It always amazes me that we live in houses composed primarily of dead plants and rocks.
Think of Gilligan's Island. "Like Robinson Crusoe, as primitive as can be." The friendly castaways all lived in grass huts. We live in wood huts. Other than the electrical and plumbing systems, our houses are not much different than those from hundreds of years ago.
I used to think that my ideal house would be a large ellipsoidal concrete shell buried underground. It would be cool in the summer and warm in the winter. Since the shell would be contiguous, I wouldn't get any mice or insects in the house. True, it wouldn't have much of a view, but on the other hand, it wouldn't obscure much of the view from the outside. I could have a picnic on the ground above my roof, if I wanted some outdoors time, which I rarely do.
I'd settle for a steel framed house, one that was more like an office building than a traditional home. A house where objects don't fall off of shelves when someone heavy crosses a room. A house that laughs at hurricanes and tornados. A house that blunts termites' teeth.
Well, I'm damn unlikely to get a house like that, at least in this lifetime. But it's nice to dream of a home constructed of steel and concrete instead of wood. Maybe such houses will become commonplace in the future, and our descendants will look back on us as we look back on primitive tribes that live in mud or grass huts. Or maybe they'll all be downloaded consciousnesses living in a computer's memory, and will look at us as primitive meat puppets. But that's a whole other rant.
You can respond to my ranting here.
People who live in glass houses shouldn't rant.