George Stephanopoulos Never Sleeps

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

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My sublime, drop-dead gorgeous muse (right shoulder) and back scratcher 

Iggy -- Designated Sticky

Dana -- Designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

"There is a time for many words -- and there is also a time for sleep." -Homer

Dear (eventual) Stickies & Great-Grandstickies,

Humbug Alert: Although I don't understand how he finds the time, to sleep I mean, I'm sure he does. Unless of course, genetically speaking, he is or has been upgraded. Are there H. sapiens 2.0 loose in the world? Perhaps he's a hologram or cyborg of some sort. Ooh, I know! maybe he's a...

Sorry, never mind. I'm wandering off already and all I wanted to say was this is week two of your friendly neighborhood Crank posting bogus titles in an effort to lure more readers. Poppa's gotta' eat while he waits for one or more of you to step up and supply the lifestyle I would've/should've had.

To wit, had I not been kidnapped by gypsies from my wealthy, aristocratic, but dissolute family. The tragic story that culminated with my "father" winning me in a poker game in Deadwood, South Dakota.

What this missive is actually about is what a lazy man I am and how I wish everyone else was as lazy as I am and how I suspect I'm not alone in that fantasy. And why, although I understand the need for, and the point of, productivity -- I wish over-achievers, like George Stephanopoulos for example -- would slow down and set a better example.


I'd lost track of Mr. S. (while I enjoy the way the name Stephanopoulos rolls off the tongue there's just no way I'm gonna' type it more than twice, told you I was lazy). To be honest, I haven't thought about him since the late nineties. Mr. S., my dear Stickies and any gentlereaders who may not be aware, made his political bones as a conflicted minion/wunderkind of the Hilliam.

He left the Clinton administration shortly after they were re-elected to work as a commentator for ABC news. I heard somewhere (I don't remember what the source was) that when his tell-all book came out late in the Hilliam's second term that some of the Hilliam's remaining minions referred to him as a common-traitor. For some unknown reason, this stuck in my head.

For another reason, a known reason, something else stuck in my head. More on that in a minute.

[Note: Hillary + William Clinton = (ominous organ chord) the Hilliam.]

Anyway, while I was a-googling for something else, I stumbled on the fact that Mr. S. is now an anchor for ABC's Good Morning America. And that he's the anchor of ABC's evening news show. And that he's the anchor of ABC's Sunday morning news show. What? no game show?

Phew!


Now, while I had a vague notion he was still affiliated with ABC, as what used to be real news on the talking lamp has devolved into infotainment, I've gradually, mostly, stopped paying attention.

Flipping the talking lamp back and forth between MSNBC and FOX news (as well as clicking back and forth between FOX news and USA Today online) suffices to provide me with an accurate snapshot of this particular aspect of the Information Industrial complex.

[The next paragraph, I admit, may be a bridge too far. However, I didn't have the heart to delete it because I really like it. Please feel free to skip it.]

OPTIONAL PARAGRAPH: Calvin Coolidge said, "After all, the chief business of the American people is business." Nowadays. business, and politics, and, well, everdamnthing in America is show business. And because the talking lamp has spawned kabillions of electronic rectangles of all sizes, the show never ends.

Anyway, Mr. S. became a poster boy for over-achievers while I wasn't paying attention.


Which brings us to Cindy, the girl I sat next to in the eighth grade, and my first overachiever. Cindy, like me, was of average intelligence. Cindy, unlike me, worked her ass off to make up for it.

Still, she was a good friend and a nice person, but I found her diligence baffling. Why work so hard for good grades in mostly boring subjects when all you had to do was work hard enough to get at least a C? And I mean... it's the eighth grade, we're callowyutes!

In my defense: I was a daydreaming, rock n' roll smitten, sex-obsessed (not that I was getting any), introverted, novel reading product of working-class parents who required very little of me. Also, it was a different world. While I had no idea what I wanted to do, jobs were plentiful. I'd worry about that later. After all, I was bulletproof and going to live forever. What's the hurry?

[Any and all Stickies, please note, the previous paragraph does not apply to you. Please refer to your parents, or me if I haven't been deleted, for clarification. However, I highly recommend that you all seek the balance betwixt work and the rest of life that makes you happy content and not work all the damn time just because someone told you you're supposed to work all the damn time.] 


Which brings us back to Mr. S. When I stumbled on the fact he works three jobs I went looking further and (re)discovered that the book he wrote, the one that got him labeled a common-traitor? Well, he received an advance for it, nearly 20 years ago, of $2,800,00, and, it was a best seller. Of course, a million went a lot further in those days.

See, by then the Hilliam was world famous for their world class scandals -- e.g., "I did not have sexual relations with that woman, Miss Lewinsky." The world wanted to know what Mr. S knew about stained blue dresses, missing records that materialized out of thin air, and...

Well, it's quite a lengthy list and there are many books devoted to the subject if you were around but desire to be refreshed (gentlereaders) or weren't around but are curious what happened when the first boomer president (Slick Willie) stumbled into the White House.

