Designer Babies

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my (eventual) grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who don't yet, aka 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.]

                                                 - Glossary  

                                  - Who The Hell Is This Guy?

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars 

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse  

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"Families with babies and families without babies are sorry for each other."                                                                                                          - E.W. Howe


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies (assuming that there's anyone left to read this, that this exists in some form or fashion and that if it does, the technology to access it and the wherewithal to read it also still exists -- and that the world hasn't been ravaged by packs of mutant babies),

By nature, I see the glass as being half empty but I have two cunning strategeries to avoid succumbing to a terminal case of Fugiden. Til relatively recently my only defense was to try and find the smile/giggle in a given situation. Your arrival, actual and (hopefully) imminent, provided a second reason to bother getting out of bed in the morning and to not have brownies for breakfast.

I've no idea why grandstickies have this effect on (most) sexy senior citizens, it's probably something clinical that can be scientifically explained by some combination of DNA/evolution/acculturation/etceteration. Who cares if it works?

Speaking of science run amok...

[Huh?]

Work with me Dana, quantum literary leaps for artistic purposes are covered under the terms of my Poetic License.

[Whatever.]

Man, it's hard to work with a philistine running loose, dare I say, amok, in one's subconscious.

[I'm going to eat a brownie and go back to bed, please don't bother me.]

Amok!Amok!Amok!Amok!Amok!


Anyways, recently a Chinese scientist at a conference in Hong Kong claimed to have successfully implanted genetically altered embryos in a woman who gave birth to twin girls.

Hoo-Boy.

He said that he had altered a gene in such a way as to make them resistant to infection from H.I.V. For some reason I'm reminded of the favorite phrase of marketers everywhere, "New and Improved!"

Dr. He Jiankui (who has denied reports that he's a first cousin of Dr. Who) offered no proof and published no reports or data for peer review by his fellow scientists, mad or otherwise. Maybe, hopefully, he's an incompetent mad scientist or just nuts in an ordinary, non-mad scientist sort of way.


Vaguely remembering that some Chinese scientists were in the news a few years ago for this sort of thing I went a-googling and sure enough... There was a group of scientists in 2015 that messed around with some damaged embryos and who had no intention of trying to make a baby. They were seeing if they could successfully complete the first step of what Dr. He claims to have done, edit a gene. Baby steps.

Bad news (well, for them at least): they only succeeded in altering the DNA of 4 of the 85 embryos they tweaked. Worse news: they triggered accidental mutations in those four. The good news was that they published and scared the hell out of everybody... but apparently not Dr. He and who knows who else.

Tweaking embryos (making designer babies) is illegal in most countries, but not China. I guess you can't blame them since they can't follow their usual policy and steal what they can't develop on their own since theoretically, hopefully (but I don't believe it), somebody else isn't trying to perfect the tech.


Now -- legal, illegal, or whatever -- for a minute there Dr. He was thought to be missing. Not to worry, he appears to merely be under house arrest. Or not. Various and sundry gummit agencies, spokespersons and others swept up in the drama, such as many of Dr. He's fellow scientists, have come down hard on the good doctor.

However, from what I've been able to ascertain his official status appears to be that he's consigned to limbo till the current Emperor of the Middle Kingdom's vast bureaucracy decides what to do with/about him.

[Geez, sucks to be him, but what, pray tell, has any of this to do with the vague, lengthy, and paranoid salutation that began this incoherent rant?]

C'mom, Dana, that's painfully obvious don't you think? Somewhere out there may be not one, but two seemingly innocent babies mutating into God only knows what...

[Oh please...]

And even if this guy failed, or even made the whole thing up for whatever reason, given the nature of the beast do you believe for a second that someone('s) not working on this sort of thing somewhere?

[I'm gonna eat another brownie, good night.]

Some days I'm glad I'm old. Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day. 
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Your friendly neighborhood crank is not crazy about social media (I am a crank after all) but if you must, you can follow me on Facebook. I post weekly column announcements as well as things I find on the web that reflect where I'm coming from.

[I haven't got around to figuring out the official way to do this yet... but as of 12.15.18 I'm offering up my humble scribbles under a Creative Commons License. That is to say, Anyone may republish my columns anywhere -- as long as they don't alter them and as long as they credit me (Mark Mehlmauer) as the [I haven't got around to figuring out the official way to do this yet... but as of 1 author, and, link to my website, The Flyoverland Crank.] 

Manhood (Part Three)

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my (eventual) grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who don't yet, aka 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.]

                                                 - Glossary  

                                  - Who The Hell Is This Guy?

