Nippon was a second generation immigrant. His father had trusted him with the business soon after his 32nd birthday. Raindrop's family had been very happy to accept a small dowry for her. In the old country a small dowry was an embarrassment; any dowry at all was an embarrassment in Texas.
"What shall we tell our friends about the Yin and the Yang?" he asked himself in her presence.
Her eyes searched the room for answers, and when she met his gaze she ventured, "The Yin is dark and cold, and the Yang is warm and light?"
Mr Li contemplated this. "Or should we say, 'The wisdom of the Yin is to torture, the wisdom of the Yang is to prosper?'" he asked in return.
"We haven't told the little one that!" she responded.
"We haven't told the little one that there is a Yin and a Yang yet," he replied with Chinese directness. "How will they understand the Moon is a Yin and the Earth is a Yang? Or how will I ever explain that during the Ming dynasty the Emperor was a Yang and his daughter was a Yin, while the ruling class in its entirety was a Yin, but the people were the Yang? They will ask me, 'What is Texas, a Yin or a Yang?' If I say it is a Yin, it is too light and hot! If I say it is a Yang, the heat has the wisdom to torture."
Raindrop solved this problem with surprising clarity. "Tell them that the Mountains are the Yang and that _water_ is the Yin!"
"Will they understand?" asked Nippon, perplexedly.
"I hope not," replied Raindrop. The mystique of Yin and Yang was like the feminine mystique of all China.
Li Nippon pondered all this and more as he carefully watered his Bonsai Orange tree.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
A Donkey, a mule and a Bethlehem ass;
Ursula walked into Sam's immediate proximity with her hair brush in action. She was finishing up an extended currying, and her locks glistened as she shook them out.
"Teal says Travis and Bubba MIRLed... apparently Bubba is looking for a Biblical application of Missouri mules."
Sam had been watching appreciatively, and qualified her observation with comprehension by saying, "Well... _your_ Biblical application of a mule is VERY appealing in those boy shorts. You fill them in a way that implies successful reproduction on a schedule. Care to speculate what they'd do about it in the 'show me' State?"
She preened a little and responded, "They'd likely tame it with a little 'Southern Comfort,' followed hard on by a liberal application of 'Wild Goose.' Care to retrace the Louis and Clark expedition up the Mississippi tonight, in homage?"
His response was somewhat predictable, but well appreciated. "Wild Horses couldn't DRAG me away! ...and what kind of a word is 'MIRL?'"
"A computer word, silly! It's an acronym for M_eet I-n R-eal L_ife."
"Hmmm..." was Sam's response. "And Travis tried to tell me that 'personal computer manufacturers can't invent acronyms.'"
She grinned nefariously. "Sam, you KNOW I'm not ignorant about EVERYTHING! P-C-M-C-I-A? That's the thing that connected the old laptop to the internet wirelessly. I haven't forgotten."
He felt the need to exert male dominance, and struck out on a new course with a non-sequiter.
"How much did the Pirate's ear-rings cost?" he asked.
She threatened him with strip 20-questions if he didn't behave, and admitted she didn't know.
"A bucc-an-eer." he enumerated with satisfaction. "He stole 'em fair 'n square, but he made his first mate sell 'em to him for a receipt!" he added victoriously.
She dug down for a response.
"Where does the luck of the Irish come from?" she asked in return.
He observed that she had rather less than 20 articles of clothing in the pot, and admitted ignorance.
"From Ireland," she denoted authoritatively. "Do you know how I _know_ they are so lucky?" she continued, capitalizing on her advantage.
He responded by holding his watch up by the strap.
"No snakes in Ireland," she gleefully finished.
His description of the habitat of garter snakes, and the ratio of gentle to harmless they illustrate, was instructive. "I'm gentle, by I ain't harmless," he concluded.
They fell off a conversational cliff into the bedroom.
"Teal says Travis and Bubba MIRLed... apparently Bubba is looking for a Biblical application of Missouri mules."
Sam had been watching appreciatively, and qualified her observation with comprehension by saying, "Well... _your_ Biblical application of a mule is VERY appealing in those boy shorts. You fill them in a way that implies successful reproduction on a schedule. Care to speculate what they'd do about it in the 'show me' State?"
She preened a little and responded, "They'd likely tame it with a little 'Southern Comfort,' followed hard on by a liberal application of 'Wild Goose.' Care to retrace the Louis and Clark expedition up the Mississippi tonight, in homage?"
His response was somewhat predictable, but well appreciated. "Wild Horses couldn't DRAG me away! ...and what kind of a word is 'MIRL?'"
"A computer word, silly! It's an acronym for M_eet I-n R-eal L_ife."
"Hmmm..." was Sam's response. "And Travis tried to tell me that 'personal computer manufacturers can't invent acronyms.'"
She grinned nefariously. "Sam, you KNOW I'm not ignorant about EVERYTHING! P-C-M-C-I-A? That's the thing that connected the old laptop to the internet wirelessly. I haven't forgotten."
He felt the need to exert male dominance, and struck out on a new course with a non-sequiter.
"How much did the Pirate's ear-rings cost?" he asked.
She threatened him with strip 20-questions if he didn't behave, and admitted she didn't know.
"A bucc-an-eer." he enumerated with satisfaction. "He stole 'em fair 'n square, but he made his first mate sell 'em to him for a receipt!" he added victoriously.
She dug down for a response.
"Where does the luck of the Irish come from?" she asked in return.
He observed that she had rather less than 20 articles of clothing in the pot, and admitted ignorance.
"From Ireland," she denoted authoritatively. "Do you know how I _know_ they are so lucky?" she continued, capitalizing on her advantage.
He responded by holding his watch up by the strap.
"No snakes in Ireland," she gleefully finished.
His description of the habitat of garter snakes, and the ratio of gentle to harmless they illustrate, was instructive. "I'm gentle, by I ain't harmless," he concluded.
They fell off a conversational cliff into the bedroom.
A meal at MIRL'ens
Bubba and Travis met for lunch at a fast food restaurant. Travis' metabolism was that of a greyhound, and he ordered liberally. Bubba was more conservative with a small Coke and a small ice cream cone. The conversation turned to End User License Agreements, and Travis asked Bubba, "Have you seen some of the newer Open Source Software EULAs?"
"You talkin' 'bout the ones that just say GPG2? Yeah... anything's better than Microsoft!"
Travis contemplated this, and decided that, (in order to obtain time to eat,) he was going to have to get Bubba to redeliver one of his canned soap box speeches. He reasoned that the review would benefit them both, and sallied forth with the request, "Could you go over that one for me, one more time?"
"Well Travis, in my opinion Microsoft uses it's EULAs to keep all Microsoft Developers subsidiary to its own Research and Development." Bubba licked the drips of ice cream carefully, so as not to spill any.
"How so?" Travis replied when he finished his bite.
"You know all this Travis. One of these days I'm gonna have a test, just to hold you responsible. Their EULAs are all English, but the vocabulary allows for so many inferences that no human brain can master the possibilities. Usually there is one arcane provision in there that means you have to send Microsoft 5.2% of all proceeds and profits from anything you earn from an application developed using Microsoft Development Tools!"
"Prove it," Travis shot back.
"OK, suppose I decide to list all possible alphabets from the ordinary English one we use. I'd start off with a to z, just like normal. Then I'd have to list all the A-a to z combos. Then the B-a to z combos and so on. Then I'd list all the a to z-A combos and all the a to z-B combos, etc. When I finally got to the end, using ANY system of patterns, no matter how far out I extend it, IF I come to a stopping place, THEN I can list the very last list out again, and add an 'a,' at the end, and it's a whole new alphabet list. The exhaustive list of all broken patterns is incomplete, and a German named Goedel (Girdle Travis, not Go-Dell, like YOU always say,) mathematically said 'Give it up, you ain't gonna list 'em all,' in a theorem called 'The Incompleteness Theorem.'" He mentally reviewed his monologue and decided it was sufficient and smiled at Travis to communicate he was done.
Undaunted, Travis finished his current mouthful and inquired, "...and this proves...?"
"Why Travis, did Teal beat ya over the head with an AGGIE? It PROVES you can't infer EVERYTHING there is to know about a Microsoft EULA ever. In ONE READING, you can infer things that are important to ya from a single context, but ya have to review at least once before every paying program application, or the IRS will come after ya for unreported income to Microsoft. It's a legal bind!" He turned his attention to a soggy cone, yielding to unattended drippings from the contents.
Travis was not convinced that Bubba believed everything he said, and decided to rib his fellow 5t accordingly. "Your point?" he asked pointedly.
As Travis changed subjects from Burger to Fries, Bubba contemplated beating him over the head with an Aggie. Then inspiration struck. Travis had missed a trick, and he was going to be the victor in the confrontation. "Travis, you are not burdened with an understanding intellect! YOU install a program and you just ignore the thing IF it doesn't inconvenience you. Why, I've even seen you run a cracker 13 times, just to gen up a valid Microdollar code to install a Microdollar Ap. My POINT was that IF the Open Source people want to specify anything NOVEL, they are gonna have a list of GPG EULAs so long it'll boggle the mind!"
"All they have to do is put GPG2, and then add '...excepting on Thursdays from 3-4 AM!'" Travis disagreed blithely.
Bubba gave Travis a searching looking over that would have made a puppy look humorous, just as if his head turned on a pivot. Maybe he WAS that ignorant. He wasn't stupid, or things he said would be stupider, and he wasn't an idiot... Bubba himself had seen him learn from a mistake. "You need to write you Kansas City cousin Mo, and show it to him!" he compromised. "Mo isn't dumb."
Travis was diverted and missed the implication before he spoke. "Not dumb, but more stubborn than an Aggie mule!" he exclaimed. He paused as comprehension flooded through his brain. "I can see our team missed THAT two-points. I was trying to avoid a three-second violation," he sheepishly apologized.
Bubba could now afford to be magnanimous. "It wasn't exactly a slam dunk," he agreed. "On balance, it's a new shot clock."
"When I can't pass, I shoot," Travis affirmed.
"When I can't shoot, I pass," Bubba responded, and bussed the table. "Later?"
"U2," Travis answered in parting. The Kawasaki buzzed like a mosquito, and Bubba contemplated suggesting Glasspaks. No... it was better to leave it deceptively powerful, like his computer and his mouth.
"You talkin' 'bout the ones that just say GPG2? Yeah... anything's better than Microsoft!"
Travis contemplated this, and decided that, (in order to obtain time to eat,) he was going to have to get Bubba to redeliver one of his canned soap box speeches. He reasoned that the review would benefit them both, and sallied forth with the request, "Could you go over that one for me, one more time?"
"Well Travis, in my opinion Microsoft uses it's EULAs to keep all Microsoft Developers subsidiary to its own Research and Development." Bubba licked the drips of ice cream carefully, so as not to spill any.
"How so?" Travis replied when he finished his bite.
"You know all this Travis. One of these days I'm gonna have a test, just to hold you responsible. Their EULAs are all English, but the vocabulary allows for so many inferences that no human brain can master the possibilities. Usually there is one arcane provision in there that means you have to send Microsoft 5.2% of all proceeds and profits from anything you earn from an application developed using Microsoft Development Tools!"
"Prove it," Travis shot back.
"OK, suppose I decide to list all possible alphabets from the ordinary English one we use. I'd start off with a to z, just like normal. Then I'd have to list all the A-a to z combos. Then the B-a to z combos and so on. Then I'd list all the a to z-A combos and all the a to z-B combos, etc. When I finally got to the end, using ANY system of patterns, no matter how far out I extend it, IF I come to a stopping place, THEN I can list the very last list out again, and add an 'a,' at the end, and it's a whole new alphabet list. The exhaustive list of all broken patterns is incomplete, and a German named Goedel (Girdle Travis, not Go-Dell, like YOU always say,) mathematically said 'Give it up, you ain't gonna list 'em all,' in a theorem called 'The Incompleteness Theorem.'" He mentally reviewed his monologue and decided it was sufficient and smiled at Travis to communicate he was done.
Undaunted, Travis finished his current mouthful and inquired, "...and this proves...?"
"Why Travis, did Teal beat ya over the head with an AGGIE? It PROVES you can't infer EVERYTHING there is to know about a Microsoft EULA ever. In ONE READING, you can infer things that are important to ya from a single context, but ya have to review at least once before every paying program application, or the IRS will come after ya for unreported income to Microsoft. It's a legal bind!" He turned his attention to a soggy cone, yielding to unattended drippings from the contents.
Travis was not convinced that Bubba believed everything he said, and decided to rib his fellow 5t accordingly. "Your point?" he asked pointedly.
As Travis changed subjects from Burger to Fries, Bubba contemplated beating him over the head with an Aggie. Then inspiration struck. Travis had missed a trick, and he was going to be the victor in the confrontation. "Travis, you are not burdened with an understanding intellect! YOU install a program and you just ignore the thing IF it doesn't inconvenience you. Why, I've even seen you run a cracker 13 times, just to gen up a valid Microdollar code to install a Microdollar Ap. My POINT was that IF the Open Source people want to specify anything NOVEL, they are gonna have a list of GPG EULAs so long it'll boggle the mind!"
"All they have to do is put GPG2, and then add '...excepting on Thursdays from 3-4 AM!'" Travis disagreed blithely.
Bubba gave Travis a searching looking over that would have made a puppy look humorous, just as if his head turned on a pivot. Maybe he WAS that ignorant. He wasn't stupid, or things he said would be stupider, and he wasn't an idiot... Bubba himself had seen him learn from a mistake. "You need to write you Kansas City cousin Mo, and show it to him!" he compromised. "Mo isn't dumb."
Travis was diverted and missed the implication before he spoke. "Not dumb, but more stubborn than an Aggie mule!" he exclaimed. He paused as comprehension flooded through his brain. "I can see our team missed THAT two-points. I was trying to avoid a three-second violation," he sheepishly apologized.
Bubba could now afford to be magnanimous. "It wasn't exactly a slam dunk," he agreed. "On balance, it's a new shot clock."
"When I can't pass, I shoot," Travis affirmed.
"When I can't shoot, I pass," Bubba responded, and bussed the table. "Later?"
"U2," Travis answered in parting. The Kawasaki buzzed like a mosquito, and Bubba contemplated suggesting Glasspaks. No... it was better to leave it deceptively powerful, like his computer and his mouth.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Latitude according to 5t character;
Three weeks had passed, and Melbourne had lost his bet with Andrea miserably. Ursula had kept her bargain with Sam by making the arrangements and payments herself... he had put her in charge of a budget. Melbourne now had two sheep dogs, and two, two year old mares, for draft. In equine terms they were mutts, and Sam had been careful to explain that the hereditary of the Mustang lacked inbreeding for the same reason. Melbourne's gratitude had been so profound as to embarrass them both, and they had narrowly avoided tears over the phone.
Sam was now in receipt of a mailer post-marked from Perth, containing the particulars of the relevant wire transfer. Ursula would have to make it her business to know Andrea's measurements and preferences. Her taste was desert ranch, and would fit in with ranchers the world over.
Now for the fun part... the surprise. His best research showed that Land Cruiser was the best bargain to be had local to the Darwin area, and he proceeded to make arrangements for it to be delivered unannounced. He composed his thoughts. "Mel," he began, "I was shopping for Range Rovers in Tasmania, and came across a batch of Land Cruisers for a song. Could you take this one off my hands, and point out a couple of deserving buddies, to take two more off my hands? You'd be responsible for shipping and handling, but the matching funds from the Paris to Dakar rally entries should adequately cover costs." Hmmm... Melbourne was a master of verbal sleight of hand. If he even suspected, there was no telling what would happen. Maybe the "matching funds," should become "the winner's cup," with Mel responsible for paying a proportionate fraction of the taxes? Yeah, that ought to do it. He squared his shoulders and addressed the keyboard. It was going to be an EX-Cellent day!
Sam was now in receipt of a mailer post-marked from Perth, containing the particulars of the relevant wire transfer. Ursula would have to make it her business to know Andrea's measurements and preferences. Her taste was desert ranch, and would fit in with ranchers the world over.
Now for the fun part... the surprise. His best research showed that Land Cruiser was the best bargain to be had local to the Darwin area, and he proceeded to make arrangements for it to be delivered unannounced. He composed his thoughts. "Mel," he began, "I was shopping for Range Rovers in Tasmania, and came across a batch of Land Cruisers for a song. Could you take this one off my hands, and point out a couple of deserving buddies, to take two more off my hands? You'd be responsible for shipping and handling, but the matching funds from the Paris to Dakar rally entries should adequately cover costs." Hmmm... Melbourne was a master of verbal sleight of hand. If he even suspected, there was no telling what would happen. Maybe the "matching funds," should become "the winner's cup," with Mel responsible for paying a proportionate fraction of the taxes? Yeah, that ought to do it. He squared his shoulders and addressed the keyboard. It was going to be an EX-Cellent day!
Saturday, April 11, 2009
A 5t reversal of fortune;
The morning email brought a new revelation. Melbourne had included digital pictures with his explanation. "My Dear Samuel:" it began. "It has come to my attention that your beloved 5ts have a public relations problem beyond compare in OZ! They appear to be engaged in a political revolt against Pacifism in its Australian manifestation; they are involved in gun running. Please contact management ASAP, and clue them in... I'd hate to see Texans badly received here OR in Vietnam." The browser broke for a new paragraph.
"Please find attached pictures explaining my URGENT request for verification that Newton's Laws of Physics have not been reversed. Andrea's last three upside down cakes have come out upside down! I am aware that those prepared with Hawaiian Pineapple are intended to do so, but Andrea assures me that her Italian and French Pineapple versions fared no better, and all three were upside down BEFORE she turned them over! Are you aware if Texan Pineapple upside down cakes are similarly non-conformist?"
Sam was delighted to hear from him, and his conversation with Travis at Cassandra's was sufficiently recent that he looked forward to matching wits with a master.
He cracked his knuckles at arm's length in front of him as he warmed to his task. The backspace key flew, as he willed his thoughts into ASCII.
"Melbourne: If you call me 'Dear' anymore, I'm gonna _start_ by being CHEAP. Then I'm gonna teach you all about why these 5t impostors need warnings about US a'comin', not us about THEM. THEN I'm gonna stand up tall, right between you and the sun, and ask you if you need a hand to help you up! You got it? By the way, BTW stands for how unimportant this is, but I'll thank you to remember that the 5ts have NO Bureaucracy! THINK about it!"
He hit a carriage return. "Now as to these pictures: Did these Pineapples come from traditional ground level thorn bushes, or did they fall off of a turnip truck on a backhaul run? Our Texan Pineapple trees are like Mexican Jumping Beans in this respect: every Pineapple cake made with one since Betsy Ross, RELIABLY flips completely, right inside the oven. We had to _invent_ OVEN _CLEANER_, the problem was so bad. As such, the versions meant to be upside down were right side up, and we had to send away to Hawaii for Pineapples that don't do that. Fact is, it's ages since I've even SEEN a TEXAN Pineapple!"
