Anyway, I think the cars you seek reveal a lot about you.  So, here’s what I’ve found out about myself this week…

First, I’m a bit annoying, no that’s not it, I’m easily distracted, no, no, indecisive!  Yes, I am indecisive, or maybe I’m not. I can’t decide. The immediate effect of this has been the complete disengagement of my wife from the entire car purchase process.  ’Just do what you want.’, said with love, probably.  It’s hard to tell since we’re both a little too attached to the sarcasm.

Second, I crave good stories.  Sure, I could get a reliable vehicle with not too many miles, but beyond the new car smell mark-up, but there are such interesting auto stories to explore.  Take, for example, the TAXI, a diesel Mercedes, barely 5 years old, with nearly 500,000 KM.  Can you imagine what that thing has seen?  Oh, and it comes with an authentic TAXI roof plaque and meter!  The Smart’s have interesting tales, too.  Invariably, they were faithfully maintained by ‘enthusiasts’ who always used official MB service and reluctantly traded them in to raise families or move abroad.  Low mileage cars here in Germany are not ascribed to little old ladies from Pasadena apparently, but by young ladies who dream of raising families in Pasadena.  I’ve been to Pasadena, and they really should have taken their SMARTs there, they’d fit right in.

Third, oh how I love a compromise.  So, unable to imagine picking between the ingenue SMART or the grizzled old TAXI, I’m seriously leaning towards what could easily be described as their love-child, a slightly dated Mercedes A Series, that really looks like the result of their mating.  That’s the plan this evening.  By tomorrow, I might be buying an RV or an electric bicycle.  Anything is possible, right up until you buy something.  That’s the sad part, when the shopping has to end.

Over time, I’ve come up with some other responses that seem to work better.  You’re welcome to adopt these as well, or to point them out to others. You can even point them out to me when I fail to use them.  Also a common event. (FYI, these should be applicable whether you are/or are not actually saying something stupid.  Functionally, there’s no real difference.)  Don’t worry, it’s a short list.

Technique #1: #exitstageleft  Don’t apologize. Don’t explain. Don’t try to understand. Just get the fuck away, and try to do better with some of the other 6 Billion people on the planet. Really underrated response. Cannot recommend enough. That doesn’t mean you should ignore the call-out, just let it convert you into a wiser/better person in private.

Technique #2: #checkyourteeth  Not literally.  What I mean is, check if maybe there’s something else that’s going on (or NOT going on) besides the thing that’s being pointed out as a stupid thing for you to be doing. Focus on handling that.

Technique #3: #takeatimeout  Simply say ‘That’s something I’m going to have to think about.  Excuse me while I consider that.”  (then refer to T#1&2)

Ok, so here’s a few things to NOT do.  These are even more important.

NO#1: #imSOsorry Don’t knee jerk apologize. You can’t possibly mean it that quickly, and even if you do, it will still sound sarcastic.  Take it in, and if you really are sorry, then convey that later to the person who spoke up, or someone who didn’t but might have if they weren’t your friend, spouse or employee.

NO#2: #lightenupbuddy Don’t tell the offended person not to be offended.  It’s like wishing for more wishes. It just isn’t allowed.

NO#3: #peoplescourt Don’t poll the room and seek their validation and protection. If they agree, they can console you later. Value the courage of the offended party enough (even if you don’t value their judgment) to not subject them to instant ‘shut-up’ peer pressure.

There you go.  I told you it was a short list.  What can I say, I value my brevity.  Have I said something stupid to you lately?  Let me know in the comments so I can demonstrate my mastery of KaraNou (空脳), the Art of the Empty Brain.

1GB of not-quite-free Wifi… through the Cloud.
1GB of not-quite-free Wifi… through the Cloud.

A tree full of baby bears.
Mmm…porridge. Almost makes me
be happy where I am, if I could find it

1GB of not-quite-free Wifi… through the Cloud.
1GB of not-quite-free Wifi… through the Cloud.

I’d rather watch Hockey than a movie…
“Romeo and Juliet,” still #free through Thursday!
Brag brag brag. Boast boast boast. She’s just a doll baby.

1GB of not-quite-free Wifi… through the Cloud.
1GB of not-quite-free Wifi… through the Cloud.

Give Scotch A Run For Its Money
there should be parental marijuana
Ethan Hawke will swoop and perch on my forearm

1GB of not-quite-free Wifi… through the Cloud.
1GB of not-quite-free Wifi… through the Cloud.

bought some husky jeans and they don’t fit my dog
Pug Puppy, sitting on a kitchen floor.
Kind of a mix between pukey and anxious.

