This Is Embarrassing...

This is a free bonus post. You will not be charged extra.

It looks as if the fact that I accidentally rendered what should've been this weeks post into Tralfamadorian is just the tip of an iceberg of issues. Having spent the better part of last week as a guest of the Tralfamadorians has caused even more problems than I realized.

The guys assured me that their excellent, high speed, WiFi connection was totally secure and that I should feel free to use it and the Chromebook they loaned me to do anything that I would be comfortable doing in my highly fortified lair here in the Ohio mountains.

But now I've got cascading problems because everything I did on their ship was rendered in to Tralfamadorian and I sent out some emails, among other things, written in a language that is used by only a handful of secret scholars that work for the actual powers that be on this planet and the resulting mess is much worse than I realized.

Also, the post in question was a collection of short subjects but I can only remember one of them. You see the Tralfamadorians have, what they claim, is a much more sophisticated version of a Neuralizer, the device the Men In Black used in the movies of the same name to erase memories of people's encounters with the MIB.

I was assured, by no less a person than the Braylyn him or her (it's complicated) self that only stuff they considered to be classified would be blocked out and that any side effects would be negligible. Well, I'm here to tell you, I'm having all sorts of memory issues and as to other side effects, well, don't get me started.

I was left with a customer service number to call in case of problems but when I call the phone is answered by what I can only assume is someone from Tralfamadore's equivalent of a third world Asain country. They speak a language that sounds like squeaks and whistles to my ear and the only thing I can make out is an occasional, "Hello, my name is Sally."

The only topic I can remember is that I wanted to recommend Scott Adam's blog to my tens of gentlereaders.

Now, pointing my limited readership to the blog of one of the world's most successful cartoonists (he's the guy behind Dilbert if you didn't know) might not be the best possible marketing move on my part. I mean, being a successful cartoonist with a strip that's literally published all over the world ought to be enough for anybody.

But no, he also publishes books and writes an interesting blog. But as I clearly state under my Welcome Who Is This Guy Anyway tab, my goal is to provide enlightened infotainment to my gentlereaders. Mr. Adams offers the best explanation I know of for the success of the Donalds current reality TV project, The Republicrat Primary Show

Scott Adams, a trained hypnotist, and both a student and master practitioner of what Dale Carnegie called how to make friends and influence people, uses the Donalds rise to explain and illustrate how to sway the masses primarily via emotional manipulation.

He even provides his readers with the titles of the books that can serve as textbooks if you wish to put your own home study course together.

At this point, I could easily generate several paragraphs, and I think I did, giving you my take on Mr. Adams take but since he does it so well it would be like putting legs on a snake. Instead, permit me to take a shortcut around that potential mountain of bonkercockie and arrive in Bottomlineburgh having saved us both some time and trouble.

As you're probably aware, it's settled science to state that we homo sapiens react to sensory input, of any sort, gut first brain later. This, as far as I know, is my own term, and it's also a deliberate, vast oversimplification on my part that reduces the results of multiple fields of study to a catchphrase.

I'm not embarrassed to go even farther and reduce a catchphrase to an acronym, GFBL. A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do in the service of his gentlereaders.

GFBL simply refers to the fact that, on the whole, we react emotionally, instinctually, physically, intuitively, automatically, etc. (this is a measurable phenomenon) before we (hopefully) react rationally and logically.

Mr. Adam's thesis is that the Donald, as well as no shortage of other folks, deliberately employ techniques that take advantage of this knowledge. The only defense we have is to know how it's done and who is doing it. I will be exploring the subject in future posts but Dilbert's creator can easily explain the Donald to you in the meantime.

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.

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©2015 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 Missing Chapter

I just pulled up this week's post for FRBP (final review before publishing) and discovered it was written in what I at first thought was a foreign language. While trying to make sense of this development, I suddenly went into flashback mode. I mean, I think it was flashback mode, It was my first flashback. It was just like the ones on TV.

