Live! From Farmington, NY, it’s ‘Who Was A Previous Contestant?’ Night!

While walking to the end of a street to understand why two houses are built on the property at 514 Mohawk Road, trying to determine the covenant/neighbourhood agreement concerning construction projects, it occurred.

It?

Yes, it is what it is.

The awful, dreaded word that hangs in the back of the throat of any [North American] English teacher trying to convince students to think and write more creatively, succinctly and specifically.

Then the band nerd walked into the picture.

What is it about that image?

Thing?

No.

That?

No.

It?

Yes.

Semi-professional game show contestants.

It is a subclass all its own.

You don’t need a degree in geotechnical terminology.

The school of hard knocks or Imagineering will do.

I ought to know.  My cousins, aunt and uncle starred on “The Family Feud” many moons ago.

Once you’re part of the system, you’re it.

The next big thing.

“IT” in bright lights at the top of the cinema marquee.

More important than a marquis.

Marked for life.

In front of the camera rather than the staff of anonymous faces behind it.

A mover and a shaker.

A veritable moviemaker.

From then on, you’re the big cheese, the rumble in the concrete jungle, the jingle singer, the single jangle, the bauble, the bangle and the face that inspires the candlestick lighter.

You ask Franklin Graham to produce the names of people he says are controlling your government’s leaders.

You ask, “Is this it?”

It is.

Must be, ’cause Putin’s in Serbia and W’s making the speaker circuit pay dividends.

It.

I. T.

Information technology?

Could be.

What’s next?

Bangladesh.

Bang the desk!

Have we diverted you long enough to complete a task under your nose so we can let you get back to the last news item that seemed so important at the time?

Yes, we have.

There’s always something else that’s it.

Of course, that’s it!

You didn’t think that iron ore mine would last forever, did you, Fe Maiden?

Every Lord of the Flies concedes defeat at the feet of the next ruthless leader.

We cheer for the power of the people but’s it’s the law of the jungle that rules us all.

Will your government ever balance the books or keep cooking them on a backburner?

Guess what – tag, you’re it!

Meanwhile, in the lab we call Earth

The Committee gave me permission to reveal part of the grand plan for our planetary ecosystem.

As you know, many of the so-called species exhibit a style of behaviour we call socialism (the social kind, not the political kind, and not necessarily social kindness, either).

In order to complete the assignment, the only true function, of the Committee – its raison d’être and joie de vivre wrapped up into one,  if you will – we have decided to show what should be perfectly obvious to you by now.

Throughout history, we have attempted to turn the planet into a superhuman.

Civilisation after civilisation, we have encouraged the development of roads and speedy communications systems to emulate a superset of thoughts flowing over the set of thoughts of individuals like you and me.

With time, we will succeed.

Regardless of the success of the current version of a global village, we are learning much.

For instance, we have very nearly completed the construction of the electrical wiring and automatic functions that serve as a virtual brain stem.

Some rudimentary memory and emotional systems are in the works.

However, based on projections for environmental reconfiguration* that our neutral scientists on retainer provided for a lifetime supply of sponge cakes, we aren’t positively sure that we’ll complete the planet-as-superhuman-model in the next few hundred years before we run of the resources we’ve dedicated to the latest version (in other words, we let you determine the construction method while we provide a general guiding hand).

[*we highly recommend that you refrain from thinking in terms of “global warming” or “climate change,” because it’s much more complicated than a few soundbites or catchphrases; speaking of which, is the APstylebook even necessary anymore?  Doesn’t anything go in this multicultural symphony of phonemes, phonies and mobl fon txtrs?]

Now, can you see how important you are as a node within a node within a node?

One friend of mine still thinks that it’s aliens that are controlling us like little robots doing their bidding.  He has built up a whole series of theories that constitute a personal religion to him.

I give him his freedom to believe what he wishes, as long as he doesn’t decide to dissect me to look for the microcontroller that’s embedded in my brain and has tentacles than run throughout my body (yes, you can see how he’s influenced by movies (“MIB,” “ID4,” etc.) to believe that the brain and nervous system are actual parts of an alien-based controlling subsystem).

My job, while exposing the fraudulent detractors, is to keep you focused on the big picture.  The NDA prevents me from shouting out everything I know but don’t know how to describe all at once (or simply don’t know how to describe).

I’ll keep trying.

I’ve shown you how easy it is to rile some of you up, throw out the bait and set the hook to capture your undivided attention.

Let’s get busy.  We have the opportunity to do this right (even if there’s no right answer).

Billions of us will die before it’s all said and done but that’s the way it’s always been – don’t know why I get upset knowing so few of us will live to complete the current assignment, which may still take several iterations of global civilisation re/construction.

