To review: Last week's column was about hair helmets with a couple of (hopefully) amusing wanderings down side alleys to see where they led. My original intent was to make fun of not only hair helmets but other methods that we allegedly rationally driven homo sapiens employ to improve our chances of mating and reproducing.
However, my plan, as happens often as not, fell apart. Hair helmets wound up being the only contrivance discussed, and when I got to the end, I was suddenly seized by a strong notion that I should've also discussed what, if anything, sets us apart from our fellow animals. Which I will...
But first (it's not you, it's me) I want to get into how this sort of thing happens, since it will no doubt continue. Don't say, gentlereaders, that you've never been warned.
I've mentioned in at least one of my columns, and should and will add to what you will find by clicking on the Read This First Please or Glossary tab of my site, that my writing style is an edited stream of consciousness. That is, though I start out with a notion ranging from vague to specific, I give my muse and an imagined gentlereader free reign to gently push me in whatever direction feels right.
However, I then edit ruthlessly, guided by the twin goals of clarity and humor, sometimes deleting entire columns. F.Y.I., I've deliberately and officially stopped referring to my posts as posts. They are now and henceforth, my columns. After all, I've yet to miss a week since (self) publishing my first column on 7.23.15., just like a real columnist, who actually gets paid. This change in nomenclature serves two purposes.
First, it helps me to maintain the discipline necessary to prove to a syndicator, publisher, editor, agent, Google AdSense etc. (I really need to find the time and inclination to do whatever I need to do to make some money from this. As it is, I'm having too much fun just writing love letters to my daughter, son-in-law, and my grandkids -- the Stickies -- to hopefully occasionally be reread after I'm long gone) that I'm a worthy investment.
Second, I'm faking it 'till I make it. I'm acting as if. I'm keeping hope alive. I'm, uh, maintaining a good attitude. You know, doing all that sort of stuff you're supposed to do to be successful at something that the people who make a successful living teaching people how to be successful at something advise us to do. I'm also subtly and secretly manipulating and hypnotizing my gentlereaders to look past the sale and assume I'm destined to be a wildly successful writer so they will stick with me and tell all of their friends they should be following me. Shhh...it's a secret.
Yes, Virginia, I do think we are more than just another animal that happens, fortunately for us, to live at the top of the food chain. However, I also think it's very important that we don't forget, so to speak, where we come from. Scott Adams, the man that cranks out my favorite daily comic strip, Dilbert, and also writes a blog, not to mention an occasional book, says we're easily manipulated moist robots. He also maintains that we mostly use our rational abilities to justify our irrational, emotionally driven behaviors after the fact. In my semi-humble opinion, he's right.
Big but.
There are two ginormous characteristics homo sapiens have that separate us from our fellow animals. There are arguably, and probably, more. And who knows? Maybe the folks that claim dolphins and/or elephants and/or _____ function at a level equal to, or even superior to us, are correct (though I have my doubts). And, of course, many people the world over understand and cherish the meaning, importance, and significance of the deceptively simple phrase, good dog.
For the sake of simplicity and clarity, though, I'm going with communication and kindness.
Communication first. You don't have to be human to communicate successfully, in a limited way, with your fellow _____ . In fact, it's possible for all sorts of creatures to communicate, in a limited way, with all sorts of other others who communicate, in a limited way, with each other.
I'm sorry, I'll stop (GRIN).
A full blown language, on the other hand, even a very simple one with a limited vocabulary, creates a network. Language is the wiring, so to speak, that links my mind to your mind to their mind. This was the first internet and just like the current electronic, ever growing, planet-spanning one, it increased our processing power exponentially.
Writing and reading eventually supplemented oral tradition and made it easier for each new generation to build on what went before.
Had computers never been invented, we would still (and did) be able to do a lot of amazing things. After all, 7.3 billion heads are better than one.
Pooping indoors and disappearing the results by gently pushing on a tiny handle. Effortless access to sparkling clean hot and cold water by turning some tiny wheels. Climate control via pushing some tiny buttons. Et cetera. We take for granted what our not too distant ancestors would've declared to be magic, and then tortured and/or killed a bunch of folks to mitigate the bad juju.
