Drone Warfare

I am hard wired for imperfection, programmed for fallibility. There are worse things in life, I suppose.

There are worse things in life than losing in tennis to a tall skinny blond. Like having to take a picture standing next to her after it's over. Other than that, nothing springs to mind.

At least she was sweating, although when she removed her pony tail and headband her gorgeous mane cascaded down her shoulders in soft, gentle waves. Had I even dared to remove my pony tail and headband, my hair would have remained plastered to my head anyway. The photo session seemed to take an eternity, and my fake smile was waning. A woman sitting nearby assured me that from far away, I wouldn't look that hideous. Was there no end to the indignities?

Naturally, a friend had chosen to stop in and watch this match -- the playoff match, the match against the tall skinny blond. "You need to change your philosophy," he told me.

"I don't have a philosophy," I told him. Other than resenting the crap out of tall skinny blonds, but I kept that to myself. I think he was referring to my game.

"You should have beaten her, you know," he said. By then, I was drowning my sorrows in an Oreo Blizzard. The tall skinny blond was probably nibbling on a cucumber sandwich and some fruit. I thought about dumping the Blizzard on my friend's lap, but why relinquish the one thing that was standing between me and complete and utter despair. What I lack in tennis philosophy I more than make up for in survival instincts.

The tennis match was days ago, and I have more or less gotten over it. More or less, that is, until I stopped by to see a friend fly his drone over a local soccer field. I was not sure what to expect. When I think drone, I think of a robotic person who just puts in the time and gets the job done. No imagination, no second guessing, no deeply rooted neuroses getting in the way. Hard wired to not fail, programmed for infallibility. Like the tall skinny blond, with her golden locks temporarily tied up so she could stick to her simple yet effective game plan for an hour and a half while I sprayed balls everywhere and turned the entire miserable experience into a referendum on my life and all my shortcomings.

Okay, I know a remotely controlled aerial device has nothing in common with a tall skinny blond, except for maybe the robotic part and the complete absence of neurosis. But really, how interesting ---or attractive -- can anything be when it's robotic and completely non-neurotic. My tennis friend who had narrowly escaped a lap full of Oreo Blizzard had assured me that the tall skinny blond was not all that attractive. He is a bad liar but a good friend.

The drone, I have to admit, robotic and non-neurotic and almost trite in its UFO-ish design, was both interesting and attractive. To the untrained eye, it appears to have a limited repertoire. It lifts off, it cuts through the air swiftly and silently, gracefully circling around trees, breaking the monotony with an occasional figure eight or a gratuitous dip of a propeller -- kind of a nod to the mere mortals below.  And it is foolproof. If the battery runs low, or if the decidedly undrone-like human at the controls somehow loses control, it will get itself home. It will get the job done, and will do it again, and again, and again.

Mid flight, the drone grazed a telephone pole, but it returned unscathed, no worse for the wear. It stayed the course without missing a beat. Blond waves cascading down, as if it had not even broken a sweat. Sometimes there is great beauty in simplicity and non-neurosis. And infallibility. Maybe it was the clear blue sky. Maybe it was the long awaited warm temperatures, arriving, to the delight of many, on a Saturday. Maybe it was just the miracle of flight, one of the few things we humans just cannot do, unassisted. The drone is equipped with a camera, and, on the ground, we can use the "App" to see what the drone sees. Our view is imperfect, though, imperfect as we are. Even the tall skinny blond cannot see things from the tree line.

Hard wired for imperfection, programmed for fallibility. There are worse things in life. It helps me to appreciate the simple pleasures, like an Oreo Blizzard or a drone in flight on a beautiful spring day.