Fridays, I don't like to cook. I like to give myself a day off and go out to eat or get takeout. So, I asked my mother what she would like.
"Whatever you want."
I knew that meant little since she wouldn't eat most of the things I wanted. No sushi, no Pho, no crazy dishes.
It had been a pretty day, the sun finally shining. It has been generally miserable for the past week or two here in the Sunny South. When I went home after the gym to clean up, I got a "feeling" for the life I am missing now. Pretty people were on the streets anxious for the start of the weekend. Driving back to my mother's at four, I was headed away from the heart and back to the outskirts. Don't get me wrong, she lives in a nice neighborhood. It just doesn't have easy access to all the things that make my little village "special."
"Do you want pizza?"
"Sure."
Tennessee asked me if I had tried the pizza at Blue Moon when I saw him at the gym. I hadn't, but I'd heard from several people that it was fantastic. It was, however, on the other side of town and I didn't feel like driving in severe after work Friday night traffic the ever-so-long it would take to get it.
I was feeling low. I could feel the pulse of the city somewhere.
Else.
My mother had called my cousin that morning and told her she wasn't ready for her to come. I would be living here awhile longer.
"How about we try the new chicken place up the street?" I said.
"That's O.K. Maria said it was good."
It's a chain, I think. Raising Cain. I pulled into the drive thru. There was only one choice at Cain's--chicken fingers. You could get them in a sandwich (breaded chicken on bread), or with sides. There were no choices there, either. "Texas toast, fries, Cole slaw." I ordered their "favorite" meal, four chicken tenders with the sides. $25.00.
The meal came in a styrofoam container, one of the most environmentally unfriendly things you can package things in. Why not something like cardboard?
I laid the feast out on the dining room table. The chicken wasn't awful if you used their special dip. But what was it? I couldn't figure out if it was pressed or what. The fries certainly weren't potatoes but one of those potato mixes put through a press. The Texas Toast was just a piece of thick bread lightly toasted on one side.
"Just think. Some people eat like this all the time. They say, 'Hey, honey, what do you want tonight? McDonalds? Burger King? Cain's? Pizza? Taco Bell?' and the kids are all screaming for McDonalds."
I remember doing a video project that took us out to a Black neighborhood on the far outskirts of town. They had no grocery store, only a mini-mart. That was the sole choice for people living there. It seemed to me a crime.
As we ate, I began to wonder things.
"Think of how much food it takes to feed 8 billion people. It is unimaginable. Every single day."
I got curious.
"Alexa. . . how many chickens are eaten every day worldwide."
1.4 million chickens. Every single day. 74 billion chickens a year. 1.5 million pigs. 300 million cows. I didn't ask about seafood. 524 billion metric tons of rice. 798 million metric tons of wheat. I don't even know if you can calculate vegetables.
I think I had a panic attack. We just take food for granted. I don't buy more than a day's groceries at a time. I just count on being able to go to the store and getting whatever I want. But those numbers and my lack of ability to do anything about it. . . the thought of plagues and pestilence was overwhelming me.
I asked the scary question. 9 million people starve to death each year. They just don't get enough food, or they don't get enough of the right types.
There are too many people in the world. The numbers were wearing me down.
China is unable to grow enough food to feed its population. It can supply only about 65% of what it needs. The rest must be imported. India does a bit better.
I'm picky in the produce section. Huh.
I shouldn't think about such things. I should be more like my unconcerned conservative friends. They don't worry about much except their money. I guess they figure the rest will just take care of itself, and if not. . . what can you do?
"You worry too much."
"It's all this thinking I do. . . you know?"
I think I read too much.
So that is how Friday night went.
Last night was just above freezing. Today will be sunny and warm up rapidly. I want to get out and enjoy the day, but I feel I am but a visitor at some amusement park with a strict curfew. It is a shame, too, because I am looking so fucking good. Girls would swoon.
I can't come up with a happy ending here. I'm going to start spending my money on beauty treatments, I think, like everyone else. It's the thing to do, it seems. I was just introduced to a water hydrologizer by a buddy. Supposed to be good for your skin (link).
The sun is up and the world is moving. I should, too. I need to move and quit thinking. Thinking seems poison to me just now.
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