I am really getting scared now for my earthly off springs in the USA. Last week Sunday on Mars, friends and I were watching the G-20 deliberations in Toronto on a FARSIGHT screen that gives us access to Earth TV channels. As Man from Mars I must hold financial interests on Earth for the sake of Kathryn’s and the mixed kiddos Pete and Sue, so I have to keep track of where Earth is heading financially. It didn’t look good. The current leader of the USA uttered some truly uneconomic noises. Did he ever read your Paul Samuelson’s Basic Elementary Economics for Beginners? Or simply a basic math book that explains why 2 plus 2 is 4 and not 5 or 3 minus 1 is 2 and does not add up to 10?
Then came the clincher in his Toronto press conference. We sat perplexed. Rarely had we seen a leader of the great USA talk in greater platitudes, but worse was what he said about his plans. With the hubris dripping from his smile, he said he had more harsh proposals coming up for next year. After all, he reminded his folks, he’d said a few days before the elections that he would fundamentally change America. They had better learn a lesson that he does what he says (“they” probably meaning your unwilling conservatives who don’t appreciate his “change for the better”). He said he got them national health care even though nobody really wanted his version, and they’d better get used to it that more of that would be flowing down the pipe. So, you dear Americans, hold your breath. He, the new great democratic elected dictator, who speaks like Castro and thinks like Chavez, will do it again. Mark his words. Regardless of Congress, even if it changes hands.
I knew then that the cheering audience before the election was unaware of what change they would get: a huge generational theft with insurmountable debt, private sector employment down and total government overkill. Pete and Sue and eventually their kids will be paying for it forever after Blockbuster King is gone, leaving behind a totally screwed up economy that will be the signature of America’s decline and the loss of its Independence from the rest of the world. My Mom once said you better know what you’re asking for before you ask. How true.
I knew it was necessary to go back to Earth for family support. The July 4th weekend is always a good time for that. While rushing down, I didn’t see a Columbia or Discovery on my way. Moon also looked lonely, though the space station still showed some life, waving a Russian red flag.
I landed in Nebraska this time on one of those familiar green fields because of this immigration brouhaha in Arizona, my usual place. Nebraska is quietly landlocked and glad to stay that way. An untold secret we only seem to know about on Mars. Omaha is a nice town with surprisingly good restaurants, a sophisticated oasis of fine shops and arts, and happy people on sunny terraces. The airport has no scanner yet so the kids wouldn’t be subjected to queries about their VESIcare bodies. They came in on Republican Airways (even Democrats fly it without a parachute). Downtown, we gathered in “La Buvette”, a popular wine-tasting bar with a broad collection of the best wines Earth offers. Nebraskans know their good life but don’t tell anybody about it. Smart.
“It’s Independence Day, but we’re losing it,” Pete mused, sipping his cool Pouilly-fuisse. “They’re out to destroy all we fought for in two hundred years.”
“Utopia sounds good, but doesn’t work,” Sue added, chewing on a cracker with French brie. “It only works for politicians who want to get re-elected by a dreaming populace that doesn’t think.”
“Using other people’s money, that’s their mantra,” Kathryn said. “Especially not their bucks. They all have fat bank accounts, and refund their taxes with their taxpayer paid House and Senate perks.”
“Isn’t that T-party band re-launching Independence Day to correct this madness?” I asked.
“Everybody counts on November. But I’m not sure,” Kathryn said. “The Pied Piper is still around and nobody’s perking up as a good alternative.”
I refilled her glass. The family mood was gloomy.
“What goes around comes around,” I offered, feeling helpless. “Every reaction has a reaction.”
“That sounds pretty plastic,” Sue scoffed. “Useless, after we’ve all lost our shirt.”
“Well, vote them out in November then if you want to stop King Kong from doing more harm, and don’t invite him back in 2012.” What else could I say.
“Yeah,” Pete said, a sigh slipping from his chest. “When we’re all sitting with empty pockets on a heap of ash with our homes burned down, Pied Piper will come back with his magic flute and promise everything will be honky-dory again if you let him take care of you. The bum head.”
“The bum heads will be those believing that,” I countered.
“What’s that word in Spanish?” Sue asked, sarcasm all over her face. “He wants amnesty for eleven million illegals so they’ ll vote for him and his freaking party.”
“The only thing left is revolution,” Kathryn said firmly. “Fill the Mall in DC, mount the steps of the Capitol, haul them out, and throw them in the Tidal Bay.”
“The Park Service will fine you for littering,” Sue said, her legal mind in action. “I have a better idea. Lock them up with no food and water, cut off TV, force them to read all laws they voted for and never read, and then repeal them if they want to see daylight again.”
“We can also ship them off to Mars,” Pete tried.
“Against our pollution laws,” I said, glancing at Sue. “Well, it really sounds like you’re in dire straits.”
“We are,” Kathryn affirmed. “We fought for our Independence from external British tyranny. Now two hundred years later, we have to fight for our Independence from internal socialist tyranny. America’s been rotting from inside and, stupid, we weren’t aware of it. Now we are. Just hope it won’t be too late.”
“Let’s go for a bite in that Bistrot Francais around the corner,” I suggested. “They were good at Revolution.”
“But they turned socialist too,” Kathryn said, desperate. “It must be their wine. If you drink too much of it you see things too rosy and you wake up with a hangover not knowing what happened to you.”
“We’ll drink Californian then,” Sue decided.
“Have you seen California’s balance sheet recently?” Pete asked, pulling a face.
“Oh well, we’ll have an Australian Pinot Noir,” Sue said. “It’ll feel like we’re in the black for a while.”
I paid the bill leaving a Mars gold coin on the table. In Nebraska they don’t take funny money.