shopping – Page 8 – Hopeful Romantics

At Wal-Mart You Can Shop Till You Drop

By now most of the known world has read in the New York Daily News or elsewhere about the tragedy at a Long Island Wal-Mart, where an employer died after being trampled by a couple of hundred people. Apparently, he made the mistake of trying to hold them back and paid the price with his life. Other people were also injured and there was a controversial report that a pregnant woman miscarried.

If this episode wasn’t so tragic we could find it funny. There have been numerous comedy scenes in television episodes and feature films, comic strips, even, where overzealous shoppers trample each other in search of the ultimate bargain. The old comic strip, “Dagwood,” comes to mind. The artist had regular strips depicting women fighting each other, playing tug-of-war for bargain goods.

But the fact is it is pretty tragic. It is also very telling. It is telling on different levels. On one hand we can view this as a reflection of the bad economy where the need to save money has driven people to wait outside the doors of a department store for it’s special opening at 5:AM. Some stores even had special midnight openings. For a country that goes to bed after the Jay Leno or David Letterman monologue, it says something about the need to find a bargain.

It also says quite a lot about consumerism. I have to wonder, what are people doing out there at five A.M.? How much can you really care about buying something that you would stand there like cattle waiting for the doors to open so you could fight you way under fluorescent lighting to get something for your wife and kids, girlfriend, whatever? What does this really say about us, and the fact we cannot cure that disease, that we are consumer addicts.

Seventy percent of this economy if built on consumerism. We buy stuff. We buy a lot of stuff we don’t even need. We buy stuff to impress our friends. We buy dumb stuff, and in good economic times we pay a lot of money for overpriced, status seeking stuff that has the requisite branding. We don’t save; we spend. We buy. We don’t buy things that last, most of the time, anyway, we buy instead things that are fashionable. Things that we buy are built to be obsolete. We even buy quality cars that were built to last and trade them in because we are bored with them.

We are so obsessed with buy, apparently,we don’t mind elbowing and even trampling a few people to buy more stuff. Okay, so it’s the holiday. It is a holiday in the worst economy in perhaps 100 years, and here we are buying. Hang out Santa Claus and a few pretty lights, and we kick into buying mode like so many Pavlovian Dogs.
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Of course others have a different take on the incident at Wal-Mart. Some are blaming the greedy retailers for having the temerity to open their doors in the wee hours of the morning. At least for me it is a wee hour of the morning. Some are more racist in tone and issue forth deplorable comments that the writers don’t even bother couching in more acceptable, or polite, racist content. Pretty amazing.

As for the consumerism itself, it would seem a bit obsessive to be buffeted around by crowds at pre-dawn hours, waiting for a store’s doors to open. I would think you have to be nuts, but then there were so many standing there, they couldn’t all be crazy. Just sick. Sick with what, I’m not sure. And if not sick, not real logical.

The fact when the stores are stuck with unsold merchandise, say three weeks from now, they will practically be giving it away. You can waltz in, make a better deal, and walk out without fear of getting trampled. Or if you are really smart you can wait until after the holiday when they may be paying you to take this stuff out of the store. You could buy on line and save gas and sanity, life and limb. Or you can be really, really smart and be more discriminating and not get so caught up in shopping it becomes a major distraction.

Whatever you do for the holidays, this is certainly not the way to do it. If you are that bored with your life, and your life is that stale that mobbing the front of a store, in cold weather yet, seems like a good idea, perhaps you should seriously consider ceasing to populate the earth any further. We really don’t need more people, and we certainly don’t need more shoppers.

You may see the light. Or the only lights that may penetrate the huddled masses are the twinkly lights of Holiday Season. I would say Christmas, but it really has little to do anymore with the birth of Christ, Winter Solstice or whatever else you celebrate. It is about you and how much you can shop. It is about shopping, and not really so much about the giving. You shop till you drop. Or kill someone.

No matter how you see this, there is one thing you definitely won’t see standing in the middle of a department store, either at 5 A.M. or any other time where getting frazzled and frustrated is considered part of the experience. Definitely one thing you won’t see. Me.

