Posts filed under 'roadkill culture (south end two lane blacktop)'
November 17th, 2008
Like maybe a few of you, I’ve been watching the stock market. It looks like a jumping bean on steroids and meth both. Thousand point jumps, kamikaze dives. It’s like a horror movie where the dead keep getting back up and killed again.
The zombies, of course, are all those folks who preached unbridled capitalism. You remember them. The people who wanted to privatize Social Security. Why make a puny couple of percentage points interest when we could make some serious money in the Market? Why put the brakes on a wild ride to riches? Bubble? No sir, that was a balloon sailing to Eldorado, streets paved with gold…..
They’ll be back! They’ll dig up out of the hasty grave we threw them in and kicked dirt over. They’ll knock on our door some midnight dreary when our own fiscal wounds have started to heal and the memory of this nightmare has faded. They’ll be at the door grinning blood and money, offering impossible returns, easy loans, fast bucks.
Me. I’m resharpening my wooden stakes. I’m hanging credit cards wrapped in garlic by the porch. I’m looking for silver bullets, not silver linings.
So when the rollercoaster levels out and you know the extent of the damage finally, don’t let your guard down, don’t call your broker, don’t assume the worst is over. It isn’t. They’re clawing their way above ground even now.
And here’s a tip: when dawn finally comes and the ghouls in Brooks Brother suits slink back to their coffins, check your MasterCards. From now on, Leave Home Without It.
November 17th, 2008
We got ourselves a little chapel down at the South End. It’s non-denominational, which means, I guess, they haven’t got money either. Every Sunday they ring the bell they took from the old schoolhouse and call the flock to pasture. My cronies in the South End String Band don’t attend real regular. Like most musicians, getting up by 10 a.m. isn’t natural for em, but I notice most religions must feel like it’s important to make hard working folks like us get out of bed early.
If I was a Preacher, I’d figure let the congregation sleep in, come on down when they’re all rested up and alert. But it isn’t my show and the church probably has got its own reasons.
You talk about separation of church and state, we used to vote at the chapel. Nobody seemed to care back then, but still, it isn’t like we were Pilgrims, and finally some atheistic pinko commie liberal pervert must’ve took offense so we started voting down at the Fire Hall, more secular I guess.
We hear a lot of commotion from up north aways about prayer in schools and religion getting mixed into government and on and on, pretty heated up stuff. People take their religion fairly serious, I’ve noticed, and other people’s they’d like to take somewhere else.
I’m as religious as the next fella. I want to go to heaven but I’m not in any particular hurry to die, which makes me think deep down all of us are hedging our bets. Life’s a gamble, but only a fool likes to draw to an inside straight ….
November 17th, 2008
Not TOO long back we didn’t get our dinners in a box. Or a styrofoam package at the fast food joints either. Anybody remember TV dinners? Looks like those awful tasting funny looking tin trays of dyed muck finally got the last laugh….I guess if we’re gonna eat our microwaved food on the couch with a channel changer shaped like a fork and dishwasher safe, about ANY processed dinner’ll do.
Nowadays our food gets made in a lab. Genetic enhancement. Strawberries that wouldn’t freeze on Mars. Corn that bugs won’t eat but people will. Potatoes that grow in strips perfect for the fryer. Smart grains with silicon chips that can turn your TV on.
We got phony butter, fake fats, chemical sugar, salt substitutes, diet pop, lo-cal salad dressing, lean cuisine, irradiated meat, superpasteurized milk, bioengineered corn flakes, growth hormone meat, bleached flour, dyed salmon, antibiotic chicken and low cholesterol eggs. This isn’t a grocery store – it’s a science experiment!
On the South End we still grow a little of our food. It’s primitive, I know. Lacks the hygiene of a sterile petri dish, but I tell you what, a tomato grown in manure tastes a lot like a tomato, not a rubber ball. You grow the dang stuff, you pick it, you prepare it, you cook it, you sit down to the supper table and you eat it.
I’m not gonna tell you busy people to quit your jobs and start growing cantelopes or harvesting nettles or hunting the wily gooeyduck. But we got to draw a line somewhere in the sand before cars start coming with built-in microwave ovens and the only vegetable anybody eats is purple catsup…..
October 8th, 2008
March 28th, 2008
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