[Scene: Inside Monica and Rachel's apartment. Richard is on the balcony smoking and Monica is on the phone.]

MONICA: Hey, have you guys eaten, because uh, Richard and I just finished and we've got leftovers . . . Chicken and potatoes . . . What am I wearing? . . . Actually, nothing but rubber gloves.

[Chandler and Joey come sprinting into the apartment from across the hall.]

JOEY: Ya know, one of these times you're gonna really be naked and we're not gonna come over.

MONICA: Alright, I've got a leg, three b.r.e.a.s.t.s and a wing.

CHANDLER: Well, how do you find clothes that fit?

JOEY: Oh, hey, Monica, we've got a question.

MONICA: Alright, for the bizillionth time-yes, I see other women in the shower at the gym, and no, I don't look.

JOEY: No, not that one. We're trying to figure out who to bring to the Knicks game tonight. We have an extra ticket.

The degree to which you find this pa.s.sage funny is directly proportional to (a) how familiar you are with this show and (b) how much you recall liking it. Like almost all successful TV ensembles, the plots on Friends Friends weren't a fraction as important as the characters and who played them-especially as the seasons wore on, the humor came from our familiarity with these characters' archetypes. People who liked weren't a fraction as important as the characters and who played them-especially as the seasons wore on, the humor came from our familiarity with these characters' archetypes. People who liked Friends Friends literally liked literally liked the friends the friends. Audiences watched the show because they felt like they had a relationship with the cast. The stories were mostly extraneous. But there still had to be a story somewhere. There still had to be something for these people to do, so the show adopted a structure. This is the structure of the previous scene, minus the dialogue: [Scene: Inside Monica and Rachel's apartment. Richard is on the balcony smoking and Monica is on the phone.]

MONICA: STATIC INTRO, PLUS JOKE (small laugh) [MOMENT OF PHYSICAL COMEDY]

(exaggerated laugh) JOEY: JOKE BASED IN PREEXISTING KNOWLEDGE OF CHARACTER'S PERSONA (laugh) MONICA: SETUP CHANDLER: OLD-TIMEY JOKE (laugh) JOEY: MINOR PLOT POINT MONICA: UNRELATED JOKE (laugh) JOEY: BEGINNING OF STORY ARC FOR EPISODE Using this template, it seems like anyone could create their own episode of Friends, Friends, almost like they were filling out a almost like they were filling out a Mad Libs Mad Libs. And if those Mad Libs Mad Libs lines were actually said by Courteney c.o.x, Matt LeBlanc, and Matthew Perry, the result would probably be no less effective (were they especially absurd, the net might even be positive). The key to this kind of programming is never what people are saying. They key is (a) which people are doing the talking, and (b) the laugh track. lines were actually said by Courteney c.o.x, Matt LeBlanc, and Matthew Perry, the result would probably be no less effective (were they especially absurd, the net might even be positive). The key to this kind of programming is never what people are saying. They key is (a) which people are doing the talking, and (b) the laugh track.

There are important a.s.sumptions we bring into the show as viewers; we are a.s.suming that this is escapist (read: nonincendiary) humor, we are a.s.suming the characters are ultimately good people, and we're a.s.suming that our relationship to Friends Friends mirrors the traditional relationship Americans have always had with thirty-minute TV programs that employ canned laughter. It's not always funny, but it's in the "form of funny." And because we're not stupid, we know when to chuckle. But we don't even have to do that, because the laugh track does it for us. And over time, that starts to feel normal. It starts to make us laugh at other things that aren't necessarily funny. mirrors the traditional relationship Americans have always had with thirty-minute TV programs that employ canned laughter. It's not always funny, but it's in the "form of funny." And because we're not stupid, we know when to chuckle. But we don't even have to do that, because the laugh track does it for us. And over time, that starts to feel normal. It starts to make us laugh at other things that aren't necessarily funny.

1B Earlier in this essay I mentioned how I've believed that canned laughter was idiotic for "(almost) my entire life." The key word there is Earlier in this essay I mentioned how I've believed that canned laughter was idiotic for "(almost) my entire life." The key word there is almost almost. I did not think laugh tracks were idiotic when I was five. In fact, when I was five, I thought I was partially responsible for the existence of laugh tracks. I thought we all were.

At the time, my a.s.sumption was that the speaker on my parents' Zenith television was a two-way system-I thought it was like a telephone. When I watched Laverne and Shirley Laverne and Shirley or or WKRP in Cincinnati WKRP in Cincinnati and heard the canned laughter, my hypothesis was that this was the sound of thousands of other TV viewers in random locations, laughing at the program in their own individual living rooms. I thought their laughter was being picked up by their various TV consoles and being simultaneously rebroadcast through mine. As a consequence, I would sometimes sit very close to the television and laugh as hard as I could, directly into the TV's speaker. I would laugh into my own television. and heard the canned laughter, my hypothesis was that this was the sound of thousands of other TV viewers in random locations, laughing at the program in their own individual living rooms. I thought their laughter was being picked up by their various TV consoles and being simultaneously rebroadcast through mine. As a consequence, I would sometimes sit very close to the television and laugh as hard as I could, directly into the TV's speaker. I would laugh into my own television.

My family thought I just really, really appreciated Howard Hesseman.

And I did. But I mostly wanted to contribute to society.

