Onchocerciasis – more commonly known as river blindness – affected over 18 million people in South America, Africa, and the Middle East in the 1980s (World Health Organization).  The disease is spread by the bite of the black fly, an insect that tends to gather along riverbanks in the developing world.  The flies host a microscopic worm in their bodies, which they pass onto humans through their bite.  These worms mature and grow inside the human body before making their way through the host body until they reach the skin, where they will be ingested once again by black flies (WHO).

As these worms grow inside the body, the people they are infecting begin to experience excruciating itching and cannot help tearing at the unseen infection.  Eventually, their skin will lose its pigmentation, covering their bodies with spots and blemishes.  Soon after this occurs, the worms will begin to grow again, triggering a reaction from the immune system.  But the body cannot differentiate these “microfilaria” from much of the rest of its internal tissue, and so the immune system overreacts and begins defending the body from itself.  The focus of these attacks tends to be on the area in and around their eyes.  Evidently, the tissue located here is most easily confused for the microfilaria, and the immune system destroys it.  This leads to irreparable blindness (WHO).

Thankfully, river blindness is preventable and curable – as long as the treatment is received prior to the onset of blindness, all the ill effects can be erased (WHO).  But there was a problem: how could those being affected pay for the drugs needed to combat the disease?

The treatment was expensive to manufacture, and there wasn’t a pharmaceutical company willing to incur the profit loss that would come from producing it; no feasible market equals production costs but no offsetting sales.  And so, river blindness would continue to run rampant.

This all changed in 1987, when Merck & Company – one of the largest pharmaceutical companies in the world – announced that it would begin producing the necessary drugs to cure the disease and it would distribute them for free at the request of any country (Merck). By the early 2000s, over 200 million people at risk for the disease had either been spared or cured and projections now target 2020 for the complete eradication of the disease (WHO).

The actions of Merck & Company – actions of pure social conscience – have benefited millions, offering hope to those that had lost it, new life to those that had theirs shattered.  It literally gave sight to the blind.  And it did so without concern for profits or earnings.  Many felt this an admirable thing, the “right” thing to do in the situation.

But according to Milton Friedman’s argument for shareholder primacy, detailed in his 1970 article “The Social Responsibility of a Business is to Increase Its Profits,” Merck had acted irresponsibly by giving away the drugs and taking a loss.  It had violated the terms of its existence; for a corporation – according to Friedman – is not a social entity and therefore has no responsibility to increase social welfare.  Rather, corporations have “one and only one social responsibility [...] to use its resources and engage in activities designed to increase its profits” (Friedman).

Whether this is exactly precise is debatable – yes, a corporation is intended to make a profit, but is its sole objective to maximize profit, thereby rendering any social act as a violation of its existence?  Viewing this argument through a moral looking glass raises many objections.  By examining Friedman’s argument against a corporation acting socially responsible through both business and moral frameworks and then comparing their merits with those of Friedman’s own argument, it can be reasonably ascertained that the actions Merck & Company took concerning river blindness were morally justifiable, and ultimately correct.

Friedman argues that a corporation’s sole purpose – as an extension of its owners, the stockholders – is to maximize profits for those stockholders.  To do anything less, he argues, is to essentially steal from them.  He targets his argument at corporate executives, who, for all intents and purposes, are the decision makers placed in that position in order to increase the value of the shareholders.  Since those owners technically employ the executive, it is his duty to then act as an agent of their interests (Friedman).

This is crucial to Friedman’s theory – since executives are not the principal actors, but merely agents of the owners, they have no right to perform any act which, at the time of performing, they do not believe will maximize the wealth of those that they represent.  With this in mind, Friedman’s theory charges Dr. Roy Vagelos (then Merck’s CEO) for effectively stealing from the owners of Merck & Company by adversely affecting profits due to his decision to provide the drugs free of charge.  According to Friedman, Vagelos’ decision as an agent of the shareholders was the equivalent of either stealing from them or imposing a tax on their decision to place him in charge.  And since this does not comply with the notion of maximizing profits for the stockholder, Merck acted incorrectly and unethically.

Friedman also makes the argument that it is ridiculous to even consider the notion that a corporation should act responsibly.  After all, responsibility is strictly concerned with people, and while a corporation is an “artificial” person, it has no “artificial” responsibility.  Even in vaguest of conceptions, corporations share none of the legitimate responsibilities that a person does – it can only be concerned with what it was created for: the pursuit of profit.

While this argument does not necessarily apply to the decision that Merck made, it is useful in analyzing the initial demand or outcry that a corporation should even step to the task of providing drugs at a loss.  After all, this is not the “responsibility” of a corporation, as business, in general, has no responsibilities.  It’s futile to even consider the notion.  Therefore, Friedman’s argument criticizes Merck for even initially contemplating the decision that was eventually made.

Friedman’s argument can be challenged in a variety of ways.  In evaluating Merck’s decision strictly from a business perspective, one can turn to the American Law Institute to refute Friedman’s initial argument that a corporation’s sole reason for existence is to maximize profits.  According to the institute, a corporation “should have as its objectives the conduct of business activities with a view to enhancing corporate profit and shareholder gain” (American Law Institute).  The law, therefore, does not coincide with Friedman’s view that a corporation should only be concerned with maximizing profits and shareholder wealth, but rather simply enhancing them.  This is a subtle – but distinct – difference.  To argue that performing a socially responsible act in lieu of the steadfast, dogged pursuit of profits is wrong is legitimate only to the extent that such a pursuit is the be-all-end-all reason for existence.  The law, however, does not make this point.  Yes, a corporation should act in a manner that will enhance – that is, increase either wealth or equity – but not necessarily maximize.  As such, performing a socially responsible act such as Merck is not unethical, nor incorrect, as long as that decision stayed within the realm of enhancing shareholder gain.  Hence, Merck’s decision to donate the drugs is ethical and within the realms of corporate responsibility as defined by the American Law Institute.

