That's Infotainment!

                                                                                                    Or,

Notable & Quotable, Part 2

I'm so old that when I was a young callowyute I only had access to four TV stations. My city (Pittsburgh) had two rival newspapers of consequence. One published a morning edition, the other came out in the late afternoon.

At one point in my life, I found myself working as a newspaper boy person for both. This provided a relatively generous income for a callowyute. Unlike Warren Buffett, who was also a newspaper boy person when he was a kid, I spent my money as fast as I made it, sometimes faster. Mr. Buffett, we're told, used his profits to expand into other businesses. I strongly suspect this may explain the disparity in our incomes. Curiously enough I don't resent/envy/begrudge him. Nor do I believe that The Gubmint should take some of his money and give it to me after deducting a finders fee. However, I do have a great idea for a business that would generate profit margins that are as healthy as Dairy Queen's (which, Mr. B. owns). Warren, call me.

Where was I... Oh, yeah, a callowyute growing up in Pittsburgh, a callowburgher. Like many of my fellow baby boomers, I was raised in front of a TV set. If you're a member of one of the three generations that have come along since I was a kid (dang I'm old) the answer to your obvious question is, yes. Yes, our parents were quite concerned that this idiot box, this talking lamp that always seemed to be on if the kids were home, was going to turn us all into, well, idiots. There's some ammunition for callowyutes to use when you're arguing with the old farts in your life about your smartphone addiction (you're welcome).

While newspapers were still quite popular, particularly among our clueless grups, those hoopleheads that thought they were cool just because they survived the Great Depression, won WW 2, and saved the world, we boomers (and many of our parents) tended to get our news from the tube. "Now your daddy's in the den shootin' up the evening news." Jackson Browne, from the song "Red Neck Friend."

The four TV channels referenced above were the local outlets of PBS, NBC, ABC, and CBS. PBS didn't begin directly competing with the three commercial networks via a nightly news format, the one I and many of my fellow boomers relied on, until 1975. By then I was going through my hippie with a job phase and preferred to get my news from Rolling Stone and "underground" news sources. You don't want to know. Suffice it to say, the PBS version of the news had little impact on my yute. The big three traditional broadcast networks, however, were a different story.

Back in the dark ages everyone that watched TV watched the local affiliate of the big three networks mentioned above. Newspapers aside, the evening news, local and national, was a cultural touchstone. When I was 10 years old, in 1963, the national news broadcasts were dramatically expanded -- from 15 minutes to 30. While there was less time back then given over to commercials, obviously this was not a lot of time. News anchors, paragons of gravitas one and all, were limited to covering what were regarded as the most important news stories of the day. If a nationally known celebrity were to drop dead or be indicted, this would dutifully be mentioned. Whom they were currently dating and/or their problems with drugs and alcohol, would not.

With the exception of the rare earth shaking event or crisis that generated a, "We interrupt this broadcast..." you might not hear any additional national news for 24 hours. There were exceptions of course. Your town might have a decent newspaper that came out the next morning. You might listen to a local radio station that provided some (usually quite limited) national news.

The news anchors referenced above professed to subscribe to mainstream journalistic ethics. In practice, this meant, among other things, that they were supposed to try and draw strict lines between fact and opinion. Though we're now told that they allowed their biases to shape the news more than we ever knew, or they acknowledged (books have been written), that's how it was supposed to work.

"Information turnover is often more important than information content." Robert Greenberg. I've taken Mr. Greenberg's quote completely out of context. He was referring to a change in philosophy by composers of classical music in the early twentieth century. I told you I was your dilettante about town. However, the moment I heard it I knew I was going to use it in reference to how the news media operates in the new millennium.

Permit me to deploy some pseudo-journalistic ethics at this point and mention that Dr. Greenberg's quote is from a Teaching Company (you should Google that name) course he put together called, "How to Listen to and Understand Great Music." Full disclosure: Lest I sound even nerdier than I am my main take away from his efforts is to now understand why I don't actually care for most classical music, particularly opera.

"Information turnover is often more important than information content."

A seemingly endless commercial break (SECB), then, CLANG! Fox News Alert: The recording artist Prince, formerly known as the artist formerly known as Prince is dead at 57! Blah, blah. Another SECB. CLANG! Fox News Alert: Donald Trump just said something really ignorant in a really ignorant way! Blah, blah. Another SECB. CLANG! The Gubmint has threatened to stop giving the gubmint of North Carolina its fair share of the money they take from people that don't work for The Gubmint and who actually create value (profits) if North Carolina won't permit men who think they are women (and vice versa) to poop where they please and shower where they feel safe...

You pick up the clicker and go to CNN. You arrive in the middle of an SECB. "Welcome back, we will now continue the discussion between two party hacks, CNN contributors, whom we pay to promote the people and positions they are paid to promote by their respective political parties.

