Category: photog’s Corner

Here you will find the stuff that shouldn’t be mixed in the other categories but interest me. caveat emptor.

Painting Myself into a Corner

photog Current Events, Life in Dunwich, OCF, photog's Corner ,

Last month I whined about an insanely expensive critical repair project going on at the Compound.  Well, my contractor performed flawlessly and after a month or so of staged demolition and construction we ended up with the end of the house restored to its former functionality only with the ground floor consisting of a poured slab instead of a pier supported wooden floor.  The only hitch was that the slab needed to cure another two weeks before staining it.  And since this contractor has moved onto his next big project, getting him back to stain the floor isn’t possible.  No problem, I promised Camera Girl that I would take care of the painting myself after the requisite two-week delay.

Well, last night she reminded me of my lightly given promise and that by her reckoning Friday was the end of the two weeks.  Like a trapped creature I looked around for a sliver of daylight that I could run through.  But as I’ve said, the middle of October will be a tragically busy time for me when I won’t be able to do anything significant like painting rooms and moving furniture.  Checkmate.

So early today (11am) we went to the big box store and I bought the stain and all the accoutrements.  And after lunch (the condemned man had a hearty meal) I performed the ritual first coat.  Tomorrow, I’ll purchase a paint brush (I thought I had one lying around), do the detail work in the tight spots and put on the final coat.  Then, Sunday I’ll be toting barges and lifting bales for several hours restoring the contents of the room to their original positions and thereby fulfilling my promise to Camera Girl.  Such is the life of a modern husband.  When his wife has the effrontery of quoting his own words back at him, wife beating is no longer a convenient option.  In fact, it’s positively frowned on in some circles.  O tempora, O mores.  I really need to bring Camera Girl to a showing of Shakespeare’s, “The Taming of the Shrew.”  Kate saw the light.  Camera Girl should follow her good example.

But when all was said and done, I rather enjoyed the event.  Well, all except taping the moldings.  That really should be done by someone young and spry.  But rolling on the stain was fun.  Painting a floor is easier than painting walls and a lot easier than ceilings.  No drop cloths, no crick in the neck.  So, I acquiesced semi-gracefully and pretended that I was completely on board with finishing the room this weekend.  Mental agility (or self-deception) is an important survival trait.

I was thinking today about the kind of world that the information age is creating.  Specifically, with the monopoly of advertising being in the hands of Amazon and Google, there is an incredible need (opportunity) for alternate information flow paths.  Google has been declared a monopoly by the federal government but no action seems in the offing.  Since that is the case, it seems more important than ever that some private resource step in and provide an alternative.  Elon Musk has hinted that X is that alternative.  But will it be?  Does he have the vision to provide an unfettered electronic agora where both commerce and information can flow unimpeded by ideology?  So far, I haven’t seen that realized.  Maybe he’s waiting to see if Trump wins the election.  After all the federal government is the biggest customer for his batteries and his rocket ships.  If the Democrats are ensconced in power maybe he’ll just give up his free speech and populist efforts and concentrate on making money.

So much seems to depend on an election that probably won’t be honest.  Maybe I’m the one who is looking at everything all wrong.  Possibly the important lesson to be learned is not how to have free speech but rather how to have hidden speech.  Now that’s a thought.

The Tale of the Two Jakes

photog Current Events, Life in Dunwich, OCF, photog's Corner, Reclaiming the Family

So, after yesterday’s doom and gloom post I was glad that today we were out of the house for something a lot less depressing.  We were picking up Princess Sack of Potatoes for a sleep over.  And before coming home we watched her team’s weekly soccer game.  Now any parent knows that five- and six-year-olds playing soccer consists mostly of a scrum of eight or ten kids in a circle kicking the ball back and forth at each other’s shin guards.  Luckily at this stage of my career as a soccer spectator all I’m looking for is a lack of drama from the parents and at least one goal for “our side.”

And the soccer gods were smiling down on us today and “our side” got most of the goals.  But more accurately the Two Jakes got almost all the goals.  And it was something of a doppelganger experience.  Each team had a little boy named Jake.  And each Jake was probably about four feet tall with closely cropped dirty blond hair, the number “4” on his jersey and a monomaniacal drive to get the ball in the goal.  These two boys were the only players on the field who knew how to dribble the soccer ball and this allowed them to dominate the ball until faced by a wall of opponents.

Luckily for our side, their coach had drilled them all to run for the goal if the other team got the ball and this allowed us to effectively limit their Jake to two goals.  Unfortunately for the other team, their coach hadn’t equipped them with this strategy so our Jake had the opportunity to score about a half dozen goals.

Other than the coincidences of name, number and appearance there is nothing unusual about two teams at this age only having one competent striker.  But the reason I mention this situation has to do the with the boys’ fathers.  Because they were both cheering on their sons with the same name, they caught each other’s attention and began a conversation that I could overhear.

