Cars (Part 2 of 3)

Image by Thomas H. from Pixabay 

Self Indulgent Nostalgia Series (S.I.N.S No. 4)


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.

[The following missive is rated SSC (Sexy Seasoned Citizens). If read by grups or callowyutes it may result in psychological/emotional/etceteralogical triggering.]


                                                 Glossary  

                                                   About

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Star: Dana -- A gentlereader

"Have you ever noticed that anybody driving slower than you is an idiot, and anyone going faster than you is a maniac?" -George Carlin


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

Last week's missive ended thusly: "There was a tiny shopping center with a hardware store, a bank, and a drugstore about a half-mile away. The nearest supermarket was several miles away. We didn't own a car and couldn't afford one."

The good news was that we had made it to the 'burbs where the temperature actually cooled off at night in the summertime. The bad news was that we lived in what is now called a food desert.

I use this term ironically (I'm cool like that) as this term refers to urban areas where it's difficult to easily access a real supermarket from your house. As I mentioned last week, this wasn't a problem when I was a kid.

When we lived on Pittsburgh's (with an h) "the bluff" we had easy access to Schwartz's Sanitary Supermarket. When we moved to the Sou'side we could easily walk to at least two supermarkets, a tiny, old, A&P (which smelled like freshly ground coffee) or a large, air-conditioned um... I want to say Kroger's, maybe Acme?

I loved the large, air-conditioned _______ because on hot summer days my fellow street urchins and I would go in and walk up and down the frozen food aisle which felt like a trip to the Arctic because of the open frozen food cases. I'm of the opinion that the electricity it took to power these coffin style freezers lead directly to global warming. I...

[Excuse me, this has what to do with cars?] 

Oh yeah... you make a valid point, Dana. Well technically, now that we were suburbanites we weren't in a food desert as there were all sorts of supermarkets to access -- if you had a car.

Suddenly, our lack of a car was a very big deal. In the city, on the rare occasion that walking or a relatively brief (and easily accessed) streetcar or bus ride was insufficient to accomplish the task at hand, we could hire a cab.

There was no such thing as ride-sharing services at the time but there were ginormous taxi cabs with jump seats and huge trunks in which it was possible to squeeze the whole fan damily if necessary (the taxi, not its trunk).

In the 'burbs taxis were expensive and few and far between. My old man used to walk about half a mile to a bus stop that took him to his job at the other end of the township we lived in and then walk another half a mile to report to work.

He reversed the procedure when it was time to go home.

My mum and I had to take that walk and ride the same bus line to a shopping center, that featured a Krogers, on Friday nights. We took a folding cart, a sort of large basket on wheels with us. The trip there, when we and our cart got on the bus in this township that was overwhelmingly middle and upper-middle class, made us an object of curiosity.

The trip home, with our cart bulging with enough groceries to feed a family of five for a week, almost rendered us a tourist attraction. You should've seen us dragging the damn cart up and down the steps of that bus.

After we got off the bus on the return trip the last part of the walk home consisted of a trek up a long, slow hill, Kirk Avenue. Fortunately, it wasn't that steep. When we made it home we felt like successful hunter/gathers at the end of a good day on the savannah.   

Owning a car, or rather not owning one, had become a very big deal.

Eventually, my mom made a friend; a single lady with an obnoxious son that my little brothers and I had to get along with because of our transportation challenges. This made hunting and gathering much easier but it was still a bitch trying to get around.

My last year of Catholic grade school education was within easy walking distance -- we lived about fifty yards from the school, St. Ursula's. Come ninth grade, I rode a school bus for the first time in my life and attended a public school. Both experiences were somewhat less than edifying.

                                                     * * *

And then, four things happened.

Friends of mine acquired drivers licenses and suddenly the world opened up. I particularly liked being driven around in Sam's dad's caddy. Sam's dad was a doctor; I told you it was a nice township.

My old man died when I was sixteen. This sucked sweaty socks, of course, but was not as awful as it sounds. He was 58, I was 16 and he had become more of a benign, disinterested grandfather than my dad by then. Mortgage insurance he had, life insurance he did not.

My paper routes (yes, plural), with help from my mum, financed driving lessons. Which, in retrospect was an unusually optimistic move on our part. Where would we have gotten the dough to buy a car? The bad news is my instructor was an incompetent hooplehead, and I couldn't master how to use a clutch (google it...). These lessons led nowhere.

[For the record: Several years later Jackie at Good Humor taught me how to master a clutch in five minutes via a secret method that I'm willing to share for only $999.99.]

BIG BUT...

We moved in with my big brother, his wife, and baby. They lived at the opposite end of Pennsylvania, in suburban (almost rural) Philadelphia.