[Carriage Return]"Again, 'BTW,' Abercrombie and Fitch have an aggressive position on Chinese polished cotton this year... can I invest a dollar or two on behalf of you and Andrea? You can make it up later, with a wire from Western Union. As a matter of courtesy, please note; the wire HAS to come from Perth, or I'd be taking advantage of you... Western Union is a _stickler_ for protocol!"
He scanned his effort, and it met with his approval. "Yours Sincerely," he pecked out. "Sam Clementine the Trey."
He shared his finished product with Ursula, and upon her endorsement mashed the "send" button. In a moment of weakness, she had blurted out her secret, and he was "in on it," now.
"I think you better blow it with Andrea pretty soon too," he shared. "If you don't, she'll think you made her take charity when she eventually finds out... and she WILL find out: It's a female eventuality."
Ursula knew that the word eventuality, properly used, meant that the event was unavoidable in every aspect but chronology. "I agree. All we can do is try and control the timing of the leak," she concurred. "Sam, you make my heart want to hug you all by itself!"
His upturned gaze brimmed with unfeigned adoration. "I love you Urs," he preened.
It _was_ his turn!
"Please find attached pictures explaining my URGENT request for verification that Newton's Laws of Physics have not been reversed. Andrea's last three upside down cakes have come out upside down! I am aware that those prepared with Hawaiian Pineapple are intended to do so, but Andrea assures me that her Italian and French Pineapple versions fared no better, and all three were upside down BEFORE she turned them over! Are you aware if Texan Pineapple upside down cakes are similarly non-conformist?"
Sam was delighted to hear from him, and his conversation with Travis at Cassandra's was sufficiently recent that he looked forward to matching wits with a master.
He cracked his knuckles at arm's length in front of him as he warmed to his task. The backspace key flew, as he willed his thoughts into ASCII.
"Melbourne: If you call me 'Dear' anymore, I'm gonna _start_ by being CHEAP. Then I'm gonna teach you all about why these 5t impostors need warnings about US a'comin', not us about THEM. THEN I'm gonna stand up tall, right between you and the sun, and ask you if you need a hand to help you up! You got it? By the way, BTW stands for how unimportant this is, but I'll thank you to remember that the 5ts have NO Bureaucracy! THINK about it!"
He hit a carriage return. "Now as to these pictures: Did these Pineapples come from traditional ground level thorn bushes, or did they fall off of a turnip truck on a backhaul run? Our Texan Pineapple trees are like Mexican Jumping Beans in this respect: every Pineapple cake made with one since Betsy Ross, RELIABLY flips completely, right inside the oven. We had to _invent_ OVEN _CLEANER_, the problem was so bad. As such, the versions meant to be upside down were right side up, and we had to send away to Hawaii for Pineapples that don't do that. Fact is, it's ages since I've even SEEN a TEXAN Pineapple!"
[Carriage Return]"Again, 'BTW,' Abercrombie and Fitch have an aggressive position on Chinese polished cotton this year... can I invest a dollar or two on behalf of you and Andrea? You can make it up later, with a wire from Western Union. As a matter of courtesy, please note; the wire HAS to come from Perth, or I'd be taking advantage of you... Western Union is a _stickler_ for protocol!"
He scanned his effort, and it met with his approval. "Yours Sincerely," he pecked out. "Sam Clementine the Trey."
He shared his finished product with Ursula, and upon her endorsement mashed the "send" button. In a moment of weakness, she had blurted out her secret, and he was "in on it," now.
"I think you better blow it with Andrea pretty soon too," he shared. "If you don't, she'll think you made her take charity when she eventually finds out... and she WILL find out: It's a female eventuality."
Ursula knew that the word eventuality, properly used, meant that the event was unavoidable in every aspect but chronology. "I agree. All we can do is try and control the timing of the leak," she concurred. "Sam, you make my heart want to hug you all by itself!"
His upturned gaze brimmed with unfeigned adoration. "I love you Urs," he preened.
It _was_ his turn!
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
A Non-5t Epiphany;
Sam and Ursula were no more than 3 minutes toward home, when Ursula caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, and asked, "How long do you think it'll take Teal to get over Travis' last name being 'Grant?'"
Sam had been expecting no such comment, and he wasn't sure either, so his laughter was a little nervous. "He customarily asked ME to _Grant_ him clemency. I imagine he'll make out alright." He diplomatically dodged a further discussion of the virtue of Teal, and turned the discussion toward the Nippons. "How did the Nippons strike you?" he asked.
Ursula needed little time for contemplation before she replied. "Their dignity was what was most apparent. Mr. Li was unflappable, and Raindrop was sweet. I think she'll open up and come out of her shell later, when she's less afraid of giving offense. They remind me of my Uncle George and Aunt Gina."
This harmless comment united with a stray recollection of a missed opportunity for Nintendo, and kicked off a chain reaction of memory in the mind of Mr. Clementine worthy of Rube Goldberg. Like the Wonderful One Hoss Shay going to pieces, Sam came to a realization. He turned and looked Ursula square in the face and asked in a trembling whisper, "Are you pregnant?"
Ursula was taken by surprise. She had a feeling that if she had NOT been taken by surprise, she would have had a remarkable kaleidoscope of emotions - the element of surprise meant she couldn't be mad at Sam for not anticipating any specific particular one of them. She experienced joy at the thought of success of that kind. She experienced doubt that Sam would be equally joyous. She thought Sam would HAVE to be glad, just on principle, but he would STILL be wondering how to break it to his Dad... he didn't call the old man "The Frank Lloyd Wright of Finances," for nothing: a money bags and a sugar daddy he was not - he'd heard the words before and you couldn't even embarrass him with them. Would Sam be of the opinion that he wanted children, but later? What if he felt like he'd already had all he wanted to have?
Then there were the hopes and fears of all that life could bring; the hopes of excellence in all things, and the uncertainties of fortunes here on earth. Someone really ought to put a statistician to work, figuring out statistically what exactly is wrong with the world. She had no idea of the sleepless nights she might have expected, or the depth of the bond that this generated. She had no idea of the worthlessness of language to explain why HER baby's cry tore her soul if she did not respond, while those whose cries had fallen on untortured hearing in times past, now tortured her differently - where was this baby's _real_ mother? She wasn't pregnant, and the immediate loss of all the promised joy of that potential hit her in a rush... it would have been easier to be angry at him just for answering the question. She turned her soulful gaze upon his twin fires of caring and concern, and admitted "I love you anyway, Sam."
He couldn't know what she had just experienced, and stumbled predictably. Despite his lack of empathy, her words had warned him, and his love of her was not unlike a deeply flowing current in a quiet part of a river elsewhere furious with rapids. He returned her scrutiny perplexedly... "I love you too." He stopped, and let silence be eloquent in his stead. He knew it was important, but not exactly why or what to say. She dissolved into tears quietly, and he could only think: the charted course to stupid questions lies on the other side of the door way marked "Why are you crying?" He pondered the comment "Want to talk about it?" in silence. She cried, and he cared... it was enough.
Sam had been expecting no such comment, and he wasn't sure either, so his laughter was a little nervous. "He customarily asked ME to _Grant_ him clemency. I imagine he'll make out alright." He diplomatically dodged a further discussion of the virtue of Teal, and turned the discussion toward the Nippons. "How did the Nippons strike you?" he asked.
Ursula needed little time for contemplation before she replied. "Their dignity was what was most apparent. Mr. Li was unflappable, and Raindrop was sweet. I think she'll open up and come out of her shell later, when she's less afraid of giving offense. They remind me of my Uncle George and Aunt Gina."
This harmless comment united with a stray recollection of a missed opportunity for Nintendo, and kicked off a chain reaction of memory in the mind of Mr. Clementine worthy of Rube Goldberg. Like the Wonderful One Hoss Shay going to pieces, Sam came to a realization. He turned and looked Ursula square in the face and asked in a trembling whisper, "Are you pregnant?"
Ursula was taken by surprise. She had a feeling that if she had NOT been taken by surprise, she would have had a remarkable kaleidoscope of emotions - the element of surprise meant she couldn't be mad at Sam for not anticipating any specific particular one of them. She experienced joy at the thought of success of that kind. She experienced doubt that Sam would be equally joyous. She thought Sam would HAVE to be glad, just on principle, but he would STILL be wondering how to break it to his Dad... he didn't call the old man "The Frank Lloyd Wright of Finances," for nothing: a money bags and a sugar daddy he was not - he'd heard the words before and you couldn't even embarrass him with them. Would Sam be of the opinion that he wanted children, but later? What if he felt like he'd already had all he wanted to have?
Then there were the hopes and fears of all that life could bring; the hopes of excellence in all things, and the uncertainties of fortunes here on earth. Someone really ought to put a statistician to work, figuring out statistically what exactly is wrong with the world. She had no idea of the sleepless nights she might have expected, or the depth of the bond that this generated. She had no idea of the worthlessness of language to explain why HER baby's cry tore her soul if she did not respond, while those whose cries had fallen on untortured hearing in times past, now tortured her differently - where was this baby's _real_ mother? She wasn't pregnant, and the immediate loss of all the promised joy of that potential hit her in a rush... it would have been easier to be angry at him just for answering the question. She turned her soulful gaze upon his twin fires of caring and concern, and admitted "I love you anyway, Sam."
He couldn't know what she had just experienced, and stumbled predictably. Despite his lack of empathy, her words had warned him, and his love of her was not unlike a deeply flowing current in a quiet part of a river elsewhere furious with rapids. He returned her scrutiny perplexedly... "I love you too." He stopped, and let silence be eloquent in his stead. He knew it was important, but not exactly why or what to say. She dissolved into tears quietly, and he could only think: the charted course to stupid questions lies on the other side of the door way marked "Why are you crying?" He pondered the comment "Want to talk about it?" in silence. She cried, and he cared... it was enough.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Applied Security;
Travis had given up using the Kawasaki unilaterally, and followed Bubba to the bowling alley in his pickup. Bubba was fond of watching the difficulty bowlers had in knocking over ALL the pins in a strike. He said it made him feel better when people looked up "Fat Man and Little Boy," in Brittanica. He himself rarely broke 100, but Travis had seen him complete a game with double strikes once, and stuck up for him whenever it came up that Bubba "couldn't bowl."
Bubba sniffed the anti-fungal shoe spray like a perfume as they walked up to their lane. "Bubba," Travis opened, "Ursula asked me a question I haven't had a conversation about. Given the five food groups, how do you pick the strongest password?"
Bubba keyed in the necessary data to keep score, and doffed his hat. "I guess to figure out how _strong_ a password is, I'd have to want to break into something," he answered. "One of your early improvements is to choose an opening character that puts the whole sequence away from beginning and end. By that I mean, if my key space is between 1 and 100, pick 30s to 80s... the cracker is either going to start at 1 and count up, or 100 and count down. Other than that, it's probably important to 'keep the defense honest.'" The game was progressing slowly, but without Beer it at least progressed some.
"Who's the defense, and what kind of... you mean like football?" Travis inquired. Bubba grinned. "Yep: Remember back when Jimmy Johnson's Cowboys had Michael Irving on one side and Alvin Harper on the other for wide receivers? The commentators all used to say 'all Troy has to do is throw it up there, and _somebody_ will come down with it?' Well, the fact of the matter is, that whenever the team had a long field, 60 to 80 yards, the offense would haul off and throw a long bomb early, willy nilly. The defense of the opposing team could never relax and say 'it's a running down.'" Travis took a moment to bowl a frame, and then replied wryly, "Makes sense if you're going to script the first half anyway. But can you bring it back and relate it _specifically_ to the problem of passwords now?"
Bubba knew that a little more football would not go amiss, and fleshed it out before explaining. "You script the first half for two reasons. 1. You can't get emotionally involved in outsmarting the opponent, and outsmart yourself that way. 2. If you take good notes, and observe how the opponent reacts to your enforced variety, you learn more about him than he wants you to, and that's the blood and guts of your second half strategy. Now then, about passwords..."
"If _I_ was cracking a password, I would HAVE to consider starting in the middle, just like tic-tac-toe. But if I _did_, would I count upwards, or downwards? To have a good order, it _still_ makes sense to start from one end or the other. The best way _I_ know to 'keep the defense honest,' is to use more than the minimum of a given food group. If you make a RULE that you ALWAYS use three numbers in EVERY password, then ALL passwords with only one or two numbers in them are 'off the menu.' The most convenient use of the fifth food group is also an excellent way to make a cracker's Coventry perdition; use it as the initial character. Just remember to mix it up with more than one now and then." Bubba paused, and decided that if there was more that needed to be said, Travis would have to bring it to his attention. As they finished the game, Travis teased him that he'd make a better motley, if his tennis shoes didn't match - they were incongruous with a Stetson!
"Just for that, I'm charging you Pizza for my explanation. It was raining locally when I left, and my Ball Cap was drip drying from the washer. You KNOW I wash them instead of worshiping the emblems!" It was Travis' turn to grin. "you get Supreme when the time comes... sausage is for Mussolini! Thanks for the conversation. See ya later?" "Sure thing," he spoke in answer. "Take care."
Bubba sniffed the anti-fungal shoe spray like a perfume as they walked up to their lane. "Bubba," Travis opened, "Ursula asked me a question I haven't had a conversation about. Given the five food groups, how do you pick the strongest password?"
Bubba keyed in the necessary data to keep score, and doffed his hat. "I guess to figure out how _strong_ a password is, I'd have to want to break into something," he answered. "One of your early improvements is to choose an opening character that puts the whole sequence away from beginning and end. By that I mean, if my key space is between 1 and 100, pick 30s to 80s... the cracker is either going to start at 1 and count up, or 100 and count down. Other than that, it's probably important to 'keep the defense honest.'" The game was progressing slowly, but without Beer it at least progressed some.
"Who's the defense, and what kind of... you mean like football?" Travis inquired. Bubba grinned. "Yep: Remember back when Jimmy Johnson's Cowboys had Michael Irving on one side and Alvin Harper on the other for wide receivers? The commentators all used to say 'all Troy has to do is throw it up there, and _somebody_ will come down with it?' Well, the fact of the matter is, that whenever the team had a long field, 60 to 80 yards, the offense would haul off and throw a long bomb early, willy nilly. The defense of the opposing team could never relax and say 'it's a running down.'" Travis took a moment to bowl a frame, and then replied wryly, "Makes sense if you're going to script the first half anyway. But can you bring it back and relate it _specifically_ to the problem of passwords now?"
Bubba knew that a little more football would not go amiss, and fleshed it out before explaining. "You script the first half for two reasons. 1. You can't get emotionally involved in outsmarting the opponent, and outsmart yourself that way. 2. If you take good notes, and observe how the opponent reacts to your enforced variety, you learn more about him than he wants you to, and that's the blood and guts of your second half strategy. Now then, about passwords..."
"If _I_ was cracking a password, I would HAVE to consider starting in the middle, just like tic-tac-toe. But if I _did_, would I count upwards, or downwards? To have a good order, it _still_ makes sense to start from one end or the other. The best way _I_ know to 'keep the defense honest,' is to use more than the minimum of a given food group. If you make a RULE that you ALWAYS use three numbers in EVERY password, then ALL passwords with only one or two numbers in them are 'off the menu.' The most convenient use of the fifth food group is also an excellent way to make a cracker's Coventry perdition; use it as the initial character. Just remember to mix it up with more than one now and then." Bubba paused, and decided that if there was more that needed to be said, Travis would have to bring it to his attention. As they finished the game, Travis teased him that he'd make a better motley, if his tennis shoes didn't match - they were incongruous with a Stetson!
"Just for that, I'm charging you Pizza for my explanation. It was raining locally when I left, and my Ball Cap was drip drying from the washer. You KNOW I wash them instead of worshiping the emblems!" It was Travis' turn to grin. "you get Supreme when the time comes... sausage is for Mussolini! Thanks for the conversation. See ya later?" "Sure thing," he spoke in answer. "Take care."
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Humor dissected culturally...
Humor can be dissected, as a frog can, but the thing dies in the process and the innards are discouraging to any but the pure scientific mind.
E.B. White.
Mr. Li began softly, "China has been literate for over 2500 years..."
Andrea's voice came through with clarion distinctness, just as Mr. Li was about to continue. "Sorry we were'nt paying attention earlier, did we miss much?"
As introductions were re-iterated all around, the Teleconferencing equipment earned high praise, and Bubba spent a few moments making sure that Travis had not arranged for a "cost optional demonstration." The hour was inconvenient in OZ, and when Melbourne had fallen asleep listening, he had left the kettle heating on the stove. The unrelenting shriek of the steam induced whistle had awoken Andrea, and by her efforts they were both now committed to active participation.Ursula and Teal shushed them all up, and looked at Mr. Li expectantly. As a minority it was not a new experience, but the respect tendered was not yet substantial enough to be certifiably genuine. He continued patiently. Humor entered his eyes, and he was not deliberately dry in his delivery. "...Only recently have we had anything substantive to write down." He proceeded to share such thoughts as he believed were germane to Sam's discussion. He employed a small preamble to organize his thoughts.
The Japanese Bruce Lee pioneered the field of Military Cultural Exchange, and it is in furtherance of his philosophies that I commit some points to sound and language. My wife's name means "rain-drop," in Chinese, and we use a convention between us that we abbreviate with the nomenclature "Yin," and "Yang." First, you must understand, I am not the well spring of all knowledge about the Yin and the Yang. My biggest personal enigma is this: "Why does Yin come first? Why not Yang and Yin?" I have learned not to trouble Raindrop too much about such things - she cites her mother-in-law when she is at her wits end. While I cannot provide you with Academic citations, I think your Yin and Yang are out of balance.
He contemplated concluding. He felt he had confided; adding too much at once would be like watering a Bonsai tree. He tucked his chin under, and gave a physical "full stop," to his pause, falling silent.
Sam contemplated his own situation. They could only have one meeting a week; he still had to work things out with Melbourne about the upside-down cake business; Teal and Travis were going to make a go of it for a while, and here he was, trying to segue from a Chinese cultural exchange back to his problems with script kiddies and hackers. He did the best he could.
"Mr. Li, thank you for your candor and your brevity. We feel like we know both you and your wife better now. Bubba - I'll start and email thread with you and Travis called 'Demi-tasse.' We'll have to discuss specifics of my own internet experiences (you know I'm not a novice,) and we'll disambiguate social from conspiratorial. Deal?"
Melbourne was first to share in the accord. "Please include _me_ on the Demi-tasse dist-list," he requested. "Roger dodger," Sam replied with pedestrian enunciation of the obvious. Bubba finished up his note-taking, and organized his notes in a sheaf. Ursula present Raindrop Nippon with a painted rock, named "Star," and shared the pet registration for any kids she might have had. "It will defer their demands for puppies," she explained. Teal made Sam feel special, and Ursula made her admit that Travis was not as practical as her Sam. When the furor died down, and the laughter, all parties took their leave, and headed home.
