The Summer of 2036

The summer of 2036 was tough for everyone–humans and animals and plants.  Drought for some, flooding for others.  Rising oceans washed away coastal areas.  And the heat.  Dreadful heat, surrealistically bitter cold every freezing winter.  Followed by summers that scorched.

Pierre lived near Paris.  One morning he looked at his large vegetable garden.  For two weeks the daylight temperature had been over 35C.  Heat and a violent rain storm destroyed his first set of seedlings.  The heat burned the second set in its first week.  Pierre looked at the struggling shoots of the third set, three inches high but already withering. 

The heat was the worst disaster in a sea of them.  France had more air conditioners than ten years ago but not nearly enough (especially with the rotating brownouts.)  His clothing was already soaked from sweat.  His empty stomach growled. 

Market shelves were frequently empty.  Harvests grew increasingly poor.  Scientists rushed to develop plants which thrived in extreme heat, but results were years distant.  People and animals starved, populations dwindled to a fraction of their former selves.  Pierre regularly heard rumours of cannibalism.      

He looked at the struggling garden, sighed, lowered himself to the earth and ate the seedlings. 

This Access Radio features a great discussion on disabilities and medications, with host Dave Thompson and guest

A Modern Career Choice

Carl’s choice was critical to his future happiness.  He was 18 and ready to start the rest of his life.  Work would dominate his waking hours, five days every week.  What career should he choose?  He ruled out student loans–with their forever debt—which in turn ruled out education and training. 

His career should be lucrative, challenging, enjoyable, never stressful.  And Carl did not want to work with his hands, to keep them soft and callous free (hoping that was not callous.)  To Carl, his guidelines seemed eminently reasonable.  However, he saw no career which met his needs, except perhaps religion.  His high school guidance counsellor laughed at his concerns (then apologized.) 

After reading news reports—he had no friends to discuss a career with—Carl settled on using his computer skills to plant malware, locking up the financial systems of cities, universities, libraries–even TCM–demanding a ransom.  It was lucrative, challenging to set up, enjoyable and never stressful (he covered his tracks well—no one could find him.)  Best of all, Carl could work while playing video games.  Even when the organization refused to pay he’d already sold their data.  He loved his new career. 

The sole drawback was it was morally reprehensible and would damn him to hell. 

Carl became a member of a church, donated significantly and confessed every day.  He thought religion a great scam–an excellent career–but did not start his own as there were so many and he disliked competition. 

A Modern Career Choice

Carl was 18 and ready to start the rest of his life.  Work would dominate his waking life, at least eight hours every weekday.  His choice was critical to his future happiness.  What career should he choose?  Not using student loans–with their forever debt–ruled out education and work training.  His career should be lucrative, challenging, enjoyable, never stressful. 

And Carl did not want to work with his hands, to keep them soft and callous free (hoping that was not callous.) 

To Carl, his guidelines seemed eminently reasonable.  However, he saw no career which met his needs.  He considered starting his own religion—it would meet his needs–but that was way too much work. 

His high school guidance counsellor laughed at his concerns (then apologized.) 

After reading news reports—he had no friends to discuss careers with—Carl decided on a both ancient and very modern career.  He used his computer skills to plant malware locking up the financial systems of cities, universities, libraries–even TCM–and demanded a ransom.  It was lucrative, challenging to set up, enjoyable and, automated, never stressful.  He covered his tracks well—no one could find him.  And, best of all, Carl could work at his desk while playing video games.  Even if the organization refused to pay, he had already sold their data. 

He loved his new career.  The sole drawback was it was morally reprehensible and would damn him to hell. 

Carl solved that problem by becoming a member of a church, donating significantly and confessing every week.    That kept his conscience clear.  Carl thought religion was a great scam–an excellent career–but did not start his own as there were so many already. 

Gifting

Arnold, 80, loved giving gifts. His children and grandchildren lived in other cities, so they had to receive gifts by mail, not in person. He sold his greeting card company while he still could—in this new age, he lost business to email gift cards. People used to purchase a card or gift by going to stores and judging items, picking them up, feeling them. Now, to purchase gifts, Arnold often went on the internet. True, he saw only photos, had to guess what the actual gift was like to touch.

For Arnold, the new age was science fiction. You ordered something you never touched, within days it was magically in a box at your front door. Could he avoid this anonymous, hands-off acquiring of gifts?

He could hire people, tell them what he wanted, have them go out and return with samples—but that was expensive, time consuming, still impersonal. Or he could journey to the Alternate Dimension, where shops had far more variety–but the trip was expensive and the occasional traveller did not return (the company stated they remained because they enjoyed the Alternate Dimension–but there was no proof, it was another dimension.) Astral Projection into good stores around the world was possible–but required years of training. Only the internet was now…required little training…cost nothing to use.

But choosing the proper gift was delicate, an art form. Photos were never enough, never a substitute for picking up whatever it was, smelling it, feeling it. Arnold had an idea for new software and invested in it. Then he took the developed software to computer manufacturers, offering it for a modest free. When the computers were on sale, Amazon and thousands of other sites adopted it.

Arnold sat at his desk, turned on his new computer, went on Amazon and opened the pages featuring flowers. He clicked on a rose bouquet. The flat image rose from his computer screen and it morphed into a 3D, full-sized holographic image. When he touched the flowers, he felt the petals. He enjoyed the roses’ rich aroma. For the discerning gifter, Arnold’s creation was perfect.

Arnold developed troubling concerns that his creation was somehow not…ethical. That it was a cheat, the easy way out. People could now sit in holographic chairs, to see how comfy they were. They sat in a holographic version of a new car and played with dashboard gadgets. It seemed like the real thing—but Arnold knew it wasn’t. Did that make a difference?

Arnold took an image of himself and created a full-sized hologram. He looked at it for a long time, wanting to ask it questions. All it could do was smile.

Desmond’s New Trees

It was a bad time for trees. 

Climate change, pollution and wildfires challenged them—but they endured.  Their suffering caused by people.  Desmond knew he must act—he believed the world needed to  treat trees better, and so he literally created new branches.  An experienced agriphysicbiotheorist, he developed unique seeds and started an orchard.  The seeds sprouted, growing in long neat rows.  It took only one year before they were fully formed and bearing fruit–thick trunks and branches and glorious pink leaves.  (Desmond liked  pink.)    

The fruit was also pink.  Some trees produced fruit with a peelable skin like an orange.  Some  resembled pink apples.  Another bore fruit resembling broccoli.  (Desmond knew he was a bit eccentric.)  All pink. 

Looking for people who needed to change, he first gifted samples to colleagues (they were so aggressive and argumentative.)  The pink oranges made them happy, the pink apples sad, the pink broccoli a full, solid feeling.  All who ate them became less aggressive–Desmond’s plan all along.  He developed new strains to deal with obsession with work, expanded his orchard by selling seeds and cuttings.  Many orchards sprung up.  Within two years the nation’s health improved and it stopped its overseas wars. 

Desmond was proud.  It was a good time for trees.

Ending One: The passiveness the fruit created resulted in far less effort in farming, tending orchards, work in general.  Crops failed but people did not care about starving.  It was a bad time for trees. 

Ending Two: Other countries, wanting the new trees only for themselves, secretly planted diseases into the orchards, sickening the new trees—along with the old.  Desmond’s nation retaliated with diseases of its own.  The tree wars spread until eventually all the new trees and many of the normal ones withered and died.  The climate and atmosphere suffered, causing worldwide crop damage.  Wildfires destroyed what was left.  People starved.  It was a bad time for trees. 

Ending Three:

Increasing numbers of the new trees were planted throughout the world.  The climate crisis improved, peace and prosperity spread, people took diabetes medications but appreciated trees more than ever.  It was a good time for trees.  (Not for realism, perhaps.) 

This is the extended version of the CFRO FM, Vancouver, 57 minute broadcast. This version runs over one hour, eighteen minutes. Some audio difficulties which I did my best on. This is Ed’s first time as an interviewer, and he interviews his friend and guest, Rebecca Clifford. You likely have not heard of her, she has been published in quarterlies and anthologies, but is a fine reader!! Great interview and Cafe!!!

Me And Semaglutides

The tides have washed upon my shores and there is nothing semi about them. 

I had weighed 204 pounds, over a year managed to get it to 190.  I did not ask my doctor about semaglutides to lose weight but because I had read an article in the NY Times about the increasing off label use of semaglutides for off label use: sleep apnea, heart conditions, digestive problems.  All of which I have.  Along with being 80. 

I do not enjoy injections, so she prescribed pills, and was enthusiastic about their uses.  On reading online, I found side effects including fatigue, nausea and other problems, although they appeared scarce.  So I popped my first pill, unwrapping it from its silvery foil package.  It went down easy.  I waited half an hour before eating, following instructions, though it was the morning and normally I do not feel hungry until after noon.

I have now taken the pills for twelve mornings. 

The weight loss—to 184 from 190—was remarkable.  I had no appetite, missed food not a whit.  It was eerie—just loss of appetite.  I remembered to eat every day.  Mostly it all went down fine, although the unpleasant poops continued. 

But today I barely made it through a short grocery store trip, holding onto the cart and wanting to sit after a few minutes.  I went home and went to sleep, although I was not sleepy, but exhausted.  That has been the way for a week.  No energy.  No interest.  Life was bleary. 

It made sense.  I ate far less so far less energy entered his body.  I certainly was losing weight but the cost was becoming unbearable.  What good is losing weight if walking across a room is exhausting?  At 80, how many days can be dumped down the garbage chute? 

Will I take another tomorrow? 

Bernie Questions New Meds

It was not easy, being 80.  Bernie naturally wondered why death from aging had not yet been cured.  Was it a conspiracy?  Bernie’s first thought: funeral homes, secretly lobbying to ensure business continued.  Next possibility: Pharma–big pharmaceutical companies made more money keeping folks alive only temporarily, benefitting from turnover.  None of these theories felt real to Bernie.  Then there were the meds which got him this far.    

Growing old is exhausting, every year worse.  Some folks jog in their eighties, Bernie used a cane.  Bernie had heart problems, digestive problems, sleep apnea and, at 80, a wide variety of other conditions.  And the meds he took at times created discomfort beyond what his illnesses caused. 

None of this is new—but it was new to Bernie. 

His heart condition was only painful during the attack.  Recovering, he dealt with tiredness–a natural impact of the meds no one warned him about.  Sleep apnea kept him up at nights–one med, which also stopped his restless leg syndrome, left him so depressed he had to stop.  Now a new weight loss drug left him struggling to energize himself a second time–or was it a third? 

The solution was obvious: another med–a Super Med–with no side effects.  A med that would reverse aging and its complications.  Surely modern medical science was working hard on a condition which kills everyone.  In this modern age, how was it possible aging had not been solved?  Perhaps God was behind death’s dominance?  Bernie prayed–no answers came.  Nor from Satan.  Why was death inevitable when nothing else was? 

Bernie wrote popular blog posts about his concerns.  The answer to his question came when an alien from outer space visited, concerned about his influential posts. 

“Please stop upsetting the natural order,” the alien told him.  “We want to keep humanity, you are interesting and tasty.  But if you live too long, earthlings would eventually invade space like an unstoppable disease.  So you croak–quickly.  We live to 1,000.  We could live longer, but we’ve found that’s plenty.  By then we have too many regrets.”  

Bernie had difficulty believing the alien, who appeared tired and unconvincing.  The alien blamed its new med—it is not easy, being 932. 

Arnold Wonders What Women Think About

Could it all be about hormones?

Arnold, a novelist, knew women thought—but he had no idea about what or how it was different from how men thought.  He assumed women were concerned about careers and accomplishment, mating and having children, stability.  At least, that is what women told him, what he observed.  Perhaps more to the point, his plotting and dialogue for female characters never felt quite right.  Yet reading female authors, he often found the same problem.  Was it the audience they all wrote for?  Did it want women portrayed a certain way?  He did not understand.  Life’s questions go  without answers—why grow old, why produce, why breed? 

As a man, he often first saw a woman sexually.  He looked at faces, chests, legs.  He accepted women were often as smart or smarter.  Often he was, at least initially, seeing only the physical—but even women concerned with the physical always seemed to have something in the back of their minds–the long term?  Both sexes wanted one-night stands and long-term relationships.  How could it be hormonal?

Arnold had been married ten years and was still confused by his wife.  They had two children, she was devoted to them–but equally devoted to her work, which she arranged to do at home.  Volunteering.  Migraines.  At times, waking to find her listening to a podcast, he was not sure how much she slept.  Yet she had time to garden.  Where did it all come from, the energy, drive, interest? 

There is no neat solution to Arnold’s questions–it is how life is.  However, this is a story. 

So, using an electronic procedure Arnold had his wife’s brain waves copied into his own.  Now their thoughts merged.  Arnold woke feeling great but wondering about the future…and his surroundings were untidy…and there were so many troubled people at work, he should start lunches with them.   

His questions remained far from answered.  Arnold was no longer clear on how anyone thought, including himself.  He continued to stumble through life, doing the best he could in a world he did not understand. 

Could it all be about hormones?                          

Low Hanging Fruit

These were tough times for Milton, a satirist.  Real life had been replaced events wilder—stupider–than anything Milton could imagine.  It was like living in a bad novel that tried to be satiric and imaginative but was too weird to be believable.  Current events were dominated by low hanging fruit, for a satirist.  And the low hanging fruit was becoming a serious problem for Milton. 

The low hanging fruit?  The new President.  Determined to establish his place in history, he used the military to kidnap the leader of a foreign country he did not like.  That certainly established his place in history.  Then he started a war and bombed a Mideast country for weeks to demonstrate his power.  The nation survived and closed a critical waterway through which 20% of the world’s oil and liquified natural gas flowed, disrupting the world energy market, the war continued despite the President “obliterating” the nation.  .  On Earth, he cut social services, health care and research into anything not military.    He pushed the creation of a new superclass fleet of battleships and missiles which could be fired from satellites in space, with plans to build a military base on the moon.

That was a lot.  In only a year.  For Milton, a satirist, it was enough for three novels.  Or 148 blog posts. 

For a satirist, it was irresistible.  Milton ate so much low hanging fruit he gained thirty pounds.  He tried Ozempic but the lure of the low hanging fruit was stronger than drugs.  Milton began to pray that the upcoming midterm elections would damage the President, stop the crazy.  Instead, he gained ten pounds.    

Milton knew his problem was that he was not a very good satirist.  Better satirists avoid low hanging fruit.  But the new President’s actions and Milton’s lack of talent had forced Milton into obesity. 

Chastened, Milton abandoned satire and started a romance novel. 

The Need To Argue

Increasing tension building under his skin until it bursts–like a volcano–fierce heat under the surface, earth tremors, erupting in an outpouring of fiery lava, smoke filling the air, rising dark into the sky, obscuring the clouds until he cannot not see the sun. 

Ethan never found release in the fiery outbursts (though they were exhilarating in the moment.)  Dark clouds then hung over him, painful, powered by regret, trying to figure out how to repair the damage, resolve his guilt.  He did get angrier than most people, frustrated at his difficulty in finding satisfaction in his job.  He was angrier with himself than anyone else.  For Ethan, it was an endless, awful cycle.

It was his problem to solve.  And, given he felt his current life was impossible, Ethan became determined to solve it.  So, over two years, utilizing his unused skills as a talented neurobiophysicist (he worked as a lab tech, often arguing with lab colleagues) Ethan created a unique device.  It would eliminate anger and arguments.  He had ongoing faith in technology to solve problems.  Then came his moment of decision.

Should he use the device on himself, to control his anger?   

Or should he use it on his colleagues? 

He set it for them.  Ethan knew it was revenge—a result of arguing (more reason to use the device, though more guilt.)  Yet, despite his guilt, after he pushed the red button life in the lab was sweet.  Ethan no longer suffered through arguments but had decent discussions instead.  He was thrilled.  He then applied the device to everyone around him.  Living rooms were far more peaceful but Ethan was no longer thrilled.  Life was now placid–no anger, no questioning anything.  No progress.  Ethan was shocked as he watched his friends and colleagues wilt.  Denied anger they were like flowers denied the sun. 

Ethan desperately tried to reverse the effect.  The device refused.  Unable to change the programming, Ethan was troubled.  Nothing was getting done, his lab’s research was stagnant, everyone was without purpose.  He had always seen anger as destructive.  Now he realized it was elemental, driving people forward.  It was peaceful but at a cost.  Was it worth it?   

Ethan had quite the argument with himself about it.

Leonard Feared For The Future

Leonard looked forward to franchise film sequels but saw nothing worth his time when they finally came out.  He looked forward to elections but was almost always disappointed at the results.   He looked forward to promotions but continued to trudge through the same dead-end job.  Leonard  daydreamed about how great a film or TV show or novel or play would be, anticipating it, but almost always it was a downer. 

Leonard feared for the future—the future looked lousy.  He hated looking forward to seeing nothing worth his time.  And Leonard, as all of us do, considered his time valuable.  But he had large societal issues in mind, not himself.    

Most art claiming to offer thoughtful themes offered escapism instead.  Leonard did not mind escaping—but all the time?  The only meaningful art was depressing, offering no solutions.  There were solutions.  Leonard knew there must be. 

The key element in looking forward was hope.  Were there aspects of hope Leonard could alter?  As a neurobiophysicist, anything was possible (as long as there were grants.)  He developed a device generating electronic waves which eliminated looking forward to commercial culture.  Then politics—people would no longer have hope politicians would improve their lives.  Finally, life expectations—increased hope mating would happen, work would improve, family members would understand each other. 

Leonard pressed the red button on the device and the electronic waves went through every cell phone tower in the nation. 

Over the first month, the results were subtle.  Blockbusters failed, TV ratings fell.  Then the midterm election polls showed the President’s support plummeting.  He governed with a personality cult but no one any longer believed him.  The election results were devastating.  Voters’ support splintered among independents voters knew locally.  Unions were formed to protect workers.  Drilling offshore was halted.  Less people went to church but more people believed. 

And Leonard?  He thought of creating another groundbreaking machine but had little hope it would succeed.  He never realized he had also programmed the device to prevent him more devices. 

Leonard feared for the future.