You Don't Know Jack...

...But that's not necessarily a bad thing.

(If you're new here, this column consists of weekly letters written to my grandchildren, who exist, to haunt them after they become grups and/or I'm dead, and my great-grandchildren, who aren't here yet.)

Dear (eventual) Stickies and Great-Grandstickies,

I repeat, you don't know Jack. It's important, very important, that you know that you don't know. If you know that you don't know, you know a lot more than most people.

[Um, I'm gonna need you to explain THAT one, Poppa, says Iggy, my imaginary grandsticky. Dana, my imaginary reader, is giving me the raised eyebrows of skepticism. Marie-Louise, my muse, is grinning and scratching my back, being immortal, she already knows the truth about truth.]

Allow me to explain.

Let me begin by endorsing the wisdom inherent in the statement, "Facts are stubborn things; and whatever may be our wishes, our inclinations, or the dictates of our passions, they cannot alter the state of facts and evidence." -John Adams

That is, the facts are the facts, regardless of what we think they are or want them to be.

"All we want are the facts, ma'am," which is what Sgt. Joe Friday actually said.

BIG BUT.

The facts are indeed, the facts, and the fearless pursuit of the facts is necessary if one wishes to know the truth. But truth is, at best, provisional. Provisional: serving for the time being (Merriam-Webster).

[Dana speaks: Awesome, dude, thanks for clearing THAT up!]

"Patience is a virtue." -William Langland

"Patience is a virtue, possess it if you can, seldom found in woman, never found in man." -Sister Mary McGillicuddy

Truth, is provisional -- a working hypothesis -- subject to change if/when new facts are discovered. A new fact may be hiding in plain sight or living in a hut in Siberia.

However, that doesn't bother a true scientist and it shouldn't bother us. In fact, if we adopt the right attitude, living in a world of shades of gray is much more interesting than living in a world of black and white (which would be quite boring).

"I think it's much more interesting to live not knowing than to have answers which might be wrong." -Richard Feynman

[Iggy: Poppa, if there's a point to all this I...]

I have two points actually. The first is that everything we think we know is provisional, that is, subject to change when we uncover new facts. That this is the nature of our reality. That while acknowledging this can make you feel a little crazy, not acknowledging this might get you killed.

My second point is that since we inhabit a provisional reality of shades of gray, that while we should never stop looking for truth, a well-lived life requires that we make provisional choices and that we need to relax and enjoy the ride


As to the practical, everyday ramifications of point one, avoid over thinking to remain sane. Relax. Be confident that in most situations you'll have a command of enough of the facts to deal adequately. The trick is to never forget that a new fact may leap out from behind a rock at any moment. Cultivate that attitude. Knowing that you may not know will make you smarter than those who are sure they do know. Zen Buddhists call this having beginner's eyes, which simply means always maintaining an open mind. Pay attention and minimize the odds of being run over by a bus.

 "Our brains are pattern-recognition machines, but not good ones. That's what gets us in trouble. We see patterns where none exist. None of us are exempt from that. But we can use our limited sense of reason to see past it." -Scott Adams

As to point two, a well-lived life of provisional choices.

Philosophically speaking, just because everything we think we know is provisional, it doesn't follow that this knowledge need reduce us to insecure neurotics fearful of believing in anything. Or, worse yet, cause us to declare that "like, everything is relative, man." The latter being the universal justification for an empty, amoral life with no path ever chosen other than the one that satisfies the appetite of the moment.

God, or evolution, or whomever/whatever, has blessed us. We're not just eaters/procreators, we're eaters/procreators who are aware we're eaters/procreators. We don't just eat, procreate, and take a nice nap. We choose to be enthusiastic carnivores or self-righteous vegans (yes, I'm biased). We choose to be libertines, virgins or something in between (no bias, whatever works). Everyone should strive to take more nice naps (bias again).

My more traditionally religious friends call this having a soul with a free will. They believe the cosmos is a structure created by an omnipotent architect who provides a set of discernable rules we're to follow. I've no problem with that as long as they show some restraint, and respect all of the other kids on the playground. I've got a big problem with that when the enslaving and decapitation begins.

Fortunately, nowadays anyway, most of these folks are perfectly nice and choose the path labeled Live and Let Live. However, the devil, as always, resides in the details.

