Self Indulgent Nostalga (No. 2)

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

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

                                                 - Glossary  

                                  - Who The Hell Is This Guy?

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars 

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse  

Iggy -- My imaginary Sticky

Dana -- My imaginary Gentlereader

"Nostalgia isn't what it used to be." -Peter De Vries


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies (& Gentlereaders),

While it's only been three weeks since the publication of S.I.N (No. 1), that particular missive was well received and I quite enjoyed writing it. Anyways, given that the primary focus of my efforts is to burden my progeny with my alleged wit and wisdom, episodes from my misspent yute would seem to be in order.


Sometime during the summer that I turned 13 -- the "Summer of Love" (1967) -- me and mine moved from inner-city Pittsburgh (with an h) to the 'burbs. At this point, Ed and Reda's (pronounced Reeda) brood of seven had been reduced to three -- my two younger brothers and I. We were sort of a sequel. The first four had been born relatively close together, there was a six-year gap, and then the last three of us incarnated.

Although I didn't realize it at the time, it was the beginning of one of the most, if not the most, pivotal years (+) of my life.


Although I don't remember the date, I do remember that moving day was hot. I/we went to sleep that night protected from the elements by only sheets, perhaps a light blanket. We were all awakened at some point when it started snowing. Well, it felt like it anyway. It was cold!

See, in the city, in an un-airconditioned apartment (which was the norm, not the exception at the time -- movie theaters had blue banners with white letters in an icicle font hanging from the marquee that said Air Conditioning!) it was cooler at night, but not by much. All that concrete and asphalt stored up the heat of the day and released it at night.

Incidentally, the movie theaters also had signs that said something like, Stop Pay Television! Sign Petition Here! Pay to watch TV? can you imagine!

Another night, we were awakened by a noise in our backyard and long story short this story climaxed with the five of us hanging out a window, captivated by a family of raccoons that had knocked over our backyard trash cans and were enjoying a late supper. Much larger, but much cuter, than rats.

When we shared our delight with the neighbors we were quickly disabused of our notions and informed that as far as the neighborhood was concerned these were giant rats and should be treated accordingly.


The bad news was that we had a tiny house with a tiny backyard because the house had been built at the back of the property. While the front yard was decently sized it sloped downward from the street making it difficult to play Wiffle ball or Lawn Darts (the original version; giant, potentially deadly darts).

The good news was that where the tiny backyard ended a patch of woods began that sloped down to a creek. After having been born and raised in the city it seemed like a forest to me. We played in that creek, which was perhaps two feet deep, and didn't pay much attention to the junk it was polluted with. Compared to inner-city Pittsburgh (with an h) this was a sylvan paradise.


I rode a school bus, five days a week to the ginormous pool at North Park. There was some sort of program that bussed kids from the Northern Pittsburgh (with an h) suburbs of Allegheny County to a huge swimming pool located in (the cleverly named) North Park.

Having arrived too late to sign up for said program, and not having been issued the card that was necessary to get on the bus, one of my newly minted suburban friends would simply board ahead of me and hand me their card out the window of the bus. If the bus driver noticed this via one of his large side-view mirrors he kept this knowledge to himself.

While the current crop of Stickies will find this hard to believe, I was so into swimming at the time I took the swimming lessons that took place an hour before the general public was allowed in the pool just so I could get more pool time. I already knew how to swim because I had done the same thing for two or three previous summers at the tiny 22nd Street pool on the Sahside of Pittsburgh (with an h).

Each summer I would earn a new set of cheap Red Cross pins that proved I was a qualified beginner, intermediate, and advanced swimmer. Nowadays, like everything else, things are much more complicated. Lawyers I'll bet.

I fell madly in love with Monica (Steve's little sister?). We swam together shared snacks from the snack bar and started sharing a seat on the bus. One day towards the end of summer her cousin showed up and suddenly Monica wanted nothing to do with me anymore. No words were spoken so I don't know what happened. I got over it by the time school started.

And that's when things got really interesting. Poppa loves you.

(To be continued...)

Have an OK day. 
Please scroll down to react, comment, donate, or share.


Your friendly neighborhood crank is not crazy about social media (I am a crank after all) but if you must, you can follow me on Facebook. I post weekly column announcements as well as things I find on the web that reflect where I'm coming from.

