What's Really Going On?

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who aren't here yet) -- the Stickies -- to haunt them after they become grups and/or I'm dead.

[Blogaramians: Blogarama renders the links in my columns useless. Please click on View original to solve the problem/access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse (right shoulder) and back scratcher 

Iggy -- Designated Sticky

Dana -- Designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

Ya' ever wonder what's really going (or has gone) on?

I do, that's why I'm a current events junkie. I'm not just a living, old school version of one of those ubiquitous Now Trending lists that are currently so popular. I harbor no secret fantasy to win big bucks on Jeopardy. I haven't played Trivial Pursuit, any edition, in years.

I want to know what the approximate truth is in light of our current knowledge and to the best of our current abilities. I not only really want to know because I really want to know. I really want to know what actually works, not just what I/we/they hope will work; what works the best for the most while maintaining maximum liberty.                                                                                                                                                                                                                        
I use the word approximate deliberately and without reservation. If you really want to know what the whole truth and nothing but the truth is, step one is to acknowledge that truth is always provisional, approximate and subject to change.

BIG BUT.

Maintaining an open mind, and heart, doesn't mean that you get to deny the obvious when the obvious is inconvenient to your preconceptions, proclivities or purposes (nefarious or otherwise). Denial is not a river in Egypt, although people drown in it every day. It simply means that the smart play is to consider truth as sort of the "working title" of reality.

For example, the process I follow when I write one of these letters.

I get an idea. I click on the New post button. I select a working title, hope that Marie-Louise is in the mood, and start writing. Paragraphs (hopefully, not always) begin to accumulate. Write, read, tweak, rewrite. Gradually (sometimes painfully), a letter emerges. Write, read, tweak, rewrite. With a little luck, I'll eventually wind up with a finished product with (hopefully) an understandable point. A missive of a thousand (more or less) words that strikes me as true.

Little but.

The content is subject to revision: tomorrow, next week, next month..., etc. The working title almost always changes before publication. And of course, any given gentlereader, grandsticky or otherwise, may decide I'm full of crap.

WARNING! 

Digression Ahead

I'm a curious, easily bored dilettante with multiple interests, one of which is a fascination with current events. If I were more intelligent and didn't suffer from a mild form of intellectual ADD compounded by been there done that syndrome, I'd be a polymath (I can dream, can't I?).

Polymath: a person of encyclopedic learning (Merriam-Webster). Polymath: a genius (or close enough) with expert level knowledge (or close enough) in multiple fields thus capable of a valid big picture view of complex problems (my definition).

In this, the Dizzinformation Age, we need big-brained knowledge synthesizers. You should be able to go to college and get a degree or two in Polymathology. When I'm king I'll make this happen. Unlike certain non-STEM majors, this will be a real degree (or two) that will result in an actual job that just might earn you enough dough to justify a student loan debt burden. (Yet another problem awaiting your future monarch.)

The requirements for getting into/graduating from the program will be quite rigorous. Only a very limited group of the best and the brightest will be considered. Details to be worked out by me and my Royal Privy Council of Perspicacious Polymaths. Snowflakes need not apply.

End Digression

Although I came pre-wired this way, ironically, I credit/blame the teachers, mostly nuns, of three different (it's complicated, but no, it wasn't me) Catholic grade schools in or near Pittsburgh, Pa. for cultivating this aspect of my nature.

This was back in the distant dark ages (two of the schools no longer even exist) when nuns still had hair on their chests and dressed like they belonged to a cult that worshiped penguins. I was the victim/beneficiary of a traditional, old-fashion, (sorry, I can't resist) old school version of Catholic childhood education.

[At this point Iggy popped into my consciousness. Like, what's ironical about that, Poppa?]

Well, hairy chested nuns tended to focus more on suppression than cultivation. Their specialty was on turning high functioning chimps into civilized, Catholic citizens. Told ya' it was the dark ages. So the irony lies in that although I was thoroughly marinated in traditional Catholicism, traditional morality, and traditional discipline (including corporal punishment) and the like, the church was/is preoccupied with social justice and social justice requires a knowledge of current events.

