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There’s a notion that the world is firmly set in its course; nothing will deter us from our manifest destiny. We have visions of a sterile, technologically robust future and we feel that, come what may, we’re going to make it there. We’re sure about it. We count on a better life for our children, for our grandchildren. A higher standard of living. Better health care. More mobility. Less disease, crime, poverty. That is the direction of human history.

But I begin to disagree. Strongly. I look at the global systems around us and I see a very tenuous path for the future, a very delicate balance. The balance, however, is tipping. We’re tipping away from abundance to scarcity. From growth to decline. I have a premonition of the future, and it’s not a bright or cheery vision. Our current patterns of living are not sustainable. We underestimate our human impact on the earth, and we underestimate the ability of the earth to retaliate. And I’m not talking hundreds of years. I believe this shift of balance may begin to manifest itself before the end of my parents lifetime. It’s not a problem for future generations– it’s a problem for our generation. And, like a Rocky Mountain thunderstorm, it’s looming in the distance. If we’re willing to look, we may see it coming.

Our petroleum reserves are finite, and we know they’re running out. We may have 20 years worth left, if new discoveries offset the billowing demand in south-east Asia (China specifically). The importance of fuel cannot be overstated. We’re overconsuming petroleum reserves, but that’s certainly not all. The earth can only sustain a certain number of human beings– the figure I’ve heard most often is 10 billion– and the world’s current population growth rate could place us at that mark in 20 years.

Unstable governments. Nuclear weapons. Paucity of resources.

What I hold a premonition of, then, is that we are at the pinnacle of our society. That these years, and perhaps the next ten years to come, will mark the high-point of humanity. Never again will there be an age of such exceptional consumption (or such exceptional production). Never again will so many people so mobile, circling the earth for pleasure. There will come a point, probably a lot sooner than any of us expect, when things begin to run out.

Disruption of supply and demand will disrupt and undermine our economies. Governments, being primarily economic units, will initiate wars over resources, fighting not just over oil, but arable land and clean water. Meanwhile, the world will be ravaged by increasingly violent natural disasters– hurricanes, tsunamis, rising tides (flooding much of America’s eastern seaboard), as we’re increasingly less able to respond.

Climate change. And yes, it IS changing.

It becomes, then, imperative to capture the moment– to capture what it’s like to live in the year 2006, at the high-point of human mobility, at the high point of human consumption. In the age of 72″ HD televisions and behemoth Hummer H2s. It becomes essential to capture the essence of some fragment of humanity. To capture a sunset, and then capture how many people see the sunset, how many don’t, how many appreciate it, how many reach for the $1,450 Canon digital cameras. It’s important to capture the human mentality, at this turning of the tide– while we’re still hopeful, forward looking. We must be captured, documented, put in place for posterity– but more so for ourselves. We must understand ourselves. I don’t know why but understanding ourselves must be a step towards understanding the world around us.

Disease epidemics.

Sustainability isn’t necessarily a bright prospect. But the alternative is worse.

I have this strong, mounting premonition of the future. Of our future. Of the last years of my parents and the first years of our progeny. And it’s grim. It’s a future of decline, or stabilization. But I don’t think many share this premonition, this vision of the future. Maybe it won’t come about. Maybe a source of Hydrogen fuel will be discovered, and this age of mobility will be entirely eclipsed by the age to come, just as the age previous by this. Science, surely, has yet to be defeated. But I’m not counting on the discovery of an alternative source of fuel that will change the course of human history.

Global food shortages.

And so begins the project: what does it look like? What does it feel like? What are people thinking? What am I thinking? What are our (collective) hopes and dreams? What are our secret, buried fears? Oh, capture it. Bring it together. Put it on film, in a book, on a canvas.

Forgive me for seeming shallow. Forgive me for being a doomsayer. I don’t mean to be. But I feel an urgency in capturing the moment. An urgency to capturing the moment.

This is hasty and shallow and disorganized and blather. But the goal is something profound, something sublime, carefully crafted, great depth. Something subtle, that you smile and laugh your way through, and keeps you up that night, unable to sleep, disturbed. Someing that eats the soul. Awakens consciousness.

Oh, yes. Overly ambitious. But juxtaposed against an insurmountable problem.

Sabres: 3
Senators: 2

Over-time victory of the Sabres.

I personally predict the Sabres are going to make it to the finals, but not take home the cup. We’ll see.

For both Darwin and Freud the idea of death saves us from the idea that there is anything to be saved from. If we are not fallen creatures, but simply creatures, we cannot be redeemed. If we are not deluded by the wish for immortality, transience doesn’t diminish us. Indeed, the traditional theological conviction that we needed to be saved — the secular equivalent being the belief that we could and should perfect ourselves, that we are in need of radical improvement — assumed that we are insufficient for this world; that without a God that could keep is in mind — a God who, in however inscrutable a sense, knew what was going on — we were bereft and impoverished (and compared with an omniscient deity, or magically potent deities, we were indeed lacking). If morality was a flaw, or a punishment, we were always verging on humiliation. Tyrannical fantasies of our own perfectibility still lurk in even our simplest ideals, Darwin and Freud intimate, so that any ideal can become another excuse for punishment. Lives dominated by impossible ideals — complete honesty, absolute knowledge, perfect happiness, eternal love — are lives experienced as continuous failures.

