For the record, I didn't care if a particular person was gay before it was cool to not care if a particular person was gay. In fact, I had a gay roommate, who was also a good friend, for a couple of years in the late 70s. I still take great pride in the fact that when he and I and some other gay friends were hanging out one day, that they told me I was one of the most well-adjusted heterosexual males they knew.
This puzzled me. At the time, I was not on the short-list of nominees for the stud of the year award. Actually, never have been, never will be, particularly now that I'm over a thousand years old. A huge head, a lazy eye, my mom's nose (cute on her, not so much on me) and the odd trait, for a male, of preferring to copulate with females I'm at least deeply in like with, is not the definition of studly. Perhaps this is why I've always suspected I'm a lesbian trapped in a man's body.
[Irony Alert: The lesbian trapped in a man's body line, which I've used for years, is meant to be a non-sequitur. Humorous in that I thought it made no sense, while also poking fun at the parade of Bigfeets prepared to present themselves for our (well, not mine, sniff) entertainment on numerous television shows. Turns out, it's a thing. I guess I should apologize.]
Anyway, this puzzled me because, callowyute that I was at the time, I jumped to the wrong conclusion. In spite of the fact I was a bit picky, I was as obsessed with sex as much as the typical male of the species. I was going through a dry spell and like most single male callowyutes I thought there was a scorecard on my forehead that clearly indicated I was no threat to anyone's daughters. If I'm so well adjusted, where's all the wimmin?
[Irony alert, No. 2: The word wimmin in the previous sentence was used as a subtle tribute to the immortal Popeye. A quick bit of research (don't ask, it's just the way I am) revealed to me that it's a thing too. Turns out that there are feminists that prefer the word wimmim to the word women. They also prefer using womban, or womon, instead of woman. As Popeye once said, "Wimmim is a myskery."]
Further conversation revealed that I had missed the point entirely. What they were referring to was that apparently there are a lot more bi-curious and/or confused men at large in the world than I was aware of. This phenomenon was the source of my comfortably and unapologetically gay acquaintances having had no shortage of dramatic/baffling/hilarious/embarrassing encounters in their quest for love, be it tawdry or spiritual in nature. They were just saying that they appreciated that I knew what I was about, that I knew where I was coming from.
[My imagined gentlereader speaks. Wow, you rock dude! Please, tell us more about how frosty and well adjusted you are. If the rest of this column is going to be more of the same I'm going to call my dentist's office to see if they've had any cancellations today, I need to get my teeth cleaned. Marie-Louise is hip cocked and head tilted, left eyebrow raised in skepticism.]
Sheesh. I was just establishing my bona fides before discussing the kerfuffle concerning the considerable controversy generated by a law recently passed by the state legislature of North Carolina. House Bill 2, or, the Bathroom Bill.
The bill sez that local municipalities can't pass their own laws regulating wages, employment and
"public accommodations."
The LBGTIQ -- lesbian, bisexual, gay, transsexual, intersex, and queer or questioning community -- is up in arms. I shall take the high road and refrain from making any comments on the acronym in question, with the exception of one cheap joke. I'll bet they have more interesting parties in that community that I do in mine.
Now, while North Carolina does have a state law on the books that forbids discrimination, it doesn't contain specific protections for those groups listed in the previous paragraph. Also, House Bill 2 requires that multi-occupancy restrooms, changing rooms, locker rooms, etc., in public schools and government buildings are to be used by folks based on the biological sex listed on their birth certificates. Multi-occupancy? Yup, it's OK for public institutions to offer restrooms that can be used by anyone, one soul at a time.
Before we move on, some more cheap jokes. What about aliens, from other planets I mean? They do walk among us after all. Who enforces the rules? Will North Carolina be forced to create a Department of Genitalia Certification?
As to the worry that those folks who identify themselves as a member of one of the groups delineated by the acronym in question having to endure endless discrimination unless they are specifically protected by law, I'm sorry, but as you may have heard elsewhere, life is not fair.
I'm not advocating that it's OK to discriminate against anyone, or any group, in particular. However, I would point out that everyone discriminates. Sometimes it makes sense. For example, I freely admit that I go out of my way to avoid dealing with drunks and drug addicts if at all possible.
Sometimes it makes no sense whatsoever. There's no shortage of folks that automatically hate someone because of the color of their skin or whom they copulate with. Which is just goofy. But if I thought you were one of these goofy people, I'd avoid you too. I might even choose to not hire you for a job you're otherwise eminently qualified for. I may choose not to rent you an apartment. I might decide to discriminate against you.
However, being slightly smarter than I look, I'd never admit to my reasons if I thought it might cause me legal problems, or even just an awkward conversation. I'd just pick someone else and have a bulletproof cover story prepared. I'm guessing most people would, and do, the same thing.
I know for a fact that I've been repeatedly discriminated against because I'm chronologically (slightly) over 50, even though in reality, I am, and always will be, 39. Not once was the evil perpetrator dumb enough to say it was because they thought I was too old. Well, except for a certain hottie that works at my favorite convenience store, but I see her point.
My point is that all the legislation in the world won't make anyone actually accept anyone. But it will generate lots of work for lawyers and bureaucrats. Be kind, be rational, be dependable, pay your own way, do your job, be a good spouse, show a little style, do the right thing, set a good example, et cetera. Many people will accept you as you are, many will not -- get over it and get on with it.
As to which restroom you should use, well, let me put it this way. Even though I'm a lesbian trapped in a man's body, when out and about in the world, I wear men's clothing and use the men's room when nature calls. I confess to being hopelessly old-fashioned in that I support the genitalia rule.
I could care less which letter of the acronym you identify with. I could care less about what you get up to behind closed doors, as long a no one's getting hurt unless they want to. But I would remind you that you share the playground with other kids. I would remind you acceptance won't come by insisting that anything goes and everything must be tolerated.
I'm not worried that you're going to molest my grandkids, but I am worried that there's no shortage of infidels out there that would if given the chance. I am worried that discretion, modesty, and consideration of others people's sensibilities are considered to be quaint notions.
You're a little weird, you don't fit in, but you're comfortable in your own skin? Fine. Me too. Personally, I don't care if I'm accepted and approved of. And I don't go out of my way to make people uncomfortable. Just the opposite. I mind my own, try to show a little class, follow a personal code of moral and ethical rules that are hard to live up to and try to remember that the sermon/speech/column/screed lived is the best way to effect change.
And I would ask Bruce Springsteen, a gazillionaire poster child of limousine liberals, do you actually believe that canceling a concert and depriving restaurant servers, parking lot attendants, the venues janitors, et cetera, of the money they didn't make that day served any purpose beyond polishing your halo?
Have an OK day.
©Mark Mehlmauer 201
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Saturday, April 23, 2016
Saturday, April 16, 2016
Immigration
Let me admit up front that I'm soft on illegal Mexican immigration (IMI) or, if you prefer, _______.
I think that any illegal immigrant convicted of a crime should be punished and deported, but someone needs to tell the Donald that statistically speaking, immigrants of all sorts are less likely to commit a crime than the native born. Were I in the country illegally I'd be a model, low profile guest, for obvious reasons.
The blank space at the end of the first sentence is provided for those of you that prefer a more politically correct term. It's tough keeping up with politically correct terms. They seem to evolve and adapt even faster than the super cooties regularly featured in apocalyptic news stories. You know, the ones that we're constantly being told could fuel the first world-class pandemic of the new millennium? It would probably be wrong to develop this analogy further and compare the snowflakes obsessed with politically correct terminology to the rats that carried the fleas that caused the Black Death, so I won't. Anyway, I've already drifted off topic.
IMI's, or more properly, IHI's (illegal Hispanic immigrants), because these folks, particularly lately, often are from countries located south of Mexico (which incidentally is the title of my next album) have my sympathy because I can easily construct alternate realities with my powerful reality distortion field. In my head, smartypants, in my head -- I know they're not real.
Premise of my reality distortion: Canada is to the US as the US is to points south. Say that in spite of our northern neighbor's abominable climate they were the most prosperous (so far...) and freest (well...) country in the world and our situation is roughly equivalent to Mexico and points south. What would life in these United States be like?
Insert sound of harp strings being strummed while image on screen goes all wavy, here.
The Gubmint and the gubmints of our reality distorted USA would be world famous for, and have a long history of, good old fashion third world corruption. Bribery at every level would be considered a cost of doing business, the lubricant that keeps the wheels of commerce and gubmint turning. John and Jane Doe would live in a world where the playing fields are rarely level. Everybody pays to play.
