Adaptive Curmudgeon

And now for something completely different… the story of Sumdood’s Army.

OK, it was written in 2007 and I just found it. I’m late to the party. So what? It’s hilarious. I found it at A Day In The Life Of An Ambulance Driver.

Here’s how it starts:

 “What is your last name, Sir?” I ask, watching the guy with the dank, greasy hair sitting at the triage desk, nervously wringing his hands.

“Gol,” he simpered. “G-O-L.”

“And your first name?”

“Smea. S-M-E-A,” he answered, baring his rotted teeth in an obsequious grin. He grimaced and cleared his throat painfully.

Eeeeewwww. Somebody has the meth mouth.

“So what brings you to the ER today, Mr. Smea Gol?”

From there things get weird:

“I pull a document from the file cabinet, march out to the ER entrance, and gird myself for battle. The ER clerk, fear and desperation etched into her features, stands with her back to the barred door. Outside, the howls of the fibromyalgia orcs herald their thirst for blood.

Stout heart, AD. And if you go down, go down swinging.

I heft the six-foot, carved rosewood caduceus adorning the ER hallway off of its hanger, and hold it before me like a scepter. Taking a deep breath, I nod for the ER clerk to clear out, and I fling open the doors.

The patients charge…”

Go there and read it all.

I’ve been avoiding the Ferguson kerfluffle. It has every demographic element fated to incite hostility. Count the red flags. Is it an area that’s southern, poor, two thirds black, and urban? Yep. Was the person shot either trying to surrender or trying to kick a cop’s ass? Yep. Was he a choir boy or a serial killer? Yep. And of course, was the person who shot him white? Yep. America in 2014 is not a place where urban masses are prone to react intelligently to such stimuli. As predictably as night follows day, a shitstorm of angry has ensued. Little, if any, good will come of it. I tuned out.

I was pretty successful too. Several days of stupid came and went without darkening my door. Then one day I was having a conversation with a good friend and he brought up the topic. I was trapped!

My friend pointed out things had gone from bad to worse. I’d presumed as much without examining the details. Things like this progress along a spectrum. As far as I could tell it was far beyond a Maine township circulating a strongly worded petition but not quite approaching 1992 LA. My friend said it was bad news and implied I should be paying attention.

It was mentioned that the President chose to insert himself in this weighty matter. Lately Federal action in a local (city level?) police matter hasn’t racked up a good track record. Particularly when a President uses local human pain to score national political points it’s a very bad thing indeed. Rather than “tut tut” I made light of it. “Of course he did.” I laughed. “His bread is buttered by racial friction.” It didn’t escape my mind that this is a mid-cycle election year and nothing would help the party of D like a big ugly urban riot and the press’ favorite superhero saving the day. He probably has a cape in the closet for just such a purpose. Never one to quit inserting my foot in my mouth I added more. “Let me guess. He’s having a beer summit?”

So it’s agreed; Henry here gets to say he met the president, I get a photo op, and whitey has to suck it up and smile.

“This is a big deal.” My friend complained.

“Sure it is.” I snarked. “Let me guess; the press makes out like the guy who got shot is a cute innocent kid. They’ve got a photo of him looking just like Michael Jackson when he was in the Jackson Five.”

Reading and writing arithmetic
Are the branches of the learning tree
But listen without the roots of love every day, girl
Your education ain’t complete.
(Knowing how Michael Jackson turned out, the lyrics from ABC seem a bit creepy.)

I wasn’t done. “…they claimed he was a choir boy and everyone and their dog loved him. But now some blogger has come up with a Facebook selfie that the press miraculously missed. Maybe he’s posing with a pound of cocaine and a Glock stuffed in his shorts. Plus he hijacked a bus load of nuns last week. Am I right or what?”

The President of the United States actually said of the man in this picture; “If I had a son he’d look like Trayvon”. In my opinion that’s setting the bar pretty low.

“No! The police, they’re going apeshit.” My friend was serious.

I wasn’t.

“So they fired up the racial unrest grievance machine right?” I envisioned a giant dollar sign projected against gloomy clouds like the bat signal. Jessie Jackson springs to action and flies out in his Learjet to fan the flames in honor of folks who’ll never even fly in a Boeing. “So has Jessie Jackson arrived yet?” I laughed. “Wait. Isn’t Jessie dead? His son is in jail. Who’s left?”

“Things are getting out of control…”

“Oh wait Al Sharpton is around right?” I was having a grand time. “Let me guess Al baby wants to have ‘a conversation’.”

