As my long time blog readers know, I live in Stepford. I am surrounded by Stepford wives and their idiot husbands. Not only that, I am surround by fundamentalist Christians, and the ONLY thing I agree with Rosie O'Donnell about is that I don't see a difference between them and any other religious fundamentalist.
A pal on Facebook posted that she was attending a discussion group near her home for Atlas Shrugged. I immediately turned green with envy and posted my woeful whine about how I could never get one of those started here in Stepford. Think about it, I live in a college cow town where the only thing the women around here ever talk about bookwise is the latest Nora Roberts or the Oprah book of the month. Really stretching those boundaries there, sweetcakes.
I couldn't get a group started in college in the 80s.
Why? Because I live in the Deep South. I live in a state where Barbie and Cheerleaders are worshipped uber alles by all double Xers. Hell, I WAS a Texas Cheerleader. I did it on a bet. I never managed to collect on it either.
People here will go to a Tea Party rally to BBQ and chuckle with their neighbors and put their two cents in about how really ticked off they are about paying more taxes so lazy, non-christian, ne'er do wells can sit on their fat duffs collecting filthy lucre and bringing down the value of our schools... and oh, did you see Dr. Phil the other day?
Nobody gets really ticked off here in white bread land. Why should they? It all goes their way, really. A few are seriously chafed about their investment portfolios, but to actually speak up about it? Well, that's not what gently bred people do. They vote, but only for who and what they are told by their ministers in the pulpit to pull the lever for.
Yes, it is by deepest belief that the morons around here could not put the correct socks on unless someone was telling them which ones to put on which foot. Think about that for a while. Then remember you believe in individual thought and excellence, and you will understand why I am possibly the biggest powder keg ever. And why I've been refused entrance to more than one school district meeting.
But I will tell you what keeps me going, besides the hypocrisy that I'm constantly pointing out to them. One woman came beating on my door for turning her son into the local cops a few years ago. She made an utter spectacle in my front yard for outing her and her kid out as the neighborhood drug connection. One of the most trusted PTA members has a tanning and alcohol addiction that has turned her into an interesting leather meat-sack. Most of the car pool moms have serious drinking problems. Most of the married men out here in Stepford regularly stop out on their wives on Saturday night, then sit proudly with them at the tent meetings on Sunday mornings. Most of them are in debt up to their dyed roots (both sexes, darling, this is the new millennium) and are so far underwater on their mortgages that they will never climb out. And yet, the wifey wont go out and earn a dime because that would mean cutting back on soap opera and drinking hours.
They will have the children reading that Dickens crap and depressing American Literature from Steinbeck and Hemingway... freakin depressive hacks. But God forbid they read something as illuminating as Atlas Shrugged. I was given this explanation by one dye and boob job, "But it was written by an atheist!"
Dear God in heaven! God forbid we read anything that might make us question our little comfort zone, eh?
So no, we won't ever have a discussion about individual thought and action or personal responsibility and human achievement being the greatest measure of any person. We'll keep judging them by the car they drive on their way to pick up the latest Oprah shill at Books-A-Million.
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