The History of the World (Condensed), Ch. 3

Image by JJ Jordan from Pixabay

This is a weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny — the Stickies — to advise 'em now, haunt them after I'm deleted.

Trigger Warning: This column is rated SSC-65: Sexy Seasoned Citizens   

About 

Glossary 

Featuring {Dana}: Persistent auditory hallucination and charming literary device 

"The historian is an unsuccessful novelist." -H.L. Mencken

Dear Stickies (and gentlereaders),  

Last week, chapter two ended in the year 1776. But before moving on, permit me to explain...

{Wait-wait-wait. Company policy clearly states that new columns are to be posted on Friday evenings at 7:11 p.m.}

True, but in Vol. 4 of the S.O.P. manuals, page 39, it clearly states that if some idiot somehow deletes a completely completed post and spends at least an hour trying to retrieve it, he/she/they has 24 hours to reconstruct same and try again before adopting plan B. 

Now, chapter two ended with, "And then, in 1776, the planet Earth finally caught a break" which brings us to: 

Chapter Three

 

<INSERT THE SOUND OF SCREAMING TIRES IN A PANIC STOP HERE>

{Or insert the sound of a throat clearing, to preemptively fend off attacks by far lefties, far righties, Wokies, and the Intersectional Inquisition.}

At this point in our story, I must toss in a few paragraphs from the Reality Checks, Caveats & Premises Department (RCC&P) before proceeding.

The American experiment wasn't conjured out of thin air. The Greeks dabbled in democracy, the Romans ran a republic (at least for a while), and the Brits managed to make a Magna Carta. In my semi-humble opinion, the American experiment can be defined by quoting the most important passage of the Declaration of Independence:

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

If you accept that statement as a fundamental given (whether or not you believe in a creator), perhaps one of the most fundamental of givens… Well, If you don’t accept that statement, I fear it’s time for us to go our separate ways; you can keep the cat but I’m keeping most of the vinyl collection.

Big BUT, I freely acknowledge that the next sentence in the declaration could have been:

“Assuming, of course, that you are Caucasian and male."

That was undeniably the way America worked at the time and it was an undeniable flaw. However, it was the local version of how most of the world traditionally worked, a version of reality that lives on here and there.

However, I maintain that some dramatic progress has been made in the last 250 years or so, particularly when compared to however many thousands of years it was considered normal for a given Fred or Barney to club a cutie down at the waterhole to clean the cave and keep an eye on Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm while he and the boys were partying down at the Loyal Order of Water Buffaloes Lodge while being served and serviced by their slaves.

When my mum and dad got together they, and most other people, believed that a man’s job was to bring home the bacon and a woman’s job was to be a domestic engineer. Period. In light of the way many folks look at things today, including me, they weren't entirely correct. But I’m inclined to not only not judge them but to also say thanks. They weren’t evil, and incidentally, they were part of the generation that survived the Great Depression and won World War Two. 

While they were busy saving the world they didn’t know if there would be a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, an era of unprecedented prosperity that lasted from just after WW2 to the late 1970s and would benefit their spoiled kids more than them. Things started getting weird after that, which I’ll get into later.

Finally, let us acknowledge the elephant skulking in the corner of the room. H. sapiens will be H. sapiens. While I’m profoundly grateful for the dumb luck of being a child of, and living in, a country that’s a product of Western Civilization, I’m smarter than I look.

My gratitude is based on two things. Although I think Western Civilization in general, and the USA in particular, is the best we’ve done so far, both are as flawed and imperfect as the H. sapiens that somehow came up with them. Therefore a — We’re number one! We’re number one! — overheated sports fan sort of attitude can be as tacky as wearing socks with summer sandals. 

Let us be quietly smug. The coolest kid doesn’t have to go around telling people he’s (they're?) cool, that’s part of his/her/their, um, coolness. Also, an economic implosion here, a pandemic there, or an asteroid that's bigger than a bus — "Last stop, Earth!" — and the Dark Ages Digest could experience a sudden, dramatic increase in circulation.

