Posthuman Blues

Yesterday's spiel was decent therapy. I think one of the central reasons why Americans typically work longer hours than their counterparts in other developed countries is that most Americans simply don't know how to have a good time. They may think they do: a trip to DisneyWorld (really nothing but an extravagant walk-through infomercial) suffices as a vacation and getting drunk at a smoky, dimly lit bar constitutes "letting loose." Give me a break. I'm tired of having to circumvent the lame, mindless reality tunnels so abundantly emplaced by our so-called "culture."

I'm reminded of my comparison between people and computer operating systems. In the software world, contending systems include Windows, Macintosh and Linux. In "meatspace," contending systems include Talks About Cars All the Damned Time, Pseudointellectual Snob, Inane Gossip and Aren't My Kids Cute?, among others -- most of them distasteful. Sometimes you meet someone and you want to say "You know, I've met you before -- hundreds of times, actually. There's nothing even vaguely authentic about you. You're like an extra for some mercifully nonexistent film."

The Earth is teeming with the human equivalent of spam email. Read/met one, read/met them all. Click "delete." Move on. There's so much to see and do, so many landscapes to explore.

"Why do I spend valuable time with people who I'd much rather kick in the eye?"

--The Smiths, "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now"

"There are brighter sides to life and I should know because I've seen them (but not very often)."

--The Smiths, "Still Ill"

(Actually, I'm in a remarkably good mood as I write this. No, really.)