Before I Wake Up Dead

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.

[Blogaramians: Blogarama renders the links in my columns useless. Please click on View original (above↑) to solve the problem/access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My sublime, drop-dead gorgeous muse (right shoulder) and back scratcher

Iggy -- Designated Sticky

Dana -- Designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

"Some people die at 25 and aren't buried until 75." -Benjamin Franklin

DANGER!

Possibly Excessive Self Promotion Ahead

Dear (eventual) Stickies & Great-Grandstickies,

Please hold on for just a sec', I've got to speak to the gentlereaders first...

My Dear Gentlereaders, FYI, my website, TheFlyoverlandCrank.com is not only -- New and Improved! -- it's still improving even as I write this. First, the Please Read This If You're New Here Tab is now called, Who Is This Guy Anyway?

If you've read Please Read This If You're New Here before, well, it hasn't radically changed but it now explains who I am and what this column is about more clearly and might be worth a reread on your part.

If you've never checked out my site it's definitely worth reading my -- New and Improved! -- introductory essay, Who Is This Guy Anyway? It's only the length of about two of my average columns but it attempts to provide my gentlereaders with the who, what, and why of my semi-humble missives.

The Glossary is updated, expanded (and ever expanding). This is where you need to look for explanations when you encounter a made-up word, be it my creation or one I stole borrowed from someone else. You'll also find the explanations behind corrupted/distorted/etceterated words such as shtuff or snifficant or etceterated.

I think it's worth reading for its own sake (You'll Laugh! You'll Cry!) but I don't get out that much.

There are two brand new tabs (you may have read about them in The New York Times or heard them mentioned on your favorite polarizing cable news channel).

Come On And Safari With Me, a title stolen borrowed from a Beach Boys song, Surfin' Safari, is where I post links to interesting shtuff I find when I surf the Web. Though obviously a thinly veiled attempt to get you to visit my website to check for updates, I pinky swear that I will do my best to post cool links there.

I used to post these sort of links on the Flyoverland Crank's Facebook page. Going forward I'll only use the FB page to announce new columns and post links to Wall (no fake news) Street Journal articles, the only way to share WSJ articles due to a very sturdy paywall.

Finally, the new Privy Council of Perspicacious Polymaths tab lists the names of the individuals chosen to be members of my privy council once I become the King of America. Each name is accompanied by a video that will introduce my future subjects to my favorite polymaths.

Warning!

The format of my website contradicts the conventional wisdom of  people that make a very nice living advising other people how to make a very nice living by constructing their websites to be honey traps for people who don't like to read and/or whose attention spans have been reduced to the level of high functioning chimpanzees due to the pace of modern life and social media addiction. This is why so much of the web is beautiful graphics, minimal words, sexed-up titles, bums and boobies, and aggressive never-ending, advertising. I offer mostly just words, and no ads.

Now, where was I... oh, yeah waking up dead. Dear (eventual) Stickies & Great-Grandstickies...

Death Is Natures Way of Telling You to Slow Down

...And although this saying of uncertain etymology is only vaguely relevant to what follows I threw it anyway because I like it and want to use it somewhere before I die. 

Although I currently self-identify as a 39-year-old drop dead gorgeous African-American lesbian woman person named Coco, I'm trapped inside the body of a 64-year-old cranky white dude who's currently dealing with spinal stenosis.

Spinal stenosis (sounds ugly don't it?) generated problems range from relatively mild to relatively awful. For now, I'm at the relatively mild end of the scale. That could change with time, but I'm on it.

The reason I mention this is because I've been mildly obsessed with death for couple-a-three years now because, one, for the first time in my life I had/I have some serious health problems and two, I know a lot of dead people. Oh, and an awful lot of famous people that I've been aware of for decades are dropping dead.

As to number one, yes, of course I'm grateful. As to number two, yes, of course, I'm aware that people succumbing to involuntary dirt naps with depressing regularity is a logical/inevitable/commonsensical/etceterical stone cold fact. No need to take it personally, right?

For the record, while I don't want to die just yet -- I've got a bunch of shtuff I need/I'd like to get done -- I don't fear death. In fact, I'm kinda/sorta looking forward to it for philosophical reasons, positive ones that I won't go into here. But, I must admit that the possibility of dying slowly and painfully is somewhat disconcerting.


Now, when I say mildly obsessed, I mean just that. It's always sort of there, in the background, like a simmering pot of subtle potpourri.  A simmering pot of subtle potpourri... say it out loud with a French accent. Cool, huh? Well, not exactly, because I hate the smell of a simmering pot of potpourri. Subtle -- or as strong as a house full of Glade Plug-Ins cranked all the way up -- I'll pass.

But I fell in love with the simile as soon as I wrote it so it's probably going to still be here when I click on the Publish button.

While I don't sit around all day thinking about death (though I do sit around all day, it's a stenosis thing) I'm, um, TRIGGERED! that's it!, something for the Millennials to relate to. I'm triggered when I'm reminded of my inevitable deletion from meatspace.


Until relatively recently, I thought I was bulletproof, ten feet tall, and going to live forever. The realization that I'm not is one of the reasons I started writing these letters/this column.

However, the death of Tom Petty + spinal stenosis + siblings in worse shape than I + the fact that the Wompa Woman can't be bothered to do her exercises anymore + other shtuff = Cranky cranking out a column (or two or...) and writing down everything he'd tell his beloved Stickies if he knew he was scheduled for momentary deletion...

[Dana: Huh?]
[Iggy; Tom who?]
[Marie-Louise, stops scratching, places hands on hips (hers, not mine): French accent?]

While fervently hoping I'm not. But ya' never know, ya' know?


Having already crossed the 1,000-word threshold due to my intemperate self-promotion, it's too late to thoroughly explore the very first thing that came to mind when I thought about what I'd like to make sure I told yinz if I were facing impending deletion.

That is to say, the importance of finding positive meaning in life/in your lives.

However, rather than just leave you hanging, here's a taste of what's coming next week

A few weeks ago I wrote about Hope and/or Goals (Heavenly Graces, Pt. 3). I mentioned that there are physiological reasons for why goal seeking makes you feel good. Well, in order to find positive meaning in your life, you need a goal that you find valuable. The pursuit of goals will make you feel good and supply meaning which will make you feel even better.

See, the thing is...well here, step into Dr. Peterson's class for just a minute. Poppa loves you.

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.

Faith and/or Trust (Heavenly Graces, Pt. 4)

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.

[Bloggaramians: Blogarama renders the links in my columns useless. Please click on View original (above↑) to solve the problem/access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My sublime, drop-dead gorgeous muse (right shoulder) and back scratcher 

Iggy -- Designated Sticky

Dana -- Designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

"I have great faith in fools; self-confidence my friends call it." -Edgar Allen Poe. I wonder if his mom or his friends called him Eddie?

Dear (eventual) Stickies & Great-Grandstickies, 

"Faith is the infused virtue, by which the intellect, by a movement of the will, assents to the supernatural truths of Revelation,.. ."

"...Faith, to honor one's community of business. "...also the faith to build monuments to the glorious past, to sustain traditions of commerce, of learning... ."

The first quote above is how Wikipedia defines Faith, theologically speaking.

The second is a secularized version, Faith applied to that most secular of sectors, business and/or the marketplace. It's from an essay (as you already know if you're not new here) written by Dr. Deirdre McCloskey. 


This is my last letter/column/whatever this is (well, for now at least) of a series in which I attempt to apply the Theological Virtues (or -- SOUND OF HARP BEING STRUMMED -- the Heavenly Graces) in a secular way.

For newbies, the Theological Virtues were presented to me as part of a package deal called the Seven Virtues when I was but wee lad attending Catholic grade school several thousand days ago in the Black & White Ages.

