Kunstler: No Exit.
A most curious feature in the current low state of American politics is the delusional thinking at both ends of the political spectrum. Both factions have gone off the rails mentally, and the parties they represent race toward oblivion like Thelma and Louise in their beater car. More ominously, there are no new factions with a grip on reality even beginning to form anywhere in the background — as in the 1850s when the Whigs foundered and the party of Lincoln segued into power.
To see the Democrats go on about “Russian collusion” you would think we were watching a rerun of the John Birch Society in its heyday. Americans who have done business in Russia as private citizens are being persecuted as though they were trading with the enemy in wartime. Newsflash: we are not at war with Russia, which, by the way, is no longer the Soviet Union. It is one of many European countries that Americans are entitled to do business in — even in the case of General Mike Flynn accepting a $20,000 speaking fee from the RT news company. Has anyone noticed that Ben Bernanke routinely takes $200,000-plus speaking fees in many foreign countries whose interests are not identical to ours and no one is persecuting him.
More here.
Showing posts with label gender. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gender. Show all posts
Friday, May 26, 2017
Monday, November 28, 2016
Kunstler: The Rediscovery of Men.
Not one of Kunstler's finest. But he's right that Trump is a certain kind of man.
Kunstler: The Rediscovery of Men.
Kunstler: The Rediscovery of Men.
Monday, May 16, 2016
Monday, May 02, 2016
Kunstler: Send Out the Clowns
Kunstler: Send Out the Clowns.
In this decade of maximum peril, a prankish God delivers two maximally detested candidates to lead the faltering nation as events run ahead of all the convenient narratives. For instance: the idea that Republican “insiders” can block Trump’s path to the nomination. The insiders may be phantoms after all. For instance, the loathsome Koch brothers have already made their move onto Hillary’s side of the game-board. Trump won’t miss their campaign contributions for a New York minute (while Hillary might find a way to stuff the cash into some Cayman Islands lock-box of the Clinton Foundation).
Events played right into Trump’s smallish hands last week when protesters outside a Donald rally in Costa Mesa, CA, waved Mexican flags and placards calling for the reestablishment of Aztlán del Norte. Kind of proves his point about illegal immigration, don’t it? Trump also supposedly blundered in saying that Hillary had only “the women’s card” left to play in her donkey trot to the election. I’m not so sure he’s wrong about that — though the indignometer needle danced through the red-line after he said it.
Has it come to this? The women’s party against the men’s party? What kind of idiot psychodrama is this country acting out? Mom and dad mud-wrestling in an election year hog-wallow? A Reality TV show writ large from sea to shining sea? Are there no better ways of understanding the difficulties we face?
Lately Hillary has been boasting of her ability to bring Wall Street to heel, theoretically after Wall Street installs her in the White House. Voters (especially women) might want to pay attention to Hillary’s lavish praise for President Obama’s handling of the banking turpitudes still unresolved seven years after the crack-up of 2008. What did the Dodd-Frank Act (signed by “O” in 2010) accomplish except to provide more lucrative work-arounds, by Too-Complex-To-Comprehend legalese, for Too-Big-To-Fail banks. It was written by bank lobbyists and lawyers and was about 2,270 pages longer than the old Glass Steagall Act that Bill Clinton vaporized in 1999. Do you suppose that Bill and Hill might have talked about the repeal of Glass Steagall back then? Do you wonder what she thought about it at the time… being a lawyer and all?
This week attention is fixed on the Indiana primary where Devil Bat Ted Cruz desperately makes his last stand against the Trump juggernaut. It seems that former House Speaker John Boehner actually succeeded in driving a wooden stake through Cruz’s hypothetical heart by casually remarking that he was “the most miserable sonofabitch I ever worked with.” Kind of hard to explain that one away, though Ted tried by sending out his new attack dog Carly Fiorina and claiming that he never worked with the Speaker of the House — a risible claim for a national legislator in the same party.
All of this would be amusing if the USA wasn’t sliding into the twilight of what many people call “modernity” — which is code for the techno-industrial hyper-complexity we’ve been enjoying lately as a species. We have yet to comprehend the diminishing returns of heaping more complexity on what is already too complex. Exhibit A for most of the common folk must be the Affordable Care Act (also signed by “O” in 2010). Whereas the shrewd stylings of Dodd-Frank surely mystify the public, most full-functioning adults understand what it means when their health insurance premiums go up by 20 percent and the new deductible makes it unthinkable to even consider going to the emergency room.
