So, we’re sitting outside a Pinkberry in good old Westlake (or T.O., I don’t know the difference, and don’t worry–I didn’t trend out and froyo it up) on Saturday night, waiting for part of our group to get their frosty treats, (and, if I’m not mistaken, didn’t the frozen yogurt boom happen in the 90s? I mean, I’m all for nostalgia, especially 90s nostalg, but frozen yogurt is the thing that’s coming back? weird.) and surrounding us are a flock of giggling coozes.
For some reason, it took said flock to understand why my husband hates The Hills. While LC, Lo, Whit, and even Heidi and Spencer are merely ridiculous characters in a show that I’m strangely obsessed with, for Vegs, they’re real people. They are the kind of people he grew up around, that he went to high school with, and they are horrible, awful people.
I’m not saying I wouldn’t like to get my hands on some skrilla, or that having/wanting nice things is necessarily bad, but the overwhelming obsession with money that seems to plague our society is just making me ill, especially when rampant consumerism is combined with identity (body and otherwise) and out and out stupidity. Unfortunately, the problem doesn’t end there; said problem twists upon itself and overwhelms our political process, letting veneered smiles and celebrity endorsements help form our decisions, keeping us from realizing that the process itself is nothing more than a facade of democracy, and that minds were made up long ago when pockets were lined by the companies that are creating the inane consumers that go for all the bells and whistles while underneath the entire system has been rubble for a long, long time.
True that Errin. Always so eloquently said.