Dear (eventual) grandstickies and great-grandstickies,
I am not a drunk or a druggie, nor do I play one on TV. I was a sorta/kinda (weed smoking) druggie when I was a twenty-something sorta/kinda hippie with a job.
I didn't define myself as a druggie at the time. To me, druggies were people that dabbled in, or were hooked on, addictive substances. I also didn't/don't care for people that liked/like to get roaring drunk. Not pleasantly buzzed, roaring drunk. Drunks and druggies were/are, often as not Jekyll-Hydes, people who become their own evil twin when they ingest their recreational pharmaceutical of choice.
Not me and my buds, pun intended. We were cool. Yeah, we smoked weed, but we weren't addicts, we weren't alcoholics, we had jobs.
In retrospect, I freely admit that I was a callowyute for far too long. Most of the friends I didn't go to college with couldn't get married/mortgaged/reproduced fast enough and become hipper, Depublican/Republicrat voting versions of their parents once they got their degree. Revolution? what revolution? That's kid stuff, grow up!
Maybe later. I...
[Aside for historical context: This was the early seventies when all that stuff you've heard about the late sixties was still going on but had begun to fade. The revolution mentioned above, with the exception of the relatively small handful of maroons committed to actually blowing stuff up, was a vague, ill-defined thing. It was a pampered, self-indulgent baby boomers happening to come of age when the cultural consensus collapsed and the threat of death by Vietnam loomed for 19-year-old males (some much more than others) phenomenon.]
Maybe later. I was having too much fun living a very tame version of what I romanticized to be a sex/drugs/rock and roll lifestyle. Get high and do something fun -- like have sex or go to a concert. I wasn't getting high because I was an addict or to cope with my crappy job/life/spouse/children. I was also very lucky in that my lifestyle never led to any legal problems and I had never even heard of AIDS at this point.
In my defense -- weed was way less potent, much cheaper and often hard to come by a thousand years ago. Droughts were common. I went out of my way (successfully) to not reproduce. I believed, and believe, that once you have kids, while selfless sainthood is not required, it mostly is, it's part of the job description. I didn't want that particular job, or a career, at that point in my life -- just a job, so I could pay my own way and live my life.
Truth be told -- I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. So, I figured I might as well enjoy the ride while waiting for instructions. I had two very vague notions. I would eventually meet my soulmate and then, somehow, all would become clear and we would live happily ever after. Or, I would meet my guru and spiritual enlightenment would follow. Maybe both.
[Important aside: The first time I smoked weed I was almost 20 years old. I'm so old that drug use by high school kids was just starting to take off when I was in high school. Drinking was more common but serious partying of any sort was limited to a relatively small minority. Considering that it's now common knowledge that the human brain isn't fully mature until the age of 25 or so, I'm glad I started at what nowadays would be considered a late age. More on this later.]
Eventually, in my late twenties, which coincided with the late seventies, I met and fell in love with a blond girl next door type, a college student. This coincided with Rock n' Roll hitting a wall (pun, once again, intended) that it hasn't been able to break through/climb over/go around since and the fact I was getting bored with being a callowyute and finally starting to grow up.
[Aside for baby boomer gentlereaders: By the way, just because Rock hit a wall, that's no excuse for some of you to still be listening to the same songs, over and over and over again, decades later. I don't mean to hurt anyone's feelings, think of it as one of those things that somebody had to tell you. Think of it as someone meeting you for coffee at an obscure location and gently giving you a heads up about something, for your own good. They'll give you a big, sincere hug and a warm genuine smile when it's time to part ways.
There's all sorts of music out there. I highly recommend jazz. If you would prefer to maintain your rock/pop sensibility you might think about trying to find some time to go exploring. Even if you prefer to stick with the old stuff, the "hits" were from entire albums of songs you may have never heard. Admit it, you've thought about this. Now, if you could only find the time...]
And we're back. I spent about three years in a grup with a life, wife, and 2.5 kids training program. Many requirements had to be met in order to qualify and get promoted to adulthood. In the end, she changed her mind and ran my application, and my heart, through a paper shredder. She said she was sorry. No soul mate or a guru. That sure sucked sweaty socks.
When I came to I found myself managing a fleet of ice cream trucks in Texas. One day I hired a woman to drive one of the trucks who, in short order, became my wife. She came pre-equipped with a daughter. Hey! look at me, I'm a grup! Well, more or less.
[Uh-huh. Um, is there a point you're trying to make Poppa? Sheesh, it would seem that I not only have an imaginary gentle reader and a muse living in my head, now I've got to deal with an imaginary grandsticky/great-grandsticky. For the record, my grandstickies are real, but I'm addressing them as a group and writing to them as though they won't be reading this until 20 years into the future. Please see last week's column, Sea Change. The great-grandstickies aren't here yet. So, the imaginary grandsticky is a stand in for a group of people, some of whom don't exist yet. Man, this is getting complicated.
Oh for the love of God! exclaims Dana, my imaginary gentlereader. Marie-Louise, my muse, is giggling.]
Calm down everyone. OK, listen, first some literary housekeeping. No, poppa is not misspelled. Both papa and poppa are authorized by the language police. I prefer poppa because papa looks like it should be pronounced paah-paah. Poppa -- pops. When I'm king, I will correct this situation and delete, or at least imperially frown upon, the word papa. Poppa is what my grandstickies (grandkids) call me. Please see my websites glossary for more information.
Second, sorry, I've got to go. I'm already well over my theoretical 1,000-word limit. (A snort of frustration followed by angry footsteps and the sound of a door slam. Dana has left the column.) Hey, it's not my fault that attention spans have been reduced to the point that 500 words without pictures is considered long-form writing, I'm trying to build an audience so I can quit my soul-sucking day job. Poppa loves you. To be continued...
Have an OK day.
.
Saturday, December 31, 2016
Saturday, December 24, 2016
Sea Change
Interesting phrase, sea change, also rendered as seachange, sea-change and Sea Change. Credited to Shakespeare who used it in The Tempest to describe changes wrought by the sea on a drowned man. Nowadays it's usually used to describe a dramatic change in this, that or the other but it can also refer to a gradual change that eventually produces unexpected results somewhat different than those originally intended. Life's like that, methinks, sayeth the Crank, clearly (hopefully) temporarily deranged by the Shakespeare reference.
I've deployed it for two reasons. Firstly (which ain't Shakespearean but sounds like it) I've never had occasion to use the phrase/word before but I've been waiting for a chance just because it's cool, well, at least I think so. Forgive me, gentlereaders and (eventual) grandstickies and great-grandstickies, if your reaction to the previous statement is one of dubiety (another word, recently discovered, that I've been itching to use and that means exactly what you think it does). I'll stop now.
The other reason is thathenceforth from now most of my weekly columns will be addressed directly to my (eventual) grandstickies and great-grandstickies, although I will continue to be putenem out there for the general public. Also, I will continue to speak directly to my gentlereaders and to give voice to my muse, as well as some other individuals that live in my head, via my wildly entertaining and world famous asides.
[Clarification: The previous paragraph has nothing to do with general August Public, the little-known Revolutionary war hero and favorite son of the tiny English hamlet of Putenem-upon-Ditch, his boyhood home before his family emigrated to the American colonies in search of liberty and um, debt relief.]
Now, in light of the fact that three recent columns have been directly addressed to my (eventual) grandstickies and great-grandstickies, one could make a plausible argument this may not qualify as a sea-change. And, after all, the Stickies are mentioned early on in the Read This First Please introduction tab on my website where they, as well as my daughter and son-in-law, are credited as the inspiration for this blog.
[Policy Update: I have decided that it's not pretentious to use the word one rather than the word you occasionally and going forward I'll be using them both. Which one gets chosen will depend on which one sounds or feels right, rather than which one is technically correct. This is a general policy, that sound and feel trumps technically correct, for all of my feeble scribbles. Also, although I am King Crank, and if this country should ever come to its senses I will be the King of America, I will continue to be I, never we, for I am a benevolent tyrant.]
However, seachange works because I confess that the primary reason I've generated a weekly column for almost a year and a half in spite of occasionally not feeling the least bit motivated, and in spite of the fact that the income generated by my efforts is laughable, was the hope that I might break through the babble of billions of bloggers, go viral, make a deal (honey, get the Donald on the phone), and quit my day job.
