In Pursuit of the Pursuit of Happiness

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People say that one of the unique components of the American experiment was the explicit enumeration of “the pursuit of happiness” in the founding document of the country.  And that’s true but I think the more important situation is that to a much greater degree than elsewhere it actually was captured.  I’d say that the capture of happiness is the much discussed “American Dream.”

And I’ll go further; I’ll say that without the happiness there isn’t anything worth discussing about America.  The essence of this country is that it delivered on the dream.  People who came here and put in the effort found actual happiness.  And what was that happiness?  In the last hundred and fifty years it was middle class status which means the wherewithal to raise a family above the poverty line.  The definition of poverty has shifted over the centuries.  Of late it means being able to afford shelter, food, clothes, education, communication, entertainment and transportation costs for a family of four.  And nowadays that’s quite a bit.

But the general idea is that you make enough money to bring up your kids to be able to walk among equals in the town you live in.  And that is the definition of happiness for normal human beings.  And except for economic catastrophes like the Great Depression that expectation was within reach of even penniless immigrants who arrived here without even a command of the English language.  But that situation is no longer the case.  The younger generation are of the opinion that a middle-class lifestyle for them is an impossibility.  And I contend that is why Donald Trump has twice been elected president.

It’s not as if Gen Z likes his looks or rhetoric.  He’s the ultimate example of the man to whom they’d say, “Okay boomer.”  His views on women and foreigners are considered uncouth by the young.  But he’s promised to fix the economy so that they can afford to be grown-ups and move out of their parents’ basements.  So, the real question is; can he do it?

Boy, I wish I knew the answer to this one.  Sure, I want the answer to be yes.  But it’s a lot easier to move an industrial base to a new country when labor costs are effectively zero than it is to rebuild it in a place where labor costs and environmental regulations are huge negatives.  It may be that he won’t get enough time to rebuild it.  But that is the bet.  Donald Trump says he can restore the American Dream; restore the chance for a middle-class lifestyle for the majority of Americans.

I find it an amazing thing.  A man that everyone claims is just a flim-flam man and an opportunist has recognized that our present disastrous state is the result of the failure of the most fundamental characteristic of America; happiness.  And diagnosed its remedy as restoring the means of a middle-class lifestyle to the common man.  I think a case could be made that he’s the only one in politics who isn’t an opportunist.

Escape from New York 2025

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Three down, four to go.

So, yesterday I went to Brooklyn for a family reunion.  Driving through the Bronx and Queens I could see the Manhattan skyline and as much as the city has become a cesspool, that skyline is beautiful and impressive.  It’s a bittersweet sight.  My family has lived in New York City for a hundred and forty years.  We loved it and were proud of its grandeur and dynamism.  And now?  Well, pride is impossible.  Just within the time we were travelling down the streets of Brooklyn I could see thuggery and depravity on display.  A city of eight million people that used to be a showcase of culture, business and the Arts reduced to third world barbarity.

Now it’s a dysfunctional space where crime, poverty, homelessness and drug-use dominate the landscape.  It infects everyone who lives there.  It degrades all the magnificent monuments of the past and makes a mockery of their former achievements.  And it makes travelling into its bowels dangerous, frightening and infinitely difficult.  Where can and can’t you drive?  Where can you park your car and find it in one piece when you return?  Where can you walk in the day but not at night?  All the fun questions of NYC urban life.

But ultimately it was worth it all.  For the second time in a few months, I saw members of my extended family that I haven’t otherwise seen in decades.  I met the second and third generations on these branches of the family tree and saw the family resemblances and the new additions to the stock.  Charming.

Ultimately America is convulsing under the forces that the elites can bring to bear.  How we react and compensate for these disturbances is all we have any power over.  My family, for the most part, has abandoned the cities and looked for opportunities and safer surroundings where we could find them.  And that process continues.  Those that stay in these dangerous areas tend to pay a heavy price.  There are physical and mental health consequences to trying to raise children in a hellscape.  Premature death is not unheard of.  And it’s sad to see this reality.  But it’s inspiring when you see someone who has struggled with the traps of that world overcoming the problems and succeeding.

And when it’s over we always have the epic, “Escape from New York!”  I was riding shotgun and the death-defying feats of my driver were truly inspiring.  You haven’t experienced real terror until you’ve cut across five lanes of traffic to make an exit on the BQE.  But we got out and then my drive home from the suburbs was uneventful.