1GB of not-quite-free Wifi… through the Cloud.
1GB of not-quite-free Wifi… through the Cloud

Today, I have no song… must mean I need a tune up.
Like “walking pneumonia” only you tweet constantly.
unicorns coming … with free Girl Scout cookies

1GB of not-quite-free Wifi… through the Cloud.
1GB of not-quite-free Wifi… through the Cloud

I was reminded today, though, that I am surrounded my many things like this.  I am cocooned in a familiar blanket of Americana.  I moved to Germany 3 years ago.  I’ve not been a complete bermuda shorts, socks and sandals sort.  Actually, that would fit in fine here.  In the right weather anyway.  We’ve traveled and I can get by in German, as long as the topic is food or basic greetings.  Actually, being in France last week, reminded me how much German I do know, compared to my non-existent French.  I won’t be here forever. In fact, every other year or so, I go through a lengthy process of convincing the Germans that I have no intention of staying in Germany.  Isn’t that just wonderful, though. I’m going to allow a bit of digressing on that topic.

Germany: So, you want to work in Germany?

Me: Yes, please!

Germany: (suspicious glares)

Me: I’d much rather be in America!

Germany: (Nods approvingly)  You’re sure?  You’d rather not stay here?

Me: Certainly not!

Germany: Fine, you can stay here then. As long as you don’t really like it.

/Scene

Yes, that really happens, every 2 years or so.  Been through it twice already. So, where was I?  Yes, Americana.  I eat wonder bread.  I drink Pepsi.  I vacation in Disneyland.  Yes, it was in Paris, but please… it’s Disneyland.  Sure, Wendy speaks French, but Peter Pan is still speaking English.  Peter Pan is still speaking English!  I need to do more with my time in Europe.  Fluency would be good.  More European friends, even better!  No, this isn’t a resolution.  I don’t really have the will-power for those.  This is a drip. It may take a thousand years, but if I keep dripping this idea, eventually, I’ll dig a deep canyon of European-ness around me.  Wait, that sounds like Euro-penis.  Totally, not what I meant.  Really, a canyon of euro-penis isn’t even a good euphemism.  Oh bother.

Where was I?

Let me review a bit.. Let’s see; Peter Pan is still speaking English.  He’s probably got $2 on his windowsill, too.  I am acting like a lost boy in Europe.  Time to spend more time off the Americana Island.  Wait, Isn’t Wendy supposed to be British?  Never mind.  My point is still valid.

Ich weiß nicht, was Morgen kommt , aber jetzt…  Jetzt, Ich habe zwei Dollars im mein Fenster.

Happy 750th, Sindelfingen.

I am middle-aged, middle-income, midway through my graduate degree, in fair to middling condition (with the exception of perhaps too much mass around the middle), and of half a mind to… well, I’m not sure what.  That’s always the issue.  In my studies of history and my enjoyment of the arts, the single most important ingredient to greatness is singleness of purpose.  For all my virtues and vices, it is this singleness of purpose that continues to elude me.  I trudge generally up and forward, unclear of the destination and frustratingly without any scale by which to judge my progress.

At some points, I have thought I wished to lead others.  At others, I’ve sought to attain contentment in isolation.  Through genealogy, at least, I’ve gained some comfort that each of us leaves a legacy in our children and other family members who extend beyond us.  It doesn’t seem to be enough, however.  I’m not sure what would be enough?  Does anyone achieve enough?  Did Gandhi sit upon his simple mat and wonder if he could have done more about childhood illness?  Did Theodore Roosevelt feel that he should have explored the Antarctic?  Did Aristocles scribble musings about a fourth soul?  If only they’d blogged…

I digress, as is my custom.

42.  Not Panicking.

If anything qualified as a bad year, then this had to be it.  What else do you call it when you lose your job, your wife, your house, your car, most of your belongings and (totally unrelated at least) aliens invade the Earth?  Invade, perhaps, was too strong a word, but it would be certainly be understatement to call it a visit.  Christopher Palmer was glued to the holoview in the hotel lobby, just like probably nearly everyone else in the world.  The room was full of business types, befitting a solid 3-star business hotel in London.  Everyone seemed to be congregating in order to derive some comfort and normality amidst all the chaos.  Besides, their were only 2Ds to watch in the rooms.