Still is.
BIG BUT.
It's also true that when I finish the rare column that I'm (well, more or less anyway) happy with I am a very happy camper. It's also true that I enjoy writing enough to keep on with it despite the fact it hasn't yet provided the key to happiness, earned success (1). It's also true that even if I were to drop dead one day soon I would do so content that I had made the effort to pass along some observations and hard learned lessons, however limited in scope and utility, to my beloved Stickies. Even the ones that aren't here yet.
And.
Since I'm technically 63 years old (though just 39 in all the ways that count) and since my sell by date (statistically speaking) is less than 20 years away, and could be tomorrow...
...I shall soldier on (another cool phrase I've always wanted to use) and I've decided that going forward, my column will primarily be a weekly letter to the (eventual) Stickies, that is, the existing Stickies future, mature selves, and their yet to be conceived children --my (eventual) grandstickies, and great-grandstickies. I shall write each column as if it's a letter to be placed in a virtual vault of some sort that will not permit a given column to be read, by them, until 20 years after I've published it to the web.
Pretending to write to/for someone(s) that will not see my shtuff until 20 years from now provides a framework and perspective that I find appealing. Gentlereaders are, of course, are encouraged to not only eavesdrop in the interim but also to share my correspondence with whoever they think might find it interesting.
Finally, some shtuff (there will be more in future columns) about your friendly neighborhood cranks policies and procedures. If you've been here before and/or if you come back. you may have or will notice a general absence of what used to be called profanity. Nowadays, particularly on the web, it's frequently not called anything, it's just how people talk.
I consciously choose to use it sparingly in my writing (more frequently in real life) for two reasons. First, George Carlin was wrong, words are not just words. Context -- who you're trying to communicate with and what you're trying to communicate -- is vitally important. (WARNING:
Run on sentence ahead.) I use the word shtuff (shit + stuff) rather than shit when I'm writing to be (in a lame fashion) funny, to be unique, to try and make a point without offending certain people (but I'm prepared to be offensive if I think it's necessary), and to give the word stuff more power.
Second, when words are just words, powerful words become lame words, beautiful words become ugly words. A delicious salad of words is reduced to the worst salad you ever had in a hospital cafeteria. Like what passes for art in many circles in these strange times, shocking rules, until it doesn't, because once there's nothing left to rebel against, everything is just, well, shit.
Have an OK Day
(1) The Secret of Happiness
I've deployed it for two reasons. Firstly (which ain't Shakespearean but sounds like it) I've never had occasion to use the phrase/word before but I've been waiting for a chance just because it's cool, well, at least I think so. Forgive me, gentlereaders and (eventual) grandstickies and great-grandstickies, if your reaction to the previous statement is one of dubiety (another word, recently discovered, that I've been itching to use and that means exactly what you think it does). I'll stop now.
The other reason is that
[Clarification: The previous paragraph has nothing to do with general August Public, the little-known Revolutionary war hero and favorite son of the tiny English hamlet of Putenem-upon-Ditch, his boyhood home before his family emigrated to the American colonies in search of liberty and um, debt relief.]
Now, in light of the fact that three recent columns have been directly addressed to my (eventual) grandstickies and great-grandstickies, one could make a plausible argument this may not qualify as a sea-change. And, after all, the Stickies are mentioned early on in the Read This First Please introduction tab on my website where they, as well as my daughter and son-in-law, are credited as the inspiration for this blog.
[Policy Update: I have decided that it's not pretentious to use the word one rather than the word you occasionally and going forward I'll be using them both. Which one gets chosen will depend on which one sounds or feels right, rather than which one is technically correct. This is a general policy, that sound and feel trumps technically correct, for all of my feeble scribbles. Also, although I am King Crank, and if this country should ever come to its senses I will be the King of America, I will continue to be I, never we, for I am a benevolent tyrant.]
However, seachange works because I confess that the primary reason I've generated a weekly column for almost a year and a half in spite of occasionally not feeling the least bit motivated, and in spite of the fact that the income generated by my efforts is laughable, was the hope that I might break through the babble of billions of bloggers, go viral, make a deal (honey, get the Donald on the phone), and quit my day job.
Still is.
BIG BUT.
It's also true that when I finish the rare column that I'm (well, more or less anyway) happy with I am a very happy camper. It's also true that I enjoy writing enough to keep on with it despite the fact it hasn't yet provided the key to happiness, earned success (1). It's also true that even if I were to drop dead one day soon I would do so content that I had made the effort to pass along some observations and hard learned lessons, however limited in scope and utility, to my beloved Stickies. Even the ones that aren't here yet.
And.
Since I'm technically 63 years old (though just 39 in all the ways that count) and since my sell by date (statistically speaking) is less than 20 years away, and could be tomorrow...
...I shall soldier on (another cool phrase I've always wanted to use) and I've decided that going forward, my column will primarily be a weekly letter to the (eventual) Stickies, that is, the existing Stickies future, mature selves, and their yet to be conceived children --my (eventual) grandstickies, and great-grandstickies. I shall write each column as if it's a letter to be placed in a virtual vault of some sort that will not permit a given column to be read, by them, until 20 years after I've published it to the web.
Pretending to write to/for someone(s) that will not see my shtuff until 20 years from now provides a framework and perspective that I find appealing. Gentlereaders are, of course, are encouraged to not only eavesdrop in the interim but also to share my correspondence with whoever they think might find it interesting.
Finally, some shtuff (there will be more in future columns) about your friendly neighborhood cranks policies and procedures. If you've been here before and/or if you come back. you may have or will notice a general absence of what used to be called profanity. Nowadays, particularly on the web, it's frequently not called anything, it's just how people talk.
I consciously choose to use it sparingly in my writing (more frequently in real life) for two reasons. First, George Carlin was wrong, words are not just words. Context -- who you're trying to communicate with and what you're trying to communicate -- is vitally important. (WARNING:
Run on sentence ahead.) I use the word shtuff (shit + stuff) rather than shit when I'm writing to be (in a lame fashion) funny, to be unique, to try and make a point without offending certain people (but I'm prepared to be offensive if I think it's necessary), and to give the word stuff more power.
Second, when words are just words, powerful words become lame words, beautiful words become ugly words. A delicious salad of words is reduced to the worst salad you ever had in a hospital cafeteria. Like what passes for art in many circles in these strange times, shocking rules, until it doesn't, because once there's nothing left to rebel against, everything is just, well, shit.
Have an OK Day
(1) The Secret of Happiness
Saturday, December 17, 2016
The History of the World, Part Eight
Since it's been (accidentally, sorry) awhile since part seven gentlereaders, a quick review would seem to be called for. According to the lopsided way King Crank looks at world history: H. sapiens won the real hunger games, rose to the top of the food chain, and established various and sundry civilizations.
Let's jump in the WAYBAC machine and return to part two.
Next, depending on how you look at it, an awful lot of history happened, or, a few things happened over and over again and once in a great, great while something really cool happened. Kind of like the life of the modern day average Joe/Joan Bagadonuts, but much more violent.
Let's jump in the WAYBAC machine and return to part two.
Next, depending on how you look at it, an awful lot of history happened, or, a few things happened over and over again and once in a great, great while something really cool happened. Kind of like the life of the modern day average Joe/Joan Bagadonuts, but much more violent.
They attacked us or we attacked them in the name of cash, conquest, revenge, God, the gods, hunger, honor, slaves et cetera. Fortunately, God was on our side or it would have been even worse. As Thomas Hobbes pointed out, life is indeed, “...solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.” Mr. H. was arguing that this is the natural state of man (he was right) and that’s why we need an all-powerful ruler to keep us on the straight and narrow (he was wrong, but we do need some form of gubmint). That way we can direct our energies to defend our playground and/or slaughtering them instead of each other.
Once in awhile, peace would break out but Mother Nature provides us with a way to stave off boredom and complacency, natural disasters and disease.
This is how things rolled most days in most places. Why? Well, it’s either because we’re naked apes living in a dangerous world, or, someone screwed up the paradise we were provided with by God and he’s still mad (details depend on which creation myth you subscribe to). It wasn’t all bad though. Once in awhile Joe or Joan B. was fortunate enough to have an actual boring day. Also, as mentioned above, once in a great, great while, something truly cool happened."
