How to Save the World

Image by stokpic from Pixabay

Letters of eclectic commentary featuring the wit and wisdom of a garrulous geezer and {Dana}, a persistent hallucination and charming literary device.

  

                     ABOUT                                              GLOSSARY 

"Democracy is the theory that the common people know what they want, and deserve to get it good and hard." -H.L. Mencken

Dear Gentlereaders,

The rumor that I was picked up and tossed in a cell while waiting in line to get on a plane to return home from a brief getaway to my favorite secret Taoist monastery in China's Wudang Mountains (for speaking ill of Emperor Poo Win Nie) is not true. 

{Rumor? What rumor? I'm not aware of any such rumor.}

Me neither, Dana, but a provocative opening sentence is important if you want a given reader to keep on reading. The vast majority of news stories, much less columns, newsletters, blog posts, and etceterosts are rarely read beyond the first paragraph or two so you're supposed to try and grab the reader's attention right off the bat, hoping they stick around.

{That explains the clickbaity title.} 

As my millions of gentlereaders are aware, but not necessarily the billions of potential readers who may stumble across my work, my column policy was to post a new column roughly every two or three weeks, instead of weekly. This is so I can go into more depth/length about a given subject if I'm so inclined.

New policy: Produce a new column every two weeks, max, regardless of length, depth, or whatever. I've discovered that just like in most aspects of my life, a schedule and/or a plan and/or a goal works much better than winging it. This is not because I'm a particularly virtuous or disciplined soul, it's purely a matter of practical necessity. I'll explain that in a minute, in the meantime...

This particular column will be/was published about three weeks after the preceding one. It's not the one I planned on publishing. That one spun out of control so I've set it aside and written this one. I got so lost in the weeds while exploring a particular subject that I wasn't able to find my way out again. This problem was compounded by an unwillingness to do so. 

The sunk cost fallacy (according to the Goog's official English dictionary) is "the phenomenon whereby a person is reluctant to abandon a strategy or course of action because they have invested heavily in it, even when it is clear that abandonment would be more beneficial."

The term in question comes from behavioral economics and is a highfalutin way to say throwing good money after bad isn't a good idea. In this case, it refers to throwing more words at a lost cause. 

In the course of writing the latest chapter of a series of columns memoir-izing my childhood (Me, the Early Years) I got a little carried away trying to explain how and why 1965 (when I turned 12) was when the "swingin' sixties" actually got rolling and how/why everything had turned to shyte by the late seventies when disco was peaking and the Festrunk brothers appeared on Saturday Night Live.

A long column started turning into a short book. Even though I slowly realized it, I kept trying to somehow wrap things up before finally giving up as I had taken too many side roads and couldn't find my way back to the thruway. 

In my next missive, I will resume memoir-izing my childhood. I'll be writing about seventh grade, the year I met the nun Sister Mary McGillicuddy is based on, in September of 1965.

{Ah-ha! now I get it!}

I'll also be writing about eighth grade. We moved from the city to the 'burbs the summer before, and I encountered a whole different world. In the meantime, this column is to tide over my millions of regular readers and put a stop to the rumors. 

I've been asked by both of our political parties to endorse their respective candidate for the presidency so I wish to announce that I plan to enthusiastically vote against Kamala Harris. 

{So you're endorsing the Donald then?}

I didn't say that, Dana. I said I'm looking forward to voting against the Queen of Obfuscation; I didn't say anything about endorsing the King of Kayfabe. 

I'm so sick of politics and the powers that be just now that if not for the fact I think China's economy is going to collapse, and that apparently I'll never stop worrying about Skippy, Nipples, and the Stickies, I might return to the monastery permanently. Geesh, when the Stickies start having stickies...

Now, I often say that I was born jaded and the longer I live the more jaded I've become. This is true. It's also an oversimplification. Throughout the course of my life I've often gotten pumped up about something and even now occasionally do so — but it never lasts and is ultimately/eventually disappointing. 

{I'm guessing that no one has ever accused you of being the life of the party.}

Not that I can remember, no, but in my defense, by nature, I'm inclined to go out of my way to try not to impede the fun of others — as long as they're not having fun at someone else's expense — often even doing my best to aid them in their efforts. I can honestly say that trying to get others to smile or even laugh, no matter the situation, might be the only social skill that comes to me naturally. 

{And we should care about this because...?}

Well, I suspect there are a lot of souls out there who've been looking for "it" all their lives, have never found it, but are still looking for it despite repeated disappointments. It's not our fault. Despite what certain Wokies would have us believe, there is such a thing as human nature. We can't stop looking for it, it's how we're made. 

