The Seven Virtues

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who aren't here yet) -- the Stickies -- to haunt them after they become grups and/or I'm dead.

[Blogaramians: Blogarama renders the links in my columns useless. Please click on View original (above↑) to solve the problem/access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse 

Iggy -- Designated Sticky

Dana -- Designated gentlereader 

"The virtues, like the Muses, are always seen in groups. A good principle was never found solitary in any breast. -Buddha"

Dear (Eventual) Stickies & Great-Grandstickies,

When I went to a Catholic grade school, I was taught the four cardinal virtues and the three theological virtues. Both kinds, I was told, were a very big deal.

I went to a public high school, and the theological virtues, for obvious reasons, were never mentioned. It recently occurred to me that neither were the cardinal ones. Hmmm...

I attended a Catholic grade school for eight years, first through eighth grade. I didn't go to kindergarten or attend a preschool. Most of my fellow students hadn't gone to kindergarten, none had gone to preschool. Head Start didn't start until 1965.

By then I was already in the sixth grade. I mention this to illustrate that it was once possible to grow up in America without formal schooling until the age of six or seven. Amazingly, I've never lived under an overpass or been institutionalized.

Anyway, I haven't thought about the virtues as such for years. I have given some (but not enough) attention to arete.

Arete is a Greek word that, according to this Wikipedia entry, means excellence of any kind, and may also mean moral virtue. I can't remember how I stumbled on the concept but I was immediately fascinated. I've been in pursuit of my personal arete ever since, with decidedly mixed results.

As the Wikipedia entry explains, the concept dates to Homeric times and is all about attempting to live up to one's full potential, being effective, being good at what you do. Being the best possible you includes the pursuit of moral excellence, which is the very definition of virtue.

Which brings us back to where we started, cardinal and theological virtues.

The cardinal virtues have nothing to do with birds or the "princes" of the Catholic church. Cardinal comes from the Latin word cardo (hinge). All other virtues and morality hinge on these four fundamental concepts. Their pedigree dates to the ancient Greek philosophers and have been a thing ever since. Religious and secular philosophers of all stripes have been kicking 'em around for better than 2,000 years.

Well, at least they were a thing. More on that in a moment.

The three theological virtues, in the Catholic/Christian tradition, come from the grace of God They're sort of a list of the basic requirements that need to be met in order to live a Christian life while you're here if you want to get your butt into heaven when you cross over to there.

They are faith (belief in God). Hope (the belief that you'll make heaven if you live right). And charity, or love (love God and everyone else, which implies it's on you to be your brother's sibling's keeper).

Two quick points from your agnostic Poppa.

One, note the simplicity. To hell (pun intended) with dogma wars. If you believe in God, follow a moral code and do what you can to take care of the other kids, you got this.

Two, It's quite easy to secularize these three. If you don't believe in God you can (and regardless, should) find something/someone(s) to believe in and/or work for. This will supply hope (and meaning) even when life is kicking you in the crotch. Finally, do unto others as you would have them do unto you. This will make for a much nicer playground.

That said, the reason I'm writing about the seven virtues is because it occurred to me that given the fact America, and a goodly chunk of the rest of the world, tossed the tot out with the jacuzzi water back in the 60s, perhaps we could find some guidance, and common ground, in the cardinal virtues.

I believe that we react emotionally/instinctively/intuitionally first, rationally (hopefully...) later. While the former is an effective survival mechanism, the latter enables us to live together and, with a little luck, thrive instead of just survive. The creation of the cardinal virtues is the result of the applied reasoning of a lot of individuals who were smarter than I'll ever be.

[For the record: I went a-googlin' and discovered that while the virtues are still a thing in Catholic education, as far as secular private and public schools go, not so much. However, I found this, and more importantly, this. Happy sigh...]

The cardinal virtues are prudence (making good choices, wisdom), justice, temperance (restraint, self-control) and courage (not just bravery, refusing to define yourself as a helpless victim). There are all sorts of other virtues posited but these four were considered to be the foundation stones of a moral life in the Western tradition.

The Western tradition has nothing to do with cowboys or country music. It's a term, now considered politically incorrect in many circles, that refers to a way of looking at, and living in, the world.

It's fallen out of favor because it all but ignored the rest of the world (Africa and Asia) and we're now all one big happy global family. Don't be a hater. Everything is like, relative, ya' know? The Western tradition includes all the evil dead white guys that ruined the world.

I'm a crank and I'm a libertarian. But, I hold some positions normally classified as conservative, others normally classified as progressive. I have a bias towards trying to discover what actually works and trying to discover how the left and right can compromise and peacefully share the same playground.

I'm a crank and I'm a follower of Taoism (an Eastern philosophy) but also a firm believer in much of the Western tradition. I think that the USA, a product of this tradition, though flawed (as is every-one and every-thing), rocks, and I'm glad and grateful this is my team.

I'm a crank. Which is why I'm going to devote my next four letters/columns to my take on each of the cardinal virtues. Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.


[P.S. Gentlereaders, for 25¢ a week, no, seriously, for 25¢ a week you can become a Patron of this weekly column and help to prevent an old crank from running the streets at night in search of cheap thrills and ill-gotten gains.

