Have you ever heard of Joseph Hillstrom, aka Joe Hill? Look him up the internet. Do some research. Fascinating stuff, I assure you. Joe Hill was an immigrant and a songwriter and a poet and a union organizer who fought tirelessly for workers rights. Tired of being mistreated by their employers, Hill and a slew of other workers just like him joined together to demand fair treatment. Hill was just one small part of a wave of workers who banded together in the early part of the 1900's, desperate to change working conditions that were exploitative and tenuous at best, and downright dangerous - even life-threatening - at worst.
Would Joe Hill be shocked to learn that in 2012, the battle for workers rights was still being fought? I have to imagine that he would.
The Occupational Safety and Health Act was passed in the United States of America in 1970. That's right. 1970. After decades of being subjected to hazardous working environments and life-threatening conditions, a law was finally passed to ensure workplace safety. The bill, like all the failed attempts to protect the American worker that had come before it, was vehemently opposed by big business and the United States Chamber of Commerce. Politicians in the pocket of corporate interests attempted to water the bill down, or remove crucial elements. In the end, compromises were made and deals brokered. The act was implemented.
It actually took until 1938 for a law to be passed restricting the ability of employers to exploit children for labor at extremely low wages. It took the great depression to pass the law, ironically enough. It was only when adults, desperate for jobs, resorted to working for the pittance paid to child workers that Franklin D. Roosevelt was able to step in and pass a law which included restrictions on child labor. Previous attempts to regulate the exploitation of children were blocked. That's right. Blocked. The forces of industry, and their enablers in the political sphere, wouldn't even consider the welfare of children ahead of the desire for greed and profit.
My point here?
My point is that Capitalism, despite being depicted draped in an American flag and woven into our national fabric, is far from benign. Corporate America only cares about you in the sense that you have a few pennies to line their pockets. The idea that an unregulated market is desirable is a delusion propagated by those who stand to gain the most from a lack of regulation, and those who have taken a deep swig from the pitcher of Kool Aid these same snake oil salesmen have been passing around for decades.
The tenets of Libertarianism and the growing pocket of far-right, free-market ideology is a delusion; a pining for a dangerous time that has somehow been washed in the sepia tones of a false nostalgia. Unregulated financial markets and a lack of workplace regulation and the inability for workers to organize isn’t “liberty” or “freedom”. It's exploitation and the machinations of greed that have been repackaged under the banner of Ayn Rand and “Don't Tread On Me” flags and a revisionist version of American history that frankly never really existed.
Libertarianism and the invisible hand of unregulated commerce are smoke and mirrors. A dangerous illusion. The idea of government as an unnecessary behemoth bent only on oppression? Another unfounded illusion.
Do people really want to go back to the days of polluted rivers and poison air and children forced into factory work for a pittance? Wait, I digress. There is no more factory work in America. Those wonderful Capitalist souls - those mythical and celebrated “job creators” - have shipped our manufacturing jobs overseas, to countries who don't have a government willing to protect their citizens from exploitation for profit. My mistake.
I'm not standing here taking a giant piss on the head of Capitalism. Should I be? Probably. But putting that aside, and looking at a Capitalist system objectively, I can easily see the positives. I'm not saying that a desire to make a profit is bad. I'm not saying that all corporations are soulless and evil. What I am saying is that human beings tend to be imperfect creatures, and the siren song of wealth and riches and the trappings that come along with it are hard to resist. I'm saying that corporations need policed. They need to be reigned in when their quest for riches ultimately begins to override their humanity.
Is government capable of evil? Certainly. That's why our elected leaders are all held in check by myriad checks and balances. Different branches hold other branches in check. Free elections ensure that politicians are held accountable by the people. Is it a perfect system? No. It's been tainted by big money and a corrupt corporate influence, bent on rigging the system for their own financial gain. But you know what? You can vote those corrupted politicians out. Try voting out the CEO of Exxon-Mobil. It ain't happening. I'd much rather be ruled by an elected politician than a corporate kingpin beholden to no one.
Back to Joe Hill.
Today, the new scapegoat for our financial problems has become labor unions. Through a campaign of disinformation and exaggeration and outright bullshit, unions have become the new face of a fabricated Socialist evil bent on the destruction of God's America. It's all a big steaming pile of garbage, of course. The corporate kingpins have seized on a golden opportunity to use misinformation to weaken the bargaining position of the American worker. They see a chance to exploit the worker in the name of more profits, and they're running with the opportunity. The death of the middle class and the environment and America's industrial base? Collateral damage in a mindless grab for riches. If you think they wouldn't giddily scrap existing environmental and labor laws, you're kidding yourself. Our elected officials, particularly the ones with an “R” after their names, are more than happy to help them. Who needs to represent the people when you can hitch your wagon to the gilded corporate gravy train?
Are unions perfect? Of course not. Like politicians and corporations, unions are flawed. Over time, some have become corrupted. The obvious thing to do would be to fix those flaws. Instead? Instead we're told that we should simply castrate the unions. Do away with them. Oddly, millions of Americans either don't notice or don't care that the voice whispering these sweet nothings about rendering organized labor extinct belong to those who gain the most by stripping workers of their rights. In reality, destroying unions because of some corruption would have been like completely disbanding Major League Baseball over the Black Sox scandal. It's a ridiculous and calculated overreaction.
Despite the work and sacrifice of people like Joe Hill, we're still fighting an uphill battle for the soul of the working class. Hell, for the existence of the middle class. Decades have seemingly taught us nothing, as we're led gleefully down the road to serfdom. Many of the voices leading us there are doing so in opposition to their own self interests. The financial titans leading the charge? What can they do but laugh as one lemming leads another right of the cliff?
Joe Hill would hang his head in shame.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Monday, May 7, 2012
The Grind
I had something of a disturbing revelation on my commute home this evening.
It was a little after five, and I was sitting in traffic on Cameron Street near the Farm Show Building, listening to a Duncan Trussell podcast. I looked at the clock and did a bit of mental math. Home by 5:30. Probably be in bed sometime between 10-11. That's how a majority of the week goes, right? You spend the bulk of your waking hours at work, then cram your "life" into a few hours in the evening and whatever portion of the weekend you don't spend working on necessary domestic duties.
It hit me, sitting there in my car, that we spend so much of our life toiling away, and so little of it actually living.
How did this happen, and who decided this was a good idea?
When did we decide that all the bullshit we produce and purchase and worry about until we die with bloody holes in our guts was more important than actually living?
Who decided that our souls would in essence be sold before we were even born? Our childhood's nothing more than a prelude to picking our poison and leading a life of running endlessly in circles, usually making a lot of money for someone else while we worry about paying our bills and caring for our kids and fighting our fellow human beings for the scraps we depend on to eke out a living.
Who decided that spending our mornings idling on smog choked highways to chase a few bucks was progress? Who decided that getting a few minutes a day to choke down tasteless food before returning to a windowless cubicle was acceptable?