In short order, thanks to a 1962 Buick LeSabre with an automatic transmission, I had a drivers license and a car and a job. Thus began the rest of my life. A life in which cars (and trucks) have, and continue to play, an important role.

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

Or, If you do your Amazon shopping by clicking on one of Amazon links on my site, Amazon will toss a few cents in my direction every time you buy something.

Or, you can just buy me a coffee.  

                                                   *    *    *

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 include the name of my website (The Flyoverland Crank) and the URL (Creative Commons license at the top and bottom of the 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. 



 

Cars

Image by smarko from Pixabay 

                    Self Indulgent Nostalgia Series (S.I.N.S No. 3)

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.

[The following missive is rated SSC (Sexy Seasoned Citizens). If read by grups or callowyutes it may result in psychological/emotional/etceteralogical triggering.]


                                                 Glossary  

                                                   About

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Star: Dana -- A gentlereader

"If your car could travel at the speed of light, would your headlights work?"
                                                                                   -Steven Wright


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

I am an American of a certain age; my life has revolved around cars. Well, except for the first 12.75 years. Although I anticipate that eventually, I'll (more or less) gracefully give up driving, or more likely, my loved ones and/or Big Brother will confiscate my keys, I'm safe for now.

I confess that I've always loved the freedom a car provides -- and that I'm not even a little bit worried/feel guilty about my carbon footprint (science and the market will solve this problem if The Gummit and the Greenies stop helping them so much) -- but I only enjoy driving on slow hand roads. I've never been into speed for its own sake. I hate freeways.

Now that I'm an oldish Sexy Seasoned Citizen (I turned 39 for the 27th time this Summer) I'd rather have a driver, but I want my own vehicle parked in the driveway heated garage for when I do feel like driving.

If there was any justice in the world, I'd be a wealthy man with a world-class personal assistant whom I would cheerfully pay a world-class salary. One of his duties would be to drive me around in a not white, nondescript, commercial-sized van with a cap and a suspension modified for comfort -- and equipped with all the amenities of your average Rolls-Royce.

                                                  *    *    *

Prior to the age of 12.75, I lived in inner-city Pittsburgh (with an h) Pennsylvania. The first ten of these years were the last ten years of the Black&White Ages.

Just about all the necessary minimum requirements for survival could be met within walking distance of home. Multiple corner stores where, if one's cash flow was a mere trickle on a given day, a gumball could be purchased for a penny and you might get a metal gumball that could be turned in for a prize.

[Imagine what the lawyers would do with metal gumballs nowadays. If you bit into/swallowed one back then you might tell your mum, certainly no one else lest you be labeled a maroon.]

There were all sorts of pizza and burger joints, almost none of which were the local outlet of a national chain. Somehow their food was seasoned with a certain undefinable essence that doesn't come in a container.

This, of course, wasn't necessarily a good thing but any neighborhood kid with a clue knew where to eat and where to avoid by the age of seven at the latest.

Also, I must give a shout out to a regional chain, White Tower, that made the best burgers I've ever had. I know this is true because, although now long gone, they were still around when I was on the verge of gruphood.

Their burgers were seasoned with a secret blend of herbs and spices (why does that sound familiar?) that did come in a container. You could buy it by the can and if it still existed I'd pay a hunnert bucks to get my hands on one.

There were pinball machines shoehorned into all sorts of places (analog games rule!) that cost a nickel for five balls.

We had both a Good Humor and a Mr. Softee Truck (the baby boom was booming). 

You could buy a hearth-baked soft pretzel from a corner pretzel vendor the size and shape of a large thumb for a penny.

You could...

[What's any of this drivel got to do with cars?]

Oh yeah, thanks Dana, my point is/was you didn't need a car to access the necessities of life. You could even buy crap like groceries, shoes, and clothes within walking distance of your house, and walk to school without being on the lookout for rusty white vans with cracked windshields.

[Before I forget, a shout-out for the 12th Street playground and the 22nd street playground/swimming pool. Oh, and 5 cent vanilla, chocolate, or cherry cokes mixed up on the spot and served at drug store soda fountains.]   

                                                  *    *    *

Anyways...

When I was 12.75 years old, we moved to the 'burbs. My mom and dad bought their first house. It was tiny and they could barely afford it but for the first time since they had gotten married, they owned a home.

There was well water to drink, grass to cut, and woods bordering on the back yard. There was even a small creek not far from the house that came with factory-installed mosquitos and a varying selection of aftermarket, discarded junk.

There was a tiny shopping center with a hardware store, a bank, and a drugstore about a half-mile away. The nearest supermarket was several miles away. We didn't own a car and couldn't afford one. Besides, my old man, mid-fifties and a confirmed city boy who had never owned (or driven) a car was an unlikely candidate for drivers Ed.

Ruh-roh Raggy!   (To be continued...)

Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day

Please scroll down to react, comment, share, assuage guilt, or shop at Amazon.

