Never fear

I love a good dystopia: Big Brother, barren women, bald Natalie Portmans and Brave New Worlds. Social restrictions stifle, and I quiver on the couch while clutching my Mexican blanket, fearful of doom and all its inevitabilities. My husband sits beside me, cheerfully eating Blue Bell ice cream.

"Don't you KNOW that the world is going to be one giant Oppression? Probably tomorrow? And that I won't be able to have CHILDREN?"

"You don't even like children."

"True, but the government is going to start watching us through our TELEVISION."

I'm not sure when I took on such a dismal mind-set, but working at a newspaper certainly heightens it, as does life in general, sometimes. For instance, even a lost, gentle golden retriever isn't enough to spur goodwill nowadays.

Who knows how long Macy meandered through our friends' neighborhood, gazing at neighbors with confused eyes and a wagging tail. And who knows how many of these good neighbors thought, "Oh, I have to get to my pedicure in 10 minutes, so Nancy down the road will surely help the dog, who looks like the epitome of tenderness." And so Nancy becomes Bill, who becomes Josie, who becomes Niles, who becomes the unforgiving Ford Explorer. Then a family mourns, and those who should be ashamed aren't.

One by one, neighbors become a bit more callous and scoot even closer to the center of their islands. Would I have helped Macy? I don't know, but I hope I would have.

Luckily for me, I live with someone whose life-giving optimism pushes through bleakness, someone who deserves to enjoy a big bowl of his favorite ice cream. He's the hero of the dystopia film, the human equivalent of this: