Democratic Socialism in practice: Amtrak. Amtrak is an entity that was created out of thin air by The Gubmint in 1970. Amtrak has managed to lose money, every year, without exception, ever since. The tab so far? $16,000,000,000 billion bucks. Can you guess who's paying the tab?
According to Wikipedia, Amtrak is, "...a partially government-funded American passenger railroad service. It is operated and managed as a for-profit corporation... ," -- that has never turned a profit. Who built this Frankenstein? Well...
When Amtrak was created, the privately operated passenger rail business was in the process of going the way of the buggy whip industry. Why? The overwhelming success of The Gubmint subsidized interstate highway system and aviation industry. However, in 1967, the National Association of Railroad Passengers (NARP) was created to try and prevent this from happening. They lobbied to create the partially government-funded (i.e. subsidized) for-profit railroad that's never turned a profit, mentioned above.
They succeeded. They're a non-profit, still around by the way, and happy to take your donations. Several of the firms that make and sell stuff to Amtrak, as well as the labor unions that staff it, are proud, apparently unembarrassed members.
I love my toaster. I love bread. I love toasted bread more than untoasted bread. This is a brief book review about a book I haven't read, and never will.
The book is entitled "The Toaster Project: Or A Heroic Attempt to Build a Simple Electric Appliance From Scratch." The author, Thomas Thwaites, spent nine months and $1,837.36 to accomplish this, and failed. He wound up with a device that looks like something recovered from Hiroshima and now is on display in a traveling exhibition entitled "Aftermath: The Bomb," which, according to the author, "... kind of toasts bread."
The idea was to not only make his own toaster but also to manufacture all of its components as well, even the plastic outer shell. When I first heard about the project and the resulting book I hoped that the point was that we shouldn't take for granted the 1,001 inexpensive, "simple" devices and innovations that exist in the background of our lives. Products and services that the 1% (and everyone else) would have regarded as jaw-dropping magic not all that long ago.
Nope, I was wrong again, as I am, unfortunately, with disturbing regularity. It took about two minutes to discover that multiple detours were taken around many insurmountable walls in this quest to make a homemade toaster, which I expected. However, apparently the last 25% or so of the book, what I would call the what have you learned Dorothy? section, is an environmentalist rant attacking the various industries and processes that result in a cheap toaster.
Mr. Thwaites, no doubt, would probably be displeased to discover that I've attacked his book without having actually read it. However, I would hope that as he sits in his cozy hut, eyes streaming and lungs wheezing, toasting homemade bread made of wheat he grew himself over an open fire, that he would find it in his heart to forgive me.
Economics: As I've written before, economics is one of the many subjects that I find interesting and that I study in a dilettantish, superficial sort of way...
[Marie-Louise just whispered in my ear that I shouldn't be so hard on myself. She says that I should explain to my gentlereaders that I'm just trying to be a big picture person in an age of specialists. That I try to serve them by surfing the ocean of information we're all trying to avoid drowning in while we try to make it back to the beach. That sounds kind of pompous though, so I'm not going to bring it up.]
But a couple of professional scholars (which I guess makes them the opposite of a dilettante like myself), Anthony Randazzo and Jonathan Haidt have done a study of professional scholars that specialize in economics, that is, economists. They concluded that these social "scientists" look at the facts they collect (the studies that they did, the source of the statistics they love to quote) then interpret them based on what they think is moral and ethical. Which ain't science.
Which is why when you hear the phrase, or some version of it, "Most economists agree...", if your bonkercockie detector doesn't immediately go off you should have it recalibrated.
The Donald v. the Billary: Yes, the Billary. You get two for the price of one. As you're no doubt aware, or can easily confirm if you're not, those two have been a beast with two backs for decades. Of course, it's a matter of speculation as to whether... nevermind. I don't support either the Donald or the Billary. Let me rephrase, I don't support the Donald or the Hilliam. Hilliam just popped into my head, and it sounds funnier I think.Yes, definitely, the Hilliam it is.
