I have an observation on how much of our American culture is now focused on the individual as the most valued object of concern. I was recently in line to check out four items at a local grocery store that would probably take, at most, one minute to do so. Bag the items in my indestructible shopping bag, swipe my card, and I’m on my way. Sayonnara.

The young lady in front of me had a full cart that would take several minutes to empty and pack. I was right. She also had in her hand a smart phone that she was checking for any valuable text messages that included information about lunch plans or recent breakfast creations that were enjoyed by valued friends. Along with the ever present smart phone was the ever present coffee cup that most likely contained a caramel, gold flakes from heaven, coconut creme, mocha, grande, lollapalooza, paradiso. In today’s America, one must constantly hydrate oneself with either coffee or bottled water because one never knows how many minutes away from kidney failure one might be.

So what did yours truly do? This representative from the generation of the grumpy old whiners waited for her 10,000 items to be swiped and packed and I silently grumbled. Then as all good sensitive socially aware Americans who whines about the many wrongs of our culture, I sought out the playing of the first National Anthem that I could find and took a knee for all old crotchety “get-off-my-lawn,” “ignored-in-the-checkout line generation.” There, take that you young whipper snappers.

¯ Scientists at Stanford and UB are transplanting human brain tissue into rats which might not be all that nice to rats. That’s quite arrogant of scientists to think that rats would benefit from human brain tissue. To be honest, if you were a rat would you want brain tissue from any old human being? In some cases, rattiness could be much better than humaness.

What if you were a rat and received some brain tissue from a Hollywood producer, director, actor, a senator from Minnesota or whatever else might be out there? Your reputation of being a rat could easily evaporate once you start following in the paw prints of the elite of politics and entertainment. Even a weasel looks good compared to some of these guys.

Here’s a question for you to consider. Who would you rather share a couch with? A. Harvey Weinstein or B. a rat. The answer is B, a rat. Who would you rather share a closet with? A. Kevin Spacey or B. a rat. The answer is B a rat. The question is, Who would you rather get caught in a hallway with, A. comedian Louis C.K. or B. a rat. Well you know the answer by now because you’re smarter than a rat.

¯ I know what I want for Christmas — a pig. Not just any old pig — a support pig. So if you see my wife walking to her car from the pig store with a beauty, don’t tell me. I want it to be a surprise under the old Christmas tree.

I didn’t come up with this wish until recently, I saw that a woman had a support-pig with her on a U.S. Airway flight. He was 70-pound porker that she carried on to help her temper her fears during the flight.

So the flying pig led me to want a driving support pig. That’s right! I want a pig in my car as I do errands around town and elsewhere.

I can see him now sitting next to me as I head to the store for the all purpose bread and milk. I’m not sure about the name but I’m leaning toward Oink. As I approach the intersection of 20 and 60, I begin to tense up but Oink could start oinking and I would immediately calm down because Oink is with me.

Then when I look over at his little pig tail twitching with glee, I am back under control and we make it through the intersection with ease. Thanks, Oink.

I imagine if Oink assists me in difficult traffic situations, he could help me handle the more important tense moments on the golf course. I’ve looked through the rules book and I see nothing prohibiting a support pig on the golf course. Just don’t call the holes “links” around Oink. The sounds of breakfast will make him nervous.

This is how Oink could help me when I face a tough 5-foot putt for a victory, Oink could help me line it up. If he sees a break to the right, his curly tail will go right. When my putter is lined up perfectly, OINK would oink and then I pull the trigger. The putt goes in and we both squeal with glee. The only problem is, what happens when John, Roger, and Dennis get their support pigs? Who’s going to clean the greens?

¯ I got another disappointing energy report from my electricity provider, the very picky group known as National Grid. I just got ranked as a “good” user, once again. Not “very good,” not “excellent” — just “good.” I disagree because I think I am an excellent user of electricity. If I want some light in our house, I turn on a lamp. So, what’s wrong with that? Apparently, National Grid would prefer to have me light a candle. I have an electric heater in the room where I produce these award-winning columns. When I want heat, I turn on the heater. Apparently National Grid would choose to have me light a campfire and open a window.

Truthfully, I am sick and tired of these mediocre report cards. I may have an alternative. I’m going to seek the assistance of town Supervisor Nick Norton up in God’s country, the township of Arkwright. Maybe he’ll let me plug into one of his windmills and bypass National Grid because, to them, I’m nothing special or excellent — just good. My calculations tell me that I could electrify my house with a 9-mile long extension cord

I called Supervisor Nick but he was out doing his environmental duty to protect Arkwright. I got his answering machine. “Hello, you’ve reached Nick Norton. I’m not at home right now because I’m out in the woods shushing any northern long-eared bats out of Arkwright. When I see one, I say, ‘Shush,’ and those little buggers fly off to the vast tundra where they belong. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you after I have made Arkwright great again.”

If the extension cord deal doesn’t work out, perhaps I’ll have my own windmill. So what if Ross and Marcy have to live with a whooshing sound and a wounded northern long-eared bat flopping around on their doorstep every so often. The important thing is I’ll finally be an excellent user of electricity.

Nin Privitera is a Fredonia resident whose column appears the second Sunday of each month. Send comments to editorial@observertoday.com