Holiday Stress and Why You Don’t Need It, Featuring a Beer Drinking Baby

“Jen, if this needle goes past here, you’re fired.  Does that make you feel stressed at all?  Does it?  Jen? Are you sure?  Jen?  Does it?  Are you sure?  Are you sure?  Are you sure?” – IT Crowd

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Playing triangle in a band is something a Jamaican won’t do, mon.  It stresses them out to be responsible for every ting.

There is a love/hate relationship with the Holidays.  By the Holidays, I really mean Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Eve – and not any of the other 107 holidays in November or 69 holidays in December our crack Wilder research team was able to find with one Google® search.  There are (really) days like National Cookie Day on December 4, International Ninja Day on December 5, and National Salesperson Day on December 13.  National Salesperson Day?  I’m not buying that one.

One reason we love the Holidays is how we looked forward to them when we were kids.  The Holidays meant, at the minimum, time off from school.  In the American Dream Household®, there was time for snowmen, sledding, and mugs of hot chocolate while we sang Christmas carols for our neighbors.  On top of all of that, there was the smell of turkey on Thanksgiving, the tantalizing secrets of the wrapped mysteries under the Christmas tree, and the miracle of pulling Uncle Vern’s finger.

Okay, our neighbors had concertina wire and watch towers, so we couldn’t get within a quarter mile of their houses without the password.  I’m sure we would have belted out a few Christmas carols if they hadn’t fired those warning shots.

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I did accomplish one thing last Christmas.  I won the Netflix® marathon.

As I got older, the hate part of the Holidays begins to show up:  stress from bills, stress from dealing with corporate Christmas parties, stress from having to decide which sets of parents get which visits on which days, stress from having to deal with relatives that you’d rather never see again, and stress from hiding the bodies of those relatives you will never see again.

Some people get hit so badly with this stress that they actually panic.  And panic can be a serious mental illness, not carefree and happy go lucky like the ones I have.  But I gave up on being upset at Christmas years ago.

I’ve learned the secret:  I don’t care.

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I will say, the FBI looked more competent in Die Hard than they have for the last three years . . . .

Okay, that’s not entirely true, I do care.  But I choose what I care about.  And I choose what I don’t care about.

You see, the old line that “Aging is a matter of mind.  If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter,” slightly modified, applies here as well.  I’ll customize it a bit:  “Holidays:  If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.”

I think the biggest problem that most people have is high standards.  High standards are a gateway to constant disappointment.  If your life is wrapped around making the holiday perfect, then you’ll stress yourself out by trying to make the holiday perfect.  And then?  When you fail to achieve perfection?  Your stress will increase that much more.  Your stress might then turn from disappointment to depression, which I admire, because that shows real dedication that you don’t seen in those millennial kids nowadays.

As bad as that quest for perfection is, it can be even worse than that – often people want to view perfection not through their own standards, but through the views of other people.  Now, on top of trying to meet your standards, you have to imagine what the standards of other people might be, and try to figure out how to meet those as well.  It’s why Bill Clinton doesn’t do threesomes – if he wanted to disappoint two people at the same time, he could have just taken Hillary out for dinner.

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Bill was especially disappointed when Hillary lost because he realized he wouldn’t get a fresh batch of interns.

However, you can make the conscious choice to not choose perfection.  What happens if you don’t care if the turkey isn’t perfect?  What happens if you don’t care if other people are upset?

Well, nothing.

Certainly, there’s something on my list above from bills to parties to relatives that is (or was) on your list.  Me?  Sure, I’ve had a disappointment or two, and yes, I’ve gotten stressed a time or two.  But not recently.

If you’re feeling stressed at the holidays, the Internet will tell you to do lots of things.  The top five tips (really!) on one particular site?

  • Take a walk in the sunlight.
  • Smell citrus.
  • Take yet another walk. (Yes, it was item one, and also item three.)
  • Take a supplement.
  • Squeeze between your thumb and forefinger.

Yes.  These will all certainly help – help a journalist on a deadline come up with a “unique” take on holiday stress.  I’ll admit, out of the 27 or so tips, there were some good ones.  But when “Take a whiff of citrus” is in your top two ideas for dealing with stress?  That’s almost as bad an idea as when they decided to put an “s” in lisp.

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A journalist, an anthropologist, and a philosopher walk into a bar.  The bartender says, “Hey Anderson, still no job?”

Between now and the New Year, we’ll probably not get farther than 90 miles from the house, and that will be to celebrate Penultimate Day (Happy Penultimate Day 2018, and the Biggest Story of 2018: Societal Trust).  We’ll spend time with people we like, and not people we have to spend time with.

Might there be some stress?  Sure.  That happens.  But only if I want it to.

34 Random Thoughts About The Economy, Money, and Jobs

“Well, Saddam owed us money.” – Arrested Development

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Maybe I should get more sleep.

It’s nearly Thanksgiving, and the next few weeks will be busy.  Now that The Boy is off at college and no longer engaged in half a dozen activities, we’re down to just having to chase Pugsley around.  Not so busy that there won’t be a full slate of posts – those are planned for the next few weeks, barring a change based on current events or me being distracted by shiny objects.

Today, though, I thought I’d change it up a bit, so here are a few random thoughts on business, economics, and wealth.

  1. The last economic crash was about a housing bubble. The next economic crash will be about our “everything” bubble where money flows faster to chase smaller and smaller returns.
  2. The biggest thing to crash after the next bubble pops will be money. It’s never fun when the value of money drops to zero, since having a little inflation is like being a little pregnant – not much happens at the beginning, but by the end everyone is yelling and screaming and covered in blood.
  3. The next economic crash will be the biggest in our lives.
  4. Or not. I’ve been wrong before.
  5. But I still think 2025 will be interesting.
  6. Most jobs don’t require thinking nowadays – they are a set of procedures and rules based on the lowest common denominator employee. The best jobs like this are at the DMV, which at least allow you to be mean and unpleasant, plus government benefits.
  7. Jobs that don’t require thinking can be paid at the lowest possible wage. If you’re lucky enough to be hired at Old MacDonald’s farm, I hope you can rise to the C-I-E-I-O position, but you’ll have to be out standing in your field.study.jpg
  8. Businesses that do things immorally don’t automatically fail because they do things immorally – many immoral and even evil businesses flourish. It’s only in the movies that the good guys always win.
  9. When I gave career advice to The Boy, I advised him to build expertise and skills in things that couldn’t be done over the Internet or by an outsourced employee working in a country where the native language consists only of vowels, grunts, and humming noises but yet has 355 terms for “waddle”.
  10. Always be worth more to your company than your company is paying you.
  11. “What have you done for me lately?” is a good and fair question from any boss.
  12. The second mouse gets the cheese in the trap. No, I’m not going first.
  13. If it’s choosing between money and honor, choose honor. The bills might be more difficult to pay, but at least you can look yourself in the mirror.  Until the power company cuts the electricity.
  14. Seriously though, choose honor.cat.jpg
  15. It’s the risk that you don’t take that you’ll regret. But you only hear successful people say that.
  16. Never build a business on what you love, since no one cares about medieval Norse poetry. Build a business on what you do that other people love and will pay for.  You’ll learn to love it.
  17. Capitalism works great to allocate spoils in an expanding market. Capitalism fails in a contracting one.  There’s nothing easy about the transition.
  18. Being short of money and optimistic about the future is better than having lots of cash and being pessimistic.rain.jpg
  19. Money can’t make you happy, but you can avoid most of life’s miseries by having a few hundred thousand dollars. Not every one of life’s miseries, but most of them.
  20. Whenever anyone says it’s not about the money, it’s really about the money.
  21. Whenever anyone says cost is no object, you can expect that statement to be proven false once the estimates arrive. Make them pay in advance.
  22. The reward for work well done is more work. This is actually a pretty good deal – we tend to buy video games built around this same premise.
  23. The rewards aren’t linear – the closer to the top, the greater the rewards. But you have to fight the big boss at the end before you retire.
  24. Great bosses are rarer than you might imagine. Most bosses are okay.  Some are awful.
  25. The worst kind of boss is a weak boss. They will praise you when you don’t deserve it and sell you out when you don’t.
  26. Teamwork makes it easy to blame someone else.
  27. In America, when two men meet, they ask “What do you do?” Too often we equate ourselves with “what we do,” while forgetting we get to choose who we are.  Unless you’re Johnny Depp, in which case you are stuck being Johnny Depp.question.jpg
  28. If you find yourself dreading the alarm clock and not wanting to go to work you go anyway. It’s your job.  If it’s too much?  Find another job or retire.
  29. True story: a friend of mine had a sister that decided to retire one day when she was about 30.  She was shocked when the checks stopped coming, she seemed to think that when you retired, the company had to keep paying you.  I think she’s a Bernie® voter now.
  30. Me? I’m trying to start thinking about retirement before my boss starts thinking about my retirement.pounds.jpg
  31. When I was first hired into a job, I heard a statistic that 70% of a typical workday for a typical employee was unproductive. I was shocked that the figure was so high.
  32. Now, after working for years, I’m shocked that the figure is so low. I tried to come up with jokes about lazy people, but they just won’t work.
  33. Meetings often happen just because they’re on the schedule. Look like you’re paying attention and don’t sleep, no matter how quickly it makes the meeting go.
  34. I had a friend who worked at the Unemployment Department who got fired. He still had to show up the next day.

