Who’s To Blame

 

Don’t drink the water! School shooting! Car crash! Trainwreck! Pot holes! Pregnant daughter! Lost dog! Annoying neighbor! Slow Internet! Smelly air! High prices! Broken heart! Terminal diagnosis! Eviction notice! Politics! Bias! Religion! War!  Reparation!

 

Who’s to blame?

 

Who caused the Covid-19 (SARS-CoV-2 virus) pandemic? What cost that guy to go in a school and shoot-up kids? Who let out all those government secrets?

…and what are we going to do about it?

 

Who’s to blame?

 

Who spilt the milk on the floor? Why didn’t you clean up your room? You’re late?

Every mishap and mistake need a villain to blame. A fall guy, if you will, that takes responsibility for the ill deed.

 

If a child is shot last night, who’s to blame?

 

Was it the parent’s fault for letting them out at night?

Was it the friends who were hanging out together?

Was it lack of lighting?

Was it the police not giving enough protection?

Was it the shooter?

Was it the gun manufacture?

Was it mental health?

Was it drugs?

Was it the bullet?

 

The finger pointing goes on and on….

 

Who would take the accountability for the action?

If found guilty of the action by societies rules of behavior, what is the verdict?

Consumption

 

 

Consumption

Consumerism is the ‘idea’ that increasing the consumption of goods and services purchased in the market is always a desirable goal, and that a person’s well being and happiness depend fundamentally on obtaining consumer goods and material possessions.

Capitalism

Capitalism is often thought of as an economic system in which private actors own and control property in accord with their interests, and demand and supply freely set prices in markets in a way that can serve the best interests of society. The essential feature of capitalism is the motive to make a profit.

 

I grew up in a land of plenty that had just won the war of the world and was transforming from manufacturing weapons to appliances, communication, transportation with all those GIs coming home to an un-bombed land of prosperity. Seemed we had plenty of cash.

Families were buying houses and cars to travel on the new highways and the movies gave us the propaganda that everything was looking up.

As a kid I had the adventure to wander five and dime store aisles and smelly state fairs with change in my pocket. I could buy an ice cream cone from the passing roach coach or a box of popcorn in the dark opera halls.

Looking around the room ponders the cost of all this stuff I purchased and brought home to live with me. Perhaps the prices were less then or it was a special sale or a spur of the moment expense, I gave out whatever greenbacks I had to satisfy my dopamine desires. 

How many records did I ‘need’ to buy? How many shoes? How many screwdrivers?

Didn’t matter as long as I had cash in my wallet (or a credit card), I could buy a house, a car, another television, a beach vacation…. All the possibilities.

I am a Boomer consumer.

I learned my lessons and contributed to the economy, through thick and thin.

Today, older and wiser, I look at possible purchases, then wait.

Do I need that? Where will I put that? Is there a better price? Is there a better option? Do I really need that? Do I really want that?

Advertising doesn’t affect me because I know the Schimel and that great offer isn’t so great after all. Plus, what do I do with all this stuff when I go to the great beyond?

Some families like hand-me-down antiques to represent what predecessors thought worthy of their cash purchases. All of this ‘stuff’ takes up space until the yard sale, then the dumpster.

Meet and greet another and suddenly your purchases go through the roof. You were not interested in those flowers or that bake-&-shake oven, but it pleases your mate.

Children cost a pretty penny. They want everything, for advertising is focused on them and you cannot resist pleasing their temporary desires. Luckily toys are made out of indestructible plastic and will eventually wind up in a landfill on the side of road. A few will become rare items sold on eBay as some long-lost wonder of a childhood, but most are trash.

If we didn’t purchase with our hard-earned cash these lawn furniture, stuffed dolls, remembrance t-shirts, boats and cars sitting gathering dust, would we donate to some organization that promises to feed the poor and give health care to the weary?

If we have piles of cash, do we purchase our whims and desires as many fancies, expensive cars as Jay Leno or play with a rocket ship like Elon Musk? Is that gluttony?

I don’t have that kind of wealth, but a few years ago I went on a splurge and bought all the guitars I’d always admired but could not afford. They sit in their coffin cases with all the accoutrements waiting to be strummed. Still, they are my girls who give me pleasure just waiting for me to hold them. We’ll talk about that in therapy.

Most of my consumption purchases now a days is food. I don’t need to purchase fossil fuel or buy another t-shirt because this one doesn’t have any holes in it. Even the daily trip to the Tummy Temple avoids most of the aisles due to no interest in cooking-4-one. Spices, dead animals, diapers, bread and many more are all by passed due to lack of interest. Still, I need to consume enough to keep me moving and hydration to pee, but my grocery list has been reduced to a few selections. Sort of like college. Quick and easy.

