Dear Prudence

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 the problem and access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse (right shoulder) and back scratcher 

Iggy -- Designated Sticky

Dana -- Designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

"Did you ever have to finally decide?" -John Sebastian


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies, 

This is the first of four columns devoted to the four cardinal virtues. 

Last week's column was devoted to what are traditionally referred to as the seven virtues. There are four cardinal (hinge) virtues that are fundamental to all other virtues and this column is devoted to one of them, Prudence. The other three will be covered in future columns.  

There are three theological virtues that are supplied to us, according to the Christian tradition at least, by God. Being an agnostic, I'm in the process of trying to make a prudential decision as to whether or not I'll explore the theological virtues. 

Nowadays, employing prudence usually refers to being careful and cautious.

Classically speaking, it refers to applying reason, wisdom, experience, morality and the like when a decision needs making. Use your brain! as they say. Given what you know, who you are, what you believe, etc., what's your smartest/best move in light of...

[Wait a minute, Mr. Obvious, ain't that the same thing? Dana, imaginary gentlereader, speaks. Iggy and Marie-Louise, imaginary grandsticky and my muse, respectively, both toss me an inquisitive look.]

Nope.

I could be a careful and cautious weasel, carefully and cautiously considering the best way to murder you in your sleep and abscond with your cuckoo clock collection. Most would not define me as a virtuous dude.

But, as I was about to say, what's your smartest/best move in light of the fact that how you go about deciding on a course of action is, or at least should be, a virtue unto itself?

[Iggy: Poppa, I like, don't understand what...]

Patience, sticky one, all will soon become clear. Let me back up a bit.

You, and everyone else, are confronted all day and every day, with choices. They range from the trivial (which flavor of coffee creamer shall I use?) to profoundly important (is this the person I want to marry, do I want to be married to anyone?).

[Dana: Once again our hero demonstrates he has a keen eye for the obvious.]

Stop giggling you lot, and pay attention. In both of the examples above making a prudent decision simply means that regardless of your immediate/initial impulses, adopting a big-picture view and then making the best possible decision under the circumstances. Simple right?

Well, no, not really.

Simple to define, somewhat harder to put into practice. Regardless, you need to choose what's behind door number one, two, or three.

                                                    * * *

Door number one: Immediate/initial impulses, or, "Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die", an understandable reaction, given the fact that no one gets out of here alive. This is the choice of least resistance. This is the if it feels good do it option.

Examples: I'm not gonna' worry about how much sugar is in my yummy coffee creamer (or anything else). Life is short, live for today. Get married just because I'm pregnant/I impregnated someone just because it's a fact that having a mum and a dad is any given kids best option? I don't even like him/her! What about my happiness?

I make no judgments. Not (fortunately) my job. I've made no shortage of mistakes and I certainly wouldn't care to be married to someone I don't even like.

BIG BUT

Note that in the first example, coffee creamer, in the short term at least only one person is involved, you. In the second, at least three, and likely, many more. We have to share the playground with other kids.

And I must point out that birth control is available at any convenience store and that employing it would have been the prudent thing to do.

Next up, door... Sorry, listen, while I know this is the era of the casual hookup and that sex, formally considered the most intimate activity two humans beings can engage in, is nowadays just another need to be taken care of, I can't help but wonder.

Given (evil microscopic) bugs, and babies, and the dramatic qualitative difference between having sex and making love to someone you love (or, at least are deeply in like with), I should think that prudence trumps immediately and unconditionally surrendering to your howling DNA.

                                                      * * *

Door number two: Traditional path. You believe in an afterlife of some sort, the nature of which requires that you follow a prescribed ethical/moral code to either go somewhere better than here or reincarnate a step or two up the ladder after you are deleted.

So, either you or someone(s) you take seriously, didn't toss the tot out with the jacuzzi water. Good. You're not just adrift on the Sea of Life, you've set a course and have a destination. Life is hard. Life with a context, less so (more on this in a minute).

Two things. What you say, goes, but only for you (HT: Thaddeus Golas). The sermon you live is much more powerful, and effective, than the sermon you preach.

                                                    * * *

Door number three: The door for people that reject doors one and two. This is my door, and while many choose it, I'll only speak for myself.

First, two more things.

"All generalizations are false, including this one." -Mark Twain.

My three-door theory is a generalization -- and an analogy. Analogies and generalizations, and all words for that matter, are at best, useful symbols. I'll be exploring that subject at some point in the future.

And also, of course, generalizations oversimplify for the sake of clarity. Many, no, most of us, regularly take a peek at what's up behind all the doors.

I try to practice prudence for two reasons. (Today's column is sponsored only by the number two. The letter P didn't pay its bill.) Prudence is what separates the man person from the beastie. Also, life with a context, as mentioned above, is not as hard as life without one.

While I believe in and have written about the concept of gut first, brain later I'm an almost rabid proponent of the importance of brain later. This is the gift that enabled/enables us to rise to/remain at -- the top of the food chain.

