The Mighty, Mighty Beeftones...

How often do we actually think about cows anymore? Don't get me wrong I love Gary Larson, and The Far Side, and I once thought the chicken joint commercials with the self preservationist cows were clever, but we really give cows the short shrift, don't we? Those cows are Holsteins, by the way, under no threat from us rather than sore nipples, poor living conditions, antibiotics& hormones.... Ok, we're not going to eat them, anyway I mean, looking back, among the first artifacts from man were the cave paintings of...what? Cattle! Of course, we don't really know what they were thinking about when they did them, but the best guess of art historians, and probably psychologists was that it was a ritualistic thing. Deep in the ground, it was perhaps the shamans who went and created these images; those feared and respected and just frankly damned odd spiritualists of the time. They didn't create them for viewing pleasure of the masses (such as they were). It was literally a deep and hidden magic- an effigy, an attempt at control or prayer, if you will, that ennobled both the powerful and majestic beasts as well as the dauntless primitive hunters who went after the massive beeves with nothing more than wits, desperation, and a sharp stick. Surely nowhere in human history was there an expedition of more heroic mettle or greater consequence. The odds were astronomical, and the consequence of failure may well have meant starvation. The cave paintings recognized and hallowed the quest, and invoked the assistance of whatever god(s) there might have been, for it was sorely needed. Somewhere in all that history things changed, obviously. The herds were tamed, though doubtless not all at once, and the effort in that must have been Herculean as well. But eventually there was the cowboy asserting himself over the herd; and there too, was heroism perhaps, though the odds were not what they had once been. There was dominance, there was husbandry, and there was the corral... The mighty beeves were no longer such a formidable adversary, and the holiness of the hunt was simply no longer. No, it didn't happen overnight, or even quickly enough to be noticed, probably, but on some bone deep level, I suspect we as a species, miss it. Mostly the docile cows of today are listlessly funneled down gated chutes 'til they arrive at a juncture where a bolt is mechanically impaled through their skulls. Their bones are thinned with domestication, and then later we buy pieces of them wrapped in plastic upon little sheets of Styrofoam... Yee-ha. And yet, a lot of us still wear the clothes; not the old traditional clothes of some animal skin and a sharp stick, but the hats, the jeans, the boots. At least some of us do. Sometimes we'll breed up a Bull until it is massively muscular and violent, then we'll place some deranged man on the back of it after the animal is sufficiently antagonized, and see how long this man can hang onto its back with one hand. It’s kind of sick when you think about it. We take a thoroughly domesticated animal and jazz it up with amphetamines or steroids or whatever, and turn it into a maniacal hell-beast to again demonstrate our dominance over a completely broken animal. It might be more impressive if the guy had to actually chase it down and jump on its back rather than be lowered onto the animal while it’s confined in a steel stall, where it can't even turn halfway around. I’m not one to question the mettle of a person who does this; I sure as hell wouldn’t do it even if I wasn’t philosophically opposed to the practice. Maybe this does recall some ancestral urge on our part to conquer these mighty animals, but it sure doesn't ennoble the bull anymore. The Spaniards are so much more democratic about it. At least when they let the bulls out the animals have the opportunity to trample as many people as they can. Then I think about the poor damned bull in the stall. Here it is, a completely drug crazed, outrageously bulked up slobbering minion of hell, but somewhere in there, he's gotta know that he is his species one best hope. "But, Christ!" he thinks "I'm all pinned up, and this guys strapped to my back, and who the hell are these guys poking at me and carrying these orange tires around? What's a bull to do?" I do hate anthropomorphizing, but you get the point. Maybe all those drugs gave the bull ADHD and it couldn't focus long enough on one guy to kill him. God knows they affected me that way...

All dressed up- ennui to go...

All dressed up, ennui to go....

Ennui

This was a French word. Still is, I'm sure. To them it means boredom, plain and simple. I dated a PhD student in French Lit once... she was way out of my league, I suppose. She was an opera singer, too. It’s just as well; I can only take so much of that caterwauling. Anyway, she bristled at the misuse of French words by Americans. Maybe it was more of an affected world weariness she wore.

