When Media Attacks!
I may have to lay off the really hardcore postapocalyptic stuff for awhile. The most current culprits being Cormac McCarthy's gut-gnawing The Road, and CBS's Jericho. It's starting to infect my daily thoughts.
We keep a simple feeder in the back "yard" for the birds. They're demanding little buggers, and making sure it stays filled keeps me on my toes. So I was out there earlier, decanting a big bag of Kaytee into washed milk and cider cartons for storage/easy pouring, grumbling a little at the heft of it. Not really begrudging the wrens and chickadees their meals, seeing as it's not even a fair tradeoff for hacking down most of their natural habitat, and I'm kind of a fan. But lapsing into aimless, pointless, semiObjectivist musings nonetheless.
Which is when this disturbing thought popped into my brain: "Well, if there is a nuclear holocaust, and we somehow miraculously managed to survive (what with SF being only 35 miles away), at least we'd probably have twenty pounds of something to lure winged food right to our back door."
So. Yup. Time to lay off the atomic sauce.
