The Light at the End of the Tunnel

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.

                                   THE AGE OF UNLIGHTENMENT?

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Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

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

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

Dear Gentlereaders, 

I've written a few columns, three to be exact (1,2,3), titled The State of the Zeitgeist. This was supposed to be an ongoing thing, but it hasn't been. Well, it's back (tell your friends) and it's now called May You Live In Interesting Times.

Also, going forward, you'll find that I will be (well, trying to) limiting my columns to 755 wpc (HT: Gloria A.). Till now, the (theoretical) limit was 1,000 wpc (words per column) but I've often gone over that, occasionally waaay over that.

While the primary purpose of my feeble scribbles is to leave a written legacy for my grandstickies & great-grandstickies, I confess I wouldn't mind generating a buck or three for my efforts, "No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money." -Samuel Johnson

Most writers don't make much money, if any money, to speak of; the competition is fierce, competitors numerous. But I confess that my No. 1 fantasy (I am getting old after all; my fantasies ain't what they used to be) is to generate a few bucks for my efforts.

However, the market has spoken. Being a wild-eyed free marketeer I semi-gracefully accept it's verdict. I've managed to secure exactly one Patron who supports my efforts to the tune of $5/monh. But I'm a patron of four others, all of whom deserve donations more than I, which costs me $6/month, I've written roughly 140 columns and my cash flow is: (-)$1/month.

Which is why I'm going to spend less time on my column so that I can spend more time working on my version of the great not too shabby American novel. Easy peasy, right? I'll be rolling in the big bucks in no time.

Oh, and for the record, the "four others" are Jordan B. Peterson, Dave Rubin, Crash Course, and Quillette.


"We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light." -Plato

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

Heavy sigh...

[Just start writing, mon cher, all is well.]

Merci, Marie-Louise. I will try. Deadlines: I really need to get rolling on this next letter/column/blog post/whatever — and I'm   just   not   feeling   it... Run for your lives! There's an Ennui running amok in the kingdom!

[A Retail concept for all those empty storefronts in need of a retail concept. Now open at Sunny Acres Mall and Combat Simulator — Mommy, Ennui & Me. Proudly providing poor service for the genetically depressed. Matching black outfits for mommies and their little monsters. Check out our line of Goth Girl temporary tattoos and faux piercing jewelry.]

While I refuse to cultivate my inner victim — a currently popular pastime that I hope is a neon accentuated anachronism by the time you read this — the light at the end of the tunnel keeps turning out to be a train coming the other way.

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

Being me, I just went looking for the source of what I thought was just a lame joke (the light/train/tunnel thing) and it turns out that it's credited to a poet, Robert Lowell. Mr. Lowell was a famous Pulitzer Prize (twice)/National Book Award winning poet that I confess I've never heard of.

[And why, pray tell, do you feel the need to share this fascinating literary tidbit with we mere mortals?]

In fact, I have two reasons, Dana. The first is that I now know what I want to write about. The second is that the light/train/tunnel metaphor reminds me of a bon mot from the Vietnam era that's worth repeating.

"Will the last person leaving Vietnam please turn out the light at the end of the tunnel."

[What the hell does that have to do with anything!]

Well obviously, it's a variation on the light/train/tunnel meme/theme. But mostly, it's just an excuse to insert the phrase bon mot (French: literally "good word", plural: bons mots) into a column. Although I'll be celebrating my 39th birthday for the 26th time this year this is the first time in my life I've ever written this phrase anywhere. I've never even said it, or rather tried to, out loud.

"Honey, have you seen my bons mots? I can't find 'em anywhere."

"Look under the bed. Ma stopped by today and I kicked them under there so she wouldn't see them."

[Mumble, mutter, maunder, murmur.]

Door SLAMS. Dana has left the column.


You're no doubt sick of hearing the following geezerism. Pay attention and you'll learn something every day. However, I don't think that I've pointed out that the accumulation of fun facts, unless your goal in life is to win big on Jeopardy, is only step one.

Of course, I may have mentioned step two before (I am a Junior Geezer...). Regardless, it's worth repeating, and, it's worth repeating.

Step two: Integrate what you learn with what you already know, who you are, and who you might like to be. Which brings us back to the light at the end of the tunnel. Our poet's original line is "The light at the end of the tunnel is just the light of an oncoming train."

