How Science Fiction Failed Us

Immortal my ass...

2011-11-11T20:09:00.001-05:00

This post contains spoilers for the movie IMMORTALS. Don't read until you've seen the movie... if you're going to...

So anyone that knows me well knows that I'm a Greco-Roman mythology freak. Blame my high school Latin teacher. When she figured out that I had a head for remembering stories, she put me on the Certamen (Latin for "contest") team as the mythology and history guy. Certamin's a bit like quiz bowl, except instead of math, science, social studies and geography, it's Roman Life, Language, History and Mythology.

Anyway, I can tell you how all the constellations got their names. I can name all the children of Nyx. I can tell you why the ancients named the planets what they did. I can even tell you who Theseus, Hyperion and Phaedra were too.

The story of "Immortals" is based VERY loosely on the story of Athens' founder-king, Theseus, except in the movie, there is never any mention of Athens (maybe because it still exists?). Theseus and his mother Aethra are outcasts because she was raped by villagers (one of whom fathered Theseus) and no one would marry her. Theseus was educated in the art of war by an unnamed old man, who later turns out to be Zeus. Meanwhile, Hyperion, king of Heraklion, is massing an army in his quest to find the Epirius Bow, a mythic weapon with the power to kill gods and free the Titans. You see the Titans are chained in a box beneath Mt. Tartarus and Hyperion, who feels forsaken by the gods, intends to free them. The gods cannot intervene, on pain of death, in the affairs of men, so Hyperion is allowed to defile temples, rape women and basically run rampant over all of Greece. In the end, Theseus finds the Epirus Bow (which was hidden in his home town... go figure) but it falls into Hyperion's hand during an ambush. Theseus only survives because of the intervention of Apollo, who is, in turn, killed by Zeus. Theseus tries to warn the Hellenistic forces (led by Helios and the Hellenistic Council), but they see his account as a story and refuse to listen. Hyperion uses the bow to open the gates to Tartarus and frees the Titans, as he promised he would. As the gods battle the Titans, Theseus battles Hyperion. The gods are overwhelmed and all but Zeus perish as he brings down the mountain on the Titans, burying them. Theseus finally slays Hyperion, but dies himself in the effort, then is taken to the heavens by Zeus. His gift was a a son, Acamus, by the (previously) virgin oracle, Phaedra. The boy has the gift of prophecy and he sees his father battling in the heavens. The old man returns and tells the boy that it will one day be his turn to fight evil. End credits.

OK. Not a bad story and not the worst representation of the gods I've ever seen (ever see Clash of the Titans... either one...). However, they butchered a perfectly good story to tell this one.

Theseus wasn't a bastard, he was the son of Aegeas, king of Athens, and also of Poseidon (his mother got around a little). That's how Greek heroes worked, though. Saying you have divine heritage helps settle the restless natives.

Hyperion wasn't a king in Heraklion or anywhere else. He was a Titan, specifically, the personification of light. His children, Helios and Selene, were the first sun and moon deities in Greece.

Heraklion didn't exist in ancient times. It's a modern city built at the site of ancient Knossos, the capital of Minoan Crete. The Minoans were badasses. There is reason to believe that much of what we see as Greek actually came from the Minoans. Minos, was king at the time of Theseus and he was not a nice man, either.

Before Minos became king, he prayted for a sign from Poseidon that he was favored over his brothers. Poseidon sent a snow white bull, which Minos was then to have sacrificed. But Minos loved the symbol so much, he refused, and let the bull roam the palace grounds. IN retribution, the gods made his wife, Pasiphae, fall in love with the bull. She had the Athenian engineer, Daedalus, build her a cow costume so that she copulate with the bull. The resulting child was the Minotaur. Because it was an unnatural creature, it had an unnatural appetite for human flesh. Crete had just defeated Athens in a major battle, so Minos declared that the Athenians would send, every ninth year, 12 virgin youths, 6 male, 6 female, to serve as sacrifice to the Minotaur. Theseus volunteered during the third tribute and eventually slayed the minotaur with the aid of Minos' two daughters, Ariadne and Phaedra. He left Ariadne on Naxos and made Phaedra his wife. But on the way back, he forgot to change his sails from black to white, making his afather think he was dead. IN committing suicide, Aegeas secured the throne for his son.

Damn that's a great story. far better than the Minotaur being just some big guy with a barbed wire cow helmet.

Tartarus wasn't a mountain. It was the deepest part of the underworld; the place where the wicked spent eternity. The majority of the Titans were chained there (because they could not be killed).

Theseus' actual story is better than the one hollywood wrote. I don't know why they changed it. Oh and all of those weapons... should have been bronze. Acamus was inside the Trojan Horse; and the Trojan War was during the bronze age.

Go see the movie for what it is; a decent story with some great fighting. Just don't expect it to be accurate.

A brave new world... at CustomPCMAX

2010-12-09T21:03:00.000-05:00

Hey everyone. I know I've had to take a little break from writing lately, mainly because work has been crazy. However, I was asked by my friends at Custom PC MAX to write an article on gaming. So I shared my thoughts on the new World of Warcraft expansion: Cataclysm.

GO here: http://su.pr/20uh7G and read to your hearts content (and check out their other content as well) and let me know what you think!

FOR THE (insert favored game affiliation here)!!!

Final Tease…

2010-08-14T10:37:00.002-04:00

Here is our final look at Tim Andrews and his mysterious visitor. There's a lot more dialogue in this chapter, and the two used to be a single installment together. I have received some feedback indicating that the first chapter is too much dry description and I may change that soon. Also, I should explain (and this will be explained in Chapter 1 in the future) that Tim's condition changes all the time. He will communicate in ways you may not think are possible, and is more capable after he's had his daily therapy. Tim's condition is similar to certain types of amnesia. If he had better control of his hands, he could sign his name, and he may be able to spell it, but he wouldn't recognize it if he saw it written down. He knows that a Navy Commander is a higher rank than an Air Force Major, but he wouldn't be able to tell which was which by insignia, or where they fell in the grand scheme. He would be able to pilot a plane, but he wouldn't know how to read the gauges or ask the tower for clearance.

I'm interested to see what you all think of this final glimpse into a world "Where Nightmares Walk". As always, please leave comments to let me know what you think.

Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.

-Albert Einstein

CHAPTER 2

Not being one to hide from his fears, Tim decided to face the stranger as man; or rather, as much of a man that was left of him. Manipulating the controls of his bed so that he was in a sitting position, he waited what seemed an eternity for the stranger to open the door to his room. There was no use in pretending he hadn't heard their conversation, either. He didn't need heightened senses to eavesdrop on that shouting match. There was also a certain sense of decorum Tim didn't fully understand. Up to this point, he hadn't known for sure that he was in the military; let alone what branch, or what his rank was. Now that he did, he was certain he wouldn't have wanted to be seen in the state he had been in previously.

As the door opened slowly, Tim's heart raced. His eyes adjusted slowly as his visitor turned up the lights in the previously dim room. He was wincing as the curtain slid slowly toward the wall, revealing the tall stranger for the first time. As Tim opened his eyes more fully, he noticed that his visitor wore the deep blue dress uniform of a Naval Officer. He wasn't sure how he knew, but the stripes at the end of the man's sleeve confirmed that he was a full Commander. As the stranger approached, he smiled wide as the light of recognition lit his face. He carried his stark white hat in one hand, and an aged leather satchel in the other. The man's soft, warm brown eyes were sad, despite his smile, as he looked Tim over. Tim was waiting for his face to ring bells in his head, but there was nothing. Before he could feel betrayed by his own mind, the stranger spoke.

