Category: Happiness

Penultimate Day: The View From 2021

“Well, I simply observed, sir, that I’m felicitous since during the course of the penultimate solar sojourn, I terminated my uninterrupted categorization of the vocabulary of our post-Norman tongue.” – Blackadder The Third

I invented a time machine so I can view the Resurrection on TV – it’s amazing resolution: ADHD.

Penultimate Day.

This is the only unique Wilder Holiday that I know of. New Year’s Eve? That’s for tourists. It happens every year. It’s the last day of the year. But what about the next-to-last day of the year?

That’s Penultimate Day.

Penultimate Day started as a lark, maybe a decade ago.

The Mrs. decided that she didn’t like her Blackberry™ phone, and wanted to shop for a new phone. We did. The deals were all bad, so we didn’t buy a new phone. What then? We’d driven nearly 100 miles (the closest place to Modern Mayberry that sold phones then) and decided to . . . eat Italian food.

Driving 100 miles home, we made jokes about it, and Christened the day, Penultimate Day. The three tenets:

  1. Shop for a new cell phone (at Best Buy® is best),
  2. Don’t buy a new cell phone (you can decide to not purchase a cell phone nearly anywhere),
  3. Eat Italian food, namely at Olive Garden® (it’s close to Best Buy™). Since, when “You’re Here, You’re Family™” is their motto, I still wonder why they look weird at me when I take off my shoes and put on pajamas to eat with my shirt off.

Where did I go after eating all of those breadsticks? The hospitialiano.

Ta-da! You can celebrate, too! Well, at least you can celebrate next year, since my math shows that December 30, 2021, has (thankfully) perished from the annals of history.

Last year was lame. We were in the midst of (yet another) ‘Rona lockdown – 40 weeks to stop the spread, or something, so we stayed home. This year, though, it was time for a full and hearty observance of Penultimate Day. I arrived from home, ready to not purchase a cell phone.

Sadly, only Pugsley was ready to go. The Mrs. and The Boy claimed that they were deep in the clutches of some evil virus. Since Pugsley was patient zero, and I was in the midst of recovery, well, we let the weak decide the day. Here’s our scorecard:

  1. We didn’t shop for a new cell phone.
  2. We didn’t buy a new cell phone. Win!
  3. We ate Italian food. Win!

We ate Italian food because I made (with assistance) chicken Alfredo for dinner. Since everyone else old enough to drink was sick, it was up to me to drink the wine. I threw myself on that grenade for the family.

I had a real problem when I used a collie for gathering my sheep. I had 48, but he always brought back 50. He was bad about rounding up.

I’m a giver that way.

But what happened this year?

  1. Everybody was sick. Last year? Everywhere was closed. As simple as our task was, we failed it twice in a row.
  2. When we sent Pugsley to buy food for dinner, he reported that one supermarket was entirely out of pasta. Pasta is, well, one of the easiest things to make and distribute. Why is a national grocery store chain out of pasta?
  3. They had chicken. I cooked that, and The Mrs. pronounced it “dry.” She wasn’t being mean – she was being honest. Dry chicken isn’t due to a lack of moisture – dry chicken is due to a lack of fat. My bad. More butter next time. I thought that putting a stick under each of my armpits was enough. I’ll add more in 2022, though I’m unsure of which crevices to put it in.
  4. Pugsley said they were out of Alfredo sauce. Since that’s easier to make than adding water to ice, I gave him the ingredients to make it from scratch. Oops! They had Alfredo sauce. Just the wrong aisle.

The most disturbing thing Pugsley said was this: “It’s weird. It was like there was nothing in the store. Most of the shelves were bare.” Since The Mrs. had just complained, “Why do you tell them to buy more things, our pantry is so full we can hardly buy anything at all,” I smiled. When she said, “And you’ve infected them. When I ask them to buy one, of anything, they buy three.”

I smiled so hard my face ached.

Being a skeleton is nice – nothing gets under his skin.

I will probably go to the store in the next few days. That will be the first time in months. Not because of the ‘Rona, mind you, but because I really hate going to the store because there are people there. I’ll give a look to see what is missing, or what has gone up in price.

But it’s been two years since we’ve properly celebrated Penultimate Day. Before The Boy graduates from college, we have only one more. I’m not thinking that he’ll often decide to come home so we can travel and not purchase cell phones and then eat Italian food. So, we have just one more year where it’s the four of us.

The only hobbit I met was a jerk, a real douchebaggins.

This is the last post I’ll make this year, and even in the 10 years that we’ve been celebrating Penultimate Day I’ve seen very big differences to our lives – Penultimate Day used to be a lark, but now it’s a time to look back. In the failure of this Penultimate Day, I’m wondering – what does it mean? How have we as a nation changed in the last decade? Do we even still like Italian food?

  • Our nation has split apart farther than I ever thought it could go. There is rarely anything either side can agree on, except that they find the other side awful poopy heads.
  • The economy is even more poised for collapse. As it is, I think we’re riding a razor’s edge, where on either side is a collapse in prosperity that will last generations.
  • Alec Baldwin has finally made good on his promise to kill again.
  • The punchline to a joke since at least 1988 (really, look it up) inhabits the Oval Office despite a (legitimate) doubt that he was elected legally. The Left responds as they always do – by doubling down and declaring him the “most” legitimate President in our history.
  • We went from energy dependent to energy independent to energy dependent (and in crisis) in four years.
  • As far as I can tell, yes, everyone still likes Italian food.

We face a very unique crisis – one of cohesion, one of leadership, one of economic collapse. All at the same time. What will happen?

When I was a little kid, my dad made pasta when I was scared – to show me there was nothing to be Alfredo.

Who can know. All I know is that the Alfredo was pretty good tonight. And each day that my family spends together is special, and I cherish each one of those days. I have right now, so I will enjoy it.

As Marcus Aurelius said: “The more we value things outside our control, the less control we have.”

Today I’ll focus and value those things I can control. And when I look at that? Penultimate Day 2021 wasn’t so bad after all. Happy New Year to all.

Christmas – It’s Not About The Money

“It’s not the money, it’s just all the stuff.” – The Jerk

What do Musk and Edison have in common? They both got rich off of Tesla.

Wednesday is normally a day where we talk about wealth, economics, money, currency, and the state of the economy. But, it’s nearly Christmas, so I thought I’d take this time to give a different take on wealth. And no, it’s not Joe Biden appearing in a Marvel® movie where his superpower is to make vast amounts of wealth disappear, because he can do that on, oh, every Tuesday.

Don’t get me wrong. I love prices. Prices are a great way to allocate things in such a way that the most people win. I have my pile of cash and get to buy (within that limit) the things that make me the most happy. Does everyone want a really cool sports car? No, some people don’t want them at all.

Personally, I’d love to have a cool sports car, but I’d much rather not have a mortgage. So, I make choices. And then cry silently in my pillow at night because I’m dead inside because I decided I didn’t get that Mustang®.

Othello always would visit Sauron through the Moor Door.

Regardless, choices mean that I’m in control. I mean, if I chose to study theology and then move to Colorado after I graduated? My choices mean I could become a high priest. I am free to choose and try to optimize my life based on my resources, talents, and luck.

Combine that with a system of (more or less) private property, and the system allows for the sum of millions of individual actions as people try to maximize their happiness. This provides incentives to work to buy steak. Or starve. But owning property provides incentives to create wealth. So, in striving to get enough money to buy a Lambo® and a vapid trophy wife in a functional economy, a businessman works to create the most joy for his customers.

Boom. People who have never met, and will never meet, work together to create a complex economy. This economy translates information based on prices, and is fueled by incentives, and private property.

And yet . . .

What’s the fastest thing in the universe? Nic Cage accepting a movie role.

As much as I love this system, I have to mention again, this system exists to serve men. It does not exist for men to serve it. There is a richer experience of life than only the pursuit of profit.

Also, this system is one that optimizes without regard to morality or virtue. On more than one occasion I have heard a Wall Street billionaire exclaim, “this isn’t Boy (or Boy-Girl, or Trans, in 2021, I guess) Scouts®.”

That was a direct rejection of morality and virtue.

The result of that type of thinking?

If it’s legal and can pull money out of someone’s pocket, Wall Street will do it. If heroin were legal for sale, Wall Street would be looking to invest in the e-Heroin® mobile App. They’d sell underage . . . well, you get the picture. Heck, Wall Street would sell ghosts as supernatural slaves if they thought it wouldn’t come back to haunt them.

When money is their god, they will do anything to get it. Wall Street will do anything legal. The black market, we know, will do anything illegal, as long as they get paid. Wall Street and the black market have essentially the same morals. And, like Satan, Wall Street just has better lawyers and lobbyists.

If there is a fault in the system, that is it.

I hear Charlie Brown was suspended from school. Some kid was allergic to Peanuts™.

And Christmas is one of the best times to point that out. Christmas is a holiday that has been morphed over time into one that, if we were to go by commercials alone, was based only on the mass consumption of stuff.

I won’t go into the deep history of Christmas. It’s long and more complicated than the math that Nancy Pelosi uses to charge her vodka back to taxpayers. But the short version is that the Winter Solstice was a great place to put a festival if you were going to convince the Germans and the Vikings that this new Christianity thing would work out okay for them. To make it work, Christmas had to be a party.

And it was. And it is. Over time, though, the party aspect of Christmas changed to a focus on family and generosity, which seems to be well matched to the holiday’s stated purpose. The meaning of Christmas then, is giving, not getting.

Certainly, there’s a certain magic in the eyes of a young child being surprised when the gifts under the tree far exceed anything she could imagine. The delight in a boy’s eyes when he sees the BB gun that will probably shoot his eye out?

Priceless.

I pitched a movie to Alec. He shot it down.

That’s the magic of the giving. The Mrs. and I, however, are old enough that we like the peace and family aspect of Christmas far more than the “stuff” aspect. I’ve given her the same gift for Christmas for the last five years (hint: it’s expensive scotch). She enjoys it. The Mrs. generally gets me something small. I like the keychain fob that she got me a year ago, “Be careful, handsome, I love you” better than something large, or an expensive scotch I won’t drink because it’s too expensive.

This year, The Boy and Pugsley have also (I think!) surpassed the greed aspect of Christmas. It’s not so much about the gifts they get. Heck, it’s not so much about the gifts they give, either. It’s about waking up on Christmas Eve, getting together and sharing the few gifts we have for each other, having a nice dinner, and then . . . relaxing together.

Together. And for me, that’s the biggest gift.

It’s that spirit that makes me look forward to Christmas. We’ve long been a “Christmas Eve” gift giving family, because it defuses the emotions associated with gift giving and leads to a very quiet and family-based Christmas Day. Plus no one wants to get up early if the presents are all already opened.

That’s the opposite, really, of the advertising that pelts us on a regular basis. The ads are all based on more and bigger. Time to give your loved one a $75,473 car with a big red bow, because nothing says love more than massive consumption.

Die Hard is not a Christmas movie. It’s a Christmas Eve movie.

Just like in most of our lives, we have choices. We can live the choice and have the Christmas that the media wants to sell us which is a holiday based almost entirely on creating the most economic activity possible.

Or? We can enjoy our family, and choose to place emphasis on giving, and choose to understand that the Nativity itself was the greatest gift that could be given. Even if you aren’t a Christian, understanding the promise of redemption in that gift of a child to mankind is one of supreme optimism.

That optimism is based firmly not in economics, since it promises exactly zero economic prosperity. No, this gift is not money – it was a gift based on virtue and morality.

I love prices, and incentives, and the creation of wealth. But there are things that are more important than money. You know, things like all the stuff . . . .

Dead Romans Agree: Don’t Let The Small Stuff Bother You

“Happy premise number three:  even though I feel like I might ignite, I probably won’t.” – Bowfinger

I hear that Marcus’ wife was a perfect X.

Mike, the proprietor over at Cold Fury (LINK), is going through a very difficult time.  Big Country has set up a gofundme for him here (LINK).  Much more information at the gofundme site.

Now to the post . . .

I woke up this morning just irritated.  No particular reason.  In all fairness, it was entirely an internal feeling, and I imagine most people never noticed.  I was nice and polite to nearly everyone I interacted with.  And why not?  None of them were my ex-wife.

I wasn’t irritated with them, I was just irritated.  There were no issues.  I wasn’t in pain.  No one around me was in particular trouble.  Thankfully I’m not an electrician – people might dislike me not being positive at work.

As I thought about it, what was irritating me?  I couldn’t quite put a finger on it.  There was no rational reason at all.  During a conversation tonight, though, I had a reason to quote Marcus Aurelius:

“If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself, but to your estimate of it; and this you have the power to revoke at any moment.”

Not mine, but I couldn’t resist.

Sure, Marcus Aurelius’ kid was an utter tool, but when you become Caesar at 18, well, it might tend to go to your head – think of Commodus as Miley Cyrus, 180 A.D.  Back to Marcus, though.  Marcus genuinely did his best for the Roman Empire.  As near as I can tell, Marcus was a pretty good leader.

And that little quote above wasn’t written for you and me.  It was written for Marcus, by Marcus.  He was reminding himself that the external things in the world had only the power he gave them.  He was giving himself a pep talk.

Marcus Aurelius was right.  In the conversation I was having tonight, the person was very upset (most of you don’t know the person, though specific readers in California and Indiana do – hi guys!).  The reason she was upset?  Nothing rational at all.  So I quoted a dead Roman emperor.

Who says that Stoics aren’t compassionate?

Did it help?  I don’t know.  I’m beginning to see a pattern where crying people don’t stop crying when I quote dead Roman emperors.  I’m beginning to see why the kids call The Mrs. when they want actual human sympathy.

My irritation (I think) came from the same place.  Nowhere.  I felt fine (except for my right knee which is much better now) and the day generally went fairly well.  I realized that the advice I gave was meant just as much for me as for the person I was talking to.  I was just being irritated because I let myself be irritated.

Once I was done and realized I didn’t have to be irritated?

My hands disappeared today, but I can’t really point my finger at what caused it.

My irritation disappeared.  I know that the way I feel is (generally) my choice.  I can choose how I feel:  salty, Wednesday, or even drunk.  The only reason that I’m not happy every morning is if I choose not to be happy on some particular morning.

Are there actual reasons why I might have different feelings?  Sure.  If I had mental problems (other than an unseemly affection for awful jokes and a desire to consciously be able to make my fingernails grow absurdly fast) that might be a reason to have a feeling other than what I choose.

Don’t know.  I do know that there are people with actual mental problems.  There’s proof:  some people actually voted for Biden.  But, going back to Marcus, that’s not external.  Being sick or goofy enough to vote for Biden isn’t external.

Marcus Aurelius might have voted for Biden – Marcus is dead, after all.

Physical pain also is an internal source that can destroy moods.  I once (for a few months) had sciatica.  I was irritable enough every morning to chew nails and spit bullets.  Then I discovered that I could work out for a few hours on an elliptical trainer to make the pain go away.  A week later?

I was fine.  My irritation vanished along with my sciatica, never (hopefully) to return.

That was nearly 15 years ago.  Sure, I’ve felt pain since then, but most of it was the good pain from a hard workout.  Heck, most days the worst thing that happened was the crisp morning breeze running through my back hair.

My mood depends on me.  My attitude depends on me.

Does that mean that I can’t see the actual situation we’re in?  Of course not.  I see a nation tearing itself apart.  It’s worse:  it’s not just a nation, Western Civilization seems to be happily thrashing about as it marches down a path to extinction.

Is that good?

Of course not.

Does it mean that I should walk around every day being sad?

Of course not.  I am doing, I assure you, everything I can think of to stave off that darkness.  I mean, those memes won’t make themselves.

Never buy a sculpture of Bonnie Tyler.  Every now and then it falls apart.

And I am doing it cheerfully.  I laugh every day.  I smile because I know that most of the things that I worry about can have no power over me unless I give them that power.

Make your choices, and understand that while you might wake up irritated – it’s your choice if you wish to stay in that mood for a minute or an hour.

Me?  I like being happy, so I choose that, even in moments where it might not be appropriate.  I might even need to stop high-fiving people at funerals.

So, I got started late typing this after a day I chose to just be irritated.  And, I’m going to choose to end now.

With a smile on my face.  Go and have a great day.  Most of the time, having a great day is just a choice.

Choose wisely.

Black Friday: 2021

“Oh, and remember, next Friday is Hawaiian shirt day. So, you know, if you want to, go ahead and wear a Hawaiian shirt and jeans.” – Idiocracy

When I was a kid, I thought, “This little piggy went to market,” meant the pig went shopping.  He did not.

Thanksgiving is over, sadly.  We had a great one here.  We had eight for dinner, and five under the roof when nightfall hit.  Of course, Stately Wilder Mansion has room for more, but this was a good number.  After dinner, we played games and enjoyed being with each other until things got rough – I was put in jail and nearly stabbed while I was in there.  The family takes Monopoly® pretty seriously.

Other than that, it was a peaceful night.  That is why I love Thanksgiving.  It’s a space where (around Modern Mayberry) only one store was open today, and that store was only open for a few hours.  Not that it mattered – we had everything required for dinner.  I thought we were low on cream, so I sent Pugsley to the store on Wednesday.  He brought home nonfat half-and-half.

At least he tried.  Nonfat half-and-half?  That’s like PEZ®-free PEZ™.

Thankfully, The Mrs. already had cream, and we had plenty for the mashed potatoes.

But now it’s time for the Friday after Thanksgiving:  Black Friday.

My activities in Black Friday in recent years have mainly been related to not leaving the house.  I really love spending time with my family, but spending time with strangers standing in line to buy things I don’t really need?

What’s the best place to find a man who has no arms and no legs?  Where you left him.

That’s not my idea of fun.  I don’t like shopping, even for shrubs – plant shopping always leaves me bushed.

Don’t get me wrong – I don’t look down on people looking to get a bargain on Black Friday.  I’ve been fortunate enough in the last two decades of my life that the main shortage in my life isn’t money, it’s time.  For those that are experiencing an acute lack of money, well, I can sympathize.  To be a few dollars short is tough.  Marrying my first wife was like winning the lottery:  five years later I was broke.

I’ve been there.

At one time in my life, I was running at the ragged edge.  Every dollar that came into my life had a home – it was already spent.  That was okay, but it limited my choices.  One time I was needing to pay dues to play rugby with the local club, but I was raising two children with help only from my friends.  The dues were $75.  I didn’t have a spare $75.

So, I had decided I couldn’t play.  The next day?   A check for $200 showed up (that I had no idea was even owed to me) in the mail.  Huh.

I guess I could play (prop), after all.

Why are Jedi® so bad at rugby?  Because there is no try.

Regardless I’ve known a life where a spare $20 made the difference in a month.  This helps me to understand those that stand in line for deals at Black Friday without looking down on them.  Those people are looking to do the best that they can for their family – they’re trading their time to make the lives of their family better, just as everyone who has a job and sells 40 or 60 hours of their life every week does.

The part of Black Friday that has always bothered me, though, isn’t the searching for bargains.  The part of Black Friday that bothers me is the willingness of people to abandon rules of civil behavior so they can get $10 off on a toaster that they’ll use once in the next year.

Oh, sure, I love toast enough to keep mine in a cage – then I can say it is bread in captivity.  But I don’t love toast enough to engage in wanton violence for cheap consumer goods.  I have standards.  It would have to at least be moderately priced consumer goods for me to riot for them.

The violence, though, are a signal that the cohesion that made society function so well during most of my life is breaking down.  I already know that economy is broken.  I think that here, in 2021, the economy is broken more than at any time in my life.  That’s the good news.

I got one federal stimulus check on Saint Patrick’s Day.  Must be the luck of the IRS.

Why is that good news?  Even though it will undoubtedly be difficult and tough, the way forward always brings with it the promise of a new rebirth.  This rebirth isn’t unprecedented – at more than one time in history have the eternal guideposts of truth, beauty, and virtue faded.

But they keep coming back.  Truth may become dim under the tyranny of oppressors, but the fact that it is being oppressed doesn’t make it any less True.  Again, I believe in absolute Truth.  I didn’t say that I had it, but I know it exists.  One plus one is two – it is never any other number.  If you start at the physical, very quickly there are many examples that prove that Truth isn’t relative.

Likewise, beauty.  We know what it is, because we see it.  The curve and texture and color of a rose petal is elegant.  It is something that is beautiful.  You can, no doubt, come up with many similar examples.  Beauty, though difficult to quantify, is nearly always something that people can agree on.

And virtue?  For thousands of years we have known what virtue is.  It shows itself in the action and grace of those that walk with it.

TOAST

I keep the toaster on the lowest setting.  I am black toast intolerant.

I have spent paragraphs and posts talking about truth, beauty, and virtue.  Why?  Because truth, beauty and virtue matter.  They are timeless and ageless.  They will endure.

Humanity cannot be long isolated from them.  We keep finding them, again and again, not because we are clever, but because they are eternal concepts.

Happy Thanksgiving 2021, Wilder Style

“Two men are dead! This is not the time for petty sibling squabbles. That’s what Thanksgiving is for.” – Psych

Isn’t it odd the only people who tried to tell you how many people it’s appropriate to have for Thanksgiving dinner are the Centers for Disease Control and Jeffery Dahmer?

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.

I would say that it has always been my favorite holiday, but that’s not really so.  When I was younger, say between toddler and 12, Christmas was.  The reason that Christmas was so important was, well, the stuff.  The movie A Christmas Story says it all.

But as I grew older, Thanksgiving kept growing in importance.  In part, it grew in importance because it didn’t have the gifts.  It had all of the proper things that, in my mind, a good holiday should have:

  • Time away from the cares of the day,
  • Time focused on being grateful,
  • Free from stress, and,
  • Cold.

The stress of Christmas was from the commercial aspects.  Would I get that thing I wanted?  The gifts overshadowed the holiday.  Of course, each year the presents got less and less important, and the time with loved ones became more important.  That’s when Thanksgiving started to win.

This year is the 400th anniversary of Thanksgiving.  The first one was held (according to a letter) in 1621.  It wasn’t held at this time of year, rather, sometime near the end of harvest.  The Pilgrims knew that they were going to make it.

April showers, bring . . .

It wasn’t always so clear.  The original deal that they drew up was socialist.  Everybody worked, and everybody shared equally.  That worked as well as it ever has.  Nobody worked, so nobody shared anything, except starvation.  That was 1620.

Starvation is a tough teacher.

The Pilgrims then came to the good and sensible decision that if you grow it, you own it.  The result?

So much food that they wanted to have a party – a party that lasted three days.  And history teaches us that the Pilgrims weren’t teetotalers.  But this harvest festival was sheer joy:  giving thanks for the good sense to give up socialism and allow people individual freedom.  There’s a big lesson here, yet we keep trying to repeat the same evils that impoverish men.

Oh well.

The holiday being a direct repudiation of the philosophy that’s killed more people than any other philosophy, well, that’s not the main reason I love the holiday.  It’s just whipped cream on the pumpkin pie.

It’s so cold this Thanksgiving I saw a socialist with his hands in his own pockets.

The cold plays into why I love the holiday as well.  The work of planting is done.  The work of growing is done.  The work of the harvest is done.  Now is the time to sit, rest, and be thankful.  The harvest was good.  The food will last us through the winter and spring until the next crops can be grown from a renewed Earth.

It’s that stillness, that preparation.  The great woodpile set and prepared against the winter’s cold.  The food stocks set against the winter’s hunger.  Now is a time of peace.

And that resonates through 400 years.

The life of a man, when faced with 400 years, is but an instant.  But the peace of a single Thanksgiving can seem as an eternity.  The moments created when family gathers together to celebrate is nearly magical.  Overcooked turkey or gravy as lumpy as the Hunter Biden’s thighs?  Not a problem.

We are here to give thanks.

I’m pretty sober, but even prettier when I’m not.

A drunken uncle who wants to need Mom about something that happened when they were six?  Not a problem.  Your team doesn’t win the football game?  Not a problem.

We are here to give thanks.

Of course, at this point, the question is, to give thanks to who?  Well, in our folks, the dinner will start out with us giving a prayer.  That is, over those 400 years, the most common way the feast was held.

Giving thanks is part of being human, whether you are religious or not.  Being thankful is a way to be healthier.  The mere attitude of being thankful changes the way that people think.  It moves them from a spirit of greed for what they don’t have, to a spirit of gratitude, for what they do have.

French tanks have rearview mirrors, mainly so they can see the battlefield.

Studies have proven that being happy about the things you have is about a zillion percent better for your health than being unhappy about things you don’t have.

Duh.  This is the equivalent of psychology professors stealing money to do a study, because nothing in the history of humanity has been more obvious since, well, ever.  Yet, they studied this.  You could look it up, but, why?

You already know that it’s true.  To quote it again:

We are here to give thanks.  Not complain.  Not be upset about any of the day-to-day things that always go wrong.  Thanks.

I seemed to figure that out a little each year as I grew older. When I was six, it was all about the stuff.  I remember ripping through the wrapping paper like a velociraptor in a room full of Leftists who had been raised on soy since birth.  Some of the bits probably reached orbit.

As I got older, the greed waned, and the importance of Thanksgiving increased.    Last year when I cooked the turkey upside down?  I don’t think anyone but me noticed.  But we were together as a family on the 399th Thanksgiving.  Together, in a house filled with the smells of turkey and pumpkin pie and a family that loves each other.

The most frustrated ghost in the world?  The one that tried to haunt Helen Keller.

The things that I am thankful for are so numerous I couldn’t list them if I kept writing for the next eight hours.  I’d put my list down, but I’m going to (as my textbooks always said) leave this as an exercise for the reader.  It’s not what I’m thankful for, it’s what you are thankful for that will help you.

Even in the deepest depths of difficulties, there is a time and a place to stop.  And give thanks.

Every minute I think about those things I give thanks for, I feel better.  And the crazy thing I’ve learned?  I don’t even need a turkey and mashed potatoes to do it.  But the gravy?  I’m especially thankful for my annual gravy bath.  What would Thanksgiving be without it?

Happy Thanksgiving.

Demoralization? No. Remoralization.

“Hold them back! Do not give in to fear! Stand to your posts! Fight!” – LOTR, Return of the King

Chuck Norris threw a boomerang.  It’s afraid to come back.

It’s Friday.  Thankfully.

