Dude... (Part Two)

I wrote a post (Dude... - 11.7.15) that was about explaining to my first born grandchild why he should go to great lengths to avoid reproducing himself unless/until he's half of a stable marriage. I also alluded to the importance of keeping ones rascal wrapped in our brave new world and warned him there would be more unsolicited advice in the future.

In retrospect, I believe I should have said more about the importance of rascal wrapping. While I'm certain that the vast majority of fledgling grups have at least a fundamental knowledge of the facts concerning reproduction and of STD's, I'm equally certain, being a recovering callowyute myself, that there's no shortage of bonkercockie being bandied about in both restrooms and homerooms.

Dude... the bottom line is that the Earth has no shortage of cooties, or, shell-shocked looking callowyutes whose story includes the sentence, "I had no idea you could get pregnant and/or infected from _____." The only way around rascal wrapping is a via a monogamous relationship, with someone you trust, after you've both been certified as cootie free. Yet another reason I'm glad I'm old.

Now, it's virtually impossible for you to grasp the full significance of what's coming up next. This isn't because of any sort of deficiency on your part, it's because you're going to have to live a bit more to fully understand what I'm talking about. And oh yeah, this might be the a good place to remind you that if you can manage to keep paying attention as you go through life (so you don't start rusting) you'll find that 30 is to 20 as third grade is to second. That is, you'll keep getting smarter, the intervals just get longer.

When I was your age, in the late 1960's, one of the many things many of us baby boomer types thought we should  be rebelling against was traditional sexual mores. It was/is/always has been/always will be normal for adolescent callowyutes to rebel, to one degree or another, against something. Fortunately and unfortunately, our turn coincided with a perfect storm of cultural chaos unleashed by a whole bunch of dramatic developments happening at the same time that spread faster than a common cold in a small school due to the fact it happened just as the information age was picking up steam electrons.

The traditional American sexual mores that we thought needed upgrading, the ones we were brought up with, went something like this. You weren't supposed to have sex until you got married. Then, you weren't supposed to have sex with anyone other than your spouse. You weren't even supposed to have sex with yourself, married or otherwise. While no shortage of the conservative factions of various religious sects still maintain this is the way to go, at the time, this was the view the culture, in general, pretended to profess.

Of course, as Mark Twain pointed out, all generalizations are false, including this one. Beware of complex topics reduced to a paragraph, I would add.

[Dude's brow furrows. Wait a minute...pretended? ]

Yup. Men will be monkeys and society will tolerate hypocrisy if there's a consensus that this is what's necessary to keep a lid on things. Long story short: A few thousand years of patriarchy combined with certain religious and moral teachings resulted in a world in which men that fornicated (Merriam-Webster, Fornication: consensual sexual intercourse between two persons not married to each other) were considered to be studs/manly men/bad boys/rogues/etc. and the women they fornicated with were considered to be whores. Sounds sorta/kinda goofy and it was/is.

[Goofy is putting it mildly, how the hell..]

A great idea, monogamy, gone bad. Evolution/biology/DNA has resulted in a world in which a human males best chance to replicate themselves is by having sex with as many human females as possible. Human females best chance results from finding one decent guy that's willing to stick around. Making all this even more complicated is that while the males that drive the most expensive cars and at least appear to be emotionally and physically healthy are gonna' attract the hot chicks. Hot chicks will attract all males because we tend to spend our lives being led around by our, um, lusty natures. To ensure, that despite our natural inclinations, we can cooperate to bring down a wooly mammoth, invent civilization, and participate in block parties without the police having to eventually be called, we came up with a really cool idea, monogamy.

One man + one woman = stable civilization. If the alpha males are limited to one wife, there are more women around for us ordinary men to marry. Having a wife of our own, if we're lucky enough to get one, negates our having to kill an alpha male just so we can get..., um, companionship. Civilization (and  plenty of wooly burgers) ensues. Males (in theory) can count on getting..., um, companionship and an occasional meal that isn't served in a bag. Females (in theory) get companionship, a champion to protect the kids and somebody to take out the trash.

Unfortunately, human males are generally physically larger and generally unable to suppress their inner monkey as successfully as human females. Unfortunate because this led to patriarchal societies in which the males often treat the females as chattel while pretending to be monogamous (wink, wink -- nudge, nudge). Religions, organized and otherwise, tended, and tend, to support this system and somewhere along the way it was decided that the same rules applied to the unmarried as well.