Effective social justice requires that you know what's going on, what's really going on. As does effective voting, effective parenting, effective management, effective governing, effective _______. Ya' gotta work for it though. The truth is out there, but dizzinformation never sleeps.

I hasten to add, for clarity, that you must remember this was the tail end of the dark ages, which began drawing to a close in the mid-sixties. I was taught a version of social justice that is now considered by many to be obsolete. I was taught that social justice meant equal opportunity for all. Nowadays, social justice is often defined as equal outcomes for all.

I prefer the former definition because achieving equal outcomes would require central planning, setting specific targets, and worst of all, central planners. Central planners are, or at least think they are, experts, usually highly educated experts, the sort of experts preferred by the gummits and The Gummit. Which explains a lot. They ain't usually polymaths.

[Second rate comedian (on the cusp of a career in insurance), sparsely packed venue (what is that smell?). Hey folks, what do you call a bonkercockie artist at least fifty miles from home? an expert! Rimshot.]

Now I'm sure that most of these folks are perfectly nice, well-meaning people. However, I'm also sure that attempting to centrally plan outcomes for any sort of ginormous enterprise involving millions of people and gazillions of variables only guarantees one thing -- the invocation of the law of unexpected consequences. Copy and paste the following into the search bar of your favorite browser: USSR, 1922 - 1991.

Your Poppa used to describe himself (I've altered this description a bit, see next letter ) as a wild-eyed bleeding heart libertarian with conservative impulses. In my next letter, I'll start explaining how it's possible, in my case at least, to be a child of the left, right, and center simultaneously without any given one of my multiple personalities feeling the need/right/necessity to delete one of the others. Compromise don't demonize. Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.


[P.S. Gentlereaders, for 25¢ a week, no, seriously, for 25¢ a week you can become a Patron of this weekly column and help to prevent an old crank from running the streets at night in search of cheap thrills and ill-gotten gains.

If there are some readers out there that think my shtuff is worth a buck or three a month, color me honored, and grateful. Regardless, if you like it, could you please share it? There are buttons at the end of every column.]


©2017 Mark Mehlmauer   (The Flyoverland Crank)

If you're reading this on my website (where there are tons of older columns, a glossary, and other goodies) and if you wish to react (way cooler than liking) -- please scroll down.

Potterville

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who aren't here yet) -- the Stickies -- to haunt them after they become grups and/or I'm dead.

[Blogaramians: Blogarama renders the links in my columns useless. Please click on View original to solve the problem/access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse (right shoulder) and back scratcher 

Iggy -- Designated Sticky

Dana -- Designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

I begin most days with a cup of coffee and a quick review of a carefully selected gaggle of websites that present me with a sort of screen grab of what's going on in the/my world. The gaggle includes accuweather.com because it's not weather.com, the Weather Channels site. (It's complicated, not interesting, I'll spare you.)

I mention this because when I'm trying to find out what sort of weather is expected in my little corner of Flyoverland, I'm just trying to find out what sort of weather is expected in my little corner of Flyoverland.

I'd rather not see any advertising that my mom (God rest her soul), or female grandstickies, might find to be embarrassing if we happened to stumble on it simultaneously in search of the weather or anything else. For example, "... The Miracle Pill That Cured Dr. Phil's ED Permanently!"

Yikes!


Where to begin... I'll start with my mom. She was a country girl who wound up in the city and then the 'burbs and then the country again. She had one husband and seven kids. She lived through the Great Depression, WW2, and the sixties.

She died before I had finished extracting my head from my bum and I missed out on the chance to ask her all sorts of questions that hadn't even occurred to me before the extraction process was (well, more or less) complete.

