Political Frenzy

Further apologies for not yet posting the interview with Maz Jobrani. Midterms at night school tend to deter internet activities.

Slow days in the political sphere, according to news feeds. A haggard nation leads a weary world through a time of seemingly insurmountable exhaustion. Frustrations and tensions run high, and release seems impossible. Stagnation leads to infection, and sedentary ways lead to bed sores. I think at this point, we all want peace and quiet - we want the wars overseas and at home to just stop so we can sit down and watch whatever semi-raunchy prime-time family sitcom NBC has cooked up for us now, eating microwavable dinners, and not saying a word - just laughing at characters on the screen.

So many problems in today’s world - from the depletion of our water supplies to the devastation of Central Africa; from the bitter and heartbreaking cold resignation of our sons, brothers, sisters and daughters in Iraq to the passionate howls of those weeping rivers of tears at the blood spilled in Virginia - and the Post-Modern Man or today is all but helpless, waiting and praying for the Presidential Primaries for his first chance to maybe have an effect on the world.

A deep coma of helplessness is gripping my generation - I believe we’re calling it the “MyPod” generation - as we repair to tiny boxes of existence, seeking the next high either online or in an anonymous mosh pit, and rarely in class or at a dinner with loved ones.

It is not 1944 anymore - back when an American had a cause worth dying for, and a life worth celebrating. It isn’t 1962, when modern conveniences flooded a market controlled by the middle class, eager to see the future unfold before their very eyes as chrome appliances promised utopia and the Jetsons guaranteed flying cars. It’s not 1973 any longer, when a world of social possibilities and the opportunity to shape a nation was open to anyone with a guitar and a thumb to stick out beside the road. 1977 has come and gone, and with it the rage of a generation abandoned by its elders, the children of the upper and lower class rejecting their wealth and heritage to live in squalor with a mohawk, clinging to principles instead of stability. Not even the flannel wearing MTV generation of 1994 still has momentum, as a creative revolution had its soul sucked out by the corporate interests.

MyPod Generation. We will be remembered as the most apathetic and useless generation, bringing shame to the American tradition set forth by the Golden Generation, who fought and died to defeat fascism, and came home to give birth to a new democracy. We are neither Gold nor Silver, not even Bronze. We are not Chrome, nor Tie-Dye, nor Black Leather, nor Flannel.

We’re whatever color Steve Jobs and Tom Anderson tell us to be.