on them, cannot work and play like them, and appear to everyone to be lazy and selfish, you tend to hear a lot of negative comments. The strongest people in the world cannot hear what we hear day after day, year after year, from so many different sources (including those that are closest to us, our parents, heroes, friends, and lovers) without losing some respect for themselves. Moreover, since "they" don't realize that we have different capabilities and methods, we often do not realize the same thing. We need to do things differently, we need to creatively find our own method of achieving the same goal. However, we keep trying the normal way, and we keep failing. Repetitive failure with no hope of progress will wear out the toughest cookie.

I am no pansy; I guess you could say I am slightly above average in "toughness", if you can measure such things. I managed 33 years with ADD, depression, and alcohol without turning into a total waste of space--I have done alright, in fact. I say above average because of what I did in the Marine Corps, a story which can never be told in its entirety. However, this ADD has had me on the ropes many times. The words and actions/inactions of people who failed to see my real problem have had me on the verge of quitting. There are many projects, goals, and ideas that I avoided for fear of failure, and that is shameful.

Let me make this more personal: when I make lists of "To Do" and "Resolutions" and fail to check off many items--in fact I sometimes lose the lists--I feel frustrated, angry, depressed, and I fight off feelings of hopelessness and worthlessness. Many people have said I should "just do it", "have some discipline", "get organized", "kick myself in the ass", "remind myself constantly", "leave myself notes", etc... What they fail to realize is that there is a problem I need to deal with before: I cannot organize my thoughts they way most people can. When I walk into a messy garage with the intent to clean it up, I am quickly overwhelmed by so many thoughts, I could max out my hard drive recording them all. "Where does this go, I should build a shelf over there, I wish I had a band saw, I wonder what happened to that cable, where is my broom, did someone move my hammer, I never did finish that project, or this one, or this one, put this pile over there to figure out later, what happened top my broom again, what will I do about dinner, what if a car had a built in satellite, what if I could fly, I wonder if there are time traveler's hiding in our society, hey look: an old receipt...

You should see me on the Internet. I will sit down with one, specific, important, time-sensitive goal. I will go to one website to find the information I need. I realize that I need to bring up another web site for a little more information. That website has an interesting link, so I click it. Then I get another idea that I don't want to lose, so I open a new tab and google the new idea. We are now about 1 minute into the project, and I am already well off track. I won't catch myself for another 30 minutes, by which time I need to use the restroom and go get a soda. On the way, I start to brush a shedding dog or chase a kid or mow the lawn....oh yeah, what was I doing?

I will sit down to watch a television show that I have been waiting a week for. At the first commercial, I check to see what else is on. I find something else to hold my attention till commercial, then I am off again. In the end, I miss the show I wanted to see and don't see a whole lot of anything else. Or, an idea on the show I am watching sets off a daydream or a thought process, and I stare at the show without seeing it, lost in my thoughts. I do this often during sporting events and boring monologues.

Based on the above sequences, you can see how school can be difficult. I spent 12 years, 8 hours a day, totally frustrated and hearing negative messages about what I was not doing. In addition, I did not have a lot of supportive friendships because if you cannot think like normal people, you cannot interact normally with normal people. The friendships that I did have were intense, understanding, and loyal, but few. Therefore, the negative comments were multiplied by peers, and there was a weak support structure in place to counteract it. Star athletes who have a bad game can easily bounce back from negative comments because they have a huge support structure. Sideline daydreamers who habitually lose homework and have to be "woken from a daydream" in class do not usually get the support that would make ADD a cool problem to have.

For me and others with ADD, mental energy can ebb and flow. We may have a month where we start to get our act together, where a new habit makes the change that allows us to function. But then, we run out of that energy, or we have a sick week, or we go out of town--just about anything can knock us off stride. Organization is not only unnatural for us, it is impossible. Our thoughts, if mapped on a page, would be 100 random categories that do not all correlate to each other, are on five different levels, are asynchronous, and all of them are incomplete. If our brains are a whirlwind and out of our control, how can we be expected to keep our pens, notebooks, food, and clothing separated, let alone separate Algebra from English Literature?

Frustration, negative comments, unmet needs, unaccomplished goals, ebb and flow--how do you live a normal, happy life with such powerful forces dragging you down? I cannot prove this; I am merely speculating, but I think I subconsciously coped by developing bi-polar depression. I cannot maintain the mental energy to stay focused and organized long-term, but I can for brief bursts. Therefore, I can have my manias of high productivity alternated by my depressions, where I am unable to attempt anything.

In addition, I can self-medicate. Many ADD sufferers have "benefited" from marijuana and/or cocaine. Personally, I have always been intimidated by the idea of illegal drugs; that road seemed to lead to nowhere for me. However, alcohol is a socially accepted medicine for a great many ills. If I feel down, or if my mind is off to the races, or if I want to fit into a crowd better (or at least think I do) then alcohol was a wonder drug.

There have been studies to demonstrate a link between ADD and alcoholism, ADD and depression, Depression and Alcoholism, and bi-polar with ADD. The correlations cannot be explained, but the fact that so many people who have one of the triumvirate will often have at least one more is impossible to ignore.

Why do people with ADD so often experience substance abuse and/or depression? I think in my case that ADD came first. I don't remember having depression as a child, and I cannot be sure that I had signs of alcoholism as a child--I may have just been acting out things I had seen at home and on TV. I can be sure that there was never a time in my life that I could sit still and concentrate on one thing for any length of time unless I was hyper-focused. Not once. Ever.

There were, and are, times when I was really interested in a subject or project and could hyper-focus on it through to completion, or near completion. However, I was unable to control even that. Oftentimes, the things I hyper-focused on were out-of-synch with my life priorities. For instance, I may hyper-focus on an extra-credit project when I should have been focused on paper that would make the difference between a D and an F. This blog is a great example--I can hyper-focus on each blog post when I should be writing a paper, mowing the lawn, or working.

The point of this post is simple: ADD (and ADHD) when found in adults is often accompanied with either depression or substance abuse, and oftentimes both are present. For those of you who are looking at ADD in yourselves or someone you love, this can be an important topic to research and address. ADD is also usually accompanied by above average intelligence, creativity, and empathic sensitivity. Some fantastically productive and creative people have been alcoholics, drug addicts, manic-depressives, bi-polar depressives, and ADD-ish people. We have also been extremely destructive to ourselves and dangerous to others. Without treatment we can either achieve greatness or flame-out terribly. With treatment, it is reported that we can approach normality. This last end is my aim, and I am just getting started on the journey.

I think the question left open in my mind is: Does ADD cause the other two, vice versa, or are they completely coincidental? Your thoughts are welcome.

Strattera Is Bad (for Me)

I really do not want to turn this blog into a discussion of neurosis and social problems. However, I do want to make my voice heard on a few subjects that are near and dear to my heart. Therefore, today I would like to talk to you about Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD).

Growing up in the 1980's and early 90's, ADD was known but not really understood well. You basically had to stab somebody or fling poo at the teacher to be diagnosed as ADD; there was nothing moderate about it. People with ADD were separated from the population, were dangerous, were not to be trusted, and had a bleak future awaiting them.

Meanwhile, those of us who could cope with society and squeak by in our schoolwork were told we were lazy, undisciplined, daydreamers, disorganized, etc... We had many of the same symptoms as our ape-like counterparts on Ritalin, but we weren't extreme enough or dangerous enough to justify the attention and thought necessary for the authorities and parents to realize that we, too, had something different about our brains that prevented us from being normal.

