May You Live In Interesting Times

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 to solve the problem and access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

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

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

Free speech is the whole thing, the whole ballgame. Free speech is life itself.
                                                                                              -Salman Rushdie

May you live in interesting/exciting times/an interesting age -- the interesting ancient Chinese curse that isn't -- certainly seems to apply to the interesting times that I'm/we're currently experiencing. Here's hoping, My Dear Stickies, that your times are also interesting, but less so.

However, the current interesting times that began when the Black & White Ages ended in 1965 keep getting more interesting with each passing year day. Of course you, my gentlereaders, and even I, being historically literate, have to acknowledge that to any given H. sapien, living in any given interesting time in the past, might feel might just as overwhelmed by life as you or I often do.

Ben Shapiro & UConn

I bumped into a news story recently about a Ben Shapiro speaking engagement at the University of Connecticut. Mr. Shapiro drives on the right side of the road but avoids the shoulder in my semi-humble opinion.  Full disclosure, I'm a fan because, like me, he's a big fan, of actual facts.

Due to my Libertarian tendencies, I frequently find myself deliberately driving on the shoulder. But to me, he's a very smart, very nice Jewish boy who often talks too fast. My buddy Joe Biden confirmed he's also very clean.

[Stickies please note: I'll risk not only being accused of being inadvertently anti-Semitic I'll risk being accused of being an apologist for people who talk too fast. When clearly intelligent folks who seem to know what they're talking about talk too fast there's an excellent chance that they're even smarter than you think they are. I have no studies/statistics to point to but my "lived experience" (HT: Postmodernism) indicates this is true.]

Of course, in these interesting times, there is no shortage of folks that would describe him as a right wing-nut. There are others who apparently regard him as Beelzebub incarnate. The U of C is of the opinion that having him speak on campus required that an emergency psychological response team (EPRT) remained on standby to administer teddy bears and there, theres to triggered snowflakes.


Since I, your semi-humble columnist, will stop at nothing to get the facts, I've conducted my usual intensive/exhaustive/extensive/etceterive research (fired up my browser and went a-googling).

Fortunately, I found a video news report on the FOX News site that contains everything I need to complete the rest of this column before collapsing from exhaustive research exhaustion syndrome.

CLANG!!! This is a Fox news alert. The New York Times is reporting that according to a highly placed source in the White House -- who chooses to remain anonymous due to the highly sensitive nature of this story -- that the president's dog is suffering from an undiagnosed case of excessive flatulence.

We will have more on this right after our next overly frequent, overly-long commercial break -- which is a story unto itself when you think about it considering that in theory, the public owns the airwaves.

In the meantime, we have a report on a recent speaking engagement at the University of Connecticut featuring Ben Shapiro.

For a half a mo' I thought, well that's that. All that My Dear Stickies and discerning gentlereaders have to do is watch the comprehensive video. Geez, that was easy. Next.

[By the by, if you're short on time, click on the clip, and skip, to 2:10. Watch a UConn flunky insert himself between a student attending the anti-Shapiro and a reporter. If he doesn't make it big as yet another college administrator he can always make a living as a tourist or reporter minder in the Democratic People's Republic of (North) Korea.]

Big But

But there's a handful of Luddites out there that have youngsters (who haven't even turned 50 yet) print my stuff out for them. And of course, one of the major, but rarely discussed problems of living in the Dizzinformation Age is link rot. In relatively short order, the given links in a given nearly anything composed or/and published on the web are often riddled with link rot (electronic silverfish).

Therefore, let me summarize. Mr. Shapiro spoke at an event that more students wished to attend than would (safely) fit into the provided venue. UConn prohibited the public to attend for security (more safety?) reasons. Another campus venue was provided as an anti-Shapiro. The anti-Shapiro was sparsely attended (good). As far as I'm able to tell the EPRT was not triggered.

The devil, of course, resides in a cozy beachfront condo in the Details (a pair of islands/tourist traps in the Outer Banks).