"You suck sweaty socks!"
"No, you suck sweaty socks!"

Back to 1963. Not only was the nation somehow able to get by with a half an hour of nationally broadcast national news, TV stations usually went off the air after The Tonight Show, it's current competitor or an old movie the third local station picked up on the cheap. It was standard practice to play the Star Spangled Banner while showing patriotically themed footage and then saying goodnight.

[Aside: The Tonight Show regularly featured interviews with the authors of actual books who were witty, intelligent and often controversial, thought-provoking figures. Occasionally, famous classical musicians performed. Most people took Sunday off, some of them actually read the books they heard about on the Tonight Show. Just sayin'.]

I subscribe to the Wall Street Journal (online version only) because I'm cheap frugal and a man of modest means at the moment. When I'm a wildly successful writer, and entrepreneur (part 2), I'll pay the extra dough and have the dead trees version delivered. See, if it weren't for the fact that I rigorously apply a system I've developed, that includes strict time limits, wherein I only read certain sections of the online version, in a certain order, I might drown in all of the available information. The WSJ has some very deep resources. I look forward to the day I'll only be using the online version for research.

I'll read the dead trees version every morning, the one that I might pick up again later in the day knowing that none of the content has vanished or been updated. I'll absolutely revel in the delicious delusion that I have a clue  as to what's going on in the world.

Have an OK day.

©Mark Mehlmauer 2016


If you wish to like, react, leave a comment or share -- please scroll down. 
Mobile gentlereaders, if I've pleased you, there's additional content to be found via laptop and desktop.    

 

   

Due to Technical Difficulties

I don't know what happened, but it was probably something I did.

Saturday night, 4.30.16, 11:07 p.m.

After some last minute tweaking, I clicked on the Publish button. My dashboard duly noted that my column was no longer a draft. As always, I clicked on my View Blog button to make sure the new column was actually there. It wasn't. First time this ever happened.

Mild panic ensued. I may not have a huge readership, well, not yet (GRIN), but I take this very seriously for some reason. I mean, well, technically speaking, there are 7.4 billion potential readers out there since the internet is more or less everywhere.

It would probably be tacky if I were to point out at this juncture that if you like my stuff you obviously should being trying harder to get the word out, so I won't mention it.

I have promised a new column every week, and I wouldn't want to embarrass myself, my freakishly large household, especially The Stickies (my grandkids), and of course my fellow Mehlmauers (present and former).

Anyway, the column turned up as though it had been published on 3.16.16, the date of a very rough draft.

The bottom line is I've no idea if the rough draft was published, on a Wednesday, and if either no one noticed or said anything, or what happened. It took awhile, but I found it and I fixed it.

Anyway.

I have a group of folks that check in on Saturday nights just after 11:07 EST to catch my latest column. If you happened to be one of 'em I apologize. The rumor that I had been picked by the Secret Political Correctness Task Force, and briefly detained and threatened, is not true.

Have an OK day.

P.S. Well, at least I think it's not true. See, last Thursday night, 4.28, at about 11:00 P.M., my site was accessed over 200 times, from Israel. Yes, that Israel. I've no idea by whom, or why. Betwixt that never before experienced phenomenon and my recent and unexplained difficulties, I'm a little jumpy.

P.P.S. Please scroll down to view this week's column, Notable & Quotable.

Notable & Quotable

The Venerable Wall Street Journal has a feature that appears on their editorial pages, dead trees as well as digital editions, called Notable & Quotable. It's exactly what it sounds like. A quotation from someone or something that's worth noting. A given quote, presented without comment, often serves to lampoon the source of the quote, which may be from a report or document of some sort, not necessarily a particular individual. Being a smarty-pants, by nature and by nurture, as well as a lover of mordancy, I thoroughly enjoy that particular angle.

However, the quote that follows, which is a quote of a quote that they recently quoted, is neither inspirational or mordant or something in between. It's a comment on the downside of life in the information age.

"The vast accumulations of knowledge—or at least of information—deposited by the nineteenth century have been responsible for an equally vast ignorance. When there is so much to be known, when there are so many fields of knowledge in which the same words are used with different meanings, when everyone knows a little about a great many things, it becomes increasingly difficult for anyone to know whether he knows what he is talking about or not. And when we do not know, or when we do not know enough, we tend always to substitute emotions for thoughts."

Notice the phrase nineteenth century. This quote is from an essay entitled The Perfect Critic, written by T.S. Elliot --  in 1920 -- and refers to the numerous advances in knowledge made in the 1800s. Fast forward nearly a century and change the word nineteenth to twentieth and it still works. At this point I'm tempted to place another quote, "The more things change, the more they stay the same," the English translation (as everybody knows, GRIN) of an epigram penned by Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr (now that's a cool name dude). But that's too easy, obvious and cliched, so I won't.

