Saturday, July 21, 2012

Appliances that Subvert the Will of God and Keep Kids Sober

Two cultural and consumer appliance phenomena recently caught my attention.  One is a stove design feature that helps orthodox Jews subvert the obvious intent of the Talmud.  And one is the newish phenomenon of kids lighting up concert arenas with their cell phones.  In their own ways, both of these developments are, at their core, just a little pathetic.

Leslie and I got a new stove last week.  A serious one.  Not some bush league thing.  It’s as big as a small car and cost almost as much.  Ten trillion BTUs.  It can boil water in 30 seconds.  It can do things I can’t even mention in writing.  But my favorite feature of all - the icing on the Thermador cake - is the “Access Phase” oven setting.  When the oven is in Access Phase mode, it turns itself on, then powers down for three minute intervals, then turns itself back on.  The purpose of this “unique cooking mode” is to “allow the Sabbath user access to the oven without effecting a change in the operation of the range.”  And the reason a person would want to use an oven without “effecting a change in its operation” is because “effecting a change in operation” is considered “work” under orthodox interpretation of the Talmud, and work on the Sabbath is prohibited.  The idea of being religious enough to think that God cares about the utter technical minutiae of your cooking habits while, at the same time, going so far out of your way to comply with what we lawyers like to call the “letter if not the spirit of the law” just blows me away.  Jews have no monopoly on coming up with creative ways to do whatever they want in violation of the clear intent of religious doctrines.  There are so many examples that I’m not even going to give more examples. 

If there is a God who keeps tabs on each of us, I have to wonder which is better: questioning whether God exists / not believing in God at all, and cooking your food whenever you feel like eating; or believing in God, reading His supposed rules about how He wants you to conduct your life, and then flagrantly violating them.  If you’re in the first group, and it turns out you’re wrong, and you meet God on judgment day, it seems plausible that he might nonetheless engage you in a little philosophical dialogue and consider your reasons for feeling the way you do.  But if you’re in the second group and you meet God, do you really think He would say “Wow, you’re right.  You sure got me.  I guess I should have drafted that provision more clearly.”  Or would He be more likely to say “What am I, a total fucking idiot?  You think I couldn’t see you doing exactly what I said you shouldn’t do?  Thought you’d get off on a technicality, Mr. First Year Law Student? The ol' ‘you told me to stop punching my little sister but you never said I couldn’t stab her in the eye with a pencil!’  Insult my intelligence.  Sorry asshole.  Hope you brought your flip-flops; I hear it’s pretty warm in HELL!” 

Similar to subverting the will of the almighty via pricey stove is the issue of pot smoking at shows.

One of the most disappointing developments of the past generation is the replacement, at rock concerts, of lighters with cell phones.  In the quaint old days of yore, there would always come a time at a show when the people in the crowd would take a break from their pot smoking, raise their lit lighters, engage their fellow travelers in a moment of solidarity and, by illuminating the sky with a warm glow, bestow upon the band a humble demonstration of love and appreciation.  Now they use cell phones.  As a technical matter, the light from a lighter is much mellower than the light from a cell phone.  It’s the difference between a glowing candle and a bank of fluorescent lights glaring down on a cubicle farm.  But the more profound issue is one of living in the moment (with maybe a little help from your lighter) versus simply serving as a conduit for posting an experience on the Internet (thanks to your cell phone). 

Drugs are not a good thing.  At the end of the day, what with all the gang violence, addiction, depression, homelessness, and general degeneration into a drooling, lifeless puddle, it’s probably best to gravitate toward the straight and narrow.  But a little pot smoking at a show?  If nothing else, it does (I’m told) tend to make people focus and, you know, pay attention to the tunes. A cell phone - or more accurately, a personal broadcasting device that happens to have a phone attached - does the opposite.  It lets you transmit everything you’re doing real-time, a side effect of which is the inability to genuinely experience anything.  It’s ironic.  The more Facebook (or whatever newfangled app those youngsters today are using) updates you have showing fantastic-looking experiences your body has been present at, the fewer of those “experiences” you’re actually experiencing. 

I’ve read about a surprising trend in colleges - less drug and alcohol use based on a fear of video exposure.  Parents, administrators and expensive ad campaigns have been perennially useless in getting college kids to stop partying like college kids.  But the idea that any bender could easily end up on-line and stay with you literally for the rest of your life is apparently a real deterrent to kids’ toking themselves into oblivion. 