I have my specific assignment to complete, also, putting many of you to use without your knowledge.  Don’t worry – you’ll get credit.

Just like LaTonya at the main Red Cross office who arranged my apheresis appointment so I can save lives of people I’ll probably never know or meet.

Or Jennifer Garner, who hired a band to entertain behind-the-scenes workers like my former schoolmate, Toby Sells, FX artiste.

Or Brett Frasier, who is supporting the global war on terrorism from “behind the fence,” as they say.

Or the people on both sides of the major line of disagreement in Libya – you have families to raise and tell your reasons for resisting the other side – your arguments are valid but only one major storyline will be written in the history books about your sacrifice.

To whom are you related?

The Committee Of UAV Replicant Trackers (COURT) argued its case in court today that UAV technology has advanced to the conscious AI stage.

The judges listening to the arguments asked for clarification of consciousness.

The government explained that a clear definition of conscious does not exists; therefore, a remote operator of a UAV is no more conscious than an autonomous UAV seeking out targets.

Lawyers for COURT brought in expert witnesses who pointed out the intelligence level of roaches with augmented reality saddles that are able to carry out covert assignments and had already been given Level 0 Consciousness designation by the World Court; therefore, UAVs should be given at least a Level 0 designation.

Upon cross-examination, the expert witnesses were unable to say whether the kamikaze UAVs sent into battle felt pain when they crashed into enemy locations or were accidentally involved in friendly fire situations.

A final judgment will be issued in the next five years about whether members of the COURT are actually conscious.

Crusade, you say, or crude oil?

My dear friend, Vlad.

Why is it we have to keep meeting like this?

I offer you a joint Arctic development deal with Canada and you decide to plant a flag on your own, in your country’s name, of course.

Is it Sarkozy or Hillary that has your feathers ruffled?

Is the great Russian bear feeling shackled by his own political ambitions?

Large gas reserves and a huge land mass.  What else do you want?

Lucky for me, I have undeveloped acres of land available nearby in which I can find a few wild, untamed beings to observe and say to myself, “There is something more important than little, ol’ me.”

The KGB is no more but the CIA lives on.

Let’s put the bottle of vodka on the table between us and throw down a few nightcaps.

You may have many “comforters” waiting for you in your bed.

I tied myself to a promise of monogamy long ago.

We are who we are.

Tell us what’s really going on in your thoughts.

Old political polemics went out of fashion with poets like Pushkin.

We will all profit from new ventures.

But you already know that.

Here’s to you, comrade.  Bottoms up!

Compact Pact

“Moammar!  Saddam!  So glad to see you made to Argentina and are doing well.”

“Yes, Mr. President.  We thank your government for providing safe passage all those years ago.  How are you?”

“Well, Saddam.  I could be better.  My daughters, you know, are a handful.  My wife, she’s always overspending our budget.”

“But do your political contributors not secretly deposit many sums of money into your reelection campaign that you will use for your retirement?”

“Of course, Moammar.  Look what they did for you.  Speaking of which, how much do you have in Argentinian bank accounts?  Do we need to increase our subsidies?”

“Haha!  Well, as you know, I have a few billion less than I would have liked, no thanks to your overzealous liberal types.  But enough for me and my extended family to live here for generations.  No reason to make it obvious that I am here.”

“The face surgery went well, I can see.”

“Yes, we kidnapped the best plastic surgeons money and bribery could buy.”

“Kidnapped?  Why did you do that?  I could have sent them down here on a humanitarian mission, and none would have been the wiser, you two being just another couple of humble, poor campesinos needing new identities because you ratted out corrupt South American politicians.”

“Sorry, Barack, old habits.  Your ways are foreign to our way of thinking.”

“Yes, Mr. President, now we will just say they came here for humanitarian purposes and died in an unfortunate battle between the government and Columbian revolutionaries.”

“And what were you going to say if I had not suggested the humanitarian line of reasoning?”

“That they, like one of your American politicians or many of your oversexed actors, came to Argentina to meet girlfriends and were killed by jealous lovers.”

“Uh-huh.  Very good.  Similar to the rumour mill stories that have followed my Secretary of State.”

“Is she as ruthless as they say?”

“Gentlemen, you will never know the true story.  Better that you are on her good side.”

“Mr. President, is there anything we can do for you while you are in our new country?”

“Well, I was wondering.  Are either one of you interested in running for political office?”

“Good question, Barack.  I have been bored all these many years, watching my poor, unprotected people of Iraq suffer the sectarian violence that I was able to prevent with my strong but necessary fatherlike approach.  Many part of Argentina could use a wise, guiding hand like mine.”

“Do you want to control a region of the country or the whole thing?”

“I haven’t made up my mind.”

