Welcome, Crooks & Liars!
Next time someone says we need to let “charity” deal with the poor, remind them that the reason that doesn’t work is because people are selfish assholes:
I live in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in the country, but on one of the more “modest” streets—mostly doctors and lawyers and family business owners. (A few blocks away are billionaires, families with famous last names, media moguls, etc.) I have noticed that on Halloween, what seems like 75 percent of the trick-or-treaters are clearly not from this neighborhood. Kids arrive in overflowing cars from less fortunate areas. I feel this is inappropriate. Halloween isn’t a social service or a charity in which I have to buy candy for less fortunate children. Obviously this makes me feel like a terrible person, because what’s the big deal about making less fortunate kids happy on a holiday? But it just bugs me, because we already pay more than enough taxes toward actual social services. Should Halloween be a neighborhood activity, or is it legitimately a free-for-all in which people hunt down the best candy grounds for their kids?
—Halloween for the 99 Percent
OMG. Prudence responds:
Your whine makes me kind of wish that people from the actual poor side of town come this year not with scary costumes but with real pitchforks. Stop being callous and miserly and go to Costco, you cheapskate, and get enough candy to fill the bags of the kids who come one day a year to marvel at how the 1 percent live.
A part of me has to wonder if some of these kids from “less fortunate areas” aren’t maybe, you know, of a different skin color from our letter writer? And that maybe a big part of her beef is that her neighborhood is overrun with black and brown families for a night? Just a guess, but certainly one that has to be considered.
This isn’t the first time the holidays have brought out the less charitable side of Americans. A few years ago I wrote about local Nashvillians begrudging the trash collectors their Christmas tip because “mah tax dollahs!” Funny how some folks seem to think that paying taxes entitles them to be selfish, self-satisfied pricks.
Get over yourselves and STFU. And if our letter writer really doesn’t think those poor kids deserve her candy because of all the free stuff they get from the taxpayers, she can turn off all the house lights, shut the curtains, and hole up under her blanket for a night, blocking out the cries from the less fortunate outside her window. Seems to be working for her so far.
Works for children too, I hear:
Como In A Box
‘Twas the day before Christmas and whilst cleaning the house,
Southern Beale did realize with a terrible shout:
“OMG I FORGOT ALL ABOUT ANIMAL CRUELTY SANTA!”
So down from the closet he did appear,
Capturing birds and animal pelts all in good cheer,
A reminder to all critters, both far and near,
To not claw the couch or chew the veneer.
And now good wishes for happiness and no tears,
Oh loyal readers and your furry companions, I lift up my beer:
Yes and felines, and canines, and rodents, and deer!
Forgive the bad rhyme (I’m on quite a tear!)
One final good thought I leave with you here:
Best wishes of the season, until the New Year!
I’ll admit it, when my local news gleefully reported that fighter jets would accompany Santa’s sleigh this year in the traditional “NORAD tracker,” I was pretty outraged. Silly thing, I know: it’s Santa Claus, who gives a shit. But I do, because it’s for kids, and glorifying war to kids is revolting.
Honestly, I’m so offended by the constant rah-rah pro-military BS which has infiltrated every aspect of American life. This was the last straw. Why does Santa Claus need fighter jets, anyway? Mr. Beale joked it was to make it through Syrian airspace so he could bring presents to kids in Israel. Apparently everyone else decided it was Russia.
So I was relieved to learn that I wasn’t the only person ticked off by this glorification of weapons of war to children. In fact, quite a few children’s advocates were offended.
And now NORAD says what people thought were missiles were actually “fuel tanks.” Er, okie dokie.
I know y’all wouldn’t believe it but it does take a lot for me to go over the edge. I do stand and politely clap during the military salute at hockey games, despite the wretched Lee Greenwood track. But I put my foot down when they played an Army video of, I shit you not, bombs dropping on buildings. This was displayed on the JumboTron before a game one year, accompanied by a loud rock and roll track. Seeing small children with no clue what that represented cheering along turned my stomach. I called the operations office of the hockey team the next day and we never saw anything like that again.
“Support the troops” does not mean glorifying war. And by all means, this “back door recruiting” to kids is alarming. It’s no different than using Joe Camel to sell tobacco to children.
Knock it off, America.
This landed in my mailbox this morning, under the subject line “Knock Down, Drag Out Savings.” Sender was “Walmart.”
Bwaahaa. It’s those rascals, the Yes Men.
At my first Thanksgiving with Mr. Beale’s family, the women all invited me to join them on their traditional Black Friday shopping trip to the mall in Evansville, Indiana. I think I responded with something like, “I’d rather stick pins in my eyes, thanks.” I honestly never thought I’d meet someone who actually shopped on the Friday after Thanksgiving. And in a mall, no less? I simply don’t hate myself that much.
Thanksgiving has always been the one holiday that defied commercialization. Non-religious and a-political, it was the last honest holiday. It centered on three core American values: family, food and television.
But no more. Now we’re all arguing over Walmart and Best Buy making their underpaid employees work on Thanksgiving Day, and we’re treated to Black Friday Brawls on the TV as people behave like children fighting over toys.
Another cherished American holiday relegated to the dustbin thanks to Glorious Capitalism. Baaah.
Mr. Beale and I bugged out of the family get together early because we have a hockey game tonight (Go Preds!). That was a blessing because someone in the family decided it was a good idea to dress a 3-year-old in shoes which squeak every time the kid takes a step. After about five minutes I was ready to kill someone.
Here’s wishing all of my readers a wonderful, squeak-free Thanksgiving.
This morning I walked the dog down my street and saw a blue men’s button-down shirt lying in a puddle at the end of someone’s driveway. A few doors down a very solid, very permanent brick mailbox lay in rubble at the end of another driveway. Clearly someone(s) had a happy new year last night. Not so the dead opossum I saw further down the street. I’m trying to decide if all three things were connected somehow (hit a possum, veered into a mailbox, took a shirt off because …?)
Anyway, welcome to 2013. There’s actually news! I have a fiscal cliff post up over at First Draft. Give it a look-see.