Which, I will make no effort to memorize because what's important (to me) is:

I now know that a metaphor I use all the time comes from a poet who was famous for a minute and that even though poetry is one of the many subjects I wish I knew more about (but not all that strongly) I only have so much time and energy so I must prioritize because if you want to get something done (as this confirms) you have to or you'll just spin your wheels. Andy Warhol was, and Jordan Peterson is, right — 99.999% of all fame is fleeting at best so finding meaning is more important than happiness because for most of us, as Thomas Hobbes pointed out, life is indeed nasty, brutish, and short although that guy that runs the AEI, the one that used to be a classical musician in Spain? has a point when he says that earned accomplishment is the secret of happiness. But...

That is to say, it's not what you know — it's the relentless pursuit of who you might like to be. Poppa loves you. (To be continued...)

[Note: Without the heading, the introduction (Dear Gentlereaders...), the Have an OK day, the P.S., and the footer, the content of this missive has been rated at 762 wpc by the Association of Would-Be Writers of America. The author has filed a formal objection and maintains that without the introductory quote the wpc rating is 736 and that this number is a more accurate reflection of the content. At the time the column was published this dispute had yet to be resolved. Also, please note that this note was not included in the wpc calculation. Thank 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. 

As to comments...Patrons can click on the community button of my Patreon page and post any comment they would like (be gentle with me). They are also given an email address for the exclusive use of Patrons (again, be gentle) when they sign up.  

Everyone else is welcome to go to my Facebook page. Scroll down to the relevant posting (I post new column announcements every Sunday morning) and have at me.  

.

It's Complicated (or, Things I Think About)

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.

                         BEWARE THE (INTELECTUAL) DARK WEB

[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 -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

"I came of age believing that, no matter what happened, I would always be able to support myself."
                                                                                  -William Jefferson Clinton

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

I wonder how the Hilliam's net worth is holding up? said I to me the other day. Prior to the last presidential election their enemies, as you would expect, made much of the fact they had supposedly amassed quite a bit of dough, mostly just for giving speeches, since they moved out of the White House.

Curiously, the fact that many of the groups of people that apparently put up some very fat fees (bankers and Wall Streeters) were groups they've regularly railed against over the years didn't seem to upset most of their supporters. After all, as she apparently will never let us forget, she did win the popular vote.

See, at some point in the midst of the reality show that was the 2016 presidential election, once I finally accepted that it was, indeed, real, I resolved to vote for the Libertarian party candidate — although I had reservations, and I knew he couldn't possibly win — and tuned out both the Hilliam and the Donald.

These two were the best we could do? Yet another reason to be embarrassed I'm a Baby Boomer. But I'm fascinated by people that can't seem to make enough money, so I thought I'd look into it.

Personally, I'd consider selling my soul, well, at least my integrity, for five million. Invested conservatively, that would be enough for me to squeak by on and still slowly grow the principle.

I shoveled some coal into the boiler and fired up Mark's Toy III (my somewhat less than cutting-edge computer) and went a-googling.

Where do I begin?

In an interview in 2014, she famously said that they were dead broke when they left the White House, even after they got their security deposit back. There were even reports that they walked off with $200,000 worth of stuff when they left. I decided to start there.

[Full disclosure: I've occasionally liberated an unused "courtesy" bar of soap or the like from the occasional hotel/motel over the years. Never having actually stayed anyplace (I'm still cautiously optimistic) nice enough to be tempted by those expensive and comfy looking fluffy robes so common in movies, my conscience remains (well, mostly) clear.]

As to the charge the Hilliam walked away from the White House with all the comfy/fluffy bathrobes and quite a bit of other swag the defendant was found not guilty. Mostly. Sort of.

It's complicated.

There are all sorts of media outlets that have investigated the charge. Politifact's report, and conclusions, was typical.


The first family is permitted to accept gifts, but, must report all gifts valued at more than $350 ($250 when the Hilliam moved out). The Hilliam reported that they had legitimately received $190,000 worth of gifts that apparently they had loaded into the U-Haul and took with them.

The Washington Post published their submitted paperwork; criticism ensued.

