A tax idea that just tastes flat

Some voices are now calling for "obesity taxes" beginning with levies on sweetened sodas (link to NEJM article by way of SciGuy). This, quite frankly, is insane, considering that our government has basically been using our tax dollars for years to subsidize the cheap corn that turns into the fattening high fructose corn syrup in those same sodas.

Of course, we've had lots of previous practice with this, having progressively escalated sales taxes on cigarettes while quietly continuing to subsidize tobacco farmers.

The image of a dog chasing its tail comes to mind.

A Guarantee That Will Never Be Put Into Writing

Dear readers, rest assured that you will never see this blog delivered in the overplayed Comic Sans font.

Have a pleasant day.

Requiem

His name was Jerry.

I thought about him a lot tonight. Well, frankly I've been thinking about him quite a bit over the past few days. Ever been hiking through the woods and get a face full of spiderwebs? In the first few minutes, you can get most of the big chunks out of your hair, but for many minutes to come, you're yanking a strand out here and there.

That's what it's been like with my feelings about the hit-and-run event on Monday. I poured out a lot in the hours immediately afterward, in conversations with various people and especially in online outlets like my blog. Now it's just a pesky strand here and there. Some of these strands have been particularly sticky. "A real man would have been able to save him," snickered a particularly nasty one this morning on the way to work. Crazy, I know. The only way I could have saved Jerry is if I had wrapped his body in a ridiculously thick layer of bubblewrap right before it was struck by that pickup truck.

But although I can never un-see what I saw, I think I've turned the corner in dealing with it. I chuckled yesterday when I realized that I had previously agreed to go see a performance of Mozart's Requiem by a local church choir and orchestra. A requiem Mass is where we ask God for the souls of the departed to enjoy eternal rest. So the timing of tonight's concert was simply impeccable.

As the story goes, Mozart himself was unable to complete the composition of this Requiem. As Mozart fell too ill to continue, another composer named Franz Xaver Süssmayr took over to finish it. Tonight I was thinking of all those who have died preceding our lives, leaving custody of the planet and of its history to us -- until it is taken from us too, to be passed to those who survive next. Behaving as if we permanently possess it is laughable. But during the brief time this is all in our hands, we have the choice to make a difference by adding love or detract from it by inflicting indifference. Whether we like it or not, that's the choice we have on each morning we are able to wake and go about our daily business. It really is like being given an incomplete musical composition and then being asked to try and finish it.

As it so happens, tonight's performance was a very much a contrite prayer offered up in the form of music. I'm not going to be attending Jerry's real funeral, but tonight's concert was an opportunity to offer my own "Bon voyage!" as he takes his ride to wherever he's heading next.

And now I'm left to compose my next movement.

"Nope, he didn't."

Rationally, I know the response to last night's accident was flawless. My 911 call went through seconds after the man hit the ground. Everyone knew not to try to move him to avoid aggravating any spinal cord trauma. The paramedics arrived within a few minutes -- it seemed quick even in my hurry-up-and-wait state of mind. And as long as he was drawing breath, I was clinging to hopes he would make it.

But he didn't. I was told this afternoon that the motorcyclist died. All day I've been rolling the whole situation around in my head wondering if there was something different we could have done to change the outcome in his favor.

At this time, the police are still seeking the hit-and-run driver.

Prior to this week, I've never actually seen anyone fatally injured right before my eyes. So I'm dealing with it and I'm sort of hoping I've met my lifetime quota.

"I hope he makes it."

I'm going to start this post with three recommendations for my readers who run . . .

1) Carry a cell phone.
2) Carry some form of identification on your person.
3) While running alongside a road, run against the direction of traffic whenever possible.

. . . and here's why:

Tonight I went out for another short run. I was running alongside a freeway feeder road when I heard a loud bang behind me. I turned around and saw a motorcycle and its rider flipping in mid-air. The motorcycle came to rest by the curb, but the rider had been thrown many yards farther onto the bank of a nearby ditch.

As I ran towards the motorcyclist, I yelled out, "Are you OK!?" In retrospect, this was a very silly question after what I had just seen. I quickly drew my cell phone out of my Nike armband and dialed 911 for the first time in my life. I gave the operator my location and described what had just happened. Another witness to the accident had pulled over, got out of his vehicle and was looking the motorcyclist over. Over the phone, I was given instructions that we were not to move him or do anything unless his airway was compromised. Luckily, he was breathing, if mumbling incoherently.