The quotation in question begs a question. If Mr. Elliot is right, and he is, now more than ever, what should I/we/you do about it?

[I don't know if I can, or should, do something about it, says my imaginary gentlereader, after all, my life is complicated enough without...]

Read it again, please. It's only 99 words. Note the last sentence. "And when we do not know, or when we do not know enough, we tend always to substitute emotions for thoughts."

Or, GFBL -- gut first, brain later -- is triggered. I coined this phrase a while back and promised to expand on it at some future date, but never got around to it. It needs an entire column, but for now, I'm just going to repeat my original grossly oversimplified explanation. Science confirms that under most circumstances we react emotionally first, rationally later. Scott Adams, the creator of Dilbert, would add that in fact, often what we think of as being rational is just rationalizing our not necessarily optimal, sometimes downright goofy emotional behavior.

From Final Jeopardy, Man vs. Machine and the Quest to Know Everything by Steven Baker, "...Daniel Kahneman of Princeton redefined these cognitive processes as System 1 and System 2. The intuitive System 1 appeared to represent a primitive part of the mind, perhaps dating from before...our tool-making Cro-Magnon ancestors forty thousand years ago. Its embedded rules, with their biases toward the familiar, steered peopled toward their most basic goals: survival and reproduction. System 2, which appeared to arrive later, involved conscious and deliberate analysis and was far slower."

Or, it's perfectly normal, when confronted with the deluge of data available via the click of a mouse or a tap on a touchscreen, to feel like you're drowning and just go with your gut. Or grab your, um, well, I'll leave that up to you, and jump. Or, just turn the dang thing off and go take a _____ break.

[Okeydoke, but I still...]

...Need to be aware, I would gently suggest, of informational overload in order to improve your chances of not being a victim of your own emotions. This will serve to also dramatically reduce the possibility of walking in front of a bus while hypnotized by your smartphone and going viral on Youtube via some other jokers smartphone.

Now, how, or even if, you try to accomplish this, is up to you. Perhaps you're a happy camper, a world-class multi-tasker, a type A that loves the frantic pace of the culture. A culture that's fragmented, and continues to fragment, into seemingly endless subcultures. Good on ya'! Take care.

However, if you're like me, and often feel like you're smothering from informational overload, may I make a suggestion? Seek out a news source that you trust, one that has the resources, and the integrity, to tell you what's really going on in the world. I'm talking straight news and informed opinion that's clearly labeled opinion, and that strives to maintain a "Chinese wall" between the two.

What we have is mostly infotainment. And it occurs to me it's going to take an entire column to explain what I mean by the term, and why I have a big problem with the phenomenon. An edited stream of consciousness gets ugly sometimes. See, what follows is an homage to the Wall Street Journal and I'm very happy with it and loath to change it. So, forgive me gentlereaders, if I've placed the cart before the horse. Infotainment will be the subject of next week's column.


Which brings us to why I love the Wall Street Journal. If you've read what can be found by clicking on the Just Who Is This Guy Anyway tab of The Flyoverland Crank you know that I call the WSJ my paper of record. If you're not familiar with the WSJ, there's a good chance it's not what you might think. Obviously, I have no way of knowing exactly what that might be, but I've encountered numerous folks over the years that are certain it's the boring, stodgy, house organ of corporate weenie, country club, crony capitalist, evil 1% Depublicans -- which it ain't.

[Being a current events junkie and your DAT (dilettante about town) I read all sorts of things, on a daily basis. But if I were to be tossed into Politically Correct Prison (which seems inevitable) by a kindly judge that decreed I could have access to one source of current events, it would the WSJ.]

What it is, is a newspaper that's been around for a very long time with very high standards. While it's editorial policy, self-described as "free people, free markets," is unashamedly center-right (many of its detractors would say far-right) this policy is restricted to its editorial pages which take up three full pages of the high priced dead trees edition. The rest of the content is well written and objective as possible. This was what I was taught a good newspaper was supposed to be when I went to school in the dark ages.

There's a catch though. I was taught that newspaper articles are written so that a 12-year-old can understand them. The WSJ assumes its readers are a bit more mature and intelligent than that. I have 39 certifiable college credits and even I have to sometimes intellectually stretch to fully understand a given article or editorial. And speaking of the editorial pages again (sorry, it's my favorite part of the publication) there's an intelligent, well spoken, token liberal with a weekly column. Also, nationally and internationally known progressives are regularly given space.

It's not cheap, but the online edition ain't too bad. Considering the quality, it's worth every penny. The thing I like about a dead trees newspaper is that for 24 hours or so it helps me foster the illusion I have a clue. Online editions of national, and many local papers, are different every time you take a look. More on why that's not necessarily a good thing next week.

