If it weren’t for the battery life…

If it weren’t for the battery life I’d keep using the resistive screen of the 7-inch Sylvania Android 2.31 tablet, which meets my basic needs for checking email, listening to Internet radio, looking at some of my favourite websites (as well as a few random ones for edification) and maintaining a daily blog.

That sums up the life of one mortal human being tied to the electronic social network as defined/updated by us in this moment together.

I believe we have arrived back at a blog entry in which the storyline we’d left where the reluctant leader steps back into the picture and tells us how things are going on the Committee, don’t you?

Either that, or release random ASCII character sequences that represent the latest cracked password of a heavily-guarded secret location and let the world of script kiddies have fun for a day.

Sold by Jennifer Nye — independent consultant — the wax of a block of Amber Road ™ Scentsy wax melts in a bowl atop a Morocco warmer which sits in the place where a spider web/dropping covered book by Paul D. Ackerman used to collect dust.

As the room fills with the hints of smells of an exotic bazaar, let us step into the shoes of the reluctant leader and see what’s going on…

Hi there!  Reluctant Leader here again!  Just the other day I was nibbling samples at a shoppe called Nothing Bundt Cake, remembering the scene in some Greek-themed film where a character tries to pronounce the word “bundt.”  In front of me, an eager man watched my every move.

You know the type, always gauging the customer’s desires, trying to meet the character’s needs, catering to the curmudgeon’s every whim, no matter how surly he may be while stroking his curly, unkempt beard.

That was me, the Reluctant Leader, in ordinary disguise, acting upon my urge to Manage By Walking Around.

You see, the Committee is back in crisis mode (is there ever a moment we’re not?).

As you’re fully aware, we coordinate the activities of people you would say are aligned with major political public business entities called nations.

It’s our policy to leave pretty much well alone the individual decisions of those who feel they have been destined to reach the highest offices of their politically-oriented business paths.

For instance, we could predict when the leaders have to use toilet facilities very easily but we’ve learned it’s best to let the leaders think they’ve decided on their own, unpredictably, when they feel the urge, regularly or irregularly (in fact, it was one of my predecessors who won a wager because he accurately predicted when and where George Bush deposited his meal in the lap of another dignitary).

Do you consider yourself one of those average citizens who is mentally engaged in silent conversations with or makes extemporaneous, expository speeches to the people around you about the goings-on of the elected or appointed officials in your geopolitical zone, and get emotionally involved in the actions of officials outside your geopolitical zone?

Chances are you will, if you don’t.

In addition to herding all seven billion of us toward establishing offworld colonies, I have the assigned goal of keeping you believing that world leaders are not actively talking to each other about the apparent rogue actions they take.

Some of you know better.

The Committee is composed of direct representatives of major trends in motion, including the most common sociopolitical movements about to change your life forever.

Because trends range in age from a few fleeting milliseconds to many centuries, the Committee membership varies accordingly.

Just the other day, I found an ancient-looking mummy propped up into a dark corner of the Committee Conference Center (sounds formal, but the room is really just an old cave in, at this time, an undisclosed location near some of you).

I started to ask if any of the Committee members knew where the mummy had come from when it spoke.  Turns out the mummy is an old member of a line of Celtic leaders who’d hope to take over the world a dozen or so centuries ago, but when the vote came up, the mummy had fallen asleep and did not awaken until I started poking around in his pockets for spare change.

He gave me some wisdom that I’ll share with you as soon as I translate the curse words he had for me into something more family-friendly.

Always trust your Mummy to tell you the honest truth about yourself!

Anyway, it’s getting close to lunchtime and I’ve got a few errands to run.  Afterward, I’ll sketch out the plots, subplots and false trails we’re planning to place in the popular news media to keep you clenching your teeth or nodding your head in your belief that subpopulations are out to get you or out to support you, depending on your mood we’ve set at the time.

It’s seems silly spending so much of my time making sure your idle moments are filled with what we want you to think, but if it gets us closer to permanent settlements on other celestial bodies, I’m game.