©2019 Mark Mehlmauer

[I haven't got around to figuring out the official way to do this yet... but as of 12.15.18 I'm offering up my humble scribbles under a Creative Commons License. That is to say, Anyone may republish my columns anywhere -- as long as they don't alter them and as long as they credit me (Mark Mehlmauer) as the author, and, link to my website, The Flyoverland Crank.] 

News That You Can Use (No. 4)

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

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

                                                 - Glossary  

                                  - Who The Hell Is This Guy?

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars 

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse  

Iggy -- My imaginary Sticky

Dana -- My imaginary Gentlereader

"More and more, journalism seems to have hopped out of Truth's pocket and crept into another." -Henry Rollins


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies, Great-Grandstickies, and Gentlereaders,

A letter featuring interesting tidbits of news gleaned from the wild, wacky, wonderful world wide web by your favorite current events junkie.

SAN FRANCISCO (CNS - Crank's News Service) - Curbed San Francisco, in an article dated 2/15/19, published an article with a sub-headline that's a quote from the mayor of San Francisco, London Breed.

"A place where we can recognize the leather community and all LGBTQ people," says mayor

                        Warning! Dated Cultural Reference Ahead!

"Now, that's something you don't hear about every day, Chauncey."
"What's that, Edgar?"
"An LGBTQ leather focused public-pedestrian" space.
"Oh, I don't know Edgar. Right time, right place there's something to be said for a well-made pair of chaps."


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA (CNS) - America leads the world in mass shootings. You are, no...

[Wait,wait,wait. This is news to you? Everybody knows this.]

As I was about to say, Dana, no doubt, you are already aware of this depressing fact. Well, cheer up America, it ain't true. It is, however, a perfect illustration of purple journalism run amok.

Purple Journalism: Journalism as currently perpetrated by many news outlets that claim to be professional, unbiased, and factual. In reality, they are partisan, prone to sensationalism, and motivated primarily by the bottom line. (From King Crank's Glossary.)

I recently stumbled over another interesting article, on the FEE (Foundation for Economic Education) website, entitled* The Myth That the US Leads the World in Mass Shootings, by Jon Miltimore. 

[*Yes, I realize that entitled should be titled, however, entitled just sounds... cool. So many things to change once I become king.]

When I read the first sentence I knew I'd have to read the entire article (I'm a world class skimmer -- so much potentially useful info, so little time). "If you asked me this morning which nation has the most mass shootings in the world, I would have said, with perhaps a flicker of hesitation, the United States."

As my temporally current crop of Stickies would say -- I know, right?

The article in question summarily and succinctly proves that this alleged fact, this canard of conventional wisdom, is in fact, bloomin' baloney. 

A summary, if you please, of what I learned. 

- A couple of years ago an associate prof at the University of Alabama, Adam Lankford, released a study claiming that mass shootings -- which he defined as four or more poor souls murdered in a single incident -- overwhelmingly occur in the USA. 

- This was widely reported, and decried, here, there, and even way over there. For example, "Let's be clear. At some point, we as a country will have to reckon with the fact that this type of mass violence does not happen in other advanced countries." -Barack Obama

- Economist and scholar John Lott of the Crime Prevention Research Center begs to differ and has called out Professor Lankford. The good professor refuses to comment or release the data he compiled to generate his conclusions. 

- Believe it or not, it's more dangerous to live the social democratic paradise of Norway than it is here.

-There's even an excellent video. 


It gets better...
The fact that Professor Lankford has committed what Mr. Lott calls "academic malpractice" is not a secret. If go a-googlin' you will it reported here and there but you'll quickly discover two things.

First, the coverage of the actual facts are sparse, and often spun to fit a predetermined narrative.

Second, there are far more websites, of all sorts, that state the results of Professor Lankford's debunked study as though they're etched in stone.


And then I thought...
I wonder what the Donalds (I'm not a fan) favorite news outlet, CNN (I'm not a fan) has to say about this so I googled the phrase "mass shooting statistics and CNN."

The results? Nine hits featuring CNN coverage of mass shootings. All of them a mix of fact and opinion with an emphasis on sensationalism. See definition of purple journalisms above. None mention the debunked study.

Hit number ten was entitled "Does the US Experience Far More School Shootings Than Any Other Country?" A "fact check" by Snopes.com inspired by the fact the majority of the CNN stories feature school shootings (I wonder why?). Fact check result? Mostly true. The article is as ambiguous as the stated result.