3 In New York, you get used to people pretending to laugh. Go see a foreign movie with poorly translated English subt.i.tles and you will hear a handful of people howling at jokes that don't translate, solely because they want to show the rest of the audience that they're smart enough to understand a better joke was originally designed to be there. Watch In New York, you get used to people pretending to laugh. Go see a foreign movie with poorly translated English subt.i.tles and you will hear a handful of people howling at jokes that don't translate, solely because they want to show the rest of the audience that they're smart enough to understand a better joke was originally designed to be there. Watch The Daily Show The Daily Show in an apartment full of young progressives and you'll hear them consciously (and unconvincingly) over-laugh at every joke that's delivered, mostly to a.s.sure everyone else that they're appropriately informed and predictably leftist. Take a lunch meeting with anyone involved in any form of media that isn't a daily newspaper, and they will pretend to laugh at everything anyone at the table says that could be theoretically cla.s.sified as humorous, even if the alleged joke is about how airline food isn't delicious. The only thing people in New York won't laugh at are unfamous stand-up comedians; we really despise those motherf.u.c.kers, for some reason. in an apartment full of young progressives and you'll hear them consciously (and unconvincingly) over-laugh at every joke that's delivered, mostly to a.s.sure everyone else that they're appropriately informed and predictably leftist. Take a lunch meeting with anyone involved in any form of media that isn't a daily newspaper, and they will pretend to laugh at everything anyone at the table says that could be theoretically cla.s.sified as humorous, even if the alleged joke is about how airline food isn't delicious. The only thing people in New York won't laugh at are unfamous stand-up comedians; we really despise those motherf.u.c.kers, for some reason.

It's possible the reason people in New York laugh at everything is because they're especially polite, but that seems pretty unlikely. A better explanation is that New York is the most mediated city in America, which means its population is the most media-savvy-and the most media-affected-populace in the country. The more media someone consumes (regardless of who they are or where they live), the more likely they are to take their interpersonal human cues from external, nonhuman sources. One of the princ.i.p.al functions of ma.s.s media is to make the world a more fathomable reality-in the short term, it provides a.s.surance and simplicity. But this has a long-term, paradoxical downside. Over time, embracing ma.s.s media in its entirety makes people more confused and less secure. The laugh track is our best example. In the short term, it affirms that the TV program we're watching is intended to be funny and can be experienced with low stakes. It takes away the unconscious pressure of understanding context and tells the audience when they should be amused. But because everything everything is laughed at in the same way (regardless of value), and because we all watch TV with the recognition that is laughed at in the same way (regardless of value), and because we all watch TV with the recognition that this is ma.s.s entertainment, this is ma.s.s entertainment, it makes it harder to deduce what we think is independently funny. As a result, Americans of all social cla.s.ses compensate by living like bipedal Laff Boxes: We mechanically laugh at everything, just to show that we know what's supposed to be happening. We get the joke, even if there is no joke. it makes it harder to deduce what we think is independently funny. As a result, Americans of all social cla.s.ses compensate by living like bipedal Laff Boxes: We mechanically laugh at everything, just to show that we know what's supposed to be happening. We get the joke, even if there is no joke.

Is this entirely the fault of laugh tracks? Nay. But canned laughter is a lucid manifestation of an anxious culture that doesn't know what is (and isn't) funny. If you've spent any time trolling the blogosphere, you've probably noticed a peculiar literary trend: the pervasive habit of writers inexplicably placing exclamation points at the end of otherwise unremarkable sentences. Sort of like this! This is done to suggest an ironic detachment from the writing of an expository sentence! It's supposed to signify that the writer is self-aware! And this is idiotic. It's the saddest kind of failure. F. Scott Fitzgerald believed inserting exclamation points was the literary equivalent of an author laughing at his own jokes, but that's not the case in the modern age; now, the exclamation point signifies creative confusion. All it ill.u.s.trates is that even the writer can't tell if what they're creating is supposed to be meaningful, frivolous, or cruel. It's an attempt to insert humor where none exists, on the off chance that a potential reader will only be pleased if they suspect they're being entertained. Of course, the reader really isn't sure, either. They just want to know when they're supposed to pretend that they're amused. All those extraneous exclamation points are like little splatters of canned laughter: They represent the "form of funny," which is more easily understood (and more easily constructed) than authentic funniness. I suppose the counter-argument is that Tom Wolfe used a lot of exclamation points, too . . . but I don't think that had anything to do with humor or insecurity. The Wolfe-Man was honestly stoked about LSD and John Glenn. I bet he didn't even own a TV. It was a different era!

Build a machine that tells people when to cry. That's what we need. We need more crying.

1. Rosenbaum would later write a controversial nonfiction book t.i.tled Explaining Hitler, Explaining Hitler, which was controversial for suggesting that Hitler was (possibly) an un-evil infant. which was controversial for suggesting that Hitler was (possibly) an un-evil infant.

2. Yes, they were related.

Tomorrow Rarely Knows

1 It was the 1990s and I was twenty, so we had arguments like this: What, ultimately, is more plausible-time travel, or the invention of a liquid metal with the capacity to think? You will not be surprised that It was the 1990s and I was twenty, so we had arguments like this: What, ultimately, is more plausible-time travel, or the invention of a liquid metal with the capacity to think? You will not be surprised that Terminator 2 Terminator 2 was central to this dialogue. There were a lot of debates over this movie. The details of the narrative never made sense. Why, for example, did Edward Furlong tell Arnold that he should quip, " was central to this dialogue. There were a lot of debates over this movie. The details of the narrative never made sense. Why, for example, did Edward Furlong tell Arnold that he should quip, "Hasta la vista, baby," whenever he killed people? Wasn't this kid supposed to like baby," whenever he killed people? Wasn't this kid supposed to like Use Your Illusion II Use Your Illusion II more than more than Lo-c-ed After Dark Lo-c-ed After Dark? It was a problem. But not as much of a problem as the concept of humans (and machines) moving through time, even when compared to the likelihood of a pool of sentient mercury that could morph itself into a cop or a steel spike or a brick wall or an actor who would eventually disappoint watchers of The X-Files The X-Files. My thesis at the time (and to this day) was that the impossibility of time travel is a cornerstone of reality: We cannot move forward or backward through time, even if the principles of general relativity and time dilation suggest that this is possible. Some say that time is like water that flows around us (like a stone in the river) and some say we flow with with time (like a twig floating on the surface of the water). My sense of the world tells me otherwise. I believe that time is like a train, with men hanging out in front of the engine and off the back of the caboose; the man in front is laying down new tracks the moment before the train touches them and the man in the caboose is tearing up the rails the moment they are pa.s.sed. There is no linear continuation: The past disappears, the future is unimagined, and the present is ephemeral. It cannot be traversed. So even though the prospect of liquid thinking metal is insane and idiotic, it's still more viable than time travel. I don't know if the thinking metal of tomorrow will have the potential to find employment as Linda Hamilton's a.s.sa.s.sin, but I do know that those liquid-metal killing machines will be locked into whatever moment they happen to inhabit. time (like a twig floating on the surface of the water). My sense of the world tells me otherwise. I believe that time is like a train, with men hanging out in front of the engine and off the back of the caboose; the man in front is laying down new tracks the moment before the train touches them and the man in the caboose is tearing up the rails the moment they are pa.s.sed. There is no linear continuation: The past disappears, the future is unimagined, and the present is ephemeral. It cannot be traversed. So even though the prospect of liquid thinking metal is insane and idiotic, it's still more viable than time travel. I don't know if the thinking metal of tomorrow will have the potential to find employment as Linda Hamilton's a.s.sa.s.sin, but I do know that those liquid-metal killing machines will be locked into whatever moment they happen to inhabit.

