Murder On The Disorient Express
Note To Self…
This note will be useless.
Well, are you?
The Dust Is Thick
I realize that I’m not someone who’s terribly keen on the whole “blogging” thing.
I’m also not someone who likes to hang out and post on message boards. Sure, I’ll lurk and read - but is it called “lurking” when you read an article on the BBC News site? No, it’s not. I am a web reader, and I write for the web as part of my job, and my own little corner of cyberspace is some kind of occasionally thawed cryogenic monument to something or another.
Speaking of this little cyber-hovel, I’ve also managed to keep it off the interweb “radar” for fear of it being discovered by the long lost hobo Dauphin, John Hodgman. He is a canny, cunning, capricious cad who’s only goal in life seems to undermine me. He is so cunning, in fact, that he is not even aware of his dastardly schemes, and would probably claim that it’s unfounded paranoia, and that he’s actually quite a friendly chap who considers me some sort of acquaintance. That his protestations are probably accurate in their assessment of the situation proves just how devious he is, the clever bastard.
Still, I make no promises to you, the non-existent readers of this virtual bedsit, that there will ever be anything approaching regular postings. However, I shall endeavor to do so during the delusional, fugue-like states that I find myself in after working through the evening.
Until next time, I leave you with a current photo of myself, taken during a candid moment by someone who is probably me.
When The Monsters Approach, They Beat The Empire Drums
When the creatures were sighted on the cliffs across the Hudson, the signal flare went up. Cameron climbed to the top of the Empire State and beat the drums. The remants of humanity had to know. The monsters were coming.
The monsters were here.
The Final Curtain
“Do you ever think about what it’s like?”
“What what’s like?”
“Death.”
“Death?”
“Death.”
“What brought that up?”
“The fact that we’re most likely going to die.”
“We’re not going to die.”
“It’s okay. I’ve accepted it.”
“We’re not going to die.”
“Yes, we are. So anyway, do you ever think about what life’s like, you know, after death…”
“Besides the fact that you’re dead.”
“Yeah. Besides that. I mean, really, that’s just the first step, right? That’s not the end of it. That’s like buying the ticket. What do you think it’s like after that?”
“There is nothing after that.”
“What do you mean, nothing?”
“There’s nothing. You die. You’re gone. There’s no afterlife, no heaven, no hell. Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“Can I come back as a ghost?”
“No, you can’t come back as a ghost.”
“Why can’t I come back as a ghost? Surely that’s one of the options…”
“What do you mean, options?”
“Well, the way I see it, there’s five options. There’s Heaven, there’s Hell, there’s big giant observational floaty head thing - which is really more just an afterlife voyeur - there’s rebirth, both human and animal, and there’s ghost.”
“There are no ghosts.”
“Of course there…”
“THERE ARE NO GHOSTS! No Heaven, no Hell, no floaty head thing, no rebirth, and no fucking ghosts! If you don’t shut up, so help me, I will answer all your questions by killing you right now with my own two hands!”
“Hmmmm… You know, considering we’re going to die anyway, it might actually be worth it to prove you wrong.”
Chair Today
Sleeping in your desk chair is a sad, sad thing to do.
Goodbye, Shep…
1995-2008
“C’mere, Shep…”
Dingoes
“Are they shooting at us? Are they shooting at us?!?!? They’re shooting at us!!!”
“Yes, they appear to be shooting at us.”
“WHY are they shooting at us????”
“How should I know why they’re shooting at us!”
“THEY’RE SHOOTING AT US!!!”
“Yes… I think we established that…”
“WHY ARE THEY SHOOTING AT US?!?!?!?!?”
“I DON’T KNOW!!!”
“Why are we even here?!?!? I wanted to go to Australia! ‘No,’ you said, ‘England is much more interesting…’ ‘Australia has beaches,’ I said. ‘England has beaches made out of pebbles,’ you said.
“Will you shut up!”
“‘Australians drink nothing but beer and play a stick with a hole in it,’ you said. ‘Exactly!’ I said. ‘England has culture and history,’ you said. ‘Australia has koala bears and dingoes,’ I said…”
“What?”
“Well guess what Australia doesn’t have that England has? PEOPLE TRYING TO KILL US!!!”
“Oh, yeah, like this was in the brochure! Well, for our next trip, we’ll go to Australia!”
“You son of a…”
“Just shut up and run!”
Eureka
“Bloody hell, that’s it!”
“That’s what?”
“We’ve been running around the countryside, looking for that fecking case, but what if it’s a… a…”
“A what?”
“Hold on!”
“What is it???”
“What if it’s one of those things…”
“What things?”
“Like out of a Hitchcock film…”
“Like a slasher?”
“No, one of those plot devices that wind up really meaning nothing… A Mac… Mac…”
“McNugget?”
“No, not a McNugget… A MacGuffin!”
“Is a MacGuffin like a McNugget?”
“Just shut up and listen! A MacGuffin is like a… Like a red herring. You spend all your time concentrating on this one thing that you think is important, but it’s really not - It’s the other thing that’s important.”
“Okay, so, what? The case is a MacGuffin?”
“Yes.”
“And it’s distracting us from the thing we should be looking for…”
“Yes.”
“Which is?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ah. Well. That’s a start.”
“It’s more of a start than everyone else scouring the countryside for the case has…”
“Right. So now we have to stop looking for the thing we know about, and start looking for the thing we have absolutely no clue about.”
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s settled then. Fuck ‘em. Let’s go.”
