YOU'RE STILL WRONG.. MYKEL'S APRIL Vol 2 2020 BLOG OR Who Is That Unmasked Man? by Mykel Board

YOU'RE STILL WRONG.. 

MYKEL'S APRIL 2020 BLOG
Volume 2

OR

Who is that masked man?

by Mykel Board

[I’ve completely given up the idea of splitting the blog into smaller parts. It just doesn’t work well. So now, I’ll just be writing shorter blogs… but more often. Twice a month if I can manage it. This is the second April Blog. I wanted to avoid talking about IT… but these days IT is all there is to talk about]

You’re STILL Wrong

or
Mykel's

April 2020 Blog/Column #2 (version 2)

The Mask

by Mykel Board

A castaway in the sea was going down for the third time when he caught sight of a passing ship. Gathering his last strength, he waved frantically and called for help. Someone on board peered at him scornfully and shouted back, "Get a boat!”

―Daniel Quinn,

The police drive into the plaza with a megaphone reminding people to isolate. Then they harass the homeless people that have nowhere to go. It is very weird to see this here in NYC. Do they do this in higher class neighborhoods where people do the same socializing? Redundant question. I know. I wish I had videotaped. --Esneider Huasipungo

It’s just after noon. Time for my afternoon walk to the grocery… post office… the river… someplace to see the city like I’ve never seen it before. I put on my combat boots, trenchcoat, fedora. I do not wear a mask.

Walking down a nearly deserted Bleecker Street. I wave through the window of Cafe Angelique. Elam, the manager and only worker during the plague, waves back.

“Chag sameach!” I shout.

He gives me the thumbs up. I keep walking… passing several masked people.

[NOTE: from my observation, the majority of masked people –not counting bicycle deliver guys, generally black or Mexican– are white millennial couples… mostly hets. Then, single or paired women. Fewest are people my age… that is, old people.]

On Lafayette Street, Lester stands at his usual corner. He is not wearing a mask. Lester is the directions guy. Every day, he stands by the subway, looking for people Googling a map, or holding a guide book. He knows the subway system up and down. After he gives directions, he asks for spare change. Sometimes he gets it. Today, nobody Googles. No tourists are checking guidebooks.

Usually Lester’s with his friend, a woman about my height, looks about 60… but very wrinkled. I forget her name… maybe I never knew it.

“Yo Lester,” I say to him. “S’up? Where’s your friend?”

“Mykel,” he says, “it’s shit. Not a soul here. I don’t eat today.”

I hand him a dollar… one of a few I keep in my jeans watch pocket for homeless expenses. Lester is not homeless. He has a small room in city housing.

“Thanks,” he says. “Let me tell you about Laura. [Aaaah, that’s her name!] I had to smuggle her. The city shelter where I live said NO MORE GUESTS… SHE’S GOTTA LEAVE. The virus… you know... you know her, Mykel. She’s little. She’s fragile. She couldn’t last a night on the street.”

“So what’d you do?” I ask.

He walks to the side of me and touches my arm. I flinch… immediately feel ashamed. There are few things that can shame me… but a flinch at the touch of a guy asking for money? I’m not proud of that.

Lester pretends he doesn’t notice. He mimes holding a shopping cart with two hands.

“I hid her,” he tells me, “in a shopping cart. Just put her in and threw in some left over groceries… some cans and bottles… a few cereal boxes… pretended I was coming back from shopping. Smuggled her in. Hid her in the closet when the case-worker came around. She knows how to hide, that girl does.”

I want to kiss him. That kind of love/bravery is something these white millennials with masks don’t get. This guy lives in public housing. If they catch him violating the rules, he’s out on the street. What place… in the midst of a plague… is more fearsome than the street? I don’t kiss him, but I do hand him another dollar.

I turn from Lester and walk uptown. The street is nearly deserted except for a few masked woke folks giving me a wide berth.