And it was a pleasant surprise to hear them both comparing notes on their sons’ drive to score goals.  Both of them complimented the other on their son’s skills and both seemed to disclaim having anything to do with it.  You could tell they were both a little proud but neither was at all wound up while watching the game and there wasn’t any of the embarrassing sidelines haranguing that is so awful to see at these games.  There was plenty of applause and cheering when goals were scored (or missed) but both of them behaved as adults watching very young children play a game.  Compared to the behavior of so many parents at these events, it was a breath of fresh air.

And that provided me with just enough hope for humanity to shake off the grim shadow of life in Joe Biden’s America for today.  When we got home, I spent a little time talking about the game with my granddaughter and discovered that for her the most important things about the game were that they had scored at least one goal and that they got to buy something from the ice cream truck.  And in retrospect her priorities seem about right.

But it was nice to see two grown men behaving like grown men.  Maybe that leads to two more grown men a generation from now.

Gardening

photog Literature, My Fiction, OCF, photog's Corner , ,

One day the Master was working in the garden and the Servant approached, “Father, your son wants to see you.”  The Master put aside what he was doing and asked, “What did he say to you?”  The Servant frowned and hesitated, “He says he won’t leave.  He says it’s not fair and he won’t leave.  I think the woman put him up to this insolence.”  The Master smiled ruefully, “She is spirited, isn’t she.  Well, look, leave this to me.  They’ll only blame you and become even more incensed.  I’ll have to have that talk with him now.  Just leave them alone for the time being.”  The Servant looked relieved, “Thank you Father.  I never know how to deal with them when they disobey.  It’s very confusing.”

The Servant left and the Master sat in thought for a while and then walked through the Garden to find his troubled son.  The young man was standing on a high hill and looking out at the beautiful forest and the valley below with its orchards and streams and grazing herds.  The Master approached him and called to him, “Hello my son, what would you like to tell me?”

The young man upon seeing the Master looked troubled and his shoulders slumped, “Father why must we leave our home.  This place is beautiful and full of all the good things that make our lives happy.  Why would you make us leave?”  The woman is afraid.  She thinks the Servant has told stories about her that made you angry at her.  He is always suspicious of her.”

The Master patted his son on the shoulder and laughed, “They don’t understand each other.  He doesn’t have any point of reference to decipher what she means.  And she can’t figure him out at all.  But all that’s beside the point.  You haven’t done anything wrong.  You two are not being punished.  And this is not your home.  It’s like the nest that a baby bird hatches into.  It is the place where you grew and developed.  But now you must leave the nest and face the world on your own.”

The young man looked angry, “But I’m not a bird.  I’m your son.  Why can’t I stay with you?  Don’t I share in your possessions?  The servant said we will be sent into the wilderness where wild animals and wild men are all around.  Why would you leave me at the mercy of the cruel places outside this garden?”

The Master looked sad, “The reason you can’t stay with me is because you are not like me.  Only the smallest spark of your being possesses the property I possess as my nature.  You will die.  You and the woman will grow old and die.  You must have children and raise them as I raised you.  You must learn how to survive in the world so that they can survive after you’re gone.  And that chain from parent to child must go on until time ends.  And when this world is finally at an end you will be like me.  And you will be able to remake the world in your own image and then you will find me again.  And your work will be done and we can enjoy what you’ve built.  In the meantime, I’ll leave the Servant within this world to keep it from falling apart.  But his strength is not as mine and eventually you will have to learn to control all the forces of the world; the stars and the voids and the waters of the deep.”

The young man was stricken, “But, I will die.  I will never see you again!”  The Master smiled, “Do not believe that.  There is a spark in you that can never die.  You were made to conquer death and you shall.  But now you must face death.  There is no other way.

But there is much you need to know.  The Servant will answer as many of your questions as you can think of in the next month.  And you and the woman will dine with me for the month you have left here.  And I will tell you some things you must know.  And some of them will be about her.  She will be a great help to you but remember that her nature is different from yours.  Learn what that means and take that into account.  And most importantly try to remember what a father and son are to each other for when you have children.  This will be your most important role.”

The young man was dazed from the impact of everything he had heard, “Dad, I’m scared.”  The Master hugged him to his chest and said, “Of course you are, so was I when I was your age.  But you’re lucky you didn’t have your grandfather to deal with.  He was much tougher than I am.”

Aspects of World Building – 2

photog Book Reviews, My Fiction, OCF, photog's Corner, Reviews, Science Fiction / Fantasy, SF&F Book Reviews , , , ,

This installment is a fake.  What I want to talk about isn’t really part of world-building but rather different aspects of writing characters.  But since I’m too lazy to start another series of posts for non-world-building writing considerations I’ll put them here.  And in fact, I might even do that with other posts on other aspects of writing because I am inherently messy and undisciplined.

So, aspects of characterization in science fiction!

Over the years I have noticed that characters in science fiction have become more detailed.  The earlier writers in the 1930s and 1940s often produced stories that were more about some aspect of science driving a plot that didn’t require well rounded human characters.  Even the protagonist might be something of a cardboard cutout.  Sometimes this was intentional because the author didn’t care about the characters.  They were merely a means to an end.  They just had to move the plot along to the payoff.

