Archive for March, 2010


The violence begins again tonight… thank science there’s something on TV worth watching again.


So, looks like I have a hair stylist now, models are coming in, need to figure out wardrobe and hope the makeup person comes through.


Not the end of days.

I’m a peak oil guy, and a bit of a doomer. My fiance gets annoyed because when she asks me about stock market investment (for a long term perspective) I always say that it probably won’t matter much. I tell her that I am not confident that the money she has in RRSP’s will still be there when she hits retirement age. I don’t think she is paying attention when I say that there is nothing wrong with having that money in there.
To me it is hedging her bets. I’m working on the post collapse survival stuff, building a community, learning skills that will work in that kind of world, etc. These are skills that help us anyway, but they will be crucial if we hit a collapse scenario. If she spends money (not a lot, but some) on RRSP’s, then if I am wrong at least she will still be okay (I will be screwed, but that’s a decision I am making).
Either way, the world won’t end. It won’t be Mad Max, and if it is, most of the people in a Mad Max world won’t be Mad Max either. In fact, giving in to that sort of post-apocalyptic fantasy is one of the worst things you can do. It is unrealistic. In a post collapse world, cities will be smaller, but they will still exist and will still be the hubs of safety and culture. When the roman empire collapsed, and Rome burned, Rome survived and is now a bustling metropolis. Why? Because human beings thrive when they are able to practice specialties, and cities allow for that. Without cities, you can only have farmers and hunter/gatherers. People will be good at weaving, and they will want to do that. That means a city for support infrastructure, and so long as the best woven cloth comes from the textile district of the city, the farmers will trade cloth for food. If you have collapsed to the point where cities don’t make sense anymore, you have probably collapsed to the point where people as food is starting to make good sense to everyone.
So, cities persist, which means some sort of civil society, even if it isn’t our current form of civil society, which means some form of government. Sure, being good with a weapon may be more useful than it is now, but being a good weaver, a good carpenter, a good chef, is probably still going to be work more (and good plumbers will be worth their weight in gold).
Basically, don’t count on being a badass mutant killer, even if there are mutants, because if the mutant can keep the water flowing, the people in the cities and towns will choose them over you every time.


One of the ways false rape accusations hurt

It was summer. I don’t really remember much else in the way of detail, just that it was warm as we wandered along the waterfront. The bunch of us, all male, all young, all pretty fucking stupid. Looking for that guy, the one who raped a friend of ours. The night is pretty much flashes for me now (I had had a few drinks by this point). Warm night air, street lights, a strong scent of salt in the air. The tarred pylons on the wharves stand out in my mind for some weird reason. A few hours earlier a friend of mine had showed up at my place. I was drinking with some friends (pretty much what I was doing every night back then) and she came in, looking pretty rough. She was a very attractive blonde with an impressive rack and a tiny waist, something she got from hours and hours spent dancing. She was quiet, rare from this girl, and when we asked about it, she finally broke down and admitted that she had been raped.
Now, the bunch of us were mostly young guys, full of testosterone and anger. We headed out to find the motherfucker who raped our friend. We were going to teach him that shit like that didn’t fly in our town, that we looked after our own.
She didn’t want us to do it, wanted us to let it go. She was upset by the whole thing, and wanted to put it behind her. Hell, if we hadn’t pushed so hard, she wouldn’t have admitted it.

You probably know where this goes. We found him, a whole group of us, and we beat the fuck out of him, all the while screaming to keep the rage going. It’s a great fantasy. It took me a long time to spot the issues with her story, a long time to figure out what had happened. Now, at my advanced age, I know that she lied to us. She had been drinking, and so had he. They hooked up, went further than she had planned to go. That is why she was upset (and yes, I know that this is the case, and no, I can’t tell you how without telling you who) and not because she was unwilling. I don’t know who was initiating things, but I do know now that everything was consensual. The guy we beat the fuck out of was us, some dumb drunk kid who had sex with some other dumb drunk kid who happened to be a girl, who happened to change her mind.

Fuck guilty until proven innocent, and fuck politically correct. He didn’t deserve to get beat, and maybe she did, because she fucked up his life a lot that night and in some ways that can’t be reversed.

Sorry pony tail guy, I believed her.