News That You Can Use (No. 2)

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who aren't here 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.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse  

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"Winter is nature's way of saying, 'Up yours.'" -Robert Byrne


Dear (eventual) Stickies & Great-Grandstickies,

This letter/column will probably be of more interest to my current gentlereaders than to the eventual yous but you might find something of value here.

- To my gentlereaders who live north of the Mason-Dixon line and have the good sense to regard the approach of winter (appropriately) with fear and loathing, the forecasts are in.  

NOAA predicts precipitation will range from below average to average. Temperatures, will be above average. Works for me. 

On the other hand... "Contrary to the stories storming the web, our time-tested, long-range formula is pointing toward a very long, cold, snow-filled winter..." -Peter Geiger, Editor, and Philom, Farmers Almanac. 

[Purple Journalism Alert: the quote above is from a Fox New website story. The actual quote is, "Contrary to some stories floating around the internet..." Someone at FOX sexed it up. Fair and balanced? Perhaps, but what about accuracy? My emboldening by the way.]

But then again... The Old Farmer's Almanac, not to be confused with the Farmers Almanac, says that "This winter we expect to see above-normal temperatures almost everywhere in the United States..."

Having been temporarily living in Canada's deep south for the past 33 years (Northern Ohio) and having seen my life flash before my eyes on more than one occasion (my vision obscured by horizontal snow showers) I predict it will snow heavily at the worst possible times and probably not on Christmas.

The Sun will rarely be visible. It's most likely to come out early in the morning and shine directly into the eyes of people who would rather be home in a warm bed as they are driving to work.

What are the four seasons of Northern Ohio? Almost Winter, Winter, Still Winter, Construction. Thank you! thank you very much!


News That You Could Have Done Without...
...But the Purple Press provided saturation coverage nevertheless.

Now, while the following is also primarily directed at my gentlereaders, my Grandstickies may find it interesting from a historical perspective. I wonder if the Purple Press will still be devolving or have stabilized by the time they read this?

As this is being written, a news story about the ancestors of Senator Elizabeth Warren of Massachusetts, currently one of several hundred politicians tirelessly teasing the public about a possible run for the presidency in 2020, is currently "trending."

That is to say, unless you're pursuing enlightenment in a cave in the Himalayas, you've encountered this story -- and the tempest in a teapot it has generated -- here, there, and even way over there.

This wily woman, a veritable soda cracker (white and salty), has been claiming for decades to be 1/32 Cherokee. That's what her saintly mama told her, and after all, she does have high cheekbones.

Of course, she did this out of pride. It wasn't an attempt to advance her career by playing a minority card, which can sometimes serve to assist a given individual in climbing the ladder of America's complicated meritocracy.

Having had it with the racist/sexist/eteceterist attacks by her political enemies, including the tweeter-in-chief himself, she released the results of a DNA test. It provided  "strong evidence" that six to ten generations ago a Native American and an individual of European descent, distant relatives of Ms. Warren, made the beast with two backs.

In other news, America recently marked the 17th anniversary of the war in Afghanistan.


Latest From the You Can't Make This Shtuff Up Desk
Kimberly-Clark, the firm responsible for the United Kingdom's most popular brand of kleenex, Kleenex Mansize -- "confidently strong, comfortingly soft" -- have seen the error of their ways. Thanks to a flock of politically correct twitterers tweeting on Twitter the offensive name has been changed to Kleenex Extra Large.

One can only hope that the marketing minion that came up with the clever new name was appropriately rewarded.

A spokesmanperson for the company made clear that "Kimberly-Clark in no way suggests that being both soft and strong is an exclusively masculine trait, nor do we believe the Mansize branding suggests or endorses gender inequality."

Ain'tcha glad they cleared that up?

Personally, as an H. Sapien with the letter M on my birth certificate, were I a twitterer I'd request that they'd start selling an American version of the product in question. I, and I'm certain I'm not alone, would love a larger (perhaps even slightly more substantive) tissue.

I prefer my tissues with added lotion so I hope they provide that option as well. I'd like to suggest a name and tagline. Kleenex Extra Large Whipped Tissues -- the tissued with extra softness whipped in. Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.
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©2018 Mark Mehlmauer   

It's All Relative

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who aren't here 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.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse  

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"Everything is relative except relatives, and they are absolute." -Alfred Stieglitz


[Gentlereaders, sorry I published late. Spent the day with a sibling, a sister, that I haven't seen in literally decades and just got home. She rocks.]

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

I hope that by the time you're geezers (or geezerettes) like me things have settled down a bit, but I doubt it. At the moment, we're living through a time of unprecedented prosperity and invention -- and unprecedented change.

Change, of course, is normal and inevitable. Unrelenting, high-velocity change, which appears it will never end, which appears to be the new normal, which appears to be still picking up speed -- is not.

Therefore, I maintain that there are three new things under the Sun.

Unprecedented Prosperity (UP): According to the Brookings Institution as of September 2018 half of the inhabitants of the planet Earth, 7,800,000,000 souls, are middle class or wealthier. "In the world today, about one person escapes extreme poverty every second; but five people a second are entering the middle class."

Unprecedented Invention (UI): The consulting firm TEF predicts that in five years technological innovation will be 32 times more advanced than it is right now. Ten years out, 1,000 times. Twenty years out, 1,000,000 times.

UP + UI = Unprecedented Change

[Of course, something could go terribly wrong and there might not be anyone around to read this. A Zombie Apocalypse for example. Or suppose that the Donald and the Pooteen get into an argument over a golf game resulting in a series of events that culminate in nuclear Armageddon.]


I remember sister Mary McGillicuddy telling the class that we little Boomers and Boomerettes were fortunately/unfortunately growing up at a point in history when mankind's sociological/psychological/etceteralogical knowledge lagged far behind its technical knowledge.

If she's still out there somewhere (unlikely, materially speaking, but we're talking world-class force of nature so...) I think she'd agree with me that the velocity of change in the developed (and shortly to be developed) world is a new thing and we're probably not ready for it.

There have been no corresponding quantum leaps in the social sciences. And while traditional religious beliefs still work for many, for many others... not so much. But there's no shortage of people loose in the world who have replaced God with an ideology and who are prepared to burn non-believers at the stake.


Some perspective, if you please, is necessary at this point. My parents (and their parents) groused about how much more laid back and less dangerous life was when they were young, bulletproof, ten feet tall, immortal, and living in the golden age.

However, historians tell us that this (relatively speaking) is a new phenomenon and it wasn't all that long ago (relatively speaking) that the average lifetime of the average person was mostly "solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short."

[I used the phrase relatively speaking twice in the previous paragraph to try and call your attention to the fact that (relatively speaking) the modern, postmodern, or whatever this era of history is ultimately labeled, is less than a New York minute of big picture time (relatively speaking).]

You and your spawn are and will grow up taking high-velocity change for granted. You may be scratching your heads as you read this and wondering what the hell I'm talking about. You may regard the life of an average Boomer to have been slow and dull (relatively speaking) and you might be grateful that you live in a more dynamic era.

Which, now that I think about it, is how I viewed my parent's life prior to me showing up. However, I sincerely hope that you live...

[Captain Crank, I think it's time to chart a new course, sir, we're headed for the rocks.]


Point taken, Dana. My Dear Stickies, my point is that when you're looking back and making the inevitable historical judgments of your predecessors keep in mind that although we don't like to admit it we are/were in over our heads as much, or more, than our predecessors were.

Learn and discern the lessons (the easy way), but don't make the mistake of judging us/them as though we knew/they knew everything that you take for granted. At the moment, an awful lot of people that should know better, are doing just that. It's not helpful.

Learn and discern more lessons (as you go, the hard way), chose a goal, formulate a plan, rinse and repeat. Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.
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If there are some readers out there that think my shtuff is worth a buck or three a month, color me honored, and grateful. Regardless, if you like it, could you please share it?]


©2018 Mark Mehlmauer   (The Flyoverland Crank)

 

Abortion

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who aren't here 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.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse 

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"Compromise is the best and cheapest lawyer." -Robert Louis Stevenson


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

When I set out to become a self-taught wordsmith, prior to adopting my current blogging format (letters to yinz guys), I wrote as if I were a syndicated columnist addressing the world.

Early on in those early days, I wrote a "column" about abortion titled Why I'm Not Pro-Choice or Pro-Life.

[Gentlereaders, FYI. My website now includes a button labeled Blast From the Past. Clicking on it will bring up a previously written column that usually has some relation to my current column. For example, this week clicking on the button brings up the same column as the hyperlink in the previous paragraph.]

The recent Kavanaugh Kerfuffle, which will hopefully be mentioned in future history textbooks (maybe not if academia continues to cultivate its version of Newspeak) reminded me of this.

One of the oft-heard concerns of the Antikavanaughts was that if Judge K. was confirmed as the newest Supreme he would, inevitably, join with the other four more or less conservative Supremes and repeal Roe v. Wade and America would descend into chaos.

After all, as I mentioned the first time I wrote about abortion "... perhaps we should hold off on deciding this until cheap birth control is available at every convenience store and science develops a morning-after pill that’s available over the counter." -me


In my original column I wrote that if I were king, I'd decree a compromise. Abortion is legal for the first trimester. That's it, that's my royal compromise.

After all, there's no possible way to satisfy both sides, three months is enough time, and outlawed or not, someone(s) will always be available to provide abortions (or anything else...) at maximum cost, minimum safety. Thus has it ever been, thus shall it ever be.


When I recently reread the original column I was surprised to note that I had neglected to mention that according to Gallup, the majority of Americans have supported legal abortion ("when asked to evaluate it on a trimester basis") in the first trimester dating back to 1996. I went looking for the latest numbers and discovered that support for this position has never fallen below 60%.

It would seem that great minds do think alike. Well, at least the minds of me and most of my fellow Americans. I wonder, but I'll bet there's no accurate way to measure it, how many of those 6 out 10 do so reluctantly, as I do.

I wonder how many of those people think that an abortion is a RBFD that requires careful consideration. That maybe it's even the choice of last resort. That regardless, abortion should be, as Slick Willy declared in 1996, "safe, legal, and rare." "...for the first trimester anyway." -King Crank


Now, I can't predict what the Supremes will or won't do about abortion, or anything else for that matter. Were I clairvoyant I'd have been obscenely rich at a tender age and probably dead from dissipation by the age of thirty.

[On a vaguely related note: ever notice that the "words of the prophets," the perennially popular Nostradamus comes immediately to mind, are usually "proven" to be true after the fact? I'm just sayin'...]

However, suppose a majority of the Supremes decide to go nuts and overturn Roe v. Wade based on the bizarro notion that the Gummit, as it says in the Constitution, only has the power to create and enforce the sort of laws that the Constitution says they can. That otherwise, it's up to the individual states to do so (or not do so). What would happen?

Scott Adams, the Dilbert cartoonist, recently pointed out on his video blog that obviously some states would permit abortion, others would not. He also pointed out that if someone wanted an abortion but lived in the wrong state, they could travel to a state where abortion is legal and take care of business.

[But how could an impoverished _______ (please insert the name of the relevant social/economic/racial/sexual/etceteral group victimized and oppressed by the White Hetero-Patriarchy, or WHP, here) afford to get an abortion?]

Well, Dana, as Mr. Adams points out, via crowdfunding and/or people offering temporary space in their homes and/or charities. There'll be apps for that.

To which I would add, California might be willing to subsidize an abortion travel package. They could easily pay for it with a special levy on the entertainment industry. Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.
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[P.S. Gentlereaders, for 25¢ a week, no, seriously, for 25¢ a week you can become a Patron of this weekly column and help to prevent an old crank from running the streets at night in search of cheap thrills and ill-gotten gains.

If there are some readers out there that think my shtuff is worth a buck or three a month, color me honored, and grateful. Regardless, if you like it, could you please share it?]


©2018 Mark Mehlmauer   

May You Live In Interesting Times (5)

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who aren't here 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.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse  

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"This process has inflicted real damage to Judge Kavanaugh and Ms. Ford—enough to make any intelligent citizen wonder if it would ever be worth entering public service." -Allen C. Guelzo 

[Fear not, the quote above has nothing to do with the letter below. It's my way of finding closure and avoiding PTSD.]


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

The way things are going at the moment yinz may be living in the Formerly United States of America by the time you read this. The devolution of the left and the right into tribalism continues apace. The center continues to shrink and the Fringies are running amok.

The purple press continues its descent into partisanship fueled by the profits derived from sensationalism and moral preening.

I've given up on reading one of my formerly favorite comic strips, Non Sequitur.


