One of the reasons I chose pMachine for my new blogging software--as opposed to, say, Movable Type--is the ability to “future date” my posts.  This means that I can write a post and have it appear on my site whenever I want.

For example, take this post.  Judging from the time stamp, it appears to have been written in the late afternoon.  Not so.  I wrote it at about 6 a.m.  But I didn’t want it to appear until 5 o’clock, because shortly after 5 I should be deplaning in Texas so I can attend a conference.  I wanted to write about the day when I hadn’t experienced yet, and post it automatically when I had, in fact, experienced it.

So what was my future-past-day like?

Around 7:00 a.m. I clutched a tall mug of coffee, walked about six blocks from my apartment to a nearby garage, and voted in the California governor recall election. As I looked at the ballot--which not only contained over 100 candidates, but also two truly inane propositions--tears streamed down my face.  A little old lady smiled at me, touched my arm, and said “Aren’t you glad to live in a democracy where you can exercise your right to vote and help affect the future of this great state of ours?” I wiped my eyes, turned to her tenderly, and dumped my coffee over her head.

On the plane, babies screamed from all directions.  It was Hell’s version of stereo 5.1 sound.  Faced with this situation, I did what I always do: loudly read select passages from Jonathan Swift’s 1729 essay, A Modest Proposal:

“A child will make two dishes at an entertainment for friends; and when the family dines alone, the fore or hind quarter will make a reasonable dish, and seasoned with a little pepper or salt will be very good boiled on the fourth day, especially in winter . . . Those who are more thrifty (as I must confess the times require) may flay the carcass; the skin of which artificially dressed will make admirable gloves for ladies, and summer boots for fine gentlemen.”

I smiled in contentment as the gasps of adults begin to overtake the sound of mewling infants, and babies were quickly shushed.

I read most of Max Barry’s Jennifer Government

.

I ignored the person next to me loudly prattling about garden perennials for as long as I could.  Eventually, it was necessary to drop a stronger hint by wearing my Walkman and singing along to the Donnas: “You thought you’d leave me broken hearted/Well, you might have if you weren’t SO RETARDED.”

In preparation for seeing a Mavericks game that evening, courtesy of a colleague who works in the Texas office, I read the sports pages so I could find out what kind of sport these so-called Mavericks play.  Initial hypothesis, based on name of team: some kind of game involving unbranded range animals.

I left the plane, stepped on Texas soil for the first time in my life, and was promptly attacked by a herd of bison.

That’s what my day was like.  How was yours?