Body Clocks

Marilyn’s entire life went against her body clock. 

She loved staying up late, even as a child, but had to wake early, using an alarm, to get to school, then work.  She could stay up late only Friday and Saturday nights.  She felt better in the evenings, better at 1 a.m. than 1 p.m.  Her mornings dragged on, her nights were electric.  Sadly, the world was not on Marilyn’s clock–as she was reminded every morning the alarm woke her.

Marilyn was denying herself, who she really was.  Every morning waking to an alarm.  Every night, struggling to fall asleep.  Sleep when she could be reading a book, watching TV, using her watercolours. 

Coffee helped.  Mornings would be a struggle without a mug.  If she remembered to eat in the mornings, that helped.  She did not begin perking up until the afternoon.  By evening, when everyone else was ready for bed, she was primed to rock and roll. 

She could alter herself, everyone around her, the entire world.  She was tired of not meeting her needs.  The world was too much–wanting to be practical, she settled the city she lived in and everyone around her.  They were the immediate problem anyway.  She developed a long term plan.  At first, there were increased articles about the dangers of too much sun and the pleasures of moonlight.  Using subliminal messaging and drugs in the city’s air, people were encouraged to enjoy night life more.  Restaurants and theatres stayed open longer.  Work shifts soon started at 11, then noon, then one in the afternoon.   Schools opened at noon.  Grocery stores were open all night, closing in the mornings to restock.  Soon most of the city was tuned to Marilyn’s body cock—up until three or four, wake around eleven or noon. 

At first, Marilyn felt more natural than ever.  She made a lot of new friends, now that she was more awake to enjoy them and they were up late as well.  Until she realized what she enjoyed most was–being alone.  Previously, she was alone at nights.  Now, she was…surrounded.  She felt worse than before.  Ironically, the only work where she would be alone was the day shift, starting at 6 a.m.  She had to set her alarm. 

Marilyn’s entire life went against her body clock. 

Cookies For The World

Phyllis needed cheering.  She had just hit eighty and felt every aged year.  Today’s politics would have left her parents spinning wildly in their coffins.  So much anger!  Inflation never went away, especially for daily needs such as food and medicine.  Wars continued.  Poverty and inequity continued.  It was a lousy world in which to raise grandchildren (much less great grandchildren.)  Phyllis believed the world needed cheering.   How?  Public anger was everywhere. 

She was already a member of Women’s Strike For Peace, attending meetings, hosting displays, baking cookies.  The display pamphlets mostly remained untouched–but the cookies were always gone.  And she remembered that real estate agents had cookies baking in the oven when showing a house—the aroma made it feel like home. 

She created a new project and called it Cookies For The World.  She raised billions and began building high tech cookie factories all over the world.  She arranged distribution, ensuring the cookies would be sold well below cost.  After three months, most of the factories were churning out cookies, chocolate chip being the most popular.  People living around the factories relished the aroma–the whole area smelled like home. 

The cookies cost almost nothing and were on every grocery and convenience store shelf.  The packages kept the cookies fresh while emitting a fresh baked aroma.  Everyone in such a store quickly was in a happy place, all day long.  When they did not want to go home, they took some cookies with them.  Cookies were in every politician’s office, every financial institution, in vending machine on the streets.  No one gained weight because of the special, natural ingredients.  The cookies contained little sugar, plus vitamins and minerals and fibre. 

Some people ate only cookies. 

Phyllis was stunned the world had not changed: the anger continued, the wars continued–even though so many were now happy.  They were happy with their anger.  Phyllis realized she had made the situation worse.  Phyllis immediately start work on a new line of nose plugs. 

Just because the world smelled good did not mean it was good.    

Four Hits To Sink A Speedboat

Top Pentagon officials were distressed.  It had become public knowledge that, during the new President’s war on drug smugglers, it had taken the Navy two hits to sink the first speedboat.  Then it was made public it took the Navy four hits to sink the speedboat.  Which apparently was not even headed towards the nation.    

At first, no one noticed it took the Navy four hits to sink a speedboat.  But eventually questions rose.  For example, what if it had been an enemy destroyer?  If it took four strikes to sink a speedboat, how many more would it take to sink an armored vessel—if at all?  The Navy faced a serious problem! 

The new President ordered an immediate investigation. 