My lack of support is not based on their political positions, which seem to be quite flexible anyway. It's based on what kind of people they seem to be.
The Donald. The Donald is on his third trophy wife and while it's not for me to judge, him or anyone else, I personally find that creepy. I'm a dude, dude. I get it. All men are pigs, we're wired that way. I'm also an old dude, and though I risk being tossed out the Old Dudes club for being a traitor, trust me on this. While (in most cases) the raging forest fire of passion is now a relatively easily managed, well-maintained blaze in a nice fireplace, we're as aware of attractive, young women as we were when we were young. Perhaps even more so since for most of us they are out of reach. DNA never stops trying to replicate itself.
However, that doesn't mean you have to surrender to biology just because you can. Particularly when you'll be pooping on other people's lives, like your kids for example. As I say, I try not to judge. Marriage is hard, and complicated, and private. The wife might be as anxious to flee as the husband. But then you do it again? And the third wife is 24 years younger than you, and only seven years older than your oldest son? It could be love I guess, it's still creepy.
As to the Hilliam, well, books have been written about how they somehow keep just missing being dragged off to the guillotine, so I'll limit myself to the subject of Bill the documented horndog.
Ladies, suppose you had spent years helping to cover up for a man who thought nothing of cheating on you as you both clawed your way up the political ladder (if confused google the phrase, "bimbo eruptions"). Suppose you made it all the way to the White House anyway and he got caught, once again, and this time, everyone on Earth was aware of it, along with some of the gory details.
Suppose he went on TV and looked the world in the eye, and sincerely lied his ass off. Would you not only stick with him, would you tell the world it was all just a vast right wing conspiracy? Should someone who wants power that badly even be allowed to run the PTA?
©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.
Saturday, May 21, 2016
Saturday, May 14, 2016
King Crank Saves America
I don't know who will be the next president. I don't know if the Republicrats or the Depublicans or neither (I can dream can't I?) will be in control of congress come Wednesday 11.9.16. I do know two things, however. Everyone will agree as they do right now, and as they have for years, that our tax code is a bloated, complicated mess and that we need to decide what to do about our southern border problems.
I know one other thing as well. Odds are nothing will actually be done about either problem.
[Oh yeah smarty-pants, and what exactly would YOU do to fix...]
Forgive me for cutting you off imaginary gentlereader, but I know exactly what I'd do. And I will, when I become king.
First, the tax code. When I become king I will solve this with one simple decree. First, I'll abolish the current code and the IRS. This will create some unemployment in the Tax Compliance Industrial Complex sector but a king's gotta' do what a king's gotta' do, for his subjects as well as his realm. I would then reveal the exact percentage of my flat tax, a number that I would decide on based on a single, relatively brief meeting with my economic advisors after giving them a few days to fight among themselves.
There are no exemptions. Whatever you actually make will be multiplied by a given percentage, and that's what you will pay.
If, at the end of the first year of the new program (during which current programs will remain in force), if you have made less than an amount to be determined each year by my advisors and I that's determined by the state of the economy, you will get your money back, plus, a payment that will also be determined by me and my economic advisors. This lump sum will be just enough to meet certain minimal standards for getting by. You will have to budget so it lasts. If you get a raise, a better job, win the lottery, etc., in the course of the next year, good for you, it's still your money.
When you file your taxes the following year you won't be tossed off a cliff because you're doing better and hit an arbitrary number, your supplement will just be cut back accordingly. There will be a ceiling though, above which there is no more income supplementation. You'll be motivated to do as well as you can because you won't be able to live high on the hog via your supplement.
Big But...
How you spend money is up to you, but if you throw it away on recreational pharmaceuticals or ginormous televisions, that's your problem. WIC, food stamps, Section 8 housing, etc., all gone -- along with the gubmint or Gubmint employees that dole out the goodies if you kiss their butts and fill out all the right forms. You'll spend your dough, carefully, 'cause it's yours, in the free market. Nobody needs to know who's getting supplemented and who ain't. Everyone will know that no one that is will be living the high life, and will have to work just as hard as everyone else to get ahead.
