fiction

Small Things To Help Your Life…and Others

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  1. Use your blinker before your brakes. Benefit: no one will rear-end you or give you the finger as I—they–drive by.
  2. Pay your bills when you get them, not when they’re due. Benefit: if you ever have a cash flow problem, you will have several weeks to recover (or agonize) before the bill is actually due.
  3. Brush your teeth. Benefit: you’ll save money, pain, and stress. And teeth.
  4. Don’t block elevator doors while you wait. Benefit: People won’t think you’re an idiot when they can’t get off. The elevator is not your personal servant.
  5. Use your high beams correctly. Benefit: You will not get front-ended by a blinded, mature driver, unless they do it on purpose to prove a point.
  6. Do not tailgate at night with your high beams on. Benefit: don’t know, but I don’t carry a weapon. If I did and you were behind me…
  7. Before you do anything important, “STOP”, then think, before you act. Benefit: Better choices. Longer life. Less stress. Possible contentment. Unless you’re being mugged.
  8. If you’re being mugged, calculate all costs. Benefit: if you don’t think your life is worth much, que sera sera. But do your calculations quickly.
  9. If you get good advice, don’t wait, act on it. Benefit: You got good advice. Don’t be an idiot. (Unless the advice is to not act.)
  10.  If an idiot offers you advice, smile and accept. Benefit: Unknown, but never assume an idiot isn’t packing, looking for someone to stalk, or is generally unhinged. Do not forget to walk away after you smile. It’s your option to act on the advice or not but even an idiot is right, once in a while, so…
  11.  If you’re asked if you “know” Jesus, reply honestly. Someone really important might be listening. An honest “no” will probably help more than a snarky, dismissive “yes” in the long run.
  12.  Don’t cheat on your State and Federal taxes just because everyone else does, do it for the money.
  13. A bird in the hand is only worth more than two birds in the bush when you can’t catch the other two. Carpe Diem and try for all three.

There’s a chance this list has been posted, before. I’m too lazy to look all the way back to when we started, so enjoy it this time as much as you did last if it’s old and mentioned it if it isn’t.

Why I am So Cranky…Maybe

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In 2023 The Calamities forced me to contemplate moving from beautiful North Carolina and The UNC Medical Hospital System, to rural, upstate New York. The move was to make it easier for my NY family to deal with possible death or aid in a hoped-for recovery. A factor in the move was a YMCA with a pool for rehabilitation when all went well. The Upstate City I moved to was going to build a new one (opening in 2025) less than 200 hundred yards from the apartment complex chosen for my residence. Serendipity, right? Nope. Project was ended two weeks after I arrived due to lack of funding so I drive 3 miles to the old YMCA. Very old YMCA. But at least it’s there: glass half-full.

My morning swim starts at 5:30 at the YMCA. Some people work out on machines and some swim. During those painful, disabled, pre-surgery days, one of my co-conspirators was a young man who is frequently there the same time as me. We arrive, strip naked (for all you female readers), and get into our relevant workout attire.  He then goes into the shower room and turns on the water in the ADA* shower. (Unmarked ADA shower, another story. Grrr.) Then, he goes to work out.

He does this every morning I see him.

Is he turning the shower on for himself, me, or someone else? I assume he does it all the time unless he is very considerate and is helping me.  I go into the pool area and swim for 45 minutes. When I come out to shower, the hot water is still running in the still unmarked and empty ADA shower stall. Grrr, again.

After showering I shut off the water to dry and dress. The stage is set, so here is the scene one morning when the young man re-enters the locker room after his workout:

Young man (YM): “How’s the water?”

Me: “Which one?” (Pool or shower? But I know..)

YM: “The shower. Nice and warm?”

Me: “So you turn it on and leave it on.”

YM: “Yeah.”

Me: “You know how much water that wastes?”  (The YMCA has no catchment system.)

YM: “Not much, it’s only on about 10 minutes.”

Me: Nothing. I am not ready for a fight, need to at least get pants on. Or offer him my watch.

YM: “Besides, they don’t care about money. What do they do with it all?” He is gesturing around the dirty, worn out locker room.

Me: Again, nothing. Grrr.

YM: “This place is just as corrupt as the city.”

Me. “Yep, everything is corrupt. YMCA. City. Biden. Might as well kill ourselves.” (Imagine an extremely pissy tone, to match his MRPGM** vibe.)

YM: “I don’t really care. As long as I have enough to enjoy myself and my two trucks.”

He said the last line as if dropping the mic and repeated it as he passed me on his way out. “My two trucks.”

And…scene, and yes, he did not even use the shower.

It’s easy to think he was smart enough to be making a point. But the scene revealed an attitude prevalent in America, a variation of NIMBY (Not In My Back Yard) labeled GMGA for Got Mine Go Away. It is the mantra of the MAGA movement.

And it’s okay. GMGA has been around since caveman days.

But that is the point: we are no longer cavemen…and cavewomen. Back then it was about survival, LIFE survival. Now, it’s about STATUS survival. In caveman days you had to eliminate threats to your actual life. Now, MAGA wants to eliminate threats to their lifestyle. Trans, Gays, Illegals, Non-Whites, and specifically those not in sync with the MAGA groupthink…not welcome.

All this because of an encounter at a YMCA?

Yeah, Sounds bad. Petty. I may be wrong about the young man and wonder if I was the same way at his age, with cars and motorcycles. Was I MAGAn 50 years before MAGA?

But even if I was, it makes the point clearer: we should grow out of it. NIMBY and GMGA, both.

As my personal guru, the estimable Steven Wright says: “Experience is something you don’t get until right after you need it.”

*Americans with Disabilities Act, signed into law July 26, 1990 by Republican George H.W. Bush, a war hero and all around good, conservative man.

**Modern Republican Party Grievance Machine. See old posts.

Things Learned While Aging

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Young people walk fast. I’ve looked all over Amazon but can’t find any rear-view glasses or personal turn signals to help stay out of their way. If you are in a hurry and someone old is holding you back from getting to your gym workout, there’s no way the person in front knows about the person in back, at least not yet*. As a young person, old people were often in my way or holding me up, making a 5-minute errand take 10 minutes. If I could go back in time…

Most people don’t have a sense of walking traffic patterns. It was more obvious when I was disabled but fellow pedestrians still walk directly at me, cut in front of me, and frequently simply stop in front of me. It’s not clear how much of that is caused by the subject of the preceding paragraph, but this might help readers: stay to the right, pass on the left, and don’t assume you’re the only person walking. The rear-view glasses might help, too, but old people’s brakes aren’t what they used to be, even when the old person can see you**, so think before you suddenly stop walking to do whatever it is you do when you suddenly stop walking. And if you’re walking right at me… why???

Change isn’t just a fact of life, it is personal. Newspapers were a great start to the day for over 50 years. Spread them out, let the open pages catch the toast crumbs, and scan the headlines for interesting news. Turn the page and start over. Spill your tea or coffee? Let the paper automatically clean up the mess. Then use the remainder for bird-cage lining, or package-protecting, or fly-swatting. And what has changed? Try to clip an article from your online “news aggregator” and place it in a scrapbook of your grandchild’s accomplishments. Or swat a fly. No one else has complained about this so it is assumed the demise of The Paper was directed at me. And so many old movies, too, where the father snaps open the morning paper for his coffee and enlightenment…why are these movies in MY streaming services?

Confirmation Bias is a real thing. Oxford Dictionary: “the tendency to interpret new evidence as confirmation of one’s existing beliefs. Confirmation Bias sets in and we downgrade any suggestion our views are inaccurate.” As a lifetime contrarian and Devil’s Advocate***, old age has revealed the depths and efforts of existing beliefs to maintain their hold over the public. As a young man the point was to prick and irritate, especially established educational and political systems. Old age has made the process more focused, and getting others to see they may be wrong and others may be right has become an adventure. Gently chiding liberals, however, isn’t really productive. They are so polite they tend to absorb the message and you never know if they get the point or not. Conservatives have developed over time to be less inclined for spirited debate but super eager to label and name-call****. In the past they used to be great debaters and often friends, back in the day when they didn’t feel victimized and shunned.  Consequently, straddling the fence has become painful on the crotch area instead of invigorating to the head area. Important question: can Confirmation Bias become part of a belief system that doesn’t really believe in anything?