A.I., Health Care, Google, and Elon Musk

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go home and have a heart attack.” – Pulp Fiction

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I wanted to get a doctor appointment to treat my invisibility, but he said he couldn’t see me right now.

A computer can predict who will die using medical data better than a doctor.  As of today, like science has no answer as to how California copes with the landfill requirements of Kardashian body hair, science has no understanding of how the computer is doing it.

A gentleman by the name of Dr. Brian Formwalt led a study where approximately 1,770,000 electrocardiogram records were fed into a computer.  An electrocardiogram is also known as an ECG, for obvious reasons.  For less obvious reasons, it’s also known as an EKG.  EKG stands for elektrokardiographie, which is exactly the same thing as an electrocardiogram, but in German.  If your doctor calls it an EKG, he just might be thinking about expanding his living room.

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Always be careful when Germans research expanding anything.

But back to the study.  So, there were 1,770,000 records, but only 400,000 people in the study, so the average person had more than four records.  Obviously, these weren’t all healthy people, since I have had (I believe) exactly one ECG in my life, and it was for a pre-employment physical as an astronaut for Wal-Mart®.  At least the recruiter told me Wal-Mart© needed astronauts, before Wal-Mart™ cancelled the program when China accidentally delivered 50,000 small space shuttle toys rather than one life-size one.  I guess that’s what happens when you buy space shuttles by the pound.

But what is an ECG?

Electrocardiograms are the little machine light that makes the beep sound every time your heart beats.  The beat is measured by injecting elves into your body that send radio signals to the machine every time that your heart muscle squeezes them.  Okay, the technical side might be a bit off, but it doesn’t really matter if you or I know exactly how the machine gets the data.  It’s just the device that goes beep-beep-beep-beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep to let you know that John Wick’s® dog died.

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Cardiac surgeons are the guys you want to see for a change of heart.

Okay, so now you know everything that you might need to know about technology invented in 1895.  But it now produces an electronic file rather than the old method, where the heart rhythm was tattooed on the backs of ill-tempered Chihuahuas.  The 1,770,000 records were then fed into a computer that had been previously taught to read ECGs.  The simple question was asked – which of these patients will be dead in a year?  I mean it used to make me feel better when my doctor told me, “that’s normal for your age,” but then I realized that at some point being dead will be normal for my age.

Since all of the records were over a year old, it was known which of the patients were alive and which were dead.  Essentially, the doctors were (with very little data) asking the computer to predict the future.  It did.  And it did it better than human doctors.  Some of the ECGs looked absolutely fine to human doctors – they detected no abnormality, yet the computer was able to see something that accurately allowed it to predict the death of the patient.

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Then the next doctor told me it looked like I was pregnant.  I said, “But I’m a guy.”  He replied, “But it looks like you’re pregnant.”

It doesn’t surprise me.  Computers are powerful tools that are great at taking lots of data and being able to compare it quickly.  The reason that they can do this is they:

  • Have 100% focus, and if they get a sore throat you can give them Robo-tussin®.
  • Don’t need to make payments on second wife’s Mercedes® and third wife’s Lexusâ„¢.
  • Can retain every previous ECG reading ever seen and instantly recall the pattern if needed, much like I can retain the plot of every one of the episodes of Gilligan’s Island.
  • Don’t get distracted by how healthy a patient looks or how much kale he eats.

These are great advantages.  In the future, machines will be able to do things where we may never understand how they made a correlation, or, as in this case, even what the correlation is.  Arthur C. Clarke Third Law states that “any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic”, and he’s right.  Health care generates amazing amounts of data, and also outcomes.  It’s only a matter of time until some big corporation gets evil . . .

Oh, yeah, Google®.  It bought Fitbit®.  Now it knows what you’re searching for, and it also has a treasure-trove of heartbeat and fitness data.

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Google® is female.  It won’t let me finish a sentence without giving suggestions.

Well, I guess that’s kind of scary.  But at least Google© doesn’t have access to medical records.  Oh, Google™ has patient names, diagnoses, prescription data, and records from 2,600 hospitals.  Millions, perhaps tens of millions of patients?  In (possibly) all of these states:  Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, New York, Rhode Island, Maryland, D.C., Illinois, Indiana, Kansas, Missouri, Kentucky, Tennessee, Virginia, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Tennessee, Texas, Mississippi, Louisiana, Alabama, Georgia, and Florida?

Nah, that should work out fine.  There isn’t a record of Google® ruthlessly monetizing every corner of the Internet not already inhabited by Facebook™, Amazon® and Microsoft©.

I think the case is clear for someone to go through this data.  With only a few records and outcomes fed into it, a computer is better at predicting medical outcomes than a very good doctor.  If all of the data could be available?  I think we’d have a legitimate revolution in health care.

Frankly, if we don’t descend into civil chaos, I think that this health care revolution is certain.

But Google®?  Google™ has proven itself untrustworthy.

I’d suggest that we give control of the initiative to a leader that’s more trustworthy than Google®, like Bernie Madoff, but he seems to be otherwise, um, detained.  And I’m sure that Jeffery Epstein has better morals, but, um, he seems to have accepted a unique opportunity with the Clinton Foundation.

Heck, let’s give the job to Elon Musk.

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Free Speech? Not If You Want Healthcare.

In the wild, there is no health care. In the wild, health care is, “Ow, I hurt my leg. I can’t run. A lion eats me and I’m dead.” Well, I’m not dead. I’m the lion. You’re dead. – The Office

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Thankfully we have the United Nations – where governments that oppose free speech can finally be heard.

On Monday, November 4, 2019, the National Health Service (NHS) of North Bristol, like my ex-wife, implemented a policy to deny service to people whose opinions they don’t like.  The italicized text directly below is me quoting the NHS directly.

The abusive behaviour policy covers anyone (visitors or patients – J.W.) with mental capacity making (sic):

  • Racist or sexist language, gestures or behaviour.
  • Excessive noise.
  • Abuse of alcohol or drugs.
  • Threatening and offensive language.
  • Malicious allegations.
  • Intentional damage to trust property.

I’m pretty sure my ex-wife’s list is shorter, consisting of only one item: “Being John Wilder.”  Breaking those NHS rules will get you banned from the hospital.  If you are a patient, they’ll at least wait until your life isn’t in immediate danger.  And then they won’t serve you anymore.

You can read it all here (LINK).  First, I’m assuming that whoever wrote the web page knew English, but the English spell it behaviour – we spell it behavior.  They spell it colour, we spell it color.  Flavour?  No, flavor.  I guess that must be why George Washington texted King George “LOL, getting rid of u” in 1776.  Second, this seems like a pretty reasonable list, right?  How could you be upset about those things?  If someone were coming into my place of business, I’d kick them out for doing many of the things listed.

But this isn’t a private business – this is the provider of healthcare for 90%+ of the population of the United Kingdom.  And the plain language that you and I might agree was reasonable will morph over time.  A guy casting a porno movie is being investigated for a hate crime in Britain because he didn’t want to cast a transsexual with, um, man parts for the porno he was filming about sex between a man and a woman.  Why is that a hate crime?  Because the transsexual (who, I remind you, has man parts) identifies as female and wants to play the woman’s part in a porno, but without having woman parts.