It would be wonderful if someone proved me wrong about this. Wonderful. Wonderful, and sad.

2 I read H. G. Wells's I read H. G. Wells's The Time Machine The Time Machine in 1984. It became my favorite novel for the next two years, but solely for textual reasons: I saw no metaphorical meaning in the narrative. It was nothing except plot, because I was a f.u.c.king sixth grader. I reread in 1984. It became my favorite novel for the next two years, but solely for textual reasons: I saw no metaphorical meaning in the narrative. It was nothing except plot, because I was a f.u.c.king sixth grader. I reread The Time Machine The Time Machine as a thirty-six-year-old in 2008, and it was (predictably) a wholly different novel that now seemed fixated on archaic views about labor relations and cla.s.s dynamics, narrated by a protagonist who is completely unlikable. This is a trend with much of Wells's sci-fi writing from this period; I reread as a thirty-six-year-old in 2008, and it was (predictably) a wholly different novel that now seemed fixated on archaic views about labor relations and cla.s.s dynamics, narrated by a protagonist who is completely unlikable. This is a trend with much of Wells's sci-fi writing from this period; I reread The Invisible Man The Invisible Man around the same time, a book that now seems maniacally preoccupied with ill.u.s.trating how the invisible man was an a.s.shole. around the same time, a book that now seems maniacally preoccupied with ill.u.s.trating how the invisible man was an a.s.shole.

Part of the weirdness surrounding my reinvestigation of The Time Machine The Time Machine was because my paperback copy included a new afterword (written by Paul Youngquist) that described Wells as an egomaniac who attacked every person and ent.i.ty he encountered throughout his entire lifetime, often contradicting whatever previous attack he had made only days before. He publicly responded to all perceived slights levied against him, constantly sparring with his nemesis Henry James and once sending an angry, scatological letter to George Orwell (written after Orwell had seemingly given him a compliment). He really hated Winston Churchill, too. H. G. Wells managed to write four million words of fiction and eight million words of journalism over the course of his lifetime, but modern audiences remember him exclusively for his first four sci-fi novels (and they don't remember him that fondly). He is not a canonical writer and maybe not even a great one. However, his influence remains ma.s.sive. Like the tone of Keith Richards's guitar or Snidely Whiplash's mustache, Wells galvanized a universal cliche-and that is just about the rarest thing any artist can do. was because my paperback copy included a new afterword (written by Paul Youngquist) that described Wells as an egomaniac who attacked every person and ent.i.ty he encountered throughout his entire lifetime, often contradicting whatever previous attack he had made only days before. He publicly responded to all perceived slights levied against him, constantly sparring with his nemesis Henry James and once sending an angry, scatological letter to George Orwell (written after Orwell had seemingly given him a compliment). He really hated Winston Churchill, too. H. G. Wells managed to write four million words of fiction and eight million words of journalism over the course of his lifetime, but modern audiences remember him exclusively for his first four sci-fi novels (and they don't remember him that fondly). He is not a canonical writer and maybe not even a great one. However, his influence remains ma.s.sive. Like the tone of Keith Richards's guitar or Snidely Whiplash's mustache, Wells galvanized a universal cliche-and that is just about the rarest thing any artist can do.

The cliche that Wells popularized was not the fictional notion of time travel, because that had been around since the sixteenth century (the oldest instance is probably a 1733 Irish novel by Samuel Madden called Memoirs of the Twentieth Century Memoirs of the Twentieth Century). Mark Twain reversed the premise in 1889's A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. There's even an 1892 novel called Golf in the Year 2000 Golf in the Year 2000 that (somewhat incredibly) predicts the advent of televised sports. But in all of those examples, time travel just sort of happens inexplicably-a person exists in one moment, and then they're transposed to another. The meaningful cliche Wells introduced was that (somewhat incredibly) predicts the advent of televised sports. But in all of those examples, time travel just sort of happens inexplicably-a person exists in one moment, and then they're transposed to another. The meaningful cliche Wells introduced was the machine, the machine, and that changed everything. Prior to the advent of Wells's imaginary instrument, traveling through time generally meant the central character was and that changed everything. Prior to the advent of Wells's imaginary instrument, traveling through time generally meant the central character was lost lost in time, which wasn't dramatically different from being lost geographically. But a machine gave the protagonist agency. The time traveler was now moving forward or backward on purpose; consequently, the time traveler now needed a motive for doing so. And that question, I suspect, is the core reason why narratives about time travel are almost always interesting, no matter how often the same basic story is retold and repackaged: If time travel in time, which wasn't dramatically different from being lost geographically. But a machine gave the protagonist agency. The time traveler was now moving forward or backward on purpose; consequently, the time traveler now needed a motive for doing so. And that question, I suspect, is the core reason why narratives about time travel are almost always interesting, no matter how often the same basic story is retold and repackaged: If time travel was was possible, why would we want to do it? possible, why would we want to do it?

