Who Doesn't Love Shopping?!

I went to the mall yesterday- "The Mills" to be exact. M. wanted to pick up a few things that she couldn't get around town, and I figured I'd give her a ride out that way. She still doesn't relish driving on route 28, and I can understand why. We found the "right" entrance after driving more than 1/2 way around the megacomplex. This one-stop consumer architecture is arguably the least lovely design template that I've ever experienced. It's phenomenally bleak, and whenever I find myself going (and it's NEVER on my initiative), I always feel like I'm visiting an alien planet. I had an hour and forty minutes to spend once we got there, and for the first ten it was interesting from a sociological standpoint. Then I started sweating as if I was in a Baptist church.

There is so much wrong about the entire phenomenon that it's difficult to find the proper place to start a list. The name of this particular mall is insultingly ironic. Nothing you can buy at any of the stores was made in the region. As far as I know there were never any mills where this monstrosity is located. There's no industry involved. It's Henry Miller's Air Conditioned Nightmare run amok sixty years after the publication of that literary travelogue. No matter how the planners try to structure the experience, it can never have anything to do with community. At "The Mills" they break down the retail into "neighborhoods", as if the polished floors were modeled after the city itself. But they even fuck that up- the numbers didn't seem to me to go in order... or perhaps I had already started hallucinated by the time I began to pay attention.

All I really wanted was a belt. My pants have all developed an inconvenient propensity to fall off my hips when I walk, which is problematic in most of my routine circumstances. After 45 minutes I found somewhere to make the purchase. Then I just walked around the uni-level square that I guess is meant to evoke an attitude of stupor-induced impulsive desire. I made a point to find the stores that best represent the state of our society. My pick is Flag World, where you can buy several different versions of "Old Glory". It's a bit shocking that it's still in business seven-and-a-half years after 9-11. I don't know if they are intentionally manufactured to attain material obsolescence every year or two, but it would seem that anyone in the market for a flag has already made the plunge.

I decided I wanted to indulge in nostalgia, and searched for an Orange Julius. Instead I settled for a "fruit smoothie" that had very little in it other than sugar and dairy substitute. I suppose that's not much different from my original target, but it wasn't very Juli-icious. I should have just bought Starbucks. As if to underscore my essential feeling of dislocation, I couldn't even find a drug store to buy cigarettes. I'm usually prepared, but I didn't anticipate going to the mall this afternoon. I thought I might stop at the fancy smoke shop to buy some Gauloises, but the lady at the counter (who spoke with a European accent, for fuck's sake) didn't even know what I was talking about. And I wasn't going to pay $6.50 for Camels.

The toy store was kind of cool. I'll admit that. I found a box of oil crayons for about $5. There was also a men's clothing store that had a tempting purple velvet smoking jacket at a huge markdown, but I resisted my urge to buy indiscriminately. I can only hope I don't have dreams about it that force me to come back later on this week. Still the vast majority of product at The Mills is stuff that I can't ever imagine wanting. Maybe I'll start making bank and shop at the Amish furniture store (inconveniently closed on Sundays). Or perhaps I'll get brain damage in an accident and lose my aesthetic sense, and start coveting some Thomas Kinkade paintings. Who knows? I could even develop a taste for plastic fruit smoothies. I might even feel more American.

Why We Will Never Just Get Along.

It must suck being old. You might wonder how I can form such a conclusion, and that's understandable. I believe that this must be the case because certain old people are so difficult to be around. My personal plight is to be sandwiched in between elderly neighbors. On our right we have the most bitter and crusty man that I have ever met. Everything out of his mouth turns to shit as soon as it hits the air. It doesn't matter what subject he gets on; he is always hateful and resentful. Meanwhile he's married to what must be one of the longest-suffering women in America. Granted she's no plum herself, but I am compelled to feel sympathy for her lot in life. She's joined to an asshole, and I can only imagine how much that stinks.

Not that she's immune to transforming into a monster at the slightest pretext. I've written about such an episode in another post. But regardless of her lapses in sanity, I'd prefer to deal with her than her cretinous husband. In fact I recently made the mistake of crossing the white line at the front of their handicapped parking space. I was absolutely in the wrong, and ready to admit it when it was pointed out. Instead I had to fire back when the decrepit fool started yelling at me over the shoulder of his wife. Later I made a point of telling the woman that she should come to me alone with any problems she has, and that I'd make sure to resolve them quickly and courteously. I also reinforced my position that I will never deal with her mate.

So on that side of my homestead, all I can do is wait for the glue factory to come and take my neighbor away forever. One of these days he'll be screaming at his poor unfortunate subject/wife, and he'll have a massive coronary and die on the spot. In response the entire block will throw a week-long celebration to honor his absence. Until then I'll simply try to ignore him. I have my hands plenty full with the old lady on our left. At least she makes the occasional effort to be the solid citizen. I know she has great affection for Baby E. Even so, she is doddering and addled, both in her expression and her decisions. She once tried to give E. an old abandoned shoe she had found in the street... just tried to pitch it next to him in his stroller.

Our relationship (such as it is) has actually improved a bit over the years. One time we went on a trip for a week, making sure to provide for someone to come by and check on our cats every other day. When we got back the old dotty hen told us that our cat had been mewing out the window whenever it saw her. Besides wondering why our nosy neighbor was peeking in our windows, we were stumped about her point. Our cat likes people, so what? Then the lady told us that she was tempted to call the ASPCA on us for "neglect". M. absolutely loved that one, and she made sure to dress the old woman down. Apparently M.'s language was strong enough, as things immediately cooled down and a détente was quickly struck.

Now ol' dotty hen has to direct her energies elsewhere. This evening I was amused to see her jawing with a middle-aged man who was visiting his daughter a few doors down. It seemed that he had taken our neighbor's handicapped space, and she was trying to exert some sort of territorial imperative. Even after the man pointed out that he had "disabled person" plates on front and back, she continued to insist that she could call the police. Her reasoning (evidently) was that they were Maryland plates, and somehow not valid in front of her house. But the funniest thing of all was that she didn't need the spot, and would not have parked there even if it was empty. Tomorrow is street cleaning, and she never forgets to remind us several days ahead of time. Her car is across the street and will stay there throughout Monday.

