Day two as an extra

NOTE: You should read day one, below, first.

Soup Boy and I arrived at the location (Florida) on a morning slightly warmer than the previous had been (freezing rain rather than snow) and breezed through wardrobe and makeup to arrive on set at 6:45 am. Almost immediately we were hauled down the stairs to where the shooting was to take place. We were waiting in the wings while most of the other extras took up the positions they had held at the end of the previous day. Since we hadn’t been in the shot the day before we just stayed out of the way and watched the proceedings.

All at once, while Soup Boy was using his camera to take an (illegal) picture, one of the AD’s pointed at him and gestured. The Boy was hauled into the scene to stand reading a plaque.

And stand. And stand. It seemed that every shot had that plaque in the background, so it was not until after noon that he was liberated from that spot.

I, however, had different fortunes. I wasn’t in that shot at all, but the next shot required several people to pass between the camera and the main action. (Extras who are behind the action are called background, while those in front are foreground.) A pretty czech assistant named Marta (but not really) tapped me and a few other people to be her elite foreground team for the morning, so that shots of the same action would have (at least vaguely) some continuity as far as who is in front of it. The final edit will be composed of slices so small that evan though I’m walking right past a fight to the death between good and evil, I might not show up on the screen.

“If anyone tries to use you, tell them you’re with me,” Marta said. She was pretty cool, and even when other nerves were getting frayed with the complexity of the foreground action she kept on smiling. She liked the fact I’d do what I was told, when told, and that I didn’t talk. That got me into positions where I was close to the actors and directors, because it was easy for them to pretend I wasn’t there.

So the star of this here show, James of James and the Giant Explosive Device, for all the controversy that surrounded his selection, is a pretty good guy. Easygoing, friendly, and competent. He hit his marks and apologized when he made a mistake. The guy who played the Bad Guy was also a character. Overall, despite some frustration (at one point the entire shot had to be reconfigured because the track for the camera didn’t leave room for the foreground extras, and at other times extras would simply not shut up when asked), the vibe on set was positive and professional.

Once they moved to a different angle, I was released from Marta’s Elite Foreground Team, and she tapped Soup Boy to become part of her new Elite Background Team, and he was finally able to at least walk while the action was taking place. Finally I was finished in the background, walking back to the same object I had first been shot near the day before, this time escorting a pretty girl who had also mastered the art of shutting up on set. We hardly spoke a word, but she kept going too slow and messing up the crossing patterns of all the carefully orchestrated extras, which got me chided.

Soup Boy’s feet were recruited for another shot, and we were done for the day. We sat about until released (overtime, baby!), but the extras wranglers passed us over, looking for less used-up faces. Our agent came out to the location and paid us cash money on the spot.

The day was long, and tiring, and cold, but in the end I had fun. I took the computer in on day two, and the day ended with Soup Boy and I sitting next to each other in the big extra staging hall, Apple logos glowing, The Boy editing video while I wrote. Zoltan the Bald Serbian (I actually called him ‘Zoltan’ to his face once – oops!) thought it was great. We definitely stood out, I’ll tell you that.

After all that, I sent Belladonna a message (I mentioned her, right? She missed the second day because she had an exam—in neurosurgery) saying that I would be too tired to go out, so how about tomorrow night? The answer: Yes.

I’m ready for my closeup, Mr. DeMille!

I’ve signed a non-disclosure agreement with a company called Casino Royale Productions, so I am not at liberty to discuss details of the film, James and the Giant Explosive Device, where today I served as an extra. I am, however, at liberty to discuss the life of a movie extra. And what a life is is!

It was dark when the alarm clock went off at 4:50 this morning, brutally yanking me from the lingering warmth of the land of Nod. Alarm clocks are infernal items that I have managed to almost, but not quite, purge from my life. When I get up, it’s because I want to. I was looking forward to this day, however, so it was with only a moderate amount of cursing that I shuffled through the darkness to the shower. Half an hour later Soup Boy and I were waiting in the darkest before the dawn, wet snow gently falling, waiting for a cab.

The Taxi was the first to make tracks down our quiet street, but at more than one house older men were already diligently at work clearing the sidewalks. Now that’s crazy.

The shoot was in a secure location at the top of a hill not too far away. It is not a place easily accessible by vehicles at the best of times, and the taxi could not even begin the ascent before wheels spun and we slid gently back down. Soup and I got out and started climbing. We had been instructed to find a man we will call Zoltan the Bald Serbian when we got there, and he would tell us what to do. We drifted, aimless, confused, semi-literate, but no Zoltan the Bald Serbian was to be found. We were not the only ones looking for him, but no one knew where he was. We were directed to a tent to wait for him.

Many of the tents were cold and dark. The heaters would start up, the lights would flicker to reluctant life, and then everything would shut down again, to the anguished cries of the crews trying to prepare for the day. Zoltan the Bald Serbian, we finally overheard, was stuck in a taxi somewhere. Now, I’m not calling the man a liar, but in the time it took him to get there, he could have walked from almost anywhere in Prague.

So, before Zoltan the Bald Serbian even showed up, we were advised to head for wardrobe, then makeup, then breakfast, and worry about the rest later. Which is what we did. I changed into shorts, a tropical print shirt, and shoes with no socks, and struck back out into the bitter cold, looking like a flasher huddled under my trench coat. “You must be cold,” a lot of people said. At the time I was doing all right. Makeup added some color to my Pragueified complexion, giving me a sunburn, more or less. The makeup crew was English, so the idea of being brown from the sun was likely foreign to them. Breakfast was plentiful and edible, and then it was up to the set. At some point Soup Boy spotted Zoltan the Bald Serbian.

In the big marble building, boomy and chilly despite the fierce gas-powered heaters roaring away, we were herded around for a bit, down some stairs and into the chamber that housed the set. I will not describe the set, not only because of the confidentiality agreement, but also because I’m lazy, and it would take a lot of words to convey. I found myself standing next to what I call “Dead man Beating a Dead Horse” (that is not the official title). There were probably a couple hundred of us extras, maybe more, and we were instructed in the correct milling around techniques. A few rehearsals, and then we stood around while they got ready for the actual shot.

All that milling practice, hundreds of people working to perfect the milling while assistant directors rushed about with specific milling instructions, was for less than a second of film time as the camera turned from the multitude to the key characters. Or so I’m told. Then the characters do some acting and stuff; the actual shot lasts perhaps ten seconds. Of course those roaring heaters were not running, and the chamber was rapidly cooling off. Why do all those Miami residents have gooseflesh? Yes, it got downright chilly. The cold was nothing compared to the boredom; we finally had a keeper after two hours.

Soup Boy and I, separated during the first shot by aesthetically-inclined assistants who didn’t like the violent reaction between the very different floral patterns of our shirts, drifted back together while the lighting and cameras were being reconfigured for the next shot. At one point another assistant, a swift and competent British guy who had been trying to load the shot with people who looked Floridian, snatched us from our appointed stations to move us closer to the action.

Much closer. After some figuring and a bit of practice, the shot started with yours truly and Soup Boy moving one direction around an object while the camera moved behind the object, tracking us as the Interesting People came into view. They packed in the extras to fill the frame; It was not easy to get us all through that little zone, but here’s the cool part: every time they adjusted something, they made sure that “The Lads” (Soup Boy and I) kept doing the same thing, because it was working so well. After each take they would talk to other actors, extras, cameramen, and whatnot, then turn to us and say, “You Lads were perfect.” (OK, sure, it wasn’t that challenging—really damn easy, to be honest—and a couple of times we weren’t perfect, but it still felt pretty cool.) The entire shot depended on the speed I set moving through. No, not rocket science, not at all, but responsibility, and when things got crowded at the end of the shot Soup Boy and I had to be low-grade acrobats as well. It was easily the most enjoyable part of the day. (At least, as far as shooting was concerned; there’s also the lovely and talented Belladonna…)