                                                     *    *    *

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. 

Or, If you do your Amazon shopping by clicking on one of Amazon links on my site, Amazon will toss a few cents in my direction every time you buy something.

Or, you can just buy me a coffee.  

                                                   *    *    *

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 include the name of my website (The Flyoverland Crank) and the URL (Creative Commons license at the top and bottom of the 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. 

Writers Who Write About Writing

Image by waldryano from Pixabay

Marketing never sleeps -- Food For Thought (Vol. 3)


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.

[The following column is rated SSC (Sexy Seasoned Citizens). If read by grups or callowyutes it may result in psychological/emotional/etceteralogical triggering.]


                                                 Glossary  

                                                   About

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Star: Dana -- A gentlereader

"Writing is easy, all you have to do is cross out the wrong words." -Mark Twain


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

Fugiden. I'm just going to write. I like it.

[If this is your idea of a hot first sentence that will immediately hook the reader...]

I write from the heart and the brain, Dana. Inspired, of course, by my muse Marie-Louise. I've looked into how you're s'posed to hook readers, even how to make some money for your efforts. I've given up and decided to just roll with my intuition because:

1. Very few writers will ever quit their day job. Very few writers will ever generate more than chump change for their literary blood, sweat, and tears.

2. There's no such thing as consensus, not even close, from writers successful and otherwise, as to winning formulae.

I've recently become mildly obsessed with Medium.com. It's a site for writers of all stripes to showcase their writing.

There are virtual communities there devoted to writers writing about writing. There's no shortage of writers willing to teach writers how to write for a modest fee, or even for free -- if you sign up for their newsletter. Newsletters, it seems, are a very big deal.

One of the things that writers on Medium who write about writing write about is, somewhat obsessively, marketing. That's why you need a newsletter. Newsletters are about building a subscriber list -- for marketing purposes.

Marketing never sleeps. But to be fair, writers who write about writing regularly write about writing for the sheer joy of it. As a way for creators to uncork their creativity knowing full well that most creators, writers or otherwise, will never monetize their work.

[So it goes. But one well-crafted story/song/painting, hell, t-shirt, might just change the world -- for someone. You'll probably never know, but perhaps life will toss a couple of quarters into your karma bank.] 

Marketing includes trying to suss out the opaque, top-secret system Medium.com uses to determine who gets promoted and who gets paid, why, and how much. If ya go a-googlin' 'round the web you'll encounter the same thing.

You'll encounter more advice on how to evangelize/monetize your work than you could ever possibly assimilate.

You can choose to go the technical route, become a Google Analytics maven and an expert on search engine optimization. That is to say, try and suss out what the Algorithmites are up to and how to please them. If you don't want to do this yourself there are no shortage of experts willing to help you out at all possible price points.

Be sure and sign up for the free newsletter! If you do you'll receive discounts on any purchases you might make in the future.

Alternatively, you could eliminate the middleperson, go down to the crossroads, and sell your soul to the devil. Don't think that's a thing? How do you explain the fact that _______ is obscenely rich?

There's another approach that combines analytics with (at least according to some, not me) selling your soul. In my semi-humble opinion as long as your audience knows where you're coming from any (more or less) legal way of keeping the wolf from the door that doesn't have a victim is nunya.

Nunya is Pittsburghese (with an h) for none of your damn business.

You can become some version or other of an influencer. If you can convince enough people how smart and/or cool and/or pretty and/or hip and/or popular and/or etcetular you are you can hawk products to the little people and get paid for it.

This is a huge industry that runs the gamut from people (and media outlets) that provide product reviews that are honest about the fact they're getting paid, to certain Celebs that are apparently incapable of accumulating enough money/adulation/time spent in front of a camera to be satisfied.

It's just not how I roll, which is my problem. In the highly unlikely event I ever become a Celeb I'll cross that bridge when I encounter a river of filthy lucre or a mountain of bills.

Fugiden. I'm just going to write. I like it.

I'm going to write about whatever I want to write about and beg for table scraps on my website via Patreon, Buy Me a Coffee, and Amazon adverts. Has anyone tried sacrificing whatever the appropriate animal is to Mercury? (god of communication). Call me...


Speaking of masterful marketing: many of those same Celebs referenced above passionately participate in the currently popular pastime of beating up on the evil 1%, which is morphing into the evil 10%, a club which any Celeb worthy of the name likely belongs to.

But even the evil one-percenters willing to declare themselves woke and publically self-flagellate themselves if necessary can avoid prosecution by the Intersectional Inquisition -- with the right marketing. Wokeness is even cooler than the current hot smartphone.