A Day at the Pool.

My birthday celebration was a long one, but I managed to get through the whole day without flagging. I set a very deliberate pace, and was able to remain lucid and conversational. Before we went down to the Pub, we stopped off for a couple of bottled frappuccinos which provided the needed boost to keep us moving. The show could have been better attended, but I felt I did my part by bringing 17 people who would not have likely been there without my invitation. Anyway, we had plenty of room on the dance floor, and we used it. At some point it just didn't matter if we looked like fools, flailing about to another Slim jam. To this day there aren't many among the initiated that would dispute the assertion that Cessna is an unparalleled performer.

This morning I was surprisingly sprightly as I sprung out of bed and went out for breakfast. My energy flagged just a bit around noon, but I managed to stay out-and-about with the assistance of four shots of espresso. What's the best way to enjoy a hot afternoon after a full day of revelry? Well, it should be obvious... go to the pool. Admittedly I'm not much for lounging about poolside. I just don't have a whole lot of patience to be still unless I'm reading or watching a movie. And I like to read in silence, so it's inevitable that I'm going to get wet if I'm at the pool. I also get protective about my space, and don't like to be around strangers in my trunks- but that didn't stop me today.

In fact it was a bit uncharacteristic for me to be where I was. A nearby borough has a Yacht Club that allows folks to buy season memberships. You don't need to own a boat to gain entrance. M.'s family turned her on to the place last summer, and they signed up for a group plan. Although the area it's located in is quite swanky, this Yacht Club is not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. Initially I refused outright to go to any such thing. I figured it would be a lot of stuffy, pasty, rich white folks, sipping Chardonnay and looking down their noses. I certainly don't know anyone that owns a yacht. But I was told time and time again that it wasn't what I thought it was. One after another of my friends infiltrated the Club.

Finally I broke down and agreed to go on a day that some of the husbands I liked were going. Right away my assumptions proved incorrect. First of all, they allow smoking anywhere (except, presumably, the pool itself). There is a rec center with videogames and bubble hockey, alongside a snack bar that serves appropriately unwholesome foods. There is a bar that serves up alcohol at relatively affordable prices. And there are actually NASCAR posters on the walls. Right there that's a tip-off that the management is decidedly against pretension. It's not that I support the sport or anything, but I'm reasonably sure that its followers are not going to think that they are better than me because of the way I dress.

In fact there is a palpable lack of sophistication. There's a pavilion down along the waterfront with a long bar running down its middle. At one end there is a stage, where bands play poseur blues and reggae tunes. It's like being at Sandcastle Waterpark without the ridiculous lines and $30 admission fee. Guest admissions are $5 for the day. It's clean and fairly relaxing, with a mix of little kids and full blown adults. There aren't a whole lot of people between the ages of 12 and 30 there. The portion of the clientele that does own water-craft seems to consist of hard-working middle and upper middle class lovers of the outdoors, who scrape up the scratch to live out their retirement dreams on the river. Pittsburgh never ceases to surprise.

The Competitive Spirit.

Sometime within the last several years I gradually came to an informal resolution to minimize competition in my life. Obviously I understand that I live in a society driven by a tradition of competitiveness, and that it's impossible to entirely avoid- but I just wanted to tamp down my natural competitive drive. I don't know whether it's some sort of genetically inherited trait, or whether I picked it up somehow during my upbringing. But the fact is that I always want to win at everything I participate in, and I have a history of getting distraught when I lose. It's a trait that I find fairly unattractive whenever I am objective enough to catch a glimpse of it. On top of that, I realize that I no longer enjoy the stress that comes with wanting so badly to win.

So I quit participating in the activity that carried the most personal baggage for me. When I was a kid, my father and brother played a lot of chess together. They are both highly analytical people, and that trait along with the benefit of age made them virtually unbeatable for me. It bothered me that I couldn't win, so I gave up trying to learn the game. In my thirties I started playing again, and continued to do so for several years. But there came a crucial point when I realized that I couldn't hang with a certain level of player. I had reached a plateau that I couldn't transcend without a significant commitment to studying the game. And I wondered why that bothered me. I couldn't just relax and continue losing.

When I decided to stop playing chess, I extended my resolve to anything with a clearly defined winner and loser. I started thinking about the philosophical ramifications of those terms. I wanted to broaden myself and become more balanced. There were a lot of things that I was decent at that I only really liked participating in if won- Scrabble, darts, pool, team sports, etc. I just refused to engage in any of those contests. I threw my energy into creation and self-expression instead. I even tried to excise any voyeuristic forms of competition. This wasn't much of a sacrifice since I only watched one sport. But I even stopped following hockey for a year (which was easy because the season was canceled due to a player's strike).

For the most part I have been happy with my new focus. I have an improved self-regard, and feel like I've become a more nuanced and patient person. I came to the realization that any satisfaction I ever got from winning only lasted to the next time I lost at something. That's an extremely frustrating way to live. Now I'm more concerned with self-actualization. Yet I still have moments when I realize that my competitive spirit has not entirely disappeared. I throw myself at challenges as if beating them is more important than engaging in the process of confronting them. However, it's becoming more clear to me that life is more about the journey than the attainment of any specific objective.

Once in awhile I give in, and try to have a sense of humor about my attitude. Last night I played soccer, which is a sport for which I lack the necessary experience and ability to excel. Because my expectations are so low, I don't suffer much due to my lackluster performance. It was actually a lot of fun because no one cared who won. I could honestly appreciate the play of my teammates and my "opponents". Still there was a part of me that wanted to keep score, and to root for my side to prevail. Old habits evidently die hard. This point was further advanced when I beat all of my friends at ping-pong at the bar after soccer. I was crowing and strutting like a bantam rooster. It was self-parody, which always seems to contain a seed of inconvenient truth.

