Category: Happiness

A Wolfe, Stab Wounds, Dolphins, And Snot

“I’m Winston Wolfe.  I solve problems.” – Pulp Fiction

What’s the difference between a knife juggler and a multiple stab wound victim?  Practice.

I first started reading Claire Wolfe back around the turn of this century in Backwoods Home Magazine.  I have several of her books and have enjoyed them greatly.  Claire is one of the most wonderful of wordsmiths about freedom, and she has a great post up (LINK) now.  The title says it all:  “Freedom Is Dying:  Be Of Good Cheer.”

Of course, regular readers know that I couldn’t agree more.

Claire has a great story that’s contained in the post.  A person named “Lox” came into Claire’s Internet freedom group, and the group tried to help him to freedom:

But “poor” Lox sucked up everything we had to offer, then spat it back out. None of it applied to him. He told us a thousand reasons why all our ideas and experiences were worthless. We were blind and insensitive to the depths of his plight. Nobody had ever been as unfortunate as he. Nobody had ever been as helpless as he. No one had ever been as depressed, as oppressed, as mistreated, as ugly, as inept, as trapped, as misery-laden as he.

Of course, there’s more, and Lox shows himself to be even worse than what’s written above.  Seriously.  I’ll let you read the rest over at her place, because if you’re not going to her place regularly, you should.

Genghis Khan was a ruthless baby.  Why, I remember when he took his first steppe . . .

I’d like to focus for this post on what Claire wrote about Lox in the quote above.

When I was younger (and not yet a wiser Wilder) I can recall running into more than one person like Lox.  The names were different.  The situations were different.  But the behavior was always exactly the same, so I will collectively name them Blandy Blanderson:

  • Blandy has a problem. It is the worst problem of anyone ever.
  • I try to help, either though giving advice, or giving them assistance. I’ve moved furniture on a Sunday evening when Blandy was being kicked out of an apartment, I’ve waxed dolphin armpits (flipper pits?), and I’ve even lent Blandy money so that the Auckland Auk Ark Cartel wouldn’t break his leg.
  • Even if the initial problem is solved, Blandy will then have another problem.
  • I try to help. The next problem is solved.  I’m never going to do dentistry on a dolphin again, let me tell you.
  • Blandy then comes up with problem number three.
  • I decide that Caller I.D. is worth every penny.

If I Photoshopped® myself a dentistry license, would that a doctored image?

I had finally figured out that Blandy didn’t want the problem to be solved.   And I realized that there would always be a problem.  Blandy was in love with the problem.

This was new to me.  I have always had a sunny disposition – one of my Professors in college always said, “Keep smiling, John.”  That’s why it took me so long to understand Blandy.  Why would anyone want to be sad?

I couldn’t understand it, so I observed it.

I noticed that whenever I helped Blandy, especially if my help solved the “problem of the day”, Blandy would never, ever say “Thank you.”  Why would you thank someone who took away the problem you secretly loved?

I can only speculate the causes of Blandy’s behavior:

  • If Blandy could blame someone else, then they weren’t responsible for their situation. Someone or something else was responsible.  They could live their life blaming others.
  • How could Blandy get attention? Having problems got people to pay attention.
  • By having problems, Blandy could get sympathy from others. Without problems, what would start the sympathy flowing from others?

I’m sure that after I stopped helping, I became yet another one of the long list of Blandy’s problems.  “Oh, Wilder, he’s so lucky and fortunate, but he never helps anyone else.”

Dracula returned a mirror to the local Wal-Mart®.  When they asked him why, he said, “I can’t see my self using it.”

In one sense, Blandy’s behavior is vampirism.  Blandy takes a personal tragedy and exploits it so he can get fun and prizes and emotion from others.  The bonus for people playing along at home is that Blandy can also shield a fragile psyche from the consequences of his actions.

But wait, don’t people have real problems?  Don’t people really need help sometimes?

Certainly.

I recall one time calling up a friend and saying only, “Bar.  Now.”  It was noon.  It was an awful day.  He picked me up in 20 minutes, and he got me home safely later that night, even though it took more than a little while to work myself out of the problem.

There are times that people have streaks of bad luck.  I can recall once when I was on such a streak.  I called my friends for help.  They did.  But I noticed that the longer I had my problem, the less one particular friend was interested in talking about it.

That’s when I realized:  by staying negative on a topic and not owning it and putting it behind me, I was starting to turn into Blandy.  That was my signal that it was time to put the problem behind me and stop complaining.

Even Liberals aren’t safe you see; the Left always eats itself, yippee!

Perhaps the biggest takeaway in learning to deal with my problems is that I own my attitude – no one else does.  If something bad happens, well, I could spend every moment of my life being mad at the situation.  Does the situation care?

No.

Heck, I could spend every moment swimming in the salty warm viscous mucus of self-pity.  If I do that, all I get is sticky and become the Michael Phelps of victimhood mucus swimming.  Maybe Coca-Cola® would sponsor me?

Good things and bad things will happen to me.  If my happiness is dependent upon only good things happening to me?  I’ll be forever disappointed because bad things happen, too.  Tires go flat.  Plates break.  The Yellowstone volcano erupts.

Know the difference between snot and broccoli?  A five-year-old won’t eat broccoli.

The Truth as I’ve seen it so far:  if I’m happy on my bad days, I’m going to be ecstatic on my good days.

Do I see many difficulties in the years ahead?  Certainly.  Does sitting around worrying about them make them go away?  Does it make them better?

Nope.

The Blandy Blandersons of this world waltz through it surrounded by a cloud of misery.

I think I’ll skip that.

It’s much more fun being John Wilder.  I’ll echo what Claire says:  “Be of good cheer.”

Fear, Rats, G. Gordon Liddy And A Machine Gun Bikini

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

I can jump higher than any fence.  Fences don’t jump very well.

When The Mrs. and I were newly married, and before the stork brought The Boy, The Mrs. and I had time to just do, well, whatever.  That often involved driving, and driving in that involved radio.  We listened, mainly, to talk radio.  We had to, because we had been banned from a gas station for listening to a song by The Who too loudly.