According to the Washington Examiner, as well as several other media outlets -- featuring old-school style actual quotes and facts (as opposed to the wouldn't go on the record/endless speculation school of alleged journalism) -- UConn stepped up to the plate and fulfilled the primary purpose of institutions of higher learning -- prophylactic psychology -- before Mr. Beelzebub arrived on campus.

"We understand that even the thought of an individual coming to campus with the views that Mr. Shapiro expresses can be concerning and even hurtful and that’s why we wanted to make you aware as soon as we were informed.” - Joelle Murchison, Associate V.P./Chief Diversity Officer

I'll bet that's a (fake) job loving happy H. sapien, assuming, of course, there's an office full of diverse diversifiers to handle what I'll betcha-a-bottle of pop is some serious paperwork.

Now I, your humble correspondent, believe the obvious question is -- considering Mr. Beelzebub spoke to 500 (safely seated) students (remember, it was a no Nazis/pesky Citizens of the Republic event) and many students were turned away from hearing a speaker at their own college (for safety reasons), even if they were up to date on their tuition -- what happened at the anti-Shapiro?

Since this was not widely reported I performed some more exhaustive research, ignoring the bloody calluses that have developed on my fingertips, and discovered what follows.

The Facebook page created to promote the anti-Shapiro event reported that although 277 students were "interested" only 88 showed up for an event that could have (safely) accommodated 500. Good. 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.

  

 

Intersectionality

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 to solve the problem and access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

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

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

     

"This above all, to refuse to be a victim."   -Margaret Atwood

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

In my discussion of Postmodernism last week I mentioned that my favorite aspect of Postmodernism is called Intersectionality. I confess up front that the very word Intersectionality immediately appealed to me before I had any idea of what Intersectionality was or is supposed to be.

It absolutely rings of Acadamese. The sort of word one would encounter in a text authored by an obscure, bleeding-edge Ph.D. and chockablock with other polysyllabic words unfamiliar to the average Joe Bag-a-donuts or the average anyone else.

A document likely impossible to make sense of while striving to remain conscious -- don't forget, logic/clarity/reason and good writing are devious social constructs created by unashamedly heterosexual white male weenies to enable them to exploit everyone and everything else -- by even postdocs or the nerdiest of crossword puzzle aficionados.

By the time you read this there will probably be a newer, cooler word for Intersectionality (Is it wrong that I delight in tripping over words that immediately shout out, "probably babble and bonkercockie, fire up the browser, this should be fun?").

After all, Intersectionality replaced a word you may have missed while you were having an actual life, Kyriarchy, Intersectionality's dad. But as things stand at the moment, according to Merriam-Webster...

Intersectionality: the complex, cumulative way in which the effects of multiple forms of discrimination (such as racism, sexism, and classism) combine, overlap, or intersect especially in the experiences of marginalized individuals or groups.

In other words -- we're all victims, of all sorts of things, all the time.

Everyone is qualified to become a member of the International Union of Professional Perpetually Protesting Protesters & Perpetual Victims of This, That, and the Other Thing (IUPPPP & PVTTOT).

Iggy: Even you Poppa? I thought... 
Dana: No, definitely not. If ever there was a happily heterosexual and privileged white weenie...
Marie-Louise: Tosses a delicate, refined, but nevertheless unmistakeable snort of derision at Dana and begins scratching my back. 

Yeah Iggy, even me. Everyone in fact, when you think about it. In my case:

- I was kidnapped from my wealthy but dissolute family (it's complicated) as an infant which was the first link in a chain of events that culminated in my being won by my "father" in a poker game at the Gem Saloon in Deadwood, South Dakota.

- When it came to physical attractiveness, I was no box of chocolates to begin with, but when I was (accidentally?) dropped on my head by my big "brother," which resulted in a severe case of lazy eye, I was rendered even less so.

- I endured physical bullying and psychological abuse for the aforementioned condition by my peers all throughout my tender years. If not for my ability to see around corners I literally might not have survived my childhood.

For the sake of brevity, and because I'm starting to choke up, let us fast forward to the present.

