The Straight Dope (pun intended)

Follow these links to find the healthcare plans for each candidate. Their plans, in their words.

Clinton

Obama

McCain

If there is enough interest I will put this on the Blackboard site for some type of extra credit assignment.

(About that picture. This is what you get when you search google for a combined image of Obama, Clinton, and McCain.)

Oh crap! Is that poop on my lemon?

as reported on msnbc.com


It's fairly common for restaurant staffers to place a lemon slice on the rim of a beverage glass as a flavor enhancer or decorative garnish. But who knows whether these lemons have been handled using sanitary procedures? Anne LaGrange Loving, a professor of science at Passaic County Community College, decided to find out.

Loving began her investigation after she saw a waitress’ fingertips dip into her soda as the drink was being brought to her table. Although lemon juice is known to kill germs, Loving devised a study to determine whether lemon slices contain germs when they are served to customers.

Using sterile collection swabs, Loving took two samples from each of 76 lemons that were served in restaurants in North Jersey. Patrons normally start to drink a beverage moments after it is served, so samples were taken right away, before a sip was taken and before anyone at the table touched it. One swab was rubbed along the rind, while a second was rubbed along the pulp. The restaurants were unaware that she was doing this. Samples were then analyzed for microbes at a clinical microbiology laboratory.

A total of 25 different types of germs were found on 53 out of the 76 lemons that were sampled. Some are fecal in origin (either from dirty fingertips of the restaurant employees, or from meat-contaminated cutting boards and knives), while others are commonly found in saliva, on the skin and in the environment.

One sample had six different microorganisms on it, three of which are found in fecal material. Although some lemon slices had germs either only on the rind or only on the pulp, 29 percent had germs on both sites. In 15 instances the germs on the pulp were completely different from those on the rind, indicating that the pulp had been in contact with a contaminated surface as or after it was sliced. Sometimes when more than one lemon was sampled during a single restaurant visit, different germs were found on each.

Although there have been no reported outbreaks of illnesses attributed to lemon slices in beverages, every microorganism that was recovered has the potential to cause a variety of human infections. Establishment of an infection would depend upon the numbers and types of germs involved, the general health and age of the person and whether the person had chapped lips or a cold sore on the lips or gums.

People who love to have lemons with their drinks — especially those who are not in the best of health — might want to check out the sanitary practices of the restaurants they visit. At home, people can simply wash their lemons well with plenty of running water and soap to remove any protective wax that might have been added, then slice them using clean hands, a clean knife and a clean cutting board.

The study did not investigate other beverage garnishes such as olives, celery and limes. Alcoholic beverages were not tested. While alcohol is known to be antibacterial, studies would have to determine whether a beer, glass of wine, or mixed drink would contain sufficient alcohol to kill germs quickly. Previous studies have shown, for example, that the communion wine left in a chalice after all parishioners have taken a sip is loaded with bacteria.

The shrinking middle class?

Watch this video clip. and then comment on it.

Do you believe the middle class is shrinking? Do you think that the popular opinion is that it is shrinking? Are you in the middle class? Are you shrinking? I am expanding (I have the old pants to prove it).

Wall Street Throws A Tantrum

From Newsweek.
by Daniel Gross

Monetary policy, the management of global companies and the workings of Wall Street are indisputably the realms of the mature: one searches the gallery of Federal Reserve chairman portraits in vain for a full head of hair. At the World Economic Forum in Davos, I realized I hadn't seen so much silver hair since the 5 p.m. early-bird special dinner at Le Rivage in Boca Raton, Fla. The presence of all these wizened professionals should instill a good deal of confidence. When you're trying to bring a massive tanker to port amid stormy seas, the last thing you want to see is a 12-year-old apprentice steering the tugboat.

Yet in these turbulent times, Wall Street traders are the infants and toddlers. They're the tykes who stage public tantrums, screaming and yelling and writhing on the floor until they get what they want. Since the markets began to buckle last summer, what traders want is interest-rate cuts and other government measures to bail out banks from reckless and disastrous lending and investment decisions. In response, Federal Reserve chairman Ben Bernanke has done what any exhausted parent does when a child screams for three hours straight: he gives in. In the past two weeks, the Fed cut interest rates sharply twice, taking the Federal Funds rate down from 4.25 percent to 3 percent.

