May You Live In Interesting Times (No. 2)

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

                                   THE AGE OF UNLIGHTENMENT?                   

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

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse and back scratcher 

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

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.

               "Pleasure in the job puts perfection in the work." -Aristotle


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

A local version of Ron Burgundy (Geezer reference: Ted Baxter) is on the air.

"American Motors announced today that due to declining sales of the locally produced Neo-Gremlin, the third shift at the Zenith plant will be temporarily suspended and approximately 1,100 employees will be laid off.

Archie Sternberger, president of the Zenith chamber of commerce, estimates that a total of roughly 3,900 local jobs will be affected to one degree or another because they are economically tied to the plant."


Click

So, what do we do now?

Well, we adjust, we downsize... it's not like we've got a choice.

You gonna look for a new job or ride it out and hope you get called back?

Yes (GRIN).

I don't...

Sure ya do, I'll do both. I'll never find anything that pays as well, but I might not get called back. Sales are way down and if gas stays cheap they'll stay down. Besides, your brother's living proof that my theory's correct. Might be best if I don't go back.

You mean...

Yup. Work the line long enough and brain death is virtually inevitable. I wonder if I could get a grant from somebody to conduct a study...

She Gibbs-slaps him while simultaneously suppressing a laugh. Hey! if it wasn't for him you wouldn't have a good job to be laid off from.

Define good.

Any job that pays close to what that one pays regardless of the risk of brain death.

Point taken... good thing I'm married to a nurse. Hey, once you get your masters will you make enough to support me? I've always wanted to be a househusband.

Don't hold your breath... and what about the kids? The kids...

...Like us, have to deal. We spin it as a reality check, a life lesson, which it is.

Mmm, I get all tingly when you channel Ward Cleaver. But what about Disney World? That's the first thing they're going to ask.

Tell 'em the ways and means committee has authorized a temporary subcommittee to study the matter and file a report ASAP.

Oh, OK, I feel much better now.

They toss rueful grins at each other.

Why an Honors Student Wants to Skip College and Go to Trade School

[Gentlereaders, the headline above appeared in the Wall Street Journal on 3/6/18. If you would like to read the article I've shared it on my Facebook page (twice). The WSJ has a heavily fortified paywall but permits sharing via Facebook.] 

The article caught my eye for two reasons. The very first Sticky (Dude) is confronting career choices even as I write and his next youngest sibling (Abbagirl) is not far behind; Bug and Duuude still have a minute. 

Also, the honors student featured in the WSJ article attends a high school in a suburb of my hometown, Pittsburgh, Pa. That's Pittsburgh wit an h yinz guys. 

Most likely, by the time my grandstickies read this, it will be ancient history to them, the process of career choice having already begun. The advice I'm giving them in real time is to think about what they would enjoy doing but not neglecting consideration of how much the world might be willing to pay them to do it.


The article in question is built around the fact that one Raelee Nicholson and an older cousin rebuilt a car when Raelee was 14. "...when we got it running it was the best feeling in the world. I really like working with my hands." Ms. Nicholson is an honors student who finished in the 88th percentile on her college boards.

She's currently rebuilding an '87 Trans Am. Rather than go to college she wants to go to a tech school and become a diesel mechanic.

The absurd price of college/student loan indenture, the fact a college degree ain't what it used to be, the unpredictability of the job market of the future and parents who went (or wish they had) to college — is the actual subject/point of the article.

The comments on the article tell the real story. There's — screw college and the likely accumulation of significant debt partizans. There's the — even a liberal arts degree and an impractical major is worth it crowd. There's a — follow your bliss club. Etcetera.

What all the commenters have in common, though most don't acknowledge it, is that predicting what will provide job/career security in the Dizzinformation Age is like whistling in a hurricane. Interesting 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.]


©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) — please scroll down. 
  

Life's a Bitch & Then You Die (Pt. 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.

                                   THE AGE OF UNLIGHTENMENT?

