A Good Fantasy

Catching Up

2007-10-21T13:49:00.000-07:00

I will not be posting again until the second Saturday of November. At the moment there are too many things I need to catch up on before November begins. Until then... You can read my meager archives, and when you've finished I suggest a trip to the bookstore. Find yourself a copy of Atlas Shrugged or The Fountainhead (both by Ayn Rand) and start reading. Don't forget to sign up for NaNoWriMo! Hope everyone has a nice Halloween and all!

Interlude: Blog Action Day 2007

2007-10-15T22:00:00.000-07:00

I didn't learn until much later that Sarah had grown up in a house of vehement environmentalists. Slightly crazy people, but nice all the same. Her parents were of the post-hippie treehugger generation, and she had inherited many of their ideas. In retrospect, I should have guessed something like that when I listened to her speech to the dean. But, as they say, hindsight is always 20-20.

"This school lacks a decent recycling program," she said. "No, don't start on the cans around campus and the little poster campaign run by the student body. Most of those posters are just falling down and rotting anyway. What we need are activists.

"Right now, nobody cares about the state of our school. Just yesterday I saw confetti strewn everywhere - foil confetti, no less! Sure, it looks fine for a week, but then it's just a nuisance, getting in shoes and hair and notebooks. But that isn't the end of it - that shiny confetti is practically indestructible, another product of our great plasticized culture. It will not biodegrade. It will be forever embedded in the cracks of our sidewalks, stuck there until the end of time. Nothing short of a nuclear blast could remove it.

"So why do we put it there? For a little frivolity? Is it just a way to make our short time on this earth more INTERESTING? I see no other purpose here - it's sheer gluttony. Of the seven deadly sins, confetti includes gluttony, sloth, greed, and pride. Each one an immortal strike against our American Dream.

"President Bush was intelligent enough to notice that the United States of America is addicted to oil. But did he mention our other addictions? Plastics, coal (and all other forms of energy), metals, wood - everything! The only thing in which we do not indulge ourselves is moderation.

"Do you want your campus to be known as a paradigm of America's flaws? From what I have seen, you do not care. You take a laissez-faire approach to everything here. You have never supported extracurricular activities, the arts, the sciences, the sports - anything! Name one good thing you have done for us, I dare you!" She paused, and the dean sat still, slightly awed. "See? Not a word! You have no defense for yourself.

"But there is still hope for Arkwright College. We have the ability to change! What we need is a proactive recycling campaign, regulations enforced by the Campus Patrol, and rewards given out by the student officers. (A separation of the regulatory and rewarding bodies is, in my opinion, necessary to avoid mixed messages.) How soon would you like to begin the planning stages?"

The dean sank a few inches into his chair as he pondered Sarah's speech. Finally, he spoke up. "I'll consider it. But at the moment I am late for a Board of Trustees meeting. I would like to see all of you back in my office soon. We have a variety of matters to discuss. You will receive notices as soon as my secretary has scheduled your appointments. Good afternoon." And so ended our first interview with the Dean.

Sarah's speeches can be surprisingly easy to write sometimes. I just have to rant for a few minutes, and... Viola! Instant speech!

I was hoping to talk about this a little more, but I don't have the time. So I will simply refer you to the web site of Blog Action Day, which is why I wrote this speech today.

Goodnight all! Or rather, good morning, all! Yipes!

The Dean (First Refrain)

2007-10-13T22:00:00.000-07:00

The office of the dean was inordinately dull. Wood paneling. A few books. Big desk. The only photos were of his family, as if he didn't want to think about the school. All the papers were tidily stacked, more sterile that an Intel commercial.

If I were the dean of a college I would panel my walls with touchscreen computer monitors. I don't suppose that would fit in the budget very well, though. Failing that, I would at least have a few more books, something the office was distinctly lacking.

Our steadfast dean was at the coffee shop when the Campus Patrol officer showed us into the office, so we got to sit in awkward silence for five minutes. The cop was smart - he stood in a corner while we squirmed to avoid being eaten by the leather chairs.

When the dean arrived he was accompanied by a cute young secretary, with whom he appeared to be flirting. Sarah was shocked. Mike looked a little envious.

The dean dismissed his secretary and let the Campus Patrol officer have his attention. When our friendly cop had presented his case he was dismissed to continue his rounds. I stuck my tongue out at him as he left.

"So," said the dean, settling himself behind the desk, "you know why you are here. You lied to a campus police officer. Why?"

I was still debating whether or not to confess when Sarah spoke up. "What rules govern the campus police force?" she asked.

The dean was taken aback. "I suppose they have bylaws or something... What does it matter?"

"I ask because I do not think the actions of that officer were ethical. He psychologically manipulated us, placing us on the defensive. He falsely implied that we were overstepping our rights as students. On those grounds, I would argue that he is as much to blame as we are." Everyone but the dean nodded in agreement.

"In fact," continued Sarah, "I would like to review the Campus Patrol bylaws if you have time. And speaking of rules, could we also discuss the issue of the posters? I know that they are not currently regulated by any sort of campus policy, and I think that poses a problem. It leaves us with a very clear opportunity for pollution of the campus. In light of that, I would propose a mandatory recycling program for them, and..."

It was then that I realized we were in for a good time. (If watching Sarah verbally slaughter the dean fits your idea of fun, that is.)

Sorry. It's a short post, it's late, and it isn't well edited. I'll be back tomorrow, though, with a surprise of sorts. It'll be a special installment, but still a continuation of this storyline. Speaking of which, I think that I've settled on a storyline now. For a while, at least. And I've got some other storylines running that ought to be fun when I finish this one.