This was the other factoid, referenced above, that got stuck in my head in the late nineties and was knocked loose when I accidentally stumbled on the fact Mr. S. doesn't sleep. I remembered thinking, at the time, that he was one fortunate son. A pile of dough to sit on, single, and a good gig to prevent having to touch the principal while he figured out when he wanted to pull the plug and go fishin'.


I'm older, slightly wiser, and know shtuff I didn't even think about in the eighth grade. I know that not being born into a rich family increases the odds that you'll not be a hooplehead. I know that anything worth actually having is worth working hard for. I know that a lot of things people think are worth working hard for are not.

I know that there's no such thing as a free lunch. I know that as a nation we all need to be willing to be at least as productive as necessary to maintain a country where the poor are fat and many of the 99% never stop whining about the 1% that pay nearly 50% of The Gummits tab.

I know that twenty years after Mr. George Robert Stephanopoulos was blessed with a golden ticket worth $3,000,000 (plus) I'd be willing to give up one of my less important body parts for $3,000,000 (without the plus).

I'd invest conservatively with a goal of making 5% interest so I could live on $100,000 a year (not exactly tough for a widower in Flyoverland), roll $50,000 over to keep the principal growing, and I'd leave half of it to my Stickies and half to homeless shelters.

Then I'd go fishin'. Told you I was lazy. 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.

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.

Uncertainty Is the Only Certainty There Is,...

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

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My sublime, drop-dead gorgeous muse (right shoulder) and back scratcher 

Iggy -- Designated Sticky

Dana -- Designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

"My life has been filled with terrible misfortune; most of which never happened." -Montaigne


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies, 

"Uncertainty is the only certainty there is, and knowing how to live with insecurity is the only security." -John Allen Paulos. Mr. Paulos is a mathematician that looks like a mad scientist (in a good way).

This quote was the next to the last line of my last letter, The Only Thing That is Constant is Change. The subject of that letter was change, not uncertainty (it's not you, it's me). However, as promised, this letter is about uncertainty. It's inspired by the quote above, which, as you may remember, I admitted was about a kabillion times better than my lame version -- the only thing that's certain is uncertainty.

Full disclosure. I'm only vaguely aware of the work (literarily speaking only, I possess the mathematical prowess of fruit fly) of Mr. Paulos. However, he's on my list of people whose work I'll explore, eventually, maybe. Unfortunately, I'd have to live to the ripe old age of 300 or so to make a dent in the list, if I were to stop adding to it today.


"It's uncertainty that really makes us crazy" -me. Well, as it turns out, the fear of change can really make us crazy as well.

See, I originally began this part of the letter thusly: To one degree or another, we all make our peace with change. Ah, but uncertainty... But then I thought, no, wait a minute, I'll betcha a bottle a pop that there's a phobia. There's a phobia, metathesiophobia. 

I mention this because it's only fair. I don't know, but for all I know, there are people whose lives revolve around dealing with their crippling fear of change. I do know that I do know more than a few people who battle various and sundry anxieties all day, every day.

That said, with all due deference and empathy for all those who fear their personal demons might have a better chance of winning than I think/hope mine do, I maintain my original premise. For most folks, it ain't change, its uncertainty.


Which brings us back to -- to one degree or another, we all most of us make our peace with change. As I said last time, we don't necessarily care for a particular change but since changes are inevitable, right up to the very last one (deletion), you deal.

Also, when we get stuck in a rut we can't wait for a change or a least a happy distraction to come along. Hence, the popularity of vacations.

Ah, but uncertainty (change's cousin) and uncertainty's twin sibling, insecurity, those are world class anxiety generators for almost everyone.

Oh, before I forget... my dear Stickies you will, no doubt, encounter people who claim to love uncertainty and insecurity. They'll claim that they absolutely thrive on uncertainty and insecurity. They are either lying to you and/or themselves and/or have psychological problems.

I make no sweeping judgments. I've known some, um, very interesting people who make this claim. Just be careful. As always -- open heart, open mind -- but be careful.


If you're bored, you may actually go out of your way to drum up some change.

BIG BUT.

Suppose you're one of the lucky minority of people (roughly a third) that are "engaged" at work. I'm guessing you probably feel as though you're on the right path (certainty) and confident that you're unlikely to be laid off anytime soon (secure).

When folks are certain they've taken the right path or made the right choice and their feeling emotionally/financially/whateverly secure, they're unlikely to decide their good fortune is boring and decide to go for a walk at 3 A.M. down Crime and Drugs Avenue in search of adventure.

(Well, with the possible exception of some of those very interesting people I mentioned above.)

No, most of us would strive to seek out the version of a straight and narrow path that looks most likely to maintain our personal status quo. But shtuff happens.


