Kavanaugh v. Ford, Trial By Ordeal

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 this problem and access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse 

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"Memory is a complicated thing, a relative to truth, but not its twin."
                                                                                  -Barbara Kingsolver


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

[This week's column was supposed to be the fourth and final part of my short story, Abducted, but I couldn't resist commenting on the current kerfuffle concerning the Supreme Court.]

Legal Definition of Trial By Ordeal: a formally used criminal trial in which the guilt or innocence of the accused was determined by subjection to dangerous or painful tests (as submersion in water) believed to be under divine control. A tip of the hat to Merriam-Webster (.com).


H. sapiens are subject to false memories, this is settled science.

If you live long enough I guarantee that at some point (probably several points...) in your life this factoid will jump out from behind a rock and bite you on the bum.

"Memories can be distorted, or even completely made up."


BOMS (boring old man story) No. 39,339. Oh, for the record, I don't think I'm a boring old man. You are permitted to (respectfully) disagree. However, there's a 57.092% chance that any given story, about any given thing, by any given old man -- rut-roh, Raggy -- um, person, will be boring.

[BOPS it is then, far be it from me to inadvertently trigger a delicate flower in an era of delicate sensibilities.]

Long story short, when I was 16 I engaged the services of a friend, and his Ford Falcon, to drive me and a cool chick (hey, it was 1970) on my first real date. Cost: a set of spark plugs.

Given that it was my first real date I remember all the details vividly. Except for the drivers last name and what he looked like. And except for the name of the movie theater. And... well, I do vividly remember the name of the movie, Klute, starring Jane Fonda.

One problem.

While discussing this important milestone of my adolescence with the cool chick in question, who is back in my life after an interlude of 40 years or so (we've both been a little busy...), I discovered that I vividly remember the wrong movie.

I know for an absolute certainty that Klute is not only the wrong movie, but it also came out a year later, while I was living approximately 300 miles from the movie theater I can't remember the name of.

However, the unalterable fact that I have a vivid memory of the wrong movie has had no effect on my vivid memory.

Now, if you refuse to acknowledge that you -- or yours, or theirs, or _______ -- are as capable of significant memory distortion as any other H. sapien, you can stop reading here. Good luck to you, you're going to need it.

At the moment, the Republic is knee deep in a drama titled He Said/She Said. No matter how it's resolved, Grandstickies will probably remember it, probably inaccurately. Great-Grandstickes will learn about it in history class.

Plot summary: A SCOTUS nominee -- having emerged from a trial by ordeal chock full of senators running for president and daily dramas performed by some, um, excitable citizens exercising their free speech rights, apparently unscathed -- is this close to being approved.

Suddenly, a female H. sapien steps out from behind the curtain and accuses the nominee of having tried to have his way with her. 36 years ago. When she was 15. When he was 17.

Hilarity ensues.


As this is being written the Swamp Dwellers League, the Infotainment Industrial Complex, the International Union of Professional Perpetually Protesting Protestors & Perpetual Victims of This, That, and the Other Thing (IUPPPP&PVTTOT), and social media, are at DEFCON 1.

Were I the king, and asked to apply some Solomonic wisdom, this would be an easy one.

A Proclamation

Given that no amount of investigation could possibly come up with a definitive answer,

And, given that the Republic already has more than enough apparently unresolvable issues,

(And, given that the brain of the average H. Sapien doesn't mature till the age of 25)

And, given that Mr. Kavanaugh has a lengthy, proven track record, Mr. Kavanaugh may join the Supremes.

Let's move on people, nothing to see here.


P.S. A note to my subjects: While I hope that we recover before things go too far, we're a republic that is currently in decline. Without compromise, and the willingness to lose gracefully, a democratic republic will collapse.

No shortage of factions regards their opinions, beliefs, and sensibilities as unquestionable dogma. No compromise is possible as compromise is a sin. God -- or a God-substitute for those who have lost their religion -- is on their side.

Sticking a finger and each ear and loudly proclaiming la-la-la-la-la-la-la! didn't work when you were kids and it won't work now.

Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.
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[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?]


©2018 Mark Mehlmauer   

Abducted (Part 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 to solve this problem and access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse 

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"I never watched Star Trek." -William Shatner


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

No letter, part three of the short story I started a few weeks back, Gentlereaders, for your convenience, part one can be found here. Part two can be found here. 

End of part two...

Grandma said, "Also, considering that you're hip deep in atomic weapons, and many of you are engaged in the same sort of high-functioning chimpanzee pathologies that led to your first world war -- that really wasn't all that long ago, dear, and kicked off a century of gleeful bloodletting -- things might get really interesting."

"Oh" replied the abductee.


Part Three
"So, are you telling me that this is it? that we're about to destroy ourselves? that we're..."

"On the eve of destruction?" replies grandma, with a grin.

"Huh?"

"Sorry, dear, obscure cultural reference, I believe I mentioned that I'm an Ameriphile."

"Right... anyway, is this..."

"I've no idea, dear. What information we've accumulated so far from other worlds, and Tralfamadore's own history, would seem to indicate that all sorts of outcomes are possible."

"Then you don't know what's likely to happen?"

"No, dear. Perhaps a bit of context will help. Remember when I said that my world is roughly a thousand years or so beyond yours? You've no way of knowing exactly what that means, what has or hasn't taken place in the course of a thousand years on a planet that's much different than yours, and I can't tell you.

Also, there's another important factor you're not considering. The..."

"So there's a Prime Directive?"

"Sorry, Prime Directive? what is..."

"It's from Star Trek, the Prime Directive says you can't interfere with the development of an alien civilization."