"Light on specifics," Bubba noted, "...but interesting as a spring board to dive into the philosophical deep end." He'd be taking notice of Demi-Tasse.
Nary a 5t whimper of warning;
The Maitre D' took their orders in the passive voice expected by patrons of the Golden Corral franchise, and Teal set precedent by arriving late. She rewarded Travis' ostentatious viewing of his watch with open PDA, and assured the Nippon's of her Texan friendliness by addressing them directly. "So nice to meet foreigners from _abroad_!"
They kicked off the meeting with a public prayer, led by Bubba - he didn't mind being seen to pray, and knew how to pray just loud enough that everyone at the table could hear, without making a scene. The Nippons listened politely, and then everyone trekked over to the buffet. The arrival of Coffee called the meeting to order, and Ursula motioned Sam to Chair. Travis seconded quickly, and Bubba began documenting by taking minutes of the seconds.
"What scared you Sam?" asked Teal. Teal vied with Ursula for camera lens magnetism, but Sam was subject to his own advice about not flirting too much after you hitch up, and needed no effort to turn his gaze upon Travis - only a reason. Travis' color changed, (exactly how, and for what cause, was open to interpretation,) but he answered Sam's unspoken question clearly; "I had to tell her SOMETHING Sam!"
Sam knew his friend's weakness; Travis was but a man, as was Sam himself. He didn't raise his voice, but showed a degree of understanding by asking directly: "When you showed her the site, did you tell HER _I_ made it _for_ you, or that it was your OWN?" "It came up, and now she _knows_," was Travis' weak reply.
A significant pause preceded Sam's unilateral address to the assembly. "I was concerned." he began.
His narrative explanation began with Suzie Q dropping out of High School over teaching about Evolution (Bubba pronounced it Evil-ution,) and became political when it observed the disappearance of Madalyn Murray O'Hair. Travis snickered about the Irish view of such a name, and Teal pinched him visibly, without leaving a visible mark. Bubba remarked that a Scot was more likely to make fun, and conversation turned back upon the subject of the gathering. "...so when I started contemplating just why -Burn After Reading- was SOooo funny, I wondered if Orwell's efforts in his book '1984' might have basis in reality, as well as politics," he concluded.
Bubba, rarely at a loss for words, departed from his usual reserve by sharing his thoughts immediately. "Burn after reading wasn't funny at all: It was as terrible as Gross Pointe Blank!" he pronounced. Teal was not abashed. "-Burn After Reading- WAS funny. -Gross Pointe Blank- was too," she objected, "...and _I_ thought they were BOTH good!" Travis lost no time agreeing. "Yeah, and they were, too. What's your point Bubba?"
Bubba estimated that Sam would bring matters back on topic if a furor erupted, and answered in plain language. "In BOTH of those movies, the whole audience laughs hysterically at stylized Murder; it sets a bad precedent." "You and your slippery slopes, Bubba, I do declare: I'd end up in the Gulf Of Mexico via the Mississippi just for gettin' out of bed by YOUR logic," Travis observed. Teal was quick to riposte. "Yeah, and he's right too... it IS a slippery slope: Ain't just bananas we gotta worry about these days!" Travis made an expression like he was expecting tea and got coffee, and Teal showed her own take on diplomacy by conceding "Slippery things, whether bananas or slopes are a whole discussion I'll agree, but they are not ALL bad!" Travis' face was a whiteboard for her colored erasable markers. She smiled her satisfaction to all as Bubba took up the thrust of his discussion again.
"Sam," he addressed the Chair directly, "We should be prepared to admit coincidences occur... just look at the way the author of 'Brave New World' died. What can you point to specifically, that causes you concern?"
The ball was in his court, but this was not like Tennis where he had to pass the basketball immediately upon receipt. As he contemplated his response, Mrs. Nippon shared with all attending that she thought her husband could add to substantive discussion, not just humor. "Mr. Trey: I think Mr. Li can assist you to respond well."
Mr. Li was not a reflex target. He may not have been expecting her anti-gravity assist, but he betrayed nary a whimper of warning it would not be a joke. "Inscrutable," he thought, and capitalized on the introduction.
They kicked off the meeting with a public prayer, led by Bubba - he didn't mind being seen to pray, and knew how to pray just loud enough that everyone at the table could hear, without making a scene. The Nippons listened politely, and then everyone trekked over to the buffet. The arrival of Coffee called the meeting to order, and Ursula motioned Sam to Chair. Travis seconded quickly, and Bubba began documenting by taking minutes of the seconds.
"What scared you Sam?" asked Teal. Teal vied with Ursula for camera lens magnetism, but Sam was subject to his own advice about not flirting too much after you hitch up, and needed no effort to turn his gaze upon Travis - only a reason. Travis' color changed, (exactly how, and for what cause, was open to interpretation,) but he answered Sam's unspoken question clearly; "I had to tell her SOMETHING Sam!"
Sam knew his friend's weakness; Travis was but a man, as was Sam himself. He didn't raise his voice, but showed a degree of understanding by asking directly: "When you showed her the site, did you tell HER _I_ made it _for_ you, or that it was your OWN?" "It came up, and now she _knows_," was Travis' weak reply.
A significant pause preceded Sam's unilateral address to the assembly. "I was concerned." he began.
His narrative explanation began with Suzie Q dropping out of High School over teaching about Evolution (Bubba pronounced it Evil-ution,) and became political when it observed the disappearance of Madalyn Murray O'Hair. Travis snickered about the Irish view of such a name, and Teal pinched him visibly, without leaving a visible mark. Bubba remarked that a Scot was more likely to make fun, and conversation turned back upon the subject of the gathering. "...so when I started contemplating just why -Burn After Reading- was SOooo funny, I wondered if Orwell's efforts in his book '1984' might have basis in reality, as well as politics," he concluded.
Bubba, rarely at a loss for words, departed from his usual reserve by sharing his thoughts immediately. "Burn after reading wasn't funny at all: It was as terrible as Gross Pointe Blank!" he pronounced. Teal was not abashed. "-Burn After Reading- WAS funny. -Gross Pointe Blank- was too," she objected, "...and _I_ thought they were BOTH good!" Travis lost no time agreeing. "Yeah, and they were, too. What's your point Bubba?"
Bubba estimated that Sam would bring matters back on topic if a furor erupted, and answered in plain language. "In BOTH of those movies, the whole audience laughs hysterically at stylized Murder; it sets a bad precedent." "You and your slippery slopes, Bubba, I do declare: I'd end up in the Gulf Of Mexico via the Mississippi just for gettin' out of bed by YOUR logic," Travis observed. Teal was quick to riposte. "Yeah, and he's right too... it IS a slippery slope: Ain't just bananas we gotta worry about these days!" Travis made an expression like he was expecting tea and got coffee, and Teal showed her own take on diplomacy by conceding "Slippery things, whether bananas or slopes are a whole discussion I'll agree, but they are not ALL bad!" Travis' face was a whiteboard for her colored erasable markers. She smiled her satisfaction to all as Bubba took up the thrust of his discussion again.
"Sam," he addressed the Chair directly, "We should be prepared to admit coincidences occur... just look at the way the author of 'Brave New World' died. What can you point to specifically, that causes you concern?"
The ball was in his court, but this was not like Tennis where he had to pass the basketball immediately upon receipt. As he contemplated his response, Mrs. Nippon shared with all attending that she thought her husband could add to substantive discussion, not just humor. "Mr. Trey: I think Mr. Li can assist you to respond well."
Mr. Li was not a reflex target. He may not have been expecting her anti-gravity assist, but he betrayed nary a whimper of warning it would not be a joke. "Inscrutable," he thought, and capitalized on the introduction.
A 5t Long Expected Party;
Travis and Bubba were first to arrive. Bubba had his glasses taped with green electrical tape this time. His flirtation with designer band-aids appeared to be over. Travis glad-handed him with an honesty that belied his forgetfulness when Bubba was not within earshot.
"Bubba... How in the world ARE ya?" he hailed. "Why Travis, I'm better than Tomatoes in the spring," came the reply. "What have you been UP to?"
"Oh, in between solving the world's problems and keeping up with the Joneses, I've been computing the exact value of PI, Bubba." Travis laughed. Bubba's reply showed he knew what he was talking about. "I've been needing the circumference of the known Universe to more than 23 decimals of a millimeter... when can you have it to me?"
With the formalities of greeting out of the way, Travis led off the top of a new deck. "Did you hear about the Aggie..." Bubba turned and adjusted his Stetson, this was likely to be _good_!
...Who was watching a party in a bar? The Bar tender used a special cue to run the break, and then a sweet young thing would devise a possible pocket for a ball; it was just like Nine Ball, but with teams, and stripes and solids in order. The relevant Shark would make his point, and if he DIDN'T he'd take a swig. Well, the Aggie could see that at this rate it was gonna take _Fore-ver_ to get 'em all drunk, but as good as they were, he hung around to watch. Game after game, the teams vied to excel, and the sweet young thing was getting harder and harder to impress. Without thinking, the Aggie began taking a swig for every successful shot, and applauding the better efforts with two and three at a time. When the assembly finally dissolved, he addressed the sweet young thing with salubrious logic. "I realize they were all obedient and all took turns," he inquired, "But exactly WHO was calling the SHOTS?"
It was not Travis' best ever, and it was typical of Bubba not to laugh too hard anyway, but he gave it it's due, and replied: "Travis, I don't care who's calling the shots... GOD is gonna run the _table_!" "Can't blame a guy for tryin'" Travis replied good naturedly.
The Nippon's arrived, and they greeted one another awkwardly as they proceeded to wait for the Clementines. It was going to be FUN!
"Bubba... How in the world ARE ya?" he hailed. "Why Travis, I'm better than Tomatoes in the spring," came the reply. "What have you been UP to?"
"Oh, in between solving the world's problems and keeping up with the Joneses, I've been computing the exact value of PI, Bubba." Travis laughed. Bubba's reply showed he knew what he was talking about. "I've been needing the circumference of the known Universe to more than 23 decimals of a millimeter... when can you have it to me?"
With the formalities of greeting out of the way, Travis led off the top of a new deck. "Did you hear about the Aggie..." Bubba turned and adjusted his Stetson, this was likely to be _good_!
...Who was watching a party in a bar? The Bar tender used a special cue to run the break, and then a sweet young thing would devise a possible pocket for a ball; it was just like Nine Ball, but with teams, and stripes and solids in order. The relevant Shark would make his point, and if he DIDN'T he'd take a swig. Well, the Aggie could see that at this rate it was gonna take _Fore-ver_ to get 'em all drunk, but as good as they were, he hung around to watch. Game after game, the teams vied to excel, and the sweet young thing was getting harder and harder to impress. Without thinking, the Aggie began taking a swig for every successful shot, and applauding the better efforts with two and three at a time. When the assembly finally dissolved, he addressed the sweet young thing with salubrious logic. "I realize they were all obedient and all took turns," he inquired, "But exactly WHO was calling the SHOTS?"
It was not Travis' best ever, and it was typical of Bubba not to laugh too hard anyway, but he gave it it's due, and replied: "Travis, I don't care who's calling the shots... GOD is gonna run the _table_!" "Can't blame a guy for tryin'" Travis replied good naturedly.
The Nippon's arrived, and they greeted one another awkwardly as they proceeded to wait for the Clementines. It was going to be FUN!
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
The 5t Argentina Defense;
TTTTT - Urgent Update! There has been a major correction in a major stock market in the Southern Hemisphere. The Experiment Credibility Rating Corps as a group have been predicting such a thing behind closed doors ever since they announced it. As long ago as Evita, both South America's Madonna and North America's Madonna bought Mickey Milkman's theory of the Perpetual Velocity of Money. He successfully argued somewhere, that although a perpetual motion machine might be impossible in Physics, Perpetual Velocity has been fact ever since the conception of the Big Bang Theory, and possibly before that. As such, the perpetual Velocity of Money was as inevitable as it was irresistible.
This led to an unprecedented loaning of credibility to Mickey Milkman. Like a fire started by exactly one match in a forest by a demolitions expert, this accident of fortune befell a less than noble soul. From person to person, the futures were traded on the purchase of the theory, all to the end that Muammar al-Gaddafi would get laid. Eventually, even institutions were paying tribute to the theory, and Milkman's stock took off like an IOU! The Law of Unintended consequences was invoked by the Pope of Afghanistan, and enforced in open court in front of everybody. The consequence: Milkman was treated like he was raised in a barn, and made to milk his own cows.
Meanwhile the Board of Trustees immediately set about to find the best way to capitalize on the situation. For legal reasons, they sent a newsletter to shareholders quarterly so said shareholders could CYA by selling if they didn't want responsibility for what the Indefinite Ptolemaic Organization (the official name of the board of trustees,) was doing, after they did it. Meanwhile, they idolized the Greek Goddess of Victory, and Just Did It!
They purchased still more credibility by Association, gave credence to such theories of their own as they chose, they borrowed the credibility of others for their own purposes (such as wrapping themselves in the Argentinian Flag,) and lent credibility to other scientists who didn't even understand the ritual of sacrifice upon the Mickey Milkman alter properly!
Instead of being incredulous, the public went to work morning, noon and night-shift night. Credibility normally associated with hard currencies like the Dollar and the Euro began to attach to the (ARS) Peso. The practical application of the theory by the Argentinian Government was to borrow large sums of currency, to maintain velocity through inflation, and when they did so, much of it was hard currency. How exactly this hard currency led to hard times is unclear - the mechanics of it are not yet well investigated.
Prosperity by debt spending led to a deficit of credibility in Banking circles from the start: Traditional Jewish usurers, Mafia Loan sharks and Oriental Businessmen of both Yin and Yang persuasion stopped making deposits in the traditional Department of Bonds of the Government of Argentina.
Repayment of the original and ongoing deposits of credibility in Milkman's account became SO controversial that the cash debt was never addressed, and the responsible parties were held harmless for the sense of it in the court of public opinion. The story was that IF the credibility budget was balanced in "Futures," the borrowing would stop and repayment would follow as inevitably as taxes.
Instead, Politicians in Argentina, having LEARNED from the Deficit spending Model of credibility, applied it creatively to Argentina's National Debt.
As such, Argentina has applied with the UN as a Perpetual Money Velocity Charity, and has asked the World to believe that they _will_ repay their debt. Entities large and small, some individual, some institutional have made such contributions to charity as they may, but Argentina's economy has had to be rebooted several times. As such, their historical Alexander Hamilton figurehead has closed his personal account and invested in religion.
The single silver lining to these clouds of evaporated tears is that crops of doubt genetically modified to international standards are being sown with seed from sources as yet undisclosed. If they meet their target audiences hunger for revenge, it will likely feed into the Wrath Economy of Canada, and start the World Going Round the other direction.
Thank You, Brenda Lee!
This led to an unprecedented loaning of credibility to Mickey Milkman. Like a fire started by exactly one match in a forest by a demolitions expert, this accident of fortune befell a less than noble soul. From person to person, the futures were traded on the purchase of the theory, all to the end that Muammar al-Gaddafi would get laid. Eventually, even institutions were paying tribute to the theory, and Milkman's stock took off like an IOU! The Law of Unintended consequences was invoked by the Pope of Afghanistan, and enforced in open court in front of everybody. The consequence: Milkman was treated like he was raised in a barn, and made to milk his own cows.
Meanwhile the Board of Trustees immediately set about to find the best way to capitalize on the situation. For legal reasons, they sent a newsletter to shareholders quarterly so said shareholders could CYA by selling if they didn't want responsibility for what the Indefinite Ptolemaic Organization (the official name of the board of trustees,) was doing, after they did it. Meanwhile, they idolized the Greek Goddess of Victory, and Just Did It!
They purchased still more credibility by Association, gave credence to such theories of their own as they chose, they borrowed the credibility of others for their own purposes (such as wrapping themselves in the Argentinian Flag,) and lent credibility to other scientists who didn't even understand the ritual of sacrifice upon the Mickey Milkman alter properly!
Instead of being incredulous, the public went to work morning, noon and night-shift night. Credibility normally associated with hard currencies like the Dollar and the Euro began to attach to the (ARS) Peso. The practical application of the theory by the Argentinian Government was to borrow large sums of currency, to maintain velocity through inflation, and when they did so, much of it was hard currency. How exactly this hard currency led to hard times is unclear - the mechanics of it are not yet well investigated.
Prosperity by debt spending led to a deficit of credibility in Banking circles from the start: Traditional Jewish usurers, Mafia Loan sharks and Oriental Businessmen of both Yin and Yang persuasion stopped making deposits in the traditional Department of Bonds of the Government of Argentina.
Repayment of the original and ongoing deposits of credibility in Milkman's account became SO controversial that the cash debt was never addressed, and the responsible parties were held harmless for the sense of it in the court of public opinion. The story was that IF the credibility budget was balanced in "Futures," the borrowing would stop and repayment would follow as inevitably as taxes.
Instead, Politicians in Argentina, having LEARNED from the Deficit spending Model of credibility, applied it creatively to Argentina's National Debt.
As such, Argentina has applied with the UN as a Perpetual Money Velocity Charity, and has asked the World to believe that they _will_ repay their debt. Entities large and small, some individual, some institutional have made such contributions to charity as they may, but Argentina's economy has had to be rebooted several times. As such, their historical Alexander Hamilton figurehead has closed his personal account and invested in religion.
The single silver lining to these clouds of evaporated tears is that crops of doubt genetically modified to international standards are being sown with seed from sources as yet undisclosed. If they meet their target audiences hunger for revenge, it will likely feed into the Wrath Economy of Canada, and start the World Going Round the other direction.
Thank You, Brenda Lee!
Monday, March 23, 2009
How to 5t read a blog;
Sam sat down at his PC terminal on the distributed processing digital web, and decided to do a little research. He had an ongoing list of Google projects that seemed to grow like a weed. If he took a project day and researched two or three, he could get a lot of information out of online data, but converting into knowledge in his head limited his speed to... well, let's just say that his Academic career had progressed 3 subjects at a time, even back then; he filled out full-time requirements with phys-ed. His lesson on life's little problems for today was that every time he struck three off the top, he discovered that he had inevitably added more than three below it out of interest. He took a few minutes to copy it to Notepad; you never knew when you were going to be convalescing and have time on your hands. He reflected that, actually, if he scanned the list for relevance before researching, normal life would be selective of the areas of effort: if he never actually got to a particular entry, that entry might not be relevant to real life.
Today, Travis' recommendation of the Tom's Hardware web site was the subject of his inquiries. It was different from a blog: To read a blog, you had to use the archives to find the link to the very first article and click "newer link" for each successive entry until you EITHER got tired and wrote down (or bookmarked) where you were OR got to the top and subscribed. Hmmm... he didn't subscribe to _that_ MANY, but he STILL didn't have time to read them all. Ursula could be relied upon to tell him that if he didn't LIKE it, it wasn't that good, but he suspected she was just prejudiced.
