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“What, me worry?”

Statistics are funny things. Done correctly, they have an unarguable standing, yet a clever person can use them to prove damn near anything. As Disraeli said, there are “lies, damn lies, and statistics.”

If I asked you to complete the sentence “the greatest threat to human life today is ________”, what would you say?

Based on the headlines, some might say gun violence. After all, there seems to be another mass shooting every thirteen days (a true statistic, depending on definitions) in the US. Despite the news coverage and the pathos of each of these attacks, the number of victims is still small (102 fatalities so far this year, another true statistic). Gun enthusiasts will remind all that the vast majority of guns are never used for a violent act (true), yet gun control proponents will counter that the most common use of a gun in your home (in the United States) is to kill yourself, a close friend, or family member, not a robber (also true).

Parents are buying bulletproof backpacks for fear of school shootings. These same parents blithely give their teenagers cars and smart phones, despite the fact that these two objects combine to kill ten teenagers every day (due to distracted driving).

Concerned for gun violence: quite valid. Worry? Maybe about the underlying causes.

People with a longer timeline might say climate change is the biggest threat. The violent weather and social disruption envisioned under most climate change scenarios is certainly a vivid threat, but sudden climate change remains a thing only in (bad) Hollywood movies. The imminent threat claim mouthed by politicians–you know, that we have only ten or twelve years left on the planet–has been rejected by the UN Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC).

What their report states is we have no time, since climate change is already here. If you live in New York or LA, you’re already experiencing the +2 degree centigrade average temperature increase that is the benchmark for climate disaster. But the IPCC states that dramatic efforts to reduce carbon emissions could (by 2030, hence the ten-to-twelve years stat) save us from even worse effects, when the rest of the world catches up to +2. No one knows exactly how bad things will get, or when or where the worst effects will hit. Threatening indeed, but the imminence is a call to action, not despair.

What I have in mind is a threat already lurking, with the possibility of sudden emergence. So let me give you something new to worry about (right, because that’s what we need, another existential threat!). I say new, but that is only true if you’re younger than ninety-one years old (That’s a hint).

Prior to 1928, the most common cause of death worldwide was . . . infectious disease. The most common cause of death among children, the most common cause of death among soldiers, the most common cause of death among any group of human beings. The average life expectancy in the industrialized world in the 1920’s was approaching forty-nine years. It had inched up due to cleaner water and public sanitation, but was still low by modern standards.

1928 was the year Alexander Fleming discovered penicillin, the first antibiotic medical treatment. The antibiotic qualities of some substances had been known for hundreds of years, but Fleming’s discovery was a mass-producible treatment which went widespread among the Allied armies in Wold War II and then everywhere else after the war. Prior to modern antibiotics, a cut or abrasion gave you a distinct possibility of dying. Gathering in large groups with poor sanitation risked the same. Your grandparents or great grandparents thought of hospitals as places where injured people went to get fixed up, but often got sick and died there. This wasn’t superstition: it was lived experience.

If you’re ninety-one or younger, you have lived entirely in the antibiotic era, which was different in type from previous human history. Life expectancy in the developed world shot up after 1928, gaining upwards of 30+ years in the next six decades! Antibiotics (and a better understanding of the bacteria they fight) was a major cause of this improvement. Proof lies in the fact that infectious disease remains the scourge of developing countries where antibiotics are unavailable.

The bad news is that evolution still holds, and bacteria, having countless numbers with which to experiment, are winning. Antibiotic resistant bacteria are popping up with increasing frequency, all around the world. Most of our antibiotics were developed in or before the 1970’s, the so-called “golden age of antibiotics.” But we misused them, using them to treat viral diseases (they don’t work against viruses), to fatten up farm animals, to mass spray and protect crops, in inadequate dosages or after they were expired, washing them down the drain where (other species and) bacteria were exposed. And survived. And evolved. And grew stronger.

There are new antibiotics in development, but of only a few new types. We have learned that bacteria are most vulnerable when hit with several different classes of antibiotic approaches at the same time: this complicates their natural selection, and buys us more time. So the new antibiotics are just a delaying action, and we don’t know how long before some truly deadly, easily transmitted disease beats the current set of “last-ditch” antibiotics.

What is a post-antibiotic world like? For a recent example, read about life during the Great Flu Pandemic of 1918. Granted, that was a virus, not a bacteria, but still it shows how an unchecked disease completely shuts down a modern society, and how social norms dissolve in the process. And that was just a 10-20% mortality rate. For a slightly more troubling scenario, read about the Black Death in Europe in the 14th century, where mortality exceeded 50% and the surviving remnant society was totally changed.