Friedman’s first argument can also be contended in the realm of business by using Edward Freeman’s Stakeholder Theory.  According to Freeman, corporations are not simply responsible to act in the best interest of its shareholders, but also its stakeholders.  These stakeholders are defined as “groups and individuals who benefit from or are harmed by, and whose rights are violated or respected by corporate actions” (Freeman).  With this in mind, an evaluation of Friedman’s argument demonstrates that the single-minded goal of strictly pursuing profits violates the relationship a corporation has with the rest of its stakeholders (of which shareholders are included).  By neglecting doing something socially responsible, a corporation may be violating the rights of its stakeholders.  Therefore, performing a socially responsible act such as Merck’s decision to give away the needed drugs is perfectly legitimate, insofar as that action does not neglect the stakeholders.  In the case of Merck, no stakeholder outside of the shareholder could argue against its decision to offer aid where aid was needed.  Its employees would not willingly allow people to perish or be disfigured, the suppliers of its research in which its drugs are based would agree with the decision to use the research to its fullest extent, its customers would support the decision – no reasonable and rational person would deny the same treatment if they happened to be in a similar situation – and the communities that Merck is integral to would understand and willingly accept its decision.

Finally, at a moral level, Friedman’s argument would fail Kant’s Categorical Imperative.  Kant’s moral framework operates under the notion that “an action is morally right for a person in a certain situation if, and only if, the person’s reason for carrying out the action is a reason that he or she would be willing to have every person act on, in any similar situation” (Velasquez).  Under this concept of moral law, Friedman’s argument against social responsibility is of no value, as in a situation such as the one faced by those infected by river blindness, there is no reasonable stockholder or executive that would willingly denounce Merck’s action.  Rather, they would accept the drugs, and being as it is, they would respect that action if it were performed in each and every situation.  If, on the other hand, they were denied the treatment, they could not reasonably extrapolate such an action and accept it in all similar situations.

Kant’s second formulation of the Categorical Imperative also poses a problem for Friedman.  “An action is morally right for a person if, and only if, in performing the action the person does not use others merely as a means for advancing his own interests, but also both respects and develops their capacity to choose freely for themselves” (Velasquez).  This is much more difficult an argument for Friedman to circumvent, as the notion of solely pursuing profits inherently violates this maxim, as people are never the ends in such a situation: they are always the means.  And in applying this argument specifically to the Merck case, Shareholder Primacy again violates the principle.  By deliberately refusing help when they themselves can offer it, Merck would have limited the capacity for the sick individuals to freely choose for themselves, as a debilitating illness inherently limits this.  Therefore, Merck had to provide the drugs – anything less would have violated Kant’s Categorical Imperative.

As for Friedman’s contention that a corporation has no responsibilities, as it is not a person, it is an argument based solely in semantics, with no relevant facts to strengthen the claim.  In fact, a corporation is defined as “a body formed and [...] to act as a single person although constituted by one or more persons” (Merriam-Webster).  Regardless, a corporation is merely the name given to a collective of persons operating with the same pursuits – it is still a reflection of those persons, and therefore retains all of the responsibilities those particular individuals have in regards to their pursuit of business.  Being so, it is difficult to give weight to Friedman’s initial argument concerning the actual responsibilities of a corporation.

Now, Friedman’s argument addresses each of these contentions in a particular way, framing the issue in order to negate their points.  Friedman would contend with the American Law Institute’s remarks that a corporation is not necessarily meant to maximize profits, but rather enhance them, is merely another example of semantics in terminology.  Moreover, the American Law Institute’s objectives are not binding, and therefore, maximizing profits is technically enhancing them.  And since no investor would reasonably purchase shares in a company that was not going to maximize their own value, the very act of investing is an indication that the owners of the company are seeking optimized gains.

This is not necessarily true – how is it that anyone can truly ascertain why a shareholder invests?  Yes, it may be reasonable that it is strictly for financial gain, but again, this can never be certain.  With that said, it still remains the basis for the original founders of the corporation to set its goals – therefore, if they did not originally state that their objective through incorporating was to maximize profits, no investor can argue with an act that is deemed socially responsible that does not optimize their gains.  After all, they freely and willing chose to invest in the company, and hence have no reason to feel “cheated” or “robbed” if said company chooses to act in a manner that doesn’t necessarily pursue only revenue.

In response to Freeman’s Stakeholder Theory, Friedman’s Shareholder Primacy simply asks: whose money is it?  By all accounts, executives are in charge of what the shareholders technically own.  As such, they answer to those owners, and those owners alone.  There are no stakeholders, as the stake they have in the company is moot: all additional stakes are contingent solely upon the stake held by the shareholders.

With that said, since a corporation is a representation of a group of people, should it not actually act in such a way that people would?  A person that strictly lives his life according to what is best for him – disregarding those he depends upon and those that depend on him – lives a shallow life indeed.  At whatever heights he reaches, he could have always climbed higher by being sensitive to those around him, being supportive and humanistic, so that his relationships achieve synergy.  If that occurs, he will be better in the end than otherwise.  Under this notion, Stakeholder Theory operates under the notion that profits are strictly the means to support and develop those relationships, whereas in Shareholder Primacy, the profits are the ends themselves.

Finally, Freidman would find fault with Kant’s argument, citing the fact that anyone in a position to be stolen from would find that action unjust, each and every time.  Therefore, the reverse argument is true: executives must act in a way that maximizes shareholder value – anything else would effectively be stealing, and this act can never be condoned.  Therefore, according to Kant, by acting in a socially responsible manner that influences the bottom line, corporations are being unethical.

Kant would have struggled to defend this line of reasoning due to the Categorical Imperatives difficulty in accounting for sly universalizers – those that frame acts within Kant’s system to strictly benefit themselves and their thinking.  However, no reasonable person could compare the two concurrent acts – to cure millions or to take some money from investors – and conclude that the latter bests the former.  Even so, Kant’s argument is not intended to provide guidance in the case of conflicting rights, but rather lay the framework for acting morally correct.  That being said, it seems unethical to claim equality or more for the two competing acts; it is undoubtedly clear that drastically saving millions of lives outweighs the cost of a few cents or dollars on a stock trade.