For example, in case you missed it, Kim Kardashian, famous primarily for being famous, has confessed she's embarrassed by her obsession -- with being famous. Fortunately, she has found mitigation for her angst. In her own words:

"Even in my darkest times I don't regret putting myself out there for the world to see, people have shared with me over the years how much it has helped them to feel less alone when dealing with their own adversity. I love having a voice and I appreciate the platform that I have been given."

She selflessly shared this with the world in an in-depth interview. By her husband. In Vogue Arabia. She's gonna be a lawyer too.      

[Vogue Arabia, what the hell is Vogue...]

Just click the link, Dana, There's lots and lots and lots of pretty pictures with minimal distracting text. Personally, I think she's shaped like the handbell that Sister Mary McGillicuddy used to call us in from recess with but...

I better stop there, S'ter Mary wouldn't approve. And I don't begrudge Mrs. West her fame or a single one of her many, many dimes. I am, after all, a wild-eyed libertarian and free marketeer (with a bleeding heart and conservative impulses).

Fugiden. I'm just going to write. I like it.

Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day

Please scroll down to react, comment, share, assuage guilt, or shop at Amazon.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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. 

Or, If you do your Amazon shopping by clicking on one of Amazon links on my site, Amazon will toss a few cents in my direction every time you buy something.

Or, you can just buy me a coffee.  

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 include the name of my website (The Flyoverland Crank) and the URL (Creative Commons license at the top and bottom of the 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.









  

Global Whining

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.

[The following column is rated SSC (Sexy Seasoned Citizens). If read by grups or callowyutes it may result in psychological/emotional/etceteralogical triggering.]


                                                 Glossary  

                                                   About

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Star: Dana -- A gentlereader

"We know how to take care of one another without whining and accusing and bellyaching." -Mike Gallagher


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

I don't know what the world will be like by the time you read this, re-read this, or if you will ever read this. This being one of my letters to the eventual yous. That's who I'm writing this for.

See, even if one of you existing Stickies were to suddenly become a devoted reader you would miss much of what I'm at least trying to communicate.

Therefore, I write to/for the eventual yous and my current gentlereaders.

Please don't think I'm disparaging the current yous. You're all still pretty young yet; you range in age from barely teenagers to one barely young adult. And even if you read every single letter every ten years or so you'll be reading different letters each time. Also, you won't really have a clue as to what's really going on here till you're full-fledged grups, which won't happen till you're 25, 30 years old.

This isn't because I'm particularly smart, it's the nature of life on Earth.

Two things.

In spite of the fact our current relationships aren't always conducted in sunshine and unicorns mode, I like all of you just as you currently are. If you belonged to my fellow geezer across the way I'd still like you as you currently are. I'm very lucky.

The other thing is that if you live your lives as consciously and honestly as I suspect you all will, you will keep evolving into slightly to radically different (hopefully better) versions of yourselves as the decades roll by.

While the elapsed time between noticing that, "Hey, it's only been _______ years since _______ and I'm a different person now" will shorten, they will never end.

Not if you're doing it right.

Beware of becoming a caricature of a younger version of yourself.


And now, on with our show. This week's life lesson: Don't Choose to Be a Victim.

Although there's no shortage of deluded H. sapiens loose in the world who still maintain, in spite of the overwhelming evidence to the contrary, that global whining is a hoax/fraud/scam of some sort, face facts, don't be a denier.

This advice assumes, of course, that by the time you read this it's not too late.

That the deniers have triumphed, and that you're living in a world that can hardly imagine what it would be like to wake up in the morning not beset by overwhelming anxiety/envy/self-pity/resentment/etceterament and the desire for revenge and reparation from whomever you blame for everything that's wrong with your life; everything that's wrong with the world.

That things are so bad that your psych meds need constant adjustment. That the only sure-fire way to calm yourself down, after a hit on your inhaler to help you catch your breath, is checking your balance to make sure you've received your allowance from the Council of the Cognitive Elite (CCE).

               We've got this, just relax. Remember, take your meds.
   This comforting reminder is brought to you by your neighborhood CCE.

That once you calm down, check your work assignment to decide if you need to take a mental health day, pour yourself a cup of organic, locally sourced, caffeine-free, vitamin and nutrient supplemented comfort beverage and turn on the main screen,

That

You're not confronted with the sight of a half a million lean and hungry members of Maximum Leader Xi's Peoples Liberation Army streaming across
our compassionately wide-open northern and southern borders -- and break out in hives from head to toe.

[Respect, no one can digress like you do your garrulousness!]

I'm not digressing, Dana, I'm merely painting a colorful, imaginative literary landscape accurately portraying the dystopian future if we don't do something about global whining, now.

[Accurately?]

Yes, the research labs of Crank LLC have created elaborate, insanely complicated computer models generated by Algorithmites that were, um, borrowed from the CCE. But all ya need do is look around, see what's right in front of you. The damage is already manifesting here, there, and everyfreakinwhere.

