SUPERSIZING the American Dream

Venture anywhere in America these days and through the clouds of dust and rumble of earth movers our eyes search to find the flat horizons of cornfields and the lacy canopies of age-old forests. The exhaust of diesel engines suffocates the soft perfume of rich soil; bitter asphalt supplants the sweet smell of fresh. Land defiled by gluttonous human appetite lies in decay. From the decrepit soil rise new crops of brick and faux stone, from the leveled forests emerge full-bellied beasts skinned in hand-hewn clapboards. The amber waves of grain yield motionless goliaths of brick and faux stone while cragged horizons of rooftops crowd the spacious skies and purple mountains of majesty. We crown our good with neighborhoods.
History has seen the inherent need for shelter transform from basic necessity to overt displays of aggrandized self-worth. The new genre of housing style afflicting the American standard, colloquially termed by satirists as the McMansion, is intrinsically a testament to that very human condition by which it was created. A name coined by combining the familiar term for some of the huge behemoths erected by “robber barons” of the Industrial Age with the contemporary market standard for fast production, the name McMansion could not have been more aptly applied. Created in record time using often inferior materials, the American manses of today exemplify an inefficient use of space, obtuse traffic flow, and unimaginative design aesthetics. The only need satiated by this style of home is our need to brag about what we have accomplished, however secure or worthless those accomplishments may be financially; the toils of our volatile economy often resting on our own penchant to live beyond our imaginations, often beyond our means.
Perhaps our society could learn a lesson if our ears are indeed eager to listen. Homes need to be designed for the family, the basic unit to which our life on earth was originally subscribed. The thirty-foot ceilings of our “family rooms” need be saved for museums where silent contemplation is revered. Cherish our earth and plant gardens rather than six and seven-car garages to teach children potatoes come from rich soil and not greasy red cardboard boxes. Temper the need for more; life might just give you all you could ever truly desire.