Paranoia Will Destroia

By Tony Kornheiser

Sunday, October 5, 1997; Page F01
The Washington Post 

In response to mad cow disease I stopped eating meat.

In response to red tide I stopped going to the beach.

In response to pfiesteria I stopped eating fish.

In response to cryptosporidium I stopped drinking water.

In response to cyclospora I stopped eating fresh fruits and
vegetables.

In response to El Nino I have locked myself in my house.

It's okay, I have cable. (But I'm getting pretty damn sick of rice
cakes. What do they make these things out of, shirt
cardboard?)

This is not the way I thought the world would end -- with me
starving and thirsty and cowering in my house for fear that
some apocalyptic wind would blow me around the
neighborhood like Auntie Em.

The last week has been a environmental paranoid's delight.
We've had the ongoing horror of the aptly named pfiesteria (the
serendipitous confluence of a little bit of fish and a lot of
hysteria), in which fish in the Chesapeake Bay wash up dead
with huge open wounds that make them look like they've been
carrying on with Marv Albert.

Then I read this story in The Washington Post about
"dinoflagellates" that are attacking coastlines throughout North
America. ("Dinoflagellate" sounds like the technical name for
Barney Rubble's dominatrix.) Dolphins, pelicans and manatees
are washing up dead, which is terrible for them -- but more to
the point these microrganisms are contaminating mussels! Don't
get me wrong, I'm heartsick for the families of the pelicans. But
let's say these microbes start going after all shellfish, then what
happens to the all-you-can-eat at Red Lobster? How are they
gonna keep it at $9.95?

The next day the New York Times had a story linking
outbreaks of food-borne diseases to strawberries, scallions
and cantaloupes from Mexico, canned mushrooms from China
and coconut milk from Thailand. So now I have label paranoia.
Before this I'd never checked where my fruits and vegetables
came from. What was I supposed to do, lift up every green
bean and look for a postmark? Who cared where your carrots
came from? Now I want labels with street addresses: "These
cucumbers were grown at 8755 Seaview Lane, York, Pa.,
fertilized by a cow named Rebecca Sue and harvested by
some skinny foreign guy with excellent personal hygiene."

But the scariest thing of all is El Nino, which is going to pluck
me from my yard and plop me in the Indian Ocean. I am so
mad at El Nino that I want to run to the oceans, stand on the
rocks that jut out, rip off my shirt and scream in defiance,
"Come get me, El Nino, you rat bastard!" (But my skin is so
fair that if I take off my shirt I have to put on SPF 45, and my
dermatologist will insist that I wear a hat, too.)

Everything bad is traceable to El Nino.

Global warming -- El Nino.

Flooding, mudslides, drought, locusts, vermin, blood, frogs --
El Nino.

Montserrat, that cute little island that now looks like a fraternity
house ashtray -- El Nino.

"George & Leo" -- El Nino.

(As I understand it, El Nino is not only a vicious wind, but also
a boiling-hot water current. I understand chefs at Carnival
Cruise Lines now pull their poached sea bass right from the
ocean. Sprinkle a little parsley, slap it on a doily and voila!)

The administration is so concerned about El Nino and other
weather-related hazards that President Clinton and Vice
President Gore -- who is particularly nervous that El Nino will
disrupt international telephone service and cost him millions in
overseas pledges -- invited 110 distinguished TV weathermen
to the White House the other day to get their thoughts on the
matter. After what was described as "a useful exchange of
information," the weathermen issued a statement congratulating
Mrs. Edna Glueck of Sheboygan, Wis., on her 100th birthday.

It's funny how things work out. When I was a kid I worried
that the Russians would drop a bomb, and we'd all die in a
huge explosion. Now I worry that we all won't die in a huge
explosion. Now I worry we'll waft to death.

Oh, wait a second. I've just talked to my friend Curt, who
actually knows something about El Nino, and he says I've got it
all wrong. He says we're totally cool with El Nino. He says El
Nino is good for everybody -- unless you're a salmon.
Apparently, the warm water has brought huge predatory fish
the size of battleships up the West Coast, and they're gulping
up salmon like M&Ms. That's too bad. But I guess I can
develop a taste for swordfish.

Curt says El Nino is great for America. It cuts down the
number of hurricanes in the East. It brings water to the desert
Southwest. It warms the climates in the North and expands
their growing seasons; in a couple of years Minnesota might be
the grapefruit capital of the world. "The mob couldn't sell you
protection this good," Curt says.

Then who's it bad for? I asked.

"It's bad for the people for whom life is always bad," Curt said
with a shrug. "Peruvians, Indonesians . . ."

Jeez, I hope the wind doesn't drop me there. 

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