Lifestyle Matters.*

I had a strange realization this morning as I was sitting at my desk and sipping a "quad, nonfat mocha, with light ice and no whipped" from the predatory corporate retail "coffeehouse" whose product I have become sadly addicted to. Against a fair amount of conscious effort, I have adopted a consumer "lifestyle" as part of my identity. This insight came on as I was reading a book of essays by a whiny liberal author who often appears as a commentator on NPR. The truth is that this awareness is potentially accessible during most of my waking hours. At the same time it is also far from profound- anyone in America that doesn't know that such a dynamic is at work is either completely oblivious, or hopelessly naive.

How did all of this occur to me? The author of the book I was reading mentioned self-consciously sipping on a latte. He was obviously aware of the associations commonly made with this libation. For those of you who voted for Bush in both 2000 and 2004, a "latte" is a coffee drink made with... um, coffee... and milk(!). More specifically it is made with shots of espresso- which is basically strong coffee. Now you know the truth. If you hang out with someone who drinks strong coffee with milk, then he/she is probably a "liberal"- which means that he/she hates family values, loves faggots, and wants to kill as many babies as possible. All of this especially applies if they call this concoction by a foreign name (usually chosen from a European country that hasn't won a war in centuries).

I suppose that most people can't be bothered with this type of self-realization. Yet they no doubt recognize the cues in their fellow citizens. If they didn't, how else would they be able to determine who belonged in their neighborhood, or church, or social club? They can't very well be expected to wait out in the parking lot to see what type of automobile each drives. Perhaps we can get the media to get behind a new promotion- key chain jewelry! That way you wouldn't have to subtly place your car keys in a conspicuous place on the table the next time you decide to buy a Jellybean Mojito for that attractive stranger. He/she could just look at your bling, and immediately recognize a fellow Lexus driver.

Presumably I'm not the only one who is mortified by the ubiquitous "lifestyle" categorization of modern global capitalism. Otherwise there wouldn't be any clothing without obnoxious brand advertising prominently displayed across its surface. And it would be impossible to buy flavored water in a plain container (oh right, never mind about that one). But I am certain that I'm part of a very small minority. If this were not the case, then the malls would disappear. Plus Hollywood might make something other than the next extended commercial. It doesn't seem that we are in any danger of these things happening. In fact this is the type of monoculture our society seems to be happily trying to push on the rest of the world. It's become our principal export (besides weapons, of course).

Perhaps you don't even understand why I'm complaining about this. Am I somehow against individuality? Isn't one's "lifestyle" what truly distinguishes them from the masses? Read that again and answer the question without irony. It's becoming more difficult to actually find an American that doesn't use "lifestyle" to define themselves. It's too convenient an option. Who has the time and energy to attempt an alternative. Increasingly all criticism of the paradigm vanishes. Still the question remains- what about personality as a motivating force? What about the freak that dares to be different in his/her own head, rather than just on the surface of their body. Where's their marketing demographic? Do they exist if they don't have one? This is the true 21st Century existential threat.


* Yes... I realize that this is an obvious rant, and likely completely gratuitous for anyone reading this blog, but I just happened to be truly sickened today by the fact that "freedom" is increasingly reduced to consumer choice here in the United States.

Biting Off a Thick Chunk of Obvious.

Indulgence is a strange thing. It has addictive properties that sneak up on you, especially if you grow up with means in the United States. In third world nations citizens rarely get to indulge themselves- so it's likely such a practice would be entirely a conscious decision. You'd have to save up for weeks for something that we in America take for granted. Certainly you wouldn't have to worry about becoming addicted. To actually get addicted to one of the things we use too much of, it would require effort similar to holding down a full-time job. The problem is that much of the world's population already has to work overtime just to acquire the basic necessities. Even then they often fall short.

So what sort of things do our citizens overindulge in? Well, we definitely use more than our share of the world's nonrenewable energy resources. If you spend five minutes on the net, you can find some reasonable estimates. We make up about 3% of the Earth's population, and use about 25% of the energy. That shouldn't be a surprise. Take a jaunt on the US Highway system, and head out to the exurbs. You'll see that a majority of the vehicles on the road are minivans and SUV's. Many of these drivers will justify their extravagance by explaining that they want to keep their kids safe. Even if you do an analysis of the safety ratings, and their particular model performs well- it's beside the point. Because 9 out of 10 drivers that you pass are riding alone.

Of course we find ways of wasting energy at home too. We leave lights on in rooms we aren't currently occupying. The television emits its mind-numbing waves even as we fall asleep on the couch. In Winter we heat our homes all day, even at the times when everyone is at work or school. Folks turn on their central A/C as soon as the first drops of sweat bead at the crests of their brows. People get in their cars and drive 300 yards to the corner store. And other energy-consuming resources get wasted as well. Homeowners water their lawns, and then expend more electric units mowing them. Food is prepared one portion at a time, and packaged in layers of plastic and cardboard. Most of the food itself is made from corn- the most inefficient crop there is.

We also divert our resources into meaningless contests of sport. Instead of participating directly, we do so from at least one remove. This is merely another indulgence. If sports aren't our thing, we while away our leisure hours shopping for unnecessary items. There must surely be more collectors in the US than in any other country. We collect everything- sports memorabilia, porcelain trinkets, guns, holiday decorations, fashions, video games, dolls, trophies... pretty much anything we can stow in our cars and fit in our living spaces. Sometimes we even exceed our physical limitations, and rent lockers or other storage capacity for the overflow. Imagine how all of this excess is perceived abroad.

Or don't worry about it. Because that's another one of our indulgences. We have an infinite amount of justifications for our greed. In fact we are told that "greed is good". Consumption is next to Godliness. It's the American Way. This sounds like satire, but it's difficult to overstate the role that indulgence plays in our society. Consider this with me as I try to digest the donuts, corn chips, Coca-Cola, meat sticks, fried chicken and buffalo chicken dip I consumed today (before noon)- if we stop indulging ourselves our economy will enter a crisis. Capitalism requires perpetual growth, which requires increased consumption. No wonder concepts like 'sustainability' are so roundly rejected. It is indeed a threat to the system. Quit thinking about it.