{I still don't see...}

"I've discovered that just like in most aspects of my life, a schedule and/or a plan and/or a goal works much better than winging it. This is not because I'm a particularly virtuous or disciplined soul, it's purely a matter of practical necessity."

In these wild and crazy times, you can choose despair and victimhood or you can choose to take care of business, get 'er done, do your job, take out the trash, make your bed, etc. — while always looking for the joke. You'll feel better, change the world for the better, and be shielded from those who can't or won't. 

Hey, you might even finally figure out what "it" is.  

Have an OK day, 

Colonel Cranky

Scroll down to share my work or to access previous columns.   

Comments? I post links to my columns on Facebook where you can love me, hate me, or cancel me. Cranky don't tweet (Xclaim?).

Copyright 2024-Mark Mehlmauer-All rights reserved    

   

  

"Virtue Is Its Own Reward" -Cicero

A Quotable Quotes Column

Image by feworave from Pixabay

Letters of eclectic commentary featuring the wit and wisdom of a garrulous geezer and {Dana}, a persistent hallucination and charming literary device.

  

                     ABOUT                                              GLOSSARY 

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions." -?

Dear Gentlereaders,

When I went a-googlin' and asked the algorithm to search the WWCK (worldwide web of contradictory knowledge) to find out who first said virtue is its own reward I discovered that we don't really know. 

The answer I got was:

Search Labs | AI Overview 

(With a cute little blue beaker emoji preceding it indicating there was scientific stuff going on here) and then...

"The idea that virtue is its own reward was widespread among ancient philosophers and poets. Some people who have said this include:" 

This was followed by links to Socrates, Seneca, and Blessed John Henry Newman,... 

And finally: "The Latin expression for the idea that virtue is its own reward is Ipsa sibi merces rerum pulcherrima Virtus." 

If you've always wanted to memorize this particular proverb in Latin and put it in your pocket in case it might come in handy when you're trying to impress people at social functions or when you're trying to pick up a dude/dudette/other at Starbucks, here ya go. 

For those gentlereaders not in the know, if you were to search the term what is search labs? you would discover that "Google Search Labs is a program that allows users to try out and then provide feedback on early-stage Google search experiences. The program's main purpose is to help Google experiment with new ideas and determine what works and what doesn't."

 

This is Googspeak for "We make most of our money by keeping track of everything you do while following you around online and using the information we collect to sell ads and the data necessary for ads to follow you all over the WWCK. Did you think we weren't going to use the data you so willingly provide to develop our version of an artificial intelligence so that we can make money before AI kills us all in our sleep?"

(Or some variation of same as exactly what answer you get depends on all sorts of things we mere mortals are not privy to.) 

{Wait-wait-wait. You opted in when they first offered to add this to your searches. I'm sure you can opt out now if it bothers you so much.}

It doesn't bother me. I adopted the Borg mission statement a long time ago (Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated?) but I did try to discover if it was actually possible to get rid of it, just for the hell of it, and failed. Never a 10-year-old around when you need one. 

{You know, there are ways to surf the WWCK completely anonymously and even access the DARK WEB where the drug dealers, arms dealers, and various and sundry perverts lurk.}

I'll betcha a bottleahpop (that's soda pop for some of you) that there's any number of nerds working for a given government (and other shady organizations) that can follow you down any given electronic rabbit hole. 

{You're paranoid.}

You're not, Dana?

Anyway, it's Cicero I was interested in and fortunately he was linked to further down the page. One of the many things I love about the WWCK is that if you keep on scrollin' and clickin' you can eventually get the answer you want. 

Sister Mary McGillicuddy taught me that Mx. Cicero...

(Ever wonder what Mx. is short for? Well, it isn't. According to our friend Search Labs "Mx. is a gender-neutral title used for people who don't identify as male or female, or who don't want their gender specified. It's pronounced like 'mix' or 'mux.' 

Personally, I prefer mix. "Mix Masters! How are you today?" No wait..."Mux Musk! How are you today?" I like 'em both. 

S'tr M.M. was the one who taught me that Mx. Cicero said that virtue is its own reward. I'm sure she was aware of the information I so helpfully supplied above and more, about the proverb I mean, the WWCK didn't exist yet. She was just keepin' it simple, this was grade school after all. 

Besides, she was primarily interested in teaching us fledgling Catholics about how and why we should go about being virtuous. She thought that virtue needs to, in fact should be, taught to the young, that it doesn't come pre-installed. Fortunately, many people nowadays know better and raise their kids without burdening them with stale, preconceived notions. 

