I appreciate this is a new and self reffing one but I’m giving my co-blogger, Cats, a QOTD…
Collective action will occur in any group of people, and so it should. Universal self sufficiency is just an alternative term for universal poverty. No civilisation above savagery can survive without specialisation, and no dwelling much better than a mud hut can be built by a single person.
Not only is there nothing wrong with collective action, it is something to be sought. The issue is exclusively one of how it is organised, whether by free cooperation or enforced.
Absolutely. The whole principle of the free market is that we do different things. Cats, for example, might install a bang-on computer network but I suspect he is no Kylie when it comes to singing popular songs whilst gyrating his hips – well, not for me anyway… Having said that I can’t exactly imagine Ms Minogue crawling under a desk with a posidrive. Though given her legendary ass (a treasure of the English speaking peoples) I’m not sure I wouldn’t mind seeing her give it a go. Anyway, and this is a bit of an aside things like this are more effective contra radical Islam than any number of JDAMs. Try watching that video, having a wank but thinking of the wit and wisdom of Abu Hamza.
But… This is not exactly a new observation from Cats but one that, like a Kylie video, deserves another run-out. An advanced society requires specialities. Nobody can do everything. And that is where trade comes from. For example the ’70s BBC sitcom “The Good Life” which focuses on the attempt by Tom and Barbara Good to be “self sufficient”. But their neighbours Jerry and Margo who are utterly conventional (and somewhat conservative – I shall not even mention Mrs Mountshaft and the Music Society) eternally dig the Goods out of Pinky and Perky’s sty. I see the show as a satire on the dismal attempt by the Goods to do everything. The money quote comes from Jerry. Tom has a go at “wage-slave” Jerry about why he obeys “Sir”. His reply is roughly, “18 thousand a year (note this is the mid-70s), a company car and an expense account”. He shoots, he scores because money can be exchanged for goods and services including those services done vastly better than by a bodger. Note also Tom is a total git and treats his wife Barbara (played by Felicity Kendal (who frankly I wouldn’t have minded watching wiggling her bum whilst crawling around with a posidrive either) better than your bum Cats – no offence meant Cats!) as little more than a feudal chattel.
Tom Good is something you wouldn’t get now on TV. He is a kinda proto-green who is portrayed by Richard Briers as a deeply unsympathetic character. He treats the toothsome Barbara like a lackey. Jerry and Margo have a vastly more balanced relationship and they also enable Tom and Barbara’s insane attempt to run their half-arsed small-holding in a London suburb. What is amusing is of course Tom gives-up a good job as a senior draughtsman to pursue this absurd dream and the only way he keeps it “pretending to work” is that when push comes to shove Jerry and Margo are there. So the very middle-class “wage slave” and his executive missus keep Tom in his absurd fantasy. It might as well be about wind-farms.
The show circles the overhead on Dave in the Sky of course. Beamed from the Satellites of Love until the heat death of the whole game. Nothing that ever matters (and ’70s sitcoms) ever truly dies.
Not with the overhead of digital immortality of the clacks. Not even Mrs Slocombe’s pussy is dead. God help us! I mean we* will be laughing at dismal pussy jokes** till the sun becomes a red giant.
Anyway back to the Goods…
And this is very interesting. Margo and Jerry were first envisioned as minor characters but couldn’t be kept down. To the extent that when the show aired in the USA it wasn’t called “The Good Life” but “The Good Neighbours”.
*For a different “we” obviously.
**I find them quite amusing because I am utterly puerile. Here is a taster… “Is that Mr. Ackbar? Mrs. Slocombe here, your next-door neighbour. I wonder, would you do me a favour? Would you go to my front door, bend down, and look through the letter-box? And if you can see my pussy, would you drop a sardine on the mat?” That is fucking genius. Read it all here. There is a serious point (though humour is very serious of course). These lines are with us for eternity.