A friend wrote me, noting that the first part of my address–9226 E Via de Vaquero–sounds as though I could live in Spain. A lovely thought, indeed.
But Scottsdale is no Spain. Both for better, and for worse.
It’s different here. I’d describe Scottsdale as having a culture of conspicuous consumption.
I’m glad I didn’t bring my car–I would have been painfully self-conscious. Not that there’s anything wrong with my car (there’s certainly not!). It’s just that it’d stand out like a sore thumb parked between the Maseratis and Porches that fill a typical parking lot at your local Target Super Center. I had my first ride in a Dodge Viper the other day–80mph in second gear, in mere seconds. 515 horse power? Yeah … it’s a commuter.
My sister suggests that everything in Scottsdale is fake. She might be on to something–the cosmetic surgery industry is certainly booming, here.
Now, mind you, there’s nothing wrong with conspicuous consumption. There’s nothing that makes an afternoon shopping better or worse than an afternoon hiking in the mountains. You do what you like to do.
I’ve never thought of myself as a big consumer … but maybe if I had the money, I would be.
But I like Scottsdale because it’s a hive of industrial activity. Not industry in the traditional sense–conjuring images of smoke-stacks, fiery furnaces, men of industry, dripping sweat as steel is poured. Rather, Scottsdale’s industry is that of the 21st century. In a world where men’s sweat has increasingly been replaced by the whir of a machine, the new face of industry is health care, financial services, dot coms, design studios. This “industry” lacks the romance of material form–of vision forged into steel. But it’s industry nonetheless–and produces far greater value than the East Coast’s dying and decaying manufacturing industry.
