Your doctor may misdiagnose your death.
The writer you might become, or might become you.
Social media is old news – look toward the new.
Write well. Art is for the head, not the heart.
Surf carefully. Watch out for sharks.
The revolution is coming. Are you prepared to buy off your protection?
Harbor Bay
By Rick Hill © 2007
This story begins, like all stories, with a dilemma. After all, there’s only so much the author can tell the reader. No matter how many details are provided, the reader will find gaps to fill. No matter how easily the reader is led to the next clue in the story, the reader’s mind will wander, finding parts of his or her life that match the story. Thus, the reader makes the story into something else entirely.
This story is simple. A man meets a woman working at a store. Like all men, he surveys the woman, confidently believing he appeals to her in some way. Like all women, she surveys the man, wondering why men develop such silly grins.
= = = = =
Brad popped the DVD out of the recorder. “Well, Mr. Patuxent, here’s the video we were telling you about. Take it home and show it to your kids. I bet you that they will love it and want more.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Oh, don’t worry. They will. I have no doubts, whatsoever.”
“In that case, you can consider yourself promoted to the home office.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll be here at 7 in the morning just in case.”
= = = = =
Lee and Karen walked around the store. Lee looked at his watch. “Is there something you’re looking for, darling?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll finish up in time for us to get to your precious movie.” Karen brushed her hand over the arm of a chair. “What about this one? Do you like the way it feels?”
Lee touched the fabric. “It’s smooth.”
“Do you like the way it looks?”
Lee shrugged.
Karen rolled her eyes. She always had to play these games with Lee to get him to make some sort of commitment about furniture, clothing and food. Unless he was particularly interested in an object, he acted like he didn’t care. Karen sometimes wondered if his nonchalant attitude was just about the objects she asked him about or was it something about her, too. “Do you like the way it looks?”
“It looks neat.”
Karen quietly sighed. “Why don’t you sit in it and see if you like the way it feels on you?”
Lee plopped down in the chair. He realized as he sat down that he wasn’t as thin as he used to be. The arms of the chair were touching his hips. He looked around the store to see if any woman was in sight who could give him that instant acknowledgement that he was still a good-looking man. A young woman, wearing the brown apron of the store’s attempt at a casual uniform, gave Lee a gentle smile. Lee nodded at the store worker, stood up, and looked at his wife. “It’s okay. But it could definitely use a pillow.”
“Is it just because your legs are short?”
“Maybe.”
“Is it tall enough, though?”
“Yes. How about for you?”
As Karen stepped to the chair, Lee looked for the store worker again. She had chestnut brown hair, cut short. She reminded him of someone but at this distance, he couldn’t tell. He looked at Karen. “Well, what do you think?”
Karen smiled. “I kinda like it. But I’m not so sure about the pattern of the material. It feels nice but…well, what do you think?”
“I don’t know. They’re little rectangles. Reminds me of the ‘mod’ 60s.”
“Me, too. I’m just not sure if it goes with the living room walls.”
“May I help you?”
Lee and Karen turned to see a Bar Harbor store employee standing nearby. Lee nodded, realizing it was the young woman he had exchanged looks with. The woman nodded back.
“Yeah, I was wondering if this chair came in any other patterns.”
“Well, I’m not completely sure but I’m pretty sure that’s the only one. In fact, that may be the only chair we have left. I can check for you.”
Karen smiled. “Sure.” She looked down at the chair. “It might go with the walls. Honey, do you see a dark blue pillow or set of curtains we could hold up to this?”
Lee turned his attention from the bow-tied apron wrapping a set of hips that were walking away from him. “What? Oh, sure.” He saw a stack of pillows on a nearby sofa and pointed toward them. “You didn’t catch her name, did you?”
“Who?”
“That woman there.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t. How about grabbing the pillow on the bottom? I’ll look at those drapes.” Karen thought she saw some drapes hanging on a display at the back of the store and started walking toward them. She pictured the bare, royal blue walls of their living room and the twenty year-old sofa they had been sitting uncomfortably on for the past couple of years. She might be able to get her husband to get rid of the sofa to make room for a new one, and while they were at it, she could convince her husband to dump the faux Colonial wingback chair that served as Lee’s recliner. The only time he sat in it was when he seemed to want to get away from her and have an excuse not to rub her feet.
Lee threw the pillow on the chair. “What are you thinking about?” a voice said behind his head. Lee looked around and glanced at the woman’s chest in order to see if she had a nametag on. Nothing like taking a gander at the goods and getting a bit of information at the same time.
“Hmmm…well, Courtney,” he emphasized her name as if he already knew her, “I’m not quite sure. The rectangles are a bit funky. What do you think?”
Courtney looked from the man to the woman walking their way. He didn’t have a wedding ring on but she did. Was he the woman’s brother? Were they buying the chair for themselves or someone else? “Depends.”
“On what?” Karen asked.
“On what you want to use it for.”
“Well…” Karen began.
“What would you use it for?” Lee asked Courtney.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Courtney crossed her legs and leaned toward Lee. “It’s so functional, really. It could go anywhere.”
Karen looked at the pillow. “Well, I think it would go nicely in the living room.” She held the pillow up to Courtney. “This pillow is about the shade of our living room walls.”
‘We?’, Courtney thought. So they live together? “That’s a dark color.”
Lee flashed his eyebrows at Courtney. “We have lots of light. Very tall windows.”
“It’s a cathedral ceiling,” Karen added.
Courtney wondered how big their house might be. “It wouldn’t be dwarfed by the room, would it?”
“Not at all. There’s a fireplace that breaks the room up.”
“I see. Well, I’ll let you all look this over while I double-check the register to see if there’s another store that carries this chair in a different color for you.”
“Oh, don’t bother,” Karen said. “It’s fine.”
“I don’t mind. Besides, it’ll give you time to think about your purchase.”
= = = = =
After dinner, Mr. Patuxent gathered his family in the entertainment room and stood before the projection screen. “Tonight, I want to offer you all something special. One of our rising new stars at work has been working on a unique ad campaign. He says that the wonder of the ads he’s put together is that they appeal to people of all ages, even kids and old folks. I’ve got a copy of one of the ads with me and I want you all to watch it. After you watch it, I’ll give you a couple of minutes to think about it and then give me your honest opinion.”
“Dad, we’re always honest with you.”
“Well, my dear, I know you want to be but I know better. Anyway, here goes…”
= = = = =
“Are you sure you don’t want to buy the chair?”
Karen looked at her husband and shook her head. “Yes. It’s $499 and besides, it wouldn’t fit in the car.”
“Maybe they’d hold it for us.”
“You know me. I have to think about it.”
They walked up to the counter. Courtney looked at Karen. “So, no go, huh?”
Karen nodded. “That’s right.”
Lee finally remembered who Courtney reminded him of. “You know, you remind me of someone.”
Courtney glanced at Lee, not sure if he was trying to pull her leg. “Oh yeah,” she said, smirking, “who?”
“Have you seen ‘Stranger Than Fiction’?”
Courtney tucked her chin in and furrowed her brow, not sure what the man was thinking. “You think I look like Emma Thompson?”
“No, Maggie Gyllenhaal.”
Courtney beamed. “Really? Gosh, I like her. Wait…I’m not sure where you’re going with this. What’s she like in the movie?”
“Oh…she…well…” Lee quickly ran scenarios through his mind of what Courtney could be like. They hadn’t bought anything yet so Courtney didn’t have any information or any way to contact them so she couldn’t be some odd reincarnation of “Fatal Attraction,” in case she had gained an interest in Lee and then was going to be psychotically put off by his description of Maggie. No, Courtney seemed fairly sure of herself. But there was still that little bit of uncertainty… “She’s this store owner. I mean, she’s a baker and she cooks things for Will Ferrell.”
“Yeah, I think I saw that in the trailers.”
“So you haven’t…”
“No, I haven’t seen the movie yet.”
“Well, you should.”
“I’ve got Tivo. I can put it on the list, if you’re sure.” Courtney gave Lee a warm smile.
“I’m sure. I think you’ll like her.” A little feeling of triumph welled up from inside Lee and made him grin from ear-to-ear. From an onlooker’s viewpoint, Lee was sneering at Courtney, but Lee didn’t know it.
“Is he sneering at me?” Courtney thought.
Karen looked at her watch. “Well, if we’re going to see the movie, we’d better get going.”
Lee turned away from Courtney and headed toward the front entrance. “You’re right. See you later,” he yelled out.
Karen trailed behind him.
“Thanks for stopping by!” Courtney yelled at the two bodies walking out the door. She turned to a customer standing at the counter. “How may I help you?”
= = = = =
Mrs. Patuxent stared at her husband. She didn’t realize he knew so much about the way saw TV and the Internet these days. The ad she had just seen captured so much of what people actually did and said. She couldn’t believe the father of her children, who played golf and traveled to board meetings, would have an inkling about modern middle-class life. “Bob, I don’t know how you did it but you’ve nailed the head on the way kids live today.”
“Yeah, Dad!” his daughter exclaimed. “I didn’t know you could be so cool.”
Mr. Patuxent shook his head. “Kids? Well, that’s okay but what about older folks? I mean, do you think people in college and young kids just starting in the work force would get this? And what about older folks, folks who maybe their kids have just gone off to college and they’re wanting to replace a lot of their old furniture?”
“Dad, are you kidding? You’ve got everything here.”
“Well, you guys would know more than I would. Now, I think I can test market all the ads.”
“Bob, in my opinion, you don’t need to waste your time. These ads are better than anything you’ve put out before.”
= = = = =
Courtney stood outside the store as a customer unloaded a box from the cart she was holding. She breathed in the warm air and smiled. It was nice to get outside every now and then. She twisted her head from side to side to ease the tension in her neck. At the apex of a twist, she thought she recognized a couple walking toward her. Oh yeah, the couple with the chair. The man was wearing some goofy shorts and slippers, eating ice cream and looking right at her.
“Hey, have you seen the movie yet?” Lee asked Courtney between bites of ice cream.
“Yep. I got in from Netflix a few days ago. I’ll accept the comparison to Maggie.”
Lee smiled.
“After he finishes his ice cream, we’ll stop in to see the chair again,” Karen said to Courtney.
Inside the store, Karen looked at the chair again. “If only they had a sofa to go with it.”
Courtney walked up beside Karen. “As a matter of fact, when I checked on the fabric for the chair, I found out that there is a sofa at the store on University Drive that has a complementary fabric pattern.”
“That’s wonderful. How late are they open?”
“Well, they’re closed right now.” Courtney turned to Lee. “So, what movie did you all see?”
“’Hot Fuzz.’”
“Was it any good?”
“Have you seen ‘Shaun of the Dead’?”
Courtney turned to another employee who had just walked up to them. “Of course.”
Lee wondered if the two of them had seen SOTD together. Except the employee, whose badge identified him as Oscar, seemed a little gay. Maybe Oscar was a safe date for Courtney. “Well, it’s just as good. It makes fun of cop movies in the way that ‘Shaun of the Dead’ make fun of horror movies.”
“Yeah,” Karen inserted, “it’s not one of those two-dimensional spoofs like of the Scary Movies.”
Lee leaned toward Courtney. “But they do make some of the obvious spoofs of other movies like ‘Bad Boys 2’ and ‘Point Break.’”
Courtney laughed and looked at Oscar, who shook his head and walked away. “’Point Break’? God, now that was some typecasting. Patrick Swayze and Keanu Reeves as a surfer and agent? Like putting the members of Red Hot Chili Peppers in the movie was in character.”
Karen looked at the chair. “You know, I really want this chair. But I’m not sure about the $499 price.”
Courtney smiled at Karen. “You’re in luck. You were in here a couple of days ago…”
Karen blushed and looked at Lee. “Honey, you weren’t supposed to know that. Anyway, you don’t know what I got you for your birthday.”
Courtney nodded. “I won’t say what your wife bought but she did register with the Bar Harbor email and blog system. Your registration allows you to take one 20% off of a single item that’s not on sale. I can tell you that 20% off this chair is pretty darn good. You won’t get that good a deal, even if this chair went on sale. We’ve just set up a mini coffee shop in the store. I bet if you logged into your email or jumped on our blog site, you could download that 20% off coupon.”
Karen beamed. Her silly grin matched the silly grin on Lee’s face as he looked at Courtney. Courtney looked from one to the other. “So, does that make it a deal?”
Karen took a breath and nodded.
“Great. Well, I’ll just get this price tag and we’ll take care of you at the register. I’ll have the receipt ready for you by the time you finish at the coffee shop. Of course, if you want a coffee and a scone, take your time. This chair’s not going anywhere. I’ll just slip this ‘Sold’ sign onto the chair. Okay?”