Life is, and always will be, subject to unpredicted crap storms. Utopia will never be just around the next bend. But as you're working your butt off, plotting and scheming and hoping while impatiently waiting for your financial position to improve, you'll always find a way to keep the utilities turned on.
Kindness? Yup, kindness. That is, if you expand the definition of kindness. If you include everything from the evolutionary advantages that resulted from tribal cooperation to choosing to be the grup in the room to the teachings of the ethical and spiritual traditions that state we must love and take care of each other.
Yes, other species cooperate to get stuff done, particularly stuff that ensures the survival of the group.
But we can consciously decide to at least try to get along with that moron we work for, and not just for the sake of ourselves. We can do it for our family, our fellow slaves, our customers, our patients, or our _____ -- or not.
Every kid on the playground knows who's cool, who's OK, and who's a bully.
"Wo, oh, what I want to know, is are you kind?" (from the song "Uncle John's Band").
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.
Saturday, April 9, 2016
Saturday, April 2, 2016
Hair Helmets
Why are homo sapiens obsessed with their head hair? The obvious answer would seem to have a biological/evolutionary explanation. A healthy head of hair is an indicator of yute and overall good health. In spite of our relatively large, highly developed brains that enable us to do amazing things such as visit the moon and, well, brain surgery, we're still the playthings of our DNA. Our DNA is all about survival, reproduction and driving us to mate with (or at least, watch, often goofy TV shows and movies about) superior looking specimens of the species.
I get that. And I would remind you, and myself, that no matter how smart we might think we are, or, how above or over all that sort of thing we might think we are, we're not. Caution: Ignoring, or worse yet refusing to acknowledge your inner infidel, may be hazardous to your health (and life and job and relationships and...).
Big But.
Everywhere I look I see hair helmets. Creations, constructions and colors further and further removed from anything Mother Nature's Hair and Nails, LLC has ever produced. The Donald is our national poster child for this cult, and make no mistake, it is a cult. How else to account for something that generates such dedication, time, and expense?
[Aside: Speaking of the Donald, his orange complexion would seem to suggest he's an Oompa Loompa. No, seriously, think about it. This would also explain why a man who will turn 70 years old in June has hair that seems to vary in color from washed out blond to almost Peep yellow. This could be the result of constant coloring to hide his naturally green hair.
Now, Oompa Loompas are generally short in stature and the Donald is tall. This begs more than one question. Is he a native Loompalandian with a glandular disorder? If so, this would seem to disqualify him from becoming president. If he is a native Loompalandian, was he ever naturalized? If not, does he have a green card? Was his father or mother born in the USA and married to, or at some point hooked up with, a native born Loompalandian? If so, doesn't this place the Donald in the same situation he placed Senator Cruz in when he suggested that Mr. Cruz might have eligibility issues?
Most importantly, why are none of the rabid watchdogs of the press trying to get to the bottom of this mess? But that's not what I want to talk about, so let's move on.]
My definition of a hair helmet is a much broader than the traditional conception. That is, a television news anchorperson whose hair looks as though it's made out of fairly rigid vinyl and would only move ever so slightly in a tornado. Or come completely off, like a, well, a helmet and possibly become a dangerous, sharp-edged projectile.
My definition: A hairstyle, regardless of color, rigid or otherwise, that crosses a fine line whereupon said hairstyle becomes the first thing you notice about someone, you can't help but being aware of it at all times, rarely flattering.
A beacon of hair, if you will. A hairstyle that causes its owner to resemble a floor lamp without a shade.
The fine line I mentioned is determined by the amount of contrast, or the lack thereof, between a given hairstyle and the overall look of the subject. For example, a rigidly coiffed, blue haired, little old lady with minimal makeup and a conservative outfit works just fine.
However, a little old lady with minimal makeup, a conservative outfit, and waist length, elaborately curly, grape Kool-Aid colored hair -- not so much.
So, how did we go from being understandably influenced by our DNA to hair helmets? I propose two reasons. First, a significant downside of living in the information age is the fact that we're more exposed to advertising, both overtly and subliminally, than ever before. A great deal of advertising is dedicated to pushing products for managing our manes. Second, our head hair, at least theoretically, provides a means for anyone to compensate for the genetic crime of not being as attractive as professional pretty people that are so attractive that they can make a living from it, often just by reminding us that we can't. But -- with the purchase of the right health and/or beauty aid -- we may not have to wither away empty, alone, and childless, after all.