When I was a little kid, I was messy and disorganized. My room was always scattered with toys. My mom would send me in there and tell me to clean it up. She would watch me pick up a toy or two, and then I was off to la-la-land. She would often have to supervise the entire room-cleaning from start to finish, sometimes grabbing my hand and leading it to the next toy because I was not doing it myself. She thought I was unwilling to pick up the toy--I think I was unable to connect the neurons that would allow me to select the next toy, figure out what it was, and figure out where to put it. I had too many other thoughts going on at the same time to tune in on the "cleaning" messages.

It would anger and frustrate my parents that I was not doing what I was told. They assumed I was being obstinate. However, that is way out of character for me. I was always a fairly obedient and nice kid, always eager to please authorities. I still am, by and large, though I have developed my moments of disobedience when I think I am right.

I have never had a lot of focus. My life is a long list of half-completed projects, half-read books, movies I have never finished, etc... I cannot watch an entire TV show: I either turn the channel often or I get up and find something else to do. I am usually doing something else when I watch TV anyway.

I have read the first third or half of many books, and been unable to finish them due to my inability to read one more word--even if I had a gun to my head.

How many times have people had to repeat what they said to me, for no other reason than my thoughts were louder than the speaker's voice? How many times have I set out to organize a room and given up after a minute because I found something else more interesting or I am simply overwhelmed with the task? How often have I put off seemingly simple tasks because I just couldn't figure out where to start? Or have left simple projects uncompleted because I could not focus on them for one more second?

Sometimes I am hyper-focused. I can get into washing the dishes, reading a good book, writing a paper, or playing a computer game to the extent that I will sacrifice my family, my eating, my hygiene, everything. If I am hyper-focused on something and the house catches fire, I would probably be unable to save my life.

I have discipline. I made it through 4 years of Marine Corps Active Duty, I have quit smoking and drinking, I have avoided drugs all around me, etc... If I HAVE to do something, I can somehow gather up the resources to accomplish it 99% of the time. However, I have found that there are precious few things I ever actually HAVE to do.

I have energy. I have more energy than I need. When I am excited about something, I will focus enough energy on that something to power the world for a year.

I have intelligence. I can understand the concepts that I study, I have a large vocabulary, and I have always tested above average in most subjects (except math). However, I have never been able to read a text book without zoning out (skipping it altogether). After 10 years, I am finally finishing my Bachelor's degree. I have only read what I had to read to get the grade, and I have a 3.8 GPA. When I am reading an article or book that is interesting, I get every word of it, synthesize, remember, and all the other hallmarks of intelligence. However, if it is not immediately interesting or relevant, I cannot recall a page I read 5 minutes ago, no matter what I try.

I once thought that ADD was either a disease for weird, troubled people or was over-diagnosed in kids who needed a spanking more than a pill. I am now reconsidering those thoughts as I read more about ADD and re-examine my life. I now realize that I have suffered from a moderate form of ADD my whole life. It was bad enough to slow me down, but I was functional enough that I never required a diagnosis.

What would I be able to accomplish academically if I could focus on the required readings? What could I accomplish personally if my office, van, garage, and bedroom were not constantly cluttered and disarrayed? If I lost my stuff less often, I would have more serenity as well as productivity. Currently, I have times where I duck phone calls and emails because they are too much for my whirlwind mind to focus on. Then I have to go back later and apologize, put out fires, and waste valuable time. I think that if I could focus on one thing at a time, when I needed to, my whole life would be different.

I have been thinking about this for several weeks. I don't want to be labeled as ADD. I don't want you or anyone else to know I am ADD. I am not even sure I am ADD; maybe I am just lazy and careless. The best way to know for sure is to see a Psychiatrist. I am not ready for that stigma. Therefore, the next best thing is to see your Primary Care Physician.

I went to see my Doctor on Monday. I explained to her what I have now explained to you, and added the fact that my 4-year old son appears to have similar problems. She agreed that it sounds like ADD. She doesn't like to start with stimulants, so she suggested I start on Strattera. My initial readings on ADD treatment led me to the same conclusion, so I was in full agreement.

She sent me home with free samples. I was to take 18mg for a week, then 25mg, then 40 mg, then go back and see her. I took my first one on the way home, and didn't really feel all that different Monday.

Tuesday, I felt like I was on too much caffeine, even though I had only one soda that morning. That afternoon, I crashed. I couldn't think straight, and I didn't care about anything. My appetite was decreased; I had to force myself to eat.

Wednesday sucked. I didn't want to do anything all day, but I had to work. I procrastinated, I put things off, and I spent most of the day confused and groggy. I took in a lot of caffeine just to stay barely functional.

Thursday was more of the same. However, I had to visit clients and in order to do so, I had to drive about 500 miles round trip. I have no idea how I did it. I normally would enjoy audiobooks and music, but I drove most of the time in a groggy silence. That night, I was alone with the kids. I could barely force myself to really pay attention to them. I took them out to my favorite restaurant, but I hardly ate anything. We went to the park to distract them from my lethargy. I don't think they noticed, but I felt like a bad father the whole night.

I took another 18mg of Strattera this morning. I am really moody: I have punched my desk twice for silly reasons. I am saying stupid things out loud--thank goodness I am not on the phone or in front of customers. I haven't eaten since last night, nor do I want to. I feel lethargic, I could care less about anything right now. I am not suicidal, but I doubt my survival instinct would kick in if I really needed it. I cannot face the idea of leaving my house for any reason. I don't want to watch TV. I don't want to play a game. I don't want to go to bed. If a dancing, nude, beautiful woman were with me right now, I would ask to be left alone. I can only focus on this blog post right now because it is channeling all this negative emotion inside of me.

My doctor had no idea that this would happen, so I can hardly blame her. What I am experiencing is partially the advertised side affects, and partially the little known dark side of Strattera. I have been surfing around this morning and found a lot of negative comments on Strattera. There isn't a lot of science to describe my lethargy, but there is a ton of anecdotal evidence out there. Some people take this drug and it is a miracle. Some take it and nothing happens. But many have taken it at higher doses than me and seen their world fall apart. Thank god I am only on the baby dose.

Strattera may be some people's miracle drug. However, it is the worst thing that has happened to me in a long time. If I were already suicidal, this would have pushed me over the edge. If I were a poor employee, this would get me fired. If I did not have a supportive family and an easy job, I never would have made it through 5 days. Strattera sucks. The Ritalin's and Adderall's have been out for so long and have been so effective for so many people, why would I waste my time on this crap? A low dose of Strattera after five days has already put me in a position where I could do long-term damage to my career and relationships. This crap should not be on the market. Thanks Eli Lilly, you sons-of-bitches.