Sooner or later, probably sooner, life's gonna' bite you on the ass. I'm not talking about the gentle nips we're all subject to from day one. I'm talking about the first time it feels like you've sat on a bear trap. If you're lucky this may not happen for awhile. For more than a few, it happens early and keeps on happening.

Regardless of how our particular life rolls out, we will all be introduced to uncertainty and insecurity. From an evolutionary/survival standpoint, this makes sense. Stay sharp and avoid being eaten. However, the consequences will be measured on the anxiety scale and range from mild to debilitating.

Whether God or evolution wired us this way, we're wired this way. Regardless of your level on the anxiety scale, regardless of what pushes your uncertainty/insecurity button, this is a game that can't be won no matter how hard you try. Happy, healthy, wealthy and wise people are dying slowly and painfully, or quickly and horribly, even as you read this.


Which is why, "... and knowing how to live with insecurity is the only security."

Now, assuming that your anxiety level is (at least usually) and (at least mostly) manageable -- with or without professional assistance and/or pharmaceuticals:

1. Acknowledge/accept that uncertainty/insecurity, and the resulting anxiety, is part of the unchangeable nature of reality of life on Earth. Everyone's in the same boat, some just have nicer cabins than others. You're not gonna' wake up one day and be "cured." There is no cure, but you might just be able to generate a lower reading on the anxiety scale.

2. When you feel uncertain/insecure/anxious/etc. -- name it, then spit in its eye. "I'm feeling _______ because _______, so be it. I've been here before and I didn't die (or get eaten). I'll be here again." You can't make it go away; don't waste your energy trying. Identify it, call it out, take a deep breath or two and it'll lose at least half its power over you, maybe more.

3. Cultivate your own methods for stress reduction. I highly recommend going for a drive by yourself and singing an improvised operatic aria about the problem at full volume, but to each their own. Hint: keep the windows rolled up unless you're an opera singer in real life.

4. When you're not feeling uncertain/insecure/anxious/etc., take note, and be grateful. Think about this when you're feeling bored. Have you ever said, or heard anyone say, "My life sucks sweaty socks, I'm not feeling the least bit uncertain or insecure today."

5. There's more than one study out there that claims a moderate amount of anxiety is good for you.

6. If you go a-googling you will regularly encounter someone pointing out that scientific studies show that 85% (or some other number, but 85% is popular for some reason) of the shtuff we worry about never happens.

[Um, I was unable to verify that anyone has ever actually conducted such a study which makes sense when you think it through. How could you possibly/accurately determine what actually happened (or not)? It's the Information/Dizzinformation age, we're swimming in data, and yet people feel free to quote non-existent statistics. Now that worries me. Sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up, never mind, don't worry about it. 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.

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.

The Only Thing That is Constant is Change

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

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My sublime, drop-dead gorgeous muse (right shoulder) and back scratcher 

Iggy -- Designated Sticky

Dana -- Designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

"The only thing that is constant is change." -Heraclitus


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies, 

Last week, one of the things I discussed was the invention and the inventor (Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr) of the adage the more things change, the more they stay the same. This is another way to say there's nothing new under the sun, as we're repeatedly reminded in the Old Testament's book of Ecclesiastes.

As a kid, and a callowyute, the meaning behind these two statements was explained to me. Things actually changed all the time. H. sapiens had slowly but steadily invented new shtuff and in fact, are now inventing new shtuff at what appears to be an ever accelerating pace.

However, travel by covered wagon or travel by rocket is still travel. Roasting a fresh kill over a tribal fire and dining at a four-star restaurant is still eating.

More importantly, human nature remains the nature of humans. Yes, Mike, I realize cyborgs are now a possibility, but I suspect enhanced H. sapiens are to generic H. sapiens as A-bombs are to sharp sticks.

Most importantly, the nature of a reality, the one we inhabit at least, is cyclical. Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter. Kid, callowyute, grup/sexy seasoned citizen (if you're lucky and smart), dead. Big bang, expansion, decline, oblivion. Etcetera.

As to whether something follows dead, or oblivion, the way spring follows winter, that's above my pay grade. I'm inclined to believe it does. Time will tell but time's not telling in the meantime.

[Well, it's finally happened, you've gone completely around the bend. A couple a hundred words in and whoosh! off we go into the wild blue yonder, says Dana. Marie-Louise is giving me a look of concern/compassion. Iggy is trying to stifle a giggle.]

Get a grip you lot, I know where I'm going (more or less). Please, just do your jobs and I won't have to start taking my meds again. We'll be fine.]


BIG BUT.

It's occurred to me that I began considering, what I'm considering, in the middle of the discussion and that I should've started with Heraclitus.

"The only thing that is constant is change." -Heraclitus, circa 500 BCE (or maybe not).

Maybe not because when I went a-googling in an effort to find out who exactly is credited with this quote, Mr. H. led the list. However, if you dig down a bit, just a couple of inches, in fact, you quickly discover that Herry's writings vanished a long time ago. Fragments of his shtuff are mentioned in the writings of other ancient Greek philosophers.