If there are some readers out there that think my shtuff is worth a buck or three a month, color me honored, and grateful. Regardless, if you like it, could you please share it? There are buttons at the end of every column.]


©2017 Mark Mehlmauer   (The Flyoverland Crank)

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

Making America Great Again

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who aren't here yet) -- the Stickies -- to haunt them after they become grups and/or I'm dead.

[Blogaramians: Blogarama renders the links in my columns useless. Please click on View original (above↑) to solve the problem/access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse (right shoulder) and back scratcher 

Iggy -- Designated Sticky

Dana -- Designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

Dear (Eventual) Stickies and Great-Grandstickies,

The Donald is a consciously created character having much in common with the professional bad guys of the fake wrestling industry. Keep in mind that endless, unlikely plot twists are a staple of this art form (apologies to Meryl Streep and company, et al.). Bad guys become good guys become bad guys become ambiguous guys.

The USA has morphed into a bizarre reality show and the Donald is the director, producer, and star. He knows what he wants to accomplish, he really does want to Make America Great Again. I'm certain he knows America is still great, but she's gotten lost in the woods. Hopefully only temporarily. But he probably would regard even my simple analogy as unnecessarily complicated.

Keep it simple, my friend. That's show biz. That's how you keep the audience in the palm of your hand.

I wrote a column about this (as you may or may not know) very subject in early December of last year, my third official "Dear Stickies" letter, that was my take on how it was that the Donald managed to become the POTUS much to the surprise of most.

I voted for Gary Johnson, the libertarian party candidate, in spite of some serious reservations. I mention this for two reasons.

First, I wrote another column suggesting that people vote for me for president because I sincerely had no desire whatsoever to be the president. My logic was based on a bit of ancient Chinese wisdom. The best man person for a powerful position is often one that seems to have a clue but doesn't want the job.

The whys and wherefores of that proposition require an entire letter of their own. Suffice it to say that they're (hopefully) obvious to a seasoned grup with common sense. Oh, please don't assume the previous sentence necessarily has anything to do with you since I've no way of knowing when, or even if, you will ever read this. Anyway, I have to confess I've been known to feel clueless for days at a time, so in the end, I couldn't bring myself to vote for myself.

Second, I'm trying to maintain an open and/or optimistic frame of mind as far as the Donald is concerned in spite of my doubts, which are legion.

I'm a somewhat gloomy chap by nature but I was fortunate enough to be married to a woman who absolutely insisted on "looking on the bright side" in any and all situations in spite of the fact she was doomed to die young due to the health problems she was born with.

Though gloomy is my baseline, I'm a firm believer that we live in a universe where everything is defined by, and is part of, it's opposite. More ancient Chinese wisdom, that yin-yang stuff you have probably heard about (yet another letter asking to be written).

For the moment, let's just say then when I find myself waiting for the results of one of fates coin tosses I'm aware it occasionally will land sunny side up (though, of course, I doubt it) since that's the nature of reality. In fact, to honor the memory of the best friend I'm ever likely to have, I consciously make a point of not only hoping it lands sunny side up, I force myself to acknowledge there's usually a sunny side even when it doesn't.

[By the way, it's yin-yang, not ying-yang. A ying-yang is a commonly used expression, with variable meanings, that usually refers to one of one's naughtier bits.]


That said, the Donald has set about making America great again. He's chosen his cabinet secretaries and most are not the usual suspects. That is, his cabinet is top heavy with successful people from the real world and light on professional politicians and academics. Good.

It's said that his management style is similar to that of Lincoln and FDR -- encourage individuals with wildly different viewpoints to fight it out, he takes it all in, then he makes a decision. Also good.

He's issued a bunch of executive orders, most of which I like, some that I love, a few that creep me out. In acknowledgment of looking on the bright side, let me mention the two I love the most.

First, folks appointed to positions in The Gummit by the Donald can't cash in when they move on in that they are forbidden to become lobbyists for five years after leaving The Gummit. Also, they can't lobby on behalf of a foreign gummit, forever.

In my semi-humble opinion, this should be the law of the land, not an executive order that can be canceled by the next POTUS. And of course, this being The Gummit, there's a loophole. Lobbyists have to register as lobbyists. Call yourself a consultant instead of a lobbyist and you're off the hook. However, with tighter laws, and most importantly, congressional term limits, the people could still win. Get rid of professional legislators and "consultants" will instantly lose much of their clout.

[Another semi-humble opinion: Without congressional term limits we are doomed. I've mentioned this before, I'll mention it again.]

Second, a new rule for the rule makers. I speak of the unelected bureaucrats (and bureauons) of The Gummit. Specifically, the minions (of The Gummit"s 1,700,000,000 professional minions) that crank out the endless reams of rules and regs that keep the citizens of the land of the free in line.

For every new rule, two old rules must be canceled. Again, why ain't this the law of the land?

If you're curious about just how many rules The Gummit can come after you with, so am I. Google the phrase, "approximately how many rules has the federal government passed" or something like it and see what happens. If you can find what looks like a legitimate straight answer please email me at the flyoverlandcrank@gmail.com.

BIG BUT.