Next, we jump ahead to part three.
... . In 1776 the world caught a major break.
In Great Britain's North American colonies a bunch of folks got together and invented the United States of America. In Scotland, Adam Smith published The Wealth of Nations, invented modern economics, and taught the world how free markets would eventually lead to the need for a weight loss industry. These two events occurred while the industrial revolution was picking up steam. A trifecta!
And then, everyone lived happily ever after.
The End
Well, not exactly. Naked apes will be naked apes after all. Mother Nature loves all her children equally, from deadly pathogens to would be Mother Theresas. Thomas Hobbes famous observation about the nature of life on Earth -- that it tends to be solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short -- continued, and continues, to be true.
For example, the same America that often claims to be the world's oldest democracy (if you go a-googling you will find this factoid disputed by many) didn't get around to outlawing slavery until nearly a hundred years after formally declaring that it was obvious that all men, well, white males anyway, are created equal. It took even longer to acknowledge that the ladies aren't chattel.
Even then, we had to go to war with each other to make it happen. Even then, Jim Crow laws, literally or figuratively, remained in effect for another 100 years. Even now, we still have a handful (relatively speaking) of maroons in this country that think race predetermines an individual's character.
[Gentlereaders, an aside, 'cause that's how I roll. Not so fun fact: According to this PBS website (1) if the American Civil War was fought today and the same percentage of the population (2.5%) were killed, 7,000,000 people would be deleated.]
Even then... (insert your favorite crappy thing that someone, or several someones, did to someone else, or several someone elses in the last couple of hundred years, here).
Now, no matter what you believe, or who you blame, or what you think should be done, life on Earth is, as they say, is what it is -- always has been, and probably always will be. As to potential utopias, or heaven, or advanced civilizations from other planets, etc. -- I have little interest, less knowledge. My focus is on what's best for the most during the blink of an eye we call a lifetime.
Deidre McCloskey figured it out. About two hundred years ago, certain people in certain places discovered that free people + free markets + "Humanomics" (2) = unprecedented prosperity. The modern era was born. The old normal, thousands of years of a handful of kings and clerics in charge and almost everyone else a virtual or actual slave, began to die off.
The American and the Industrial Revolutions, combined with the economic revolution embodied in the concept of free trade will, long after we're all dead, be considered as important as the invention of agriculture.
But I'm not a nationalist, a little nationalism is necessary and healthy, a lot is tacky. I'm a gratitudalist. I believe that in spite of our many flaws and historical sins that the USA is (arguably, and at least for now) about as good as it gets. I'm grateful, as I did nothing to earn this, I just had the dumb luck to be born here.
Of course, that doesn't mean that the prosperity, freedom, and obesity epidemic that we take for granted in the USA, and that has taken hold to one degree or another elsewhere, will last. Some local version of Putin, or one of his Darth Vaderish ilk, might someday manage to take over the country and go all Orwellian on our pampered asses.
We live in gut-wrenching scary times. We live in a nation that has lost its cultural consensus in a world that's never had one. We're awash in information, good and bad. The digital revolutions daily disruptions are as likely to generate high anxiety as high expectations.
H. sapiens are what they are, and though they have, and continue, to evolve, all you and I actually have is this moment, now this one, now this one... Deep breath, savor what you have, stop fussing about what you don't. If your life sucks sweaty socks just now, know that it could be worse and that if you wait it out, it might get better. It always stops raining eventually.
Resolve to be kind. You don't have to like the other kids on the playground but you need to get along with them for everyone to get a chance on the swings.
Have an OK day.
(1) PBS -- The Civil War By the Numbers
(2) Humanomics
This is how things rolled most days in most places. Why? Well, it’s either because we’re naked apes living in a dangerous world, or, someone screwed up the paradise we were provided with by God and he’s still mad (details depend on which creation myth you subscribe to). It wasn’t all bad though. Once in awhile Joe or Joan B. was fortunate enough to have an actual boring day. Also, as mentioned above, once in a great, great while, something truly cool happened."
Next, we jump ahead to part three.
... . In 1776 the world caught a major break.
In Great Britain's North American colonies a bunch of folks got together and invented the United States of America. In Scotland, Adam Smith published The Wealth of Nations, invented modern economics, and taught the world how free markets would eventually lead to the need for a weight loss industry. These two events occurred while the industrial revolution was picking up steam. A trifecta!
And then, everyone lived happily ever after.
The End
Well, not exactly. Naked apes will be naked apes after all. Mother Nature loves all her children equally, from deadly pathogens to would be Mother Theresas. Thomas Hobbes famous observation about the nature of life on Earth -- that it tends to be solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short -- continued, and continues, to be true.
For example, the same America that often claims to be the world's oldest democracy (if you go a-googling you will find this factoid disputed by many) didn't get around to outlawing slavery until nearly a hundred years after formally declaring that it was obvious that all men, well, white males anyway, are created equal. It took even longer to acknowledge that the ladies aren't chattel.
Even then, we had to go to war with each other to make it happen. Even then, Jim Crow laws, literally or figuratively, remained in effect for another 100 years. Even now, we still have a handful (relatively speaking) of maroons in this country that think race predetermines an individual's character.
[Gentlereaders, an aside, 'cause that's how I roll. Not so fun fact: According to this PBS website (1) if the American Civil War was fought today and the same percentage of the population (2.5%) were killed, 7,000,000 people would be deleated.]
Even then... (insert your favorite crappy thing that someone, or several someones, did to someone else, or several someone elses in the last couple of hundred years, here).
Now, no matter what you believe, or who you blame, or what you think should be done, life on Earth is, as they say, is what it is -- always has been, and probably always will be. As to potential utopias, or heaven, or advanced civilizations from other planets, etc. -- I have little interest, less knowledge. My focus is on what's best for the most during the blink of an eye we call a lifetime.
Deidre McCloskey figured it out. About two hundred years ago, certain people in certain places discovered that free people + free markets + "Humanomics" (2) = unprecedented prosperity. The modern era was born. The old normal, thousands of years of a handful of kings and clerics in charge and almost everyone else a virtual or actual slave, began to die off.
The American and the Industrial Revolutions, combined with the economic revolution embodied in the concept of free trade will, long after we're all dead, be considered as important as the invention of agriculture.
But I'm not a nationalist, a little nationalism is necessary and healthy, a lot is tacky. I'm a gratitudalist. I believe that in spite of our many flaws and historical sins that the USA is (arguably, and at least for now) about as good as it gets. I'm grateful, as I did nothing to earn this, I just had the dumb luck to be born here.
Of course, that doesn't mean that the prosperity, freedom, and obesity epidemic that we take for granted in the USA, and that has taken hold to one degree or another elsewhere, will last. Some local version of Putin, or one of his Darth Vaderish ilk, might someday manage to take over the country and go all Orwellian on our pampered asses.
We live in gut-wrenching scary times. We live in a nation that has lost its cultural consensus in a world that's never had one. We're awash in information, good and bad. The digital revolutions daily disruptions are as likely to generate high anxiety as high expectations.
H. sapiens are what they are, and though they have, and continue, to evolve, all you and I actually have is this moment, now this one, now this one... Deep breath, savor what you have, stop fussing about what you don't. If your life sucks sweaty socks just now, know that it could be worse and that if you wait it out, it might get better. It always stops raining eventually.
Resolve to be kind. You don't have to like the other kids on the playground but you need to get along with them for everyone to get a chance on the swings.
Have an OK day.
(1) PBS -- The Civil War By the Numbers
(2) Humanomics
Saturday, December 10, 2016
Dear (Eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies (#3)
Dear (E) G & GG (#3),
As promised, Here is Poppa's take on the recent, unexpected triumph of the Donald.
The Donald won because he's an expert in what I call gut first/brain later. Scott Adams, semi-famous cartoonist, one of my virtual gurus and (like me a perpetual) student of human nature, would say that the Donald grasps that H. Sapiens are meat puppets that react emotionally/instinctively/intuitively to most everything, and then rationalize their behavior afterward.
As Martha Stewart used to say (still says?), it's a good thing, or at least it was. Because...