Unfortunately for you dude, we baby boomers fixed (picture air quotes) this mess before you came along. Our solution was worse than the problem. What follows is my usual vast oversimplification. In my defense, I can't crank out a book once a week and I'm in a bit of a hurry to record what little wisdom I've managed to unearth in the course of my life. This is so that you, your brother, and your two sisters might still benefit in some small way if I'm suddenly not here anymore. This might be a good place to remind you that though you are a blended family, you are brothers and sisters (ya'll got lucky), and anyone that tells you otherwise is full of shit.

Due to the pill (more air quotes), and unprecedented levels of health, prosperity, education and communication, it became possible for the culture to be radically changed remarkably quickly. The ideal result, in my semi-humble opinion, would've been a culture where people were more circumspect than ever about who and when they married and when they reproduced. Not because of hidebound conventions but because it just makes sense. Social science, history, and the common sense (SSHCS) available to anyone that's paying attention all point to the necessity of stable marriages of equal partners that stay together as the ideal to be strived for.

Single people need not deprive themselves of sexual partners. However, SSHCS should teach us that accidental reproduction is to be avoided, that a kid needs a mom and a dad, that the quality of sex rises dramatically when you're at least deeply in like with your partner, and that an endless parade of multiple partners is not a whole lot different than masturbation via an android (potentially fun, but just not the same as the real thing).

BIG BUT.

We didn't get the ideal result. Humans never do, but that's another post. What we did get grew out of a if it feels good do it/do your own thing/live for today/sex, drugs and rock and roll ethos. The CDC says roughly 40% of kids in the USA are born out of wedlock. (For the record, there's no such thing as an illegitimate kid. There is, however, no shortage of illegitimate parents. Many are married.) You've no doubt noticed the word is knee deep in STD's. Divorce rates are between 40 and 50%.

Modesty, restraint, and good taste have gone out of style. Sex saturates the media. We've defined deviancy down (google Daniel Patrick Moynihan) to almost the vanishing point. Sorry dude.

Have an OK day.                                                                                  

©Mark Mehlmauer 2016



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I'm Glad I'm Old (Part Two)

Let's review, gentlereaders. Last week I posited the following notion. Life is what happens to you while you're making other plans. My position is that if I've learned anything about the nature of reality it's that this is undeniably true. I'm certain there is no shortage of folks who would disagree with this statement, in whole or in part. It's not my style or intention to pick a fight with those who disagree with me on this or any other matter (see, Please Read This First). I may be wrong. I confess that I'm wrong about something with disturbing regularity. That's why I pointed out that if you don't think the notion is true, which I regard as both fundamental and irrefutable, you might wish to spend your valuable time and energy reading or doing something else. There will not be a part three so I hope I don't loose you, assuming you're still there.

I also pointed out, but not as clearly as I might have, that whether I'm right or wrong may not make much difference to you. If you believe in an afterlife where you will still be you, the individual entity that is reading this, then there must be a method to the madness and all that's needed is to pick the right explanation, and live accordingly. If you think death = oblivion it's possible to logically defend living any sort of life you please -- as long as you are willing to minimize or reject those pesky notions of morality and ethics.

Now, being a spiritual and philosophical agnostic, which I define as trying to keep an open mind and soul so I don't get caught comfortably napping if/when truth knocks on the front door, I'm unable to find respite in either of these two positions. Therefore, I've thought a lot about how to live, accordingly. Getting old has provided long-sought clarity. And I'm glad.

The  literal meaning of the phrase life is what happens to you while you're making other plans is not hard to grasp for almost anyone over the age of seven or so. It's interesting that modern psychology has confirmed this bit of traditional wisdom. My corollary -- You don't have all that much control over your life. You never have. You are definitely going to die. You need to live, accordingly -- is what separates the SSC's (sexy seasoned citizens) from the callowyutes, though I'm sure there are exceptions to the rule.

When I was a callowyute I had no problem understanding that in spite of my best efforts my plans often wouldn't work out and that I wouldn't live forever -- intellectually speaking. But it didn't matter because I had years and years and years to fashion a happy, successful life.  And, of course, people do die young but I certainly wouldn't be one of them.