There I was, buzzing around the planet in a UFO, I had been abducted by aliens, cool. It all came back to me in a rush of disjointed images. I'll detail my experiences in a future post, but the bottom line, for now, is that the only probing I experienced was an extended interview by an academic from the planet Tralfamidore. We ate warm, homemade, chewy chocolate brownies, swirled with peanut butter, and washed 'em down with ice cold whole milk.

Also, they loaned me a Chromebook, at my request, so I could work on the post you should be reading instead of the one you are. The problem with that idea was that I didn't realize that the empathy beam I'd been exposed to when I went through quarantine would result in my composing in Tralfamidorian without even realizing it.

So now I'm sitting here with a glass of flat Asti Spumante and trying to work with a Tralfamidorian to English translation app that I got for free from Cnet that needs a lot of work. I'm never gonna' get the translation done in time to hit my deadline so I'm posting the third chapter of my novel, it's all I've got on hand.

MEMco, our parent company, mandates a just in time inventory system. 

Update: 11.30.17

As part of an ongoing project that involves rereading, updating and tweaking my accumulated columns it was discovered that the chapter of my novel referenced above had vanished and that the three paragraphs above had turned black, blue, and red. These are the colors of the flag of the planet Tralfamadore.

I've filed a complaint with the various and sundry relevant agencies of the Tralfamadorian government to try and find out if someone from Tralfamadore is responsible for this and why it happened.

Unfortunately, for me at least, Tralfamadore long ago evolved into a world where all wants and needs are effortlessly met via technologies we Earthlings can only dream of.

In short order this utopia became quite boring, rather like I picture Heaven to be. I think this is why our literature, sacred and profane, is chock full of angels. Angels are bored citizens of Heaven looking for something to do.

Anyway, Tralfamadore solved this problem by making everyone on the planet a bureaucrat in good standing of any government agency they please with the right to switch jobs whenever they please so they don't get bored again.

Tralfamadore is a planet of bureauons that deliberately screw with each others lives for something to do. Sounds counterintuitive I know, but who are we to judge never having had to suffer life in a genuine utopia?

Long story short, whether or not I ever get an answer, or if I do that It'll make any sense, is a crapshoot at best.

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.]


©2015/2017 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.

I'm an Unrepentant Wild Eyed Free Marketeer

In spite of the fact meteorologists have access to plenty of data and no shortage of hi-tech tools they are regularly wrong. Everyone knows why, variables.

If a butterfly flaps its wings in... well, you know the rest. We're pretty good at predicting the weather one to three days out, but beyond that, the farther out you go the more butterflies you have to keep an eye on. If one of Mothra's smaller relatives flies through even a short-term forecast, you're screwed

Economists have the same problem to deal with, variables. They build computer models designed to predict where the economy is headed. Or, they try and predict what might happen if this or that policy is implemented.

Now, like it or not, you're part of an ever-expanding, ever interconnecting global economy. There are roughly 7.1 billion souls on this planet trying to get the most bang for their Bucks, Euros, Rubles and the like -- 24/7/365. That's an awful lot of folks and potential spending decisions to account for.

The Federal Reserve System of the United States of America, where they pull the levers and adjust the dials, never issued a bulletin prior to the Great Recession warning that the economy was about to crash. Turns out that selling houses to millions of people that can't afford them can get ugly, and fast.

Who Knew?

It gets worse. The study of economics is the study of macroeconomics and microeconomics; the big picture as opposed to the local, independently owned, car repair facility that recently ripped me off...

Well Duh! exclaims a gentlereader, everyone knows that!

Settle down, I'm working here! No, everyone doesn't know that, they're busy leading busy/crazy/hectic lives and hoping that whose ever job it is to figure out the best way to keep the economy on track has a clue, but that's not my point.

What I was going to say was that since these divisions are two sides of the same coin, this introduces another layer of complexity. Also, if you happened to stumble into the bar where your local economists like to hang out after work, the arguments that are most likely to lead to a brawl are about macroeconomic issues.