I guess we won’t get fueled again.

One day we were listening to the G. Gordon Liddy show.  For those of you who don’t know, Liddy was sent to prison as part of the Watergate break in during the Nixon era.  If I had just one word to describe Liddy, it would be intense.  I hear that Liddy was doing five hundred sit ups a day, but had to stop – he couldn’t take the ab use.

In particular, I remember one story of Liddy’s very vividly.  The dialogue below isn’t exact (this was over 20 years ago and I slept at least once since then) but it’s pretty close:

“When I was younger, I had a particular fear of rats.  It was a very, very strong fear.  I didn’t want to be afraid of rats, but I was.  So, to get rid of the fear, I killed one, cooked it, and ate it.  I was never afraid of rats again.”

If a relative passes away, you can get a free Starbucks®.  It’s your mourning coffee.

See?  Intense.  Also the kind of thing that made me glad that Liddy wasn’t afraid of me, since I have no idea if I’m good with ketchup.

On one hand, that level of behavior is bordering on insane.  On the other, it showed an amazing amount of self-awareness.  If Liddy’s goal was to go through life without fear, facing it was certainly the way to overcome it, although I’ll say the number of times I’ve come face to face with rats is exactly zero.  If that’s your top fear, you’ve gotten rid of most common fears.

I’ve related in the past how when climbing a really tall mountain I reached a ridge and looked down over, expecting that there was no way it could be as steep as what I had just climbed.  I was wrong.  Sheer cliff.  I was looking down very far.

Several mountain climbers caught the ‘Rona but didn’t give it to anyone.  Scalers aren’t vectors. 

I never had vertigo before, in fact I never had much of a fear of height at all.  But in that moment, I developed it.  From then on, whenever I could find a tall spot to stand on and look down, I would.  And I’d stay there until the vertigo went away.

It was a lot harder than just killing and eating the cliff.  It also took a few months, but the vertigo went away.  It’s mostly vertigone now, though I will admit that sometimes I get a chill when I watch Internet videos of people doing stupid stuff on very tall buildings.  Most of the videos seem to come from Russia, for whatever reason.  I’m betting it’s vodka, but it could also be . . . no, it’s vodka.

Bad pun?  Check.  Bikini?  Check.  Machine gun?  Check.  Russian hat?  Check.

Not all fear is bad, and not all fear is debilitating.  A lot of Evil comes from fear.  I used to think that all Evil came from fear, but that’s certainly not correct (Three Kinds Of Evil).

But a lot of Evil does come from fear.  Why?  Fear is fuel for Evil:

  • Fear leads to cowardice.
  • Fear leads to deceit.
  • Fear leads to anger.
  • Fear leads to hate. (Quote about the Dark Side®, there may be here.)
  • Fear leads to regret.

Cowardice might be the worst, though.

The reason is that cowardice is, at the root, a betrayal.  First, a betrayal of internal values.  Second, a betrayal outwards.  A perfect (but small) example is someone who is afraid of the consequences of disappointing a customer.  That leads to a lie to the customer.  Which leads to another lie, which will eventually end up with a very angry customer.

The Mrs. and I started our relationship with a strict “no lies” policy.  That’s why The Mrs. never asks me, “Do these pants make my butt look big?”  She knows I’ll tell her the truth.

“The pants?  No, the pants don’t make your butt look big.”

It was half an hour outside of Bakersfield when the catnip began to take hold.

Fear is natural.  A healthy respect for fires and firearms is a good thing.  But when any single fear?  That fear has to be confronted.

It has to be killed and eaten.  It can change the world.  Say, if you were afraid of undercooked bat . . . .

Purpose, Virtue, Starlets, And Inexplicable Comments About Italy

“I disagree with what you said about the underlying theme of chapter eight in this book. It’s really not about man’s struggle with double-sided tape. It’s a metaphor for the Mesopotamian social hierarchy during the Bronze Age.” – Homestarrunner

The easiest way to get gold, silver, and bronze Olympic medals?  Kleptomania.

One theme I keep returning to in this blog is purpose.  I have a friend (you’re shocked, I know) and we talk from time to time.  One observation that he’s made is that they’ve done studies of people who have won medals in competitions like the Olympics®.  You’d think that the person who was happiest was the person who won gold.

It’s not.  It’s not the person who won silver, either.

It’s the person who won bronze.

Third place?  Well, they know it wasn’t a fluke that they didn’t win.  There is that “second place” guy who pops that illusion bubble.  But they made it to the big show, and, heck, they’re third.  Not bad!

Bronze is the Libertarian Party of medals.

The person who wins silver is usually very, very unhappy.  Why?  Every minute of the day they have to wonder:

  • What if I had worked just a little harder each day?
  • What if I had listened to my coach?
  • What if I hadn’t spent the night before the Olympic© finals at the strip club drinking tequila shooters with Crystal and Svetlana?

Little things like that begin to nag at them.  Plus they get Brady Cake:

Tom Brady is so old . . . he won his first Super Bowl® while the world was still in Standard Definition.

So, gold medal winners should be happy, right?

Some really aren’t happy.  They’ve climbed the mountain.  They’ve spent, in some cases, tens of thousands of hours in practice at the highest level.  They’ve skipped going to parties when others were having fun.  They lived, in some cases, like monks to climb to the greatest levels of human performance.

Some of them get there and ask . . .

  • Is this all there is?

Those folks who ask that question were working for the wrong purpose.  Their idea wasn’t to be the World PEZ® Flicking Champion, it was someone else’s idea.

So they went with it.

Don’t say this three times fast.

You can see those folks, especially a few years after the Olympics®.  They’re the ones that are on the third DUI or are the 4’6” gymnast that looks like they’ve swallowed a refrigerator.  Which, I will say, does make tumbling easier.  If you call rolling “tumbling.”  Meghan McCain does, especially if it’s toward a buffet.

So, what about those people who win a gold medal and are just fine?  What’s different?

They have purpose.  Their sport was only a part of their purpose, and was only a part of what drove them.  They are centered, and the biggest part of their purpose isn’t achievement.  Achievement is a byproduct.

