No, It's Not the Journey; It's the Destination

I don't hate vacations. I hate traveling. And the more complex the traveling, the more variables and uncontrollable vectors there are that will come into direct conflict with my plans and expectations, the more I will hate it.

We're not going to ever invent teleportation. That's just not ever going to be a thing. But if I subscribe to the belief that the world stops existing when I'm asleep, the next best thing would be to just knock myself the fuck out for an entire trip. Think the shuttle to Fhloston Paradise in The Fifth Element: you show up, get on the shuttle, get in your little sleep cupboard, and you're put to sleep for the entire trip. Nobody reclining their seat into your lap, no passive-aggressive armrest battles, no chump in the window seat squeezing by you 12 times to go to the bathroom--sounds like the ideal transit to me.

In fact, I'll go one better. Those pods that all the truck rental companies have now where they dump it in your driveway, you fill it up, and then they show up and haul it to wherever you're moving to? Yeah, do that, except with people. The travel company drops off the coffins at your house. (They're going to be called something less death-related, like "Somnus Capsules", but, yeah, everyone's going to call them "coffins".) At the appropriate time, you get in, the coffin gasses you to sleep, the transport picks up you and your family and takes you to the transit craft, you get shipped to your destination, and they wake you up with gentle music, a back rub, and a frozen margarita.

Now, I'm sure there are going to be concerns with human trafficking with this mode of transportation, but let's not throw the baby out with the bathwater. We'll figure out a way to ensure that anyone getting into a Somnus Capsule is doing so of their own free will, and is 100% aware of the location to which they're being transported.

I, for one, would LOVE to go to sleep in a coffin in my driveway, not regaining consciousness until I got to Europe. 

What Comes After

One common misconception about atheists is that we're all convinced that we know for a fact that there is no god, that there is no heaven and no hell. That's not true.

As an atheist, I believe I have no reason to pretend that I know that there is a god, heaven, hell, or whatever. I also don't think there's any way I can say definitively that there isn't. So, what's left? Belief and hope.

What I believe is that if there is a heaven, it's not nearly as rules-based as humanity's religions pretend it is. If there is someone or something above everything that set things in motion, it's not at all as capricious,  cruel, vindictive, illogical, or even at all as concerned with our thoughts and actions as the typical myths of a god or gods profess.

What I hope, and this probably surprises most people who aren't atheists, is that there is something that comes after all this, and that we will retain memories, emotions, and the ability to recognize and interact with individuals from this plane of existence.

Simply put, I hope I'll get to see my mom again. I hope I get to snuggle the cats who have been an important part of my life but who have passed on. I look forward to these things; I simply have no inclination to act as if they are absolute certainties but only if I act a certain way or say a certain prayer to a certain deity.

Who's Got Time for Memoirs?

I have no idea why I'm even doing this.

I found an old export I made from my blogging years before I closed my LiveJournal account, and I've been copy/pasting a few entries here. Just because.

I don't think I'm going to end up putting everything here (I wrote a lot of cringe self-pitying posts. Like, a lot a lot.) But every now and then, I may continue adding a handful of old blog posts. It's kind of fun.

Well, maybe not fun, but definitely interesting. To me. Somewhat.