I should know better than to listen to political speeches hoping to hear anything inspiring, exciting, or new. What I get out of political speeches tends to be exemplified by my experience last night: I listened to Barack Obama outline his healthcare “reform” plan and realized that I am against it. In fact, I am convinced that it is a step in a worse direction from the status quo. Yes, that’s right, it would be better to do nothing to the current system than to enact this policy. I realize many of you will find this statement to be outlandish, so allow me to elaborate:

0. Demise of the Public Option
I’m going to make a slight assumption here that Barack Obama’s speech technically left vague, but I believe made very clear between the lines. I’m going to assume that the public option is dead. Obama spent more time in his speech telling progressives why they should support a bill without a public option than he did defending the potential merits of said option to anyone else. From the beginning, Obama has vested zero commitment to the concept of a public option. Given the penchant of Democrats to compromise pretty much everything when “negotiating”, I think the writing is on the wall. Many of my arguments hereon will assume that the final version of the plan will be devoid of a public option. The presence of a robust public option, pending a miracle, would mitigate some (but by no means all) of my objections.

1. Public Goods for Profit by Private Industry
A recurring theme of what I find most objectionable about the plan proposed is the individual mandate to purchase health insurance. Any plan with an individual mandate, regardless of other provisions, is going to draw scorn from me.

What’s so problematic about the individual mandate is that it’s a recognition that health insurance (or healthcare coverage of some kind, at least) is a public good. Anything so fundamental to citizenship that we would make failing to do it illegal is sort of the ultimate public good. Passing this bill would state that we have determined access to health insurance to be of maximal public value to society as a whole.

Now this is all well and good, right up till the point where only private insurers are enabled to offer this public good. Let’s consider other things we think of as public goods: fire protection, police protection, the military, highways, primary and secondary education, etc. In all but the last example, private groups are disallowed from offering services. The goods are considered simply too important to even let the private sector in the door. In the last example, education, the public option is considered the most vital aspect of the system, though competition is begrudgingly allowed from the private sector. Nevertheless, almost none of the private sector groups involved run on a principle of profit. They are non-profit organizations run as charities, often losing money on the fees they charge directly for student admission.

There is only one instance of anything remotely like a public good only being offered by private groups: car insurance. Indeed, car insurance seems to be the “inspiration” for much of this plan as it is manifesting, despite its obvious flaws. The function of the car insurance system in modern America is to serve as a regressive tax on car owners to funnel money into the hands of private for-profit insurance companies. Rather than institute a progressive tax throughout society to pay for financial liability coverage in case of a car accident, the government mandates the added expense of profit margins and the added inequality of variable coverage that requires people to bet against themselves. If you’re wondering how much profit (i.e. inefficiency) there is in the system, just look to what proportion of current advertising comes from auto insurance companies. You can think briefly about how many of these commercials you can recall from memory – Geico, Progressive, State Farm, All State, and realize how much margin there is in this industry.

The tax is regressive because people pay on a per-car basis and, often, because of the way insurance “risks” are calculated, those on the margins of society are forced to pay the most. Using this system as a model for any kind of coverage is devastatingly unfair.

But with health insurance, it’s even worse than car insurance, because at least someone can choose not to have a car. It’s very difficult in some circumstances, but it is an option. Choosing to not have a body is not an option, and thus everyone in society is swept up in the dragnet of the insurance-industry bailout known as “healthcare reform”. This is literally unprecedented in our society – never in our history has something been enacted that requires 100% participation. Not taxes (only those who are employed or make purchases in certain states), not ID cards, not voting (certainly not voting!), not conscription (only males), not education (only children), absolutely nothing has ever been mandated for everyone. And we are planning on breaking this precedent with… paying private insurers to offer you healthcare coverage?

What would be next? Saying everyone has to buy oranges because they’re healthy? Everyone has an individual mandate to buy ten oranges a day. How about mortgage-backed securities? Everyone must help the economy by buying one toxic asset from a bank per month. This is an insane way of achieving what is clearly observed to be a public good.

2. Lack of Cost Controls
You’ll note that, aside from a token mention of tort reform, Obama said nothing about keeping costs in check. Apparently, competition is supposed to be the magic force that keeps escalating healthcare costs in line, even though we’ve ostensibly had a system of competition for the last century, which has brought us onto this runaway train in the first place.