The City of Bridges, Rivers and Irregular Angles.

I've never been particularly sentimental or nostalgic about my relationships with people. That may sound a bit cold, but I don't mean it that way. The thing is that I have always felt fairly free to give myself over to disparate parts of my personality. That means my approach to life has seen radical changes over the years. Although it's hard to be objective about that, I can only imagine that it has caused problems for some folks. There are certainly more than a few friends that I've known who have resisted validating such changes. There's a certain personality type that likes to keep its associates in a generally fixed focus. They are the sort that have a tendency to constantly remind you of who they think you are. That can be an obstacle to personal growth.

If I step back and look at my life, it's easy to understand any confusion others might have about my trajectory. I was a little hot-head right from the start. Being completely willful, I fought against everybody's attempts to define me. Sometimes I would do something extreme just to shake people up. It would be easy to shudder from too much remembrance. I gave hell to several of the closest figures in my life. Then when I anticipated blow-back, I abruptly changed. I pursued the martial arts and JROTC. All of a sudden I was disciplined, controlled, and very conservative. This phase took me through most of high school. It was an effective way against shielding me- both from my wilder instincts, and failure.

I could have easily ended up in the military, such was my embrace of that persona. In retrospect I feel fortunate to have gained acceptance to a large university in a city far from home. That circumstance provided me with a new opportunity to remake myself. I didn't know anybody in the new city, and could take the time to build an identity I could live with. Strangely enough I joined a fraternity. This experience was valuable because it wasn't the typical date-rapin', beer swilling, chest-pounding club that most of these organizations are. In fact, I learned to become tolerant of people who were radically different from me. Some of the brothers were metal-heads, others were hippies, and some were the product of the suburban upper middle class. There were athletes, stoners, Republicans, poets, musicians, and even guys that came out of the closet.

In the circles I ran with in college, you had to be tolerant of young adults who would profoundly shake your perspective. If you weren't comfortable being around individuals that were completely different from you, then you wouldn't stick around very long. Not only did this arrangement serve me well, but it launched me into another decade and a half of wide-ranging exploration. My twenties were a haze of activity, very little of which ever led to my material advantage. On the other hand, I always felt empowered to chase every single repressed aspect of myself out into the open. I tried everything that occurred to me. I'm lucky that there were no long term negative repercussions. And I don't regret anything.

Nowadays I am venturing into what some might see as a conventional path. I've got a house, a decent career, a wife, and a young child. I've been in this place long enough to feel like I belong. Pittsburgh is a small city, and contains the record of a lot of the experiences I've gone through. Still it's also big enough to contain corners where its inhabitants can hide for years. Like ghosts from memory, they can pass by you when you are least prepared for it. I can go to virtually any part of town and run into someone I've spent time with in the past. They reflect back on me the meaning I've taken from the periods I've passed through. They help me form a composite of the varied faces I've worn over the years I have been here. That's pretty extraordinary.

An Outsider's Look @ 'Fursuiting'.

I can honestly say that I've never invested much energy trying to empathize with 'furries'. In fact I've been so ignorant about this little subculture that I wasn't even aware that their proper term is 'fursuiters'. Of course this doesn't exactly roll right off the tongue, so it's not likely to supplant common parlance. However it is always instructive to learn how people view themselves, especially when there is so much ridicule directed toward them. Perhaps I should explain the basic phenomena- 'fursuiting' is a type of activity aimed at anthropomorphizing animals. The idea is to design a costume that makes the individual appear like a cute and fuzzy animal. You can't reasonably claim never to have seen this in action. Indeed many college and high school mascots are represented by students in animal costumes. They just happen to appear so for more indirect reasons.

The true 'fursuiter' dresses like a beast for passion, not profession. For one reason or another these folks get personal enjoyment by adopting the personalities of other species. Sometimes they wear full bodysuits, and these can be quite elaborate. The deluxe fursuit includes an internal cooling system such as is found in computer hard drives. But the vast majority of participants opt for stuffed animal heads, tails, gloves, and leggings, worn together with 'ordinary' human clothing. Naturally you would expect 'furries' to flock together, and there are indeed a number of annual conventions set up for them to congregate and interact. Anthrocon is one of the biggest yearly events, and is actually held here in Pittsburgh, PA.

Since our beautiful new convention center has attracted such an illustrious gathering, it follows that there has been ample discussion and speculation among the locals about just what the 'furries' are up to. One of the central features of Anthrocon is the opportunity for dealers and designers to show off their wares to potential customers. While there is likely some money to be made in the fursuit industry, many of the participants are involved for love rather than profit. Artistry in the costumes is admired and critiqued at the convention. There are also social events, role playing scenarios, art shows and dances. The organization that runs Anthrocon strives to maintain an environment that is suitable for all ages, but they require that minors be accompanied by an appropriate guardian.

One of the main reasons for the extra care taken to govern the overall atmosphere of Anthrocon is the prevailing perception of 'furries' throughout the larger society. It is a commonly held belief that the raison d'etre of fursuiting has to do with fetish play. This aspect of the phenomena is the cause for much contempt and suspicion. Why else would full-grown adults want to dress up as animals if they weren't to be engaged in some odd perversity? Visions of cross-species fornication haunt the assumptions of the innocent. Comparisons are made to fetish balls and other seedy niches in transgressive culture. This is rather unfortunate for the wholesome guy or gal who just wants to leave their worries buried at the 100 degree center of a giant badger costume. Not every dude in a dog suit wants to bite off your pecker, a la The Shining.

Perhaps it's simply an easy target, but the entire 'furry' subculture has been subject to a disproportionate amount of enmity. It's not as if the conventional world of 'heterosexuality' is without its dark corners. Maybe it's true that 5-10% of the furry community actually gets down to some illicit activity. Should we be so surprised? I guess it doesn't help that the occasional vorarephile lurks on the edges of the fursuiting community. In a way I guess it's a natural extension. Yet it would be a mistake to think that there is a vicious predator hiding behind every cute and fuzzy mask. Sure there are special suits designed with anatomically correct artificial genitalia... but for every woodland biped with "strategically placed holes", there's a giant mouse just wanting to make a child smile. Is there anything truly wrong with that?

