Socialism

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, aka 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.]

                                                 - Glossary  

                                  - Who The Hell Is This Guy?

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars 

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse  

Iggy -- My imaginary Sticky

Dana -- My imaginary Gentlereader

"The only way to save the world is through socialism, but a socialism that exists within a democracy; there's no dictatorship here."   -Hugo Chavez


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

I am a wild-eyed libertarian with a bleeding heart and conservative impulses; I have written about this before. Long ago, when I was still a callowyute, I identified as a socialist but only for about a minute, minute and a half.

Technically this statement is incorrect because at the time I called myself a socialist people did just that -- called themselves this, that, or the other -- as in I'm a socialist, or I'm an unrepentant ne'er-do-well. To the best of my knowledge the phrase, or at least as it's used (and used and used and used) nowadays, "I identify as" hadn't been invented yet. Just sayin'

I long ago abandoned socialism, which I confess was relatively easy since all that I actually knew about it was what little I learned in high school, but in my defense, socialism has an obvious appeal to many young people in general and to certain baby boomers who came of age in the sixties and seventies in particular.

As far as "many young people in general" goes, "A man who has not been a socialist before 25 has no heart. If he remains one after 25 he has no head." -King Oscar the II of Sweden, maybe...

As to certain baby boomers, identifying as a socialist was considered cool to those of us of a hippyish/leftward bent and served to upset many old people (defined at the time as anyone over 30) as well which made it doubly cool.

[Barton Swain on the current fascination with socialism: "After a long series of failures and moral debacles, it doesn’t suddenly make sense as an economic doctrine. But it does make sense, somehow, as a cultural attitude."]

However, If any old people that you know (defined as anyone you know that's even older than I am) claims that socialism was widely embraced in the sixties and seventies hit 'em with, "Oh yeah, well then what the hell happened?"

Let the sputtering, rationalizing, and etceterizing begin.

Most callowyutes of my acquaintance at the time, friend and foe alike, couldn't become hipper versions of their parents fast enough. Me? I chose an unusual path, I became a hippie with a job. I got over it, but it took a while.


[Sorry, an obligatory digression has just manifested in my consciousness. The famous boomer rallying cry, don't trust anyone over thirty, was/is backward. It should've been/should be, don't trust anyone under 30 -- including yourself.

If you're under thirty and the preceding paragraph triggers you, please accept my insincere apology. It's not an attack, it's a stone-cold fact. It's biology. I've pointed out before that H. sapiens brains don't reach maturity till about the age of 25, a fact discovered by car insurance companies long before science made it official. I should've said till at least 25.   

You're unlikely to understand just how true this is and just how important this is till you're 30, at least 30 (it's a catch-22 thing).  

Old people who care about you should point this out to you, in various forms and fashions, repeatedly, even though they know you're unlikely to believe them. It's part of the job. I wish I had been told this more frequently than I was although it probably wouldn't have done any good. Still, the right person at the right time... Oh well, wouldacouldashoulda.]


OK, where was I, ah yes, socialism. I think that Marie-Louise generated the digression. When I began I had only the vaguest notion of what I was going to say about why I have a problem with socialism but all is suddenly clear.

Arguing against socialism is a fool's errand because there are myriad definitions of socialism floating around that depend on who's at the podium. Not only that, most of the 39 of the people that are currently running for president on the Depublican side are also waving the socialist banner. But they tend to be light, and often variable, as to details.

They all have two things in common though. First, they all enthusiastically embrace the time-honored political tradition of promising a long list of freebies as well as secular salvation for all -- paid for with other people's money.

Second, when confronted with the nightmare that is Venezuela or the literally hundreds of millions of deaths generated by certain dictatorships of the proletariat of the last century they are suddenly not socialists, they're social democrats.

Ahh! socialism light!


Personally, I'd have no problem living in an America that was a social democracy (that's my bleeding heart part) that, like in the Nordic countries Uncle Bernie likes to point to, also had a thriving private-sector wherein a man person that wants to bust their ass to get rich is free to do so (this is part of my libertarian part).

Unfortunately, Uncle Bernie tends to not mention that the Nordic countries figured out (the hard way) this is absolutely necessary to help finance a social democracy.

Emphasis on help, because

Without everyone paying high taxes, it doesn't work. Uncle Bernie and his ilk don't like to talk about that because without the claim that the evil rich can pick up the tab there goes all that juicy resentment and demagoguery that gets people elected and fuels the Outrage Industrial Complex.

