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Technology Morphology

Spectacles Et Al.

S. G. Lacey

​​

1955

        Stepping out onto the cedar plank stoop, I reach back, and close the heavy oak door behind me.  Inserting the notched brass key into the lock, I rotate it clockwise, motion corresponding with activation of the deadbolt.  Apartment secured, I drop the bulky keyring into the right external pocket of my coat, one of the few pouches on my person which is empty.

             It’s a beautiful evening for a stroll, especially towards a desirable destination.  My first date in a fortnight. 

      Before setting off, I tug on the bottom of my jacket, squaring it up and removing any wrinkles, however imperceptible.

           I pride myself on wearing sophisticated attire.  As such, I’m clad in a full 3-piece suit.  The outer top and trousers are milk chocolate brown in color, with a finely textured surface.  The waistcoat, tight fitting, is sky blue.  Completing the presentation is a starched white dress shirt, and a burgundy tie.  Every element of this patriotic outfit is professionally tailored to my tall and thin frame.

          I’m a bit of an old-fashioned soul, but at least this commitment to costume allows me to stand out in the crowded and competitive courting landscape.

          Many younger men these days, looking to provide differentiation between their business and causal wardrobes, are donning sportswear for post-work functions.  Such outfits incorporate patterned blazers, brightly colored shirts, and neutral pants, with intentional mismatching, dubbed the “peacock” style.  These fledgling, naïve folks apparently don’t grasp how foolish they look in bold plaid, thick stripes, and pastel hues.

      In contrast, I dress down for work, wearing conservative suits in standard grey and navy blue.  The evenings, especially when I have an opportunity to mingle with the fairer sex, I break out the extravagant attire, formal yet fancy.

         My favorite piece of this current ensemble is the jacket.  This article incorporates a small checked pattern, a modern twill, but not too coarse.  Sparkle threads infused into the very complex weave give the garment a visible shimmer.  Plus, the manmade rayon fabric is essentially wrinkle-proof. 

        Each design element is handmade precisely to my specifications.  Subtle shoulder pads enhance my boney physique, even though this treatment is becoming increasingly uncommon.  Narrow but notched lapel, as there’s already a lot going on with this costume.  Plus, I don’t want to hide the handkerchief in my outer left-breast pocket, also a dark-red hue, which is more for aesthetics than functionality.

       The double-breasted configuration, my personal preference, represents a more put-together overall presentation.  I’m using just the lower two outerwear buttons, allowing room to expose both the waistcoat and tie underneath.  The vest is slim fitting and hour glassed, while the coat is loose with straight sides, offering a juxtaposition in form, with jacket on versus off.

        The fine linen dress shirt, proper and professional, feels great against my skin.  Pointy shirt collar matches a pointy tie, both neatly pressed and monochromatic.  Wool flannel waistcoat, and a slick silk tie; a wide disparity of material properties, decisions made as much around color as comfort. 

         My pants are narrow in cut, formed to my long and slender legs, with archaic pleats eliminated, but a modern zipper fly added.  The waist sits high on my hips, thus the trousers stay up on their own.  However, a belt, just a thin leather one, is an attire accoutrement too adaptable to pass up.

        New synthetic fibers and enhanced manufacturing methods developed during wartime have turned out to be quite beneficial once peace set in.  Clothes hounds like myself are able to buy better looking, higher quality, more durable, costumes, for the same fiscal outlay.

       One element of the outfit I’ve decided to pass on tonight is a hat.  I have several quality items in the closet, my current favorite being a grey felt fedora with low dome height and shortened brim.  However, on this lovely evening, with no chance of rain in the forecast, I’m foregoing headgear.  Plus, it seems like most of the men donning hats these days are older.  I’m seeking to exude an air of youthful energy tonight.    

         An added bonus of this strategy is that my curated mop will remain pristine.  The pompadour-style preparation I’m currently sporting requires lots of time in front of the mirror to execute.  After spending my early adulthood with my hair cut quite short, per military standards, I now revel at the opportunity to grow out and style my long black locks.

        Having worn drab olive green and tan for several years during my stint in the army, returning to civilian life has offered up incredible freedom in terms of attire options.  I’ve learned that gentlemen in society are visually judged based on clothing presentation, from both a wealth and productivity standpoint.

          I make a good living, as an automotive engineer, allowing me to enjoy more luxuries than the average citizen my age these days.  Like the fancy suit I’m wearing right now.

          My current job materialized through a confluence of life events.  Working on assembling and painting model cars as a child.  Working on janky farm machinery at home as teenager.  Working on rugged vehicles overseas while in the military.  Working on modern automotive production in my current role.  

      My unique combination of being devoutly religious, traditional to the point of formality, and having very superstitious tendencies, conspires to result in me executing the same procedure every time I leave home.  A dedicated Christian, I rapidly make the series of hand movements associated with the “Sign of the Cross”.

          Instinctively, my right hand tracks first to my forehead, extended fingertip narrowly missing the thin wire of my spectacles.

          Next, my arm shifts downward, thumb briefly coming in contact with the pewter buckle of my belt, cast in the form of the United States flag.

           Back upwards, I tap my heart on the left side of my chest, a spot coinciding with the location of my wallet, securely stashed in the interior breast pocket of my jacket.

        Finally, I slide my hand horizontally to the right nipple, my bent elbow accidentally impacting the large pocket watch housed in my waistcoat.

           This complex series of motions traces out a cross on my torso, hence the moniker assigned to this religious act.

          While this sequence is typically used to reference and thank God after a harrowing experience, I’ve adopted it as a preemptive plea every time I depart on one of these dating pursuits.  Considering my difficulty finding suitable mate, I figure it can’t hurt to ask the Lord for a little help up front.

          Hopefully tonight will provide more fruitful than prior efforts, over the past months, and years for that matter.  At 35 years old, I’ve surpassed the typical marriage age long ago.  While not a perfect physical specimen, I have several other redeeming qualities like financial stability and personal style, which makes me a valuable catch.  I just need to find the right girl.

           On that note, I better get moving.

         Reaching up instinctively, as the evening light dims, I touch the metal-rimmed glasses on my face.  In contrast to the rest of my extravagant outfit, these simple spectacles are not the most stylish option available.

           This vision aid materialized in my life while serving as a soldier.  During basic training, my rifle skills were so poor, our captain sent me to the medical center on base for an eye exam.  It was at this time, a revelation coinciding with my 20th birthday, I learned my natural vision was quite impaired.

           The first time I got fitted with eyeglasses, a common offering in the U.S. Army at that time, was truly a revelation.  I never realized how bad my sight was until it became corrected.  I ended up being a crack shot on the range, once this alignment issue was corrected.

           As a result of this successful body augmentation, I became committed to the initial thick glass lenses and fine wire frame option that represented standard issue soldier equipment.

        Throughout the lengthy World War II conflict, options for glasses and goggles expanded vastly, but my path was already set.  Media published images of the lead general Douglas MacArthur brought the stylish Aviator look, marketed under the Ray-Ban line, into the forefront of public consciousness and adoption.   These oversized, dark-tinted, lenses, fitting close to the face for maximum sun and wind exposure protection, attached by a robust metal frame, including a dual wire nose bridge, never suited my needs.  I was a practical Army grunt mechanic, not a flashy Air Force elite pilot.

       Granted, any modern spectacles are a vast improvement over the many absurd vision trends before this current system was achieved.  Amazed by my own vision improvement, I’ve spent time researching the history of this interesting item.

          First was the lone monocle, providing correction only on a single eye.  This form factor was used almost exclusively by upper class males.  Easy to stash, but awkward to wear; it proved unclear if folks were looking directly at or perusing far afield during conversation.

        A slight improvement came at the tail end of the 18th century, in the form of the lorgnette, a pair of small glass circles attached to a wooden handle, allowing the device to be raised and applied as needed.  This selective usage was perfect for women not interested in completely tarnishing their general image.

       The true origin of modern eyewear was the historical pince-nez, translating to “pinch nose” in French.  Gaining popularity in the late 1800’s, this item could at least sit on the face unsupplemented, albeit with some sinus constriction.

        Originally, those with sight impairment were not fit for American military participation.  However, as the demand for warm bodies on the front line in Europe amplified, marginal males needed to be brought into the fold.

        Ironically, if my calling card had come up just 6 months earlier, I would have been disqualified from service.  For the original 1940 U.S. draft, the two most common reasons for rejection were vision and teeth issues, despite a strong show of patriotism across the nation.   

        However, as the war progressed, and more young men were required, the pool had to be broadened. In 1942, the year I enlisted, essentially blind folks could join on, provided at least 20/40 vision was achievable with corrective lenses.  After getting fit with the right prescription, mine proved better than the 20/20 gold standard, and I was finally able to hit targets, first at the practice range, then in the trenches.

        Fortunately, aside from participating in two major beachhead advances during 1944, which were all-hands-on-deck activities, most of my time was spent well behind the front lines.  My skills as a vehicle mechanic proved more valuable fixing damaged jeeps back at the garage on base, an opposed to destroying automobiles in direct combat.

       World War II saw substantial innovation across a wide range of human-enabling technologies.  Significant investment in machinery, materials, and manpower resources globally were committed to this wartime pursuit.  With the resolution of the conflict in the rear-view mirror, these advancements have been repurposed to the civilian realm.

       One object which has seen productive proliferation to the public is spectacles.  The requirement of eye augmentation in combat was multi-faceted: sun mitigation, vision enhancement, debris protection, durable performance.  All elements just as relevant in casual, mundane, everyday life, as in stressful, harsh, battlefield conditions.

       While simple in presentation, my seemingly innocuous pair of eyeglasses incorporates many innovative features, in terms of both construction and functionality. 

        Springy silver-nickel alloy for the frame, with full-wrap bow temples around the ear, and built-in cushy foam nasal pads.  Pantoscopic lenses, hence the P3 moniker adopted to define this specific model, with the top portion of the glass subtly tilted forward; this enables improved optics and reduced glare.

         Absolute positional security, even when the user is moving around, through multiple contact points on the head, each treated with a no-slip rubber coating. Shifting the nose piece from horizontal to a 45° angle, allowing substantially improved peripheral vision, a key skill in driving, of both tanks and automobiles.

        Millions of pairs of P3s were made and distributed to GIs during the course of the war, aided by the extensive optician’s kit, stocked with all the components required to assess and fit, becoming part of standard military units.

        All these engineered elements were much appreciated by users.  As a result of prevalence and performance, this design has become very popular amongst soldiers turned civilians after they returned stateside.  I’m the poster child for this vision supplement success story.

       Goggles were also very common in the WWII, for protective safety in the Air Force and Navy, blocking rapidly moving air and water, on planes and ships, respectively.  Experiences I was never subjected to, though I did operate land vehicles at an incredibly unsafe speed during my time as a military mechanic.

          Understandable, goofy goggles have faded out of public consciousness in the post-war era.

          While my own eye augmentation was fueled by soldierly shooting requirements, after the conflict citizens sought to improve their vision for a much more mundane reason.  The desire to clearly watch television, an invention just a decade old, now serving as the primary form of entertainment in most households.

      Acrylic lenses, pioneered in England during the late 1940’s, have become increasingly popular of late, at least according to my optometrist.  Made from cellulose acetate, more commonly known as Zyl in the industry, these offerings are much lighter than glass, per the sample pair he showed me in his office.

         However, this material has proven more likely to scratch, discolor, and break, especially in harsh conditions, which combat definitely qualifies.  If this technology isn’t good enough for the U.S. military, then it’s not good enough for me.  Hence, I’ve stuck with the more durable glass solution.  

         At least commercialization of plastic lenses has resulted in more folks donning eyewear, due to the lower cost and increased customization.  Now, I stand out way less than I used to when sporting my spectacles.  Which is pretty much any time I leave home.

      Tortoise shell frames.  Straight temple earpieces.  Wayfarer geometric shaping.  All manner of new material advancements and design concepts have become popular over the past decade.  There’s no doubt eyeglasses have transition from functional to stylish.  Yet, despite my passion for novelty in nearly every element of dress, I remain content with my simple but sufficient wire frame P3s.

       Setting off down the lane at a brisk pace, I break into song, in the form of a shrill whistle through pursed lips, attempting to mimic the chorus from “Rock Around the Clock”.  This catchy blues riff, recently recorded by American rock and roll group Bill Haley & His Comets, is one of the most popular songs in the country right now. 

         Blasting over the radio several times this morning on the shop floor at the auto assembly plant, this tune has been stuck in my head all day.  This seems like as good an anthem as any for my pending evening foray.

        Protruding from the back left pocket on my pants is a newspaper.  This rolled-up scroll sways back and forth as I stride ahead, but the tight fit of my trousers is sufficient to keep the tabloid tube in place.  I consume this written content every day, from world events to weather forecast, business bulletins alongside sports scores, even the obituaries and comics, as this compendium of stories represents the best way to keep up with important happenings.

          Most folks have transitioned from reading to viewing their news, via nightly TV broadcasts.  However, I prefer to get informed on my own timeline, jumping around and rereading sections as desired.  Another one of my many archaic tendencies, for a man who’s just reaching middle age.

       I’m guessing I’ll have a few free minutes at the restaurant before my companion joins, allowing me to review an article or two.  I plan to arrive early, as I always do on these ventures, for both comfort and chivalry reasons.  

         In preparation for the date, I made this same trek last night, taking a few notes with a stubby pencil on a paper scrap regarding the various required twists and turns through the narrow streets.  I know this city well, but there are still a few tricky sections, like where the target establishment is located.  My mind, by no means photographic, is still sharp enough that I likely won’t have to reference my makeshift map.  Still, better safe than slow.

       I have plenty of thoughts running through my head as I stroll along on this pleasant night.  Most topical in my perpetually pensive brain is the task at hand.  Or ideally, in hand.  Rendezvousing with my arranged girl, a connection made through the busybody secretary at work, and hopefully having a nice productive evening.  But, not too productive.

         Even though the weather is comfortable, I instinctively put my right hand into my right pants’ pocket, tailored with not one put two pouches.  The item I’m seeking is located in the smaller inner sleeve, and is a sleeve in its own right.

       A condom, still in the foil wrapper, but which I hope to open later tonight, if all goes well.  I can feel my nether region tingle at just the thought of this yearning playing out.  It’s been several months since my last sexual encounter with another person; as with most energetic young men, even quite religious one’s like me, I have a weekly session to take care of myself.