Karen nodded. She grabbed Lee’s arm and led him to the coffee shop. ‘C’mon, dear. You can get a coffee and I’ll get a doughnut or pastry.”
= = = = =
Courtney handed the receipt to Karen. She turned to Lee. “So have I reminded you of anyone else? I mean, Will Ferrell has a pretty good sense of humor. Maybe I remind you of him?”
“Actually, I think Will Ferrell did a good job in that movie. He wasn’t too wacky.”
Courtney chewed her lips in thought. “Yeah, it’s funny, isn’t it? I mean, it’s like Jim Carrey and ‘The Truman Show.’ Certainly similar to ‘Stranger Than Fiction.’”
Karen put the receipt in her purse. “I agree. They pick these interesting movies to show their grown-up side.”
“Yeah…” Courtney mumbled, looking up at the video cameras pointed down at her standing in front of the register. “You know, we could easily all feel like we’re being watched.”
Lee followed Courtney’s eyes. “Courtney, in my business, it’s not just your physical actions that can be tracked. My company sells equipment called KVM that can allow an IT person to remotely view and record what you’re doing on a computer. In essence, they can see what you’re seeing.”
“So you mean that between the cameras watching me from above, the cameras pointed at you from that column over there and the computer register here, someone could see and hear everything that’s going on?”
“Well, yeah, I suppose they could.”
A customer walked up behind Lee and Karen. “Excuse me. I don’t mean to interrupt but this is just too much.”
“What do you mean?” Lee asked.
“Well, I was just sitting in one of the wicker chairs at the front of the store while my wife was shopping for outdoor party candles for a get-together this weekend and I decided to check out the latest YouTube videos on my phone. This is just so freaky. It was like the ultimate surround sound except the sound was delayed like 30 seconds or so. I mean, in like less than a minute I’m going to hear my own voice.”
Courtney looked at Karen with a puzzled expression. “What are you talking about?”
“Look at this.” The customer held his iPhone up so everyone could see the video. There in front of them was a professional-looking video of their conversation a couple of minutes ago, but the camera angles that kept switching around didn’t match anything that Courtney or Lee had been looking at. Instead, they were coming from the furniture, candleholders, vases, Buddha statues, mirrors and other items for sale in the store.
Karen smiled to herself. She realized the Peer 1.5 surveillance system had been installed in the Harbor Bay store. She knew the Peer technology she had been working on for sixteen years, the government contracts that had paid out handsome bonuses at the first of the year that had given her enough pocket money to consider buying furniture at retail prices, all of it had made its way out of the military surveillance business and into the commercial world. Not only that but she had realized her dream of living in her own little drama. It wasn’t “Pride and Prejudice” or “Days of Our Lives.” It was her life in mass media, broadcast to the world via online videos. She had shopped for a chair and gained immortality in the bargain.
“I’ll take it,” Karen said to Courtney.
Courtney broke her gaze from the iPhone. “What?”
“I’ll take the chair.”
“You will?” Courtney asked with a smile. “Oh yeah, let me get it for you.”
Lee walked toward the front door. “I’ll get the truck.”
= = = = =
Courtney carried the chair outside and placed it on the sidewalk. “So, you wanna load this thing up?”
Lee nodded and they both lifted the chair into the back of the truck.
“Not as heavy as I thought,” Lee said to Courtney.
“Nope. Hey, you know, it’s funny that that guy inside thought you all were my parents.”
“Parents?” Lee looked from Courtney to Karen.
“Yeah, I guess I’m a brunette and your wife’s a brunette so…”
Lee looked back at Courtney, realizing the disparity in age between Courtney and his wife, and thus himself. “Well, I guess there’s a little resemblance.”
“Yeah. It’s like the time when there were three brunettes working in the store. People would come up to me and say, ‘Hey, thanks for selling me that stuff the other day,’ and I’d go along, knowing they meant the other brunette, even though we didn’t look anything alike.”
Lee looked back at the store front. “You think they’re videoing us now?”
Courtney nodded. “Oh yeah, there are cameras hidden in the light fixtures. You know, just in case one of us employees were to carry something outside and get mugged in broad daylight.”