(To be continued...)

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

Scroll down if you wish to share my work or access my golden oldies.   

I post links to my columns (and other things) on Facebook so that you can love me, hate me, or lobby to have me publically flogged. 

Update: For those of you who are not native Buckeyes but are wondering if they can legally acquire some weed the next time they visit my little corner of Flyoverland, the answer is still no. You can legally smoke it here, but you still can't legally buy it here. 

The House of Reps. (where the holdup is) returned from their month-long Christmas vacay (for one day, and then got back out of Dodge) to pass an override of our five-foot-tall governor's veto of a bill banning transexual women (dudes) from participating in women's sports, which he actually doesn't have a problem with.

But the bill also bans treating children for gender dysphoria. While he does object to surgically altering children (under 18) to treat gender dysphoria he thinks that doing so with hormones should be between them and their parents. 

Given that the override will not take effect if and until the State Senate returns to town and also votes to override, some rather cynical souls think the return of the Reps was a political stunt.  

In the meantime, some of the Reps are saying it could take they don't know how long to craft a bill to replace the citizen's initiative that passed last November that legalized weed with something more to their liking.  

{Cha-Ching!}

No comment. 

The History of the World (Condensed), Ch. 2

Image by JJ Jordan from Pixabay

This is a weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny — the Stickies — to advise 'em now, haunt them after I'm deleted.

Trigger Warning: This column is rated SSC-65: Sexy Seasoned Citizens   

About 

Glossary 

Featuring {Dana}: Persistent auditory hallucination and charming literary device 

"The past does not repeat itself, but it rhymes." -Mark Twain

Dear Stickies (and gentlereaders),  

Chapter One ended with the beginning of civilization. Our story continues. 

...Next, depending on how you look at it, an awful lot of history happened — or a few things happened over and over again — and regularly something really awful happened. 

Rather like the life of a modern-day, average American Joe/Joan/J. Bagadonuts but subject to even more random acts of violence. They attacked us or we attacked them in the name of cash, conquest, revenge, God, the gods, hunger, honor, slaves, etcetera.

Fortunately, God was on our side or it would have been even worse. 

As Hobbes famously pointed out, life is “...solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.” Mr. H. was arguing that this is the natural state of man (he had a point) and that’s why we need an all-powerful ruler to keep us on the straight and narrow. 

He was wrong about that but we do need some form of government. This is how we keep the bullies on our playground in check and defend it from the bullies from other playgrounds.  

Once in a while, peace would break out but Mother Nature provides us with ways to stave off boredom and complacency — natural disasters and disease.

For example, say King Ed is sitting in the privy waiting for nature to take its course and his mind starts to wander because the only copy of Dark Ages Digest on hand is almost a year old. 

He’s been giving a lot of thought to attacking a kingdom just down the road because he’s got his fair share of bloodthirsty warriors and greedy nobles to keep happy and if he doesn’t keep them busy they may turn on him and/or each other for entertainment and booty.

He’s been through that before and knows that even if he and his allies triumph lots of innocent serfs, peasants, and slaves will be slaughtered. 

Collateral damage, sure, but since they're the ones that do most of the heavy lifting, and since lots of them die before reaching the age of thirty, you need to maintain a large inventory to dodge some significant downsides. He’s still short of virtual slaves, actual slaves, and cash from last season, not one of his better ones, and short on potential solutions as well. 

Things are so bad he’s considering hiring one of those expensive consultants his brother King Marty favors. He’s heard good things about a firm called DPD, Diabolical Plots by the Dozen, founded incidentally, by a distant ancestor of Vladimir Putin.

His ruminations are interrupted by a hysterical minion pounding on the door and screaming, “Your majesty, your majesty there are reports of plague (or flood, or fire, or hairy weather, or rapacious insects, or blight, or famine, etcetrine) in the kingdom!” 

This solves the problem, short term at least. Now, survival becomes everybody's Job-1. Assuming this isn’t an apocalyptic-level crisis and assuming that King Ed is one of the survivors he can deal with his other problem later.

