Standing alongside the mighty Duwamish, the historical lifeline of our fair city, lit by the golden glow of a hearty palette fire, Shaddup Joe wouldn’t shaddup about his aspiration that the human race eventually ought to colonize other planets. This sort of homo sapiens chauvinism escapes me; I myself resist the idea that having fucked up our home planet, humanity should look for other nests to foul.
Additionally, it also seems to me that were the human race, through genetic modification and/or natural selection, able to adapt to life beyond earth, then those beings would no longer be human beings, and so the idea that creatures like us should see them as continuing our biological line amounts to the empty claim that sure, all the atoms that we’re made of will continue to exist in some form, no matter what; you know, we’re all made of star stuff, like Moby and Carl Sagan have observed.
Mainly, though, I can’t see why any prospective space traveler would want to leave a place like this, one where a surprisingly small group of cyclists on such a dry and temperate evening, (officially, the last Thursday of this year’s summer) is able to ride together down a four-lane mixed-use light industrial boulevard, pissing off only one angry Mercedes driver who loudly admonished all within range to “Follow the fucking laws!” and arrive eventually at a dead end overlooking the aforementioned civic lifeline in order to drink beer and reflect on prospects for extra-terrestrial terrestrials.
Anyway, the robots have already won; most contemporary human beings spend most of their time having machines tell them what to do; the bicycle, by contrast, unlike the “smart” phone or computer, is one of the few inventions in our lives that does our bidding rather than the other way around.
My bike takes me where I want to get go, (and amazingly, gets me back home, as well) right here, on planet Earth, where we belong.
Additionally, it also seems to me that were the human race, through genetic modification and/or natural selection, able to adapt to life beyond earth, then those beings would no longer be human beings, and so the idea that creatures like us should see them as continuing our biological line amounts to the empty claim that sure, all the atoms that we’re made of will continue to exist in some form, no matter what; you know, we’re all made of star stuff, like Moby and Carl Sagan have observed.
Mainly, though, I can’t see why any prospective space traveler would want to leave a place like this, one where a surprisingly small group of cyclists on such a dry and temperate evening, (officially, the last Thursday of this year’s summer) is able to ride together down a four-lane mixed-use light industrial boulevard, pissing off only one angry Mercedes driver who loudly admonished all within range to “Follow the fucking laws!” and arrive eventually at a dead end overlooking the aforementioned civic lifeline in order to drink beer and reflect on prospects for extra-terrestrial terrestrials.
Anyway, the robots have already won; most contemporary human beings spend most of their time having machines tell them what to do; the bicycle, by contrast, unlike the “smart” phone or computer, is one of the few inventions in our lives that does our bidding rather than the other way around.
My bike takes me where I want to get go, (and amazingly, gets me back home, as well) right here, on planet Earth, where we belong.
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