After that are a bunch of hits that are other media outlets attacking CNN for misreporting and sensationalizing school shootings. Most are purple journalism about purple journalism. Ain'tcha glad you live in the information age?


THE PEOPLE'S REPUBLIC OF CALIFORNIA (CNS) - The California State Legislature, vanguard of the ban the straw movement, are once again are leading the way in the seemingly endless war of saving ourselves from ourselves.

Assemblyman Phil Ting (who just happens to be from San Francisco) has recently introduced a bill that would ban the use of paper receipts in stores unless the customer specifically asks for one.

Coinkydinkally, Mr. Ting also seems to be a victim?/perpetrator? of bad science. Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day. 
Please scroll down to react, comment, donate, or share.


Your friendly neighborhood crank is not crazy about social media (I am a crank after all) but if you must, you can follow me on Facebook. I post weekly column announcements as well as things I find on the web that reflect where I'm coming from.

©2019 Mark Mehlmauer

[I haven't got around to figuring out the official way to do this yet... but as of 12.15.18 I'm offering up my humble scribbles under a Creative Commons License. That is to say, Anyone may republish my columns anywhere -- as long as they don't alter them and as long as they credit me (Mark Mehlmauer) as the author, and, link to my website, The Flyoverland Crank.] 

May You Live in Interesting Times (No. 5)

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

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

                                                 - Glossary  

                                  - Who The Hell Is This Guy?

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars 

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse  

Iggy -- My imaginary Sticky

Dana -- My imaginary Gentlereader

"Hubris is one of the great renewable resources." -P.J. O'Rourke


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies (& Gentlereaders).

This letter/column started off as News That You Can Use (No. 4) but in short order, morphed into M.Y.L.I.I.T number five.

There's a news item floating around at the moment about one Josiah Zayner, Ph.D. (biochemistry). Dr. J. used to work for NASA which would seem to indicate his doctorate is real. Currently, Dr. J., who self identifies as a bio-hacker, is selling what he calls gene-editing kits out of his apartment.

When said news item randomly turned up while I was web surfing I immediately flagged it as a News That You Can Use item because it's interesting and relevant to my current Gentlereaders AND may help to explain to my future progeny what went wrong and when it started.

Also, it serves as a sort of This Just In to a relatively recent column/letter I wrote not long ago called Designer Babies. If you don't, or can't, click the link, Designer Babies is about another Ph.D., Dr. He Jiankui.

Dr. He got in trouble...

[Is it true he is related to Dr. Who? asks Dana.]

I'm rolling my eyes.

Dr. He, "...a Chinese scientist at a conference in Hong Kong claimed to have successfully implanted genetically altered embryos in a woman who gave birth to twin girls." -me.

As best I can tell, Dr. He has vanished behind the Silk Curtain (careful, it's embroidered with razor wire). My vast, in-depth research efforts (clicking around on the Web) seem to indicate that technically speaking Dr. He didn't actually violate any Chinese laws.

However, the People's Republic of China is famous for its somewhat flexible interpretations of the "rule of law." The rumor that the good doctor now runs a daycare center somewhere in rural China is probably not true since I just made it up.

[Interesting appriposity -- when I googled the phrase, rule of law, the Goog responded with: the restriction of the arbitrary exercise of power by subordinating it to well-defined and established laws.

Cool. But just a few hits later, according to the American Bar Association -- "...the rule of law means the government of law, not men. Aren’t laws made by men and women in their roles as legislators? Don’t men and women enforce the law as police officers or interpret the law as judges? And don’t all of us choose to follow, or not to follow, the law as we go about our daily lives?" Etcetera...

Ain'tcha glad The Gummit is not chock full of lawyers?]

[You realize, I hope, that you have completely lost control of whatever the hell it was you started out to say?]

No so, Dana, not so. Dr. J. is selling gene editing kits and Dr. He is tinkering with embryos. China has yet another sleazy emperor and lawyers are prepared to pull a Clinton when asked to define one of the bedrock principles of a free country, the rule of law. Interesting times.

As a public service, I took the opportunity to point out that China -- no matter what they call him -- can't seem to get by without an emperor. Like most of the Sons of Heaven -- and divine right monarchs and tyrants in general -- he's a pox on his own people.

