Stuck In Ohio

 A Mr. Cranky's 'hood column. What are the four seasons of Northern Ohio?

👀 Mabel Amber, who will one day from Pixabay

This is: A weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — eventual selves to advise them and haunt them after they've become grups and/or I'm deleted. Reading via monitor/tablet is recommended for maximum enjoyment.  

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering. Intended for H. sapiens that are — in the words of the late, great bon vivant and polymath, Professor Y. Bear — "Smarter [and cooler] than the av-er-age bear." 

About

Glossary 

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlereader 

"There are seasons in every country when noise and impudence pass current for worth; and in popular commotions especially, the clamors of interested and factious men are often mistaken for patriotism." -Alexander Hamilton 

{I see what you did there.}

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

Fall (aka, almost winter) has come to my corner of Flyoverland and I'm still Stuck in Ohio (there's a bumper sticker...). I've been temporarily living here for 36 years. I was born and raised in Western Pennsylvania and all but one of my six siblings still live there, four above ground and one below. 

My big brother Ed was the first one that I remember calling Ohio the Flatlands after I landed here, and promptly got stuck. He was living in southwestern Pa., not far from the West Virginia panhandle at the time. He's now on the West Virginia side of the border — same difference. 

Lots of hills and lots of economic stagnation. Lots of relatively cheap houses too, but prices have risen in the more desirable spots. Ohio's no slouch when it comes to economic stagnation but we do have Columbus, which is rockin', and which is flat. 

I left Pennsylvania for Texas in the fall of '84 seeking a geographic cure for a broken heart. Pure serendipity; an opportunity that appeared when I needed it. 

I had the best year of my life there (so far) that included meeting my wife and stepdaughter. The bad news is that it culminated in getting stuck in Ohio, a long story that I will spare you.

{I think I speak for all of your gentlereaders when I express my sincere thanks.} 

You're welcome, Dana. My apologies to those that like living in the Flatlands. It's not you, it's me. If it makes you feel any better the woman that I ran to Texas to try and forget (I'm not foreign legion material) used a variation of that classic line on me. 

Also, Texas (with the exception of the mind-melting heat), with one of the world's larger economies and a legislature that only convenes for 140 days every other year (by law), is a tough act to follow. 

{You should've joined the circus.}

Oddly enough, Dana, that never occurred to me. Ironically enough, a bit of research revealed that the Cirque du Soleil started up in 1984. I coulda been a star! Why are you laughing? Anyways, speaking of panhandles, Ed, you ain't seen flatlands if you haven't seen the Texas panhandle. But I digress. 

{As your gentlereaders have come to expect, if not necessarily love. Will this column be returning to Ohio anytime soon?}   

Fall is my favorite season in Ohio. Spring (aka, still winter) is often wet, cold, and snow-covered. 

{Living southeast of the Lake Erie snow machine might have something to do with that, you should move to Southern Ohio. Milder weather.}

Hmmm... the Cincinnati side or the West Virginia side?

{Well, a lot of West Virginia's really pretty, almost... heavenly.}

I once knew a guy that said he was going to wait till the last person moved out or died and then make an offer.

{Are you trying to offend as many gentlereaders as possible?}

Sorry, offended gentlereaders, it's not you, it's me. Summer in Ohio this year (aka, construction) was construction in the rain this year. On the other hand, gnats and mosquitoes had a hell of a summer. 

{Geesh, I'm outta here, go for a walk or something will ya?} 

In the name of sucking it up Buttercup, let me unequivocally state that fall in Ohio can be amazing. 

It never rains every day, even in a year like this one. And even though the Stickies are wearing masks again, and even though there's already talk of reviving the unmitigated disaster called remote learning, migrating geese will soon begin staging in the parking lot of the recently abandoned nursing home across the street from Casa de Chaos.   

It warms my calloused heart to see all the trouble people go to in these parts to avoid disturbing our temporary guests even though they often leave unwanted souvenirs behind and even though I'm jealous that I'm not headed south for the winter. 

I heard my first distinctive HONK just the other day, the same day I saw an eagle, first one in a while, patrolling overhead in search of breakfast when I was on my morning walk.

Soon there will be that perfect morning or three when the sun melts the light frost covering the Kool-Aid-colored leaves and renders the resulting water drops as diamonds dripping from the many tall, old trees in old Mr. Cranky's neighborhood.  

Wouldn't it be cool if the hair of H. sapiens of a certain age turned various bright colors instead of grey or white (but didn't fall out)?

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

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The (Dizz)Information Age

Image by Andrew Martin from Pixabay

This is: A weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — eventual selves to advise them and haunt them after they've become grups and/or I'm deleted. Reading via monitor/tablet is recommended for maximum enjoyment.  

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering. Intended for H. sapiens that are — in the words of the late, great bon vivant and polymath, Professor Y. Bear — "Smarter [and cooler] than the av-er-age bear." 

