The Toronto International Film Festival ended last week, the poodles of Hollywood have all jetted back to their charmed if dysfunctional lives, and it is once again safe for Torontonians to reclaim their city. Headed back up north from Buffalo, I was around for the very beginning of the festival, and took a walk through Yorkville to find my pals George Clooney and Brad Pitt. They were nowhere to be found, but I did see a lot of frothing fans swarming about. While I admit that I am somewhat intrigued by the glamour of celebrity, my favorite part about walking through Yorkville is to see all the hot Ferraris, Lamborghinis, and modified sport bikes.
If the horrid state of the global economy, the growing tension in the Middle East, most recently evident in Palestine’s U.N. bid for statehood, the fears of catastrophic weather, and the ever present threat that Jersey Shore halfwit Snooki might become a Pulitzner Prize winning author aren’t enough to rattle your composure, here’s something new to fret over: falling space debris. Last Friday a NASA UARS (Upper Atmosphere Space Satellite) was predicted to fall to Earth, and no one was sure where the debris would land. The biggest chunk was predicted to be about 300 pounds, but I’m guessing that any space projectile which makes landfall would likely leave a nasty bruise. According to the news, the chances of any human being struck by the falling debris were 1:3200. Luckily, this one landed harmlessly in the Pacific, somewhere off the west coast of North America. Apparently, there are about 20,000 pieces of man made space junk floating around up there right now, little detrimental bi-products of our space age technology. It’s not bad enough that we’ve trashed Mother Earth, must we litter outer space as well? I guess the writers of my favorite TV program Northern Exposure were ahead of their time when they created the character of Maggie, whose husband was killed when a falling satellite landed on him.
You’ve heard much talk about the of the Baby Boom generation, and of course the Generation X-ers; now, according to an article I just read in the NY Times, we usher in the Generation Limbos: 20-somethings who, having recently entered the anemic North American job market, find their prospects slim to none. In the article there were comparisons to the Japanese youth idled after the crippling recession that hit Japan back in the 1990s. It’s not a very cheery view of the prospects for the next generation, and perhaps it’s a wake-up call to all the greedy sons of bitches who caused the most recent economic disaster. Most of them have children, right, or did they eat them already? The article suggests that, absent the prospect of any kind of meaningful career to boost their sense of self worth, today’s college graduates are increasingly inclined to become reclusive, disenchanted, and apathetic. Of course there is even less hope for the under-educated. What concerns me most about this trend is that, if history repeats itself, prolonged economic downturns like this cultivate fanaticism and bad judgment. Take a look at pre-WWII Germany. As America braces for the very real prospect of another round of the dreaded “R” word, my hope is that a leader will emerge, either in Europe or the United States, who reminds us that it takes balls to make the tough decisions. Perhaps we the clueless electorate need to be a little clearer on that as well.
An early Shana Tova to all fellow members of the tribe; here's hoping it is a good new year. As for living in the moment, I’m having more luck letting go of the past than I am not worrying about the future. For the moment, the colors are spectacular.
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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