When I reached home Camera Girl was entertaining grandsons Tertius and Quartus with a hockey game on television.  Apparently, this New England sport has caught on with this generation of my descendants.  And I have no objections although I myself have never been able to see the puck on television.  I have to go by the noise of the crowd to know when the puck has actually ended up in the net.  Mostly I just watch the players assaulting each other around the periphery of the rink.  Which is entertaining in its own right.  By the time the boys left it was after midnight and I crashed into the blessed oblivion of sleep.

Well, this was late for obvious reasons.  And the next few days will be equally sketchy because of my slightly punchy condition and the length of my workdays tomorrow and Tuesday but I will attempt to produce some kind of content.  Adios.

Tom’s World – 17MAY2025 – Pain

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Tom | Flickr

TomD

I had something similar about 12 years ago, on a weekend. It was days before I could get to a dentist who then kicked me to a dental surgeon. But he did take pity on me and wrote a few days supply of some opioid for me. Talk about relief! Before, the incessant throbbing precluded all life functions except misery.

There are so many drug addicted people out there that opioids are being withheld from non-addicted people who really have a short term need.

Other than post surgical on two occasions, the only other time I need opioids was from what I think was whooping cough decades ago. Once I started coughing, I would go into a painful fit of it that would last minutes and reoccur several times an hour. My throat was so raw that I could barely talk. A codeine cough syrup was an immediate and blessed relief.

On occasion, you need opioids and you really need them. It’s a shame that events have made Dr’s and DD’s so reluctant to proscribe them that even people like yourself can’t get them when needed.

In the meantime, the true abusers have an immense, cheap and potent supply of much stronger drugs. As a testament to the Law of Unintended Consequences, it looks like the hard restriction of opioid from the abusers had the result driving them and creating the flood of cheap fentanyl. So now, it looks like the only people who can’t get pain killers are the legitimate users.

Photog Agonistes

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About a year ago I bit into a pumpernickel bagel and there must have been a small rock in it.  Don’t ask me how.  Anyway, the molar I bit down with (I’ve since learned it’s called #31) was killing me so I went to my trusty dentist and told him I must have busted it.  He x-rayed it and poked and prodded it (Oh joy!)  And declared it okay.  Slowly it seemed to get better and I took a watch and wait approach.  Two weeks ago, I was chewing on oatmeal.  Oatmeal!  There’s nothing more innocuous than oatmeal.  Right?

Good old #31 made a cracking noise and provided me with a whole new definition of pain.  So, I knew I had a bunch of things that had to get done this week and next week so I decided that if I didn’t chew food on my right side, I could make it through and then go see the Doc.  Well two days ago that strategy failed catastrophically.  The tooth was throbbing and aching really awfully.  So yesterday I went to the dentist hoping he’d fix it before Saturday when I was starting a trip.  Instead, he punted to an outside endodontic practice.  Well, I wasn’t going to get an appointment yesterday.  It’ll be next Thursday!  In desperation I told him I needed something for the infection and pain and he gave me the generic amoxicillin prescription and a friendly pat on the shoulder.

Well, the amoxicillin has been in my system for a little over a day and it has brought the pain down from blinding stabbing pain to grinding ache.  But for some reason I’m incredibly tired and kind of feverish.  So, here’s the thing.  I have a super long travelling day tomorrow and a social occasion.  If I get home Saturday night, I’ll have Sunday to rest.  If I don’t then I’ll go from that directly to a two-day event at work with each day running about fifteen hours.  Then Wednesday I have to drive a friend to a doctor’s appointment about an hour away.  And then Thursday I get to go to the endodontist to be vivisected and dumped bleeding and groaning on the sidewalk before driving home.

This is a warning that output and quality on the site for the next six days will be very questionable.  If I start sounding loopier than usual it’s the gangrene talking and not me.  Well, anyway I’ll do my best.  The quotes and photos are already in queue and I will endeavor to get the stuff on the site but there may be some late posts.  Mea culpa, mea culpa.

Camera Girl tells me I’ve been like a pathetic loser and a baby who needs pity; pieta (although in the dialect of her family’s Italian it’s pronounced as if it’s spelled “peacod.”  Well, she’s probably right.  I would give a thousand dollars to stay home for the next week.  But promises were made and responsibilities are non-negotiable.  So, raise the curtain on my Greek Tragedy, “Photog Agonistes.”  Count no man fortunate until he is safely dead.

End of whine.