Now, I will concede that there's an inherent goofballedness in debating the ethics of an action that is impossible. It probably isn't that different than trying to figure out if leprechauns have high cholesterol. But all philosophical questions are ultimately like this-by necessity, they deal with hypotheticals that are unfeasible. Real-world problems are inevitably too unique and too situational; people will always see any real-world problem through the prism of their own personal experience. The only ma.s.sive ideas everyone can discuss rationally are big ideas that don't specifically apply to anyone, which is why a debate over the ethics of time travel is worthwhile: No one has any personal investment whatsoever. It's only only theoretical. Which means no one has any reason to lie. theoretical. Which means no one has any reason to lie.

2A Fictionalized motives for time travel generally operate like this: Characters go back in time to fix a mistake or change the conditions of the present (this is like Fictionalized motives for time travel generally operate like this: Characters go back in time to fix a mistake or change the conditions of the present (this is like Back to the Future Back to the Future). Characters go forward in time for personal gain (this is like the gambling subplot1 of of Back to the Future Part II Back to the Future Part II). Jack the Ripper used H. G. Wells's time machine to kill citizens of the seventies in Time After Time, Time After Time, but this was an isolated (and poorly acted) rampage. Obviously, there is always the issue of scientific inquiry with any movement through time, but that motive matters less; if a time traveler's purpose is simply to learn things that are unknown, it doesn't make moving through time any different than exploring Skull Island or going to Mars. My interest is in the explicit benefits of being transported to a different moment in existence-what that would mean morally and how the traveler's goals (whatever they may be) could be implemented successfully. but this was an isolated (and poorly acted) rampage. Obviously, there is always the issue of scientific inquiry with any movement through time, but that motive matters less; if a time traveler's purpose is simply to learn things that are unknown, it doesn't make moving through time any different than exploring Skull Island or going to Mars. My interest is in the explicit benefits of being transported to a different moment in existence-what that would mean morally and how the traveler's goals (whatever they may be) could be implemented successfully.

Here's a question I like to ask people when I'm 5 5/8 drunk: Let's say you had the ability to make a very brief phone call into your own past. You are (somehow) given the opportunity to phone yourself as a teenager; in short, you will be able to communicate with the fifteen-year-old version of you. However, you will only get to talk to your former self drunk: Let's say you had the ability to make a very brief phone call into your own past. You are (somehow) given the opportunity to phone yourself as a teenager; in short, you will be able to communicate with the fifteen-year-old version of you. However, you will only get to talk to your former self for fifteen seconds for fifteen seconds. As such, there's no way you will be able to explain who you are, where or when you're calling from, or what any of this lunacy is supposed to signify. You will only be able to give the younger version of yourself a fleeting, abstract message of unclear origin.

What would you say to yourself during these fifteen seconds?

From a sociological standpoint, what I find most interesting about this query is the way it inevitably splits between gender lines: Women usually advise themselves not not to do something they now regret (i.e., "Don't sleep with Corey McDonald, no matter how much he pressures you"), while men almost always instruct themselves to do something they to do something they now regret (i.e., "Don't sleep with Corey McDonald, no matter how much he pressures you"), while men almost always instruct themselves to do something they failed failed to attempt (i.e., "Punch Corey McDonald in the face, you gutless coward"). But from a more practical standpoint, the thing I've come to realize is that virtually no one has any idea how to utilize such an opportunity, even if it were possible. If you can't directly explain that you're talking from the future, any prescient message becomes worthless. All advice comes across like a drunk dialer reading a fortune cookie. One person answered my question by claiming he would tell the 1985 incarnation of himself to "Invest in Google." That sounds smart, but I can't imagine a phrase that would have been more useless to me as a teenager in 1985. I would have spent the entire evening wondering how it would be possible to invest money into the number 1 with one hundred zeros behind it. to attempt (i.e., "Punch Corey McDonald in the face, you gutless coward"). But from a more practical standpoint, the thing I've come to realize is that virtually no one has any idea how to utilize such an opportunity, even if it were possible. If you can't directly explain that you're talking from the future, any prescient message becomes worthless. All advice comes across like a drunk dialer reading a fortune cookie. One person answered my question by claiming he would tell the 1985 incarnation of himself to "Invest in Google." That sounds smart, but I can't imagine a phrase that would have been more useless to me as a teenager in 1985. I would have spent the entire evening wondering how it would be possible to invest money into the number 1 with one hundred zeros behind it.

It doesn't matter what you can do if you don't know why you're doing it.

2B I've now typed fifteen hundred words about time travel, which means I've reached the point where everything becomes a problem for everybody. This is the point where we need to address the philosophical dilemmas embedded in any casual discussions about time travel, real or imagined. And there are a lot of them. And I don't understand about 64 percent of them. And the 36 percent I do understand are pretty elementary to everyone, including the substantial chunk of consumers who are very high and watching Anna Faris movies while they read this. But here we go! I will start with the most unavoidable eight: I've now typed fifteen hundred words about time travel, which means I've reached the point where everything becomes a problem for everybody. This is the point where we need to address the philosophical dilemmas embedded in any casual discussions about time travel, real or imagined. And there are a lot of them. And I don't understand about 64 percent of them. And the 36 percent I do understand are pretty elementary to everyone, including the substantial chunk of consumers who are very high and watching Anna Faris movies while they read this. But here we go! I will start with the most unavoidable eight: 1. If you change any detail about the past, you might accidentally destroy everything in present-day existence. This is why every movie about time travel makes a big, obvious point about not bringing anything from the present back in time, often ill.u.s.trated by forcing the fictionalized time traveler to travel nude. If you went back to 60,000 BC with a tool box and absentmindedly left the vise grip behind, it's entirely possible that the world would technologically advance at an exponential rate and destroy itself by the sixteenth century.2 Or so I'm told. Or so I'm told.