Not much had changed, he noted,  in the news coverage of the visitors since the previous evening.  Chris began interspersing people watching between the repeating cycle of expert analysis on the news.  At 9:30 am, surely most of these people had places where they were supposed to be.  They were dressed for it, at least, in the smart business attire for which London was now known.  London was now the fashion capital of Free Europe, ever since France had voted to join the New Caliphate some 60 years ago, sparking the great Paris exodus.  Chris generally preferred dressing up a bit himself.  Given his current circumstances though, he was dressed today instead in the tourist du jour of synth-jeans, t-shirt and a practical light jacket appropriate for the unpredictable  weather of England in the Spring.

He noticed, offhandedly, that most of his fellow guests did not look nearly as on edge as they had yesterday morning.  He wasn’t sure really that this was the same group, of course.  They were all really just a blob of humanity that he was somehow disconnected from, as far as he was concerned.  He had been considerably more alarmed yesterday, as well, of course.  The first reports of the visitors had focused on the military response.  This was not surprising, really.  The visitors had, for some hitherto unknown reason, chosen to make their first appearance two days ago in probably the most  dramatically dangerous fashion possible. Their sudden appearance in Sino-Asian airspace had been met with a furious response.  The Chinese Airforce, the most formidable in the world, had summarily greeted their arrival as an invasion.  Predictably, perhaps, given the last 3 decades of growing isolation and institutional paranoia, they had not reacted calmly.  The Chinese had thrown everything short of nuclear weapons at the small-city sized lander that had unexpectedly descended from the sky a few scant miles outside the Hong Kong Harbor.

The visitors had not responded in-kind, of course, but even their passive defenses had taken a destructive toll.  Over-zealous drone pilots continually strayed into its curious field of exaggerated gravity, plummeting from the sky and crashing violently into the sea.   The myriad missiles that had salvoed uselessly for hours on end had met roughly the same fate.  Even the blazing strikes appearing to come from orbit had warped their trajectory as they approached the ship, like magnets avoiding their like pole.  Their energy weapons were similarly useless.  They, at least, were simply absorbed without violent explosions or fiery crashes.

At some point during that first evening, their point made perhaps, or occupants simply annoyed or bored, the lander had quietly zipped away from Hong Kong.  The ship had taken up residence next near a densely populated region in the free territory of Japan.   It now hovered mostly undisturbed above a large lake near the coast, 40 miles northeast of Tokyo.  Whether this was diplomatic patience, or a grudging acceptance of the futility of the Chinese military reaction, Christopher Palmer had no idea.  The Free Asian States were not nearly so well equipped to respond similarly, in any case.

Dozens of news-hovers now swirled around the ship.  They had not experienced the same fantastically destructive gravity fields.  The visitors, it seemed, valued good press as much as anybody else.  The hovers now fed a constant 3-dimensional feed back to a curious world.  Experts pontificated sagely about the significance of the locations the visitors had chosen to visit, the significance of twice choosing to hover over water rather than land, about what the aliens might look like and everything else which they had no idea but speculated about anyway.  The sheer amount of pontificating, in fact, was breathtaking.

No communication with the aliens had been confirmed.  The silence was fueling a predictable array of responses.  The typical 2% of conspiracy theorists were decrying the obvious hoax.  A growing minority were heralding the arrival as the return of various Messiah figures or heavenly kingdoms.  UFO groups were suddenly in great demand on popular news networks to fill the lull hours between government announcements.  The government announcements were predictable.  “Don’t worry.  Stay calm.”, repeated in a thousand languages, to a population that was going to be worried anyway.  The world was anything but calm.

Christopher Palmer hadn’t been frightened by the visitors.  He’d been intrigued at first, and blissfully distracted from his own problems.  He had a lot of problems.  Alternatively, he had virtually no problems at all.  It was all a matter of perspective, really.  He was a spry 59, and thanks to the best medical care and regenerative therapies that the 23rd century could offer, all available to him until very recently, due to the very deep pockets of his wife’s family, he could easily pass for an athletic 39 year old. His split with his wife, just 3 months previously, had certainly meant a number of changes.  He’d worked for her family trust, directing the acquisition and maintenance of a vast collection of antiquities.  Just days after their split, the trust had politely but firmly requested his resignation, and promised a suitable allowance to ease his transition to a new situation, as they’d described it.  So, here he was, living on another continent, relying upon that comfortable allowance.  He had fallen from the heights, but there were certainly worse fates.  So he’d thought a few days ago, at least.