The reason I'm interested in Cicero, regarded by history as a more or less virtuous man person, is because he was murdered by order of one General Mark Antony, one of his political enemies, who took him out when a chance to do so legally came along. 

Antony also had his head and hands nailed to a wall and Antony's lovely wife Fulvia is said to have pulled out his tongue and jabbed it with her hairpin to mock Mx. Cicero. The famous orator had been using his skills to attempt to thwart Mx. Antony and friends from converting Rome from a constitutional republic to an autocratic empire run by an emperor.

{Who hasn't heard of that tired old chestnut, what's your point? Wait, you're not going to start talking about the Donald, are you?}

Here we go, politics. Who said anything about politics? Donald the dick-tater is just campaign rhetoric. An awful lot of members of both the Red Tribe and the Blue Tribe believe the worst about the other team thanks to the ability and willingness of the powers that be to hypnotize the masses for their own often nefarious ends. 

You still need an army or two and lots of bloodshed to make yourself a traditional dick-tater but that sort of thing does a number on the economy which (almost) nobody in this country wants. That's why we just elect a temporary King of America every four years. 

Of course, that's no longer easy. Our voting system's all screwed up, many people don't trust it. For some mysterious reason, we can't all just go to the polls on the same day and vote on paper (so it's easy to perform an audit if necessary) and know who the temporary king is by the next morning, like we used to.

{Sheesh, sorry I brought it up.}    

All I'm saying is that there's a dark side to the proverb in question that kids should be made aware of, but like drag queens, not till adolescence rears its ugly head. Let kids be kids for a minute, keep it simple, and build firm foundations first. 

[INSERT VIRTUE SIGNAL HERE] Once upon a time I had a charming, funny, and flamboyant friend who was a drag queen on the weekends. He was, and hopefully still is (hi, Sam, wherever you are) a lovely gentleperson — who I suspect would find drag queen story hours appalling.  

I'm not saying that you shouldn't strive to be virtuous in any given situation, but while taking the high road, doing the right thing, etc. can be its own reward, it may well be its only reward because...

{Balderdash! I know I'm gonna go to heaven.}

Because...

{Because you might wind up with your head and hands nailed to...}

Because there's a part two, a big BUT: the road to hell is paved with good intentions. These two truisms are stamped on opposite sides of the same coin.

For the record, I'm a firm believer in virtue. In fact, there's a tab on this/my website labeled The Golden Mean that provides a link to a short video created by the CrashCourse people titled Aristotle & Virtue Theory. Mx. Aristotle is the man person when it comes to virtue, at least in my semi-humble opinion.

Unfortunately, choosing to try and be a virtuous person may not necessarily end well, as Mx. Cicero learned the hard way. I speak of the here and now, of daily life on planet Earth, not of what may or not happen to you after you die. Whatever your feelings on that subject is your business though I have to note that belief in an afterlife, particularly the heaven v. hell version, provides a certain clarification. 

We must be aware that we may not get the pats on the back, recognition, or gratitude we think we're entitled to. Such is life. Pat yourself on the back for taking the high road and be proud of yourself, you may have just changed the world for the better, at least a little bit — but don't waste your time and energy pouting or feeling self-righteous when you don't get a prize.

More importantly, most importantly, tread lightly, carefully, and thoughtfully. Aristotle advises us to look for the golden mean, that is to say, avoid extremes.   

An (admittedly extreme) example: the well-meaning "neocons" reacted to the murder of innocents on 9/11 by delivering a well-deserved hammer blow to the Taliban who were harboring Bin Laden to let them know we weren't a nation of pacifists and that there was a price to be paid. To not respond at all (one extreme) would be to invite more terrorism. 

But they then took it upon themselves to remove and replace the corrupt governments of Afghanistan and Iraq with democratic republics, the other extreme. Military power is real, the power to radically alter ancient cultures with radically different worldviews than ours is not.   

All's well that ends well...but not everything ends well. 

Have an OK day, 

Colonel Cranky

Scroll down to share my work or to access previous columns.   

Comments? I post links to my columns on Facebook where you can love me, hate me, or cancel me. Cranky don't tweet (Xclaim?).

Copyright 2024-Mark Mehlmauer-All rights reserved

  

  

When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth, Part 4

Two Years of Sister Egg Noodle

Previous parts are not required to enjoy this part, not even partially...

But here are parts 1, 2. and 3. 

Not breakfast at my house, then or now. Image by Jo Justino from Pixabay

 

Letters of eclectic commentary featuring the wit and wisdom of a garrulous geezer and {Dana}, a persistent hallucination and charming literary device.