Have an OK day.


[P.S. Gentlereaders, I've experimented and will continue to experiment with various formats, column lengths, and the like. While my primary motivation was/is developing my writing style, I've always given (minimal) consideration to what I thought a potential publisher and/or advertiser might want to see. 

One of the reasons I don't run ads on my website anymore is the fact I've decided to just let the column happen and go where it (and Marie-Louise) wishes it to go. 

If there are some readers out there that think my shtuff is worth sharing and/or worth a buck or three, fine. If not, so be it.]


©2015 Mark Mehlmauer   (The Flyoverland Crank)

If you're reading this on my website (there are tons of older columns, a glossary, and other shtuff there) and if you wish to react (way cooler than liking) or share -- please scroll down.

The Bathroom Bill

For the record, I didn't care if a particular person was gay before it was cool to not care if a particular person was gay. In fact, I had a gay roommate, who was also a good friend, for a couple of years in the late 70s. I still take great pride in the fact that when he and I and some other gay friends were hanging out one day, that they told me I was one of the most well-adjusted heterosexual males they knew.

This puzzled me. At the time, I was not on the short-list of nominees for the stud of the year award. Actually, never have been, never will be, particularly now that I'm over a thousand years old. A huge head, a lazy eye, my mom's nose (cute on her, not so much on me) and the odd trait, for a male, of preferring to copulate with females I'm at least deeply in like with, is not the definition of studly. Perhaps this is why I've always suspected I'm a lesbian trapped in a man's body.

[Irony Alert: The lesbian trapped in a man's body line, which I've used for years, is meant to be a non-sequitur. Humorous in that I thought it made no sense, while also poking fun at the parade of Bigfeets prepared to present themselves for our (well, not mine, sniff) entertainment on numerous television shows. Turns out, it's a thing. I guess I should apologize.]

Anyway, this puzzled me because, callowyute that I was at the time, I jumped to the wrong conclusion. In spite of the fact I was a bit picky, I was as obsessed with sex as much as the typical male of the species. I was going through a dry spell and like most single male callowyutes I thought there was a scorecard on my forehead that clearly indicated I was no threat to anyone's daughters. If I'm so well adjusted, where's all the wimmin?

[Irony alert, No. 2: The word wimmin in the previous sentence was used as a subtle tribute to the immortal Popeye. A quick bit of research (don't ask, it's just the way I am) revealed to me that it's a thing too. Turns out that there are feminists that prefer the word wimmim to the word women. They also prefer using womban, or womon, instead of woman. As Popeye once said, "Wimmim is a myskery."]

Further conversation revealed that I had missed the point entirely. What they were referring to was that apparently there are a lot more bi-curious and/or confused men at large in the world than I was aware of. This phenomenon was the source of my comfortably and unapologetically gay acquaintances having had no shortage of dramatic/baffling/hilarious/embarrassing encounters in their quest for love, be it tawdry or spiritual in nature. They were just saying that they appreciated that I knew what I was about, that I knew where I was coming from.

[My imagined gentlereader speaks. Wow, you rock dude! Please, tell us more about how frosty and well adjusted you are. If the rest of this column is going to be more of the same I'm going to call my dentist's office to see if they've had any cancellations today, I need to get my teeth cleaned. Marie-Louise is hip cocked and head tilted, left eyebrow raised in skepticism.]

Sheesh. I was just establishing my bona fides before discussing the kerfuffle concerning the considerable controversy generated by a law recently passed by the state legislature of North Carolina. House Bill 2, or, the Bathroom Bill.

The bill sez that local municipalities can't pass their own laws regulating wages, employment and
"public accommodations."

The LBGTIQ -- lesbian, bisexual, gay, transsexual, intersex, and queer or questioning community -- is up in arms. I shall take the high road and refrain from making any comments on the acronym in question, with the exception of one cheap joke. I'll bet they have more interesting parties in that community that I do in mine.

Now, while North Carolina does have a state law on the books that forbids discrimination, it doesn't contain specific protections for those groups listed in the previous paragraph. Also, House Bill 2 requires that multi-occupancy restrooms, changing rooms, locker rooms, etc., in public schools and government buildings are to be used by folks based on the biological sex listed on their birth certificates. Multi-occupancy? Yup, it's OK for public institutions to offer restrooms that can be used by anyone, one soul at a time.

Before we move on, some more cheap jokes. What about aliens, from other planets I mean? They do walk among us after all. Who enforces the rules? Will North Carolina be forced to create a Department of Genitalia Certification?

As to the worry that those folks who identify themselves as a member of one of the groups delineated by the acronym in question having to endure endless discrimination unless they are specifically protected by law, I'm sorry, but as you may have heard elsewhere, life is not fair.

