I’ve always wanted to read Alexis de Tocqueville’s “Democracy in America” but have never gotten around to it.  I tried once, but I got distracted, and drifted away.  This summer I plan to read Harvey Mansfield’s “Tocqueville: A Very Short Introduction.”  Maybe that will inspire me to try again.  Powerline’s Scott Johnson just finished reading “Democracy in America” and wrote a wonderful post on it today, which included the following passage:

Tocqueville wrote as a friend of freedom. He worried that the passion for equality (think “equity”) would overwhelm freedom and that democracy would therefore tend toward a new form of despotism.

It’s hard to imagine a more precise and concise description of our current situation in America in 2021.  And remember, Tocqueville was a Frenchman in 1840.  His prescience is simply astounding.  I’ve just got to read his work sometime.  And Scott’s summary should be shouted from the rooftops.  In fact, I just can’t help but repeat it right now:  “Tocqueville wrote as a friend of freedom. He worried that the passion for equality (think “equity”) would overwhelm freedom and that democracy would therefore tend toward a new form of despotism.”  And here we are.  Mr. Tocqueville would look at Critical Race Theory, our tax code, affirmative action, America’s entitlement industry, our educational system, and the modern Democrat party and he would just grimly nod his head.  He saw it coming.  And here we are.

My body conceals a hidden vascular time bomb. The surgeons tried to defuse it in 1981 but weren’t successful. Unbeknownst to everyone, the bomb kept ticking. They finally discovered in 2011 that it was still ticking. In 2013 they tried to defuse it again. That time all they succeeded in doing was speeding up the ticking clock and in 2016 the bomb actually started to go off. Through desperate measures the surgical bomb squad turned back the clock and, though the fuse had already lit up and started burning, the surgeons managed at the very last second to prevent the bomb from going off. I live every day with the discomfort that accompanies the uncertainty of hosting a hidden time bomb.  It is not psychologically satisfying to know about such things. But in my situation, ignorance might actually be fatal. The psychological discomfort of knowing is the thing that fuels the kind of medical vigilance that may be the only thing that will keep me alive.

Here is a life lesson I’ve learned: psychological comfort can be fatal if it deafens you to the ticking time bombs in your life.

Yesterday I was startled to read (and later it was confirmed by Tucker) that the reason for my backwardness is that all my life I’ve been stricken with the disease of “Whiteness” and, regrettably, there is no known cure.

When I told my wife, we were both stricken with grief (since she is Hispanic, I assume that there is still hope for her).  As it turns out, my condition is “malignant, parasitic-like” and I have little to look forward to, except a life of misery.

I should never post when I’m angry or drunk.  But if I followed that rule, I’d never post anything, so there you go.  But anyway, I just got off a conference call with, um, I’m not sure who, exactly.  So, um, let me explain.  I use “Chip” who works for “EF Hutton” to manage my retirement plan.  I’m blessed with a high income (after decades of building up to this point), but I’m 52, and after decades of reinvesting everything I have into building my business, I need to save some money for my retirement.  So “President” Biden proposed some tax legislation that has financial advisors all over the country completely stressed out.  So my buddy “Chip” calls me, and says my 401k won’t be sufficient – I’ve got to do something else to keep my income below a certain level, and that is likely to be very important.  If “President” Biden’s proposed legislation actually goes through.  Which they think it will.  So “Chip” calls “Chris” who gets someone to suggest that “Chad” call me – “Chad” works as a sort of liaison between ”Chip” and “Chris” and “EF Hutton” and “various record keepers” to “build” “retirement plans” to “create tax savings” and “maximize opportunities” while “keeping fees down” and “ensuring regulatory compliance.”

I just got off a phone call with Mayo explaining that one of my patients was about to die, and there was nothing I could do about it.  And then, with “Chad”, I have a very long phone call.  With someone I’ve never met, who does something I don’t understand, who apparently will help me “achieve my goals,” which really are pretty simple – I just want to save some money.  My own money – I want to save some of my own money.  And I earn a good living, but I’m not Mark Zuckerberg, for Pete’s sake.  And after that phone call, I think that there will be at least four (possibly five?) multinational financial corporations involved in my efforts to save some of my own money.  It was a long phone call.  And I don’t understand what we talked about.  I asked questions about concrete realities, and “Chad” answered in code.  A sort of code that used vague terms which may mean something to other people like “Chad,” but means nothing to me, whose success is measured in things like ‘how many of my patients are breathing today?’  “Chad” probably felt like he was trying to explain differential equations to a Bassett Hound.  And I’m the Bassett Hound.  Which is why I’m angry and drunk.

I have a simple job.  My patients pay me money to prevent them from becoming dead.  I then put that money in a bank account, and use it to pay for groceries and electricity and bourbon and other necessities.  Despite my simplistic finances, I hire an accountant to prepare my tax returns.  Which are over 100 pages long.  He gives me an envelope with over 100 pages of God-knows-what in it, and he says, “Be sure to read through that before you send it in.”  As if I could decipher even the first page.  I’m a really good doctor, but I don’t understand tax law.  So I hire my accountant named “Chris.”  Who recommends somebody who recommends “Chip.”  Who calls somebody who recommends “Chad,” who recommends working with companies who advertise during golf tournaments, so that I can save some of my own money.  And I don’t understand what any of these people do.  And this is my money.  And, technically, my country.  And my government.  Pretty much, I thought.  After a fashion.  Which is passing laws I don’t understand which require me to hire people I don’t know who work for companies I don’t understand to do something that makes no sense.  All so that I can save some of my own money.