When the smoke cleared, the Hilliam paid The Gummit $86,000 for gifts that were declared the property of The Gummit. They also returned $48,000 worth of furniture. That's a total of $134,000.

$190,000 reported, $134,000 returned. Hey, everybody makes mistakes. For example, Hillary thought they were broke but they were able to write a check for $86,000 to cover the cost of some cherished mementos from their White House days. Who wouldn't?

You know what? I'll bet Willy was in charge of the checkbook but told her a little white lie because he was worried about the mortgage payments on the two houses they needed to buy (his and hers?) when they could no longer call the White House home.

Chappaqua, New York house -- $1,700,000
Washington, DC house -- $2,850,000

Just imagine what the payments must have been!


Politifact rated the $200,000 theft claim as: Mostly False. They didn't steal $200,000 worth of stuff, they accidentally took $134,000 worth of stuff, and then paid for some of it and returned the rest. However, if you read the Politifact fact check report (warning: you will be forced to watch a commercial) you will discover that...

Your tax dollars at work

Something called The House Committee on Government Reform looked into the matter. In fact, they spent 11 months on it and issued a 317-page report. I'll betcha a nickel they spent more, a lot more, than $200,000 of other peoples money to produce that report.

Politifact points out that the report didn't accuse the Hilliam of criminal behavior. However, there were "shortcomings". Some gifts were apparently and deliberately undervalued. The paper trail occasionally got "twisted". It looks like some of the "donations" were solicited (HOOGE no-no).

But hey, the rules concerning giving stuff to the White House and/or it's current temporary residents are spread out across multiple laws and administered by a half dozen offices/agencies (shocking huh?) Politifact helpfully points out.

And hey, the Hilliam did turn in a list. And they did write that check. And they did return $48,000 worth of furniture.

I know, I know... You're saying to yourself, I wonder what they left off the list? But if we can't trust the Hilliam, two public servants that have devoted their lives to public service; members in good standing of the party of the working man person (well, at least unionized public sector working persons) who can you trust?

OK, so anyway...

[Wait-wait-wait. Ain't this supposed to be a column about the Hilliam's net worth? We're at about the, let's see -- one, two, three... let's call it the 850-word point and...]  

Sorry everybody, Dana's right. One sec', I'll be right back. (Insert soft jazz soundtrack, here).


The Hilliam's net worth is, well, "It depends on what the meaning of the word 'is' is -William Jefferson Clinton, 42nd president of the United States of America.

OK, as you would expect, it's um, complicated. While I couldn't find an estimate for the couple in question (read into that what you will), there are estimates of their individual net worths, including their daughter, Chelsea who is estimated to be worth...

[What? who cares? What's Chelsea's net worth got to do with...]

 $15,000,000.

[$15,000,000?!? How the hell is Chelsea worth...]

It's complicated. But here's the fun fact that put an end to my research and to my motivation Dana. According to Forbes, as of 2016, the Hilliam had made $240,000,000 since leaving the White House, mostly by talking.

Of course, that's gross income. From what I can tell, after taxes, expenses. and comfy/fluffy robes, their net worth is somewhere in the neighborhood of a $100,000,000 (plus or minus 10,000,000). But then again, that was two years ago. They've continued talking, and have continued to be paid for talking, ever since.

I wonder if I could get them to donate $5,000,000 to the Save the Garrulous Geezer foundation. Don't they run some sort of charity? Excuse me, I've got an email to write. 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. 

As to comments...Patrons can click on the community button of my Patreon page and post any comment they would like (be gentle with me). They are also given an email address for the exclusive use of Patrons (again, be gentle) when they sign up.  

Everyone else is welcome to go to my Facebook page. Scroll down to the relevant posting (I post new column announcements every Sunday morning) and have at me.  

The Secret of Life (Part 2)

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

                         BEWARE THE (INTELECTUAL) DARK WEB

[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 -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

"The secret of life is honesty and fair dealing. If you can fake that, you've got it made." -Groucho Marx 

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

I revealed the secret of life in a column published on 8.6.16 -- so-called real life is high school with money. I don't want to say I told you so, so I won't.

I submit, however, that the current kerfuffle concerning the Republicrats release of a memo summarizing how the Justice Department and the FBI pulled a fast one (or two) to obtain a warrant from a FISA court judge to spy on a certain Citizen of the Republic, and by extension the Trump presidential campaign, proves my point.