I'm not advocating that it's OK to discriminate against anyone, or any group, in particular. However, I would point out that everyone discriminates. Sometimes it makes sense. For example, I freely admit that I go out of my way to avoid dealing with drunks and drug addicts if at all possible.

Sometimes it makes no sense whatsoever. There's no shortage of folks that automatically hate someone because of the color of their skin or whom they copulate with. Which is just goofy. But if I thought you were one of these goofy people, I'd avoid you too. I might even choose to not hire you for a job you're otherwise eminently qualified for. I may choose not to rent you an apartment. I might decide to discriminate against you.

However, being slightly smarter than I look, I'd never admit to my reasons if I thought it might cause me legal problems, or even just an awkward conversation. I'd just pick someone else and have a bulletproof cover story prepared. I'm guessing most people would, and do, the same thing.

I know for a fact that I've been repeatedly discriminated against because I'm chronologically (slightly) over 50, even though in reality, I am, and always will be, 39. Not once was the evil perpetrator dumb enough to say it was because they thought I was too old. Well, except for a certain hottie that works at my favorite convenience store, but I see her point.

My point is that all the legislation in the world won't make anyone actually accept anyone. But it will generate lots of work for lawyers and bureaucrats. Be kind, be rational, be dependable, pay your own way, do your job, be a good spouse, show a little style, do the right thing, set a good example, et cetera. Many people will accept you as you are, many will not -- get over it and get on with it.

As to which restroom you should use, well, let me put it this way. Even though I'm a lesbian trapped in a man's body, when out and about in the world, I wear men's clothing and use the men's room when nature calls. I confess to being hopelessly old-fashioned in that I support the genitalia rule.

I could care less which letter of the acronym you identify with. I could care less about what you get up to behind closed doors, as long a no one's getting hurt unless they want to. But I would remind you that you share the playground with other kids. I would remind you acceptance won't come by insisting that anything goes and everything must be tolerated.

I'm not worried that you're going to molest my grandkids, but I am worried that there's no shortage of infidels out there that would if given the chance. I am worried that discretion, modesty, and consideration of others people's sensibilities are considered to be quaint notions.

You're a little weird, you don't fit in, but you're comfortable in your own skin? Fine. Me too. Personally, I don't care if I'm accepted and approved of. And I don't go out of my way to make people uncomfortable. Just the opposite. I mind my own, try to show a little class, follow a personal code of moral and ethical rules that are hard to live up to and try to remember that the sermon/speech/column/screed lived is the best way to effect change.

And I would ask Bruce Springsteen, a gazillionaire poster child of limousine liberals, do you actually believe that canceling a concert and depriving restaurant servers, parking lot attendants, the venues janitors, et cetera, of the money they didn't make that day served any purpose beyond polishing your halo?

Have an OK day.

©Mark Mehlmauer 201


If you wish to like, react, leave a comment or share -- please scroll down. 

Mobile gentlereaders, if I've pleased you, there's additional content to be found via laptop and desktop.    

Immigration

Let me admit up front that I'm soft on illegal Mexican immigration (IMI) or, if you prefer, _______.
I think that any illegal immigrant convicted of a crime should be punished and deported, but someone needs to tell the Donald that statistically speaking, immigrants of all sorts are less likely to commit a crime than the native born. Were I in the country illegally I'd be a model, low profile guest, for obvious reasons.

The blank space at the end of the first sentence is provided for those of you that prefer a more politically correct term. It's tough keeping up with politically correct terms. They seem to evolve and adapt even faster than the super cooties regularly featured in apocalyptic news stories. You know, the ones that we're constantly being told could fuel the first world-class pandemic of the new millennium? It would probably be wrong to develop this analogy further and compare the snowflakes obsessed with politically correct terminology to the rats that carried the fleas that caused the Black Death, so I won't. Anyway, I've already drifted off topic.

IMI's, or more properly, IHI's (illegal Hispanic immigrants), because these folks, particularly lately, often are from countries located south of Mexico (which incidentally is the title of my next album) have my sympathy because I can easily construct alternate realities with my powerful reality distortion field. In my head, smartypants, in my head -- I know they're not real.

Premise of my reality distortion: Canada is to the US as the US is to points south. Say that in spite of our northern neighbor's abominable climate they were the most prosperous (so far...) and freest (well...) country in the world and our situation is roughly equivalent to Mexico and points south. What would life in these United States be like?

Insert sound of harp strings being strummed while image on screen goes all wavy, here.

The Gubmint and the gubmints of our reality distorted USA would be world famous for, and have a long history of, good old fashion third world corruption. Bribery at every level would be considered a cost of doing business, the lubricant that keeps the wheels of commerce and gubmint turning. John and Jane Doe would live in a world where the playing fields are rarely level. Everybody pays to play.

