Arete, Excellence, and Clowns Gone Bad

“Aim small, miss small.” – The Patriot

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“Owning a nuclear weapon means never having to say you’re sorry.” – John Wilders Book of Quotes:  Cannibal Soup for the Soul™  For reals, I’m thinking about publishing a book of collected essays from this blog, and that’s the title I want to use, and thus the ™.  It’s MINE!

One of my professors at college had very, very precise printed block letters.  One day we were talking and he brought it up, especially since my own writing was, shall we say, a challenge to read.  I think I was his Teaching Assistant at that point in graduate school

My professor:  “One day, I was in my forties, I just decided that every single letter that I wrote was going to be perfect.  Absolutely perfect.  So, from that moment, no matter how slowly I had to write, I was going to be the best.  I took a month and just focused on printing my letters perfectly every day.  After a month, it was habit.”

Being 20, I missed the significance of this, and only on reflecting now do I realize what my professor was really saying:

“Wilder, you may have written something great.  You may have written something awful.  I just can’t read it.”

How bad was my hand writing?  When I was in sixth grade, my teacher required every essay or book report to be in cursive so we could practice our handwriting at the same time we produced a book report.  My teacher pulled me aside.  “John, please print your essays.”  She had come to the (correct) conclusion that my handwriting was less decipherable than cuneiform texts, and that her only hope of ever grading one of them was for me to print it or for her to go back to graduate school and learn the ancient secrets of my people:  Those Who Have Crappy Handwriting.

She let me just print my essays and book reports.

It was a big deal to me and I felt free after that.  I hated cursive.  I even remember the book that I was doing the report on:  Farmer in the Sky, by Robert A. Heinlein.  My teacher had no idea what the book was about, and actually had me read the report to her twice so that she was certain that I wasn’t making it all up on the spot.  The skill of reading my own handwriting helped me:  if I could read my own handwriting, I could read anything.

Printing?  That totally worked for me.  I actually do it to this day, but I prefer typing.  It’s quicker, but printing simple block letters works.

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This is, supposedly, a receipt from a slave sale back in ancient Babylon.  Imagine having to write a receipt out in clay, make a copy, and then put it in an oven.  The drive through at their McDonalds® must have been slooooooow.

In thinking back to my professor’s writing self-improvement plan, I realize it wasn’t random, it was a process.  The first step was, by far, the most important:

Wilder Rule Of Excellence Number One:  Raise Your Standards

If you’re trying to write a perfect upper case E, a sloppy E or a tilty E just won’t do.  And maybe your first E won’t be perfect, but I assure you it will be better than the E you wrote when you weren’t concentrating on it.  It isn’t easy.  It’s slow.  It’s frustrating.  But once you’ve changed your standards internally, a crappy E is something you won’t tolerate.  You’ll notice it and it will drive you nuts.  Every E becomes a challenge in perfection.

When you change your standards, your standards change you.  I’m sure someone else has said that before, since there have been roughly 105 billion people that have lived since 50,000 B.C., so if I’m one human in a million, there are 105,000 others just like me who have lived.  Thankfully, we don’t all live in the same city

But the whole “When you change your standards, your standards change you” line?  I came up with it myself.  I wrote it as my own original thought and realize it might be my most profound thought today, even if Descartes™ or Aristotle® or Judge Judy© said it first.  Thankfully, I’m in luck, I had another original thought today:  balsa wood would not make a good salad topping, either in chunks or shredded.  Feel free to discuss.

Wilder Rule Of Excellence Number Two:  There Are No Shortcuts

Okay, I know that’s not original.  I recall a joke about a person who wanted enlightenment and inner peace.  And they wanted it right now!

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Some Random Dude told the Dalai Lama the following joke:  “How does a Buddhist like his pizza?”

The Dalai Lama: “I don’t know.”

Random Dude:  “One with everything.”

The Dalai Lama:  “I don’t get it.”

The above is supposedly true.  In my imagination the Dalai Lama responded with:  “Okay, I know a better one.  Two lesbian surveyors and a horse walk into a bar . . . .”

Getting better at anything is hard work.  It turns out that those who are the very best at, for instance, playing violin, practice more than people who aren’t as good.  Practice is absolutely necessary to creating excellence.  But the practice that works best is the practice that happens when you are right at the edge of your abilities.  It’s when you’re practicing at that edge that this weird blend of focus and trance takes over.  I’m sure that there’s a word for it, but in my mind it’s this state where the sense of self disappears.  Perhaps the best word would be transcendent – when I’m there I lose track of time.  I don’t think about the practice of writing a perfect E.  I am the practice of writing a perfect E.  I am excellence.  With an E.

The management guru Tom Peters! (he likes to put exclamation! points! behind! everything!) wrote a column that I read in 1999.  Tom Peters! was travelling, and decided that Tom Peters! was going to start running.  His column stuck with me.  Tom Peters! noted, more or less, that he was a very slow runner, but there was absolutely nothing preventing him from practicing like a world-class runner.  He could push himself to his limits.  Tom Peters! didn’t have to wait to train like a world-class runner.  Tom Peters! could do it right this minute.

Like my professor, last month I decided I’d improve my writing.  Sure, I can read it and the NSA® can’t, but I decided I’d give it a shot.  I focused every day when putting my daily to-do list together to make each letter perfect, each E a combination of right angles, as straight as I could make it.  Amazingly I got better.  I also noticed this – even when writing a simple to-do list, I could be transcendent.  I could lose myself in a quest to be excellent.

I think, in part, our world today seeks to trivialize the search for excellence.  The Greeks nailed this in what they called Arete.  Catherynne M. Valente described it like this:

The word I love is Arete.   It has a simple meaning, and a complicated meaning.  The simple one is:  excellence.  But if that were all, we’d just use Excellence and I wouldn’t bring it up until we got to E.  Arete means your own excellence.  Your very own.  A personal excellence that belongs to no one else, one that comes out of all the things that make you special and different . . . . It could be anything in the world . . . .  It’s even harder to get that good at it, because nothing, not even being yourself, comes without practice.

Arete also has the additional meaning of living up to your potential, fulfilling your purpose.  I think many things about the way society is organized today serve to sever us from Arete.  Television and movies make you a character in someone else’s Arete.  You replace the feeling of excellence from actual achievement with psychologically experiencing someone else’s Arete.  Some video games are like that as well, though certainly many require a great degree of skill.

And, yes, the highest and best use of some people is to play video games.

But much of modern work today is built around processes and defined procedures.  The idea isn’t that you do work with Arete, the idea is that you do mediocre work consistently.  And you can do that work with people who have an I.Q. of 85 or 90.

Replacing Arete with processes and procedures lowers liability and provides consistency.  It’s why people go to McDonaldsâ„¢ – not many people think of it as their favorite food, but it’s inexpensive, consistent in quality, and fast.

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Honestly, Arete is why I write this blog.  When a good theme hits and I’m writing, I cease being.  I am the blog.  I am living a transcendent moment.  I am Arete.   Modern life takes us from that with process-driven jobs.

I described this post to The Boy while we enjoyed the hot tub tonight.  The best conversations happen in the hot tub.  No phones, no television, just discussion.  The Boy immediately brought up Fight Club.  Fight Club might be my favorite movie, primarily because of the amazing amounts of Truth© that pop up in it.  The Boy reminded me of an early scene in the movie, where the protagonist had a job that sucked his soul, but he could make his own Arete by making the perfect home by buying the perfect furniture from Fight Club Ikea.  The thing missing from our soul today is simple:  we want to be excellent, but the structure of modern society is pulling us away from Arete.

Are we willing to trade in our Arete for the perfect furniture?  Are we willing to trade in our Arete for a video game?

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Can’t you just smell the Arete coming from the cube farm?  No, that’s the smell of coffee.  And despair.

I don’t know about you, but I’m not.  And if you looked at my to-do list?  It’s much better this month than last month.  Excellence is something we can do every day.  We can become transcendent in our tasks, no matter how lowly – if your task in this minute is to clean the floormats of a funky French fraternity’s ferret using your fingers, lose yourself in it.  Do the best job you can possibly do.

This Wilder, Wealthy and Wise post is brought to you by the word Arete, the letter E, and the number e.  (The number e thing is a math joke.)

The One Where I Talk About WWII Tanks, Red Dawn, Wealth Management and Steve Martin

“Well I’m gonna go then.  And I don’t need any of this.  I don’t need this stuff, and I don’t need you. I don’t need anything except this.  And that’s it and that’s the only thing I need, is this.  I don’t need this or this.  Just this ashtray.  And this paddle game, the ashtray and the paddle game and that’s all I need.  And this remote control.  The ashtray, the paddle game, and the remote control, and that’s all I need.  And these matches.  The ashtray, and these matches, and the remote control and the paddle ball.  And this lamp.  The ashtray, this paddle game and the remote control and the lamp and that’s all I need.  And that’s all I need too.  I don’t need one other thing, not one – I need this.  The paddle game, and the chair, and the remote control, and the matches, for sure.  And this.  And that’s all I need.  The ashtray, the remote control, the paddle game, this magazine and the chair.” – The Jerk

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On film, first movie.  No pants.  Which explains the blackmail letters I keep seeing.   

There’s a common scene in movies where the hero, a has-been, out of shape bum in need of a shave and smelling like convenience-store cheese, cheap booze and a Kardashian who hasn’t showered in weeks wakes up.  The surroundings are a mess.  Generally, the place is a fleabag motel – one that doesn’t cater to respectable people, like those fancy folks that use actual hamburger in their Hamburger Helper©.

Our hero is always a guy, never a gal.

Generally, what happened to our hero to have dropped to such a low point is that he lost something, generally a woman, though sometimes a child, but always of great meaning.  It’s generally his fault.  And with the loss of that loved one, he lost the reason to care.  Everything is going wrong with his life.  To quote one of the best movies since Rome fell to the robot legions of Abraham Lincoln in 1932, Baseketball:

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We should make the Losers wear Loser t-shirts after the Super Bowl®.  Why?  Branding.