The trend away from living in the moment will be a tough one to counteract.  A concerted effort will have to be made.  Perhaps we’ll need a new parent group like MADD (Mothers Against Drunk Driving).  Maybe MAESS - Mothers Against Excessive Show Sobriety.  The idea would be to create a safe show environment for kids where they can briefly escape the all-encompassing gaze of the Internet and the now almost hard-wired need to broadcast every moment of life.  Everyone gets patted down at the gate.  Cell phones get confiscated and everyone is given a lighter and a small amount of weed.  It would take some adjusting, but maybe, just maybe, for a few hours, kids would re-learn the art of being present, enjoying the presence of people near them and being blown away by some burning, wicked 35 minute jam band riffs.

Technology can enhance many facets of life.   But an appliance is just a slave to its master, a tool to further whatever the brain behind the operations sets out to accomplish.  We all have to answer the same question Judge Smails posed to Danny Noonan – “do you stand for good or do you stand for bad.”  If your general inclination is to stomp all over the teachings of the Lord or trade all of life’s real experiences for a few morsels of cyber-fame, your stove and phone will be there to help lead you down the path.  Take control!  Fight for all that is just and good!  Don’t let your appliances lead you unto misery and destruction!  (But whatever you end up doing, send me a photo.)  

Sunday, June 17, 2012

Denver, Boulder and Longmont - Busted Housing Developments, Beer and Subarus - A Little Something for Everyone

(the throne at Avery Brewing Company)

I made plans a while back to go to Colorado to catch up with two of my college study abroad buddies – Adrian and Harry – and spend a little quality / therapeutic time with my favorite aunt and uncle and cousins – Chuck, Diana, Ricky and Lyla.  A deal I was working on at work heated up the day before I was supposed to leave, and I thought I might have to call my trip off.  But the stars all aligned at the last minute and I was able to go.  As always, wherever I am, I try to sneak out each morning for a run. And I saw some good stuff in Denver, Boulder and Longmont – a little something for every taste.

Path-Breaking, Never-Been-Done-Before (at least for me) Morning Run #1: La Quinta Inn Denver Airport

I knew I would be getting into Denver late – 3AM east coast time – so I had reserved a room at the closest hotel to the airport I could find.  There’s a strip of hotels not far away that includes a Holiday Inn, a Holiday Inn Express, a Holiday Inn Suites, a Holiday Inn Extended Stay, a Holiday Inn Courtyard, a Holiday Inn Faux-French-Loire-Valley-Chateau, a Holiday Inn Evocative-of-a-Rustic-Historic-Rockefeller-Adirondak-Hunting-Lodge and a Holiday Inn Your Company-Has-Shipped-You-Off-For-So-Long-There’s-Almost-Zero-Chance-Your-Wife-Will-Not-Have-Decided-To-Leave-You-By-The-Time-You-Are-Finally-Allowed-To-Come-Back-Home.  Being the contrarian that I am, and always looking for places slightly off the beaten path (and, OK, fine, being enticed by the $80 a night price), I opted to stay at the La Quinta Inn Denver Airport. 

My room absolutely reeked of cigarette smoke.  I had no idea that you could still smoke in a hotel room anywhere in this country, but you apparently can in Colorado.  I don’t mind cigarette smoke.  In fact I honestly sort of like the smell of second hand smoke wafting off of a nice fresh Marlboro red.  But the smell of old, stale cigarette smoke that has so deeply permeated every fiber of a budget motel pillow that no amount of industrial disinfectant can make a dent in it is truly, seriously nauseating.  Anyway, it was late and I was too tired and lazy to go back to the front desk to ask for another room.  So I sucked it up and just went to bed. 

I set out the next morning to go for a run and see what was around the La Quinta.  But after less than a mile, after passing the last of the Holiday Inns and faux local sports bars, I realized there was nowhere to run.  Usually “nowhere to run” means “nowhere nice” or “nowhere interesting” or “nowhere meeting the exacting standards of the specific workout I was hoping to accomplish.”  But in this case “nowhere to run” meant that all the roads I went down literally dead-ended at crusty, bumpy, ankle-spraining fields.  One road led to a small, new subdivision that was obviously supposed to have become part of a much larger development.  There were four lane roads leading to the entrance with designated left turn lanes (but no roads to turn onto) and colorful banners with generic clip art photos of kids advertising “fun” and “school.”  But despite the sadly hopeful ads, it was obvious that a more truthful name for the complex would have been something like “World Economy Shit the Bed Meadows.”  I don’t know what a field of underwater mortgages smells like, but what it looks like is the wasteland behind the La Quinta. 

