Apocalypso

Apocalyptic stories are always popular. I think the reason for their popularity is that people want to think they’d be a survivor. Talking about the purely fictional stories, here. The religious ones are usually more depressing – whether it’s the Hell on Earth immediately following the Christian Rapture, or the total destruction of everything as foretold by the Norse Ragnarok. I’d like to note the whole 2012 thing from the Mayans, but researchers (and crackpots) disagree as to whether it will be a good or bad thing.

I’ve noticed that a lot of post-apocalypse stories have a very industrial feel to them, which is kind of ironic considering we’d lose our industrial base immediately. It always annoys me when a writer sets the story far enough in the future that modern-day technologies are puzzled over when the remnants are found (It says ”Pan…a…son…ic.” What does it mean?), but people are still driving around in gasoline-powered automobiles.

Another cliché is that we’d return to a feudal/agrarian society. The agrarian I’ll grant, but I have doubts about the feudal system taking root in America, even after everything falls over and goes squick. I figure cities will become No Man’s lands – the refuge of scattered groups protecting their rooftop gardens and rain barrels, while small rural towns will dynamite their bridges or otherwise barricade themselves in. Bartering will become the norm, and xenophobia will be seen as a rational worldview.

The Postman, The Stand, The Road Warrior, Jericho – they all use the end of civilization as their starting point, and they all approach it differently. Brin’s Postman brings hope to suspicious, insular townspeople, while King allowed his survivors to restore the power grids before Good fought Evil. The Road Warrior didn’t even try to be anything other than a popcorn romp. I enjoyed Jericho because the writers did a good job exploring the problems (technical, social, and otherwise) involved with a town suddenly cut off from their entire support structure (i.e. everyone else).

One of my favorite books on the subject is Lucifer’s Hammer, by Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle. Two scenes that stand out in my mind: the diabetic scientist who collects (and hides) engineering books and Chilton manuals to increase his worth, so he can convince a township to let him have a valuable pig or goat every month in order to make the insulin he needs; the Boy Scouts that become guerrilla fighters who prefer to stay in the mountains rather than join any of the towns.

Sometimes, when I’m mowing the lawn or washing dishes or doing some other repetitive, brain-neutral task, I think of the different types of people you might run into in a post-apocalyptic world. The military would probably be the only governmental agency to come through fairly intact, because they already have the infrastructure in place to function in other-than-first-world conditions.

Then you’d have the paranoid survivalists who have been preparing for just such an occasion, and have stockpiled food, water, medicine and toilet paper. I think we’d probably lose about 5% of them in the first week because they’d be picked off while they were gloating.

If, for whatever reason, we did end up as a feudal society, expect the D&D and SCA nerds to rise to the top, because they’re already used to working within that framework. The Scadians in particular have studied the Dark Ages closely, and have developed skills that aren’t dependent on electricity.

Similar to the diabetic scientist mentioned above, I imagine reference librarians would be in demand, just for their knowledge base. Similarly, chemists and medical personnel would be sought after. On the opposite end of the spectrum, gossip columnists and American Idol “celebrities” would become food.

Farmers would find themselves targeted by desperate, short-sighted people, and we’d probably lose most of them to mob action.

That’s all just off the top of my head. It would take a much larger canvas than this blog to explore all of the ramifications.

Of course, you have to wonder how you would fare in “Year Zero.” A friend who read my comment a few days ago about snaring birds and rabbits called to chortle at me, because she thought I had no skills in that area. I assured her that I had plenty of dental floss.

If you understand that last comment, you’ll probably be among the survivors. For the rest of you, I’ll explain.

Dental floss is one of the most useful filaments in the world because of its high tensile strength. It can replace a shoelace, slice cheese, serve as heavy-duty thread, and replace Teflon plumbing tape. You can braid it into an extremely strong rope (a few years ago, a Washington prisoner escaped by scaling the prison wall on a dental floss rope), hang pictures with it, replace a broken zipper pull, or even clean your teeth with it.

In addition to all of the everyday uses, dental floss is also a vital part to any post-apocalyptic survival kit, as it makes a great fishing line, suture thread, tripwire, garrote, or small animal snare.

My Scout troop once went on a “Shoebox Campout.” As the name implies, all of the gear we carried (apart from food) had to fit inside one shoebox. That will prioritize you in a hurry, and force you to think creatively. It also serves as a pretty good model for an emergency kit in case the bombs go off or the zombies arise.

