Wild-Eyed Libertarian (Part Two)

In which, Poppa, self-described wild-eyed libertarian with a bleeding heart and conservative impulses, as promised in part one, explains (justifies?) his bleeding heart and conservative impulses. My bleeding heart will be covered in Part 3. Such are the vicissitudes of my edited stream of consciousness style of writing.

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 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) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

Conservative impulses? Harumph. Personally, I don't think of my conservative impulses as conservative impulses. I think of them as the practicing of good manners (GM) and as sort of new millennium version of modesty (M).

Also, cultivating strategic taste (ST).

[Gentlereaders, for the record, I have no problem with cultivating good taste. In fact, considering our seemingly ever coarsening culture, I can't recommend it enough.]

I came up with strategic taste because in matters of good taste, while I personally hold any number of semi-humble opinions about good taste, I hesitate to inflict them on anyone else. Louis Armstrong said that if you like it, it's good music. However, I reserve the right to point and giggle when the emperor isn't wearing any clothes (you've been warned...).

Strategic taste refers to, well, here's an example. Sometimes a good fart joke is just what's called for, but all fart jokes all the time? not so much. That is to say, knowing when to show some class or style, as opposed to knowing when it's time to get down and dirty.

That is also to say, employing GMMST to keep the playground family friendly, but respecting that what consenting adults choose to get up to behind closed doors is nunya (none of your _______ business), as long as they employ GMMST. More on this in a future letter.


I used to think that most, or at least many of my fellow Citizens of the Republic, regardless of assigned political or demographic labels, would find my "conservative" impulses to be reasonable.

Nowadays, however, I have my doubts; I may (I hope) be wrong. More on that in just a sec'. Nothing to be alarmed about. I'm in the wrong with disturbing regularity. Being a libertarian, I have no desire to see most of 'em, my conservative impulses that is, turned into laws, not even when I become (the world's first libertarian) king. "Libertarians share a skepticism of authority and state power." -Wikipedia

Be forewarned, however, for once I'm the King of America, although I will (as previously promised) rule with a very light/benevolent hand, I shall assert my power when I deem it absolutely necessary. For example, the very first edict I'll issue, post-coronation revelry of course, will be The Great Abortion Compromise.

As to those doubts that I now have that many of my fellow Citizens of the Republic would find my alleged conservative impulses to be reasonable? I wish to illustrate my doubts with a boring old man story (BOMS).

Contrasting the story below with the links that folloe will clearly illustrate, the who, what, when, where, and why of my (alleged) conservative impulses.

[Note: A BOMS is not necessarily (but often is) boring. Nor does it necessarily refer to a story (boring or otherwise) told by a boring old man (although he often is). It's the name I painted on the front of the phenomenon that many old men feel compelled to tell stories, boring or otherwise. However, anyone is capable of telling a boring old man story.

A proven, scientific reason for this phenomenon, the need for geezers like myself to mansplain the world to the world, eludes us. Personally, I think it's genetic. Fortunately, most women of a certain age are not afflicted, proving, yet again, female H. sapiens are generally more evolved than the males.]


BOMS: When I was in public high school, reveling in/adjusting to/slightly terrified by the dramatic contrast of eight years of traditional Catholic grade school to a public high school in the late sixties, I had a friend named Bernie.

Bernie took delight in the use of profanity. Bernie took particular delight in demonstrating his cursing chops to females. I took delight in Bernie as he was considerably braver than my high school persona.

At the time, the dark ages, although rapidly drawing to a close, we're not going away quietly and still exerted much influence in the world. Also, I -- an introverted, insecure, hormone-saturated callowyute -- walked with one foot in the dark ages and one in the revolution.

Bernie swore like a sailor, but rarely in front of grups, particularly authority figures. At the time, to do so was a major violation of the rapidly fraying social contract. I realize this is still true in certain, seemingly ever shrinking circles. However, nowadays it's more likely to be a mere technical violation. Back then, setting off f-bombs was a felony as they were packed with psychic shrapnel.

