I am going to bury some personal artifacts and documents in a time capsule. Or better yet encase them in a sturdy tube and blast it into outer space, let some chump alien civilization intercept my steel repository and draw troubling conclusions about the species I represent. (Human beings.) The capsule will have a gold-plated engraving on it featuring a simple line drawing of just me, no representative female figure by my side. Maybe there'll be a floppy-eared dog or some other treasured companion, like a good quality coffeemaker (nothing too fancy) or a toaster. My hand will be raised in a gesture of good will and universal brotherhood, or maybe I'm signaling for the check. Carl Sagan would be proud of such a testament to the enduring dignity of humanity, and dogs.

The specially prepared phonograph record inside will contain some of my most cherished examples of musical genius, like The Shaggs' recording of "My Pal Foot Foot", as well as a comprehensive selection of the sounds of nature, for instance the soothing rustle of a man's pants being removed and the reassuring crackle of that first deep drag on a cigarette.