Still, she probably had something of a point; I mean Americans can take anything and fuck it up. All the same, I think we may have done right by this word. The American Heritage (2001 edition) definition is poetic and elegant: "Listlessness and dissatisfaction arising from lack of interest". Actually, according to this, the word came from OLD French 'ennuier', meaning ANNOY.
So, what the hell did she know, anyway?
To one such as myself, the link between all these words and their derivatives to the concept of depression is overly obvious. I hate the word depression. It’s not the word's fault, it’s all the controversy that’s hung up on it. I think the world (at least Americans, see my above reference to what we do with things) sees this as synonymous with weakness. "Blow me," is all I can manage to reiterate with at this point.
I was, however, gratified by Sonny Perdue of all people, a year or so ago. He advised Georgians to take pride in their unwashed cars and shriveled lawns, and wear them like "badges of honor". On the one hand, it’s kind of nice to be reassured that if one waits long enough, it will be fashionable to do what one was already doing anyway. I missed out on this in the mid 90's when it was briefly cool to be a dork. I was too caught up in trying to be "cool" at the time. Every once in a while, its shown to be true that if you just "be yourself", things will fall into place. Well, I missed out on it then, but now things are different.

This, of course, takes me to the “other” hand I forgot about in the last paragraph. Why should I be assured at the words of Sonny Perdue? Doesn't he also think that it’s fashionable to sell everything off to the highest bidding corporational conglomerate? And to do away with all things beautiful in times of crisis? Maybe he's right, though, in an accidental kind of way. If all anti-depressants were suddenly replaced with placebos, I would place money on our water usage going down. Bathe...maybe tomorrow.... wash the car?......yeah, right......water the lawn?......what an absurd idea..... Do the laundry?.....why? This doesn't stink, yet does it?....oh, back off then, for Christs sake .

The time is NOW for depression! See, this is the kind of thing that Nostradamus or Edgar Casey saw as part of the problem. If nature was left to run its course, firstly we wouldn't have this overpopulation problem- secondly, the planets second line of defense (namely our own listlessness, resulting from guilt about the planetary havoc we wreak) would remain intact enough to weed us out some. If this were permitted at least some license, the ennui would keep us from the self esteem that requires us to bathe and keep up appearances.I can almost get excited about the prospect.

This might not have us dropping off like flies but at least we'd save some of the natural resources we so blithely squander now. Is all this the fault of Merck, or Eli Lilly? Probably it goes deeper.
We're just too goddamned crafty for our own good. Sure, some of our lives are improved- (mine certainly has been, though it’s kind of hard to recognize it right now- perhaps a change of meds?), but look at the long term. How will our descendants ever get to evolve to the point where their hands are simply a large undefined paddle, with a thumb and residual forefinger (for keyboard manipulation only) and then be plugged into the great "Matrix" turkey farm in the sky, to be eaten like brine shrimp by the stupendous electro-gargantuan-cybernetic-baleen suckers of the sky? Can we honorably sacrifice our future as a species just so we can gaudily waste our water and energy supplies to nurture a completely non-sustainable lawn-culture and consumptive way of life? The selfishness!
Fortunately for myself, I can be treated with massive quantities of psychotropic mood enhancers to keep me from becoming actually suicidal, and still lack the self-esteem to drive a massive spit-shined SUV or pick-up truck that never carries anything but the driver and the occasional load of groceries; or take the long hot showers beating on top of my head to hopefully, maybe, somewhat relieve my sinus congestion that I can't take anything for, because I'm so loaded up on meds that I can't even get drunk without being concerned about upsetting the tenuous and precariously balanced pharmaceutically induced equilibrium in my head that I occasionally would dearly love some respite from.
No, that would not be me, fellow Americans, because I - am a civic minded neighbor among neighbors. A simple man, mind you, concerned with a welfare beyond his own- that of his fellow earthly creatures.

Oop! Gotta go, my Veal and baby Pork brain béarnaise omelet with fawn-eye candied jelly turkey gibletgravyovereasyoysterpancakesurprise--with SOY- cheese, is burning.