I'm a fan of the "ready-made" post, so here's something I wrote for a food storage email list I'm on.  A new person on the list posed the question of why we are pursuing such extreme versions of food stockpiling, rather than the more traditional "emergency stores" version of food storage (you know, have enough food for a 3 days and water for a week version?).  Well, here's my response.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I promised myself I was going to go sit on the couch and read a magazine.

Maybe a week ago, a True Believer in the Power of Nuclear Energy found hir way onto Sharon Astyk's blog, and raised a bit of Nuculer-powered hell (over 100 comments on that blog post--wow).  Besides being a bit of a condescending twit (okay, a lot of a condescending twit), s/he was at least making some reasonably well-argued points.  S/He'd thought about the situation carefully.  And s/he'd come out the other end a "no matter what problem you could possibly come up with, nuclear will Save The Day!"  I spent some time this morning in bed arguing with this person in my head, which meant that I wasn't sleeping, which meant that I was getting cranky.  But I think I've decided that this person is deluded at best, and possibly an industry shill at worst.  Behind the cut are my ruminations on nuclear power.

I've decided that being a Peak Oil believer (otherwise known as a "peaknik") is weird.  It does make one prone to bouts of melancholy, occasional outbursts of choler, and even the rare moments of phlegm (but not much sanguine--huh.).  But I've been a peaknik for some time now, and I've internalized a lot of it.  I've mostly gotten through the basic stages of grieving--anger, bargaining, depression, something, and acceptance.  Sure, I still have panicky moments.  Sure, I still wish desperately that the calculations are wrong (sadly, rather than being wrong, they are increasingly right right right).  But I've almost gotten to the point that I just wish it would get itself over with, for us to get off of this plateau of gas-havingness and start down the bloody slope of reduced resources. 

And so what's weird is how I perceive my world.  I find myself looking around at the accoutrements of my life and wondering what will last, and what won't.  Will my iPod last?  Probably, as it's a mass storage device which runs on next-to-no power.  My computer?  Maybe.  Probably, with solar panels or some such.  My aquarium?  Er...  Food processor?  Straight out. 

Then I look around at the world I live in.  How will that lady handle going over the peak?  Badly, I suspect--she seizes up when the temps indoors go above 75 or below 68F.  What about J in my body sculpting class?  She's a tough old octagenarian, probably do better than me.  How will the person across from me in line at the store deal with a lack of ready transportation?  She's already complaining about $3 gas prices.  She has no idea what's coming.  Nobody does.  I don't, really, but I'm pretty sure it's not going to be good.

Then I look around our house, and think about having to explain this lifestyle to my grandkids, or maybe even our current kids, depending on how fast things happen.  How can I explain what will certainly be a Star Trek-like existence to these people, as we sit around the wood cookstove with our lanterns, bundled up against the cold because natural gas in North America is a distant memory.  Nevermind defending the lifestyle, I'm just trying to figure out how to tell them about constant inside temperatures.  About refrigerators.  About having more cars than people.  About throwing it away and getting another one--whatever it is.

I think sometimes about taking a camera around town with me and photographing it as it is.  That's a fast food restaurant--those were for when we drove everywhere, we even ate in our cars.  See how there are 7 of them on this one city block?  These are car lots.  We used to have these all over the city.  See how the roads are full of cars, instead of bikes and people?  It used to be too dangerous to walk on the roads, or to play outside without supervision because of all the cars everywhere.  See how there aren't even any sidewalks here?  This is a subdivision.  There are no stores, restaurants or other services within walking distance of it.  If you lived there, you had to drive to do anything.  This is your grandmommy's closet--look at all the clothes!  I didn't have nearly as many as a lot of folks, but I had a fair amount.  This is a big-box store.  Stuff was shipped from all over the world to be sold there, even though most of it was junk that nobody needed.  And we bought lots of it, and complained about how high the prices were and that we had trouble making ends meet.  These are billboards--they're for advertising to you when you're driving, in case you're not listening to commercial radio.  This is a supermarket.  Food was brought from all over the world to it, just like a big-box store.  We had no idea who grew it, or even what company grew it.  Probably hundreds of companies grew it.  Most of the food was so weird that you couldn't even tell what was in it if you tried. 

Is it strange to think that I'll miss this lifestyle?  It's so terrible, so bankrupt in almost every way.  But it's also so very comfortable, so very easy.  And so very short-lived.

*sigh*

So a little while back I posted one of Brian's satires of those terrible "10 Things YOU Can Do!" lists.  I hate those lists.  When I'm being charitable, I assume that they probably only do as much damage as good (that is, it's a wash), but I cannot imagine that they're particularly helpful.  But then again, I'm a cynical twit.

So does individual action matter?  Hells yes!  I've always thought individual action matters, just not for the reasons that most people probably do.  I've talked a bit about this elsewhere, but Brian has a great piece (below the cut) about why individual action does matter, matters a lot in fact, and why we all need to take it very seriously.  I hope you enjoy.