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I said to him, “Why is it, Alfonse, that decent, well-meaning and responsible people find themselves intrigued by catastrophe when they see it on television?” I told him about the recent evening of lava, mud and raging water that the children and I had found so entertaining. “We wanted more, more.” “It’s natural, it’s normal,” he said, with a reassuring nod. “It happens to everybody.” “Why?” “Because we’re suffering from brain fade. We need an occasional catastrophe to break up the incessant bombardment of information.” “It’s obvious,” Lasher said. A slight man with a taut face and slicked-back hair. “The flow is constant,” Alfonse said. “Words, pictures, numbers, facts, graphics, statistics, specks, waves, particles, motes. Only a catastrophe gets our attention. We want them, we need them, we depend on them. As long as they happen somewhere else. This is where California comes in. Mud slides, brush fires, coastal erosion, earthquakes, mass killings, et cetera. We can relax and enjoy these disasters because in our hearts we feel that California deserves whatever it gets. Californians invented the concept of life-style. This alone warrants their doom.
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