Her pre-sixties, traditional upbringing was tempered by an open mind, a down to Earth sensibility, and a good sense of humor. I believe that if she were still around she would, like me, hesitate to censor/condemn our culture's preoccupation obsession with sex.

That is, she was no prude. She was well aware that boys will be boys pigs and that this was biology no need to take it personally. That women were hardly above this sort of thing, and perfectly capable of cultivating and enjoying the fact that we are all, in a certain sense, the slaves of our DNA.

Speaking of obsessed, I think of H. sapiens DNA, all DNA actually, as an obsessed one trick pony. Replicate! Replicate! Replicate! Be thou a pious fundamentalist, wild-eyed libertine, or row, row, rowing your boat down the middle of the stream, your DNA is poised and ready to jump out from behind the curtain/wall/rock (or scramble out from underneath the bed) when you're least expecting it.

BIG BUT.

While I'll admit when pressed, that I'm slightly older than 39, I'm still somewhat younger than 100. And yet... when I attended Catholic grade school girls were not permitted to wear patent leather shoes lest (gasp!) their underwear would be reflected in the shiny surface of their shoes (they were required to wear skirts or dresses).

[Dana, imaginary gentlereader appears. Whoa, cowboy! I think you've wandered off the trail. Where, exactly, are you headed?]

Alright... A quick reread of the above would seem to indicate you may have a point. Where I was headed, via the scenic route, was that I'm old enough to clearly remember what life in America was like before the late sixties when everything began changing at light speed.

Also, although I was raised by a traditional, pre-sixties mom, she was an open-minded, down to Earth sort of person that I credit with providing a solid foundation for me to stand on while I experienced the 60s and 70s and was trying to figure out how to be a grup. One of the things I figured out (slowly, painfully, haltingly) was that (stoned surfer voice) everything is not, like, relative man.

Grups need to draw lines. Grups with callowyutes must make sure their callowyutes know where the lines are, and why they are. There's much to be said for moderation in all things and every well-adjusted grup should intuitively understand why or seek help.

All sex, all the time, is as fraught with downsides as all repression all the time.

Fast forward to a few days ago. As I mentioned above, I opened the Accuweather site to check on the weather and was greeted by an ad for "...The Miracle Pill That Cured Dr. Phil's ED Permanently!" The ad featured a beautiful blond woman with the top half of her prominent boobs on display holding up a large, bright yellow banana. The caption was, "Sick of Finishing First?"

I repeat, Yikes!


I checked the URL... Yup, it's the Accuweather site. I pictured my mom, or Sister Mary McGillicuddy (if they were still around) checking on what the weather held in store for their day and encountering this advertisement. They would not even be mildly shocked (neither being delicate flowers) as they would've been back in the dark ages of a few decades ago. Far too many ads for ED and feminine hygiene products have flowed by under the bridge since then.

Eww! they would feel/think/say, and then calmly scroll to the relevant part of the page to acquire the desired information. Not I. I'd have (and I did) to click on the ad for myriad reasons, though I heartily agree with, Eww!

- Is it a fluke, a mistake, a hack, a humbug? Can't be real, right? Well, not on this site at least.

- Semantic confusion. Remember the caption, "sick of finishing first?" As I understand it, Dr. Phil, or anyone suffering from ED, couldn't finish first if they were unable to start in the first place. Not that I have any personal knowledge of this malady (knock on wood).

- Boobies! Boys will be pigs. As I instructed my daughter when she reached a certain age, all men all pigs, including me. Some men just hide it are just more civilized than others; all men should strive to be. Remember this.


So I clicked. It was even better/worse than I thought.

The navigation bar from the Fox News website (you know, in light of recent events... nevermind) followed by a headline -- Shocking News: Robin McGraw Reveals The Miracle Pill That Cured Dr. Phil's ED Permanently! Robin: "Special Thanks To Dr. Oz"

Then there's, featured in, which is followed by a bunch of logos for NBC, People, GQ, Dr. Oz, etc.

