The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

One of the pathologies of my generation, the Boomers, is the penchant for dystopian expectation. If one of us laments the oncoming global warming inaction, another will pipe up with what worries her most is the potential of Artificial Intelligence singularity, which, not to be outdone, another will suggest genetic manipulation could lead to the end of the human era. After that it’s a potpourri of End of the World scenarios. Nano-technology, robot warfare, fast forming ice ages, pandemics, nuclear annihilation, Tik Tok viral cat videos, just about everything short of alien invasion. And sometimes even that, extraterrestrial angst.

I guess we’re nervous nellies. That, or we watch too many cheesy sci-fi movies we must think are documentaries. In full disclosure, I’m one of those who are pessimistic about the future. Advances in science don’t seem like the solution anymore — in fact, they seem like the problem, no offense to Elon and the Silicon Crew.
Sure, maybe we’ll merge happily with the cyborgs, cure cancer, invent workable cold fusion, ready rockets to intercept incoming asteroids, halt nuclear proliferation and find a cure for the common cold before it’s too late for us homo sapiens. Science, a powerful tool — even if half of us no longer believe in it.

I try to tell myself be happy, you’re an old coot, probably won’t see the volcano blow or the earthquake that drops Camano into the Sound, be glad you don’t have kids to worry about their bleak future. I know, kind of a selfish attitude, just enjoy what ya got, turn off Fox News and smell the genetically altered roses. Leave the cleanup for the androids. With any luck they’ll program themselves for optimism. Even happiness….

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