For oldbies who aren't aware, and those who read me via the dead trees format and who tend to be a bit techno-shy, when one blogs writes a weekly column on the web you have to be aware that with a potential audience of 7,500,000,000 ya' gotta allow for the fact that newbies are going to stumble on your semi-humble missives.

Since my readership is slightly smaller than that I think it's just good form to allow for it. Also, I have readers that are even older than I am and who, like me, suffer from CRS (can't remember, um, shtuff).


Now, the reason I'm doing Faith last is that Faith is well, Faith. At the risk of being accused of having a keen eye for the obvious, let me explain. To me at least, and yes I realize this doesn't necessarily apply to you, the word Faith is heavily associated with Faith in/fear of God. 

In my defense, when I did an eight-year bit in Catholic grade school in the Black & White Ages the teachers were mostly nuns -- the old fashion/old school/back in the day kind -- with theological/ideological/occasionally psychopathological hair on their carefully concealed chests.

Faith in God, as conceived by the Catholic Church, was literally beaten into me. For the record, as far as I can tell, the lasting marks are mostly good ones. Corporal punishment usually consisted of a crack on the palm with a ruler, and was usually deserved.  

But I also suspect that the nearly daily reminders that if I died with a major league unconfessed sin on my soul -- e.g., missing Sunday mass for any reason other than a potentially lethal illness -- might result in eternal damnation, may have had a slightly negative impact.  


OK, Faith... hmm, let's see, um... nothing. OK, Faith, as applied to um, oh yeah! that supremely secular sector mentioned in the second sentence of this missive, business. 

"...Faith, to honor one's community of business. "...also the faith to build monuments to the glorious past, to sustain traditions of commerce, of learning... ."

I've been "in business," twice, once mildly successfully. I was the owner-operator of an ice cream truck, thank you for not laughing. In fact, several years prior to that, I worked for Good Humor when they were in the process of phasing out of street vending. For those of you in the know, I watched the (old school) slideshow, aced the test, and was taught how to peddle popsicles and drive a stick shift by a corporate employee.

A more recent attempt, but one that's now far enough behind me that I can mention it without having an anxiety attack, something I attempted in a storefront, was an utter failure. However, the failure taught me some invaluable lessons. Actually, that statement is incorrect. They weren't invaluable lessons, but they were very expensive lessons. In fact, I know exactly how much they cost. 


In certain circles, business/the free market/capitalism/etceterism is oft-maligned and frequently scapegoated. This is in spite of the fact that the world has recently (relatively speaking...) stumbled into what Dr. McCloskey calls the Great Enrichment: an age of literally unprecedented prosperity powered by the usual suspects listed in the previous sentence. However...    

[What's that got to do with Faith, your garrulousness?]

Hey, Dana. Well, there's a lot of applied Faith going on in the market, in fact, without it I suspect there wouldn't have been a Great Enrichment and most H. sapiens would still be living the life of 99.999% of their ancestors. That is, "...solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short." (HT: Thomas Hobbes). Not even basic cable; no need for a weight loss industry. How would -- Hi, I'm Marie! -- feed all those adopted kids? 


Now, when I was a Good Humor Man Person, a "Goody Bar Man Person" (it's a Pittsburgh with an h thing), although most of the gajillion relatively tiny political entities that surround Pittsburgh that would be all be Pittsburgh if Pittsburgh was located in say, Texas, and would be both more efficiently and more cheaply run because...

[Marie-Louise is giving me the stink eye.]

Sorry, that's a different letter. Anyways... because Good Humor, which was founded in Youngstown, Ohio, which is, by the way, less than 70 miles from Pittsburgh with an h...

[Cough, cough.]

Sorry, when I was a Good Humor Person, my kids -- every Good Humor Person referred to the customers on their carefully established and maintained route as "my kids" -- my kids, and their parental units, had Faith that my goody bars wouldn't send them to the emergency room.

That is, they Trusted me. Trust, is applied Faith.