Lee nodded and laughed along with Courtney. “Of course! Well, hey, I suppose we ought to get home and catch this on YouTube. Don’t wanna miss my fifteen minutes of conspicuous consumption fame.”
“Yep. We’ll be movie stars before you know it. Seeya. You guys come back again soon.”
As I approach the event, posting the last section of “Are You With The Program?,” I ponder the future once again.
The discipline that keeps me believing no one reads this blog holds mostly true.
I have thrown up enough smoke to hide my entrances and exits.
I have feigned weakness in order to attack with ease.
I have pushed my literary characters away only to watch them come flying back like rare earth magnets attracted to precious metal.
The years of mental training – virtual warfare (a/k/a propaganda) and virtual peace (a/k/a more propaganda) – have paid off.
Vanity in the form of license plates (e.g., MOMSLXS) demonstrates easy manipulation of superficiality.
I have reached my happy place – the absence of self – rather than the unhappy place – the vanity of self – that some ethical/moral systems teach.
I have played with syntactical structurising.
The new blog is almost ready to accept more words.
But what of the future?
What of the wasteland that TV programming, blogs, SMS, instant updates and other mass media distractions represent?
If I reach the new blog and disconnect from popular culture, deleting my self as a piece of social networking, no matter how obscure, will I achieve the goal that the presence of nonself indicates?
I divided my duties and handed assignments to the Committee’s subcommittee members.
The message will live with or without me.
The Dead Kennedys’ “Halloween” will keep finding new listeners.
I want a quiet life, where I can pursue my dreams, no matter how small or selfish they may be.
Our species will survive.
That’s what my dreams tell me, anyway.
All our usual problems will live with us in parallel and serial, where 3D subdermal circuitry will serve as an exoskeletal communication system, our eyes trained to read bioluminescent cues from our skin, living tattoos talking like computer screens.
My cyborg self and all its memes are slowly dissolving, melting into the molten social fabric that consumes and feeds us.
Not much longer now.
I will be you will be me will be us.
Singing in imperfect harmony.
You’ll see.
Time to finish the novel.
And then…?
Start a new story, of course.
= = =
Congrats to the following who performed beautifully last night at the Ballroom Showcase Spectacular, jointly presented by Southern Elegance Dance Studio and Kinesthetic Cue Dance Club in a benefit for Hospice Family Care: Larry Mylin, Elizabeth, Sofia Ward, Alessandro Scalora, Federico Scalora, Joel Friedman, Greg Engle, Dana, Linda Killough, Rick, Peggy Page, Mary Ann Shelton, Harold, Carmen Gonzalez, Tabitha Denegal, Marianne Glad, Carole Wagner, Robin Pepper, Paula Morey, Danielle Smiley, Joe, Tamara, Erica Gore, Hal Reid, Olga, Doug, Denis, Sharon Karr, Pamelia and David Wren, Jerry Davenport, Dawn Phillips, Wendy Holliday, Madge Genter, Debra Barden, Jennifer Nye, Rob Griffin, Dave Osmon, and Jerry Gilley.
Thanks to Paula at Another Broken Egg, Donovan at Rave, Mapco, Great Spirits, and CeCe’s Yogurt.
From my cousin, Janet: a view for a cause.
I owe you another section of the novel, don’t I?
Before we go there, while tightness on my left side warns me about tomorrow’s emergency, I want to pause for a moment and look at life.
Are you raising your kids holding a concrete set of images with which you feed their mental curiosity?
Some will swallow the cemented mosaic without digesting the pieces.
Some will see a bigger picture and some will see the broken fragments.
No matter what you claim for success – the world’s best wrestler, the world’s best singer, a really good neighbour, mental/physical challenge achiever, ideal social ladder climber, or just simply out of the nest – your children are their own entities, ultimately.
If we have to criticize others to make ourselves look better, then we’ve failed.
That’s why I pay attention to what I say, trying to express the thoughts, feelings and emotions of others in a jovial manner, letting us know it’s all right to let our fears, dreams and wishes find an outlet, without taking ourselves too seriously.
Until you’ve faced death, you only think you know what life is all about.
An automobile smashup, cancer, stray bullet from a driveby, accident at home, choking on dinner, terrorist bombing, arteriosclerosis, domestic violence, congenital birth defect, drug/alcohol/tobacco addiction.
Numbness and hypnotism are interesting cohabitating opposites.