Dana: Oh, for the love of God! Enough already!
Marie-Louise: Non! non!

Iggy: Is in school.

Please Remain Calm and Do Not Abandon the Column   

Sorry, I do not intend to discuss the contents/veracity of the memo in question or the carefully nuanced positions of either of our esteemed two major political parties concerning said contents/veracity.

Republicrats: Un-huh! (rinse and repeat).
Depublicans: Nuh-uh! (rinse and repeat).

Or, the pending (it's probably out by now) counter memo crafted by the Depublicans.

Old school Big But

Immagine the high minded statesmenpeople as high school students and the famous/infamous memo as a mimeographed note (can you smell it?), runoff and distributed by the Committee to Reelect Amy McGillicuddy (CRAM) student council president.

It details the committee's -- which consists mostly of members, like Amy, of the marching band -- take on the recently exposed cafeteria food purchasing scandal.

What scandal? two words, one relative -- mystery meat and Mr. McGillicuddy. My lawyers advise me that I should stop there if and until the complex, multi-party litigation is resolved.

Cutting edge Big But

Replace the phrase mimeographed note above with the word text.


Now, the Dudes Onboard for Oliver Blobner (DOOB) -- Oliver, and his best bud Derwood -- are about to release their version of events, pending approval by principle Pocatello. Word in the halls is that they're going to try and implicate Amy in the scandal, indirectly, by pointing out she seems to own more shoes than Imelda Marcos.

Dana: Imelda who?
Marie-Louise: Qui?
Iggy: Is still in school.

Look 'er up on your pocket rectangles, surely you know how to use 'em for more than just... oh, never mind. Sorry, politics makes me bitchy.

The school board has been looking into the scandal for better than a year. The committee appointed to get to the bottom of the issue has stalled out over a sub-issue -- exactly what sort of animal or animals were used in the production of the mystery meat in question and what was its original source.

School board and committee member Betina Blobner (Oliver's mom) is spearheading the drive for the formation of a second committee.

Full disclosure: Ms. Blobner dated Mr. McGillicuddy when they were in high school just prior to his involvement with a girl an individual named Heather, whom he subsequently married, but has since divorced, prior to marrying his current wife the new and improved Heather2.

It seems that the purchasing scandal has ballooned into an investigation of all sorts of purchases besides mystery meat, including non-food items.

Ms. Blobner thinks another, separate committee is needed to concentrate on the mystery meat issue since it affects not just the high school but the entire school district and possibly other districts as well.

Meanwhile, Back In the Jungle (of Competitive Capitalism)...

Mr. McGillicuddy, owner of McGillicuddy's Meats and Things, denies any billing irregularities and points out that he's not a butcher. MM&T is a wholesale distributor of heat and eat meats (and related products) manufactured by a plethora of suppliers, some of which are based outside the country.

"Knowing Betty as well as I do, I'm certain she just mistakenly believes she's doing her public duty. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a business to run and a family to feed."

He's also discretely leaked to the media the rumor that Ms. Blobners primary reason for coming after him is because he dumped her shortly after seducing her in the backseat of his '74 Nova the night of Enchantment Under the Sea dance when they were in high school.


From the Library of Economics and Liberty Encyclopedia:  As James Buchanan artfully defined it, public choice is “politics without romance.”   

In modeling the behavior of individuals as driven by the goal of utility maximization—economics jargon for a personal sense of well-being—economists do not deny that people care about their families, friends, and community. But public choice, like the economic model of rational behavior on which it rests, assumes that people are guided chiefly by their own self-interests and, more important, that the motivations of people in the political process are no different from those of people in the steak, housing, or car market. My emphasis. 


Since the distasteful topic of contemporary politics has reared its ugly head in this missive (talk to Marie-Louise, I just work here) and I'm a few hundred words under budget, permit me to dispose of another unpleasant topic currently preoccupying the Infotainment Industrial Complex. Granny panties. 

I confess to being completely unaware this topic was a thing till I stumbled on a video on USA Today's website that informed me that indeed it is. Thongs, I was informed, are out (good). Granny panties are in (not good). I googled the phrase granny panties and was rewarded(?) "with about 9,440,000 results (0.38 seconds)". 

