“Is this a great country or what?”

In the words of Garrison Keillor: “Here I am, the old draft-dodger, about to meet the commandant of the U.S. Coast Guard. Is this a great country or what?”
“So where did you go to college?” he asked.
(I forget the answer.)
“So what did you major in?”
“Seamanship,” he said.
“I majored in English,” Keillor said.
(I majored in History, yet got the dreaded funicular right at the mighty Curve, while the so-called engineer crashed mightily in flames.
My wife has been doing her spreadsheets of our income, which I verify my 1040 with. She’s also doing it so we can relate same to a financial advisor.
“Is this a great country or what?” she says, “We’re not working, yet we raked in last year almost as much as we did when working.”
At this point we cue the almighty Bluster-King to fulminate loudly about entitlements.
To which I say: “Just keep working, Boobie. What about your beloved Porta-Johns? They’re gushing raw sewage all over Crapo St., while you fiddle FlagOut on the man’s nickel.”
Our onliest “entitlement” is Social-Security, which we funded our entire working lives. (He noisily insists it’s a fixed-income, although it’s ratcheted up every year.)
Our other incomes are -a) Linda’s pension, -b) my pension, and -c) Linda’s post-office employment, which is part-time, and peanuts.
My pension is hardly an entitlement; it’s a union-negotiated (ahem) benefit.
Linda’s pension was set up to attract employees away from jobs that had union-protection. So in effect, her pension is also a union-negotiated benefit. —Recent employees at her old employer no longer get a pension; it’s an employer’s market.
Linda’s post-office job is hardly a life-supporting income. It’s only a way to kill time.
We also get the proceeds of an annuity that her Aunt Ethelyn set up. That’s about $4,000 — about 8% of our annual income. (That lasts until 2010 — but only decreases our income by 8%.)
So sure; following the blustering of the almighty Bluster-King: “Get a job! Be productive! Stop being a drag on my bloated income!”
Sure; get a job, and collect less. You owe me, Boobie! —You wouldn’t be the person ya are but for me! And regrettably I created a monster. That thing about the hobbyhorse was a mistake.

RE: “I majored in History, yet got the dreaded funicular right at the mighty Curve, while the so-called engineer crashed mightily in flames......” —My major at Houghton College, from where I graduated with a BA in 1966, was History. I’ve never regretted it. The “mighty Curve” (Horseshoe Curve), west of Altoona, Pennsylvania, is by far the BEST railfan spot I have ever been to. Horseshoe Curve is a national historic site. It was a trick used by the Pennsylvania Railroad to get over the Allegheny mountains without steep grades. Horseshoe Curve was opened in 1854, and is still in use. (I am a railfan.) A funicular railroad (sort of a glorified cable-car) is used to climb to the viewing-area. My loudmouthed macho brother-from-Boston was trained as an engineer, and noisily claims superiority; yet his prediction of which way the funicular would go was backwards. Per my observation of the cables, I got it right.

My wife of 40 years is “Linda.”

“The almighty Bluster-King” (“Boobie;” “Jack Hughes”) is my macho, loudmouthed brother-from-Boston, who noisily badmouths everything I do or say.

RE: “What about your beloved Porta-Johns? They’re gushing raw sewage all over Crapo St., while you fiddle FlagOut on the man’s nickel............” —My brother Jack claims he is manager of the Porta-Johns where he works; that he protects them from al-Qaeda attack. His only daughter lives on “Crapo St.” “FlagOut” is our family’s web-site, named that because I had a mentally-retarded kid-brother (Down Syndrome) who lived at home, and loudly insisted the flag be flown every day. “Flag-Out! Sun comes up, the flag goes up! Sun goes down, the flag comes down.” I fly the flag partly in his honor. (He died at 14 in 1968.) My brother fiddles FlagOut on his work computer.

RE: “It’s a union-negotiated (ahem) benefit.......” —All my siblings are anti-union.

RE: “You owe me, Boobie! —You wouldn’t be the person ya are but for me! And regrettably I created a monster. That thing about the hobbyhorse was a mistake.......” —I am the oldest; my brother is 13 years younger than me. I changed his diapers. I also encouraged him to max out the hobbyhorse.