Go To College

Something I have been thinking about lately is college degrees, partly because I am about to earn mine and partly because I am noticing smart, talented people who eventually will have to pay dearly for not having one. I received some college credit for training I received in the Marine Corps, but I didn't actually take a college class until Summer 1997, five years after I graduated from high school. The first class I took was Business Math at my local community college. It shows up on my transcript as an elective: I didn't learn anything important and it doesn't really count towards any degree requirement. However, I was interested in business at the time, but I knew I had a weakness in math. Taking a class I was interested in helped me make it through my first class, and getting an "A" in a class that I knew was a weakness increased my confidence. Now it is coming up on fall 2007, and I will be granted a Bachelor of Science in Management. It has been a long and eventful college career. After passing the summer course, I took a couple classes at the community college in the fall. I found it to be easy; it was so easy that I also enrolled part-time at another college: Devry. In 1998, I went to Devry full-time. However, Devry was difficult and expensive, and I got too busy with my career and dating, so I dropped out. I returned to the community college for a few semesters of the basics (Speech and History). In 1999, I started taking courses at Baker University, which had a unique program. I took classes one night a week, one class at a time, and half of the assignments were accomplished in a study group rather than individually. This was a great program, and I had a great study group. However, I got married, bought a house, changed jobs, and my ego was 100 miles wide that year. Therefore, I dropped out because I thought I was too good and too busy for Baker. In 2001, I got laid off for the second time, but this time the phone wasn't ringing no matter how many resumes I sent out. Was I being placed in the circular file due to a lack of a college degree? In 2002, once I got back to work for awhile, I began taking classes at National American University. The attraction there was that I was getting college credit for taking Microsoft and Cisco courses, which were relevant to my career. However, my finances and drinking were interfering with everything else, and I left National American before I got embarrassed. Somehow, my GPA was hanging around 3.7 through all of this, with mainly the Devry courses weighing me down. By 2005, I was getting my head screwed on straight, staying sober, watching expenses, paying off debts, and reading voraciously. It was time to get back to school and finish what I had begun. I began shopping the local degree completion programs which, in Kansas City, are many and varied. I finally decided to return to Baker University, since I perceived it to be the most prestigious and the most practical for my schedule, finances, and attention-span. I began Baker's B.S.M. program in February 2006, and we are two weeks from completing our studies. I have been with the same group the whole time, and that has made a big difference. When one of us is busy or burnt-out, the study group can help keep the momentum going. Having a built-in support group through college is indespensable. Not only that, but the program has crammed an unbelievable amount of knowledge into 18 months. I look back now and cannot believe how much you learn from experienced instructors and students. Our group has a wide range of experiences, strengths, and neurosis', which really accelerates and varies the lessons learned. Somehow, I have crammed life, career, and school together and made it work, getting straight A's for the last 18 months. Anyhow, I will soon be able to say I have that elusive degree, the lack of which has probably stunted my career. In the 10 year process of earning my degree, I got married, had two kids, worked for 8 employers, bought and maintained a house, suffered from alcoholism, got sober, suffered from depression and ADD, traveled all over the country for work and fun, and read for work, fun, and school. I dropped out for financial reasons, mental health reasons, and reasons of ego. And yet, I have found the degree attainable. I will graduate with about a 3.8 GPA, 150 credit hours, and an emphasis in International Studies. Moreover, I have honed my communication skills and discovered my passion for International Studies, especially Geo-politics. What I really want to say in this post is that if I can do it, anyone can. If you are 65 years old with little or no college credit, you can still do it. In fact, if you don't suffer from the same self-inflicted distractions that I do, you can get that degree in 4 or 5 years if you wish. If you are in your forty's or fifty's and you would rather do something else, or your future employment prospects are questionable right now, you really should consider getting started. Through my ten years of higher education, I have run into many people older than myself who were looking to secure their future, change their career, present an example to their kids, or just reach a personal goal. They realize now that they haven't saved for a long, healthy retirement. In addition, they realize that medicine and diet will allow them to work much longer than their parents did, perhaps into their seventies and eighties. They could have a whole second career in a completely different field after earning a degree. A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. Take a step by taking one class at your community college, and then build up the academic muscles, build up your momentum, and get a degree. If the U.S. is going to continue to be the greatest nation on the planet, we are going to need all the educated people we can get.

How To Quit Smoking

Quitting Smoking is easy; I have done it hundreds if times. Yes, that was an attempt at humor. The fact of the matter is that it is tough to quit smoking, and you have to be tougher. Do you have it in you? Do you really want to eliminate the odors of being a smoker (breath, hair, clothes, car), the sick feelings and headaches, the breathlessness, the colds, the cancers, and the stigma? Would you like the freedom of relaxing on a cold winter day without having to go out and shiver through another cigarette? If so, read on. If you are a weak, sniveling little pansy who has no control over their own destiny, you may go back to your solitaire game now.

I was born addicted to nicotine thanks to the wonders of second-hand smoke, and started smoking my own cigarettes as a teenager. I have also been hooked on chewing tobacco and cigars. Currently, I can go days and weeks without hardly a thought of tobacco. Other days, it is a little more difficult. However, it is possible to walk away from tobacco forever. The choice is yours, but the choice will have to be made many times.

The first time I quit smoking was for the three months of Marine Corps boot camp. I had dreams about just smoking: the lighting, the drag, the flick, watching the stick burn down, etc. I could smell a cigarette from 300 yards away. All the smokers would gather and fantasize aloud about smoking cigarettes while playing pool, watching TV, driving, after sex, after a run, first smoke in the morning...we tortured ourselves. This is the worst method of quitting smoking. I had lit a cigarette within an hour of graduation. Because I had not chosen to quit, and did not have the freedom of resuming my habit, I could not build up the inner muscle that allows you to stay quit.

The second time I quit smoking was for a pile of reasons. I had begun going to church, I perceived that attractive women would not want to date a smoker, and I wondered if my Marine Corps runs would be faster and less painful without tar in my lungs. I switched to Skoal exclusively (which I already chewed when I was in the field, since smoking can be seen and smelled by the enemy) figuring it would be easier for me to quit chewing than smoking. I was way off on that one. I found I could hide my chew habit easier and satisfy nicotine cravings in class, in movies, on planes--everywhere that cigarettes were not allowed. I switched to a stronger chew: Copenhagen.

Eventually, those religious reasons caused me to work up enough will to quit Copenhagen, cold turkey. When you remove a habit, you have to replace it. I did so with exercise, prayer, and study. For several years, I was nicotine free - through good times and bad. However, when my need for religion died out, and my stress built up, I did what many of the happy people around me were doing: I smoked. I did not find myself happier; rather, I was probably less happy. But the siren song of nicotine is difficult to resist when you are already frolicking in weakness, stress, and unhealthy lifestyles.

I quit again on New years Eve, 1999. I planned on spending the 2000's without the nicotine anchor around my neck. Also, I did not want my newborn daughter to be influenced by my bad example. This time, I chewed Nicorette. It got me through the first month of rough patches, and soon enough I felt I didn't need it anymore. I spit out a piece in my mouth and stayed smoke free for over a year.

When I quit drinking and was attending 100 AA meetings, all of which were smokier than any bar I had ever been in, I started smoking again. I quit smoking exactly one year later, this time for health reasons in addition to reasons for my kids. I switched to a cigar every day or two, and eventually down to a cigar a week, or so.

I then went through a difficult week and was offered a new brand of chew to help me out. That hooked me on chew for about a year. Again I quit using Nicorette, this time for the reasons of my kids and my own health. Within a month or so, I decided I did not need that crutch anymore. I now chew an occasional cigar, and I have desires for nicotine when I am stressed, but I am finding that I can manage the stress to make the cravings go away.

Did you see my pattern? I found a reason to quit, found a method to quit, and then stress caused me to return to a filthy habit. Have you had the same problem? Or are you having a problem of getting to being tobacco free for more than a month?

Here is how to get over the addiction and accumulate a month or two without tobacco. First, find some great reasons. Religion is not good enough. Your own mortality, the mortality and morality of your kids, a marathon goal, and sex are better motivators: those needs are a constant companion. Religious ideas often change, ebb and flow, or break your heart. The reason to quit smoking will replace the huge commitment you've made to nicotine thus far, so make sure your reasons are big and are yours (you can't quit smoking because your spouse wants you to, you need to quit because YOU want to.) Next, think about your reasons often. If you really want to quit, and you really want to achieve your reason for quitting, then the more you think about it the easier quitting will become. At this point, you are still continuing in your habit without restraint.

