While watching the new Battlestar Galactica last night I had a thought. When future generations want to make a National Park of my birthplace where will they put it? It seems a pity we civilised humans are no longer born at home but in mass-produced sterile environments. Will the people of the future put a plaque on some rusting antique adjustable bed sharing half the floor space of a sparsely furnished room, antiseptic white with yellowing floor tiles? That’s not nearly as interesting as say, Lincoln’s birthplace. Besides, I don’t like Chambersburg. My birthplace is on a little farm outside of Mercersburg, even if I officially entered the world on a sterilized table 25 miles from home.
Stupid modern medicine.
So that’s it. My last comments as a young man. Tomorrow I enter the ranks of the beaten-down, middle-aged population. 50 or 60 more years of this crap to look forward to.
Hoo boy, I can hardly wait.
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