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christopher@30seconds.org
The above is about as much of an introduction to The Winter of Our Discontent as Steinbeck gives you, but I swear by God it still feels like Winter most places I go. I mean people sure as hell take that title to heart don't they? It seems most folks are discontent one way or another and I'd be a liar (which I've said I was before) if I claimed to be totally content with my own existence. And if I had to pick a word to describe our times in general Winter just about hits the old nail on the head. But I would go farther and say, "Readers seeking to identify the wholly true people and places here described would do better to inspect their own communities and search their own hearts, for this site is about a large part of the world today."
I mean here we are in a time when the community is supposed to be growing closer together on a global scale, where websites are a dime a dozen (or at the most $19.95 a month) and we are so very, very far away from each other. How many of you know your neighbors? How many of you are friends with them? Me? Last week I yelled at mine. The only communication we've ever had was that exchange. My best friends, maybe I see them once every two weeks or so. We're all so busy you see, we can't be at fault. I know cars on my commute better than the people close to me. There is something seriously wrong with that. Everyone is so arms crossed closed that they don't see the Winter of Discontent Steinbeck wrote about in 1961 has only grown colder around us. Only now its global and we can spread the good cheer daily with our ISP's and this ever growing Net like the roots of a philodendron left in a glass of water by the window.
Already cut. Everything lies in the potiential. Everything rests so heavily on each and every one of our shoulders.
Not one domino will fall, right?
Just so long as this isn't the last and worst part of it all...
goodnight 12.04.97