         The desired and ability to procreate dates back to the original sin.  Having offspring is critical to keeping the human race flourishing, thus God, in his infinite wisdom, instilled us with innate urges to motivate such intimate activity.

         My commitment to using this safety sheath, rather than proceeding in the natural manner, is twofold.  Prevention of pregnancy, and avoidance of affliction.  Apparently, a lot of bodily fluids, many unwanted, are transferred during the course of intercourse.

         I can’t imagine donning, let alone subjecting a partner to, the historical, animal-sourced, versions of this protective product.  Turtle shells.  Sheep horns.  Pig innards.  Often covering just the tip, to make matters worse, and less comfortable.  I don’t want any of these invasive and abrasive materials anywhere near my groin.  Not to mention the potential distracting discomfort to an interested partner during the intimate proceedings.

        Fortunately, manmade materials, born out of the Second Industrial Revolution, have come up with more functional solutions.  Rubber condoms materialized in the mid-1800’s, then came into prevalence at the beginning of 20th century, as a result of modern manufacturing advancements, supplanting both animal intestines and processed linen.

        My natural unit is already shrouded in both skin and cloth, so both these options seem redundant and cumbersome.  The particular condoms I prefer are a relatively recent invention.  The slang descriptor, “rubbers”, hints at the polymer used to make these penile wrappers.  However, the important latex variant, stemming from chemistry developments made during the 1920’s, is most common these days.

         This new formulation requires only water for manufacturing, rather than the much more volatile benzene used with traditional rubber compounding.  In both cases, glass mandrels of phallic form are dipped into the liquid solution, with immersion time dictating thickness.  Sound like an interesting plant to be a line worker at.  Still, this simplified process has allowed mass production of affordable condoms, both overseas and here at home. 

        Latex has proven preferred by most consumers, being thinner and stronger, plus more stable, than the rubber tube predecessors.  However, I have no interest in testing the 5-year shelf life touted on the packaging.  We’re truly living in the golden age of sex.

      My own solemn commitment to safety is another of the many invaluable learnings from my time in the army.  Having survived the war, unlike many of my peers unfortunately, I’ve come out stronger, tougher, and most importantly, more informed.

       The European battlefield wasn’t the only realm where life-changing afflictions occurred.  The European bedroom was another risky theatre of the conflict, albeit harder to gain access to.  Many a military mate ended up with a groin rash, unsightly unit, or bloody leakage, from these nighttime sorties.  None of which involved the perceived enemy.

        Gonorrhea and syphilis were as well known in the medical tent as gangrene and smallpox.  Fortunately, the discovery and proliferation of penicillin helped stem the spread, however these lifelong contractions were not something I had any interest in being burdened by.

       This resurgence is syphilis amongst modern armies proved both surprising and ironic, since this ailment, albeit not with the terminology known, swept through legions in Europe, then Asia, at the end of the 15th century.  Some elements of forceful male conquest apparently don’t change.  

        With their seemingly infinite procurement budget, guns and glasses weren’t the only items the United States military provided us troops as the war overseas dragged on.  Soon condoms appeared at the PX commissary, distributed to soldiers at very reasonable cost, in an effort to limit the spread of an increasingly rampant venereal disease wave.

       Product placement wasn’t the only policy plan.  Displayed signage, and leadership messaging, became increasingly prevalent around the base.  In typical government fashion, likely coined by an overpriced marketing consulting firm, the selected slogan was tacky at best.

          “Don’t forget – put it on before you put it in.”

          Thanks for the tip, Uncle Sam.  At least this program was effective, with a 30 times reduction in cases of “bad blood” and “the clap” amongst American soldiers between the 1st and 2nd World Wars.

       Perpetually adapting on the ground, many novel non-sexual applications for condoms were cleverly invented by soldiers.  In the heat of battle, you worked with what you had, and got the job done as quickly and efficiently as possible.  My own personal observations likely only cover a small subset of the wacky ways this kit was repurposed. 

          Putting a rubber hat on the business end of one’s rifle helped avoid getting dirt in the barrel, an especially effective tactic in the muddy trenches.  The material and shape were similar to surgical gloves, making these stretchy sleeves valuable for in-the-field medical emergencies.  My own inventive contribution revolved around using condoms to seal up and waterproof sensitive communication electronics installed on the transport vehicles I was tasked with keeping functional as an auto mechanic. 

        Based on discrete conversations with my mates these days, now spanning both military and civilian participants, nearly half of them are relying on this mode of protection, making it by far the most popular means of birth control.  Sex life is an inevitable topic of conversation for middle-age men meeting at the bar.  At least us boys are getting more educated regarding our reproductive resources.

          After decades of inventory shortages across America, with both the Great Depression and World War II now firmly in the past, it’s great to know that United States manufacturing is full speed ahead on critical consumer products.  Most importantly condoms.

           I don’t make such purchases very often, considering my difficulties on the dating circuit.  Still, I like to have a fresh rubber for each new encounter.  On my recent trip to the pharmacy, which provides mildly discrete shopping, aside from interaction with the teenage girl cashier, I was amazed by the expansion in selection.

          Ribbed and textured outer surface.  Lubricated versions, water based of course.  Reduced risk of breakage, via both size options and reservoir tips.  Not to mention different colors, a feature which seems completely unnecessary, as only one other human will see this item, and only briefly, if all goes well.

      There was even a marketing poster, albeit small and subtle, in this back section of the store, highlighting the aggressive advertising efforts put forth on these new features.  Novelty aside, I stayed conservative in my recent acquisition, only branching out to try one lubed and one grooved option, in a mixed pack trio of my preferred latex material, offered up in a tidy cardboard box.   

      Aesthetic improvements are great, but my only reason for having any barrier during the illicit act is safety.  Fortunately, the medical industry has made strides in this regard as well. 

       Most important of late is the increased emphasis on quality control, per mandates by the FDA.  Granted, this government requirement may have come a little late, as over half of the offerings produced as the 20th century rolled in purportedly didn’t work.  There’s a lot of unexpected offspring running around the country, potentially even including myself.

          Still, in the privacy of my own abode, I opened the paper packaging, and checked for any damage to the trifecta of enclosed foil squares.  All looks good on the outside, but this isn’t exactly a try it before you buy it product.  The refilled box is now situated in my right pants’ pocket, bouncing against my inner thigh on each step, providing a constant reminder of the goal for tonight.

          At least this evening, I’ll be able to offer up options, both at dinner, and in the bedroom.

       Though well prepared, I’m hopeful for the day I find the woman I earn the privilege of calling my wife, with the bonus perk of not having to wear a rubber.  I’m already in a decided grey area in the Catholic camp with regards to premarital sex, but such a screening process seems better than divorce.  Hopefully the Good Lord will forgive my transgressions.

         Distracted by my dreaming, I stumble over an unforeseen obstruction in the sidewalk.  Fortunately, I’m able to catch my balance before completely tumbling over.  I guess my enhance vision isn’t perfect.  Or, maybe I just need to pay more attention to where I’m going.  I can’t be rolling around on the ground getting my slick suit tarnished.

         Looking down, I realize the encumbrance is a raised section in the pavement, caused by an encroaching root from a nearby tree.  That’s a treacherous obstacle, especially in a poorly lit section of the street.  While assessing the terrain, I also notice one of my shoestrings has come untied.  There’s another problem.

        Crouching down, making sure my boney knee doesn’t make contact with the dusty ground, I quickly retie the left lace, a stout cord of waxed cotton.  The refined footwear secured by this cable offers the ideal combination of style and function. 

        Black in color, with a subtle surface texture, and punched brogue styling, these spiffy shoes go with any outfit.  The upper material is leather, polished to a sheen, with pointy, embellished, toe caps.  The rubber bottoms are taller than standard dress fare, incorporating a heavy tread.  I can navigate any terrain in these rugged kicks, while offering up a sophisticated presentation to onlookers.

         As I readjust my folded pant cuff, I spot a flash of color between the brown fabric and black leather.  Bright blue and red pattered diamonds, matching my waistcoat and tie hues, but in much more vivid shades.  I’m wearing these argyle socks because I can.  Due to the long cut of the trousers, no one will ever see them.  Unless the lady I’m about to meet gets interested in taking our encounter to the next level.

          All fixed up, I’m ready to continue along on my journey.  With renewed vigor.

        As an honorable man, especially one looking to get laid, I’m willing and able to pay for the pending meal.  A little money spent is well worth it for pleasant scenery, pleasant conversation, and pleasant food, all of which I hope to get.  Along with some additional, more intimate, pleasantries, if all goes well.

        My wallet is held in the interior, left breast, pocket of my jacket.  There are certainly more secure spots within my complex wardrobe, like stashing this foldable package in my trim waistcoat, or my even tighter underwear.  However, some habits are hard to break.

     While walking through an affluent urban neighborhood, I’m always conscious of pickpocket risk.  My nervous paranoia, spawned as an insecure youth, and reinforced by a stressful military tour, has left me continually vigilant.

         Being right-handed, as is a substantial majority of the population, I stow this money holder on my left side, allowing easy extraction with my dominant hand, by simply reaching across my body.  I only pull this item out a few times a day, but there’s something inherently secure about having my financial means in close proximity to my beating heart.

        The origin of the term “wallet” can be traced back to the ancient Greek word ‘kibisis”, often used to describe a bag transported by the messenger god Hermes.  This same terminology is also used in mythology to identify the sack where Perseus deposited Medusa’s head after he lopped it off.  My current offering is much too small for that slimy, slithering application.

        Ironically, the French fashion company Hermès, pronounced differently, and of no relation to the Greek deity, created the first leather wallets in non-traditional segmented slot format.  This company was in the horse tack industry, their knowledge of harnesses and bridals making them experts in leathercraft.

       This new sleek shape and flat form for money stowage was in stark contrast to substantially larger purse-like offerings of the past, typically used to hold heavy metal coins, as opposed to thin paper bills, the latter becoming increasingly common as the primary form of legal tender.

         This novel design, executed by numerous vendors, took off throughout the United States during the Roaring 1920’s.  I remember my father acquiring one of these spiffy satchels, and showing me how much he could carry in the various sleeves.

       Money was abundant in this prosperous era, but as the Great Depression set in, currency across America became significantly scarcer.  Also, the reallocation of resources and lack of commerce during this period, then the following global conflict, limited proliferation of wallets within the general public.  I don’t know what happened to my dad’s old version, but am guessing he doesn’t have it any more.

      Like most elements of my wardrobe, my money holder is bespoke.  A bifold design in the secretary size, this elongated rectangle can house U.S. dollars, in any denomination, without any creasing required.  The multitude of secure slots allows each type of possession, including business cards, personal photographs, and theatre tickets, to be housed in a singular section.

         The material used for this case is exotic alligator leather, with a distinct texture pattern resulting from this unique animal’s hide.  Midnight blue in color, I assume this natural pelt has been tanned then dyed, since I’ve never seen a large reptile with such dark skin.  I even had my initials embroidered in the upper corner, using bright yellow thread, to fully cement the distinctiveness of this piece.

         This wallet is as much a fashion accessory as a functional storage item.  Savvy tailors of the day, including mine, have incorporated an elongated pocket in the interior breast pocket of suitcoats to fit this specifically shaped item.  All the wardrobe customization left me a few dollars lighter, but at least if this item ever gets stolen, I’ll be able to identify the contraband as my own.

         I have one recent addition to the internal holdings, supplementing my driver’s license, military identification, and assorted bills.  A Diners Club credit card.  This novel form of electronic banking transaction is just starting to become prevalent, and as a nerdy engineer, I like to stay at the forefront of new trends.

         Paying with plastic isn’t accepted and many places yet, but maybe I’ll be able to settle up for dinner tonight with this slick mode of automated processing.  That will be a great way to demonstrate my worth to my date, from both a monetary and technology standpoint.  We’ll see how advanced this selected restaurant is?

       While adventurous in terms of attire, my dining habits are much more reserved.  I don’t mind trying new local places, but always seek out the same cuisine.  Italian.

          Salad.  Soup.  Pasta.  Sauce.  Rolls.  Cheese.  This style of food is generic yet tasty.  Plus, the venues are always classy and intimate, with numerous red wine options. 

         Dating is complicated enough without having to make extra on-the-fly decisions.  I like to focus my mental energy on stimulating conversation with the lass across from me, rather than interpreting a complicated menu.  Regardless how small the establishment, I’ve yet to find a place that doesn’t have garlic bread and meat lasagna in their list of available offerings. 

          What woman doesn’t enjoy dishes made with amore?  Or finishing off a lovely meal by splitting a plate of tiramisu?  I’ve got a system, and I’m sticking to it, even if the past track record of success isn’t stellar.  Maybe tonight is the night.

         I wonder what time it is?  My pace feels good, but I’m on a strict schedule.  Punctuality was seared into me during regimented military onboarding, then reinforced through strict automobile development calendars.  At least I have an accurate way to monitor the clock.

        There’s a decided irony that this mechanical apparatus is held in higher regard from a safety standpoint than my secretarial holder, where the real currency is held.  Again, historical traditions take precedence. 

          Plus, my own timepiece, a family heirloom, is likely of more retail value than all the cash I’m carrying.  And, based on my anal tendencies with regards to scheduling, I certainly extract and review my watch more than my wallet over the course of a normal day. 

          My fancy chronometer has multiple layers of protective security.  In addition to being located in the right interior pocket of my waistcoat, the device is connected to a sturdy metal chain, with the other end attached to my belt loop, providing additional mitigation from droppage or theft.

        The pocket watch rose to prevalence in the 16th century, quickly becoming a symbol of aristocracy and wealth.  These elaborate objects were often completely customized, with elaborate engravings and embedded gemstones.  That’s likely why I’m so enamored with this specific piece.

          Women have their rings and bracelets, earrings and necklaces.  The extravagant jewelry options for men are quite limited.  Very high on the list of options, especially for an unmarried guy, is the fob watch, along with all the associated elements.  Expensive metal, precise craftmanship, shiny glint, and detailed embossing.  What more could be desired in a valuable token?

          The first personal clock units, developed in Germany, were spherical, and quite heavy.  With only an hour hand, and unreliable mechanics, many common folks decided it was cheaper and easier to simply carry an apple around in their pocket.  At similar volume and weight, the change is firmness of the fruit’s flesh throughout the day allowed rough assessment of time.  Plus, the latter option could be eaten if all else failed.

          The quite important minute hand wasn’t invented until the late 17th century, with the second hand taking another century to materialize.  Apparently, the cadence of timekeeping advancements was on a 100-year cycle, with regards to each subsequent significant digit improvement. 

