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Singing the Goat Song

Michael 4 Comments
The other day I saw an old Peanuts cartoon. Its panels told the tale that if Charlie Brown catches the ball he’s the hero but if he misses it he will be the goat. Charlie “The Goat” Brown. Today Charlie Brown would never be the goat. Well, maybe the goat but he would never be the GOAT. Somehow we’ve managed to screw up the English language yet again.
 
Back in the days when Charles Schulz was drawing the Peanuts gang a goat was the worst thing you could be on the baseball field. In fact, to be a goat anywhere in life was the worst. The goat was the loser. Not only the loser, the goat was the reason for the loss regardless of the reason for the loss. It was always his fault, absolving all others from blame for the failure. He was the scapegoat and it was not a good thing to be the goat.
 
How did we ever work this into our vocabulary? Historically, the scapegoat was one of two goats religious leaders would sacrifice for atonement. One goat was offered as a blood sacrifice and the other, the scapegoat, was removed from the herd and set off into the desert carrying the sins of the people. Most often associate with ancient Judaism, similar rituals were performed by other religions and societies. Ancient Greeks actually used humans, often criminals or slaves, as scapegoats. It was not a good thing to be the goat back then either. 
 
Or was it? Sticking with those old Greeks, according to myth and legend the ancient Greeks’ ancient Greeks’ scapegoat was someone of importance who would be recognized and accepted by the gods, receiving him among them and honoring their request to grant favor upon the mortals. It was a honored role and one only those of the highest status in society could fill. In time when real people took the place of the legends, the people of importance were not so keen on being exiled and left to die to bring about drought relief or for whatever the townsfolk were currently praying. They would find one from the dregs of society and make him appear important by lavishing him with fine clothes and jewels before being driven into the wilderness. Often a tragedy was performed in recognition of the sacrifice. Not a play but more of an opera. The modern word tragedy comes from the ancient Greeks and literally means “Goat Song.” Was that a lament because they were sad that a person was being sacrificed or was it a celebration of the ritual and they were entertaining the gods? That’s the trouble with things that happened over 2500 years ago. Who can say for sure? There just aren’t any good records.
 
And now we have the newest goat, not a scapegoat, the antithesis of the hero, but the GOAT, even better than a hero. GOAT, The Greatest Of All Time. When I look at some of the people who have been declared the GOAT, often by themselves, I wonder if we might not be better off setting them loose in the wilds without their entourages and the fawning public celebrating one whose greatest claim to fame is playing a child’s game better than all the other kids who never grew up. To them the wilderness might be what the rest of us deal with every day in our real lives without entourages, carrying our own sins and asking atonement of our own accord.
 
Maybe the goat, the scapegoat goat is the real hero. Imagine the courage it must take to know you are leaving all alone, you won’t be coming back, and you won’t ever see anybody ever again, but on your shoulders you carry away all the bad of society and those left behind reap the benefit from your action. We need more goats. The goats are the heroes and thanks to Charlie Brown we know it is better to strive to be the hero than claim to be the GOAT.
 
DffxL3hX4AI-HEn
 
 

To Tell the Truth

Michael 2 Comments
From the title of this post you might think I’m taking another shot at advertisers, or politicians, or horror or all horrors, political ads, but no, not at all. Today’s potshots are aimed at us and starting with me. (That would be the collective us not necessary an us that could contain you because you might indeed be the only truthful person in earth. Hey, it has to be somebody!)
 
Once a time up the worse you could do was lie, cheat, or steal. Or perhaps lie, cheat, and steal. A subtle but important difference. But today if it wasn’t for cheating many of the recent sports championship teams members wouldn’t be sporting their championship rings, thievery accounts for 4 of the top 5 reported crimes in the United States (per the FBI the top five in 2020 are larceny, burglary, motor vehicle theft  aggravated assault, robbery) and lies are getting so popular politicians may revert to the truth telling just to differentiate themselves from the common crowd (okay, so I had to get at least one political dig in). And yes, you are in that ground too. You might be so good at social lying that you even fool yourself. Pull up a chair and listen to my tale. (Or read it if that’s easier for you.)
 
