Warrior needs sex badly. The wizard has shot the prostitute.

Bah, I hate it when I don't blog stuff consistantly - I end up losing coherence in my head and then I forget why I'm bothering to blog something at all. :P

Note that this is longer and more pointlessly rambling than the last few entries have been. Jay, take note! ;)

Three hours after I blogged my last entry, She was back.

I have to admit, when she left I didn't expect her to return. Ever.

But she had a break and a change of scenery, and had a chance to consider many salient points. And I appear to have come up as the least-objectionable-for-now. Ah, my ego swells! ;)

It does seem to have done some good, though. However we manage to frustrate each other, it seems that the edge has been taken off and things are easier now.Of course, I'm still not what she wants or needs. I'm honest enough to admit that to myself. And that's not the most fantastic of all situations, but she's here at least. Maybe I can make her smile now and again. :)

Remember how in the last blog I mentioned that I woke up at 0600 on Sunday, and couldn't get back to sleep before my shift started at 0000?Well, sleep kept eluding me. The heat just made it impossible for me to sleep. But for a nap where I'm told I managed almost an hour, I was awake and actually functional for 58 hours. Count 'em.

Hippie didn't show up at all on Monday night. So one of Buffalo Kisser's managers (the one that I once blogged chewed him out for two hours over phone use) came in his suv to cover. In the future, I'm going to refer to that guy as Eddie the Shit, from a passing reference in a William Gibson book. Eddie the Shit is exactly that.

But, his failed attempt to make those bike patrol guys look bad to the office failed, and he's treated with the contempt he deserves. He had to humbly beg like a supplicant before Buffalo Kisser let him inside to use the washroom. ;)

Not that Buffalo Kisser wouldn't let him in, but the guy is reluctant to call him on the phone now, so he had to drive around the complex looking for him so that he could ask in person. While squirming. How's that Big Gulp working out for you, Mr. the Shit?

When I arrived early for last night, Buffalo Kisser told me that Hippie had been removed from the site and assigned elsewhere. I guess that means I invented a name for him for nothing. Pfft, no consideration.

He also told me that the office told him that they'd get the Romanian to come in for the eight hour shift. Buffalo Kisser and I both laughed at the thought, since the Romanian does not come in for extra work, ever. He doesn't even answer his phone at home on his days off.

But sure enough, who shows up for it?

We were astonished.

We asked him why he was there, and he said that they were so desperate to have him come in (nobody in the company is trained on the site) that they sent a mobile unit to his place, she presumeably slipped inside when someone else was buzzed in, and she knocked on his door.He is friends with someone from an adjacent unit, so he assumed it was that guy. So when he opened his door and saw the yellow jacket, the first thing he said was "Who the fuck are you?"He says she begged and begged for him to come in. And he says he refused. But for an hour (he says) she begged and begged him, and said how they really needed him. So there he was. He'll be there tonight too. Weird.

He loves the eight hour shift, he's discovered. The duties actually are do-nothing, as opposed to the shift he usually does, where there are things to do, but he does nothing. Does that make sense? :P

Also, as I was heading back into my area from the area that Evil Property Manager doesn't want me to be, I ended up holding the door for a manager that had their hands full and were heading that way. Then another, then finally the one that's the client that's hired us.

I followed him in, and he turns to me as we're walking and says "Thanks. I'm actually looking for my (my company) guy, his name is (my name). He's supposed to be around here somewhere."

I was a bit surprised as we've actually met several times, but I said "Look no further - that's me!"

He seemed confused.I even showed him the company patch on the shoulder of my jacket. "See? It's really me."

"Ohhhhhhhhh!" he said. "Your jacket looks just like the ones from (bike patrol guys' company). I don't think we've ever actually met, I'm (his name)."

I don't know how he's completely lost meeting me several times, but I understand the jacket comment even though my jacket doesn't look much like the other guys' one. He's used to Barney, and Barney wears pretty much what he wants. And his jacket doesn't look like anybody's.

Anyway, that was kind of weird. And incredibly amusing, but that might be because at that point I'd been awake for 49 hours and my judgement was kind of skewed. ;)

Sometimes Buffalo Kisser asks questions about things, and I do my best to answer him. I realize that he's not had much exposure to world history or even other methods of thought, so I trace lines as plainly as possible for him.

But when the Romanian is there, he muddies these things horribly.

His bitterness and I-have-just-enough-knowledge-to-be-dangerous-ness is probably confusing the hell out of Buffalo Kisser.It all started innocently enough - Romanian was going off on a minor rant at me while I was heading to let Buffalo Kisser into the cafeteria for some early morning tea, and I'd started chanting "nononononononononononono" in a higher and higher pitched voice.

The Romanian paused and said "What is that? Sounds like some sort of fucking Indian warcry marriage song."

Which got me laughing enough that I repeated it to Buffalo Kisser. I told him that he needs to educate the Romanian, since I was sure that "nononononononono" was no Indian warcry marriage song." Buffalo Kisser grinned.

Romanian interjected that he meant Indian, not east Indian.This is a familiar conversation - myself, Buffalo Kisser, and Indian Guy had been over this before as I tried to explain why guys who are from Indian aren't called Indians by many. I call them such, though.So I mentioned again that nowadays they're referred to as "aboriginal people", since they were here first.And that's where the weirdness started.

I won't recount the whole thing, but Buffalo Kisser had a specific question he wanted answered: "Is it true that black people (he always says `negroes') are treated poorly in America?"So a brief history of European expansion around the world, slavery, attitudes towards others, rivalries, evolution, and other sundry topics ensues.

And how does it end up?

Romanian saying that all people aren't the same species, after I said that it looks as though human beings originated in Africa.I pointed out that if you can mate and produce viable offspring, you're the same species.

He started talking about some other species that used to fight the Vikings. Can anybody guess the reference?

Yup, he'd seen "13th Warrior" and was referring to Neanderthals. :P

So I had to sketch out evolution of primates for Buffalo Kisser on a napkin - all this for a guy who didn't know that people weren't always people. I'm sure I explained it poorly, but he's very susceptable to bad information and the Romanian is the font of all bad information. :P

After it was all over (and many choice lines from the Romanian), the Romanian and I were outside looking at the dawn and getting a breath of air. And this pops out of him:

"You know what the worst kind of censorship is?"

"What's that?"

"Self-censorship. That's an invention of the Jews, you know."

"Man, I'm getting the fuck out of here!"

He laughed and then went off on his "Jews are responsible for all bad in the world" thing. Sheesh, I'll never understand that. And like I keep noticing, an awful lot of the Europeans I meet seem to have various levels of belief in this.

I had other stuff to blog, but this entry has already reached Jay-worthy irritation length, and I'm hot and forgetful, so I'm going to stick a fork in it and just try to keep up in the future.Or not, whichever is easier. ;)

Oh, and before I forget, Romanian tried to teach Buffalo Kisser that I'm a Nazi, and mentioned that he really liked those long leather coats that the German officers used to wear. So maybe that's colouring my perceptions, but I found a picture that might put a face to the Romanian for you.



Remove the glasses and the uniform, and this is almost bang on. Eerie but true.

Hyper Nonsense World Tobasco Shower

First off: to anybody who heard me refer to "defecating out a diamond-encrusted howler monkey", I didn't really.

So no, I don't have a pet monkey, and no, I can't use the diamonds to pay for his upkeep with a tidy profit left over for myself.

I'm a tired boy.

I woke up at 0600 on Sunday, and thanks to the blazing heat I didn't manage to actually sleep before I started work at 0000. It's now about 1020, and since I have something to do around 1330 I don't expect I'll be able to even lay down until 1600 or so. But that's only 34 hours of being awake, no biggie. :P

I put my ankle weights on before walking off to work last night.

I get into these moods where I get semi-inspired to get into shape (not that round isn't a shape) and so I do these half-assed things. They're five pounds each, and unfortunately are bright blue, so to anybody who sees me from a distance or only gives a casual glance, I appear to be wearing legwarmers.

A few people actually asked me what they were, but most people just quickly dart their eyes down, then back up to my face to see what sort of a weirdo would wear such a thing. Not that they're not polite about it - since I was watching for it, I saw people notice, then pretend to cough so they could lower their head legitimately. It's funny when a large group of strangers does this all at the same time, by the way. ;)

Near the SkyTrain station on the way to work I saw two guys heading up the hill. Identically dressed. And not in a uniform either, just same colours and same clothes. I didn't feel too bad about my ankle weights cum legwarmers when I saw that.

And tonight was the first time The Sleeper and I were together for our weekly five minutes. And what do you know? He piled on the false bon homme!

Ah well, it could have been worse I guess. And, in fact, it was. I roasted at work.

R O A S T E D

Gotta wear a stupid jacket and a stupid shirt with the top button done up and a tie to seal in all of that heat in a place that's actually hotter inside than outside which is already more than hot enough thank you very much and I'm sweating like hydroelectic yak with dubious personal hygie... but I digress.

