Tuesday, August 25, 2015

Miscellenous Items, Table J

With thanks to AD&D.

I used to draw up my own AD&D character sheets then raid Mum's scotch bottle full of five cent coins and go to the nearest photocopier so I could make up batches of characters. 

Ah, the '80s. 

I helped out a colleague in a bind. It was most enjoyable. I value added to the task and helped them meet a tight deadline. The satisfaction from an all in together job to nudge a project over the line is akin to the happy tail pat of just-dam completed beavers (1).

Thanks, beavers. 

My hip feels better. Perhaps the discomfort is muscular and not bone on bone? I'll still get it checked but I am dreading the fucking Catalina wine mixer, part deux. Probs wept, the last one nearly killed me and the recovery was brutal. 

Please let me remain less machine for longer. 

Google split itself into Alphabet Inc. with sub units named and organised by the like-grouping of things Google does. Calico is the one that is going for longer life. It got me thinking about the whole brain in a vat argument you ponder in Philosophy 101 (2) and what if I was a Calico customer far in the future re-living his most-mortal time life over as the aged remnants of my brain are supported by nano-fused cyber-brain technology and a slurry of daily-sprayed brain nutrients.

Had I been Vanilla Sky'ed

I wonder then if you rocked up to Calico and demanded to know if you were currently replaying your life in the far future and could they please confirm it and reboot to a scenario of hedonistic unbridlement. And by doing so it then turns out you won Calico because you figured it all out and now you go into a bonus level where all that unbridled pleasure seek-taking occurs. Like what that dude in The Matrix who wants back into the fake world but as a millionaire who eats steak.

Well played, people who won Calico.

As I was going for an outside walk I saw a man pop out of a tiny door. It was most unexpected. It was a regular-sized man, the door was small—metal, with slatted vents—but the smallness of the door coupled with the unexpected opening of it was a delicious oddity. It was gritty outside, sleeting gobs of small rain which added to the glorious menace of it all. The regular-sized man then drove off in a regular-sized van.

It was a man in a van who came from a tiny door, man.


Hard copies of the latest reports had come in. They lay in boxes on a trolley, undelivered. So like a reverse World War Two prison tunneller I went and got the reports and started putting them around work, monitoring take up then topping up deposit places when they went low. Over three days of reverse tunneling I'd seized all the boxes and dispatched the innards of all but one. 

I'm kind of troll-like and I like boxes.

The shed groans with the wind. It's creepy and nice. 

Well played, shed wind.

(1) Where one beaver appeared on the last day and put out just three and a bit logs but still got credit for the assist. Hooray for lazy beavers!
(2) I did the intro course to philosophy at uni. I got a pass. I wrote some somewhat non-PC papers that got rightly smacked for insensitivity. It was a learning experience. I decided against going further with the philosophy stream.

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