[Gimmie a break...]

And before you get started Dana, yes, you could make an argument it doesn't matter whether Herry actually said it, but it does.

I'll grant you that whoever actually said it first probably makes no difference as to whether it's true or not. However, an accuracy life jacket can help prevent drowning in the Dizzinformation Ocean or the Fake News River.


"The only thing that is constant is change." I've been hearing or reading some version of this adage/aphorism/proverb/cliche (or whatever it is) all my life. Regardless of what label an English teacher would hang on it, I think most of us would agree it qualifies as conventional wisdom. "The generally accepted belief, opinion, judgment, or prediction about a particular matter," according to Merriam-Webster.

After all, it's just common sense, right? Merriam-Webster again: "sound and prudent judgment based on a simple perception of the situation or facts."

So, the only thing that is constant is change. But the more things change, the more they stay the same. (I mean, after all, there's nothing new under the sun.)

Hoo-boy, now what? Two widely used bits Common sense and conventional wisdom, both with ancient pedigrees, appear to cancel each other out.


Well, they don't actually. They're change viewed from different perspectives. Stay on your toes because change happens, often when you're least expecting it. But don't be afraid of change, it's the nature of reality. Think like a Boy Person Scout and be prepared.

Being prepared for change is like being a car owner with Triple A. Everyone knows that if you have a valid Triple A card the universe will mysteriously rearrange itself so that you're much less likely to need it than if you don't have one.

Also, change often turns out to be not that much of a change, or that big of a deal, after all. Sometimes, things change for the better.


Anyway, it ain't change, its uncertainty. Herry should have said that "the only thing that's certain is uncertainty." It's uncertainty that really makes us crazy.

[Mybe he did! If all we've got is fragments from other people, I mean who knows what all he actually wrote about? I looked him up? on my smartphone? Looks like the go to guy for this Heraclitus dude is another dude? named Diogenes Laertius? who wrote a sorta like, Greek philosophy's greatest hits? But it came out, like, 800 years after that Heraclitus dude was deleted.]

Ziggy, you never cease to amaze me. I guess great minds, or at least ours, think alike.

We smack out a high five. And then, for about a half a second, I'm convinced I've stumbled on the road to semi-immortality (or at least, my 15 minutes of fame).

"The only thing that's certain is uncertainty." -Mark Mehlmauer

Unfortunately, it immediately occurred to me that someone else must have certainly already claimed it. It's obvious, it's generic, it returns 6,040,0000 results if you go a-googling (including images). The bad news is that the second hit I got was a quote that's a kabillion times better than mine.

"Uncertainty is the only certainty there is, and knowing how to live with insecurity is the only security." -John Allen Paulos. Mr. Paulos is a mathematician that looks like a mad scientist (in a good way).

The good news is that my next letter will be built around his quote. 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.

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.

Some Blasts From the Past

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

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My sublime, drop-dead gorgeous muse (right shoulder) and back scratcher 

Iggy -- Designated Sticky

Dana -- Designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

"First of all, you can make the argument that there's no such thing as the past. Nobody lived in the past. -David McCullough


Dear (eventual) Stickies & Great-Grandstickies, 

Submitted for your consideration:

-- Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr (1808 - 1890), according to Wikipedia, was a successful French critic, journalist, and novelist. He was also an avid angler and influential floriculturist. Oh, and he said, "the more it changes, the more it's the same thing." This is rendered in English as, "the more things change, the more they stay the same."

Ain't that ironical? A reasonably well-known (in his day anyway) French intellectual that, until recently, I (and I'll betcha a bottle-a-pop, most people) had never even heard of, crafted an epigram that's probably been repeated at least a half a kabillion times.

It's not even his best shtuff. As to abolishing capital punishment, he said, "Let the gentlemen who do the murders take the first step."

I realize that nowadays that quote would trigger Snowflakes and enrage tweeters for his blatant sexism. After all, women are just as capable of murder as men. Also, everyone knows that female and/or gender challenged hitpersons are paid less than their heterosexual male counterparts.

Still, it rocks.      


-- Speaking of the more things change thing -- from The Elements of Political Economy by J. Laurence Laughlin, published in 1887.

"That body of people certainly is the strongest and the happiest in which each person is thinking for himself, is independent, self-respecting, self-confident, self-controlled, self-mastered. Whenever a man does things for himself he values it infinitely more than if it's done for him and he is better for having done it...

"If, on the other hand, men constantly hear it said that they are oppressed and downtrodden, deprived of their own, ground down by the rich, and that the state will set all things right for them in time, what other effect can that teaching have on the character and energy of the ignorant that the complete destruction of all self-help?"

[Gentlereaders, for the record, I insincerely apologize if Mr. Laughlin's use of the word ignorant in the last sentence of the quotation above if it triggered any H. sapiens due to _______.]



