Uncertainty. It's the keyword for 2001. We aren't in the world Kubrick and Clark. There are no big Ferris wheels in space, just a junked together prototype made of aluminum and crape paper. We aren't feeling the booming glow of two years ago--when everything was up up up and big bigger biggest. And there is no sense that the United State is really leading the world anymore, even though we are. We're aimless, pissed about download times and spinning wheels that have no attachment to reality.

And I have no idea what to write about.

This is really the problem. After such a grueling election (and months of after election speculation about what was actually said and cast in the election--all still being debated to this day), I've gone and turned apolitical. It doesn't seem to mean anything to me anymore. I have no connection with either side in power and get increasingly disappointed by the hour. A tax cut won't do anything for me (unless they take all of my taxes away, and I'm not so libertarian to suggest something like that). Campaign finance reforms look like they might go down into the pisser without any real change. And even with the new Prez living up to his promise to be anti-environment, I can't get up enough energy to say I told you so.

So what to do?

I need a new passion. I need something that will take my mind off all this stuff that bores or infuriates me. And I need to feel like what I'm doing means more than just servicing the next two weeks until another paycheck gets downloaded into my bank account (and then uploaded to bills, insurance, rent and everything else that eats money). Isn't there something out there that will make all of this seem more than shallow and dehumanizing?

I've been listening to a lot of Beatles songs lately. Because, after all the money they made, they came up with something simple: All you need is love. Which is nice, I guess. And I like singing along and everything. In the broadest of senses, yeah, I can get behind that. Just love and everything will be pretty good. Or at least the glasses will be rose colored instead of dark coffee. It's really easy to say all you need is love when you've got millions in the bank account (and the world loves you, as it has embraced the Beatles for much of time since the early 60s). Of course, this is the nature of celebrity. And since I'm not really in the mood to be a celebrity, I'll have to find something else.

And the one big joy at work, pillaging the hard drives of other Napster-heads for my own personal jukebox, is getting cluttered. Because of the new screening process by Napster, what is left to download looks like the remnants of a dead person's closet. Yeah, you can still find most of the songs you're looking for, but they have strange names, intentionally misspelled words and anagrams. What has been the greatest resource for music ever is now turning into some kind of grab bag mentality. Instead of getting better, everything is getting worse. Harder to use. Restricted and ugly.

The continuing consolidation of dot coms makes the ability to choose that much harder. Soon we'll all be getting our news from the same source. There will be less free service and more pay to play. What was once a cornucopia of openness will turn into extreme firewalls and slide your credit card in here. We have passed the time when everyone is experimenting and trying to make things better. It's all about the bottom line now and that's making everything turn sour and ugly.

So how is a regular guy supposed to climb out of this mess?

I'm frustrated and pissed and it's not just one thing. It's everything. Nothing really seems to matter anymore and then everything matters. It's like some kind of life-altering ying yang, except that it doesn't matter which side you take because they both suck.

There has to be something out there that means something real. There must be an answer, right? Some wonderful statement that will make everything better. Except that I outgrew fairy tales a long time ago. And the main fairy tale--that there is that one special someone for everyone--hasn't been true in years. Because there are so many choices for that special someone, I never really have to choose. It's about settling and that would just make me feel worse.

Maybe this is just me. Maybe I'm the only one in a bit of a depression, wondering what is going to come next (and will it be better or worse than how it is now?). Maybe the Beatles are right. But, then again, maybe Fight Club is right. Our great depression is our lives.

Matt Worley doesn't want a car or a pill or a speech or a house or a burrito or whatever it is you're selling. He just wants a little hope.