The only further help available from your Gubmint will be an emergency plan that places you and yours in shelters run by a private, government-subsidized charities, or, will subsidize moving in with friends or family. If neither of these options sounds attractive, good, I'm sure you'll do all you can to get back on your feet as quickly as possible.
If you support kids you will receive a larger amount than a single person. However, your Gubmint will only help with up to two children per custodial parent. In other words, you can make all the babies you want -- if you're prepared to support them. However, you won't receive any additional money for having more kids than that. You will receive enough money to keep you and your kids fed, clothed and sheltered, but you won't get enough to live all that well. You had better give some thought to how you're going to support your kids before reproducing.
If you're born, or become, disabled, you will be taken care of, and we're going to redesign the safety net from scratch. If you're genuinely disabled (warning: subject to random verification) we will graciously provide a level of care that will be the envy of all those countries that also envy our unprecedented level of prosperity. We'll do all that we can to harness the power of the free market and the states will be encouraged to experiment to come up with what actually works without taking away people's dignity.
As to those of you that revel in your self-assigned role as a professional victim and/or those who make a living encouraging/creating such thinking -- Bonkercockie! This is America, we take care of our own, but we insist that everyone do what they can to take care of themselves, this is the price of freedom. And as your king, I would point out to those of you that don't think any of this is your problem, three things. You may be a sociopath. You may need help someday. Finally, one of these people you would ignore might someday jump out from behind a rock and gleefully cut your throat. Hunger makes people cranky.
As to our southern border, I'm going to order that Mexico be annexed to the USA. I hope our new citizens acquiesce willingly but I'm prepared to order an invasion if necessary. I know there would be casualties but who fights nicer, more politically correct wars than we do?
BAM! Just like that, most of our illegal immigrants, or undocumented aliens, or whatever we're calling them this week, turn out to just be people that were ahead of their time. Many of them for decades. Step two, round up the rest, a much more manageable task at this point, after we decide what we're going to do with them. Personally, I'd forgive anyone that did have a job and didn't have a criminal record, but I'll leave that up to the Congress. As I've mentioned in the past, I'll be a benevolent monarch. If Congress decides on mass deportations to satisfy the immigrationally righteous among us, so be it. I'm sure all of the innocent kids that will be affected by this will be fine, eventually.
Yes, I realize we also need to address our immigration policies as concerns the rest of the planet, and I'll get into that at a later date. Right now though, everyone's obsessed with the Mexican border particularly a certain follicly challenged Republicrat intent on building a magical 2,000-mile long wall that can't be tunneled under, flown over, or simply gone around via any number of routes.
While annexation is a somewhat radical step I stand by my past pledges to be a benevolent tyrant that interferes with my subjects lives and current political arrangements as little as possible. But I'm prepared to act whenever stalemates are holding us back and this is such a situation.
Rationalization: While Mexico had no shortage of problems before becoming America's dealer, it's our appetite for drugs that created and fuels this industry and has made things in the entire hemisphere dramatically worse. They've been around as long as us, right next door, but somehow managed to remain a sorta/kinda third world country anyway. Which was fine. But since our appetite for party drugs has created the cartels to supply our demand, we owe it to them to make them part of the good ol' USA. Right?
Even the eventual, inevitable legalization of weed is proving to be a lengthy, tedious and expensive undertaking and no shortage of folks still stand in opposition, so, let's annex Mexico in the meantime. Long run, we should go all the way to the Panama canal -- baby steps.
Think about it. Mexico's southern border is only 540 miles long. We can continue Prohibition, but save some money and perhaps a few lives, all without shutting down the Drug Enforcement Industrial Complex too quickly, which would be a hit to the economy.
