Plagiarism

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 -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

"If you steal from one author it's plagiarism, if you steal from many it's research." -Wilson Mizner 


Dear (eventual) Stickies & Great-Grandstickies, 

This letter was supposed to be God and Politics (Before I Wake Up Dead, Pt. 6.5). That is to say, since part six did cover God, but didn't cover politics, this letter was supposed to be about politics, which would make it part 6.5.

However, the letter that I wrote about politics is somewhat dark and depressing as the state of politics in the republic is somewhat dark and depressing. I'll publish it next week, which will give me a chance to try and lighten things up a bit. After all, while our political situation is polarization personified, the economic situation has improved. 

Well, perhaps not as much as we in Flyoverland would like, but there are glimmers of hope. The contention of Mr. Obama and his minions, that a pathetic 2% increase in annual GDP is the new normal, may not necessarily be true. Let us pray...or at least hope so.  

I don't want the last letter of the year (a year which has proven not to be one of my better ones) to be dark, so inspired by an article I read the other day, I've opted for plagiarism.  

[Dana: Did you drink some bad eggnog? Marie-Louise: Mon Dieu! Iggy: Anybody know why the first i in plagiarism is silent?] 

Calm down everbody. Long story short(ish), deep breath -- I read an article about Chief Justice John Roberts commencement address at his son's 9th-grade graduation last June (I know, I know, but let's not go there...) that I already knew about, but had forgotten about, that contained the  passages (re)printed below and which prompted me to look up the entire speech, which I found in a different article, whereupon I discovered that the speech also contained the lyrics of a Bob Dylan song, one of the few I actually like, if fact really like, which are also (re)printed below. 

So, in some form or fashion, I'm plagiarizing two articles, a speech, and Bob Dylan lyrics. However, you're worth the legal repercussions.   

The Speech

"...commencement speakers will typically...wish you good luck and extend good wishes to you. I will not do that, and I’ll tell you why. From time to time in the years to come, I hope you will be treated unfairly, so that you will come to know the value of justice. 

I hope that you will suffer betrayal because that will teach you the importance of loyalty. 

Sorry to say, but I hope you will be lonely from time to time so that you don’t take friends for granted. 

I wish you bad luck, again, from time to time so that you will be conscious of the role of chance in life and understand that your success is not completely deserved and that the failure of others is not completely deserved either. 

And when you lose, as you will from time to time, I hope every now and then, your opponent will gloat over your failure. It is a way for you to understand the importance of sportsmanship. 

I hope you’ll be ignored so you know the importance of listening to others, and I hope you will have just enough pain to learn compassion. 

Whether I wish these things or not, they’re going to happen. And whether you benefit from them or not will depend upon your ability to see the message in your misfortunes."

The Lyrics (from "Forever Young")

May God bless you and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
And may you stay forever young

May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
And may you stay forever young

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
May your song always be sung
And may you stay forever young

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.

God and Politics (Before I Wake Up Dead, #6)

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 sublime, drop-dead gorgeous muse (right shoulder) and back scratcher 

Iggy -- Designated Sticky

Dana -- Designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

"Wine is constant proof that God loves us and loves to see us happy." 

                                                                             -Benjamin Franklin

Dear (eventual) Stickies & Great-Grandstickies,

OK, let's see. Before I officially kicked off this series of columns about things I want to make sure I tell you in case I wake up dead I covered all of the Seven Virtues. Check.

In the last five columns, I've covered meaning, purpose, happiness, contentment, technical and cultural chaos, and soft nationalism. Check.

That leaves God and politics, well almost. Please bear with me while I clear the deck


Global warming is a never-ending RBFD, but I covered that here. As to economics, I've mentioned here, there, and over there that I'm a wild-eyed free marketeer. But last week, in Nationalism, I pointed out that I'm a fan of competitive capitalism (what we should have) and opposed to crony capitalism (what we often do have, frequently with the collusion of Congressional whores). Check.

If you've bothered to read through my old columns it should also be clear that I'm for an intelligently designed safety net. I've mentioned, but not in enough detail (at least not yet), that:

Social Security is a Ponzi scheme. The Gummit is spending the money faster than it comes in while simultaneously borrowing against their no limit credit card -- and you're going to get the bill. Check.

That, the welfare cliff is a dependency trap and a national disgrace. Check.

That, we need a cradle to grave social security system, like Singapore's, that maximizes the power of individuals, minimizes the power of career bureauons, and harnesses the power of free markets for everyone, not just the Cronies and their -- The Gummit -- enablers. Check.