"It's good to see you again, Tim. I have so much to tell you, but there just isn't the time. The good Major will be back shortly, and I'm sure she won't be alone. You heard us talking in the corridor?" Tim couldn't speak, but he nodded his affirmation. Tim's visitor furrowed his brow as he regarded Tim's wordless answer.

"I guess you can't speak, can you?" Not waiting for Tim to answer, the man continued immediately. "Well, that will complicate matters a bit, but I'm sure that we'll be able to communicate just fine. After all, it's been what? 20 years? 25? I think I lost track..." The man smiled, but his eyes retained their buried sadness. He looked for some affirmation from Tim, but try as he might, Tim could not remember this man who sat next to him. A part of him felt like he should know this stranger, but it was vague and fuzzy and he just didn't have enough of a recollection to pull it into focus. His eyes must have spoken for him, for just then, the smile faded from the man's face, quickly replaced by a frantic expression.

"You... you don't remember me, do you?" Tim shook his head slowly; his eyebrows were raised in apology.

"Damn it, they didn't tell me you were amnesic. We don't have time for this! Do you remember anything at all?" Tim pointed to the binder on the night stand that contained his cue cards. After skimming through them quickly, the man slumped back into the chair, defeated. "Well, it seems Major Marcum wasn't lying to me after all. She told me that you wouldn't know what I was here for, or what you had done to deserve recognition. I thought she was just trying to get rid of me, but I can see now what she meant. Jesus, Tim, what have they done to you?"

Tim looked blankly at the man, wondering exactly why he assumed that something had been done to him. Surely he would have known about his accident, and what caused his current condition. Even if Tim had an answer, he didn't think it would be the one the man wanted. After a few moments Tim's visitor continued.

"I can't imagine what you've been through, old friend, or how difficult it's been. The truth is I'm not here to interview you for the Medal of Honor. Hell, I'm not even cleared to know you are here. I'll probably be court-martialed for talking to you, but when I found out that my best friend was alive after all these years...well, I knew that you would have done the same for me. What choice did I have?"

"I suppose I'll have to at least tell you who I am, so that the rest of what I have to tell you will make some sense." My name's Nathaniel Lange and I am your closest friend in the world. We've known each other since grade school after my family moved to Ohio. You were the only person who ever truly understood me, and you were always there to keep me out of trouble. My brother from another mother," Nate laughed softly.

"We were inseparable until it came time to go to college. You had your heart set on the Air Force Academy, and I had my letter for Annapolis. But we kept in touch, and saw each other every holiday we could. Eventually, we got an opportunity to work together when we were both flagged to work under a multi-force command during the Border War." Tim's brow furrowed at the mention of a war he didn't know about. "They haven't told you about that? Well, we don't have time right now. Suffice it to say that you were given clearance to hand-pick your own Special Forces unit, and you pulled me to be your XO. Together, you and I formed what was probably the most elite Reconnaissance and Recovery unit the US military has ever seen. Our motto was "With it or on it"... we either returned with our target, or we didn't intend to return at all. WE had a perfect record until..." Nate's voice trailed off as he looked down the length of Tim's prone body. Tim just stared straight ahead at the far wall. He can't imagine why this information had been kept secret from him, or why he didn't have even the faintest recollection of these events. He was so lost in thought, that he didn't notice that Nate was looking him in the eyes again.

"Does any of this ring a bell, Tim?" Nate leaned forward in his chair hopefully. When Tim shook his head again, Nate shot up from his chair to pace the floor in frustration. As he muttered to himself, it was clear to Tim that Nate hadn't expected to find him in this condition. After a short time, Nate sat down again, a resolute look on his face, eyelashes matted with tears. "Well now that we know who I am, why don't you show me what they've told you about where you are and what's happening with you."

Wordlessly, Tim manipulated a small joystick on the railing of the bed, the same one he had used to sit himself up. The whirring of a small motor made Nate turn his head to look over his shoulder. He rubbed his eyes to clear the tears to watch a small table moved slowly across the room. As it neared the bed, the glossy black tabletop raised so that it could be easily seen from Tim's half laying-half sitting position. When it slid completely into place, the black screen flashed to life.

Nate looked impressed, spryly commenting, "Nice setup. At least they are taking good care of you."

Tim ignored the comment as he raised his hand to the screen and started tapping. After a moment, noticing how Nate was craning to look at the screen, Tim tugged on the far side of it so that the tilt so that Nate could see well. As Tim dragged his fingers across the screen, the digital versions of his flash cards spun quickly by, followed by pictures of Tim over the time that he had been at the facility with dates indicating his coma state over a period of five years. There was a short biography, but it didn't mention anything about military service, or that Tim had ever been outside of his home state of Ohio. There was also no mention of what actually put Tim in this condition, but Dr. Samuels had said that he didn't want Tim focusing on the past, but rather on his recovery.

Tim looked to Nate expectantly, pointing at the biography, then to Nate. Nate wiped another errant tear from his cheek before he said anything. They both heard Nurse Marcum yelling at the far end of the hall, and they knew their time was growing short.

"Well, you should know by now that nothing in your table here is correct. You weren't some beat cop from Cincinnati, you were a fighter pilot, just like your old man, and not only were you the youngest man to be commissioned O-6 out of wartime, but you were probably the most decorated. Hell, you won the Silver Star, the Airman's Medal, the Distinguished Service Medal, and more damn Commendation and Outstanding Unit awards that you can't wear enough devices for them. They even presented your wife with the Air Force Cross after your funeral service."

Tim's eyes widened at the mention of a wife. He raised his hand quickly to stop Nate's explanation. "What? They didn't tell you that you were married? Figures, they haven't told you anything, or at least, what they have told you seem to be lies." Tim was beside himself, and was trying very much not to show it. He had relied on the information that Dr. Samuels and Major Marcum had given him. Prior to this moment, he had no reason to distrust them, or the dossier they gave him about his life. He had known some details were withheld; they had told him they wanted him to remember on his own, not to regurgitate memories they fed him. He had always been so hopeful, but now... Now what would he do? His head was spinning, and he grunted and squawked as he tried desperately to speak. That was when the dam broke.

Tim reached out and grabbed Nate's shirt for support. His world was crashing down around him fast. He began to shake violently, as the floodgates of his mind opened, filling him with conflicting memories of a multitude of lives, including the one Nate was telling him about. He had a family. He had a son. What else did they lie about?

After the shaking stopped, Tim relaxed his grip on his friend's shirt, and then frantically tapped out a message on the screen.

"Tell me more," it said.

Knowing that time was short, Nate smiled and began immediately, grasping Tim's hand firmly. "Our last assignment was for the FBI. We normally didn't hire out, but this was a special case. There was word from the CIA that a protected US asset had been marked for termination, and she happened to have friends in very high places. By the time we'd been called in, there had already been two close calls, and between local law enforcement and the FBI, 22 casualties. They were being toyed with and they knew it. According to our intelligence, the bounty was actually for a specific date, but there were false leads and no one knew what the date actually was. Well, almost no one. You see, Claire knew when she was going to die, but she refused to tell us."