Earth's a very rough neighborhood. While I acknowledge that there are legitimate objections raised by ecologically and/or spiritually-minded folks as concerns H. sapiens domination of the playground, it works for me. Brain over brawn.

Thomas Hobbes is famous for pointing out that the state of nature is a war of all against all wherein life is solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short. Word! The state of nature also doesn't include books or grilled cheese sandwiches (shudder).

As to life with a context, yes Virginia (or Iggy), one could plausibly argue that, as is often said, life's a bitch and then you die. Who gives a damn about prudence, or any sort of virtue for that matter? Do as you please and try not to get caught if it's illegal. Door number one thinking.

What I mean by life with a context is simply a life with an imposed framework. Those folks that choose door number two are supplied with a time-tested framework that imposes order on chaos (as defined by the previous paragraph), which is part of the appeal.

In my semi-humble opinion (and I'm not alone), as long as you keep an open mind, a life with context, that is: personal rules, goals, interesting work, a code that defines/acknowledges the sharing of the playground, Arete, or (insert your thoughts here), is just better than embracing self-indulgence and chaos.

[Better?] 

Yup, better.

It feels better. It's something you have to feel, directly experience -- mere words won't do. Decide, resist drifting, and you'll know. If/when it stops working, make a new decision. Poppa loves you.

Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day

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©2017 Mark Mehlmauer   

The Seven Virtues

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 (above↑) to solve the problem/access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse 

Iggy -- Designated Sticky

Dana -- Designated gentlereader 

"The virtues, like the Muses, are always seen in groups. A good principle was never found solitary in any breast. -Buddha"

Dear (Eventual) Stickies & Great-Grandstickies,

When I went to a Catholic grade school, I was taught the four cardinal virtues and the three theological virtues. Both kinds, I was told, were a very big deal.

I went to a public high school, and the theological virtues, for obvious reasons, were never mentioned. It recently occurred to me that neither were the cardinal ones. Hmmm...

I attended a Catholic grade school for eight years, first through eighth grade. I didn't go to kindergarten or attend a preschool. Most of my fellow students hadn't gone to kindergarten, none had gone to preschool. Head Start didn't start until 1965.

By then I was already in the sixth grade. I mention this to illustrate that it was once possible to grow up in America without formal schooling until the age of six or seven. Amazingly, I've never lived under an overpass or been institutionalized.

Anyway, I haven't thought about the virtues as such for years. I have given some (but not enough) attention to arete.

Arete is a Greek word that, according to this Wikipedia entry, means excellence of any kind, and may also mean moral virtue. I can't remember how I stumbled on the concept but I was immediately fascinated. I've been in pursuit of my personal arete ever since, with decidedly mixed results.

As the Wikipedia entry explains, the concept dates to Homeric times and is all about attempting to live up to one's full potential, being effective, being good at what you do. Being the best possible you includes the pursuit of moral excellence, which is the very definition of virtue.

Which brings us back to where we started, cardinal and theological virtues.

The cardinal virtues have nothing to do with birds or the "princes" of the Catholic church. Cardinal comes from the Latin word cardo (hinge). All other virtues and morality hinge on these four fundamental concepts. Their pedigree dates to the ancient Greek philosophers and have been a thing ever since. Religious and secular philosophers of all stripes have been kicking 'em around for better than 2,000 years.

Well, at least they were a thing. More on that in a moment.

The three theological virtues, in the Catholic/Christian tradition, come from the grace of God They're sort of a list of the basic requirements that need to be met in order to live a Christian life while you're here if you want to get your butt into heaven when you cross over to there.

They are faith (belief in God). Hope (the belief that you'll make heaven if you live right). And charity, or love (love God and everyone else, which implies it's on you to be your brother's sibling's keeper).

Two quick points from your agnostic Poppa.

One, note the simplicity. To hell (pun intended) with dogma wars. If you believe in God, follow a moral code and do what you can to take care of the other kids, you got this.

Two, It's quite easy to secularize these three. If you don't believe in God you can (and regardless, should) find something/someone(s) to believe in and/or work for. This will supply hope (and meaning) even when life is kicking you in the crotch. Finally, do unto others as you would have them do unto you. This will make for a much nicer playground.

That said, the reason I'm writing about the seven virtues is because it occurred to me that given the fact America, and a goodly chunk of the rest of the world, tossed the tot out with the jacuzzi water back in the 60s, perhaps we could find some guidance, and common ground, in the cardinal virtues.

I believe that we react emotionally/instinctively/intuitionally first, rationally (hopefully...) later. While the former is an effective survival mechanism, the latter enables us to live together and, with a little luck, thrive instead of just survive. The creation of the cardinal virtues is the result of the applied reasoning of a lot of individuals who were smarter than I'll ever be.

[For the record: I went a-googlin' and discovered that while the virtues are still a thing in Catholic education, as far as secular private and public schools go, not so much. However, I found this, and more importantly, this. Happy sigh...]