Then there's what looks like a newspaper article written by "Kate," a woman who, um, doesn't mince her words. If you read it, read the whole thing, it just gets better/even worse as you go, Eww! My favorite line was, "At first I was like: WTF, where do all those adult film stars get their stamina?" (You've no doubt wondered the same thing, right?)


Bottom line, it was a real ad in that there's an actual product you can buy, but everything in the ad itself is bogus. As I'm writing this there's another bogus ad that has begun running in the same space (the ads in the space are rotational) for a skincare product -- no bananas or boobies are involved, but the format is obviously a variation on a theme.

My point...

[Dana, Iggy, and Marie-Louise (who joined us at this point), cheer.]

My point is that although I'm a libertarian, by temperament and by choice, is that I have two questions. How does a culture wherein, more and more, the only agreed upon (more or less) restraints on behavior are legal ones, not devolve? How do we prevent Bedford Falls from becoming Potterville? Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.


[P.S. Gentlereaders, for 25¢ a week, no, seriously, for 25¢ a week you can become a Patron of this weekly column and help to prevent an old crank from running the streets at night in search of cheap thrills and ill-gotten gains.

If there are some readers out there that think my shtuff is worth a buck or three a month, color me honored, and grateful. Regardless, if you like it, could you please share it? There are buttons at the end of every column.]


©2017 Mark Mehlmauer   (The Flyoverland Crank)

If you're reading this on my website (where there are tons of older columns, a glossary, and other goodies) and if you wish to react (way cooler than liking) -- please scroll down.

The State of the Zeitgeist (3)

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who aren't here yet) -- the Stickies -- to haunt them after they become grups and/or I'm dead.

[Blogaramians: Blogarama renders the links in my columns useless. Please click on View original to solve the problem/access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse (right shoulder) and back scratcher 

Iggy -- Designated Sticky

Dana -- Designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

What follows is a snapshot of my/our current zeitgeist. For purposes of clarification, my refers to me, our — varies.

The meaning of our primarily ranges from my extended family to my country, the USA, and points in between. Occasionally, and broadly speaking, "our" includes H. sapiens in general. I pledge to at least try to clearly differentiate. This applies/will apply to all of my State of the Zeitgeist columns.

[Just what are you on about now? inquires Dana, imaginary gentlereader.]

Your back! I cleverly reply. All three of my imaginary writing companions have been away on an extended "abduction" with my alien friends the Tralfamidorians.

Where's Iggy (imaginary grandsticky) and Marie-Louise (my drop-dead gorgeous muse)? I ask.

[Unpacking, and trying to find room to display the half a ton of cosmic tchotchkes they brought back with them.]

The point I'm trying to make about my/our is merely one of clarification. While my audience is a fairly small one I literally have readers from all over the planet Earth. Which sounds cool, and it is, but...

[THIS is clarification?]

Patience. I started blogging primarily as a way to leave a bit of me behind for my daughter and her snificant other, grown-up (eventual) grandkids and (potential, but virtually inevitable) great-grandkids. Also, the vague/slight possibility that I would go viral in some form or fashion and make some money.

I'm still waiting for the money to start pouring in. The ads on my site only pay slightly more than nothing if someone clicks on 'em. You gotta' have a lot more readers than I do to make money that way (via high volume clicking). But that's fine, I enjoy writing.

However, when I started, I didn't think about the fact that, at least potentially, I could reach anyone on the planet Earth who has internet access. Google, who provides a free and relatively easy to use platform for Bloggers called Blogger (clever, huh?) also provides statistics. My favorite one is how many people in a given country are reading my shtuff.

I'm basically just another mostly unknown writer here, there, and also, there. However, in the course of the last week, for example, folks from the US, Israel, France, Brazil, Indonesia, Russia, India, Germany, the UK, and China (China!), have read my column(s). There are other countries as well but Google only lists the top ten.

How cool is that! Well, I think it's cool.