This is how things rolled most days in most places. Why? Well, it’s either because we’re naked apes living in a dangerous world, or, someone screwed up the paradise we were provided with by God and he/she/they is still mad (the details depend on which creation myth you subscribe to). It wasn’t all bad though. 

Once in a while, a Joe or Joan or J. Bagadonuts was fortunate enough to have an actual boring day. Once in a great while, something truly cool happened.

Somebody came up with the wheel, someone perfected bronze, iron came along, the printing press was invented, Mr. and Mrs. Beethoven had a baby — that sort of thing. Being the clever creatures that we are, we even came up with all sorts of ways to use these breakthroughs for things other than killing each other.

H. sapiens are religious by nature, including the ones who claim not to be. Various entities, or his/her/their messenger(s), have regularly stopped by to light the path to paradise. This phenomenon continues apace, right up to this very moment. 

Nowadays, the entities and/or their messengers may be politicians, pundits, Greenies, Wokies, Trumpies, etc. The field has broadened considerably.

"We're the ones we've been waiting for" so let's "make America great again!" I think that...

{Whoa, Sparky, focus dude.}

Thanks, Dana, I've gotten ahead of myself. Where was I? Oh, yeah...

And then, in 1776, the planet Earth finally caught a break.

(To Be Continued...)

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

Scroll down if you wish to share my work or access my golden oldies.   

I post links to my columns (and other things) on Facebook so that you can love me, hate me, or lobby to have me publically flogged.  

The History of the World (Condensed)

Chapter One

Image by JJ Jordan from Pixabay

This is a weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny — the Stickies — to advise 'em now, haunt them after I'm deleted.

Trigger Warning: This column is rated SSC-65: Sexy Seasoned Citizens   

About 

Glossary 

Featuring {Dana}: Persistent auditory hallucination and charming literary device 

"Not again!" -History

Dear Stickies (and gentlereaders),  

We H. sapiens living in the current era are reminded daily that if global warming/climate change doesn't get us, the Artificial Intelligenci, a deadly global pandemic, or _______ probably will. 

As a public service, I've put together a condensed history of the world that will be featured in this space over the course of the next several weeks. 

{Public service?}

Assuming there are survivors, Dana, they'll need help reconstructing the past once they start to rebuild. Perhaps my feeble scribbles will somehow survive and I can be of service from beyond the grave. Also, I freely admit that this is world history according to yet another ugly American. 

{Hoo-Boy...}

The universe we inhabit appeared 13.772 billion years ago on a Tuesday

A single, unimaginably dense point began rapidly expanding and a lot of complex stuff happened and continues to happen. The most interesting thing that resulted, from an Earthlings perspective, is that 4.543 billion years ago, the planet Earth pulled itself together.

Roughly 300,000 years ago anatomically modern humans, Homo sapiens, emerged in Africa.

{So we're all Homos and we're all Africans?}

Yours is a unique perspective, Dana, I like it.

Or, to one degree or another, the stuff mentioned above, and what follows below, happened because God decided when and if it should be so.

The details depend on your personal beliefs. I know some very nice, perfectly normal H. sapiens that believe what I consider to be some very strange things (of course I’m not talking about what you believe). I freely concede that one of them may turn out to be right and that I may be wrong. 

I’m wrong with disturbing regularity so I try to keep an open mind. I highly recommend this approach as I’ve found it to be the only effective defense against blind panic when a high-velocity radioactive fact comes crashing through the roof of my thought structure like a blazing meteorite.

Irregardless, tools already existed by the time we came along although hardware stores did not appear till much later on. The controlled use of fire for warmth, light, and most importantly in my semi-humble opinion, cooking (I've never cared much for cold cuts) also likely preceded us but this is a matter of some dispute. 

Along the way, the attributes that distinguish us from the other animals on the planet such as language, art, religion, ever more efficient ways to kill each other, etc. developed.

Agriculture came along roughly 12,000 years ago and changed everything.