The cardinal virtues are prudence (making good choices, wisdom), justice, temperance (restraint, self-control) and courage (not just bravery, refusing to define yourself as a helpless victim). There are all sorts of other virtues posited but these four were considered to be the foundation stones of a moral life in the Western tradition.

The Western tradition has nothing to do with cowboys or country music. It's a term, now considered politically incorrect in many circles, that refers to a way of looking at, and living in, the world.

It's fallen out of favor because it all but ignored the rest of the world (Africa and Asia) and we're now all one big happy global family. Don't be a hater. Everything is like, relative, ya' know? The Western tradition includes all the evil dead white guys that ruined the world.

I'm a crank and I'm a libertarian. But, I hold some positions normally classified as conservative, others normally classified as progressive. I have a bias towards trying to discover what actually works and trying to discover how the left and right can compromise and peacefully share the same playground.

I'm a crank and I'm a follower of Taoism (an Eastern philosophy) but also a firm believer in much of the Western tradition. I think that the USA, a product of this tradition, though flawed (as is every-one and every-thing), rocks, and I'm glad and grateful this is my team.

I'm a crank. Which is why I'm going to devote my next four letters/columns to my take on each of the cardinal virtues. 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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©2017 Mark Mehlmauer   (The Flyoverland Crank)

If you're reading this on my website (where there are tons of older columns, a glossary, and other goodies) and if you wish to react (way cooler than liking) -- please scroll down.

Making America Great 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.

[Blogaramians: Blogarama renders the links in my columns useless. Please click on View original (above↑) to solve the problem/access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse (right shoulder) and back scratcher 

Iggy -- Designated Sticky

Dana -- Designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

Dear (Eventual) Stickies and Great-Grandstickies,

The Donald is a consciously created character having much in common with the professional bad guys of the fake wrestling industry. Keep in mind that endless, unlikely plot twists are a staple of this art form (apologies to Meryl Streep and company, et al.). Bad guys become good guys become bad guys become ambiguous guys.

The USA has morphed into a bizarre reality show and the Donald is the director, producer, and star. He knows what he wants to accomplish, he really does want to Make America Great Again. I'm certain he knows America is still great, but she's gotten lost in the woods. Hopefully only temporarily. But he probably would regard even my simple analogy as unnecessarily complicated.

Keep it simple, my friend. That's show biz. That's how you keep the audience in the palm of your hand.

I wrote a column about this (as you may or may not know) very subject in early December of last year, my third official "Dear Stickies" letter, that was my take on how it was that the Donald managed to become the POTUS much to the surprise of most.

I voted for Gary Johnson, the libertarian party candidate, in spite of some serious reservations. I mention this for two reasons.

First, I wrote another column suggesting that people vote for me for president because I sincerely had no desire whatsoever to be the president. My logic was based on a bit of ancient Chinese wisdom. The best man person for a powerful position is often one that seems to have a clue but doesn't want the job.

The whys and wherefores of that proposition require an entire letter of their own. Suffice it to say that they're (hopefully) obvious to a seasoned grup with common sense. Oh, please don't assume the previous sentence necessarily has anything to do with you since I've no way of knowing when, or even if, you will ever read this. Anyway, I have to confess I've been known to feel clueless for days at a time, so in the end, I couldn't bring myself to vote for myself.

Second, I'm trying to maintain an open and/or optimistic frame of mind as far as the Donald is concerned in spite of my doubts, which are legion.

I'm a somewhat gloomy chap by nature but I was fortunate enough to be married to a woman who absolutely insisted on "looking on the bright side" in any and all situations in spite of the fact she was doomed to die young due to the health problems she was born with.

Though gloomy is my baseline, I'm a firm believer that we live in a universe where everything is defined by, and is part of, it's opposite. More ancient Chinese wisdom, that yin-yang stuff you have probably heard about (yet another letter asking to be written).

For the moment, let's just say then when I find myself waiting for the results of one of fates coin tosses I'm aware it occasionally will land sunny side up (though, of course, I doubt it) since that's the nature of reality. In fact, to honor the memory of the best friend I'm ever likely to have, I consciously make a point of not only hoping it lands sunny side up, I force myself to acknowledge there's usually a sunny side even when it doesn't.

[By the way, it's yin-yang, not ying-yang. A ying-yang is a commonly used expression, with variable meanings, that usually refers to one of one's naughtier bits.]


That said, the Donald has set about making America great again. He's chosen his cabinet secretaries and most are not the usual suspects. That is, his cabinet is top heavy with successful people from the real world and light on professional politicians and academics. Good.

It's said that his management style is similar to that of Lincoln and FDR -- encourage individuals with wildly different viewpoints to fight it out, he takes it all in, then he makes a decision. Also good.

He's issued a bunch of executive orders, most of which I like, some that I love, a few that creep me out. In acknowledgment of looking on the bright side, let me mention the two I love the most.

First, folks appointed to positions in The Gummit by the Donald can't cash in when they move on in that they are forbidden to become lobbyists for five years after leaving The Gummit. Also, they can't lobby on behalf of a foreign gummit, forever.

