Captain’s Log: Earth 94-786. 2:75:1746

It was somewhere near the water, sunset, when my ship landed. Checking the oxygen levels of the planet…87% match with the oxygen levels of my home planet—that means I don’t have to wear the heavy suit, but instead I can use the supplemental respiration device. When I stepped out of my ship, I saw the sky filled with colors I had never seen (it must be on account of the particulate matter in the atmosphere, which happened to be dangerously high). It really was quite a beautiful place, despite the strange people I met.
I stepped out a stranger in an unfamiliar land. Everyone had a rectangle in their hand. The people of this planet were completely consumed by beaming images from these rectangular devices, unaware of others around them—but worse, unaware of themselves. They didn’t even notice my ship's landing. The inhabitants of every other planet I’ve visited were all quick to respond to the commotion that arises when my ship prepares to land; it makes a loud noise, like a power tool in a washing machine—well, what do you expect? I’m the last of my species; all of the engineers on my planet no longer exist and I’m a writer.
The inhabitants of this blue green planet were strange to say the least. Like I said, every other planet I’ve visited showed some sort of interest upon my arrival, whether negative or positive. The inhabitants of this planet, however, showed complete and utter indifference. I think somebody should look into this. Well, anyway, I was getting hungry, so I started asking people where the nearest guamonium synthesizer was, but their eyes would shoot up from the rectangles and would pierce right through me. It was as if I told them their florbus was undesirable.
These people were so angry to be disturbed. What a shame. We could have been such good friends. I decided it would be best to leave, so as not to disturb the somnambulists. I took my perpetual motion machine with me. A note to future space travelers: skip Earth. There is no intelligent life here.