It is likely that Soup Boy and I will be quite easily spotted on the Big Screen. Unless the shot doesn’t fit right, or unless the first part of the shot has to be cut to keep the flow (even then, the German Guy and the Killer both come very close to us as the Boy and I inspect the odd, vaguely disturbing object), or unless I’m obscured by the object the whole time, or unless…

On the other hand, in that shot we were quite obviously moving in the direction opposite that of the main characters. So, as the action proceeded through the setting, our reappearance would have been jarring. Bottom line, there was no more work for us this day. Not that anyone said, “Right Lads, looking ahead, I’d say you’re done.” At eleven thirty we left the set, never to return, but we were not released to go home until seven in the evening. Zoltan the Bald Serbian was nowhere to be found to tell us what the deal would be the next day, so we had to ask around among extras working for other agencies. We go back tomorrow, and there’s no guarantee they will be able to use us, ever. With gutsy performances filled with Raw Truth as ours were, well, the moviegoing public is just not ready for more than a few seconds of us. I can accept that.

2

A trip to wardrobe

Now that I’ve been called in to save the production of Casino Royale, I’ve got a lot on my plate. Today, it was a trip out to the studio to visit the costuming department. “Bring any Florida clothes you might have,” the casting agent said in a much more confusing fashion. Soup Boy and I packed up a bunch of stuff (Pretty much all the clothes I brought from San Diego), and after an hour and half commute to the studio, twenty minutes trying to find the right place, and fifteen minutes with very appreciative wardrobe people who very much appreciated all the stuff we had brought, I was wearing pretty much what I wore every day for fifteen years in San Diego, except with shoes.

An hour and half back home, and the work day was done. Whew!

Happy Ought-to Ought-to Day

Today is dedicated to getting something done that you ought to do. I used my ought-to ought-to day to finally get a monthly pass for the transportation system, which involved getting a photo taken. This is to enable the other ought-to: getting out more.

How ’bout you?

Call me Bond. James Bond.

It all started innocently a few hours ago. I had returned from the Internet store, where Otakar and I had accomplished almost (but not quite) nothing. I was telling Soup Boy that the bowling alley (our Internet lifeline) was closed today. It turns out it’s the owner’s names day. Sure, what the heck, close the place when I haven’t read email in three days.

So Soup Boy had hoisted his trusty mobile phone to find out just whose names day it was, thinking if it was a common one it might explain why ÄŒeský Telecom was also closed for business, more or less. Can’t fight the names days. Shouldn’t try.

Before his fingers did their nimble dance over his phone, however, he got a message. He read it, chuckled, and asked me, “You want to be an extra in the James Bond movie?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Then right now send a message to this number,” he said.

Having no time to think, I could not stop myself from acting. I sent the message. In a couple of minutes I got a response. “Can you come in for photos soon? Now?”

My best is none too good, and I was not looking my best. I bought two hours to do what I could for my appearance. Soup Boy gave me directions, and off I went. I found the place thanks to Soup Boy’s unerring directions (remind me to tell you some day about how directions are given in this town), and I was early. The agent… Hmm… let’s call her Athena… was in a state. My being early didn’t help, but I sat quietly and opened my book. There was another guy there for the same reason, and when she realized she had two birds to kill she gave us some paperwork and took us in to be photographed.

The other guy went first. He was taller, more fit, and had screen experience, but we weren’t competing. No, Athena just needed every breathing soul she could round up, photograph, and send to the producer. She took a few shots of the other guy, giving him direction like “OK, now turn to the side, look this way, and give me an impish smile.” As I filled out my paperwork I practiced a few impish smiles.

Then it was my turn. I stood up straight and looked into the camera, wishing I had the same latitude as on my previous modeling gig. “Take off your glasses,” Athena said. “Smile a bit. Lean forward a little. Now look mean.” Mean? Mean? I started to adjust myself into a mean attitude but I was far from finished when she said, “Great. Lemme see what I’ve got.” I could tell she didn’t think she had much, but wasn’t hoping to get any more. (Or at least, didn’t think it was worth the time to try.)

I left, confident that Dr. No would never have to face me down, but what the hell. “We’ll tell you in the next forty-eight hours,” Athena said.