- I've just celebrated the 25th anniversary of my 39th birthday and I'm the victim of ageism on a nearly daily basis.

For example, being neither a sex or a success object has rendered me -- for all intents and purposes -- invisible to hot chicks all entities possessing certain biological traits that would seem to indicate highly favorable reproductive potential of the sort that sets the DNA of happily heterosexual and privileged white weenies to howling at the moon. That is, entities who have, till recently, suffered from arbitrarily being assigned pronouns based on the hopefully soon to be eradicated barbaric practice of identifying 'em (my personal plural pronoun for H. sapiens) as "female" on a given entities birth certificate.

[While traditional Acadamese does not come easily to me, an unexpected side effect of my extensive research into Postmodernism was discovering that I have a natural affinity for the dialect spoken by Postmodernists. Try it at your next party. I'm working on a drinking game but I haven't completed my research. Watch this column for updates.]

Kimberle Crenshaw 

If you were to go in search of the origins of Intersectionality all roads lead to Ms. Crenshaw and a paper she wrote, Mapping the Margins: Intersectionality, Identity Politics, and Violence Against Women of Color, in 1991. 

Now, while I disagree with her on a very fundamental level (I think that identity politics and the endless mapping out of endless grievances is a giant step in the wrong direction) I must compliment her on her writing style. Unlike many academics/Postmodernists, she is readable with minimal translation required. 

However, her primary argument, that any given victim is a victim in any number of ways, is obvious. Everyone is a victim in any number of ways. Life is hard. Life is unfair. Then, you die. 

Endless squabbling over who's the most victimized, in exactly what ways, and by whom is as pointless for alleged grups, My Dear Stickies, as it is when yinz (at this point in your lives, callowyutes all) engage in the occasional (rare, but not unheard of) war of all against all. And about as productive. 

It also seems obvious to me that once you start down that path, inevitably, Social Justice Warriors, like Mao's Red Guardsmenpersons, Jacobins and the like will turn on each other and begin a never-ending game of ideological one-upmanpersonship. 

From, Intersectionality is not a label, an article by Latoya Peterson in the Washington Post: 

"Actress Nancy Lee Grahn identifies as a feminist, but felt no problem for blasting the history-making Viola Davis on Twitter for bringing race into her Emmy awards speech. 'She has never been discriminated against,' Grahn wrote, without any knowledge of Davis’s life or journey." 


I've linked to it before and I'll probably link to it again, but this Jordan Peterson video says it all. When I'm king you won't be able to graduate from high school without demonstrating you've watched and understood it. 

If you want to change the world acknowledge that you, just like the rest of us, are a fixer-upper -- and get to work. 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.

Marxism & Postmodernism (Pt. 2)

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 to solve the problem/access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

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

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

"A work can become modern only if it is first postmodern. Postmodernism thus understood is not modernism at its end but in the nascent state, and this state is constant." -Jean-Francois Lyotard     "Oh, yeah, absabalutely." -me


Dear (eventual) Stickies & Great-Grandstickies,

Let's review. Last week I discussed the importance of picking a college you can more or less afford and majoring in something that will pay off. I also warned you that Communism, the dogma behind a 100,000,000 (more or less...) H. sapiens being rendered into compost, is alive and well on campus.

This week we're going to explore Communism's partner in crime, Postmodernism. This dastardly duos goal is nothing less than a takedown of Western Civilization; to be replaced by a utopia wherein everyone will be exactly, painstakingly equal. Everyone will own the latest iPhone and it, like designer t-shirts and Starbucks coffee (all flavors and sizes) will be free.

But before I forget, permit me to mention something I forgot to include in last week's letter. When I talked about the importance of choosing some form of higher education that won't saddle you with crippling debt and learning how to do something that will get you a Job job, I meant it.

However, while I'm somewhat hard-headed/realistic/cynical/etceterical, or at least strive to be, this is more the result of having been too long at the fair (I'm old, well, at least from your perspective) than it is by temperament.