He held down the control key and typed "F." This put his cursor in the box for searching content on current instance of any open Microsoft application: He typed "BIOS" and initiated the search. He used the repeat feature to keep searching new instances until he got to the end and the browser started over. Apparently the elite world of BIOS manufacturing had no late breaking headline news for all the world. Next he chose the search filed on the web site and went about his business, reading what there was available for what he needed to know. He'd come back later for all he wanted to know. Travis had a way of trying to tell him all there WAS to know, and that was too much. Nope, Tom's Hardware was good, if you could read and had a brain.
Ursula called from her chosen spot in the den. Her laptop's wireless connection had been reliable, but perfect performance on the part of the machine did not stop most users from seeking human intervention from a source outside their person. "What you got there Care bear?" He stopped and listened for response. "I was Googling for Dog shit, and look what I came up with!" she asked.
While not specifically a question, Sam understood that his presence was desirable, and left his station, maneuvering around a pair of bunny slippers on his way to her. He reflected amusedly that if Ursula was of a mind to, she'd put his hat rack right in the middle of the living room and hang her robe right there, where he couldn't miss it, but she would NOT leave it lying on the floor. Oh well, it was not imperative that she be without her robe this early in the afternoon.
Ursula had a dark and stormy blog up on her screen, and appeared to have followed his instructions correctly without a problem. "What seems to be the problem?" he inquired. "The problem SEEMS to be that I can't read the part that the author seems to think is most _important_! Oh, it's English letters alright, but it ain't ENGLISH!" Sam smiled at her look - she was stern in her speech, but she was smiling at him too. "That's LATIN," he exclaimed. "Where did you find THIS?" he asked with interest. Ursula's pause warned him not to expect too much from her reply. "Well, it wasn't in the living room, because YOU were in there, and it wasn't in the kitchen or the dishes would be done. Hmmm... I guess it must have been right here on the computer!" She didn't dwell upon his lack of specificity, and he played along carefully. "OK, if it wasn't already here when we got up this morning, you must have found it on the internet. I already taught you about Google, so we'll dispense with the formalities. What topic was it under? -Dog shit- isn't descriptive enough for me to find it on my own!" He transfixed her with his gaze, and she cocked her head coyly in response. "To tell you the truth Sam, you'd have to prove you're dumb to worm it out of me against my will, you're that smart, but I was really searching for stuff on Pedigree's for a dog to give as a gift." Sam knew Ursula's intellect AND her ability to prevaricate, and so he put himself on continual alert for puppy love, and looked at the site.
Sam was a fan of dictionaries, and this looked like an excellent opportunity to employ one. He directed her to use the cut and paste feature to store the relevant Latin phrase on the clip-board. Then he showed her BOTH how to open a concurrent browser session AND how to use alt-tab to swap between applications. As soon as she was back at the keyboard, she didn't wait, but pasted the Latin directly into Google and hit "Search." To Sam's surprise, a list of translations from a multitude of Latin translators and phrase collections immediately popped up; he didn't even have to show her Google's translation capability. Her next action reflected exactly how practical Ursula could be. She grabbed a piece of paper from the printer and alt-tabbed back to the blog. By the time Sam figured out what was going on, she was handing him the URL, and shooing him back where he had come from. She called her gratitude to his retreating back. "I love you Sam, but not as a substitute for my brain!"
He grinned. "Just don't forget about Disciplinary Barbecue and all the company later... how long do you think it'll take to get to Golden Corral?" "If you're trying to ask if I'll get ready on time, I will Sam, but I really don't know how far it'll be. I've been to our local Golden Corral but not this one." Sam acknowledged he hadn't shown enough foresight with the comment, "Tell you what, I'll remind Travis if you'll remind Bubba. I can't imagine the Nippons won't be there, but if they aren't it'll be for good reason. I'll GOOGLE a map on Mapquest, deal?" Ursula was a good listener, even if she'd prefer to be at her own entertainment. "Deal," she called back. It would be a while before Sam honestly thought he was smarter than she was; "book smarts" were not the only kind there were!
Today, Travis' recommendation of the Tom's Hardware web site was the subject of his inquiries. It was different from a blog: To read a blog, you had to use the archives to find the link to the very first article and click "newer link" for each successive entry until you EITHER got tired and wrote down (or bookmarked) where you were OR got to the top and subscribed. Hmmm... he didn't subscribe to _that_ MANY, but he STILL didn't have time to read them all. Ursula could be relied upon to tell him that if he didn't LIKE it, it wasn't that good, but he suspected she was just prejudiced.
He held down the control key and typed "F." This put his cursor in the box for searching content on current instance of any open Microsoft application: He typed "BIOS" and initiated the search. He used the repeat feature to keep searching new instances until he got to the end and the browser started over. Apparently the elite world of BIOS manufacturing had no late breaking headline news for all the world. Next he chose the search filed on the web site and went about his business, reading what there was available for what he needed to know. He'd come back later for all he wanted to know. Travis had a way of trying to tell him all there WAS to know, and that was too much. Nope, Tom's Hardware was good, if you could read and had a brain.
Ursula called from her chosen spot in the den. Her laptop's wireless connection had been reliable, but perfect performance on the part of the machine did not stop most users from seeking human intervention from a source outside their person. "What you got there Care bear?" He stopped and listened for response. "I was Googling for Dog shit, and look what I came up with!" she asked.
While not specifically a question, Sam understood that his presence was desirable, and left his station, maneuvering around a pair of bunny slippers on his way to her. He reflected amusedly that if Ursula was of a mind to, she'd put his hat rack right in the middle of the living room and hang her robe right there, where he couldn't miss it, but she would NOT leave it lying on the floor. Oh well, it was not imperative that she be without her robe this early in the afternoon.
Ursula had a dark and stormy blog up on her screen, and appeared to have followed his instructions correctly without a problem. "What seems to be the problem?" he inquired. "The problem SEEMS to be that I can't read the part that the author seems to think is most _important_! Oh, it's English letters alright, but it ain't ENGLISH!" Sam smiled at her look - she was stern in her speech, but she was smiling at him too. "That's LATIN," he exclaimed. "Where did you find THIS?" he asked with interest. Ursula's pause warned him not to expect too much from her reply. "Well, it wasn't in the living room, because YOU were in there, and it wasn't in the kitchen or the dishes would be done. Hmmm... I guess it must have been right here on the computer!" She didn't dwell upon his lack of specificity, and he played along carefully. "OK, if it wasn't already here when we got up this morning, you must have found it on the internet. I already taught you about Google, so we'll dispense with the formalities. What topic was it under? -Dog shit- isn't descriptive enough for me to find it on my own!" He transfixed her with his gaze, and she cocked her head coyly in response. "To tell you the truth Sam, you'd have to prove you're dumb to worm it out of me against my will, you're that smart, but I was really searching for stuff on Pedigree's for a dog to give as a gift." Sam knew Ursula's intellect AND her ability to prevaricate, and so he put himself on continual alert for puppy love, and looked at the site.
Sam was a fan of dictionaries, and this looked like an excellent opportunity to employ one. He directed her to use the cut and paste feature to store the relevant Latin phrase on the clip-board. Then he showed her BOTH how to open a concurrent browser session AND how to use alt-tab to swap between applications. As soon as she was back at the keyboard, she didn't wait, but pasted the Latin directly into Google and hit "Search." To Sam's surprise, a list of translations from a multitude of Latin translators and phrase collections immediately popped up; he didn't even have to show her Google's translation capability. Her next action reflected exactly how practical Ursula could be. She grabbed a piece of paper from the printer and alt-tabbed back to the blog. By the time Sam figured out what was going on, she was handing him the URL, and shooing him back where he had come from. She called her gratitude to his retreating back. "I love you Sam, but not as a substitute for my brain!"
He grinned. "Just don't forget about Disciplinary Barbecue and all the company later... how long do you think it'll take to get to Golden Corral?" "If you're trying to ask if I'll get ready on time, I will Sam, but I really don't know how far it'll be. I've been to our local Golden Corral but not this one." Sam acknowledged he hadn't shown enough foresight with the comment, "Tell you what, I'll remind Travis if you'll remind Bubba. I can't imagine the Nippons won't be there, but if they aren't it'll be for good reason. I'll GOOGLE a map on Mapquest, deal?" Ursula was a good listener, even if she'd prefer to be at her own entertainment. "Deal," she called back. It would be a while before Sam honestly thought he was smarter than she was; "book smarts" were not the only kind there were!
Friday, March 20, 2009
An example of Call and Response Poetry;
Travis was sitting in Cassandra's, nursing on a Fuzzy Navel. The whole bar was taking a lenient view of the alcoholic homeless Vietnam Vet impostor in the corner. He was too far gone to fear the consequences, and belted out a hymn of his own creation at the top of his alcoholic lungs. The refrain was not poetic, but he used it as a rhythmic theme, varying delivery for effect.
...It's ALLLL a cons-spiracy... Nothing is wrong!
He began all over again:
The message from the NSA for the CIA is...
Nothing is wrong.
It's unencrypted...
Nothing is wrong.
...for those who can't decode it...
Nothing is wrong.
In three part harmony...
Nothing is wrong.
He paused for effect;
It's ALLLL a cons--spiracy... Nothing is wrong.
The Government's contract isn't up for another four years...
Nothing is wrong.
Apathy and Negligence are bureaucratic virtues...
Nothing is wrong.
They indemnify and make them deniable...
Noth-ing is wrong.
It's ALLLL a cons--spiracy... Nothing is wrong.
They've controlled the spin...
Nothing is wrong.
They've suppressed the story...
Nothing is wrong.
Communication of potential threats is what TERRORIZES...
(his voice rose temporarily to crescendo...)
Noth-ing is wroooong.
It's ALLLL a cons--spiracy... N-o-t-h-i-n-g i-s w-r-o-n-g.
He finished with a flourish to applause. His audience had been supportive for a moment, but further efforts were drowned out by enthusiastic application of more applause, and he subsided. Travis marveled at his articulation. Pretty good for a drunk. Now he had it running in his head.
It's all a Conspiracy; Nothing is wrong.
...It's ALLLL a cons-spiracy... Nothing is wrong!
He began all over again:
The message from the NSA for the CIA is...
Nothing is wrong.
It's unencrypted...
Nothing is wrong.
...for those who can't decode it...
Nothing is wrong.
In three part harmony...
Nothing is wrong.
He paused for effect;
It's ALLLL a cons--spiracy... Nothing is wrong.
The Government's contract isn't up for another four years...
Nothing is wrong.
Apathy and Negligence are bureaucratic virtues...
Nothing is wrong.
They indemnify and make them deniable...
Noth-ing is wrong.
It's ALLLL a cons--spiracy... Nothing is wrong.
They've controlled the spin...
Nothing is wrong.
They've suppressed the story...
Nothing is wrong.
Communication of potential threats is what TERRORIZES...
(his voice rose temporarily to crescendo...)
Noth-ing is wroooong.
It's ALLLL a cons--spiracy... N-o-t-h-i-n-g i-s w-r-o-n-g.
He finished with a flourish to applause. His audience had been supportive for a moment, but further efforts were drowned out by enthusiastic application of more applause, and he subsided. Travis marveled at his articulation. Pretty good for a drunk. Now he had it running in his head.
It's all a Conspiracy; Nothing is wrong.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
It was Geographical - you had to BE there!
The Postman came, and in the delivery was Travis' first evidence in the trial of his sanity for the discovery process - he hadn't delivered the manuscript IN PERSON. Predictably, he HAD used EXPRESS mail, and Sam reflected that if he ever got a letter from Travis that employed the superior time-saved to dollar-spent ratio of Priority (two day delivery) mail, he would _actually_ be prepared to doubt it was from Travis.
He broke the seal, and made a mental note to ask Travis to email him a random number to be duplicated on his "special" deliveries, so that Travis wouldn't doubt Sam's ability to know a polecat on sight, two days after Sam believed his protestations.
Inside was Bubba's rejection letter. He examined the language for loop-holes; it appeared that if you could obtain a request from the Studio to write them one, this script rejection process would be greatly impeded. He had already talked it over with Ursula, and her insight had been typically piercing:
- Write a Manuscript about something you know (taking the "write what you know," advice,) and care about
- Don't marry the Producer - bigamy charges were prohibitive
- Pick a time in history when the audience _WANTS_ to hear about the issue (or the vehicle is in "Fad.")
- At the appropriate moment, approach an agreeable Producer to find the right Studio whose agenda is advanced by the _particular_ submission under consideration
He reflected on the marvel that ANY movie is made EVER - it was comparable to a hard drive not crashing 20 times a day - statistically the things were incredible; he dashed off an inquiry to see how Travis' Terra-byte HDD was performing. As long as he used a good pseudonym, it didn't even matter if he was in violation of the Head Honcho - he would sneak in a hit, if his pitch was just the right speed and spin.
He idly flipped through Bubba's effort. It was predictably, for Travis (at least in his _present_ temperament,) still attached. In less than three hours he had an outline. Bubba's script lacked basic plausibility, but was a candidate for a parody of security problems, it was so funny.
1. The National Security Association had envisioned the Dept. of Homeland Security before it was even chartered. As an association of agencies, they collectively blamed CIA for all their mistakes.
2. They had a cadre of Satanist adherents that joined the Secret Service for the credential of the only organization ever to penetrate the historic patriots. In the sequel, they would only be the first.
3. They had a group of fraternity members who joined the old boys club, and disrupted communications between their enemies.
4. Over time, they branched out into counterfeiting identities, and began answering emails and letters of protagonists as they went. They would discourage a protagonist by rejections, and take their best ideas, de-nature them with PC vocabulary and promote them as their own. By careful choosing, the association soon had members in prominent circles everywhere.
5. They communicated on a blog called "Pravda" and this was how they kept their multitude of stories straight. Sam would have made the improvement of distributing the blog content securely, and using update and version tracking software in conjunction with his plot-line checker to keep the "La Cosa Nostra" impostor invisible to the electronic eye of all automatons.
6. The bad actors eventually fell to a little old lady trying to use the Sandia National Laboratory's atomic clock to time latency of hard disk drives, for a "truth in advertising" suit she brought in conjunction with Gigabyte representations.
7. Despite its failings, the conclusion was well introduced. Richard Gere made an excellent Corporate White Knight, and Julia Roberts a stunning little old lady.
He put it down and called to Ursula. "Care Bear, have you figured out who likes Bubba yet?" he asked. "Yes," she replied economically. "Well can you get her to bring him to the 'Disciplinary Barbecue,' on Thursday, to meet Travis and the Nippons? You KNOW it's always the ladies that do all the social arrangements!"
Ursula paused before replying. "She'll be a real cheap date, Sam," she led out. Unalerted, Sam inquired all unsuspecting. "Don't ask HIM to pay, or he'll NEVER come. What's her name?" "She doesn't have one Sam - NO ONE likes Bubba." She soon presented herself in person to her favorite voyeur. "If you _promise_ not to ask me to do the impossible, I'll volunteer to get him to come." "You win," Sam capitulated quickly. "I'll let _you_ make the deal; Travis will be helpful I suspect. Bubba has a whole new hobby ever since his visit to Montana."
Secure in the knowledge that he had a world-class co-conspirator, he returned to his online investigations. BBC usually had a global perspective on things; he knew from past experience it would take time to read all the news, and he applied preemptively for a glass of Orange Juice. Ursula's encouragement had taught Sam to appreciate the value of a good cheerleader.
He broke the seal, and made a mental note to ask Travis to email him a random number to be duplicated on his "special" deliveries, so that Travis wouldn't doubt Sam's ability to know a polecat on sight, two days after Sam believed his protestations.
Inside was Bubba's rejection letter. He examined the language for loop-holes; it appeared that if you could obtain a request from the Studio to write them one, this script rejection process would be greatly impeded. He had already talked it over with Ursula, and her insight had been typically piercing:
- Write a Manuscript about something you know (taking the "write what you know," advice,) and care about
- Don't marry the Producer - bigamy charges were prohibitive
- Pick a time in history when the audience _WANTS_ to hear about the issue (or the vehicle is in "Fad.")
- At the appropriate moment, approach an agreeable Producer to find the right Studio whose agenda is advanced by the _particular_ submission under consideration
He reflected on the marvel that ANY movie is made EVER - it was comparable to a hard drive not crashing 20 times a day - statistically the things were incredible; he dashed off an inquiry to see how Travis' Terra-byte HDD was performing. As long as he used a good pseudonym, it didn't even matter if he was in violation of the Head Honcho - he would sneak in a hit, if his pitch was just the right speed and spin.
He idly flipped through Bubba's effort. It was predictably, for Travis (at least in his _present_ temperament,) still attached. In less than three hours he had an outline. Bubba's script lacked basic plausibility, but was a candidate for a parody of security problems, it was so funny.
1. The National Security Association had envisioned the Dept. of Homeland Security before it was even chartered. As an association of agencies, they collectively blamed CIA for all their mistakes.
2. They had a cadre of Satanist adherents that joined the Secret Service for the credential of the only organization ever to penetrate the historic patriots. In the sequel, they would only be the first.
3. They had a group of fraternity members who joined the old boys club, and disrupted communications between their enemies.
4. Over time, they branched out into counterfeiting identities, and began answering emails and letters of protagonists as they went. They would discourage a protagonist by rejections, and take their best ideas, de-nature them with PC vocabulary and promote them as their own. By careful choosing, the association soon had members in prominent circles everywhere.
5. They communicated on a blog called "Pravda" and this was how they kept their multitude of stories straight. Sam would have made the improvement of distributing the blog content securely, and using update and version tracking software in conjunction with his plot-line checker to keep the "La Cosa Nostra" impostor invisible to the electronic eye of all automatons.
6. The bad actors eventually fell to a little old lady trying to use the Sandia National Laboratory's atomic clock to time latency of hard disk drives, for a "truth in advertising" suit she brought in conjunction with Gigabyte representations.
7. Despite its failings, the conclusion was well introduced. Richard Gere made an excellent Corporate White Knight, and Julia Roberts a stunning little old lady.
He put it down and called to Ursula. "Care Bear, have you figured out who likes Bubba yet?" he asked. "Yes," she replied economically. "Well can you get her to bring him to the 'Disciplinary Barbecue,' on Thursday, to meet Travis and the Nippons? You KNOW it's always the ladies that do all the social arrangements!"
Ursula paused before replying. "She'll be a real cheap date, Sam," she led out. Unalerted, Sam inquired all unsuspecting. "Don't ask HIM to pay, or he'll NEVER come. What's her name?" "She doesn't have one Sam - NO ONE likes Bubba." She soon presented herself in person to her favorite voyeur. "If you _promise_ not to ask me to do the impossible, I'll volunteer to get him to come." "You win," Sam capitulated quickly. "I'll let _you_ make the deal; Travis will be helpful I suspect. Bubba has a whole new hobby ever since his visit to Montana."
