This is Central Orange County. At least most of it. If you head inland more than a couple of miles and can’t smell the sea air any more, here’s what you get. This, interrupted by strip malls:
Here, have a whole set of those. More to come, I’m sure.
This is Central Orange County. At least most of it. If you head inland more than a couple of miles and can’t smell the sea air any more, here’s what you get. This, interrupted by strip malls:
Here, have a whole set of those. More to come, I’m sure.
It is a fact generally acknowledged that the institution of marriage in the United States is troubled.
Editorial writers, television journalists, and politicians are agreed that less people are marrying, less are taking their marriages seriously, more are ending their marriages, and those who end them often have several. The importance and permanence of marriage appear to be badly eroded.
More recently, the attempts by homosexuals to have their marriages legally recognized have alarmed many of the same people. They’ve urged others to stop these proposed changes, on the grounds that marriage between anything other than a man and a woman is against Nature, and that this change will further damage this wounded institution of marriage or even finally kill it.
Whatever the measurable facts might be, there is a perception among the educated middle class that marriage is reduced, threatened, devalued, and possibly outmoded, and it’s a great cause for concern for many people. It would be generally helpful to calm their fears and, if possible, to revive marriage as a serious institution for those who choose it. Mistreating homosexuals is not helpful, nor is theocracy.
Prohibiting divorce and remarriage is the most obvious approach, but is politically impossible. Religious or simply conservative individuals who dislike homosexuals and fornicators are still unwilling to abandon serial marriage as an option, and will resist this fiercely, despite implied contradictions in their thinking.
Instead, I propose that we treat this as a matter of state incentive, and make our improvements with pricing as we do in the case of roads, for example. In this particular case, the problem is not the first marriage itself, which must be kept simple and inexpensive, but the mechanism of divorce. Easy divorce erodes the permanence and seriousness of marriage.
I propose a new set of taxes or fees, which will at once act as a brake on casual marriage and benefit the people financially. The act of divorce also must remain simple and inexpensive; the cost of endless failed marriages is measured not only in misery but in the cost of domestic violence and child abuse, which unduly burdens us all.
Instead, the schedule of fees will apply to remarriage. A second marriage, for example, might cost $5,000. This is a reasonable fee for a serious commitment, and will emphasize to both parties that they are taking on a serious responsibility. The third marriage in this case would require a $15,000 fee; the fourth, $50,000; and the fifth, $100,000. Whether to continue increasing the fee or not is a matter for further discussion.
This schedule of assessment on new marriages would apply to any marriage license issued by the government. Religious institutions would remain free to declare marriages valid or not by their own accounting, but none of this would apply to the legal status of those marrying.
In the case of polyamorous marriage, fees would apply to all participants.
Widows and widowers would be exempt from the remarriage payment for the next marriage after the death of their former partners. Legal penalties for the intentional death of a spouse to avoid the marriage fee would be increased over and above those for other murders, to reduce moral hazard from this rule.
The advantages of this system are obvious. No one is prevented from legally ending an insupportable marriage. Those who are seriously committed to further marriages are free to do so after paying the fee. Feckless and flighty couples with money will progressively enrich the state and the people. And as in all such plans, the cycle of divorce and remarriage will be dramatically slowed. Finally, the power of the institution itself will be greatly enhanced both in practical decision-making and generally respect. Nothing commands more authority in American society than a very large price tag.
I hope you’ll join me in sharing this proposal with friends, family, church leaders, and government representatives. I think that all of us, whether we intend to marry or not, can support a rescue of the power of marriage that restricts none of us and enriches all of us.

The Santa Ana Boxing Club
Mural and a store
The Mojave desert is a mess. I love it, not in an ironic-slumming decay-hugger way, just love it. Chaparral crackles when there’s no other sound. Weird stuff grows out of nowhere and sits there daring you to find context. Ancient Mexican cowboys sell fruit to displaced urban black teenagers. The light is fierce and perfect and constant. Things break down and people just board them up and move on with their lives. All my life I’ve seen the desert as more functional, better adjusted, more of an organic whole than the city and the suburbs.
I want to say “don’t change,” Mojave, but I know you will, and I know you’ll always surprise me.
“I was driving for a tow company in L.A. We had official police tow contracts for three cities and it was busy, with lots of freeway work. Towing stuff for cops, AAA stuff, and crashes. You know, the crashes can get gory as hell.”
“There was this one driver named Ralphie Bermudez. Ralphie liked crashes, gory ones. The gorier the better, stuff that nobody wanted to see. He loved that shit.”
“So he’d show up at just about every really splattery gross crash, but he’d stop on the way. And he’d get a dozen jelly donuts and bring them to the scene.”
“He’d walk up eating one, try to hand them out, kinda squeeze them at people. ‘Who wants a jelly donut? Jelly donuts for everyone!’ People would get grossed out, like, c’mon Ralphie. That’s not cool. He’d just keep chuckling.”
“Yeah, that was Ralphie. Jelly donut Ralphie.”
American English is a relaxed, anything-goes affair. Swear all you want, or make up words, or mangle the grammar and it’s fine. There are still a few words and phrases that stop the music and make all the cowboys turn around, like the n-bomb or the c-word, but the sharp corners on those are being worn down too. Euphemisms for death and other bodily functions persist but without serious effect; saying “gravedigger” instead of “funeral director” is an eccentricity and not an abomination.
But there are forbidden words and phrases, just forbidden not to all. Important temple priests, once ordained, must not use these without permission and sacrifice, on pain of severe punishment.
Two of these are “The Superbowl” and “The Olympics.”
Ordinary people are allowed to say “The Olympics are less exciting this year!” or “Come to my Superbowl party.”
However, those who sell, or promote, or even report professionally are forbidden to use these phrases unless they’ve given an expensive sacrifice to the appropriate temple. If a bar has a Superbowl Super Happy Hour, or a snack company suggests a Superbowl Dip Bowl, or a newspaper has a special Olympic Games section, an inquisition of attorneys arrives and begins punishment.
This is why confusing advertisements appear saying things like “Get ready for the Big Game with Triscuits!” or “FOX Sports is your Summer Games coverage HQ!” Brahmin who utter these things without having sacrificed and cleansed are struck down by God’s hands in the form of intellectual property lawyers.
News media are stuck in a theological No Man’s Land where they tussle with the priests. They say “we’re reporting on events! We’re atheists, and you can’t judge us for the holy words!” The guardians of the temple disagree, and blood is shed.
So, a happy Super Sunday to all! Enjoy the gladiators, the entertainments, and the snacks. But spare a thought for those for whom this is holy, and for those persecuted for penetrating a hermetic sanctuary forbidden only to them. Without them, all our commercial pleasures would fade into the shadows to join the lost power of profanity and euphemism.
If you see just one meaningless short video this year, make it this one.
Mike is a frequent visitor to the Corner. He lives in his van. He has had—and is—a long, strange trip. He goes to swap meets a lot and shows up with some very colorful women he’s met, especially at the San Diego one. He drinks half & half and smokes a lot, and has probably done whichever drug you’re thinking of. Today, Mike got a few things at the Vons and decided to make them into a sandwich and eat them on the strip of grass next to his van.
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