Yeah.  I need a scorecard, too.

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I guess there’s no Internet in Farmington, NM.

But the silliness doesn’t stop there:  a comedian that goes by the Internet name “Count Dankula” was sentenced to an £800 fine for teaching his girlfriend’s dog a trick.  Was the trick eating toddlers?  No.  The trick was teaching the dog a salute that was fairly popular in Germany between 1932 and 1945.  Why would he do that?  He was irritating his girlfriend, and unless he can teach the dog to pilot a bulldog-scale Messerschmitt Bf-109, I think the United Kingdom is safe.  Since the dog was featured on a YouTube® video, it is, therefore:  hate crime.

Given the two examples above, if I were British, I’d have zero confidence in the way those “reasonable” points on the list above would be interpreted in the future.  Deny white privilege?  Obviously hate speech – we’re not going to work on your broken leg.  Oppose continual reparations for (INSERT GROUP HERE)?  Obviously racist – we’re sending you to racist jail!

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Help me eliminate all Cancers.  Then we’ll move to the Capricorns.

Great Britain has had the National Health Service since 1948, since they decided that German bombs weren’t effective enough at destroying their economy.  I kid.  The English seem to generally like the NHS – like Social Security in the United States it appears to be a political third rail.  Touch it, and your career in eating crumpets, bangers, mash, and drinking tea in Parliament is over and it’s back to fish and chips and sending your children to the mill so you have enough money to buy cheap gin.

The service has drawbacks, but seems to work for the English, for now.  I have some doubts about long-term viability, but I’m not British, so I don’t get a vote.  But “Baby Oliver” is alive today (LINK) because even though the NHS refused to operate on him, he got surgery in the United States.  It appears that the NHS learned their lesson with that publicity – they wouldn’t even let “Baby Alfie” out of the country (LINK).

On the bright side, dentistry is free(ish), too.

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The British have sensitive teeth.  They’re so sensitive, just saying that offends them.

The kicker is, of course, the control.  The most ominous line in the press release is:

Any cases will be reported on the trust’s (a subdivision of the NHS – J.W.) incident management system and on patients’ individual notes.

Back when I was in grade school, teachers would say in a really grave tone that certain behavior would end up “on our Permanent Record.”  They really said that, and you could hear the capital letters when they spoke.  It was as if that in some far-flung future where Snake Plisskin was attempting to break the President out of New York and I was applying for a job and it would still be in the Permanent Record.

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The Secret Service expenses for all of the living ex-presidents are highest for Bill Clinton.  That party bus ain’t gonna drive itself!

I imagined that when I finally got that great interview to be Starship Captain or whatever the interviewer would pull out a copy of my Permanent Record, shake his head disapprovingly, and say, “I’m sorry, Mr. Wilder.  We simply cannot offer you a job because in fifth grade you called Brenda Vincent, a,” he would then take a long pause and adjust his glasses while staring at the paper, “poopy haired chum smuggler.  We simply cannot have a man like that at Enron®.”

In reality, my Permanent Record from grade school was probably sent to a landfill when they tore the building down.  Brenda’s bait smuggling history is now lost to eternity.

But in 2019 we really do have permanent records, and in greater detail than most people realize.  I get ads on my laptop in the evening that relate to conversations that I had in the afternoon when the laptop was off but my phone was nearby.  There are networks of cameras that cross the nation that track license plates.  If you use a credit card, you can be tracked from gas station to gas station and hotel to hotel.  Your Internet search history?  If your ISP doesn’t have it, the NSA does.  Speaking of job interviews – you don’t really have to apply to the NSA – they already have your resume, cover letter, and know all of your references.

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At least someone is interested in my life.

Increasingly in our “capitalist” system, people with unpopular opinions keep getting being censored, but it gets worse. Recently, Stefan Molyneux, who is more of a libertarian than anything, was kicked off of PayPal® – though at this writing those links were still up.  If he were in the U.K., he might be denied medical services as well, and since he’s suffering from Stage 4 baldness, I hate to think about the potential future complications.

To be clear:  in a socialist medical system, if you disagree with their opinions, the Leftists want to deny you medical service, and hope that you die.  In a capitalist technocracy, if you disagree with their opinions, the Leftists want to silence you, deny you banking services, and hope that you die.

This will be a factor in your life.  Life may get very rough before it gets better, and “rough” may last quite a few years.  But I tend to think that the Right will win in the end.  Why?

Because my ex-wife is on the Left.  And I wasn’t sure about Hell until I met her.  Now I’m sure.

So if there’s Hell?

There’s Heaven.  Onward, my friends!

Life is Struggle. Struggle is Easier with Panzers. Especially if You’re Struggling with France.

“Your death will stand as a landmark in the continuing struggle to liberate the parent land from the hands of the Roman imperialist aggressors, excluding those concerned with drainage, medicine, roads, housing, education, viniculture and any other Romans contributing to the welfare of Jews of both sexes and hermaphrodites.” – Life of Brian

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Fun fact:  the first winner of the Tour de France was a Panzerkampfwagen III.

A few years back I worked with a friend named Will.  Will was one of the more creative people I’d ever worked with.  One particular week, I knew he had a deadline to finish a rather significant project for our boss that Friday.  It was Tuesday and I asked him if he had finished it, since he was goofing off enough to make George R.R. Martin’s writing progress look like a cocaine-snorting crotch-weasel.  And cocaine-snorting crotch-weasels move pretty fast.

Will responded, “No.  I think I’ll start on Thursday afternoon.”

In the conversation that followed Will admitted that work was pretty easy for him.  “But if I wait until I have some important deadline, until I’m not sure that I have enough time to finish, then work gets pretty interesting.”  He was completely serious.  He didn’t really care if he got fired or in trouble – he just wanted life to be interesting.  I thought about it, and, looking back, had noticed that I had done much the same thing.  In fact, it’s so common, there are thousands of posters and jokes about it.  I mean, if they threatened to kill one of my friends each hour I procrastinated, I could probably be pretty productive.  But, you know that depends, too:  which friend?

In retrospect, this points out that winning doesn’t make people happy, in and of itself.  If that was the case, Will would have done his work in advance and goofed off later rather than earlier.  That’s simply not the case.  Most people do the same and procrastinate in some fashion.  Statistics show anywhere from 25% to 95% of people procrastinate.

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Procrastination will be my downfall.  Emphasis on “will”.   

That’s a wide enough range to be utterly meaningless.  And since social scientists did the study, I trust it about as much as I trust drunken toddlers run the legislative branch of our government.  Congressmen probably would agree with me, since I know that they generally really hate that kind of competition from intellectually superior people who are at least attempting to be potty trained.

Why procrastination?

I think there’s a lot of stress today in the workplace because the work is no longer optimized for the worker, it’s optimized for the lowest common denominator.  Most companies want most processes to be able to be done by someone of limited *ahem* intellectual means.  That makes the pool of qualified workers so much bigger, and they can pay lower wages.  Keep in mind, this doesn’t mean that everyone who’s working a job that’s designed for an I.Q. of 85 has an I.Q. of 85 – far from it.  But take someone of average (100) I.Q. and dump them in an 85 I.Q. job?  There is more than a little potential for boredom.

And with that boredom can come mischief.

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Horseplay?  Quit foaling around.

The best possible job for anyone has certain characteristics – you know what’s expected of you.  You have the tools to do it.  Crucially, the job can’t be so easy that it’s trivial.  The job should also not be so hard as to be frustrating.  There’s that middle road, where you’re learning, where there’s enough challenge to keep you fully engaged in the work.  Thankfully, many jobs have a ladder where as you increase your competence, you get increased responsibilities.

The downside, of course, is that the most skilled carpenter might make a really crappy carpenter foreman.  The skill set from one spot in the organizational hierarchy to the next step up may not even be remotely related.  The idea and general practice of promoting the best carpenter to foreman at least has one advantage – at least we know that the foreman is good at something.  That something may not be leading people, but worst case, his people know he’s good with a hammer.

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H.P. Lovecraft loved getting hickies, but would only get them from neck romancers.