Unfortunately, there is not much an average person can do about the bacterial threat. Don’t ask for antibiotics when you probably have a virus, don’t use them when expired (or flush them down the drain), oppose policies of mass use for livestock or agriculture. Pretty small potatoes, what? That is what makes it such a threat, and why I choose to highlight it: individuals can’t do much about, it is massively deadly, and we have come to rely on antibiotics almost unconsciously.

Now that I have unburdened myself of this worry, I think I’ll take a good siesta. Sweet dreams!

Medical costs, up-close & personal

Continuing a theme, here is a real-time update on the quality and cost of medical care for expats in Mexico.

During Judy’s recent annual physical, she realized it was time for that occasional right-of-passage for those of us of a certain age: a colonoscopy. She has had one before, back in the States, and it was as unpleasant as the procedure can be, or at least as the prep can be.

For those unfamiliar (lucky you), the prep involves 24 hours of only clear liquids the day before, ending in several hours of large volumes of water and a choice of prescription laxatives, designed to…ahem…clear the intestines so the doctors can get a clear view. The procedure itself is done under a mild sedation so oftentimes, you don’t remember it at all.

First, Judy and I visited the doctor we were referred to by our regular physician. Note I said”we,” as the doctors here have encouraged us to attend visits as a couple. It seemed odd at first, but we welcome it, as two people can compare notes on what was said. The doctor was very friendly, completely fluent in English, and made sure he had a good patient history during the visit. He talked over some options for location (here at a new hospital in San Antonio Tlayacapan, or up in Guadalajara), gave us a cost sheet (and reminded us NOT to pay more, as this was the cost he negotiated with the hospitals), and explained the schedule and prep. Total cost for this visit: $800 MXP, a little over $40 USD.

The cost of the prep materials at the local farmácia: $487 MXP, or $25 USD. At least the powder had no flavor, but drinking 4 liters in four hours is no fun . . . and the aftermath is torrential!

The hospital–in our small community– is brand-new and squeaky-clean. The day of the procedure, we arrived at 9:30 for our 10:00 appointment. The front office staff–excellent English–processed Judy’s paperwork and gave me the wifi password for the waiting room. Judy left for prep at 9:50 and came back out at 11:10. No issues, no complications, todo bueno. We were on our way to breakfast at 11:30. One interesting difference: in Mexico, you keep your own medical records, so Judy left with a portfolio including photos and other results from her colonoscopy.

She reported that her specialist, doctor Daniel Briseño Garcia, visited with her during prep to answer any questions and see how she was doing. She recalls the anesthesiologist was very familiar with her medical history and had a great sense of humor (all in English). She also remembers some of the support staff speaking Spanish, but that was as she drifted off.

Cost for the doctor and anesthesiologist: $ 6500 MXP, about $350 USD.

Cost for the hospital: $ 4800 MXP, or about $ 260 USD.

Total cost ran under $700 USD. Since our insurance covers us anywhere in the world (most do NOT), our cost will be zero. It’s been awhile since I had one in the States, so I googled costs and it varies between $1,000-3,000 USD, although most forms of insurance cover it there too as an important preventive procedure.

Like anywhere, you get what you pay for (we could have found a cheaper alternative), and you go with the doctors you trust. Overall, a very positive experience.

Win. Win. Win.

I saw an article in the New York Times yesterday that was interesting for several reasons. You can read it here. For those unwilling to click through, or who have used up their “five free articles” for the month, here’s the gist of the story. An American woman needing a knee replacement went to Cancun for the procedure, and the entire trip and all medical costs were less expensive than just the procedure stateside.

As far as that goes, it’s just another medical tourism story. But there are a few twists. First, the surgeon was a US doctor who was also flown down to Cancun just for this surgery. He was accompanied by a Mexican doctor and staff, including a bilingual nurse who helped translate the doctor’s instructions. Why did the doctor do it, on his day off? He was paid triple the US Medicare rate for his work, including expenses.

Second, the woman and her husband are middle class folks from Mississippi, and her care came under her husband’s coverage through his employer, Ashley Furniture of Wisconsin. So this isn’t some ridiculously rich patient, nor a gold-plated health plan. Yet the health insurance provider paid all the expenses for the patient and her husband to stay at a resort attached to the hospital for the day before the surgery and ten days after. Oh, and she got a $5,000 bonus for agreeing to participate in the program. How? The total cost for everything was less than 40% that of doing the same procedure in the States. So Ashley furniture has saved millions in the last three years by offering this option to its employees.

Third, the care team consciously exceeded the health and care standards of US hospitals, using extra sterilization equipment and accelerating the physical therapy regimen. Why? the entire program is managed by a US firm called North American Specialty Hospital or NASH, who makes all the arrangements for the travel (even passports), connects the doctors and patients, and even provides malpractice insurance for the American doctor in case of complications. NASH insists on exceeding US standards to mitigate patient concerns; it’s the same reason they arrange for a US doctor. NASH is a for-profit business that gets a flat rate from the insurers for its work.