In the end, the arguments from existing theories are ample enough to cast some doubt on Friedman’s reasoning.  However, his argument still appears to hold some merit, especially when one strictly concentrates on the economics of the argument.  It cannot be determined definitively whether acting purely for profits or acting for the good of stakeholders ensures the continued existence of a corporation more efficiently, and the laws concerning the objectives of a corporation are flexible enough to allow Shareholder Primacy.  So is Friedman’s argument ultimately correct?

It is without a doubt that Friedman’s argument is reasonable, but if, and only if, it is the pure choice of the corporation.  It is not, however, something set in stone, something that corporations must do, as he contends.  The aforementioned arguments are enough to conclude as much.  But the issue can be looked at yet another way in order to surmise whether or not Friedman’s principle is a rule rather than an option.

First and foremost, when did economics become the basis for existence?  Human nature is intrinsically concerned with a variety of things – economic security being just one of them.  And since corporations are, for all intents and purposes, reflections of those that run and own them, should they not have the ability to exercise those other needs?  Altruism has a place in society and business – and if a business operates responsibly solely to maximize its profits (something Friedman accepts within his argument, though he condemns it as “approaching fraud”), so be it (Friedman).  But it must have the freedom to choose to act so either way.  It is a fundamental aspect of humanity to serve humanity, and if that entails decreasing the bottom line, that is perfectly acceptable.  Whether or not a corporation does so is irrelevant, but it must have that option.  Friedman’s argument does not allow that to happen.

Shareholder Primacy also ignores the financial implications a socially responsible act may have.  Sure, Friedman would cite any socially responsible act taken to increase profits as being within his proposed framework, but that argument resides in the motivation for acting.  If profits were the main goal of the act, then Friedman would agree with it.  But what if any profits – equal or not to the profits of inaction – were simply the result of acting socially responsible, even if they were not the intention?  In that case, Friedman argues that the act was unethical and unacceptable.

But this seems to be a narrow view.  Since it is difficult to measure the public relations boost that comes from performing a social act, it can be reasonable to assume that any corporation acting responsibly is doing so because it believes that action is the right action, rather than believing profits will be the result.  If that is the case, Shareholder Primacy rejects almost all socially responsible acts: Merck’s actions (which seem to have benefitted them financially in the long run) would be unacceptable.  This seems peculiar.  And since it cannot be truly known whether or not corporate responsibility has long-term financial implications, should such acts not be done, all things being equal (Vogel)?

In the end, does it not seem unreasonable that the sole purpose of business is to earn profit?  It seems that this is incorrect.  Rather, the purpose of business is to provide products or services to benefit people, with profits being the result of providing said products efficiently.  If a company makes profits in excess to those needed to continue to provide and develop its services, then this is perfectly fine.  But that is auxiliary to its actual purpose.  Yes, it is the means to provide those services, but the services themselves are not intended to maximize profits.  This appears to be a trivial distinction, but it is not.  If a corporation was intended to do the latter, then Friedman’s argument is correct: social responsibility is only acceptable in situations that performing such acts optimizes earnings.  But if a corporation’s intent is the former, then performing such acts is acceptable and even encouraged, so long as being socially responsible allows them to provide the best services and products to its customers.

If Friedman’s argument were to be trusted, then Merck & Company would not have engaged in the operations that have nearly eradicated river blindness in the world.  Over 200 million people would be in dire positions today.  But they aren’t, owing to Merck recognizing it was in a position to help and acting with the best interests of society in mind.  Now no company should be forced to do what Merck did willingly, but to claim that corporations should do nothing but maximize profits is ridiculous.  It doesn’t make infallible business sense, and it certainly will lead business into moral grey areas.  And when it’s all said and done, isn’t that the more relevant factor?  Conducting operations that are unethical and immoral simply because there is the belief that pursuit of profit is the only basis for business ignores countless other factors.  It’s similar to saying that a person’s only true purpose is to ensure the survival of the human race, so he should ignore all other social norms in order to procreate as much as possible.  After all, that is the true, biological purpose of a person.  But that definition is too narrow, as is Friedman’s definition of a corporation.  Sure, a person can live solely to breed, if he so chooses.  But he must have the choice to act in all other matters.  So must business.

Milton Friedman’s Shareholder Theory does not offer this choice – it does not allow for Merck & Company to take it upon itself to rid the world of river blindness.  And by limiting that choice, Friedman ignores the rules of the free market capitalism he so loudly trumpets: if there is such regulation that a company is acting irresponsibly by not single-mindedly pursuing profits, is it not still regulation?  Friedman’s argument doesn’t acknowledge this fact, and in doing so fails to offer a reasonable argument.  Whether or not a business chooses to act responsibly is irrelevant: it is its choice and its choice alone.  Friedman would limit this choice, and no matter the argument, it can be certain that to do so is to act unethically and incorrectly.

President Obama accepted the Nobel Peace Prize yesterday in Oslo, Norway.  His speech upon receiving the award was humble, gracious, poignant, and sweeping.  He outlined his leadership vision, echoed the words of FDR and JFK, and brought those in attendance and watching to their feet.

When it was announced that President Obama would be the recipient of the award back in October, the political realm went up in arms.  “What has he done!” cried Bill O’Reilly.  “He doesn’t deserve such an honor!”  The blogosphere exploded with dissent and praise: it was, no matter your feelings on the matter, a divisive announcement.

But I’m not here to discuss the merit of Barack Obama becoming a Nobel Laureate.  To be honest, it’s irrelevant whether or not he deserved the award – or if he was deserving, whether or not he deserved it more than anyone else.  Personally, I don’t think he didn’t deserve it.  It doesn’t matter, but because he won the award, an important – and scary – fact about our culture became apparant.

See, there should have never been a debate – at least in this country – whether Obama was deserving.  And there sure as hell should never have been anyone that said he outright didn’t deserve, that it was a “joke.”

He is an American.

He is the American President – elected by his peers to govern our nation.

And we should all be proud.  We should all support.  Because, in the end, it’s important that such a prestige is bestowed upon an American.  And regardless your political leanings, or if you supported Clinton or McCain, it’s ridiculous to not realize that we all want the same thing.

Yes, everybody differs in their opinion on how things should be run.  But no one wants anything other than the best for this country and its people.  So to stand back and deride – or even argue with – the decision to to award President Obama the Nobel Peace Prize is to be foolish.  It’s to be petty, to cry because you did not get exactly what you wanted, the way you wanted.