Does that mean I have to stop calling myself the Reluctant Leader?  It’s not like I completely relish all the fine details of putting subcommittees in action to plant ideas in blogs, tweets and street protests which inspire editors and producers to send their reporters out to fill columns and video screens with the news we want you to use and spread…

But I’m just a character in a blog and that’s my only choice, isn’t it?

Fortunate Drawers

Sitting here in a café in a small Turkmenistan town, watching caravan after caravan go by (what you Americans might call tractor-trailer rigs), smelling jet fuel and gunpowder, I figure this is part of the forward base action I was expected to report to my superiours in a conference call later this afternoon.

At first, I complained about this satellite phone, looking like a geek at a debutante party, or rather the rich geek father depositing his little princess at her coming-out party (and yes, you can take that for all it’s worth, these days).

But looking at those guys across the street cradling their smartphones covered with acronyms trying to get a good signal, I say being the sore thumb at an M.C. Hammer hardware store is a good thing, for once.

Besides, I’ve got a friend who carries her lucky knickers just for me.

And I’ve got another friend, El Presidente, who thinks about nothing but al Qaeda and schooling in Sunday afternoon football smackdowns to keep my thoughts warm at night, too.

I wasn’t always like this, sipping stale coffee, spreading badly-worded rumours from underpaid government copywriters, but then maybe I was…we just called it primary school back then.

That’s okay.  It beats sitting at home, not making any money there, either, watching the television news or surfing the Internet for useless tidbits like every other secret organisation in the “business.”

Where was I?  Oh yeah, spiking my coffee with homemade hooch.

You see, in the hinterlands of the former Soviet Union, radioactive material is as easy to get as rabies from the raccoons I used to…well, let’s not go into boring details at this juncture in the punctuated story.

But hey, when a guy gets lonely…never mind.

Anyway, I was sitting on a crate of rotten eggs, unable to distinguish the smell of my ripe, unwashed body from that of chickens that’ll never live to see the light of day reflecting off a machete swinging toward their heads, when it hit me.

The kid down the street, always pestering me to call a tobacco shoppe down the street from his cousin in London and asking if they have Princess Edward in a can, looked at this blog I was texting with my calloused thumbs (calloused, mind you, from texting — what else did you think caused the callousness?  I mean, calloused hands.).

He asked if I had a more interesting writing style, after he’d thrown the uranium/plutonium ball at my noggin.

Hey, that reminds me.  Maybe I’ve got a gold mine at my feet.  Either that, or the pyrite the panhandler pretended to think was gold and sold it only to me, his best friend in the whole wide world, if not the block in which we both live, at a bargain basement we were using to brew the hooch I give out to unsuspecting tourists before I remove their overweight wallets.

Seriously, what have I got that you don’t?

All this nuclear fissable material.  No, that’s the Coke gurgling in my stomach that’s fissable.

It’s the fissionable stuff I’m dreaming about right now.

You see where I’m going with this, don’t you?

Yeah, you know it.  Re-activating Project Orion.

We’ll just declare Turkmenistan off-limits and use it to launch the Mars mission my fellow members of the Committee are dreaming with me.

We’ll rename the country ChernobylTwo or something like that.

We can put this whole “war” to contain nuclear proliferation to a rest and just keep starving the Iranian people to death while their leaders bask in the personal glory of the sacrifice of their people to show them old episodes of “Who’s The Boss?

Can you think of worse torture than that?

Rumour has it the last thing that Andrew World’s-worst-job-as-overpaid-angry-man Breitbart saw before his heart acted up was Alyssa Milano pretending to act.

Let that be a lesson to you, kids.  Don’t get your hopes up.  And further more, don’t listen to a word your clueless parents have to say.  They were terrible students in school and the only reason they’re doing well is that their bosses were even worse so the whole adult scheme is to pretend that everyone is smarter than they really are.

