Bigfeets

Image by Wolfgang Eckert from Pixabay

In a previous post, I used the phrase gut first, brain later. I explained that this was me vastly oversimplifying a concept accepted by mainstream science. We react emotionally and viscerally first, rationally (hopefully) later. Assuming you accept the validity of the theory of evolution, this makes perfect sense. If you don't, well... God bless us, everyone.

It's a typical day in the stone age. Og and the boys are out and about hunting. Marge and the girls are gathering -- and/or taking care of the kids, and/or doing the laundry, and/or cooking and cleaning, and/or attending a Rockerware party, and/or...

Now, Og and the boys are having a slow day and a friendly but animated argument has broken out about last nights rockball game. It started because Ug, who had won a bet with Og, began teasing Og about the fact that every time Og loses a rockball bet he rants about the poor quality of the officiating in the NRL.

They're walking through a wooded area, and not paying attention, when they stroll into a clearing and unexpectedly encounter a band of Bigfeets entering the clearing at the exact same moment from the opposite direction.

Bam, fight or flight time baby.

The homo sapiens adrenal glands shift into overdrive faster than the Billary can spin out a lie to explain why they _____ (insert your favorite scandal here). The Bigfeet's adrenal glands probably do the same. Well, that's assuming they have adrenal glands. For some reason, scientists have been unable to compile much in the way of reliable data on them.

Actually, there are only two facts that everyone seems to agree on. First, Bigfeets somehow emit a reality distortion field that has the curious effect of making any photographs or video footage of them appear as though they are at least a couple of hundred yards away. Also, the image captured always looks grainy, shaky and poorly lit.

Second, that they stink. It would seem that the latter feature would not serve them well, not now, or not when Fred and Barney roamed the Earth. As to the first, there's much controversy and speculation because it's hard to say with any certainty what the specific effects of the reality distortion field are on anything or anyone other than the technology mentioned above.

Meanwhile, back in the clearing...

The homo sapiens are having the exact same reaction they would've had upon suddenly and unexpectedly encountering a wooly mammoth with a tuskache or a brace of Jehovah Witnesses -- fight or flight.

But suppose their instinctual reaction had been to organize a nonprofit to raise money to fight tusk decay. Or suppose, upon encountering a band of bigfeet their instinctual reaction was to quickly but discretely dab a bit of cologne under each nostril, smile, and say something like, "Nice coat! I'll bet that thing keeps ya' warm! Say, if you guys are up for a bit of species to species interaction there's a watering hole at the terminus of that path over there where we can get a cold one. First round's on us!"

We (homo sapiens) might not exist, and this blog might be authored by a Bigfoot.

We like to think that we're past all that, that we would choose to react via some form of the latter scenario, and we just might. But that's just because we live (most of us anyway) in a different milieu than Og, Ug, and the boys.

If we're waiting at a bus stop in our comfortable and reasonably safe 'burb or small town, or even if we should meet a Bigfoot in the large city we live in or commute to every day, we know that, rationally, a Bigfoot (think, oh Idunno, big scary smelly homeless mildly aggressive panhandler?) is unlikely to attack and kill us.

But she might.

Our time tested fight or flight app will launch, but we may not even notice unless things get ugly and it shuts down all of our other apps and ratchets us up to survival mode.

Or, perhaps we don't notice it because it's a background program that never shuts down anymore. Perhaps it's running all the time, at least at a low level, and that's why we don't notice it unless/until things get stupid. Perhaps this is one of the many side effects of a high-speed informationally overloaded life.

Perhaps this is why Xanax is the most prescribed psychiatric drug in the USA.

Walking into the lobby of the ginormous highrise we work in, the app in question fires up again as we approach the elevators. Ug, Og, and the boys had to think twice before chasing lunch into a cave because God only knew what might be lurking in the darkness.

So, we enter the crowded but blessedly well-lit elevator full of strangers (potential threats one and all), automatically check for the most defensible spot and face forward like everyone else to avoid making eye contact. And just as the door to the cave/coffin starts to close (gulp!) someone yells, in a friendly voice, "Hold the elevator, please!"

Somebody helpfully sticks their arm out, the doors reverse direction, and the big scary smelly homeless mildly aggressive panhandler nimbly steps into the cave/coffin.

She doesn't face forward.

Grinning from ear to ear she scans the cave/coffin like a politician or someone recently recruited by Amway and makes eye contact with as many people as possible. As the elevator starts to ascend she says, "Oops, my bad!" and then turns around and presses the button for every - single - floor. She turns around again and resumes grinning and scanning.

You can almost smell the adrenalin.

When the elevator stops on the second floor a startled receptionist witnesses everyone on a crowded elevator car trying to exit simultaneously. They all make a beeline to his desk, including our new friend, who keeps cheerfully repeating, "Where's the party?" as she looks around inquisitively. They silently ask the receptionist to call security with their eyes and facial expressions.

He's on it.

Have an OK day.


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©2017 Mark Mehlmauer   (The Flyoverland Crank)

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Christmas 2015

Well, Christmas has come and gone. A certain young woman of my acquaintance, who had relatively recently turned 13, relatively recently revealed to me that the result of her recent reflections regarding the holiday has resulted in some remarkable revelations. Sorry, I'll stop.

Now that she's no longer a child, she's noticed that though Christmas still rocks, it's just not the same as it was last year -- when she was still a kid. We had this conversation about a week before Christmas and she remarked mentioned to me that last year at this same time (2014) her emotions had begun ramping up to what by Christmas Eve was what I would've called, when I was her age, a full blown Purple Leptic Fit, or at the very least, a nervous breakdown.

For the Record: When and where I was but a wee lad, several thousand days ago, a Purple Leptic Fit meant the same thing that flipping out or freaking out does now. Googling the phrase will point you to novelist Chuck (Note: Effective illustration of the potential long-term side effects of the plague of moniker malpractice currently ravaging the realm  infecting the culture) Dickens "Great Expectations." However, when I was 12, and living on the Sou-side a Pittsburgh, the only book of Chucks that I was familiar with at the time was the famous novella, "A Christmas Carol." I hadn't read it, I've yet to read it, but I have seen most of the movie versions including the best one, Mr. Magoo's Christmas Carol, an animated musical. Move along, move along, no snobby literary allusions to see here folks.

Anyway... I responded to my favorite trumpet playing, cook, interior decorator, and future lawyer by pointing out, as gently as possible, that unfortunately this was the nature of the beast in question. At some point the magic starts fading and we feel like we're missing something because we're unlikely to experience Christmas with quite the same intensity ever again. However, if we're lucky, we'll have access to some kids still young enough to go as berserk as we once did in the week leading up to the holiday. Better a thrill once removed than no thrill at all. What I failed to point out -- in my defense it was because I hadn't yet read a brilliant article in the Wall Street Journal by a Clare Ansberry that's about believing in Santa Clause -- was that parents go to exhausting and expensive lengths to perpetrate this happy hoax because, "... Christmas often represents their own fondest childhood memories." That, "It signifies the all-too-short time in a child's life when everything is good and nothing impossible." Exactly. Therefore, a good egg, such as herself, can look forward to doing her duty and participating in the hoax for the rest of her life. She doesn't even need to have her own kids to do so.

So of course, this got to me thinking about hedonic adaptation. (It's not you, it's me, I've always been like this.)

According to Wikipedia: "The hedonic treadmill, also known as hedonic adaptation, is the observed tendency of humans to quickly return to a relatively stable level of happiness despite major positive or negative events or life changes."

Now in case you haven't been paying attention, or have an actual life, studies have been conducted, books and articles written, hypotheses and conclusions debated, etc. Fear not, gentlereaders, I'm not about to offer up a lecture on the subject. As is the case regarding the myriad subjects that I, your dilettante about town, am interested in, I'm singularly unqualified to do so. This used to be a source of some embarrassment to me -- the fact that I'm not an expert, specialist, go to guy, or the like  -- as concerns, well, anything. However, one of the many unexpected compensations of getting old, at least for me, is finally figuring out just what it is I'm about, and accepting it. Also, I've found comfort in that bit of folk wisdom that states that an expert is a bonkercockie artist at least 50 miles from home.

Anyway... Notice that the definition offered up by Wikipedia doesn't say that if you win a large enough prize in a lottery or some similar sort of endeavor and realize one of my (and I have reason to suspect many other people's) fondest dreams, F.U. level wealth...

Or, that if you get hit by a bus, and it takes a year or two to successfully(more or less) put Humpty Dumpty together again, that you will be happy. It says that you will "quickly return to a relatively stable level of happiness."

The good news is this phenomenon is widely studied, researched and documented; you can add it to your Facts are Stubborn Things list; you should keep it in mind. The bad news is that if you were miserable by nature before the life-altering event, odds are you will still be miserable after the smoke clears and you return to your stable level. On a side note, I highly recommend that if, "Money is the root of all evil" is on your Stubborn Things list that you cross it off and write: Money has the potential to be the root of much evil or good, but more importantly, the lack of enough money to fund a modest and virtuous lifestyle sucks sweaty socks.

What have we learned Dorothy?

It's not you, It's me.Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Clause. You really should read, or  resuscitate and re-read, a remarkably relevant previous post, my first, The Pursuit of Contentment.

Have an OK day.                                                                                      

©Mark Mehlmauer 2015



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Grups v. Snowflakes

I've always wondered who it was that thought up the idea of getting an advertiser to pay a given radio station to regularly state something like: This broadcast is coming to you live from the studios of The Flyoverland Crank. The Flyoverland Crank -- bringing you enlightened infotainment since July! Pure genius. A business pays the given radio station, that they and their competitors already pay to run commercials, a premium, so that they will be mentioned briefly, but regularly, throughout the day.

