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Carrion Luggage  Native to the Americas, the turkey vulture (Cathartes aura) travels widely in search of sustenance. While usually foraging alone, it relies on other individuals of its species for companionship and mutual protection. Sometimes misunderstood, sometimes feared, sometimes shunned, it nevertheless performs an important role in the ecosystem. This scavenger bird is a marvel of efficiency. Rather than expend energy flapping its wings, it instead locates uplifting columns of air, and spirals within them in order to glide to greater heights. This behavior has been mistaken for opportunism, interpreted as if it is circling doomed terrestrial animals destined to be its next meal. In truth, the vulture takes advantage of these thermals to gain the altitude needed glide longer distances, flying not out of necessity, but for the joy of it. It also avoids the exertion necessary to capture live prey, preferring instead to feast upon that which is already dead. In this behavior, it resembles many humans. It is not what most of us would consider to be a pretty bird. While its habits are often off-putting, or even disgusting, to members of more fastidious species, the turkey vulture helps to keep the environment from being clogged with detritus. Hence its Latin binomial, which translates to English as "golden purifier." I rarely know where the winds will take me next, or what I might find there. The journey is the destination. |
| "Hey, Waltz: the world is on fucking fire right now. Why are you banging on about shit that doesn't matter?" Okay, no one actually asked me that question. But sometimes, I ask it of myself. My answer, at least for now? It does matter. Truth matters. Science matters. Philosophy matters. Humor matters. I don't think we can protest our way out of this mess. There's no god nor benevolent aliens to save us from ourselves, no monsters except our own fears. When people believe anything without evidence, it chips away at our collective reality. And I'm here to try to approach the truth. I may dwell in darkness, but my words are light. They may not illuminate much, but maybe they help someone to see some obstacle. Doesn't matter if it's a big thing or a small thing. Here's what might be considered a small thing, from Atlas Obscura, two years ago: In the fall of 1982, an unfounded fear haunted almost every house in Chicago. As area children prepared to “trick” their neighbors with their impressions of werewolves, vampires, and zombies, their parents were much more terrified of the “treats” their kids were eager to devour. And this was before people started bleating about "sugar is poison." They were worried about actual poison. Though I'm not sure it was entirely unfounded; it was, as the article finally gets around to noting later, right after the Tylenol poisoning incidents. What is it with you people and Tylenol, anyway? Never mind; I'm not getting into specifics of current events right now. However, according to sociologist Joel Best, this ghastly threat was about as real as the candy-seeking, child-sized ghosts and witches roaming around with pillow cases. “All I can say is I don’t know of a single case of a child killed by a Halloween poisoner,” says Best. “I’ve seen five news stories that attributed deaths to Halloween poisoning. In one case, it was the child’s own father, and the other four were all retracted.” Here's the thing, though: Lone Asshole Theory, as I call it. All it takes is one bad actor to ruin something. A million people might pass by a precious piece of artwork, harmlessly, and the one million and first decides to throw paint on it. This is not an indictment of people in general. Far from it; it demonstrates that most of us are good or, at least, unwilling to face negative consequences. What it does show is that the one asshole ruins it for everyone else. Worse, once the idea is out there, some sociopath who might not have otherwise considered it might decide to slip a razor blade into an apple, or whatever. The chances are very low, but the consequences of hitting those odds are horrible: even one dead child would be a tragedy. Halloween sadism is defined as the act of passing out poisoned treats to children during trick-or-treating. But even before the term was coined in 1974, parents already feared a mysterious, mentally unhinged candy killer for decades, despite a lack of supporting evidence. So, why am I arguing in favor of being concerned about tampering? Well, what I'm trying to say here is that, considering risk management, even if it's never happened, there needs to be some vigilance. The problem is people get hyper about this stuff and go overboard with imaginary scenarios, while ignoring, or at least downplaying, more plausible ones. Best, who maintains that children are much more likely to be harmed on Halloween by cars than contaminated treats, has continued his never-ending task of quietly and efficiently unmasking the fraudulent claims that darken his door. Good. It's important to keep these things in perspective. Many of the needles in apples and poison-laced treats turned out to be hoaxes. In some cases, the children themselves perpetrated the hoax, perhaps to get attention. Kids can be sociopaths, too. They're not done being built. So why does this fear continue to endure and flourish even in the absence of evidence to support it? “This is, first and foremost, a worry about protecting children,” says Best, who categorizes Halloween sadism as a contemporary urban legend. Sure. But, unlike myths such as Slenderman or werewolves, this sort of thing is, at least, possible. While Best has been tracking the phenomenon since 1958, folklorist Elizabeth Tucker noted similar themes in other myths, like Blood Libel, a myth dripping in antisemitism that blamed Jewish people for kidnapping Christian children to use in illicit rituals. Oh, come on. Kids aren't even kosher. The fear of drug-laced Halloween candy was further intensified in 2022 with news reports of “rainbow fentanyl”—a form of the highly addictive narcotic produced in bright colors, allegedly to appeal to children. A moment's thought should be all it takes to dismiss this nonsense. Unlike razor blades and rat poison, drugs (so I've heard) are expensive; why waste them on kids when you can do them yourself? Doing the drugs, dammit, not the kids. "Doing" kids is also very wrong. Unlike poisoned candy, that happens all too often here in reality. But it's rarely a stranger. Usually, it's a pastor, coach, cop, friend, or family member. Nonetheless, respected outlets like The New York Times, as well as trusted advice columnists Dear Abby and Ann Landers, all weighed in with alarmist articles warning parents of Halloween night dangers. Humans. Just can't put their fear in the right places, can they? Terrified of sharks; step into the bathtub like there's no chance of slipping and dying. Anxious about flying; think nothing of taking an Uber to the airport. In either of those cases, what they're afraid of has a much lower probability than what they're not afraid of. In summary: maybe we, collectively, would be better off putting our energy into addressing real dangers than freaking out over imaginary ones. What we fear the most is the unknown, so maybe address that by fighting against ignorance. |
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