  

                     ABOUT                                              GLOSSARY 

Let's reintroduce corporal punishment in the schools - and use it on the teachers." -P.J. O'rourke

                                                                                            

Dear Gentlereaders, 

Her name was Sister Agnita, we called her Sister Egg Noodle and she was our teacher for two years in a row, both fifth and sixth grade.

Fortunately, unlike some of her colleagues at the time, S'tr. Agnita was relatively non-violent. I don't remember her using knuckle thumps, but this was a long time ago and my memory tends to swirl things together. Also, I'm blessed with not being obsessed with my past, mostly, and I deliberately try to stay present in the present. 

{Mostly?}

Well, there was this woman I had a very intense relationship with for about three years, prior to meeting my late wife, who used my testicles for a trapeze for the last of those three years. It's a very long story. Suffice it to say I don't forgive and forget easily. 

I bore her an intense grudge for a long time but it's (mostly) gone, I rarely think about her anymore, and when I do it's primarily about the fact I can't believe I put up with her poop for so long before closing down the circus and leaving town. I had a chance to go to Austin so I literally did leave town, took a geographic cure as they say, where I met my late wife and present daughter, the source of the Stickies.

She "just kinda' wasted my precious time"...and energy, and money, and...

{Hey, Sparky, you wanna little cheese with that whine?}

Point taken, Dana, after all she did say she was sorry. She actually said it was her, not me, like they do on TV? Unfortunately, it took her three years to figure out she was "incapable of commitment." I think she "just lost that lovin' feeling" but was too cowardly to say so...

{Ahem.}

Which has absolutely nothing to do with Sister Egg Noodle so I'm "movin' on down the road." 

{Are there any more song lyrics you'd like to bore our gentlereaders with? Perhaps you could explain exactly what a knuckle thump is.} 

Sure, but first...

Sister Egg Noodles' preferred method of corporal punishment was the tried-and-true wooden ruler palm smack. I always assumed that nuns learned this method when they were taught how to teach since it was so widely used, but now I'm not sure. 

According to my research department, there was no standard protocol for training nuns to be teachers "back in the day." Some had degrees, some were teaching and going to college at the same time, and some were taught how to teach by the order they belonged to. Perhaps it was just tradition. 

I can personally attest to its effectiveness. It hurt like hell (see what I did there...) but did no permanent physical damage. It was a definite deterrent to unacceptable behavior and could serve as a team-building exercise for the entire class when a group punishment was administered. 

{Group punishment?}

If you were sentenced to individual punishment you might get two or even three smacks depending on the severity of the crime. Although group smackings usually consisted of only one smack each, they included a diabolical psychological component, desk location. 

Unless your teaching nun used a random pattern for group smacking (unlikely if my personal experience was the norm) the further you and your assigned desk were located from where the pattern began, the longer you had to wait for your comeuppance and the more SMACKs! you had to see and hear before one of God's corporeal Army of Angels reached your desk. 

{What triggered a group punishment?}

Usually, believe it or not, talking when Sister had to leave the room, and we had been ordered not to talk while she was gone. As you can easily imagine, the longer she was gone the better the chance whispering would escalate to talking then loud talking then paper airplanes and spitballs. S'tr would suddenly appear as if out of nowhere (doors were usually left open so that she or one of the other corrections officers might hear what we got up to) and demand to know WHO WAS TALKING?!?

One learned early on not to raise one's hand as this was just a trick; it didn't necessarily spare one from a smack. After all, why would she believe that any given infidel, since we were all sinners and barbarians in need of civilizing, was telling the truth? At least that's my theory. 

One of the employees of my research department was dispatched to a home for retired nuns to ask relevant questions but never returned. The administration of the facility claims to not know what we're talking about. We then hired a private investigator to look into the matter but when he/she/they vanished without a trace we moved on.

There was a bright side to this phenomenon... 

(My late wife liked to say there was always a bright side if you looked hard enough. I generally bit my tongue before smiling and nodding; I didn't manage to stay more or less happily married for 21 years by deceiving myself into thinking I was in charge.)

It promoted class solidarity since there was no guaranteed upside to confessing your guilt so it was best to avoid eye contact and stare straight ahead while maintaining a stoic silence. It reinforced the fact it was us against them, or rather her, and the potential future nuns and priests in the class quickly learned that failure to be a team player might result in shunning, possibly worse if you were a boy. 