…

When transience is not merely an occasion for mourning, we will have inherited the earth.

(Adam Phillips, Darwin’s Worms)

The difference between the Christian who fears and polemically attacks Harry Potter and the 5th grader who reads and enjoys the same is this: whereas the 5th grader (rightly) understands spells, witches and sorcery as belonging to the magical realm of Children’s Literature, the Christian believes in their literal and “evil” existence.

Although– would Harry Potter be the only example of the Christian believing in the literal truth of what the rest of the world understands to be farcical literature?

I. Hate. Computers.

Heh. Which makes it particularly damning to stare into the face of the reality that, in all probability, my career is going consist primarily of staring at a computer screen for eight hours a day, semi-donnishly producing an endless litany of documents and … pseudo-documents (heh. Don’t worry, Jade– I totally just made that word up. I don’t know what a pseudo-document is, either =) )

If only there was a way to go from concept to deliverable without the “stare at computer screen for four hours to develop a conceptual model” stage– ah. That would be grand. Any way about it, I’m becoming increasingly familiar with Microsoft Word. For example, I’ve recently discovered that the “Styles and Formatting” bar is exceedingly useful. Not only can you do all of your formatting with a few clicks, but then, once everything is formatted, you can automatically do things like have Word generate a Table of Contents, or export to a PowerPoint slideshow with all your slides already set up… Needless to say, everything I’ve typed in the last couple days has had an entirely superflous TOC.

Wait. What am I saying? How’s that a bonus? How is that an upside? An upside should be a day in the park, a free beer at the end of the road race, your 10th smoothie free at Ruby Juice. NOT “ooh, I discovered a new way to use Word more efficiently.” What’s wrong with me? Sheesh.

Edit: You SEE?! This is why I hate computers.

I was totally about to post a “ou est mon pantalons?” post, but then I found ’em.

Whew. That was a close one. *sign of relief*

So. This is the time of the year when I, typically, would do a “end of the semester wrap up post” where I would wisely and judiciously sum up the successes and failures of the previous semester. Not wanting to break tradition… here we go.

There’s good news and bad news about last semester. The good news, I suppose, is that I didn’t fail any of my classes. See: didn’t tank my GPA. Score. The bad news, conversely, is that I didn’t learn much from my classes. In fact, I don’t think I learned a damn thing–but maybe that’s just what I get for never going to class? (heh– I could make a joke at Ken’s expense right now… but because I value his friendship, I’m going to withhold.)

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some Kanye West to listen to. Nothin’ wrong with bein’ a drop-out. I swear. =)

Actually, I’m somewhat robbed of a sense of accomplishment. I mean, oh, the injustice. Heh. I’m still waiting on my grade from fall semester to arrive– I have a pretty good idea of how I did, but there’s one class I’m not sure about (heh, my Thai class– go figure). But … well, I’m not surprised. That’s why I started following up on my grades back in February– between the office at Thammasat where the motto is “work? what do you think this is? an office?!” (see: sah-nuk, or “fun”) and Nick Myers in the Study Abroad office, who’s motto is “what? you’re a student? oh, yeah. grades? Don’t sweat it. Um. Yeah. I’ll follow up on that. Why don’t you send me an email to remind me, and then check back in a month,” I’ll be lucky if I ever get my grades transferred from Thailand. Psh. It’s all good– it’s not like I learned anything, anyway. =P

Seriously, though– fall semester could start tomorrow and I couldn’t be more ready for it. For all intents and purposes, I took a year off from school. And I’m ready to be back. So ready to be back. Four months. Count the days.

In that ethereal world between waking and sleep, I hear the low, crescendoing rumble of an airplane. The power is out; has been out; the darkness is profound. The power-outing storm swells against my window. If not for the growing roar, I would hear heard the pit-a-pat of white wind-borne pellets of frozen atmosphere, being rebuffed against my window.

Don’t be absurd, reasoned the half-waking mind. It’s just a big truck–like a UPS truck, a semi–driving down the road. But then, while these thoughts were still forming I felt it, intensely, more than I heard it. Impact. Collision of a huge and incredible force against terra-firma, deafening, shaking my bed, shaking the heart within me.

Suddenly wide awake. My god. What was that? It’s dark–pitch black–so I grope my way to the window, where my hands find the cord and pull open the shade. I’m cold, in my boxers. I look in vain in to the black oblivion, expecting to see flames and burning wreckage. I see is blackness. Profound blackness. Maybe it’s out of my field of vision.

Headlamp. It’s by my bed, someplace. Grope my way to the bed. Grope blindly through the clothes on the floor. Gotcha. Light. Thank god. Wow, that’s bright. Already, I feel so much better.

But what was that? I wasn’t dreaming. I know I wasn’t. Something crashed. Let’s go. Pants. Check. Shirt. Christ! Oh, just lightning. Sweatshirt. Check. Cell-phone, to call help. Check. Camera, to document. Check. Keys. Socks. Beanie. Ok, let’s go.

Headlamp lights the way, piercing the darkness. Pull the cord, drag open the heavy garage door by hand, breaking the seal against the blowing white ice and wind. Start the car, turn on the headlights (thank god! light!), back out. Get out, re-seal the garage, back out of the driveway.

A solitary car, two beacons of yellow-light, in a snowy tempest. The incongruity is almost palpable: the only light, the only life in a post-apocalyptic, war-of-the-worlds world. It’s eerie, the utter lack of life. In my car-capsule, warmth, light, I’m sealed against the outside world. The only survivor in an otherwise dead empty and black landscape.

I drive toward the direction the explosion came from. Brilliant bursts of lightning occasionally illuminate the deserted, lifeless landscape, in the midst of the tempest, heightening the effect.

At the top of a ridge, I stop to look out. There’s light from the direction of the military base. Of course. They produce their own electricity. And as I look, in an instant the landscape is illuminated and I’m struck blind. The only thing I can see is the white outline of the bolt of lightning, seared into the coronas of my eyes, fading. In the absence of sight, every other sense is overwhelmed by the terrible explosion of thunder. This too, felt more than heard.

Some hours or seconds pass, and I regain my sight. My headlights once again push back the oppressive darkness, and I drive on. I circle the neighborhood, and note a candle. It’s darker now, as the frozen heavens fills the space between with even greater intensity. The lightning’s illumination is lessened. Not satisfied by the absence of an obvious source of the crash that pulled me to a cruel and surreal reality, I slowly turn toward the highway to continue my search.

Again! Illumination and blindness, and an explosion so close and powerful it loosens the lashings of my soul within me. Again, the seared image of immeasurable power, but this time so close: the next ridge over, and no further. I regain hold of reality, but now in the iron grip of fear. Self-preservation kicks in. My hands grip the wheel, and turn my car towards safety and security. Somnambulating, Mark and car pull slowly into a driveway; the cold surrounds but doesn’t touch him as he once again breaks the seal of the garage, cold fingers forcing a gap between garage-door and ground, room for hands, break the seal, open the door.

Wake up in my room. My headlamp still wards off the darkness. It must have been lightning, I reason. Wake up in my room, sunlight streaming in through the window. The shade is still up. Must have been thunder, I reason.

But I’m still not satisfied. I’ve been haunted on these high plains by sounds unnatural, powerful and inexplicable before.

After our early dinner, I strolled out alone. .. As I passed the church, I felt a sublime compassion for the poor creatures who were destined to go there, Sunday after Sunday, all their lives through, and to lie obscurely at last among the low green mounds. I promised myself that I would do something for them one of these days, and formed a plan in outline for bestowing a dinner of roast beef and plum pudding, a pint of ale, and a gallon of condescension upon everyone in the village.

(Dickens, Great Expectations)

Apparently, I was supposed to register for classes … like last Tuesday. Oops. Fortunately, none of the classes I want to take are filled up. Unfortunately, the reason none of the classes are filled is because, well, no one really wants to take the classes I’m taking. I mean … no one. Heh. That’s not entirely true. But Econ 101? Econ 102? Oh, god. I’m going to die. No, that’s a lie. It’s worse: I’m probably just not going to go to class. In fact, I have both classes scheduled at the same time. No, again, that’s a lie. But for all intents and purposes… Shoot me. I’m going to be a junior, and half of my classes are going to be 100 level courses. Out-standing. iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

Those i’s were totoally unintentional. For the record. Since you’re keeping score, I’m sure.

Which is to say: for once, I have something pressing and somewhat urgent to do. An assignment, of sorts. Which means: time to post on the blog. Right-o. Thank god for coffee. Cream is the cure for bad coffee; coffee is the cure for bad planning; guns are the cure for bad education; there is no cure for bad grammer. Poor, poor, poor. Embarassing: American English. For pity’s sake.

Well, I’ll probably post more later. Cuz, lord knows, I have other things to be doing. In fact, I halved my Netflix subscription today. And I’m bringing my coffee pot in to work tomorrow. This post just keeps getting more logical.

Edit: 12:59AM
Must…improve…ergonomics…of my workspace. Or hire a personal maseusse. Ah, yes, That’s the one. Ooh! What a perfect idea for a distraction. Or disappointment, rather– digitalmasseuse.com doesn’t exist. =(

For those of you who don’t already know (and are, for some reason, interested, =P), my sister, Jenny, is getting married on May 28th to Tory McJunkin.

Wedding details can be found at jennyandtory.com.

I post this link not because I expect any of you to click it (that might be rather creepy), but rather to manipulate the Google rating system and get their page ranked. Heh. I just hope the Google spider-bot isn’t smart enough to read the last sentence. =)