The folks who win and don’t self-destruct have a purpose, and a purpose rooted in virtue.

To be clear, very, very, very clear:

  • Virtue does not guarantee victory. At all.

Virtue (and a purpose rooted in virtue) just makes victory bearable.

Why do so many early twentysomethings mentally implode when they achieve fame and stardom and immense wealth?  That’s an easy question – they find themselves in a world with no real restraints.  The real question is why don’t more starlets become headlines?  I’m pretty sure Miley Cyrus isn’t in a good mental place.

In Europe, she’s known as Kilometery Cyrus.

In one respect, not being wealthy and famous is a great substitute for willpower:  you can’t end up dead in a hotel room in Thailand surrounded by heroin, empty take-out boxes of food, bottles of Captain Morgan’s Spiced Rum, and vats of industrial-strength skin cream if you have to get to your steady job.

A mortgage and car payments have probably saved a lot of dads uncomfortable phone calls from the Italian Government as to why their 22-year-old was found “improving” the Sistine Chapel painting.  Thankfully, back then they charged the fines in something called “lira”, which is just like money but is instead made of colorful Christmas wrapping paper.

An aside, things to trust Italians on:

  • Food.
  • Wine.
  • Car body design.

Things not to trust Italians on:

  • Anything you need tomorrow.
  • Anything electronic or electric.
  • Anything where the oil or engine coolant is supposed to stay on the inside.
  • Anything remotely resembling fiscal discipline.

Italians are great at soccer – you change sides halfway through.

And, apparently, never trust John Wilder to wander off on a tangent on a Friday post.  I’ll get back to virtue and purpose, and promise not to wander too far again this post.

I’ve written several posts about Virtue.  It’s been a common theme.  Here are a few:

Kardashians, Hairy Bikinis, Elvis, Wealth, and Virtue

Roman Virtues and Western Civilization, Complete with Monty Python

Ben Franklin and his Thirteen Virtues

Why Character Just Might Be A Better Indicator Of Marriage Stability Than What Her Butt Looks Like

Regrets? Don’t Regret Anything, Unless You Want Me To Slap You When You Are Old.

So, have a purpose.  Live your virtue.  And when you have high achievement, when you win the gold, when you achieve amazing business success?  You’re ready to deal with it.

I’ve heard of a village in Africa where they’re dealing with a drought and thirst.  I hope they “Get Well Soon.”

But let’s say that you don’t win the gold.  You don’t have amazing business success.  Virtue allows you to be ready to deal with that, too.

Or you could just win a bronze medal and have a mortgage?

Nah, go for the virtue.  You’ll eventually pay the mortgage off.

#AlexandriaOcasioSmollett, The Caption Contest

“Shake, a hoax is a humorous or malicious deception. And this is clearly not that.” – Aqua Teen Hunger Force

Okay, I’m sick.  I had written one scathing bon mot after another in my head today about this subject.  But I’m sick.  I’m going to bed after I post this.  Instead, we’ll have a fill in the blank caption contest.  Let’s keep it PG, folks.

CAPTION A: _________

CAPTION B:  _______________

CAPTION C:  ________________

CAPTION D:  __________________

CAPTION E:  _______________

CAPTION F:  __________________

Three Kinds Of Evil

“You’re semi-evil. You’re quasi-evil. You’re the margarine of evil. You’re the Diet Coke of evil. Just one calorie, not evil enough.” – Austin Powers

I heard that Kim Jong Un was evil because he had no Seoul.

Evil.

Several of my posts have been about Evil recently.  I use the capital E because, in my conception of the world, Evil is a force.  I know your mileage may vary, but I think that today’s post can benefit you regardless of your belief system.  Stick with me on this one.  I brought cookies and juice boxes for halftime.

Normally, I had thought of Evil (when I thought of it) as just plain Evil.  The idea that there were different kinds of Evil wasn’t something that I dwelled on.  Bad is bad, so why categorize it?  It’s like determining if Biden’s morning Depends™ is worse than his night time Depends© – he calls them both Executive Odors and then talks about Corn Pop.

Well, it turns out that for me, when I read about these categories it made Evil easier for me to see.  It also made the progression of Evil easier for me to understand.  And if I could better see Evil and understand Evil, I could anticipate Evil.  Most importantly, I could try to avoid personally being Evil.

And that’s why I thought this was worthy of a Friday post, where I normally write about health.  What could be healthier (for your mind, if not your soul) than not being Evil?

The first form of Evil is one that most often came to mind when I thought of Evil, and that is Luciferian Evil.  Describing this type of Evil is easy:  “If it feels good, do it.”

What feels like the United States but isn’t?  Washington, D.C.

If that sounds familiar, the entire decade of the 1960s and most of the 1970s was dedicated to exactly that phrase.  Regardless of social conviction, regardless of taboo, regardless of the impact upon society, the idea was to live for yourself.  How else would you explain disco music?

In theory, that’s a great idea.  (Not disco, but living for yourself.)  In practice, however, living only for yourself has an amazing cost.  I’ll admit that I know this because, at one phase of my life, I thought that this was just fine.

Oh, not in the way of stealing things, or breaking things, but in the realm of personal relationships.  Let’s just say I had a large number of girlfriends, some of whom may have had self-esteem issues.  We’ll leave it at that.

Doing what feels good at the expense of the context of a traditional relationship has consequences.  In the end, it feels empty.  Lust is never as good as love, though it was easier to find at 11:30 on a Friday night.

I don’t have a problem with low self-esteem, considering how awesome I am.

Living life just for pleasure ended up making me feel lonely and empty and nihilistic – the very partnership that a stable traditional marriage brings was what was avoided.  But, you know, it felt good.  That makes it okay.  Right?

Well, no.  That’s what makes it Evil.  When I gave that up?  Life became better.

The second type of Evil is more Evil than the first one.  Dr. Bruce Charlton (LINK) referenced it as Ahrimanic Evil*.  (Dark Brightness (LINK) had the excellent original post I read and the link to Charlton’s site.)

