You Can't Make Mistakes

Day 3

[UPDATE 25 August 2010: I have added a gallery of photos. Enjoy.]

Dr. Arafa was summoned back to Cairo last night so today’s lessons fell entirely on me and Jeff. We decided that it would be community day, so we wrote a fictitious letter from our friend Mike in the States to the kids here telling them about his community and asking about theirs. We then decided that their homework tonight will be to write a letter to our real friend Mike Creager, which we will bundle up and send to him. It will be amusing when Creager gets a bunch of letters from kids in Sinai, unexpectedly.

We learned how to use spreadsheets in the afternoon and everyone put their vocabulary words into a spreadsheet in two languages. The kids were pretty excited about this for studying purposes. My hope is that they will continue to employ this method in the future. It always helped me remember vocabulary words. Sometimes the act of just writing the words next to each other is enough to help retain them.

In the afternoon we asked everyone to collectively draw a map for us. Everyone was a little sheepish about drawing except for Shaykh Mubarak the Bedouin. He was a pretty fair cartographer, though almost completely disregarded the roads, save a few of the more obvious ones, preferring to just draw landmarks and houses with spaces in between. The kids would call out stuff and he would place it on the map. Good exercise for everyone.

After the mapping, we asked the kids to take us out and show us where everything was, so they did. The three girls mysteriously stayed behind; more on that later. We walked out toward the sea where most of the houses are concentrated. Everyone pointed out their houses along the way, and the houses of others. Moamen brought lemons out from his house for us. We stopped at Ahmed’s house for a water break. Mohamed showed us his family’s house near the mosque. Then we walked to the well on Hamed’s father’s land.

This was a good thing, because this morning we had a hell of a time getting everyone to talk about the wells. No one would say the word for well. We discussed the mechanics of irrigation yesterday at length, but this morning we were back to being told either that the water came from a pipe or—in the Delta—from a canal originating at the Nile. The visit to the well finally drove it home.

Then we walked through the fields and ate dates right off the palms. I have never liked dates at all. Eating them fresh, right from the palm makes all the difference. These were amazing. The olives were ripening as well. Apparently they will be ready for harvesting and pressing into oil later in the year.

The walk was a fun time. We got to see the community and its surroundings a bit closer. The place has even more personality now. These kids are really, really proud of what they and their families have here. They are not wealthy, but that is meaningless. Here they have a different kind of wealth: equity. They have houses and land to farm, crops that are suited to the environment that they are in. They have means to make happen what they need to and they are open to modes of doing all of this that are unorthodox in this part of the world.

I have been having a hard time figuring out what comes first. I don’t know if their surroundings and this community make these kids so enthusiastic and eager or if everyone here is enthusiastic and eager and that makes the community what it is. It’s a chicken and egg problem, but it doesn’t really matter. It is what it is.

And there we are. Jeff and I are sitting here in the main building with the kitchen listening to Dave Matthews Band and Creedence Clearwater Revival creating tomorrow’s lesson and I couldn’t be happier. This is exactly the kind of vacation I needed: a not-vacation. We’re working like dogs and loving every minute of it. I hate the regular, sit-around-and-do-nothing vacations. I’m always bored and feel useless. I always take work with me and never get anything done because I am in sitting-on-my-ass mode. Here I am actually getting some work done in the evenings for myself on top of what we are doing during the day and in preparation for the next day. I can’t ask for better than that.

Day 2

[UPDATE 25 August 2010: I have added a gallery of photos. Enjoy.]

Today is food and agriculture day.

They grow olives, date palms and jojoba here, all of which are particularly well-suited to the climate and soil—which is hot as hell and dry as a bone. Crops can be raised with little water and they are relatively saline-tolerant, which means that they don’t have too much trouble with the very salty water that comes from the shallow wells. The wells tap into the sea-water table about a kilometer inland and provide most of the water needed for irrigation. We talked this morning about putting together a grey-water system that would collect water from sink-drains and store it to be used when needed. Dr. Arafa was pretty excited about the idea and wants to introduce it to the kids.

Since this is a farming community, Jeff and I decided that it is probably a good idea that everyone know how to discuss their surroundings and what they do here. Being other than farmers, we are unsure about how to go about this. I thought that perhaps even a cursory discussion of what different types of farming is like in different places. We’ll talk about different crops and where they grow, soil types, irrigation methods and needs. Oddly enough, though not a farmer, I have spent a good deal of time on and around them. I love irrigation systems; probably more than is reasonable, considering. Perhaps this will be an advantage in attempting to construct a lesson around this concept. Hopefully this will work and bring the global perspectives angle in, which Dr. Arafa likes to incorporate.