"A wry sense of humor is a sarcastic one." So sayeth Vocabulary.com. They also declare that "Wry humor and wry wit both describe a sense of humor that is a little twisted from the norm." Exactly.

I've been a fan of Non Sequitur for literally decades. Its creator, Wily Miller, is a talented, imaginative, creative writer, and, he draws better than nine out of ten comic strip artists.

[So, what's your problem, dude? I love that strip, Poppa! Hmmm, we are perhaps, a beet xhelous?]

Dana, Iggy, and Marie-Louise are in the house, or at least in my consciousness. My problem is that I've become acutely aware that Mr. Miller doesn't like the Donald, bankers, the Donald, big business, the Donald, corporate officers, and Trump supporters. Also, men in general, and people that don't share his eating habits, specifically.

I used the word acutely because Mr. Miller goes after the type of people mentioned in the previous paragraph a bit too often for my taste. Even that might not be a deal breaker but for the self-righteous tone with which he colors his favorite targets.

I would expect, no, hope that he would occasionally take aim at everyone mentioned above as well as anyone else that he thinks worthy of satirization. I don't even care about fat jokes, the last politically correct cheap shot -- as long as they're funny -- and I say this as a calorically challenged H. sapien.

[In my defense, mine is a tank-like structure with a pedestal for a neck. The Gummit says I should weigh 185 pounds. Anyone that knows me well knows that at 185 I would look like I was just liberated from a concentration camp.]


Non Sequitur gag, 3/8/16. A fat man in a hospital gown is standing on a scale in a doctors office. The doctor says to the patient, "The body mass index chart says you're obese, but the meat and dairy industries chart says you're a great American."

It's not the patient, or even the patient's DNA that's at fault. It's the evil meat and dairy industries fault for forcing people to buy their products.

[Oh please! What's the big deal?]

It's not, Dana, not as a stand-alone example at least. But variations of it on a regular basis are tedious. Perhaps it's just me but I much prefer that editorial cartoons run on the editorial page.

A comic strip with an obvious, frequently emphasized political agenda is as annoying as athletes who get paid millions of dollars to play a game -- and actors who get paid millions to play pretend -- who feel compelled to prove their social justice bona fides via actions requiring minimal effort and minimal risk.

Spectator sports and other forms of entertainment, not just religion, can serve as mostly harmless opiates for those of the masses who have not turned to actual opiates.

Unfortunately, some folks prefer to smoke, snort or inject Socialism and/or some other utopian analgesic.

Ironically, the later tend to condemn the former.


[I still don't see why...]

Non Sequitur gag, 9/18/18. Two angels are on duty at the entrance to Heaven (St. Peter and an assistant?). There's a plump working stiff in overalls standing in front of a large sign and holding a pen. The sign says Entrance Exam, Nazis Are: (Check One), Bad __ Good __. The man is thoughtfully stroking his chin.

St. Peter is saying "Remember when this was the easiest test in the universe?"

[Oh, I see your point.]

See you in the funny pages!


The More Things Change the More They Stay the Same
Although I recently celebrated my 39th birthday for the 27th time I'm relatively computer literate for a junior geezer. When cell phones became ubiquitous my late wife and I didn't hesitate to give up our landline and switched to a very simple, easy to use phone. Somehow, we got by with one phone and 300 minutes a month.

I now own a smartphone, but I held out far longer than I should've and I'm climbing a learning curve encumbered by fingers and a brain that aren't as limber as they once were.

This got me to thinking about the fact that once upon a time, long before even I was born, that there was a time when people had to learn how to use a new-fangled invention called the telephone.

I went a-googling and found a video, "Training film for users of the new dial telephone" -- on YouTube. How cool is that? Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.
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[P.S. Gentlereaders, for 25¢ a week, no, seriously, for 25¢ a week you can become a Patron of this weekly column and help to prevent an old crank from running the streets at night in search of cheap thrills and ill-gotten gains.

If there are some readers out there that think my shtuff is worth a buck or three a month, color me honored, and grateful. Regardless, if you like it, could you please share it?]


©2018 Mark Mehlmauer    

The Abductee is Back, And So Am I

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who aren't here 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.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse 

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"Whoever is careless with the truth in small matters cannot be trusted with important matters." -Albert Einstein


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

Abducted, part three, ended thusly:

"And animal mutilations... oh, and those crop circle things? And just how far away from Earth is Tralfamadore? Sorry. I guess that's more than just one more question."

Grandma's smile vanishes. She stares at her subject in silence.


And then:

Grandma sighs deeply. Her smile returns.

Blinding light -- the smell of an overloaded electrical wire -- a loud industrial, grating sound -- blackness. You awaken and find yourself lying in the middle of a hay field. You struggle to your feet and take note of a burning sensation that makes you think of Preparation H.

You notice, to your horror, that you are encircled by a ring of apparently surgically mutilated livestock. There's a medicinal smell in the air and no blood is present.

Glancing around you realize you're standing in the center of an elaborate crop circle. You start walking around, trying to discern what sort of pattern it consists of.

You hear what sounds like hoofbeats and spot someone approaching on horseback. A bewildered looking Amish man rides up and stops. "Good morning," he says.

The End.


I apologize for a lame ending of a lame story. If you haven't been following it, you won't get the lame joke. In my defense, the story wrote itself as I was approaching the end of/peaking from the side effects of radiation therapy for prostate cancer.

Based on what I discovered -- from talking to Docs, reading, my fellow travelers, and personal experience -- constant fatigue is/was the most common side effect of radiation therapy. This is/was made worse by simultaneous hormone therapy which is used as a sort of a second line of attack in an effort to kill one's Cancer Cooties.

Other common side effects include things I'd rather not discuss. Besides, I was blessed, mine were fairly mild.

[What's that got to do with...]

I know, Dana, what's that got to do with the lame short story in question? Well, living life feeling as though you're recovering from a marathon without being able to recover from a marathon left me completely unmotivated, physically (and psychologically) to write as my therapy rolled on.

I should've just taken a sabbatical. But as I said, the story just sort of wrote itself, and at first, I liked it and thought it was going somewhere. And I didn't want to let my gentlereaders dangling while I...

I, I, I... good grief this sounds like an Obama speech. Suffice it to say I've been feeling like crap, therapy is over, I'm slowly but steadily returning to normal. I won't know till 10/19 if the curs-ed Cooties have been completely crushed (it's complicated) but in the meantime, I'm back.

