Welcome to our Temporary Autonomous Zippy Zone (TAZZ), where time can’t be wasted . . .but energy can. And we suggest you waste some here.
In TAZZ, you may become flat overwhelmed with replies to last week’s query into the ever-vexing matter of "Why are we here?" We humans, that is, on this planet, Earth.
Humans Loosed On Earth
You may become overwhelmed because a number of replies to "Why?" were inexplicably consistent. Weird. Seems more likely that Alaska would trade itself for Rhode Island than for a random bunch of barmy readers to agree on what are we doing here?
Their answer is that the function of the human race is to extract fossil fuel from the earth, fight over who owns it and who doesn't get any, until it's all burned up, and the planet is poisoned and we all die, satisfied that the mission has been accomplished! This may not be the happiest theory of all time, but you can see where they’re coming from.
At least we could see where they’re coming from when we were coming from Kansas into Nebraska as reported in this journal on May 22. Traveling north on Highway 83, we cross the state line, and pretty soon clear a grassy, prairie hilltop and spreading out across the vista lies a giant mountain of black rocks next to a freight train and a cluster of, well, caldrons and smoke stacks and silos, and wait – that’s coal . . .and this must be a coal-fired power plant . . . in the moment of pure perception, all judgment is suspended by pure surprise, and while it can look pretty simple schematically . . . .
Looks pretty simple until you try to make one yourself.
. . . it’s actually miraculous that a bunch of people could transform soft black rocks into energy flowing through wires to power your hair dryer.
All that coal, petroleum, and natural gas extracted from the earth for all this human activity. Yup, we can see where this theory of the human mission comes from: we’re here to dredge fossil fuels, and not to brag or anything, but we’re pretty darn good at it.
Management does not endorse this explanation for human life, or its outcome. It’s our job to report a viable theory, whether comforting or not.
At the same time, we eagerly anticipate balancing this theory with whatever can be sorted out from the jumble of alternate, possibly cheerier theories also submitted for consideration. Staff is vetting them now, and, by the way,we could sure use some new responses, and maybe you could use a little cheering up. Come on people, help us out here. It's for your own good.
Fictionary Friday: Words You Need. Whether you know it or not.
Hyponolo(high ponn oh loh) Noun: High energy sloth.
In a sentence:Even though he owned a Prius, Phil Immup preferred to express hyponolo with his ’76 Coupe de Ville V-8 because it featured plush seats, and who cares if it gets 8 mpg.
Wikipedia Friday Favorite: In honor of the intersection of curiosity and logarithmically expanding human knowledge, we offer a weekly favorite obscure Wikipedia page. While offering a modicum of hope, this one speaks to our planned obsolescence.
Fizzdom Friday: from our collection of favorite quotes.
"Life is a long preparation for something that never happens." – W.B. Yeats
The Temporary Autonomous Zippy Zone (TAZZ) is crying out for the rest of the responses about why in the heck we are here. (Send yours in and make them Zippy, for Chrissakes! Deadline extended!)