That, Socialism is a seductive dead-end that has only ever worked in Scandinavia. It requires a vibrant private sector to generate the cash and a willingness of everyone to pay high taxes and submit to more rules and (legal and social) regulations than I suspect the average American would be willing to swallow.

That, there ain't enough rich people in the USA to fund the utopian dreams of Bernie and Fauxcahontas. Roughly 1.7 million evil rich people are currently picking up the lion's share (roughly 70%) of the tab for all 325,000,000 of us. (This includes the $22,000,000 the Pentagon gave to a billionaire buddy of Harry Reid to study UFOs.) Check.

And now, on with the show.

God

Follow your heart and act as if God exists regardless of what you believe. This is a no-brainer. Even recovered/recovering drunks and druggies understand this. God, or your "higher power," is simply what you would be like if you were the person you would like to be/should be/wish you were. Strive to be that person and fake it till you make it. Start today.  

Unfortunately -- militant/aggressive atheists, a group that includes some stunningly brilliant people -- understandably, don't understand this. 

They've been kicked in the crotch by life and/or are acutely aware of the fact most of us are nursing tender, damaged crotches. They've noticed that no shortage of crotch kicking has been/is being aided and abetted by organized religions. They take refuge in reason. Applied reason, after all, has led to indoor plumbing (among a few other conveniences).  

I'm not much of a fan of organized religions myself. I don't think we necessarily need a mediator betwixt ourselves and God. 20 minutes of daily meditation, certain books, certain selections of Beethoven and Duke Ellington, and recently, certain videos of Jordan Peterson lectures serve as pathways to transcendence for me. 

Your gonna' have to find your own path.

Big But 

Be wary of well-meaning, big-brained, big-hearted people who are good at creating carefully reasoned heavens on Earth -- on paper. The more verbiage and carefully constructed graphs/equations/statistics/etceterics the better the chance people will wind up dead.

Politics

Hoo-boy. 

I guess there's no way to postpone this any further. I've put it off till last because I'm sick of this subject, a subject that at one time I found fascinating. 

As I understand it (I could be wrong, I'm wrong with disturbing regularity) the idea behind this country was maximum freedom facilitated by minimal government. This is the fastest way for a new country to get rich, and we did. 

Many sins were committed along the way. Two biggies come immediately to mind. Although the vast majority of Native Americans were killed off by disease, genocide was regularly employed to reduce a tiny remnant to a tinier remnant so we could steal their lands. We enslaved as many Africans as we could get our hands on and treated them like high functioning livestock.

We fought a civil war over the latter issue which still holds the record for most Americans killed in any given war. But in short order, the land of the free adopted Jim Crow laws and practices and African-Americans endured nearly a century of a government-sanctioned boot on their necks.

Unfortunately, genocide, slavery, and rigid class systems -- globally and historically speaking -- have been the rule, not the exception. In fact, all three still exist, just a little less so at the moment. However, with a few carefully placed weapons of mass destruction here, an economic collapse over there... well, let's just say our Snowflakes will have much more than global warming to worry about.

[If any of 74% of 16 to 24-year-old Callowyutes in the UK happen to read this and are traumatized by my use of the S-word above, please accept my insincere apologies. Fortunately, you have free healthcare so make sure you sign up for mental health counseling ASAP.]   

Anyways... In spite of ourselves, we've become the richest (and fattest) country the world has ever seen. We elected the African-American son of a single mom to be president, twice. At the moment, a former reality show and fake wrestling star is running the country. The unemployment rate (well, officially anyway) is 4.1% as this is being composed. What a country.

But we all hate each other. Well, not really.

But imagine yourself as an undergrad and gullible anthropology major from the planet Tralfamadore, with dreams of becoming Tralfamadore's leading America expert, and spending your junior year abroad visiting Earth.

Suppose that a doctoral candidate/teaching assistant with a huge chip on its (it's complicated) gidermp (sort of like a shoulder, also complicated) and a vicious sense of humor had conned you into believing that watching cable news channels was an excellent way to understand American Earthlings.

Now, it's common knowledge on Tralfamadore that America, in the course of the last seven or eight decades defeated (with a lot of help, of course) attempts by murderous fascists and then even more murderous communists to take over the world.

It's common knowledge that America specifically, and a good bit (and rising) of the planet in general, have achieved an unprecedented level of prosperity.


Unfortunately...
[Gentlereaders, I know you know what's next. My Dear Stickies, here's hoping that you're still here and/or not living in caves and huts and the like.]

Unfortunately, if our visiting scholar were to immerse itself in an intense study of cable news channels it would in short order try and return home before the second American Civil War breaks out (or Li'l Rocket Man starts lobbing intercontinental anthrax infused water balloons in our direction).