I’ve mentioned the following story more than once, but I keep bringing it up because it was one of my “a-ha!” moments of understanding in life.  In the very old HBO® series Dream On the protagonist was a literary agent.  He had a secretary named Toby, who specialized in being unhelpful.  In one episode, Toby was at work, playing a supermarket simulator on the company computer.  She started as a bag boy.

“Cleanup in Aisle 9!” she screamed at one point in the episode.  She showed an intensity playing the game that she never showed on her job.  “I’ve been moved to cashier!”  She was thrilled at the promotion.

Finally, her crowning achievement.  Toby had won the game.

“I did it!  I did it!  I’m the manager!” she yelled, with excitement.

A long pause.

“Of a supermarket . . .”

Now her voice had dropped into a questioning tone.

“that doesn’t exist.”  The last line was delivered with profound sadness and self-awareness that her day had been wasted.

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Me:  What’s up, glitches?

Toby, the secretary had been thoroughly engaged in the game in a way that was never available to her in real life.  I’ve played a few video games since seeing that episode, but for the most part that one line stripped them bare to me:  “Manager . . . of a supermarket . . . that doesn’t exist.”  It showed that her victory was as hollow to her as the skull of a congresswoman from New York.

Since many jobs have been defined downward in so many ways, I can certainly see the rise of gaming.  Gaming sells the experience people want and need.  Good games provide a tutorial system to show you how to use the controls.  They then run you through a series of challenges that teach you to be more competent with the in-game systems and controls, and provide tools that are in many cases only barely adequate for the job, requiring focus and concentration for you to succeed.  Winning the game requires an investment of work, study, concentration, focus, and control.  And $60.

Games provide the challenges that work really should be providing to the younger generation.  They often have tools and abilities that far exceed what their job should provide.  How do they cope?  Killing cops, stealing cars, shooting radioactive zombie cowboys.  But eventually you have to go home so you can play your game that you paid $60 for.

Gaming is popular because humans are machines built to compete.  If life offers sufficient competition to keep us interested?  Fine.  But if living standards are great and everything is going well, but the people aren’t challenged?  Hello, World War One.  There was simply no reason for Europe to descend into that madness other than things were going well and the people were rich and bored.

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If you survive assault, pepper spray, and mustard gas, are you a seasoned veteran?

Easy success is boredom.  What happens to a society, a world, where success is set on easy?  It breeds discontent.  We see that in Europe now.  Germany was nice and happy and reunited and things were going well.  Boring.

Here’s an idea!  Let’s import a bunch of foreigners.  That should spice things up!  Foreigners now make up 12.8% of the population, but commit 34.7% of the crimes, according to the Wall Street Journal®.  Why do they commit the crimes?  I’m pretty sure I don’t care.  But why would Germany want to import a population that commits 30% of the murders and over 41% of the burglaries?  They were bored.  Things were going too well.

Normally, when things were going too well, Germany would fire up the panzers and take a trip west, but that turned out just to be too easy.  And I like giving the French a hard time – I get more visitors from Malta (Want Some Short Term Gain and Long Term Pain? Also, Malta.) than from France.  And the Germans certainly couldn’t take over Malta, mainly because the distance to Malta isn’t measured in panzers per baguette.

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I recently read a book about French war heroes.  That was an inspiring six pages.

But if you have the difficulty of your society set too hard?  Riots and revolution and turning into a tyrannical dictatorship.  The difficulty is no easier, but at least you get brainwashing and random executions, so there’s that.

Western Civilization has been fairly stable is that it’s built on two fairly strong foundations – capitalism and hierarchy.

Crony capitalism is inevitable.  If I were to say “in a properly functioning capitalist society” I’d be no better than the Leftist weasels that lament that their particular brand of Hell on Earth has never been tried.  No.  Capitalism in the United States isn’t fair, and the rich get to make a lot of the rules and restrict competition.  But you have the ability to join them.  The system isn’t so rigged that mobility is impossible.  And you can certainly trace out a comfortable life, especially if you’re born rich.

But capitalism really does provide competition – it’s hard to dominate a system (unless your name is Bezos) that is so huge, just like Jeff’s mistresses butt.  It’s a game of nearly infinite complexity.  You can play as hard and as long as you want on so many different angles.  That leads to stability.

The other factor leading to stability is hierarchy.  Men, left alone, will soon develop a hierarchy.  They want the hierarchy.  It gives them a place.  It creates (generally) healthy competition to reach the top, unless your name is Macbeth.  That hierarchy is often replicated in structures across the country – from homeowners associations at the very bottom, to Elon Musk at the very top.

Sure, there is only one Elon, but you can live in the middle to upper half of the hierarchy without having to even have a job.  There are many activities that pay nothing and lead to huge amounts of mojo.  Musician.  Biker.  Actor waiter.

Blogger.

And, yes, there are days when I put off things, too.  I’ve had this one project I need to do at work.  I’ve had it since July.  It’s due next Friday.

Guess I should be starting that one pretty soon . . . .

How One Texas Court Case Defines The Future For A Seven Year Old . . . and The United States

“There’s no basement at the Alamo.” – PeeWee’s Big Adventure

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“I guess we’d better turn over our guns.” – No Texan Ever

In 1836, Colonel William Travis surveyed the situation.  It was grim.  He was surrounded.  His troops were outnumbered.  He was out of deodorant.  Defeat was certain.  The information his messengers brought back was clear – there would be no rescue.  With this certain death in mind, Colonel Travis addressed the defenders of the Alamo:

Colonel Travis:  “We must die,” he began. “Our business is not to make a fruitless effort to save our lives, but to choose the manner of our death.  We can surrender and be executed.  We can attack and be butchered.  Or, we can remain in this fort, resist every assault, and to sell our lives as dearly as possible.”

Travis then drew a line in the dirt with his sword.

Colonel Travis:  “I now want everyone here who is determined to stay here and die with me to come across this line.  Each man-”

Captain Triggered:    “Or woman.”

Colonel Travis:  “Or woman, to come across himself-”

Captain Triggered:  “Or herself.”

Colonel Travis:  “Or herself.  Furthermore, every man-

Captain Triggered:  “Or woman.”

Colonel Travis:  “Why don’t you shut up about women, Captain, you’re putting us off.”

Captain Triggered:  “Women have a perfect right to play a part in our movement, Colonel Travis.”

Colonel Travis:  “Why are you always on about women, Captain?”

Captain Triggered:  “I want to be one.”

Colonel Travis:  “What?”

Captain Triggered:  “I want to be a woman.  From now on I want you all to call me Loretta.”

Colonel Travis:  “What?”

Loretta:  “It’s my right as a man.”

Davy Crockett:  “Why do you want to be Loretta, Captain Triggered?”

Loretta:  “I want to have babies.”

Colonel Travis:  “You want to have babies???”

Loretta:  “It’s every man’s right to have babies if he wants them.”

Colonel Travis:  “But you can’t have babies.”

Loretta:  “Don’t you oppress me.”

Colonel Travis:  “I’m not oppressing you, Captain Triggered, you haven’t got a womb.  Where’s the fetus going to gestate?  You going to keep it in a box?”

(Loretta starts crying.)

Davy Crockett:  “I’ve got an idea.  Suppose, Colonel Travis, you agree that Loretta can’t actually have babies, not having a womb, which is nobody’s fault, not even the Mexicans, but that he can have the right to have babies.”

Jim Bowie:  “Good idea, Davy.  We shall fight the Mexicans for your right to have babies, brother.  Sister, sorry.”

Colonel Travis:  “What’s the point?”

Jim Bowie:  “What?”

Colonel Travis:  “What’s the point of fighting for his right to have babies, when he can’t have babies?”

Davy Crockett:  “It is symbolic of our struggle against Santa Ana.”

Colonel Travis:  “It’s symbolic of his struggle against reality.”

norris.jpgI’m just waiting for his next movie:  Walker, Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

This week another line was crossed.  Like the Alamo, it was really just another custody dispute in Texas.  Unlike the case of Santa Ana versus 3,000 crazy Texans, the custody case was about a real child, rather than a typical Texas divorce or Oklahoma tornado – where in either case someone loses a mobile home.

If you haven’t heard about this case, it involved a seven year old boy.

