Microstory 379: Complexity

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Imagination

Whenever I read a trivia page about a celebrity, they always have at least one interest that’s at least somewhat separate from what they’re known for. Vin Diesel is famous for his action movie career, but he also founded a video game development company, and loves to play Dungeons & Dragons. Harrison Ford is an actual airplane pilot. Christina Hendricks plays the accordion. I’ve talked in this series about finding that one thing where you excel, and nurturing that talent. I’ve not really said that you should also strive to be a complex person. A man named Timothy Sexton wrote the screenplay for a film called Children of Men, which is about a world where everyone is infertile. Timothy Sexton created a television series called The Lottery, which is about a world where everyone is infertile. These two productions are in no way connected, which just goes to show that this Timothy Sexton guy really only has one idea, and the first time around, it wasn’t his idea, because it was based on a book. Don’t ever be like Timothy Sexton. Have other interests besides what you’re known for. Learn to juggle, or take kickboxing classes, or keep a jar of dirt from every state in the Union. When you go to a party, and someone asks “what your deal is” it’s best if your answer takes more than one sentence. If your one job that you’ve had forever is all that defines you, then find a way to add a little spice to your life. I know that people in lower paying jobs aren’t going to have as much free time as wealthier people. Yes, trust fund kid, we’re all very impressed that you both know how to fence, and you “paint”. But just because you don’t have money to throw around, or even a lot of time, doesn’t mean you can’t find something that provides nothing for you but a sense of contentment. I won’t list all of my non-writing hobbies here, because not even 400 words is enough to explain them all, and some of them are rather lofty and ridiculous. I do, however, intend to pursue each and every one, if it’s the last thing I do. Nobody wants to be the next Timothy Sexton.

Ambition

Microstory 378: Imagination

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Life Extension

When I was in elementary school, I made up this story about how I was an alien. I remember my mother and sister sitting me down for an intervention to make sure I understood that I was not really from another planet. What’s funny is that I found out decades later that I’m autistic, which is often described as the feeling of being normal, but just having been born on the wrong planet. In the meantime, however, I had to discover that the stories I made up were the result of my imagination, which would be better manifested in written form. I have other flawed character traits that I’ve, sometimes subconsciously, rerouted so that they would help me write stories. Just about everything I do is designed to fuel my need to write fiction. Despite being an extremely quiet introvert, I like to try new things. I would actually try a hell of a lot more if I had money to throw around, like skydiving, archery, or futures studies. Every experience helps me understand how the real word works so that I can manipulate those truths and reapply them to my fictional worlds. My imagination is my greatest skill, and I’ve even rerouted that to help me deal with real life issues. Imagination is responsible for literally every single invention that has ever been invented ever. There was a need, and there was at least one person realizing that need who could see the solution when most people couldn’t. Too heavy? Put it on wheels. Too dark? Light a candle. Too sick? Cure smallpox. For someone like me, imagination is all that matters. Imagination tells me what happened to my characters, and how they dealt with it. For progress, however, imagination is only half the battle. True advancement comes from the ability to transform imagination into practical application, and not always by the same person. Not every imagined solution comes from someone in a position to actually do something about it. If you have an idea—even if you think someone smarter than you must have already either come to the same conclusion, or debunked it—find a way to get the word out. Hell, you might just have a vital component to the cure for cancer. Never stop dreaming.

Complexity

Microstory 377: Life Extension

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Calm

I’ve told you that I am what we in the business call a transhumanist. I’m also a futurist, which means that I study future events in the same way that historians study the past. You can actually go to school to study this, which I would do if I had the money. For now, I just do research on my own. My macrofiction series The Advancement of Mateo Matic is basically a sensationalistic textbook from the future. On subject, most people don’t really understand what aging is. Don’t feel bad, I know slightly more than you, and scientists know less than you would think. It’s a big mystery, but what we do know is that there are these things called telomeres. Every time our cells divide, our telomeres get shorter. The diminishing returns from this process ultimately leads to the death of the organism. It’s like a tiny hourglass counting down to our demise. And if this exists, then it can be stopped. The hourglass can be turned over, almost literally. Science marches on, and while we’re working to cure disease, restore vitality, and protect people from danger, we’re also working on repairing genetic flaws. You’ve all been operating on the assumption that death is inevitable. You drink, smoke, and take unnecessary risks. You think you might as well do whatever you want, because you won’t have much time on this world anyway. At most, any death is stealing eighty or ninety years from an individual. I’m here to tell you that this is no longer true. Anyone born 1960 or later is estimated to be young enough to reach the longevity escape velocity. Of course, this only works if you’re also a healthy individual. If you’re sedentary, if you have a preexisting medical condition, or if your job puts you in a level of physical danger, then I can’t guarantee you’ll last. I suppose I can’t guarantee it either way, because of unexpected dangers, but you get what I mean. The reason I keep bringing this up is because I think it’s important that people understand their options, and this is my only medium. Now is the time to change your life if you’re not happy with it, because there’s a chance it goes on forever.

Imagination

Microstory 376: Calm

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Luxury

I know I said I wasn’t going to change the titles for any of these last couple dozen stories, but something happened to me last night (at the time of writing). I’ve always had a sleepwalking problem. I’ve gotten out of bed and tried to do things that don’t make any sense like turning the light on a poster, or looking for markers to write a greeting card I didn’t need. I’ve battled flying monsters and swiped imaginary spiders off my body. This particular episode was the worst it’s ever been, though. I was dreaming that I was sleeping in army barracks. An enemy snuck into my room and attacked. Your brain has this feature that basically paralyzes your body so that when you dream of running, your legs don’t actually move. Sleep paralysis is when your brain walks up without deactivating this feature. Sleepwalking is when the feature deactivates without waking you. This meant that I started fighting back against the attacker. I shoved my little nightstand and TV tray to the floor. On it were my glasses, remotes, jewelry, and this little glass toothpick holder my great grandmother left me, along with a few other things. During the fight, I tried to run out the exit to gather reinforcements. On my way, I knocked my television off the cart, into the wall, and down on my foot. One strange thing about my sleepwalking is that I can’t open doors. I guess it’s good that I’m not likely to end up in walking through traffic, but in this case, it made things worse because I couldn’t escape my enemy. I started slapping the walls, looking for the doorknob, and running into other things. Fortunately I recently moved my bookcase to the other room, because I probably would have thought it was a staircase. I finally woke up to cuts, bruises, and a shooting pain in my shoulder that’s still here. Sleepwalking has many causes, but in my case, it comes out of stress. I have a lot of responsibilities, and I’ve made a lot of mistakes that I’m trying to correct now. I’m feeling rather overwhelmed about it. A truly happy person is not completely free from stress, but they also know what calm is.

Life Extension

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 1, 2086

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“Do you have any idea what it takes to dig a mass grave with nothing more than a shovel? I have to match dimensions...in more ways than one!”

“Sorry, brother, it was all I had access to.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He wasn’t really all that upset.

“Why do you only have access to a shovel?”

“That’s what I wanna know.”

“Do you remember me?”

“I live outside of time. I’m not immune to all reality changes, but major ones, and ones that would change my relationships with others don’t affect me.”

“So are we outside of time right now?”

“We are.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Alt!Leona said. “You can’t be ‘out of time’. There is no ‘place beyond time’. You can be in a different timeline, or an alternate reality, or maybe a parallel universe, but you can’t just not be experiencing time. I mean, if we weren’t in time right now, this conversation wouldn’t be happening.” She started pointing between them. “Because you said something, and then you said something, and then you replied to him. It’s called causality, and maybe you can jack with causality, but you can’t just...like, have it both ways. You can’t both be subject to, and unburdened by it.”

The Gravedigger, Mr. Halifax stared at her for a few seconds, or for no time at all, since that was how it worked according to her. “We’re in a pocket universe.”

She paused for the same amount of time. “Okay, yeah, that’s all right.”

“Speaking of being all right,” Mr. Halifax said, “if we don’t get you to The Sanctuary soon, you could die.”

“What are you talking about?” Mateo asked nervously.

“Normal humans can’t be taken through time except under special circumstances,” Halifax explained. “Saviors, like your late Aunt, can teleport people to safety, but usually only once. Your father can do the same, but again, he has his limits. If a human is transported by just about anyone else, they’ll eventually get sick.”

“But weren’t those security guards normal humans?” Mateo asked. “The ones who watched over Horace Reaver?” he added. “And also their families?”

“I don’t have memory of that, but I’m sure they were moved back and forth by The Chauffeur,” he said. “That’s his job. He’s the only one who can regularly protect humans from temporal sickness.”

“Temporal sickness,” Alt!Leona repeated. “What are the symptoms?”

Halifax retrieved something from a bag that was sitting on the ground. It looked exactly like the portfolio binder Danica used to somehow find The Blender in 1975. “They vary based on type of travel, degree of separation between egress and return, strength of the traveler, and also just the biology of the human, as with any disease.”

“Is there a cure?” she asked.

“Not once the symptoms start.” Then Halifax corrected himself, “well, there was one case where Meliora treated him, but it took a long time, and Lincoln suffered from heavy side effects.”

“Abraham Lincoln?” Mateo gasped. “Abraham Lincoln, Time Traveler,” he continued in a sort of whisper.

“No, L-O-L,” Halifax said. “Different Lincoln.”

“Wait, this shouldn’t matter anyway,” Mateo pointed out. “Leona is a salmon. She’s just not been activated in this timeline.”

Halifax tore a piece of paper out of his portfolio and scribbled something on it. “I’m afraid it’s much more complicated in her case.” He took a lighter out of his pocket and started burning the paper, eventually letting the remains to fall to the ground and burn out. “I can explain later, but I have to get her to The Sanctuary, and you back to ‘a place within time’.” He winked at Alt!Leona.

Dave, the man who had worked for Horace Reaver’s counterpart, Ulinthra, along with Harrison, appeared in front of them. “Does someone here need a ride?”

“Dave,” Mateo whined. “You told me you weren’t a time traveler when we first met.” Yes, it was starting to come true his belief that literally everyone he had ever met was going to turn out to be part of all this.

“I’m sorry, you must have me confused with someone else.”

“Oh,” Mateo said. “It was in an alternate reality.”

“Well...maybe I wasn’t a chooser in that reality.” He placed his hand on Leona’s shoulder and spirited them both away.

“You never really told me what the Sanctuary is.”

“Precisely two time travelers are capable of entering Sanctuary; our friend, the Chauffeur, and Meliora Rutherford Delaney-Reaver. If you tried to go in, you would immediately experience temporal sickness, and likely die within minutes.”

“So it will protect Leona from the Blender, The Cleanser, and even Makarion?”

“It will, yes,” Halifax assured him.

“Good.”

Mateo spent the rest of his section of 2085 wandering around a new Topeka. Much had changed since he had first been there. Upon reaching midnight, he jumped forwards one year.

Mateo spent the first half of 2086 sleeping on a bench in a park. He was happy that parks still existed, even with all this urban expansion. A police officer approached him just as he was waking up to offer him help. Mateo politely refused and made up some story about his roommate needing the apartment to himself all night. The cop was still worried, but she moved on without further question. Without his mother, Mateo was going to have to figure out where he was going to live. Feeling homesick, he decided to go find her old house. It took a long time to get all the way across town, but public transportation probably required an identity, and there was no record of him in this timeline. He was even more isolated than ever.

His house was gone, replaced by some other futuristic structure. A beautiful young woman was just coming out of the building with her dog. She was jog-hopping around, presumably getting ready to go for a run. The dog broke free from her grip and raced towards Mateo. It excitedly jumped up towards him and tried to balance on his straightened knees. “I’m so sorry about that,” she said. “I promise she’s harmless, but she’s also shy around other people. She usually only identifies with...” she trailed off.

He smiled. “Identifies with who?”

“Hey, this may sound like a strange question, but do you like salmon?” She didn’t hit that last word too hard, but she accented it enough that he understood the reference.

He held out his hand. “Uh, yeah...I’m Mateo Matic. I come from an alternate timeline, but I don’t exist here.”

She looked relieved to not have to explain why she was asking a stranger on the sidewalk if he liked to eat fish. She took his hand and said, “Téa Stendahl.”

He shook his head. “You look so familiar, but I just cannot place the face.”

“You as well. Maybe we knew each other in the other timeline. Ya know, we sometimes catch glimpses of them.”

He kept shaking his head. “Maybe...briefly. I think I would remember better if I had ever spoken to you.”

“Well,” she said, “have you ever been to the past? I actually used to be a man.”

“Oh, you’re trans. I’m not sure.”

“No,” she said. “I died, but the powers that be weren’t done with me, so I was reincarnated, this time as a girl.”

“Oh, I’ve never heard of that. Your name is Téa?”

“Yeah, but I used to go by...”

“Ed Bolton.”

“Yeah, so you did know me?”

Mateo wasn’t sure what to say. This was not only an alternate version of Theo Delaney, but a female Theo. In going back in time and killing Hitler, he had inadvertently erased himself from the the future. But he had also changed Ed’s fate so that he was reborn as someone completely different. Now it all made sense. If both Leona’s parents had died, and she was raised by the Gelens, it meant that Theo could never be born as her half-brother. But Ed still needed to be reincarnated so he could continue with his pattern at the pleasure of the powers. He was really starting to get a handle on these time travel complexities. “In my timeline, your name was Theo, and you were reincarnated as my girlfriend’s brother.”

“Interesting.”

Mateo looked back to the building. “Do Aura and Samsonite live here?”

“They do. They too were reincarnated, but with the same gender assignment.”

Even after all these changes, his mother still came back and lived in the same place as before. She would have no recollection of him, though.

“Under what conditions did you know them?” Téa asked.

He was about to explain the truth, but stopped himself. Alt!Leona was already in this, but there was no point in pulling his mother back into his drama. The former Theo, now Téa, was walking a freaking dog. They lived normal lives. It didn’t look like they were worried about Reaver, or The Cleanser, or any other evil time traveler. They were probably happy. He had to let her go. “Umm, well...you know, salmon swim into each other every once in awhile.”

“Yeah, this is true.” She looked at her watch and tugged at her dog who was still insistent she get to know Mateo better. “Listen, I’m going for a run. You’re welcome to join, and maybe you can have lunch with us? I don’t know your pattern, do you have somewhere to stay?”

“Oh, I’m fine. I actually have somewhere to be. I appreciate the offer. Really, it means more to me than you could know.”

She took out a slip of paper and wrote down her phone number. “Okay, well, you know where we are. And now you have our phone number. Don’t hesitate to call or drop by if you ever find yourself back in our time period.”

He took the number. “I’ll remember that, thanks.”

“Hope to see you again,” she called back as she was running away and inserting her earphones. Little Téa Stendahl. What a crazy world he was living in.

Makarion caught up to him on the corner as he was leaving. “I thought you might come here.”

“You’re looking better.”

“I’ve had a year to recover.”

“You have a movie for me or something?”

“Yeah, we’re back to the old structure. You’re about to walk sixteen more blocks. Well...you’re probably gonna wanna run.”

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Frenzy: Child’s Play (Part III)

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I was never much of a dancer in my youth, but I got more into it when I realized how beneficial it could be for my running form. They said that I should either do that or swimming as supplement, or even both. But absolutely not. I mean, I can swim. I wouldn’t drown if someone threw me in a pool, but I don’t like water. It’s...well, it’s too wet. I deal with it okay, and I even sometimes run in the rain on purpose in order to overcome my weaknesses, but I like it dry. And I like dancing. I know, could I be any more gay? Sometimes on the race, when I’m waiting for a traffic light to change—and yes, there are times when it’s too dangerous to cross, and illegal either way—I’ll dance for the cameras. I like to put on a show to generate viewers and revenue. It’s kind of my job, though it would be nice to get paid for it. The crazier the dance, the better, so I generally do the Wobbly Walk, the Donkey Roll, or The Creep.

At parties, however, I do disco dances, even though I’ve literally never heard a DJ or playlist master put on the right track. Whatever, I’ma do me. After a bit of hustle, I take a break and grab some water at the bar. Keilix has her elbows on the counter, watching Feingold and Tick Tock spar with some kind of martial art. I’ve never been much into fighting either. Unlike swimming, it’s not that I don’t like it, I just don’t quite see the value in it for my purposes. Feingold and Tick Tock seem to enjoy it, though. “Come here often?” Keilix asks as a joke.

“Tomorrow’s gonna be weird.”

“I don’t think we’ll notice.” She takes a sip of her chocolate milk. Studies have determined that excessive amounts of milk don’t really help build stronger bones, which would be useful to Frenzy runners. Still, a dairy manufacturing company is one of our largest sponsors, for reasons of the myth, so we get free milk.

“Well, I know we won’t individually see fewer people on the battlegrounds, but the city’ll feel different. Fewer people will be watching, little children probably won’t be allowed to chase after us. All I’m saying is that it’ll be a very different kind of race this year.”

“Brave new world,” she replies melodramatically.

“You know what I mean.”

She affectionately taps her head on my shoulder. “Listen, I’m about to leave so I can study before a nap. I just wanted to tell you that I’m glad you’re here. I know I was giving you a hard time about registering late, but it wouldn’t be the same without you. We’re a team.”

“Thanks Keilix. And hey, next year your parents won’t be able to stop you from joining the Tracers, so we can keep running together.”

She exales a breathy laugh. “I’m going to college, Serkan. Probably out of the country.” She turns her hips to face me so I know to pay attention. “I’m not going to be in a gang. I’m gonna get an education, and I’m gonna move on from this.”

“You’re going to stop running?” That would be surprising.

“I’ll run in the mornings before class, and then before work, like any health-conscious individual, but this will be my last race.”

I massage my stubble. “But your feet keep the planet spinning.”

“You’ll just have to run twice as fast.” She wraps her arms around my neck and gives me a kiss on the cheek, and a wink. “Well, more like three times.”

I take one of her hands and plant a chivalrous kiss. “Keep in touch, just the same.”

“I will. One more thing before I leave. Braxton is about to ask you to run The Gauntlet.”

I turn back to watch the crowd and say, “shit” under my breath.

“You haven’t been to HQ lately, otherwise he would have asked you weeks ago, and you’d be safe today.”

I gesture towards Braxton with my hand as I’m talking about him, “he’s gonna beat me. The Gauntlet is the one thing I can’t do.”

“Well, he wants you to prove it.”

Braxton is the kind of guy who isn’t satisfied with being the best. He needs evidence of that, and he needs everyone to know it. He would rather lose then never know for sure. Fortunately for him, there’s almost no way he’s losing. The Gauntlet was installed two years ago, but I’ve always avoided running it in front of others. It’s a fantastically tough maze of obstacles that I just can’t wrap my brain around. Two-foot steps, three consecutive four-foot gaps, a winding rock wall, and a rope to a catwalk are some of the easier obstacles. It was constructed in a completely new gymnasium built as an extension to the original headquarters building. For now, it’s used exclusively for training purposes, but the council has plans to make it a performance venue so that smaller parkour events can be held throughout the year. They’re just trying to work out the legal issues now since no one really knows what that’s gonna do for the economy. It will certainly help, at least in the short run, but the local government is worried it will cause a loss of interest in city landmarks. Tourism was the main reason the race was founded, so if that was ruined, City Frenzy might lose all support.

Seeing me talk about him from across the room, Braxton literally runs over. “Are we doing this or not?”

I take a drink from my water. “Or not.”

“Get the hell in that room, bitch!”

“Your taunts aren’t gonna work on me, Braxton. I’m an adult.”

“Then what the hell are you doing here?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know you need to get your ass in that gym and show me what you’re workin’ with.”

I laugh. “Oh, if that’s what you’re interested in, then I would be happy to oblige. But I would rather do it in a bed.”

“Please, you know what I mean! Bitch!”

“Call me bitch one more time and see if you get what you want.”

“Please, sir, Mister Serkan, sir,” he says more politely.

I pause for dramatic effect. “I don’t want you boasting and flipping around when you inevitably beat me.”

He slaps his hands together out of pure joy. “My man!”

“I’m serious, Braxton. You have to learn to be a gracious winner.”

“Yeah, man, I got you,” he says, but he’s distracted by his own excitement about the whole thing. “Yo, Tick Tock! Start that clock! Serkie and me are ‘bout to drop a rock!” Dropping a rock is a tracer idiom for running a course you’ve never done before. It refers to landing on a boulder you didn’t know was unstable, and it falls out from under you. Of course, we’ve both run the Gauntlet before; we’ve just never run it together. Braxton mainly wanted to show his rapping skills while he was at it, because he’s that kind of guy.

As Braxton moves off to gather a posse, Keilix throws out her empty milk carton. “Like I said, I gotta go. Make sure Agent Nanny Cam films live on her channel so I can watch in the car.” Agent Nanny Cam is a nineteen year old former racer who only ran the Frenzy once. She became so much more interested in the broadcast aspect that she quit so she could operate one of the drones. She moved up the ranks rather quickly and is now in charge of the whole broadcast department, managing all camera equipment, and directing the live presentation.

“Will do, love,” I promise her.

Braxton yells to me from the doorway as he’s filing everybody through. “What did I say about that ass?”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”

By the time I make my way into the gym, everybody’s already sitting in the bleachers. Even the kids who are now too young for the Frenzy are in there. Agent Nanny Cam is nearby. “What’s going on?” I ask her.

“I knew you were going to agree to Braxton’s challenge,” she explains. “So I told all my subscribers that I would be going live soon. Some people came back to watch in person. Kind of makes me feel bad, really, like I couldn’t give them a good show online.”

“What have I gotten myself into?”

“Come on, dude, you’ll be fine. This is child’s play. I know you’ve never been happy with your results, but you run it better than you think. Your standards for yourself are just too high.”

“How would you know how I run it?”

“There are cameras all over the place. I’ve been able to see every time you’ve tried it.”

“And you never put it on your website?”

“Of course not.” She looked mildly insulted.

Braxton runs up again. “Let’s go, we’re burnin’ daylight!” Not only is he always running, but he’s always yelling too. In the end, he’s a pretty annoying person, and I should try to distance myself from him. I head for the starting point, but he stops me. “We’re starting at the back.”

“Are you crazy?” It might not seem weird to start a race from the other end, but some of the obstacles are designed to go one way. It’s possible to reverse them, but it makes it difficult. Not to mention the fact that the intended direction gives certain muscles in your body a break at certain times. Going backwards will force you to go hard at all times.

“I told you that we were droppin’ a rock. What, you thought I didn’t know what that meant; that I just wanted it to rhyme?”

“I’m not doing this.”

“That’s your choice.” He motions to the crowd as he turns his back. “I would be more worried about disappointing them if I were you.”

Agent Nanny Cam sidles up to me with her master controller. “We’re not live yet, I still have time to cancel the show.”

No, this is important, because a show is exactly what it is. I don’t have to win, I just have to try, and I have to make it interesting. “Let ‘em fly, Cambria.”

Minidrones shoot out of their nest and start flying around the room, each one looking for a good angle. She activates her shoutcaster microphone. “And we’re hot! Welcome to the First Annual Gauntlet Death Match. Our contestants today are Serkan Demir and Braxton Cosworthy...” I stop being able to hear her as I’m walking towards the finish line, and she’s pacing in the opposite direction.

The crowd cheers as Braxton puts his index fingers over his temples and slides his feet on the floor one by one, mimicking an angry bull with horns. Then they wait, because I’m supposed to do something too, so I harken back to earlier in the day, and present them with a few nice curtsies. They cheer even louder for me than for him.

“You win this round, Serkie.”

“Please stop calling me that.”

He ignores me and takes his action camera from Agent Nanny Cam’s cargo drone. I take mine as he’s fitting it around his chest. “I’m ready.”

“Same,” I say.

The buzzer goes off and we’re gone.

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Microstory 375: Luxury

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Guilty Pleasures

Ahh, luxury, isn’t it the best? We all like it. We all want to be able to go to the store, find something good, and not worry about how much it’s going to cost us. Some people live like that, ya know? They have so much money, they literally don’t know what to do with it. In my recursive stories, at a more recent point in history, money is abolished. Everyone is given a proper education, after which, they are given the responsibility of a job. With artificial intelligence, and other automation, all the crappy jobs organics don’t want to do are taken care of. The only jobs available either require creative thought, or are incredibly easy. There are more people in the star system than necessary to run it, so if you’re given a boring job, chances are not super low that you won’t have to do much of anything. If you do, you take it in stride, because in exchange, you get decades of sabbaticals in between work stints, you’re immortal, and you don’t really have any problems. But that story begins at the end of paradise. Either way, we don’t live in that world. In reality, Earthans have decided to honor the intrinsic value of work itself. However, work has no value. The only reason we work is so that people who are benefitting from that work give us money, so we can spend that money on business that benefit us. And so goes the cycle of the economy. But that doesn’t mean the work itself is important. Kids these days are maximizing their free time while simultaneously minimizing their effort. Good for them. This sounds obnoxious, but it’s not; they’re right to do that. The 40-hour workweek is an arbitrary number that arose out of a series of compromises between workers and business owners who would rather just enslave you. We should be working to modify these labor practices in preparation for future advancements. If we don’t, a whole lot of people are just going to be unemployed. The only way to avoid it is to spread the wealth. Hobbies and other luxuries are THE ENTIRE POINT OF LIVING. Work is but a means to that end. Thank you for playing.

Calm

Microstory 374: Guilty Pleasures

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Relationship Spontaneity

I never liked the concept of guilty pleasures. Way I see it, if you like something, then you should either be proud of it, or you should stop. Really think about whether you should stop something. If you like little children, then yes, you should most definitely stop. If you’re an adult man, and you like My Little Pony, then only maybe should you stop. If you’re an adult straight man and you like the ballet, then no, you should not stop. I have a wide range of interests. I like writing, adventure sports, photography, pre-hospital medicine, musicals, urban fantasy romance novels, alternative rock, hiking, the opera, disco, dancing, and singing. I watch The Vampire Diaries, Project Runway, Jason Statham movies, YouTube documentaries on how to science, and just about anything else that isn’t sports, most scripted reality television, or the news. So when I say that an individual has a right to their guilty pleasures, what I really mean is that they have a right to like what they like. I heard a quote—from a television show, of course (Necessary Roughness)—which I actually believe to be a modern proverb, or maybe an aphorism. I can’t remember what they were talking about, but she said “don’t yuck my yum”. Our culture has had a long history on pissing on everybody else’s interests. These range from genocide of those belonging to a particular religion, to being harassed for playing Dungeons and Dragons. If any youngsters are reading this then first, I hope you didn’t read the one about sex I did the other day. But I also want to say that school life is total bullshit. I was picked on a lot when I was your age, I think. I don’t quite remember, because who cares? None of those people matters to me these days, and I always knew that. I never knew I would end up like this, that I wouldn’t be as successful as I wanted, but I did know that life goes so far beyond the playground. I assimilated a little when I was very young, but I eventually got over that. Let no one tell you that you’re not supposed to like what you like. You are just fine as is.

Luxury