OK, Boomer

Don't trust anyone over 30. OK, Boomer?

Image by Rudy Anderson from Pixabay

This is: A weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — to advise them and haunt them after they've become grups and/or I'm deleted.

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — A Perusal by kids, callowyutes, or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering. Viewing with a tablet or a monitor is highly recommended for maximum enjoyment.  

About 

Glossary 

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlerreader

"At fifty you realize that you are no longer a kid. I ignored forty. It was like I was almost at middle age. Maybe it's the baby boomer thing."  -John Travolta

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

The phrase OK, Boomer, according to Wikipedia, "...is a catchphrase and meme often used by teenagers and young adults to dismiss or mock attitudes typically associated with people born in the two decades following World War II, ...it has increasingly been used to refer to pre-millennial people in general, regardless of when they were actually born."

[You had to look it up? OK, Boomer. The implicit, eye-rolling sarcasm was over your head, Mr. Obvious? ]

No, Dana, I was already well aware of the significance of this snarky, smug dollop of ageism.

I wish to compare and contrast the meme in question to a meme that was popular among Boomers when Boomers were callowyutes, and memes were not yet called memes. 

[Huh?]

Patience. 

I looked it up merely because I wondered if my fellow English speakers were inserting a comma betwixt OK and Boomer which I think is grammatically correct. (My grammatical abilities are not what I wish they were.) 

Also, I tend to favor color, melody, and rhythm over technically correct and I've found that using commas to "set off nouns of direct address" often looks discordant, Dana, so I was...

[Huh?]

Never mind, it's not you, it's me.  

In the sixties, the meme don't trust anyone over thirty was quite popular. I love irony for some reason and...

[It's because you were a cynical old bastard the day you were born!]

That's not true. I was a cognitively dissonant combination of idealism and cynicism for quite a while. Reality has gradually boiled off most of the idealism but it occasionally rears its nieve head when I'm least expecting it. I think it has something to do with having a kid, and grandkids.  

As I was saying, I love irony and there's a double dose to be found in comparing these two memes. There's the obvious one, Boomers who sneered at their parents being sneered at by their progeny. 

And then there's the less obvious one. 

Don't trust anyone over thirty is credited to one of the founders of the Free Speech Movement, Jack Weinberg, a movement that stemmed from an incident on the campus of the University of California, Berkeley in the fall of 1964. 

Fast forward to the present era and the epidemic of college students shouting down, and often shutting down, the free speech of the unwoke — including students at UC Berkeley.

Nowadays, no shortage of uncollegial collegiate callowyutes favor restricting free speech if they or one of the high priests of Neojacobinism rule that a given utterance is hate speech since they conflate alleged hate speech with violence.

[Wait-wait-wait. Should Neojacobinism be capitalized?]

Well... Jacobinism is, and from what I can tell the word is usually rendered as Neo-Jacobinism. However, I prefer rendering as one word, as in neoconservative or neoliberalism. 

[OK, Boomer but...]

Anyways, even silence is violence if one is not promptly and properly parroting the party line. Somewhere, George Orwell (and some otherwhere, Chairman Mao) are smiling.

[You know, not everyone likes alliteration as much as you do.]  

OK, boomer is illustrative of another current phenomenon — the effortless kneejerk reply by uninformed or inarticulate social media mavens with fractured attention spans — one of several reasons why Cranky don't tweet. 

For example, suppose I was a Tweeter and posted something like, "I'll wager that the majority of Wokies, particularly younger ones, don't even know what a Jacobite is and why canceling someone is the modern equivalent of sentencing them to death by guillotine without having to get blood on their coke white kicks." 

[What are...] 

Unblemished sneakers.

[OK Boomer]

No meaningful response is required, not even a link to someone else's meaningful response is required. 

[OK Boomer] 

Touche', Tweety.  

[Hey, wait a second. You've been known to take a shot or three at your fellow boomers.] 

True, I've devoted entire paragraphs, and then some, to my contention that unless a given Boomer is as sharp, productive, and relevant as Einshtein at his best it's time to leave the stage — if one can afford to — and mentor a grup or a callowyute if ya' can find one that'll pay attention.

Hint: you may have to do so surreptitiously. 

Otherwise, get a new job, or get a hobby, or volunteer to be a volunteer that _______.

[Einshtein?] 

Yes, that's how it's pronounced you Neandertal. 

[OK, Boomer.]  

On a related note

I don't know if Dr. Anthony Faucci is as sharp, productive, and relevant as Einshtein at his best. He has many fans, but also many detractors. I do have a problem with the fact he can dance the Walkback as adroitly as any given politician. That's not an ability that inspires trust and confidence in a scientist in my semi-humble opinion.

Regardless, he's 80-yeas-old and was paid $432,312 in 2020. This makes him the highest-paid employee of the 4,000,000 or so people that work for The Fedrl Gummit. 

And yes, that's more than we pay our commander-in-chief. 

I can't help but wonder if there's a younger person somewhere out there, a medical genius, that could and would change the world if given the chance.        

