Friday, July 19, 2013

Riffing Into The Abyss


             If you really want to teach your children about the human digestive system and you are willing to go the extra mile then there’s nothing more educational than a road trip to New York City by way of the Lincoln Tunnel. In fact, it is so demonstrably reminiscent of the human digestive system that the chapter dedicated to it in any boilerplate public school science book could be summarily scotched so definitive is the experience it is almost not metaphorical.

            Having accessed New York City via the Lincoln Tunnel then you know exactly what I mean…28 hours to travel 15 feet, bumper-to-bumper, winding, winding, winding down through the lower colon of New Jersey into the alimentary canal that is the Lincoln Tunnel out to your final destination.

            As a true story it is probably not. As a symbol of modern life well…

            I cannot tell you how many times I’ve felt like a piece of shit in relation to the rest of the culture. It is not a self-esteem issue as mine has been buffed into high relief. This is a hearing problem. The culture can see my lips moving, but can’t hear a goddamn thing I’m saying because everybody is talking at the same time! No one shuts up…ever!!!  Forget about listening, that would require a spirit of inquiry. That notion died ever since WW 2 ended and the cities expanded outward to accommodate the newly minted heathen hordes.

            “The spread of slums, the hyper growth and congestion of manufacturing cities, the noise and stench of the industrial process, debased urban life all over the western world and led to a great yearning for escape … in America, with its superabundance of cheap land, simple poverty laws, social mobility, mania for profit, zest for practical invention and bible drunk sense of history, the yearning to escape industrialism expressed itself as a renewed search for Eden. America reinvented that paradise described so briefly and vaguely in the book of Genesis, called it suburbia and put it up for sale.”                                                                    
                                                                                    James Howard Kunstler
              
            My name is Jeff Schneider and I am a suburbanite. The suburban concept is something I could never get my head around. Weeding, feeding, the will to kill for horticulture perfection…

Once Harold’s lawn was perfect he began getting invited to the toniest parties in the subdivision.

            Lawn care is a recent invention in this country probably within the last 100 years or so picking up steam right after the post WW 2 liberation of the masses. The creation of suburbia, promoted by the advertising industry (Dupont’s slogan "Better things through better living...through chemistry") created a naïve trust in the benefits of chemicals, fomenting an American obsession for the perfect lawn.  Prior to that most people in America lived on farms where a kinship to wilderness and the natural world was a dominant force.
 
            Suburbia was the great leveler of experience. Once ensconced the motivation now became; how do I blend in? After all of the flavor had been removed from daily life, the suburbanite was malleable to any sales pitch Madison Avenue could conjure. You have a suburbanite champing at the bit for assimilation, an advertising industry that knows this, tethered in to the constantly changing and seductive properties of new technology and the takeover is complete.

            The Walkman is the forerunner of the smart phone as it was the first early technology able to wall off the individual from all stimuli outside of the musical experience. Fast-forward 30 years and now I witness families, groups of men and women seemingly out for the evening together staring at their smart phones. Instead of sharing in the common experience of being alive in the cosmos or even looking up into the heavens where the real show is, life for them has been reduced to a 4-inch screen.

            Before smart phones you had dick going on! Now your dance card is always filled! Hobos are texting hobos about some hot new dumpster. Your girlfriend is texting her girlfriends that you are shit in the sack…while you are fucking your girlfriend!

            I am writing this diatribe knowing full well that is will probably never be read by another soul and that includes my mother. She’s too busy promoting her own website Bubbies Schtupping Boychicks to give a rat’s ass what I’m up to.

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