The latest work of the Ethical Iconoclast was once a lottery billboard; now it lists the number of civilian deaths the lottery’s funded. The number is ticking up.
“Awful,” sniffs a man.
“Brilliant!” laugh teenagers.
“You’re the Ethical Iconoclast?” asks Surrey.
“Secular,” she replies, “utilitarian, nondestructive.”
“So it’s your duty and right to transform and subvert all things iconic, not just the sacred, as an means to the greater good.”
“Not just my duty! Everyone’s!”
“Isn’t it curious,” says Surrey, “that there’s a definite article before your name?”
“Oh dear,” says the Ethical Iconoclast, and has to set herself on fire.
Ginny wears hand-me-down gingham and these days, it’s almost enough to earn her credit with the retro kids, but she hasn’t explored enough to understand that. She expects the same taunts here as she got in elementary and junior high. She’s learned to shut them out so thoroughly that she doesn’t notice their absence.
If anyone notices Ginny at all it’s as a submarine, ducking through the halls, silent in a world of thunder; but inside she’s not frightened. She’s oblivious to everything but the warm beat of her faith. Inside she is praying, praying to Saint Britney Jean.
The wheel was invented quite a few times, actually, and a lot later than most people think. “Cavemen” would have had little use for it; it wasn’t until humanity began constructing with stone and timber that the transport of heavy materiel became a daily necessity.
To be strict, the very first inventor of the wheel resided in the cool foothills of what would someday be known as Haute-Savoie, in France. She climbed a precarious boulder, found it tumbling away beneath her, and became an example for so much future human interaction with technology: running, running, going backward all the way.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007