Our ancestors had been hunters/gatherers for thousands of years. Since grocery stores hadn’t been invented yet everyone had the same job, killing something or gathering something to avoid starving to death. Now, on a good day, this wasn’t a half-bad way to get by. 

If you or you and the gang (odds are you belonged to some sort of tribe or odds are you would be dead) managed to find something to gather up and/or kill to eat without getting killed and/or eaten in the process you could go home early. Assuming you had found enough food, you were free for the rest of the day.

Of course, this could be quite boring as there wasn’t much to do since they had neither cable nor computers, not even smartphones. This was why sex was invented. I refer to sex as practiced by H. sapiens, which tends to be a somewhat frequent and obsessive activity as compared to most other animals.

Various people at various locations gradually figured out how to plant and nurture crops as well as how to domesticate animals. While this required a lot more work than hunting and gathering, and having a diet that provided less variety could lead to health problems, it was a more reliable way to keep from starving to death.

Also, there's some evidence that suggests that getting loaded was a significant motivation as well. Turning grains into beer is easier than turning them into food, and beer was as popular then as it is now, even without the ubiquitous commercials — please drink responsibly. 

Eventually, we got good enough at this agriculture thing to produce more food than was needed for the gang to scrape by. This made it possible to settle down instead of wandering all over the place hunting and gathering enough calories to keep body and soul together.

Men, women, and others are by nature and necessity, social animals. 

It takes quite a few years before we reach maturity and we’re dependent on our parents much longer than the average creature. Also, survival is considerably easier and our lives are potentially much more pleasant when we work together. For example, everyone knows that bringing down a wooly mammoth with the tribe's help is much easier and more efficient than trying to do it yourself. 

That’s why most people naturally prefer to hang out or at least affiliate with a clique of some sort, it’s a  survival mechanism. Getting along with the inhabitants of the other huts on the block not only promoted regular meals and security, it also enabled you to get your fair share of woolyburgers without having to slay the neighbors to get theirs.

Social cohesion increases the likelihood and quality of survival. Having to share the playground with the other kids is where morality (Rules&Regs) comes from. Please see, The Righteous Mind, by Jonathan Haidt. 

Speaking of sharing, monogamy was invented. If all the dudes could count on access to, um, regular companionship, it made the cooperation needed for the hunt less prone to drama. The dudettes could also count on access to, um, regular companionship... and protection for the kids. 

This arrangement was/is disproportionately beneficial for dudes. Dudes need a significant dudette to be, among other things, a good mom, a good wife, and nowadays, often as not, willing and able to work outside the hut — and to counter a dude's tendency to rapidly devolve into a naked ape when left to his own devices.      

We figured this out long before agriculture made villages not only possible but necessary and H. sapiens began clawing their way to the top of the food chain (the original corporate ladder). 

When we reached the point where we could produce more food than we needed it was only natural that people began to specialize. Most people remained farmers, but surplus food made it possible for some people who had abilities that benefited the community to do their thing without having to farm. 

A relatively reliable supply of food and water (and beer) leads to an increased population. If enough people can produce enough food to keep themselves alive — and have enough left over to feed specialists such as craftspersons, cops, kings, insurance salesmen, etc. — before you know it, a village becomes a town becomes a city becomes a civilization. The rest is history.

Civilization began in Mesopotamia, an area that corresponds roughly to greater modern-day Iraq (ain’t that ironical?). This happened about 3,500 BCE.

(To be continued...)

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

Scroll down if you wish to share my work or access my golden oldies.   

I post links to my columns (and other things) on Facebook so that you can love me, hate me, or lobby to have me publicly flogged.  

Nothing Is True (Anymore)

 Information Age or the Age of Anxiety?

Image by Jill Wellington from Pixabay

This is a weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny — the Stickies — to advise 'em now, haunt them after I'm deleted.

Trigger Warning: This column is rated SSC-65: Sexy Seasoned Citizens   

About 

Glossary 

Featuring {Dana}: Persistent auditory hallucination and charming literary device 

"The limits of the possible can only be defined by going beyond them into the impossible." -Arthur C. Clarke

Dear Stickies (and gentlereaders),  

I've written about truth before. 