I have to admit, the dude rocks a pinstripe suit.

“Meanwhile, in the name of justice people are stealing televisions and burning cars? Are Korean shopkeepers patrolling with…”

“Shut up dammit! The cops are acting crazy.” My friend was having none of my rudeness.

“Uh huh.” I chuckled. “You know I’m all for rioters getting kicked in the balls.”

“But…”

“Don’t taze me bro. Ha ha ha. I’m not buying it. This time the cops have me in their pocket.” I was just having a grand time.

“You’re being an asshole! This is a civil liberties issue!” My friend barked.

This brought my humor to a standstill. I’m all about civil liberties. I love freedom. It’s a bigger deal to me than just about anything else. Yet here I was cheering for cops which may (or may have not) have shot someone who may or may not have earned that fate. Since when do I make rosy assumptions about competence and a reluctance to run amok on the part of the boys in blue? Was this an internal inconsistency in my personal philosophy?

I seethe about a flash grenade in a baby’s crib so why should I grant the benefit of the doubt in Ferguson? Why am I incensed that the ATF toasted a bunch of Jesus Freaks in Texas but perfectly happy if they stomp on presumptive rioters in Missouri? My friend was suggesting the locals were acting like authoritarian duouchebags. Why should I doubt that? I’d simply assumed the Feds would make it worse. Throw in a few Cartman jokes (“respect my authority!”) and I’d somehow sided with a group that has a tendency to kick down doors and shoot the wrong person. What had I done?

The conversation ended. I felt thoroughly cowed.

I thought about reading all the news about Ferguson and getting to the bottom of it. I refused. Frankly there’s too much bullshit and I just don’t want to deal with it. Also Al Sharpton was involved and listening to that guy is like stepping in something that’ll stink for a week. As for Obama, perhaps he did a glorious soliloquy or perhaps he ate his teleprompter while golfing but none of that matters. I just don’t feel like parsing the delta between whatever the hell he will do from whatever the hell he said. Besides, what he’s likely to do is more or less nothing. Ask the Ukrainians. Who’s got time for all that swimming against the tide of misinformation?

Further, none of this changes the fact that I’d made a knee jerk generalization that was cynical and mean. Federal involvement doesn’t always make things worse. I’d been wrong to glibly dismiss what might very well be local cops acting like jerks and when the local po po act like jerks it’s the Feds that are supposed to punch ’em in the groin. Maybe they were doing their job?

So how should I rectify my verbal missteps without shoving my face into Ferguson? I had an idea. In the spirit of lighting a candle rather than cursing the darkness I decided to seek out and post a picture that’s unlike the nihilism of today’s age. I shouldn’t let cynicism take root and my friend called me on it. Good for him. The Federal Government can indeed do good. Here’s a picture from when staid boring President Eisenhower used the National Guard, guns and all, to do the right thing.

Sometimes calling in the National Guard is indeed the right thing to do.

This has nothing to do with Ferguson. Nor does it mean that the Feds are guaranteed to be on the side of angels this time. It has everything to do with not letting 2014’s panic du jour cloud the long term good that’s out there. Mea culpa. I was wrong.

I regularly and deliberately go on vacation from the news. The manifold benefits of limiting one’s bullshit consumption are simply too huge to ignore. I haven’t heard of many people doing the same thing. Until now! Clarie Wolfe just posted a link to Mr Money Moustache titled The Low Information Diet. It’s an old post but spot on. Some quotes:

“I’m going to suggest that unless you work directly in the news media industry yourself, you too should be paying absolutely no attention to the news. This is an unusual stance in this country, where the 24-hour news cycle has become common and 100 million office workers flop down in front of the television nightly to catch up on the day’s events. Political dramas, stock markets fluctuations, sports, local tragedies, weather, and of course an update on what is new in bikinis and celebrity gossip.”

…

“The news also completely fucks up the layperson’s perception of risk. The very fact that bad events are rare these days, makes them newsworthy.”

…

“…it’s not just the news that is the enemy. It’s all forms of irrelevant information…”

Read it all here.

In keeping with my “pro-robot” (pro-automation) posts I thought I’d stick up some photos.

Cutting wheat by hand. This is step one. After it’s cut you must dry it and then separate the wheat from the stalk; a process called threshing.

What do you see? I see five women in funny hats that are working their ass off. They will all have a sore back tomorrow morning.

Mechanically Threshing Wheat, circa 1881.

What do you see? I see three guys and three horses all working like dogs. (I also see gears and pulleys that look like they’d rip an arm off in a heartbeat… but that’s another topic.)

The Industrial Revolution Happened for a reason.

What do you see? I see four people working in air conditioned cabs… assisted by a massive amount of technology.

This is where one faces the classic is the glass “half full” or “half empty” paradox.

If you’re down in close to the action it is possible to look at the first two photos and the last one and see eight jobs turning to three. What a nightmare! “What will happen to those poor people who no longer have their delightful peasant occupation? Also what about the horses? Who will care for the horses!”

From a distance I’m pretty sure that most people who once had to harvest wheat by hand very much preferred doing something else. The Amish and a few hippies aside… hand harvesting is hard, dirty, hot, backbreaking labor. Machines have improved our lives.

Remember that when the labor rate goes high enough to put a bunch of McDonalds employees out of work and politicians blovate about how that’s a bad thing and if you vote for them they’ll “fix” it. It’s only a bad thing if the only thing you think those folks are good for is flipping burgers. I tend to think most people, given the choice, might be capable of a whole lot more.

Examples where our robot overlords are still gaining ground:

Fast Food: The minimum wage has gone up in a few places and there’s talk of Fast Food becoming more automated. I think it’s funny that this is even a topic of discussion. It’s not talk, it’s simply a mathematical calculation. There is a number on a spreadsheet where it’s a done deal. Opinions, from either side of the political spectrum, play no part in this decision.

Here’s one link among many.

“McDonald’s employees who picketed for a better living wage (whatever that means) may come to regret that decision. According to a Redditor, a McDonald’s in Illinois replaced their cashiers with machines.  The machines appear to be the cousins of the ones found in grocery stores, big box stores, and CVS that allow customers to complete transactions.”

Let’s start with the obvious. Fast food won’t become automated, it will become more automated. It’s already an assembly plant and not a restaurant. The other side of the counter at McDonalds is like the damn Space Shuttle but with newer technology. You’re not running machines, you’re in an automated system of smallish machines working in concert. Everything is either beeping or planning on beeping, there are big ideogram buttons for the illiterate, and all cooking that can be done in a factory has been done in advance and frozen. Whining about automation in McDonalds is missing the point.  McDonalds is already a soulless automated technological marvel and it already nearly put the corner coffee shop out of business.

Remember the corner coffee shop? Gladys’ sister Marge used to be the waitress and the cook was Spike’s Uncle.  Lets call him Ralph. Ralph made better food than any McDonalds. Marge would tell you all about her grandkids and bring you free refills of coffee. In the old days Marge smoked. In the old days she’d accidentally drop ashes in your eggs.

I preferred Marge and Ralph. I still eat there but it’s not McDonalds and it fills a different niche. When I’m in a hurry I go to McDonalds. You do too. Don’t lie to me. The NSA has records and darned well sometimes you buy a Happy Meal to shut up the kids or shove a BigMac in your piehole while driving.

McDonalds (and its ilk) are already automated. So automated that you pigeonhole yourself into its great unfeeling gears. You get whatever the hell Supreme Overlord Ronald McDonald puts on the menu. That means no steak with your eggs and the eggs can’t be served over easy. No mash potatoes, no collard greens, no beer (in America), no flavor, no class, no style, no bullshit. Get in, get out. Uniform shitty calories fast.

Suppose the dude (or dudette) at the counter was no longer there. Suppose you’re in Seattle where you’re smart enough to pump gas (unlike Oregon) but the minimum “living wage” is sixty grand and a weekly massage with a happy ending. Imagine the counter person is gone. So what?

All the counter dude does is listen to you in English (if you’re lucky) and push the buttons for your McGrease Meal #1. You slide a credit card and the computer does the rest. Or maybe you hand over cash and the change device on the side counts it so the victims of public education don’t have to count $0.74 and try to do it with quarters. That’s a job that is primed for replacement by robot. I’ve seen a couple test ordering kiosks over the years. You probably have too. Using them wasn’t hell. (The food was but you already knew that.)

At the right labor cost, it’s simply going to happen. No questions asked. No quarter given. Don’t wish it was otherwise because it ‘aint happening any other way.

It’s simply math and math never loses. So why fret about it?

A.C.

P.S. Note the tone of the post “employees who picketed for a better living wage (whatever that means) may come to regret that decision”. I humbly suggest we let it go. There’s no need to be bitter. People learn to regret in their own time and in their own way. (Or perhaps they perfect denial.) Don’t twist the knife. Fate will do that and it’s not our job.