In my semi-humble opinion, this should be the law of the land, not an executive order that can be canceled by the next POTUS. And of course, this being The Gummit, there's a loophole. Lobbyists have to register as lobbyists. Call yourself a consultant instead of a lobbyist and you're off the hook. However, with tighter laws, and most importantly, congressional term limits, the people could still win. Get rid of professional legislators and "consultants" will instantly lose much of their clout.

[Another semi-humble opinion: Without congressional term limits we are doomed. I've mentioned this before, I'll mention it again.]

Second, a new rule for the rule makers. I speak of the unelected bureaucrats (and bureauons) of The Gummit. Specifically, the minions (of The Gummit"s 1,700,000,000 professional minions) that crank out the endless reams of rules and regs that keep the citizens of the land of the free in line.

For every new rule, two old rules must be canceled. Again, why ain't this the law of the land?

If you're curious about just how many rules The Gummit can come after you with, so am I. Google the phrase, "approximately how many rules has the federal government passed" or something like it and see what happens. If you can find what looks like a legitimate straight answer please email me at the flyoverlandcrank@gmail.com.

BIG BUT.

He's officially authorized the building of -- The Wall. Now, regardless of what you or any given one of my gentlereaders feels about immigrants, legal or otherwise, this is just dumb. I hope it's hyperbole, a negotiating tactic.

The only purpose a wall across the Mexican border will serve is as a temporary jobs program. Build it and they will come. Under, over, or around, they will come.

Then we'll have to build walls along the other three borders. Of course, beach front property will suddenly get dramatically cheaper. And, we could build the wall a hundred feet back from the water and create giant public beaches on both coasts extending from Canada to Mexico.

Wait a minute! What are we going to do about Alaska? Maybe that's why the Donald speaks highly of the Puteen. He's gonna' con him into building a wall on Russia's side of the Bering sea. Poppa loves you.


*NOTICE*     (I can dream can't I?)

Dear Undocumented/Illegal Aliens (U/IA),

If we catch you trying to sneak in, you're going home. Period.

No more sanctuaries. If you commit a crime, no matter how long you've been living here, you're going home. Let's make it clear that if you're a U/IA you don't get access to our safety nets. Keep this in mind, we're not kidding. We won't let you die because as a group, we're nice people. But once we patch you up, you're going home.

Sound harsh? You bet. But our conscience is clear.

Because we're going to finally acknowledge that almost no one wants to round up the U/IAs living here peacefully. We're gonna' admit that most of you have jobs that some of us, by necessity, have, but most of us don't want. We're going to admit the real unemployment rate is above 9%.

We're going to document you. All will be required to register, and if they can pass a criminal background check and have a job or are supported by someone that does, they will be given a red/white/blue card so we can find out who they are and make them legal -- maybe, eventually, citizens.

Once legally registered, you will have access to our safety nets. However, if you're not registered and we catch you, you're outta' here. Once registered you won't be deported for criminal acts, just punished like our native born bad guys, but will never become a citizen.

Registered, seasonal migrant workers, who can pass criminal background checks, will be permitted but will have no access to public safety nets and will be instantly deported if it's discovered they're not registered. Social services to be supplied by any legal charity or employer that wishes to do so.

Sincerely,
Uncle Sam

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.

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? There are buttons at the end of every column.]


©2017 Mark Mehlmauer   (The Flyoverland Crank)

If you're reading this on my website (where there are tons of older columns, a glossary, and other goodies) and if you wish to react (way cooler than liking) -- please scroll down.

This is What (Direct) Democracy Looks Like (Part Two)

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

Dear (Eventual) Stickies & Great-Grandstickies,

A bit of a review. In part one I stated my support for the electoral college, an ingenious invention that prevents the citizens of a cluster of megalopolises from ruling the entire nation. By extension, this forces a given candidate to craft a message (and stop by to say hello) that appeals to folks in sparsely populated states.

I brought/bring this up because one of the symptoms of the innocent victims of Trump Derangement Syndrome (TDS), a currently active strain of Global Whining Disease (GWD), is a fixation with the fact that the Hilliam triumphed over the Donald by almost 3,000,000 votes. That's a lot of votes.

BIG BUT.

If not for the electoral college system, if we were a direct democracy, the Hilliam would be living in the White House again and an outbreak of Clinton Derangement Syndrome (CDS), yet another strain of GWD, would no doubt be loose in the world.

The Trumpets would be jumping up and down and pointing out, at every opportunity, that the fate of the entire country had been determined by the citizens of a handful of our largest cities. We would still be knee deep in controversy.

The Infotainment Industrial Complex would still be doing what it does best. That is -- fanning flames, oversimplifying, and giving a bullhorn to anybody willing to work themselves into a near frenzy by playing the us v. them game in front of a camera. Infotainment and ratings are much more profitable (and fun) than reason, truth, and virtue. Ask the Donald. Anyway, we would still be subject to endless whining, debate, and punditry.

