One Hundred Years of Solitude

Saw a doc on Stephen Hawking on The Science Channel. He's 65 (shares a birthday with me), his body progressively degenerating due to Lou Gehrig's Disease. He's long outlived the 2-3 year prognosis he was handed when he was 21, but he requires a team of nurses -- in addition to his wife -- to keep him alive.

He uses a muscle below his right eye to communicate.

The doc showed footage of him working with an assistant, writing another book. He was having trouble selecting the words he wanted to speak, so the assistant struggled to anticipate the words he was trying form. An arduous process.

It struck me as a rough fate. A lucid mind imprisoned in a body that will not cooperate. I have no mouth, and i must scream.

Not that it's held him back. He's got two new books coming out, a children's book and a big peoples book. And he's about to become a space cadet. He's got a wife and a litter of kids.

So, you know what? Fuck Stephen Hawking. I hope he chokes up in space. Good riddance!