Speaking of food and agriculture: I am not as hungry here. In Cairo, we are being continuously blasted by air-conditioning. I think that this has made my body think that we are preparing for winter, given the amount of times a day that I feel peckish. I will have to rectify this upon our return. I prefer this way of being. We have been eating a little bit in the morning with some tea and then something substantial in the late afternoon. In the evening we usually take a snack. I like it. Preferably my body likes it as well and will drop a few of the resentful kilos it is carrying around these days.

My favorite part about being out here—aside from great students, beautiful surroundings, fresh air, forward-thinking community, etc.—is that I am tired at the end of the night. Also the quiet. The two are not unrelated. Even in the most pleasant places in Cairo, I have only tricked myself into believing that they are in any way quiet. If I sit and make my mind quiet in Cairo—anywhere—I immediately hear the sounds of distant traffic, bicycle bells, a whistle, someone shouting, honking horns, etc. These things are impossible to escape there.

I have just moved from Mohandiseen to Maadi, and though I have high hopes that my new flat will be very peaceful, I know better. Maadi is terrifically quieter than Mohandiseen or downtown. I hadn’t realized just how utterly mind-bendingly loud my old flat was until leaving it. The noise of traffic on my street went on all night. Even though the bedroom was twenty or more meters from the street, the sound was still deafening compared with the new place. The problem is that now I apparently have a new standard for quiet. This place is simply amazing. It is not silent, of course: the wind is all but constant once the air begins to cool at night, but that is a different kind of sound altogether, and not a disturbing one.

The accommodations on-site are not bad either. They have constructed a sort of dormitory, with ample room to bunk about sixteen. There are plans to expand it further to house even more. It will be an excellent place for guest instructors to come and stay. Presently, it is quite comfortable. It is still a bit rustic, though the accommodations are modern. It reminds to some extent though me of living in a barn one summer in France. All of the students slept in bunks on a sort of mezzanine in a converted barn. This sort of living is a couple of steps up from camping. Big steps. I hate camping. This, I like.

Also, I may have to play soccer tonight with some of the kids. This should be interesting, as I have not played soccer since I was their age, which is approximately half my life ago, which is terrifying. If it is not so hot that I will die of heat-stroke, we will go ahead with this plan. Otherwise, it may be postponed until tomorrow.

n. – the opposite of innovation.

Yah, I made up a word: sue me. Actually, don’t sue me. I can’t afford that right now. Between preparing to move out of the country and writing chapter 4 of my thesis—a job I do for very little pay—I’m not in any position for an out-of-court settlement.

More to the point though. I caught the following quote this morning, and this was the word that came into my brain.

It’s not the genius who is 100 years ahead of his time but average man who is 100 years behind it. -Robert Musil, novelist (1880-1942)

It is absolutely true, by the way and it reminded me of a discussion that I had with my dad after my last post regarding the state of innovation in our current economic and social climate.

What we decided was that the best thing for a struggling economy/company/city is to let it fail, unless it is willing to change.

Case in point: General Motors. Old, good company. Makes cars. Could be substituted with any of the other major American automotive companies. They haven’t really committed any serious innovation in the past century. Cars are, with many bells and whistles aside, primarily the same as they were 100 years ago. They still operate under the same principles, for the most part, and the end result is the same. If you disagree with this, then you haven’t looked under the hood of any car. I would suggest then that you find a Model-A and dismantle it. Then, find a late model Mustang and dismantle it. Put both of the back together. You’ll see what I am talking about.

Now, there are some companies which have committed innovation. Any company that is putting a solar panel on the top of a car to give extra power for the air-con—Toyota—is innovative in this climate. Running cars on hydrogen fuel cells, hybrids, electrics, and plug-in models are all innovative.

General Motors—our present case-study—has done none of these things. And I don’t want to hear that GM has the Volt, an electric concept car. It is too late for concept cars. Please move to the back of the line.

Back to the crux of this line of argumentation: GM has made no major innovations of late, possibly ever, and yet they and their investors are worried and scrambling to figure out/fix their current financial problem. However, nothing they do will make any difference.