Modern product packaging is being designed by younger and younger people. Babies, even. My most recent trial is cooking instructions for pre-cooked breakfast sausage. First, they include every known method of preparation for eating except for an air fryer, which is my choice for cooking anything. The instructions for all those other devices are written in Spanish as well as English, which puts so much writing on the package it needs to be small. You know what that means. And they use red lettering on a black background. Modern packaging has forced me to carry not only reading glasses, but a magnifying glass, as well. And find a bright light source.

One last small one: because our metabolism slows as we age, tracking food intake is a good idea. So when I eat three small pork sausages, the nutrition label states: “70 calories per 28 grams.” If you understand the problem, you are at least halfway to being an old person.

The rest of you will find out later. If you’re lucky.

*Inventors? Please?

**We’re usually looking down, for obvious reasons.

***Ai it.

****Demoncrat. Libtard. Libs have almost caught up in the name calling, though.

Speculation On The Origin Of Man…and Woman

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A fun thing about being old, modestly educated, not being in the early stages of dementia(??), and having enough fingers to type, is one can wonder about things without limits or critics. Language, for example, is so funny. Did I just type we can “wonder about things with no limits”, or “wonder about things, with no limits”? What did you think before the quotes and the comma? It is an example of how imperfect the world is, even with simple phrases.

Imperfection is what makes the world interesting. Couple imperfection with impatience and you’ll write a great novel, or make a great movie, or sing a great song, or kill yourself with mind-altering drugs.

But who wants to make the effort? Who decides if it’s a great anything, anyway? Who? Should that be “whom”? And who/whom ever found out/invented mind-altering drugs? Can you see the first man/woman/person who ate the first mushrooms? If he/she/they had any sense they would have kept it to themselves…for themselves, but word got out.

Picture the primordial planet millions of years ago with ooze, and mud and lightning and storms, and millions of types of crawly, icky little creatures slipping, sliding, and worming about the countryside. One of those ickys was our great, great, great, great, great, great grandparent(s), adding the plural in case the being wasn’t asexual….and hoping there are enough “greats”. Yes, we climbed out of the muck and ooze. Holy Crap, just asked Ai for “the history of living organisms on earth in two paragraphs”.  What a wonderful time to be alive. Ai gave two large paragraphs. Try it yourself, it’s cool.

Ai says life began with an opening line right out of any modern-day, science fiction novel: “Organisms developed on earth through abio-genesis, the process of non-living matter forming life, followed by evolution.” Did you know that? I didn’t but it makes sense, yes? One theory is the lightning shocks “kick-started” life and then evolution, the survival of the fittest, took over. A living bacteria survived longer than a soul-less protozoa? And reproduced better, as well? Gives sex a whole new meaning.

Getting from the very first abio-genesis to Donald Trump as President took over 3.5 billion years. That’s a whole lot of patience and perseverance, and yet, still not enough time to weed out all the imperfections. Survival of the fittest, my ass. Whose fault is it, now?

And who the heck is telling us all this stuff, anyway? Scientists are great, aren’t they? They deal in facts, but facts that can change with new information. Much like a doctor saying you have three months to live….and a new drug comes on the market so you live another 40 years.

It is so confusing. Almost disheartening.

But it’s life.

I’m turning in my science books and only reading romance novels for the rest of my life. Those books make sense out of imperfection and impatience and there are heaving bosoms.

This post got really lost but will not be corrected, amended, or censored. First Amendment!

It’ll be better next time when we explicate the delicate art of cross-stitching.

In a last minute, re-read…what happened to speculation?

OK, speculation: “woman” came from “Whoa, Man”, in cave man times when a pubescent cave man saw a naked cave woman for the fist time.