Our hero, Joe Cooper, being interviewed after losing the national championship in his sport (due to his error) and when he goofed up trying to save the life of his friend:

“Today I lost the game and a dear friend and . . . I’m feeling pretty vulnerable right now.  I don’t think I should be by myself.  I need someone to talk to . . . .”

The announcer turns away from Joe and faces the camera:

“It certainly looks like it’s raining s**t on Joe Cooper.  Back to you.”

It’s at this low point that something happens to remind the hero of who he was, and what he stood for.  The hero then looks himself in the mirror and decides that from today onward, life is going to change and he’ll start using that topical cream, every day, just like the label says.

One montage later?  Instead of drinking a six-pack, the hero now has six-pack abs, gleaming teeth, and a mane of hair that would make a sorority swoon.  Assuming women still swoon in the current year, or that sororities are comprised of women.  Or that women are anything more than a social construct.

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I’ll attend my mandatory sensitivity training next week, but even in 2019, BOYS CANNOT GET PREGGERS.  Anything pregnant with that must facial hair must be a Kardashian.  I promise – no more Kardashian jokes this month.

The big difference is that there is something that makes an emotional impact on the hero, which brings him back from his fallen state.  This something changes him, gives him a reason to live, makes him care.  It also connects that hero to the audience, allowing the audience to share in the struggle and, through that sharing, care about the hero and vicariously share his inevitable come-from-behind victory.

Who could have seen that coming?

It’s the theme of most of my favorite movies.  Unfortunately, it’s also the theme of our recent history in the United States, but we’ve yet to see the redemption part.

There was a time when the Right cared about the debt and actually talked, unironically, about balanced budgets.  I recall the constant drumbeat during my youth that “government can’t spend too much” because we would default, interest rates would skyrocket, and the Evil Wizard Jimmy Carter would keep cutting our money in half through his magic +2 Inflation Spell.  At some point, probably before I was born, I think Democrats and Republicans both agreed on that we couldn’t spend money like Joe Biden in a hair-plug factory.

Later, probably in a Nixon-related rant, the post-war truce between Right and Left split.  Democrats decided they couldn’t spend enough on social programs, and Republicans decided they couldn’t spend enough on military stuff.

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Yes, I’m going to Leftist Hell.  Aisle seat, please.

I’ll argue that we got a better deal with the military stuff, which resulted in Russia replacing the U.S.S.R.  Russia on it’s surliest (feeling bloated and all) day isn’t ready to unleash nuclear Armageddon on Earth because Karl Marx convinced a bunch of barely literate people in the midst of a vodka-binge that killing the Czar was a cool idea.  Sure, Russia is a state that barely visits this fine blog.  And some of the freedoms might be lacking, like freedom of speech.  But Russia has nothing fundamental against our way of life – they’d love to emulate it, but with 100% fewer hipsters.  In my opinion, very penny spent on the military from 1948 to 1992 was worth it.  I don’t miss the constant threat of nuclear annihilation.

Sadly, all we got from the Leftist social programs that were set up to eliminate poverty was more poverty.  It would have been cheaper to just give everyone in poverty a million dollars back in 1965 when Johnson declared the War on Poverty©.  At least then we’d be done with feeling guilty about it.  “You’re poor?  Sorry.  Paid that bill.  Shoo.”  The best way (really) to eliminate poverty is to increase consequences and allow lower taxation on rewards.  Make it so Playbox® and X-Station© don’t replace working for food.

Eliminating unlimited pools of foreign labor couldn’t hurt, either.  But that’s another post.

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Not my original, but it illustrates the point well.

Not to say that military spending hasn’t been silly from time to time.  I’m absolutely certain that we have the finest equipment ready to turn back the Wehrmacht if Hitler’s ghost ever assumes control and decides he wants to invade San Diego.  I guess I’m saying that our military, from a strategic standpoint, might be ready for those new bands, the Beatles© and Elvis™.

Why did we spend so much on the military?  The norm throughout history in every nation in every war was to provide soldiers with the absolute minimum that they needed to get the job done.  Kipling wrote about this a century ago in the poem Tommy, which has nothing at all to do with pinball:

You talk o’ better food for us, an’ schools, an’ fires, an’ all . . .

It’s nearly certain the same from the time the Roman legions marched on Carthage (Roman Virtues and Western Civilization, Complete with Monty Python) to the today, every soldier has been given only was absolutely necessary, and that was mostly grudgingly provided.  “Really, armor on your vehicles?  What, do you think we’re made of money?  Rub some dirt on it, you big babies.”

So where does all the military money go?  Well, there was once a joke that the armed forces had developed an absolutely invincible weapon system:  it had parts manufactured in every single congressional district.  That’s where the money goes.  Into the pockets of likely voters.

People used to argue about government spending and how we could reduce it.  In public!  Now it’s different.  No one cares about spending or debt at all.  Social spending?  Why not have Medicare™ for all?  Pay for everyone’s student loans.  While we do that, let’s also build huge floating targets aircraft carriers, the likes that the Japanese Soviets ISIS our future foes will fear.  But, please, let’s not talk about Chinese missiles taking one to the bottom of the sea.  Why, do you know where the components of an aircraft carrier are made?  Why, everywhere from the Redwood Forests, to the New York Islands!  This carrier was built for you and me.

Social programs are a vote-harvesting program.  And so is the manufacture of aircraft carriers.  But, again, should World War II break out again, we are so totally ready to win it.  We’ve even modeled our procurement strategy after the Germans (remember, they lost) – small numbers of really technically advanced components.  6,000 Panthers (German) will beat 49,000 Sherman (American) and 64,000 T-34 (Russian) tanks any time, right?

Oops.

Guess not.

(Translation for the tank impaired:  Germany produced, without question, the highest quality of tanks during World War II.  But they didn’t have many of them.  When the United States and the Soviets started making tanks, they massively outnumbered the technically superior German tanks.  It’s like being nibbled to death by ducks.  They might be small, but they will get you.  I half imagine the Air Force© would like to produce just one perfect fighter plane.  Just one at the cost of a trillion dollars.  But it would be so perfect, and never mind that the enemy produced 150,000 fighters at two million dollars each.)

The point, however, isn’t about tank production strategy, even though you can buy a working – with functional gun! – T-34 for about $80,000.  No, the point is about the indisputable fact that no one in Washington cares even a little bit about how much money we spend every year, or if the troops live or die, or if anyone ever stops being poor.  And why should they?  It appears that right now we can spend as much as we want, consequence free.  That’s bound to continue forever? And how would I explain to The Mrs. that she needs to brush up on her college Russian for the manuals for the T-34 I just bought?

Do you think The Mrs. might buy the argument that I bought a Russian tank because of my principles?  Do you think James at the Bison Prepper (LINK) might think I was frugal because, really, what could be more prepper than a tank?  And, for the record, it’s not a new tank.  Totally used.  No FLIR or anything.

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I suppose I could use it for hunting?

I’m not sure what broke us as a nation, what make us that slovenly, unkempt guy with a three-day growth of beard smelling of cheap gin, Johnny Depp, and just as sticky as a movie theater floor.  But just like Steven Segal’s® belly, we as a nation seem to have lost our discipline.  Honestly, I’m tempted to buy that T-34 just so I can imitate our government and waste the money, though, honestly, nobody’s making T-34’s anymore.  I’d really love to buy a Panther, but there are only 29 (as far as the Internet knows) of them still in existence.

Hmm.

There is a bright side to this:  the Federal Reserve© has discovered it can print money forever, and can guarantee that you will receive your promised Social Security benefits.  The Federal Reserve™ won’t, however, guarantee that you’ll be able to buy a single piece of PEZ™ with your monthly check let alone a Panther or a T-34.

The future will bring bailouts.  Why?  Spending.  Duh.

The funny thing is that this will really be a stable system.  Until it’s not.

Will that be the moment that makes the hero recognize who he is, and what he’s given up?  And, most importantly, will he have a tank?

T-34 pic from:  Antonov14 [CC BY-SA 2.5 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5)]

In the World Murder Olympics, Communists Take Gold and Silver!

I see dead people. – The Sixth Sense

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It really will be different this time, right?

The biggest famine in human history was caused by communism, based on a bad idea and a stubborn decision to hold with ideology over reality.  It was known as, ironically, The Great Leap Forward.  Mao decided in 1957 that within 15 years, China could surpass the United Kingdom (The Guys Who Supply Evil Accents to Movies) in economic production.  Mao was egged on to make this pronouncement based on Nikita Khrushchev’s 1957 pronouncement that in fifteen years that the U.S.S.R. would surpass the United States in economic production.

Spoiler alert – none of these things happened, and Bruce Willis was the ghost the whole time.

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That’s the entire world death rate.  Who says communism isn’t powerful!

The Great Leap Forward killed about 45 million people in China.  Mao decided that he wanted to collectivize farming to consolidate power (more on this later).  In addition to this, Mao also decided that to increase economic output, he’d have the peasants make steel.  In their backyards.  This worked about as well with an I.Q. above room temperature could have predicted, especially once the farmers started melting down the tools they farmed with to meet production targets, thus decreasing food amounts even more than replacing experienced farmers with office workers did.

Oops.

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Another victory for environmentalism under communism!

Farmers had to melt down steel farming tools to meet Mao’s steel production targets.  Even though Mao was informed relatively early on that the policy wasn’t working, he stuck with it because he didn’t want to look weak because his wife told him he never would get that raise unless he stood up to his boss at work.  In the end?  45 million people starved to death so Mao could keep his day job.

But this was just stupid, not vengeful.  This is known in China today (as related by the Internet) as the “Three Years of Natural Disasters.”  Even in death Mao cannot be challenged publically, so you can bet he finally got that raise.  The rumor is that even his ghost can kill.  But Mao’s ghost kills via bad breath, but George Washington’s ghost kills with laser eyes, so we’ve got that going for us.

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Stalingrad?  No, Stalinsad™.  I may have to really trademark that for a series of teddy bears I sell to leftists so they can hug them after rallies.

