Ill defined prerogatives

We all bucked through the unplowed snow drifts to Schmoes Diner yesterday where the talk was all about Canada's new immigrant program designed to bring millionaires to our impoverished country. The government announced it would give permanent residency to international investors who could invest $2 million in Canada, in an effort to attract experienced business people who could give the Canadian economy a boost. We were all pretty excited that maybe we could attract one or two to our neck of the woods. Schmoe was a little less than enthusiastic as it would mean he would have to add more items to his menu than burgers and coffee and fries (in alphabetical order) if he were to compete if one of these rich dudes decided to open up a new restaurant.

We figured if we could attract some of these rich whippersnappers to buy a quarter section of bush and start homesteading we could really build our municipal tax base and get some decent roads and maybe even a fire truck. With all that business experience they might even be cajoled to sit on the council and maybe give some insight into keeping our ancient 671 Champion grader running at least enough to plow the snow. But then Cultivated Herb came along and said he had met some of these rich foreign folk, and he thought they'd be more app to be city types living with a few niceties than joining us out here in the sticks.

Cultivated Herb is up on a lot of these things, he even reads the “Globe and Mail,” and he said this outfit called the Immigrant Investor Capital Program would take these dudes $2 million, if they were wanting to integrate into Canada's somewhat languorous relationship with the world at large, and divest it into brazenly speculative ventures aimed at increasing our exposure to the economic forefront of civilization, all at their own risk mind you, contributing to our long-term perplexity and the economic growth of the 1%. For this they would be given the right to vote and make full use of our medicare programs.

Bucking the snow drifts on the way home again, we got to feeling kind of in touch with the rest of our amazing Canada. Those guys in Ottawa were really trying their best to make a go of our humble nation. To open our borders to these one percenters who may come part and parcel with some other ill defined prerogatives is quite enterprising and makes us feel quit at home here living with our resourceful neighbours who also have some ill defined prerogatives. Oh to be part of this great land. You all keep that pot covered now, eh!

Pavlov's chicken

We have this neurotic chicken running around the yard here this year. She takes a brown marker to her toes because she doesn't want the others to know she quit smoking. Yes she has quite the complex. But since she quit smoking she's taken to chasing Fritz who being a cross between an Irish Wolf Hound and a real wolf, his mother chased one down, picks her up all squawking and drops her in the water trough.

Mystified at this behaviour, we stumbled upon Pavlov and his behaviour theory. The central doctrine of this school is that an understanding of all behavioural responses may be acquired through a grasp of the concepts of drive, cue, response, and reward and their derivatives; rewarded responses become habits through a process of conditioning, and unrewarded responses tend to be extinguished. This doesn't seem to really apply to our wet smoke free chicken as we ponder of our fountains of amusement. Our guess is Pavlov didn't raise neurotic chickens.

The results of two studies indicate that people who are high in openness to new experience and high in neuroticism are likely to be bloggers, and additionally that the neurotical relationship was moderated by gender indicating that women who are high in neuroticism are more likely to be bloggers as compared to those low in neuroticism whereas there was no difference for men. So our chicken being a women for all intents and purposes, we wondered if bringing her in the house to the keypad would ease her sillier tendencies as she vented herself on the world at large. Us not being fluent in hen peck, do not really know if it is working, but she does seem to enjoy the house more than the water trough, although Fritz with his insight can't stop anticipating the friendly fire with his eye on the back door.

Being high on positive emotion is an element of the independent trait of extroversion. Neurotic extroverts experience high levels of both positive and negative emotional states, a kind of emotional roller coaster. Being intent on comprehending the masochistic tendencies of our chicken, we're pretty sure the water trough episodes and ensuing grooming sessions are needed to gratify the needed negative emotional states. Pavlov would be exalted by our acumen, and his theory would stand unabated.

With all due respect to our chickens, we do not harbour any ill will, or even entertain ridicule. We mostly poke fun at our own misunderstandings of your appreciated presence on our planet. And we enjoy having you over for dinner. We don't seem to be able to dig ourselves out of this hole now, do we?   We do wonder what Pavlov would say.      You all keep the pot covered, okay?

Chickens in the cloud

We were working on our pugnacious old D7, that's the one with the pony motor and the hand clutch that'll rip your arm off, because it gives us this tingle of intrepidness to embellish the task of clearing three inches of snow off our drive. Somehow the cloud of diesel smoke wafting away into evanescence got us thinking since the cloud was all the rage out there, why not bring it to the bush. We had first considered the enterprise of raising virtual chickens and pigs and cows and of course complete with virtual excrement, and to sell them for virtual money so we could pay our virtual hydro bill and live in virtual warmth, but then winter would come along and we'd freeze our virtual buts off, so we sort of decided to pass on that one, because string theory aside, winter isn't all that virtual.

