“Are you surprised?” she asked.
They had arrived at a ballroom this evening as opposed to the normal dance club. “A little,” he admitted.
“Are you pleased?” she checked.
This made him pause. The question did not make sense to him. What difference would his being pleased or not make? Eventually he responded “I am not displeased.”
A smile lay claim to her face. She calculated the double negative to be a positive. “C’mon, let’s go inside.”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Gentle music washed over them as they were directed to their table. There was the occasional look or rushed whisper as they walked. Janie understood all of it without hearing them. ‘Is that?’ ‘It can’t be.’ ‘What is she doing here?’ She didn’t care. Let them wonder. Let them gawk and stare. Tonight was not about them.
Upon reaching the table, Psmith pulled her chair out for her. She smiled at him and accepted this offer. This was good. It all felt so right, so … ladylike.
Psmith stood at her right side, his hands clasped behind his back. After a moment of observing the scene before them, he spoke. “Well now, this is a distinct variation from our normal night out. It is still dancing, just a different sort of dancing.” He stopped speaking. Janie looked up at him with a gentle smile on her face. She did not speak. After a prolonged pause he coughed gently and continued. “I must admit that I am unclear as to how the process functions in this establishment. There may be a dance card required. It may well be that all a gentleman will need to do is approach and ask in order to dance with you. Alternatively, I may need to act as an intermediary. If that is the case, do you see anyone you would like to have approach? The gentleman standing by that pillar on the other side of the room looks nice. Shall I approach him?”
Janie continued to observe him despite the uncomfortable position in which she need to place herself in order to do so. “No thank you,” she stated.
“Does that mean you have someone in mind?”
“Yes.”
“Whom would that be?”
She smiled. “You of course.”
This comment generated a pause in the conversation. Psmith terminated the pause with “Me?” She nodded. “You wish to dance with me?”
“That’s the reason I wanted to come here,” she noted. A thought occurred to her and she quickly added “You can dance, can’t you?”
“I am versed in the terpsichorean arts,” he stated, straightening his stance even further. “It is not a skill I am often called upon to utilize. I am quite out of practice.”
This statement did nothing to perturb her. “That’s okay. I’ve no idea what I’m doing at all so you’re still ahead of me.” She offered her hand. “C’mon. It’ll be fun.”
He visibly pondered these statements. After this consideration he took her hand. “Perhaps it will be fun at that.” She beamed with joy.
11 June 2007
Did some math. Was surprised.
I took a look at the computer mouse that 'Flipper Sr.' displayed to me. It was round, semi-clear, semi-silver and appeared to have eyes imbeded in it. "Looks like a Cybermat," I noted before turning to walk away.
This statement caused him to examine it further. Having apparently come to a mental conclusion about my statement, he chuckled. "I suppose it does." He then extended the chuckle to me. "You're very focused."
We had conversed enough about Doctor Who in the past that I guessed he would get the reference and obviously had. By now I was back in my office, thinking about sitting down. "Yeah, well, I've been swimming in that sea for..." Quickly I did math. I first started watching Doctor Who when I was 8 and now I'm 33 so that makes...
I didn't sit down. "25 years now." Good grief! I have friends younger than that!
This is my silver anniversary with Doctor Who. I'd say I deserve a present but the show's been back on TV for 3 years now and, really, I'll take that. More episodes please! At least another 25 years worth...
This statement caused him to examine it further. Having apparently come to a mental conclusion about my statement, he chuckled. "I suppose it does." He then extended the chuckle to me. "You're very focused."
We had conversed enough about Doctor Who in the past that I guessed he would get the reference and obviously had. By now I was back in my office, thinking about sitting down. "Yeah, well, I've been swimming in that sea for..." Quickly I did math. I first started watching Doctor Who when I was 8 and now I'm 33 so that makes...
I didn't sit down. "25 years now." Good grief! I have friends younger than that!
This is my silver anniversary with Doctor Who. I'd say I deserve a present but the show's been back on TV for 3 years now and, really, I'll take that. More episodes please! At least another 25 years worth...
08 June 2007
Fresh Fiction For Friday - 3 (Free?)
Wearily she wiped the sweat from her brow as she continued to exert herself on the stepper fitness device. She knew the time she had remaining was limited as she only exercised during the brief periods when Psmith was not with her. While he had often encouraged her to exercise whenever she wanted and would not have observed her doing so if she had asked him, she felt uncomfortable sweating with him so nearby. It didn’t feel right. Psmith was so cool that she couldn’t picture him sweating. She had tried to do so and could not. Somehow, she felt that he would find a way to talk himself out of it.
The machine beeped loudly to inform her that the cycle of exercise was complete. Eagerly she climbed down and began her post workout stretching. Her everything hurt but in such a good way. She did her best to focus on the stretching and nothing else; to think past the good pain for the form of the stretching. Nothing could stop her now.
Nothing could stop her apart from herself. What was that noise? It disrupted her focus. It was a rustling, crinkling sound not unlike… tissue paper. It was tissue paper! As she leapt to her feet, her muscles eagerly informed her of the stupidity of this movement. All the same, she made herself go to the sound of the tissue paper: the island in the kitchen. This is where Psmith was calmly rooting around in a package. Her package! “What are you doing going through that?” she cried.
Psmith whirled around in surprise at the suddenness of the volume from her. After the moment faded, his expression was left with a mild confusion. “I go through every package that enters this suite. I go through our food. You should be well aware of this as it is one of your orders. It is part of your rehabilitation.”
She spoke quickly. “I take it back. Cancel the order, for this package anyway.”
“By your order you cannot cancel that order.” His eyes narrowed. “What is so special about this package that you do not want me to investigate it as the others, hmm?” Carefully, he raised the item from the box in order to look under it.
Angrily she snatched the blue dress from his hand, for the moment not caring if she damaged it. Surprise returned to his expression, providing her with the opportunity to claim the box as well. She crammed the dress back in the container as she stomped off towards her room. Stomping hurt her legs and made her even more upset.
As this new shock wore off, Psmith returned to a state of confused crankiness. “I do not understand what is the problem. I have faithfully investigated every package that has passed this way, some with garments of a secretive nature, without complaint or concern. Why should this item cause such a reaction?”
In the doorway of her room she paused. With tears in her eyes she exclaimed “It was meant to be a surprise!” She punctuated her displeasure by slamming the door behind her.
Psmith stood there and pondered this. He considered it backwards and forwards. Just for fun, once her considered it sideways to see if it would help. It did not. The result of all this pondering was a deep sigh. “I cannot wait until she gets older and starts to make some sense.” He wandered into the kitchen proper. “At least the package was clean.”
The machine beeped loudly to inform her that the cycle of exercise was complete. Eagerly she climbed down and began her post workout stretching. Her everything hurt but in such a good way. She did her best to focus on the stretching and nothing else; to think past the good pain for the form of the stretching. Nothing could stop her now.
Nothing could stop her apart from herself. What was that noise? It disrupted her focus. It was a rustling, crinkling sound not unlike… tissue paper. It was tissue paper! As she leapt to her feet, her muscles eagerly informed her of the stupidity of this movement. All the same, she made herself go to the sound of the tissue paper: the island in the kitchen. This is where Psmith was calmly rooting around in a package. Her package! “What are you doing going through that?” she cried.