Last, why a private, upscale Mexican hospital? The cost per night is only $300 USD, and the care staff was excellent. As the patient related in closing, she would gladly come back and pay, as she was treated “like family.”

What we have here is a wining situation. Average couple gets high quality medical care: win. Company saves millions of dollars on said care: win. Upstart firm makes money ingeniously by putting consumers and providers together in an innovative way: win. Mexico gets credit for the quality of its care: win. Even the American doctor made out well.

Granted, this is not the solution to America’s health care challenges, if only because some people won’t accept it just because it is different. But it does show how there are ways out of the health care mess which don’t destroy the system as it exists. We need more innovative thought–and less sloganeering–on health care.

Dogz in the Dellz

We’re attending my annual college reunion (the BrewDogs), hosted this year in the Wisconsin Dells. Our trip got off to a sputtering start courtesy of AeroMexico airlines and an unannounced, last minute flight change.

We had reserved a non-stop flight from Guadalajara to Chicago O’ Hare, a four hour trip arriving just after midnight. We were going to clear customs & immigration and stay at the airport Hilton, which is adjacent to the terminal. Three days before the flight, I checked our seat assignments and noticed most of the plane was empty. Judy asked me “they wouldn’t cancel the flight, would they?” “No,” I opined, “they probably have connections to make, and this flight does not show a history of being cancelled.” Just by chance (or the intervention of the Holy Spirit), Judy checked the next day, and informed me we now had a morning flight, twelve hours earlier!

No e-mail, no notice of change on the Delta App (their partner). A Delta rep on the phone tried to tell me they sent both of us e-mails on June 30th (neither of us received such an e-mail), and oh-by-the-way, why did the App still show the original flight on July 29th? What can you do?

We were able to make the necessary changes to take the earlier flight, and make lemonade out of the lemons by staying the day at the airport Hilton, enjoying the gym and the pool and turning a hectic travel day into something more pacific.

Panoramic view of ORD from the top floor of the Hilton

While we enjoyed ourselves, the costs were shocking. Now I know we’re talking airport prices, but $77 USD for a shrimp Caesar salad, a bolognese pasta bowl, and two glasses of house wine? Not to mention service with an attitude. The waiter approached, stood facing away from our table, and asked “what can I get you?” We weren’t sure he was even talking to us!

But that’s travel now, especially in overcrowded US airports. The better portion was spending time with old friends (a term I mean literally these days) in the picturesque Wisconsin Dells, catching up on life and just enjoying each other’s company. Yes, there was too much bacon and too much custard (a Wisconsin specialty), too much wine and too much beer, too much loud music and too much raucous laughter. How else would a gathering of BrewDogs be?

Catching up means hearing of bad news as well as good. There were stories of friends and family passing, illnesses discovered and jobs lost, all the things that inevitably confront us as the years and decades pile up. And the stories were related in the frank manner only possible among good friends, who have shared hardship in the past, and can quickly revert to a level of intimacy only reserved for those you trust absolutely.

As the tally of empty beer bottles mounted, conversation veered to the deep end of the pool, and more than one time we confronted the same question: “what the h#&*! is going on out there?” Liberal & conservative, politically active and un-involved, all agreed that there is something fundamentally wrong in the country. We didn’t come to any brilliant conclusions; there simply wasn’t enough to beer to reach that level of performance!

Yet we noted that while the world we grew up in was fundamentally flawed in many ways, it was collectively far superior to today’s environment. Furthermore, those past failings hadn’t been resolved or even traded for new ones: many were still in place, adding to our woes.

Was it the inevitable finale of the age of Aquarius, since doing you own thing usually ends in destructive individualism? Was it unfettered commercialism, turning citizens into consumers and changing all human relationships into a contractual zero-sum game? Did we get too tired and cynical to believe in self-sacrifice and the common good? Or were we led on by politicians, manipulated into warring camps more interested in power and might than in duty and right.

We have to face it: America has always been a violent, individualistic place. But once upon a time, other peoples looked on that as something a touch quaint, a little odd, perhaps even useful. We seem to have passed from character to caricature. Maybe I’m just ruminating in a virtually empty O’Hare airport at midnight, waiting for a flight home. But my college friends come from all over the country, from backgrounds as different as can be. We all seem to be ruminating alone at midnight.

A Tale Told Three Ways

Is there any more contentious issue in America today than immigration? One side talks of “murderers, drug-dealers, and rapists” while the other talks of “concentrations camps” and “kids in cages.” Even in an age of gross overstatement, it’s a bit much. Regardless of where you fall on the spectrum, could we agree that we need less heat and more light on the issue? Good journalism could really play a role here. Here’s a story in three different points of view. See if you spot the better journalism.