Do I need another adrenaline rush to purchase another item to compare with my neighbors and friends only to have a cheap quick orgasm of capitalism? Should I follow the trendsetters and purchase the recommendations of the latest and greatest and newest and best? What phone do you have?

Recently, I ordered an adapter power cord from Amazon with multiple connectors. I think it was $11.00. Why? I had this thing called an amphiphile modulator that I’d purchased back in the early 90’s. When I plugged it in was amazed that this little box the size of a notebook could do so much. I had to purchase some power speakers (that is the game plan) to hear it and with a push of a button or turn of a knob I could get drums, effects, different amp sounds all for my $100 impulse buy while I was buying a Power PC to digital record old tapes. It all worked, but I moved my shiny M-Audio ‘Black Box’ and somewhere lost the power cords. I (like you) have a drawer of cords, plugs, and connectors to items we’ve long forgotten what they go to (don’t get me started on extension cords) in the junk drawer. I tried a ½ dozen 9V plugs and nothing fit??? Where did the original cord go? I searched all the boxes full of old guitar cables and could not find the little black electrical connector.

Thus, the purchase on Amazon (that arrived the next day without me leaving the house) and the first adapter plug worked lightening up the screen stating 30-year-old technology was ready to play. The same process produced positive results on the Terabyte drive that had a similar lost cord. Wowie Zowie!

Now maybe I can plug in one of the leftover vacuum cleaners and try to collect the dust bunny tumbleweeds? Or I could purchase the services of the mobile maids to attack the grime of a hermit?

Was it worth it?

Want to be popular?

 

Of course, you do.

Everyone wants someone to like them.

Back in the day you had to have a family name or wealth or importance of your father’s occupation. You had a title and a crest and everyone wanted to be like you for you were the early celebrity before tabloids.

Then you joined clubs, like the Masons or the Friars or the Army, and had friends with a lapel pin or a stripe on the sleeve.

To be popular in school you had to dress with the correct clothing, have the current haircut, drive a fancy car and know the latest dance moves. The quarterback and head cheerleader were popular by their position.

It was important to find your caste of self-worth in your surroundings for an acceptable presentation to others. Much of which meant face-to-face contact to sell yourself. If you didn’t fulfill the requirements to this clique, then move on to find a good fit.

Today we have social media.

Anyone can be whatever kind of aviator they can imagine.

Anyone who finds your profile on whichever app can become your ‘friend’ with the click of a mouse, but to be popular you need a following.

Following isn’t new. We followed our favorite television shows or latest pop bands or movie stars or college teams or race car drivers. We followed politics and Jesus. We followed our grandchildren but not our mother. We followed our old school alumni or summer campers but many faces and locations and interest changes through the years and we lose touch.

So, who follows you?

To be ‘popular’ today, you must have a following. See how many counts it takes to become viral. What can you do or say to get a following?

If you are running for a political office, you need a following to give you money. If you are an entertainer, you need a following to buy the tickets and stream your performance. If you are a plumber…?

Following could become stalking or phishing or just looking for trolls to comment. Following leaves, a trail for algo rhythms to calculate what you like or avoid. Following your purchases tells the world more than you might want to tell?

I follow others. If not, the photos of their dinners or grandchildren or selfies wouldn’t show up every day.

Then why would I log on in the morning hoping someone out there beyond my reach will post something of interest?

So how did it turn out?

 

oho

When you get to be a geezer with time on your hands to wonder what tomorrow will bring or if it will come and ponder the past, the idea of legacy returns. How did it all turn out?

If you are in your last chapter, can you go back and review your accomplishments for the next generation?

This is a family, most long gone now, who my brother and I are trying to place names to faces. These are people I grew up with. These are people I was required to send Christmas cards to (in hopes of getting a five spot). These were people I knew little about and still don’t.

They may have had the same goals and aspirations as their generation but were interrupted by a war. The men served and the women coped with restrictions and waited for the boys to come back home.

When I arrived these separate family members were off creating families, buying cars and appliances, working jobs of various types all being a reflection of our post-war time.

Looking back at those aunties who squeezed cheeks and asked, “What are you going to be when you grow up? “What did you say?

“I’m going to be a cowboy.” “I’m going to be a ballerina.”  “I’m going to be an astronaut.”  “I’m going to be King of the World.”

All the while these people were chuckling and saying, “A doctor, lawyer or Indian Chief”

You had no idea what was about to come.

The first goal that everyone agreed upon was education, We, due to our privilege and that we won the war, were entitled to public education with the finish teachers that the school board could afford teaching the latest versions of mathematics, English, science, history while all the while trying to get the classroom to blend into the next generation. These folks had no thoughts that the little ones on their laps would have to take care of them as geezers.

