O Canada (Oh America)

Two countries (and two videos) for the price of one!

Photo by Bianca Ackermann on Unsplash

This is a weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — eventual selves to advise them and haunt them after they've become grups and/or I'm deleted. Reading via monitor/tablet is recommended for maximum enjoyment.  

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, or grups may result in an intersectional triggering. Intended for H. sapiens who are — in the words of the late, great bon vivant and polymath, Professor Y. Bear — "Smarter (and cooler) than the av-er-age bear." 

About

Glossary 

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlereader  

"I personally think our national anthem is not patriotic enough. There is another poem by Dwijendralal Ray called 'Dhono Dhanne Pushpe Bhora,' which is more soul-stirring as a national anthem." -Victor Banerjee

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

I was reminded that we have upstairs neighbors (so to speak), the Canadians, from the minimal and brief coverage given to the recent reelection of Prime Minister Justin Trudeau.   

O Canada, I'm embarrassed to say that my knowledge of any and all things Canadian is as scant as the scant news coverage given to Canada here in the states. 

{Scant-scant-scant-scan...}

Dana, what are you doing?

{Ever notice how some words almost cry out to be mindlessly and rapidly repeated till they become a noise?}

Of course, it's a phenomenon called semantic satiation, a phrase coined by Leon Jacobovits James in his 1962 doctoral dissertation at McGill University in Canada. 

{       }

Ever notice how often people say, "I should look that up?" Well, I often actually do. 

{       } 

And believe it or not, Justin Trudeau graduated from McGill University in 1994, and, I visited the Ripley's Believe It or Not! museum in Niagra Falls, Canada — in 1994. 

{Fascinating.}  

Right? Anyways, the news stories reminded me that I've always wanted to know more about Canada other than the fact our upstairs neighbors are normally very quiet, unlike our downstairs neighbors, who are busy devolving into a narco-state.

Good news for junkies impacted by the crackdown on big pharma though, literally tons of opioids, fentanyl, and other drugs are crossing the border these days. Not to mention a plentiful supply of cheap, unskilled labor to fuel our economy.  

I've always wondered why Canada's national anthem is called O Canada, not Oh Canada. I've failed to find why, but I did find out that Canada didn't officially have a national anthem till 1980. 

Not only that, the tune was written by an American Civil War veteran, and the original lyrics were written, in French, by a judge from Quebec. The song was supposed to be Quebec's national anthem.

Thirty years later the lyrics were "translated" into English by another judge. He played fast and loose with the words and rendered them in such a way as to reflect his political and spiritual beliefs.

Nowadays, there's a third version, a bilingual one that's officially endorsed by the Canadian government. I got all this information from a website devoted to "Canadiana" that's quite interesting. 

The article includes an eye-opening video. I learned, or rather was reminded as I'm old, that Canada was caught up in violence triggered by identity politics back in 1968, the year Mr. Trudeau's father became prime minister.  

Some of our normally quiet and reserved neighbors were fighting, figuratively and literally, over identity politics and were singing two different national anthems long before we Citizens of the Republic were.

{What are you talking about?} 

Whoopi and Billy, of course.

Go a googlin' and enter the names of two of our leading public intellectuals thusly: Whoopi Goldberg v. Bill Maher (or vice-versa). You will receive no shortage of hits that are variations of a theme.

Bill Maher fires back...

Bill Maher hits back...

Bill Maher slams back...

Bill Maher slaps back...

Etceterac...

At Whoopie Goldberg. 

{Bill Maher is abusing a black woman?}

Nah, they're just having a virtual spat — that is to say, verbally arguing without having to be in the same room — over the fact the NFL is playing two national anthems these days.

{Really? Why? And what...} 

Look it up. One for white people, one for black people. 

It's a tempest in a teapot. Celebrities, an organization of millionaires owned by gazillionaires, social media, and the purple press jockeying for an appropriate political position — and the pursuit of profits. 

When I'm king I shall impose a royal compromise. Henceforth, America's national anthem will be America the Beautiful. 