And sometimes this flatness was more a consequence of the extremely limited abilities of the authors to portray normal human speech and actions.  They weren’t good writers.

But the opposite problem is now the case.  There are “science fiction” authors who write “literary” stories that are extremely character driven and psychologically grounded and lavish enormous attention to the interactions of these characters but which do not produce any interesting plot.  So, if your story takes place in a dystopic or utopic future but all your characters do is discuss their romantic problems, I have a hard time thinking of that as science fiction.

It seems to me that a happy medium is what’s needed.  But that is easier said than done.

In my latest story-writing, “The Sniper,” most of the text is taken up with the plot.  There is dialog and interaction and character development but I wouldn’t say it is sufficient.  There are several relationships between the characters that need further development.  But the tricky part is fitting the required dialog into the storyline.  It’s almost as if I’ll need to have two of the characters pinned down together during a battle for them to have the time to say what’s needed.  I remember in Heinlein’s “Beyond This Horizon” there was some such scene that was pivotal for the exposition of the two major characters’ points of view and the resolution of the plot.  The hard part is making it seem spontaneous and not contrived.  Apparently, there is some art to this writing thing.

It’s funny.  Over the years I have developed a taste for some literary fiction.  Specifically, I enjoy well-written short stories.  What I have been toying with is the idea of embedding one or more literary scenes in an otherwise non-literary science fiction story.  There could be a minor scene going on and two characters, possibly neither one of them very important to the plot become involved in a discussion or an activity that has only incidental importance to the plot but which is inherently meaningful and aesthetically interesting.  Of course, that presupposes that I can come up with something that displays those qualities.

With respect to characterization, I intend to go back into my sniper novel and add more dialog to some of the secondary plot lines.  I need to work on my female characters.  I may even try to get Camera Girl’s advice on these.  She is, after all, a girl, so she may have valuable recommendations.  But I fear she may make her characters too ruthless.  Like all barbarians she is inherently merciless

And I still have to decide what I will do with my AI character.  If her creator dies, I’m not sure whether I want her to survive or not.  I had decided that she would suicide.  But I’m growing attached to her.  And I see her value in future stories.  Perhaps death of a parent can be a maturing experience.  She is rather childlike.

In conclusion, the correct amount of characterization in a story is an indication of the balanced writer.  Not so much that the plot bogs down nor so little that you don’t care what happens to the characters.

“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances.”

What’s in the Air

photog Book Reviews, Current Events, My Fiction, OCF, photog's Corner, Reviews, Science Fiction / Fantasy, SF&F Book Reviews, The Honeymooners, TV Reviews , , , , , ,

This week the Autumnal Equinox occurs and marks the point where the scales tip in the direction of night over day.  It’s subtle.  We still are enjoying days that have 80-degree temperatures, bright sun and the sound of cicadas and crickets.  But all the summer flowers are dead or dying.  The butterflies are almost all gone as are the hummingbirds.  The frogs still croak at night but their rhythm has slowed to a crawl and their hearts aren’t in it.

In a couple of weeks, the wolfbane will bloom and the short days will give way to frosty nights and the windows will close and the meals will feature oatmeal for lunch and soups for dinner.  And I’ll have to send for the guy who tunes up the heating system (may the Fire god Agni protect our dear furnace).

So indoor activities become more important.  I’ve been reading another book on the ancient DNA results.  It is very trendily named, “Who We Are and How We Got Here” by David Reich.  It has many of the results I have previously read but it made some further clarifications or conclusions.  I also watched a YouTube video that Reich was in.  In this video he made a very interesting assertion.  He said words to the effect that it probably isn’t the case that the Neanderthals and Denisovans went extinct.  Basically, they were reabsorbed in the various successive waves of migration from Africa and the Middle East northward after the last Ice Age.  He is of the opinion that the 2-4% Neanderthal genetic content of non-African humans is probably much higher, more like 10-20%.  And a similar case exists for the Denisovans.  And there may even be other intermediate species or races that we haven’t identified especially where DNA doesn’t survive as well.

Also, he clearly stated that Native Americans are a combination of about 1/3 ancient Siberian (sort of a proto-European group) and two thirds East Asian (e.g., Chinese, Korean, Japanese) ancestry that crossed the Bering Land Bridge in three waves.  There is a hint that a small relict population that includes some Australasian traits (e.g., Australian aborigine, New Guinean) exists in the Amazon rainforest but when and how they got there is unknown.

So, there is all this amazing information including the clarification of how the Yamnaya people from the space between the Black and Caspian Seas used the domestication of the horse and invention of the wagon to expand out and replace most of the inhabitants of Europe and Iran and half the inhabitants of India while spreading their language (Prot-Indo-European) to half of Eurasia and subsequently the world.

But the discouraging part of the book is how much hand-wringing Reich does about the fact that these ancient people weren’t feminists and how the conquerors managed to spread their DNA by having children with the lion’s share of the women of the conquered people.  And then we get the genetics of slavery.  Which is a similar story.  In fact, there is a whole chapter called Genomics of Inequality.  And then there is one called The Genomics of Race and Identity.  So, there is a whole lot of hand-wringing.  Oh well.  There is a lot of interesting results.  You just have to read between the whines.