         While generally accurate, none of these devices weren’t precise enough for track timekeeping, of either runners or motorized transport, until much later in their developmental arc.  Fortunately, human ingenuity intervened, as it has so often in this recent technological boom, fueled by a basic societal need.  Enhanced mobility.

     The railroad pocket watch, created in the late 19th century for the exacting scheduling requirements of this transportation industry, resulted in a much more accurate and affordable timer.  These highly engineered gadgets quickly proliferated across the watch manufacturing landscape.

       Bringing my own timepiece up into my field of vision, I revel at the fine features.  Even when viewed in the dim twilight, this precious item shines brightly, finding and reflecting any incoming rays, however minimal.

        Instinctively, I seat the ovular artifact in my left palm, where it fits perfectly, then use my right thumb and forefinger to manipulate the knurled knob protruding from the casing.  The soothing click as I make each quarter turn is like a drug I’m completely addicted to.  This same deft motion has been executed by me, and my male predecessors, diligently for nearly 60 consecutive years.

       In 1842, another crucial invention was made in the chronometer field, by Frenchman Adrien Philippe.  Stem winding, using a built-in extendable knob, which replaced the cumbersome key winding process.    It was hard enough to keep track of the unit itself, let alone a tiny key.

     Adding a small dial atop the watch, allowing the internal spring mechanisms to be recharged in situ, became the industry standard almost immediately after conception.  This innovation made it easier for users to wind while away from home, resulting in more accurate timekeeping.

      There’s a decided functional element to the invention and distribution of pocket watches.  This portable possession has allowed folks to monitor time on their person, without relying on finding a physical clock.  Thus freeing up people to keep track of schedules and appointments on their own. 

       Punctuality became a valued trait for affluent men as the 20th century was ushered in.  I’ve kept this same sentiment, using the same system, as a core tenant of my lifestyle.  Granted, it doesn’t hurt that the increasingly unique format has evolved into a rare relic as a timing tool.  I’m all-in on such novel aesthetic accoutrements.

        Understandably, the advent and proliferation of wrist watches throughout the 1900’s has essentially displaced the fob version.  These arm-mounted devices are more convenient to use, leaving hands free, and represented an even more overtly visible fashion statement.  Pretty much all my friends have transitioned to the wrapped wrist variety.  But I’m an old soul, respecting history, and embracing it.

      Pocket watches, like many elements of technological advancement, were commonly used by soldiers, due to their compactness and durability, especially during World War I.  I don’t know the complete history of military usage, but the specific object in my hand has been through some strife.

       My own weathered watch is a legacy gift, passed down through multiple generations.  Hand crafted in London in 1898, this durable device has experienced significant attrition: an immigrant journey across the Atlantic, service back on the European continent during the Great War, not getting pawned off in America during the brutal depression, then another stint of global conflict across the pond, this time in my pocket, and possession. 

         This is one of the only heritage mementos I have from my complicated patriarchy.  This lineage is confirmed by the embossed letters on the back of the case; elegant cursive scrip that was deep and crisp when engraved, but is now shallow and faint.  My last name, shared with several previous generations.  As such, I value this artifact with my life.  Literally. 

      The casing is made of gold, a precious metal that’s quite soft.  As a result, over multiple decades of usage, the protective shell has incurred many a ding and dent.  These marks, correlating with various mishaps, just add to the character of this charm.

          Flipping open the top lid, the clock itself is revealed.   Counterintuitively, the hinge is adjacent to the #9 side, rather than the #6 bottom.  Correspondingly, the winding knob is located directly opposite the lid, protruding from the #3.

          I’ve never been able to ascertain why the layout of this watch is rotated 90° clockwise from the perceived traditional format.  Regardless, at this point in my lengthy ownership, I’ve learned to orient the piece in the normal clock position for viewing, and always revitalize the internal springs with lid closed, and the dial vertical.

        The numerals are jet black script, and the hands shiny stainless steel, making both easy to read on the stark white background, regardless of lighting.  Which is convenient, as nighttime has fully set in during my jaunt.

        Reviewing the needles one more time, I see the long hour one just slightly shy of the #7, with the shorter minute marker directly on the adjacent #8.  The second hand, located on a smaller and differently numbered circle, is spinning around too fast for me to acknowledge, or care.  I can’t be more than 5 minutes from my destination, so am right on schedule.

         Snapping the domed top closed with just my long thumb, I deposit this fob back into my right waistcoat pocket.  This movement induces both an audible “thump” and satisfying “clink”, from the weighty object and the connected chain, respectively.  This operation is coming together perfectly.   

        My half hour stroll culminates in me standing outside a quaint restaurant, with several folding tables and chairs under broad umbrellas on the outdoor patio, and a warm glow of yellow candlelight emanating from the tall windows.  The Italian flag, Italian name, and Italian ambiance confirm I’ve found the desired spot.

        Moving slowly to the entryway, I size up my appearance in the accommodating picture window adjacent, a visage enabled by the confluence of disparate light sources, combined with the substantial thickness of the glass.  Enabled by corrective lenses, I see a tall man in his mid-30s, dressed in a fine 3-piece suit.  Who wouldn’t want to hang out with this affluent individual?

          Shifting my attention, from assessing my reflection, to peering directly through the clear pane, I take in the interior space.  Now viewing the dining room, through my versatile spectacles, I spot a lady sitting alone at a corner table, with a glass of wine in front of her.

          Has my counterpart beat me here, despite my strict adherence to timeliness, in this case arriving 15 minutes before our scheduled meeting?  So much for my chance to be chivalrous, by selecting the best table in the house, and pulling out the chair for this lass.

          Is this my missus?  As we’ve been set up blindly through a colleague, so I have no idea what my mark looks like.  All I have is a name, a restaurant, and a time.  And so, the adventure begins. 