The lyrics were written by a highly accomplished woman, Katharine Lee Bates, the tune by a rather ordinary man, Samuel A. Ward.   

Ms. Bates was a professor of English literature and wrote one of the first college textbooks on American literature. She may have been a lesbian. She definitely was a "...social activist interested in the struggles of women, workers, people of color, tenement residents, immigrants, and poor people" according to Wikipedia.

{But she was white!}

About 70% of NFL players are black. Do you know of any white football fans/people that care? 

 

Speakin' of googlin', I googled America the Beautiful and the first hit was a video of Ray Charles — singing America the Beautiful. 

{Who?} 

Gasp! Begone from my largish head philistine!

{Nope-nope-nope, I checked out the lyrics, too many God references. Clearly another case of systemic theism.}

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

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Stuck In Ohio

 A Mr. Cranky's 'hood column. What are the four seasons of Northern Ohio?

👀 Mabel Amber, who will one day from Pixabay

This is: A weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — eventual selves to advise them and haunt them after they've become grups and/or I'm deleted. Reading via monitor/tablet is recommended for maximum enjoyment.  

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering. Intended for H. sapiens that are — in the words of the late, great bon vivant and polymath, Professor Y. Bear — "Smarter [and cooler] than the av-er-age bear." 

About

Glossary 

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlereader 

"There are seasons in every country when noise and impudence pass current for worth; and in popular commotions especially, the clamors of interested and factious men are often mistaken for patriotism." -Alexander Hamilton 

{I see what you did there.}

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

Fall (aka, almost winter) has come to my corner of Flyoverland and I'm still Stuck in Ohio (there's a bumper sticker...). I've been temporarily living here for 36 years. I was born and raised in Western Pennsylvania and all but one of my six siblings still live there, four above ground and one below. 

My big brother Ed was the first one that I remember calling Ohio the Flatlands after I landed here, and promptly got stuck. He was living in southwestern Pa., not far from the West Virginia panhandle at the time. He's now on the West Virginia side of the border — same difference. 

Lots of hills and lots of economic stagnation. Lots of relatively cheap houses too, but prices have risen in the more desirable spots. Ohio's no slouch when it comes to economic stagnation but we do have Columbus, which is rockin', and which is flat. 

I left Pennsylvania for Texas in the fall of '84 seeking a geographic cure for a broken heart. Pure serendipity; an opportunity that appeared when I needed it. 

I had the best year of my life there (so far) that included meeting my wife and stepdaughter. The bad news is that it culminated in getting stuck in Ohio, a long story that I will spare you.

{I think I speak for all of your gentlereaders when I express my sincere thanks.} 

You're welcome, Dana. My apologies to those that like living in the Flatlands. It's not you, it's me. If it makes you feel any better the woman that I ran to Texas to try and forget (I'm not foreign legion material) used a variation of that classic line on me. 

Also, Texas (with the exception of the mind-melting heat), with one of the world's larger economies and a legislature that only convenes for 140 days every other year (by law), is a tough act to follow. 

{You should've joined the circus.}

Oddly enough, Dana, that never occurred to me. Ironically enough, a bit of research revealed that the Cirque du Soleil started up in 1984. I coulda been a star! Why are you laughing? Anyways, speaking of panhandles, Ed, you ain't seen flatlands if you haven't seen the Texas panhandle. But I digress. 

{As your gentlereaders have come to expect, if not necessarily love. Will this column be returning to Ohio anytime soon?}   

Fall is my favorite season in Ohio. Spring (aka, still winter) is often wet, cold, and snow-covered. 

{Living southeast of the Lake Erie snow machine might have something to do with that, you should move to Southern Ohio. Milder weather.}

Hmmm... the Cincinnati side or the West Virginia side?

{Well, a lot of West Virginia's really pretty, almost... heavenly.}

I once knew a guy that said he was going to wait till the last person moved out or died and then make an offer.

