The End is Near: Whining About the Good Ol' Days and Other Garbage

Been looking around. What do I see? Crabby people who don't know how good they've got it.

So what, the Cubbies are being sold? You think they'd be sold if they were making tons of money? No way. Why aren't they making tons? Because the present management can't get the job done. The White Sox take it all the way. What do Cubs fans do? Whine about a guy named Bartman who had a ball land in his lap.

Bears fans are no better. They gripe about QBs. It could be worse. We could've had Brett Favre. Instead, all they got on their lips are two words: Nineteen. Eightyfive. What's that? Right. 24 years ago.

It ain't just sports. Politics too. Whoa is me, whoa is the nation, whoa is the world. I call talk show lemmings. The Pied Piper of the Air Waves gets on, complains about the president. This year, they hate Obama. Last year, it was Bush. Their supporters can't hear any wrong, and their detractors can't hear anything good. Both blame the media, but it is the media where they get their information.

Then it is health care. Everyone knows Barack Obama is morally OK with abortion, so it is no surprise he wants the government to pay for it. Everyone knows Sarah Palin is prolife and anti-euthanasia and is a concerned mother of a Down Syndrome child. Big suprise their supporters do not trust each other.

Economics? Of course. People who bought big houses realize they banked too much in a building are losing their home. I get that sense of failure, but this wasn't anyone's fault but theirs. Are they hungry? No. Not so long as they are drinking coffee.

Fat people are grousing too. Here we go. Whose fault? Not theirs. MSG. Sugar. Restaurants. At least some people admit they need to lose weight and are trying to do something about it.

Michael Jackson is dead and you'd think music itself has died. This could be true since Miley Cyrus started dancing her "I'm a slut, a hooker, and ready for you" style. What we needs is Louis Armstrong singing What A Wonderful World.

My pal who rides the Metra is telling me he sees a thinner commuter route, and those riding are drinking more. Nothing wrong with a good nip now and again, but these are drink alone types. They go home to their houses and apartments, and have three glasses with dinner. So much for the audacity of hope (The Audacity of Hope: Thoughts on Reclaiming the American Dream (Vintage)).

You don't get the next best thing in life by sucking on your thumb in a corner and thinking about the good ol' days. Get out of the corner, get a life and buy some newspapers. My coffee won't pay for itself.

What A Wonderful World


The Audacity of Hope: Thoughts on Reclaiming the American Dream (Vintage)