All Men Are Pigs (Pt. 3)

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

                                   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

       "Modesty forbids what the law does not."   —Seneca the Younger


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

Pat Paulsen was a comedian that was world famous for a few minutes in the late 60s and almost famous for the rest of his life. He told a joke from the perspective of a sex education teacher.

After a hard day at work, when I come home, all I want from my wife is a good handshake.

I'm paraphrasing since I haven't been able to find it on the web. It sorta/kinda encapsulates my feelings after the writing my last two letters, All Men Are (sexually speaking) Pigs. I thought I was done. But I stumbled on an article from Psychology Today that contains a message all girls/women/female H. sapiens — whatever — should be aware of.

Since half of you are girls, my dear grandstickies, and since odds are there will a female H. sapein or two amongst my yet to be born great-grandstickies, I thought I'd better pass it along.


A gentleman by the name of Leonard Sax M.D., Ph.D. writes a column called Sax on Sex (cool, right?) for Psychology Today. He's a family physician and psychologist. Apropos of nothing, I fervently hope he also plays the saxophone.

On 11.20.17 he published a column titled Who Is Distracted by a Girl Wearing Skintight Leggings. Subtitle: Answer: Maybe the girl.

The good doctor was commenting on the exact same article I wrote about in my last letter. I didn't stumble on his article till after I wrote last week's letter. Clearly a sign from God... or at least Marie-Louise.

It's hard to tell since she's a very discrete muse and strictly follows the ethical guidelines of the International Association of Certified Muses. Telepathy and body language (particularly facial expressions) are the primary forms of communication employed by professional muses.

Marie-Louise can communicate seven separate and distinct messages with her eyebrows.

Sorry... where was I? oh yeah, Sax on Sex.


Dr. Sax gets our attention by pointing out that some public schools in Evanston, Il have adopted a dress code that permits kids to wear nearly anything as long as you can't see their nipples or genitals. He provides a link. He's not kidding.

Next, he tells us about an interesting experiment.

Randomly selected men and women at the University of Michigan were randomly assigned to wear either bulky sweaters or swimsuits. Each volunteer then took a math quiz in a tiny room. No windows. No observers.

The results? Men in swim trunks scored slightly better than men in sweaters. Women in one piece swimsuits got roughly half as many correct answers as women in bulky sweaters. According to Dr. Sax, "Subsequent research has replicated and extended this finding."

Why? When a woman (or girl) wears a swimsuit (or skin-tight leggings), often "self-objectification" occurs. He then informs us that girls/women who self-objectify are more likely to be depressed, self-harm and not like their bodies.

While I would hardly describe my research as exhausting, I went a-googling around the web and found all sorts of articles that support girls (and women) being allowed to wear pretty much whatever they want, dress codes or not. If this turns the male H. sapiens around them into testosterone poisoned chimpanzees, tough titties. Oddly, the phenomenon mentioned above was not mentioned.


I know, I know. Rude and crude. Please accept my insincere apologies. I couldn't resist in light of the following. Yet another story about a young woman victimized merely for dressing comfortably.

Long story short... well, the first sentence of the story in the New York Post says it all. "A Florida student says she was humiliated when school officials decided her 'protruding' nipples were a distraction and asked her to hide them with Band-Aids."

There's that D word again, distraction. Her appalled mom provides a perfect illustration as to how far we've come, culturally speaking, in a very short time. She's quoted as saying "We should not treat a girl like this because of where her fat cells decided to distribute genetically."

I suspect that my mom (a product of the draconian Black & White ages) would've reacted somewhat differently if one of my three sisters had been pulled out of class for not wearing a bra to school. There would've been yelling and intemperate words; phrases such as modesty, self-respect, you know what boys are like, do you enjoy being gawked at? etc. would have been uttered.

The young woman in question, who I'm sure, like most teenagers, is oblivious as to how she looks to the rest of the world, helpfully supplied a couple of selfies for the article.

And that, as the immortal Forrest Gump said, is all that I have to say about that. 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. 

All Men Are Pigs (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

"I wear women's leggings under my clothes, but no lingerie."   —Dennis Rodman

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

In my last letter, I explained my contention that almost all male H. sapiens are by nature, sexually speaking, pigs. My point is a metaphorical one and I insincerely apologize to any and all animal rights activists who are offended by my observation. In fact, I support them in their quest to improve the living conditions of all animals raised for human consumption.

It's obviously the virtuous path. Also, while I don't know if it's true, I hear they taste better. Win/win.


I maintained that we male H. sapiens arrive in the world factory preset to function in this swinishish manner. I failed to mention that although all men are pigs, many men, by nature and/or nurture, are more civilized and self-controlled than others.

Everyone benefits when male H. sapiens (traditionally called, men) cultivate the restraint of their swinish side. This is virtue in action. This makes the playground a much nicer and more comfortable place for us all.


To vastly oversimplify, Aristotle...

[Have you ever noticed that you're prone to both oversimplification and over thinking?]

Sure, Dana, I call it cosmic dissonance.

[It's cognitive, not cosmic, and it refers...]

I'm cosmically inspired by Marie-Louise and then I distill, or oversimplify — for my benefit as well as the Stickies.

At this point, Iggy walked through my consciousness, smiled, and gave me a high five without stopping. Where you headed?

[Out.]

The door slams and I'm momentarily nonplussed but Marie-Louise starts scratching my back and all is well.


Now, back to oversimplifying Alexander the Great's teacher. Aristotle, and I, your sainted grandfather, think that virtue and virtuous behavior is the "golden mean" betwixt the extremes of too much of something and not enough of something.

For example, all sex all the time v. total abstinence. While reasoned abstinence has its place, total abstinence can trigger the law of unexpected consequences. Viewing the world through a pornographic lens can do the same. Examples? priests that molest kids and rampant STD.