Psmith whirled around in surprise at the suddenness of the volume from her. After the moment faded, his expression was left with a mild confusion. “I go through every package that enters this suite. I go through our food. You should be well aware of this as it is one of your orders. It is part of your rehabilitation.”
She spoke quickly. “I take it back. Cancel the order, for this package anyway.”
“By your order you cannot cancel that order.” His eyes narrowed. “What is so special about this package that you do not want me to investigate it as the others, hmm?” Carefully, he raised the item from the box in order to look under it.
Angrily she snatched the blue dress from his hand, for the moment not caring if she damaged it. Surprise returned to his expression, providing her with the opportunity to claim the box as well. She crammed the dress back in the container as she stomped off towards her room. Stomping hurt her legs and made her even more upset.
As this new shock wore off, Psmith returned to a state of confused crankiness. “I do not understand what is the problem. I have faithfully investigated every package that has passed this way, some with garments of a secretive nature, without complaint or concern. Why should this item cause such a reaction?”
In the doorway of her room she paused. With tears in her eyes she exclaimed “It was meant to be a surprise!” She punctuated her displeasure by slamming the door behind her.
Psmith stood there and pondered this. He considered it backwards and forwards. Just for fun, once her considered it sideways to see if it would help. It did not. The result of all this pondering was a deep sigh. “I cannot wait until she gets older and starts to make some sense.” He wandered into the kitchen proper. “At least the package was clean.”
03 June 2007
No One goes to a Godzilla movie for the human love interest storyline
While dealing with the reasons why we didn't enjoy 'Spider-Man 3' as much as we should have, one of my primary discussion points is that it didn't feel like there was enough Spider-Man spread throughout the movie. I do understand that there was a Spider-Man fight of some significant length near the end of the movie and I understand the concept of building to your payoff but this was more of a pacing problem in my opinion, something caused by adding the Venom storyline to a movie that didn't originally feature the character.
You must meet expectations. People expect to see Spider-Man in a Spider-Man movie. Marvel publishes three primary Spider-Man comics a month, twelve months a year. In the space of 36 comics a year, you can afford to have a couple that focus more on Peter Parker or show events through the eyes of a different character. In fact, if simply for the sake of variety, you need to change things up in order for those books to stay fresh every month. When there's one movie every three years, it's a different combination of events.
No one goes to a Godzilla movie for the human love interest storyline. No one goes to McDonald's for a gourmet meal. No one watches American Idol for the death-metal songs. No one watches 'A Night at the Opera' for the singing, it's all about the Marx Brothers.
Despite it being a neat moment from a number of different perspectives, no one goes to a Spider-Man movie to watch Peter Parker dance. It's not that you can't go beyond the expectations but you must at least meet them. McDonald's could serve gourmet food but if the quality of the fries suffered because of it, would people be happy? No. If the monster wrestling in a Godzilla movie is awesome and the human love interest story was good, well, that would probably be the best Godzilla movie ever.
If you want to do something new in the entertainment world, to mix things up in a long running series so that you're not just repeating yourself, at least bring the basic stuff you promise in the title. When you have a movie called 'Werewolves on Wheels' there should be more than a few seconds of a Werewolf on a motorcycle.
Or is it just me?
You must meet expectations. People expect to see Spider-Man in a Spider-Man movie. Marvel publishes three primary Spider-Man comics a month, twelve months a year. In the space of 36 comics a year, you can afford to have a couple that focus more on Peter Parker or show events through the eyes of a different character. In fact, if simply for the sake of variety, you need to change things up in order for those books to stay fresh every month. When there's one movie every three years, it's a different combination of events.
No one goes to a Godzilla movie for the human love interest storyline. No one goes to McDonald's for a gourmet meal. No one watches American Idol for the death-metal songs. No one watches 'A Night at the Opera' for the singing, it's all about the Marx Brothers.
Despite it being a neat moment from a number of different perspectives, no one goes to a Spider-Man movie to watch Peter Parker dance. It's not that you can't go beyond the expectations but you must at least meet them. McDonald's could serve gourmet food but if the quality of the fries suffered because of it, would people be happy? No. If the monster wrestling in a Godzilla movie is awesome and the human love interest story was good, well, that would probably be the best Godzilla movie ever.
If you want to do something new in the entertainment world, to mix things up in a long running series so that you're not just repeating yourself, at least bring the basic stuff you promise in the title. When you have a movie called 'Werewolves on Wheels' there should be more than a few seconds of a Werewolf on a motorcycle.
Or is it just me?
01 June 2007
Fresh Fiction for Friday - Further
She emerged from her room moaning and holding her head. Entering the suite proper she shuffled towards the expansive couch and comfy chairs, looking for sympathy. “Why does my head hurt so bad?”
The gentleman sighed, raising his eyes just enough from the crossword puzzle in the newspaper to observe her. “You are hung-over from drinking too much,” he stated. “This is why your head hurts. Are you familiar with the concepts of cause and effect?” Looking pitiful, she shook her head no, stopping only to wince. With a sigh of exasperation, he put down his pen and newspaper. “To recap, because you drink so much every night, the effect is that you wake up the next morning hung-over, forgetting that we had a conversation regarding cause and effect the day before, as well as the day before that, as well as nearly every morning since I’ve been in your employ.”
“Not every morning?” she checked, looking for a silver lining.
“Some days you do not wake until the afternoon,” he noted coolly.
She pouted. “But Matt…”
This statement was very quickly terminated by a hard look and a sharp retort from the gentleman on the couch. “Ms. Van Howell. To you my name is Mr. Psmith, the P being silent as in ptarmigan and Ptolemy. If you must insist on a certain familiarity, you may refer to me as Psmith. You have yet to earn the right to refer to me by my first name. I believe your continued hang-overs are evidence of this. Have I been clear?” She nodded. She shuddered under the coldness of his statements towards her. There was something in his British accent and deep voice that made his words feel that much sharper. “I am glad. The light breakfast you prefer has been prepared. The coffee is fresh.”
“Thank you.” A thought proceeded. “No special secret hang-over cure?”
Psmith was once again working through the crossword puzzle. “That is correct. Resolving this problem so quickly for you is retarding your progress in this regard. For you to learn, you will have to suffer so that you will understand the effects of what you are doing.”
“But I have suffered, lots of times before I hired you to help me with my issues. Can’t that count? You know I’m trying,” she pleaded. He looked up from his puzzle. She lacked the normal ammunition of her feminine wiles what with her bed scrambled hair and the smeared remains of yesterday’s makeup twisting her features. It was the hint of light in her eyes that caught his attention. At this point in the day her eyes were normally dull and lifeless but today they held some life and she used that life to plead with him. “Please Mr. Psmith?”
He returned his gaze to the puzzle. “How very wise of you to utilize my correct nomenclature. I will… consider your request.”
She smiled, brightening her expression despite her current physical state. She knew him well enough to know that this response meant yes unless she did something to change his mind. “Thank you Mr. Psmith.”
He continued with his puzzle, his pen rapidly moving over the paper as the squares were filled in. “Certainly. Go take in some breakfast it gets cold.”
She resumed her walk, heading for the kitchen. “Also, thank you for getting me home alone last night, Mr. Psmith.”
“You are quite welcome. I am glad to see you make the progress you desire in this regard.” As she entered the kitchen, he placed his pen and completed puzzle on the table before him. He rose to make the cure she had requested.
