It's a step along the path of consumerism, that strange ethos that is so pervasive it's in the air we breathe, invisible. Even while we waste resources moving stuff around the planet in ever more ludicrous ways.
Importing food is one thing if it doesn't grow locally. I appreciate having oranges, which grow nowhere near my home. But pears from Peru? Green peas from China? Those must come by air; they're too perishable to last long enough for a ship journey.
And what about the current pipeline plans? Here's the idea. Dig up oil in Alberta, pipe it to Prince Rupert, then burn more oil and risk spills by sending this petroleum by tanker to China, so the Chinese can use it to manufacture more stuff to send back by freighter, burning more fossil fuels. That's prosperity, or so we're told.
To make this formula work, we have to believe we need more stuff, and we've been trained accordingly. A brilliant development in this propaganda exercise was the warehouse store. Just last week I found a quart of lemon juice in the back of the cupboard, last of a linked trio that we bought at Costco and long since expired.
Now our lives are so filled with stuff that we have nowhere to put it. Another product saves the day. Storage systems. Then there were the "free gifts." (Are there really gifts that are not free?) But now there is so much stuff, people are no longer excited by free stuff.
Free newspapers, for instance. On my daily commute, I run the gauntlet past the purveyors of these rags, passing an average of five on the morning commute alone. They whip their papers in front of my face as I try to slip by. I feel like a hockey forward, trying to deke past an implacable defense. The goal is the station entrance or exit.
No comments:
Post a Comment