{So where are all the links?}

Links? What links, Dana?

{Do you think that your memory problems might be the result of some form of dementia?} 

I hope not, but what are you...

{You've looked into this. The Goog loves links, the more links you post to something that has something to do with truth, the better the chance the Goog will offer up your column when some "user" out there in cyberspace types in the word truth or a phrase that includes the word truth.}

Oh that, no I remember that. I just don't care anymore. I think there's something wrong with your memory. I've made it clear that company policy is to only link to stuff that is absolutely necessary and fundamentally purely factual.

You know what? Company policy has just changed, right this second. Going forward the only things I'm linking to are my charming personal glossary and things I think a given gentlereader might be interested in checking out. 

No more linking to stuff that's common knowledge (or should be in my semi-humble opinion)...

{Snob.}

 

...or that can be investigated by a given gentlereader if they're truly interested. Until relatively recently, the world has gotten by with information delivered via the dead trees format. No links.

My biggest fan reads my stuff on paper, doesn't own a computer, and uses his cell phone as a phone. He's led a decent life, is enjoying his retirement, and compared to the average H. sapien these days is quite well adjusted thank you very much. 

{But this is the Information Age! Links link information to information that links to...}

Yup, and that's why nothing is true anymore. Sister Mary McGillicuddy taught me (60 years ago!) that mankind's personkind's collective wisdom lags far behind personkind's technical achievements. 

{Hoo-boy. Here we go. Let the ranting at clouds commence!}

Abasabalutely! But let us remain relatively calm, and logical, and not forget to smile. 

Permit me to sum up the point I was trying to make, in one form or another, in all of the columns I wrote about truth that I'm not linking to: All truth is provisional but that doesn't mean truth can't be true enough.

That is to say, a well-adjusted, fully mature H. sapien should cultivate pragmatism (but with an open mind) right up to the very day he/she/they are deleted. Everything we know is true is potentially subject to changes, major or minor — but what works, works.

As I write this the sun has not come up yet, but it will shortly. I know that it will rise in the east and several hours from now will set in the west. 

I take this for granted even though I know that however unlikely it might be, some maladjusted, nihilistic teenagers from an ancient space-faring species could pass through our solar system today on a joyride in a stolen spaceship and decide to extinguish our sun for the sheer fun of it.  

{You're nuts... But that would explain why we seem to be alone in the universe.}

My Mum told me that technically anything is possible but many things are highly unlikely.

I also know that the sun doesn't actually rise or set, that this is an illusion created by the fact the Earth (which is round, by the way) orbits the Sun. But until 1543 this illusion was considered common sense. it took another century or so before most people knew it wasn't. 

And we still say sunrise and sunset — close enough.

 

"Given that Twitter [X] serves as the de facto public town square, failing to adhere to free speech principles fundamentally undermines democracy." -Elon Musk 

Failing to adhere to free speech principles does fundamentally undermine democracy, but Twitter, or X if you prefer, is not the de facto public town square.

The town square metaphor Mr. Musk uses refers to any sort of public meeting in which the locals get together to hash things out. (Hey, Dana, here's a link to a Wikipedia entry about the Norman Rockwell painting illustrating free speech that many of us geezers and geezerettes carry around in our heads).

{What about that ancient Luddite you print your columns out for?}

Fear not, no link is necessary.

A real public square, or more likely something akin to a public meeting of the Hooterville School Board, is a radically different venue/experience than Musk's concept of a virtual public square. The planet Earth doesn't have a public square, not even a virtual one.

When the Hooterville School Board holds a meeting the members of the board have been chosen by the citizens of Hooterville. Everyone knows who they are and where they live. Any given citizen who attends is an easily identified Homo sapien, especially that pain in arse Mr... never mind.

Anything that anyone says and/or claims is witnessed and verifiable (or debunkable), and minutes are kept.