H. sapiens have spent a lot more time fighting their way to the top of the food chain than they have enjoying the benefits of having won the real hunger games. Visceral reactions are dramatically faster than rational ones. Effective visceral reactions became innate biases because sitting around a cozy fire with the gang and eating -- rather than being eaten -- rocks.
"The press takes him literally, but not seriously; his supporters take him seriously, but not literally."
-Salena Zito
The traditional approach for a dude/dudette seeking to be elected/reelected to a position in The Gubmint, or even just the gubmint, has been to tell enough people what they want to hear and then if elected/reelected doing/saying whatever will get 'em reelected to the same or an even better position. There's an entire industry devoted to helping politicians/would be politicians do this.
BIG BUT.
The Donald, like the other Wizard of Oz, and who may be the best salesman the world has ever seen, understands that the quickest, most effective way to make the sale is by emotional/psychological manipulation. Capture the heart and the customer will invent a justification.
The word manipulation, to me at least, generally has a shady connotation. I use it here in a neutral sort of way. As my late wife, that sadly only one of you will remember, used to say, it's not what you do so much as why you do it. Example: Advertising that guilts you into donating to a worthy, legitimate charity v. advertising that manipulates you into buying a worthless piece of crap.
The customer, in this case, is the American people. The polls tell us that most of us think the country is on the wrong track, and they have for years. In my semi-humble opinion, this is true, because this is the attitude I encounter on a daily basis. What we're fighting over is what path to take and who should be the tour guide.
So, how does a politically (mostly) non-ideological, been there, done that gazillionaire with only one more prize left to win, one more achievement to add to his resume to obtain a sort of virtual/historical immortality become the CEO of the USA?
He turns himself into the political version of a TV wrestling superstar. Most TV wrestling fans over the age of 10 or so, understand it's not real, it's entertainment. They still enjoy it.
Most declared Trumpets understand, to one degree or another, that the Donald deliberately farts in church just to rattle the chains of the fat, smug, complacent church elders who run things primarily for their own benefit. They still enjoy it.
In TV wrestling, or soap operas for that matter, "good"guys persons become "bad" guys persons and back again at the flip of a switch. "Bad" guys persons are often quite popular characters.
America didn't just elect Donald J. Trump president, they elected a character he created, that I call (one of his wives thought it up) the Donald.
The Donald is what you get when the hyper-partisans of the left and right have managed to divide the nation into two roughly equal teams of bitter rivals.
The Donald is what you get when one out of every 15 jobs is a government job and the folks who have given up on finding a job aren't counted as part of the official unemployment rate. The Donald is what you get when millions of people who want full-time work can't get it.
The Donald is what you get when his opponent is a woman whose platform was "I'm a woman, and it's my turn, and I'm gonna' give you all sorts of free shtuff."
The Donald -- with his ever-shifting positions, the occasional lies, the hyperbole, the venom, the midnight tweeting -- is what you get when things are so screwed up America is prepared to take a chance on choosing a president based on the good show he put on.
For now, all we can do is wait and hope, because no one is sure exactly what he's going to do. In the meantime, we get to enjoy watching him torment the people that still take the badguy/crazy person persona literally. I was one, I admit, for a minute or two.
I decided, no hoped, that it was a game prior to the election. But for the record, I didn't vote for him (or her), so if it turns out he is the Hitler of the new millennium, don't blame me.
Have an OK day.
As promised, Here is Poppa's take on the recent, unexpected triumph of the Donald.
The Donald won because he's an expert in what I call gut first/brain later. Scott Adams, semi-famous cartoonist, one of my virtual gurus and (like me a perpetual) student of human nature, would say that the Donald grasps that H. Sapiens are meat puppets that react emotionally/instinctively/intuitively to most everything, and then rationalize their behavior afterward.
As Martha Stewart used to say (still says?), it's a good thing, or at least it was. Because...
H. sapiens have spent a lot more time fighting their way to the top of the food chain than they have enjoying the benefits of having won the real hunger games. Visceral reactions are dramatically faster than rational ones. Effective visceral reactions became innate biases because sitting around a cozy fire with the gang and eating -- rather than being eaten -- rocks.
"The press takes him literally, but not seriously; his supporters take him seriously, but not literally."
-Salena Zito
The traditional approach for a dude/dudette seeking to be elected/reelected to a position in The Gubmint, or even just the gubmint, has been to tell enough people what they want to hear and then if elected/reelected doing/saying whatever will get 'em reelected to the same or an even better position. There's an entire industry devoted to helping politicians/would be politicians do this.
BIG BUT.
The Donald, like the other Wizard of Oz, and who may be the best salesman the world has ever seen, understands that the quickest, most effective way to make the sale is by emotional/psychological manipulation. Capture the heart and the customer will invent a justification.
The word manipulation, to me at least, generally has a shady connotation. I use it here in a neutral sort of way. As my late wife, that sadly only one of you will remember, used to say, it's not what you do so much as why you do it. Example: Advertising that guilts you into donating to a worthy, legitimate charity v. advertising that manipulates you into buying a worthless piece of crap.
The customer, in this case, is the American people. The polls tell us that most of us think the country is on the wrong track, and they have for years. In my semi-humble opinion, this is true, because this is the attitude I encounter on a daily basis. What we're fighting over is what path to take and who should be the tour guide.
So, how does a politically (mostly) non-ideological, been there, done that gazillionaire with only one more prize left to win, one more achievement to add to his resume to obtain a sort of virtual/historical immortality become the CEO of the USA?
He turns himself into the political version of a TV wrestling superstar. Most TV wrestling fans over the age of 10 or so, understand it's not real, it's entertainment. They still enjoy it.
Most declared Trumpets understand, to one degree or another, that the Donald deliberately farts in church just to rattle the chains of the fat, smug, complacent church elders who run things primarily for their own benefit. They still enjoy it.
In TV wrestling, or soap operas for that matter, "good"
America didn't just elect Donald J. Trump president, they elected a character he created, that I call (one of his wives thought it up) the Donald.
The Donald is what you get when the hyper-partisans of the left and right have managed to divide the nation into two roughly equal teams of bitter rivals.
The Donald is what you get when one out of every 15 jobs is a government job and the folks who have given up on finding a job aren't counted as part of the official unemployment rate. The Donald is what you get when millions of people who want full-time work can't get it.
The Donald is what you get when his opponent is a woman whose platform was "I'm a woman, and it's my turn, and I'm gonna' give you all sorts of free shtuff."
The Donald -- with his ever-shifting positions, the occasional lies, the hyperbole, the venom, the midnight tweeting -- is what you get when things are so screwed up America is prepared to take a chance on choosing a president based on the good show he put on.
For now, all we can do is wait and hope, because no one is sure exactly what he's going to do. In the meantime, we get to enjoy watching him torment the people that still take the bad
I decided, no hoped, that it was a game prior to the election. But for the record, I didn't vote for him (or her), so if it turns out he is the Hitler of the new millennium, don't blame me.
Have an OK day.
Saturday, December 3, 2016
Permanent Record Cards
[Gentlereaders, for those of you keeping track, this week was supposed to be the third letter to my (eventual) grandstickies and great-grandstickies. So far, I've been relaying my impressions of the recent presidential reality show and its subsequent aftershocks. I'd planned on discussing why I think the Donald, the Wizard of Oz of the new millennium, won in spite of the fact that most of the members of the infotainment industry who specialize in this sort of thing predicted otherwise.
I tried. But I'm up to here with the nonstop daily speculations, and the speculations about speculations, of the 24-hour news cycle. If George Washington found a way to be transported forward in time to our era I think he would want to know at what point we had decided to switch to an elected monarch, and why. Well, at least we get to pick our king or queen and can fire them in four years.
The reason, of course, for the nonstop daily speculations, and the speculations about speculations, is because The Gubmint is so large, so powerful, and in hock up to Uncle Sam's nose. Not exactly what George and his homies had in mind.
I'll return to the subject of how the Donald pulled it off next week. In the meantime, below is something I wrote a while back about The Gubmint, a business that lives off of The Gubmint, and my adventures in Catholic grade school.
Spoiler: 2,700,000,000.
Begged question: If Mr. Peabody could perfect a WAYBAC machine, did he ever try his paw at going way forward?]