Secure in the knowledge that he had a world-class co-conspirator, he returned to his online investigations. BBC usually had a global perspective on things; he knew from past experience it would take time to read all the news, and he applied preemptively for a glass of Orange Juice. Ursula's encouragement had taught Sam to appreciate the value of a good cheerleader.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
An Antithetical study of Inertia;
Sam awoke early - this was strange, because he had not gone to bed early. At least, in words that his Grandfather would have chosen, the bed had not come to him! He took a luxurious shower, and contemplated the management potential of those who well exercise their perceived feedbacks, where and when they found them; the world was his oyster. Ursula went to town on her laptop, and Sam briefly wondered if she was going to have the North Pole on back order. Then he turned his own attentions to online life. He added a little radio in the background, for variety, and began a typically uncharted voyage. He was pleased that the 5ts had exerted some kind of influence, and Canada 5ts was up and running again. He presumed this had not been accomplished telepathically, and launched a vain email off to Travis about it.
Travis was a useful ally because of the very same thing that was otherwise a liability. Even though Travis' attention tended to wander from issue to issue, with input from the "24 hour news cycle" (in the same way that the paddle of a pinball machine influences a pinball,) he had an energy and passion for injustice that was incomparable to the POST money-laundering Sam. Sure, he'd been a fire-cracker in College, but nowadays he regarded even the worst disasters like a pre-trial hearing or an indictment. If SAM made records, he wanted to finance the trial, and attend it; most movies ended right at the inception of a 115 month trial. He laughed at the idea of prosecuting the fall-out from even a pedestrian chase scene. Producers were so anxious to "cut to the chase scene," they couldn't stay there. This was self-consistent with the cinematic "three-second rule:" Don't leave ANYTHING onscreen for more than 3 seconds; not even graphic Nudity, but didn't really acknowledge the carnage that their melodrama invoked. He fired off another email to Travis about the more conventional 3-second rule.
His hero was going to know the value of a dollar. He made a list of product placements from whom to seek venture capital and sponsorship.
- Canon Rebel for digital photographic excellence.
- HP for digital Instamatic - it really DID address all 2GB of his SD card.
- Lexus for luxury cars
- Accord, Camry and Legend for sedans
- Maxima and Altima for sports cars - they still produced two-doors, although he didn't want to attempt to board one in a compact parking space.
- Hummer, Land Cruiser and Range Rover for various off road and four by four applications
Recreation was for college students, and he made a sidebar notation to look up Consumer Reports for 3 year old pickups - of all American vehicles, these were the most maintainable. Jeeps had a romance all their own, and he stopped guessing with a mental shrug. His OWN preferences governed applications as much as equipment here - he needed to get radically foreign input for variety. If he made a movie with universally quality driven product placements, some law of nature was likely to be violated; the most empirical observation that could be made about this was that a statistical normal distribution would be absent - it would be surreal for that reason.
A chat from Travis popped up. "Is Ursula there? I need notations on what I did wrong, and instructions on how to fix it!" Sam smiled, and called her over to audit the discussion. "Travis, she's right here 'listening.' First off, are you reacting to your confederate, or leading out to see if she wants to follow?" Travis' response showed how much he had come to _trust_ Ursula. "Urs: It's not like that at all - I AM a man, and I know the contents of my own mind. _This_ is economic". Ursula dictated, and Sam assisted administratively. "Be specific, but first take a moment to collect your thoughts so you can be brief." was the collaborative effort.
It wasn't long in coming. "My world is spinning out of control, and she and I CANNOT agree what makes it turn." Ursula knew Teal better than most people would on such short notice, but she thought it more prudent to draw Travis out. Sam's interpretation soon took to the wire bound ether. "Can you put your perspective into words first?" Sam chose his word from experience, both of language and of Travis. It allowed for a viewpoint/standpoint contrast, and he could rely on Travis to consider it his duty to be reasonable about it. "D-U-H! It's well established that Money makes the world go 'round! I'm as romantic as the next guy, but I gotta be realistic and responsible for my speech - otherwise she'll think I'm a real dog, just blowing pink smoke up her ass, telling her whatever I think she wants to hear for 10 minutes. She can compare my success rate to what she really wants to hear, but that's not substantive, it's more of a Friday night date!" Sam marveled at the candor that a little encryption could elicit.
He took the initiative after first talking it over with his Co-counsel and First Chair. "Here's your reasoned argument and your defense for agreeing with her: Syllogistically speaking, IF money makes the world go 'round, THEN where were all the bankers when it started? When the dust settles, tell her she's a food addict and that you'll stop sex in the world when a construction worker doesn't need a token of exchange from Friday afternoon until Tuesday at lunch. It'll start a good sized altercation, but it's easier to talk about a disagreement than to chew the cud of your clone's advice. She'll come out of her shell and talk to ya. Keep the candy and desert for shared experience - it's Wheat for the flour mill of your love, OK?"
Travis would have been bombastic if he had not understood. "OK." he replied. "Thanx - TTYL" and he was gone.
Travis was a useful ally because of the very same thing that was otherwise a liability. Even though Travis' attention tended to wander from issue to issue, with input from the "24 hour news cycle" (in the same way that the paddle of a pinball machine influences a pinball,) he had an energy and passion for injustice that was incomparable to the POST money-laundering Sam. Sure, he'd been a fire-cracker in College, but nowadays he regarded even the worst disasters like a pre-trial hearing or an indictment. If SAM made records, he wanted to finance the trial, and attend it; most movies ended right at the inception of a 115 month trial. He laughed at the idea of prosecuting the fall-out from even a pedestrian chase scene. Producers were so anxious to "cut to the chase scene," they couldn't stay there. This was self-consistent with the cinematic "three-second rule:" Don't leave ANYTHING onscreen for more than 3 seconds; not even graphic Nudity, but didn't really acknowledge the carnage that their melodrama invoked. He fired off another email to Travis about the more conventional 3-second rule.
Travis:Travis wouldn't like the specter of fear that this invoked, but it taught respect for the bike. Sam had a feeling that, as long as Travis didn't forget to respect the bike, he'd be OK. His email was still getting spam, and the spam filter was still working. He turned his attentions back to his script.
However fast you're going, use a stopped object to time your following distance to 3 seconds. You may recall our discussions that friction is proportional to weight, but energy (and hence total stopping distance) is proportional to the _square_ of your velocity? That bike can stop faster than anything ELSE on the road maybe, but getting hit from behind, standing or sliding either one, can result in a visit to the burn unit. I won't tell your babe if you won't tell mine.
III
His hero was going to know the value of a dollar. He made a list of product placements from whom to seek venture capital and sponsorship.
- Canon Rebel for digital photographic excellence.
- HP for digital Instamatic - it really DID address all 2GB of his SD card.
- Lexus for luxury cars
- Accord, Camry and Legend for sedans
- Maxima and Altima for sports cars - they still produced two-doors, although he didn't want to attempt to board one in a compact parking space.
- Hummer, Land Cruiser and Range Rover for various off road and four by four applications
Recreation was for college students, and he made a sidebar notation to look up Consumer Reports for 3 year old pickups - of all American vehicles, these were the most maintainable. Jeeps had a romance all their own, and he stopped guessing with a mental shrug. His OWN preferences governed applications as much as equipment here - he needed to get radically foreign input for variety. If he made a movie with universally quality driven product placements, some law of nature was likely to be violated; the most empirical observation that could be made about this was that a statistical normal distribution would be absent - it would be surreal for that reason.
A chat from Travis popped up. "Is Ursula there? I need notations on what I did wrong, and instructions on how to fix it!" Sam smiled, and called her over to audit the discussion. "Travis, she's right here 'listening.' First off, are you reacting to your confederate, or leading out to see if she wants to follow?" Travis' response showed how much he had come to _trust_ Ursula. "Urs: It's not like that at all - I AM a man, and I know the contents of my own mind. _This_ is economic". Ursula dictated, and Sam assisted administratively. "Be specific, but first take a moment to collect your thoughts so you can be brief." was the collaborative effort.
It wasn't long in coming. "My world is spinning out of control, and she and I CANNOT agree what makes it turn." Ursula knew Teal better than most people would on such short notice, but she thought it more prudent to draw Travis out. Sam's interpretation soon took to the wire bound ether. "Can you put your perspective into words first?" Sam chose his word from experience, both of language and of Travis. It allowed for a viewpoint/standpoint contrast, and he could rely on Travis to consider it his duty to be reasonable about it. "D-U-H! It's well established that Money makes the world go 'round! I'm as romantic as the next guy, but I gotta be realistic and responsible for my speech - otherwise she'll think I'm a real dog, just blowing pink smoke up her ass, telling her whatever I think she wants to hear for 10 minutes. She can compare my success rate to what she really wants to hear, but that's not substantive, it's more of a Friday night date!" Sam marveled at the candor that a little encryption could elicit.
He took the initiative after first talking it over with his Co-counsel and First Chair. "Here's your reasoned argument and your defense for agreeing with her: Syllogistically speaking, IF money makes the world go 'round, THEN where were all the bankers when it started? When the dust settles, tell her she's a food addict and that you'll stop sex in the world when a construction worker doesn't need a token of exchange from Friday afternoon until Tuesday at lunch. It'll start a good sized altercation, but it's easier to talk about a disagreement than to chew the cud of your clone's advice. She'll come out of her shell and talk to ya. Keep the candy and desert for shared experience - it's Wheat for the flour mill of your love, OK?"
Travis would have been bombastic if he had not understood. "OK." he replied. "Thanx - TTYL" and he was gone.
Creativity can equally well be applied to security;
Sam took a moment to refill his coffee. Ursula reflected that he'd be hard to put to sleep tonight, as he taught her this new skill.
"Well, teddy Bear, it's easier than you think, but not easy."
First, they clarified for me that the table in question, for all it's impregnable fair play, was hamstrung by removal of the "three try rule." They could sit there with a computer and assault the file with as MANY passwords as their hearts could wish in any given second. I'm pretty sure that Travis would have faulted their imaginations, but I was officially documenting the humility of a student, and didn't raise an eyebrow.
Ursula decided to let him know she was listening, and asked the obvious question:
Ursula pursed her lips in concentration. "Is it JUST letters that are two-food-group passwords," she asked, "or is it the case that I can mix any pair of food groups for the purpose?" Sam was as happy as any teacher can be, and responded to her demonstrable attention by expanding, "Yes, you CAN change them up. In fact, you can have two-food group, three-food group, AND four-food group passwords that way. In fact, if it's a matter of extraordinary circumstances, you can throw in an alt + 'any number between 127 and 256' (like we talked about before,) for effect - an actual 5th food group!"
Ursula felt that Sam had truly shared an intimacy with her, and she promised herself that she would convert his efforts into online security for them both. She smiled at him and got a cup of coffee of her own. "Sam, I've been working out a new system of feedback for Intimate Swedish Massage. Could you devote to me your undivided attention tonight, until the morning hour is no longer new?" Sam's nose pointed left and to the rear, but his eyes looked directly into hers. "My Martial Arts are far more current than my Marital Arts." he replied. "I'm sure I need the practice."
"Well, teddy Bear, it's easier than you think, but not easy."
He paused for emphasis and continued. "You'll find hacker handles and variable names instructive in choosing hard-to-break passwords. When I first looked into them, I made the commonplace mistake of supposing that their colorful nicknames were indicative of the composition of their passwords. For example, I saw that they used zero's where O's would go, 4's for 'A's, 5's for S's 1's for L's and I's, 3's in place of E's, dollar signs where you would look for S's, and the plus operator for T's. I named myself hyp3rm0n0c14$+1c on a bulletin board, and told them all the Aggie Joke about the Aggie who thought his password couldn't be guessed. They laughed, and put me on to a table they padlocked for practice. I keyed it in, and in less than 4 hrs they were back with the password. That may seem as only as remarkable as reading the table without my permission, but they assured me that they built it pseudo randomly using an engine. I asked them how they guessed it so "quickly," and they taught me everything I know.If it was easy, Everyone would do it!"
First, they clarified for me that the table in question, for all it's impregnable fair play, was hamstrung by removal of the "three try rule." They could sit there with a computer and assault the file with as MANY passwords as their hearts could wish in any given second. I'm pretty sure that Travis would have faulted their imaginations, but I was officially documenting the humility of a student, and didn't raise an eyebrow.
BTW, I've had good success with Travis, asking him to document the _false_ humility of a student, but it's not my first plan of action. He assured me he was joking, and proceeded to do the same thing to his Algebra classes, with reported success, so I think it might actually work.
Returning to the discussion of passwords, Ursula, these guys explained that they had not tried ALL the _permutations_ (that's the mathematical way to figure out how many there could be,) but instead they cheated and took an electronic dictionary and tried all the words. I asked them if that was what they meant by a 'hack,' and they said, "No, it's a crack, not a hack." I gave up understanding their expressions overnight. They gave me high marks for how many times they had to go through it over and over, because every letter I changed to a number made a whole different dictionary, and there were eight of them. I was depressed, and demoralized, and told them THEY had been IMMORAL; they only laughed and said that if they stopped, the NSA would have a party, and they were all ex-CIA Rangers. They told me I hadn't kept the defense honest by changing up, and the number substitutions were amateur, by being pattern driven. I was _still_ bummed, so they promised me free porn, and showed me that these conventions they used for names were just for show:The straight skinny is that passwords HAVE to be RANDOM.They used a convention called "the four food-groups" to remind them of what they meant. A two-food group password would have lower-case AND upper-case letters in it.
Ursula decided to let him know she was listening, and asked the obvious question:
"What are the four food-groups?"We call numeric's "numbers" and usually refer to upper case numbers as "special characters." Some sites even level the playing field by refusing to allow the sharpies to use the special characters but this is kind of like leveling the playing field for seals as they dash for the shore in shark infested waters -
"lower case letters, upper case letters, numeric letters, and upper case numeric letters."
there is safety in numbers only if you _have_ to BE a number; some people call that herd behavior; these are typically not shepherds, but rather top-gun CEO types, otherwise hindered by self deceit.Whatever the case, Ursula Minor, you need to choose the best password practical under any circumstances; practical INCLUDES being able to remember it - that's where the numericized letters come in, see?
Ursula pursed her lips in concentration. "Is it JUST letters that are two-food-group passwords," she asked, "or is it the case that I can mix any pair of food groups for the purpose?" Sam was as happy as any teacher can be, and responded to her demonstrable attention by expanding, "Yes, you CAN change them up. In fact, you can have two-food group, three-food group, AND four-food group passwords that way. In fact, if it's a matter of extraordinary circumstances, you can throw in an alt + 'any number between 127 and 256' (like we talked about before,) for effect - an actual 5th food group!"
Ursula felt that Sam had truly shared an intimacy with her, and she promised herself that she would convert his efforts into online security for them both. She smiled at him and got a cup of coffee of her own. "Sam, I've been working out a new system of feedback for Intimate Swedish Massage. Could you devote to me your undivided attention tonight, until the morning hour is no longer new?" Sam's nose pointed left and to the rear, but his eyes looked directly into hers. "My Martial Arts are far more current than my Marital Arts." he replied. "I'm sure I need the practice."
A Badger and a Blowfish have the warning of appearance in common;
After supper, Sam and Ursula sat down in their respective rockers to discuss the day's events. Same went first.
"Well Bear, I've got other things on my mind than your teddy. Travis has got me working out how easy it would be to send you straight to Lifelock to get your credit back."
"How is that?" she inquired brightly. The wonderful thing about Ursula was that when she wasn't a master of a concept, she instantly became a master student. Her Daddy's endearment had been "Mop."
"Well, I was thinking back to when Travis got in a fight with Morton Alphonse Mortimer over his safety deposit box. He made SOooo much trouble for that poor banker that Ebeneezer _Scrooge_ would have felt sorry for him! First thing he did was get his email address and sign him up for every subscription list he could get his hands on. Then he used the 'reply too:' feature on his throw-away spam email account to write ALL the personal email addresses in his spam folder, and have the replies routed direct to his adversary. He saved spam for days, just so he could do it. These individuals are typically on botnets, and don't know how to reformat or _anything_. So the long and short of it was that MAM (as Travis called him when he was in a Charitable mood,) had to move his internet avatar to new domains the world over." Ursula grinned. "What did Travis call him when he _wasn't_ charitably inclined?" she asked. Sam chuckled for a moment. "Well, I believe his code name was "Boss of Satan, Obstetrician of all Hell," he began. "As the story developed, the Bank's Charter was conceived in Hell too, and Satan and Ethel were responsible for all the damned procreating that was going on, and the ass-holes so conceived were monopolized by MAM's recruitment efforts for tellers." Ursula was already giggling without moderation. "Spare me any more Sam," she requested sensibly. "What else did Travis do to give him _trouble_?" "I'll just abbreviate in closing that the Code-name abbreviated to 'Satan's Orifice.'"
Sam went on instructively. "Travis looked up Mortal's phone number on Google, and found out more dirt for a businessman than Googling his NAME! His home address was first down the chute. Travis watched the weather report for rain, and rolled his house right before a downpour. As I recall, it inconvenienced Travis so much as having to do it at night for cover of darkness, but you catch my drift. For his car, Travis employed eggs. When Mortal got his paint job straightened out, Travis escalated to shaving cream, and after that to yellow latex racing stripes. I call them racing stripes charitably, but that was how Travis meant it to look. Mortal just cussed and swore - didn't even take the trouble to make up new cuss words, just kept recycling the old ones like a Military man. Travis bought a portable drill for a screwdriver, a hasp and a Masterlock combination lock. When Mortal took his lady to the movies, Travis arranged for the door to be secured against ALL intruders upon his return. He was thoughtful that way. Travis looked up everywhere Mortal had a password, and went and entered bull shit answers until the three-try rule locked him out. Mortal couldn't even withdraw cash from his own ATM for a while. Travis called all the Charities in Mortal's local yellow pages, and promised each a reasonable sum, if only they would make some concession or the other. When they wouldn't take his word for it, he'd make appointments for him, and then he'd call back later to make apologies. He'd give them his address and ask them to send him literature too. He dug up surveys that asked for declared income ranges, and told them Mortal had 80 grand a year. Travis reasoned that the junk mail this generated ought to make even a banker drool. He'd email Mortal, and use the reply to get his IP address and then he'd use his router to clone THAT IP until DHCP recycled it. If Mortal knew it was from him, he'd waste server space online registering dummy email accounts, and change the name to "noreply." He'd take the trouble to tell his Outlook Express to _Check_ these accounts (he kept a whole spam profile for this purpose,) and send Mortal return receipt requested emails. He's note the time-date stamp of the receipts, and tell Mortal's wife's friends he'd seen him at fancy restaurants at that time of day with female Corporate Executives. You can just imagine how that dance devolved. Travis occasionally invested in a banana or potato to jam the exhaust pipe of Mortal's car, and when it was due to break down, Travis would call in a false fire report nearby to occupy police and fire personnel. Then he'd go by for himself, just to make sure Mortal was still too proud and stuck up to accept his help. He never committed a criminal act, but he did bribe a mechanic to jack up Mortal's car odometer so it would have to be replaced; the cable cut like butter to good wire cutters. Travis' main inconvenience throughout was the poor quality of pay phones. Travis even invested $30 dollars one time, actually contributing to a charity, just to get Mortal on their list as a soft touch. The other notable dis-incentive to these actions was that Travis' own junk mail supply got out of hand, and he let his lease lapse and moved as soon as he was done. He even investigated registering a Sole Proprietorship or an LLC in Mortal's name to get him in trouble for TAX evasion, just like Elliot Ness, but the fine was actual imprisonment, and he didn't think he could afford it. The fallout at the Bank was that he was persona non-grata, and his last act, about a month before it ran out was to put a good sized trout in the box, as he removed his own materiel. The briefcase was OK too!" Sam was kind of impressed he even remembered all that.