[Aside: I'll bet a bottle of pop, a Mexican Coke made with real sugar (it really does taste better), that Juan and Juana Garcia would enthusiastically trade their current situation for the current situation of our abused and downtrodden 99%. "I just hate my new iPhone, I wonder if I can get out of my contract... aw, geez, the barista screwed up my coffee, again!"]

Reality distorted Canada would not be all that different than the real Canada. It would have a much larger economy and may or may not have real Canada's socialized healthcare system. But other than that, it probably wouldn't be much different than it is now. It also wouldn't be much different than the real USA...

Carter and Emma Smithe, of the Toronto Smithes, don't party like they did when they were still in school, in fact, what with careers and kids and all, a second glass of beer (Carter) or wine (Emma) at dinner is about as twisted as they're likely to get  these days. But once in a great while, they stash the kids somewhere safe for the weekend and get a room with a jacuzzi. Carter (weed) or Emma (blow, the munchies make you fat) might even indulge in some recreational pharmaceuticals. It's not as if they go out of their way to score, but occasionally Bachus tosses a treat in their direction... See what I mean?

But the reality distorted America, the pay to play America mentioned above, a third worldish version of America, would suck sweaty socks. Carter and Emma's occasional dabbles with drugs, not to mention the needs of their fellow Canadians that are more enthusiastic consumers of legally prohibited substances, would be a nightmare for John and Jane Doe. That's because they just happen to hail from Anyfreakintownnearthenorthernborder, USA.

Real Canada took a pass when real America tried banning alcohol. Things didn't work out very well in real America but real Canada couldn't manufacture and sell booze fast enough. Gubmints will be gubmints however and both real America and real Canada, after evaluating the lessons of Prohibition both decided to prohibit recreational pharmaceuticals anyway.

So, in Juan and Juana Garcia in John and Jane Doe's reality distorted version of the USA, the drug cartels that so efficiently supply recreational pharmaceuticals to reality distorted Canada for fun and profit, ensure John and Jane will lead, um, interesting lives. This is the unpleasant side effect of criminal organizations that make so much money they can corrupt a given culture at every level.

John and Jane both work in the energy sector. He's a roughneck working in the oil/natural gas fields and she's a low-level secretary. Before you accuse me of being a sexist, remember this is an America that's been reality distorted to mirror real Mexico. Real Mexico is an unabashedly mucho-macho place. John would prefer that she stay home with their five kids (they are good, traditional Catholics) but they need the money. John doesn't make all that much money because the Gubmint runs the nationalized energy sector and you don't make good money without knowing the right people. He wouldn't have a job at all if he didn't know some of the right people.

John and Jane are worried and scared. The cartels have made everything worse. Innocent bystanders are regularly killed. Reporters that tell the truth are regularly killed. The cops are more or less owned by the cartels. John and Jane have a teenage son that has bling bedecked buddies with lots of girlfriends who have offered to introduce him to their version of the right people. One of his gorgeous daughters has caught the eye of a local thug.

A good friend of John and Jane, who has known them both since they were kids, is quite aware of their situation because they have stayed in touch over the years. He's a newly minted citizen of our reality distorted Canada. His rich, well-connected parents sent him to college there to become a petroleum engineer knowing that if he did well and got a job offer or two he'd be provided with a path that could eventually lead to citizenship, and it did,

In a recent phone discussion with his friends the Doe's, after being updated about their current situation, he offered to pay whatever it would take to get them and their kids across the border, illegally. They could figure out a way to stay once they got there.

Were I John or Jane I'd start packing.

Have an OK day.

©Mark Mehlmauer 2016


f you wish to like, react, leave a comment or share -- please scroll down. 

Mobile gentlereaders, if I've pleased you, there's additional content to be found via laptop and desktop.    

Kindness & Communication (Hair Helmets, Part 2)

To review: Last week's column was about hair helmets with a couple of (hopefully) amusing wanderings down side alleys to see where they led. My original intent was to make fun of not only hair helmets but other methods that we allegedly rationally driven homo sapiens employ to improve our chances of mating and reproducing.

However, my plan, as happens often as not, fell apart. Hair helmets wound up being the only contrivance discussed, and when I got to the end, I was suddenly seized by a strong notion that I should've also discussed what, if anything, sets us apart from our fellow animals. Which I will...

But first (it's not you, it's me) I want to get into how this sort of thing happens, since it will no doubt continue. Don't say, gentlereaders, that you've never been warned.

I've mentioned in at least one of my columns, and should and will add to what you will find by clicking on the Read This First Please or Glossary tab of my site, that my writing style is an edited stream of consciousness. That is, though I start out with a notion ranging from vague to specific, I give my muse and an imagined gentlereader free reign to gently push me in whatever direction feels right.