Version 1: Francisco’s story

Francisco was out for a drive with his buddies. He was a rising high school senior in south Texas, and he and some friends were trying out for a local soccer team, so they were going on a little road trip. When they rolled up to the immigration checkpoint, they weren’t concerned. After all, they had driven through without any problem many times before, and such checkpoints are a fact-of-life in south Texas. Francisco thought nothing of it, as he was an American citizen, born and raised in there. But some of his family was undocumented, and one of them–his brother–was in the car, too.

The Border Patrol officer seemed a little too concerned about this carload of Hispanic teenagers, but Francisco knew he didn’t have to answer his questions, and they had nothing to hide, so probably the officers would inspect from outside the vehicle and soon they would be on their way.

Unfortunately, the right to remain silent doesn’t always include the ability to do so. The officer kept questioning his brother, and instead of ignoring him, his brother admitted to not being a citizen, and soon the entire group was on the way to a CBP processing station.

Now Francisco was a little concerned. He always carried his Texas state ID, a US Social Security card, and his Texas birth certificate, so he felt certain things would work out. But the CBP officers were suspicious, as he was travelling with an admitted undocumented person (his brother), so they were questioning the validity of his credentials!

After being processed and fingerprinted, all-hell broke loose. The CBP officers called him in and asked him why he was lying. When he tried to explain that he was a American, they cut him short and asked “why did you apply for an American visa as a Mexican national?” He had no idea what they were talking about, but next he found himself in a crowded cell with hundreds of recently apprehended people seeking asylum.

The CBP personnel were completely swamped by the numbers, and Francisco quickly realized he had no way to gain their attention to explain his situation, or call his parents. Two days later, his brother was voluntarily deported back to Mexico, where they had family. Francisco refused to go, insisting he was an American, and he was only going home.

The days ran into weeks as the government tried to confirm his papers, contact his family, and come to some definitive conclusion about his status. After three weeks, Francisco was transferred to an ICE facility, and was able to call his mother, when he learned the family had retained an attorney and was working to get him released. A week later, as removal proceedings against him continued, ICE finally released him to his mother and his family’s attorney. Francisco was just what he had always said: an average American kid. But now he was also an innocent victim of a cruel government bureaucracy.

Version 2: Duty Log, South Texas Region, 27 June-23 July 2019 (excerpts)

27 June. Border Patrol delivered four Hispanic youth for processing, after collecting them at a checkpoint. Officer stated some had Texas and/or US identification, but one admitted to not being a US citizen and had no documentation. As result, officer was suspicious of all the identification provided, and brought the individuals to station for processing. The group was assigned daily processing numbers 78-81.

29 June. Update: Marlon ________, previously admitted to being in the country illegally, and agreed to voluntary deportation back to Mexico. His brother Francisco _________ refused to participate in the removal proceeding.

06 July. Update: Suspect national Francisco _________ had previously provided a Social Security card and other Texas State ID which checked out as valid. However, his fingerprints came back as identical with a Mexican national (same name, DOB) who applied for a US visitor visa. When confronted, suspect denied any knowledge of application, without further explanation. Attempting to resolve contradiction by contacting family.

13 July. Update: Station was contacted by an attorney representing the family of Francisco _______. Attorney indicated Francisco’s mother, Sanjuanna ________ , could confirm his status as an American citizen. ICE officers asked why this woman’s name was different than the name of the mother on Francisco’s birth certificate; attorney indicated the mother had given a different name on that document, as she is undocumented (no further information). Woman further clarified that she had applied for the visa for her son because she could not get him a US passport due to the discrepancy on his birth certificate (no further information).

23 July. Update: After further clarification provided by his attorney, suspect Francisco _________ was released to his family.

Version 3: The story you didn’t find.

The sad tale of a American teenager named Francisco dramatically demonstrates the pitfalls of how the United States controls its southern border. Francisco, born in Dallas and raised in south Texas, was caught in an inland immigration checkpoint. These checkpoints, which have been challenged in court but remain legal, are an odd fact of life up to one hundred miles from the border.

Customs and Border Protection, or CBP, has the authority to stop vehicles and check for the presence of undocumented persons. US courts have held that drivers and passengers so stopped do not have to answer any questions, and can only be taken into custody for probable cause, but their vehicles may be visually searched from the outside. It is the closest America comes to the uncomfortable notion of “papers, please.”

People like Francisco are used to this, and he carried several forms of ID that day, including a Texas birth certificate. But his brother did not: his brother was undocumented, born in Mexico, and in the United States illegally. This caused the CBP officers to question the legitimacy of all the people in the car, leading to their apprehension.