Of course, you kids have no clue what I’m talking about because, as we’re supposed to know, genetic research proves that our species has actually gotten worse, our purity as animals watered down with talks about backyard BBQ parties, easy-to-hack security alarm systems and other ways we deny we’re overdressed members of the fight-or-flight club.

Almost time for the conference call.

Go back to looking at your cute kitten videos and sports scores.

I’ve got a nuclear bomb powered rocketship to promote!

We tried but were unsuccessful… :(

Not only have we hackers tried to convince our tearless leader to put the past behind him and forget about his girlfriend who died 40 YEARS AGO, we’ve appealed to his former career as a life coach to hold his chin up high, find something funny to say about his sadness and move on.

We can’t repeat what he said to us in response.

The rest of the Committee isn’t helpful, either.  They have no interest in blogging about their open secrets.

We apologize for our lack of psychological counseling skills and regret to inform you that your faithful blogger has moved on to another blogging website where he can be himself anonymously, free of ego boosts and social bonds of the online blogging community at wordpress that he fears will trigger his chameleon personality trait and consume him.

He has threatened to change his password again to keep us from posting our latest hacking achievements that he doesn’t always approve.

Talk to you soon, as long as we’re lucky that he’s too lazy to lock us out of this blog.

Avogadro’s Number, or is it PV = nRT?

In our supercomputer simulations, we represent sub/cultures and countries as molecules.

In one recent simulation, we asked the supercomputer network to calculate how many helium-filled balloons it would take to carry a payload into outer space.

The computer stopped immediately and asked exactly how we planned to fill the balloons with helium.

In other words, if one balloon is “full” of helium, it will burst at a lower elevation than a balloon only partially “full,” but the partially-filled balloon will not carry as large a payload.

A latex rubber knapsack problem intersecting a few gas laws.

You, the reader, are fully aware, aren’t you, what this means.

An enclosed space that we pretend contains largely a uniform distribution of a “pure” substance — gas or subcultural beliefs, for example — tends to behave according to simple mathematical formulae.

Telegraph a public message that contains little in the way of subtext and you can expect a ready answer in return.

On the other hand, atmospheric conditions are not uniform.  Pressure is related to density of gas molecules and gas ratio distribution, is it not?  Atmospheric disturbances, including solar heat related phenomena and patterns we give labels such as “Arctic Oscillation” also play into the picture.

People, are, for the most part predictable.  A person raised in a remote Pakistani village will probably not suddenly start dancing a perfect Argentinian tango from out of nowhere.

Which means we can tell the supercomputer to add layered parameters to the simulation, with every layer’s data passed into the simulation and the simulation rerun when the previous layer’s data has been crunched into output that is available to add to the next layer’s data crunching.

Inside every layer are matrices of changes, some predictable and some random, that we build from hypotheses and hallway discussions rather than tried-and-true scientific formulae broken down into simple subroutines.

Often, we save a set of output data, vary a layer’s matrix and rerun the simulation for one specific layer over and over with large numbers of matrix variations.

What’s the point of having a good hypothesis if you can’t subject it to rigorous testing and verification?

So, if I want a payload of a known mass that is not changed by atmospheric pressure changes to reach outer space, I give the supercomputer network the number of balloons I wish to attach to the payload and ask it to tell me at which elevations the balloon(s) burst until the last one carries the payload into outer space.

The same goes for the 3D chess game that is the constant interaction of sub/cultures.  A person is a molecule is a subculture is a balloon is a culture is a generalised personality archetype.

Bottom line: two issues hog some of the international news spotlight — the massacres in Syria and the nearly uncontrollable bankrupt behaviour of Greece.

It’s like telling Hernandez’ agent that the NY Giants will find a way to secretly reward him for his behaviour toward the end of the 2012 NFL Super Bowl.  Some things should be too obvious to mention.

But they aren’t.

So, we have to proceed with what’s next.

The Committee wants to box me into a corner and force me into making a decision that sways the next U.S. Presidential election.

Some want me to reveal what the supercomputer network says is a religious forecast that predicts the balance of faith-based belief for the next century or so.

Others want to ensure their families are well provided for, as usual.