One of the prime directives of education was to guide you into employment to carry on the status queue. The 50’s was do what is normal and follow the lemmings.

Did you get that job you dreamed of? Did you make the school yearbook page? Did you meet the love of your life?  Did you get that big promotion and title to impress others? Did you raise a family? How did that turn out? Did you get a pet(s)? Did you get married(s)? Did you ever physically fight another? Did eat something you didn’t like? Did you buy smart clothing to look sharp? Did you buy a car and then wreck it? Did you forget your dream job and move onto something else that would pay the mortgage? Did you move away from home only to come back? Did you turn you dream job into a hobby? Did you settle on being an alcoholic? Did you join a club to be accepted? Did your daughter become a street walker and your son a junkie? Did you mentor your fellow workers? Did you learn to swim or ride a bicycle or hang-glide? Did you ever kiss someone who was not your partner? Did you pray? Did you succumb to an illness or disability? Did you dig in the dirt?

At a certain age, one turns around and looks back. Did you accomplish what you wanted?

The gravestone will only record you name and date of birth and death.

TEST!

 

I don’t like test. I’ve never been good at test.

A TEST is: a critical examination, observation, or evaluation: trial. specifically: the procedure of submitting a statement to such conditions or operations as will lead to its proof or disproof or to its acceptance or rejection. a test of a statistical hypothesis. (2): a basis for evaluation: criterion.

I went to school. I sat quietly and paid attention to what the teacher was saying. I looked at the books and even took notes.

What I didn’t learn was how to study and retain the information, so when testing day came by, I had no recall of the important answers to the questions.

It wasn’t that I didn’t ‘get’ Greek history as opposed to Roman history (though they looked the same) or accumulating numbers for a sum (but hated Flash Cards) or how reciting Shakespeare or Walt Whitman or versus of the Bible (thought that was a different school) was going to make me smart enough to deal with the world?

Still, I continued to sit in classes, glance at homework, never read the text or learn how to study. Parents where no help except to sign the failing grades and attending Parent / Teachers Conferences to hear I had potential but was not applying myself.

I didn’t care about school.

I guess I squeaked by on enough test to get a piece of paper to state I’d be edubacated.

We take test every day.

When we are applying for employment, we fill out a form and are hired or not by the judgement of the employer. We can’t drive an automobile without taking a test. If we don’t feel well, we have to take test to inform the medical professional what is wrong with us and what category of pills will make it right. We test our taste with trying different foods and drink. We test our presences with our haircuts, clothing and whatever accoutrements for our appearance. We test our relationships with statements and gifts for a hopeful emotional reaction.

Now social media is presenting ‘test’ as games or enticing questions to get access to our data.

Spectator Sports

 

Sports are a wonderful entertainment recreation. Most is outside requiring stretching and running and raising the heartbeat. There is commonality and winners and scores and replays and referees and mascots.

The most of us enjoy sports from afar. While a few run about in stadiums and ballparks, the rest of us sit and watch. We play sports vicariously through watching others play.

I don’t play sports for various reasons, but I did follow American football for a while. I didn’t have a favorite team or wear the merch or even remember the names of the players or the stats.

Football, to me, was about coaching. Management would plan for a week to instruct a bunch of big guys what to do when Sunday came. There were charts and diagrams and practices, but when the game day came, things changed. People would get hurt and dragged off the field. The best-laid plans needed to be adjusted on the spot and there was a deadline. The clock was running.

Football was all about BIG GUYS bumping into each other while trying to carry a ball down a field to achieve the ultimate touchdown. They would run. They would throw. They would get knocked down and it was all called “entertainment”.

After some time, it didn’t matter. Blue shirts against Red shirts were no more interesting than politics. Players were swapped just like congress players (who we selected) and the game played on.

We are spectator to games. We watch cooking shows but are not full at the commercial for the latest sauce. We watch reality shows hopping our lives could be so rich. We watch porn but it just isn’t the same of watching someone else doing it. We watch moon shots but know we will never venture there. We watch wars and hope it doesn’t happen in our backyard.

Look out the window.

That is a real world happening around you that you bypassed staring at your phone hoping someone will send you an unforgettable video. That smell in the air is the fragrance of nature. Those sweet harmonies in the air are your neighbors giving you a free concert.

Take a moment to enrich yourself with your surroundings instead of watching someone else get paid to entertain you.

Naive

 

Elders slip into times when most of current culture slips by unknown. In the long run, it won’t matter. They will remember times they have experienced and forgive the future. History is times gone by and unless you were there…? Tomorrow never knows if it ever gets here, so why worry about it.

Cultural trends in fashion, music, art, politics, relationships change before your eyes and you cling on to what you like. What do you need to know about the Dark Web or you have just won $5oo credit card if you just send in your name and bank account number.