CORRECTION: Ai says the word “woman” came from the Old English “wifman”. Seriously. Ai it.

The Dawn of Man was when, again?

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Do NOT Ai (google) “The Dawn Of* Man”. The result isn’t pornographic or even humorous. Just lengthy. The exact time man “dawned” will never be known but it is fun to think about. Sometime in the past, somewhere where there were no cell phones, a hominoid stood up and said, in caveman language, “I am man.” It’s been a wild ride since. This post has elected to use “Man” as an asexual generic term referring to whatever it was(sic*) we were back in those days. Until fig leaves were found, we probably all looked similarly potato-ish* and hairy, until certain times when nature ordered us to procreate in the most attractive ways.

The idea of The Dawn of Man came up during a conversation with a friend of mine named Al. (Sidebar: the lowercase L and upper case I look the same on my qwerty. From now on Artificial Intelligence will be Ai, with a dotted “i”. Fixing first sentence, now.) Al’s name may or may not be his real name, but any friends reading this will know who he is. Al declined to engage in trying to imagine the time in history when we changed from walking hominoids closely resembling apes, to the eventual rulers/polluters of the world. His point is, well, he doesn’t have a point except that it’s a fruitless exercise and a native-born North Carolinian does not engage in fruitless exercises. When the Civil War was carelessly mentioned, he went off script, anyway, meandering around the Northern War of Aggression he still mentally fights to this day. His only contribution to my inquiry was to tell me he had to air fry some chicken, but then changed his mind to soup, adding “No one is ever going to know, anyway.”

The picture in my head of air frying soup lasted only a moment and the question of when man knew he was The Man, returned. Religion answers the question nicely, with titillating pics of Adam and Eve eyeing each other over a ripe apple. I can believe that because if God wanted it to be that way, that’s the way it would be. But I’m not sure God was that specific, in the early days. My guess is He was trying things out, seeing how they worked. Following this line of thought it’s easy to imagine Him looking at these two particular Hominoids* and saying “Yes, that’s it.” Then, maybe, a bolt of lightning into each brain and—voila—mankind is ready for dawning.

But the Robin Williams comedy lover in me sees a different scenario and it may not be that far from the truth. One hominoid kills a wooly mammoth in the middle of the summer with some shale-tipped spears and reckless abandon. He/She/Them knows the summer sun will rot the meat and comes up with the second, original idea: “I can’t eat all this today.”  He/She/Them thought this, of course, since there was no language and he/she/them had a third idea: “Give some to the others.” But how to express any of these thoughts? (PS the slate tipped spear was the first idea.) It’s my postulation that Sign Language was the first form of communication. Imagine our suddenly smart hominoid running back to the others and dragging them by the arm to the mammoth carcass. Mime may have been invented then, too. It makes sense. Our early ancestors were mimers.*

 We mark time in our history for those events we can chronicle and remember. How we got the ability to chronicle is the subject of many episodes of “Ancient Aliens”. But where the show sees alien encounters all around the world, the “evidence” is really proof of a higher power, a comprehensive, coordinated higher power. It feeds an often debunked but never forgotten evolutionary theory we are in an ant farm, and our lives are directed by the Ant Farm Owner. He/She/Them could make us do whatever he/she/them wants us to do. And somehow, they gave us just enough intelligence to contemplate free will versus fate. Genius.

So, the “Dawn of Man” is when we were dropped into the sand. And when we die (see last post) we get plucked out and thrown in the garbage bin. Unless our owner gives us a decent burial in a match box.

Make a movie about that, Stanley Kubrick.

Comments welcome, and sorry, Al for plopping your name in here.

         *Google grammar says all these are wrong. As if I care, anymore. I’m old.

Please. Stop.

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I’ve written before about the “fun” of local “Letters to the Editor” in my local paper. It was fun for several months, but then…eh..it’s been awhile.