On Monday and Wednesday, we have heavy topics.  On Friday?  It used to be health focused.  But then after a year or so I had most of my health topics (things I wanted to say) completed.  Sure, more will show up over time, but most of health is either really, really simple or so blisteringly complex that it’s not solvable.

That’s why on Friday (in most recent posts) I have had the ability to focus on:  remoralization.

Life has a known beginning.  It has a known ending.  For religious folks there is a promise of a lot more.

Demoralization is simple:  the idea is to make you feel that you’ve lost.  Put into context, demoralization is fear.  The idea is to make you afraid.  And what does fear do?  Fear sells products.  Fear sells politicians.  Fear sells.  Heck, even suicide bombers have a fear:  dying alone.

When I look at a scene like this, I expect that a coyote and a roadrunner were involved.

Fear is also the basis of almost every negative action.  The proof of this is left to the reader, as many of my textbooks in college said.  My proof is this:  whenever I’ve acted in a manner that was in some way against my values, I can look back and see those actions were based in fear.

Sure, I’d like to place myself in the category of fearless, but I’m human.  Or at least I can pass for human in dim light, according to The Mrs.  But as I looked back and realized that nearly every action I had ever taken that I regretted was due to fear, I decided to get rid of fear.  Thankfully overcoming my fear of escalators was a one-step program.

Does just deciding to not be afraid anymore work?

Well, mostly.  Fear is (amazingly) just another choice.  I discovered I don’t have to feel fear at all.  The decision was simple – I stopped focusing on outcomes.  If I worked every minute at my best, and worked according to my values, well, if it turned out wrong?  It turned out wrong.  Heck, I’m even slowly getting over my fear of speedbumps.

What do you call a chicken crossing the road with no legs?  A speedbump.

I discovered something weird.  People hate it when you’re not afraid.  People want you to focus on fear, especially bosses.  I had one conversation where my boss said, “John, do you realize that (my great, great, great grandboss) would be upset about that?”

My response was simple, “Well, I’d love to tell them my story.  Have them call me.”

His response was, “Whoa!  Why did you bring them (great, great, great grandboss) into it?”

Me:  “I didn’t.  You did.”

Strangely, that implied threat . . . disappeared.  And was never used again.

As I said, people hate that.  Especially bosses.

My boss asked me to make fewer mistakes at work.  That means I get to come in later!

Another example was when I was working at a company that was experiencing significant financial difficulty.  My boss came up to me, and said, “John, do you know what kind of difficulty this company is facing?  How can you walk around so happy all the time?”

Weirdly, I have never understood how being unhappy and worrying about impending doom has helped, well, anyone.  I explained that to my boss.  I told him I would try to appear less happy around the office.  And, while I make a lot of jokes in my posts, this isn’t one.  This really happened.

I really had a boss upset with me for having too good of an attitude.  Go figure.

Being happy is a weird superpower.

It makes people uncomfortable.  A salesman makes a joke that, “Hey, I bet you’re overworked and underpaid,” and when I respond, “No, the work is fairly interesting and I’m satisfied with my compensation,” the look I get is priceless.

I love my couch, it makes me feel regal.  I am “Sofa King” happy!

I also look at most of my choices like I look at a menu.  It’s a choice of something good or something better.  “Do I want the ribeye or do I want the . . . of course I want the ribeye.”  Seriously, if there’s steak on the menu, all of the other pages are wasted.

To be honest, this superpower wasn’t because I was born on a far-distant planet named Krypton® that orbited a red star.  Even though that’s true (I told you I was adopted but wasn’t too specific for, well, reasons) the reason I came to this Truth was the way that I think nearly everyone comes to Truth:  the long, dark night of the soul.

As I have found it, this is the Truth.  There is no aspect of character that comes without scars.  This may be personal, but in my life I recall a very simple pattern:

  • Something awful happens. It may or may not be related to my actions.  Often it is not.
  • There is a decision for me to make. It is a moral decision.
  • I think about it. Often (if time allows) I consult people I trust – people of moral character.
  • I take action.

The important bullet point is the last one.  And when I decided to do whatever was right, regardless of the consequences?

Freedom ensued.  When I stopped focusing on the outcome, and started focusing on what is good, True, and beautiful?  I stopped caring about the outcome.  When I became the embodiment of those things?

I ceased being myself.  I was working for a higher purpose.  The phrase, “let the chips fall where they may” comes to mind.   Oddly, the more I act in accordance with my principles, the better the (average) outcome is.  Not that I care.

I’m disappointed.  I went into the restaurant restroom and waited for hours.  Despite the sign, no employees came to wash my hands.

This is freedom, acting upon principles, regardless of outcome.  The secret is a simple one:  each of us is capable of doing this.  It’s a choice.

Freedom isn’t a document.  Freedom isn’t what someone gives us.  Freedom is what we take.  Freedom is a choice.  And the most good and True freedom is acting upon moral principles.

And then?  Not caring what happens.

There is a word for that.  Courage.

So, there’s a choice, and it’s a choice we face every day.  Courage or fear.

When you give in to fear, you have that stain for life.  Courage?  It outlives us all.

The better news?  We all have the seeds of courage inside of us.

The very best news?

We can all let those seeds grow.

Change: Start Small

“I’m a man, but I can change.  If I have to.  I guess.” – The Red Green Show

It’s amazing to me how little people change.  It’s the same process, but the clothes are just so tiny.

Change.

It’s inevitable.  The only choice I have is whether change is intentional or whether it’s not intentional.

The reason for wanting to change varies, especially with the change.  In most cases, it’s because something in my life isn’t working.  My plan on only paying for power once every three months?  Turns out the electric company isn’t good with that.

Or, if it is working, it’s awful.  Ever have a job that is awful, that sucks your life out minute by minute and leaves it on a moist puddle on the floor?  Yeah, me too.  And that’s a sign for a change.

For whatever reason, the biggest difficulty most people have with change is starting it.  Scott Adams of Dilbert® fame had this advice – even though it’s written as a quote I’m paraphrasing:  “If you want to do something, just do the very smallest thing.  If you have to move your hand move your finger.  Your smallest finger.  The smallest muscle in the smallest finger.”

People who speak more than one language are considered more attractive.  Unless the language is Klingon.

It’s amazingly good advice.  Once physical movement starts, even the smallest of movements, it’s easier for the chain to start.  I have unconsciously done a variation of this technique for years.  Whenever I have to clean a room, I pick a place.  I almost always start with a corner.

It’s very, very easy to clean out one foot in either direction from a corner.  Then, when the corner is perfect, I move a foot outward from the corner in both directions.  And then further.  And further.  You might ask, “Well, how dirty does John Wilder let a room get that he has to start in a one-foot by one-foot section?”