Most of social media, and much of the worldwide web of all knowledge, consists of anonymous people (or bots, or trolls, or troll farms, or my-truthers, or hackers, or hustlers, etc.) tossing Uh-huhs! or Nuh-uhs! at each other.

Everything is true, and nothing is true.

{So what do we...}

Same as always, the best you can, one day at a time. Take a deep breath, and then take another, and then do what needs to be done. I find watching sunrises and sunsets helpful.

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

Scroll down to leave a comment, share my work, or access my golden oldies.   

I post links to my columns on both Facebook and the site everyone still calls Twitter so you can love me, hate me, or lobby to have me canceled or publicly flogged on either site. Cranky don't tweet (X-claim?).  

Why Old Men Cry (Part Two)

CC0 Public Domain

This is a weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny — the Stickies — to advise 'em now, haunt them after I'm deleted.

Trigger Warning: This column is rated SSC-65: Sexy Seasoned Citizens   

About 

Glossary 

Featuring {Dana}: Persistent auditory hallucination and charming literary device 

"Once again, we come to the Holiday Season, a deeply religious time that each of us observes, in his own way, by going to the mall of his choice." {Um... shouldn't that be updated to their choice?} -Dave Berry

Dear Stickies (and gentlereaders),  

This is going to be a relatively short one, my dear gentlereaders. I'm busy dashing through the snow (Hootervile got its first real snowfall recently, ain't global warming cool!) this week trying to get ready for Christmas. As usual, it snuck up on me when I was busy doing other things.

{I call bonkercockie, you're not a dasher...}

Or Dancer? Or Dunder, or Blixem?

{Say what?}

Dunder and Blixem had their names changed to Donner and Blitzen when they passed through Ellis Island.

{Right... Anyway, when people repeatedly ask you, "Well, are ya ready for Christmas!?!" don't you automatically respond with "Yup, that's why God made gift cards."

Also, I've noticed that all sorts of events that normal people regard as important have a way of sneaking up on you because you don't take them seriously anymore... and snuck is not a word, by the way.} 

Yup, that's why God made gift cards, you can't go wrong with $20 bills, and snuck's been an acceptable irregular verb conjunction for so long that sneaked sounds wrong, by the way.

{Twenty dollar bills! That explains why...}

We must all do our part to roll back transitory inflation. Now if you don't mind, I have a part two to attend to.

Part one can be found here. But if you're dashing today, here's a quick summation. 

My Overflowing Cistern hypothesis, reduced to its most simplistic explanation, maintains that many men who've been "sucking it up" all their lives reach a point when all the tears they haven't shed over the years start spilling out, often at inopportune times. 

This is why old men cry, but this is a vast oversimplification, there's a bunch of devils thriving in the details that I didn't go into in part one.  

Most old men nowadays are Boomers. However, current geezers that were early Boomers are less likely to suffer from overflowing tear cisterns as they are less likely to have been influenced by the rise of widespread feminism in the late 1960s.

Men were told they don't have to be such hard cases. They should be "in touch with their feelings" and their "inner child" and that it's okay for men to cry. That's the kind of man a modern, liberated woman wants. 

[Younger gentlereaders please note: I speak of the Stone Age. In the 60s and 70s, LGBs came into their own and Ts were making a bit of a splash, but Q+++++++++++++ers were still maintaining a very low profile. If ya didn't know better you might think that the Ts, and all the others that came (and are still coming) after actually constitute a rather small segment of society who are currently enjoying a radically oversized moment. But I drift...] 

Many of my fellow heterosexual, male, mid to late Boomers and I embraced this notion enthusiastically. You don't have to be a badass, or cool, or rich, or pretty (or fake any/all of those things) to have lots of sex, maybe even find an excellent wife — just be more sensitive, and cry occasionally? Where do I sign?

More sex and permission to relax the stiff upper lip. Cool.

Ruh Roh, Raggy, we have a problem. We should've realized it wasn't going to be that easy. It's okay to cry, dude, except for when it ain't, which, as it turns out, is most of the time. 