These first two steps are mental prep work. Your will power is like a muscle--if you haven't used it in a while (or ever) then you need to build it up slowly. Each time I quit tobacco, it was the culmination of a month or so of thinking about my habit and my reasons for quitting. The saying goes, "When the student is ready, the teacher appears." A similar saying can be made for quitting a habit: when you are ready your will power appears, stronger than you ever imagined. Above, I did not write about the millions of times I tried to force myself to quit and didn't last a day or two; sometimes I did not last an hour. You cannot quit when you are not ready. Be patient and let your subconscious do its job. Eventually, you will find yourself too disgusted with your habit to continue it for one more day.

There is a time when you want to quit but cannot. Then you get to a place where you have to quit. Now, do it! Throw away your smokes, lighters, ash trays, and assorted paraphernalia. Do not drink the drinks you drank when you smoked for a few days. Do not sit in your smoking chair for awhile (throw it out if it is ratty and hated by all but you). Avoid your smoker friends, especially at break-time, lunch, and Friday nights! Get your car cleaned. If the weather allows it, drive with the windows down and the music up loud. Go for a walk with a non-smoker, preferably a dog. Go to bed. And now you are through your first day.

Replace your habit. This is by far the most important. You need something to do when you NEED a smoke, or when the desire to chew has drawn blood on your lip. Habitually replace your habit: do it whether you are nic'ing out or not. However, especially engage in this activity when you are nic'ing out. Have two or three backup plans. If exercise is your number one, but you are injured, have a number two: hug your kids. Or read an inspirational text in bite-size pieces. Eating isn't a healthy replacement, but it'll do in a pinch. Find a computer game that seizes your concentration. Paint a room. Dig a hole for no reason. Take your main-squeeze into a private place and focus on them for an hour or two. Do what works for you.

And then there is the failure. I have met many people who have quit. Some of them are smoking or chewing today. Some of them are not. However, all of them have failed. No one on the planet quits smoking only once. Either you never smoke to start with or you quit many times. Some people quit 100 times and then go forty years without cigarettes. Others die from their habit, having attempted to quit a thousand times. I am sure by now you have heard about how Albert Einstein, Abraham Lincoln, and Thomas Edison all had long lists of failures before they were successful. When you fail, learn from it. I have learned to master my stress better, and over time I will remove that as a reason to begin smoking or chewing. Find your weakness and whoop its ass!

Dear Mr. President,

When the 2000 primaries rolled around, I voted for you only because I didn’t trust Senator McCain and I liked your energy. By the time November appeared, I was excited about the tax cut, the education initiatives, the possibility of school vouchers, and everything else that came with you. When you chose your cabinet, it was magic. I thought you had a dream team: it was full of experience, diversity, and connections. At that time, I knew for sure that America was in for a great eight years.

When September 11, 2001 occurred, I could not think of a time in my history when I had been more proud of anyone as I was proud of you. I went to sleep that night knowing who my president was, and who his cabinet was, and I slept soundly. Though I was laid off in October of that year, I did not panic or sell out my retirement account; I knew that my president would right this ship.

I could not wait for the United States to invade Iraq. I left the Marine Corps reserve in 2000, but I considered re-enlisting to support this war. I always thought President Clinton would send us to Iraq (as you may know, he almost did several times) and I was ready. If I hadn’t had new family responsibilities, I absolutely would have re-enlisted. It was high-time that we chase down this Osama bin-Laden in Afghanistan, and end the Taliban’s brutal regime. It was past time for Saddam, Uday, and Qusay to be held accountable for a long list of atrocities. Moreover, it was an ideal time for more people in the Middle East to begin to experience some stability and freedom, and the opportunities that accompany them.

In 2004, I defended you. I put a sign for you in my yard, and replaced it when a sophomoric democrat stole it. I argued with the people around me that you rivaled Presidents Reagan and Kennedy in many ways. Though your lack of speaking ability was notorious, you were able to convey your message and instill national faith and pride almost as well as both of those presidents. Your actions often spoke louder than your words. When you flew into Iraq to visit the troops over Thanksgiving, I grinned from ear to ear with pride. That was a great move, and it sent a message to the entire planet: the President is strong, fearless, supportive, in control, and loved by his military.

In addition, you sometimes exceeded Reagan and Kennedy’s ability to bring the nation together on task, especially on the tax cuts and the initial invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq. After the 2004 election, when you said you had political capital to spend, I thought you were right. You had a clear mandate from the American people to keep on the path that you were blazing. I was especially supportive of your strategy to give the democrats all the rope they wanted to hang themselves with.

Unfortunately, you have been snagged several times in that rope as you let it out. For instance, what were you thinking when you nominated Harriet Meiers to the Supreme Court? I absolutely agree that she has achieved much in her career, and I am sure you could see values in her that we, at our distance, could not. However, she did not bear the credentials of a judge on the highest court in the land. Not only did you make a poor choice, you did a terrible job defending the decision. If I was Ms. Meiers, I would have found that humiliating, and I am not sure I would have forgiven you so easily.

You know I cannot forget the Dubai port deal either. You and I both know that the UAE is an important ally, and a fairly liberal country as far as Arab nations go. However, you should have known that America is not ready to trust its ports to an Arab nation or company. What a bad idea. Don’t you have that voice in your head that warns you about these things? If someone had come to me and suggested we hired an Arab country to manage our ports, the first thing I would have thought is “That will never fly in the media, in the leftist labor camp, nor among the rabid right-wingers who believe all Arabs are terrorists. This is not a battle worth fighting.”

But I am not writing you to nit-pick. We’d be here all day. And if we were to nit-pick your presidency compared to some others (Carter, Truman), you would do all right over the long-haul. The facts I have mentioned so far merely caused me to re-think my support of you. They allowed me to remove the blinders which shielded my true thoughts in Iraq. Now I can see the future, and read the history books, and agree with their summation of your presidency: you squandered your political capital, you squandered the fantastic allies you began with, and you squandered the lives of thousands of Americans who did not need to die.

How could you let a man like Colin Powell get away? I have read his books and I have seen his leadership record in the military, in the state department, and as a civilian. The man is smart, strong, calculated, patient, and a born leader. You are lucky he is also loyal, or he could throw you under the bus anytime he wishes. I am sure that he left you because he could not condone the decisions that were being made nor the methods that were used to make them. If Bob Woodward is to be believed, you also probably have a serious problem with prioritizing your advisers. And Powell is just the first on a distinguished list of people, groups, and nations whom you have driven away with your policies and actions.

What angers me the most is how you and your Generals have treated our soldiers, sailors, airmen, and most importantly Marines, as if they are little more than cannon fodder. How could you ask those men and women to drive down the same roads every day in the same unarmored Humvees? What good does this tactic accomplish? Did you not realize the transition from war to insurgency? I get so angry just thinking about you and your family, safe and sound and privileged. Meanwhile, a Marine in Dress Blues pulls into another driveway to tell a mother that the son whom she invested all her time, money and love in would never come home. Or he has to tell a wife that her toddler will have to grow up without a father.

I can hear your reaction now: “But that is war! People die in war, and those brave service members volunteered to fight and die for their country.” As a former enlisted Marine, I agree. If you had sent me to war between 1992-2000, I would have gladly stormed any beach or hill, and paid with my blood if need be. But we don’t always have to die to achieve an objective, especially in 21^st century warfare. Patrolling the streets and waiting for a bullet or bomb is a stupid strategy - that is what Stalin would have done (He’s the Russian guy with the funny moustache who said “We have many people.”)

If I were president, I would have done some thinking, listened to some smart people whose careers were not on the line (independent advisors have good ideas too, you know), and changed my strategy. If I were president, I would have had my Generals changing their strategy when they changed their socks, just as the insurgents do. I would have insisted that we be two steps ahead of the insurgents, not one step behind. I would have rounded up a bunch of Iraqis, conscripted them, and put them on foot patrol. My men and women would have been patrolling the sand leading to Iran and Syria. At the two year mark, I would have thrown a closed-door temper-tantrum and insisted that this had gone on long enough, and someone better get their poop in a group!