The gentleman sighed, raising his eyes just enough from the crossword puzzle in the newspaper to observe her. “You are hung-over from drinking too much,” he stated. “This is why your head hurts. Are you familiar with the concepts of cause and effect?” Looking pitiful, she shook her head no, stopping only to wince. With a sigh of exasperation, he put down his pen and newspaper. “To recap, because you drink so much every night, the effect is that you wake up the next morning hung-over, forgetting that we had a conversation regarding cause and effect the day before, as well as the day before that, as well as nearly every morning since I’ve been in your employ.”
“Not every morning?” she checked, looking for a silver lining.
“Some days you do not wake until the afternoon,” he noted coolly.
She pouted. “But Matt…”
This statement was very quickly terminated by a hard look and a sharp retort from the gentleman on the couch. “Ms. Van Howell. To you my name is Mr. Psmith, the P being silent as in ptarmigan and Ptolemy. If you must insist on a certain familiarity, you may refer to me as Psmith. You have yet to earn the right to refer to me by my first name. I believe your continued hang-overs are evidence of this. Have I been clear?” She nodded. She shuddered under the coldness of his statements towards her. There was something in his British accent and deep voice that made his words feel that much sharper. “I am glad. The light breakfast you prefer has been prepared. The coffee is fresh.”
“Thank you.” A thought proceeded. “No special secret hang-over cure?”
Psmith was once again working through the crossword puzzle. “That is correct. Resolving this problem so quickly for you is retarding your progress in this regard. For you to learn, you will have to suffer so that you will understand the effects of what you are doing.”
“But I have suffered, lots of times before I hired you to help me with my issues. Can’t that count? You know I’m trying,” she pleaded. He looked up from his puzzle. She lacked the normal ammunition of her feminine wiles what with her bed scrambled hair and the smeared remains of yesterday’s makeup twisting her features. It was the hint of light in her eyes that caught his attention. At this point in the day her eyes were normally dull and lifeless but today they held some life and she used that life to plead with him. “Please Mr. Psmith?”
He returned his gaze to the puzzle. “How very wise of you to utilize my correct nomenclature. I will… consider your request.”
She smiled, brightening her expression despite her current physical state. She knew him well enough to know that this response meant yes unless she did something to change his mind. “Thank you Mr. Psmith.”
He continued with his puzzle, his pen rapidly moving over the paper as the squares were filled in. “Certainly. Go take in some breakfast it gets cold.”
She resumed her walk, heading for the kitchen. “Also, thank you for getting me home alone last night, Mr. Psmith.”
“You are quite welcome. I am glad to see you make the progress you desire in this regard.” As she entered the kitchen, he placed his pen and completed puzzle on the table before him. He rose to make the cure she had requested.
27 May 2007
30 Years of Big Budget Popcorn Flicks
I suppose I spent the 30th anniversary of 'Star Wars' in an appropriate manner: I lined up for a movie. It was one of that movie's 'descendants', the latest 'Pirates of the Caribbean' movie. Short review: its a bit long but I only really noticed the length once and then things picked up so I forgot all about it being long. It's a lot of fun.
I've expressed my general disinterest in 'Star Wars' previously but must touch on it again. It's the deification of the original trilogy as some masterpiece that eludes me. 'Star Wars' was nostaglia when it was released in 1977, just like Lucas' first big film, 'American Graffiti'. It is the Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers newspaper strips come to life in ways that special effects couldn't replicate in the 1930's and 1940's. It is good old fashioned space opera, a throwback after films like '2001: a Space Odyssey'. In and of itself, none of these are bad things. I just don't understand why Lucas should be a genius because he got enough of a budget to spend some on effects.
Anyway, one of the things 'Star Wars' locked in was the big event popcorn movie. The historical epics of old were cast aside for good natured action movies that hoped you wouldn't think about them too hard. 'Jaws' started the concept and 'Star Wars' made it a trend. It is in from that mold that the 'Pirates' movies come from with big action, awesome heroes and villains and complicated plots that sometimes manage to hold together despite themselves. The third 'Pirates' movie is full of jockeying for position and each character has a plan that they're trying to make work, even if it means temporarily betraying a friend. It is quite fascinating to watch.
I may not be the first person to make this next declaration but I'll say it anyway: The 'Pirates of the Caribbean' trilogy is what the 'Star Wars' prequels wanted to be. They are densely plotted, action packed films with a central romantic story at it's heart. It's not hard to start imagining the pirate ships in space rather than water. The variation is that the effects are better in the 'Pirates' movie and there is chemistry between the romantic leads in the 'Pirates' movies. The 'Pirates' trilogy is also has the generation spanning popularity that 'Star Wars' once had as well as being immune from criticism insomuch that bad reviews will not halt people from seeing the movies.
To be fair, there are also no expectations for the 'Pirates' trilogy. It came from nowhere to be as popular as it is. The 'Star Wars' prequels had heavy expectations based on the fact that we knew where the films had to go from the evidence in the original trilogy and when they failed to meet the expectations of years of fan dissection of the original movies, the backlash became impressive.
All I know is this: during all of these movies, I always have a moment when I daydream about a big screen 'Doctor Who' movie. Perhaps I could be a space pirate in that. Oh, wait, the show already did that in 1969. Nevermind.
I've expressed my general disinterest in 'Star Wars' previously but must touch on it again. It's the deification of the original trilogy as some masterpiece that eludes me. 'Star Wars' was nostaglia when it was released in 1977, just like Lucas' first big film, 'American Graffiti'. It is the Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers newspaper strips come to life in ways that special effects couldn't replicate in the 1930's and 1940's. It is good old fashioned space opera, a throwback after films like '2001: a Space Odyssey'. In and of itself, none of these are bad things. I just don't understand why Lucas should be a genius because he got enough of a budget to spend some on effects.
Anyway, one of the things 'Star Wars' locked in was the big event popcorn movie. The historical epics of old were cast aside for good natured action movies that hoped you wouldn't think about them too hard. 'Jaws' started the concept and 'Star Wars' made it a trend. It is in from that mold that the 'Pirates' movies come from with big action, awesome heroes and villains and complicated plots that sometimes manage to hold together despite themselves. The third 'Pirates' movie is full of jockeying for position and each character has a plan that they're trying to make work, even if it means temporarily betraying a friend. It is quite fascinating to watch.
I may not be the first person to make this next declaration but I'll say it anyway: The 'Pirates of the Caribbean' trilogy is what the 'Star Wars' prequels wanted to be. They are densely plotted, action packed films with a central romantic story at it's heart. It's not hard to start imagining the pirate ships in space rather than water. The variation is that the effects are better in the 'Pirates' movie and there is chemistry between the romantic leads in the 'Pirates' movies. The 'Pirates' trilogy is also has the generation spanning popularity that 'Star Wars' once had as well as being immune from criticism insomuch that bad reviews will not halt people from seeing the movies.
To be fair, there are also no expectations for the 'Pirates' trilogy. It came from nowhere to be as popular as it is. The 'Star Wars' prequels had heavy expectations based on the fact that we knew where the films had to go from the evidence in the original trilogy and when they failed to meet the expectations of years of fan dissection of the original movies, the backlash became impressive.
All I know is this: during all of these movies, I always have a moment when I daydream about a big screen 'Doctor Who' movie. Perhaps I could be a space pirate in that. Oh, wait, the show already did that in 1969. Nevermind.
25 May 2007
Fresh Fiction for Friday
She leaned forward, laughing energetically. The fluid in her glass slid forward as well, balancing precariously on the lip of said glass, threatening to spill. In her amusement, she never noticed, nor did she notice it teeter in the opposite side of the glass when she leaned back. Continuing to laugh, she rested her free hand on the leg of the fellow that caused her mirth. Calmly, the gentleman standing over her leaned down and removed the hand from the leg. The young lady, still amused, did not notice. Her entertaining companion shot a dirty look in the direction of the kill-joy, hoping to prevent any further interference on his part. For the gentleman’s part, he remained expressionless under the gaze. There was nothing to indicate that The Look had in any way proved effective as a corrective act. As a result, he gave up on dealing with the handler and returned his attention to the handlee.
It was difficult to continue communicating his clever comments over the clamor of the crowd in the club but her continued chortling indicated that he was succeeding. At the same time, he realized that she had drunk quite a lot of wine tonight and that this could be the primary source of her mirth. It was indeed possible that he could be reciting the phone book in order to receive the same response from her. If this was the case, tonight would indeed be a special night. A grin played about his lips as she laughed once again. He was in.
Having identified all this, he decided it was time to play his hand. It was late, he noted, and the day had been a long one. Perhaps, he suggested, it was time to call it a night. He could easily and gladly transport her home. What did she say to that?
Calmly, still lacking expression, her handler rested his hand on her shoulder. This contact seemed to activate her. While she concurred with his assessment regarding the lateness of the hour, she politely but firmly rejected his generous offer. At the same time, an evening spent in his company had turned out to be a rather pleasant experience, so perhaps they could do this again soon.
She rose suddenly and he stumbled to his feet to join her. In a manner that he could only describe as polite, she reached across the table to hug him, barely making contact between them. For a moment, he considered trying to sneak in a kiss but, before he could act on this theory, she was gone. He stepped to follow her but her handler gave him a glance that froze him in his tracks. In a flash, they were lost in the crowd outside the VIP section of the club.
Insanity! The plan was foolproof. He’d gotten her drunk. She was known to be a ‘party’ girl. He’d asked to take her home. It was a formula that had been successful for so many before him, so why not him?
It wasn’t the plan for the plan was good. It wasn’t the girl for she was easy. It was the handler. It was his fault!
How had this handler stymied him? It was not through muscle for he was not abundant in that area. It was not with height for he was average in that regard. It was not with words for he hadn’t spoken to either of them all night. Perhaps it was hypnotism? She had reacted rather oddly to that touch on her shoulder. Yet, that failed to explain why he had done nothing to resist the power of the handler.
That was exactly it; his power. The handler’s presence had been so strong that he had derailed the plan completely. It had been the briefest of glances yet it had accomplished so much.
It occurred to him that now was not the time to ponder these things. Perhaps it was not too late to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. He quickly made his way to the edge of the balcony, casting his eyes on the crowd, searching for a glimpse of her.
His heart raised. There she was! His heart sank. She was at the coat check room, right next to the exit. There was no way for him to get through the busy crowd in time to reach her. As he watched, she wandered out the door, closely followed by her handler as he shrugged on his tan trenchcoat.
Then they were gone.
It was difficult to continue communicating his clever comments over the clamor of the crowd in the club but her continued chortling indicated that he was succeeding. At the same time, he realized that she had drunk quite a lot of wine tonight and that this could be the primary source of her mirth. It was indeed possible that he could be reciting the phone book in order to receive the same response from her. If this was the case, tonight would indeed be a special night. A grin played about his lips as she laughed once again. He was in.
Having identified all this, he decided it was time to play his hand. It was late, he noted, and the day had been a long one. Perhaps, he suggested, it was time to call it a night. He could easily and gladly transport her home. What did she say to that?
Calmly, still lacking expression, her handler rested his hand on her shoulder. This contact seemed to activate her. While she concurred with his assessment regarding the lateness of the hour, she politely but firmly rejected his generous offer. At the same time, an evening spent in his company had turned out to be a rather pleasant experience, so perhaps they could do this again soon.
She rose suddenly and he stumbled to his feet to join her. In a manner that he could only describe as polite, she reached across the table to hug him, barely making contact between them. For a moment, he considered trying to sneak in a kiss but, before he could act on this theory, she was gone. He stepped to follow her but her handler gave him a glance that froze him in his tracks. In a flash, they were lost in the crowd outside the VIP section of the club.
Insanity! The plan was foolproof. He’d gotten her drunk. She was known to be a ‘party’ girl. He’d asked to take her home. It was a formula that had been successful for so many before him, so why not him?
It wasn’t the plan for the plan was good. It wasn’t the girl for she was easy. It was the handler. It was his fault!
How had this handler stymied him? It was not through muscle for he was not abundant in that area. It was not with height for he was average in that regard. It was not with words for he hadn’t spoken to either of them all night. Perhaps it was hypnotism? She had reacted rather oddly to that touch on her shoulder. Yet, that failed to explain why he had done nothing to resist the power of the handler.
That was exactly it; his power. The handler’s presence had been so strong that he had derailed the plan completely. It had been the briefest of glances yet it had accomplished so much.
It occurred to him that now was not the time to ponder these things. Perhaps it was not too late to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. He quickly made his way to the edge of the balcony, casting his eyes on the crowd, searching for a glimpse of her.
His heart raised. There she was! His heart sank. She was at the coat check room, right next to the exit. There was no way for him to get through the busy crowd in time to reach her. As he watched, she wandered out the door, closely followed by her handler as he shrugged on his tan trenchcoat.
Then they were gone.
24 May 2007
Shoot Some Golfs
One of the problems with being a crummy golfer, as I am, is that you plan every shot with failure in mind. I don’t approach a 100 yard shot expecting to loft a casual shot onto the green; I smack at it with my 3 Iron hoping that it gets some air and doesn’t skip across the ground like a rock on water. As a result, when I do succeed, it’s an accident and I over achieve, often sending a ball flying over the green.
I’m not going to detail the 9 holes George and I played last Saturday. The most interesting golf story to tell is that of the perfect shot you made and the most tedious golf story to hear is the story of the perfect shot that someone else made. As a result, I’ll not detail my drive on the 14th hole that went far and true. It felt good. Every round of golf needs that hit, the one that feels good. If you don’t get one shot like that, there’s no incentive to keep playing.
I believe it was Mark Twain that noted ‘Golf is a good walk spoiled’. It’s not a concept I can totally argue with especially considering the frustration I have expressed on occasion on the course. At the same time, golf is a good excuse for a walk and I can use all the excuses for exercise that I can get. You may not have noticed but I can be a bit lazy.
I’m not very good at skipping rocks on water either.
I’m not going to detail the 9 holes George and I played last Saturday. The most interesting golf story to tell is that of the perfect shot you made and the most tedious golf story to hear is the story of the perfect shot that someone else made. As a result, I’ll not detail my drive on the 14th hole that went far and true. It felt good. Every round of golf needs that hit, the one that feels good. If you don’t get one shot like that, there’s no incentive to keep playing.