Unfortunately, although this is supposed to be the last installment of the Before I Wake Up Dead series I'm going to have to finish up next week because unfortunately (GRIN) I've gone on too long. And unfortunately, this nerve pill they have me taking in an attempt to treat my spinal stenosis without having surgery renders me sleepy and dizzy and hungry and unmotivated. I need a nap.

It's like smoking weed -- with the euphoria removed (unfortunately). I'll bet The Gummit has something to do with it. 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.

Nattionalism (Before I Wake Up Dead, Pt. 5)

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)

"A good nationalism has to depend on a principle of the common people, on myths of a struggling commonality. " -Andrew O'Hagan

Dear (eventual) Stickies & Great-Grandstickies,

Let's review.

This is part five of a series of columns about what I what I would want to make sure I've told you if I knew that my deletion from meatspace was imminent. The first barely introduced the concept after beginning with some shameless self-promotion of my -- NEW and IMPROVED! -- website.

Parts two and three were about finding meaning and happiness in life and I've noticed they kinda/sorta bleed into each other. That's OK, that's how it works in real life. This finding meaning/happiness/contentment/etceterament shtuff is probably the primary theme you'll find threading through all my letters/columns.

Parts two and three are a combination of distilled shtuff from previous columns combined with a not so secret ingredient -- things I've thought about/learned about/heard about/etceterabout -- since they were originally published. There's another lesson I'd have you learn, inspired by the previous sentence. "Pay attention and you'll learn something new and interesting every day" -me. "Pay attention and speak carefully." -Jordan B. Peterson

Part four was about the effect of the ubiquitous internet on a culture already in distress. It was also supposed to introduce my version of (soft) nationalism but I didn't get that far as once I got going on my Global/Local Paradox theory... well, you know how I get.

Now I'm going to explain what I mean by (soft) nationalism and segue into politics. The Republic is currently saturated with politics and the rain shows no sign of slowing anytime soon. Here's hoping that by the time my great-grandstickies read this we've become obsessed with something else.

Mars would be cool. Man Personkind needs geographic frontiers to nurture heroes and provide clean slates (tablet computers reset to factory defaults?) and geographic cures for the damaged/stumbled/fallen.

Soft Nationalism (and a major digression, right out of the gate...)

I don't know where I first heard the phrase soft nationalism but I knew immediately what it meant to me. More on that in just a sec'. Permit me to dispose of the digression first.

Before I started this letter I went a-googling to discover what others mean when they use this phrase. As I suspected, there's no generally accepted definition. I only bring this up because of a well written, soundly reasoned article I found that was written by someone who is clearly smarter than I.

The bad news is that I was about 3/4s of the way through the article when a rhetorical rattlesnake jumped out from behind a rock and tried to bite me.

Long story short, up until that point the author was talking about various versions of nationalism without staking out a firm position. Suddenly he revealed he was a hardcore nationalist, a Nazi in fact (though he never used that word), and then started beating up on the Jews. I didn't finish.

I did scroll back to the beginning and discovered he was part of some organization that advocates for this, that, and the other for "white Europeans." Yikes! I...

[There's a point here, somewhere, right?]

Yes, Dana, in fact...

Ooooh! thanks, Marie-Louise, that feels great, ahhh...

[Marie-Louise has no time for bigots in general or Nazis in particular. She knows where I'm going and is applying a motivational back scratch as opposed to a back scratch reward. Iggy, who is studying the Nazis in school just now, is actually interested in what I'm on about for a change and following closely.]

Where was I? Oh, yeah, the point. The point, my Dear Stickies is a straightforward riff on my pay attention and you'll learn something new and interesting everyday maxim. You've got to pay close attention to avoid someone slipping something by you. What would I have you learn, Dorothies? Intelligence/sophistication/education/etceteration are often used by evil eejits as camouflage.

And now, finally, King Crank's take on nationalism.

Soft Nationalism

Soft nationalism, as defined by me, is the middle ground betwixt Hard nationalism and no (everyone gets a participation trophy) nationalism. However, discovering and maintaining the golden mean in this, or any other matter, can be complicated. Just ask Goldilocks.  

Wikipedia has an excellent article about nationalism that does a good job of explaining that there are myriad forms of it practiced in myriad ways. A couple of sentences that caught my eye are "Nationalism therefore seeks to preserve the nation's culture. It also involves a sense of pride in the nation's achievements, and is closely linked to the concept of patriotism." Quite, but the devil lives in a comfortable condo in the details. 

Rather than provide a firm definition of King Crank's Soft Nationalism, at least just yet, permit me to beat up on Hard and No nationalism first.

