Let's review, gentlereaders. Last week I posited the following notion. Life is what happens to you while you're making other plans. My position is that if I've learned anything about the nature of reality it's that this is undeniably true. I'm certain there is no shortage of folks who would disagree with this statement, in whole or in part. It's not my style or intention to pick a fight with those who disagree with me on this or any other matter (see, Please Read This First). I may be wrong. I confess that I'm wrong about something with disturbing regularity. That's why I pointed out that if you don't think the notion is true, which I regard as both fundamental and irrefutable, you might wish to spend your valuable time and energy reading or doing something else. There will not be a part three so I hope I don't loose you, assuming you're still there.
I also pointed out, but not as clearly as I might have, that whether I'm right or wrong may not make much difference to you. If you believe in an afterlife where you will still be you, the individual entity that is reading this, then there must be a method to the madness and all that's needed is to pick the right explanation, and live accordingly. If you think death = oblivion it's possible to logically defend living any sort of life you please -- as long as you are willing to minimize or reject those pesky notions of morality and ethics.
Now, being a spiritual and philosophical agnostic, which I define as trying to keep an open mind and soul so I don't get caught comfortably napping if/when truth knocks on the front door, I'm unable to find respite in either of these two positions. Therefore, I've thought a lot about how to live, accordingly. Getting old has provided long-sought clarity. And I'm glad.
The literal meaning of the phrase life is what happens to you while you're making other plans is not hard to grasp for almost anyone over the age of seven or so. It's interesting that modern psychology has confirmed this bit of traditional wisdom. My corollary -- You don't have all that much control over your life. You never have. You are definitely going to die. You need to live, accordingly -- is what separates the SSC's (sexy seasoned citizens) from the callowyutes, though I'm sure there are exceptions to the rule.
When I was a callowyute I had no problem understanding that in spite of my best efforts my plans often wouldn't work out and that I wouldn't live forever -- intellectually speaking. But it didn't matter because I had years and years and years to fashion a happy, successful life. And, of course, people do die young but I certainly wouldn't be one of them.
Then I walked around the block several times and one day I realized that I might not someday be a rockstar after all. I personally have known a lot of people who have died and most have not gone peacefully in their sleep. Years and years and years went by in the blink of an eye. So, finding only limited solace in either the spiritual or the sensual realms (saints gotta' eat; libertines discover that too much pleasure is as boring as too much of anything), knowing that I could be dead before the next keystroke or that I might live for another forty years -- what to do?
First of all, relax, and try to enjoy the book/game/show/circus/______.
Personally, I imagine that I'm the hapless main character in an excellent novel, a dark comedy. I enjoy dark comedy, as long as there is at least one likable character that's trying to find their way to the light. I've been taking one step forward, and two steps back, ever since a world-class crapstorm rolled through my life in the spring of '05. This was really pissing me off until I tripped over a couple of truths someone had left on the trail I was on (it's hard to avoid tripping, even falling, when your walking backward).
Wait a minute! I don't have that much control over my life, I never have. No one does. I don't feel all that old, most days anyway, but with each passing day, I'm moving deeper into the wrong end of the actuarial tables. Formerly vague notions have become cold hard facts.
Those lucky bastards I know that at least seem to be having a much easier time of it than I have/had/will have crapstorms of their own to deal with. There are literally billions of my fellow Earthlings who consider me the lucky bastard, and I am, in comparison to them.
[Wait a sec', says the imaginary gentlereader that peers over my left shoulder are you saying limited time and narrowed options are good things?]
Yes, absolute blessings, in light of the fact no one gets out of here alive, but I forgot to acknowledge the gift of reduced energy. Once you grasp, not intellectually but in the very marrow of your bones, that your time is limited, that all you can do is all you can do, and that you can't fix everything by throwing enough energy at it -- what is truly important to you, and the best way to spend your time, will become clear. Your life might still suck sweaty socks but those trips around the block taught you to be grateful for what you have second, by second, by second because it could always be worse, and it might even get better if you wait long enough. I don't know about you but I'm prepared to keep waiting right up to the moment the reaper shows up because I'm certain that if I decided to hasten the process Publishers Clearing House would show up at my door because someone thought it would be funny to enter my name so I'd wind up back on their mailing list and be inundated with even more pointless dead tree format junk mail in my mailbox -- inhale -- and the last words I'd hear as I was floating away would be, "Somebody go get Poppa, there's a man at the door with balloons and a check!"
