The Breadbin

My apologies to Anne Hopf. I made myself cry, writing this. It still had to be written.  Please forgive me.


You won't hear me use the word 'evil' very often. It's a loaded word, a nasty word; intractable. People of sound mind do not do anything they consider to be "evil', even if we might think so. Their "evil" acts, upon closer inspection, arise out of a narrow view of the world and an overemphasis on the self. And as for people who are not of sound mind, is their "evil" really their fault? The law says no, and so does anyone concerned with higher outcomes than simple revenge.

Which is not to say I do not believe in evil: I do. I just reserve the label for perversions to which no other word could apply.

Like cancer.

Cancer is evil.  It's evil because it is the backwards of what it is to live. (And if you spell 'live' backwards...)
Life is mindful growth. Cancer, in its mindless growth, attacks, breaks down, consumes, destroys, …

So the first thing you should know about me is that I have a streak of paranoia.

For good reason. I can lose anything, and I can do it in the blink of an eye.
Like this one time, at band camp in residence, first year university. I went off to class--I still did that in first year, I hadn't discovered the Internet yet--only to realize halfway there that I had forgotten a required textbook. No idea why it was required...the prof was just going to read it aloud to us, and I could read it myself a hell of a lot faster in my dorm room. But again: first year. I had a lot to learn about so-called "higher" education.
I digress.
So I went back to my dorm room, unlocked my door, opened it up, threw my keys on my bed, retrieved the textbook, and then spent twenty minutes looking for the keys I HAD JUST HAD IN MY DAMN HAND. By the time I found them, class was half over and I said screw it.

I've lost all manner of things. Only one wallet, surprisingly, but I have lost loose bills…

The Atlantic this month is asking the question: Does Facebook make us lonely?

They start off with the story of Yvette Vickers: tragic, all-too-common tale in which a person dies alone and is not missed or discovered for months or years. Note that while her only 'connections' had been with distant fans in distant places, they all appear to have been by telephone. Facebook makes no appearance save by analogy: like hers, our connections have grown 'broader but shallower'.

I've written myself about the paradox of constant (and incessant) "sharing" in a world where we're increasingly alone. Foursquare will tell you where I am (if, that is, I'm stupid enough to broadcast the fact my house is ripe for any passing burglars); Twitter will give you a stuttering commentary on the minutiae of my existence; watch Youtube and you can even get the video.

And then there's the colossus that is Facebook. Vast beyond imagining (2.7 billion likes/comments a day),…

How do kids say it today? *headdesk* *facepalm*

You read things like this and that's the only rational reaction.

Forbes, a magazine for the one percent if there ever was one (its motto is actually "the capitalist tool"; I will refrain from comment) has published a piece basically stating that Peak Oil is a myth and we can all relax. To support this ludicrous assertion, they note that fields containing up to a billion barrels of oil equivalent are still being found, most recently in East Africa.
A billion barrels, eh? That's a whole hell of a lot. It'd supply the world for almost an entire month. Then what? On to the next month, I guess.

Are we really at a point where we're bragging about the prospect of living month to month?

And nothing is said about the fact that the majority of these new finds are unconventional. Oh, it's mentioned, but in a positive context, as if to say 'look how innovative we are'. Innovative? More like desperate.


Unconventi…

Let it be known that I am not a conventionally romantic soul. It's something I occasionally lambaste myself for: really, Ken, you should buy Eva flowers/have dinner by candlelight/at least know the colour of the eyes you gaze into. Want to know how I proposed? I didn't. She announced 'we're getting a ring today' and that's what we did; she even picked it out.

I can sense the recoil from the female half of my audience. I'm either going to mollify some of you or more likely send you running away screaming with my defence:

1) The flowers. "Here's a symbol of my love for you. It needs dirt to grow; it grows even better if you shit on it; and at least in our house, it'll be dead in a week." Not exactly the message I want to send.

2) Dinner by candlelight.

Apparently I am entirely too pragmatic about food. After some twelve years, my darling wife will still ask me what I want for supper. She will sometimes do this at eight in the morning. I...DO…