Friday, June 2, 2023

De-evolution

The future is now.

Image by natureaddict from Pixabay

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

Trigger Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, or grups may result in a debilitating meltdown.  

Glossary 

Featuring Dana: Hallucination, guest star, and charming literary device  

"It's Tough to Make Predictions, Especially About the Future."  -Yogi Berra


Dear Stickies and Gentlereaders,

Idiocracy (comedy/Sci-fi) is the title of a movie released in 2006 that I recently sort of watched (I bailed early) because some recent events reminded me of its existence. 

I happened to catch a well-done preview back when it was released that I remember discussing with a friend at the time. 

We wondered if the movie was as good as the preview made it out to be or if the brief clips featured were radically better than the movie as a whole, a not uncommon phenomenon. I've discovered that they were, very much so in fact.

(The columnist drifts off...)

Have you ever wondered if there are Hollywood specialists that make these miniature movies? That is to say, previews, given that so many full-length movies don't come close to living up to the quality promised by the preview? 

I looked it up and there are, it's almost an industry unto itself. There's a lot of time, energy, and money spent to get us to watch a given production. 

{They should hire the people that make miniature movies about movies to make the actual movies.}

(The columnist finds his way back...) 

Idiocracy is a movie about a dystopian future in which "evolution has made humanity stupid because people no longer had to be intelligent and physically fit to survive due to the benefits of technology" according to Wikipedia.

Some recent developments in the educational-industrial complex, specifically within the higher education division, are what triggered a synapse or two in my little gray cells that led to me recently remembering and subsequently streaming the movie. Ironically, it's a stupid movie, about stupid people. 


I follow a website, thecollegefix.com: 

BREAKING CAMPUS NEWS. LAUNCHING MEDIA CAREERS

The stories are written by unawokened college students that write reports about what goes on these days on campus. 

I highly recommend reading it as the outrageous stories about colleges and universities occasionally reported by the mainstream press are just the tip of the proverbial iceberg. The College Fix publishes such stories seven days a week. 

For example, I'll bet you didn't know that you can minor in protest art at the University of Maryland. 

Or that there's a tiny, fully accredited "early college" (you can drop out of high school and still get a college degree) called Bard College at Simon's Rock, in Massachusetts.

Bard College at Simon’s Rock starts degree program for ‘queer leadership’
 
Bard is starting up a new degree program this fall so as to become “the first intentionally queer-serving college in the world.” Changing the world one student at a time, for only $61,600 a year

An additional $21,201 covers living on campus, health insurance, a campus health services fee, an activity fee, and the fee (650 bucks) for the Writing and Thinking Workshop. 

(There's an enrollment fee of $500, but only for new students, and new international students pay an additional one-time international orientation fee of $300.)

You know, if I didn't know better... never mind. Gotta love a package deal, you know what I mean? For less than 85k a year, Bard is developing leaders to liberate a significant segment of our many marginalized minorities from oppression by the Normies. 

{I wonder if Simon, or Simon's descendants, get a cut of the action? Ba dum tss.} 

I wonder what goes on in a Writing and Thinking Workshop?


Meanwhile, at the other end of the Republic, courtesy of John Stossel, I give you Professor Asao Inoue who teaches at Arizona State. "If you use a single standard to grade your student's languaging, you engage in racism." 

{Launguaging?}   

You betcha. From Languaging Everyday Life In Classrooms (a fascinating read): "It is through languaging that people act on each other, performative and commissive acts through which people establish their and others’ personhood." -David Bloome and Faythe Beauchemin

{Languaging?}   

Maybe this video featuring Mr. Stossel engaging with Marxian professor Inoue will help.


Maybe not.  


So what do the students think? Perhaps the dystopian future portrayed in Idiocracy isn't as inevitable as current trends in the Republic would seem to indicate? 

Here are some fun facts as revealed by Inside Higher Ed’s Student Voice Survey of 2023 of 3,004 students that I picked up from a College Fix article

"Students report that difficult course materials and exams, required attendance and deadlines are all impediments to their college success..."

"...obstacles listed as 'Impediments to Success' included school-life balance, unclear expectations, and mental health struggles."