Second of all (there's a first of all back there somewhere...) be a hero. Most grups are heroes, the world needs heroes. If you're a grup, odds are one of the reasons you keep getting out of bed in the morning, maybe the primary reason, is in service to someone (spouse? kids? grandkids?) or something (your work? your art? your _____?) that you regard as being at least as important as yourself. Thanks.
Have an OK day.
©Mark Mehlmauer 2016
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Saturday, January 30, 2016
Saturday, January 23, 2016
I'm Glad I'm Old (Part One)
...Well, mostly. There are, of course, certain downsides to being sixty-something in spite of the fact that sixty-something is the new 39. My eyesight is slowly getting worse, and so is my hearing. Of course, my hearing loss is primarily due to all those rock concerts I went to when I was a hippie with a job (and a fondness for personal hygiene) in the seventies, not the advent of my geezerhood. I'm cool like that. Though I live with other age-related maladies, none of them are life-threatening -- at least that I know of -- I admit I have a tendency to ignore my medical problems until they become medical issues. For the sake of clarity, in my version of reality, issues is a word that does not have the exact same meaning as the word problems. To me, issues are problems that have gotten out of hand.
In my defense, my late wife had health issues, lots of 'em. They were not age related, they began at birth and were caused by the fact she was born prematurely and subsequently administered oxygen therapy because of underdeveloped lungs. The good news is that this kept her alive, the bad news is that the therapy itself damaged her lungs and eyes and led to lifelong healthproblems issues, for her and no shortage of other preemies. So be it. However, during our 21 years together she spent a lot of time dealing with doctors and a lot of time in the hospital. Here's hoping you (and I) don't ever have to endure something of a similar nature. I found out the hard way that there is no shortage of well-intended quackery loose in the world and why hospitals accidentally kill hundreds of thousands of people every year. I admit to a (semi) irrational fear of the American medical establishment.
Except for Dr. John Bellany, an avowed atheist. If it turns out he and I (agnostic) are wrong, he will still be welcomed into heaven with the cosmic equivalent of a ticker tape parade. As for me...well, I'm cautiously optimistic, but there will definitely not be a parade.
[What? Oh...yes Marie-Louise, I do seem to be drifting over the fog line, thanks. But certain things really do need to be said.]
Other than the increased likelihood of health problems/issues the only other objection I have to getting old is dealing with ennui, or, been there done that/is that all there is? syndrome. I suspect that I may be even more at risk for this sort of thing than the average old fart because I suffer from early onset ennui, which I've had since I was 16. Rather than bore you with the details I would point you to a song entitled, "Is That All There Is," composed by Leiber and Stoller. The definitive version was recorded by Peggy Lee and can be found on YouTube. Check out the recorded (skip the live) version, orchestration by Randy Newman. It's hard to believe that this was a top 40, award-winning song, particularly in comparison to the dreck that's on the radio these days. I also remember...
[Sacre' bleu! (For the record, I understand real French people don't actually use this phrase but far be it from me to pass up a cheap joke.) You claim to be glad you're old but so far all you've talked about is illness and ennui!]
Sorry, M-L, I was just clearing the decks, here comes the glad part, sort of.
The thing I enjoy the most about getting old is being comfortable in my (wrinkling, stretch marked, skin tagged, etc.) own skin -- literally and figuratively. As concerns the literal state of my skin -- and teeth and hair and my lazy eye and an advanced case of disappearing butt syndrome and no shortage of other imperfections that all continue on a forced march in the wrong direction -- so be it, so it goes, it is what it is, c'est la vie and the hell with it. I'm mentally/emotionally/philosophically at ease in my own skin because the following cosmic truth was revealed to me via a styrofoam cup filled with diet Mountain Dew purchased from a Dairy Queen in Deadwood, SC when I was a driftin' and a searchin' for my roots that had the following message printed on the side. Do you have any idea how rare it is to find diet Mountain Dew available fountain style?
Life is what happens to you while you're making other plans.
If this is not obvious to you, yet or still, for whatever reason, stop reading now. I don't want to waste your limited and valuable time. Sorry, but I believe I'm living on the planet Earth and that you're living on the planet Denial and I don't want to waste your time. Take care, see ya when, and if, you get back.
