Making America Great Again

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

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Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse (right shoulder) and back scratcher 

Iggy -- Designated Sticky

Dana -- Designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

Dear (Eventual) Stickies and Great-Grandstickies,

The Donald is a consciously created character having much in common with the professional bad guys of the fake wrestling industry. Keep in mind that endless, unlikely plot twists are a staple of this art form (apologies to Meryl Streep and company, et al.). Bad guys become good guys become bad guys become ambiguous guys.

The USA has morphed into a bizarre reality show and the Donald is the director, producer, and star. He knows what he wants to accomplish, he really does want to Make America Great Again. I'm certain he knows America is still great, but she's gotten lost in the woods. Hopefully only temporarily. But he probably would regard even my simple analogy as unnecessarily complicated.

Keep it simple, my friend. That's show biz. That's how you keep the audience in the palm of your hand.

I wrote a column about this (as you may or may not know) very subject in early December of last year, my third official "Dear Stickies" letter, that was my take on how it was that the Donald managed to become the POTUS much to the surprise of most.

I voted for Gary Johnson, the libertarian party candidate, in spite of some serious reservations. I mention this for two reasons.

First, I wrote another column suggesting that people vote for me for president because I sincerely had no desire whatsoever to be the president. My logic was based on a bit of ancient Chinese wisdom. The best man person for a powerful position is often one that seems to have a clue but doesn't want the job.

The whys and wherefores of that proposition require an entire letter of their own. Suffice it to say that they're (hopefully) obvious to a seasoned grup with common sense. Oh, please don't assume the previous sentence necessarily has anything to do with you since I've no way of knowing when, or even if, you will ever read this. Anyway, I have to confess I've been known to feel clueless for days at a time, so in the end, I couldn't bring myself to vote for myself.

Second, I'm trying to maintain an open and/or optimistic frame of mind as far as the Donald is concerned in spite of my doubts, which are legion.

I'm a somewhat gloomy chap by nature but I was fortunate enough to be married to a woman who absolutely insisted on "looking on the bright side" in any and all situations in spite of the fact she was doomed to die young due to the health problems she was born with.

Though gloomy is my baseline, I'm a firm believer that we live in a universe where everything is defined by, and is part of, it's opposite. More ancient Chinese wisdom, that yin-yang stuff you have probably heard about (yet another letter asking to be written).

For the moment, let's just say then when I find myself waiting for the results of one of fates coin tosses I'm aware it occasionally will land sunny side up (though, of course, I doubt it) since that's the nature of reality. In fact, to honor the memory of the best friend I'm ever likely to have, I consciously make a point of not only hoping it lands sunny side up, I force myself to acknowledge there's usually a sunny side even when it doesn't.

[By the way, it's yin-yang, not ying-yang. A ying-yang is a commonly used expression, with variable meanings, that usually refers to one of one's naughtier bits.]


That said, the Donald has set about making America great again. He's chosen his cabinet secretaries and most are not the usual suspects. That is, his cabinet is top heavy with successful people from the real world and light on professional politicians and academics. Good.

It's said that his management style is similar to that of Lincoln and FDR -- encourage individuals with wildly different viewpoints to fight it out, he takes it all in, then he makes a decision. Also good.

He's issued a bunch of executive orders, most of which I like, some that I love, a few that creep me out. In acknowledgment of looking on the bright side, let me mention the two I love the most.

First, folks appointed to positions in The Gummit by the Donald can't cash in when they move on in that they are forbidden to become lobbyists for five years after leaving The Gummit. Also, they can't lobby on behalf of a foreign gummit, forever.

In my semi-humble opinion, this should be the law of the land, not an executive order that can be canceled by the next POTUS. And of course, this being The Gummit, there's a loophole. Lobbyists have to register as lobbyists. Call yourself a consultant instead of a lobbyist and you're off the hook. However, with tighter laws, and most importantly, congressional term limits, the people could still win. Get rid of professional legislators and "consultants" will instantly lose much of their clout.

[Another semi-humble opinion: Without congressional term limits we are doomed. I've mentioned this before, I'll mention it again.]

Second, a new rule for the rule makers. I speak of the unelected bureaucrats (and bureauons) of The Gummit. Specifically, the minions (of The Gummit"s 1,700,000,000 professional minions) that crank out the endless reams of rules and regs that keep the citizens of the land of the free in line.

For every new rule, two old rules must be canceled. Again, why ain't this the law of the land?

If you're curious about just how many rules The Gummit can come after you with, so am I. Google the phrase, "approximately how many rules has the federal government passed" or something like it and see what happens. If you can find what looks like a legitimate straight answer please email me at the flyoverlandcrank@gmail.com.

BIG BUT.

He's officially authorized the building of -- The Wall. Now, regardless of what you or any given one of my gentlereaders feels about immigrants, legal or otherwise, this is just dumb. I hope it's hyperbole, a negotiating tactic.

The only purpose a wall across the Mexican border will serve is as a temporary jobs program. Build it and they will come. Under, over, or around, they will come.

Then we'll have to build walls along the other three borders. Of course, beach front property will suddenly get dramatically cheaper. And, we could build the wall a hundred feet back from the water and create giant public beaches on both coasts extending from Canada to Mexico.

Wait a minute! What are we going to do about Alaska? Maybe that's why the Donald speaks highly of the Puteen. He's gonna' con him into building a wall on Russia's side of the Bering sea. Poppa loves you.


*NOTICE*     (I can dream can't I?)

Dear Undocumented/Illegal Aliens (U/IA),

If we catch you trying to sneak in, you're going home. Period.

No more sanctuaries. If you commit a crime, no matter how long you've been living here, you're going home. Let's make it clear that if you're a U/IA you don't get access to our safety nets. Keep this in mind, we're not kidding. We won't let you die because as a group, we're nice people. But once we patch you up, you're going home.

Sound harsh? You bet. But our conscience is clear.

Because we're going to finally acknowledge that almost no one wants to round up the U/IAs living here peacefully. We're gonna' admit that most of you have jobs that some of us, by necessity, have, but most of us don't want. We're going to admit the real unemployment rate is above 9%.

We're going to document you. All will be required to register, and if they can pass a criminal background check and have a job or are supported by someone that does, they will be given a red/white/blue card so we can find out who they are and make them legal -- maybe, eventually, citizens.

Once legally registered, you will have access to our safety nets. However, if you're not registered and we catch you, you're outta' here. Once registered you won't be deported for criminal acts, just punished like our native born bad guys, but will never become a citizen.

Registered, seasonal migrant workers, who can pass criminal background checks, will be permitted but will have no access to public safety nets and will be instantly deported if it's discovered they're not registered. Social services to be supplied by any legal charity or employer that wishes to do so.

Sincerely,
Uncle Sam

Have an OK day.


[P.S. Gentlereaders, for 25¢ a week, no, seriously, for 25¢ a week you can become a Patron of this weekly column and help to prevent an old crank from running the streets at night in search of cheap thrills and ill-gotten gains.

If there are some readers out there that think my shtuff is worth a buck or three a month, color me honored, and grateful. Regardless, if you like it, could you please share it? There are buttons at the end of every column.]


©2017 Mark Mehlmauer   (The Flyoverland Crank)

If you're reading this on my website (where there are tons of older columns, a glossary, and other goodies) and if you wish to react (way cooler than liking) -- please scroll down.

This is What (Direct) Democracy Looks Like (Part Two)

(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 & Great-Grandstickies,

A bit of a review. In part one I stated my support for the electoral college, an ingenious invention that prevents the citizens of a cluster of megalopolises from ruling the entire nation. By extension, this forces a given candidate to craft a message (and stop by to say hello) that appeals to folks in sparsely populated states.

I brought/bring this up because one of the symptoms of the innocent victims of Trump Derangement Syndrome (TDS), a currently active strain of Global Whining Disease (GWD), is a fixation with the fact that the Hilliam triumphed over the Donald by almost 3,000,000 votes. That's a lot of votes.

BIG BUT.

If not for the electoral college system, if we were a direct democracy, the Hilliam would be living in the White House again and an outbreak of Clinton Derangement Syndrome (CDS), yet another strain of GWD, would no doubt be loose in the world.

The Trumpets would be jumping up and down and pointing out, at every opportunity, that the fate of the entire country had been determined by the citizens of a handful of our largest cities. We would still be knee deep in controversy.

The Infotainment Industrial Complex would still be doing what it does best. That is -- fanning flames, oversimplifying, and giving a bullhorn to anybody willing to work themselves into a near frenzy by playing the us v. them game in front of a camera. Infotainment and ratings are much more profitable (and fun) than reason, truth, and virtue. Ask the Donald. Anyway, we would still be subject to endless whining, debate, and punditry.