If the radio station wasn't effectively competitive, wasn't attracting enough listeners to justify the premium, the money would go to a station that was. Competition.

If the advertiser wasn't effectively competitive, wasn't attracting enough customers to generate the money needed to pay the radio station a premium, one of their rivals might. Competition.

When cut-throat capitalism is working the way it should, the consumers win, the consumer has the power -- no customers, no money -- bankruptcy. We Earthlings fortunate enough to live in a country that has a sorta/kinda free market economy are the beneficiaries of cut-throat capitalism, and we love it. We love living in the most prosperous society the world has ever seen. We love the myriad choices. We love the competitive prices. We love the jobs generated...

...Until the alarm clock goes off, or the payment's due, or we lose our job, or fail as an entrepreneur. Or if the philistines/the 1%/the dean/the boss/or dad just don't/doesn't appreciate our delicate sensibilities, and the fact that snowflakes need to be nurtured (and subsidised) lest they melt in the heat generated by the daily struggle for three all natural, organic hots and an adjustable Tempur-Pedic cot.

Well then, then capitalism/the market/the system/the rat race -- sucks sweaty socks.

This is when the grups (grownups) are separated from the snowflakes.

We're the grups! We know that every coin has a head and a tail. We've been around those often cited proverbial blocks and came in last at more damn rodeos than we care to admit. We deal with it. We take care of business, it's in the job description. We do the work, raise the kids, pay the bills, fight the wars (or, lucky us, more likely just support the ones that do), we care for the aging parents.

I'm a grup, but I've no interest in demonizing snowflakes. I do enjoy making fun of them though, I hope they will do me the honor of returning the favor. Humor trumps demonizing. Just thinking about an aging, mostly bald, chubby guy with a ponytail that's been espousing socialism for decades makes me smile. Gazillionaire actors with left wing politics, of any age or appearance, who haven't had to work at a real job since they were part-time food service workers while attending drama school make me laugh out loud.

On a vaguely related note: For the record, I've no idea where William Devane stands on anything, or if he's a gazillionaire, or what he's like in real life, but I think it should be illegal for actors to encourage people to buy gold and silver. "What's in your safe?" Unfulfilled dreams and empty promises, but thanks for asking Bill!

Some good news for snowflakes still involved with the 1% movement. If you happen to live on the planet Earth, work full time, and make at least $9.09/hr., congrats, your yearly income is greater than 99% of your fellow Earthlings. That is, assuming you define full time the traditional way, 40 hours per week, and not the Obamacare way, which is only 30 hours. But prosperity, and even living in a country that has a nationwide obesity epidemic (and you thought there was nothing new under the sun), doesn't seem to do much to help us to all get along.

You've no doubt noticed we seem to be a country devolving into warring factions. The national consensus was always a fragile structure (involving much duct tape) because we're a nation of all sorts of people from everywhere and anywhere. For that to work without employing the traditional methods, murder and subjugation, a system is needed that grants the "other guy" the same freedom and liberty we want for ourselves. Live and let live.

This was the point of the American experiment, an experiment that many others have since attempted, with mixed results. All things considered, it's amazing it's worked out for us as well as it has. We nearly exterminated the folks that we expropriated a continent from. We enslaved Africans. We had to fight a civil war because of that one. Learning nothing much, we devised another obscenity, Jim Crow. We're still trying to fix that to everyone's satisfaction. In spite of these and no shortage of other screwups, we somehow managed to become the most prosperous country the world has ever seen, so far. And we're relatively free. And we twice elected an African-American to the most powerful job on Earth, which would not have been possible without Mr. Obama capturing approximately the same average percentage of white voters as any democratic presidential candidate in modern times.

We can take comfort in the fact we've done some good. That we may have moved a few rungs up the ladder in the direction of being truly civilized -- history will tell. That we're still trying.

I've read that scholars say that various cultures in the ancient Mideast thought that as we move forward in time we're facing the past, that the future is behind us. In other words, that we walk through life backward. This was because they valued the past, as I read somewhere recently, a little too much. This meme would seem to stand in start contrast to the way the modern world in general, America in particular, views life. We believe we're facing forward and racing forward. Who has time to worry about history? We're constantly running behind while simultaneously trying to stay one step ahead of the information tsunami.

I think most of us have more in common with the citizens of the ancient cultures of Mesopotamia and Eygpt than we realize. They walked backward through life, we run backward through life. The cult of victimhood encourages us to run backward while never taking our eyes off of what happened to us -- or whatever groups we've decided we're part of -- last week, last month, last year, etc. This process doesn't even stop at the womb. Look what happened to my parents, my grandparents, my ancestors, my country, my _____. Please feel free to fill in the blank with the grievance(s) of your choice.

Learn (from) history. As you may have heard, it will save you from having to relearn lessons someone else already learned the hard way. But the past is gone, the future is a maybe. Turn around, now, before something or someone smacks you in the back of the head.

Have an OK day.                                                                                      

©Mark Mehlmauer 2015



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