California Wildfires Are the Lesson We Never Learn

It is wildfire season in California. The first typically come in early to middle autumn when the land is dry as a bone and the Santa Ana Winds blow hot air to fan the flames. A spark here and the fire is started. A few burning embers caught up in the winds, and the fire spreads to catastrophic proportions. If not every year we are treated to this disaster, it is a good many years.

Later, when winter comes and the rains pour down, the burnt vegetation and barren landscape will never hold back the waters. We will have mud slides. More disaster. Sliding mud, believe me, is a horrible menace. Water running downhill can cause tremendous damage. Think of mud as dense, heavy water, and you begin to see its capability. I saw it one year roll through a house like a mucky wrecking ball. Good thing my neighbors weren’t home that day. Would have killed them, for sure.

So with the first we have the news crews. We have the stories. We have the macro stores, told from helicopters and from the fire lines, dealing with the overall intensity of the fires, where it is spreading, its percentage of containment, and the number of houses the first have destroyed. We get to see the burning hillsides, the houses bursting in flames like Maison Flambe. We see the fire fighters struggling bravely to contain and push back the surging conflagration. Every year.

And every year we also get the micro stories. The up close and personal stories. We see men adn women sharing tears, sifting through the ruins of their houses, the charred remains of their personal possessions. We see them looking for their pets, looking for what remains of family heirlooms and photos. We hear them trying to console themselves by showing gratitude for the fact that they are still alive and all the lost were the material possessions. We see these people go from a multi-million dollar house to a cot in a gymnasium shelter in twenty minutes time. Fires move quickly in the mountain and canyon areas.

It is hard not to feel sorry for them. You feel sympathetic, share at least a modicum of pain. You put yourself in their shoes. You wonder what it would be like. And while I feel the sympathy and empathy for people who have been victimized by natural disasters, I also wonder what they were thinking when they decided to build their homes there.
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I realize this is an age old question. People wonder it about those who build their house to closely to a river that is prone to flood. People wonder about trailer parks and domiciles built in the path of hurricanes and tornadoes. Sometimes you can’t help it. Sometimes the hurricane, fire, flood or tornado just takes a wrong turn and comes barreling down your boulevard.

But the fact remains many of these houses should never be built on hilltops, canyons and wooded areas where they are just inviting disaster to come for a visit. We have seen this movie enough times to realize as beautiful as it is in these places, we just can’t afford to be building there. It is stupid. It is even more stupid when the same people build and then rebuild, after a previous disaster.

I know, you live there, you love the view, it’s so romantic, the great whatever, but it seems like it is my tax dollars that are bailing you out. It is me who has to smell or the charring that is exacerbated by the housing developments. Days of foul smoke and smoky stench. Yes, it would be there anyway, but it would never be the disaster it is if the houses weren’t part of the equation. It would just be burning woods, canyons, the natural cycle where fires eliminate the surplus vegetation.

This is a lousy economy. It doesn’t have to be made worse by stupid planning and development. We do not have to build on every square inch of the natural landscape. We don’t have to transpose the natural landscape with an ugly housing development that is destined to be destroyed by wildfires. And in a time when neither federal government or state government has the money to maintain what mediocre civic services we already have, we really don’t need to be shelling out money via emergency funding so homeowners can indulge themselves in places they don’t belong.

I believe the first time there is a disaster, the government helps you out. The second time, if you persist on living where you shouldn’t be building, you had better have adequate insurance or be prepared to be on your own when the disaster strikes. Sure, the fire fighters will be noble and try to save you, your pets, and your house. But if they can’t, then it is up to you to pick up the tab. If you can’t pick up the tab, if insurance rates are so dear that you can’t afford homeowners’ insurance, then be prepared to suffer mightily. Be prepared to suffer financially. Be prepared to move elsewhere. Instead of where you don’t belong.