2. If you went back in time to accomplish a specific goal (and you succeeded at this goal), there would be no reason for you to have traveled back in time in the first place. Let's say you built a time machine in order to murder the proverbial "Baby Hitler" in 1889. Committing that murder would mean the Holocaust never happened. And that would mean you'd have no motive for going back in time in the first place, because the tyrannical Adolf Hitler-the one you despise-would not exist. In other words, any goal achieved through time travel would eliminate the necessity for the traveler to travel. In his fictional (and pathologically grotesque) oral history Rant, Rant, author Chuck Palahniuk refers to this impa.s.se as the G.o.dfather Paradox: "The idea that if one could travel backward in time, one could kill one's own ancestor, eliminating the possibility said time traveler would ever be born-and thus could never have lived to travel back and commit the murder." The solution to this paradox (according to Palahniuk) is the theory of splintered alternative realities, where all possible trajectories happen autonomously and simultaneously (sort of how Richard Linklater describes author Chuck Palahniuk refers to this impa.s.se as the G.o.dfather Paradox: "The idea that if one could travel backward in time, one could kill one's own ancestor, eliminating the possibility said time traveler would ever be born-and thus could never have lived to travel back and commit the murder." The solution to this paradox (according to Palahniuk) is the theory of splintered alternative realities, where all possible trajectories happen autonomously and simultaneously (sort of how Richard Linklater describes The Wizard of Oz The Wizard of Oz to an uninterested cab driver in the opening sequence of to an uninterested cab driver in the opening sequence of Slacker Slacker). However, this solution is actually more insane than the original problem. The only modern narrative that handles the conundrum semi-successfully is Richard Kelly's Donnie Darko, Donnie Darko, where schizophrenic heartthrob Jake Gyllenhaal uses a portal to move back in time twelve days, thereby allowing himself to die in an accident he had previously avoided. By removing himself from the equation, he never meets his new girlfriend, which keeps her from dying in a car accident that was his fault. More important, his decision to die early stops his adolescence from becoming symbolized by the music of Tears for Fears. where schizophrenic heartthrob Jake Gyllenhaal uses a portal to move back in time twelve days, thereby allowing himself to die in an accident he had previously avoided. By removing himself from the equation, he never meets his new girlfriend, which keeps her from dying in a car accident that was his fault. More important, his decision to die early stops his adolescence from becoming symbolized by the music of Tears for Fears.

3. A loop in time eliminates the origin of things that already exist. This is something called "the Bootstrap Paradox" (in reference to the Robert Heinlein story "By His Bootstraps"). It's probably best described by David Toomey, the author of a book called The New Time Travelers The New Time Travelers (a princ.i.p.al influence on season five of (a princ.i.p.al influence on season five of Lost Lost). Toomey uses Hamlet Hamlet as an example: Let's suppose Toomey finds a copy of as an example: Let's suppose Toomey finds a copy of Hamlet Hamlet in a used-book store, builds a time machine, travels back to 1601, and gives the book to William Shakespeare. Shakespeare then copies the play in his own handwriting and claims he made it up. It's recopied and republished countless times for hundreds of years, eventually ending up in the bookstore where Toomey shops. So who wrote the play? Shakespeare didn't. Another example occurs near the end of in a used-book store, builds a time machine, travels back to 1601, and gives the book to William Shakespeare. Shakespeare then copies the play in his own handwriting and claims he made it up. It's recopied and republished countless times for hundreds of years, eventually ending up in the bookstore where Toomey shops. So who wrote the play? Shakespeare didn't. Another example occurs near the end of Back to the Future Back to the Future: Michael J. Fox performs "Johnny B. Goode" at the school dance and the tune is transmitted over the telephone to Chuck Berry3 (who presumably stole it). In this reality, where does the song come from? Who deserves the songwriting royalties? (who presumably stole it). In this reality, where does the song come from? Who deserves the songwriting royalties?

4. You'd possibly kill everybody by sneezing. Depending on how far you went back in time, there would be a significant risk of infecting the entire worldwide population with an illness that mankind has spent the last few centuries building immunity against. Unless, of course, you happened to contract smallpox immediately upon arrival-then you'd you'd die. die.

5. You already exist in the recent past. This is the most glaring problem and the one everybody intuitively understands-if you went back to yesterday, you would still be there, standing next to yourself. The consequence of this existential condition is both straightforward and unexplainable. Moreover . . .

6. Before you attempted to travel back in time, you'd already know if it worked. Using the example from problem number 5, imagine that you built a time machine on Thursday. You decide to use the machine on Sat.u.r.day in order to travel back to Friday afternoon. If this worked, you would already see yourself on Friday. But what would then happen if you and the Future You destroyed your time machine on Friday night? How would the Future You be around to a.s.sist with the destroying?

7. Unless all of time is happening simultaneously within multiple realities, memories and artifacts would mysteriously change. The members of Steely Dan (Donald f.a.gen and Walter Becker) met at Bard College in 1967, when f.a.gen overheard Becker playing guitar in a cafe. This meeting has been recounted many times in interviews, and the fact that they were both at Bard College (located in Annandale-on-Hudson) is central to songs like "My Old School," which was recorded in 1973. But what if f.a.gen built a time machine in 1980 and went back to find Becker in 1966, when he was still a high school student in Manhattan? What would happen to their shared personal memories of that first meeting in Annandale? And if they had both immediately moved to Los Angeles upon Becker's graduation, how could the song "My Old School" exist (and what would it be about)?

