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.

Potterville

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,

I begin most days with a cup of coffee and a quick review of a carefully selected gaggle of websites that present me with a sort of screen grab of what's going on in the/my world. The gaggle includes accuweather.com because it's not weather.com, the Weather Channels site. (It's complicated, not interesting, I'll spare you.)

I mention this because when I'm trying to find out what sort of weather is expected in my little corner of Flyoverland, I'm just trying to find out what sort of weather is expected in my little corner of Flyoverland.

I'd rather not see any advertising that my mom (God rest her soul), or female grandstickies, might find to be embarrassing if we happened to stumble on it simultaneously in search of the weather or anything else. For example, "... The Miracle Pill That Cured Dr. Phil's ED Permanently!"

Yikes!


Where to begin... I'll start with my mom. She was a country girl who wound up in the city and then the 'burbs and then the country again. She had one husband and seven kids. She lived through the Great Depression, WW2, and the sixties.

She died before I had finished extracting my head from my bum and I missed out on the chance to ask her all sorts of questions that hadn't even occurred to me before the extraction process was (well, more or less) complete.

Her pre-sixties, traditional upbringing was tempered by an open mind, a down to Earth sensibility, and a good sense of humor. I believe that if she were still around she would, like me, hesitate to censor/condemn our culture's preoccupation obsession with sex.

That is, she was no prude. She was well aware that boys will be boys pigs and that this was biology no need to take it personally. That women were hardly above this sort of thing, and perfectly capable of cultivating and enjoying the fact that we are all, in a certain sense, the slaves of our DNA.

Speaking of obsessed, I think of H. sapiens DNA, all DNA actually, as an obsessed one trick pony. Replicate! Replicate! Replicate! Be thou a pious fundamentalist, wild-eyed libertine, or row, row, rowing your boat down the middle of the stream, your DNA is poised and ready to jump out from behind the curtain/wall/rock (or scramble out from underneath the bed) when you're least expecting it.

BIG BUT.

While I'll admit when pressed, that I'm slightly older than 39, I'm still somewhat younger than 100. And yet... when I attended Catholic grade school girls were not permitted to wear patent leather shoes lest (gasp!) their underwear would be reflected in the shiny surface of their shoes (they were required to wear skirts or dresses).

[Dana, imaginary gentlereader appears. Whoa, cowboy! I think you've wandered off the trail. Where, exactly, are you headed?]

Alright... A quick reread of the above would seem to indicate you may have a point. Where I was headed, via the scenic route, was that I'm old enough to clearly remember what life in America was like before the late sixties when everything began changing at light speed.

Also, although I was raised by a traditional, pre-sixties mom, she was an open-minded, down to Earth sort of person that I credit with providing a solid foundation for me to stand on while I experienced the 60s and 70s and was trying to figure out how to be a grup. One of the things I figured out (slowly, painfully, haltingly) was that (stoned surfer voice) everything is not, like, relative man.

Grups need to draw lines. Grups with callowyutes must make sure their callowyutes know where the lines are, and why they are. There's much to be said for moderation in all things and every well-adjusted grup should intuitively understand why or seek help.

All sex, all the time, is as fraught with downsides as all repression all the time.

Fast forward to a few days ago. As I mentioned above, I opened the Accuweather site to check on the weather and was greeted by an ad for "...The Miracle Pill That Cured Dr. Phil's ED Permanently!" The ad featured a beautiful blond woman with the top half of her prominent boobs on display holding up a large, bright yellow banana. The caption was, "Sick of Finishing First?"

I repeat, Yikes!


I checked the URL... Yup, it's the Accuweather site. I pictured my mom, or Sister Mary McGillicuddy (if they were still around) checking on what the weather held in store for their day and encountering this advertisement. They would not even be mildly shocked (neither being delicate flowers) as they would've been back in the dark ages of a few decades ago. Far too many ads for ED and feminine hygiene products have flowed by under the bridge since then.

Eww! they would feel/think/say, and then calmly scroll to the relevant part of the page to acquire the desired information. Not I. I'd have (and I did) to click on the ad for myriad reasons, though I heartily agree with, Eww!

- Is it a fluke, a mistake, a hack, a humbug? Can't be real, right? Well, not on this site at least.

- Semantic confusion. Remember the caption, "sick of finishing first?" As I understand it, Dr. Phil, or anyone suffering from ED, couldn't finish first if they were unable to start in the first place. Not that I have any personal knowledge of this malady (knock on wood).

- Boobies! Boys will be pigs. As I instructed my daughter when she reached a certain age, all men all pigs, including me. Some men just hide it are just more civilized than others; all men should strive to be. Remember this.


So I clicked. It was even better/worse than I thought.

The navigation bar from the Fox News website (you know, in light of recent events... nevermind) followed by a headline -- Shocking News: Robin McGraw Reveals The Miracle Pill That Cured Dr. Phil's ED Permanently! Robin: "Special Thanks To Dr. Oz"

Then there's, featured in, which is followed by a bunch of logos for NBC, People, GQ, Dr. Oz, etc.

Then there's what looks like a newspaper article written by "Kate," a woman who, um, doesn't mince her words. If you read it, read the whole thing, it just gets better/even worse as you go, Eww! My favorite line was, "At first I was like: WTF, where do all those adult film stars get their stamina?" (You've no doubt wondered the same thing, right?)


Bottom line, it was a real ad in that there's an actual product you can buy, but everything in the ad itself is bogus. As I'm writing this there's another bogus ad that has begun running in the same space (the ads in the space are rotational) for a skincare product -- no bananas or boobies are involved, but the format is obviously a variation on a theme.

My point...

[Dana, Iggy, and Marie-Louise (who joined us at this point), cheer.]

My point is that although I'm a libertarian, by temperament and by choice, is that I have two questions. How does a culture wherein, more and more, the only agreed upon (more or less) restraints on behavior are legal ones, not devolve? How do we prevent Bedford Falls from becoming Potterville? 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.

The State of the Zeitgeist (3)

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,

What follows is a snapshot of my/our current zeitgeist. For purposes of clarification, my refers to me, our — varies.

The meaning of our primarily ranges from my extended family to my country, the USA, and points in between. Occasionally, and broadly speaking, "our" includes H. sapiens in general. I pledge to at least try to clearly differentiate. This applies/will apply to all of my State of the Zeitgeist columns.

[Just what are you on about now? inquires Dana, imaginary gentlereader.]

Your back! I cleverly reply. All three of my imaginary writing companions have been away on an extended "abduction" with my alien friends the Tralfamidorians.

Where's Iggy (imaginary grandsticky) and Marie-Louise (my drop-dead gorgeous muse)? I ask.

[Unpacking, and trying to find room to display the half a ton of cosmic tchotchkes they brought back with them.]

The point I'm trying to make about my/our is merely one of clarification. While my audience is a fairly small one I literally have readers from all over the planet Earth. Which sounds cool, and it is, but...

[THIS is clarification?]

Patience. I started blogging primarily as a way to leave a bit of me behind for my daughter and her snificant other, grown-up (eventual) grandkids and (potential, but virtually inevitable) great-grandkids. Also, the vague/slight possibility that I would go viral in some form or fashion and make some money.

I'm still waiting for the money to start pouring in. The ads on my site only pay slightly more than nothing if someone clicks on 'em. You gotta' have a lot more readers than I do to make money that way (via high volume clicking). But that's fine, I enjoy writing.

However, when I started, I didn't think about the fact that, at least potentially, I could reach anyone on the planet Earth who has internet access. Google, who provides a free and relatively easy to use platform for Bloggers called Blogger (clever, huh?) also provides statistics. My favorite one is how many people in a given country are reading my shtuff.

I'm basically just another mostly unknown writer here, there, and also, there. However, in the course of the last week, for example, folks from the US, Israel, France, Brazil, Indonesia, Russia, India, Germany, the UK, and China (China!), have read my column(s). There are other countries as well but Google only lists the top ten.

