A Fresh Batch

I finished Douglas Coupland's "The Gum Thief" this morning. Like everything else the man's ever written, it's shockingly brilliant. I'm also in the middle of my eight-gajillionth re-reading of "Microserfs." As always, it's phenomenal. Next time I go to the library, rather than checking out on of the dozens of books on my list that I haven't read, I'll be looking for "Girlfriend in a Coma," because once definitely wasn't enough for that book.

A minute ago, I went to Coupland's Web site and was surprised to find it updated. I visit his every week or so, and haven't seen an update in over a year.

A day or two ago, my computer crashed and wiped my cookies. Apparently, my outdated cookies had been preventing me from seeing his updates all along - I've missed out on a lot over the past year.

Anyway, this made me wonder if there's any real world equivalent to this; to having old computer files block you from seeing current sites, without you even knowing that you've missed anything. And after only a few moments, yes, I think there are plenty of things like this.

I read an article about phantom limbs this morning, which is a great example. Any sort of tragic loss, really, probably gives one an unrealistic perception of the present. Maybe racism, or other prejudices the world has largely passed. When I'm away from the places where I used to live and the people I know, my own mental images have no way of accounting for the ways they must change, but then I visit my family and my house, and I'm reminded that they've still had a year without me.

Then I started thinking about how very odd it would be to wake up after a long coma and find yourself in a new world, and that reminds me that I need to go to the library as soon as I have a chance.