Nattionalism (Before I Wake Up Dead, Pt. 5)

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 beautiful muse (right shoulder) and back scratcher 

Iggy -- Designated Sticky

Dana -- Designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

"A good nationalism has to depend on a principle of the common people, on myths of a struggling commonality. " -Andrew O'Hagan

Dear (eventual) Stickies & Great-Grandstickies,

Let's review.

This is part five of a series of columns about what I what I would want to make sure I've told you if I knew that my deletion from meatspace was imminent. The first barely introduced the concept after beginning with some shameless self-promotion of my -- NEW and IMPROVED! -- website.

Parts two and three were about finding meaning and happiness in life and I've noticed they kinda/sorta bleed into each other. That's OK, that's how it works in real life. This finding meaning/happiness/contentment/etceterament shtuff is probably the primary theme you'll find threading through all my letters/columns.

Parts two and three are a combination of distilled shtuff from previous columns combined with a not so secret ingredient -- things I've thought about/learned about/heard about/etceterabout -- since they were originally published. There's another lesson I'd have you learn, inspired by the previous sentence. "Pay attention and you'll learn something new and interesting every day" -me. "Pay attention and speak carefully." -Jordan B. Peterson

Part four was about the effect of the ubiquitous internet on a culture already in distress. It was also supposed to introduce my version of (soft) nationalism but I didn't get that far as once I got going on my Global/Local Paradox theory... well, you know how I get.

Now I'm going to explain what I mean by (soft) nationalism and segue into politics. The Republic is currently saturated with politics and the rain shows no sign of slowing anytime soon. Here's hoping that by the time my great-grandstickies read this we've become obsessed with something else.

Mars would be cool. Man Personkind needs geographic frontiers to nurture heroes and provide clean slates (tablet computers reset to factory defaults?) and geographic cures for the damaged/stumbled/fallen.

Soft Nationalism (and a major digression, right out of the gate...)

I don't know where I first heard the phrase soft nationalism but I knew immediately what it meant to me. More on that in just a sec'. Permit me to dispose of the digression first.

Before I started this letter I went a-googling to discover what others mean when they use this phrase. As I suspected, there's no generally accepted definition. I only bring this up because of a well written, soundly reasoned article I found that was written by someone who is clearly smarter than I.

The bad news is that I was about 3/4s of the way through the article when a rhetorical rattlesnake jumped out from behind a rock and tried to bite me.

Long story short, up until that point the author was talking about various versions of nationalism without staking out a firm position. Suddenly he revealed he was a hardcore nationalist, a Nazi in fact (though he never used that word), and then started beating up on the Jews. I didn't finish.

I did scroll back to the beginning and discovered he was part of some organization that advocates for this, that, and the other for "white Europeans." Yikes! I...

[There's a point here, somewhere, right?]

Yes, Dana, in fact...

Ooooh! thanks, Marie-Louise, that feels great, ahhh...

[Marie-Louise has no time for bigots in general or Nazis in particular. She knows where I'm going and is applying a motivational back scratch as opposed to a back scratch reward. Iggy, who is studying the Nazis in school just now, is actually interested in what I'm on about for a change and following closely.]

Where was I? Oh, yeah, the point. The point, my Dear Stickies is a straightforward riff on my pay attention and you'll learn something new and interesting everyday maxim. You've got to pay close attention to avoid someone slipping something by you. What would I have you learn, Dorothies? Intelligence/sophistication/education/etceteration are often used by evil eejits as camouflage.

And now, finally, King Crank's take on nationalism.

Soft Nationalism

Soft nationalism, as defined by me, is the middle ground betwixt Hard nationalism and no (everyone gets a participation trophy) nationalism. However, discovering and maintaining the golden mean in this, or any other matter, can be complicated. Just ask Goldilocks.  

Wikipedia has an excellent article about nationalism that does a good job of explaining that there are myriad forms of it practiced in myriad ways. A couple of sentences that caught my eye are "Nationalism therefore seeks to preserve the nation's culture. It also involves a sense of pride in the nation's achievements, and is closely linked to the concept of patriotism." Quite, but the devil lives in a comfortable condo in the details. 

Rather than provide a firm definition of King Crank's Soft Nationalism, at least just yet, permit me to beat up on Hard and No nationalism first.

Hard Nationalism

Ethnic cleansing, tribalism taken to its logical extreme, comes immediately to mind.  

We're all tribal to one degree or another, even those that claim they're not. It's a survival/evolutionary phenomenon. The group is much stronger and much more likely to survive and much more likely to replicate than the individual. Millions of years of evolving and clawing our way to the top of the food chain has literally wired this into our brains. 

[If you subscribe to creationism, God did it. The bottom line is the same. Taking out a wooly mammoth or the infidels one valley over takes teamwork.] 

However, like any good tool, it all depends on how you use it. You can use a hammer to rebuild homes damaged or destroyed by one of this year's hurricanes or indulge your inner serial killer and make it your go-to weapon of choice. 

[Construction worker by day, killer by night -- The Hammerer! A Netflix original series.]

Hard nationalism is when one group of kids on the playground gets together and decides to shun/restrict/enslave/kill all the kids that don't belong to their group. Which verb they embrace makes all the difference. There's a lot of variabilities possible betwixt shun and kill.

It comes about from some variation/combination of multiple forces such as perceived threats/resentments/revenge/domination/etceteration.

Regardless, the big-honkin' fly in the ointment is that hard nationalism is like being sentenced to spending your life in seventh grade in a same-sex boarding school. There's us, there's them. Tolerance is for losers.

No Nationalism

No nationalism is, "It's like, all relative, man." All cultures/religions/political systems/morality/lifestyles/economic systems are equally valid. Who are we to judge? And borders? borders are just imaginary lines.  




.Who are we to judge? We are the citizens of the nation states of the planet Earth. Once we're grups we look about us and decide if we're proud of our particular nation-state. What it was, what it is, and what it may become. 

"Nationalism therefore seeks to preserve the nation's culture. It also involves a sense of pride in the nation's achievements, and is closely linked to the concept of patriotism."

Those of us who are lucky enough to live in the relative handful of nations where the government serves at our pleasure can judge out loud without the fear that a Xi Dada, Dear Leader or a -- the Pooteen -- type will disappear us.

This is the aspect of my culture, the American culture, that is most worthy of preserving, the right to bitch and moan. 

But since I grasp that I have to share the playground and since I was properly socialized when I was a young, self-centered primate I understand that all the other high functioning chimps have the right to bitch and moan. I understand that we have to compromise on a set of rules if the game is going to be any fun. Or even if there is going to be a game. 

America's culture, secret of success, and endless threat is that it's a culture of multiple cultures. Multiple cultures and no shortage of wild-eyed individualists in competition brings out the best, and worst, in us. 

Cultural friction can spark new ideas or start fires. We've done amazing things. We've done, and do, terrible things to each other. 

But having been blessed with plenty of room, lots of natural resources, and relative freedom (lots more for some than others, historically speaking) we've somehow managed to build the country that many, if not most, of the lean and hungry and brutalized of the world would sacrifice a body part of lesser importance for a chance to live in. To get their shot. To get fat.

That's my preferred form of nationalism, of American nationalism. 

I believe free trade, lots of carefully vetted immigrants, and competitive capitalism works the best for the most. 

I believe that crony capitalism -- abetted by The Gummit, epitomized by a 70,000 + page tax code, written and maintained by a parliament of whores who are hosting a party for the entire country (and you, my Dear Stickies, are going to get stuck with the bill) -- is what works best for the fewest.

[I know, gentlereaders, that the (alleged) tax reform that's about to pass, will in the short-term boost the economy. As for the long-term -- it will increase the debt, increase spending, grow the tax code and expires in ten years. Can kicking has become as American as apple pie.]  

I also believe in borders and a strong military for the same reason I believe in doors that lock and my local police department. I believe I am a garrulous geezer and politics will have to wait till next week. 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.

     

       





     

  

  

     

Cheap Speech (Before I Wake Up Dead, 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.