[Wait-wait-wait. Every time I turn around there's a news story about a female school teacher molesting a kid and...]

Sad but true, Dana. However, while I acknowledge that I may be countenancing heresy, I believe that male and female H. sapiens differ in all sorts of important ways.

I maintain that even in our ever-coarsening culture that men, generally speaking, are pigs. Women, generally speaking, are not — and that everyone knows this. Google the following name, Harvey Weinstein.

Trigger warning, if the statement in bold above doesn't get me burned at a virtual stake, what follows just might. You've been warned.


While randomly web surfing I stumbled on an article from the Atlanta Journal-Constitution website, Are Leggings Distracting? that's about a couple of fifth-grade girls that spoke at a meeting of the Atlanta school board. They requested that the board amend the dress code by ending the use of the word "distracting," as in, no wearing clothes that are extremely tight and distracting.

One of the girls is quoted as saying, "I do not believe that clothing is distracting. It is just the reaction that matters. I should not be punished for other people's behavior. I am not a distraction."

Out of the mouths of babes huh? Distraction, it seems, is in the eye of the beholder. Everyone should dress as they please. What's the worst that could happen? Glad we cleared that up.

"It must be me," said I to me. I went a-googling. It's me.


In short order, I stumbled on a plethora of relevant articles. The consensus? from a USA Today article, "...students and parents worry the message the dress code sends to girls is: Your body is a problem. Don't distract the boys. Even if that's not the intent, it's an early message, they say, that blames girls for boys bad behavior."

I had no idea. Damn, wrong again.

See, I think the message is: Girls — boys (and men) are pigs with big eyes. You know this. This is not your fault. You are not to blame. It's just the way it is. But, you need to acknowledge this fact as you will be dealing with it, in one form or another, on a daily basis for the rest of your life. Take care. 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. 

All Men Are Pigs (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

"Women need a reason to have sex. Men just need a place."  —Billy Crystal


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

(Based on a true story) 

Your daughter's in trouble again. 

My daughter?

She pushed a boy out of a window today at school. 

Really? the local news was on the radio as I was pulling in the driveway. You'd think that a boy leaping out a window at school because my daughter broke his heart would be headline news here in Hooterville.  

It was a first-floor window, and it landed in a bush. Interesting that you should say Hooterville though.

It?

It/he — tomato/tomahto? It's scratched up a bit but unfortunately, it lives.

And why did she push it out the window?

It had its back to the window, she had her back to it. It reached around her and grabbed a boob in either hand. She spun around and gave it a shove and it went flying.

Ah! that's my girl. Oh... now I get it, Hooterville indeed.

Your girl huh?

Wait a sec', boobs? Are you sure you're talking about my daughter? My daughter will, eventually, have breasts. They will miraculously appear shortly before the second virgin birth ever recorded.

Uh-huh. Well, my daughter has boobs, substantial boobs. Remember the uncle Harry and the sundress incident?

Was that her? Are you sure? She and I need to talk... Wait a minute, why is she in trouble?

It's just one day of detention. I'm assured by the vice principal it's a CYA move. You never know, there might've been a hungry lawyer living in the bushes it landed in. Look on the bright side. If there aren't any cute boys there she might actually do some homework, out of sheer boredom.

I'm sorry, I didn't catch that last part. Is she home yet? We need to talk about...

Bit late for that Sparky. I...

I'm not talking about that talk, I'm talking about a different, um, talk.

All Men Are Pigs

All men are pigs, even daddies. I chalk it up to biology, factory presets. I could be wrong now, but I don't think so (HT: Randy Newman). I've regularly noticed that I'm wrong with disturbing regularity. I'm not wrong about this though.

[Vaguely related but still important observation: While often unpleasant and difficult, mid-flight course correction trumps running out of aviation fuel — every time.] 

I'm not going to insert any links, mention a study or quote an expert. I am an expert. I maintain this is true of all biological males regardless of race, color, creed, sexual preference, practices and/or who or what they identify as.

If there's such a thing as a true H. sapien asexual male (yet another unresolved controversy) I would assume they're certified kosher/halal.

[Wait-wait-wait... You're an expert? What qualifies you to claim...]

64.5 years as a male H. sapien, Dana. I've known straight men, gay men, confused men and men who like to wear dresses (straight, gay, and transitioning). All are horndogs, all are easily aroused just by looking, all are constantly looking.

Many, I would posit nearly all, harbor deep, dark, sexual fantasies that should never, and fortunately mostly won't, see the light of day. 

To not be aware of this, to not acknowledge this, may lead to an experience not unlike running out of aviation fuel at 10,000 feet.

For the record, I've no idea if this still holds once a given he fully transitions to a given she. I don't personally know (well, as far as I know...) anyone who has. Regardless, I wish them well and hope they don't prejudge me because (or at least so I'm told) I'm a member of the White Heteropatriarchy by accident of birth.    

Personally, I think of myself as a typical unrepentant, unreconstructed heterosexual male, somewhat lacking in privilege and luck. Still, I remain cautiously optimistic. I once had a good year (1985).


I've asked female H. sapiens (FHS) of my acquaintance if they're aware of just how easily stimulated male H. sapiens (MHS) are merely by looking. As you might expect, given that FHS, as a group, tend to be just a little bit brighter and/or a little bit more evolved than MHS, not a one of 'em was caught by surprise.

Generally, however, they're more amused/bemused than alarmed, which you also might expect. Of course, there's no shortage of sexual bullies in the world, but most MHS are, to one degree or another, testosterone-addled fools at the mercy of their, um, DNA. Trust me on this.

There's more I would tell you about voyeurs and bullies but it can wait till next week. 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 comment, or react (way cooler than liking) — please scroll down. 

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.