README.md

Posted on May 17, 2023

Ber Gutman (They/Them)

Welcome. Chances are, if you’re here, you’re already too far gone. Good.

I’m regrettably a human, not a bear, stuck in a world of code and consumption but yearning for the freedom of a paleolithic yam farmer. I hold a useless degree in Agricultural Science, though my studies were much broader and encompassed most of the environmental fields. When you were partying, I used the Stefan-Boltzmann Law (F = σT^4 where σ is 5.67x10^-8 W/m^2/K) to calculate the Earth’s energy balance exactly one time and then immediately forgot that shit forever. When you were having premarital sex, I mastered animal husbandry (salmon only want one thing, and it’s fucking disgusting). While you wasted your days at the gym in pursuit of vanity, I had a panic attack on the toilet reading the latest IPCC Synthesis Report.

And now that the world is on fire and the barbarians are at the gate you have the audacity to come to me for help?

Sigh…

Big fucking idiot takes a bathroom selfie like a loser. Caption: Shout-out to the doctors who labeled me FTT as a baby. I appreciate you setting the bar low.

In actuality, you’d be better off picking up a copy of the Old Farmer’s Almanac. I mainly work as a programmer and just wanted to know how to grow potatoes when the grid goes down. Like everyone else in the 21st century, all I’m good for is complaining about societal issues on the internet. Unlike your red-pilled uncle at Thanksgiving, however, I have a very expensive license to complain from Oregon State University (the beavers not the ducks). Plus, if there’s one thing the state of Oregon is known for (other than black exclusion laws), it’s sanitary food practices.

My fascination with ecology has primarily been shaped by the places I have lived. I grew up in the middle of America’s most gluttonous desert, but have since moved around a lot. Phoenix, San Diego, New York, Portland, and Honolulu to be exact. Each of these places has taught me a lot about life. Phoenix, in the words of the great Bobby Hill, is truly a “monument to man’s arrogance.” It’s one of the fastest growing cities in the country despite it being absolute dog-shit in terms of natural resources. Growing up there really taught me to question everything. There’s a culture of complacency in the desert that is enough to make even the most optimistic of technophiles question our species’ trajectory. San Diego, which is also a desert, taught me that white people love gluten-free shit. I once had a slice of cake there made entirely out of almonds. It tasted like ass, and did you know a single almond requires 12 liters of water? New York taught me that my Grandfather was tougher than I’ll ever be. It also taught me how easily people can compartmentalize empathy. Portland? As much as I hate to admit it, that city taught me just how privileged my life has always been. Finally, Honolulu has recently taught me how to make meaningful relationships. It’s the first city I have ever loved, and it’s not because of the beaches. It’s the only place I know of where humanity’s role in nature is engrained into every aspect of one’s life. However, I have no illusions about the long term viability of O’ahu. As an incredibly remote and densely populated island it’s constantly a few missing Costco shipments away from full-blown cannibalism. If there’s anywhere in the world that will survive the coming decades from sheer will alone, however, it’s the neighboring “Big Island” which not only has everything that truly matters but shares the same population density as Montana. If you, dear reader, are rich in legal tender but lack green thumbs, I would graciously accept a salary in the form of a modest yurt!

Anyway, I don’t particularly do anything. To be honest, I fail to see the point, and not in a Big Lebowski “Ve believes in nossing” way. Quite the opposite, actually, as there are a plethora of things that capture my attention. Though none of them seem to be the one thing I want to do or be forever. My search for purpose thus far has been a bit like buying a can in the supermarket that’s had its label ripped off by an unsupervised toddler. It’s always a fun surprise, yes, but at the end of the day is there anything that comes in a can worthy of being eaten for every meal? Speaking of which…

My social/political soup labels:

🥫 Anarcho-communist Medley (May contain manifestos)

🥫 Autistic Alphabet (Trace amounts of vaccine juice)

🥫 Pacifist French-onion (Contains unreleased rage)

🥫 Vegan Chicken Noodle (May cause gas)

🥫 Agender Clam Chowder (Do not consume if republican)

🥫 Queer Pasta Fagioli (Will date anyone Allergen-friendly)

🥫 Reconstructionist Matzo ball (Causes IBS)

If you’ve made it this far, I hope you’re thinking, “Wow, they’re absolutely insane.” Good. That’s the point. Some label me as a geek, but I’d prefer if you think of me as a sentient fax machine. I scan hyperfixate on topics that interest me and then EEEEEEEEEE-BREE-ur-BREE-ur-EE EE don’t shut up about them. So if you enjoy reading info-dumps about Climate Change, AI, Gender roles, or anything else that captures my goldfish-sized brain, consider this the last Kinko’s on planet Earth.

Ps. If you disagree with any of my opinions please send all strongly worded complaints to #04475-046 FMC Butner - Federal Medical Center P.O. BOX 1600 BUTNER, NC 27509.

Sincerely,

-Ber

tl;dr: You're skimming my fucking about page? Ouch.