A large country where everyone is subject to the whims of the citizens of it's largest cities would be a direct democracy, but would it be a truly democratic country? Short answer -- no. Also, any given kid on the playground grasps that if you want any other given kid or kids to play with you and/or to avoid black eyes and/or shunning, perhaps even banishment, two universal social conventions must be recognized. The importance of fairness in general and respect for the rules of the game in particular.

I could sit in front of this keyboard and speculate on the subject of fairness till it's finally warm enough for the stink bugs to flee the premises in search of food and sex (have fun, see ya' when you get back!). While I could easily assemble a defensible case as to why we're obsessed with fairness, what is fair, in any given situation, is the labor of a lifetime.

However, for our immediate purposes, all that's needed is to acknowledge that fair is always profoundly important because it's hard wired. That the rules must be known and agreed to, before the game, by everyone involved. Most importantly, the rules can't be changed in the middle of the game, only after, and only for the next game. The Donald is the president, all the instant replays have failed to change the outcome of the game. There's another big game in two years. In the meantime, let us enjoy the most popular "reality" show yet devised.

Deep breath.

Retroactive rule changing is potentially a capital offense. I mentioned in part one that the founders, aware of the constant danger of a tyranny of the majority (51%  voting to delete the other 49%), set up our playground as a republic, a representative democracy, to avoid this and other threats to the life and liberty of politically/socially/morally/etc. incorrect individuals.

I'm a bleeding heart libertarian. I didn't vote for either the Donald or the Hilliam. My candidate was quietly crushed. The Steelers lost. There's something wrong with both vans. I'm going to return to my crappy day job after several weeks of often painful physical therapy that will enable me to return to my crappy day job.

But I will maintain an (imperfect) attitude of gratitude, because I'm not only a grup, I've ascended the heights and become a Sexy Seasoned Citizen (SSC). I know that no matter how bad (or good) it seems to be at any given moment there's a meteorite out there with my name on it and one of these days it will find me.

While I'm waiting I'll keep picturing the picture I saw of a Syrian refugee family huddled together in a freezing, abandoned factory somewhere in Eastern Europe, hoping for a chance to sneak into Western Europe. Not welcome where they were, where they would like to be, nor even back in the Middle East by their fellow practitioners of The Religion of Peace, they hang on. Poppa loves you.


[But all is not lost. Patience. Patience snowflakes, social justice warriors, alt.right types of all stripes and members in good standing of the International Union of Professional Perpetually Protesting Protestors & Professional Victims of This, That and the Other Thing. Direct democracy is just around the corner. We've got social media. We're constantly developing new ways of being in contact, and staying continuously entertained, without actually having to actually talk to each other in real life.

We've got Twitter!

I have a mental image of millions of Americans and billions of Earthlings, standing on platforms that pop up and down as trap doors snap open and closed like jack-in-the-boxes. Everyone is busy yelling at everyone else. You don't have to make any sense, the point is to keep yelling. This is direct democracy. We're all part of a globe-spanning town hall and the idea is to yell something clever or ignorant enough (it doesn't really matter) to get a bunch of people to notice you and then yell what you yelled, at someone else.

The dead white guys that set up our playground were worried we'd devolve into endlessly bickering factions of the like-minded. We're already past that. We're becoming factions of one. That's a direct democracy for ya'!

Have an OK day.


[P.S. Gentlereaders, for 25¢ a week, no, seriously, for 25¢ a week you can become a Patron of this weekly column and help to prevent an old crank from running the streets at night in search of cheap thrills and ill-gotten gains.

If there are some readers out there that think my shtuff is worth a buck or three a month, color me honored, and grateful. Regardless, if you like it, could you please share it? There are buttons at the end of every column.]


©2017 Mark Mehlmauer   (The Flyoverland Crank)

If you're reading this on my website (where there are tons of older columns, a glossary, and other goodies) and if you wish to react (way cooler than liking) -- please scroll down.

This is What (Direct) Democracy Looks Like (Part One)

(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 & Great-Grandstickies,

A significant aspect of the apparently never-ending kerfuffle over the Donald's surprising triumph, since the Hilliam won the popular vote, is/was the current revival of the apparently never-ending kerfuffle over whether or not we should close the electoral college and send the students packing.

Is/was? Yes, because while the electoral college is/was a major thing, for a minute, to those that refuse to accept that the Donald is now the POTUS, it's now a minor thing, but, still a thing. The thing of the week (which will probably be ancient history by the time this column moves out of the house) is crediting the Putin (Russians) with stealing the election for the Donald.