Ahrimanic Evil requires Luciferian Evil to open the door.  “If it feels good, do it” seems to lead to “everyone should follow the value system of the material world and globalist systems.  It’s for their own good.”  That coercion is Ahrimanic Evil.

Just as Luciferian Evil removes the spirituality out of sex, Ahrimanic Evil removes the virtue out of sacrifice for society.  If you’re against the soul-destroying, controlling, Chinese Social Credit system, what you’re really opposing is Ahrimanic Evil.

I hear that the unit of mass George Soros uses is the pentagram.

The soulless Yuppie of the 1980s became the architect of the Ahrimanic control structures of political correctness and cancel culture.  Ahrimanic Evil wants you to live in pods and eat bugs and take the vaccine.  Fun?  Not on this Evil.  It’s about the relentless and constant pursuit of material success.

It seems like, since 1990 or so, we’ve been living in a world based on materialism, denying the spiritual or natural component of human existence.  The libertine (not libertarian) excesses of the 1960s and 1970s gave way in the 1990s to full-on materialism.  If it’s good for the economy, it’s perfect.  Free trade, open borders?  Who cares about what the consequences are to society as long as the economic systems function?

I’ll admit, in the 1990s I was seduced by this model.  I worried more about economic systems than I did about the social structure of the United States.  Was I for NAFTA then?  Yeah.  What could go wrong?

A lot.  It looks like Ross Perot was right.  But during that time I was following the same model – I pursued my career as a top priority.  Yup, I’ve tried to put that Evil behind me, too.

Want it, buy it, forget it.

The last stage that Charlton mentions is Sorathic Evil.  It is the most evil of the three Evils.

Sorathic Evil requires the progress from Luciferian to Ahrimanic Evil in society.  In practice, you’d think that having a global police surveillance state was the worst thing you could think of.  You’ve seen all the films, right, and listened to Pink Floyd’s The Wall, which was (sort of) an attack on the Ahrimanic Evil they saw coming.

But what is this final Evil?

Destruction.  Hate.  Spite.

You’d think that Evil would be happy with the image, in Orwell’s words with this: “imagine a boot stamping a human face forever.”  Total control, through the end of time.

Nope.  That’s not enough.  Sorathic Evil requires destruction.  And, I’ll admit that I felt that way once or twice.  It, like the lustfulness or materialism, is soul-destroying.  After I released feeling that way, I felt immediately better, like a weight had been lifted off of my shoulders.

The end state of Sorathic Evil is despair.  It is envy.  It is the desire for the destruction of others for no other reason than you want them to be destroyed.  But as we have seen recently, the destruction of others is not enough:  Trump transgressed the Ahrimanic system, so Trump (and all who supported him) must be (in their minds) destroyed.

If it were just about justice, that would be simple enough – the absence of Trump was the win for the Left.  After Obama ceased to be President, I ceased to care about him.  Leftists, the current embodiment of Luciferian, Ahrimanic, and Sorathic Evil, want Trump and his supporters to suffer.  If we all changed to their viewpoint today, it would not be enough.

I interviewed to be a mime once – but I didn’t get the job.  Must have been something I said.

Imagine Cambodia times the Cultural Revolution times the Holodomor.  Squared.  That is the future the Left wants for us, and I’ll be writing about that for Monday’s post.  And that is the Evil we face.

What they fail to realize is that is the future that they will also get for themselves if they are successful.  There won’t be any Gender Studies Majors on the Central Committee.  The Left would line up the Leftist professors to be shot far faster than the Right ever would.

The only way to feed the Beast is to make people suffer.

I’m not going to say I’m a great person.  I regularly meet with and interact with people who are far better people than I will ever be.  I will say, I try.  But by having lived through and let go of these three types of Evil, I immediately felt better.

The other thing I’ve learned is that Good is stronger than Evil.  Good fills the void, while Evil only brings additional hunger.

We’re not done.

This isn’t over.

*(As far as the terms Charlton references, you don’t need to follow the rabbit trail as to where he got the names for the Evils and points I’m making in this post.  It gets a bit esoteric, and you can spend hours, days or weeks wandering down there, but Charlton points the way if you are interested.  Beware, it’s filled with esoteric weirdness.)

Toxic Positivity, Because Leftists Say So?

“Dad, you’re, you’re twisting my words! I meant burden in its most positive sense.” – Frasier

In Rambo® 7, Rambo™ fights arthritis.

News stories are like sheep they arrive in flocks as part of a lambush.  One flock of stories this week was about, and I quote, Toxic Positivity.  Just like another bogeyman, Toxic Masculinity, the Left seeks to take something good and turn it into something to be seen as bad.

The basic idea of the stories is this:

  • Positive people make it hard for people to be sad or defeatist.
  • Because people can’t express their sadness or defeat, they feel even sadder and more defeated.
  • Therefore, the people who tried to cheer them up are evil. Oh, wait, the Left doesn’t acknowledge such an old-fashioned concept as evil.  It has to be “toxic.”

Positivity is good.  Is it a universal cure-all?  Absolutely not.  When Ma Wilder died (more than two decades ago), the last thing I wanted was someone to crack a joke or try to make light of the situation.  I was grieving.  I was not interested in anyone putting the “fun” in funeral.

It’s normal to grieve when a parent dies.  But wallowing in that grief for too long doesn’t help anyone.  If I had stayed in that grief?

That’s despair, and despair is evil.  Not toxic.

Evil.  Despair eats into the soul.

Moses was a high-tech prophet – he was the first to use a tablet.

That was my first reaction when I read this story:  whoever is behind it is evil.

Why?

Life is tough, really tough.  People that we love die.  The economy has hit millions directly and is looming over many, many more.

Heck, if I wanted to, I could spend this entire post writing about things that were horrible in 2020 and 2021.  But I’m not going to, because, even when things are pretty tough, almost every person reading this has a life that’s better than 99.99% of every person that has ever lived, even on your worst day.

The four stages of Santa:
1. You believe in Santa.
2. You don’t believe in Santa.
3. You are Santa.
4. You look like Santa.