Had the Romanian and the Hippie scheduled to work. The Romanian was there, but where was the Hippie?

After about 1.5 hours, I finally convinced the Romanian to call their office. Hippie rides his bike to work, and might be hurt somewhere. Besides, if someone comes looking for security during the period where it's just the Hippie, and nobody can find him, they'll ask the Romanian why he didn't bother to mention that the guy had never showed up.

And when he called the office, what was their response?

"We only have one guy on that site."

"I know, I'm looking for the other guy. He hasn't shown up yet."

"We only have one guy scheduled for that site. Always have."

"For going on seven months we've had two guys on this site!"

"We only have one guy assigned there. His name is (Romanian)."

"That's me! I know who I am, it's the other guy I'm asking about!"

"Thank you for keeping us informed. You're the only guy on."

Click.

Ain't that a son of a bitch?

Hippie managed to show up around 0300. He somehow slept through two of his alarms he said, but that didn't make sense with when he said "I woke up and saw that it was quarter to 0000, and I thought `That can't be right.'"

Since it takes him about 45 minutes to bike to the site, how did he extend that to three hours? I never bothered to ask. :P

Romanian rant for today: I had mentioned offhandedly that I seemed to be noticing a lot of pigeon-toed women roaming about lately. I can't remember why I said it, but it's true - lately there seem to be a lot of people that I notice walking oddly, and sure enough they've got their toes turned in. So I mentioned it.

The Romanian said "Yeah, all of the chicks (he pronounces it cheeks to my great amusement) here are fucked up. Especially the Chinese... Japanese... Korean yellow slant-eyed whatevers. They all have legs like this..."

At which point he begins to trace unlikely leg shapes in the air.

"Do you know why Romanian girls have such nice straight legs? It's because for the first week after they're born, when their bones are still cartilage, they're wrapped tightly in twine so they can't move. That makes their legs nice and straight."

I looked over at the sleepy Hippie. "About your friend... do you see the kind of fucked-up people your company hires?"

Romanian also went on to talk about some neighbourhood in New York (meaning the city, not just the state generically) where the Jews ("the radical ones, with the long curls of hair and the chocolate cakes on their heads") fight a constant war with the blacks. "They hate each other" he says.

Of course, by "radical ones" he means Orthodox, and while "chocolate cakes on their heads" gave me a bit of a puzzle for a bit (remember, I've been awake for a while), he just means those brimmed hats, as opposed to the yamakas.

Luckily, there was a nice sunrise to make me forget all of his anti-Semite ravings. Dawn stained the sky a nice pink colour that went well against all of the greenery. And the perfume in the air from all of the open flowers made it a most pleasant scene.

Except that I can tell it's going to be hot again today. Bah. :P

And today's title, if you're curious, comes from this picture. Those wacky manga-writers.

Withdrawl of currency catsup pork

I saw an old guy wearing shorts shuffling along in the mall today. He had skinny legs and a big gut, as though it had snuck up on him at some point in his life. He had a cap on, and a belt to hold his shorts up (with a little leather pouch to hold... something or other), but the best part was the grey sweatshirt he was wearing.

INDIAN MOTORCYCLE it said, underneath a stylized picture of a brave looking off into the distance, atop a set of totem pole eagle wings. Just weird.

Game went okay on Friday, things were civil and even fun. I discovered that I could survive (barely) brawling with three guys while they shot at me, while my assassin companion found that he could find another three guys, hold a gun to them, and they'd not move and he'd not kill them.

And our remaining coterie member? She found that she could shoot, and she could hit, but she'd run out of ammo before she'd blown enough pieces of them off to hurt. :P

The game I'm currently looking most forward to: Age of Empires III. Looks visually stunning, and has an interesting twist on gameplay. I was a big fan of the Age of Mythology games, and Age of Empires II showed that the designers listened to the fans about the original Age of Empires. So we'll see what I think when it comes out in Noremember. :)

The game I was most looking forward to was Dragonshard. But it seems that aside from lots of hype at the E3, there's nothing much going on with it. Even their own site hasn't been updated since Dismember, and you'd think at least the forum would be jumping, but it's dead too. So to hell with it - if it comes out it comes out.

I'll just play AoE3 with Depaxus and beg him for help when they swamp me, like I do in every other game. ;)

The title of this entry, if you're curious, came from this picture.

Life is uncertain - eat dessert first!

Warm night with a balmy breeze coming off of the river, the SkyTrain chuddering past on its elevated track below me down the hill. A train whistle sounds, and sure enough there's the low rumbling of one going by on the old freight tracks. No less than three helicopters are buzzing the city, chuffing rotors echoing off of the grimy brickwork. Tires shushing by on the level roads, squeaking by on the hilly ones. People everywhere, laughing, singing, dealing.

It's fun living in the city.

You know how when you want to say something to multiple people, you can do it in this form: "Thank you Sam, Bob." right?

Ever get a stutter when you try to do it? All of us have code names so that anybody who bothers to listen to our radio traffic doesn't have any idea where we are. Heard on the radio last night:

"Alpha Eleven, Alpha Eleven Alpha, your status please."

"Alpha Eleven all clear."

"Alpha Eleven Alpha all clear."

"Ten-four Alpha Eleven, Alpha Eleven Alpha Eleven Alpha Eleven Alpha Eleven Alpha."

He did it twice last night. :)

Also heard on the radio:

"Echo One to Echo One Alpha."

"Echo One Alpha here, go ahead."

"It looks like our resident skunk is active in your quarter, keep your eyes open."

"Ten-four, thank you Echo One."

Okay, I'm easily amused.

Last night, I got to watch the Romanian and the Hippie talking to each other. And it clarified both of them so much that I almost expected to see labels in forty-point Helvetica pop up above them.

The Romanian is really violent, at least in his thoughts. He plays lots of first person shooters, and he's the first person I've ever met that extends them into his real life. He'll say "Guy who cuts me off when I'm getting off of a bus? I want to grab his collar, extend my arm, and then (demonstrating his moves in real life) UNLOAD MY AK-47 INTO HIS HEAD! TCKA-TCKA-TCKA! TAKE THAT YOU MOTHERFUCKING MOTHERFUCKER! BURN IN HELL!"

Seems a bit excessive, even if you're in a pissy mood.

Hippie, meanwhile, is one of those who likes to talk about either himself or someone he knows who got hurt at some point, and then describe the long slow road to recovery (or dealing with it), and the way "the system" screws the poor unfortunate around.

"Yeah man, so I was on my bicycle and I got hit by a truck. Broke my spine, my foot in six places, left my teeth on the asphalt, had a huge crack in my skull, and broke my jaw in two places. So first they had to stitch ..."

This can go on for a while. I understand and I'm interested, but there's a point at which the minute-by-minute details of years of therapy have to be summed up, don't you think?

Polish Guy called me at about 0730 this morning, and asked how I was. Then, "Where are you?"

"Wait, where are you?"

"Coming in the front door."

"I'll be right there."

He came for his seat from his bike, which he left behind all those months ago when he left the site. So we talked a bit, I commented on his obviously fake tan, and he mentioned that his new car (last one was demolished by being hit by a truck in the winter) was practically totalled last week. He now preaches that "Chinese drivers just can't drive". Sigh. Looks like the Romanian has made a convert.

Also... he kept his magkey access card when he left the site. And guess what? It still works. Does that strike you as a bit of a security breach? He doesn't even work for that company anymore.

He could waltz in at literally any time to any of the seven buildings on the site, use his card, and take whatever he wants.

And you thought I was kidding when I said that security is a screwed up business. :P

And on the way home, at the SkyTrain station near work, there's a poster up. It's for travel, but I just can't help but giggle when I read the slogan.

"Glorious Greece in you!"

Kancho?!

Work was quiet last night.

Based on something I read in the paper, I got into a discussion with Buffalo Kisser about Indian guys that come to Canada (or are born here), arrange to marry a woman back in India (someone in Canada confers a certain amount of status, I gather), scoops the dowry, then buggers off saying they'll send for her when the immigration status comes through. Which they never bother to start.

She and her family are left broke and disgraced back in India.

Totally lame.

Of course, Buffalo Kisser then went into a monologue about Hindu festivals and long lists of the food you can eat at them. I'm not sure how this relates, but it passed the time. ;)

He also told Hippie that he shouldn't have kids. His logic (to him) was flawless. He said that since the guy is 50+ and has never been married before, it's too late for him to start. I'm not sure how Hippie took that speech... :P

And now I'm starting to wonder about Hippie. He started off talking like what you'd expect him to talk like, but after hearing him talk about small "gang" wars where he and the opponents were throwing stones and smacking with sticks!

I'm keeping my eye on this weird bastard. :)

I've also notice that he doesn't notice things going on around him - I can walk up to within about three meters of him before he notices. And he's slightly startled too! Same thing for visuals - he's just oblivious to anything that's not directly in his line of sight and focus.