And, gentlereaders, I can prove it. And I can prove purple journalism is alive and well, that the media does choose sides (or is clueless).


Purple Journalism Alert
"Purple journalism is not a new form of journalism, it's just a name for journalism as it's actually practiced nowadays." -me

If you've been following the Kavanaugh kerfuffle at all, there's a better than average chance that you've been told, or read, that the American Bar Association, after recommending Mr. Kavanaugh be approved -- with a rating of best thing since sliced bread -- now thinks he should be re-reinvestigated by FBI.

This is a conclusion reached after the "world's greatest deliberative body" (LMAO) staged its version of the greatest show on Earth last Thursday.

Go a-googling and type in any version/variation of the phrase "bar association calls for FBI to re-reinvestigate Kavanaugh" that comes to mind. You will find links without end to news stories that report this to be the case.

My personal favorite is an editorial, disguised as a new story, from the Associated Press. If you're unaware, every time you read an article in your favorite local rag that mentions (AP) at the beginning it means they're passing along a story written by a news service. Much cheaper than having actual reporters on the payroll.

The upshot of the "story" is that not only does the ABA think that a re-reinvestigation is called for, but they also point out that the judge has lost the support of the official magazine of the "Jesuit religious order of the United States." Once the Jesuits turn on you, you may as well kill yourself.

There's only one problem.

The letter from the ABA is not a letter from the ABA. It's a letter from Robert Carlson, president of the ABA.

[What difference does that, make? Are you sure you're feeling better?]

Thanks for your concern, Dana. Mr. Carlson is not a member of the standing committee of the ABA charged with reviewing judicial appointments. He took it upon himself to write a letter with no support, or direction, from the ABA or the standing committee.

In fact, the chairman of the standing committee also wrote a letter: "The ABA's rating for judge Kavanaugh is not affected by Mr. Carlson's letter." How much coverage did/is this letter get/getting? Ain't you glad you get your news from trusted sources and not from social media? Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.
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[P.S. Gentlereaders, for 25¢ a week, no, seriously, for 25¢ a week you can become a Patron of this weekly column and help to prevent an old crank from running the streets at night in search of cheap thrills and ill-gotten gains.

If there are some readers out there that think my shtuff is worth a buck or three a month, color me honored, and grateful. Regardless, if you like it, could you please share it?]


©2018 Mark Mehlmauer   

Kavanaugh v. Ford, Trial By Ordeal

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who aren't here 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.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse 

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"Memory is a complicated thing, a relative to truth, but not its twin."
                                                                                  -Barbara Kingsolver


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

[This week's column was supposed to be the fourth and final part of my short story, Abducted, but I couldn't resist commenting on the current kerfuffle concerning the Supreme Court.]

Legal Definition of Trial By Ordeal: a formally used criminal trial in which the guilt or innocence of the accused was determined by subjection to dangerous or painful tests (as submersion in water) believed to be under divine control. A tip of the hat to Merriam-Webster (.com).


H. sapiens are subject to false memories, this is settled science.

If you live long enough I guarantee that at some point (probably several points...) in your life this factoid will jump out from behind a rock and bite you on the bum.

"Memories can be distorted, or even completely made up."


BOMS (boring old man story) No. 39,339. Oh, for the record, I don't think I'm a boring old man. You are permitted to (respectfully) disagree. However, there's a 57.092% chance that any given story, about any given thing, by any given old man -- rut-roh, Raggy -- um, person, will be boring.

[BOPS it is then, far be it from me to inadvertently trigger a delicate flower in an era of delicate sensibilities.]

Long story short, when I was 16 I engaged the services of a friend, and his Ford Falcon, to drive me and a cool chick (hey, it was 1970) on my first real date. Cost: a set of spark plugs.

Given that it was my first real date I remember all the details vividly. Except for the drivers last name and what he looked like. And except for the name of the movie theater. And... well, I do vividly remember the name of the movie, Klute, starring Jane Fonda.

One problem.

While discussing this important milestone of my adolescence with the cool chick in question, who is back in my life after an interlude of 40 years or so (we've both been a little busy...), I discovered that I vividly remember the wrong movie.

I know for an absolute certainty that Klute is not only the wrong movie, but it also came out a year later, while I was living approximately 300 miles from the movie theater I can't remember the name of.

However, the unalterable fact that I have a vivid memory of the wrong movie has had no effect on my vivid memory.

Now, if you refuse to acknowledge that you -- or yours, or theirs, or _______ -- are as capable of significant memory distortion as any other H. sapien, you can stop reading here. Good luck to you, you're going to need it.

At the moment, the Republic is knee deep in a drama titled He Said/She Said. No matter how it's resolved, Grandstickies will probably remember it, probably inaccurately. Great-Grandstickes will learn about it in history class.

Plot summary: A SCOTUS nominee -- having emerged from a trial by ordeal chock full of senators running for president and daily dramas performed by some, um, excitable citizens exercising their free speech rights, apparently unscathed -- is this close to being approved.

Suddenly, a female H. sapien steps out from behind the curtain and accuses the nominee of having tried to have his way with her. 36 years ago. When she was 15. When he was 17.

Hilarity ensues.


As this is being written the Swamp Dwellers League, the Infotainment Industrial Complex, the International Union of Professional Perpetually Protesting Protestors & Perpetual Victims of This, That, and the Other Thing (IUPPPP&PVTTOT), and social media, are at DEFCON 1.

Were I the king, and asked to apply some Solomonic wisdom, this would be an easy one.

A Proclamation

Given that no amount of investigation could possibly come up with a definitive answer,

And, given that the Republic already has more than enough apparently unresolvable issues,

(And, given that the brain of the average H. Sapien doesn't mature till the age of 25)

And, given that Mr. Kavanaugh has a lengthy, proven track record, Mr. Kavanaugh may join the Supremes.

Let's move on people, nothing to see here.


P.S. A note to my subjects: While I hope that we recover before things go too far, we're a republic that is currently in decline. Without compromise, and the willingness to lose gracefully, a democratic republic will collapse.

No shortage of factions regards their opinions, beliefs, and sensibilities as unquestionable dogma. No compromise is possible as compromise is a sin. God -- or a God-substitute for those who have lost their religion -- is on their side.

Sticking a finger and each ear and loudly proclaiming la-la-la-la-la-la-la! didn't work when you were kids and it won't work now.

Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.
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[P.S. Gentlereaders, for 25¢ a week, no, seriously, for 25¢ a week you can become a Patron of this weekly column and help to prevent an old crank from running the streets at night in search of cheap thrills and ill-gotten gains.

If there are some readers out there that think my shtuff is worth a buck or three a month, color me honored, and grateful. Regardless, if you like it, could you please share it?]


©2018 Mark Mehlmauer   

Abducted (Part 3)

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who aren't here 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.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse 

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"I never watched Star Trek." -William Shatner


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

No letter, part three of the short story I started a few weeks back, Gentlereaders, for your convenience, part one can be found here. Part two can be found here. 

End of part two...

Grandma said, "Also, considering that you're hip deep in atomic weapons, and many of you are engaged in the same sort of high-functioning chimpanzee pathologies that led to your first world war -- that really wasn't all that long ago, dear, and kicked off a century of gleeful bloodletting -- things might get really interesting."

"Oh" replied the abductee.


Part Three
"So, are you telling me that this is it? that we're about to destroy ourselves? that we're..."

"On the eve of destruction?" replies grandma, with a grin.

"Huh?"

"Sorry, dear, obscure cultural reference, I believe I mentioned that I'm an Ameriphile."

"Right... anyway, is this..."

"I've no idea, dear. What information we've accumulated so far from other worlds, and Tralfamadore's own history, would seem to indicate that all sorts of outcomes are possible."

"Then you don't know what's likely to happen?"

"No, dear. Perhaps a bit of context will help. Remember when I said that my world is roughly a thousand years or so beyond yours? You've no way of knowing exactly what that means, what has or hasn't taken place in the course of a thousand years on a planet that's much different than yours, and I can't tell you.

Also, there's another important factor you're not considering. The..."

"So there's a Prime Directive?"

"Sorry, Prime Directive? what is..."

"It's from Star Trek, the Prime Directive says you can't interfere with the development of an alien civilization."

"Touche, dear, you got me, and with a much less obscure reference. Yes, in fact, I am constrained by a sort of... Prime Directive. However, it's just the professional ethics of my profession, nothing so grandiose as a Prime Directive."

"Well isn't there some sort Star Trekish 'Federation of Planets' that provides guidelines for member planets? I would think that..."

"No, dear. As I started to say a minute ago, there's another important fact that you're not considering. While my people are a bit ahead of yours, nothing like the warp drive of Star Trek that makes it possible to travel around an unimaginably large universe as if you were taking a European vacation exists."

"Well, that sucks... how do you get around then?"

"I'm not permitted to say, dear, but think about this. While warp drive, if it exists, would make it possible to travel at multiples of the speed of light. We can't travel anywhere near the speed of light. If we, or your people for that matter could, it would take about 2.5 million years to travel to the galaxy next door.

Although unimaginably large, space is mostly... empty space. The imaginative reach of Earthlings, particularly Americans, tends to greatly exceed their grasp."

"Now then, I wonder if I might begin asking my questions? I'm supposed to be interviewing you after all" says grandma, with a warm smile.

"Oh, OK, sure, I'm sorry. Go right ahead."

"Thank you, dear OK, first of all..."

"I'm sorry, you've been so nice, could I possibly ask just one more question? It's quite important to me and I promise It'll be the last one."

Grandma heaves a heavy sigh and looks her subject. A barely perceptible flash of impatience face manifests on her face but her seemingly imperturbable smile returns so quickly her subject fails to notice.

"Certainly, dear, but just one more, OK?"

"I'm sorry... but in retrospect, it's probably the first question I should have asked. Given that no shortage of my, um, fellow Earthlings, claim to have been abducted and subjected to rather unpleasant, um, interviews... In fact, I don't believe I've ever heard anyone claim to have had an experience anything like the one I seem to be having. I mean... what's up with that?"

"Well, dear, I..."

"And animal mutilations... oh, and those crop circle things? And just how far away from Earth is Tralfamadore? Sorry. I guess that's more than just one more question."

Grandma's smile vanishes. She stares at her subject in silence.

[To be continued, but next week is the final installment. Poppa loves you.]

Have an OK day.
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[P.S. Gentlereaders, for 25¢ a week, no, seriously, for 25¢ a week you can become a Patron of this weekly column and help to prevent an old crank from running the streets at night in search of cheap thrills and ill-gotten gains.

If there are some readers out there that think my shtuff is worth a buck or three a month, color me honored, and grateful. Regardless, if you like it, could you please share it?]


©2018 Mark Mehlmauer   

Abducted (Part Two)

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who aren't here 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.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"It is my thesis that flying saucers are real and that they are space ships from another solar system." -Hermann Oberth, OG OR (original rocket scientist)


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

No letter, part two of the story I started the week before last. Gentlereaders, for your convenience, part one can be found here.

End of part one...

"Grandma"/alien interviewer: "OK then! Shall we get started?"


Part two

Subject: "I'm sorry, before we get into it, can I ask another question?"

"Of course, dear."

"You said earlier that there was nothing special about the planet Earth, or America for that matter, but you are studying us, and you said you can't get enough of America, right?"

"Yes, dear."

"Well, why us then? Why me?"

"As I mentioned, dear, a software program chose you, an algorithm. I've interviewed all sorts of folks before we met and I'll be interviewing all sorts of folks after we go our separate ways.

As to my fascination with America, the US has the largest economy on a planet that's in the middle of an economic boom that started roughly 200 years ago and continues at an ever accelerating rate."

"So is that what makes us special? Is this a rare phenomenon in the universe? Well, of course, I've no way of knowing just how extensive your knowledge is, and how much of the universe you're familiar with..."

"What's special is the time, not the situation."

"I don't understand what you mean."

"Well, all sorts of planets, and all sorts of what you call countries, have gone through what you find yourselves in the midst of. Millions of years of evolution results in self-consciousness which invariably leads to some form of what you call civilization.

If a given civilization, or more likely a given group of civilizations, manages to hang on long enough to reach a certain level of technology and prosperity without destroying itself, or each other, they reach the same stage Homo sapiens currently find themselves trying to muddle through.

We call it the... well, you could never pronounce her name, but it's a tipping point. It's the um... name of a woman whose name you needn't worry about, tipping point" says grandma, grinning. "She was a highly regarded individual in what you call the social sciences."

"I see... well, I'm sorry, but now I have two more questions, I..."

"That's alright dear, go ahead."

"Well, first of all, you said "she" and you at least appear to be a 'she,' is that um, normal? I mean, is male and female the way of the universe? I read a lot of science fiction when I was younger and..."

"I can't speak for the entire universe dear, only a region of the galaxy Earth and Tralfamadore happen to share. Tralfamadore is only, roughly, about a thousand or so Earth years, at most, ahead of you Earthlings in the, how shall I put it, the evolution game?

But to answer your question, yes, male and female seem to be fundamental principles, but it gets complicated... Are you familiar with the words yin and yang dear? I think that concept would help you to understand how things work."

"Sure, but I don't all that much about..."

"I don't mean to be rude, dear, but you could, perhaps, google it? What was your second question?"

"Well, obviously, the tipping point thing. What's that all about? Earth is at a tipping point? History is full of tipping points, what makes this one special?"

"I, or rather we, know of no planet on which the natives, so to speak, who have managed to achieve the level you have on Earth, have not experienced the tipping point that you and yours are currently facing.

That is to say, when unprecedented, and expanding, prosperity and technological development occurs in the midst of no shortage of competing political, religious, ethical, etc. ideologies -- which have access to easily accessible worldwide communications networks -- things get, um, interesting.

Also, considering that you're hip deep in atomic weapons, and many of you are engaged in the same sort of high-functioning chimpanzee pathologies that led to your first world war -- that really wasn't all that long ago, dear, and kicked off a century of gleeful bloodletting -- things might get really interesting."

"Oh."

To be continued... Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.
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[P.S. Gentlereaders, for 25¢ a week, no, seriously, for 25¢ a week you can become a Patron of this weekly column and help to prevent an old crank from running the streets at night in search of cheap thrills and ill-gotten gains.

If there are some readers out there that think my shtuff is worth a buck or three a month, color me honored, and grateful. Regardless, if you like it, could you please share it?]


©2018 Mark Mehlmauer   

The Bad News Is...

I'm switching back to publishing on Saturday nights, at 7:11 pm Eastern Time, due to a variety of factors.

The good news is that Abducted (part two) is ready to go and will be published tomorrow, 9/8/18 (at 7:11 pm).

In the meantime...

Here's a bit of unusual musical entertainment to tide you over. You never know when you might accidentally stumble on something beautiful, so pay attention, and be -- here -- now.

Poppa loves you. Have an OK day.

Bring Me the Head of Marie Osmond (Again)

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who aren't here yet) -- the Stickies -- to haunt them after they become grups and/or I'm dead.

[Bloggaramians: Blogarama renders the links in my columns useless. Please click on View original to solve the problem and access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse 

Iggy -- Designated Sticky

Dana -- Designated gentlereader

"I never had a sister growing up. Donnie was the closest thing." -Marie Osmond


Dear (eventual) Stickies & Great-Grandstickies,

[This column was originally published on 9.9.17, not quite one year ago. Due to the fact I'm currently dealing with an intense case of physical and mental fatigue, the primary side effect of the treatment that I'm receiving for a health problem, I'm reposting one of my "greatest hits." 

Abducted (Part 2), which is what you should be reading, exists. However, it's a bit of a mess and I'm not letting it loose in the world till it gets its act together. 

Anyways... When I pulled up this long, rambling piece for a fresh look I was struck by the fact that a year later: 

Marie stills shills for the Nutrisystem people and is still performing in Vegas.
Purple Journalism is more pervasive than ever.
Celebs are still obsessed with the Donald. 
Iconoclasm is still on the loose in the land of the free.
ISIS, although they've had a bad year, are still slaughtering innocents in the name of God. 
Donnie still is not, never has been, and never will be -- a little bit rock 'n' roll.]  

Gentlereaders, humbug alert: I'm only kidding. I wish Ms. Osmond, whom I'm sure is a very nice person, nothing but the best, but those damn Nutrisystem commercials make me crazy. More on that in just a sec'.

My dear Stickies, this letter is primarily addressed to my gentlereaders. However, it may be of some use to those of you, that like myself, are historically minded. A sort of zeitgeist snapshot if you please.


Deceptive headlines that turn out to be clickbait have gone mainstream. I'm not talking obvious clickbait, that nowadays is anywhere and everywhere, I'm talking about headlines on mainstream sites that that turn out to be clickbait, but you don't know that until you click on the headline.

On the FOX news website recently was the following headline, "Madonna Leaves America." I assumed this meant that she, unlike many of her colleagues who promised to do the same thing if the Donald was elected, was showing the courage of her convictions.

Or, perhaps the Secret Service took her announcement at the Pussycat Hat Protest, that she had been thinking about blowing up the White House, seriously, and had been harassing her. Nope, just clickbait. Turns out she's headed there for the time being to work on a movie and make "new music."

However, I highly recommend the article, it includes a must-see self-portrait. Ms. Madonna's creation is on a par with her best musical efforts.

Anyway, Ms. Madonna has parlayed (in my semi-humble opinion) limited artistic ability into mega-stardom by being a world-class exhibitionist. Is it too much to hope that an old fart (who is rapidly turning into a poster geezer for arthritis) might parlay his limited artistic ability into some dough by perpetrating a humbug or two?


For the sake of clarity, I must take into account that this may be read by one of my great-grandstickies long after I, or Ms. Osmond for that matter, are long dead. Also, I must assume, although I have my doubts, that it's at least theoretically possible that there are Earthlings, currently vertical and breathing, that haven't been subjected to one of these ubiquitous commercials.

I'm probably being overly cautious because I have it on good authority that a hologram of Ms. Osmond has not only been created, the programming and technology that powers it are regularly updated. Ms. Osmond -- like Elvis Presley and George Bailey -- could be worth more dead than alive, and shilling for Nutrisystem in perpetuity.


[Pray, enlighten us cranky one, why are you picking on this beautiful all American mother of eight kids, five of 'em adopted? asks Dana. Marie-Louise is wearing a certain smile and almost purring. She denies it but when it comes to other women she's about 50% feline. Iggy's in bed as it's a school night.]

I'm not picking on her, well, not exactly. It's those commercials, those damn commercials. I watch almost no broadcast/basic cable TV, mostly I monitor, at random, the alleged news channels.

Incidentally, did you know Al Sharpton, Al Sharpton of Tawana Brawley, taxes are for evil capitalists, not me, and a founding member of the International Union of Professional Perpetually Protesting Protestors & Perpetual Victims Of This, That, and the Other Thing (IUPPPP&PVOTTOT) has his own TV show?

Sorry, where was I? Oh, yeah, Nutrisystem commercials. I don't believe it's possible to watch the talking lamp for more than ten minutes without encountering:

Marie Osmond: "It's time to take control with Nutrisystem."

Announcer: "Introducing new Lean 13, from Nutrisystem. Lose up to 13 pounds and 7 inches in your first month. Lose weight FAST. Money back guarantee.

Marie Osmond: "I'm Marie and I lost 50 pounds on Nutrisystem.

At this point, we see the obligatory before and after pictures. Before is Ms. Osmond in a baggy purple top and denim jacket with a deer in the headlights sort of expression. After is Ms. Osmond in a form-fitting cocktail dress, hand on hips and smiling, her perfect teeth framed by preternaturally plump lips.

These are just the high points, but you get the idea. Now, the thing is...

[Waitwaitwait, I repeat, why are you picking on this beautiful all American mother of eight kids, five of 'em adopted? You're just jealous because she's a kabillionaire with a hit Las Vegas show and you're just a wannabe writer with arthritis and a Texas-sized prostate gland.]

The thing is, well, it's a three-for actually. America noticed, about a minute ago, that there are statues of dead people, most of whom almost nobody gave a damn about (the statues or the dead people) until a sudden outbreak of iconoclasm. 

In the Middle East ISIS, fired up by demented mullahs, revels in this sort of thing. In America, politically correct types, fired up by the Infotainment Industrial Complex (left and right division), revel in this sort of thing.

[What on Earth has that got to do with...]

Well...nothing really, but it's been really bugging me. Sorry, I feel much better now.

Oh, anyway, first, America has real problems that need to be addressed. We have devolved to the point where there's one minute of advertising for every two minutes of infotainment (half of 'em Nutrisystem commercials!) on the talking lamp. This in spite of the fact most folks pay through the nose for the only locally available cable company or have to sign a contract for satellite TV that only a Harvard Law School grad could make sense of.

As I said, real problems.

Second, sorry ladies female H. Sapiens, Nutrisystem will not enable you to look like Marie. Marie no longer looks like Marie. Nowadays, Marie looks like an animatronic version of Marie. She's, uh, had a little work done.

Third, the Nutrisystem system is a barely legal scam. Click on this headline, Drop 50 Now: Nutrisystem's Advertising Backed By Shoddy Science. 

Fourth: you may have noticed...

[You said it was a three-for...]

Bonus: you may have noticed the tiny messages that flash rapidly on and off at the bottom of the screen when Ms. Osmond is urging you to give the Lean 13 dealy a shot. Access the commercial via YouTube and hit pause every time the tiny message changes. This serves two purposes. Not only will you encounter some interesting facts, you'll develop your hand-eye coordination. The tiny messages pop up and vanish very quickly.

Warning: Possibly Outdated Cultural Reference Ahead

Most importantly, while Marie may, or may not, be a little bit country. Donnie is not, never has been, and never will be, a little bit rock n' roll.

However, banality does have its compensations. While Donnie's unlikely to ever be inducted into the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame (but who knows? Ms. Madonna was), copies of he and his sister are on display at the Las Vegas location of Madame Tussauds. Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.
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[P.S. Gentlereaders, for 25¢ a week, no, seriously, for 25¢ a week you can become a Patron of this weekly column and help to prevent an old crank from running the streets at night in search of cheap thrills and ill-gotten gains.

If there are some readers out there that think my shtuff is worth a buck or three a month, color me honored, and grateful. Regardless, if you like it, could you please share it?]


©2017 Mark Mehlmauer   

Abducted (Part One)

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who aren't here 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.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse 

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"Sometime I wish the aliens would abduct me and crown me as their leader."
                                                                                        -George Noory

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

No letter per se this week, part one of a story.

You're sitting on your front porch on a soft summer night, alone and ruminating. You're thinking about the ironic contrast between your rotten mood and the beautiful evening. He (or she) is gone. Looks like this time for good. Your heart is aching, but there's also a sense of relief.

Or, you're happily married, have two relatively well-adjusted kids, and a decent paying job. Everyone's asleep but you. You had a shitty day at work. You fear this is your new normal. Your new boss, a Type A V.P. with an MBA, is keeping you up nights, dreading the next workday.

Or, you're a...

Blinding light -- the smell of an overloaded electrical wire -- a loud industrial, grating sound -- blackness. You awaken and find yourself comfortably ensconced in an easy chair. As you shrug off sleep you note that you feel incredibly well rested and peaceful. You notice warm, peanut butter swirled brownies and a glass of ice cold whole milk on a little table to your right. You take a bite of a brownie and wash it down with a swallow of milk. Mmmm. Repeat. 

Looking around you notice you're in a room that looks like a set designer's version of the perfect grandma's living room. It occurs to you that you may still be asleep. You don't care though. It's a very nice dream.

A door opens and in walks a grandma straight out of central casting. She favors you with a warm smile and says, "Oh good, you're awake," and sits down in another easy chair, directly opposite you.

And then things get really weird.

She explains that, for lack of a better term, you've been abducted by aliens from a planet called Tralfamadore. You mention that this situation doesn't seem to match up with any of the abduction stories recounted by guests on that late night radio show that you sometimes listen to. The one you find to be mostly goofy, but that can serve as a sleep aid. She smiles and says, "But a lot of those folks are crazy people dear, and a lot of them are just people trying to make a buck."

Obviously, you are dreaming, but it all seems, she seems, so real. You look around and everything in the room is sharply defined and, well, real looking. You stand up and walk around, start touching things. Curtains, plants, knick-knacks, furniture -- it all feels real enough. "Grandma" just watches. You sit back down and you notice grandma has a warm, genuine smile on her face. You get the feeling she's observing you closely. You return her smile, you can't help it, you feel so warm and safe. Who wouldn't if they met this old-fashioned movie version of a grandma, in this setting?

"I'm dreaming, right? This is just a dream -- right?" you ask.

"Well, yes and no dear. You're awake, and conversing with a, uh, person, that physically and emotionally embodies, via what, well, you'd call it software, has determined will provide you with a safe and comfortable environment for an interview."