Therefore, international gentlereaders, if you ever find me to be parochial or just another arrogant American, I (mostly) apologize. Also, I apologize to anyone that speaks/reads English as a second language for my tendency to mangle/invent words. OK, let us never speak of this again.


And now (finally), ladies and gentlemen, the State of the Zeitgeist, number three.

° A recent column of mine, Purposeful Polarization, was about how the Depublicrats and the majority of the members of the Infotainment Industrial Complex are attacking the Donald and attempting to bog his administration down by claiming that, with the help of Russia and the Pooteen, he stole our last presidential election.

Although his enemies, so far at least, are still light on actual evidence and heavy on speculation, they continue to be quite successful. One of the reasons for their success is one of the downsides of the living in the Dizzinformation Age. That is, the ability to spin information rapidly and widely, be it correct or otherwise.

There are, of course, endless new stories, memes, and developments — reported on, endlessly, by the endless news and social media. However, if the US was a radio station (Start your day with KUSA!) we would be in the midst of an all, the Donald, all the time marathon.

Healthcare and the tax code are a mess. The national debt increases daily. Underfunded/unfunded pension and social welfare promises keep expanding. The Donald tweets; Congress holds hearings and conducts investigations.


° In other news... it was widely underreported, barely mentioned in fact, that the cost of complying with The Gummit's rules and regs increased by 700,000,000 bucks from 2008 to 2016 while the tribune of the little people was in charge. If The Gummit's rules and regs were a country it would have the seventh largest economy on the planet Earth with a GDP of 1,700,000,000,000 bucks per year.

Mr. Obama likes to encourage the young and idealistic to pursue careers in the public sector, as opposed to the money-grubbing private sector that pays for the public sector. Mr. O. just spent 8,100,000 bucks on a new home in the Imperial Capital. He owns another home in California. He owns another home in Hawaii. I see his point.


° From the Wailing and Gnashing of Teeth Desk: The Donald has decided that America is withdrawing from the Paris Climate Accords. Fresh meat for professional wailers and gnashers.

His enemies declared that he had doomed Earthlings to eventual extinction. If anything, I'm understating their reaction. "Donald Trump Pulls US Out Of Paris Accord In Crushing Blow To Climate Fight" declared the Puffington Host.

He said that he was open to renegotiation. China is bringing coal-fired power plants online even as we speak (but promises to start cleaning up their act at some point down the road). He's got a problem with that. Me too.

For some reason, he also has a big problem with the provision that calls for handing over billions to that zany gang of famously effective bureauons at the United Nations to pay for developing sustainable power in third-world fever swamps.

Now personally, at the risk of being accused of peeing in the punchbowl, I feel the need to point out that our constitution clearly states that presidents can't sign a treaty without Senate approval.

Mr. O. says they can, and he did. Trust him, it's not technically a treaty, the provisions are non-binding. Question, If the provisions are non-binding, what's the point? See last week's column, Where Were You When the Lights Went Out, for the answer.


° On the endless freakin' hearings and investigations front, James Comey, the former head of the FBI recently, You're Fired!, by the Donald testified that... well... it depends on whose spin you trust the most. Mr. Comey did provide some moral clarity for the masses by explaining that when officials of The Gummit leak information, while this practice may be sleazy, if the info's not classified, it's legal. "Besides," he said, "I'm outta' here and I gotta' BOOK deal! Nah-nah-nah-NAH-nah!"  


° In celebrity news, a relatively obscure comedienne was condemned by various and sundry in various and sundry ways for crafting an image of herself holding the bloodied, severed head of the Donald. She apologized and invoked a, I thought it was funny but I didn't think it through, defense. Her "joke" led to various and sundry crazies to make death threats, whereupon she called a press conference and declared herself to be the victim of the week day hour last 15 minutes.


And then, in the midst of this contentious kerfuffle concerning budget cuts that aren't budget cuts and treaties that aren't treaties, legal leaks by J. Edgar Hoover Jr. and decapitated presidents -- evil losers murdered some more infidels in London for the crime of not being Muslims. Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.