Francisco’s brother agreed to a voluntary deportation back to his extended family in Mexico, but Francisco rightly refused: he was an America after all, and that was that. His IDs quickly checked out, which should have been the end of the story, but instead was the beginning of the ordeal.

When CBP ran his fingerprints, they matched a person of the same name, age and date of birth, who was born in Mexico and applied for a US visitor visa. Francisco denied knowing anything about it, but the match was undeniable: he was either a Mexican with fraudulent US identification, or an American with a bogus visitor visa. Either way, someone had some explaining to do.

Weeks passed as CBP pressured Francisco to come clean, while his family learned of his plight and retained an attorney. Their initial efforts came to naught: when they contacted ICE, his mother’s name did not match the name on his Texas birth certificate, which only raised more suspicion. His mother, also undocumented, admitted she had given a different name at the hospital when he was born. She later explained that because of this discrepancy, Francisco could not get a US passport, so she applied for the fraudulent US visitor visa for him, indicating he was Mexican, so he could travel back and forth to Mexico and visit family.

Another week of continuing communication between the government, his family, and their attorney led the government officials to release Francisco after almost a month in custody.

What separates these stories? Point of view. All three are factually true. The first takes a sympathetic view of the poor lad, who after all deserves the sympathy. Imagine being caught in such a situation! It’s a story echoing a lot of opinion writing on the border, long on emotion, but lacking the facts which are essential.

The second is strictly business. It shows what happens when resources are strained and laws flagrantly ignored: the business of law enforcement becomes problematic. Note how about a week transpires between each new disclosure. Are ICE and CBP officials supposed to ignore such a fantastic story as it dribbles out? Yet this version lacks any empathy.

The third tries to steer a middle road, letting the reader feel the pain of the innocent but also recognizing the ridiculous nature of the facts as they gradually appeared to the responsible officials. That would be journalism, at least as I learned it editing my high school newspaper.

If you want to know why I wrote all this, read how the Washington Post covered this story, here: WaPo link

Be careful, the online version has changed subtly over time, and even I only captured the third or fourth version of it. The original story serves one major purpose: to inflame readers about the immigration issue. There is no mention of how routine such checkpoints are (author’s note: I have been stopped at them every time I transit Texas). The allegation that border officials were suspicious comes out in paragraph five, but the basis for that suspicion is left to paragraph ten. The length of his detention is in the headline and lead paragraph; the explanation show up in paragraphs eleven-to-thirteen.

Next time your blood pressure spikes while reading a purportedly responsible new source, recall this exercise and ask: what are they trying to make me feel? What are the other possible explanations? Where is the other side of the story?

There is so much wrong about our immigration policies and border controls right now. It is a shame journalists are going the easy route and fanning the flames rather than shedding some light.

Right-sizing for Retirement

Retirement is a Twentieth Century phenomenon. There have always been idle rich who never worked in the first place, but for working men and women, the concept of saving money or earning a pension, then living off that while exiting the work world, is less than one hundred years old.

Making the transition to retired life, expat or not, requires some soul-searching about your needs and wants. Retirement is, after all, removing oneself from the daily income-producing world. This simple fact is lost on some, who retire and continue to work full time. That is not retirement; it is changing jobs or careers. The same goes for ramping down to part-time work of 20 hours a week: much more manageable, but still not retired. As a retiree, you may have resources from investments, a pension or annuity, or an occasional stint as a consultant. But you do not have a job.

Retirement done right: Our next company meeting is . . . never!

In the absence of daily work, you have time to consider what you really need in terms of say, housing, cars, wardrobe, location, hobbies, etc. A good financial planner will set you up to live in the manner you have been accustomed to: but that doesn’t mean you have to keep living the same way, in the same place, with the same allocation of time and resources! Hence the soul-searching.

Let’s start with location: say you live in the suburbs, where your children went to good schools and you had a decent commute. Now, no children to school, and where are you commuting? Your neighborhood will transition over time, with new families moving in, and those kids may do something like ring your doorbell incessantly on Halloween or walk on your lawn! 🙂

Perhaps you have a family home filled with memories, but what are those empty bedrooms doing besides gathering dust? How often are you hosting overnight guests compared to your property taxes? The need to drive to everything gets old, even when you don’t face rush hour. Maybe you become the folks who garden their yard, host block parties and act as surrogate grandparents-in-absentia, retire in place, and that’s a great conscious decision.

Or you live in the city, where things are pretty expensive and most everybody is working. Cities spawn egotists who care about “what you do” and you don’t . . . “do” anymore, you “did.” What about moving to a small town? You’ll save a ton of money, but the culture shock may be overwhelming. Everybody already knows everybody else, and you’ll be the novelty for a while, but then not so much. Small towns may be full of dramatists: people seeking to make more drama to fill in the quiet gaps in life. Exhausting!

