Christmas 2015

Well, Christmas has come and gone. A certain young woman of my acquaintance, who had relatively recently turned 13, relatively recently revealed to me that the result of her recent reflections regarding the holiday has resulted in some remarkable revelations. Sorry, I'll stop.

Now that she's no longer a child, she's noticed that though Christmas still rocks, it's just not the same as it was last year -- when she was still a kid. We had this conversation about a week before Christmas and she remarked mentioned to me that last year at this same time (2014) her emotions had begun ramping up to what by Christmas Eve was what I would've called, when I was her age, a full blown Purple Leptic Fit, or at the very least, a nervous breakdown.

For the Record: When and where I was but a wee lad, several thousand days ago, a Purple Leptic Fit meant the same thing that flipping out or freaking out does now. Googling the phrase will point you to novelist Chuck (Note: Effective illustration of the potential long-term side effects of the plague of moniker malpractice currently ravaging the realm  infecting the culture) Dickens "Great Expectations." However, when I was 12, and living on the Sou-side a Pittsburgh, the only book of Chucks that I was familiar with at the time was the famous novella, "A Christmas Carol." I hadn't read it, I've yet to read it, but I have seen most of the movie versions including the best one, Mr. Magoo's Christmas Carol, an animated musical. Move along, move along, no snobby literary allusions to see here folks.

Anyway... I responded to my favorite trumpet playing, cook, interior decorator, and future lawyer by pointing out, as gently as possible, that unfortunately this was the nature of the beast in question. At some point the magic starts fading and we feel like we're missing something because we're unlikely to experience Christmas with quite the same intensity ever again. However, if we're lucky, we'll have access to some kids still young enough to go as berserk as we once did in the week leading up to the holiday. Better a thrill once removed than no thrill at all. What I failed to point out -- in my defense it was because I hadn't yet read a brilliant article in the Wall Street Journal by a Clare Ansberry that's about believing in Santa Clause -- was that parents go to exhausting and expensive lengths to perpetrate this happy hoax because, "... Christmas often represents their own fondest childhood memories." That, "It signifies the all-too-short time in a child's life when everything is good and nothing impossible." Exactly. Therefore, a good egg, such as herself, can look forward to doing her duty and participating in the hoax for the rest of her life. She doesn't even need to have her own kids to do so.

So of course, this got to me thinking about hedonic adaptation. (It's not you, it's me, I've always been like this.)

According to Wikipedia: "The hedonic treadmill, also known as hedonic adaptation, is the observed tendency of humans to quickly return to a relatively stable level of happiness despite major positive or negative events or life changes."

Now in case you haven't been paying attention, or have an actual life, studies have been conducted, books and articles written, hypotheses and conclusions debated, etc. Fear not, gentlereaders, I'm not about to offer up a lecture on the subject. As is the case regarding the myriad subjects that I, your dilettante about town, am interested in, I'm singularly unqualified to do so. This used to be a source of some embarrassment to me -- the fact that I'm not an expert, specialist, go to guy, or the like  -- as concerns, well, anything. However, one of the many unexpected compensations of getting old, at least for me, is finally figuring out just what it is I'm about, and accepting it. Also, I've found comfort in that bit of folk wisdom that states that an expert is a bonkercockie artist at least 50 miles from home.

Anyway... Notice that the definition offered up by Wikipedia doesn't say that if you win a large enough prize in a lottery or some similar sort of endeavor and realize one of my (and I have reason to suspect many other people's) fondest dreams, F.U. level wealth...

Or, that if you get hit by a bus, and it takes a year or two to successfully(more or less) put Humpty Dumpty together again, that you will be happy. It says that you will "quickly return to a relatively stable level of happiness."

The good news is this phenomenon is widely studied, researched and documented; you can add it to your Facts are Stubborn Things list; you should keep it in mind. The bad news is that if you were miserable by nature before the life-altering event, odds are you will still be miserable after the smoke clears and you return to your stable level. On a side note, I highly recommend that if, "Money is the root of all evil" is on your Stubborn Things list that you cross it off and write: Money has the potential to be the root of much evil or good, but more importantly, the lack of enough money to fund a modest and virtuous lifestyle sucks sweaty socks.

What have we learned Dorothy?

It's not you, It's me.Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Clause. You really should read, or  resuscitate and re-read, a remarkably relevant previous post, my first, The Pursuit of Contentment.

Have an OK day.                                                                                      

©Mark Mehlmauer 2015



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Grups v. Snowflakes

I've always wondered who it was that thought up the idea of getting an advertiser to pay a given radio station to regularly state something like: This broadcast is coming to you live from the studios of The Flyoverland Crank. The Flyoverland Crank -- bringing you enlightened infotainment since July! Pure genius. A business pays the given radio station, that they and their competitors already pay to run commercials, a premium, so that they will be mentioned briefly, but regularly, throughout the day.

If the radio station wasn't effectively competitive, wasn't attracting enough listeners to justify the premium, the money would go to a station that was. Competition.