Hard Nationalism

Ethnic cleansing, tribalism taken to its logical extreme, comes immediately to mind.  

We're all tribal to one degree or another, even those that claim they're not. It's a survival/evolutionary phenomenon. The group is much stronger and much more likely to survive and much more likely to replicate than the individual. Millions of years of evolving and clawing our way to the top of the food chain has literally wired this into our brains. 

[If you subscribe to creationism, God did it. The bottom line is the same. Taking out a wooly mammoth or the infidels one valley over takes teamwork.] 

However, like any good tool, it all depends on how you use it. You can use a hammer to rebuild homes damaged or destroyed by one of this year's hurricanes or indulge your inner serial killer and make it your go-to weapon of choice. 

[Construction worker by day, killer by night -- The Hammerer! A Netflix original series.]

Hard nationalism is when one group of kids on the playground gets together and decides to shun/restrict/enslave/kill all the kids that don't belong to their group. Which verb they embrace makes all the difference. There's a lot of variabilities possible betwixt shun and kill.

It comes about from some variation/combination of multiple forces such as perceived threats/resentments/revenge/domination/etceteration.

Regardless, the big-honkin' fly in the ointment is that hard nationalism is like being sentenced to spending your life in seventh grade in a same-sex boarding school. There's us, there's them. Tolerance is for losers.

No Nationalism

No nationalism is, "It's like, all relative, man." All cultures/religions/political systems/morality/lifestyles/economic systems are equally valid. Who are we to judge? And borders? borders are just imaginary lines.  




.Who are we to judge? We are the citizens of the nation states of the planet Earth. Once we're grups we look about us and decide if we're proud of our particular nation-state. What it was, what it is, and what it may become. 

"Nationalism therefore seeks to preserve the nation's culture. It also involves a sense of pride in the nation's achievements, and is closely linked to the concept of patriotism."

Those of us who are lucky enough to live in the relative handful of nations where the government serves at our pleasure can judge out loud without the fear that a Xi Dada, Dear Leader or a -- the Pooteen -- type will disappear us.

This is the aspect of my culture, the American culture, that is most worthy of preserving, the right to bitch and moan. 

But since I grasp that I have to share the playground and since I was properly socialized when I was a young, self-centered primate I understand that all the other high functioning chimps have the right to bitch and moan. I understand that we have to compromise on a set of rules if the game is going to be any fun. Or even if there is going to be a game. 

America's culture, secret of success, and endless threat is that it's a culture of multiple cultures. Multiple cultures and no shortage of wild-eyed individualists in competition brings out the best, and worst, in us. 

Cultural friction can spark new ideas or start fires. We've done amazing things. We've done, and do, terrible things to each other. 

But having been blessed with plenty of room, lots of natural resources, and relative freedom (lots more for some than others, historically speaking) we've somehow managed to build the country that many, if not most, of the lean and hungry and brutalized of the world would sacrifice a body part of lesser importance for a chance to live in. To get their shot. To get fat.

That's my preferred form of nationalism, of American nationalism. 

I believe free trade, lots of carefully vetted immigrants, and competitive capitalism works the best for the most. 

I believe that crony capitalism -- abetted by The Gummit, epitomized by a 70,000 + page tax code, written and maintained by a parliament of whores who are hosting a party for the entire country (and you, my Dear Stickies, are going to get stuck with the bill) -- is what works best for the fewest.

[I know, gentlereaders, that the (alleged) tax reform that's about to pass, will in the short-term boost the economy. As for the long-term -- it will increase the debt, increase spending, grow the tax code and expires in ten years. Can kicking has become as American as apple pie.]  

I also believe in borders and a strong military for the same reason I believe in doors that lock and my local police department. I believe I am a garrulous geezer and politics will have to wait till next week. 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.

     

       





     

  

  

     

Cheap Speech (Before I Wake Up Dead, Pt. 4)

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 sublime, drop-dead gorgeous muse (right shoulder) and back scratcher

Iggy -- Designated Sticky

Dana -- Designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

"Democracy is the road to Socialism." -Karl Marx

"Democracy is the art and science of running the circus from the monkey cage". -H.L. Mencken

Dear (eventual) Stickies & Great-Grankstickies,

Cheap speech. I (relatively) recently encountered this phrase for the first time in one of George Will's bi-weekly columns.

[Are you aware that bi-weekly can mean either once every two weeks, or, twice a week (as it's used here)? Apparently, Sister Mary McGillicuddy was wrong, nobody's in charge of the English language.]

Mr. Will's column, The Steep Cost of Cheap Speech, was about coping with life in the Dizzinformation Age. He makes reference to a Yale Journal article written 22 years ago by Eugene Volokh, who invented the phrase cheap speech. Mr. Volokh predicted that while the internet would make it much easier for everyone to communicate with everyone else, there would also be significant downsides. Good call.

