I’d wanted to post something amusing about our in-progress Season Four writer’s meetings (featuring promising ideas like the Pit-wolves and the infamous “Meatwall”), or my excitement over the fact that this week’s episode (Episode 6: Stormhawks at the Diner) features “guest voices” from a bunch of folks who stopped by our table at the 2012 Chicago ComiCon (seriously, it was a lot of fun, and the folks we met were totally awesome).
Then, I came across this link on my facebook feed:
…and I just stopped. At various points, we’ve had moments where this post-apocalyptic world we’ve created stopped being “funny” and started feeling “true.” We chuckle nervously, make eye contact, and quickly move on to the MolePeople or something of the sort… but we’re forced to admitted that our original tagline (a collective work of prophecy) was maybe a little too right. This isn’t just a funny story: it is, in some cases, our best guess at what the future will look like.
Now, I know that alarmist headlines sell papes (thanks, Newsies) and that the issue is actually hugely more complicated than could ever be boiled down to an article or blog post, but gods, that 2030 number—that’s soon. I’ll be in my 40s…and I plan on living to at least 125-150. This is no longer our children’s world that we’re destroying–it’s ours.
The pessimist in me sees this not so much as a call for action as a last whimper or death rattle, but: try not blasting the AC next summer, or walk rather than driving to the park today, or lord forbid, lobby your local representatives for cleaner energy solutions and more research on stopping climate change.
Because as much as I absolutely love creating Our Fair City, I don’t want our generation to be responsible for creating HartLife.
See you in the tunnels,