8. The past has happened, and it can only happen the way it happened the way it happened. This, I suppose, is debatable. But not by Bruce Willis. In Terry Gilliam's Twelve Monkeys, Twelve Monkeys, Willis goes back in time to confront an insane Brad Pitt before Pitt releases a virus that's destined to kill five billion people and drive the rest of society into hiding (as it turns out, Pitt is merely trying to release a bunch of giraffes from the Philadelphia Zoo, which is only slightly more confusing than the presence of Madeleine Stowe in this movie). What's distinctive about Willis goes back in time to confront an insane Brad Pitt before Pitt releases a virus that's destined to kill five billion people and drive the rest of society into hiding (as it turns out, Pitt is merely trying to release a bunch of giraffes from the Philadelphia Zoo, which is only slightly more confusing than the presence of Madeleine Stowe in this movie). What's distinctive about Twelve Monkeys Twelve Monkeys is that the reason Willis is sent back in time is not to stop this catastrophe from happening, but merely to locate a primitive version of the virus so that scientists can combat the existing problem in the distant future (where the remnants of mankind have been to forced to take refuge underground). Willis can travel through time, but he can't change anything or save anyone. "How can I save you?" he rhetorically asks the white-clad dolts who question his sudden appearance in the year 1990. "This already happened. No one can save you." is that the reason Willis is sent back in time is not to stop this catastrophe from happening, but merely to locate a primitive version of the virus so that scientists can combat the existing problem in the distant future (where the remnants of mankind have been to forced to take refuge underground). Willis can travel through time, but he can't change anything or save anyone. "How can I save you?" he rhetorically asks the white-clad dolts who question his sudden appearance in the year 1990. "This already happened. No one can save you." Twelve Monkeys Twelve Monkeys makes a lot of references to the "Ca.s.sandra complex" (named for a Greek myth about a young woman's inability to convince others that her prophetic warnings are accurate), but it's mostly about predestination-in makes a lot of references to the "Ca.s.sandra complex" (named for a Greek myth about a young woman's inability to convince others that her prophetic warnings are accurate), but it's mostly about predestination-in Twelve Monkeys, Twelve Monkeys, the a.s.sumption is that anyone who travels into the past will do exactly what history dictates. Nothing can be altered. What this implies is that everything about life (including the unforeseen future) is concrete and predetermined. There is no free will. So if you've seen the a.s.sumption is that anyone who travels into the past will do exactly what history dictates. Nothing can be altered. What this implies is that everything about life (including the unforeseen future) is concrete and predetermined. There is no free will. So if you've seen Twelve Monkeys Twelve Monkeys more than twice, you're probably a Calvinist. more than twice, you're probably a Calvinist.

These are just a handful of the (nonscientific) problems with going backward in time. As far as I can tell, there really aren't any causality problems with going forward in time-in terms of risk, jumping to the year 2077 isn't that different than moving to suburban Bangladesh or hiding in your bas.e.m.e.nt for five decades. Time would still move forward on its regular trajectory, no differently than if you were temporarily (or permanently) dead. Your partic.i.p.ation in life doesn't matter to time. This is part of the reason that futurists tend to believe traveling forward in time is more plausible than the alternative-it involves fewer problems. But regardless of the direction you move, the central central problem is still there: Why do it? What's the problem is still there: Why do it? What's the best best reason for exploding the parameters of reality? reason for exploding the parameters of reality?

With the possible exception of eating a dinosaur, I don't think there is one.

3 "Even back when I was writing really bad short stories in college," a (then) thirty-four-year-old Shane Carruth said in an interview with himself, "I always thought the time machine is the device that's missed most. Without even saying it out loud, that's the thing people want the most: The ability to take whatever it is that went wrong and fix it." "Even back when I was writing really bad short stories in college," a (then) thirty-four-year-old Shane Carruth said in an interview with himself, "I always thought the time machine is the device that's missed most. Without even saying it out loud, that's the thing people want the most: The ability to take whatever it is that went wrong and fix it."

Carruth is the writer, director, producer, and costar of the 2004 independent film Primer, Primer, the finest movie about time travel I've ever seen. The reason the finest movie about time travel I've ever seen. The reason Primer Primer is the best (despite its scant seventy-eight-minute run time and $7,000 budget) is because it's the most realistic-which, I will grant, is a peculiar reason for advocating a piece of science fiction. But the plausibility of is the best (despite its scant seventy-eight-minute run time and $7,000 budget) is because it's the most realistic-which, I will grant, is a peculiar reason for advocating a piece of science fiction. But the plausibility of Primer Primer is why it's so memorable. It's not that the time machine in is why it's so memorable. It's not that the time machine in Primer Primer seems more authentic; it's that the time travelers themselves seem more believable. They talk and act (and seems more authentic; it's that the time travelers themselves seem more believable. They talk and act (and think think) like the kind of people who might accidentally figure out how to move through time, which is why it's the best depiction we have of the ethical quandaries that would emerge from such a discovery.

Here's the basic outline of Primer Primer: It opens with four identically dressed computer engineers sitting around a table in a nondescript American community (Primer was shot around Dallas, but the setting is like the world of Neil LaBute's was shot around Dallas, but the setting is like the world of Neil LaBute's In the Company of Men In the Company of Men-it's a city without character that could literally be anywhere). They speak a dense, clipped version of English that is filled with technical jargon; it's mostly indecipherable, but that somehow makes it better. They wear ties and white shirts all the time (even when they're removing a catalytic converter from a car to steal the palladium), and they have no interests outside of superconductivity and NCAA basketball. The two brightest engineers-Abe (David Sullivan) and Aaron (Carruth)-eventually realize they have a.s.sembled a box that can move objects backward through a thirteen-hundred-minute loop in time. Without telling anyone else, they build two larger versions of the (staunchly unglamorous) box that can transport them to the previous day.4 Their initial motive is solely financial-they go back a day, drive to the local library, and buy stocks over the Internet that they know will increase in value over the next twenty-four hours. They try to do nothing else of consequence (at least at first). They just sit in a hotel room and wait. "I tried to isolate myself," Abe says when describing his first journey into the past. "I closed the windows, I unplugged everything-the phone, the TV and clock radio. I didn't want to take the chance of seeing someone I knew, or of seeing something on the news . . . I mean, if we're dealing with causality, and I don't even know for sure . . . I took myself out of the equation." Their initial motive is solely financial-they go back a day, drive to the local library, and buy stocks over the Internet that they know will increase in value over the next twenty-four hours. They try to do nothing else of consequence (at least at first). They just sit in a hotel room and wait. "I tried to isolate myself," Abe says when describing his first journey into the past. "I closed the windows, I unplugged everything-the phone, the TV and clock radio. I didn't want to take the chance of seeing someone I knew, or of seeing something on the news . . . I mean, if we're dealing with causality, and I don't even know for sure . . . I took myself out of the equation."

