Building on the Sand

“I do not know much about gods; but I think that the river
Is a strong brown god–sullen, untamed and intractable,
Patient to some degree, at first recognised as a frontier;
Useful, untrustworthy, as a conveyor of commerce;
Then only a problem confronting the builder of bridges.
The problem once solved, the brown god is almost forgotten
By the dwellers in cities–ever, however, implacable,
Keeping his seasons and rages, destroyer, reminder
Of what men choose to forget…”

-T.S. Eliot

(Read the complete poem at http://www.squidoo.com/poetry-by-ts-eliot)

NPR made connected the recent flooding in the mid-west to T.S. Elliott, so don’t give me any credit for my mastery of contemporary poetry. (http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=91769843) However, the following connections are mine.

According to Matthew, Jesus said, “And every one that heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them not, shall be likened unto a foolish man, which built his house upon the sand: And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell: and great was the fall of it.” (Matthew 7:26-27)

One interpretation of this sand-building idea came from a visitor to Arizona while I was living there. He said that even though Arizona’s soil is parched, it doesn’t absorb the water very well. It forms a geological condition called caliche. The rain doesn’t go into the ground, it just collects on the ground—like rain on a driveway. This isn’t too bad until monsoon season. Then the water appears without warning and creates flashflood zones that can wipe out homes in a matter of minutes. Ouch. A wise man would not build here.

Then there are flood plains. I wise man would not build here either. History has shown that certain areas are prone to flood within a predictable period. It always has and it always will. This makes the real estate value of such areas very low. Only a foolish man would build his house upon the sand of a flood plane.

In comes big business.

Imagine that there are three zones, from left to right. On the far left is Zone 1, which is far from a flood zone. Not too far, but far enough to encounter complete catastrophe. Zone 3 three is on the left. It is a river—the river that predictably overflows its banks. In Zone 1, a Corporation (we’ll call them Gratify.) builds a few building, but only on the condition that they fortify the levies that protect Zones 1 and 2 from overflow. Gratify agrees, buys Zones 1 and 2, fortifies the levies, and opens their doors for business.

Gratify just saved a bunch of money for buying Zone 1 land, but have just made it more dangerous for those to the north and south of Zone 3. But no one wants to build there, so Gratify is okay with that. Gratify then initiates the next phase of their money-making: they sell of sub-divisions of Zone 2. At first, home owners are leery about building on a floor plain. After all, Zone 3 floods predictably. Always has, always will. But with enough advertisement, Gratify convinces buyers that Zone 2 is safe because of the levies. “If it is such a stupid place to build, why did we build the Gratify call center and gift shop on the same flood plain? We know that we are safe, so we know that you are safe. And we are passing the savings onto you, because we care about the community.”

People start buying and Gratify starts earning major profits. Especially at Gratify-Mart that sells groceries, tires, wedding dresses, and farming equipment to the captive sub-divisions of Zone 2. This business model works to well that other Corporations start doing the same thing. Indulge, Vice, Addiction, and Gluttonz start building their own levies to the north and south of Zone 3, tout the same promises, build the same communities, and reap the same profits. Home owners same money and corporations earn record profits. Everybody wins.

Then, the river overflowed. Not that it was a big surprise. It always has and it always will. When the river grew in force, the pressure he exerted on the Zone 3 levy would probably not been sufficient to break it—Zone 2 would probably have been safe it is hadn’t been for the other Corporations that had followed Gratify’s example. With each new levy on the river, the other levies in place were rendered less capable. Adding levy 10 makes levies 1 thru 9 weaker, levy 11 weakens levies 1 thru 10, and so on. What naturally follows from this set-up is that the Brown God does not need to be awakened; he need only roll over in bed to make the levies break—and flood Zone 2.

Some in Zone 2 might shake a fist at The Brown God. How could he do such a thing? How could a God be so cruel? A person could have worked so hard to make a life for his family only to have it destroyed by The Brown God. On the other hand, it shouldn’t have been a surprise. The Brown God didn’t change. The only thing that changed was the trust—it went from rock to sand. Those that tried to outdo the Brown God found that they couldn’t. They enjoyed their false sense of victory, only to have it washed away by the unchanging laws that went ignored.

It must be hard to be a God. No surprises, only good advice. Even still, people that don’t listen are surprised, and then don’t blame themselves. Instead, they blame their God of choice, or they blame Gratify for misleading information. God blames the person who sinned and that person just can’t accept that he is a fool.

The foolish man builds his house upon the sand because he allows somebody else to convince him that it is safe.

I Beat Up Fred Rogers

For reference, please watch the preceding clip.

In the past few weeks, I beat my inner Fred Rogers into a coma. He’s still alive, but he won’t be moving for a while. You see, I decided to take someone else’s advice for a change. I decided to do what everyone else does to find happiness. I bought something. More specifically, a convertible. Fred kept trying to talk me out of it, telling me that people would like me for me. He would sing “not your toys; they’re just beside you.” I am pleased to report that Fred was wrong—people like me more now. I am suddenly extremely cool and it had nothing to do with “they way I am right now, way down deep inside me.”

