A friend of mine is about to retire.  She wondered what the virtues and pitfalls of retirement were.  Since I had left early and had a head-start she asked for advice.  This is what I wrote:

A neighbour died recently.  Memorial today.  Pretty much everybody will go – most likely.  He was a good guy.  Very gentle, very community oriented, very much a back-to-the-lander.  I liked him.

When you live in a community of only a few dozen people, losing one seems somehow more of a loss.  It shouldn’t be, of course.  A person is a person regardless of how many people live in proximity.  But it seems different.  All part of living in a small community, I suppose.

I remember him for a number of reasons but one of them is a bit odd.  He used to watch me go to the bathroom.

When we were building our house eight years ago, we did so while living in the little boatshed at the waters edge.  We had no plumbing.  We had no outhouse.  But we had a bucket.  I placed the bucket near the water a couple of hundred feet down the beach.  It was nestled amongst the rocky outcroppings and afforded sufficient privacy…..I thought.

Sal disagreed.  She insisted on a barrier of sorts.  Something to block the view of any passersby.  Of which there were virtually none.  And any that there might be were usually passing by in a fast boat many hundreds of yards away in the middle of the channel.  Exposure: maybe ten seconds a day.  Eyesight required by the passerby: better than 20/20 and at least as telescopic as a set of good binoculars.

I felt safe enough without the wood pallet I was forced to erect as a screen.  But, you know……...anything to keep the little darlin’ happy……

Anyway………my body is pretty regular.  So I would visit the bucket at much the same time every day.  That time was, coincidentally, much the same time as my neighbour slowly cruised by in his boat on his way to work at the school.  He passed quite close by the shore.  And his boat wasn’t fast. There I would sit, my head just visible above the top edge of the pallet.  In the middle of nowhere.  On a beach.  Hiding.  Kinda.

And he would cruise by.  And he would see me.  My head, anyway.

We hadn’t been formally introduced and so, because of that, I guess, he didn’t acknowledge the disembodied head and I didn’t wave.  But, as it takes many months to build a house, we both started to recognize a pattern emerging.  Something had to be done.

So, one day I waved.

He waved back.

And so it went for what seemed like, at the time, forever.

Of course, we eventually met in more polite circumstances and smiled and shook (washed) hands.  But our regular morning encounters were never mentioned.  It was our little secret.  No one ever knew.

Now you do.

Readers might suppose that I am kinda macho.  You know?  Wilderness man, deck-builder, blog-writer?  Pretty high testosterone stuff.  That and making sushi.  “I am Samurai!”.  Aaaarggh!

But the truth is I have a sensitive side.  Well, girly, if you must.  Chicken-poop, for sure.  Stupid also works.  Some things terrify me.  Or at least gross me out.  I am pretty squeamish about killing a deer, for instance.  They are just so pretty, ya know?

But I am workin’ on it.  My therapist says that I will be able to kill soon.  All I have to do is listen to more CBC news, follow Harper’s political moves and attend some fundamentalist church regularly and I should be ready to go postal soon enough.  I think it’s workin’.

But trees still frighten me.  I am definitely not a brave lumberjack.  I am not a logger.  Falling trees scares the bejeezuz out of me.  You see, I made the mistake of reading the Worker’s Compensation Fallers’ and Buckers’ Handbook and I am now quite sure it was the inspiration behind the Chainsaw Massacre movie series.  Stephen King probably has a copy.  Dropping a big tree is, it seems to me, a fifty-fifty proposition.  The tree falls dead or else I do.

Anyway, I mention all this because, like the doofus I am, I am halfway through building the deck out back and, starting on the part that will support the new studio, I glanced up and saw a humongous dead tree leaning in the exact direction needed to fall directly onto the building to be.  Clearly this behemoth was going to fall within a year or so and just as clearly it was going to fall on my new building when it did.