"Touche, dear, you got me, and with a much less obscure reference. Yes, in fact, I am constrained by a sort of... Prime Directive. However, it's just the professional ethics of my profession, nothing so grandiose as a Prime Directive."

"Well isn't there some sort Star Trekish 'Federation of Planets' that provides guidelines for member planets? I would think that..."

"No, dear. As I started to say a minute ago, there's another important fact that you're not considering. While my people are a bit ahead of yours, nothing like the warp drive of Star Trek that makes it possible to travel around an unimaginably large universe as if you were taking a European vacation exists."

"Well, that sucks... how do you get around then?"

"I'm not permitted to say, dear, but think about this. While warp drive, if it exists, would make it possible to travel at multiples of the speed of light. We can't travel anywhere near the speed of light. If we, or your people for that matter could, it would take about 2.5 million years to travel to the galaxy next door.

Although unimaginably large, space is mostly... empty space. The imaginative reach of Earthlings, particularly Americans, tends to greatly exceed their grasp."

"Now then, I wonder if I might begin asking my questions? I'm supposed to be interviewing you after all" says grandma, with a warm smile.

"Oh, OK, sure, I'm sorry. Go right ahead."

"Thank you, dear OK, first of all..."

"I'm sorry, you've been so nice, could I possibly ask just one more question? It's quite important to me and I promise It'll be the last one."

Grandma heaves a heavy sigh and looks her subject. A barely perceptible flash of impatience face manifests on her face but her seemingly imperturbable smile returns so quickly her subject fails to notice.

"Certainly, dear, but just one more, OK?"

"I'm sorry... but in retrospect, it's probably the first question I should have asked. Given that no shortage of my, um, fellow Earthlings, claim to have been abducted and subjected to rather unpleasant, um, interviews... In fact, I don't believe I've ever heard anyone claim to have had an experience anything like the one I seem to be having. I mean... what's up with that?"

"Well, dear, I..."

"And animal mutilations... oh, and those crop circle things? And just how far away from Earth is Tralfamadore? Sorry. I guess that's more than just one more question."

Grandma's smile vanishes. She stares at her subject in silence.

[To be continued, but next week is the final installment. Poppa loves you.]

Have an OK day.
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[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?]


©2018 Mark Mehlmauer   

Abducted (Part Two)

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 this problem and access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"It is my thesis that flying saucers are real and that they are space ships from another solar system." -Hermann Oberth, OG OR (original rocket scientist)


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

No letter, part two of the story I started the week before last. Gentlereaders, for your convenience, part one can be found here.

End of part one...

"Grandma"/alien interviewer: "OK then! Shall we get started?"


Part two

Subject: "I'm sorry, before we get into it, can I ask another question?"

"Of course, dear."

"You said earlier that there was nothing special about the planet Earth, or America for that matter, but you are studying us, and you said you can't get enough of America, right?"

"Yes, dear."

"Well, why us then? Why me?"

"As I mentioned, dear, a software program chose you, an algorithm. I've interviewed all sorts of folks before we met and I'll be interviewing all sorts of folks after we go our separate ways.

As to my fascination with America, the US has the largest economy on a planet that's in the middle of an economic boom that started roughly 200 years ago and continues at an ever accelerating rate."

"So is that what makes us special? Is this a rare phenomenon in the universe? Well, of course, I've no way of knowing just how extensive your knowledge is, and how much of the universe you're familiar with..."

"What's special is the time, not the situation."

"I don't understand what you mean."

"Well, all sorts of planets, and all sorts of what you call countries, have gone through what you find yourselves in the midst of. Millions of years of evolution results in self-consciousness which invariably leads to some form of what you call civilization.

If a given civilization, or more likely a given group of civilizations, manages to hang on long enough to reach a certain level of technology and prosperity without destroying itself, or each other, they reach the same stage Homo sapiens currently find themselves trying to muddle through.

We call it the... well, you could never pronounce her name, but it's a tipping point. It's the um... name of a woman whose name you needn't worry about, tipping point" says grandma, grinning. "She was a highly regarded individual in what you call the social sciences."

"I see... well, I'm sorry, but now I have two more questions, I..."

"That's alright dear, go ahead."

"Well, first of all, you said "she" and you at least appear to be a 'she,' is that um, normal? I mean, is male and female the way of the universe? I read a lot of science fiction when I was younger and..."

"I can't speak for the entire universe dear, only a region of the galaxy Earth and Tralfamadore happen to share. Tralfamadore is only, roughly, about a thousand or so Earth years, at most, ahead of you Earthlings in the, how shall I put it, the evolution game?

But to answer your question, yes, male and female seem to be fundamental principles, but it gets complicated... Are you familiar with the words yin and yang dear? I think that concept would help you to understand how things work."

"Sure, but I don't all that much about..."

"I don't mean to be rude, dear, but you could, perhaps, google it? What was your second question?"

"Well, obviously, the tipping point thing. What's that all about? Earth is at a tipping point? History is full of tipping points, what makes this one special?"

"I, or rather we, know of no planet on which the natives, so to speak, who have managed to achieve the level you have on Earth, have not experienced the tipping point that you and yours are currently facing.

That is to say, when unprecedented, and expanding, prosperity and technological development occurs in the midst of no shortage of competing political, religious, ethical, etc. ideologies -- which have access to easily accessible worldwide communications networks -- things get, um, interesting.

Also, considering that you're hip deep in atomic weapons, and many of you are engaged in the same sort of high-functioning chimpanzee pathologies that led to your first world war -- that really wasn't all that long ago, dear, and kicked off a century of gleeful bloodletting -- things might get really interesting."

"Oh."

To be continued... Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.
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[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?]


©2018 Mark Mehlmauer