As you ride the river of life, if you live long enough and/or are smart enough to have mastered all the prerequisites necessary to obtain your SSC (Sexy Seasoned Citizen) credential, you will be blessed by grasping the ramifications of the statement above. An enlightenment of sorts will take place. Some, unable to deal with what may, at first, be like a sucker punch to the gut, will flee to planet Denial, never to return. Others will need time to adjust before accepting the inevitable.
You don't have all that much control over your life, you never have. You are definitely going to die. You need to live, accordingly.
You may be dead before reaching the end of this _______ (you can hear the tone of the heart monitor going from beep-beep-beep to beeeeeeeeeeeeeeee in your head).
You may live for years and years, and I hope you do, assuming you're fortunate enough to have good reasons to keep getting out of bed in the morning. While this may not seem like we've gotten to the glad stuff yet, it is, and I will explain in detail why, in my next post.
[Marie-Louise stomps out the room, cursing in French under her breath.]
You don't have all that much control over your life, you never have. You are definitely going to die. You need to live, accordingly.
If you're not starting to a glad buzz yet, I'm sorry, the deck clearing is over. Please consider the following. If you believe in an afterlife of some sort it doesn't really matter if I'm right or wrong. Most folks that believe, believe in a version of one of the following two scenarios. Either you'll keep coming back until you get it right and achieve nirvana. Or, you will be judged, and 99.9% of you will be welcomed into paradise. Warning: There is a theologian or two that might quibble with my take on the matter.
God is infinite, by definition, which implies that she has an infinite capacity for love and forgiveness and doesn't share your distaste for those hoopleheads that don't believe in the same rules of the road that you do. Also, 99.9% you know in your heart that you're doing the best you can, so relax, and keep up the good work(s).
Or, if you believe death = oblivion you'll have nothing to worry about since there will no longer be a you. If your wrong, the 99.9% rule still applies.
Next week I'll tell you how I try to live, accordingly.
Have an OK day.
©Mark Mehlmauer 2016
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Mobile gentlereaders, if I've pleased you, there's additional content to be found via laptop and desktop.
In my defense, my late wife had health issues, lots of 'em. They were not age related, they began at birth and were caused by the fact she was born prematurely and subsequently administered oxygen therapy because of underdeveloped lungs. The good news is that this kept her alive, the bad news is that the therapy itself damaged her lungs and eyes and led to lifelong health
Except for Dr. John Bellany, an avowed atheist. If it turns out he and I (agnostic) are wrong, he will still be welcomed into heaven with the cosmic equivalent of a ticker tape parade. As for me...well, I'm cautiously optimistic, but there will definitely not be a parade.
[What? Oh...yes Marie-Louise, I do seem to be drifting over the fog line, thanks. But certain things really do need to be said.]
Other than the increased likelihood of health problems/issues the only other objection I have to getting old is dealing with ennui, or, been there done that/is that all there is? syndrome. I suspect that I may be even more at risk for this sort of thing than the average old fart because I suffer from early onset ennui, which I've had since I was 16. Rather than bore you with the details I would point you to a song entitled, "Is That All There Is," composed by Leiber and Stoller. The definitive version was recorded by Peggy Lee and can be found on YouTube. Check out the recorded (skip the live) version, orchestration by Randy Newman. It's hard to believe that this was a top 40, award-winning song, particularly in comparison to the dreck that's on the radio these days. I also remember...
[Sacre' bleu! (For the record, I understand real French people don't actually use this phrase but far be it from me to pass up a cheap joke.) You claim to be glad you're old but so far all you've talked about is illness and ennui!]
Sorry, M-L, I was just clearing the decks, here comes the glad part, sort of.
The thing I enjoy the most about getting old is being comfortable in my (wrinkling, stretch marked, skin tagged, etc.) own skin -- literally and figuratively. As concerns the literal state of my skin -- and teeth and hair and my lazy eye and an advanced case of disappearing butt syndrome and no shortage of other imperfections that all continue on a forced march in the wrong direction -- so be it, so it goes, it is what it is, c'est la vie and the hell with it. I'm mentally/emotionally/philosophically at ease in my own skin because the following cosmic truth was revealed to me via a styrofoam cup filled with diet Mountain Dew purchased from a Dairy Queen in Deadwood, SC when I was a driftin' and a searchin' for my roots that had the following message printed on the side. Do you have any idea how rare it is to find diet Mountain Dew available fountain style?
Life is what happens to you while you're making other plans.