For reasons not worth bothering you with, I googled the phrase, "total number of civilian employees of the US federal government" which, I thought, was the sort of query that was so obvious and straightforward that the answer would not only be the very first hit, Google might even display the number within the first hit, obviating the need to even click on it.
Nope.
The very first hit was a page published by opm.gov. Clicking on it brought up a chart that displayed civilian and military employment numbers from 1962 to 2014. OPM? hmm, I wonder, what that might be? I went to the opm.gov home page and encountered a large and impressive blue and gold banner (that included a shield) for the NATIONAL BACKGROUND INVESTIGATIONS BUREAU.
What!?! Uh-oh, they've finally got me. Sister Mary McGillicuddy wasn't telling a little white lie in an effort to control/motivate the little heathens in her charge. I actually do have a Permanent Record Card, and the NBIC has caught up with me. Well, it was a good run, it took them almostsix four decades to get around to me. They must really have a huge backlog.
I started thinking about all of the sins/transgressions/bad grades/etc. I had accumulated in my 39 years here on Earth. Wait a sec', that's just an ex-Catholic thing. Oh, sorry, those gentlereaders (and my G & G-Gs) that didn't go to an American Catholic grade school prior to when it became possible to be an American Catholic and still believe pretty much whatever you want, this must be confusing.
All through Catholic grade school (my parents couldn't afford the tuition so I don't know if this applied to Catholic high school at the time) we were warned that we had a Permanent Record Card and that it would follow us for the rest of our lives. Our PRC not only contained a detailed listing of all of our grades and such, any given nun or lay-teacher, any given year, had the power to write anything they wanted on our card.
I have an image in my head of a huge, shabby, nondescript warehouse located in a seedy, decayed neighborhood somewhere in inner city Pittsburgh. One of its many large, cavernous rooms contains thousands of dusty file cabinets filled with Permanent Record Cards.
The average potential employer doesn't even know that it exists, or that there are warehouses just like it scattered all over America. But The Gubmint, the gubmints, private detectives (legitimate and otherwise), and the world's espionage agencies know.
After my heart rate and breathing returned to normal and my more or less rational side reasserted itself, I thought, wait a minute, my computer hasn't locked up, powered down, or exploded. No one is crashing through the door screaming, "Get down, everybody down!" like they do on TV. Not so much as even a bogus warning message that terrible things were about to happen if I didn't do as instructed.
Phew! That was embarrassing. Dana, my imaginary gentlereader, and Marie-Louise, my beautiful muse, started giggling and high-fiving each other.
I ignored them and then set out to determine, what exactly is The National Background Investigations Bureau? So, I clicked on the about button of opm.gov and discovered the following.
Vision Statement: "The OPM will become America's model employer for the 21st century." Go big or go home! (or, be vague and relax, there's a lot of years left in the 21st century).
Mission: "Recruit, retain and honor a world-class workforce for the American people"
Ahh! It's The Gubmint's HR department. I'll bet OPM stands for Office of Personnel Management. Okey dokey. Wait a minute... this adventure began when I clicked on opm.gov and the big, scary National Backgrounds Investigation Bureau banner appeared on my screen.
I returned to opm.gov and discovered an < and a > at opposite ends of the big, scary banner. My bad. I started clicking on >s and discovered other banners. This agency must be huge. Well, considering the size of The Gubmint, I guess that makes sense. I went exploring. Oh yeah -- the web pages go on seemingly forever. Not exactly shocking -- been there, done that.
[Update. If you go to opm.gov you will most likely encounter a different first banner than the one I did, they change and rotate them.]
If you've never experienced the joy of wandering around any of the websites published by The Gubmint, pick any -- The Gubmint -- entity you can think of and go a-googling. Tabs will multiply faster than the interest and penalties on an IRS judgment.
Also, you might discover one or more private businesses that depend on The Gubmint teat. For example, on this particular journey, I discovered something called FCW (Federal Computer Week -- I'm not sure exactly how I landed there) which is a weekly magazine that "... provides federal technology executives with the information, ideas, and strategies necessary to successfully navigate the complex world of federal business."
Huh? Well, FCW is owned by the 1105 Government Information Group, and according to themselves, "... is the leading provider of integrated information and media to the government market." They do this via five different publications that specialize in keeping track of what up, in five different sectors of The Gubmint.
[Dana, my imaginary gentlereader speaks. What's yer point? Is there a point to any of this bonkercockie? Oui, ze point please, chimes in Marie-Louise, my muse]
In case you're wondering if I have a point, of course I do, don't I always? -- eventually.
I set out to discover how many civilians work for The Gubmint and discovered that The Gubmint is so huge that a privately owned, for-profit firm exists that makes money by supplying information to employees of The Gubmint -- about The Gubmint.
Where does the money come from? They sell advertising to firms that sell goods and services to -- The Gubmint.
Insert background sounds of a busy bar (murmur, murmur -- clink, clink, etc.) here
"So, where do you work?"
"I write for a publication you've never heard of called Federal Computer Week, its..."
"You must be kidding! Everyone at work is passing around an article from FCW titled, "Government Needs Digital Transformation to Reverse Sliding Satisfaction."
"You're kidding me! a friend of mine did that one. Where do you work?"
And they lived happily ever after.
Have an OK day.
©2016 Mark Mehlmauer
I tried. But I'm up to here with the nonstop daily speculations, and the speculations about speculations, of the 24-hour news cycle. If George Washington found a way to be transported forward in time to our era I think he would want to know at what point we had decided to switch to an elected monarch, and why. Well, at least we get to pick our king or queen and can fire them in four years.
The reason, of course, for the nonstop daily speculations, and the speculations about speculations, is because The Gubmint is so large, so powerful, and in hock up to Uncle Sam's nose. Not exactly what George and his homies had in mind.
I'll return to the subject of how the Donald pulled it off next week. In the meantime, below is something I wrote a while back about The Gubmint, a business that lives off of The Gubmint, and my adventures in Catholic grade school.
Spoiler: 2,700,000,000.
Begged question: If Mr. Peabody could perfect a WAYBAC machine, did he ever try his paw at going way forward?]
For reasons not worth bothering you with, I googled the phrase, "total number of civilian employees of the US federal government" which, I thought, was the sort of query that was so obvious and straightforward that the answer would not only be the very first hit, Google might even display the number within the first hit, obviating the need to even click on it.
Nope.
The very first hit was a page published by opm.gov. Clicking on it brought up a chart that displayed civilian and military employment numbers from 1962 to 2014. OPM? hmm, I wonder, what that might be? I went to the opm.gov home page and encountered a large and impressive blue and gold banner (that included a shield) for the NATIONAL BACKGROUND INVESTIGATIONS BUREAU.
What!?! Uh-oh, they've finally got me. Sister Mary McGillicuddy wasn't telling a little white lie in an effort to control/motivate the little heathens in her charge. I actually do have a Permanent Record Card, and the NBIC has caught up with me. Well, it was a good run, it took them almost
I started thinking about all of the sins/transgressions/bad grades/etc. I had accumulated in my 39 years here on Earth. Wait a sec', that's just an ex-Catholic thing. Oh, sorry, those gentlereaders (and my G & G-Gs) that didn't go to an American Catholic grade school prior to when it became possible to be an American Catholic and still believe pretty much whatever you want, this must be confusing.
All through Catholic grade school (my parents couldn't afford the tuition so I don't know if this applied to Catholic high school at the time) we were warned that we had a Permanent Record Card and that it would follow us for the rest of our lives. Our PRC not only contained a detailed listing of all of our grades and such, any given nun or lay-teacher, any given year, had the power to write anything they wanted on our card.
I have an image in my head of a huge, shabby, nondescript warehouse located in a seedy, decayed neighborhood somewhere in inner city Pittsburgh. One of its many large, cavernous rooms contains thousands of dusty file cabinets filled with Permanent Record Cards.
The average potential employer doesn't even know that it exists, or that there are warehouses just like it scattered all over America. But The Gubmint, the gubmints, private detectives (legitimate and otherwise), and the world's espionage agencies know.
After my heart rate and breathing returned to normal and my more or less rational side reasserted itself, I thought, wait a minute, my computer hasn't locked up, powered down, or exploded. No one is crashing through the door screaming, "Get down, everybody down!" like they do on TV. Not so much as even a bogus warning message that terrible things were about to happen if I didn't do as instructed.