The study of microeconomics has generated a good deal of consensus. Macroeconomics, on the other hand, has not -- and probably never will.

There are two reasons for this: Economists with radically different ways of viewing how the world works, proposing theories from radically different starting points, that's the first one.

The other is that a theoretically objective, unbiased professional can't set up an experimental economy in a laboratory and start tinkering to see what happens. Like meteorologists, they must rely on computer modeling and, well...please refer to paragraph two.

So...

Though major paradigm shifts in hard science can turn a given field of study on its head, these are, to put it mildly, few and far between. A chemistry major may show up for class on some random day and be startled to find that her favorite (married) professor has turned his back on academia and accepted a lucrative job offer from DuPont because his grad student girlfriend is pregnant and now there are doctors and lawyers to be paid.

However, she's highly unlikely to discover that the professor's replacement wants her to forget about all this atoms and molecules drivel and instead begin studying the basic principles of magic and alchemy.

On the other hand...

The next time she shows up for what's turned out to be her least favorite elective, macroeconomics, which was being taught by the newly impregnated grad student who's on leave due to medical and legal problems -- it wouldn't be particularly shocking if the new professor announced that although she will gracefully continue to teach university approved mainstream Macroeconomics 101, she's a communist and frankly thinks it's a bunch of bonkercockie.

But you can trust her professionalism and objectivity.


Meanwhile, off campus...

The market -- free, sorta free, heavily regulated, and/or all of the above -- continues to (seemingly) perform miracles on a daily basis This is true in spite of the obvious fact it's not perfect, it will never lead to utopia -- and no one's actually in charge.

How? 7.1 billion souls doing what needs to be done to survive, and when possible, with a little style.

Adam Smith explained the who/what/when/where/why (coincidentally) the same year America was born, but all he did (besides inventing modern economics) was formally codify what had been going on since Og (master spear maker, lousy hunter) made a deal with Ug (master hunter, lousy spear maker).


Og and Ug accidentally invented free trade. By specializing in what they were good at instead of trying to do everything themselves, both improved their lives exponentially. The market they created was self-regulating -- as long as they both played it straight.

If Og's Spears and Stuff dealt in sharp, durable spears and Ug's Meats and Things fulfilled their pledge to trade in only fresh, healthy meat it was a win-win. Og was an idealistic socialist and thought Ug was a mean-spirited, selfish libertarian. Ug was a rugged individualist who thought Og was a hopelessly naive dork. So what?

It gets better.

Both Og and Ug started trading with other specialists and free trade went viral. Since many people were good at the same things, businesses had to find a way to lure customers into their cave instead of the other guys. Competition was born and it also went viral.

Only the specialists that provided the best service or products survived, the rest were driven out of business and had to find another specialty. The customer wins and the failed specialists drive innovation by specializing in something else, occasionally something that nobody else had thought of.

The innovators occasionally made a cave full of money, occasionally changed the world. A few of the winners retired, moved to a larger cave with a great view and doted on their grandkids. The rest prepared to fight off the inevitable competition.

Wait a sec', Self-regulating?

Yup. Think about it. Two grocery stores at opposite ends of a small town are locked in competition. Both seek to offer consumers the ideal mix of price and service, the customers will unsentimentally decide on the winner, the loser will go out of business.

Or, the loser (necessity is a mother) will come up with a new angle and like the fake wrestler in a fake wrestling match, who clearly should be dead, will rise from the canvas and secure victory. Or maybe just become a laundromat with a bar where you can get loaded and meet chicks/dudes.

Ah ha! But then the survivor will have stumbled into a monopoly and that's why we need the gubmint or even The Gubmint to step in, The Gubmint has tons of economists on the payroll, The Gubmint...

...Needs to manage the safety net, make sure no one's getting cheated, enforce contracts and property rights, and lock up or kill the bad guys. (PERIOD)

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.]


©2015 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.