RSS Feed

Drink like a Scientist

Drinking cultures are based on two principles: that the end goal is to get drunk, and that this first principle is to be concealed as much as possible through ritual and arbitrary rules.  There are certain drinks for certain occasions; there are classy drinks, trashy drinks, chick drinks, man’s drinks, gay drinks, celebratory drinks, drinks you have with dinner, drinks you have at a bar, fat drinks, skinny drinks, drinks that climb on rocks, etc.  There are even games designed to facilitate getting drunk without having to actually talk to anyone.  The only real difference in these drinks is alcohol content, and they are all really designed to get you to the same state of nirvana: being drunk.  














Left: A flask for normal people
Right: A flask for scientists!

Here is my proposal for an experiment.  We find a country where the game of beer pong is completely unknown, probably somewhere in Africa, the Middle East, or East Asia.  The best place would probably be somewhere in rural Sudan, seeing as there are bound to be very isolated areas, and alcohol is not exactly halal.

In this experiment, you take four college-age males from the region in question and teach them to play beer pong.  But, alcohol is not used, nor is it even mentioned.  You show them how to play the game, sans the beer.  I can guarantee they would play one, maybe two games, and then be done with it.  And you can be pretty sure that the next weekend, when they're looking for something to do, they won't say "hey, let's play that game that those Americans showed us where you throw the ball into those empty cups."

Because when you take alcohol out of the equation, beer pong is pretty damn boring.  You're essentially giving yourself a reason to consume room temperature Natty Light and feel good about yourself while doing it.  People talk about it as though it were a sport, with the great comebacks they made or their astounding records.  But the fact is that the only reason it has any value is because it's getting you drunk.

The Artistically Defining Moment of Self-Doubt

If there was some sort of mojo I had as a writer, I feel I may have lost it.  The fact that I had to use "mojo" in that sentence, in fact, that whole first sentence and probably this one too, is evidence that my writing is much less like that found in the New Yorker and much more like that found in USA Today.  And I don't even put any visually enticing graphics up here, so this is basically as entertaining as a middle school class newspaper without the over-reliance on a thesaurus.

This is the kind of visually enticing graphic that separates The Ozone Shack from USA Today

Let's take a look at what I have done in the past few months:
  1. Make the astute observation that the Eagles are kind of like a turkey sandwich with avocado
  2. Rambled on about the future and how it will be exactly like every dystopian sci-fi movie ever
  3. Produced some incoherent rambling about the philosophy of running
  4. Talked about LOST for two posts more than was necessary
  5. Changed the name of the site, for some reason
  6. Acquired exactly one (1) more follower

Basically, as much as I hate to admit it, this has fallen into the category of "every crappy blog by some asshole on the internet that barely has a readership greater than one."  I would like to fix this, but, as you can probably tell, I am not very good at doing things, and especially not good at doing things well.  (It's true, I just sort of lie here in a pile of my own filth thinking "if I could move properly, then maybe my bedsores wouldn't be so infected right now.")  Incidentally, I'm not sure if I closed that parentheses right.  I have a quote and a parentheses and it's the end of a sentence, but it looks like some sort of weird smiley that looks like a combination of the face paint of Paul Stanley and Peter Criss from KISS, and whoever it is, they are very happy.  Maybe I haven't been learning what's important.  But I have learned that you should never put a gun in a story unless it's going to go off, as well as its corollary: never put a banana in a story unless someone is going to slip on the peel.

Maybe I'm like Dylan Thomas and I can only write well when I'm in a specific place.  Maybe more like Bob Dylan, who throws a lot of references together that kind of make sense grammatically and calls it profound.  Or maybe the part of my brain that writes well got swallowed up by some other important part of my brain like the responsibility lobe.  If said lobe is the culprit, however, it has yet to come online.  To compensate, I have been keeping my cell phone extra close to my crotch and standing in front of the microwave whenever possible in order to reduce my sperm count, because I am in no state to be siring any illegitimate children right now.  However, this is much more likely to cause a horrible mutant strain of bacteria or virus (or brain parasite!) which our immune systems will be horribly incapable of handling..  Even my best ideas suck.

I sort of have this desire to puke right now, and it's sort of a combination of despair, confusion, and a feeling of being useless.  But there's nothing I can do other than puke and keep going.  And this is not some sort of lame metaphor.  I really feel like I'm going to puke.  Like, despair puke.  I don't know if that's a term, but I want to puke out of despair.  I can't take Dramamine or Pepto-Bismol or ginger ale, I think I may have to let this thing run its course or somehow abandon this irrational lack of hope.  Jesus, I should at least turn the lights on.