And it’s to be un-American.

Because in this country – in The United States of America – we support us.  We our proud of us. We hope us the best.  And to allow ourselves to bicker when it comes to America’s standing in the world simply because we are a Democrat or a Republican or a Libertarian or an Apathetic is ridiculous.

Congratulations President Obama, our newest Nobel Laureate.  We support and agree with the decision that you should be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.

After all, it would be un-American not to.

Truth be told, I just have been really busy.  You know, the usual suspects – lots of school work, went home and never stopped running for Thanksgiving, general laziness.  All those things that tend to contribute to not getting things accomplished.

But not to worry…I’m back (at least for today – finals are coming up, so who knows how long!).  And with my return, I just have to reach back a few days to Thanksgiving.  See, I had a post in mind, but then Turkey Bowl rolled around (my stat line – probably 300 yards, 2 tds, and about 5 ints.  Wins? Zero), and after Turkey Bowl, the NFL comes on (I’d like to put out a warrant for the arrest of Calvin Johnson for murdering my fantasy team), and after the NFL, dinner (I ate to the point that I was not hungry until about 5 minutes ago)!

As you can see, little time for musings on life.

And so, its December 1st, but I’m gonna reach back.  A little time traveling, if you will, all the way back to last Thursday.

Let’s just be reasonable with one another…Thanksgiving is kinda awesome.  Families tend to get together (whether or not they want to) and eat copious amounts of food with zero repercussions.  It’s purely American, and purely awesome.  Hell, people get up and spend 5 hours watching a ridonculous parade that features huge floats and strange musical interludes that can only be exhilarating if you were actually there – but who cares?  It’s Thanksgiving, and this is completely acceptable.  Also acceptable: drinking heavily with all your friends that have moved away on Wednesday, and then waking up early as hell to play flag football against those same friends…except on the field, we have no friends (thank you, Jim Barak, for running over my entire offense line on every play).  Is there a more American (and less parody-worthy use of that statement) thing?  I like to think not.

Thanksgiving also marks the true beginning of the holiday season.  Or if you would, the Christmas Season (in America, I don’t care who you are or what you say, it’s secular.  Just the facts).  Of course, the CVS down the street tried to convince me that it was already Christmastime in mid-October – as if I already needed lights to hang up outside my house.

Either way, the official beginning of the holiday season is one of my favorite times of the year.  Outside of finals breathing down my neck (if you listen closely, you can hear my GPA crashing to earth), the month of December equates happiness.  It is the time of the year when, as a child, school was filled with singing songs in the chorus, doing art projects in which everything was green or red, and of course, Christmas, a holiday, that to almost anyone that celebrated it, was the absolute best.

So when Thanksgiving ends and I start to hear the cheery bells and jingles and superfluous music (whether or not its really, really early) I start to get happy.  Can’t help it.  Even the cold – which I hate – doesn’t bother me in December (January, that’s another story…).  So if I love Thanksgiving for only that reason, don’t judge me too harshly.  But then there is the other reason to love Thanksgiving, and that’s the aspect of the holiday that I’m truly (and clichely – not a word but it fits) thankful for: hanging with the family.

It’s even better now that I don’t spend much of my time with them anymore.  Since I’m away at school for the majority of the year and don’t see everyone as often as I like, Thanksgiving is even cooler.  Sure, Christmas break is similar and longer, but its not the same.  See, Thanksgiving is the first time I get to be home for a truly extended time, and Christmas follows soon enough after that it doesn’t have the same feeling.  So when I roll home for Thanksgiving and see everyone for that time, it’s great.  We banter, we have mini-fights, we make fun of one another.  But most importantly, we just enjoy one another, regardless of how we’re acting.  It’s awesome.  It’s life-affirming.  And it’s enough to make me happy until I see them again…at the end of the holiday season.

And you thought I was just thankful for the turkey…

Now that doesn’t mean I’m going to rave about our military – frankly, I think its bloated, inefficient, and the largest ego booster a country could ever possess – but I will sing praises to the troops.  I may not agree with what our country has had them do (or has them doing) but I will never wish anything but the best for those willing to sacrifice their own possessions, time, and even lives for a flag.  Some people misconstrue that sentiment – Sean Hannity and Glenn Beck make it seem that if you don’t support or agree with current military strategies, you’re effectively announcing that you don’t care about the soldiers.

That is blatantly false.

No, I don’t find our excursions into Iraq to be politically smart, nor do I find them morally right, but I don’t make those decisions.  Neither do those in the armed forces.  They are there to serve our country, regardless what that servitude means to our leaders.  And so I support them in their quest to truly make a difference.

And they our troops do make a difference.  The world would be a vastly different place without them.  Our lives would be something warped and strangled compared to what they are.  And so I celebrate all of the United States’ troops.  I thank you.  I hope for you.  And to my friends in the military – I offer you love and I salute you.

At this place, the argument for the idea of life is that RATIONALITY rules the day, and it is the only thing that matters.  RATIONALITY is the backbone of economics – most basic theories (which are often difficult enough to grasp anyways) are based on the foundation that the world is full of free-thinking, rational human beings, their purpose to maximize their ends (which we call utility, which, for some reason, is synonymous with wealth – hey, no one’s really explained it to me either).  And to maximize (or optimize, depends on the book and the author) said utility, one must think and act ABSOLUTELY RATIONAL – it is the nature of the personified “market.”  And since people are so RATIONAL, certain decisions and moral idlings are easy to figure out.

Take, for example, the Ultimatum Game (which some of you may have played at one point) for example.  In the experiment, one person is told that he will be given a dollar if he can get a partner to agree that the dollar should be split.  If there is no agreement, the dollar is not bequeathed to either: the only thing is, there can be no communication between the partners.  Rather, the first partner must simply write the amount that he will split on a sheet of paper, hand it to the partner, and sit back for the decision.  If the partner chooses, he or she checks yes and the dollar is awarded.