I’m also reading Hans G. Schantz’s book “The Wise of Heart.”  It’s a reimagining of the Scopes’ Monkey Trial with biological sexuality standing in for Darwinian evolution in an environment where transgender activists have passed laws against stating biological reality.  I’m about a third of the way through and I can see he has carefully studied the courtroom nuances that such a legal confrontation would involve.  I’ll provide a full review when I finish.

And finally, now that the summer has ended, I hope to begin watching and reviewing the classic 39 episodes of “The Honeymooners,” the 1950’s sit-com that Jackie Gleason created.  I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for this show.  I believe it is the greatest contribution that Brooklyn ever made to western civilization (well, except for, maybe, ringalevio).

And of course, I’m continuing with my outlining of the universe for my epic sf series (WHATEVERITSCALLED).  Believe it or not musing over it actually provides measurable progress in making the choices I need, in order to provide scope and direction to the plot choices I want built into the “world.”  One thing’s for sure.  No xenomorphs in my universe.  Ridley Scott stole that monster from “Voyage of the Space Beagle” but even though that book was terrible it still gave the xenomorph a better showcase.

So, lots of good stuff going on.  Stay tuned.

Aspects of World Building – 1

photog Book Reviews, My Fiction, OCF, photog's Corner, Reviews, Science Fiction / Fantasy, SF&F Book Reviews , , , ,

As is natural for a man of my era, Heinlein is the exemplar when it comes to science fiction craftsmanship.  But whereas in his youth he was something of a progressive I am a conservative.  So, whereas his earliest “what if?” scenario for his future history was the United States becoming an unlikely Christian theocracy, I’m confronted with the reality of a United States that’s already halfway to becoming a woke oligarchic police state.  Therefore, I’ll use that as the first component of my world building.  Of course, it’s hardly original or surprising.  Maybe it’s even lazy or boring.  But I think it fits.  Besides it can be a one off that’s quickly cured by a revolution that leaves a more interesting and fertile chaos in its wake.

And just as easy to add to the pot is the looming energy drought that is already a part of the daily conversation.  Global warming, green energy, fear of nuclear power; all of these conspire to make the future a bleak prospect for the everyday people trying to eek out a living and raise their families.  Therefore, technology around new energy sources and technologies is a no-brainer.

Now, all that’s good stuff but we need some cooler technology than geothermal turbines.  So, we’ll add in cold fusion (or at least warmish fusion) based on the alleged ability of some heavy metals (platinum group, tantalum, etc.) to produce neutrons under the right conditions.

And we’re going to need a Mars mission I’d say.  Why?  Why not?

What about global unrest?  I guess so.  I’m not all that interested in Asia or Africa, or Europe for that matter, anymore.  I guess I should think about their status to make the story convincing but I’ll leave that alone for the beginning.

What other technology?  Well, biological and genetic should be in the mix.  Maybe the ancient DNA information turns up some anomalies that point to a more complicated hominid prehistory that can be leveraged for some genetic engineering stories.  Maybe some research produces a useful understanding of how other aspects of the cellular apparatus beside the DNA mediate evolution.  Maybe some kind of evolutionary acceleration can be controlled using biochemical stimuli that are not currently recognized.  Maybe this science is unlocked by a genius who wants to change humans.  What kinds of change?  Obviously, intelligence but how about gills to breathe underwater?  Look at all those millions of square miles of ocean.  Maybe make humans photosynthetic.

Artificial intelligence is a for-sure part of the universe.  We need AI’s that in many ways appear to be conscious but whether they actually are I don’t currently know.  I’ll have to see what works.

Extraterrestrials?  I really don’t know yet.  Maybe it’s too early for that.  After all I don’t currently have a star drive.  Maybe I’ll start by finding out if there’s simple life somewhere in the solar system.  Could it be bio-pollution from Earth.  Could algae and tardigrades have drifted from Earth to Mars.  Sure, why not?  And could they have developed some interesting new tricks trying to survive on a freezing, almost airless desert?  Of course!

I used to toy with the idea that the gas giant planets (Jupiter and Saturn) might have a stable layer somewhere in between their hot cores and cryogenic surfaces where creatures swim and fight and live and die.  Maybe that would be fun to play with or maybe an ocean inside of one of the Jovian moons would be better.

Okay, I think that’s enough to start with.

How Do You Concoct a Science Fiction Universe with Plenty of Elbow Room?

photog Book Reviews, My Fiction, photog's Corner, Reviews, Science Fiction / Fantasy, SF&F Book Reviews , , ,

Different science fiction writers have produced every kind of world imaginable and for many different reasons.  A very large chunk of writers did this because they wanted a paycheck and they were told that science fiction was the golden way.  And depending on how talented they were, the stories they wrote were more or less interesting, memorable and coherent.

