Food For Thought (No. 2)

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.]

                                                 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 

"There's no royalty in America, so people deify actors." -Joseph Gordon Levitt
"I think of myself as a young prince from a long line of royalty." -Wesley Snipes


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

I wonder if the United Kingdom will still have a royal family by the time yinz guys are Sexy Seasoned Citizens like me? Considering Prince Chucky's spawn have spawned a passel of potential potentates, and the lucrative nature of the family business, I'm guessing it will.

Being a cynical old fart who suffers from chronic skepticism brought on by stumbling upon one too many unfortunate incidents while repeatedly circling the proverbial block, I'm aware there's much wisdom to be found in the simple three-word phrase follow the money.

Speaking of spawn, it was pictures of Prince Chucky -- sporting an impressive looking assortment of medals pinned to his flawless bespoke suits last month when he and the Donald visited France for the D-day commemorations -- that spawned this letter.

I went a-googling to discover how he managed to accumulate all that martial-themed bling because as far as I knew, although he had been in both the army and navy, he had never been in any danger of stopping a bullet fired in anger.

Of course, there's that rumor that Brigadier Andy, Vanilla Camilla's husband when she and Chucky got caught cheating on their respective spouses, got loaded and tried to shoot Chucky at (on?) a fox hunt. It's probably not true since I just made it up.

Anyways, turns out that all that hardware is the royal equivalent of good conduct and marksmanship medals. His mum gave him a few and he's got a cool uniform he can showcase them with 'cause he's in charge of the Welsh Guards.

[If you follow the cool uniform link above make sure you scroll down to see his Royal Chuckyness wearing one of those two-foot tall bearskin caps (yes they're made of real bearskin and fur) that make the big-haired rockers of the 80s look pathetic by comparison.]

From what I was able to discover...

[Sorry, I just can't help myself. If any of my readers hang out/are acquainted with the prince who would be king, whose bottom so far has only graced the same sort of throne we commoners use, please tell him that wearing all those Cracker Jack box medals at D-Day commemorations was, well, a little ballsy in my semi-humble opinion.]   


                            Image supplied by shutterstock


From what I was able to discover from several minutes of intense googling, a majority of British subjects seem to support maintaining these world-class amusement park characters. Well, there is the fact that unlike say, Disney world/land/whatever employees, these guys show up for work already trained.

I figured it was the fact that a lot of the peasants also work in/are beneficiaries of the imperial anachronism industry.

Someone's got to make/import/sell all the officially licensed geegaws, tchotchkes, and commemorative plates and it takes a lot of royal bum wipers and toothpick polishers to properly maintain a currently expanding royal family 24x7x365.

The monarchy of the UK has been around 1,000 years more or less which is more than enough time to fill the entire realm with On This Spot _______ plaques, castles, and down on their luck aristocrats. And nowadays you can be knighted for being a rock star.

Imagine how many jobs and how much money is generated by tourism and related industries.


I went looking for numbers and the consensus is that the imperial anachronism industry turns a healthy profit. Of course, estimates of just how much are all over the map as you would expect. It depends on who is doing the counting and exactly what is being counted.

A headline from the Irish Times, 5.19.18

Monarchy in the UK: the royal family's uncertain future

Makes it sound as though the royals should be updating their resumes and considering technical training classes. "I say, Mumsy, there seems to be a bunch of little people with pitchforks and torches gathering in front of the castle."

Purple Journalism alert
If you read the article, a mild hit piece chock full of if/then speculations masquerading as journalism, most of the content matches up with the headline but you'll discover two things.  First, it quotes an estimate that the monarchy yearly brings in 1.8 billion (with a b) Pounds to the realm but the tab for the extended family is only 300 to 350 million (with an m) Pounds. That's a nice markup.

What I find more interesting is that it hints at the overall popularity of the royals but neglects to mention that 7 out of 10 Britons call themselves monarchists. As to why, well, I found all sorts of reasons. However, my favorite one is mentioned in this article.

"Logic is not the most important factor. We are happy to accept eccentricity and quirkiness because they reflect an important part of our national character."

So, 

"The British monarchy is valued because it is the British monarchy."

Like us, our cousins on the other side of the pond have also resisted the imposition of the metric system so I say God Save the Queen! Poppa loves you. 

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

P.S. Since writing this I came across the following quote. Considering the fact that globalization has its downsides, it makes perfect sense to me.

"The monarchy is the filter of Britain's collective memory through which its people forms its sense of identity." -David P. Goldman


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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 here or on the Patreon button at the top or bottom of my website.