Bad News - Good News

Now, obviously, I've no way of knowing how the current cultural chaos will have worked itself out by the time you're reading this, or even if it has.

In the meantime, my access to (potentially) 7,499,999,999 readers without having to go through a middlemanperson, is historically unprecedented. That's the good news.

[Not that there ain't, and always will be, ideological middlepersons attempting to save us from ourselves for our own sakes.

Xi Dadda and seemingly ever-growing cohorts of like-minded hardcore partisans in both of America's primary political parties come immediately to mind.]

The bad news, for me at least, is that I'm in competition with any number of the aforementioned 7,499,999,999 citizens of planet Earth for your attention as well as the attention of my current and potential gentlereaders.

The bad news, for all of us, is the tsunami of cheap speech the Dizzinformation Age has created. But everybody knows about that/talks about that/writes about that. What I'm going to explore is what I call the Local/Global Paradox.

[Wait-wait-wait, what about all the other problems created by the internet and other technologies?]

That's a book, Dana. Remember, this is a series of letters written to my beloved Stickies as if my deletion is imminent. I'm going to restrict myself to the Local/Global Paradox and what I call Soft Nationalism. Now, stand back and be amazed (or appalled...).

The Local/Global Paradox

The internet has obviously made the world smaller and more homogenized and made it possible for any given cranky geezer prone to Sesquipedalian Loquaciousness to park his wrinkled butt in front of a keyboard and unleash tidal waves of cheap speech upon the globe. 

However, the never-ending kerfuffles of the United Nations and the European Union, the Donald's willful misunderstanding of trade treaties and trade deficits, and the tendency of most of the kids on the playground to pick on North Korea's misunderstood Dear Leader would seem to indicate -- inhale -- when Marvin the Martian lands and demands to be taken to our leader, it's gonna' get ugly.

While the two preceding paragraphs do indeed present a paradox, it's not even the paradox I'm concerned about. Hoo-boy, a double paradox, this is why I told you to be prepared to be amazed!/appalled? (bemused?).   

The paradox I'm concerned about is the one illustrated by the fact that while we are the world, at least for the purposes of a certain soda pop manufacturer and various and sundry utopians -- locally speaking, and I'm speaking specifically of my native America here -- the net is turning us into a ginormous small town.


The typical American small town, the one that lives in the back of the psyches of all Citizens of the Republic (COR, yes, it's back) is a small town with certain characteristics. COR of a certain age may well be visualizing something like Bedford Falls, Flyoverland, USA. Younger COR are more likely to be visualizing something like Potterville (with smartphones). Heavy sigh.

[Note to Iggy, google: It's a Wonderful Life when you get home (the gang is out doing their Christmas shopping).]

Now, being a small town there's at least one absurdly rich family and/or bitter, twisted, greedy patriarch. Being a small town, everyone thinks they know almost everyone else in spite of the fact most of them don't know themselves very well.

Being a small town, everyone keeps an eye on everyone else. People being people, there's no shortage of gossip, speculation, envy, and judgment.

People being people, there's no shortage of sins and crime. The kind they lock you up for and/or the kind that keep you from getting into heaven.


The ginormous town called America has three neighborhoods. Although they're geographically diffused, ideologically speaking they're easily identifiable. The Left Side, The Right Side and Middletown (pronounced mid'-el-ton). 

Instead of Henry F. Potter, we have the 1%. Just like the character in the wonderful movie, the 1% is portrayed in an over-simplified, black and white fashion because everyone knows of a Henry F. Potter type and can relate. 

Of course reality, as always, is complicated. For example, most of the Henry F. Potter types I've known/know range from almost successful to reasonably successful. There just aren't that many people in the world that are lifestyles of the Rich and Famous successful (LRF). 

Interestingly -- many of them that are seem to be entertainers of one sort or another who have been made LRF rich by members of the 99% willingly tossing a few dollars at them for what are often second-rate (or worse) performances.

Ironically -- many of these same entertainers, who have gotten absurdly rich for being pretty and/or good at playing pretend and/or singing and dancing and the like -- love throwing mud at other absurdly rich people that work 80 hour weeks and can't ever have enough money and who clearly have psychological problems. 

But as a group, the psychopathologies of the former tend to dwarf the psychopathologies of the latter. However, even that is worth money considering that the reporting of the extremely lucrative Famous and Famous For Being Famous industry is famous for their lurid stories about the psychopathologies of the famous and the infamous of both camps.