For me, it’s always the hardest task to give the supercomputer network a touch of irony and sarcasm in its output.

I don’t care whether a CPU is multicore and has interlaced optical memory or if some portions of the network still operate with relay-based and bubble memory.

I sit here, after the end of a grueling session with the Committee, with seven billion of us to manage, as individuals, multiplexed into subcultures or a combination of the two that I vary by degrees in simulation scenarios that either I see fit to estimate or is input by the hacker network I depend on to throw me an unexpected curve every now and then.

Change is constant.

If India completely rejects monetary aid from the UK, who will follow by example?  Will this influence future Saudi military contracts with the U.S.?  Will Greece break up into city-states once again?  Will Syria divide into Assad-controlled and international consortium-controlled sectors, leading to the creation of the next “Berlin Wall” and a lukewarm Cold War?

And, looking back 1000 years from now, will we say this next millennium was the era of extremophiles, our only encounter with “alien” or extraterrestrial lifeforms being a set of states of energy we were unable to see or comprehend with current technology in 2012 but wholly integrated into our way of life by 3011?

Questions, questions, questions.

The saga continues unabated.

Is any one life more important than maintenance of the status quo to preserve a subculture’s place in the jigsaw puzzle of global belief sets?

Yes and no.

At least according to one simulation after the next.

Every life is important.

Every life is canceled out at one level or another of scenario stacking.

One relationship disappears and another takes its place.

Interdependencies described in the world’s longest SQL statement.

All just to say what is the smallest number of balloons to take an indescribable payload into outer space.

Outer space is infinitely bigger than the sphere from which we calculate its intersection with us.

A finite sphere full of everyday drama begging for attention 24/7.

Time’s a-wastin’!

The stuff of life

A nod to food lover’s celebration of National Croissant Day.

Last night, while I was working on the computer, my wife watched a television show centered on competing celebrity cooks.  One of the cooks, named Rachael, commented that a guest on the show, her publicist, was her closest friend only because she paid him to be (or something like that).  I’m sure she was joking but the look on the guy’s face…well, I won’t watch another show with my wife when that particular celebrity cook is on.  Either her jokes fall flat or her friends are being paid enough to pretend to like her.

Besides, here in the States, the quinessential professional sporting event that centers on husky guys bashing their minds to pieces is coming up — the NFL Super Bowl, of course.

Speaking of which, will the Indianapolis Colts survive as a/n inter/national brand if a new quarterback takes the helm from an elitist school like Stanford?  It’s one thing to be good or even great at the position — it’s another to be the complete “regular guy” package, John Elway an example of the exception rather than the rule.

Enough of the chattering.  Time to give the reluctant leader his word on the state of the world economy:

Last night, as the Committee debated whether Greece should be more intricately tied into the global indebtedness scheme or cast aside as worthless chattel, I looked at the Committee members’ face, hooded as they are beneath a variety of caps, hats, hairstyles and heavy eyelids.

What were they thinking?  I can look back at supercomputer analysis of their previous behaviour and make a well-educated guess as to what they’ll do/say next, but in those moments before they speak or act, can I assess, can I surmise, can I imagine the vast difference between how their brains work and how the brains work of non-Committee members?

Therefore, I turned up the sensitivity of the brain readers mounted in the walls, floor, and ceiling of the room to answer my question.

The results amazed me.  It was not only the individual brains that astounded but also the smooth transition between chemical emissions of the individuals, basically how their/our whole bodies acted as one at the molecular level, that impressed me.

Which made me realise we are one species on one planet as always.

No matter how we decide to treat the disparity between the Greek economic output and monetary inflow, we must still deal with them — the Greek people and their in/efficient enterprising ways — as part of our species’ total interaction.

In other words, if the density of people per square hectare in certain parts of the world — I’m thinking of India and China, especially, but can think of other places, too, such as Bangladesh — encourages them to continue their outward migration, would Greece remain Greece if the traditional inhabitants loosely associated with descendancy from those Greeks who formed what we think of classic Greek art/architecture/philosophy/science (i.e., “Ancient Greece“) were completely replaced with people from other cultures, who may or may not have completely assimilated?