Moving presents an opportunity for the new home of your dreams: but yesterday’s dream, or tomorrow’s? Need those extra bedrooms; perhaps. His and hers offices . . . but you don’t work, do you? Entertainment space–of course–but a formal dining room, hmmmm. And you’ll have the time to care for a large property, but is being a maid/gardener/handyman really your idea of the perfect retirement?

You’ll still need a full seasonal wardrobe, depending on where you live (I don’t!). If you had an old school professional set of suits and dresses (either/or, I trust!), how many do you still need? I stashed a full suit (with dress shirt, two ties, dress shoes and socks) at my daughters’ homes and brought one with me. My biggest concern is staying the same size and keeping the dust off all of them.

Two cars, one . . .or none? Retiring stateside probably requires one per person, but maybe you’ll go green and use public transport, or rekindle that two-wheel itch and replace a car with a motorcycle. Again, another chance to re-evaluate wants and needs, and choose accordingly.

Of course there are some who retire and just stop working, without changing anything else, but let me suggest this is an opportunity missed. If you don’t plan to change anything–and you don’t hate your job–why retire in the first place? Better to delay the change while building up your retirement resources, and more importantly, doing that soul-searching!

“Americans” : get used to it!

Maybe it was the annual 4th of July celebrations. Maybe it was the “USA-USA-USA” chants as the American Women’s team won the World Cup. Maybe it was the hyper-patriotism evinced by President Trump (I think this is certainly the case). Whatever the cause, I noticed the return of an unfortunate and misguided meme: “Don’t call them Americans.”

Damn the CIA…even they forgot to put the “of America”

The meme is usually accompanied by a map of the Western Hemisphere, clearly labeling the two continents, and the accompanying text patronizingly explains that since all residents of said hemisphere are Americans, it is incorrect to call the citizens of just one country in that hemisphere “Americans.” Sometimes it is someone trying desperately to be clever. Sometimes it is a washed over Latin American Marxist seeking redemption. Sometimes it is just someone “Trumped.”

Let’s finish this pedantic argument off once and for all, shall we? It is entirely correct to refer to all inhabitants of the Western Hemisphere as Americans, when differentiating them from other continentals. When referring to groups as Europeans or Asians or Africans, it would make sense to refer to Americans, too. However, it would not make sense for a European to argue that they should be called “humans” instead of Europeans, not because it isn’t true (probably, not sure about the French), but because “human” is part of a different classification and does not distinguish by continent. Clear so far?

What about the particular use of the term American to designate citizens of one country, the US of A? Peoples the world over adopt naming conventions for themselves; they are not assigned by others. Sometimes these conventions make sense, other times they don’t. Canadians are not from Canadia (despite my then-young daughter’s claim) but from Canada. People from New Zealand choose to be called Kiwis after a native, flightless bird…ok? In Naples they’re Neapolitans not Niples, in Liverpool, Liverpudlians not Liverpoodles, and DC is filled with Washingtonians, not swamp creatures.

As the peoples of the Western Hemisphere became independent nations, they each chose a national title. Only one chose a title with the term “America.” Perhaps it was something of a early-adopter advantage for the US, which dissuaded others from so choosing, but that is the history, cut and dried. It’s not like the USA was a behemoth striding the globe in 1776! As a result, people from the USA call themselves Americans, as does the rest of the world. It is not at all confusing, which might be a valid reason for suggesting an alternative.

I read where someone suggested people from the United States should be called “United States-ians” which IS the official term used in Spanish (estadounidenses). Now for some real irony: there is another country in the hemisphere with the moniker United States–Los Estados Unidos de Mexico, or Mexico. Anyway, estadounidenses is a bureaucratic term; even Mexicans refer to “americanos,” “norteamericanos” (wait, isn’t Mexico in North America?) or “gringos” (¡smile when you say that, amigo!)

Brazilians are free to call themselves Americans, when it makes sense. And you can call an Egyptian an African, if you’re trying to distinguish them from a Asian, like from Israel (really).There are no Argentinians, just Argentines, Berliners are something you eat (still), Czechs come from Czechia (betcha’ didn’t know that one!), and Bolivians come from the Plurinational State of Bolivia (Nobody knows that one!).

The argument against calling people from the United States “Americans” is not technically correct, is not clever, and is not worth repeating. It is tendentious at best, simply a way to trigger some of the worst chest-thumping responses from average Americans.

And anyway, it’s pronounced ” ‘Muracan. “

PSA: Getting Real (ID)

After our recent excursion back to the States, I realized a deadline is upon us, and more importantly, few ‘Muricans are aware of its implications! I speak of the Real ID act, set to take full effect in October 2020. Most Americans would be forgiven for ignoring this law until now, as it was first passed in 2005 and was slated to take effect in 2013, but was continually delayed due to the cost and political opposition. But it is here, now, and will take effect next year, so you probably need to know about it.

