a thinly disguised and fluidly distracting diatribe

Here's something guaranteed to simultaneously -- that's right, folks! -- distract one from two locally generated, currently fashionable and potentially potent cultural memes, whilst encouraging the reader to investigate another.

By reading what follows you agree to divert yourself from both the increasingly speculative speculation regarding our new (ahem) Republican mayor and, as well, to disengage from and thus give less efficacy to the almighty media-saturating balloon fiesta... Don't worry, both will be around for while longer and I reckon you'll have plenty of time to inflate and ruminate, to gaze wonderingly at the sky and at the future, et cetera.

I'll try and make room for that stuff myself; maybe really early Saturday morning after I drink a huge glassful of tap water, read the Journal, watch an episode or two of Jonny Quest and try to reconcile myself to the tragic fact that tortillas and Marmite just do not get along at breakfast, or at any other time of the day.

Right now, however, by craftily employing the very structure through which your eyes and mind currently drift, a form purposefully designed to enable your momentary though appreciative floating away from the preeminent concerns so eloquently expressed by the more noble and possibly coherent voices sharing these wavelengths, I present the following call for clarification.

What's up with the lack of paranormal activity in this town? One would think there were a whole bunch of scientists living around here, or something. Anywho, there's not enough information on the subject. Sure, I've heard all about the donut-craving ghost that lurks sadly and hungrily about the innards of the KiMo Theater, and, yeah, I still stay away from the ditches, forty years after mi abuela gave her one-hundred-and-thirty-seventh recitation of la historia de La Llorona in a candlelit adobe room on a cold October night.

Or something like that.

I've also had a number of acquaintances speak or write earnestly about the supposed connection our beloved burg has to unidentified flying objects and and extraterrestrials. I suppose that fits within the realm of paranormal, no? From what I've read and then touched upon briefly in my own stunningly tangential reflections, I am now certain that some of my fellow humans, and indeed, perhaps some of my neighbors, believe that we have been visited from beyond, or more precisely, believe there is something beyond this. To this group, there must be quite a few existential possibilities, shall we say.

Contrariwise, I am also aware that there is another group of humans in these here parts, the antithesis of the first group, if you will, that are doing their best to prove that the opposite is true, that our journey though space and time is of the singular variety, that there is nothing beyond the Sandia Mountains, that the edge of the western desert drops precipitously and forever into a void where it meets the horizon and that the Rio Grande refreshes itself eternally, disappearing somewhere near the Isleta Casino, renewing itself as it loops through some sort of secret underground cavern, reappearing fresh and forever at the north end of the valley. Forever. For the group that follows this paradigm, the options seem more likely to be bound by boundaries, and thus, limited.

I know, that sounds ridiculous. And I'll be the first to admit it. Everything except the water part, that is. All this talk about ghosty, ethereal stuff was just an excuse to hint at a much less fluid subject. It wasn't all no-account mythological summarizing, either. The problem Albuquerque faces in regard to a sustainable water supply could very well be symbolized by two discrete groupings; one comprised of individuals whose vision extends beyond the confines of locality and technology and the other made up of those for whom this is irrefutably the center of the universe.

It turns out -- after all this pre-Halloween rambling, punctuated with deadly ditches and donuts -- that, ironically, the real spectre our culture, local and global, has to face is an arid one.

The above-referenced scientists, having embraced rationality, mastered reality, and dispelled a host of haunts (note to self: this may explain this century's dearth of spooky local journalism) are nonetheless predicting a genuinely frightening possible future.

Here's the quantitative bit. The Albuquerque Journal reports that global weather patterns manifesting in the Pacific Ocean may very well lead to a noticeable lack of precipitation in New Mexico this winter. Further, groundwater contamination caused by the local version of the military-industrial complex has made our state's fragile relationship with dihydrogen monoxide even more precarious. I'll gloss over the parts of the story that have to do with chemical pollutants in the local water supply.

I don't wanna distract you so incontrovertibly that you can't enjoy this morning's mass ascension, though. Likewise, I don't want you to find yourself incapable of saying something germane or even needlessly inflammatory about our new mayor. But such distraction might well fall under the category of paranormal activity.