Now don’t get me wrong.  I have taken down trees.  A man has to do, after all.  But, until now, I have been able to limit the opposition to skinny little fellers.  I consider anything under ten inches in diameter a tree I can push around.  Anything ten and and half inches or larger is a bully and shouldn’t be messed with. This puppy was at least eighteen inches and I dubbed it Godzilla.

These are the kinds of challenges that keep me in the lower end of amateur status when it comes to building.  “Hey, Dave, have you checked to make sure any huge dead trees won’t fall on your building site?”

“Oh, gee!  No, I haven’t.  Thanks for reminding me.  I’ll look up next time I am there!”

It is truly amazing how anything ever gets done around here and how incredibly unlikely it is that I am still around to record it.

I called a lumber-buddy and he came down.  I stated in my best macho voice that I fully intended to take the tree down myself but, as I was scared and shaking even on the phone talking about it, I would appreciate some coaching.

So, he came down and looked at the tree.  I really hoped that he would say, “Never mind, I’ll do it.”  And I was going to insist that I do it instead, hoping that he would persist and then, after dancing around like that for a bit, I would graciously allow him to do it.

The bastard said, “Of course you are going to do it!  I’m not going to put myself in harm’s way.  It’s your tree.  Time to grow a pair, Dave!”

“Good, we can put this off then?  While I grow a pair?”

“That piddly little saw work?  Ya got a man’s saw?”

Of course, I lied.  Like a man.  “Oh, my really big honker is in the shop.  I’m going to have use this little girly one.  It’s Sally’s.  It’s pretty piddly, alright, but it will have to do.”

He snorted in disgust at what I considered to be a lethal killing machine.  Twirling it over his head like a baton and laughing he said, “Well, we can make it work, I guess.  It is kinda cute.”

And so, with his coaching, I took the necessary steps and watched the tree as it began to topple.  It had moved, perhaps, a foot at the top when I considered that a good enough indication of gravity working and lit out for safer ground.  I was practically in the next county by the time it fell.  I was so far away, I didn’t hear it crash.  Took me five minutes of hiking to get back to where I had cut.  Usain Bolt couldn’t have run that distance any faster.

My friend looked around for more trees to topple.  I suggested tea and muffins instead.  I needed some time for my heart to stop pounding.  As we headed in for tea, Sal looked at me like I was a real lumberjack.  Felt good  Aaaaarggh!

Charming animal visitors may not be quite the right descriptive term but we had visitors yesterday.  Orcas.  Six or so.  And these guys were big!  This was not a pod so much as a chapter, a gang, a cartel of marine bad boys.  I saw three huge dorsal fins and I couldn’t help but get the feeling that this group was lookin’ for trouble.

Or dolphins.  A seal or two, at the very least. Look out!  They looked mean and hungry.

‘Course, in a way, I am only joking.  Orcas don’t really ’emote’ much.  It is hard to read their facial expressions.  They don’t seem to really have faces!  They have ‘sides’ instead.  They just seem to roll along, a little up, a little down.  Cruisin’.  You might catch a glimpse of one tiny eye.  And, even then, little  if anything is revealed.  A few well-placed and loud pssssts will, however, get your attention.  But they don’t really ‘do’ much.  They do virtually glisten wet with force, power and potential violence, though.  They have a huge presence.  They just ‘feel’ like danger-in-the-water.  Oooooooh……..

I dunno…………..you really had to be here, I guess.

And they give me a chance to launch into a bit more description about our environs.  We do have a lot of eagles and ravens and herons and such.  And woodpeckers, kingfishers, and a gazillion other little birds.  And they are all marvelous.  Gorgeous.  Magnificent.  But, I confess, they are here everyday and, while that does not breed contempt, there comes with such frequent exposure at least a little familiarity.  I don’t always look up and appreciate them.  I am a bit used to it, I am ashamed to say.  But even that is good!  Imagine having so many eagles and ravens and herons that you tend to ignore them?  That says something, right?

We will not be talking about the !#@&#! squirrels.

Anyway, today is sunny but cool, windy, blustery and offering up the occasional shower.  It is almost a fall-like day.  A mixed bag.  Quite enervating.  I like it.  But I mention it because we can see and feel the weather systems as they come and go.  Our view is grand and sweeping.  We see stuff.  And, of course, we see stuff at night, too.  There is no urban ambient light obfuscating the stars or moonshine.  The point: there is an enhanced experience of something as typically mundane as the weather when you can see it on some kind of scale.  More of a connection.  When you have a bigger view, it becomes something bigger than just ‘getting wet’ or ‘being cold’.  Hard to explain, actually, but I do enjoy the weather much more out here than I did in the city.

The dominant vegetation, of course, are the evergreens, the firs, hemlocks and cedars along with spruce and pine.  Basically giant Christmas trees.  Quite beautiful.  But our obsession with economics has played out with the trees, too.  The forest is becoming more and more monoculture.  Industry wants fir.  So fir is in ascendancy.  Industry did NOT want cedar for a decade or so and so there is currently less cedar.  No one wants cottonwood or alder so there is less of that.  And so it goes.  I admit that changing the make-up of the forest is such a slow process one does not, really, ‘see’ it happen.  It is just something you see in retrospect.  “Gee, there used to be more big red cedar trees, I think?”

The thing about the vegetation up here is what you don’t really notice at first glance – the undergrowth.  The ferns, nettles, berries, flowers and bushes.  The forest floor is literally impassable in some places with heavy ‘under’ growth.  Blazing a trail is no easy matter.  Add in the uneven topography, fallen trees, boulders, streams and rock outcroppings and it is virtually impossible to get from A to B without covering the rest of the alphabet in the process.  Open space is at a premium.  Clear open spaces don’t naturally exist.  Meadows?  Not a single one.

Which partially explains my obsession with building decks, I suppose.  “Level footing!  My kingdom for level footing!“

I haven’t written much in the way of description of our area but, of course, the picture at the top of the blog and my constant reference to forests, oceans and everything being set at an angle probably gives a sufficient picture to the casual reader.  But, as I read other books on wilderness, off-the-grid living, it seems the authors dwell on such matters quite a lot.  And so, in the absence of any recent major injuries, interesting humans or charming animal visitors to report on, I thought I’d give this descriptive thing a try.

We live on an island.  It is about 15 miles long, three to five miles wide depending on where you measure.  The island is about thirty miles from the nearest town but half of that distance (by time spent) would be logged by boat.  The other half is on another island and some of the time a 4×4 is necessary to cover that portion.  A conventional automobile can do it when the weather is good and the road has been recently graded but, in the winter and with a heavy load, the 4×4 is pretty much essential.

Our island has no amenities.  No store, no real road, no piped-in water or electricity and relatively few people.  Sixty square miles of island and usually about 60 people living here at any one time.  In the summer, the population might climb to 90 and, in the winter, it sometimes drops to under fifty.  We seem to have two to four people join the community every year and the same amount leave.  Without doing a tally, I would roughly estimate that there are about 12 to 15 young people (under 25) and perhaps that same amount of young to middle aged adults.  The balance of 30 to 40 are well over 50 and the bulk of them are over 60.

Our island is the ‘gathering’ island for several others.  This is because we have a community centre and some community buildings, because of its central location and it is because of it’s accessibility to ‘connecting points’ with the more populated on-the-grid island just next door.  All in all, we draw from three other islands with a total population of approximately 200 or so people.  Maybe 250.

Probably six or even more of the residents in the area are total recluses (hard to count recluses – by definition).  Virtually all are extremely independent.  No one relies on anyone else for anything significant of any kind.  Family members are excepted, of course, but even at that, most of those people are much more independent than their counterparts in the city.  One young man, for instance, was asked to navigate a large yacht complete with a crew from the Atlantic to Victoria because the owner was so impressed with his sea-going abilities and competence.  The young captain was under 25.  That guy is exceptional but, to a lesser extent, so are all the young people. 