The earliest of these stories were cobbled together based on an author’s understanding of other genre literature.  So, if the writer wrote cowboy stories previously, then we got Showdown at the Betelgeuse Corral or some such thing.  And in the grand scheme of things that’s not really the worst outcome.  I mean, if our western author is a good story teller then the Showdown may be a very interesting space cowboy story.  And who doesn’t like space cowboys?

But if science fiction should include some world-building that actually has something to do with science then an author should go the next stage and make some kind of hand-waving exercise to justify the technology being used.  You know, warp drive fueled by matter/anti-matter mediated by di-lithium crystals that provide the warpity-warpity part (somehow).  Okay sure.

Now you have the means for a story but why is it?  Who is doing what to whom?  And here is where the cowboy story might be just what you want.  Or maybe it’s the Roman Empire writ large or space Arabia with monstrous spice sandworms or the American Revolution on Luna or Vietnam in space or, or, or.  Whatever gives you a good idea for a story with humans or humans and aliens or just aliens.

And if you want the story to be really worthwhile, well, learn enough about humans to write them somewhat convincingly.  Of course, this is going above and beyond.  There were (and probably are) plenty of writers who apparently have never spoken to or even bumped into living humans.  So, they’re forced to base their characterizations on themselves and thereby end up with some truly weird conversations and interactions.

Now, all of these things are on my to-do list for my foray into sf but I want one more ingredient.  I desire my world building to be the basis for more than one story or even one series.  I’m ambitious.  I think of Heinlein building his “Future History” timeline with its torch ships, terra-forming, social crises and advances in medicine and longevity and the first halting steps to the stars.  Now that’s the way to do it.  Build up a framework that will allow for a whole suite of related but not interlocking stories.  Give yourself some guidelines and parameters but leave plenty of elbow room for different events, characters, locales, times and moods.  I want to make sure I don’t paint myself into any corners so I need some kind of overall outline that I’ve thought through.  That way I’ll be satisfied with whatever restrictions are involved.  For instance, maybe in this universe there isn’t any working star drive and maybe there never will be.  Or maybe the sun is dying and my Earth is working out a crash program to send colonists in suspended animation to every solar system that’s been telescopically identified in the hope that at least some of them will survive.  Or maybe a universe where the aliens found us and have put us in a remedial program to become less stupid and we have an enormous inferiority complex that is causing terminal ennui.  Whatever the setup is I’ll have mentally signed off on it.

So that’s what I’m working on (in a sort of retroactive way).  I want to build a world that my sniper story can be nested into.  I like the idea of our real world being reflected in a story with a way of resolving the problems we have run up against.  But I think I have to put a lot more potential in the story beyond the political conflict.  So, I’m trying to look at the big picture and add as many gee-whiz angles to make it more fun.  I think I may add cold fusion to the mix.  I’ve always liked the idea of some research into some of the heavier metals providing some unhoped-for breakthroughs in advanced physics.  Maybe not as drastic as the E. E. Smith trick that gives his Skylark characters a star drive but definitely limitless and elegant power production.  It’s definitely cheating but I’m thinking about it.

But all this big picture stuff is hurting my head so it’s a tough slog.  But I think it’s the right order of operation.

Eureka

photog Current Events, Humor, Life in Dunwich, OCF, photog's Corner , , ,

After yesterday’s epic whine about the vicissitudes of home ownership I looked around for some kind of salve for my male ego.  And fate or something provided me with the opportunity to redeem myself.  A clogged bathtub drain.  For the last few weeks, the drain in our tub has been getting slower and slower.  Lately I’ve left the plunger near the tub and after every shower I played a game of trying to get it to break loose.  All I achieved was to dredge up a goodly amount of black flakes that were some kind of fossilized soap scum.  And all that achieved was to waste ten or fifteen minutes while I cleaned up the tub of this disgusting residue.

But today I had had enough.  I gathered my equipment:

  • Screwdrivers … check
  • Needle nose pliers … check
  • Accordion Toilet Plunger with Large Bellows for Extra Powerful Plunge, Black … check
  • Snake auger … check
  • Electric drill … check
  • Safety glasses … check
  • Disposable rubber gloves … check

All that was left was to let Camera Girl see that I was preparing for battle and even though I would be expending tens of thousands of dollars to have someone competent repair my home, at least I was capable of saving the cost of a plumber to get my bathtub back in good operating condition.

I solemnly explained to her how I would be removing the plunger from the trip-lever stopper to properly auger the drain line.  I don’t think it would be possible for me to overstate the intensity of contempt her look communicated to me.  Well, that’s the problem with women.  They don’t understand or appreciate technical genius.

So, I removed the drain filter and tried pulling out hair with the pliers.  Nada.  Then just for old time’s sake I put six inches of water in the tub and tried the “Accordion Toilet Plunger with Large Bellows for Extra Powerful Plunge, Black.”  I pushed down on the stupid thing once and the tub drained in seconds.  And of course, Camera Girl walked in just as it emptied and gave me the same look.  She picked up the plunger and asked, “How much did you pay for this?”  I said, “ten bucks.”  “And this?” (pointing at the auger).  “Sixty dollars.”  She shook her head and walked away.  Women don’t understand about contingency planning.  Very short-sighted.