I believe it was Mark Twain that noted ‘Golf is a good walk spoiled’. It’s not a concept I can totally argue with especially considering the frustration I have expressed on occasion on the course. At the same time, golf is a good excuse for a walk and I can use all the excuses for exercise that I can get. You may not have noticed but I can be a bit lazy.
I’m not very good at skipping rocks on water either.
11 May 2007
Sleep = Good
I’d forgotten how my attitude to sleep changes when I’m on 3rd shift.
When I’m working 1st shift, sleep happens when there is time for it. I know I need sleep because a lack of it makes me cranky and dumb. Given the opportunity, my body would choose to sleep from 02:00 – 10:00. As a result, going to sleep at 22:00 – 23:00 in order to wake up at 05:30 is not a natural choice for me but my body did figure it out eventually. The weekend is often a time to catch up a bit on my sleep, sometimes even to the point of curling up on the couch while Spongebob or Oddparents is on and taking a little nap. It’s not that I find those shows boring but that I’ve seen most of them so I’m not struggling to watch them as I doze off, afraid I’m going to miss something.
When I’m working 3rd shift, sleep is a necessity. In fact, I feel I need more of it to survive the night. I do not tolerate myself dozing off at work so the more sleep I get, the better. The first week or so was no problem; I got home, ate a little something and would pass out on the couch watching the Muppet Show before waking up enough to go to bed. After that, I started over-sleeping, sleeping for 10 or 11 hours straight, waking up tired and grumpy. I started setting the alarm on non-busy nights to stop this. In the last week or so, I’ve started under-sleeping, not unlike being on 1st shift and only getting 6 or 7 hours of sleep a day. I keep myself busy during the weekend nights, afraid that I wouldn’t nap but sleep and be unable to sleep during the day. That would just lead to a screwed up sleep schedule during the week.
Long term that plan isn’t viable. There’s stuff I have to do during the day and, if I was going to stay on 3rd shift, I’d probably try to learn how to sleep in chunks of time, get up to do stuff and sleep more, rather than sleeping all at once. My buddy the cop does that and it seems to work for him. Luckily, this shift isn’t a long term plan. Unless something goes horribly wrong, this is my last night on 3rd. Hooray! Now my friends will no longer be scared by emails I send at 03:00, at least until the next time I stay up too late drinking…
Speaking of which, don't post drunken comments on people's MySpace pages in the middle of the night. It's like writing down all the stupid stuff you say when you're drunk so you can see how dumb you really are at that moment. And no one wants that. Well, except me because I think it's funny. That's just me I guess.
When I’m working 1st shift, sleep happens when there is time for it. I know I need sleep because a lack of it makes me cranky and dumb. Given the opportunity, my body would choose to sleep from 02:00 – 10:00. As a result, going to sleep at 22:00 – 23:00 in order to wake up at 05:30 is not a natural choice for me but my body did figure it out eventually. The weekend is often a time to catch up a bit on my sleep, sometimes even to the point of curling up on the couch while Spongebob or Oddparents is on and taking a little nap. It’s not that I find those shows boring but that I’ve seen most of them so I’m not struggling to watch them as I doze off, afraid I’m going to miss something.
When I’m working 3rd shift, sleep is a necessity. In fact, I feel I need more of it to survive the night. I do not tolerate myself dozing off at work so the more sleep I get, the better. The first week or so was no problem; I got home, ate a little something and would pass out on the couch watching the Muppet Show before waking up enough to go to bed. After that, I started over-sleeping, sleeping for 10 or 11 hours straight, waking up tired and grumpy. I started setting the alarm on non-busy nights to stop this. In the last week or so, I’ve started under-sleeping, not unlike being on 1st shift and only getting 6 or 7 hours of sleep a day. I keep myself busy during the weekend nights, afraid that I wouldn’t nap but sleep and be unable to sleep during the day. That would just lead to a screwed up sleep schedule during the week.
Long term that plan isn’t viable. There’s stuff I have to do during the day and, if I was going to stay on 3rd shift, I’d probably try to learn how to sleep in chunks of time, get up to do stuff and sleep more, rather than sleeping all at once. My buddy the cop does that and it seems to work for him. Luckily, this shift isn’t a long term plan. Unless something goes horribly wrong, this is my last night on 3rd. Hooray! Now my friends will no longer be scared by emails I send at 03:00, at least until the next time I stay up too late drinking…
Speaking of which, don't post drunken comments on people's MySpace pages in the middle of the night. It's like writing down all the stupid stuff you say when you're drunk so you can see how dumb you really are at that moment. And no one wants that. Well, except me because I think it's funny. That's just me I guess.
30 April 2007
Another update from third shift
News flash: still not enjoying third shift.
I'm not all grumpy like last week but third shift is definitely eating away at me. I've started oversleeping during the day: almost 10 hours Saturday and about 11 on Sunday. I wake up tired and unable to get in the swing of things speedily. When this happens on a normal weekend it's not that big a deal but when you don't wake up on Saturday night until 20:00 and you're not up and going until closer to 22:00 it can impact plans a little bit. Missed out on a concert Saturday night and last night I just sat around being groggy until it was time to go to work. No fun.
That said, Saturday night/Sunday morning TV is better than Friday night/Saturday morning TV. Fuse had a 'The Whitest Kids U Know' marathon on Saturday night and I followed that with a surprisingly good episode of 120 Minutes on VH-1 Classic. 'Whitest Kids' is decent sketch comedy that occasionally becomes brilliant and 120 Minutes is two hours of 'alternate' music videos. So I had fun.
Been rewatching Season One of the Muppet Show before I go to sleep in the mornings. Season Two is supposed to be out late this summer. Cannot wait! Love Muppets. Steve tired. Want to watch Muppets now.
Stupid third shift.
I'm not all grumpy like last week but third shift is definitely eating away at me. I've started oversleeping during the day: almost 10 hours Saturday and about 11 on Sunday. I wake up tired and unable to get in the swing of things speedily. When this happens on a normal weekend it's not that big a deal but when you don't wake up on Saturday night until 20:00 and you're not up and going until closer to 22:00 it can impact plans a little bit. Missed out on a concert Saturday night and last night I just sat around being groggy until it was time to go to work. No fun.
That said, Saturday night/Sunday morning TV is better than Friday night/Saturday morning TV. Fuse had a 'The Whitest Kids U Know' marathon on Saturday night and I followed that with a surprisingly good episode of 120 Minutes on VH-1 Classic. 'Whitest Kids' is decent sketch comedy that occasionally becomes brilliant and 120 Minutes is two hours of 'alternate' music videos. So I had fun.
Been rewatching Season One of the Muppet Show before I go to sleep in the mornings. Season Two is supposed to be out late this summer. Cannot wait! Love Muppets. Steve tired. Want to watch Muppets now.
Stupid third shift.
23 April 2007
Ramble Mode Activated
My one week stretch on third shift got extended to one month, maybe even one month and a couple days. I got the dreaded 'thing stuck in my eye' problem Saturday morning and removing my contacts didn't help as said item remained in my eye to torment it. This doesn't seem fair to me. As a result, I'm tired, cranky cause I'm wearing my glasses and my eyes are sore. Driving into work last night was no fun at all because I felt blind in the dark and the wind was so strong that it kept blowing my hat off. I am cranky Steve and, in general, just not pleased about stuff. So, let's ramble.