Good Humor's "sustained traditions of commerce," were safe to eat, yummy goody bars delivered to your street at roughly the same time and on the same days (weather permitting and romances under control) by um, mostly relatively normal, hygienic individuals (and the occasional, um, slightly eccentric citizen).

The customers Trusted that I would show up when I was supposed to, sell them a product that was only slightly misrepresented by the perfect images displayed on the menu boards (hey, talk to the marketing people...) and not shortchange the kids.

[That's your idea of applied Trust? The local ice cream truck driver? Have you met our...]

No, Dana, I haven't. He stopped coming around fairly early in the season because after experiencing his ridiculous prices, crappy product, and vaguely menacing air a time or two, nobody Trusted him and the kids started abusing him -- from a careful distance. No Trust, no sales. No Trust, no relationship. No Trust, no...

[Well I still think...]

Dana, are you aware that when eBay first started, before they built their rating system, that people could hire a middlema..., uh, middleperson, to broker the deal because it was assumed that customers would send rubber checks for non-existent merchandise?

They all went out of business, very quickly. If lots of people had sent rubber checks for non-existing merchandise eBay would've gone out of business, very quickly. This shtuff has a way of working itself out, very quickly.

Doveryai, no proveryai is a Russian proverb that means Trust, but verify. Google: Reagan, Ronald. I can assure you that...

[What's that got to do with anything? and what about relationships? I Trusted someone that I was supposed to marry. I arranged my whole life around this fact and one day woke up next to a stranger who was in short order, gone.]

But it might have worked out, and that's as good as it gets. If you hadn't taken the chance, there wouldn't have been anything to work out. You learn your lessons, lick your wounds, live to love another day. Or not, but I don't recommend it. No Trust, no Faith, no -- anything. Poppa loves you.

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.

Hope and/or Goals (Heavenly Graces, Pt. 3)

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.

[Bloggaramians: Blogarama renders the links in my columns useless. Please click on View original (above↑) to solve the problem/access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My sublime, drop-dead gorgeous muse (right shoulder) and back scratcher 

Iggy -- Designated Sticky

Dana -- Designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

"Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow." -Einstein


Dear (eventual) Stickies & Great-Grandstickies,

Wikipedia: "Hope is defined as a Divinely infused virtue, acts upon the will, by which one trusts, with confidence grounded on the Divine assistance, to attain life everlasting. Its opposite is the sin of despair."

"...the Hope to imagine a better machine. "...to infuse the day's work with a purpose, seeing one's labor as a glorious calling... ."

The first quote above is Wikipedia's theological definition of the Theological Virtue, Hope, one of the three Theological Virtues (or Heavenly Graces). 

The second is a secularized version of Hope, as posited by Dr. Deirdre McCloskey. Dr. M., my favorite economist, and future member (once I assume power) of King Crank's Privy Council of Perspicacious Polymaths. 

If you're new here, or even if you're not, and like me, your memory ain't what it used to be, this is the third of a series of columns about the three Theological Virtues. 

To be more specific, it's my semi-humble attempt at offering a secular version of these three particular virtues that are part of something that I was taught was a very big deal, The Seven Virtues. Of course, this was several thousand days ago in the Black & White ages, so...   

I decided to use Dr. McCloskey's quote(s) as a demonstration of how the Theological Virtues can easily be translated into secular ones in all four parts of this series of columns. I did this because they're all from an article she wrote about The Magnificent Seven applied to the marketplace, the world of business -- a notoriously secular sector. 


[Dana awakes. Nice introduction, but, um, Hope as a Virtue? I don't get it. You either have hope, or you don't, regardless of the subject in question. I stopped hoping my boss would extract his head from his bum a long time ago. On the other hand...]

She wore a glove?

[Don't be an eembaasle, and don't interrupt me with corny jokes that are even older than you are. I was going to say that on the other hand, I Hope that if I keep looking I'll find a better job. But I can't choose to be hopeful. Aren't you the one that said you can't choose to love? How can you choose to be hopeful? 