As to girls...

[Gentlereaders, in my little corner of Flyoverland, referring to H. sapiens identified as female on their birth certificates, and under the age of 18, as girls, is considered acceptable and is commonly practiced. If I'm stepping on anyone's politically correct and/or gender neutral toes I insincerely apologize.]

As to girls, although the miniskirt was all the rage at the time (thank you, God), many a maiden still maintained a modicum of modesty even as we were all busy coming to grips with the overdue and necessary women's liberation movement.

Which brings us back to Bernie. Bernie's excessive use of profanity served two purposes.

Like all adolescents, since the invention of the teenager and youth culture in the early 1940s at least, rebellion against grup norms was/is expected. Anyone that has gone through this stage and lived long enough to become a grup knows that peeing on a given grup norm, rocks. This was the first of the two reasons Bernie loved to cuss.

The second was the bad boy thing. Bad boys, real bad boys (what are you going to do?) are born that way. The rest/most of us, are not.

Now, remember, I was reveling in/adjusting to/slightly terrified by the dramatic contrast of eight years of traditional Catholic grade school to a public high school in the late sixties (and surrounded by mini-skirted maidens).

And I know you'll find this hard to believe, but back in the dark ages, many, and all sorts, of female H. sapiens, "good girls" and otherwise, were often attracted by/in relationships with bad boys. Therefore, the rest of us tried to adopt what bad boys ways we thought we could reasonably fake in order to facilitate job-one -- find out what's going on underneath all those mini skirts.

[Stickies, the phrase good girls probably had a different meaning in the dark ages than what you might be thinking. A dated definition that you needn't concern yourself with (unlike GMMST).]

Long story short (too late?), profanity was a bad boy characteristic and employed because most girls back then were generally much less likely to cuss than boys. Carpet bombing (Bernie tended to get carried away) a "chick" with profanity might provoke shock or nervous giggles. Or shocked nervous giggles. Or a look of revulsion. Or... well actually, it didn't matter.

The point was to prove that while you may not actually be a full-fledged bad boy, you had bad boy characteristics. It was hoped that this might make you more attractive to chicks. We didn't understand the why of it any more than we understood the mysterious nature of the female mind (any better then than we do now), me and Bernie anyway. We just wanted girlfriends. End of BOMS.


Found on the web, July 4th holiday weekend, 2017.

The rise of 'designer nipples' 

Real-Life Vampire Couple Says Sucking Blood Is Better Than Sex

ATTN. MEN: We Don't Care If You Can See Our Buttholes (PG)

"A conservative [or maybe even a wild-eyed libertarian with conservative impulses?] is someone who stands athwart history, yelling Stop, at a time when no one is inclined to do so, or to have much patience with those who so urge it." -William F. Buckley Jr. 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.

Wild-Eyed Libertarian (Part One)

 If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my (eventual) grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who don't, 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 to solve this problem and access lotsa columns.]

WARNING! This column is recommended for Sexy Senior Citizens age 50 and above who prefer perusing the web via a decent-sized screen. The reading of this column by grups and callowyutes may result in psychological/emotional/etceteralogical triggering.

                                                 Glossary  

                                  Just Who IS This Guy?

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars 

Dana -- A Gentlereader
Iggy -- A Sticky (GT*)

Marie-Louise -- My Muse (GT*)

*Currently Grand Touring 

"One of the reasons people hate politics is that truth is rarely a politician's objective. Election and power are." -Cal Thomas

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies (& Gentlereaders),

I used to describe myself as a wild-eyed bleeding heart libertarian (BHL) with conservative impulses.

Now, the official description is wild-eyed libertarian with a bleeding heart and conservative impulses. Yeah, I know, it sounds like the same thing. You'll just have to trust me. Now, let us move on before I'm tempted to wander off into the weeds. You know how I get.

