The Blissfully Belled Cat

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Horrifying story at the poker table last night: “I went into the insurance office to pay my bill yesterday. They don’t accept cash. They said it was for their employee’s safety. Really? Because who robs a Geiko storefront. I held up a twenty and pointed out that it announced that it was ‘legal tender for all debts, public and private’. Blank stare. Sir, we can’t accept cash.”

A little about me; I was that guy that specifically paid cash for everything for years. If I couldn’t afford it, I didn’t need it. I threw my drivers license into the microwave straight away once they started with that magnetic strip nonsense because, fuck you – work for it. I had several routes I drove home and used them randomly. You either understand the logic in that or this whole paragraph flew right past you. I *just* started surrendering to the idea that I needed to pay attention to this credit score bullshit because I’ll need it if I want to execute my master plan of a northwest 4D compound/retirement community. I know, I know. It’s grandiose. But it’s what’s in my head. My point is that I’ve spent much of my younger life taking pains to not be easily, conveniently tracked. I’m just an old peckerwood like that.
The horror of “not accepting cash as a matter of policy” struck me with the same gut punch as the first time a movie theater dared to show me a fucking Coke ad before the trailers. I knew it was the beginning of the end of TV-free theaters. They were being gentle with the first thrust into my movie going ass before it was going to be an expected part of our date.
I feel the same way about cashless society. Except this is much, much worse. This is the final, convenience providing removal of any illusion of privacy I’ve been coddling over the last few years. Without the ability to pay cash as I move about my life, that microchip my crazy Obama Death Camp friends are always railing about is utterly unnecessary.
I’ve often semi-joked that Facebook was Big Brother with an emoji smile, encouraging all of us to gleefully vomit out our whereabouts and personal information for “likes” without a second thought. Metaphorically, the greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing us He wasn’t there. My debit/credit card is simply the next inevitable, easy to use step in my cheerfully surrendered freedoms.
It’s August! The 2016 Tinfoil Hats should be in the showroom any day now!

Pissed Off & Mad About It

I learned the words ‘HATRIOT’ and ‘FRIGHT WING POLITICS’ this morning. Normally I quit listening or reading the second someone uses a kitschy slur to describe someone but I have to confess a certain detestiness for an increasingly large segment of my demographic (middle aged white guy) that is simply pissed off at the world, blames everyone on the planet for his messed up life, hates (see: fears) anything that isnt just. Like. Him. and rails endlessly about ‘the other’. 
Here’s the thing; for all your tourettes laden ranting about Liberty and Freedom, socialist, Kenyan, fascist, gun taking, internationalist, lame stream media conspiracy theorism, you’ve forgotten one little thing. 
 
Your life is your fault.
 
You are the one single common denominator in every failed aspect of your unhappy little life. It would take a Herculean effort on the part of everyone who’s ever touched your life and not acted right to have pooled together the resources to actually conspire against you every single day of every single chapter in every single era of your life. 

You just aren’t that important. Neither am I. And that’s okay. 

I suggest a sea change. Perception is reality. Turn off FOX (or MSNBC) and go outside. I know you adore your dog. Just for today, try treating someone who doesnt look like you as kindly as you do Fido. Trust me, they wont be expecting it and the look of shock on their face may just be worth it. But it’ll make you feel better. Right away. There’s real power in that. And that, too is your fault.