Hey Charley I think I'm happy
For the first time since my accident
I wish I had all the money
That we used to spend on dope
I'd buy me a used car lot
And I wouldn't sell any of 'em
I'd just drive a different car every day
Dependin' on how I feel
If we had the honesty of Tom Wait’s ‘Hooker from Minneapolis’, we’d be several steps further down the road, alas, we only have the delusional optimism — the optimism summed up in the assessment that had we not spent all our money on dope, we would have spent it driving a different car every day.
Though I’m sure Tom Waits never meant this song as a profound political statement, it really does embody the sordid reality of American civil society. Not only are we a broken people, with broken institutions, where “everyone I used to know was dead or in prison”, but we still cling to the fantasy that:
He says that he loves me
Even though its not his baby
He says that he'll raise him up
Like he would his own son
He gave me a ring
That was worn by his mother
And he takes me out dancin'
Every Saturday night
Who are we kidding?
Our childhood poverty rate ranks among the lowest of first world nations and our overall poverty rate isn’t much better. We’re 34th in life expectancy, just above Qatar. We’re 57th in infant mortality, between Croatia and Serbia. Of the 15 cities in the world with the most homelessness, 6 are in the US. Our educational system is floundering. We have no social safety net. The actual ‘democracy’ part of our Republic is in serious question. And as my British wife likes to remind me as we navigate our insane medical system while trying to have a child — we have the worst medical system in the western world.
And all that money goes to dope. It goes to murdering people across the globe so a bunch of greedy junkies can continue to get their money fix. It goes to propping up anti-democratic economic policies which impoverish all of us to prime the gigantic felatio engine of wealth for the few.
And the so-called economic ladder of ‘capitalism’ is a blow job. Kneel down and do it. Do it enough times and maybe [we’re led to believe], if you’re lucky, you can turn around and receive it — but in reality, that happens about as often as winning the lottery.
If we were as honest as the hooker from Minneapolis, we’d admit:
Hey Charley, for chrissakes
Do you want to know the truth of it?
I don't have a husband
He don't play the trombone
I need to borrow money
To pay this lawyer
And Charley, hey
I'll be eligible for parole
Come Valentine's Day
I’m sorry. It’s just that the American exceptionalism that floats around, explicitly, implicitly, in the everyday, makes me laugh — just like a Tom Waits tale from skid row. I just wish we were that honest. The world would be better off.