And all of this is complicated by the fact that everyone in America, globally speaking, is at the top end of the 1%. Another paradox rears its head. Citizens of the Republic who simultaneously suffer from obesity and Global Whining syndrome.    


The Bedford Falls Sentinel has been reduced to a weekly publication with the inevitable web site. It's more of news-letter that a news-paper. Thanks to 24 x 7 x 365 Infotainment/Social Media industry there's no need to wait for the daily paper with space limited prioritized news, space limited advertising, and of course, a gossip column and entertainment section.

Nowadays, the news never stops and if it bleeds it leads still leads. Thanks to global reach and the need to pack the 24 hour day with filler between the ads/commercials, we now have if bleeds it leads squared.

Infinite entertainment and gossip is always on and available via mobile rectangles in our pockets. The bad news is thanks to the Data Dragon's minions -- the Botmonsters, the Algorithmites, and their ilk -- we're becoming small towns of one. Individuals living in the same household, still quaintly called homes, can choose to live in virtual securely gated and carefully curated communities wherein they can play the part of Henry F. Potter. 


And who needs to go to one of those boring old town hall meetings, the kind romanticised in the bourgeois art (imagine Mr. R. trying to make a living in our enlightened Piss Christ era) of Norman Rockwell for example when you can tweet/troll/post fake news without having to leave the house? 

Well... except for those feeling the need to channel their inner chimpanzee, particularly if there are media to perform for and/or if some George Soros evil gnome type is providing funding and make work for the IUPPP&PVTTOT. If the media fails to show you can have a friend live stream you, you might go viral.


Mrs. Powell, "Well, Doctor, what have we got, a republic or a monarchy?" 
"A republic madam, if you can keep it." -Benjamin Franklin 

At the moment, the internet is providing slippery slope lube for our de-evolution into a ginormous small town with a direct democracy and the inevitable fractious factions. By the time you read this we may be the Vaguely/Formerly/Kinda/Sorta United States of America.

The virtuous, high-minded, citizens of Athens that ordered the death of Socrates would approve wholeheartedly. I hope the country comes to its senses and crowns me (temporary) king before it's too late. Restoring the Republic is gonna take a minute and I'm not getting any younger (and I didn't even get to soft nationalism yet...). 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.

   

Happiness (Before I Wake Up Dead, Pt. 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 (above↑) to solve the problem/access lotsa columns.]

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars

Marie-Louise -- My sublime, drop-dead gorgeous muse (right shoulder) and back scratcher 

Iggy -- Designated Sticky

Dana -- Designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

"Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life." -Omar Khayyam

Dear (eventual) Stickies & Great-Grandstickies,

As threatened promised, this is another letter about "...Cranky cranking out a column (or two or...) and writing down everything he'd tell his beloved Stickies if he knew he was scheduled for deletion." -me

The Secret of (Occasional) Happiness

I wrote a column titled The Secret of (Occasional) Happiness in July of 2016 that predates my Dear Stickies format but is nevertheless relevant. Its thesis was/is that "Someone to love that loves you back (a dog will do) and interesting work is the secret of (occasional) happiness." -me

I qualified happiness with (occasional) because as I explained in the article (briefly, and not well) everything contains its opposite, that is to say, something and its opposite are two sides of the same coin -- you can't have one without the other. Another way to put this is that opposites define each other.

Yet another is that if you were happy all the time you wouldn't know it because you'd be happy all the time. Wordplay I know, but it's true. Although I can't prove it scientifically/experimental/whateverly, it's still true.

The Pursuit of Contentment

The very first column I wrote, The Pursuit of Contentment  -- they were called blog posts several hundred days ago in the dim and distant past -- was published on July 23, 2015. For technical reasons (I screwed something up and I still don't know the what or the how of it) it's now dated 8.20.16. This is the date it was rescued from the (electronic) dustbin and republished.

My thesis was/is that once I'm crowned the King of America I'm going to change the phrase in the Declaration of Independence, the pursuit of happiness, to the pursuit of contentment (kings can do shtuff like that). The reason I'm going to do this is because:

"This is the central tenet of King Crank's Philosophy of Contentment. Be thou a believer (in God, a God, or the Gods), an atheist, or _______, the fact remains that if you choose to keep showing up you're going to occasionally experience happiness. 

You will also occasionally get caught in a crap storm. Mostly, you will just be doing what needs to be done to keep body and soul together. This is often boring, which may lead us to pursue happiness and explains why it's relatively easy to sell us lottery tickets, politicians, and beauty aids." -me yet again


You're saying to yourself "Self, if he's already written two entire columns about happiness why is he writing yet another entire column about happiness?"

