The things I buy call out to me with the lure of eternal coolness. Then I bring them home and forget about them.
Imagine grocery shopping on your hands and knees, walking home, and making dinner on your kitchen floor. My knees hurt just thinking about it.
I know I should fear an algorithm that doesn’t know the difference between rugs and shoes, but I’m addicted to eye candy.
If toys are templates for developing skills and behavior, what was the lesson I was supposed to learn from Betsy Wetsy?
If we don’t get a grip on our trash problem we’ll be living like medieval peasants again. Fatbergs are coming after us like low budget sci-fi monsters.