They already have the only solution to their problems, but it is just a concept car. They could save the company and generate a huge amount of business if they were just to release that car, and all problems along with it. It wouldn’t be for everyone, of course. At first it would only be for the brave who don’t mind being late because their battery died or something. It would be for those who are willing to test and try and see how it works. The deal that would have to come along with it, of course, is that the dealers would have to service anything that went wrong with the car free-of-charge and immediately. Throw in 24-hour tow-from-anywhere-and-take-you-home service: brilliant.1 They would change everything.

The only other thing to do now is to simply let it die, which is more likely. Maybe the market fallout from that will take the other big two with it. We can only hope.

I know, I’m a horrible bastard for wishing such fates on American companies. “Do [I] know what effect that would have on so many Americans’ lives?” Yes, I do. But, do you know what else would happen? Some genius young engineer, right in line with his time, will be able to step up and do something brilliant. This time, though, he won’t have the added innovative hurdle of having to either out-shout the “Big Three” or be subsumed into them and destroyed by their contrary interests. Jobs and economic development to follow.

We haven’t seen a Thomas Edison, Alexander Graham Bell, George Washington Carver, or any of their ilk in such a long time that we wouldn’t know an innovator if they punched us in the face. Maybe it is time for some knock-outs, but they won’t come until the big, stupid brutes die off to make way for the skinny, malnourished geniuses.

———

1 This idea was lifted directly from a phone conversation with my dad yesterday. Dad: it’s a great idea.

Itchy and Scratchy

I came down with a rather bad case of poison ivy last week. I was absentmindedly pulling weeds and likely picked it up then since I wasn’t wearing any gloves, which is abnormal.

In any case, I usually don’t have any problem with it. The point of contact is itchy for a few days, I put calamine on it, it goes away. This time is totally different.

I have had it since last week and it has been spreading. I think that this occurs while I am sleeping so I am reduced to sleeping in a burqa to keep myself from making contact with my own skin.

The funniest part about this experience, though, is the advice that I have found for getting rid of it.

I was, against my better judgment, trolling Google last night looking for remedies. I found the usual sort: calamine, steroid shots, vitamins, etc.

Then I found a treasure trove of insanity. There were recommendations that poison ivy victims use everything from hair dryers to cool whip to saran wrap on their poison ivy. They went something like this:

“I had poison ivy a few years ago, and it was so bad and nothing worked so in desperation I mixed together a paste of bleach, oatmeal, furniture polish, and baking soda. Then I spread the mixture on my poison ivy and wrapped it with saran wrap for five hours. Then I removed the saran wrap and used the hair dryer to dry the mixture into something just shy of concrete and then sanded it and the rash off my skin with a belt-sander. I never got poison ivy again.” – Ralph, Oklahoma, 2001

“When we were little, and got poison ivy from playing outside in the woods, my grandma would draw us a really hot bath, as hot as she could get it. Then, she would pour kettles of boiling black tea in it and tell us to get in. It scalded something terrible, but when our skin finally healed from being scalded, the poison ivy was gone too!” – Sally, New Jersey, 1997

“I get poison ivy every summer because my cats play outside and then come in and I pet them and end up with it all over my hands and neck. Every summer! I don’t know, I just love my cats! So, now I take 8000mg of vitamin c and 10000mg of zinc and wash it down with a tea made of poison ivy leaves, cat hair, and acetone. It works like a charm! I have to carry my liver around in a bag from all the vitamins, but I haven’t had poison ivy in 10 years!” – Gertrude, Idaho, 2006

The moral of the story: don’t google your symptoms, or about any sort of home remedy unless you want to be amused. People are crazy! For now, I am sticking with the way that has worked for me in the past, that my grandma recommended to me one time: cover my entire body in a paste made of baking soda, cut a clove of garlic in half, put one half in my mouth and bury the other half in the yard where the poison ivy is, do a little dance, and take a hot shower, then a cold shower, then a hot shower, then a cold shower, then a hot shower and then dry myself off with a hair dryer with a diffuser attachment.

Then I am going to judiciously apply calamine and aveeno, remember to take my vitamins and hope it goes away by the end of the week.

Wear gloves and long sleeves folks.

This sci-fi is fortified with extra “fi” and low in “sci”

I read this article on Slashdot and started thinking.

Never good.

The idea is that climate changes on Mars happened more recently than we previously thought. Maybe our Sun used to really kick out the jams and Mars was warmer. As the Sun lost some steam over 3 or 4 billion years, Mars cooled, glaciers form, then recede. Canals and trenches, etc are created in the process. Atmosphere changes. Suddenly, nothing more than a frozen little rock floating around the Sun.