Ladies, keep in mind however, that as much as I seem to talk about unpleasant physical maladies, I would also love to talk about your day.  Because I care.  I really do.

My content sucks, my readers are few, and my haircut makes me look like Ellen DeGeneres.  I can do two things well.  The first is make playlists and subsequently turn them into CDs which are like mix tapes used to be but pointless now because you can just skip between tracks and you don't even get the meaning, do you, you children of the robotocracy!  The second thing I'm good at is not getting lost, but that's not useful anymore either because iBorgs come equipped with GPS systems.  Seriously though, I participated in a study for the geography department looking at how people learn new spatial environments.  Apparently my numbers were off the charts.

So, if I wanted to make a blog that was say, useful, I could give directions to places and suggest ideas for mix tapes.  The first component would be just silly, since it's basically like a very limited version of MapQuest.  (MapQuest, this advertising space is yours for the taking.)  The second component would be equally silly, because let's face it, I like jazz.  I also like Zimbabwean Chimurenga music and Tuvan throat singing.  And Coheed.  Let's not forget the discrepancy between how I feel about Coheed and how most people feel about Coheed.

So, how am I going to get this waste of a domain name off the ground?  Edit: There were some more words in this paragraph, but google deemed them to be a violation of their policies that allow complete hegemony over the internet.  Said words have now been removed.  Does this make you happy, Google? You're already an evil totalitarian regime from the future, can't you at least let me try to be not broke?

I like being good at things, but I'm usually not good at anything.  For every time I hear "wow Nate, that was good," or "good job," I hear something along the lines of "what the hell were you thinking!" "here, let me do it, I can do a way better job," or "that's the worst idea since East Berlin" at least ten times.  I'll be honest though, these late-night, self deprecating posts are probably the most entertaining material I produce, simply because I think "hey, no one is going to read this so I can spend whole paragraphs exaggerating my uselessness and talking about how I miss my dead car that was actually a spaceship."

Come to think of it, I may not be entirely useless or boring.  I detected two gas leaks within a half hour of each other, passed out in an orchard, and got a ride from a tweaked out hippie and his mom.  This is a guy I met on a bus who runs a family marijuana farm and believes that aliens prevented the Cuban Missile Crisis from escalating any farther than it did.  He also gave me his home phone number.  I plan on visiting him on a road trip I am taking this summer.  All this while wearing an extremely classy hat.

Don't take rides from strangers.  Unless the strangers are these people.  These people are awesome!

I also got un-banned for life at a campus eating establishment, which is nice, and don't get a strange burning sensation in my right lung when I try to breathe.  I pulled off a fast of almost 96 hours and felt great the whole time, and topped it off with a pair of revelations during hour 75.  Now all I have to do is find out who shot JFK and I'll be golden.

And despite the optimistic turn this post is taking, I'll have to nip it in the bud here, because this is starting to sound like a lame personal blog, which it is most certainly not.  Welcome to the post-postmodern era, where a postmodern art form (ok, calling the blog an art form is a Gumby-esque stretch) is aware that it is art (again, using the term "art" loosely here).  And as of that last pointless parenthetical clause, the little man is very sad about the fact that he only has one eye.  Stupid internet.

Until next time, Earth.

Edit:  I puked. See if you can guess the color!

One for the Road



(If I ever make a title that lame again, please shoot me.)

How would I fare during the end of civilization?  This is a question I ask myself more often than is healthy, but after reading Cormac McCarthy's The Road for the third time, I found myself considering the question again.  I certainly don’t have the know-how that the man in The Road does.  I don’t know how to salvage usable things from wrecked automobiles or the best material to make foot wrappings out of.  My first reaction to a nuclear explosion most definitely wouldn’t be to fill up the bathtub for drinking water.  My first reaction would probably be more along the lines of “holy shit what are we going to do!!!”  I don’t even know the best way to kill myself with a flake of obsidian, or if I would even know where to get some obsidian in the first place.  I own no firearms and have no arsenal of canned food.  I don’t have much of a plan for holding out in a disaster or an invasion other than finding a place where I can stockpile staples and wait it out until, well I don’t really know, I doubt I would last more than six months.  I’m pretty useless in my manual skills and my physical abilities and my ability to fix things.  My stomach is so weak from growing up on purified water and antibiotic-fed meat that I would probably die of dysentery in the first month.  We’re overdue for a meteor or a plague. (Fortunately, nuclear war seems to be on the back burner at the moment.)  Which brings me to the question: why am I going to school, spending all my time studying and running?  I should probably be digging my bunker, stocking it with canned everything and acquiring a healthy arsenal of rifles, shotguns, and possibly even a flamethrower.

I know that if I were alive in the twilight of humanity, I would try to stick around as long as possible, even if there was no world to stay alive for.  And it would be awesome bragging rights to say that you were the last human alive, if only you had someone to brag to.

*          *          * 

The Road somehow pulled off an impressive feat: being popular, read and discussed in numerous circles, and also being a well written and significant work of literature.  It came out during my junior year of high school, and it felt like most of my friends read it.  I saw people reading it who I didn’t even think could read at all.  I remember a run I went on with my track team that turned into a sort of an impromptu book club, because almost every one of us had read The Road.  When certain people ventured forth some insight, my first reaction was to turn to them, stare in disbelief, and say “you, read a book?”  Looking back on it, I’m surprised I didn’t get punched in the face.

It’s certainly not a feel-good book, unlike most of the books that are popular these days.  It doesn’t tell us that we can control the universe with our minds, it isn’t an uplifting tale of overcoming one’s addiction problems, it isn’t a window into a fantastical world where a humble male protagonist with a heart of gold takes on evil, gets to fly around on a broom and go to high school in a castle, and hooks up with his best friend’s hot redhead sister.  But it’s not what we want to hear, it’s what we need to hear.  The Road was a miracle in a way, because it got people thinking – about mortality, about morality, about what they value.  Instead of an irrationally positive message or an overtly cynical outlook, The Road got people thinking about the hard truths of reality and what it means to persevere even though, yes, life does suck sometimes and you may have to scavenge for whatever nonperishable calories you can find in an earth whose biosphere has been completely destroyed while at the same time preserve your morals and faith in humanity despite the fact that what remains of humanity is actively trying to eat you.  And it doesn’t even matter what it got people thinking about, simply the fact that people were reading and thinking, and actively discussing those things is in and of itself something we need more of.  So thank you, Mr. McCarthy, for giving all of us a great common experience.  In this age, they are as few and far between as undiscovered canned goods on the road.

LOST Without It

For the last six years, I knew that when the last episode of LOST ended, there would still be a question on my mind.  I spent probably too much time than was healthy wondering what that question would be.  But it wasn't "what the hell just happened?" or "so wait, they pulled the purgatory card on us?" or even "that was the last shot we've been anticipating all these years?"  My question was "what am I going to do with my life now?"  I have spent a long time caring about LOST, more than I would like to admit, and now that it has run its course I am both relieved and at a loss.  And I am sure as hell not going to start watching American Idol to fill the void it has left in my life.  I may be on a slippery slope of watching reruns of The X-Files, so I suppose this could be classified as a "rebound phase."  I'm not sure if this is entirely healthy or not.

I have been inserting famous one-liners from the show into daily conversation.  I have been drawing parallels between events in my life and specific episodes of the show.  I even listened to Mama Cass' "Make Your Own Kind of Music."  This is how Charlie must have felt in the episode where Locke got him to kick his heroin addiction.  Only I'm not psychologically or physiologically dependent on it, and finding a crashed prop-plane transporting hollow statues of the Virgin Mary filled with LOST episodes wouldn't solve my problems.  Because I've said it before and I'll say it again: things have to be end in order to be meaningful.

I was both disappointed with the off-island ending and satisfied with the on-island ending.  The very fact that Hurley, who was originally conceived as a comic relief character, became the replacement Jacob.  You realize that there were really no "good guys" in the show except for the Losties, and even then Hurley, Desmond, and Kate were probably the only ones who was good all of the time.  Jacob, even though he was supposed to be the protector of the gay light/life force of the universe, was kind of a dick and made a lot of people die.  (And as we learned the hard way in season 5, dead is dead.)

We also learned that time travel is not as useful as you may think, that you should never give up even if you're paraplegic, that whatever happened happened, that the universe has a way of course-correcting itself, that polar bears can travel through time, people can talk to ghosts, that punching someone in the face is always the best solution, that childbirth is incredibly frequent and usually takes only a few minutes, that sometimes people have secret other families, that heroin comes in universal, unmarked packaging, that you can be fired as a monk, that it's not Penny's boat, and that if we can't live together, then we're gonna die alone.  And we will never see the numbers 4, 8, 15, 16, 23, and 42 the same way ever again.

There is definitely potential for a spin-off with Hurley n' Ben, and their whacky adventures of protecting the extremely gay light while at the same time not being paranoid assholes.  And since Hurley can see dead people, deceased characters from the show can make cameo appearances.  Rose and Bernard can also be recurring characters.  Another good spin-off would be the antics of Richard Alpert as he tries to reintegrate into society after being absent since the 1800's, while at the same time coming to grips with mortality and with the fact that he is once again aging.  Lapidus can open a Jimmy Buffet bar with Sawyer as a hard-drinking, wise-cracking waiter, Miles can do his own ghostbusting show, Claire and Kate can have an awkward quasi-family sitcom where everyone thinks that they're lesbians but they're really not, and once Hurley gets Desmond off the island, he can sail around on his boat solving crime around the world.  ABC execs, are you listening?  I smell multiple cash cows here.

And here's this post's twist ending: I have actually been dead since the second installment of Edible/Audible.  How did I write this post?  It's all part of the mystery.

WE HAVE TO GO BACK! Gearing Up for the LOST Series Finale

“You all, everybody
You all, everybody
Acting like you're stupid people
Wearing expensive clothes
You all, everybody
You all, everybody
You all, everybody
”
-Driveshaft, “You All Everybody”

If you are not up to date with LOST, this may contain spoilers.

This evening, all questions will be answered… hopefully.  If not, I may have to walk into ABC studios with C4 strapped to my chest, because I will be a very angry man.

After six seasons of jumping through space, time, and even genre, LOST will finally be coming to an end.  I don’t really know how to feel about this.  Because on one hand, I’m excited for the series finale and the anticipated premeditated last short, but I also know that I’ll be sad for it to end.  As much as I hate to admit it, watching LOST and obsessing over theories and explanations has been a part of my life for a long time.

And to haters (of both the show and its fandom) out there I say this: can we please stop using the polar bear as a point of contention?  That got explained at like, the beginning of the third season! 

I will admit though, LOST may be the first show to jump the shark in its pilot episode, which is actually more liberating than anything else.  Very early on, the writers had the option of making it more than a show about just a bunch of castaways who have to learn to deal with each other and their own personal problems in order to survive.

With every season the ridiculousness grew exponentially.  It started with a plane crashed on an island to a plane crashed on a seemingly unlocatable island with a random polar bear, monster, a Sawyer with a very punchable face, and insane French woman; to an island with a hatch containing God-knows-what; to an island with hostile occupants who kidnap the kid and a hatch filled with an awesome Scotsman and a button you have to push every 108 minutes in order to save the world; to an island with bizarre research stations and a group of people that used to be cool because you thought they lived in huts and walked around barefoot but instead became slightly less cool because they live in suburban-esque houses and dressed like normal people, complete with shoes; to an island that was being invaded by mercenaries, hired by someone who hoped to exploit its mystical properties for… whatever and could also MOVE THROUGH SPACE; to an island that could OH SHIT ALSO MOVE THROUGH TIME; to the staging ground of a battle between good and evil; to some sort of vessel containing THE LIFE FORCE OF THE WHOLE FRIGGIN WORLD! WITH A PARALELL UNIVERSE THROWN IN NEXT TO IT!  And I thought it was just a show about some unfortunate people who happened to be in a plane crash.  This is the show that went from one-gun-one-bullet to a nuclear warhead, both literally and figuratively.

And it has traveled through genres.  A TV drama with an interesting narrative twist, action, science fiction, and eventually, has created its own genre.  It’s not really about the story, even though the story is epic and multifaceted and ambitious (perhaps overly so) in its scope.  It’s about how the story is told, and it’s about becoming attached to the characters.  It’s the feeling of being stoked you get when Desmond shows up on the plane, or the loss you feel when Charlie dies, or the oh-shit-did-that-really-just-happen feeling you get when Michael shoots Libby and Ana Lucia and then shoots himself in the arm.

I used to think that it was about the overarching story, the fact that everyone is significant in some way to the story, and I am still hoping that there is some moment in the finale where everything gets tied together and character is revealed to have had some significance in the overarching mega-conflict between (what is supposedly) good and evil.  I’ve how finally realized that yes, there is a main story, but every character’s individual story doesn’t have to fit in perfectly.  With the exception of Niki and Paulo, who were useless and wasted an episode which was only redeemed by the fact that they died in it, most of the characters contributed something.  And even if it wasn’t advancing the main plot to some sort of final conclusion we’re all hoping for, their stories were entertaining.  Even though I was frustrated so often by the fact that Sun and Jin were working out conflicts within their marriage instead of trying to figure out the function of the hatch, I’ve come to realize that it all was part of the experience, and although certain episodes didn’t have a whole lot to do with the story, they did tell a story, and that’s enough for me.

LOST has been a part of my life for a long time now, and I’m looking forward to the finale with excitement and also some weariness.  But ultimately, it’s one of those things where I want it to be over so I don’t have to care anymore.  And I would love to go personal emo blogger on your ass and tell you how every lost episode relates to a moment in my life, but I won’t.  I will say though that the question asked at the end of season 5.  Everyone has issues in their lives, and the working out of those issues usually becomes more meaningful than the issues themselves.  Would you make everything that has happened not happened to create a more favorable outcome?

I sure as hell wouldn’t.

What is an Ozone Shack? (A Letter to Earth)

"Bend the metal, my glory box has failed
We're rocking in our reclining chairs
Drive away that car that brought us all this harm
Those are the pieces of my story line


I'm all alone so far up here
And my oxygen's all gone"
-At the Drive-In, "Hourglass"


The universe is filled with all kinds of angry angry particles that can shred you to pieces (on a molecular level) if you're not careful.  It's a crazy scary world and we need a place to take refuge.  That's what an ozone shack is for.  And the Earth is our own shack of ozone in this crazy universe.


Spaceship Earth's windows were so tinted I doubt it was legal.  But I never got pulled over. (I would say that this was because I'm not a minority, but I realized: how could anyone tell?)  It may seem like the only benefit to having tinted windows in the front is that you can pick your nose in traffic and sell drugs out of the front seat of your car.  But really, it makes you feel like you have your own bubble of space, which is all anyone can really ask for.


Now all that's left is the shipboard AI, detached from its body and emanating confused thoughts on random frequencies to anyone who will make the effort to pick them up.  I feel that there should be a more dignified way to let whatever is left of Spaceship Earth keep existing, but it's doing what it was meant for, albeit its effectiveness is limited.  Right now it's sitting in someone's room, trying to create another Ozone Shack, a place where everything makes sense and where you're safe to exist as you are.


I had originally titled this project "The Continuing Story of Spaceship Earth," as a tribute to my dead sentient car, crazy as it sounds.  This still is that story, but I can't kid myself any longer.  Spaceship Earth has ceased to exist in whatever capacity it had when I discovered it.  It is less physically and more conceptually, but it can no longer function as a finite area of space where things made sense.  It do not doubt that its brain will keep working for me and for everyone else, but Spaceship Earth as I knew it doesn't really exist any more, and I can't kid myself about that anymore.


Going into the world requires that you step out of your comfort zone, that you step outside of the Ozone Shack.  I will be the first to tell you that I have no idea what I'm doing most of or all of the time, depending on how I feel on the day.  Before I do anything I have already failed, because I have seen myself failing, and I need to fix that.  It will not be a quick fix because I must work continuously at this, but I need to visualize myself doing things exactly right and being in control as I am in the moment.  I need to visualize the ideal version of myself and I can become that ideal version.


So let me say this, Spaceship Earth.  You helped me help myself get out of a very bad place, a silly place, an awkward place, a place where nothing made sense.  I'm still not exactly sure how you worked the way you did, but you were an awesome piece of semi-logical, metaphysical machinery.  Even though you started vibrating when you got over 65, even though your windshield wipers could never get the insect guts off your windshield, even though your right rear door couldn't be opened from inside, even though you couldn't pick up any good stations, even though your trunk wouldn't stay open unless somebody held it there and would frequently slam down on the back of my head when I was reaching around for something, even though you kind of always smelled like a combination of sweaty running shorts and moldy power bars, even though your headlights were weaker than old-timey whale oil lamps and your interior lights didn't even work, even though your glove box could never stay closed, even though your horn was barely audible three feet away, even though finding the little latch to open your hood was always a five minute affair, even though you were that lovely awkward green color, even though you crapped out on me in the middle of nowhere when I needed you most, you were the best damn car anyone could have ever had, because you were so much more than a car.  And I want to tell everyone about you.  And that's what this still is, this is still your continuing story.


So Spaceship Earth, if you can read me, know that we both still have work to do.  I don't know how many more miles I have in my legs or how many more people I can reach, how much sanity I have left in the tank, or even how many days I have on God's Spaceship Earth (which is not the same as Spaceship Earth, which I know is confusing).  I'll fail more than I succeed, I'll bottom out and get punched in the face by life, UV rays will slice me apart while carcinogens eat me from the inside out, and some days I may not even have the willpower to open my eyes.  While it may seem arrogant, in my rare moments of self-affirmation I think that the world needs people like me, and it needs machines like Spaceship Earth.

Five Things We'll Still Have in the Future


This piece was originally written for oletoday.com.   It has been reposted with permission.

While the future may be uncertain - at any moment the bombs could drop, your brain could be eaten, the atmosphere could be vaporized, the robots could take control of congress, nanoviruses could enter your bloodstream, you may find yourself deported to an asteroid mining colony, etc. - we'll still hang on to some staples of contemporary society.  We may just use them for very different purposes.  Here are some of the highlights:


#1: Microwaveable Burritos

What we use them for now: A delicious and easy to prepare snack or meal, densely packed with enough cholesterol and sodium to induce instant heart-attack and bleeding from the eyes.
What we will use them for in the future: Thermal and radiation insulation.
It's a known fact that the center of your standard microwaveable burrito is impervious to changes in temperature.  While the rest of the burrito's filling is scalding your tongue and destroying your sense of taste for weeks to come, the center remains frozen.  In the future, when we (or the robots) have destroyed our atmosphere and solar flares routinely raise surface temperatures to over 200 degrees, we'll need to come up with an extremely heat-resistant material for insulation.  There is really no better solution than microwaveable burritos.  Unlike heat resistant polymers or alloys, they can be cheaply and easily made and are non-toxic, as long as you don't actually eat them.

An infrared image of burritos fresh out of the microwave

Their density also provides another benefit of using them for insulation, and that is protection from radiation.  Since the core doesn't seem to heat up at all when exposed to microwaves, we can conclude that it is impenetrable to most forms of radiation.  This will come in handy when we have no ozone and the streets are littered with nuclear fallout.


#2: Reality TV

What we use it for now: Entertainment at the expense of others
What we will use it for in the future: Blowing a robot's cover
I don't mean to cause despair, when we are fighting the robots, they will be smarter than us.  They will also be much more rational, meaning they will avoid impulse purchases and be incapable of falling in love.  But we can use this to our advantage to determine if one of them has infiltrated our ranks.  If we suspect someone of being a cyborg or robot in disguise, we'll simply force them to watch some reality TV.  If they're sucked in and mesmerized by the shallow interpersonal conflicts, judges who intentionally go out of their way to be assholes, and shameless plug for sponsors, then they are legit humans.  If they seem unable to get into it, don't relate to any of the characters, or begin to criticize it for lack of content, then activate the EMP!


#3: Video Games


What we use them for now: Killing time, an excuse to limit social interaction
What we will use them for in the future: Combat Training
Right now, playing video games is probably the worst thing you could do to prepare for a war, at least physically.  But in order to avoid using robots or a genetically engineered trans-human race to fight our wars, which will prove more trouble than it's worth, we can use video games to create a generation of ruthless soldiers.  When you are playing video games, you are killing without the reality of killing. It teaches you that killing is something with no repercussions, because you are killing something that was never alive, and don't have to deal with physical realities of it, like blood, or the emotional realities of remorse. If you let it influence you too much, you become able to kill without thinking.  We will start kids playing first-person shooters around the age of five, and by the time they turn twelve (which will be the new eighteen, thanks to biotechnology and increasing levels of hormones in meant and milk) they will have no idea of what it means to kill - or be killed.  Combine that with intense physical training, some genetically engineered growth hormones, and some good old-fashioned (but still futuristic) eugenics, and you've got yourselves the ruthless soldiers of tomorrow.

It has also been noted that playing Tetris within six hours of a traumatic experience can reduce the risk of future long-term traumatic stress.  If we figure out how to utilize this properly, shell-shock will become a thing of the past.


#4: Nike
What it is now: A Corporation that pumps out an endless supply of overpriced shoes and athletic apparel, which will not rest until every man, woman, and child bears at least two swooshes on their person at all times.
What it will be in the future: An organization running a genetic splicing program to create genetically superior, "Nike" branded individuals.
Since its inception in 1964, Nike has been at the forefront of athletic innovation, designing products that will (supposedly) make you faster, stronger, tougher, fitter, and more appealing to the opposite sex.  The next step is to go beyond simply improving what athletes wear, and improve what athletes are.

Using recombinant DNA technology, Nike scientists will create test-tube fetuses with enhanced physical traits in their secret lab, located fifteen stories beneath the University of Oregon.  In the peak of their physical form, they will be able to run three-minute miles, make 80 inch vertical leaps, bench twenty times their body weight, consistently drain shots from half-court, and be physically incapable of exceeding 5% body fat.  They will be born with a swoosh on the forehead.  They will dress in only Nike shoes and athletic ware, causing people to believe that if they use Nike products, they too can be superhuman.  But they can't.  Life won't be fair in the future.

Still, it won't be all disappointment for John Q. Future.  Since Nike is an American corporation, these superathletes will be Americans.  This means that we will finally be able to cement our position atop the sporting world.  We'll finally be good at soccer, and maybe win ourselves a world cup.  We can break the Kenyan hold on the longer distances, break the Jamaican hold on the sprints, and impale foreign spectators with javelins.  Even in sports where we are already dominant will see a boost.  We won't have to worry about Japanese or Dominicans invading major league baseball, or Eastern Europeans with impossible to pronounce names invading the NBA.  And team handball?  We will destroy everybody in team handball!

Unfortunately for the armies of tomorrow, they will be so physically active and live such sports-oriented lifestyles that they will be incapable of playing video games.  This means that we will not be able to train to be ruthless killing machines (see #3).


#5: Perfume
What we use it for now: Hiding the fact that you don't smell very good
What we will use it for in the future: Concealing your presence from zombies
Because of the neural degradation that comes from, well, having one's brain eaten, zombies will be missing most of the higher regions of their brains.  What will be left will be the basic, reptilian brain.  As a result, most of their senses will suffer, but their sense of smell will improve by several orders of magnitude.  To find clusters of human survivors who were forward-thinking enough to carry shotguns on their persons at all times, zombies will rely on their sense of smell.  And the only way to convince them that there are no humans to be found is to not smell like a human.

Granted, you could achieve the same effect by dousing yourself in gasoline or bear urine, but at a certain point those options would make getting your brain consumed seem like a better alternative.  By coating yourself with perfume, you'll be able to avoid zombies detecting you from far away.  You'll be able to sneak up on them, instead of letting them sneak up on you.  And if any of you are worried about your masculinity, don't be.  Surviving a zombie apocalypse garners you way more man points than you would lose by wearing perfume.

Edible/Audible #3

Steely Dan: Sushi
This is the authentic kind, not the kind you can get for $3.50 at the deli.  Meticulously prepared, using a variety of ingredients, flavors, and studio artists, but only those of the highest quality.

Dispatch: Trail Mix
Raisins, peanuts, M&M's, cashews, rock, folk, funk, reggae, something for the outdoors, something you can always count on to munch on, something that holds up well on the road.  Makes you want to go backpacking, or at least play some Ultimate Frisbee.

Jefferson Airplane: Sloppy Joe's
Spicy, tangy, wild, erratic, not entirely based on logic.  On a personal level, this seems to be something that my mom was a little too enthusiastic about.  Seriously, before she became a vegetarian, we had them like, once a week at least.  (Note: This does not include Jefferson Starship or Starship.)

Ke$ha: Hostess Twinkies
So heavily produced there isn't anything organic left, makes you feel sick inside, clogs your arteries, sends you into insulin shock, leaving you in such an altered state that you seriously consider brushing your teeth with a bottle of Jack.  And a very unnerving texture.

Mighty Mighty Bosstones: Barbecue Spare Ribs
A tight horn section, giving it a tangy, spicy, and smoky flavor.  Still, it's messy, and doesn't mix well with high society or formal occasions.

Bad Religion: Satay Peanut Sauce
Smooth, spicy, a bit heavy.  Sends some people into anaphylactic shock.