Posthuman Blues

Let's face it: If you write about lofty, exciting (but dauntingly strange) ideas, you're going to need straw men. Why? To keep your readers alert to the fact that you know of what you speak, obviously. But more importantly, to keep your own ego afloat. It's a weird universe out there; even on the best of days, answers are elusive. Unless you dose yourself with the illusion of intellectual omnipotence, things get out of hand . . . but of course you know this already.

Which is why I come to you with a offer you can't refuse. Make no mistake: You're going to need it. Because when you write about seemingly remote and inaccessible subjects, there are always a few readers who don't buy it. And they take out their consternation by insinuating that your grip on reality has in some way slackened (when you know perfectly well that it hasn't).

Naturally, you can only take so much of this. After all, you know you're right. You know your paradigm will prevail. You need to strike back, let off some steam, give yourself a much-needed -- if utterly undeserved -- chance to indulge in some therapeutic gloating and smug laughter. Yes, it's short-lived and never really amounts to anything -- but if it wins you some brittle camaraderie it's more than served its designated purpose.

Anyway, I sense your impatience. You want the goods, and I'm happy to assist. Here's what you're after: UFOs.

You're probably wondering what UFOs have to do with anything. How can they can help you in your quest to seem all-knowing and ever-prescient?

Here's how it works: Most people don't know a damned thing about UFOs. They've never heard of the Condon Report, let alone taken the time to familiarize themselves with the likes of Jacques Vallee and J. Allen Hynek. Their awareness of the UFO phenomenon is limited to pop culture.

For example, they've likely seen "The X-Files." They may even qualify as "enthusiasts," having read a few sensational titles about altruistic visitors from the Pleiades or the diabolical threat posed by the "Grays," who hail from a dying world and need our DNA to survive. And no doubt they've thrilled to one or two Hollywood treatments of the UFO theme, cementing their illusory sense of expertise. Broadly speaking, it's fair to say that their comprehension of the subject is limited to knee-jerk references to government cover-ups, crashed saucers and human-ET treaties deep below the unassuming surface of Area 51.

If this sounds rather pathetic, don't let it get you down -- because you need these people.

Of course, that's not to infer that everyone's knowledge of the subject is confined to the fringe. Many scientists, including NASA's Paul Hill and esteemed theoretical physicist Bernard Haisch, have expressed a keen interest in the phenomenon, availed themselves of the data compiled by trained observers, and arrived at provocative conclusions.

Granted, you don't care what scientists and researchers have to say. That's fine. Because, for the most part, neither does anyone else. Your job isn't to relate factual information or even to concede that there's a mystery. Quite the opposite: For you, UFOs are something to be laughed at -- not because the core phenomenon is in any way laughable, but because attempting to grasp the subject's complexity is so daunting and unfashionable that the notion of taking any of it seriously -- even as a mental exercise -- virtually guarantees that you can rely on others' ignorance.

The fragile associations that accompany the very mention of unidentified flying objects ensure an easy idealogical victory at little or no personal expense. All it takes is the willingness to condescend. And, just maybe, a small piece of your self-respect -- but certainly that's a small price to pay when there are arguments to be won.