"So is THIS why Travis couldn't get a date?" Ursula inquired. Sam revisited the old discussion in his mind. "I honestly don't think so, but just as there is no accounting for taste in looks and company, some of Mortal's friends believed his original complaints about Travis. After all that, it looked like he had cause."
Ursula could see that Sam was making a point, and asked the obvious question. "How do I choose better passwords?" she queried.
"Well Bear, I've got other things on my mind than your teddy. Travis has got me working out how easy it would be to send you straight to Lifelock to get your credit back."
"How is that?" she inquired brightly. The wonderful thing about Ursula was that when she wasn't a master of a concept, she instantly became a master student. Her Daddy's endearment had been "Mop."
"Well, I was thinking back to when Travis got in a fight with Morton Alphonse Mortimer over his safety deposit box. He made SOooo much trouble for that poor banker that Ebeneezer _Scrooge_ would have felt sorry for him! First thing he did was get his email address and sign him up for every subscription list he could get his hands on. Then he used the 'reply too:' feature on his throw-away spam email account to write ALL the personal email addresses in his spam folder, and have the replies routed direct to his adversary. He saved spam for days, just so he could do it. These individuals are typically on botnets, and don't know how to reformat or _anything_. So the long and short of it was that MAM (as Travis called him when he was in a Charitable mood,) had to move his internet avatar to new domains the world over." Ursula grinned. "What did Travis call him when he _wasn't_ charitably inclined?" she asked. Sam chuckled for a moment. "Well, I believe his code name was "Boss of Satan, Obstetrician of all Hell," he began. "As the story developed, the Bank's Charter was conceived in Hell too, and Satan and Ethel were responsible for all the damned procreating that was going on, and the ass-holes so conceived were monopolized by MAM's recruitment efforts for tellers." Ursula was already giggling without moderation. "Spare me any more Sam," she requested sensibly. "What else did Travis do to give him _trouble_?" "I'll just abbreviate in closing that the Code-name abbreviated to 'Satan's Orifice.'"
Sam went on instructively. "Travis looked up Mortal's phone number on Google, and found out more dirt for a businessman than Googling his NAME! His home address was first down the chute. Travis watched the weather report for rain, and rolled his house right before a downpour. As I recall, it inconvenienced Travis so much as having to do it at night for cover of darkness, but you catch my drift. For his car, Travis employed eggs. When Mortal got his paint job straightened out, Travis escalated to shaving cream, and after that to yellow latex racing stripes. I call them racing stripes charitably, but that was how Travis meant it to look. Mortal just cussed and swore - didn't even take the trouble to make up new cuss words, just kept recycling the old ones like a Military man. Travis bought a portable drill for a screwdriver, a hasp and a Masterlock combination lock. When Mortal took his lady to the movies, Travis arranged for the door to be secured against ALL intruders upon his return. He was thoughtful that way. Travis looked up everywhere Mortal had a password, and went and entered bull shit answers until the three-try rule locked him out. Mortal couldn't even withdraw cash from his own ATM for a while. Travis called all the Charities in Mortal's local yellow pages, and promised each a reasonable sum, if only they would make some concession or the other. When they wouldn't take his word for it, he'd make appointments for him, and then he'd call back later to make apologies. He'd give them his address and ask them to send him literature too. He dug up surveys that asked for declared income ranges, and told them Mortal had 80 grand a year. Travis reasoned that the junk mail this generated ought to make even a banker drool. He'd email Mortal, and use the reply to get his IP address and then he'd use his router to clone THAT IP until DHCP recycled it. If Mortal knew it was from him, he'd waste server space online registering dummy email accounts, and change the name to "noreply." He'd take the trouble to tell his Outlook Express to _Check_ these accounts (he kept a whole spam profile for this purpose,) and send Mortal return receipt requested emails. He's note the time-date stamp of the receipts, and tell Mortal's wife's friends he'd seen him at fancy restaurants at that time of day with female Corporate Executives. You can just imagine how that dance devolved. Travis occasionally invested in a banana or potato to jam the exhaust pipe of Mortal's car, and when it was due to break down, Travis would call in a false fire report nearby to occupy police and fire personnel. Then he'd go by for himself, just to make sure Mortal was still too proud and stuck up to accept his help. He never committed a criminal act, but he did bribe a mechanic to jack up Mortal's car odometer so it would have to be replaced; the cable cut like butter to good wire cutters. Travis' main inconvenience throughout was the poor quality of pay phones. Travis even invested $30 dollars one time, actually contributing to a charity, just to get Mortal on their list as a soft touch. The other notable dis-incentive to these actions was that Travis' own junk mail supply got out of hand, and he let his lease lapse and moved as soon as he was done. He even investigated registering a Sole Proprietorship or an LLC in Mortal's name to get him in trouble for TAX evasion, just like Elliot Ness, but the fine was actual imprisonment, and he didn't think he could afford it. The fallout at the Bank was that he was persona non-grata, and his last act, about a month before it ran out was to put a good sized trout in the box, as he removed his own materiel. The briefcase was OK too!" Sam was kind of impressed he even remembered all that.
"So is THIS why Travis couldn't get a date?" Ursula inquired. Sam revisited the old discussion in his mind. "I honestly don't think so, but just as there is no accounting for taste in looks and company, some of Mortal's friends believed his original complaints about Travis. After all that, it looked like he had cause."
Ursula could see that Sam was making a point, and asked the obvious question. "How do I choose better passwords?" she queried.
The James Buchannan Presidency as a Warning;
Sam's notes in his notebook began to take shape. His Protagonist would be a politician who arrived in Washington politically chaste. He would be contradicted by legislative congress, and this would threaten his lifestyle. While re-orienting himself politically, he would be angered at the way his patriotic efforts are twisted to be used against his will. Once this protagonist was re-oriented, he would start winning and acquire a taste for this shit.
Sam pondered whether his hero should ride off into the sunset, or become corrupted to the values of the system in a tragedy. He put a question mark beside this note, and began to contemplate names.
Publius was a good one, but suitable only for fiction - no one could seriously believe that the founding Father's pseudonym was a real character. He made a note to look up baby names, and their derivations.
He consulted his bank balance in his "prudish" browser - the one he ONLY used for online transactions (online cookies were a curse,) and reopened the more promiscuous version again. He soon found the bookmark where he had seen the plot converter for sale. It advertised that it would allow flow-charting of some ridiculous number of characters from incident to incident. Sam estimated that IF he was careful, even he and Travis wouldn't leave any plot holes.
He checked his Google gmail, and noticed Travis was online. He felt like a little cloak and dagger humor anyway, and he hit the online "chat" selection. Travis was terse in his reply. "Open up your 'settings' section and tell it to 'always use https,'" was his first gambit. He duly did the dance. "What does that do Travis?" he asked. Online "Techpublius" responded predictably with the correct response. "It turns on secure socket layer." Sam decided to nudge Travis towards a little better social convention. "Why don't you just tell people that it stands for 'security?'" he asked. Travis let the clock run down a while, just to show he had a life. When he began typing again, Sam saw the indicator, and put down his lemonade. "Well, for one thing Sam, you're not PEOPLE, and for another thing, I _cannot_ ABIDE to LIE!" Sam used CB to certify his response, and indicated that he would become Travis' advocate and spokesman to this end. At Travis' insistence he promised to tell everyone he suggested it to, that it only worked between terminal and server, so that BOTH parties had to use it for it's mathematically optimal use. Practically, this meant "Tell Ursula," and he didn't worry unduly about the commitment. Ursula had a 6th sense about who was dumb and who was smart, and usually told the right people.
Travis had his own agenda. "I want UNICODE passwords Sam, not just for ME, but for EVERYBODY!" Sam turned this over in his brain. UNICODE allowed every character to be represented differently even for FONT. He experimented with 'sending' @ and sent Travis an ASCII 7 beep, by holding down his 'alt' key while he typed in "007." When he released the alt key, the computer dutifully beeped, and Travis cussed him out. "Sam, you're NOT taking me SERIOUSLY," was Travis' complaint. His all-caps were plaintive to the online aficionado. "The first 32 characters are the ONLY ones I think help, and other than that there's just 96. If I make 96 a part of every password I use, they'll just start laughing at me, and call me -96-!"
Sam attempted to be practical. "Well Travis, how on EARTH will you specify a FONT that way?" he began. "For one thing, the computer has to let you ENTER the thing, and for another, you have to figure out a way to write it DOWN! Can you imagine making your password EeEeEEE?" Travis' reply was chastened. "I can sure imagine it Sam, but I agree it'd be HARD to remember for sure. Fact is, it was little challenging just writing that one down. That's why I love conversations in general. I can point out YOUR mistakes, and you can give ME good ideas like THAT." Sam could see that Travis was not quite himself. "All, right then, you figure out how to make a server take 'em and I'll figure out how to ship 'em back and forth over the existing 'net," he promised. "One thing's for sure. 2^32 or 2^64 raised to the power of the length of the password DOES get mathematically intractable even for Astronomical computers. I can see why you'ld like 'em." Travis signed off. "That ought to fix 'em at LEAST till they go quantum," he agreed. "I'd just as soon kick Al Quaida's ass in person ANYWAY!" "Don't take any wooden nickles." "Don't sell any solid copper bullets." He closed the IM window. Travis was a character.
He turned his attention to his script plot again.
- The bad actors will try to assist us with cell phone free zones for peace and quiet, just like hospitals and theaters.
...he wrote. Hmmm... you can't call a theater in anticipation of a fire, but you COULD call 911 from inside, before it took hold. Better take THAT off the list. He'd _have_ a fire in a crowded theater, and his hero's son would get away by yelling "Fire," and then not joining the stampede. He'd stay down until the bodies piled up at the door, and after everyone was either out or dead, he'd take a SCUBA breath and crawl over bodies to safety. The alternative was to have a commanding stranger have everyone make an orderly exit by rows, but as a plot vehicle it was a bust.
- Controlled power outages would be another way to arrange a cell blackout.
He recalled "Eagle Eye," and made a note to watch it critically. It was a compendium of used ideas, and if he duplicated, he'd be subject to libel. On the other hand, if he kept his creativity untainted, he might infer fun ideas FROM it; too bad "Live Free or Die Hard" had taken the whole concept of FIRE SALE.
He noted a good working title. "Milk of Camphor." Probably NEVER get a movie made named "Milk of Camphor," but it would keep them from later rejecting a sentimental favorite.
His reverie was broken by a yell. "Y'all Come!' shouted Ursula. He was _very_ agreeable. A meal would certainly make him feel better.
Sam pondered whether his hero should ride off into the sunset, or become corrupted to the values of the system in a tragedy. He put a question mark beside this note, and began to contemplate names.
Publius was a good one, but suitable only for fiction - no one could seriously believe that the founding Father's pseudonym was a real character. He made a note to look up baby names, and their derivations.
He consulted his bank balance in his "prudish" browser - the one he ONLY used for online transactions (online cookies were a curse,) and reopened the more promiscuous version again. He soon found the bookmark where he had seen the plot converter for sale. It advertised that it would allow flow-charting of some ridiculous number of characters from incident to incident. Sam estimated that IF he was careful, even he and Travis wouldn't leave any plot holes.
He checked his Google gmail, and noticed Travis was online. He felt like a little cloak and dagger humor anyway, and he hit the online "chat" selection. Travis was terse in his reply. "Open up your 'settings' section and tell it to 'always use https,'" was his first gambit. He duly did the dance. "What does that do Travis?" he asked. Online "Techpublius" responded predictably with the correct response. "It turns on secure socket layer." Sam decided to nudge Travis towards a little better social convention. "Why don't you just tell people that it stands for 'security?'" he asked. Travis let the clock run down a while, just to show he had a life. When he began typing again, Sam saw the indicator, and put down his lemonade. "Well, for one thing Sam, you're not PEOPLE, and for another thing, I _cannot_ ABIDE to LIE!" Sam used CB to certify his response, and indicated that he would become Travis' advocate and spokesman to this end. At Travis' insistence he promised to tell everyone he suggested it to, that it only worked between terminal and server, so that BOTH parties had to use it for it's mathematically optimal use. Practically, this meant "Tell Ursula," and he didn't worry unduly about the commitment. Ursula had a 6th sense about who was dumb and who was smart, and usually told the right people.
Travis had his own agenda. "I want UNICODE passwords Sam, not just for ME, but for EVERYBODY!" Sam turned this over in his brain. UNICODE allowed every character to be represented differently even for FONT. He experimented with 'sending' @ and sent Travis an ASCII 7 beep, by holding down his 'alt' key while he typed in "007." When he released the alt key, the computer dutifully beeped, and Travis cussed him out. "Sam, you're NOT taking me SERIOUSLY," was Travis' complaint. His all-caps were plaintive to the online aficionado. "The first 32 characters are the ONLY ones I think help, and other than that there's just 96. If I make 96 a part of every password I use, they'll just start laughing at me, and call me -96-!"
Sam attempted to be practical. "Well Travis, how on EARTH will you specify a FONT that way?" he began. "For one thing, the computer has to let you ENTER the thing, and for another, you have to figure out a way to write it DOWN! Can you imagine making your password EeEeEEE?" Travis' reply was chastened. "I can sure imagine it Sam, but I agree it'd be HARD to remember for sure. Fact is, it was little challenging just writing that one down. That's why I love conversations in general. I can point out YOUR mistakes, and you can give ME good ideas like THAT." Sam could see that Travis was not quite himself. "All, right then, you figure out how to make a server take 'em and I'll figure out how to ship 'em back and forth over the existing 'net," he promised. "One thing's for sure. 2^32 or 2^64 raised to the power of the length of the password DOES get mathematically intractable even for Astronomical computers. I can see why you'ld like 'em." Travis signed off. "That ought to fix 'em at LEAST till they go quantum," he agreed. "I'd just as soon kick Al Quaida's ass in person ANYWAY!" "Don't take any wooden nickles." "Don't sell any solid copper bullets." He closed the IM window. Travis was a character.
He turned his attention to his script plot again.
- The bad actors will try to assist us with cell phone free zones for peace and quiet, just like hospitals and theaters.
...he wrote. Hmmm... you can't call a theater in anticipation of a fire, but you COULD call 911 from inside, before it took hold. Better take THAT off the list. He'd _have_ a fire in a crowded theater, and his hero's son would get away by yelling "Fire," and then not joining the stampede. He'd stay down until the bodies piled up at the door, and after everyone was either out or dead, he'd take a SCUBA breath and crawl over bodies to safety. The alternative was to have a commanding stranger have everyone make an orderly exit by rows, but as a plot vehicle it was a bust.
- Controlled power outages would be another way to arrange a cell blackout.
He recalled "Eagle Eye," and made a note to watch it critically. It was a compendium of used ideas, and if he duplicated, he'd be subject to libel. On the other hand, if he kept his creativity untainted, he might infer fun ideas FROM it; too bad "Live Free or Die Hard" had taken the whole concept of FIRE SALE.
He noted a good working title. "Milk of Camphor." Probably NEVER get a movie made named "Milk of Camphor," but it would keep them from later rejecting a sentimental favorite.
His reverie was broken by a yell. "Y'all Come!' shouted Ursula. He was _very_ agreeable. A meal would certainly make him feel better.
Emotional insecurities can be compensated for digitally;
Sam determined to follow Travis' instructions closely. He frowned down at his note. It was hand written, and somewhat aged. "Use the DOS thing to look up the Machine Access thing (Oh, the one that made everyone think you had an Apple,) and find the router feature that lets you turn on MAC address filtering." He wasn't the computer genius that Travis was, but as a Social hack, it was CERTAIN to convince Travis that Sam was taking him seriously. He had once calculated that there were approximately 35,000 MAC addresses possible for every living human being. By Travis' likely application this meant a table look-up on a hacked-into NSA computer for your MAC address, and then a computational process that took 35,000 / (1.7 GHz) seconds. Still, it would be seen to slow them down, and Travis would be appreciative.
Travis' sensationalism was useful for estimates, and Sam could _probably_ make use of his talents in the back room of his advertising department, but as it stood, he made a great inspiration for Sam's new creative project. He took out his old 5 subject college ruled spiral notebook. Ever since high school, he had kept an active one for just such occasions - Travis was an entertaining friend, as well as an excellent security sentry. Dad had always _said_ "Eternal vigilance is the price of freedom." If his recollection didn't do him wrong, it was Leo Tolstoy who first said "Eternal Vigilance is the price of Peace." Well, it was like the one legged soldier said: Freedom was the thing that made it worth the price; peace was worth a lot, but not emasculation.
He recalled what his art professor had told him when he wanted to bring War and Peace to the silver screen. Tolstoy's "War and Peace" had more characters in it than any other book in history; the cast alone would be prohibitive. Hmmmm... good place to get a list of needed code-names for the new social project of allaying Travis' fears. "Ursula," he called, "If we give EVERY_BODY a cut, how much venison sausage do you think we can use, without wasting?"
Ursula was bored, and her internet connection was still under construction. She responded immediately. "About 70 pounds," she said confidently. Sam was a little disappointed. Even if he told Travis to only bring in one deer at a time, he would hit that target before you could turn around. "You think you could make a bunch of batches of venison jerky, just till Travis gets this new bug worked out of his system?" Ursula was sympathetic, but practical. "Sam, I love Travis just as much as you do, but couldn't you just have him boil buckets and buckets of water, like they do when women have babies in the movies?" "I'll see about having him store it somewhere sterile," he replied. "Even _Travis_ will not have the power to believe that the thing that makes it important is the temperature. Knowing him, he'd get a milk pasteurizer and start the thing running from the city WATER LINE, and we'd have a water bill to rival Coca Cola and Ozarka _together_!" Ursula clearly had her own views on this: "I'd do it, and send HIM the BILL!" she responded.
Sam concluded his efforts with the laptop, and returned it. Her "I love you Sam," was genuine, but not as incongruously endearing as it could characteristically be. "You're welcome dear," he murmured. He put away the chit with Router password, WAP password, E-mail address passwords for them both, their MAC addresses, the password to his portable password database application (with online identities and URLs included,) and the admin passwords for both computers into his wallet with his insurance card. Profile passwords were too much too commit to paper. Travis would be over the moon if he even found out what was _already_ committed to paper.