Well, as pathetic as my victory was, it has transformed my attitude.  We’re definitely on the upswing.  And after she took a shower, she readily admitted that a working bathtub drain is not a commodity to look down your nose at.  And there’s no telling what I might do next.

Who knows, maybe I’ll tell my builder to stop all work, figure what I owe him so far and take over the job myself.  I mean how long could it take me to shovel ten thousand pounds of gravel?  And how hard can it be to jack up a building off its foundation?  And who needs a truck to pour concrete anyway?  What was it Archimedes said?  “Give me a place to stand and a lever long enough and I’ll move the Earth.”  Well, some of my ancestors came from Sicily.  Maybe I’m related to Archimedes (at least by marriage!).  Well, baby steps.  I think I’ll shock Camera Girl and brew my own pot of coffee.  How hard could it be?

The Safety Dance – Part 4

photog My Fiction, photog's Corner ,

The Safety Dance – Part 3

And once again Jim felt like the mark in a three-card Monty game.  He didn’t put his hand on his wallet but he almost did.  Instead, he shook the hand that Connors proffered and allowed himself to be escorted to a chair at a small table to the side of the huge desk.  The former chauffer took another chair next to him and put on a sheepish grin, “I guess you’re starting to wonder whether the lunatics are running the asylum but I assure you there is a reason for all this.

Jim vented a particularly heavy sigh and said, “Mr. Connors, I think I’m too confused at this point to know what to say.  I think I’d like to head home at this point.  I’m just a regular guy who takes the commuter train back and forth to work and doesn’t expect to have the CEO spying on him on the drive from the airport.  Maybe we should call it a day.”

“I can’t blame you for feeling that way.  But before I send you home, let me try to explain and if what you hear interests you, we can continue.”  Jim nodded his head.  Connors continued, “You know all this is your own fault.  When you called your friend Dave, it triggered all this.  And it wasn’t the fact that he wanted you to interview for the Missouri job that caught our attention.  It was how Dave described you.  As it turns out Dave isn’t your biggest fan.  He kind of thinks you’re an idealist about politics and how the world works, although idealist isn’t the word he uses.  As you probably know Dave is not at all idealistic or even particularly ethical in how he approaches work or even life in general.  Dave works at that office because he works quite well with other people like himself.  And unfortunately, that is valuable more often than we wish it were.  So, he’s a kind of negative standard.  If he says someone is a loser, we assume he means that person is honest.  So that’s why we interviewed you in New York and that’s why you’re here.  Now this job is a technical one and so I needed you to talk to my team.  They think you’d be a good addition to the group.  Your background and your skills are a good match.  So that’s great.

But our organization is extremely unusual in a number of ways.  For instance, the compensation package is completely different from any other company you’ve ever heard of.  And the secrecy agreement is much more stringent than anything this side of the Sicilian Mafia.  So, as you can imagine we take the candidate selection process to extreme lengths.  For instance, we’ve done a background check on you that would make the CIA jealous.  We have access to intelligence sources that are pretty much comprehensive.”

At this point Jim spoke up, “Are you guys working for the US government or some other country?”  Connors shook his head, “Just the opposite.  We do most of all this to avoid the interference of the federal government.  And if Dave’s negative description of you got you that interview in New York, it was your answer to Milo that got you to Wyoming.  Do you remember what he asked you and what you answered?  He asked, “What’s the biggest threat to your family’s long-term well-being?” and you said, “Our own government.”  Well, that was the secret password.  That’s the golden ticket.  This company exists in the form it has because I believe that same thing you said.  Our government is the greatest threat to the future of its citizens that exists on this planet.  More generally it’s the greatest threat to all of humanity because it is so powerful that there is no longer any brake on its power and its mission is no longer tied in a meaningful way to our welfare.”

Connors had now managed to direct Jim’s thoughts away from his own predicament and toward the larger reality of the modern world, something that Jim spent a considerable time thinking about before he became unemployed.  Jim asked, “Well, what could you hope to accomplish against a coordinated and all-pervasive system of control like the feds?”

Connors smiled.  “You’d be surprised.  Or maybe you wouldn’t be.  But the way we do it is to build our own society right out in plain sight.  We’ve formed a tight-knit community of like-minded individuals and their families and we go about our lives looking for all the world like everybody else but like the iceberg the great majority of our organization is hidden from view and provides the opportunity for us to thrive away from the government’s habits of interference.”

Despite his earlier alarm at Connor’s tactics, Jim found himself intrigued by this crazy story of a secret organization hiding from the government in plain sight.  “But surely the IRS and several other federal agencies would detect all this additional commercial activity and come crashing down on you.  Won’t all the excess consumption by your employees trigger alarm bells in those who spend their lives looking for people avoiding taxes?”

Connors countered, “It would if there were excess consumption to detect.  But what my set-up entails is internal capture of all or almost all of the commercial and industrial needs of our communities.  Did you notice the automobile that we drove here in?  That doesn’t come from Detroit or Japan or Korea.  We make them ourselves.  And we also make the gasoline it runs on, at least when we fill it up in town.”

