The question of alien origins

These are the reasons that I think I might not have originated on this planet:

1) My clothes never fit right, or match. They look and feel as if they do not belong on this underlying form. I was never blessed with a strong sense of fashion. As fabulous as I may be in my mind, in reality I generally look like a homeless person. I think a characteristic that aliens share with me is that they prefer utilitarian clothing with little ornamentation, uncomplicated closures, and drab coloring.

2) I don’t like watching sports, or talking about sports. I mean, what is the actual point? One set of burly men (or women) try to overcome another set of burly men in a prescribed time continuum within an arbitrarily pre-selected set of constraints, under the supervision of slightly less burly persons in zebra-flavored attire. This is somehow combined with latent wish-fulfillment from the organized seating sections, which are encouraged to make noises that are synchronized and sympathetic to the successful (or unsuccessful) completion of tasks that intersect imaginary geometric features. I just don’t get it. If you just throw a sphere at a wall and you have accomplished much the same thing.

3) I laugh at the wrong things. Almost all forms of human awkwardness are humorous, and are often more humorous if they are not supposed to be funny. Comedy seems to be based on pain for purely arcane reasons. The alien confusion over certain meat noises like “ha ha ha” is well documented.

4) I think “these kids today” are basically ok. Despite the dire predictions of gloom and despair, I find that the youngsters are generally getting on with it. I worry that their entire generation may be obliterated by portable communicators, but so far that hasn’t been an impediment to their well being. The normal human activities, fighting, fornicating, feeding, and so on, continue on their normal trajectory. Civilization just keeps right on collapsing, the same way it always has. I can picture the alien scientists on the mother ship, scratching their carapaces, wondering why we haven’t made more progress since their last visit.

5) I have trouble fawning over wealth or fame. Celebrity and good sense are only rarely coincident, and wealth only confers motivation for protecting and gathering wealth. Regarding matters unconcerned with money, the wealthy are just as clueless as the rest of us. Just because you made a few bucks stealing money from of pre-teens with a guitar, doesn’t mean you have any political savvy or understanding of what is good for the country. (You know who you are, Ted.) Since when does the opinion of an actor have any legitimacy regarding childhood vaccinations? These folks need to take their money and shut up. I am fairly sure that aliens are just as confused by the lack of discrimination in public life as I am.

6) Smart phones bore me. Don’t ask me to look at it. Don’t show me your apps. Look at me when we are talking. I mean it. I’d hate to have to put a mind meld on your ass.

7) I think that reality tv is the curse of our time. Good story telling was almost the definition of our species. Now we dispense with the search for meaning, the plot and the lessons learned, to simply throw awkward people and situations together to see what happens. Our alien overlords expect better from us.

 
If you are as concerned as I am, there are some tests available to determine your alien status:

http://www.irs.gov/Individuals/International-Taxpayers/Taxation-of-Nonresident-Aliens

http://www.allthetests.com/quiz13/quiz/1111207666/Are-You-An-Alien

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/newstopics/howaboutthat/ufo/11201602/Quiz-Are-you-an-alien.html

http://www.astralgia.com/webportfolio/omnimoment/archives/open_book/almanac/quiz.html

 

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5 Responses to The question of alien origins

  1. Jane says:

    Oh gosh – number 3, I’m terrible at that one. Often when I’m about to tell someone something I have to say – I know it’s not funny, but – because I know I’m going to laugh or smirk at something totally inappropriate when I’m telling the story. There are some things I can only tell my daughter as I know she has the same sense of humour as me and won’t think I’m a weirdo.

    I’m with you on five. My daughters watch The Kardashians and I want to punch them in the face – all of them, daughters and Kardashians.

    And number one. I was just saying yesterday – why do we have to even wear clothes, why can’t we just wear a singlet and underpants.

  2. LG says:

    My brother ! I am with you on ALL your points. The kids bit, omg, you are sooo right. And this is not just because I have one who I think is cool. I could have written this post – the sentiments are exact.

  3. I got a smartphone for Christmas from my older daughter and son-in-law, who are beta tech people on just about everything—video and computer games, Apple TV and all those new internet-streaming video devices, “apps,” startups, and stuff I probably know nothing about at this moment. Frankly, it terrifies me: I was fine with my old clamshell “dumbphone.” I could make calls from my car after work or wherever I happened to be at that moment; texting was difficult but it could be done. Now this little rectangle thingy tells me I should have a Facebook or Instagram or Twitter account—I’m apparently not social enough for it. It searches for WiFi signals without my sayso and hoots at me when I have a new email, which I don’t want to know about. (I find email incredibly onerous, especially since I have less time to reply to most of them.) My daughter says all I have to do is program the settings, and it’s my own fault if the phone does things I don’t want it to do. But I didn’t want the smartphone in the first place. It feels like an intrusion of my already crowded life.

    In my job I deal with “the kids nowadays,” and I don’t find them any worse or better than the kids I raised or the kids I grew up with. They’re better in some respects, really: they have less tolerance for bullying, gender stereotyping, or racism, and they’re far more open-minded about things that are unusual from the norm. I only wish their tastes in music didn’t gravitate towards hip-hop, which sounds to this old lady like shouting to a beat. But I know my parents didn’t like Bob Dylan or the other musicians I listened to as a teenager. My mother thought Bobby shouted, rather than sung. So the more things change….

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