Dead-End Passions.

The more I get into the Ann Powers book I referenced in my previous post, the more I relate to the themes it presents. There's an entire chapter that examines the work-related attitudes of the self-identified bohemians of my generation. Months ago I wrote about this particular aspect of my life, but the subject is worth revisiting. Assuming that I fit into the specific sub-class of people that Powers wrote about, the reader can assume a few specific things about me. I am interested in the arts- a broad category of endeavor in which it is nearly impossible to make a living. If you have a child, and you are not sure whether to push them toward a career in professional sports or the arts, you should choose the former. The odds are long for monetary success in either field, but there are more slots available on the major league teams than there are in collections of contemporary art.

So if you (like me) grew up with dreams of becoming an art-star or rock-and-roll-hero, you have most likely found yourself in a series of unfulfilling jobs for a significant period of your life. By the very definition of the term, a bohemian is likely to reject the conventional assumptions of his/her society. There's a fundamental belief that everything can be commodified and its value set in terms of US currency. If an activity doesn't lend itself to this type of valuation, then its worth is necessarily minimized. We are taught that the strength of our nation depends on our participation as active consumers. We are told that we can only be truly fulfilled by the status and comfort conferred on us by the pursuit of materialism. These are ideas that are actively challenged by participants and followers of the arts. In fact many artists and musicians invert the priorities of their fellow countrymen.

Still, everyone has to meet the basic requirements of life. If we can't find anyone to pay for the art we make, we must find another method of acquiring the money necessary for food, shelter and clothing. As we become self-sufficient and examine the available options, we feel discouraged and limited. Powers points out that many bohemes gravitate to whatever consumer endpoint most closely approximates their individual passions. So if one aspires to be a musician, he/she often finds him/herself working as a cashier at the local 'Record Mart'. Would-be authors become clerks at the bookselling superstores. A visual artist might similarly attain employment at an art supply chain. While these folks certainly don't gain the satisfaction of getting to sell their own work, at least they can console themselves by being in the presence of the mass product of their chosen medium.

Unfortunately the cynicism produced by this kind of situation can be soul-crushing. Imagine the avant-garde jazz guitar player who spends his time stocking the shelves with the best-selling CD's of Michael Bolton or Toby Keith. Watch his deep frustration as he directs the next consumer to the new Kenny G. album. See him frown as he listens once again to the hottest Brittany Spears hit on the store's stereo system. He wastes all of his vast reserves of music expertise, while he waits for the 2% of customers who either have decent tastes or an open-minded attitude toward recommendations. His job is to pander to the lowest common denominator, and suppress his urges to display the contempt that he naturally feels. The same thing applies at the Barnes and Noble. How can the boheme not despise humanity when the majority asks for the latest Grisham novel?

How do you suppose the 'cultured proletariat' (Powers' term) maintains its sanity under such conditions? How do they protest the system? They regain their humanity through 'slacking'. They take long breaks, linger in the stockroom, engage in free-form conversations about aesthetics with their co-workers, make fun of the drone-like shoppers, and give out deep discounts to their friends. They may even lift some of their favorite products. It is easy to justify such minor scams when you are a minimum wage slave. The disenchantment is shared with co-workers, and the resulting community bands together- united in 'silent protest' to subvert the corporate machine. The rub is that management expects such behavior, and even budgets for it. The money lost is written off as 'shrinkage'. The corporation passes the expense on to the customers, and it actually ends up costing less than paying employees a decent wage. Every once in awhile they make an example out of someone to make sure the indiscretions don't get out of hand. And another worker has become a sacrifice to the bottom-line.

Redefining 'Home'.

The other day I started reading Ann Power's Weird Like US: My Bohemian America (2000). The author is a mere six years older than I am. I thought her book might evoke some feelings of nostalgia for my twenties, and maybe even suggest some ways to integrate any resulting insights into the trajectory of my current life. For a long time I have lived with a feeling (sometimes vague and at other times diamond-sharp) that I am walking a path outside of the mainstream's social conventions. When I first started having these thoughts, it bothered me to think that I was 'different'. By the time I reached early adulthood, I was comfortable enough with the idea that I began to integrate my individuality into almost every facet of my life. I became truly committed to experiencing as much as possible, and forming my own conclusions rather than simply receiving the wisdom of others.

Part of what facilitated my process of 'becoming' had to do with the people I chose to surround myself with on a daily basis. When it was time to go to college, I deliberately picked a place that was far enough from where I grew up so that I could remake myself without interference from the people who had already decided who I was. I paid close attention to the qualities of those I encountered, and was methodical about considering whether or not they fit my future vision of myself. Needless to say I had a string of roommates throughout those years. Everyone existed on a trial basis for me, and I wasn't tentative about moving away from them if it turned out that our interaction wasn't working. This led some to decide I was crazy, and others to characterize me as 'difficult'. I was perfectly willing to live with those labels. The formation of my new identity was an act of conscious creation that I put above all else.

Powers' book resonated with me almost immediately, as her very first chapter has to do with the alternative living spaces people on the periphery (she calls it Bohemia) seek out. She insists that 'home' has just as much to do with the family one constructs around oneself as any description of the physical facilities where one resides. It's fairly common for college-age folks to live in common spaces with others who may or may not share the same values and interests. This is a typical phase in the 'growth' of many people who go on to fill the ranks of the professional class- the gate keepers of normative morality and lifestyles. The task to be negotiated is learning how to 'go along to get along'. For most it reinforces the idea that there are parameters of acceptable behavior within our society. If you breach the rules, then your cohabitants confront you, and you are brought back into line with convention.