The first hit, which only damaged the boat, came from trained sea turtles carrying explosive mines.  The second hit was from similarly trained seagulls carrying bombs, diving at the boat.  That killed the survivors but did not sink the boat, so fighter jets became involved.  The first missile did not arm, bouncing off the speedboat, so it took a second missile to blow the boat to bits (along with the remaining seagulls and turtles.) 

The new President was outraged.  He did not hunt and although he ate animals, he liked them.  Seagulls should never be used as weapons, he told his officials, because they were a wonderful sight on beaches, begging for fries.  And he liked sea turtles because they were funny and reminded him of his favourite candy.  His military forces concentrated on better training and armaments for animals.  Bison and bears were captured and trained, as were vultures (large explosives) and hummingbirds (tiny spy cameras.) 

He awarded himself the Greatest Use Of Animals If Not Eating Them prize (which his subordinates suggested, in his honour.)    

Martin Hears The Truth From Ratings

Martin decided the only way to stop the new President was to make a deal with a greater power.  He knew who the Greater Powers were.  He had to stop the new President, who ordered killing people in speedboats, troops in the streets, dividing the nation between the ‘with us’ and ‘without us,’ overseeing the weakening of health care while increasing pollution.  Martin believed that only divine intervention could succeed. 

Martin first approached God, Who came to him in his living room as a flaming TV.  “I know you work in strange and mysterious ways,” Martin said to God, “but you must do something about the new President.  He has broken all of your Commandments.” 

“Indeed he has, and it worries Me.” 

“Can’t you do something?”

“He has grown too powerful.” 

Martin then contacted the Devil, who promptly appeared in Martin’s living room as a glowing TV showing the news.  When Martin offered his soul in exchange for doing something with the new President, the Devil replied he had already made a deal with the new President (that was how he was elected.)  The Devil refused to back out of it (ethics.)    

Martin had a sole alternative: Ratings. 

Ratings was a new God, created during early radio, growing with television, then the internet.  Martin called out and Ratings materialized in front of him (as a TV with commercials.)  She smoked a cigar, looked at Martin and blew a smoke ring around him.  “You have spoken with God and the Devil,” Ratings told him, “so I’ll give it a shot.  Not that their ratings are top drawer these days.  They don’t matter much anymore, do they–compared with Me?” 

Martin found it hard to argue with that.  “Okay but can you get rid of the new President, without hurting him of course?”

“Why?  He is a gold mine.  I am more powerful than ever.  I mean more to people now than God or the Devil.  Say hello to my new Demi God, Popular.”    

The Need For Sugar

From his first bowl of cold cereal, Anton loved sugar. It became a constant part of his diet, and of his children’s’.  It tasted sweet, gave him energy, when your sugar high fell there was always more,  everywhere. Desserts were often the best part of a meal–certainly sugar was great for late night snacks. Half the content by weight of cereals back then was sugar.  Observing his young children, he saw that it made them hyperactive.  Sugar was not harmless.

Why did Anton eat what he did? He never thought about food. As a child, his mom cooked and he ate. There was meat, potatoes, a vegetable.  And dessert. Before having children, he never thought about processed v. unprocessed. His whole life was processed.  But he wanted his children to have better lives. Unprocessed lives. 

And diets were getting far worse. For the first time in history, more children were obese than of normal weight. And weaning them off fast food was nearly impossible for most busy, cash-strapped parents.

His research into the historical dominance of sugar led to a startling theory: the need was implanted by aliens.

Anton contacted the aliens, in their ship orbiting the Earth. The aliens helpfully advised that centuries ago they implanted the need to eat sugar in humans–to energize them and speed their production. The aliens had always avoided sugar themselves—but humans could invent, create and then—sometime in the twenty-first century–like a child who has drank two litres of sugary pop, burn out.  By now, the aliens had acquired a treasure trove of creations from humanity and were preparing to move on to other primitive planets.

Their sole interest was in new, odd gadgets.  It was hard for aliens to create gadgets—it seemed silly, plus difficult with tentacles. However, humanity was being inherently silly and alone in having opposable thumbs.

Anton quickly informed the world. In response, around the Earth competitions arose to create the best gadget, with the aliens judging.  Impressed, the aliens decided to eliminate the need in humans to consume sugars.  They saw Earth as childish and clearly it had had enough sugar.  They installed in humans a need for whole grains and unprocessed foods, and then left. However, they did allow a continued fondness for ice cream. All intelligent beings in the galaxy love ice cream, and it was against intergalactic law to deny it.

Madge’s Journey

Madge wanted to keep feeling young, but at eighty it had grown increasingly difficult.  Staying young involved finding something new every day.  Being around grandchildren helped.  She lived across the street from a small park with a playground, and hearing the children play helped.  Even so, she no longer had the energy to walk across the street and sit on the bench and listen to the laughter and squeals.  ?  She accepted aging but not the results.  Not until she croaked.  How could she find something new each day at eighty?  How, after decades of seeing the new each day

Ending One

Madge took up painting.  Her work was not very good, not at first, but she had little else to do and each day she saw something new on the canvas.  She also began taking photos with her cell phone–when she looked at them later, she often saw something she had missed at the time.  She saw live theatre and concerts whenever she could, as each performance was unique.  Same for sporting events.  To continue the experience, and being a decent violinist, she got a licence and became a street busker.  It was a different experience, every time and she loved her life. 

Ending Two

Madge purchased an inexpensive time machine with a gas engine, believing the only way to see something new every day was to go into the future.  She chose one hundred years, enough to ensure a lot would be new and different.  She arrived in the middle of a busy street—everyone was walking.  Madge was arrested for operating an ungreen vehicle and sentenced to twenty years in prison.  It was a green prison, the inmates given courses and training for outside work, so each day she learned something new–and no longer had to cook.

Ending Three

Madge realized her memories were the problem.  She could not encounter anything new if she remembered whatever it was from before.  She took a variety of psychoactive drugs and police found her wandering on the street and she was put in an institution.  She had sobered up and remembered everything when she was subjected to regular rounds of shock therapy.  Incapacitated, she was never released, but everything was now new. 

Ending Four

Madge purchased a gnu.     

Tired Of Being Tired (2)

Arnold needed a solution to the insoluble: aging.  He had just turned eighty.  His leg ached when he walked, he ran out of breath easily, he was youthful only in his heart.  Arnold needed a solution to the age-old problem of aging–but unlike previous centuries, Arnold lived in a burgeoning science fiction environment: high tech, outer space satellites, new drugs.  There were solutions!    

His first thought was freezing himself until solutions to aging would be found.  But that would be hope and hope was not a plan.  He thought of transporting his intelligence into an AI, but then he would be ethereal.  Similarly, he considered having his brain put in a robot body–but he would be trapped in a plastic and metal body where he felt nothing.  He wanted to feel, to taste.  So Arnold consulted with doctors about having his head transplanted onto a healthy body.  That seemed the ideal solution. 

However, Arnold then suffered a heart attack.  He had days, perhaps hours.  His doctors looked for accident victims whose bodies were perfect (except from the neck up.)  They found none.  His doctors chose a drastic alternative. 

Ending One:

When Arnold woke from the anesthesia, he found his eighty-year-old head had been transplanted onto the body of a twenty-year-old woman.  He looked ridiculous.  Worse, the woman’s head was next to his!  The body had two heads!  His doctors explained they could not find an appropriate corpse so an intern volunteered.  He went home and did his best to make small talk with the other head.  She chatted about the career ahead of her as a surgeon, he chatted about his past career as an entrepreneur.  She appreciated his wisdom, him her youth and intelligence.  He tasted what she ate, enjoyed walks with her, felt what she felt. 

Arnold definitely felt younger but dating was an issue, as was using the washroom.  They were rejected socially but Arnold, at least, no longer had an old body that ached.  They got along well, all things considered. 

Ending Two:

When Arnold woke from the anesthesia, he was a head in a jar.  No transplant candidate could be found, so the doctors cut off his head and kept it alive.  Arnold was furious but all he could do was gurgle.  Occasionally his doctors took him to parties and put him on a table where he watched people enjoying themselves.

Ending Three:

Arnold’s head was fit onto the body of a healthy, twenty-five-year-old man.  He relished his new body and immediately began overeating and indulging himself.  In a year he aged rapidly and had the body of an eighty-year-old, but worse.    

Tired Of Being Tired

He just turned eighty and already Arnold had grown tired of being tired.  Medications helped his underlying problems but created both diarrhea and constipation, an odd combination which created an unsettled morning and rest of the day.  The heart meds lowered his energy, which he tried to replace with B12 pills and coffee.  He would be awake but still tired. 

He hated naps as a waste—now he fell asleep by eight without them.  Life was not meant to be slept away.  He resented needing rest.    

Arnold needed a solution to the insoluble: aging.  He had time left and certainly nothing better to do.  And he knew other folks had his problems and were looking for solutions.  Cryogenics?  Delaying the inevitable.  Preserving his brain in a robot body?  Science fiction.  Virtual reality was a temporary escape.  Arnold lived, especially these days, in the now, in the practical.  He remembered easily walking for blocks, years ago.  Forever ago, it felt like.    

An idea came to Arnold while he was walking for half an hour, which he forced himself to do each day, panting at the end, regularly having to stop and rest.  The cane helped, though at first was embarrassing.  His idea was the answer was in his heart: he had to think young.  So the next morning, he remembered discovering something new every day (still happened, but it meant less.  He tried to make it more.  Faltering, he thought of riding a carousel while trying to poop. 

He surrendered to a nap. 

That evening, Arnold told himself there was only one solution to aging: acceptance.  He refused to accept that.  Sitting back, he accepted that life was much more difficult, that at times he lost his breath just crossing the room.  What he could not accept was being old.  He was tired of being tired but not tired of being himself.     

He mixed his gut drink and wolfed it down.  He could accept naps, he realized, if when awake he despite aging he remained himself.  Himself as he always was, physicality irrelevant.  That was the only solution. 

Heroes

The new President wanted to be a hero–to be respected, loved, honoured.  He thought of himself as heroic, fighting enemies.  He had his face put on coins, plastered on billboards–but it was not nearly enough.  He wanted to be honoured for his many acts of heroism as President.    

His first acts as a Presidential hero were against immigrants (they were not citizens and could not vote.)  He began a campaign to demonize and deport them.  And most voters were against drug smugglers, so he ordered his Navy to target speedboats ferrying dope into the country and blow them up from a distance (without risking Navy lives.)  Then he targeted his enemies, which any hero would do, launching criminal court cases against them (the cases failed but were successful at intimidation.)  And since no one liked crime, he sent troops into the streets to find criminals. 

He was in the media constantly, portraying himself as a political hero.  He ignored the Legislature and worked around the courts.  He issued his own money (bitcoins,) then used the profits to build statues of himself across the nation, then he had churches built around the statues.  The churches were the last straw.  God appeared before the President as a burning bush as he sat on a gold toilet.  The new President, frightened, flushed. 

“You have broken each of my Ten Commandments,” God told the new President. 

“People need a hero.” 

God stared at the new President.  “To be a true hero, you must run into a building and save someone.  If you do, I will make you a hero.” 

The new President immediately went to the Legislature, set it on fire and ran in.  The building burned around him as he searched for someone to save when he saw a glorious painting of himself starting to burn.  He grabbed it off the wall and ran.  Unfortunately, the building collapsed around him, he died and God sent him straight to hell. 

In Hell, the new President was declared a hero. 

Careers

Harmony wanted a career–she was just not certain what.  She graduated with a B.A. in literature, which opened no career except staying in University for a Masters, then a PhD.  Her liberal arts education was supposed to qualify her for a junior executive position.  These days, she had worked as a server, driving a cab, not even clerk in an office.  Harmony felt the system had stolen her life.  Her education was irrelevant.  It was still going yet timed to a much older era. 

Harmony considered going to community college and learning a trade.  She could be an electrician or plumber or even construction worker.  But nothing in her education had been physical.  Her hands were soft.  Her education had been that physical work should be beneath her. 

So was driving a cab or working as a server. 

Society expected her to adapt.  Harmony was now angry and frustrated.  None of this had anything to do with what she wanted.  She wanted work that was a career, that built to something.  She wanted work that was useful, that was fulfilling.  There was nothing out there.  Harmony decided she had to start from scratch.  She researched online and found the Web Wonder Institute, which offered courses on what would work for her: pseudoneurobiophysics, with a minor in braindrugcombos. 

It took a year.  Harmony graduated with honours.  A leading AI startup hired her and knowing her goals—to improve society—gave her a lab and colleagues.  Her first project was using subliminal messaging combined with drugs to encourage people to enjoy AI and use it instead of thinking themselves.  It was a great success. 

Harmony was promoted, to a permanent managerial position, leading a team.  She had a career and was making people better.  Proud of her achievements.  No one outside the company thanked her—the work was secret—but their improved lives, no longer having to think for themselves, was reward enough. 

And she used her liberal arts background to encourage people to read and look at art, but only if it was created by AI. 

Stilts

Herman loved living on the coast, facing the blue ocean and the breaking waves on the shore.  He was an IT CEO, in charge of a new data mining operation twenty miles away.  Ironically, as the ocean grew and the shore shrank, the data mining centre created local water shortages, needing huge amounts of water.  When the rising ocean threatened Herman’s house, he had it built up on stilts.  The local community faced rotating water shortages. 

After a hurricane, he repaired the house and raised the stilts.  The local residents demanded Herman appear at their local town hall to explain the water shortages.  He told them the government knew about the water issues and given grants to fund the project. 

A year went by and, preparing for the next hurricane season, Herman’s house was raised further on stilts, now thirty feet high.  The beach under the house was gone, covered by the relentless ocean.  In the community, everyone drank bottled water and washing was limited.  All the lawns and flower beds were long dead. 

When the worst hurricane of the season hit Herman was in his living room, enjoying the view as he sipped wine.  The wind and waves were heavy, the stilts collapsed and Herman and his house were washed away.  The data mining centre flooded and became useless. 

The residents worried about their lost jobs and petitioned for government grants to restore the centre, but this time build it on stilts fifty feet high.  When built, it looked like a church, and on Sundays people gathered around the barbed wire fences to pray.      

Fast Forwarding

Max enjoyed fast forwarding—skipping through movies, books, whenever he could–looking at only the ‘good parts.’  It was the good parts he enjoyed the most.  He loved spaceships, so in science fiction films he fast forwarded and only watched the spaceships.  In books he skipped pages with too much dialogue—exposition.  (And let’s not talk about him watching the news, which was bearable only by fast forwarding.) 

Max understood watching only highlights in art diminished the build-up, the characterizations, the flavour.  But this was the internet age, the age of moments, of spotlights.  Fast forwarding fit so well, Max thought, why not do it in real life? 

So, after finding plans online, he built a sort of time machine.  It fit on his wrist and had simple buttons.  He went into work and, seeing he had a morning of boring paperwork, skipped to lunch.  The paperwork had been done.  He went out and ate a lovely sandwich. 

He skipped more paperwork in the afternoon but did attend a staff meeting.  He came home to his empty apartment and a frozen dinner.  No highlights there.  He skipped forward to the next morning. 

Over the next week Max skipped much of it.  On Saturday he sat on the couch, thinking.  What had he learned?  That the frequent skipping demonstrated how few highlights his life held.  He wanted to skip most of his life.  This unexpected result was discombobulating.  He realized how boring his life was.  His best highlights were watching movies on TV in his living room.  Or watching on his other TV, in his bedroom. 

Max moved to a remote farm, where he earned a living helping as a handyman with local problems.  Those were not highlights, but feeding the chickens and goats and cows were. 

Caring

Carl cared about caring.  He cared about his family, his work.  He also cared about society.  There was not enough caring and it seemed to grow worse every day.  Pretty much everyone could care less about caring (Carl was never sure what that meant—care less about caring or careless about caring?  It was confusing.)  As if confirming his judgement, society did not care about Carl.  It did not even know who he was.  No societal care packages for Carl.  How could Carl make society care? 

Society cared about royalty—movie stars and politicians and celebrities.  Society completely ignored the average person.  The average accomplished nothing worth celebrating, except staying alive and trying to enjoy their lives.  Carl wrote his area politicians, pushing hard for an “I’m Just Me Day,” to honour the average person and caring about them.  No luck.  He tried posts on social media–no reaction, nor was he able to get on TV. 

No one cared about his caring about caring.  Not even care givers. 

Carl began to seriously wonder whether he cared too much, that he was wrong.  But he knew he was right and decided to go extreme.  Being a very talented neurophysicalbiologisthacker (an little known profession,) Carl created mental influences by putting drugs in the nation’s water supply and subliminal messages on the web and airwaves.  The purpose?  To increase peoples’ caring for others. 

The changes were gradual, Carl seeing them first in public political arguments, which became polite and respectful.  Then he noticed changes around him at work—it was friendlier, there were less promotions and more awards for service.  Production slowed as concern over safety and comfort increased.  After half a year, the nation had grown into a kinder, gentler country. 

Which was when astronomers detected a huge asteroid heading straight for Earth. 

Yes, this was an unexpected twist but these things happen.  Deep underground shelters were hastily constructed in the hope of saving some of humanity.  However, no one went in.  The people selected cared too much about leaving others behind.  The asteroid hit, there was immediate devastation followed by two years of crud in the sky, blocking the sun, after which 90% of life on Earth was dead.  Bugs and slugs were left and all they cared about was eating and breeding. 

Caring had become theoretical. 

At least the politicians were gone.