1.29.17 Yup, Russian interference has finished it's solo and is now sitting with the rest of the band. The current solo is being performed by the maestro himself. The Donald has added an avalanche of executive orders to his repertoire that he performs while simultaneously tweeting with his free hand. Trump derangement syndrome is loose on social media. The progressive industrial complex is fact checking and op-eding itself into a near incoherent frenzy.

[Aside:Two points. If the Putin Pooteen has the power to pick our POTUS, he's even more clever and diabolical than I thought. Imagine having the ability to tweak our presidential election in light of the fact that we have no national election system in place. The rules governing the popular vote, as well as those that determine which kids will be briefly enrolled in electoral college, are determined by the individual states.

Various and sundry denizens of the Gubmint Gummit have declared their intention to discover how the Pooteen and his malevolent minions managed to manipulate the election results. Personally, I'd like to know if the fact that the Donald decisively lost the popular vote but decisively won at electoral college was a fluke or part of the conspiracy.

Point two. Henceforth, the entity formerly known as the Gubmint will now be called the Gummit. The dastardly dictator formerly known as the Putin will now be called the Pooteen. I've decided I prefer the Gummit to the Gubmint because it rolls off the tongue easier, suggests that the Gummit gums things up, and will enable me to use the phrase dadgum Gummit, if I so choose. (I haven't heard back yet from the R&D department.) 

The Pooteen, in my semi-humble opinion, SOUNDS like an amoral, self-declared czar who thinks nothing of killing off his opponents or any innocent civilians that happen to get in the way.

{Aside to the aside: as regular readers know, or should/will if they remain regulars, I'm all about (among other things) restoring societal civility and protecting/respecting the power of words. I do this by employing my fiendishly clever strategery of avoiding overly harsh words by inventing and/or remodeling and/or substitution. For example, shtuff is much less harsh than shit but more powerful than stuff if you know who its parents are. Dadgum is several orders of magnitude less harsh than God d__n, a phrase so ugly I refuse to write it. (I keep it in a heavily fortified vault and reserve its use for only the most extreme situations.)}]

Dana, my imaginary gentlereader, threatened to resign if I didn't insert this link before moving on. It's a commentary on my aside, and the inordinate pleasure on my part derived from having an aside to my aside.   

And we're back. Thanks, Dana, for at least as long as the link continues to link to something (yet another reason to use links sparingly). The wisdom of giving the electoral college the final word on presidential elections is often attacked as not being democratic. However, as you've probably heard, due to our current demographic situation, without it the entire country would be at the mercy of the population of a handful of our largest cities.

Being well versed in history, the nature of man people, and aware of what was going on in other playgrounds on the planet, the dead white guys who created the rules for our playground went out of their way to come up with a system superior to the typical, crash-prone, direct democracy and we ended up with a relatively robust republic.

Which brings us to the subject of this column, Twitter.

[At this point Dana, Iggy (imaginary grandsticky), and Marie-Louise (my muse), all looked up, startled, from yet another game of Monopoly (it's become a thing) and gave me a look. As you were, sez I, all will soon be revealed.]

I'm talking about all forms of social media really, including the traditional ones, but I choose to focus on Twitter to simplify things.

The founders gave us a republic (representative democracy) to get around the obvious downsides of rule by mob. For example, 51% of us getting together and voting to kill the other 49%. Our republic consists of three power centers that are supposed to "check and balance" each other so that we would have to go to a lot of trouble, at least technically speaking, to commit genocide.

Pre-op stop. Poppa loves you.

It is at this point, Stickies and gentlereaders, that I must apologize and beg your forgiveness. I had a shiny new hip installed last Monday (1.23.17) and the pre-op stop above was as far as this column had progressed before I checked into the hospital. I write my shtuff fairly close to deadline.

Though I knew there would be a part two, it was my intention to write at least a couple of more closely related paragraphs while convalescing this past week. However, while I'm doing well overall, I've been more or less reduced to a semi-zombie with no ambition, less energy. My daily physical therapy and fussing over my swollen hip and leg is nearly all I'm capable of just now. Oh, I also spend time forcing myself to eat (that's a novel experience) and choke down my meds and supplements. The good news is I've watched a bunch of movies and documentaries. Reading (GASP! say it ain't so!) makes me sleepy.

It's taken me all week to write everything after pre-op stop. My energy levels are slowly returning and I hope to have part two done in time but fear not, there's a backup plan if things get ugly.

Have an OK day.