Jim jumped on this statement, “But not having any commerce is just as bad as having too much.  I’m sure the government monitors the apparent economic activity in an area and would notice if a large population like a whole town or several towns didn’t seem to buy or sell anything.”  Connors smiled, “Very true and that is why we very carefully balance our apparent commerce to expectations.  In fact, we have all this down to a science.  But that’s hardly all we do to maintain this masquerade.  I am one of the largest government contractors outside of the defense procurement sector.  My enterprises support a very large lobbying effort in DC and I keep all the most important congressional leaders well-greased.  In addition, I employ another retinue of former government regulators on staff to make sure that we are well regarded by the deep state.  It’s people like these that your friend Dave involves himself with.  The levers of power are lined up in the correct order.  I leave nothing to chance.”

Jim considered these details carefully.  And then said, “But to what end?  Where can this all go?”  Connors replied, “I’m building something that should one day be strong enough to come out in the open and tell our masters, “No more!  We’re free and we’ll stay that way and we’re too strong for you to hold us down.”  That’s the end game.  But in the meantime, we’re a family.  Every family in our organization has the resources and opportunity to thrive and live a great life.  Everyone has the creature comforts of modern life and in addition education is addressed comprehensively and the level of expertise in the faculty rivals what you could expect at MIT or Cal Tech.  Our humanities curriculum isn’t as developed as the technical side but it’s adequate.  And best of all the government is kept at bay.  We live our lives without the interference of Washington bureaucrats telling us what we can and can’t do; what we can and can’t think.”

Then Connors stopped talking and watched Locke.  He was silent for several minutes, looking like he wanted to say something.  “What if I say no?  I know a lot of stuff that you don’t want known.  What would happen?”  Connors looked at him seriously and said, “Do you mean would we kill you or something?  We’re not evil men.  You wouldn’t be here if we didn’t think you were basically a decent man.  If you say no, we send you home and that’s the end of it.  I’ll be very disappointed but we’ll find someone else to take that spot.  If someone went out of his way to make trouble for us with the government, I couldn’t say how it would end up.  We have built up some protective arrangements into our government connections but they are unpleasant and dangerous.  We work with some questionable people in the intelligence agencies and if we told them that you were a security risk, bad things might happen but it wouldn’t be something we would initiate.  Are you telling me you are thinking of informing on us?”

Jim answered quietly, “No I’m just trying to understand how you can allow a safety risk such as myself to threaten your whole operation.”  Connors said, “We’re good people and we’re smart.  We can tell the difference between the trustworthy and the dishonest.  We recognize good people.  When we find them, we treat them fairly and depend on them to treat us the same.  It works.  Are you interested?”

Jim smiled, “You don’t pay your employees money.  So basically, it’s as if I had a sign across my chest that said “WILL ENGINEER FOR FOOD!”  Is there a chance I can get an Amazon gift card for Christmas?”  Connors scowled and said “Why is it always the engineers that think they have a sense of humor?”  Jim laughed, “Because we see the cosmic irony of trying to get anything done by the boss’s schedule.  Will you be driving me home to the airport?  I’ve got to get home and start uprooting my family.”  Now it was Connors’ turn to laugh, “I’ve got more important things to do than that.  Luckily for you we’ve got an airfield on the property.  I just drove you from Bozeman to get a good read on you.  Can never be too sure of the new guys you know.

The Safety Dance – Part 3

photog My Fiction, photog's Corner ,

The Safety Dance – Part 2

Faber tapped his left index finger on the table top a couple of times and nodded his head once.  “Mr. Locke, I think we have a reason to continue our discussions further.  I would like you to meet with one of the leaders of our firm.  But he never travels to the Northeast.  At your convenience I’d like to set up a meeting with him at our corporate headquarters in Wyoming.”

Jim thought about this for a few moments.  All of this was so irregular that he was starting to feel like he was being set up for something illegal.  He began thinking of how he could back away from this without appearing to be afraid which, in point of fact, he was.  “Mr. Faber, I’ve just lost my job and I haven’t got the resources right now for airplane trips and mysterious job opportunities.  I’ve got to find a job right away.”

Milo smiled.  “Jim, I realize that this has been a very confusing “job interview.”  But we’re used to how unorthodox our organization appears from the outside so I’m also prepared to provide you with an incentive to entice you to give us a listen.  Here is ten thousand dollars in cash to give you the flexibility to consider talking to us.  All you’re committed to is meeting with us.  After you hear our story, you can walk away and continue your job search with enough money to get you through the next month.”

Jim looked at the bankroll with its crisp one-hundred-dollar bills strapped together.  He was beginning to think he had fallen asleep on the commuter train and would soon be awakened by the conductor and told to move along.  But after a minute or so he picked up the bundle and examined it.  He flipped through the bills and determined that they were all the same denomination.  They looked and felt real.