Tim's eyes flashed with recognition, but Nate didn't stop. "Our unit, the one you and I created, was called TAC5. We had the 15 best and brightest that the US military had to offer... after NASA and Special Forces got their cut. They even let us have our choice of people from other government agencies, like the CIA and DHS. After our first few missions, the DOD decided that we would do better work if we were funded as a black op, and overnight, we became more classified than the President's phone number. Of course, that meant we got the best toys, too. We became the team the government went to when no one else could get the job done. I know it sounds like the pilot script to the newest TV action show, but it's the God's honest truth. We did it all Tim. Chuck Norris had nothing on us."

Tim probably would have laughed under different circumstances. Nate looked nervously at his watch, then at the door. The screaming had stopped, but there wasn't anyone approaching just yet. "We don't have much time left, old friend. Our last mission was supposed to be a cake walk. Like I said before, the FBI brought us in to guard a woman because everyone else they brought in were dropping like flies. What we didn't know then was that we had a mole in our unit. Lorenza came to us highly recommended, but he turned out to be a plant for an unknown enemy. He was feeding them information on our moves, so that the enemy was always a step ahead of us. We don't know how many assassins were involved, but we've guessed at least two..."

Nate's words trailed off as his tone got quieter. "Officially, that night, you, Lorenza and Claire were all killed in a gas main explosion and your bodies lost in a building collapse. Unofficially, all three bodies recovered, but only Claire was dead. You and Lorenza were taken to Bethesda, and we were told you both died from your injuries. But no one was allowed to see you, even your wife. We had a funeral for you the following week; full honors and everything. We all knew something had happened to you, but after all this time, we just assumed we were better off not knowing."

Nate leaned closer, looking more serious and grave as they heard a number of voices from the end of the hall. "Emma, Claire's daughter, and I had been getting together every few months since it happened. The last time we met, she handed me a letter. Emma told me that he mom had a funny way of making sure she wouldn't be forgotten. Apparently, she had sent a number of letters to the family lawyer and instructed that they be delivered at certain times and places. This," he said, holding up a folded envelope, "is that letter. I think you should read it, and you need to read it now."

Tim took the envelope and placed it on his table. In a couple of seconds, the contents were displayed on the screen for them both to see and the computer voice began reading Claire's words in it's robotic female voice. Tim's eyes clouded with tears as he recognized Claire's distinctive handwriting:

March 28th, 1967

Dear Commander,

I wish I knew your name so that I could address you properly, but I don't always get to see everything I want. My name is Claire Metcalf, and we will know each other well before I die. You're a very sad man, Commander, and I know what can help you. I have to warn you, though. If you choose to do the things I say, it will make your life harder than you can imagine. You'll be giving up your life to save someone you hold very dear. You will be giving him the chance to start his life over again.

I know you will do the right thing.

Since you work at the Pentagon, you'll know that the government likes to hide its secrets in plain sight. In a small, nondescript building in the outskirts of Washington, D.C., you will find the man you are looking for. He thinks he's in a hospital, but he's being kept prisoner for a sinister purpose. They have robbed him of himself, and they want to make him their puppet. Help him Commander; you are the only one who can.

Sincerely yours,

Clair Metcalf

Tim didn't know what to do. He had never been comfortable with Claire's gift, even when it benefited him. Nate confirmed what Tim was thinking, "The man she mentioned is you, Tim. Emma told me exactly where to find this place based on another letter she received from her mother. I figure my career was worth saving my best friend, so I had some false paperwork written up and here I am. I will make sure that we get you out of here and into a real hospital. Don't worry, buddy, we'll get this taken care of. I promise."

As the final words left Nate's mouth, the door to the room slammed open. Knowing what was about to happen, Nate stood up, snapped to attention and saluted his old friend. In the doorway, a smug looking Major Marcum stood with her arms crossed. "I'll give you credit for not running, but it was a stupid choice." Calling down the hallway, she added, "He's still in here!"

From the hallway, the loud sounds of heavy metal tipped boots echoed in a cacophony of rushed movement. "That's him Sergeant; Commander Lange does not have clearance to be in this facility, or to speak with the subject."

The Marine guards moved quickly to either side of Nate as he turned to face the Major with a smile. The dark figure in the door, though, made Nate's smile flee like a rabbit before a wolf. The massive figure of Stephen Samuels could not be mistaken. He cast such a shadow that it was almost as if it had a life of its own. It was a common joke around the D.C. water coolers that the light was afraid of him. Samuels was the Secretary of Cultural Preservation, a post created after the New Mexican War, and one Samuels worked very hard to get. Nate wasn't sure why he would be involved with this project, even unofficially, since he wasn't a Cybornetics or Eugenics expert. There was something very wrong with all of this, and suddenly Nate was afraid.

"Well, well, well," Samuels said softly, a flat scowl sitting squarely on his angular face, "if it isn't the good Colonel's past returning to rear its ugly head again. Now, last I had heard, you received a nice cushy office job at the Pentagon, far away from any covert ops, and most assuredly away from here. So tell me, Commander… How did you know the Colonel was here?"

Samuels moved into the room as he addressed Nate, his motions fluid; as if his feet weren't even in motion, though Nate could clearly see that they were. His hands were clasped behind his back, a favorite stance for him. The way that Samuels moved around Tim's bed reminded him of a wolf circling his prey, waiting for the correct moment to attack.

"The cat, it has your tongue, I suppose?" Samuels asked rhetorically. Samuels's Greek heritage was most evident when he tried to turn phrases that didn't make much sense in Greek. No one had the balls to correct him, though. "What had you hoped to accomplish? Did you think I would let you tell anyone that the good Colonel here was alive? That he's been running covert missions for my department for the last 4 years? I've put too much time and money into Andrews to let you have him back. He belongs to me now. I own him. You should have let dead dogs lie still."

After a barely noticeable nod from Samuels, the guards grabbed Nate by the arms and dragged him kicking and screaming out of the room. It took the rattle and thud of a gun stock cracking against the back of Nate's skull to quiet the racket. Once the stillness has returned, Major Marcum moved to stand near Samuels and asked quietly, "What should we do with him? He knows too much to have found this out on his own. He had to have had inside help."

Samuels just stared down at Tim, who was looking out the doorway and crying. His mind was broken mess now, and he was beyond noticing what was being said. "I think it's time we moved the BETA project to more easily concealed surroundings, Major. Phase 4 will need to start early, and we don't have all the required materials here. Since we can't be assured that one of the staff here didn't produce our leak, we'll need to liquidate them all, excluding you of course. I'm thinking there will be a horrible biological disaster here soon. As for our friend Commander Samuels, well, we need to keep him alive for now. We need to find out who his source was, and how credible they are. By the time we're through with him, he'll wish we HAD killed him."

"As you wish, Mr. Secretary," the Major replied before she left the room, leaving Samuels alone with Tim. "I'm sorry that Commander Lange disturbed your rest, my friend. Don't worry though; tomorrow this will all just be a bad dream. You can rest assured that your past will haunt you no more."