-- The Wall Street Journal, as I've stated elsewhere, is my personal paper of record. A phrase, Dear Stickies, that may no longer exist by the time you read this. I'm so old that I can remember happily paying a buck for the dead trees edition when the local papers were still selling for 50 cents or less. In fact, I'm so old that I can remember when typewriters had a ¢ key.

In fact, I'm so old that I...

[Marie-Louise! quick! a little help here, he's already wandering off!]

Thanks, Dana, I'm OK.

Sorry, when I stopped at a convenience store to buy a copy the clerks found the price of the WSJ so shocking they would often feel free to call attention to my folly. Why would anyone pay a dollar for a newspaper? The reason I did was because of the high quality of the reporting, and, they did (and do) strive for objectivity.

Actual objectivity. As opposed to...

The -- given that we're on the side of the angels (not that we're backward enough to actually believe in angels) having adopted unassailable, righteous, core beliefs that are beyond debate, we reserve the right to color all of our reporting with these principles and still claim objectivity because we're on a mission from God (not that we're backward enough to actually believe in God) to enlighten all the maroons who still cling to guns, religion, etc. in spite of our selfless efforts -- school of journalism.

Here's hoping, Stickies and gentlereaders, that this continues. Since they've been doing what they do since 1889, and unlike many of their competitors (as in other newspapers), are thriving, I'd say the odds are in my favor.

They're primarily focused on real news and (like me) are mostly oblivious to the latest pearls of wisdom offered up by this week's show biz royalty for the guidance of the little people.

Incidentally, they now charge $4 for the dead trees edition, a  bit less if you have it delivered, a price I would still happily pay (if I could afford it). I do semi-happily (I'm, uh, frugal) pay about $30 a month for the online edition. There's no shortage of advertising but it's (mostly/usually) not particularly aggressive.

Aggressive? Yes, I refer to allegedly free sites that keep getting in my face via messages that take over the screen and/or videos with a mind of their own. Also, somehow, the Journal makes money without clickbait. Go figure...

However, this is the Dizzinformation Age and they offer almost too much (and constantly updated) content. I read it every morning but If I happen to stop back a few hours later I may be presented with a different paper. A hard copy, once a day, provided me with the comfy delusion that I had some control over my life and had a clue as to what's going on the world.

[Heads up, Marie-Louise, he's this close...]

I'm fine Dana. I've craftily established why I like the WSJ while simultaneously pointing out that high quality, objective, real (celebrity, clickbait free) news is still available while simultaneously touching on one of my obsessions....

[Which is?]

The Information Age is also the Dizzinformation Age.

[Digression: Gentlereaders, the WSJ lives behind a paywall but does permit the sharing of articles via social media. I occasionally post one (and other shtuff) on the Crank's Facebook page. Cranky don't tweet.]


-- There's a tab on my simple, uncluttered, easily navigable, pop up free, ad-free website labeled Please Read This If You're New Here. It explains why I write these letters and where I'm coming from. From what I can tell (I'm technochallenged) it's not accessed all that often. Apparently, my gentlereaders aren't as interested in me as I am.

Early on I offer up a lengthy quote from Sir Kenneth Clark, a British art historian that was the "star" of a BBC produced television series, Civilization and who subsequently released a book of the same name based on the scripts he wrote for the series, in 1969.

I reproduce it here for two reasons. First, for my gentlereaders, some of whom (I hope) may find it as inspirational as I do. Second, for the Stickies. I fully expect you all to at least attempt to watch the video of the show if you can find it and/or read the book.

At a minimum, I insist that you read the quote that follows at least once a year, on my birthday. Otherwise, I'll come back and haunt you and yours. I'm considering implementing a curse as well.

"At this point I reveal myself in my true colours, 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 order is better than chaos, creation better than destruction. I prefer gentleness to violence, forgiveness to vendetta. On the whole I think 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 2,000 years; and in consequence, we must still try to learn from history. History is ourselves. (Original does not have a paragraph break at this point, sorry Sir Kenneth.)

I also hold one or two beliefs that are hard 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 that 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."

And I'm an agnostic, go figure. 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.

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.

STEM (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.

[Bloggaramians: 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 sublime, drop-dead gorgeous muse (right shoulder) and back scratcher 

Iggy -- Designated Sticky

Dana -- Designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

"The only rules: be charming, be humane, be smart, and never take yourself too seriously." -Jeffrey A. Tucker


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies, 

In my last letter I talked about how I've watched, in the course of my life, America go from cultural consensus (more or less) to cultural chaos. I talked about, and briefly defined, the elements of my STEM acronym and promised to expand on them.

King Crank's STEM System is not a proposed new consensus. It's some simple rules for people of widely varying consensi to get along. O.K. class, let's review.

ST is for strategic (as opposed to good) taste. Sometimes a good fart joke is just what's called for, but all fart jokes all the time? not so much. That is to say, knowing when to show some class or style, as opposed to knowing when it's time to get down and dirty.