Phew! That was embarrassing. Dana, my imaginary gentlereader, and Marie-Louise, my beautiful muse, started giggling and high-fiving each other.
I ignored them and then set out to determine, what exactly is The National Background Investigations Bureau? So, I clicked on the about button of opm.gov and discovered the following.
Vision Statement: "The OPM will become America's model employer for the 21st century." Go big or go home! (or, be vague and relax, there's a lot of years left in the 21st century).
Mission: "Recruit, retain and honor a world-class workforce for the American people"
Ahh! It's The Gubmint's HR department. I'll bet OPM stands for Office of Personnel Management. Okey dokey. Wait a minute... this adventure began when I clicked on opm.gov and the big, scary National Backgrounds Investigation Bureau banner appeared on my screen.
I returned to opm.gov and discovered an < and a > at opposite ends of the big, scary banner. My bad. I started clicking on >s and discovered other banners. This agency must be huge. Well, considering the size of The Gubmint, I guess that makes sense. I went exploring. Oh yeah -- the web pages go on seemingly forever. Not exactly shocking -- been there, done that.
[Update. If you go to opm.gov you will most likely encounter a different first banner than the one I did, they change and rotate them.]
If you've never experienced the joy of wandering around any of the websites published by The Gubmint, pick any -- The Gubmint -- entity you can think of and go a-googling. Tabs will multiply faster than the interest and penalties on an IRS judgment.
Also, you might discover one or more private businesses that depend on The Gubmint teat. For example, on this particular journey, I discovered something called FCW (Federal Computer Week -- I'm not sure exactly how I landed there) which is a weekly magazine that "... provides federal technology executives with the information, ideas, and strategies necessary to successfully navigate the complex world of federal business."
Huh? Well, FCW is owned by the 1105 Government Information Group, and according to themselves, "... is the leading provider of integrated information and media to the government market." They do this via five different publications that specialize in keeping track of what up, in five different sectors of The Gubmint.
[Dana, my imaginary gentlereader speaks. What's yer point? Is there a point to any of this bonkercockie? Oui, ze point please, chimes in Marie-Louise, my muse]
In case you're wondering if I have a point, of course I do, don't I always? -- eventually.
I set out to discover how many civilians work for The Gubmint and discovered that The Gubmint is so huge that a privately owned, for-profit firm exists that makes money by supplying information to employees of The Gubmint -- about The Gubmint.
Where does the money come from? They sell advertising to firms that sell goods and services to -- The Gubmint.
Insert background sounds of a busy bar (murmur, murmur -- clink, clink, etc.) here
"So, where do you work?"
"I write for a publication you've never heard of called Federal Computer Week, its..."
"You must be kidding! Everyone at work is passing around an article from FCW titled, "Government Needs Digital Transformation to Reverse Sliding Satisfaction."
"You're kidding me! a friend of mine did that one. Where do you work?"
And they lived happily ever after.
Have an OK day.
©2016 Mark Mehlmauer
Saturday, November 26, 2016
The History of the World (Part Seven)
Free Trade: Part Two.
In our last episode, I discussed losing my job because of (ominous musical fanfare): The Great Recession. I pointed out that this was/is, generally speaking, a fact. However, I went on and on (you know how I get...) to demonstrate that specifically speaking, the particular reason was/is hard to pin down.
This is true because if I look at what happened via a big picture view, and strive for objectivity, I can observe any number of seemingly concrete facts. But which particular combination of concrete facts resulted in my losing the last real job I had is nothing more than a best guess. And what about facts that I may be completely unaware of? Sheesh, it would seem that economics, like everything else in life, is mostly just a best guess, based on (hopefully) known facts, and subject to our built-in biases.
Macroeconomists, like all social scientists, are much better at explaining things afterward than in making predictions. Why? variables. Just like the weatherman, they have to deal with myriad known unknowns, and, unknown unknowns. Which is a very fancy way of saying they try and make predictions about systems that are so complex in nature that an educated guess is as good as it gets.
This is why a minimally regulated market works better than a highly regulated market. This is why when you go to the supermarket most of the thousands of competitively priced products they carry are always in stock -- literally millions of specialists pursuing their own self-interest and freely trading with each other. This is why communism and strict versions of socialism don't work, it's physically impossible for politicians and bureaucrats to efficiently do what the market does effortlessly.
If we’re truly free, we’re free to trade. Common sense suggests that both sides in a given transaction are getting something they want out of it or it wouldn’t happen. Life on Earth being what it is, in spite of what we would like it to be, there’s no guarantee the result of a given transaction is going to be completely fair and equitable for both sides. Let the buyer beware, but let the buyer buy, if they want to. Prosecute the weasels, enforce the contracts, read Consumer Reports and ask dad, mom or your dutch uncle what they think. Secure your _______ and jump.
In our last episode, I discussed losing my job because of (ominous musical fanfare): The Great Recession. I pointed out that this was/is, generally speaking, a fact. However, I went on and on (you know how I get...) to demonstrate that specifically speaking, the particular reason was/is hard to pin down.
This is true because if I look at what happened via a big picture view, and strive for objectivity, I can observe any number of seemingly concrete facts. But which particular combination of concrete facts resulted in my losing the last real job I had is nothing more than a best guess. And what about facts that I may be completely unaware of? Sheesh, it would seem that economics, like everything else in life, is mostly just a best guess, based on (hopefully) known facts, and subject to our built-in biases.
Macroeconomists, like all social scientists, are much better at explaining things afterward than in making predictions. Why? variables. Just like the weatherman, they have to deal with myriad known unknowns, and, unknown unknowns. Which is a very fancy way of saying they try and make predictions about systems that are so complex in nature that an educated guess is as good as it gets.
This is why a minimally regulated market works better than a highly regulated market. This is why when you go to the supermarket most of the thousands of competitively priced products they carry are always in stock -- literally millions of specialists pursuing their own self-interest and freely trading with each other. This is why communism and strict versions of socialism don't work, it's physically impossible for politicians and bureaucrats to efficiently do what the market does effortlessly.
If we’re truly free, we’re free to trade. Common sense suggests that both sides in a given transaction are getting something they want out of it or it wouldn’t happen. Life on Earth being what it is, in spite of what we would like it to be, there’s no guarantee the result of a given transaction is going to be completely fair and equitable for both sides. Let the buyer beware, but let the buyer buy, if they want to. Prosecute the weasels, enforce the contracts, read Consumer Reports and ask dad, mom or your dutch uncle what they think. Secure your _______ and jump.
You’ll win some, you’ll lose some, and some will have mixed results. Take comfort in the fact that when you win one the other side may hate and resent you, or at least be thoroughly depressed, often without even having ever actually met you. The entrepreneur that went bankrupt because you didn’t think their world-changing product was worth your money comes to mind. There are no unemployment checks for failed entrepreneurs. Of course, if you fail on a large enough scale The Gubmint may step in and save your bum. And that’s not fair -- unless, of course, your job or business is on the line. But that’s not how it’s supposed to work, and you can’t count on it.
Adam Smith said, “Consumption is the sole end and purpose of all production; and the interest of the producer ought to be attended to, only so far as it may be necessary for promoting that of the consumer.”
In other words, the cut-throat competition of the marketplace usually ensures that the customer wins. The huge honking downside is that any given particular producer -- which includes owners, management, and labor -- is subject to being destroyed by its competition.
“The art of economics consists in looking not merely at the immediate but at the longer effects of any act or policy; it consists in tracing the consequences of that policy not merely for one group but for all groups,” Henry Hazlitt (my emphasis.) Notice the use of the word art, not science.
“Oh yeah,? Well that’s all well and good but NAFTA screwed everything up and now they want to do that new one and….” Whoa cowperson, obviously anyone who lost a job because of NAFTA may understandably be reconsidering not only the wisdom of free trade agreements but capitalism in general. This will no doubt be on their minds while they’re driving to Wally World to take advantage of the low prices and all that stuff in one place in an American made car that’s chock full of parts manufactured all over the globe (as virtually everything is).
