Jim Beam made a comment about 4 bucks a gallon gas this weekend. My belief has been that Suburbia begins to die at 4 bucks a gallon – the commute to work gets less and less cost effective on one hand, and how many beatings can “disposable income” take before consumers don’t have any money for consumption of all pumpkins plastic? The home equity ATM is closed, the credit cards are maxed out (to the point of people actually not charging stuff on them anymore) and now the gas tank is cutting into the family cell phone budget.
“4 bucks a gallon in Santa Barbara this week. For 87 octane.” – Maybe I’m reading an awful lot into those dozen words Jim posted, but I think the collective consciousness is turning about to where it can at least be aware that things are not as they once were. From there, the Great Leap to they ain’t gonna get no better isn’t that far away. I here people mention the price of gas in muted mumbled tones of vague fear – not the righteous indignation I’ve been hearing for a year or so. It’s hitting close to home, right in the wallet, from Pedro driving to the jobsite 30 miles away to Soccer Mom’s commute to her fashionable hairdresser 30 minutes away on the freeway. Maybe Dad says to hell with hanging the new ceiling fan today – don’t have the right screws and sure as hell isn’t going to burn 9 bucks worth of gas to go to the nearest Home Despot… pick them up tomorrow on the way home from work. (of course the new big box home improvement joint killed off the local hardware store down the street last year,,,)
Dunno, folks. The state highway that runs in front of our place doesn’t have a quarter of the traffic it used to on this bright sunshiny Sunday afternoon. Nobody’s moving around – got no money to go shopping is my guess. And the more times people stay home instead of taking a quick trip someplace the more realization sinks in that everything in their insta-cushy world is changing and it doesn’t look pretty. I know that there are tens of millions out there with absolutely unpayable levels of personal debt, upside down on a mortgage, behind on a car payment broke before payday in a job that depends upon continuing economic growth and a half hour commute.
They ain’t gonna make it. And they’re gonna be pissed. And pissed off people tend to use blame as an escape. Rather than allow the people to take up pitchforks against the bankers and politicians and icons of the corporate realm I’d bet TPTB will probably instigate a full scale war that actually fucks up our happy way of life. Those tens of millions will be waving the flag again, oblivious and patriots the lot, blaming the chinese, ruskies, or senegalese for the power being out and paper bags on all the gas pumps. My money is on a war with China. I figure there are high level negotiations going on between us and them about how to choreograph a major conflict and mutually pulverize both our economies back to pre bubble 1971 numbers. Maybe trade cities – Los Angeles for a major Chinese Port city. Nuke, nuke, declare an undeclared war and play the nuclear standoff game. The surplus chinese population goes back to their villages and starve, suburbia plants victory gardens and lines up and whips out their ration cards on Commodities Day. Flour, powdered eggs, milk, cheese and beans. “Honey! Canned Pears today!”
Okay, I’m getting a bit tinfoiled here, but I don’t know what else can roll this bloated nation back to reality. I sold a kid goat at the sale barn yesterday – a 2 1/2 week old billy that somebody’s children made them buy – hehehe drove the bidding up to rediculous levels. So I was talking to them after the sale and they asked what to feed it. I said “goat milk, it’s a baby goat”. They got that stupid look so I said “or milk replacer”. A little hope shown through, and they seemed like a nice couple so I offered to sell them a milking nanny that really isn’t producing enough per milking for me to bother with but would do fine for raising Herman the Kid. The guy said he didn’t have time to milk a goat, the wife said she’d just buy milk and the two girls with Ipods clipped to their head said ew, no way gross. I’d have sold that milking nanny at a loss to get a family started on the free cheese highway of food security but ya just can’t pull folks off of the teat of civilization. Herman will be a great pet until they tire of him, then some Mexican will get him for a song and put him on a spit at the next big wedding. Or perhaps the funeral feast for a son slaughtered while defending the Puddle in Iraq. And I try not to will ill upon the Ipod Girls, but it’s hard. I see corpses every time I go into town, so my best bet is to stay home as much as possible and plant spinach and peas.
Thanks for reading, now go plant something to eat, damnit. Take your power back people, take your power back.