But (quite obviously) not everyone embraces the socialization presented by such arrangements. Eventually I got too frustrated with the expectations of those following the preordained paths. I believed that there were alternative arrangements that could be just as valid, and I threw my lot in with others who had come to similar conclusions. The groups I would end up embracing rejected what they interpreted as the common middle class values that stifled real individuality. We came together to form an informal collective of outsiders, and defined ourselves against the external world. We made it a habit to question the assumed values of our society. If something was considered 'bad', we had to seek it out and make our own evaluation. Conversely we withdrew from many of the things society had deemed to be "good". It was only through dropping such (seemingly arbitrary) qualifiers that we could see the true nature of things.

I can't claim that our experiments resulted in a series of consistently unqualified successes. Our arrangements were necessarily volatile, since we often found ourselves at cross-purposes. It was never assumed that any of us were the 'ultimate authority', so there were plenty of conflicts resulting from inevitable disagreements. However hard we tried to put aside our prior conditioning, elements of it existed as obstacles to mutual understanding. Still I had never experienced the levels of open-mindedness and acceptance that I found among those fellow travelers. I probably never will again. But the lessons learned in that environment still affect me to this day. I try to avoid using terms like 'right' and 'wrong'. I value differences and don't perceive them as inherently disruptive. I believe I have carried with me certain aspects of the lifestyle we forged in our youth. It was the essential re-definition of concepts like 'family' and 'home' that inform me even today.

A Trip to the Grocery Store.

Oddly enough my return to work this year has given me the vague realization that I'm maturing. I actually appreciate having the discipline and structure of my work schedule. This is absolutely the first time in my life that I could have ever said this with any amount of sincerity. But somehow going to sleep and getting up at the same time every day clears up space for me to plan to use my time wisely. I find myself getting more stuff done than when I have an almost unlimited amount of free time. Maybe if I simply imposed some arbitrary structure on myself when I'm off work, I could increase my overall productivity.

One indicator that I am being more intentional about my life is that I made a trip to the grocery store today. Actually M. has been on me to do that for a long time, and it certainly makes sense. I end up spending a wasteful proportion of my discretionary spending on going out to eat. Often I go months without stocking up the larder. When I step back for an objective perspective I realize that the money can be better spent elsewhere. But it seems like such a commitment to make a trip to the local Shop N' Save. I have to put aside (at least) an hour of my precious time, and give up a big chunk of dollars. It seems surreal that I spend $150+ mainly for my self. M. and I have radically different eating habits, so my shopping choices are only limited by my own discretion. Thinking back to my childhood, I remember it costing about $100 for a week's worth of meals for a family of four. It's just my guess, but I assume it's a lot more than that now.

When I do decide to head out food shopping, I have several local options. This is indeed one of the charms of living in the city. I can go to the fancy, yuppified extravaganza with the sushi bar and all the gourmet cheeses. There's the "community grocer", with a smaller selection and cheaper prices. Of course there are now a few "organic" and healthy options at the franchise eco-friendly chains. And finally there is the fall-back option- the ghetto grocery store. Why do I always keep choosing that one? Somehow I have formed the perhaps mistaken notion that prices will be lowest there. I could also put forth some muddled theory about the democratic aspects of shopping among those in a different social class. But the real reason is because it's a habit. I've been going to the same place for years, even though it has actually reduced its floor size by a third to make room for a Save-A-Lot. It's old fashioned and offers limited choices... and I know where everything is.

One thing I have to pay closest attention to (especially at the store I shop at) is expiration dates. On more than one occasion I have made a selection, only to bring it home later and discover it's no longer edible. Maybe people in a third world nation would be grateful for what we regularly throw away. I'm not taking any chances. There is a ludicrous amount of products to choose from. The thing is that most of it is ridiculously unhealthy. I've always made it very clear that I have an unsophisticated palate. I was raised with typical American middle class sensibilities- which means that I still get lost in the cereal aisle. I'm ashamed to admit this, but I am often hypnotized by all the (artificial) colors. It's a a good thing they don't still offer those little plastic toys, or I would be helpless to resist.

The most difficult aspect of grocery shopping for me now is trying to make healthier decisions. Just a couple years ago I spent the most amount of time in the frozen foods sections. I'd have to reorganize my entire freezer in order to shove my purchases inside. Over time I've realized that most of that stuff just plain sucks. But I don't really cook and I haven't developed a whole lot of alternatives. Not eating cow anymore only confounds the situation. No wonder I take the easy way and eat out. I can't even imagine having to grow this stuff as well. Occasionally, despite my best instincts, I love "our freedoms". That's right... I'm a freedom-lover.

Going Back to School.

As August advances toward the end of another summer, many heavy hearts face the start of another year. It's always seemed to me as if New Year's Day was rather misplaced. While it's true that the season doesn't officially conclude until well into September, I'm certain the nation's students would echo my viewpoint. It is the time of the year that hordes of harried parents trot their kids to Walmart for the latest in Fall fashions and back-to-school supplies. It may no longer be the age of trapper keepers and number two pencils, but I'm sure the basics of this annual consumerist extravaganza remain essentially the same. Perhaps the teens are wearing thongs instead of boxers, but if you listen very closely you can hear the almost imperceptible swipe of a million credit cards.

I remember, as the years went by, how my varying reactions to these pre-Autumn shopping treks evolved. When I was very small, I absolutely hated going to the store for new clothing. I could have cared less what my mother set out for me to wear in the morning. I'm sure that the process of dragging me out to the mall was tense and grueling. There were probably occasions when I just quit altogether and had to be screamed at before I'd get up off the floor of the local K-MART. An inevitable transformation began as I started my approach to my teen years. I began to care about what the other kids thought about me.

I grew up not far from the outlet stores in Reading. This became the yearly destination just prior to the start of school. My parents gave me a ballpark figure of what they would like to spend, and I was left generally to my own discretion. Figuring out what would be that year's "cool" look was always a challenge for me. I was definitely conscious of being a sort of perpetual outsider. For at least the first two years of high school, I definitely got it wrong. I feel a sort of sad sentimentality for the person I was- struggling to figure out the connection between the right clothes and the popular cliques. Now I mostly feel relief that I left that mentality behind me years ago. It's clear that many adults I interact with have never quite outgrown those concerns.