Yes, people lose jobs when a trade agreement is implemented and/or a tariff is eliminated. Other jobs are created or expanded, but unfortunately, this is virtually impossible to document with anything resembling precision, which is why both sides can plausibly argue their position. However, economists don’t agree on much but they overwhelmingly agree that free trade will, overall, generate at least as many jobs in a given country as it erases. Also, the consumer (that is, everyone) always wins. The producers (and by extension, their employees) may win or lose. We all want good, secure jobs. But we also all want lots of food, toys, and fun -- for which we wish to pay as little as possible.
Finally, the Reality Checks, Caveats & Premises department has it on good authority the global economy is a fact, not a possibility. Adapt or get run over like a cute little bunny that’s incapable of grasping the potential impact of an 18 wheeler passing through the neighborhood.
After WW 2 ended America was the beneficiary of a boom that lasted for roughly 35 years during which you could drop out of school and still get a job that would provide a good living, and maybe a pension. The rest of the world, having been more or less trashed by WW 2, watched and learned.
More than a few thought they might also enjoy eating regularly and being able to seal the couch in plastic to keep it nice. Liberty might be nice too but that proved to be a lot harder and much more complicated. Life on Earth being what it is, instead of what we would like it to be (a phrase that bears repeating), there’s always gonna’ be bullies that embrace their inner chimpanzee - bullies need victims.
More than a few thought they might also enjoy eating regularly and being able to seal the couch in plastic to keep it nice. Liberty might be nice too but that proved to be a lot harder and much more complicated. Life on Earth being what it is, instead of what we would like it to be (a phrase that bears repeating), there’s always gonna’ be bullies that embrace their inner chimpanzee - bullies need victims.
Nowadays, the US buys a lot of shtuff from the rest of the world, because we're rich. The US also sells a lot of shtuff to the rest of the world, the World Bank says the US exported $2,263,253,700,000 trillion dollars worth of stuff in 2014. The 35-year-old bubble of prosperity didn’t pop, the rest of world starting blowing their own bubbles. We export more than we ever have in terms of dollar value, even allowing for inflation. The bad news is that because of productivity gains we're able to do this with a lot fewer people than we used to. A little noted/reported fact is that better than half of the shtuff we import are pieces/parts of shtuff we build here, much of which is then sold there.
And if that ain’t bad enough, now we have to deal with a communication/high tech revolution. It’s like the industrial revolution on steroids (and there still isn’t much work for saddle makers) in that the rules of the game keep changing and nobody on the rules committee has a clue what the final draft is going to be.
And if that ain’t bad enough, now we have to deal with a communication/high tech revolution. It’s like the industrial revolution on steroids (and there still isn’t much work for saddle makers) in that the rules of the game keep changing and nobody on the rules committee has a clue what the final draft is going to be.
And if that ain’t bad enough it turns out there is no rules committee, there are just H. sapiens hoping it all works out somehow, and that the civilization ending sized meteors keep missing the mother ship. It may be the best of times, but it might be the worst of times. As noted in part six, not even the experts of Federal Reserve can be relied upon to accurately tell us what's next. Also, they’re acutely aware that throwing the wrong lever at the wrong time, considering how complex and interconnected the global economy is, can easily set off a cascade of unexpected and unwelcome consequences.
But I've gotten ahead of myself, and I've exceeded my words quota, and I've sorta jumped from 1776 to the present, and I've gotta go. Stay tuned for part eight, the season finale.
Have an OK day.
P.S. If you're a Facebooker, and you enjoy my shtuff, could I trouble you to click on "Like" at the top of the page? This will (hopefully) help me to find some new readers, and retain existing ones, via your friendly neighborhood cranks Facebook page.
Saturday, November 19, 2016
Dear (Eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies (#2)
[If you're new here, and even if you're not, I must begin with a bit of explanation. My weekly column, two weeks ago (Dear (Eventual) Stickies & Great-Grandstickies, 11.05.16), was a letter to the Stickies (my grandkids) and my great-grandkids (who don't exist yet). I used the word Eventual because it's a letter more directed to the Stickies of the future than the present as they are mostly quite young yet (though in some ways not). And as I said, the great-grandstickies don't actually exist yet. Also, the Stickies official title is now grandstickies, though they aren't nearly as sticky as they used to be, and, to distinguish them from my daughter and son-in-law, who aren't sticky at all. Mostly it's because I now prefer grandstickies to the Stickies, at least for literary purposes.]
Dear (Eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies
I didn't expect to be writing to you again so soon. The subject of my last letter, this year's hit reality show, the Donald v. the Hilliam, has been canceled. The Donald won and his prize is a four-year gig that can't be canceled until January of 2020, regardless of his ratings.
The Hilliam and the outgoing COiC (Community Organizer-in-Chief) both gave gracious speeches acknowledging that the audience had chosen the Donald. Well, sort of (it's complicated). Those members of the infotainment industry whose job includes predicting the winners of politically based reality shows are staying busy explaining why most of them were wrong.
What a great job they have! In the real world, if your job performance rates an epic fail, there's a good chance that the person or firm that you work for will decide to replace you. In the infotainment industry, however, it's not whether you're right or wrong, it's how (or if) you attract the eyeballs. Which is why -tainment trumps info-.
Considering the intensity with which the battle had been waged, and the absurd length of it, I was feeling both proud and reassured (and happy is was finally over). The peaceful transfer of power from one administration to the next, assuming it continues, is a signature achievement of the American experiment.
[Aside: If the reference to the seemingly endless presidential campaigns we currently endure is confusing, or seems quaint, good. Perhaps you have found a better way, or at least developed a less complicated, less time and resource consuming system. Hopefully, a system that is still more or less genuinely democratic and not a farce (google Russia, or China, early 21st century).
As things stand, America takes two years to choose a president who will get a four-year contract, and this individual is permitted to compete a second time. This means that they can decide to compete on the next show, which begins two years into their first term. If they decide to compete again this will mean that they will have two full-time jobs in the third and fourth year of the guaranteed contract they just won.
Obviously, this is good for ratings, and potentially quite infotaining. Although personally, I think that the job description of arguably the most powerful and important job on the planet Earth should preclude moonlighting.]
And we're back. But election fatigue or not, the election ain't over till the fatlady infotainment industry sings sez so. They haven't moved on, they've doubled down. The majority of 'em supported the Hilliam and they know that God, or in most cases their God substitute (the environment, income inequality, social justice for the victimized group of the moment, _______, etc.), is on their side.
Their evil enemies (and that is indeed how many on both sides view the other), though smaller in number, represent about half of our polarized population and their side (well, sorta'), has control of The Gubmint for the next two years. I say sorta' because many of them dislike the Donald almost as much as they dislike the Hilliam. Like the rest of us, they have only a vague idea, in spite of two years of fighting, of just exactly what he plans on doing. But, they know God is on their side, or at least they hope so, 'cause the Donald is a scary dude. And he can't stop tweeting!
Also, there's something going on that I've never encountered before. I'm a thousand years old in American years (39 spiritually, 63 chronologically) and have been following politics, to one degree or another, since my teens. While, of course, every presidential election I can remember has generated controversies and crazies, none were followed by several days of protests, minor rioting, and, my personal favorite, triggered Snowflakes.
First, Snowflakes. I'm hoping that Snowflake Syndrome melts away, and soon, but just now it's a thing. If my feeble scribbles were more widely disseminated I would probably be attacked for being an unrepentant triggeror. I plead gleefully guilty.
[Yes, gentlereaders, I know there is no such word as triggeror but there should be, and perhaps will be, if triggering ever becomes an official hate crime. Considering our culture's current trajectory, I wouldn't bet against it.]
It seems that the election of the Donald was so traumatic for many?/some? (I'll wager someone is looking into this, funded by -- The Gubmint -- money) of our more delicate and/or damaged college students that it's triggered Snowflake Syndrome on college campuses nationwide. Many a midterm had to be canceled, much hot chocolate is being brewed and therapists remain on high alert. Playdough, coloring books, crying rooms and comfort dogs are being deployed.
Meanwhile, off campus, there was a short-lived panic generated by strange noises being heard in cemeteries. The panic ended when it was discovered that it was just members of the Greatest Generation turning over in their graves.