A large country where everyone is subject to the whims of the citizens of it's largest cities would be a direct democracy, but would it be a truly democratic country? Short answer -- no. Also, any given kid on the playground grasps that if you want any other given kid or kids to play with you and/or to avoid black eyes and/or shunning, perhaps even banishment, two universal social conventions must be recognized. The importance of fairness in general and respect for the rules of the game in particular.

I could sit in front of this keyboard and speculate on the subject of fairness till it's finally warm enough for the stink bugs to flee the premises in search of food and sex (have fun, see ya' when you get back!). While I could easily assemble a defensible case as to why we're obsessed with fairness, what is fair, in any given situation, is the labor of a lifetime.

However, for our immediate purposes, all that's needed is to acknowledge that fair is always profoundly important because it's hard wired. That the rules must be known and agreed to, before the game, by everyone involved. Most importantly, the rules can't be changed in the middle of the game, only after, and only for the next game. The Donald is the president, all the instant replays have failed to change the outcome of the game. There's another big game in two years. In the meantime, let us enjoy the most popular "reality" show yet devised.

Deep breath.

Retroactive rule changing is potentially a capital offense. I mentioned in part one that the founders, aware of the constant danger of a tyranny of the majority (51%  voting to delete the other 49%), set up our playground as a republic, a representative democracy, to avoid this and other threats to the life and liberty of politically/socially/morally/etc. incorrect individuals.

I'm a bleeding heart libertarian. I didn't vote for either the Donald or the Hilliam. My candidate was quietly crushed. The Steelers lost. There's something wrong with both vans. I'm going to return to my crappy day job after several weeks of often painful physical therapy that will enable me to return to my crappy day job.

But I will maintain an (imperfect) attitude of gratitude, because I'm not only a grup, I've ascended the heights and become a Sexy Seasoned Citizen (SSC). I know that no matter how bad (or good) it seems to be at any given moment there's a meteorite out there with my name on it and one of these days it will find me.

While I'm waiting I'll keep picturing the picture I saw of a Syrian refugee family huddled together in a freezing, abandoned factory somewhere in Eastern Europe, hoping for a chance to sneak into Western Europe. Not welcome where they were, where they would like to be, nor even back in the Middle East by their fellow practitioners of The Religion of Peace, they hang on. Poppa loves you.


[But all is not lost. Patience. Patience snowflakes, social justice warriors, alt.right types of all stripes and members in good standing of the International Union of Professional Perpetually Protesting Protestors & Professional Victims of This, That and the Other Thing. Direct democracy is just around the corner. We've got social media. We're constantly developing new ways of being in contact, and staying continuously entertained, without actually having to actually talk to each other in real life.

We've got Twitter!

I have a mental image of millions of Americans and billions of Earthlings, standing on platforms that pop up and down as trap doors snap open and closed like jack-in-the-boxes. Everyone is busy yelling at everyone else. You don't have to make any sense, the point is to keep yelling. This is direct democracy. We're all part of a globe-spanning town hall and the idea is to yell something clever or ignorant enough (it doesn't really matter) to get a bunch of people to notice you and then yell what you yelled, at someone else.

The dead white guys that set up our playground were worried we'd devolve into endlessly bickering factions of the like-minded. We're already past that. We're becoming factions of one. That's a direct democracy for ya'!

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.

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? There are buttons at the end of every column.]


©2017 Mark Mehlmauer   (The Flyoverland Crank)

If you're reading this on my website (where there are tons of older columns, a glossary, and other goodies) and if you wish to react (way cooler than liking) -- please scroll down.

This is What (Direct) Democracy Looks Like (Part One)

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

Dear (Eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

A significant aspect of the apparently never-ending kerfuffle over the Donald's surprising triumph, since the Hilliam won the popular vote, is/was the current revival of the apparently never-ending kerfuffle over whether or not we should close the electoral college and send the students packing.

Is/was? Yes, because while the electoral college is/was a major thing, for a minute, to those that refuse to accept that the Donald is now the POTUS, it's now a minor thing, but, still a thing. The thing of the week (which will probably be ancient history by the time this column moves out of the house) is crediting the Putin (Russians) with stealing the election for the Donald.

1.29.17 Yup, Russian interference has finished it's solo and is now sitting with the rest of the band. The current solo is being performed by the maestro himself. The Donald has added an avalanche of executive orders to his repertoire that he performs while simultaneously tweeting with his free hand. Trump derangement syndrome is loose on social media. The progressive industrial complex is fact checking and op-eding itself into a near incoherent frenzy.

[Aside:Two points. If the Putin Pooteen has the power to pick our POTUS, he's even more clever and diabolical than I thought. Imagine having the ability to tweak our presidential election in light of the fact that we have no national election system in place. The rules governing the popular vote, as well as those that determine which kids will be briefly enrolled in electoral college, are determined by the individual states.