A few minutes ago, I got a message. I’m needed to meet with wardrobe tomorrow. I should bring clothes that look like I’m from Florida if I have them. The list started with silk suits (uh, yeah, right) but got down into my range, but my Rusty’s Surf Shop shirt won’t play. (No logos).

Two day’s work, rent covered for the month. Not bad. And if I see Dr. No, I’m gonna wax his ass.

Toys!

Got myself a sweet little MP3 player, noise-canceling headphones, and a hat.

Today I may eclipse that with style, however. Apple just announced that it is shipping Intel-based machines starting today. That means users of Jer’s Novel Writer will be buying them. That means JNW needs to work on them. That means I need to be able to test JNW on them. And that, in turn, means I need to buy one, and they’ll be a heck of a lot cheaper here than in Europe.

We’ll see.

Happy New Years Day (observed)

This was the first holiday to be added to the Muddled Calendar, and it marked the beginning of the 2th initiative, just one of the innovative contributions of the legendary Mr7k. In his words:

January the Twoth will, henceforth, be known as New Year’s Day (Observed)tm. For those amoung us who are too (choose one or more) drunk (still), hungover, tired, way into watching football, or otherwise occupied to start the new year on January the 1st, New Year’s Day (Observed)tm is just the ticket. Think of it as a much needed mulligan on the first tee of each year.

Pipiru piru piru pipiru pi!

A while back I gave you the lyrics for the opening theme to a Japanese animation called Cutey Honey Flash, a sublimely ridiculous retelling of a ’70’s televison series. This one may just top that.

I’ve only watched one episode of the show, but Club-to-Death Angel Dokuro-chan may be my new favorite. The show involves Dokuro-chan, cute as a button with her halo, who has inexplicably moved into the bedroom of a high school student named Sakuro. The guy’s not as lucky as you might think, however; this little angel has a bit of a temper and a giant baseball bat with wicked spikes, which she does not hesitate to use. In the first episode, she decapitates Sakuro with Excalibolg at least three times in great fountains of blood.

It’s hilarious.

As quick as she is to anger, she immediately feels remorse and with a “Pipiru piru piru pipiru pi!” she twirls Ecalibolg cheerleader-style and restores the fragments of his skull. “That hurt,” he said one time after being killed.

She declares that she will be going to school with him, and he makes her promise not to crush anyone’s skull. She reluctantly agrees. Then she agrees not to reveal that she is an angel.

“And of course, you can’t use any of your mysterious angelic powers, either.”

“No angelic powers.”

“No tear gas, either.”

“No firing of tear gas, either.”

“Don’t forget our promise, Okay?”

I don’t want to give it all away, but she’s not a terribly trustworthy angel.

The show opens with Dokuro-chan flying among the clouds, cute little angel wings flapping, a frightfully happy smile on her little face, the vicious-looking bat flying along next to her, while a perky girl-voice sings:

Pipiru piru piru pipiru pi
Pipiru piru piru pipiru pi
The bat that can do anything, Excalibolg!
Pipiru piru piru pipiru pi
Pipiru piru piru pipiru pi
When you hear my magical spell, you’ll be reborn again.
No, no, don’t be like that, dummy!
Don’t glare at me like that! Please!
Club-to-Death Angel, spraying blood everywhere, Dokuro-chan!
Club-to-Death Angel, she makes you bleed from the heart, Dokuro-chan!
I’ll step on you, tie you up, beat you up,
Kick you, be a cocktease, hang you,
But that’s just how I express my love!
Club-to-Death Angel, who pounds you with her bat, Dokuro-chan!
Club-to-Death Angel, blood-stained all over, Dokuro-chan!
I’ll cut you, punch you, toy with you,
Stab you, leave you out in the cold, drip stuff on you,
But that’s just how I express my love!
Pipiru piru piru pipiru pi!

“Bleed from the heart” is more literal in this translation than usual. During the opening credits there is a sequence where she is dancing around like a cheerleader, swinging her bat, and with each stroke more blood splatters about. She ends by dong the splits, hands raised, bat twirling, smiling from ear to ear, a twinkle in her eye, while blood drips down the screen. Priceless.

