Belly of the Beast

Last night I stopped at the Wal-Mart in Lebanon, Ohio. As an American I am a whore for convenience, I needed one item, and it was on the way. Attentive readers will recognize two familiar topics, the Bush-voting exurbs, and the big-box retail bully.

"Hey," I told myself, "This is a chance to make wry observations that I can later post on my nerdy weblog."

So I girded my disdain. "Look at that stupid white fascist," I snarked, while observing a grandmotherly type heap clothing into her cart. "And there's a Jesus-happy security Mom, unable to vote her own economic self interest." A frazzle-headed woman was trying to corral her two kids in the canned goods aisle.

I was losing steam, but still I pressed on. "These people are just consumer automatons, engaged in the rituals of what Marxist critic Fredric Jameson called 'late capitalism'!" I scoffed. "Not only that, the racial hegemony of these comm -- "

I saw a black guy with his son picking out Christmas lights. The wind had came out of my sails. I guess I tire easily when it comes to cynical condescension. So I'll console myself with an old Christian saying, secularized for your protection, and applicable to both commerce and politics: Hate the shop, not the shopper.