I considered tossing my two cents in the ring about the whole Don Imus thing but I decided against it. I've read my own position enough times to no longer feel the need to express it in length. In short: Don Imus made his living for years saying stupid stuff like this and, while I believe he has every right to say stupid stuff, other people have the right to be offended by him saying stupid stuff. On the other hand, while I can understand being offended by his statement, was it really that big a deal? How does his comment stack up against the images in rap music videoes depicting women? My conclusion: everyone involved on both sides is too eager for attention and I'm already given them too much of mine already.
Switching gears, late night television has gotten worse since the days that I worked nights regularly. Somehow it seems that the amount of 'paid programming' at 3 in the morning has increased to where I was scanning through pages and pages of it. I don't understand why there is 'paid programming' anyway. I have cable tv. All my programming is being paid for already. There's plenty of old programming that's gone into public domain that could be broadcast relatively cheaply. Stupid infomericals.
I don't know why I'm complaining about tv in the middle of the night when I didn't end up watching it anyway. This is why I have DVDs and the whole 'convert my old tapes to DVD' projects to keep me entertained. The bad part about that is that I have all this stuff I can watch and, at 3 in the morning, nothing strikes my fancy. It's not unlike being hungry, not knowing what to eat, going to look at a full cupboard and then going out for fast food because you don't what to eat anything you already own. Worst yet is going out to get food you could make yourself. I have all the seasons of 'Futurama' on DVD. I never watch the DVD but I watch the airings on Adult Swim all the time. Why? I can watch whichever episode I want but I let the broadcaster decide for me. I have too many options. Sometimes they overwhelm me and I watch what they give me. Saturday night I sat at the Compound and we watched the 'Lost in Space' movie from satellite. Why? It caught our attention and it's really quite a good movie, certainly better than I remembered. Did we have better options? Probably but we accepted what they gave us and went from there.
Does any of this have a point? Not really.
I considered tossing my two cents in the ring about the whole Don Imus thing but I decided against it. I've read my own position enough times to no longer feel the need to express it in length. In short: Don Imus made his living for years saying stupid stuff like this and, while I believe he has every right to say stupid stuff, other people have the right to be offended by him saying stupid stuff. On the other hand, while I can understand being offended by his statement, was it really that big a deal? How does his comment stack up against the images in rap music videoes depicting women? My conclusion: everyone involved on both sides is too eager for attention and I'm already given them too much of mine already.
Switching gears, late night television has gotten worse since the days that I worked nights regularly. Somehow it seems that the amount of 'paid programming' at 3 in the morning has increased to where I was scanning through pages and pages of it. I don't understand why there is 'paid programming' anyway. I have cable tv. All my programming is being paid for already. There's plenty of old programming that's gone into public domain that could be broadcast relatively cheaply. Stupid infomericals.
I don't know why I'm complaining about tv in the middle of the night when I didn't end up watching it anyway. This is why I have DVDs and the whole 'convert my old tapes to DVD' projects to keep me entertained. The bad part about that is that I have all this stuff I can watch and, at 3 in the morning, nothing strikes my fancy. It's not unlike being hungry, not knowing what to eat, going to look at a full cupboard and then going out for fast food because you don't what to eat anything you already own. Worst yet is going out to get food you could make yourself. I have all the seasons of 'Futurama' on DVD. I never watch the DVD but I watch the airings on Adult Swim all the time. Why? I can watch whichever episode I want but I let the broadcaster decide for me. I have too many options. Sometimes they overwhelm me and I watch what they give me. Saturday night I sat at the Compound and we watched the 'Lost in Space' movie from satellite. Why? It caught our attention and it's really quite a good movie, certainly better than I remembered. Did we have better options? Probably but we accepted what they gave us and went from there.
Does any of this have a point? Not really.
16 April 2007
Working Third Shift
I'm on Third Shift this week at work so that I can train a new guy. In a few minutes I'll be leaving home for night two. It's already been rough and messed up my flow. I haven't sleep enough. It takes a lot of energy to stay up all night, even though I'm inclined to stay up late given the opportunity. Last night was relatively busy and that helped me keep moving as well as giving me things to show the new guy. That said, I'll be happy when this is done. There is a possibility that this need may stretch for a month and I hope I won't be doing this for that entire month.
The one thing I've learned so far is that little chocolate donuts do go well with beer.
The one thing I've learned so far is that little chocolate donuts do go well with beer.
08 April 2007
Ideas Continued
One of the problems with announcing that you have an idea is that people want to know about it. This is not the worst thing in the world, having people being interested in your ideas is not a bad thing at all. The problem is that I have the idea but then found out that I wasn't ready to go with the idea just yet. I have the story plotted out on paper, as well as the basic characters, but I lack the 'key' scene. I don't have that first scene to write that lets me put all the other pieces in place. So that's still stewing in my brain.
I have another novel that I've started and I've been making good progress on another story featuring El Hombre de Silla. The El Hombre story is actually an expansion of a scene I wrote awhile ago. The story is written in the first person from the perspective of Patrick Thompson, 'hero' of the first novel I wrote. The novel idea is a 'what if?' of sorts based on an unfinished concept from years before.
I'd like to say my delay in posting has been due to being really busy but, at best, I've been busy. The rest is just lazy and Wii and new Doctor Who. Mmm, new Doctor Who...
I have another novel that I've started and I've been making good progress on another story featuring El Hombre de Silla. The El Hombre story is actually an expansion of a scene I wrote awhile ago. The story is written in the first person from the perspective of Patrick Thompson, 'hero' of the first novel I wrote. The novel idea is a 'what if?' of sorts based on an unfinished concept from years before.
I'd like to say my delay in posting has been due to being really busy but, at best, I've been busy. The rest is just lazy and Wii and new Doctor Who. Mmm, new Doctor Who...
23 March 2007
I think it would be a very good idea
Most people I know have good ideas at one time or another. Perhaps it’s an idea for a project at work when they suddenly realize how to accomplish a piece of the process. It might be an idea for a story. Occasionally people have an idea on how to improve a product or for an item that should exist. Sometimes while talking I’ll hear a good idea on how the world should work.
The problem with a good idea is that a certain responsibility comes with it. Ideas are relatively easy to come by, certainly easier than you think. Doing something with the idea, actually using the idea for whatever purpose, investing the time and energy needed to make the idea come alive, now that’s the tricky part.
I’ve been visibly writing for … seventeen or eighteen years now. By ‘visibly writing’ I mean to say that I’ve been sharing my works with others on a regular basis. My friends tend to know that I write because they have the opportunity to read my works. Whether they have the time to do so is another conversation altogether but they do have the opportunity. As a result, people like to share their ideas with me. Sometimes it’s as a ‘here, you should use this’ sort of comment but often it’s an ‘I’m working on this idea, what do you think?’ comment.
The majority of these ideas aren’t bad. When it comes to stories especially, ideas in and of themselves tend to not be bad in and of themselves. Most ideas are good. It’s when you reach the execution of an idea that it can seem bad due to the execution.
A lot of the ideas that have been presented to me over the years don’t even get a chance to be ‘bad’. Most ideas rot because the time, energy or ability to develop them properly isn’t possessed by the individual with the idea.
