Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Roll Out

I have been pre-approved for a Visa Platinum card. I know, I haven’t really been approved, that would require my credit report which would require my signature, which I did not give. But it does bring up an interesting point; if I didn’t apply for the card, that probably means that I do not fucking want it. But they send me shit anyway. This now brings me my next point, mass consumerism. I am fascinated by this trend, this way of life, so to speak. We live to be in debt. We must always have the coolest car we can afford, and when we can’t afford it, we buy it anyway.

The reason for this is the same reason as to why soccer moms switched from mini vans to SUV’s. It is a status symbol, just like having a wallet full of credit cards. It shows that we, or at least our significant other, make a descent amount of money. We constantly feel the need to show off our position on the social ladder, and I cannot fathom why. I would rather people don’t know how much money I make. But alas, we are all confined to live in this cesspool of one-upmanship.

Having said that I must now confess that I own a 2004 Ford Mustang. Not exactly the cheapest car around. I feel the urge to suddenly break the theme here and point out that Microsoft Word is telling me that the first sentence in this paragraph is a fragment sentence. I have re-written this sentence about 6 times now, and that damn green line of stupidity is still there, as if to point out to me that my public education is hard at work yet still lacking the bare necessity of syntax required to speak my own god damn native language. That talking paperclip is now laughing at me; he haunts my dreams at night, always threatening to scribble my life with a big green or red line, as if the language of my life itself is somehow inadequate. I hate that paperclip.

I give up on the sentence now, back to my point. I own my car for the same reason that soccer moms own their Escalades, because I can afford it. Which brings me to my final question? Am I placing myself on the social ladder, trying to show off my monetary status? Or, if I’m lucky, could it be that just the notion of knowing where I stand in society means that I can live outside of the social ladder, on my own rung if you will, all the while laughing at those who choose to climb he same ladder as the soccer moms? While you ponder that thought, I’m going to go check the ads for used Escalades.

Ticking away the moments that make up the dull days

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