Livin' the sheltered life?
What a bunch of dandy's!
I'm probably not ready to throw on a loin clothe and start eating raw meat off the bone of my most recent kill but it's alarming how "far" we've come that people can stay indoors for such great lengths of time and have provided for them so many modern conveniences. Why lift a finger if I don't have to! Or breathe for that matter? No but really, I have this picture in my head of prehistoric days when shelter was just that, shelter. I picture a safe place to eat, rest, be protected from bad weather, and if you're lucky, room to store your bare essentials. Otherwise, you're out in the world under the sky. And I romanticize this, no doubt, but getting into the great wide open where sites reach the horizons, voices echo from mt. tops, you can smell approaching weather, hear the wind whip, and it's all more than refreshing, it's living; interacting with the world, not just what's inside your cave walls or in your noggin.
Now, we fill these spaces with so-called "valuables" that are not simply to improve resting, eating, and hygiene but items that keep us more and more from the outside world. As the years quickly pass, I find myself acceedingly susceptible to the allure of privacy for events that might typically take me into the public domain. I prefer cranking my home stereo in listening to a favorite artist's new album over fighting a sold out crowd of beer spillers screaming irrelavent jibber-jabber mid-hit/fav song while all the 7 ft tall people find their ideal viewing spot right in front of me. (sidenote: I still take extreme pleasure in the rare occasion of finding the lesser known, up-and-coming band, who play intensely entertaining shows at smaller venues to a more appreciative and captive audience, where all you can do is wipe your bleeding ears and yell, "Rock Harder!" (Thank you Dead Meadow for your most recent 7 st. Entry show)) I'd rather kick back on the couch to watch the game with good store bought micro-brews for the price I'd pay for lite beer at the stadium, not to mention there's no line for the bathroom. Movies are the same except I don't eat popcorn or drink soda by the bucket. But this complacency has gotten to such an extreme that people are more likely to find out the weather by turning on the TV rather than opening a shade, window, or door.
Privacy is nice, and in part, necessary. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't be the same without it. But the safety and security of the nest is over reaching and society seems to be losing it's community built foundation. Blame it on population, there's simply too many of us to meet and remember (sad really). Somehow we assume that we relate due to proximity but we really don't know. For instance, I'm from the same home town as Harry Houdini and Joseph McCarthy (Red!), etc... but, well.... I guess we all have our versions to conjuring accusations. I prefer to direct that kind of magic upon myself.
On the other hand...The dry farts of our society grow exceeding fat and lazy while anxiously pressing the "easy" button awaiting their next free rations, their share, cut, cause we are all owed that much, right? Welfare, social security, ect... is about asking what our country can do for us, and seemingly the noblest thing we can do for our country is take a bullet. I wish there was more. To adapt the joke, we are less and less Ameri-cans and more and more Ameri-can'ts. And I do believe that it is tied to all the materials we snuggle into our nest, addressed early in philosophy as the issue with private property, going against Native American's belief that the Earth does not belong to us, that we belong to the Earth, and in the tough, Fight Club speak, "The things you own end up owning you." And it certainly is remarkable how the money to fun ratio are synchronizing without much notice. Are the best things in life free any more? I still want to believe it but...
All of this comes about as I make every attempt to get excited about the biggest financial decision of my life. I'm getting a nest, a new cave, my biggest material purchase yet. And somehow in the search (what a great market really!) I'm seeking out this imagined chi, the inspiration feng shui, an energizing central stasis, the epicenter of calm, nooks and crannies to expand thought processes, stretching creativity, letting the force flow from a jedi, so I can sweep the leg and get'em a body bag like any ninja would. What's going to get me there is a tricky equation, and everyone has advice to give. "Foreclosures are a steal." "You can change your house, but you can't change your hood." "You don't need a Realtor." "Realtor's are paid by the seller." First time owners discounts, how to get the best rates, making'em an offer (they can't refuse) 20% less than the asking price.... Ugghhhh, compounding all this decision making is that it's followed by the physically exhausting (no doubt some mental exhaustion as well) of coordinating the actual move. This is so f'n FUN!
I've been listening to The Black Eyed Snakes song "My New House" in which Chicken Bone George throttles the mic screamin, "SEEEEEEEE MYYYY NEEEEEWWW HOOUSSSE!!!! MY NEW HOUSE!!!" Yep.