However, I then edit ruthlessly, guided by the twin goals of clarity and humor, sometimes deleting entire columns. F.Y.I., I've deliberately and officially stopped referring to my posts as posts. They are now and henceforth, my columns. After all, I've yet to miss a week since (self) publishing my first column on 7.23.15., just like a real columnist, who actually gets paid. This change in nomenclature serves two purposes.

First, it helps me to maintain the discipline necessary to prove to a syndicator, publisher, editor, agent, Google AdSense etc. (I really need to find the time and inclination to do whatever I need to do to make some money from this. As it is, I'm having too much fun just writing love letters to my daughter, son-in-law, and my grandkids -- the Stickies -- to hopefully occasionally be reread after I'm long gone) that I'm a worthy investment.

Second, I'm faking it 'till I make it. I'm acting as if. I'm keeping hope alive. I'm, uh, maintaining a good attitude. You know, doing all that sort of stuff you're supposed to do to be successful at something that the people who make a successful living teaching people how to be successful at something advise us to do. I'm also subtly and secretly manipulating and hypnotizing my gentlereaders to look past the sale and assume I'm destined to be a wildly successful writer so they will stick with me and tell all of their friends they should be following me. Shhh...it's a secret.


Yes, Virginia, I do think we are more than just another animal that happens, fortunately for us, to live at the top of the food chain. However, I also think it's very important that we don't forget, so to speak, where we come from. Scott Adams, the man that cranks out my favorite daily comic strip, Dilbert, and also writes a blog, not to mention an occasional book, says we're easily manipulated moist robots. He also maintains that we mostly use our rational abilities to justify our irrational, emotionally driven behaviors after the fact. In my semi-humble opinion, he's right.

Big but.

There are two ginormous characteristics homo sapiens have that separate us from our fellow animals. There are arguably, and probably, more. And who knows? Maybe the folks that claim dolphins and/or elephants and/or _____  function at a level equal to, or even superior to us, are correct (though I have my doubts). And, of course, many people the world over understand and cherish the meaning, importance, and significance of the deceptively simple phrase, good dog.

For the sake of simplicity and clarity, though, I'm going with communication and kindness.

Communication first. You don't have to be human to communicate successfully, in a limited way, with your fellow _____ . In fact, it's possible for all sorts of creatures to communicate, in a limited way, with all sorts of other others who communicate, in a limited way, with each other.

I'm sorry, I'll stop (GRIN).

A full blown language, on the other hand, even a very simple one with a limited vocabulary, creates a network. Language is the wiring, so to speak, that links my mind to your mind to their mind. This was the first internet and just like the current electronic, ever growing, planet-spanning one, it increased our processing power exponentially.

Writing and reading eventually supplemented oral tradition and made it easier for each new generation to build on what went before.

Had computers never been invented, we would still (and did) be able to do a lot of amazing things. After all, 7.3 billion heads are better than one.

Pooping indoors and disappearing the results by gently pushing on a tiny handle. Effortless access to sparkling clean hot and cold water by turning some tiny wheels. Climate control via pushing some tiny buttons. Et cetera. We take for granted what our not too distant ancestors would've declared to be magic, and then tortured and/or killed a bunch of folks to mitigate the bad juju.

Life is, and always will be, subject to unpredicted crap storms. Utopia will never be just around the next bend. But as you're working your butt off, plotting and scheming and hoping while impatiently waiting for your financial position to improve, you'll always find a way to keep the utilities turned on.

Kindness? Yup, kindness. That is, if you expand the definition of kindness. If you include everything from the evolutionary advantages that resulted from tribal cooperation to choosing to be the grup in the room to the teachings of the ethical and spiritual traditions that state we must love and take care of each other.

Yes, other species cooperate to get stuff done, particularly stuff that ensures the survival of the group.

But we can consciously decide to at least try to get along with that moron we work for, and not just for the sake of ourselves. We can do it for our family, our fellow slaves, our customers, our patients, or our _____ -- or not.

Every kid on the playground knows who's cool, who's OK, and who's a bully.

"Wo, oh, what I want to know, is are you kind?" (from the song "Uncle John's Band").

Have an OK day.

©Mark Mehlmauer 2016


If you wish to like, react, leave a comment or share -- please scroll down. 

Mobile gentlereaders, if I've pleased you, there's additional content to be found via laptop and desktop.      

Hair Helmets

Why are homo sapiens obsessed with their head hair? The obvious answer would seem to have a biological/evolutionary explanation. A healthy head of hair is an indicator of yute and overall good health. In spite of our relatively large, highly developed brains that enable us to do amazing things such as visit the moon and, well, brain surgery, we're still the playthings of our DNA. Our DNA is all about survival, reproduction and driving us to mate with (or at least, watch, often goofy TV shows and movies about) superior looking specimens of the species.