[Aside: I'll bet a bottle of pop, a Mexican Coke made with real sugar (it really does taste better), that Juan and Juana Garcia would enthusiastically trade their current situation for the current situation of our abused and downtrodden 99%. "I just hate my new iPhone, I wonder if I can get out of my contract... aw, geez, the barista screwed up my coffee, again!"]
Reality distorted Canada would not be all that different than the real Canada. It would have a much larger economy and may or may not have real Canada's socialized healthcare system. But other than that, it probably wouldn't be much different than it is now. It also wouldn't be much different than the real USA...
Carter and Emma Smithe, of the Toronto Smithes, don't party like they did when they were still in school, in fact, what with careers and kids and all, a second glass of beer (Carter) or wine (Emma) at dinner is about as twisted as they're likely to get these days. But once in a great while, they stash the kids somewhere safe for the weekend and get a room with a jacuzzi. Carter (weed) or Emma (blow, the munchies make you fat) might even indulge in some recreational pharmaceuticals. It's not as if they go out of their way to score, but occasionally Bachus tosses a treat in their direction... See what I mean?
But the reality distorted America, the pay to play America mentioned above, a third worldish version of America, would suck sweaty socks. Carter and Emma's occasional dabbles with drugs, not to mention the needs of their fellow Canadians that are more enthusiastic consumers of legally prohibited substances, would be a nightmare for John and Jane Doe. That's because they just happen to hail from Anyfreakintownnearthenorthernborder, USA.
Real Canada took a pass when real America tried banning alcohol. Things didn't work out very well in real America but real Canada couldn't manufacture and sell booze fast enough. Gubmints will be gubmints however and both real America and real Canada, after evaluating the lessons of Prohibition both decided to prohibit recreational pharmaceuticals anyway.
So,in Juan and Juana Garcia in John and Jane Doe's reality distorted version of the USA, the drug cartels that so efficiently supply recreational pharmaceuticals to reality distorted Canada for fun and profit, ensure John and Jane will lead, um, interesting lives. This is the unpleasant side effect of criminal organizations that make so much money they can corrupt a given culture at every level.
John and Jane both work in the energy sector. He's a roughneck working in the oil/natural gas fields and she's a low-level secretary. Before you accuse me of being a sexist, remember this is an America that's been reality distorted to mirror real Mexico. Real Mexico is an unabashedly mucho-macho place. John would prefer that she stay home with their five kids (they are good, traditional Catholics) but they need the money. John doesn't make all that much money because the Gubmint runs the nationalized energy sector and you don't make good money without knowing the right people. He wouldn't have a job at all if he didn't know some of the right people.
John and Jane are worried and scared. The cartels have made everything worse. Innocent bystanders are regularly killed. Reporters that tell the truth are regularly killed. The cops are more or less owned by the cartels. John and Jane have a teenage son that has bling bedecked buddies with lots of girlfriends who have offered to introduce him to their version of the right people. One of his gorgeous daughters has caught the eye of a local thug.
A good friend of John and Jane, who has known them both since they were kids, is quite aware of their situation because they have stayed in touch over the years. He's a newly minted citizen of our reality distorted Canada. His rich, well-connected parents sent him to college there to become a petroleum engineer knowing that if he did well and got a job offer or two he'd be provided with a path that could eventually lead to citizenship, and it did,
In a recent phone discussion with his friends the Doe's, after being updated about their current situation, he offered to pay whatever it would take to get them and their kids across the border, illegally. They could figure out a way to stay once they got there.
Were I John or Jane I'd start packing.
Have an OK day.
©Mark Mehlmauer 2016
f 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 think that any illegal immigrant convicted of a crime should be punished and deported, but someone needs to tell the Donald that statistically speaking, immigrants of all sorts are less likely to commit a crime than the native born. Were I in the country illegally I'd be a model, low profile guest, for obvious reasons.
The blank space at the end of the first sentence is provided for those of you that prefer a more politically correct term. It's tough keeping up with politically correct terms. They seem to evolve and adapt even faster than the super cooties regularly featured in apocalyptic news stories. You know, the ones that we're constantly being told could fuel the first world-class pandemic of the new millennium? It would probably be wrong to develop this analogy further and compare the snowflakes obsessed with politically correct terminology to the rats that carried the fleas that caused the Black Death, so I won't. Anyway, I've already drifted off topic.