Then I walked around the block several times and one day I realized that I might not someday be a rockstar after all. I personally have known a lot of people who have died and most have not gone peacefully in their sleep. Years and years and years went by in the blink of an eye. So, finding only limited solace in either the spiritual or the sensual realms (saints gotta' eat; libertines discover that too much pleasure is as boring as too much of anything), knowing that I could be dead before the next keystroke or that I might live for another forty years -- what to do?

First of all, relax, and try to enjoy the book/game/show/circus/______.

Personally, I imagine that I'm the hapless main character in an excellent novel, a dark comedy. I enjoy dark comedy, as long as there is at least one likable character that's trying to find their way to the light. I've been taking one step forward, and two steps back, ever since a world-class crapstorm rolled through my life in the spring of '05. This was really pissing me off until I tripped over a couple of truths someone had left on the trail I was on (it's hard to avoid tripping, even falling, when your walking backward).

Wait a minute! I don't have that much control over my life, I never have. No one does. I don't feel all that old, most days anyway, but with each passing day, I'm moving deeper into the wrong end of the actuarial tables. Formerly vague notions have become cold hard facts.

Those lucky bastards I know that at least seem to be having a much easier time of it than I have/had/will have crapstorms of their own to deal with. There are literally billions of my fellow Earthlings who consider me the lucky bastard, and I am, in comparison to them.

[Wait a sec', says the imaginary gentlereader that peers over my left shoulder are you saying limited time and narrowed options are good things?]

Yes, absolute blessings, in light of the fact no one gets out of here alive, but I forgot to acknowledge the gift of reduced energy. Once you grasp, not intellectually but in the very marrow of your bones, that your time is limited, that all you can do is all you can do, and that you can't fix everything by throwing enough energy at it -- what is truly important to you, and the best way to spend your time, will become clear. Your life might still suck sweaty socks but those trips around the block taught you to be grateful for what you have second, by second, by second because it could always be worse, and it might even get better if you wait long enough. I don't know about you but I'm prepared to keep waiting right up to the moment the reaper shows up because I'm certain that if I decided to hasten the process Publishers Clearing House would show up at my door because someone thought it would be funny to enter my name so I'd wind up back on their mailing list and be inundated with even more pointless dead tree format junk mail in my mailbox -- inhale -- and the last words I'd hear as I was floating away would be, "Somebody go get Poppa, there's a man at the door with balloons and a check!"

Second of all (there's a first of all back there somewhere...) be a hero. Most grups are heroes, the world needs heroes. If you're a grup, odds are one of the reasons you keep getting out of bed in the morning, maybe the primary reason, is in service to someone (spouse? kids? grandkids?) or something (your work? your art? your _____?) that you regard as being at least as important as yourself. Thanks.

Have an OK day.                                                                                  

©Mark Mehlmauer 2016



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I'm Glad I'm Old (Part One)

...Well, mostly. There are, of course, certain downsides to being sixty-something in spite of the fact that sixty-something is the new 39. My eyesight is slowly getting worse, and so is my hearing. Of course, my hearing loss is primarily due to all those rock concerts I went to when I was a hippie with a job (and a fondness for personal hygiene) in the seventies, not the advent of my geezerhood. I'm cool like that. Though I live with other age-related maladies, none of them are life-threatening -- at least that I know of -- I admit I have a tendency to ignore my medical problems until they become medical issues. For the sake of clarity, in my version of reality, issues is a word that does not have the exact same meaning as the word problems. To me, issues are problems that have gotten out of hand.

In my defense, my late wife had health issues, lots of 'em. They were not age related, they began at birth and were caused by the fact she was born prematurely and subsequently administered oxygen therapy because of underdeveloped lungs. The good news is that this kept her alive, the bad news is that the therapy itself damaged her lungs and eyes and led to lifelong health problems issues, for her and no shortage of other preemies. So be it. However, during our 21 years together she spent a lot of time dealing with doctors and a lot of time in the hospital. Here's hoping you (and I) don't ever have to endure something of a similar nature. I found out the hard way that there is no shortage of well-intended quackery loose in the world and why hospitals accidentally kill hundreds of thousands of people every year. I admit to a (semi) irrational fear of the American medical establishment.

Except for Dr. John Bellany, an avowed atheist. If it turns out he and I (agnostic) are wrong, he will still be welcomed into heaven with the cosmic equivalent of a ticker tape parade. As for me...well, I'm cautiously optimistic, but there will definitely not be a parade.

