Category Archives: The Everyman Chronicles

Putting Out Fires with Almond Milk

Fire crews battle the Kenneth Fire in the West Hills section of Los Angeles, Thursday, Jan. 9, 2025. (AP Photo/Ethan Swope)

Almonds drink like addicts, even when they’re on fire.

Every year, California allocates approximately 80% of its water to agriculture, and almonds are some of the thirstiest crops. It takes a staggering 1.1 gallons of water to grow a single almond. Pistachios aren’t far behind, gulping nearly 3.6 gallons of water per ounce.

Wildfires aren’t just fueled by dry brush. They’re fed by water shortages. Every gallon funneled into almond orchards could instead hydrate thirsty soil, dampen fire-prone areas, or sustain dwindling reservoirs.

When Lake Oroville dropped to historic lows in 2021, some of the state’s largest nut farms continued receiving water. Almond orchards weren’t rationed, but people were.

California grows about 80% of the world’s almonds. This isn’t just a local problem; it’s global. Almond exports rake in billions annually, but at what cost? While farmers ship nuts overseas, rivers dry up, wells fail, and forests burn.

California’s Central Valley, where most of these nuts are grown, isn’t naturally suited for farming. It’s an arid region transformed into fertile land by engineering miracles and unrelenting irrigation. Yet here we are, diverting precious water to support a crop that doesn’t belong.

Consider this: almond production uses more water annually than all the residents of Los Angeles and San Francisco combined.

For pistachios, it’s close. Nuts, in total, consume about 10% of California’s agricultural water. That’s enough to supply 75 million people with drinking water for a year.

Not all farming is created equal. California also produces tomatoes, lettuce, and strawberries, but these use significantly less water.

Meanwhile, almonds contribute just 0.6% to the state’s GDP. It’s not about feeding people; it’s about profit.

The wildfires of 2023 consumed more than 450,000 acres, destroying homes and wildlife habitats. Rebuilding those communities will require water—lots of it. Yet California remains stuck in a paradox: prioritizing water-intensive crops over public safety and environmental health.

The wildfires of this year will look, well, nuts in comparison.

Nuts are a luxury, not a necessity. There’s no world where almonds take priority over drinking water, firefighting resources, or ecological preservation.

California’s water crisis demands a rethink of agriculture. We can’t pour 4,000 gallons of water into a pound of pistachios while fires rage and reservoirs run dry.

Water is life, not profit. It’s time to decide which we value more.

Open Letter to The National Weather Service


Dear National Weather Service,

As you may know, our city is on fire.

It smells like god left the flue closed, which, I guess, it did.

Anyway, with the fires burning to the north, west, and east of me, I thought I would pass along a couple suggestions for future alerts.

In fact, I received one just a few minutes ago about the Kenneth fire that thoroughly confused me and inspired this column.

Los Angeles County is one of the nation’s largest counties with 4,084 square miles, an area some 800 square miles larger than the combined area of the states of Delaware and Rhode Island. Los Angeles County includes the islands of San Clemente and Santa Catalina.

I have two suggestions for your weather alerts:

    1.    Explain the air quality warnings for pets.

What sort of animals are threatened? What exercises should, say, dogs and cats avoid? Are certain breeds more at risk? They’re the first things many of us grab.

Include the innocents in your alerts. They have no option for a mask

    2.    When naming fires, include the zip codes of affected areas.

If you tell me a fire’s name, that doesn’t tell me if it’s near me.

Who the fuck is Kenneth, and why does he wear the scarlet letter? Am I near Kenneth? Is it safe, Kenneth?

Your maps are great. Your predictions are spot on.

But we need even keeled heads-ups, not Chicken Little cackling. Especially when we must keep guard for more pressing alerts: The one in our lungs.

Let’s make those alerts crystal clear, and maybe give fang and claw a heads-up too. After all, they’re not the dumbasses starting the mess.

And zip codes so we know exactly where the trouble is.

Thanks for keeping us informed, even if we’re the ones causing the mess.

Sincerely,

Scott

Raging Against Machines


There’s a moment in the Netflix documentary ‘I’m Tim’, about Avicii, the Swedish DJ and producer, where you see him meticulously layering loops, samples, and beats, building what millions have danced to as electronic masterpieces.

It’s impressive, but as I watched, something unsettling crept in: where are the instruments? The lyrics? The human element?

I’m not naive. Technology has been a part of music for decades.

But as I sat there watching Avicii tweak yet another sample, I realized something: the heart of music has shifted from the garage to the laptop. Grunge died in the mid-’90s, and with it, a visceral kind of authenticity. No rock genre replaced it.

Sure, some will argue rock never really dies. Bands like Foo Fighters still fill arenas. Greta Van Fleet tries valiantly to resurrect Zeppelin. Even My Chemical Romance managed a triumphant return.

These aren’t flashes in the pan—they’re acts that remind us of what rock can be. Raw. Sweaty. Alive.

But these are exceptions, not the rule.

For most under 30, guitars are relics, and lyrics are just hooks to frame beats. Producers like Avicii—rest his soul—have become the new rock stars. They sell out festivals, collaborate with pop icons, and dominate global charts.

What they don’t do is play instruments or write melodies from scratch. What they create is built on layers of digital perfection: loops clipped and polished, beats algorithmically aligned, and voices autotuned into oblivion.

I don’t say this as a cranky purist longing for the days of Kurt Cobain’s jagged screams or Eddie Vedder’s gruff poetry. I say this because we’ve lost something essential in the transition.

Music used to be messy. Bands recorded in basements. Guitars wailed, often out of tune. Lyrics stumbled and faltered but said something.

Now it’s all about precision. Streamlining. Hitting the dopamine centers in three minutes or less.

Even rock bands that manage to break through today feel sanitized. Compare Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit” to, say, Imagine Dragons’ “Believer.” Both are hits. Both lean into angst. One, however, feels like an explosion; the other, like a PowerPoint presentation set to music.

Am I saying music is dead? Of course not. But rock as we knew it—the rebellion, the grit, the imperfections that made it human—is gone.

Avicii’s music moved millions, and his talent is undeniable. But as I watched that documentary, I couldn’t help feeling like I was watching the future devour the past. A future of loops, not lives. Machines, not bands.

The machines have taken over. And no one is fighting back.

That’s just not the rock and roll way.