And the odds that somewhere there is at least one planet inhabited with some version of advanced humans is very high indeed, for there is no rational reason to believe we are the first of what will be thousands to come. It's more likely we are somewhere in the middle of the process.
[Note: Yes, I know all of the individual ideas in this post are borrowed from places such as the old TV show Firefly, Boltzmann's Brains, my own book God's Debris, and more. But you probably haven't seen them all together. I hope.]
Sometimes you hear a guy with a leader voice in a non-leader job and it immediately seems out of place. I wonder if the voice quality makes leadership more feasible or if the body chemistry that promotes leadership (say testosterone levels for the sake of argument) create an excellent voice as a side benefit.
There are plenty of leaders with sketchy voices, of course. Bill Gates comes to mind, as does the first President Bush. Obviously there's more than one way to get to the top. But I wonder if we will ever see a medical procedure to turn normal voices into leadership voices for the purpose of furthering a career.
My guess is yes.
Then check out the comic I drew way back on 3/13/95.
I never repeat intentionally, but I often get a nagging feeling that something looks vaguely familiar. That's probably because the human mind is tuned to recognize patterns, and almost everything you see reminds you of something you already saw.
I suppose I'm most prone to repeating a line spoken by Dogbert because his voice is the one that plays in my mind all day. He says the things I am thinking but could never say in polite company. When someone tells me they got a "new position" at work, what I say aloud is "Congratulations!" But what I think in the deepest Dogbert part of my brain is "Grabbing your ankles?"
Okay, that's three times I've used that same joke. Ithink it's out of my system now.
I welcome our jellyfish overlords. We humans like to think we're the pinnacle of evolution but the evidence doesn't support that theory. Let's see how we compare to jellyfish.
Starting with the obvious, when we humans become old we pay big money to inject rat poison in our foreheads so we won't look like this:
When Jellyfish get old they just hump their way back to childhood and start over. Seriously, who has the better system?
When humans want to find a mate they use online dating services and interview many strangers, at least half of whom have club feet and criminal records.
Jellyfish have the advantage of looking exactly alike. That means every jellyfish is aroused by every other jellyfish. When they want to mate they just grab the nearest jellyfish that isn't their own reflection and start going to town. Advantage: jellyfish.
Last night I watched the Jacksonville auditions for American Idol for the second time in two nights because the kids hadn't seen it the first time. Jellyfish spent last night making love and getting younger. Advantage: Jellyfish.
Okay, now it's your turn. Tell me what you have been doing recently and compare that to what jellyfish were doing at the same time. See who wins.
Other cats came and went as my living situation changed. Sarah didn't care for any of them. She loved me intensely, and in her view no cat or human could compete. In time she became my office cat, to better avoid all creatures that were not me.
Every day since 1990 she competed with my work. When I picked up a pen, or lately a stylus, she would come running, yelling in cat language that I should pick her up and give her my full attention. She was my forced work break, and there were many. She was my only company for most of my day. Cartooning is a lonely art, but I was never alone.
Recently her tiny body started to shut down. But it never stopped her enthusiasm in seeing me. She dragged her arthritic body over to me every time I entered the room, even if I had only been gone for a second. She never failed to purr. I loved her intensely.
In the past month she had been letting me know the end was approaching. Maybe it was the way she moved or just some sort of animal ESP. I just knew. And so I spent as much time as I could with her, extra petting, in just the ways she trained me. Recent visits to the vet confirmed that there was no cure for old. We tried to enjoy the time we had.
Yesterday all of her systems reached their limits. The vet explained the options to my wife and me. I asked the vet what she would do in this situation if it were her cat. She wisely refused to say. I asked my wife. She wisely refused to say. This was my decision, and Sarah's. That is how it had to be. I looked at Sarah and asked her if she was ready. Her eyes told me she was, but the pain of uncertainty was unbearable.
Sarah had a history with the vet. Her chart had a big warning: She's a biter, and she has all of her claws. No one touched this cat safely but me. She was a vet's nightmare. And so the vet explained how this would come down. If Sarah allowed her leg to be shaved, and the injection to go in, without fighting, this would be the best alternative. Otherwise they would have to use some sort of cat gas chamber. That option seemed unthinkable. But it would be worse to try one method, fail, and go to the second. Again, it was my decision. And I was in no frame of mind to make decisions.
I opted for the injection, and hoped for the best. Sarah still had some fight left in her, as we learned minutes ago while the vet checked her vitals. But somehow she knew this was different. She knew it was time. After 19 years of fighting veterinarians, she let the vet shave her leg without the least resistance. And in so doing, she told me I made the right decision. I looked in her eyes as the life drained out of them. I was devastated.
But today I am happy, even more than usual. I think about how much Sarah enriched my life and I am grateful. I think about how much I learned from my relationship with her, and even from her passing, and I am thankful for it all. Today everyone in my life seems more precious. I'll always carry Sarah with me, and I know I am better for it.