The problem is lack of growth, lack of progress. Read any comment section and you see this scene play out: Original, breathless statement filled with adverbs, adjectives, and snarkiness. Followed by breathless comments filled with adverbs, adjectives and snarkiness. Followed by more…snarkiness. (my grammar editor is “flagging” snarkiness as not spelled correctly. He/She/Them/It is wrong. Google it, yourself, and I’ve amended the grammar police’s dictionary. Oddballs.)

Maybe it is too much to expect immediate change in the tone and structure of public discourse, but is it that hard for people to see what I see? If you were asked for the sum of 2 plus 3 and answered 6, how many times would you do that before you wondered why people were correcting you, and gave a different, perhaps correct answer. (Hopefully, there is no undiscovered ethnic group/tribe where 2 pls 3 does equal 6.) Math is easy to see, isn’t it?

Past columns have talked about “Critical Thinking” (CT) and “Reading the Rome” (RR) and those expressed thoughts were not the work of a genius, or once-in-a-generation mind. (Unless you’d care to think of me that way. Your call.) They are the thoughts of an old man who paid attention. So, if all the writers and commentators are young, high school students, does the illogical repetitiveness of the stereotypical “Statement and Comments ad nauseum” (SCAN), indict our current educational systems? Yes. And the past systems. And the present systems. And commercial television. And contemporary music, And professional sports. And Capitalism. And the Free Market. Everything, Everywhere. All the time.

Huh. Finally. Nihilism explained. Maybe. Frederic Jacobi in the 18th century said Nihilism refuted the “belief in an unknowable true reality”. Uh-oh. No “true reality”? Sounds MAGAish but Nietzsche asked with God dead, where were we to find meaning in the world?

Okay, I’m off the google sidetrack, but it made clear the need for a True Reality. Trump and many others say January 6th was a kind of patriotic “celebration”. Others say it was an insurrection. All that is true, now, as the farther—in time—we get from 1/6/2021 the “less true” that day’s reality will be for both sides. Why?

As Americans we face constant MANIPULATION. Advertising. Politics. Societal norms. Rock stars have known thins for years and made a living singing about fighting it. “Another Brick in The Wall”, by Pink Floyd. “Monster” by Steppenwolf. “For What It’s Worth”, by Buffalo Springfield. In fact, find this song on YouTube from the late 60s. It clearly and precisely represents the entire point of this post. What does it say about us that a song from 1966 identifies our 2025 problems? I’m dropping the mic.

A nice thing about aging is the natural shedding of concerns for anything but our own medical and financial condition. It’s not up to the old people to save the world, we won’t be around long enough.

A bad thing about aging is the recognition nothing has changed. And sadly, may never change.

Music, again, and Jackson Browne in 1971:

“Oh, people, look around you the signs are everywhere. You’ve left it for somebody other than you to be the one to care.”

Another thing learned as an old man, the good we do and the things we learn in our youth fade with age, and there is no guarantee any following generation will feel the same. All empires decline and fall.

In reflection, this post reminds me of a recent medical test. The test is 90 per cent accurate reading negative results, but its positive results are only correct 50 per cent of the time.

Feels like symbolism for something, but it’s nap time, so…

Pets and Grief…maybe

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I can sunbathe from my second-floor balcony. I have not had a pet in over 14 months.

You may take a few minutes to try in–your own mind–to make a nice, human story from those two statements.

Okay. Times up. When sunbathing, I am not afraid to show my aging body but aware there may be some weak stomachs if too much skin is made available for public viewing. Fortunately, the sun shines into my apartment from the balcony at certain times of the day so there is a way to be secretly nudish (sic), appreciate the sun, and ensure innocent eyes don’t suffer retinal damage: keeping my balcony door open.

Sidebar: For the thirteen months I’ve inhabited a second-floor loft in Rome, NY, not one bug has been noticed at, near, or in my apartment. They do not even bang against the large windows or get caught in the screens, even when the windows are open and allow a beautifully breezy flow of clear, clean, upstate NY air. It is welcome relief from the south where bugs are frequently co-habitants and often big enough to be paying rent. An open window in the south is an invitation for a collection of creatures wondering if they can enter, and they often do, somehow. And in shifts with night-time arthropods arriving after the daytime hexapods retire after a long day. The arachnids (spiders) were welcomed, however, and their full webs were applauded each morning, until one decided–without invitation–to be a house pet. And one morning there was a praying mantis trying to unlock my car door, True story, he/she was huge.

