Go Listen Here Now

Hi, another podcast recommendation from me — and couldn’t possibly recommend this one more enthusiastically. Episode #34 of the Extra-Environmentalist podcast, an interview with Morris Berman.

Had not previously heard of him, but he’s one helluva whip-smart cat. It’s a scathing yet charming critique of what he calls the “hustling life”, AKA the American Dream — and the possibilities of escaping it.

Much like Chomsky, he seems to have read every book ever published, and rattles them off, along with their authors’ arguments and lessons, at a dizzying pace. Unlike Chomsky, however, who generally gives stock answers in interviews (in his defense, he grants a tonne of interviews), Berman speaks here by the seat of his pants, so it’s almost as though he’s discovering the depth of his wisdom right at the same time as he’s sharing it. A thoroughly compelling listen!

You can head over to the page for this episode (actually about a month old now — these days, I’m as lax on podcast-listening as I am on reading), and download it from there.

But clocking in at over two hours, as it does, it may be a bit much. I’ve uploaded an edited file which includes only the interview proper, and dispels with Seth’s and Justin’s introductory and outroductory remarks, as well as their little interstitial vignettes used to break up the interview. Nothing really wrong with these, but they’re certainly not necessary.

Of course, the reason I was to-day able to catch up on some reading and some podcast-listening is that I’m still all gimped up from the kicking of the concrete block. Improved from yesterday, but not enough to go tramping around.

Did get down to the river in the morning, which was surprisingly peaceful and serene — the babbling rapids, the wonderful birdsong, the kids splashing around in the water (and shaking my hand multiple times), the ladies doing some fishing, the odd kayak floating by. Great!

But why surprising? Well, it’s this little island in the river which is primarily used for bungalows and bars. In the evenings (and on into 3:00 in the AM — no curfew in this town), it’s party central. But while the revelers are sleeping it off until Noon or so, you’ve got the place virtually to yourself.

By the way, it’s possible that the hostel at which I’m staying may be cursed! See, after I kicked the damned block, then the hostel’s proprietor — an affable Norwegian expat name of “Arne” — went out and had a motorcycle-on-motorcycle accident.

In which, he banged up his foot up pretty good — as well as scraping an elbow, and bruising a shoulder. This evening he returned back to work after a few days’ rest, and told all about it.

Seems to be recovering well, and in good spirits, etc.. Word to the wise, however: if you ever come stay at this place, mind your feet!

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