Beware! Female Sex Addicts Are Lurking Among Us

There is a vintage Steven Sills song. It is called “Love the One You’re With.” That seemed like wise words in earlier days when not only the more responsible among us but even the young had less concerns. Today there are many things to fear, from food additives to terrorists. You can catch every kind of disease, including some we never heard of. So it’s hard sometimes just to have sex with someone you like, yet alone love the one you’re with.

Nevertheless, sex addiction is on the rise. Or so they say, whoever “they” are. I always suspect the “they’s” in this case are the ones promoting a new fear and making money from it by exploiting the susceptible. Hey, if you can sell drugs for “Restless Leg Syndrome,” you can hold therapy sessions to cure people from wanting too much sex. I know people who it seems the notion of sex never seems to cross their minds anymore. Either they have given up or gotten realistic. Or don’t know the difference. It’s hard to say. But I digress.

Back to the rising tide of sex addiction. Turns out women are sex addicts as well as men. There’s a revelation for you. Not quite the Rapture, but nevertheless I’ll give you time to absorb it. Women chasing around in search of wanton, mindless sex. Whew! How could they?

What’s more, the number of female sex addicts is rising. Whether the figures are on the increase or more women want this sort of attention is hard to say. Perhaps by surrendering yourself to therapy as the great wanton hussy, you can achieve recognition for being sexual. Or you can meet some cute guys with the same ideas. I don’t know But, yes, according to a recent article in the London Times women can be prone to sex addiction right along with men.

According to the article, thirty percent of the people being treated for sex addiction are female. Not exactly a fifty-fifty proposition but notable just the same. One woman talks about her longest romantic relationship lasting all of three months. Other women talk about the need for intimacy, to be accepted, to be perceived as attractive. Some talk about the romance and fantasy, the thrill of the hunt. You know, what we typically call men stuff.

A noted writer, Susan Cheever, just wrote a book about her own sex addiction. The book is called, Desire: Where Sex Meets Addiction, for those who are interested. Cheever’s father was iconic author John Cheever who it appears struggled with his own sexual behavior. So then the question arises–is sexual addiction much like drug addiction or alcoholism? Is it something that is passed down from one generation to another?

One must wonder if addictive personality is passed through the genes. Sometimes it will manifest itself in the similar practices of one’s parents. Sometimes the children will find a new channel and take their addictive personality down a new road of dependency. Or they pair them up–alcoholism, drug and sex addiction– the Dependency Combo. A Deli Special sandwich. Hold the pickle. This is all conjecture, but it seems to bear out in most cases.

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A woman has needs. A man had needs. A man can fulfill these needs, as Lenny Bruce once wrote, by screwing wet sand. Anything that has intercourse with wet sand is not someone easily reasoned with. They have an urge and they respond. Esteem issues may enter into it. But then again, that would give men more credit for their sexual consciousness than may ever be necessary. Or realistic.

Women on the other hand think about it differently. Most women. But then there are women who are just horny as hell and just want hot sex, a shower and the time to move on down the line. It is safe to say that they have dated. They didn’t like what they found. They were looking for romance and found eels in suits and jeans instead. Or they found love and were bitterly disappointed.

Whatever their story, now they want to get their rocks off. Perhaps it is vindication. It may be affirmation of their good looks. It may be a snatch at the gold ring of fantasy. You read enough romance novels and you got to at least once try to put it into practice. In any event, for one reason or another, there are women in this world who have decided they would rather have sex with anyone than sit and home eating ice cream and watching romantic movies that remind them of what they are missing in life.

There are women out there who just don’t care. They don’t want intimacy. They want sex. They want to get off not buy into someone else’s fantasy. These are the type of women we love to disparage. Some of us wish to disparage. Others wonder where are they and what are they doing on this Saturday night? Do you have their number?

I guess the main thing about addiction is not whether it is in control. Addiction by its name means you are out of control. The main thing about addiction is whether or not you are doing harm to others. Are you busting any bubbles, wrecking families, whatever? Then you may want to take a look at what you are doing.

