I was meandered my digital way to a recent piece in the Globe in which the author introduces the reader to a few persons and their ideas about the deeeeeeeeeeeep future. That's a subject which fascinates me as much as any other, since I've spent my fair share of time under the influence of science fiction novels as well as some imagination-enhancing substances. And these folks in the article believe they're drawing a bead on what the future holds, which is cool for them, and for people like me who have an appreciation for educated guesses...but I think they may be full of it.
But then again, maybe not.
How much did Arthur C. Clarke affect the future when he spun his fantasies?
And, really, that's all I want in a leader these days, someone who's going to tell us that it's entirely possible that we're going to fuel every engine and battery in America on algae by next summer, and frankly, I'll be pretty ticked off if you prove me wrong, so get to work.
So, Mr. Future - yeah you, the guy who just won a cool $1.7 million for figuring out that if we're not extinct by the time the 200th Tour de France comes around (the Celtics just limped home; it's cycling season now), then we'll be chilling two galaxies down the way with alien DNA - tell me that we can pass the singularity without a moral hiccup, and make this world, or any world on which we set foot (or whatever is then roughly synonymous with foot), habitable for billennia to come, and I've got your back. We'll get there.
And in the meantime, shorten up your lenses and talk to me about saving for my retirement. Nobody seems to have any ideas about that.