As for the rest of us, in my semi-humble opinion, step one is acknowledging the undeniable fact that we also have to share the playground with other kids -- again, restraint, respect, live and let live. Hmmm... it would seem these groups have something in common,

Step two, use the gift, choose. Impose a frame. Adopt a working protocol. Decide on some rules. Whatever you say, goes, but only for you. What goes for everyone should be decided by you and everyone else with, wait for it -- restraint, respect, and a spirit of live and let live.

And yes, I used the word blessed a few paragraphs ago. From the book of Crank: Believest thou in a carefully crafted creation conceived and constructed by an unimaginably awesome God of pure love or a perpetually pissed off dude with a white beard (Anticlause?) and lots of strictly enforced rules and regs that vary from sect to sect, prophet to prophet, messenger to messenger (inhale here), or, a cosmos that can be summed up and defined on a bumper sticker -- Shtuff Happens -- the bottom line is the same. 

Choose.

Even if you think you would prefer a black and white reality and/or you think you will, eventually, inhabit one, the Fact remains that, for now, you're in the same boat as the rest of us. What to do, what to do?

Choose a path that leads to any destination that motivates you to keep getting out of your warm, comfy bed in the morning. If you choose the wrong one or if you reach your destination, pick another one. Try not to step on other people's toes. Don't let other people step on yours.

Simple, right? Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.







 

The Impending Inauguration

(If you're new here, this column consists of weekly letters written to my grandchildren, who exist, to haunt them after they become grups and/or I'm dead, and my great-grandchildren, who aren't here yet.)

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies and Great-Grandstickies,

The coronation inauguration of Donald J. Trump is upon us. In less than a week he will be crowned sworn in and officially become our 45th king president. The snarky cross outs in the previous sentence are not directed at the Donald. If I were being snarky about the Donald I would point out that a 70-year-old man with yellow hair, an elaborate combover, orange skin and ever-shifting political positions will soon be king our president.

But I'm not. Let he who is not a 6339-year-old with an enormous head, a lazy eye, a pedestal for a neck and a tank shaped body who is about to have a defective hip replaced cast the first stone!

I'm merely pointing out, that in my semi-humble opinion, the phrase 50 united states implies 50 relatively powerful entities united for certain purposes, spelled out in our constitution, and having much more autonomy than they currently enjoy. What we have is The Gubmint, which, if it continues on its present trajectory, will become, THE GUBMINT.

What we have is so large, complex and powerful, that the phrase permanent campaign not only means governing with an eye on the next election it means all politics, all the time, for every-one.

The chattering class, the more or less permanent bureaucracy, the Gubmint wannabes, the political industry and Gubmint dependent real industries are all carrying on as if we're about to crown a divine right monarch.

Perhaps it's even worse than that. Does America have daddy issues? And/or do we, in spite of our supposed sophistication, long for an alpha male (alpha person?) to feel safe?

Can he can't he? Will he won't he? "Of course this is just speculation on my part but...". Is it true he likes McDonald's food? Didja hear most of the major designers refuse to dress his wife?

Joe Biden, recent vice-president, who was a lawyer for a minute before becoming a professional politician whose major accomplishment is a long career as professional politician announced that he's running for president in 2020.

Mr. Obama has rented a mansion and will be the first president since Wilson (suffering from the aftereffects of a stroke) to not get out of Dodge once he was evicted from the White House.

Mr. O. sez he's sticking around because this multimillionaire champion of the little people, this former community organizer, doesn't want to pull his youngest kid out of high school because she still has two years to go. She attends the Sidwell Friends school, current tuition $39,360 per year (but that includes a hot lunch). Golly, I wonder how he'll kill time between science fairs and PTA meetings?

Can't fault a man for being a good dad, but almost every time he's given a speech in the last eight years that wasn't delivered inside the beltway he made a point of telling his audience how great it was to get out of D.C., him being an outsider and all, and hang with regular folks.

While I appreciate this sacrifice for his kid, Chicago, the town he calls home, that's run by Rahm Emanuel, a former Obama chief of staff, has a notable homicide problem that you may have heard about.

I think I'll send him an email suggesting he spend as many long weekends as possible in Chicago till the problem is solved. If he were to lend his talent and prestige to his buddy Rahm they could no doubt get 'er done. I'd tweet it at him, but Cranky don't tweet.

He could straighten out Chicago and have an excuse to leave the fever swamps of DC on a regular basis, Win-win!

Sorry, I'm obviously suffering from Obama derangement syndrome, which clearly indicates I'm a closet racist in denial. Honey, get my therapist on the phone!

Moving on...