"I see...," you reply, "Sort of. And who are you exactly? And what do you mean, interview?"

"I'm what you'd describe as an academic type. My field is what you'd call anthropology. Most of my colleagues specialize in a given planet, my focus is even more narrow than that, I specialize in a particular country of a particular planet, the one you're from, the USA. As to the interview, it's exactly what you might think. I simply want to ask you some questions."

"But why me, and why the USA? Wait a minute... are we somehow special, or different, or whatever, as far as a given country on a given planet goes?

Grandma chuckles. "Oh no dear, not to most, but I can't seem to get enough of America myself."

"Yeah? why me then, I... "

"That software I mentioned dear, I honestly don't know a lot about how it does what it does, not my field you understand. I do know it usually works very well though, and one of the many things it does well is to pick my interview subjects."

"But what if I don't want to be interviewed, am I your prisoner? What if... "

"Oh, you're free to go, dear, anytime you like, now or later. Shall I take you back?"

"Anytime?"

"Of course dear. It would be unethical to hold you against your will. Shall I take you back?"

"But what if I tell everyone, what if ..."

She interrupts. "Well, that's up to you dear, you could write a book, perhaps be a guest on that radio show you mentioned. If you'd prefer, I could erase all memory of this experience. Or, I could..."

"How about if I see how it goes?, I mean, this interview thing, it might be interesting. If I decide to pull the plug at some point, I'm still free to go?

"Of course, dear. Before we get started, could I fix you something to eat? Are you hungry? Would you like something besides the brownies?"

"No, I'm good, thanks."

"OK then! Shall we get started?"

[Poppa loves you.]

Have an OK day.
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[P.S. Gentlereaders, for 25¢ a week, no, seriously, for 25¢ a week you can become a Patron of this weekly column and help to prevent an old crank from running the streets at night in search of cheap thrills and ill-gotten gains.

If there are some readers out there that think my shtuff is worth a buck or three a month, color me honored, and grateful. Regardless, if you like it, could you please share it?]


©2018 Mark Mehlmauer   

Quotable Quotes

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who aren't here 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.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse and back scratcher 

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"I write my own quotes. Except this one. I obviously stole this from someone really clever." -Brian Celio


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

When I was growing up the current issue of Reader's Digest -- which made its initial appearance on the coffee table and invariably made its way to the bathroom -- was something I took for granted. Although we (mom, dad, seven kids) were a um, chronically financially challenged family, we subscribed to several magazines.

Life, Look, and The Saturday Evening Post were staples. These, as well as a complete set of the multi-volume Grolier encyclopedia -- purchased from a door to door salesman via an installment plan -- was what passed for the world wide web in my house several thousand days ago in the Black & White Ages.

My second favorite feature in Reader's Digest, the first being the humor columns that featured jokes sent in by readers that the Digest paid for if they published them, was called Quotable Quotes. It featured a couple of pages of, well, interesting quotes, hence the name.

Although to this day I have trouble remembering what distinguishes an aphorism from an adage from an epigram, etceteragram, wit and/or wisdom presented particularly pithily (please pardon my peculiar penchant for alliteration) has always been appealing to me.

For the record, although I told myself, upon the receipt of every new issue, that I would send in a joke or funny story and try to get the money, I never actually did. However, I once responded to Josie Carey's offer to be one of the first 25 kids to send in my name and address and won a book of Kennywood ride tickets.

[Cool. And what does that have to do with anything? And who the hell is Jos...]

Calm down, Dana. I'm waxing lyrical about my childhood and since this is my column, I'll wax anyway I feel like thank you very much.

However, for the sake of clarity, and my gentlereaders, Kennywood is an amusement park located near Pittsburgh with an h. It's over a hundred years old and combines the old-fashioned (if you don't love bumper cars there may be something wrong with you) with death-defying roller coasters (if you love death-defying roller coasters there may be something wrong with you).

Josephine Vicari Massucci Franz (Josie Carey) was the host of my favorite TV show when I was a kid, The Children's Corner. She was also a lyricist who partnered with Mr. Rogers, who composed the tunes. In fact, she came up with the words for "Tomorrow," the song Mr. Rogers ended his show with.

She was also a sort of second, electronic mum (that's the individual some of you address as mom for some reason) to me. I thought she was even cooler than June Cleaver.


[Geez, is this going anywhere?]

Well, Dana, normally by this point I know where it's going but apparently "waxing lyrical" about my childhood is what it's about. I apologize to any of my (literally dozens) of regular gentlereaders if they're disappointed. Hopefully, my grandstickies will find it vaguely interesting someday.

Just a sec', I'll be right back...

Thaks Marie-Louise! I was just reminded that I started down this path because I recently tripped over an offer to subscribe to the dead trees edition of what remains of the Reader's Digest and I signed up. I thought the existing Stickies might find it interesting and at the moment there's no bathroom reading stashed in either bathroom; everyone has a smartphone. I'm old. It's just not the same.

Also, it provides an excuse to post some of my favorite quotes that I suspect (hope) will stand the test of time and be useful to Stickies both eventual and yet to be conceived.


"We are here, and it is now. Further than that, all human knowledge is moonshine." -H.L. Mencken 

"He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how." -Nietzsche

"The ultimate minority is the individual and the fairest society is one in which individuals are allowed to rise to the level of their ability" -Jordan Peterson

"At this point I reveal myself in my true colors, as a stick in the mud. I hold a number of beliefs that have been repudiated by the liveliest intellects of our time. I believe that knowledge is preferable to ignorance, and I am sure that human sympathy is more valuable than ideology. I believe that in spite of the recent triumphs of science, men haven't changed much in the last two thousand years; and in consequence we must still try to learn from history. History is ourselves. I also hold one or two beliefs that are more difficult to put shortly. For example, I believe in courtesy, the ritual by which we avoid hurting other people's feelings by satisfying our own egos. And I think we should remember that we are part of a great whole. All living things are our brothers and sisters. Above all, I believe in the God-given genius of certain individuals, and I value a society that makes their existence possible." -Kenneth Clark

Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.


[P.S. Gentlereaders, for 25¢ a week, no, seriously, for 25¢ a week you can become a Patron of this weekly column and help to prevent an old crank from running the streets at night in search of cheap thrills and ill-gotten gains.

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©2018 Mark Mehlmauer   (The Flyoverland Crank)

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