I recommend learning to speak Chinese. 

Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day


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Comments? I post links to my columns on Facebook and Twitter so you love me, hate me, or try to have me canceled on either site. Cranky don't tweet.


Friday, May 26, 2023

Saints With Blue Collars


Image by Clker-Free-Vector-Images from Pixabay

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

Trigger Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, or grups may result in a debilitating meltdown.  

Glossary 

Featuring Dana: Hallucination, guest star, and charming literary device  

"If you are not paying for it, you're not the customer; you're the product being sold." -Andrew Lewis


Dear Stickies and Gentlereaders,

I'd like to say thank you to the literally tens of millions of men and women of the "working class" that labored long and hard to build and maintain the incredible country I grew up in while taking it, and them, for granted.

While I'm at it, I'd like to thank the working-class men and women who continue to do so. I'd especially like to thank the literally millions of folks in the "service industries" who pick up the garbage, cook the food, man person the cash registers, clean the... well, everything, etc., etc., etc.

Prior to retirement, I myself was an overworked, underpaid wage slave often as not. But once in a while I moved up the ladder and became an overworked, underpaid low-level boss who got paid the same salary regardless of how many hours I had to put in.  

Now retired, although my income is frustratingly modest, I'm both a happy and grateful camper. Every morning, when I don't have to leave my warm, comfortable bed and report to a j.o.b, is glorious. But I know (and knew) all sorts of H. sapiens that like their working-class jobs.  

There truly is no accounting for taste. 

I, a member of an ancient, bankrupt, and dissolute family of Austrian aristocrats, who as an infant was won by my "father" in a poker game at the Gem saloon in Deadwood, South Dakota, have inherited an aristocratic nature but not much else. 


When I graduated from high school in 1971 I started working full-time in the grocery store where I had been working part-time. Knowing next to nothing about the real world didn't stop me from being a lefty with vague socialist notions. 

I was a naive, idealistic Boomer who knew it was only a matter of time before my generation would fix everything that was wrong with the world, once we took control, and divvied up the pie into equal slices.   

In 1971 it was possible to get a decent job in any number of industries. A man could support a stay-at-home wife and kids with a 40-hour work week but wives with jobs were becoming the norm, as were "career" women of every sort. 


And then, slowly but steadily, everything changed. Nations that had been decimated by the second world war were now part of a rapidly growing global economy and (understandably) wanted what we had.

America, who had saved the world's butt in World War 2, and then helped get the planet back on its feet, found itself competing with Germany, Japan, and everyone else in a different sort of war.

The use of a pill called "the pill" became widespread and abortion was nationally (if temporarily) legalized. 

A well-meaning Henry the K. invited the Chicoms to the party. Unfortunately, that hasn't worked out quite like we hoped for many of us, and many of them for that matter. 

Employers had access to more potential employees here and a lot of jobs were sent over there, never to return. No biggie, we were assured. The "creative destruction" of capitalism would eventually generate new and better jobs. 

It had always worked fairly well before, and as I grew up while moving to the right, I — a formerly staunch, wild-eyed free marketeer and libertarian, nowadays beset by some doubts — believed it. 


But then the naive, idealistic Boomer tech nerds of the garages of Silicon Valley ("information wants to be free") devolved into high-tech Lords that make the robber barons look like rank amateurs.

"Here's some 'free' software. Go play, have fun, we'll keep score (slice, dice, and sell your data). Sorry about the Great Recession, sorry your job has been 'disrupted'. Let's all pay a special tax and then divvy up the proceeds among the masses, a Universal Basic Income if you will.

Circuses and Bread!

We feel your pain, we're woke after all, but we're citizens of the world now and must think globally. We're so over borders and patriotism and tradition. And why sweat the God question when soon we'll all live forever?  

Universal basic income, robots, and artificial intelligence... What could possibly go wrong? The future's so bright we're all gonna need shades. Hey, check out our AI software, It's free!" 

Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day


Scroll down to share my work or access oldies. Buy an old crank a coffee? Join Cranky's Coffee Club to read Cranky's History of the World.    

Comments? I post links to my columns on Facebook and Twitter so you love me, hate me, or try to have me canceled at either site. Cranky don't tweet. 