About

Glossary 

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlereader  

"Everybody gets so much information all day long that they lose their common sense." -Gertrude Stein

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

We're living in the dawn of the Dizzinformation Age and Houston, we have a problem. 

Thanks to the invention of the printing press, H. sapiens have been living in the Information Age for nearly 600 years. Thanks to Mr. Gutenberg, information was made accessible to, and affordable for, the masses.

According to Wikipedia: "In Renaissance Europe...The relatively unrestricted circulation of information and (revolutionary) ideas transcended borders, captured the masses in the Reformation, and threatened the power of political and religious authorities."

Absabalutely. 

No shortage of both wonderful and terrible things resulted. However, the pace of change, which no doubt seemed overwhelming to many as the years rolled by and made collateral damage of many an innocent (and not so innocent) was glacial compared to the advent of the digital computer.

It's deja vu all over again — at the speed of light.   

Dana declaims with a  semi-passable imitation of a deep-voiced, portentous announcer. 

{THE MORE THINGS CHANGE THE MORE THEY STAY THE SAME!}

Yeah... only much faster, and in greater volume. First, we got the bomb, now, we're subject to daily information bombing and the zeitgeist is saturated with dizzinformation fallout. There's so much information sloshing up against our psychic sandbags that a devastating flood seems imminent.

{Wait-wait-wait. Not everyone is a current events junkie like you. There are all sorts of people, some of whom you know personally, that aren't online or that don't even own smartphones.}  

True, however, with the possible exception of some soul wandering in the wilderness, subsisting on locusts and honey, and searching for God there's no way to avoid the downsides of the Dizzifnormation Age. 

{Speaking of which, have you heard about that new place near d'mall, John the B's, that features artisanal, locally sourced locusts and certified Fair Trade Certified™ honey?}

Those members of the bemused majority who get their information from traditional sources like television, radio, and (dead trees) newspapers, as well as those who consult social media, news websites, or news apps (a roughly 50/50 split), are hip-deep in dizzinformation. 

Uh-huh!/Nuh-uh! has infected more people than COVID-19 and Covid-19 junior.  

{Huh?} 

I refer to the COVID-19 variant as COVID-19 jr. 

Ain't you the clever little columnist! What's Uh-uh!/Nuh-uh!?  

Uh-huh!/Nuh-uh! is a potentially debilitating condition that can be triggered by too much contradictory information.

For example, suppose you're having a pointless argument, just for the fun of it, with a fellow gentleperson about a given sports superstar's particular statistic.

{Who are these people who argue for the fun of it? Don't they risk becoming sworn enemies and/or igniting a blood feud?}

No, but it's a dying art that would take another column to explain. Um... think of it as something people used to do before getting people fired up over anything and everything became a profit center for all sorts of enterprises. 

Anyways, there's a reasonable chance that a statistic like the one mentioned can be verified with both sides accepting the results of a minimal bit of research.

BIG BUT,

There's also a very good chance that when the Goog is consulted and 14,978,123 "hits" are returned, the seemingly hard statistic requested will be subject to the Uh-huh!/Nuh-uh! phenomenon.

Suppose the first hit says the answer to the question is the number 139. 

The second hit might claim that the number is actually 138 because Trump, systemic racism, global warming, steroids, and etceteroids. 

Uh-Huh!/Nuh-Uh!    

{I fail to see what the big deal is.}

If egged on by, say, a gaggle of inebriated companions, you had bet $100 that the number was 139, your _______ payment was due, that disturbing noise your car makes was getting louder, and your spouse/partner/whatever keeps track of every single one of your pennies I'll bet you would. 

Now, when it comes to slightly more important matters (the specific matter doesn't actually matter all that much) importance and anxiety are in the psyche of the beholder. My point is that the fires of uncertainty, fueled by too much (often contradictory) information and subject to bellows pumped by people and institutions motivated by profit and ideology, not the truth, is...

{Wow, that's an impressive paragraph!}

Right? Thanks, Dana.

{What the hell are you talking about?}

TMI x SIP = D

Too much information multiplied by self-interested parties creates dizzinformation.

{So, tell me doctor, what's the cure...}

For extroverts, I generally prescribe offline-generated music, food, friends, and appropriate beverages and/or controlled substances. 

For introverts, a good book (dead trees format recommended but not required) and a comfy chair will do. An appropriate beverage is optional. 

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

Scroll down to share this column or access previous ones. If you enjoy my work and the fact I don't run advertisements or sell merchandise, please consider buying me a coffee via PayPal or a credit/debit card.    

Feel free to comment/like/follow/cancel/troll me on Facebook or Twitter. I post my latest column on Saturdays and other people's work on other days.

 

   

 

 

The Billionaire Shortage

Image by Darkmoon_Art from Pixabay

This is: A weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — eventual selves to advise them and haunt them after they've become grups and/or I'm deleted. Reading via monitor/tablet is recommended for maximum enjoyment.  