E is for etiquette. As in "the customary code of polite behavior in society...". This was the very first definition that popped up when I googled the E word. See, I'm not talking about, nor do I care, which spoon is for what. I'm talking about some common sense rules to prevent citizens in general, and Bigfeets in particular, from stepping on each other's toes.

M is for modesty. First Google supplied definition, "the quality or state of being unassuming or moderate in the estimation of one's abilities." Third, "behavior, manner, or appearance intended to avoid impropriety or indecency."

In the process of trying to expand on them, I ran into some problems. First and foremost, I discovered that I really didn't have much else to say that amounted to more than gilding the lily (although in my case, painting the petunia is probably a better metaphor).

Strategic Taste. We have to share the playground so take the trouble to note where you are and who else is within earshot and speak and act accordingly.

Etiquette. Good manners would be a better choice but etiquette works better acronym wise. Please/thanks/excuse me etc.

Modesty. Almost no one is as smart or as (b)right as they think they are. And be an exhibitionist, I don't care. But only when your audience is willing one, not a captive one.

Bottom line. By all means, do your thing, but always keep in mind that your mom or your kids, or someone else's mom or kids may be watching or listening. Share the space with respect for who you're sharing it with.

It was at this point I hit a wall. Wait a sec', it occurred to me, this stuff is obvious, everyone knows this already. And yet, everyone's coming at everyone else via public and social media.

[Bonkercockie! Clearly, everyone doesn't know this. Furthermore, everyone is not coming at everyone else via whatever. And speaking of points, can we look forward to you making one, at some point?

Oui?

Dana, and Marie-Louise, are in the house, well, in my head at least. Where's Iggy? I inquire.

In his room developing hearing loss, can't you hear the exploding F-bombs? Dana responds.

Yeah, now that you mention it. Will one of you please deal with it? Watch out for psychic shrapnel.]


My imaginary dynamic duo just serendipitously, but accurately, explained the wall referenced above and have shown me a way around it. I stated that almost everyone already knows how to maintain peace on the playground. I should've added -- assuming they want to, or need to.

The Want To's are the (more or less) well-adjusted kids, callowyutes, grups, and sexy seasoned citizens. They're everywhere and far outnumber (for now at least) Need To's and Bigfeets. They practice my STEM System without ever having heard of it.

However, Bigfeets get most of the attention. Bigfeets, and their antics, are a major source of revenue for the Infotainment Industrial Complex. Being a self-admitted current events junkie, my everyone coming at everyone concept may be an inch or two over the top.

The Need To's are the (more or less) mal-adjusted kids, callowyutes, grups, and sexy seasoned citizens. Even those that have been raised by the human equivalent of feral cats, will, when it suits their purposes (getting what they want or trying to get out of trouble) suddenly develop social skills.

While all Bigfeets, when necessary, are Need To's, Need To's are not necessarily Bigfeets. It's complicated so I'm just gonna' leave that one lie there and move on.

I've witnessed this a proverbial million times (I am 39 after all). When cornered, all sorts of um, interesting people -- from the allegedly to the genuinely disadvantaged, from the sociopathic to the psychopathic -- instantly discover the ability to go along to get along to get out of trouble.

[Permit me to congratulate you on your keen grasp of the obvious, dear boy! May one enquire if you're planning on making a point, at some point, in the near fu-cha, sir? Dana's back and has acquired a British accent.

Marie-Louise is scratching my back, she knows where I'm headed.]


I maintain that our fragmented consensus is a Humpty Dumpty level problem. All King Crank's horses and all King Crank's men can't put the consensus together again.

So -- rather than joining the Global Whiners Club and devolving into yet another geezer endlessly bemoaning the gone but not forgotten good ol' days (the pointless pursuit of utopia, in reverse) I've posited my STEM System.

This is -- admittedly, a mere repackaging of literally ancient common sense notions of civilized behavior.

To serve -- as a reminder for some; a primer for others.

BIG BUT.

It dawned on my dim self, in the course of writing this letter, that the aftermath of the collapse of consensus -- the toxic, left-over radiation with a long half-life, if you will -- is the real problem. People can get along if they're wired that way, or are forced to (even Bigfeets). Or, if there's a threat from another playground. We were a more or less united nation after 9/11, for about five minutes.

The real problem? People that don't want to get along, with sensibilities maintained at a fever pitch by the Infotainment Industrial Complex.

The -- demonize don't compromise, the end justifies the means, we're clearly right you're clearly wrong so shut up, it's payback time, gotta break a few eggs to make a utopian omelet, not in my backyard,  _______, God is on our side, etcetera, ad nauseam, ad infinitum -- set.

Hoo-boy. Sometimes I'm glad I'm old.

Let us not end on a depressing note. Here, for your entertainment, are a bunch of musically updated nursery rhymes that begin with a sorta/kinda latin hip-hop version of Humpty Dumpty that's been viewed more than 250,000,000 times!?! 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.

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.

STEM (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.

