Today is Sunday, a day in the Christian calendar marked as the Sabbath (Saturday? I always wondered about that), where football, bombing of civilians in Asia and Africa, and Western Consumption to gluttonous extremes continues unabated. But stock markets are closed.
However, since Moslems and Jews are not big on Sundays, they do not have the same restraints on this day. So, I think that it is worth observing that it is without any historic diffidence to Christianity, that the Israeli stock markets decided to lay low on this Sunday, and not open for once. It makes sense. Tomorrow, Monday. could easily be the beginning of the eclipse of the economic system as we know it, the harsh beginning of the Cringing New World, the latest Great Depression in the US, the Chaos and Panic in the EU, the Wide Eyed Wonder and Tutt-tutting in the rest of the world; why let your own national markets plunge, little presumptuous, would you not say? let the economic superpowers take the lead: wait until Monday.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Friday, August 5, 2011
Happy happy
My last entry was very sad indeed.
This is a very neglected blog -- and I had such hopes for it.
However, less grandiose aspiration, perhaps a tone more suited to an inner purpose of mine, and I will dare make occasional entries here.
"Rain"
Let's have a few words about rain.
We, here in New Mexico, have just lived through one of the worst spells of drought in living memory. Some counties dryer than in the worst years of the Dust Bowl. It was so dry that we even deservedly made the world news by almost having our nuclear bomb factory in Los Alamos ignite. A close call.
Meanwhile, vast acreage of beautiful forest turned to ash, the biggest forest fire in New Mexico history. And that's a history regularly punctuated with giant catastrophic forest fires, most and worst recently, since we are enduring the consequences of a century or two of misguided forest fire suppression policy, topped with "climate change", sometimes and otherwise referred to as global warming. The fires burned long and fiercely, but the laboratory and residential areas of Los Alamos were spared.
And now the monsoon has finally arrived. Wimpy, sporadic, hissing and rising in clouds of steam from the parched land, but rain nevertheless.
What we hoped for for so long has become a threat to a much wider area than the forest fire could ever have extended to. The rains, intense in some areas in the higher elevations, are pulling down huge swaths of ash from burned areas, chocking up the streams, killing all life in them, and diverting their courses by mulling up in parts and creating huge, black, squishy dams.
Worst of all, the water diverted and running loose, runs over sites contaminated by the nuclear lab in all the years past, and drags the life threatening pollutants to all the communities downstream: the Pueblos, Santa Fe, Española, and into the Rio Grande toward Albuquerque and beyond. Perhaps to Texas, perhaps to the Gulf of Mexico, perhaps to a beach near you on the sunny coasts of England, Ireland, and all at the receiving end of the Gulf Stream.
This is a very neglected blog -- and I had such hopes for it.
However, less grandiose aspiration, perhaps a tone more suited to an inner purpose of mine, and I will dare make occasional entries here.
"Rain"
Let's have a few words about rain.
We, here in New Mexico, have just lived through one of the worst spells of drought in living memory. Some counties dryer than in the worst years of the Dust Bowl. It was so dry that we even deservedly made the world news by almost having our nuclear bomb factory in Los Alamos ignite. A close call.
Meanwhile, vast acreage of beautiful forest turned to ash, the biggest forest fire in New Mexico history. And that's a history regularly punctuated with giant catastrophic forest fires, most and worst recently, since we are enduring the consequences of a century or two of misguided forest fire suppression policy, topped with "climate change", sometimes and otherwise referred to as global warming. The fires burned long and fiercely, but the laboratory and residential areas of Los Alamos were spared.
And now the monsoon has finally arrived. Wimpy, sporadic, hissing and rising in clouds of steam from the parched land, but rain nevertheless.
What we hoped for for so long has become a threat to a much wider area than the forest fire could ever have extended to. The rains, intense in some areas in the higher elevations, are pulling down huge swaths of ash from burned areas, chocking up the streams, killing all life in them, and diverting their courses by mulling up in parts and creating huge, black, squishy dams.
Worst of all, the water diverted and running loose, runs over sites contaminated by the nuclear lab in all the years past, and drags the life threatening pollutants to all the communities downstream: the Pueblos, Santa Fe, Española, and into the Rio Grande toward Albuquerque and beyond. Perhaps to Texas, perhaps to the Gulf of Mexico, perhaps to a beach near you on the sunny coasts of England, Ireland, and all at the receiving end of the Gulf Stream.
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