It dawned on me that not only do we spend a good chunk of each day lying to each other, each other of us actually expects it because we, in the words of a certain fictionalized Navy JAG officer, can’t handle the truth. Apparently I am one of the very few persons in the television watching world who did not sign up for a free 30 day trial of Disney+ this month, almost all specifically to be able to watch Hamilton. In order to correct the “obvious” oversight on my part my sister asked me if I wanted to pop over and watch it with them before their trial expired. (It just now dawned on me that signing up for a free trial with the foreknowledge that you are so signing up only to watch a specific movie free and then cancelling before getting charge for month #2 could be either or both cheating and stealing but that is (those are?) post(s) for a different day.) “No thank you,” I answered, “I really don’t have any great desire to see it.” You would have thought I said I didn’t want to go to Heaven when I die (or before if that could be arranged). I supposed I could have said, perhaps should have said, “I’d love to!” but I wouldn’t so I didn’t. It’s the truth. I really don’t have a burning desire to see Hamilton. Sorry. Actually no, not sorry.
 
Yes, yes, you’re going to say but those lies we tell in those times aren’t lies, they are niceties, polite nothings, harmless fibs. When did it become necessary to lie to be polite. When you are standing in line at the 12 items or less express lane with your melting half gallon of rocky road ice cream waiting for the clerk to bag the last of the 6 bags of groceries for the guy in front of you and your answer to her “I’m sorry you had to wait,” is “that’s okay, I don’t mind,” that’s a lie! You know you want to say “if you’re so sorry take this portable puddle of chocolate back to the ice cream freezer and bring back back a container I don’t have to eat with a straw! And while I’m waiting I’m going to tell your boss that you lack the counting skills to figure out when you’re being played for a fool!” But no, you want to be nice, it’s more polite that way, so you lie. 
 
You explained 3 times to the auto mechanic that “it goes ‘ker-plunk’ when I turn the steering wheel to the left,” but when he comes back from the test drive he says “I didn’t hear a ‘clunk’ when I stepped on the brakes. When was the last time you heard that?” So you try again, “no, I didn’t say it goes ‘clunk” when I step on the brakes, it’s making a ‘ker-plunk’ing when I turn the steering wheel left.” That sets the tone for a day spent in the service lounge with the 128 cup coffee urn that was fresh three days ago, the magazines with scantily clad muscle cars and girls with big air filters on the covers that were fresh 3 years ago, and the TV in the corner than is permanently tuned to “The Real Housewives of Possum County.” Four hours and 27 cups of coffee later the service manager sticks his head in to tell you you’re all done and he’s sorry it took a little longer than they thought but they had to go to their warehouse to get the part. “It’s okay,” you sort of mumble while mentally visualizing the most recent statement “total outstanding” boxes for your credit cards. Well it’s not okay. You just lied! Four hours earlier you wanted to say “maybe I should try a repair shop that knows the difference between a ker-plunk in the stering wheel and a clunk in the brakes” but then all you said was “uh huh’ and now you lied that it was okay because it’s the polite thing to do.
 
And now we have even more opportunities to politely lie in our daily lives. You know, “of course I’m still washing my hands,” “I love that the whole family Zooms every Friday for Happy Hour!” and “oh yes I wear my mask every time I go out and I’m happy to do it and protect my fellow world citizens!” Yeah, right. You’re probably washing your hands but Happy Birthday, twice, has morphed into the opening line of White Curtain which causing you to pause 9 seconds in to ponder the second line, consider it for another 4, and then dry your hands and walk. What you really want to say is ‘who are all these people, I’d kill myself if I had to do this in person every week.” Finally, you do wear you mask everywhere you go (don’t you?) but be honest, you really want to say “I wear my mask but I’d rather not but because it’s the right thing to do I will so you better too! or “freaking pansies won’t let me in to buy my freaking beer without a freaking mask on but this is freaking America and I have to right to pursue beer so give me a freaking mask.”
 
