Echoes in the Arroyos
Missed the first debate completely. It wasn't clear that the party would begin as scheduled when I left the ranch and before it got underway I was already deep in the bowels of the River Walk in San Antone. Got stuck at Mad Dog's for a few hours before winding up in front of The Original 1899 Mexican plate ($10.99) with chili and a kick-ass El Patron margarita sometime the next morning. I can only report that, as expected, all honorees are now duly enshrined.
According to what I read, though, I didn't really miss anything.
Except for the confident clues to this money thing, man.
Been doing a lot of research the last couple of weeks. Found a few good, authoritative books on Texas history. According to the story, our old-monied founders pretty much jumped off the deep end of the free market scale as soon as 1860. Land, which occasionally bloomed from all manner of mispronounced wilderness like enduring turd blossoms, was the basis of wealth much like it is today. And even back then immense parcels of this frontier, greased and bartered for worthless script, changed hands among men of fancy letters with incredible speed. Those who moved quickest made the most of it. Those who dallied never saw their opportunity return again. And bailouts didn't need legislation in those days – seems they came with territory.
Lawyers and carpet-bagged Texians of the Confederacy made sort of a good game of it all, in fact. They boldly defended their swindles in front of the highest courts and rose up indignantly in the manner of their gentrified peers when family pride was sullied by lawless vagabonds, their legacies questioned by petulant immigrants or ungrateful slaves. Such righteous willingness to fight to the death for deeds to the the stuff God gave us was what went for “leadership” and “foresight” back in the good old days.
Now, in the end, they may have left this land depressed and childless. But they inscribed their personal ambitions upon miles and miles of barren desert. And, in the chilled air of another dawn over 100 years later, one can still hear their deep foreign accent in the echoes of the arroyos.
In between the smooth Patron and the cool lime, I drove through the middle of most of that giant patch of dirt this weekend. In just a few hours, I covered the same ground that once took the hardiest rangers 3 or 4 days to cross. I saw plenty of prime, “controlled” hunting ground that buffalo hunters like Cheney have surely visited and lusted for more than once. I guess I can say be happy that it's still there and still available for the right price to the right person.
In a strange fit of sobriety, along the road I did some more reading and thinking on what the phrase “Confidence Game” really means. In order for the game to be played properly, there must be someone known as the Confidence Man. This is the guy who gathers rainwater in his backyard, rainwater which is normally free when we are lucky enough to receive it naturally. He adds a few drops of syrup then claims it is the undeniable cure for what ails us. Out of kindness and service to his fellow man, he sells it for just a dollar a bottle.
If the public seems unsure, the Confidence Man may employ the services of a “shill”. That's the dude who stands up in the crowd and says something like, “I tried this stuff, it made my wife happy and my kids proud. I gotta have some more of that!”
Now, it may look like I'm hiding out here “down in the bowels”, running away from my civic duties. But, ya see, I'm really just watching both sides of the same road that's been passed many times before, even while I'm speeding numbly along to a brave new future. And I'm constantly listening now for murmurs in the wind from the obvious “shills” who are just setting up the game, the next swindle of the century.
Who knows? Some day one of these Confidence Men may offer exactly what I truly want. But I'm cautioned that in these matters, time and time again, history says it's only the “mark” who pays for unrestrained gullibility.
Cheers,
Mb
According to what I read, though, I didn't really miss anything.
Except for the confident clues to this money thing, man.
Been doing a lot of research the last couple of weeks. Found a few good, authoritative books on Texas history. According to the story, our old-monied founders pretty much jumped off the deep end of the free market scale as soon as 1860. Land, which occasionally bloomed from all manner of mispronounced wilderness like enduring turd blossoms, was the basis of wealth much like it is today. And even back then immense parcels of this frontier, greased and bartered for worthless script, changed hands among men of fancy letters with incredible speed. Those who moved quickest made the most of it. Those who dallied never saw their opportunity return again. And bailouts didn't need legislation in those days – seems they came with territory.
Lawyers and carpet-bagged Texians of the Confederacy made sort of a good game of it all, in fact. They boldly defended their swindles in front of the highest courts and rose up indignantly in the manner of their gentrified peers when family pride was sullied by lawless vagabonds, their legacies questioned by petulant immigrants or ungrateful slaves. Such righteous willingness to fight to the death for deeds to the the stuff God gave us was what went for “leadership” and “foresight” back in the good old days.
Now, in the end, they may have left this land depressed and childless. But they inscribed their personal ambitions upon miles and miles of barren desert. And, in the chilled air of another dawn over 100 years later, one can still hear their deep foreign accent in the echoes of the arroyos.
In between the smooth Patron and the cool lime, I drove through the middle of most of that giant patch of dirt this weekend. In just a few hours, I covered the same ground that once took the hardiest rangers 3 or 4 days to cross. I saw plenty of prime, “controlled” hunting ground that buffalo hunters like Cheney have surely visited and lusted for more than once. I guess I can say be happy that it's still there and still available for the right price to the right person.
In a strange fit of sobriety, along the road I did some more reading and thinking on what the phrase “Confidence Game” really means. In order for the game to be played properly, there must be someone known as the Confidence Man. This is the guy who gathers rainwater in his backyard, rainwater which is normally free when we are lucky enough to receive it naturally. He adds a few drops of syrup then claims it is the undeniable cure for what ails us. Out of kindness and service to his fellow man, he sells it for just a dollar a bottle.
If the public seems unsure, the Confidence Man may employ the services of a “shill”. That's the dude who stands up in the crowd and says something like, “I tried this stuff, it made my wife happy and my kids proud. I gotta have some more of that!”
Now, it may look like I'm hiding out here “down in the bowels”, running away from my civic duties. But, ya see, I'm really just watching both sides of the same road that's been passed many times before, even while I'm speeding numbly along to a brave new future. And I'm constantly listening now for murmurs in the wind from the obvious “shills” who are just setting up the game, the next swindle of the century.
Who knows? Some day one of these Confidence Men may offer exactly what I truly want. But I'm cautioned that in these matters, time and time again, history says it's only the “mark” who pays for unrestrained gullibility.
Cheers,
Mb
posted by M.E. Bamboo at
11:24 PM
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