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

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse and back scratcher 

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"Truth is everybody is going to hurt you: you just gotta find the ones worth suffering for." —Bob Marley 

Dear (eventual) Stickies & Great-grandstickies,

"I got a question. If I'm a bad guy and I know it, maybe even like it, ain't choosing to do the wrong thing the right thing?" -Iggy

This was the question asked by your imaginary representative a letter or two ago that I'm just getting around to directly answering. Sorry, you know how I get.

Hello, my name is Mark, and I'm a blatherskite.
Hi Mark.

Blatherskite or nay, I do strive to be logical. Let me begin by stating that if you are suffering from antisocial personality disorder (APD, diagnosed or not), what follows will be a waste of your time. APD, incidentally, is the official name of what's wrong with you if you're a sociopath or a psychopath.

Surprisingly, to me at least, from what I can tell neither sociopathy or psychopathy is a recognized diagnosis. It would seem that I've been ill-informed by TV and the movies. Huh! WebMD has an interesting article as to the difference betwixt soc and psych.


"Life's a bitch, then you die." —Tony Daniels

"I teach suffering, it's origin, cessation, and path." —the Buddha

"The human system is cursed with pain because it is a self-conscious system." —Thaddeus Golas

"Life is full of misery, loneliness, and suffering — and it's all over much too soon." —Woody Allen

Before proceeding, I must acknowledge a debt to Jordan Peterson. Hopefully, by the time you read this, he will have gone mainstream. The world will be better for it. What follows is something I've been thinking about and refining for literally decades. Dr. Peterson's utterances, however, have provided much-needed clarification.

Regardless of whether you believe that when life ends, an afterlife begins, or, that's that, or, you're keeping your options open — inevitably, yer outta here. (Yes, Mike, I acknowledge that the technological singularity may, eventually, be a thing, but in the meantime...).

While you're waiting for your deletion, life, even if you have Kim Kardashianish Karma, will regularly sink its teeth into your big, round, biography.

Ain't it great? We the people polarized do all have something in common.


The question is, what's the best way to amuse oneself while waiting for the inevitable? If you're an after-lifer odds are whatever tradition you've chosen will include a set of Rules&Regs — problem solved.

If you're a that's-thater, or you're keeping your options open, there are choices to be made. I am of the opinion that while there are many choices, all fall under one of two categories. Up or Down, Alleviate or Aggravate (my prefered names), _______ or _______ — label them as you will.

If suffering is a given, you can choose to alleviate it or aggravate it.

Aggravate

"If I'm a bad guy and I know it, maybe even like it, ain't choosing to do the wrong thing the right thing?" There are infinite variations of this question generated by infinite states of mind that range from having a bad day to having a bad life to being a full-blown psychopath.

Bottom line? You make things worse, you aggravate suffering, often including your own.

Alleviate

Alternatively, you can choose to "do the right thing" — if possible, and if you know what it is. The devil, as always, lives in a comfy, beachfront condo in the details and he's laughing at you while presiding over a world-class cookout. 

Bottom line? You might make things better, you might relieve suffering, you...

[Wait-wait-wait. Sometimes, often, choosing to do the wrong thing feels damn good and...]

Absabalutely, Dana. But victimizing someone else brings more suffering into the world. So, ultimately, does victimizing yourself. Assuming you're not an addict of some sort, occasionally getting loaded, be it via chocolate or alcohol, is harmless. Getting drunk or overeating every day is gonna get ugly, and fast, and likely to affect the kids you share the playground with. 

[OK, but if choosing to do the right thing only might make things better...]

It will almost always make you feel better about you, that is to say, alleviate your suffering.

[Wait-wait-wait, it can't be that simple. What about...]

Maybe it can. 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) — please scroll down. 










   

Life's a Bitch & Then You Die (Pt. 1)

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?

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

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse and back scratcher 

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

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. M.Y.L.I.I.T. (2) will appear in a few weeks.

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/month. 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. And now, on with the show.

"The aim of education is the knowledge, not of facts, but of values."
                                                                                 -William S. Burroughs

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

Last weeks letter, It's Not What You Know, was about two different ways of applying that maxim (ha'maxim?) in the world. First, for lack of a better word, to secular phenomena, i.e., financial/occupational. For these sorts of cases I completed the maxim with the well-known suffix it's who you know.

Being a  man of the real world (more or less) I also mentioned that, um, who you suck up to, is a valid way to complete the ha'maxim under discussion.

The second way was about the application of the maxim in question to psychological/emotional/ethical conundrums. "It's not what you know, it's the relentless pursuit of who you might like to be." This is the official, authorized and licensed version of The Flyoverland Crank, LLC, ABC, M.O.U.S.E., inc.

As to the second, I told Iggy that the primary point of the relentless pursuit of who you might like to be was to cultivate one's virtue. I also mentioned that when I was in school in the Black and White ages I was taught virtue cultivation by Sister Mary McGillicuddy and her colleagues.

"The idea is to develop a given kids character by teaching them to be virtuous so that they don't need to memorize 1,001 rules, so they'll likely know the right thing to do in a given situation." -me

"That's that Seven Virtues thing you talked about, right? I got a question. If I'm a bad guy and I know it, maybe even like it, ain't choosing to do the wrong thing the right thing?" -Iggy

Hmm. That, as they say, is a damn good question.


When I was but a fresh-faced callowyute several thousand days ago in the Black and White ages, Iggy's question would have never occurred to me. Good guys were, good guys. Bad guys were, bad guys. In any given fictional conflict between good guys and bad guys, in any given media, the good guys invariably triumphed.

Yes, I was quite naive. The real world was as full of bad guys then as it is now. Contrary to the plots of the movies I watched every Saturday afternoon at the Arcade Theatre — two movies and a cartoon, 35¢ — bad guys often win.

But why did/does the good guy v. bad guy, good guy wins (GGvBG-GGW) narrative feel so... right?

Propaganda? Brainwashing? After all, not only were all those movies I watched at the Arcade based on the triumph of good over evil, so was TV at the time. I confess I was raised in the glow of the talking lamp. When you're the fifth of seven kids a mom's gotta do what a mom's gotta do.

But I don't think that propaganda, or even the carrot Toll House cookies or the stick school of parenting that was in vogue at the time, now politically incorrect, explains GGvBG-GGW. They reinforce it, but they don't create it.

We're born that way

There's been a good deal of research done and the current consensus is that the factory default settings for H. sapiens include empathy, compassion, justice — and GGvBG-GGW. This video from a Sixty Minutes broadcast nicely, and succinctly, explains the science. Good. 

The bad news is that Us v. Them is also one of our default settings, we arrive prewired to prefer those who are most like ourselves in major as well as trivial ways. Sheesh... that explains a lot. Not so good.

However, as far as I'm concerned this reinforces the value of virtues-based education. Live and let live might be a good virtue to cultivate first. Learning to share a playground makes more sense that having to build and maintain multiple playgrounds.


[Thats swell Sparky, but I note you haven't actually addressed Iggy's question, which I'd reframe as — fuggiden, why not just embrace the/your dark side? particularly if you believe that when life ends it just ends, or you've been kicked in the face one too many times?]

Your more perceptive than I look, Dana. However, I do have a specific answer to Iggy's question which I'd reframe as — given that any grup on the planet Earth understands the significance of the title of this weeks missive, why keep getting out of bed in the morning?

However, till I wrote, rewrote and thought about the above a time or ten I didn't have an answer I was satisfied with. I now do, but since I'm at, excuse me a sec'... 754 words, it's gonna have to wait till next week, rules are rules. 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.  

It's Not What You Know

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?

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

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse (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. M.Y.L.I.I.T. (2) will appear in a few weeks.