If this is not obvious to you, yet or still, for whatever reason, stop reading now. I don't want to waste your limited and valuable time. Sorry, but I believe I'm living on the planet Earth and that you're living on the planet Denial and I don't want to waste your time. Take care, see ya when, and if, you get back.
As you ride the river of life, if you live long enough and/or are smart enough to have mastered all the prerequisites necessary to obtain your SSC (Sexy Seasoned Citizen) credential, you will be blessed by grasping the ramifications of the statement above. An enlightenment of sorts will take place. Some, unable to deal with what may, at first, be like a sucker punch to the gut, will flee to planet Denial, never to return. Others will need time to adjust before accepting the inevitable.
You don't have all that much control over your life, you never have. You are definitely going to die. You need to live, accordingly.
You may be dead before reaching the end of this _______ (you can hear the tone of the heart monitor going from beep-beep-beep to beeeeeeeeeeeeeeee in your head).
You may live for years and years, and I hope you do, assuming you're fortunate enough to have good reasons to keep getting out of bed in the morning. While this may not seem like we've gotten to the glad stuff yet, it is, and I will explain in detail why, in my next post.
[Marie-Louise stomps out the room, cursing in French under her breath.]
You don't have all that much control over your life, you never have. You are definitely going to die. You need to live, accordingly.
If you're not starting to a glad buzz yet, I'm sorry, the deck clearing is over. Please consider the following. If you believe in an afterlife of some sort it doesn't really matter if I'm right or wrong. Most folks that believe, believe in a version of one of the following two scenarios. Either you'll keep coming back until you get it right and achieve nirvana. Or, you will be judged, and 99.9% of you will be welcomed into paradise. Warning: There is a theologian or two that might quibble with my take on the matter.
God is infinite, by definition, which implies that she has an infinite capacity for love and forgiveness and doesn't share your distaste for those hoopleheads that don't believe in the same rules of the road that you do. Also, 99.9% you know in your heart that you're doing the best you can, so relax, and keep up the good work(s).
Or, if you believe death = oblivion you'll have nothing to worry about since there will no longer be a you. If your wrong, the 99.9% rule still applies.
Next week I'll tell you how I try to live, accordingly.
Have an OK day.
©Mark Mehlmauer 2016
If you wish to like, react, leave a comment or share -- please scroll down.
Mobile gentlereaders, if I've pleased you, there's additional content to be found via laptop and desktop.
Saturday, January 16, 2016
Glossary
As you have no doubt noticed, unless you're a new gentlereader, I have a fondness for words that I've either stumbled on, created or distorted, that may not be available in your preferred dictionary, be it in either the electronic or dead trees format. I've defined most of them before, sometimes at length, usually briefly. Here, for your edification, and for new readers, is a list, with definitions and commentary.
Gentlereader(s): Gentle reader is an archaic literary convention used by authors in the past when they wished to address a reader directly. Having fallen out of favor, I've highjacked it and turned it into one word. When I write I always imagine that one of my gentlereaders is peering over my left shoulder to remind myself to write for real people that live in the real world. My right shoulder is reserved for my muse, Marie-Louise (pronounced Mah-ree'-Loo-eze, and with a French accent if you can do a credible one) who is left handed and prefers to be on that side so that she can scratch my back when I please her. Please stick to your assigned shoulder as Marie-Louise is picky about such things, and though slow to anger, can be a real bitch on occasion.
Bonkercockie: Bonkercockie means the same as BS, at least in my world. If you google it you will discover the inventor attributes other meanings to it as well.
Snifigant: A corruption of significant. The phrase, significant other, seems to be waiting around every corner, and anxious to say hello, not just when I'm reading but also when I'm processing video input as well. I'm not certain, but I think it's a coping mechanism that originated in my subconscious. Also, it just feels and sounds, right.
Tralfamadore: Home planet of the aliens that briefly abducted me; referenced by Kurt Vonnegut in several of his novels. (See Chapter Three,10.31.15 & This is Embarrassing, 1.1.15) Their idea of probing is to conduct friendly interviews facilitated by serving their guests warm, homemade, chewy chocolate brownies swirled with peanut butter and washed down with ice-cold whole milk.
Hooplehead: Uncertain etymology. Used by David Milch, in the best TV show of all time, Deadwood, to mean fool, dope, hick etc.
Sucks Sweaty Socks: Means exactly what you think it means. I've no idea where I got this one but I'm certain I didn't originate the term. Unfortunately, when researching the term for this post I stumbled on the fact that it has sexual fetish connotations, which sucks some of the fun out of it as far as I'm concerned. However, to me, it means the exact same thing as saying that _____ sucks, but it sounds more civilized.