2

Remember the Google!

As most of you already know, I like to watch and see just what it is that brings the accidental tourist to this site. Google and its buddies form and extremely important role in the Websphere, finding for people the information they need in this big, disorganized pile of fact and opinion.

The search engines are imperfect, however, and sometimes people end up here.

Usually the search phrase is innocuous, “plate of shrimp” or something like that, but occasionally the search will be interesting, either for the odd phrase or where it linked to. Old-timers can have a little fun chuckling at the resonances between the search and remembered episodes, while newcomers can use this page as a guided tour of some of what has gone before. Search terms I do not want to attract to this page are, as always, haphazardly obfuscated with spaces.

  • b o w l i n g ball rack designs – linked to get-poor-quick page, with team b o w l i n g
  • what does poop look like in dipper’s? – linked to an episode like this one, in which many of those words were scattered about
  • squirrel cult – the SSDC is still popular after all these years…
  • obfuscated pronunciation – linked to yet another episode like this one, for obvious, if obfuscated, reasons
  • goofy footwear – linked to the observations category page, where I devote a very short episode to the subject.
  • haiku on drinking – linked to a description of a very pleasant moment I had. There’s no haiku there, though, just the teaser for the crap shop.
  • arrogant assholes – We know what major metropolis that refers to, right?
  • “sound of p o w e r” – Linked to an episode about, well, the sound of p o w e r.
  • when is the next sign ups for the Kids A m e r i c a n I d l e? – that spelling joke never gets old…
  • “pretty b l i n d girl” – linked to an episode about someone I saw waiting for a tram.
  • c o w b o y gets pulled over and dances – didn’t check the link, but I figure it probably linked to The C o w b o y God
  • b e e r e n a – linked to a episode about a woman in a bar.
  • czechs and beer – the two go hand in hand
  • m e a t rhymes – linked to an episode about hockey, which is obviously what they were looking for
  • st. louis drivers are assholes – I just said they were really bad. And they are. Really, really bad.
  • rumble rumble – linked to an episode about grocery shopping in Prague
  • team b o w l i n g – already starting to make a splash!
  • can’t wait a minute czech lyrics – linked to the main page here
  • s q u i r r e l t r a i n e r – linked to the first shocking exposé of the Suicide Squirrel Death Cult. But… who was looking for a s q u i r r e l t r a i n e r anyway?
  • death to squirrels – likewise
  • triangles in architecture – got quite a few hits on queries like this one, actually, but no architecture guys have chimed in.
  • S W E A T CHEESE – the classic Czech dish is back, this time shouted.
  • poop explosion photo – linked to the Idle Chit-Chat category. Poop comes up in a lot of queries these days, and gets routed here mainly because of episodes like this one, where I discuss previous poop queries.
  • give red flower means pink flower – linked to my erudite and unassailable writings on the meanings of flowers
  • funny spiritual stories and pics – because, you know, I’m famous for those
  • night elf breasts – speaking of spiritual stories, I’ve got your spiritual story with elf breasts right here, pal.
  • make up ideas after wearing glass for a long time – maybe I should try that, but where do you wear the glass? Linked to the main page here.
  • Sunday bloody sunday karaoke – this episode was about the morning after the White Wedding Incident at karaoke.
  • SCARY Squirrel THE GAME – linked, surprisingly, to a story in a czech pub.
  • site : humtum te – top link! (Um, Yippee, I guess…) Led to an episode with whining in it.
  • M e a t parade – everyone loves a parade!

The usuals were there, although egg frying is not bringing in the unsuspecting guests the way it once did. I’ll have to do something about that. And, after all this time denying I have a picture of elk poop, I find that I do have one after all (it’s right there in the middle). Unfortunately no one is coming here looking for elk poop anymore. “M e a t” is becoming an increasingly popular word in searches that bring people here, and I hadn’t considered before just how cool a word that is. I think I’ll say it again. M e a t.

You know you have the right sorts of friends when…

Beer consumption:

Negra Modelo: 38
Fat Tire: 33
Red Stripe: 31
Bud Lite: 0

Not one Bud Lite for the entire three hours of the ho-down. Sweet.