But we've come a long way, baby. The nuns with hair on their chests are gone and nowadays H. sapiens who self-identify as females are encouraged to scuffle in the dirt while H. sapiens who self-identify as (usually toxic) males are discouraged from doing so. Fortunately, we now know that regardless of the "sex assigned at birth" we're all the same and free to choose our identities from a broad spectrum of possibilities. 

{Why are you laughing? Also, that's two semicolons and a sentence with three ones in it so far, are you striving for a more upscale column than usual? And you still haven't explained what a knuckle thump is.} 

The knuckle thump is simply... well, start by making a fist. Next, extend your index finger straight out. Curl the index finger back towards the fist and the knuckle will pop out. Finally, lock your curled index finger in place by bracing it against your thumb and your knuckle is now ready for thumping. 

When addressing a miscreant face to face, strike the upper chest firmly and repeatedly using the knuckle to punctuate your words. Example: How (simultaneous-strike) many times (S-S) do I have to explain (S-S) to you that...etc. 

Caution! Be careful to confine your strikes to the upper chest while carefully monitoring the miscreant who may engage in unexpected contortions trying to get away from you. I once personally witnessed a nun who shall remain nameless (I don't want to be disappeared) accidentally striking a girl in the mouth and drawing blood. 

The other strike zone is the back of the head. This is normally to be used when your quarry isn't aware that you have snuck up behind them. It's perfect for correcting misbehavior like falling asleep during Mass and scaring the hell (see what I did there...) out of your other charges. 

Sister Egg Noodle's nickname was a double dis. It was a play on the sound of her name as well as the fact she was short and plump. I can't remember which of my classmates came up with it but I'm reasonably sure it was either Nick the Greek or Loopy De Loop. 

On the first day of sixth grade I/we were shocked (despite being hardened veterans, i.e. sixth graders) to discover that an unprecedented phenomenon had taken place, we were to have the same nun/teacher for two years in a row. S'tr announced that she was no more pleased with the arrangement than we were. 

I was surprised because I/we had no special animus towards this woman, she wasn't a dark force of nature to be feared like Sister John Edward of fourth-grade fame. She was just another typical nun/teacher/corrections officer who had to be dealt with. 

I wondered if she took our various and sundry crimes and casual contempt for our jailers personally? It wasn't till seventh grade, when I encountered Sister Mary McGillicuddy, a.k.a. S'tr Mary Clifford, that I discovered that nuns could be cool, and nice. Sister Egg Noodle wasn't mean, but she wasn't particularly nice either. 

Having finally more or less grown up I now wonder what went on in her head, what her life was/had been like. What kind of childhood did she have? Did she regard her vocation as a huge mistake but felt it was too late to do anything about it? Could she possibly not regard us as highly as we regarded ourselves? 

Before wrapping this up I must mention what I think was her most interesting characteristic, praying to the founder of her order Mother Seton/certified saint/Sisters of Charity, to ask her to help our basketball team beat the team of whatever other Catholic grade school team we were playing that week. As I believe I mentioned in my last letter, basketball was a RBFD at the time. 

Every classroom at St. Johns had a small picture of Mother Seton mounted above the chalkboard at the front of the room. On Fridays, S'tr Egg Noodle would take a few minutes to offer up a prayer to Mother Seaton to help us win that week. She would walk back and forth at the front of the class, head bowed, hands clasped in prayer, and reel off an extemporaneous prayer requesting help from above. 

Loving young, gentle Roman Catholic trainees that we were, some of us, not me of course, delighted in spreading the rumor that Sister Agnita prayed to a picture to help out our basketball team. 

In fact, we had already been taught that despite the persistent story, that persists, that Catholics pray to statues, is bogus. Catholics pray to the person the statue represents, who is assumed to be in heaven, for help, guidance, etc. I've known/know a lot of Roman Catholics and I've never encountered anyone who wasn't aware of the difference. 

Big BUT, various and sundry sorts of Christians (as well as no shortage of non-Christians) have enjoyed messing with each other for literally thousands of years. Organized religion doesn't necessarily bring out the best in people, but the decline of Christianity in Western Civilization doesn't seem to have improved our situation. But I digress. 

{Get outta here, no way!}

Truth be told, she didn't actually make much reference to the picture; she had to pray while simultaneously keeping an eye on certain members of her collection of barbarians (mostly toxic males in those days) who resisted her efforts to civilize them at every turn.

Have an OK day, 

Colonel Cranky

Scroll down to share my work or to access previous columns.   

Comments? I post links to my columns on Facebook where you can love me, hate me, or cancel me. Cranky don't tweet (Xclaim?).

Copyright 2024-Mark Mehlmauer-All rights reserved