Christopher Palmer was childless.  He was an only child of only children, and his parents had not had access to the same kind of life and youth extending care that he had stumbled upon by marriage into old money.  They’d both passed just a few years before he’d started dating June Cavendahl.  The night of the alien arrival, Chris had tried calling his wife.  It was not so much a desire to reconcile on his part, but a reflex.  Who else would he reach out to, when the end of the world seemed nigh?    She had not accepted the call.

She’d been a flirtatious and attentive student in his Ancient Cultures course at Amherst College when they’d met 15 years ago.  He was a young unmarried Professor.  The amorous attention of his students was not unusual.  Just weeks after finishing his class, she’d offered to show him her family’s collection.  It was almost a sad cliche, as awkward pick-up lines often are, and he’d almost demurred.  “But where’s that wiseman, that would not be I”, he’d quoted Donne to himself, “If she would not deny?”  It had not been the money that swayed him, though his colleagues all assumed it.  It had been the collection.  He’d truly fallen in love with that glorious collection at first sight.

Before the arrival of the visitors, all that remained of that life was the still flowing allowance, the looming finality of a divorce agreement, and a dwindling pool of fair weather friends.  He’d eventually be able to find another faculty position, perhaps.  He didn’t care about teaching, though.  He still lusted for the great collections.  As the curator of the Cavendahl collection, he’d had access to virtually anything.  His collection, as he still thought of it, was not the largest or best.  It was, however, part of the club.  It had trade and loan agreements with virtually every collection in Free Asia and the Americas.  All of that was gone now.  Closed to him forever.  When he’d first realized that loss, it had seemed unbearable.

That was how he’d ended up in London.  Europe still had extensive collections of antiquities, but it was not in its prime.  Legacies of a colonial past two hundred years past, the museums of Europe were still amazing, but much had been lost (or perhaps merely obscured, he hoped) in the rise of the Islamic Europe states.  The British Isles, parts of Northern Europe, the Baltic States and parts of Russia had rejected joining in the New Caliphate that had swept southern Europe and much of Germany in the wake of the protracted collapse of the European Union.  Honoring the wishes of their powerful neighbors, however, they’d done the unforgivable.  Just twenty years prior they’d honored an Islamic court decree and shipped an extensive collection of pre-Islamic Egyptian art, on loan from the Metropolitan,  to Spain (the western capital of the Islamic states).  This had severed all the European Museum collections from the museum networks of the Free States of Asia and the Americas.  He knew exactly how it felt to be severed like that, and he hoped to start anew here.

As he sat in the lobby of his adequate London hotel and watched the droning coverage of the Alien arrival, however, all his hopes began to seem so distant.  Maybe the world was ending.  Maybe a new world was beginning.  Whatever was happening, he didn’t see where he’d fit anywhere into it.  He’d been having only limited success in his efforts to find a suitable situation before the visitors’ arrival.  It was not the sort of job that was posted on a job board.  His few acquaintances in Europe were mostly former students who only seemed to remember him vaguely.  There was no hope of contacting them in the midst of all this.  None of the museums had any interest in discussing hiring right now, either. “How could he think of that right now?”, he pictured them saying.   He could only image what they were saying, however, because absolutely no one was taking his calls.

Defense: The tide of public opinion has plainly turned against a continued military presence in SW Asia (principally Afghanistan these days).  The desire to cheer the troops and revel in the glory of continued military technological superiority continues, however.  A successful approach would be to resurrect the former conservative value of ‘National Interest’.  Remember how cool that policy was?  By this approach, interdiction in Syria, for instance, would not be considered, but intervention in Mexico might, as it affects our border and presumably has the possibility of spilling violence over into the US.  So, increase domestic military activities around our southern border and pursue a policy of increased involvement within our immediate sphere of influence.

Domestic Policy:  Nobody likes a handout… to somebody else.  This makes it essential to target government largess upon a targeted demographic group.  Historically, it’s never been a bad policy to cater to older voters, so make DAMN sure you don’t oppose continued funding of Medicaid, Social Security or Prescription Drug Coverage.  Heck, those are yesterday’s news.  Introduce a NEW benefit for older Americans.  Consider promoting a national challenge to fund and complete research to perfect replacement organ generation, for instance.  If all politics is local, nothing is more political than a new liver!

Economic Policy:  Overwhelmingly, polls show that people are concerned about the economy.  So, it’s essential to make it somebody else’s fault.  Face it, economies rise and fall in cycles.  You can affect those cycles, but you’re not going to subvert them.  The best you can realistically do is enter into the downward slope last, and reach the upward slope first.  The only way to achieve these objectives is to balance these three competing priorities well; fiscal discipline (low debt),  domestic stimulus (public infrastructure investment), and international competitiveness (profitable exports).  So, spend lots of money on things that generate growth in profitable exports.  What would that be?  Currently, it’s refined fuel, aircraft, cars, semi-conductors, and food… Well, bad news is we already spend a lot on these industries, so a third party probably has to stick with blaming the other guys for not managing things better. As a third party, of course, the advantage is NOT being responsible for anything that has occurred previously. HUGE advantage.

Social Issues:  Here’s the really simple plank.  There’s a huge segment of the US population that is uneasy about gays, abortion, recreational drug use and the dwindling influence of Christianity on the public sphere.  These people simply want to return to a simpler era, where they were comfortable and the different people were kept at bay.  They just want to feel safe.  Seriously, fuck those people.

Here are the facts:

Every male in Switzerland is required to perform military service roughly comparable to US Army Reserve-level commitments, beginning at age 20.  That means 4 months of basic training and yearly training until the end of compulsory service at around 30.  During this training, soldiers are not only trained in safety procedures, care and maintenance of their military equipment, including an automatic weapon, but are also evaluated for medical or mental conditions that would make them unsuited to military service (or gun custodianship).  Roughly 20% of young men are deemed unsuited, and pay 3% higher taxes unless related to documented disability.  After this training and screening, the citizen-soldier is required to store his weapon at home.  He is NOT PERMITTED to use this weapon, even in self-defense.  His ammunition is stored in central repositories with a small amount of registered and sealed ammunition provided to the soldier to use for self-defense enroute to duty in times of war.  This registered ammunition will be audited at regular intervals and any purchase of commercial ammunition will require verification of a non-military weapon to use it, documentation of training and lack of a criminal/psychological background issue.  At the conclusion of military service, soldiers may elect to purchase their weapon, which will be converted to semi-automatic.  In addition, the former soldier must license the weapon privately and document its intended use and storage.  To sell the weapon, the same documentation must be verified regarding the buyer and all documentation must be maintained for 10 years by both parties.

So, if every young male in Switzerland that is not mentally incompetent or possessing a criminal record is required to own a weapon, then gun ownership must be the highest in the world, right?  It’s not even close.  America’s per capita gun ownership is over 60% higher.  Wait, that can’t be right, can it?  Yes.  In America, there are over 8 guns owned for every 10 residents (8:10 ratio).  In Switzerland, that ratio is 5:10.  That’s not because 8 out of 10 Americans own a weapon.  The gun ownership percentage comparison between Switzerland and the U.S. is roughly similar (somewhere around 30%), but Americans are much more likely to own many guns, many of these with little or no regulation or control.  This is why it has become common place for the ‘arsenal photo’ to follow gun violence stories, and why it’s not even viewed as odd by U.S. gun shops for a doctoral neurology student to suddenly amass 4 weapons, none of which are suited to hunting or sport shooting, despite having no background or experience with weapons and being under the active care of a psychiatrist (not to mention being unable to maintain a coherent live conversation).

Still, it’s worth considering that Switzerland avoided invasion and occupation during WW I and II?  Sure, except it had nothing to do with gun ownership. There was never a question whether Switzerland could be overrun.  Napoleon did it repeatedly.  Although the world powers did have respect for the professionalism and leadership of the Swiss military, the secret of their ability to remain neutral was a deeply-rooted democratic and ethnically tolerant society, lack of conflict exploitable natural resources, extremely good luck in avoiding multiple invasion plans due to outside events, and numerous (and sometimes egregious) concessions to the warring parties to avoid conflict.  Oh, and of course, the Swiss decision to not pick a side in the battle.  That really shouldn’t be minimized.

So, what lessons can we ACTUALLY learn from Switzerland?

1) A well-regulated militia does not mean an NRA pot-luck picnic.

2) You should really vet people thoroughly before you give them assault weapons.

3) Guns don’t kill people.  People with LOTS of guns kill people.

4) Avoiding war is a really good way to keep your economy strong.

5) Mmm, Chocolate.

In context, I thought it would be clear that I was, in fact, complaining about the quality of journalism.  It was a story about squirrel nuts buried in the sand being a problem for practicing players, and the news editor who chose this important topic decided to post a close-up picture of a butt to illustrate… I’m not sure, probably that you should click the story and find out more about Beach Volleyball player butts.  Anyway, sorry for any confusion, Internet.

To review, I’m saying that I’m very sorry and that sometimes I’m sarcastic and mean something other than what I actually say.

Hope that clears up any confusion out there.