 An inauguration ain't supposed to be a coronation. According to Merriam-Webster:

Inauguration: a ceremonial induction into office
Coronation: the act or occasion of crowning

George Washington allegedly was offered a crown and said no thanks. Historians tell us that this never actually happened, that it was no truer than that shtuff about chopping down a cherry tree and readily confessing to the crime rather than trying to weasel his way out of it.

I'm so old that I can remember being taught the cherry tree story in school and believing it -- different world. I'm so old, and cranky, that I can imagine a country without a semi-imperial presidency that's not about to spend $200,000,000 (more or less) on parties and ceremonies to commemorate the Donald solemnly swearing or affirming that he will try to do a good job and follow the rulebook, the constitution.

The presidential oath of office, the only specifically worded oath in the constitution, has 37 words. This means we're gonna' spend roughly $5,400,000 per word. I have a better idea.

When I was a kid, 25 words or less contests were a thing. "Send us a letter and explain, in 25 words or less, why your family loves Powdermilk Biscuits and win free Powdermilk Biscuits for life!"

How about a nationwide contest promoted via radio to keep the cost down?

 "Send us an email and explain, in 25 actual words or less describing why you prefer a term-limited president to a divine right monarch. Win one million dollars and an all expenses paid trip to Washington DC to be the people's official witness to the Donald's inauguration and meet the new president! Attend a potluck dinner for the POTUS, congress, and the supreme court afterward! Free carnival games and face painting for the kids!"

Savings: $199,000,000 bucks, minus the cost of the radio promotion and renting a hall for the potluck.

The commercial ends with the announcer babbling the following words at twice the speed of sound.

"All winnings are subject to federal, state and local taxes. Employees or relatives, no matter how tenuous the connection,
 of the Donald are not eligible in order to minimize the number of inevitable future congressional investigations. No emojis or social media/texting truncations and abbreviations permitted in order to weed out trolls. Only one entry per documented citizen please, violators will be tossed over the wall."

The Donald, well known for his modesty and good taste, is setting a good example. Our next POTUS will utter the 37 words mentioned above at the Capitol building (home of the people's representatives, many of whom have been selflessly serving us for decades). Next, he'll jump in an armored Cadillac limousine, one of a fleet of a dozen or so (shhh! it's a secret!) built at cost of about $1,500,000, each.

He'll then travel in a motorcade, for about two miles, to the White House while dispensing royal waves and thumbs-ups to the little people.

Little but.

The limos in the parade will not display the traditional special license plates created to commemorate inauguration day. This is giving the collectors of such plates the vapors. The Donald's camp is refusing to say why, but I think I know.

The Donald, well known for his subtlety and discretion, is quietly making the statement that he's just one of us. Make America less tacky again! Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.






  


  

Clean and Sober, Part Two

Dear (eventual) grandstickies and great-grandstickies,

To review, part one was an encapsulated version of my adventures as a twenty-something. I revealed that yes, Virginia, Poppa did smoke dope regularly during his extended callowyute era.

Now, I'm neither proud or ashamed of this period of my life, but I was extremely lucky. In retrospect (hindsight is indeed 20/20) I wish I had moved on much sooner than I did, or that I had the same reaction to weed as I did to alcohol -- I discovered early on that I didn't much care for it.

As to lucky, I didn't start smoking weed until I was twenty. Science tells us that drinking or doing drugs by adolescents can lead to permanent neural rewiring and many scientists suspect this increases the chance of addiction in adulthood. Also, while the area of the brain that governs pleasure seeking develops early, the area of the brain that governs decision making and judgment may not be done developing until the mid-twenties. Getting baked as a teenager before your brain has finished baking naturally may cause permanent damage.

I set out to get royally drunk one night when I was 18, and already living in my own apartment. I succeeded but didn't enjoy the results. I had a similar reaction to when I had tried cigarettes many years earlier. This is stupid, I don't like this, I'm not going to do this. So you see, not smoking cigarettes and not drinking requires no discipline or muscular virtue on my part. Lucky.

[Speaking of cigarettes, science tells us that nicotine, which personally I regard as a drug with effects that are even milder than those resulting from moderate caffeine consumption, is a highly addictive substance. My personal experience tends to confirm this. Your parental units have both been trying to quit smoking for at least ten years that I know of and haven't made it, yet. I'm cautiously optimistic because ya'll are one of the most important reasons they keep trying, and they're very good parents who just spent too much money on your Christmas presents, as usual (GRIN). It would seem I'm not the only lucky one.