He's officially authorized the building of -- The Wall. Now, regardless of what you or any given one of my gentlereaders feels about immigrants, legal or otherwise, this is just dumb. I hope it's hyperbole, a negotiating tactic.

The only purpose a wall across the Mexican border will serve is as a temporary jobs program. Build it and they will come. Under, over, or around, they will come.

Then we'll have to build walls along the other three borders. Of course, beach front property will suddenly get dramatically cheaper. And, we could build the wall a hundred feet back from the water and create giant public beaches on both coasts extending from Canada to Mexico.

Wait a minute! What are we going to do about Alaska? Maybe that's why the Donald speaks highly of the Puteen. He's gonna' con him into building a wall on Russia's side of the Bering sea. Poppa loves you.


*NOTICE*     (I can dream can't I?)

Dear Undocumented/Illegal Aliens (U/IA),

If we catch you trying to sneak in, you're going home. Period.

No more sanctuaries. If you commit a crime, no matter how long you've been living here, you're going home. Let's make it clear that if you're a U/IA you don't get access to our safety nets. Keep this in mind, we're not kidding. We won't let you die because as a group, we're nice people. But once we patch you up, you're going home.

Sound harsh? You bet. But our conscience is clear.

Because we're going to finally acknowledge that almost no one wants to round up the U/IAs living here peacefully. We're gonna' admit that most of you have jobs that some of us, by necessity, have, but most of us don't want. We're going to admit the real unemployment rate is above 9%.

We're going to document you. All will be required to register, and if they can pass a criminal background check and have a job or are supported by someone that does, they will be given a red/white/blue card so we can find out who they are and make them legal -- maybe, eventually, citizens.

Once legally registered, you will have access to our safety nets. However, if you're not registered and we catch you, you're outta' here. Once registered you won't be deported for criminal acts, just punished like our native born bad guys, but will never become a citizen.

Registered, seasonal migrant workers, who can pass criminal background checks, will be permitted but will have no access to public safety nets and will be instantly deported if it's discovered they're not registered. Social services to be supplied by any legal charity or employer that wishes to do so.

Sincerely,
Uncle Sam

Have an OK day.


[P.S. Gentlereaders, for 25¢ a week, no, seriously, for 25¢ a week you can become a Patron of this weekly column and help to prevent an old crank from running the streets at night in search of cheap thrills and ill-gotten gains.

If there are some readers out there that think my shtuff is worth a buck or three a month, color me honored, and grateful. Regardless, if you like it, could you please share it? There are buttons at the end of every column.]


©2017 Mark Mehlmauer   (The Flyoverland Crank)

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

This is What (Direct) Democracy Looks Like (Part Two)

(If you're new here, this column consists of weekly letters written to my grandchildren, who exist, to haunt them after they become grups and/or I'm dead, and my great-grandchildren, who aren't here yet.)

Dear (Eventual) Stickies & Great-Grandstickies,

A bit of a review. In part one I stated my support for the electoral college, an ingenious invention that prevents the citizens of a cluster of megalopolises from ruling the entire nation. By extension, this forces a given candidate to craft a message (and stop by to say hello) that appeals to folks in sparsely populated states.

I brought/bring this up because one of the symptoms of the innocent victims of Trump Derangement Syndrome (TDS), a currently active strain of Global Whining Disease (GWD), is a fixation with the fact that the Hilliam triumphed over the Donald by almost 3,000,000 votes. That's a lot of votes.

BIG BUT.

If not for the electoral college system, if we were a direct democracy, the Hilliam would be living in the White House again and an outbreak of Clinton Derangement Syndrome (CDS), yet another strain of GWD, would no doubt be loose in the world.

The Trumpets would be jumping up and down and pointing out, at every opportunity, that the fate of the entire country had been determined by the citizens of a handful of our largest cities. We would still be knee deep in controversy.

The Infotainment Industrial Complex would still be doing what it does best. That is -- fanning flames, oversimplifying, and giving a bullhorn to anybody willing to work themselves into a near frenzy by playing the us v. them game in front of a camera. Infotainment and ratings are much more profitable (and fun) than reason, truth, and virtue. Ask the Donald. Anyway, we would still be subject to endless whining, debate, and punditry.

A large country where everyone is subject to the whims of the citizens of it's largest cities would be a direct democracy, but would it be a truly democratic country? Short answer -- no. Also, any given kid on the playground grasps that if you want any other given kid or kids to play with you and/or to avoid black eyes and/or shunning, perhaps even banishment, two universal social conventions must be recognized. The importance of fairness in general and respect for the rules of the game in particular.

I could sit in front of this keyboard and speculate on the subject of fairness till it's finally warm enough for the stink bugs to flee the premises in search of food and sex (have fun, see ya' when you get back!). While I could easily assemble a defensible case as to why we're obsessed with fairness, what is fair, in any given situation, is the labor of a lifetime.

However, for our immediate purposes, all that's needed is to acknowledge that fair is always profoundly important because it's hard wired. That the rules must be known and agreed to, before the game, by everyone involved. Most importantly, the rules can't be changed in the middle of the game, only after, and only for the next game. The Donald is the president, all the instant replays have failed to change the outcome of the game. There's another big game in two years. In the meantime, let us enjoy the most popular "reality" show yet devised.