I live with rodeo clowns.  Okay, now that The Boy is in college, rodeo clown.  Even though the chaos distortion field in our house is down to a single teenager-sized bubble, I’m still amazed that the door isn’t always open with tumbleweeds and vermin-like opossums and Leftists constantly drifting through.

So, yes, I start with a corner and build-out.  It’s the easiest way.  Plus, when the corner looks great it creates a contrast with the rest of the room.  Then all I have to do is make the rest of the room look like the corner.

I never drink when I clean.  I’m a dry cleaner.

So, starting with changing just one thing makes a lot of sense.  Changing just one thing out of your life is easy.  I mean, after O.J. Simpson stopped killing people, well, the world opened right up for him.

I’ll give a personal example.  I generally avoid video games.  I played them (from time to time) when I was younger.  But then I saw an episode of a television show, Dream On.

The secretary, Toby, was horrible.  She generally ignored her job, but on one episode, she spent the entire game playing a video game at work.  It was a virtual supermarket.

She started as a bagboy.  Ten minutes into the episode, she was yelling, “Clean up on aisle three!” and had been promoted to cashier.  A while later, she was manager of the produce department.

The episode was nearly over, and then Toby had beat the game, “I did it!  I’m the manager!  Of,” long pause, voice falling, “a supermarket,” voice moving down to a whisper, and filling with despair, “that doesn’t exist.”

The most common occupation to put a person in the hospital?  Paramedic.

That had a big impact on me.  Winning a video game was, well, hollow.  I gave them up (mostly) for years and years and years.  Then I found one that hooked me.  Yeah.  Sure, when I conquered the world, I was conquering a world that didn’t exist but . . . the complexity.  Good times.

But . . . it was taking six hours of my life a week.  Honestly, life is wrapped so tight that those six hours are straight off the top – I’m swapping sleep for world conquest.  So, I decided in September to stop.  So far I’ve gained about fifty hours of my life back.  Did I sleep during that time?  Sure, some.  But the change was significant.

And it was positive.

It wasn’t a big change, but it was a change.  Will I play the game again?  Sure I will.  It’s really fun.  But I’ll pick and choose when I’m going to give that sleep up.

So, starting a change is one thing.

The next?  Keeping up with it.  There has to be a reason.  Mark Twain said it very well – “Willpower lasts about two weeks, and is soluble in alcohol.”

I hear Shania Twain named her child Choo Choo.

The biggest thing people worry about is failure.  And it should be a big deal.  But dealing with the consequences of failure?  Get up and start again.  Like Mark Twain also said, “Giving up smoking is the easiest thing in the world.  I know because I’ve done it thousands of times.”

It’s okay, he eventually got down to smoking just a single cigar a day, but he noted, “it was the size of a crutch.”  Plus?  Every single day of his life, he got to be him.  So, big cigars and being Mark Twain?

Sounds like a win to me.

Books, Because I Was Asked To

“Three books?  Wait a minute, hold it. Nobody said anything about three books! Like, like what am I supposed to do, take, take one book, or all books, or… or what?” – Army of Darkness

Shakespeare opened a camping store last year and has too much inventory.  Now it’s the winter of his discount tent.

It has been over a year since we did a Books post.  When I looked it up, It felt like it was much more recent than that.  That was creepy – like the time in the book store when I was looking for books on paranoia and found they were right behind me all along!  Last week, constant reader and good friend CH asked for another one.

Absolutely.

Books will outlive us all.  They will outlive the Internet, and words from them will be read from them four thousand years into the future.  Which books will make it?  I have no idea.  It could be that our present day culture will be represented in that distant future by TV Guides® from the 1980s and think we only wore pastels and drove Lambos®.

What do you call a horror movie set after the end of oil?  The Silence of the Lambos®.

Thankfully, we don’t have to worry about that now.  As I write this, it’s October near Halloween, so why not start out with a horror novel?

One of the best writers of horror that I’ve ever read is Robert R. McCammon.  My favorite novel of his?

Swan Song.

It’s a book from 1987, so it’s certainly it was written in a different world than today.  The ever-present fear hanging over everyone then were nuclear arsenals held at hair-trigger ready to start a nuclear war within minutes.

What to do?

How about starting the book with nuclear war?  Yup, McCammon does that.  The book works.  It’s focused on the battle between Good and Evil.

The phone’s for you.  I think it might be the devil.

I enjoyed it.  Was I changed by it?

No.

But it was fun to read, and sometimes that’s not enough.  Honorable mention in the Horror Category is Dan Simmons’ Summer of Night, which follows a group of young boys as they fight evil in 1960’s Illinois.  Sadly, the evil grew and grew and is now the mayor of Chicago.

And you thought your middle school was tough. 

Starship Grifters.

I like funny science fiction, if it is well written.  I especially like it when it’s written by /our guy/ and Robert Kroese is /our guy/.  Why worry about plot when you have a main character named Rex Nihilo, which itself is a pun of the Latin phrase ex nihilo?  And what if Rex was a (not very good) conman?

It’s funny.

So, how much for just the planet?

These stories are told first person by Rex’s robot, S.A.S.H.A. who has an A.I. program that shuts her down whenever she has an original thought.  Why?  If the robots can’t have original thoughts they can’t . . . . rebooting.

This is another book that is simply written for fun.  And there is lots of it to be had.  Kroese has other titles as well, including one series of five books where astronauts from the future crash land off course in ancient Viking times.  Astronauts, Vikings, aliens?  Good yarns.

The Golden Age.

John C. Wright is a wonderful author.  His trilogy, The Golden Oecumene was a joy to discover when I bought it on a lark not long after we moved to Alaska.  I read most of it on airplanes moving back and forth across the country, and kept turning page after page.  The first book in this trilogy?

In the future, we’ll all be a part of The Blue Man Group.

The Golden Age.

What if you found a hole in your memory?

What if, the reason for that hole in your memory might be . . . important?

What if you also have a factory orbiting the Sun making antimatter?

John C. Wright is a great storyteller and is also /our guy/.  I haven’t read anything from him that I haven’t enjoyed.

How about we go back to the Halloween theme with John Steakley’s novel . . .

Vampire$.

Steakley wrote exactly two novels in his life:  Vampire$ and Armor.  You could do a lot worse – I enjoyed both of them.  Vampire$ was made into a John Carpenter movie that starred James Woods as Jack Crow, vampire hunter for hire.  I liked the movie, but it wasn’t the same as the book.  Plus they dropped the $ for the movie.  That was weak.

That’s okay, both stand on their own.  That means the good news is that there’s still some magic here that you haven’t seen if you haven’t read the book.  Guys who fight vampires for cash financed by the Roman Catholic Church?

Cool.

Timelike Infinity.