Please don't get hooked on nicotine, or anything else for that matter. And yeah, I know, vaping is better for you, but addiction is addiction. When my mom was in a nursing home and wheezing from emphysema and only one year older than I am now, 64 40, she was cursing her children for refusing to smuggle in her beloved unfiltered Kools.]

...and we're back. Where was I? Oh yeah, lucky. As I mentioned in part one, my nefarious activities never led to any legal difficulties, that is, I never got caught by anyone with a badge. I realize that pointing this out to you may be equivalent to one of my grandparents telling me about using alcohol when it was briefly, and disastrously, prohibited to do so. At the moment it looks like weed will soon be legal everywhere, assuming The Gubmint doesn't step in. However, I'm not talking about what should have been, but what was, the past tense of not what should be, but what is (GRIN).

[At this point in my writing, my muse, imaginary gentlereader, and imaginary grandsticky all looked up from an intense game of Monopoly and looked around at each other, puzzled. Before anyone spoke up I quickly threw a, "I got this, relax, play your game, all will soon be clear" at 'em and they returned to arguing over the subtle, legal ramifications of one of the rules.]

See, had I been caught by the wrong person in the wrong jurisdiction I could've been locked up for quite some time (many were) for the heinous crime of participating in one of mankind's (personkind's?) oldest rituals, the pursuit of a good buzz. Perfectly legally and sanctioned by the powers that be were. That's the not what should have been but what was, referenced above. The land of the free was/is not always as free as one might like.

BIG BUT.

I mentioned early on that I'm neither proud or ashamed of this period of my life. I am, however, regretful. During my extended callowyute phase I, like most twenty-somethings, many thirty-somethings, a disturbingly high (and rising I think) percentage of forty and even fifty-somethings -- thought I was bullet proof, ten feet tall, and would live forever.

[My fellow baby boomers, who, demographically speaking, range in age from 53 to 71 as this is being written, require an entire column or two to analyze because while many have discarded their rose colored glasses, many have not and are members in good standing of the not what is, but what should be club. Some of them are even counting on living forever via having themselves uploaded to a machine. Sounds boring to me, living forever I mean, please forgive the digression.]

Just as many old farts never tired of pointing out to me, just as no shortage of old farts, occasionally including me, never tire of pointing out to you -- you're gonna' wake up one day a couple of years from now and you will be, chronologically speaking, old. You will personally know several dead people even if you're fortunate enough to have managed to get through your life minimally affected by war.

I understood this intellectually long before I understood this in reality, in my heart. I hope the same is true for you. I hope that you operate under the illusion of immortality and happy endings for everyone for as long as possible.

However, I devoutly wish that someone had told me, as a young man, or that I had somehow stumbled upon, the following.

If you want to save the world, or someone, and/or
If you think that grups are boring and more dead than alive and/or
If you choose to party now and worry about so-called real life later and/or
If you've found someone/something for whom/which you can't wait to get out of bed for and/or
If you're religiously/spiritually/enlightenmentally inclined, traditional or unconventional path, and/or
___________________________________________________ . (This space intentionally left blank.)

Reality  still  rules.

Some folks can't/shouldn't "party," ever. They're called addicts. You need to constantly monitor and be brutally honest with, yourself. Question one. Am I doing this for some occasional fun or do I have to do this to deal. Question two. Is this interfering with other aspects of my life? Incidentally, I don't know what the experts advise, these two questions are what I advise.


And while we're at it:

The need for food, clothing, shelter, and healthcare is, and will remain, omnipresent.

Pay your own way if at all possible and everyone will like you more, especially you.

You are never going to wake up one day and be Happy, it just doesn't work that way. Some days you'll be happy, some days you will be miserable, most days will be a mixture of both.

Forget happiness, pursue contentment. Contentment is someone to love that loves you back (pets are perfectly acceptable) and interesting work. Getting paid to do interesting work is rare. Getting paid for doing a job and doing your work for free, um, works. Your work is anything that makes you happy just by the doing of it well, It doesn't matter what it is. Rabid sports fan, rocket scientist, or something in between. "Be regular and orderly in your life so that you may be violent and original in your work." -Gustave Flaubert                                                                                                                                                                                                                      
If you're lucky you will often be bored. As you age you will learn this is not necessarily a bad thing, particularly given the many unpleasant alternatives available.

Goals are necessary, and good, but success at anything requires flexibility and the wisdom to spot a better path. There are an infinite number of paths and yours is probably no better than theirs, just different. Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.