Whoa! There’s Dexter. I’ve known him for years. As usual, he stands outside the Korean Deli. We bump fists.

“Yo Dex,” I say. “How’s it shakin’?”

“Up and down when I finish peeing,” he says.

We both laugh… same joke… at least once a week for the last 2 years.

Dexter shakes his head. “I donno Mykel,” he says, as I hand him a dollar. “Look around you. There’s nobody on the street. Usually I make four or five bucks an hour. Today, your dollar is the first bill I got all day. All I got is a few quarters.”

He reaches into his pocket to show me. I hand him another buck.

“You don’t have to do that, Mykel,” he tells me.

“Ok,” I say, “give it back.”

He laughs… We both laugh.

“Sorry I can’t stay and talk,” I tell him, “I gotta get to CVS to buy some cough drops… It’s this post nasal drip… allergy… everybody thinks it’s CORONA. I’m afraid someone is gonna punch me.”

“I’ll protect you, Mykel,” says Dexter.

“Hah!” I say, “If I could afford a personal bodyguard, I’d hire you. But you might have more work than you expect. Some people don’t like me very much.”

He smiles like he gets what I’m talking about. We bump fists again and I head downtown to the CVS on Astor Place.

On the subway, I wonder about Calvin, my homeless friend who sits on a milkcrate outside the Peculier Pub. I’ve known him for almost as long as I’ve known Dexter. He’s got family in South Carolina… like I do. Somehow he visits them every year… I think he hops freight trains. We often talk about how nice people are in the South, and how good the food is.

“Everything except the politics,” I say… I always say… and we both always laugh. I don’t think I’ll get to see Calvin today.

Getting out of the subway, I walk over to the CVS about two dozen steps away. In front of the drugstore is a random white guy… holding a coffee cup. He needs a haircut and a shave, but in this plague everybody needs a haircut and a shave. Maybe he’s homeless. These days more and more white people are.

“Hey bud,” he says as I approach, “can you spare something?”

“Sorry,” I tell him. “I gave my last buck to a guy up the street… I may have something when I get out of the store.”

“I’ll take that,” says Random Whiteguy, “I may have something is a hell of a lot better than I usually get.”

I smile, wave at him and go into CVS. A clerk wearing a red t-shirt and a blue mask asks if she can help me.

“Where are the cough drops?” I ask.

She takes a step back, then points, “In the middle of Aisle 4, on the right,” she tells me… and takes another step back.

I thank her. Go to the aisle. No Fisherman’s Friends so I pick up some Halls and go to the cashier. I NEVER do self-checkout. The only time I tried, it accused me of stealing something.

The cashier, wearing a pink mask, sits behind an improvised plastic bank-teller-like window. She rings up the sale and one of her gloved hands takes my twenty-dollar bill.

“Could you give me some singles?” I ask.

She nods and hands me a ten, five singles and some change. I thank her, put the change in my pocket, the ten in my wallet and four of the five singles in my watch pocket. The other single, I keep in my gloveless hand.

I leave the store… there’s Random Whiteguy… approaching the masked NYU students who are breaking their isolation for necessities like bubblegum-flavored vaping tobacco. No one stops for Random Whiteguy.

He recognizes me as I leave. I show him the dollar.

“I got a dollar for you,” I tell him. “I wish I could afford to give you more but...”

I can’t think of an appropriate ending for the bullshit sentence.

He pretends not to notice.

“Thanks a lot, Mister,” he says. “I really need it.”

“Good luck to you,” I tell him.

He waves.

As I leave Random Whiteguy, some jockish-looking young man is approaching. He walks like King Kong… arms at his side puffed out… each hand in a fist…

“Get a mask!” he shouts at me. “Keep everyone safe. You shouldn’t even be out, let alone spreading corona from street beggars.”

I lose it.

I spin on my heels. Head down like a bull. POW! Headfirst into his chest. He’s down. SMACK… the back of his head hits the sidewalk. I hear a crunch. He’s dazed.