So, there you go. Tell me you haven’t done the same especially now, during these trying times. But don’t worry – “it’s going to be okay.”
 
 
truthhed
 
 
 
 

Driven to Distraction

Michael 5 Comments
In the midst of chaos comes order. And in the midst of protests, name calling, escalating hospitalizations, and ongoing isolation comes a breath of fresh air. As long as you don’t mind being trapped in a car to get it!
 
Using the money he saved to buy a new car,  Sean Rothermel instead rented 27 billboards for a month and mounted a outside art exhibit and motor tour around Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania neighborhoods. In an interview with the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, Rothermel said, “It’s very much about the experience and giving people something to do, even if it’s just for a few hours. Just giving people a way to get back into the present moment but in a way that you’re not stressed out about the virus or the economy.”
 
The April in Paris of Appalachia tour takes about 3 hours through 17 of the city’s neighborhoods. Rothermel posted a driving map and description of each billboard but did not post pictures of the boards to encourage people to get out and move around the city even if it has to be in the confines of a car. He also posted links to resources to help those struggling mentally and emotionally during the pandemic. 
 
If you need a break from isolation and you are in the Western Pennsylvania area it’s worth the gas to take a break for a few hours and navigate around the city making sure you don’t overshoot the board coming up next. But you have to hurry. The billboards are up only for July. If you can’t get to the city but really want a pandemic poster all your own you can see the website for details to bid on one or if you’re a U.S. resident you can enter on Twitter and Instagram to win a poster or jacket.
 
And you thought billboards went out with Mail Pouch tobacco.
 
 
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Extra! Extra! Read All About It!

Michael 6 Comments
My exile from WordPress Comment Land (Wopecommelandia) continues. There’s been so much on so many blogs so worthy of comments but all I can do is “like.” I thought about writing a post of all the comments I have written that were suck into Wopecommelandia’s atmosphere but couldn’t come up with an effective way of keeping context. So instead I decided to comment on life. Or death.

The paper here ran this headline Tuesday.
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Death of Woman Whose Body was Found Stuffed Into Refrigerator Ruled Homicide
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It did what headlines are supposed to do and piqued my interest. Sometime in the early 1980s the New York Post ran a headline that has become legendary among tabloid headlines. “Headless Body in Topless Bar” made it clear that was no accident. I shouldn’t have had to read the local article to be as convinced this was not an accident either but I pushed on. The first sentence certainly convinced me. The woman “whose body was found partially dismembered inside an abandoned refrigerator left in the hallway of an apartment building in May, has been ruled a homicide.” I wonder if it was the partial dismemberment that convinced them. And it only took 2 months.
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Maybe those headlines stirred something in my memory. I did a little digging and found it!
Man’s Death During Sex Ruled ‘Workplace Accident’
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The article sourcing a BBC report of a Times of London story about a French railway technician for TSO Rail while in Meung-sur-Loire France died of cardiac arrest while having sex with a woman he had just met. The company’s lawyers argued it was not liable because the accident occurred not while he was engaged in a work related activity. The court ruled that French workers on business trips are “entitled to their employer’s protection for the duration of their mission … whether or not the accident takes place as part of a professional activity or as an act of normal life” and sex is an act of normal life.  So the widow (yes, he was married), gets 80% of his salary until he would have retired and then an unspecified portion of his pension. Better than alimony.
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Since deaths, and now death headlines, come in three, this is a good place to stop. Feel free to comment. If you can. Darn Wopecommelandia!
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Reach Out But Don’t Touch Someone

Michael Leave a comment
I saw this posted on Instagram last week and I was certain that had they had more than this in 1918 we would still be in the throes of the Spanish Flu pandemic although by now it would be epidemic because only in the U.S. would there still be people claiming “it’s going to go away.”
 20200718_192656
 
Imagine being able to share your opinions with only the closest of friends and family. It had to be with only those closest to you or you’d be broke long before your mask wore out. In 1918 when this ad was published*, although local service was only $1.50 a month, long distance was pricey, and long distance started not that far away. A cross country call ran about $5 per minute, cross state a little less than $2, and cross town, as much as 15 cents per minute. All in a time when the average 3 bedroom apartment was renting for $10 a month and a laborer was clearing $5 a day when a day’s work was available. 
 