I slogged out a few laps around the perimeter of the business travel motels and wandered back to the La Quinta.  I was mildly depressed, but only until I realized that the La Quinta breakfast nook where you get your free! included! breakfast included one of the make-your-own-waffle machines that I thought only existed at the luxurious-by-comparison Embassy Suites.  There’s a tap coming out of the wall that dispenses waffle batter (where does the batter come from? do municipalities entice prospective hotel developers by offering access to pre-installed, underground waffle batter lines?) and you fill up a cup with it and dump as much as you want onto a pre-heated waffle iron.  Wow.  Most average-sized American men who fasted for a day and put their minds to it could probably eat most of the $80 cost of the hotel room in waffles if they tried.  I don’t know how the La Quinta Inn stays in business.

If you’d like to experience this quintessentially American run the next time you’re in Denver, here is a link to a map of the route I took.

Path-Breaking, Never-Been-Done-Before (at least for me) Morning Run #2: Boulder

The stereotype of Boulder is that to live there you have to be either a Kenyan Olympian marathoner or a slightly beyond college-aged trustafarian snowboarder.  Turns out, it’s not a stereotype.  It’s absolutely true.  For a smallish city, real estate in Boulder is off the charts expensive.  Driving a car in Boulder, although technically legal, is highly frowned upon.  If you must absolutely drive, it should only be to get to a ski slope or X-treme mountain biking trail.  And, except for UPS trucks and yellow-iron construction equipment, every vehicle is an Audi Quattro or a Subaru Outback station wagon with a Thule something-or-other carrier on the roof.  It’s not uncommon to see people with dreadlocks, but they’re all white.  Other than the Kenyans, there are no black people in Boulder whatsoever. 

The general level of fitness in Boulder is just ridiculous.  Boulder ranks every year as the most fit city in the country.  Everyone does yoga.  I don’t know who even goes to yoga classes since everyone is a yoga instructor.  I saw a good sampling of fit Boulderites when I set off for my morning run on a beautiful gravel path that my friend Harry had recommended.  The main path, which runs parallel to the Rocky Mountain foothills and goes from the Dakota Ridge housing development almost all the way into downtown Boulder, is designed for your sort of run of the mill Boulder marathoner – the local version of a couch potato.  At regular intervals, the main path branches off into side paths that go straight up into the hills.  Those paths are for ultra-marathoners, ironmen and Olympic qualifier contenders.  Keep in mind that, with the altitude, most people who aren’t from Boulder have to stop to catch their breath a few times between lifting a magazine off of a rack and opening the front cover.  I clopped along the path at my usual diligent but solidly middle-of-the-pack pace and tried to focus on the amazing scenery.  But it was hard.  I was distracted by all the other runners who kept passing me.  Some were moving at a slightly faster clip than me.  Some zoomed by me so fast I’m not even definitively sure they were humans.  I did pass one guy, but it was because he was running with a dog that had dysentery or something and had to stop every 100 yards to shit.     

If you want to try to keep up with the natives, or just feel like lowering your self-esteem a little, here’s a link to a map of the route.

I spent a little time after my run feeling humiliated and inadequate, but not much.  Boulder also has lots of good beer, and my uncle and cousins wasted no time putting me on a borrowed mountain bike and taking me on a tour of local breweries.  Do they know me or what?  Naturally, Boulder has the most extensive network of designated bike paths I have ever seen.  It’s like a superhighway.  There are lanes and signs and on- and off-ramps.  And, of course, you can take them right to the door of all of the breweries.  You can apparently, for real, get a BUI ticket in Boulder, but we all made out OK.   

