Blaaaaaaahhhhhh. I write with a heavy
heart. My “instinct” so to speak, is to just be mean. It’s kind
of sad. Most of what I view in the world I pretty much generally
hate, so I’m not terribly off in erring on the side of dick head.
Alas, it is not always the case though and I need to find myself
humbled in ignorance.
I assume. It’s a “necessary” evil
to feel contented about your place in the world. I like to pretend
that my perspective is informed after engaging in activities that
most are not privy to. But at the end of the day I can be wrong. When
you’re forced to be an honest person against your naïve
initial interpretations, it’s a very interesting landscape. And
that’s what I had to face tonight.
My fundamental
hatred has its implications. My doubt and skepticism can be taken too
far. I just so happened to unleash on a small business owner. To be
fair, he wasn’t exactly quick to accept my retractions or
clarifications, but still, I was selling myself as king asshole.
The problem was that I have firsthand
knowledge of how much things cost. To me, “local” should by its
nature be cheaper and more accessible, fuck the farmers market and
the bullshit people will tell you. So when you’re selling something
“local” for 2 or 3 dollars more than picking up the same thing
form a Kroger shelf, I have a reaction.
It didn’t take dick for me to run the
coffee shop, and that’s a part of the reason we were able to last
as long as we did. Were it not for the rent, nothing would have
prevented us from pulling in pretty nice figures. How am I to believe
that anything else is so dramatically more complex or more expensive?
If you own the land you’re farming, if you collaborate with other
hippie fucks in town, and if you source and sample your menu form the
readily available non-GMO esc foods around, forgive me if I think
you’re a dick for charging 5 or 6 bucks.
I think small business is the key to
jump starting the economy. I think the people making an effort to
think locally and sustainably is important. But give me a fucking
break, I won’t pretend that growing your own shit in you r backyard
or sourcing form every hippie fuck within a ten mile radius justifies
a higher price. It’s a bullshit argument. And the smug look of
satisfaction staring back at my drunk or otherwise ass does not
change the fucking numbers. Either you as the face is being scammed
or everyone else is just as keen to the scene of how much you can
milk the idea of local goods.
When I tell you, “You can eat a dick”
it’s for this reason. I’m not convinced you’re thinking far
enough. I don’t think you have the care to hold the people you
source from accountable. I think at the end of the day it’s about
your personal circle jerk. Whoopy fuck you decided to hit up every
“organic” and “local” venue that touts itself important. How
ever fucking blind you are to the self-righteous pride you’re
feeling“ providing” the service that you do. How easy it is to
look down on people who don’t know your numbers.
I’M NOT CONVINCED!!! Our default is
to be fucked up! We fundamentally are going to strive for the bare
minimum. We may try to feel like something more, something
significant, but it’s all a dance. It’s a psychological
playground of self-righteous indignation that we don’t believe or
don’t fight for or don’t understand. I’m just as empty a
pipe-dreamer in striving for my goals without the philosophical
underpinnings that answer “why.” This is not an easy message to
get across when your initial position is to tell someone to “eat a
dick.”
But again, who fucking cares? It isn’t
worth it. Even if it were it would be short lived and ill remembered.
It would be the grandstand and folly to think my digressions and
explanations of the day’s events translated into genuinely giving a
shit.