There was no hue and cry over masks, isolation, soap shortages, or whether college football will be played this fall. Well, they may have been huing and/or crying but you kept it to yourself rather than passing yourself off as some sort of an expert because you read something in the Evening Star. (Although in fairness to this pandemic’s questionable coverage, that of 100 years ago was also often sparse, conjecture laden, contradictory, or all three.) (And then some.) (But then 1920 was also a Presidential election year so why should they have expected any less.) (Or more.)
 
There’s a particular hue being cried in our neck of the woods. A local amusement park is being sued because it is requiring all patrons to be masked at all times and on all rides, the exceptions being in their food venues while one is eating. The suit is brought by the parent of a child with sensory challenges and cannot wear a mask and the prohibition to entry without one violates to his rights. I don’t claim to be a Constitutional lawyer but my cursory review of the document didn’t reveal reference to the freedom of rollercoastering. Perhaps she’s hanging her mask on the line “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” from the Declaration of Independence. The suit led by a mother who states she also has anxiety and cannot wear a mask had gathered the support of several other families and seeks compensatory and punitive damages for pain, suffering, anxiety, humiliation, emotional distress, and “the loss of the ordinary pleasures of life.” 
 
Silly me, I always thought the ordinary pleasures of life were music, reading, sitting under a tree on a sunny day, friends, food, and chasing dreams never meant to be caught. I suppose I should call my lawyer for further clarification. Fortunately it’s not long distance. 
 _____
*The person who originally posted this noted it was an actual ad from 1918 and I have no reason to doubt her, she not being one prone to hype, hysteria, or hyperbole**. However, that phone looks more like what was most common after 1920. But then on the other however, it is an ad from a telephone company so they would likely illustrate it with the most cutting edge equipment they have. You don’t see T-Mobile pushing iPhone 6’s.
 
**Okay, I have to ask this, what do you think about hype and hyperbole? In the dictionary, “hype” in the sense of extravagant promotion includes it first entered the English language in 1920 from the United States but with no etymological origin, or more often, “origin unknown.” I’m thinking it came about when fast patter was taking hold in informal speech and was most likely just a shortened version of hyperbole, which was convenient because it shortened the word dramatically and important because it shortened a word most people tend to either misspell or mispronounce. 
 
***You can stop looking for three asterisks in the post body, there isn’t one. Well, actually there is one asterisk but there isn’t one instance of 3. Anyway…speaking of misspellings, I had a heck of a time getting spellcheck to let me keep “throes” in the first paragraph. It insisted I really meant to type “throws” or “thrones” and would not take my word for it that not only did indeed I want “throes” I want it added to the dictionary. This from a program that has no problem adding words I legitimately misspelled and then have to go through Tartarus**** and back to remove. 
 
****That it knows!
 

The truth, the whole truth, and anything but the truth

Michael 1 Comment
Even in the midst of world wide crises, nation wide closures, and seeming interstate competition of who can develop the most animosity among neighboring states by being either ridiculously lenient or unnecessarily harsh with their approach to virus control, US Presidential elections go on and with them the quadrennial exercise in truth stretching, whopper telling, and general misrepresentation we call political ads.
 
My memory goes back only as far as the 1964 election (I was here for the ’56 and ’60 go ’rounds but I was more interested in the Ringling Brothers’ version of three ring circuses those years) but I can tell you without a doubt, to my knowledge the only occupant of the Oval Office to get there without casting aspersions on his opponent’s reputed good name was Gerald Ford.
 