  




  

Friday, May 19, 2023

In the Event of My Death

 Cheat Sheet No.1

Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay

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

Trigger Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, or grups may result in a debilitating meltdown.  

Glossary 

Featuring Dana: Hallucination, guest star, and charming literary device  

"Everybody wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die." -Unknown 


Dear Stickies and Gentlereaders,

I'll be turning 70 this year. As I've mentioned in previous letters/columns if I were to wake up dead on any given day, although an international tragedy, it wouldn't be shocking or unusual. 

After all, H. sapiens of all ages die every day, all H. sapiens die eventually, and according to World.Data.info "A male child born in the United States today will live to be 74.5 years old on average." If you haven't been paying attention, this statistic has been trending in the wrong direction.

{Yeah but you were born many thousands of days ago, lighten up. I'll bet you're not scheduled to meet the Grim Reaper for a while yet.}

He/she/they self-identifies as the Happy Recycler nowadays, it's a rebranding thing. 

For some mysterious reason, I've yet to become the wildly successful, beloved, well-known columnist that I obviously should be by now so it's also occurred to me that it also wouldn't be particularly shocking or unusual to wake up one day and discover that I'm 80 years old, still writing columns, and still waiting for fame and fortune to find me. 

And still telling myself that starting (later) today, tomorrow, next week, next month, next year, or next ______ that I'm going to _______. That's human nature, mine anyway, although I strongly suspect I'm not the only one. 

So I plan to crank out a series of "cheat sheets" before my deletion.

(While I'm thinking of it, for the record, I've no idea if virtue, prayer, daily affirmations, positive thinking, etc. actually make any difference. But to be absolutely clear, all I ask for is good health and plenty of money. I'll take care of the rest.)


Anyways... given that I'm mortal, and given that I have no desire to be immortal via any sort of technology currently under development by those who think that living forever wouldn't be a profound bore... 

{What about some sort of spiritual immortality after your body is deleted?} 

Since I have no way of knowing with any certainty what's next I don't dwell on it. Perpetual bliss also sounds boring; being sentenced to perpetual torment by a loving (or even vindictive) God for my, or the average Joe, Joan, or J. Bagadonuts' mediocre sins, seems highly unlikely.

{What about reincarnation?} 

Boring. 

{So what do you think happens, and for that matter, what's life on Earth about for H. sapiens?}

I don't know what will happen. Big picture-wise I suspect not much, that there's only one whatever it is, that's what we call "God," and God's having a very vivid dream, us. In my semi-humble opinion, that's what life on Earth and the whole universe is (universes are?) about.

{Would you care to elaborate?}

No. 

A gentleperson must decide on such things for themselves. However, decide, or decide to not decide, the important thing is to leave each other alone about such things as much as possible. A semi-wise person of my acquaintance once said:

"I want the playground to have minimum rules and maximum fun. I want just enough rules to give everyone an equal shot at some swing time and neutralize the bullies." -me

{You can't...}

I can and I did. Cheat Sheets are a sort of distillation of all the stuff I would like to mention, or reiterate, to the Stickies and my daughter and son-in-law in the event of my sudden demise. Hopefully, this will provide some life guidance and provide comfort for their devastated hearts (and for the lack of cash left on the table).


This then is my introductory Cheat Sheet. Since the purpose of my Cheat Sheets is to make sure I say all the things I'd like to say while I'm still here to say them, and since this missive hasn't used up its word quota:

You've likely heard that there's no such thing as a free lunch. While this is mostly true, like most rules, there's an exception that a discerning individual should be aware of.

Sometimes, someone that loves you, or perhaps even an occasional stranger with a kind disposition, will provide a free lunch. The "price" is the pleasure your benefactor experiences and as you hopefully are aware, this sort of thing can supply a really good buzz.

Buy somebody's lunch occasionally... BUT, be circumspect. As you may have also heard, there's a sucker born every minute.

Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day


Scroll down to share my work or access oldies. Buy an old crank a coffee? Join Cranky's Coffee Club to read Cranky's History of the World.    

Comments? I post links to my columns on Facebook and Twitter where you can go to love me, hate me, or try to have me canceled.