A religion run by nutcases.
Bill McKibben avoids the fetal position
Q. Well, how do you stay hopeful, or at least engaged? How do you keep people from just curling up into the fetal position?
A. You know what, at some level I’ve given up trying to figure out whether I’m pessimistic or optimistic. I get up in the morning and do what I can, as much as I can, to try and change the odds of this wager that we’ve undertaken. What keeps me hopeful is seeing the tremendous response of people all over the world. We’ve organized 350.org in every country except North Korea. The thing that makes me bleak sometimes is just how quickly the science grows darker. We haven’t caught any breaks in the last 20 years. Everything that we’ve worried about has come in on the upper end of the projected range or off the charts altogether, whether it’s the melt of the Arctic, or acidification of oceans, or the increase in drought and flood. So we’re clearly not going to stop global warming at this point. We’ve already raised the temperature of the planet one degree. We’ve got another degree in the pipeline from carbon we’ve already emitted. What we’re talking about now is whether we’re going to have a difficult, difficult century, or an impossible one. And we may still have enough room to maneuver to affect the outcome of that question.
Anyone that thinks a paper by Hansen is the most important scientific paper of the millenia is clearly schizophrenic.
The biggest problem humanity has ever faced? Has McKibben read a single history book? Haven’t they learned that all the dramatic talk is waking people up to their big scam?
Let’s rewrite that idiotic quote so that it is factual …
Bill McKibben is a certifiable nitwit, and one of the names that will be remembered when the destruction of Science is complete.
“And we may still have enough room to maneuver to affect the outcome,,,”
Yes, leave that little bit of hope. Could some money help you? 🙂
Grist is aware of the issue. That’s the sanest thing they’ve ever written.
Thanks, Grist, for vaguely recognizing a problem you helped cause with doomsday hyperventilation, vituperation against “denialsts” and “delayers” and encouraging people to go out and “do something” about the problem; letting people like Andy Dessler redefine “science” as “prophecy” and refusing to answer anybody who questions him, and left-wing promises of “wealth” if we all just trash our cars and let the Government put solar panels everywhere.
I took a few disgusted-at-skeptics-fueled days break from my recent hyper energized anti-AGW-activism that involved context-laden “tagging” each and every day’s news story that I could find with simple data plots which falsify alarmist claims and to then follow up with serious Bruce Lee efficient fight backs when my message was willfully simplified by cultist spin doctors. It was *so* easy, after my references were organized in my mind and I *knew* that delving into Team references would come up dry, predictably. It took me three years to become actually confident in my skepticism due to the huge smokescreen involved that was pointed in my direction from such a hot hemorrhoids spigot.
I want stories.
Now I’m taking a big break, due to the way South American girls’ pelvises connect via thick and strong electric snake to a shoulder cage in one divinely sublime act of pure prayer.
You don’t remember it?
Oh, dear gentlemen…we won! Clean-up operations are not my forte. I spent ten hours a day doing this, often twenty…using what’s left of the free comment sections of what’s left of branded media organizations.
I want more stories.
But as I listened to Billy Bragg and The Pogues on Event Opal studio monitors and a “tight spec” SVS subwoofer, shaking the whole empty girls’ dorm building, doing “this”…something hit me: I am not one of you. I was not birthed to Earth to chat about, let alone argue about the weather! You two sides of what has become a mere cliched cultural war kill each other and too drag in your brothers as I tickle your wives. Good women see right through steaming piles of cheap “caviar” and this has become that. The real thing of human interaction still exists, despite our living in a very temporary era of ultra-low-bandwidth “online community” interaction.
You demand nothing more?
“Ugly and futile: lean neck and thick hair and a stain of ink, a snail’s bed. Yet someone had loved him, borne him in her arms and in her heart. But for her the race of the world would have trampled him underfoot, a squashed boneless snail. She had loved his weak watery blood drained from her own. Was that then real? The only true thing in life? His mother’s prostrate body the fiery Columbanus in holy zeal bestrode. She was no more: the trembling skeleton of a twig burnt in the fire, an odour of rosewood and wetted ashes. She had saved him from being trampled underfoot and had gone, scarcely having been. A pour soul gone to heaven: and on a heath beneath winking stars a fox, red reek of rapine in his fur, with merciless bright eyes scraped in the earth, listened, scraped up the earth, listened, scraped and scraped.” – James Joyce (Finnegans Wake 1939)
He spent 18 years writing that book about you, before birth opened your eyes.
This year, the suddenly looming light bulb ban hit me like a real declaration of war or a freight train heading for a passenger train in a valley in Peru below me where my cell phone hasn’t got a signal. Then two plus one four nine one six seven things happened.
(1) The right side of politics, in the room, word wide, of this divide, suddenly has allowed brass balls to replace manginas, based on perception of real threat to their minority religion, of their footnote-worthy flights of fancy. Darwin does not smile upon these boy love gorillas, these Greeks.
(2) Whatever.
(3.14…) Steven Goddard is narcissistically toying with variations on a theme, musically, so far successfully, yet not yet of merit. He has no good feedback, so he is flying blind and he knows it. Doltish cheerleading takes no one to town. Popularity, flying high, round and a bout, but nowhere to land, wings singed. Variations on a theme is the stuff of music. He contains something. But I don’t know what it is. He wont let God flow through him.
Skeptics utterly fail to understand their immediately perceived enemy, deep down.
Key phrase: “active depression.”
Translation: zombies.
Job one and two:
(1) Land on your feet.
(2) Inspire.
Unstated business:
(3) Ignore Player Haters.
Feel free to take a break anytime.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18t7H7i7VIw
The ball is no longer in your court, since there is no ball.
Nik:
Take a few more days. Heck you could even take a few years to recover from your angst.
Death cult.
David Suzuki suffers from the same disorder and apparently has infected his family…
“I do despair. My wife and I huddle at night and weep for our helplessness. We are losing big-time and I’m enough of a scientist to see we are heading right down the tube. Judging by the past twenty years, we are going backward. I understand why people like Jim Lovelock and Clive Hamilton believe it’s too late. But, if one says it’s too late, then I tell them “Please shut up and go away” because it does no good to say it’s too late.”
People like Dave Suzuki and Ehrlich live well into their 70’s of age and have never been able to do anything except berate the civilization that got them there in reasonable health. These people never advanced beyond the emotional state of a 13 year old with a bad case of teen angst against their parents for “never having asked them to be born in the first place”
I love Bruce Lee, but would someone please explain what he has to do with AGW?
Shows you how to “karate kick-out” global warming.
Rock stars put on shows to “rock out global warming.”
There’s a lot of methods people can use.