[Another Aside: About advertising. I, like most people, find most advertising, to be a pain in the butt. I'm amazed that it's even possible for an hour of alleged programming on broadcast TV to include 20 minutes or so of advertising, but not from a legal standpoint. The viewers, not The Gubmint, should determine what's acceptable. The viewers hold all the power, literally, in the palm of their hands: CLICK! What amazes me is that anyone puts up with it, considering there is no shortage of alternatives.
However, I'm a grup and a sexy seasoned citizen so I know there is definitely no such thing as a free lunch. Yes, we're knee deep in adverts, and it's not possible to be engaged in the modern world without encountering them hither, thither, and yon (don't that sound way cooler than here, there, and everywhere?).
Yes, they're often annoying, stupid and downright offensive. But they provide us with no shortage of often annoying, stupid and downright offensive content at everyone's favorite price -- free and no charge. Occasionally, they're the only portion of the content that ain't annoying, stupid and downright offensive. Were I less empathetic and attuned to the feelings of my fellow homo sapiens, I would say that whining about advertising is like bragging about how you vote in every election with one breath and then complaining about the quality of political incumbents with the next. But I'm not, so I won't. And Besides, that's not what this column is about.]
Sorry, what was I talking about? DNA...hair helmets...the Donald (alpha male)...advertising (environmental input) that easily exploits fundamental biological drives...
Wait a minute, is the only difference between us and all the other animals on the planet just a matter of degree?
Sheesh, this got depressing fast, and I didn't even see it coming. This is going to require a part two to explore what, if anything, does set us apart from the rest of the animals.
Anyway, I've got to run, I've got an important appointment and I have to do my hair.
Have an OK day.
©Mark Mehlmauer 2016
If you wish to like, react, leave a comment or share -- please scroll down.
Mobile gentlereaders, if I've pleased you, there's additional content to be found via laptop and desktop.
I get that. And I would remind you, and myself, that no matter how smart we might think we are, or, how above or over all that sort of thing we might think we are, we're not. Caution: Ignoring, or worse yet refusing to acknowledge your inner infidel, may be hazardous to your health (and life and job and relationships and...).
Big But.
Everywhere I look I see hair helmets. Creations, constructions and colors further and further removed from anything Mother Nature's Hair and Nails, LLC has ever produced. The Donald is our national poster child for this cult, and make no mistake, it is a cult. How else to account for something that generates such dedication, time, and expense?
[Aside: Speaking of the Donald, his orange complexion would seem to suggest he's an Oompa Loompa. No, seriously, think about it. This would also explain why a man who will turn 70 years old in June has hair that seems to vary in color from washed out blond to almost Peep yellow. This could be the result of constant coloring to hide his naturally green hair.
Now, Oompa Loompas are generally short in stature and the Donald is tall. This begs more than one question. Is he a native Loompalandian with a glandular disorder? If so, this would seem to disqualify him from becoming president. If he is a native Loompalandian, was he ever naturalized? If not, does he have a green card? Was his father or mother born in the USA and married to, or at some point hooked up with, a native born Loompalandian? If so, doesn't this place the Donald in the same situation he placed Senator Cruz in when he suggested that Mr. Cruz might have eligibility issues?
Most importantly, why are none of the rabid watchdogs of the press trying to get to the bottom of this mess? But that's not what I want to talk about, so let's move on.]
My definition of a hair helmet is a much broader than the traditional conception. That is, a television news anchorperson whose hair looks as though it's made out of fairly rigid vinyl and would only move ever so slightly in a tornado. Or come completely off, like a, well, a helmet and possibly become a dangerous, sharp-edged projectile.
My definition: A hairstyle, regardless of color, rigid or otherwise, that crosses a fine line whereupon said hairstyle becomes the first thing you notice about someone, you can't help but being aware of it at all times, rarely flattering.
A beacon of hair, if you will. A hairstyle that causes its owner to resemble a floor lamp without a shade.
The fine line I mentioned is determined by the amount of contrast, or the lack thereof, between a given hairstyle and the overall look of the subject. For example, a rigidly coiffed, blue haired, little old lady with minimal makeup and a conservative outfit works just fine.