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2015

        Stepping out onto the concrete stoop, the tension spring closes the sturdy metal door behind me.  I punch my 4-digit code into the keypad, successful entry corresponding with activation of the deadbolt.  Apartment secured, I double check my cellphone, a critical device for tonight’s excursion, is securely stowed in the back right pocket of my jeans.
           It’s a beautiful evening for a stroll, especially towards a desirable destination.  My third date this week.
         My outfit can be construed as incredibly basic, based purely on the articles of clothing donned.  A pair of jeans.  A short-sleeve shirt.  A light jacket.
        While seemingly innocuous in garment naming, when examined individually, and especially as a collective, this is quite an ensemble.  Just as desired, since subtlety is not my style.  Flamboyant flair is a more apt alliterative descriptor.
      There’s a decided irony that the term “peacocking”, a progressive attire look espoused by affluent guys 60 years earlier, has made a comeback.  This reincarnation has been spurred, not just by regular commoners, but also famous celebrities.  Per online posted imagery, it’s clear which cohort has more financial means and photoshop methods at their disposal.  I aspire to achieve this lofty status, with many of my own chic inspirations come from perusing these Instagram pictures.
        With the calendar winding down, apparently this is a rare year when menswear sales will eclipse their usually prolific purchasing female counterpart.  I’ve definitely contributed to this substantial sum over the 10 months thus far.
       I learned this fact from one of the many fashion magazines I read, in an effort to keep abreast of popular trends, from shaving creams to athletic socks.  I’ve bought many a unique, soon to prove useless, novelty item because of such advertisements. 
       Men’s suits have come back into vogue of late, with even the very traditional 3-piece version being reimagined by top entertainers and athletes, bringing this archaic look into the modern age.  Many major brands have entered the stylish suit market, incorporating hip lines and comfortable materials.  
       However, such a restrictive presentation is way too formal for my daily routine, or even a special evening like this current endeavor.  I’m more of a casual sportswear character, with a few unique outfit additions.
       Conveniently, 2-piece suits are now often sold separately, allowing looks like herringbone and houndstooth, print and plaid, to be purchased independently.   The mix and match wardrobe approach offers extra versatility, which I prefer.  Each night is a new apparel adventure.
       In recent years, there’s been an aesthetics trend away from full masculinity to a more anatomically generic look, including all the associated amorphous bodily leanings.  Apparently, David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust alter ego from nearly half a century ago is making a comeback.  Gender neutral has become a thing for clothing, in terms of both color and cut.
     While I respect the various human formats evolution’s natural course has created, from both an anatomic and attraction standpoint, I still fall squarely in the macho camp.  That said, the wider range of hues available in men’s costumes, specifically pastels and prints, are much appreciated for my own wardrobe expansion.
         Tonight, both my selected pants and shirt are quite snug, a substantial departure from the baggy look of my youth, a product of Generation X 90’s grunge rock, a cohort I fell directly within.  Now older and wiser, I’ve started to change my outward appearance.  The tighter fit and stretchy materials emphasis my toned muscle physique, in the hope of providing differentiation amongst this next cohort of eligible bachelors.
        Covering this slim package, is the coup de grâce of this entire outfit.  The bold blazer.
        This garment is a wool and polyester blend, combining the best natural and synthetic fibers available into a dynamic package.  The textured look of a thick flannel melded with anti-wrinkling properties only achievable through a tight mechanical weave.  The warming benefits of animal hair merged with the moisture wicking of engineered polymers.  The composition of this suitcoat is truly unique and innovative.
        Materials aside, there’s another, even more novel, element to this jacket.  The aesthetic pattern, horizontal stripes, in various shades of grey.  This look elongates my lean frame, making me appear substantially taller than I actually am, my height clocking in at a diminutive 5’-7”.
      While bold in geometric styling, the neutral coloration, in relative terms, allows pairing with essentially any other costume elements.  The lining of silk is also striped, but in a substantially more vibrant coloration, alternating yellow and green stripes.  This piece could be right out of a Seinfeld skit, or an Irish wake.
         I spent way more money than I wanted to on custom tailoring, but now am so attached to this blazer I struggle not to incorporate it into my ensemble.  Yet, sacrifices must be made to avoid repetition, especially in the highly documented and continually judged online realm.  But tonight is too important to pass up my best product.
        The collared shirt I’m rocking underneath this slick coat is a far cry from the generic golf variety.  Made from fine Egyptian cotton, a fabric more suited for high-end bedsheets, there’s no debating the unbelievable comfort of this article.  Just as impressive as the fabric itself is the pattern, rose blooms, vibrant red on a light pink backdrop.  The love innuendos of this top are not lost on me; that’s why I purchased this quality item, and have donned it confidently.
       It’s hard for me not to smirk every time I put on this blouse, using the pearlescent buttons, another appreciated touch.
        My jeans are on the darker side of the blue spectrum, incorporating whiskered tonal styling, and goldenrod accent stitching.  The cut is advertised as high-waisted and slim-fit, both descriptors I resonated with when shopping online, and really appreciate now, with these trousers securely attached to my body.  
     The narrowness of the crotch had me worried, based on both initial ease of entry, and chafing while in use.  Fortunately, these concerns were quickly allayed upon shipment arrival, due to the cotton and spandex fiber blend for this denim hybrid.  
      There’s another underlying element ensuring my groin comfort.  While my exterior presentation is vibrant and important, my hidden wardrobe accompaniments are equally curated.
     Designer underwear for men is becoming a thing.  Loose fitting boxers, and unsightly old briefs, have been conveniently replaced by an amalgam of these two undergarment items, superior in fit, functionality, and fashion.  The boxer brief short.
         These are all I wear now; my breadth of offerings ranges from a cheap 3-pack acquired at the department store, to a designer option costing more than most pairs of shoes I own.  Which is saying something.
        These fufu skivvies are what I’m clad in this evening.  Underneath the flashy costume I have on, is a trim and tight bundle, literally.  Stretchy black fabric, impossibly soft, and conforming to my toned pelvic region in all the right ways.  I can’t wait to show this package off to my date, both metaphorically and physically, in the near future.
         Moving from one head to another, hats are also seeing a rejuvenation, of the basic as opposed to blustery type.  The common baseball cap is making a comeback, as a result of Donald Trump’s burgeoning presidential run.  Cheap campaign giveaways aside, many brimmed offerings sport cool logos, classy fabrics, and custom sizing.  Apparently, a sophisticated midsection, with borderline sporting gear on top and bottom, is an acceptable persona, especially amongst the celebrity elites in society.
        However, I never look good with a hat in pictures.  Maybe if I ever start balding, I’ll be more amenable to throwing on a cap.  For now, I’m happy to embrace the curly locks I’ve been naturally endowed with.
        Running my stubby fingers through my light brown hair, I realize there’s one more act to execute before setting off.  Executing and posting a selfie.
        Considering the restrictive clothing standards of contemporary attire, there’s limited room to store things, especially if each item needs its own dedicated spot on the body.   Conveniently, as with many elements of modern life, a simple solution, compact in size, and versatile in capability, has been afforded by technological advancement.  The now omnipresent cellular phone.
       Sure, the modern mobile replaces some archaic paraphernalia from the past.   Even more impressive, this same dense package of processing circuitry offers all manner of free apps, which 19th century society wouldn’t even consider carrying in physical form: calculator, calendar, compass, games, mail, maps, medicine.
           The embarrassment of riches in this current age is truly absurd.
        Reaching into the rearward pocket of my designer jeans, I extract my cell, by far my most important possession.  This act takes thumb and forefinger dexterity along the sides of the case, due to the tightness of my trousers, but is aided by a rectangular fabric home, stretched out from countless times stashing this unit in the same spot.
          The pouch perfectly mimics the dimensions, 5.4 by 2.6 inches in rectangular profile.  But the truly relevant metrics from a stowage standpoint are the thickness, at under 3/10ths of an inch, and the mass, of only 4 ½ ounces.
         Holding this electronic device in my left palm, I use my right index finger to enter the sequence of 6 digits on the display screen.  There are countless numerical codes to memorize and regurgitate in this day and age.
          While my door pin was set by the annoying landlord, randomly generated when I moved in, the phone’s password is completely of my own conception.  The values reference my birthday, with the century notation removed.  I’m supremely comfortable with the exciting era I’ve been born into, my life to date spanning the change of millennium, so don’t need to explicitly document it.
           Standing atop the raised stoop, the blank dark grey of the metal door providing a perfect backdrop, I snap off some shots, simply by opening the camera app, then pressing the concentric circular icon at the bottom of display.  Surprisingly, it’s taken phone manufacturers 5 years to realize the value of the front-facing camera, not just for video calls, but, more importantly, for personal image capture.
         With no film development required, modern photography is essentially free, aside from the time wasted scrolling through all the generated content.
          This dynamic device incorporates an 8-megapixel camera, making each resolved speck just 1.5 micrometers in size.  There’s no way I, or any human, can see in this refined level of detail.  Regardless, the quality of the image, either stationary or moving, is very impressive. 
       Regardless of how inept the operator is, compelling pictures can still be generated with this 5-element lens, leveraging an f/2.2 aperture.  Thanks to a multitude of electronic supplementation: automatic image balancing, face detection, exposure control, photo geotagging, illumination sensor, hybrid IR filter.
         As a nerd, I also know all the metrics regarding the video documentation capabilities.  1080p HD, recording at 60 frames per second.  Slow motion, with granularity up to 240 hertz.  Cinematic video stabilization and continuous autofocus.  Not to mention 3X zoom, without sacrificing any other functionality.
         Using burst mode photographs, then a time-delayed video, I’m able to achieve all manner of attire documentation, in just a few minutes.  Ironically, it takes me longer to review these images, and come up with a clever tag line for the post, than it does to capture the compelling costume. 
        This ensemble is too good not to share with a few close friends, or, more realistically, the world at large.  Pretty much anything publicly posted on the internet is immediately disseminated.  If my counterpart is savvy enough with online investigation to find my profile handle, she’ll undoubtably be impressed by my professional presentation.
           Now I can finally set off on my excursion, battle, or vanquishing, depending on how the night progresses.
         As I begin this adventure, I can’t help but partake in a superstitious quirk.  Viewing a quick video on my mobile, which has gotten my morale up, and resulted in several successful courting conquests, over the past few months.  If a scheme ain’t broken, don’t fit it. 
        Navigating to the short clip saved on my cell, thanks to 64 gigabits of available storage, the film footage of just 10 seconds plays on a repeat loop, while I move the display up to my face, already smirking. 
          The LED-backlight touchscreen, incorporating liquid crystal display technology, is nearly 5” in size on the diagonal; metrics formerly used for in-home televisions and computer monitors have transitioned to portable products.
         Incorporating 1334 x 750 pixel HD resolution, and 500 cd/m2 max brightness, with sRGB color palette, the image quality is impressive.  Furthermore, the in-plane switching capability and fingerprint resistant oleophobic coating on surface allow clear viewing, even at low angle or high glare conditions.  Perfect for watching movies on the go.
           The content shows the recognizable and colorful protagonist Austin Powers, as portrayed in the 1999 film “The Spy Who Shagged Me”.  This specific scene is when the Bond-based buffoon realizes his mojo has been stolen by Fat Bastard, while cryogenically frozen, as he contemplates hooking up with sexy Felicity Shagwell.  The character monikers in this flick are hilariously tacky.
           The silly sleuth makes a series of motions, pointer and middle fingers of his right hand moving in quick succession from his forehead, to his groin, to his heart, to his opposite shoulder, mimicking the “Sign of the Cross”, albeit in a decidedly mocking manner.  Simultaneously, I recite the lyrics verbally, even though the sound on my phone is off.
           “Spectacles.  Testicles.  Wallet.  Watch.”
        Apparently, in the older days, this mnemonic trick was conceived to ensure gentlemen have all their important possessions before leaving home.  It’s amusing that each of these items, aside from physical manhood itself, has been replaced by a single electronic device.  The powerful and prolific cellphone.
          This skit cracks me up every time.  And gets my own “mojo” going.  There are many elements of the Austin Powers’ identity I resonate with, from the fancy outfits, to the subtle womanizing.  I’ll take any ounce of the good luck I can get on my pending undertaking.
       Confidence session complete, I tap the right-side button to lock my phone, causing the screen to instantly going dark.  Enough distractions, it’s time to make moves.
        Despite my random rites routine, I couldn’t be further from a devout Catholic if I tried.  In fact, I have zero religious ties, as an atheist with no affiliation to any church.  The testament to this sentiment is my only tattoo, a typical stylized ichthys profile, colloquially dubbed the “Jesus fish”, with a pair of atypical linear legs, sprouting from the bottom of the body.  An ode to biology pioneer Darwin, this artwork is located on my calf, as a means of communicating my commitment to the realm of science.  
       This potentially polarizing artistic work, depending on the amassed collective, can be exposed or hidden, based on the type of pants worn.  For this initial interaction with a new lady, with no clear pious orientation identified in her profile, I’m holding off on overtly offering up my spiritual sentiments.
        Tonight, my pants are long and tight, requiring removal to uncover the hidden messaging underneath, on multiple levels.
        Having worn khaki and tan desert camo for several years during my stint in the army, returning to civilian life has offered up incredible freedom in terms of attire options.  I’ve learned that young men in society are judged based on ability to exude overt confidence, from both a wealth and productivity standpoint.
          I make a good living, as an electrical engineer, allowing me to enjoy more luxuries than the average citizen my age these days.  Like the spiffy blazer and designer jeans I’m wearing right now.
        My current job materialized through a confluence of life events.  Working on operating remote control cars as a child.  Working on television repairs at my first job as teenager.  Working on covert electronic communication while in the military.  Working on computer circuitry in my current role.
         As a result of this life arch, I’m very knowledgeable on the inner workings of all things circuitry related.  I earned my prestigious engineering degree as part of the Army ROTC program, then was required to serve at the onset of the Iraq War in 2004.
         During 3 tours, I spend most of my time establishing wireless infrastructure links for our multitude of desert bases.  Communication is key to success in military conflicts, especially one as dynamic and sprawling as the Persian Gulf theatre.
         My experience overseas often forced me to improvise on the fly, combine disparate electronic components to create functioning systems.  Ironically fine sand and even finer silicon don’t mix, even though they have very similar chemical composition.  
       Those operational learnings have served me well in the laptop computing hardware field where I’m now employed.  The work is fine, though a little dull at times, but the industry pays generously.  What really gets me going are these extracurricular activities in the evening; each date is a new audacious challenge. 
      Speaking of sand, feeling a fleck of grit in my eye, likely transferred by the evening breeze, I reaching up instinctively, trying to gently remove this incumbrance.  I must be careful not to scratch my retina, but fortunately have an additional protective layer.  My contact lens.
       These eye enhancements are both a blessing and a curse.  This vision aid materialized very early on in my life, at the first check-up I could effectively communicate with the optometrist regarding the letters on the blurry, far-afield, chart.  I couldn’t identify a single symbol below the 2nd row.
        At least this revelation explained my poor hand-eye coordination and clumsy movements as a child.  Corrected, first with bulbous frames rendering me a Drew Carrey impersonator at Halloween, then rec specs which would make Horace Grant jealous, I budded into quite a scholar-athlete.
       My body filled out in my teenage years, growing stouter and stronger, as opposed to taller and faster.  My sturdy physique dictated extracurricular activities as a teenager: starting catcher in baseball, back-up guard in basketball, and tuba player in the band.
         It wasn’t until my freshman year of high school, wishing to avoid the embarrassment of goofy glasses, that I finally taught myself how to put in contacts.  There’s still something inherently squeamish about touching one’s own eyes, but the opportunity to not have an unsightly object pasted onto my face won the day.
        It seems like my prescription changes every few years, even now, well into my 30’s, necessitating quarterly trips to the optometrist.  At least with the current setup, rather than picking out a new pair of frames, which must be fit with a new pair of lenses, the doctor can simply pass off my continually deteriorating vision metrics to the manufacturer, who magically produces curated corrective filters.
       Contacts work similar to glasses; in both cases, the secondary lens manipulates the incoming light before it hits a person’s cornea, the front surface of the eye.  Changing curvature and thickness are levers used by trained oculists to adjust vision acuity.  So I’m told.
        Impressive science, which is a far cry from the electrical engineering field I work in.  Still, some of the same basic principles regarding math and physics are applicable in both realms.   
        Apparently, the theory of eyesight correction dates back to the Renaissance period, various versions conceived by great thinkers of the time, like da Vinci and Descartes.  However, at this early stage, there was no way to make such postulated covering films in the required thinness or precision.
         The first contact lenses, created in the 1890’s, were blown glass, making them inherently rigid.  These components shielded the entire eye, required lubrication fluid to apply, and could only be worn for a few hours before becoming unbearably painful.  Understandably, adoption was low, especially considering the high cost per pair due to manufacturing difficulties.
         The 20th century saw major advancements in contacts, similar to many other consumer products, mainly due to new material innovations.  Hard plastic versions, made from acrylic and PMMA, were introduced in the 1930s, with more flexible and breathable polymers of the 1960s providing another major leap.
          The shape of the lens also shrank over time, transitioning from encompassing the entire elliptical white selera, to matching just the circular colored cornea, the key functioning portion of the eye from a vision standpoint.   
          While it was anticipated that contacts would completely displace glasses, this wholesale shift didn’t occur until one more crucial breakthrough occurred.  Low-cost production, allowing soft format disposable lenses, of monthly, weekly, then even daily duration, by the turn of the millennium.  
           I’m on the once-a-week variety, which seems like a decent compromise, from a simplicity standpoint.  Not exactly a sustainable solution, but Americans are already generating so much other waste in our regular lives that a few small cardboard boxes, plastic packages, and clear films can’t be too detrimental.   
         Anxious to eliminate this encumbrance, I’ve inquired about Lasik eye surgery many times, ever since the process was approved by the FDA in 1999, just as I turned 20 years old.  However, my farsightedness is so poor, and continually shifting, a condition known as presbyopia, that it can’t be permanently corrected with any medical procedure, no matter how sophisticated.  Too bad I don’t just have astigmatism.  I guess I’m stuck with these contacts.
      I still don stylish sunglasses once in a while on a bright day, but any self-respecting guy doesn’t wear such paraphernalia at night.  For me, shades are more of a fashion statement at the park or beach, as opposed to providing any vision enhancement.
           Tonight, I look just like any other normal dude walking down the street.  Aside from my flamboyant costume.
        There is one ancillary benefit of wearing contacts.  The ability to change eye color as desired.  Tinted films for cosmetic purposes are only a few decades old.  When I first heard of these offerings, I envisioned having a different hue for each day of the week, or even going with mismatched eyes.
         Never going to that extremity, over time I’ve realized there’s a benefit to playing the cards one’s been dealt in life, both physically and mentally.  My auburn hair, and green eyes, are just fine, albeit after substantial experimentation with bleached blonde tips, and blue iris hues, in an effort to get closer to the genetic traits perceived optimal by many.
         No worries, my bold wardrobe can serve as my overt presentation to the world.
         As I sidle down the street, I extract my headphones, housed in a rigid plastic case, from the left pocket of my blazer.  I put the pods firmly into my ears, then route the thin, white wire through the v-neck of my shirt, with top button open, and down my hairy chest.  The plug end, extending out past my glittering brass belt buckle, is just long enough to connect into my phone, when stashed in its traditional right rear jeans pouch.
         Navigating to the downloaded tracks, I activate random play mode.  Immediately, the sound kicks on, loud and clear over the tiny speakers, which perfectly fit into my ear cavity.  The manufacturer really obsessed every detail from a product design standpoint with this amazing piece of technology.
         As with my attire, I try to stay informed on modern music trends.  Like this catchy earworm, which has spent over a dozen weeks on the Billboard Top 100 this year.  “Uptown Funk” by Mark Ronson, featuring Bruno Mars, a brilliant, genre-defying, collaboration between British and American artists.  I listen to all types of music, as long as it’s new and popular.  This song fits the bill in both regards, and puts a lively pep in my step.
        I have several queued-up podcasts to listen to; these curated recordings are my primary means of consuming news content.  It’s amazing how much can be gleaned from a 15-minute monologue, or lively half-hour debate, with the auditory format allowing hands-free multitasking.
        These days, conversational streams are being created by a range of providers, from independent individuals to major media platforms, and available on essentially any topic: business, entertainment, finance, politics, sports, technology, weather. 
       However, before getting educated, I’ll at least let this song, and maybe a few more, play out, depending on my mood.  Plus, my phone is needed for a different task.  Navigation.
      I selected my current destination based on extensive online research.  I’ve never been to this specific restaurant before, but know the general area, a bustling promenade district.  Still, a little directional support never hurts.  Typing the name of the establishment into the mapping app, using opposable thumbs tapping away at the illuminated touchscreen keyboard, the address populates, and a route plan materializes.
        Just as anticipated; I need to take a left at the next intersection, then pass through 3 lighted crossings before my next turn.  Thus, I can put my mobile map back into my protected pocket for now.
        This seemingly inert communication unit executes cellular wireless over 16 LTE bands, and GSM across 4 spectrums, ranging from 850 to 1900 MHz.  Along with Wi-Fi, Bluetooth, assisted GPS tracking, and iBeacon micro-location, there’s a lot of invisible particles flying in and out of this package at all time.  These waves seamlessly pass through air, trees, buildings, and even the human body, along their journey. 
       I always worry about electromagnetic radiation emanating from this digital device damaging my body, specifically my testicles.  Maybe proliferation of portable phones is the reason fertility rates are down across American, and most of the developed world.  As an electrical engineer by trade, I know radio frequency waves are harmless, but still can’t shake this conspiracy theory.
        As a result, I prefer to keep my cell in hand or in the rear when walking.  However, this pants stowage position isn’t comfortable for sitting down, so inevitably risks must be taken.  I hope to start a family in the future, and want give myself the best chance possible.
       Granted, procreation relies on a willing and able female counterpart.  Which is why I’ve been going on so many dates of late.  Maybe tonight is the night I’ll meet my life partner. 
       Signifying masculine strength, leadership, and the ability to reproduce, is a key element of survival dating back to the origins of humanity.  However, modern male roles have shifted of late, favoring empathy and compassion towards the fairer sex, with work equality and collaboration during parenthood.
       Despite my desire to have a child, I need to make sure I meet the right woman before impregnating her.  Fortunately, there’s plenty of insemination mitigation options available these days.  Fertile and functional in the reproductive department, as far as I know, I don’t have any interest in accidentally creating an offspring, resulting in the countless associated downstream complications.  Still, I’ll never turn down a random hookup, if the situation materializes.
     I first realized the potential of the internet as a means of making connections back in college.  At this time, interactions were occurring over computer messaging platforms.  Fanciful flirting, via text, with no way to confirm if the person on the other end of the chat was a sexy minx from the next dorm over, or a creepy dude from rural parts unknown.  Not the most reliable or safe courting scheme.
        My dating revelation, further cementing my addiction to the electronic device now stowed adjacent to my buttocks, occurred when specific matchmaking apps came into prevalence, starting just a few years ago.  Getting increasingly older, and increasingly desperate, I went all-in on these new networks.  Headshot pictures.  Background profile.  Preferred activities.  Verified location.  What’s not to like about this online screening process for suitor screening?  Assuming all the presented content is accurate.
       Sure, I’ve had some duds and no shows along the way. And navigating 4 different profiles on 4 different platforms isn’t ideal.  I’ve sent a few follow-up messages to the wrong lady after a lovely evening.  And ended up having multiple dinners with the same lass accidentally on several occasions.  Plus, remembering names in a constant battle, with multiple encounters scheduled weekly.  But that’s the price one must pay for progress.  And pussy.
      On that note, one element they need to add to these online data sets is current means of birth control.  I’m sure there’s some legal issues with posting this sensitive information online, but such conversations get awkward as proceedings get intimate.  It’s much simpler to lay all the cards on the table up front.  There’s no shortage of protection options these days, on both sides of the gender ledger.
       Hormonal birth control for women wasn’t legally approved until 1960, a medical advancement lapse which my grandfather continues to blame for my own procreation.  Maybe he could have simply exhibited better self-control.
          Becoming commonplace, over the next decade, this mitigation capability, be it pill or patch, injection or implant, passed the onus from the man to the woman.  Much like every other element of the traditional family unit.
        Male condoms, applied in haste at the scene of the crime, used to be the norm.  However, increased medical knowledge of menstrual cycles, and how to manipulate such periodic flows, has allowed strategic planning, both to promote, or prohibit, pregnancy.  It’s sad than even a random act of passion now needs to be put on the calendar.  Sexual spontaneity is dying.
       Granted, birth control drugs don’t provide any protection against STD’s.  I’ve still got a clean bill of health downstairs, as far as I can tell, with no sores or secretions.  I hope to keep it that way, so am quite discerning with my sexual partners.  There’s a substantial difference between cocktails and cockplay, from a risk perspective.
          This boudoir contamination issue has morphed and metastasized over time, each generation personified by its own unique challenges, circumstances and causation conspiring.  Gonorrhea.  Syphilis.  Chlamydia.  HPV.  Herpes.  As soon as the symptoms and treatment of one undercarriage issue was assessed, a new nemesis materialized.
        All these conditions were menial relative to what the late 1980’s ushered in.  While just coming of age, I was well aware of the new sexually transmitted disease sweeping the nation. Human immunodeficiency virus, more commonly known as HIV.  The AIDS epidemic became a major issue for the rest of the century, affecting famous actors, musicians, and, most relevant to my budding sports intrigue, diminutive frame aside, athletes.  Hence my tendency towards discretion.
        Despite my love of the female form, as I’ve aged, I’ve started to struggle with execution in the sack.  Conveniently, the modern biopharmaceutical industry is great at coming up with solutions for all manner of societal ailments.  Even if they aren’t exactly life-threatening conditions.
         I was just beginning university when the first erectile dysfunction pills were approved by the FDA.  At that time, my testosterone was virile, with no supplement needed.  Just walking around campus on a warm day in the spring could give me a boner, based on the sprawled scenery.
        Another fact gleaned from my diligent men’s magazine reading, nearly a quarter of American males report using such enhancement, either to treat erectile dysfunction, or to enhance sexual performance.  Which seems like a distinction without a difference, but I’m no medical doctor.
      Dubbed the little blue pill when launched, Viagra is not a cheap prescription.  Considering my promiscuity tendencies, I’m eagerly anticipating the pending patent expiry, and biopharma clones, which will allow all manner of more affordable generic offerings.
       For now, I pay up for the good stuff, then transfer this blood-flow-inducing drug in a non-descript plastic bottle, which now rattles around in the front pocket of my jeans, as I stride forward with purpose.  Best to keep the solution close to the source.  
       I’ve learned to not ingest these motivational capsules ahead of time, as unanticipated changes in meal timing can result in some awkward moments at the dinner table.  It’s much easier to control the rate of bedroom foreplay, as opposed to the timeline for kitchen cooking.  While perpetually presenting a young and energetic exterior, my important innards are apparently starting to lapse.  Thus, penile performance must be carefully monitored and manipulated.
        Despite continually maturing, I still getting carded at most establishments serving alcohol, which is both a benefit and a curse in the modern era.  A hassle for me, requiring an ID to be perpetually carried, but the ladies love having their age checked, especially as they move into their 3rd, and even 4th decade, of life.
      I’m an equal opportunity dater, happy to connect with anyone from 21 to 51, provided the curated matchmaking protocols find other relevant linkages.  Any younger and legal issues come into play, any older and fertility issues arise.