Of course, "giving in to a tantruming child just reinforces the demand," says Dr. Wendy Mogel, a clinical psychologist in Los Angeles and author of the wildly popular parenting tome "The Blessing of a Skinned Knee." And each time you cave to a screaming child, it buys you less quiet. The Federal Reserve's latest attempt to calm the market's tantrums—the half-point interest-rate cut on Wednesday—bought about 90 minutes of market silence. Within hours, as poor economic news continued to materialize, the clamor for further rate cuts began to rise. Mogel puts it in starkly financial terms: "Indulge tantrums and you get short-term gains and long-term loss."
If traders are the toddlers, investment bankers—and the CEOs they report to—are the tweens of the system, plagued by attention-deficit disorder. As we speak, your typical Wall Street managing director is glancing at CNBC in his office, intermittently checking six computer screens, thumbing out e-mails on his BlackBerry, barking out orders to a personal assistant—all the while furiously working out on the elliptical machine. Merrill Lynch, Morgan Stanley and Bear, Stearns take great pains to distinguish themselves from one another. But they all lurch together from hot financial trend to hot financial trend the way tweens ditch yesterday's pop stars for today's (goodbye, Britney; hello, Hannah Montana). Like proto-teens, bankers are incapable of exercising independent judgment. Which is why every bank—from the staid Swiss to the sharp trading houses on Wall Street—got caught up in the subprime debacle. Alan Hilfer, a child psychologist at Maimonides Medical Center in Brooklyn, N.Y., notes that investment bankers behave like kids in a candy store. "The candy is money. And when they see an opportunity to get more of what they want, they go after it without considering the consequences." The financial system has an upset stomach today precisely because every large financial institution gorged on subprime candy.

If Park Avenue bank headquarters are like middle school, Davos, which attracts truly senior bankers and financial statesmen, is like high school. It' got the jocks (the heads of state and CEOs), the cheerleaders (journalists), the cool guy in the garage band whom all the girls love (Bono) and a lot of math and science geeks (Bill Gates, economists, technology evangelists). As in high school, the culmination of the year is the big dance (the Google party). Two weeks have passed, but I still can't shake the vision of talking head David Gergen's getting down—it's available on YouTube if you dare.

There's a final, telling way in which the markets exhibit childlike behavior. Children typically display an unwillingness to reckon with the fallout of their own actions. They look to parents to pick them up when they fall, and spare them from the consequences of their own behavior. And parents will go to great lengths to insulate their offspring from the jolts the world can deliver.

The same might be said about Washington's current economic ministrations. The nation is now nursing a seriously skinned knee because of reckless behavior in housing and credit. But rather than force consumers, borrowers and bankers to face the consequences of their own actions, Washington is functioning as a helicopter parent. Harvard economist Ricardo Hausmann, who characterized America as "whiner of first resort," believes the rush to stimulus is being led more by a concern for Wall Street than a concern for Main Street. Rather than take their lumps after several years of exceptional returns, the banks are furiously lobbying for help. They're getting it.

Instead of looking to the Federal Reserve or Congress to bail them out, the people who dominate the global economy should engage in some introspection—to evaluate what they did wrong and how they could avoid screwing up in the future. As Wendy Mogel puts it: "Good judgment comes from experience and experience comes from bad judgment."

Hannah Montana

I think I told the class that the the "economic" thing to do is not always the right thing to do. If I didn't, I am now. The following story illustrates that truth.

As reported on Freakonomics.com

Hannah Montana is the hottest thing going. Her concerts are all sold out and scalpers are netting thousands of dollars for her tickets, according to media reports. What is an economist who wants to see a Hannah Montana show to do? Here is the true story of one such escapade. (The economist in question has asked me to keep his identity secret, out of fear that his reputation as a doting father will eclipse his economic accomplishments.)

His story starts just the way you might expect:

I had been working especially long hours recently. My family capital was running dangerously low. My oldest daughter Annika is a huge Hannah Montana fan. I figured it would be a good time to refill the tank and spend some quality time with Annika, so I announced gloriously in the morning that Annika and her papa were to see Hannah Montana that evening.

Our hero had not, however, mentioned to dear Annika that he didn’t actually have tickets to that night’s concert.

I quickly realized how out of touch with reality I am—the event was “sold out” and the ticket prices on various scalper sites were beyond reach for this academic’s salary. I concluded that I would take Annika to the local Wal-Mart and buy her a Hannah Montana CD and doll in lieu of the show.

This economist has raised far better children than I have, as you’ll see.