I suspect it will be nastier than usual this year what with so many people having nothing better to do than to get on social media and join in with the professional besmirching. Truth goes out the window when people spend over 2 billion dollars (yes, that is a “b”) to get a temporary job than pays a mere $400,000 a year. (To give you a little perspective, that is less the minimum salary for all the major American sports leagues and well less than half the minimum NBA salary. As the old saying goes, but they had a better year.) 
 
You would think with that kind of money floating around people would be able to find something their candidate did right to qualify him or her for the position rather than using it to dig up what the opposition did wrong. Or often, to fabricate something that looks like wrong doing. As I wrote 4 years ago, there is actually a regulation that forbids any media outlet from vetting, editing, or refusing a Presidential political ad regardless of content. Truth. The Campaign Reform Act of 2002 takes pains to not mandate the veracity or any requirement to confirm the veracity of any claim made in a campaign ad. With the party conventions about a month away and the election another 3 months after that, the airways, social outlets, mailboxes, and road sides will soon be overflowing with effluent.
 
This is where I usually wrappings up with some pithy saying or on rare occasions actual insight. Sorry, but for this mess I got nothing. I’ll borrow a line from old TV. While you’re out on the mean and nasty streets of American politics in a Presidential election year, remember, be careful out there.
 
truth

Middle Seat Hump Syndrome

Michael 9 Comments
You need to be of a certain age to remember summer vacations in the family car with enough family that it filled all the seats, three across, and the middle seat made the leg room in coach on Delta look generous for there, right where your feet wanted to be, was “the hump,” the growth in the floorboard that rose nearly to seat level, to allow whatever it was that transferred the up and downs of the engine to the round and round of the rear wheels to make it’s way from the motor to the where the rubber met the road. I am of that age and had been on those vacations and I got that middle seat.
 
It wasn’t always like that. For a while there were just two of us in the back and we would each get out own window seats with plenty of room between for the picnic basket and cooler that were only opened at planned stops along the way. Then the third one came along. At first it wasn’t such a big deal. She started out in the baby seat in the middle of the front seat (yes, that’s where we put them when we used them back then). After she outgrew that space she shifted to the back but because those short, stubby legs didn’t even make it off the seat, the hump was not impediment to her comfort. Eventually though, she grew and with that, so did the complaining. “I don’t want to sit on the hump!” And the word came from the front, “take turns.” From then on, whenever the car stopped, the back seat crowd reshuffled and everyone got a turn being uncomfortable where we decidedly didn’t to be.
 
That’s a little like what’s going on in the world now. Each time it appears to be stopping, or at least slowing enough to risk opening the door and get off this crazy ride, the virus comes back and we have to reshuffle. Do we limit contact, should we close down again, does this mask make my nose look big? Regardless of the answer, some bodies are going to end up decidedly where they don’t want to be doing what they’d rather not be doing or not doing what they’d rather do. Think of the world as an early ’64 Chevrolet and were all taking turns sitting on the hump.
 
I’m going to spoil the ending for you. It all works out. Nobody was permanently damaged from sitting with a leg there and the other one there. We climbed out of the backseat a little stiff and a little sore but we made. We’ll make it through this also. Maybe a little worse for the wear after this ride that you are certain we got lost on because no way it should be taking this long, but eventually we are going to climb back out into the world.
 
Middle seat hump syndrome was never that horrible and may have been the inspiration for some future engineer to design SUVs with higher cabins that clear all those mechanical doodads or to shift the driving wheels to the front and obviate the need for a hump running down the middle if the cars interior. Along those same lines it could be someday we might even get to go out and not have to check that we have our masks with us. We just have to wait for the right expert to come up with the right solution. They are out there. There will find it.
 
In the meanwhile,  Happy Motoring!
 
