I’ve spent some time in the heartland lately, attending to the ceremonies associate with my father-in-law’s death, and also to my wife’s grief. My father-in-law had the kind of life, and death, we all dream about: He died suddenly after a good, long, and full life.
There’s no time like Christmas in this “Christian” nation. The connection between reason and daily life grows ever more tenuous as the empire crumbles. And Christianity’s most holy days particularly encourage disassociation from reality.
I haven’t watched television for years. My brain’s in bad enough shape without the brain-cell-destroying intoxicants of alcohol or delta waves, so I’ve foregone both for quite a while. Long enough, in fact, that I’m starting to feel as if I’m obsessing about them, so I suppose I should get back on the wagon to see what I’ve been missing.
I’ve given several talks during the last couple weeks. And I’m spending way too much time preparing for, and then arguing with, the provost. My primary points during each of these exchanges, from the Department of Defense workshop to the discussion in juvey hall, have focused on peak oil and runaway greenhouse. It never ceases to amaze me how deep is the denial of increasingly obvious facts. The audience doesn’t seem to matter much: We all worship the same gawd, after all. Her name is Oil.