[Gentlereaders: Clicking on the link above will give you access to the musical entertainment portion of our program featuring the musical stylings of Ms. Bonnie Raitt, a woman I've never met, much less had a passionate affair with back in the 70s. Although I wish I had, and I wish I had.]

In a better world, it would be possible, if you were so inclined, to easily obtain a broad-based liberal arts degree based on the fundamentals and achievements of Western Civilization* without having lead water wings of debt permanently affixed to your body and soul. But the economics of higher education are severely warped by the involvement of The Gummit and bloated school administrations.  

Also, given that there's no shortage of students and professors actively working to discredit/destroy Western Civilization (a.k.a., the hand that feeds them) caveat emptor, babies, caveat emptor.

[*My cranky, happily heterosexual old white dude side is currently in control of my psyche and is writing this missive. Coco, the sassy, African-American lesbian H. sapien trapped inside my pasty body, says to say hello. ]

Postmodernism

Postmodernists maintain that there are an infinite number of ways to explain the world and how to live in it, and that none should be considered better than any other. In my semi-humble opinion, this is one of the tenets of Hippieism masquerading as a viable intellectual notion.

Call: It's like, all relative, man.      

Response: Far out, man. (while slowing bobbing one's head and looking thoughtful).

Hippieism: Everyday is like spending a weekend at your friend's rich parents house when you were in high school/college, and they're out of the country. There's a hot tub, and an indoor pool. And dope. Source: me.

Warning: Historical Digression/Boring Old Man Story

[My Dear Stickies, some details concerning my hippie with a job period, age 19 to the age of 31 (and a half). From 27 to 30 I made a sincere effort to join the real world inspired by boredom/disenchantment with the hippie ethos and a blond, blue-eyed girl next door type. Unfortunately, she ran my heart through a paper shredder.     

After that, it was more lost soul/less hippie with a job until I met your mothers/grandmothers mother and subsequently married her and I've been trying to finish growing up ever since.]

Wikipedia has a...

[Poppa, if you weren't a hippie till you were 19, what were you like when you were in high school? Did you party?]

I was boring, Iggy. But in my defense, at the time (late 60s), although we were listening to the music and looking at the pictures of hippies in Look magazine (look it up), the smell of Weed was just starting to occasionally waft its way through the lives of me and my fellow Flyoverland High School students. Knowing what we know now I wish I had never even heard of weed till I was at least 25.


Wikipedia has a lengthy entry about postmodernism as applied to this, that, and the other. Reading it will tell you everything you need to know about Postmodernism. Truth be told, I couldn't make much sense of it. This either means that my 39 certified college credits are insufficient to the task at hand or that attempting to read it will tell you everything you need to know about Postmodernism.

One thing that caught my eye -- in the course of my research, not speaking fluent Academese, but curious about what Postmodernism had to say about writing, I was forced to seek translations and this word comes up a lot  -- was a paragraph or two about the word deconstruction.

"A deconstructive approach further depends on the techniques of close reading without reference to cultural, ideological, moral opinions or information derived from an authority over the text such as the author."

Right. Moving on...


Heavy Sigh...

Lookit. It occurs to me, after a good deal of research, that attempting to analyze (deconstruct?) Postmodernism would require multiple letters and that since I find most of it to be absurd/incomprehensible/not worth the time, etc., I'm out.

[Gentlereaders: The web is chock full of info about Postmodern(ists/ism). First, read this,* and then try to read this** (I double dog dare you to read the second one). After reading both if you're not laughing or/and crying, google on.]

Stickies and dead trees readers: Veeery long story short, it appears that college campuses are lousy with unrepentant Communists (homegrown useful eejits, not Boris Badenov types) and Postmodernists. 

It would appear that (apparent) opposites do attract. Postmodernism rejects all types of dogma (**"Suspicion and rejection of Master Narratives for history and culture..." ). Communism is all dogma, all the time.

It would appear that combining of the two by the Social Justice types makes no logical sense, However, *"Traditional logic and objectivity are spurned by postmodernists." So...

Caveat emptor, babies, caveat emptor. 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.