[Are we nearing a destination, pantyboyperson?]  

Yes, Dana. I have two important questions. 

1. Am I the only one to whom it's obvious this subject is a subconscious manifestation of the left-right debate? Clearly, thongs are a symbol of the far left and granny panties the far right. Why can't we compromise, meet in the middle, and agree on bikini or hipster?   

2. Why does Google feel it's necessary to brag about About 9,440,00 results when it's only possible to access the first 1,000?

Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.

2/24/18, 6:30 p.m. -- hmm, says I to me, I wonder what happened to the Depublicrats counter memo? Pushed to the side because of the tragedy in Florida? I need to update us before clicking on the publish button in a few hours.

I open a tab and start clicking around. Wow!, what are the odds? My enquiry is breaking news (pinky swear). Wait... on a Saturday evening? I start reading. The Depublican counter memo is, as expected, a nuh-uh... based on redacted information (but you can trust them). Well, that explains the Saturday thing. 

Bottom line. Months of Stum und Drang... and Wailing and Gnashing... and Rending of Garments and we   still   don't   know   shi... Never mind. Sorry I bothered you. Support congressional term limits before it's too late.   

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.]


©2018 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 comment — or react (way cooler than liking, and Facebook doesn't keep track) — please scroll down. 




















  

Common Sense

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.

                     BEWARE THE (INTELECTUAL) DARK WEB

[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 -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

                   

The bourgeois are other people. -Jules Renard

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

"We're on a mission from God." Thus spake the immortal Elwood Blues.

I don't know that I'm on a mission from God but someone/something clearly wants me to expound upon Bourgeois Culture. Far be it from me to question my orders when a powerful someone/something keeps dropping obvious hints. I smell metaphysical mysteries in the air.

Then again, it might just be a cosmic coinkydink.

Anyways... (HT: Dr. Jordan P.) last September, 9.18.17 to be exact, Heather Mac Donald, a lesser known public intellectual wrote an article about an article, in the Wall Street Journal.

[Some clearly called for clarifications. The phrase well known public intellectual is almost an oxymoron. Ms. Mac Donald does not, to my knowledge, own a farm. Ms. Mac Donald is much better known than I. I am not a public intellectual but I do have 39 certified college credits. Yes, they're real, the rumor that they were obtained at Wossamotta U is fake news.]

I can't link to the article she wrote about an article; the WSJ has a very effective paywall. It's possible to share WSJ articles on Facebook and I do, regularly. You can access Ms. Mac Donald's article by accessing my Facebook page and sniffing around. Feel free to follow or like me (no charge).

I can link to the article she wrote an article about, an op-ed in the Philadelphia Inquirer titled "Paying the price for breakdown of the country's bourgeois culture." It was written by Amy Wax and Larry Alexander, professors of law at the University of Pennsylvania and the University of San Diego, respectively.

Their article was the cause a cacophonous kerfuffle in the Social Justice Warrior (SJW) universe. I had a vague notion -- being that I'm a happily heterosexual white weenie who revels in his privilegenesses, one of which is having been marinated in Bourgeois Culture as a yute -- to write a column. But, I didn't

But then... The January 2018 edition of Imprimis was published. A PUBLICATION OF HILLSDALE COLLEGE -- OVER 3,700,000 READERS MONTHLY.

Are we Free to Discuss America's Real Problems? -by Amy L. Wax

Ms. Wax wrote a lengthy, insightful, well-written piece about the cacophonous kerfuffle kicked up by her (and Mr. Alexander's) op-ed. Which means, your reading an article about an article about an article and about an article about the fuss caused by, the original article. Sign from God, right?

Our story thus far: A couple of law school profs wrote an op-ed that was published by the Philadelphia Inquirer extolling Bourgeois Culture. The SJW community freaked (as is their won't). Ms. Mac Donald wrote about the freaking. I thought about chiming in, but didn't.

When one of the profs who authored the original article that generated a teapot tempest recently wrote about the tempest she helped to create in one of the Republic's more obscure publications, which recently landed in my mailbox, clearly someone/something wanted me to craft a column. So I did.

According to Merriam-Webster...

