Natural thinking

Every now and again I have lost my mind and embraced the noble savage concept, fallen prey to the delusion that closer to nature means closer to humanity, or something like that. Thought erroneously that to sit in a simulated-leather-upholstered, comfy, made-of-artificial-stuff-as-well-as-the-simulated-leather chair, thought that that was wrong. A glance at the photo reassures me that natural is not better, it's probably a lot worse.

Parasites are natural. Dysentery is really, really natural, as are cholera and toe fungus and thirty foot long nematodes living in your gut (Yes, you. Your gut.)

Death at age 40 is natural. I learned this in a personal way when I was in my doctor's office some time ago, grousing. My doctor (I call him son, he calls me Christopher) is a laid back surfer dude with long blond hair and a very quick mind. I was reviewing with him my ailments, which I will not review with you, and I asked, "Am I doing something wrong here, that all these pestilences and afflictions so besmite me?" (I'm paraphrasing.)

"Yeah," he said. "You're livin' too long. You were supposed ta die 15 'er 20 years ago. The parts, man, they just, you know, like, wear out."

Thus have I bid adieu to any fondness I ever had for things natural. Artifical hips? Bring 'em on. Gamma knife surgery? Oh yeah, baby. More mundane things too: plastic bags work just fine for me, as do automobiles and word processors.

That said, I am aware that certain unnatural objects or practices are not in themselves all that hot either. Breast implants are grotesque, hydrogen bombs are a very bad idea by any measure I can think of, and the book Omnivore's Dilemma is leading me to think that raising cattle on feed lots is going to create an awful lot of problems for us. And for cattle, of course.

There evidently must be some balance. God, I hate that. Makes my head hurt. Makes me want to curl up in a comfortable chair and by god that chair will not made of branches held together with swallow spit.