(This is the team from the Rustico Restaurant. I saw somethings that would have got my vote immediately. I was in Hoosierland for the BRGR Battle Cook-off in Ballston. Photo Willow.)

It is summertime, and the living is easy. Well, sort of.

I received a pair of troubling notes yesterday. The first was the announcement from my college roommate that his dad, a WWII gunner’s mate in the navy, had passed from this earth at 0530 that morning.

I liked his Dad a lot. He was loyal to his wife, and kids, to Temple University, and to his nation. He voted with his feet to join the Navy and serve on the frosty Murmansk Run, where a plunge in the water was immediate death. He was one of the Good Guys that saved us from Hitler and Tojo, and delivered us into the world that we were able to completely screw up on our own.

Bill passed before the implementation of the Affordable Care Act, and that was the subject of the other troubling note. I sighed, and gave a thought of thanks for a life well-lived, and turned my thoughts to the affairs of the living.

This one was from a pal who follows the health care train-wreck in more detail than I do.

If you are like me, you heard that parts of the massive new law are un-executable, at least in the near term, and that other parts are going to drop on us in October. Like a lot of folks with an inadequate but acceptable insurance, I have not paid a lot of attention to the implementation phase of this, since it didn’t affect me.

My pal begged to differ. He was dismissive of the efforts of the Hollywood celebrities (who would no more have coverage under this thing than travel to Mars) to flack the bill. Obviously, the stars are useful for engaging the healthy young citizens, without whom the old and sick will pay a sky-high premium starting in October.

I was ready to get some popcorn and watch the show when it happens in October, but he pointed out that the real deal was January, when government subsidies start to flow. It is pretty lavish- a family making $88 grand a year will qualify for benefits. My pal’s contention is that none of this showboating at the moment matters. Once people get used to free money, it is going to be impossible to get the genie back in the bottle.

He claims that the passage in 1948 of the National Health Service in the UK did more to finish off the Empire than Hitler. There have been plenty of Conservative governments in the years since the NHS was established, and none of them had to guts- or the popular vote- to try to reign in the health system. It grew, predictably, like Topsy.

Free stuff is popular. But periodically you run out of other people’s money and have to vote yourself some more of it.

Here, my pal thinks that when the Affordable health Care Act proves to be just the opposite of its name, we are going to have to fix it by doubling down on something that simply cannot work, based on demographics. Like Japan, there will be fewer and fewer young people propping up a tyranny of the old. We will have to increase the burden on the young as it grows, swelling inexorably, just like Social Security and Medicare.

They are too popular to kill.

I mean, with those shining examples of government efficiency, why would we expect anything else? I figure I am dead around 2036, based on family genetics, so I guess I might even get to meet one of the Resource Allocation Panels that will deny me care, based on my age.

Just like the National Health Service does today in Great Britain.

Anyway, I strolled into Willow with the determination to get myself out of travel mode and back into the summer spirit. I had missed a lot over the course of the last week. Robert the Sous Chef raises Pit Bulls on the side, magnificent dogs (if not trained to be pycho killers) and can you tell which one is which?

(Jim and Friend, courtesy Robert.)

I have been thinking about getting a dog- Old Jim looked at the one in his arms after his bride Chanteuse Mary announced that she was falling in love. Jim growled “Our current dog will eat him,” to close off that line of inquiry.

I was thoughtful. Maybe a pack of pit bulls on Refuge Farm would be the perfect addition? It would certainly cause other people to think of their medical coverage.

Then, owner and executive chief Tracy O’Grady walked out into the bar area with something that looked like a bowling trophy. It was taller than she was, and the top featured a jaunty little circle with the words: BRGR Battle inscribed within.

“And the winner of the 2013 Ballston BRGR Battle is….Willow Restaurant!!! “ she announced proudly.

“Man, you are on a roll. You just won the Best In Show in the Taste of Arlington restaurant competition. What was this one?”

She smiled. “Four local restaurants and some guys from Georgetown University were invited to a cook off to see who was best. We did slides made of smoked local beef, duck confit butter, smoked cheddar cheese, local heirloom tomatoes, pickled red onions and dijonnaise on one of Kate’s house-made rolls.”

“They looked good,” growled Jim. “It was sort of fun. They had live music and lawn games and Belgian beer. I prefer Budweiser,” he said, taking a long swig while the ferocious puppy dozed in the crook of his left arm.

“Duh. Are they even on the menu?” I asked. “Isn’t the infamous Willow Burger the only thing like that you serve?”

“It is coming to our menu soon,” said Tracy, carefully placing the enormous trophy on the counter behind the bar.

(Team Big Buns)

“I would have thought the guys from Best Buns would have had a lock on things, or the guys from Rustico. How did they pick the winner?”

“Ticket holders got to savor a slider from each burger joint, and we got to sling in there with the best of them. We were voted the best.”

“The popular vote is always right,” I said, taking a long sip of the crisp Happy Hour White. “I mean, what could go wrong with that?”

(Tracy and Trophy)

Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com