{Are you trying to offend as many gentlereaders as possible?}

Sorry, offended gentlereaders, it's not you, it's me. Summer in Ohio this year (aka, construction) was construction in the rain this year. On the other hand, gnats and mosquitoes had a hell of a summer. 

{Geesh, I'm outta here, go for a walk or something will ya?} 

In the name of sucking it up Buttercup, let me unequivocally state that fall in Ohio can be amazing. 

It never rains every day, even in a year like this one. And even though the Stickies are wearing masks again, and even though there's already talk of reviving the unmitigated disaster called remote learning, migrating geese will soon begin staging in the parking lot of the recently abandoned nursing home across the street from Casa de Chaos.   

It warms my calloused heart to see all the trouble people go to in these parts to avoid disturbing our temporary guests even though they often leave unwanted souvenirs behind and even though I'm jealous that I'm not headed south for the winter. 

I heard my first distinctive HONK just the other day, the same day I saw an eagle, first one in a while, patrolling overhead in search of breakfast when I was on my morning walk.

Soon there will be that perfect morning or three when the sun melts the light frost covering the Kool-Aid-colored leaves and renders the resulting water drops as diamonds dripping from the many tall, old trees in old Mr. Cranky's neighborhood.  

Wouldn't it be cool if the hair of H. sapiens of a certain age turned various bright colors instead of grey or white (but didn't fall out)?

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

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Feel free to comment/like/follow/cancel/troll me on Facebook or Twitter. I post my latest column on Saturdays and other people's work on other days.     

The (Dizz)Information Age

Image by Andrew Martin from Pixabay

This is: A weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — eventual selves to advise them and haunt them after they've become grups and/or I'm deleted. Reading via monitor/tablet is recommended for maximum enjoyment.  

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering. Intended for H. sapiens that are — in the words of the late, great bon vivant and polymath, Professor Y. Bear — "Smarter [and cooler] than the av-er-age bear." 

About

Glossary 

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlereader  

"Everybody gets so much information all day long that they lose their common sense." -Gertrude Stein

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

We're living in the dawn of the Dizzinformation Age and Houston, we have a problem. 

Thanks to the invention of the printing press, H. sapiens have been living in the Information Age for nearly 600 years. Thanks to Mr. Gutenberg, information was made accessible to, and affordable for, the masses.

According to Wikipedia: "In Renaissance Europe...The relatively unrestricted circulation of information and (revolutionary) ideas transcended borders, captured the masses in the Reformation, and threatened the power of political and religious authorities."

Absabalutely. 

No shortage of both wonderful and terrible things resulted. However, the pace of change, which no doubt seemed overwhelming to many as the years rolled by and made collateral damage of many an innocent (and not so innocent) was glacial compared to the advent of the digital computer.

It's deja vu all over again — at the speed of light.   

Dana declaims with a  semi-passable imitation of a deep-voiced, portentous announcer. 

{THE MORE THINGS CHANGE THE MORE THEY STAY THE SAME!}

Yeah... only much faster, and in greater volume. First, we got the bomb, now, we're subject to daily information bombing and the zeitgeist is saturated with dizzinformation fallout. There's so much information sloshing up against our psychic sandbags that a devastating flood seems imminent.

{Wait-wait-wait. Not everyone is a current events junkie like you. There are all sorts of people, some of whom you know personally, that aren't online or that don't even own smartphones.}  

True, however, with the possible exception of some soul wandering in the wilderness, subsisting on locusts and honey, and searching for God there's no way to avoid the downsides of the Dizzifnormation Age. 

{Speaking of which, have you heard about that new place near d'mall, John the B's, that features artisanal, locally sourced locusts and certified Fair Trade Certified™ honey?}

Those members of the bemused majority who get their information from traditional sources like television, radio, and (dead trees) newspapers, as well as those who consult social media, news websites, or news apps (a roughly 50/50 split), are hip-deep in dizzinformation. 

Uh-huh!/Nuh-uh! has infected more people than COVID-19 and Covid-19 junior.  

{Huh?} 

I refer to the COVID-19 variant as COVID-19 jr. 

