Friends, Beware!

My quote of the post, week, or month -- depending entirely upon how often I choose to post or quote -- comes from a friend who is currently working with an NGO in Afghanistan: "... if i leave the house or office, it is because my transport, destination and route have been approved pursuant to careful consideration (case in point: i had to ask permission to go get my eyebrows done this evening)." xoxo to you, Miss B., a girl's gotta look good...
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Now that I’m into blogging for the time being, I might be making mention of people I know. Friends, for example. I will probably mention at least one of you in each post. I promise not to reveal any of your secrets, and may only mention you in passing, without even naming you, but I probably won’t be disguising anyone’s identity in order to protect the innocent either. So, heads up to anyone out there -- if you’re a friend of mine, and you don’t want me to mention you, let me know now.

The title of today’s blog might also refer to much more serious things. I’ve been known to warn friends about lots of things. Last winter, when I was reading James Howard Kunstler's book, The Long Emergency: Surviving the Converging Catastrophes of the Twenty-First Century, I was telling friends, coworkers, just about anyone who happened to be standing in front of me that the end of oil is coming sooner than we think, and we’d better get ourselves ready for it. In case they hadn’t heard, when the oil runs out, and it will run out someday, we’ll be looking at a drastically different world, but more germane to our lives, a vastly different America. No cars, no electricity, no well-stocked supermarkets, no jobs, no economy. I had little confidence that alternative forms of energy would be developed and implemented in time to save us from reverting to horse and buggy days. I don’t necessarily have that confidence now, either, but I’ve recovered from the sense of urgency I was feeling then. So, right around that time, I ordered a book about building cheap underground structures in which to live. I began to spend my evenings at home madly designing my crude underground hovel, drawing pictures, making notes about what sort of materials my dirt floors would be covered with, everything. This was no joke -- anyone who knows me can tell you that these are the things I was talking about on a daily basis. In case you’re wondering, it was smooth pebbles on the floor in the bathroom area, and the water from the gravity-fed shower, when available, would drain right through them and somehow be recycled to water my little greenhouse garden. I had it all planned out. When I was told that the earth around here contains too much clay, and maybe radon, to build that particular kind of underground house, I decided I’d probably be needing to buy an old school bus, dig a hole into a hillside, park the bus there and partially bury it, and get busy decorating my earth-bermed, hard-times-are-upon-us abode. I actually looked online and found a place in Indiana to buy the bus (dead ones can be had for a mere $1500 or so, cash and carry). All I needed was to find and buy the perfect hillside property and I was on my way. I had visions of stringing little wires across my property with bells attached, to warn of approaching intruders, because times are gonna be rough, people, some folks might not have the knowhow to do for themselves, and those people will be coming after the ones who have prepared -- in other words, me, my school bus, and my stuff. Of course, my friends and other good people would live nearby -- there would be a sort of survivalist commune thing going on. I preferred to imagine it more along the lines of a sharing, caring community, but yes, I did find myself beginning to think that maybe, at least in some ways, those survivalists we hear about might actually just be a little ahead of the curve. Please note that I said in some ways, that's very important. Scary, yes, but I was determined to be prepared. I tell you this story only slightly tongue in cheek, and I fully recognize the absurd and extremist quality of it all, but it’s nonetheless a true story. And another example of how obsessions can take over our thoughts. Well, my thoughts, anyhow.

I think I see a pattern developing. What this blog may very well become is a review of my various obsessions and compulsions, sort of a DIY therapy, though I do hope it occasionally motivates others to either think or act in a positive way. Or, at the very least, that it amuses someone. The hardcore portion of my End of Oil obsession began to wane after a few weeks or so, and within a couple of months the whole thing was nearly forgotten -- and replaced by the Great Vehicular Domicile Tour 2006. Maybe I’ll write about that some day. Or hood latches.