Also in the motorcyclist's favor was the proximity of the nearest fire station, whose HFD paramedics responded quickly. As they went about their work, I decided to attempt to pray. I kneeled and said a few words asking God to be with this man at this time. Then I started to recite The Lord's Prayer, and found myself forgetting the words. My hands had went numb to the point where it would have been difficult to dial the phone again if I had wanted to do so. The gravity of the situation had finally sunk in and I was feeling shaken.

Some time later, as the feeling returned to my hands, a Life Flight helicopter arrived at the scene and took off with the motorcyclist aboard. Police accident investigators were surveying the scene and took statements from us. Because I was facing away from the accident when it actually unfolded, I probably won't be of that much use as an eyewitness. But the other witness made a very good point to me. Had the accident occurred just a few seconds prior, I could have been in the path of the vehicles involved. As a runner on the sidewalk, I would have had a better chance of taking necessary evasive action if I was facing the approaching traffic.

The motorcyclist had a wallet with a driver's license, so even though he couldn't speak, the paramedics knew who he was. It reminded me of why I wear my Road ID. Something as simple as a cheap dog tag around your neck can communicate critical information to first responders. And tonight's accident reminds me of why I don't run with headphones and carry my phone. The prompt 911 call might have made a difference for the motorcyclist tonight. I hope he makes it.

Ride safe. Run safe.

Rising

Last weekend's planting of shriveled up bean and Swiss chard seeds have turned into this weekend's tender green sprouts in my patio containers. Life rising is a beatiful sight.

My Miles Game teammates on the RW forums likely will be relieved to know that I won't be posting a painted goose egg to our total this week. I've made a few short runs -- capped off with a four-miler at a steady 10:30/mi pace -- and haven't had any tendinits to complain about. I won't push it much harder or farther than that for at least a few more weeks. This weekend is all about new life and it does sort of feel as if I'm starting a new running life again.

As a sort-of random thought, Gran Torino was a great, great movie in my opinion. It's probably completely out of the cinemas now, but the DVD is supposed to be released in June. I know it might be strange to talking about a Clint Eastwood flick on this Paschal morning, but I was reminded of it because it's also a story of someone offering a sacrifice of self so that others might have life.

Happy Easter, y'all.

Should the Rohs by any other name be spelled with ease?

Some recent words from Rep. Betty Brown of Texas have got me thinking about American identity. In short, Brown made a remark suggesting that Asian-Americans consider changing their names to make things smoother on Election Day:

“Rather than everyone here having to learn Chinese — I understand it’s a rather difficult language — do you think that it would behoove you and your citizens to adopt a name that we could deal with more readily here?”

There's a definite difference between hatred and ignorant misunderstanding. I'm hoping this was just ignorance. The use of the phrase "you and your citizens" strikes me as particularly unfortunate because (1) the person she was addressing at the time was named Ramey Ko -- not exactly a difficult name for pollworkers to grasp, even those educated in Texas public schools -- and (2) as "citizens" we're supposed to all belong to the same state and country.

I do understand that, for many immigrants, picking up an "Americanized" nickname makes everyday life and blending into the culture easier. But in the age of computers, it's not that hard for the government to track proper spellings and such. We stopped making up things to scribble by hand into the Ellis Island registry a long time ago. Brown's remark was just laughably rude.

Crashing down

This past week I logged zero running miles. Not a one. I suppose it was bound to happen at some point, especially following a goal race like last week's half marathon. I could probably rattle off excuses, but I won't bother. If it bothers me enough, I think I'll be running again soon. It's that simple. I think just having to type this paragraph will be motivation enough.

In sad news on the patio gardening front, I think I have my first official casualties today. One of the ceiling hooks gave way and a strawberry plant came crashing down, taking a railing box down with it. I've attempted to re-pot all the plants, but I think at least one of the impatiens isn't going to make it after all of its stems were snapped. I'm not too concerned about that one, but if the strawberry doesn't recover, that would suck. All of the hanging plants are now suspended on stouter hooks set into a wood beam instead of drywall. Hopefully this won't happen again.