Respect Authority

Just one glorious day after the mind-blowing season finale of Nip/Tuck, during which Dr. Christian Troy’s much-hyped battle with “terminal” breast cancer (yes, breast cancer) — which has been the subject of much debate, speculation and tentative sadness — took a surprising turn, equally bizarre shit is happening in the real world, where cancer is not so much considered a laugh riot. 

The parents of a 23-year-old New Jerseyan who died of cancer in 1998 are being denied their request to kidnap the boy’s preserved sperm in the hopes of creating a grandchild. 

Indeed, Mary and Antonio Speranza asked their son’s operator at the time of his death to preserve the sperm for the insemination of a surrogate mother down the line. (No word on how exactly the operator acquired said sperm posthumously). But a judge has since ruled that because the specimens were not screened for donation to a member of the public — as required by law — they cannot be used on a surrogate.

Coming just one day after news broke of a New York fertility clinic that will let parents custom-build their baby (blue eyes, brown hair, good at sports), I’m beginning to wonder whether, by the time my own biological clock starts ticking, it’ll be necessary to conduct any aspect of babymaking in a natural way. Rather, might I be able to ask a close friend or complete stranger to throw some sperm in the freezer until I’m ready to employ it by impregnating a one-off surrogate, who I will then drag over to Dr. PerfectBaby to get a lock on eye, hair and skin color (I’m aiming for purple on all counts). Perhaps then, so thrilled with my design, I’ll knock the surrogate up to the tune of octuplets, or dextuplets, or whatever denomination of tuplets has yet to be exploited by welfare moms, reality television and the mainstream media. 

In addition to not giving me stretch marks, morning sickness or a deep resentment of them for ruining nine consecutive months of my life, here are other things my custom frozen-sperm perfection babies won’t do: scream, cry, speak unless spoken, make messes and have any minimum requirements for food or sleep. 

On the other hand, they will laugh on cue, do as I say, be self-sufficient at a very young age (one week, tops) and have regenerative limbs and appendages in the event any one is damaged in some sort of childhood bike/fence/car/roughhousing/stair-related accident. 

Here’s to the future.