A weird shiatsu moment: Karla focused on a piece of his chest, just above the Xyphoid Process (that weird thing in the middle of your ribs) and *bang* out of the blue I started bawling. I couldn't stop. So I guess I have memories hidden away that I don't think about.
1999: The people were lying on the ground.
Demonize the symbolic
analysts.
You're smarter than TV. So what?
Define random MFD-2DD
Uranium and Beethoven.
Ezekiel Sony
THURSDAY
A random sort of day.
Woke up late; went on a CD rampage at Silver Platters in Northgate; bacon burger at the IHOP. Karla taught me some shiatsu basics-pressure points and stuff. ("Massage is a two way street, mister. . .")
Ive been with Karla way over a month now, and just when I think I'm starting to understand her, something happens that makes me realize I don't. One truly weird thing about her is that she never calls her family or talks about them. All she'll say is that they're psychotic, as if everybody else's family isn't.
She's a good deflector. She structures conversations so that her family never arises. Like today, I brought up the subject of phoning her parents simply because it was Sunday (call me old-fashioned-or at least an AT&T consumer victim) and she said, "McMinnville, Oregon-area code 503."
"Huh?"
"North America is running out of area codes. There's only two or three left, and they'll be gone soon enough. Suburban Toronto, Ontario, just got 905. West Los Angeles got 310. Suburban Atlanta got 706. Faxes and modems are eating up phone numbers faster than anyone ever though they'd be eaten up. We've exhausted our supply of numbers."
"Your point being . . . ?"
"Only one thing-eight-digit phone numbers. Disastrous, because all new phone numbers will be like those European numbers that are eight digits long and impossible to remember."
Karla then discussed a theory called "Five plus-or-minus-two memory."
"Most humans can only remember five digits at most. Exceptional pen pie can remember up to seven (Michael, incidentally knows 71 up to, like 2,000 digits). So the chances are that phone numbers will be broken up info four and four, for easier memorization," she announced confidently.
"So are you going to call your family, or what?" I asked.
"Maybe. But let me digress a bit. Here's something interesting . . . did you know you can figure out how important your state or province was circa 1961 by adding up the code's three digits? Zero equals 10."
"No."
"It's because zeros used to take forever to go around the little rotary dial-while ones zipped along quickest. The lowest possible code, 212, went to the busiest place, New York City. Los Angeles got 213. Alaska got 907. See my point?"
Karla always comes up with the best digressions. "Yes."
"Imagine Angie Dickinson in Los Angeles (213) telephoning Suzanne Pleshette in Las Vegas (702) sometime before the Kennedy assassination. She dials the final '2,' breaks a fingernail, and cusses a shit under her breath, irritated at Suzanne for being in a location with a loser area code."
"How come you won't call your family?"
"Dan, let it rest."
Karla's learning things about me, too. Like the fact that I don't like shopping but I am a new product freak. Slap a "NEW" sticker onto an old product, and it's in my cart. The day they introduced Crystal Pepsi, I harassed the local Safeway manager almost daily until it arrived. I thought this new Pepsi was going to be like regular Pepsi, except minus the plutonium stuff that turns it brown. Then I tasted it-it was like 7-Up and Dr. Pepper and Pepsi and tap water all sort of randomly mixed and decolorized. Downer!
I guess Pepsi wishes they had John Sculley at the helm for that one.
Karla brought me a whole fun-pak of clear products-Crystal Close-up, All "free" detergent. Crystal Pepsi (I guess she didn't know my feelings about it), and Crystal Mint breath drops. In a universe parallel to ours, she no doubt brought me Crystal Bologna, too.
nCube computers simulating the Tokyo power grid
They left a dead escalator, chewed and torn lying on the pavement like a dead gray candy necklace.
Imagine:
In Florida the wind is rattling the chimes.
You look over the alligators and
the sea grass and water. There it is:
The rocket's burn. The best century ever.
We were here. But now it's time to go.
The past IS
Shinhatsubai!
FRIDAY
Another Presto Log fire in the living room. Abe lectured us about his Theory of Lego. It felt like school.
"Have you ever noticed that Lego plays a far more important role in the lives of computer people than in the general population? To a one, computer technicians spent huge portions of their youth heavily steeped in Lego and its highly focused, solitude-promoting culture. Lego was their common denominator toy."
Nobody was disagreeing.
"Now, I think it is safe to say that Lego is a potent three-dimensional modeling tool and a language in itself. And prolonged exposure to any language, either visual or verbal, undoubtedly alters the way a child perceives its universe. Examine the toy briefly . . ."
We were riveted.
"First, Lego is ontologically not unlike computers. This is to say that a computer by itself is, well . . . nothing. Computers only become something when given a specific application. Ditto Lego. To use an Excel spreadsheet or to build a racing car-this is why we have computers and Lego. A PC or a Lego brick by itself is inert and pointless: a doorstop; litter. Made of acry-lonitrile butadiene stryrene (ABS) plastic, Lego's discrete modular bricks are indestructible and fully intended to be nothing except themselves."
We pass the snacks. "Soylent Melts": Jack cheese and jalapenos microwaved onto Triscuits.
"Second, Lego is 'binary'-a yes/no structure; that is to say, the little nubblies atop any given Lego block are either connected to another unit of Lego or they are not. Analog relationships do not exist."
"Monogamous?" asks Susan.
"Possibly. An interesting analogy. Third, Lego anticipates a future of pixelated ideas. It is digital. The charm and fun of Lego derives from reducing the organic to the modular: a zebra built of little cubes; Cape Cod houses digitized through the Hard Copy TV lens that pixelates the victim's face into little squares of color."
Karla and I discussed what we're planning to do. We don't have much time to choose; Michael needs a response by the end of this week. Michael is offering me a 24K salary plus 1.5 percent of EQUITY as opposed to my Microsoft 26K plus 150 shares vested over 3.5 years. Plus the opportunity to be a coder, and be closer to Karla on the food chain, and even best of all, the opportunity to be with Karla in the same product group again.
SATURDAY
It was another rainy night that called for a fire. We'd most of us spent the day processing all of our new career option data.
We ran out of fire logs and had to light a real fire with flammables culled from around the house: a Brawny paper towel carton full of junk mail and bits of furniture too ugly to even throw out. And then Bug found a packaged fire log in the garage with (he read from the wrapping), "'Realistic-looking flames and colors'-you can put anything on a label and people will believe it. We are one sick species, I tell you."
The fire was huge and felt religious, and triggered among all of us a discussion of our youthful pyromaniac tendencies. Our conversation became an unexpected bonding experience for us. We talked about pipe bombs, M-80s, Lysol spray can flame-throwers, sodium chunks borrowed from chem labs, potassium nitrate melted together with sugar into smoke bombs, firecracker bricks, MJB cans filled with gasoline into which lit matchbooks are tossed, and methane bubbled through water mixed with Joy dishwashing liquid ("fiery bubbles of doom").
Question: Is there an alt.pyro on the Net? Probably. There's something there for everybody.