No Boredom Here, Nor Whining!

You asked for it, you got it!  Having chosen to embrace the possibilities of life outside the hedged bet reality of security-seeking decision making, I am surfing the reality I find.

Some might say that I’m a “loser” and they’d be, literally, right if the description was applied to particular past attempts at graetness.

Those winners that I see (or, more accurately DON’T see – these neighborhoods are devoid, apparently, of living humans, for the most part) in the particle-board and plastic houses platted across America being maintained for fungibility, as commodities to be traded on a market determined by the “mean” kept in a neutral state of marketability at all times, according to a standard determined by magazines and the suppliers of products to the home improvement stores.  White walls throughout, vaguely Soprano-esque front doors, marbled and chandeliered entryways and opulently cabinetted kitchens determine the style to be sought for what Frank Zappa once called “Platic People.”  Hey, you can’t buy good taste but you can buy a McMansion if you move to the right market after selling your fifteen hundred square foot bungalow.  Heck, you probably can have enough dough left over to buy a Bee-mer or Land Rover, a bleach job and blunt-cut coiffure to match the perfect nose and orthadontic choppers while you drive to the soccer field with dark haired kids with snaggle teeth and honkin’ big schnozzes since plastic surgery doesn’t affect ones genetic legacy.  That’s OK though because plastic surgeons and orthodontists need fancy cars and houses too, and it all stimulates the economy so that poor people can get trickled-down on.

I grew up buying the old canard about the United States being a classless society.  Think again.  George Washington is said to have been indignant (when it was suggested that he be made king,) since he thought that he’d just fought the Revolution to escape from that kind of stratified class system.  Every guy who goes out to a restaurant, expecting to be served like “a king” is proof that we’re a nation of snobs, all seeking to associate ourselves with what we imagine is “classy.”

We’ve been bred to it by an economy that is driven by consumer spending and the advertising that makes us think we need merchandise based on sex or snob appeal.  We’re getting it right in the place we deserve with our credit card debt and McMansion foreclosures.

The slide continues toward realignment of priorities, driven by the desperation of what once fancied itself to be the middle class (but which was, primarily a group of people who thought of themselves as too smart to have to actually work hard to make things.)  It’s OK, we’ll not be missed by the younger smarty-pants crowd who, in their turn, will avoid making things and pretend that their turn to be marginalized won’t come as they pander to the truly rich, thinking that they can gain admittance to the “club.”




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