[P.S. Gentlereaders, for 25¢ a week, no, seriously, for 25¢ a week you can become a Patron of this weekly column and help to prevent an old crank from running the streets at night in search of cheap thrills and ill-gotten gains.

If there are some readers out there that think my shtuff is worth a buck or three a month, color me honored, and grateful. Regardless, if you like it, could you please share it? There are buttons at the end of every column.]


©2017 Mark Mehlmauer   (The Flyoverland Crank)

If you're reading this on my website (where there are tons of older columns, a glossary, and other goodies) and if you wish to react (way cooler than liking) -- please scroll down.

   

Where Were You When the Lights Went Out?

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who aren't here yet) -- the Stickies -- to haunt them after they become grups and/or I'm dead.

[Blogaramians: Blogarama renders the links in my columns useless. Please click on View original to solve the problem/access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse (right shoulder) and back scratcher 

Iggy -- Designated Sticky

Dana -- Designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

Dang! I missed Earth Hour! Again! (3/25/17, 8:30 pm)

Being a current events junkie is one of the reasons I spend (relatively speaking) a lot of time online.

[I use the phrase relatively speaking because I suspect, no, I know, that compared to the average smartphone addict (I still don't own a smartphone but I'm still sure it's inevitable) I'm strictly bush league. I still regularly read all sorts of things in dead trees format. I read entire ebooks while offline.]

When I go a-clickin' 'round the internet...

[Are there internet folk songs? A-clickin' 'round the internet, a-clickin' I do go!]

...I save all sorts of things for later viewing that may be something I would want to write about. I'm currently deleting my butt off in an attempt to keep my myriad saved sites under at least minimal control and I chanced upon the Earth Hour site.

In case you didn't know, Earth Hour is a movement, a website, and a nonprofit organization.

[Speaking of nonprofits, I'm constantly stumbling upon articles and videos of one sort or another about Millennials joining/starting nonprofit organizations. This is why I don't worry about where are all the jobs are going to come from in an increasingly automated world. Everyone can work for a nonprofit and sell merchandise/solicit donations from each other for a living while saving the world. Cool, huh?]

Earth Hour ("...together, let's #ChangeClimateChange"), in case you were unaware, promotes climate change awareness by encouraging the citizens of planet Earth to all turn off the lights, simultaneously, for an hour, once a year. It's a project of the World Wildlife Fund for Nature, which according to Wikipedia, is the world's largest conservation organization.

Now, I can almost hear my more cynical readers snorting in derision.

[Snorting? I'm sure there must be a better word for that varying noise H. sapiens emit when saying something like, "yeah (aforementioned noise), right" but I can't think of one.]

And, in this particular case, adding something about how much more made aware can we be about climate change. Perhaps even tossing in something about limousine liberals and their ilk saving the world by flicking a light switch once a year.

Not I. We must be ever vigilant, for snark and cynicism, like rust, never sleeps. While I'm somewhat skeptical about climate change and who/what is causing it (assuming it's an actual thing), I'm skeptical about everything, Particularly about planet-wide, big picture shtuff that requires complex, elaborate computer modeling. Particularly when various models predict various outcomes. Particularly since models are built by H. sapiens.

And, since I followed the global cooling predictions reported on by the likes of Time and Newsweek in the early 70s. Nowadays, this historical phenomenon is shrugged off by modern scientists who say that it was primarily the fault of a mistaken news media, not mistaken scientists. All the more reason to skeptical of everything, especially the news media.

[By the way, I can't recommend an attitude of general skepticism enough. In fact, I highly recommend an attitude that regards all knowledge as provisional and subject to radical revision, often when you're least expecting it. However, you don't have to be a jagoff (definition No. 2) about it. It can be done with a little style, like anything else.]


