During my morning wash-up, a sexual thought flashed through my brain, which prompted “the one who laughs” to chuckle silently at the sex robot in the mirror. It brought to mind one of my favorite Scott Adams cartoons, in which dogbert calls Dilbert a “pink robot.” Of course, dogbert is a furry robot, so there’s the irony of one robot calling another names.
One of the wonderful things about my neighborhood is that it’s filled with robots of all colors, sizes, and ages, and with varying amounts of fur. I was tilting my blinds shut in preparation for bed the other night, when I noticed the neighbor’s cat spotlighted on the threshold of their open door. I’m on the third floor, and they’re on the second, so I had an eye-in-the-sky view of the cat on their back landing, casually surveying the night. Suddenly she tensed, then moved quickly but stealthily forward in that wonderful cat-like way: “Something moved!”
On any day you can walk down Grand Avenue, a couple of blocks away, and enjoy the sight of robots going through their routines. The young women are trying to look all hot and fun-loving; the young men trying to look prosperous and studly; everyone flirting with varying degrees of intensity. The mommy and daddy robots are pushing strollers with their baby robots inside, emoting with pride, concern, or tolerance, depending on how their programming interprets the present situation. We older robots, confronted by all this seething humanity, are putting on whatever face our lives have given us.
I used to be rebellious about my robot-ness. My own programming made me resent any form of control, whether it came from society or biology. There came a point, however, when I realized the futility of my rebellion. Why rage against reality, after all? My anger was replaced by a sense of humor. Our situation is quite comical as we act out our pre-determined roles in oblivion, and we lucky ones, robots all, get to laugh about it.
If life has given us the broader perspective that sees our behavior in the grand evolutionary context, it actually alters our programming to some extent. Rather than being totally caught up in the imperatives of our heritage, we can see the consequences of our following them over a longer term. In my younger days, my view extended only to the next opportunity for getting laid, and I never thought of how my mating behavior might play out over time.
Age and a broader view sees my momentary acts in context, and my brain has learned to judge whether the present pleasure is worth the long-range price. I used to come on to any female of the species that was in proximity, always ready to take advantage of a favorable response. It’s been so long since I practiced that routine that I’ve forgotten how, and for me, the sacrifice of that particular form of reproductive pleasure has been well worth the serenity and simplicity that replaced it. I don’t eat pizza and ice cream any more, either, and my health is much the better for it.
Speaking of health, I wrote in the previous post about laughing through my laundry list of skeletal ailments, and about dealing with them in the absence of any foreseeable cure. I’m happy to report that I’ve found the perfect chiropractor, and it turns out to be me!
I was searching for various kinds of spinal adjustment on YouTube, and came across a guy named Kalidasa, who had, through a fortuitous chain of circumstances, developed what he calls his “Self Adjustment Technique.” Applying it required developing a level of familiarity with my body that I hadn’t had before, but the results are fabulous. As I’ve learned how to administer the procedures to my particular problems, I have become almost pain free. I still make the occasional awkward move that disarranges things somewhat, but I apply the appropriate adjustment and the discomfort disappears. His online book was one of the best investments I’ve ever made, and I am totally thrilled.
Change for the better does happen, and hopefully this little piece will reprogram your brain to be more attentive to its opportunities for increased happiness.
