Ben H. Bagdikian, "The Media Monopoly" (fourth edition)
(This is part 13 of an 18-part story, which begins here. Part 5 is here. And here is where you find part 10. Part 15? Right here. And the end of this entirely too long story is located here. After that, you�re on your own.)
Reading a fair amount of cultural criticism books, I�ve seen two things that are always staples � Manufacturing Consent by Noam Chomsky and Edward Hermann, and this book. In fact, I�ve read or heard so much about this book that I actually used it as the main source in a report I did for school without ever actually reading the book itself. I actually felt a little bad about that, and I decided a long time ago that I should read it so I could have my own perspective on the contents, rather that what others thought about it.
I needn�t have bothered. I already knew everything that was in there. Still though, after reading about the economic displacement of indigenous cultures by major corporations and media displacement in both this book and the recent Chomsky book I finished, what better thing to do than go shopping?
Kaua�i has two kinds of shops: the first is the small family owned shop full of mass-produced Hawaiian trinkets (but pay no attention to the �Made in Taiwan� sticker that covered at least half of the items). The second type of shop is of the Walmart/Longs Drugs variety, although there is one chain store that I believe was called �Hello Honkey� or something like that, which was geared only for lame tourists with things like �Hang Loose� stickers, plastic coconut bras, and aisles upon aisles of aloha shirts that cost 25 dollars each. And of course, Walmart had the cheapest prices, since they can afford to undercut everybody.
And seeing how I�m unbelievably poor, I bought most of my stupid gag gifts there, including the incredibly stupid but absolutely necessary dashboard hula doll and the coconut monkey coin bank. (Which is an odd item, because as far as I know, there are no monkeys on Hawaii). So by the time I get back to visiting the island, Walmart will probably be the only store left, since they�ll eventually force everybody else out of business.
I also started out my shopping excursion by stopping at the corner McDonalds, but keeping with the island spirit I ordered from their specialty menu, ordering what was essentially Top Ramen, only over here, they call it �saimin.� Funnier still was the realization that this was the first time I�ve eaten at McDonalds for nearly three years.
Yeah, I�m a tourist.
To finish off the capitalist dream day, we drove over to the Marriot hotel on East Side. The Marriot is a monstrosity of a hotel at least fourteen stories high located right next to the ocean, complete with two shopping centers (which are really nothing more than strip malls), next to its entrances. All the coral had been cleared out of the ocean for at least 200 hundred feet from the shore, so as not to injure any patrons. The beach is accessible to the general public, but there are several signs warning people that the lounge chairs that adorn the beach are for hotel residents only.
We ignored the signs and pulled two chairs up to the beachfront. After reading for a while, I jumped into the ocean, surrounded by fat parents with their fat kids, most of who had the hue of a boiled lobster.
Though �surrounded� is probably the wrong term. In actuality, there weren�t very many people in the ocean at all. And if you decide to get a drink from one of their outside bars, you soon see why � behind a manicured hedge lay a swimming pool that was nearly as large as the ocean alcove itself, complete with fountains of Hawaiian gods and various fish all spewing rivulets of water. It is tackiness to the extreme and it can all be yours for a starting price of $299.99 a night. Per person.
Meanwhile, a father who is trying to teach his son how to body surf is being pestered. �Dad!� the kid whines, �I wanna go back in the poooooooool! Can we go back in the pool? Please? Let�s go back to the pooooooooool!!!�
The drinks I had earlier are starting to affect me, along with the water, and I soon have to use the bathroom. As it turns out, I emerge from the ocean at the same time as the father and son. I follow behind them as they march toward the pool, and step in right behind them.
I stay in the pool long enough to piss, and then I get right back out and dive back into the ocean again.