If the advertiser wasn't effectively competitive, wasn't attracting enough customers to generate the money needed to pay the radio station a premium, one of their rivals might. Competition.

When cut-throat capitalism is working the way it should, the consumers win, the consumer has the power -- no customers, no money -- bankruptcy. We Earthlings fortunate enough to live in a country that has a sorta/kinda free market economy are the beneficiaries of cut-throat capitalism, and we love it. We love living in the most prosperous society the world has ever seen. We love the myriad choices. We love the competitive prices. We love the jobs generated...

...Until the alarm clock goes off, or the payment's due, or we lose our job, or fail as an entrepreneur. Or if the philistines/the 1%/the dean/the boss/or dad just don't/doesn't appreciate our delicate sensibilities, and the fact that snowflakes need to be nurtured (and subsidised) lest they melt in the heat generated by the daily struggle for three all natural, organic hots and an adjustable Tempur-Pedic cot.

Well then, then capitalism/the market/the system/the rat race -- sucks sweaty socks.

This is when the grups (grownups) are separated from the snowflakes.

We're the grups! We know that every coin has a head and a tail. We've been around those often cited proverbial blocks and came in last at more damn rodeos than we care to admit. We deal with it. We take care of business, it's in the job description. We do the work, raise the kids, pay the bills, fight the wars (or, lucky us, more likely just support the ones that do), we care for the aging parents.

I'm a grup, but I've no interest in demonizing snowflakes. I do enjoy making fun of them though, I hope they will do me the honor of returning the favor. Humor trumps demonizing. Just thinking about an aging, mostly bald, chubby guy with a ponytail that's been espousing socialism for decades makes me smile. Gazillionaire actors with left wing politics, of any age or appearance, who haven't had to work at a real job since they were part-time food service workers while attending drama school make me laugh out loud.

On a vaguely related note: For the record, I've no idea where William Devane stands on anything, or if he's a gazillionaire, or what he's like in real life, but I think it should be illegal for actors to encourage people to buy gold and silver. "What's in your safe?" Unfulfilled dreams and empty promises, but thanks for asking Bill!

Some good news for snowflakes still involved with the 1% movement. If you happen to live on the planet Earth, work full time, and make at least $9.09/hr., congrats, your yearly income is greater than 99% of your fellow Earthlings. That is, assuming you define full time the traditional way, 40 hours per week, and not the Obamacare way, which is only 30 hours. But prosperity, and even living in a country that has a nationwide obesity epidemic (and you thought there was nothing new under the sun), doesn't seem to do much to help us to all get along.

You've no doubt noticed we seem to be a country devolving into warring factions. The national consensus was always a fragile structure (involving much duct tape) because we're a nation of all sorts of people from everywhere and anywhere. For that to work without employing the traditional methods, murder and subjugation, a system is needed that grants the "other guy" the same freedom and liberty we want for ourselves. Live and let live.

This was the point of the American experiment, an experiment that many others have since attempted, with mixed results. All things considered, it's amazing it's worked out for us as well as it has. We nearly exterminated the folks that we expropriated a continent from. We enslaved Africans. We had to fight a civil war because of that one. Learning nothing much, we devised another obscenity, Jim Crow. We're still trying to fix that to everyone's satisfaction. In spite of these and no shortage of other screwups, we somehow managed to become the most prosperous country the world has ever seen, so far. And we're relatively free. And we twice elected an African-American to the most powerful job on Earth, which would not have been possible without Mr. Obama capturing approximately the same average percentage of white voters as any democratic presidential candidate in modern times.

We can take comfort in the fact we've done some good. That we may have moved a few rungs up the ladder in the direction of being truly civilized -- history will tell. That we're still trying.

I've read that scholars say that various cultures in the ancient Mideast thought that as we move forward in time we're facing the past, that the future is behind us. In other words, that we walk through life backward. This was because they valued the past, as I read somewhere recently, a little too much. This meme would seem to stand in start contrast to the way the modern world in general, America in particular, views life. We believe we're facing forward and racing forward. Who has time to worry about history? We're constantly running behind while simultaneously trying to stay one step ahead of the information tsunami.

I think most of us have more in common with the citizens of the ancient cultures of Mesopotamia and Eygpt than we realize. They walked backward through life, we run backward through life. The cult of victimhood encourages us to run backward while never taking our eyes off of what happened to us -- or whatever groups we've decided we're part of -- last week, last month, last year, etc. This process doesn't even stop at the womb. Look what happened to my parents, my grandparents, my ancestors, my country, my _____. Please feel free to fill in the blank with the grievance(s) of your choice.

Learn (from) history. As you may have heard, it will save you from having to relearn lessons someone else already learned the hard way. But the past is gone, the future is a maybe. Turn around, now, before something or someone smacks you in the back of the head.

Have an OK day.                                                                                      

©Mark Mehlmauer 2015



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I

When I'm the King Of America... (No. 2)

...I'm going to bring back Sunday blue laws. I've stated in a past post ("The 6.5 Commandments") that I don't support blue laws, but I've changed my mind. With no disrespect intended to any Type A types that thrive on the hyperactive pace of our current culture, or at least claim to, I suspect most of us would like a chance to catch our breath, smell the coffee, read the book, watch the game, etc.

Please Note: Sunday sports, particularly professional football and the enormous industry that supports it, will be exempted.

I'm not a sports fan. In fact, there's a false rumor loose in the realm that claims I've stated that if Lenin were alive today he would say that sports is the opiate of the masses. However, I firmly believe that professional sports serve a vital function -- as (mostly) harmless entertainment. ISIS, ISIL, Daesh, DAISH, Da'esh, Daech, Khilafat, the Islamic State -- or whatever their being called this week (just don't dare say Islamic terrorists) -- openly embraces murder, kidnapping, slavery and posting beheading videos on the web. In spite of Mr. Obama's assurances that his policies are shrinking this tumor, common sense seems to indicate it's still growing. Dr. Crank prescribes escapist entertainment, lots of it. Particularly on America's newly minted official day off.

Also, football, particularly American-style football, serves as a (mostly) harmless outlet for the violent tendencies we've inherited from our evolutionary predecessors. They are alive and well and living in comfortable apartments in obscure, but safe and long-established neighborhoods deep within the homo sapien brain. Ignore them at your peril.    

Irony Alert: American-style professional football, our most popular sport, often criticized for how violent it is, is played by highly-paid, elite professionals and the violence is (usually) limited to the playing field. Professional football in most of the rest of the world, a sport approved by eight out of ten moms because it's allegedly not a violent sport, is played by highly-paid, elite professionals, and the violence is (usually) limited to the spectators. Occasionally, people are killed.

Now, having promised in the past to be a benevolent tyrant (BT), a promise I intend to keep, I hesitate to reimpose Sunday blue laws. I believe the playground should have as few rules as possible, just enough to maintain order, maintain the playground, and neutralize the bullies.

(Incidentally, I consider bullies to be not only the thugs that seek power over others by physical force or social dominance. Bullies are also the kids that are prepared to cheat, steal, lie, etc. -- to engage in whatever unethical or immoral behavior is necessary to win at a particular game. The kids that don't play fair. You've been warned.)

However, as your king, 'tis my duty to keep a wary eye on the big picture. This includes monitoring the emotional health of the subjects of my realm. After all, since God him/her self (a BT must acknowledge political correctness lest they rouse the rabble) has bestowed this office upon me I must do all in my power to keep thee happy, and well adjusted.

Aside: The preceding paragraph perfectly illustrates why the concept of rule by divine right is so popular with me and my fellow kings. Note how easy it is to justify my being the boss of you while acting like I'm doing you a favor, and hinting that being the king is a divinely mandated burden that I'm willing to deal with for your sake. While the world has mostly/sort of/technically moved beyond kings there's no shortage of kings in disguise. I once had a boss that was a saint on Sunday and a scheming weasel the rest of the week. He honestly believed that his McMansion and well-fed bank accounts were earthly manifestations of divine approval. Otherwise, God wouldn't have gone to the trouble of personally supplying him with so many "blessings."

Now, if thou wert behaving thy selves, I wouldst not be forced to intervene in thine humble but busy little lives. Busy, busy little lives. Hence, we therefore proclaim that...

(It was at this point that my muse, thankfully, administered a psychic slap to the back of my head. This served to jolt me out of the embarrassing slide into kingly pomposity on display in the preceding paragraphs. We SMACK! I, apologize.

I'm going to bring back Sunday blue laws to give my subjects an excuse to take a day off without feeling guilty, having to worry about your competitor being open, to discourage your boss/employee/bill collectors, etc., from calling you. Please think of it as a gift and not yet another rule imposed upon you by The Gubmint, or the gubmint, for your own good. A committee of prominent citizens appointed by the governor of each state will decide on the rules; public opinion will serve to keep them in line so they reflect the wishes and values of the citizens of each state. Obviously essential services will have to be provided but a Sunday premium will have to be paid to reward those who have to work while letting the free market do its magic to minimize the amount of people that have to.

Sample Rule: Donut shops will only be permitted to open until noon. Churches are encouraged (but not required) to have only two services, 8:00 a.m. and 10:00 a.m, that are no more than one hour long so that those attending the later service have time to purchase donuts on the way home. Recommended dosage is no more than two donuts for each person living in a given household.

Let's be a shining city on a hill the rest of the world looks to for guidance.

(The following sentence will be more infotaining if you have enough imagination to hear it spoken with some sort of foreign accent, in your head. Warning: Speaking it out loud may lead to a charge of political incorrectness, for which King Crank accepts no responsibility.)

"Those crazy, greedy Americans! The only reason they have the largest GDP on the planet is because they work their asses off 24/6 -- but they sure know how to take a day off to enjoy it.

Have an OK day.                                                                                      

©Mark Mehlmauer 2015



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