 
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A Sporting Proposition

Michael 10 Comments
I was all set to go off and a rant about something or other and then I heard this topic on the radio yesterday and I said, “Yes, yes, I agree 100%. I must tell the world!” What could that be that instilled so much passion on a Sunday afternoon? Golf. More specifically, my intense dislike for golf.
 
I’m sorry, but yes, I hate golf. I think I’ve played one complete round of golf in my life. My long life. I’m sure I played one round only because I rarely give up on anything. I may not like it but if I signed up for it, I’ll give it my best try. I tried. It didn’t. 
 
Especially now with opportunities to do almost nothing, golf courses are apparently doing a booming business. I just don’t get the point. It seems so random to me but if a billion and a half people want to wander around in the hot sun wearing carrying 3,090 pounds of equipment on their backs and none of it can be used to bake a good cookie, well I say to each his own. But not my own.
 
But here’s the thing I get even less, professional golf. They claim it’s a sport but come on now. Where are the fans, real fans, with hats and jerseys and tailgating in the country club parking lot before the tournament? “Tournament” is pushing it. When was the last time there was an office pool with golfer brackets? And a real sport would have walk up music blaring from the PA system when a golfer approaches the tee. Those few fans you do see following along don’t seem terribly fanatic. No wild cheers when a particularly well hit ball goes where its supposed to go (assuming you can actually see where the ball goes), no boos for the referee when a ball is called out of bounds, no jeers for the golfer who plunks a shot into a water or sand hazard. While I’m on the topic of crowd noises, what’s with the TV announcers and all that whispering? They’re hanging out a mile away from the action inside an air conditioned control room yet they speak barely loud enough for the sound engineer to recognize human speech while they do all they can not to distract the professional. Really? 
 
So, no, I don’t like golf. Sorry if I’ve offended you. I understand how polarizing this topic may be but I feel it’s important to be able to exercise my freedom of speech. But I refuse to exercise it on the links.
 
NoGolf
 

Happy American Day

Michael Leave a comment
Happy Fourth of July! I say that as opposed to Happy Independence Day to my fellow Americans because although I am certain that today is July 4 I’m not sure if we weren’t supposed to celebrate our independence yesterday, thus insuring the federal employees their well deserved three day weekend, because what good is getting a holiday off if it is a scheduled day off anyway. And as everybody knows even though Congress decided to send King George our intent to be so on this day in 1776, we really didn’t become independent from the Crown until October 19, 1781.
 
So…Happy Something! Happy Saturday if nothing else. I don’t normally post on Saturdays, in fact I think it was more than 8 years ago that I last did this but these are not normal times. This is a particularly not normal American Independence Day weekend with so many Americans taking their freedom to task as opposed to taking it for granted which would make this a particularly normal American Independence Day weekend.
 
continentalflagI can’t say with certainty so somebody please correct me if I misspeak but I feel certain that America is the only nation that qualifies its citizens. We claim we want to be equal. We protest for equality. We write letters and poorly articulated social mode posts demanding equality. And then we differentiate. We have African Americans, Asian Americans, Indigenous Americans, Mexican Americans. Other ethnic groups celebrate being German, Irish, or Polish American. Yet it’s only a small portion of Americans who ever lived anywhere other than America. I guess they would be American Americans. A friend of mine emigrated from Vietnam to Canada before immigrating to the U.S.. Does that make her Asian American or Canadian American? Was she an Asian Canadian before. Are there African Canadians or Scandinavian Canadians? What goes on in the rest of the world? As the son of Italian Americans here, if I relocate to my homeland in the mountains facing the Adriatic would I be an American Italian there?
 
I have a hunch the labels are mostly assigned by those outside the ethnicities to track how well they (the assigners) do something in their mind “special” for one of the assigned. Not ever having been assigned (European American is not an option) I can’t say if they (the assigned) really care much. Maybe it’s more important to be treated respectfully than being called by the “proper” term and still treated like an object to be used for effect.
 