I'll betcha a bottle-a-pop that considerably more people haven't heard the phrase (BHL) than have.

I didn't invent it, but when I started using it I thought I did. I had no idea there were/are lots of other people that also describe themselves as BHLs. It just seemed to fit me. It finally dawned on me at some point that I should go a-googling in search of like-minded souls.

In my defense, I have readily admitted/readily admit to being an easily bored dilettante who also suffers from been there done that syndrome who wishes he were smart enough to be a polymath.

I'm convinced that had I not been dropped on my head as a baby by my big brother, which, tragically, also afflicted me with a severe case of lazy eye, I certainly would be a polymath, and I would've had a much better life. Wouldacouldashoulda. Mitigating this tragedy is my ability to see around corners.

You've no doubt heard that there's nothing new under the sun (a concept I prefer to render, more accurately I think, as everything seems to be just a variation on a theme). There are not only others who call themselves BHLs, there's a website. The site was the first hit returned by my inquiry but certainly not the last. More on that in just a sec'.

The site is a blog of blogs written by, from what I can tell, gentlepersons of a somewhat more, um, academic frame of mind than your semi-humble correspondent. I'm sure if I were a polymath I'd find it much more enlightening/entertaining than I did/I do.

After exploring the site in question for a (dilettantish) bit I returned to the search results and started clicking around. Overall takeaway? lots of folks, particularly mainstream libertarians (look ma! a witty oxymoron!), like to beat up on BHLs and something called left-libertarianism. I didn't even know that was a thing. Remember Stickies, you learn something every day if you pay attention.

Now, libertarians being libertarians, I can't say I was shocked. A quote from the relevant Wikipedia article: "Libertarians share a skepticism of authority and state power. However, they diverge on the scope of their opposition to existing political and economic systems." At this point, I would like to nominate this passage for the Understatement of the Year Awards.

Diverge? running the Libertarian Party must be the political equivalent of herding cats. Self-identifying libertarians range from well spoken, well respected, Ph.D. toting professors to tinfoil hat enthusiasts.

Which brings us to the point of this letter. I...

[At this point Iggy, Dana, and Marie-Louise all popped into my consciousness simultaneously. All three of them broke into an improvised, wildly exaggerated version of what I can only describe as a happy feet dance while chanting, there's a point! there's a point! there's a point!]

You guys are hi-lar-ious, I responded (HT: BR). Of course there's a point, there's always a point -- usually, eventually. I shall refrain from commenting on your disappointing, philastinish display and clear under-appreciation of my art form, perspicaciously edited stream of consciousness writing. Instead, I shall make my multifaceted point if you'll stop that damn giggling.

I'm a wild-eyed libertarian, a wild-eyed libertarian with a bleeding heart and conservative impulses.

[Gentlereaders: I plan to organize an as yet unnamed political party with a platform that will be built upon this very sentence. My son-in-law, Skippy (or so I've heard) has begun to put together a super PAC to support the party. We will both pledge to follow the letter and spirit of the law and never coordinate our efforts, not even over the dinner table. Pinky swear.]

Libertarians are obsessed, to one degree or another, with liberty. Maximum freedom = minimal gummit. The phrase, to one degree or another in the previous sentence, is very revealing. While there is such a thing as the Libertarian Party, whose candidate I voted for in the last presidential election, it is even more fractious than the current incarnations of our two mainstream parties, the Depublicans and the Republicrats.

[A point of clarification, if you please. If you find my cheap (literary) trick confusing, the first letters of the names I use for the traditional names of our traditional parties should be helpful. While both struggle to present a united front and both delight in demonizing the other, they both share some unfortunate common ground. For most of their respective members, retaining power trumps serving the Republic.]

They (in theory) are supposed to put the welfare of Our Republic first, they represent, and work for, Us. Unfortunately, the system is long overdue for an upgrade.

A lack of congressional term limits guarantees professional politicians, many of whom never had to survive in the real world for more than a minute.

