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Mr. Filler Goes to Washington
Categories: Columns
Mr. Filler goes to Washington
Published: Sunday, December 9, 2007"It's my week off and I'm not going to write a column," I told my wife Monday. "It's time to take a little break."
Angela: "What will you do when your little 'ideas' come to you and you simply need to let them out?"
Me: "I will share them with you, my lucky, lovely buttercup."
I saw the panic in Angela's eyes. She's lived with me when I wasn't writing a regular column. She has endured shouted 600-word rants about the Bull Moose Party, the Constitution, yogurt, semi-automatic weapons, love, PETA members and the love of PETA members for yogurt (but not semi-automatic weapons).
"But what about your fans, what about the boys at the orphanage who say you inspire them so?" she asked.
"It's really more a correctional facility than an orphanage," I answered. "Although technically, if you're in for killing your parents ... "
But I was committed. I would not write a column this week.
That resolve lasted one full day before I ran into a situation so egregious that the massive bucket of fury it created simply had to be captured and poured out on ... you, I guess.
Imagine you are tooling along down I-26, headed to Columbia and singing along to some favorites on the cassette player, or as I call it, the oldPod. Suddenly, just when "I Am Woman" is getting to the good part, you realize you shouldn't have had that second cup of coffee this morning, or in this case, that I shouldn't have had that third rack of ribs the night before.
It's my experience that these sudden realizations generally come on just after I've passed the really inviting exit, trumpeted by billboards for miles, that promises inexpensive pecan logs, home cookin' and "easy on, easy off access."
But Tuesday, I thought I was in luck. No sooner did the message, "Dude, seriously, three racks of ribs, with sides?" get sent from my stomach to my brain then I saw one of those big, blue signs on the side of the road.
It promised a Burger King, a McDonald's and a Hardee's, as well as several gas stations and, although I didn't think my emergency warranted this, a hotel.
So, happy and confident, I took the exit, peered at the next blue sign, the one that tells you which way to turn, and what did I see?
Hardee's: 8.8 miles
Burger King: 8.9 miles
McDonald's: 9.0 miles
"OH MY (The following has been censored to protect the sensibilities of children, the elderly, long-haul truckers and convicted felons)!"
To someone who really needs a pit stop, those signs might as well read:
Hardee's: Take a left at Mars
Burger King: 10,000 light years
McDonald's: Keep dreamin'
I was enraged. I was appalled. I was, quite frankly, a bit panicky.
It is time someone stood up for our rights. It is time someone raised a voice in outrage. It is time someone shrieked in a high-pitched, girlish tone, and that's where I come in.
I am calling on state and federal politicians to pass a law stating that businesses advertised on official highway signage as being off an exit must be close enough to the exit to be visible from the end of the ramp. Failing that, the signs on the actual highway must state the distance of the business from the interstate.
"I think this is really exciting," Angela said of my plan to lobby lawmakers. "Rant at them for a few years. I could use the break."
Call Filler at 562-7218, e-mail him
at lane.filler@shj.com or read his blog at goupstate.com/lanefiller.
That whole presidential campaign thing
Categories: Columns
So folks have asked about the sign at the "Break Room" that proclaims itself the headquarters for my campaign for president. Here, then, is the original column. Just remember, long before Stephen Colbert considered a run for the presidency of South Carolina, there was this.
Waving a hat at the ring, for now
Published: Sunday, January 28, 2007 | Updated: 12:26 pmToday, I announce that I've decided to begin discussing with my family and close personal advisers the idea that I may seek the office of president of the United States, preparatory to tossing around the concept of forming an exploratory committee to run it up the flagpole and see who salutes.
I will not be ready to make a firm statement about a possible run until the final episodes of "The Sopranos" air later this year, at which point I will devote my full attention to the decision-making process.
I don't even want to run, but if my country needs me, what can I do?
People say to me, "Lane, why you, why now, why the presidency?"
Actually, they don't say that yet, because I only announced my intention to discuss the concept of forming the thingamajig three paragraphs ago, plus, like I said, I don't even want to run.
But if they did say that, my response would be: "Because I've got real answers to the questions facing us today, answers like 'What is the Treaty of Versailles, Alex,' '(D), none of the above' and 'Yes, I would like to biggiesize my meal deal.'"
I plan to spend the next few months sticking my big toe in the pool of public opinion and discerning whether it is cold enough to make things shrivel.
I will not formally seek the office of president unless I believe there is a groundswell of support for me across this nation. Seriously, I won't even leave the house. I promise not to discuss my candidacy beyond this column.
I'll just be lounging in my den, looking out the window, waiting for the groundswell. Maybe I'll sit in a lawn chair in the driveway, but that's it.
But when I hear the groundswell coming, I'll be ready.
I believe I can bring a fresh dose of optimism to the race, which is much better than the stale optimism of my opponents. I believe a new day is dawning in America, every day.
Once the waves of support break down my resistance to running, I'll begin to travel the country. I'll deliver to hard-working, honest Americans the message they want to hear, but I will not stop there. I will also bring hope to immoral, dishonest Americans, assuming they are eligible to vote.
In the months ahead, you will hear my detractors saying, "Who the heck is Lane Filler?" "Does he really think global warming causes 'Trickle Down Economics'?" and "Why did he drink my Slurpee?"
Don't believe any of it for an instant. I promise that my message is your message, that my beliefs are your beliefs.
If you hear of me saying anything you disagree with, please understand I was misquoted and my comments were taken out of context. I'm seeking counseling, and the whole thing has been a growth experience that leaves me even more certain it is my destiny to guide this great nation.
Many might wonder whether I stand with the left or the right. To them I answer wholeheartedly: "Yes. Yes, I do."
Others will ask which party I represent, and to them I say, "I represent the party of good, moral, responsible, compassionate, hard-working people. I represent the party that cares for all the needs of all the citizens and protects their liberties. I represent the party that respects the Constitution. I represent the party that's tough on terrorism and open to foreign cultures. I represent your party 100 percent, and I hate that other party so much it makes me want to spit."
Is that the garbage truck coming, or did I just hear a groundswell?
Have you tried aspirin and leeches?
The only way health care could cost as little as it used to is if it only accomplished as little as it used to.
I can offer you affordable care for a brain tumor. I can get someone to come to your house and mop your brow with a wet cloth for six bucks an hour, and when you die, writhing in agony from the lack of modern painkillers, everyone will say, “Well, at least he went out with a nice, clean brow.”
A few weeks ago when Sen. John McCain was in town speaking, he asserted that medical costs were spinning out of control and cited a 10 percent year-over-year increase in per-person Medicaid expenditures as evidence. Later, speaking with him, I said, “Don’t you think the cost increase is due to improvements in medical care? I know health care used to be a lot cheaper, but isn’t that mostly because they couldn’t treat or cure anything? How much can leeches cost?”
McCain argued I was wrong because new technology makes things less expensive in real dollars, using automobiles as an example.
Had I been born in 1850 I would have a life expectancy of 38, and since I turn 37 in two weeks, that doesn’t sound like a very good deal. My wife would have a life expectancy of 40, which would get her out of another 40 years of listening to my guff, but still.
Instead, my life expectancy these days is over 70, and hers is over 80. And we won’t just live longer, we’ll live better, with brand new knees and hips, artificial hearts, a full head of teeth, top-notch painkillers and physical therapy whenever things start to go wrong.
And McCain’s automobile analogy doesn’t work, because cars don’t actually run any better or last any longer than they used to.
I called Libby Dismuke, an assistant professor at the Center for Health Economics and Policy Studies at the Medical University of South Carolina, to see what she thought. Dismuke referred me to the work of Joseph P. Newhouse, the leading scholar on the topic, who argued in a landmark article published in 1992 that the greatest increase in health care costs comes from advancing technology and quality.
Other components in the increase have been an aging population and the fact that people whose health care costs are similar regardless of how many services they request (because of low deductibles and copays) will request a ton of services.
As for most of the rise, though, Dismuke said, “I’m in complete agreement with Newhouse that for six decades (until 1991) the bulk of the increase was new technology. I think it still is.”
