A hand-held tape recorder. Yes, that would be helpful if only I didn't feel a bit like Captain Kirk speaking into a small device (Star Date...23.54393281...Mr. Spock and...I...) and it probably doesn't help that the sound of my own voice on a tape recorder makes me wish that I never speak aloud again. You see, as I casually neglect this blog regardless of empty promises telling the faceless internet audience that I will actually update regularly, I am constantly entertaining my inner monologue by coming up with what seems like deep-felt, meaningful blog entries about the issues. In reality, I'm generally stuck in rush hour traffic growing more and more pessimistic with every push of the break. So I resort to digging around while trying not to swerve too much to find a pen or anything to write with, mildly cursing that I swore a pen was laying around somewhere in the car, grabbing my ever-handy-write-everything-down-life-plans notebook, and jotting down that key phrase that is suppose to remind me of the masterpiece I am going to write later. So now, instead of published blog entries, I have a notebook filled with semi-incoherent notes about what I thought would be a great entry. I think a key phrase to add here is "at that time," because now as I look back and read over my list, nothing absolutely grabs my attention, and the apathy I feel becomes a more destructive tool than the pessimism that seems to be growing each day.
You know, I understand where road rage comes from. Not from a strong dislike for those commuters around you, but from a deep-seated whisper that there must be more to life than sitting in traffic and the thought that, by god, I will get out of this as soon as possible. There is nothing spectacular about commuting to work. Why do you think people linger as they drive past wrecks and stalled cars along the side of the road? Because it is a change in the norm. What I find fascinating though is that the endless monotony of traffic conjures up some dark, strong emotion. It is during this drive that I feel a cultural revolution just might be possible if people could just see the complacency that they have succumbed to. And just for this moment, I see hope in a change. For that moment, as I realize why it was that I refused to tell people in the UK that I was from America, I find that the shame that I feel could once again return to pride. We do have potential. We can break out of the Iron Cage of capitalism. We can be shaken awake to what we have become and see that there is more to life than money and material objects.
But as the tail lights in front of me light up to that vivid red to break my thoughts, I come back to reality and remember that I am just driving down the road day after day to a job where the source of motivation is the need for an income that becomes my ball and chain.
Each day as I drive to work, I think I will start writing a photo journalistic book titled "This is America to Me" and it will be filled with pictures of the back of cars stalled in traffic, billboards of God telling me that as his apprentice I won't ever be fired, ads of things you don't need but pandering to your capitalistic upbringing, strip malls blocking out anything in nature, overweight Americans waiting in line at some fast food joint with a screaming kid on each hip and the others running around, and the like. Yes, I think I will write this book and it will not be a happy book.
You know, I understand where road rage comes from. Not from a strong dislike for those commuters around you, but from a deep-seated whisper that there must be more to life than sitting in traffic and the thought that, by god, I will get out of this as soon as possible. There is nothing spectacular about commuting to work. Why do you think people linger as they drive past wrecks and stalled cars along the side of the road? Because it is a change in the norm. What I find fascinating though is that the endless monotony of traffic conjures up some dark, strong emotion. It is during this drive that I feel a cultural revolution just might be possible if people could just see the complacency that they have succumbed to. And just for this moment, I see hope in a change. For that moment, as I realize why it was that I refused to tell people in the UK that I was from America, I find that the shame that I feel could once again return to pride. We do have potential. We can break out of the Iron Cage of capitalism. We can be shaken awake to what we have become and see that there is more to life than money and material objects.
But as the tail lights in front of me light up to that vivid red to break my thoughts, I come back to reality and remember that I am just driving down the road day after day to a job where the source of motivation is the need for an income that becomes my ball and chain.
Each day as I drive to work, I think I will start writing a photo journalistic book titled "This is America to Me" and it will be filled with pictures of the back of cars stalled in traffic, billboards of God telling me that as his apprentice I won't ever be fired, ads of things you don't need but pandering to your capitalistic upbringing, strip malls blocking out anything in nature, overweight Americans waiting in line at some fast food joint with a screaming kid on each hip and the others running around, and the like. Yes, I think I will write this book and it will not be a happy book.