I found a little evidence suggesting that Boulderites share some pedestrian traits with the unwashed masses from the rest of the country.  There’s a strip club near the squeaky-clean Dakota Ridge development called the “Bus Stop.”  It’s one of those bar names like “The Office” or “The Library” that lets guys tell the other guys at the office on a Monday morning how they, hilariously, originally, fooled their wives, without technically lying, about where they were (although I guess you’d have to come up with a pretty complex story about why you spent 4 hours at a bus stop).

Path-Breaking, Never-Been-Done-Before (at least for me) Morning Run #2:  Longmont / Lagerman Reservoir

My last morning in Colorado started out at one of the best lodges anywhere in the country – Chuck and Diana’s house.  If you’re ever in the area, you simply must stay with them.  Since I was about 7 years old, Chuck and Diana have made it a personal mission to spoil me rotten whenever I visit.  I should probably be a little embarrassed about that at this point, now that my 40th is within sight, but, hey, why try to fight it?  I don’t what the exact policies are for guests who are not blood relatives, but Chuck and Diana seem pretty flexible.  I only stayed for one night during this visit, but I’ve heard that it’s not uncommon for people stay at Chuck and Diana’s for 8 or 12 weeks at a time.  They’re awful generous that way. 

The route Chuck suggested for me is technically illegal.  It’s a path alongside an irrigation canal that runs north to south through a large stretch of Longmont.  The path is surrounded by barb wire fences and there are signs all over the place saying that if you get caught trespassing along the canal, the authorities have the right to drag you behind their truck, drown you in the water and/or bury you alive at the base of the foothills.  Anyway, Chuck said he was 80% sure no-one would bother me.  And he turned out to be right.  The run was beautiful.  Just me, all alone by my lonesome self and a bunch of birds, a mother and baby fox / coyote / wolf / lemur / caribou (I’m not entirely sure which; I’ve become a bit of a city guy over the years) and about a million prairie dogs.  I think prairie dogs are adorable.  People who live near them seem to think of them more like a cross between a rat and a noxious fungus. The landscape is Longmont is generally wide open and sparsely populated.  But it’s close enough to Boulder that, when I was leaving to go to the airport, I had to stop for a minute to let a pack of bikers who were taking part in a sprint triathlon  pass. 

If you want to run with the prairie dogs and have a go at evading the Colorado water authorities, here’s a linkto a map of the route from Chuck and Diana’s.

So there you have it – three exciting, cross-cultural running adventures you can experience in Colorado.  Thanks to all of my hosts.  And thanks to the lady in the seat next to me on the flight home from Denver who was shamelessly reading this blog real-time as I was writing it, offering unsolicited edits and clarifications.  Sometimes you gotta just jump right in there and say your piece.   

Thursday, March 8, 2012

Buddhism, Golf and Marketing - A Lethal Triumvirate

Last weekend was me and the guys' annual Florida golf trip. As is the case every year - with 4 guys staying in the same condo, playing 4 rounds of golf together, eating together and spending more or less every second of a long weekend together - we discussed just about every thought our four low-output minds could conjure up. About 85% of what we talked about related to the usual mix of unspeakable subjects you would expect from four guys alone on a vacation. But that left a good 15% chunk of heavy shit to tackle. The combination of two subjects - Buddhism and marketing - turned out to be a lethal mix that has left me devastated and virtually unable to venture out into the world.

One of the guys on the trip - we'll call him "Chris" to maintain his anonymity in the face of the omniscient corporate powers to which he is beholden - is a high level marketing guy, who was willing to explain candidly some of the dirty secrets of his industry. I was ranting about the subject of my last post - Target's ability to figure out when women are pregnant and starting their second trimesters, and hitting them with ads that are customized with baby stuff but sufficiently randomized that the women won't pick up on the fact that Target knows they are pregnant. It turns out that that kind of stuff is child's play, amateur hour. Any schlub can send out coupons and get a person to buy a few one-off products. The real marketing gold is to get your company so deeply permeated into a person's DNA that they but your stuff without even knowing why they want it.