Ain't you the clever little columnist! What's Uh-uh!/Nuh-uh!?  

Uh-huh!/Nuh-uh! is a potentially debilitating condition that can be triggered by too much contradictory information.

For example, suppose you're having a pointless argument, just for the fun of it, with a fellow gentleperson about a given sports superstar's particular statistic.

{Who are these people who argue for the fun of it? Don't they risk becoming sworn enemies and/or igniting a blood feud?}

No, but it's a dying art that would take another column to explain. Um... think of it as something people used to do before getting people fired up over anything and everything became a profit center for all sorts of enterprises. 

Anyways, there's a reasonable chance that a statistic like the one mentioned can be verified with both sides accepting the results of a minimal bit of research.

BIG BUT,

There's also a very good chance that when the Goog is consulted and 14,978,123 "hits" are returned, the seemingly hard statistic requested will be subject to the Uh-huh!/Nuh-uh! phenomenon.

Suppose the first hit says the answer to the question is the number 139. 

The second hit might claim that the number is actually 138 because Trump, systemic racism, global warming, steroids, and etceteroids. 

Uh-Huh!/Nuh-Uh!    

{I fail to see what the big deal is.}

If egged on by, say, a gaggle of inebriated companions, you had bet $100 that the number was 139, your _______ payment was due, that disturbing noise your car makes was getting louder, and your spouse/partner/whatever keeps track of every single one of your pennies I'll bet you would. 

Now, when it comes to slightly more important matters (the specific matter doesn't actually matter all that much) importance and anxiety are in the psyche of the beholder. My point is that the fires of uncertainty, fueled by too much (often contradictory) information and subject to bellows pumped by people and institutions motivated by profit and ideology, not the truth, is...

{Wow, that's an impressive paragraph!}

Right? Thanks, Dana.

{What the hell are you talking about?}

TMI x SIP = D

Too much information multiplied by self-interested parties creates dizzinformation.

{So, tell me doctor, what's the cure...}

For extroverts, I generally prescribe offline-generated music, food, friends, and appropriate beverages and/or controlled substances. 

For introverts, a good book (dead trees format recommended but not required) and a comfy chair will do. An appropriate beverage is optional. 

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

Scroll down to share this column or access previous ones. If you enjoy my work and the fact I don't run advertisements or sell merchandise, please consider buying me a coffee via PayPal or a credit/debit card.    

Feel free to comment/like/follow/cancel/troll me on Facebook or Twitter. I post my latest column on Saturdays and other people's work on other days.

 

   

 

 

The Billionaire Shortage

Image by Darkmoon_Art from Pixabay

This is: A weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — eventual selves to advise them and haunt them after they've become grups and/or I'm deleted. Reading via monitor/tablet is recommended for maximum enjoyment.  

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering. Intended for H. sapiens that are — in the words of the late, great bon vivant and polymath, Professor Y. Bear — "Smarter [and cooler] than the av-er-age bear." 

About

Glossary 

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlereader  

"When I was young I thought that money was the most important thing in life; now that I am old I know that it is." -Oscar Wilde

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

According to a recent editorial in the mouthpiece of capitalist pigs everywhere, The Wall Street Journal. — Bernie Sanders Runs Out of Billionaires — there's a billionaire shortage.

Someone at The WSJ. noticed that according to Forbes's latest billionaires list, the US has 724 billionaires.

{You'd think there'd be more of 'em.}

Long story short, the editorial pointed out that if you add the cost of Uncle Bernie's (chairperson of the Senate Budget Committee) $3,500,000,000,000 budget proposal to Uncle Joe's $1,000,000,000,000 infrastructure plan the total cost is $4,500,000,000,000. 

{So what? It's just money, we can always print more.}

Well, Dana, there are certain economists that claim that's true. You'd think Uncle Bernie would be preaching their gospel given how accurate economist's predictions are. That's why they're all rich. 

But Uncle Bernie's shtick is all about beating up on the evil rich. He's built a moderately successful career (net worth, $3,000,000, salary $174,000/yr.) by doing just that. 