The sad truth may be that rackets of this kind are unreformable, and that we can’t begin to do things differently until they collapse. It should be obvious, for instance, that American health care needs to move in the opposite direction from where it has been going — from giantism, as epitomized by colossal merged mega-hospital corporations, back to some kind of local clinic care in which doctors and their subalterns are not burdened by an oppressive matrix of Charge-Master grift. There may be less razzle-dazzle technology in that future model, but much more hands-on care, plus an end to the kind of financial pillage that bankrupts households for relatively routine illnesses (the $90,000 appendectomy).
Likewise in virtually all other areas of American life, the real trend as yet un-discussed in this election campaign, will be unwinding and downscaling of the onerous, toxic hyper-complexity of the age now passing and finding our way to a workable re-set of what used to be known as political-economy.
In the meantime: a clown show.
In this decade of maximum peril, a prankish God delivers two maximally detested candidates to lead the faltering nation as events run ahead of all the convenient narratives. For instance: the idea that Republican “insiders” can block Trump’s path to the nomination. The insiders may be phantoms after all. For instance, the loathsome Koch brothers have already made their move onto Hillary’s side of the game-board. Trump won’t miss their campaign contributions for a New York minute (while Hillary might find a way to stuff the cash into some Cayman Islands lock-box of the Clinton Foundation).
Events played right into Trump’s smallish hands last week when protesters outside a Donald rally in Costa Mesa, CA, waved Mexican flags and placards calling for the reestablishment of Aztlán del Norte. Kind of proves his point about illegal immigration, don’t it? Trump also supposedly blundered in saying that Hillary had only “the women’s card” left to play in her donkey trot to the election. I’m not so sure he’s wrong about that — though the indignometer needle danced through the red-line after he said it.
Has it come to this? The women’s party against the men’s party? What kind of idiot psychodrama is this country acting out? Mom and dad mud-wrestling in an election year hog-wallow? A Reality TV show writ large from sea to shining sea? Are there no better ways of understanding the difficulties we face?
Lately Hillary has been boasting of her ability to bring Wall Street to heel, theoretically after Wall Street installs her in the White House. Voters (especially women) might want to pay attention to Hillary’s lavish praise for President Obama’s handling of the banking turpitudes still unresolved seven years after the crack-up of 2008. What did the Dodd-Frank Act (signed by “O” in 2010) accomplish except to provide more lucrative work-arounds, by Too-Complex-To-Comprehend legalese, for Too-Big-To-Fail banks. It was written by bank lobbyists and lawyers and was about 2,270 pages longer than the old Glass Steagall Act that Bill Clinton vaporized in 1999. Do you suppose that Bill and Hill might have talked about the repeal of Glass Steagall back then? Do you wonder what she thought about it at the time… being a lawyer and all?
This week attention is fixed on the Indiana primary where Devil Bat Ted Cruz desperately makes his last stand against the Trump juggernaut. It seems that former House Speaker John Boehner actually succeeded in driving a wooden stake through Cruz’s hypothetical heart by casually remarking that he was “the most miserable sonofabitch I ever worked with.” Kind of hard to explain that one away, though Ted tried by sending out his new attack dog Carly Fiorina and claiming that he never worked with the Speaker of the House — a risible claim for a national legislator in the same party.
All of this would be amusing if the USA wasn’t sliding into the twilight of what many people call “modernity” — which is code for the techno-industrial hyper-complexity we’ve been enjoying lately as a species. We have yet to comprehend the diminishing returns of heaping more complexity on what is already too complex. Exhibit A for most of the common folk must be the Affordable Care Act (also signed by “O” in 2010). Whereas the shrewd stylings of Dodd-Frank surely mystify the public, most full-functioning adults understand what it means when their health insurance premiums go up by 20 percent and the new deductible makes it unthinkable to even consider going to the emergency room.
The sad truth may be that rackets of this kind are unreformable, and that we can’t begin to do things differently until they collapse. It should be obvious, for instance, that American health care needs to move in the opposite direction from where it has been going — from giantism, as epitomized by colossal merged mega-hospital corporations, back to some kind of local clinic care in which doctors and their subalterns are not burdened by an oppressive matrix of Charge-Master grift. There may be less razzle-dazzle technology in that future model, but much more hands-on care, plus an end to the kind of financial pillage that bankrupts households for relatively routine illnesses (the $90,000 appendectomy).
