Saturday, February 17, 2024

When the Satellites Go Down

Russia is developing space nukes.  That's what they say.  They could use them to knock out communication satellites.  No more cell phones.  There goes the internet.  We'll be back to landlines and "snail mail."  That won't be "back" for those people born after 1990 or so, I guess.  No more electronic banking, either.  No Amazon shopping.  People will have to carry cash.  Tech companies would crash.  All those IT guys will be looking for jobs.  And. . . people will have to go to class once again.  

I don't know.  It doesn't seem all bad.  

The girl in the photo has never known a non-digital world.  When she's not taking orders at the Cafe Strange, in between customers, she is looking at her phone.  I wonder if she would take up board games or solving crossword puzzles if the satellites go down.  Maybe she'd learn to play card games while drinking martinis and eating finger sandwiches with the gang.  Or maybe she would take up fishing to wile away the time.  

I think she might go mad.  But, you know, people adapt.  Cribbage.  Gin rummy.  Parcheesi.  Bridge.  

Q called yesterday as I was having the usual Campari and soda on the deck.  He was happy and heading to a pub for a burger and beers to kick off his three day weekend.  I wasn't as upbeat as he was.  I wasn't feeling happy.  

"Hell man," he chided, "I thought you were all set with camera gear.  How can you not be happy?"

Of course he was being disingenuous.  Or I would think so, anyway.  

"Yea. . . I went out with them today.  I just didn't have it in me."

He changed the conversation to talk about his upcoming vacation.  He was fairly manic.  Me. . . not so much.  

He reached his destination quickly and said goodbye.  I decided I needed to get out.  I locked the house and drove up to what was once my favorite restaurant bar.  I wanted to get the very tasty shrimp tacos and see people.  It was early enough, I thought.  It was five.  But I was wrong.  The place has become too many people's favorite restaurant bar.  The parking lot was full.  The small bar would probably be, too.  I drove around the block and headed home.  Instead of shrimp tacos, I had cod, broccoli, and jasmine rice.  

An aborted mission.  A failed attempt.  What to do?  

I slipped from despondency to despair.  I need some victory, I thought, something to shake me out of this.  

Early bed.  A bad night.  Up long before dawn.  I've written and rewritten trying to find some spark.  Two hours later, the world outside transitions from black to gray.  The day will be a gloomy, rainy one.  I will go to the gym and stretch, ride the bike, take a schvitz. . . maybe that will help.  Then I'll call up my girlfriend and see if she wants to have a champagne lunch someplace then come back to my house, take off our clothes and. . . you know. . . cuddle and nap.  I'll burn incense and we'll eat goat cheese with fig. . . . 

Yea.  That's the ticket.  All I need to do is find her number.  Where in the hell's her number?  

I do get sweet messages all the time, though.  I wouldn't want you to think of me as a loser.  I get propositions.  Lots of them.  

"😘I'm looking for a man that'll like a relationship with me. I'm a gorgeous nerd that wants a local man so he's close to me.🌹📍 😘I wish to see you here❣ ."

I think I'll go back to bed now and see if I can sleep.  There is nothing that can't be done. . . tomorrow.  

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