Self Indulgent Nostalgia (No. 1)

This is a weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandchildren (who exist), and my great-grandchildren (who don't) — the Stickies — to haunt them after they become grups or I'm dead.

                  
This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens Perusal by kids, callowyutes, and approximately 39.9% of all grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering. 

                                                  Glossary  

                                                    About

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlerreader

"Easy reading is damn hard writing." -Nathaniel Hawthorne


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies (& Gentlereaders),

When I was a kid I loved to read.

Now, we always had plenty of books and magazines, even an encyclopedia at home although we were definitely members in good standing (more or less) of the working class.

And, my mum read me to sleep on a regular basis but for some reason the only book I remember her reading to me was a tattered and battered copy of Little House In the Big Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder. This was the first of a series of books that the hit TV show Little House on the Prairie was based on. I had no idea there was a whole series of books till years later, we only had the first one.

But, I didn't know I loved to read till I was taken to a library, given a library card, and the concept, process, and rules were explained to me. We didn't have a school library at my tiny Catholic grade school -- Saint John the Evangelist -- Sah-side, Pittsburgh, Pencil-vain-i-a. Hey!


Now, I'm not certain what grade I was in when my class was taken to the local branch of the Carnegie Library. It was a sort of low rent field trip. I'm fairly sure it was third grade, which would have been Miss Wright. Fourth grade was run by the fearsome Sister John Edward and I can't picture her taking us anywhere.

Besides, we walked to the library (probably hard for you to believe) as it was only about eight city blocks and we used Carson Street. Carson Street -- the Main street of the Sah-side -- back in the day featured a shot and a beer bar (sometimes more than one) on almost every block. Nowadays, boutiquey watering holes that cater to millennials have replaced them.

Anyways, if it had been Sister J.E. she would've probably killed the first drunk we encountered for grossly violating one of the many, many sins we were taught were on the books. I'm sure I'd remember an on the spot inquisition and summary execution. For the record, a lot of these same sins have since been repealed or dumbed down. Lucky you.

Besides, If it had been fifth grade it would've been Sister Agnita (unaffectionately called Sister Egg Noodle behind her back). She was far too fat to walk that far without a cardiac episode of some sort and I'm sure I'd remember that as well. My money's on third grade.


Ahhh! that smell. Likely a false memory, being that old. More likely, having been blessed by an acquaintance with a library or two since then that had that smell, I'm conflating.

[Doc, you gotta help me, I can't stop conflating!]

In fact, there was one that featured an enormous grandfather clock and a stone fireplace that was actually used on cold winter days. I don't know if it's still there. If it is, the fireplace is likely unused, global warming you know. The comfy chairs are likely gone as well as they would now be occupied by homeless veterans addled by one too many rotations to the fever swamps of the Mideast.

Old wood, old books -- the card catalog. Hundreds of tiny little wooden drawers containing thousands of musty smelling, yellowed little cards. There should be a Glade aerosol (only a dollar at WallyWorld) labeled:

Old Library, the smell of old wood and slowly rotting paper.


Anyways, we all sat at wooden tables, filled out a form, and were issued (temporary) library cards on the spot. A parent or guardian's signature would have to be secured before a permanent card was issued.

However, we were permitted to choose one book and take it home. Truth be told, we were ordered to pick one book and take it home and warned that if we damaged or lost it we would be killed. Catholic grade school at the time was rather like being enrolled in a Scared Straight program but with much better results. Society and our parents were on the same side as our corrections officers.

Now, I don't remember what book I chose. I'm tempted to make up something that sounds really cool, I do have a poetic license, after all. But honesty is the best policy except for when it ain't (that's a different letter). I do remember that I enjoyed it thoroughly. I do remember being captivated by the fact I now had access to literally thousands of books, free and no charge.

I do remember reading what seemed like hundreds of 'em. Reading was much cooler than watching the Beverly Hillbillies or Gilligan's Island. If you don't recognize the antiquated cultural references, spare yourself, don't look them up. Poppa loves you.

Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day

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Surveillance Capitalism

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

"You can't talk about big data without talking about things like privacy and ownership." -Rick Smolan


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies (& Gentlereaders), 

There's this web browser, DuckDuckGo, that I'm seriously considering switching to, but I haven't got around to making a final decision yet due to a number of factors too uninteresting to detail here.

I'm a Google Chrome user and the bits and bytes that make up this missive are generated by a Chromebox. If you've never heard of such a thing picture a tiny little uh, box, that has the same operating system as a Chromebook built in.