[Could you be a little more vague?]

I could be mind-numbingly specific. That is to say, I could cite endless examples with appropriate links and screenshots from the Twitterverse alone that would make my case.

I could point out that the culture is marinating in Purple Journalism 24x7x365.

I could point...

[Alright-alright-alright. Point taken. Enlighten me then, Cranky one, is it too late or can Earth be saved from the scourge of global whining?] 

Only if everyone does their part to implement Historical Contextualization.


[What, on Earth, is...]

It's really quite simple, but with a big, hairy name it will get much more attention.

My big breakthrough came when I recently discovered that there are "...experts in the burgeoning field of existential risk." (ER?)

That is to say, I read some articles on Medium.com, doom and gloom themed essays, written by the author of "End Times: A Brief Guide to the End of the World," Bryan Walsh.

No, he's not a religious fundamentalist, he's a former editor of the formerly formidable (but now somewhat down on its luck) TIME magazine. He's one of the experts in the "burgeoning field of existential risk"; yes Virginia, it's a thing. Go a-googlin' and you'll find books, experts, think tanks, non-profits, studies, and etceteries.

Burgeoning indeed. People are being paid to study, worry about, and propose solutions to potential pending apocalypses. It's an industry. The Algore is an accidental mogul. Intellectual masturbation is big business.

[What's this got to do with...]

Historical Contextualization? One day my parents were minding their own and the economy of the United States of America collapsed. While they were dealing with that a global war broke out, the second one in their lifetimes in fact -- a good old fashioned us or them everything is on the line brew haha.

Then everything settled down, well, sorta/kinda. Next, there was a global cold war that featured no shortage of local hot wars that included the death and destruction that traditional war is famous for.   

Life on Earth is, was, and ever shall be an unending existential risk, be it personal or societal. Google the word plague.

The only question is how shall we live while waiting for the massive, high-velocity asteroid to hit? On the bright side, this will free us from our robot overlords as we huddle together on small patches of permanently polluted high ground.

The only rational, realistic, life-affirming, we all have to share the playground answer is do what you can to make your life, everyone's life, less shitty and more enjoyable -- today.

Set your knee-jerk tribal loyalties and ideology aside and base your actions on what actually is and what's actually possible.

Give thanks that the world is so prosperous that people can make a good living by being professional whiners.

[Tell 'em about the video.]

Oh yeah, and start every day by watching this video.

Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day

Please scroll down to react, comment, share, assuage guilt, or shop at Amazon.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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. 

Or, If you do your Amazon shopping by clicking on one of Amazon links on my site, Amazon will toss a few cents in my direction every time you buy something.

Or, you can just buy me a coffee.  

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 include the name of my website (The Flyoverland Crank) and the URL (Creative Commons license at the top and bottom of the 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. 
 

Do Exactly What You Would Do If You Felt Most Secure

Quotable Quotes (Vol. 2)

Public Domain

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.

[The following column is rated SSC (Sexy Seasoned Citizens). If read by grups or callowyutes it may result in psychological/emotional/etceteralogical triggering.]


                                                 Glossary  

                                                   About

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Star: Dana -- A gentlereader

"I always felt very secure and very safe with real estate. Real estate always appreciates." -Ivana Trump


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

It recently occurred to me that I wrote a column a few months back called Quotable Quotes, a title I stole borrowed from a venerable Readers Digest feature of the same name. I had intended to make it a regular feature but didn't follow through.

I looked up the column in question and discovered that it was written almost a year ago... Methinks it might be time for volume two.


"Do exactly what you would do if you felt most secure." -Meister Eckhart

[Meister who?]

Eckhart von Hochheim, Meister (Master) Eckhart, was a Christian mystic, theologian, and philosopher in the late 13th and early 14th century, Dana. His friend...

[Hoo-boy, sorry I asked.]

His friendly neighborhood inquisition convicted him of heresy but he appealed to the pope, John XXII, and...

[Now you're talkin'! Did they roast him like a steak?]

Roast him like a steak? What are... oh, no, he died while PJ22 was thinking it over.

[Well that's no fun. And you're writing about him because?]

I'm writing about the quote. Although he was a popular preacher and an important theologian this was a long time ago and much of his work has been lost.

He's popular with both certain modern theologians and mystics... and certain New Agey types, which has led to out of context quotes, like the one that's the title of this missive, being turned into memes. The quote intrigued me so I went a-googlin' in search of the context because it can obviously be spun in all sorts of directions, rendering the authors meaning, meaningless.

All I came up with was a longer version of the quote but since it (in my semi-humble opinion) confirms what I suspected, I'm a happy camper.

"To be sure, our mental processes often go wrong, so that we imagine God to have gone away. What should be done then? Do exactly what you would do if you felt most secure. Learn to behave thus even in deepest distress and keep yourself that way in any and every estate of life. I can give you no better advice than to find God where you lost him."