[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)

"Democracy is the road to Socialism." -Karl Marx

"Democracy is the art and science of running the circus from the monkey cage". -H.L. Mencken

Dear (eventual) Stickies & Great-Grankstickies,

Cheap speech. I (relatively) recently encountered this phrase for the first time in one of George Will's bi-weekly columns.

[Are you aware that bi-weekly can mean either once every two weeks, or, twice a week (as it's used here)? Apparently, Sister Mary McGillicuddy was wrong, nobody's in charge of the English language.]

Mr. Will's column, The Steep Cost of Cheap Speech, was about coping with life in the Dizzinformation Age. He makes reference to a Yale Journal article written 22 years ago by Eugene Volokh, who invented the phrase cheap speech. Mr. Volokh predicted that while the internet would make it much easier for everyone to communicate with everyone else, there would also be significant downsides. Good call.

Bad News - Good News

Now, obviously, I've no way of knowing how the current cultural chaos will have worked itself out by the time you're reading this, or even if it has.

In the meantime, my access to (potentially) 7,499,999,999 readers without having to go through a middlemanperson, is historically unprecedented. That's the good news.

[Not that there ain't, and always will be, ideological middlepersons attempting to save us from ourselves for our own sakes.

Xi Dadda and seemingly ever-growing cohorts of like-minded hardcore partisans in both of America's primary political parties come immediately to mind.]

The bad news, for me at least, is that I'm in competition with any number of the aforementioned 7,499,999,999 citizens of planet Earth for your attention as well as the attention of my current and potential gentlereaders.

The bad news, for all of us, is the tsunami of cheap speech the Dizzinformation Age has created. But everybody knows about that/talks about that/writes about that. What I'm going to explore is what I call the Local/Global Paradox.

[Wait-wait-wait, what about all the other problems created by the internet and other technologies?]

That's a book, Dana. Remember, this is a series of letters written to my beloved Stickies as if my deletion is imminent. I'm going to restrict myself to the Local/Global Paradox and what I call Soft Nationalism. Now, stand back and be amazed (or appalled...).

The Local/Global Paradox

The internet has obviously made the world smaller and more homogenized and made it possible for any given cranky geezer prone to Sesquipedalian Loquaciousness to park his wrinkled butt in front of a keyboard and unleash tidal waves of cheap speech upon the globe. 

However, the never-ending kerfuffles of the United Nations and the European Union, the Donald's willful misunderstanding of trade treaties and trade deficits, and the tendency of most of the kids on the playground to pick on North Korea's misunderstood Dear Leader would seem to indicate -- inhale -- when Marvin the Martian lands and demands to be taken to our leader, it's gonna' get ugly.

While the two preceding paragraphs do indeed present a paradox, it's not even the paradox I'm concerned about. Hoo-boy, a double paradox, this is why I told you to be prepared to be amazed!/appalled? (bemused?).   

The paradox I'm concerned about is the one illustrated by the fact that while we are the world, at least for the purposes of a certain soda pop manufacturer and various and sundry utopians -- locally speaking, and I'm speaking specifically of my native America here -- the net is turning us into a ginormous small town.


The typical American small town, the one that lives in the back of the psyches of all Citizens of the Republic (COR, yes, it's back) is a small town with certain characteristics. COR of a certain age may well be visualizing something like Bedford Falls, Flyoverland, USA. Younger COR are more likely to be visualizing something like Potterville (with smartphones). Heavy sigh.

[Note to Iggy, google: It's a Wonderful Life when you get home (the gang is out doing their Christmas shopping).]

Now, being a small town there's at least one absurdly rich family and/or bitter, twisted, greedy patriarch. Being a small town, everyone thinks they know almost everyone else in spite of the fact most of them don't know themselves very well.

Being a small town, everyone keeps an eye on everyone else. People being people, there's no shortage of gossip, speculation, envy, and judgment.

People being people, there's no shortage of sins and crime. The kind they lock you up for and/or the kind that keep you from getting into heaven.


The ginormous town called America has three neighborhoods. Although they're geographically diffused, ideologically speaking they're easily identifiable. The Left Side, The Right Side and Middletown (pronounced mid'-el-ton). 