Likewise in virtually all other areas of American life, the real trend as yet un-discussed in this election campaign, will be unwinding and downscaling of the onerous, toxic hyper-complexity of the age now passing and finding our way to a workable re-set of what used to be known as political-economy.
In the meantime: a clown show.
Monday, June 08, 2015
Kunstler: Cover Girl
You knew Kunstler would opine on Caitlyn Jenner and her transition.
Kunstler: Cover Girl
This shoot was about my life and who I am as a person. It’s not about the fanfare….”
— Caitlyn (formerly Bruce) Jenner
It was, perhaps, only coincidental that the shy, elderly, Olympic decathlon champion and Wheaties box icon ended up on the cover of America’s glossiest glossy magazine attended by a squadron of make-up artists, costumers, publicists, drapers, lighting designers, endocrinologists, agents, and managers under the direction of supreme photographic commander Annie Liebowitz. And, perhaps, another coincidence that the E! Network is producing an eight-part reality show (“docu-series”) on the journey of America’s new transgender sweetheart from sweaty, hairy, testosterone-jacked athlete to air-brushed pin-up “girl.” I guess fanfare is sometimes just the unexpected cherry-on-top of life’s big creamy cake.
But doesn’t it all raise the question: why is it so important for the nation’s cultural stage managers to make the case that a life of sexual confusion is the highest-and-best way of being in this world? It’s everywhere. A day does not pass lately when The New York Times fails to run a front-page story about the triumph of transgender life. One easy theory might be that old chestnut about folks out on the “cutting edge” always needing a new way to épater le bourgeois, shock and horrify the middle class (into the recognition of their pathetic, mind-numbing dullness.) Maybe the middle class doesn’t have enough to think about with keeping a step ahead of the re-po man, or being billed $30,000 to give birth in a hospital, or working 70 hours a week.
The best explanation (not mine originally), may be that in a “liminal” moment of history, when great scary trends and events trigger society’s existential dread, all kinds of boundaries dissolve. And sex, being among the humanity’s most compelling drives, fraught with heavy cultural regulation, ends up being the means of expression for our collective anxiety over the dissolution of things. It also happens that America today is at once an exceptionally pornified society and an exceptionally puritanical one. Rome under Caligula did not have the internet, enabling 12-year-olds to spectate on every imaginable sex act. But neither did the witch-obsessed settlers of the Massachusetts Bay Colony have the equivalent of the young woman (Emma Sulkowicz by name) who idiotically lugged a mattress around the Columbia University campus as a combination political protest / senior art project to draw attention to her dubious rape case (which was dismissed by Columbia’s own administrative kangaroo court).
The tension between these forces of extreme prurience and extreme Puritanism must be immense, probably intolerable, especially for the young who, even in the most settled times, are beset by insecurity over their sexual development — of how to grow into a man or a woman in the world. It’s also interesting that we want to talk about “sexuality” all the time — if media chatter can be taken for public “conversation” — but only in highly circumscribed ways. Overstep the conventional thinking du jour, and you invite a tsunami of censorious opprobrium… which I will now proceed to do.
For instance, I would propose the theory that homosexuality is lately promoted as a desirable way of being in the world because it allows those who behave that way to avoid and escape a primary source of tension in human life: the difficult relations between men and women. These tensions inevitably fluoresce in adolescence, and so now the choice is offered to opt out. I’d expect gay opinion to argue that opting into that way of being in the world actually generates greater tensions and torments, and that may indeed be so — but it is often the case with avoidance behavior that it invites unhappy complications.
I would also propose that the Caitlyn (Bruce) Jenner spectacle represents “peak transgender.” Now that the culture stage managers have made the point that the paragon of maleness — a five-sport Olympic champion — can opt late in life to become a simulacrum of femaleness (with strange overtones of sexual availability, but to whom, or to what?), there’s nowhere further to go… we finally come to the actual long-sought edge of the cutting edge and drop off into an abyss.
Or maybe this is all just the result of life’s supreme test: keeping up with the Kardashians. After all those years of slip-sliding in Clinique Anti-blemish solution and L’Oreal True Match, poor Bruce just caved, surrendered, resorted to the tactic that could tempt even the most driven competitor: if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.