I also would have done more to improve our image in the Arab world. Instead of hostility to Al Jazeera, you should have befriended them. You should have made sure that the faces of Bush, Rumsfeld, Rice, General Vincent, et al, were on Arab TVs everyday delivering a counter message to the crap from the anti-American lunatics who are so prevalent. (This idea is from Josh Rushing, who left the Marine Corps to work for Al Jazeera. He is another ally you squandered, though to you he was just some Captain. You would do well to skim his book, Mission Al Jazeera.)

The reality is that my president squinted into the camera and talked about how concerned he was, and then he went fishing. My president went to sleep as another unarmored patrol set out, and came back with fewer men than they left with. He laughed it up as another insurgent planted another IED, knowing full well that some Americans would come by soon, he would recognize them when they did, he would be able to kill some and damage their vehicles, and his explosion would be played on billions of TV’s that night.

President Bush, I do not oppose war, and especially not in Iraq. I do not oppose your privilege nor am I jealous of your family’s success. I do not have anything against your informal demeanor, your early bedtime, or your difficulty in speaking publicly. What I do have a problem with is your complete disregard for the American people, and for the wisdom of the common man. We all could have told you how to avoid many of the mistakes you made. Moreover, your cavalier attitude in Iraq, acting like thousands of lives lost is no reason to change our tactic, is criminal.

If we are going to continue to lose lives, let us do it like we did when we took Fallujah: let’s bomb and bulldoze the bad guys in every neighborhood, and force the Iraqi people to decide that they have had enough of Al Qaeda. Let’s level Baghdad and force the survivors to relocate their capital. Let’s send one more message to the impotent government of Iraq: not one more drop of American blood will be spent until you cowards step up and secure your country!

Driving or walking around in 120 degree heat waiting to be shot is a crappy life, Mr. President. Our men and women deserve much better. Take off the leash, turn them loose (pull out the damn imbedded reporters, while you are at it—this is a war, not a spectator sport!), and insist that if we hear a shot from a house or mosque, we flatten the whole block.

Quit screwing around and kick some ass, George! Either that or send the troops home. Quit squandering my tax dollars, not to mention the blood of my generation and the parents of the next generation. Make a decision one way or another, because the insurgents already have.

Sincerely,

Larry Slobodzian, Lifelong Republican, Former Bush Supporter.

And now for something completely different. Here is a story I wrote but have yet to get published. It is about when one of my dogs ran away. Enjoy!

Nina’s Big Adventure

A Puppy in a Pick-up Truck

Nina had a rough life from the start. Sometime in 1999, a clothing retail store employee went out to her truck after a long day and found a puppy. Even though I’ve known Nina for the last few years, I cannot imagine what that scene looked like. I have seen her scared, hurt, uncomfortable, and lonely. Even so, the darkest day of her life is beyond my imagination.

The person whose truck Nina was unceremoniously dumped in could not (or would not) take in a stray, nor would her conscience allow her to just leave her to chance. So she gave her to my sister-in-law, who was a co-worker at the store. My sister in law could not take in a puppy due to the rules of her apartment complex, so she brought the puppy to her parents.

The news reached my wife and I, like news of a broken window or bent fender. It was interesting for a second, but I didn’t think of the puppy for longer than that. Several days later, my wife visited her parents and saw the puppy.

My in-laws had taken her to a vet, where she was estimated to be six weeks old and deemed to be in fine health. They had bought all the necessary comforts a puppy could expect, and were actively seeking a good home for her. My father-in-law had even named her: Nina. There was no real significance to the choice, other than the fact that they are Mexican and the named seemed to fit. In hindsight, there are names that sound Spanish and fit Nina better: Tornado or Bandito come to mind.

When my wife saw Nina, she fell in love. Of course, what kind of Nazi doesn’t fall in love with a little puppy? But this was different. She phoned me immediately. “She looks like Joey,” she said. Joey was my one-year-old German Shepherd/Chow mix I had adopted from the local humane society. I was immediately on-guard. We lived in a 1 bedroom apartment at the time. Worse than that, I worked nights and she worked days. There would be little time or space to take care of a puppy.

Something in Rachel’s voice as she described little Nina to me told me I this was a moment to be sensitive and understanding. So I said I would come over and see her myself.

That sealed the deal. Once that little puppy climbed on me and tried to draw blood with her little needle teeth, I fell in love. I smelled her puppy breath, which reminded me of coffee and chocolate, and decided we would find a way to make it work.

Nina Grows Up

I grew up with several dogs, and have had many friends who had dogs. But I had never had experience with raising a puppy. So perhaps she was just an average puppy, but we began to think her father was Satan himself. She kept my wife up all night, and then kept me up during the day. She shredded everything. She ate everything. The world (and my carpet) was her toilet. She always wanted to play, and play rough.

Poor Joey was such a patient big brother, but I know there were times he looked at her and wondered what she would taste like. She would climb on him and bite his ears and bark in his face. If he ever gave chase, she would run under the bed or something else that he couldn’t fit under. It was funny the day that she found she had grown too large to dive under the bed and got herself stuck for a second.

It wasn’t so funny when, in a fit of anxiety, she jumped at the door and accidentally (?) locked it while my wife was taking Joey out for a quick bathroom break. She was locked out without her keys or cell phone at about 10:00 P.M., and Nina couldn’t be trusted alone for a second. Luckily we had a nice neighbor and I had a job that I could leave when I needed to. But Nina had signed her name in the carpet and helped herself to anything that looked edible. I still wonder if the whole thing was set up by Nina to teach us a lesson.

At one point my wife and I went on a weeklong trip to Mexico and left the dogs with our parents. My parents got Joey and her parents got Nina. My father-in law made a sandwich for himself during this time. He took a bite, then leaned over to pick something up and Nina saw her chance. She was able to snatch the sandwich in one swift move, and devour it in two quick chomps. My wife returned from Mexico with a beautiful pair of handcrafted leather sandals. Nina turned them into a rawhide snack within a week. She earned the reputation of a cute but naughty dog.

Worst of all her bad habits was her habit of eating out of the trash can. She did this all the time, no matter what was in there, and continues the habit to this day. My older dog learned his lesson early on through some very loud and animated antics by me. He always stays a dogleg away. But Nina thinks it is her personal pantry. We will throw something in there and forget about it, or remove the trashbag from the can and leave it in the garage for a couple of hours out of laziness, and she will find her way into it.

Animal Impressions

But Nina isn’t all bad. She is cute and affectionate, and will obey some commands on her good days. Better yet, Nina can do a lot of impressions. Almost every time we flip past a program featuring an animal, my wife and I say, “That looks like Nina!” in unison. The monkeys look like our son, but almost everything else looks like Nina. She has a long snout and snaps it shut on food with a powerful vengeance like an alligator. Her skull is small and has pointy ears on top of it making her look somewhat like a deer. She pounces like a cat when she is playing with Joey and is colored like a lion cub. She can be skittish and hold her tail like a hyena. When she slept lightly as a puppy, she would make a bird sound somehow. After roughhousing or a long walk, she would sleep deeply and grunt like a pig. Her ears are large and stand straight up like a rabbit’s. Her head, ears, and snout resemble a kangaroo and she has long hind legs, but she has resisted every attempt I have made to teach her to hop on them. Her tail is long and full like a fox’s, and she can be as sneaky and crafty as one. Nina has provided us with hours of entertainment speculating on her mother’s species, since we had already decided who her father was.