So. One beautiful, unexpected spring day while sunbathing with the balcony door open and my physical form hidden from prying eyes (you know who you are!), it was with little fanfare and–certainly no invitation–that a big, fat fly buzzed into the apartment, zooming right over my astonished head and off into the very bowels of the previously insect free living space. You all know how they buzz, letting you know they are there, somewhere you can’t find them. Somewhere they are secretly doing what they do. Flies. Annoying little basta%$#s.

He/She/It was fat and fast, buzzing and zooming all over, but never back through the conveniently open balcony door. I chased It with a book, a broom, a towel, and eventually sat, exhausted, in the chair after an hour of high-level, video-game pursuit.

And it landed in my lap. I struck my lap hard with the palm of my hand as It flitted away, back to the kitchen area. It was during the ensuing respite from humiliation and physical exertion that I ruminated on the fact my solitary existence in the apartment was often a cause for loneliness as my dog, Charlie, and cat Maxine, were left behind in North Carolina, The Calamities making me unfit to be the animals’ parents until such time as chasing after them was a possibility. (But I could still type a long sentence.) Missed were the big, brown, loving eyes, of Charlie and the baleful stare of Maxine as she struggled with how to do away with me and still get fed. Like most pet owners, what is missed the most is talking with them. Just knowing they are there.

Long story short, I adopted the big, fat, uninvited fly as my new pet. I decided he was a male, but did not do any research to corroborate the fact. How would one do that, anyway? (google: do flies have sex.) Naming him was easy: Jeff, after Jeff Goldblum, the actor in the 1986 science fiction classic film “The Fly”. Technically, Mr. Goldblum’s first name is Jeffrey, so Jeffrey became my new pet. Not only did I talk to Jeffrey but I’m sure he talked back, in his own way. For example, he frequently joined me in the bathroom when I did my ablutions, keeping a discreet distance while resting in the tub, waiting. We played together, too, chasing each other around the apartment. Google the song “My Best Friend” by Harry Nillsson for an example of how close a man and his fly can become.

Sadly, when this story was told to local human friends, they all said the same thing: “Don’t ever tell anyone else this story.”

So here it is, in its mostly true form.

Epilogue: Our friendship lasted several warm, spring days, but when it got cooler things changed. Jeffrey was indifferent, lackadaisical and didn’t want to play anymore. One afternoon upon returning from an appointment, my opening of the apartment door revealed Jeffrey on his back on my kitchen counter, all six legs pointing to the ceiling. Even in the end he was considerate, dying in plain sight and easily brushed into the garbage. He’d given me the best of his 15-30 days on this earth. Oddly, the same friends who warned me about telling this story upbraided me for unceremoniously disposing of him. Was I supposed to give Jeffrey a funeral?

He was just a fly.

A Few of the Many Things I Don’t Understand

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Why do things fall from my hands so easily? It was much easier to pick them up when I was younger, so why didn’t they fall, then?

With a population of 340 million people, why do 77 million voters keep saying they “represent all of America”? Don’t the other 263 million people matter?

Where DOES time go? I’ve never heard anyone answer.

Could there be more than one “soulmate” in someone’s life? Follow up question (FUQ): How could a man get married a THIRD time without learning his lesson after the second?

Why does a person who does something stupid work so hard to deny it? FUQ (Yes, I know what it sounds like. Stop giggling.): Is it because they are stupid?

Why do we elect popular people for Prom King and President? FUQ: Are females just not popular? Are smart, intelligent, experienced candidates persona non grata? Like the television show, “Survivor”, are they too much of a threat?

A baseball player for “the other New York Team” will make $51 million dollars per year to play baseball. Is it a coincidence it is same amount as the entire annual budget for the city in Upstate NY where I live? Definite FUQ up: Could the player adopt the city and support us?