Instead of Henry F. Potter, we have the 1%. Just like the character in the wonderful movie, the 1% is portrayed in an over-simplified, black and white fashion because everyone knows of a Henry F. Potter type and can relate. 

Of course reality, as always, is complicated. For example, most of the Henry F. Potter types I've known/know range from almost successful to reasonably successful. There just aren't that many people in the world that are lifestyles of the Rich and Famous successful (LRF). 

Interestingly -- many of them that are seem to be entertainers of one sort or another who have been made LRF rich by members of the 99% willingly tossing a few dollars at them for what are often second-rate (or worse) performances.

Ironically -- many of these same entertainers, who have gotten absurdly rich for being pretty and/or good at playing pretend and/or singing and dancing and the like -- love throwing mud at other absurdly rich people that work 80 hour weeks and can't ever have enough money and who clearly have psychological problems. 

But as a group, the psychopathologies of the former tend to dwarf the psychopathologies of the latter. However, even that is worth money considering that the reporting of the extremely lucrative Famous and Famous For Being Famous industry is famous for their lurid stories about the psychopathologies of the famous and the infamous of both camps.

And all of this is complicated by the fact that everyone in America, globally speaking, is at the top end of the 1%. Another paradox rears its head. Citizens of the Republic who simultaneously suffer from obesity and Global Whining syndrome.    


The Bedford Falls Sentinel has been reduced to a weekly publication with the inevitable web site. It's more of news-letter that a news-paper. Thanks to 24 x 7 x 365 Infotainment/Social Media industry there's no need to wait for the daily paper with space limited prioritized news, space limited advertising, and of course, a gossip column and entertainment section.

Nowadays, the news never stops and if it bleeds it leads still leads. Thanks to global reach and the need to pack the 24 hour day with filler between the ads/commercials, we now have if bleeds it leads squared.

Infinite entertainment and gossip is always on and available via mobile rectangles in our pockets. The bad news is thanks to the Data Dragon's minions -- the Botmonsters, the Algorithmites, and their ilk -- we're becoming small towns of one. Individuals living in the same household, still quaintly called homes, can choose to live in virtual securely gated and carefully curated communities wherein they can play the part of Henry F. Potter. 


And who needs to go to one of those boring old town hall meetings, the kind romanticised in the bourgeois art (imagine Mr. R. trying to make a living in our enlightened Piss Christ era) of Norman Rockwell for example when you can tweet/troll/post fake news without having to leave the house? 

Well... except for those feeling the need to channel their inner chimpanzee, particularly if there are media to perform for and/or if some George Soros evil gnome type is providing funding and make work for the IUPPP&PVTTOT. If the media fails to show you can have a friend live stream you, you might go viral.


Mrs. Powell, "Well, Doctor, what have we got, a republic or a monarchy?" 
"A republic madam, if you can keep it." -Benjamin Franklin 

At the moment, the internet is providing slippery slope lube for our de-evolution into a ginormous small town with a direct democracy and the inevitable fractious factions. By the time you read this we may be the Vaguely/Formerly/Kinda/Sorta United States of America.

The virtuous, high-minded, citizens of Athens that ordered the death of Socrates would approve wholeheartedly. I hope the country comes to its senses and crowns me (temporary) king before it's too late. Restoring the Republic is gonna take a minute and I'm not getting any younger (and I didn't even get to soft nationalism yet...). 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.

   

Happiness (Before I Wake Up Dead, 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.

[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)

"Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life." -Omar Khayyam

Dear (eventual) Stickies & Great-Grandstickies,

As threatened promised, this is another letter about "...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 deletion." -me

The Secret of (Occasional) Happiness

I wrote a column titled The Secret of (Occasional) Happiness in July of 2016 that predates my Dear Stickies format but is nevertheless relevant. Its thesis was/is that "Someone to love that loves you back (a dog will do) and interesting work is the secret of (occasional) happiness." -me

I qualified happiness with (occasional) because as I explained in the article (briefly, and not well) everything contains its opposite, that is to say, something and its opposite are two sides of the same coin -- you can't have one without the other. Another way to put this is that opposites define each other.

