Preparing For the Singularity (News That You Can Use No. 3)

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my (eventual) grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who don't yet, aka the Stickies) to haunt them after they become grups and/or I'm dead.

[Blogaramians: Blogarama renders the links in my columns useless. Please click on View Original to solve this problem and access lotsa columns.]

                                                 - Glossary  

                                  - Who The Hell Is This Guy?

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars 

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse  

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"Cheese is milk's leap towards immortality." -Clifton Fadiman


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-grandstickies,

First I need to take care of a bit of housekeeping. That is to say, I need to answer a question someone recently asked me about these letters.

"I get that the great-grandstickies ain't here yet but the grandstickies are, so why (eventual) at the beginning of every letter?"

While the Stickies know about what I'm up to, and are free to access my feeble scribbles if they wish, they are still a bit on the young side to grasp much of what I'm saying. But if and/or when they want to, they can easily access every letter I've written.

Also, they have access to a bunch of columns written prior to my adoption of the Letters to Stickies format via the Blog Archive function at the top of my web page. They may decide/may have decided that I'm an old blowhard and not worth the trouble. After all, what self-respecting callowyute takes the advice of a sexy seasoned citizen seriously?

But if and when they do decide that I just might have a clue my missives will be patiently waiting. And now, on with the show.


This particular bit of news that you can use is as potentially relevant to the Stickies as it is to my gentlereaders. Raise your hand if you've heard of the singularity. I'm not talkin' 'bout the one that gave birth to the Big Bang; I refer to Ray Kurzweil's version.

Mr. Kurzweil's book, The Singularity is near; When Humans Transcend Biology, predicts that at some point in the near future we punny H. sapiens will merge with machines and become immortal geniuses. This may occur as soon as 2045 so we need to start getting ready.


Now, if you've never heard about this and your first reaction is a sneer and/or a giggle hold it right there smarty pants. There's no shortage of people that are more intelligent than I who take this quite seriously. Rumor has it that it's a popular notion amongst our Silicon Valley overlords.

Personally, I'm open-minded (as to whether or not this is possible) considering the pace at which technology is evolving and considering the pace at which H. sapiens have willingly tethered themselves to smartphones and/or made them the focal point around which their lives revolve. Resistance may indeed, be futile.

Open minded, yes, willing to participate, no. First, for metaphysical reasons that I'll not explore here. Second, I was born with a severe case of Been There Done That syndrome with complications from Is That All There Is? disease. Immortality sounds boring.

Odds are better than average that I'll be dead by 2045. However, if you're old like me and would love a chance to become a cyborg, hang in there, Nectome is working on it.


"Nectome is a research organization dedicated to advancing the science of memory. We design and conduct experiments to discover how the brain physically creates memories. And, we develop biological preservation techniques to better preserve the physical traces of memory." -From netcome.com

[What's that got to do with...]

The last sentence Dana, look at the last sentence.

[So what? Are these the guys behind, whatchamacallit, um...]

Prevagen?

[Yeah, I couldn't remember what its called.]

Nope, Netcome, and its founder, Robert McIntyre, are working on a way to embalm brains. This ain't your momma's old school brain embalming; this is high tech brain embalming. That way, if you should expire before the technology to upload yourself is ready your brain will be perfectly preserved so that you that you still can.

There's a fly in the embalming fluid, however. your brain needs to be still working when the chemicals are administered, and they'll kill you.

[C'mon! You're making this shit up!]

Nuh-Uh! Check this out. See, the idea is that terminally ill souls can take themselves out while simultaneously preserving themselves for eventual uploading to a, well, who knows, but...

[C'mon! Who in their right mind would sign up for this!]

There's a waiting list. The technology is not quite there yet. If you plunk down a mere, refundable (in case you change your mind) $10,000 you can get on the list. Last I heard, 25 people have signed up.

[Oh...]

I know, right? Hey, I'll bet by the time the grandstickies are grups there will be a do it yourself kit so you can do it in the comfort of your own home and save some money. Living forever can't be cheap. Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day. 
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Your friendly neighborhood crank is not crazy about social media (I am a crank after all) but if you must, you can follow me on Facebook. I post weekly column announcements as well as things I find on the web that reflect where I'm coming from.

©2018 Mark Mehlmauer

[I haven't got around to figuring out the official way to do this yet... but as of 12.15.18 I'm offering up my humble scribbles under a Creative Commons License. That is to say, Anyone may republish my columns anywhere -- as long as they don't alter them and as long as they credit me (Mark Mehlmauer) as the author, and, link to my website, The Flyoverland Crank.] 

Designer Babies

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my (eventual) grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who don't yet, aka the Stickies) to haunt them after they become grups and/or I'm dead.

[Blogaramians: Blogarama renders the links in my columns useless. Please click on View Original to solve this problem and access lotsa columns.]

