My Biggest Peeve

This is Meridian. It’s Bellingham’s ugly, crappy “strip mall” hell. Unfortunately, I work in an office park in this area. I hate it. I honestly believe this car-centric, wasteful, ugly, shitty form of development is a harbinger of the end of America. There are very few places in the United States that are not infected with this kind of idiotic and grotesque commercial nightmare. One of my favorite writers, James Howard Kunstler, refers to it as a “technosis externality clusterfuck”. Here’s his talk at TED in 2004:

James Howard Kunstler Dissects Suburbia

I agree with every thing said in that video. Kunstler may be a loose cannon, but on this subject (Peak Oil and the the End of Suburbia) he is right on. What’s so frustrating is that almost everyone agrees that this is Not Good. Only an aesthetically bankrupt moron could look at suburbia and strip malls and say “This is good. I like this. I want this.” Yes, there are many such morons. But they are easily outnumbered by the Americans who say “I hate this shit, too. But it’s overwhelming. Where else will I live? Where else will I shop?”

They have valid points. In the last 50 years, corporate superpowers have raped the American landscape. There is almost nowhere left to hide. No cookie-cutter development is too blank, no strip mall too hideous, no civic center too brutal. The Greed-heads have descended like locusts and converted all of America from a community-minded group of Main Streets into a fearful swath of isolated brains crammed into a sprawling surburban same-scape.

Now, Bellingham is lucky. We have two “Main Streets”: our downtown core and the Fairhaven district. They were built prior to WWII, when civic design was driven by a desire to make neighborhoods walkable and attractive. They were built on a human scale where people could live, work, shop and recreate within walking distance or a short trip on public transportation (in Bellingham, it used to be trolley cars).

Fairhaven in Fall

Fairhaven in Fall

Fairhaven has become a magnet for locals and tourists. All the businesses are locally owned. Franchises and corporate giants are verboten. Historic buildings butt up against reasonably attractive condominiums. Isn’t it telling that places that eschew corporate retail become destinations? Don’t you think we deserve better than the soulless garbage heap at the top of this post? Why do we put up with this? Where is the outrage when another scumbag developer waltzes into town to take a dump on our city, profit handsomely, then leave?

This may all become moot. When Saudi Arabia eventually lets the world know that its production has peaked, our car-centric infrastructure will very suddenly become an albatross around our necks. All those millions of square miles of tidy suburban developments (and their adjoining lifeless strip malls) will become the most undesirable places to live. The big question will be: can we retrofit this unsustainable sprawl, or should we just plow it under? When gasoline becomes $20 a gallon, these questions will become very real indeed.

Kunstler summed up suburbia very well: It’s the greatest misallocation of resources in the history of the world.

We in Bellingham are lucky. We’re comparatively compact. We even have a usable shipping port (which is about to be retrofitted into a marina to support all those luxury yachts that no one will want when Peak Oil finally sets in).  We are surrounded by good arable land. We have plenty of rainfall. Our electricity is 100% renewable hydro. We have some suburban sprawl, but it’s not big enough or far enough to be unservicable when cars become useless.  We are lucky.

Ever been to Phoenix?

Technosis Externality Clusterfuck.

Posted in Political Whingings | 2 Comments

Good Kitty!

I like dogs. But I just don’t want to live with dogs. It’s a practical thing. The smell, the mess, the destruction, the noise. For me, they outweigh the pluses: a true buddy, a travelin’ pal, a little brother. Instead, I like cats. Yeah, yeah, I know. “Oooh! The middle-aged bachelor has a cat! How surprising! FAG!”

Well, they see my kitty rollin’, they hatin’. Fine. But my cat is different. My cat is the best cat ever. Heard that one before? It’s all lies. Krazy Kat Ladies all say their cat is the best ever. But they’re wrong – MINE’S the best. Want proof? Here we go:

1) My cat has never – NEVER – peed or pooped anywhere but outside or in her box.

2) My cat gets disciplined once and remembers. “Biting Ted’s toe at 3:45am” is no longer in the behavioral pattern.

3) When I get home from work, she leaps from her window, bounds up to my car, then leaps onto the hood as I  park beneath the car cover. From behind the windscreen, she meows loudly, “You’re home! Awesome! Let’s play! Hooray!” How cool is that?

