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I wonder what it’s like to be a writer of science-fiction. What is it like to think about future technology, write about it, and then find out years later that nothing worked out quite like you had imagined.

A story written in the 1950s might have cities powered by their own nuclear reactor, a house may contain a computer complete with flashing lights, levers for programming, and huge tape drives for storing information. By the 1970s that would be out of date. How do authors feel about that? Do they just shrug it off? Do they feel an urge to re-write a story using more up to date technology? If it were me, I think it would drive me nuts.

Some things, though, can go in a weird circle. In the original Star Trek series, for example, data was stored on square plastic bits. I guess this seemed like a neat idea in the 1960s. By the late 1970s, when people had 5 1/4” floppy disks it seemed a bit quaint. During the 1980s and 1990s it seemed kind of silly. But now, it should be perfectly feasible to store data on such a medium using RF and Near Field Communications technology. I’m not sure about writing, but reading is definitely possible as long as the circuitry is embedded in that plastic, somewhere.


The other day I saw a jug of apple cider at the grocery store. I picked it up figuring I might be in the mood for a caramel apple cider drink and figured I could save a few bucks versus taking a trip to Starbucks. My plan would have worked admirably except that I forgot to get the caramel stuff. Such is the story of my life.

I had also gotten some pork chops for dinner. And an apple for the birds, because they enjoy apple every once in a while. They don’t eat a whole apple, though. They don’t even eat an entire wedge which means that most of the apple goes uneaten. Unless I eat the rest of it before it turns completely brown.

So what does one do when the fridge contains pork, apple cider and an apple? One tosses the diet out the window, that’s what. I poured some apple cider into my cast iron skillet, sprinkled some apple pie spice on the pork, cut up the remaining apple and cooked it all up.

I had some reservations about how it was going to taste with apple pie spice but it actually came out quite nicely.


Sometimes I miss the old computers. So much so that I’ll do things like download an Atari 800 emulator and write some quick BASIC programs for the sole purpose of creating a graphic divider for talking about those old computers. Like just now. I wouldn’t be writing this at all if it weren’t for the fact that I wanted a divider just in case I felt like talking about those old beasts. How funny is that?


I don’t fear my cat. Even when I’m lying in bed and he walks up my chest and gets his nose really close to my face. I trust Junior but I have to admit that sometimes I wonder what would happen if he did feel like stealing my soul. Or, usually, what if he decided to take a swipe at my eye right now? But it’s just a thought and not a very serious one.

I woke up this morning and then shuffled my way to the kitchen. Make coffee, feed the cat, feed the birds and then change the water in the bird dishes and cat bowl. That’s my usual routine. After the water is done then the coffee maker is usually done. There isn’t much variety there. This morning, though, I shuffled my way to the kitchen and started filling the coffee pot with water. I noticed Junior was right by my side and not over by his food dish area. He was paying a lot of attention to my feet. I filled the coffee pot with water and shunted to the left to pour it into the coffee maker. Junior watched this with interest. I shuffled back to the right and cleaned out his canned food dish, turned around to open the cabinet to get a new can, and turned back around. Junior watched all of this like a hawk. He even hunkered down with his butt up in the air and that did make me nervous. That was the attack position and never has Junior gone and attacked my feet without provocation.

“Geez, what’s your problem?” I asked him. “I’m getting your breakfast as fast as I can.”

I picked up his dish and started shuffling over to his food area when one of my legs stopped short. Years of living with animals that are ankle high have given me good reflexes when it comes to stopping. I stopped because something was not right. My legs usually don’t just stop like that. I looked down and back and saw that Junior had been trailing a scrap of cloth that was hanging off the bottom of my pajamas. I guess I rolled the computer chair over my pajama cuffs one too many times and now when I wear them and walk around I’m a life-sized kitty toy.