If that's not a thing in your world -- I'm speaking directly here to my dozens of gentlereaders, the GrandStickes are highly computer literate -- the Chrome operating system is Chrome on steroids. It's what runs a Chromebook (laptop), and in my case, the Chromebox that my keyboard, monitor, etceteror are hooked up to.

Anyways... I've refrained from running what are commonly called ad-blockers because the Goog provides an awful lot of "free" services that I take advantage of (the ability to publish this column for one) and I happen to know that most of the Goog's profits come from advertising.

Also, I access an awful lot of "free" websites in search of all sorts of input that not all that long ago (well... I am kinda old) I would've had to pay for -- various and sundry newspapers and magazines for example. I happen to know that without the ability to make money from running ads they wouldn't exist.


Big But
As I've mentioned before, I happen to know that I am/we are the product. The Data Dragons, the Algorithmites, and the Bot Monsters are sucking up our data exhaust 24x7x365, selling it to each other, and using it to sell stuff to us. I finally get it Dad, there really is no such thing as a free lunch.

As I've also said before, this is outta control and goes too far. I was reminded of all this when I recently read a review of a book called The Age of Surveillance Capitalism by Shoshana Zuboff. I immediately fell in love with the term surveillance capitalism (hence the title of this column/letter) as well as the name Shoshana Zuboff (although that's neither here nor there).

Co-inkidinkily, I have recently installed a browser extension from the DuckDuckGo people that looked interesting that turns out to be an ad-blocker on steroids. Whenever you go to a given web site you can click on its cute little icon, that lives on the bookmarks bar, and it will tell you some very interesting things.


One of the things it reports on is "Trackers Found." It uses trackers as a generic term for all the various and sundry spies that a given web site wants to sneak onto my computer. By choosing to enable its Site Privacy Protection function it keeps these sneaky bastards from taking up residence on my computer and also blocks ads.

I'm rethinking my policy on ad-blocking because of what it has taught me.

One example will serve. Accuweather.com is my weather web site of choice because it's not the Weather Channel's website (it's complicated). Now when I go there to check the weather I'm greeted by a message that reminds me they can't make any dough if I won't let 'em run ads and they're keeping a running total of how many pages I've viewed without ads on them.

In the past, this would've bothered me but thanks to the DuckDuckGo extension I'm aware that there are, as this is being written, 45 trackers lurking outside my locked e-door gossiping, smoking cigarettes, and probably spitting on the sidewalk. 45! Nine of 'em work for the Goog.


I get it, OK? I'm as fond of money as the next red-blooded American (but proud to say somewhat less fond than your average Russian oligarch or the corrupt sons and daughters of the Chinese emperor's inner circle) but where's my cut?

Sure, I get to access Accuweather's considerable resources, but the weather is freely available everywhere. I'm a grup, I know it's not actually free, but considering how glutted the market is it can't be worth all that much. My point is that my financial relationship with Accuweather seems to be unbalanced, that they're getting a lot more out of it than I am. Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day. 
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Dear Accuweather,

Fine, I'll be the product, but if my data is worth 45 people spying on me I want my cut. Give me a call, everything's negotiable.

Sincerely,
The Crank


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.

©2019 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 author, and, link to my website, The Flyoverland Crank.] 

Build The (Other) Wall

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) -- 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  

                                                   About

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Star: Dana -- A gentlereader

Update: 9.23.19 -- Daniel McCarthy, running for the Senate in Arizona, proposes annexing Mexico, "...probably half the country wants to be United States citizens."

"As a city it is always compelling. But every day in Mexico city I give thanks that I am alive." -Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu



Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies (& Gentlereaders),

[This is a long one. That Polar Vortex thingy that has Ohio by the buckeyes as I write this has me trapped in my chambers trying to stay warm. This has left me with plenty of time on my hands as I'm not about to leave Casa de Chaos unless I absolutely have to.]

Let me begin by declaring that I've decided to sort of throw my hat into the ring and forcefully make it clear that I'm kind of running for the office of President of the United States of America. 

I've formed an exploratory committee, I'm consulting with my loved ones, and I've begun a listening tour -- every time I make my weekly trek to Walmart I make a point of speaking to the greeter and engaging my cashier in conversation. 

However, I'm still boycotting the Deli department. Hopefully, your favorite Walmart deli-department is not staffed by employees who seem to have been ordered to wait on customers only if absolutely necessary and to give the worst possible service to anyone foolish enough to request service. 

My theory is that the point of this is to train the customers to either buy pre-packaged products or just go away. 

And for or the record, I never use the self check out even though this usually results in waiting in a long line with other grumpy old people, many of whom have the unfortunate habit of waiting till the cashier announces the total before pulling out their checkbooks, asking to borrow a pen, and then saying, "How much was that again?"