Deep breath.

Retroactive rule changing is potentially a capital offense. I mentioned in part one that the founders, aware of the constant danger of a tyranny of the majority (51%  voting to delete the other 49%), set up our playground as a republic, a representative democracy, to avoid this and other threats to the life and liberty of politically/socially/morally/etc. incorrect individuals.

I'm a bleeding heart libertarian. I didn't vote for either the Donald or the Hilliam. My candidate was quietly crushed. The Steelers lost. There's something wrong with both vans. I'm going to return to my crappy day job after several weeks of often painful physical therapy that will enable me to return to my crappy day job.

But I will maintain an (imperfect) attitude of gratitude, because I'm not only a grup, I've ascended the heights and become a Sexy Seasoned Citizen (SSC). I know that no matter how bad (or good) it seems to be at any given moment there's a meteorite out there with my name on it and one of these days it will find me.

While I'm waiting I'll keep picturing the picture I saw of a Syrian refugee family huddled together in a freezing, abandoned factory somewhere in Eastern Europe, hoping for a chance to sneak into Western Europe. Not welcome where they were, where they would like to be, nor even back in the Middle East by their fellow practitioners of The Religion of Peace, they hang on. Poppa loves you.


[But all is not lost. Patience. Patience snowflakes, social justice warriors, alt.right types of all stripes and members in good standing of the International Union of Professional Perpetually Protesting Protestors & Professional Victims of This, That and the Other Thing. Direct democracy is just around the corner. We've got social media. We're constantly developing new ways of being in contact, and staying continuously entertained, without actually having to actually talk to each other in real life.

We've got Twitter!

I have a mental image of millions of Americans and billions of Earthlings, standing on platforms that pop up and down as trap doors snap open and closed like jack-in-the-boxes. Everyone is busy yelling at everyone else. You don't have to make any sense, the point is to keep yelling. This is direct democracy. We're all part of a globe-spanning town hall and the idea is to yell something clever or ignorant enough (it doesn't really matter) to get a bunch of people to notice you and then yell what you yelled, at someone else.

The dead white guys that set up our playground were worried we'd devolve into endlessly bickering factions of the like-minded. We're already past that. We're becoming factions of one. That's a direct democracy for ya'!

Have an OK day.


[P.S. Gentlereaders, for 25¢ a week, no, seriously, for 25¢ a week you can become a Patron of this weekly column and help to prevent an old crank from running the streets at night in search of cheap thrills and ill-gotten gains.

If there are some readers out there that think my shtuff is worth a buck or three a month, color me honored, and grateful. Regardless, if you like it, could you please share it? There are buttons at the end of every column.]


©2017 Mark Mehlmauer   (The Flyoverland Crank)

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

This is What (Direct) Democracy Looks Like (Part One)

(If you're new here, this column consists of weekly letters written to my grandchildren, who exist, to haunt them after they become grups and/or I'm dead, and my great-grandchildren, who aren't here yet.)

Dear (Eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

A significant aspect of the apparently never-ending kerfuffle over the Donald's surprising triumph, since the Hilliam won the popular vote, is/was the current revival of the apparently never-ending kerfuffle over whether or not we should close the electoral college and send the students packing.

Is/was? Yes, because while the electoral college is/was a major thing, for a minute, to those that refuse to accept that the Donald is now the POTUS, it's now a minor thing, but, still a thing. The thing of the week (which will probably be ancient history by the time this column moves out of the house) is crediting the Putin (Russians) with stealing the election for the Donald.

1.29.17 Yup, Russian interference has finished it's solo and is now sitting with the rest of the band. The current solo is being performed by the maestro himself. The Donald has added an avalanche of executive orders to his repertoire that he performs while simultaneously tweeting with his free hand. Trump derangement syndrome is loose on social media. The progressive industrial complex is fact checking and op-eding itself into a near incoherent frenzy.

[Aside:Two points. If the Putin Pooteen has the power to pick our POTUS, he's even more clever and diabolical than I thought. Imagine having the ability to tweak our presidential election in light of the fact that we have no national election system in place. The rules governing the popular vote, as well as those that determine which kids will be briefly enrolled in electoral college, are determined by the individual states.

Various and sundry denizens of the Gubmint Gummit have declared their intention to discover how the Pooteen and his malevolent minions managed to manipulate the election results. Personally, I'd like to know if the fact that the Donald decisively lost the popular vote but decisively won at electoral college was a fluke or part of the conspiracy.

Point two. Henceforth, the entity formerly known as the Gubmint will now be called the Gummit. The dastardly dictator formerly known as the Putin will now be called the Pooteen. I've decided I prefer the Gummit to the Gubmint because it rolls off the tongue easier, suggests that the Gummit gums things up, and will enable me to use the phrase dadgum Gummit, if I so choose. (I haven't heard back yet from the R&D department.) 

The Pooteen, in my semi-humble opinion, SOUNDS like an amoral, self-declared czar who thinks nothing of killing off his opponents or any innocent civilians that happen to get in the way.

