How conditioned, and sold, we are by food, beverage and Political TV ads.
Every time I vote, I remember the last time my parents were mentally capable of it: crowded polling places, working voting machines, faces of voters stuck as the fruits of the last political ad they saw, and those motivated to vote against, not for, ballot issues or candidates — all present and accounted for.
So What’s Next?
- Midterm Red Wave turns pink, then purple, then 2016 blue
- Two-thirds of Americans choose to not vote
- MIAs under forty inheriting the earth, choose, by proxy to allow; environment raped by Mitch McConnell coal, Boehner style Immigration, corporatism’s denial of Climate Change science despite Supreme Super Storms; TAKATA airbag murder; Religious Right resurrecting same sex marriage bans
When we brand each other: I am Human too — we’ll recognize the truth about media hyped Red vs. Blue Wall Street excrement, and spread it like manure to grow mutual respect – and with the kindness of strangers, save ourselves from TV ads selling food that kills and mind-numbing political shell games stealing collective discernment and individual dignity.
In the race against Alzheimer’s, I’d drive my parents to breakfast on weekends, stimulating their memories by playing CDs of old Radio comedians. No talk radio Tweedle Dee Tweedle Dum brainwashed midterm voters, but a journey laughingly transported by, Car Talk.
Long before Alzheimer’s silenced the incredible humor of Tom Magliozzi, he and younger Ray, returned my parents to me, though temporarily, from this disease, through time travelling laughter. For twelve years after diagnosis, Dad’s knee slapping belly laughs and Mom laughing so hard she cried, were detailing by Click and Clack, the Tappet Brothers.
After our last breakfast out, Mom’s touch prevented my turning off the ignition, struggling with, funny men on that… thing you… in house. The word long gone, but it was clear she wanted the funny car men on their television.
So thank you Magliozzi brothers for all the laughs that connected family meals, life, death and sometimes even politics, with dignity; all too often too close to call, without walking in the shoes of the unknown unseen, who serve without a voice.
Initially, life and dignity are planted together, but separated somewhere on the journey between harvester and supermarket corporate headquarters, to our kitchen, home, or fast food dining room tummies.
The presumptive American Way, is being provided A Happy Meal whenever, but a penny for your thoughts, for those who deliver our food – beyond pizza, Chinese or even growers and their distributors?
It’s not the multi-million dollar supermarket corporations, like Publix, Kroger and Safeway consumed by profiteering off cheap labor. It’s migrant farmworkers in the field who, deliver us this day our daily bread.
There are two hundred million migrants working outside of the country in which they were born, in order to feed their children and ours – for which they are at best, rented guest workers, or arguably, the new slaves, not owned, but leased for a penny per pound of handpicked product.
Almost no one chooses the indignity of inequitable gender wages, Alzheimer’s or Brain Cancer, like Republican women choose to be anti-ERA ratification or the under forty voter choosing not to choose.
My Mother & Father, Ted Kennedy and Tom Magliozzi chose the last laughs; Brittany Maynard, the last roll call and Lauren Hill the first college hoops.
Would you choose to pick food for strangers for a piece rate per bucket? Migrant workers in America, the real deliverers feeding the best fed nation in the world, are paid about fifty-cents per 37 pound bucket.