This particular seven year old child has been the subject of an ongoing trial that gathered national attention, and with good reason.  The child is a boy.  The father attempted to gain full custody of the child because the mother saw him liking the movie Frozen and wanting to dress like the main character.  I have never seen the movie Frozen.  Perhaps if Frozen was written by Matt Bracken (LINK) and starred a bunch of Soviet-era tanks, I might have been interested.

But this boy who likes Frozen is seven.  I recall when I was seven.  I wanted to be an astronaut, exhibiting a desire to dress in a helmet and coveralls, and pretending a plastic M-16® was a laser.  Ma and Pop Wilder, being concerned, took me to a psychologist.  The psychologist suggested that they transition me from the real M-16© that I kept by my bedside to a laser pistol and launch me into orbit at the earliest opportunity.  The psychologist explained that I had astro-dysphoria, which could be treated before I reached puberty though gravity blockers.

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I now identify as Tyler Durden.  But so do several people.

Okay, that didn’t happen.  But there was a kid in my class who played with his sister’s Barbie™ dolls.  Even in second grade we made fun of him for that.  Last time I saw him he wasn’t playing with Barbie© dolls.  He was playing nose guard for their high school football team.  What would have happened if he was seven in 2019?  I think he might have been given a dozen needy housecats and a barrel of chardonnay.

But a jury in Texas (Texas!) ordered that the mother get custody of the “trans” child so the mother could raise the child as she wished, which included “transitioning” the boy named James into a girl named Luna.  Included in the order was that the mother had full authority to give the boy hormone blockers as he approached puberty to suppress him becoming more manlike as puberty hit.

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Keep in mind, Silence of the Lambs was a horror movie, not a “how-to” manual.

On Thursday (10/24/2019) it appears sanity prevailed.  The judge in the case overturned the jury verdict and awarded the husband joint custody – in this case the mother cannot make sole medical decisions about James.  The boy’s father hailed it as a victory, but the judge also issued a gag order – neither party can talk any more in the media about this case.  This may be the last we hear about James until he’s 18.  More about that gag order later.

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The one time the jury voted to acquit me, it was great!  I got to keep all that money!

I did not sit in the jury box.  I’ve often been reluctant to criticize juries because I wasn’t there as the evidence was presented.  I wasn’t there to hear the testimony, to see the people involved in the case.

In this case it doesn’t matter:  I will criticize mercilessly, like a hungover, sleep-deprived Viking named Jen Vilder in the depths of a nicotine fit.  11 out of the 12 jurors, who voted to allow the mother to turn a seven year old boy into a girl, are monsters.

Each of them.

The point of principle is very strong here – as a society we simply do not allow seven year old children to make life changing decisions.

  • We don’t allow them to drink booze.
  • We don’t allow them to vote.
  • We don’t allow them to drive.
  • We don’t allow them to get tattoos.
  • We don’t allow them to own guns.
  • We don’t allow them to have ear hair.

These laws are in place because society rightly realizes that seven year old children have the brain capacity of a slightly mobile houseplant.  I have ice cubes and ribeye steak in my freezer that are older and wiser than your average seven year old child.  Children are malleable – Marx knew that.  Stalin knew that, too.  Stalin said, “Education is a weapon, whose effect depends on who holds it in his hands and at whom it is aimed.”  This is nothing less than an attempt to devastate an entire generation and demoralize a people.

I speak from the experience of raising children, from being involved in youth organizations, and adopting “a few” random seven year old children from the Wal-Mart© parking lot.  I have never met a seven year old capable of writing a letter to Santa that would get past the screening Elf, let alone making decisions that could lead to permanent deformation and infertility.

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I hope this doesn’t make you Claustrophobic.

I’ll throw this in here:  if you’re an adult, and want to pretend to be a female?  I’m not sure I care.  It appears that this just might be a gimmick for guys to dominate both male and female athletics.  It’s not like women are transitioning to men to become a linebacker for the New England Patriots® – they can’t, because there’s no real affirmative action for football – society takes football seriously.

I have, however, heard that the latest complaint of the trans community is that it’s transphobic when lesbians won’t date trans women.  Yes.  Let me restate the complaint – trans people think that lesbians should be forced to date people with guy parts.

Frankly, that amuses me.

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“Hannah” took “her” team to a world championship.  Yay!

It’s wonderful when the Community of the Woke has to deal with the consequences of Wokeness, and tries to explain that men can have periods and women can drive well.  As long as I don’t have to believe it, I can take a Monty Python® view and wait for the trans community to argue that, even though men can’t have periods, they have the right to have periods.

Genius!

It’s fine to watch adults ignore reality – watching a man that has transitioned to being a woman play rugby with actual women is amazing – it shows that before long that trans women will conquer all of sports.  Biological women?  They can stay home and make sandwiches, I guess.

But kids are different.  Drag queen story hour at the library?  Wow.  That wasn’t a thing since Weimar Germany.  And we all know what happened after Weimar Germany (hint:  it rhymes with “Mitler”).

The remaining part of this story that bothers me is the gag order.  Sure, it’s in the best interest of the kid.  I’ll agree to that.  But if dad loses custody?  If Dad, who gets to see his son 56 hours a month loses the next court battle and his mother transitions him to “Momma’s little girl”?  We won’t hear about it because dad can’t talk about it.  And that . . . could be a travesty.

Colonel William Travis drew a line in the dirt in the Alamo.  The consequences were simple:  step over that line, and fight side by side with Travis, to the death if need be.

But a different kind of line was drawn in Texas this week, a line that is so profound that it should shake every reader to the core.  What bothers me, and what should bother you the most about this case is that it wasn’t the dictate of a crazed bureaucrat or judge.  No – in this case the judge was the sane one.  11 out of 12 jurors in the Lone Star state voted that a seven year old boy should be allowed to become a girl, is a sign not that society is collapsing, it’s a sign that society has collapsed.

I’m thinking that in Modern Mayberry, that wouldn’t go over very well.

Texans?  Stand up.  The line you have held dear has been crossed.

How long will you stand for it?

Hold the line.

On the other side?  Madness.

Life Insurance? Nah, They Can Suffer.

Dot:  I’m sure you have the life insurance squared away?
Ed:  Have we done that honey?  We gotta do that honey!
Dot:  You’ve got to do that H.I.!  Ed’s got her hands full with this little angel.
H.I.:  Yes, ma’am.
Dot:  What would Ed and little angel do if a truck came along and splattered your brains all over the interstate?

-Raising Arizona

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Is it just me, or was it Transformers® who started the trans debate with whole “robots identifying as trucks” thing?

A long time ago, Scott Adams, the creator of Dilbert®, came up with a handy, short guide to finances.  His quip was, “I’d write a book of financial advice, but it would only be one page long.”  I wrote about it before, but that was two years ago and this will be funnier.  The nice thing is that his list of financial advice is simple, and applicable to most people in normal times (from, say 1950 to 2020):

  1. Make a will.
  2. Pay off your credit cards.
  3. Get term life insurance if you have a family to support. 
  4. Fund your 401k to the maximum.
  5. Fund your IRA to the maximum.
  6. Buy a house if you want to live in a house and can afford it.
  7. Put six months’ worth of expenses in a money-market account.
  8. Take whatever money is left over and invest 70% in a stock index fund and 30% in a bond fund through any discount broker and never touch it until retirement.
  9. If any of this confuses you, or you have something special going on (retirement, college planning, or tax issues), hire a fee-based financial planner, not one who charges a percentage of your portfolio.

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I don’t carry life insurance – I want to die just as I was born – as a burden to my family.

I think, for various structural reasons, normal times won’t continue, but I’ve blogged about that more than once.  We’re seeing inflation accelerate (10 Years (or less) To A $10 Big Mac – How To Explain Inflation To Your Friends) and we are, perhaps, getting ready to party like its 1859 again.  So, yeah.  It all might be going to hell, but it could also be much better than my worst projections, and some of the above might matter.  Yeah, I know, this is like having a mortician say, “But on the bright side….”

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My insurance company is dependable – every month since I’ve had my policy they’ve sent me a bill.

So far, I’ve accomplished most of the things on the list above by Mr. Adams.  When I’ve varied from the suggestions, I’ve actually suffered financially – Scott is a pretty shrewd fellow, and he’s certainly more successful financially than most people.  For instance, if I had kept more money in the market, I would be that much more heartbroken when Netflix™ costs $12.  Not $12 a month, but $12 for the whole company.