So anyway, I'd forgotten about Earth Hour altogether. It's not a hot topic here in Flyoverland. We've been somewhat sidetracked for the last several decades by our dismal economy, rusting empty factories, shrinking middle class  -- that sort of thing. Now we're dealing with an opioid epidemic that isn't just about addiction -- people are dropping dead with disturbing regularity in spite of the hundreds of billions we've spent/spend on Prohibition 2. A lot of people aren't just saying no.

[On the bright side, Prohibition 2 creates lots of good gummit and, The Gummit, jobs. Also, civil asset forfeiture helps to fund many local police departments, although some spoilsports keep whining about the constitution.]

However, as I mentioned above, while trying to get my eclectic collection of seemingly several million saved sites from which I could conceivably craft an eventual column of some sort, there it was, Earth Hour.

Or rather, a column by Mark Perry (an economist that lives in the real world and one of my intellectual heroes) about Earth Hour. "Instead of Barbaric Darkness, Why Not Celebrate Human Progress?  It's a brief, well-written piece well worth reading but I know how busy you are, so I'll summarize it for you.

Mr. Perry (and I) thinks that the widespread use of electricity (regardless of how it's generated), rocks. Most of his article is actually a lengthy quote by another economist, Ross McKitrick. The first three sentences of the quote say it all.

"I abhor Earth Hour. Abundant, cheap electricity has been the greatest source of human liberation in the 20th century. Every material social advance in the 20th century depended on the proliferation of inexpensive and reliable electricity."

He then lists several of those social advances and also points out that, "Many of the worlds poor suffer brutal environmental conditions in their own homes because of the necessity of cooking over indoor fires that burn twigs and dung."

Below is a satellite picture, courtesy of Google images, of North Korea at night. Apparently, King Kim the third, the chubby-cheeked commander in chief of the Norks is a rabid environmentalist. The Norks celebrate Earth Hour 24x7x365. You can almost smell the twigs and dung burning.

And you thought he was only famous for murdering various family members, starving his own people, and of course attempting, via The Bomb, to establish the ultimate protection racket.

"Nice country you have here, it'd be a shame if someone rendered it a wasteland. Know what I mean?
























[Confession: Mr. Perry's article also includes a (different) image of North Korea at night so technically you could make a case that I stole his idea. In my defense, I've been aware of the Norks environmental devotion and similar images, literally, for decades and this column just gave me an excuse a chance to publish what is a well-known image/phenomenon that everyone should be aware of.]


[At this point in my writing I hit a wall, well, not much of a wall, but still... I just couldn't come up with a last paragraph or two that I was happy with so I placed the column in a virtual drawer and tried not to think about it. 

I decided to not take it out till just now, Saturday morning, though I plan on publishing it tonight at 11:07 p.m. I figured that even if I couldn't come up with something I really liked the time pressure would force me to come with something that was good enough. And then the week happened...]

And we're back. Speaking of goofy, pointless, feel-good gestures to pub-lic-ally proclaim one's green bona fides, the Donald took it upon himself to pull the USA out of a globe spanning example, the Paris Climate Accords.

Also, comedienne, Kathy Griffin, made a joke that fell flat.

These events enable me to end this column/letter here and ask you to tune in next time whereupon I will discuss these two events and what they have to do with purposeful polarization, dizzinformation, the state of the zeitgeist, the constitution, and all sorts of shtuff that I tend to prattle on about. Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.


[P.S. Gentlereaders, for 25¢ a week, no, seriously, for 25¢ a week you can become a Patron of this weekly column and help to prevent an old crank from running the streets at night in search of cheap thrills and ill-gotten gains.

If there are some readers out there that think my shtuff is worth a buck or three a month, color me honored, and grateful. Regardless, if you like it, could you please share it? There are buttons at the end of every column.]


©2017 Mark Mehlmauer   (The Flyoverland Crank)

If you're reading this on my website (where there are tons of older columns, a glossary, and other goodies) and if you wish to react (way cooler than liking) -- please scroll down.