Tim just looked at the door sobbing uncontrollably.

Meet Tim Andrews

2010-08-11T22:07:00.004-04:00

Chapter 1 represents the start of Claire's journal. This is written primarily from her point of view some time in the past. Often she will reference herself in the past tense, since the events take place after hear death, but she was alive when she wrote it.

Enjoy.

God, who foresaw your tribulation, has specially armed you to go through it, not without pain but without stain.

-C.S. Lewis

CHAPTER 1

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to wake up and have no recollections at all? The fear, the utter terror at not knowing who you are, or where you belong would be maddening. Even with the growing threat of diseases like Alzheimer's, most of us will never experience the loss of what it is that makes us people. Now imagine that there was a single memory, a tiny fragment of the past that held your imagination, but had no context with which to apply it. Hell has no punishment worse, I think.

Tim Andrews was in that hell. He was a shell of a man, lying in a nameless military hospital, struggling to remember something… anything. All that was left of who the man he had been was a small fragment of a memory. Over and over, when he dreamt, he would see a pair of deep, silvery eyes, shining like the full moon, slowly closing, as if into sleep. The maddening part was that he had no idea who the eyes belonged to, if anyone. The doctors had told him that it may just be his subconscious playing tricks on him, and that the eyes may represent something else altogether. That didn't keep Tim from being tormented by those haunting grey eyes.

You could say that Tim was basically a clean slate; a blank person waiting to have life, or the doctors, show him who he was supposed to be. Tim didn't know how to walk, how to speak, or how to write. He was like a newborn, communicating through grunts and motions. The head nurse, Shelby Marcum, had grown accustomed to Tim's form of communication, and often would try to prompt him into working harder to get his point across, much the way parents do with their young children. And like small children, this usually frustrated poor Tim nearly to the point of tears, at which point Shelby would give in.

Every morning, it seemed, that would start over again. Tim's short term memory was so damaged that from day to day, he would forget things he knew the day before. The only way to correct this, the doctors would say, was to constantly reinforce the information. So Shelby had placed signs around the small hospital room, each one with a piece of vital information. "My name is Tim Andrews," one would say. "I was born on March 11," said another. Tim's world was very small right now, and he hated it.

So, in this small world, in a smaller room, Tim's day started like all the ones he could remember before it. Shelby had come in with a bowl of mush that she promised was cream of wheat. The accident which had robbed Tim of his mind had stolen much of his body as well. The pieces were there, but the nerve pathways had been destroyed and new ones would take time to regrow. Tim would have to learn about his body the same way an infant does, which as you can imagine, would be infinitely more frustrating for him than it is for a child.

This all would have been more bearable if Tim would have had access to entertainment of any kind. To protect him, and the progress that had been made, he was only allowed limited access to media. His piped in television only broadcast television from the 60's, and the Reader's Digests he was given were out of date during the Kennedy Administration. Even the music he heard was the worst sort of elevator music, of songs he had never heard, or at least that he didn't remember. All of this caused Tim to spend a lot of time deep in thought, working diligently to repair those parts of his mind that were broken. He just wanted to be a normal man again. It's a shame that for all his wanting, it would never be.

Despite all these apparent setbacks, though, Tim was progressing in ways the doctors never imagine. He still had some issues with his eyesight on occasion, and he was still unable to talk most of the time, but the doctors were sure these issues would pass with time. Tim wondered how much they were hiding from him, even with their seeming optimism. He had never been allowed to see a mirror, because his primary physician said that he was still very badly wounded, and that he was afraid the shock might set back their progress. He had hoped that after 23 surgeries and the removal of the bandages, they would let him see what he had become, but they still refused.

I suppose I should tell you that the eyes Tim spent so much time think about were real. I know this because they are my eyes. I can't give you the details yet, because I don't know them, but I can say that I was the last thing Tim saw as a normal human being, and I was the only thing he remembered with clarity. Well, more specifically my eyes. You see, he will be the last person to see me alive, and a part of me will always live within him. I made sure of that. From the moment we met, I knew what would become of this marvelous man, so I had to do what I could to help him, since I was the reason his life would be in shambles. Had he known that right now, he probably would have done anything in his power to forget me… but he didn't know; he was fixated on that one solid memory. A memory he kept hidden from his doctors.

Because of all of this, the only time Tim was happy was when he was asleep. In his dreams, Tim was normal again; a whole man. He would look at the random bits of memory and dreams his brain was trying desperately to file and sieve them for any information he didn't know. He would often see a man, likely his father, and a younger brother, and occasionally, he would see a woman with brown eyes. He didn't know who she was, but she was never very happy. And, of course, he would see me. Every time Tim closed his eyes, he hoped that when he opened them again, this would all just be some horrible nightmare that he was waking up from. It was wishful thinking, he knew, but it was hope, and hope is all he had left.

After Nurse Marcum left the room, Tim was left to himself, and drained though he was, he was unable to sleep. It always amazed the staff that cared for him how in tune he was with his surroundings, even without all of his senses available. Amnesia might strip him of his past, but the training was a part of who Tim was as his core. It was more reflex and instinct now than purposeful action anyway. He was also positive that his hearing had improved a great deal since he'd awakened. He was able to hear the nurses' conversations at their station down the hallway, but he couldn't always tell what they were saying. It was often the only source of outside news he got, so he always listened intently as his brain gobbled up every piece of data he could get. It was through this minor bit of subterfuge that he learned about the Mexican War, the first woman president, and that he had been in the military, apparently with the rank of Colonel. Of course without any context, and only bits and pieces, he didn't have any clear pictures, but he didn't care. Any information was good information.

So with this banal existence in mind, it's easy to imagine how excited Tim would be to hear a new voice drifting in from the corridor. Tim had only seen his doctors, and the nursing staff, since he'd been awake. Whoever was in the hallway wasn't one of them, and judging by the way Nurse Marcum's voice was raising, it was someone who didn't belong. Lying back in bed, Tim just listened, holding back a chortle as he imagined the short Italian woman giving whomever it was a royal ass-chewing. He knew from experience that the Major was more than a match for most people, even those that outgrew or outranked her. She had earned Tim's respect from the very first day that they had met, and he felt a little sorry for the man in the hallway.

"I don't care if the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs himself wrote those orders, Commander. Dr. Samuels has the full authority of the President and the Secretary of Defense, and he's given strict instructions that no one see the subject until he can be stabilized!" Tim could almost hear the Major's face turning red in tone of her voice.

"Subject?! Listen to yourself! That's a human being in there, and a damn fine one, I might add. I'm here to work up a Medal of Honor profile for Colonel Andrews, Major," Tim couldn't dismiss the way the stranger emphasized her rank, probably because he was a rung higher on the proverbial ladder. "The President himself requested that he be put forth, considering both his record in the war, and his most recent... accomplishments." The word trailed off a bit, as if the man didn't know which word to use. There was a second of respite before Major Marcum began again.

"Well, we'll just have to see what Dr. Samuels finds out after he calls the President himself. And if I were you, Commander," she spat out his title in contempt, "I'd be gone before Dr. Samuels arrived."

"I'll keep that in mind, Major. Now if you don't mind stepping aside, I'd like to see the Colonel now, please."