Being wrong in my case is okay – I’m in pretty good shape financially – I was able recently to add meat to the Hamburger Helper® (I’m not saying it was hamburger, and what neighborhood will miss a cat or two?), so not being 70% in the stock market has been okay.  I’m able to sleep better at night and not worry.

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Sadly, Hamburger Helper™ only works if the hamburger wants help.

But one thing on Mr. Adams’ list above that isn’t on mine anymore:  life insurance.  Sure, I take the company life insurance policy because it’s cheap super cheap, and if I were to pass away, The Mrs. would get the princess-ly sum of $500,000, which in the year 2029 will buy you a pack of illegal vaping juice.  I hope (on any given day) that I’m worth more alive than dead to her.

Besides, if anything suspicious happened to me, she’s an author and her Internet browser history looks a list of creepy websites the Zodiac Killer was too scared to go to.  The Mrs. could be 100% innocent, but it would still be difficult to explain why she’d spent several weeks researching “undetectable poisons to kill your bald husband with.”  Wait.  That’s just a bit too specific.

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Mental note:  eat only what The Mrs. eats.  Also:  wear a helmet.

The purpose of life insurance is simple – it’s not a lottery – it’s a mechanism so that if the breadwinner was to die early, the family could be financially secure without the income they provided.  But what financial security does my family need to provide for?  The Boy is off at college, and with his scholarships I think he pays tuition, room and board in pocket lint and beef jerky wrappers because it doesn’t cost very much to go to Bob’s State University and Discount Amateur Asbestos Mine if you do really well on the ACT®.

Pugsley will in a few short years be off at college, too, and that’s it.  Our last financial challenge.  We’re in good shape for that today.  Also, if I were to die, the major source of weird family expense goes away.  The Mrs. is unlikely to spend nearly as much as I do on hobbies like ham radio.  I know that no one was more shocked than I was to find out that you couldn’t use a store bought ham.  I think you have to get a fancy farm raised ham.

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If a pig eats ham, that must make a really good radio?

So if I passed on, then what?  The Mrs. would have to get by on our nest egg, which should work great as long as she doesn’t’ have any fancy needs, like electricity.  My need for life insurance now is nearly zero.

But it wasn’t always so.

When I was younger, I actually bought the greatest amount of life insurance the company offered.  The nice thing about life insurance is that it’s one product that’s priced appropriately – when you’re youngest, it’s cheapest.  And when you’re older, it costs more.  When I was young, I wanted to make sure that the family had its needs taken care of.  I don’t recall it ever costing much more than $30 a month, and that was for $2 million or more.

That was good.  When The Boy was first born, we didn’t have much as far as savings and we had almost two decades to plan for.  And we had no idea if he would get scholarship after being dropped on his head all of those times.  Now?  We can afford to go bowling whenever we want.  And we can get some of that fancy box wine when company comes over.  And our risks as a family have dropped significantly.

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Think of box wine as juice boxes for adults.

Frankly, I never needed life insurance at all.  It was a product I was paying for that did me absolutely no good.  I would never see a dime of return.  Silly people I live with, wanting to be protected.

But in 2019, what would I add to Scott Adams’ list?

  1. Live in a safe place. Think about population density when you determine safety.  Be there and be part of the community.  If the place is too big to recognize people in the stores regularly?  It’s probably too big.  Be there sooner rather than later.
  2. Have food. Start with a month’s worth – nobody thinks you are crazy for having a month’s worth of food.  More is better.  Farming areas are nice – people are generally friendly, and they make the food.
  3. Be able to get water. Clean water is good, but there are ways to make water clean.
  4. Know what you can’t live without. If it’s PEZ® or insulin or fabric softener, know and either save it up, or learn how to do without.  I regularly shame The Mrs. pancreas to try to get it to produce insulin.  No luck so far.
  5. It teaches you what you need and don’t need faster than anything.
  6. What would you add?
  7. Did I mention PEZ™?

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

“Nothing leaves alive.” – Dreamcatcher

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See, now Darth Vader® has no regrets.  Except for being in Episode III.

I’ve never written anything before that made me want to go to a hospice and slap a bunch of old dying people, but this particular post led me there.  I’ll explain.  It’s okay, it’ll all make sense in the end.  I’m a trained professional.

I have made many mistakes in my life.  Most of them I don’t remember – they were small and didn’t have any consequences, or at least any consequences I’ve seen yet.

Then there were some slightly larger mistakes – let’s call them medium size mistakes.  There have been consequences to these.  Again, medium-sized mistakes most often lead to medium-sized consequences.  A scar here (carve away from your thumb, not towards it), a stock gone to zero there (thanks a lot, Enron®) and one really bad car trade when I was 24 . . . medium-sized.  Medium-sized mistakes are big enough for a big sting, but whatever permanent impacts there might be aren’t immediately fatal.

The biggest ones – I won’t give a laundry list of those.  Most of those were where either passion, inexperience, a momentary lapse of character or judgement, or (worst of all) when all three contributed to a mistake.  Some mistakes lasted longer, some were short.  But all stung.  The biggest include a marriage that led to divorce, underestimating a sociopathic boss, and wearing that white dress to my little sister’s wedding.  I mean, I look fabulous in it, but some brides just have to be the center of attention.  Also a bit weird because she wasn’t really my sister.

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Staaaaaart again . . . .

To put it bluntly, I am the author of almost every problem I have.  If I didn’t cause the problem, I’m probably complicit in creating the problem or not dealing with the problem.

But I don’t regret it.  None of it.  Not the victories, certainly, and not the failures.

Why?

Life is a one-shot deal.  And life is a ratchet.  It only turns one way – we can’t take anything back.

Regret isn’t a one-shot deal, though.  If there’s anything that will burn a hole in your soul, it’s regret.  Regret never comes alone – it brings guilt along for the ride.

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My biggest fear is having a heart attack during a game of charades.

If I were to dig more deeply into those feelings – regret and guilt are just ways that fear manifests itself.  Fear of . . . what?  Regret is a fear that the consequences of your choices or actions will impact you negatively, and cannot be changed.  Here is a list of some of the common regrets from people on their deathbed (from a former palliative care nurse named Bronnie Ware, and, yes, I spelled that right – blame her parents, not me):

  1. “I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.”
  2. “I wish I hadn’t worked so hard.”
  3. “I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.”
  4. “I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.”
  5. “I wish that I had let myself be happier.”

Even a quick look at this list tells me one simple thing:  regret is for losers.  I have never seen a whinier pack of self-serving weakness since I last watched a Democratic presidential debate.  Everything, absolutely everything on this “top five” list is just, well, sad.

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Me?  I’m still holding out hope for a pyramid.

Would you like to go to your grave worrying about any of those things?  I can’t imagine doing it.  I refuse to let regret rule me.  And I refuse to let any decision I made twenty years ago rule me.  Hell, I refuse to let any decision I made last week rule me, except for choosing that convenience store egg/muffin sandwich – I don’t need to explain why.  Deal with the consequences?  Certainly.  But regret?  No.

Let’s go down the “top five” list:

Not living a life “true to yourself”?  I’ve never heard such nonsense in my life.  I was talking with a guy the other day who quit his job because his boss asked him to do something illegal.  That’s being true to yourself – he walked away without a paycheck but with his values and beliefs intact.  If you’re not being true to yourself, you’re either weak or flighty.  The good news?  Anyone who reads this blog is neither.

Wishing you hadn’t “worked so hard”?  That’s also nonsense.  A soul thrives on doing good work that matters.  Doing good work excellently is hard.  The Mrs. teaches, and works hard at it – I can see from her talking about her students, talking about the ones who learned and improved, the ones who keep coming back to her classroom to report on their lives that her work matters.  Working hard at work that matters is what makes us the best humans we can be.  If you think you worked too hard, you weren’t doing anything worth doing.  The good news?  Change now.  You have an entire lifetime to fix that mistake.

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I got fired from the calendar factory.  They get really mad when you take a day off.

Didn’t have the “courage to express my feelings”?  Wow.  This is the weakest on the list, so far.  Number one:  do you have feelings that matter?  Most feelings are stupid – and I have stupid feelings, too.  Thankfully, I’m not a five year old – I am at least twelve.  I get to examine my feelings and reject those that don’t reflect my values, my virtue, my beliefs.  I get to choose.  If I feel slighted by something silly or petty?  I get to choose to understand what a fool I’m being and ignore that feeling.  Again, if you don’t express your feelings, that’s not always a bad thing.  Your feelings are often stupid.