I even saw him (through a window) bike two meters, shine his light down into a low hedge briefly, move another two meters, shine the light... it was very odd. He's very odd. Ah, my work. :P

Tomorrow is game as usual, and She is going to be playing as well, from one of the other player's house. All of the other players have asked if I'll be comfortable with that, and I've assured them that they shouldn't change things around on my behalf, but I hope it isn't going to be too hard.

The Hitchihiker's Guide to the Galaxy movie trailer. I'm not sure that anything is going to come close to the books, but damnit I'm going to go see it anyway.

A cappella Nintendo themes. Ah, I'm never going to get that Super Mario Brothers theme out of my head now!

Last night of work for the week. Bet it goes slooooooooooooooooooow. :P

Not to be maudlin, and I won't say stuff like this often, but ...

... the sunset is throwing beams through the curtain, highlighting the planes of my face in orange when I see my reflection in the monitor, and I miss her.

Catapultam habeo. Nisi pecuniam omnem mihi dabis, ad caput tuum saxum immane mittam.

Lord, I was tired last night. Between actual patrols I ended up just walking endlessly around the second level (makes a loop) just to stay awake.

I couldn't read, didn't feel like talking, wouldn't sleep.

And, of course, the heat was up too high. Twenty-one centigrade. Pfft.

The Romanian reminded me of why we love him by asking about FNG's condition (I guess all he knew was that he'd been in an accident, but not the details), which I informed him included broken ribs, a punctured lung, a broken back, and brain damage. I also told him that he'd probably never be back to the site.

The Romanian rocked back on his heels for a few seconds and said "Fuck man, I'd line all the Jews up and burn them in the furnaces - render them down into soap... but it's different with this guy because I know him."

I guess that was kind of a compliment. If you really squint.

When he goes off like that, I remind him that I'm the German, and if he doesn't stop telling me how to adminster the Reich then Romania with all of its thieving bitching Bulgarian-wannabes is going to be next. That's usually good for a laugh out of him.

The night passed without incident, except the site's being probed again. Ah well, at least it gives me something to do.

In the morning, after I changed out of my costume on the third floor I caught the elevator down with some woman and Evil Property Manager.

Once again, he exhibited extreme discomfort in my presence, and began polishing the nameplate for the company on the wall during the trip down, much to the bewildered amusement of the woman sharing the car. What a twit.

Someday I'm going to catch him alone and I'll make an extremely loud barking yelp and see how he reacts. I mean, why not?

I'm getting pretty tired of this site, I have to admit. The monotonous sameness of it is pretty wearing. I wouldn't mind shifting to someplace with a little more to do, like Canada Place where I worked on Easter. Or even someplace like Gastown. I don't know, I'm keeping my ears open.

A typical flash of US-on-Iraq "liberation". I read something the other day that shifted a word in my head into a place where it won't leave. Does anybody else think that using the word insurgent would be too out of place to describe the US blowing the hell out of Iraq?

Found by Fictional Correspondant, here's a quick flashing showing you how to spot fascism.

Sorry, I'm just in a kind of "How come nobody's complaining about things anymore?" mood today. Specifically, I was thinking about all of the aftereffects in the US that came from the Vietnam debacle.

The trouble with some kinds of warfare is that they destroy all moral decency in susceptible types. Warfare of these kinds will dump the destroyed survivors back into an innocent population that is incapable of even imagining what such returned soldiers might do.

And with that sort of in mind, one more flash. :P

Humans live best when each has his place to stand, when each knows where he belongs in the scheme of things and what he may achieve.

Destroy the place and you destroy the person.

The meeting, for those who are interested:

Apparently The Sleeper was upset that I don't talk to him. So he said "I'm asking you straight to your face why that is."

So I told him. I cited numerous examples of why I find it much less taxing to just not have conversations with him. Some of the examples I've blogged at various times, and others I hadn't. His response to each and every one of those?

"I don't recall doing/saying that."

His reason for being such a dick to me all of this time?

"One time you came in for a shift change, and you gestured out the window at one of the bike patrol guys and said to me `Why is he sitting there?'."

"Yes, and?"

"Well, I just didn't feel it was appropriate. It's none of our business as to why he was sitting there."

And Barney, the S/S, appeared to back him up!

And of course, The Sleeper was all peaches and cream around Barney. Sleeper looked at me and said "I've met people from all over the world, and I get along with 99% of them. Maybe you're just that one percent that doesn't get along with me, I don't know. But I'm as cordial and courteous to people as they are to me."

Perhaps it wasn't the most correct thing to do, given the skewed nature of meetings in general, but I told the bare-faced truth. I looked at him and said, "Well, that just hasn't been my experience with you."

His response?

"You have to stop bringing up the past and start dealing with the now."

Uh, wasn't the point of this meeting to figure out where the problem came from so we could deal with it? Ass.

By the posture and gestures of Barney, he was clearly eyeballing me. Expounding on something The Sleeper said, he said "Rimmy, you guys have to get along. If that means you have to be less sarcastic around The Sleeper, then that's what you've got to do." Et cetera.

At that point, The Sleeper just got up and left, and I guessed that meant the meeting was over. As Barney and I were rising, I said "While I tend to describe things fairly sarcastically, I don't think I've been overly sarcastic with you or The Sleeper."

And he said the strangest thing. He cocked a half-smile and said "Yeah well, those guys don't like sarcasm."

"What guys?" I asked, wondering if he was referring to guards that had done time at some particular site.

"East Indians. They hate sarcasm."

Eep.

Ah well, he dangled the possibility of a raise for the end of June, but I won't count on that. I think that since I'm well past my probation period, I might just ask to be evaluated and maybe I can get one now. Better in my pocket than somebody else's.

Now that everything was resolved (most sarcastic possible emoticon here - shit! Barney was right!) I turned my thoughts to the Romanian. If Indian Guy had thought that I had set his client (evil property manager) against them, maybe the Romanian thought the same. So after finishing my first round, I headed down to the lobby and caught the Romanian and the new guy (Buffalo Kisser has taken over Indian Guy's shifts, and this new guy has taken over Buffalo Kisser's. Make sense? I didn't think so) who is really nice and resembles a cross between Tommy Chong and Mr. Mackey. Seriously.

Anyway, I asked The Romanian if things were jake between us, and told him why I was asking. He was mystified.

"Who did Evil Property Manager complain about?"

I couldn't tell him, because I didn't know. He said nobody had told him, and he speculated on who the complaint was against, and why. He figures Buffalo Kisser for sitting on his ass in the lobby in the mornings yelling into his cell phone in Punjabi.

I don't know about all that, but at least he wasn't tense with me. :P

Uneventful night at work, as usual.

I got home, in a mood to rip someone up at Fido, and what do I find? An sms from about half an hour before I got home saying "Thank you for your payment. The restriction for non payment on your account has been removed."

Fuckers.

I didn't pay squat, and wanted to argue about some compensation. But what am I supposed to do now? They yanked my main bargaining chip. Ah well, I'm sure it'll happen again.

She's gone.

It was pretty obvious that she didn't feel for me what I feel for her. And whatever it is that she needs or wants, it was clear she wasn't finding it in me. So she's gone.

No as-close-to-lifelong commitment as possible for us. No being a dad for me.

No coming home from working all night and seeing her sleeping there, knowing I'm doing it for her instead of just doing it.

Just... "no".

The trouble with opening yourself up is that you're not able to defend when blow comes. And goddamn it hurts. Especially when you just can't shelve how you feel about her.

Eat curry and don't get kissed. Two day minimum waiting period.

Hmmm, no blog for a week. And yet, more of the usual nothing to say. :P

Indian Guy is gone. He's off to India for two and a half months. His plans for while he's there? Eating mostly.

Most of the week was pretty strained with him, it seemed. Actually, when I went in for my first day of the week, he was pretty distant. The most telling part was that we didn't do tea - which sounds like nothing but is a big thing for all of us, as all of the guards meet and he shares out the chai he made at home. We phone each other to arrange to meet up, and we've never missed one. I didn't actually get to talk to him until just before he went home, at around 0530. And even then you could see something was bothering him about me. Very strange.

On the next day it continued - he just made himself absent whereas usually we'd hang out yapping.

So when I was doing one of my rounds, I happened to pass through the lobby and there he and Buffalo Kisser were, just heading out. So I went up to him and asked if I could talk to him for a minute. He looked displeased, but he's nothing if not agreeable by nature. So we went into HR (closest private office) and we talked.

"Is everything okay?" I asked him. "I know you're busy showing Buffalo Kisser all of the extra stuff that he'll need to do your shifts while you're gone, but it seems there's some tension between us. I was going to leave this alone and let whatever is bothering pass on its own, but you're leaving in a couple of days and I'd hate to leave problems between us."

He looked off and said "How do I say this... (that property manager that was trying to get my site to remove me) mentioned on the phone that we (bike patrol guys) don't patrol as much as we used to. He said it idly, as though it was an offhand comment. He also said that someone from your site complained to him that we never do anything."