I put a knee on each shoulder and punch his chest. Then point to the homeless white guy.

“I’ll… stay… home… when… that… guy… has… a… home… to… go… to!” I say, punching his chest… right-left… after every word. “Where’s HIS mask? Where are HIS gloves?” I smack the jock in the face… open handed… right then left.

“I’ll wear a mask when Lester, Dexter, Calvin and that random white guy have masks to wear. I’ll practice social fuckin’ distancing when these guys don’t have to live their lives socially distanced from everyone who passes and sneers ewwww cooties.”

A trickle of blood drips from under his mask onto the sidewalk. I keep smacking away.

“You say your mask keeps everyone safe. You don’t give a shit about everyone. You think your fuckin’ mask will keep YOU safe.” I rip his mask off and spit in his face.

“There’s your safe, asshole! People live on the street and you say STAY HOME. What about them? They ARE home.”

Actually, I don’t do any of that. I just ignore the guy and walk past. I wish I were younger, bigger, with more cajones than I really have. But I’m not.

--end--

ENDNOTES: [You can contact me on facebook or by email at god@mykelboard.com. Through the post office: send those... er... private DVDs..or music or zines... or anything else (legal only!) to: Mykel Board, POB 137, New York, NY 10012-0003. If you want to be notified when a new blog is published, send me an email with the subject line SUBSCRIBE BLOG. Back blogs and columns are at https://mykelsblog.blogspot.com.

Oh yeah, in case you doubt what I’m saying about the REASONS people wear masks… check out this on the local deli window. And the protectees? YOU AND YOUR FAMILY! It’s not to protect old people like me. Keep everyone safe my ass!

But wait! There's more! How ‘bout this ad from facebook? The height of fashion… no mention of the virus at all… but we all know what it means, right?

 LINK TRADE DEPARTMENT:

I read that the search engines like lots of links... and it's also nice to support my friends... and enemies... in their blogs. So facebookme or email me if you have a blog, webpage or something else to connect to. I add you. You add me.

• From my friend and fellow poet, Richard Goldberg: goldberg.wordpress.com
• I post a blog for Kyle Nonnemon, in prison for a ton of shit. He's a smart guy, with a passion for industrial metal and a general detestation of humankind. You can read his blog at: apothelema.blogspot.com
• Poetry and humor fans will like Justin Martin in The Latency
• And my friend Mike R has a nice site with recipe hits from the past! (He cooked for me once... great stuff.) Check out .Yesterday's Recipes
• And here's one by a member of ANTI-SEEN... a tour diary of sorts.
• Andy Shelton has an interesting blog here
• Savage Hippie is a guy who has been YouTubing for a long time. Our opinions largely overlap... but he complains that I'm a Communist. I'm not! I'm a communist.
• Chris Stecher publishes a zine called PRECIS. You can see the back issue links there... and he promises a new issue soon.
• George Fertakis has a very nice graphics-heavy blog... with music and books featured prominently.
• And my long-term pal Sid Yiddish contributes with his Mishegas Master Blog.

     

You're Still Wrong... Mykel's April 2020 Blog or I'm So Honored...

YOU'RE STILL WRONG.. 

MYKEL'S April 2020 BLOG 

OR

I'm sO hONORED TO bE eLECTED

by Mykel Board

I never expected to be here in front of you all… writing these words… presenting this to the world stage. Those who know me well, know that I don’t aim to be a winner. Victories are for schemers, steroid users, corporate shills, scum in general. The good, the right, the brave, the fair, the compassionate, are losers. Winners are never good people and vice versa.

But somehow I did it. I beat the odds. was elected. I don’t know how I did it, but I know I couldn’t have done it without the help of each and every one of you. I owe you… and I will now explain how I’m going to pay you back.

I assure you, I don’t take the office of God lightly. As one newly elected to the position… I have my work cut out for me. These are perilous times we live in. Times of despair… times of panic… times of anger. I hear people calling out to me… even those who don’t believe I exist, are calling my name.