Whoever he was, rest assured he wasn't one of us. He wasn't someone who misses the sunlight and the caress of a warm breeze while he sits under artificial lights and tries to convince himself that he's lucky to have this opportunity to spend his life toiling away just to get by.
No, he wasn't one of us.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Winter Decided to Stop By Today
Winter decided to stop by today. About time, if you ask me. Almost sixty in the dead of winter, while seemingly a nice respite from the cold, is at the same time a little disconcerting. Besides, it’s not like we’ve been laboring under a lot of frigid weather so far. We really don’t have mind-numbing temperatures to “escape” from. With the exception of a brief cold snap that lasted no more than a few days, this winter has been anything but winter-esque. It’s disappointing, when it comes down to it. I like my seasons…seasonal.
Today? Today it’s snowing. Big, fat flakes that stick to a man’s beard. That great kind of snow that turns the grass and trees a beautiful white, yet leaves the roads and sidewalks bare and wet. In short, it’s an adult snow. This is no snow for children. Children don’t give a tin shit about the roads and sidewalks. They don’t spare a thought for the adults forced to wield shovels while sucking wind and nursing bad backs. Children pine for the thick, wet snow that’s most easily molded into snowballs and forts and snowmen. They not only pine for it, they pine for a lot of it. Heaps of it. School-closing piles of it. You can mark the passing of your childhood by the exact date that you see a forecast of a foot of wet, road-closing snow and you groan instead of doing a happy dance around the living room.
Don’t get me wrong here. I’m an adult, and I like a good snowfall. Love one, actually. But all of us old folks know that when the inches of forecast snow start creeping into double digits, we start wincing at the thought of aching muscles, screaming backs and nightmarish commutes. You know that old saying about too much of a good thing? It applies here.
I went for a walk in the snow at lunchtime. I listened to Sigur Ros (which would be mandatory listening on snowy days, were I king), took in the snow covered landscape and breathed in that lovely and unmistakable smell of a snowy day. (Lorelai Gilmore could always smell snow coming. As she once said, “It's coming. I always know. I can smell it, and I'm never wrong.”) I didn’t think about the commute home or cleaning snow off of a car or any of the hundreds of winter weather inconveniences. I just walked and took it all in. I looked at the snow like a kid does, if only for a brief time. Oddly, that childlike feeling has carried over into the afternoon. I’ve been looking out the window, watching the birds flit around the snow covered trees, and I’ve been feeling the greatest sense of peace.
Maybe we need to take a step back once in a while and think like kids. Forget all the adult bullshit we muck up our lives with and reduce things to their basics. Look past all the noise and static and concentrate on the simple beauty in everything. Maybe the kids have it right. Maybe. Don’t tell them I said that, though. Those smug little bastards, with their young, strong backs.
Today? Today it’s snowing. Big, fat flakes that stick to a man’s beard. That great kind of snow that turns the grass and trees a beautiful white, yet leaves the roads and sidewalks bare and wet. In short, it’s an adult snow. This is no snow for children. Children don’t give a tin shit about the roads and sidewalks. They don’t spare a thought for the adults forced to wield shovels while sucking wind and nursing bad backs. Children pine for the thick, wet snow that’s most easily molded into snowballs and forts and snowmen. They not only pine for it, they pine for a lot of it. Heaps of it. School-closing piles of it. You can mark the passing of your childhood by the exact date that you see a forecast of a foot of wet, road-closing snow and you groan instead of doing a happy dance around the living room.
Don’t get me wrong here. I’m an adult, and I like a good snowfall. Love one, actually. But all of us old folks know that when the inches of forecast snow start creeping into double digits, we start wincing at the thought of aching muscles, screaming backs and nightmarish commutes. You know that old saying about too much of a good thing? It applies here.
I went for a walk in the snow at lunchtime. I listened to Sigur Ros (which would be mandatory listening on snowy days, were I king), took in the snow covered landscape and breathed in that lovely and unmistakable smell of a snowy day. (Lorelai Gilmore could always smell snow coming. As she once said, “It's coming. I always know. I can smell it, and I'm never wrong.”) I didn’t think about the commute home or cleaning snow off of a car or any of the hundreds of winter weather inconveniences. I just walked and took it all in. I looked at the snow like a kid does, if only for a brief time. Oddly, that childlike feeling has carried over into the afternoon. I’ve been looking out the window, watching the birds flit around the snow covered trees, and I’ve been feeling the greatest sense of peace.
Maybe we need to take a step back once in a while and think like kids. Forget all the adult bullshit we muck up our lives with and reduce things to their basics. Look past all the noise and static and concentrate on the simple beauty in everything. Maybe the kids have it right. Maybe. Don’t tell them I said that, though. Those smug little bastards, with their young, strong backs.
Monday, January 2, 2012
It’s a New Year…and We’re All Going to Die.
First off, let me start by wishing everyone a happy New Year! Hello, 2012 and goodbye, 2011! Out with the old and in with the new! Oh, and did I mention that we’re all going to die?
It’s true. I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but apparently 2012 is the year that Quetzalcoatl returns and a rogue planet smashes into Earth and pestilence and famine and Newt Gingrich are unleashed upon the planet by four badass horsemen in dusty leathers, driving hybrid SUVs. Finally, after many false predictions of our imminent demise, the Mayans have come along to make good on the threat of extinction. This is it, folks - the year it finally goes shithouse.
First, let’s indulge in a brief primer on this 2012 thing. Apparently the Mayan calendar ends on 12/21/2012. So one ancient civilization’s calendar ends and it’s lights out, humanity? If you listen to the “experts”, many of which have all manner of 2012 doomsday books to peddle, the answer is an emphatic yes. 2012 will not only be the year of the inevitable Russell Brand/Katy Perry divorce, but it will also be the year of the return of feathered serpents and a cornucopia of blackened suns and plagues and boiling seas. Never mind the fact that these conclusions are based on a complete misunderstanding of the basic workings of the Mayan long-count calendar. “It ends in 2012, so we’re clearly right and proper fucked!” (The calendar of fancy chickens hanging in my kitchen ended on 12/31/2011, and the planet hasn’t been sucked into a black hole yet. Make of that what you will.)
The slightly boring truth is that the Mayan calendar was divided into cycles, and the calendar ends when it does because a cycle comes to an end and then along came the Spanish with their Jesus and their diseases and their lust for gold and good ole’ fashioned conquering and putting people to death with swords - thus the end of the Mayan calendar. There was no plotting of the next cycle because, well, the Europeans did what they did best upon arriving in the new world, and that was to exterminate the indigenous cultures. So the long-count calendar was replaced with a more Jesus-friendly calendar. That’s pretty much it in a nutshell. It makes perfect sense when you look at it realistically, but damned if it isn’t dull. No wonder the more wacky theories took hold. Feathered serpents beat out that boring cultural subjugation every time.