There are a metric buttload of sites that offer survival packs, ranging from the outdoor enthusiast sites to the oh-my-god-we’re-all-doomed-dig-a-bunker sites. They’re all fun to browse through, though. This site

http://www.survival-gear.com/

is pretty good because they offer pre-made kits, as well as the individual pieces to build your own custom kit.

Whether it’s nukular war, alien invasion, zombie uprising, plague, or you’re just hiking in the backcountry, these kits don’t do a bit of good if you don’t know how to use them. Throw a Boy Scout manual in there, too.

Or you can just come get me.

Not What, but Who

A big shout out to my peep T, who's hooking me up with a professional editor for my fiction. Instead of having to wait four months for an acknowledgement of receipt, it'll be on the guy's desk tomorrow.

Verily, T, thou dost rock.

Another Million-Dollar Idea

It's one of those doggie-door or paper clip ideas; the kind that seems so obvious once someone has put it out there.

Wouldn't it be handy if your cooking pots had liquid measurements inscribed on their interior? That way, you could fill it directly at the sink, or pour your milk into the pot without having to mess up a separate measuring cup.

If anyone is already doing this, don't tell me. I'd like to think I was first.

Thanks.

Unfortunately, there's no rule against stupidity.

Mama Cat is visiting, and I was dispatched to a pharmacy today in order to pick up a supply of needles for her. She's diabetic, and had forgotten to grab her pack from home while she was loading the car.

Imagine my surprise when I was told I couldn't buy them.

Me: Hi. I need a pack of this type of needle, please. *displays the needle supplied by Mama Cat* My mother-in-law forgot to pack hers.

Drone: Sure. Do you know her birth date?

Me: Not the year. Why?

Drone: So I can look up her insulin prescription.

Me: She lives in another part of the state. She's never filled a prescription here.

Drone: Oh. Hmmm. See...we have new rules that prevent us from selling needles unless accompanied by an insulin prescription. All the pharmacies here are doing it.

Me: So she's out of luck?

Drone: I think so, yeah.

Me: That's not the best thing to say to a diabetic, you know. Any other options?

Manager Drone: If you can tell us what brand of insulin she uses, and how many units she administers per dose, we can make an exception.

Me, translating in my head: If you can prove to us that you know something about treating diabetes, we'll assume you're not going to shoot heroin into your eyeballs behind our store.

*a quick cell conversation ensues, and I get the information*

Manager Drone: Thank you. If you could just sign this register, I'll get the needles.

Me: Sure.

Manager Drone, handing me the bag: I'm sorry for the hassle, but we're trying to cut down on illegal drug use.

Me: I understand. Thank you.



Now, here's the thing: I was asked to sign a register, but at no point did anyone ask to see any ID from me. I could have written the address for Wrigley Field, and they'd been none the wiser. That's some fine security work, Lou.

Furthermore, they claim that their policy is to cut down on substance abuse, yet on my way out of the store, I passed displays full of:

· lighters and matches (used to ignite joints, pipes and bongs, and melt powdered drugs)
· spray paint and glue (huffed for a high)
· rolling papers (duh)
· spoons (used to cook powdered drugs)
· pipes (used to smoke pot and crack)
· plastic bottles (used to make water bongs)

The point is that we should spend our energy trying to prevent people from acquiring the illegal drugs to begin with, not the paraphernalia. When I was in school, one of the earrings I wore was a coke spoon attached to a French hook. Have I ever done coke? No. Besides, if heroin users can't get nice new clean needles, they'll just reuse old ones. They're not going to kick their habit because a pharmacy's board of directors makes a new rule.

Put that in your hookah and smoke it.

The Secret

The reason we've defied the odds and stayed together seventeen years is that I know - without a shadow of a doubt - when civilaztion collapses, you'll be right there beside me on the porch, picking off zombies (and probably cooking up something delicious from whatever birds and rabbits I manage to snare, with a side dish cobbled together from looting forgotten gardens).

And really...what more could you ask from a partner?

Happy anniversary, Mrs. Cat.

Coming in Fall, 2010: The Honda Irony

Today I saw a fat man driving a Fit. I was amused.

Wipe Out

Our local grocery store has a dispenser stand next to the carts. On the stand is a tub and this sign:

Complimentary Sanitizing Wipes

Wipe down the handle of your cart to kill germs, which may cause disease.

May cause disease? Pasteur pretty much put that one to rest in the 50s. The 1850s.

We must attack someone…anyone…right now. Preferably the French.

“Mr Sarkozy is pouring cold water on President Obama's efforts to recast American leadership on the world stage, depicting them as unoriginal, unsubstantial and overrated.”