“Oh please God!” “God save us!” “God forbid!” “God damn it!”

I’ve heard you all. Here’s what I’m going to do for you.

First, there’s Hoaryville… on the drawing board for years… but we’re going to build it.

[Audience chant: Build the ville! Build the ville! Build the ville!]

We need a place to take care of the aged, the sick, the weak. We need special protection for those who cannot protect themselves. We will build the ville! Yes, I’m one of those. I’m fuckin’ GOD, after all. You can’t get older than me. I’m older than the universe! Older than Joe Biden… for fuck’s sake. We, the elderly... the weak lung-ed... those with immune system problems. We’re most at risk of heavy consequences and we need to be removed from the general population. So there will be Hoaryville… a place for all of us to cavort freely with each other… a place where every resident is in the danger class, tested and admitted to free luxury accommodation in Ft. Lauderdale.

Then there’s the panic. Humanity is losing itself. People walk the streets in gloves and masks. Human contact is forbidden. The arts: musea are closed. Theaters are shuttered. Shops and restaurants are empty. You can’t go into a bar that doesn’t reek of Purell. And in New York and more cities as we speak, you can’t go into a bar at all.

People have turned themselves into recluses… often with violence against anyone who dares shake hands. Cities in Europe are on complete lockdown. Like cattle dancing into an abattoir, citizens around the world shut themselves in homes and apartments… going out only for food and even then... wearing rubber gloves and a face mask.

The actual threat is minor. No worse than the flu… that killed 61,000 people in one year… infected 43 million! Without panic. Without singing happy birthday over the soap in the sink. But let there be a new disease... One that started in (woooooo…. scary) China… and people are buying 50 rolls of toilet paper and punching random Orientals!

Well, I’m going to end that… and end it fuckin’ soon! Except for the residents of Hoaryville, you all are going to meet each other. You’re going to shake hands, share quesadillas, mouth kiss, and butt fuck. You’re going to hold on to subway polls and pass dollar bills to homeless people. Some of you are going to get sick… like the flu… and you’ll get over it and never be able to get the same disease again. Instead of killing off weak viruses… so only the strong survive… you’ll be building your own body’s natural defenses so that YOU are stronger than the virus and not the other way around.

[Audience chant: Share the virus! Share the virus! Share the virus!]

You’re going to be so fuckin’ immune that you’ll tolerate the worst cases of corona, swine, bird, Ebola. Your tolerance will increase so much that you’ll be able to shrug off the casual use of girl or Negro. You’ll be so tolerant that you’ll sit on the subway next to that Chinese lady with a surgical mask… and maybe even comment on the weather to her. You’ll be so tolerant that you’ll be able to go to a karaoke bar (yes, they’ll all be open) and smile when someone sings My Way.

Your immune system will be so built up that you’ll be able to tongue kiss that homeless guy on the corner… the one you just gave a dollar to... and you can play scat with granddad on his eightieth birthday. You won’t fear foreigners or cripples.

You’ll volunteer to feed the hungry... without wearing rubber gloves... ride an elevator without using your elbow to push the buttons.

As your elected God, I have big plans for you. And you can’t avoid them. You can hide at home… under a pile of Lysol… Yes, you can hide, but you can’t run. You’re going to have human contact. You’re going to love your neighbors… and I don’t mean VIRTUALLY love them. I mean nose in the sphincter, dick under the armpit, tongue twat-deep love them.

You’re going to share the feasts, take candy and cookies from the same box… break bread… pick up food from a communal plate with communal chopsticks. You’re going to eat Chinese, Italian, Korean. You’re going to belch, fart, cough and spit. You’re going to felch, cum guzzle, and puke. And you’re gonna love it.

The time of saying Goodbye, Stay Healthy is ending. The time of saying Yo! Let’s go out for a drink! Is returning. And you can –and should– thank God for that.