In the mean time, the very, very hot Earth next door has also started to cool and settle down. Volcanic activity is down, rainfall is up. It is becoming more habitable.

In the mean time, Venus next door is still rocking and rolling with the greenhouse gases. Hot and smoky: no fun for a vacation.

Let us introduce a race of intelligent beings into the mix. They are hanging out on the homeland, doing their thing. Then there occurs what is called an Extinction Level Event. This may have been caused by a weapon of some kind which the folks decided to test or use against one another some sunny afternoon, or an meteor. Who can say? It kicks up the dust. The planet cools, the Sun is cooling anyway, freezing, glaciers, we’ve heard it all before.

These guys have very little time to get out of Dodge, but they have the technology. They gather together a group, lie to the rest—who are, by all accounts, totally screwed—by telling them that they will come back for them, and blast off.

They head for the nearest safe-looking haven and land on, that’s right, Earth.

Perhaps that is where we are now. We’re the Martians. Our new digs aren’t so new anymore. We’re approaching critical population mass, Earth is warming up.

Do we need to think about calling up Two-Men-and-a-Spaceship and heading for Venus? If so, be sure to make your reservations early.

“Clang, clang, clang went the hammer…”

It seems, and do keep in mind that I live in a relatively well established residential neighborhood in the middle of the city, that there is continuous construction around me. I can look out my window and see no less than nine new apartment blocks being constructed. More to the point, moments ago, I awoke—again—to the sound of a hammer pounding on something in the alley. This means that someone is getting a new railing on their balakon or closing it off altogether to extend the space in a particular room. What amazes me though is that it seems to be happening all the time. Except in the early morning hours, which is, thankfully, when I sleep.

Continuous construction is a major theme in this country though. I remember a a few years ago when I came to Cairo for the first time. There was the city, there was the Ring Road, and there was the desert. Now it is very different. Past what used to be the edge of Giza—which used to be mostly sand and hills, there is a sea of red-brick as far as the eye can see. This only subsides when you continue further out toward the desert highway and you can see the Pyramids to the south. Here now, instead of sand, is even more development. This used to only be home to a gigantic swath of palms. Thankfully, the continuous construction hasn’t damaged or encroached upon the palms, but they are very cozy neighbors.

It is like this in every direction as well. The city keeps expanding in this way. There are little suburbs that are set up—like 6th of October City to the north-west of Giza—and then blammo, before you know it the space between what used to be the city and what used to be a suburb is eaten up by new construction.

Back to downtown, buildings are getting taller. I live in a relatively short apartment block. It has only six floors. Those around us, though, average about eleven to twenty. This is one of the shorter parts of the city. Not for long though. Shorter buildings are always being torn down to make way for taller. On a street adjacent to mine, I noted over the course of several days a lovely two story villa being torn down and the lot upon which it had stood being cleared out. It stands empty now, but diggers and cement trucks are soon to follow and likely a 15 story apartment block will be erected in its place.

To further demonstrate a point that I made earlier, note that I just referred to my district as “downtown.” Mohandessin and Doqqi used to be considered suburbs of Giza. Now the whole thing is referred to commonly as Cairo, which doesn’t really help anyone know where they are.

The one major saving grace of the city is that there is a great deal of green-space within the city itself. The medians of many of the streets are planted with trees and low palms. There are huge parks and clubs dotted throughout the city. I live next to the Shooting Club, which is situated next to the Ministry of Agriculture facility. Both take up several city blocks each and are filled with trees and other plants. The net result for me is that my apartment overlooks a giant green-space which stretches almost all the way to the river.

Now, this is not to say that most of these spaces are publicly accessible. No, no. Many of them are private clubs—like the Shooting Club— and almost all of the “public” parks have an entry fee, which varies depending on where you are from, of course. Even so, it is still reassuring that there is greenery at all here. In the States in many places, we have been forced to retrofit greenery instead of building around it—or, gasp, incorporating it—in the first place. That is not very sustainable, now, is it? I am by no means indicating that the situation here is sustainable, but at least I never feel as though I am really in the concrete jungle, since there is often real jungle just a stone’s throw away.

Donkey, that is

So, this afternoon I actually saw a traffic cop in Mohandessin giving parallel parking direction to a guy driving a cart with two donkeys.

And they were doing it!

He backed them right into the spot, stopped, and then unloaded the cart into a shop. This just goes to show you that you can teach an old dog—or donkey—new tricks.

It also reminded me of an interesting phenomenon that I witness regularly. I call it: “The Green Acres Syndrome.” In this city, I regularly see horses and donkeys engaged in regular automobile traffic. Not so much downtown, but in almost every other part of the city. The closer that I am to the outskirts and the Delta, even more. This morning, before leaving for tutoring, I saw three donkey carts with 10 meter lengths of rebar on them. This is apparently the most efficient way to transport building materials as well. This is a common sight.

The donkeys are asmaller adorable too. Poorly treated most of the time, but cute in a pitiful way. Big sad eyes, floppy ears, dogged determination.

Horses are also a regular occurrence in traffic. Rarely ever have I seen people riding horses in the city, but in the smaller towns and cities in the Delta it is pretty common. Usually in the city, they are pulling carts with vegetables: taking things to market.

The best, though, the night of Egypt’s big Africa Cup of Nations win, there were people riding camels, horses, donkeys—whatever they could find—up Gameat al-Dowal in celebration with all the buses, cars, trucks, motorbikes and roving bands of celebrating Egyptians. It was a crazy night, but then, it was a big celebration as well. No reason not to bring the camels out for a ride downtown.

What I want to know is when the last time there was a horse-cart with vegetables in New York City. I certainly don’t think that it was within my lifetime, but perhaps not that long ago at all. It would be pretty shocking to see one there now, yet here it is such a common occurrence that no one even bats an eye at it. I think it’s pretty cool, overall. It reminds me that there are animals, and farms, and farmers: and that they are not that far away. One of the reasons that I don’t see this phenomenon at home is that the farmer that grew most of my food, as well as the donkey that pulled it to market is some great number of thousands of miles away. I would have a hard time figuring out where most of my food has been.

Here, though, all I have to do is ask the guy on the cart where he is coming from today.

Reduce? Reuse? Recycle? Answer: Throw my Garbage on the Ground!

There is a garbage problem in Egypt. The problem is that there is garbage everywhere. People throw garbage out of their windows, in the street, from the tram, on the ground, in alleys, in abandoned buildings, the river, canals, drains, holes in the street/sidewalk, under cars, around corners… I need not list every single place, nook and cranny in Egypt. Though, rest assured, if there is a nook or a cranny in Egypt, it likely has garbage in it.

There are many reasons for this, I am sure. We can cite economic reasons, education, public awareness, etc. While those reasons all have their particular arguments, they are all bullshit. The truth of the matter is simply that no one cares. That and there are not public waste receptacles, or when there are they are full.

A recent demonstrative anecdote: I was sitting in the coffee house around the corner from my apartment and noticed that there was a guy who would come along every day or so and just dump the two garbage receptacles sitting across the street onto the sidewalk and the roll them away. I watched this happen numerous times. The receptacles we always back in place, or had been replaced, the next day.

One afternoon, whilst sipping my Earl Grey, I noticed that the guy came up to the garbage bins and couldn’t move them. They had been chained and padlocked to a nearby lamp-post. He looked pissed off, then he started talking to an old man leaning out of the window of a nearby first-floor apartment. They chatted for a while and the guy left.

About fifteen minutes later, he returned and handed an extension cord to the old man, who presumably plugged it in somewhere. To the other end of the cord, he attached a wheel-grinder which he employed in grinding through links in the chains.

Then, he removed the chain, dumped the garbage on the sidewalk, collected his cord and rolled the bins away.

Well done everyone.

I am sure that this guy had a job to do. He probably worked for the garbage collection system, which is improving. I am not questioning his motives, just his methods.

Convervationism and environmentalism is relatively non-existent here, as well. Here is a recent Onion article on the topic. This, unfortunately is about the only way that you could get people to notice that there is an environmental problem. It would be like telling Americans that they can have no more cheeseburgers because we have destroyed and squandered the resources that make them possible. Oh, wait… Nevermind.

Joking aside, this problem is endemic here. Conservation and environmental sciences are relegated to the academic world, such as it is, and see very little real action. Some government initiatives, minor interest here and there, but as for real results: nothing. Air pollution is at an all-time high, water pollution is terrifying, and garbage—as said—is everywhere.