Although Josef Stalin only gets the Silver Medal in the “Killed My Own People” sweepstakes, it’s not due to lack of trying – he managed to kill, by many estimates, 20 million of his own people in activities completely unrelated by war.  How did we get there?

Soon after Lenin died, Stalin and the Soviet Union benefitted from a strong and robust economy.  The local farmers, called Kulaks, were producing record grain yields.  And if there’s one thing that people like, it’s grain, especially James at The Bison Prepper (LINK).

That’s a good thing, right?  The grain production gave the U.S.S.R. a source of currency, and the Kulaks imported farm machinery to increase farm production even more.  The Kulaks were the engine of the economy.  As a leader, Stalin must have loved these guys, right?

No.  Stalin hated them.  They were a threat to his power, and he didn’t like any power structure existing outside of him.  So, he went after the Kulaks.

But what was a Kulak?  Well, a Kulak was a peasant.  But this was a peasant that was slightly less poor than the other peasants.  That meant, for reals, that this peasant had a slightly nicer hovel, and had some regular gruel.  It wasn’t even as good a job as the assistant manager at McDonalds, but it was still really good in the Soviet Union where a bowl of warm mud was considered a major prize.  As such, these Kulaks were often looked up to locally because they were successful.  Their position in society was earned through merit.

But Stalin didn’t like Kulaks, and decided he was going to break them.  One of the first things he did was to create an army because Stalin had declared a Revolution© against . . . his own people.  This army was called the Twenty-Five-Thousanders.  They were steel and factory workers that were armed, given a quickie six-month training program on farming, and told to go make collective farming work.  Essentially they were dim-witted college interns with guns.

One of the interesting (to me, at least) measures of communism is how the system selects, on purpose, those of no real merit to be placed in positions of authority.  The factory worker given a gun and told to enforce Stalin’s will was being given the best job they had ever had, and power beyond anything a typical factory worker ever had.  This policy of promoting the unworthy and stupid into positions of power made the unworthy and stupid really zealous communists.  Where else could they go to get that kind of power?  They owed everything they were to the state.  Where else could a former prostitute or pimp decide on the summary execution of a former doctor or engineer?

So, faced with the army of 25,000 idiots, the Kulaks decided to do what a reasonable person does:  they decided to get together to go to Moscow to work out a solution.  Stalin was glad to meet them, and worked with them on a solution to all of their problems:  those Kulaks that weren’t summarily executed were shipped off to “leisure” camps in Siberia.  You might have heard of the camps – they called them Gulags.

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Ahh, just like Disneyland®!

But that wasn’t enough.  Stalin sent his 25,000 strong army to confiscate every bit of grain from problem areas.  Every bit.  He encouraged the poorer peasants to raid the houses of the Kulaks and take . . . everything.  Envy is powerful, and here was a license to steal.

So they stole.  But that wasn’t enough.

Stalin essentially shut the border down of the Ukraine after pulling all food out of the area.  In a stunningly familiar Communist plan, armed troops kept the people in.  Mao was an inadvertent murderer, but Stalin starved millions of people to death, on purpose.

Why?  James Mace explains:

I remain convinced that, for Stalin to have complete centralized power in his hands, he found it necessary to physically destroy the second-largest Soviet republic, meaning the annihilation of the Ukrainian peasantry, Ukrainian intelligentsia, Ukrainian language, and history as understood by the people; to do away with Ukraine and things Ukrainian as such.  The calculation was very simple, very primitive:  no people, therefore, no separate country, and thus no problem.

Even today, the Western Press has a love affair with Stalin.  I won’t go into reasons why, and I’m not sure I care, but it’s obvious that the New York Times has never met a communist it didn’t love.  Walter Duranty privately noted on a telegram to London that over 10 million had died of starvation in 1934 during the Holodomor, but wrote publicly rosy pictures about the Soviet Union.  But what did Duranty say in public?

Any report of a famine in Russia is today an exaggeration or malignant propaganda. There is no actual starvation or deaths from starvation but there is widespread mortality from diseases due to malnutrition.

Showing that they are perfectly unbiased, the Pulitzer™ committee has refused to rescind the Pulitzer Prize® given to Duranty for his participation in the cover up of Stalin’s mass murder of millions.  I wonder if complicity is in any dictionary they own?

At least someone got it right, but he didn’t win a Pulitzer©.

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Rumor is that he was murdered by the Soviet NKVD.  Because truth is the biggest enemy a dictator has.

It might occur to a discerning reader that, while Democracy Dies in Darkness™, tens of millions can be killed by communism and lying about it, even when proven, gets prestigious awards!  And who says the press is biased.

But just like in the Olympics®, communists can be proud.  The got the gold and the silver!

GBD 2017 Mortality Collaborators [CC BY-SA 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)] – Mortality graph.

Stop Making Yourself Unhappy, Unless It Involves Green Alien Women Doing Sexy Dances

“Bob, it won’t kill you.  But it will make you very sore.” – Real Men

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I promise, I try to have a point on alternate weeks.

The difference between what reality actually is and the way that you think reality should be can make you crazy.  It’s not unusual – I think it’s the way we’re wired as humans.  We have a big brain, and we can imagine things.  I, for instance, can imagine a world in peace where people just leave me alone, taxes don’t exist, and Joseph Stalin and communism are as hated as Britney Spears and the IRS.

Yeah.  I can imagine it.  But I won’t hold my breath.  Some of the stuff the world throws at me makes me pretty mad, if I allow myself to sit and think about it.  You’ll notice I used the word “allow” – because that’s what it is – allowing myself to dwell on something that makes me mad.  Honestly, I’ll admit it:  sometimes I go online just to find a story that makes me angry, probably because it’s a substitute for a pacemaker that doesn’t require electricity.  So, yes, anger keeps my heart beating on alternate Wednesdays when I run low on coffee.

The sad part is that most anger is a wasted emotion.  Most of life just is.  Nothing you can do can change it.  On many things trying to change it is even worse than the original problem.  We started out with a Depression in 1930, but ended up with a World War.  See?  Not a real good trade.  Oh, wait, we got the space program out of it.

However, I’ll also tell you that you just can’t ignore everything in life and just say mañana, as attractive as that may sound at 5AM on a Monday morning.  So, you can’t care about everything, but you also can’t ignore everything.  It sounds like a paradox, like how the Kardashians became famous for being famous, but give me a second to explain.  I’m a trained professional.

For me, it comes down to having a list of criteria.

Does it matter?  In reality, most things really don’t matter one way or another.  If they’re out of strawberry topping for your hamburger, it doesn’t matter.  You might remember tomorrow, but you certainly won’t remember next week.  You won’t remember when you’re 80.  Rule of thumb?  If you won’t remember it next year, it isn’t important.

Does your action make a difference?  You may be a Flat-Earther© and believe that everyone on Earth should move away from the horribly illogical heliocentric model that has no evidence behind it.  No matter what actions they take, they won’t make a difference.  I mean, because they’re nuts.

Is it a matter of principle?  Not everything is.  Giordano Bruno (Jordan Brown in English) is a dead Italian who got burned at the stake due to heresy on February 17, 1600, at the age of 52-ish, so you know he pissed somebody with a cool hat off.  The funny thing is that if you go to the Wikipedia page on Bruno, it makes him look like Carl Sagan crossed with Barack Obama.  He questioned all Christian dogma (which makes him the darling of the Left) while arguing for an infinite Universe and used the Copernican model of our Solar System to predict that there would be planets around other stars.  Genius!

But Wikipedia skips gently around the fact that he didn’t like Christ – he liked Hermes, and was a fan of reintroducing Egyptian gods.  Today, he’s revered as a Gnostic saint.  And, really, if anyone starts the name of their sect with a silent “G”, do we really want give them any gcredence?  I thought gnot.

Even though Bruno picked a really stupid thing to die about, at least he had some pretty fierce words to say to people who thought they could tell him what to do:

It is immoral to hold an opinion in order to curry another’s favor; mercenary, servile, and against the dignity of human liberty to yield and submit; supremely stupid to believe as a matter of habit; irrational to decide according to the majority opinion, as if the number of sages exceeded the number of fools.

Jordan Brown, er, Giordano Bruno seems to think pretty highly of his own opinion.  But the sentiment is a good one.  One I’ll buy, unless it’s about running out of strawberry topping for my hamburger.  That’s probably not a hill I’m willing to die on.  Unless they were out of ketchup, too.

I bought Giordano’s book, Expulsion of the Triumphant Beast, and started to read it.  After I realized that it would take me two years of study of ancient Egyptian mythology, ancient Greek mythology, astrology, and 16th Century European politics to decipher it, I decided to read a book where aliens wanted to drop a meteorite on Earth instead.  At least I understood that the aliens wanted to come to earth because they liked our women as much as we do.

green

No, not hot alien girls.  But, in a pinch that’ll do.

But Giordano has a point – there is a place where principle wins above all.  It may not be this hill we’re willing to die on, but we have to be willing to die on some hill, even if we can’t win.  If you’re not willing to die on that stupid hill where it’s a beautiful, pointless, stupid gesture?  You’re not fully human, and would probably sell me out for a pack of Juicy Fruit® gum.  For your sake, I hope you know where your hill is, or can find it.  Even (shudder) if it involves astrology.  Jesus, Bruno was an idiot.

The alternate view is that the future belongs to those that show up, so, pick that hill carefully.  Giordano picked his.  And he really did die on it.  I’m pretty sure he didn’t have kids, but he did show up for the future, in the most potent way possible:  with his ideas.  If I could go back in time I wouldn’t kill Stalin or Lenin.  Nope.  I’d kill Marx – he was a fat guy who never had a job and was probably smelly because he couldn’t properly clean out his bodily crevices in Victorian England, but his ideas . . . his ideas have killed millions.  But more about those tools on Monday.

By the way, finding a stupid name like Jordan Brown (sorry, dude) could sound so much like someone who commanded a tank division, I looked up John Wilder in Italian, and it would be Giovanni Feroce.  Which is really badass.  But it’s not Latin, which would probably sound something like Giovannius Maximus Feroci.  Yeah.  Like commander of a tank, designed by Ferrari® to fight grizzly bears.  I can deal with that.  Except Italians can’t seem to keep the oil on the inside of the engine.

vennthing

The Boy put this together.  He does indicate that he works for Ramen®.  His favorite is beef, but he will do chicken.  Shrimp?  You’re not making any friends there.  Stick with land animals.