Now, there is some confusion about how the “marketplace of insurers” exchange system would work. Obama said both that the entire block of people in the exchange would act as one big group to negotiate and gain leverage AND that individuals and businesses could “shop” among options. These can’t both be true. Either the whole group negotiates as one, which would drive down price but also mean that everyone in the negotiating pool can only go with the insurer with the best bid OR the group is every person for themselves, navigating bids offered them as individuals, like a lendingtree.com for health insurance. I’ll take these issues one at a time.

If it’s Option A, where people have one choice of insurer only that’s the result of pooled negotiation, this insurer immediately becomes extremely powerful. They can raise their rates later, especially once they’ve driven many competitors out of business. They functionally become a stand-in for the public option, only motivated by private profit-driven aims.

But if it’s Option B, where people are all on their own, then there is no collective bargaining advantage to be gained, and one will have exactly the price conditions present in the status quo. The only difference is that the companies will have the leverage that buyers HAVE to buy one of the options offered, so if they all raise rates they know the customers can’t rebel and go elsewhere.

Either of these scenarios ends up actually escalating healthcare costs, because there’s no incentive to keep prices down. Right now, the only market force keeping prices down at all (and it’s not doing much) is the idea that someone can choose not to buy coverage. Once everyone has to buy, the market is a captive audience.

3. People Out in the Cold
Obviously the mandate is most troubling for the people at the very bottom levels of society – the homeless, the very poor, the Wal-Mart employees. Obama tries to allay fears about the impact of a mandate on these individuals, but my concerns are not even slightly allayed.

The first line of defense is “tax credits”, which is laughable on face. A great deal of the people who can’t afford insurance aren’t employed in the first place, either because they’re one of the one in five Americans who want a job and can’t get one, or because they’re homeless, or because they’re facing a personal health barrier to getting a job in the first place. Tax credits do absolutely zip for people not earning income. They only help people making a good income but still managing to squander money, perhaps on the clunker trade-in and the new house they were also conned into buying based on tax credits. In any event, it is extremely unlikely that a tax credit of any size will be large enough to flip the switch from insurance being unaffordable to affordable for any sizable number of Americans. This only seems to really move the needle for profitable small businesses who can then get their accountants working on exploiting this new tax loophole. Again, this plan manifests as a business bailout.

For all those not earning income, the second line of defense is a “hardship waiver”. But what does this mean? Does it mean a waiver from the mandate? Because in that case, these people are guaranteed to not have coverage, to be alone in this fact, and this plan then amounts to some sort of economic eugenics program. The only alternative is that this means people will be given health insurance coverage for free. But who’s going to pay for that without a public option? What sucker insurance company is going to be told to hold the bag on all the truly uninsured, especially given that their lack of income makes them proportionally worse bets in our society-wide game of Sickness Roulette.

There seems to be no evidence or implementation behind the idea that a waiver would enable free coverage – indeed the word “waiver” seems to imply avoiding debtor’s prison from failing the mandate far more than getting a handout. So these people are doomed… not only do they continue to not receive healthcare, but they are in an even smaller and less powerful minority of same than they were before.

CONCLUSION: Advancement of Corporate Kleptocracy
Ultimately, the end result of this plan would be to make more money for private for-profit insurance companies who are in the business of selling fear to an already terrified American public. It would further acclimate people to the idea that their public goods are only available from profit-hungry sources and that government is primarily in the business of propping up private industry.

Yes, the plan would eliminate some of the most despicable practices of the insurance industry right now in its use of pre-existing conditions and coverage cancellation. But the insurance companies would then have to recoup the profits lost from such practices by raising premiums on everyone, just in case. This would further fuel runaway costs, with the only check on this being some sort of theoretical competition that doesn’t work and has been further hamstrung by this plan. Or people would make cuts the other way (see also car insurance), by offering cut-rate plans that are the functional equivalent of not having insurance at all, but still have a daily cost. Then the medical bankruptcies and inability to pay for treatment can continue, but under the guide of a system that falsely touts its universality.

Needless to say, with Obama’s declaration that he intends to be the last President to work on healthcare reform, this plan would also be the permanent deathknell of the public option, let alone single payer. The hope of real change would be buried forever by a man who ran on exactly that platform. Even if this plan were roughly equivalent to the status quo (it’s worse), it would be worth it to have it fail to maintain the possibility of a real improvement in the future.

Part 15 in a 16-part stately series pictorially documenting the Sojourn.