A while ago Brian griped about the popular obsession with Quantum Physics. Here's the sort of thing he was talking about: http://www.tenthdimension.com/medialinks.php It isn't complete nonsense; it's a clear explanation of the concept. Still, from my (admittedly lacking) knowledge of string theory I question the amount of hard science and the accuracy of the metaphors. Maybe I'll read one of those books on quantum theory that have been sitting on my shelf for so long now...

Before I hit the sack this evening, I'd like to suggest Candide, by Voltaire. Short, witty, and extremely philosophical. (It's Voltaire, what do you expect?)

Goodnight and goodlife, everyone!

New Cop on the Beat

2007-09-29T22:00:00.000-07:00

Believe it or not, Emily and I quickly discovered some common ground - neither of us liked Sarah and Mike's relationship. I assumed Emily's reasons were rather different from mine. I sincerely hoped so. I didn't need any more competition just then.

Apart from the occasional glare, nothing much happened until we were halfway through the new stack of posters.

I didn't quite understand it at the time - we had seen five campus patrol officers already and most of them had waved at Sarah as if she were an old friend. The sixth, though, didn't seem to see anything special except for the posters in her hand.

"'Scuse me, ma'am, but do you have a permit to put up those posters?"

He sounded nice enough, but the glint in his eye was a real giveaway. As soon as Sarah opened her mouth I knew I'd have to intervene, because there was no doubt that she would tell the truth. "Yes, sir," I said, "I believe we do have a permit but it isn't with us. Right Sarah?" I gave her an exaggerated wink.

Sarah looked thoroughly confused but, to her credit, managed to stammer, "Uh... yes? Yes, I think so."

"Yeah, of course," chimed in Mike. I don't think he had a clue what was going on, he was too busy staring at Sarah.

Emily seemed to wilt a little in the corner of my eye.

The guy was obviously no idiot, and he didn't look convinced. "Can I see a copy of your permit?" The question was addressed (thank goodness) to me, rather than Sarah.

"Sorry, but we don't have it with us." He was looking skeptical and Sarah was looking murderous (she's not too fond of liars) so I decided it was time to spin a big one before Sarah gave us up. There was no way the officer was letting us off the hook now. And if Sarah ratted, she'd be in just as much trouble for lying as I would.

Of course it was just that moment which Dave chose for coming back, still skulking, into my conscious mind. You want some divine advice?

Oh dear, hear comes my guardian angel to save me by smiting down the horrid little cop! I tried to mentally mimic a swoon, but it didn't work. Where's the little devil guy? Isn't he supposed to sit on my shoulder and tempt me into the lie?

My sarcasm was lost on Dave, who said, Actually, I was just coming to give you a bit of advice. If you want to give him a really convincing lie I'd suggest telling him that you aren't actually in charge of the group and that the leader is in class at the moment and that the permit is inside her locked dorm room. What do you think?

I think you're trying to take credit for my own ideas! I was just about to do that.

Actually, I was the one who planted it in your subconscious.

Liar.

I had been slightly out of touch with reality for the moment it had taken to talk to Dave. The cop was giving me a funny look, as was Sarah. Before anyone could ask, I said, "I... Well, the person in charge of our organization got the permit, but she never gave it to us. I would get it and show it to you but she's in class right now and her room is locked so we can't get in. Would you rather we stop putting up posters for now?"

The guard gave me a scary little grin and said, "No, I'd rather you come with me to see the dean. There is no permit required to put posters up on campus."

Sarah paled. Mike started paying attention to the rest of us. I was fed up. "Why should we be taken to the dean? You just told us we've done nothing wrong, so-"

"Nothing wrong, huh?" asked the cop, "Then you must not have lied to a campus police officer?"

I glared at him for a moment, but it was useless, so as he turned smugly toward the dean's office I gave him the nice-guy treatment. "I guess you have a point there; I shouldn't have lied to you. Clever trick! Say, what's your name?"

"Officer Charlie Parson. And sucking up isn't going to do you any good."

Too bad about the sucking up, said Dave. But at least you got his name. That'll do for revenge, won't it?

I fell back in our little caravan so nobody would notice me glaze over. You call yourself an angel? I thought you guys were supposed to be against revenge. "Love your neighbor" and "turn the other cheek" and "pearls before the swine" and all that jazz.

Dave paused for a moment, and when he spoke again it sounded quizzical. "Pearls before the swine?" How does that relate to revenge?

You tell me. You're the angel. I'm a nerd, not a bible scholar. Why don't you just smite the little twerp?

I can't do that. I have no power over the physical world.

Fat lot of use you are. Do you have any idea how to get us out of this?

Nope, sorry.

Pathetic. Dave returned to his skulking, leaving me to think for everyone. This was becoming a pretty common situation.

So, you think I'm late enough this week? Things have been busy lately, though that isn't the real reason. It's more because I had trouble deciding what to write. I was considering skipping to the next day's brass quintet practice, but this seems like it'll set off an interesting plot arc, so why not?

Things have been busy, and they're only going to get busier. .. / .- -- / -... .-. ..- ... .... .. -. --. / ..- .--. / --- -. / -- -.-- / -- --- .-. ... . / -.-. --- -.. . / .-.-.- (I am brushing up on my Morse Code.) I'm also brushing up on my radio electronics, so I can attempt to build a few low-power Morse Code transmitters and receivers.

And then there's November. For those who don't already know, November is National Novel Writing Month. In short: I will attempt to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. I would encourage you to do the same - it is an incredible experience. And even if you don't finish, you can tell your friends that you're a novelist. Visit the web site to find out more and to sign up.

