Greetings to you from Dania Beach, Florida, which is an entire continent away from the fires raging through Los Angeles. Here in Florida we are enjoying the typical balmy weather that attracts all the Yankees in winter. The palm trees that I see outside the window are swaying in the gentle wind. Meanwhile, communities such as Pacific Palisades have been burnt to the ground, thousands now evacuated and homeless, among them several of my cousins, none of whom deserved such punishment.
I have no words for this horror. What’s worse, the horror seems to be repeated year after year, perhaps inuring me and many others. I don’t think it’s my imagination that the fires out west and the hurricanes and tropical storms here in the east have been getting harsher and more frequent. The models of global climate change predicted these changes, and the forecast for the future ain’t rosy.
Let me add that in a mere ten days, the leader of the United States will be a man whom even some of his supporters, I think, agree has no business managing the ecological ticking bombs the country and world now face. Per my friend Stacey D-L, and I think she has a point, the guy and his party are capable experts at one task, which is lowering taxes, especially for billionaires. Everything else is so much bluster and bullsh*t, and yes the asterisk stands for the letter i, as in I am really fed up with all this nonsense.
We can’t live in horror shows. We can watch them, we can survive them, we can manage them. But sooner or later we need to get back to the comedies and drama and soap operas, the kiddy cartoons and the arthouse flicks, and maybe an Agatha Christie mystery thrown in for good measure.
So I’m here in Florida, borderline enjoying myself. Why am I here, you ask? I am buying a used car and driving it home. I had expected a Volkswagen Passat, but now signs are pointing to another Saturn Vue, 2008 edition. Well-kept and the price is right. We shall see, we shall see.
The ticking bomb analogy is appropriate for all sorts of reasons. In Siberia, lots of organic matter is buried in the permafrost. Should it thaw out, massive amounts of methane and carbon dioxide will rise into the atmosphere, and once that starts it’s not likely stoppable. The carbon bomb, look it up.
I was slightly tempted to check out the site of the old Nichols Motel, on 92nd Avenue in Miami Beach, where my family and I vacationed during many winters just like this one. It was right on the beach, and next to much fancier places that we kids would ogle. But I’m not going to do it. I already have avoided visiting Monkey Jungle, the Miami Metro Zoo, Fairchild Tropical Gardens, and my favorite of the south Florida attractions, which is Parrot Jungle.
I am not in the mood for nostalgia.
Maybe I’ll go bowling instead. Bowling is always good, don’t you think?
I want to be upbeat. I want to be fun and lively and full of good humor and some jokes and my usual frothy banter. But sorry, folks, I can’t do it today. Even here in Florida. Consider this last paragraph a prayer from your author. On his knees, beseeching the Almighty with a capital A to comfort the afflicted, help us out of the quagmire we created, and….please, stop the damn horror show. It’s enough already.