The best part is when someone says something about whatever is happening now and you don’t know what he or she or they are talking about, you are naïve.

Teach me.

We should learn something everyday. If not from that screen you are scrolling in your hand, it might be meeting a stranger on the street asking for money for the deaf mutes or the brief flirt with the spring break girl.

If you are judged for not knowing a reference to a television show or the latest tunes, does that make you less of a civilian in the human race?

I may know more than you about certain situations and you may know more than I about others. Who is better, in your opinion?

Why do I write this?

 

This morning I woke from one of my four 2-hour naps. The step-by-step walk down the hall, wash my hands and check that is the same guy in the mirror, turn on the water for coffee even before the sun comes up, then back to check the time and curl up in the sheet.

After the wild warm blow last night with a lightshow and a bit of wet rumble rocking on the porch, it was a good sleep (even with the dreams about broken toilets).

Once the eyes open and stay focus on the wall, I swing my legs over at the dawns early light. Repeat the pattern, but this time pull out some pink packages of faux sugar, small spoonful of faux cream and small spoonful of faux coffee covered in hot water (not stirred) and stumble into the sunroom’s computer. This isn’t a red sky morning but it will be sunny as a spring day so the bird’s songs say. I check the window to see who is parked and see some motion across the street.

Bun-Bun is awake and exploring. The birds were right.

No mail but junk mail. No new messaging or comments of note, so I heat up an egg and Canadian bacon croissant and pull out the jug of OJ. Awaiting the ‘ding’ from the microwave I see the broken branch has lowered in the wind last night. Tom (the neighbor) will take care of it as he has the front area clean-up before; besides if it falls it will be on his car.

After my breakfast in the morning light and searching reliable news sights for something other than disasters and body counts (and Trump), I crawl back to a horizonal position and let my innards digest last night’s salad with this morning’s warm water to clear out the plumbing. This is what elders think about.

When the time is right, there is a surge of energy to layer on cotton clothing, strap up rubber shoes and head outside. Pause in the sunshine to appreciate the sounds and smells of the morning.

The plans for the day are the same as the plan was yesterday (even in the rain) and the plan tomorrow. Climb on the pony for a 2 ½ mile ride to the Tummy Temple, mile walk around the enclosure picking up whatever catches my fancy, the back home to feed the yard and enjoy their antics.

The rare project will get my attention until it is time to check the mailbox and rock on the porch. Pretty simple.

I’m become interested in my pattern of talking to myself. I don’t just comment like walking into a door and spilling my coffee. “Nice Cliffie” (in an English accent). Now, I have conversations with people who are not here. Sure I talk to the birds and squirrels and bunnies, but these are conversations that are answering questions not asked in person or stating opinions never mentioned face-to-face.

Being a hermit, there are fewer and fewer conversations with another human being. It is difficult to unpack years into a ten-minute conversation.

Those moments when Henry Fonda sits in an old rocking chair on the porch in the evening and says something profound to little Johnnie and Mary are long gone. Just send me an e-mail grandpa (if you know how).

Have you been to therapy? You make an appointment with a professional who will listen to your problems and direct you to a possible solution. The 50-Minute hour they call it (I ‘almost’ second majored in Psychology, but I didn’t want to listen to people’s problems all day. Drawing pictures was easier).

Now some like to use friends for therapy. Tell you woes over a couple of beers and take their advice. At least you feel better getting your grips off your chest. Ask any bartender why they don’t get paid more to listen to all the groaning. Partners must realize so much of the time will be supporting and comforting. Religion is based on spreading the word of peace, but no one is listening. Walk up to a stranger and tell them your grief and get a punch in the face.

You can drown your sorrows or take time alternating potions but reality always comes back. This morning was a start of another day, no questions asked. Without any requirements like family or work, it is a roll of the dice. Let’s see what comes up?

So why do I write this?

That was the question.

At first it was just an experiment in posting stuff online. Then is became a journal, soon followed by emotional letters to my dead wife and self-evaluation. Now it is just ideas, opinions, reactions and recordings of daily occurrences to “Just Another Life”.

Personal therapy?

Absolutely!

Once I write my thoughts and post it for anyone to read and comment, there is no need to burden family or friends (or strangers) with whatever bazaar take I have. It is not intended to change anyone’s ideas or beliefs or bias, but to make any reader ‘think’. There are some footnotes but most is personal interpretation of the daily word.

Anyone is free to comment or e-mail and there have been some interesting and informative intelligent conversations. I also delete the crap.

This afternoon is spent spreading shelled almonds and cocktail peanuts on the ground to see the neighbors chow down. Tonight might be a nap on the porch?

Tomorrow is another day.

Who do you bare your soul to?