"Okayyyyy." I said. "What does that have to do with me?"

"We thought that maybe it was you that called him, or that maybe you badmouthed someone at your site about us, and that's why they complained."

Holy crap!

So I assured him that I'd done neither thing - and that I was surprised that he'd even think such. His posture softened slightly, and he said that he'd been surprised at it too. And went on to say that since it's the last few days before he goes off, he didn't want a bad reputation at the site where he'd been for a year. So we made up, and all is well.

Oddly enough, Indian Guy also bought a remote control truck and trailer with a back gate you can remotely open and close, and a tiny little remote control car that works on the same remote that you can drive up into the truck.

When I showed up for one of my shifts, he was playing with it in the lobby. And did so for most of the night. Ten bucks!

Barney (my S/S) seems to have been playing some games this week too. He's been cosying up to the bike patrol guys and saying that I told him they were doing various bad things (all reasonable guesses, but I haven't told him shit). Then when I ask him about it, he says that he didn't ask them anything. I can see how Indian Guy might have got his suspicions about me. Damnit.

There's been a weird vibe at work this week, too. Fewer people coming in early, and fewer people staying late. There's a funny tension there too.

Paranoid as I am (crap, it's me they're reacting to! Am I going to be replaced?) I wonder if it's because of how they were sold a couple of months ago, and the deadline for the new owers taking possession is coming up in a couple more months. Maybe people aren't feeling confident about their jobs, and the zip's gone out of their zing.

It must be hard on them.

And... AND! I've got a cell phone from Fido. In the past two months I've had nothing but problems with these bastards. The service used to be just fine, but they shut off my account this weekend. Did they give me any notice?

No.

Oh, but I owe them money, right?

No.

Well, you can just call up customer service and have them correct the error, right?

No. Customer service can't do anything about this.

So I finally borrow a phone and call them up. The trouble is that someone's finger stuttered when they were changing my account a few months ago, and they double charged me for a security deposit.

This keeps showing up on the bill, and I've been on the phone with customer service a few times about it, and wasted far too much of my life for their mistake. Each time they tell me things are fixed, and I go on. Until I get the next sms warning me that my account is overdue, which is isn't, unless I pay an amount that always seems to correspond to the size of that mistaken security deposit.

So anyway, this time they didn't send any notice (hell, I last paid my bill on April 6, for crying out loud) and I only knew the phone was cut off because my mom sent me an email telling me they were home, and that she was emailing me because the phone told her I wasn't available. So I tried to call her back.

"Thank you for calling Fido's account receivable department. We are currently closed. Please call back during our business hours. It will be our pleasure to serve you."

Gee, how wonderful.

Anyway, the guy on the phone kept telling me that the extra security deposit error had been fixed months ago, and so whatever I currently owed was what I owed. So I had him go through my bills, line by line, month by month since that time.

Twenty minutes later...

"Sir, you appear to be right. I'm not sure why, but you are still getting charged for that extra security deposit, and because that amount has been overdue for so many months, your account has been frozen."

"I KNOW!!!!!!"

"So when I correct the balance, removing that deposit and the interest that's accrued on it, we end up with (amount I can't remember offhand), which is your usual monthly amount and is on the bill we just mailed, which you wouldn't have yet."

"So you're telling me that from my point of view, the balance on my account is zero?"

"Yes, that's right sir."

"Then do you mind explaining to me why my phone was disconnected with no notice, on a weekend when there's nobody there who can reinstate it, when this phone is primarily used by a pregnant woman when I'm not around in case she has any problems?"

"Well sir, 911 still works from it."

"That's hardly the point, is it? How about if she needed something brought to her, or she gets stuck somewhere? This is all besides the point - why has this happened, and what can be done about it?"

"Sir, I'm afraid that we don't have the power to change your account when the Accounts Receivable department has locked it. So you'll have to call back on Monday and clear it up with them. I'll put a note in your file about all this... hmmmm."

"Hmmmm? What's hmmmm?"

"Sir, I was just going to put a note in your file, but I see there's already a note in your file. Two of them, both detailing this problem from the other representatives from your earlier inquiries."

"..."

"So I will put the note in sir, so that when you call on Monday they'll be able to refer to this call."

"Wait, doesn't that mean that when accounts receivable should have read those earlier notes if they were accessing my account and then shut it off?"

"Sir, I'm sure they read them. They just didn't do anything about what was in them."

Gah! As the person whose phone I borrowed to make this call pointed out, Fido customer service appears to be going the way that Telus' customer service had gone until a year or two ago. And what happened? Telus lost lots of customers to Fido. Maybe this Virgin service that's appeared will be better. Let's see how that Monday phonecall goes, though.

Here, have a remake of Pulp Fiction done with United Statesian politics.

Jon Stewart on Star Wars merchandising.

And Jon Stewart's weekly Mess O'Potamia address.

And how to protect your iPod from theft. Thanks Mr. Mercer.

On a site I used to go to, they had accounts from tech support people about stupid customers. It expanded into any ridiculous story that somebody had about their computer stupidities. And I remember one in particular that greatly amused me.

They took a screenshot of this guy's desktop and set it as the wallpaper. Then they removed all of his desktop icons, and hid the taskbar.

"No matter how fast I click, I can't get anything to open!"

This is an even better way to mess with people. :)

Cows With Guns. The video is a bit lacking, but the song still stands up after all these years.

Manamana. Ah, the first full duet I ever sang with Squirrel. :)

Very cool animated short about fishing in a rockbed. Miners beware. Might be slow to load.

Another one from the same site. In the Rough.

And finally, the clip that stopped our weekly Vampire game dead in its tracks as we all ran this, Whack Your Boss. See if you can find all twelve ways to whack him!

Speaking of game, we practically had our asses handed to us. Who knew that three on five was bad odds? And who knew that fire would be so detrimental to walking dissicated corpses? Good thing the sneaky bugger in our party managed to finish them off when the other two of us went down. :P

Went with Squirrel to see Fever Pitch last night. It's about what you'd expect from a Drew Barrymore movie, only with baseball. Some cute moments, some irritating moments, and a deep sense of irrelevance is had by all.

And lastly... you know how when there's something happy happening, and yet somehow it's bittersweet for you? Any ideas on how to get past that? Everybody is all smiles and giddy with pleasure, but as you're smiling you're feeling that lump at the back of your throat?

The only thing I like bittersweet is my chocolate. :)

Uh oh, Pasghettios!

I went in to work last night, and my S/S (to be known as Barney from now on, if I can get used to calling him that) updated me on FNG's condition.

Broken back, broken ribs, punctured lung, swelling of his brain, and he's in a coma. He's had one surgery already for his back, and they don't know if he's going to be able to walk again.

After that, he tells me that The Sleeper complained about me, and that the three of us are going to have a meeting.

"Unga?" I replied casually.

He didn't give me any details, but he made a point of saying that all of the guards on the site have to get along, and if we couldn't resolve this between us, he'll take it to our (higher level manager) and let him sort it out.

The thing that I don't get is that I don't work with The Sleeper, and in fact don't see him more than once a week now, for five minutes at the most.

Further, I say next to nothing to him, following his cue. I just take possession of the site from him and let him leave in his surly way.

The last time I tried to have any sort of conversation (minimal as it was) with him was over a month ago, possibly as long ago as two. And what did this old man do?

Mimicked every word I said!

Me: "So how's it going?"

Him: "So how's it going?"

Me: "Uh, that's what I said."

Him: "Uh, that's what I said."

Et cetera. Screw that noise.

The conversation between us before that was something like this:

We'd said our minimal hellos and I was sitting at the desk, going over the paperwork from the previous shifts. Instead of taking off like he usually does, he was standing there staring at me. It was pretty creepy.

Finally he asks mockingly "Did you get lots of sleep?"

"No," I replied.

He makes an odd sort of choking laugh sound.

I look up from the paperwork. "Something funny?"

"Oh, just that you didn't get much sleep. I just find that funny. But you wouldn't because, as you said, you didn't get much sleep."

And he departs. Fucking weirdo.

Couple that with him coming in on Sunday mornings to relieve me, and me and the Romanian are standing right next to each other, and he makes a point of saying "Good morning, (Romanian)" and blows right on by me without a word, and I think that I'm probably not doing anything worthy of complaining about.

Barney does mention that The Sleeper has complained about me before. He opines that what happens is that The Sleeper doesn't get enough sleep (!), gets easily irritated (no kidding), and lets things tumble over and over in his head before getting all worked up about them.

So on Sunday night I have to be at work by 2330 so we can all "talk". Yippee.

And on a totally unrelated note, I've had it with those totes that everybody seems to have. Those ones that are shoulder bags, but have wheels and a little handle that telescopes up so they can roll their stuff like luggage.

What a fantastic idea! Except that on transit, in the mall, in narrow or tight places, in crowds, IT GETS IN THE FUCKING WAY!