He's a bully, and he locks people in concentration camps. We're fighting Cold War Two and he's the bad guy. Oh, and there's this. Meanwhile, the media serves up a new episode of the Donald and the Pooteen show, seven days a week. Interesting times.


[Deep breath, Sparky. You're 600 words in and if there's a point to this word salad, I can't find it.]

600? No way! Hold on a second I'll be right back. One, two, three...


Holly crap. You may have a point, Dana. OK, look, let me tie this all together. The media is obsessed with artificial intelligence, the Donald, and the truly tiny minority of people who truly suffer from gender dysphoria.

In the meantime, we're at war for the future with the world's largest country (by population), which is run by an unelected thug who is the world's biggest proponent of Crony capitalism...

And

who's getting a free pass from the social justice types who are busy destroying the jobs of the unskilled because they've decided that common sense economics is a social construct...

While

the Infotainment Industrial Complex is fawning over a 29-year-old college grad with a degree in international relations and economics who has worked as a bartender and a waitress since getting her degree and now is going to save the world -- in ten years. At least she's not a lawyer...


[OK, feel better now?]

Yeah, a little. Hey, did you hear about that kid in Memphis that built a nuclear reactor in his bedroom?!? Just when...

[Poppa had to go. He said to tell you he loves you.]

Have an OK day. 
Please scroll down to react, comment, donate, or share.


Your friendly neighborhood crank is not crazy about social media (I am a crank after all) but if you must, you can follow me on Facebook. I post weekly column announcements as well as things I find on the web that reflect where I'm coming from.

©2019 Mark Mehlmauer

[I haven't got around to figuring out the official way to do this yet... but as of 12.15.18 I'm offering up my humble scribbles under a Creative Commons License. That is to say, Anyone may republish my columns anywhere -- as long as they don't alter them and as long as they credit me (Mark Mehlmauer) as the author, and, link to my website, The Flyoverland Crank.] 

Self Indulgent Nostalgia (No. 1)

This is a weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandchildren (who exist), and my great-grandchildren (who don't) — the Stickies — to haunt them after they become grups or I'm dead.

                  
This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens Perusal by kids, callowyutes, and approximately 39.9% of all grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering. 

                                                  Glossary  

                                                    About

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlerreader

"Easy reading is damn hard writing." -Nathaniel Hawthorne


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies (& Gentlereaders),

When I was a kid I loved to read.

Now, we always had plenty of books and magazines, even an encyclopedia at home although we were definitely members in good standing (more or less) of the working class.

And, my mum read me to sleep on a regular basis but for some reason the only book I remember her reading to me was a tattered and battered copy of Little House In the Big Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder. This was the first of a series of books that the hit TV show Little House on the Prairie was based on. I had no idea there was a whole series of books till years later, we only had the first one.

But, I didn't know I loved to read till I was taken to a library, given a library card, and the concept, process, and rules were explained to me. We didn't have a school library at my tiny Catholic grade school -- Saint John the Evangelist -- Sah-side, Pittsburgh, Pencil-vain-i-a. Hey!


Now, I'm not certain what grade I was in when my class was taken to the local branch of the Carnegie Library. It was a sort of low rent field trip. I'm fairly sure it was third grade, which would have been Miss Wright. Fourth grade was run by the fearsome Sister John Edward and I can't picture her taking us anywhere.

Besides, we walked to the library (probably hard for you to believe) as it was only about eight city blocks and we used Carson Street. Carson Street -- the Main street of the Sah-side -- back in the day featured a shot and a beer bar (sometimes more than one) on almost every block. Nowadays, boutiquey watering holes that cater to millennials have replaced them.

Anyways, if it had been Sister J.E. she would've probably killed the first drunk we encountered for grossly violating one of the many, many sins we were taught were on the books. I'm sure I'd remember an on the spot inquisition and summary execution. For the record, a lot of these same sins have since been repealed or dumbed down. Lucky you.

Besides, If it had been fifth grade it would've been Sister Agnita (unaffectionately called Sister Egg Noodle behind her back). She was far too fat to walk that far without a cardiac episode of some sort and I'm sure I'd remember that as well. My money's on third grade.


Ahhh! that smell. Likely a false memory, being that old. More likely, having been blessed by an acquaintance with a library or two since then that had that smell, I'm conflating.

[Doc, you gotta help me, I can't stop conflating!]