So what would the Wharton student do here, being ruled by RATIONALITY?  He of course offers the least amount of money possible ($0.01) as his partner should accept, owing to the fact that they will, indeed, be one cent richer than they were a moment ago.  This is RATIONAL. This is ECONOMICALLY SOUND. This should be ABSOLUTELY CORRECT, as the laws of economics dictate that a person must be RATIONAL and maximize his or her utility.

But the results of the game?  Unfailingly, the vast majority of participants choose to divide the dollar in half – hey, either we get the dollar or we don’t; it’s free money, what’s the harm in splitting it?  This decision directly spits in the face of LOGIC, yet it’s what occurs.  And each time the Ultimatum Game is conducted, at least one person will argue that anybody that offered $0.50 is an idiot, and that under no circumstances should anything above a cent be offered – after all, it’s IRRATIONAL not to attempt to maximize our own standings in life.  And to those partners that deny an offer of one cent?  Well, our SUPER RATIONAL friend’s face may just explode – “you arbitrarily gave up the opportunity to improve your utility (wealth)!” he screams.  “You IRRATIONAL prigs!.”

Are they really irrational though?  Isn’t someone that argues so strongly for rationality, even in the face of certain irrationality, irrational himself?  I’d argue yes.  Because the one thing that Wharton forgets is that people, regardless of your economic theories or the logic behind absolute rationality, are simply not rational.  We are not wired that way.  Think about your day – I guarantee that at some point today, you did something that made absolutely no sense.  I bet whatever this thing was (for me, it was walking on the opposite side of the street that I needed to be on, even though there were multiple instances that I could have crossed, which would have shortened my trip – oh yeah, it was raining, too.  No umbrella, even though I knew it was raining well before I left) didn’t further your goals in any way imaginable, utility or otherwise.  But you did it, right?  And when it was over, is whatever incremental increase you may have received if you would have done things so ABSOLUTELY RATIONALLY make much of a difference to you?  Nope.

See, the thing is, in the end, when everything else is irrelevant and turns into dust, the thing that makes us human is that irrationality that is so frowned upon by Wharton.  That irrationality leads to spontaneity, it leads to emotions (don’t act like it was rational to cry at the end of Titanic or Marley & Me), and most importantly, it leads to love – after all, rationality agrees with our biology under the notion that we should not be attached to one another, but rather procreate and move on.  But that isn’t what we do.  And I don’t care what that dude arguing about the Ultimatum Game says, those things that stem from being lovestruck, lovelorn, illogical, flippant, impatient, spontaneous, egregious, quick to laugh, quick to anger, and romantic are more than worth forgoing some utility.

And that, my readers, is as rational as you can get.

So tell me please, is it weird that the above Toy Story 3 trailer got me thinking?  I’m saying yes…uhh and no.

The first half of preview is achingly beautiful – you have a child (Andy) shown in pure bliss, playing with the toys that he dearly loves, crafting worlds and scenes with only his mind.  He is the embodiment of pure imagination in those first scenes, oblivious to everything but what he creates (except for the ridiculously true look of embarrassment that passes on his face right when his mom interrupts his playing – picture perfect!).

But the movie has to go somewhere, right?  Ten years since Toy Story 2, and Andy has grown up, just like the rest of us.  Going to college, only a few years younger than me – and I can tell you from experience, toys are not looked highly upon in the dorm room.  So the toys are left behind, Buzz and Woody are no longer Andy’s, and the pure joy we saw on Andy’s face has been replaced by the dull stare into a computer screen.

Wow – those guys at Pixar have a great grasp on true life.

I’d say I stopped playing with the majority of my physical toys about nine years ago.  I was thirteen.  I can actually remember the last legitimate action figure I received from my mom – Wolverine.  The X-Men movie had just come out.

Now I don’t know why I truly stopped making the imaginary worlds, all I know that when those worlds no longer materialized, I was much more hardpressed to use my imagination in general.  And what a sad thing that is.

Maybe it’s peer pressure, maybe it’s the adults, maybe it’s this society, or maybe it’s just our genetic makeup, but no one can deny that at some point in our lives, our imagination dries up and crumbles in the breeze.  Our friends make fun of our flights of fancy, adults now tell us “to get our head out of the clouds” instead of encouraging us to keep playing like they weren’t even there.  Society demands us to be serious – you know, because this life is serious and living is serious business.  But regardless of why, the vast majority of us lose our imagination (or it at least its boundlessness) and those that retain it are typically seen as eccentric or weird.  Unless, of course, you can use your imagination to tap into the imaginations of others a la JRR Tolkien, Lost, or those guys from Pixar.  Then you are a visionary, and probably something even greater – for those are the ones that permit us to break whatever weird vow we’ve made in ourselves to be so serious and allow some of the ocean of our imagination to splash back onto us, at least for a little while.  But no one can tell me they’ve never felt a pang like I do when I sit around and watch my niece sing a song that she just made or my nephew beat Superman up with his Spider-man.

It’s sad at some level, but its also lovely to know that, at some point in our oh-so-serious existence, we weren’t.

We were visionaries…at least to our toys and the worlds they lived in.

“Do you think if we called now, we’d get through?”

Bryan breathed the cool night air deeply into his lungs.  The thin chill that made it’s home in the breeze tickled his throat.  “I don’t think it do any good, babes.  The newswoman said that the lines were probably gonna be down from here on out.”

“But maybe…if we tried…” Annie’s voice trailed off.  She twisted in the soft beds they had begun to dig themselves in the yard – the grass all about their bodies was matted in misshapen lawn angels.  “I just wish I could talk to him.  Talk to Bria and Sylvia.  I haven’t seen them in so long.”

“I’m sure they’re thinkin’ a you too.”

“She’s probably so scared, Bry.  I can’t imagine…”

“We didn’t raise a fool.  Dan will keep Sylv safe and as long as he’s with Bria, they’ll be okay as okay can be now.  No reason to get worked up about it.  Won’t do nothin’ for us.  As my daddy used to say, ‘worryin’ ain’t nothin’ but a rockin’ chair-’”

“Yes, I know.  Gives me somethin’ to do, though.”

“What, layin’ out here not good enough for you?”

Annie opened her mouth to snap back, but it just hung there; nothing came out.