Customer focus groups, it turns out, are interesting primarily because of how clueless and un-self-aware they reveal people as being. When asked why they buy one product over another one, people give what they think are truthful answers. They think they're conducting some kind of objective analysis about price and quality and utility, but they're wrong! How are their lies exposed? Through walking MRIs. When you hook a person up to a brain scan and a rack of other Star Trek-looking contraptions and have him walk down the aisle of a grocery store, you can see, real-time, how bonkers all of his subconscious mechanisms go when he comes across a certain product. Dilated pupils, goosebumps, raised arm hairs, increased heart rate, heavy breathing, slight perspiration and a moderate erection are not caused by comparison shopping for razor blades. They're the result of an emotional reaction based on a lifetime of internalization of ads. A person might honestly believe that he has decided that Gillette shaving cream is an objectively superior product, but his purchase is much more likely the result of him being slightly sexually aroused by the thought that buying it will make him just a little bit more like Roger Federer.

I told Chris that, since I think about this stuff a lot, I have to be at least slightly less susceptible to marketing than the average first world consumer. He thought that maybe I was partially correct, but only because I don't watch much TV - hours spent in front of the TV being the most strongly correlated factor in predicting how commercially brainwashable a person will be. But then he asked me why I thought I had bought the sunglasses, running watch, shorts and shoes I was wearing, the golf bag I was carrying, and the car I drove, and just like that, with one pointed, penetrating question, exposed me as being every bit as much of a clueless, gullible sucker as the rest of 'em.

And all the Buddhist principals I've been reading about recently - the refuge that's been helping in so many contexts - just made it worse. One of the central underpinnings of Buddhism - more specifically, the concept of Nirvana (or, in the words of Carl Spackler after having caddied for the Lama, "total consciousness") - is that, through breathing, concentration and focus, you can train yourself to see the true essence of things. But seeing the true essence of marketing and how deeply it penetrates your subconscious is enough to make you completely flip out. Once you've directed your focus towards marketing, what do you do when you discover you've been brainwashed all your life, and that your supposedly reasoned, autonomous actions are actually just rote responses to decades of calculated manipulation? Rip off all your name brand clothes and move to a monastery? Give up the whole Buddhist thing and just admit that Procter & Gamble is the undisputed winner?

Penelope Trunk, a very funny and insightful blogger, wrote an awesome piece about why, unless someone specifically asks her about it, she never talks about doing yoga. Her point is, nobody wants to hear about the wonderful, beautiful mental space you've managed to find for yourself through discipline, concentration and other self-righteous techniques like that. Completely true. I've touched upon this as well (reminder: please keep me posted about your debauchery so that I can keep tabs on what today's youngsters are up to). But in the case of outrageously effective marketing, I can say with some conviction that mindfulness should be thrown under the bus. Better to keep this element of consciousness locked up tightly in some distant mental box and get on with things. Next time you see me, compliment me on my stylish shades and cool watch. It'll make me feel great (and maybe a little aroused).

Here's Penelope Trunk's post about yoga:

Here's my similar, old post about Buddhism:

And while we're on the subject of marketing and razor blades, buy some stuff from this guy:

Friday, February 17, 2012

Target Knows When You Are Pregnant

Charles Duhigg published a recent exposé in the New York Times about the information Target collects about its customers to try to change their buying habits. If I had overheard someone recounting the details on the street, I would have assumed he was a moderately deranged conspiracy theorist. But it's not a conspiracy. It's all true.

Most big companies now employ statisticians to try to predict and shape customers' buying patterns. Target is apparently just better at it than most. People are slaves to their own shopping habits. But there are certain times in their lives when they are more likely than usual to change their patterns. One of the primary such times is when a woman is pregnant. Any bush league company can search public records to figure our when a baby was born. And many do. So when a woman has a baby, she's instantly ambushed with piles of store ads and coupons. Once the word is out, however, it's hard for any one store to stand out above all the noise. Target realized that it would have a huge advantage if it could get its ads and coupons out to women before they gave birth. In particular, they figured out that pregnant women in the beginning of their second trimesters were the jackpot. That's when they started buying all the preparatory junk they figured they'd need when their babies came along, and when they were most susceptible to pressure to shop somewhere else.