All right, now I will step aside and endure all the punishment I have invited for venturing to have some opinions on these matters.
Kunstler: Cover Girl
This shoot was about my life and who I am as a person. It’s not about the fanfare….”
— Caitlyn (formerly Bruce) Jenner
It was, perhaps, only coincidental that the shy, elderly, Olympic decathlon champion and Wheaties box icon ended up on the cover of America’s glossiest glossy magazine attended by a squadron of make-up artists, costumers, publicists, drapers, lighting designers, endocrinologists, agents, and managers under the direction of supreme photographic commander Annie Liebowitz. And, perhaps, another coincidence that the E! Network is producing an eight-part reality show (“docu-series”) on the journey of America’s new transgender sweetheart from sweaty, hairy, testosterone-jacked athlete to air-brushed pin-up “girl.” I guess fanfare is sometimes just the unexpected cherry-on-top of life’s big creamy cake.
But doesn’t it all raise the question: why is it so important for the nation’s cultural stage managers to make the case that a life of sexual confusion is the highest-and-best way of being in this world? It’s everywhere. A day does not pass lately when The New York Times fails to run a front-page story about the triumph of transgender life. One easy theory might be that old chestnut about folks out on the “cutting edge” always needing a new way to épater le bourgeois, shock and horrify the middle class (into the recognition of their pathetic, mind-numbing dullness.) Maybe the middle class doesn’t have enough to think about with keeping a step ahead of the re-po man, or being billed $30,000 to give birth in a hospital, or working 70 hours a week.
The best explanation (not mine originally), may be that in a “liminal” moment of history, when great scary trends and events trigger society’s existential dread, all kinds of boundaries dissolve. And sex, being among the humanity’s most compelling drives, fraught with heavy cultural regulation, ends up being the means of expression for our collective anxiety over the dissolution of things. It also happens that America today is at once an exceptionally pornified society and an exceptionally puritanical one. Rome under Caligula did not have the internet, enabling 12-year-olds to spectate on every imaginable sex act. But neither did the witch-obsessed settlers of the Massachusetts Bay Colony have the equivalent of the young woman (Emma Sulkowicz by name) who idiotically lugged a mattress around the Columbia University campus as a combination political protest / senior art project to draw attention to her dubious rape case (which was dismissed by Columbia’s own administrative kangaroo court).
The tension between these forces of extreme prurience and extreme Puritanism must be immense, probably intolerable, especially for the young who, even in the most settled times, are beset by insecurity over their sexual development — of how to grow into a man or a woman in the world. It’s also interesting that we want to talk about “sexuality” all the time — if media chatter can be taken for public “conversation” — but only in highly circumscribed ways. Overstep the conventional thinking du jour, and you invite a tsunami of censorious opprobrium… which I will now proceed to do.
For instance, I would propose the theory that homosexuality is lately promoted as a desirable way of being in the world because it allows those who behave that way to avoid and escape a primary source of tension in human life: the difficult relations between men and women. These tensions inevitably fluoresce in adolescence, and so now the choice is offered to opt out. I’d expect gay opinion to argue that opting into that way of being in the world actually generates greater tensions and torments, and that may indeed be so — but it is often the case with avoidance behavior that it invites unhappy complications.
I would also propose that the Caitlyn (Bruce) Jenner spectacle represents “peak transgender.” Now that the culture stage managers have made the point that the paragon of maleness — a five-sport Olympic champion — can opt late in life to become a simulacrum of femaleness (with strange overtones of sexual availability, but to whom, or to what?), there’s nowhere further to go… we finally come to the actual long-sought edge of the cutting edge and drop off into an abyss.
Or maybe this is all just the result of life’s supreme test: keeping up with the Kardashians. After all those years of slip-sliding in Clinique Anti-blemish solution and L’Oreal True Match, poor Bruce just caved, surrendered, resorted to the tactic that could tempt even the most driven competitor: if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.
All right, now I will step aside and endure all the punishment I have invited for venturing to have some opinions on these matters.
Tuesday, July 08, 2014
Kunstler: We Are All Ninja Turtles Now
(Kunstler may or may not know of the upcoming Ninja Turtles movie.) I'll add photos and links to illustrate this essay. By his own admission, Kunstler doesn't understand women, and how women were, are, and will be affected by this "great unraveling." It's a story affecting men and women, and some women (especially politicians and executives) are at its center. Let women and men tell their stories.