Objectively, my life has been fantastic, as has the life of The Mrs. and the rest of my family.  Have bad things happened to us?  Sure.  But we don’t dwell on them, because that’s despair.

One thing that’s critical for me when I’m having a bad day is being around someone positive to bring me up and out of my sadness.  It’s critical because if you let it, sadness will turn into self-pity.  And self-pity is a hole with no bottom.

Joe Biden has indicated he wants to put chips in the brains of United States Citizens.  What kinds of chips?  “Well, you know the thing, sour cream and onion, maybe.”

So why are there people preaching against Toxic Positivity?  I can only think of two reasons:

  1. There are a group of people who actively like feeling bad about themselves. As I’ve established before, this group tends to be (but is not exclusively) Leftist.  Positive people are a mirror that they don’t like to see:  a mirror of what kind of person they could be if they weren’t such miserable wretches.
  2. Oops, there’s only the one group.

The alternative to positive people is . . . negative people.

I avoid negative people like I avoid personal hygiene.  Why?  Because every day I live or work around negative people, it feels like my life is slowly being sucked away.  Negative people are emotional vampires.  The sort of defeatism that they spew out is as infectious as Madonna® before her monthly penicillin shot.

I hear mummies are into wrap music.

Negativity can poison a workplace:  it’s the guy at work who is always sure that someone else has it better, that some other group is the favored group, and that whatever raise they get is never enough.  Then one person in their team is recruited – they begin to see that their group are always getting a bad deal, treated unfairly, having to work harder than others.

Strong people can avoid this self-identified victimhood.  However, I’ve seen good people sucked in and become unhappy in a great job, merely because they felt that someone else, somewhere else, had it better than they did.

The biggest weapon against that attitude:  being positive.  That’s why I write so often about it.  I think that 95% of the way I feel on an average day is entirely in my control.  No, it doesn’t apply at a funeral or on other dark days.  But most days?

At my funeral, my friend promised to say, “bargain,” and that means a great deal.

I choose to be happy.  I choose to enjoy my life.  I choose to be positive.  I choose to try to uplift those around me.  Do I acknowledge that times might be rough?  Sure.

But the answer isn’t giving up, and taking our ball home.  The answer is to work harder, get better, and never give up.

Toxic positivity?

Sign me up.

Studies Show: Hanging Around Victims Sucks

“Yes, sir! That’s exactly who I am and what I am, sir. A victim, sir!” – A Clockwork Orange

Someone in London is stabbed every 37 seconds.  Poor guy – he’s got to be getting tired of that.

One of the greatest sources of trouble in my life has been . . . victims.  You know the type.  They never create the situation they’re in.  Every bit of trouble that the victim has ever had has been somebody else’s fault.  Pa Wilder was the first to tell me to not find faults – he was horrible at geology.

I’ve even dealt with relatively well-off victims.  They had nice houses, but the houses could have been so much nicer if only they weren’t being kept down.  People have done them wrong.  Generally, if you listen long enough, you’ll hear the list of every bad thing that happened to them.

And I mean “happened to” since nothing, no matter how small or large, is ever their fault.  Even if they’re lazy, they’ll say that’s not their fault – they’ll say it walks in the family.  As a general rule, when I find a victim, I steer as far away from them as possible.  They’re dangerous in several ways.

If you’re not aware of what they’re doing, their attitude can be poisonous.  They’re the guy at work who complains that the company they work for makes a profit and that their share is never enough.  I avoid them because if I’m not part of their pity-party, soon enough I’ll be in the crosshairs as someone who has done them wrong.  As we’ll see – that’s a dangerous place to be.

What does a vegan zombie eat?  Graaaaains. 

Yesterday I read about a study that was released in the journal Personality and Individual Differences.  No, I don’t have a subscription, but I did read about it here (LINK).  The study defined a character trait that the researchers named Tendency for Interpersonal Victimhood (TIV).  TIV was defined as “an ongoing feeling that the self is a victim, which is generalized across many kinds of relationships.”

TIV?  Sounds like living with an intolerable martyr to me.

The researchers found four factors that were pretty much always there with the insufferable losers:

  • Moral Elitism
  • Lack of Empathy
  • Need for Recognition
  • Unable to Stop Thinking About Their Problems

This wasn’t sometimes there – it was always there.  Imagine living a life where you were torn by these sorts of feelings on a consistent basis.  Certainly, I’ve written about it before – these traits are 100% the traits of . . . a Leftist.

What does it take to start a riot to destroy a city?  Certainty you are right.  Lack of empathy for those individuals that own businesses or property.  A need to be seen as being virtuous – they must be visible.

Congratulations!  You’ve made it through 343 months of 2020!  Only 11 more months to go!

And lastly, they cannot stop thinking about every little thing that has ever been done wrong to them which in the end causes them to be filled with nothing but hatred.  And hatred has been popular with the Left all year – it’s quite the rage.

Because they constantly felt like victims, the researchers found that the TIV idiots:

  • Were more likely to make another person suffer loss, even when it didn’t help them personally.
  • Felt more intense negative emotions, and
  • Felt entitled to behave in an immoral fashion.

Now, the last three bullet points are a lot more normal.  If someone broke into your house and stole your antique yak knickers, you’d probably experience each very one of those last three bullet points – they broke into your house – you want them to pay.  What’s not normal is this is the way that people who have TIV feel this way all of the time.

They’ll call him the Grim Sweeper.  (Not my meme – as found on the ‘net)

TIV isn’t just the hatred of people, it’s the hatred of all of the systems that those people created.  Ever notice that the victim class generally intensely hates the United States?

Why?

Because they want everyone to suffer loss, and they feel that any means whatsoever are justified, especially since they are morally superior.  They don’t want to watch the United States fail – they want to watch it burn.

But this victimhood isn’t just a hatred focused outside of self.  TIV is, at its core, the hatred of self.

Thankfully, there’s good news:

  • TIV is a choice.

I have and do maintain that many of the things about ourselves are entirely under our control.  Attitude is one.  We can always control the way that we feel about something.