Planetary doom aside, there’s another 2012 theory held by the crystal-gazers that still buy Yanni CDs which postulates that 2012 isn’t the literal end of humanity, but a spiritual end. In some new age circles, 2012 is when all of humanity spiritually evolves into the next level of existence. Have these people seen any coverage of the GOP debates? If you can watch that collection of piss-poor excuses for human beings and still postulate that we’re on the cusp of spiritual evolution, then you’re a better person than I am. If anything, we seem to be going in the opposite direction of forward, from the perspective of evolving. Every year we seem to devolve even more, from where I’m standing.
Look, I’d love to buy into this idea of spiritual evolution. I’d love for humanity to suddenly open their eyes and grasp the simple yet elusive truth that we’re all one. We’re all connected, and everything that we do on this spinning rock effects everyone else is some way, shape or form. I’d love for humanity to denounce greed and selfishness and hate and move forward together. That being said, I wrack my brain and yet I can’t think of what it would take to make that happen. I sat drinking coffee with my best and oldest friend the other night, and I said, “I really achieved some level of inner peace when I grasped and accepted the fact that we’re an incredibly stupid species that are destined to extinct ourselves.” It’s pathetic, but it’s the truth. This, everything around us, is simply not going to end well. Christ, we can’t even sustainably use our resources to ensure our survival, because our greed and selfishness overrides our common sense. Imagine that…a species that consciously destroys its habitat in the name of material possessions and money and power. How can that species possibly embrace spiritual evolution? I mean, a lot of them can’t even accept physical evolution despite the evidence in front of their faces. It’s enough to make you wonder if we don’t deserve destruction at the hands of some feathered Mayan deity. At least if it happened now, the rest of the innocent species on planet Earth might have a shot at it when the plague of humanity is gone.
So now what? How do I proceed in 2012? Well, I proceed with cautious optimism and hope. I continue to give humanity the benefit of the doubt, even though that fades a bit with every passing year. I go into this fresh and shiny year with the hope that if 2012 does indeed have some cosmic surprises in store, they’re more of the spiritual awakening variety instead of the celestial shit storm that finally rubs us from the annals of history. I hope that we can see clear to stop being such selfish assholes, and go forward with love and respect and kindness. At this point we deserve to be on the shitty end of a celestial cleansing. Let’s start this crazy year by turning all that around.
Dare to dream, right? Dare to dream.
It’s true. I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but apparently 2012 is the year that Quetzalcoatl returns and a rogue planet smashes into Earth and pestilence and famine and Newt Gingrich are unleashed upon the planet by four badass horsemen in dusty leathers, driving hybrid SUVs. Finally, after many false predictions of our imminent demise, the Mayans have come along to make good on the threat of extinction. This is it, folks - the year it finally goes shithouse.
First, let’s indulge in a brief primer on this 2012 thing. Apparently the Mayan calendar ends on 12/21/2012. So one ancient civilization’s calendar ends and it’s lights out, humanity? If you listen to the “experts”, many of which have all manner of 2012 doomsday books to peddle, the answer is an emphatic yes. 2012 will not only be the year of the inevitable Russell Brand/Katy Perry divorce, but it will also be the year of the return of feathered serpents and a cornucopia of blackened suns and plagues and boiling seas. Never mind the fact that these conclusions are based on a complete misunderstanding of the basic workings of the Mayan long-count calendar. “It ends in 2012, so we’re clearly right and proper fucked!” (The calendar of fancy chickens hanging in my kitchen ended on 12/31/2011, and the planet hasn’t been sucked into a black hole yet. Make of that what you will.)
The slightly boring truth is that the Mayan calendar was divided into cycles, and the calendar ends when it does because a cycle comes to an end and then along came the Spanish with their Jesus and their diseases and their lust for gold and good ole’ fashioned conquering and putting people to death with swords - thus the end of the Mayan calendar. There was no plotting of the next cycle because, well, the Europeans did what they did best upon arriving in the new world, and that was to exterminate the indigenous cultures. So the long-count calendar was replaced with a more Jesus-friendly calendar. That’s pretty much it in a nutshell. It makes perfect sense when you look at it realistically, but damned if it isn’t dull. No wonder the more wacky theories took hold. Feathered serpents beat out that boring cultural subjugation every time.
Planetary doom aside, there’s another 2012 theory held by the crystal-gazers that still buy Yanni CDs which postulates that 2012 isn’t the literal end of humanity, but a spiritual end. In some new age circles, 2012 is when all of humanity spiritually evolves into the next level of existence. Have these people seen any coverage of the GOP debates? If you can watch that collection of piss-poor excuses for human beings and still postulate that we’re on the cusp of spiritual evolution, then you’re a better person than I am. If anything, we seem to be going in the opposite direction of forward, from the perspective of evolving. Every year we seem to devolve even more, from where I’m standing.
Look, I’d love to buy into this idea of spiritual evolution. I’d love for humanity to suddenly open their eyes and grasp the simple yet elusive truth that we’re all one. We’re all connected, and everything that we do on this spinning rock effects everyone else is some way, shape or form. I’d love for humanity to denounce greed and selfishness and hate and move forward together. That being said, I wrack my brain and yet I can’t think of what it would take to make that happen. I sat drinking coffee with my best and oldest friend the other night, and I said, “I really achieved some level of inner peace when I grasped and accepted the fact that we’re an incredibly stupid species that are destined to extinct ourselves.” It’s pathetic, but it’s the truth. This, everything around us, is simply not going to end well. Christ, we can’t even sustainably use our resources to ensure our survival, because our greed and selfishness overrides our common sense. Imagine that…a species that consciously destroys its habitat in the name of material possessions and money and power. How can that species possibly embrace spiritual evolution? I mean, a lot of them can’t even accept physical evolution despite the evidence in front of their faces. It’s enough to make you wonder if we don’t deserve destruction at the hands of some feathered Mayan deity. At least if it happened now, the rest of the innocent species on planet Earth might have a shot at it when the plague of humanity is gone.
So now what? How do I proceed in 2012? Well, I proceed with cautious optimism and hope. I continue to give humanity the benefit of the doubt, even though that fades a bit with every passing year. I go into this fresh and shiny year with the hope that if 2012 does indeed have some cosmic surprises in store, they’re more of the spiritual awakening variety instead of the celestial shit storm that finally rubs us from the annals of history. I hope that we can see clear to stop being such selfish assholes, and go forward with love and respect and kindness. At this point we deserve to be on the shitty end of a celestial cleansing. Let’s start this crazy year by turning all that around.
Dare to dream, right? Dare to dream.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Seven Billion.
Well, it’s official…
As of this week the population of this big, blue marble we call home hit seven billion people. Seven billion. That’s a lot of human beings. Close your eyes and imagine seven billion people. Having trouble wrapping your head around that? Imagine a Jimmy Buffett concert, then. That’s what, ten thousand people in ugly shirts with shitty taste in music, all drunk and sweating and gyrating and singing about cheeseburgers? Now imagine millions upon millions of those Jimmy Buffett concerts all going on at once, all across the globe, and you get a good idea of what an utter nightmare the idea of seven billion people sharing this planet really is.
