Saturday, February 07, 2009

Stocking the Common Scold*.

Puerile culture. What better way to describe our Modernity gone stupid and infuriating?

How about malignantly puerile? Does it sum up a culture of spoiled children on a rampage of hostility to all and sundry for the sake of imposing ones vanities and stupid egotism on the world of fellow adults from the simple urge to bellow self-importantly? A culture of scolds. A culture of moronic complainers. A culture of idiot critics who have no ideas but complaint and complaint and complaint, and the unrestrained execize of scolding for the sake of vanity. Stupid people complaining constantly about anything that comes to mind, because they can, and because it feels good. Because it feels good, it must be good. So good in fact it must be based in law. Have a petty and stupid complaint? Then you'll find someone who will make that complaint a base for a law to regulate someone's or everyone's behaviour, and their speech, their very thoughts. Bitch, bitch, bitch.

Bitch? Isn't that against the law to write? Could be so. So sue me.

Everyone seems to want to bitch and nag and scold. We have a culture of childish scolds who cannot stop complaining because there is always something new to complain about. How could they stop? There is this or that to bitch about, and someone who needs nagging about. And the nagging feels good. The more one does it, the more powerful and righteous one feels. Why stop? Why not get in on it with everyone else? Bitch, bitch, bitch.

The scold is always in the right, for otherwise, why would the scold be scolding? You never can win. You will always be wrong. The scold will forever find new faults. And because it feels so good, there will be no self-willed end.

Those who know me know that I am an easy-going-laid-back-west-
coast-kind-guy. It's just who I am, dude. But I have my limits. My limit is the scold. My impulse, which I stoically restrain, is to shout obscenities and perhaps punch a nose or so.

But I'm cool, man. till I ain't cause I'm so sick of this crap that I could puke; till I'm so sick of the bitching and the complaining and the endless scolding that I want to tie these nagging fools to chairs and half-drown them in the nearest pond. But, hey, I chill. Like ice.
A. Millar, "The UK: Smothered into Submission," Brussels Journal. 3 Feb 2009.

If the communist and fascist revolutions embodied the abusive, psychotic father, New Labour's revolution is that of the overprotective, single mother, robbing her children of independence of thought, and monitoring their every action. The real world, after all, is a nasty, dangerous place, and everyone must be protected from it for as long as possible – preferably forever.

Big Mother – as we might call her – is terrified that any of her children should so much as graze their knee, and forbids "bad words." "Islamist terrorist"? No, that's just another "thug" committing more "anti-Islamic activity."

Did that three year-old say "yuk" to unfamiliar spicy food? Well that's one big indication that he'll end up like Adolf Hitler – note that down as a racist incident nursery assistant!

And, speaking of food, what if one of the little ones has a nasty reaction to something they eat? Don't worry: Cadbury has recently included a warning on the label of its Dairy Milk Chocolate bar that the product contains milk. Another UK company is selling eggs, with the warning "contains eggs" printed right on the box. And the Asda supermarket chain is now selling milk with "warning: contains milk!" printed on the clear plastic container.

Not sure what "sell-by date" means? It's a tricky one. Luckily six UK councils will be paying people to go into our homes, whether we like it or not, to explain it to us. They'll also be inspecting our fridges while they're there – just in case.

That may seem like smothering to you. But, there's an up side to 'Big Mother': she encourages creativity. And two thirds of teachers acknowledge allowing text speak instead that old-fascist English – and that's just "gr8!"

Sex is something to be celebrated – so why wait? Children under thirteen are already being given condoms by some schools in the city of Manchester. And watch out for those sex education lessons for five year-olds coming to schools all around the country.

And, one college for 14 to 19 year-olds recently hired poll dancers come in and show off their 'talent' – as part of their health and 'fitness' week. It's racy, and inappropriate, but Big Mother did love the Sixties with its wild dancing and free love. So get with the program.

Perhaps the only really bad thing about Big Mother is that doesn't really like other mothers, heterosexual marriages, or families – or grown-ups.

Of all government bodies, the "Social Services" is the most dreaded. (Though whoever created that authority had the foresight to make its initials SS.) While they have failed to take children into care that have been systematically tortured over months or years, they have nevertheless zealously taken others away from good homes, where no abuse has occurred. When a mother took her baby to hospital with a tiny bruise on his ear recently, Social Services came and threatened to have her arrested if she took her child home. According to The Daily Mail, a grandfather was imprisoned for two years because he spoke to his grandson. The boy had been placed in care, and had contacted his grandfather, saying he was being abused.

