Posthuman Blues

I got a new chair for my "office"/living room today. It's big and black and intimidates my cats, who are used to napping on my old, less-impressive chair (which I've relegated to the bedroom for their exclusive use). I was watching Ebe, my tabby, warily explore the chair's perimeter and was reminded of the protohumans in the first part of "2001," who tentatively circle the alien Monolith until one of them musters the courage to actually touch it. Cue "Thus Spake Zarathrusta."

I'm reading Paul Von Ward's "Gods, Genes, and Consciousness." I have the feeling it's going to be a fairly excruciating experience, intellectually, but at least Ward is a good writer. And of course it helps that I can digest "fringe" lit without falling victim to the desire to unconditionally believe (or categorically refute) every bizarre meme lobbed my way.

Yesterday I finished Greg Bishop's "Project Beta," an up-close look at the role of disinformation in the UFO community: fascinating subject; awkward execution. Even so, I recommend it. (For my review, click here.)