Here are the zones:

  • Zone 1: This is the most important zone:  you can change it.  It matters.  It’s a matter of principle.  This, with no humor added, is the definition of the hill you can die on.

clippy

Yes, it’s a Microsoft® Office™ meme.  No, I’m not proud about it.

  • Zone 2: You can change it.  The best definition of this is “It’s the principle of the thing.”  It’s not important.  This is the Zone inhabited by Karens.

realkaren

And my real readers would never complain.

  • Zone 3: It matters.  It’s a matter of principle.  But you can’t change it.  I think this is what Twitter® accounts are for?  Also?  Maybe sometimes this is a good hill to die on, too.
  • Zone 4: It’s a matter of principle.  And it doesn’t matter.  And you can’t change it.  I think this is the MySpace© of issues.
  • Zone 5: It matters, you can change it, but it’s not a matter of principle.  So, you know, get up and mow your lawn.  Or at least stay off mine.
  • Zone 6: It matters, you can’t change it.  Ignore it.  Triggered people live here, and I know you don’t want to live like Trigglypuff.

chronology

I remember when the word “triggered” had nothing to do with people unable to contain emotions just because someone said something naughty.  But I also remember when dudes didn’t win girl’s high school track meets. 

  • Zone 7: You can change it.  It’s not principle.  It doesn’t matter.    This sounds a lot like FaceBook®.  If you use it, keep in mind you’re keeping Zuckerberg in sippy cups while he sits on his high chair.

zucksip

Thankfully Congress got him a sippy cup.

Inadvertently, I seem to have come up with actual advice that might help you if you’re sane enough to follow it.  Who knew?  Nah, who am I kidding?  Go nuts.  Literally.  It seems to work for AntiFa®.

antifa

Avenger of Thrones Season 8, Infinity Gauntlet Episode: Shakespeare and Debt

“A Lannister always pays his debts.” – Game of Thrones

ironmanthrone

Okay, one of the aristocratic families on Game of Thrones™ is the Stark family, so it’s only logical that Tony Stark™ get the Iron Throne©, being Ironman® and all.

In Hamlet©, in the scene before Rosencrantz and Guildenstern assemble the Infinity Gauntlet and destroy King’s Landing, Shakespeare wrote:  “neither a borrower, nor a lender be.”  Several of his plays referenced debt, including The Merchant of Venice.  I may not have perfect recollection, but I don’t recall Shakespeare mentioning debt in a positive light, except when he was trying to borrow money for a $83,000 pickup with heated seats.

Debt, at its core, is borrowing from the future to fund today.  We do that with life all of the time – I’ll have the extra brownies, so I’ll exercise tomorrow.  I’ll stay up late to binge-watch Avenger of Thrones®:  Trans-Robot Skywalker™ and then grab some extra sleep tomorrow.   But when we talk about debt, we mainly mean money and thankfully not my soul.  That’s been repossessed like six times already.

Debt is very personal.  I remember $20 in a concert I owe to a guy from when I was in college, and I wish I knew where he was so I could repay him – the reciprocal concert I bought tickets for was cancelled.  I also remember $20 that a guy owes me from 2015.  I ended a friendship because a guy said he returned the $75 I lent him under my front door mat, but I didn’t have a front door mat.  That wasn’t about the debt, more about the lies.  But you get the picture.  Debt is personal.

In addition to being personal, the way that people react to debt is also emotional.  I’m pretty sure no person ever decided that having $78,231 in student loans was something to brag about – if anything, people who have borrowed a lot of money are often plagued with feelings of embarrassment, as if they’d been caught making out with Chelsea Clinton.  Sure, it’s legal, but, ewww.

competence

I’m sure her husband married her for love.

Recently, records found from 1600 or so show that Shakespeare’s father, John (!) Shakespeare, had tons for problems with debt.  I think these were his credit card receipts.  The problems that John had happened while William was still young and living at home, so it’s likely Pop Shakespeare had to borrow money for Bill’s prom tuxedo.  The good news was that the standard for a corsage in 1582 was a turnip on a string of twine stapled with wooden pegs to the date’s forehead, so, that didn’t set John back too far.

Thanks (in part) to Shakespeare, the most basic advice about borrowing money is this:

  • Don’t borrow money unless you absolutely have to. Debt may be a necessary evil, but like Canada and their sensuous, flirty doughnuts, it’s still evil.
  • Most people who lend you money aren’t like my dad, Pop Wilder. Pop had been at a small-town farm bank and had worked with the same families for decades.  He had an interest in seeing them thrive.  Nowadays?  Those banks are mainly owned by FirstBank Of Chase Fargo® with an Internet server hosted in Beijing.  Most people who lend money see you like Oprah© sees a cheeseburger with extra bacon:  as an opportunity.
  • Paying back money you borrowed hurts. Adding interest on top makes it worse.  Adding “Knuckles” the enforcer as a mechanism to make you pay?    That makes it even more painful.
  • Loans haunt you like a ghost and poison your hope for a peaceful future. Maybe loans are even worse than a ghost, because I’m sure loans are real.  Robert Heinlein said, “Sovereign ingredient for a happy marriage:  pay cash or do without.  Interest charges not only eat up a household budget; awareness of debt eats up domestic felicity.”  Debt hangs over you like the smell of the armpit of a thirteen-year-old who hasn’t discovered deodorant.
  • You come to resent the people who you have obligated yourself to. If you really want to hate someone, borrow money from them.  It’s like a screechy ex-wife on steroids, but it haunts your dreams.  Like a screechy ex-wife.

debtcollection

The dog cost a lot more money, and just shot anyone who came up the road.

That last point deserves a bit more discussion.  I had a friend come to me wanting to borrow some money.  There was, I kid you not, a PowerPoint® presentation that they put together explaining the need for the money and the certain benefit to me if I loaned them money.

Yes.  It was a family member.

The presentation was impressive.  They had put some thought into it.  I especially liked where they Photoshopped® me sitting on a throne in a Roman palace.  I loaned them the money.

If you want to really understand the character of someone close to you, loan them money.  If you do this, be prepared for them to hate you for doing every single thing they asked.  Why?  Because it obligates them into the future for, potentially, years.  Present them loves you, but future them will hate you.

shakesloan

Word choice can make a blog post much gooder.

Let me be clear:  the closer you are to them, the more likely they are to completely break their word to you.

Why?  Because borrowing money is emotional, first there’s an elation, you got the loan.  Then every payment is a little bit of dread deep into their soul.  They may really think they will be good at paying you.  They certainly have the best of intentions.

But then . . . the rationalization hamster on the hamster wheel in their head starts running on the wheel.  “John Wilder loves me.  He won’t call the collateral if I miss this payment.”

The wheel moves faster.  “John Wilder is doing fine.  He doesn’t need this money.”

The wheel moves faster yet.  “John Wilder?  He sucks.  What a leach.  Why does everything good happen to him?”

There is one big benefit to loaning that money.  If you make them sign a contract?  They’ll never ask for a cent again.  If they do?  Just point to the contract that they never fulfilled.

And that’s the key.  By not honoring that contract, they know that they have a debt.  They’ve broken their words to you.  But that’s not the worst part.  They broke their promise to themselves.  To quote Heinlein again:  “Duty is a debt you owe to yourself to fulfill obligations you have assumed voluntarily.”  People who don’t pay debts have fallen away from duty.  That’s a cancer to the soul.  That’s why I don’t like debt.  It’s addictive, and as a borrower it’s an easy way to make yourself a victim.  As a lender, it’s an easy way to make yourself a predator.

shakesista

Oh, if only the great minds from the past lived today.

I was going to write about good reasons to go into debt, but could only come up with “to buy a reasonably priced house or build/expand a profitable business.”  Twelve words.  Not much for a post.

Then I had what I thought was a genius idea:  put out a list of bad reasons to get into debt.  But I then realized that, so far, I’ve written over 464,000 words on this blog.  If I put out a list of bad reasons to get into debt I could easily double that word count on just the list of bad reasons to get into debt.

So, avoid debt.  Also?  Avoid lending.

What does it say when an entire society is addicted to debt?  I’m sure that it’s okay.  I’m certain that it’s different this time.

But remember what The Bard says:

natdebt

This is fine.

Leftism is a Religion

“Now I see why you’ve joined this religion.  It’s the same reason I campaigned for Dukakis.” – Andy Richter Controls the Universe

religion

“Yeah,” I thought, “Why not make EVERYONE mad?”

Religion has been a central concept for humanity as far back as we can see in the historical record which starts somewhere before Zeus fought Buddha in Summer Slam -4023 B.C.  I think, as a species, we’re hardwired for worship and loving bacon, which comes into conflict for some people.  I could get into the likely reasons that religion is hardwired into us, but I’ll save that for another post when I want to irritate people.  What’s not up for debate is that most people express this religious brain-programming as actual religious activity, me included.

Sometimes, however, religion is replaced by “civic” religion, which was more common in the World War II generation.  I was at a club a few years back and watched a 95+ year old veteran sit during the opening prayer when everyone else was standing.  After the prayer, the opening ceremony moved to the national anthem.  The veteran struggled to his feet and stood with hand over his heart.  To me it was obvious – his religion wasn’t only Christianity (he is a Christian) – his religion is also America.

But a lot of Leftists don’t express their religious views at all – they’re atheists.  Instead of expressing religious belief as religion, they adopt secular tenants as items of belief.  You can’t convince them that their position is wrong with facts or logic.  The only thing that can change the views of a Leftist is conversion away from the Left.