But there was another refreshing side to that whole situation. Because you could fail time and time again, and still hold out a glimmer of hope that the upcoming year would hold some new kind of promise. You always had an outside shot at changing your identity. In retrospect, there was probably even more possibility than I realized at that time. Kids are notoriously fickle, and the time in between early June and late August felt like years. In conjunction with the palpable physical changes that maturation brought, there was the unquestioning acceptance of superficial cues... including the clothes one chose to wear. It really wasn't out-of-the-question to go from "zero to hero" in ten weeks time. Just try that now in adulthood.

Imagine if you had an annual option to transform yourself in other people's eyes. You would see the rules change immediately. You wouldn't be constrained by employment woes, home mortgages, parenthood or practical social networks. The success of the new identity you assumed and attempted to project would quickly be determined through your initial interactions with those you'd see daily for the next ten months. There would be a lot riding on those crucial first days. Imagine the excitement and anticipation you'd feel. With the perspective of adulthood, you'd be able to appreciate the opportunity to make a bunch of decisions that didn't carry the weight of lifelong consequence. And you'd have the wisdom to realize that the game was constantly transforming, and that you'd get another shot next year. In that light, it doesn't seem half bad, does it?

Cars and Taxes.

I know that one of the the things I have gone on about on this blog is the relationship between Americans and their cars. I can't think of any other accessory that makes people act more selfish than the automobile. Let some slight and weak individual get behind the wheel, and soon he/she is acting like they are the"alpha male" of his/her tribe. Somehow the 1000 lbs+ of metal and plastic armor surrounding them makes folks pretty bold. Things they would never consider doing when approaching a stranger on a back alley night-time street become standard operating procedure. I know you've seen examples of what I'm talking about. Soccer moms flip you the bird. Little men in suits tail your bumper. Wizened elders act like they own the road. Pull up next to one of these drivers and try to confront them through their open window, and you get a sense of their perceived invulnerability. It's a lot of big, big talk.

Considering the way advertising portrays car ownership, I guess it's easy to understand why so many are afflicted with preposterous ideas. Cars are one of the most obvious conveyances of status in this society. Americans revel in their ability to purchase the biggest, most expensive automobiles- regardless of the effects their decisions have on the environment, politics, the economy, or their fellow human beings. People justify their consumer choice with platitudes of their own self-importance. They will point out that they have worked to realize their dream of owning a Hummer. They believe that others will admire them for owning a Lexus SUV. They are keeping up with the Joneses. Their convertible sports car will get them laid in their middle age. Their Porsches and BMWs will help them "close the deal". Or otherwise they are merely enjoying their God-given "freedoms".

Take a look at how self-satisfied and smug your fellow drivers are, as they chat on their cellphones and blindly cut you off in traffic. Or just bring up the topic in conversation. It seems that a lot of folks don't even need to be in their cars to think and act completely irrationally when it comes to their vehicular "rights". Americans lose all sense of logic and fairness when it comes to their automobiles. A recently proposed bill in the PA state legislature and the resulting "discussion" on AM talk radio clearly illustrate the perceptions of many of our fellow citizens. Under a GOP plan, tolls would be places on PA interstates 78, 79, 80, 81, and 95. The rationale behind this legislation is that it is needed for bridge and road repair. It's an alternative to leasing the PA turnpike or increasing the state fuel tax. The tolls would be administered by the Turnpike Commission.

What are the responses to these tolls? They are predictably almost universally negative. Put aside for a moment the irony of Republican party politicians advocating that drivers pay for the services they use, while they bitch about high taxes on gasoline out of the other side of their mouths. These are the exact same guys that would like to see the entire interstate system privatized- as if that would increase the accountability of the people that maintain the roads... as if making it a for-profit venture is going to reduce the ultimate costs for drivers. Most people simply don't want to pay for a road system out of their own pockets. If they pay at the pump- then the government is gouging them, and the oil companies can blame our leaders for the high prices. When you bring up the prospect of tolls, you hear a lot of crying about how the politicians are corrupt and inefficiently spending what tax monies they do collect. They say that PennDot shouldn't require anymore money whatsoever. No matter what the government does to remedy the condition of our roads, they will always be charged with corruption and waste.

Simultaneously, the same people that bitch about the flaws in the government's operation and maintenance of the interstates will whine whenever there is talk of an increase in the funding of public transportation. Why should suburbanites and exurbanites have to pay for city folk to get around? Never mind that the lives of those outside the cities are subsidized by federal and state tax dollars that urbanites pay out of their wages. The factors that have allowed people to escape and ignore the social problems in the city are cheap oil and the public subsidization of interstate roads. People bitch about the (actually very small) percentage of their tax dollars that is earmarked for social programs to help the lower classes. Yet no one ever talks about the fact that our federal government artificially depresses the price of gasoline in this country with an aggressive and costly foreign policy. It's a vicious cycle that keeps our economy wholly dependent on the rapidly failing oil paradigm.

Somehow this reality never gets talked about on AM radio, or among "free market" conservatives. And while cities can be transformed to meet the changing variables of time, suburban/exurban development and its accompanying "car-culture" are not only unsustainable- but also so artificial and wasteful that they can't ever be transformed into something useful. The strip malls and the sprawl model of development are only possible with the state and federal government subsidization. The only source of such funding is taxes. Period. Now shut up and pay.

Ethnicity and Identity.

Today I made my first summer trip to the coffeeshop. It wasn't just a quick stop to pick up a drink and run, but rather an extended visit by which I meant to catch up with some friends and good conversation. That's one of the pastimes that has fallen by the way side since I made the decision to bring more intentionality to my spare time. There were plenty of things worth writing about brought up in the talk today. But for some reason my mind keeps returning to the nebulous construct referred to as ethnicity. I forget the context that elicited the topic, but it might be illustrative to mention the fact that the friend I had this discussion with would be identified as being of a different ethnicity, merely on the basis of appearance. Yet our thinking on the concept shares a lot of common ground.