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars 

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse  

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional." -Chili Davis


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

This is the third and final letter to Anomy.

Dear Anomy,

The subject of last week's missive was mostly about the fact that you're sensitive and intelligent enough to have figured out that life requires tolerating no shortage of bullshit. I pointed out that you've figured out that grups have feet of clay and that the wildly imperfect world we live in reflects it.

Your reaction -- a not uncommon and understandable one, particularly nowadays -- was/is to embrace nihilism and cynicism. Let's party! I didn't point out that this path is a dead end, that even partying all the time eventually gets boring, just like doing anything all the time eventually gets boring.

The problem with revealing that bit of wisdom to a young person is of limited utility. You're going to have to live a bit longer to realize just how true it is.

It gets worse.

I hope you're an exception but for most people -- even me, and I've had a life that's a bit more interesting than average -- life is (mostly) one damn thing after another and is what happens to you while you're making other plans.

[FYI, the two "life is" quotes above are attributed to lots of people, I threw in the "mostly" because life is occasionally awesome, usually when you're least expecting it. The one damn thing version is often attributed to Winston Churchill, I suspect because it sounds like something he'd say. 

But since "Winnie" is famous for playing a key part in saving the planet during the last worldwide war there's a lesson there methinks.]

"Fugihden, life sucks and then you die so..."

If life sucks and then you die the question is what sort of life should you live and your answer seems to be, PAR-TAY! As I pointed out above, this only works temporarily (trust me on this), so the next question is, how should you pass your time while waiting to take a dirt nap?

And by the way, I don't mean to embarrass you but people who've figured out that PAR-TAY! is not the answer understand that PAR-TAY! is often just an excuse for doing nothing. It's the easy way out for people suffering from Peter Pan syndrome. Or worse yet, addiction.


Passing the Time
I've written about what follows before, and I have to acknowledge the fact that Jordan Peterson explains it better than I can, but here's the Reader's Digest version.

For myriad biological, psychological, philosophical, etceteralogical reasons H. sapiens need to spend their lives in the pursuit of goals and ideals and once a given goal/ideal is reached, or discarded, a new goal/ideal must replace it in order to feel... right. To feel like you're functioning as designed. To experience meaning and purpose.

It's really that simple, and that hard.

Hard, because anyone can say my goal is _______ and I'm going to start seriously pursuing it... next week, or next month, or next year, or as soon as the bottle or the bag is empty, or after I move out of here, or after I find a job/a better job, or _______. And then pull the covers up and go back to sleep.

Hard, because every time you reach or discard a goal/ideal you're not suddenly going be happy once and for all. You can't actually pursue happiness any more than you can force yourself to go to sleep, or to love (or even like) someone. Or to be loved (or even liked) by someone.

All that you can do is all that you can do.

To occasionally experience happiness be worthy of happiness. To be loved (or even liked) be worthy of it. To sleep well, work hard at something worth working hard for, which often means working hard at something you hate so you have the opportunity to work hard doing something you love.

Work hard at something you hate, or are indifferent to, so you can pay your own way, or pay the way of your loved ones and deep, restful sleep will follow.

Hard, because you have to choose to be a grup, you have to choose not to see yourself as a victim. We're all victims of something, so what? What are you doing about it? A grup understands everything we want, that makes us "happy" is an opposite of something and that the nature of reality is that it's made of opposites. Happy/sad, up/down, yin/yang. Deal with it.

Hard, because if you want to become a wise, contented, well-respected soul the only path available is to consciously decide to be the best person you can be on every level and get off your ass and do it.

No matter how rough things get at any given moment there are literally millions of other H. sapiens, at that exact same moment, with problems that make yours seem like a walk in the park on a beautiful day.


What will be your legacy? Choose one. He always tried to make things a little better for himself and everyone he could. He spent his life covering his ass and enduring the day. He was an asshole and we're glad he's gone. Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day. 

P.S. Speaking of Jordan Peterson...


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Your friendly neighborhood crank is not crazy about social media (I am a crank after all) but if you must, you can follow me on Facebook. I post weekly column announcements as well as things I find on the web that reflect where I'm coming from.

©2018 Mark Mehlmauer

[I haven't got around to figuring out the official way to do this yet... but as of 12.15.18 I'm offering up my humble scribbles under a Creative Commons License. That is to say, Anyone may republish my columns anywhere -- as long as they don't alter them and as long as they credit me (Mark Mehlmauer) as the [I haven't got around to figuring out the official way to do this yet... but as of 1 author, and, link to my website, The Flyoverland Crank.] 