Tweet, tweet.

Oh, I almost forgot. Social democracies tend to be top-heavy with laws, speech codes, hate crime statutes, and have Rules&Regs out the wazoo. I've got a big problem with that (that's the other part of the libertarian part).

And while I'm at it, I'm all about the personal cultivation of the classic virtues in order to ascertain what's moral and ethical (as well as what's tacky and gross, that's the conservative impulses part). Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day. 
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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. Just click on the Patreon button at the top or bottom of the page.

Your friendly neighborhood crank is not crazy about social media (I am a crank after all) but if you must, you can like me/follow me on Facebook. I post an announcement when I have a new column available as well as news articles/opinion pieces that reflect where I'm coming from or that I wish to call attention to.

©2019 Mark Mehlmauer As long as you agree to supply my name and URL and only minimally edit my content (scroll all the way up or down for my Creative Commons License) you may republish this anywhere you please.

 




 

    

Life Is Unfair

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, aka 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.]

                                                 - Glossary  

                                  - Who The Hell Is This Guy?

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars 

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse  

Iggy -- My imaginary Sticky

Dana -- My imaginary Gentlereader

"There is always inequality in life. Some men are killed in a war and some men are wounded and some men never leave the country. Life is unfair."  -JFK


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

I once had this friend, for about a half a minute, whose name was Bob. Bob and I were sorta kinda supervisors (it is, or rather was, as they say, complicated) who worked for a guy that owned a fleet of ice cream trucks in Austin, Texas a very long time ago.

Whenever Bob was confronted with a situation in which it appeared the fix was in, or that justice was not being served, or that life was unfair, or that although he would admit to having been injudicious in his spending habits it wasn't his fault because she... well never mind, but now he was going to have to work an idle ice cream truck for a day or two because the payment on his Z28 was due and he was woefully short of funds -- or the like -- he would utter, in an exasperated and world-weary tone, "It's all a con, man."

"It's a conspiracy, what it is," I would always reply, slowly nodding my head, looking grave. I'd occasionally insert an F-bomb between a and conspiracy if the situation seemed to call for it. Remember, cussing is much more powerful and self-satisfying when exercised carefully and infrequently.

I was not only commiserating with my friend I was subtly expressing my admiration for the... wordplay? double entendre? invoked by the phrase con, man. Bob, by the way, also taught me the words foodage and meatage and the proper way to use them. Respect, Bob.

[For Petra's sake! Where's this crap going? Four paragraphs in and...]

Petra, Dana?

[It's a new world, old man, try and keep up. I repeat, what does any of this...]

...Artful prose have to do with the title of this missive? Well, Bob as it turned out, was a man who was accidentally ahead of his time, or these times, simply because he never joined the cult of victimhood. If it wasn't completely politically incorrect to say so I'd say he chose to be a man.


Life isn't fair. Everyone (well, almost everyone, but that's another letter) eventually figures this out. H. sapiens being H. sapiens, we want to know why. When you logically think it through, it follows that any given random act of unfairness was either just that, completely random, or, some nefarious someone or something must be the reason.

If I'm struck and killed by a meteor while walking out to Casa de Chaos's latest mobile global warming generator to drive a couple of my grandstickies to da'mall, that's just random bad luck -- unless you believe that God or the Devil, or a god or a devil, has it in for me. Personally, I wouldn't take it personally.

Alternatively, if our new(ish) stoved-in, sexed-up station wagon (SUV) -- Messy Momma's decided that she's working hard enough to have earned the right to deserve something other than yet another minivan -- had four slashed tires, obviously me and/or one of mine must have seriously ticked someone off.

Bottom line, life ain't fair. Sometimes it's just randomly crappy, sometimes there's an ascertainable reason, mostly it's a complex mixture of the two and you're never going to untangle the mystery.

Don't see yourself as a victim, Bob didn't, it doesn't help.

After he uttered, in an exasperated and world-weary tone, "It's all a con, man," Bob would sit down, light a cigarette (you should probably skip that part) and wait for his frustration or anger to pass. Once it did, he'd do whatever he needed to do. He'd just deal with it.

Life is unfair, deal with it. Don't whine, choose to be the grownup in the room and just like that you'll change the world for the better. Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day. 
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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. Just click on the Patreon button at the top or bottom of the page.

