#152 Festooning

Is it just me, or does it seem like no one talks anymore? I know that sounds odd, here in the age of right-wing talk, and over-the-top shock-jock radio, but that’s not really talk. That’s just planned pontification. Entertainers purposely pricking the anger pustules of pimple-brained people. The reason they say “ditto head” is because there ain’t much else between the ears of those folks. Mindless agreeing with someone is no testimony to the wit and wisdom of the oxycontin-enhanced person agreed with, only to the ovine qualities of the agreer. When the elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top there’s usually a reason.
What I mean is the tendency of one and all to festoon one’s opinion on vehicle or person. For instance, you got your ribbons on the car. Now I often agree with the sentiments expressed by said ribbons, but really, it’s kind of getting out of hand. The idea back when was to have a little handmade ribbon pinned to one’s chest. Then the magnetic sheet manufacturers got involved and started manufacturing what are essentially magnetic pictures of a ribbon. See, the first ribbon was a symbol of the sentiment. Now the second picture of the ribbon is a symbol of the symbol of the sentiment. It’s all about ease of message delivery, don’t you know: I support whatever, and I’m sticking a magnet to my car to prove it. Again, the sentiment is good, but the work that went into expressing it is minimal. Unless you count buffing the ribbon shadow out of the paint when you trade in your car. Perhaps if every dollar spent on one of these magnets went to support the cause in question that would be a step towards real support. But I worry that the support one feels in one’s heart is being exploited by the people manufacturing the sentimental representation. American business sometimes picks a tawdry road to profit.
Or how about the newest sentimental support accessory: The thick rubber band bracelet. Yellow for testicular cancer, pink for breast cancer, rainbow for strength in the face of adversity generally. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a support-the-troops camouflage wristband in production as we speak.
Used to be you could get a take on folks by the clothes they wore; blue collar, white collar, hemp collar-and-dreadlocks. Nowadays, with the gap-i-fication of fashion, and the mindless gab-ification of cellphone-disconnected people generally, all we’re left with is thick rubber wristbands.
No one talks any more. Our beliefs are on our wrists and on the back ends of our SUVs. I hope one day we’ll have ribbon that says simply: Communicate.
America, ya gotta love it.