Dips and Dives

Exaggerating one’s influence should be among those acts reserved for the dolomite entrepreneurs out there with more margarine than non-dairy coffee creamer at their regular disposal.

If we allow these blowhards to navigate the kitchen table’s width and fail to uncover the tangential ne’er-do-wells we’ve been warned about, then what was it all for?

All we can say is that protesting such an alteration of manifest destiny (density?) comes with the price of freedom (and a bag of chips in some circumstances), and nothing short of Ozzy the Philistine could resurrect the embattled intentions of those labor organizers mainly concerned with seizing the means of production.

We must remain ever-vigilant, for you never know when pediatric charlie horse tendencies will rear their ugly heads in the recesses of adolescent America. We (the Americanses) once sat atop the global jungle gym, our ingenuity and general cuteness inspiring power-seekers a world around to blush with envy at the amenities they could only imagine (until that coal train came a rolling down the bend with the promise of sooty modernity), filling their heads with unrequited lust for widgets and modules and bells and whistles that could fill their modest spaces—digital and otherwise.

And, of course, once even a modicum of that prosperity had begun evening the materialistic score, we flat out lost our lease on the planet. As our Gaia gathers the foreclosure paperwork, we scramble like the varmints we really are, pushing and shoving, blaming all but ourselves and projecting our greed onto unrealistic scapegoats for just long enough to lose any chance of saving what had once been humanity’s little slice of paradise that, against all odds, had once been a serviceable milieu.

Ah well, the sloughing-off period is just gonna have to start a little early this time around, with a tad more english on the dips and dives.

The New Norm

Who among us possesses the heightened foresight necessary for the stoppage of Lincoln Log assembly lines–from the comfort of our own homes, no less? You may or may not be surprised to learn that less than two-thirds of one percent of the eligible voting population has the wisdom needed to stall the complete automation of the manufacturing process, and less than half of those individuals are capable of making such changes as independent contractors, not beholden to office politics or busybody micromanagers, though completely on their own when tax time rolls around (not that they would have it any other way).

Before this new wave of automation limitation, most folks simply had to wonder how the common denominator would cope with the never-ending shrinkage of employment opportunities, with living wages becoming an antiquated notion and multiple sources of income the new norm.

That’s not to say that we’re out of the woods just yet; computers and the subsequent technologies developing from their implementation have voiced their displeasure with how we’ve treated our one and only planet (as far as we all know to this point), coming close to the enforcement of capital punishment–like that ever did any good in the first place.

Long story short, my allergy to bee stings has made it very difficult for me to feel at all comfortable leaving the security of my home, leaving me alone with my stewing thoughts (largely regarding the most recent GDP of the Philippines).