[What? Oh...yes Marie-Louise, I do seem to be drifting over the fog line, thanks. But certain things really do need to be said.]

Other than the increased likelihood of  health problems/issues the only other objection I have to getting old is dealing with ennui, or, been there done that/is that all there is? syndrome. I suspect that I may be even more at risk for this sort of thing than the average old fart because I suffer from early onset ennui, which I've had since I was 16. Rather than bore you with the details I would point you to a song entitled, "Is That All There Is," composed by Leiber and Stoller. The definitive version was recorded by Peggy Lee and can be found on YouTube. Check out the recorded (skip the live) version, orchestration by Randy Newman. It's hard to believe that this was a top 40, award-winning song, particularly in comparison to the dreck that's on the radio these days. I also remember...

[Sacre' bleu! (For the record, I understand real French people don't actually use this phrase but far be it from me to pass up a cheap joke.) You claim to be glad you're old but so far all you've talked about is illness and ennui!]

Sorry, M-L, I was just clearing the decks, here comes the glad part, sort of.

The thing I enjoy the most about getting old is being comfortable in my (wrinkling, stretch marked, skin tagged, etc.) own skin -- literally and figuratively. As concerns the literal state of my skin -- and teeth and hair and my lazy eye and an advanced case of disappearing butt syndrome and no shortage of other imperfections that all continue on a forced march in the wrong direction -- so be it, so it goes, it is what it is, c'est la vie and the hell with it. I'm mentally/emotionally/philosophically at ease in my own skin because the following cosmic truth was revealed to me via a styrofoam cup filled with diet Mountain Dew purchased from a Dairy Queen in Deadwood, SC when I was a driftin' and a searchin' for my roots that had the following message printed on the side. Do you have any idea how rare it is to find diet Mountain Dew available fountain style?

Life is what happens to you while you're making other plans.

If this is not obvious to you, yet or still, for whatever reason, stop reading now. I don't want to waste your limited and valuable time. Sorry, but I believe I'm living on the planet Earth and that you're living on the planet Denial and I don't want to waste your time. Take care, see ya when, and if, you get back.

As you ride the river of life, if you live long enough and/or are smart enough to have mastered all the prerequisites necessary to obtain your SSC (Sexy Seasoned Citizen) credential, you will be blessed by grasping the ramifications of the statement above. An enlightenment of sorts will take place. Some, unable to deal with what may, at first, be like a sucker punch to the gut, will flee to planet Denial, never to return. Others will need time to adjust before accepting the inevitable.

You don't have all that much control over your life, you never have. You are definitely going to die. You need to live, accordingly.

You may be dead before reaching the end of this _______ (you can hear the tone of the heart monitor going from beep-beep-beep to beeeeeeeeeeeeeeee in your head).

You may live for years and years, and I hope you do, assuming you're fortunate enough to have good reasons to keep getting out of bed in the morning. While this may not seem like we've gotten to the glad stuff yet, it is, and I will explain in detail why, in my next post.

[Marie-Louise stomps out the room, cursing in French under her breath.]

You don't have all that much control over your life, you never have. You are definitely going to die. You need to live, accordingly.

If you're not starting to a glad buzz yet, I'm sorry, the deck clearing is over. Please consider the following. If you believe in an afterlife of some sort it doesn't really matter if I'm right or wrong. Most folks that believe, believe in a version of one of the following two scenarios.  Either you'll keep coming back until you get it right and achieve nirvana. Or, you will be judged, and 99.9% of you will be welcomed into paradise. Warning: There is a theologian or two that might quibble with my take on the matter.

God is infinite, by definition, which implies that she has an infinite capacity for love and forgiveness and doesn't share your distaste for those hoopleheads that don't believe in the same rules of the road that you do. Also, 99.9% you know in your heart that you're doing the best you can, so relax, and keep up the good work(s).

Or, if you believe death = oblivion you'll have nothing to worry about since there will no longer be a you. If your wrong, the 99.9% rule still applies.

Next week I'll tell you how I try to live, accordingly.

Have an OK day.                                                                                  

©Mark Mehlmauer 2016


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Mobile gentlereaders, if I've pleased you, there's additional content to be found via laptop and desktop.