I’m sorry that “staying in touch with your friends” was so hard.  But it’s really not.  The people you care about, that care about you, are there.  They always have been, they always will be.  I don’t Facebook® much – why?  I call my friends, on an actual phone.  I text my friends.  Am I often the one that calls first?  Sure.  Do we develop different lives, does life pull us away for a while?  Do hundreds or thousands of miles separate us?  Maybe.  But I make quite a few phone calls.  And mostly my friends pick up. Sure, it’s true that the biggest miracle Jesus exhibited in the Bible was having 12 11 close friends (thanks, Judas) after the age of thirty – but you just need a few – a few that will have your back.  A few you can share with.

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Also, as a single guy it was easy to make friends.  Lots of girls I asked out wanted to be friends.

Seriously – number five on the list is a wish for “letting themselves be happier.”  Happy is easy (All You Will Ever Need To Read About How To Be Happy* (*Most of the Time)), being significant is hard.  It requires hard work while being true to yourself.  It requires expressing those feelings that your virtue allows to exist.  Friends?  The good ones will be with you forever, and you can restart your conversations with the slightest hint of time passing, even if you haven’t talked regularly in a decade, if they’re true friends.

I’ve never thought about going to a hospice and slapping someone, but this list made me want to do it.  I know, I know, it’s too late for them.  And this is the list of people who had regrets.  People like me?  I don’t have a single regret at this moment of my life.  Not one.  In a hospice, I hope I’d be the, “Regrets?  No.  More clam chowder, please,” guy.

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The Boy made me some fake ramen noodles this summer – it was an impasta.

To be clear – it’s not that I don’t care.  It’s not that I’m not blameless.  It’s not that I was always right.  Not one of those things is true.  But I have done the most important thing I can think of:  When I do something I regret, I’ve changed myself so that I won’t (Clintoncide, John Bolton’s Waifu, and October Market Crashes: Knock on Wood) do that thing again.  I cannot change the past.  But if I have learned, if I can help others not make the same mistakes while not repeating my own mistake?  Like an algebra teacher for the soul, I have taken something negative and turned it into something positive.  The bonus is I get to end the dreams of high school freshmen in the process.

And I’m not planning on having any regrets tomorrow.  If you have regrets?  Fix them now or recognize them for the dead weight they are and cut them loose.

The alternative?  Trust me, you don’t want to have me chasing you down in a hospice and slapping you silly.

BONUS SOUP MEME!  I made too much soup meme by accident.  Enjoy.

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The Funniest Post You Will Ever Read About Meat Being Murder

“All normal people love meat.  If I went to a barbeque and there was no meat, I would say ‘Yo Goober!  Where’s the meat?’  I’m trying to impress people here, Lisa. You don’t win friends with salad.” – The Simpsons

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Oh, sorry.  I meant a double BACON cheesemurder.

When we lived in Alaska, we got tickets to drive into Denali National Park one year.  On that particular weekend, The Mrs. was feeling under the weather so she decided to send The Boy (then a freshly-minted kindergartner) and I instead while she stayed home with Pugsley, who had yet to be grounded, being all of 16 . . . months.  I stopped for gas, and decided to get some road food for us since this was our first “just the guys” trip.

I grabbed some beverages, some chips, some candy, and, on the wall behind the cash register I saw some jerky.  The brand name was Alaska Jack’s®.  It was a clear plastic package of jerky with a gold foil label.  The picture on the label was of an old Alaska gold miner, a grizzled old timer wearing buckskin, with a beard and a fur hat.  I bought it.

The Boy had never seen jerky before.  He stood alongside me at the cash register and looked at the stringy dried pieces of meat in the plastic bag and turned it over.  He looked up at me.

“What is it?”  He was clearly puzzled.

“Meat.  Dried meat,” I responded.

He took another look at the picture of Alaska Jack™, “What kind?”

A long pause.

“Human?”

I bring this (very true) story up  because a recent study indicates that a food that mankind has been eating for nearly all of its existence is . . . wait for it . . . not bad for you.  Meat has been a staple food for mankind since our grimy, dim ancestors with questionable hygiene first took a bite out of a dead critter and asked, “hey, Ugg, this is pretty good, but do you have any ketchup or A-1®?”

Not only have we been eating meat forever, there is evidence that we have been cooking meat for perhaps a million years, which is almost enough time to make a brisket tender.  It is certain we’ve been cooking meat for 400,000 years, and man has been having backyard BBQ’s on a regular basis for 250,000 years.   So, color me shocked that science shows that the cooked meat we’ve been eating for at least 20,000 generations of people is . . . good for you.

The next part will be really shocking:  meat has changed less in human history than nearly any other food we eat today.  Broccoli looks nothing like broccoli 3,000 years in the past.  Corn?  You wouldn’t recognize it even 1,000 years ago.   The wild spaghetti plant?  Yup.  Similar – wild spaghetti looks just like rice.  Heck wild elbow macaroni wasn’t grown until Benjamin Franklin first cross-pollinated a piece of fettucine with a water pipe in 1321.

Yeah, a cow is different today – it’s bigger and juicier, but the meat is the same.  Sweet, sweet, cow meat.  Heck, I’m making me hungry now.

Given that science is advancing so quickly, I’ll expect to see these headlines soon:  “Water is Wet, New Studies Show” and “Scientists Say:  Possible Link Between Sex and Babies Showing Up Nine Months Later” and “New Research Says Ben Shapiro’s Voice Makes 95% of All People Want to Choke Him Until He Passes Out, Take His Money, Buy Themselves Something Nice.”  If you have any money left over, I’m looking for some cool PEZ® dispensers.

I’ll admit science has some mysteries.  I can’t understand how a cat got a taste for tuna, since I’ve yet to see a deep sea fleet of cats in the wild fishing for them.

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Why do people always say they’re having a tuna fish sandwich?  Is there a tuna bird or tuna cow I’m unaware of?

What may amuse me the most is that several of the headlines noted that this finding was “controversial” and that you needed to read another article to see “What the Meat Study Didn’t Say.”  The old conventional view that Meat is Bad® simply cannot be allowed to be refuted.

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I heard about a new Emo pizza – it cuts itself.  Okay, on that train to hell, I’ll take an aisle seat, please.

The sad truth is this emo-angst-fest is another example of how science, once perverted via either large corporate interests or by Leftist indoctrination, becomes an instrument not of knowledge but of propaganda.  Case in point – in one of the articles about the incredibly shocking finding that meat is both tasty and healthy, the New York Times® said, “An extensive study confirms that red meat might not be that bad for you.  But it is bad for the planet, with chicken and pork less harmful than beef.”

I guess the New York Times© can’t figure out that t-a-s-t-y isn’t spelled h-a-r-m-f-u-l.  Silly New York Times™.  I’ll throw some real controversy out there:  ribeye kicks bacon’s butt.  There.  I said it.  And I stand by it.

But what is this nonsense all about?  In the immortal words of Joe Bob Briggs (LINK),

This means they’ll do anything to avoid simply putting together a bunch of plants and vegetables in a healthy stew/salad/whatever and labeling it as “Healthy Stew/Salad/Whatever.” They want you to think it’s meat. The vegetarians want to consume it as a meat. You don’t need to go to those lengths, though, because we already have a food group that satisfies that need. It’s called, uh, meat.

That’s in response to Impossible Burgers®, I Can’t Believe It’s Not Meat©, Soylent Meat™ or whatever.  The push is to take meat and replace it with either:

  • Mutant cow stem cells cultured in a vat of despair, or
  • A “plant based protein” mixture which I resent on principle because when you eat plants, you’re eating what my food eats, and that’s just not right, or
  • Bug burgers.   Bug burgers. or,
  • The food that will turn us all into Wendigos.

Okay, a Wendigo is a Native American term for what happens to a person when they cultivate a taste for human flesh, it’s based on the tale of a lost hunter who, in a moment of intense hunger, eats his dead buddy.  After that?  He turns into a giant emaciated partially human creature, whose greed knows no bounds.  Sure this sounds like Miley Cyrus or Johnny Depp, but in the Native American tale it was probably a little less scary.

