Stuck in the Orbit of Satellite Radio

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Satellite radio never fades, which is why I subscribed to the service in the first place and why I'll maintain my subscription despite the fact that it often makes me feel as though America were a high-tech hologram and I were a futuristic ghost. This feeling struck me acutely during a yawn-inducing 10-hour drive from Montana to Colorado via Wyoming. Except in feeble, quivering bursts, normal radio signals can't conquer that barrenness, but thanks to some wonderful gizmo in outer space, I was able to stay in touch with the most minute developments in the Michael Jackson trial and the Brad Pitt--Jennifer Aniston breakup. I couldn't have been more clued in to those events if I'd been living on Sunset Boulevard, nor could I have been more detached from central Wyoming, whose raw sagebrush flats were looming in my windshield but were entirely absent from my consciousness. Until an antelope crossed the road, that is, and I had to swerve hard and hit my brakes.

As the antelope dashed off, I briefly awakened to my real environment, but in no time the satellite beamed me up again. I was back in the ether with the Gloved One, orbiting America without touching it--until I got to Rawlins, Wyo., where the antenna on my roof blew off. When I couldn't fix the suction cup that held it there, I tuned in to local AM radio. A voice--a low, male, unhurried Western voice--was describing a school lunch menu for the week. "Chicken-fried steak," the voice said, "and green beans." The words were astonishing. Startling.

News from Earth.