I hear the grumbles out there. “Who cares?” “Who the hell does she think she is? No one knows what happiness is anyway.” “Why doesn’t she write about something of significance?” “Chapbooks are supposed to be about morality, history, murders, humor and drinking, not happiness, for gosh-sakes.” “I’d rather watch TV wrestling.” Be all that as it may, I intend to write about happiness. Everyone interested, hang in there. You grumblers are excused.

As many of you already know, the chapbook began life in Britain, although many were produced in the United States during the period of their highest demand. A “chapbook” was basically a small, flimsy paperback booklet printed on one sheet which was folded into 8, 12, 16 or 24 pages. Illustrations were primitive. Some of them had nothing to do with the contents. Once read, possibly by dozens of people, the poor chapbook often found itself torn up to wrap stuff or line baking pans. The most coldhearted finish of all was a chapbook that wound up in the outhouse as “bum fodder” (toilet paper).

Although people treated them atrociously, chapbooks served people extremely well. With a price low enough for the working classes to afford and the availability and abundance of the books, many people became self-taught readers, adding significantly to overall literacy.

Onward! Ever onward!

: “Knowledge of what is possible is the beginning of happiness.”: George Santayana

The following story proves this quotation correct.London, England: Nov 25, 2010 – The British government wants to find out what makes people happy.

Prime Minister David Cameron is eager to focus on Brits’ well-being. He particularly wishes to know how they feel about life outside the GDP (Gross National Product). Asking people to answer through a national survey, Cameron’s goal is to discover what aspects of life mean the most to British citizens. Also, he is interested in what people think should be used to measure Britain’s comfort and happiness.

Of course there are always those who oppose even something as innocent as the projected survey. When the Prime Minister came out with the idea, those wary souls responded with accusations of the whole matter being “airy-fairy and impractical.”

In answer to the distrustful, Cameron said, “Of course you can’t capture happiness on a spreadsheet any more than you can bottle it. If anyone was trying to reduce the whole spectrum of human emotion into one snapshot statistic, I would be the first to roll my eyes, but that isn’t what this is about.” In other words, the GDP doesn’t tell the full story of economic growth. Hence, the GWB (general well-being) of the nation won’t be absolute. But Cameron hopes the information will be accurate enough for the government to help Brits through the current worldwide downtrend. The Prime Minister seems to think a wide-spread survey or two will come up with the answers to England’s dropping GDP. Just give it a shot of GWB.

:Some philosopher once said,” Happiness is a journey not a destination.”:For my younger self, happiness was neither journey nor destination. If the journey led to the grocery store, I hated it. Grocery shopping was obnoxious to me. I detested trying to find the groceries I needed. I had to contain my desire to try every new grocery that stores brought out. Last but not least, I even disliked grocery ads and coupons.

I took on grocery shopping in the same manner George W Bush and that Cheney troll utilized torture in the name of national protection. I shopped with “enhanced techniques.” I refused to comb the Sunday newspaper for coupons. I rarely made out a comprehensive or legible list. That way, the husband person had to return to the grocery mega-store and complete what I left out, which he considered torture.

This condition went on for multiple years. It actually continued until husband person retired. For a while after he stopped working, we shopped together. That difficult camaraderie strained our relationship. OK, stressed our marriage a bit. Eventually he grasped the insight that I would rather sterilize a dozen mucky toilets than grocery shop.

For the past few years husband person has been doing most all the grocery pickups alone. However, I must have my cell phone at hand in case he runs into a problem. Often it’s just an empty spot on the shelf where something on the list was supposed to reside. The little phone rings (mine plays the theme music from Sponge Bob SquarePants). I answer it. He pours out his woes. I give him two or three options. He mulls. I wait. “OK,” he says, “Gotcha.” Then he brings home Melba Toast instead of Wassa Brod. Melba Toast tastes a whole lot like tree bark to me. But I am delighted with the remainder of his purchases. For me, happiness is someone else doing the blessed grocery shopping.

cautioncautioncaution LIMERICKS AHEAD cautioncautioncaution A limerick is a five-line poem in anapestic or amphibrachic meter with a strict rhyme scheme (aabba), which intends to be witty or humorous, and is sometimes obscene with humorous intent. It may have its roots in the 18th-century Maigue Poets of Ireland although the form can be found in England in the early years of the century. It was popularized in English by Edward Lear in the 19th century, although he did not use the term. (From Wikipedia article) Limericks
There was an old biddy named Cate
Who got into bed rather late
She wrestled and tussled
And used all her muscle
But couldn’t unearth her bony mate. Cate L

There was a Young Person of Crete
Whose toilet was far from complete;
She dressed in a sack,
Spickle-speckled with black,
That ombliferous person of Crete. Edward Lear

There once was a man from Bombay
who wore on his head a toupee.
He thought that he might
give friends a delight
and remove his toupee for a day.

There was a farmer from Leeds,
Who ate six packets of seeds,
It soon came to pass,
He was covered with grass,
And he couldn't sit down for the weeds

A flea and a fly in a flue
Were imprisoned, so what could they do?
Said the fly, "let us flee!"
"Let us fly!" said the flea.
So they flew through a flaw in the flue. Ogden Nash
There was a young woman named Bright
Whose speed was much faster than light.
She set out one day
In a relative way,
And returned on the previous night.

:May the forces of evil become confused on the way to your house.: George Carlin

A Tribute to George Carlin

George Denis Patrick Carlin has been dead for 2 years and a little over 5 months. He turned 71 on May 12, 2008. On June 22, 40 days later, the man who stated he had “absolutely no sympathy for human beings whatsoever - none” died of heart failure.

I doubt he was the happiest American comedian ever. With bi-polar disorder, poor Jonathan Winters is probably happier than George who only suffered from alcoholism and prescription drug addiction. Still, Carlin made millions of people happy. He moved us to laughter, in spite of his using all those “dirty words.” His stand-up comedy classed him second among the 100 greatest comedians of all time. And, in 2008, the year he died, he was posthumously awarded the Mark Twain prize for American humor. The prize set him along side Jonathan Winters, Carl Reiner, Whoopi Goldberg, Bob Newhart, Lily Tomlin, Steve Martin and Bill Cosby among others.

Like his life, George’s career was pretty rocky. With no father in the home, George’s mother raised him alone. School left him cold. So did life with mother. He ran away from home and school as often as possible. The US Air Force labeled him “unproductive” as an airman and discharged him in 1957. This gave George time to start his comedy career.

The first time I laughed at George Carlin was sometime during the 1960s when he was being Al Sleet, the “Hippy-Dippy Weatherman.” He had me in stitches with his forecast. “Tonight’s forecast. Dark. Continued dark throughout most of the evening, with some widely scattered light towards morning.”

In the 1970s I kind of lost track of fantastic George. Off and on I heard mutters about his ”Seven Words You Can Never Say on TV.” But I never heard the words. I also didn’t realize he’d been arrested in Milwaukee for violating obscenity laws when he said at least some of the Seven Words performing at the Summerfest.

Then too, I never knew about his ongoing HBO specials. We had cable by the 70s but no HBO. I missed all his appearances sitting in for Johnny Carson on the Tonight Show because I was always too tired to stay awake that late. Still, when I heard on the news that he had died in June of 2008, I thought, “Only 71 and all used up. Poor George.” But I felt deeply that something essential had been taken away from America and from us Americans. Who’s going to tell us how stupid we are, how fat we are, how superstitious we are? Who’s going to make fun of our idiot ideas about war and our snobbery with the rest of the world? Who’s going to talk to us about ourselves, tell us who we are and how we can grow to be better?

------------

About the author Cate Lane: Born in Minnesota and raised a temperate progressive, I was carried off to Texas 10 years ago by the tsunami that was my husband's retirement. Texas is not Minnesota, not by a long shot. However, I hear that Minnesota isn't Minnesota anymore either.

Writing was always my first choice in life. I began writing at the age of 8, small books about pioneers heading west. Little did I know then that I would be living in the most "western" of all the states, Texas. No one told the Texans that they are simply Southerners who, like Bugs Bunny, took a wrong turn at Albuquerque and wound up here.

I am sneaking up on 70 years of age and now own a vast store of useless knowledge. Happy to share any or all of it with you all.

Email: CthlnLn@aol.com

Comment on this article here!



------------

All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com. Please link to this article rather than copying and pasting it onto your site (which would be unauthorized and illegal).

	Web useless-knowledge.com