Travis' sensationalism was useful for estimates, and Sam could _probably_ make use of his talents in the back room of his advertising department, but as it stood, he made a great inspiration for Sam's new creative project. He took out his old 5 subject college ruled spiral notebook. Ever since high school, he had kept an active one for just such occasions - Travis was an entertaining friend, as well as an excellent security sentry. Dad had always _said_ "Eternal vigilance is the price of freedom." If his recollection didn't do him wrong, it was Leo Tolstoy who first said "Eternal Vigilance is the price of Peace." Well, it was like the one legged soldier said: Freedom was the thing that made it worth the price; peace was worth a lot, but not emasculation.
He recalled what his art professor had told him when he wanted to bring War and Peace to the silver screen. Tolstoy's "War and Peace" had more characters in it than any other book in history; the cast alone would be prohibitive. Hmmmm... good place to get a list of needed code-names for the new social project of allaying Travis' fears. "Ursula," he called, "If we give EVERY_BODY a cut, how much venison sausage do you think we can use, without wasting?"
Ursula was bored, and her internet connection was still under construction. She responded immediately. "About 70 pounds," she said confidently. Sam was a little disappointed. Even if he told Travis to only bring in one deer at a time, he would hit that target before you could turn around. "You think you could make a bunch of batches of venison jerky, just till Travis gets this new bug worked out of his system?" Ursula was sympathetic, but practical. "Sam, I love Travis just as much as you do, but couldn't you just have him boil buckets and buckets of water, like they do when women have babies in the movies?" "I'll see about having him store it somewhere sterile," he replied. "Even _Travis_ will not have the power to believe that the thing that makes it important is the temperature. Knowing him, he'd get a milk pasteurizer and start the thing running from the city WATER LINE, and we'd have a water bill to rival Coca Cola and Ozarka _together_!" Ursula clearly had her own views on this: "I'd do it, and send HIM the BILL!" she responded.
Sam concluded his efforts with the laptop, and returned it. Her "I love you Sam," was genuine, but not as incongruously endearing as it could characteristically be. "You're welcome dear," he murmured. He put away the chit with Router password, WAP password, E-mail address passwords for them both, their MAC addresses, the password to his portable password database application (with online identities and URLs included,) and the admin passwords for both computers into his wallet with his insurance card. Profile passwords were too much too commit to paper. Travis would be over the moon if he even found out what was _already_ committed to paper.
One Flew Over The 5t Cuckoo's Nest;
Travis' instructions had been specific.
- Turn off the ping echo on his router at the node.
- Set the WAP password on the wireless function to a random hexadecimal number. He faithfully posted the number by his monitor on a Post-It, so Ursula would know where to tell him to look if he ever lost it.
- Name his wireless network after the worst "Dennis The Menace" in the neighborhood, and make the access password something offensive - he chose "y3lLow." His own addition had been creative. The password hint was not his usually chosen "gibberish;" it was "I feel violated!"
He grinned again. If The President of the United States ever found out that Travis was faking his letterhead for his personal use, Travis would catch more hell than even Mrs. Kirkpatrick could dish out. Travis was not usually THIS nutty, but Sam was his friend, and dutifully made up his own web site to assist in settling Travis' nerves. He didn't think it was THAT big a deal, but passing the Universal Resource Locator around among their friends and acquaintances would let everybody know that Travis was on a kick, and he'd get better before too very long. Meanwhile, Travis was going everywhere in person on his Kawasaki Ninja motorcycle, wearing a trench coat, a Private Eye hat, and sun-glasses, with a pipe firmly clenched between his teeth. Travis had taken the loss of the 5t Journal password 'thing' hard - the prankster who pulled THAT one was gonna pay in SPADES!
He and Ursula talked it over, and decided that a steady dose of Disney was what Travis needed. He took notes as he searched the IMDB site for answers. The 1974 release of "Where the Red Fern Grows," had been good, and so was 1957's "Old Yeller." He'd pick up the 1956 release of 1984 as well; Travis would get a kick out of that, and he'd see that there was absolutely NOTHING new under the sun. He picked up the phone. When Travis announced his presence, he began "How as your date?" Travis was noncommittal. "Well, at first she wanted to marry me to death, but now she's getting cold feet." "'Cause of your new diet of conspiracy conversations?" Travis could tell that Sam had seen right through him and confided, "I think I _like_ her Sam!" "I'll let Care-Bear know to Craig's List all the other ones then. You gotta treat this one right, or no-one will want to go with you again." This seemed harsh to Travis, but Sam knew that there was no more successful tool of Cupid's enemy "Nemesis," than too much flirting after you hook up. If Travis thought he couldn't GET another date he'd be on his _best_ behavior. "Thanks Sam, you're the current Chairman of THAT Expert Committee," Travis agreed. "By the way, Bubba called me back. He said that Movie Script he wrote _did_ get a reply. He's faxing it to me as soon as he can find it. Meanwhile, he said his best advice was send your idea in on a 28 pound stack of 28 lb paper. That way it'll be on classy media, be long enough for editing, not too long for a human being to write, and substantial enough to be thought substantive. He _might_ have passed the rejection letter on to his solicitor - it was all about unsolicited solicitations and procurement." Sam brightened considerably. If he was to make his mark on History, unsolicited submissions would be a major hurdle to surmount. "OK Travis, you take care now. We still on for disciplinary barbecue on Thursdays at 7:00?" "I'll be there with bells on - say Hi to the Nippons for me if I have class, will ya, I haven't officially cleared my schedule yet." "You bet." They parted secure in the knowledge that their friendship was better than money could buy.
Sam went in search of Ursula's laptop. He needed to fix her up with online access all over again. When the battery worked, that thing was more useful than a Swiss Army knife!
- Turn off the ping echo on his router at the node.
- Set the WAP password on the wireless function to a random hexadecimal number. He faithfully posted the number by his monitor on a Post-It, so Ursula would know where to tell him to look if he ever lost it.
- Name his wireless network after the worst "Dennis The Menace" in the neighborhood, and make the access password something offensive - he chose "y3lLow." His own addition had been creative. The password hint was not his usually chosen "gibberish;" it was "I feel violated!"
He grinned again. If The President of the United States ever found out that Travis was faking his letterhead for his personal use, Travis would catch more hell than even Mrs. Kirkpatrick could dish out. Travis was not usually THIS nutty, but Sam was his friend, and dutifully made up his own web site to assist in settling Travis' nerves. He didn't think it was THAT big a deal, but passing the Universal Resource Locator around among their friends and acquaintances would let everybody know that Travis was on a kick, and he'd get better before too very long. Meanwhile, Travis was going everywhere in person on his Kawasaki Ninja motorcycle, wearing a trench coat, a Private Eye hat, and sun-glasses, with a pipe firmly clenched between his teeth. Travis had taken the loss of the 5t Journal password 'thing' hard - the prankster who pulled THAT one was gonna pay in SPADES!
He and Ursula talked it over, and decided that a steady dose of Disney was what Travis needed. He took notes as he searched the IMDB site for answers. The 1974 release of "Where the Red Fern Grows," had been good, and so was 1957's "Old Yeller." He'd pick up the 1956 release of 1984 as well; Travis would get a kick out of that, and he'd see that there was absolutely NOTHING new under the sun. He picked up the phone. When Travis announced his presence, he began "How as your date?" Travis was noncommittal. "Well, at first she wanted to marry me to death, but now she's getting cold feet." "'Cause of your new diet of conspiracy conversations?" Travis could tell that Sam had seen right through him and confided, "I think I _like_ her Sam!" "I'll let Care-Bear know to Craig's List all the other ones then. You gotta treat this one right, or no-one will want to go with you again." This seemed harsh to Travis, but Sam knew that there was no more successful tool of Cupid's enemy "Nemesis," than too much flirting after you hook up. If Travis thought he couldn't GET another date he'd be on his _best_ behavior. "Thanks Sam, you're the current Chairman of THAT Expert Committee," Travis agreed. "By the way, Bubba called me back. He said that Movie Script he wrote _did_ get a reply. He's faxing it to me as soon as he can find it. Meanwhile, he said his best advice was send your idea in on a 28 pound stack of 28 lb paper. That way it'll be on classy media, be long enough for editing, not too long for a human being to write, and substantial enough to be thought substantive. He _might_ have passed the rejection letter on to his solicitor - it was all about unsolicited solicitations and procurement." Sam brightened considerably. If he was to make his mark on History, unsolicited submissions would be a major hurdle to surmount. "OK Travis, you take care now. We still on for disciplinary barbecue on Thursdays at 7:00?" "I'll be there with bells on - say Hi to the Nippons for me if I have class, will ya, I haven't officially cleared my schedule yet." "You bet." They parted secure in the knowledge that their friendship was better than money could buy.
Sam went in search of Ursula's laptop. He needed to fix her up with online access all over again. When the battery worked, that thing was more useful than a Swiss Army knife!
A hack is a hack - a workaround occasionally qualifies;-)
The evening news was over, and Prime Time had not yet begun. Sam and Ursula had finished the evening meal, and Travis was on the phone again. "Right back at ya Sam," was his introduction. "Do you _know_ a really GOOD hack?" Sam turned this over in his mind. This capability gave him a certain cache with his friends - given a few words of jargon he could usually say a little bit about almost ANYTHING! "Social, computer or a just-a-hack hack?" he queried in response. It was Travis' turn to pause, but introspection was his motive. "I don't really care... I just wanna make an impression." Sam allowed an appropriate pause before he again queried "On whom?" Sam had an irritating habit of being as good at grammar as he could, in spite the fact that every body knows you're gonna make a mistake and Mrs. Kirkpatrick is gonna write you up in the Elementary School of God just for opening your mouth. He mentally shrugged and replied without rancor, "I found a news-group online and it's only got one rule. To POST, you gotta post a hack." "Must make for a boring site; do they even know what it _means_ to Flame someone? Posting un-moderated to any site on earth is an invitation to flame bait. The only _possible_ way that site is any good is if these hackers are the old kind - _Innovators_." "Oh, that's the _sweet_ aspect - it's a hack just to Post!" Travis was practically glowing. "It's a selective process on readers and commenters alike... it's the Hacker newsgroup of the whole world!" Hmmm, must be Blogspot domain was Sam's thought. "Well it doesn't sound _too_ important," was his informative reply. "I'd just go with one of the old Chemical ones. You know, Sodium IN the water, Phosphorous OUT of the water, Baking Soda and Vinegar or liquid litmus in Beer. Just be sure you warn them that teachers get in real trouble when you use too much sodium, and you REALLY shouldn't try addin' Water to Acid." Again his thought differed from his comment -It would be a HACK just to get them to _Listen_. He briefly wondered if we was already crazy. "Perfect," was Travis' enthusiastic reply. "Later gater." "After a while crocodile." "Thanks for the warning, now I'll see ya comin'," "Not if I see you first!" They hung up.
Ursula smiled at Sam. "It was nice of you to just tell him and not make him work too hard for it" she said with atypically shallow insight. "He had to pull me out of a Louisiana Swamp not once but TWICE," Sam explained. Ursula giggled and he quickly added, "I was testing out a friend's four wheel drive." "That was _probably_ the second time too, right?" she smiled. His eye's twinkled in response. "Wouldn't have been able to even _find_ it otherwise!" They turned their attention on the _official_ entertainment of the evening.
Ursula smiled at Sam. "It was nice of you to just tell him and not make him work too hard for it" she said with atypically shallow insight. "He had to pull me out of a Louisiana Swamp not once but TWICE," Sam explained. Ursula giggled and he quickly added, "I was testing out a friend's four wheel drive." "That was _probably_ the second time too, right?" she smiled. His eye's twinkled in response. "Wouldn't have been able to even _find_ it otherwise!" They turned their attention on the _official_ entertainment of the evening.
A double Entendre on "Conspiracy" and being "set up."
Sam was building a dog-house. It was of generous proportions, even by Texas standards, but Ursula had been specific. If he needed his space, she wanted him to have SOMEWHERE to retreat. His cell phone rang. It was Travis. While he was not definitively lazy, the dog-house project had not been particularly appetizing, and he welcomed the interruption. Travis was HOT, and not just because he had too many dates for a Friday night.
Travis hardly waited for his "Hello." He started in on a unilateral tirade that made up in volume what it lacked in breathing spots. "Are you spying on me PERSONALLY, or have to lost your mind with conspiracy as well? I want to know just EXACTLY WHY your personal surrender in the war between the sexes should be a hobble, a trap and a crippling of my freedoms and rights as a MALE American! If Ursula had a mind of her OWN, she'd have SOME CHANCE of _NOT_ telling all my friends I'd had a recent heartbreak and was in need of female TLC. She has apparently LOST what little mind she HAD! She told SEVEN WOMEN that I was available for stud, and set 'em up with an E-MAIL ORGANIZATION to hunt my emotional life. I TRIED to play 'em off against each other but they're ORGANIZED. There's one of 'em supposed to go FIRST, and _I'M_ not even _ALLOWED_ to HAVE a date with A-N-Y-B-O-D-Y until she's had her shot. THEN I'm not able to put her on the defensive by makin' Her choose the show. She's got three current so-called 'preferences,' two up-coming releases she'd LIKE to see, and DVD's if I want to have friends over. Meanwhile if _I_ choose the show, this ain't rude or selfish, its -LEADERSHIP-! She calls it Dutch Treat if I make her pay, and Chivalrous if I don't. She thinks the Equal Rights Amendment has it's PLACE, and if ya wanna know, Trey, she thinks p-u-r-e CHAUVINISM would advantage me with Chinese Businessmen." Sam was almost in tears, and these were _not_ tears of sorrow. He had to sit _down_ he was laughing so hard. What Ursula lacked in _anything_ was beyond him, but this joke was better than anything anyone had ever made him party to. His diplomacy had not deserted him either, so he started carefully.
"Travis, if she was worm food already, would you be prejudiced against the worms that ate her?" he led out. This was adequate but not overkill - Travis hesitated. "I'd feel sorry for the FISH that ate 'em if it got _Caught_!" Sam pressed home his advantage. "Would the fish kill the fisherman if he ate the relevant fish?" Travis was mad, but not impervious to reason. His natural Texas cool kicked in. "Nope, that would be going TOO far," he agreed. "Well alright then, can you wait UNTIL she's worm food?" Sam persisted. Travis contemplated becoming responsible for a negative answer, but Sam was known for his Elephantine memory. "S'pose I'll HAVE to," he capitulated. "Murder's against the law, and dueling ain't in season. She doesn't carry a gun around, and you'd probably be personally sore if I used any other weapon. WHAT IS HER _HAYSEED_?" Sam's answer reflected that he was married and Travis was not. "Just how bad IS the vision in the single eye of this lame librarian with a harelip and a cleft pallet?" Travis was shocked, and had not anticipated any such response. "SAM!" he exclaimed. "Ursula's INSANE, not MEAN! All seven of 'em are good lookin' and the first one's _Mom_ ain't really past her prime!" Sam proceeded to score his final point with ease. "OK then, consider HER problem. She can't tell all the other women she's given you a fair shot and move on to the man of her dreams until she's proven open-mindedness, fairness, a knowledge of Texas diplomacy and literally TASTED the soup before she sends it back. Date her without delay and get it over with."
Travis' Texas pride had finally seen it's escape. He let it out with a sigh of relief. "You'll have to represent me to all the other Men," he bargained. "I'll do it and I'll be truthful about everything I've said." Sam replied. "I _CARE_ about you man!" Respect had crept into Travis' voice. "I can see how she Got you," he admitted. "She's SMART!" "If I don't tell her, it can't go to her head," Sam acknowledged. "Make sure you don't tell on her either."
The sun was going down and this dog-house wasn't going to build itself.
Travis hardly waited for his "Hello." He started in on a unilateral tirade that made up in volume what it lacked in breathing spots. "Are you spying on me PERSONALLY, or have to lost your mind with conspiracy as well? I want to know just EXACTLY WHY your personal surrender in the war between the sexes should be a hobble, a trap and a crippling of my freedoms and rights as a MALE American! If Ursula had a mind of her OWN, she'd have SOME CHANCE of _NOT_ telling all my friends I'd had a recent heartbreak and was in need of female TLC. She has apparently LOST what little mind she HAD! She told SEVEN WOMEN that I was available for stud, and set 'em up with an E-MAIL ORGANIZATION to hunt my emotional life. I TRIED to play 'em off against each other but they're ORGANIZED. There's one of 'em supposed to go FIRST, and _I'M_ not even _ALLOWED_ to HAVE a date with A-N-Y-B-O-D-Y until she's had her shot. THEN I'm not able to put her on the defensive by makin' Her choose the show. She's got three current so-called 'preferences,' two up-coming releases she'd LIKE to see, and DVD's if I want to have friends over. Meanwhile if _I_ choose the show, this ain't rude or selfish, its -LEADERSHIP-! She calls it Dutch Treat if I make her pay, and Chivalrous if I don't. She thinks the Equal Rights Amendment has it's PLACE, and if ya wanna know, Trey, she thinks p-u-r-e CHAUVINISM would advantage me with Chinese Businessmen." Sam was almost in tears, and these were _not_ tears of sorrow. He had to sit _down_ he was laughing so hard. What Ursula lacked in _anything_ was beyond him, but this joke was better than anything anyone had ever made him party to. His diplomacy had not deserted him either, so he started carefully.
"Travis, if she was worm food already, would you be prejudiced against the worms that ate her?" he led out. This was adequate but not overkill - Travis hesitated. "I'd feel sorry for the FISH that ate 'em if it got _Caught_!" Sam pressed home his advantage. "Would the fish kill the fisherman if he ate the relevant fish?" Travis was mad, but not impervious to reason. His natural Texas cool kicked in. "Nope, that would be going TOO far," he agreed. "Well alright then, can you wait UNTIL she's worm food?" Sam persisted. Travis contemplated becoming responsible for a negative answer, but Sam was known for his Elephantine memory. "S'pose I'll HAVE to," he capitulated. "Murder's against the law, and dueling ain't in season. She doesn't carry a gun around, and you'd probably be personally sore if I used any other weapon. WHAT IS HER _HAYSEED_?" Sam's answer reflected that he was married and Travis was not. "Just how bad IS the vision in the single eye of this lame librarian with a harelip and a cleft pallet?" Travis was shocked, and had not anticipated any such response. "SAM!" he exclaimed. "Ursula's INSANE, not MEAN! All seven of 'em are good lookin' and the first one's _Mom_ ain't really past her prime!" Sam proceeded to score his final point with ease. "OK then, consider HER problem. She can't tell all the other women she's given you a fair shot and move on to the man of her dreams until she's proven open-mindedness, fairness, a knowledge of Texas diplomacy and literally TASTED the soup before she sends it back. Date her without delay and get it over with."
Travis' Texas pride had finally seen it's escape. He let it out with a sigh of relief. "You'll have to represent me to all the other Men," he bargained. "I'll do it and I'll be truthful about everything I've said." Sam replied. "I _CARE_ about you man!" Respect had crept into Travis' voice. "I can see how she Got you," he admitted. "She's SMART!" "If I don't tell her, it can't go to her head," Sam acknowledged. "Make sure you don't tell on her either."