- end -

ENDNOTES: [You can contact me on facebook or by email at god@mykelboard.com. Through the post office: send those... er... private DVDs..or music or zines... or anything else (legal only!) to: Mykel Board, POB 137, New York, NY 10012-0003. If you like my writing, you can be notified when anything new is available. Back blogs and columns are at https://mykelsblog.blogspot.com. If you want to be notified when a new blog is published, send me an email with the subject line SUBSCRIBE BLOG.

→ It had to happen dept: The Washington Times reports: Limestone County Sheriff Mike Blakely, in Athens, Alabama, faces 11 counts of theft and ethics charges related to his job. After indictment, Blakely went to the hospital, where his lawyers said he was being tested for the Corona virus. But in a special hearing, Dr. Maria Onoya told the judge that while Blakely was indeed admitted to the hospital, and received multiple tests, none of them was for Corona.

I say, Nice try, though.

→ Another point of view dept: Speaking of God… We’ve got this from New Jersey… (click here for the full video)

→ The panic is worse than the disease dept: -- NDTV reports that a man in Vilnius, Lithuania, with help from his sons, locked his wife in their bathroom after she expressed worry to him that she got corona from a trip to Italy, where she came in contact with some Chinese people. The husband called a doctor, who suggested she isolate herself. She called the cops because her husband wouldn't let her out of the bathroom. It's unclear how long she was locked in. Later reports say she was tested for the virus and did not have it.

→ Sounds like the work of Antifa dept: The website Patch says that a fourth-grade teacher was arrested in Niles, Illinois, for assaulting a neighbor and calling her "a fucking Nazi." The teacher attacked the 87-year-old woman, who is German, in the parking garage of their condominium building, where the woman was exercising. The victim was struck and fell, suffering cuts and bruises.

LINK TRADE DEPARTMENT:

I read that the search engines like lots of links... and it's also nice to support my friends... and enemies... in their blogs. So facebookme or email me if you have a blog, webpage or something else to connect to. I add you. You add me.

Here's a start:

• From my friend and fellow poet, Richard Goldberg: goldberg.wordpress.com
• I post a blog for Kyle Nonnemon, in prison for a ton of shit. He's a smart guy, with a passion for industrial metal and a general detestation of humankind. You can read his blog at: apothelema.blogspot.com
• Poetry and humor fans will like Justin Martin in The Latency
• And my friend Mike R has a nice site with recipe hits from the past! (He cooked for me once... great stuff.) Check out .Yesterday's Recipes
• And here's one by a member of ANTI-SEEN... a tour diary of sorts.
• Andy Shelton has an interesting blog here
• Savage Hippie is a guy who has been YouTubing for a long time. Our opinions largely overlap... but he complains that I'm a Communist. I'm not! I'm a communist.
• Chris Stecher publishes a zine called PRECIS. You can see the back issue links there... and he promises a new issue soon.
• George Fertakis has a very nice graphics-heavy blog... with music and books featured prominently.
• And my long-term pal Sid Yiddish contributes with his Mishegas Master Blog.

CONTACT REDUX: You can contact me on facebook or by email at god@mykelboard.com. Through the post office: send those... er... private DVDs..or music or zines... or anything else (legal only!) to: Mykel Board, POB 137, New York, NY 10012-0003. If you like my writing, you can be notified when anything new is available. Send me an email with the subject line SUBSCRIBE BLOG. 

YOU'RE STILL WRONG.. MYKEL'S MARCH 2020 BLOG UNINTENDED CONSEQUENCES (PT.1 )

YOU'RE STILL WRONG.. MYKEL'S March 2020 BLOG
Unintended consequences (PT.1 )

[Last month’s test –breaking the blog into weekly parts– was a near complete failure. It was at least an unpleasantry for several blog readers. So starting this month I’m going bi… weekly that is. Let me know if you think it’s better.]

You’re STILL Wrong

or
Mykel's

March 2020 Blog/Column

Unintended Consequences

by Mykel Board

It is...highly probable that from the very beginning, apart from death, the only ironclad rule of human experience has been the Law of Unintended Consequences.

--Ian Tattersall

Just do it.

--Nike

New York February 2020 The Black Sheep bar on Third Ave: I’m with my friends Richard, Miho, Hazem. We sit at a table next to the end of the bar. At the bar, God is punishing me for my eternal complaint about the girl with that voice. You know the one… she’s at a table one over from yours… squeally Long Islander… a laugh that can incite murder… drunk as a fish. It’s a rare night that there isn’t one to complain about.

Tonight, though, it’s all boys, a couple jocks and their fathers… or father figures… with guffaws from hell… glass-breaking loud. Probably from large families-- used to fighting to be heard. Right now each one yells over the others... as if this quiet bar required a chorus of alpha males to compete for attention. No girls here… just this stinking pack of machotude... making communication impossible among our multiculturals. I’m not going to complain to them, as any one of these guys is TWO of me.

Then I see it…a way out: right at the bar, in front of the loudest guy… wearing a white toque. (What is it these days wearing wool caps inside? And not only bald guys!). I walk over to the group… stand behind them… about an arm’s length away.

“Hey guys,” I say pointing to the beers in front of them. “Don’t you know that you can die from drinking that beer?”

“Huh?” asks the second loudest… and most annoying... a two-ton gray-haired guy in a bright red jacket.

“Corona,” I say. “Why do you think the virus has that name?”

“You’re full o’ shit,” says the man. “Corona is Mexican. The virus is Chinese.”

“Yeah,” I say, “but the whole problem started because Corona began to outsource its beer-making to China. The main factory is in Wuhan… where the virus comes from. It was the first thing closed after the outbreak.”

Richard, the only native English-speaker in our group, hears what I’m doing and pipes in from our table next to the bar.

“Yeah,” he says, “I heard about that.”

The others in the loud group, all drinking Bud Lite, move away from him.

I cough, then say, “I know about it because my boyfriend is Mexican and he told me his uncle works for the Corona company and was in China on assignment…” I cough again… trying to bring tears to my eyes. “He’s in the hospital right now in Mexico City. The first case of Corona virus in that country.”

I cough again and go back to sit with the others. Richard struggles to keep a straight face. In less than five minutes, the entire crew has left the bar.

In another five minutes, Mary, our regular Irish waitress comes over to us. She glances over her shoulder at a tall white guy with a scraggly beard.

“Mykel,” she says in a low whisper. “I think we’re in trouble. One of our regular customers complained about ‘a sick person who just returned from China.’ I think you guys had better leave until this blows over. I’m so sorry.”

FLASH TO Ulan Bator, Mongolia 1995… The air is breezy… there’s no humidity. Outside my apartment block is a field of dry dead grass. I run across that field chasing a small white plastic bag that tumbles in the breeze… edge over edge… like a girl doing cartwheels on the beach. The wind suddenly changes direction... I turn... twisting an ankle sprawling face down in the dry dirt. Pain… but not serious.

ネバーギブアップ say the Japanese. (The pronunciation is something like: NEBA-GIVU-AHPPU… I’m not shittin’ you.)

I get up… run/limp after the bag... stopped, for now... caught on a sprig of weed. I tackle it. Yes! Now, I have somewhere to throw my garbage for the week.

FLASH TO NYC 2020: In 6 days, single use plastic bags will be illegal in New York. Here, I generate a dozen times more garbage than I did in Mongolia. (In Ulan Bator, I had a plastic egg container that I brought to the market and refilled as I needed it. I carried groceries by folding my coat around them.) I refuse to buy garbage bags… I will not buy something to throw it away. Right now… before the ban… I use grocery bags for my trash.

So it looks like I’ll be chasing plastic bags down Bleecker Street, as they grow less and less common. In Mongolia, only the high-end stores –mainly for foreigners-- had plastic bags. I’ll need more here than I did there.