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 (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 except for the title.

I Come Out Of the Closet

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.]

                                                 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 

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.]

"Sexuality is a private matter; some believe that broadcasting it destroys the very things that make it sacred." -Lance Loud

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

I've mentioned previously:

As long as no one is getting hurt (that doesn't want to be), the door is closed, and the window treatment prevents me and anyone else that doesn't want to know what you get up to in private from seeing (and preferably not hearing) what you get up to in private -- have at it.


BIG BUT
I've also mentioned previously, and repeatedly, that for all the kids to share the playground without stepping on each other's toes, rules, written and unwritten, are required.

Good manners require that you don't go out of your way to make other H. sapiens uncomfortable.

Especially if

You'd like them to understand that you're not a threat to their kids, hell, to anybody for that matter. Just another Citizen of the Republic trying to get through your day and taking solace from whatever gets you through the night.


As to not going out of your way to make people uncomfortable, there are a lot of fine lines to be drawn in a free country.

When I was about ten years old I bought a pair of cheap sunglasses at one of the 5 & 10 cent stores on the Sou'side-a-Pittsburgh (with an h) for the princely sum of 79¢.

This was the mid-sixties and granny-style wire-rim sunglasses with brightly colored lenses in square frames were cool for a minute or two because various rock stars sported them. Roger McGuinn of the Byrds was famous for his.

[Fellow geezers and geezerettes, I've just been handed a news flash by the editor of the who'd a thunk it desk -- Mr. McGuinn is still alive, still making music, and he and his wife are Republican, evangelical Christians.]

I donned my newly acquired treasure and headed up Carson street to the apartment above a butcher shop that me and mine lived in at the time. I proudly noted that I was generating looks from the grups I passed that ranged from amused to dirty and various permutations in between.

This was an unexpected, serendipitous surprise. I was just trying to be cool, I didn't realize I would alarm the grups. I was elated. In my defense, it was the sixties. Did I mention I was ten? While I was only ten I was already caught up in the whole rock 'n' roll rebellion thing -- however innocently and peripherally.

[Had I any way of seeing what some of the things this rebellion would eventually lead to, and the intellect to grasp the ramifications, I would've spent my 79¢ on homemade french fries fried in lard (Julia Child would understand) and washed down with a root beer at Woolworths.]


Now, contrast my boring old man story with say, oh Idunno, something you might see at an LGBTQ+ pride parade.

  
 Image by Rihaij from Pixabay

Since I'm heterosexual, biologically male and a Caucasian -- but inexplicably and randomly identify as an African-American lesbian woman (who looks remarkably like Halle Berry) named Coco -- I to often feel like a victim of the Normies and live at a very busy intersection.

However, I'm a grin and bear it sort of dude, not a grin and bare it sort of dude. I'm also going to go out on a limb and speculate that the happy camper in the pic above is older than ten.


Incidentally, as to the closet I've decided to vacate, I confess that (with the possible exception of certain pseudo sports) I don't like sports. I don't even care for most games. Trivial Pursuit is ok, but like all games, particularly cards, it can quickly turn into slow torture. I...

[Wait-wait-wait. Pseudo sports? What, pray tell, are pseudo sports?]

Oh, hi Dana. Pseudo sports are sports that, although they may, and often are played seriously, they can, and often are, played while eating and/or intoxicated. Bowling and softball come immediately to mind.

[Cornhole and horseshoes would seem to be better choices, who plays either of those games seriously?]

Follow the links. The members of the American Cornhole League and the National Horseshoe Pitchers Association would beg to differ.

[Fine, but pointing out that you don't like sports has nothing to do with coming out of the closet.] 

Having spent a great deal of time during my kid and callowyute stages pretending to like sports, and even playing them to fit in when I'd rather have stayed in my closet reading a good book or even watching TV,

And

As a grup, having endured literally thousands of conversations about _______ (insert game all the dudes were talking about the next day here) without running screaming from the room because I had to work with these guys, or not wishing to be Mr. Buzzkill on a good road trip,

I must beg to differ.   

[You've already passed the 800-word mark, Mark. Is this going anywhere?]

One, two, three, four... Yikes! this calls for an emergency wrap up.


Deliberately going out of your way to make other H. sapiens uncomfortable, or reveling in/demanding approval of your highly unconventional (or even absurdly conventional) lifestyle makes you the problem.

Inadvertently making other H. sapiens uncomfortable just by being you is their problem.

Fine lines.

If you'd like to be left alone, perhaps even respected, maybe even loved, learn to leave alone. Poppa loves you.

