Double Dip

I ordered a double dip ice cream cone.  Many of us ordered three or more.  We can't help ourselves.  Our presidents have been telling us to do it for 9 years, backed up by suits full of numbers.  It's the only way out, so far as they know.  Every one of us has become a minor league Bernie Madoff, except most of us use our own money, Ponzi schemers from the days we were born.

"What about the little children in Zimbabwe, the Congo, Burundi, the poorest countries in the world?" says Virginia.

She's right, I'm talking about the first world, we who got there first and are doing our best to ensure the others never get there, even while we're on a mission to convert them.  It's almost embarrassing to find out they can stay alive, although barely, without a McDonalds, Wal-Mart and Lowe's or Home Depot on a nearby corner.  We must sign them up for our addictions.

"Is that why the stock market bounces up and down?" asks Virginia. 

Maybe.  Nothing has changed.  We like to think something has, that Ford's One Ford Plan (One Team, One Plan, One Goal), GM's first profitable quarter, the banks' repayment of taxpayer injections and a $100,000 Tesla have turned things around.  For a few days we cheer.  Then we reconsider.  Uptick, downtick.

Buy fresh, buy local -- unless it costs too much.  Winter's coming.  Most of us aren't squirrels any more.  Like boycotting gasoline stations on Tuesday, it's a great idea, so long as we gas up on Monday or Wednesday.  Change our way of life?  No way.  We refuse to surrender.

We'd rather leave simple math to our children, or our children's children, when even more people sharing this planet will finally have brains enough to harness the sun.  It's never too late.

Never say never.  Give me that double dip.  Gulp.