Culture on Autopilot

Folks, I'd like to sing a song about the American Dream.
About me. About you. About the way our American hearts beat
way down in the bottom of our chests. About that special
feeling we get in the cockles of our hearts. Maybe below the
cockles. Maybe in the sub-cockle area. Maybe in the liver.
Maybe in the kidneys. Maybe even in the colon. We don't know.

-Denis Leary

It all started with a phone call.

My friends and I are no strangers to palavering over various subjects, especially the American Dream. What is that exactly? I had once heard that it was having the wife, the house, the two-car garage, 2.5 kids, and a white picket fence.

That house now lies at the end of a street, in disrepair. Tan and brown leaves are scattered and clumped in a yard overgrown with weeds obscuring a FOR SALE sign that's been there since the world has moved on.

                     Someone painted April Fool in big black letters on a Dead End sign...

•-         Kenny Rogers and the First Edition

This blog. It's about me. It's about you. It's about being American and lack thereof. It's about revolting and staying loyal. It's about lethargy and too much affection. It's about avarice and poverty. It's about all these things some of the time and some of these things all of the time.

As relayed earlier, I was on a phone call with a friend. The words "culture on autopilot" blurted out, and that was the answer. It's where we are; it's what we've become.

Without much further ado, I implore you to continue to read this blog. Comment, reply back, or discuss, but do something.