{Aside to the aside: as regular readers know, or should/will if they remain regulars, I'm all about (among other things) restoring societal civility and protecting/respecting the power of words. I do this by employing my fiendishly clever strategery of avoiding overly harsh words by inventing and/or remodeling and/or substitution. For example, shtuff is much less harsh than shit but more powerful than stuff if you know who its parents are. Dadgum is several orders of magnitude less harsh than God d__n, a phrase so ugly I refuse to write it. (I keep it in a heavily fortified vault and reserve its use for only the most extreme situations.)}]

Dana, my imaginary gentlereader, threatened to resign if I didn't insert this link before moving on. It's a commentary on my aside, and the inordinate pleasure on my part derived from having an aside to my aside.   

And we're back. Thanks, Dana, for at least as long as the link continues to link to something (yet another reason to use links sparingly). The wisdom of giving the electoral college the final word on presidential elections is often attacked as not being democratic. However, as you've probably heard, due to our current demographic situation, without it the entire country would be at the mercy of the population of a handful of our largest cities.

Being well versed in history, the nature of man people, and aware of what was going on in other playgrounds on the planet, the dead white guys who created the rules for our playground went out of their way to come up with a system superior to the typical, crash-prone, direct democracy and we ended up with a relatively robust republic.

Which brings us to the subject of this column, Twitter.

[At this point Dana, Iggy (imaginary grandsticky), and Marie-Louise (my muse), all looked up, startled, from yet another game of Monopoly (it's become a thing) and gave me a look. As you were, sez I, all will soon be revealed.]

I'm talking about all forms of social media really, including the traditional ones, but I choose to focus on Twitter to simplify things.

The founders gave us a republic (representative democracy) to get around the obvious downsides of rule by mob. For example, 51% of us getting together and voting to kill the other 49%. Our republic consists of three power centers that are supposed to "check and balance" each other so that we would have to go to a lot of trouble, at least technically speaking, to commit genocide.

Pre-op stop. Poppa loves you.

It is at this point, Stickies and gentlereaders, that I must apologize and beg your forgiveness. I had a shiny new hip installed last Monday (1.23.17) and the pre-op stop above was as far as this column had progressed before I checked into the hospital. I write my shtuff fairly close to deadline.

Though I knew there would be a part two, it was my intention to write at least a couple of more closely related paragraphs while convalescing this past week. However, while I'm doing well overall, I've been more or less reduced to a semi-zombie with no ambition, less energy. My daily physical therapy and fussing over my swollen hip and leg is nearly all I'm capable of just now. Oh, I also spend time forcing myself to eat (that's a novel experience) and choke down my meds and supplements. The good news is I've watched a bunch of movies and documentaries. Reading (GASP! say it ain't so!) makes me sleepy.

It's taken me all week to write everything after pre-op stop. My energy levels are slowly returning and I hope to have part two done in time but fear not, there's a backup plan if things get ugly.

Have an OK day.

You Don't Know Jack...

...But that's not necessarily a bad thing.

(If you're new here, this column consists of weekly letters written to my grandchildren, who exist, to haunt them after they become grups and/or I'm dead, and my great-grandchildren, who aren't here yet.)

Dear (eventual) Stickies and Great-Grandstickies,

I repeat, you don't know Jack. It's important, very important, that you know that you don't know. If you know that you don't know, you know a lot more than most people.

[Um, I'm gonna need you to explain THAT one, Poppa, says Iggy, my imaginary grandsticky. Dana, my imaginary reader, is giving me the raised eyebrows of skepticism. Marie-Louise, my muse, is grinning and scratching my back, being immortal, she already knows the truth about truth.]

Allow me to explain.

Let me begin by endorsing the wisdom inherent in the statement, "Facts are stubborn things; and whatever may be our wishes, our inclinations, or the dictates of our passions, they cannot alter the state of facts and evidence." -John Adams

That is, the facts are the facts, regardless of what we think they are or want them to be.

"All we want are the facts, ma'am," which is what Sgt. Joe Friday actually said.

BIG BUT.

The facts are indeed, the facts, and the fearless pursuit of the facts is necessary if one wishes to know the truth. But truth is, at best, provisional. Provisional: serving for the time being (Merriam-Webster).

[Dana speaks: Awesome, dude, thanks for clearing THAT up!]

"Patience is a virtue." -William Langland

"Patience is a virtue, possess it if you can, seldom found in woman, never found in man." -Sister Mary McGillicuddy

Truth, is provisional -- a working hypothesis -- subject to change if/when new facts are discovered. A new fact may be hiding in plain sight or living in a hut in Siberia.

However, that doesn't bother a true scientist and it shouldn't bother us. In fact, if we adopt the right attitude, living in a world of shades of gray is much more interesting than living in a world of black and white (which would be quite boring).

"I think it's much more interesting to live not knowing than to have answers which might be wrong." -Richard Feynman

[Iggy: Poppa, if there's a point to all this I...]

I have two points actually. The first is that everything we think we know is provisional, that is, subject to change when we uncover new facts. That this is the nature of our reality. That while acknowledging this can make you feel a little crazy, not acknowledging this might get you killed.