We are of the age to have experienced a shift in the way ethnicity is viewed. The civil rights era led to a close examination of the way people form their sense of self. Sociologists didn't want to limit their considerations to race, but rather wanted to explore the way one's ethnic identity affected the way he/she thought and behaved. While the desire to understand this factor had its positive side in terms of confronting perceptions based in ignorance and fear, it also led to some unintended consequences. Instead of a "melting pot", the United States was compared to a "tossed salad". This meant that people were to be looked at relative to their ethnicity, and group traits were supposed to be accepted without prejudice or judgment. Kids were taught to identify with the culture of their ancestral homelands. Children were expected to adopt their ethnicity as a source of pride, esteem and identity. This meant that everyone was expected to develop an awareness of diversity and multiethnicity. It was all well-intentioned and the academics who taught about these subjects believed that such education would prove wholly positive.

But there are several problems with such an assumption. For one thing, it tears down the notions of equality and shared values. As people got more vehement in asserting their own ethnic identities, the differences between folks became starker. While some people embraced the exploration of other ethnic groups as an adventure, there were many that began to fixate on ethnicity as a source of division. In this climate, it was easy for some to resent the "special privileges" that they saw extended to traditionally disenfranchised groups. There was a gradual disintegration in the belief of shared culture that transcended ethnicity.

At the same time there were many people who wanted nothing more than to assimilate. Especially among recent immigrants, there was a widespread desire to become more "American" and to blend in with the rest of the nation's citizens. Some truly resented being constantly reminded that they were "special". My maternal grandfather, whose parents were the most recent immigrants in my family line, turned his back on anything that made him seem like a "foreigner". Although he knew how to speak Ukranian as a kid, by the time he was a grown adult he had forgotten the language. This was a common story throughout the Twentieth Century. It would be foolish for us to believe that there aren't many who feel the same way today.

There are also a lot of US citizens whose families have been in the country for so many generations that they have no other true ethnicity aside from that of North American. My father's line can be traced back to a German man who moved to Eastern PA around 1730. I feel no real kinship to the German people today. In addition I have ancestors from England, France, and Wales. I am a mutt in terms of "ethnicity". It is much more common in our contemporary transient times to live in mixed neighborhoods than among people whose ancestors originated in the same foreign country. I have no problem with constructing elaborate geneologies and preserving traditions, but there are many cultural factors that inform identity as much as (or more than) "ethnicity". Religion (or lack of it), educational level, financial status, consumer choice, likes and dislikes, occupation, and political affiliation all play important roles in making us who we are. So why do we look for the easiest answer when someone asks us- "What are you?"

Obsessively Irrational Discretionary Spending.

Sometimes I find myself wondering how people fifty years ago are going to judge the things we do today. There are many decisions we make that already carry negative consequences that we can easily foresee. For instance, our energy policy has ceased to have any coherent relationship with reality. We know that we have to find a new approach soon. We aren't acting quickly enough. That should be evident to everyone by now. But other more subtle choices can seem pretty irrational when viewed with any measure of objectivity. To many who live with routine hardship, the behavior of Americans must appear inexplicable.

The things we attach value to are mind-boggling. But we are empowered to find worth by our unprecedented luxury. One recent example of surreal commerce has to do with the game World of Warcraft. I wrote about the phenomena in an earlier post. While that particular form of postmodern colonialism is certainly mind-bending, it's certainly no exception. Last night I was reminded of another category of irrational valuation- and this was something with which I have had ample personal experience. Much of our economy has to do with items that have no real intrinsic value of their own, but are rather fraught with perceived value. I'm talking about collectibles. Imagine any class of consumer good... you can bet that somewhere out there is a group of folks dedicated to its acquisition. The law of supply and demand states that if people desire something, then it has relative worth that can be measured in currency. It simply doesn't matter if the object being collected has no actual utility.

I've always been a collector. When I was younger I horded comics, coins, stamps, action figures, and business cards. But my main passion was for sports cards. I estimate that I had somewhere in the neighborhood of 100 thousand of them. For those of you who don't remember, the 1980's marked a huge craze in the investment possibilities of sports collectibles. Aficionados would identify young prospects who they believed would someday become stars. Then they would purchase the rookie cards of these players in bulk. If expectations were met by performance, then those cards would appreciate in value. For a few crazy years, financial advisers were assessing the merits of this type of investment. Some suggested that the burgeoning industry was a valid alternative to the stock market.

The problem was that more people were buying these cards strictly for investment than there were fans who really loved the sports themselves. To complicate matters, the card manufacturers exploited the perception that their products were serious investments, and flooded the market with countless limited edition sets. No one could really keep up with all of that, and supply quickly outstripped demand. A lot of people who really did love the sports and the cards grew frustrated and just lost interest. Many folks ended up with closets full of cardboard boxes containing mere squares of printed cardboard.

That period in time wasn't unique. As long as there has been disposable income, people have been fanatical about collecting one thing or another. Just Google "tulipmania" to see for yourself. But it's one thing to consider this from a broad sociological perspective, and entirely different to try and understand the individual that fuels any specific collecting craze. Somewhere in the early 1990's there was some obsessive basketball fan, sitting at his kitchen table late on a Saturday night, and agonizing over the urge to buy a Michael Jordan rookie card. Knowing that the cost could reach nearly $1000, the guy must have struggled with his priorities. Maybe his kid had a cleft palate and needed some cosmetic work done. But damn... wouldn't it be nice to have that card!! Perhaps this hapless father rationalized his choice by telling himself that it was a good investment. Junior would be hitting adolescence soon, and he could surely grow a mustache to obscure his flaw. He could even color that space in the middle where the hair wouldn't grow. Would it really be so bad for this guy to indulge himself in the one pleasure that distracted him from his shitty job and dissolving marriage?

Yeah, it probably would be. Yet somewhere there were guys just like him driving the price of that card higher. Would it do to sit back on our perch and judge him? I am still a collector. Now I collect films, books, and art. Do these choices reflect some kind of cultural sophistication on my part? Do they speak of my intellectual curiosity or appreciation for the finer things? What would a starving mother in Africa say? How will my descendants judge my passions when the cost of a barrel of fresh water eclipses the price of a barrel of crude oil? Who can say?