If you look up some archival street photography of American life in the 50's and 60's, you find a curious thing. At the beginning of the 50's, folks still had a "Sunday best" view of themselves. If somebody was taking pictures for posterity, you'd want to be remembered, for posterity, in your Sunday best.
By the end of the sixties, that was over, collateral damage in the triumph of dreck. There was no "Sunday best" anymore because Sunday wasn't there anymore.
We never appreciated how much we lost when we lost Sunday. From a day of peace and grace to a day of jest and madness and business as usual. Why force shops to close on Sunday? Because the min wage retail workers don't deserve weekend time with family?
But that's a mere symptom of our descent into the pit of dreck.
Dreck demands that the lowest common denominator prevail everywhere at all times, and especially on the screens you're addicted to 24/7.
Dreck addiction is what propels "entertainers" with no apparent attributes other than a top-shelf management team to the very pinnacle of pop success.
Dreck has triumphed.
DRECK RULES!
Once you're acclimatised to dreckwelt, everything kinda makes sense, don't it?
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