The discussion about health-care costs is about how to pay for stuff, but payment methods don’t change how much stuff costs. You can say, “Let the government pay,” but that just means we pay with taxes. You can say, “Let the employer cover it,” but that just means the company has to pay us less, or charge more for goods and services.
We can end health-care cost increases today. All we need do is stop all health-care research. No new drugs, no new technologies, no new treatments, no new costs.
If I receive $1 million in medical care in my life, someone is going to have to pay $1 million for it.
My wife has suffered an aneurysm and a burst appendix. Had she been born in the days of truly affordable health-care, she would be dead now.
That’s a cheap option, but not an affordable one.
And so ended my newspaper column, which only runs about 530 words. The brevity makes me a better writer, but with a topic this complex, leaves a lot unsaid.
Health care is one of the great topics of our day, and there are no easy answers, but many of the questions are not quite what they seem.
First of all, yes, health care spending has gone up tremendously when expressed as a percentage of our income, but that is true of everything other than food, clothing and shelter.
For most of human existence, food, clothing and shelter took up about 100 percent of the average person's income. That is no longer true, and the less true it is, the more income we spend on other things, from entertainment and recreation to investment to, yes, health care. So that's not necessarily a bad thing.
Overall, in society, the effect of flat-rate health care on the cost cannot be overstated. The conservatives are right on this, if it costs me the same amount to not have an MRI as it costs me to have an MRI (or two or three) I'm going to end up having a lot of MRIs. The doctor is going to recommend a lot of MRIs, because that's how he makes a living. And my insurance company, or my government, is going to end up with the bulk of the biil, while I have a minimal co-pay or deductible.
We're going to have to find a way to reward people for being sensible about their health and their health care, and that means punishing folks who aren't.
Then there are the dying folks we spend a fortune on. My dad was one of those, diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, which, at least at that time, was an absolute death sentence. Death sentence or not, they treated him for months, at a cost of at least $300,000, and to absolutely no avail. Who's going to decide when medical money is being wasted and when it is being used effectively, because this cannot go on, and yet I can't imagine how it will stop.
And let us not forget the grim specter staring over our shoulder, the 47 million folks without health insurance.
I think pretty much everyone agrees the US is too rich a country to have a huge underclass with no health care. The argument is by what mechanism we are going to pay for all this stuff.
And the point is this. As long as we keep developing more and more drugs, treatments, surgical methods and other technologies, the cost of health care is going to skyrocket.
Isn't it weird how we say "I need a hip replacement," or, "The doctor says I need a pacemaker," when, with pretty much everything else in the world, we would use the word "want."
Buying oranges on cookie futures
The gift wrap is arriving, the oranges are being ordered, cookie time approaches. Here's your Monday morning retread column, in honor of my daughter's first year selling gift wrap, originally published exactly a year ago, when we were still innocent and young.
Buying oranges on cookie futures
Published: Sunday, November 19, 2006I have a case of oranges in the refrigerator. It sits in the same spot as the tubs of raw cookie dough, boxes of actual cookies, cheeses, cases of Krispy Kremes and pizza kits that came before it.
I didn't just think, "I believe I'll go purchase a case of oranges."
No one has ever thought that. Grocery stores don't even price oranges by the case, because … because nobody wants a case of oranges.
But the Spartanburg High Orchestra needs rosin or fiddle strings or tuba tuning or whatever it is high school orchestras need.
That's cool. I support high school students doing just about anything other than what they usually do: Drive erratically in front of my car, blast music that makes me feel like their grumpy Great-grandpa Granville and flash me glimpses of their thongs and boxers.
A few weeks ago, one of the women my wife and I met through the temple who also lives on our street, approached me.
Let's call her Bambi (I think she'll get a kick out of that; she is, in fact, the anti-Bambi).
Bambi is one of the nicest people we've met in Spartanburg. She even brought homemade cookies to welcome us to the neighborhood. I only had to say, "Would it kill you to bring us homemade cookies" three or four times before she got the hint.