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

This column is dedicated to my baby brother

Michael G. Mehlmauer

9/12/59 - 6/26/19

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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 here or on the Patreon button at the top or bottom of my website.

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 (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 except for the title. 



  











 

Journalism, Purple:

Journalism as currently perpetrated by many news outlets that claim to be professional, unbiased, and factual. In reality, they are partisan, prone to sensationalism, and motivated primarily by the bottom line. (No. 1)


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.]

                                                 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 

"Ideology, politics, and journalism, which luxuriate in failure, are impotent in the face of hope and joy." -P.J. O'Rourke


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

It's my protologism, sung to the tune of It's My Party (and I'll cry if I want to).

It's my protologism, I'll define it the way I want to
Define it the way I want to, define it the way I want to
I love inventing words or phrases, don't you?

[Apropo of nothing much, Wikipedia has a very interesting entry about It's My Party. I'll betcha a bottle-a-pop you didn't know it was Quincy Jones first hit single.]

I wrote a three-column series about journalism last summer wherein I proposed that our new millennium has seen a revival/update of yellow journalism and I named the phenomenon Purple Journalism.

At the time I created this clever concatenation of words (cough, cough) it was my intention to occasionally write a column illustrating my concept with an example of exactly what I mean.

You can stop holding your breath now because a headline posted on a recent Drudge Report reminded me of this and inspired this column. If you're not familiar with the Drudge Report it's an extremely popular website consisting mostly of news stories gathered from outlets from all over the planet Earth 

Matt Drudge is a genius who posts links to outright Purple Journalism, purple tinted more or less straight news, and straight news stories whose subject matter is either gruesome or prone to induce anxiety -- purple tinted content.

The result is world-class clickbait without the downsides of ordinary clickbait (endless linking, endless advertising, and links that have little or nothing to do with the headline that lured ya in the first place). 

[Tell me, oh windy one, are you ever going to tell them about the actual story? The one that allegedly is a good example of whatever the hell it is you're on about?]   

Background is important, Dana, and yes, I am.


The following headline is from an article in The Guardian, a UK newspaper that's not one of the United Kingdom's (in)famous tabloids.

Heavily processed foods like ready meals and ice cream linked to early death

Below it is the following subheadline.

Two major studies add to the body of evidence against food made with industrial ingredients

Scary shtuff, huh? No need to purple it up, really, so Mr. Drudge opted for simplification to achieve maximum impact.

Heavily processed food linked to early death...

[This is the sort of news that cries out for public attention! For the love of God, people are dropping dead! I wonder if Congress is looking into this? Why isn't this all over the news? I'm gonna throw all my beloved bacon away, right now!]

Dana, I would call your attention to the fourth paragraph of this declaration of existential apocalypse, which reads as follows.

"The study, published in the British Medical Journal, does not prove that ultra-processed foods cause disease. Nor does the effect appear particularly large, even in the most enthusiastic junk food consumers. The results suggest that 277 cases of cardiovascular disease would arise each year in 100,000 heavy consumers of ultra-processed foods, versus 242 cases in the same number of low consumers (my italicizations and emboldenizatons).

[Wait... what?]


If I may, some interesting things I noticed as a result of a careful reading of this 12-paragraph article, with "...an accompanying editorial...", for ya sunshine.

"... industrial ingredients may have had a hand..."

In another study of 20,000 college graduates in Spain, 335 subjects dropped dead over the course of 15 years of various and sundry causes.

"The top quarter consumers of ultra-processed foods – who had more than four servings a day – were 62% more likely to have died than those in the bottom quarter, who ate less than two portions a day. For each additional serving, the risk of death rose 18%." 

Sounds scary, huh? Read it again. We're not told how many of the unfortunate 365 had more than four servings of "ultra-processed foods" daily. Which means that we have no way of knowing how many "were more likely to have died" from eating them. 62% of ? = ? 

And wouldn't you like to know how they figured out how many of these meals of death were consumed daily by 20,000 people over the course of 15 years? Or how they figured out the same thing from the other study, of 105,000 people over the course of five years. 


Hey kids! You too can easily spot Purple Journalism and cut back on your Xanax consumption. Always remember, the scarier the headline the greater the need for a careful reading of the text. 

Helpful hint: when obvious questions occur to you that a professional journalist failed to ask you may have stumbled into [insert dramatic music here] The Purple Zone. Poppa loves you. 

Have an OK day. 

Please scroll down to react, comment, or share.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


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 here or on the Patreon button at the top or bottom of my website.

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 (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 except for the title.