CE3K

I got home from work last night in kind of a funky mood. Software tests hadn't gone particularly well, my new shoes had made my feet sore and unhappy, and the apocalyptic rumor-mongering of co-workers had sapped my will to live. So I laid down and turned on the TV, and started watching Close Encounters of the Third Kind, a movie that I haven't seen in ages.

What a relief. It took me back to a time when the world was young (well, when Richard Dreyfuss was young, anyway), aliens were enigmatic but benign, and one could say "Jeez, Melinda Dillon is cute" without some yahoo accusing one of having a mid-life crisis or lecturing one on the moral delinquency of single mothers (calm down, guys, maybe dad is at a tractor exposition in Decatur).

I wish aliens really were visiting us. I for one would like to know that there is other intelligent life out there in the universe. I'm not sure it would make any practical difference in my daily affairs, but I'd still feel better knowing that. And yes, I'm one of those eggheads who believes that alien race capable of efficient interstellar spaceflight would be peaceful and benign. Why? Because that's the way, uh huh, uh huh, I like it, uh huh, uh huh. But unfortunately, the Sagan Doctrine still holds, which is that extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof, and thus far, I haven't seen any.

But a note to potential alien visitors: if you do drop by, don't land in the pasture in the middle of the night wearing Halloween masks, and don't enter my house by oozing through the crack at the bottom of the door. Land in the middle of the day, and ring the doorbell like any respectful visitor. Thank you for your cooperation.