Which gives us -- a Senate with a seniority system where the more often you are reelected by the people of your own state the more power you will have over everyone else's state. Which helps you get reelected by the people of your own state because of the power you have over the people of everyone else's state.

Combined with -- a lower house with two-year terms where job one is raising money/preparing for the next election with the help of a jobs program for professional Pols called gerrymandering.

Which is why, obviously, I'm a wild-eyed libertarian...

[The happy feet dancing suddenly stopped. My imaginary posse stared at me silently with a loud, huh?]

...with a bleeding heart and conservative impulses.

As I've previously written, I want the playground to have minimum rules and maximum fun. I want just enough rules to give everyone an equal shot at some swing time and neutralize the bullies.

Physical bullies start with your lunch money but grow up to be crony capitalists.

Intellectual bullies grow up to be bureauons.

Professional Pols are financed by the former and protect the latter who devise endless rules and regs and enforce the laws the Pols passed without bothering to read the fine print.

That is to say, I prefer liberty, equality of opportunity, and free markets.

That's how you get a Henry Ford, or a Steve Jobs, or _______. (This space reserved for the name of the traditionally/allegedly suppressed type to be that well known and have that much impact). Personally, I'll betcha a bottle-a-pop that ______, whatever, um, it's? preferred pronoun is already here, and about to change the world).


Ah, geez! Look at the time!

[Gentlereaders, after investigating the etymology and semantics behind the word Geez (also rendered as Jeez) I discovered that there is no consensus as to spelling and meaning. Some maintain that it's a polite way to take the Lord's name in vain. While I accept this, I've always thought of this word as a slightly less corny variation of (golly) gee whiz, swear to God (said the agnostic). When I become king I'll make geez the official word; a variation of (golly) gee whiz the official definition. Part of my restoration of good manners and modesty project.]

Well, that's the wild-eyed libertarian part. I'll explore the bleeding heart part, and my conservative impulses, in my next letter. Poppa loves you.

To be continued...

Have an OK day. 
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©2019 Mark Mehlmauer As long as you agree to supply my name and URL (Creative Commons license at the top and bottom of my website) you may republish this anywhere that you please. Light editing that doesn't alter the content is acceptable. You don't have to include any of the folderol before the greeting or after the closing (Have an OK day) except for the title. 

What's Really Going On?

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 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) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

Ya' ever wonder what's really going (or has gone) on?

I do, that's why I'm a current events junkie. I'm not just a living, old school version of one of those ubiquitous Now Trending lists that are currently so popular. I harbor no secret fantasy to win big bucks on Jeopardy. I haven't played Trivial Pursuit, any edition, in years.

I want to know what the approximate truth is in light of our current knowledge and to the best of our current abilities. I not only really want to know because I really want to know. I really want to know what actually works, not just what I/we/they hope will work; what works the best for the most while maintaining maximum liberty.                                                                                                                                                                                                                        
I use the word approximate deliberately and without reservation. If you really want to know what the whole truth and nothing but the truth is, step one is to acknowledge that truth is always provisional, approximate and subject to change.

BIG BUT.

Maintaining an open mind, and heart, doesn't mean that you get to deny the obvious when the obvious is inconvenient to your preconceptions, proclivities or purposes (nefarious or otherwise). Denial is not a river in Egypt, although people drown in it every day. It simply means that the smart play is to consider truth as sort of the "working title" of reality.

For example, the process I follow when I write one of these letters.

I get an idea. I click on the New post button. I select a working title, hope that Marie-Louise is in the mood, and start writing. Paragraphs (hopefully, not always) begin to accumulate. Write, read, tweak, rewrite. Gradually (sometimes painfully), a letter emerges. Write, read, tweak, rewrite. With a little luck, I'll eventually wind up with a finished product with (hopefully) an understandable point. A missive of a thousand (more or less) words that strikes me as true.

Little but.