Something in the air had changed; they could feel it.  And Bryan heard something in the darkness, trembling as it grew louder.  The night grew both quiet and loud.  A dog that had taken up barking in the last hour was suddenly silent.

It took him a moment to realize that the sound creeping over him was coming from deep in Annie’s throat.  His mind flashed a vivid picture of Sari, his old German Shepherd, pawing at the door, before it was scratched away by the yowl his wife was threatening to unloose.

“What, baby?  What’s wrong?”

She broke.  And as the tears tumbled from her pearl eyes – the heavens raining gems – the tremor in her throat became a sob and suddenly her head was in Bryan’s shoulder and her tears were washing the grass from his neck.

“Why’s it happenin’!” she sobbed into the shoulder that she had first cried on over forty years ago when her Pappy had moved on.  “What’s it all mean?  We’re here and Danny’s gone and I’m not gonna get to hold Sylvia anymore and everyone’s gone.  Lacie Bello came over yesterday and told me that she wasn’t gonna spend her final goddamn days in this God forsaken place and she left and brought back my Tupperware from last year – she said it was good and she was sorry for keepin’ it so long – and why’d we even stay Bryan we shoulda gone outta here oh baby oh babylove!”  She heaved in the night, filling her flat lungs.  “Jesus, is it our fault this is happenin’?  Was it cause we weren’t right?  What the hell did we do?  Did we bring this on us?”

Annie plowed her head into Bryan’s shoulder, driving them, together, into the ground.  Her wet face gleamed from the lights in the sky.

Bryan held her, not saying anything, numb to the ache in his shoulder and the tearing in his hip.  He just pulled his arms around Annabelle – his Annie – and held onto her as if the wretched flow of time had never existed and they were eighteen again and nothing in the world could ever matter but the two of them, interlocked and shuddering against one another.

Her sobs echoed in his skin, crawling through his body and awakening the something in his stomach he was supposed to have in control.  It was out of its cage and it was threatening to chew up his insides.  Suddenly, he was freezing, and if not for his time-warped grip on Annie, he didn’t think he’d be able to control his shivering.  And so he spoke.  It was the only thing he could do.

“I don’t think it’s us, baby.  We did everything we could, everything the world would let us.  We were as good as we were able, in the face of everything that told us to not be, weren’t we?  Maybe we let things get a little outta control; maybe we allowed some things to happen, but it’s only natural.  We can’t be blamed.  It’s not us.  And if it’s God, then He’s not my God.  He wouldn’t leave us now; he couldn’t leave us now.  He couldn’t leave us.  He couldn’t leave us-” the pit of his stomach began to shudder “-He wouldn’t.  I don’t believe it.”

And then she stopped crying.

Annie pulled away from Bryan’s shoulder, propped herself above him.  He convulsed, taken by the inexorable shivers, but only for a moment, then it passed – it was back in control, back in its cage.  He thought she was going to say something, let the panic take her again, but her lips, though quivering, never parted.  She just looked into his roadmap that had beset his face – the lines and ruts stood in the shadows and made a few of their own – and he looked into hers.

My my my, he thought, I was a lucky one.

Then they were kissing, lips dried and dreary, wetting against one another.  Hands on each other’s faces, searching the cracks, feeling the wrinkles, smoothing them into their own youth.

And the sky was filled with light, black to white, night into antiseptic day.

The horrible flash lasted a moment, and then the lights in the sky came back, brighter than ever before.

Annie and Bryan stared into space, mouths agape and eyes afire.  Bryan coughed but his eyes never wavered.  Annie lay back next to him, fixated out the brilliance above them.  “So,” she said. “It’s come.”  Her voice was flat in Bryan’s ears.

“Yes, babes,” he whispered.  “I think it’s arrived.”

“I feel cold.  I want to go back.”

“To where we were before?”

She finally broke away from the Medusa hold of the inverted night.  “To when we were young,” she whispered, “and we had all the time in the world.”

“Just you, me, and the Boss?”

“Yeah.  Just us.”

“I’d like that.  But alas, me fair lady, we’re here and we’re now.  You can borrow my glasses if you want.”

“We all brought this on ourselves.”

“I’m sure you’re right, dear.”

Bryan forced himself away from the lights, glanced at Annie.  Somewhere deep off he realized that the night had died and there was silence.  “Maybe it’s not real.  Or maybe it’ll be better in the end.”

“In the twilight?” Annie said, eyes moving back to the heavens.  She gave a laugh; it was harsh.

“Yeah,” Bryan took her hand and whispered in her ear, “in this twilight.”

The sky began to brighten again – horrendously, blindingly bright – as the lights came down.  The radiance illuminated Annie’s face, melting away time and its infernal trappings.  She was eighteen again.

“You know what, baby,”

“What, Bryan?”

“I’m really fucking scared.”

“Hush your mouth.  You know I don’t like it when you talk like that…

I’m scared too.”

The following is the first half of a short story that I wrote earlier this year. You can read Part II here.)

The grass was slight and cold beneath their necks.  It had crunched, pleasant and full, as they lay down, bending the blades and staring towards the sky.

Bryan’s knees whispered their age as he knelt, popping and grinding as he slid next to Annabelle – his Annie – whispering that the time for moonlight serenades had long past, that the years were caked on just a little too thick for this kind of romance.

But Bryan scooted himself beside her anyways, ignoring the simmering heat that burrowed from his knees into his hips.

It would be gone soon enough.

As his shoulder touched hers and the lawn bent beneath his shifting legs and the sickly sweet redolence of the cool springtime snaked its way out of the cracked blades, Annie glanced sidelong into his face, joining her fingers with his rough ones.  She had never cared that his hands were so coarse; she had never complained about the stains on his shirts or the grease in his hair or the coal he had sometimes tracked onto the kitchen linoleum.  A smile crept onto her lips – they were cornered with the gentle creases that time insists upon leaving as a sign that it even exists – and her eyes sparkled and glinted, reflecting in the night.

“Ah…” she exhaled, clearing her throat of the debris of age, sewing up the tiny cracks that sometimes spidered through her voice.  “We shouldn’t have ever stopped doin’ this.”