I’m not saying they keep the thermostat control hot at my in-laws, but two hobbits came and tossed a ring into their living room.

The start of being a victim is allowing it to happen.  I was fortunate.  When I was feeling sorry for myself, my parents and brother absolutely wouldn’t allow it.  Was it tough love sometimes?  Sure.  But at least in the Wilder house, I was mocked mercilessly when I tried to play the victim.

That was one of the best gifts ever.  Because they wouldn’t let me be the victim, some of the results were:

  • I felt my destiny was in my own hands.  My actions help to create my future.
  • I was responsible for my own successes, along with the help I’d had.
  • More importantly, I was responsible for my own failures. This was generally a solo trip.  My successes generally had help – my failures were generally due to my own weakness.
  • Revenge was less important than getting better and winning my own game.

There were some downsides to this.  When everyone is playing one game, and you’re playing another sometimes people don’t understand your motivation.  If their goal is a brand new car, and your goal is no debt, you’re not playing the same game at all.  They see you driving a ten or fifteen-year-old car and think, “Weirdo.”

One of the best examples I ever saw of not being a victim was at a corporate training session.  We had discussed victimhood, and the trainer had a large metal pin-on button that said “VICTIM” on it.  When one of the participants in the training session leveled a (very valid) complaint about a company practice, the instructor tried to give that participant the “VICTIM” button.  The participant refused it.

I tried to steal his boots, but they wouldn’t fit me.   I guess those boots were made for Walken.

It was a great moment to watch.  The trainer didn’t know what to do, but it was clear to everyone in the class that particular participant was not a VICTIM.

But it’s easy to not be a victim:

  • Moral Elitism Understand that each of us falls short of our own moral goals.  Each of us.
  • Lack of Empathy Have empathy for your fellow man, but not a poisonous generosity that destroys civilizations.
  • Need for Recognition Understand that recognition is fickle.  It may be the best thing you ever do for mankind will be utterly unknown.  Be good with that.
  • Unable to Stop Thinking About Their Problems Give it a rest.  As Twain said:  “Drag your thoughts away from your troubles:  by the ears, by the heels, or any other way, so you manage it.”

Yes, sometimes bad things happen to us.

How long we wallow in victimhood, however, is entirely up to us.

Fit For Service: Fat Little Dogs With ESP And You

“We’re on a mission from God.” – The Blues Brothers

I thought this guy looked like a werewolf.  If he bit me, I’d go to the doctor to see if I had a beast infection.

The proprietor over at Adaptive Curmudgeon (LINK), who goes by Adaptive Curmudgeon, Hank Curmudgeon challenged me that he’d only type naked until I did a post where all of the memes come from a particular web page, specifically this one (LINK), which documents Victorian beard styles.

(Update:  Do go visit Adaptive Curmudgeon!  I’m sure I have already confused him with several comments, so I’m owing him big time!)

It’s getting cold, so I thought I’d allow him (Update:  Hank) to at least get a blanket.  Since this isn’t normally how I do my memes, we’ll see how it goes.  But I’m concerned for him – I hear it’s so cold where he is that you can get soft-serve straight from the udder.

(Update:  So, yes, as usual, the problem exists between my keyboard and my chair.  I was thinking that Hank Curmudgeon was Adaptive Curmudgeon sharing a first name and didn’t want to share that name without permission.  So, it turned into a big Frasier episode where Frasier doesn’t know that Daphne spiked the eggnog, and then he spikes the eggnog, and then Miles spikes the eggnog, and then they catch Martin on fire.

All error belongs with me.  End update!)

On to the story.

My dog has ESP.  Well, that’s not really true.  It’s not my dog.  It’s The Mrs.’ dog, MacReady.  I’ll do in a pinch when The Mrs. isn’t around, but I’m not the preferred person – that’s The Mrs.

That’s understandable.  The Mrs. feeds MacReady and pampers it.  In my world?  Dogs get kibble and (once in a while) leftovers.  In The Mrs.’ world, dogs get canned dog food.  So, yeah, MacReady probably picked the right person.

This particular dog is a miniature pinscher, so it’s supposed to be about eight pounds of misplaced aggression.  The Mrs.’ has currently “overserved” MacReady, so he’s currently about sixteen pounds of misplaced aggression and high self-esteem.

I can hardly remember when I tried to get into optometrist school.  It’s all kind of blurry now.

By misplaced aggression, I mean the dog is sixteen pounds, yet it barks like it thinks it’s a linebacker for the Chicago Bears® when someone rings the doorbell, and will bravely waddle to the door to defend the house as fast as its little legs will carry it.

When MacReady jumps off of the bed, I’m constantly in fear that his legs will collapse up into his body and we’ll be left with a sort of dog/sandworm mix that will only be able to wiggle around the floor.  If that happens, we’ll keep still keep him.  You know, for the spice.

The Mrs. is worried MacReady might rupture like a bag of soup.  If so, we’ll toss him in the compost heap.  Then he’ll be min-pin soup for the soil.

Anyway, MacReady has ESP.  By ESP, I mean that he has extra-sensory perception.

I was going to make a joke about his eyes, but I worried that would be two cornea.

And my phone is the cause.

See, whenever my phone isn’t on mute, it makes a particular noise when my front doorbell senses motion.  It’s like a set of not-annoying wind chimes.  The Mrs. used to have the same app on her phone, and somehow MacReady associated that sometimes when the wind chimes played, there would be a person, like a UPS® guy evil eldritch horror or monstrous alien threat* (LINK) at the door.

So, MacReady has figured out that whenever my phone makes that chime noise it means that bad men, perhaps wearing hats are lurking outside to ring the hated doorbell?  He clomps his huge min-pin butt to the door and barks, as threatening as a feather duster in a biker bar fight.

But, as fat and as tiny as MacReady is, he is fit for purpose.  He has two jobs:  be warm and cuddly, and be annoying when someone rings the doorbell.  That’s really it.

Maybe he grew that to cover a neck brace?  If so, he never looked back. 

As people, though, we have a purpose, too.

Are we fit for it?