If you needed proof that we are truly a stupid, stupid species – proof in addition to the whole Jimmy Buffett thing – then look no further than our soaring population numbers. We’ve somehow managed to collectively figure out that you don’t put too many fish in a small tank, but we’ve been unable to grasp the idea that maybe we need to restrict our own population growth. Oh, sure, the idea has been broached in China, home of a significant portion of that seven billion. They suggested a forced program, if I’m not mistaken, limiting births. What was the response across the globe? Utter horror at the idea that someone would actively restrict our own suicidal urge to breed like rabbits. Look, I’m not saying it’s a great idea, ok? Then again, it’s easy to disagree with the idea when you’re not Chinese, and therefore aren’t forced to live rubbing up against all those other people. Mostly I think it’s that people hate being told what to do, even when it’s for their own good. The fact that they don’t understand that it’s for their own good just reinforces the idea that maybe they need someone to tell them what to do.
In a perfect world, humanity would remove their collective heads from their collective asses and realize that we’re breeding our resources, our planet and ourselves into extinction. Then again, we’re all painfully aware that this isn’t a perfect world. Even more obvious is the idea that human beings are remarkably pig-headed, destructive and seemingly incapable of thinking beyond their immediate needs and desire for instant gratification. We’re destroying ourselves in a hundred different ways every day, yet we’re blinded to this fact by the desire for a quick buck and the need to keep polluting the planet with endless iterations of our spawn and, in some cases, a sincere belief that a bronze age book of fables gives us carte blanche to fuck this world up thirty ways to Sunday. If you step back and look at this mess – which I heartily recommend, as it’s an eye-opener – you can’t help but scratch your head and ask, “Are we really this short-sighted and stupid?” Well, kids, the answer appears to be a resounding, “Yes! Yes we are!”
So as we pass seven billion, pausing only momentarily to register this number before we move on to Dancing With the Stars or the Kardashian divorce or making sure Herman Cain isn’t standing behind us, we more often than not fail to see that this is really just a stepping-stone to our own demise. We’re so preoccupied that we don’t pay attention to a harbinger of our own inevitable doom. We’re sliding towards extinction, and we’re doing it to ourselves and nobody seems to really give a shit. Much the same way we’re destroying our environment to scrape out every last drop of a finite resource, instead of spending our time and brain-power on figuring out ways to make clean, renewable energy that doesn’t fist this rock into oblivion. We don’t give a shit the same way our forefathers rode west and killed every single buffalo they saw, with nary a thought that maybe we should go about this in a way that ensures we always have buffalo. They just didn’t give a shit. Sustainability? What the fuck is that all about? It never occurred to them. “Let’s just kill them all and leave them rotting on the plains, and we’ll worry about it later.” That seems to be our mindset. Let’s rape the planet and make the money and shit out eight kids that we don’t see because we’re busy making the money, and we’ll worry about the consequences later. Poisoned water? Filthy air? Dwindling resources? We’ll worry about it later. By the way, did you see the new 423-inch 3D TV I got? It’ll look great in my 67,000 square foot house that costs more to heat than the GNP of Belize.
I’ve always said that what is going to bring about the end of humanity isn’t a nuclear war or a rogue meteor, but overpopulation. I’m convinced that we’re going to kill ourselves slowly, with starvation and disease and a lack of water, as we “search for answers” while continuing to exercise our right to crap out more kids than the planet can sustain. We’re going to live in miserable denial, until the Earth is reduced to a buffalo, rotting on the plains.
Am I too pessimistic? Maybe. I hope so. But so far I haven’t seen anything that makes me rethink my position. In fact, I’ve seen a recent re-commitment to raping the planet in the name of greed. I’ve seen a bizarre deification of a family that has 19 children. We’re continuing to celebrate the very things that are slowly but surely killing us. Maybe we should just pray for a meteor, after all.
As of this week the population of this big, blue marble we call home hit seven billion people. Seven billion. That’s a lot of human beings. Close your eyes and imagine seven billion people. Having trouble wrapping your head around that? Imagine a Jimmy Buffett concert, then. That’s what, ten thousand people in ugly shirts with shitty taste in music, all drunk and sweating and gyrating and singing about cheeseburgers? Now imagine millions upon millions of those Jimmy Buffett concerts all going on at once, all across the globe, and you get a good idea of what an utter nightmare the idea of seven billion people sharing this planet really is.
If you needed proof that we are truly a stupid, stupid species – proof in addition to the whole Jimmy Buffett thing – then look no further than our soaring population numbers. We’ve somehow managed to collectively figure out that you don’t put too many fish in a small tank, but we’ve been unable to grasp the idea that maybe we need to restrict our own population growth. Oh, sure, the idea has been broached in China, home of a significant portion of that seven billion. They suggested a forced program, if I’m not mistaken, limiting births. What was the response across the globe? Utter horror at the idea that someone would actively restrict our own suicidal urge to breed like rabbits. Look, I’m not saying it’s a great idea, ok? Then again, it’s easy to disagree with the idea when you’re not Chinese, and therefore aren’t forced to live rubbing up against all those other people. Mostly I think it’s that people hate being told what to do, even when it’s for their own good. The fact that they don’t understand that it’s for their own good just reinforces the idea that maybe they need someone to tell them what to do.
In a perfect world, humanity would remove their collective heads from their collective asses and realize that we’re breeding our resources, our planet and ourselves into extinction. Then again, we’re all painfully aware that this isn’t a perfect world. Even more obvious is the idea that human beings are remarkably pig-headed, destructive and seemingly incapable of thinking beyond their immediate needs and desire for instant gratification. We’re destroying ourselves in a hundred different ways every day, yet we’re blinded to this fact by the desire for a quick buck and the need to keep polluting the planet with endless iterations of our spawn and, in some cases, a sincere belief that a bronze age book of fables gives us carte blanche to fuck this world up thirty ways to Sunday. If you step back and look at this mess – which I heartily recommend, as it’s an eye-opener – you can’t help but scratch your head and ask, “Are we really this short-sighted and stupid?” Well, kids, the answer appears to be a resounding, “Yes! Yes we are!”