Programming note

I have the cover over at Piker Press this week. I don’t always mention when I’m published over there, but this one I rather like more than half the time.

Although there was one edit I wanted to make before it went live, and then I just plan forgot. D’oh!

The episode that wasn’t

It’s an interesting story, surely. It has all the elements a good story needs – technology, a baseball bat, beer, and lingerie. But… it belongs elsewhere. So hopefully by providing the previous lurid tease I can leave it behind and get back to the business at hand. And in November, uninformed political raving is replaced by NaNoWriMo as the Single Most Tedious Blog Subject.

So let’s talk about NaNoWriMo, shall we? How many others out there have trained their spelling checkers to recognize this word? Today I haven’t been as prolific (yet), but I still managed to cross 10K here on day three. The story is just plain writing itself. I’m not one of those writers who just rambles on and lets characters surprise them with their behavior (well, if you don’t count the eels); I’ve got plans for these folks. But things are coming together nicely. My biggest concern is that the wisdom of some of the people is showing too early, while they’re just supposed to be caricatures. But that’s a rich man’s problem. There is wisdom.

It is not laugh-a-minute funny, but (if you ask me) it is coming out nicely. It’s that half-smile nudge-nudge funny. I only have to sustain it for 27 more days.

Enough of that. On a less happy note, there are a bazillion NaNoWriMo folks using Jer’s Novel Writer, and there’s a bug. People have lost work. The bug has been lying dormant for a while, but wouldn’t you know it? It’s in the word count feature. Suddenly, in November, people are very, very interested in their word count.

I got a rather irate message from some guy about losing a whole night’s work. It’s bad, and I’m not trying to duck out on folks who have a lot going on, but who the hell uses beta software all night without hitting save once? Maybe because I am often using very dodgy versions of the software I’m more save-conscious, but I’ve been a saver from way back. I just don’t trust these damn machines. You have backed up your work recently, haven’t you?

Happily, earlier today I finally found the problem. I had seen the evidence before, but tonight I turned my thinking ninety degrees and saw the answer. Tomorrow I will release a better version of the software. Meanwhile I’m sure there are posts all over the place warning people away from JNW. I can’t blame them. Once I discovered the problem, I posted warnings myself. Still, there’s a black eye there to overcome.

And finally, as we’re cleaning up the odds and ends, I must tell you that the Non-Stop Snack Bar is really the Herna Snack Bar. It doesn’t say Non-Stop anywhere on it. I’m just so accustomed to associating Herna (casino) with Non-Stop that I never looked twice. I have visited that place again three times, and on none of those occasions was Hanka working. I had hopes for tonight, since the last time I saw her was on a Thursday, but no. Last Thursday, however, was a holiday weekend eve, and Pavel did mention something about coming in on Fridays. Maybe tomorrow…

An architecture question

I’m sitting at the Little Café Near Home, planing my November, which is looking bright, and somewhere along the way I started thinking of triangles — not sure what set it off — and a missed opportunity by my math teachers in seventh grade.

My memory being notoriously bad, I’m amazed I remember any of this stuff, but we spent a lot of time in geometry class messing with triangles. One thing that was pounded into our heads was that once you define the lengths of the sides of a triangle, you’re done. That triangle is fixed. I think we called it the side-side-side theorem, or SSS for short. It was just another fact. Just another checkbox in the curriculum.

It might have caught my interest more, and perhaps the interest of others who didn’t take to math so well, it someone had mentioned that it could be the single most important fact in mechanical engineering and architecture. Triangles are rigid.

Now I remember how I started thinking this way — most of the chairs in this place, sturdily made of steel, are distorted. Over the months and years of use people have leaned back in them until now they are all somewhat out of shape. They are sturdy, but they are all about rectangles, not triangles. It would not take much to redesign these chairs to be much sturdier.

So you put a chair like this in front of a high school math class and say, “Behold, the power of the triangle in your everyday life.”