However, a little old lady with minimal makeup, a conservative outfit, and waist length, elaborately curly, grape Kool-Aid colored hair -- not so much.
So, how did we go from being understandably influenced by our DNA to hair helmets? I propose two reasons. First, a significant downside of living in the information age is the fact that we're more exposed to advertising, both overtly and subliminally, than ever before. A great deal of advertising is dedicated to pushing products for managing our manes. Second, our head hair, at least theoretically, provides a means for anyone to compensate for the genetic crime of not being as attractive as professional pretty people that are so attractive that they can make a living from it, often just by reminding us that we can't. But -- with the purchase of the right health and/or beauty aid -- we may not have to wither away empty, alone, and childless, after all.
[Another Aside: About advertising. I, like most people, find most advertising, to be a pain in the butt. I'm amazed that it's even possible for an hour of alleged programming on broadcast TV to include 20 minutes or so of advertising, but not from a legal standpoint. The viewers, not The Gubmint, should determine what's acceptable. The viewers hold all the power, literally, in the palm of their hands: CLICK! What amazes me is that anyone puts up with it, considering there is no shortage of alternatives.
However, I'm a grup and a sexy seasoned citizen so I know there is definitely no such thing as a free lunch. Yes, we're knee deep in adverts, and it's not possible to be engaged in the modern world without encountering them hither, thither, and yon (don't that sound way cooler than here, there, and everywhere?).
Yes, they're often annoying, stupid and downright offensive. But they provide us with no shortage of often annoying, stupid and downright offensive content at everyone's favorite price -- free and no charge. Occasionally, they're the only portion of the content that ain't annoying, stupid and downright offensive. Were I less empathetic and attuned to the feelings of my fellow homo sapiens, I would say that whining about advertising is like bragging about how you vote in every election with one breath and then complaining about the quality of political incumbents with the next. But I'm not, so I won't. And Besides, that's not what this column is about.]
Sorry, what was I talking about? DNA...hair helmets...the Donald (alpha male)...advertising (environmental input) that easily exploits fundamental biological drives...
Wait a minute, is the only difference between us and all the other animals on the planet just a matter of degree?
Sheesh, this got depressing fast, and I didn't even see it coming. This is going to require a part two to explore what, if anything, does set us apart from the rest of the animals.
Anyway, I've got to run, I've got an important appointment and I have to do my hair.
Have an OK day.
©Mark Mehlmauer 2016
If you wish to like, react, leave a comment or share -- please scroll down.
Mobile gentlereaders, if I've pleased you, there's additional content to be found via laptop and desktop.
Saturday, March 26, 2016
A Touch of Class
Let's bring back a touch of class. And restraint. And modesty. And _____ . License to say and do anything ain't working.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not suggesting we all start behaving like the characters in a good old fashion mainstream American movie or TV show restrained by good old fashion American censorship. I am suggesting that we walk the culture back a step or two from the edge. If anything goes, nothing is edgy anymore. When nothing is edgy anymore all that's left is to try and be more shocking and/or disgusting than the next guy. Embrace your inner infidel.
[In an effort to promote cultural tolerance, gentlereaders, I offer up the phrase inner infidel. I see it as a bridge that will help us to connect Muslim culture to the other major cultures on the planet. It also sounds way cooler than barbarian, which is somewhat played out, as a word I mean. Sadly, there's no shortage of barbarism loose in the world.]
"A man got to have a code," Omar Devone Little: A fictional character in The Wire, played by Michael K. Williams in the third best television show ever made. Mr. Little was a charismatic, gay, Honey Nut Cheerios-loving thug that made a nice living robbing, and if necessary, shooting, drug dealers until he was killed in the shows last season. In spite of his occupation, he had a strict personal moral code that included not working on Sundays and not harming innocents.
When the baby boomers tossed out the tot out with the jacuzzi water and upended the traditional (and yes, often hypocritical) moral standards of the West, we began the Age of Relativity. It's like, all relative, dude.
From urban DICTIONARY (.com): "It's All/Everythings Relative means the world is in the eye of the beholder; all people look at things from a different perspective... Everything is quantifiable in terms of individual perception.
You can have your code, I can have my code. We can choose not to have a code. Who needs a code? If it feels good, do it, you only live once!
I wrote a column, well, two columns actually, I'm Glad I'm Old, parts one and two (1.23 & 1.30.16). I could maintain an ever growing list of reasons of why I'm glad I'm old but (cognitive dissonance alert) I'm more glad that I'm still alive and prefer to dwell on that. Note, I didn't say I wish I was young. No well adjusted Sexy Senior Citizen should, but that's another column, and, I strive to be nonjudgmental, so I won't bring it up.
[Could we move on please? asks my imaginary gentlereader as Marie-Louise pokes me in the ribs.]
Fine. One of the many reasons I'm glad I'm old is because I'm so ancient that I was raised by two members of the Greatest Generation and up until the age of 13 or so I was steeped in a cultural consensus that vanished in a remarkably short time. I do not long for its return. It wasn't a utopia and I'm very much a seize the moment kind of dude.
However, my childhood provided a firm foundation to build a life on as well as a feeling of being a part of something bigger than me, an organizing principle, however flawed, that I could join, or try to change, or even try to destroy. But if there's really nothing to join, change, or try to destroy, because anything goes, and to declare that one value system is superior to another makes you a hater, well, I'm glad I'm old.
If adolescents have nothing real to rebel against you wind up with a hookup culture where making love is just having sex, just another easily dispatched biological need. Where allegedly liberated young women have to worry about being labeled prudes if they don't use their smartphones to distribute soft porn (or worse) starring themselves. And about not getting enough likes if they do.
This is why I understand and respect where traditional religious believers are coming from, even fundamentalists, assuming they reject violence as a legitimate tool for spreading their faith. I not only was raised to be a believer, I sorta/kinda still am, in a very non-traditional way. I'm a meditator, a philosophical Taoist, and I find there to be much wisdom in Stoicism. (Fear not, I couldn't hope to explain myself adequately even if I were so inclined.)
However, I emphasize with traditional believers primarily because I suspect that an anything goes philosophy is repugnant to any more or less well-adjusted grup, it's not just because of their religious beliefs. They would feel this way even if they weren't religious. The organizing principle they've chosen, or take for granted because that's the culture they were brought up in, and it works for them, just makes things seem that much worse
[That organizing principle thing again? Define your terms sir! sayeth the gentlereader. Marie-Louise is scratching my back, she understands.]
It means exactly what you think it means. Wikipedia: "An organizing principle is a core assumption from which everything else by proximity can derive a classification or a value." Or, the framework or the grid you use to make sense of the world and decide on how to make your way through it.
I also understand and respect where atheists are coming from; I'm a staunch ex-catholic. However, I define myself as agnostic because I'm a firm believer in maintaining as open a mind as possible to counter the scientifically documented phenomenon called confirmation bias. Or, don't confuse me with facts, my mind is made up syndrome.
George Will, one of my intellectual heroes, describes himself as an amiable, low-voltage atheist. I mention this because of the stark contrast between his position and that of snarky, self-righteous arrogant atheists that feel the need to make fun of believers, and run to court over world-shaking issues, such as prayers at public school football games, at every opportunity. Yikes! atheistic fundamentalists. And more than a few atheists will tell you that while Stoicism might be OK, Taoism is definitely out there in the goofy zone.
Flexibility and a willingness to update your organizing principles are required for a life well lived. Too much flexibility, particularly if built upon the shifting sands of political correctness, or even worse, no framework beyond if it feels good do it, will result in a hot mess. Fine lines.
"A man got to have a code."
Have an OK day.
©Mark Mehlmauer 2016
If you wish to like, react, leave a comment or share -- please scroll down.
Mobile gentlereaders, if I've pleased you, there's additional content to be found via laptop and desktop.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not suggesting we all start behaving like the characters in a good old fashion mainstream American movie or TV show restrained by good old fashion American censorship. I am suggesting that we walk the culture back a step or two from the edge. If anything goes, nothing is edgy anymore. When nothing is edgy anymore all that's left is to try and be more shocking and/or disgusting than the next guy. Embrace your inner infidel.
[In an effort to promote cultural tolerance, gentlereaders, I offer up the phrase inner infidel. I see it as a bridge that will help us to connect Muslim culture to the other major cultures on the planet. It also sounds way cooler than barbarian, which is somewhat played out, as a word I mean. Sadly, there's no shortage of barbarism loose in the world.]