How cool is that! Well, I think it's cool.

Therefore, international gentlereaders, if you ever find me to be parochial or just another arrogant American, I (mostly) apologize. Also, I apologize to anyone that speaks/reads English as a second language for my tendency to mangle/invent words. OK, let us never speak of this again.


And now (finally), ladies and gentlemen, the State of the Zeitgeist, number three.

° A recent column of mine, Purposeful Polarization, was about how the Depublicrats and the majority of the members of the Infotainment Industrial Complex are attacking the Donald and attempting to bog his administration down by claiming that, with the help of Russia and the Pooteen, he stole our last presidential election.

Although his enemies, so far at least, are still light on actual evidence and heavy on speculation, they continue to be quite successful. One of the reasons for their success is one of the downsides of the living in the Dizzinformation Age. That is, the ability to spin information rapidly and widely, be it correct or otherwise.

There are, of course, endless new stories, memes, and developments — reported on, endlessly, by the endless news and social media. However, if the US was a radio station (Start your day with KUSA!) we would be in the midst of an all, the Donald, all the time marathon.

Healthcare and the tax code are a mess. The national debt increases daily. Underfunded/unfunded pension and social welfare promises keep expanding. The Donald tweets; Congress holds hearings and conducts investigations.


° In other news... it was widely underreported, barely mentioned in fact, that the cost of complying with The Gummit's rules and regs increased by 700,000,000 bucks from 2008 to 2016 while the tribune of the little people was in charge. If The Gummit's rules and regs were a country it would have the seventh largest economy on the planet Earth with a GDP of 1,700,000,000,000 bucks per year.

Mr. Obama likes to encourage the young and idealistic to pursue careers in the public sector, as opposed to the money-grubbing private sector that pays for the public sector. Mr. O. just spent 8,100,000 bucks on a new home in the Imperial Capital. He owns another home in California. He owns another home in Hawaii. I see his point.


° From the Wailing and Gnashing of Teeth Desk: The Donald has decided that America is withdrawing from the Paris Climate Accords. Fresh meat for professional wailers and gnashers.

His enemies declared that he had doomed Earthlings to eventual extinction. If anything, I'm understating their reaction. "Donald Trump Pulls US Out Of Paris Accord In Crushing Blow To Climate Fight" declared the Puffington Host.

He said that he was open to renegotiation. China is bringing coal-fired power plants online even as we speak (but promises to start cleaning up their act at some point down the road). He's got a problem with that. Me too.

For some reason, he also has a big problem with the provision that calls for handing over billions to that zany gang of famously effective bureauons at the United Nations to pay for developing sustainable power in third-world fever swamps.

Now personally, at the risk of being accused of peeing in the punchbowl, I feel the need to point out that our constitution clearly states that presidents can't sign a treaty without Senate approval.

Mr. O. says they can, and he did. Trust him, it's not technically a treaty, the provisions are non-binding. Question, If the provisions are non-binding, what's the point? See last week's column, Where Were You When the Lights Went Out, for the answer.


° On the endless freakin' hearings and investigations front, James Comey, the former head of the FBI recently, You're Fired!, by the Donald testified that... well... it depends on whose spin you trust the most. Mr. Comey did provide some moral clarity for the masses by explaining that when officials of The Gummit leak information, while this practice may be sleazy, if the info's not classified, it's legal. "Besides," he said, "I'm outta' here and I gotta' BOOK deal! Nah-nah-nah-NAH-nah!"  


° In celebrity news, a relatively obscure comedienne was condemned by various and sundry in various and sundry ways for crafting an image of herself holding the bloodied, severed head of the Donald. She apologized and invoked a, I thought it was funny but I didn't think it through, defense. Her "joke" led to various and sundry crazies to make death threats, whereupon she called a press conference and declared herself to be the victim of the week day hour last 15 minutes.