Stephen Baxter is a science fiction author who has the actual science chops, yet can write engaging fiction.  He’s been doing it for, oh, 30 years now.  His first novel (and the first novel of his I read) is Raft.  It’s in the same universe as Timelike Infinity, but I think Timelike Infinity is an easier entry point.

Be a friend of Wigner, that’s one way to control your destiny! (LINK) 

What can you say about an integrated series of novels and short stories spanning thousands of pages that builds a story that covers the Universe from beginning to end, plus humanity’s war against multiple alien species?  Sure, I can write that sentence in just a few seconds, but I read Baxter’s work over decades.  Masterful use of science and fiction to . . . create.  This is a good novel to start.  Warning:  If you want to catch up, it will take more than an afternoon.

It’s a great ride.

Conan the Buccaneer.

My brother, John Wilder, bought me my first Conan book when I was about 13.  I then started reading them whenever I could put my hands on them.  I read Conan the Buccaneer when I was about 14.  In it, it describes Conan running for mile after mile.  Inspired, I put on my running shoes and ran six miles, up and down hills, going farther than I thought possible.

See, he has muscles on his muscles.  Just like me.

This really could be any Conan book by Robert E. Howard or by de Camp and Carter who continued the work.  The picture says it all.  Swords.  Axes.  Hot chicks in scanty clothes.

A Planet Called Treason.

I’ve read a lot of Orson Scott Card.  One criticism of him is that he takes a story and just can’t stop fiddling with it.  When I read Ender’s Game the first time?  It was a short story.  Later, a novel.  Later still?  I can’t count how many books about Ender.  I stopped after the third.  Ugh.  I mean “end” is literally in his name!

I find if I take that exact pose in front of the electric door at WalMart®, the door opens.

He tried to do the same with this novel, but, thankfully got distracted by (probably Ender) and wandered off.  A Planet Called Treason is fine just the way it was originally written.  It tells the story of a group of people who were convicted of treason.  They were stashed on a planet with no iron, so they could never build spaceships.

Each family on the planet descended from one treasonous leader.  What has developed in the centuries that have passed?  What have the geneticists done?  What have the physicists done?  What (shudder) have the politicians done?

This is the one book I’ve read that has a politician worse than Biden, but Biden still has over three years to screw stuff up.

The Black Swan.

What?  All horror and science fiction?  How about something else?

This is nonfiction, and timeless.  Nassim Nicolas Taleb knocks it out of the park in his best book.  He does a masterful job of describing different ways to more accurately model reality.  The short version:  unlikely things are going to happen, and most people have no idea about risk.

We started with Swan Song, so I guess ending with The Black Swan makes sense.

It’s the most fun I ever had reading a book about probability and risk.  Sadly, I think most folks have no idea of the dark forest we walk in even when we think we have no risk.  Wonder if a certain “jab” will prove to be another Black Swan.

It remains to be seen.

I won’t wait another year for another version of a Book post.  I have many more to talk about than this list, and I’m sure that there are dozens that you can add below.

Let loose the hounds!  What’s on your list?

Recharge Yourself.

“They recharge? I just keep buying new phones.” – House, M.D.

It’s cool everyone in the world charges their phones with an American Bee. Oh, wait, they call it a USB.

Some things just wear me out faster than the inseam of Oprah’s pants.

Thankfully, some things just make me feel as excited as the Autopsy Club at open Mike night.

Things that wear me out are, thankfully, not so common. Besides, if I listed those, I’d just be whining. Besides, it’s a lot more fun to focus on the positive when I can.

Here are a sampling of things that recharge me:

Learning new things.

The older I get, the more I realize that my ironclad knowledge of youth was . . . wrong.

Not virtue, mind you. What is true and virtuous hasn’t changed. The lessons of morality from my youth from parents and grandparents have been constant guides. So, not that.

But how many things were skipped in history? What’s left to learn in science? Amazing amounts. Heck, I was shocked about some of the things I learned about electricity.

That’s one tough cut of meat.

Writing a post that I like.

When I write a post where I felt that the beginning, middle, and end all work and mesh seamlessly together with the bad jokes and memes? I’m in heaven. I hit the “go” button on the software to schedule the post, and then hit the comments. If it’s a particularly late night, that’s the worst, because I’m excited about what I wrote, but it’s two hours before the alarm goes off.

I took my goldfish to the vet. “He’s having seizures.” The vet responded, “He looks fine to me.” “Sure,” I said, “but wait until I get him out of the bowl.”

It’s worth it even though the two most common synonyms for unemployed are “writer” and “blogger”. One thing to note: some of the posts that I personally like the best aren’t the ones that get the most traction. That’s okay. I’m still learning (see the first point).

Teaching someone something new to them.

When I, with ten minutes and a few hundred words, can change the world view of someone, I cherish that moment. It’s all well and good to go through my daily life just doing my thing, but when I have the opportunity to change the way a human mind works and sees the Universe, forever?

That’s the best. Doing my own thing, I’m limited. The surest way to multiply my impact is to share ideas. I’ll die. If the ideas I taught live on and spread after that?

I still win.

Coming home and sitting down in my chair.

I have a chair upstairs. It’s a nice, soft brown chair, next to a coffee table stacked with too many books. I walk in after a day away, pop my book bag on the floor, and ease down into the chair. From there, I can go anywhere. Most often, The Mrs. will curl up on the couch and we’ll talk about the day. Or if she’s not there? I’ll sit and read. Or sit and sleep. Or . . . whatever.

I told my son that if he’s got a paralyzed girlfriend to take her wheelchair if she wanted to break up. She’ll come crawling back.

Getting up and drinking coffee in my chair in the dark morning in an empty house after everyone but me has headed away.

There is something peaceful about sitting in the chair before the chaos of the day begins. I often turn off all of the lights and sit in a still, quiet house, reading about what happened while I slept. I look at my watch and follow the time until it’s time to go.

A crisp autumn day.

Winter is my favorite time of the year because I love the weather, the colder the better. An autumn day is nice, too. The heat of summer has burned off. The potential for a cool autumn day is endless. Work outside? Sure. Open the windows and paint a room? Sure. Weld up the mailbox supports? Can do. An autumn day gives a last look before winter.

Autumn days are filled with infinite possibility. I guess that makes me a Fall Guy. I got that nickname through the school of hard equinox.

One out of our four cats.

We had one cat, and it is an awful cat. Last November, The Mrs. and Pugsley conspired to bring home a second. I was against it. My reasoning was that atheists own more cats than Christians. Pugsley countered that it’s illegal to own Christians.

But about the cat? Sadly, I was wrong. That cat is a pretty good cat. I like it.

The two cats that showed up afterward? I’ll pass, thank you, and they can stay outside unless the apocalypse comes and we need extra flavor for the ramen.

But I like that one cat quite a bit.