Which brings us to protests and mini-riots. "Not my president! Not my president! Oh, look baby, flat screens, lets both grab one." Sound of glass breaking. These have been popping up hither and yon ever since the Donald was declared the victor. As to how extensive they are -- and who is participating and why -- well, that depends on who you believe. In my semi-humble opinion, it's mostly the usual suspects, members in good standing of the International Union of Professional Perpetually Protesting Protestors & Perpetual Victims of This, That & The Other Thing (IUPPPPPVTTT). The acronym is pronounced I up p-p-p, peevy t-t-t
The masses aren't taking to the streets, but those that have are much more infotaining than those folks who had to get up and go to work the day after the election even if they stayed up half the night waiting to see who the winner was (and actually voted). Guess which group the infotainment industry is obsessing over?
A goodly cross section of the masses didn't even bother to vote, as usual. I went a-googling and discovered that since the 1930s roughly 50 to 60% of Americans have turned out to vote for president every four years. This year's turnout looks to be about 55%. (the final numbers still aren't in).
[There's a point to this bonkercockie, yes? asks Dana the imaginary gentlereader. My muse, Marie-Louise, maintains a neutral expression, she's still on her first cup of coffee.]
My point is that I think that while many in the infotainment industry, the Snowflakes, and the members of the IUPPPPPVTTT think (or at least pretend to, to keep profits up), that this is the American Apocalypse. I don't, and for your sakes, I hope that this mini-infotainer, this semi-humble scribbler in pursuit of enlightened infotainment, ain't wrong
Keep in mind that up until the election, which happened less than two weeks ago, just about all the members of the infotainment industry, along with the Snowflakes and the members in good standing of the IUPPPPPVTTT, were certain the Republicrat party was wrecked. Fate flipped a switch and now they're all equally certain the Depublicans have been destroyed.
[Note from the Clarifications for Gentlereaders Department: Please be aware that His Crankiness, despite our repeated objections, insists on referring to the Republican party as the Republicrat party and the Democratic party as the Depublican party. He says you'll understand.]
In fact, what's happened is that the Wizard of Oz of the new millennium became president while most of the country was mesmerized by his mastery of special effects and... Gadzooks! I've exceeded my word budget, sorry. Poppa loves you. To be continued...
Have an OK day.
Dear (Eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies
I didn't expect to be writing to you again so soon. The subject of my last letter, this year's hit reality show, the Donald v. the Hilliam, has been canceled. The Donald won and his prize is a four-year gig that can't be canceled until January of 2020, regardless of his ratings.
The Hilliam and the outgoing COiC (Community Organizer-in-Chief) both gave gracious speeches acknowledging that the audience had chosen the Donald. Well, sort of (it's complicated). Those members of the infotainment industry whose job includes predicting the winners of politically based reality shows are staying busy explaining why most of them were wrong.
What a great job they have! In the real world, if your job performance rates an epic fail, there's a good chance that the person or firm that you work for will decide to replace you. In the infotainment industry, however, it's not whether you're right or wrong, it's how (or if) you attract the eyeballs. Which is why -tainment trumps info-.
Considering the intensity with which the battle had been waged, and the absurd length of it, I was feeling both proud and reassured (and happy is was finally over). The peaceful transfer of power from one administration to the next, assuming it continues, is a signature achievement of the American experiment.
[Aside: If the reference to the seemingly endless presidential campaigns we currently endure is confusing, or seems quaint, good. Perhaps you have found a better way, or at least developed a less complicated, less time and resource consuming system. Hopefully, a system that is still more or less genuinely democratic and not a farce (google Russia, or China, early 21st century).
As things stand, America takes two years to choose a president who will get a four-year contract, and this individual is permitted to compete a second time. This means that they can decide to compete on the next show, which begins two years into their first term. If they decide to compete again this will mean that they will have two full-time jobs in the third and fourth year of the guaranteed contract they just won.
Obviously, this is good for ratings, and potentially quite infotaining. Although personally, I think that the job description of arguably the most powerful and important job on the planet Earth should preclude moonlighting.]
And we're back. But election fatigue or not, the election ain't over till the fat
Their evil enemies (and that is indeed how many on both sides view the other), though smaller in number, represent about half of our polarized population and their side (well, sorta'), has control of The Gubmint for the next two years. I say sorta' because many of them dislike the Donald almost as much as they dislike the Hilliam. Like the rest of us, they have only a vague idea, in spite of two years of fighting, of just exactly what he plans on doing. But, they know God is on their side, or at least they hope so, 'cause the Donald is a scary dude. And he can't stop tweeting!
Also, there's something going on that I've never encountered before. I'm a thousand years old in American years (39 spiritually, 63 chronologically) and have been following politics, to one degree or another, since my teens. While, of course, every presidential election I can remember has generated controversies and crazies, none were followed by several days of protests, minor rioting, and, my personal favorite, triggered Snowflakes.
First, Snowflakes. I'm hoping that Snowflake Syndrome melts away, and soon, but just now it's a thing. If my feeble scribbles were more widely disseminated I would probably be attacked for being an unrepentant triggeror. I plead gleefully guilty.
[Yes, gentlereaders, I know there is no such word as triggeror but there should be, and perhaps will be, if triggering ever becomes an official hate crime. Considering our culture's current trajectory, I wouldn't bet against it.]
It seems that the election of the Donald was so traumatic for many?/some? (I'll wager someone is looking into this, funded by -- The Gubmint -- money) of our more delicate and/or damaged college students that it's triggered Snowflake Syndrome on college campuses nationwide. Many a midterm had to be canceled, much hot chocolate is being brewed and therapists remain on high alert. Playdough, coloring books, crying rooms and comfort dogs are being deployed.
Meanwhile, off campus, there was a short-lived panic generated by strange noises being heard in cemeteries. The panic ended when it was discovered that it was just members of the Greatest Generation turning over in their graves.
Which brings us to protests and mini-riots. "Not my president! Not my president! Oh, look baby, flat screens, lets both grab one." Sound of glass breaking. These have been popping up hither and yon ever since the Donald was declared the victor. As to how extensive they are -- and who is participating and why -- well, that depends on who you believe. In my semi-humble opinion, it's mostly the usual suspects, members in good standing of the International Union of Professional Perpetually Protesting Protestors & Perpetual Victims of This, That & The Other Thing (IUPPPPPVTTT). The acronym is pronounced I up p-p-p, peevy t-t-t
The masses aren't taking to the streets, but those that have are much more infotaining than those folks who had to get up and go to work the day after the election even if they stayed up half the night waiting to see who the winner was (and actually voted). Guess which group the infotainment industry is obsessing over?
A goodly cross section of the masses didn't even bother to vote, as usual. I went a-googling and discovered that since the 1930s roughly 50 to 60% of Americans have turned out to vote for president every four years. This year's turnout looks to be about 55%. (the final numbers still aren't in).
[There's a point to this bonkercockie, yes? asks Dana the imaginary gentlereader. My muse, Marie-Louise, maintains a neutral expression, she's still on her first cup of coffee.]
My point is that I think that while many in the infotainment industry, the Snowflakes, and the members of the IUPPPPPVTTT think (or at least pretend to, to keep profits up), that this is the American Apocalypse. I don't, and for your sakes, I hope that this mini-infotainer, this semi-humble scribbler in pursuit of enlightened infotainment, ain't wrong
Keep in mind that up until the election, which happened less than two weeks ago, just about all the members of the infotainment industry, along with the Snowflakes and the members in good standing of the IUPPPPPVTTT, were certain the Republicrat party was wrecked. Fate flipped a switch and now they're all equally certain the Depublicans have been destroyed.
[Note from the Clarifications for Gentlereaders Department: Please be aware that His Crankiness, despite our repeated objections, insists on referring to the Republican party as the Republicrat party and the Democratic party as the Depublican party. He says you'll understand.]
In fact, what's happened is that the Wizard of Oz of the new millennium became president while most of the country was mesmerized by his mastery of special effects and... Gadzooks! I've exceeded my word budget, sorry. Poppa loves you. To be continued...
Have an OK day.
P.S. If you're a Facebooker, and you enjoy my shtuff, could I trouble you to click on "Like" at the top of the page? This will (hopefully) help me to find some new readers, and retain existing ones, via your friendly neighborhood cranks Facebook page.
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