One person’s worth, what else?

Right now the world is dying. The summers are getting hotter and dryer, the winters are colder every year, and the threat of a world no longer friendly to human life looms closer by the minute. We face the very real risk of a coming ecological Dark Ages where modern civilization is shattered by constant extreme weather events, sea levels rising, ocean acidification, and giant mutant caterpillars crawling out of ground to be the instruments of Gaia’s righteous fury.

One of those isn’t real.

And today I am going to tell you what you, personally, can do about it. But don’t worry. This isn’t going to be a dry list of things you can do to make your home more eco-friendly while saving on those energy bills.

Mostly because that shit is worse than useless. It actually makes people feel like they are doing something when they are not. Nothing you can do as an individual consumer can make the tiniest of goddamned dents in the problem.

It’s mere ecological masturbation. Green kabuki. Environmental theater.

We all know what the real problem is : a small number of rich assholes who will gladly set the world on fire if it makes them a few cents more.

And they and their quislings have convinced us all that we are powerless when in truth, we easily have the power to stop them and stop the destruction of the planet while there is still a planet left to save.

But doing so will take personal risk and sacrifice and the courage to stand up to the rich parasites and, if necessary, drag them out of their mansions and their towers and force them to deal with life the same way the rest of us do.

I’m not saying kill them. That’s too kind. I want to do something far crueler :

Make them poor.

So here’s the answer to the question, what can you do?

You’re gonna hate it, but here it goes :

What can you do? Something. Lots of things, in fact. There are a myriad of ways to help end this tyranny of madness.

And people hate this answer because it means they actually have to do something. Either that, or admit to themselves that they don’t actually care about the future of our planet and our species.

That’s why people repeatedly tell themselves that there is nothing they can do. It makes them feel better about not doing anything about the doom hurtling towards us.

We like that answer because it’s easy. Phew, almost had to face the prospect of actual effort, risk, and the loss of our precious free time just to save the planet.

Not worth it, we say as one. Call us when all we have to do is click something.

And that’s why the planet can be destroyed by a couple thousand ultra rich people while we sit idly by and let it happen.

It gets worse. What the question, “What can one person do?” is really saying is that being one pebble in the avalanche of change isn’t good enough for me. I demand personal recognition, glory. and sex. I must be the hero who saves the world and if I am not, if I am indeed going to be just one drop of water in a tsunami, I’m staying home.

I am sure that as our grandchildren sift through the ashes of a civilization that now seems as unreal as Shangri-La to them, they will really appreciate how hard we fought to avoid even the slightest personal inconvenience.

More after the break.

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Another sick day

I am sick of being sick and tired of being tired.

Had to pass on hanging with Felicity et al tonight because I felt very sick. Nausea, like there is something cold and slick and slimy laying in the put of my stomach. Dizziness and headache, which feel like they are part of the same thing. A great and heavy tiredness like someone turned up the gravity.

And most worrying, a heartburn like feeling. Heartburn itself is, of course, not that big a deal except in the most extreme cases of things like acid reflux.

But I have seen enough TV shows where the person who is about to have a massive heart attack looks pained but waves it off as “just heartburn” to know that anything like heartburn is something to really pay attention to if you have heart issues.

Plus I have no history of heartburn to speak of. My digestion fucks up in many fascinating ways but they are all intestinal, way past the stomach and its acid.

So let’s just say I am concerned.

So where the fuck is my fucking operation? I feel like the clock is ticking on my ticker and yet I have heard nothing.

I will ask Doctor Caswell tomorrow if she knows anything. Shot in the dark but it’s the only shot I have.

Well, I can try calling Doctor Lichtenstein. Ask him WTF. If anyone should know, it’s the guy who is actually going to be carving up my heart-meat. And I think I have his number in my notes.

Um, nope. Damn it. Well, I suppose I could look him up on the BC College of Physicians and Surgeons website. There can’t be that many Doctor Lichtensteins out there.

Turns out there’s three. And two of them are cardiac surgeons, dammit. And male. And they both practice at St. Paul’s.

I may end up having to call both and use my sweet but hapless charm to get someone to tell me if I have the right one.

There’s a 50/50 chance of me getting the right one the first time, after all.

Well at least I have a plan of action. A way to get things moving. I will likely do it after my appointments tomorrow or maybe the day after if I am too tired.

I’m so sorry I couldn’t hand you your birthday gift myself, dear.

Being sick sucks.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.