Some will protest and claim the addicts are doing harm to themselves. Yes they are. They sure are. Let’s face it addictive behavior hardly promotes a positive life force. It is fair to say the spirit is wanting. But then there are other things that may be worse. Life in a vacuum comes to mind. Life searching for the perfect mate to find anything but that. Life wondering who you are and what you want.

So if you see a woman who is a confessed sex addict, she may be confessing not out of some twelve step surrender, but out of self-awareness. Don’t try to intervene. Don’t try to help her. Just ask for her number. It would probably do the both of you some good.

Selling Your Home Without a Broker

I live in Brentwood. Brentwood is known for many things. Its show business residents first come to mind. But it is probably most famous for the murder scene of O.J. Simpson’s wife, Nicole, and the O.J. Simpson house, which has since been razed.

What Brentwood is not known for is its poverty. Mind you, among the glitzy multi-million dollar homes there are people who reside more modestly in condos or apartments. A lot of single women live in he neighborhood. It is safe and shopping and the coffee shops are within easy access. But poverty? There is none to be found.

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There are two times that people eschew realtors and try to sell the house themselves. The first time is when there is a housing shortage, as there was a few years ago, and people were at your door begging and bidding for the opportunity to move in. Houses then went for ten, maybe fifteen percent more than listed price. To sell your house was like shooting fish in the barrel. So why give the realtor his or her six percent, when you can put that in your pocket?

Even the realtors knew this, since many cut their commissions in half. Selling a house was easy. Just list it. The banks were forthcoming with mortgages for just about anyone. Appraisals seemed arbitrary, if not a flight of fantasy. So just put up the sign and close the deal when the throngs come banging on your door.

But there is a second window when people try to sell their houses. This is now. This is when the marekt has fallen so steeply that the sellers will be taking such a hit they simply can’t afford to give up the realtor commission. And since the realtors know that no house is an easy sell, they will hold for the most part to their six percent. So when your house drops thirty percent from purchase price, giving up another six percent is unthinkable for many people. Especially those people who bought at the high and are now in the hole.

Come Sunday I will be driving toward the beach down San Vicente Boulevard and with this economic downturn and a further drop in the real estate market, I expect to see even more houses listed with “For Sale By Owner.” This indeed is a new sign. A sign of the times.

Sarah Palin–What Becomes of Her Now?

Last night like just about everyone else, I sat in fron of the television, staring at election returns. I watched John McCain give his concession speech, which I found to be sincere and dignified. I watched Sarah Palin as well. She and her husband stood behind and to the side of McCain, looking a bit like deer in the headlights. Or when she first met Tina Fey.

Palin looked like a person unsure of how to deal with defeat. She looked like she wanted to say something but was obviously prevented from doing so. The concession issue goes to the top of the ticket, as well it should, and not to the runner up. Sarah looked wooden and tried not to fidget. It was tough for her.

So now what becomes of Sarah Palin. Although she was not my favorite candidate, she ran a feisty election campaign, maybe based more on fiction than fact. But that’s what election campaigns are for. Palin certainly gave new cachet to the red, waist length jacket, and from now on women who wear it will remind observers of the Governor of Alaska. The red jacket will be regarded as sexy.

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So what becomes of her now? Back to Alaska? Maybe, but it is hard to return now that she has seen the bright lights of the city and the Capitol Dome in Washington, D.C., a place she claims to abhor. Yeah, sure. But with Ted Sevens convicted of counts of bribery and what have you, he may well be barred from taking his Senate Seat. That would leave it up to the Alaska Governor to appoint an acting Senator. She could well appoint herself. That would give her access to all those Washington insiders who she may claim to dislike but who can also elevate her career. Not a bad move at all.

And then, she could become a commentator on Fox News. It may not be politics, exactly, but it would sure mean a handsome contract and a lot of money. At that point, with fame, fortune and a better wardrobe, would she finally give up Todd, the husband, first dude, who, let’s face it, won’t be doing her new career that much good? Will she? Won’t she?

Stay tuned. The girl has been bitten by the TV bug and it’s doubtful if she’s about to go away.