Maybe it was the neighbor with the (stupid) leaf blower. I know for a fact that he is capable of raking or sweeping. He's probably younger than I am and I see him running every day. It's not fitness. But a leaf blower (electric thank god, not gas). I could understand if he had expansive grounds, or even a yard. But, he has a townhouse like me. Besides it August, there's not that much to blow (and into the street at that). He was even wearing gloves. Maybe he's a concert pianist.
But, I got to thinking, how did we get so weak? Collectively, soft as a rotten peach. That's the question. High SES Americans in the 21st century are pathetically morose. Too much money. Too many conveniences. Too selfish (think of the impact of the blower's noise and consumption versus its utility). It's just too easy to be us; too easy to be weak. Way too simple, I guess.
[note, add: too pampered, too coddled]
I'm at the barber shop to get freshened up (not THE barber shop in the hood with thugs and survivors talking ladies and sports - no, the shoppe in Kentlands). The dads here are a sorry ass bunch. Helicopters hovering over their precious offspring. Instead of explaining to crying lads that 1) this will go quicker and easier without the crying (or annoying howling) and, 2) there's NOTHING to be frightened of. Suck it up, son! Fear of this sort is contrived. Hand-holding. Dabbing of tears. Lollypops. That is, lollypops as pacifiers rather than rewards for composure and bravery. Where does this lead? "Here's the car you've been asking for son, uh, let's try to get better grades this semester, alright champ?" Oh, and this one couple brought along the portable DVD player to play Thomas the Tank Engine for the little sap.
I, as you know, am a HUGE softie. But, shit, when you see all the confidence and backbone drained from parents' eyes, it's nothing short of embarrassing.
Next thing you know, Junior will head off to college, meet Miss idealized fantasy excuse for a partner and settle down in a "luxury" condo. Junior will, of course get an electric leaf blower to keep the leaves off of the precious balcony.
No wonder the non-stop, transparently unsubstantiated fear tactics of the Bush administration are so effective. We're collectively weak. Scared. Frightened! Don't get me started on parents and mosquitoes either. The shame.
On one hand we've become paralyzed of living. Without air conditioning, alarm systems, and Blackberry hand-helds, some of us would simply curl up in a fetal position and whimper.
On the other hand, we are even more afraid of dying. I mean, people are TERRIFIED of aging. Dying? That doesn't even compute. Thus, the dogmas of the religions and the non-sciences of faith prosper. The euphemisms of illness and decline. The prevalence of drastic and expensive measures to prolong "lives" with the remaining quality and productivity of house flies. Think: Theresa Marie "Terri" Schiavo. Hey, Bill Frist? Tom DeLay? Maybe you're the ones with brain damage. Nice try.
What happened to authenticity? Originality? Distinction? Integrity? I am reminded of that song, the theme from the TeeVee show "Weeds" - how does it go:
Little boxes on the hillside, Little boxes made of tickytacky
Little boxes on the hillside, little boxes all the same
There’s a green one and a pink one and a blue one and a yellow one
And they’re all made out of ticky tacky and they all look just the same.
And the people in the houses all went to the university
Where they were put in boxes and they came out all the same,
And there’s doctors and there’s lawyers, and business executives
And they’re all made out of ticky tacky and they all look just the same.
And they all play on the golf course and drink their martinis dry,
And they all have pretty children and the children go to school
And the children go to summer camp and then to the university
Where they are put in boxes and they come out all the same.
And the boys go into business and marry and raise a family
In boxes made of ticky tacky and they all look just the same.
Fully, I am aware that I have my prisms and my filters and I can only think and account for myself. My thoughts, beliefs, and sense of style are only my own - for better or worse. I don't care. But, at least I can claim them as my own. Not, MTV's, or Banana Republic's, or my employer's. At least I recognize this. I'm not saying that I am right or that I think perfectly or that anyone should think like me. On the contrary, please think for yourself. Be yourself. Find yourself.
Suck it up, use a goddamn broom. Get a context for your existence. Because, believe it or not, it's almost over.
