Post-Modern World Rant

As of late, I find myself increasingly infatuated with a time long passed. Like a little girl dreaming of being a princess in the days of knights and dragons, I wonder what life was like for my grandparents when they were my age. Romanticizing about a time when men were men and all of them proudly wore fedoras unless they were bathing, sleeping or fornicating (and I’m sure sometimes even then). A time when actors of the silver screen had grace and poise despite their rampant substance abuse. A time when America’s greatest enemies stood under a foreign flag and not in her highest halls of power. A time when skirts were long and pants were higher than the crowd at a Dave Matthews concert.

Today I sprayed myself with Old Spice and tried to imagine it being an alluring scent to all women and not a stench associated with old men and colostomy bags. I also bought a fedora and am hoping that people will understand that I believe it to be a classy, practical hat and not ask me if I feel “Justified” in wearing it. I’m not trying to make a fashion statement, I’m trying to make a cultural one.

Once upon a time people had passion. I cannot think of anything that shows our world’s lack of passion more than text messaging on cell phones. Here we are with the power to contact our friends and loved ones with the push of a button, location be damned, and instead of choosing to speak and hear each other’s voices we send a brief short-hand message. I doubt a single person in our generation is capable of producing anything as heartfelt and passionate as a Civil War letter or even a WWII letter.

They say letter writing is a lost art, but it was never an art at all. At the time it was just another communication medium like talking on the phone is today. We look back on it and see it as art because of how well-written and meaningful it is and how dreadfully mundane our own interactions have become.

It was once considered rude to take a phone call while interacting with another person. Now people will whip out their cell phones and start texting without hesitation or excusing themselves. People will only grow manners when it is absolutely necessary. Unless you have control over someone’s job or sex life you can expect them to be as polite in front of you as they would a toilet.

Perhaps these problems will solve themselves in time, but as long as people continue their lives in a self-centered manner it is doubtful. People used to treat each other with respect simply because they were another person. I myself feel that respect should be earned, but when I look around and see teenagers being berated for not knowing every little detail about every product their mall job carries I can’t help but rethink that philosophy. I don’t know these people and don’t know whether or not they deserve respect, but wouldn’t a positive upbeat person assume they deserve respect and wait to be shown otherwise? Maybe that’s how people used to think but now we all think we’re so damned important and special that we feel everyone owes us for gracing them with our presence.

Six Feet Under the Boardwalk

Bury me under the boardwalk,
Bury me at the shore,
What sounds await in a graveyard,
I’d rather death not be a bore.

I don’t believe in heaven or hell,
I don’t believe in hades, Vallhalla or sheol,
While these ideas comfort some,
In death awaits only a cold, dark hole.

Why be buried in a place of sadness,
Where widows, sons and daughters come to weep,
Why rest where you’d never go in life,
When you’d rather be at home to sleep.

And your home is where you make it,
Where your best memories are made,
For me home is the Jersey Shore,
In death that’s where I want to be laid.

Don’t think this verse morbid,
Don’t think my thoughts to be black,
I plan to live a long life,
I just know there’s no turning back.

And when my time comes,
I want to hear the crashing waves,
I want no part of the silence,
Others will get from their graves.

So bury me in Seaside,
Bury me down in Point,
Six feet under the boardwalk,
And roll yourself a joint.

For when I shuffle off my mortal coil,
There will be no reason to cry,
The sea will be my roommate,
My neighbor the starry sky.

And in the summer the beach will come to life,
And I’ll be the only one,
Sunbathing underground,
Still in on all the fun.