I get that. And I would remind you, and myself, that no matter how smart we might think we are, or, how above or over all that sort of thing we might think we are, we're not. Caution: Ignoring, or worse yet refusing to acknowledge your inner infidel, may be hazardous to your health (and life and job and relationships and...).

Big But.

Everywhere I look I see hair helmets. Creations, constructions and colors further and further removed from anything Mother Nature's Hair and Nails, LLC has ever produced. The Donald is our national poster child for this cult, and make no mistake, it is a cult. How else to account for something that generates such dedication, time, and expense?

[Aside: Speaking of the Donald, his orange complexion would seem to suggest he's an Oompa Loompa. No, seriously, think about it. This would also explain why a man who will turn 70 years old in June has hair that seems to vary in color from washed out blond to almost Peep yellow. This could be the result of constant coloring to hide his naturally green hair.

Now, Oompa Loompas are generally short in stature and the Donald is tall. This begs more than one question. Is he a native Loompalandian with a glandular disorder? If so, this would seem to disqualify him from becoming president. If he is a native Loompalandian, was he ever naturalized? If not, does he have a green card? Was his father or mother born in the USA and married to, or at some point hooked up with, a native born Loompalandian? If so, doesn't this place the Donald in the same situation he placed Senator Cruz in when he suggested that Mr. Cruz might have eligibility issues?

Most importantly, why are none of the rabid watchdogs of the press trying to get to the bottom of this mess? But that's not what I want to talk about, so let's move on.]

My definition of a hair helmet is a much broader than the traditional conception. That is, a television news anchorperson whose hair looks as though it's made out of fairly rigid vinyl and would only move ever so slightly in a tornado. Or come completely off, like a, well, a helmet and possibly become a dangerous, sharp-edged projectile.

My definition: A hairstyle, regardless of color, rigid or otherwise, that crosses a fine line whereupon said hairstyle becomes the first thing you notice about someone, you can't help but being aware of it at all times, rarely flattering.

A beacon of hair, if you will. A hairstyle that causes its owner to resemble a floor lamp without a shade.

The fine line I mentioned is determined by the amount of contrast, or the lack thereof, between a given hairstyle and the overall look of the subject. For example, a rigidly coiffed, blue haired, little old lady with minimal makeup and a conservative outfit works just fine.

However, a little old lady with minimal makeup, a conservative outfit, and waist length, elaborately curly, grape Kool-Aid colored hair -- not so much.

So, how did we go from being understandably influenced by our DNA to hair helmets? I propose two reasons. First, a significant downside of living in the information age is the fact that we're more exposed to advertising, both overtly and subliminally, than ever before. A great deal of advertising is dedicated to pushing products for managing our manes. Second, our head hair, at least theoretically, provides a means for anyone to compensate for the genetic crime of not being as attractive as professional pretty people that are so attractive that they can make a living from it, often just by reminding us that we can't. But -- with the purchase of the right health and/or beauty aid -- we may not have to wither away empty, alone, and childless, after all.

[Another Aside: About advertising. I, like most people, find most advertising, to be a pain in the butt. I'm amazed that it's even possible for an hour of alleged programming on broadcast TV to include 20 minutes or so of advertising, but not from a legal standpoint. The viewers, not The Gubmint, should determine what's acceptable. The viewers hold all the power, literally, in the palm of their hands: CLICK! What amazes me is that anyone puts up with it, considering there is no shortage of alternatives.

However, I'm a grup and a sexy seasoned citizen so I know there is definitely no such thing as a free lunch. Yes, we're knee deep in adverts, and it's not possible to be engaged in the modern world without encountering them hither, thither, and yon (don't that sound way cooler than here, there, and everywhere?).

Yes, they're often annoying, stupid and downright offensive. But they provide us with no shortage of often annoying, stupid and downright offensive content at everyone's favorite price -- free and no charge. Occasionally, they're the only portion of the content that ain't annoying, stupid and downright offensive. Were I less empathetic and attuned to the feelings of my fellow homo sapiens, I would say that whining about advertising is like bragging about how you vote in every election with one breath and then complaining about the quality of political incumbents with the next. But I'm not, so I won't. And Besides, that's not what this column is about.]

Sorry, what was I talking about? DNA...hair helmets...the Donald (alpha male)...advertising (environmental input) that easily exploits fundamental biological drives...

Wait a minute, is the only difference between us and all the other animals on the planet just a matter of degree?

Sheesh, this got depressing fast, and I didn't even see it coming. This is going to require a part two to explore what, if anything, does set us apart from the rest of the animals.

Anyway, I've got to run, I've got an important appointment and I have to do my hair.

Have an OK day.

©Mark Mehlmauer 2016


If you wish to like, react, leave a comment or share -- please scroll down. 

Mobile gentlereaders, if I've pleased you, there's additional content to be found via laptop and desktop.