But let’s finish reading that novel.
I have an adventure to pursue.
Another evening of a flashing cursor giving me a blank look.
Names and faces flashing through my synapses.
Debra, Dana, Jenn, Denise, Effy, April, Marcie, the Thankful Girl, to name a few.
Janeil, of course.
Tick bites itching.
Another story itching to be told.
Asking myself where’s the Muse who stands there before me.
My dreams can’t, don’t, won’t wait.
I need a rocket propulsion specialist.
Or at least someone who thinks like one.
Someone who can solve the gravitational equation in ways not yet considered.
Not every sign is meant for me.
A bra on a table.
A ballroom showcase spectacular with a dark waltz, tango and stray cat strut.
An arts-and-crafts room full of wonderful ladies, young in thought and wise in years.
Tick bites itching.
Glenfiddich rumbling in my stomach.
The Rocket City Short Film Festival asking permission for my attention.
Claire Lynch and company up for bluegrass awards.
High school football under way.
NASCAR premiere series finishing up just before Danica drives fulltime.
Nine years without a steady mate, one says.
Giving up on laughter and fun because two youthful bodies no longer exist.
Dancers young enough to be my grandkids having fun on the dance floor, instead.
I’m in the wrong business.
I…there’s that label again.
I can’t always get what I want.
So I wait.
The generation gap is what it is, but I’m on the other side now.
Wisdom is the illusion I always thought it would be.
Experiences count.
My mother in-law’s hometown bridge partners are disappearing from the table, her young friend, nearly 85, almost blind.
I descended into madness – it was a temporary amusement park ride – another illusion.
Another tick on my body. It must be these shorts I wore in the poison ivy patch yesterday. Or the shoes.
Seed ticks, about the size of the dot at the end of this sentence.
With legs.
Itches are illusions, too, building like the contagion of sneezing or yawning.
More to be said, but time for bed.
I’ve seven billion lives to incorporate into my dream.
Illusory.
Alliterative.
Iterative.
Reiterative.
Zombies and aliens aren’t here to save you.
I am.
It’s what I do.
This average body in this day and age.
Composing the story of our lives, neither worse nor best in comparison to other times.
Vertical farming and alternative power sources providing marginal but much needed change to our macro system solutions.
And I’ll keep giving away my stuff – my life, my ideas, my stories – because a lifetime of accumulation has reached its stacked, stored and saturated point.
Would that I could provide shelter for a rocket propulsionist or other friendly face.
My days of funding Muses have passed me by.
Nowadays, I’m all about finishing a story I started when I was a kid.
Solo dancing most of the day.
I can hardly spare a dime.
The tale’s the motivation now.
All I can offer is a space for a character or two.
Free of charge.
Are you along for this ride on the edge of a gravitational trajectory?
What if we could overcome Earth’s gravitational pull together?
Where would we go if gravity waves inhabit the whole universe?
Can I tell your story in more detail?
If so, how?
Where?
A story to tell and then real life pulls you in, the event horizon of a black hole, no matter its illusion, waiting to rip you apart.
Am I able to rip my life apart again for the sake of a good story?
Knowing I’ll just go on to the next story.
And the next.
Until I die.
In the days when I traveled, I could create a working space for a good story away from real life.
Away from domestic life.
Toward someone like you.
It all depends on the adventure that wants, waits, to be told.
I want to tell an excellent story.
A keeper.
We’ll see.
Messages are read loudly, clearly and slowly.
The boldness of silence.
In the humid heat of a Huntsville summer at Lowe Mill in the Flying Monkey Theatre.
If the NCAA doesn’t give the Univ. of Miami football program the “death” penalty, then I want the SEC to go pro.
And while I’m on the subject, where are the drastic penalties on the players?
After all, if there’s no punishment for them, including long-term jail terms and/or heavy fines, then they’ll keep raking in the bucks and leaving devastated programs behind them.
Unintended (or in this case, untended) consequences teach our kids what to expect and how to act.
If NCAA rules have no value, then what are they for? The kids who don’t go pro in football are taking those newly-taught, under-the-table habits with them into business.
Some good news in the education reboot arena.
Where was I in publishing that ol’ novel of mine?
Oh yeah…
While I come back to reality, envisioning an expanding universe, where the first light, and other wavelength data from the far reaches, is slowing fading from view, making me uncertain as to how old or how large the current model of the universe may be…
I push out of my thoughts the noise of daily living.
