KNOW WORRIES #42 - "The Flyover Years"

Have you ever met a time traveler? Well, for the purposes of this column, I’m going to assume you haven’t. But like, if you have, then by all means let me throw you the keys to the comments section, because I need to know everything. How far in the future were they from? How dumb is the clothing everyone has to wear? How expensive has beef jerky gotten? Have hoverboards been invented yet? And if not, what the fuck?

Is the future cool or are we dealing with a Bladerunner type situation where it’s all just robots hunting other robots? Also, spoilers for both Bladerunner movies. How many butterflies do I need to kill to stop them from making a live-action remake of Disney’s Robin Hood? When does “it” happen? Like, soon? Please, tell me it’s soon. So many questions!

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’ve never met a time traveler. Or any of their wives, for that matter. And sure, that’s a little disappointing because I’ve seen all of their movies (big fan). But on the plus side, I guess I’m relieved that I don’t turn out to be all that evil. Because if anyone ever introduces themselves to you as being “from the future,” you can be sure you turned out to be somebody very important, and not in a good way. Important like a #2 pencil is important. Important like a DNR is important or an emergency slide on an airplane is important. You know, like underground bunker important.

So that’s good to hear, because honestly it was a little touch-and-go there for a bit. It’s pretty much all been downhill since they switched Beckys on Roseanne, and then when they took away my Choco Tacos, I was sure that was gonna be it for me. But then they released (parts of some of) the Epstein files, and I found out just how much emailing is actually involved in being truly evil, and honestly, I just don’t have it in me.

I mean, there’s people I’ve long suspected of being from the future. David Byrne, for instance, is definitely from the future. Also, Gary Larson, I’m pretty sure. And I’m on the fence about Paul Rudd, though I have my suspicions, because there’s no way that skin care routine isn’t centuries ahead of our time. In fact, he might very well be a replicant who’s been sent back in time in some sort of replicant witness protection program because he’s gonna blow the whistle on “big robot” (spoilers for Bladerunner 3). But I can’t prove that, despite my tireless research and no less than three (3) court-issued restraining orders. I see you, Paul. I’m no less than a hundred yards away, but I still see you.

Oh, also anybody making money on Polymarket or Kalshi right now. They’re definitely from the future, because I know the old Back to the Future sports almanac scam when I see it. I see you too, Biffs. I mean, there’s simply no other explanation for all of these people making incredibly accurate and lucrative predictions about the state of global affairs. I refuse to believe anybody involved in government at any level would ever be that unscrupulous. A public servant? Ragdolling millions of Americans day-in and day-out like some idiot Greek God just so they can buy a little tiny yacht that fits inside their bigger yacht so they can still go ashore when their helicopter is on the fritz? No sir, I won’t hear of it. Those people are definitely from the future unless I’m wildly off base about the ethical fabric of our nation’s politicians (nervous laughter).

The point I’m trying to make (eventually) is that I’ve never met a time traveler, and neither have you. And while it’s tempting to say time travel therefore doesn’t exist, I’m not sure that’s the case. Actually, I think it’s possible that time travel becomes a very real thing at some point. Potentially even a very accessible thing. Potentially even an everyday type of thing like city buses or capping off your lunch break with a nice little car-cry.

I think it’s entirely possible that time travel is real and is widely used, and also for none of us to ever meet anyone from the future. And do you know why? Because nobody wants to come here. Because we live in a shitty part of town. And you know what? I don’t blame them. I don’t blame them for locking their doors as they drive by and telling their kids not to make eye contact. I don’t. Because if I could move to a nicer neighborhood, I would. But my job and pets and hardcover books are here.

Because why would you want to come here? For what? Bad news tourism? To see where it all went wrong like some civil war battlefield? Given all the different eras you could visit, why would you come here? That’s like spending August in Arizona or going to Buffalo for the winter. Even the people that live there would tell you that’s a bad idea. I mean, you could be having an aperitif in Paris with Ernest Hemingway while you talk shit about F. Scott Fitzgerald. You could go buy a painting from Vincent Van Gogh and ruin his career forever. You could drop some brown acid at Woodstock or even go see Romeo and Juliet live at the Globe Theater, so why would you come here? You wouldn’t. You just wouldn’t. Because these my friends, are the flyover years. And I’m not exactly sure where the coasts are in this metaphor, but I sure as shit can’t see them from here.

I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept of “flyover states,” which are, ostensibly, states you “fly over” on your way to somewhere more exciting. Now, as aloof and reductive as that concept is (looking at you and your glorious cheese, Wisconsin), it’s nonetheless intriguing from whatever the opposite of an academic perspective is. Because that’s where we are. The flyover years.

Let’s face it, the nineties were the last decade. The last stretch of time with any redeemable defining characteristics, and everything since then has just been a characterless collection of soy sauce packets and dead batteries and gift cards you’ll never use. We are truly living in the junk draweriest of times. And like, I don’t even know what’s in there anymore, but I’m pretty sure I’m not taking any of it with me when I move.

“But Jonathan,” I hear you cry. “What if time travel isn’t a tourist industry? What if it’s a sacred tool used for the greater good? What will become of your metaphor then?” First of all, calm down. And secondly, if the last few years have taught me anything, it’s that any revolutionary new technology will always be deployed for whichever purpose helps regular people the least, and rich people the most.