The Target statisticians were able to come up with a "pregnancy prediction" score - a basket of 25 products that could determine, with about 87% accuracy whether a shopper was a pregnant woman. The basket included things like unscented lotion, hand sanitizers, calcium and zinc supplements, and large bags of cotton balls. Coming up with a list of names and home addresses of tens of thousands of expectant mothers was easy. Target realized quickly, however, that sending ads and coupons for baby products to women who had never told Target they were pregnant was a good way to make those women completely flip out. To be confronted with the stark reality that a giant corporation was peeping into the most intimate corners of their lives crossed some line. Too big brother. Too skeevy. So Target further refined its methods to be a bit more subtle. Having the technological capacity to create individualized ad and coupon mailings for specific people, the materials they sent to pregnant women had lots of baby stuff, but just enough other unrelated items - lawnmowers, wine glasses, whatever - to make the ads seem random. The strategy of profiling customers, but in a way just subtle enough that the customers didn't realize they were being profiled, was a blockbuster for Target. Its revenues went through the roof when they started profiling customers in this way.

So. Anything wrong with this? People react strongly, negatively, when they learn that they're being profiled. That Target is so secretive about the fact that it uses statistical profiling, and that it knows it has to be subtle enough about it so that people don't realize they're being profiled, suggests that the practice is at least somewhat questionable. On the other hand, nobody is forcing anyone to buy anything. We're all adults. Ads are ads and we all know to take them with a grain of salt. The Target PR team would probably say that the company is just very effective at figuring out what people want and offering it to them. And maybe that's right.

It seems like there's a line to be drawn between making people aware of the products you have to offer and nefarious psychological manipulation. But exactly where one leaves off and the other begins is, of course, almost impossible to pinpoint. When do our actions stop being subject to our own conscious free will and start being controlled by imperceptible manipulation? What about babe-o-licious light beer ads, for example? Every guy knows, rationally, that buying a case of shitty, watered down swill is not going to give him firm pectoral muscles and make a gaggle of hot women want to drag him off to bed. But the ads work. Beer companies wouldn't spend billions of dollars a year on them if they didn't. None of us think we're gullible, stupid, subject to obvious manipulation. But alas, we are.

So what to do? I can think of a few alternatives:

1) Surrender. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. Watch more TV. Construct a self-image based on material possessions, impossible physical beauty and brand names. Buy lots of stuff on impulse, especially things that are right at eye level when you walk into a store. Show off your car. Play a lot of Keno.

2) Withdraw. Don't subscribe to magazines, use credit cards, send e-mails, get a mortgage or post anything on-line. Move to the third world. Live in a hut. (There are ads out in the bush too. So maybe poke your eyes out to be safe.) Cut off all ties to the modern world. And if you still can't shake the manipulative forces of 21st century capitalism from your scent, you might just have to go drown yourself in a river.

3) Trust no-one; Believe in conspiracy theories; Become paranoid. A little disconcerting, I know. But this is the choice I'd advocate for. Our every move is being watched and recorded! It's not a conspiracy theory if it's real. It's not paranoia if it's justified. The forces at work out there aren't part of some evil empire trying to conquer and destroy us. They're just engaged in the old-as-humanity-itself game of trying to separate us from a few bucks. But they're getting really good at it. So, follow the money. Be aware of which of your desires come from deep within yourself and which are being subtly imposed by some well-honed ad campaign. Don't buy shitty light beer. And, next time you go to Target, pick up some calcium and unscented hand lotion to throw them off your trail.

Saturday, January 7, 2012

If Corporations are People, They’re Pussies and Should Have Their Asses Kicked on the Playground

Lowes announced last month that it was pulling its ads from the TV show “All American Muslim,” a reality show about five Muslim families living in Dearborn, Michigan. By all accounts, “All American Muslim” is about as mundane and innocuous a show as exists these days. It shows real-life Muslims talking about things like whether their shower tiles need to be re-caulked and whether their little sister’s new boyfriend is a douche. It’s not a hugely popular show; most people I know had never heard of it before the Lowes brouhaha. And, ironically, it’s probably about the best kind of show possible for easing racial and religious tensions. It shows Muslims, in their natural habitat, worrying about the same kinds of boring, mundane minutiae of modern life that concern human beings of every race, color and creed. The only thing notable about the Muslims portrayed in the show seems to be how utterly unremarkable they are.

