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National Review / Digital
Buyer’s Remorse


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A friend from out of town complained about shopping in the city: Wasn’t it all chain stores now? Although I snorted, I felt secretly ashamed, for I had seen neighborhood after neighborhood go from emptiness to luxuriance to blandness. I looked for refutation. Three times a week I walk 600 yards to my gym, down a street between the sleekness of midtown and the funkiness of downtown. It is the artery of average; when God gives us this day our daily, this is the way it comes. What could I acquire there if I paid attention?

I could begin by acquiring money. The first building on the first corner was a bank, with its girdle of ATMs foremost. Next was something that would appear again and again, a shoe store, this one devoted to running shoes. Why so many running shoes? Because they are not just for running, but also for youth fashion display. An African working a sidewalk table advertised $3 sweaters, then, dropping his price immediately, sweaters for $1.50. A computer-game store was the first to make a dramatic pitch for attention. I have never played a computer game, but I have respected them ever since I read that games make as much money annually as Hollywood. What the gamesters of America are getting, if these display windows were any indication, is apocalyptic violence. ASSASSINS CREED REVELATIONS said one poster, over a hooded figure; CALL OF DUTY answered its mate, featuring a futuristic grunt. A cellphone store greeted the Incarnation with a window filled with red and green balloons. More shoes — boots this time. Duane Reade — they are everywhere! Chain drugstores are the new 5-and-10s, heavy on snack food and cosmetics. A dry cleaner, run by Orientals (the old-fashioned moniker matches the old-fashioned venue). China bids to overtake us as a superpower, but its children still come here and become dry cleaners; their children go to Yale. A threading salon will fix your eyebrows, and wax your skin. Where? Let Leporello sing the catalogue: Half face, full face, full arms, under arms, half legs, full legs, bikini line, deep bikini, Brazilian. A man imagines the geography, even as he flinches from the pain; women know allure involves suffering. Two fast-food places follow, one promising to be HOT ’N JUICY, just the thing after your deep bikini. More shoes. Then a store of jeans. There is actually a chain, I learn, called OMG. “Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that takes his name in vain.” That seems pretty plain, even without the repetition, but what does the Lord know about jeans, He doesn’t even have legs. More shoes, a second bank, and a vast hole, awaiting a new building, round out that block.


Contents
December 19, 2011    |     Volume LXIII, No. 23

Articles
  • It’s Europe vs. the Europeans.
  • It requires blocking the world court’s overreach.
  • Now is no time for more force reductions in Afghanistan.
  • A well-intentioned New Jersey law does more harm than good.
  • China’s experience with high-speed rail provides a cautionary tale.
  • How the EPA is killing America’s energy industry.
  • The Nobel peace committee divides its 2011 prize wisely.
Features
  • Beware Wall Street efforts to reoccupy the Republican party.
  • Why the former Massachusetts governor deserves the GOP nomination
  • A 34-year-old GOP star eyes an Ohio Senate seat
  • The U.S. must settle for nothing less than checkmate.
Books, Arts & Manners
  • Victor Davis Hanson reviews Conquered into Liberty: Two Centuries of Battles along the Great Warpath that Made the American Way of War, by Eliot A. Cohen.
  • John Derbyshire reviews The Better Angels of Our Nature: Why Violence Has Declined, by Steven Pinker.
  • Kyle Smith reviews Fear and Loathing at Rolling Stone: The Essential Writing of Hunter S. Thompson, edited by Jann S. Wenner.
  • Randy Boyagoda reviews The Marriage Plot, by Jeffrey Eugenides.
  • Ross Douthat reviews The Descendants.
  • Richard Brookhiser tours his stores.
Sections
The Long View  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  
Athwart  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  
Poetry  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  
Happy Warrior  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .