It's long past newsworthy that the kids don't know the true and natural origin of their Calcimilk beverage. And I hardly found myself in the righteous position of judging them about the lack of that knowledge. Until this morning I no longer thought about the source of the fishmeat I consume on an almost daily basis. Yet this morning's encounter with an actual fisherman (a profession my naievete thought long extinct) only painfully revealed the damage done to my worldliness by networking ever farther in an ever more closed cocoon of entertainment, tech and consuming. This particular fisherman (the word still feels like antique to me) was in the unlucky position of venturing too close to the Northscreen barrier when the, until now badly explained, explosion in the LDN.SPHERE occurred. His hands blistered, burned and now feel almost as if molded out of chunky dried-up clay. What the violent event might have done to those dwelling nearer to the blast I hardly dare imagine.