[Bloggaramians: 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 sublime, drop-dead gorgeous muse (right shoulder) and back scratcher 

Iggy -- Designated Sticky

Dana -- Designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

"Compassion is the basis of morality." -Arthur Schopenhauer


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

A few letters back, Wild-Eyed Libertarian (Part Two) to be exact, I talked about my conservative impulses. I pointed out that I don't consider them to be conservative impulses. To me, they're just a combination of my natural inclinations, life lessons, and coming of age at the tail end of the Black and White Ages.

I mentioned modesty (M), strategic taste (ST), and good manners (GM). I created an acronym (GMMST) designed to roll easily off the tongue and be easy to remember. This was because I planned on returning to the subject. I'm returning to the subject.

The acronym mentioned above, in the time honored tradition of our consumer culture, is now NEW and IMPROVED! It's been newed and improved to the title of this missive, STEM, which stands for strategic taste, etiquette, and modesty.

[Brief digression -- when I use phrase consumer culture I do so without snark and/or sarcasm. I'm a fan and a future letter will be devoted to the subject.]

As far as the other current use, and significance, of the acronym in question -- the study of/training in the fields of science, technology, engineering, and math -- that's yet another letter. However, in the short term, I'm unashamedly appropriating it for my own non-nefarious purposes.


I'm a sexy seasoned citizen who has reached the ripe old age of 39. I was born in the Black and White Ages and survived the sixties. (The sixties began in 1965 and ended in the fall of 1977 when the movie Saturday Night Fever was released.) I'm delighted (mostly) to have lived long enough to meet the Jetsons.

I'm a (happy) cultural warrior of sorts. However, I'm not allied with any of the more vocal factions in our currently raging culture war(s). I'm neither a conservative _______ (insert name of a given old school religion, here), a passionate progressive, or a militant atheist. Organized religion just ain't my thing. 

I want to live in a culture that can be summed up by my (destined to be famous) Playground Analogy, "I want the playground to have minimum rules and maximum fun. I want just enough rules to give everyone an equal shot at some swing time and neutralize the bullies."

That is, my idea of the good life is a playground where all the kids are free to pursue their individual notion of a good life without feeling the need to bully (or kill) any of the other kids.


There are more than enough Rules&Regs on the books and no shortage of grupstitutes (substitute parents -- legitimate and self-appointed) to enforce them.

BIG BUT.

The devil, as always, resides in a comfortable condo in the details.

For example, it may be hard for you to imagine, but when I was a kid, and later a callowyute, I was taught (among other things):

That most people believed (or should) in some version of a Judeo-Christian God,
That the ten commandments were, well, commanded,
That good-girls didn't do "it" before getting married,
That pregnancy outside of marriage was a disgraceful for a girl/woman and her family,
That divorce was shameful,

Etcetera.

There were many many more rules. Eventually, I discovered there was also lots of exceptions to the rules, and lots of hypocrisy. But most folks at least paid lip service.

Our society (I speak only of the US, consult your local crank if you live elsewhere) then tossed out much of our cultural consensus (the unwritten Rules&Regs) with the Jacuzzi water. Many have since embraced the code of the Bigfeets. Jer-RY! Jer-RY! Jer-RY! Cultural consensus was replaced with cultural chaos.

CC + DS x IIC = Y!

Cultural Chaos + Dizzinformation Syndrome x Infotainment Industrial Complex = Yikes!

Now, my dear Stickies, for all I know, by the time any given one of you reads this in the relatively near or dimly distant future the world may have caught its breath. Or, Having come of age in chaos and taking it for granted, you may legitimately ask, chaos? what chaos? I'm bored.

Regardless, King Crank's STEM System is not a moral or ethical code. It's a way for people with wildly divergent moral or ethical codes, even people unfamiliar with the words moral or ethical, to get along, to peacefully share the playground.

As I've repeatedly promised, I shall be a benevolent, mostly hands off monarch content to remain behind the curtain. I'm just, as they say, puttin' it out there. You can't impose a cultural consensus on a given country anyway without enslaving the citizenry and that's too much like work.

What follows is a truncated explanation of the acronym in question. Part two will expand on all three concepts.

ST is for strategic (as opposed to good) taste. As an intimate friend of mine once said, "Strategic taste refers to, well, here's an example. Sometimes a good fart joke is just what's called for, but all fart jokes all the time? not so much. That is to say, knowing when to show some class or style, as opposed to knowing when it's time to get down and dirty."

[Full disclosure: yes, the quote above appears in a previous letter -- I like it, and it's my column, OK?]

E is for etiquette. As in "the customary code of polite behavior in society...". This was the very first definition that popped up when I googled the E word. It's perfect so I stopped there. See, I'm not talking about, nor do I care, which spoon is for what. I'm talking about some common sense rules to prevent citizens in general, and Bigfeets in particular, from stepping on each other's toes.

M is for modesty. First Google supplied definition, "the quality or state of being unassuming or moderate in the estimation of one's abilities." Third, "behavior, manner, or appearance intended to avoid impropriety or indecency.