P.S. In the interest of complete disclosure I’ve seen both sides of this. A billion years ago I lost a job when the minimum wage went up. (Yeah, really. That shit happens and I didn’t have a thousand politicians giving me a parade over my “living wage” crap job.) I wasn’t bitter. I had been an excellent worker and was probably the best they’d had at it in years but the job sucked and always would. When the numbers took a dump on me I figured it was a hint applied with a sledgehammer and I moved on. Also, I have replaced a robot. This was at a different job. I was cheaper than the robot. I tried my best but had virtually no natural talent and sucked. I did my mediocre best a couple years, and like employees at most of these sorts of jobs, moved on. So there you have it, at the low end me and robots fought it out in the labor market. You win some you lose some. This is nothing new.

Examples where our robot overlords have made life better:

Self Serve Gas: There was a time when all gas was full serve. A friendly and professional guy in a spotless service jacket would pump your gas, wash the windshield, check the oil, and put air in your tires. You know where I remember that from? The movies; probably “Back To The Future”. In real life you didn’t get a gas bellhop. You got a surly hassled sleazebag that had better things to do. Lets assume you got Gladys’ grandson Spike.

Spike was trying to hammer out a dent in the rocker panel of a 1972 Travelall. He was getting nowhere. Why? Because assholes like you kept showing up and interrupting his work to buy $10 worth of gas. He’d glower at you while shoving a hose in the tank and filling it with leaded gas that was apparently making everyone stupid. (Which explains a lot.) He’d smear a greasy rag across the window like a homeless guy at a stop sign. He wouldn’t check the oil. If you asked, he’d open the hood, do nothing, and then slam it shut and say “it’s fine”. He’d do that even if the engine had run out of oil an hour ago and was a white hot molten mass.

If Spike was a go getter, he’d size you up to see how stupid you really were. “Looks like you’re dripping transmission fluid, want me to look at it” he’d say. “That’s the tailpipe.” You’d respond.  Nice try Spike.

Then you’d try to pay with a check and Spike would get indignant. “I haven’t got time to go to the damn bank.” At which point you’d drop the clutch and peel out of there because you really really didn’t want to hear more of Gladys’ stores about cats.

One day Spike was replaced by a soulless machine. I was delighted. Spike was too. He  finally got the time to fix that rocker panel. You know what the soulless machine does? It dispenses gas. It doesn’t try to up sell you for a new air filter or make fun of your heap of a car. I can get gas for my motorcycle in 2 minutes flat without ever lifting my mirrored visor. It took Spike that long to crawl out from under a car. The future is now.

There is an exception to self serve gas. All residents of Oregon, by statute, are too stupid to pump their own gas. It’s a law. It probably has something to do with legalized pot and organic arugula. It’s tragic. I feel for their plight. Someday, possibly with rehabilitation and training, citizens of Oregon will master the technology of self serve gas like every other human being in the civilized world. Until then, Spike lives in Oregon. He will spill gas all over your hot motorcycle engine and drop your credit card in a mud puddle. He smells funny and hates you. If it’s Sunday, or an evening, or too early in the morning Spike won’t be there and the gas station will be closed. You will run out of gas in the desert and die. Spike still doesn’t want your damn paper check.

Examples where our robot overlords have made life better:

ATMs: Remember the misery that the bank before ubiquitous ATMs? They sucked! Are you old enough to remember manually trying to get your money out of a bank? (Young people might wish to consult their elders on this.) Dealing with the bank was a friggin’ quest.

Suppose you needed to get fifty bucks out of your account to pay Vinnie the Loanshark and maybe ten bucks to fill your gas tank. (Yeah, there was a time when $10 would fill a tank. Get over it.) The bank was always closed (so often that there was a slang term called “banker’s hours”). Once you performed the miracle of finding a bank you had to wait in line. You waited for the privilege of being served by a bank teller. The teller might be a nice person but she (and it was usually a she) was slower than molasses.

Remember this had to be the bank where you had an account. If you and six other guys were going bar hopping and nobody had cash, you might have to go to six banks to make six withdrawals. This never happened because there was never a time in all humanity when six banks were simultaneously open. (Five of the six guys were broke anyway but that last part might just be memories specific to me.)