Apples and Oranges

2007-09-22T22:00:00.000-07:00

As I had expected, Sarah's roommate was not one to be trifled with. When I knocked on the door she asked who was there in a voice that would have sent a lowerclassman scurrying for his life. I, only slightly intimidated, told her my name.

"Never heard of you. If you're soliciting, you ought to know that it isn't allowed on campus, and I swear I'll sue if you don't leave. Is that clear?"

I wondered if they got many solicitors up here. I had never seen any. "Sarah sent me to pick up the rest of her posters."

The door opened to reveal Sarah's roommate. She was thoroughly unlike Sarah - short, a bit squat, and eternally cross. Her expression was much like the one I wore during boring compiles. "Sorry if I'm snappy," she said, "but I'm waiting for the new version of Darwin to compile, and I'm out of chocolate. You wouldn't happen to have any, would you?"

So Sarah was right about her being a techie. I gave her a long stare. "Why in the world are you compiling Darwin? If you have to run a long compile at least do it on something useful, and something that you can't get pre-compiled."

Her glare darkened. "I applied a few patches to it."

"Why? Who writes patches for Darwin anyway?"

The glare increased in magnitude. I'm no stranger to glares, but this was a pretty good one. "I write patches for Darwin, along with at least three other people on campus."

"Right. And considering the Darwin user base you must be the biggest development group around, right?"

Her scorn was almost tangible. "I'll bet we're bigger than the local Windows development group."

"I wouldn't know. I'm a Linux user."

"Ah. A technological masochist. How wonderful. Now would you mind taking the posters and getting your holier-than-thou attitude out of my dorm room?"

She stepped aside to let me in, and I found the posters - in the organized half of the room, as Sarah had told me.

"Hey," I said, turning back to Sarah's roommate, "Sarah said something about you helping with the posters. Why aren't you down there?"

"Sarah also hinted that you and I would make a good couple. She may be smart, but she doesn't always think straight. Then again, you're probably blinded by a crush on her, aren't you?" I didn't say anything. "But you know what? I think I might go down and help you guys. Even arguing with a masochist and a philosopher beats watching an operating system compile."

"Fancy that, we agree on something." I didn't like the offhand way she insulted Sarah. This girl was starting to get on my nerves.

I glanced around the room before we left. It was clearly divided between Sarah's half and her roommate's half. One side was neat and tidy, with a small bookshelf, a laptop-sized space on the clean desk, and a vase of flowers in the window. Roses and sunflowers, I noted for future reference.

On the other side lurked the atmosphere of a server room, complete with empty pizza box and a pile of hard drives in the corner of the desk. Leaning against an old CRT monitor was what appeared to be a synthesizer keyboard. Clip leads sprung from dismantled speakers. Papers were strewn across the floor in a complex fractal pattern.

There was a grayish divide between the two halves, like an ever-disputed no-man's-land. It reminded me of my relationship with Mike, or the policy contested in Plessy v. Ferguson: Separate but equal.

We maintained an awkward, disgruntled silence all the way down to the quad. By that time I thought it might be safe to ask her name.

"Emily Fisher," she replied. "What did you say yours was?"

"Brian Fennel."

It sounded like the conversation wanted to stop there, so I kept silent and thought about posters. I seldom bothered to look at them. They were usually little slices of color flapping for acknowledgment in the corner of my eye. Now that I gave them my attention they jumped off of every wall, screaming the news: CONCERT IN THE STUDENT UNION (Yesterday at 7:00). RUGBY GAME (Next Wednesday). WINDOWS FOR DUMMIES LECTURES (Weekly in the library's computer lab). BILINGUAL TUTORING (Come to Carson 117!). BRASS ENSEMBLE - TROMBONES WANTED. The last one looked familiar - it was the same brilliant hue as Sarah's posters. I gave it a closer look, and noticed the font was similar too.

Emily saw what I was looking at and stopped walking. "It starts tomorrow morning at eight. You play a brass instrument?"

"Yeah," I said, "I played trombone in high school. Haven't played since, though. You?"

"Trombone. You should come. Sarah's probably going to be principle horn. She's one of the best horn players around, you know."

I took a mental note of it and turned away. "I might." My mind was made up, but I didn't want to tell Emily that.

Hm. Briefly edited. Only an hour late. Not too bad, considering the busy week I've had and the fact that most of my weekend so far has been spent working on a pretty new web site for AGF. (Of course I had a nice break from web design this afternoon, sitting in the rain for half a football game with the pep band.) The new site will come into effect in a few weeks. It will include such accessories as a cast list, a Q&A section in which I can spew my ideas about AGF, and a better layout and design. Blogger is nice, but it's limited. I'll talk more about the new site later.

Have a wonderful week! (Or else!)

Guardian Angel

2007-09-14T22:00:00.000-07:00

One stack of posters later, Sarah was still ranting about faith, fantasy, and the fortune database.

"...and if you refuse to search for the truth you will be eternally locked into a lie. What's wrong with lies? Why is the truth important? Because either truth or lies will define the guiding principles of your life! To have a successful life one must act on the truth, not a lie. If I believed that this poster was nutritional and acted on that belief - ate nothing but posters - would I live long? Of course not! And... and..." Mike and I both glanced at her involuntarily when the shouting ceased. "I think we're nearly out of posters, aren't we?"

We were. Mike sighed with relief, and I nearly did the same. Instead, I volunteered to get the rest of the posters. Anything to escape the line of fire. Sarah told me where to find them in her dorm room and reminded me to knock in case her roommate was inside. She sounded uncannily like my mother.