[Hmmm... which means exactly what?]

I think that Meister Eckhart was saying that if you misplace your faith you should carry on in the world as if you hadn't, that doing so is the best way to find it again. To act, as Jordan Peterson has said, as if God exists.

[OMG, don't tell me you've had a come to Jesus...]

While I don't share the contempt and dismissal implied in your statement -- preferring true-woke to faux-woke -- no, I haven't, not in the usual sense. But I prefer to keep my metaphysics to myself. 


While I hesitate to speak for Dr. Peterson and I'm hardly an expert on his teachings?/conclusions?/philosophy? I shall venture out on to the relevant limb and state that we both think that:

Neurology/psychiatry/psychology/etceterology

--And even the "lived experience" of the allegedly marginalized --

Clearly indicates that...

[Wait-wait-wait. Allegedly?]

Well, I'm no public intellectual (obviously) and I find that I'm wrong with disturbing regularity. However, it seems to me that since the formerly marginalized have achieved, and continue to receive, saturation levels of attention within the infosphere that...

No wait, sorry, that's another letter.

Where was I? Oh yeah, -- clearly indicates we'll feel good about ourselves and be motivated to keep getting out of bed in the morning as long as we're striving to reach an ever higher goal.

For the religiously and/or the mystically inclined, a personal, ever-developing relationship with God, or a higher power of some sort, does the trick and answers a lot of important questions. Eckhart was advising that if you hit a rough patch maintain your moral and ethical ideals and the peace that surpasses understanding will return.

Peterson's version (and mine), acting as if God exists -- to never stop seeking the truth, to never stop striving to live as morally and ethically as possible, to acknowledge that when you're being brutally honest that 98.711% of the time you know what the right thing to do is, so do it -- amounts to the same thing.


[Huh. So you're saying that it doesn't mean that even if we're brimming with confidence and self-esteem courtesy of politically/culturally/etceterally correct parents and teachers and therapists and the like -- that waking and baking is unquestionably a legitimate way to start every day?]

What I'm saying is that we should give a bit of thought to what we really want, how we're going to get there, and what we'll be thinking about when we're on our deathbed and evaluating our lives.

What I'm saying is we should give a bit of thought to how we should conduct ourselves on the playground. Are you cool/do you keep your cool? Do you share your toys? Are you worthy of being a best friend? Are you a bully?

What I'm saying is that we should set the highest goals we can think of and if/when we reach them we're still not satisfied, or if we change our minds before we get there is:

Keep. Reaching. Your inner GPS will offer up the appropriate suggested routes.

Do these things and you will be supplied with the meaning that so many claim doesn't exist even though most of them can't stop looking for it.

It's okay to occasionally take detours just because they look interesting. In fact, I can't recommend it enough. Just be careful you don't get lost.

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

Or, If you do your Amazon shopping by clicking on one of Amazon links on my site, Amazon will toss a few cents in my direction every time you buy something.

Or, you can just buy me a coffee.  

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 include the name of my website (The Flyoverland Crank) and the URL (Creative Commons license at the top and bottom of the 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'm a Wild-Eyed Libertarian and Free Marketeer with a Bleeding Heart and Conservative Impulses

...And I want to be the king

Photo by Valario Davis on Unsplash

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.

[The following column is rated SSC (Sexy Seasoned Citizens). If read by grups or callowyutes it may result in psychological/emotional/etceteralogical triggering.]

                                                 Glossary  

                                                   About

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Star: Dana -- A gentlereader

"Only kings, presidents, editors, and people with tapeworms have the right to use the editorial we." -Mark Twain


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

I have, in past letters described myself -- politically speaking -- by using various variations of the title of this missive. My current official position is exactly the same as the current title.

This clarification is important since I plan on running for King of the United States of America next year.

Note that I said next year. I would spare you the endless horror of the Permanent Campaign. If elected king I shall post a proclamation proclaiming that aggressive campaigning prior to the last three months before an election is tasteless, tacky and expensive and recommend that Congress legislates accordingly.

Two years after I'm crowned I'll hold a national, binding referendum on my monarchy and step down if the Citizens of the Republic (C.O.R) want me to. This referendum will also come with a yes or no question to vote on.

"Shall the Princes of the Senate and the Rent-a-Rats of the House of Representatives be subject to term limits?" That should prove interesting.

Also, I'm going...     

[Hey! You! Mr. hey look, it's a squirrel! Given that you admit to tweaking, however subtly, your official position over the course of the years, doesn't that make you just another freakin' flip-flopper?]

Technically, I suppose it does, Dana. But although a politician, in theory, must stand for something, they must also be practical if they are to get and/or stay elected.