Tuesday: Ohio

I think this highlights the problem with putting gubernatorial names on state entry signs:

PNC Park!

We had amazing seats – the closest I’ve ever been to a major league field – for not much dough… I guess it helps to set a record for consecutive losing seasons:

Pirate!

The Pirates may be the only major league team with two mascots. Some teams don’t even have one:

Cool out-of-town-scoreboard with game situations:

Tony LaRussa!

The Duquesne Incline – the best little city attraction you’ve never heard of:

First one comes up in the red incline car:

Then looks at the amazing view from the top:

Then starts on the descent:

View from the bottom after going up and back:

Next up in Pittsburgh, the Carnegie:

This picture fails to capture the epic size of the diplodocus pictured:

Storey with stego:

Em with triceratops:

Em contemplates what it would be like to encounter this giant sea turtle in the wild:

Return to the fabled cafeteria at Dickinson College – it hasn’t changed a bit:

The emergency exit door I shattered with a baseball at CTY and had to pay to replace:

Hershey’s Chocolate World, where I asked to Em’s embarrassment why they didn’t have M&M cookies:

The highlights of the tour are these singing animatronic cows, espousing the virtues of MILK! chocolate:

The real factory (no admittance):

Philly at night:

Waffle House in NE PA:

World’s largest crayon or fake plastic filler?

Cozy day of reading in Ariel & Mike’s new place:

And last: New Jersey

Read Duck and Cover at the Blue Pyramid.

Today (defined loosely as from noon yesterday till right now), I:

• Took delivery on a flat-screen television, which will hopefully never have network or cable TV thereon.
• Spoke to my parents on the phone.
• Listened to Barack Obama’s speech and…
• …Decided that I am against the current incarnation of “healthcare reform”.  (More on this later!)
• Spoke to Em’s mom in person.
• Welcomed Pandora back into our home.
• Ate a bunch of fried food.
• Had a soda for the first time in weeks.
• Wrote Chapter 21 of American Dream On, weighing in around that magic 2,000 words.
• Played “Hero” by Regina Spektor on repeat for some time.

The only difference between these days and the old days is that these days matter. I am writing and that changes everything. My whole outlook on life can be determined through the filter of how much control I have over what I do on a given day and how much of that links to what I feel I was put here to do.

Daily fulfillment is not about the space in between, the margins, even most of the time spent. It’s about intentionality, living deliberately, and whether what is done is part of what should be done. Not on the path there, or some esoteric larger vision of being there, but actually a PART of what is intended overall.

This makes all the difference. And I am grateful, eternally grateful, for every day on this side of things.

Read Duck and Cover at the Blue Pyramid.

Read Duck and Cover at the Blue Pyramid.

Part 14 in a 16-part stately series pictorially documenting the Sojourn.

Sunday: Michigan

The only Lt. Governor to get their name on a sign in America?

Faint moonset over our hotel in Cleveland:

Cuyahoga Valley “National Park”, in its one very pretty view:

Tiny toad!

Much larger dragonfly:

The rushin’ waters of the Cuyahoga:

Bikers are the most common wildlife in this Park:

Tomorrow: Pennsylvania

Part 13 in a 16-part stately series pictorially documenting the Sojourn.

Thursday: Indiana

If only they were the “Good Lakes”:

Mmmm… baseball….

Those are some fierce cats:

In case you were wondering where we are:

Emily attempting to high-five the Tiger:

Nifty whale mural in the distance:

This guy convinced me he was real and waiting for the People-Mover, at least at first:

The Ren Center:

Inside the stadium:

Pretty cool scoreboard:

And a run comes in:

The only place in America where the sports team supports a company rather than the other way round:

The bright lights of Detroit:

The Pepsi Porch area looked neat from a distance:

The tigers’ eyes light up when the team scores a run:

Fireworks!

Next up: Ohio

Last night, I threw in the towel early after about 1,200 words. Not a bad output – way better than zero – and I even felt pretty good about them. I was actually reading my early chronicles of writing Loosely Based yesterday to contextualize my current pace and it looks like I’m on a blistering tear by comparison.

Anyway, I threw in the towel because I had a migraine that I’d been denying most of the night to try to get to a place where I could write something. It wasn’t completely debilitating yet, though it was on its way there, and this is actually a good opportunity for writing. Having lived with migraines for a decade and a half, I have learned a great deal about them, including the fact that they actually represent a state of heightened awareness and sensitivity. Ultimately, this heightened state becomes completely non-functional, as all light, sound, and stimulus of any kind create overwhelming pain. But the moderate parts of the upswing represent a blood-surge to the brain that creates intense focus and ability.