The content is subject to revision: tomorrow, next week, next month..., etc. The working title almost always changes before publication. And of course, any given gentlereader, grandsticky or otherwise, may decide I'm full of crap.

WARNING! 

Digression Ahead

I'm a curious, easily bored dilettante with multiple interests, one of which is a fascination with current events. If I were more intelligent and didn't suffer from a mild form of intellectual ADD compounded by been there done that syndrome, I'd be a polymath (I can dream, can't I?).

Polymath: a person of encyclopedic learning (Merriam-Webster). Polymath: a genius (or close enough) with expert level knowledge (or close enough) in multiple fields thus capable of a valid big picture view of complex problems (my definition).

In this, the Dizzinformation Age, we need big-brained knowledge synthesizers. You should be able to go to college and get a degree or two in Polymathology. When I'm king I'll make this happen. Unlike certain non-STEM majors, this will be a real degree (or two) that will result in an actual job that just might earn you enough dough to justify a student loan debt burden. (Yet another problem awaiting your future monarch.)

The requirements for getting into/graduating from the program will be quite rigorous. Only a very limited group of the best and the brightest will be considered. Details to be worked out by me and my Royal Privy Council of Perspicacious Polymaths. Snowflakes need not apply.

End Digression

Although I came pre-wired this way, ironically, I credit/blame the teachers, mostly nuns, of three different (it's complicated, but no, it wasn't me) Catholic grade schools in or near Pittsburgh, Pa. for cultivating this aspect of my nature.

This was back in the distant dark ages (two of the schools no longer even exist) when nuns still had hair on their chests and dressed like they belonged to a cult that worshiped penguins. I was the victim/beneficiary of a traditional, old-fashion, (sorry, I can't resist) old school version of Catholic childhood education.

[At this point Iggy popped into my consciousness. Like, what's ironical about that, Poppa?]

Well, hairy chested nuns tended to focus more on suppression than cultivation. Their specialty was on turning high functioning chimps into civilized, Catholic citizens. Told ya' it was the dark ages. So the irony lies in that although I was thoroughly marinated in traditional Catholicism, traditional morality, and traditional discipline (including corporal punishment) and the like, the church was/is preoccupied with social justice and social justice requires a knowledge of current events.

Effective social justice requires that you know what's going on, what's really going on. As does effective voting, effective parenting, effective management, effective governing, effective _______. Ya' gotta work for it though. The truth is out there, but dizzinformation never sleeps.

I hasten to add, for clarity, that you must remember this was the tail end of the dark ages, which began drawing to a close in the mid-sixties. I was taught a version of social justice that is now considered by many to be obsolete. I was taught that social justice meant equal opportunity for all. Nowadays, social justice is often defined as equal outcomes for all.

I prefer the former definition because achieving equal outcomes would require central planning, setting specific targets, and worst of all, central planners. Central planners are, or at least think they are, experts, usually highly educated experts, the sort of experts preferred by the gummits and The Gummit. Which explains a lot. They ain't usually polymaths.

[Second rate comedian (on the cusp of a career in insurance), sparsely packed venue (what is that smell?). Hey folks, what do you call a bonkercockie artist at least fifty miles from home? an expert! Rimshot.]

Now I'm sure that most of these folks are perfectly nice, well-meaning people. However, I'm also sure that attempting to centrally plan outcomes for any sort of ginormous enterprise involving millions of people and gazillions of variables only guarantees one thing -- the invocation of the law of unexpected consequences. Copy and paste the following into the search bar of your favorite browser: USSR, 1922 - 1991.

Your Poppa used to describe himself (I've altered this description a bit, see next letter ) as a wild-eyed bleeding heart libertarian with conservative impulses. In my next letter, I'll start explaining how it's possible, in my case at least, to be a child of the left, right, and center simultaneously without any given one of my multiple personalities feeling the need/right/necessity to delete one of the others. Compromise don't demonize. 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.