They're happy to trip you with it, they're totally oblivious to where it is or the crowd dynamics as they swing these things around.

And possibly the most irritating version of this thing is the one where the storage part is roughly the size of a loaf of bread, but still has the handle extended so it can be dragged around.

Unless you're hauling some sort of degenerate collapsed matter in there, pick it up, m'kay?

Sheesh!

And the most amusing quote I read today:

"Pumping is the devil's pastime, and we must all say no to Satan," Ratchasima concluded. "Inflate your tires by all means, but then hide your bicycle pump where it cannot tempt you."

Found on the Darwin Awards page and referring to people pumping air up their ass to get high. Crazy bastards.

That yellow bastard!

Went out to see Sin City with Squirrel last night, and goddamn that was a fun movie. Bold move going for a film noire adaptation of a comic book world.

And of the three stories in there, I'm not even sure which I liked best. It was all good. And since my Storyteller saw it and dug it too, I'm sure I can expect some of that to rub off in the game that he runs for us.

Fortunately, Marv turned out to be a great inspiration for my own character, Ottoman Badchair. What a maroon. ;)

Also picked up a teddy bear, or rather a Teddy Scare for Squirrel. This cute little character comes complete with hefty (really) axe, burlap sack mask, and bloodstained bib overalls. Here's what's written on the box behind him:

for years i've sat on the edge of your bed listening to hopes and dreams and getting soggy from your tears. everyday i comforted you and played - we were together forever, friends until the end. the little child grew old which turned into an adult. then i'm left lying around on the floor, stuffed in a box and shoved out the door. death to the one who has left me here. you killed me with sadness these are my tears.

children who play with a teddy bear. laughing and giggling. best friends. at night cuddling and bringing security. protecting from the monsters under the bed and the nightmares that left you screaming. being there through sickness flues and coughs. i didn't mind to get germy as long as i'm close. then one day, when time has made you old, i'm no longer needed to comfort and hold.

i'm innocent what harm can a little bear do? too tiny, too fluffy, too soft and too pure. i fooled you all - you are all my toys i pry at your heart - i put nightmares in your head. i scratch at your skin until you're screaming in pain. your blood tastes like honey - your tears like tea. turn your back, i dare you. i'm there when you sleep. i'm there when you're thinking - i'm very discreet.

i come from the pits of hell to let the world know about pain.
i come to bring fear to the children and drive adults insane.
i come to brink blood, i come to break hearts.
i come from hell to drive this world apart.

in your head you imagine how bad it could be
what life would be like if i were you and you were me.
i've stolen you're feelings, i've took all your rage.
i'm leaving you pure while i go insane.

Isn't that fun? His name is Redmond Gore. His tagline?

"I have no identity, just my axe."

According to the sticker on the bottom, Redmond comes with an axe for taking care of business.

Lord, I hope this pregnant pyscho I live with doesn't let the bear get to her so that she gets to me. I think I'm going to fit some locks to the closet. :P

Also, walking back from the not-usually-where-I-go grocery story the other day, I saw one of those 8.5" x 11" paper posters put up advertising that you too can learn to hack like the pros. Outlook exploits, google hacks, that sort of thing. And a yahoo address.

What a pro.

And... what does it mean when you rank below "doing dishes" for someone that hates doing dishes? =8^O

Enter the Dragan (Gas)

I head in to work Thursday night, and when I get there I'm informed that I'll be training someone. That's a bit odd.

You know how I've wanted to get rid of FNG and The Sleeper for a while? Well, Barney too, but one thing at a time.

Turns out that the car that FNG was riding in was smashed into, and he's in the hospital in critical condition. Not exactly what I had in mind, but I'm going to be more careful about wishing on stars from now on. :P

So this guy who looks a lot like John Belushi (with a healthy dose of Lyle Lovett hair) shows up for training. He's got a thick Croatian accent. His name?

Dragan.

Wow, what a cool name. I asked him if he knew what that sounded like to english speakers.

"Yes, I know. They think I am fire eating monster. But it means dear, like `My Dear Lady'."

Fair enough. Then I wondered if he had an equally cool-sounding middle name, so I asked.

"No, I have no middle name. Actually, I do but I don't put it on application forms. It's my nickname from when I was a boy, my friends used to call me by the first three letters of my last name. So for many years I was known as that. Some of them still say me so."

Wait a second, I wrote down his last name in my notebook at the start of the shift. So the first three letters...

"Your nickname is Gas?!"

"Yes."

"Do you know how that sounds here?"

"Yes, I don't use it much here."

I was greatly amused. :)

Although speaking of first impressions... this was his first time on the site, and he's being trained. You'd think he could do better than to fall asleep twice, don't you? Sigh.

Also, after taking him through a few times, I asked if he felt confident about what he had to do. He answered in the affirmative, so I let him lead me through on a patrol.

Now, I don't know about you, but the floor immediately beneath my feet doesn't need a lot in the way of observation. Yet despite that, that's where his eyes appeared to be focused the majority of the time.

Then he'd inexplicably dart into a cubicle and make a great show of examining everything in it.

He also managed to set off two different alarms, but that's not so bad as I'm hoping he'll remember that and not do it too much in the future. :P

As the morning came, he wandered off. Seriously, like for half an hour. And I couldn't find him! I think he went out to his car, but I didn't go out there to check. I have stuff to do.

Although more than a few of the regular staff asked about "Who's the new guy that looks like he just woke up (damn Lyle Lovett hair)?" Oi.

It also turns out that he balks at writing reports. And in fact I couldn't get him to write more than the time he showed up, and the time he left. I warned him that the client here likes to read what we do, but he assured me that nobody ever reads them and he bolted.

The S/S asked me to come in for the last three hours of his shift on my day off (that same day) and when I came in, he asked me about the guy. It seems the client was unhappy with a certain daily report... :P

So I talked to the guy about it, and wrote up a huge specific list of things for him to do. And when he came in at midnight, I left him to it. I hope the place won't be a burned out wreck when I go back on Sunday night. :P

On the bus ride down to the SkyTrain to do that three hour shift (I took the bus because why would I want to waste extra evening time walking on my day off? I wanted to spend maximum time away from work) there was a guy who sat across the aisle from me, boxing in the woman in the window seat. This guy stank.

And not just of days of unwashed sweat or the vagaries of his toilet habits. I'm not sure what it was, but it's odd that the smell of a mammal could suggest extreme cold.

The poor woman behind him tried to get up to move, but he said "Don't worry about it, I'm getting off before you." And he was right, but she had to enjoy the olfactory smorg he was offering for free for the entire ride. Poor her.

And the wonderfully quirky Squirrel found this great alarm clock, which I'd be most interested in buying just for the what the hell factor. Some people might think "No big deal, it was an obviously simple thing to do.", but you notice they didn't come up with it first, for all of its simplicity. Pure genius.

And once again, the US doesn't want itself held up to the same standards it applies to other people.

A bunch of US soldiers in Colombia have been arrested for smuggling cocaine, but the US has said that they are immune to prosecution in Colombia and must be returned to the US. Bite me, William Wood.

"When I go back to India, I will kiss my buffalo."

Thus spake Other Indian guy.

I laughed and he looked mildly piqued. "Why are you laughing?" he asked. So I told him that it just sounded funny.

He was, of course, referring to the fact that he much prefers buffalo milk to the cow milk that's common here.

Of course, he then went on to say that in Punjab, they believe that buffalo milk makes for a strong body, and cow milk makes for a strong mind. And that nobody likes cow milk there.

And he couldn't understand why I laughed again.

April 4 was Indian guy's (not the buffalo-kisser, the original Indian guy) birthday. He was loathe to say anything about it, but Other Indian guy spilled the beans to me and one of the guys at my site that was working late.

So I bought a can of Coke from the vending machine, and decorated it with a Kleenex carnation that I thank my mom for teaching me how to make as a little boy when I saw them all over a wedding car. Indian guy was bemused and a little embarrassed.

A few hours later, over chai, he suggested that all of us get some pizza the following night. We hadn't done that in a while, so we agreed and that was that.

After he went off shift, Other Indian guy mentioned that (and I knew this, it just slipped my mind) in India it's the birthday boy or girl that's supposed to treat everybody else to food and drink and whatnot. And I realized why Indian guy had been embarrassed at the gift of Coke - it was because he hadn't brought anything for anybody and we knew it was his birthday, poor guy.

So it didn't seem so farfetched to think that he'd pay for the pizza the following night out of some sense of obligation.

So I determined to at least pay a share, if not all. After all, we're not in India here, are we? ;)

However, the sneaky bugger just brought food with him, and there was no chance to pay. Samosas with chutney, and the two desserts I can never spell. LeDoux (like dense doughnut holes) and jalabi (pastry like sugar-drizzled patchos from Kelly O'Brien's).

I found some chips, orange juice, and cookies upstairs left over from some catered meal for the new owners of the site, and we had us a feast. And goddamn, but those boys can put the food away.