{Moderately successful?} 

As compared to the average Joe/Joan/Joen Bagadonuts I mean. To a billionaire, his net worth is a rounding error. 

{He's really good at running for president though.}

True, but as The WSJ. editorial points out, the billionaire shortage is raining on his perennial parade. 

See, the net worth of the Fortunate 724 is only 4.4 trillion and Uncle Bernie wants to spend 4.5 trillion. So, even if you rounded them all up, confiscated everything they have, and put 'em all to work as community organizers you'd still come up short. 

My favorite quote from the editorial: 

"If Mr. Sanders were to confiscate every asset of every American billionaire — Jeff Bezos’s rockets; Elon Musk’s bitcoin; Larry Ellison’s boats; Oprah Winfrey’s houses; Ted Turner’s ranches; Jay-Z’s car collection... — it still wouldn’t cover the cost of Democrats’ next two legislative plans."

{Wait, wait, wait. He only wants to spend $4,500,000,000,000? Hold on a sec', I'll be right back.}

[INSERT DOUBLE JEOPARDY THEME, HERE]

{Aha! Thought so, the current budget of The Fedrl Gummit is $4,829,000,000,000. Uncle Bernie is a budget cutter!}

No, Uncle Bernie and the progressives are trying to pull a fast one, but it's for our own good. If we were as smart as they are they could be straight with us. 

See, the Congressional Budget Office projects that going forward it'll cost about $4,000,000,000 a year to keep the lights on. This is mandatory spending, the money that must be spent, by law, to fund gummit programs like Medicare and Medicaid. 

Uncle Bernie's wish list is discretionary spending. This is the part of the budget Congress has to vote on every year, but Bernie's wish list is a framework, not an actual budget, that's spread out over the next ten years.

{So what's the big deal? He's gonna pay for it by raising taxes on corporations and people that make more than $400,000 a year, right?}   

Well, setting aside inconvenient truths like we don't have ten-year budgets, any entitlement is virtually impossible to get rid of once it passes, and anything can happen in the next ten years, right now the devil's in the details. 

We won't know who's supposed to pay what till the appropriate bills are passed, and projecting what Uncle Bernie's utopia will actually cost over the course of the next ten years is pure bonkercockie. 

And as to exactly what's on the wish list that's being hammered out by our betters even as you read this, you'll have to wait for the bill(s) to pass to find out. 

{That sounds familiar for some reason...}  

BIG BUTT.  

Given the fact that corporations can raise prices or lower dividends to pay increased taxes, 

And, given the fact "the 1%" can limit their tax bills with the assistance of helpful tax lawyers and lobbyists, and/or just going on an extended vacay and stop generating income, 

And, given that currently "the 10%" currently pay about 70% of all income taxes, and the bottom 50% pay about 3.1%, 

I wonder who's gonna wind up holding the bag?

I don't remember Uncle Joe saying that voting for him was a vote for a European-style social democracy wherein everyone semi-cheerfully pays high taxes — but knowing why, and what they will get in return.

Shouldn't we know exactly what we're signing up for and what we'll get in return? Shouldn't that be up to us?   

{No biggie, it's just money, we can always print more.}

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

Scroll down to share this column or access previous ones. If you enjoy my work and the fact I don't run advertisements or sell merchandise, please consider buying me a coffee via PayPal or a credit/debit card.    

Feel free to comment/like/follow/cancel/troll me on Facebook or Twitter. I post my latest column on Saturdays and other people's work on other days.

  

Free Love

Image by 👀 Mabel Amber, who will one day from Pixabay

This is: A weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — eventual selves to advise them and haunt them after they've become grups and/or I'm deleted. Reading via monitor/tablet is recommended for maximum enjoyment.  

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering. Intended for H. sapiens that are — in the words of the late, great bon vivant and polymath, Professor Y. Bear — "Smarter [and cooler] than the av-er-age bear." 

About

Glossary 

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlereader  

"We don't need a piece of paper from the city hall, keeping us tried and true."

                                                                                                   -Joni Mitchell

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

You know how some memory (accurate or otherwise) from your distant past of no real importance gets stuck in your head for some reason? 

I remember a conversation I had when I was a 16-year-old virgin male with a 16-year-old virgin female wherein I confidently stated that I was a firm believer in free love way back in... well, it was a long time ago.

Hint: The meme Make love, not war was popping up here, there, and I'm told, even over there.      

The young woman in question... 

By the by and for the record, I have it on good authority that she currently self-identifies as cisgender, her pronouns are she/her, thinks her sexual orientation is none of your damn business, that your sexual orientation is none of hers, and that modesty and discretion are virtues worth cultivating. 

The young woman in question's reply was, essentially, "Well, of course, you're a guy." 

While I can't recall her exact words, I do recall her tone. It clearly communicated that she didn't regard me at fault in any way, I couldn't help it, I was just a normal "guy." Guys are extremely creative about rationalizing the fact that most of us are primates in heat — 24x7x365.

In the course of a single lifetime I've witnessed the cultural pendulum swing (pun intended and embraced) from one extreme to the other, at least in the culture I live in (some others not so much). 

Women, long oppressed and suppressed have been set free. They now are free, often encouraged in fact, to release their previously shackled sexuality. Having been blessed by an encounter or two with women who did — in fact, was married to one for 21 years (my late wife) — I couldn't agree more.

However, going from one extreme to the other, rapidly, has its downsides. 

{You need to squeeze a few more cliches into this column.}     

Thanks, Dana. I don't know what I'd do without you. 

In light of the conversation that began this missive, but primarily because of my (Warning: fresh cliche ahead) "lived experience" since, I've arrived at two conclusions that are not currently popular in some circles. 

First, free love ain't free. 

Despite what you may have heard, men and women are in some fundamental physical, mental, emotional, etceterical ways (fortunately) quite different from each other. 

And one person's casual one-night stand is another person's emotional crisis. 

{You've got a keen eye for the obvious, sir!}

Depends on who ya ask. A sexy senior citizen with a modicum of wisdom and an eye for common sense would likely agree with me. A given Wokie would stamp Pasty Patriarch, cancel immediately on my file and forward it to the Intersectional Inquisition.   

Second, consider the ongoing epidemic of illegitimate parents. Ask all the kids of all ages being raised/having been raised without a mom or dad — or both — in the picture what the price of free love is. 

{Wait-wait-wait. Free love merely refers to enjoying sex without guilt or having to submit to stale cultural conventions.}  

   

I don't have a problem with that per se, however, if the law of unintended consequences swoops in things can get ugly, and fast. For example, an STD is your problem, well, you and your partners, and they and their partners, and...

{Enough already!}

Unwanted progeny however is more the fruit of your loins problem than yours or your partners. 

He/she/they weren't planned for, didn't ask to be here, and are unlikely to be fully mature till they're at least 25 or so. Kids with a mom and a dad in the picture have the best chance of surviving and thriving. "Follow the science," we are told, to which I would add, and follow the common sense.  

{Fruit of your loins? Seriously dude? Anyway, what should we do? Here's another cliche, you can't turn back the clock.} 

I'm not suggesting/hoping for a return to the conventional American morality of the 1950s. I merely wish to point out that our (cliche alert) actions have consequences, sometimes unpleasant ones. 

And that given what's being called a mental health crisis, and no shortage of STDs and unwanted pregnancies despite cheap and easily available condoms and other birth control methods, that we've tossed out the tot with the Jacuzzi water and...

{You've turned that phrase into a cliche over the years.} 

Good. We should all give a bit of thought to dreary old virtues like prudence, modesty, and delayed gratification. The culture (and life) you save may be your own.

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

Scroll down to share this column or access previous ones. If you enjoy my work and the fact I don't run advertisements or sell merchandise, please consider buying me a coffee via PayPal or a credit/debit card.    

Feel free to comment/like/follow/cancel/troll me on Facebook or Twitter. I post my latest column on Saturdays and other people's work on other days.