Various and sundry denizens of the Gubmint Gummit have declared their intention to discover how the Pooteen and his malevolent minions managed to manipulate the election results. Personally, I'd like to know if the fact that the Donald decisively lost the popular vote but decisively won at electoral college was a fluke or part of the conspiracy.

Point two. Henceforth, the entity formerly known as the Gubmint will now be called the Gummit. The dastardly dictator formerly known as the Putin will now be called the Pooteen. I've decided I prefer the Gummit to the Gubmint because it rolls off the tongue easier, suggests that the Gummit gums things up, and will enable me to use the phrase dadgum Gummit, if I so choose. (I haven't heard back yet from the R&D department.) 

The Pooteen, in my semi-humble opinion, SOUNDS like an amoral, self-declared czar who thinks nothing of killing off his opponents or any innocent civilians that happen to get in the way.

{Aside to the aside: as regular readers know, or should/will if they remain regulars, I'm all about (among other things) restoring societal civility and protecting/respecting the power of words. I do this by employing my fiendishly clever strategery of avoiding overly harsh words by inventing and/or remodeling and/or substitution. For example, shtuff is much less harsh than shit but more powerful than stuff if you know who its parents are. Dadgum is several orders of magnitude less harsh than God d__n, a phrase so ugly I refuse to write it. (I keep it in a heavily fortified vault and reserve its use for only the most extreme situations.)}]

Dana, my imaginary gentlereader, threatened to resign if I didn't insert this link before moving on. It's a commentary on my aside, and the inordinate pleasure on my part derived from having an aside to my aside.   

And we're back. Thanks, Dana, for at least as long as the link continues to link to something (yet another reason to use links sparingly). The wisdom of giving the electoral college the final word on presidential elections is often attacked as not being democratic. However, as you've probably heard, due to our current demographic situation, without it the entire country would be at the mercy of the population of a handful of our largest cities.

Being well versed in history, the nature of man people, and aware of what was going on in other playgrounds on the planet, the dead white guys who created the rules for our playground went out of their way to come up with a system superior to the typical, crash-prone, direct democracy and we ended up with a relatively robust republic.

Which brings us to the subject of this column, Twitter.

[At this point Dana, Iggy (imaginary grandsticky), and Marie-Louise (my muse), all looked up, startled, from yet another game of Monopoly (it's become a thing) and gave me a look. As you were, sez I, all will soon be revealed.]

I'm talking about all forms of social media really, including the traditional ones, but I choose to focus on Twitter to simplify things.

The founders gave us a republic (representative democracy) to get around the obvious downsides of rule by mob. For example, 51% of us getting together and voting to kill the other 49%. Our republic consists of three power centers that are supposed to "check and balance" each other so that we would have to go to a lot of trouble, at least technically speaking, to commit genocide.

Pre-op stop. Poppa loves you.

It is at this point, Stickies and gentlereaders, that I must apologize and beg your forgiveness. I had a shiny new hip installed last Monday (1.23.17) and the pre-op stop above was as far as this column had progressed before I checked into the hospital. I write my shtuff fairly close to deadline.

Though I knew there would be a part two, it was my intention to write at least a couple of more closely related paragraphs while convalescing this past week. However, while I'm doing well overall, I've been more or less reduced to a semi-zombie with no ambition, less energy. My daily physical therapy and fussing over my swollen hip and leg is nearly all I'm capable of just now. Oh, I also spend time forcing myself to eat (that's a novel experience) and choke down my meds and supplements. The good news is I've watched a bunch of movies and documentaries. Reading (GASP! say it ain't so!) makes me sleepy.

It's taken me all week to write everything after pre-op stop. My energy levels are slowly returning and I hope to have part two done in time but fear not, there's a backup plan if things get ugly.

Have an OK day.

You Don't Know Jack...

...But that's not necessarily a bad thing.

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

Dear (eventual) Stickies and Great-Grandstickies,

I repeat, you don't know Jack. It's important, very important, that you know that you don't know. If you know that you don't know, you know a lot more than most people.

[Um, I'm gonna need you to explain THAT one, Poppa, says Iggy, my imaginary grandsticky. Dana, my imaginary reader, is giving me the raised eyebrows of skepticism. Marie-Louise, my muse, is grinning and scratching my back, being immortal, she already knows the truth about truth.]

Allow me to explain.

Let me begin by endorsing the wisdom inherent in the statement, "Facts are stubborn things; and whatever may be our wishes, our inclinations, or the dictates of our passions, they cannot alter the state of facts and evidence." -John Adams

That is, the facts are the facts, regardless of what we think they are or want them to be.

"All we want are the facts, ma'am," which is what Sgt. Joe Friday actually said.

BIG BUT.

The facts are indeed, the facts, and the fearless pursuit of the facts is necessary if one wishes to know the truth. But truth is, at best, provisional. Provisional: serving for the time being (Merriam-Webster).

[Dana speaks: Awesome, dude, thanks for clearing THAT up!]