So as we pass seven billion, pausing only momentarily to register this number before we move on to Dancing With the Stars or the Kardashian divorce or making sure Herman Cain isn’t standing behind us, we more often than not fail to see that this is really just a stepping-stone to our own demise. We’re so preoccupied that we don’t pay attention to a harbinger of our own inevitable doom. We’re sliding towards extinction, and we’re doing it to ourselves and nobody seems to really give a shit. Much the same way we’re destroying our environment to scrape out every last drop of a finite resource, instead of spending our time and brain-power on figuring out ways to make clean, renewable energy that doesn’t fist this rock into oblivion. We don’t give a shit the same way our forefathers rode west and killed every single buffalo they saw, with nary a thought that maybe we should go about this in a way that ensures we always have buffalo. They just didn’t give a shit. Sustainability? What the fuck is that all about? It never occurred to them. “Let’s just kill them all and leave them rotting on the plains, and we’ll worry about it later.” That seems to be our mindset. Let’s rape the planet and make the money and shit out eight kids that we don’t see because we’re busy making the money, and we’ll worry about the consequences later. Poisoned water? Filthy air? Dwindling resources? We’ll worry about it later. By the way, did you see the new 423-inch 3D TV I got? It’ll look great in my 67,000 square foot house that costs more to heat than the GNP of Belize.
I’ve always said that what is going to bring about the end of humanity isn’t a nuclear war or a rogue meteor, but overpopulation. I’m convinced that we’re going to kill ourselves slowly, with starvation and disease and a lack of water, as we “search for answers” while continuing to exercise our right to crap out more kids than the planet can sustain. We’re going to live in miserable denial, until the Earth is reduced to a buffalo, rotting on the plains.
Am I too pessimistic? Maybe. I hope so. But so far I haven’t seen anything that makes me rethink my position. In fact, I’ve seen a recent re-commitment to raping the planet in the name of greed. I’ve seen a bizarre deification of a family that has 19 children. We’re continuing to celebrate the very things that are slowly but surely killing us. Maybe we should just pray for a meteor, after all.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Thanksgiving
(This was originally written years ago. I'd say 2006 or somewhere in that neighborhood. In my effort to collect as much scribbling as I can here, on this blog, I'm resurrecting it.)
Jack girded himself for Thanksgiving dinners much as he imagined soldiers did for battle. As he drove to his Mother's house in a cold, misty rain he saw the next few hours unfold in his mind. His thoughts drifted to young G.I.s, crammed into heaving boats, headed for the beaches of Normandy and their destiny. Briefly, he wondered if he wouldn't trade places with them if given half a chance.
Jack's old, reliable Volvo chugged along familiar streets lined with bare, leafless trees. The sky loomed grey and ominous, and he read the menacing clouds as a harbinger of things to come. He lit a cigarette and cracked the window, a blast of cold, wet air caressing his face. He turned up the radio and drove on with the resolute, dignified purpose of an inmate walking to the gas chamber. The only thing missing was a priest.
Jack pulled up to his mother's house and stopped, the car still idling. He stared at the well-lit structure, which felt both familiar and alien. A wisp of smoke curled from the chimney, swirling amongst the rain before disappearing into the ether forever. He envied the smoke, wishing he could disappear as easily. With a sigh he killed the engine, tossed his cigarette, and got out. His fate was sealed. It was best to accept it like a man.
He approached the door, and it swung open suddenly. His sister Margie burst onto the porch, all frantic energy and neurosis, a glass of wine clutched in her hand.
"It's about fucking time," she said, tossing her hair out of her face with a flip of her head.
"Nice to see you too, Margie," Jack said without a trace of emotion.
"Do you have a cigarette?" she asked, sticking her hand in his jacket pocket before he could answer. She pulled out the pack and lit one up in one fluid, seamless motion.
Margie was what you would call neurotic, and that was if you were being kind. She was a relentless, petite machine, constantly in motion and rarely silent. Her ability to speak without thinking was legendary, and this trait had alienated many in her frantic path through life. Despite this she was their mother's pet, a fact that annoyed Margie to no end. The one person in the world that she most desired to annoy was their mother, and the fact that she wasn't able to accomplish this crawled under her skin and festered.
"How is it in there?" Jack asked.
Margie exhaled dramatically, craning her neck skyward and expelling smoke in a loud, exaggerated burst. She tilted her wine glass in Jack's direction, smiling.
"Brother," she said, "you're going to need a few of these."
Jack entered the house behind Margie. He found out long ago that it was best to follow Margie into a room, as she tended to deflect attention away from him without any effort. As he had hoped, she didn't disappoint.
"Mother," Margie yelled, "where did you get this fucking wine? It is absolute shit, and I mean that with all sincerity."
The house smelled of food and the woodsy aroma of the burning fire. It was spotless, as usual. Jack was struck, as he always was, by how everything was the same. Every knick-knack was in the exact same place it had been twenty years ago. The walls were the same color. His mother even went so far as to buy identical pieces of furniture when the old ones wore out. If she couldn't get the same one, she got one that was as close as possible. In Sandra Spencer's home, change was an enemy to be staved off at all costs.
From the kitchen, two rooms away, the voice of Sandra Spencer resonated through the house.
"Well, Margie," Sandra said, her voice unnaturally even and calm, "if you don't like the wine why do you keep drinking it?"
Margie looked at Jack and rolled her eyes. A laugh escaped her that sounded more like a snort.
"Well, Mother," Margie yelled, louder this time, "if I don't drink it I'll have to make it through this dinner sober. If I did that, I'd have to kill myself."
"Margie," Sandra said in the same calm voice, "you really should have been an actress. I swear, you are so dramatic sometimes."
Margie polished off the rest of her wine in a swift gulp. Her jaw tensed, and she headed off in the direction of the kitchen, stomping her feet heavily on the polished wood floors.
Jack took off his coat and tossed it on a wooden chair in the corner. It was a chair Jack had always hated. It was old, and it looked incapable of supporting any weight whatsoever. He and Margie used to dare each other to sit on it. Not even Margie attempted it. As deep as her desire to inflame her mother, she knew that breaking a piece of furniture was the wrong way to go about it. The furniture was a touchy subject with Sandra Spencer, capable of inducing a variety of wrath neither sibling cared to bear the brunt of.
Jack's grandfather, Frank, sat on the sofa, staring at a football game on the television. He was Eighty-years-old and still sharp as a tack. Jack remembered him from his childhood as being funny and warm. Since Jack's grandmother died three years ago, Frank had changed. He now only talked when prodded, and seemed to just be playing out his string with a quiet patience.
"Hi, Grandpa Frank," Jack said, waving.
Frank raised his hand in a wave, never taking his eyes off the television screen. He then let his hand drop back to his side with an audible plop.
From the kitchen, Jack heard his mother's voice. It was the same tone she'd used with his sister, polite and largely without emotion.
"Is that Jack out there?" his mother asked.
Jack inhaled sharply, considering going outside for another cigarette. Instead, he headed toward the kitchen for a glass of wine.
Jack girded himself for Thanksgiving dinners much as he imagined soldiers did for battle. As he drove to his Mother's house in a cold, misty rain he saw the next few hours unfold in his mind. His thoughts drifted to young G.I.s, crammed into heaving boats, headed for the beaches of Normandy and their destiny. Briefly, he wondered if he wouldn't trade places with them if given half a chance.
Jack's old, reliable Volvo chugged along familiar streets lined with bare, leafless trees. The sky loomed grey and ominous, and he read the menacing clouds as a harbinger of things to come. He lit a cigarette and cracked the window, a blast of cold, wet air caressing his face. He turned up the radio and drove on with the resolute, dignified purpose of an inmate walking to the gas chamber. The only thing missing was a priest.
Jack pulled up to his mother's house and stopped, the car still idling. He stared at the well-lit structure, which felt both familiar and alien. A wisp of smoke curled from the chimney, swirling amongst the rain before disappearing into the ether forever. He envied the smoke, wishing he could disappear as easily. With a sigh he killed the engine, tossed his cigarette, and got out. His fate was sealed. It was best to accept it like a man.
He approached the door, and it swung open suddenly. His sister Margie burst onto the porch, all frantic energy and neurosis, a glass of wine clutched in her hand.
"It's about fucking time," she said, tossing her hair out of her face with a flip of her head.
"Nice to see you too, Margie," Jack said without a trace of emotion.
"Do you have a cigarette?" she asked, sticking her hand in his jacket pocket before he could answer. She pulled out the pack and lit one up in one fluid, seamless motion.
Margie was what you would call neurotic, and that was if you were being kind. She was a relentless, petite machine, constantly in motion and rarely silent. Her ability to speak without thinking was legendary, and this trait had alienated many in her frantic path through life. Despite this she was their mother's pet, a fact that annoyed Margie to no end. The one person in the world that she most desired to annoy was their mother, and the fact that she wasn't able to accomplish this crawled under her skin and festered.
"How is it in there?" Jack asked.
Margie exhaled dramatically, craning her neck skyward and expelling smoke in a loud, exaggerated burst. She tilted her wine glass in Jack's direction, smiling.
"Brother," she said, "you're going to need a few of these."
Jack entered the house behind Margie. He found out long ago that it was best to follow Margie into a room, as she tended to deflect attention away from him without any effort. As he had hoped, she didn't disappoint.
"Mother," Margie yelled, "where did you get this fucking wine? It is absolute shit, and I mean that with all sincerity."
The house smelled of food and the woodsy aroma of the burning fire. It was spotless, as usual. Jack was struck, as he always was, by how everything was the same. Every knick-knack was in the exact same place it had been twenty years ago. The walls were the same color. His mother even went so far as to buy identical pieces of furniture when the old ones wore out. If she couldn't get the same one, she got one that was as close as possible. In Sandra Spencer's home, change was an enemy to be staved off at all costs.
From the kitchen, two rooms away, the voice of Sandra Spencer resonated through the house.
"Well, Margie," Sandra said, her voice unnaturally even and calm, "if you don't like the wine why do you keep drinking it?"
Margie looked at Jack and rolled her eyes. A laugh escaped her that sounded more like a snort.
"Well, Mother," Margie yelled, louder this time, "if I don't drink it I'll have to make it through this dinner sober. If I did that, I'd have to kill myself."
"Margie," Sandra said in the same calm voice, "you really should have been an actress. I swear, you are so dramatic sometimes."
Margie polished off the rest of her wine in a swift gulp. Her jaw tensed, and she headed off in the direction of the kitchen, stomping her feet heavily on the polished wood floors.
Jack took off his coat and tossed it on a wooden chair in the corner. It was a chair Jack had always hated. It was old, and it looked incapable of supporting any weight whatsoever. He and Margie used to dare each other to sit on it. Not even Margie attempted it. As deep as her desire to inflame her mother, she knew that breaking a piece of furniture was the wrong way to go about it. The furniture was a touchy subject with Sandra Spencer, capable of inducing a variety of wrath neither sibling cared to bear the brunt of.
Jack's grandfather, Frank, sat on the sofa, staring at a football game on the television. He was Eighty-years-old and still sharp as a tack. Jack remembered him from his childhood as being funny and warm. Since Jack's grandmother died three years ago, Frank had changed. He now only talked when prodded, and seemed to just be playing out his string with a quiet patience.
"Hi, Grandpa Frank," Jack said, waving.
Frank raised his hand in a wave, never taking his eyes off the television screen. He then let his hand drop back to his side with an audible plop.
From the kitchen, Jack heard his mother's voice. It was the same tone she'd used with his sister, polite and largely without emotion.
"Is that Jack out there?" his mother asked.
Jack inhaled sharply, considering going outside for another cigarette. Instead, he headed toward the kitchen for a glass of wine.
Wherein I Make an Unusual Analogy about Occupy Wall Street and America in General…
I feel like I should be out occupying something.
I mean, seriously. Look at me. Sitting here in front of this glowing box, sipping coffee and listening to the Velvet Underground while I tap-tap-tap out a blog post in relative comfort. I think I may be part of the problem. Does not sleeping in a park and being forced to spend an afternoon sitting next to a dirty guy named Frodo or Bong Water, who smells like patchouli and burnt falafel, make me a part of the 1%?
It’s ok, Occupy Wall Street- don’t get your shorts in a twist. I’m just having a bit of fun at your expense. I really do believe in you, you know. I get what you’re saying, and I’m totally with you, man. Seriously. Frodo and I are behind you 100%.
All wise-assery aside, I really do understand and fully support the Occupy Wall Street movement. It’s high time that Americans wake up and question a system that they help fund that isn’t designed to benefit them in the least. It was really only a matter of time. How long can the income gap widen and corporate losses get bailed out by the taxpayers while the profits remain privatized? How long can American jobs get shipped overseas in the name of profits before someone asks some questions? How long can average, working class Americans take a corporate fist where the sun doesn’t shine before they break?
So the disaffected have taken to the streets. Teeming mobs of angry people that represent the diversity of society, united by the knowledge that the game is rigged. The old and the young. The dark-skinned and the light. Veterans. Retirees. The unemployed. A diverse stew of humanity that defies categorization.
Of course, like any movement, there are the detractors. Unsurprisingly, some have already screeched their disapproval of the OWS movement. Chief amongst them seems to be the tea party. Why, I can’t quite grasp. You’d think that they too would oppose the unholy marriage between government and big business just as much as the lefties. Sadly, that doesn’t appear to be the case. Apparently it’s only government that can oppress us, while corporations are viewed as benevolent behemoths that, if only left to their own devices, would lumber across this great land belching freedom and shitting jobs. Never mind that government, in the not too distant past, had to crank big business’ arms behind their backs and force these same corporations to end child labor practices and actually pay their workers a fair wage. Funny how the tea party way-back machine, in its endless quest for lessons from the past, apparently goes straight back to 1776, and misses quite a few pivotal stops in the 1800’s and early 1900’s.
So I listen to the screeching sturm und drang surrounding OWS, and I scratch my head. I wonder why so many people in America celebrate greed and selfishness. Oh, they wrap it in a flag and call it freedom and liberty. They invoke the invisible hand of almighty capitalism with religious fervor, but make no mistake – at the end of the day it’s straight-up selfishness that sits at the core of many of these movements. Why is it that some Americans will gnash their teeth at the idea of providing their fellow human beings with affordable healthcare, yet they won’t bat an eye at their tax dollars being spent on bloated defense contracts? Why is it patriotic to give subsidies to oil companies – while they churn out billions in profits – yet it’s “Socialist” to use our tax dollars to help a hungry family? Why do so many Americans act like, well, spoiled children?