        All my courting history is tracked online via the various apps, which I hope are anonymous, considering the sensitive content often shared.  By now, these dating platforms likely know more about my innate preferences than my own wandering mind.
       Clearly, there’s some analysis algorithms being executed in the background, as these addictive systems know exactly when to message me.  Right on cue, my cell vibrates silently, signifying a new match.  There’s no way I can resist this siren’s call.
       Seconds later, I’m so engrossed by the new female opportunity displayed on the screen of my phone, that I fail to sufficiently monitor where I’m going.  This distraction results in my toe brushing up against an unforeseen encumbrance on the paved walkway.
       The audible “squish” sound causes me to finally jerk my attention from the sexy digital realm back into the dull physical space.  With a very worrying revelation, as I look down.
       My left foot is sitting adjacent to a steaming pile of poop.  This mound is large enough to make the distinction between dog and human origin difficult.  The rising stench that hits my nasal cavity confirms this deposit is quite fresh. 
          Who shits on the sidewalk and doesn’t clean it up?  What kind of society are we living in these days?
      Couching down, keeping my face as far away as possible from this sketchy pile, from both a touch and smell standpoint, I assess the damage.  Fortunately, just glancing contact was made, depositing a visible brown streak on the white forefoot sidewall.  That could have been way worse, considering the special shoes I’m wearing.
        I have an addiction to limited-edition sneaker releases.  My phone is set up with push notifications regarding any upcoming deals, from either major brands or resale channels.  As a result, I have an entire closet of rare models, covering a wide range of sporty styles.  I use each pair sparingly, and some not at all, making this collection more of a museum archive than a functional stable.
        My footwear is the last piece of attire selected before leaving the house, carefully considering what option will best harmonize with the rest of my outfit.  Today, I’ve donned one of my most cherished sneakers, retro Nike Air Jordan 1s.  Originally designed for the court, these sturdy kicks are now equally applicable on the street.  This refined design offers the ideal combination of form and function.
        Michael Jordan and the early 1990’s Chicago Bulls were winning NBA title after title in my formative teenage years learning the game, so this model has a special place in my heart, especially with my diminishing athletic prowess as an adult.
        I have this design in multiple colorways, including the classic Bulls’ red and black.  But tonight, I’ve selected the exact opposite, triple white mid-tops.  The entire leather upper, including the brand logo, ankle strap, and toe cap, are all the same pale hue.  The rubber outsoles, both entire bottom, and tall sidewalls, mimic that bright bleached shade, despite being made from different materials.  Even the laces and other embellishments are stark white.
        It’s essentially impossible to keep these kicks clean; every time they leave the house requires extensive inspection and scrubbing upon return.  While out and about, I make sure to avoid any tarnishing, like the pile of poo I nearly stepped in.
         Spotting a convenient patch of grass adjacent, I hop over on just my right leg, then carefully swipe the stained shoe section on the fibrous plant material.  These natural strands act like bristles on a brush, conveniently wiping off the invasive material.  I move my left foot vigorously across the manicured lawn, changing the angle of attack in the hopes of removing any stinky particulates housed within crevasses of the traction pattern.
         Content with my efforts, I bend down to inspect the damage.  Surprisingly, the footwear looks as good as new, aside from some faint green lines I’ll have to take care of later, with soap and a towel.  This presentation will have to do for now.
        I wonder what the various motion sensors incorporated into my phone recorded on my erratic movements during the turd interaction.  There was no shortage of odd movements, with rapid gesticulation and unpredictable activity.
       This little electronic beauty, in an effort to enable diverse application development and functionality, is equipped with all manner of motion monitoring devices: accelerometer, three-axis gyro, proximity sensor, and even an ambient light detection.  Automatic color contrast identification between light grey pavement and dark brown poop would have been useful a few steps ago.  
         Maybe a savvy developer can come up with a putrid pile spotter, using the passive camera, protected by a sapphire crystal lens, built into the back, while the oblivious user watches addictive content on the front screen.  Too bad I focused my collegiate educational experience on hardware engineering, as opposed to software programming.  This seems like a worthy project endeavor for urban travelers these days.
        As I readjust my twisted pant leg, due to the erratic hopping, I spot a flash of color between the blue denim and white leather.  Generic ghost characters, in jagged embroidered form, matching the pixelated graphics of the original Pac Man video game, with hues of prominent Pinkey not far off in shade from my shirt.  I’m wearing these cartoonish socks because I can.
          Due to the raised top of the sneakers, and tight fit of the jeans, no one will ever see them.  Unless the lady I’m about to meet gets interested in taking our encounter to the next level.  Hopefully she’s into old-school video games, and new-school wardrobe attire.
        All fixed up, I’m ready to continue along on my journey, with increased attention being paid to my surroundings.  Crisis narrowly averted, I jam my cell back into my pocket, resolved to remain more diligence when navigating these sketchy streets.
        This Apple i-Phone 6 is truly a distracting device.  Which makes sense, as it’s potentially the most technologically advanced piece of integrated circuity by volume ever created.  This 4-cubic-inch unit has 25,000 times more processing power than the guidance computer used to enable the successful Apollo 11 moon landing in July of 1969.
         What’s even more impressive is the electrical efficiently, a realm of engineering I’m intimately familiar with, as it represents my primary role at work.   Modern computing systems are absurdly more effective from an energy standpoint than their predecessors.
       Revisiting the NASA analogy, a recurring texted meme these days, the mobile machine that disseminates this amusing information uses just 7 watt-hours, less than an efficient LED lightbulb, versus the 3.4 kilowatts-hours for the space race craft, equivalent to powering an entire modern home.
        It's amazing how much processing power is stored in this tiny package.  Even in my job as a hardware engineer developing laptops, I don’t have access to all these highly refined components.
           There are numerous websites devoted to detailed teardowns of consumer electronics, including cellphones.  I often get stuck going down rabbit holes on the internet at work consuming this nerdy information, which is at least tangentially related to my role. 
        Understandably, room is incredibly constrained, so every electrical element added must be carefully considered from both a size and power consumption standpoint.  In industry parlance, this combined term is known as energy density, a key metric used to dictate any potential design tradeoff.
         Not surprising, the 6.9 Wh lithium-ion battery pack takes up over half the internal volume of the casing.  The next space hogs are a multitude of PCBs, foremost of which is the main logic board, composed of integrated circuits.  This houses the A8 processor, dubbed the brains of the device, responsible for primary operational tasks and the bulk of power consumption.
        Next in order of size are a variety of electronic subsystems, all similar in top-down footprint: flash memory, WiFi module, SIM card, LTE radio, primary power management, and G3 wireless RF amplifiers.  That’s a lot of componentry to arrange and link within a very small cavity.
       Moderating energy usage is critical to performance, via power management integrated circuits, or PMICs, a low-power coprocessor for basic functions, envelope tracking of the voltage supply, and an electronic fuel gauge for monitoring battery life.
        As I snap pictures, send texts, and search the web, all while strolling along, it’s easy to forget about the impressive electronic sequencing required to make these mundane digital activities possible.
        At least there’s plenty of places on my person to hide my cell, as I decided to forego carrying a formal wallet a few years back.  The choice was easy; while both objects are similar in size, the electronic one sees substantial improvements in functionality each generation.
      Granted, adding a card carrier, even a minimal one, to my mobile, has increase overall thickness, necessitating expansion of the pouch in my trousers.  My current parcel format is two separate sleeves, each able to accommodate a pair of plastic rectangles in the universal size.
      It turns out there are global standards for such plaques, dubbed ID-1, with 3-3/8” x 2-1/8” dimensions for the perimeter profile, and 30 mils in thickness.  Apparently, protocol precedents were set by a country using the absurd imperial unit system, likely a collaboration between American and British entities.
     I’m hoping to reduce my holdings soon, once a new technology becomes validated.  Apple Pay, a near field communication transaction system leveraging touch ID sensors, just released on this newest iOS9 operating system.
         As an early adopter, I’m ready to go all-in on this approach, entirely eschewing my physical debit and credit cards.  However, businesses, especially small and independent restaurants like the one I’m currently headed to, have been slow and inconsistent to adopt this means of monetary exchange.
        I can’t imagine a more embarrassing situation than not being able to pay for a lady’s meal.  Thus, honor precludes me from dumping all my plastic payment modes, for now.  But, soon enough, if the system pans out, my stack will be thinner.
        Someday, contactless sales will be ever-present, with tap-to-pay capability via any linked wireless device.  Amazingly, per strategy presentations at work, Europe and Asia are well ahead of us regarding this capability, a rare occurrence in the technological realm us Americans typically dominate.
       Companies hand out hybrid wallets as marketing gimmicks at all manner of events these days, including the stuffy microchip conferences I frequent for my job.  However, there’s no way I trust these free trinkets, obviously made overseas on the cheap, using debatably tacky glue, with my monetary resources.
     As such, I’ve purchased a custom offering, made from resilient plastic, backed by a robust adhesive, and most importantly, displaying a woven carbon fiber treatment on the exterior skin.  Elegance is everything, even with electronics, in this modern age.
        I didn’t want to put a case on my new i-Phone when it arrived, in clean and clever packaging.  As an aficionado, the unboxing experience, just a few months after the public product launch in the Fall of 2014, was an orgasmic experience.  However, my clumsiness from youth has returned in middle age, making it impossible to trust myself with this expensive gadget, no matter how many robust safety measures are engineered into the outer shell.
       Thus, I’ve compromised on a clear cover, allowing the shiny-silver, machined-metal, exterior to be easily viewed, while protecting the sensitive circuitry housed within.  Considering my profession, me, of all people, grasps how delicate the interior electronics are, impact, temperature, and moisture, all conspiring to corrode and erode functionality.  This item is too pricey for frequent replacement.
        Top-tier cellphones, like the version my lifestyle mandates, are very expensive for a consumer product, at $750 for the baseline model.  Conveniently, most wireless carriers offer deals in exchange for service contracts, bringing the required initial outlay to just $199.
        This hardware subsidy is typically offset by digital data dues.  Which I’m a major consumer of.  The monthly bills come directly out of my bank account, with no card or cash needed.  Simple and invisible, just the way I like it.
        Over time, there’s no debate that monetary containment items carried by humans have changed.  In recent times, the masculine camp has turned into minimalists, while the feminine cohort has become hoarders.
      Originally, men’s wallets were used to hold money, tickets, cards, and photographs.  All these elements are now housed on a modern mobile.  Not sure what the ladies are toting around these days in their massive clutches, but they could certainly be more efficiently with their possessions.  Us guys are now operating lean and clean, for the most part.  Aside from our hefty egos, and discrete pill packs.
       Extracting the dense rectangular device from my rear pocket, I instinctively check to make sure my collection of cards is secured on the back.  Content, I hold my thumb on the circular button at the bottom of the unit.  Here a sensor is housed, incorporating both optical and pressure functionality.  
       This alternate phone access method is perfect for one-handed operation, and provides an additional level of safety for the new wireless transaction systems.  Maybe I can check to see if the target establishment uses touchless digital payment.
        While adventurous in terms of wardrobe selection and technology usage, my dining habits are much more mundane.  I don’t mind trying new local spots, but always seek out the same type of food.  Mexican.  
      Chips.  Salsa.  Beans.  Meat.  Tortillas.  Cheese.  This type of food is ubiquitous and tasty.  Plus, these venues are always lively and vibrant, with numerous tequila options.  
        Dating is complicated enough without having to make extra on-the-fly decisions.  I like to focus my mental energy on stimulating conversation with the gal across from me, rather than interpreting a digital menu on my phone.  Regardless how small the establishment, I’ve yet to find a joint that doesn’t have fresh guacamole and burrito combos in their list of available offerings.  
      What woman doesn’t want enjoy food made with picante?  Or finishing off a lovely meal with some cinnamon churros?  I enjoy all my food in tubular form.  I’ve got a system, and I’m stick to it, even if the past track record of success isn’t stellar.  Maybe tonight is the night.
        Complex clothing is one thing, but jewelry is not my jam, eschewing the hefty gold chains and bedazzled diamond rings rocked by many in the celebrity space, males and females alike.  Plus, there’s no way I can afford anything close to the gaudy trappings I leer at online.
          However, there’s one accessory I always wear out when dressing up.  My wrist watch.   
      This timepiece was a gift from my grandfather, which he gave to me after earning a nicer replacement upon retirement from working 30 years in the automotive union.  I only wear this item because the classy metal looks expensive, and the recognizable brand elicits conversation.  
         From a functional standpoint, I always check time on my phone, since this numerical value is displayed right on the locked home screen in large digits.  It’s too much work to interpret convoluted hands rotating around the central dial anyways.  This is truly an archaic form of documentation.
       The original wrist watch was conceived in the 16th century, but didn’t take off in popularity until much later, with commercial launch occurring in 1868.  This arm-mounted format transitioned from useless and unprofessional to functional and formal over time, as the designs and materials morphed. 
        World War I saw a major proliferation of wrist watches, as soldiers needed to be able to tell time quickly while in the field.  These “trench” versions were simple and durable, understandably emphasizing efficiency over elegance.
       1957 saw popularization of electric watches, which were powered by an internal battery, and thus didn’t require any winding.  Just over a decade later, in 1969, “Swiss” quartz entered the fold, relying on innate mineral properties, as opposed to designed machine elements.  This was initially for high-end offerings, but became available in lower cost models by the mid-1980’s.  The masses now had no excuse for their punctuality failures.  
       These two types of watch systems, mechanical, via spring-driven gears, and quartz, leveraging electronic oscillation, continue to compete in the market.  But my own model uses a novel technique, a half-moon-shaped weight, that swings as the user moves their arm, allowing for automatic winding of the precision internal elements that keep time.  Hence, the “perpetual” moniker attached to this specific design.
       There has been lots of chronometer inventions since unit I wear was manufactured: digital displays, durable plastic bands, stopwatch and alarm capability, elevation measurement, real-time GPS location, wireless connectivity.  However, despite being a tech junky, I’ve avoided any upgrades simply holding onto this chunky piece.  For sentimental reasons.  And because my cell can execute all these ancillary activities, and is continually improving.
        Surveys suggest the average person checks their watch 34 times a day.  At just a few occurrences an hour while awake, that’s no way to truly keep track of the clock.  I unlock my phone at a 5X higher frequency, and definitely spend more than the obligatory few seconds staring at the display once this temptress is awakened.
       Fittingly, as I walk along toward the destination, ETA denoted as 6 minutes on the continually updating virtual map, my gaze slowly shifts from the phone in my right hand, to the watch around this same wrist.  The former is explicitly modern, electronic and digital, with the latter classically retro, mechanical and analog.
      A Rolex watch represents the gold standard of wrist-based timekeeping, from a materials, operation, and design standpoint.  Plus, they incorporate actual gold into many of their products.
     This elite business was founded by young German watchmaker Hans Wilsdorf in 1908, combining self-winding, perpetual-motion, and water-proof features, all novel elements at the time, into a stylish wrist watch format, ideally with a robust metallic strap.
    The Oyster Perpetual chronometer, the original innovative sealed case enclosing precise dial operation with regenerative internal mechanisms, remains relevant and popular over a century later.
        The bezel on mine is a shimmering silver color, made with Rolex’s proprietary metallurgical formulation, 916L high-grade stainless steel.  Offered in 5 dial sizes, I have the 2nd largest 36 mm diameter, befitting a grown man with large hands looking to make a bold personal statement. 
       This fancy item also incorporates a 5-link bracelet band, debuted in 1945, and dubbed the Jubilee format, this style remains iconic to this day.  Segments are manufactured in a wide range of metals, including steel, gold, and platinum, allowed further customization.  My heirloom version is stainless steel on the outer and middle segments, with yellow gold flanking, offering a unique and compelling striped aesthetic.
      The winding knob is located on the right side, directly adjacent to the window where the 2-digit calendar date is displayed, replacing the 3-hour or 15-minute position.  The cyclops lens magnification grind allows the small black numerals to be magnified by 2.5X, enabling easy reading, even with my arm fully extended.

