Representative government fades fast; political corruption runs amok; totalitarian ideologues unmercifully pursue an agenda of aggression, conquest, and mass death; economic inequities multiply geometrically and the public infrastructure crumbles; despair & hopelessness become the common condition of more and more people around the world, even as corporate war profiteers yuck it up all the way to the bank ... Faced with so many examples (among quite a few others) of the overabundance of reality that's crashing over our heads these days, what do you suppose has been the predominant topic of discussion this past week, here in California's glorious capital city? Answer: the Peja Stojakovic/ Ron Artest trade. No, really -- I'm not making this up.
Honestly, the miserably degenerate intellectual climate around here would be enough to drive me to drink -- If I didn't drink already.
Generally speaking, Sacramento has a rabid fixation on the adjunct of show business known as "professional sports," with the NBA Kings being the marquee franchise of such nonsense. This condition is attributable to a mixture of two primary factors: (1) There's really nothing else going on around here that's worth paying attention to; and (2) Stupidity is, apparently, lots of fun. Now, the exact proportions of these rather dull phenomena are somewhat indistinct; whether the average inhabitant of this quasi-suburban purgatory is just bored beyond belief and starved for entertainment, or is merely a congenital idiot or brain-damaged fool (or some combination of the two) is wide open to conjecture. Whatever the case, the coffee house/brew-pub/SUV in gridlock crowd -- which is just about everybody -- sure seems to be enjoying the hell out of expending huge volumes of wind discussing such vaporous topics as professional basketball, among others. All that's left untouched is inconsequential esoterica like Samuel Alito, the dubious concept of the "unitary executive," endless war, and the very obliteration of democracy itself.
Little wonder that alcoholic over-medication seems to be such a viable activity these days. Just speaking for myself here, but I'd much prefer to be a blind stinking drunk with an exploding liver than to pretend that professional sports teams mean anything at all. With all due respect to Stojakovic, Artest, and all the other uselessly overpriced corporate whores out there masquerading as "athletes," I'd suggest a change of profession: perhaps picking up trash or washing dishes -- you know, something that has some real societal value. Anything would be better than continuing to perpetrate the dangerously debilitating fiction, so prevalent among the more weaker-willed of the common folk, that being ignorant and stupid is fun.
Well, it's just a thought ... where the hell's my bartender?