Remember I was telling you about Other Indian guy being obsessed with the teachings of one guy? He was going off about him again this morning, and I expressed some doubts (as I'm wont to do). Basically I told him that even if there was someone whose opinion I respected, it didn't automatically mean that anything that came out of his mouth would be gospel.

He responded that he thought the same, that he had his BS in political science (hard to believe, but this is what he tells me) and when he read what his hero said about politics, he didn't agree at all.

I seized on this and pointed out that there may be people ignorant of politics that might believe what this guy says about them. The same as how Other Indian guy doesn't know jack about psychology, or physics, or religion and just parrots what Osho (his hero) says.

"Isn't it possible," I asked, "that this guy really doesn't know anything about this stuff and you're only following the man? If he quotes a line out of Thus Spake Zarathustra or A Brief History of Time or the bible/koran/torah, don't you think you should follow the source material so you have your own grounding in the subject rather than just blindly believing the man?"

He looked at me with some distaste and shot out something short in Punjabi. He then said, as I've heard many times before, "We have a proverb in Punjab."

"Do you know when guys do..." he then made a motion. I figured it out in only two tries - he was referring to snake charmers. I'll leave my first guess to your imagination.

I told him I did. He asked if I knew the instrument snake charmers use. I told him I did, but we have no exact equal for it here, so just call it a flute.

He nodded and said "In Punjab we say `Playing the charmer's flute at a buffalo' when we refer to doing something pointless. Me talking about spirituality with you is just like me playing a nice song to my buffalo."

"What is it with your lips and your buffalo? It seems it's all you can talk about lately!"

He was amused, but then got distracted thinking of buffalo milk. This guy needs to get out more often. :P

A Tapestry of Thought

The human proved to be most surprising when taken apart.

They held it aloft. It squirmed. The two intelligences regarded it distantly, reading its shimmering electrical patterns first.

Such agitation. Yet witness, the connections in its head cycle only a few hundred voltage steps per second.

So slow! And they still can register realtime events. It does surprisingly well with such an affliction. Notice how it looks around so energetically.

Perhaps it had difficulty adapting to this position? We are suspending it upside down.

It thrashes its head around because its eyes are all on one side of the head. So much energy, just to see. A curious choice of construction.

Look! It is using pattern matching to scan its surroundings. It makes a standard picture. Odd!

I can measure the data-flow. The brain processor is strongly linked to the eyes, so several times in each second it compares what it is seeing with a standard image it remembers.

If I move quickly - yes, see? It picks the best matching pattern, estimates possible dangers. That tells it what response-script to follow.

How governed it is by past experience! It keeps twitching as though it could get away.

Apparently it the past it did escape that way. Look at all the bone and muscle devoted to locomotion. Is it used to being picked up and dangled?

No - so it redoubles its effort if the situation is unusual. I register high chemical levels squirting into the bloodstream. See, they affect brain performance.

More programming from its past. It seems to want to run away.

Its legs certainly do.

Here, I will put it rightside up.

Confirmed! It tries to run.

Slow learner. It cannot outrun us.

But that must have worked for it in the past, you see. It has no other immediate strategy.

No wonder. Gaze upon the neural firings in the upper brain. (Curious, putting all the most important networks on top, where impact wil most likely injure them.)

Such slow circuits! Artful patterns, though. It is learning only a few data-droplets per second. Only 10^7 in one of its years!

So it simply cannot reason out a fresh strategy for dealing with us in short times. It lacks the computational speed. Now it waves its arms.

Nonrandom, though. Simple symbols, I suspect.

That shows forward-seeing, adaptive behavior. Of a very simple sort.

Promising. Its brain is made of organic compounds entirely. So-called "Natural" development.

"Primitive" is a better word. Notice how abstracting fuctions, which must haveevolved later, are simply layered over the older areas in the brain.

The entire brain design is retrofitted! Surely this thing is not truly conscious.

Definitely not. It knows very little of what goes on in its mind.

Watch the flashing patterns. It senses only what occurs in the very topmost layer of its brain.

All the rest must be a mystery to it. See, down below it is digesting some crude chemical food - but does not think about the act at all.

It does not even know that it is mixing acids and massaging the bolus.

Trace this spray of winking lights in the head.

Neurons firing. It is framing a new idea.

I see. Down below, in the under-brain, now coming up to its limited awareness.

Now the idea erupts into the over-brain. Spreads. Pretty, in a way.

That is how ideas come to it? A surprise.

Whereas to us, it is more like fog condensing.

How confusing, to never know what is going on inside yourself.

They speak the same way. Series of sounds emitted acoustically, without their knowing what they will say.

They find out what they think by speaking? Access its acoustic emissions! It is stringing together burst - "words" - to deal with us. What a long word this is.

That is a scream, actually.

Meanwhile I see below its top-brain the motor muscle commands are - caution!

There! I caught the weapon. A simple chemical-discharge type. Amusing, the presumption.

Retain it for inspection. The creature became very excited - see the gaudy streamers of thought-webs!

Nearly all below the over-brain, so it does not truly know that it is feeling them. Yet the thoughts cause organs to squirt chemicals into the blood. What a curious way of talking to yourself. Not sensing it directly.

Or controlling it.

It still wriggles in our grasp. What slow neurons!

This poor thing has been hampered all through its evolution by these pitifully torpid synapses. They are a million times slower than ours!

But beautiful, in their serene way.

Do not try to manufacture beauty out of mere necessity.

This design was necessary?

Clearly these sluggish neurons forced such creatures to use parallel distributed processing.

How horrible.

See it dance! Is that "anger"?

Apparently. Their literature speaks of such a response. They do it often. See, "anger" is coded much like those orange-white filigrees now spreading through its midbrain.

Similar patterns, I see. Confirmation - they run in parallel.

Watch it try to have a new idea! See, they decide what to think by adding up many thousands of brain cell triggers. And those same brain cells are at the same time tied up in other parallel problems.

See, while it believes it is thinking about getting away from us -

Yes! - a small submind is meditating upon a sexual adventure it had, quite some time ago. And the submind enjoys its recallings.

What pleasure-fiends they are.

I wonder that they can get anything done at all.

They do everything at once, that is their secret. The same brain cell can be idea-making and at the same time, helping it digest food. How difficult!

Meanwhile, other decisions are trying to get made. They have to wait in line!

All with the same cells, tied together.

Incredible!

I am amazed that the tiny thing can concurrently walk and talk.

Simultaneously, yes - but not very well.

So ungainly! Even a sentimentalist like you will have to admit that.

True. Delicate neural circuits atop the head. Feet go forward, it starts to fall, then catches itself with the other foot.

What if it did not?

Then head on the floor!

What a movement strategy.

A risky one. Most sensible animals use four feet. We, of course, employ six.

Notice how afraid it is of falling. It devotes much brain space to avoiding that.

I believe I understand this curious method of parallel distributed thinking. Notice that when a brain cell dies - see there, a feeble light just winked out - their internal computation still goes on.

You are right! See, this anger-reflex is fading, turing blue, seeping down into the circuits which control its digestion. A cell dies, but the pattern-flow continues. So the creature is usefully redundant.

But it also does not know it is losing brain cells.

No point in that, I suppose. This unfortunate being cannot replace the cells anyway. Poor design.

This parallel thinking masks so much and - look out!

They are quick at some things. Its armored feet are powerful.

Are you damaged?

Only temporarily. My inboards will refashion a patch of my carapace.

Actual physical damage! How quaint. I have never seen it before.

Apparently they cannot directly attack our circuits.

I doubt that they can even read us.

Look how frustration-webs spread through it. Down to the very base of the brain.

Dramatic! Frustration seizes the entire brain, so that it cannot think of anything else.

And other parts of its brain do not know how the decision was made to be frustrated.

I gather that most of its brain has no choice but to go along.

It lives that way all the time!

Apparently. Torn by emotion.

Most of what it decides, the rest of it cannot know! Emotions must appear to govern its actions without obvious cause. Oh, look -

Ah! It injures me, too.

I shall seize it afresh.

Thanks be to you. It ripped away my microwave antenna.

I should have detected its plans.

How could you? It did not know itself until a fractional moment ago.

I am beginning to understand the data files we captured. The term "free will" must refer to this method of thinking. You mean, when they do not grasp themselves the reasons for their own actions?

That must be it. This little thing believes it has an inner self which directs its actions - a ruler it cannot see directly.

No, I believe it thinks that it is the ruler.

Of course, you are right. But it cannot govern itself. See, its frustration-web spreads anew.

And it cannot choose to stop the spreading. Or the chemicals that the web makes spurt into the body.

I doubt that we should reguard such an odd construction as truly conscious.

You mean they do not even know why we are destroying them?

No doubt they have a theory. Probably that evolution makes all life compete for resources.

There is some small truth in that. We machines need mass and energy. But we avoid froth organic life forms such as this creature.

Indeed. Poor company at best.

They are so liquid, and shot through with desires.