Well, ask a recovered (recovering) drunk about the phrase "...we absolutely insist on enjoying life."

[For the record: many a recovered drunk, I'm talking people who've been on the wagon for years, insist on referring to themselves as recovering, not recovered. That is to say, they regard their sobriety as a work in progress that never ends until they do. I was married to one, Ronbo, for 21 years. While technically no longer with us, being a force of nature, she lives on.]

[Dana: With all due respect to, uh, Ronbo... where's this going?]

[Iggy: Is she..., is that the one uncle Ray calls Nana?]

Marie-Louise is scratching my back and smiling, she loved Ronbo.


Let me put it this way. I am, by temperament a -- the glass is almost empty -- sort of person. Also, having rounded the block once or twice and having obtained my Sexy Seasoned Citizen credential, I concur with the Buddha, life is suffering. Or, as they say on the Nor'side-a-Pittsburgh (HT: Ed), life's a bitch and then ya' die.

[Dana: Geez, sucks to be you but what...]

Which is why I've given/I continue to give a bit of thought to the subject at hand. I stand by the two columns mentioned above. Both of them are about what to do in spite of the spiritual wisdom of the Buddha or the more secular wisdom of the good citizens of the Nor'side-a-Pittsburgh.

That is, as the Big Book (not to be confused with the Good Book, but which is equally important to some people) says "...we absolutely insist on enjoying life" to which I would add -- when we can, as often as we can, and as hard as we can.

BIG BUT

How should we conduct ourselves when life is kicking our ass? given that it frequently does and often it's impossible gonna' take a minute (or a year, or two, or...) to get happy/get the door prize/see a rainbow.

Two points. First, as I pointed out in last week's column, you have two choices. You can pull the covers over your head and refuse to get out of bed. The best you can hope for is is a tolerable, stable level of misery that you hope won't get worse.

Or, you can get out of bed, do what ya' gotta do to keep body and soul together (or the bodies and souls of those in your charge together) and take baby steps towards a positive goal. It's OK if your most important goal is to not feel like crap all the time as long as once you don't you get another most important goal.

Second, and I credit Professor Jordan B. Peterson for getting me to start thinking about what follows (Dr. J. will be the Chairmanperson of my Royal Privy Council once I assume my throne, please hold the throne jokes).


Given that we're wired to pursue goals (sublime or profane) because we're wired to believe that reaching our goals will make us happy

And,

Given that we soon discover that once we reach a given goal we need another one(s) to stay (more or less) happy

And,

Given that we're capable of projecting what we would be/could be like, and what effect we could have on the world/in the world if we if we were to eventually rise far enough, one baby step at a time

And,

Even if you don't ever have much of a life, if you spend it trying to have a substantial life you'll not only feel better physically/emotionally/spiritually, you'll have chosen Nobility over Nihilism -- and there will always be ice cream. 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.

Xanax (Before I Wake Up Dead, Pt. 2)

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.

[Bloggaramians: 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 sublime, drop-dead gorgeous muse (right shoulder) and back scratcher 

Iggy -- Designated Sticky

Dana -- Designated gentlereader (left shoulder)

"Old friends pass away, new friends appear. An old day passes, a new day arrives. The important thing is to make it meaningful; a meaningful friend -- or a meaningful day." -Dalai Lama. I wonder if his mom or his friends call him Dalai?


Dear (eventual) Stickies & Great-Grandstickies,

OK class, let's review. In last week's column, after spending an embarrassing amount of time promoting my -- New and Improved! -- website and its new features such as my Come On and Safari With Me tab where I post interesting shtuff I've found while web surfing -- inhale -- I initiated a new series of columns based on the following notion, what would I want to make sure I've said to My Dear Stickies if I knew my deletion from meatspace was imminent.

The first thing I thought of was the importance of finding (positive) meaning in life/in your lives. "..in order to find positive meaning in your life, you need a goal that you find valuable." Having run out of time I left you with a video clip from a lecture by Dr. Jordan Peterson who is not only much smarter than me, he also explains things better than I do.

If you haven't seen it yet go ahead and watch it now, I'll wait till you get back. If you're a dead trees reader, fret not (but you really should get over your..., well, nevermind). Anyway, now you're stuck with dealing with only my bonkercockie, without Dr. P. to help you out.

All right class, if everyone's ready we'll...

[Yeah-yeah-yeah, whatever. What's the point of anything? Why bother getting out of bed in the morning? 'Scuse me, I gotta' go find my Xanax. SOUND OF DOOR SLAMMING] 

Keep spreading the sunshine, Dana! Sorry, geez, I hope I didn't trigger you.