IMI's, or more properly, IHI's (illegal Hispanic immigrants), because these folks, particularly lately, often are from countries located south of Mexico (which incidentally is the title of my next album) have my sympathy because I can easily construct alternate realities with my powerful reality distortion field. In my head, smartypants, in my head -- I know they're not real.
Premise of my reality distortion: Canada is to the US as the US is to points south. Say that in spite of our northern neighbor's abominable climate they were the most prosperous (so far...) and freest (well...) country in the world and our situation is roughly equivalent to Mexico and points south. What would life in these United States be like?
Insert sound of harp strings being strummed while image on screen goes all wavy, here.
The Gubmint and the gubmints of our reality distorted USA would be world famous for, and have a long history of, good old fashion third world corruption. Bribery at every level would be considered a cost of doing business, the lubricant that keeps the wheels of commerce and gubmint turning. John and Jane Doe would live in a world where the playing fields are rarely level. Everybody pays to play.
[Aside: I'll bet a bottle of pop, a Mexican Coke made with real sugar (it really does taste better), that Juan and Juana Garcia would enthusiastically trade their current situation for the current situation of our abused and downtrodden 99%. "I just hate my new iPhone, I wonder if I can get out of my contract... aw, geez, the barista screwed up my coffee, again!"]
Reality distorted Canada would not be all that different than the real Canada. It would have a much larger economy and may or may not have real Canada's socialized healthcare system. But other than that, it probably wouldn't be much different than it is now. It also wouldn't be much different than the real USA...
Carter and Emma Smithe, of the Toronto Smithes, don't party like they did when they were still in school, in fact, what with careers and kids and all, a second glass of beer (Carter) or wine (Emma) at dinner is about as twisted as they're likely to get these days. But once in a great while, they stash the kids somewhere safe for the weekend and get a room with a jacuzzi. Carter (weed) or Emma (blow, the munchies make you fat) might even indulge in some recreational pharmaceuticals. It's not as if they go out of their way to score, but occasionally Bachus tosses a treat in their direction... See what I mean?
But the reality distorted America, the pay to play America mentioned above, a third worldish version of America, would suck sweaty socks. Carter and Emma's occasional dabbles with drugs, not to mention the needs of their fellow Canadians that are more enthusiastic consumers of legally prohibited substances, would be a nightmare for John and Jane Doe. That's because they just happen to hail from Anyfreakintownnearthenorthernborder, USA.
Real Canada took a pass when real America tried banning alcohol. Things didn't work out very well in real America but real Canada couldn't manufacture and sell booze fast enough. Gubmints will be gubmints however and both real America and real Canada, after evaluating the lessons of Prohibition both decided to prohibit recreational pharmaceuticals anyway.
So,
John and Jane both work in the energy sector. He's a roughneck working in the oil/natural gas fields and she's a low-level secretary. Before you accuse me of being a sexist, remember this is an America that's been reality distorted to mirror real Mexico. Real Mexico is an unabashedly mucho-macho place. John would prefer that she stay home with their five kids (they are good, traditional Catholics) but they need the money. John doesn't make all that much money because the Gubmint runs the nationalized energy sector and you don't make good money without knowing the right people. He wouldn't have a job at all if he didn't know some of the right people.
John and Jane are worried and scared. The cartels have made everything worse. Innocent bystanders are regularly killed. Reporters that tell the truth are regularly killed. The cops are more or less owned by the cartels. John and Jane have a teenage son that has bling bedecked buddies with lots of girlfriends who have offered to introduce him to their version of the right people. One of his gorgeous daughters has caught the eye of a local thug.
A good friend of John and Jane, who has known them both since they were kids, is quite aware of their situation because they have stayed in touch over the years. He's a newly minted citizen of our reality distorted Canada. His rich, well-connected parents sent him to college there to become a petroleum engineer knowing that if he did well and got a job offer or two he'd be provided with a path that could eventually lead to citizenship, and it did,
In a recent phone discussion with his friends the Doe's, after being updated about their current situation, he offered to pay whatever it would take to get them and their kids across the border, illegally. They could figure out a way to stay once they got there.
Were I John or Jane I'd start packing.
Have an OK day.
©Mark Mehlmauer 2016
f 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, April 9, 2016
Kindness & Communication (Hair Helmets, Part 2)
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
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.
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
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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