Things are really coming to a head lately. Bad news, bad moons, bad breath and pure fiction are on the rise, while at the little outposts of the truth--those small islands where the occupants allow both feet to reside on the ground, where some credit is given to the power of mother nature, where the mob mentality is kept at bay, where some small credence is still given to a belief in science and where witchcraft is only allowed to flourish on the farthest periphery--some credence is still given to facts.
The first world shattering event came last Wednesday with a report issued by Mr. David Jhirad of the World Resources Institute, a noted think tank based in the Washington, D.C., which stated in uncategorical terms that even if humanity's use of fossil fuels and the corresponding production of greenhouse gases were immediately halted, in toto, pronto, immediately, right now, bar none, sans souci, forever, that the global warming phenomena would continue spiraling out of control forever, anyway, regardless.
So, top scientific minds, or at least one, anyway, tell us that no matter what we do, in any fashion whatsoever--like holding our breaths, recycling, buying incinolets, sticking to stick deodorants, putting diapers on Bossy the cow, keeping a closer eye on Digby the cat, putting in boxes of compact fluorescent light bulbs, covering our windows with solar film, installing pelletized wood furnaces, lowering our thermostats to 39F and picking up extra dogs to sleep with in the winter months, planting trees by the millions, and wearing fur-lined trooper's hats all year long--that things are just going to spiral out of control, that the middle cannot hold, that the whole planet is doomed to bake itself to a fine dust of carbon Buckeyballs, that all life as we know it is going to perish and that we're looking at a mass die-out greater than the one we barely eked through in the great Permian extinction.
Now, of course, we find the problems with the natural causes of greenhouse gases--those problematic volcanoes like Pinatubo and Mount St. Helens, the great underwater reefs of frozen methane that are like everywhere, inherent fluctuational instabilities in solar activity that can cook us to shreds in an instant, variations in the earth's magnetic field that can fry us with charged particles, and changes in the oceanic conveyor belt which can freeze us solid in a fortnight--don't amount to a hill of beans in the whole scheme of things. I mean the sun, that flaming ball of burning hydrogen that keeps us warm, is just a flyspeck in the global warming jams and jellies. While man is, after all, the primary force driving global warming, the remaining universe--with its supernovas, neutron stars, vast cosmic storms, immense belts of radiation, huge x-ray bursts, cosmic rays, showers of neutrinos--is just background static.
and yet we blindly stumble through our mean and idiotic lives, oblivious to our final extinction, looming closer on the horizon, never realizing the untold contests for our oblivion.
Meanwhile, over town, the mixture of fact and fiction in the New York Times has been as problematic for the ultimate arbiters of truth as defining humanity as the single major problem in global warming is for the Washington wonks. Not long ago, a major factual section in the Times was thrown overboard for the sake of profit and loss when it was decided to dump the stocks and bonds section.
and coincidental with the sudden and sorry departure of the highs, lows, and calls, we now learn that the New York Times may face another, perhaps more massive blow to its already weakened and strained structure, with Moody's Friday report that it had placed NYT's senior unsecured long term debt and their commercial paper ratings on notice for a possible further downgrade. This act emerges as the latest non-fiction problem for the embattled liberal yarn spinning latitudinarian mouthpiece--with another tipping point being reached as the verifiable factual content of the Times continues on the decrease, just as an increased use of the Times is being detected, and charted at the World Resources Institute, in fireplaces, in drawer linings, as wrapping paper, and as incendiary devices--all of which will further increase the planet's thermal inertia.
and as we pass the twin tipping points in global warming and at the New York Times, one of the most visibly restive and highly deranged producers of greenhouse gas, Mr. al Gore, has recently explained some of his own highly vaporous and extemporaneous "false impressions" about things as he has seen fit to deduce them in Palm Beach. He explained that it was a false impression that Saddam Hussein had something to do with 9/11, that he was going to give nuclear weapons to Osama, that american troops would be greeted with flowers in Iraq and that we didn't need to send many troops because the war would be a cake walk, that Leprechauns are material manifestations.
al, buddy, glad you cleared the air about your uniquely outlandish and airy assumptions at the same time you ramped up the thermal inertia with that heat bloom of hot foetid air you exhaled while outright speechifying the whole untidy business--visible to deep-space satellites at their L1 and L2 Lagrangian points in the far infra-red.
But, al, seriously, you've got to stop watching Fahrenheit 911 and those George Clooney movies, quit listening to Michael Moore and Russ Feingold, cease using that surreptitious sock stuffer Sandy Berger as your security advisor--he's a convicted crook for cryin' out loud--and stop washing down the three pieces of warm high calorie double-sugar pumpkin pie with the heavy whipped cream and the dollop of ice cream with the tureen of boiling hot coffee five minutes before you begin your patented, sweat soaking, jaw-shaking, finger poking, pontificatory yammering.
You've got to stop devouring the New York Times. Read something by someone outside the Democratic Party. Pick up a newspaper from Middle america at the airport. Stop listening to Wes Clark and his internecine meanderings about the earth's cooling, the arrival of the dinosaurs and his favorite recipes for mince meat. Make a call to Tommy Franks and listen to him throughout the entire conversation and take some notes. You can call Tommy from a pay phone while you're wearing sunglasses and a Hawaiian shirt. Pretend you're Felix Leiter calling Jimmy Bond. act like you're having fun and nobody will think it's you, believe me. Read an entire column by John Podhoretz, Ben Stein or John Fund--I know it'll be distasteful, the facts always are, and if you're caught you'll never be able to live it down, but sneak off and do it. You can unravel it under the blankets with a flashlight in a cheap motel on a side street, for Pete's sake. al, you can get away with picking up some information outside of the dull dreary progressive line of cockeyed subliminal madness and petulant hackneyed prevarication. The process won't kill you.
There's an old trick they show you in journalism college. Take a video tape of yourself. Run it at a slightly faster speed. If you look like a nut case, hopping up and down, flailing your arms, with your head bobbing all around, your necktie flying like a flag in a forty knot gale, your eyes bugging in and out, your tongue sweeping around your mouth like a windshield wiper, your stomach moving in and like a set of bellows, with your legs moving up and down like you're marching in place or like al Franken walking on a bed of hot coals--if you look like Howard Dean on crank--it's time to start slowing down your delivery. You're tearing through the thermal barrier and that's bad for all of us.
Things are coming to a head. Global warming can't be reversed, the NY Times business outlook is dropping like a hot lava rock through Turkish taffy, and al Gore is doing everything he can think of to increase our chances of extinction.
and all three result in an increase in deadly thermal inertia and we've passed the tipping point. There's no way out.
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