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. And now, on with the show.

         
                   "Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall." -Shakespeare 

Dear Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

It's not what you know, it's who you know; I've heard this unattributable proverb all my life. I lived in the New York City metro area for a minute, a long time ago. I knew a guy person, who was the first person to teach me a version that although nowadays is everywhere I will always consider to be the New York City version. It's not who know, it's who you, um... suck up to.

Both versions are true methinks. I once took a class, a sort of Business 101 (3 credits of my 39 official/certified accumulation of college credits) and one of the topics featured prominently in the first chapter of the obscenely overpriced textbook was the importance of who you know.

In fact, the author stated that who you know (i.e. networking) was one of the most important aspects of how to succeed as an employee in any business of any size, which was the focus of the book. As to how to succeed via self-employment/entrepreneurialism, that was the subject of a different class with its own obscenely overpriced textbook.

It's official, it's who you know. Of course, membership in a union, profession or trade group that benefits from regulatory capture or crony capitalism or overzealous occupational licensing laws can also be extremely helpful, but that's another letter.


Now, that said, as you may remember my last letter concluded with "...it's not what you know — it's the relentless pursuit of who you might like to be." which was followed by a (To be continued...).

Let us continue. What I...

[Wait-wait-wait. From what I remember, the "point" of last weeks exercise in loose-lipped loquaciousness was that while paying attention so that you learn something every day is important, it's more important to use what you learn to figure out who you want to be.]

Keyrectalmundo dude! I'm flattered, you do pay attention. I'm...

[Which has exactly what to do with the first four paragraphs of this letter?]

Well, the — it's not what you know — of the first four paragraphs of this weeks missive are about occupational/financial success.

The — it's not what you know — mentioned in last weeks letter, the one mentioned at the end that required a (To be continued...) is about psychological/emotional/etceteralogical success.

[Let me get this straight. This weeks column, that's continued from last week, starts by introducing a new concept...]

More like a new lesson actually. I...

[And then gets around to finishing last week's "lesson." Have I got that right? This makes sense to you?]

Well sure. Both are important lessons. Anyway, life doesn't come at ya' linearly, particularly in this, the Dizzinformation Age. Hey! that's another important lesson. Two columns, three lessons, I rock!

Iggy and Marie-Louise appear. M-L starts scratching my back. So, Iggy, what do you think?

[I love you, Poppa, you're my hero. I need to go to the mall and get some um, school supplies. Can I have 20 bucks?]

Door SLAMS. Dana has left the column, again. Oh well.


"That is to say, it's not what you know — it's the relentless pursuit of who you might like to be."  -me

I had my first intimation of this when I was still in grade school. As you're no doubt tired of hearing, I was provided with what is now called a virtues-based education by Sister Mary McGillicuddy and her fellow Sisters of Charity when nuns still had hair on their carefully camouflaged chests.

At the time my fellow high functioning chimpanzees and I called it going to school.

While we were expected to learn all sorts of fun (and many not so fun) facts, we were also taught how to develop our characters in order to know how to act in the world and how to share the playground with our fellow chimps.

[With all due respect, Poppa, we got like a thousand rules we're aposta follow like don't be a bully, don't be a hater, don't be judgy, see something say something, you know, like that. Can I get that twenty?]

We had about ten thousand rules, I was told not going to church on Sunday was a punched ticket to hell and the cosmic sentencing guidelines were carved in stone. Don't get me started... but that's not what I'm talking about.

The idea is to develop a given kids character by teaching them to be virtuous so that they don't need to memorize 1,001 rules, so they'll likely know the right thing to do in a given situation.

[That's that Seven Virtues thing you talked about, right? I got a question. If I'm a bad guy and I know it, maybe even like it, ain't choosing to do the wrong thing the right thing? How's about ten bucks?]

Hmm... oh, yeah, here ya go. Poppa loves you. (To be continued... again — geez.)

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 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?

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

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse (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. 

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.

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.