So, like most everybody else on the liberal planet this week, I was hoping to write about this week's national news sensation, AZ's very own SB 1070 and its role as the flashpoint for the national showdown over immigration. Yep, AZ made it into the big-time this time. In one single pen stroke our governor has indeed stemmed the massive tide of the thousands who come to our state merely to exploit its resources. Oh wait, that was the tourists. Yeah, we won't have to worry about those pests anymore. In fact, the only way Brewer could've made AZ any less popular was if she'd banned air conditioning.
All kidding aside (for at least the next 35 characters), immigration issues are a priority with me. I would hate to have history repeat itself. Too bad we've been so slow getting around to fixing this problem that started way back when, when that one illegal alien, the Italian guy, slipped the border in a boat he borrowed from Spain back in 1492. Dude's been getting away with murder every since. If only we had checked his papers. And so on.
Yeah, I thought about writing something like that.
But first, I wanted to talk to you about something important, not just the disruptive noises made by some pesky minority that has only inhabited the land we call Ali Shonak, Arissona, Arizona, "Air-ee-zone-y!" for the last 2000 years. What makes them think they have the right to be here in our country? How dare they not walk about with Obama-proof birth certificates stapled to their foreheads, or perhaps a simple yellow star on the jacket might do.
Yeah, I was going to write a bunch of stuff like that, like every other columnist on the liberal planet. But first, we need to talk about something that may be a bit uncomfortable. Call it this week's little public service announcement. There is no delicate way to get into this, so I'll just ask:
Are you addicted to the latest? Come on, admit it, if you can, are you "hoarding"? They say the phenomena affects about 1 out of every 10 adults. So it could be you. No, not you "you," that other "you," the you with the armload of 10 year old newspapers you still aren't ready to recycle. You.
Hoarding. It is the most American of addictions. Spreading faster than crack and just as expensive. What starts off as merely "innocently acquisitive" ends up with you burying yourself in useless stuff to the fill the hole in your soul until it swallows you whole. Never grows old. Grab all you can, keep all you grab. More, more, more, mine, mine, mine. Even if you have to ruin it to keep it. Even if it is life crippling, finance draining, generally quite smelly, and it makes every moment spent in your house a living nightmare. About as American as it gets, huh?
Small wonder hoarding is becoming our national current obsession, the American Dream come true. The one with the most toys wins, in a sleazy kind of, messy kind of, pathetic little way. I can trash it all I want; but make no mistake, hoarding is super popular. There are even two cable TV network shows about the subject, so in case you thought you could limit yourself to an "over-crowded" or "cluttered" decorating style, but find you can't turn back and wind up messing your life up super duper super messy way, you too can be a TV star simply through hoarding.
That's every hoarders dream come true. Imagine the revenge that moment would bring: "See? I told you this stuff was important!" Where will you keep all the clippings? You could watch yourself on TV while you were watching yourself on TV in a room filled with your hoardings.
Here's all you have to do: watch a lot of TV and get the feeling that your life is meaningless except for the pleasure you can derive from the things you buy.
You start believing it's the things you own that are important, not the people you know.
(Say you got that one down too?)
You start buying into the ideas/behavior programming that you are continuingly inundated with thanks to our loving and benevolent media and their sponsors. Hoarders need their lives in crisis and chaos, that's why they need their things. You start to believe that you, as you are, are not good enough and can only achieve perfection through possessions. Having things would ease the pain. So, you get started collecting crap. Good crap, bad crap, doesn't matter, which way you went, pile enough of it up and soon your life will get crappy.
It can be bad crap like half the jokes in the "You Might Be a Redneck If "" series. Imagine all the broken stuff you can't throw away or let someone else have because some day you might get around to it. Just keep piling it up and piling it up till you can't find the tools to fix any thing because you've buried your tools among your broken things. Or maybe, say, starting out thinking you're saving $20 a month on garbage collection and wind up filling room with trash bags stuffed with paper and plastic effluvia soaked in bacon grease and rotting coffee grounds.
Or it can even be good crap, like whole rooms of purchases never unwrapped, tags still a dangle. "Doesn't look like we're going to be able to buy you that new "whatchamacallit,' sweetie, mammy spent a little too much at the store again." You know, that kind of thing? Typically, though, left unchecked, future layers of hoarded materials and the difficulties the isolated hoarder's life pile up and destroy or devalue the older stuff and eventually the whole house collapses. All is lost equally--the treasures and the trash.