And then, in the midst of this contentious kerfuffle concerning budget cuts that aren't budget cuts and treaties that aren't treaties, legal leaks by J. Edgar Hoover Jr. and decapitated presidents -- evil losers murdered some more infidels in London for the crime of not being Muslims. 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.

   

Where Were You When the Lights Went Out?

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,

Dang! I missed Earth Hour! Again! (3/25/17, 8:30 pm)

Being a current events junkie is one of the reasons I spend (relatively speaking) a lot of time online.

[I use the phrase relatively speaking because I suspect, no, I know, that compared to the average smartphone addict (I still don't own a smartphone but I'm still sure it's inevitable) I'm strictly bush league. I still regularly read all sorts of things in dead trees format. I read entire ebooks while offline.]

When I go a-clickin' 'round the internet...

[Are there internet folk songs? A-clickin' 'round the internet, a-clickin' I do go!]

...I save all sorts of things for later viewing that may be something I would want to write about. I'm currently deleting my butt off in an attempt to keep my myriad saved sites under at least minimal control and I chanced upon the Earth Hour site.

In case you didn't know, Earth Hour is a movement, a website, and a nonprofit organization.

[Speaking of nonprofits, I'm constantly stumbling upon articles and videos of one sort or another about Millennials joining/starting nonprofit organizations. This is why I don't worry about where are all the jobs are going to come from in an increasingly automated world. Everyone can work for a nonprofit and sell merchandise/solicit donations from each other for a living while saving the world. Cool, huh?]

Earth Hour ("...together, let's #ChangeClimateChange"), in case you were unaware, promotes climate change awareness by encouraging the citizens of planet Earth to all turn off the lights, simultaneously, for an hour, once a year. It's a project of the World Wildlife Fund for Nature, which according to Wikipedia, is the world's largest conservation organization.

Now, I can almost hear my more cynical readers snorting in derision.

[Snorting? I'm sure there must be a better word for that varying noise H. sapiens emit when saying something like, "yeah (aforementioned noise), right" but I can't think of one.]

And, in this particular case, adding something about how much more made aware can we be about climate change. Perhaps even tossing in something about limousine liberals and their ilk saving the world by flicking a light switch once a year.

Not I. We must be ever vigilant, for snark and cynicism, like rust, never sleeps. While I'm somewhat skeptical about climate change and who/what is causing it (assuming it's an actual thing), I'm skeptical about everything, Particularly about planet-wide, big picture shtuff that requires complex, elaborate computer modeling. Particularly when various models predict various outcomes. Particularly since models are built by H. sapiens.

And, since I followed the global cooling predictions reported on by the likes of Time and Newsweek in the early 70s. Nowadays, this historical phenomenon is shrugged off by modern scientists who say that it was primarily the fault of a mistaken news media, not mistaken scientists. All the more reason to skeptical of everything, especially the news media.

[By the way, I can't recommend an attitude of general skepticism enough. In fact, I highly recommend an attitude that regards all knowledge as provisional and subject to radical revision, often when you're least expecting it. However, you don't have to be a jagoff (definition No. 2) about it. It can be done with a little style, like anything else.]


So anyway, I'd forgotten about Earth Hour altogether. It's not a hot topic here in Flyoverland. We've been somewhat sidetracked for the last several decades by our dismal economy, rusting empty factories, shrinking middle class  -- that sort of thing. Now we're dealing with an opioid epidemic that isn't just about addiction -- people are dropping dead with disturbing regularity in spite of the hundreds of billions we've spent/spend on Prohibition 2. A lot of people aren't just saying no.

[On the bright side, Prohibition 2 creates lots of good gummit and, The Gummit, jobs. Also, civil asset forfeiture helps to fund many local police departments, although some spoilsports keep whining about the constitution.]

However, as I mentioned above, while trying to get my eclectic collection of seemingly several million saved sites from which I could conceivably craft an eventual column of some sort, there it was, Earth Hour.