As I passed the student union somebody started humming. Not loud, but the person knew how to project his voice. It almost sounded as if the hummer had taken voice lessons. I wouldn't have noticed it, except the sound followed me. Never too loud, never too soft. The tune was one I had played in my high school band, but its name was just outside the reach of conscious memory. I kept walking, the humming followed. It was starting to creep me out.

After another minute of humming I stopped where I stood, turned around, and cocked my head to the side. There was no definite direction to the sound. I spun slowly, a full three hundred sixty degrees (two pi radians) and the humming cut off.

"So", said the little voice in the back of my head, "you've always wanted an MP3 player. And here it turns out you've already got something better. Funny, huh?" I didn't notice the people staring at me; I was too surprised. The little voice had never conversed with me before. All I had ever heard from it was advice on math, and lately on how to deal with Sarah.

"Betcha don't know who I am."

I wondered briefly how to talk to somebody inside my head. Not knowing what else to do, I spoke out loud. "You're my conscience or my subconscious or my alter-ego or something. You're a figment of my imagination!"

"Ok. If I'm a figment of your imagination, you can imagine me any name you want me to have. What'll you call me?"

I nearly gave up and ran for the school psychologist's office. Instead, I said, "Why should I call you anything? You're just a figment of my imagination."

"Because, figment or not, I don't plan to stop chatting with you any time soon, so you might as well call me something. How about Dave? I've always liked the name Dave. And while I've got your ear: You don't need to say anything out loud. All you have to do is think about saying it."

I tried out Dave's advice. "Can you hear this?"

"Loud and clear, thanks. Humans have a strange aversion to people who talk to themselves, seem to think it's related to insanity. Now keep walking, and they might even think you're halfway normal."

I started towards Sarah's dorm. Dave hummed a few bars under his breath and asked if I wanted some music.

"I'd prefer some explanations. If you can hear me like this, does it mean you can hear all my thoughts? If you can read my mind, why do we even need to converse?"

"I can't read your mind. All I have access to are your senses and some of the neural pathways immediately connected to them."

"Does that mean you aren't imaginary?"

"Well, you could argue that everything is imaginary, couldn't you?" I could nearly see the voice - Dave - grinning. It was just the sort of thing I might have said back when I fancied myself a philosopher, and he probably knew it.

"But..." I thought for a moment about what to ask next. "What are you? What would you call yourself?"

Dave, suddenly serious, said "Your guardian angel."

"WHAT?! What do you mean, 'guardian angel?'"

"Just what I said, Brian. Like it or not, you have a guardian angel. I'm here to advise your decisions and catch your mistakes."

He had thrown me off, but not for long. I shot back, "You make it sound like hearing disembodied voices is some sort of honor! And besides, doesn't everyone get a guardian angel?"

"You're wrong about that. Excusable, though, since it's a common misconception. Very few people have guardian angels. The ones who do are very special. Most of them are a little more grateful, too." Something seemed to retreat from my mind, as if Dave had drawn back into himself.

"Dave? Are you there?"

Dave didn't answer. He was, as I found out, a rather sensitive guardian angel. I was half glad to be rid of his voice too, because Sarah's dorm was nearby and I would need my wits about me if I ran into her roommate: Roommates can be dangerous little beasts.

24 hours early!! I think this is a new record. As a sort of celebratory act I will edit this before posting it tomorrow! Now, if I can just keep it up...

...and guess what? As I was walking to band Friday afternoon I realized that this entry, which I finished the night before, was actually 48 hours early! Which led to the realization that I had lost all sense of time and needed more sleep, but that was blown away by my excitement at the extra earliness. (-:

In other news: There are two new links in the "Worth a Glance" section of the sidebar. XKCD is one of them. It's a rather unique webcomic: Notable not for art (which, though clear, is minimal) but for a scathing ability to mock the world while seldom actually insulting anyone. I think it may have actually been the first webcomic I ever read, and that only because of the infamous "sudo Make me a sandwich" comic, which was quite popular for a while on the Ubuntu Linux forums. Primarily for techies and math fanatics. I think you have to be both to catch all the references. Despite (or because of) that, Randall Munroe manages to write some very touching comics.

The other link is to Indexed, a webcomic which, like XKCD, is minimalistic in terms of art but still conveys great meaning. It isn't even a comic in the traditional sense, instead Jessica Hagy draws simple graphs and charts that showcase some uncannily accurate observations on the state of the world. Funny and insightful. I would recommend it even though I occasionally disagree with her choice of independent variable on the Cartesian graphs.

If I can keep the focus I've had this week I may well avoid any more tardy entries. Hope you all have a nice week!

Posters

2007-09-08T22:00:00.000-07:00

I can't stand computer classes. People think that because I'm a Linux user and run a server and design web sites I must love my computer science courses, but they never realize how boring I find it. Consider the situation: I spend most of my spare time learning what makes computers tick. I've been doing it since I was twelve. I have an innate knack for learning about computers. Not to be arrogant about it, but hardly any of my professors can teach my anything new.

Being an upperclassman didn't make it any better. If anything, my comp sci classes that year were worse than they had been before. It was more advanced material, but the professors seemed to think of that as a reason to slow down the class and spend more time on every little detail. And they were now actually forcing us to use Windows XP. Pathetic.

I got through the first one of the year without dying of boredom, though. And when I came out...

"Hey Brian! Where have you been all day? Are you ready to put up some posters?"

"Sarah! Posters? Wha-- Oh, those posters? You got them printed already?"