This allows me to virtue signal that I disapprove of self-checkout lanes, and the subsequent job loss, in not only no-frills joints like WallyWorld but also in my local allegedly full-service, high-priced supermarket. Nowadays, full service apparently doesn't necessarily include a cashier.

Baggers (my first job, second if you count delivering papers) also seem to have been added to the endangered species list.

Sorry... where was I? Oh yeah, announcing my bid for the oval office.

What does this rant and your claim to be running for president have to do with, The Wall? asks Dana.

Yeah, Poppa, I don't get it, adds Iggy. (It's like, ninety below zero and most of the school buses wouldn't start.)

Oui, quoi? asks Marie Louise.

                                                      * * *

Oh... well, having an official opinion on the Donald's, The Wall, is clearly necessary if you're running for anything nowadays. My official position concerning the Donald's, The Wall, is that I'm sticking with the plan I've written about previously.

To summarize, The Wall that I'd like to go down in history for would be one built across the southern border of Mexico, not the USA -- after we invade and set them free from the depredations of the oligarchs and drug lords.

I was recently reminded of this when I stumbled over an article in The Guardian (a center-left British publication that doesn't have a paywall but begs for either a donation or a subscription at the beginning and end of every article).

Apparently, they're not having much better luck at getting readers to toss 'em a few crumbs than I am but at least I've had the self-respect to reduce my begging to a couple of buttons and Amazon ads. Not that I'm embarrassed... or bitter... or... anything.

The article's about the fact that no matter whoever/whomever (I can never remember which one to use where) the Mexicans elect, or whatever they try, just about everyone's life sucks except for the merry band of oligarchs and drug lords that run the place, in general, and one Carlos Slim in particular, who keep a boot on the neck of the average Mexican citizen.

I suspect that once I make it clear to my fellow Americans that we share a border with a country that's nearly as screwed up as Russia in its own way -- at least they don't have nukes or a Pooteen -- they'll support my invasion plans.

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While they don't have nukes or a Pooteen they do have the well-fed Mr. Slim, who has a net worth of $60,000,000,000. If you live in Mexico and want a phone you've gotta' pay (and pay) Mr. Slim to play. Analogy: Imagine what it would be like if our local All-American cable TV monopolies were all owned by the same monopoly, see where I'm coming from?

I propose that after the invasion we sell off Mr. Slim's holdings to the highest bidders. I will then confiscate all of Mr. Slim's ill-gotten gains except for $5,000,000,000 or so. After all, he amassed his fortune legally, technically speaking, and he'll need a few pesos to live on.

This money will be used to pay for a much smaller, The Wall, across the bottom of Mexico till we can straighten Mexico out and then continue our efforts in a southerly direction.

I'll betcha' we have better luck down there than we've had in the Middle East.
There will money left over if we bid the wall building out to private contractors and keep The Gummit out of it as much as possible (they can keep the books).

We're gonna' need money to absorb Mexico into the US. Just putting all those drug lords and corrupted officials responsible for the murders of anyone that got in their way on trial before we execute them is going to cost a fortune.

According to the Guardian, Mr. Slim owns 17% of the New York Times, I wonder how much we can get for selling his stock. If I didn't know better I'd think the NYT was just a tiny bit hypocritical considering they recently devoted a bunch of ink and pixels to beating up on one Ken Griffin for spending $238,000,000 on a penthouse on Central Park South.

They wondered aloud why anyone needed a 24,000 square foot apartment in an editorial masquerading as a news story, actually a couple of articles, and why rich people spend ridiculous amounts of money on ridiculous things.

Answer: None of your fuggin' (*) business. Perhaps they're just laying the groundwork for certain Democrats to run on a Confiscations and Firing Squads platform.

I've got a question. If the millions of victims of greed and violence living just south of here pay some of the highest phone bills in the world, why ain't the NYTimes bitching about Mr. Slim? 

Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day

(*) Jagoff, a word that doesn't mean what you may think it does, is Pittsburgh (with an h) -ese for, well, believe it or not, it's a socially acceptable way to say, um, butthole.   

If elected president I'm going to promote the word fuggin' as a replacement for its guttural sounding cousin in an attempt to render it as socially acceptable as jagoff is in Pittsburgh (with an h) and get it out of the uh, gutter.

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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 an announcement when I have a new column available as well as news articles/opinion pieces that reflect where I'm coming from or that I wish to call attention to.

©2019 Mark Mehlmauer As long as you agree to include the name of my website (The Flyoverland Crank) and the URL (Creative Commons license at the top and bottom of the website) you may republish this anywhere that you please. Light editing that doesn't alter the content is acceptable. You don't have to include any of the folderol before the greeting or after the closing except for the title.