My second point is that since we inhabit a provisional reality of shades of gray, that while we should never stop looking for truth, a well-lived life requires that we make provisional choices and that we need to relax and enjoy the ride


As to the practical, everyday ramifications of point one, avoid over thinking to remain sane. Relax. Be confident that in most situations you'll have a command of enough of the facts to deal adequately. The trick is to never forget that a new fact may leap out from behind a rock at any moment. Cultivate that attitude. Knowing that you may not know will make you smarter than those who are sure they do know. Zen Buddhists call this having beginner's eyes, which simply means always maintaining an open mind. Pay attention and minimize the odds of being run over by a bus.

 "Our brains are pattern-recognition machines, but not good ones. That's what gets us in trouble. We see patterns where none exist. None of us are exempt from that. But we can use our limited sense of reason to see past it." -Scott Adams

As to point two, a well-lived life of provisional choices.

Philosophically speaking, just because everything we think we know is provisional, it doesn't follow that this knowledge need reduce us to insecure neurotics fearful of believing in anything. Or, worse yet, cause us to declare that "like, everything is relative, man." The latter being the universal justification for an empty, amoral life with no path ever chosen other than the one that satisfies the appetite of the moment.

God, or evolution, or whomever/whatever, has blessed us. We're not just eaters/procreators, we're eaters/procreators who are aware we're eaters/procreators. We don't just eat, procreate, and take a nice nap. We choose to be enthusiastic carnivores or self-righteous vegans (yes, I'm biased). We choose to be libertines, virgins or something in between (no bias, whatever works). Everyone should strive to take more nice naps (bias again).

My more traditionally religious friends call this having a soul with a free will. They believe the cosmos is a structure created by an omnipotent architect who provides a set of discernable rules we're to follow. I've no problem with that as long as they show some restraint, and respect all of the other kids on the playground. I've got a big problem with that when the enslaving and decapitation begins.

Fortunately, nowadays anyway, most of these folks are perfectly nice and choose the path labeled Live and Let Live. However, the devil, as always, resides in the details.

As for the rest of us, in my semi-humble opinion, step one is acknowledging the undeniable fact that we also have to share the playground with other kids -- again, restraint, respect, live and let live. Hmmm... it would seem these groups have something in common,

Step two, use the gift, choose. Impose a frame. Adopt a working protocol. Decide on some rules. Whatever you say, goes, but only for you. What goes for everyone should be decided by you and everyone else with, wait for it -- restraint, respect, and a spirit of live and let live.

And yes, I used the word blessed a few paragraphs ago. From the book of Crank: Believest thou in a carefully crafted creation conceived and constructed by an unimaginably awesome God of pure love or a perpetually pissed off dude with a white beard (Anticlause?) and lots of strictly enforced rules and regs that vary from sect to sect, prophet to prophet, messenger to messenger (inhale here), or, a cosmos that can be summed up and defined on a bumper sticker -- Shtuff Happens -- the bottom line is the same. 

Choose.

Even if you think you would prefer a black and white reality and/or you think you will, eventually, inhabit one, the Fact remains that, for now, you're in the same boat as the rest of us. What to do, what to do?

Choose a path that leads to any destination that motivates you to keep getting out of your warm, comfy bed in the morning. If you choose the wrong one or if you reach your destination, pick another one. Try not to step on other people's toes. Don't let other people step on yours.

Simple, right? Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.







 

The Impending Inauguration

(If you're new here, this column consists of weekly letters written to my grandchildren, who exist, to haunt them after they become grups and/or I'm dead, and my great-grandchildren, who aren't here yet.)

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies and Great-Grandstickies,

The coronation inauguration of Donald J. Trump is upon us. In less than a week he will be crowned sworn in and officially become our 45th king president. The snarky cross outs in the previous sentence are not directed at the Donald. If I were being snarky about the Donald I would point out that a 70-year-old man with yellow hair, an elaborate combover, orange skin and ever-shifting political positions will soon be king our president.

But I'm not. Let he who is not a 6339-year-old with an enormous head, a lazy eye, a pedestal for a neck and a tank shaped body who is about to have a defective hip replaced cast the first stone!

I'm merely pointing out, that in my semi-humble opinion, the phrase 50 united states implies 50 relatively powerful entities united for certain purposes, spelled out in our constitution, and having much more autonomy than they currently enjoy. What we have is The Gubmint, which, if it continues on its present trajectory, will become, THE GUBMINT.

What we have is so large, complex and powerful, that the phrase permanent campaign not only means governing with an eye on the next election it means all politics, all the time, for every-one.

The chattering class, the more or less permanent bureaucracy, the Gubmint wannabes, the political industry and Gubmint dependent real industries are all carrying on as if we're about to crown a divine right monarch.

Perhaps it's even worse than that. Does America have daddy issues? And/or do we, in spite of our supposed sophistication, long for an alpha male (alpha person?) to feel safe?

Can he can't he? Will he won't he? "Of course this is just speculation on my part but...". Is it true he likes McDonald's food? Didja hear most of the major designers refuse to dress his wife?

Joe Biden, recent vice-president, who was a lawyer for a minute before becoming a professional politician whose major accomplishment is a long career as professional politician announced that he's running for president in 2020.