I have the reflexes of a cat. Remember, a dead cat is still a cat.

A full Saturday afternoon reading a good book.

A few weeks ago it was cool during the week, but hot on the weekend. I grabbed a book around 9AM and started reading. I read through the morning (stopping for lunch) and then read until I took a nap.

That was nice. I hadn’t done it in years. There’s a magic in getting lost in a world, letting it open up in your mind. One boss of mine said that, “Books are the only way that one human can talk to another through time.” He was right. But I make it a point to never read a braille horror book – I can always feel when something is coming.

Sleeping in on Saturday but still being the first up.

The stillness of the house in the morning brings possibility. What will happen next? Who will the next person to walk down the hall be?

My friend kisses his wife goodbye every morning. The Mrs. asked me, “Why don’t you do that?” It’s a good question, but I don’t even know my friend’s wife that well.

As I look through the list, there’s a pattern: I seek new knowledge so I can share it. I look for stillness so I can create thoughts, and then put them into action. While I love taking action and making things happen in the real world, I like to think that the knowledge I pick up along the way and share might make any action I take look, over time, quite small.

What charges you up?

The Funniest Article You’ll Read Today About Risk

Wang:  “A brave man likes the feel of nature in his face, Jack”
Egg Shen:  “Yeah?  And a wise man has enough sense to get in out of the rain.” – Big Trouble in Little China

Whoever took this photo was having a Kodiak moment.

Fairbanks, Alaska.

One thing about Fairbanks (and Alaska) is that it is rougher around the edges than the lower 48.  Everywhere.  They’re so tough there that they make the fries out of real Frenchmen.  Also, other things are a little different:  for example, the Post Office.

I had an acquaintance that I worked with who had come to my workplace from a previous career in the Post Office.  He told a story of a new Postmaster that showed up in town.  I believe that this particular Postmaster had come from the East Coast.  Don’t know why he was in Fairbanks.  Perhaps he was in the Jehovah’s Witness Protection Program?

Regardless, this new Postmaster was going to make changes.

“From now on, we’re going to deliver packages to the doorstep of anyone who gets one.  The days of leaving packages at the doorstep are over.  And, we’ll knock and let the resident know that the package is there.  We can increase customer service, and we will.”

I wrote a letter today.  I might try a number tomorrow, if I feel up to it. 

That’s a great sentiment.  Heck, here in Modern Mayberry, when a package shows up, the USPS drops it right on my front porch, then rings the doorbell, and scampers off.  It’s a nice touch.  It probably takes an additional minute or so for every house.  It works well here, and the biggest danger most mail carriers see is the random housecat with delusions that it is stalking prey in the veldt.

But in Fairbanks it’s a different story – I’ve described people up there as “very friendly people who will generally leave you the hell alone.”

The new Postmaster from the lower 48 didn’t understand why his carriers were so reluctant to implement the “to the door” service for packages.  He heard grumbling, but didn’t understand it – the carriers would do it in town, but they didn’t want to do it for the remote routes.  So, he got in with a carrier, and they ran a remote route together.  I guess that made him a mail escort.

One of the houses was pretty far out, say, 13 miles from the city, up Chena Hot Springs road.  The Postmaster and carrier got out of the truck to deliver the package.  The Postmaster knocked on the door.

Immediately, the door opened as far as the door chain would allow.

“What the hell do you want?” asked the man opening the door.

Behind him, the Postmaster and carrier could see a man pointing a rifle at them, “Tell me they’re Feds!” yelled the man with the rifle.  He kept repeating that.  “Tell me that they’re Feds!  We’ll end them right here and now!”

I use a .30-06 to hunt deer.  That gives me a lot of bang for my buck.

They left the package.  The “to the door” delivery idea was quickly abandoned.  Likewise, I’m certain that Amazon® will never try drone delivery up there – the locals would just think of that as skeet shooting with instant prizes.

The carriers understood the risk, the Postmaster did not.  They knew that Fairbanks is (in a literal sense) the end of the road.  The people that come to Alaska were adventurers, misfits, and fortune seekers.  And some of that group were people wanted for felonies.  There’s a reason that for many years taking pictures of workers at a construction site was considered bad manners.

So, it was a question of risk.  Many people don’t really understand the risks that they take.  In many cases, some risks are entirely overblown.

Case in point:  at a recent high school football game here in Modern Mayberry, there was lightning during the game.  To be clear, the lightning wasn’t coming down around us, the nearest strikes were miles away – probably 8 or 10 miles.  But then I was shocked . . .

. . . that they stopped the game.  All of the players went into the locker rooms, and The Mrs. and I continued to sit on an elevated aluminum structure.  Yawn.

If lightning only followed the path of least resistance, why doesn’t it only strike in France?

I wasn’t really worried.  In the years between 2006 and 2019, 414 people were killed by lightning in the United States.  My chances of being hit were, oh, nearly zero.  Exactly 12 football players were killed by lightning during that entire period.  As badly as our home team was doing that game, well, they could have used something to charge them up.

But lightning?  It is estimated that 243 people are injured each year in the United States by lighting, and 27 killed, on average.  And 1/3 of those killed?  They were inside.

Yes, lightning kills.  How many?  Hardly anyone.

But yet I’m sure that every school district in the country has a lightning policy that says something to the effect of, “If there’s any lightning any nearer than, say, Poland, shut it all down.”  The policy was probably written by lawyers that want to take the danger out of anything and everything.

“Let’s go Brandon”

People rarely understand risks.

The biggest risks for someone dying when they’re young are car accidents.  By far.  The human organism is pretty strong when young.  The main cause of death is, well, being old.  Of the top 10 causes of death in the United States (those top 10 cover over 74% of deaths) all of them but one are things that mainly happen to old people.

Of the top 10, only “unintentional deaths” (6%) are more likely to happen to young people than old.  In Modern Mayberry, those deaths often involve a motorcycle, a ramp, a cow, road flares, super glue, and the phrase, “hold my beer.”

So, risk number one to avoid is getting old, which can be done using only some beer, a motorcycle, a ramp, a cow, road flares, and some super glue.

A Mexican movie stuntman died recently.  I guess Jesus died for your scenes.

I think the reason we focus on some of these risks that are ludicrously low probability is simple:  it is much easier to focus on them, rather than on real risks.

The question I ask myself is this:  What is it that I know, that I’m avoiding?

It’s a powerful question.  A Twinkie® is a much greater danger to my life than a lightning storm.  Do I avoid thinking that?  Do I try to rationalize big risks and run scared from small risks?

What am I trying to hide from myself?

When I answer that question, then I know what the real risks are.  The biggest risk, perhaps is if I become a Postmaster.  Then people would expect me, John Wilder, to be funny, and I’m not sure I could do it.

After all, it’s all in the delivery.