Lowes pulled its ads after getting a letter from the Florida Family Association. FFA told Lowes that “All American Muslim” was “hiding the Islamic agenda’s clear and present danger to American liberties and traditional values” and demanded that it stop supporting the show through its advertising. Not only is this accusation hysterical, bigoted and just flat out stupid, but the FFA is a piddly, piss-ant little lint ball of an organization effectively run by one person, David Canton, with an annual budget of less than $200,000. Mr. Canton’s strength seems to be his ability to write scary letters that make it sound as if his organization is supported by more than the handful of assholes who actually do back his mission. Before getting all wound up about Muslims, Mr. Canton focused on shows that promoted the homosexual lifestyle, such as “Modern Family” and the always envelope-pushing “Degrassi High.” And what did Lowes – the country’s second largest home improvement retailer, a corporate behemoth with 1,749 stores, 197 million square feet of retail selling space and $48 billion in annual revenues – do when it received a demand from one twisted little white guy in Florida who probably didn’t get enough attention from his dad as a kid? It folded like a little bitch.

When it came to standing up to a bully and doing the right thing, Lowes proved to be a quivering little twerp, the most groveling, insecure little pussy on the playground. But I don’t blame Lowes itself. Lowes is just a person, as we know from Citizens United (which, in case you haven’t heard me mention it 8 or 10 thousand times before, is the 2010 Supreme Court decision that held that corporations are people whose free speech rights cannot be suppressed by laws created through the democratic process by human beings). And public corporations are, down to their very DNA, pussies.

Private corporations sometimes have a little more spine. They are owned by smaller, concentrated groups of people and can run themselves in whatever way they see fit. If they want to pay more than minimum wage, or give better benefits than is market, or support causes that are non-mainstream or controversial, they can do so, even if it would result in slightly reduced quarterly profits. But public corporations are different. Capital markets are fluid and fickle. Maintaining a steady but even business is deadly. If you’re a corporation with a large, diffuse shareholder base, you have no choice but continuously to expand. Without fast, consistent growth, your shareholders will flee, your financing will dry up and you, poor pathetic corporation, will be left for dead. And if you’re a corporation that has reached a certain critical size, the only way for you to continue to grow is to become ever more bland and ubiquitous, so utterly mainstream and inoffensive that every last person in the country will find you just tolerable enough to send some disposable income your way. From a marketing perspective, a large corporation simply cannot, at any cost, rock the boat one teensy weensy little bit.

David Canton is an outlier. I’d like to believe, and I actually do believe, that very few people in this country agree with him that seemingly workaday Muslims in Michigan are in fact hiding some radical flavor of Islam, waiting for just the right moment to spring it on us and take over the country. But the issue is not quite settled yet. There are plenty of Americans who are still scared enough by 9/11 or ignorant enough about what true Islam stands for in the first place, that any mere suggestion of radicalism or terrorism can put them on edge. And putting people on edge is not what makes them buy shit from you. And so, if you’re Lowes, even if David Canton is an outcast idiot with no followers, you worry that maybe he’s onto something. Maybe some people will think he’s right, and won’t like you if you don’t do what he says. And so just in case, you listen to him. You capitulate.

It takes balls to stand up for a cause that’s real and current and divisive. Corporations are all about waiving the banner for principals of justice and equality, but only for causes that have been long settled. Standing behind Martin Luther King, Jr. or Jackie Robinson or Rosa Parks is a great way to sell sneakers. But it’s not all that impressive to declare your allegiance to a battle that was won two generations ago. In the end, Lowes probably got its comeuppance. The backlash against Lowes’ having removed its ads from “American Muslim” got more attention than the show ever did on its own. Lowes came away looking like the scared little wussy that it is.

Anti government types have done a good job convincing people that government is the source of all oppression. But there will always be, and there always has to be, some source of power that controls our society. As power shifts away from government, the most likely candidate to sponge up the power and fill the void is corporations. Whatever weaknesses and flaws democratically elected governments have, at least, at their core, their fundamental purpose is to protect and help their constituents. Corporations don’t have that mandate. Their reason for being is to create perpetually increasing shareholder value. To do that means pandering to the broadest base of spenders. And that means offending no-one, never taking a stand, and capitulating to any force that threatens even the most miniscule hint of discord. If we want the contours of our modern existence to be defined by the Lowes of the world, by the most insecure little ninth grade girls at the high school dance, trashing government and standing up for corporate personhood is the way to go. But if we prefer that the “people” we want to be in charge not be the most spineless, pathetically weak among us, we need to get things moving in another direction. Corporations may be people, and they may be good at making money, but they’re not the ones we want calling the shots. They’re pussies and should have their asses kicked on the playground.