Maybe I’m just selfish.

It’s not that I’m well off. That’s certainly not the case. More or less, it’s that I think I just stopped caring. To say I’m nihilistic would be hyperbolic, but to be frank, I don’t give a fuck. I guess I’m a jerk.

America is not doing so hot right now. Between rubbing our noses in every country’s asshole outside of the western world and dropping into a major economic recession, we’ve certainly seen better days. But you can’t win them all, you know?

After over a year of full-time work with a nationally distributed political magazine and the long-term development of the apathetic tendencies of the utmost uninterested mallrat, I’ve practically given up on America. Not in the communistic sense exactly, but rather as if I just don’t care what’s going on outside of my little world of sex, beer, and Comedy Central.

God, I guess I am selfish.

While everyone in the office was anticipating the Vice Presidential debate last week, I was throwing a cheeseburger down my gullet and racing over to the bar. I didn’t need alcohol to enjoy the debate, but after a few beers, I began to think that all of Palin’s winking was directed toward me. Somewhere into the second hour, I gave up on our wouldn’t-be romance and stopped caring about what either of the candidates had to say. I had a shot and cashed out.

We’re in the middle of a recession, and I went to the casino.

The Seneca Buffalo Creek Casino has been operating downtown for over a year now, and I waited until the middle of our downward spiral to check it out for the first time. Situated between the city’s lone subway line and the Perry Street Projects, the casino is ideal for those who have succumbed to DUIs and welfare. If you are desperate enough to blow your money away and don’t have a car, you are set.

Biden was just wrapping up his plan for economic revival when a young woman approached the cashier with a piggy bank. Literally, a piggy bank. She was separating the coins into dollar stacks for six minutes when I put down my orange juice and gave up gawking.

At a time when every one of my friends and co-workers are complaining about soaring prices on everything from sneakers to sandwiches, I have zoned out every notion of trouble and have fallen into a fantasy world of my make believe America. I got to say, it’s pretty nice. Unfortunately, I’m going to have to wake up at some point.

The stop at the casino was by no means a wake-up call; that has yet to come. It was, albeit blurry, a foreshadowing of what I’m soon to realize. We’re in trouble. I think?

It’s not that the echoing voice of Biden’s taunts against the Republicans was driving me mad. Maybe it was the whiskey. Basically, in what the media is reporting as an alarming crisis and at the dawn of the most important political election of my life, supposedly, I am content with Saved By the Bell reruns and Wendy’s. Even if the Dollar Menu is dwindling, I’ll get by. That’s economics.

Unfortunately, I am not quite good at setting an appropriate example. The important thing, however, is that I am aware, at least even a tad. Does that mean I am going to start getting together my resume, depositing my paychecks instead of blowing them on nachos and beer and hey, maybe I’ll even vote? The latter, probably. As for the other options, well, we’ll see. I know we can’t all be Andrew Blake, and in all honesty, that’s probably a good thing. It’s about time you wake up and see what’s going on, because from the looks of it, the shit is about to hit the fan and I’m not ready to clean it up. Let’s hope you are.