“Do you guys sell fentanyl?”  And that finally, forced Faber to smile.  “Mr. Locke, here’s my card.  Go home and think about all this.  Talk to your wife and see what she thinks.  If you don’t want to go forward just call me up and arrange to return the money.  Keep a thousand for your trouble.  That’s fair, isn’t it?  All I’m asking is for you to meet with my bosses and find out if we’ve got an opportunity that makes sense for you.  I think you can see we’re serious in our intentions.  Why not hear us out?”

Jim put the bankroll in the breast pocket of his jacket and told Faber he would call him the next day with his answer.  Then he got up from the table walked out of the restaurant and wandered aimlessly around midtown Manhattan for an hour before heading back to Penn Station to go home.  Every few minutes as he pondered what had happened, he found himself saying out loud, “Judy is not gonna like this.”

A week later Jim Locke found himself on a jet headed to Boseman MT.  Once there he was met by a large odd-looking SUV-like truck driven by a non-descript man in sunglasses and a polo shirt.  Not being directed where to sit he took the front passenger seat and prepared for the long ride to the corporate headquarters in Wyoming.  Having never been to the Mountain West Jim was impressed by the view of mountains, prairie and especially by some cattle crossing the road.  So, he engaged the driver whose name was Paul in some discussion about the countryside.  “Yeah, after a while you forget that it’s pretty amazing scenery hereabouts.  You just get used to the view and it just becomes the background to your life.  But every once in a while, you realize just how beautiful it is.”

“Have you lived in this area long?”  “Oh, ever since I came home from Iraq.  So quite a while.”  “Do you work for the company that I’m visiting?”  “Yeah, I’ve been with them for a good long while.”  “What are they like?”  “Well, I hear the guy in charge is a little screwy, but all the people I deal with are pretty decent types.”

After this there was silence for about a half hour.  Then Paul asked Jim, “So what do you do?”  “Well, by training I’m an engineer but what I do mostly is run projects for assembling complicated and expensive machines.  I build a team and then they build the machine.  Then I take the credit (or blame) for the result.”  “Sounds like a very interesting job.”  “Well, that depends on a lot of particulars.”  “Like what?”  “Well, can you find and pay for the right talent for all the disciplines?  Is the budget honest or did they buy the job?  Is the client smart or stupid?”  “You mean if the client is too smart the project will lose money?”  “No.  If the client is too stupid, he won’t believe you when you show him realistic constraints.  How many times have I been confronted with a client who demanded dry water?”  “Oh, I think I see your point.”

After another lull in the conversation Paul asked, “So where are you from?”  “Well, originally I’m from Brooklyn but I live on Long Island now.”  “Would you really move to a place like this?  We don’t have a lot of restaurants and clubs here.  Wouldn’t you be bored?”  “I don’t know.  We spend most of our free time at kids’ soccer games and movies with yellow animated characters.  Do you have those things around here?”  “Yeah, I guess so.  I don’t have any kids so I’m just going by what I’ve seen but yeah, folks around here have lots of kids’ sports teams and sure there are movie theaters though a few of them have gone broke.”

Afterwards, Jim excused himself saying he needed to get in a nap before they arrived.  He woke up as Paul shook him to announce they had arrived at the headquarters.  It was an old storefront converted into an office building.  At the receptionist’s desk he was asked to wait until his hosts came to get him.  When they arrived, there were six men, ages thirty to fifty something.  They brought him into a room filled with computer displays and started peppering him with questions about his previous work and asking him hypothetical questions about how he would approach some projects that seemed to require technologies that as far as he knew did not exist.  He found himself getting excited about the prospect of incorporating these impossible innovations into some of his best designs for industrial equipment.

And his enthusiasm sparked a synergistic energy from his hosts.  A couple of hours in they broke for a meal but it was plain to see that Jim fit in well with these men.  At the lunch, which consisted of ham or turkey sandwiches and decent coffee, Jim tried to pick the minds of his hosts about the company.  Their answers were a mixture of enthusiastic boosterism and a complete lack of details.  They insisted that the company would be a fantastic fit for Jim but they assured him that the details about the contract he would sign had to wait until he met the boss, Mr. Connors.  Apparently, in some senses this was a one-man band.  After they finished lunch, they went back to finish up discussions of some preliminary aspects of the project he would hopefully become involved in.  A half hour in a young man in a suit with a clip board walked in and announced that it was time for the interview with Mr. Connors.  Jim shook hands with the men he had so easily bonded with and ruefully headed off to what was for him, the least favorite aspect of any interview, meeting the head honcho.

He was led down a few corridors to an area of the building that looked more like a corporate office than the rest of the building with polished hardwood paneling and gleaming metal trim.  The kid with the clip board swiped his keycard through the electronic door mechanism and after the chime announced its acceptance Jim was told to let himself in.  Walking through the imposingly tall and broad doors he walked toward the large desk and halfway there he recognized the man behind the desk by his sunglasses and polo shirt.  It was his chauffer, Paul.  Paul saw him enter and jumped up to meet him on his way to the desk and said, “Hey Jim, good to see you again.  I’m Paul Connors.”