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

Comment, share this column, or access older columns below. If you find my work pleasing you should buy me some cheap coffee with PayPal or plastic.    

Feel free to comment/like/follow/cancel/troll me on Cranky's Facebook page.

Cranky don't tweet.

  

Voting

Image by chayka1270 from Pixabay

This is: A weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — to advise them and haunt them after they've become grups and/or I'm deleted.

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — A Perusal by kids, callowyutes, or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering. Viewing with a tablet or a monitor is highly recommended for maximum enjoyment.  

About 

Glossary 

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlerreader

"In my lifetime, we've gone from Eisenhower to George W. Bush. We've gone from John F. Kennedy to Al Gore. If this is evolution, I believe that in twelve years, we'll be voting for plants." -Lewis Black  

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

The Donald has declared repeatedly, and continues to declare frequently, I wuz robbed! 

If he's deleted before getting a chance at a rematch with Uncle Joe this cry for justice will probably be chiseled into the marble of the biggest, best, and most beautiful mausoleum in all of New York City, maybe the whole country.

It'll be America's answer to the Taj Mahal and be part of a complex that includes a casino (Taj 2) and the Trump Memorial Skating Rink and Shopping Mall!

It'll...

[Hey-hey-hey! Glance up, please. The title of this missive is Voting.]       

Indeed it is. Thanks, Dana. 

Our story so far:

The Donald says he wuz robbed. But he'd say that even if he lost by a decisive margin instead of a narrow one. It's what he does. 

The powers that be in various Depublican states dramatically expanded vote by mail and kept tweaking rules as they went, sowing confusion and litigation.

The Republicrats have responded by introducing new voting laws in several states, Georgia for example, and the purple press is covering the story as though it's as important and traumatic as the impending divorce of Kim and Kanye.

[And social media mavens are going nuts. Did you know she's allegedly worth a billion bucks?]

Most states require people to prove they have the right to vote, when they vote, by producing some form of identification. 

The recently passed law in Georgia requires a given Citizen of the Republic to produce a drivers license (expired is OK) or a (free) state-issued ID — or a Social Security number, or a copy of a current utility bill, or a bank statement, or a government check, or a paycheck. 

[Shudder... Racism!]

The Ds answer to the Rs is an 800-page bill that requires the states, among many many other things, to enable voter registration via an automated telephone system...

"Please press one if you're a Depublican, two if you're Republicrat, three if you're an independent, and four if none of the preceding options apply. 

Beep. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't get that. Please press one if you're a Depublican..." 

And, specifies that envelopes used to return mail-in ballots must be "self-sealing." 

[To protect the salivicly challenged?]    

And, a grace period. Mail-in votes that arrive up to ten days after an election must be counted. 

[You made all that up!]

No, I didn't

I've been hinting around about starting a movement called neo-neoconservatism, but have yet to mention any details. Upon reflection, the very thought of trying to start, or worse yet lead, a political movement makes me want to hide under my bed.

Despite the fact I'm still stinging from my resounding defeat in the last election —America apparently doesn't want a king — going forward I'll continue to preface my ideas for untangling the nation's political and cultural problems with the phrase if I were king.

To be honest, being a benevolent monarch is the only political job that I'd bother to dust off my resume for. That said: 

If I were king, I'd declare the weekend and Monday prior to the federal elections that occur every two years (on Tuesdays) to be a national four-day weekend/holiday. Fireworks are suggested, but not mandatory.  

Most importantly, the vast majority of the Citizens of the Republic will be required to vote in person if they want to participate. I'm sure that Uncle Joe, the president that's trying so hard to reunite our nation's fractious factions, will agree.

Traditionally, most Americans somehow managed to all vote on the same day. In the modern era, the results were usually known by the next morning and everyone got on with their lives.

But compare and contrast the election of 1960 to the election of 2000. 

In 1960 Tricky Dick, many now believe, actually won the race against Kennedy. But Tricky Dick — a firm believer that all's fair in love, war, and politics (which became abundantly clear by 1974) — conceded rather than put the nation through what the Algore didn't hesitate to put the nation through in 2000. 

I propose an All American four-day weekend. Plenty of time to get to the polls and plenty of time to get the transportationally challenged to the polls. 

[Transportationally challenged?]  

Voting parties and picanics! Parades! Voting sales  — "Everything in the store 10% off all four days!" — Football! Members of gummit and schoolteachers unions get another paid holiday to honor their service to a grateful nation!

Normal people can resume their lives on Wednesday. Lawyers can file fresh lawsuits. Politicians can start raising money for the next election.

[Pic-a-nics?] 

Google the name, Yogi Bear.

Anti-racism statement

I unequivocally condemn the blatant racism that's been on display since the controversy over Georgia's new election law has seized the attention of the nation and the world. 

To assert that black people won't be able to prove their identities via one of the multiple options listed in the new law is appalling. I can't believe that in this day and age there are openly racist white people that still think that black people aren't as smart as they are, and that our president is one of them. 

I'm thinking about moving to another country.

Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day

Comment, share this column, or access older columns below. If you find my work pleasing you should buy me some cheap coffee with PayPal or plastic.    

Feel free to comment/like/follow/cancel/troll me on Cranky's Facebook page.

Cranky don't tweet.    

     

  

      

 

Spring

A Mr. Cranky's neighborhood episode

Image by Bessi from Pixabay

This is: A weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — to advise them and haunt them after they've become grups and/or I'm deleted.

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — A Perusal by kids, callowyutes, or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering. Viewing with a tablet or a monitor is highly recommended for maximum enjoyment.  

About 

Glossary

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlerreader

"The first day of spring is one thing, and the first spring day is another. The difference between them is sometimes as great as a month." -Henry Van Dyke

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies and Great-Grandstickies (and Gentlereaders)

It must be Spring. 

In the course of a single recent day, I encountered the three wise men for the first time in a while, Picasso man wheeled his way down the sidewalk in front of my house as I was looking out the window, and my favorite Morman — the 80-year old that lives next door — was in his backyard prepping his Can-Am Spyder for fresh adventures.

Consilience or cosmic coinkydink?  

"Get your motor runnin'

Head out on the highway..."

If not for the fact he's much more likely to be seen on the back of one of his two-riding lawn mowers than his motorcycle when the weather's nice I'd get him a leather jacket with Missionaries on Motorcycles written on the back.

While walking around my very quiet and very old neighborhood, I refer to the age of most of the houses and many of my neighbors, I've been trying out a new greeting when I encounter a fellow Citizen of the Republic of a certain age. 

"Good morning and/or evening (I never walk in the afternoon), looks like we've survived another Northern Ohio winter and the plague!"

Some version of "Well, so far anyway" is the reply I almost always receive unless it's one of the very few people I encounter regularly and who don't regard me as a potential threat. The demeanor of most, often as not, clearly expresses that they're prepared to sic their dog on me if I should do or say something that confirms their suspicions.  

When I cross paths with younger adults I limit myself to good morning and/or evening. They usually toss one back at me but often look surprised. 

Why's that geezer talking to me? I wish I had brought the dog.       

Teens almost always look startled and uncomfortable and mumble a half-hearted reply or none at all. If there's more than one there's often giggling and speaking in hushed tones as they walk away trying to make sense of what just happened.

The elusive, unaccompanied younger kid(s) also is likely to look startled and uncomfortable and also mumble a half-hearted reply or none at all. Their demeanor displays a fight or flight response as their eyes dart around in search of the best escape route. 

There's a reason the expression Northern hospitality is not a thing. 

[Maybe it's just you?]      

Entirely possible, Dana. I may have the soul of an artist but it's trapped behind/inside the face/body of a non-speaking extra in an old school gangster movie.

Assuming he's lived long enough to have grey hair and has no visible scars.

We have new streetlights, or rather, new streetlight bulbs on some of the streets of Hooterville. The old bulbs were encased in a sort of shroud/cover that diminished the harshness of the light a bit. The shrouds/covers didn't do much to reduce the light pollution in our little Ohio "city" but they helped.

The new bulbs are just sort of there. No cover, quite bright, and high-tech looking. Hopefully, there's a phase two pending in which the shrouds/covers will return.  

Not that (almost) any location in Northeast Ohio is good for stargazing despite the fact there's no shortage of ruralness in the region southwest of the thriving megalopolis of Cleveland.

Lake Erie not only produces lake-effect snow once it freezes over in the winter it generates a lot of cloud cover a lot of the time.

And now, since multimedia entertainment is considered cool and cutting edge, I'm a cynical old crank, and it's my column, here's a video version of an old Randy Newman song, Burn On, about the time the Cuyahoga River caught on fire in Cleveland. 

"Cleveland, city of light, city of magic."

The good news is that both Lake Eire and the Cuyahoga River are in much better shape than when the song was written. The bad news is that most of the factories and steel mills (and thousands of jobs) that caused the problem are now polluting China.

[Is ruralness a real word?]

Absabalutely, Dana. 

[Wait-wait-wait. You said almost any location. Where...]

Observatory Park. Described by Google Maps as a "green space for hiking and stargazing." I've never been there but now that I know about it I might pay a visit... after the plague is under control.  

I'm embarrassed to admit that even though I've been temporarily living in Ohio for 35 years I only recently became aware of its existence. Observatory Park I mean, not the Buckeye state. 

A quick bit o' googlin' revealed that it's one of only 8, or 10, or 27 parks recognized by the International Dark-Sky Association in the US. (I love living in the Information Age.)

Anyways, it's located in a rural part of Geauga County (between me and Cleveland) that has minimal light pollution, and the folks that run the park work with local officials to keep it that way. Unfortunately, it's as subject to cloud cover as the rest of this region so clear nights are catch-as-catch-can.

Maybe I could get a room... 

Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day

Comment, share this column, or access older columns below. If my work pleases you you can buy me some cheap coffee with PayPal or plastic.    

Feel free to comment/like/follow/cancel/troll me on Cranky's Facebook page.

Cranky don't tweet.