The other day I walked into the living room and saw a computer generated/animated dinosaur cavorting around on our television screen. That was not at all unusual for our household, but was was unusual was just how flummoxed it seemed to be making my engineering, scientifically astute, technologically savvy husband.
“I’m watching this show about sex in space,” he told me-and then I was flummoxed, and could actually feel important neurological connections in my brain explode as I tried to reconcile his words with what I was seeing on TV.
So naturally I had to stay and watch after that, and after treating us to yet another re-enactment of How Dinosaurs Became Extinct (which, if I recall correctly, they lightly referred to as, “One really bad afternoon”, as the reflection of the fatal meteor loomed larger and larger in the eyes of the poor, doomed dinosaur), they then turned the show over to some experts to give us some commentary on how all of this related to us human beings. And sex. And also, outer space.
So they brought out some serious, academic-ey-looking guy, and I’m sorry to say that I don’t remember anything more about him, because I was so completely distracted by his message. Which more or less boiled down to exhorting us humans to hurry up and find a way to leave earth and go procreate in space, or else we too would fall victim to some horrendous natural disaster and be wiped out as a species. Only this time, it would be our own fault, because we foolishly chose to remain earthbound, instead of earnestly seeking out new environments in which to do the deed.
And that is this guy’s job. He is an expert at doom-mongering, and encouraging us to go have sex in rocket ships.
And of course, all I could think about was, “Where the hell do you go to get a Ph. D. in that?!”