"Yep. I've got connections." She winked and flashed a grin at me. It wasn't the sort of expression I would expect of Sarah, but the gesture was natural enough. Maybe she wasn't as serious about everything as she seemed.

She was serious about the posters, though. They were red, so bright they looked fluorescent, and carried the slogan "Question the Classroom!" with "We should not be subjected to bias in our education" as the tagline. I pulled one off the top of her pile and noticed even smaller text in one corner. It said that meetings would be held every Monday starting at 8:00. When I asked Sarah, who was searching intently through her backpack, why the group would need to meet she said "To organize protest tactics, of course. Do you have any duct tape? Or masking tape, maybe? I forgot to get some from the campus store on the way over."

"Sure, up in my dorm room," I said. Of course I had duct tape.

Sarah chatted blithely all the way across the quad and into the lobby of my dorm. I tried to pay attention, but my mind was wandering. I mostly just nodded and kept a relevant facial expression until we got to my building.

"That's funny," she said, "I was just here yesterday and somebody asked me to dinner. The editor of the school paper, no less! The one you did that interview with yesterday. Mike something, isn't it?"

I nearly tripped over my own feet. "Mike asked you out?!"

"Yeah. Why? Do you know him well?"

"Umm... He's been my roommate for a few years now. I just... Well... He..."

"You don't think he and I are suited for each other?"

Not like I had a better answer. "Well... Not really, no."

"I guess we'll be finding out, won't we? He seems pretty nice. Cute, in a nerdy sort of way."

My mouth, which had been open wider than a network without a firewall, went through a series of recovery maneuvers to regain its normal position. So Mike had asked her out. That explained his sudden curiosity about Sarah's personal life, and probably also the warnings he had given me. The guy called me his friend. What a traitor. A backstabber. And whatever else he might be, Mike was not nerdy. But if she liked nerds... The little voice in the back of my head told me not to get my hopes up.

It was just my luck that Mike didn't have a class when we went up to the room. "Hey Brian. Oh, and hello sweetheart. How are you this afternoon?"

Sarah, to my greatest anguish, gave him a little peck on the cheek as she walked by. I was very tempted to crack his user account on the school network and leave him an unpleasant welcome message, but it would be too obvious.

"So Sarah," he said, "what are you doing following geekboy around?"

"He offered to help me put up posters too!"

I couldn't believe my ears. "'Too?' You mean Mike volunteered to come?"

Mike didn't reply, he was too busy looking smug with his arm around Sarah's waist. Sarah spoke for him. "Of course he did! This'll be perfect - my roommate's coming, it'll be almost like a double date! You don't have a girlfriend, do you Brian? I'm sure you and Emily will get along well. She's a computer person too."

I groaned under my breath. I hate being matched up with other "computer people." Either they're gamers or they want to impress you with their pitiful knowledge of HTML.

Mike finally decided to grace us with his presence in the conversation. "So, why'd you come up here, anyway? I thought the plan was to meet down in the quad."

"Duct tape." I didn't trust myself to say anything more. I always find it hard to control my mouth when people are being smug. I kept searching through my dresser for the roll of tape.

"Really? I thought you might be coming up to check our fortune for the evening!" He didn't bother waiting for Sarah to ask, and said, "Brian has a program on his computer that can tell fortunes. Quite incredible. Would you care to demonstrate, Brian?"

Mike would pay for this. I would have to come up with something clever, something he would never expect. For Sarah's benefit, though, I put on a pleasant face. "Sure," I said, turning around and throwing the duct tape at his head. "Catch." Ok, maybe not such a pleasant face. Mike caught. I pulled up a terminal window on the computer and ran Fortune. "Hey, this one is kinda interesting. Almost relevant."

Sarah peered over my shoulder. "What does it say?"

"Abandon the search for truth; settle for a good fantasy."

That was a fun one to write! Much more so than the last one, which was thoroughly boring. All it did was set up for this entry and rant a little about terminology.

If you're wondering what happened to the whole questioning thing, fear not! It shall return soon. As fun as it can be to write, I don't want everything to be about the social tension between the characters. It's an overused topic, in my opinion.

If you're hoping for some fast-paced action scenes... Well, you'll probably have to wait a few months. Sorry.

And if you're waiting for me to be on time with updates... I'll work on that. Most of my time is spent either doing homework or procrastinating on homework. So... The more fun I have writing this the more it will fall into the "procrastinating on homework" category and the more likely it will be on time. I think. Considering the fun I had with this entry, you can expect to see the next entry (which I also expect to have fun with) right on time. I hope.

Anyway, have a nice week!

Edit: Just fixed a typo. Must finish writing posts sooner so I can edit them before putting them up.

Another edit: I went through the post and found a bunch of things that really needed fixing. They are fixed, though they don't really change the plot. I'm starting the next installment now so maybe there will be time to edit before Saturday.

Fortune

2007-09-01T22:00:00.000-07:00

Sarah had to run off to Greek Theology as soon as physics ended, but I had another hour to kill. With nothing better to do, I headed for my dorm room. Not a place of great excitement, but at least my computer was there, and let me be the first to tell you that with a computer and an internet connection, the entertainment possibilities are virtually infinite.

I was in for a mean surprise, though. Mike had taken a quick break from the paper and was lounging on his bed with a magazine and a pile of textbooks. When I walked in he was more chipper than usual. It didn't take me long to find out why.

"Hey Brian! How are you?"

"Meh. You?"

"Well... I was wondering if you could enlighten me on a particular topic."

"Mike, asking permission to ask a question is stupid and you know it. Just spit it out."