In other words, while self-confidence is important, science has demonstrated that many people that think they know what they're doing don't have a clue.  And yeah, you may be hot (or not...) but believe it or not, we don't all want to see your _______. We especially don't want our kids to see your _______. 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.

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.

Legalize Discrimination

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 (right shoulder) and back scratcher 

Iggy -- Designated Sticky 

Dana -- Designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

"How I wish we lived in a time when laws were not necessary to safeguard us from discrimination." -Barbra Streisand


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies, 

What follows is an expanded version of something I wrote for a failed feature featured for a minute on my website called Random Randomnesses. 

I'll betcha a bottle-a-pop that even if you're reading this 50 years or more from the time it was written -- assuming, as always, that our Republic hasn't devolved into a collection of warlord-led nation states continuously at war with each other -- that we will still be arguing about (and be litigating) who is discriminating against whom.

Life on Earth is not necessarily fair; you may have noticed. 

It's the nature of H. sapiens to feel slighted, and if possible to seek justice, when they perceive they've been treated unfairly by a fellow member of the species. Without recourse to justice, via formal rules or the universally acknowledged common law of callowyutes, the playground's not fun and the kids stay home.


Discrimination is institutionalized injustice, that's why it causes the needle of a justometer (accent on tom: jus-TOM-eh-ter) to spike and loudly proclaim whatever any given model equipped with a speaker loudly proclaims. It's not an in the moment injustice, as in a bully confiscating a victim's lunch money. It's injustice before the fact, based on the fact, the victim is ______________.

Please note, I've extended the blank space considerably longer than my standard seven character spaces so as to accommodate the many victim groups of our enlightened new millennium and the new ones coming online seemingly every day. 

There are myriad reasons H. sapiens choose to pre-inflict injustice on a given victim, or class of victims, often without necessarily having had any actual contact with the target. 

This is called prejudice. There's a lot of it about. You may have noticed.        


Now, personally, my policy is to not discriminate against anyone for any reason.

My default setting assumes that anyone I meet potentially sucks sweaty socks until proven otherwise. It has nothing to do with discrimination, it's a common sense personal defense policy. When I drive I assume that all the other drivers are trying to kill me. The fact that it's unlikely to be an intentional act doesn't change anything.

Also, I don't hate anyone before I meet them. To do so is stupid, and illogical. Furthermore, once I do meet them I'm prepared to give them the benefit of the doubt. In the course of events, if I decide to try and keep them at a manageable distance I'm even prepared to employ an antiquated technique that has fallen out of favor called good manners to keep the peace.


So, why on Earth would I suggest legalizing discrimination?

No, I am neither a left or right wingnut. I'm not a member of the -alt left, or -alt right, or even sure what those particular newly minted labels mean. Like many labels in this overheated, polarized era I find myself in the midst of, definition often depends on who's applying the label.

As beauty is in the eye of the beholder, the legitimacy of one's politics/morals/lifestyle/etc. are often found in the (judgemental) psyche of the beholder.

And no, I do not have a death wish or a masochistic impulse to be publicly shamed, shunned or trolled.

BIG BUT

The Gummit and the gummits spend a lot of time, and money enforcing an ever-expanding agglomeration of Rules&Regs protecting an ever-expanding multitude of victims, real and imagined. So what if we let the free market in dizzinformation take care of it, for free?

Name any business (profit or non-profit), gummit agency, or individual you can think of, in the USA as well as many other locales, that could survive unscathed in the dizzinformation age if it/they became known for discrimination, against anyone.

For example, why spend tax money on having The Gummit, or your local gummit, drag some 16+ hours a day working miscreants who run a mom and pop firm into court because they _______ just because you're _______. Vote with your wallet and withhold your business

Tell everyone you know, especially your fellow _______ what these bigfeets and hoopleheads are up to. Tell 'em to vote with their wallet. Two words, social media.

Open up a rival business and work 17+ hours a day and put the bastards out of business. (Please note, this tactic is unlikely to work on The Gummit or the gummits. However, striving to minimize your dependence on any level of gummit services is always a good idea.)

If you like, get some signs and some friends and march up and down in front of the place. You can destroy a business even if only a tiny minority of the public agrees with you by making it as uncomfortable and awkward as possible for people to cross your picket line.

Short on friends and/or fellow travelers? Contact your local chapter of the IUPPPP & PVTTOT. (The International Union of Professional Perpetually Protesting Protestors & Perpetual Victims of This, That, and the Other Thing.)

Alert the press. Remember, the news is never old in a 24-hour news cycle if you have the fortitude and creativity to keep the pot stirred. In this day and age, how long will 99.9% of these maroons survive? As to the .1% who do, it's only a matter of time. You can always double back lack later during lulls in your outrage.

Let's repeal a bunch of laws and Rules&Regs, can a bunch of bureaucrats, and see what happens. We can always pass new laws later. 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.

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.