Here’s my opinion, or the point of this post wherein I make an unusual analogy.
Look at America as a human being. I know, I know - stay with me.
The good ole’ U.S.A. hasn’t been around long. We’re a young nation, and in a lot of ways we’re still trying to find our way. For shits and giggles, let’s contrast the U.S. with Europe. They’ve been around a long time - much longer than we have here across the pond. They’ve had time to hone and perfect and tinker and learn from a pretty vast pool of experiences. Europe, viewed as a human being, is in the throes of middle age. They seem calmer. More content. They possess a wisdom borne of experience and maturity. They’re the person who has emerged into adulthood with the hard-earned knowledge that what matters most is family and friends and love and caring for your fellow man, and that the selfishness of their youth was something to mature beyond, rather than celebrate.
America? We’re a young nation. America is a teenager. We’re petulant, angry and we’re certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that we know every fucking thing there is to know. Sound familiar? We all heard the speech growing up. “You think you know everything right now, but one day you’ll grow up and realize you didn’t know jack-shit.” What happened? We grew up, and we realize that we really didn’t know jack-shit. At the time, though? At the time, we were convinced that we had the whole works figured out, and nobody could tell us otherwise. We were young, cocky and indignant and we were the smartest people on the goddamn block, and fuck you if you insinuated otherwise. If our parents said the sky was blue, we said it wasn’t, for no other reason than to thumb our noses at authority. So if the rest of the world loves soccer, America says it sucks. The rest of the world uses the metric system? Screw that. We’re going in a different direction. Why? Because our way is different and it’s the best, that’s why. No other explanation needed. Extend middle finger into the air and swagger away while you whistle a Toby Keith song.
Do you remember being a teenager? Do you remember what your priorities were, for the most part? That’s right – you. Teenagers are the most self-absorbed and single-minded lot of human beings that walk planet Earth. It’s really not their fault, mind you. I’m not judging or casting aspersions, because we’ve all been there. It’s all biology and chemistry at work on a brain that really hasn’t fully developed yet. When you’re young all that matters is what you want and instant gratification, and everybody and everything else needs to kindly step aside. You want to go to the party at Joe-Blow’s house, but your Mother insists you stay home because you failed chemistry and your bedroom has been declared a Superfund site. Instead of looking at the situation objectively and saying, “Hey, you know what? Maybe she’s right. It is disrespectful to leave such a mess in a house that I live in free of charge, and I really could use some study time to get those grades up”, you instead decide to alternately scream and cry and throw a few things around your room while angrily bemoaning how unfair life is, and continue on to compare your living arrangements to Nazi Germany. (You know, like certain segments of American society compare living under a Democratic president to living in Nazi Germany.) Why do teenagers behave this way? Because they’re immature, and they’re selfish, and they haven’t developed enough yet to start thinking beyond their own immediate needs.
Thus America, at heart a lumbering man-child with nuclear weaponry and a superiority complex, strokes its own ego while lashing out at anything that doesn’t immediately serve its teenage id. Sure the bankers are gaming our political system so that their elite cadre of CEOs can earn obscene amounts of money while simultaneously destroying jobs, the American economy and our own middle class. Sure they are. But they have the right to do it, because CAPITALISM AND EAGLES AND 1776 AND FUCK YOU, THAT’S WHY! Ok, so it isn’t really that simple. But it’s pretty goddamn close. Americans let a lot of evil and heinous shit slide by in this country, because they’ve been convinced that freedom comes without responsibility, and freedom without responsibility is a recipe for selfish, criminal and horribly corrupt behavior. You know, like we’re seeing today. Put another way, if someone told me I had the freedom to walk into an elementary school and shoot plates off children’s heads, I think I’d pass. Why? Because I’d also have the responsibility to ensure that those children weren’t injured, and that’s not a risk I’d be willing to take. I’d bet my bottom dollar, however, that a handful of people would gather outside the school, side arms on display, prattling on about how they should be able to shoot the plates off the heads of as many kids as they want, because CAPITALISM AND EAGLES AND 1776 AND FUCK YOU, THAT’S WHY!
Look, I know this analogy isn’t perfect. I know that not all of Europe has their shit together, and I know that not every American is a selfish prick. I admit that I’m generalizing to make a point. But hey, I call them as I see them, and I’ve seen enough to know that the stereotypes that I’ve laid out here have deep roots in the way things are. I know that America loves guns and war and runs cold on helping the less fortunate and ensuring that their citizenry has access to affordable health care. I also know that in Europe – Hell, in every industrialized nation except our own – you don’t have to worry about dying because you can’t afford a doctor. It comes down to priorities, and the way I see it our priorities favor everyone’s right to make a quick buck over the desire to pool our resources to ensure that the least amongst us are cared for. I won’t apologize for my desire to see my money actually help people, instead of being used to drop bombs in Afghanistan to ensure we have an uninterrupted supply of cell phone batteries for years to come. I envision a better world where unfettered Capitalism isn’t used as a blunt weapon to batter us into hamburger so that a handful of old, white men can keep amassing more wealth than most of us can comprehend. I envision a better world where we care more about our fellow man than we do about the Dow Jones. I envision a world where the people who scream the loudest about the Bible actually read it, and see what it was Jesus had to say about caring for the least of us. I envision a world where our humanity transcends our selfishness and greed. I guess I’m just waiting patiently for America to grow up.
I mean, seriously. Look at me. Sitting here in front of this glowing box, sipping coffee and listening to the Velvet Underground while I tap-tap-tap out a blog post in relative comfort. I think I may be part of the problem. Does not sleeping in a park and being forced to spend an afternoon sitting next to a dirty guy named Frodo or Bong Water, who smells like patchouli and burnt falafel, make me a part of the 1%?
It’s ok, Occupy Wall Street- don’t get your shorts in a twist. I’m just having a bit of fun at your expense. I really do believe in you, you know. I get what you’re saying, and I’m totally with you, man. Seriously. Frodo and I are behind you 100%.
All wise-assery aside, I really do understand and fully support the Occupy Wall Street movement. It’s high time that Americans wake up and question a system that they help fund that isn’t designed to benefit them in the least. It was really only a matter of time. How long can the income gap widen and corporate losses get bailed out by the taxpayers while the profits remain privatized? How long can American jobs get shipped overseas in the name of profits before someone asks some questions? How long can average, working class Americans take a corporate fist where the sun doesn’t shine before they break?
So the disaffected have taken to the streets. Teeming mobs of angry people that represent the diversity of society, united by the knowledge that the game is rigged. The old and the young. The dark-skinned and the light. Veterans. Retirees. The unemployed. A diverse stew of humanity that defies categorization.
