In 100 years, statistics would have it that over 90% of people currently inhabiting the planet will be DEAD! If one wants to keep citing statistics, the odds are 100% that I will be dead in 100 years. Taking the Dirt Nap. Sleeping the big sleep. Not even the little old dudes in India and Russia have made it to 143. I don’t think I want to be first for that.
I’m sure that in the near future near-immortality will be possible- technically- but let’s face it, that sort of engineering poses some moral questions. I am not a big sci-fi fan. The idea of living on as a disembodied computer program and then being deposited into a manufactured body as presented in the reanimation scenarios on the Science Channel show Through the Wormhole is downright creepy.
Now if I could engineer the body, that would be intriguing. If I could be about 6′ tall, weigh about 120, and have the perfect man-bait model bod, I could have some fun. However, being the sexy vixen would take some upgrading to the motor centers of my brain as well as a full body upgrade. What’s the point of being man-bait if you fall all over yourself and spill crap on your sexy clothes? It’s no tragedy to spill coffee all over the clothes I bought at Goodwill or off the Target clearance rack, but to spill coffee all over designer duds, or twist my ankles and break the heels off of high faluting stilettos? That would suck.
Today’s body-mod technology is scary. I couldn’t afford cosmetic surgery in my wildest dreams, and even if I had the scratch I’d be loathe to actually do it. The only plastic surgery that seems to be effective, at least most of the time, is breast enlargement, which I need like a hole in the head. 38Ds are enough for anyone. Keeping them from moving any further south is my ongoing objective. The things that are wrong with my appearance aren’t fixable. Short arms, short legs and bad proportions don’t fix.
I’ve had major surgeries. It takes a long time to recover. Knowing my luck I would end up looking even worse than when they first started, or I’d get MRSA or something and die an excruciating and macabre death from it. I think I’ll reserve surgical intervention for the truly necessary things, until they can do surgery like on Star Trek– where they scan you with a high faluting electronic box and you’re magically healed, with no blood or incisions or anything.
Implanting my brain into a super-body is probably not going to happen. So you do what you can with what you have.
I’m surprised this teacher didn’t give the kid a gold star for being able to perform bodily functions, as much as the schools have been dumbed down. Personally I have to admire his weisenheimer attitude even if the teacher’s dreadfully politically correct response sort of dampens the effect. “Best self?” What kind of happy horseshit is that? Would he be a “better self” if, like Beavis and Butthead, he forgot how to pee?