So for my “Pharmocologically and Surgically Shaping Ourselves” class I had to read the book Rebuilt by Michael Chorost, not to be confused with Top American Designer Michael Kors. This guy Mr. Chorost, was partially deaf for most of his life then all of a sudden he goes completely deaf and gets a cochlear implant.

The only reason I bring this book up is because it is a memoir and this guy, Mr. Chorost is a prime-time-class-a-slurp-tastic-douche-nerd. (Also, I don’t really care about you as the reader, I can write about whatever the fuck I want!)

This guy has a cochlear implant (headphones for your brain!) but he goes out of his way to prove he is a cyborg, and I get it, he is…. technically a cyborg.

But just imagine this, 7 of 9, The Terminator, Super Cool Awesome Cochlear Dude…

Michael Chorost became a cyborg on October 1, 2001, the day his new ear was booted up. Born hard of hearing in 1964, he went completely deaf in his thirties. Rather than live in silence, he chose to have a computer surgically embedded in his skull to artificially restore his hearing.

This is the story of Chorost”s journey — from deafness to hearing, from human to cyborg — and how it transformed him. The melding of silicon and flesh has long been the stuff of science fiction. But as Chorost reveals in this witty, poignant, and illuminating memoir, fantasy is now giving way to reality.

I only highlight the last sentence because the memoir is none of those things. Seriously… you have a glorified, perhaps even really cool, hearing aid. You can’t shoot lasers out of your eye. SHUT UP! This is on the second page… this sentence:

Nothing works: the day is like a coin that always comes up tails.

That was the moment I decided I was done with the book.

It’s like being an astronaut in the movie Apollo 13 watching the oxygen tank’s
gauge inexorably sliding down to zero.

I go and stare at it, feeling like Snoopy in a world filled with signs saying NO DOGS ALLOWED.

It is like returning to the ancient days of 300-baud modems, when one could see
text appearing on the screen letter by letter.

To be sure, anyone would grieve for their lost ears and fear an uncertain future, but these feelings are like a jagged slash torn in the beige fabric of my life.

It would suck itself into place with startling soft firmness, an electromagnetic soul kiss to start the day, and cling there like a remora, odd and obscurely frightening to strangers.

These are just a FEW, a FEW, A FEW, JUST A FEW of the poetic similes from the first chapter.

If you have a good idea, an interesting life, a lovely story to tell and you aren’t a writer, please get a ghost writer because everything isn’t JUST LIKE everything else.

Also this guy had a Ph.D when he wrote this, C’MON!

Reading this book was like having my uterus pulled out by a wolverine with rabies as I relaxing lay in a jacuzzi tub, with warm bubbling water like tiny lilliputian waterfalls that tickle my asshole.

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