My whole life I have loved science and science fiction especially those old 1950s and early 60s sci-fi flicks. For the most part, they took themselves and their audiences seriously, and assumed some scientific and political literacy among the general population. They were wonderfully paranoid and fed off our fears--legitimate ones, at that--of a nuclear holocaust or, at least, of a Commie take over.
My elementary school years, especially during the Cuban missile crisis, left me strong and fond memories of "duck and cover" exercises, and of wondering whether a school desk, even one solidly built in the USA, would suffice to ward off the effects of the latest Soviet H-bomb. After these exercises, many of us boys would gather and speculate on how the world would look after a nuclear exchange. Each of us had a different vision in accord with the latest sci-fi picture seen. Some saw the end as a variation of "On the Beach," and pondered how they would get to Australia. Others devised a scenario more akin to "The World, the Flesh, and the Devil"--wondering who would get Inger Stevens--or to one of the many grim ends portrayed in "Twilight Zone" or "Outer Limits" episodes. Those with more gore-laden imaginations envisioned a world of zombies, vampires, or mutants on the loose, as, for example, in Vincent Price's very dark rendition of "Last Man on Earth."
Since the November 6 elections, I have seen what the end will look like: a cross between "Things to Do in Denver when You're Dead," and any number of ultra-bleak walking dead or zombie apocalypse movies. As mentioned before, I am temporarily in southern California. If the old cliche proves true that California is the harbinger of things to come, the end draws nigh, and not because of a Soviet nuclear attack. This is a state devastated by lunatic pro-immigration, education, environmental, and fiscal policies. This is a self-inflicted mortal wound. What's doubly weird is that those who supported this act of collective suicide, given the chance, would do it again. It is amazing how many people leave California for other states but take with them the attitudes and voting patterns that brought disaster to their home state. They are moths to the bright flame of liberalism; they can't figure out why their wings keep catching fire.
Conversations with Obama voters in California leave me stunned. There can be few other persons more ignorant of basic economic facts and processes. They seem oblivious to the collapsing stock market, and the unemployment, poverty, inflation, and taxation tsunamis about to sweep over us all. Many are wealthy, but have gotten so in arenas several levels removed from the real economy: environmental or consumer advocates and lawyers, working for NGOs, consultants, entertainers, etc. They do not see themselves as part of the one percent, despite their $100,000 Fiskar Karmas, BMWs, Lexus, Jags, and the more modest $42,000 environmentally proper Prius. These people are loons; worse, they are the post-apocalyptic vampires and walking dead determined to drag the rest of us with them to their liberal hell.
This is much worse than imagined in my schoolyard lunchtime conversations fifty-plus years ago. I see no way back from this zombie apocalypse, and am frightened, very frightened--and my Kimber 1911 sits in a storage facility three thousand miles away . . . lots of zombies between it and me.