BOURGEOIS 1. of, relating to, or characteristic of the social middle class 2. marked by a concern for material interests and respectability and a tendency toward mediocrity    

[a.k.a. bourgie (pronounced boo-zhie). Urban Dictionary: Stuck up, rich bitch, uncle tom, sell out, anybody who acts like they are better than everybody because of their financial standings (i.e. M-W #2).]

I would posit that in this fragmented, polarized, if it feels good do it era that, bourgeois (or bourgie), now refers to anyone that ain't as cool as the individual wielding the word.  

At any rate, the profs define Bourgeois Culture, in the original op-ed, as...

                            Trigger Warning: Common Sense Ahead

Reading the next paragraph might result in an overwhelming urge to set your university, your neighborhood, or even sweet Mrs. McGillicuddy's bourgie house on fire (she's the widow that lives in the house on the corner who's apparently obsessed with cheap lawn ornaments who gives out full-size candy bars on Halloween). Brace yourself. You may need a comfort animal, or at least a coloring book.

"Get married before you have children and strive to stay married for their sake. Get the education you need for gainful employment, work hard, and avoid idleness. Go the extra mile for your employer or client. Be a patriot, ready to serve the country. Be neighborly, civic-minded, and charitable. Avoid coarse language in public. Be respectful of authority. Eschew substance abuse and crime."

[My Dear Stickies, reread till this paragraph is burned into your brain.]

Whereupon...

The International Union of Professional Perpetually Protesting Protesters & Perpetual Victims of This, That and the Other Thing (IUPPPP & PVTTOT) mobilized and attacked on all fronts.

Whereupon...

Ms. Mac Donald wrote an article about all the abuse heaped upon said profs, these modern-day corruptors of the yutes of Athens (or rather, the yutes of State College, Pa and San Diego, Ca.).

"Half of Ms. Wax’s law-faculty colleagues signed an open letter denouncing her piece and calling on students to report any 'bias or stereotype' they encounter 'at Penn Law ' (e.g., in Ms. Wax’s classroom). Student and alumni petitions poured forth accusing Ms. Wax of white supremacy, misogyny and homophobia and demanding that she be banned from teaching first-year law classes."

"The dean of USD's law school, Stephen Ferruolo, issued a schoolwide memo repudiating Mr. Alexander's article and pledging new measures to compensate 'vulnerable, marginalized' students for the 'racial discrimination and cultural subordination' they experience."

Whereupon...

Ms. Wax wrote about her take on the wailing and teeth gnashing she and Mr. Alexander had provoked. She points out that all of the attacks directed at her were directed at her, personally. And emotionally. And irrationally. Etceterally.

"Academic institutions should be places where people are free to think and reason about important questions and issues that affect our society and our way of life -- something not possible in today's atmosphere of enforced orthodoxy."

The bearers of torches and pitchforks saw no need to logically refute her arguments. She's an insensitive bitch for even bringing up the subject. If would be lawyers are absorbing crap like this in law school, that explains a lot. 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)

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Mexico

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.]

                HAVE YOU EXPLORED THE INTELECTUAL DARK WEB?

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

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

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

               "Wal-mart... do they like, make walls there?" -Paris Hilton

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-grandstickies,

When I become king I'm going to declare war on the United Mexican States. I'm (reluctantly) prepared to do what it takes to save us from them and them from us. 

While going to war to save a given us from a given them, or a given them from themselves, is a time-honored tradition, I'll betcha a bottle-a-pop that invading another country to save it from the folks doing the invading is rare, if not altogether unheard of. 

Now, Mexico (and points south), historically and currently speaking, has suffered no shortage of problems that has kept its people from achieving, overall, the level of freedom, security, and prosperity enjoyed by those residing north of the Rio Grande river. 

Whoa, wait a sec'! I sense a disturbance in a vague, ill-defined cinematic sleight of hand designed to invoke something transcendent without sweating the details The Force.        

Dana appears at my left shoulder, Marie-Louise at my right. Iggy wanders in playing a game on his phone, bumps into the back of my chair, looks up, mutters an apology(?), somehow floats to the floor while simultaneously assuming a crossed legged posture, thumbs flying, without ever looking up from the game.

[Wait just a minute, bucko, you can't willy-nilly lump together the people and history of South America and a third of North America in a single sentence. I...]