                                                 - Glossary  

                                  - Who The Hell Is This Guy?

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars 

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse  

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"Families with babies and families without babies are sorry for each other."                                                                                                          - E.W. Howe


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies (assuming that there's anyone left to read this, that this exists in some form or fashion and that if it does, the technology to access it and the wherewithal to read it also still exists -- and that the world hasn't been ravaged by packs of mutant babies),

By nature, I see the glass as being half empty but I have two cunning strategeries to avoid succumbing to a terminal case of Fugiden. Til relatively recently my only defense was to try and find the smile/giggle in a given situation. Your arrival, actual and (hopefully) imminent, provided a second reason to bother getting out of bed in the morning and to not have brownies for breakfast.

I've no idea why grandstickies have this effect on (most) sexy senior citizens, it's probably something clinical that can be scientifically explained by some combination of DNA/evolution/acculturation/etceteration. Who cares if it works?

Speaking of science run amok...

[Huh?]

Work with me Dana, quantum literary leaps for artistic purposes are covered under the terms of my Poetic License.

[Whatever.]

Man, it's hard to work with a philistine running loose, dare I say, amok, in one's subconscious.

[I'm going to eat a brownie and go back to bed, please don't bother me.]

Amok!Amok!Amok!Amok!Amok!


Anyways, recently a Chinese scientist at a conference in Hong Kong claimed to have successfully implanted genetically altered embryos in a woman who gave birth to twin girls.

Hoo-Boy.

He said that he had altered a gene in such a way as to make them resistant to infection from H.I.V. For some reason I'm reminded of the favorite phrase of marketers everywhere, "New and Improved!"

Dr. He Jiankui (who has denied reports that he's a first cousin of Dr. Who) offered no proof and published no reports or data for peer review by his fellow scientists, mad or otherwise. Maybe, hopefully, he's an incompetent mad scientist or just nuts in an ordinary, non-mad scientist sort of way.


Vaguely remembering that some Chinese scientists were in the news a few years ago for this sort of thing I went a-googling and sure enough... There was a group of scientists in 2015 that messed around with some damaged embryos and who had no intention of trying to make a baby. They were seeing if they could successfully complete the first step of what Dr. He claims to have done, edit a gene. Baby steps.

Bad news (well, for them at least): they only succeeded in altering the DNA of 4 of the 85 embryos they tweaked. Worse news: they triggered accidental mutations in those four. The good news was that they published and scared the hell out of everybody... but apparently not Dr. He and who knows who else.

Tweaking embryos (making designer babies) is illegal in most countries, but not China. I guess you can't blame them since they can't follow their usual policy and steal what they can't develop on their own since theoretically, hopefully (but I don't believe it), somebody else isn't trying to perfect the tech.


Now -- legal, illegal, or whatever -- for a minute there Dr. He was thought to be missing. Not to worry, he appears to merely be under house arrest. Or not. Various and sundry gummit agencies, spokespersons and others swept up in the drama, such as many of Dr. He's fellow scientists, have come down hard on the good doctor.

However, from what I've been able to ascertain his official status appears to be that he's consigned to limbo till the current Emperor of the Middle Kingdom's vast bureaucracy decides what to do with/about him.

[Geez, sucks to be him, but what, pray tell, has any of this to do with the vague, lengthy, and paranoid salutation that began this incoherent rant?]

C'mom, Dana, that's painfully obvious don't you think? Somewhere out there may be not one, but two seemingly innocent babies mutating into God only knows what...

[Oh please...]

And even if this guy failed, or even made the whole thing up for whatever reason, given the nature of the beast do you believe for a second that someone('s) not working on this sort of thing somewhere?

[I'm gonna eat another brownie, good night.]

Some days I'm glad I'm old. Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day. 
Please scroll down to react, comment, or share.

Your friendly neighborhood crank is not crazy about social media (I am a crank after all) but if you must, you can follow me on Facebook. I post weekly column announcements as well as things I find on the web that reflect where I'm coming from.

[I haven't got around to figuring out the official way to do this yet... but as of 12.15.18 I'm offering up my humble scribbles under a Creative Commons License. That is to say, Anyone may republish my columns anywhere -- as long as they don't alter them and as long as they credit me (Mark Mehlmauer) as the [I haven't got around to figuring out the official way to do this yet... but as of 1 author, and, link to my website, The Flyoverland Crank.] 

Manhood (Part Three)

If you're new here, this is a weekly column consisting of letters written to my (eventual) grandchildren (who exist) and my great-grandchildren (who don't yet, aka the Stickies) to haunt them after they become grups and/or I'm dead.

[Blogaramians: Blogarama renders the links in my columns useless. Please click on View Original to solve this problem and access lotsa columns.]

                                                 - Glossary  

                                  - Who The Hell Is This Guy?