In fact, there was one that featured an enormous grandfather clock and a stone fireplace that was actually used on cold winter days. I don't know if it's still there. If it is, the fireplace is likely unused, global warming you know. The comfy chairs are likely gone as well as they would now be occupied by homeless veterans addled by one too many rotations to the fever swamps of the Mideast.

Old wood, old books -- the card catalog. Hundreds of tiny little wooden drawers containing thousands of musty smelling, yellowed little cards. There should be a Glade aerosol (only a dollar at WallyWorld) labeled:

Old Library, the smell of old wood and slowly rotting paper.


Anyways, we all sat at wooden tables, filled out a form, and were issued (temporary) library cards on the spot. A parent or guardian's signature would have to be secured before a permanent card was issued.

However, we were permitted to choose one book and take it home. Truth be told, we were ordered to pick one book and take it home and warned that if we damaged or lost it we would be killed. Catholic grade school at the time was rather like being enrolled in a Scared Straight program but with much better results. Society and our parents were on the same side as our corrections officers.

Now, I don't remember what book I chose. I'm tempted to make up something that sounds really cool, I do have a poetic license, after all. But honesty is the best policy except for when it ain't (that's a different letter). I do remember that I enjoyed it thoroughly. I do remember being captivated by the fact I now had access to literally thousands of books, free and no charge.

I do remember reading what seemed like hundreds of 'em. Reading was much cooler than watching the Beverly Hillbillies or Gilligan's Island. If you don't recognize the antiquated cultural references, spare yourself, don't look them up. Poppa loves you.

Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day

Please scroll down to react, comment, or share. If my work pleases you I wouldn't be offended if you offered to buy me a coffee.  

                                                   *     *     *

Your friendly neighborhood crank is not crazy about social media (I am a crank after all) but if you must, you can like me/follow me on Facebook. I post an announcement when I have a new column available as well as news articles/opinion pieces that reflect where I'm coming from or that I wish to call attention to. Cranky don't tweet

Surveillance Capitalism

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

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

                                                 - Glossary  

                                  - Who The Hell Is This Guy?

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars 

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse  

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"You can't talk about big data without talking about things like privacy and ownership." -Rick Smolan


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies (& Gentlereaders), 

There's this web browser, DuckDuckGo, that I'm seriously considering switching to, but I haven't got around to making a final decision yet due to a number of factors too uninteresting to detail here.

I'm a Google Chrome user and the bits and bytes that make up this missive are generated by a Chromebox. If you've never heard of such a thing picture a tiny little uh, box, that has the same operating system as a Chromebook built in.

If that's not a thing in your world -- I'm speaking directly here to my dozens of gentlereaders, the GrandStickes are highly computer literate -- the Chrome operating system is Chrome on steroids. It's what runs a Chromebook (laptop), and in my case, the Chromebox that my keyboard, monitor, etceteror are hooked up to.

Anyways... I've refrained from running what are commonly called ad-blockers because the Goog provides an awful lot of "free" services that I take advantage of (the ability to publish this column for one) and I happen to know that most of the Goog's profits come from advertising.

Also, I access an awful lot of "free" websites in search of all sorts of input that not all that long ago (well... I am kinda old) I would've had to pay for -- various and sundry newspapers and magazines for example. I happen to know that without the ability to make money from running ads they wouldn't exist.


Big But
As I've mentioned before, I happen to know that I am/we are the product. The Data Dragons, the Algorithmites, and the Bot Monsters are sucking up our data exhaust 24x7x365, selling it to each other, and using it to sell stuff to us. I finally get it Dad, there really is no such thing as a free lunch.

As I've also said before, this is outta control and goes too far. I was reminded of all this when I recently read a review of a book called The Age of Surveillance Capitalism by Shoshana Zuboff. I immediately fell in love with the term surveillance capitalism (hence the title of this column/letter) as well as the name Shoshana Zuboff (although that's neither here nor there).

Co-inkidinkily, I have recently installed a browser extension from the DuckDuckGo people that looked interesting that turns out to be an ad-blocker on steroids. Whenever you go to a given web site you can click on its cute little icon, that lives on the bookmarks bar, and it will tell you some very interesting things.


One of the things it reports on is "Trackers Found." It uses trackers as a generic term for all the various and sundry spies that a given web site wants to sneak onto my computer. By choosing to enable its Site Privacy Protection function it keeps these sneaky bastards from taking up residence on my computer and also blocks ads.

