Census: (n) an official count or survey of a population
We want to find out how many people there are so we have some idea on how we should divide up the horrific amount of expense that’s involved in the process of us being people.
It’s a fussy way of reminding small towns that they’re shrinking and becoming less important.
The government can also determine where to send its money, and where the census tells them there aren’t as many voters, so no need to be nice.
It begins at an early age, when you plan a party at your house. The following Monday morning, after the party, the normal question is, how many people showed up?
Did you do a head count? Was the party successful because people had nothing else to do so they came to it?
No one asks if the chip dip turned out tasty. What flavors of pizza did you select? Was the discussion lively?
No. It all has to do with numbers.
We are a society obsessed with proving the value of our concept by collecting statistics on how many people are aware that we had a concept in the first place. We fear obscurity.
Yet no one enters the tomb with a companion–no census in the grave.