"The American President's call 'to free the world of the menace of a nuclear nightmare' was hot air...It was rhetoric – not a speech on American security policy but an export model aimed at improving the image of the United States...Most of Mr Obama's proposals had already been made by the Bush administration..."

Sounds like President Sarkozy might be a Limbaugh listener.

When the French think you’re weak and meek, you have an image problem.

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/world_agenda/article6098836.ece

The Write Attitude

If I didn't know it would cost me customers, this would be my business logo:

This post is now done.

The Finding of the Snark

The internet is awesome. While there are vast hordes of single-minded, ideologically-driven morons out there, there are those who take great delight in sniping at them. Since everybody knows that arguing online is futile, your only option is to highlight idiocy, hypocrisy, and just plain annoying-as-shit behavior with the spotlight of sarcasm. It's even better if you can work in a pop culture reference or two. This is so much faster than trying to present well-reasoned arguments, list copious links, or just automatically gainsaying whatever the other person posts.

Like most internet junkies, I've been taken in by trolls. I've even been a troll once or twice (but the novelty of that soon wears off). I've learned to hold off on hitting the "Reply" button until I've seen several posts by the same person carrying their ideas further. Then I look for the weak or inconsistent spot and retrieve one of my carefully-horded LOLcats or mocking pics and let it do all the work.

I've been known to bemoan the fact that the Left in general is better at rapidly coming up with mocking or demeaning nicknames that undercut an opponent's position or gravitas. I guess when that's your only style of argument you tend to get good at it. (Ha!) However, I did see this humorous post today from someone on the Right, addressing the "torture" at Gitmo:

You can't argue with Blazing Saddles. You just can't.

Geeks bearing gifts.

Mrs. Cat, being all girly and stuff, gets a number of frou-frou catalogs for things like Bath & Body elixirs and potions, pretty stationery sets, and various clothing and collectibles. She got one recently from a company that offers Victorian reproductions of all of the above, and whiled away an hour or so sitting on the couch, marking those items she’d like to have at such a time as I start treating her in the style to which she’d like to become accustomed.

I picked up the catalog earlier today to sneak a peek at the things she’d noted, thinking that maybe I’d find something with which to surprise her for our upcoming anniversary. I was browsing through it, looking for her distinctive check-marks, and kind of keeping a mental inventory of the types of things she’d picked out.

The Victorian poison ring was checked twice, so this may be the last anniversary I have to worry about it.

In amongst the furnishings and decorative pieces was a table clock. It was done in a sort of caryatid style, where the female figure was holding up the clockworks. It was labeled “Cassandra’s Clock,” which tickled me, because I could picture someone looking at it and commenting “I can’t believe the time!” I can just see the blurb on the ads for it, too:

“Perfectly accurate!”

I shared these observations with a friend who is just as much a Classical reference nerd as I am, and he pointed out that while useful, the Cassandra clock would only be able to be consulted once, and then you’d be compelled to destroy it.

So I’m not getting her that. Seems like a waste of money.

Naturally

From time to time, I run across someone – usually a flavor of environmentalist – that, for whatever reason, places native people and third-world tribes on a pedestal. Usually, the reason has something to do with those people living closer to the land or in some sort of idyllic “balance” with Nature. Nevermind the fact that Native Americans practiced land-management techniques consisting of clear-cutting, massive burning, and aggressive animal culling. And let’s forget that for the most part, third-world denizens are trying like hell to grab hold of whatever amenities they can to drag themselves out of their situation. Little things like clean water, reliable power grids, and food for the day. Stuff we take for granted.

When I lived on the Cherokee reservation, I convinced the owner of the shop I worked at to stock an herbal collection, because I knew that we’d sell out every month (we did). It’s the same romanticized utopian vision at work in that case. Granted, there are herbal medicines that have been used for thousands of years, but people in clean white lab coats have studied those roots and leaves, determined which compounds were the effective ones, then extracted, purified, and synthesized them. If you have a headache, what would you rather do: chew on a willow branch (which will most likely make your headache worse), or take an aspirin? Despite what the rabid vegetarians claim, neither our dentition nor our digestive system is suited for processing raw cellulose. We are perfectly adapted, however, to working a child-safety cap (it’s the opposable thumbs that make the difference!).

See…I’m an unrepentant first-worlder, because I know that without the great strides we’ve made (particularly in the medical fields), Kitten would be a flat-footed, cross-eyed mouth-breather who, when not falling over while standing still, would be walking into walls. That’s the difference between living in a mud shack somewhere “in natural harmony,” and living in a country where you can take your child into a doctor’s office to get orthotics, eye surgery, allergy treatments, tubes in their ears, and glasses. Now, instead of knocking down the thatched roof every time she misses the door, she’ll be able to be a productive member of society.

