It has become the way of things that criticism of even the shallowest materialism is considered extreme. I read, yesterday, a blog post about half a year old in which the term “anti-consumerist” is used as an epithet. I am not that old, and I remember a time when it was not unusual for mainstream observers, people who were not considered radical critics of all that is holy about American Culture, to suggest that there might be something more to life than buying stuff, than owning stuff. I am well acquainted with the acquisitive impulse, as was well displayed two or three posts down in that thing I wrote about Agaves. I increasingly suspect that much of the consumer economy is fueled by abject depression, the gnawing sense that the void at the pit of one’s soul can be salved, even temporarily, by applying a poultice of dollar bills. Surely, that void is the exact size and shape of this here X-Box! We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon. And those of us who suggest that the world can not long support our habits are deemed extreme, opposed to the American lifestyle as though the American lifestyle is a birthright or divine commandment.
How dare you criticize my spending the metaphorical rent money on allegorical beer! For I have taken a survey course in environmentalism! And I judge your argument too uncomfortable for me to consider further. I can’t hear you. La la la la la.
And of course I make this argument with my feet planted firmly on the moral high ground of sheer hypocrisy, for I am as susceptible to the blandishments of getting stuff as any other blogger who displays a link to his Amazon wish list in the sidebar. This is a week, for instance, in which I anxiously await the delivery of a fancy professional-grade 70mm-200mm zoom telephoto lens with fluorite glass, of which permission to buy constitutes part of my holiday gift haul from my devoted spouse. As Oktoberfest is to recovering alcoholics, the end of December is to accumuloholics. Many of the objects I’ve most treasured came to me in the two greedy weeks between Christmas and my birthday. The pyrite my grandfather gave me 42 years ago, which now sits a foot from my keyboard. The stovetop Atomic espresso machine Elissa gave me in 1983, which I used daily for 12 years, until it melted. The leather bomber jacket Elissa’s mother gave me in 1985, which I still wear on cold days. Treasured clothes and books and compilations of Brazilian and Peruvian music Becky’s given me over the years. I cherish each of these far beyond their objective value.
And today I received a gift that outstrips all of them:
... a walk with an old, feeble, crippled dog down to the park and back. Which is one walk more than I ever thought I’d get again.
I am the richest man alive.
Oh, what a precious gift. And what a precious friend.
Zeke! You are still the most handsome dog alive! Chris, you are a lucky man, indeed.
zeke is a king among dogs, blessed with the richness of a true and loyal family. or pack. whatever.
Yesterday I restrained myself from posting a comment saying how lucky you are because I didn’t want to come off wrong.
Man, what a sweet old face he has. I wish I didn’t live more than a thousand miles away; I’d like to gently pet his feeble old head and look softly into his darkening eyes and tell him just what a good boy he is.
I’ll read the rest of the post later - I cheated and skipped to the end.
Zeke, you fucking beauty! You rock, old dawg!
I refuse to see buying stuff, especially quality stuff much used, in moderation, as any kind of evil at all. Without that, I would hardly get up in the morning, or afternoon for that matter. It’s when gifts are mandatory, expected, and in increasing quantity, with decreasing quality of life and personal connection.
A good beer or two a day is good. A case a day of B*d is bad.
You obviously have excellent taste, and your heart is in the right place, with Zeke. So, your spouse must have good taste too.
Good Yule.
...I increasingly suspect that much of the consumer economy is fueled by abject depression…
A funny thing that I don’t have the urge to go on wild buying sprees so much since walking out on that (high-paying) job that I hated.
In fact, I’ve started to get more bored and disinterented in a lot of things I once thought of as essential to have around. It’s not just that I need the money until I find more work (cough). It’s that a lot of these things were picked up to aleviate a misery that isn’t there so much any more. Most of the sentimental value they had doesn’t compare to the relief of not being emeshed in job-related b.s. forty hours a week.
No wonder it’s anathema to my old Union masters, not to mention both big parties, to bring up the idea of a shortened full-time work week. Gotta’ keep everyone on the hamster wheel ‘til the day they die or who knows what unspending evil we’ll get up to… :/
Go figure.
Not into consuming at Christmas? Obviously you must be one of those fanatic Christians…
p.s. Your dog is beautiful, as are your descriptions of your journeys together.
Ahh, Zeke… Thank you for brightening so many days.
Our dear pets, whose eyes are mirrors that both evoke and reflect back to us our best ability to love.
Good boy.
Yay, Zeke!