A Nation of Mediocrity

I don't talk much about work in this blog. But something struck me today. We work so hard to get renewable energy into California. This is energy that comes from the sun, wind, geothermal, water and cow poop and other organic waste sources. Of course you need to get that energy TO people, via transmission lines. Because everyone so desperately needs several plasma TVs, and AC, and computers, and chargers -- but they don't quite understand how electrons get to these devices.

So people all have their panties in a twist about transmission lines for renewable energy running their neighborhoods -- but why aren't they up in arms about the Wal-Marts, the Cheesecake Factories, the Abercrombie & Fitches that mushroom overnight? I understand nature abhors a vacuum, and apparently, so do consumers.

These places make us, as a nation, as a people, mediocre. They are the path of least resistance. They are the beige in the spectrum of fabulousness and character. Don't get me wrong. I've dashed into a Starbucks on numerous occasions, and certainly have shopped 'til I dropped at TJ Maxx. Perhaps I'm being pedantic here. But can't we just put them in some urban center, or promote unique, human-based business, instead of treating the corporation as our parents, depending on them for our sustenence?

Used to be that when you were in an airport, you could tell from the great miasma of people who was from Texas, who the New York punks were, the ladies from Florida, the surfers, the hardcore bankers.

Now it just looks like everyone went to the Gap.

We have this awful place down the street called the Americana at Brand which is kind of like Disney and Vegas with a shopping theme. There's a patch of grass and a fountain with spurts that dance to nonstop oldies music. The good thing is that it brings life to dusty old corny Glendale, with hipper-than-anyone Japanese teenagers; huge families pushing strollers, toting kids and one about to pop out any day; starry-eyed first daters who need somewhere to amble after dinner at the Cheesecake Factory.

My sadness is this: that there isn't the same kind of life or enthusiasm centered around a library, a sculpture garden, a gallery, a museum in this region. That the shrines we build and value as a nation are to consumerism.

Presidential hopefuls, are you out there? Can you help? Can you bring a little soul back into our spirit as a nation?

Tonight I wish I had a big declaration to make. I wish I could say I've given it all up to move to Montana and open a junk store. A small town, perhaps, where recycling is encouraged, and they need just my brand of savoir faire for a cafe-slash-artspace that I will open. Also, you could buy the stuff in the cafe if you wanted, like the cup or the table.

But I don't have that tonight. I am not getting married. I am not pregnant. I am not going to get my masters' degree, and I am not even going to freak on the Haagen Dazs in the freezer. I'm living my little life, in little glendale. Which has become Big Glendale over the weekend, with the introduction of the Americana at Brand, a high-end shopping mecca that has made our depressing, dusty main drag a kind of Vegasdisney. Suddenly there are shrubs and grass and a pond and a Kiehl's. And an 18plex theater.

My first thought upon sighting this was, "Wow, maybe if people buy more crap it will make our Salvation Army better."

Here's to trickling down.