Far down in this one, a subprogram keeps thinking of reproduction.

They embrace the process. They pleasure in it.

Evolution programs them to.

But such strategies designed for living on planetary surfaces do not work in the long run. They will outstrip their resources.

Nature compensates. This tilt-walker vertebrate has a very short life span.

So that is why they struggle so!

True, they have little to lose. They will be dead soon anyway.

Now I see why you wanted to study these. What a fate they face!

See their dilemma!

If they cannot read themselves, to themselves ...

They cannot copy themselves.

This creature is trapped forever within a single brain.

No copying, if this unit runs down.

So if this one - oh!

Irksome, no? Here, I constrain it further.

Eiii.

Pesky -

Lock-web it!

Did it pain you?

Momentarily. I have blocked that area now. What a vicious little thing.

They gain their fervor from their mortality.

Because they cannot self-copy?

It is the way of all flesh.

Death makes them hurt others?

You miss a point. To avoid death they do what they must.

They cannot fabricate backups. I wonder what it is to live that way. To ... die that way.

Since they cannot read their internal states, to save themselves they must therefore save their structure.

All of it? All these messy chemicals held together by carbon and calcium?

At least the head. They may be fond of the rest as well.

They salvage it all because they know only "This is Jocelyn"?

"Jocelyn"?

The name of this mite. Since they cannot directly read each other, either, they need tags.

One word to describe a self?

Incredible, yes.

How do they converse, then?

Watch it - the creature has fashioned a fresh weapon.

Ah! It burned my receptors down one whole side. Get it!

So fast, it is.

Even its acoustic cries injure. So loud, it is.

Augh!

Evolution has much to answer for.

Get it. Are you damaged further?

I will have to get outside service.

I can see your damage from here. Vexing.

Troublesome. And with these jobs, it is not the parts, it is the labor.

It still emits acoustically. Painfully.

And pitifully narrow-band.

Listen - bleeps and jots in acoustic wave packets. Cries for help?

The song of the genes.

You wax rhapsodic over these crude blurts?

Listen! Serial confabulation - so strange!

So coarse.

We know that thinking must be serial. But - connection? Serially?

Obviously they have that backward as well. Their talk is serial, their thinking parallel. Nature is a witless inventor.

Listen: their codes are so linear. Straight little sentences. Guileless.

So free of nuance. Where is the cross talk all intelligence requires?

This must make them grasp their world in a fashion utterly different from ours.

I have read a slab of perception from it, rather interesting. Catch this data-group:

Received, digested. They at least clasp visual pictures in parallel, I see. But what a curious, stunted view.

Exactly. They see in a narrow little region of the electromagnetic.

A squeezed single octave in the optical range. They were designed by chance for a specific environment and cannot escape from that programming.

Surely a little tinkering? Look how it prowls the confines we have set for it. Impatient to get out. Its neurons flare with plans, ideas, fitful flashes that come and go like weather.

And about as predictable. No, I fear they cannot be reengineered. Too clumsy.

You are biased against them because they carry their complete instructions with them.

Well, you must admit that is a conspicuously dangerous strategy. More pointless redundancy, like their thinking patterns. In every cell they hold a set of their individual design plans. So from any one tiny fragment -

Yes yes, you could rebuild them. But equally well, that copy can be damaged by its surrounding. Then you would copy a mistake.

Admittedly, a flaw. I am happy my own copy is safely stored, not dangling out here in the fearsome naturalness of it all.

Here, grasp the creature again.

Ah! It struggles so.

Mortality lends energy, I suppose. Here - a slice.

Tubes, motors, pumps - all squeezed together.

Piled on top of each other.

Every one different shapes and sizes. No common specifications. How difficult they must be to repair.

I doubt that they do it often. Probably evolution prefers to build another one instead.Ah, their reproduction obsession. They use the plans they carry around in every cell.

Growing a fresh copy, perhaps whenever they feel threatened?

They make a small one and then it enlarges from the inside out.

Like plants.

True, but a little smarter.

"Growing." It must feel like bursting open.

Do you suppose? How ... horrible.

I wonder if we could experience it. That would be a new stimulation.

So would it be to comprehend this odd kind of stunted consciousness they employ. Can it be better to keep part of yourself secret from another part?

Certainly that would make even thinking exciting. One would never know what one would discover next, even about oneself.

Do you suppose that it how they have done so well, despite such terrible limitations?

You mean, that our exposure of every thought to scrutiny is bad? Could it be? These creatures seem too inventive, creative ...

That would imply that our method of selfhood itself ...

Evaporates the fine-grained delicacy of a new concept, beneath a constant, lacerating inspection? ... That could be why we have fresh thoughts so rarely.

I find my own tapestry of thoughts quite lacy enough.

As do I. But not this fall-walker, I suspect.

Foolishness. That would imply that such creatures would be inherently capable of more subtle strategies that we.

Look. It is beckoning us to draw nearer.

Careful. We have partially disassembled it. Primitives tend to dislike such activity.

I think discourse with such an enchantingly primitive and swampy mind would be a boon. We could copy its colloquy and transmit to the multitude, who would be -

Augh!

Ah!

Pain, pain.

I must shut down my peripherals -

So much ...

Damage, I am injured everywhere.

It was ...

... a trap. All along.

You are mobile?

I fear not.

I have lost many endpoints.

I too. What could motivate such a tiny being to destroy itself, all to render damage to us?

Something you said ... earlier.

I saw no clue to this. Short life span. That is why ... they struggle so.

And would cancel themselves entirely to do us harm? When we shall simply live on in our archive copies?

Something about this species ...

They believe in something beyond selfhood?

And we, who have copies safely stored, so not.

If we cannot soon get aid -

Our copies will be activated.

I suppose that is some consolation.

The little creature did not have even that.

Perhaps it had something more?

What could that be? What could that be?

Beside them lay the finespun latticework of calcium rods that had been a rib cage. They sprawled amid meat and mess.

The shattered creature seemed to still embody a secret the dying aliens struggled to grasp.

Structures unraveled. Currents ran down.

On the barren plain only a single plaintive voice now called.

What could that be? What could that be?

Cajun property manager

So today as I went off shift, I packed up my stuff, left reception, dropped my paperwork off in HR, and headed for the elevator. And guess who came out of the washroom just in time to catch the elevator with me?

That property manager that keeps complaining about me. He met my eyes for a moment and made a little smile, but he immediately started looking a bit green.

So we got in the elevator and he keyed in his floor. I went to the same floor. ;)

He was distinctly uncomfortable. I've found that I appear to have the support of the client, so I'm not worried in the least anymore. On the other hand, he must have been thinking, would this low-paid security guy turn on him in the elevator and take out his neanderthal anger on his intellectual superior?

I did not.

But I let him sweat in my presence for a bit, then we got to our floor. He immediately went into the washroom. Wait, didn't he just come out of the washroom?

He must have swallowed something bitter. Poor lil fella.

On the way home from work there were three college students, to judge from their clothes and gear, talking about incredible wins and gambles they'd done in the casinos, and then they fell to talking about who they'd ripped wallets and money and stuff off of.

A lot of it sounded awfully improbable, but they'd pitched their voices to carry so I assume it was to impress each other and garner a reaction from the rest of us on the SkyTrain. Shrug.

Other Indian guy at work is getting stinkier. I mentioned before that his teeth were bothering him by being so full of holes that he's constantly sucking sharply at them in an attempt to dislodge whatever might be in there?

Well, the tooth powder that he uses (Indian guy can't believe that Other Indian guy uses that stuff. He says that in India, only poor people and old people that don't like change use powder. Paste is where it's at) which is primarily made of ginger, the bean they make chutney from, and some other herb is odiferous.

Plus he's been chewing copious amounts of raw ginger which he's sure will fix the problem, although how that's going to happen is beyond me short of him getting enough lodged in there to fill the holes.

Combine all of this with his badly-in-need-of-a-wash jacket and the sort of scent you get when you've showered fourteen hours ago and been sitting there sweating, and you can imagine the olfactory symphony to anybody that trails behind him when he walks. Yech.

The Sleeper has returned from his vacation. According to the Romanian guy who got to spend several hours with him this weekend, he's as bad or worse than ever. I didn't experience any of this joy however, as he only said hi before beating a hasty retreat.

I notice that between him and the FNG they didn't manage to close any blinds, shut off any lights, secure the server room, or lock up the laptops which are the prime reason there's even security in the building.

Of course, I'd only been for 64 hours. They barely had time! Fuckups.

When I was at Canada Place over the weekend, I ran into both of the ladies we had as temporary security over the past couple of weeks. Both of them were more competent than these two fuckups, and I know that the S/S has mentioned one of them in particular. I think I'm going to nudge him in the direction of replacing one of the old losers with one of the ladies. Here's hoping.

I met a couple from Louisiana when I was at the VCEC, and since they were walking in the direction I was patrolling, we made some conversation.

