SuperGurl

I hope I have deceived none of you. I am not an economist, nor am I of any particular significance within my field. I am one severely exposed individual, which I think gives me a unique grasp of current events.

Everybody seems traumatized these days, and who can blame them? I feel as if I’ve been at war for six months. But you can’t deny the pattern, people. I know, I know. This time it’s different. Yes? Of course, it is.

In my tiny corner of the world, I hear the same old tired arguments rising up to a crest. Gold. The most precious metal. What a crock! I listen to a lot of conservative radio and some of the personalities go as far as voice-over endorsement ads, recommending people diversify into gold. Suprises me, to hear the most staunch conservatives advocating such an obcenely volatile asset class, with no remorse for peddling it to the masses. It baffles. Commodities are volatile assets, folks, always have been. How then did we come to accept this premise? Are we being duped again by the fear mongering media?

While there’s obviously no limit to the number of dollars our government is willing to print, I can clearly imagine the value decending rapidly towards obsolete. I’ll even one-up that part of the theory by stating it’s a rare few that can fairly value a dollar today, as is. Enter stellar debt and black hole deficits, and most won’t have a prayer. Still, even if you ride that bus all the way to Armageddon, you believe that once the world goes to shit we will suddenly become a nation of barterers trading in precious metals? Krugerrands & bars of gold? Really? I doubt it.

The most precious metal is lead, bar (of gold) none. With lead you can protect your family. Lead has real muscle when it comes to control and power. Life stopping lead, why you can even eat it should the situation become dire enough. Put yourself between your family’s starvation and your last loaf of bread. What would you rather have, a bar of gold or a round of bullets? I think I’d choose the latter. Definitely, more bang for the buck.

But again, I’m no economist. What do I know? Nothing special. I’m just another twitchy eye on the world upside down. I’m as moderate as I can be with my lifestyle and I’m still a gluttonous, capitalist pig. And still, I think I’m only mildly infected.

Take heart: Optimism equals courage. Don’t be afraid to believe that things may work out (despite the communists in power.) Without that belief, things won’t. Go ahead and put the I in resilient. Don’t make the same mistakes. If you can’t find anything great to believe about this country, if you can’t see a recovery on the horizon, then by all means, please, sell everything you have and buy lead.

I guess it was probably a month ago now, this poor neglected blog. I don’t know what to say.

The news was on, blaring in the living room, enough to be heard in the far reaches of the house. The announcer said something like, “This bailout is costing each and every American $20,000.”

The Scientist, wandering through the kitchen looks up at me in utter despair and asks, “Twenty thousand dollars? Do I have to pay that?”

Well? What do you think I said? I told him there was that and a whole lot more. The boy is seven, people! Can we carve him out just a little more time before we inflict him with colon cancer-causing stress? It is utterly ridiculous.

While we are on the subject, shame on you, Viagra nation! You are disgusting. Your parents would be appalled at your lack of sensibility. I am up to my neck in excuses, trying to rationalize horny grandma/grandpa behavior to my kids. They stop at every ad and question, what does it do? Have some freaking conscience, folks. Please. See the danger, stop the madness. In a world where the cephalopods have us greatly outnumbered already, we who can still rationalize must do so and in all seriousness, Godspeed.

Listen to me, please. My granddad was a great man and rancher (not a nasty crooning horndog.) He understood well that you reap what you sow. We all do. I want to sow great things for the future. I want to reacquaint you with a forgotten concept called resolution.

And not the sort of temporary feel good resolutions we make and break year after year, but a thorough renewing of our spirits with acceptance of the wear. We can’t go back, but we can resolve to hold some virtues more dear in the great unknown ahead. Those of integrity, freedom and entreprenurial spirit could easily unhinge our current predicament and restore confidence in what we all know to be the absolute undeniable truth: there’s no place like home.

Nothing is impossible! I wish you great things in the year to come. If you’re going to catch the winning shot, you had better get your hands up. And hastily please, bring your genius. I want to get out of this hole this year and not pass on a culture of entitlement to another generation of young innocent children. Viagra nation, stop your impotent gyrating and please, concentrate on productivity.

Finally, what beats anticipation for good old-fashioned optimistic exhiliration? My hopes for you are that the wait will be as exciting as reaching your destination. Good luck on your individual quest, mighty blown-eyeds.

San Francisco. I landed the day after the election. Not the best place for a conservative to spend the apocalypse, but you know, no one embraces the suck like I can. So I went and enjoyed every minute of it.

Never had been there before. And it was a whirlwind. I went there for work. It was in no way a junket. It was among the most stressful experiences of my career, actually. A lot of things were made clear for me. Things that, looking back, I’d rather have languished in denial a little longer. Hindsight’s 20/20, and all that.

And the Golden Gate made for interesting background noise for all of it. I don’t remember knowing anything about it before, but I got an interesting history lesson while waiting for the sun to peek into the pacific time zone.