        All other 1/12th markers are present, except for the vertical top of the hour, where the “Rolex” text and crown logo are used instead.  Specific to this model, another very unique feature at the highpoint of the display is a second window, this one spells out the day of the week, hence the name for this watch model, dubbed the DATE-DAY.
         This capability was invented in 1956, and purchased by my grandfather that same year, as a celebratory gift related to marriage, and parenthood, a culmination of events which seemed too close together for the proper Catholic faith he adhered to.
         The DATE-DAY model was very popular throughout history amongst high-brow personalities, from financial folks to major musicians.  Along with a scrawny army grunt turned successful automobile innovator, both roles enable by America governmental policy.
        Ironically, earlier this year, a modern improvement was made to the internal mechanisms controlling the 2-digit day of the month numerals, based on contemporary manufacturing improvements.  I’m very tempted to make the upgrade; my historical artifact is now worth more than buying the new version, even accounting for inflated retail prices over time.  However, there’s too much nostalgia to shed the article encircling my arm.
        This mechanism can last 70 hours straight when fully wound.  If the body shuts down for 3 straight days, without any motion, then there are bigger personal issues than keeping accurate time.  
       While my profession is in the digital as opposed to analog world, I know this manufacturer owns over a dozen patents on this novel design elements.  There continues to be substantial crossover in the realms where mechanics and electronics collide, especially when physical constraint is the primary constraint.
        Despite the classy nature and precise engineering of my wrist-based timepiece, I still defer to the front screen on my cell for the real clock.  The other unwavering feedback on this home screen is the remaining battery life.
      After confirming the contrasting conventional hands of my Rolex perfectly match my backlit numerals on my i-Phone, my contact-lensed eyes shift to the power meter at the top-right of the display.  Which is red in color, and reads 13%.  This observation induces another stressful sensation in my already spinning mind.
       I constantly struggle to keep this unit powered up.  The rechargeable lithium-ion battery is state-of-the-art, assuming one makes the effort to connect a plug for supplemental electricity once in a while.  I’m easily distracted, and addicted to the content, making my charging habits erratic at best.
       The quoted battery life metrics are impressive: 10 days in standby mode, 50 straight hours of audio play, or 12 waking hours executing mobile calls, watching video clips, or browsing the internet.  Even an addict like me hasn’t tested any of these cited figures individually.  However, with my frequent multi-tasking, I’m lucky if this energy-hungry device, operated by a content-hungry human, can function for a full day without petering out.
     Fortunately, I’m not far from my destination, and look forward to in-person conversation, as opposed to online chatter.  Hopefully I can put my phone away for the next few hours.  Once I find my online match, of course.
     My half hour stroll culminates in me standing outside a lively cantina, with several high-tops and stools under a stretched canopy on the outdoor patio, and a bright glow of neon signage emanating from the broad patio doors.  The Mexican flag, Spanish name, and Baja ambiance confirm I’ve found the desired spot.
      Moving slowly to the entryway, I size up my appearance in the accommodating picture window adjacent, a visage enabled by the confluence of disparate light sources, combined with the thin nature of the glass.  Enabled by corrective contacts, I see a sturdy man in his mid-30s, dressed in a flamboyant outfit.  Who wouldn’t want to hang out with this engaging character?
       Shifting my attention, from assessing my reflection, to peering directly through the clear pane, I take in the interior space.  Now viewing the bar area, through my soft plastic lenses, I spot a lady sitting alone at the end of the rail, with a margarita schooner in front of her.
        Has my counterpart beat me here?  So much for my chance to be chivalrous, by buying the first round.  This used to be a rite of passage of male suitors, but modern dating etiquette has made payment protocols a little greyer.  I’m fine splitting the check, especially if I can settle up electronically with no card.
     Is this my minx?  She looks debatably like the picture from her online profile, but I’m going to need a closer inspection.  I’m at the right restaurant at the right time, and just need to double check the name on my phone’s dating app before moving in.  And so, the adventure begins.