Flip-flopping, as well as carefully crafted after spinning, is a time-honored tool in the successful politician's toolbox.

[Well then why should anyone vote for you, you're just like...]

No, I'm not.

When I do an obvious flip-flop and stick the landing, or just change/refine my position a bit, if asked why I'll just shrug my shoulders and say, "I've changed my mind." There will be no weasely "walking back" that insults the intelligence of the COR.

If I feel an explanation is necessary I'll release a statement of clarification (S.O.C.).

[But what about...]

And while we're on this subject, no more White House daily press briefings.

[But you can't...]

Sure I can, they're not mandated by law. Reporters will be welcome to submit written questions about anything they like. My administration will answer whichever ones we think are worth answering.

[But if you do that...]

The purple journalists will be limited to performing in/on/at their own venues. If a question is ignored that they think demands an answer, they can call us out. If the public agrees, we'll either be forced to answer or take a hit.

BIG BUT,

This will help any administration, that chooses to, to run things with the big picture in mind -- as opposed to the goofy way we're doing things now. The Gummit of the United States is run like a high-school that has turned the school over to the students, all of whom are social media mavens.

It's time to put the adults back in charge. The adults that do all the work and pay all the taxes out here in the real world so they can live their lives without having to worry that their government's been replaced by:

The Gummit

the ultimate in reality television

(premiering this fall on ABS -- All BS, all the time)

[Wait a sec', what's any of this got to do with the title of...] 

You started it. Besides, this column features "the wit and wisdom of a garrulous geezer," remember? Garrulous, according to Merriam-Webster, refers to a person that's "given to prosy, rambling, or tedious loquacity."

[Sure, but...]

I'll consider releasing a SOC, let's move on, please.  

I'm a wild-eyed Libertarian and free marketeer, that is to say:

"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." -me

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." (My emboldenization.)

If you don't know the source of the second quote you should be sentenced to a week, maybe two, in one of Emperor Xi's concentration camps.


With a bleeding heart...

What any given Libertarian believes, by definition, is going to be anywhere from slightly to radically different from what any other given Libertarian believes. We like it that way.

There shouldn't even be a Libertarian party. That's like having a party of cats, whose platform would consist of the only plank they could all agree on. It is resolved that all cats have the freedom to sleep as much as they want.

Sleeping is a right!

Libertarians should strive to be a viable wing of both the Republicrat and the Depublican parties.

The libertarian wing of the Republicrat party of the most prosperous (and lucky) nation the planet Earth has ever produced should fight for a safety net that harnesses the power of the marketplace and the common sense of the citizens.

Singapore's been doing it for years. Why can't we? Their system works better than ours and (per-capita) costs half as much. They have actual interest-earning money set aside for retirements, not a trust fund full of paper promises that's going broke.

As for the Depublican party, if they had a libertarian wing perhaps they could be talked off the ledge before they leap into the abyss of socialism.


And conservative impulses...

Liberty without responsibility is anarchy -- the zombie apocalypse kind, not the starry-eyed idealist's version. Any properly brought up kid knows that's how you run a cool playground.

That's why an ad-hoc committee consisting of me, Loopy de' Loupe and Nick the Greek ratted out the 22nd Street playground pool pooper to one of the cool lifeguards, who administered swift and terrible justice. The miscreant was banned from the pool for the rest of the summer.

I've got a bunch of conservative impulses that are the result of my version of a currently fashionable notion, "lived experience," but I don't wish to trigger anyone so I'll stop here.

I shall undermine our modern-day Jacobins, who worship at the feet of St. Robespierre, with love and snarcasm.

Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day

Please scroll down to react, comment, share, assuage guilt, or shop at Amazon.

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

If you do your Amazon shopping by clicking on an Amazon link above or below Amazon will toss a few cents in my direction every time you buy something.

Or, you can just buy me a coffee.  

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 include the name of my website (The Flyoverland Crank) and the URL (Creative Commons license at the top and bottom of the 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. 








 



  

Purple Journalism (Vol. 2)

Photo by Orlova Maria on Unsplash

Please note: This column has been rendered gender-neutral (& should be read accordingly) and approved for publication by the City Council of Berkely, California. All personal pronouns that would unfairly presume to indicate the gender identity of the H. sapiens mentioned (he, she, etc.) without their approval have been rendered as they or them to avoid the unintentional infliction of triggering or verbal violence upon their persons.    

However, my use of the term BIG BUT, twice in the same column, has been referred to the sub-committee for the investigation of thought crime and hate speech because of the potential offending of the calorically challenged community. Being a member in good standing of said community, I've referred myself to a psychiatrist to determine if I have self-hate issues -- and in the hope of scoring some good meds.


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.

[The following column is rated SSC (Sexy Seasoned Citizens). If read by grups and callowyutes it may result in psychological/emotional/etceteralogical triggering.]

