The Trouble With Beeves

Sometimes I think that I'll start pissing off my friends if I talk too loud or too often about my opinions regarding the American food industry, or the state of our energy system, or how much we seem to carelessly consume whatever we can. My friends, if I do, just let me know. I'm not going to shut up, but at least I'll know who my friends are.

Then there are those other times, when I have difficulty holding my tongue even in the presence of total strangers as I watch them stuff their faces in an orgy of self loathing - or so it would seem, for did they not know of the fantastic array of malicious ingredients compacted together to form that meat-wich patty? I am, perhaps unfortunately, less inclined to raise my voice against drivers of Hummers or people who think E85 and "flex-fuel" are anything but horse shit! More like Big Oil flexing it's fat foot in your ass. Not to sound above the fray, I do drive a less than super-duper efficient truck of my own, after all. My Taco is not a novelty item, however, it's a beast of burden, and frankly I don't see a lot of people who drive H, H2, H3, or whatever other derivative they keep barfing out of the auto mills using their overblown rides to transport allied troops through hostile territory. You know what? I don't see any. Equating that with dropping your runts at soccer practice is a most asinine notion. These people should be publicly humiliated, and then given Smart Cars.

My belief is that the true solution to our looming energy crisis is in diversity. With all the freedom offered in the principles of the American way, it should be no surprise that we produce at least a few real technological innovations that will see us clear of our dependence on fossil fuel, "ancient sunlight" as some have called it, and of course thereby end our dependence on the corrupt kingdoms of oil and human oppression, and the immensely unclean process of powering our greedy lives.

Back to the food hole.

I wonder why people (in general) seem to blatantly ignore the mounting evidence which illuminates a rampant deficiency in the quality of their food. Because the FDA said OK? Lest we forget this is the same institution that told us those morbidly sick cows were just sleepy and no, don't worry about all the mucus they excreted into the milk supply. Got that crap all over your upper lip? Yummy. The more I learn about what is good for us and what is bad for us the more I realize that capitalism and economizing leads to what I guess old Tom Brokaw would call "The Fleecing of America." What is really in that meat patty, anyway? SOME meat? Also nutritious sawdust and important meat related parts, the supporting cast of the bovine opera, the filler that barely escapes the sluice farm floor. And why is corn syrup the first or second ingredient in damn near everything? Take the corn diet test, as my friend Josh suggested once. Eat nothing but corn for a week - from the can or from the cob. See what happens to your digestive system. Or let me spare you the dance with death; we do not digest the stuff. Modern corn is a genetically manipulated grass crop, which cows can't even digest anymore, not with all seven of their stomachs. It makes them sick and the beef makers response it to pump the beasts with antibiotics and steroids which remain in the meat. That is also why their milk is beyond bad for us. These outrages against nature smack of Moreauvian shenanigans. Soon the corn will walk right into our mouths. It will grow arms and legs like the hot dogs and candy bars that keep telling us with that irresistible jingle to just go out to the damn lobby and add some fat to our asses. Then one day, somewhere in Western Illinois (Garst country, where they grow corn favored by pirates, or so I am told), an errant ear of corn will, by some mutation, grow teeth where the kernels once were and it will bite the hand that shucks it. I can't freaking wait for that day.

Simple Gifts

I took Lucas for a short walk a few nights ago. In that time we were given a sweet taste of some of the finest aspects of life in the desert. In brief:

At first steps we heard an owl. Then another, and another still. Their haunting calls echoed with decreasing volume from farther down the small valley where we live.

A small squadron of bats soon joined ranks with us, presumably following the gnats that followed us. They would be our escorts for the duration.

The backdrop was spectacular - an enormous lumbering giant of a monsoon stormed its way across the valley, from the east. It rose into an otherwise clear sky, rose as if to devour the waxing moon. From our position, it looked as it it just might do so. The setting sun illuminated the rain wall with soul pleasing hues, drawing to mind a deep pink gown on the expansive girth of the beast that destroyed prom.

A pack of coyotes began to yip and howl from a few hundred yards away. Thunder joined the chorus, and the 'yotes stepped up their frenzy.

We made a short loop, Lucas off leash. On the return we saw the Great Horned Owls again. Two together this time on the roof of a neighbor's house. They looked for all the world like winged house cats. The larger one hooted, the other mimicked, not quite in the same cadence. Lightning flashed from the flanks of the storm, as the cheeriness dissolved and the pink diminished, turning her dress a deep foreboding gray.

We returned home just as the first drops began to fall, heavy and noisy. The air was alive with anticipation of the coming deluge. We lingered on the street, just taking it all in and enjoying a few fat rain drops.

I love this place.