I don’t know why, but the teller was always an octogenarian and usually a woman. Lets call her Gladys. Gladys was a sweet woman. She’d tell you all about her cats. Most of the time she even counted the money properly. She was slow. Gladys worked at exactly the same speed if there were two people in line or forty. Gladys didn’t rush… ever. She went home at 5:00 pm on the dot. If you were in line at 5:00 pm, Gladys might serve you or she might duck out. Gladys had shit to do to. Those cats don’t feed themselves.

It was so slow and cumbersome that nobody wanted to deal with it. That’s where checkbooks came from. Everyone carried around a checkbook and a register and a pen and kept it with the crumpled up Styrofoam coffee cups and losing lottery tickets mouldering on the car’s dash. We begged Vinnie and the gas station to take our handwritten paper check. “Please don’t make us go to the bank. That’ll take hours.” Vinnie didn’t want your check and neither did the gas station. Why? Because they didn’t want to take time out of their day to stand in line like a moron waiting for Gladys to make the deposit.

Oh yeah, when your paycheck came, back to the bank. Unless you cashed it at the bar. Here’s a hint; never cash your paycheck at the bar!

One day Gladys was replaced by a soulless machine. I was delighted. You know what the soulless machine does? It works 24/7. It works on Christmas, at 2:00 am, in the rain.

The politics of minimum wage are a perpetual motion machine. On one side you’ve got folks who scream “living wage” as if jobs exist to support salaries. (Hint: they don’t. Jobs exist to get shit done; theoretically shit that has a market value.) On the other side you’ve got people who shout “you’ll put people out of work” as if politicians care about that. (Hint: they don’t. For every elected office in America, a vote from an unemployed citizen is just as good as a vote from a guy racking up 60 hours a week. Politicians blovating over unemployment figures is as much for show as anything else they do.)

I for one, have a different view. I am all for robots.

You heard me. I like robots. I’m a busy man. I’ve got shit to do and limited time to do it. I’m not looking for human interaction. I just want my stuff done so I can get back to whatever task I ought to be doing right friggin’ now. Robots serve that purpose well. God bless ’em!

Every time labor gets more expensive, robots become relatively cheaper. I’m cool with that because they reduce the amount of bullshit in my life that’s spent on minor repetitive transactions. Neither political party seems to get this. I am the unserved Citizen that simply wants to get on with things. I neither wish to support unicorn economics nor pine for the good old days. That’s the “Adaptive” part of Curmudgeonry.

Luckily I’ll eventually get as much automation as I want. You will too; like it or not. Numbers always win. With regulation and economic tinkering, labor gets more expensive. For repetitive work, cheap robots beat expensive labor. Whining about it is useless. Also it’s silly. Unless you’re Amish, you don’t really want “the good old days” and you’d hate it if you experienced it. Accept it and move on.

Don’t feel sad. Robots are handy helpers. Many times times I’ve seen a machine replace an entry level job. Almost universally I’ve been happy with the outcome. In general, we all are or the trend would have reversed. I’ll follow with a few examples:

I just watched Guardians Of The Galaxy. I expected it to suck. I was wrong.

Let me start by explaining why I genuinely expected another two hour shitfest:

1. I don’t give a crap about Marvel versus DC. (I prefer Cracked.)
2. At some point it is possible to see too many explosions… even in space.
3. I’ve been “superheroed” to death. See #1.
4. I’ve been CGI’d to death. See #2.
5. The trailer convinced me to prefer anything else; such as a root canal.

Then I read a post by someone who liked the movie even though they hated the trailer. (I can’t remember who wrote it but if it was you please send me a note.) Could there be hope?

I also bumped into several positive reviews written by actual human beings. Note; I only pay attention to “non-Hollywood” reviews. Any movie with a sufficient budget (and they’re all huge) gets good reviews by well payed hacks who, as far as I can tell, are bred in vats. Why pay attention to their orgasmic ravings after every new plotless CGI fest?

I needed a break and a reward. So I paid (too much) for tickets. To my delight, it was a damn fun movie. For the first time in years I left the theater without feeling like a chump. Your mileage may vary.

I’m not going to do a plot synopsis because fuck that, that’s why. Instead I’ll point out some good points the trailer missed.

Casting real world homicidal maniac Vladimir Putin as Drax the Destroyer was a stroke of genius.

Rocket Raccoon is exactly like the raccoons that raid my chicken coop. Very realistic.

I have twice met giant murderous trees like Groot. Once in 2012 and once in 2013. I vanquished both in battle. Each time it was a hard fought victory. Well portrayed.