Calm down, Dana, and listen up. The paragraph above is a vast oversimplification and generalization, containing just two of my many charming eccentric characteristics. Everyone knows, as the immortal Mark Twain taught us, "all generalizations are false, including this one." Furthermore, oversimplification, generalization, and for that matter, hyperbole, are covered under the terms of my poetic license. See Part 4, subsection C, paragraph 3 (Lic. #1234567-allgoodchildrengotoheaven).

Brace yourselves! generalizations are popping up all over the place -- I'm certain that most folks are smarter than the Social Justice Warrior/purveyors of political correctness types are capable of grasping. Watch out! here comes another one -- most SJWs are primarily equal parts arrogance and resentment; Justice is the title of their cover story.    

Marie-Louise starts scratching my back. She lets her fingernails do the talking.   

Where was I? Oh, yeah, the impending invasion liberation of Mexico.


Mexico has come a long way since the implementation of NAFTA. So have we. So has Canada. No, this isn't going to be a column about why free trade works the best for the most. However, as far as I know, there's no such thing as a _______ First movement. Please insert the name of your home state, any state really, into the space provided.

Ohio ain't threatening to stop trading with Pennsylvania unless they get a better deal.

If we liberate annex Mexico we can add several new states to the republic. There will have to be considerable consolidation; Mexico currently has too many states given its size.

Perhaps this will serve to motivate certain rust encrusted states north of the Mason-Dixon to pursue the consolidation of way too many local fiefdoms for the sake of efficiency, as they're doing in the vibrant/prosperous South.

Hey, maybe people will rediscover the Constitution and the fact that all powers not specifically granted to The Gummit are the province of the states and...

[Dude, are you trying to get us placed under surveillance?]

Sorry, Dana, you're right, I got carried away. Baby steps.

We'll increase our population (and unfettered potential customers) by about 125,000,000 souls. BAM! (HT: Emeril Lagasse) -- everyone's legal and everyone's already here.

Then we build a wall, a smart wall, and everybody pays for it.


[Iggy looks up for one, brief, shining moment and poses some thoughtful questions, although the opposable thumbs never stop flying, don't even slow down. If we're going to annex Mexico consolidate our two republics why do we, like, need a wall? And whaddya mean, smart wall?]

Well, a smart wall will include cutting-edge tech (think drones, cameras and the like) with some physical barriers jointly designed by a team of technologists, architects, engineers and psychologists.

Since there are always multiple ways to go over/under/around and through physical walls, effective psychological walls are just as important. For example, if you create walls that don't even exist, in peoples minds, you can accomplish some amazing things -- like getting elected president of the United States.

As to why we'll need a wall a'tall y'all, we'll need one across the Southern border of Mexico, It'll be much shorter, thus cheaper to build and easier to man person. Having learned nothing from Prohibition 1, we're not about to repeal Prohibition 2 in spite of all evidence to the contrary. The "war on drugs" is a jobs program for the gummits, The Gummit, and support industries.

Even a king, particularly a benevolent despot, should think twice about messing with gummit employee unions if he wants to keep his head.

Afghanistan and Drug Cartels

There's more. We need to acknowledge that Afghanistan is indeed the graveyard of empires, declare victory, and leave. Otherwise, we might still be involved when my Great-Grandstickies are reading this. Nation building, particularly in the Fever Swamps (HT: George Will) of the Middle-East, is an exercise in perpetual futility.

Morale-wise, considering the considerable amount of expended blood, treasure, and mental health, it's going to sting. So let's pull the men and women of the best military the world has ever seen out of Bezerkistan and let 'em liberate the people of Mexico from the oligarchs and famously corrupt politicians in general, and the money-grubbing, bloodthirsty cartels in particular.

I invite the Mexican military to band with us to destroy the cartels and free the people. Think about it, drug prices north of the Rio Grande will go through the roof, payback to the drug-loving gringos that have helped to generate a good deal of the violence and death in your country. Win/Win.

Finally, Mexico has plenty of oil/natural gas and plenty of sunshine. Perhaps the renewable energy types can prove their case without billions of dollars in subsidies from the gummits and The Gummit. If not, Mexico has plenty of oil/natural gas. 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.]


©2018 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.