"Patience is a virtue." -William Langland

"Patience is a virtue, possess it if you can, seldom found in woman, never found in man." -Sister Mary McGillicuddy

Truth, is provisional -- a working hypothesis -- subject to change if/when new facts are discovered. A new fact may be hiding in plain sight or living in a hut in Siberia.

However, that doesn't bother a true scientist and it shouldn't bother us. In fact, if we adopt the right attitude, living in a world of shades of gray is much more interesting than living in a world of black and white (which would be quite boring).

"I think it's much more interesting to live not knowing than to have answers which might be wrong." -Richard Feynman

[Iggy: Poppa, if there's a point to all this I...]

I have two points actually. The first is that everything we think we know is provisional, that is, subject to change when we uncover new facts. That this is the nature of our reality. That while acknowledging this can make you feel a little crazy, not acknowledging this might get you killed.

My second point is that since we inhabit a provisional reality of shades of gray, that while we should never stop looking for truth, a well-lived life requires that we make provisional choices and that we need to relax and enjoy the ride


As to the practical, everyday ramifications of point one, avoid over thinking to remain sane. Relax. Be confident that in most situations you'll have a command of enough of the facts to deal adequately. The trick is to never forget that a new fact may leap out from behind a rock at any moment. Cultivate that attitude. Knowing that you may not know will make you smarter than those who are sure they do know. Zen Buddhists call this having beginner's eyes, which simply means always maintaining an open mind. Pay attention and minimize the odds of being run over by a bus.

 "Our brains are pattern-recognition machines, but not good ones. That's what gets us in trouble. We see patterns where none exist. None of us are exempt from that. But we can use our limited sense of reason to see past it." -Scott Adams

As to point two, a well-lived life of provisional choices.

Philosophically speaking, just because everything we think we know is provisional, it doesn't follow that this knowledge need reduce us to insecure neurotics fearful of believing in anything. Or, worse yet, cause us to declare that "like, everything is relative, man." The latter being the universal justification for an empty, amoral life with no path ever chosen other than the one that satisfies the appetite of the moment.

God, or evolution, or whomever/whatever, has blessed us. We're not just eaters/procreators, we're eaters/procreators who are aware we're eaters/procreators. We don't just eat, procreate, and take a nice nap. We choose to be enthusiastic carnivores or self-righteous vegans (yes, I'm biased). We choose to be libertines, virgins or something in between (no bias, whatever works). Everyone should strive to take more nice naps (bias again).

My more traditionally religious friends call this having a soul with a free will. They believe the cosmos is a structure created by an omnipotent architect who provides a set of discernable rules we're to follow. I've no problem with that as long as they show some restraint, and respect all of the other kids on the playground. I've got a big problem with that when the enslaving and decapitation begins.

Fortunately, nowadays anyway, most of these folks are perfectly nice and choose the path labeled Live and Let Live. However, the devil, as always, resides in the details.

As for the rest of us, in my semi-humble opinion, step one is acknowledging the undeniable fact that we also have to share the playground with other kids -- again, restraint, respect, live and let live. Hmmm... it would seem these groups have something in common,

Step two, use the gift, choose. Impose a frame. Adopt a working protocol. Decide on some rules. Whatever you say, goes, but only for you. What goes for everyone should be decided by you and everyone else with, wait for it -- restraint, respect, and a spirit of live and let live.

And yes, I used the word blessed a few paragraphs ago. From the book of Crank: Believest thou in a carefully crafted creation conceived and constructed by an unimaginably awesome God of pure love or a perpetually pissed off dude with a white beard (Anticlause?) and lots of strictly enforced rules and regs that vary from sect to sect, prophet to prophet, messenger to messenger (inhale here), or, a cosmos that can be summed up and defined on a bumper sticker -- Shtuff Happens -- the bottom line is the same. 

Choose.

Even if you think you would prefer a black and white reality and/or you think you will, eventually, inhabit one, the Fact remains that, for now, you're in the same boat as the rest of us. What to do, what to do?

Choose a path that leads to any destination that motivates you to keep getting out of your warm, comfy bed in the morning. If you choose the wrong one or if you reach your destination, pick another one. Try not to step on other people's toes. Don't let other people step on yours.

Simple, right? Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.







 

The Impending Inauguration

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

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies and Great-Grandstickies,

The coronation inauguration of Donald J. Trump is upon us. In less than a week he will be crowned sworn in and officially become our 45th king president. The snarky cross outs in the previous sentence are not directed at the Donald. If I were being snarky about the Donald I would point out that a 70-year-old man with yellow hair, an elaborate combover, orange skin and ever-shifting political positions will soon be king our president.

But I'm not. Let he who is not a 6339-year-old with an enormous head, a lazy eye, a pedestal for a neck and a tank shaped body who is about to have a defective hip replaced cast the first stone!

I'm merely pointing out, that in my semi-humble opinion, the phrase 50 united states implies 50 relatively powerful entities united for certain purposes, spelled out in our constitution, and having much more autonomy than they currently enjoy. What we have is The Gubmint, which, if it continues on its present trajectory, will become, THE GUBMINT.