Annika raced in the house after school wondering when we would leave for the event and where we would be sitting. I shamefully broke the news that I had yet to find tickets. She took the news well, claiming that she really only knew half of the Montana songs anyway. Deep inside she yearned to go to the concert, but was not willing to admit that her papa let her down.

Shame is a powerful motivator.

After some reflection, I boldly announced that we would hold the course; Annika and I would leave at 5 p.m. for the show. I figured this would get us to the United Center by 6 p.m., with plenty of time to find a ticket scalper on site and get situated. After pilfering the family stash, I had enough cash in hand to pay up to $200 per seat, which I figured would gain us access to the restricted viewing seats (situated behind the stage).

If only it were this simple.

With heavy Chicago traffic, we arrived at the United Center just after 6:10 p.m. I wasn’t worried yet, as we still had 50 minutes to find tickets and get to our seats for the concert opening. For the first 15 minutes, we searched for tickets without much luck. No one was selling, and the euphoria around the stadium was beginning to get to Annika. Her eyes gleamed, and my willingness to pay shot up to $300 per seat…better find the closest cash machine!

Around 6:30 p.m., we came in contact with the first ticket scalper. He offered us some not-so-good, restricted view tickets, for $400 each. Glumly, Annika and I passed. I did not even have that much cash available. After haggling with a few other scalpers, the best offer I could find was $300 each for restricted view tickets. The price was too high.

The economist then does something so stupid and out-of-touch that only an economist would think to do it.

I decided to approach the United Center ticket box to inquire about available tickets.

Unfortunately for our hero, the show had been completely sold out for four months, and the woman behind the counter reminded him of that when he got to the front of the line. All the others in line had pre-ordered tickets and were collecting them at the will-call window. But as deluded as the economist was that he was going to be able to buy tickets at the box office minutes before the show, the strategy had an unintended benefit.

As I got into line, the ticket scalper who had stood firm at $300 for the restricted view tickets suddenly offered them for $275 each. “No thanks,” I said. Time was running out—6:45 and still no tickets. Annika told me to just buy the tickets for $275 each, but I told her to be patient.

Undeterred, the economist continued along the same path.

I approached a different ticket office. Once again my approach was interrupted by the ticket scalper who now offered the restricted view seats for $250 each. The official at the ticket box again refused my request, but I felt I was onto something. When I approached the ticket box, the ticket scalpers became anxious, trying hard to sell me their tickets. It dawned on me that the United Center must be releasing tickets slowly. Perhaps they had some tickets in hand that were still available.

There is obviously no way that there are any tickets left.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught another ticket box, this one different from the others—it had a disabled sign placard clearly displayed. I approached the official at this window and asked if he had two tickets. “Yes,” he replied. “Two seats in the second row.” I was stunned. I openly wondered how this could be the case, and he informed me that they were just released to the public. I happily paid $66 per ticket.

Hurray! Against all odds, little Annika would get to see the concert from the second row. Oops, not so fast. This is an economist, after all.

I had gotten extremely lucky. Given the ticket prices I had been quoted by the scalpers, these two tickets were likely worth at least $1,000 apiece. If I acted quickly, I could sell them, and then go find the scalper with the two restricted view seats. His price might be down to $225, in which case I would net roughly $1,400 in profit, and Annika would still get to see the show.

Brilliant plan, except for one small detail:

I quickly explained my plan to Annika. We didn’t have time to dither. I strode off in search of buyers for our tickets. When I turned around to beckon Annika to follow me, I saw silent tears streaming down her face.

Torn between what he knew was the right thing to do (sell those tickets for as much as possible) and appease his daughter, the economist faced a tough choice. He knew he would be criticized later, but it had to be done.

I grabbed Annika’s hand and we headed for our seats. My colleagues would berate me at faculty lunch, but I would forgo this wonderful money-making opportunity and watch Hannah Montana from the second row.

The story ends happily:

Upon our arrival at the seats, one of the backup singers named Candace greeted us. Annika gave her a hug for good luck. As she left, Candace said that she would wave to Annika. Our seats were so close that Hannah even touched Annika’s outstretched hand at one point. Annika was kept busy singing and dancing the entire show. The smile never left her face. Remarkably, during the show, Candace even kept her promise. Her wave to Annika was heartfelt.

How Hillary is like Tracy Flick.

If you seen this movie you will get a kick out of this video clip.

No posting on this one, its just for fun.