Maybe even the one that finds that perfect balance between industrialization and Nature.

Everything’s Better with Muppets

The management accepts no responsibility for the loss of childhood innocence from hearing Kermit drop the F-bomb.



***

This is a remake I would wholly support.



***

I think Rob Zombie would actually do this if asked.

Holy Hell

The following picture is (choose all that apply):

1. A nudist family on Winter vacation.

2. People's Exhibit A in an upcoming court case.

3. Green Day's next album cover

4. A taxpayer-funded "art" piece.

5. Proof that people are damn fools and the Internet is forever.

6. Featuring in my nightmares for the next several weeks.

Our Sitcom Moment

There was a military funeral next door this afternoon and, as is usual, they offered a 21-gun salute before playing "Taps." We knew it was coming because we'd seen the men in formation, but it still made us jump when it happened.

As the echoes of the last fusillade died out, our neighbor came crashing out onto her porch, shouting "BOYS!"

"Remind me to be extra vigilant when the neighbor's kids are outdoors," I asked Mrs. Cat.

"Take your crowbar," she suggested.

Seriously, if you hear a cascade of gunfire in the neighborhood and your first thought is that it's your kids, you may be doing something wrong.

I'd like to thank me for being here.

So what are you reading now, ‘Cat?
State of Fear by Michael Crichton

What’s it about?
The Global Warming “crisis.”

I take it from your use of quote marks that you don’t believe the hype.
You would be correct.

Is it compelling to someone already inclined towards disbelief?
That it is.

Would it be as compelling to someone who believes in Global Warming?
Doubtful.

But doesn’t it contain actual objective scientific data proving that it’s all bullshit?
As a matter of fact, it does.

Shouldn’t that be considered proof?
You’d think so, wouldn’t you?

This subject is one of your major button-pushing issues, isn’t it?
Why yes…yes it is.

Are you taking notes in preparation for the next time the subject comes up?
You bet your ass.

One last question: Do you often interview yourself in this manner?
Apparently I do.

The Nature of an Opinion

It’s based on my experiences, my travels, my studies, my readings, my experiments.

I listen and weigh and measure.

I place things in context historically, geographically, and linguistically.

I study all sides.

I follow the money.

I watch what people do instead of taking them at their word.

I footnote.

I make allowances for variables.

I don’t adhere blindly to any particular school of thought.

It means that I know what I’m talking about and you are just. Fucking. Wrong.

My New Catchphrase

You know those movies where the autistic kid is babbling, or making odd pictures, or otherwise communicating in a weird way, and once it’s been deciphered it turns out to be the vital clue that the hero needs to save the day?

Cub has a set of magnetic letters that he uses to practice the words he’s become familiar with, and we’ve gotten used to seeing them stuck to random appliances or filing cabinets. Today, I went to the fridge (my Happy Place, remember) and found this phrase:

FLAY THE PIG

No one else in the house has copped to putting it up there, and I’m not really sure what Cub is ordering us to do. Does he want bacon? Has he cracked the swine flu vaccine? Did he convert to Islam?

I’m keeping an eye out for any random boars in the neighborhood, just in case.

That reminds me of one of my most favoritest cartoons ever...

Anon! A mouse!

Anonymous left an instructional Wikipedia link on my “All Smug in their Beds” post from March 28. Anonymous thinks that by providing a single example of a pebble bed reactor going bad, s/he has demonstrated the futility of using them for any purpose, anywhere, ever again.

I sure hope Anonymous doesn’t travel by car, train, bus, surfboard, ship, plane, horse, truck, skateboard, roller skates, snowmobile, dogsled, skis, or on his/her feet, because I’ve seen at least one fatal accident involving each of those.

I also hope Anonymous doesn’t sleep in a bed, because 400 people die each year falling out of them.

I really hope Anonymous stays away from all liquids, because people drown every day.

And I also hope s/he doesn’t try to eat anything, because the morgues are full of choking victims.

Need I go further?

There’s a wonderful scene in one of Steven Brust’s books - The Phoenix Guards, I think - where a character speaks about getting too caught up in “What if?”. His elegant and succinct point is that they would become completely immobile, afraid to throw a stick into a stream on the chance that it had somehow become poisoned.

Life is risky. Are you a man or a mouse?

You know what cats do to mice.