"A man got to have a code," Omar Devone Little: A fictional character in The Wire, played by Michael K. Williams in the third best television show ever made. Mr. Little was a charismatic, gay, Honey Nut Cheerios-loving thug that made a nice living robbing, and if necessary, shooting, drug dealers until he was killed in the shows last season. In spite of his occupation, he had a strict personal moral code that included not working on Sundays and not harming innocents.
When the baby boomers tossed out the tot out with the jacuzzi water and upended the traditional (and yes, often hypocritical) moral standards of the West, we began the Age of Relativity. It's like, all relative, dude.
From urban DICTIONARY (.com): "It's All/Everythings Relative means the world is in the eye of the beholder; all people look at things from a different perspective... Everything is quantifiable in terms of individual perception.
You can have your code, I can have my code. We can choose not to have a code. Who needs a code? If it feels good, do it, you only live once!
I wrote a column, well, two columns actually, I'm Glad I'm Old, parts one and two (1.23 & 1.30.16). I could maintain an ever growing list of reasons of why I'm glad I'm old but (cognitive dissonance alert) I'm more glad that I'm still alive and prefer to dwell on that. Note, I didn't say I wish I was young. No well adjusted Sexy Senior Citizen should, but that's another column, and, I strive to be nonjudgmental, so I won't bring it up.
[Could we move on please? asks my imaginary gentlereader as Marie-Louise pokes me in the ribs.]
Fine. One of the many reasons I'm glad I'm old is because I'm so ancient that I was raised by two members of the Greatest Generation and up until the age of 13 or so I was steeped in a cultural consensus that vanished in a remarkably short time. I do not long for its return. It wasn't a utopia and I'm very much a seize the moment kind of dude.
However, my childhood provided a firm foundation to build a life on as well as a feeling of being a part of something bigger than me, an organizing principle, however flawed, that I could join, or try to change, or even try to destroy. But if there's really nothing to join, change, or try to destroy, because anything goes, and to declare that one value system is superior to another makes you a hater, well, I'm glad I'm old.
If adolescents have nothing real to rebel against you wind up with a hookup culture where making love is just having sex, just another easily dispatched biological need. Where allegedly liberated young women have to worry about being labeled prudes if they don't use their smartphones to distribute soft porn (or worse) starring themselves. And about not getting enough likes if they do.
This is why I understand and respect where traditional religious believers are coming from, even fundamentalists, assuming they reject violence as a legitimate tool for spreading their faith. I not only was raised to be a believer, I sorta/kinda still am, in a very non-traditional way. I'm a meditator, a philosophical Taoist, and I find there to be much wisdom in Stoicism. (Fear not, I couldn't hope to explain myself adequately even if I were so inclined.)
However, I emphasize with traditional believers primarily because I suspect that an anything goes philosophy is repugnant to any more or less well-adjusted grup, it's not just because of their religious beliefs. They would feel this way even if they weren't religious. The organizing principle they've chosen, or take for granted because that's the culture they were brought up in, and it works for them, just makes things seem that much worse
[That organizing principle thing again? Define your terms sir! sayeth the gentlereader. Marie-Louise is scratching my back, she understands.]
It means exactly what you think it means. Wikipedia: "An organizing principle is a core assumption from which everything else by proximity can derive a classification or a value." Or, the framework or the grid you use to make sense of the world and decide on how to make your way through it.
George Will, one of my intellectual heroes, describes himself as an amiable, low-voltage atheist. I mention this because of the stark contrast between his position and that of snarky, self-righteous arrogant atheists that feel the need to make fun of believers, and run to court over world-shaking issues, such as prayers at public school football games, at every opportunity. Yikes! atheistic fundamentalists. And more than a few atheists will tell you that while Stoicism might be OK, Taoism is definitely out there in the goofy zone.
Flexibility and a willingness to update your organizing principles are required for a life well lived. Too much flexibility, particularly if built upon the shifting sands of political correctness, or even worse, no framework beyond if it feels good do it, will result in a hot mess. Fine lines.
"A man got to have a code."
Have an OK day.
©Mark Mehlmauer 2016
If you wish to like, react, leave a comment or share -- please scroll down.
Mobile gentlereaders, if I've pleased you, there's additional content to be found via laptop and desktop.
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