I had an idea Sunday. I think my responsibility towards it will mean writing a screenplay and I’m not well practiced at that. Maybe this will change that, unless of course I lack the time, energy or ability. Now that lack would be a Bad Thing.
The problem with a good idea is that a certain responsibility comes with it. Ideas are relatively easy to come by, certainly easier than you think. Doing something with the idea, actually using the idea for whatever purpose, investing the time and energy needed to make the idea come alive, now that’s the tricky part.
I’ve been visibly writing for … seventeen or eighteen years now. By ‘visibly writing’ I mean to say that I’ve been sharing my works with others on a regular basis. My friends tend to know that I write because they have the opportunity to read my works. Whether they have the time to do so is another conversation altogether but they do have the opportunity. As a result, people like to share their ideas with me. Sometimes it’s as a ‘here, you should use this’ sort of comment but often it’s an ‘I’m working on this idea, what do you think?’ comment.
The majority of these ideas aren’t bad. When it comes to stories especially, ideas in and of themselves tend to not be bad in and of themselves. Most ideas are good. It’s when you reach the execution of an idea that it can seem bad due to the execution.
A lot of the ideas that have been presented to me over the years don’t even get a chance to be ‘bad’. Most ideas rot because the time, energy or ability to develop them properly isn’t possessed by the individual with the idea.
I had an idea Sunday. I think my responsibility towards it will mean writing a screenplay and I’m not well practiced at that. Maybe this will change that, unless of course I lack the time, energy or ability. Now that lack would be a Bad Thing.
05 March 2007
Yesterday I got a Wii
Yesterday I got a Nintendo Wii (thank you Moppy) and spent a good chunk of the day playing Wii Sports because that comes free with the system and I didn't buy a game for it. It's also a lot of fun.
The Wii controllers are motion sensitive and so the majority of your interaction with it involves movement. As a result, I am very sore today from swinging at baseballs and playing tennis and such. This is a good thing. I'm not a particularly active person, being a sitting reading type person, and this time motivates me to get up and move around some. So, again, this is a good thing.
Don't get me wrong. I don't expect to post in six months going: 'Hi there. I was an overweight bum until I got the Nintendo Wii. Now, I have six pack abs, my hair's grown back and supermodels beg to go to bed with me.' I know that ain't happening. Unfortunately. At the same time, if I can drop a couple of pounds and be a little less lazy while enjoying myself, that'll be a good thing.
I also got books yesterday so I'm reading between games. The book I'm reading now (well, not right this second, I'm not so clever that I can type and read at the same time. Yet) is about John Belushi, a biography composed of pieces of interviews from those in his family, his friends, people he worked with, etc. It's a very interesting way to tell this story because the points of view vary depending on the person.
It's March 5th 2007 and John died 25 years ago today. Personally, I think he's funny. If he were still alive he'd probably still be funny. I lot of people that are funny would be funnier if he were still alive. But he's not because he couldn't stop meddling with drugs. As funny as I find him, that annoys me. Dumbass.
At the same time, I look at my lazy self, the beer I'll drink once I'm done with this and wonder if, in some small way, I'm doing the same thing, if we're all doing the same thing and we're trying not to think about it. In a way, he was just a little quicker about it.
...
The heck with this, I'm going to play more Wii before I depress myself.
The Wii controllers are motion sensitive and so the majority of your interaction with it involves movement. As a result, I am very sore today from swinging at baseballs and playing tennis and such. This is a good thing. I'm not a particularly active person, being a sitting reading type person, and this time motivates me to get up and move around some. So, again, this is a good thing.
Don't get me wrong. I don't expect to post in six months going: 'Hi there. I was an overweight bum until I got the Nintendo Wii. Now, I have six pack abs, my hair's grown back and supermodels beg to go to bed with me.' I know that ain't happening. Unfortunately. At the same time, if I can drop a couple of pounds and be a little less lazy while enjoying myself, that'll be a good thing.
I also got books yesterday so I'm reading between games. The book I'm reading now (well, not right this second, I'm not so clever that I can type and read at the same time. Yet) is about John Belushi, a biography composed of pieces of interviews from those in his family, his friends, people he worked with, etc. It's a very interesting way to tell this story because the points of view vary depending on the person.
It's March 5th 2007 and John died 25 years ago today. Personally, I think he's funny. If he were still alive he'd probably still be funny. I lot of people that are funny would be funnier if he were still alive. But he's not because he couldn't stop meddling with drugs. As funny as I find him, that annoys me. Dumbass.
At the same time, I look at my lazy self, the beer I'll drink once I'm done with this and wonder if, in some small way, I'm doing the same thing, if we're all doing the same thing and we're trying not to think about it. In a way, he was just a little quicker about it.
...
The heck with this, I'm going to play more Wii before I depress myself.
26 February 2007
Last Night I Dreamt of the Doctor
For a moment, I am lost. Entirely lost, which is an impressive level of lost, even for me. Now, why would I think that? Who am I? I spin and catch a glimpse of my trenchcoat. Yes of course, I'm the Doctor, whoever that is.
Even with a bit of concentrating I am lost. My location is strange, fluid, shifting. My mind feels much the same. Certain things seem right but I can't grab hold of thoughts. My memories are shattered. My identity is distant.
I move, more floating than walking and bump into another man. This man is tall, with an impressive coat and scarf. He's all teeth and curls. He is me, I feel sure of that. He is me in my fourth incarnation. That was some time ago. How long ago I'm not sure. Which incarnation am I? Eighth sounds right but so does Tenth and Eleventh. Other people, possibly also me, briefly flash through my brain and are quickly gone again, with their companions. This doesn't help.
The other me explains that my first three incarnations are trapped in the Matrix. This is what is eroding my memory. If I can free them, I shall remember everything. He can't do it by himself. I need to go with him. We float along to the interface area.
Instinctively I can work the controls. On a panel the heads of my first three incarnations display: the elderly figure I was near the end of my first incarnation, my Beatle haired friendly second incarnation, the proud mature vision of my third incarnation. See, I'm told, this proves that they are trapped. I must free them!
The screen continues, refreshing to show my next three incarnations: the wide-eyed fourth, the innocent fair haired fifth, the strange sixth with his blue-gray greatcoat with matching hat. Wait a moment, if they are trapped as my first three incarnations, then who is...
I turn and see the man I thought was me posing dramatically, arms outstretched, scarf billowing, radiating power like a Jack Kirby drawing. He announces himself as the Lord Emperor of Gallifrey, High...
I slip past him, into the Matrix to free my other selves. The Matrix is a small room. I am somehow told how to manipulate the thread and paper found within in order to resolve the situation.
When I emerge, my memories swirl within me. The opponent, he who wore my former form and was no doubt the Master, is gone. I bounce down, from bed to bed, the thoughts of my second incarnation ascendant within me. Oh dear, that is quite a distance down. I do hope nothing happens. Oh my, that's quite a cliffhanger, isn't it...
And then I woke up.
Even with a bit of concentrating I am lost. My location is strange, fluid, shifting. My mind feels much the same. Certain things seem right but I can't grab hold of thoughts. My memories are shattered. My identity is distant.
I move, more floating than walking and bump into another man. This man is tall, with an impressive coat and scarf. He's all teeth and curls. He is me, I feel sure of that. He is me in my fourth incarnation. That was some time ago. How long ago I'm not sure. Which incarnation am I? Eighth sounds right but so does Tenth and Eleventh. Other people, possibly also me, briefly flash through my brain and are quickly gone again, with their companions. This doesn't help.
