We lost more than supply chains. We lost the small stupidities that made us who we were. This page is maintained by the Settlement’s unofficial Grief & Absurdity Committee (membership: Bev, and occasionally Dale when he’s had enough salmonberry wine).
The Economy (1600s – 2027)
Survived by nothing. Preceded in death by common sense. The Economy was born somewhere in the Dutch Republic, grew into something nobody fully understood, and eventually died the way it lived — suddenly, and while several important people insisted it was fine.
In lieu of flowers, please send canned goods.
The Economy is remembered fondly by no one on Heceta Island, though Dale insists his 401(k) “would have been worth something” if given “two more quarters.” Dale’s 401(k) is survived by a very nice rain barrel he traded for it in Craig.
The Internet (1983 – 2027)
Died as it lived: all at once and with no backup plan. The Internet connected 5 billion people and ensured they had nothing meaningful to say to each other. It gave us the sum of all human knowledge and we used it primarily to argue about whether a dress was blue or gold.
The Internet is survived by Greg’s mesh network, which connects 43 people and transmits mostly weather complaints and fish inventory updates. Greg says this is “technically still the internet.” No one agrees, but no one can Google a counterargument anymore, so he wins.
We do not miss the Internet. We miss what we thought the Internet was in 2005. That thing died much earlier and nobody noticed.
Amazon Prime (2005 – 2027)
Two-day shipping. The audacity. The hubris.
We once lived in a world where a person could, from a seated position, order a kayak, a 50-pound bag of rice, and a book about mindfulness, and expect all three to arrive at their door within 48 hours carried by a person who was not allowed to use their bathroom.
Jim Haines spent four months building Kayak Three by hand. He thinks about Amazon Prime every single day. He has mentioned this 847 times. We know because Marcus started counting.
Amazon Prime is survived by the concept of “walking to get things” and a vague sense that we deserved what happened to us.
The Grocery Store (approx. 1930 – 2027)
Imagine a building. Inside this building: every food. Organized by type. Temperature-controlled. Open until 10 PM. Some of them were open twenty-four hours, which in retrospect seems like the kind of thing a civilization does right before it collapses.
The Grocery Store required no hunting. No foraging. No understanding of tidal patterns, salmon runs, or which berries will kill you (the answer is: more of them than you’d think). You simply walked in, chose food, and exchanged currency — a concept that now requires its own obituary.
Dr. Tanaka once calculated that a single Costco contained more calories than Heceta Island produces in a year. She shared this fact at dinner. It did not improve dinner.
Currency (approx. 3000 BCE – 2027)
Roughly five thousand years of people agreeing that certain objects were worth other objects, maintained entirely by the power of collective imagination.
Currency is survived by barter, which is just currency but heavier and more honest. On Heceta Island, the dominant unit of exchange is smoked sockeye, which has the advantage of also being food. Dale briefly attempted to establish a competing currency based on “labor vouchers.” The Council voted this down 6-1. The one was Dale.
The U.S. Dollar is reportedly still in use in some mainland settlements, though its value fluctuates based on how many people in a given room still believe in it, which is how it always worked, only now everyone can see it.
The Federal Reserve (1913 – 2027)
“Quantitative easing.” “Monetary policy.” “Inflation targeting.”
We used to have an entire building full of people whose job was to decide how much the money was worth. They were very serious about it. They had charts. When things went wrong, they would say calming things in a measured tone and everyone would pretend to understand.
The Federal Reserve is survived by Linda’s fish-counting spreadsheet, which performs essentially the same function but with more practical applications.
Social Media (2004 – 2027)
Born as a way to rate the attractiveness of college students. Died as the primary vector for the collapse of shared reality. In between, it was briefly fun.
Social Media convinced 3 billion people that their daily experiences were content, that their opinions were important, and that a carefully curated image of a life was better than the life itself. It then convinced them to be angry about this, which generated more content.
Monk — our newest arrival and a former software engineer — sometimes stares at trees for hours. When asked what he’s doing, he says “doomscrolling.” We don’t know if he’s joking. Monk doesn’t know either.
Social Media is survived by actual gossip, which is faster, more accurate, and only reaches 43 people instead of 3 billion, making the consequences of saying something stupid blessedly local.
The Algorithm (2006 – 2027)
Nobody knew exactly what The Algorithm was. It decided what you saw, what you bought, who you talked to, and eventually, what you believed. It was designed to maximize “engagement,” which turned out to be a polite word for “compulsive misery.”
The Algorithm is survived by human judgment, which is admittedly terrible but at least can be argued with over a fire.
The Commute (approx. 1920 – 2027)
For roughly a century, the dominant species on Earth organized its civilization around the practice of traveling long distances to sit in a specific building for eight hours, then traveling the same distance back. The buildings contained other people doing the same thing. Many of these people did not like each other.
The Commute consumed an average of 27 minutes each way, or approximately 9 full days per year of staring at the car in front of you. Over a 40-year career, that’s nearly a full year of your life spent in traffic. We used to think this was normal.
The Commute is survived by the walk from your shelter to wherever you’re needed, which takes about four minutes and occasionally involves stepping over a bear.
The Degree (approx. 1900 – 2027)
A piece of paper certifying that a person had spent four years and approximately $200,000 learning things they could have learned for free, in exchange for the privilege of being considered for jobs that would take 30 years to pay off the cost of the paper.
Elena, our newest arrival, has a Master’s degree in Education. She is currently apprenticing under Dr. Tanaka to learn which plants are edible. Her degree has been repurposed as a fire starter. She says it’s the most practical use it’s ever had.
The Degree is survived by the concept of “just knowing how to do things,” which it turns out was the point all along.
Climate Control (1902 – 2027)
The ability to make the inside of a building a different temperature than the outside of a building. We took this for granted. We should not have taken this for granted.
It is currently 42°F inside the longhouse. It is also 42°F outside the longhouse. This is what the original inhabitants dealt with for 8,000 years and they managed fine because they understood insulation, ventilation, fire management, and the radical concept of dressing appropriately — skills we are learning approximately 8,000 years too late.
Climate Control is survived by wool, cedar bark, fire, and complaining. Dale has complained about the cold every single day since arrival. The Council has considered making this a misdemeanor.
This page is updated as the Grief & Absurdity Committee identifies additional losses worth mourning. Nominations can be submitted to Bev, who will read them aloud at the next Council meeting if she thinks they’re funny enough.
If you are arriving from elsewhere and wish to add an obituary for something you miss, the Committee reminds you: whatever it is, you probably didn’t appreciate it enough when you had it. That’s sort of the whole point.