I am not saying they are better – I am saying they are more independent minded.  Generally.  

The population, tho minimal, seems to have representation from all socio- economic stratas of the larger society.  We have professors and people who have less than a grade 12 education.  Rich businesspeople and failed ones.  We have pensioners and workers, unemployed, underemployed and unemployable.  We have craftsman and labourers, doctors and writers, inn-keepers and lawyers.  One thing we don’t have is more than one or two of anything.  This is a no-competition zone.

As stated before, the area is heavily forested and it has all been logged at least once over the past hundred years.  And, sadly, logging continues in the rapacious manner of yesteryear.  It has also been fished and, even more sadly, fishing also continues but it has been depleted to below the commercially attractive levels and so the big boats don’t come anymore.  Only prawns and oysters are in some abundance and this year, it seems, prawns have been knocked out.  Oddly, oysters are not a regular food item on the dinner plates of the nation and so oysters are still at healthy populations.

The reason the logging and fishing industry have depleted the area to the extent they have is simple.  Location, location, location.  Even though we are considered off-the-grid and remote by modern living standards, we are close and convenient by resource exploitation standards.  A commercial prawner can be here in a few hours and back home on weekends or even more frequently.  Same for logging.

This close-but-still-remote situation makes it ideal for the adventure tourism businesses although, to be fair, adventure tourism in BC is not an ideal business due to it’s short season and high capital requirements.  Outdoor adventures have a six month window at best and only three of those months can be relied on.  We have kayaker outfitters, luxury tenting, mini-cruises on large, beautiful yachts and no-star to five-star resorts.  They all do well in July and August and the better ones are full from June through September.  (If any reader wants a recommendation please contact me and I would be happy to describe and recommend the right one for you).

This is the west coast of BC.  It rains.  But, for eight months, it is light-to-moderate, infrequent and easy to take.  The four months of winter are a bit more harsh.  It can get a bit bleak at times in January and February.

There is no question we live in a temperate zone.  We get below freezing for say, a week a year.  We might hit ninety once in August for a few days.  Generally speaking the summers are warm, the shoulder seasons moderate and winter is just a bit cooler and somewhat wetter.  I consider it all ideal but, then again, I grew up in Vancouver with rain as the default weather pattern.

There is plenty of interesting wildlife and I find that to be amongst the most appealing aspects of this lifestyle but, to be honest, they don’t just show up like clockwork.  The wildlife populations seems plentiful and healthy to me but I live here.  Visitors often stare hungrily from the balcony expecting a Sea World display just after breakfast or just before dinner and it just doesn’t work that way.  The wolves howl when they want to, the Orcas go by but much of the time they are underwater (duh) and so it goes.  The only wildlife sightings you can count on are beach creatures and birds.  Other than that, it is a world of glimpses.  But still wonderful.

I may do a vegetation piece some time.  Suffice to say, we have a lot of Xmas trees.  But the flora is quite interesting and so I may give it a go in the future.  But that is enough description for now, don’t you think?

Everyone fights.  Disagrees.  Argues.  Feuds.  It is the way of things.  It’s natural.  We aren’t all the same and we have conflicts because of it.  In many ways it is a good thing.

But, in many other ways, it is not.  It is particularly bad in a small community.  In small communities there is just enough separatness to keep the disagreement strong and yet enough closeness to re-encounter the problem person all too often.  In effect it is like a family dispute – an extended family to be sure and several of them should be at least twice removed – but it is all very family.

In the city surrounded by strangers all day long you can have a tiff or a spat with someone and never see them again.  In our small community, you’ll see them on Wednesday.

Aside from the right or wrongedness of any given issue, the matters in dispute are usually petty in the larger context.  Often ego-based and/or destructive to everyone involved including innocent bystanders, they are barely tempests in which to brew tea.  But they can be bitter.  And enduring.  Think Hatfields.  Think McCoys.

Resolution mechanisms are minimal.  In fact, there are none.  Even though disagreement is part of the dynamic tension of life that produces answers and creative solutions, it is also just as often destructive and unpleasant when carried on for any length of time.  Small communities have plenty of time.  Disputes out here fester.  They linger.  They carry baggage.  And there are precious few ways in which to address the problems.  We don’t have magistrates, respected elders or counselors out here.  But we have plenty of different points of view.

People generally rely on time to heal the wounds that come from that.

But fussing and feuding, I think, is even more destructive than just fighting it out to the end.  Fussing and feuding is a constant state of negative energy that has no end in sight.  It is like death by a thousand cuts.  In time everything may heal but most of us are over 60!  Time is becoming less of an option.

Anyway, I mention all this because dispute resolution was (and, I suppose, still is) my job.  I still think about it.  I have an interest in the concepts, the psychology, the mystery of it all.  But I have little time or patience for the practice anymore.

And yes, dear reader, we have a current dispute flaring up out here.  It is why the topic came up.  But I won’t bore you.  It’s a NIMBY issue and, fortunately my backyard is not involved.  So, I am out of it.  And I will stay out of it.  But it is going the way of petty-ugly, that is for sure.

Dispute resolution seemed like a good thing to do when I was younger.  I was helping people.  I was a good guy.  ‘Blessed be the peacemakers‘, ya know?’  Even better, there was a rewarding result when two disputants made amends.  They felt better.  And I felt great!  Getting paid was just a bonus.

Now, I am not so sure. 

Now I think that many disputes hide a larger, deeper problem.  The resolution of one small manifestation of that larger problem – the immediate and current dispute – does not make the real problem go away.  Those people who live out of harmony with others will likely always live out of harmony with others and no jury, no judge, no amount of mediation will ever keep their demons at bay.  For some, being out of synch is a way of life.

I should know.  I think I am one.

Well, maybe not so much a destructive, ego-driven maniac who wants to be king of the world but, well……………… Is there a crown and a pension that goes with that job?  And where do I send my resumé?

You see, I dispute.  I disagree.  I even live off-the-grid, out-of-the-rat-race and sans the cul-de-sac because I don’t agree with most of it.  I am not comfortable there.  And I even think I am right a lot of the time about a lot of things.  Doesn’t really matter what the question is, I usually have an answer. (Yes, moving to a remote island is an answer but to what question, I am not so sure. Doesn’t matter.  I just really like the answer.)

I used to like to debate.  I liked the give and take.  Well, I used to.  Now?  Not so much.  Such parrying and thrusting requires some basic mutual understanding of the rules beforehand and more than a reasonable level of civility training.  There is not a lot of that these days, it seems.

Now that I am older and more mature (read: frail, impatient and not-so-hip) I am less likely to fight over anything but I can still raise my voice with the best of them if I have to.  Or, I suppose, the worst of them.

But this is not the place for it.  The ring is too small, the memories too long, the positions taken too personal.  Lots of ego rides on small issues in families and we are a family.  Facts, figures, objectivity, reasonableness?  Not so much.

The point: I have had to come to terms with my basically contrarian nature out here by learning to shut the hell up.  The tinder is too dry, the houses made of cards.  So, I’ll let even the current topic lie for a bit.  Sleeping dogs are also part of the family and I will be snoozing through this one.

Wasabi on the grid waiting for the tide to go out…

Slowly the water recedes…

Settling on the Grid

Wasabi’s hot!  We finished her bottom yesterday and she is lookin’ good!

Afterwards, we entertained our neighbours at ‘generally-pleased-with-everything hour‘ on the new back deck. (I am a bit too old and jaded for a full-on Happy Hour, I am afraid.  It’s all the politics, don’t you know?)   Shirtsleeves.  Man, oh man.  It is still March and I had to use some sunscreen!

