Preponderance of Insanity

While I'm still floundering with an adept synopsis of the Tucson fare to compliment Mikey's latest post I have, on the other hand, stumbled on something interesting in a recent read worth tossing out there since Moll-star, Pimp, Mikey, and Dimmy have traveled the roads of Thailand. To wit:
"Whereas your average Westerner does all he can to direct and control his fate, the latter-day Thai is no closer to adopting this attitude to life than were his ancestors a hundred or two hundred years ago. If there is any aspect of modern Thai psychology which continues to accept in toto the Buddhist doctrine of karma (so written) it is surely in the conviction that que sera, sera. At first glance such fatalism may seem backward, even perverse given the dazzling spectrum of weapons Westerners now have in their arsenal against the vicissitudes of life; but anyone who spends much time in the kingdom quickly finds themselves questioning the wisdom, and even the sincerity, of Western attitudes. When he has paid up his taxes, his life insurance, his medical insurance, accident insurance, retrained himself in the latest marketable skills, saved for his kids' education, paid alimony, bought the house and car which his status absolutely requires he buy within the rules of his particular tribe, given up alcohol abuse, nicotine, extramarital sex and recreational drugs, spent his two-week vacation on some self-improving (but safe) adventurous holiday, learned to be hypercareful of what he says or does with members of the opposite sex, the average Westerner may -and often does- wonder where his life went. He may also -and invariably does- feel cheated when he discovers existentially that all the worrying and all the insurance payments have availed him not a jot or a tittle in protecting him against fire, burglary, flood, earthquake, tornado, the sack, terrorist activity, or his spouse's precipitate desertion with the kids, the car and all the spare cash in the joint bank account. True enough, in a kingdom without safety nets a citizen may very well be brutally flattened by accident or illness, where a Westerner might have bought himself a measure of protection, but in between the bumps a Thai still lives life in a state of sublime insouciance. The standard Western observation is that the Thai is living in a fool's paradise. Perhaps, but might the Thai not reply that the Westerner has built himself a fool's hell?

Philly Manifesto

Boy this blog sure went to shit.

Well, let's see if we can't jumpstart the muthafucka. So: I like cities, as all two of you prolly know. But I like cities for the gross stereotypes and zeitgeist approximations that get perpetuated about them. Like, LA is plastic; Seattle is vegan. Shit like that. It's where people take all that they experience about a place - the day-to-day living experience, the attitudes they encounter, the values and styles on display - and you try to put into words what a city means, as if it were a brand name.

Here (four beers to the wind) is my Philly take, after one year:

FUCK PHILLY. This is how Philly likes it.

This is the great Philly paradox: For a city that so celebrates its starring role in the story of independence, I've never seen a place where it's residents feel so trapped. Social mobility? HA! If you're born somewhere here (racially, class-wise, etc.), you are destined to die there, it seems. The city is almost arranged to keep people in their respective zones.

Paradox two: For a city earmarked for its "brotherly love," there is a festereing, a seething anger that burns deep within the people of Philly. Feels like a fight - or a riot - is always about to break out here. Brotherly love my ass.

It cherishes its story of Rocky and holds him up as blue-collar role model par excellence, but when the going gets tough - as it does for most every city, most all teams eventually - its sports fans resort to whiny disillusionment so quick you get whiplash. May? The Phillies are born-losers. October? Forget the playoffs for the Iggles. Bums.

Its customer service is uniformly ridiculous in its pissed-off moodiness - like New York rude on quaaludes. It responded to last year's It City, 6th borough media cheerleading with a jaded cackle and a trademark scowl.

There is no bright side that Philly can't ignore, no glass that can't be looked upon as half-empty (even if full). You are resigned and you are bitter, Philly, with your Napoleonic chip-on-the-shoulder living in the shadow of New York glamour and DC power.

Your prize cheesesteak distributor is an unabashed xenophobe and your street violence seemingly knows no end.

You wear your past grimly and eye the future with a weather-beaten apathy. Accentuate the negative? Ha. Fuck Philly. I know that's how you like it.


Allllllright, whaddya got out there in Company Blogland? Jeremy, what's the Seattle Manifesto gotta say? Null, weigh in on Portland? Can we get a Houston manifesto? A Tucson?

Hello? Anyone?

smooches,
DJ Holy Day of Obligation