Bryan didn’t sigh or clear his throat – he was beyond those easy measures and his voice hadn’t sounded like he remembered it for the last few years.  He had hated it at first: the watery, wavering tones didn’t belong in his mouth, to be chewed and spit out so slight and frail.  But he had gotten used to them, as people get used to all things.  And the hate was gone soon enough, running off to play with someone that had something better to get angry at.

“Well,” he said.  “Too late for that now.  Besides, if not for what’s goin’ on, the grass would itch too bad and all we’d be doin’ was complainin’.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

And they lay still for a few minutes, listening to the unending sounds of their backyard as it lived and breathed all around them.  The houselights were off – so they didn’t interfere with the ethereal night – and the neighbors had all run off either hours or days before.  Kevin Everett and his wife had left almost a month ago, speeding away with the garage door barely open and the car packed up so high that Roger Bartem had said he was damn near shocked that they didn’t take out every lamppost along the way, bein’ that a car with so much in it has got to be tough to see outta and the weight is probably so poorly distributed that it’d be hard to handle.

But Roger was gone now, came over earlier in the day to tell Bryan that he’d see him around and that he heard the mountains were the best place to sit and wait and since his sister-in-law was situated up there, it’d be best to take Jenna and see what happened.  He tipped his flat-billed hat, struck a match and sucked on the end of a Marlboro, and stepped off the front porch.  Bryan had said goodbye and asked Annie if she wanted to head towards the mountains, too.  She had answered with a flat-out no and Bryan didn’t push it beyond that.  He didn’t rightly care either way.

So they lay here, in the backyard of their tiny little house on the newly deserted Emerson Drive, where no monsters were due and they had lived in peace and mostly quiet for the last thirty-five or so odd years.

Annie squeezed Bryan’s hand a little tighter – the cold band of so-called priceless metal dug into his fingers and he smiled as he noticed.  “You remember when we used to come out here and lay with the old radio and stare at the stars all night long?” she said, voice falling slightly by the end.

“Yes, Ma’am, I remember.  I used to pray that the Boss would come on so you’d get up and dance.”

She giggled, rolling on her side and slapping at him.  “Tramps like us…” she sang.

“Baby, we were born to run!” Bryan finished, voice booming out, echoing across the yard and into the trees and off the empty houses and the still pavement.  It was the voice he had long ago forgotten.  A troupe of birds rustled the budding leaves and took off into the night and the chorus of crickets stumbled over a few notes.

They fell into fits of laughter before Bryan began to choke and cough.  It didn’t stop the snorts and it just made Annie laugh harder.

“Oh my oh my oh my, stop it stop it,” he yowled between the laughs and the coughs.

“You really hit that one hard, Bry,” Annie laughed, tiny tears forming near the spidery wrinkles that spread from her pretty green eyes.

“I was just thinkin’ a you dancin’, the way your skirt would sway around.  It would dance with you, you know that?  Like you two were partners.  It was hard for me to cut in and dance a little myself.”

“Well, those skirts were always better dancers than you anyways…”

He groaned.  “I bet they were.  But you were the one chasin’ me!”

“What color glasses you got on?” she laughed.

“Whichever ones make me look better to you.”

That tickled Annie and she began to cackle and Bryan joined her until they were both coughing and coughing for air.

“Quit doin’ that,” she said, bouncing Bryan with her hip.  “You’ll kill us both!”

“Baby, I couldn’t ever do that,” he said.  “I’d kill for you, I’d die for you, but I’d never kill you.  That would just make my life a good-ole waste a time, now wouldn’t it?  Well, my dad always used to say that chasin’ you around was just that.”

“I thought I chased you?”

“I took off my glasses.”

Annie giggled again. “Your father, God bless him, loved me.”

“He loved your cookin’.”

“That was enough for me,” she sighed, smile waning on her lips as she slid again into Bryan’s hand.  “Would you ever let me fall apart, Bryan?”

“Only if I knew how to put you back together.”

“And what if you lost a piece?” she asked.

“What piece is it?  The one that insists on spendin’ my money?”

“I ain’t answering that.”

Bryan grinned. “Well, I guess I couldn’t let you fall apart then.  I’d just pick you up and hold you together.”

“Did it mean anything, babe?”

“Did what?”

“Anything.  Everything.  All of this.  It mean anythin’ at all?”

Bryan frowned, creasing his forehead.  He slid his head into hers – his thinning hair simmered against the stiff blades.  “I bet it meant somethin’.”

Annie sighed, and as Bryan shifted his eyes from the sky – it was hard to pull them down – he could see her eyes staring into the space his had just moved from.  They were glistening, rubies of blue-green in the night.

“It meant somethin’ to us, din’t it?  What we did, how our lives were?  Right?”

“You’re probably right, just like normal-”

A grin tugged at his lips, “-that’s the first time you ever admitted that-”

“-and we been good, huh?  Me and you been good.”

Bryan shifted onto his elbow and stared into her eyes, head blotting out the reflections, stealing the tiny jewels.  “We been great.  Daniel turned into a good one, and nothin’s better than Sylvia.  And we spent enough nights dancin’ in the dark – as Bruce used to say – don’t you think?”

“You’re the one that couldn’t stand Springsteen before I came along,” Annie said, lips curling.

Bryan lay back beside her, setting eyes afire as he did.  “Well, you gave me some extra, um, motivation.  He helped me find my backseat, you know.  Can’t fault a guy for that.”

She giggled and squeezed his hand even tighter.  “You stop that, mister, ‘fore my daddy hears and chases you off again.”

The lights in the sky were bright enough to show her smile.

Of course, I did not have the ol’ H1N1 (hey, I’m in college on a campus; the overreaction was warranted).  But I was ill.  And one of the few times I left my room in those month-long days was to go get the obvious cold/flu cureall: chicken noodle soup.

So I get the instacup from the WaWa down the street, throw it in the microwave for a few (I may have actually held my hands above the spinning plate in an effort to warm myself – hello radioactive cancer!), pop it out, stir, and get taken back in time.

It was weird, you know?  I’m sitting there, with the soup warming my offhand as I scour the broth for noodles, and the smell, see, it drifts up into your brain and triggers all kinds of feelings.  Suddenly, I’m back in 4th grade, sitting in the enormous brown leather chair that usually housed my Jidu (grandfather for the white folks) eating a bowl that had been prepared by the hands of an angel – my Situ (I’ll let y’all figure that one out on your own).