Nina gets away

Nina doesn’t do well with crowds, nor with buffet’s. So when we had people over for New Year’s Eve, we left her and Joey outside. It was a nice evening and she enjoyed her fenced in backyard, so we didn’t give it a second thought.

Nina had hopped the fence twice when we first moved in, but she didn’t go far and hadn’t attempted it in several years. Twice, we accidentally left the gate open and both dogs got out but while Joey went several streets down, Nina stayed within site. We never thought we would lose a dog, and certainly not Nina. That only happened to bad, careless dog owners.

It must have been the fireworks. We heard them a few times, but didn’t think anything of it. Fireworks and explosions are such a rare occurrence that I forget she is scared to death of them, and will run like mad around the house during the week leading up to July Fourth. I just didn’t think…

At about 1 o’clock or so, I walked some friends to their car and decided to let the dogs in. I called my usual call, “Come on dogs!” Only Joey came. I thought perhaps Nina was sniffing something or just ignoring me, so I called her by name, “Come on Nina!” No Nina. I let Joey in and then looked in Nina’s crate. Empty. Hmm. I called downstairs to the party, but my wife said Nina wasn’t down there. Uh-oh. I looked upstairs. No Nina. I checked the gate, but it was closed. I grabbed a flashlight and checked the whole yard: under bushes, under the deck, behind the shed, in the shed…and I hit full on panic.

My 3 year-old daughter had recently begun to put together sentences, and had asked me if Nina was her dog. I told her yes at the time, and she proudly exclaimed 1000 times a day now that Nina was her dog. I had lost my daughter’s dog!

My wife and I had a quick discussion of what could have happened and how it could have happened and where she could have gone. I then set out on foot through the neighborhood, while she rode with her cousin.

I did a lap around the block, then returned expecting Nina had come home on her own or my wife had found her. No such luck. I put Joey on a leash and set out again, hoping that if she wouldn’t come for me she would come for him, and if I couldn’t sense her at a distance he could.

I called Nina’s name, tried to keep attuned to Joey, and prayed. I was tired, and it was too late to be out at all, especially calling out a dog’s name. Joey thought he was getting a rare treat of a long walk at night, and lifted his nose to enjoy the breeze.

My thinking was this: I remembered the fireworks coming from the southeast, so I went northwest. At first I doubted she would cross Johnson Drive to our north or Shawnee Mission Parkway to our south, both busy roads even at 1 A.M. But after an hour of searching the immediate streets around us, I decided it was possible she crossed Johnson Drive.

At one point I thought I saw a shadow that looked like Nina, and I would swear it moved like Nina when it ran from my voice. I got excited, but I didn’t want to get caught in someone’s yard in the middle of the night so I was timid about going in after her. I called and looked, but didn’t see the shadow anymore. I came back to the house a few minutes later and ventured a few steps into the open yard, but couldn’t see anything. I ventured on.

I am sure I walked a hundred miles that night. Even Joey got tired of walking after a while. I kept in touch with my wife by cell phone. Eventually, she had to give up and get home to the kids so that the person who was watching them could go. I have no idea what time it was, but eventually my brain and legs wore out. I figured I would be more effective searching for her after a nap and a snack, and perhaps she would come home before I woke up. Problems often have a way of working themselves out while you sleep.

When I awoke, I looked around for Nina again, but didn’t see her. I started pounding the pavement, but worried that my strategy was wrong. So I got in my van and started driving slowly with the windows down and the radio off. If it had been a school day I probably would have been suspected of horrible intentions, but the streets were deserted. I guess everyone was sleeping off the night’s revelries.

The few people I did encounter were all cautious as I pulled up to them, but when I told them that I was looking for a lost dog, they were all helpful. They would scan the neighborhood from where they were standing, ask me what she looked like, and say they’d keep an eye out for her. Each time I’d thank them and pull away, then realize that they had no way of contacting me if they did find her, except to stand on the street holding Nina until I came back by, if I ever did. But I was too tired, sad, and scatter-brained to solve the problem, so each encounter went the same.

I had no idea how big this little cowtown was until I tried to figure out how to find a dog in it. I tried to do one of those word problems I hated some much in school: If Nina can run 20 miles and hour, how far could she get after six hours? Then I tried to be a dog psychologist: Where would she stop and hide? Would she go to yards with dogs in them, or cross the street and seek out quiets yards. Would she go in a straight line, zig-zag, or go in circles? Was she looking for our house or following her stomach?

My in-laws did some searching of their own, and thought they saw her in a front door a few block away. I have never seen another dog that looked like Nina, not even a picture of one. She was one of a kind. So if my father-in-law thought he saw her, it had to be her.

He got into my van, and we tried to find the house. After several wrong turns, we found the house. The door faced at a right angle to the street, and it was hard to see in the door, but there was a Nina-sized dog in the glass door with big pointy ears. Immediately, my mushy brain was able to conjure up the idea that some good Samaritans had found Nina and taken her in, and she was looking out the door waiting me for me to rescue her.

As we approached the house, a relieved smile grew from one ear to the other, and I felt 100 pounds lighter. I was going to hug her, kiss her right on her doggy lips, and offer her rescuers my firstborn out of gratitude. But once we were at an angle where we could see into the door clearly, I saw it wasn’t Nina. My heart hit the soles of my shoes, and Atlas shrugged the weight of the world onto my shoulders. I thought I had seen every dog in our neighborhood, and had never in my life seen any dog like Nina. But here was a dog with similar shape, but a different snout and coloring. Disappointment barely describes the feeling I had.

We had paid dearly for KU basketball tickets, and the game was January 1^st. We had looked forward to it for several weeks. Now we questioned whether we should go. But people were expecting us to go, and looking for her hadn’t been fruitful, so we went. I think it was an exciting game, but I missed it thinking about Nina the whole time. I missed Nina.

I had no idea how much I loved that dog till she was gone. We made jokes about her, and teased people that we were going to give her to them. We teased her that were would donate her to our favorite Chinese restaurant. We often focused on her bad habits. Now, I was full of regret and guilt. I didn’t hug her enough. I didn’t appreciate her enough.

Since it was a holiday weekend, we couldn’t look in the shelters until January third. When I drove down roads, I looked for her carcass on the shoulder. The meteorologists talked about a coming storm, and I thought for sure we’d never see her again. And yet, a part of me held out hope.

I have a job with flexible hours that has me driving a lot between clients. I took advantage of that by checking all the local shelters daily. My wife dug up a few pictures of Nina and made a flyer out of them. I made color copies of the flyer and hung them around the neighbor, gave one to all the shelters, and put them up in grocery and pet stores around us. My wife called on all the local vets to see if anyone had brought them a stray, and left them a flyer.

I spent several hours browsing the web and found some great sites. I placed a notice on each site. I posted and ad in the Kansas City Star, and paid extra for better placement. And every day I searched the found dog section. I also searched a local newspaper’s lost and found section, and it had an option that allowed me the receive an email when any found dog adds were posted.

I called on every ad that carried the remote possibility of being Nina. One add was on a dog found 40 miles from us, but I called anyway. Most of the phone calls went like this: I would ask what the dog they found look like. Then I would describe Nina. I said she was medium size, light brown, white belly, big ears, and a long nose. A couple of the dogs that people had found sounded like Nina, but then the person would ask about the collar.

I had given the dogs a bath that day, and hadn’t put their collars back on. Nina was collarless, and didn’t have the tattoo or microchip that makes identifying dogs so easy. Every dog that sounded like her had an identifiable collar. I was starting to feel like a bad pet owner.