They've got oil. They have great food. They have access to two oceans just like us. They have warm winters. Imagine the ever growing horde of American geezers and geezerettes descending on Mexico every winter; snowbirds have money or they wouldn't be snowbirds. They would help the Mexican economy catch up with the rest of New America by flooding thecountry the new states with cash. They would also serve as cultural integrators for both formerly separate countries.
The world in general, and Mexico in particular, would pitch a bitch -- at first. But think about it. Did we, as in the world, do much more than bluster when Vlad the Bully took a bite out of Ukraine? Or when he jumped-in in Syria? "Not to worry Bashar, your brother bully's got your back baby!"
Talking point: The new millennial Czar is the same as an old school Tsar. America, on the other hand, sets people free and turns them into consumers.
Win -- win, baby.
Oh, I almost forgot, the healthcare mess that the Depublicans made worse and that the Republicrats don't seem to have a clue how to fix. If you click on my Links tab you'll find a short YouTube video that explains how Singapore solved the problem and provides cheaper and better healthcare than we do.
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.
I know one other thing as well. Odds are nothing will actually be done about either problem.
[Oh yeah smarty-pants, and what exactly would YOU do to fix...]
Forgive me for cutting you off imaginary gentlereader, but I know exactly what I'd do. And I will, when I become king.
First, the tax code. When I become king I will solve this with one simple decree. First, I'll abolish the current code and the IRS. This will create some unemployment in the Tax Compliance Industrial Complex sector but a king's gotta' do what a king's gotta' do, for his subjects as well as his realm. I would then reveal the exact percentage of my flat tax, a number that I would decide on based on a single, relatively brief meeting with my economic advisors after giving them a few days to fight among themselves.
There are no exemptions. Whatever you actually make will be multiplied by a given percentage, and that's what you will pay.
If, at the end of the first year of the new program (during which current programs will remain in force), if you have made less than an amount to be determined each year by my advisors and I that's determined by the state of the economy, you will get your money back, plus, a payment that will also be determined by me and my economic advisors. This lump sum will be just enough to meet certain minimal standards for getting by. You will have to budget so it lasts. If you get a raise, a better job, win the lottery, etc., in the course of the next year, good for you, it's still your money.
When you file your taxes the following year you won't be tossed off a cliff because you're doing better and hit an arbitrary number, your supplement will just be cut back accordingly. There will be a ceiling though, above which there is no more income supplementation. You'll be motivated to do as well as you can because you won't be able to live high on the hog via your supplement.
Big But...
How you spend money is up to you, but if you throw it away on recreational pharmaceuticals or ginormous televisions, that's your problem. WIC, food stamps, Section 8 housing, etc., all gone -- along with the gubmint or Gubmint employees that dole out the goodies if you kiss their butts and fill out all the right forms. You'll spend your dough, carefully, 'cause it's yours, in the free market. Nobody needs to know who's getting supplemented and who ain't. Everyone will know that no one that is will be living the high life, and will have to work just as hard as everyone else to get ahead.
The only further help available from your Gubmint will be an emergency plan that places you and yours in shelters run by a private, government-subsidized charities, or, will subsidize moving in with friends or family. If neither of these options sounds attractive, good, I'm sure you'll do all you can to get back on your feet as quickly as possible.
If you support kids you will receive a larger amount than a single person. However, your Gubmint will only help with up to two children per custodial parent. In other words, you can make all the babies you want -- if you're prepared to support them. However, you won't receive any additional money for having more kids than that. You will receive enough money to keep you and your kids fed, clothed and sheltered, but you won't get enough to live all that well. You had better give some thought to how you're going to support your kids before reproducing.
If you're born, or become, disabled, you will be taken care of, and we're going to redesign the safety net from scratch. If you're genuinely disabled (warning: subject to random verification) we will graciously provide a level of care that will be the envy of all those countries that also envy our unprecedented level of prosperity. We'll do all that we can to harness the power of the free market and the states will be encouraged to experiment to come up with what actually works without taking away people's dignity.