"You know that girl Sarah? The one who got you to do the interview?"

I stared at him. I don't like answering questions when I don't need to. I hate excess.

"Do you know much about her social life? Is she... attached to anyone?"

"No to the former. And to the latter - have you seen any Siamese twins around campus?"

"Is she emotionally attached to anyone?"

"Not as far as I know. Why?"

"Awesome! Thanks, man!"

Mike was out the door and halfway down the hall before I could yell "Why?" after his retreating back. It wasn't worth the effort, though, so I opened up my laptop - a ThinkPad from the time when they were still branded IBM instead of Lenovo. It wasn't the brightest bulb on campus, but it had crashed only twice in two years and hardware problems were minimal. In the Linux world that's a pretty good record.

Jasper - I named my laptop Jasper, goodness knows why - popped himself out of hibernation and informed me that the wireless internet adapter was unplugged. The wireless adapter - a purple box tied by its short wire antenna to a ceiling hook - was plugged in. I opened a terminal window and tinkered with the kernel module settings, then disconnected the USB cable, said a prayer to the god of compatible hardware, and jammed it back in the socket. Victory: I had internet.

Jasper informed me that I had no new mail. The news looked even more boring than it had that morning. Left without anything else to do, I opened a terminal - the most basic form of interfacing with the computer. There were neither buttons nor menus, just a simple prompt:

brian@jasper:~$

I typed "fortune" - a command that reads random fortunes out of a database - and hit enter.

"There are more things in heaven and earth than any place else," it told me in monospace font. And, the next time, "Marriage is an institution in which two undertake to become one, and one undertakes to become nothing." The fortune database has a weird sense of humor. Probably because it's authored mainly by hackers. Not hackers in the way most people know of them, not the ones responsible for viruses and broken passwords. Those, a true hacker would tell you, are crackers - short for "criminal hackers." A true hacker is a tinkerer, someone who likes to take things apart and modify them. They are responsible for clever programming and innovative software. They can mix two seemingly mundane programs and whip up something new and unique. They have their own culture. It is a rather unusual culture though, and thus fortune occasionally comes up with such gems as "There's only one everything."

I get along with hacker culture quite well, though. Even the little voice in the back of my head likes it.

Word on the street is that I now have two readers! Thanks to both of you - now I have more reason than ever to be on time with new installments. Which leads me to note that this evening I am less than an hour late! Someday I might even build up a buffer - what an idea!

But I was going to talk about some serious stuff this week, if I can remember what it was... Ah, yes, I remember! First, I have changed the navigation bars again, this time to images created with Blender, an open source 3D modeling program. If you don't like them please comment on the fact.

And I still can't remember the second thing I wanted to say. Everyone have a nice week and enjoy what remains of Labor day weekend!

Voices

2007-08-25T22:00:00.000-07:00

My watch claimed I was twenty minutes early for physics, but the room was buzzing when I walked in. I still hadn't reset my watch to the infamous Arkwright time zone, the ever-present peril known to dog students from class to class. It wouldn't have been so bad if the time didn't change every week or so. The student union had tried everything from petitions to bribes, and after a while they just gave up. Rumor had it that the oddity was a faculty prank or a temporal anomaly. General opinion said it was a grand pain in the rear. I stopped caring the moment I heard Sarah's voice in the auditory melee.

"...and he was a real sweetheart and said he'd go talk to the chief editor for me! I hope I see him sometime this afternoon so I can thank him..."

I lost track of her voice in the din of the crowd, but it gave me something to think about: How could a Junior with so many advanced Liberal Arts classes have the prerequisites and the time to be taking Quantum Physics II? Her schedule sounded packed with labor-intensive classes, Speaking of what I read, land she would have needed to skip a year or two of sciences to be in the class. The little voice in my head whispered that it was a bad sign. I made a half-hearted crack about paranoia and went back to examining the crowd.

There were more students than I had expected. Maybe people were entering the field after all the hype from "What the Bleep do we Know" and all the other pop-sci adaptations of quantum theory. Quantum is rapidly becoming the new target of pseudoscience and mysticism, a void that used to be filled by relativity. Things are no longer "relative." Instead, they're "subjective" or "in a variety of quantum states" or "possessing infinite quantum futures." Or, worst of all, "it's all interconnected, man, like the water molecules." That's the trouble with teaching science to Joe Schmoe; it makes him think he understands it.

While I was still scanning the room when the professor entered. He went unnoticed, being about half my height, but the white beard set him apart. He took his time getting to the front of the room, and when he finally got there it didn't seem to matter much. It didn't seem to, that is, until his voice burst over what must have been a Dolby 5.1 surround sound system. Smart little guy. Probably experienced. He knew how to run a class.

"Please be seated," shouted the speakers. I sat. To my great surprise, Sarah sat next to me. I nearly asked about her major, but the speakers yelled again. "Silence!"

At least the guy didn't beat around the bush. And he knew how to scare the chatty ones. I think that's a good trait in a teacher.

The next thing anyone knew he was off the podium and fiddling with projector controls. If nothing else he had enough energy to replace a small fission reactor. I checked for his name on my class schedule: Mechenburg. Strict and Germanic.

Professor Mechenburg got the projector working. Half the class groaned - this was not the "easy first day" they had hoped for. Mechenburg didn't have a syllabus for us. He had a few simple problems. "Problem one - a sinusoidal change in velocity!" It was the first time I had heard anyone so excited about physics. Surprising, considering how many physics classes I've taken. "We are looking for the distance covered during a given time interval of twenty seven seconds. I am looking for an answer within a given time interval of two minutes. Go!"

