Saturday, June 11th, 2016
The Villages, Sumter County, Florida
United States of America
From the scant research I've done thus far on the "census-designated place" (or CDP) I find myself in known only as The Villages, it's a retirement development community that has, for the most part, sprung into its current iterated existence only in the last 5 or 6 years. It lacks a real municipal government (hence why it is a CDP and not an incorporated municipality), and is headed by the current generation of a rich development family who began with Michigan businessman Harold Schwartz selling tracts of land in the area via mail order. Long story short, the American government passed a law prohibiting the sale of land and real estate through mail order in 1968, which left Schwartz and his business partner, Al Tarrson, with large tracts of land in the area, prompting them to begin the development of a mobile home park in the early 1970's. When, by the 1980's only 400 units had been sold, Schwartz bought out Tarrson's share and brought his son, Harold Gary Morse, on-board in 1983.
Taking the hint that vapid suburban developments are worthless without the filler of hyper-convenient consumer amenities, Morse began to commercially upgrade the sprawling suburbia and created a community endlessly peppered with large tracts of land turned into giant golf courses between streets and neighbourhoods... so much so, in fact, that one of the most common ways to get around, whether you golf or not, is with golf carts.
Not surprisingly, real estate in the area is expensive, and as the brain-child of a now deceased billionaire, it shouldn't be surprising to anyone that both The Villages and the larger area it is incorporated within have a heavy bias towards the Republican Party. In the past, it's been a key campaign stop, both for Republican's attempting to secure their party's nomination, as well as for Republican's that have made the ticket and are looking to further woo area residents with promises of lower taxes on the rich and assurances that climate change is a liberal conspiracy to undermine economic progress. During this current election cycle, both Ben Carson and Marco Rubio made appearances in the community to do just that. And in 2012, after having secured the Republican nomination, Mitt Romney and his then-running mate Paul Ryan made a few stop-overs on their quest to actively destroy the world by way of deliberate political negligence.
So, for me, it's a novel experience to explore a truly gated community... one that is not only gated in action, but in theory as well. The kind of place that proves the maxim that if you've got more, you've got more to lose. And thus, more to fear. Of course, in gated communities like this one, crime is a truly rare occurrence. The only recorded murder I could find from the last two decades occurred in 2006, during what appears to have been an armed break and enter. By all logical evaluation, this area is extraordinarily safe, but only as a component part of a much larger problem that endangers the existence of the entire human race.
Libertarian socialist polemics aside (and I apologize for any sweeping generalizations, I do want to point out there are Democratic voters in The Villages that complain of the distinctly Republican tilt, tho we do have to admit that the binary split between Republicans and Democrats can't be the only two visible demographics in the area and that we must also admit that the breakdown is based on who people vote for, not necessarily their genuine political disposition), my whole experience here has been one very conducive to writing. Perhaps because I've felt more troubled than I usually do. Travel does that to a wuss like me (a wuss who says to himself, "yes, you're gonna be terrified, depressed, and confused at times, but perseverance through such discomfort is just part of the adventure!").
So, what, does that reveal me a wuss? Or does it reveal a particular kind of bravery? Either way, weathering myself to acceptance of potential discomfort doesn't make said discomfort any more comfortable. Perhaps it does give me something to grasp on to when I'm freaking out, though. It's also just a sign of my slowly getting to know myself better and better as the years roll by.
Once again, here I am, staying back at our rental timeshare in the heart of The Villages' suburbia, writing like it's what I'll one day do for a living. At the very least, I can hope. But at the very most, I can keep writing, and it just might occur as a happy side-effect of my belatedly embraced passion for the Word. (My Word, not God's).
In rather distressing but lugubriously unsurprising news, 22 year old Christina Grimmie, a woman just a year younger than me and a past winner of The Voice, spiritual successor to American Idol, was senselessly shot to death yesterday after a concert she held in Orlando. While signing fans autographs, a boy (or man, I'm not enlightened to particular details) whipped out a gun and quickly unloaded on her before the singer's brother tackled him to the ground, then prompting the assailant to turn the weapon on himself. Needless to say, he was successful in killing both her and himself, adding to a list of recent and not-so-recent murders endemic in America thanks to a continued misinterpretation of the Second Amendment via the powerful NRA lobby in Washington.
Coming from Canada, my observer's logic is painfully simple. Guns at Wal-Mart, gun shows free of background checks, and just basic Grand Theft Auto-style gun outlets equals only one thing: a whole bunch of criminals empowered by their intrinsically greater lethality (I mean, come on, what kind of gang feels 'empowered' when all they've got are a bunch of sharp objects? The only time gang violence is a notable problem in Vancouver is when said gangs smuggle guns in from across the border), and a whole bunch more people who would not have otherwise become criminals or committed suicide were it not for the acquisition of these weapons being close to as simple as getting a six-pack of beer. But hey, it's one of those logical observations that's so close to most Americans noses that it's become entirely invisible... save for when one looks in the mirror. A metaphorical mirror. No, Donald, I'm not suggesting that if you look in the mirror there will be a gun below your nose. And yes, Donald, that one movie where Harrison Ford lands the plane is, well, just a movie. I know you're disappointed.
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