The worlds of the past and the present have seemingly met the critical impact point. Then, the crippling poverty, hunger and despair overpowered the 1930’s. Now, in this culture of remakes, remixes, sequels and “has-been reclamation projects” playing out nightly on reality television, the “Great Depression” is being restyled and refranchised. The updated version will of course have better lighting and design as well as a more invasive and all-encompassing media presence. It will at some point need to be re-catalogued of course — much like the “Great War” went from being a unique and singular historical event to simply being spun off into a part of a sequence (WWI & WWII). GDI, as we may end up knowing it, will seem warmly distant and quaint; filtered through a sepia-toned perspective with Dust Bowl-era retro-caché (ah yes, that depression took place during a simple time). What will the newer, more technologically advanced depression have in store?

First things first for my proclamation: I shall immediately make a broadly symbolic gesture by going down to the city hall — before it gets dismantled, brick by brick, by the angry (yet slightly drained by hunger) unemployed masses — to legally change my name to Joad. This will warn all others —or at least those who have read Steinbeck — that in the upcoming times of destitution I am one to be taken seriously. The pain and suffering that will envelop us all to a certain extent will not have anywhere near as much of an effect on me because of my newly adopted fictional lineage. A hardscrabble vagabond life is not crippling if you are mentally prepared for it.

Post name change I will also shed any inhibitions, polite protocol and as much humanity as needed. In order to get ahead in the new economic world personal liberties will be exploited. I will knock small children to the ground in order to steal the lollipops from their mouths. Grifting the elderly, or for that matter anyone else who may be easily outwitted, will need to become a steady source of income. Perhaps the ripest score (and most gratifying) will be a foray into purse snatching. The oversized pink-accented designer handbags with the horrendously repetitive vanity logos that are used for dog carriers will become choice targets. Although the absconded rat dogs will likely have a coiffed fur-to-meat ratio that is a bit disappointing, the chances of getting a grab and go meal as well as some cash will make it a combination too difficult to resist.

Social programs for dealing with the aching public needs will need to be instituted (or re-instituted from the first Great Depression). It remains to be seen if we will have bread and cabbage lines winding their way down trash strewn sidewalks, but if we do, the food being dispersed will not bear any resemblance to the items we are now familiar with. The bread will be laced with mold and the cabbage will be honest to goodness 1930’s depression cabbage — the sensual Napa cabbages that seductively lay in rows in the groceries of today, with their milky green flesh glistening from the automated misting regimen will be replaced by shrunken and rotted heads that have all been torn, damaged and maintain a rust brown sheen of decay.

Perhaps the biggest impact of the new economy will be felt throughout the Wall Street community. Their previous rodeo clown mentality, which has been brought about by deregulation that allowed the Wall Street savants to parry consequences, misdirect inquiry and at the last moment evade the piercing horns and stomping hoofs of the angered bull by jumping in a big rubber barrel, should now finally be exposed and forced to maintain a level of transparency. The rubber barrel should be taken away so that the free market bull, whose testicles have always been clamped so tightly they resemble communion wafers, should be able to find its target when the pain threshold gets unrealistically high.

Each person should of course create his own declaration of intent for a time that may become encapsulated in a very exhaustive 12-part miniseries produced by an aging Ken Burns (his working title: The Second Great Depression — Man, That Sucked Ass). Although you never know what you are capable of until you actually hit that bottom point so it may help to try and write it down beforehand.

Copyright Last Exit 2008