I'm rethinking my policy on ad-blocking because of what it has taught me.

One example will serve. Accuweather.com is my weather web site of choice because it's not the Weather Channel's website (it's complicated). Now when I go there to check the weather I'm greeted by a message that reminds me they can't make any dough if I won't let 'em run ads and they're keeping a running total of how many pages I've viewed without ads on them.

In the past, this would've bothered me but thanks to the DuckDuckGo extension I'm aware that there are, as this is being written, 45 trackers lurking outside my locked e-door gossiping, smoking cigarettes, and probably spitting on the sidewalk. 45! Nine of 'em work for the Goog.


I get it, OK? I'm as fond of money as the next red-blooded American (but proud to say somewhat less fond than your average Russian oligarch or the corrupt sons and daughters of the Chinese emperor's inner circle) but where's my cut?

Sure, I get to access Accuweather's considerable resources, but the weather is freely available everywhere. I'm a grup, I know it's not actually free, but considering how glutted the market is it can't be worth all that much. My point is that my financial relationship with Accuweather seems to be unbalanced, that they're getting a lot more out of it than I am. Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day. 
Please scroll down to react, comment, or share.

Dear Accuweather,

Fine, I'll be the product, but if my data is worth 45 people spying on me I want my cut. Give me a call, everything's negotiable.

Sincerely,
The Crank


Your friendly neighborhood crank is not crazy about social media (I am a crank after all) but if you must, you can follow me on Facebook. I post weekly column announcements as well as things I find on the web that reflect where I'm coming from.

©2019 Mark Mehlmauer

[I haven't got around to figuring out the official way to do this yet... but as of 12.15.18 I'm offering up my humble scribbles under a Creative Commons License. That is to say, Anyone may republish my columns anywhere -- as long as they don't alter them and as long as they credit me (Mark Mehlmauer) as the author, and, link to my website, The Flyoverland Crank.] 

Build The (Other) Wall

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

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

                                                 Glossary  

                                                   About

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Star: Dana -- A gentlereader

Update: 9.23.19 -- Daniel McCarthy, running for the Senate in Arizona, proposes annexing Mexico, "...probably half the country wants to be United States citizens."

"As a city it is always compelling. But every day in Mexico city I give thanks that I am alive." -Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu



Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies (& Gentlereaders),

[This is a long one. That Polar Vortex thingy that has Ohio by the buckeyes as I write this has me trapped in my chambers trying to stay warm. This has left me with plenty of time on my hands as I'm not about to leave Casa de Chaos unless I absolutely have to.]

Let me begin by declaring that I've decided to sort of throw my hat into the ring and forcefully make it clear that I'm kind of running for the office of President of the United States of America. 

I've formed an exploratory committee, I'm consulting with my loved ones, and I've begun a listening tour -- every time I make my weekly trek to Walmart I make a point of speaking to the greeter and engaging my cashier in conversation. 

However, I'm still boycotting the Deli department. Hopefully, your favorite Walmart deli-department is not staffed by employees who seem to have been ordered to wait on customers only if absolutely necessary and to give the worst possible service to anyone foolish enough to request service. 

My theory is that the point of this is to train the customers to either buy pre-packaged products or just go away. 

And for or the record, I never use the self check out even though this usually results in waiting in a long line with other grumpy old people, many of whom have the unfortunate habit of waiting till the cashier announces the total before pulling out their checkbooks, asking to borrow a pen, and then saying, "How much was that again?"

This allows me to virtue signal that I disapprove of self-checkout lanes, and the subsequent job loss, in not only no-frills joints like WallyWorld but also in my local allegedly full-service, high-priced supermarket. Nowadays, full service apparently doesn't necessarily include a cashier.

Baggers (my first job, second if you count delivering papers) also seem to have been added to the endangered species list.

Sorry... where was I? Oh yeah, announcing my bid for the oval office.

What does this rant and your claim to be running for president have to do with, The Wall? asks Dana.

Yeah, Poppa, I don't get it, adds Iggy. (It's like, ninety below zero and most of the school buses wouldn't start.)

Oui, quoi? asks Marie Louise.

                                                      * * *

Oh... well, having an official opinion on the Donald's, The Wall, is clearly necessary if you're running for anything nowadays. My official position concerning the Donald's, The Wall, is that I'm sticking with the plan I've written about previously.