No nagging/patronising sister in-law.
No aging mother in-law.
No contact with my kind, thoughtful wife.
In the moment, all I have is family, but at the same time, if I only concentrate on my family, then other thoughts, more universal, get lost.
Before I die, I want to see us populate another planet with anything living, preferably us, but I’ll take a slime mold or bacteria with a metabolic rate so slow it reproduces every 100 Earth years.
To get back to me, I may have to sacrifice contact with my family.
I am not the everyday family man kind of guy.
I have predetermined standards of living that are a little more than caveman and much less than cosmopolitan.
What is the basic necessity that will get me where I want to be, relatively happy, but also making progress in promoting our species’ capabilities for exploring the solar system?
I’m tired of being dragged down into the slow, methodical, plodding along of biological data processing tied to my family.
Sure, I married for better or worse and all that, and marriage is the only public participatory social contract to which I feel most obligated.
However…
Not like I’m going to have kids.
My nieces and nephews will remember me while I’m alive but I’ll be largely forgotten after they’re dead.
My wife has her mother to care for.
My sister has our parents to care for.
They’re both fairly decent caretakers.
I’m not the caretaker type.
I thrive on technology assessment and nature conservation, no matter how at odds they may seem.
Enough telling.
Time for doing after flushing interruptive thoughts from my chatterbox brain.
What can I do with an SDHC card that I haven’t thought of before?
Good question.
What do the darkening edges of the universe, the known unknown, have to do with the cosmic microwave background?
We really want the data from the particle accelerators. Really.
But I’m a patient man.
I can wait, even if I don’t want to.
In the meantime, I swing the spotlight of my thought focus process onto other conceptual objects.
A mobile phone is a portable processing unit.
A pocket camera is a portable processing unit.
A livescribe pen is a portable processing unit.
What do they all have in common?
More processing power than an Apollo space module?
I constantly remind myself that the RCA 1802 microprocessor in the box next to me powers, if I remember correctly, the circuitry of the Voyager spacecraft twins, which have reached the outer limits of our solar system.
The Outer Limits!
These are cold, hard facts, my friend.
No arguments about religion, politics or sports.
Something solid, something I can sink my ohm meter probes into!
Here I am, again.
Again…
And again…
Back to the drawing board (albeit a virtual simulator on a computer, not an actual drafting board, finepoint graphite pencil and paper).
Power in the palm of my hand.
Literally.
A WiFi card reader under the flap of artificial skin on my wrist, conveniently hidden by a watch.
Slip an SDHC card into the reader, pump my fist a few times to charge the kinetic battery system and press a couple of places on the top of my hand (a special sequence, of course) to boot the processing unit in my arm.
A current version of a cyborg.
Remotely connected to my supercomputer being operated by the ever-eager programmers dispersed around the world.
[I wish they’d spend a little less time in anarchic behaviour, but that’s the way they are, “hacking” websites and email databases by figuring out easy-to-guess passwords that most barely computer-literate users pick.]
Do you know how much our world economic flow depends on computer processing power?
Online shopping is a small part.
But ubiquitous mobile phone usage touches almost every part of our social lives, which in turn are tied to economic activity.
Thus, this tiny SD card is the lifeblood of how we are controlling what you’ll do next.
I promised you a novel, though, didn’t I?
Let’s get back to the story and I’ll let you in on the Committee’s plans later on.
I hope you don’t mind waiting to find out.
If I can wait on the Fermiantigravitroniclevitating particle accelerator or the other monstrosity, the LHC, to give me much-needed data, you can wait to find out what we’ve decided you’re going to do next.
In person, I’m an average guy.
If you only knew the truth.
But that’s why we’re here together, isn’t it?
Exposing the emperour’s new clothes in this tough year of 2011.
Oh, sorry, I forgot to tell you. They revived me after all.
The guy who had taken over my position on the Committee, the warhawk, is out on special assignment.
I’m back in charge, as reluctant a Committee leader as there ever was one.
Don’t worry. I’m taking care of you, even if I have to kill some of you to save the rest.
With seven billion to manage, that’s the way it works.
See you again soon.
Here’s the next section of “Are You With The Program?”
In the next blog entry, that is!
treetrunkdings 