Now, it has emerged that Social Services has refused to allow two children, taken from their mother (recovering from heroin addiction), to be adopted by their grandparents. The authorities have refused despite fact that this is what the mother wants, and has pleaded for it. Despite the fact that she has said that they would make wonderful parents. At 46 and 59 the authorities consider them too old. She has diabetes (not a problem in this day and age), and he has angina (also manageable), so they're also too sick, according to Social Services.

The family has fought the authorities for two years, and have endured emotional hell during that time. But, broken, they have now conceded to allow the children to be adopted by another couple. At the very least, this heartbroken family believed, the children should grow up with a mother and father. As the mother said goodbye to her children, her son, emotionally distraught, told her, "But Mummy, I want to come and stay with you and Granny and Grandad."

Social Services have made the decision: Two married homosexual men – that the mother and grandparents have never even met – will be the children's new family.

And because in their desperation the grandparents went to The Daily Mail, the authorities have threatened them, saying that they will never see the children again.

You would complain to your local MP. But Big Mother believes that we, her children, should be seen, but never heard.

I chill like ice till I'm ready to scream. But I probably won't scream because it would offend someone. They'd then complain. They'd bitch and nag and file a suit or demonstrate on the streets and demand money from the government to compensate them for the mental anguish I've caused. They might riot. They might blow up planes full of civilians and say it was George Bush who made their lives so terrible they had to do it. They'd bitch, bitch, bitch. They'd nag. They'd scold. Am I sick of this to the point of puking? No, not me. I'm fine with all this. No complaints.

*"In the common law of crime in England and Wales, a common scold was a species of public nuisance—a troublesome and angry woman who broke the public peace by habitually arguing and quarrelling with her neighbours."

Neither illustrtion is of the stocks, but I'm not pedantic. Anything close is good enough. Don't bitch about it.


truepeers said...

To scold a scold is something we all like to do, and I'm sure it's sometimes necessary. Maybe life is little more than the art of one up(wo)manship? Is this art the key to understanding history?

Dag said...

I think of scolding the scold as deflating the scolds till none of us is tyrannized by the incessant, habitual, and mindless scolding people indulge in from lack of restraints placed on them by others. People do what others do, mimetically, and if one is a complainer and a scold, and if one receives praise or sympathy or money for it, then others will follow till it's a matter of common culture, resulting in the culture of bitching we have now, to our terrible detriment. If no one scolds the scold s and tells them enough is enough, then it won't be enough, and they will continue endlessly. Sometimes enough is enough, and one must finally say so. I say so. If I say so, and if others say so, and often enough, then perhaps the scolds will shut up at long last.

Eowyn said...

"How about malignantly puerile? Does it sum up a culture of spoiled children on a rampage of hostility to all and sundry for the sake of imposing ones vanities and stupid egotism on the world of fellow adults from the simple urge to bellow self-importantly?"

Pegged it right there.

The thing is ...

There are enough of us that DON'T want to inhabit that sterile real estate, that will make the difference, someday.

(Does that make sense?)

Dag said...

Makes sense to me.

Regarding "self-importance" I was rereading Eric Fromm this evening, and I want soon to cover some aspects of his writings on resentment, which is a theme Peers writes of often. All of this area of thinking is productive, even for an artsy guy like me, to whom most of this is brand new.

Walker Morrow said...

It's interesting to me how people want the freedom to be able to complain about whatever it is that they complain about - while at the same time expecting the government to take on the responsibility of upholding their act of complaining. It's like the rhetorical version of spoon-feeding...

Walker Morrow said...

Or being breastfed...


Dag said...

It turns out that I was breast-fed with a spoon. It ain't my fault, man.

Walker Morrow said...

Nope - no one blames you for that, Dag.

Dag said...

I wouldn't complain so much if my mother hadn't beaten me with the same spoon.

Walker Morrow said...

Well I'd probably complain too.

Dag said...

Anything approaching midnight, and my sense of humor takes a turn for the strange.

Walker Morrow said...

Well, look at the way you were raised..

Dag said...

Raised by the hair, my toes barely out of reach of the alligators.

Walker, you know me too well.

Walker Morrow said...

Well, that's the measure of your writing - your readers know you well after reading.