If this sounds simple, I can a.s.sure you that it is not. Primer Primer is hopelessly confusing and grows more and more byzantine as it unravels (I've watched it seven or eight times and I still don't know what happened). Characters begin to secretly use the time machine for personal reasons and they begin multiplying themselves across time. But because these symmetrical iterations are (inevitably) copies of other copies, the system starts to hemorrhage-Abe and Aaron find themselves bleeding from their ears and struggling with handwriting. When confusing events start to happen in the present, they can't tell if those events are the manifestations of decisions one of them will eventually make in the future. At one point, no one (not Abe, Aaron, or even the viewer) is able to understand what's going on. The story does not end in a clear disaster, but with a hazy, open-ended scenario that might be worse. is hopelessly confusing and grows more and more byzantine as it unravels (I've watched it seven or eight times and I still don't know what happened). Characters begin to secretly use the time machine for personal reasons and they begin multiplying themselves across time. But because these symmetrical iterations are (inevitably) copies of other copies, the system starts to hemorrhage-Abe and Aaron find themselves bleeding from their ears and struggling with handwriting. When confusing events start to happen in the present, they can't tell if those events are the manifestations of decisions one of them will eventually make in the future. At one point, no one (not Abe, Aaron, or even the viewer) is able to understand what's going on. The story does not end in a clear disaster, but with a hazy, open-ended scenario that might be worse.

What's significant about the two dudes in Primer Primer is how they initially disregard the ethical questions surrounding time travel; as pure scientists, they only consider the practical obstacles of the endeavor. Even when they decide to go back and change the past of another person, their only concern is how this can still work within the framework they're manipulating. They're geniuses, but they're ethical Helen Kellers. When they're traveling back for financial purposes, they discount their personal role in the success of the stocks they trade; since stocks increase in value whenever people buy them, they are retroactively inflating the value of whatever commodities they select (not by much, but enough to alter the future). When Abe and Aaron start traveling back in time to change their own pasts, they attempt to stoically ignore the horrifying reality they've created: Their sense of self-their very is how they initially disregard the ethical questions surrounding time travel; as pure scientists, they only consider the practical obstacles of the endeavor. Even when they decide to go back and change the past of another person, their only concern is how this can still work within the framework they're manipulating. They're geniuses, but they're ethical Helen Kellers. When they're traveling back for financial purposes, they discount their personal role in the success of the stocks they trade; since stocks increase in value whenever people buy them, they are retroactively inflating the value of whatever commodities they select (not by much, but enough to alter the future). When Abe and Aaron start traveling back in time to change their own pasts, they attempt to stoically ignore the horrifying reality they've created: Their sense of self-their very definition definition of self-is suddenly irrelevant. If you go back in time today and meet the person who will become you tomorrow, which of those two people is actually you? The short answer is, "Both." But once you realize that the short answer is "Both," the long answer becomes "Neither." If you exist in two places, you don't exist at all. of self-is suddenly irrelevant. If you go back in time today and meet the person who will become you tomorrow, which of those two people is actually you? The short answer is, "Both." But once you realize that the short answer is "Both," the long answer becomes "Neither." If you exist in two places, you don't exist at all.

According to the director, Primer Primer is a movie about the relationship between risk and trust. This is true. But it also makes a concrete point about the potential purpose of time travel-it's too important to use only for money, but too dangerous to use for anything else. is a movie about the relationship between risk and trust. This is true. But it also makes a concrete point about the potential purpose of time travel-it's too important to use only for money, but too dangerous to use for anything else.

1A I used to have a fantasy about reliving my entire life with my present-day mind. I once thought this fantasy was unique to me, but it turns out that this is very common; many people enjoy imagining what it would be like to reinhabit their past with the knowledge they've acquired through experience. I imagine the bizarre things I would have said to teachers in junior high. I think about women I would have pursued and stories I could have written better and about how interesting it would have been to be a genius four-year-old. At its nucleus, this is a fantasy about never having to learn anything. The defining line from Frank Herbert's I used to have a fantasy about reliving my entire life with my present-day mind. I once thought this fantasy was unique to me, but it turns out that this is very common; many people enjoy imagining what it would be like to reinhabit their past with the knowledge they've acquired through experience. I imagine the bizarre things I would have said to teachers in junior high. I think about women I would have pursued and stories I could have written better and about how interesting it would have been to be a genius four-year-old. At its nucleus, this is a fantasy about never having to learn anything. The defining line from Frank Herbert's Dune Dune argues that the mystery of life "is not a question to be answered but a reality to be experienced." My fantasy offers the opposite. Nothing would be experienced. Nothing would feel new or unknown or jarring. It's a fantasy for people who want to solve life's mysteries without having to do the work. argues that the mystery of life "is not a question to be answered but a reality to be experienced." My fantasy offers the opposite. Nothing would be experienced. Nothing would feel new or unknown or jarring. It's a fantasy for people who want to solve life's mysteries without having to do the work.

I am one of those people.

