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I suppose there's something to be said for transforming the dreary and tragic into an uplifting narrative about progress. On that count you've got to admire Trimberger for her single-minded, so to speak, resourcefulness.
What's absent from this particular progress-narrative, however, is the blood and guts of day-to-day human life as most of us know it.
(Was anyone else spooked by how pleased Trimberger seemed to announce that in the absence of regular sexual contact we might lose sexual desire?)
People fall in love. People desire each other. People have "unrealistic" hopes. People pair-up with "inappropriate" partners. This is all part of being human. And it's why, by and large, we have things like opera, poetry, and literature.
The world Trimberger conjures is chilly and antiseptic. You can't imagine it as a place that would admit rock 'n' roll, or, much less, the blues.