It’s been a long time since I bludgeoned Fred. A couple of years ago I was feeling so lonely that I decided that I would buy into appearances. I stopped taking Fred’s calls, threw out the wardrobe and spent hundreds of dollars on “the things that hide me, the things I wore, and the way I did my hair.” I changed “every part of me. My skin, my eyes, my feelings.” I got a great reaction not only from the ladies and the gentlemen, but also the chicks and the dudes. I became popular. I was getting noticed, complimented, invited, and praised. I was so happy that I gave old Freddy-boy a call on the phone. He invited me to lunch.

When I arrived, I fell right into his trap. It was an intervention. He tied me to Trolley, and drove me out of the land of make-believe and into the safety of his living room. Once there, he showed me how my new skin, eyes, and feelings were alienating me from the people that I really cared about, and more importantly, that I had no self-esteem anymore. All I had was praise from humans. He was lovingly disappointed and helped me realize that I had also let myself down.

I thanked Fred for his tough love, and decided that I was better for the journey. Fred likes me for who I am. The way I am right now, the way down deep inside me. So I went on my way.

Now, here I am, two years later. I have two fans. Fred and me. We both think I am great. But the time came when I had to betray Fred. He may like me for the way I am, but no one else does.

I guess what I have learned is that Fred Rogers is a big lie. If he were right, I would be swarmed with friends. If the value of a person is his heart, I would be popular. But Fred is wrong. What makes me angry is that I believed him. He has spent the past twenty-something years building a false hope in me. So, I had to shut him up. After I beat up Fred, I beat my self up pretty hard. I had to shut myself up too. I have done a lot of Fred-preach in my life, and I had to make sure that I wouldn’t ever dispense that crap again. Liking myself didn’t work, so I guess I will just have to rely upon the approval of others. And why not? It works for everybody else, right?

Now, I think I’ll put the top down and drive thru McDonald’s on my way to Wal-Mart. I’m going to need a lot more stuff.

A Non-Masterpiece

My friend Maggie wrote about my blog, “Is everything you write a masterpiece?”  I thought I should use that compliment to segue into a few disjointed notes that I have taken about being an urban camper.  The following are very real elements of my homeless life that don’t seem to fit into any masterpieces.

Hanging Clothes: Where is a brother supposed to hang his suit when he isn’t wearing it?  Since I wear button-up shirts almost exclusively, I think about this every laundry day.  I don’t use hangers.  Thank goodness I don’t have any linen shirts.  I don’t think that anyone can tell that all of my clothes come out of a hamper.  Folded, of course.

Viewing Media: It’s the weekend.  I think I’ll just kick back and watch a movie, right?  Not so fast homeless guy.  Kicking back is a different beast in public.  Watching a movie and checking email have become events for which I must plan, not default.

Being Thirsty: I can’t tell you how many nights I lamented not filling up the 3 liter bottle.  Between the hours of go-to-sleep and go-to-work, there are plenty of opportunities to be thirsty.  This isn’t a big deal when the tap is only as far away as the bathroom–unless the bathroom is miles away.  Although there are plenty of places to get water in the middle of the night, none of them are worth the cost.  Instead, I just hit my knuckles on my forehead and hope that I don’t forget again.

No Garbage Can:  When my living quarters take a corner at 20 MPH, it isn’t prudent to have a garbage can.  Garbage bags work much better,  but they also look like…well…garbage bags.  Luckily, I don’t produce much garbage in a day, so emptying the house every day isn’t much of a chore.  Garbage collection, however, is something that I consciously plan.  Real estate is prime, and I don’t want my home filling up with garbage.

Napping: Since I sleep and wake with the sun (and the rain, and the really loud trucks), I find that my night sleep isn’t as “quantitatively substantial” as I would like.  So I nap.  But, like viewing media, this becomes tricky in public.  Homeless Ben was shameless in this regard, but I still have too much shame.  I don’t want to drive out to a secluded place, but I also don’t want people to see me.  After all, I snore and I drool.  Not a pretty picture.  Homeless Ben was a beautiful sleeper; maybe that’s why he was shameless.

Storing Food: Because many of my readers would yell at me for doing so, I won’t tell you what and how I have stored food.  Let it suffice to say that storing food is very difficult in a place that changes temperature some sixty degrees every twelve hours–without Tupperware.  Canned food is good though, as long as I don’t have to add a can of water something like that.  A can opener and a fork are much better than bowls and cellophane.

Energy Consumption: I’m not sure if my carbon footprint is larger or smaller, but I like to be conscious of it.  In my home, all energy ultimately comes from gasoline.  Whether I’m charging the cell phone, listening to the radio, plugging in the computer, or running the heater, it all comes from the gas tank.  There is nothing that just sits there consuming energy.  Everything is very deliberately turned on, and then turned off.  If not, I either kill the car battery or run out of gas.  I like being energy conscious.

And finally,

Answering the Question, “Where Do You Live?”: I like this question because I can easily get to know if someone is just making chit-chat, or if they are trying to get to know me with an innocuous question.  If I don’t want to get to know the person, I will just say, “North Logan.”  If I want to get to know the person, but I’m not sure if the feeling is mutual, I will say, “Oh, here and there.”  If he drops it, so do I.  If he tries to reframe my comment with something like, “So…here in Cache Valley?”, I know that he is trying to categorize me.  If he says, “What does that mean?”, then the conversation can go a hundred different ways.