Why “probably?’ If you never fly, visit a secured government building or military base, or are under the age of 18, then no, you don’t need a Real ID. Most people (God-willing) will be over 18 years old at some point. Many will never visit a military base or secured federal building (but you would be surprised). But most people will fly–at least domestically–at some point in your life. Yes, you will need a Real ID to fly even from San Francisco to Santa Rosa, California (16 minutes, the shortest domestic air route according to Travel & Leisure).

Why? Blame the legacy of the 9/11 terrorist attacks, which showed that America’s lack of a national ID and disparate rules on State IDs were a vulnerability. Since most Americans viscerally oppose a national ID, Congress enacted (and the President signed into law) rules to make all State IDs (meaning State driver’s licenses) equally secure.

Why now, when that was so 2001? Well many States vigorously opposed and refused to comply with this new federal intrusion into their affairs, but the feds eventually won. Nearly all States have agreed to comply now, but some have only just begun to issue Real ID-compliant licenses. Some have made it an option you must request (and potentially pay more)!

Do you already have one? Perhaps. They are readily identifiable by a solid black or gold star in the upper right-hand corner of the license. But this is tricky: Ohio is a State in compliance, and my Ohio license has a gold star on it, but it is NOT a Real-ID. Here’s a fail-safe way to check: when you got your license (whenever it was) did you just routinely fill out an online form or visit a DMV office? Or did they ask you to show certified documents proving your name, SSN, and current residence? If the former, no Real ID; if the latter, then you are good-to-go. The whole point of Real ID was to ensure the card-carrier had proven his/her identity.

Do you really need one? If you have other federal ID (US Passport, DHS TTP card, etc.) and want to carry that even for domestic flights, then no. Do you visit military bases or secure federal facilities? If not, probably no, but what if your local Social Security Office is in a federal office building? Buzzzz, no entry without a Real ID-compliant card (or substitute), so think hard about it!

Lessons learned: Real ID is not just for international travelers, or DC types who constantly flit between federal office buildings. It is not automatic, like otherwise renewing your driver’s license: you need documents, you may need to “opt into” it and pay more, and just because your State is NOW in compliance, your previously-issued license may NOT be.

It’s not a catastrophe, and there are easy work-arounds, especially if you have a US Passport. Here’s a website with more info and links to each State’s DMV for specific help. It’s coming, and I wouldn’t bet on any further delays.

American Travel Advisory

***SATIRE. This post is intended as SATIRE. If you don’t understand SATIRE, look it up in the urban dictionary (more SATIRE).***

I wanted to report back to all my amigos on my recent visit to El Norte (NOB, chant with me, “U-S-A, YEW-ESS-AY, YEEWWW-ESSSS-AAAAY…”). Putting the bottom line up front, it’s not safe up there, and I do recommend you postpone any travel there until it calms down, which could be several decades.

First off, while we were in Cincinnati, there were all these terrible storms that dumped rain all day, every day…what’s with that? The Ohio river started to climb its banks, but did that deter the locals from parking along the river? Not at all! And the TV weathermen kept interrupting the local broadcast to tell us it was a “Code Red” day and unsafe to breathe outdoors. Now I don’t know about you, but where I live, the air indoors comes from outdoors, so what am I supposed to do?

We survived that leg of the trip, but then we went to … South Bend, Indiana. Apparently the mayor of South Bend is running for Presidente de los Estados Unidos (does the Presidente of Chapala ever run for Presidente de los Estados Unidos Méxicanos?). Anyway, the Mayor is not at home, and the policía shot down an African American man (this happens a lot, apparently) and there were protests and shouting and generally bad behavior (not like a Chivas-Atlas match, but pretty close).

The night before we left South Bend, I was sitting in my hotel room, when my phone started buzzing, then my computer started alerting, then the TV weathermen interrupted the game, then the hotel management called my room to tell me to take shelter in the hallway because there was a tornado warning! Now I am a South Bend homeboy, so I know that you don’t hide in a bathtub/basement/crawlspace until you hear the train (el tornado) coming. So I was like “Guey, que pedo?” and waited for the weathermen to give up and get back to the game. Back in the day, we found out about the tornadoes when we read about them the next morning in the newspaper… “Cool, we didn’t die!”

So we decided to head to Baltimore to visit our nietos, and we had to drive a bunch of cuotas. They were really expensive, but we had this thing called EZPass (translates as easy-pass, but inglés, what the heck!) and so we should have been able to drive through the casetas without even slowing down. Except the Man was watching, and he didn’ want no permanentes driving through, so we had to stop at each toll-booth and hand our “EZPass” to the attendant, who ‘read’ it an handed it back and sent us on our way. What is “E-Z” about that?