To summarize, The Wall that I'd like to go down in history for would be one built across the southern border of Mexico, not the USA -- after we invade and set them free from the depredations of the oligarchs and drug lords.

I was recently reminded of this when I stumbled over an article in The Guardian (a center-left British publication that doesn't have a paywall but begs for either a donation or a subscription at the beginning and end of every article).

Apparently, they're not having much better luck at getting readers to toss 'em a few crumbs than I am but at least I've had the self-respect to reduce my begging to a couple of buttons and Amazon ads. Not that I'm embarrassed... or bitter... or... anything.

The article's about the fact that no matter whoever/whomever (I can never remember which one to use where) the Mexicans elect, or whatever they try, just about everyone's life sucks except for the merry band of oligarchs and drug lords that run the place, in general, and one Carlos Slim in particular, who keep a boot on the neck of the average Mexican citizen.

I suspect that once I make it clear to my fellow Americans that we share a border with a country that's nearly as screwed up as Russia in its own way -- at least they don't have nukes or a Pooteen -- they'll support my invasion plans.

                                                         * * *

While they don't have nukes or a Pooteen they do have the well-fed Mr. Slim, who has a net worth of $60,000,000,000. If you live in Mexico and want a phone you've gotta' pay (and pay) Mr. Slim to play. Analogy: Imagine what it would be like if our local All-American cable TV monopolies were all owned by the same monopoly, see where I'm coming from?

I propose that after the invasion we sell off Mr. Slim's holdings to the highest bidders. I will then confiscate all of Mr. Slim's ill-gotten gains except for $5,000,000,000 or so. After all, he amassed his fortune legally, technically speaking, and he'll need a few pesos to live on.

This money will be used to pay for a much smaller, The Wall, across the bottom of Mexico till we can straighten Mexico out and then continue our efforts in a southerly direction.

I'll betcha' we have better luck down there than we've had in the Middle East.
There will money left over if we bid the wall building out to private contractors and keep The Gummit out of it as much as possible (they can keep the books).

We're gonna' need money to absorb Mexico into the US. Just putting all those drug lords and corrupted officials responsible for the murders of anyone that got in their way on trial before we execute them is going to cost a fortune.

According to the Guardian, Mr. Slim owns 17% of the New York Times, I wonder how much we can get for selling his stock. If I didn't know better I'd think the NYT was just a tiny bit hypocritical considering they recently devoted a bunch of ink and pixels to beating up on one Ken Griffin for spending $238,000,000 on a penthouse on Central Park South.

They wondered aloud why anyone needed a 24,000 square foot apartment in an editorial masquerading as a news story, actually a couple of articles, and why rich people spend ridiculous amounts of money on ridiculous things.

Answer: None of your fuggin' (*) business. Perhaps they're just laying the groundwork for certain Democrats to run on a Confiscations and Firing Squads platform.

I've got a question. If the millions of victims of greed and violence living just south of here pay some of the highest phone bills in the world, why ain't the NYTimes bitching about Mr. Slim? 

Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day

(*) Jagoff, a word that doesn't mean what you may think it does, is Pittsburgh (with an h) -ese for, well, believe it or not, it's a socially acceptable way to say, um, butthole.   

If elected president I'm going to promote the word fuggin' as a replacement for its guttural sounding cousin in an attempt to render it as socially acceptable as jagoff is in Pittsburgh (with an h) and get it out of the uh, gutter.

Please scroll down to react, comment, share, assuage guilt, or shop at Amazon.

                                                      *    *    *

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. Just click here or on the Patreon button at the top or bottom of my website. 

Or, If you do your Amazon shopping by clicking on one of Amazon links on my site, Amazon will toss a few cents in my direction every time you buy something.

Or, you can just buy me a coffee.  

                                                   *    *    *

Your friendly neighborhood crank is not crazy about social media (I am a crank after all) but if you must, you can like me/follow me on Facebook. I post an announcement when I have a new column available as well as news articles/opinion pieces that reflect where I'm coming from or that I wish to call attention to.

©2019 Mark Mehlmauer As long as you agree to include the name of my website (The Flyoverland Crank) and the URL (Creative Commons license at the top and bottom of the website) you may republish this anywhere that you please. Light editing that doesn't alter the content is acceptable. You don't have to include any of the folderol before the greeting or after the closing except for the title.


  









  

Preparing For the Singularity (News That You Can Use No. 3)

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

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

                                                 - Glossary  

                                  - Who The Hell Is This Guy?

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars 

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse  

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"Cheese is milk's leap towards immortality." -Clifton Fadiman


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-grandstickies,

First I need to take care of a bit of housekeeping. That is to say, I need to answer a question someone recently asked me about these letters.

"I get that the great-grandstickies ain't here yet but the grandstickies are, so why (eventual) at the beginning of every letter?"

While the Stickies know about what I'm up to, and are free to access my feeble scribbles if they wish, they are still a bit on the young side to grasp much of what I'm saying. But if and/or when they want to, they can easily access every letter I've written.

Also, they have access to a bunch of columns written prior to my adoption of the Letters to Stickies format via the Blog Archive function at the top of my web page. They may decide/may have decided that I'm an old blowhard and not worth the trouble. After all, what self-respecting callowyute takes the advice of a sexy seasoned citizen seriously?

But if and when they do decide that I just might have a clue my missives will be patiently waiting. And now, on with the show.


This particular bit of news that you can use is as potentially relevant to the Stickies as it is to my gentlereaders. Raise your hand if you've heard of the singularity. I'm not talkin' 'bout the one that gave birth to the Big Bang; I refer to Ray Kurzweil's version.

Mr. Kurzweil's book, The Singularity is near; When Humans Transcend Biology, predicts that at some point in the near future we punny H. sapiens will merge with machines and become immortal geniuses. This may occur as soon as 2045 so we need to start getting ready.


Now, if you've never heard about this and your first reaction is a sneer and/or a giggle hold it right there smarty pants. There's no shortage of people that are more intelligent than I who take this quite seriously. Rumor has it that it's a popular notion amongst our Silicon Valley overlords.

Personally, I'm open-minded (as to whether or not this is possible) considering the pace at which technology is evolving and considering the pace at which H. sapiens have willingly tethered themselves to smartphones and/or made them the focal point around which their lives revolve. Resistance may indeed, be futile.

Open minded, yes, willing to participate, no. First, for metaphysical reasons that I'll not explore here. Second, I was born with a severe case of Been There Done That syndrome with complications from Is That All There Is? disease. Immortality sounds boring.

Odds are better than average that I'll be dead by 2045. However, if you're old like me and would love a chance to become a cyborg, hang in there, Nectome is working on it.


"Nectome is a research organization dedicated to advancing the science of memory. We design and conduct experiments to discover how the brain physically creates memories. And, we develop biological preservation techniques to better preserve the physical traces of memory." -From netcome.com

[What's that got to do with...]

The last sentence Dana, look at the last sentence.

[So what? Are these the guys behind, whatchamacallit, um...]

Prevagen?

[Yeah, I couldn't remember what its called.]

Nope, Netcome, and its founder, Robert McIntyre, are working on a way to embalm brains. This ain't your momma's old school brain embalming; this is high tech brain embalming. That way, if you should expire before the technology to upload yourself is ready your brain will be perfectly preserved so that you that you still can.

There's a fly in the embalming fluid, however. your brain needs to be still working when the chemicals are administered, and they'll kill you.

[C'mon! You're making this shit up!]

Nuh-Uh! Check this out. See, the idea is that terminally ill souls can take themselves out while simultaneously preserving themselves for eventual uploading to a, well, who knows, but...

[C'mon! Who in their right mind would sign up for this!]

There's a waiting list. The technology is not quite there yet. If you plunk down a mere, refundable (in case you change your mind) $10,000 you can get on the list. Last I heard, 25 people have signed up.

[Oh...]

I know, right? Hey, I'll bet by the time the grandstickies are grups there will be a do it yourself kit so you can do it in the comfort of your own home and save some money. Living forever can't be cheap. Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day. 
Please scroll down to react, comment, or share.


Your friendly neighborhood crank is not crazy about social media (I am a crank after all) but if you must, you can follow me on Facebook. I post weekly column announcements as well as things I find on the web that reflect where I'm coming from.

©2018 Mark Mehlmauer

[I haven't got around to figuring out the official way to do this yet... but as of 12.15.18 I'm offering up my humble scribbles under a Creative Commons License. That is to say, Anyone may republish my columns anywhere -- as long as they don't alter them and as long as they credit me (Mark Mehlmauer) as the author, and, link to my website, The Flyoverland Crank.]