When someone says, “be cool”, do they have a specific temperature in mind? FUQ: Be “chill”? I’ve never been able to agree on temperature with anyone I ever lived with so…

Why do conservatives whine so much about “Main Stream” and “Legacy Media”? Isn’t Fox News Legacy Media? Fox is definitely “main stream”. Okay, Fox is lame. FUQ: Do Fox viewers know Fox was designed to be biased. On purpose. To counter other bias. Another FUQ: Do two wrong bias’ make a right? Do they offset? Should we be watching the cartoon network for news?

Why are sports teams so insensitive? March Madness is here. I predict two teams will fight like cats and dogs during a hard-fought, entertaining, exhausting game and when it’s over,…hate each other. In the old days (OD), in the YMCA gyms, we fought like cats and dogs and then went out for beers. Ah, the OD.

When did money take over the world? At least the American world. There are more ways to make money without making anything, now. They call it passive income. In the OD if you couldn’t shoe a horse, sew up as wound, or kill another man before he killed you, you were out of luck. Now, if you put some horse-shoeing income in a tax-deferred account, invest it in ETF’s, and sell high and buy low…huh. Maybe that is productive work.

Why does the body fall apart, wither, and die? FUQ: Is there any way to guarantee our mind won’t leave us before the body does?

Sorry about those two…

Why do all the people in old photographs look so unhappy? Was it their nature or the inconvenience of having to stay immobile long enough for the film to work?

Life must have been hard in the real OD. Thinking of how hard it would be, for example, to wipe your butt with a Montgomery Ward Catalogue page. Or a leaf. Maybe they never went to the bathroom. Ken Burns could make a documentary about defecation and urination. FUQ: How many people have died over the course of history?

Enough. It’s sad to write about some things…

Men, Money, and…Corruption?

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Spring is near and it is bringing with it a sense of humor. Thank God.

I stumbled across this quote from a 96 year-old man who sounds liberal, but truth often sounds liberal: “The world is a mysterious and confusing place. If you are not willing to be confused, you become a mere replica of someone else’s mind.” -Noah Chomsky.

How funny is that?

You may have read here, ad nauseum, Americans have gotten so smart about everything. Sadly, the less education you have the more you know as experts are overly educated and dangerous. Come on, we have a billionaire, reality TV star as President now. If that’s not funny…

Now, after the above quote and my newly recovered sense of humor, it makes sense why people being smart bothers me: they’re missing out on life and ruining it for the rest of us who are confused.

An earlier Steven Wright line (Dr. Steven Wirght, BTW) ties it together precisely: “A conclusion is the place where you get tired of thinking.”

Americans are really, really tired of thinking.

Here’s an exercise for us all. Find someone with your opposite views of the world and try to talk like them. Sean Hannity and Alina Habba have done it perfectly ironically in their latest remarks on Fox. Google it and watch them snicker about stupid “other people”. It’ll make you laugh so hard you’ll gag.

MAGAns will conclude who the Other People are. Democrats may conclude the opposite. And away we go. Conclusions.

There is merit in knowing how little you know, and you can make a living at it. Ask Christopher Lloyd who does it on purpose, and Sarah Palin. Wait, just Christopher. (All young people google Taxi.)

What does all this have to do with Men? And Money?

Our Capitalist monetary system makes it easy for greedy Men with no conscience to make tons of money off people who “reached conclusions”. Trump merchandising is an obvious example, but the Left’s examples are subtler, and just as pernicious. (A couple weeks ago, an email from The Harris “something” asking for money to pay off bills. There should be a charge for spam mail.)

And when Men make money, what do they do? They make more money. I had a good laugh this week when a news pundit said: “billionaires don’t care about making more money”. It’s funny because that is exactly what they do care about. I’d have been happy with the first million. But men are greedy. (Don’t ask, I know what you’re thinking. Blame J D Salinger and “A Perfect Day For Bananafish.” Do I have to say “google it” anymore? Aren’t you curious about how much you don’t know?)