Without going into detail, I'll stipulate that at least some, and in some cases, a lot of the radical change that rocked traditional Western culture, beginning in about 1965, was necessary and inevitable. But in my dotage, I've come to certain conclusions that aren't currently fashionable. 

Heterosexual male and female H. sapiens are in many respects quite different creatures and in most respects are the same as they ever were (I won't presume to speak for the Ls, the Gs, and the Bs). 

It's now okay for men to cry in front of other men or women. But the only thing that's really changed is that the contexts have broadened, slightly. A man may shed a tear, maybe two, in emotional situations deemed appropriate to bring a tear, maybe two, to the eyes of most men. 

Completely losing it over something deemed sufficiently appropriate like the death of a spouse or worse, a child is fine, in fact, recommended, but should be done in private if at all possible because if it lasts bystander sympathy quickly morphs into uncomfortable, then embarrassment, and eventually, contempt. 

{That's cold!}

That's realistic, but it's all about context. 

For example, Jordan Peterson getting choked up for a minute (but not losing it and maintaining his dignity) while giving everything he has in a public lecture, or even in interviews when he's asked what it's like being known for psychologically salvaging souls from the woke mind virus who have been known to stand in line to thank him, is perfectly acceptable to many... 

But not his ideological enemies who have been known to attack, smear, and sneer at him for it. Even certain woke public intellectuals, like the woke womyn who man the desk of The View, have been known to be less than charitable to men who cry in public. 

     Ladies of The View Mock Weeper of the House...For His...Teary Interview

Being an evil, oppressive patriarch ain't easy, it's enough to make you cry. And thinking about how much more sex I would've had way back when if I had been more bad boy, less nice guy makes me weep.  

{I thought this was supposed to be a "short one."}

Garrulous: given to prosy, rambling, or tedious loquacity (Merriam-Webster)

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

Scroll down to leave a comment, share my work, or access my golden oldies.   

I post links to my columns on both Facebook and the social media site formerly known as Twitter so you can love me, hate me, or lobby to have me canceled or publically flogged on either site. Cranky don't tweet (X-claim?).  

Why Old Men Cry (Part One)

  

Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay

This is a weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny — the Stickies — to advise 'em now, haunt them after I'm deleted.

Trigger Warning: This column is rated SSC-65: Sexy Seasoned Citizens   

About 

Glossary 

Featuring {Dana}: Persistent auditory hallucination and charming literary device 

"Old men are fond of giving good advice to console themselves for their inability to give bad examples." -Francois de La Rochefoucauld

Dear Stickies and gentlereaders,

I am, officially speaking, a member of the (in?)famous Baby Boom generation, people born between 1946 and 1964. Have you ever wondered who decided on those dates? Or the dates that bracket the Ds.O.B. of other generations? 

I consulted the worldwide web of all knowledge and the very first hit returned revealed that the rumors aren't true. There is not an obscure department — buried so deeply in the Census Bureau and staffed by bureaucrats that are the otherwise unemployable relatives of powerful Senators and Congresspersons who rarely bother to actually come to work — where this sort of thing is decided. 

Pewtrusts.org: "...through a somewhat haphazard process a consensus slowly develops in the media and popular parlance." 

Are you aware that people born in the "early 2010s" aren't Zoomers, they're Generation Alpha? Have we started over? Why wasn't I told?

{Are you wondering what this has to do with why geezers cry?}   

That's easy. A fundamental tenet of my Overflowing Cistern hypothesis includes the age of the Geezer in question, more on that in a minute.   

I recently saw an interview in which Jordan Peterson (Boomer) was asked why he cries regularly, and in public, which reminded me of former Speaker of the House John Boehner (Boomer, Red Tribe) who was regularly attacked by members and supporters of both tribes for being a lacrimaniac. 

{What's a lacrimaniac?}   

Well, technically, there's no such word as best I can tell. 

{Ah, you're making up words again.}

But in my defense, lacrimation (the secretion of tears) is a word so it follows logically that... 