                                                
                                                  Glossary  

                                         Just who IS this guy?


Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Star: Dana -- A gentlereader

"When I was a child I had wax in my ears. Dad didn't take me the doctors, he they used me as a night light." -Les Dawson


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

"Purple Journalism: 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." -me

I'm not a fan of the Donald. Not now, not then. I voted for the goofy libertarian guy because I couldn't vote for either the Donald or the Billary. After all, I am a wild-eyed libertarian and free marketer with a bleeding heart and conservative impulses.

[Not then?]

Dana, you've been showing up a lot lately, not that I mind you understand I...

[Hey, I'm a creation of your subconscious, it's not like I have control over...]

Point taken. I guess I'm just missing Iggy and Marie-Louise.

[Not then?]

What? Oh, I mean when they first entered my personal infosphere, when they published their (and some ghostwriters) bestseller, The Art of the Deal, and the Orange One was turning up here, there, and this one time even way over there.

I tried reading it and found it to be lighter and fluffier than my mum's pancakes. And yet it was a bestseller, so whaddaiknow? P.T. Barnum lives? And they did manage to get themselves elected president of the United States of America without even spending much of their own money.

For the record, I've always thought that claiming that the Pooteen played the role of the man behind the curtain was goofy... although they are more powerful than the Wizard of Oz turned out to be ("Oz never did give nothin' to the Tin Man"). And they are, no doubt, a world-class bully and dick-tater.


The paragraphs above are a preface to the actual subject of this semi-humble missive, Jake Tapper, well-known employee of one of the all Trump all the time news networks, CNN.

If you set aside the occasional exceptions that prove the rule -- so that they can claim/pretend to be objective news sources that carefully separate fact from opinion -- CNN, like most of its brethren, is in the biased infotainment business.

For example, CNN is (mostly) all anti -- the Donald -- all the time. FOX is (mostly) all pro -- the Donald -- all the time.

There's good money to be made promoting polarization and pathos. Infotainment = current events + a reality show ethos. 

While I know what (and who) I believe and where I stand, I go out of my way to reject promoting polarization and creating conflict for entertainment. I try to avoid sexing (and violencing) up reality to capture the attention of jaded, entertainment obsessed Americans (like me).

Making fun of everybody and calling out naked emperors is more fun, and ultimately I suspect, more useful.


The Tapper, if you're not familiar, is the CNN White House correspondent semi-famous for their performances at White House press briefings -- staring the Tapper.

I fully support pain in the ass journalists in search of the truth for truth's sake.

BIG BUT,

Self-aggrandizing journalists with an ego as big as their agenda who believe that once they've decided the object of their wrath is the work of/spawn of Satan and they should shift into End Justifies the Means Mode and abandon objectivity and the ethical norms of their profession for the sake of justice/resistance/mom's apple pie (made with locally sourced organic apples)...

I've got a problem with that.

Particularly if a given reporter, like the Tapper, for example, writes a book in which they come back down from the mountain to declare that "Purists in the field of journalism and academics opining from the safety of the classroom can lament the downfall of neutrality. But neutrality for the sake of neutrality doesn't really serve us in the age of Trump."

I have not and will not read the book. The passage above is quoted all over the place and the Tapper is not claiming it's taken out of context. Call me biased if you like but as far as I'm concerned that's as much as I need to know. 

Another BIG BUT... 

Common sense would seem to indicate that, of course, no journalist is actually capable of being truly neutral. This is not a characteristic of H. sapiens generally, or your average Joe/Joan Bagadonuts -- not traditional donuts, of course, I speak of healthy, gluten-free donut alternatives (if there is such a thing) -- specifically. 

A journalist should strive to gather as many relevant, objective facts as possible and present the customer (us) with what they honestly believe to be the objective truth to aid us in making our way through another difficult day in the Information Age. 

I myself would love to be guided by the Tapper's wisdom and personal opinions but I would prefer them to labeled as such, that is to say, as commentaries, for the sake of clarity.


Bonus! And you won't be charged extra. I found this (disturbing) story on the Fox News website a while back but never got around to passing it on. It's both a (lump of) News That You Can Use and an outstanding example of pure Purple Journalism. 

It's an article about a two and a half centimeter long lump of ear wax with pictures and video. 

Earwax clump clogging entire ear canal removed from patient: 'Look at that!' 

By the way, only the wax was removed, not the entire ear canal, the headline is easily misconstrued.

I gotta go or I'm going to late for an appointment with my otolaryngologist. Poppa loves you. 

Have an OK day. 
Please scroll down to react, comment, share, assuage guilt, or shop at Amazon.

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

If you do your Amazon shopping by clicking on an Amazon link above or below Amazon will toss a few cents in my direction every time you buy something.

Or, you can just buy me a coffee.  

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.