Painting the Undersides

I know climate change is not a good thing but right now the temperature is easy to live with.  We touched 70 degrees F yesterday.  March in Canada!?

But it is not all good.  I am not so sure it is official – the Dept. of Fisheries doesn’t report to us – but the prawns are gone!  It is like they were evicted.  Four months ago we had decent prawn counts, today no one is catching any.  And the commercial fishery hasn’t even started yet!  DFO should close the area but I doubt that they will.  They are way too slow off the mark.  On everything.  We’ll just have to wait and see.

The final touches…ready for the tide to come in

Now that the boulders are in place, we will soon get back to working on the studio.  But Sal’s not really keen.  Not yet, anyway.  “I need a day off!”   Which is fine by me.  When Sal takes a day off, she spends it working.  Just does other chores.  She’ll bake up a storm.  I may even get a pie!  Maybe she’ll do some sewing.  Catch up on paperwork.  Make a nice dinner.  I love it when she takes a day off!  When I work, I work like I was taking a day off and when I actually take a day off, I nap.  I won’t need much convincing on this ‘day-off’ idea.

Hmmm…………..maybe get some fresh-baked pie and tea-in-a-thermos and go for a ride in Wasabi…………..?

Sal and I rolled boulders yesterday.  It was fun.  In an Egyptian-slave-working for-the-Pharaoh kind of way.

Instead of using concrete footings as foundations for the posts that will hold up the small outbuilding (studio) it occurred to us to use some of the boulders that litter our landscape.  ‘Found materials’ is the term for this kind of chintziness.  I prefer to think of it as smart materials handling.  They are already on site.  I don’t have to carry anything.

Exciting Picture of a Small Boulder

‘Course the rocks have to be big enough to act as a footing and that means each one is in excess of 300 pounds.  None of them are in the right place – naturally.  So, they have to be dug up, pried out and then rolled in to place. We need nine.

I had managed to pry most of them out over the past few days but they were still partially in their own holes and as far as thirty or so feet away.  We chose boulders that were uphill, of course.  We had to first prepare the destination spot and then we’d try to roll ’em in.  You’d think it would be a piece of cake.

It’s not.

Sal is a dynamo.  She goes at things like a dervish.  But she barely weighs a third of what the average sized rock weighs.  I’d pry the rock up out of the hole and we’d get it on to it’s tipping point and then I’d stand back to take a breather.  She would then grab it and pull it towards her. Grunting.  Heaving.  Sometimes, if a rock refused to budge or went off course,  the air turned blue.  Most of the time, it would require my added immensity to the force but, sometimes, she’d get the monolith moving on her own.

Found Materials: Rocks and Logs

Then there was no stopping her.  She’d get that puppy moving and throw herself behind it as it slowly toppled down the hill and she’d try to keep it going.  It was a marvel of determination to watch.  And, on a few of them, I did just that – I watched.  I watched the little engine that could.  I watched the little engine that did.  We got seven of them in place yesterday.  We’ll finish today or tomorrow.

But we have to do Wasabi first.  The tides are right.  Time to paint the bottom.  So we’ll get the boat onto the hard, wait for the tide to recede and then paint the bottom.  Lying on the mud.  It is an unpleasant job.  But it needs to be done.  So, we’ll do it.  (Just came back from the boat.  Damn.  We misjudged.  The tide was out just a few inches too much for us to float in to the boat-grid and we missed it.  We’ll have to do it tomorrow.)

And then later, for fun, we may go roll a few more boulders.

Is this better than a Starbucks or a pub?  Or what!?

Dateline: Remote Island

Neighbour one is putting his little houseboat together nicely.

Neighbour two is progressing with his dock and ramp rather impressively. 

Sal is making a new canvas cover and Wasabi (name of new boat) has been ‘tweaked’ a bit here and there and is now doing a pretty good job.