For the record, I’m not anti-atheist.  I have several friends who are atheist, and I’m totally okay with that.  I’ve met Libertarian atheists or atheists on the Right, and they (in general) are much more relaxed than the Leftists.  We’ve had great philosophical conversations, and I don’t think less of them because they’re atheist.  They don’t think less of me because I’m not.  It works for us because neither of us are programmed to hate each other based on beliefs.  We can even discuss religion without getting even slightly angry.

liberal

And all of his pamphlets are blank.

That’s not the case when discussing Leftist dogma with a Leftist.  Perhaps the most sacred canon in liberalism is abortion.  When the communist Republicans took over the government in Spain before the Spanish Civil War, just about the first thing they did was to legalize abortion.  As a second step, they took over the churches.  During the war, leftists murdered about 7,000 priests, monks, and nuns.  It seems like every leftist takeover of a country ends up in a death-spiral against a growing number of “enemies of the revolution” that must be dealt with, especially people with a competing religion.

worship government

Lenin cat does not like competition.

Leftist dogma hates competition from priests, but they really, really like abortion.  It seems that a large number of the “sins” of leftism are based in self-hatred, and the self-genocide of abortion fits nicely.  I have started quite a few arguments on Twitter® on abortion, not because I think I’ll change anyone’s mind.  Nope.  I do it because it’s like throwing bait into piranha-infested waters – fun to watch unless you stick your hand in after the feeding frenzy has started.  An example of how triggering abortion is:  one Leftist politician recently attempted to (I kid you not) dox some kids who were doing the most awful thing possible outside of an abortion clinic:  praying.

Leftists feel guilty, and not kind of guilt that’s potentially healthy:  guilt over actions that they were responsible for that changes their future behavior for the better.  No.  They feel guilty over things other people do.  Which people?  Doesn’t matter, as long as it’s not them.  They feel guilty for the actions of their ancestors.  They feel guilty for the actions of their parents.  They feel guilty for the actions of the Swiss.  Just as long as they, personally, don’t have to take the guilt.

So, as Christianity has sin where you have to take accountability for your actions and repent, Leftism has sin where the evil must pay.  Sadly, the only icon for Leftists seems to be themselves – if you’ve seen some of the selfies on Twitter®, you know what I mean.  Obama® was a pretty good icon for a time, but he’s no Joe Biden.

I have a suggestion for a liberal symbol:  Thanos®.

thanos

I asked The Boy to put together a mashup of George Soros and Thanos®.  He did a pretty good job.  I guess we could call this guy George Thoros?

Thanos© is the super-villain from the latest Marvel© comic book movies.  In the previous movie, 2018’s Avengers: Infinity War™, Thanos© assembled the blingy-ist glove in history, containing multiple stones that allowed him to change reality just by snapping his fingers.  What did Thanos® wish for?

His wish was that the entire population of the Universe would be cut immediately by 50%.  In the movie, in rather dramatic fashion, those who were eliminated just turned to dust.  Poof.  Gone.

Why?  This seems like an odd wish.  My wish would involve many more cheeseburgers.  Actually, cheeseburgers (or the lack thereof) were the basis of his wish.  As a wee super-villain, Thanos© had been hungry due to overpopulation, so he decided that the best way for no one to go hungry again was to kill half of everyone.  Rather than use his magic glove to give everyone free cheeseburgers for life, Thanos™ decided that more killin’ was in order, and I guess that it makes sense from a dramatic standpoint.  A Spiderman® that got fat and had heart issues from all the free cheeseburgers is just pathetic.  A dead Spiderman™ who evaporates into ash is good drama.

The most ironic part of the wish?  It only took Earth from 1960 to 1999 to double in population from 3 billion humans to 6 billion people.  Thanos© ends up killing billions of people having forgotten the fundamental principle:  people can make lots more people, and we won’t forget the recipe because we practice it so much.

Interestingly (to me, at the time) Thanos® didn’t pick who lived or died.  It was entirely random.  So, Thanos® put together a perfect Leftist Program:

  • Created immediate suffering.
  • “Solved” a problem in the worst possible way – lots of instant pain for no real long term benefit.
  • Made sure that he was totally equalitarian – don’t start with prisons or jails.   Just make it random.

I even read a column from a Leftist who thought that maybe Thanos© was onto the right idea.  “Imagine how easily we could control Global Warming™ if only we got rid of half the people on the planet.”  And abortion?  Thanos© has to be a big proponent.

So, the Leftists can have their religion, it comes with its own god, death, who we can represent with Thanos©.  Heck, the Left even has its own devil, Trump.  Though if I were casting him in a superhero role?  Yeah.  Trumppool©.

deadpool

The Boy put this together, too.  He seemed pretty pleased.

Bad Self Help Ideas, A Naked Cat Fight, and Johnny Depp (In His Own Gravy)

“If you eliminate the third, fifth, and sixth letters, then it’s Red’s Digest, comrade.” – M*A*S*H

digest

Yes, Laura Ingalls Wilder is where I got my blogging name.  Long story.

My parents subscribed to Reader’s Digest© as I was growing up.  For those unfamiliar with the magazine, it was a little bigger than a paperback book, and contained shortened versions of articles from other magazines.

TL;DR?  Reader’s Digest™ is like Reddit® for old people.

aliensmine

Sometimes it really is aliens. 

Reader’s Digest™ also contains several pages of stories from readers, mainly jokes and humorous stories, or at least it did back the last time I read it, when I was just a kid, say 10 or so.  One of the stories has stuck with me since then.  It goes something like this:

One day a mother looked out the kitchen window and saw her children playing in the backyard.  She noticed that her son, about age seven, had a rock in his hand and was using it to strike the top of a soup can.  The can was being held in place by the woman’s five-year-old daughter.  What alarmed the woman was that the daughter was holding the can on top of her head.

“Timmy, stop hitting your sister!” yelled the mother.

The daughter replied, “It’s okay, Mommy, he’s almost done.”

Some of the details of the story might be wrong, but I remember the last line exactly.  It amuses me to this day, because I can see that, while uncomfortable as it may be to have a seven year old whacking at a soup can on top of your head with a rock, you can be certain you will feel better when they stop.

I listen to YouTube® on the drive to work.  Listen.  I used to watch it, but the pedestrians didn’t seem to like sharing the sidewalk, and Pop Wilder told me when I was first learning to drive to never swerve, it was dangerous.  I guess I’ll miss Grandma.  Pity about the will.  Anyway, the terms of my parole don’t let me watch YouTube® anymore.  We have strict judges in Modern Mayberry.

YouTube™ has autoplay, and since I’m driving, I wasn’t watching, and it’s played everything from videos on Stalin to videos on chainsaws to Alice Cooper® songs that he performed for a Philippino werewolf movie.  So this particular random video didn’t surprise me.  In the video, I heard a person talking about how they made their life better through “Negative Visualization.”

stalin

Stalin’s program was so effective, he made 20 million people disappear!  Just like food, this offer is not available in stores.

My first thought was that I had never heard that term and I was wondering if it was some sort of self-help video hosted by Stalin.  Once you get into the Stalin self-help videos, that’s a never ending video sink-hole.  Better Mental Health Through Collective Farming And Not Eating All That Decadent Food Like the Capitalists still gives me the shivers.

It turns out this video was entirely unrelated to Stalin, entirely bypassing the U.S.S.R. self-help craze currently so popular in California.  In this particular video, the presenter suggested you imagine that something horrible happened to your family, say, they were killed slowly in a fire, or were forced to go to a Cher™ concert.  He suggested that then you’d feel better when you realized that none of those horrible things happened to them.  His theory is that you’d love them more and appreciate them more after mentally throwing yourself through a daily tragedy.  What could go wrong?

Timmy, in other words, would stop banging the soup can on your head with a rock and you’d feel better.

I feel that Negative Visualization is a supremely stupid idea, at least for me.  I thought that if I started my day imagining tragedy in all aspects of my life, that my relationships fractured, that I became ill, that I became bankrupt, or that I had to give Johnny Depp a two hour sponge bath with tepid water, I would just be depressed.  So I tried it.  And I was right.  It was just depressing.  Instead of feeling better because my bathroom was Depp-free, the emotions of imagining a nude and smelly Johnny Depp in my bathtub was just gross, so I felt both depressed and unclean.

depptub

Is it just me, or do you think that this room smells like Dinty Moore Beef Stew®, expensive foreign alcohol made from bugs, and despair?  As a note, The Mrs. felt the caption should have used gravy instead of sauce.  Which do you prefer, Depp Gravy™ or Depp Sauce©?

Instead of Stalin’s Daily Devotion® I decided to go back to what I’ve done for most of my life:  just be grateful for what I have.  Today, in this moment I have it pretty good.  I have enough money to not worry for the next ten minutes.  I have a loving family that will pretend to be happy to see me when I get home tonight.  I have friends that I can call up and share the innermost details of my life with, so they can make fun of me behind my back.  And I’m healthy, losing weight consistently, and don’t have an immediate departure date from planet Earth.  Plus?  I just bought a bitchin’ 6.5 Creedmoor that I need to sight in.

My life is good.  Because you have a computer and you’re reading this, you have it good, too.  In fact, chances are pretty strong that you’re part of the dreaded 1%.

Don’t think so?  Don’t argue with Wilder.

I got into a Twitter® slapfight about just this subject.  The thing I have since discovered is that winning an argument on Twitter© carries the same prestige as beating a kitten in a knife fight, so I have (mostly) given it up, which is nice for the kitten.  The kitten was getting pretty tired of it, even though it had it coming.  Sir Flappy Knobkins knows why.

catfight

Cats may be quick, but I have a secret weapon:  I’ve mastered Laser-Fu.

But in this particular Twitter© slapfight, a gentleman from England was complaining about “the evil 1%”.  My response to him was, “dude, you ARE the 1%.”  He then preceded to deny that he was part of the 1%, because they were evil and owned private islands.  I then pointed out the minimum income to crack the top 1%:

$32,400 per year.

Yup.  If you make $32,400 a year, you’re in the top 1%.  But that’s looking at the whole world.  I could tell by the pause that the gentleman I was arguing with looked it up.  Then he responded, “Well, not that 1%.  I meant the really rich people.”  His entire persona was built around the idea that he was oppressed and his Tweets® were filled with envy.  I bet he’s fun at parties.

So my suggestion is this:  get up every morning and don’t imagine those you love being slowly, lovingly, caressed by Joe Biden.  No.  Get up and be grateful.  I know for a fact that many of you reading this blog are multi-thousandaires, so you have a lot to be grateful for.  Gratitude feels better than envy or being depressed any day.  And if something really is wrong?  Remember it will pass.  Eventually life gets tired, and stops hitting the can on your head with a rock.

canhead

Don’t pick a rock that’s too big.

Think how good you’ll feel when he stops!

Risk, Vladimir Putin on a Cat, and Death by Playground

“I respect what you said, but remember that these men have lands and castles.  It’s much to risk.” – Braveheart

putinrisk

I would say I want a cat I can ride, I’d just settle for one that wears sunglasses and doesn’t buck me off after explosions.

When The Boy was tiny, he was afraid of slides.  Any slide.  Short ones.  Long ones.  Plastic ones.  Metal ones.  Forget tall ones.  I would stand at the bottom of the slide, waiting for him to slide down.  Often there was crying and yelling from behind a tear and snot-covered face.  And The Boy was even worse.  But there was no real reason for him to have any fear – I was there and the playground equipment met every Federal standard, even the regulations that made sure that the swings were safe for handicapable lesbian migratory waterfowl of size.

Playground equipment was more dangerous back before the dawn of recorded history, when I was in kindergarten.  At my school, our playground equipment included a merry-go-round that was missing part of the wooden deck (this is true).  The missing deck part was close to the center, and a kindergartener could stand in there, and could run and push the merry-go-round a LOT faster.  The downside was if any of us had fallen under the merry-go-round while pushing it up to speed?  At that point the merry-go-round would become a quite efficient kindergartner decapitation machine.  Thankfully, we had already gnawed all the lead and asbestos off of the handles so it was safer for the next batch of kids, and the headless zombies were already our mascot at good old Sleepy Hallow Elementary, so a decapitated kid would have been just displaying a very large degree of loyalty.

Don’t fault a kid for being true to his school.

merryg

Our school nurse was excellent at re-attaching spines.  Lots of practice.

We also played with, I kid you not, the dry ice they used for packing the food they shipped to the school.  The Lunch Ladies® tossed it on the ground behind the kitchen after they unpacked the peas that had DONE NO WRONG before they turned them into the most ghastly smelling split pea soup.  They had to stop making that soup after the United States© ratified the Geneva Convention™ against chemical weapons.

Anyway, we had dry ice.  Let me write that a bit more specifically:

WE WERE KINDERGARTNERS WITH LIMITED SUPERVISION IN POSSESSION OF DRY ICE!!!!!!!!!!!!

Naturally we competed to see who could hold the dry ice in our hands the longest.  Dry ice is frozen carbon dioxide, and has a temperature of -109.3 F (which really is -78.5 C).  The unsurprising answer to “How long can a kindergartner hold dry ice in their hand?” is: “Not very long.”

We did much better holding it against each other’s arms, I liked to hold it until the skin of my classmates turned white.  To a kindergartner, the pain of other people doesn’t exist, their brain isn’t developed enough for empathy.  Or maybe I was just a sociopath.  I will admit that I enjoyed it when the other kindergartners made funny noises.

Okay, I’m probably a sociopath.

Oh, and I forgot about the high jump pits.  We’d crawl between the top foam block and the bottom foam block and then the other kids would jump on the blocks.  When you have a dozen kindergartners on a foam high jump pit, it pretty effectively blocks out the light in the second layer.  As well as the air.  The last time I crawled between them I recall waking up with stars in my eyes after the bell rang and all of the other kids had gone inside.  Who says near suffocation can’t be a fond memory?

Playground equipment had evolved to the point when The Boy was a young Wildling™ the only way to actually hurt yourself on the equipment would be to take a hot glue gun and affix razor blades to the slide, and my restraining order prevents me from being near hot glue, so that’s right out.  A good slide designed in the last 20 years will be scary, but yet cozier than a mother’s womb.  Word is that a Federal Commission is looking to redesign wombs to meet current safety standards, including encasing the fetus in breathable bubble wrap and removing the word “mother” from association with the word “womb” because it’s something-ist (I lost my scorecard) to assume that only women can have wombs.

But returning to the original thought – it was hard to get The Boy to take risks as a kid – I remember how he cried the first time I made him rappel out of a helicopter.  What a baby!  You’d think that it was child abuse making a three year old do that!

rappelling

Isn’t fear the way to overcome fear?

I kid.  But The Boy really did plug a speaker directly into a power outlet.  That made a hell of a noise and tossed out some sparks.  And was far more dangerous than the plastic four-foot high slide at the park.  This led me to an observation about The Boy.  What he thought was safe, was risky.  What he thought was risky, was safe.

And it’s not just kids that judge risk poorly, adults can suck at it, too.  Pop Wilder got more afraid of ordinary things as he got older – for example, he became unwilling to even attempt to adjust anything electronic – so he left his lights on continually.  Again, I kid.  But if it was more complicated than an on/off switch?  Nope.  Not his thing.

He also cut off many life choices due to this fear.  When everyone with three HTML programmers and a business plan was scheduling Hall and Oates® to do a business kick-off concert and was an instant Internet millionaire back in 1999, Pop was complaining about how much his medicine cost.  I got online (via a 56k modem) and found that his prescriptions could be had for about 10% of what he was paying.  Just by changing to GonnaGoBrokeSoonRX.com, we could save him about $1000 a month.

A month.

He wouldn’t do it.  “Well, it might get warm.  One of these medicines needs to stay cold, and only my pharmacy has the Wee Cuckold Striptease Elves© that keep it at the right temperature.”  So he paid $1000 a month more than he needed to.  I guess he owed something to the Elves.  Stupid Elves.

casinorisk

It’s natural to not want to risk it all.  Unless you’ve been drinking.

As I’ve observed you humans my fellow humans for the past few decades, I’ve discovered that Risk is poorly understood.  Pop Wilder had fallen victim to what I’m now calling Wilder’s Rule of Risk:  What he thought was safe, was risky.  What he thought was risky, was safe.  He ended up outliving his savings due to decisions that prioritized “safety” over even minimal risks.  He built barriers to action over unreasonable and unlikely fears.

monaco

Eyepatches.  I’ve always wanted one, or a glass eye that has a snow-globe inside.  Sadly?  Two good eyes.

I read the above passages to The Mrs. and she (rightly) noted that the risks I’ve taken in my life have been measured.  I’ve never taken all of my money and put it all on red.  The career choices I’ve made have been (generally) ones that led to more money and more security – they’ve been bets of winning versus winning more.  And when the stock market goes down?  I lose very little of my net worth.  Yay!  But if the stock market doubles, my wealth doesn’t double.  I’m giving up some of the upside in return for the safe.

bondi

But did I mention there were really good benefits?

But what am I missing?  I’ve won enough with the bets I’ve made that I’m playing life with house money now.  The question is, what if I’d dreamt bigger?  What if the subs you had delivered were Wilder Johns©?  Or Buffalo Wilder Wings™?  Yeah.  I do have a list of great ideas that I’ve had but never acted on.  Primarily because I’ve followed a path that led to me being pretty comfortable.  But is that always really safe?  Probably not, especially when you look at the big picture, and I recognize that.

Oddly, we often don’t realize on a day-to-day basis that some things in life aren’t risks, they’re certainties:

  • You will Did that rip the Band-Aid© off?  Oh, wait, I forgot that you’re the immortal one.
  • Taxes will go up.
  • Freedoms will disappear. They might come back.  You might have something to do with that.
  • Your money will be worth less. Hopefully not worthless in your life.  But in the long run?
  • Systems you don’t expect to collapse, will. Like Medicare®, or Pringles©.  Imagine life without Pringlesâ„¢!
  • If I described the year 2049 to you in detail, it won’t be like you think, unless you can imagine life without noses. Noses are so 2022.

So, we’re all going to die!  Let’s give up.

Never!  But understand other certainties that may or may not happen in your lifetime.  They’re certain, but their timing isn’t:

  • The dollar will collapse.
  • We will run out of economically viable/thermodynamically viable oil. We’ll never run out of oil, what’s left will just be too hard or too expensive in dollar or energy terms to harvest.
  • Star Wars® movies might be good again.
  • Global Warming© won’t doom humanity. Not even close.  It might flood New York, but probably not in my lifetime, if ever.  Darn it.
  • An asteroid will hit George Clooney. A small one.  (Small asteroid, not a small George Clooney.)

Stein’s Law says:  If something can’t go on forever, it won’t.  Wilder’s Corollary:  But it might go on so long you can’t make a buck off of it failing.

cruise

Seriously, this may be from Risky Business®, but Tom’s still four foot three and nearly old enough for Social Security©.  Oh, and he drinks only vegan free range chicken juice.

Life is like Tom Cruise.  It’s short.  Life is also like having sex with a Kardashian.  Hairy and risky.  But you have a choice.  You can be afraid and live in fear.  You can also live gallantly, and die nobly.

We want to live with certainty.  We want to, especially when we’re young, and when we are old, avoid risk.  But we can’t.  The absence of risk is the absence of life.  The thrill of the first kiss, the thrill of winning when you’ve bet it all on red, those are life.  Life is struggle.  Life is fighting.  Life is also all about risk.

Step one of living gallantly and nobly?  Don’t be afraid of risks that aren’t real.

Step two?  Don’t spend too long in the high jump pit.

I.Q. and the Fate of Humanity: Interview with Dr. Edward Dutton, Part Two

“Joe and Rita had three children, the three smartest kids in the world.  Vice President Frito took 8 wives and had a total of 32 kids. 32 of the dumbest kids ever to walk the Earth.  So maybe Joe didn’t save mankind, but he got the ball rolling, and that’s pretty good for an average guy.” – Idiocracy

costcowild

It’s better than the “Girls Gone Wilder” picture featuring Kardashians.  They don’t shave nearly often enough.

Again, a single meme today . . . more on Wednesday!