But then I did some more thinking. Thoughts often lead to thinking, and thinking to thoughts, in a vicious cycle interrupted only by head trauma or the presence of a member of the opposite sex. I thought of Notre Dame Cathedral. No triangles. Apparently stone is not a material for triangles. It’s good with compression, but tensile strength is laughable. It can only be flexed one direction.

But wood is certainly a good triangle material. I remember as a kid staring up at the rafters in church, seeing the triangles there, admiring the way they were made with parallel planks bolted together like a giant tinkertoy. I remember those rafters better than any sermon.

But older examples of triangles in architecture, I’m having a hard time with. There’s the old footage of the great New York skyscrapers racing each other into the sky, giant rectangular steel frames with steeplejacks racing about with hot rivets. There must have been triangles in there or the whole mess would have twisted and fallen, but they’re not apparent in those old movies.

So, architecture guys: Sacre Coeur, no triangles; then there was that skyscraper where exotriangles were added when they realized after they built the thing that the wind tunnel tests on the models were flawed. If you were given half an hour in front of a semi-comatose group of young math students who don’t give a rat’s ass about SSS, what would you tell them? How do you pass on that this seemingly esoteric fact is a cornerstone of our civilization? In your absence, how do you advise teachers to do the same?

The scope of this ramble is rapidly expanding, to where I now want to create a framework that allows professionals to pass on their passion to students who don’t have any way to recognize when they are confronted by a potentially life-changing fact. I want a footnote in the book that links to a video of an architect getting really gung-ho about triangles, or a chemist going batshit over – uh – whatever chemists go batshit over. I want to challenge leaders in every field to think back to the most basic fact their profession is based upon, the thing they take most for granted, and explain it to people who have never heard it before. They would be giving meaning to the really important bits, things that would otherwise be lost in the noise, but simple facts that could decide a career. There’s some kid in that geometry class, not so good at proofs and theorems, but when given an important tool for buildin’ stuff, might just perk up a bit, might see the connection between all these numbers and building a hotel on the moon.

For me.

Well, that’s inconvenient…

Thought I’d drop by the Little Café Near Home yestereve for a bit of writing. It’s a good place for that. Of course, it’s only polite that I enjoy a beverage while I’m there. Beverages cost money. Specifically, cash. My reserves were a little low, but as I hopped off the tram I was surrounded by ATM’s. The closest belonged to a shiny German (perhaps Austrian? Maybe Swiss) bank with a friendly yellow sign. It’s been a good friend on many other occasions, so I ambled into the foyer of the otherwise dark and silent building and inserted my card.

After contemplating just how much money to withdraw and punching a few buttons, I waited. Then the screen flashed:

“Unauthorized use. Card retained.”

I stood there for a moment while it sunk in I would be getting neither money nor my card back.

No LIttle Café then, but a trip back to the homestead and an international long distance call to my bank. The first thing Linda told me, before I even explained the situation completely, was that one of the major networks that carries transaction information was down. Once I explained my problem she started digging into my account info, then put me on hold for fifteen minutes or so.

Finally she came back on. “We tried everything, and we can’t figure out why they kept your card. We’ll work on it again when the network is back up.”

Probably the problem was caused by the network failure – the authorization was lost somewhere in the ether and the fraud detectors went off at the bank. Today I will go down there and ask for my card back. That should be interesting. In the meantime I have another card, but I’m afraid to use it.

A terribly trivial anniversary

I posted six episodes that day, an opening salvo to establish some of the themes of the blog. I mentioned my candidacy for President of the United States. I mentioned software and blimps. I told a story about an adventure on a previous visit to the Czech Republic, and I wondered whether using iBlog was really the way to go. (I’m still not sure, but 535 episodes and 4500 comments later, the thought of moving makes my head spin.) I posted a few more episodes in October, but November was a write-off, and things only went in fits and spurts until I decided to use the blog to chronicle my homeless tour. That’s when things started to gain traction.

Two years later, the title of this blog seems more appropriate than I ever could have imagined. It is a description not just of this blog, but of my life. I am a half-baked idea.

I’ll spare you further retrospectivosity until April 2th. Once a year is enough for that kind of thing.