Mr. Obama has rented a mansion and will be the first president since Wilson (suffering from the aftereffects of a stroke) to not get out of Dodge once he was evicted from the White House.

Mr. O. sez he's sticking around because this multimillionaire champion of the little people, this former community organizer, doesn't want to pull his youngest kid out of high school because she still has two years to go. She attends the Sidwell Friends school, current tuition $39,360 per year (but that includes a hot lunch). Golly, I wonder how he'll kill time between science fairs and PTA meetings?

Can't fault a man for being a good dad, but almost every time he's given a speech in the last eight years that wasn't delivered inside the beltway he made a point of telling his audience how great it was to get out of D.C., him being an outsider and all, and hang with regular folks.

While I appreciate this sacrifice for his kid, Chicago, the town he calls home, that's run by Rahm Emanuel, a former Obama chief of staff, has a notable homicide problem that you may have heard about.

I think I'll send him an email suggesting he spend as many long weekends as possible in Chicago till the problem is solved. If he were to lend his talent and prestige to his buddy Rahm they could no doubt get 'er done. I'd tweet it at him, but Cranky don't tweet.

He could straighten out Chicago and have an excuse to leave the fever swamps of DC on a regular basis, Win-win!

Sorry, I'm obviously suffering from Obama derangement syndrome, which clearly indicates I'm a closet racist in denial. Honey, get my therapist on the phone!

Moving on...

 An inauguration ain't supposed to be a coronation. According to Merriam-Webster:

Inauguration: a ceremonial induction into office
Coronation: the act or occasion of crowning

George Washington allegedly was offered a crown and said no thanks. Historians tell us that this never actually happened, that it was no truer than that shtuff about chopping down a cherry tree and readily confessing to the crime rather than trying to weasel his way out of it.

I'm so old that I can remember being taught the cherry tree story in school and believing it -- different world. I'm so old, and cranky, that I can imagine a country without a semi-imperial presidency that's not about to spend $200,000,000 (more or less) on parties and ceremonies to commemorate the Donald solemnly swearing or affirming that he will try to do a good job and follow the rulebook, the constitution.

The presidential oath of office, the only specifically worded oath in the constitution, has 37 words. This means we're gonna' spend roughly $5,400,000 per word. I have a better idea.

When I was a kid, 25 words or less contests were a thing. "Send us a letter and explain, in 25 words or less, why your family loves Powdermilk Biscuits and win free Powdermilk Biscuits for life!"

How about a nationwide contest promoted via radio to keep the cost down?

 "Send us an email and explain, in 25 actual words or less describing why you prefer a term-limited president to a divine right monarch. Win one million dollars and an all expenses paid trip to Washington DC to be the people's official witness to the Donald's inauguration and meet the new president! Attend a potluck dinner for the POTUS, congress, and the supreme court afterward! Free carnival games and face painting for the kids!"

Savings: $199,000,000 bucks, minus the cost of the radio promotion and renting a hall for the potluck.

The commercial ends with the announcer babbling the following words at twice the speed of sound.

"All winnings are subject to federal, state and local taxes. Employees or relatives, no matter how tenuous the connection,
 of the Donald are not eligible in order to minimize the number of inevitable future congressional investigations. No emojis or social media/texting truncations and abbreviations permitted in order to weed out trolls. Only one entry per documented citizen please, violators will be tossed over the wall."

The Donald, well known for his modesty and good taste, is setting a good example. Our next POTUS will utter the 37 words mentioned above at the Capitol building (home of the people's representatives, many of whom have been selflessly serving us for decades). Next, he'll jump in an armored Cadillac limousine, one of a fleet of a dozen or so (shhh! it's a secret!) built at cost of about $1,500,000, each.

He'll then travel in a motorcade, for about two miles, to the White House while dispensing royal waves and thumbs-ups to the little people.

Little but.

The limos in the parade will not display the traditional special license plates created to commemorate inauguration day. This is giving the collectors of such plates the vapors. The Donald's camp is refusing to say why, but I think I know.

The Donald, well known for his subtlety and discretion, is quietly making the statement that he's just one of us. Make America less tacky again! Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.






  


  

Clean and Sober, Part Two

Dear (eventual) grandstickies and great-grandstickies,

To review, part one was an encapsulated version of my adventures as a twenty-something. I revealed that yes, Virginia, Poppa did smoke dope regularly during his extended callowyute era.

Now, I'm neither proud or ashamed of this period of my life, but I was extremely lucky. In retrospect (hindsight is indeed 20/20) I wish I had moved on much sooner than I did, or that I had the same reaction to weed as I did to alcohol -- I discovered early on that I didn't much care for it.

As to lucky, I didn't start smoking weed until I was twenty. Science tells us that drinking or doing drugs by adolescents can lead to permanent neural rewiring and many scientists suspect this increases the chance of addiction in adulthood. Also, while the area of the brain that governs pleasure seeking develops early, the area of the brain that governs decision making and judgment may not be done developing until the mid-twenties. Getting baked as a teenager before your brain has finished baking naturally may cause permanent damage.