Manhood (Part Two)

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my (eventual) grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who don't yet, aka 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.]

                                                 - Glossary  

                                  - Who The Hell Is This Guy?

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars 

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse  

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"Nearly half of the American population is eagerly anticipating the end of the world. This dewey-eyed nihilism provides absolutely no incentive to build a sustainable civilization. Many of these people are lunatics, but they are not the lunatic fringe."   -Sam Harris  

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

Sorry, I've got to continue my letter to Anomy.

Dear Anomy,

In part one I discussed the fact that I came up in a much more structured environment than you. What I was getting at was, well, I'm trying to answer a question.

"He's been walking along the edge of the cliff for a while now, which is normal and to be expected. Was he consciously waiting to turn 18 so he could jump off with minimal familial restraints and legal complications?"


Before I go on let me acknowledge that your situation undoubtedly seems much worse to us than it does to you. In spite of a normal amount of insecurities -- acknowledged or otherwise -- paradoxically, it's also normal for you to feel like you're bulletproof, ten feet tall, and you have all the time in the world.

We (you know who we are) felt that way too; we learned many lessons the hard way. Knowing that, since we love you and worry about you, we fear you might make even bigger mistakes than we did, perhaps one that you can't come back from. A second cousin of yours who has been locked away for a very long time comes immediately to mind.

I know, I know... we can't help it, we're grups, we worry. But no one would've predicted that what happened to him, would happen to him.


Monkeys & Cliffs
A while back, when you were enduring/surviving middle school I repeatedly pointed out to you that H. sapiens are (hopefully) high functioning primates. This was to teach you why -- since you were part of a troop of young, male H. sapiens, whose brains wouldn't mature (maybe...) for another decade or so and factoring in the power of DNA and testosterone -- you were witnessing insanity on a daily basis. Ooh-ooh, ah-ah! as the evil step-twins used to say.

For the record, I never said that that's as good as it gets.

I pointed out that in high school there would be glimmers of hope. That after that the glimmer would get brighter and that by the time you, and most of your contemporaries, reached the age of 25 or so you would find yourself living in a different word.

That the secret, at that point, was to keep piling up wisdom points as you aged, and to never stop. To keep evolving and never become a frozen caricature of a younger version of yourself, a disturbingly common fate for many.

"Wait a sec' I don't remember you saying most of that I..."

That's because I devilishly came at you mostly indirectly, and tried to teach by example as much as possible, the best way to try and teach almost anyone almost anything about this sort of thing.

The bad news is my devious plan seems to have failed.


Your position is that the world is being run by dumb monkeys and that at least you have the wisdom to acknowledge this and have decided to leap off the cliff and be done with it. What's worth striving for in a world of dumb, often evil, monkeys? The smart money's on "Eat, drink (smoke weed), and be merry, for tomorrow we die."

Everyone suffers a series of kicks in the crotch in the course of their gradual transformation from innocent child to a grup that has to live in the real world. You started early, when your Nana died -- and you're smarter and more sensitive than you realize and/or let on.

Cases in point: the average child doesn't get seriously pissed off because his loved ones have been lying to him when he finds out there's no Santa.

Particularly the kid, not long before that, who looked at me like I was a moron when I asked if he enjoyed shaking the Easter Bunny's hand and said, "That wasn't the Easter Bunny, that was just some guy in a suit, I could feel his fingers through the costume." Just sayin'.


Yes, there's no shortage of dumb and evil monkeys in the world but you're overreacting to discovering that fact. You're using it as an excuse to embrace cynicism, worse yet, nihilism, a potentially fatal cultural virus that's currently considered cool and has gained control of the DNA of our -- everything's entertainment and the circus is always on -- society.

Wikipedia: "Most commonly, nihilism is presented in the form of existential nihilism, which argues that life is without objective meaning, purpose, or intrinsic value."

Trust me on this, self-medicating won't kill this bug. My next letter will tell you what does. Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day. 

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Your friendly neighborhood crank is not crazy about social media (I am a crank after all) but if you must, you can like me/follow me on Facebook. I post weekly column announcements and other items of interest there almost daily.

©2018 Mark Mehlmauer

[I haven't got around to figuring out the official way to do this yet... but as of 12.15.18 I'm offering up my humble scribbles under a Creative Commons License. That is to say, Anyone may republish my columns anywhere -- as long as they don't alter them and as long as they credit me (Mark Mehlmauer) as the [I haven't got around to figuring out the official way to do this yet... but as of 1 author, and, link to my website, The Flyoverland Crank.]