You get where this going, don’t you?  Are the Committee members dedicated to preserving Greece as the seat or foundation of Western Civilisation even if the people of Greece are no longer related to the founders of Ancient Greece?

Ultimately, are economic decisions purely economic?  After all, we aren’t unemotional robots moving numbers in a spreadsheet.  Culture still plays a part in our daily lives.

How do we want sub/culture — past, present and future — to influence us at the superficial and molecular level?

I guess the reluctant leader would like a view 1000 years from now to tell him which decisions worked best, wouldn’t he?

Let’s save that view for another blog entry.  Time for more music…

Derivative cultural artifact of the day

Your fifteen seconds of fame — three times longerWait, it’s just a bloody cultural war, isn’t it?

Overconsumption of hot-air-filled news articles won’t save your planet, silly peopleRather, it’s the bully pulpit of leaders that’ll end your freedom!

Russian dolls in Russia or CyprusNo, but we hear Arnold Schwarzenegger is laughing in his soon-to-be-autonomously-Terminated sleep.

Enough with the links.  Let’s get back to what the reluctant leader has to say next…

But first, we’ll leave you with this gravity nondefying videoView these photos with one eye while you half-listen to the video’s soundtrack.

Then ponder why the U.S. President is not so favourable in India after his SOTUS.

And, finally, the French know a good source of warm mineral spring water when they see itEven if they aren’t sure whose clothes history are fashionably whose on which head of state’s family.

Well, almost the last.  See, the Internet is just the offspring of VHS tapes (or is it Betamax?  I forget).  There’ll always be the next technology that makes stealing it so much more inviting.  Right, my cadre of hackers?

Like the person said in response to this post:

And most meat-eaters would be disturbed if they saw how their steak was killed…, most sports aficionados would be disturbed if they saw lung scans of the women coloring their Nike shirts, etc ad inf.

Yes, I do not want to work under these conditions, and I would be happy if nobody would have to (I would also be willing to pay a premium, but most people won’t or simply can’t). Still, people come to the Foxconn (and other, worse) factories from thousands of miles, because work and payments there are still better than what they could get elsewhere. Suicide rates are lower than at US universities.

None of these companies work for Apple exclusively, they work for almost every major brand (Dell, HP, Microsoft, Toshiba, etc.). None of them does even try to change the conditions and investigate them properly. Apple does. Not saying this is enough, but it’s a start. China’s industrialization and structures match what the US and Europe had in the first half of the last century. OK, we did not commit suicide, we were shot by the Pinkerton Agency.

Enjoy our planet – it’s the only one we’ve got to use as our main home…for now.

I’ve got some profit to siphon to my hidden offshore accounts, as usual.

Au revoir!

Two Facts

  1. Found an old white jumpsuit in the closet where clothes of my youth feed moth larvae.  I painted black stripes on the outfit, put it on with an assist from a rusty shoehorn, snapped a set of fake handcuffs on my wrists and ran down the main street of my town.  For some strange reason, my marathon training attire attracted attention — several police officers pulled over and asked me for identification.  Had to explain to them the only way I can motivate myself to run 26.2 miles is if I’m either being chased by wild dogs or on the run from the law.
  2. Has it occurred to you yet, if you live in the United States, that the person who wins the next U.S. Presidential election will receive votes from about 20% to 25% of the U.S. population and claim it is a true mandate for change?  What will that say about the 75% to 80% who didn’t vote for the person (including those who didn’t/couldn’t vote at all)?

A nod to the success of Karen Hawkins, a secondary schoolmate.

Future rocketeers, are you practicing your orbital entry maneuvers?  Won’t be long now before we need a flock of rocketeers piloting the fleet! [Racketeers need not apply, of course]

As much as I find the storyline of the reluctant leader of the Committee trying, if not tiring, let’s see what the leader recommends after attending the latest Committee meeting…