Dr. Edward Dutton is the co-author of At Our Wits’ End, which I’ve reviewed in two previous posts here At Our Wits’ End Review Part The First:  Increasing Intelligence and Civilization and here At Our Wits’ End Review Part II: I.Q. and the Fate of Civilization (Hint, It’s Idiocracy).  Dr. Dutton was kind enough to allow me to interview him, and the first part of the interview can be found at I.Q. and the Fate of Humanity: Interview with Dr. Edward Dutton, Part One.  The final part of the interview can be found below, and I’ll admit that cutting the interview down from 9,000+ initial words to the two published pieces was difficult, as you can imagine some great comments from Dr. Dutton had to hit the cutting room floor.  That makes me sad, but I hope you enjoy the gems below.

I heartily recommend the book, and get no compensation if you buy it.

As before, any errors in the interview below are solely mine.

JW:  Is there an optimum I.Q. level?

ED:  Well that’s an interesting question.  We touch on that in the book.  The problem is that high I.Q. isn’t inherently good.  What’s good from an evolutionary perspective is to survive.  If you are putting energy into having a large brain and having a large I.Q. that’s energy you’re not putting into being aggressive and having big muscles.  In certain ecologies that’s better for you to do that, to have the big muscles and the aggressiveness.  You’re actually less likely to survive – intelligence doesn’t help you.  You’ll die.  Intelligence is not selected for.  Intelligent genes will pop up by random mutation and they just won’t get selected for.  What’s happening now clearly is that there’s a negative correlation of about 0.1 among women between I.Q. and how many children you have and so what that inherently means is that there must be an optimum I.Q., because above the optimum you’re not having children.  There’s something to do with the environment-gene interaction.  That means you don’t breed.

JW:  So essentially you’re less fit for the environment . . .

ED:  They’re less fit for this zoo that we live in.  Even if we were living in a zoo there’s some evidence that very high I.Q. is a bad thing.  It correlates with things that are inherently bad in some ways like autism, being easily overstimulated, allergies, and not being very instinctive and therefore not really wanting to breed.  And if you’re an outlier in I.Q. you have difficulty talking to most people and dealing with them because you find them so stupid and facile.

JW:  One of the things I’ve noted from the data is that “higher I.Q.” [that’s in quotes] professions you end up seeing occupations like judge and engineer. There seems to be a cap of around 130 I.Q. or a little bit above 130 I.Q.  You didn’t see so many of that greater than 130 fraction showing up as judges, attorneys, or engineers.  In fact they ended up working in much less “high I.Q.” jobs . . .

ED:  As the I.Q. gets higher, the positive manifold between the different components of the I.Q. battery becomes weaker and as a consequence of that at the very high level they have very, very high g, very high intelligence, you can be absolutely crap at things which only weakly correlate with intelligence like social skill.  And this then will of course preclude you from climbing up the social hierarchy.  This is, I suspect, why the correlation between income and I.Q. is only about 0.3, 0.4.  With education it’s about 0.5.

JW:  Looking at the fate of civilization is as we head into winter, what are your thoughts on timescale?  Is there a minimum societal I.Q. beyond which the center cannot hold?

ED:  That’s hard to say because it’s never happened before in a way that we can measure it.  If you look in the book, we’ve got those graphs where we compare the collapse of our society, and the difference with us is that we’ve got so much further because of industrialization and we’ve got past the contraception.   What we know is that in terms of our linguistic I.Q., we’re back at the level that we were in about 1600.  That’s where we come back to from a peak [vocabulary] in 1850.  Now we’re back to 1600.  The factors that make that an overly simplistic comparison is that first, the standard of living was much worse in 1600.  That’s going to make people more violent and more impulsive.  Secondly, we’ve gotten high in extraversion – we’ve been selecting for extroversion for a long time, which makes people adventurous and risk taking.  So, we’re not like 1600 in that way, but that was when we were last at this level of vocabulary.  There has to be some clever person you could get to do mathematical modeling of how this works, we could calculate what the boost is to our behavior patterns by the level of, say, low child mortality.  We can probably calculate that.  Then perhaps we could make an estimate, ideally better than guesswork, but I’m sure you could find somebody, maybe my colleague Emil Kierkegaard.  I imagine he might be able do something like that.  Once I.Q. starts to decline at the genetic level, which is definitely happening, then this sets off an environmental decline as well.  It’s a cascade effect, a snowball effect, because once I.Q. is declining then you can’t teach kids as well, the teachers are of low quality, the conditions are of low quality.  Then you have this environmental effect so you will push things down quite quickly.

JW:  When you talk about the Flynn Effect being having the potential to have arisen from environmental factors that means it could go away within a generation.

ED:  Well yes, if you think about what the Flynn Effect is underpinned by, this capital that we’ve built up is almost like a catapult.  I was in an interview once, and the interviewer used this metaphor:  it’s like a catapult that’s given us momentum and once we run out of that that momentum means that we can just do these little micro interventions but there’ll come a point where that momentum will run out. And when that runs out then it will undo everything quite quickly because we simply won’t be able to do things that we used to be able to do in the past.  We can’t do Concord anymore or go to the Moon, but there’ll be other things we won’t be able to do, and so it’ll collapse quite fast. That’s why I suspect it’ll collapse into war quite fast.

JW:  Nothing can stop it because even if you have some sort of smart fraction left the vast majority of people have dropped so much.

ED:  Exactly. So it reminds me that this concept they talk about in global warming research of a global dimming.  They say that it’s pushing the temperature down.  It’s causing this effect which is which is actually keeping it less warm than it would be and that once that goes then the temperature will spike up very, very, quickly.  That’s the theory anyway.  There’s this idea that there’s this effect: all these micro innovations are creating this better environment where we can control more things which is masking the evidence that should be there of us getting stupider and stupider.  When that goes then the sudden stupidity will hit. If we were suddenly put in Darwinian conditions overnight, our inability to cope would be quite extraordinary in comparison to that of previous generations, even my grandparents’ generation, because we’re so totally protected from having to think.

JW:  When you look at altruism as a whole do you think that it might be the big enemy of intelligence?

ED:  It depends.  That’s quite a complex question because if we think about group selection then it was as a consequence of us having relatively high altruism and cooperativeness that we were able to develop farming.  And farming selected for intelligence, because it pushed out those that were too stupid to be able to farm, that had such short time horizons they couldn’t farm.  In a direct sense altruism was the friend of intelligence.  But then on another level you would argue well it’s altruism that’s stopping people from introducing eugenic policies, stopping people from getting rid of the welfare state which definitely promotes low I.Q. as my colleague Adam Perkins showed that there’s no question about that – it does cause people who are lower I.Q. to have more children, and stopping people from stopping low I.Q. immigration.  You could argue, perhaps, under Darwinian conditions maybe altruism is the friend of intelligence to some extent, because under Darwinian conditions we’re under group selection and the group that is internally altruistic although externally hostile will survive.  But once you get to non-Darwinian conditions then what tends to happen is that the levels of stress are so low that religiousness, which people become more religious when they’re stressed, the religiousness collapses and religiousness tends to promote ethnocentric attitudes that tends to promote focused altruism.  Your altruism is only focused on your own group and not to outsiders because they are the devil.  Once that collapses, then you have a generalized altruism and that would seem to be perhaps in an indirect sense the enemy of intelligence.  Actually, altruism does correlate with intelligence weakly.  People who are intelligent and who are altruistic because they are better able to reason through, not where you instinctively know how someone will feel that – that’s empathy, but they can reason through how someone else might think and they can solve social situations better.  Thus there’s a weak relationship between the between altruistic behavior and intelligence.

JW:  So for intelligence, perhaps an optimal level of altruism might resemble the Spartans then? [chuckles]  Entirely an in-group focus extraordinarily trusting of in-group, but even your own offspring are outgroup if they don’t meet your specifications.

ED:  Yes possibly. But the problem was with the Spartans was that it was taken to such an extreme and that they were almost like Nazi Germany. I mean they were they were so unfree that perhaps there wasn’t sufficient space for people to sit down and be creative.  Because part of being a genius and coming up with an original idea is that you have a moderately antisocial personality combined with very high I.Q. in an environment where it’s awfully conformist like that and those people perhaps didn’t cope well. So that there’s an optimum there as well. I’ve got a book that’s just come out called Churchill’s Headmaster:  The Sadist Who Nearly Saved the British Empire and it does what it says on the tin.  It’s about Churchill’s prep school headmaster.  Anyone that knows anything about Churchill knows that his prep school headmaster was this evil sadist and I show that he’s not.  He’s actually a jolly nice chap and it’s Churchill that’s the evil sadist.  If Churchill had had more time with this headmaster then maybe he would have been molded into more of a gentleman.  Now that system of public schools like Eton was deliberately and consciously modelled on Sparta.  Everybody knew that Sparta was the way forward.  Plato said that the upper class should never know their parents.  It wasn’t as bad as that.  But for nine months of the year that you wouldn’t see your parents.  There was a degree to which the Victorians got the balance right because look at the growth of the British Empire.  It got the balance right.  It made basically militarized the upper class but it was sufficiently open to nonconformists that geniuses could develop.  I wonder if Sparta was just too far, too conformist.

JW:  Versus some of the ideas that came out of Athens.

ED:  Perhaps those ideas were ideas that came along once Greece was in decline.  That’s what happens. The best idea, the original idea, all that critical thinking . . .  that comes along in the autumn [of a civilization-JW].  Same with Victorian England. Science and whatever. It’s in the autumn of civilization that these things tend to flourish.

JW:  You mentioned that as well with Islam and Rome, that the best ideas came in their autumn.

ED:  That’s when you’re engaged in critical thinking, but by the end of autumn you’re critiquing everything and you take it too far and you destroy everything, including the things that hold society together like militarism and religion and . . . just everything.  Nothing is sacred.  When that happens then there will be people for whom things still are sacred.  We see this now with the Muslims who are more ethnocentric, more motivated.  So the desert tribesmen creates the city and it becomes decadent and the new desert tribesmen invades.  This is the problem we have.  I look at this in my new books Race Differences in Ethnocentrism and The Silent Rape Epidemic: How the Finns Were Groomed to Love Their Abusers.