Irregularly Appearing Imaginary Guest Stars 

Marie-Louise -- My beautiful muse  

Iggy -- My designated Sticky

Dana -- My designated gentlereader

"Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional." -Chili Davis


Dear (eventual) Grandstickies & Great-Grandstickies,

This is the third and final letter to Anomy.

Dear Anomy,

The subject of last week's missive was mostly about the fact that you're sensitive and intelligent enough to have figured out that life requires tolerating no shortage of bullshit. I pointed out that you've figured out that grups have feet of clay and that the wildly imperfect world we live in reflects it.

Your reaction -- a not uncommon and understandable one, particularly nowadays -- was/is to embrace nihilism and cynicism. Let's party! I didn't point out that this path is a dead end, that even partying all the time eventually gets boring, just like doing anything all the time eventually gets boring.

The problem with revealing that bit of wisdom to a young person is of limited utility. You're going to have to live a bit longer to realize just how true it is.

It gets worse.

I hope you're an exception but for most people -- even me, and I've had a life that's a bit more interesting than average -- life is (mostly) one damn thing after another and is what happens to you while you're making other plans.

[FYI, the two "life is" quotes above are attributed to lots of people, I threw in the "mostly" because life is occasionally awesome, usually when you're least expecting it. The one damn thing version is often attributed to Winston Churchill, I suspect because it sounds like something he'd say. 

But since "Winnie" is famous for playing a key part in saving the planet during the last worldwide war there's a lesson there methinks.]

"Fugihden, life sucks and then you die so..."

If life sucks and then you die the question is what sort of life should you live and your answer seems to be, PAR-TAY! As I pointed out above, this only works temporarily (trust me on this), so the next question is, how should you pass your time while waiting to take a dirt nap?

And by the way, I don't mean to embarrass you but people who've figured out that PAR-TAY! is not the answer understand that PAR-TAY! is often just an excuse for doing nothing. It's the easy way out for people suffering from Peter Pan syndrome. Or worse yet, addiction.


Passing the Time
I've written about what follows before, and I have to acknowledge the fact that Jordan Peterson explains it better than I can, but here's the Reader's Digest version.

For myriad biological, psychological, philosophical, etceteralogical reasons H. sapiens need to spend their lives in the pursuit of goals and ideals and once a given goal/ideal is reached, or discarded, a new goal/ideal must replace it in order to feel... right. To feel like you're functioning as designed. To experience meaning and purpose.

It's really that simple, and that hard.

Hard, because anyone can say my goal is _______ and I'm going to start seriously pursuing it... next week, or next month, or next year, or as soon as the bottle or the bag is empty, or after I move out of here, or after I find a job/a better job, or _______. And then pull the covers up and go back to sleep.

Hard, because every time you reach or discard a goal/ideal you're not suddenly going be happy once and for all. You can't actually pursue happiness any more than you can force yourself to go to sleep, or to love (or even like) someone. Or to be loved (or even liked) by someone.

All that you can do is all that you can do.

To occasionally experience happiness be worthy of happiness. To be loved (or even liked) be worthy of it. To sleep well, work hard at something worth working hard for, which often means working hard at something you hate so you have the opportunity to work hard doing something you love.

Work hard at something you hate, or are indifferent to, so you can pay your own way, or pay the way of your loved ones and deep, restful sleep will follow.

Hard, because you have to choose to be a grup, you have to choose not to see yourself as a victim. We're all victims of something, so what? What are you doing about it? A grup understands everything we want, that makes us "happy" is an opposite of something and that the nature of reality is that it's made of opposites. Happy/sad, up/down, yin/yang. Deal with it.

Hard, because if you want to become a wise, contented, well-respected soul the only path available is to consciously decide to be the best person you can be on every level and get off your ass and do it.

No matter how rough things get at any given moment there are literally millions of other H. sapiens, at that exact same moment, with problems that make yours seem like a walk in the park on a beautiful day.


What will be your legacy? Choose one. He always tried to make things a little better for himself and everyone he could. He spent his life covering his ass and enduring the day. He was an asshole and we're glad he's gone. Poppa loves you.

Have an OK day. 

P.S. Speaking of Jordan Peterson...


Please scroll down to react, comment, or share.

Your friendly neighborhood crank is not crazy about social media (I am a crank after all) but if you must, you can follow me on Facebook. I post weekly column announcements as well as things I find on the web that reflect where I'm coming from.

©2018 Mark Mehlmauer

[I haven't got around to figuring out the official way to do this yet... but as of 12.15.18 I'm offering up my humble scribbles under a Creative Commons License. That is to say, Anyone may republish my columns anywhere -- as long as they don't alter them and as long as they credit me (Mark Mehlmauer) as the [I haven't got around to figuring out the official way to do this yet... but as of 1 author, and, link to my website, The Flyoverland Crank.]