(Here's a good overview of the fashions of the 2010s.)
Kunstler: We Are All Ninja Turtles Now
With lakes, swimming holes, rivers, and pools beckoning, I went to a sporting goods chain store at the mall — where else? — seeking a new bathing suit (pardon the quaint locution). The store was curiously named Dick’s. All they had were clown trunks. By this I mean a garment designed to hang somewhere around mid-calf, instantly transforming a normally-proportioned adult male into a stock slapstick character: the oafish man-child.
This being a commodious warehouse-style store, there was rack upon rack of different brands of bathing suits, all cut in the same clown style. I chanced by one of the sparsely-deployed employees and inquired if they had any swimming togs in a shorter cut.
“What you see is alls we got,” he said.
Even the Speedo brand had gone clown — except for the bikini brief, which I wore back during 30 years of lap-swimming, but which I deemed not quite okay for an elderly gentleman on the casual summer swim scene. So I left Dick’s without a new suit, but not before having a completely unsatisfying conversation with one of the managers.
“In the old days,” I explained, “bathing suits were designed to minimize the amount of cloth one dragged around in the water. These clown trunks you sell not only make a person look ridiculous, but they must be an awful drag in the water.”
“That’s what they send us,” he said. “It’s alls we got.”
The Fourth of July rolled in just in time to celebrate the disintegration of Iraq following our eight-year, three trillion dollar campaign to turn it into a suburb of Las Vegas. Me and my girl went over to the local fireworks show, held on the ballfield of a fraternal order lodge on the edge of town. The fire department had hung up a gigantic American Flag — like, fifty feet long! — off the erect ladder of their biggest truck, in case anybody forgot what country they were in. Personally, I was wondering what planet I was on. It was a big crowd, and every male in it was dressed in a clown rig.
The complete outfit, which has (oddly) not changed in quite a few years (suggesting the tragic trajectory we’re on), includes the ambiguous long-short pants, giant droopy T- shirt (four-year-olds have proportionately short legs and long torsos), “Sluggo” style stubble hair, sideways hat (or worn “cholo” style to the front ), and boat-like shoes, garments preferably all black, decorated with death-metal band logos [or, more likely, energy-drink logos; see previous link.--P.Z.]. You can see, perhaps, how it works against everything that might suggest the phrase: “competent adult here.” Add a riot of aggressive-looking tattoos in ninja blade and screaming skull motifs and you get an additional message: “sociopathic menace, at your service.” Finally, there is the question: just how much self-medication is this individual on at the moment? I give you: America’s young manhood. [And it seems the baggy look has been out of fashion for a few years now.--P.Z.]
Does it seem crotchety to dwell on appearances? Sorry. The public is definitely sending itself a message disporting itself as it does in the raiment of clowning. Here in one of the “fly-over” zones of America — 200 miles north of New York City — the financial economy is mythical realm like Shangri-La and the real economy is somewhere between the toilet and a rat hole. Under the tyranny of chain stores, there really is no true local commercial economy. The few jobs here are menial and nearly superfluous to the automatic workings of the giant companies.
I don’t have the statistics but I suspect a lot of the males around here are on federal disability payments, and probably in the psychological categories including “depression,” “learning disabilities,” “ADHD, and so on.” In such a situation, wouldn’t a person benefit from presenting himself as child-like, with a dash of menace? And wouldn’t it be advantageous to look that way all of the time, in case one was unexpectedly visited by a government employee?
Down in Brooklyn, a world away, the young men go about in their hipster uniforms: Pee Wee Herman cut casuals. They’re still role-playing “the smart kid in the class” even though they’ve been out of class for a decade. Their computer dreams of IPO glory are formulated with the tunnel-vision of science fair projects. Left out are the realities of the greater unraveling.
Women are not at the center of this story. Theirs is another story. Let some woman tell it before I get to it. {Emphasis mine.--P.Z.]
Never has a society entered an epochal transition with such unpreparedness.
Never has a society appeared so childishly decadent.
(Here's a good overview of the fashions of the 2010s.)
Kunstler: We Are All Ninja Turtles Now
With lakes, swimming holes, rivers, and pools beckoning, I went to a sporting goods chain store at the mall — where else? — seeking a new bathing suit (pardon the quaint locution). The store was curiously named Dick’s. All they had were clown trunks. By this I mean a garment designed to hang somewhere around mid-calf, instantly transforming a normally-proportioned adult male into a stock slapstick character: the oafish man-child.
This being a commodious warehouse-style store, there was rack upon rack of different brands of bathing suits, all cut in the same clown style. I chanced by one of the sparsely-deployed employees and inquired if they had any swimming togs in a shorter cut.
“What you see is alls we got,” he said.
Even the Speedo brand had gone clown — except for the bikini brief, which I wore back during 30 years of lap-swimming, but which I deemed not quite okay for an elderly gentleman on the casual summer swim scene. So I left Dick’s without a new suit, but not before having a completely unsatisfying conversation with one of the managers.
“In the old days,” I explained, “bathing suits were designed to minimize the amount of cloth one dragged around in the water. These clown trunks you sell not only make a person look ridiculous, but they must be an awful drag in the water.”
“That’s what they send us,” he said. “It’s alls we got.”
The Fourth of July rolled in just in time to celebrate the disintegration of Iraq following our eight-year, three trillion dollar campaign to turn it into a suburb of Las Vegas. Me and my girl went over to the local fireworks show, held on the ballfield of a fraternal order lodge on the edge of town. The fire department had hung up a gigantic American Flag — like, fifty feet long! — off the erect ladder of their biggest truck, in case anybody forgot what country they were in. Personally, I was wondering what planet I was on. It was a big crowd, and every male in it was dressed in a clown rig.
The complete outfit, which has (oddly) not changed in quite a few years (suggesting the tragic trajectory we’re on), includes the ambiguous long-short pants, giant droopy T- shirt (four-year-olds have proportionately short legs and long torsos), “Sluggo” style stubble hair, sideways hat (or worn “cholo” style to the front ), and boat-like shoes, garments preferably all black, decorated with death-metal band logos [or, more likely, energy-drink logos; see previous link.--P.Z.]. You can see, perhaps, how it works against everything that might suggest the phrase: “competent adult here.” Add a riot of aggressive-looking tattoos in ninja blade and screaming skull motifs and you get an additional message: “sociopathic menace, at your service.” Finally, there is the question: just how much self-medication is this individual on at the moment? I give you: America’s young manhood. [And it seems the baggy look has been out of fashion for a few years now.--P.Z.]
Does it seem crotchety to dwell on appearances? Sorry. The public is definitely sending itself a message disporting itself as it does in the raiment of clowning. Here in one of the “fly-over” zones of America — 200 miles north of New York City — the financial economy is mythical realm like Shangri-La and the real economy is somewhere between the toilet and a rat hole. Under the tyranny of chain stores, there really is no true local commercial economy. The few jobs here are menial and nearly superfluous to the automatic workings of the giant companies.
I don’t have the statistics but I suspect a lot of the males around here are on federal disability payments, and probably in the psychological categories including “depression,” “learning disabilities,” “ADHD, and so on.” In such a situation, wouldn’t a person benefit from presenting himself as child-like, with a dash of menace? And wouldn’t it be advantageous to look that way all of the time, in case one was unexpectedly visited by a government employee?
Down in Brooklyn, a world away, the young men go about in their hipster uniforms: Pee Wee Herman cut casuals. They’re still role-playing “the smart kid in the class” even though they’ve been out of class for a decade. Their computer dreams of IPO glory are formulated with the tunnel-vision of science fair projects. Left out are the realities of the greater unraveling.
Women are not at the center of this story. Theirs is another story. Let some woman tell it before I get to it. {Emphasis mine.--P.Z.]
Never has a society entered an epochal transition with such unpreparedness.
Never has a society appeared so childishly decadent.
Monday, August 12, 2013
Kunstler's Essay on
"Class, Race, Hierarchy, and Social Relations in The Long Emergency" Part two is behind a paywall.
I don't agree with Kunstler's stand on gender relations. He basically says that without cheap, abundant oil to power things, housework will once again become toilsome, and that women will do most of it. Unsurprisingly, many women wrote to him and took issue with that prediction.
Despite that, it's still worth reading. And I might have more later.
I don't agree with Kunstler's stand on gender relations. He basically says that without cheap, abundant oil to power things, housework will once again become toilsome, and that women will do most of it. Unsurprisingly, many women wrote to him and took issue with that prediction.
Despite that, it's still worth reading. And I might have more later.
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