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering. Intended for H. sapiens that are — in the words of the late, great bon vivant and polymath, Professor Y. Bear — "Smarter [and cooler] than the av-er-age bear." 

About

Glossary 

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlereader  

"When I was young I thought that money was the most important thing in life; now that I am old I know that it is." -Oscar Wilde

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

According to a recent editorial in the mouthpiece of capitalist pigs everywhere, The Wall Street Journal. — Bernie Sanders Runs Out of Billionaires — there's a billionaire shortage.

Someone at The WSJ. noticed that according to Forbes's latest billionaires list, the US has 724 billionaires.

{You'd think there'd be more of 'em.}

Long story short, the editorial pointed out that if you add the cost of Uncle Bernie's (chairperson of the Senate Budget Committee) $3,500,000,000,000 budget proposal to Uncle Joe's $1,000,000,000,000 infrastructure plan the total cost is $4,500,000,000,000. 

{So what? It's just money, we can always print more.}

Well, Dana, there are certain economists that claim that's true. You'd think Uncle Bernie would be preaching their gospel given how accurate economist's predictions are. That's why they're all rich. 

But Uncle Bernie's shtick is all about beating up on the evil rich. He's built a moderately successful career (net worth, $3,000,000, salary $174,000/yr.) by doing just that. 

{Moderately successful?} 

As compared to the average Joe/Joan/Joen Bagadonuts I mean. To a billionaire, his net worth is a rounding error. 

{He's really good at running for president though.}

True, but as The WSJ. editorial points out, the billionaire shortage is raining on his perennial parade. 

See, the net worth of the Fortunate 724 is only 4.4 trillion and Uncle Bernie wants to spend 4.5 trillion. So, even if you rounded them all up, confiscated everything they have, and put 'em all to work as community organizers you'd still come up short. 

My favorite quote from the editorial: 

"If Mr. Sanders were to confiscate every asset of every American billionaire — Jeff Bezos’s rockets; Elon Musk’s bitcoin; Larry Ellison’s boats; Oprah Winfrey’s houses; Ted Turner’s ranches; Jay-Z’s car collection... — it still wouldn’t cover the cost of Democrats’ next two legislative plans."

{Wait, wait, wait. He only wants to spend $4,500,000,000,000? Hold on a sec', I'll be right back.}

[INSERT DOUBLE JEOPARDY THEME, HERE]

{Aha! Thought so, the current budget of The Fedrl Gummit is $4,829,000,000,000. Uncle Bernie is a budget cutter!}

No, Uncle Bernie and the progressives are trying to pull a fast one, but it's for our own good. If we were as smart as they are they could be straight with us. 

See, the Congressional Budget Office projects that going forward it'll cost about $4,000,000,000 a year to keep the lights on. This is mandatory spending, the money that must be spent, by law, to fund gummit programs like Medicare and Medicaid. 

Uncle Bernie's wish list is discretionary spending. This is the part of the budget Congress has to vote on every year, but Bernie's wish list is a framework, not an actual budget, that's spread out over the next ten years.

{So what's the big deal? He's gonna pay for it by raising taxes on corporations and people that make more than $400,000 a year, right?}   

Well, setting aside inconvenient truths like we don't have ten-year budgets, any entitlement is virtually impossible to get rid of once it passes, and anything can happen in the next ten years, right now the devil's in the details. 

We won't know who's supposed to pay what till the appropriate bills are passed, and projecting what Uncle Bernie's utopia will actually cost over the course of the next ten years is pure bonkercockie. 

And as to exactly what's on the wish list that's being hammered out by our betters even as you read this, you'll have to wait for the bill(s) to pass to find out. 

{That sounds familiar for some reason...}  

BIG BUTT.  

Given the fact that corporations can raise prices or lower dividends to pay increased taxes, 

And, given the fact "the 1%" can limit their tax bills with the assistance of helpful tax lawyers and lobbyists, and/or just going on an extended vacay and stop generating income, 

And, given that currently "the 10%" currently pay about 70% of all income taxes, and the bottom 50% pay about 3.1%, 

I wonder who's gonna wind up holding the bag?

I don't remember Uncle Joe saying that voting for him was a vote for a European-style social democracy wherein everyone semi-cheerfully pays high taxes — but knowing why, and what they will get in return.

Shouldn't we know exactly what we're signing up for and what we'll get in return? Shouldn't that be up to us?   

{No biggie, it's just money, we can always print more.}

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

Scroll down to share this column or access previous ones. If you enjoy my work and the fact I don't run advertisements or sell merchandise, please consider buying me a coffee via PayPal or a credit/debit card.    

Feel free to comment/like/follow/cancel/troll me on Facebook or Twitter. I post my latest column on Saturdays and other people's work on other days.