Here Comes The Summer…and the Tourists
“I believe time wounds all heels” (John Lennon)
If you are one who has ever visited a resort area, you’re probably not aware – or care – that those regions are populated by people who live and work there before and after your vacation. Though you may not have brought your golden ruler with you, please understand that whatever social transgression you perpetrate that affects just one other person brings your life to a surreptitious end by someone in your general vicinity – and not in an abbreviated way. For example, let’s say you decided to start-up a conversation with some chum you know who’s driving by. So, instead of doing the proper thing and motion to them that you’ll speak at another time, you decide that you will make sure they stop in heavy traffic so that you can converse with them about absolutely nothing. Even if there happens to be some semblance of substance to the talk, it could definitely wait until later. However, what you fail to realize – apart from the hundreds of people you are inconveniencing and the automobile emissions you are sending skyward – your mortality is hanging in the balance – seriously. Among the motorists who are wishing you a boat oar up your bulbous, inconsiderate ass, there’s actually someone a few cars back who will see that visual through. Congratulations. You’ve derailed a recovering man with acute anger management issues. He’s flying off that wagon with a special expedited delivery of boat oars, oar locks and an Evinrude motor for your rectum.
Having spent considerable time in New Jersey – where an entitled attitude is as prevalent as that horrible, sulfuric fart smell on the Elizabeth section of the New Jersey Turnpike – it almost seems that 75% of the Garden State population suffers from AAPD – Acute Asshole Personality Disorder. Sweeping indictment? Sure. But not entirely off the mark. You might be wondering why I’m is so visceral about the folks in New Jersey. Did that section of the world ever play a negative role. Nah – Lived there for 17 years or so. Learning experience? Christ, where do I start? I think we can all agree that there are no accidents, right? Hence the existence of Belmar, New Jersey – the lower intestine of Planet Earth. As with any bowel movement, things can get a little scattered once it exits – especially when you have a huge pocket of gas sandwiched between a few stools. So, between North Brunswick and West Berlin – 50 miles in either direction – you have a collection of “real winners” when it comes to social protocol:
The Casual Traffic Chatterers (Motorist & Pedestrian) – Nothing is more rude, more arrogant, or more blatantly ignorant than a couple of wife-beatered jamokes getting into a heady, monosyllabic discussion over last night’s Jagermeister Social at Bar Jagoff while there’s a half-mile traffic back-up behind them. I’m not entirely clear who’s the larger wang – the guy in the car, or Mr. Half-Crack Showin’, who’s leaning into the car to discuss the latest developments in his underwear. Either way, any Cop worth their badge should be coming up behind them – in a javelin thrower’s wind-up – to insert a $1,000.00 inarguable citation right up their bleached Provolone Holes.
“Benny” Haters – It was my intention to come up with an extensive list of all the social transgressions of your garden variety Garden Stater. Then it occurred to me that – since I’m generalizing, stereotyping and condemning in a sweeping sorta way – why not just lump half the state in with the “Jersey Shore” archetype? After all, life is about fun, making merry, and expanding your sense of the world through the eyes of the Lord (and all that stuff). Don’t know where the term “Benny” came from, but I was one – a New Yorker dwelling in the region known as “The Jerzy Shaw.” I just happened to be living there for a while. Didn’t understand it then, and not trying to now. We all have lives to lead.
Snookie and “The Situation” – Talk about your gurgling gene pool… Because Americans are so quick to watch the latest television tragedy – even if it was a staged reality program – the rest of the world was encouraged to blow it’s collective nose on the Fruited Plain. Escapism, in moderate doses, is a healthy thing. But a show like that abomination provided a template for the rest of the world to hold us – the United States of America – up as a pack of shallow twits, tarts, turds and tools.
At the risk of veering wildly away from positivity – even though everything I’ve mentioned is positively motivated – I must tell you that my fume is not rooted in a visceral hate for these poor misguided souls. It’s just sadness covering the slumped shoulders of hope for the human race. Remember that moment in The Beatles’ Anthology when George Harrison said that “the world used them as an excuse to go mad?” Well NOW, because the line between dignity and depravity has been systematically broomed away by the likes of the ACLU and the rest of the left-leaning latitudinarians, anything goes. Whatever was once considered private and sacrosanct is now fodder for social media and the many incarnations of texting.
It’s weird though – having been born at the tail end of what is known as the “Baby Boom” generation I find myself clinging to the seemingly staid values of old (i.e. discretion being the better part of valor, invoking the Serenity Prayer, and repeating the mantra my wife cited time and again at the beginning of our relationship: “There’s class, and there’s no class”). It was simple things like The Golden Rule – and having a conscience – that kept a semblance of order and respect. It’s unfortunate that that rule seems to be the exception and NOT the rule. All we can do is keep the faith and send out positivity – even when faced with “winners” like those three scholars from Dick Joke University (pictured above). Like John once said, “time wounds all heels.” Hopefully a smidge of super-consciousness will follow.
Ray Whitaker can be heard Monday-Friday on Beatlesarama, 9:00-Noon (Pacific)/Noon-3:00 (Eastern).
His program “Just Four Guys” airs on Sunday Morning www.beatlesarama.com at 9:00 (Pacific)/Noon (Eastern).