The only thing that eased that feeling was my daily trips to the shelters. I would see the same dogs in each one every day, and wasn’t running into anyone else looking for their dog. That made me feel a little angry. Here I was spending a lot of time and money doing everything I could to find Nina, and had nothing to show for it. Meanwhile, here were lost dogs safe and sound at the shelter, and all the owners had to do was drive up and get them. What were their owners doing? Did anyone miss these dogs?

Several of these shelters had a dog that looked like Nina in some way. At Animal Haven in Merriam, you can see some dogs in their kennels as you come up the driveway. Everyday, I saw this one dog with a small head and large ears and my heart would race. But when I got closer, I’d see it wasn’t her. I was fooled everytime because I was so desperate to find her. I had similar experiences at other shelters. I still can’t believe there are that many dogs similar to Nina, and I had never seen one before she got away.

Then the promised storm finally arrived. Our power was out for several days, and we had to go to a hotel. I quit searching for her during this time. After the power was restored, I began to search for her again, but my hope was waning. If she wasn’t in a shelter, then she was probably out in the elements during the ice storm. I didn’t think there was any way she could have survived during the ice storm. We live close to several busy roads, so there was a good chance she tried to cross and was hit, but we never saw the body. At the end of one day, I finally confided to my wife that I had given up hope of ever seeing that dog again. I had been dreaming of the reunion scene, with tears flowing and tails wagging and hugs and shouts of joy. Now I faced the fact that I wouldn’t even get closure.

Homecoming

That very day that I lost faith, I got a strange phone call. Several days before, I had answered an ad from the email alert in the local paper. Someone reported finding a small orange dog at an intersection 20 blocks away. I left her a voicemail, and she called me back. We talked for several minutes. She described the dog she had found and I described Nina. We agreed that we must have not been talking about the same dog. But now she was calling me back, saying that no one else had called her about this dog. She again described the dog she had, and I described Nina. At one point I told her that Nina looks more like a deer or kangaroo than a dog. She said she had said the same thing about the dog she found to her daughter. We agreed to meet in a well-lit parking lot nearby in 15 minutes.

I tried to keep the conversation on the down-low, but my wife is too perceptive for that. And she started to get her hopes up. My in-laws happened to be over at my house when the call came in, and my father-in-law said he would go with me. His hopes were high too. I expected disappointment, and so I tried to get everyone to be rational. Even so, I made a mad dash to find my wallet and keys.

During the drive to the meeting place, I had one thought in my head: don't get your hopes up. But my father-in-law was practically bursting with excitement. He just knew it was her, and we would soon be driving home with Nina. It was affecting me, and I had to fight with all my might to remain stoic and dubious.

We pulled into the parking lot and I saw the car that the person said they would be driving, but I didn’t see the dog. We pulled up to the drivers side, and saw a dog head on the passenger side. “That’s her, Larry!” my father-inlaw said, but I remained silent and stoic. I got out of my van and came to the other side expecting another disappointment. There sat a dog that looked exactly like Nina with her ears up and tail wagging. I stepped closer and didn’t want to believe it was her. But inside me I knew it: Nina was found!

I pulled her head up to my face and nuzzled her and said some sweet nothings and squeezed her and let her lick me. Then my father-in-law got his chance and I called Rachel to tell her we had found her. I had a quick talk with the lady who had her. Her name was Kathy, and I am sure she is the nicest lady I have ever met. We thanked her profusouly and then got ready for to take Nina home.

My father-in-law seemed as happy as the day I made him a grandfather. He insisted that Nina ride home on his lap, and I think the big tough guy was crying. He’ll probably blame the tears on his contacts, but I know better.

When we came in the door, there were shreaks and shouts and tails wagging and all I had pictured in my mind. But no one was happier than Joey. Nina has spent most of her life annoying him and stealing his food, but he wouldn’t leave her alone from the second she came through the door. He was all over her, sniffing and licking and following her everywhere. I guess even he didn’t realize how much he loved her till she was gone. After the excitement died down (at least an hour later), we looked under the kitchen table to see the two of them half asleep with their heads together. It was cute enough for several pictures.

In the excitement, we realized we had not found a way to thank Kathy properly (mere words wouldn’t do), nor had we found out the whole story on how she had found Nina. So we called her back, talked to her for a while, and got her address. Later we sent her a thank-you card with a gift-certificate and a picture of our two dogs with their heads together.

Here is what we know of Nina’s story: We found her gone early on January 1^st. Someone retrieved her on January 6^th and gave her to Kathy, who has been known to take in strays from time to time. On January 4^th, an Ice storm hit Kansas City, coating everything with a thick layer of ice and snow. Nina was out in the elements, without food and water during that storm.

But here is where the story gets really interesting. I have a client on Metcalf, and I had work to do at their site on January 4^th and 5^th, during the ice storm. While driving down Metcalf to get there, I wondered if Nina had come that way, and I asked a few people at the site if they had seen a stray dog around. On January 6^th, the manager of this client looked out her window and saw a dog try to cross Metcalf during the day. She was sure the dog would be hit, and she was equally sure she didn’t want that view out her window, so she and several employees went out to catch this dog.

She wasn’t dressed for the weather, and the dog kept running away from them, so she left her employees and went back to work. One of the employees got a hold of her somehow (I never got a chance to talk to him about it), and later gave Nina to Kathy.

Kathy said that Nina was coated in ice and dirt when they found her, and that she cowered in a corner for several days, not wanting any human contact and refusing food. After several days she came out, ate, and warmed up to Kathy. She was bathed, brushed, fed, and got to sleep on Kathy’s bed with her! She probably began to think it was a vacation!

Now, when Nina gets in the trash, I find it harder to get mad at her because I am sure that is how she survived out there alone. I have a newfound respect for her, because I know I would have been a Popsicle in that ice storm. And now I always have time to give Nina the affection she deserves, no matter what is going on in my life. Because life is short, but not too short to show your friends that you love them.

Can You Live Without China?

When I was learning to use Linux, I was challenged by a mentor to use Linux exclusively for thirty days; I was not to use Windoze for any reason at any time. I accepted the challenge, loaded a Red Hat partition on my laptop and on my home PC, and did not boot into Windoze for a month. I learned to get email, edit spreadsheets and .doc's, play games, surf the web, everything I would normally do on the the Beast of OS's. Unfortunately, this is a Windoze world and I was dragged back to reality kicking and screaming. Eventually, I was assimilated back into the Windoze world for personal computing and Linux returned to being the backoffice mistress of servers. The experiment served an important role in my education, though. I learned that I could make do without Bill Gates, and that some of the solutions are as easy and are much sexier than the unaesthetic crap offered to the average PC abuser. Sara Bongiorni is at least 12x braver than I am: she tried to go a whole year without China! After another materialistic American Christmas, she realized how much of the holiday was "Made in China". Upon further investigation, she found that most of her home was imported from China. She got her whole family to live a whole year without China, and found out that they had to do without on many items. For instance: they were unable to replace their coffee maker (ouch) when it broke, without buying a Chinese model. For their children, they found that pretty much the only toys available to them were Lego's. As a woodworker, her hubby had trouble buying tools. The story from Foreign Policy is here. She wrote a book about her family's experience also.

Airport Security and Un-Common Sense

As Jerry Seinfeld would say, “What’s the deal with airport security?” I remember hearing a story at the end of 2001/early 2002 about a retired Marine General who was not allowed through security (in fact was detained, questioned, and summarily humiliated) because he tried to board his flight with his Medal of Honor in his pocket.

The Medal of Honor is the highest decoration our country can bestow, and most people die in the process of earning it (saving many lies in doing so.) Of all the men and women who have served in Operation Iraqi/Enduring Freedom, only one person has been awarded this medal, albeit posthumously: Marine CPL Jason Dunham jumped on a grenade to save his patrol.

Anyhow, no one in Airport security had the training to understand that retired Generals who have earned the Medal of Honor are not a threat to our country.

In other news, there were the 6 Muslim Imans who were pulled off a flight in Minnesota because they were dressed in robes and turbans, sported full, uncut beards, and were speaking in Arabic. Again, someone failed to realize that every terrorist from the 9/11 attack were clean cut, dressed in dockers, and appeared to be students or programmers.

In America, we still have an embarrassing lack of knowledge of Islam and all things Arab. If we are attacked in the future by muslims, there is a great chance that the terrorists will not look like Arabs at all. A growing percentage of Africa is Muslim, poor, disenfranchised, and mad as hell at America. Also, we have Indonesians and Filipinos to worry about. When I took a terrorism counteraction as a Marine in 1994, we studied several attacks in the Philippines - that is a hornet's nest going way back, and that may soon find its way onto American soil.

However, the most effective terrorist attacks that America has faced (after 9/11, of course) have come from former enlisted military men, all but one of which was white. John Muhammad (and his "son" John Lee Malvo) was a rare exception. Besides the anomaly, we have Timothy McVeigh, Terry Nichols, Charles Whitman, Lee Harvey Oswald, and Andres Raya, to name the most famous in my mind. Unfortunately, I fit into this category. However, I wouldn't mind being profiled if it made my nation safer.

I just wish we could leave the pregnant women, grandmas, retired Generals, and 7 year old kids alone.

Wolfmother

There is a great show on A&E called "Driving Force". It is a reality show that peers into the life of John Force, one of the best drag racers in the sport. I am not big into racing of any kind, but what makes the show interesting is three things: 1. He is a nut case. I am not a doctor, but I am sure it wouldn't take one long to diagnose his issues and write several prescriptions. However, he is a good man, as real as can be, driven to excel, and has the heart of a teacher. He shouts, he cries, he plays gags, he cajoles and motivates, he treats his competitors like brothers and friends, and he wins. I wouldn't mind spending some time in John Force's shoes, but I am sure I could not fill them as well as him. 2. He has a very interesting family arrangement: He has been married forever to his daughters' mother, yet they live in separate houses. They work together, race together, eat together, vacation together, and then go to separate homes. The strange dynamic makes for interesting voyeur TV. 3. His three daughters are smokin' hot, smart, strong, and they race. One of his daughters, Ashley Force, has gone pro and is closely watched. The look in her eye tells me she will be a major challenge for a long time. Like I said, I am not into racing, but for some reason women in race cars is very interesting to me--and not for chauvinistic reasons, I think. Anyway, I am flipping through the channels, I see hot chicks racing cars, I watch the show, and I am turned onto a great song: "Woman" by Wolfmother. It played on the radio a few days later, I bought the CD, and I am now telling everyone about this band. I do not get excited about new music very often. I am getting old, the bands are getting lazy, and the record execs are losing their nerve and imagination. Somehow, Wolfmother made it past all the obstacles that keep great bands on the local circuit. Wolfmother is an Australian band. They rock hard. They do ballad without the sappy. Unlike so much of the crap out there today, it is obvious they have listened to some good music for influence, maybe some Zeppelin, some Hendrix, etc. And yet, they are totally original. Their songs are different, and they make noises you have never heard on an album. Best of all, their experiments payoff--they aren't one of these weird bands that make alien noises and bore you to tears. So check out the song that got me started first: Woman. Next, check a very dynamic song, one that starts beautiful and ends strong: White Unicorn. The first song on their CD is great for getting pumped up, called Dimension. That should be enough to send you to Amazon and pick up the CD.

Great Blogging Advice

I started this blog for several reasons. One was to provide an outlet for creative energy. Another was to develop my writing skills. A third reason was to understand and master blogging, mainly for personal enrichment and geek bragging rights. To this last reason, I will know I have arrived when I can blog like Tony Pierce. Also, another great blog post in blogging is Seth Godin.

Russian Macroeconomics

Every American knows that our national debt is unbelievably high; how convenient that it is a number that is difficult to imagine. When I think about the balance of my mortgage, it is a number that is easy to imagine. When I research a company for investment purposes and find their debt to be measured in 8 or 9 digits, I can compare that number to their assets, their income, and to the debts of similar companies. But the debt of the United States is almost inconceivable: according to the CIA's World Factbook, the U.S. debt stands at $10.04 trillion! I have held thousands of dollars, I can calculate millions in my head, I have worked for multi-billion dollar companies. However, I have no frame of reference for 10 trillion dollars. I suspect most Americans also have no way to conceptualize that amount. Therefore, trillion dollar debt sounds bad, but our brain never calculates how bad it is.

Now, let's talk about Russia. I think most Americans conceptualize Russia as backwards, depressed, poor, crumbling, corrupt, and economically ignorant. To be sure, Russia has many problems and many of them are economic. However, like the communist, socialist black hole of China, Russia is in a pretty good place when you look at macroeconomic fundamentals. Again, I am using the CIA World Factbook as a source. They have run a budget surplus since 2001. Their GDP grew an average of 6.7% since 1998. They have pre-paid all Soviet-era sovereign debt to Paris Club creditors and the IMF (over $22 billion). They have a stabilization fund of $89 billion, and the third largest foreign exchange reserve (after China and Japan) of $315.5 billion. Their debt in 2006 was $287.4 billion. In other words, if they didn't have to cover the value of the Ruble, they could payoff all of their debt and still buy a few fighter planes!

Since the 1980's most Americans have been aware of the United States' trade deficit. Americans have piles of disposable income to waste on junk food and trinkets, and goods in other currencies are dirt cheap when purchased in dollars, so we import more than we export. And here's the rub: The more we spend on foreign products, the less money in the U.S. economy, generally speaking. At some point, if you ship out more money than you bring in you end up bankrupt. I am not an advocate for tariffs and quotas, I am just pointing out a math problem.

How is Russia doing? Very well, thank you very much. Russia's imports were $171.5 billion in 2006 and their exports were $317.6 billion. For the same period, U.S. imports were $1.869 trillion and our exports were $1.024 trillion. Therefore, Russia gained $146.1 billion from trade and the U.S. lost $849 billion.

Let's talk budget again for a second. In 2006, the U.S. had revenues of $2.409 trillion and expenditures of $2.66 trillion. For the same period, Russia had revenues of $222.2 billion and spent only $157.3 billion. So for one year, the U.S had to finance $251 billion dollars, while Russia was able to pocket $64.9 billion. And this has been going on for years!

Russia has had negative population growth for a while now, suffered from inflation and emigration, their infrastructure is still in shambles, corruption is rampant, the rule of law is often laughable, and they have some major political issues to resolve. However, when you already have a powerful economy, these other problems are easier to solve.

I hear people in America making noise about abortion, stem cells, social security, immigration, health care, line item vetoes, steroids in baseball, and gay marriage; as if any of these things really mattered. Look, you can neither allow nor prevent gay marriage when your nation is broke. You cannot provide health care or social security when we are begging China for money.

If we don't fix our macroeconomic fundamentals today, we will have potholes in our interstates, the White House will yellow from neglect, the Capital dome will crumble, and all our best doctors and scientists will leave our institutions for greener pastures. Men like Bill Gates and Warren Buffet will cash in their dollars and hold assets in a more stable currency, in a more stable country.

Our debt can be easily conceptualized, but not in units. Here is how: What comes after trillions? Quadrillions? No. Bankruptcy.

Who would have thought that we would need an economic lesson from Russia?