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2075
        Stepping out onto the composite stoop, the glass door slides closed behind me.  Instantly, the deadbolt lock mechanism activates, and the pane transitions from clear to opaque.  These processes are initiated simply by the electronics determining my departure from home, via proximity sensors on my clothing and person.
            It’s a beautiful evening for a stroll, especially towards a desirable destination.  My first date in a quarter rotation of the moon.
            Assessing and adapting to the external environ is my first activity any time I step outside.  While many elements of the physical world are managed and manipulated, from climate-controlled buildings, to ambience-adjustable vehicles, technologists have yet to tame the weather.  Not for lack of trying.
         If scientists were able to engineer a perfectly pleasant transition between day and night, it likely wouldn’t be far from the current conditions.  Temperatures are cooling off from the slightly oppressive afternoon, supplemented by a gentle breeze. 
           A much nicer atmosphere than I anticipated.  Time for a wardrobe modification.
         I’m currently clad in innocuous attire, loose pants and a light jacket, both made from the same shimmering silver material.  This fabric is so sheer, I barely notice it on my body, but the fine layer still provides substantial warmth and weatherproofing.  That’s what happens when learnings from the burgeoning federal space exploration program are leveraged.  However, both protective traits aren’t required on this balmy evening.
        I decide to fix the windbreaker first, giving my core some relief.  Reaching for the lower left hem using my dominant arm, I manipulate the tiny dial housed here.  Many more folks in society are left-handed these days, as a result of curated training from birth to facilitate ambidexterity.  
        A microscopic rotation of the knob results in a substantial macro change to my coat.  The wavy fibers of the garment elongate, via electrical stimulation, opening up tiny holes in the previously impermeable weave.  This airy textile status trades moisture resistance for breathability, while also providing a freer fit, further facilitating convective flow.  Perfect, I already feel cooler. 
        Locating and rotating another mechanism, of similar size, on my left-side waistband of my pants, executes the same permeability downstairs.  My fingers linger on the trigger, contemplating additional trouser adjustments.  Once I get moving, I’ll undoubtably heat up.  Shorts seem like the right plan.
        The round element, in addition to turning, has another degree of freedom.  A raised button, that I press in and hold, facilitating movement of even smaller rotational controls, deftly integrated into the girdle of my slacks.
        Upon initiation, the wheels of progress start turning, with impossibly thin, impossibly strong, synthetic yarns coiling up.  These slippery silks slide seamlessly through gaps in the textile, with the far end securely attached to the bottom cuff.
       Within seconds, my trousers have transitioned to capris, through a visible bunching of the fabric.  Assessing the feel, I determine another increment is needed, so keep holding the switch down.  The next level of adjustment is even more dynamic, transitioning from subtle pleats to overt folds.
        Letting off the lever, I’m now sporting shorts, with the extra cloth collapsed inward, hiding the fact that any coverage manipulations have been made.  Now this is a classy look, which will allow me to move fast without sweating too much.
      If material modifications aren’t sufficient for adapting to the current conditions, then supplemental heating or cooling can be provided by metallic wires and fluid nanotubes, both operating via conductive thermodynamics.  These active systems, that draw substantial power, aren’t required currently.
       Piezoelectric devices turn vibration into current, allowing for automatic regeneration of the battery units any time I’m moving.  Microscopic solar cells integrated into the exterior of the fabric, accounting for the shimmering sheen, offer a supplemental charging scheme when outdoors.   Essential every consumer good these days relies on electrical power to enhance effectiveness.
       Improved apparel functionality through these dynamic features allows folks to own fewer outfits, thereby reducing waste.  This is all part of national sustainability initiatives; more durable and versatile products and opposed to disposable and specific items.
       Now, I just need to choose some classy coloration for my costume.  This is the fun part of the operation, leveraging hidden elements built into the drapery.  Color changing fabrics have been around for a while in various forms, but recent material innovations have really changed the space. 
      Thermochromic, shifting shade based on temperature change, relying on either body heat, like the mood rings of yore, or an external source.  These spawned from temperature sensitive films, originally used in the manufacturing industry.  Liquid crystals embedded directly into the cloth have allowed tuning for specific tint targets.
      Photochromism, the transformation in hue stimulated by UV light.  These can be passively engaged based on the sun’s rays, or more actively using blacklights, like at a lively rave.  Masking off sections of absorbent black and reflective white panels, can turn a greyscale outfit into colorful plumage, as the mirror elements are flipped and manipulated.
       The newest technology in this field is electroluminescence.  The first iteration simply used tiny LEDs build into an ensemble to provide color shifts, such dynamic bulbs were already very common for Christmas decorations.  Improving on this basic system, my clothing incorporates color changing pigments, which morph when stimulated by electrical current, rather than requiring physical lighting elements.
        At home, I use a software package on my computer to design each novel arrangement, then upload the power profile onto the moderating unit, which is housed in my belt.  I’ve got a few dozen pre-set looks, that I can select and switch between simply by tapping the buckle at my waist.
      What mood am I in tonight?  Festive for sure.  How about a dynamic expression, a neutral dark grey background, with subtle red and white pinstripes on the jacket, and blue stars dotting the short pants.
      This appearance is acceptable, as an ode to both national spirit, and a few local sports teams.  Color palette is limited in this era, for all sexes, with options muted, like many aspects of society.  The range of acceptable hues is curated and published by the administration, to avoid any excessively extravagant expression.  My chosen presentation is about the maximum level of flamboyance allowed in public.
       I know that my external appearance is being scrutinized by the powers that be.  The régime monitors all elements of public life, using an extensive network of overlapping systems: sensitive microphones, infrared scans, video cameras, bodily implants, heat sensors.  As a result, I’ll stick with something pure and patriotic for my evening walk.
        When initially instated, these surveillance policies were heavily rebuffed by many in society, specifically those on the Libertarian side of the ledger.  An understandable sentiment.
     However, over time it’s become clear that such monitoring, in a tactful manner without invading privacy, has facilitated many beneficial societal traits.  Accountability.  Honesty.  Safety.  Trust.  Unity.  
      Most off my adult life has been spent in this scrutinized state, as such policies were implemented in, and refined amongst, the military ranks, before being rolled out to the general public.  Having entered the armed forces right out of high school, I immediately became immersed in overt chaperoning.
      As a result, before stepping off the stoop, I execute a curated set of motions I’ve done so many times that these gestures are instinctual.  Connected forefinger and thumb, creating a circular window on both hands, move in unison, one tapping my mouth, and the other my naval.  The next movement is also simultaneous, with still connected digits shifting, one up and one down, to meet the nipple on each arm’s side of the body.
   Precision in both location and timing of this choregraphed sequence is key; children start practicing their choreographed cadence from an early age.  Every person in the country has a unique signature, based on minute differences in physique, coordination, and mannerisms.
       As a result, this call sign is as individualized as voice recognition or body ID tags, when viewed over the ever-watching cameras, located on lampposts, trees, buildings, and even drones, where no accommodating structure is available.
     The purpose is multifaceted: signaling personal movement from place to place, confirming no health issues have arisen, acknowledging execution of societal duties, showing fealty to the nation as a collective.
      For me, this protocol is as ingrained into my daily routine as crouching down to tie my shoes, putting up the seat when taking a piss, or holding the door for a someone behind, assuming these acts weren’t all rendered obsolete by modern product advancements.  I’m a sucker for historical chivalry, one of my many intellectual rabbit holes of online research. 
       Apparently, the selected set of hand motions stems from a sequence used by followers of Catholicism back in the day.  While the various religious sects across America have been consolidated and unified under one umbrella, remnants from each relevant branch remain in the public conscious, metastasizing in various ways.
       Currently, there’s only one faith in American, with everyone aligned under a singular flag and deity.  Religion and régime are essentially interchangeable.  This devout alignment has provided harmony, with shared values and goals across all citizens.
      Having worn opaque white and reflective iridescent for several years during my stint in the military, returning to civilian life has offered up relative autonomy in terms of attire options.  Still, I’ve learned that young men in society are almost indistinguishable from each other, from both a wealth and productivity standpoint.
       I make a fair living, as a robotics engineer, allowing me to align with other industrious compatriots my age these days.  This status level enables the transformable outfit I’m wearing right now.
        My current job materialized through a confluence of life events.  Working on programable pets as a child.  Working on food preparation lines with mechanized support as teenager.  Working on maintaining the autonomous fleet of soldiers while in the armed forces.  Working on service robots for home chore usage in my current role.
       My present employment opportunity comes courtesy of the U.S. government’s substantial investment into android technology.  This funding has resulted in lots of engineering roles in the arenas of electronics, automation, and robotics.
       Contrary to economic theory, the elimination of mundane tasks through mechatronics has allowed live humans to focus on complex projects, pushing the boundaries of the known universe.  Many scientific fields have been substantially advanced as a result.  Most notably health care. 
        While I know it’s nighttime out, the landscape is as bright as midday, thanks to my ocular enhancements.  My mind actively modulates the amount of light hitting my cornea, augmenting ambient rays with supplemental illumination.
         The cornea is the domed outer portion of the eye, made from clear tissue.  Incoming light flows through the cornea, iris, then lens, at the front of the orb, which bend and focus these rays on a single point of the retina on the back side.  The retina then sends electrical signals to the brain, communicating what’s being seen.
       Obviously, if any link in this important chain is broken, then vision is impaired.  If the eye can’t refract incoming stimuli correctly, blurry vision results.  Fortunately, modern medicine is able to fix, and even enhance, essential any ocular encumbrances.  Having acute vision of 20/20 at worst, with most citizens much better, is mandatory for both safety and success in society.  
        According to my medical records, which are in the public domain for all to see, in this era of radical transparency, I had hyperopia, more commonly known as farsightedness, in my early years.  I don’t recall ever not being able to see clearly, due to a quartet of eye surgeries, at ages 8, 13, 15, and 18. 
        When I discovered the series of adjustments made to me as a lad, I researched more about the listed procedure.  In this modern era, essentially every piece of information one could want to learn is available for free consumption on the internet.  Folks can go as deep as they wish, becoming educated on any topic, provide the content is approved by the overlords in the administration.
        Apparently, the principle of modifying the cornea to improve vision was discovered by accident in 1974.  A young boy in Russia got shards of broken glass in his eye, resulting in subtle shaving of the outer lens, surprisingly resulting in fixing his previously impaired sight.  From then on, a race within the medical community to understand and replicate this phenomenon was on.
       First experimenting with a scalpel, the introduction of lasers brought about the precision required for this delicate surgery.  The first successful corneal modification in patient trials occurred in 1988, and by 1995, the U.S. Food and Drug Administration, an organization which now has much grander scope and resources than it did back then, approved the procedure as a standard treatment.
      The technology, dubbed LASIK, a convenient acronym for “laser-assisted in situ keratomileusis”, quickly became quite popular.  Done as an outpatient surgery, folks were fully healed up in just days, with nearly perfect success rates.  Originally covered by corporate insurance plans, in recent decades, the federal government has added this technique to its list of approved healthcare treatments for all eligible individuals.
       Until the 2040’s, conveniently aligning with my birth, LASIK wasn’t recommended for patients before their adult eyes stabilized, typically around age 20.  However, as the practice has become more refined, and understanding of ocular development improved, a series of minute adjustments can be made at intervals as needed during adolescence. 
     My set of repairs should be good for at least another 5 years; apparently around age 40 human visions begins its inevitable deterioration.  I’m guessing there are more alterations in my future.
      I still remember my last surgery, almost exactly half my life ago.  While the process was painless, I don’t have any desired to relive that experience any time soon.  Provided numbing drops in the eyes, and a pill to slow my brain, my head was securely placed in a rigid fixture, restricting even the slightest movement, for obvious reasons.  
       The surprising part is that I remained awake and alert for the entire operation, even as the laser tip descended slowly down into position, impossibly close to my exposed eyeball.  Good thing I was strapped down, otherwise I would have been thrashing all over.
      While I definitely couldn’t make out what the business end of the machine was doing, the surgeon described the series of steps is a soothing voice, much appreciated considering my stressed state, even while sedated.
      The protective corneal flap is cut around most of its circumference, then folded back.  I’m asked to stare directly at the impossibly bright light in front of me, explaining the reason I can’t be passed out for the procedure.  The exposed cornea is modified by the precision laser, which operates at 400 cycles per second, and monitors exact position of the eye at an even more rapid rate.  An unusual smell is emitted, which the doctor assures me is simply a chemical reaction, as opposed to my iris becoming permanently damaged.  The cornea cover is shifted back into its original position, so healing can begin.  
       A harrowing 30-minute experience.  But the operation definitely worked.  I was home that evening, back in school the next day, and playing with friends by the weekend.  My newly returned perfect vision allowed me to dominate our multiplayer video game session, using full-body interactive suits, thus requiring supreme hand-eye coordination and reaction time.
     I’m glad my athletic prowess in the physical realm, which has varied widely over time due to significant bodily changes, translates to the digital world.  The linkage between these two formerly disparate realms is becoming increasingly tight each year, with the advent of nano-scale electronic systems.
     The robotics industry I’m employed in is a testament to how close man and machine have become in terms of competences.
    Fully functioning vision is an important prerequisite to utilizing the multitude of available anthropological enhancements.  Some are basic, others substantially more complex.  All rely on deep understanding of how the human brain absorbs, interprets, and reacts to external stimuli.
         Simply walking down the city street highlights these amazing capabilities.
     Reaching up to my left ear, I tap the lower edge of the lobe in a practiced motion, without breaking stride.  Simultaneously, I whisper a short string of words, so quietly that the speech is imperceptible to anyone around me.
        The tiny implants in my ears, combining both a microphone and speaker, immediately whir into action, upon being summoned via the first word of the command.  Precisely tuned to my voice inflections, any time I utter my keyword, the electronics activate.  This avoids any unwanted engagement during daily interaction with other living beings.
        Instantly, I can hear sweet soothing sound.  Again, the positioning of the speaker, directly in my ear canal, where it can activate the drum, makes the emitted noise imperceptible to anyone else.  It’s almost as if the sound is being piped directly through the cochlear hairs into my brain.  Making for an impressively immersive and enjoyable experience.  
         These days, there’s not much audio-only content available.  All songs have a music video accompaniment.  All news is supplemented by live broadcast footage.  All sports are consumed with slow-motion highlights.  Even daily dialogue between people in person typically involves visual props.  
      Conveniently, there’s one realm where acoustics are still at a premium.  Classical music, that has returned to popularity, due to the beautiful simplicity of this genre.  Recordings from the great composers have been digitally remastered, paying homage to the original intent, while cleaning up any instrumental quality issues, however minute.  
          The tune I’ve selected is “The Four Seasons”, by Italian composer Antonio Vivaldi.  
         This work is a quartet of concertos, aptly referencing each season of the solar calendar.  It understandably starts with Spring, also known as Concerto No. 1, performed in E major.  A lively composition in the Baroque style, which now engrosses my auditory pathways.
        In additional to using 4 violins, and all the traditional sounds from a full orchestra, Vivaldi was revolutionary in many ways.  He used the instruments uniquely to mimic common noises found in nature: babbling brooks, flitting flies, gusting gales, singing songbirds.  This dynamic throughline was supported by written sonnets, progressively describing the activities evoked in the melody. 
        It’s amazing something written and performed in the 1720’s is still this compelling, considering all the entertainment media at my disposal.  I know from memory this initial section is 10 minutes long, perfect for helping me keep pace on my journey.
       Nearly all new music these days is created by artificial intelligence.  This results in substantial mixing and matching of different musical genres, which I find distracting and overstimulating.  My mind is constantly engaged while working, so being able to tune out for a bit in the evening is quite welcome respite.
       Unfortunately, after just a few minutes, my melodic meditation is interrupted.  By an official news bulletin.  This digital disruption is thrust upon me, along with the rest of Americans, at the exact same time every day, regardless of each individual’s location or circumstance.
        This message appears in the form of a video hologram, hovering in front of my face, with sound piped through my augmented ears.  In my earlier days, I marveled at these magically materializing 3D shapes.  However, over time, I’ve learned with physical position constantly known, as a result of bodily implants executed at birth, transmitting and projecting resolved imagery to everyone for visual consumption becomes trivial.
       The images mostly showing utterances from our fearless leader, obviously computer generated, as opposed to her actual visage.  Interspliced are morale-boosting snippets of comrades, a few local stories provided based on the location of each entity, but primarily nationwide messaging communicating the continued successful advancement of the land we all call home.
        The new, as it’s called, is primarily propaganda, meant to keep citizens aligned on important issues.  There are very few stories about the rest of the world, as national attention has shifted substantially inward in recent decades.