He told me that the bridge was designed prior to the great crash of 1929, and how the economy entering the Great Depression had thrown even more cold water on the idea of building “the bridge that could not be built.”

The guy that was telling me was there from New York. His foreign dialect rang familiar in my ears and intensified my interest in the tale. And he’s explaining the hard times, the protests, all led by the Ferries, because before the bridge of course, the only way across the Golden Gate was by riding a ferry… F-E-R-R-Y.”

And he actually spelled it. I said, “I know, I’m from Texas, but did you really just spell “ferry” at me?” Which of course made me think about riding a fairy across the bay. How could I not? I freaking detest when I find myself drowning in gutter thoughts like that. Honestly, I blame you people.

But it cost me the end of the Ferry showdown story. And a real life drama that enveloped the same time period as the Great Depression. I love the Great Depression. My narrator said their were books on the subject, and I intended to buy one, but alas, this is all I learned. Maybe I’ll hit a book store this weekend.

Or, you could make up some history for me in the comments? C’mon. Finish the story for me, would ya? Let’s play some mad libs history, can we? It’s the weekend, make up something meaningful. It’s good exercise for a dull world. Thanks for your historical perversions in advance. I dig your madness.

What a fun weekend! Where?

Being a single parent can be lonely business a lot of the time. Once you try coupling up with a loser or two, you may become inclined to live the hermit’s life. Trust me, even perfectly commonplace brushes with society can lend themselves naturally towards a life of seclusion, not to mention those of a more personal nature. And those? If the situation is bad enough, you can easily start to set yourself apart at quite a distance, as well as, dig trenches.

Eremiticism–it has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Who doesn’t dream of having more time to focus on their dreams? Besides being a nice destination for those wanting to flee the world upside down, thoughtfulness as a core virtue would make a nice anchor weight for the throngs of unwashed masses, our adulation nation. Consumed with self yet somehow absent any true reflection or meaning. Just gazing longingly into the circus mirrors. A moron monsoon of sorts. Actually, sharing any common core virtues would be a marked improvement. What is it our entire society values these days? Anyone?

Let me know, ok? It may become important to me should I decide to check back in.

You see, forced societal seclusion is another story. Welcome to my world. I really can’t help it. I think I have a leak or something. My innermost drives are coming out, and I’m walling off the world. People just don’t want to quantify the damage they inflict on innocents in the environment. What a crying shame! I am merely a vulnerable human being beneath my steel blue suit. Contain your freakness, folks. For real, it is getting out of hand.

Which brings me to my current predicament, my loner van. My car was mortally wounded a week or so ago and ever since, I’ve been on borrowed wheels.

The first week of the affliction, I spent in a mechanic’s loaner van. It was the atrocity you see pictured above, a club van, with room enough for a dozen adults. The kids drove me crazy in that thing, and I felt incredibly dangerous. Not to mention, a major unforseen life hazzard. I found myself singing made-up tunes incessantly like, “You won’t know who I am, in my big red van.” Something of a loneliness forcefield, this thing was a social plague all by itself. Ironic, since it had room enough for everyone.

Sigh.

Lately it’s been nice because I’ve been in swank dealer demos. They were trying to ease me into the debt pool, jacuzzi style, I guess. And it was working, I flew down there Saturday afternoon beaming with excitement over my soon to be new car. But early Saturday evening, the whole desperate situation actually devolved. In the first round of negotiations, I had a car salesman tell me maybe I should just go on down the road. Stunned me, I could not believe it. How freaking gank do you have to be to shut down a car salesman? Seriously? Do you really think I’m built to take all this? On the end of my rope, the last of my hope, I asked for the keys to my beloved, albeit sick, baby and drove her all the way home. She was happy to see me.

Maybe sometimes it just takes a desperate situation to put an out-of-whack perspective in check. I didn’t mind being alone until I was given the isolationmobile. Then, I voluntarily and eagerly put myself through a car salesman’s probing, 48 hours worth, and in the end, did not get a car but still feel dirty all over from the process. I can NOT believe the low class tactical bullshit that these people get away with in the sales end of the automobile industry. Where is the regulation on those assholes? How can they be allowed to sell people into 30k dollar holes without being required to tell the truth even once? Unbelievable.

But because I love you, I will save you the final tear-jerking guilt trip the owner’s son laid on me as I exited the probing station. Believe me, you would most assuredly lose your dinner and find people as repulsive as I do now.

Alone but not lonely, and for the time being, more content with what I have than my desires for what I don’t.

I need a category denoting Only in Texas for this one…

Took the Scientist to the Donut Palace this morning. The Architect’s friend called and invited him to the woods to run around earlier in the morning, so it was just the two of us for breakfast.

Sitting there, he says, “Do you think in my lifetime, they will ever get around to creating a steak donut?

Me, “A steak donut?”

Scientist, “Yes. A steak donut.”

Me, ” ? ”

Scientist, “I don’t know why they don’t have them already.”

Me, “Where would you put the steak?”

Scientist, “England? NO! Kentucky, right?”