This explains a lot.

The War on Meat brings together the Global Warming™ Cultists, PETA® zombies, and, well, the Leftist Cannibal Brigade©.  Okay, I made the Cannibal Brigade™ up, but it’s not far from being true (LINK):

Stockholm School of Economics professor and researcher Magnus Söderlund reportedly said he believes eating human meat, derived from dead bodies, might be able to help save the human race if only a world society were to “awaken [sic] the idea.”

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Greta loves eating people to save the planet, but she draws the line at clowns.  She says they taste funny.

I’m pretty sure that calling anyone from Sweden a scientist anymore is stretching the definition of scientist to its breaking point.  Magnus Söderlund might have a cool first name, but he’s not a scientist, he’s a political hack who is deluded to such an extent that he thinks eating people is a good idea that he can share.  In public.  He has that opinion, and he’s not worried about people with large nets taking him off to a padded room where he can’t hurt anyone anymore.

Hey, at least he’s not the only one.  At the recent town hall of Super Genius Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, C-NY, at last we got a level-headed answer on what we have to do to save the climate:

The hilarious part when I watched this clip was that Super Genius Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, C-NY had the opportunity to say what 99.999999% of people on the planet would have said: “No, that’s clearly insane,” missed her chance.  She simply said that there are a lot of different ideas on how to save the planet.  This is the equivalent of her pulling a three year old up on stage to protect her from a cream pie in the face.

All of this is based on the ideas of eating plants (Ewww®), bugs (Still Better Than Plants©), cultured cells (Still Better Than Plants©), or human jerky (only good if it it’s the kind from the Alaskan convenience store) is better than having a steak or a burger.  The Left is trying to infringe on the Zero Amendment, so an unrestrained and over-the-top response is required.  What is the Zero Amendment?

“A meatless People being a Danger to a Free State; Congreth thall maketh no law to infringe on the Rights of the People to have great gobbets of meat, with rivers of grease running down their chins after a great feast, with the meat done preferably medium rare.”

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Okay, if even plants aren’t completely vegan, why are people?  Oh, because of the Prius®-smug factor.  Sorry.  My bad.

My solution to the whole problem is rather easy.  Since meat is now healthy, I suggest this modest proposal:

Trans-Meat.

Meat shall now be identified as a plant, so vegetarians can eat it.  Cows shall now be identified as bugs, so hippies can eat it.  Meat shall now be identified as a collection of cells, so Elon Musk can eat it.  Cows, pigs and chickens shall now be identified as human, so the Swedes can eat them.  And so they can vote for Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, C-NY.

Thankfully, Alaska Jack© has already shown us the way.

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I once heard that a woman from New York went into a store and was upset about wool sweaters.  “We shouldn’t kill sheep for their wool!”

The salesman responded:  “Ma’am, nobody kills sheep for their wool.”

Doing More Than You Ever Thought You Could, Now With Jokes to Offend Everyone.

“Master betrayed us.  Wicked.  Tricksy.  False.  We ought to wring his filthy little neck.  Kill him!  Kill him!  Kill them both!  And then we take the Precious . . . and we be the master!” – Lord of the Rings

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After this, I doubt he’ll help out and eat my homework anymore.

The Mrs. and I had a discussion – in one respect I think my personality disturbs her.  Okay, it’s more than one respect.  The Mrs. has a list of 73 items, but several of them have multiple parts.  Thankfully for you, this post is only about one.

A while back, The Mrs. was watching an episode of Arrested Development, and thought that there was a really funny segment so she shared it with me.  The setup is that George Michael has set up a fraudulent software company that he thinks is worthless, but has a really hot investor that wants to buy it.  Maeby is his cousin.

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Most investors look like Bernie Madoff, or Bernie Sanders, or um, I seem to be out of Bernies.

Maeby:  She’ll get all our liabilities, and then anything over two million, we get to keep.

George Michael:  I can’t do that to someone that I have feelings for.

Maeby:  So stop having feelings for her.

George Michael:  What?  Is that something you can do with people?

Maeby:  Yeah, once I learned how to do it with my parents, it was easy with everyone else.

It’s like a heart switch, you know?

Click.

I love you.

Click.

I love you not.

Click.

I love you.

Click.

I love you not.

Can’t you do that?

George Michael:  No, but in my defense, I’m not a sociopath.

[DRAMATIC MUSIC PLAYS]

Maeby:  Click.

The Mrs. looked at me.  “Isn’t that funny?”

My response, which probably troubled The Mrs. a bit was, “Can’t you do that?”

The reality is I can’t do it with everyone.  Just like most people, I worry about those close to me when they’re ill.  Just like most people, I feel a great loss when those who are close to me pass away, and cry at their funerals.  At my funeral, I hope at least one person shouts in the middle of the eulogy, “Look . . . it’s . . . it’s . . . moving.”  I’ll have $100 in my jacket pocket waiting for you if you do that.

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Let’s put the Fun in funeral.  And the freak back in Ruffles®.  Because I’m out of freakin’ Ruffles™.

But I can do it with people who I trusted who betray me.  If you’re on my side, I expect you to be on my side.  It doesn’t mean that you have to agree with me, in fact, if I trust you and I’m wrong, I expect you to tell me I’m wrong:  I welcome my friends telling me when they think I’m wrong.  The greatest loyalty is truth – we save pretty lies for polite company.

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I told Jesus he should unfriend Judas on Facebook®.  Heck, Judas doesn’t even have hiking sandals.

And the closer you are to me, the greater the expectation of loyalty.  And the second that you betray me, that switch flips, click.  It’s not hate.  It’s not anger.  It’s . . . nothing.  You’re not dead – I would mourn that.  You’re dead to me, and I would rather not have you in my life than to have someone I don’t trust in my life.

Click.

I’m not 100% honest.  I wish I was, but I’m not.  I generally won’t lie, but I’ll certainly answer questions selectively because daily interactions with people require that sort of lubrication of unmentioned truth.  “Do these pants make my butt look big?”

“No.”  The unwritten truth?

“It’s your butt that makes your butt look big.”

The Mrs. has never asked me that question, and the reason is obvious.  I feel loyalty to The Mrs., and if she asked me that question, she’d better be prepared for the answer.

But the real question is can we tell the truth to ourselves?  I think the greatest betrayal can come not only from the outside:  I think that often we are the source of our own greatest betrayal.  I can be honest with those closest to me.  Oh, sure, I call it honesty, but they can’t seem to stop calling it “John’s being a jerk again.”

But can I be honest with myself?

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I think there is an actual Jerk Phonebook.  It’s called Twitter.  Yeah, I’ve been there a time or two.

I think that’s the difficult part.  Being honest with yourself is hard – I think that the brain is wired to make it difficult.  I was watching a YouTube® video where a psychologist was working with an anorexic girl.  He compared the size of his thigh to the size of the girl’s thigh.  She didn’t see any difference.  The psychologist jumped up on a table covered with paper and used a marker to outline his thigh with the marker.  He challenged the girl to do the same.

It was only then when she sat down on the paper and compared her leg’s width to the width of the leg of the psychologist that she saw how painfully thin her thigh really was – her brain interpreted the size of her leg to be much bigger than it was.  There was genuine surprise.  She wasn’t faking anything – it’s just that her perceptions were out of line with reality.

Watching that brought the question that still echoes in my mind.  How much of the perceptions of reality that you or I have are wrong?  What do our brains do to fool us about ourselves?  How far will our egos go to protect their sense of self?

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Freud:  Invented the Ego and the originator of “Your Momma” jokes.

How often do we betray ourselves?  How often does your brain tell you that you can’t go on, you can’t keep it up, that you can’t take another step?

Don’t believe it when it betrays you.  You can go on.  You can keep it up.  You can take another step.

Time after time, I’ve seen people accomplish things that there is no way that they should be able to do.  The problem wasn’t them – they accomplished it – the problem was my brain.  It said something was impossible that clearly could be done.

We fail because we don’t make our dreams larger.

It’s Friday.  Do something that you’ve always wanted to do but had thought impossible.  Make something great happen.  You can.

And the part of my brain that tells me I can’t do it?  The part of your brain that says you can’t do it?

Click.