This cloud thing however, it has real possibilities. We could raise our cows and chickens and pigs along with their feed in the cloud, so to speak. If each hick out here got together and we created a few misty meadows out in the bush where we could keep all our livestock, and a few more misty ramparts to stash the feed in, why look at the possibilities. We could focus on maximizing the effectiveness of our shared resources by dynamically reallocating them per demand. So if Joe over there wanted a chicken or two to feed his nine kids, he could just call up the widow Rachael who we could hire as our full time data central and she wouldn't have to wink so much at the local bachelors to make ends meet. She could get Bob and his brother Bob and his other brother Bob to deliver them toot sweet and they could have a real job to keep them out of adversity. And all of us hicks, why we'd have all the time in the world to get a real job to pay for all this innovativeness. On second thought, that's what we toil away at already, and it may be easier just to raise our own chickens and cows and pigs. And the good widow Rachael and Bob and his brother Bob and his other brother Bob all kind of get titillated with the life they have anyhow, with all due respect. Oh how this intrepidness clouds the brain.

Well, the drive is clean right down to the bedrock, and a steaming hot cup of coffee will put our intrepidness right up there on cloud number nine, so till next time, keep the pot covered, eh.

Anankasticism

We aren't part of the 1% out here on the back 40, those rich dudes we keep hearing about on the news, and that may be an understatement. But we have our own ways of gratifying our obsessive compulsive disorders. Why, we have one heifer who's so obsessed with her anxiety over a consistent feed supply that she keeps breaking the fence down into the stack yard. Our local vet tried fluoxetine, but she developed such an aversion to her meds that we can't get close to her with that darn pill gun. The vet says this poor heifer thinks that all the cattle have the need to be as well fed as her, but they can't do it because they are just inferior. It never occurs to her that the rest of them just have other goals.

We were in Schmoes Delicatessen, that's the place out on the highway with burger, coffee, and fries all listed alphabetically on the menu and where you can usually find a willing mouth to entertain you for a stretch. Cultivated Herb, our local palaver of useful information, was discoursing on obsessive–compulsive personality disorder, also apparently called anankastic personality disorder, this personality disorder characterized by a pervasive pattern of preoccupation with orderliness, perfectionism, excessive attention to details, mental and interpersonal control, and a need for power over one's environment, at the expense of flexibility and openness.

Now the drive to amass wealth, in purely psychological terms, is a symptom of this anankasticism. Fear of the world makes these dudes want to control it, and wealth is a means of obtaining some measure of control. Most of this, like most of what motivates us, is subconscious. Dudes who want to become wealthy are not known to be paragons of self-inspection, and for the most part think they are quite normal. That's why they think that everyone has the need to be as rich as them, but can't do it because they are just inferior. It never occurs to them that the rest of us really just have other goals. This has apparently been studied, and is becoming increasingly well understood. In previous centuries these people became robber barons, dictators, and tyrants. We have simply progressed.

These regulars at Schmoes, they all know we have this here blog, and the conversion got vitiated around for the need to amass followers for our little blog here, and they're making all kinds of pleasantries at us and our need to control the world and all with our blogging. Guess we'll have to go home and take some fluoxetine if that rascally heifer don't want it.

You all have a good day and keep the pot covered, eh.

Escape of the bull

So, we've got the bull back in the barn and his pen all shored up. It was quite the morning with him a pawin and a snortin and then goin through the barn door, well he sort of lifted it and went underneath, all because he got the hots for some neighbourhood sweety who was smelling fine. He was off an over the fences and through the widow Rachael's garden patch, and we'll never hear the end of that. We had to load a charming heifer who was jumpin on every critter in sight on the back of the pickup and he followed her home like a good little boy and we let him have a go at her and he got as placated as a bag of wet macaroni.

Now we were having our coffee and discussing the philosophical implications of such occurrences what with the earth's population sitting at around 9 billion. Men and women being men and women they all gets the hots too, and the Pope he doesn't value much any counter potency efforts excepting good morals and that's real good if your fine and upstanding, but we got politicians on this good earth too. So we figured that if we did away with politicians we could control our population, but Joe, he wants to be on the school board because he's got nine kids, and well that just about ended our discourse right there but we all had a real good snicker.

This big colloquium their having in Davos has really got our chickens scratching. Some top drawer cracks are worrying their poor heads that economic growth was slower than it might have been in countries with limitations on online activity. They say people should be concerned, national solutions won't protect the interests of global companies. They want to mobilize businesses on this issue in the same way they are mobilized for free trade pacts. Our chickens are telling us we better watch out or we'll be voting for Walmart or Exxon or Cargill to exalt our freedoms pretty soon, and chicken feed could get pretty pricey. We run a real democracy out here in the back 40, and the chickens all voted to keep themselves free range, with lots of cock a doodle dooing about keeping that hole in the fence open. Says a lot for their confidence in humanity.

If we can keep this telephone internet connection operational here, we'll try to keep you city folk all informed about our valued opinions out here in the bush. Keep the pot covered, eh.