We thought we would be safe near the ‘nation’s capital’ but there were four homicides and many more shootings in the DC-Baltimore area while we visited. I think the gringos need to practice more, because there seem to be many more wounded than killed. Back in Mexico, we get reports of someone killed with thirty-seven bullet wounds; in the States, there is “one person killed and thirty-six wounded.” Very poor gun control, indeed.

We were driving around, doing the American thing (driving around) in the middle of the day, in the middle of the week, and there was all this traffic! And people were hurryin’ … we know, because they were beeping at my driving, because I was only going fifteen miles OVER the speed limit pulling into the shopping center at 2:00 pm on a Thursday, and what the f*$^&* was I thinking, goin’ so slow? Am I right?

One day, we went for a hike in a Maryland state park, and when we came back to our rental car, the back window was shot out with a BB-gun. We had “Massachusetts” plates, so maybe someone mistook us for a rival cartel. But who sells drugs in a state park? Eh, no problema, the rental car company gave us a Jaguar SUV to drive around in … but we were too scared to take it anywhere, ‘cuz we would get car-jacked.

See that little hole to the left?
This is what the rest of the window looked like

Everything goes so fast in El Norte! People move fast, talk fast, and no one better stand in their way. When we went hiking, we greeted people on the trail with “Good Morning!” and they looked at us like we were shouting “ehhhhhhh, puto!” Eventually they smiled, responded, and walked on, but they kept looking back at us as we walked away! Maybe it’s our accents?

We’ve been layin’ low, watching for la migra and the policía en general. I don’t know why we are watching for them, as we are legal visitors, but the news is full of stories about them, violent crime, random attacks, and general lawlessness. El Presidente Trump keeps talking about keeping out all the rapists and murderers, and it seems like they got plenty already, so maybe he’s right.

Here is my official travel warning: wait until the 2020 election to visit NOB. The people who aren’t high on oxycontin are wavin’ guns all around, and both groups seem to drive while drinkin’. Politics is an excuse for the very worst behavior…Americans haven’t learned to distrust all politicians like Mexicans do, so they start believing them, and then no end of trouble ensues. If you HAVE to travel, learn some basic phrases in English like “please don’t shoot me” “U-S-A, U-S-A” and “F$^*@ Trump” or”Make America Great Again” (be sure NOT to use the latter two unless you know which political cartel’s territory you are in!).

Above all, try to fit in: Drive very fast, talk very fast, only use plastic money, don’t greet strangers or make eye-contact. Americans are actually very friendly. When in doubt, compliment Americans on the size and cleanliness of their handguns; it never fails to break the ice.

Did I mention this is SATIRE?

Family Time

As an expat, you’ll undoubtedly engage in the ritual pilgrimage to visit family back NOB. Even those who don’t retire out of the country face the challenge of juggling multiple family work and vacation schedules, holidays, birthdays, and special events to gather as a family. For expats there are the additional complications of extended air travel, customs and immigration, and the ever-so-difficult question of how to spend scarce quality time with family.

Grandpa’s 90th birthday with our daughters, sons-in-law & grandkids.

Even an expat with unlimited means is going to be forced by the rigors of travel to limit the number and length of visits back NOB. Then you arrive, jet-lagged and dehydrated from 30,000 ft, and the visit countdown clock starts ticking away! Do you take a nap and recover, or catch up on life with your daughter? The next morning, do you complete morning prayers or play video games with your grandson? Tick, tick,tick…

There is a powerful impulse to “do” things, accomplish something, since how often will a family gather? And there are family activities which all (or at least most) can join in, so why not? Yet there is also great value in just being present, listening and talking and remembering as only a family can do. Hearing Dad tell that same joke for the thousandth time, for example. Tick, tick, tick…

The Queen city
at the sign museum
and the aquarium

It is not a challenge unique to expats, but one of the human condition, exacerbated by modern technology. Parents working outside the home face it as they end a busy day and pick up children from day care. Those crowds of teens sitting-together-alone, glued to screens, are trying desperately to avoid it. Long ago, when a family member emigrated to America, the farewell took on the airs of a funeral, since the parting was most likely forever. Tick, tick,tick…

Not only do we all have a limited time on this Earth, we don’t know how limited it is. We can self-medicate with social media or a nice drink, chasing the demons out of sight for a while, but the big hand keeps sweeping. We can be fully present in the moment and enjoy the best parts of the best relationships, yet the aftertaste remains bittersweet, because . . . tick, tick, tick.

While it is a good thing to be mindful of that constantly ticking clock, it is counterproductive to dwell on it. Time is meant to be spent together with the ones we love. You can’t make up for lost moments, only savor those we have. Me, I’m savoring some family time!