What we have is so large, complex and powerful, that the phrase permanent campaign not only means governing with an eye on the next election it means all politics, all the time, for every-one.

The chattering class, the more or less permanent bureaucracy, the Gubmint wannabes, the political industry and Gubmint dependent real industries are all carrying on as if we're about to crown a divine right monarch.

Perhaps it's even worse than that. Does America have daddy issues? And/or do we, in spite of our supposed sophistication, long for an alpha male (alpha person?) to feel safe?

Can he can't he? Will he won't he? "Of course this is just speculation on my part but...". Is it true he likes McDonald's food? Didja hear most of the major designers refuse to dress his wife?

Joe Biden, recent vice-president, who was a lawyer for a minute before becoming a professional politician whose major accomplishment is a long career as professional politician announced that he's running for president in 2020.

Mr. Obama has rented a mansion and will be the first president since Wilson (suffering from the aftereffects of a stroke) to not get out of Dodge once he was evicted from the White House.

Mr. O. sez he's sticking around because this multimillionaire champion of the little people, this former community organizer, doesn't want to pull his youngest kid out of high school because she still has two years to go. She attends the Sidwell Friends school, current tuition $39,360 per year (but that includes a hot lunch). Golly, I wonder how he'll kill time between science fairs and PTA meetings?

Can't fault a man for being a good dad, but almost every time he's given a speech in the last eight years that wasn't delivered inside the beltway he made a point of telling his audience how great it was to get out of D.C., him being an outsider and all, and hang with regular folks.

While I appreciate this sacrifice for his kid, Chicago, the town he calls home, that's run by Rahm Emanuel, a former Obama chief of staff, has a notable homicide problem that you may have heard about.

I think I'll send him an email suggesting he spend as many long weekends as possible in Chicago till the problem is solved. If he were to lend his talent and prestige to his buddy Rahm they could no doubt get 'er done. I'd tweet it at him, but Cranky don't tweet.

He could straighten out Chicago and have an excuse to leave the fever swamps of DC on a regular basis, Win-win!

Sorry, I'm obviously suffering from Obama derangement syndrome, which clearly indicates I'm a closet racist in denial. Honey, get my therapist on the phone!

Moving on...

 An inauguration ain't supposed to be a coronation. According to Merriam-Webster:

Inauguration: a ceremonial induction into office
Coronation: the act or occasion of crowning

George Washington allegedly was offered a crown and said no thanks. Historians tell us that this never actually happened, that it was no truer than that shtuff about chopping down a cherry tree and readily confessing to the crime rather than trying to weasel his way out of it.

I'm so old that I can remember being taught the cherry tree story in school and believing it -- different world. I'm so old, and cranky, that I can imagine a country without a semi-imperial presidency that's not about to spend $200,000,000 (more or less) on parties and ceremonies to commemorate the Donald solemnly swearing or affirming that he will try to do a good job and follow the rulebook, the constitution.

The presidential oath of office, the only specifically worded oath in the constitution, has 37 words. This means we're gonna' spend roughly $5,400,000 per word. I have a better idea.

When I was a kid, 25 words or less contests were a thing. "Send us a letter and explain, in 25 words or less, why your family loves Powdermilk Biscuits and win free Powdermilk Biscuits for life!"

How about a nationwide contest promoted via radio to keep the cost down?

 "Send us an email and explain, in 25 actual words or less describing why you prefer a term-limited president to a divine right monarch. Win one million dollars and an all expenses paid trip to Washington DC to be the people's official witness to the Donald's inauguration and meet the new president! Attend a potluck dinner for the POTUS, congress, and the supreme court afterward! Free carnival games and face painting for the kids!"

Savings: $199,000,000 bucks, minus the cost of the radio promotion and renting a hall for the potluck.

The commercial ends with the announcer babbling the following words at twice the speed of sound.

"All winnings are subject to federal, state and local taxes. Employees or relatives, no matter how tenuous the connection,
 of the Donald are not eligible in order to minimize the number of inevitable future congressional investigations. No emojis or social media/texting truncations and abbreviations permitted in order to weed out trolls. Only one entry per documented citizen please, violators will be tossed over the wall."

The Donald, well known for his modesty and good taste, is setting a good example. Our next POTUS will utter the 37 words mentioned above at the Capitol building (home of the people's representatives, many of whom have been selflessly serving us for decades). Next, he'll jump in an armored Cadillac limousine, one of a fleet of a dozen or so (shhh! it's a secret!) built at cost of about $1,500,000, each.

He'll then travel in a motorcade, for about two miles, to the White House while dispensing royal waves and thumbs-ups to the little people.

Little but.

The limos in the parade will not display the traditional special license plates created to commemorate inauguration day. This is giving the collectors of such plates the vapors. The Donald's camp is refusing to say why, but I think I know.

The Donald, well known for his subtlety and discretion, is quietly making the statement that he's just one of us. Make America less tacky again! Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.