The desire to move through time is electrifying and rational, but it's a desire of weakness. The real reason I want to travel through time is because I'm a defeatist person. The cynical egomaniac in Wells's original novel leaves the present because he has contempt for the humanity of his present world, but he never considers changing anything about his own role in that life (which would obviously be easier). Instead, he elects to bolt eight hundred thousand years into the future, blindly hoping that things will have improved for him. It's a bad plan. Charlton Heston's character in Planet of the Apes Planet of the Apes5 tries something similar; he hates mankind, so he volunteers to explore s.p.a.ce, only to crash back on a postapocalyptic earth where poorly dressed orangutans employ Robert's Rules of Order. This is a consistent theme in stories about traveling to the future: Things are always worse when you get there. And I suspect this is because the kind of writer who's intrigued by the notion of moving forward in time can't see beyond their own pessimism about being alive. People who want to travel through time are both (a) unhappy and (b) unwilling to compromise anything about who they are. They would rather change every element of society tries something similar; he hates mankind, so he volunteers to explore s.p.a.ce, only to crash back on a postapocalyptic earth where poorly dressed orangutans employ Robert's Rules of Order. This is a consistent theme in stories about traveling to the future: Things are always worse when you get there. And I suspect this is because the kind of writer who's intrigued by the notion of moving forward in time can't see beyond their own pessimism about being alive. People who want to travel through time are both (a) unhappy and (b) unwilling to compromise anything about who they are. They would rather change every element of society except except themselves. themselves.

This is how I feel.

This is also why my long-standing desire to build a time machine is not just hopeless but devoid of merit. It has nothing to do with time. I don't think it ever does (for me, H. G. Wells, Shane Carruth, or anyone else). It takes a flexible mind to imagine how time travel might work, but only an inflexible spirit would actually want to do it. It's the desire of the depressed and lazy.

On side two of the Beach Boys' Pet Sounds, Pet Sounds, Brian Wilson laments that he "just wasn't made for these times" ("these times" being 1966). He probably wasn't. But he also didn't want to be. I a.s.sume Wilson would have preferred dealing with the possibility of thinking liquid metal before he would accept the invisible, nonnegotiable shackles of the present tense. Which-sadly, and quite fortunately-is the only tense any of us will ever have. Brian Wilson laments that he "just wasn't made for these times" ("these times" being 1966). He probably wasn't. But he also didn't want to be. I a.s.sume Wilson would have preferred dealing with the possibility of thinking liquid metal before he would accept the invisible, nonnegotiable shackles of the present tense. Which-sadly, and quite fortunately-is the only tense any of us will ever have.

1. This subplot refers to the actions of a character named Biff (Thomas F. Wilson) who steals a sports almanac from the future in order to gamble on predetermined sporting events in the present. There's a popular urban legend about this plot point involving the Florida Marlins baseball team: In the film, Biff supposedly bets on a Florida baseball team to win the World Series in 1997, which actually happened. The amazing part is that Back to the Future Part II Back to the Future Part II was released in 1989, four years before the Florida Marlins even had a major league franchise. Unfortunately, this legend is completely false. The reference in the movie is actually a joke about the futility of the Chicago Cubs that somehow got intertwined with another reference to a (fictional) MLB opponent from Miami whose logo was a gator. I realize that by mentioning the inaccuracy of this urban legend, I will probably just perpetuate its erroneous existence. But that's generally how urban legends work. was released in 1989, four years before the Florida Marlins even had a major league franchise. Unfortunately, this legend is completely false. The reference in the movie is actually a joke about the futility of the Chicago Cubs that somehow got intertwined with another reference to a (fictional) MLB opponent from Miami whose logo was a gator. I realize that by mentioning the inaccuracy of this urban legend, I will probably just perpetuate its erroneous existence. But that's generally how urban legends work.

2. For whatever the reason, I've always a.s.sumed vise grips would be extremely liberating for Neanderthals.

3. Semi-unrelated (but semi-interesting) footnote to this paradox: Before Fox plays "Johnny B. Goode" at the high school dance, he tells his audience, "This is an oldie . . . well, this is an oldie from where I come from." Chuck Berry recorded "Johnny B. Goode" in 1958. Back to the Future Back to the Future was made in 1985, so the gap is twenty-seven years. I'm writing this essay in 2009, which means the gap between 1985 and today is twenty-four years. That's almost the same amount of time. Yet n.o.body would ever refer to was made in 1985, so the gap is twenty-seven years. I'm writing this essay in 2009, which means the gap between 1985 and today is twenty-four years. That's almost the same amount of time. Yet n.o.body would ever refer to Back to the Future Back to the Future as an "oldie," even if he or she were born in the 1990s. What seems to be happening is a dramatic increase in cultural memory: As culture accelerates, the distance between historical events feels smaller. The gap between 2010 and 2000 will seem far smaller than the gap between 1980 and 1970, which already seemed far smaller than the gap between 1950 and 1940. This, I suppose, is society's own version of time travel (a.s.suming the trend continues for eternity). as an "oldie," even if he or she were born in the 1990s. What seems to be happening is a dramatic increase in cultural memory: As culture accelerates, the distance between historical events feels smaller. The gap between 2010 and 2000 will seem far smaller than the gap between 1980 and 1970, which already seemed far smaller than the gap between 1950 and 1940. This, I suppose, is society's own version of time travel (a.s.suming the trend continues for eternity).

4. This is too difficult to explain in a footnote, but one of Carruth's strengths as a fake science writer is how he deals with the geography geography of time travel, an issue most writers never even consider. Here, in short, is the problem: If you could instantly travel one hour back in time, you would (theoretically) rematerialize in the exact same place from which you left. That's how the machine works in the original of time travel, an issue most writers never even consider. Here, in short, is the problem: If you could instantly travel one hour back in time, you would (theoretically) rematerialize in the exact same place from which you left. That's how the machine works in the original Time Machine Time Machine. However, the world would have rotated 15 degrees during that missing hour, so you would actually rematerialize in a totally different spot on the globe. Primer Primer manages to work around this problem, although I honestly don't understand the solution as much as I see the dilemma. manages to work around this problem, although I honestly don't understand the solution as much as I see the dilemma.

5. I realize Planet of the Apes Planet of the Apes isn't technically about time travel. Time moves at its normal rate while the humans are in suspended animation. But for the purposes of the fictional people involved, there is no difference: They leave from and return to the same geographic country. The only difference is the calendar. isn't technically about time travel. Time moves at its normal rate while the humans are in suspended animation. But for the purposes of the fictional people involved, there is no difference: They leave from and return to the same geographic country. The only difference is the calendar.