Of course, like any movement, there are the detractors. Unsurprisingly, some have already screeched their disapproval of the OWS movement. Chief amongst them seems to be the tea party. Why, I can’t quite grasp. You’d think that they too would oppose the unholy marriage between government and big business just as much as the lefties. Sadly, that doesn’t appear to be the case. Apparently it’s only government that can oppress us, while corporations are viewed as benevolent behemoths that, if only left to their own devices, would lumber across this great land belching freedom and shitting jobs. Never mind that government, in the not too distant past, had to crank big business’ arms behind their backs and force these same corporations to end child labor practices and actually pay their workers a fair wage. Funny how the tea party way-back machine, in its endless quest for lessons from the past, apparently goes straight back to 1776, and misses quite a few pivotal stops in the 1800’s and early 1900’s.
So I listen to the screeching sturm und drang surrounding OWS, and I scratch my head. I wonder why so many people in America celebrate greed and selfishness. Oh, they wrap it in a flag and call it freedom and liberty. They invoke the invisible hand of almighty capitalism with religious fervor, but make no mistake – at the end of the day it’s straight-up selfishness that sits at the core of many of these movements. Why is it that some Americans will gnash their teeth at the idea of providing their fellow human beings with affordable healthcare, yet they won’t bat an eye at their tax dollars being spent on bloated defense contracts? Why is it patriotic to give subsidies to oil companies – while they churn out billions in profits – yet it’s “Socialist” to use our tax dollars to help a hungry family? Why do so many Americans act like, well, spoiled children?
Here’s my opinion, or the point of this post wherein I make an unusual analogy.
Look at America as a human being. I know, I know - stay with me.
The good ole’ U.S.A. hasn’t been around long. We’re a young nation, and in a lot of ways we’re still trying to find our way. For shits and giggles, let’s contrast the U.S. with Europe. They’ve been around a long time - much longer than we have here across the pond. They’ve had time to hone and perfect and tinker and learn from a pretty vast pool of experiences. Europe, viewed as a human being, is in the throes of middle age. They seem calmer. More content. They possess a wisdom borne of experience and maturity. They’re the person who has emerged into adulthood with the hard-earned knowledge that what matters most is family and friends and love and caring for your fellow man, and that the selfishness of their youth was something to mature beyond, rather than celebrate.
America? We’re a young nation. America is a teenager. We’re petulant, angry and we’re certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that we know every fucking thing there is to know. Sound familiar? We all heard the speech growing up. “You think you know everything right now, but one day you’ll grow up and realize you didn’t know jack-shit.” What happened? We grew up, and we realize that we really didn’t know jack-shit. At the time, though? At the time, we were convinced that we had the whole works figured out, and nobody could tell us otherwise. We were young, cocky and indignant and we were the smartest people on the goddamn block, and fuck you if you insinuated otherwise. If our parents said the sky was blue, we said it wasn’t, for no other reason than to thumb our noses at authority. So if the rest of the world loves soccer, America says it sucks. The rest of the world uses the metric system? Screw that. We’re going in a different direction. Why? Because our way is different and it’s the best, that’s why. No other explanation needed. Extend middle finger into the air and swagger away while you whistle a Toby Keith song.
Do you remember being a teenager? Do you remember what your priorities were, for the most part? That’s right – you. Teenagers are the most self-absorbed and single-minded lot of human beings that walk planet Earth. It’s really not their fault, mind you. I’m not judging or casting aspersions, because we’ve all been there. It’s all biology and chemistry at work on a brain that really hasn’t fully developed yet. When you’re young all that matters is what you want and instant gratification, and everybody and everything else needs to kindly step aside. You want to go to the party at Joe-Blow’s house, but your Mother insists you stay home because you failed chemistry and your bedroom has been declared a Superfund site. Instead of looking at the situation objectively and saying, “Hey, you know what? Maybe she’s right. It is disrespectful to leave such a mess in a house that I live in free of charge, and I really could use some study time to get those grades up”, you instead decide to alternately scream and cry and throw a few things around your room while angrily bemoaning how unfair life is, and continue on to compare your living arrangements to Nazi Germany. (You know, like certain segments of American society compare living under a Democratic president to living in Nazi Germany.) Why do teenagers behave this way? Because they’re immature, and they’re selfish, and they haven’t developed enough yet to start thinking beyond their own immediate needs.
Thus America, at heart a lumbering man-child with nuclear weaponry and a superiority complex, strokes its own ego while lashing out at anything that doesn’t immediately serve its teenage id. Sure the bankers are gaming our political system so that their elite cadre of CEOs can earn obscene amounts of money while simultaneously destroying jobs, the American economy and our own middle class. Sure they are. But they have the right to do it, because CAPITALISM AND EAGLES AND 1776 AND FUCK YOU, THAT’S WHY! Ok, so it isn’t really that simple. But it’s pretty goddamn close. Americans let a lot of evil and heinous shit slide by in this country, because they’ve been convinced that freedom comes without responsibility, and freedom without responsibility is a recipe for selfish, criminal and horribly corrupt behavior. You know, like we’re seeing today. Put another way, if someone told me I had the freedom to walk into an elementary school and shoot plates off children’s heads, I think I’d pass. Why? Because I’d also have the responsibility to ensure that those children weren’t injured, and that’s not a risk I’d be willing to take. I’d bet my bottom dollar, however, that a handful of people would gather outside the school, side arms on display, prattling on about how they should be able to shoot the plates off the heads of as many kids as they want, because CAPITALISM AND EAGLES AND 1776 AND FUCK YOU, THAT’S WHY!
Look, I know this analogy isn’t perfect. I know that not all of Europe has their shit together, and I know that not every American is a selfish prick. I admit that I’m generalizing to make a point. But hey, I call them as I see them, and I’ve seen enough to know that the stereotypes that I’ve laid out here have deep roots in the way things are. I know that America loves guns and war and runs cold on helping the less fortunate and ensuring that their citizenry has access to affordable health care. I also know that in Europe – Hell, in every industrialized nation except our own – you don’t have to worry about dying because you can’t afford a doctor. It comes down to priorities, and the way I see it our priorities favor everyone’s right to make a quick buck over the desire to pool our resources to ensure that the least amongst us are cared for. I won’t apologize for my desire to see my money actually help people, instead of being used to drop bombs in Afghanistan to ensure we have an uninterrupted supply of cell phone batteries for years to come. I envision a better world where unfettered Capitalism isn’t used as a blunt weapon to batter us into hamburger so that a handful of old, white men can keep amassing more wealth than most of us can comprehend. I envision a better world where we care more about our fellow man than we do about the Dow Jones. I envision a world where the people who scream the loudest about the Bible actually read it, and see what it was Jesus had to say about caring for the least of us. I envision a world where our humanity transcends our selfishness and greed. I guess I’m just waiting patiently for America to grow up.
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