And, that’s the question I have for you today.

I can’t tell you your purpose.  I can only give you ideas on how I found mine.  But I assure you that you have one even if you don’t know it.

I once read that you should write down things that you could do and do it until you break down and cry with the beauty of what you have written.  I think that smells kinda bogus, and really doesn’t fit well with reality as I’ve found it, and I haven’t cried since Hornady developed the 6.5 Creedmoor.

Me?  I’ve found my purpose (as I know it now) by trying things.  First one, then another.  I’ve found a few things that I’m good at.  Sleeping.  Eating Ruffles®.  I’ve even found some things that I do that are useful.  Putting laundry into the dryer is definitely one of those things.

His girlfriend left him, too.  She found out he was seeing someone else.

But I’ve found far more that I’m awful at.  Singing.  I love to sing.  People love it more when I don’t sing.  Playing guitar.  People like my guitar playing better than my singing, but not by much.

If you have no talent in a subject (or, like me an aggressive anti-talent in music) it’s rarely going to form the basis of a purpose.  Finding those talents that you have, developing them, and then combining them (Scott Adams calls it a talent stack) is really the basis of a purpose.

A purpose is, in the end, the reason that you exist.  And eating Ruffles© and sleeping, no matter how good I might be at those things) is not it.  This blog is part of that purpose.  And my purpose is constantly evolving, not because I’ve lost focus, but because I’ve learned more about who I am and what I can do.

And a purpose may not have anything to do with your job.  Often it is.  But in the end, you do the job you need to do so you can feed your family, even if it sucks.  Of course, if you don’t need money, that rule goes right out the window.  But most people who have jobs find them distasteful from time to time – that’s why they’re not called hobbies.

His other hobby was taking pictures of trout wearing clothing.  He said it was like shooting fish in apparel.

But if you do have your purpose, especially if it’s a special purpose, I can tell you that you need to get fit for it.  Even as MacReady’s purpose is pretty easy to meet – be a warm furry throw pillow and be a tool by barking like a chopper door machine-gun two dozen or so times a day – I bet yours isn’t that easy.

So what is it that you have to do to fulfill that purpose with all of the impact of a fat miniature pinscher impacting a carpeted floor accelerated by gravity at 32.1740 ft/s2 (6.62607015×10−34Js)?

  • Is it physical? Get in the best shape you can.
  • Is it mental? Practice improves everything.
  • Is it spiritual? There are many folks that can help you there – who knows what you might find.
  • Is it courage? Is it scary?

It might be.  Actually attempting to fulfill a purpose can be daunting.  What happens when you fail?

Not if.  When.  If the purpose is big enough and worthy of you, you will fail – that’s the basis for learning.  And you will fail until you don’t.  You have to be strong enough to keep going, building yourself up layer by layer.

I like having lots of layers on my bed – that’s a blanket statement.

You’ve got to bark at that door every day, if that’s your purpose, even if you don’t have ESP.

*I went with the spelling from the 38 year old movie – I figured it was more commonly known than the spelling in a story written over 82 years ago.

Luck And (Sort Of) $20

“What’s this, then? ‘Romanes eunt domus’? People called Romanes, they go, the house?” – The Life of Brian

When Clint was taking pottery class, before he put his ceramics into the oven, he’d snarl:  “Go ahead, bake my clay.”

I went on a long-ish walk today.  Walking is fun, gets me outdoors, and allows me to feel the wind on my scalp.  Not that being bald is bad – when I was younger I used to play chess with bald old men at my hometown’s park.  It’s really hard to find 32 of them all at once, though.

I went on the same walk yesterday.  The thought came to my mind, hey, I’m going to find a $20 bill when I go walking soon.

And today?  As I had just finished 1.56 miles (still heading out) I looked in the ditch by the side of the country road.  Could it be?  Was it?

It was.

No, not another Bud Light® can.  It was my $20 dollar bill!  I’m not making any of this up.  Here’s a picture.

I got home and found that someone ripped the center pages out of my dictionary.  It went from bad to worse.

Now it’s not the worst thing I’ve found inert, piled in the weeds next to a crumpled Bud Light™ can – that would be the Ex.  But it wasn’t exactly a full $20 bill, either.

I sent a picture of it to my friend.  “Looks like you’ve got about $9.50 there, John.”

Yup.  It is a real $20 bill.  Just not a complete $20 bill.  And since you need to have 51% of a piece of paper currency to trade it in – it’s not $9.50, it’s $0.00, although I’m sure that in Pennsylvania (or Wisconsin, or Georgia or…), my 45% of a $20 dollar bill would magically transform at 3AM into a full 55%.

So, was I lucky?

Yup, I was.

Why would I deprive an Uber driver of a chance to take part in a marathon?

Although we talk about all of the right things to do with your money (or bullets, or gold, or PEZ®) one thing you have to factor in is luck.

Pa Wilder, generally, did it all the “right way” – saved money, owned his home free and clear for years, bought his cars with cash, and stayed out of debt.  About 25 years after he retired, he was broke – he had spent most of his savings, so my brother John (yes, my brother’s name really is John, too) kicked in and helped Pa along.  Pa didn’t spend it all on pantyhose and elephant rides – generally, he just lived a very quiet life.

Then there was relative “B”.  They went from one cash shortage to another for almost their entire lives – not because of any sort of fault – they were frugal and worked hard.  In one particular cash crunch, they ended up having to sell cattle to pay an emergency bill.  Then, one day, a group of geologists came on to their land just as they’re ready to retire.  The oil company drilled a few wells and started sending them checks.

How much were all those checks worth?

Enough to allow them to get a bulldozer to push over the house they were living in.  Honestly, they didn’t need a bulldozer since the only thing holding the house together were mice holding hands with termites.

I enjoy testing microphone/speaker combinations.  Have any feedback for me?

And enough was left over to build an entirely new house.

It was . . . luck.

As humans, we plan.  We can’t help it.  And we observe patterns:  not getting married until you’re ready, finishing school, not getting divorced, saving money, being thrifty, and investing are things that generally lead to financial stability.