This is not to say that there is not hope. Recently, I attended a presentation/workshop on climate change at an Alexandria high school. My friend Mohamed Zakzouk—graduate student in engineering and environmental policy at McMaster University in Hamilton, Ontario—conducted the workshop portion of the event. The purpose of this event was to raise awareness about environmental concerns and to encourage dialogue between parents and students. The results were interesting. Few parents participated, but the students were really into it. With any luck, this sort of thing will be a precursor to later interest in environmental concerns and will encourage students to take an everyday approach to them.

In the mean time, I am not sure what can be done. As with many problems here, the approach to environmental problems—and even just cleaning up the garbage which proliferates the streets—seems to be one of, “Well, what can I do? I’m just one person.” Perhaps laws about littering would work. Then there would be the problem of arbitrary enforcement, and the net result would be minimal.

I will have to be content that I have tried to lower my waste footprint here as much as possible, and maybe lead by example: attempting to re-use containers, purchasing vegetables at the market (and carrying them home in my bookbag), picking up garbage and depositing it in proper receptacles, when possible (which really gets some interesting looks: I did this one afternoon and watched a group of kids watching me all throw their soda cans on the ground and walk away). In addition, I take public transportation, I try not to take cabs and if I do, I try to share them with others. I use compact fluorescent lights in my apartment, and turn things off when I am not using them.

These are no different than my behaviors in the United States, though. In fact, in the U.S., my housemates and I would be called tree-huggers for the amount of composting, reusing, recycling, and garbage collection that we do. I am fine with that if it helps me and anyone else to not have to walk over a pile of garbage to get to their door.

This is one of those “one-at-a-time” problems. The answer lies not in legislation (though it helps to encourage behavior) or in pouring money on awareness programs. It lies, as Mohamed pointed out in his workshop, in asking ourselves: “What can I do?” and asking each other: “What can we do together?”

Thankfully, humans have finally discovered a planet out there that seems to be similar to Earth. What is the popular media response? Well, to suggest that we go there after we have totally destroyed this planet, of course. And why not?! We will have at least proved ourselves worthy of one thing: the ability to destroy a planet with complete disregard for the consequences of our actions. Even right now we see the ramifications of everything that we as humans do, and yet we make little to no effort as a collective to deal with it.

Such a response to a discovery has little to do with environmental disregard, or political faux pas. This is just a new kind of manifest destiny. We believed that we had not only the right, but the obligation—as new colonial Americans—to spread our population and growing technological influence from one end of this continent to the other. Now we can do the same things in outer space!

Was our first concern about whether or not there might be life on such a planet? No. Who cares! Even if there is, we’ll have to take a space-ship filled with whiskey-drunk, syphilis-ridden space sailors there and spread the love to the locals. Then, once we have paid them off in fire-water, raped their women—or whatever permutation of gender they have that can be seen as vulnerable, and run them off their land, we can put them in camps and give them few rights other than the right to own and operate casinos—which will eventually be taken over by some sort of immigrant crime syndicate.

Basically, our discovery of this little planet in the Libra constellation is the worst thing that could have ever happened to them. Even though it will currently take 20 years traveling at the speed of light to get there, we will. Besides, in no time we will have figured out how to move through space and time faster than that, just like we did with ships and airplanes. So the first couple of thousand years of space colonization will be a little rough, moldy bread and kegs of whiskey in the hulls of ships and all, but we will get through it and shall eventually prevail.

This sort of thing has been the wet-dream of science-fiction writers and enthusiasts for years and years. When there was world left to conquer, the heroic fiction of humans was all about conquering it. When there was no longer world to conquer, we shifted our attention heavenward, waiting for that moment when scientists would say, “Hey guys, we got one.”

It’s scary; we’re scary. We are a terrifying race of creatures who think first about ourselves, then about others of us who look the same, then others who don’t, and so on. We have complete disregard for the world—and now the universe—around us. And to top it off: we tell ourselves that our creator—who is oft billed as a benevolent, just, omniscient, and omnipotent being—supports us in our quest to dominate all things great and small. This creator must be benevolent, but taking a nap, or omniscient and omnipotent, but with a little mean streak—like a kid on an anthill with a magnifying glass—because it allows us to do some terrible things in its name with regard to conquering new frontiers.

Well, gods or not, we’re going to the moon, and from there Mars, and from there Gilese 581 C to set up poolside condos, strip clubs, casinos, and fair systems of taxation. Buckle up kids, the future is here and we’re in for a long ride.