Your friendly neighborhood crank is not crazy about social media (I am a crank after all) but if you must, you can like me/follow me on Facebook. I post an announcement when I have a new column available as well as news articles/opinion pieces that reflect where I'm coming from or that I wish to call attention to.

©2019 Mark Mehlmauer As long as you agree to supply my name and URL and only minimally edit my content (scroll all the way up or down for Creative Commons License) you may republish this anywhere you please.


        

May You Live In Interesting Times (No. 6)

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, aka 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.]

                                                 - Glossary  

                                  - Who The Hell Is This Guy?

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars 

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse  

Iggy -- My imaginary Sticky

Dana -- My imaginary Gentlereader

"We have met the Devil of Information Overload and his impish underlings, the computer virus, the busy signal, the dead link, and the PowerPoint presentation."   -James Gleick


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

As you are no doubt aware from your careful and thorough reading of my missives the ancient Chinese curse that is also the title of this column is not actually an ancient Chinese curse.

However, these are indeed interesting times if you regard treading water in the Dizzinformation Ocean with no sign of solid ground in sight as interesting.

"Dizzinformation Syndrome: I define dizzinformation syndrome as, simply, dizzy from too much information -- correct, incorrect, or, worst of all, contradictory." -from my Glossary


Economists speak of the potential problems caused by asymmetric information. For example, in the BC era (before Carfax) when purchasing a used car a buyer was at a huge disadvantage when trying to strike a deal with a seller. 

The buyer is still at a distinct disadvantage; there are all sorts of things that might be wrong with a given car that will only be discovered after you've become the proud owner. There are no shortage of tricks and/or deceptions that can be employed by the seller to make sure you don't discover these things until after your name is on the title.  

Alternatively, the buyer in a given transaction may have an informational advantage. Suppose your beloved uncle Stanislaus died and left you his dumpy home that's located in the wrong neighborhood, but, is jam-packed with all sorts of crap stuff because uncle Stan was a collector of sorts. 

He wasn't a packrat, he only saved things he thought were either interesting, might be valuable, or both. But there's an awful lot of it and categorically speaking, it's widely varied. Of course, you could go a-googlin'... and do so much research it feels like your brain is bleeding. Then all you'd have to do is figure out the best way to sell what you think might be valuable. 

What else have you got to do, right?

[Awc'mon! what's the big deal? There are people you can hire to do that for you, I don't see what the big deal is.]

That's true, Dana. Once again all you have to do is go a-googlin' and find one. Alternatively, you can find all sorts of information about how to go about disposing of your (or uncle Stan's) crap stuff by yourself. In either case, hundreds and hundreds of relevant hits will pop up. And of course, everyone knows you can trust the Goog to impartially provide you with objective information, right?  

Ain'tcha glad you're living in the Information Age?

[Is there a point to...] 

Absabalutely. 

Too many sources of information are just as bad as too many products to choose from unless of course, they aren't. 

[Right!... No, wait, that doesn't make any sense. What...]

Unfortunately, it does. Fire up your screen of choice and go a-googlin' again. Experts in multiple fields agree that having a multiplicity of choices, in anything, clearly sucks. Other experts in multiple fields agree that having a multiplicity of choices, in anything, clearly, is cool. The experts who study this subject in order to advise marketing experts on how to sell us crap stuff come down firmly on both sides.


Now if you'll excuse me, I've gotta go. I've been considering buying a guitar. Being a newbie of limited means I obviously don't want to spend a lot of dough on something that may just turn out to be a passing impulse.

I've done my research and have my choice narrowed down to about 39 different models and I'm cautiously optimistic that in another week, two at the most, I will have selected the right guitar.

Worst-case scenario I'll put together a top ten list and resolve the question via a series of coin flips while praying to the patron saint of crap stuff (St. Accumulatious) that I'm not subsequently afflicted with a severe case of buyer's remorse. Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day. 
Please scroll down to react, comment, or share.


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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. Just click on the Patreon button at the top or bottom of the page.

Your friendly neighborhood crank is not crazy about social media (I am a crank after all) but if you must, you can like me/follow me on Facebook. I post an announcement when I have a new column available as well as news articles/opinion pieces that reflect where I'm coming from or that I wish to call attention to.

©2019 Mark Mehlmauer As long as you agree to supply my name and URL and only minimally edit my content (scroll all the way up or down for Creative Commons License) you may republish this anywhere you please.