Choice of career is also important – there are few composers of 17th and 18th century-style music that are wealthy.  But for those composers that are?  If it ain’t baroque, don’t fix it.

But we should all take a step back and understand that the future isn’t based entirely on skill – it’s also based on luck.  And, yes, I know what you’re saying – the same thing I normally think – quoting Seneca (the dead Roman):  “Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity.”

I try to live my life by those words.

But there’s still just plain luck.

Did Romans kept fit by doing Pontius Pilates?

I am normally that lucky guy.  Seriously – I started writing down a list of incredibly good luck that I’ve had in my life.  It was a very long list.  If I took a hard look at the list, sure, some of it happened because I was clever enough, or fast enough, or strong enough, or just so very pretty – too damn pretty to die, some might say.

But some of those coincidences that happened to me were none of that.  The opportunities were so amazingly rare, and yet, there I was.  It’s not just me who has observed this.  A good friend once described me like this:  “John, if you were walking down the street and fell down into a pile of gum, you’d come back up with a $100 bill stuck to your forehead.”

Part of luck, however, is just understanding that some days are your day – nothing can go wrong.  And other days?  Nothing will go right, even if you’ve prepared wonderfully and meticulously.

Yes, I believe that Seneca is right, and you prepare as hard as you can for those days and seize the ever-loving snot out of those days.  So when it’s my day?  I try to push my luck as far and as fast as I can.  The Romans had this one sniffed out, too:  Fortis Fortuna adiuvat.  Fortune favors the bold.

What kind of aspirin do fortune-tellers take?  Medium strength.

When it’s not my day?  I just slooooooow down.

What I really have seen is that people who are in great moods have . . . the best luck.  Those same people often find opportunities where others don’t see them.

Maybe I’m just an optimist.  I think great things are going to happen to me, so, they do.  When I was out walking on the deck when it was raining and one foot slipped and I did the splits?  The kind of splits that you feel some muscle in your left leg streeeeeeeetch, and then feel that same muscle “give” because I haven’t bent like that since I was in high school?

Not lucky?  Right?

I can’t be sure.  Stretching my leg like a pretty, pretty ballerina sure fired me up to get walking to build that muscle back up.  And it’s working just after a few days.  And I found this neat $20 bill.

Or at least part of one.

Weird, huh?

Black Friday 2021

“Who buys an umbrella anyway? You can get them for free at the coffee shop in those metal cans.” – Seinfeld

I never understood why people got attacked by sharks.  Can’t they hear the music?

Black Friday is easy to make fun of, but I won’t (so much) this year.  As other people go nuts over shopping, I get to sleep in on a Friday morning and not go shopping.  It’s a win-win:  other people get to do what they want to do, and I don’t have to join them.

I can see the appeal – the idea of, perhaps, getting a deep discount on something they wanted to buy anyway is attractive.  And economizing by not wasting money is a very good thing, especially if you’re able to afford something that you normally couldn’t buy.  By not participating, though, I save 100% in every store.

I have no idea how well the sales figures will be on Black Friday, 2020.  I expect that the economy is significantly weaker than people imagine.  Multiple shutdowns for Coronavirus seem to have taken a major toll on the economy, so I’m not sure how many people are going to want to spend extra for new cooking gadgets.   I know that there’s a mask mandate in most places, but please be aware:  around here they expect you to wear pants, too.

If it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, and flies like a duck, it’s probably a government surveillance drone.

Many retailers, including our local shopping choice, Wal-Mart®, were closed on Thanksgiving.

As we all know – if there’s a buck in it, stores will stay open.  That is, after all, why they’re in business.  Someone did the math and figured out that it wouldn’t make sense to be open on Thanksgiving this year. That should tell you a lot about where the economy is.

The real economy.

The idea that the Dow-Jones® Industrial Average (DJIA) just hit a record 30,000 should also tell you something – the economy has split.  FaceBook® is doing so well that they’re still hiring Congressmen.  As several astute readers here have noted – the DJIA seems to be entirely disconnected from the reality of the actual economy most people have to work in, even though once upon a time there really was a connection.

But there is a connection between Black Friday and Christmas.  Several people I know complete all of their Christmas shopping either on Black Friday or Cyber Monday.  Businesses count on this behavior to make a profit for the year, although big businesses (Amazon®, Wal-Mart©, etc.) have already had a great year.

If you used your COVID stimulus check to buy baby chickens, did you get your money for nothing and your chicks for free?

The Mrs. and I no longer get very excited about Christmas presents – we’re fortunate that we have most of our needs met and the best gifts are the small ones that require some thought, like when The Mrs. bought me that book on anti-gravity.  I just couldn’t put it down!

The Boy seems generally content, and when I ask him what he wants, the answer is generally, “I’ll think about it.”  Pugsley still has a list.

Well, not a list.  A dozen lists.  He emailed me the first one.  Of course, knowing him, I entirely ignored the list.  Never even opened it.

Why?

Because there was a new and entirely different list the next day.  And a new one the day after that.  Finally, he seemed settled.

I named my iPad® Titanic, so when it was updating it said, “Titanic is syncing.”

“I want an iPad®.”

“Why don’t you take my old one?  I never use it.  Enjoy.”  It had originally been given to me by a Chinese friend – I do love homemade presents.

“Wait, what?”  After complaining that it was the 2015 model, he finally accepted that making do with an old iPad® and something else for Christmas was actually a pretty good deal.  Honestly, I think he’ll remember that more than getting a new iPad™.

Like I said, our family is in a good place, but we know that not everyone is.  I expect that there will be a lot less spent on gifts this Christmas.  That’s not necessarily a bad thing.  The best parts of healthy relationships aren’t material.  Long after a gift has worn out or been lost, the benefits of a real relationship remain.

If Schrödinger’s cat went on a crime spree, would he be wanted dead and alive?

I expect that the recession is far from over.  I also think that we’ve moved from a period of relative plenty into something . . . new.

New doesn’t mean bad.  New means different.

And if that meant that Black Friday stopped being a materialist holiday?

We might all be better off.