So I take another spoonful, and the channel changes.  I’m at a corner table with booth seating in a kitchen (you know the type I’m talking about – it was the kitchen set for every 50s era television family), cup of steaming soup in front of me, newspaper sprawled in front of my Dido (Grandfather again), my Babi at the sink humming something heavenly, MASH playing lazily in the other room.

One more sip, and this time I’m sick, laying on the couch, my mother sitting near my feet, hands gently on my bent knees.  Jeopardy is on, but she doesn’t watch – absently rubbing at my knee, mind absently wandering where it does, but I could care less.

Damn, this soup is weirdly nostalgic, huh?

Well, I had discovered the one benefit of my sickness – it required soup.  And that soup, well, that soup could only be enjoyed with its memories.

So I searched my memories for a while, found mainly my mama and my Situ and my Babi, and I came to a realization about the roles of mothers: they sure require some great immune systems!

But the role is so much more.  My mother spent my youth caring for us, exposing herself to the ridiculous maladies we dig out when we’re young, but she never once complained.  Not a single moment.  You know what else she never complained about?  Being bored or being bothered or being unfulfilled.  And thinking about that, I now realize, that while I know my mother very well – her likes, dislikes, what her vocal tones indicate, how to get on her nerves, how to make her smile that big smile that doesn’t change no matter how many different hairstyles she may have had – I don’t know anything about her dreams.  About what she aspired for the way that I currently have these huge, vast dreams.  I know she was the greatest mom anyone could have, but was that what she wanted?  Where was your mind hurtling towards when you weren’t watching Jeopardy?

Can I ever know what burden my brother, sisters, and I were to her?  Are to her?  And yes, I know that she will say we were no such thing, but is that true?  I’m trying to imagine a life in which my dreams are unrealized.  That, due to the nature of the family, my aspirations fall by the wayside to the needs of those dependent on me.

See, I know my father’s dreams – he is living them, right at this moment.  He gets to wake up and do, no matter how much he complains to the contrary, what he loves to do.  What he was made to do.  But my mother?  What was she made to do?  I can (and I’m sure she will) argue that caring for us was what she was born to do, but I can never be certain.  She can be, though.  And I’m curious now.  Momma, what did you want to accomplish before us?  Did we stop you?  And if so, I’m so very sorry.

But at some level, I am not sorry: I’m willing to be selfish enough at this very moment to say that, I’m glad you were there the way you were.  You gave me anything I could ever want or need.  And you did it smiling.

In the novel The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold, the title comes from the notion that the relationships we build with one another, the connections, are like the bones to the living, breathing body of our lives.  The bones my be shattered, broken, gnarled, but they are always mended.  The bones, the lovely bones, of my life are all connected through my mother.  It’s as if she knew, somewhere deep down, that what she was doing – whether she was realizing her dreams or not – she was giving life to an entity much larger than myself.  And all that it needed to grow and survive was her smile, her love.

And maybe some warm soup.

[So the video got shut down...check it out here ]

Funny, right?  I mean, sure – it’s exaggerated to hell and back, but it rang just a little true in its ridiculousness, huh?  But in the end, it’s irrelevant, just another slab of opinions that make up the very identity of what it means to be American.  We all have such opinions, and the right to exercise them is the sole reason that there is a debate over health care and its future in this country.  For if we did not have the ability and right to air our own thoughts, there would be universal health care or there would not be – no debate either way, just what the Washington decided – no opinions means no dissenting opinions.

As I said before, the airing of the opinions is not only at the heart of the health care debate, but of America.  And in the end, each individual opinion is irrelevant – it is what it is, with no true power to sway the debate one way or the other.

With that in mind, and even with the knowledge that in the end it’s irrelevant – here is my opinion on the health debate.  It’s a simple opinion, based on (potentially false) the belief that I have stripped away many of the ideas that splinter through the opinions of others.

My opinion is that universal health care is not only the right thing for this nation, but the responsible one on behalf of our government.

How did I come to that opinion?  Easy enough – I asked myself whether or not, in the beautiful country of America, home of the free and the equal and the dreamers, should the luxury of health be afforded to its citizens.

Oh be sure, health care is not a right.  It is a luxury, as are roads, education, and security, things that are never outed as being luxuries, but imagine the outcry should any of those cease to be offered.  And there is part of a simple argument for universal health care – the notion that “rights” are not necessarily anything but the those held within a person or on a field of morality.  Neither of those things are in the design of functioning government unit, though they are so ingrained now that we believe they are.  Rather, a government is a body that presides over laws, rules, regulations; none of which are rights.

So disconnect the term “right” with “health care” or “roadways” or “education” – none of those things are inalienable rights when held in terms of government.  Morality?  Maybe.  But government makes no claims are morality, nor should it.  And once rights are removed from the government equation, evaluate universal health care.

But we can’t.  In America, rights are the government.  Or, equivalently, rights are what the government decrees as rights.  Why doesn’t this shock the American public?  Because we have indoctrinated in us the idea that America is larger than all other things.  “Rights in other countries are the same as rights in America…we’re better than that.”  And so let’s be better than that with health care!  Let’s make health care the right that it isn’t.  Let’s make it the luxury that truly demonstrates why America is the greatest country in the world.

Moving to the next argument against health care – economics (how the hell are we going to pay for it?)  To this, I say, forget about the money.  We as citizens are 100% fine with our outrageous military spending – spending that is frivolous at best, as money is wasted every single day fighting a meaningless war in Iraq and patrolling the borders.  But it’s our safety people say, as if that budget stopped September 11 from occurring.  Fact is, unless we cut our spending to that of Chile (which I am in no way advocating), the people of this nation will be as safe as possible.  No amount of military spending would repel an initial attack on America if those attackers were truly intent on hitting this nation.

So cut the budget!  Not only can we fund the entire health care plan but slicing the military budget in half, but we could lower overall taxes, pave our roads, and have enough left over to still be the largest military spender by far. Don’t believe me?  Look at some of the facts: