Microserfs

Karla likes the notion of TrekPolitiks. "Left vs. right is obsolete. Politics is, in the end, about biology, information, diversification, numbers, numbers, and numbers - all candy coated with charisma and guns."

Karla like myself is of the new apolitical pick-and-choose style of citizen. I think politics is soon going to resemble a J. Crew catalogue more than some 1776 ideal. If somebody wants to run for office, they had better be able to explain why they want to run for office. Wanting to be a candidate seems, in itself, reason for exclusion.

Dusty said, "Thomas Jefferson never anticipated Victoria's Secret catalogues and media-induced social atomization. Just think - we're rapidly approaching a world composed entirely of jail and shopping." She paused to consider this, said, "Grotacious!" then she went for a jog.

* * *

Dad had his second callback from Delta.

* * *

Karla apparently noticed my breathing the other day when I was carrying the trash cans to the end of the driveway. She has decided I should start going to the gym. "You have to add more megs to your hard drive. I'm going, too." She's right - we both need meat on us - excuse me - we both need more crystal lattice added on to our drives.

* * *

Every time I look at Karla, she changes and changes, and now I realize other men are looking at her and this makes me have to look at myself, and what I see is sort of scrawny. Suddenly Karla can date higher on the geek food chain than me if she wants to - she can date all the Phils-from-Apples of this world - she has entered the realms of buffness and cleft chins. I care about being with her too much to lose her to a . . . Phil unit. To lose her ever, to anyone. I can't imagine losing her. I must make myself stronger. I must build a better me. I must become the Bionic Man.

* * *

It turns out that if you tape TV shows that are close-captioned, you CAN have English language subtitles. Our entertainment universe has multiplied itself!

MONDAY

Susan told us today what our characters and powers would be if we were on Star Trek:

Michael:

Disembodied neocortex afloat inside a tank of nutrient-bearing solution; has ability to see back and forth in time; communicates via LEDs and a synchronized swim team of hybridized dolphins living in a satellite-linked inlet on the Goa Coast.

Todd:

Repairer of broken machines; has tools instead of fingers; regulation hunk required by TV network to stimulate sales of tie-in merchandise; able to telepathically determine sexual coefficient of alien beings; skin can turn to gold by beaming himself to the planet TanFastic.

Karla:

Crew Biologist; able to camouflage feeling with scientific theories; superior intelligence allows for dominance over all males or spore-bearing entities.

Me:

Token earthling; prey to foibles and pratfalls of all humanity (thanks Susan).

Bug:

Feathered creature picked up in sympathy from a collapsing Throm Nebula; most likely to say uncontrolled, angry things about fellow cast and crew members to Entertainment Tonight years after the series ends up in syndication . . . lack of Screen Actors Guild residuals plus an addiction to cosmetic surgery will provide an impetus.

Susan herself:

Priestess of the Right Lobe; erotic female interest demanded by TV networks; will devour males if overly excited; designs castles while sleepwalking; flawless plastic skin; thighs conceal bevatron guns.

Dusty:

Bionic creature from a destroyed Valley planet; disciplinarian; feeds on X rays; arms contain snakes that will fight her wars.

Ethan:

Bearer of the Dark Force; can transmute feces into uranium; owns hyperspace cruiser that can vanish and reappear at any moment across time, space, and money.

Abe:

Wise hermit cast adrift on asteroid for thousands of years; has developed odd code languages for everyday actions; lonely but not bitter; his heart is cryogenically frozen, and he must search the universe pursuing the Thawer.

* * *

Went to the gym for the first time today and my body feels like an East German Trabant car running on linseed oil crashing into a stack of burning televisions. The pain!

* * *

Susan's going psycho over an asthmatic Detroit car artist named Emmett who Michael brought in to do drawings and storyboards. ("We run a very disciplined little software shop," says Ethan. "Detroit really knows how to crack the whip!")

I think it would be a very scary thing at this point in Susan's sexual radicalization to be the subject of her infatuation. Good luck, Emmett.

Oh - Emmett's last name is - Couch - isn't that a hoot! And his big personal beef is Japanese animation. He says that SEGA and Nintendo are responsible for the "subtle but massive Hello-Kittification of North American animation. You can kiss our Hanna-Barbera heritage good-bye." How can anybody take this so seriously?