You’re telling me I can’t get an AI to do a little bit of laundry or help me with my crippling executive disfunction? No? Oh, they’re all just all gonna write screenplays and put out country music albums and make it impossible to use an em dash without being called a bot? Okay, great. That’ll definitely be worth it when I’m fighting some Boston Dynamics robot for clean drinking water in a few years. Can’t wait. Fucking clankers.

And look, if time travel was actually used for the greater good, namely, to change the future for the better…then this place (glances around) would either be swarming with time agents, or things wouldn’t be so (glances around again) right now. And our jaws wouldn’t all be permanently clenched. And we all wouldn’t be using shampoo when we run out of body wash for a week just so we can afford the paper towels that tear nicely along their perforations. Sorry, but life’s too short for cheap paper towels. It just is. And that is something I would absolutely fight a robot for. I mean, listen, if time travel could really help make things better, don’t you think some hero from the future would’ve done “it” by now? Don’t you? Think about it.

Trust me, as soon as that becomes a reality, some billionaire is going to snatch it all up like it was a syndicated media outlet and be all, “Sorry peasants, it doesn’t actually work like that. I’d explain but you wouldn’t understand. Sorry, no greater good for you. But hey, if you wanna go share a hooker with Sinatra at The Golden Horseshoe while Dean-o watches, there’s a Delorian leaving in an hour. Money, please.”

And that, my friends, is why neither you nor I have evermet a time traveler. And if you think you have, they were probably just here for a layover. A quick stop to change time machines on their way to 1997 for a night of Kudos bars and Sobe drinks and Natalie Imbruglia on repeat. But maybe I’m just all out of faith. Maybe that’s just how I feel. I don’t know. Hard to tell anymore.

Because honestly, what’s the last tourism-worthy thing you can even remember happening? Okay, the summer Pokémon Go came out was pretty rad, but then you’d also have to be here to watch Harambe, David Bowie, and Prince pass from this earth, and that’s just too much to deal with. And the first few seasons of “Lost” were awesome, but I assume anyone from the future is aware of how that show ended, so like why would you do that to yourself? There was that time a few years ago when a whole new generation found out who Tacy Chapman was. I was very much here for that. And then maaaaybe Tom Holland’s drag debut performing Rihanna’s Umbrella? But other than that? I don’t know, Barbenheimer? I got nothing.

I just don’t see it. I mean, in the first Back to the Future, they went back to the fifties. Then, in the third Back to the Future, they went back to the old west. Now, those are places that might be cool to visit, you know? Those are time-tourist destinations. They weren’t perfect, but at least they had character. But this? This is the second Back to the Future where Biff Tannen is running things and it’s raining all the time, only our sneakers don’t lace themselves and I still don’t have my hoverboard. I mean, can I get a great deal on handbaskets? Sure. The handbasket industry is alive and well, but that’s beside the point. The point is they spend that entire movie trying to make sure our reality never happens. And that sure seemed like a lot more fun at the time. Guess it didn’t take (nervous laughter).

The point is you don’t come here unless you’re from here. And if you’re from here, you’re stuck here. Because, like I said before, this is where your pets and hardcover books are. And also your family or whatever. People from the future just aren’t coming. They’re not. They’re not coming to save us, and they’re not even coming to gawk at us as they cruise by in a double-decker open-air time bus while some tour guide with a megaphone is like, “And if you look closely, you can see them all muttering under their breath as they scroll.” Sorry, but Bill and Ted aren’t coming to scoop you up in a phone booth, because good luck finding one of those. And also, you’re just not that interesting. And also, George Carlin is no longer with us, because he has almost certainly returned to the future from whence he came.

So, what do we do? What do we do when we’re stuck here in the flyover zone and nobody’s coming to save us and there’s no way out? Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m sure as hell going to complain about it. A lot. Like, all the time. And then…then I’m gonna cope. I’m gonna buy myself little treats (as long as I don’t also need paper towels), and I’m gonna play my little word games in the morning and watch my little murder docuseries at night. And like all flyover situations, I’m gonna let my life revolve largely around food. And not just any food, but the kind of food that will immediately end my suffering by being delicious, and also probably eventually end my suffering by being delicious. (Looking at you and your glorious cheese again, Wisconsin.)

And I know it’s easy to feel like we’re all doing something wrong in times like these. Or rather, to feel like we’re not doing enough. Because sometimes that’s probably true, and it’s good to have neighbors to remind us of that from time to time. But also, sometimes we have to work, because those top-shelf paper towels don’t pay for themselves. And sometimes we have to read. And sometimes we have to play word games and watch murder shows. And sometimes we need time, and sometimes we need space, and sometimes we need some modicum of peace, however manufactured it might be. Because life in the flyover zone isn’t easy, and some days we just need to get through it.

So maybe we’re not always the towering sunflowers of change we’d like to be, though some of us surely are. But maybe sometimes we’re the seeds. And maybe sometimes we’re the rain. And maybe sometimes we’re the good strong earth just by doing what we can to get by, and helping those around us to get by too. And maybe, just maybe, that’s why you’ve never met a time traveler from the future. Because maybe the future doesn’t need fixing. Maybe things are gonna be okay. Maybe even better than they used to be. And maybe you’ll only have to fight a robot if you really really want to. You know, for funsies.

So remember, if you do happen to see a time traveler out and about, just let them eat their cheese or friend Oreos or whatever in peace. And I know it’s tempting, but try not to ask them when “it’s” going to happen. You don’t want them getting all excited and chatty and missing their flight to 1997. And try not to hold it against them that they’re not spending their long weekend here, because if you could have your pick of Sobe flavors again, you know damn well you wouldn’t be here either.