There have been a multitude of posts on social media declaring “This Fourth of July act like an American!” It’s not a horrible idea you know. For all its faults and flaws America, actually Americans do a credible job living up to the standards envisioned 250 years ago. (Yeah, yeah, it’s only been 244. Actually its only been 239 (1781, remember) but it took a few years even back then to get up to speed.) When nobody is watching we typically do the right things. We mostly honor our families, we support the local businesses, we get out to help our neighbors who might have trouble shopping or cleaning or are just lonely. And most of us mostly do that for most anybody without checking IDs or birth certificates. Acting like an American is pretty much like acting human, like the rest of the world. So I too will say, this Fourth of July act like an American! But might I humbly suggest we act that way the other days of the year too.
 
Happy First Saturday of July!
 
 
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Death, Safety, Money

Michael 2 Comments
O. M. G. I  am  soooooooo  ashamed  of  being  an  American!  
There really can’t be places in the world so bad that people actually want to come here. This has nothing to do with racism, statues, flags, guns, veganism, atheism, or people taking 15 items through the 12 item or less checkout lane. It’s that all of a sudden we are deciding the fate of the populace based on the twenty-first century version of Rock, Paper, Scissors. I call it Death, Safety, Money. 
 
You all know about Rock, Paper, Scissors? It is the ultimate decision maker for matters of extreme importance like when best friends can’t decide between Jimmie getting the neat, new catchers mitt or Johnny buying a hot fudge sundae with the quarter they found on the walk home from school. Under those circumstances it is marginally appropriate and usually works out pretty well. Most often by the time children reach the age required to drive in South Dakota (go on, look it up, I’ll wait) they have replaced RPS with more reasonable decision making processes. Although … there was that time when Takashi Hashiyama couldn’t decide between Christie’s or Sotheby’s to handle an multi-million dollar art auction and had reps from each auction house compete against each other thusly for the right. But I digress.
 
In general, when it comes to major life and death decision, Rock, Paper, Scissors is not the way to go. And yet, we’ve turned what was a pretty decent plan with a mostly adequate execution for survival in the COVID years over to the pre-teens and their flying fingers to decide our next step against the virus with a game of Death, Safety, Money. To review, in RPS Scissors cut Paper, Paper covers Rock, Rock crushes Scissors. In Death, Safety, Money (DSM) Money covers Safety, Safety beats Death, Death crushes Money. 
 
Here’s how DSM has replaced GOFCoM (Good Old Fashion Common Sense) and not for the better. Not at the very beginning of the Corona Crises (Death) but early enough to make a difference, the US finally followed the lead of other civilized nations and imposed quarantine like limitations on activity (Safety). This protected many millions of people but a few resisted with complaints, threats, and mockery claiming the cure is worse than the disease and we’ll all soon regret it. Safety prevailed and in what was becoming a nominal norm the curve appeared to be flattening. Perhaps it was time to provide a little freedom to the people, Death was seemingly being beaten down well by Safety and as a reward restrictions were loosened. Pouncing on the opportunity that here was a chance to live life again as Fat Cat Americans rather than in hermit like seclusion, business and sports and recreation areas threw open their doors to re-welcome the hoards with their pockets bulging from all the cash saved during their time of pseudo-isolation (Money).  
 
But was it too much too soon in too many places too often? A new curve is rising. Not to worry though. We’ve been through this before, we know that Safety beats Death, we can implement distancing and semi-isolation again and live to spend another day. But having had a taste of the good life the livers want to continue living their outside lives and the providers of the distractions aren’t going gently into another good night. Money is covering Safety across the land.
 
Throw and throw, seemingly ending in virtual ties after weeks of playing DSM Money and Safety are thrown with equal vigor, but is equal enough or is it just one hand away from Death being thrown crushing Money leaving only a few people trying to keep it contained under the shrinking cover of Safety.
 
I don’t like this game. Can’t we please go back to GOFCoM instead?
 
psr