I set out to get royally drunk one night when I was 18, and already living in my own apartment. I succeeded but didn't enjoy the results. I had a similar reaction to when I had tried cigarettes many years earlier. This is stupid, I don't like this, I'm not going to do this. So you see, not smoking cigarettes and not drinking requires no discipline or muscular virtue on my part. Lucky.

[Speaking of cigarettes, science tells us that nicotine, which personally I regard as a drug with effects that are even milder than those resulting from moderate caffeine consumption, is a highly addictive substance. My personal experience tends to confirm this. Your parental units have both been trying to quit smoking for at least ten years that I know of and haven't made it, yet. I'm cautiously optimistic because ya'll are one of the most important reasons they keep trying, and they're very good parents who just spent too much money on your Christmas presents, as usual (GRIN). It would seem I'm not the only lucky one.

Please don't get hooked on nicotine, or anything else for that matter. And yeah, I know, vaping is better for you, but addiction is addiction. When my mom was in a nursing home and wheezing from emphysema and only one year older than I am now, 64 40, she was cursing her children for refusing to smuggle in her beloved unfiltered Kools.]

...and we're back. Where was I? Oh yeah, lucky. As I mentioned in part one, my nefarious activities never led to any legal difficulties, that is, I never got caught by anyone with a badge. I realize that pointing this out to you may be equivalent to one of my grandparents telling me about using alcohol when it was briefly, and disastrously, prohibited to do so. At the moment it looks like weed will soon be legal everywhere, assuming The Gubmint doesn't step in. However, I'm not talking about what should have been, but what was, the past tense of not what should be, but what is (GRIN).

[At this point in my writing, my muse, imaginary gentlereader, and imaginary grandsticky all looked up from an intense game of Monopoly and looked around at each other, puzzled. Before anyone spoke up I quickly threw a, "I got this, relax, play your game, all will soon be clear" at 'em and they returned to arguing over the subtle, legal ramifications of one of the rules.]

See, had I been caught by the wrong person in the wrong jurisdiction I could've been locked up for quite some time (many were) for the heinous crime of participating in one of mankind's (personkind's?) oldest rituals, the pursuit of a good buzz. Perfectly legally and sanctioned by the powers that be were. That's the not what should have been but what was, referenced above. The land of the free was/is not always as free as one might like.

BIG BUT.

I mentioned early on that I'm neither proud or ashamed of this period of my life. I am, however, regretful. During my extended callowyute phase I, like most twenty-somethings, many thirty-somethings, a disturbingly high (and rising I think) percentage of forty and even fifty-somethings -- thought I was bullet proof, ten feet tall, and would live forever.

[My fellow baby boomers, who, demographically speaking, range in age from 53 to 71 as this is being written, require an entire column or two to analyze because while many have discarded their rose colored glasses, many have not and are members in good standing of the not what is, but what should be club. Some of them are even counting on living forever via having themselves uploaded to a machine. Sounds boring to me, living forever I mean, please forgive the digression.]

Just as many old farts never tired of pointing out to me, just as no shortage of old farts, occasionally including me, never tire of pointing out to you -- you're gonna' wake up one day a couple of years from now and you will be, chronologically speaking, old. You will personally know several dead people even if you're fortunate enough to have managed to get through your life minimally affected by war.

I understood this intellectually long before I understood this in reality, in my heart. I hope the same is true for you. I hope that you operate under the illusion of immortality and happy endings for everyone for as long as possible.

However, I devoutly wish that someone had told me, as a young man, or that I had somehow stumbled upon, the following.

If you want to save the world, or someone, and/or
If you think that grups are boring and more dead than alive and/or
If you choose to party now and worry about so-called real life later and/or
If you've found someone/something for whom/which you can't wait to get out of bed for and/or
If you're religiously/spiritually/enlightenmentally inclined, traditional or unconventional path, and/or
___________________________________________________ . (This space intentionally left blank.)

Reality  still  rules.

Some folks can't/shouldn't "party," ever. They're called addicts. You need to constantly monitor and be brutally honest with, yourself. Question one. Am I doing this for some occasional fun or do I have to do this to deal. Question two. Is this interfering with other aspects of my life? Incidentally, I don't know what the experts advise, these two questions are what I advise.


And while we're at it:

The need for food, clothing, shelter, and healthcare is, and will remain, omnipresent.

Pay your own way if at all possible and everyone will like you more, especially you.

You are never going to wake up one day and be Happy, it just doesn't work that way. Some days you'll be happy, some days you will be miserable, most days will be a mixture of both.

Forget happiness, pursue contentment. Contentment is someone to love that loves you back (pets are perfectly acceptable) and interesting work. Getting paid to do interesting work is rare. Getting paid for doing a job and doing your work for free, um, works. Your work is anything that makes you happy just by the doing of it well, It doesn't matter what it is. Rabid sports fan, rocket scientist, or something in between. "Be regular and orderly in your life so that you may be violent and original in your work." -Gustave Flaubert                                                                                                                                                                                                                      
If you're lucky you will often be bored. As you age you will learn this is not necessarily a bad thing, particularly given the many unpleasant alternatives available.

Goals are necessary, and good, but success at anything requires flexibility and the wisdom to spot a better path. There are an infinite number of paths and yours is probably no better than theirs, just different. Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day.