The Gubmint: The federal government of the United States.
the gubmint: State and local government entities in the United States.
Callowyutes: Combination of the word callow, which according to Merriam-Webster is a "young person who does not have much experience and does not know how to behave the waygrownups grups behave" and yutes. Yutes is how Vinny pronounces the word youths in "My Cousin Vinny." I claim credit/blame for this one.
Grups: Grownups.Stolen borrowed from "Miri," an episode from the first season of Star Trek starring Kim Darby whom I didn't have an affair with in the 70's.
GFBL: Gut first, brain later. A phrase that neatly sums up, and vastly oversimplifies, a concept promulgated by several scientific disciplines that homo sapiens react instinctively, intuitively, automatically etc. first and rationally (hopefully) later. I claim credit/blame for this one, the acronym or the phrase, not the concept. I may have to rename or abandon it if it's confused with the enteric nervous system.
Buhwhuddle I know?: I claim credit/blame for this one.
Snowflakes: Individuals whose psyches have been corrupted by being awarded participation/ everyone is a winner/everyone gets a prize trophies that use terms such as microaggression and safe space, and sign petitions calling for the rewriting of the first amendment with a straight face. When I'm king I plan to appoint a blue-ribbon panel whose purpose is to discover if the person that first used the word in this context can be discovered in order to award them thePresidential Medal of Freedom King Cranks Medal of Common Sense.
Strategery: Nope, it's not strategy spelled wrong. Will Ferrell, (playing Bush, in case you've missed it) made the word famous when he used it in a Saturday Night Live sketch that satirized the Bush/Gore presidential debates. It became so popular it was used by people in the Bush administration. I use it for the same reason they did, it's funny.
Bigfeets: A new one that may or may not survive. Purely coincidental in that people debate whether or not bigfeets ever existed and/or if they still do. In my world, it serves two purposes. First, just the sound of it is funny. Second, it's my all-purpose word for, um, interesting individuals that may be more high functioning chimpanzee than homo sapien. Hey, it's just occurred to me that we're all (well, most of us) homos. If you're gay please feel free to use the expression on protest signs or banners at gay pride parades. Suggested wording: We're All Homo (Sapiens)!
Have an OK Day: This is from a post entitled, "When I'm the Kind of America" posted on 9.16.15 that explains why I prefer OK days to nice days.
The Secret of Life: The secret of life, for homo sapiens on the planet Earth anyway, is that so-called real life is just high school with money. This is my variant, and I don't even know if it's original to me, of an aphorism used by many, in many different ways, and in many different contexts. The blue-ribbon panel mentioned above will also be charged with trying to discover if any one person can be credited with creating this aphorism so they may also be awarded the King Cranks Medal of Common Sense. All decisions of your friendly neighborhood benevolent tyrant are final.
Please Note: This post was written by me, Mark Mehlmauer. Until recently, I've used various assumed names -- ever since Mullah Omar issued a fatwa sentencing me to death because of...well, it's complicated. Anyway, I thought I was off the hook when his death was confirmed last July, so I felt free to start this blog. Nobody's more aware of the Taliban's poor sense of humor than me because ...well, that's also complicated, so I should have resisted using Omar as part of my pen name as a sort of inside joke. Long story short, negotiations have been successfully completed, the fatwa has been lifted, and having only limited use of one of my legs ain't the big deal I thought it would be.
Have an OK day.
©Mark Mehlmauer 2015
If you wish to like, react, leave a comment or share -- please scroll down.
Mobile gentlereaders, if I've pleased you, there's additional content to be found via laptop and desktop.
Gentlereader(s): Gentle reader is an archaic literary convention used by authors in the past when they wished to address a reader directly. Having fallen out of favor, I've highjacked it and turned it into one word. When I write I always imagine that one of my gentlereaders is peering over my left shoulder to remind myself to write for real people that live in the real world. My right shoulder is reserved for my muse, Marie-Louise (pronounced Mah-ree'-Loo-eze, and with a French accent if you can do a credible one) who is left handed and prefers to be on that side so that she can scratch my back when I please her. Please stick to your assigned shoulder as Marie-Louise is picky about such things, and though slow to anger, can be a real bitch on occasion.
Bonkercockie: Bonkercockie means the same as BS, at least in my world. If you google it you will discover the inventor attributes other meanings to it as well.