Or rather, a column by Mark Perry (an economist that lives in the real world and one of my intellectual heroes) about Earth Hour. "Instead of Barbaric Darkness, Why Not Celebrate Human Progress?  It's a brief, well-written piece well worth reading but I know how busy you are, so I'll summarize it for you.

Mr. Perry (and I) thinks that the widespread use of electricity (regardless of how it's generated), rocks. Most of his article is actually a lengthy quote by another economist, Ross McKitrick. The first three sentences of the quote say it all.

"I abhor Earth Hour. Abundant, cheap electricity has been the greatest source of human liberation in the 20th century. Every material social advance in the 20th century depended on the proliferation of inexpensive and reliable electricity."

He then lists several of those social advances and also points out that, "Many of the worlds poor suffer brutal environmental conditions in their own homes because of the necessity of cooking over indoor fires that burn twigs and dung."

Below is a satellite picture, courtesy of Google images, of North Korea at night. Apparently, King Kim the third, the chubby-cheeked commander in chief of the Norks is a rabid environmentalist. The Norks celebrate Earth Hour 24x7x365. You can almost smell the twigs and dung burning.

And you thought he was only famous for murdering various family members, starving his own people, and of course attempting, via The Bomb, to establish the ultimate protection racket.

"Nice country you have here, it'd be a shame if someone rendered it a wasteland. Know what I mean?
























[Confession: Mr. Perry's article also includes a (different) image of North Korea at night so technically you could make a case that I stole his idea. In my defense, I've been aware of the Norks environmental devotion and similar images, literally, for decades and this column just gave me an excuse a chance to publish what is a well-known image/phenomenon that everyone should be aware of.]


[At this point in my writing I hit a wall, well, not much of a wall, but still... I just couldn't come up with a last paragraph or two that I was happy with so I placed the column in a virtual drawer and tried not to think about it. 

I decided to not take it out till just now, Saturday morning, though I plan on publishing it tonight at 11:07 p.m. I figured that even if I couldn't come up with something I really liked the time pressure would force me to come with something that was good enough. And then the week happened...]

And we're back. Speaking of goofy, pointless, feel-good gestures to pub-lic-ally proclaim one's green bona fides, the Donald took it upon himself to pull the USA out of a globe spanning example, the Paris Climate Accords.

Also, comedienne, Kathy Griffin, made a joke that fell flat.

These events enable me to end this column/letter here and ask you to tune in next time whereupon I will discuss these two events and what they have to do with purposeful polarization, dizzinformation, the state of the zeitgeist, the constitution, and all sorts of shtuff that I tend to prattle on about. 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.

Purposeful Polarization (& Beguiling Bonkercockie)

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) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

Purposeful Polarization (corollary -- beguiling bonkercockie), I stumbled on this phrase in a Wall Street Journal article. I've been following the seemingly endless attacks on the Donald, via the media and the Depublicans, fascinated by the deluge of if/then stories (if this should turn out to be true, then...) and unattributed (but trust us, we trust the leakers) leaks.

I refer specifically to (insert a few bars of dramatic music here) the Russian Conspiracy. It turns out the Donald isn't the Hitler of the 21st century (well, so far, it's early yet). It turns out that he's not crazy after all (well, so far, it's early yet), at least not consistently. While he does regularly say (or tweet) crazy shtuff, even some of his many enemies have begun to figure out it's often crazy like a fox/strategic in nature.

While the crazy and Hitler memes were only base hits, (insert a few bars of dramatic music here) the Russian Conspiracy is a home run. Our left-leaning infotainment industrial complex and the Depublicans are having a good deal of success tying the Donald to the Pooteen and (insert a few bars of dramatic music here) the Russian Conspiracy.

They've managed this in spite of the fact no actual crimes, so far at least, have yet to be uncovered. That's world-class Purposeful Polarization using a where there's smoke there's fire attack. However, the smoke, in this case, may just be a fog of spin and dizzinformation

 [Gentlereaders, please, bear with me. If you're sick of hearing about (insert a few bars of dramatic music here) the Russian Conspiracy you might be contemplating clicking off to elsewhere in cyberspace at this point. However, this letter/column isn't about (insert a few bars of dramatic music here) the Russian Conspiracy, it's about Purposeful Polarization.]