As to those of you that revel in your self-assigned role as a professional victim and/or those who make a living encouraging/creating such thinking -- Bonkercockie! This is America, we take care of our own, but we insist that everyone do what they can to take care of themselves, this is the price of freedom. And as your king, I would point out to those of you that don't think any of this is your problem, three things. You may be a sociopath. You may need help someday. Finally, one of these people you would ignore might someday jump out from behind a rock and gleefully cut your throat. Hunger makes people cranky.
As to our southern border, I'm going to order that Mexico be annexed to the USA. I hope our new citizens acquiesce willingly but I'm prepared to order an invasion if necessary. I know there would be casualties but who fights nicer, more politically correct wars than we do?
BAM! Just like that, most of our illegal immigrants, or undocumented aliens, or whatever we're calling them this week, turn out to just be people that were ahead of their time. Many of them for decades. Step two, round up the rest, a much more manageable task at this point, after we decide what we're going to do with them. Personally, I'd forgive anyone that did have a job and didn't have a criminal record, but I'll leave that up to the Congress. As I've mentioned in the past, I'll be a benevolent monarch. If Congress decides on mass deportations to satisfy the immigrationally righteous among us, so be it. I'm sure all of the innocent kids that will be affected by this will be fine, eventually.
Yes, I realize we also need to address our immigration policies as concerns the rest of the planet, and I'll get into that at a later date. Right now though, everyone's obsessed with the Mexican border particularly a certain follicly challenged Republicrat intent on building a magical 2,000-mile long wall that can't be tunneled under, flown over, or simply gone around via any number of routes.
While annexation is a somewhat radical step I stand by my past pledges to be a benevolent tyrant that interferes with my subjects lives and current political arrangements as little as possible. But I'm prepared to act whenever stalemates are holding us back and this is such a situation.
Rationalization: While Mexico had no shortage of problems before becoming America's dealer, it's our appetite for drugs that created and fuels this industry and has made things in the entire hemisphere dramatically worse. They've been around as long as us, right next door, but somehow managed to remain a sorta/kinda third world country anyway. Which was fine. But since our appetite for party drugs has created the cartels to supply our demand, we owe it to them to make them part of the good ol' USA. Right?
Even the eventual, inevitable legalization of weed is proving to be a lengthy, tedious and expensive undertaking and no shortage of folks still stand in opposition, so, let's annex Mexico in the meantime. Long run, we should go all the way to the Panama canal -- baby steps.
Think about it. Mexico's southern border is only 540 miles long. We can continue Prohibition, but save some money and perhaps a few lives, all without shutting down the Drug Enforcement Industrial Complex too quickly, which would be a hit to the economy.
They've got oil. They have great food. They have access to two oceans just like us. They have warm winters. Imagine the ever growing horde of American geezers and geezerettes descending on Mexico every winter; snowbirds have money or they wouldn't be snowbirds. They would help the Mexican economy catch up with the rest of New America by flooding the
The world in general, and Mexico in particular, would pitch a bitch -- at first. But think about it. Did we, as in the world, do much more than bluster when Vlad the Bully took a bite out of Ukraine? Or when he jumped-in in Syria? "Not to worry Bashar, your brother bully's got your back baby!"
Talking point: The new millennial Czar is the same as an old school Tsar. America, on the other hand, sets people free and turns them into consumers.
Win -- win, baby.
Oh, I almost forgot, the healthcare mess that the Depublicans made worse and that the Republicrats don't seem to have a clue how to fix. If you click on my Links tab you'll find a short YouTube video that explains how Singapore solved the problem and provides cheaper and better healthcare than we do.
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.
Saturday, May 7, 2016
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
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
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.
Sunday, May 1, 2016
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.
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.
Saturday, April 30, 2016
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.
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.
Saturday, April 23, 2016
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.
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.
Saturday, April 16, 2016
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.
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,
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)