A slight casting misstep. Cool headgear and a leather jacket don’t make up for the fact that the Starlord is a dimwit from “Parks And Recreation”. Is that “pleather” on a space pirate? See what I mean? Ron Swanson should be the Starlord!

Bad choice for Starlord.

The right choice for Starlord.

Gamora was totally hot and uh… what was I thinking?

There was a time when the American people fell all over themselves to insert the Government into every part of their lives. That time, the era when Americans grew the span and reach of Government, hasn’t ended. It’ll end someday. Math never loses. I’m hoping it’s peaceful and gradual but there’s no way of knowing that. The only real truth is that math never loses.

The reasons for expanded Government change. Here are a few; “for the environment”, “for the children”, “global warming”, “war on drugs”, “terrorism”. There are others. Pick your poison. Usually there’s one reason. I’m not saying the stated reason has anything to do with the actual reason, only that supporters tend to pick one reason and go with it. Sometimes they can’t pull it off with one reason so they toss out another. I call that a “two fer”

Multiple justifications for doing something you want to do are just plain amusing. It reminds me of a kid explaining why a cookie is a good idea for breakfast.

My favorite “two fer” is the craptacular 55 MPH speed limit, which terrorized my childhood almost as much as Tab and the AMC Gremlin. Maybe it was even a three-fer. They certainly threw things at the wall trying to find something that would stick. First it was “foreign dependency on oil”, then it was “55 saves lives”, finally it was “for the environment”. In the end they gave up… after they’d demonstrated the use of Federal highway monies to expand Federal control. Slick!

—–

Today I present an event that started out as a two-fer. An expansion of power which is both “for the environment” and “war on terrorism” right from the start. It’s about vegetable seeds. (And you thought gardening was boring.)

Here’s the Cliff Notes version:

A library in Pennsylvania started a seed library. You “check out seeds”, grow them (they’re obviously better gardeners than me), and at the end of the season you “return” new seeds. Try as I might, I can’t quite find a way to think that’s evil, stupid, or Satanic. Actually it seems pretty logical. Possibly a bit boring. Probably cheap too.

Did you notice the one thing I didn’t mention? The government. As far as I can tell it’s a shoestring budget deal and implemented by people who really care about tomato seeds. That’s a problem. No money means no government. Can’t have that.

“the library system received a letter from the state Department of Agriculture telling them they were in violation of the Seed Act of 2004.”

Better shut down the rebellious carrot growing hoodlums before they… before they what? Mulch?

“the agriculture department handled the investigation — sending a high-ranking official and lawyers”

Billable hours to defend against rogue turnips!

“there is also a concern about seeds that may be mislabeled (purposefully or accidentally), the growth of invasive plant species, cross-pollination and poisonous plants.”

Reason number one; “it’s for the environment”.

“commissioner Barbara Cross noted that such seed libraries on a large scale could very well pose a danger”

It’s a good one… wait for it…

“Agri-terrorism is a very, very real scenario”

Yes! Reason number two is “terrorism”. Oh man that’s awesome. I mean I’ve been fed all sorts of lines but the idea of Hamas setting down their RPG’s and coming to Pennsylvania to muck up a row of lettuce in some person’s garden is star spangled poofery.

So there you have it. You can gather seeds from your garden. You can replant them, carry them around, give them to friends, sprinkle them on your cereal, snort them, or plant them in some other state under an assumed name while wearing pantyhose at midnight. But you can never ever loan seeds in a library… if you do that, the terrorists have won and also nature will die.

One last note. As far as I can tell this is the Pennsylvania Department of Agriculture? It sounds like Pennsylvania is bravely thwarting terrorist cells and defending Gaia while neighboring Ohio and New Jersey (the garden state!) are probably nothing but a smoking crater filled with corpses clutching mutant tomatoes. I think (though haven’t verified) that they’re invoking a Federal law. This means… wait for it… we need Federal oversight in that and all other 49 states. You’re not soft on terrorism are you? Bwa ha ha ha ha….

Got it? Good. There will be a test.

A.C.

P.S. In the interest of understanding I’ll admit there really are risks associated with seeds. In the interest of fairness I’ll also admit that my corn field croaked. Even so the problem is an absence of scale. All things have risk. Ebola is wandering around Africa, teenagers can vote, and old people drive RVs. A seed library is not low hanging fruit of the risks one encounters in a free world. If you see gardeners sharing seeds and think terrorist; you need to spend some time in Afghanistan. Also, when the zombie apocalypse comes I want the seed bank people on my side!