       I listen diligently, but indifferently, my mind drifting toward the pending dinner date, my eyes darting off to the natural surroundings in the physical realm, and my ears craving the soothing sounds of a brilliant orchestral composition.
        As I continue to walk, the imagery bounces to and fro in front of me, but the colorful caricatures hovering in space remain resolved.  Mercilessly, tonight’s bulletin is short and uneventful.  My music resumes automatically, and my pace quickens to match the lively cadence.
       My legs feel great, despite my rapid pace of travel.  I had a vigorous gym workout session this morning, but have clearly taken in enough nutrients to recover quickly.
      Sports are a very important element of society, essential to keep folks entertained and physically fit.  Everyone participates, with rivalries between adjacent cities at all skill levels.  Attending a live athletics match, either viewing or playing, is a typical second date after the dinner initiation meeting.  I’m sure athletic pursuits will be a topic of conversation at the restaurant tonight.
       Across the United States, the past quarter century has seen a heavy push towards improved health.  Facilitated by several biopharma advancements, and enabled by broad federal subsidies, the body mass index for the average American has come down substantially.
         This wellness revelation occurred via a two-pronged approach of diet and exercise, a tried-and-true model know to be effective since the days of scrawny cavepeople wandering the open plains in search of sustenance.  The modern approach is supplemented by major scientific breakthroughs in the healthcare space, turning biotechnology into a huge industry.
          I’m a poster child for this movement, exiting high school at 260 pounds, I now clock in 100 pounds lighter.  Based on my 6-foot height, my BMI has dropped 13 points, moving me from extremely obese to the middle of normalcy on this important scale.
          My own commitment to wellness coincided with me joining the U.S. military ranks.  My male ancestors have served this country for 6 generations, starting with World War I, after immigrating from Europe during the 2nd Industrial Revolution, landing at Ellis Island just as the 19th century ended.
         Having dropped the pounds while serving the country during a 3-year stint, I resolved to keep the weight off when shifting to the private sector.  Now, I make the same dedicated commitment to shedding mass and improving functionality of my own body, that I do with the android robot servants I design and build at my job.  Multiple hours of exercise time are allocated daily, per mandates from the administration to all employers.  Healthy workers are happy workers, according to our leadership.
       Another element of the federal push to promote healthcare has occurred in the reproductive realm.  Mandatory vasectomies for all young men.  This current government policy is a means of controlling births, to manage limited resources across the nation, and the planet as a whole.
         This medical procedure occurs at the same time as many other important occurrences in life.  One’s 20th birthday.  This key date coincides with the ability to drive, which very few people do, the right to drink, which is becoming increasingly rare in society, and access to social media platforms online, which is by far the most desirable benefit of entering one’s 3rd decade of existence.
         The sterilization is fully reversable, with fertility being reinstated as soon as an acceptable mate is found.  Granted, this is a fairly subjective judgment.  I enjoy having sex without having to worry about creating an offspring as much as the next heterosexual male, but would like to start a family sometime.  
         15 years after getting snipped, my fatherhood clock is ticking.  I need to find a viable lady, so I can reinstate my manhood.  Maybe the gal of my dreams will materialize tonight.  Options seem to be quite limited in this town.
      Gender neutrality has become an increasingly common status, in terms of both bodily attributes and sexual attraction.  An orientation that doesn’t exactly promote procreation.  Even with the rampant proliferation of robot helpers in society, some rate of natural births is required to keep the population stable.
         Which is likely why the administration, in their infinite wisdom, has interjected in the mating and marriage process.  The results have been mixed at best thus far.  Apparently, physical attraction can’t be boiled down to a set of systematic rules executed by a computer. 
          I get an official dossier, digital of course, on my counterpart before each dinner engagement.  I assume all my metrics are likewise shared with the opposite party.  At least this data provides some material to start the conversation.
        Based on this provided information, both my assigned gal for tonight and I were in the armed forces.  We’re essentially the same age, and served in the same global conflict that brought about the current isolationist period, but never crossed paths to my knowledge.  Which isn’t surprising, considering the vast scope of the United States military complex.
         Her headshot, provided in holographic form, looks nice enough, as do the supplementary body metrics.  Hereditary traits, educational background, employment history, athletic interests: all seem reasonable, with no obvious red flags.  But, there’s really no substitute for sitting across from a person in the physical realm, having a civilized conversation.  Which is becoming an increasingly rare occurrence, as most interactions now occur through virtual channels.
         I can’t figure out these matching protocols; sometimes I’m paired with someone possessing a completely disparate set of traits, other times I’m basically sitting across from a doppelganger.
          Something must be screwed up with these algorithms, based on my paltry results.  Having gone on the allotted once per week date diligently for the last 10 years, I’ve yet to find a suitable peer.  After over 500 dinners, with 500 different women, I’m starting to get skeptical about the entire process.
      At least these regular meet-ups give me the chance to get fancied up, a rare occurrence in this era of generic sameness.  I’ve obsessed every element of my presentation for this excursion, including my footwear.
       My shoes are currently gun-metal grey in color, custom fitted to my feet, based on a 3D scan of these unique peds.  Granted, guns are no longer allowed in society, aside from robotic operators in law enforcement roles.  These mechanical beings offer up substantially enhanced safety from a decision-making standpoint.      
       I can modify every element of my footwear, with a simple tap of the toe, or hit on the heel.  Outsole traction.  Foam resilience.  Upper presentation.  Overall comfort.  All these features are open for interpretation and adjustment.
      Traveling on smooth and flat terrain, with menial encumbrances, I’ve selected a setting that’s casual and comfortable.  This relaxed jaunt is a far cry from my military experience, not because I was forced to travel many leagues by foot with a heavy pack, but because I wasn’t able to leave the organizational complex without permission during the entire multi-year conflict.  Robots and drones, operated remotely, did all the heavy lifting in battle.  I’m happy rational human mobility has returned to the world, at least for now.
      The sidewalks here in the city, like all elements of modern infrastructure, are immaculate.  This precision results from two related factors: optimizing movement of people and product through AI algorithms, then enlisting mechanized operators to execute the necessary roadway renovations.
       As I charge forward on stable shoes, a notification is received, in the form of a subtle vibration through my soles.  Apparently, the balance sensors housed within have ascertained a section of track I just traversed exceeds the mandated slope for safe travel.
        A convenient find.  Now I just need to document the area, through the location on my body sensor, pictures using my supplemented eyes, and site dimensions leveraging my footwear.  This should only take a few minutes, and I’m well ahead of schedule for my upcoming meeting with the fairer sex. 
        If accurately identified, I get merit points for discovering and reporting this pavement issue, which will be fixed right away by an autonomous maintenance crew.  These machines are very similar to the ones I design daily, but must be more powerful and durable than an in-home model.
           I’ll take any extra monetary credits the administration wants to give me.
       American currency has become standardized and fully digital.  With this electronic format, all transactions are monitored and audited by the government.  Excessive personal acquisitions can be cancelled, to benefit the greater good, with the goal of regulating limited natural resources.
       As another means of promoting productive purchases, money has an expiration date, and can only be spent on certain items at certain times.  Relevant to my recent footpath safety spotting, there’s a social credit score, where societally beneficial behaviors are awarded with additional perks.  These transaction systems keep citizens motivated in all facets of life.
       Bank accounts and procurement payments are now fully computerized, with no physical cash used.  The coins, currency, and cards of the past are gone, aside from their relevance for sentimental or aesthetic applications.
         To facilitate these electronic protocols, an official federal ID nanochip is implanted at birth, on the back side of a frontal milk tooth.  It takes another 6 months for these white incisors to pierce the pink gums of a baby’s mouth, finally becoming functional, but the invisible marking has already been applied and activated. 
         Considering the comprehensive medical support provided for free to all children, there’s very few parents who don’t bring their kid back for the adult tooth sensor fitting, which occurs around age 7, as the temporary item is swapped for the permanent version.  The tooth fairy has ulterior motives.
          During this dental appointment, an ancillary detection device is also applied, in one of the furthest back molars, again yet to expose themselves, often dubbed wisdom teeth.  Understandably, non-invasive orthodontal work is a booming business.
        I have no recollection regarding any of this in-mouth activity, but the same medical records documenting my multitude of eye surgeries provides the exact dates of my dentistry alterations.  Plus, there’s the anecdotes of childish whimpering I must relive every time I go over to my mom and dad’s place for dinner.  Which is understandably quite infrequently.  
       There’s a small segment of society who have removed their oral implants, along with the teeth themselves, an obviously painful process.  These individuals are now outcast, with no access to social support resources, including the hybrid universal basic income program meant to help folks in need.
        At this point, I have so many sensors embedded in my body I’m not that different from the droids I work on.  Several courtesies of the government, a few related to military service, one provided by my employer.  While there’s a small, albeit vocal, cohort outraged by these digital trackers, I’ve learned to embrace the simplicity, order, and control afforded by such monitoring systems.
         These inserted ID chips also remain charged using piezoelectrics; lack of motions implies death, which is the only way to shut the system down.  Aside from surgery, provided the tiny devices can be located, and removed without incurring injury, which is unlikely.
          In addition to elimination of cash, there’s no need to carry a physical identification card, as this flimsy plastic item has been replaced by the solid metal barcodes in my teeth, which can be interpreted and processed wirelessly.
       Looking down at the back of my left hand, which swings as I walk, I spot a scar, pale white on a slightly darker background tone.  I have all sorts of blemishes on my body, the result of various life experiences.  Childhood accidents.  Sporting events.  Work incidents.  All damage of my own making.  However, the precision incisions by which my corporal implants were introduced are much more discrete, making them essentially invisible.
          As I know better than most, due to my adolescent weight management saga, the human body can shift and morph in incredible ways.  Despite lotions and pills, my previously-stretched skin still shows remnants of the drastic shrinkage, especially in the thigh, belly, buttocks, and upper arm regions.  Despite my now-svelte physique, I’m still self-conscious about these wrinkled regions.  This insecurity, along with various other confidence issues, explains my inconsistent performance when I am able to woo a woman into the sack, a rare occurrence indeed.
         My main military tag is applied in a region quite the opposite, a portion of the body that doesn’t change much beyond juvenile growth, either vertically or circumferentially.  The 6th rib on my left side.  The doctors in the division when I enlisted knew I would lose mass, or bust out of the program.  Hence the choice to tie this tracker to the easiest to access, most stable, section of my torso’s bone structure. 
        Touching this spot instinctively, my fingers encounter the impossibly soft and sleek fabric of my jacket.  The dynamic cut fits me perfectly, modular enough to match my oft-changing frame.  Content and confident, I twist the adjacent dial to dial up my red and white hues another notch.  The watchers above must take time off on the weekend.  Hopefully.
          My patriotic bent in terms of attire also translates to my dining habits.  I don’t mind trying new local places, but always seek out the same type of food.  America.  
           Soup and a sandwich.  Maccaroni and cheese.  A burger with fries.  Fried chicken and collard greens.  This type of food, often served in paired combinations, is generic yet tasty.  Plus, the venues are always decorated and lively, with numerous drink options.  I know from the preference profile that my paired partner doesn’t imbibe in alcohol, a choice most folks have made for wellness reasons, so we’ll be going with a quality sparking spring water tonight.  
           Dating is complicated enough without having to make extra on-the-fly decisions.  I like to focus my mental energy on stimulating conversation with the participant across from me, rather than analyzing the listed calorie metrics of each dish.  Using curated research, I selected the healthiest establishment in town for the two items on my mandated mate’s favorites list from her dossier, garden wedge salad and lab-grown strip steak.
          What woman doesn’t want enjoy food made with science?  Or finishing off a lovely meal by splitting a small bowl of fat-free frozen yogurt?  I’ve got a system, and I’m stick to it, even if the past track record of success isn’t stellar.  Maybe tonight is the night.
        There are no pockets on the outside of my attire right now, but I can easily summon the dynamic woven fabric to create a pouch if needed.  However, I don’t have any items to carry, living fun and fancy free.
         It’s amusing to contemplate the bygone era, where poor saps had to tote a mobile unit with their digital information on it for payment, or the even more archaic period when dirty physical money was transported in bulky wallets.  I don’t envy those encumbered times of yore.
         People even lugged around physical clocks.  Which seems absurd, given the arc of time.  Literally.
        My grandpa showed me his old cellphone once as a child, which he apparently kept for sentimental purposes.  I was amazed at how heavy this rectangular case was, and how little actual functionality it possessed.  Nanoscale circuitry and quantum computing have rendered traditional motherboard electronics obsolete.
         I’m able to keep perfect track of time intuitively, thanks to tapping into the specific element of my brain responsible for cadence.  Prior generations of humans needed to rely on mechanical devices to supplement inherent intuition related to hours and minutes.
     Now, through recent medical advances, the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex, the primary section of the mind responsible for temporal experience, has help.  In the form of a quartz crystal insert, a mineral that emits a natural frequency, enabling perfect timekeeping.
       Referencing this portion of my brain instinctively, I ascertain it’s currently 19:22:48.  Pulling up and cross referencing the street map, through my supplemental lens, I see at current walking pace I’m 7 minutes from the restaurant.
     Perfect, as punctuality is highly valued in modern society.  Being early is just as detrimental as being late for engagements, since this suggests the person is self-conscious about their ability to plan and execute life activities efficiently.  Getting to the establishment right at 7:30 PM will be a great way to start off my date with a potential mate.
      With the light outside always moderated to mimic bright high noon, methods of chronology other than the movement of the sun across the sky must be utilized.  Conveniently, the metronome in my mind allows perfect scheduling to be kept with no auxiliary equipment.
       I do appreciate the structure afforded by having all citizens across America aligned on a unified clock.  By eliminating time zones, communication and travel across the country has become fully integrated.
        On a local level, all my daily activities are coordinated by my prefrontal cortex supplementation, perpetually keeping the universal military time format.  Meal intake.  Commute logistics.  Work hours.  Exercise regimen.  And in this case, courtship meetings. 
          Every element of my routine is curated and planned.  Not always by choice.  I sleep the exact same 8 hours each night, aided by my sleeping pod, which controls light, temperature, and moisture.
       Spontaneity has essentially been filtered out of modern existence.  No snack splurges.  No weekend trips.  No vacation days.  No impromptu activities.  No random hookups.  It’s this last item that bothers me the most.  My parents were the final generation allowed to select their own life partners.  Now, the administration uses analytics to pair up couples, based on numerous physical and mental metrics.
           I’ve stopped getting excited about these arranged encounters, but can’t help but feel the rush of adrenaline through my body as the actual event approaches.
         Another benefit of my dynamic footwear is that it serves as my navigator.  With the target destination entered before departure, if I sway off course, my kicks subtly steer me back in the right direction.  The subtle tingle on my ankle suggests I’m nearing my targeted terminus.  Time to adjust my attire to lure in my mark.
           Casual clothing was fine for walking, but now I need to class up this ensemble.  Still on the move, I manipulate the knobs to adjust the format of my outfit, returning the pants to their full length, and opening the front of the jacket, revealing the shimmering white shirt underneath, accenting the other U.S. flag aesthetics I’ve selected.
         I also tweak the fit, making the wardrobe tighter in spots, to accentuate key muscle groups, while loosening other regions, to hide marginal features of my anatomy.  I’m very proud of the overhaul to my figure as an adult, but my body is a continual work in progress.  I hope this latest lady is impressed.
       My half hour stroll culminates in me standing outside a blocky structure, with several modular chair and table structures arranged under an invisible rain cover on the outdoor patio, with automatic sliding doors providing access to the inside.  The American flag, English name, and patriotic ambiance confirm I’ve found the desired spot.
          Moving slowly to the entryway, I size up my appearance in the smooth cladding of the building, a visage enabled by the absurd cleanliness of this reflective metal surface.  Enabled by surgically-doctored eyes, I see a lean man in his mid-30s, dressed in a boldly nationalistic outfit.  Who wouldn’t want to hang out with this loyal character?
         Shifting my attention, from assessing my likeness, to peering directly through the glass door adjacent, I examine the interior space.  Using my modified cornea, I spot a lady sitting alone at a two-person pod, with a tall bottle of sparking water in front of her.
        Has my counterpart beat me here?  That might be a red flag regarding punctuality protocols.  Hopefully, she’s only been here for a minute or two.  I can check the electronic bill when we settle up at the end of the night; this will have a digital timestamp of her initial order.
       This is definitely my gal.  She looks exactly like the hologram from her profile, which is updated daily using the wealth of available public camera footage.  Plus, my supplemented brain confirms I’m at the right restaurant at the right time.  As soon as we get in close proximity, our linked ID sensors will verify the intended match.  And so, the adventure begins.

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All original works by S. G. Lacey - ©2025

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