Have you ever sat around and narrated something to yourself in your head? Something that became more and more plausible as part of a story, but, then you suddenly seem to get ahead of yourself, skipping ahead to the likely title, the subsequent reception and reviews and finally, to its jacket blurbs in 20th year of publication? No?
How about this weather, right? I am so sick of living in the 21st century with all the crappy greenhouse affected weather and lack of flying cars. This future, for all its good intentions is no longer even trying to live up to expectation. It sort of ambles along, dragging social networks and blu-ray disc player cum consoles behind it, the iPhone trying desperately to keep up with the cool gang. I think the gadgets are pretty, but I don’t see how they can possibly lead to a flying car. Do you remember that commercial from, oh, a more optimistic 2002 with Avery Brooks in it? You know the, ‘Where are the flying cars, I was promised flying cars’ tirade? I seem to be falling into that sort of ire. To me, the addition of an automated stop announcer (soothing female # 4) on the TTC isn’t indicative of great progress.
I have started running in the mornings and so it has led to the incredible lack of direction this post has. So, do not blame it, as it is entirely my fault instead.
I’ll just end by feeling guilty for writing this sort of drivel, when there was a demonstration at Queen and Bathurst yesterday by Tibetan protesters who lay down in the street, emulating the bodies of Tibetans killed by the Chinese in the recent surge in a long battle. “Shame on China,” they proclaimed. I wonder what the etiquette on taking pictures of that sort of thing is.