Tim heard Nurse Marcum stomp her way back down the hall. He couldn't help but be a bit anxious, though. The conversation or what he had heard of it, made Tim suddenly feel as if he were being spirited away somehow, and that there were people outside the hospital interested in his progress, but that were being kept away. He had never felt like a prisoner, but the seed was planted in his mind, and he would have a problem shaking that now. He wondered silently what other secrets were being kept, especially from him.

Tim wanted to run away, but his legs still didn't work...

Prologue…

2010-08-10T11:18:00.030-04:00

I've been debating for a while about whether to post anything from my book here, you know, just to get some feedback on it. I suppose as long as I don't post the whole thing, I should be fine. I've gotten generally positive feedback on what's been shared, and while I trust the opinions I'm getting, I need a larger sample.

Please enjoy and let me know what you think about this excerpt from "Where Nightmares Walk":

When it comes to the future, there are three kinds of people: those who let it happen, those who make it happen, and those who wonder what happened.

-John M. Richardson, Jr.

FORWARD

It has been said that a man is the sum of his experiences. That our entire personality is just one long series of memories, replayed over and over as we encounter similar situations again in our lives. We learn from our past mistakes, or so we hope, and in the end, even repeated episodes make our lives richer. It is for this reason that we fear the loss of those collected experiences like an antelope fears a lion. Without our memories, what is left to define who we are? As humans, we all feel this most basic dread at the very deepest levels, to the point that we protect our memories by enshrining them in photographs, videos, statues and memorials. We make a point to remember long dead heroes, and villains, again, hoping to learn from their examples. We even strive to recover the collective memory that we've lost, looking to rediscover the lost secrets of mythic places like Atlantis and Babylon.

But what if I were to tell you that the secret to who we are is buried deep within all of us? It's a secret given to us before we are even born; the summation of all human experience and how it will apply to each of us individually. The answer to the eternal question, "Who am I?" lies within each of us. That would be easy enough to believe, but what if I told you that the secret was told to your immortal unborn soul, just before the moment of your conception, by the angel, Gabriel? The ancient Hebrews taught their children that the philtrum, that little dimple just under your nose, was where the archangel placed his finger to "shush" each of us to prevent our telling the secret. That's a little harder to swallow, isn't it?

But it's true. In ages past, long before I could see the future, there was a prophecy that affected not just men, but all life. It first tells the tale of the Nadach, an outcast among the Be'elohim; the Sons of the Creator,. We call them Angels. He was once given a powerful gift from the creator; a crown made of the purest metal that blazed with fire that did not burn. A Halo.

Eventually all of the Seraphim wore their own Halos, but that of the Nadach was the most powerful. He was loved most of all among the Angels, sitting at the head of the table of the Creator, and thus it would always be; though his own self-doubt and envy told him differently. Of all of His creations, the Nadach was most like Him; such was the source of the pride that came before the fall.

The prophet of this tale was named Enoch. We have all been told by our pastors and priests that God loves Man above all other creatures, and this is true to an extent. He made us to be companions to him, to love him as he loves us; in a way the Angels cannot. Thus Angels and Men would both forever be the favored children of the Creator, each separate, but both loved. Despite what we have been told, Men do not become Angels.

But Enoch was no ordinary man. Through his sacrifice and never-ending love for the Creator, he was allowed to ascend to the Ethereal Plane; something reserved for only the most special creatures. In the Bible, the book of Hebrews says, "By faith Enoch was transferred, that he should not see death, and was not found, because God had transferred him; for before his transference he had the witness that he had pleased God well."

Upon his assumption into the Ethereum, Enoch was given new names: Metatron, and another that only the Creator shared knowledge of. He was placed at the head of all other Angels so that even Michael and Gabriel, eldest of them all, bowed in reverence.

All but the Nadach, that is.

Michael stood before the throne of the Creator and demanded that his brother be punished for his refusal, and thus the War began. It ended with the favored Son cast out, his Halo lost, and Michael forever standing guard at the Gates of Heaven.

Before he became Metatron, though, Enoch gave one final prophecy, one that said that the Nadach would find his lost glory and return triumphant to the Halls of the Creator, and that all of the Nether would follow with him, reigniting a war that will consume all life; destruction necessary for the Outcast to remake the Planes in his own image.

The Halo is real, and it is on Earth. And he's coming for it.

Of course, I don't expect you to take my word for it. Who am I, after all, to redefine your sense of what's real and what isn't? I can tell you that I don't have any innate understanding of the cosmos that others lack, or that I was gifted with some sort of special understanding of the inner workings of human kind. I'm just simply a woman who pays attention. My name is Claire Metcalf and I am a psychic.

Again, that isn't the proof you were looking for, and I understand that the title of "psychic" lends itself to a certain amount of dubiousness, even more when you claim to be able to see into the future. Since you're reading this journal, I trust that you've already overcome any superstitious nonsense and are ready to accept anything further that I write, including that which may seem unbelievable or impossible. This is a book of collected truths, compiled over the entirety of my career as a clairvoyant. I've done my best to arrange them in an order conducive to explaining how events may unfold. Just remember that the future is always fluid, each decision makes a new branch in the future. Powerful forces are at work here, so the future is constantly in motion these days. I only hope that this book will help.

Now, since I will not be around to safeguard the future of this text myself, I have taken steps to insure it's delivery to someone who will understand the gravity of its contents. I will be dead before you read this book, and there isn't anything anyone can do about that. It's one of the few visions of the future I am absolutely certain about.

But I am digressing, now. You aren't interested in me, but in the future. But, in order to understand, we must first look to the past. So, we look to my very first vision; the dream that opened my mind to the cloudy waters of the future. It was such a confounding vision that it took most of my life to figure it out, and by the time I knew what it meant, the wheels of change that bring us where we are now were already in motion. I learned long ago not to meddle with time. I've never been one to partake in the Butterfly Effect theory, but I know from experience that trying to change things only muddies the waters for me. I never know what affect I'll have on events, so I just observe and report, as it were.

On that note, Einstein once mentioned that time travel, while theoretically improbable, if possible, would only ever happen into the past. He postulated, quite correctly, that the future is always in a state of flux; that every decision made created a possible alternate future for the decisions NOT made. That said, this journal contains those glimpses of possible futures that I feel are the most likely to occur. After nearly 35 years of practice, I'd like to think I've got a good feeling for what will happen, and what won't.

As a final note, reader: Ultimately, you need to draw your own conclusions if you are to be everything you can be. Look to that secret place deep in your heart, that place that only you and Gabriel know about. It's there that the answers lie. I can only show you the path, you have to walk it.

Good luck and Godspeed.
----------

I look forward to hearing from you all. Enjoy!

We the People...

2010-07-06T16:41:00.000-04:00

!!!WARNING OPINION CONTENT CONTAINED WITHIN!!!

I know this is late... but I had a busy weekend. I also know that I haven't been posting Sci-Fi stuff lately, but I've had a lot on my mind and you all love me, so you have to let me vent from time to time.

Anyway, with the Independence Day holiday past us (yes I don't call it "the Fourth" or "the 4th of July" because the name of the holiday is Independence Day), I wanted to take some time to reflect on what that date means.

In the late spring of 1776, Thomas Jefferson was asked to put to parchment the ideals that had driven the leaders of the Colonies to open Rebellion a year earlier. That's right kids, we actually started fighting the British in 1775, with the Battles of Lexington and Concord. On July 4th, 1776, the 2nd Continental Congress approved the wording of the Declaration as we know it today, 2 days after noting to declare independence from Great Britain. So in reality, July 2nd should be the holiday. The Declaration of Independence wasn't even signed until August, according to most historians.

See, what I don't want is our celebration of independence to become like Cinco de Mayo. It's not just the date of some random battle in a war that didn't matter. The 4th of July represents a group of men taking a stand against oppression and tyranny. They took an incredible risk and stood against the most powerful nation in the world, with very little chance they would win without help.

Now with that in mind, I want to take a moment to remind everyone that while we hold the words of the Declaration sacrisanct, it is not an "official" document, it's a airing of grievances and a plea for help. It was a list of ideals, and even though Lincoln would later use the Declaration as a basis for his own ideals and political theory, the truth is that the document had little bearing on the drafting of the Constitution and holds no legal basis for any Law currently recognized by the United States.

We should really be celebrating Constitution Day or something...

Well, I think we should...

With great power...

2010-06-25T14:39:00.000-04:00

!!WARNING OPINION CONTENT FOLLOWS!!

I thought about posting this article on Geek Shui Living, but honestly, I don't think something as obviously biased as what I'm going to write should go there. I want to talk to you all for a little bit about something that truly scares the bejeesus out of me:

The Internet Kill Switch.

That's the colloquial term for the Protecting Cyberspace as a National Asset Act, or PCNAA.The bill, Senate Bill 3840, was passed by the Homeland Security Committee and will be sent to the Senate floor for debate and voting. This bill actually fine tunes and specifies powers already given to the President under the Communications Act of 1934 (which gives the President authority over all wired communications in times of emergency). Honestly, though, the very concept goes against everything it is to be American. Not only does it assume that American business would not act in the best interest of the nation (foreign companies might not, but they would already likely be pushed out in a time of war), but also that the American people themselves aren't responsible and may need to be urged into action.

This bill reeks of the typical Democratic garbage that Americans aren't capable of taking care of themselves, and can't be relied upon to act responsibly when needed. Their entire party platform seems built around the idea that a governments job is to take care of the people, implying that they know better than we do what's best for us.

Of course, this is all under the guise of National Security. You know what? We get attacked 1.8 million times a day, and we've handled it pretty well so far. Why do we need a new office (the National Center for Cybersecurity and Communications or NCCC, which would be a division of the Department of Homeland Security)? Where is the money going to come from to fund this office and it's activities?

Don't get me wrong, I believe in having a secure network and in the government doign what it can to secure our national interests, but is now the right time to do it? And is it really necessary? It seems to be a thinly veiled attempt to get around wireless providers exclusion from the Act of 1934, since all wireless providers are also ISP's they fall into the purview of this new law.

It should also be noted that this act doesn't negate or revoke the Act of 1934, so the President can, in a time of war, control all media outlets now.

Great.

Just what I wanted.

Big Butter Jesus

2010-06-15T22:27:00.001-04:00

WARNING: OPINION CONTENT CONTAINED WITHIN!

I had to take a break from writing a horribly long HSFFU to make note of sad event here in the Greater Cincinnati area. One of our (sadly) most recognizable icons recently met an untimely end during a pop-up late spring thunderstorm. Yes, I'm talking about the monstrosity known as...

BIG BUTTER JESUS

Some people call him Touchdown Jesus because of his arms-raised stance. Some people called him Butter Jesus for his uncanny resemblance to an Ohio State Fair butter sculpture. I called him simply an atrocity in the eyes of the Lord. And not because of the whole "graven images" crud, but because that half a million dollars could have fed and housed a lot of people. I say good riddance. And if they rebuild it again... well... I imagine it will have lightning rods. I would never normally go into an anti-religion rant, but I think this is the kind of thing that gives the religious a bad name. I would rather see them reinvest the money into something constructive for the Middletown/Monroe community. Not a 60 foot reminder that "Our Lady of Las Vegas" is open for business.

Regardless of my feelings, though and in honor of the fallen idol, I present here the lyrics of Heywood Banks' tribute to the 60 foot tower of Jesus:

Big Butter Jesus

In southern Ohio - just north of Cincinnati
I beheld a vision - next to the expressway
It was a 60 foot Jesus
With his hands in the air
Looks like he's carved out of butter - just like at the State Fair

Big Butter Jesus, Sweet Cream Jesus, Oh Country Fresh Jesus, Unsalted Jesus,
Oh Promise Jesus, Imperial Jesus, I Can't Believe It's Not Jesus, Oleo Lord

You only see him from the chest up - like he's about to do a back flip
Like he just scored a touchdown - or maybe melting or about to drown
Well I've been to the State Fair
Seen a cow made out of corn cobs
Garth Brooks made out of String Cheese - and the virgin out of olives

Big Butter Jesus, Sweet Cream Jesus, Oh Country Fresh Jesus, Unsalted Jesus
Oh Promise Jesus, Imperial Jesus, I Can't Believe It's Not Jesus, Oleo Lord

Shipped in pieces on a flatbed - facing backwards was his big head
Drive stuck in traffic backups - desperately avoiding eye contact
Well don't make no graven images
That's one of the Ten Commandments
I hope the grading curve is kindly - you get to heaven on a 90

Big Butter Jesus, Sweet Cream Jesus, Oh Country Fresh Jesus, Unsalted Jesus
Oh Promise Jesus, Imperial Jesus, I Can't Believe It's Not Jesus, Oleo Lord.

I Can't Believe It's Not Jesus
Oh Spread the word

Really the thing that's making me laugh the hardest about this is that no one, from the time this thing was conceived, to the time it was built, to the time it was burnt down... well maybe then... realized that building a 60 foot tall metal and Styrofoam structure in the middle of an open field with a huge pool of water at it's base was a bad idea. I don't think lightning rods would have helped. The statue was basically 2/3 napalm, waiting for something to ignite it.

Perhaps if they decide to build something in the future, it will be more tasteful and less combustible.

Parallel Worlds

2010-06-09T16:52:00.000-04:00

So this week's installment of How Science Fiction Failed Us talks about Parallel Worlds and Universes, and it got me to thinking about all the choices that have brought me to where I am; all those poor choices I made when I was younger; the choices I make now; the choices I will make tomorrow and in the future. I'm responsible for another human life now, and that's a heavy thing. My choices affect those around me profoundly, which is something I didn't consider in my wild youth.

I look at some of my old Air Force friends... the ones that still serve, and I marvel at how they are all E-6's and E-7's, and how this year would have been 17 years of service for me. Hell, I might have been an E-7 if I hadn't have been stupid...

But then...

I would have Lily, would I. I wouldn't be writing my books, or How Science Fiction Failed Us. Do we really want a world that doesn't have HSFFU? I don't think so either.

So, find someone or something to cuddle up with, find some Sliders, Star Trek, or Stargate SG-1 to watch and think about all the possibilities that are occurring right now.. just somewhere else.

And avoid Earth 54612... that's the one where American Idol is run sorta like the Running Man.... wait.. that might be worth watching.. nevermind.

Geek Pride

2010-05-25T12:36:00.001-04:00

Faithful followers. I know I've been a little lax in keeping my posts up to date, but I assure you it's been for good reason. Between keeping up with "How Science Fiction Failed Us" and preparing it for submission to a publisher, I actually received my first request for a "commission" piece of writing. That is to say someone asked me to write something specific for them.

I'm saving that for when it gets posted on their site, then I'll spill the beans.

Until then, enjoy celebrating Geek Pride Day (it's the 33rd anniversary of the original theatrical release of Star Wars). Wear your colors proudly, fellow geeks. And catch up on your reading at Geek Shui Living

Cinco de What?

2010-05-05T09:34:00.002-04:00

Now before I get a billion replies of "Cinco de Mayo, fool", I want to clarify. I know that today is May 5th, and I know that in Spanish, that's Cinco de Mayo. I also know that it's a holiday originating in Mexico. I'll even up the ante and tell you that I know that it's a voluntary holiday (akin to Columbus Day here north of the border), and that outside of the State of Puebla (which is where the Battle of Puebla which the day commemorates took place), no one really celebrates it. What I don't really know, or understand, is why we care in America.

I get that it started as a commercial gimmick, and that the Mexican Restaurants took the chance to do what the Irish Pubs have been doing for years; cash in on an otherwise meaningless holiday. Case in point, there is a Mexican Restaurant across the street from where I work. I asked them, in passing, about the holiday, and the guy said none of them celibrate it. They just push it because people drink more and that's where the money is. I can't argue with that logic.

What I can argue with is the idea that we, as Americans, even need to celebrate this moderately obscure holiday. Now, without looking it up on Google, how many of you can tell me what happened at the Battle of Puebla? Who fought who? Who won? Why did it matter?...

Anyone?

That's what I thought. At least I know WHY people celebrate St. Patrick's Day. He's the patron saint of Ireland. I also know that because there was a notion that the Irish liked to drink, we ALL drink on that day. But we don't celebrate Bastille Day... well most of us don't. Some weird French expatriots and some "sister cities" do, but we certainly don't make a big deal. I've never been told to have a "Happy Bastille Day". We don't care about May Day, or Lammas Day (another 10 points if you can tell me what that is). Why CInco de Mayo. Why do we care when most Mexicans don't even care.

Some people say that it's a celebration of Mexican Culture, but I don't see how going to a Mexican Restaurant after work to get drunk is ceolebrating anythign other than the brewing process (or the fact that they figured out how to make liquor from cacti). Further, how is that relevant to me in Ohio. I would get it if there were loads of celebrations in the places that have large Mexican-American populations, but Ohio? I think it's just another way that certain groups in this country are de-culturalizing America. We have our own holidays of national importance. We don't need another excuse to get sauced. And if we did... for Christ's sake put it in AUGUST. We don't have any other holidays in August. It's lonely.

Seriously, though, this just comes off as another attempt to force Americans into accepting Latin Amercian culture as our own. As it stands now, Spanish is offered as a language option just about everywhere, mainly because we don't have the backbone to force people to learn the language. My great granparents.. ALL of them (except the Native American ones) came from overseas. All of them HAD to learn the language to function. My Italian great-grandmother learned English so that she could speak it in the home to her children that were born here. NONE of my grandparents ever spoke to me in their parents native tongue. To me, this is what it would be to be American. If I went to live in Mexico, how easily could I function, day-to-day, without learning the language? Especially if it were outside of a major city. I suppose this is a hot button for me because of hte heat given to the guy in Alabama for wanting people to speak English in his state.

For the record, learning English would not strip these people of their cultural identities. However, forcing me to deal with people who can't speak my language, or shoving their language down my throat does strip me of mine.

Oh... and I'm NOT a Republican, and I'm most certianly NOT a Conservative. I'm an American
EAVB_LLBUZHZSXI

Ode to a Floppy

2010-04-27T17:08:00.000-04:00

So today, I discovered that another piece of my childhood was going the way of the Dodo. Recently, Sony announced that it would stop producing 3.5" floppy disks. Headlines everywhere have lamented "The Floppy is Dead". As a Man of Action, I can't cry... I had my tear ducts removed. So I hired a small Philippino boy to cry for me. His name is Manuel.

Now that my grief has been dealt with, I can address my thoughts on the matter. There isn't much to say, really. I haven't even used a floppy drive in years. My last THREE PC's (one prebuilt Dell and two homespun) didn't even have a floppy drive in them. I remember, though, the first time I ever used a 3.5" floppy. It was during a summer course at Clemson Univeristy. That had to be something like 1988. UP to that point, all I had ever seen or used were the soft covered 8" and 5.25" floppy's that gave floppy disks their name (we were using Apple II and Apple IIe computers when I was in the 7th and 8th grade).

Granted the floppy disk (which could hold a staggering 1.44 MB if you had the HD disks, or a mind blowing 2.88 MB if you splurged for the ED disks) was defintely doomed by the time CD's became a medium that we could create ourselves. One CD could hold the same amount of data as 243 ED floppy disks (or twice the number of HD). CD burners were expensive, though, at least at first. Nowadays, you can't buy a PC without a high speed CD or DVD burner.

I still remember buying PC games on floppy. The 25th Anniversary Star Trek game (which I never beat) came on 10 floppy disks. I never beat it because it was a pain in the ass to install. Back when you could bay games as both floppy or CD, like King's Quest VI, I remember looking at the difference and wondering why I would ever buy a game on floppy again. I don't think I ever did.

Now when faced with their impending exstinction, I have to admit that I miss those old games. The first Sim City. Doom. Commander Keen.

Good Bye, EGA Trek. You will be missed.

Peace and Long Life... and All That Jazz

2010-04-22T16:55:00.000-04:00

I was reading this morning that Leonard Nimoy, arguably one of the most recognized faces and voices of Americana, is officially retiring from Acting, and stepping aside as the official face of "Spock".

I feel like a piece of my childhood was just bronzed and put on a shelf in the Smithsonian.

I think it goes to show how powerful an actor Nimoy is that there are people nearly twice my age, and those nearly half it, thinking similar thoughts. Nimoy was most known, and arguably loved, for bringing to life Mr. Spock, the intrepid Vulcan that played the logical foil to William Shatner's emotional James T. Kirk. If you don't know this, you've been living under a rock for the last 40 years and you should stop reading now.

Part of the reason I'm torn up over this is because I've been playing Star Trek Online recently. For those of you who saw the Star Trek reboot, the world of STO takes place back in the original universe AFTER Spock fails to save Romulus from destruction, about 30 years after the events in the last series-based movie (Nemesis). It's a gripping story, with enough familiar aspects to interest me, and enough new content to make me want to play more. Nimoy does most of the voice over narration for the game, similar to his work on Civilization IV, but it's all as Spock. In a word, it's awesome.

I understand Mr. Nimoy's desire to enjoy what remains of his time with us. He is, after all, 79, and the only living cast member older than him is Shatner (who is 6 days older than Nimoy, but looks 10 years younger). He said he wants to give Zachary Quinto a chance to take on the mantle of Spock and take the character to new places. I don't care how many movies Quinto makes as Spock... Nimoy will always be Spock to me.

