Born in the Wrong Era

I’ve known a lot of people that say they were born in the wrong time. I had a girlfriend who felt she should have been born in the 40s, but mostly I think because she wanted to only wear pants like Katherine Hepburn. I have a magician friend who wishes that he was born in the 1800s when conjuring was a young, elegant, theatrical art. Me, I think I should have been a caveman.

First of all I don’t much care about stuff. I think a rock to sit on, a fire to keep warm and maybe a small cave for “me” time would suit me just fine. I like the idea of not being attached to anything and there’s plenty of rocks, small caves and although I’m sure fires were much harder to start back then, manageable. So I could move at a moment’s notice. And I’m sure that happened. A lot.

I’d like to be in a culture where what I owned wouldn’t be the barometer of my worth. I’d really like to put the whole ‘sense of humor is the most important quality in a man’, for women, to the test. Of course the bigger dudes would still probably win out, but amongst us shorter specimens I’d like to find out if the producer who has no talent but controls the money could get anywhere if he was just trying to dangle a piece of bone in front of a girl’s eyes instead of some shiny bauble. Versus my making her laugh after a long day of hunting and gathering.

I also like the idea of there being a lot of free time and without not much really going on, we could really focus on “why we’re here?”

What were those early conversations like?

Caveman One: So this is pretty great, huh, being alive?

Caveman Two: If you call constantly being chased by predators, in competition for available food and the constant itching from these furs great, I guess.

Caveman One: Hmm. I need to ponder that. I’ll be in my cave.

Of course, I feel it goes without saying that it would be great to never have to shave, never have to worry about obesity due to running from stuff and no junk food, as well as not having to worry about anything “clashing.”

Although I really only have jeans and t’s, a small studio apartment where only my laptop really matters, and the only thing I really end up clipping a lot is the hair in my ears and nose. So I guess I’m fine right here.

A Conversation Between Angels XXVI

“Morning Fred.”

“Hi Scott.”

“I see you’re up early, trying to beat the cafeteria rush?”

“Yes and no. I don’t really know what time it is, obviously, but I do like it when I’m early. I prefer the eggs and they seem to run out of those first.”

“You don’t like the pancakes?”

“I just get a little sick of all the sayings they write on there.”

“They really do hammer at you don’t they?”


“Speaking of, did you see that lecture by Father Time?”

“Yeah, letting go of the clock. Um, hello, we already don’t have any of the devices we were used to.”

“But he makes a point about not being obsessed with the idea of time, with the need to be somewhere, with the need to judge yourself based on whether or not you get something done in a certain amount of time.”

“Well then why didn’t he go to Earth and give us the lecture while we were down there. I might not have had this heart attack.”