So Bambi started the conversation with some pretty insightful comments on the flawless behavior and shocking physical beauty of my daughter and followed up with a quick: "So, need a couple of cases of grapefruits and oranges?"
"Umm," I replied, always quick-witted.
"It's for the Spartanburg High School band," she added quickly. "They're raising money for …" (I don't know, batons, oboe waxing, bail bonds, I spaced out.)
"How much?" I asked
"Just $15 and I deliver to your door," she answered.
"I'll pay $30 if you promise to bring me no oranges whatsoever," I replied.
But my wife shot me the no-one-thinks-you're-funny glare; followed by the we'll-get-her-back-when-Quinn-starts-Girl-Scouts look, and I handed over $15.
Angela was right. Quinn is 5, and her teachers already have us hawking flower bulbs and school-sponsored evenings at Chick-fil-A like we're carny barkers.
I'm all for teamwork, and I know it takes a village and what goes around comes around, (which goes for diseases as much as lending neighbors a hand), but is this system working?
After the orange growers, the packers and the long-haul truckers get paid, how much of my $15 goes to drum sticks (or even wings or thighs).
I want to help the kids, or at least keep the parents from egging my house.
But I don't want any oranges, cookies or cookie dough, and I don't even know what a "votive candle" is.
And what will next year's cash-attracting gimmick be? Pork bellies sold to raise money for the 4-H Club? Door-to-door vacuum cleaner sales to fund the home ec. program?
Here's my idea for the perfect fundraising pitch.
"Mister, the band needs bucks. For $5, I stop instant messaging while I drive. For $10, I throw in a week of pulling up my pants. For $15, you get all that, plus I blast Pat Boone tunes out of my stereo system instead of my preferred bands, Clowns Killing Monkeys for Extra Credit and Maim Adults Now."
I'd prefer Dire Straits to Pat Boone, though.
It's not like I'm anybody's grumpy Great-grandpa Granville or anything.
And another thing
Categories: Columns
I have a few more thoughts on yesterday's column topic that wouldn't fit in the paper. If you haven't read it yet, it should be right below this, so scroll down. We'll' wait for you.
(sound of whistling, foot tapping.)
Okay, while it is aggravating that "Finding Nemo" and every other movie Disney Channel runs on Sunday starts at 8 p.m., in theory, my family should react with a big "Who gives a crap," because we own "Nemo," and pretty much every other major children's movie of the last 10 years, in formats ranging from DVD to VHS to reel-to reel.
So we can put it in the machine and start it whenever we want, and no one gets excited about that.
But when a movie we love comes on TV, even if we own it, we get all thrilled.
It's similar to the way we get excited when a song we love but have practically worn out on CD pops up on the radio, "Oh, awesome, it's that song I just listened to at home 33 times, but on the radio. Awesome."
I think we are starved for communal experiences.
In the early days of TV, there were only a couple of channels, and rarely did more that one of them have anything good on at the same time.
So everyone watched Milton Berle, then talked about it. Everyone saw the Friday Night Fights, then reacted. Everyone saw the Dodgers game, or the Masters, or MASH or Kojak. Everyone knew the same things, shared the consciousness.
Today, we are faced with 500 TV channels, 5 million Web sites, and of course, our own home movie collections. Part of what makes new shows when they come out (think "The Daily Show," "Colbert Report ," "South Park," "Idol," "Survivor") so compelling is that they captivate whole social groups or generations, and provide them a shared experience.
We sit in our gated communities, work out in our home gyms, watch church on TV instead of attending and eschew movie theaters and ballgames for their in-house counterparts, but somewhere, in our hearts, we feel the loss.
"Did you see 'Desperate Housewives' last night?"
"No, I watched the game."
"The Packers game?"
"No, the Knicks."
"Who won?"
"The New Orleans Jazz. It was a game from 1977 on ESPN Classic."
"Oh. What do you want to talk about, then?"
"Did you read Lane Filler's column?"
"Oh, hell no."
So when "Nemo" comes on TV, we watch it, oddly charmed by the idea that millions of other people are watching it too.