To my right, Sarah groaned under her breath. "I've never seen a problem like this before! How are we supposed to know what to do?" The voice in the back of my head wondered how she got into the class with such a bad attitude and thoroughly warned me against helping her.

I normally trust the little voice about math problems and nothing else. I made a compromise with it and said to Sarah, "Velocity is the slope of a distance-over-time graph. This plots velocity over time. So turn this into the slope of a d-t graph. Just think about it that way and it's easier." The little voice griped about wasted talent and corrected my multiplication. It isn't that I don't know seven times nine or anything, I just get clumsy if I use calculators too much. I spent all summer using calculators. The voice knew all that, but he teased me about it all the same. I would never have listened to the stupid little voice if he hadn't been so good at catching my mathematical mistakes.

AGF has a new look! Or at least a newer look. I have to rework the archives and improve the formatting of the navigation bar, but it's getting consistently better, I think. And I am now engaging in shameless self-promotion for the sake of gaining an audience! Technically speaking I do have an audience right now, but as much as I appreciate Christos's readership... One person isn't a huge audience. Still, it beats the ol' hypothetical audience! And as a sort of excuse for the lateness, let me fill you in on my latest methods of procrastination: http://www.agentaeolus.com/ - Good writing. Not quite my genre, but it keeps me entertained. And I think it's good to read another webserial. I'm not completely sure why, but I have a strong conviction that it is so.

Book recommendation: On Writing by Stephen King. Awesome book about King's writing and his life as a writer. Definitely a must-read for writers.

The Inquirer

2007-08-18T22:00:00.000-07:00

The office of the Arkwright Inquirer seemed like a fitting place for the start of Sarah's campaign of inquiry. It was true to its name - the walls were covered in bumper stickers advertising a variety of conspiracy theories. A cutout of a giant question mark faced the door. The staff appeared to be sleeping on their keyboards. The editor in chief was snoring.

As I looked around the little cubbyhole of an office my arm brushed a precarious pile of past issues that toppled to the floor. The editor stopped snoring long enough to say, "Pick up the recycling, Mike." A stirring in the corner caught my eye, and, to my great surprise, I discovered my roommate hidden behind a monitor. He gulped from a mug of coffee and had stumbled halfway to the paper cascade before he saw my face. Once all the facts had congealed inside his brain he blinked a few times and asked what the hell I was doing there.

"Didn't you tell me you hated the paper?"

"Yeah, Mike, I do hate it. I'm here on an errand for a friend, and I think I'm supposed to talk to the chief editor." I waved my hand toward the nerd with the bad snore.

"Brian, I never realized you were so gregarious! I didn't think you had any friends. Congratulations!" He ignored my glare. "So who is this friend of yours, anyway?"

"You know who Sarah Wood is?"

Mike's eyebrows rose. "The manipulative one?"

"I guess you could say that. She roped me into doing an interview with the chief editor of the paper. Manipulative would be the wrong word though - she seems really nice."

"You're probably just remembering that time freshman year when you were drunk at a party and the two of you ended up dancing."

"How'd you remember that?"

"You spent the next morning talking about it. I think that was what comforted you through the hangover."

"Oh. That party."

"Yes, the one where you asked--"

"I'd rather not think about it. So can we wake up the chief editor?" I pointed at the guy snoring into his keyboard.

"You already did, Brian. He's the layout editor. I'm chief editor."

"Crap. Then I can't put the interview off any longer, can I?"

"Nope."

I could hear the little voice in the back of my head snickering at me.

Well, I guess I inadvertently took a week off. And the tone is weird. Webcomics are very bad for me. Guess I'll sleep now. Finished the last Harry Potter book last night, and it kept me up a bit late. Have a nice week!

Serious Business

2007-08-01T22:00:00.000-07:00

Sarah scared me halfway out of my wits when I came out of Professor Whelk's office.

"Hey Brian, What did he say?"

"He told me it was a pleasure to have another participant in the discussion, but I'll have to 'keep it a little more didactic' in the future. Gave me a bunch of junk about keeping discussions on the pleasant side."

"Not bad, then, right? He could probably have tried to kick you out of the class."

"I wish he had."

"No! Look, I convinced my roommate to sketch a poster; we should have copies by tomorrow night. Would you help me put them up? Nobody else wants to."

"Poster for what?" Somewhere in the back of my mind a little voice said "Bad idea. Should have just said no."

"To protest classroom bias, what else? Promote questioning of the accepted norms in teaching liberal arts! Do you have some free time today? I wanted to talk to the newspaper staff, but I'm totally booked for the afternoon. French, Physics, and Greek Theology. The chief editor agreed to have someone interview me, but if it isn't done in the next two hours they have to put in a filler and send it off to the printer. Could you talk to them in my place? I really wanted to get it in this week's issue..."

An hour and a half before Physics. I had the time, but interviews have never been on my list of favorite afternoon activities. The little voice told me I needed to stop by and see if the campus store had any cheap laptops. My old Pentium II box wasn't getting any faster, after all. "Sure. How long will it take?"

"Oh, it shouldn't be more than thirty minutes or so. You know where the office is? In the student union. Their door is pretty well marked." She glanced at her watch. "I'll see you later. Find me at lunch tomorrow and we'll talk about the posters. Thanks so much for doing this for me!" Sarah gave me a hug before she ran down the hall. I smirked at the little voice in the back of my head, and started steeling myself for the interview. Unpleasant, but worth it.