Another thing is that I've always viewed the relationship between Spock and Kirk as akin to that of me and my best friend. It could be argued that the actors put a large part of themselves into their roles, and Shatner (a Pisces) and Nimoy (an Aries) both physically and emotionally (as their characters, mind you) seemed to mirror John and I. He was tall and skinny, I was short and broad ( though not nearly as much as I am now). He was calm, I was emotional. He thought things through, I acted on impulse. When I saw Star Trek, I didn't see that sort of relationship between the new Kirk and Spock, so I guess in a way my connection will always be to Nimoy's Spock.

To me, Spock is going away forever.

So here's to you, Mr. Nimoy, and to your friend, Mr. Spock. Peace and long life... live long and prosper.

... This is the part where we drink.

Heavily.

Smell That? Someone Stepped in Some Monday...

2010-04-20T13:07:00.001-04:00

I know it's been a few days since I posted (shame on me) but I took the weekend off, doing my best to avoid any strenuous thought. As many of you know, I had a rough week last week, and this week didn't start off any better. I'm not going to bore you with a diatribe about how my Monday sucked, but it got me to wondering:

Why do we hate Mondays?

I blame Garfield, personally. I mean the cat doesn't work, and he certainly has no reason to hate Mondays. I wonder if it has anything to do with Monday's association to the moon? It's clear that the moon inspires feelings of Lunacy (base word Luna, which is Latin for Moon), and we still blame the Moon for everything from missing farm animals to bad driving.Could it be that the day of the week most closely associated with the moon from our earliest Western roots invokes the same feelings of dread and unease?

I know you don't buy that.

Seriously, it's because deep down, every last one of us is lazy and would love nothing more than to spend each day like the people in Star Trek, milling about wistfully doing something important, yet so pleasant that it's hardly like work at all. Most of us would be happier than pigs in slop if everything we wanted were just handed to us, no need for working hard, no need to work at all. Surely since food is a basic need, someone should give it to me for nothing.

So why do we hate Monday? It's a reminder that we have to work for what we have.

I bet Australopithecines hated Mondays too.

Bad Driving is Your Right? Then Mine is Kicking You in the Junk...

2010-04-15T13:54:00.000-04:00

I got a new car last weekend. It's a Kia Soul, but that's not what I want to talk about. It came with Bluetooth in the radio system, so I can pair my phone to it and use the steering wheel buttons and voice commands to use the phone. So I've become that crazy guy who looks like he's belting out "Don't Stop Believin'" when I'm actually getting yelled at by my mom.

I'd rather be singing, really.

All kidding aside, though This hands free crap has got to be the best invention ever, after the Internet. I love the novelty of it, but I admit, I use it all the time, and probably always will. I think it makes me a better driver, which makes me think about why I'm really writing this: why do people in this city FAIL at driving so badly? I'm serious, I don't know most of them passed their license exams because they are doing crap I KNOW we were taught not to do. I don't remember the lesson on how to block traffic to turn left, or the one where you learn how to speed up to prevent oncoming traffic from merging. On my way to lunch and back, I was nearly in 3 accidents, and I was in the SAME LANE FOR ALL THREE. That means none of them were my fault. You don't have to take my word for it, though. I've got three little kids here that will give a short synopsis of each even in turn. They've been cheap to get since "Reading Rainbow" went off the air...

Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot. Really...

Why am I ranting? On my way to lunch and back, I was nearly in 3 accidents, and I was in the SAME LANE FOR ALL THREE. That means none of them were my fault. You don't have to take my word for it, though. I've got three little kids here that will give a short synopsis of each even in turn. They've been cheap to get since "Reading Rainbow" went off the air...

Enough for now. I have to finish my lunch. Look for my take on Net Neutrality appearing tomorrow at GeekShuiLiving.

Malware - The Jehovah's Witness of the Computer Age

2010-04-13T23:03:00.001-04:00

Many of you know that since I retired from being a Man of Action, I picked up the trade of PC Technician. And in my short time pursuing this admirable profession, I've made a new nemesis. Forget the Iranians or Al Qaeda. Even the Soviets of days past are no match for... (insert ominous music) The Malware Pirate.

"Scum of the Earth" is not an adequate enough epithet for these vile corruptors of PC Operating Systems. Malware, which is usually progenerated by a trojan horse, has replaced the virus as the primary source of computer woe. One could argue that trojans ARE a type of virus, which is true, I suppose, but they aren't stopped by traditional anti-virus software. Further, most of the time, viruses work silently, and while malicious, generally were unobtrusive. Many times, a user would go weeks before realizing they were infected. This just isn't true with Malware. You know instantly that the geek gods have just taken a massive dump all over your PC.

And whose job is it to clean the crap? Mine. It's not as glorious as being a national hero, mind you, but necessary nonetheless. I can tell you, back in the super secret HQ, the IT guys were the ones REALLY running the show. I can also tell you there was hell to pay if one of us got one of these stinking pieces of... *ahem*... Anyway...

So yeah, if I ever find someone who makes Malware... I will kill him (a woman would Never make software that destoys your PC.. they would make software that just makes your PC feel bad for a while)... in the face...with a spoon... over and over again... until his own DNA is afraid to identify him.

PS (4/14/10 - 0905 EDT): I should make note here about my equating Malware to the Jehovah's Witnesses. Without being too disparaging about someone else's faith, I find that the two share a lot in common. That is, both are annoying to anyone outside the loop, both are harder than skunk stink to get rid of, both are viewed with general disdain by the population at large, and both really only make sense to the people involved. One could also argue that they misuse God's name (a name so holy that the Jews won't even say it out loud, hence "hallowed be thy name") much the way I do when I have to deal with Malware, but that's just my opinion.

HSFFU Goes to the Movies - Clash of the Titans (2010)

2010-04-13T09:12:00.001-04:00

This is the start of a new aspect to "How Science Fiction Failed Us", one I hope is as popular as the main article itself. A direct examination of the science fiction movies that inspire and frighten us. Granted, "Clash" isn't technically science fiction, but it is Fantasy, which is really Sci-Fi's D&D playing playing older brother.

That said, check out this first piece at Geek Shui Living :).

More later. My morning demands action... and more coffee.

Thus begins the true accounts of Phineas Delgado, Man of Action...

2010-04-12T14:48:00.003-04:00

Well, I've finally done it. After much deliberation, I've decided to try my hand at the 21st Century version of the mix tape. Since I'm carving out my own little corner of the Internet, I suppose I should get a few things clear first. Most of you will already know that I am a regular contributor at Geek Shui Living, to the extent that I even have my own link on the front page. This blog will not end that relationship. In fact, I hope that it strengthens us both. This will be an outlet for my every day thoughts, and eventually, a means for me to communicate myself better than I can on twitters (with its limitations) and the article (which is themed).

With that said, allow me to introduce myself. I am Phineas Delgado, and I am a Man of Action. Don't let my calm and collected demeanor fool you; I'm like a caged tiger, ready to pounce!... I couldn't even write that with a straight face. The truth is, I'm a geek, like most of you, and I enjoy, nay I revel in my geekness.

I think that this space will be a place for you to get to know me better, and hopefully, to prepare you for the epic novel I am writing. I will be linking "How Science Fiction Failed Us" here, as well as anything else I find interesting. Maybe this will work out after all.