Of iPods and Outhouses

Today is the first day of 2010. It seems so science fiction-y to write those numbers. Shouldn't we be traveling around in hovercraft and living in space colonies by now? Of course, the computer I am using to compose this is running off of electricity that was captured from sunlight, which is pretty sci-fi when you think about it. My whole life sometimes seems like a crazy marriage of "Star Trek" and "Little House on the Prairie". My solar panels, computer, cellphone and iPod (yes, even I have an iPod now) are balanced by rain barrels, an earth oven and an outhouse. In many futuristic books and movies (Joe likes to say that movies are the dreams of our society) we are depicted as living an existence completely devoid of nature, either because we've used it all up or decided we just don't need it any more. Last night Joe and I went to watch "Avatar", in 3-D no less, a sci-fi movie whose main theme is the struggle between our primitive, in-tune-with-nature side and our currently stronger alter ego of materialism and blind greed. The movie was beautiful and fantastic, but in order to get good seats we had to get there early, subjecting ourselves to the slew of advertisements that come on pre-previews. Having lived a virtually TV-less existence for many years now, I find my numbness to commercials has worn off. Apparently Wal-Mart and Coca Cola can actually sell me joy. Cellphones will now do everything but your laundry (am I the only one scared by the direction cellphones are taking?), and that is only a matter of time. As we sat in the theater awaiting the start of the movie, (Joe had his eyes closed and the plastic wrappers from the 3-D glasses rolled up in his ears and a blissful look on his face) I found myself so thankful for my outhouse and its very tangible connection to solid ground. And now, thanks to my new iPod Nano, I can easily take my audiobook (currently Tolkien's "Lord of the Rings" series) with me when nature calls.