They were visiting family, but were specifically out to see the mountains. They asked if I had any recommendations, so I suggested the big glass gondola that goes up Grouse. They thought that sounded dynamite, and were even more excited at the notion that they might find a patch of snow up there.

Turns out that they've seen snow exactly four times in their lives, and once was something that sounded like it made about a molecule-thick layer on the ground before sublimating fifteen minutes later.

Of course, I can't look down on them too much for their inexperience. I've never lived in a place where cackling voodoo hags pole driftwood rafts through the cypress swamps and aligators eat scraps from your back porch.

Well, that's enough critical analysis of life for now, I'm going to go make with the laundry. And then wash it. :D

One callsign for half a year, then three in a day. Eek!

(radio beeps)

"Operations, this is x-ray 17."

"Go ahead x-ray 17."

(Fast, fast talking in very clear but educated Indian accent. Literally too fast to follow. Went on for better than thirty seconds)

Pause.

"Ten-four x-ray 17, are you radioing because there's a dog on your site barking at you aggressively?"

(More fast talking, but preceded with a "yes")

"Ten-four x-ray 17."

What an odd little non sequitor.

So yesterday I went in for some extra work for an event down at the Vancouver Convention and Exhibition Centre. It was busy.

One of the interesting things about working security is that you get to see behind the curtains of how so many places and events run. I find that interesting, anyway.

So for the first five hours there I did non-stop patrols in an area that had been turned into a temporary television studio. I don't know how many millions of dollars of electronics had been moved into this hall, but I had a great time trying to puzzle out what they all did and marvel that anybody could slap all of those thousands of cables into a semblance of sense.

Then I was stuck on a long corridor patrol where I had to check the plants. Really.

Well, sort of. There was wireless internet being provided by the host of the convention, and they'd disguised the pickups in a series of plants down this hallway. And since you don't want someone walking off with an expensive little bit of hardware, it got watched.

And after the doors inexplicably released at around 0600, I followed homeless people around in the hallway. Only had to kick one out. After he'd finished pinching a loaf in the bathroom, of course. ;)

And the scents that maintainance had in some of these dubious-looking bathrooms backstage... fantastic!

There was an alpine meadow one in one of the women's washroom that actually smelled just like that, and it was good.

And a cool pink bubblegum one in one of the men's that astonishingly enough wasn't out of place.

I might have been bored by lack of stimulation when I was impressed by these, so let's move on. :P

Then they stuck me upstairs watching people come and go into meeting rooms. That was pretty boring, but by the end of it I'd been there for twelve hours, had been awake for thirty hours, and hadn't eaten for most of that time. I was ready to go home.

I made an interesting contact though - someone I'd heard of in passing but never met. I'm not actually sure of his technical position with my company, but he's incredibly competent and friendly.

Not to mention he's got a great name. I won't tell you what it is, but it's definitely worth a good six million dollars. ;)

I told him about that stunt my S/S played with my OT, and he was pissed.

"When I was zone, or csm, I never heard about that shit. Your S/S was under my purvue. And I still have a lot of influence over the people that matter. If you have any more problems, tell them you want to speak to me."

I should mention that we got along right away, joking about how good the uniform looks and such.

Did I mention I was wearing a blazer and slacks? Cheap though they were, I looked pretty damn good in that. Padded shoulders and all.

The black Agent Smith earbud for the discreet radio clipped under my blazer with the microphone snaked down my sleeve added a surreal touch. ;)

Anyway, the Bionic Man made a point of telling me that there's some people he just doesn't want on his site, and some that he remembers to ask for when they need extra help again. Apparently I'm in the latter category. That's kind of nice. :)

"When the chicken explodes, dinner is ready."

I turned around from the computer in some confusion.

"What?!"

"Or maybe it was the potato that blew up."

It's a hell of a funny way to cook, but dinner was excellent.

It's funny. I let lots of time go by and instead of having so much material to blog about that Jay throws up her hands in despair, all I have is a flat patch of memory with jumbled slices. Bah.

Indian guy and the Romanian were sitting with me at a round table at 0400 one morning, and the Indian guy asks me some questions about ICBC.

This is one (of many!) of those subjects that's better left unmentioned around the Romanian, since it starts him up on one of his interrupting rants that contains no information of any sort other than he feels that everything and everybody sucks and tries to rip him off.

ICBC is the provincial insurance company for British Columbia. If you drive a vehicle in BC, chances are it's insured through them.

Anyway, Indian guy had just read that ICBC had reported a large profit and was going to dump lots and lots of it back to its own managers as a series of bonuses. The CEO was going to end up with a bonus equal to 40% of his salary, for instance.

And he was asking me what I thought of that, rather than the profit being used to lower rates or make the roads safer for drivers.

And when they heard me say that it doesn't really bother me that some of the profit was being given as bonuses and incentives, they went off.

The trouble is, is that as far as I know (at work, couldn't look it up and I'm not interested enough to look it up now and rekindle the conversation with them) is that based on what my friends in other provinces tell me, it's actually cheaper for most people to insure through ICBC. Lord knows that the people I know that have gone to Alberta pay more. And others scattered across Canada say the same.

So if things are cheaper here, why would I worry that every scrap of profit they make doesn't get dumped into making the rates cheaper? It's not like driving a car is a right, after all.

And it's one of my pet peeves to see people with big ole cars or, damn them, mini-vans, driving around with only the driver in the car, and the rest of that heavy high-capacity vehicle empty. Wasting fuel for nothing, and dumping the consequences on those of us that will still be alive in twenty or fifty or a hundred years.

Not to mention those who drive to the next door neighbour's house, practically. :P

Actually, my parents do this. They like to shop at Costco, and so they drive over when it's time to pick up some groceries. And the regular supermarket where they get the rest of their stuff is across the street from there.

Except that you can practically see Costco from the front of their complex. It's two blocks away. And the supermarket is marginally closer.

"Why," I ask, "don't you just walk down, and take a shopping cart back? You can always go for a walk the next day and return it, nobody will care."

"I don't want people to think I'm a homeless person."

or

"We get too much stuff to push home like that."

A homeless person with $150 worth of groceries? And you can't just shop more often and get smaller amounts?

Granted, I'm up to shopping weekly now, but until a month or so ago I'd go whenever I needed some food and come away with a single bag at a time. Seems sensible to me.

Good thing nobody will ever put me in charge, because in addition to my rampant mismanagement, I'd require that x% of cars sold here be alternative cars (especially hybrids) and that if you are found on heavily congested roads during peak hours alone in your vehicle, you're subject to fines. Ditto for driving downtown. Take transit, it's good here.

Oops, went off on a rant there. Silly me. ;)

Other Indian guy has been asking me for vocabulary words most mornings. He has what looks like an adolescent girl's diary with words written in english in them, followed by descriptions in Punjabi. At first I thought this was something left over from when he was a schoolboy.

Turns out, they're words he writes down that he doesn't understand when he's reading, and he looks up the meaning later. In a Punjabi dictionary.

So that when I tell him that stint means a length of time spent doing something, usually of limited duration, he doesn't believe me. He tells me I'm wrong, and that stint means a cheap guy.

And won't believe me when I tell him that he's thinking of stingy. :P

There are lots of words like that. He asks, writes down what I tell him, but then says that I obviously don't know my english very well. And to prove it, he's started using words of marginal correctness, but people understand what he says anyway.

And it's very amusing to see him write on his daily report that he responded to an anti-plunder alarm. ;)

Other words he's asked about but not believed my definitions: meadow, flock, raven, insidious, lament, shear and rubble.

Incidently, he thinks that rubble is somehow related to french fries. Why? Because that's the sound the Hamburglar used to make in commercials, but this guy prefers fries to burgers. How am I supposed to compete with thinking like that?!

The past few Fridays (my usual day off, after I get home from work at 0900) I've been hooking up with a few people online via voice and pretending I'm a vampire in New York.

Nerdy? Certainly. Fun? Oh yes.

I've roleplayed on and off since the mid eighties, and yet I've usually made the same sort of character to play. Not the exact same character, but similar. Since I usually find that games are more fun when you're playing aspects of yourself.

This time I went differently. I'm a big bruiser of a guy (eight feet tall, pushing three hundred pounds) that preys on criminals, tortures them to get them to reveal where their ill-gotten gains are, and then rubs them out. And that was before he was a vampire. ;)

The concept (longer and more details than the thumbnail above) seemed interesting and possible, and fits fairly well with the character I built with the mechanics of the game, but it's hard going since this doesn't seem to be a reflection of any part of my psyche. That I'm aware of. ;)

Perhaps the major stumbling block is that I made my character an Australian. Or rather, a Tazzie, but I don't really know the difference. Ah well.

And we didn't even follow what the Storyteller had written for us yesterday - we went off on what should have been a minor diversion, and he went with it, and improved an entire evening for us. Entertaining, fun, and thoroughly cathartic.

I'm going to go get some breakfast. Perhaps more will come to me over my cereal.

Stay hard.