The sad thing about greed is its ignorance of barriers. Men, again, take great delight in stepping over barriers, obliterating them, or in the modern case, re-defiling them, redefining them, I mean. One of our billionaire’s first firings were Inspector Generals in all Departments, the guys who were already investigating corruption. DOGE says they weren’t doing the job, right, I guess, so now Federal investigations into Trump are closed, as are the investigations into Musk, For good measure, Musk took out the CFPB and ended their investigations, as well.

I love the smell of Rooting Out Corruption early in a pre-spring morning. Humor. Pre-Spring hilarity. But not a single word about Corruption from DOGE. Is it just me or do you NOT hear the word, too? Waste, fraud, and abuse. By the billions. Corruption? None.

Most of the biggest scams in American History were perpetrated by men. Madoff. The Entire 2008 Financial Disaster. Tammany Hall. Enron. The Teapot Dome Scandal. Jim Jones.

Here’s another funny part: according to politicians welfare cheats are ruining our beloved country. And that damn Health Care for all idea…gotta go.

Maybe I google too much. Or I’m even dumber than I know I think I am…

Time for some conclusions.

Quanda what?

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Quandary: “a state of perplexity, or uncertainty over what to do in a difficult situation, a dilemma.” So says the Oxford Dictionary.

Ever been in a quandary? Near one? Seen one from afar? Picture a mime trying to get out of a real box.

We all probably know what a quandary is, just never knew what to call it. If it helps, picture our modern world: one, big quandary. Dilemma. Perplexity.

Our country mired in a quandary is not new. The Civil War, Viet Nam. Nixon. September 11, 2001. The Spanish Flu. WWI. WWII. The Great Depression. The last, final, episode of “Friends”. To prevent depression, I’ll stop.

Quandary. The Oxford people say it comes from the late 16th century Latin word “quando”, which means “when”. So “when” became “quandary”? Thanks, Oxford, for a new perplexity. They do add an interesting chart showing how popular “quandary” has become over the centuries, with a plateau of usage in 2000. What did educated people use before quandary came along? Mess? Dilemma? Pile of crap? And why plateau at year 2000? Has the quantity of qualified quandaries declined in the last 20 years?

That fact proves there isn’t as much “perplexity” now as there used to be. Early days were probably nothing but quandaries. Imagine the first sunset? Did early man/woman know the sun would be back in a few hours or was he/she in a quandary, wondering where it went? What about when he/she had their first bowel movement? Did they think their insides were falling out? Talk about a dilemma. “Should we push it back in?”

Perfect segue into Donald Trump. He is a Master Quandary Maker. How perplexed must Republican voters and politicians have been to support him in the first election, let alone the second. Did any 2016 voters face the “dilemma” of voting for the felonious Trump in 2024? Were they perplexed? Dilemmed(sic)? Quandrasized(sic)? Uncertain?

It doesn’t appear they were. In fact, a feature of Trump support is the CERTAIN, unwavering, unperplexed knowledge that Trump is…something. What? What is Trump outside of politics? Is he a fabulously wealthy man, born with a silver spoon, who has never worked an honest day in his life? The Second Coming? A taller, hairier Napolean? A spray-tanned Mussolini? Putin’s long-lost brother?

Let’s go back to the original: he is quandary. Unperplexed American voters have ceded so much power to Trump, why is he not using it to remove all quandaries from our lives? Or at least his voters lives? Why isn’t he un-perplexing our perplexities? Why is he doing what he is doing? Does he need more money? Power? Maybe he just wants a good pizza. Or is it Melania, the new Nancy Reagan?

I surrender. It’s usually years before we can accurately assess the damage/benefit an American President effects over his/her (Sarcasm.) term in office.  It appears Trump is trying to write that assessment, now, after one month. Or at least keep anyone else from writing it, ever.

It’s hard to know what to make of it all. It’s a quandary. For those of us without any power over rich, selfish people, it’s more than a quandary: it is a disaster.

Happily, yes, happily, I’m old, almost out of it all, another benefit of old age.

Hallelujah.