Anyways... The very first thing that comes to mind concerning the very first thing that I'd like to make sure I tell you about, that is, the importance of finding (positive) meaning in your life/in your lives is -- without meaning/purpose/goals/etceterals -- you're sunk. You're doomed, Your fresh meat for pill popping/pill pushing shrinks.

Now, the thing is... excuse me, the phones ringing again, I've been ignoring it but repeated re-calls to my freakishly large household may indicate that one of the denizens of Casa de Chaos really needs help. I'll be right back.

DISCLAIMER

This column in no way wishes to disparage licensed psychiatry, the practices of its licensed practitioners and/or patients that benefit from legally prescribed prescriptions. The author acknowledges that there are any number of legitimate psychiatric problems that require medication. In fact, personally knows many H. sapiens that might benefit from same. 

Sorry, it was some nameless, nervous, newly minted associate calling for my lawyers -- Dewey, Cheatham & Howell. They're always calling about something, claiming to be proactive. I think that they're just pro-billable hours.

As I was saying, the thing is, while of course there are no shortage of legitimate reasons for psych meds, if more H. sapiens consciously cultivated meaning/purpose/goals/etceterals it would make a considerable dent in the fortunes of Big Pharma.

[Enlighten us then oh Cranky one! (giggle). A glassy-eyed Dana speaks (with a slight but discernable slur). Where, pray tell, does one find said qualities in a world where everyone dies? Marie-Louise and Iggy each take an arm and gently escort him out of my consciousness.]


The answer to that question is the stuff books are made of, but I'm writing as if my deletion is imminent in case my deletion is imminent. Let me begin by pointing out that regardless of your feelings about any given traditional religion, automatically reject any claim that they're right and everyone else is wrong. God only knows what the truth is.

Big But

If the bulk of their dogma is primarily concerned with how to get along with the other kids on the playground in a civilized way without bullying anybody and leading a moral life more or less in line with the 6.5 commandments, well, judge not, lest you be judged.

Now, I'm not saying that in order for H. sapiens in general, or yinz guys in particular, to cultivate meaning/purpose/goals/etceterals that it's necessary to belong to a particular religious sect.

I am saying that regardless of the motivation of these folks -- to go to heaven, to stay out of hell, or just to cover their butts -- whatever, psychologically speaking the result is the same. I'm also saying that many people, not all but many, with a bit of effort, can get the same results -- or close enough. (However, I can't guarantee you'll get into heaven or even if it exists.)

What result? You'll keep getting out of bed and you'll keep trying, secure in the knowledge there may be a rainbow after the crapstorm passes.

The Bad News

If you've been around for more than a minute or two and paying attention, regardless of whether you're a glass-half-full, glass-half-empty, or a screw the glass gimme the bottle sort of person you know three things. 

First, paint rainbows all over your blues, crawl inside said bottle, or, seek moderation in all things -- life will sink its teeth into your cute ass at random intervals. Second, sooner or later, you're going to be deleted. 

Finally, when your response to the bad news is to declare the battle lost before it starts and pull the covers up over your head and go back to sleep and/or embrace despair/negativism/nihilism/postmodernism/etceterism the best you can hope for is stasis. That is, to be reliably miserable, and hope you don't get even worse. You know this.

The Good News

If you've been around for more than a minute or two and paying attention, regardless of whether you're a glass-half-full, glass-half-empty, or a screw the glass gimme the bottle sort of person you also know three other things.

First, as soon as you take a single step in the direction of reaching a defined goal -- be it cleaning up your room or the pursuit of enlightenment -- you'll feel good, or at least better than you were, and, you'll find life does have meaning, if only for a minute. When the meaning fades, set another goal. 

[If this doesn't work for you, then yes, you need to talk to someone. However, first look yourself in the eye and ask yourself if the reason you think life is meaningless is that it means you don't have to put away the chips, turn off the primary rectangle, and get a life. That it means you don't have to do anything besides feel sorry for yourself.]

Second, if you do get out of bed and try, there's at least a chance you, and your corner of the world, will get better/be better. If you don't, you, and it, definitely won't.

Finally, having taken the time and trouble to build/maintain a house with a well-stocked medicine cabinet and a storm cellar, when a reality snake sinks its fangs into your ass, you'll be ready. When the inevitable crap storm hits -- physical/psychological/financial/etceteralogical -- you'll be ready. You know this too.

There might even be a rainbow -- eventually. Poppa loves you.

[Since this already longish column has inadvertently turned into an hommage (pronounce with a French accent, oo' - maa... never mind, stop laughing Marie-Louise) of sorts to Dr. Jordan B. Peterson, a potential savior of Western Civilization (let's hope so), here's some tough love for ya, eh?


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.