“Tell you what.  I’ll have my staff work up several background stories for you and you decide which one you feel most comfortable taking on.  Then, we can work out the details of your political ambitions down here.”

“Barack, you are good man, despite what they sometimes say about you in the press.”

“Saddam, it is in my best interest to keep the people happily governed.  Together with you two, we will make this planet great again.”

“Again?”

“Oh well, a slip of the tongue.”

“Mr. President, is it just me or did I just see you blink a second and third set of eyelids?”

“Moammar, we need to talk.  From what I was told, your plastic surgery did not go as planned.  Have you been feeling dizzy lately or hearing strange voices?”

“Now that you mention it, it does seem as if I pick up noises of things and people I do not see.”

“Barack, I have tried to tell him he is joining a group of people who have…how do you put it, new powers?”

“Saddam, we don’t like to use words like ‘power,’ ‘ESP,’ or other new-age terminology to describe our extended body functions.  It gives the wrong impression.”

“But the effect is just the same.”

“Let me finish my conversation with Moammar alone so he will not be confused about what we expect of our reengineered and repatriated compatriots.”

“As you wish.  I’ll go over the information your staff gives me and contact you when…”

“Don’t contact me.  I’ll contact you through the appropriate channels when the time is right.”

“Hey, you’re the new sheriff in town.  My services are at your disposal.”

“No, we all serve a higher purpose.  Remember?”

“But, of course.”

“Well, men, I’ve got to go.  H.W. and I have a private meeting with the rejuvenated Castro.”

“I hear Jimmy is joining you on this one.”

“Yes, he’s taking a private jet to meet us for what he’ll say is a fundraiser for his habitat projects around the world.”

“Before you go, I propose a toast.  To the continued well-being of the Old Gentlemen’s Club!”

“Cheers!”

Sláinte!”

Does clothes dryer exhaust reveal the detergent you use?

By assuming the background of this canvas is the subculture in which I live/work, I present to readers, through their interpretive experiences or experiential interpretations, the idea that this background is an acceptable form of living.

Indeed, it is.

I can get in my car, waste petrol to drive 1 mile, walk into the big box store to buy replacement halogen T-bulbs so my wife can continue her scrapbooking after I return home and replace the burned out lightbulb in the back bedroom/scrapbooking supply room, grab a George Killian’s Irish Red beer, go back to typing and keep track of Bristol racing and NCAA hooping at the same time.

If I want.

When was the last time you played cricket?

Do you have the power to create thunderstorms and waves of lightning where it is seemingly impossible?

Do you keep a salt lick in the backyard in case your freezer supply is running short and you need some more wild game meat?

Have you ever wrestled and killed a whitetail deer with your bare hands?

As a vegetarian, do you know how many animals you’ve killed with your vehicle or by vehicles driven by people who support your lifestyle?  What did you and/or them do with the animals/meat?

Trying to get outside this set of states of energy to create originality is going to keep me fully occupied the rest of my life.

A nod to the guy with the Lockheed-Martin hat – I read your thoughts and they were very interesting.  I assume your poker playing days are over and the mask has been put away.

My roving eyes are on the move.

Time to figure out which set of emperour’s clothes to write about.

When you know the plans you’re developing/implementing involve something vaster than and outside the realm of influence of your solar system, what does any one of us matter anymore?

I recommend you no longer read this blog, if you exist at all.

What I’m going to type about next might make your ordinary plans far less interesting than they might have been had you given them any thought.

As far as the reason for enforcing the no-fly zone?  Well, the atrocities committed by Qaddafi’s family in the name of their personal megalomaniacal entertainment will be sufficiently documented in their spectacular trials before the court of the people by the people and for the people.

That’s the way it’s been and going to be.

Somebody’s always finding a way to revive the Spanish Inquisition.

Morality plays draw the biggest audiences, especially when we find ways to make them personal for everyone.  Were you associated with the Qaddafi family and if so, how much?

Do they still tie handkerchiefs over faces facing firing squads?

Cue the dramatic music and teaser trailer for the upcoming persecution of corrupt members of the old Libyan regime.

I’ve ordered my front-row seat.  Better hurry, executioners are promising a lot of screams and pleas for mercy.

Aah, repetition.  Pro-government forces out of favour once again.

Is a rope too good for Qaddafi?  I don’t see him (or his body double) hiding in an underground bunker.

You know that Hillary doesn’t negotiate, don’t you?

I hear they’re creating a new torture chamber – keel-hauling over razorbacks, it’s called.

Women in power – I told you 2010 was a good year for them.  Now they’re exercising their right to excise.

And you thought your government’s debt was going to be the death of you!

Merkel, you get a back row seat this time.  You had your chance and you blew it with Olde World diplomacy.