Don’t get me wrong – I would never intentionally induce this state, because the downside of being knocked out for 8-12 hours (or way more in the bad cases) far outweighs the brief preliminary increased consciousness. But if it’s already underway, there’s no harm in taking advantage of it in that very small window. Unfortunately, the tipping point comes very quickly where the pain of trying to maintain interaction with the world outweighs the benefits of that interaction being of higher quality.

So I turned in early, around 4:00, after eking out four pages and change. And I realized that, migrainous, I was going to have to sleep more than the six-hour standard that I’ve been on the last ten days. (My ideal sleep cycle is four hours, but I think I may have gotten too old for this to be feasible on a constant basis.) And that, my friends, would mean dreams.

They were disjointed and unmemorable at first, as they often are when I’ve prevented myself from dreaming for an extended period. Then they started to coalesce into my standard night fare. In the first of memory, I was grinding my teeth into a pulp (sadly all too realistic, Em reports), to the point where I could feel into my mouth and pull out little chunks of tooth and some accompanying powder. The visceral reality of that dream was absurdly compelling, especially since it was set in my actual location, on the bed in Tiny House.

The follow-up was a more traditional, artificially located dream, in which I had been sent into a movie theater as some sort of harbinger of doom. My goal was equal parts to warn a specific person that something troubling was coming to the theater and to create a general aura of discomfort that aware people would be able to pick up on and join the target and I on the way out the door. Those that made it out the door before I did were safe as a rising tide of panic started sweeping in. Just before I left, the shooting began. I was then instructed to push the double-doors behind me shut and hold them there no matter what. Without considering the consequences in detail (I was mostly focused on how infeasible this seemed for one of my strength), I followed the orders. I felt a surge of almost supernatural power through my arms as I was somehow able to resist the stampeding mob shoving the doors in the other direction, while hearing the two machine gunners make their way through the crowd with a sickening series of automatic bullets and the accompanying anguish of their targets. I was torn between my incredible guilt at what I was aiding, the sweet surprise of my strength, and the fear of realizing that if I let go of the doors, I might well get shot myself. Eventually, it was over and I was able to let go after two minutes of silence. No one in the theater was still alive. I met up with a suspicious-looking counterpart who was apparently the operative holding the other exit shut – the one through which the gunmen had initially entered. We briefly discussed the horrible compromise we’d just had to make to save our own lives before I woke up.

I was going to end the post there, dramatically demonstrating why I aim for less sleep and why I see dreams as such a potent enemy of my own peaceful state of mind. But I have just recalled a third dream, I think just before the tooth dream, that might as well accompany this narrative. Funny how intensely recalling dreams prompts the further recessed recall of others.

My group of male high-school friends and I were all hanging out at what was some sort of college or graduate school, mostly in the cafeteria, but occasionally in the dorms, which resembled hotel lodging more than student housing. Fish hadn’t processed his paperwork properly and was thus deemed unwelcome on the campus, though we hadn’t been caught yet. The dream was basically an extended chase scene where we kept trying to get away from these two slick-looking undercover cops who were going to root Fish out and probably punish all of us as well. Throughout the dream, Fish was the only one of our crew who seemed unperturbed by the situation, while Jake and Gris and I struggled in frustration with how serious our circumstances were and how hard it was to get Fish to recognize this. For some reason, I kept being the one to have cryptic conversations with the cops, as though they suspected I was shielding Fish but didn’t quite have enough evidence yet, so they couldn’t just take me down. The climax took place on a used car lot, somehow the last place I expected them to find us, and they told me the jig was up right before I saw Jake tear out of there with a stolen used car, Fish in tow. I gazed down the highway, wondering if they would make it.

I’m aiming for a return to six hours tonight.

I talk a lot about the 85% rule, which states that at any given time, 85% of all people are idiots, or mailing it in, or both.

But rarely do succinct manifestations get mailed to my door:

[portions redacted by recipient]

I’m not sure we should be so hasty, PSE&G. Do you really want to take this out of Unknown Unknown’s name so quickly when they’ve been such a loyal customer?

Also, what exactly is your current mailing address on file for Unknown Unknown? Arlington National Cemetery, perhaps?