Anyway, I thought the responsible thing to do, before proposing my hypothesis, was to have the research department investigate if there might be a scientific consensus; does old dudes crying have anything to do with the physiology or psychology of old dudes?

Answer, no. There are myriad opinions floating around, but no consensus. The guys couldn't even find an unimpeachable meta-study that'll be debunked at a later date.  

Therefore, for your consideration, permit me to present the Overflowing Cistern hypothesis. 

A cistern, if you're unaware, is according to Wikipedia, "...a waterproof receptacle for holding liquids, usually water."

The word waterproof is important in that in this context refers to the fact that although there's a way for water (or tears) to get in it's supposed to stay there. 

{Permit me to cut to the chase to save us all some time, big boys don't cry, right? You're cistern thingy is an obvious metaphor. At some point, the cistern all the old dudes have funneled their tears into over the years starts overflowing, right? Next thing you know a given geezer is crying at both appropriate and inappropriate times, Bohener was famous for crying about all sorts of stuff and...}

Thanks for your help, Dana. Permit me to return a compliment you have paid me on occasion, you too have a keen eye for the obvious. However, there are devils lurking in the details. 

First of all, the reason this missive began with a fascinating and informative digression about where generational names and dates come from is because I came across this information when I was researching the three sub-generations of Boomers, a phenomenon neither widely known nor discussed.

These subdivisions are important to my Overflowing Cistern hypothesis and I was searching for the approximate date Sub-2 ended and Sub-3 took over.

{Hoo-boy. Here we go again.}

Remain calm, it's really quite simple. Sub-1s are the early Boomers, and were as much influenced by the previous two generations (the Greatest Generation, 1901-27, and the Silent one, 1928-45) as they are by Sub-2 and Sub-3 Boomers. 

{Fascinating.}

Right? I was trying to determine at what point during the rise of the Sub-2s (when Boomers started tossing out the tot with the Jacuzzi water) the big boys don't cry ethos morphed into the big boys should be more gentle, sensitive, and not hide their feelings ethos that the feminists convinced us would get us laid more often (which unfortunately turned out to be B.S.). 

{Oh my dog! you can't...}

That's a subject for an entirely different column I'm highly qualified to write because I confess I bought it -- hook, line, and sinker. But unfortunately, the rest of this column, for reasons not interesting enough to bother you with, will be published next week. Think of it as a cliffhanger, but in compensation... 

Update: as to the ongoing tempest in a teapot that is the Ohio legislature's stumble-bumbling-fumbling attempt to legalize weed, Ohio's five-foot-tall governor is upset.

While our state senate quickly passed a law overriding the citizen's initiative we morons recently voted for (yeah, they can do that) the house (and senate) left town to begin a month-long break for Christmas without taking any action. 

Fun facts: Our legislators have to scrape by on only $70,000 a year, but "leadership" positions pay a little better. According to ZipRecruiter, the average Ohio working stiff makes $47,000 a year. As for what the mean wage is, which I would guess is closer to 40k based on my 38 years of living here in paradise, I couldn't find it on the worldwide web of all knowledge. 

Also, according to Open the Books, Ohio has 164,821 state employees whose wages add up to $9,517,773,573.09 a year.

Anyways... It's occurred to the governor (Mike DeWine, multi-millionaire and full-time politician since 1976) that since the initiative remains in effect till our betters fix it for us it's now legal to smoke weed in Ohio but there's no place to legally buy it so people will be risking their lives by buying it on the "black market" (and not paying the 10% sin tax, which Mr. DeWine would prefer to be as much as 18%).

All over Ohio people who would never even dream of buying weed when it was illegal to smoke it for fear of paying the $100 fine if they got caught are roaming the streets in search of a connection. 

{You're making that up!}

Not the $100 fine part, that's actually all that happens. But I must also confess that our governor is at least 5 foot 6, a solid 140 pounds, and pretty sharp for a geezer pushing 80 and who doesn't cry, not in public anyway.

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

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