The Deserts of New England

The thing I've mentioned before but failed to do myself is discuss the environment, daily. I think I forget because except for the record temperatures around me, I feel powerless to affect those whose policies attack the environment, that is, affect them directly. Instead I get a sense of empowerment by chipping away at corners of the policy-maker's most tenacious foothold; the Republican party (you do know it is Corporate America, not elected Americans, who run this country, right? I thought you did). And yes, Democrats are at times no better (how sad).

Further, if I read all the available materials on global-warming I'd be so depressed I wouldn't get out of bed in the morning. At least I can hope to affect the opinions of voters to favor policies that support, not destroy, the world in which we live. I can do nothing about calving ice-sheets, polar bears foraging in mud and heat-waves wiping out Europeans.

The bad news, I'm afraid, is that nobody else can affect theses things either.

This piece is depressing. Period. Read it anyway. Then go back to work.

Snippet:

The demon in me wants to say: Party and make merry. No need now to worry about Kyoto, recycling your aluminum cans, or using too much toilet paper, when, soon enough, we'll be debating how many hunter-gathers can survive in the scorching deserts of New England or the tropical forests of the Yukon.

The good parent in me, however, screams: How is it possible that we can now contemplate with scientific seriousness whether our children's children will themselves have children? Let Exxon answer that in one of their sanctimonious ads.