4) You can’t herd cats, but you can walk them. My cat is a female, so her territory is tiny. She never ventures more than 50ft from her window. That is, unless I take her for a walk. Then she will venture – at my heel – around the grounds, inside the Manor, and far out into the woods. She loves these walks.  No leash necessary – one whistle and she’s back at my side.

5) My cat fetches. Nuff said.

6) My cat has no interest in human food. Not even tuna! She never begs.

7) My cat is unaffected by catnip. She is beyond the cat drug culture.

8) Cheap toys: her favorite is the balled-up cover sheet from a Netflix delivery.

9) At night, when I’m reading in bed, she’ll snuggle up on my chest and stare right at my face, purring madly. If it’s a bit cool, she’ll gently rake a paw on my shoulder, which means “let me in”. I’ll lift the covers and she’ll settle in, her chin resting on my arm, purring away madly. It’s too cute for words.

10) When the lights go out, she leaps off the bed and quietly goes to her chair. It’s Teddy’s snoozy time. She’ll be quiet and respectful until I awake (which she detects with preternatural accuracy).

So, rather than go on about me, I give you my cat. The best cat ever.

My pal, Fudgie:

At home

On the prowl

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Sunday, Sunday, SUNDAY!

Perhaps the greatest joy of atheism is the reclamation of Sunday. No more waking up at 7:30am to get all scrubbed and dressed for church. No more playing nicey-nice with Beautiful People despite a hangover that would have killed a Thompson’s gazelle.  No more pretending you give a crap about the Invisible Sky Wizard so your neighbors won’t think less of you. When you’re an atheist, Sunday is all yours.

On Sundays, I sleep in until I can’t stand the sheer pleasure of oversleeping any more. Then I get up, make a lovely breakfast and walk around the Manor to drink in the splendor and beauty of my little world. This is also a time to catch up with friends on the phone and teach my cat to be fearful of the bald eagles that nest high above in the Douglas firs. (Bad bird! Big bad bird!)

It’s also time to do laundry. I do it every week to keep the chore manageable. Here at the Manor, we have laundry machines scattered all about so I’m not betrothed to the crappy machines I have in my flat.  I know where the best washers and best dryers are. I know how long they run and which ones are territorially controlled by jealous others. My system is precise and coordinated. My laundry rocks.

Is laundry unimportant? I don’t think so. For starters, there is the psycho-social aspect. Are you a laundry loather whose house is littered with an unending chain of laundry in various states of readiness? Do guests come over and move dirty sweaters off the couch, hiding their disgust in order to avoid insulting you? Or are you (like me) a laundry loather who wants the damn things done and put away in as quick and efficient a manner as possible?

See what I did there? We all loathe laundry. Not one human has ever unsheathed a sword and declared to the Gods that laundry will be done, that laundry is the chosen path, that laundry makes this fearful life worth living. Even though laundry requires 1/100th the effort it did 80 years ago, we still hate it.

There is no upside to laundry.  Even the happy, fuzzy joy of smothering your face in a freshly dried, Bounce-enhanced sweater cannot overcome the drudgery of loading up the machine, transferring to the dryer, folding properly and putting it all away.

Outside North America, most folks hang-dry their clothes. These people have decided that the energy savings trumps the convenience. When I was a child, clothes dryers had not quite penetrated every crevice of American society. We lived in one of those crevices. My mother would hang our clothes on a line in the backyard. If it was raining, they hung on a rack in the basement (which is fitting punishment for daring to be laundry in the first place). Our laundry was always dry and comfortable. I would relive this era of simpler times and efficiencies, but I live in a historical mansion. It’s hard to impress posh party guests when there’s a middle-aged guy with a  serious hangover clipping his skid-marked undies on a clothesline that extends between the pineapple fountain and the statue of St. Francis. “Oh, excuse me, folks. I’m just doin’ the laundry. Can you hold this clothespin? Thanks. Wow. You got a purty daughter…”

No, no, no. This is a civilized place full of civilized people. I use the machine. For now.

But what about the future? Will I always be able to afford such luxuries? Stay tuned as we delve into the elephant in America’s laundry room: the coming energy crunch.

TTFN, SYL and GTFBW.

Posted in It's All About Me, Political Whingings | 2 Comments