The other me explains that my first three incarnations are trapped in the Matrix. This is what is eroding my memory. If I can free them, I shall remember everything. He can't do it by himself. I need to go with him. We float along to the interface area.
Instinctively I can work the controls. On a panel the heads of my first three incarnations display: the elderly figure I was near the end of my first incarnation, my Beatle haired friendly second incarnation, the proud mature vision of my third incarnation. See, I'm told, this proves that they are trapped. I must free them!
The screen continues, refreshing to show my next three incarnations: the wide-eyed fourth, the innocent fair haired fifth, the strange sixth with his blue-gray greatcoat with matching hat. Wait a moment, if they are trapped as my first three incarnations, then who is...
I turn and see the man I thought was me posing dramatically, arms outstretched, scarf billowing, radiating power like a Jack Kirby drawing. He announces himself as the Lord Emperor of Gallifrey, High...
I slip past him, into the Matrix to free my other selves. The Matrix is a small room. I am somehow told how to manipulate the thread and paper found within in order to resolve the situation.
When I emerge, my memories swirl within me. The opponent, he who wore my former form and was no doubt the Master, is gone. I bounce down, from bed to bed, the thoughts of my second incarnation ascendant within me. Oh dear, that is quite a distance down. I do hope nothing happens. Oh my, that's quite a cliffhanger, isn't it...
And then I woke up.
21 February 2007
Making a Xbox fun again
‘Would you like to mod your Xbox?’
It was a question I’d heard a few times before from those with the enthusiasm of the converted. The details had always involved people I was unfamiliar with, the attachment of extra equipment to the processing equipment and the primary benefit of the mod being the piracy of games. I’d always politely begged off. None of these concepts particularly appealed to me.
This time the question came from a buddy at work that could do the work himself and it would involve hanging out at a mutual friend’s house that I hadn’t seen much of in the past few years. There would be no case cracking involved. Most importantly, the goal was to turn the Xbox into more of a media center than a game system. I was intrigued. This time I said yes.
A few Saturdays ago I visited with my Xbox and about an hour later we were done. Files had been updated, some added and an application or two added to the machine. Upon startup it defaults to a ‘media center’ screen instead of the old green dock. Most important is what the machine can do now, things like play AVI files from a DVD as well as play my Region 2 PAL disks.
I like my ‘new’ toy. The DVD drive is still a little flaky but that’s something to fix later if need be.
It was a question I’d heard a few times before from those with the enthusiasm of the converted. The details had always involved people I was unfamiliar with, the attachment of extra equipment to the processing equipment and the primary benefit of the mod being the piracy of games. I’d always politely begged off. None of these concepts particularly appealed to me.
This time the question came from a buddy at work that could do the work himself and it would involve hanging out at a mutual friend’s house that I hadn’t seen much of in the past few years. There would be no case cracking involved. Most importantly, the goal was to turn the Xbox into more of a media center than a game system. I was intrigued. This time I said yes.
A few Saturdays ago I visited with my Xbox and about an hour later we were done. Files had been updated, some added and an application or two added to the machine. Upon startup it defaults to a ‘media center’ screen instead of the old green dock. Most important is what the machine can do now, things like play AVI files from a DVD as well as play my Region 2 PAL disks.
I like my ‘new’ toy. The DVD drive is still a little flaky but that’s something to fix later if need be.
13 February 2007
Confused
What are there currently more candidates for: the next President of the United States or the late Anna Nicole Smith's baby daughter?
I've lost track.
I've lost track.
05 February 2007
Fair Enough
I believe it's important for a person to admit when they are wrong. I was wrong. I have noted for some years that the Colts would be unable to win a Super Bowl with Peyton Manning as quarterback. Evidently I was wrong. His inability to perform in the playoffs was not enough to prevent the Colts from winning.
It rained pretty much the entire game. It looked miserable out there, not only the field but the play. Messy, sloppy nasty game.
I don't agree with Manning as MVP either. His stats for the game weren't bad but Adam Vinaiteri, the field goal kicker, scored more points than he did, kicking in the rain with a lack of proper footing. Sure he missed one but big deal.
I didn't see an Apple ad. This morning on the website they announced that they bought the trademarks from Apple Corp and were leasing any items Apple Corp would need to use back to them. Weird. Wonder if they are still working on a 'Beatles on iTunes' contract or if that was just someone misinterpreting what did happen.
Eitherway, the game wasn't Super nor were the ads this year. Those of you reading this that care not for football should be safe for a few months anyway.
Bah.
It rained pretty much the entire game. It looked miserable out there, not only the field but the play. Messy, sloppy nasty game.
I don't agree with Manning as MVP either. His stats for the game weren't bad but Adam Vinaiteri, the field goal kicker, scored more points than he did, kicking in the rain with a lack of proper footing. Sure he missed one but big deal.
I didn't see an Apple ad. This morning on the website they announced that they bought the trademarks from Apple Corp and were leasing any items Apple Corp would need to use back to them. Weird. Wonder if they are still working on a 'Beatles on iTunes' contract or if that was just someone misinterpreting what did happen.
Eitherway, the game wasn't Super nor were the ads this year. Those of you reading this that care not for football should be safe for a few months anyway.
Bah.
04 February 2007
Go!!! nobody...
Today's the Super Bowl. Can't honestly say I'm too excited about the game itself.
I live in Milwaukee, WI. As a long time Green Bay Packer fan, it's not in my nature to cheer for the Bears. When they went to the Super Bowl in 1985/1986, the team had momentum and you just knew that they were going to win. I don't have that feeling this time round. The Bears have been a very uneven team this season but have found ways to win. I can see that happening again today.
I have no real love or hate for the Colts. As a player, I'm not fond of Peyton Manning. As a person he seems like a nice enough guy, at least the commercials he's in give the impression that he has a sense of humour. I've spent a few years explaining how Peyton Manning would never win the big one because he couldn't get it together in the playoffs and, until the last half of the championship game, I could argue that didn't change this year. After saying all that, I'd be a hypocrite to cheer for them.
So, I'm cheering for Apple. Rumour is that they have something interesting to announce during the game. Perhaps it will be the new style video iPod or that the Beatles have been added to iTunes. Eitherway, go Apple! Hooray!
I live in Milwaukee, WI. As a long time Green Bay Packer fan, it's not in my nature to cheer for the Bears. When they went to the Super Bowl in 1985/1986, the team had momentum and you just knew that they were going to win. I don't have that feeling this time round. The Bears have been a very uneven team this season but have found ways to win. I can see that happening again today.
I have no real love or hate for the Colts. As a player, I'm not fond of Peyton Manning. As a person he seems like a nice enough guy, at least the commercials he's in give the impression that he has a sense of humour. I've spent a few years explaining how Peyton Manning would never win the big one because he couldn't get it together in the playoffs and, until the last half of the championship game, I could argue that didn't change this year. After saying all that, I'd be a hypocrite to cheer for them.
So, I'm cheering for Apple. Rumour is that they have something interesting to announce during the game. Perhaps it will be the new style video iPod or that the Beatles have been added to iTunes. Eitherway, go Apple! Hooray!
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