I have to admit it; I’m kind of over the recession. Don’t get me wrong, I was as into it as anyone when it started. The fear and anxiety, the worry, the panic, the downward spiral. The whole end of the empire feel the entire thing had. Yes, finally, we were living in historical times! It was exciting.
Plus, there were all the recession specials, recession deals, and recession discounts. I grew a thick recession beard, adopted a chic new recession style, and considered getting a recession vasectomy. I sunk toothily into my recession depression, read everything I could find to satiate my recession obsession, and didn’t even mind my case of recession indigestion. I was fully invested in the recession era.
It was fun, in a wistful sort of way. The hunkering down, the hole in my sweater, the shoe-rubber soup. I felt like a black and white Newsie just trying to earn a nickel for firewood that I’d burn in a trashcan out front of my family’s aluminum-roofed hut in Hooverville. I couldn’t wait to wait in a breadline. It all had a certain nostalgia to it.
It hearkened back to another, more pure era. Of families gathered around radios. Of communities rallying around one another and doing whatever they could to help out a neighbor. Of a spirit of we’re all in this together and we’ll do whatever we can to make it work. Of a shared struggle. The recession had a certain beauty of a renewed American conscience to it.
But now, I’m ready to be rich again. Really, really disgustingly rich. Just filthily embarrassing rudely ridiculously absurdly asininely spit in your face rich. Just monstrously exorbitantly gaudily fart in your covers rich. Just extravagantly violently uncomfortably shave your dog and teach him to walk backwards rich. Why can’t we go back to the way things used to be?
I want to spend superfluously. I want to gamble grievously. I want to buy things I have absolutely no use for and never use them. I want to shop til I drop then get back up and shop some more. I want luxury and comfort. I want lots of stuff. I want my baby back ribs smothered in barbecue sauce, with extra barbecue sauce on the side, and I want them brought to me while I lean back in my booth, pull out my Blackberry, and bid on vintage barbecue sauces on eBay.
Joni was right. You really don’t know what you got til it’s gone. And I want to return to the paved parking lot paradise of my local mini-mall and go on a spree. I want to return to the old America. The America of August 2008.
And, don’t get me wrong. The recession has had its positives. It was good to get some time apart from our money. A break from our bankroll. A gut check for our, well, ever-expanding guts. Distance had made my heart grow fonder. Of affluence. I’ve definitely learned a new appreciation for our American wealth and luxury. And now I’m ready for it to return.
I miss our consumerism. I miss our conspicuousness. I miss our being the rage of all the world. Can’t we just retreat back to making the big bucks? No, literally, can’t we just make a bunch more big bucks and then hand them out to everyone. Like a trillion dollar bill or something. It can be our bonus.
I’m just so bored of the recession. The excitably dire news coverage. The job losses, the cut-backs, the foreclosures. It’s all such a drag. There’s nothing new and impressive about this recession anymore. It’s enough already. We’re a fast-changing, fifteen minute culture and this recession has had more than its allotted time. It was fun when it was a crisis but now it’s just reality, and that’s not so entertaining. I’m ready for something new.
Even if it is the end.
