Even this stupid, dirty hippie knows what I mean
Black Friday is the ultimate commercial takeover of an American tradition.
One day we sit around a table with our families and talk about how thankful we are for what we have.
The very next day we attack each other with pepper spray for the last XBOX at Wal-Mart. Or with real guns.
There’s something rotten in America.
We are obsessed with the desire for stuff. None of it makes us happy, but we can’t stop.
I’m not saying I’m any better. I’ve been glued to Amazon.com Lightning Deals for the last 12 hours. I woke up twice last night to look for something new and shiny to make me happy.
I lust for a new car. For new clothes. For Apple products. To win the lottery.
Rotten.
The only thing that might be worse than Black Friday is Hallmark.
365 letters
People used to write greeting cards to each other. We would sit down at a desk with a quill, a pot of ink, and our imagination, and we would take the time to write a letter.
Where others saw a foundation of human connection, Mr. Hallmark saw an opportunity to make money.
All that time wasted at desks. All that agony trying to find the right words. Let’s just create templates, he thought. People can just pick a card that fits their emotions, and sign their names. It will take all the work out of it. People will love us.
He didn’t stop there, of course. There are only so many births and weddings. So he colluded with florists, chocolatiers, and the United States government, and now we have Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Administrative Assistant’s Day, and on and on.
I’m not condemning capitalism. It’s the best system ever invented.
I’m just saying it ain’t perfect.
Sorry for the downer. Want to cheer me up? Buy me something.