I open my closet door. On a rack inside the door are two dozen “reusable” carrier bags. Some I bought in an emergency when I needed something for a heavy purchase. Some were free bonuses for renewing my subscription to one or another liberal political magazine. Some were left by couch-surfers who just didn’t want to carry that shit around with them. I’ve tried to give them away, but the answer is always I’ve got tons of them. This will only get worse during the ban, as with each shopping trip, people will buy a new one.

The glut of thin plastic bags using a little oil to make will be replaced with a glut of thick plastic carrier bags using a shitload of oil to make. The small grocery bags that are reused for trash will be replaced by huge purchased trash bags used once and then thrown into the landfill.

The ban was well-meaning. The effects will be disastrous.

FLASH TO NEW YORK 1970s: 6AM the city awakens to the banging of Oscar The Grouch style garbage cans. KABOOM! KABOOM! The diesel garbage trucks are almost as loud as the cans themselves. Someone’s got to do something about the racket! People gotta sleep!

As is usual when there’s a problem… either someone gets killed or they pass a law… or both. So they pass a law. No metal garbage cans… or even rubber. It makes too much noise. You’ve got to take the plastic bags OUT of the garbage cans, pile them curbside, so they can be disposed of quietly.

While most new laws are universally despised, this one was loved… by the city’s rats. It used to be so hard to gnaw into those metal cans. Rats were visiting the rat dentist by the pack. Just awful… but now… three seconds to get through the plastic. Come on! It’s a food orgy… we’ll eat, fuck and make more rats! Wow!

We read about unintended consequences in history books. How alcohol prohibition created the mafia. How nuclear power destroyed Chernobyl and made the land uninhabitable. How the routine use of antibiotics created drug-resistant microbes… How the treaty ending World War One set the stage for World War Two… How starlings brought in to control sparrows became pests themselves.

It’s harder to find positive examples of unintended consequences. In the history books, in my life, and in the world.

An internet search gives me this example: In 1973 the Supreme Court declared (Roe v. Wade) that abortion was legal and could not be outlawed by the states. 20 years later the crime rate plummeted. One of the reasons? Unwanted/ abandoned/ not supported kids --instead of roaming the streets to become criminals-- were never born in the first place. Instead of building more jails, you keep jails from being needed in the first place.

There are, of course, other good unintended consequences. The scaffolding construction companies put up when repairing or cleaning buildings… in a rainstorm it’s a welcome respite. That light outside the doorway to keep muggers away from the shadows also keeps people like me from pissing in those doorways.

AND THIS JUST FOUND: In the German city of Kleve, the owner of a chicken that took 10 hours of training to appear in a movie was awarded the equivalent of $680 when a dog mauled it. According to reports, regular chicken wrongful death would bring the owner about $20. But because this one had acting lessons and appeared in a movie, the court ordered the dog's owner to pay much higher damages. Who knew acting lessons for chickens would be so profitable?

Are these positive unintended consequences harder to dig up because there are fewer of them… or are there just as many (or more) and fewer people notice?

I don’t know.

Then what’s the solution? There will always be unintended consequences. Seems like you’ve got some choices to make.

A. Before you make a decision, think about all the possible consequences and then choose the one that will have the best outcome… or at least do the least harm. Deal with the consequences later.

or

B. Don’t act at all. There are ALWAYS unintended consequences and the only way to avoid them is to do nothing to create those consequences.

or

C. Go for the Nike and JUST DO IT. Deal with the consequences -- unintended or otherwise-- when they happen. Of course, you’ll run into unintended consequences of dealing with the consequences. You can deal with them too when you get to them.

Am I going to tell you which way to act? Do I seem like the kind of person who tells others how to act? Ok, I will… but maybe later.

- end -

ENDNOTES AND LINKS will appear in 2 weeks. You can contact me on facebook or by email at god@mykelboard.com.