Garden is mostly in (good ol’ Sal) and some things are already growing.

Deck has been finished and now I am attempting to drag boulders around to use as footings for the new attached studio-cum-workshop. 

Visitor season, too.  Early.

Generally speaking the universe is unfolding as it should.  Which is good.  I like that.  Change is good but not always the surprises.  So, we are pretty happy (I have managed to mentally bury Gore’s book, The Future, sufficiently deeply that I continue to think I have one.  Silly me).

Spent part of the day yesterday hiking and climbing around the woods near our parking lot on the other island.  The road will be improved and so we have to drop a few dead trees so that they don’t drop later on us or our cars.  I tied yellow ribbons on the ones that have to come down.  The idea is that I tie ribbons and someone else (younger and quicker) actually does the dropping.  I have found a guy older and slower and somewhat willing but I am thinking of sacrificing him as a last resort.

Falling is the most dangerous occupation in the non-combat world – not counting the drug business which is not included in industry stats.  More dangerous than deep sea fishing in Alaska in winter.  Statistically, anyway.  Loggers get hurt and they die.  A lot.  And, when clambering around tying ribbons, you can see why.  It is bloody impossible at times.  Don’t forget the west coast of BC is basically all angular ground, poor footing and dense underbrush.  In many falling situations you simply can’t move freely or run away very fast or very far.

And the trees are rooted on the angular hills but attempt to grow relatively straight up.  So the stresses in the structure of it are not evenly distributed.  That means that the place in which the tree falls is not always easy to determine.  A logger develops an ‘eye’ for it, of course, but too many branches on one side, a neighbouring tree, a twist in the trunk, a rotten core……all of these and more variables makes it somewhat of a gamble every time.  And the trees we have to fall are all dead, dying and/or rotten.  By definition they will not go easily.

I am looking for a quick, nervous, slight bachelor for the job.

Maybe one who votes Harper Conservative? 

I’ve written a few blogs lately but not published them.  I didn’t like them enough.  Too depressing.

I am not depressed myself, mind you.  Not really.  I don’t think so, anyway.  If I am, I blame Al Gore.  I am pretty much done his book The Future and, to summarize it, there doesn’t seem to be one.  We are not heading for a hell-hole, we are already in one and in a state of free-fall.  The only bright spot is that we cannot yet see the bottom.  But it is coming up fast.  It is hard to write a fun blog about a more natural life when Al has described the currently running and accelerating apocalypse.

Seems mankind is both homicidal and suicidal.  Nature is pretty much dead.  And we are doomed.  Each of his books should come with a Cyanide pill attached to the jacket.

Sheeesh.

I won’t bore you with all the ways in which we are to suffer, mutate and die.  Suffice it to say that we’ll eat Monsanto, live by way of drugs and prosthetics and cook in the advancing deserts as we try to gun down the poor folks from the South. Oh yeah……and the rich will get richer (as if that matters a whit).

The problem with his doomsday vision is that the damn thing is so well researched and the prophesies (more like dire warnings) are so well written.  It is hard not believe what he has to say.  I told my neighbour (a lapsed Catholic) that I was going to join the church.

“What in God’s name for?”  (I don’t think he heard the irony in that question)

“Well, I used to think the church was stuck in the past, had a closed mind and lied to the masses.  I still think that but now that seems like a better route to follow.  According to Gore, the past is way better than now and way, way better than the future.  Seems opening our collective mind is akin to opening Pandora’s box – and it is ugly, dark and greedy in there.  And so I am thinking the lies about winged-cherubs and harp-playing in the clouds are better.  Where do I sign up?”

I am glad I have almost waded through Al’s tome of tombs.  I’ll take a bit of time to heal and then try to put it out of my mind.  Life by way of denial seems to work for a lot of people. I’m going to give that a try.  If he is wrong, I’ll be fine.  If he is right, the climate, nanobots, epidemics and snipers should take care of me in short order.  What’s to worry about?