Snifigant: A corruption of significant. The phrase, significant other, seems to be waiting around every corner, and anxious to say hello, not just when I'm reading but also when I'm processing video input as well. I'm not certain, but I think it's a coping mechanism that originated in my subconscious. Also, it just feels and sounds, right.
Tralfamadore: Home planet of the aliens that briefly abducted me; referenced by Kurt Vonnegut in several of his novels. (See Chapter Three,10.31.15 & This is Embarrassing, 1.1.15) Their idea of probing is to conduct friendly interviews facilitated by serving their guests warm, homemade, chewy chocolate brownies swirled with peanut butter and washed down with ice-cold whole milk.
Hooplehead: Uncertain etymology. Used by David Milch, in the best TV show of all time, Deadwood, to mean fool, dope, hick etc.
Sucks Sweaty Socks: Means exactly what you think it means. I've no idea where I got this one but I'm certain I didn't originate the term. Unfortunately, when researching the term for this post I stumbled on the fact that it has sexual fetish connotations, which sucks some of the fun out of it as far as I'm concerned. However, to me, it means the exact same thing as saying that _____ sucks, but it sounds more civilized.
The Gubmint: The federal government of the United States.
the gubmint: State and local government entities in the United States.
Callowyutes: Combination of the word callow, which according to Merriam-Webster is a "young person who does not have much experience and does not know how to behave the way
Grups: Grownups.
GFBL: Gut first, brain later. A phrase that neatly sums up, and vastly oversimplifies, a concept promulgated by several scientific disciplines that homo sapiens react instinctively, intuitively, automatically etc. first and rationally (hopefully) later. I claim credit/blame for this one, the acronym or the phrase, not the concept. I may have to rename or abandon it if it's confused with the enteric nervous system.
Buhwhuddle I know?: I claim credit/blame for this one.
Snowflakes: Individuals whose psyches have been corrupted by being awarded participation/ everyone is a winner/everyone gets a prize trophies that use terms such as microaggression and safe space, and sign petitions calling for the rewriting of the first amendment with a straight face. When I'm king I plan to appoint a blue-ribbon panel whose purpose is to discover if the person that first used the word in this context can be discovered in order to award them the
Strategery: Nope, it's not strategy spelled wrong. Will Ferrell, (playing Bush, in case you've missed it) made the word famous when he used it in a Saturday Night Live sketch that satirized the Bush/Gore presidential debates. It became so popular it was used by people in the Bush administration. I use it for the same reason they did, it's funny.
Bigfeets: A new one that may or may not survive. Purely coincidental in that people debate whether or not bigfeets ever existed and/or if they still do. In my world, it serves two purposes. First, just the sound of it is funny. Second, it's my all-purpose word for, um, interesting individuals that may be more high functioning chimpanzee than homo sapien. Hey, it's just occurred to me that we're all (well, most of us) homos. If you're gay please feel free to use the expression on protest signs or banners at gay pride parades. Suggested wording: We're All Homo (Sapiens)!
Have an OK Day: This is from a post entitled, "When I'm the Kind of America" posted on 9.16.15 that explains why I prefer OK days to nice days.
The Secret of Life: The secret of life, for homo sapiens on the planet Earth anyway, is that so-called real life is just high school with money. This is my variant, and I don't even know if it's original to me, of an aphorism used by many, in many different ways, and in many different contexts. The blue-ribbon panel mentioned above will also be charged with trying to discover if any one person can be credited with creating this aphorism so they may also be awarded the King Cranks Medal of Common Sense. All decisions of your friendly neighborhood benevolent tyrant are final.
Please Note: This post was written by me, Mark Mehlmauer. Until recently, I've used various assumed names -- ever since Mullah Omar issued a fatwa sentencing me to death because of...well, it's complicated. Anyway, I thought I was off the hook when his death was confirmed last July, so I felt free to start this blog. Nobody's more aware of the Taliban's poor sense of humor than me because ...well, that's also complicated, so I should have resisted using Omar as part of my pen name as a sort of inside joke. Long story short, negotiations have been successfully completed, the fatwa has been lifted, and having only limited use of one of my legs ain't the big deal I thought it would be.
Have an OK day.
©Mark Mehlmauer 2015
If you wish to like, react, leave a comment or share -- please scroll down.
Mobile gentlereaders, if I've pleased you, there's additional content to be found via laptop and desktop.
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