The sun was going down and this dog-house wasn't going to build itself.
Bureaucratic Applications of the Protective Instinct;
Sam sat down to compute. He and Ursula had temporarily declared hostilities, and her part in binding arbitration was to list all bets, foreign and domestic, chronologically. His part was to "be responsible, fight fair, be nice and..." the other stuff was hazy. Travis' prediction that she would be feminine upon his return was so 'on target,' that he pondered as he logged in. "I _know_ I agreed with him before he said it. What wrong turn in my mind did I TAKE to get to the idea she _wouldn't_ be mad? I may not be THAT smart a guy, but on balance it isn't THAT complicated a mind." This called for Journaling. He didn't feel introspective, so he logged in to Canada 5ts. He did breathing exercises and concentrated as he read the three most recent issues. This reminded him of Jeff Foxworthy's humor, and he followed a policy of engagement with Ursula, by applying for a glass of OJ. By the time negotiations paid off, the sweet refreshment would make his tired brain feel better.
The game in 5ts was to use the 5t archives to post the next article as substantively as possible. The password was NEVER transmitted in the clear, and the democratic process allowed anyone to say pretty much anything. Sam loved the Slashdot concept. The recursive nature of it and it's powerful destination appealed to his inner nerd. The server had been chosen for it's international impunity to American subpoena. Travis persisted in telling other 5ts that Canada was American, and their subpoena's were American too, but this had little bearing South of the Red River.
He reviewed his effort and clicked 'preview.' He checked that the links worked correctly, and mashed 'save.' The computer obediently cleared the screen, and returned him to the subject list. His entry was not at the top. Sam did a double take. Then he did an IP release to anonymize his internet connection and tried again. The stubborn refusal of the communal journal to take his direction challenged a temper that was not honed to this environment. His 9 lb sledge was in the garage, and he was truly chastened by restoring Travis to wholeness. The computer had been the smallest part of that operation, and this was himself, not some flunky. He arbitrarily made sure his entry wasn't anywhere _else_ in the list either. He searched Google - access was good, so he retrieved the Canadian Constitution. He reasoned that since it was a Canadian server, Canadian law ought to apply. He checked enforcement practices, and learned that evidence exclusions are subject to exception. He had to find the RIGHT jurisdiction, and FAIR (good for him) and APPROPRIATE (he hoped good for him) is what he could expect.
Sam speculated that such binary graffiti as _this_, would require 'root' access, and he laid in bureaucratic plans. The adherent of Loki would have certain legal rights of his own, so Sam re-assessed the diplomatic competitor's rule book accordingly. As he ran this WAG to ground, he found that Canadians could count on mostly 'bill of rights stuff,' with good attention to language in the rights section. He noted that a jury trial now applied to matters where 'more than five years,' was at stake; up from 20 dollars. (He briefly speculated what 20 dollars might have meant back then anyway.) For humor he checked the mobility rights of the fugitive ("Mobility Rights" was a section in the Charter.) He discovered he couldn't stop house buying or job seeking during any upcoming Police State contest. He dotted the reflexive case 'i,' establishing that the Canadian constitutional basis for his complaint was "Part 1, 2-b. '...freedom of expression...'"
Sam reviewed the Slashdot journal "playground rules," and downloaded relevant web site pages. He started a new dated folder in the root directory of his thumb drive. Then he used liquid paper whiteout to mark it, so he'd know which one it was. Tommy Lee might not have his Bar Association License, but he WAS a Texan, and at the moment there were NO LIMITS to Sam's planning and strategery. These Canadian Colonials were going to HEAR about it.
Ursula arrived with the OJ and the peace offering of a "between meals" portion of Green Bean casserole. "Why don't you just figure out which local paper is the right one to write, and send a letter to the editor?" she asked. Sam employed constructive criticism appropriately. "You bring me the address, and I'll make his EARS burn," he promised. "Just be aware... this is to be 'in addition to,' not 'instead of.'"
Familiarity bread contempt, and she was VERY familiar with his name. "Samuel Clementine the THIRD! If OLIVE trees grew in YOUR garden, THEY'D have thorns on them!" Sam contemplated the available snappy comeback. If Olive Trees grew anywhere HE was responsible for them, he was gonna have to automate weeding. This did not serve his diplomatic purposes, and he directed the current of his intellect around the obstacle by saying, "Rose oil, Olive Perfume and Champagne from England too! I declare Ursula, you MIGHT be an AGGIE!" While not an endearment, this was Texan enough, and she was sensitive about her immigrant roots. She melted. "I love you Sam."
His judicial senses were invoked anyway, and he held her gently as he replied, "Third time pays for ALL Ursula. The Fiddler on the _Roof_ would have told ya he loved ya by now. How am I EVER gonna take you by surprise if you keep on jumping in ahead of me?" She responded like an articulate marshmallow. "I'll be good. I don't know what I hate more, being mad at you or fighting."
Sam responded from the heart. "Care Bear: If anything ever happens to you, they'll have to breed a rabid German Shepherd with a Blue Tick Hound, just to take a picture of how mad I'm gonna get." She was oblivious to redundancy. "I love you Sam."
The game in 5ts was to use the 5t archives to post the next article as substantively as possible. The password was NEVER transmitted in the clear, and the democratic process allowed anyone to say pretty much anything. Sam loved the Slashdot concept. The recursive nature of it and it's powerful destination appealed to his inner nerd. The server had been chosen for it's international impunity to American subpoena. Travis persisted in telling other 5ts that Canada was American, and their subpoena's were American too, but this had little bearing South of the Red River.
He reviewed his effort and clicked 'preview.' He checked that the links worked correctly, and mashed 'save.' The computer obediently cleared the screen, and returned him to the subject list. His entry was not at the top. Sam did a double take. Then he did an IP release to anonymize his internet connection and tried again. The stubborn refusal of the communal journal to take his direction challenged a temper that was not honed to this environment. His 9 lb sledge was in the garage, and he was truly chastened by restoring Travis to wholeness. The computer had been the smallest part of that operation, and this was himself, not some flunky. He arbitrarily made sure his entry wasn't anywhere _else_ in the list either. He searched Google - access was good, so he retrieved the Canadian Constitution. He reasoned that since it was a Canadian server, Canadian law ought to apply. He checked enforcement practices, and learned that evidence exclusions are subject to exception. He had to find the RIGHT jurisdiction, and FAIR (good for him) and APPROPRIATE (he hoped good for him) is what he could expect.
Sam speculated that such binary graffiti as _this_, would require 'root' access, and he laid in bureaucratic plans. The adherent of Loki would have certain legal rights of his own, so Sam re-assessed the diplomatic competitor's rule book accordingly. As he ran this WAG to ground, he found that Canadians could count on mostly 'bill of rights stuff,' with good attention to language in the rights section. He noted that a jury trial now applied to matters where 'more than five years,' was at stake; up from 20 dollars. (He briefly speculated what 20 dollars might have meant back then anyway.) For humor he checked the mobility rights of the fugitive ("Mobility Rights" was a section in the Charter.) He discovered he couldn't stop house buying or job seeking during any upcoming Police State contest. He dotted the reflexive case 'i,' establishing that the Canadian constitutional basis for his complaint was "Part 1, 2-b. '...freedom of expression...'"
Sam reviewed the Slashdot journal "playground rules," and downloaded relevant web site pages. He started a new dated folder in the root directory of his thumb drive. Then he used liquid paper whiteout to mark it, so he'd know which one it was. Tommy Lee might not have his Bar Association License, but he WAS a Texan, and at the moment there were NO LIMITS to Sam's planning and strategery. These Canadian Colonials were going to HEAR about it.
Ursula arrived with the OJ and the peace offering of a "between meals" portion of Green Bean casserole. "Why don't you just figure out which local paper is the right one to write, and send a letter to the editor?" she asked. Sam employed constructive criticism appropriately. "You bring me the address, and I'll make his EARS burn," he promised. "Just be aware... this is to be 'in addition to,' not 'instead of.'"
Familiarity bread contempt, and she was VERY familiar with his name. "Samuel Clementine the THIRD! If OLIVE trees grew in YOUR garden, THEY'D have thorns on them!" Sam contemplated the available snappy comeback. If Olive Trees grew anywhere HE was responsible for them, he was gonna have to automate weeding. This did not serve his diplomatic purposes, and he directed the current of his intellect around the obstacle by saying, "Rose oil, Olive Perfume and Champagne from England too! I declare Ursula, you MIGHT be an AGGIE!" While not an endearment, this was Texan enough, and she was sensitive about her immigrant roots. She melted. "I love you Sam."
His judicial senses were invoked anyway, and he held her gently as he replied, "Third time pays for ALL Ursula. The Fiddler on the _Roof_ would have told ya he loved ya by now. How am I EVER gonna take you by surprise if you keep on jumping in ahead of me?" She responded like an articulate marshmallow. "I'll be good. I don't know what I hate more, being mad at you or fighting."
Sam responded from the heart. "Care Bear: If anything ever happens to you, they'll have to breed a rabid German Shepherd with a Blue Tick Hound, just to take a picture of how mad I'm gonna get." She was oblivious to redundancy. "I love you Sam."
High Tech Red Neck;
Sam was on the phone to Travis. He had spent the last three days acquainting Ursula with the workings of a spray painter so she could exercise her interior decorating interests. The local Home Depot had marked the 't' at the end of the sign as stolen from 'Lowes,' and everyone in town seemed to agree that this was a pretty good sale; they had marked the sacred rite of passage of newlyweds by ritual purchase of furniture, with income derived from anticipated savings on rent. Her instructions were to use the paint matching feature at the store to get all the colors exactly like she wanted them, with rocking chairs, dinner chairs, walls, etc. color coordinated to her liking. When she was done she was to get vinyl cupboard linings and line all the China cabinets. Meanwhile he directed Travis to meet him at their regular watering hole.
Cassandra's had re-lined the parking lot when he pulled up. Travis took his time completing his report on Pork Belly prices since they met last. He was descriptive about letting Sam know just how much effort he had put into the substantial shared proceeds. Sam had listened patiently, and now it was his turn to report. "Travis. I got a mystery on my hands," he explained. "Melbourne's got this bee in his bonnet that an Upside-down cake comes out of the oven upside down down under." "A _Pineapple_ upside-down cake?" Travis verified. "Probably made with Hawaiian Pineapple," Sam rejoined.
They pondered this in silence for a long moment. Melbourne was trying to make SOME kind of joke, but what could be the point of this specific foolishness was not immediately evident. "How's he makin' you think he's _serious_ about it?" Travis asked reasonably. "Well, there's no bank and no bet." Sam replied. The seconds ticked away as Travis turned this imponderable over in his head. Sam relented and added, "He sent me an email with a long experiment to send the U5t research division," he qualified. "Answer came back was supposed to be either 180 degrees or 0, and it wasn't!"
Travis' laughter was merciless. "Well if the cake didn't move, and it didn't turn over either, what happened to it Sam? You eat it all already?" A passing waitress regarded a rarity without even knowing what she was looking at. Sam's color rose from neckline to hairline, slowly darkening from tan to reddish brown. It stopped short of purple and subsided. "The answer was some number of minutes and seconds per hours, minutes and seconds," he elaborated. From Travis' point of view this was fodder for more raucousness, and Sam endured the commentary with decreasing disgust as his opinion of Travis (and his intellect) fell. Travis' amusement fell away as Sam's embarrassment subsided. Travis was a computer nerd by day, and an Algebra professor by night. His own mercy finally took the form of the word 'superficially.' As Sam adjusted to reality, Travis adjusted to Melbourne's strategy.
The conversation took no shortcuts, but after considering the axis of rotation, the direction of travel and the speed of progress, it became evident that the only way for the cake NOT to turn over was to make some kind of parabolic trip either through low-orbit space, with a 360 degree flip, or a high-orbit trajectory that accounted for the revolutionary orbit of earth and related lunar computations. For this version, the cake was to remain attitudinally stable all the way. This was to be accomplished with the purpose of landing in Australia upside down without having rotated significantly otherwise. Neither of these experiments appeared to support the romantic ideal of a 15 degree per hour progress report. Sam blushed. "You mean the 'degrees, minutes and seconds' of the angle around the earth, and the 'hours, minutes and seconds' of the divisor are different; _distance_ and TIME?" Travis' laughter was better received this time, and they were reduced to giggles for a while. Travis spoke to bring matters to a head. "I wonder if his experiment was right, or if he just wanted to bamboozle you?" he asked Sam. Sam was honest with his friend. "These are _Not_ mutually exclusive Travis," he admitted ruefully.
All reports of Melbourne had been good, and the stories were more entertaining than anyone _else_ Sam had ever taken in, so he was neither angry nor mean when he asked, "How we gonna get him back?" "Well, I know this much. after all the stuff we talked about, leaving ONE cake sitting in ONE place for exactly 12 hours OUGHT to be a useful thing to make him measure." Sam opined. Travis chuckled and threw in another puzzle piece. "Tell him what I told a customer on a Tech support line one time," he smiled. "The Abercrombie and Fitch Stock Brokers have a killer position in textile futures, and a small investment -insert short notice here- would pay off HUGE for Andrea. Make him send it Western Union. They have a time difference too! Use that on him if you're mad." Sam was once again at ease. "I'll make him say he sent it from the West Coast to save time and fees," he agreed. He turned to more benevolent considerations. "You make out alright for Valentines?" he asked. "I only sent flowers to one girl," Travis shared, "but I got three buddies to go muddin' by the Austin City swamp, and get stuck." "Pull 'em out soon enough?" Sam regarded him sternly. "Oh yeah," Travis responded. "They owe me BIG time."
"Well," Sam concluded after a moment's contemplation, "This beer's bitter. You promised we'd get BORED." "Want to play Pool instead, Sam?" "Actually, that sounds about as good a way to get bored as any," Sam agreed. "Ursula ought to have gotten the bed-springs bucked out by the time I get back. I can't for the LIFE of me figure why I thought she was sweet on Melbourne over the phone." "Probably because you'd be sweet on Andrea over the phone if She came on to _you_," Travis philosophized, "...by the time you're good enough at flirting to get their attention, they want to jury-rig a communist monopoly on your affections, and charge interest for the privilege."
Sam preempted an old tirade with an old riposte. "You still haven't explained why Hitler wasn't a woman." "It's called POOL, not TALK and play POOL," was Travis retort.
Cassandra's had re-lined the parking lot when he pulled up. Travis took his time completing his report on Pork Belly prices since they met last. He was descriptive about letting Sam know just how much effort he had put into the substantial shared proceeds. Sam had listened patiently, and now it was his turn to report. "Travis. I got a mystery on my hands," he explained. "Melbourne's got this bee in his bonnet that an Upside-down cake comes out of the oven upside down down under." "A _Pineapple_ upside-down cake?" Travis verified. "Probably made with Hawaiian Pineapple," Sam rejoined.
They pondered this in silence for a long moment. Melbourne was trying to make SOME kind of joke, but what could be the point of this specific foolishness was not immediately evident. "How's he makin' you think he's _serious_ about it?" Travis asked reasonably. "Well, there's no bank and no bet." Sam replied. The seconds ticked away as Travis turned this imponderable over in his head. Sam relented and added, "He sent me an email with a long experiment to send the U5t research division," he qualified. "Answer came back was supposed to be either 180 degrees or 0, and it wasn't!"
Travis' laughter was merciless. "Well if the cake didn't move, and it didn't turn over either, what happened to it Sam? You eat it all already?" A passing waitress regarded a rarity without even knowing what she was looking at. Sam's color rose from neckline to hairline, slowly darkening from tan to reddish brown. It stopped short of purple and subsided. "The answer was some number of minutes and seconds per hours, minutes and seconds," he elaborated. From Travis' point of view this was fodder for more raucousness, and Sam endured the commentary with decreasing disgust as his opinion of Travis (and his intellect) fell. Travis' amusement fell away as Sam's embarrassment subsided. Travis was a computer nerd by day, and an Algebra professor by night. His own mercy finally took the form of the word 'superficially.' As Sam adjusted to reality, Travis adjusted to Melbourne's strategy.
The conversation took no shortcuts, but after considering the axis of rotation, the direction of travel and the speed of progress, it became evident that the only way for the cake NOT to turn over was to make some kind of parabolic trip either through low-orbit space, with a 360 degree flip, or a high-orbit trajectory that accounted for the revolutionary orbit of earth and related lunar computations. For this version, the cake was to remain attitudinally stable all the way. This was to be accomplished with the purpose of landing in Australia upside down without having rotated significantly otherwise. Neither of these experiments appeared to support the romantic ideal of a 15 degree per hour progress report. Sam blushed. "You mean the 'degrees, minutes and seconds' of the angle around the earth, and the 'hours, minutes and seconds' of the divisor are different; _distance_ and TIME?" Travis' laughter was better received this time, and they were reduced to giggles for a while. Travis spoke to bring matters to a head. "I wonder if his experiment was right, or if he just wanted to bamboozle you?" he asked Sam. Sam was honest with his friend. "These are _Not_ mutually exclusive Travis," he admitted ruefully.
All reports of Melbourne had been good, and the stories were more entertaining than anyone _else_ Sam had ever taken in, so he was neither angry nor mean when he asked, "How we gonna get him back?" "Well, I know this much. after all the stuff we talked about, leaving ONE cake sitting in ONE place for exactly 12 hours OUGHT to be a useful thing to make him measure." Sam opined. Travis chuckled and threw in another puzzle piece. "Tell him what I told a customer on a Tech support line one time," he smiled. "The Abercrombie and Fitch Stock Brokers have a killer position in textile futures, and a small investment -insert short notice here- would pay off HUGE for Andrea. Make him send it Western Union. They have a time difference too! Use that on him if you're mad." Sam was once again at ease. "I'll make him say he sent it from the West Coast to save time and fees," he agreed. He turned to more benevolent considerations. "You make out alright for Valentines?" he asked. "I only sent flowers to one girl," Travis shared, "but I got three buddies to go muddin' by the Austin City swamp, and get stuck." "Pull 'em out soon enough?" Sam regarded him sternly. "Oh yeah," Travis responded. "They owe me BIG time."
"Well," Sam concluded after a moment's contemplation, "This beer's bitter. You promised we'd get BORED." "Want to play Pool instead, Sam?" "Actually, that sounds about as good a way to get bored as any," Sam agreed. "Ursula ought to have gotten the bed-springs bucked out by the time I get back. I can't for the LIFE of me figure why I thought she was sweet on Melbourne over the phone." "Probably because you'd be sweet on Andrea over the phone if She came on to _you_," Travis philosophized, "...by the time you're good enough at flirting to get their attention, they want to jury-rig a communist monopoly on your affections, and charge interest for the privilege."
Sam preempted an old tirade with an old riposte. "You still haven't explained why Hitler wasn't a woman." "It's called POOL, not TALK and play POOL," was Travis retort.
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