After reading an article in the AZ Daily Sun, I kind of started thinking about food shortage. Experts (if that's what you're into) estimate a huge problem by 2050. What would I do without thirty different candy bars to choose from? I'm not saying that sarcastically, I really dig candy...perhaps it is diabetes mellitus creeping in. In short, it's stressful to think about food shortage, aside from my consumer habits.
Then my friend Sofa Gabe informed me of the massive Southwest draught that might or might not be taking place. Apparently, L.A., San Diego, Las Vegas, and Phoenix have only thrived through hydro-engineering. Perhaps our aquifer, the Colorado river, and the various bodies of water that feed Hoover dam are only anomalies in the grand scheme of geology? Once again my contented nature is threatened, as I tremble in fear of losing my bubble baths.
My mother is a born-again Christian who fully expects rapture at any moment, the Mayans have given us 2012, and global warming is the newest buzz-term (as "google" was a few years ago). All the doomsday vernacular is making my lungs gasp for air.
I work the narrow, yellow hot dog stand on south San Francisco on Fridays and frequently wonder why I stick around. The tips are great, and I have a Protestant work ethic to boot, so the job is quite fitting. Last Friday, during our last full moon before Beltane, a guy puked in the dining room. In a separate incident, a fight erupted only feet from the cash register. While mopping up blood at two in the morning, I felt empathetic to those wastoids. How difficult is it for some of us to digest this "end of the world" crap? Perhaps we have overheated pistons, even though I like to feel like we're in cruise control. If the human race makes it past the next hundred years, we might be able to finally dismiss the doomsday meme. It has been freaking us out for centuries now, and is getting stale.