  

   

A New Republican Party?

 And a neo-republican movement

Image by Clker-Free-Vector-Images from Pixabay

This is: A weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — eventual selves to advise them and haunt them after they've become grups and/or I'm deleted. Reading via monitor/tablet is recommended for maximum enjoyment.  

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering. Intended for H. sapiens that are — in the words of the late, great bon vivant and polymath, Professor Y. Bear — "Smarter [and cooler] than the av-er-age bear." 

About

Glossary 

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlereader  

"We hang the petty thieves and appoint the great ones to public office." -Aesop

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

I've been threatening to explain what I mean by neoneoconservatism for a while now. 

I've decided to banish that term, replace it with the word neorepublicanism, and announce that not only is it my intention to champion a neorepublican movement, I also intend to make it the governing philosophy of the (alleged) Republican party. 

{Odd... I must have missed the press release announcing the date and time of the press conference. I'll bet the world is all... atwitter.} 

I see what you did there, Dana. And speaking of twits, I've decided to join the warring flocks. 

Dana shudders in revulsion. 

{Have you switched meds again and/or started seeing a new shrink?} 

Fear not. I'll use Twitter the same way I use Facebook, to announce my newest column and post interesting content created by others in search of new readers, perhaps to eventually promote a new Republican party. 

I have no plans to get into bloodless battles from a safe distance with my fellow birds but I invite anyone and everyone to attack me as mercilessly as they please.  

Gentlereaders are welcome to virtually kick me instead of actually kicking their pets, employees, children, themselves, "partners," etceterers. 

{I've noticed your columns don't have a comment section.}

No comment. 

As to altering the philosophy of the (allegedly) Republican party, given that both parties are chock full of careerist hacks at all levels whose primary purpose is to get and remain elected to anything that will spare them having to find employment in the real world...  

Well, my frequent use of the terms Republicrat and Depublican clearly and efficiently makes my point. A hack is a hack is a hack. 

America is, by definition, and by the design of the Founding Pasty Patriarchs (FPPs), supposed to be a republic. According to my Merriam-Webster app, a republic is a government in which supreme power resides in a body of citizens entitled to vote and is exercised by elected officers and representatives responsible to them and governing according to law.      

The FPPs, having been aware of the many downsides of direct democracy, created a republic that, despite its many flaws and missteps, has lasted nearly 250 years and resulted in the most prosperous nation the world has ever seen. I would remind my gentlereaders that the current border crisis is not about people trying to get out of the country.  

And (so far) 51% of the Citizens of the Republic have yet to get together and vote to behead the other 49%.

So far.  

As to the tenets of neorepublicanism, since it's my column I get to quote myself.

"I want the playground to have minimum rules and maximum fun. I want just enough rules to give everyone an equal shot at some swing time and neutralize the bullies." -me

Currently, thinkers on the right, conservatives and libertarians, are thrashing out the details of what constitutes the principles of what many refer to as the new right or some similar term with a similar meaning. Forging an updated fusion of the various factions of the right ain't gonna be easy. I'd like to suggest that the unsexy proverb, live and let live, guide the struggle. 

Personally, I'd like a (new and improved!) Republican Party to be the party of, in Roger Scruton's words, "... people who love something actual and want to retain it." 

Such as the traditional family... but, finding loving, rational solutions to support the children of illegitimate or nontraditional parents.  

Such as religious freedom, "No, you don't have to bake a cake that promotes something you think is a sin." 

Such as what I call real social security, a cradle to grave system that you, your government, and your employer contribute to wherein you make the spending decisions, not a well-meaning (or not) Swamp dwelling bureauon. The sort of system that Singapore set up roughly a half-century ago that's still going strong. 

Such as federalism, as envisioned by the FPPs. If a given state votes to legalize or outlaw something not covered by federal law or the Constitution, that's their right. For example, while I would vote for limited abortion rights, I don't think the Supremes should legislate from the bench by inventing rights. 

Follow this columnist for further details. 

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

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