My sister and I decided to plant a time capsule for the aliens. We were too old to indulge in our fantasies then but were careening smack dab through a conspiracy phase that began with what was - only just probably - a lightning bug way up in the sky. It chafed against everything Father Don had been teaching us about the universe since we were old enough to pick our noses. On second thought, maybe that was what we liked best.
A Saturday night was relinquished to the task, though when it came to choosing the artifacts we were lost. Our pens stood poised over notebook paper so long the tips drooled black holes you could see three pages behind. Every relic required a specific purpose, needed to reveal something profound about the world as we saw it.
The Pros of the first proposed object, a hairdryer, were:
- The American cult of beauty is fucked and that's some anthropological wisdom worth passing on right there!