Yipes. Short post. I've spent this week alternately cramming to finish summer homework and wasting my time on webcomics. Not that it's the worst thing I could be doing, but it isn't the best either. For goodness sakes, if I condemn them I'll be a bit of a hypocrite, no? So this isn't all that I had planned. And further bad news for my hypothetical audience: I'll be at band camp for the next week. So the next installment will be a day late. Hopefully I'll have time to make it a long one, though. Have a nice week, hypothetical audience!

First Questions

2007-07-28T22:00:00.000-07:00

I guess Intro to Theology would have been a whole lot less interesting if it weren't for Sarah Wood. The first day should probably have been an indicator. Professor Whelk had just finished the usual formalities, the sort of junk any liberal arts professor must be required to say by contract about "doing his best to be objective" and "not showing any bias in the classroom" and whatnot. I thought I had heard it a million times and I was a Comp. Sci. major. I almost felt sorry for the poor liberal arts kids, always starting out a class with either that spiel or a "gentle introduction" to one of the hard sciences.

Prof. Whelk asked for questions in the way that's obviously supposed to mean "no questions please," so I really got a kick out of seeing the look on his face when Sarah's hand went up. Still, I probably wouldn't have paid much attention to the actual question if it had been anyone else but Sarah. I could have sworn I had danced with her at some party Freshman year, but I was probably drunk at the time, and as Douglas Adams once noted, it's really hard to remember stuff unless your just as inebriated as the moment you saw it. That particular day, I had two reasons for wishing I was as smashed as the night I danced with Sarah: First, so I could remember what it was like to dance with her. (I don't think imagination could really do justice to the experience.) And second, so I wouldn't be so bored.

Between staring at Sarah and wondering how a Comp. Sci. major like me had been duped into taking theology, it took a while for Sarah's question to really register in my brain. I do that a lot - hear something and don't realize what it means for another twenty seconds or so. Half the time I end up deciding that listening is seldom worth the trouble, but Sarah's question... That was worth it.

"Professor Whelk," she asked, sounding sweet as pie, "is it possible for anyone to be completely unbiased?" It isn't like nobody at Arkwright College ever challenged authority - as far as I know all schools get a little of that, and probably liberal arts schools more than most, since they practically encourage that. Still, it was a real spectacle, judging from the way everyone was staring at Sarah.

Professor Whelk got over his surprise fast enough that hardly anyone noticed, and by the time all eyes had turned his way he was looking almost amused. "Yes, Miss Wood, I believe it is quite possible."

The way Sarah's face lit up, she must have been really hoping for that answer. "You believe, Professor? But do you know it? Can you prove it?"

"Yes, Miss Wood, I think I can prove it."

As far as I was concerned he might as well have just given up and said "no." I can't recall even half the discussion, probably because most of the references were about as far over my head as quantum mechanics. The only thing I learned that hour was that Descartes - the guy responsible for the Cartesian coordinate system, exponential notation, and "Descartes before the horse" jokes (I'll bet he haunts the nightmares of many a liberal arts student) - was a philosopher. Not only did he say "I think therefore I am," he worked out an intended proof of God's existence.

Apparently Descartes's proof relies on the postulate that the idea of a benevolent god is an innate idea. I do remember Sarah, looking like she had just reached the top of Mount Everest, practically shouting that at Prof. Whelk. He looked cool as a cucumber, standing behind his desk in the front of the room. "And you deny, Miss Wood, that 'God' is an innate idea? Because I have an idea of 'God' and it can be nothing but innate, because I have never seen God!"

"I've never seen a flying elephant, but I can imagine what one looks like."

I honestly didn't think the room would be so quiet when I said it. Even Sarah looked at me like I had confessed to murder. Take it from me: If you're going to talk to yourself, don't do it out loud.

Darin's Ramblings

I think my overfilled sidebar mostly explains what this is, but I should clarify a few things. First of all, "A Good Fantasy" isn't much good and it isn't much fantasy. Today's lesson, kids, is that a title is not the same as a description. In this case, it's the exact opposite. Second, it is intended as a way of forcing myself to write, not entertaining the masses. If you find it entertaining, that's wonderful. If you hate it, please tell me why and I'll try to fix my writing if I think it needs fixing. (Comments expounding on the incredible virtues of this masterpiece of fiction would not be discouraged either. :-) I am putting this online as a way of giving myself a deadline, and holding myself to it because I don't want to disappoint my hypothetical audience.

Some other business: I don't know if I can get indentation to work yet. I certainly hope I can, because without it I don't know how to format this. Updates will normally be posted Saturday night around 10:00 PST (GMT-8:00), even though this one went up on a Tuesday. (I'm actually modifying the timestamp to look like I put it up on time, though.)

The fact that this is up late is mainly because I've been procrastinating on life by reading a lot of webcomics. On the other hand, webcomics are what inspired this feeble attempt at serialized fiction, so I have to give them some thanks. Today I must particularly thank the Lyall sisters. Lucy Lyall draws and writes Kaspall, which she calls something like "anthropomorphic fantasy with a detective bent" and I call very entertaining. The thing that finally forced me to start writing "A Good Fantasy" and putting it on the web, though, is Kuwatar, by Lucy's sister Amy Lyall. She is an absolutely wonderful writer, and has been kind enough to post Kuwatar online, but it will be going down for editing on August 12, so hurry if you want to read it! I think it's worth a look, both for the writing and the theme of questioning authority. I wonder why that theme appeals to me so much?

Anyway, I intend to have next week's installment online on time, and with it will come more rambling and links. Have a nice week, hypothetical audience!

Update: I got indents working! But now I have to put 'div' and '/div' tags around each paragraph. Oh well.