Has anyone figured out why we are so wealthy but so miserable?
When I speak of We I mean us Americans, and when I speak of Wealthy I mean everyone from the bottom to the top of the economic escalator that takes us from poverty to unimaginable riches.
And I mean you. And of course me and everyone I know and don’t know, because we are all rich as kings, and in fact far richer. Do you think King Marvin the 53rd had Eggs Benedict for breakfast with a strawberry shake, a cup of Espresso, and a jumbo snifter of brandy?
Did Cleopatra have an electric blanket and an air conditioned Oldsmobile to roll around the pyramids? Speaking of pyramids, did you know King Tut, the wealthiest man of his time, died of tooth decay?
And here, now, in America, a toothache is not much more bothersome than the Giants getting swept in a doubleheader. By Monday, when SF hosts the Cubs and you go see the dentist, everything will be fine. (NOTE: Your dental visit will cost far less than an afternoon at Pac Bell Park.)
So why are we nervous and tossing back antidepressants? What makes us borderline miserable despite having everything we think we want and a lot of things that haven’t yet occurred to us?
For instance:
A) Not one of us has ever missed a meal, save in service to vanity.
B) Nobody desperate for employment waits around very long before getting hired.
C) Even poor people have flat screen TVs, cell phones, well equipped kitchens, expensive sneakers, food stamps (EBT cards) and free rent.
D) Anybody who wants to visit Paris in 2025 won’t have to work more than a few months to save up enough to purchase a roundtrip flight. You’ll have breakfast at the Maple and be back home in time for dinner tomorrow night at the Broiler. Crazy ain’t it?
And it hasn’t always, or even for very long, been this way.
We needn’t browse far back through our family trees to come across ancestors who dealt with hunger occasionally if not routinely, and who lived long lives without ever seeing an airplane or a pizza or anything made out of plastic.
Until very recently Medical care was hardly worth being called Medical care unless blood-letting leeches count. We do not know how our great grandmother’s dental problems were addressed other than without novocaine or high speed drills.
There is something screwy about our collective anxiety and fretting, especially when it merges with depression, suicidal notions and our lashing out at (mostly) phantom enemies.
We deal with these First World problems by chatting it up among half-wit therapists or life-numbing drugs with side effects that help speed along our suicidal plans.
Why aren’t we sufficiently amused by visits to Disneyland or watching Hollywood comedies and the NFL circus to divert us from sad thoughts and pointless lives?
RITE AID REIMAGINED
That big empty hole of a building at the corner of South State and Gobbi Streets, formerly known as Rite Aid, is in need of occupants, renters, shop keepers, whatever.
This being Ukiah, and us being aware of what the local market rewards in ways of retail, I have several suggestions.
One big store covered in an acre of linoleum seems unworkable at the moment, so a handful of small shops might happily co-exist among one another. The candidates?
1) Tattoo parlor(s).
2) Vape shops.
3) Marijuana dispensaries.
4) Body piercing specialists.
5) On-site Sports betting / gambling den.
6) Methadone clinic with free needle exchange (Plaza Level).
7) Holistic healing center featuring crystal ball readings, Tarot Card specialists, chakra alignments and past lives regressions.
8) A Burning Bridges satellite homeless recruitment center with advocates to explain program benefits and hand out free backpacks and shopping carts.
And what shall we call this Carnival of Muck?
Le grande Malle d’generate!
Reserve your parking space now.
Tommy, my mother used to say
“I once cried because I had no shoes then I met a person who had no feet”
We live in a world of comparisons. We compare our success to those around us and it creates jealousy and complaining. Many of us are extremely lucky. My father and I were driving on a short hunting trip up to the forest outside of Covelo. He was talking about his youth in Point Arena and I was shocked how many kids he knew who had died of something I had never really seen in my lifetime including polio and the flu.
My father also spoke about how lucky he was to have 2 jobs when many folks only had 1. He was always swinging a hammer on the side or dealing with a few head of cattle, constantly doing something with his time which benefitted our family.
I wish we could all experience life one generation back. Maybe we would be a little more greatful for the life we currently have. We should consider ourselves lucky to have the first world problems we seem to complain about.
Very true. I know many, who grew up “dirt poor” but had parents who made the youth experience a time that is remembered fondly.
The “Old Ways” were better. Of that I am sure.
Signed: Old Man of 78–saddened, disappointed, by our world now
Hiya Sheriff, 👮♂️🚓🤠
My middle name is gratitude😜, lol. Sometimes complaining is how well you swing the hammer when no one gave you any nails. We can only use the tools in our toolbox — that’s all we’ve got. Sound familiar?”
With that being said going a generation back, did they have better circumstances and tools no! Because it’s not exactly what you have it’s what you do with what you have.
mm 💕