The WSJ article referenced above, Anti-Trump Democrats Invite Chaos, is a short editorial written by Ted Van Dyk who doesn't work for the paper and is described as being "...active for more than 40 years in Democratic administrations and campaigns..." succinctly states a list of reasons why our good friends on the left consider our newly appointed special prosecutor and calls for the Donald's impeachment to be justified.

He also succinctly demolishes them as there's no there, there -- the if/thens and leaks referenced above. He warns his fellow Depublicans that if they are successful in sidelining the Donald they could wind up with a true conservative in charge, which he considers to be a step backward from what they want. The Donald ain't a conservative, he's, well, the Donald. Personally, I think he's as surprised as the rest of us that he got elected, but that's another story.

Mr. Van Dyk's point is that the Depublicans (and America) would be better served if they were to find a way to compromise with the Donald on solutions for America's problems instead of perpetually pursuing Purposeful Polarization. (Sorry -- OK, not really.)

Mr. Van Dyk doesn't define purposeful polarization. In fact, he uses it only once, and towards the end of his article. He states that if we're to find some sort of rational compromise, "...purposeful polarization must give way to constructive engagement." Somebody needs to put that message on a t-shirt. To quote me (someone's gotta do it), "Compromise, don't demonize."


And then, talk about perfect timing (for my purposes at least), the Donald's proposed (he ain't the king, the 535 selfless representatives of the people have to pass it) 2018 budget hits the street. Let the games and the bonkercockie begin!

The Donald's man at Management and Budget, Mick Mulvaney, unleashes the $4,100,000,000,000 buck beast upon the world and takes his show on the road to promote it. Like most of its modern predecessors, and in the time-honored tradition of The Gummit, it's a vast tome containing some truth and a lot of lies financial projections and assumptions extending out for a decade. In other words, it's chock full of guesstimates and ignores the fact we choose an administration every four years, not ten.

Cue the Cacophony.

The opposition party, and everyone/anyone who will, at least theoretically, be receiving less largess from Uncle Sugar, predict the end of civilization as we know it. The Infotainment Industrial Complex (IIC) tends to agree.

Fortunately, the objectivity and truth obsessed contingent of the IIC, the press, steps in to save us from ourselves. "Trump seeks to slash $3.6 trillion of spending in austere budget" according to a reuters.com headline from 5.23.17.

"By Roberta Rampton | WASHINGTON

U.S. President Donald Trump asked lawmakers on Tuesday to cut $3.6 trillion in government spending over the next decade, taking aim at healthcare and food assistance programs for the poor in an austere budget that also boosts the military."

This is not an editorial, this is allegedly straight news. Note she (I hope I'm using Ms. Rampton's preferred pronoun and honorific) also uses the decade (five congressional and two presidential elections from now) gambit.

Ms. Rampton and Mr. Mulvaney (the budget whisperer) crunch the same numbers. He predicts a balanced budget -- ten years from now. She slyly, but clearly, informs us that the Donald is going to expand the military and abuse the poor to pay for it -- over the course of the next ten years.

So, my dearest grandstickies and great-grandstickies, I wish you luck. At the moment the adults seem to be leaving the room at an ever-accelerating pace. Oh, I almost forgot to mention, my favorite part, spending cuts by The Gummit aren't spending cuts. They're cuts to the amount of scheduled spending increases that The Gummit automatically increases each year. And no, I'm not making this up.

Two-thirds of, The Gummint, spending occurs on autopilot and includes scheduled increases. For example, the Donald's draconian, austere budget calls for spending $408,000,000,000 on Medicaid in the 2018 budget. This will be "cut" to only $688,000,000,000 by 2027. And no, I'm not making this up either. 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.

.