Which begs the question of why you would send this notice to the old mailing address. I look forward to next week, when I will receive a bill for $3,521.89 at this address, representing the total accrued costs for Unknown Unknown’s use of electricity.

I am tempted to call them and claim to be Unknown Unknown, requesting service in my new location. In the meantime, I should go frame shopping.

Read Duck and Cover at the Blue Pyramid.

I remember this feeling – the elation of finishing much more of the book than you were planning on even working on at the outset of the night, especially given how late you were hanging out with other people, eating into your writing time. (In this case, the Rutgers debate team I’m coaching, in that case Schneider & Kunkel). The pure exhilaration of watching it get faintly lighter outside and knowing how productive you’ve been while all the rest of your part of the world slept. How everyone is still asleep and you just want to stay up one more hour, fuzzy-tired but eminently satisfied with being in the right place doing the right thing with your time on Earth. Tired, satisfied, and… hungry.

And before, during those blessed days in the summer of 2001, I would get in the Kia and drive down to the Frontier. I would have a breakfast burrito and fries and the world would take on this radiant hue that matched the pinky-purple-orange outside and I would polish off spicy bites with the anticipation of sleep that can only be joyful (for me) knowing exactly how hard and sound you’ll sleep and how happy you’ll be to awaken in the face of the prior night’s accomplishments.

Box of Cheez-Its, loaf of country potato, you are not the Frontier. I know I’m trying hard to eat at home these days, but mornings like this call for an exception. Although I still don’t think driving to Albuquerque is the answer.

These bread products will have to do for this morning. Good night, world. Can’t wait to see you again.

Part 12 in a 16-part stately series pictorially documenting the Sojourn.

Yesterday: Illinois

Crossroads indeed – this is the only picture we took in Indiana:

Tomorrow: Michigan

Read Duck and Cover at the Blue Pyramid.

Part 11 in a 16-part stately series pictorially documenting the Sojourn.

Yesterday’s Post: Iowa
Actual Previous State: Wisconsin

They’re really into the whole Lincoln thing in Illinois:

I, on the other hand, am really into that whole Ray Bradbury thing in Waukegan:

Emily liked the space-age swingsets:

The ravine from Dandelion Wine:

Really nifty explanation of the renaming of the park for Ray:

Skyline of Chicago:

Skyline from US Cellular Field (frmrly New Comiskey):

I’m not exactly clear on what the pinwheel thing is on the South Side, but they seem to be into it:

Right after some home-run fireworks:

You can putitontheboard – yes!

Blue tower near the Magnificent Mile:

A river runs through it:

Emily was unconvinced that this building was all that tall:

I can’t believe they’re trying to rename the Sears Tower – it doesn’t seem to be sticking with any of the locals:

The Sears/Willis Tower was really a fan of the 2016 Olympic bid, though:

I’m pretty convinced – it’s tall:

Guess what – another Union Station!

Emily with her namesake, or at least one rendition:

Perfect blue buildings?

I’m pretty sure these were in the establishing shot for the Bob Newhart Show:

Tomorrow: Indiana

Read Duck and Cover at the Blue Pyramid.

This blog may be in danger of becoming a writing blog. I think I’m okay with that, since writing is what I’ve been wanting to do since I was about eight years old, but you should probably be forewarned.

I remember when we were talking about living together a long time ago (it never happened, though we are in much closer proximity for the time being), my friend Ariel said she had cooked up images of having friends over and sneaking around by candelight, shushing them and pointing upstairs to the literary nook. “Shh… he’s writing,” she imagined herself saying.

Sadly, this is probably more akin to what it’s like to live with me while I have a migraine than while I’m writing. Such romantic notions are (and were) fun, but the reality is much more like what happened with Emily and I today. She called on her way home from her evening Economics class while I was in the midst of a 7:00-9:30 burst of inspiration on a short story, the third I’ve done at least some work on in a week. I picked up the phone in case she needed a ride for some reason in the dark, but was cranky and annoyed when I realized she was just doing a routine check about something. Nearly derailed, I hung up as fast as possible and tried to recapture the magic.

It took a little bit, but I was back in the groove shortly. Then she came home after a long day at school, wanting to converse. But I could have none of it. We had an awkward interlude where I told her that I was really sorry, but I just couldn’t be interrupted while in the throes of inspiration. She thought I was talking about the phone call. I observed that too, but gently noted I was talking about now.