The only problem is I’m afraid I can’t think of a solution, neither myself nor my colleague Michael Woodley of Menie can think of an adequate solution to the problem of declining intelligence and so we are kind of resigned to this idea that it’s that there is an inevitable cycle.  It’s in the nature of things.  I was thinking that it could be something to do with human survival itself.  If we get too intelligent then we get too low in kind of basic instincts and violence and these kinds of things.

Therefore we can’t survive.  It’s like humanity somehow regulates itself, with the invention of contraception for example, such that intelligence never gets too high that humanity dies out.  You probably get this with other animals as well.  All of them are probably going to go in cycles. There are probably periods of time where frogs were more intelligent than frogs are now.  There was probably a period of time when frogs were less intelligent.  Not within a large range, for frogs.  I think it’s probably the same with humans.  Humans will go through these periods of high and low and ultimately the species survives.  That’s evolutionary perspective.  That’s the important thing.

Health, Wealth, and Chainsaw Hands

Captain Murphy:  Wait a minute, he gets eye beams, but I can’t get x-ray vision?

Sparks:  Okay, everybody gets x-ray vision.

Captain Murphy:  Yeah, and big chainsaw hands! – Sealab 2021

tats

Hail to the King, Baby.

Recently there was a fairly large windstorm across large parts of upper/lower Midwestia.  We live in a fairly calm region, but, it’s Midwestia – there are no mountains or even ambitious ant hills to slow down the wind once Global Warming® causes it to blow.  I am reliably informed that the entire Earth was sunny and 72°F (0.15°C) with no wind and gentle rainstorms before Global Warming©.

Despite all that, I also live on the slope of hill – which shelters us on the days the wind acts in ways entirely unapproved by several Congressional committees.  But this windstorm brought a very special wind.  One might call it a mighty wind.  Since it did damage all over Modern Mayberry, one might even call it a breaking wind.  Stupid Global Warming™.  I guess that they could even use it as a symbol of Global Warming®:  they could call it Breaking Wind©.

The Breaking Wind™ came at night, while I was asleep.  And make no mistake, I was really, really asleep, I’d been up late the night before, lovingly crafting these thrice-weekly missives for you out of Elven dreams and stud weasel chum, so I was exhausted.  The rest of the Wilder Family was up, doing whatever it is those people keep doing in my house which as far as I can see consists of making all that noise, leaving a trail of unidentified sharp plastic objects on the stairs, and a creating a continual kaleidoscope of weird smells.  What does a thirteen year old do, exactly, to make the hallway smell like bigfoot’s armpit after he ate a lot of asparagus, broccoli, and cabbage?

So, I was sleeping.  Soundly.  The Mrs. threw open the door to the room and turned the light on, which is how I like to be wakened at 1:15AM.

“You need to get up.  We just had a huge gust of Breaking Wind© hit the house and Pugsley says that there are trees down everywhere and possibly an attack of people from Ecuador.  It even pushed my stapler off the table.  The wind pushed the stapler, not the Ecuadorans.  I don’t think we need to worry about the Ecuadorans, they’re not even taking cover properly as they advance up the driveway.”  I may have mangled part of this, like I said, I was sleepy.

stapler

It’s that exact model, but the one that blew off the table is blue.  I’d work for a better joke, but I’m already up to my armpits in elven dreams and stud weasel chum.

The Mrs. had one window open on the windward side of the house, a two foot by three foot (16 meter by 27 liter) sized window.  Not very big.  But the gust had blown leaves and debris into the screen on the windows.  Not on to the screen – the leaves and other biological material had been embedded into the screen like rap fans attempting to leave a polka shindig.

I knew with winds that severe, it might be dangerous outside.  Very dangerous – heck, there could be branches even now getting ready to tumble out of the sky like a camera-seeking-Kardashian missile.  So dangerous.  Then I realized the best way to brave the wind, rain, and hazards of falling hairy women outside.

I’d send Pugsley.

He’s younger than The Boy, and we have less time invested in raising him at this point, so he’s the most expendable.

“Go check it out.  Take some pictures.”

I kid. It was just wet and I was in my footed Yoda® pajamas.

yodajoke

The only appropriate use of Yoda© themed apparel.

Okay, I don’t really have footed Yoda© pajamas, but I still had a fantasy of being able to get back to sleep, and being soaking wet at 1AM would lower the odds that would happen.  I mean, under those conditions, sometimes it takes me minutes to get back to sleep.  Minutes!

Pugsley came back inside, thankfully Kardashian-free.  “A tree hit the house!”  I walked outside into the torrential downpour.  Nothing of the sort had happened.  A tree fell, but it missed the house.  So much for my housecat-like fantasy of not getting wet.

The next morning, we surveyed the property around the house.  Only one entire tree was down, but there were huge branches that had been ripped off several other trees, including a big branch off the apple tree in the front yard that nearly blocked the driveway.  Nearly.

The Mrs. was not enchanted with my “just wait a few years and they’ll rot away” strategy.  The Mrs. is not in favor of nature’s way, and I bet The Mrs. even doubts Global Warming®, even after having firsthand evidence of the Breaking Wind™.  The bright side?  I had a good excuse to buy a chainsaw.

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You get more attention with a kind word and a chainsaw than with just a kind word.  Frankly, all you need is the chainsaw in that situation.

I had owned two chainsaws when we lived in Alaska, but I hadn’t cranked them since Bush 2 was in office, and they were “somewhere” in the garage.  Why two chainsaws?  Two is one, and one is none.  The last thing you want is to be 35 miles from home in the middle of getting firewood and have to stop because you have a broken chainsaw or if you need to have a duel with a grizzly bear.  It wouldn’t be sporting to not have two for a duel.  Also:  best way ever to die – having a chainsaw duel with a grizzly – not that I’m planning anything, but that’s really something for a tombstone . . . here lies John Wilder – Died in A Chainsaw Duel with a Grizzly.  My pallbearers would grow immediate beards from the testosterone oozing from my coffin.

I realize the frugal thing would be to spend the three hours required to get my two old chainsaws back up to speed, after spending the six hours to find them, but I was out of frugal.  Thankfully, Wal-Mart sells chainsaws.  Also, thankfully, I also had a good reason to buy one.  Since my chainsaw work would be around my home and there were no grizzly bears here, I could just go inside and get some iced tea if the saw went south.

Guilty admission:  I like running a chainsaw nearly as much as I like shooting.

When we lived in Alaska, we heated our home exclusively with firewood, getting massive amounts of firewood each summer.  But it’s been a lot of years and a lot of carbs since we lived in Alaska.  But I figured that Pop Wilder ran a chainsaw until late in his life, much to the consternation of the people running the nursing home.  If he did it, I certainly wasn’t too old.

chainsawfacebook

And his Instagram® is made from real grandmas.

But with my brand-spanking-new chainsaw I discovered that in three hours, I can cut more branches and trees than my two boys could move to the burn pile in eight.  And when you have a chainsaw in your hand, everything looks like a branch or tree that needs to be cut and added to the burn pile.  That may explain why the cat was scarce.

Oh, and in Modern Mayberry, whenever I want to burn my burn pile?

No permits?  No permission?  No problem.

It’s a thing we call freedom, baby.

But I come by my love of chainsaws, firewood, and the forest honestly.  Pop Wilder also heated his exclusively with firewood when I was growing up.  Cord after cord after cord of wood.  Pop was prepared, and needed to be:  the winters were often -40°F (-273.15°C) for an extended time.  So every summer weekend when Pop wasn’t working at the bank, it was off to the forest to make the forest a little less susceptible to forest fires.

I was the youngest, so I wasn’t allowed to run the chainsaw – they seemed to like the idea of me having two hands.  Pop Wilder and my brother, John Wilder (Yes, we have the same first name, for reals in real life.  My parents forgot about him once I was born and saw my magnificence and accidently named me John, too.) ran the saws.  They told me I had the easy job.  I got to pick the wood off of the ground, put it on the tailgate.  Once there was enough wood on the tailgate to stack in the truck bed, I’d hop up there and stack the wood in the truck in rows.  Then I’d hop back down and repeat the process until the truck was full.

firewood

The Boy with the firewood we got in one weekend when we lived in Alaska.  It was a busy weekend.

Once we got home, Pop and my brother would go into the house to shower up and get some cold drinks.  Me?  I got to unload the truck, sweep out the truck bed, and finally go in to see my freshly washed father and brother having a snack and some cold lemonade.  Some weekends we’d get four loads of wood.

We were a fun family at parties.  Firewood?  Well, there’s split firewood.  Blocked firewood.  Kindling firewood.  Stacked firewood.  Piled firewood.  Fireplace firewood.  Stove firewood.  Burning firewood.  Firewood ashes.  Aspen firewood.  Pine firewood.  Birch firewood.

And that’s all we know about firewood.

But one thing was certain – cutting, loading, splitting, and stacking firewood is great summer exercise.  It’s not bad exercise in the winter, either, bringing the wood in from the piles to the house.  In Alaska, not only was it great exercise, we figured it saved us about $1000 a month in fuel oil – in January it was regularly -55°F (-7,000,000.15°C), and if the house was 65°F (4.15°C) inside, there was a 120°F temperature difference between outside and inside.  And we were living in a log cabin.  Holy Dehumidifiers, Batman!  We kept a pot of water boiling on the wood stove continually.

I was in great shape then.  Now?  I’m 14 years older, and I’ll admit even though I now had The Boy and Pugsley hauling the blocks of wood and branches, I was more than a little sore the next day.  That was okay, because when I got finished with the all the hard chainsawing work?  I was soaking my sore muscles in the hot tub while Pugsley and The Boy worked on hauling wood to the burn pile.  From time to time I made encouraging noises.  I’m sure that they appreciated that.  Thankfully they were on hand to get me some cold beverages.

I mean, the hot tub is sweaty work, right?

No staplers were injured in the creation of this post.

staplerpet