Yet another is that if you were happy all the time you wouldn't know it because you'd be happy all the time. Wordplay I know, but it's true. Although I can't prove it scientifically/experimental/whateverly, it's still true.

The Pursuit of Contentment

The very first column I wrote, The Pursuit of Contentment  -- they were called blog posts several hundred days ago in the dim and distant past -- was published on July 23, 2015. For technical reasons (I screwed something up and I still don't know the what or the how of it) it's now dated 8.20.16. This is the date it was rescued from the (electronic) dustbin and republished.

My thesis was/is that once I'm crowned the King of America I'm going to change the phrase in the Declaration of Independence, the pursuit of happiness, to the pursuit of contentment (kings can do shtuff like that). The reason I'm going to do this is because:

"This is the central tenet of King Crank's Philosophy of Contentment. Be thou a believer (in God, a God, or the Gods), an atheist, or _______, the fact remains that if you choose to keep showing up you're going to occasionally experience happiness. 

You will also occasionally get caught in a crap storm. Mostly, you will just be doing what needs to be done to keep body and soul together. This is often boring, which may lead us to pursue happiness and explains why it's relatively easy to sell us lottery tickets, politicians, and beauty aids." -me yet again


You're saying to yourself "Self, if he's already written two entire columns about happiness why is he writing yet another entire column about happiness?"

Well, ask a recovered (recovering) drunk about the phrase "...we absolutely insist on enjoying life."

[For the record: many a recovered drunk, I'm talking people who've been on the wagon for years, insist on referring to themselves as recovering, not recovered. That is to say, they regard their sobriety as a work in progress that never ends until they do. I was married to one, Ronbo, for 21 years. While technically no longer with us, being a force of nature, she lives on.]

[Dana: With all due respect to, uh, Ronbo... where's this going?]

[Iggy: Is she..., is that the one uncle Ray calls Nana?]

Marie-Louise is scratching my back and smiling, she loved Ronbo.


Let me put it this way. I am, by temperament a -- the glass is almost empty -- sort of person. Also, having rounded the block once or twice and having obtained my Sexy Seasoned Citizen credential, I concur with the Buddha, life is suffering. Or, as they say on the Nor'side-a-Pittsburgh (HT: Ed), life's a bitch and then ya' die.

[Dana: Geez, sucks to be you but what...]

Which is why I've given/I continue to give a bit of thought to the subject at hand. I stand by the two columns mentioned above. Both of them are about what to do in spite of the spiritual wisdom of the Buddha or the more secular wisdom of the good citizens of the Nor'side-a-Pittsburgh.

That is, as the Big Book (not to be confused with the Good Book, but which is equally important to some people) says "...we absolutely insist on enjoying life" to which I would add -- when we can, as often as we can, and as hard as we can.

BIG BUT

How should we conduct ourselves when life is kicking our ass? given that it frequently does and often it's impossible gonna' take a minute (or a year, or two, or...) to get happy/get the door prize/see a rainbow.

Two points. First, as I pointed out in last week's column, you have two choices. You can pull the covers over your head and refuse to get out of bed. The best you can hope for is is a tolerable, stable level of misery that you hope won't get worse.

Or, you can get out of bed, do what ya' gotta do to keep body and soul together (or the bodies and souls of those in your charge together) and take baby steps towards a positive goal. It's OK if your most important goal is to not feel like crap all the time as long as once you don't you get another most important goal.

Second, and I credit Professor Jordan B. Peterson for getting me to start thinking about what follows (Dr. J. will be the Chairmanperson of my Royal Privy Council once I assume my throne, please hold the throne jokes).


Given that we're wired to pursue goals (sublime or profane) because we're wired to believe that reaching our goals will make us happy

And,

Given that we soon discover that once we reach a given goal we need another one(s) to stay (more or less) happy

And,

Given that we're capable of projecting what we would be/could be like, and what effect we could have on the world/in the world if we if we were to eventually rise far enough, one baby step at a time

And,

Even if you don't ever have much of a life, if you spend it trying to have a substantial life you'll not only feel better physically/emotionally/spiritually, you'll have chosen Nobility over Nihilism -- and there will always be ice cream. 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.