If you’re wondering what Emily was doing that was so unreasonable, the answer is absolutely nothing. The problem is that writing is a fickle beast, especially in this fragile first week of full-time focus. There may be people out there who are writing for eight to ten hours a day, but most of them are actually thinking about writing for that long (or longer). And this work and time is important, and should be scheduled and dedicated, but it’s not the same as being in the crosshairs of the muses, churning out words like the language will go extinct in 30 minutes and you have one last thing to say before they pack it in.

That time is precious, and it’s when most of what people think of as writing gets done. And if you disturb that time, you might as well punt a full day’s worth of work. Because, honestly, you’re spending the whole day trying to get yourself into just that state.

I think this is why so many writers use routines, and why so many of those routines involve alcohol. Artificial substances are so often used as an inducement or a proxy for a specific state of being. And routine, ritual, rote behavior can sometimes train us into the same stupor.

For me, routine is a part of it. I somehow seem to perform exceedingly well on a dawnish to noonish sleep schedule (which I’ve already discussed to excess), with around ten or midnight till dawn being the primary time set aside for the really intense writing work. I have always done my best work in the wee hours, being able to raise my mind the loudest when the surroundings are at their most still.

But the routine only gets me so far. A lot of it is just intensity, meditation, focused thought trained on the particular subject or problem at hand. Or flitting between several. Or just deeply taking in whatever the universe seems to be throwing down.

It is painfully unscientific, unscrupulous, and mercurial. Writer’s block is just what it’s called when the usual combination of meditation, routine, and mumbo-jumbo doesn’t somehow flip over into magic after a little more than the typical requisite time. It’s not that one can’t come up with words to put on a page, staring at a blank screen. It’s that the words are empty husks, severed from the life-giving inspiration that can only come when the mind of the writer is aflame and haunted, slaving away for a mysterious master who strikes at random but offers such sweet rewards.

Much has been said by so many writers about the process’ solitude, its pain, its pyrrhic feel. I say nonsense. Writing is just being the only thing it can be, which is this weird daily fight to create the platform for hours of mystic captivation. But every time that captivation descends, locking in place, it’s like rain coming to flood a drought-stricken land. Nothing has ever been so perfect, so blessed, so wonderful. And it’s all one can do to drink, absorb, wallow in the water before the clouds are spent and it’s time once more to trudge through the desert with a divining rod.

I love it. I love every minute. The coaxing of the next big thing, the slow exhilarating tumble of realizing that inspiration has struck, the torrid tempest of typing, the perfect conclusive feel when one knows the last sentence just finished has completed this segment of the festivities. Even if I didn’t like the results of writing, I would probably try to run through exercises like this just to feel this progression.

It makes me a pain in the behind to deal with. It makes me a logistical nightmare. It makes me even more sine-curvy in my emotional perspectives than normal. Yes, really.

But at eight pages (2,000 words) a day average, a week in, with four projects going (three short stories and, of course, American Dream On, the novel), I wouldn’t change a thing. I really didn’t think I’d get here this quickly, but, God, I never want to leave.

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In a programming note, while I finished one story already, it still has some editing to be done before it is ready to send out to those of you out there who have so generously volunteered to be readers. Given the state of things right now, I’m actually thinking I might send out a small suite of three stories at once as the first dispatch, if only because they are all so different and thus demonstrate the range of what I’m working on. The first one is such a departure from my normal fare that I fear it might be somewhat off-putting, or at least distracting, if sent first and by itself.

I don’t want to start setting story deadlines for myself, so I can’t be more clear. But hopefully “Name Game”, “Life is Good”, and (gulp) “The Greatest Story Never Told” will be ready for other eyes sometime this month. American Dream On is the priority, though, so no promises.

Part 10 (should be 9) in a 16-part stately series pictorially documenting the Sojourn.

So in my rush to get these out, I forgot Iowa. I know, I know. My 48th state of all time. So while yesterday’s post was Wisconsin, it should have been Minnesota. For those of you scoring at home.

Fields of Opportunities!

McGregor, Iowa. If I had to live in Iowa…

I still kind of can’t get over this restaurant’s name:

The effigy mounds. They are difficult to photograph from ground-level:

It was a hot day:

The park is beautiful, with or without mounds:

The mighty Mississippi:

Next (actual chronology): Wisconsin
Next (posting chronology): Illinois

Read Duck and Cover at the Blue Pyramid.