And for the record, your habit of capitalizing words that don't need capitalizing, and no shortage of your other goofy writing practices, gets on my nerves.]

For my record, my goofy writing practices are part of my eccentric charm. Also, before I forget, eembaasle (accent on the first syllable) is how a native Colombian character from the Netflix drama Narcos pronounced imbecile when I was watching it the other day. It was love at first hearing, with the word, not the character.

If any of my gentlereaders find my usage, spelling, and pronunciation of eembaasle triggers anyone I insincerely apologize. I love the sound of it for its own sake and I'd love it just as much if it were used by an Eskimo. I love it the same way I love the fact Buggs Bunny says maroon instead of moron. The way an Irish character, in a show I can't remember the name of, said eejit instead of idiot.

After all, Dana's right, you can't choose to love, or not. You do or you don't. Besides, hooplehead remains my go-to word in this category.


In Last week's column, I pointed out that love can be elevated to a Virtue when it's applied across the board in a practical, realistic fashion. When it's used as a tool to help you get along with the other kids on the playground. When you try to treat everyone on the planet the same way you'd like to be treated, even my second favorite dictator, Xi Dada.

"...we're talkin' big picture conceptualization here people. Think of Charity as love in action, applied love." -me

And, while we're kinda/sorta on the subject...

I should've also mentioned two other things. Good manners are a form of love in that they make it possible to at least try to communicate with hoopleheads without the situation immediately deteriorating into something like the lowest common denominator Infotainment that pours out of your primary and mobile rectangle (largest TV and smartphone).

Also, watch your back and don't be a sap. Masochism as a fallback position in any and all situations is not a good idea. Save it for... well, nevermind, that's really none of my business. Anyway, consider them mentioned.


Sorry, it's not you, it's me. Where was I? In last week's column... yadda, yadda, yadda... Oh! I know! As Charity (or even just good manners) is applied Love and becomes a Virtue when universally applied (as opposed to huffa-huffa, I love you, I've got to have you baby!), A Goal is applied Hope. It doesn't work as well a Love/Charity, semantically speaking, but it's close enough.

"...the Hope to imagine a better machine. "...to infuse the day's work with a purpose, seeing one's labor as a glorious calling... ."

See it? Steve Jobs, at least from what I gather (surprisingly enough we never met), was a Dick. 

[Mon Dieu!] 

Sorry Marie-Louise, none of the insults above apply, he was a genius after all... Anyways, he had a Goal, to make a bunch of existing machines better and change the world. Sure, Apple's shtuff is overpriced, and whether or not smartphones made the world better or worse is debatable, but let us not quibble. Lots of people love Apple's products. 

Also, they enable the cool kids to help boost our economy with a product that costs more than some people on the planet make in a year, while still looking down on the evil 1%, while they ignore the inconvenient truth that globally speaking if you live in America you are a member of the evil 1%. (Which helps to explain why all sorts of people would give up a body part of lesser importance to live here in spite of our evil tendencies.) 

Consider the often derided fast food joint manager ("a burger flipper with a tie in a skirt") who started on the line and whose Goal is to climb the corporate ladder so his her family can live decently and who may not even like his her job all that much. But her applied Hope, her Goal, will benefit her kids, that di... dope she's married to, and potentially, you. She busts her buns to supply you with the experience her employer (and you) Hopes you'll have so that everyone involved gets to keep their job.


Finally, consider the phrase, Hopes and dreams. Dreams are good. However, if you want a dream to come true, convert it into a Hope. Why? Hope, applied Hope, is how to make a dream come true. How? Turn your Hope into a Goal. Change the world. Be Virtuous. 

Free Bonus! A Fun Fact For No Additional Charge!  

If you have a goal, every time you execute a step towards it your body rewards you with a treat, a shot of dopamine. the happy hormone. However, once you reach your goal, this stops. This is why the buzz from reaching your goal doesn't last. You're gonna' need a lot of goals if you want to be happy. Poppa loves you.

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.