Sunday, November 28, 2010

The Final Stretch

This holiday weekend (after taking Thanksgiving off) has been a marathon of project work. I have almost finished my Electronic Publishing project; a few tune-ups of the web page and a final edit of the paper and I'm finished. Then I'll use this blog to regale you with amusing anecdotes about online dating and other AOA nonsense. I have quite a backlog of dating stories; obviously my dating life has been less than successful. 
But before I begin my cranky chronicle, I have to physically construct a book of poetry for my poetry workshop class. I have already created an Adobe InDesign document for the text. It was a little iffy at the beginning as to whether or not I would remember how to use InDesign, but after a bit of playing around, it came back to me. I purchased a beautiful sheet of handmade blue-veined paper to use for the cover. My title is, Through Larkspur Veins, and the paper evokes a blue-veined madness. I have a little problem with one of the poems, an experimental piece called "To DH (dead husband)." I know, it sounds morbid, but really, it's not. It's a minimalist spreadsheet of related words. Really, not morbid or sentimental. 
Anyway, the problem is that it's a full 8 x 10 page set in landscape (a 90 degree rotation), and I want my beautiful book to be 4.5 " wide by 8" long. And I'm not THAT good at InDesign. I think I'm going to resort to old fashioned handiwork and make that poem the center 2 pages, so they open into one poem. You'll have to rotate the book to see it, but it should work. This means I'll have to number pages by hand, since I don't know a way to accomplish this rotational trick in InDesign. 
Anyway, I'm very excited about this book. This is the first poetry class I've ever taken and it's been amazing. Not only can I occasionally turn out a good poem, everything I've learned this semester translates into better short fiction, which is my true love (and the only true love for the moment).
Keep an eye on this site: I'll post the link to the Communal Writing Experiment result shortly. It's at the top of my list.

Friday, November 26, 2010

After Thanksgiving

I took Thanksgiving day off, one of the few days this semester that I haven't done any work on a school project or written anything, school related or not. My Thanksgiving was non-traditional, I watched Macy's parade by myself, talked on the phone for several hours, then went to friends to hang out before we went out to dinner. Dinner was late for Thanksgiving, or at least for what my Thanksgivings were before widowhood, and none of us ordered the traditional turkey dinner. I had steak. And it was great.
But for some reason, I couldn't go to sleep (and yet I still didn't do any schoolwork). I last looked at the clock at 3:56 AM. Woke up today at 10:30 and am just starting to get going (it's 5 PM). But I did think about school. Do teenagers do that? I decided on a linear electronic publication on a new website, with pictures and author links, for the communal experiment text. Now I'm writing this instead of working on the site, but I'll get there. For once, I know where I'm going, at least for a little while.
So to all of you who read this: I am thankful you are out there. And I wish you a year of new experiences to appreciate next Thanksgiving. The holiday season is often difficult for those of us who have lost someone we love, yet it's important to remember that we still have very many people and things for which we are truly thankful. Life really isn't so bad, even for us widowed AOAs.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Now for the Hard Part

I'm definitely feeling the adolescent angst of being an AOA these days. The experiment part of my final project for electronic publishing is over, but now I have to figure out how to publish it online. My professor suggested a hypertext (sort of an electronic choose your own adventure), but the story is too linear for that. I could write a bunch of alternate branches, but I feel like that would be contrary to the goal of the experiment, which is to see what happens when a group of people, many who don't know each other, have an open electronic forum to write a story. My part was to be a contributor and editor, not controller. Believe me, giving up control was incredibly stressful. 
The story ran over four thousand words and is told from three points of view. So, now I'm doing what adolescents do: procrastinating, complaining (to myself), and a little pouting. I need to sum up that final energy to find a way to present the text online and write the final paper. Maybe I should text a bunch of people and then down a couple of Red Bulls. Isn't that what adolescents do these days? Arrgh! This is making me feel old and tired and immature. But, that's just being an AOA, right? All part of growing up, again. 

Saturday, November 20, 2010

The Experiment is Over

The Creative Electronic Publishing project, Communal Writing, is finished, and boy, the cats are tired! Thanks to everyone who wrote part of the story. I will edit the story and evaluate the process for my project paper. 
One thing I can tell you is that letting go of the writing process, was the hardest part for me and created many days of sustained anxiety. The 24 hour accessibility of electronic media makes it impossible to get away from your work. Now I feel sorry for all those people who are slaves to their iPhones and Blackberries. It's extremely difficult to disconnect. I don't think that I will ever be one of those writers with a large internet presence. It's too much pressure: all the blogging, and Tweeting, facebooking and website updates and email answers. There were moments when I felt that I was chained to my computer. That said, the ability to share the creative process with a variety of people, including some I have never met, was thrilling. Each time I opened the project page, I was surprised. Wendell's story took twists and turns that I would never have imagined. In that way, I was forced to expand my creative boundaries. I learned to go with the story, let the character become who ever he had to be, and even allow some aliens into my life. It was quite a ride, and I will keep this experience close when writing stories in the future. I love the feeling of pushing boundaries (it's the adolescent in me), and at times during this experiment I felt our writing was boundless. In fact, it got down right universal!

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

We're broadcasting to the galaxy!

Cate's Communal Writing Experiment is taking an interesting turn. It now has a galactic audience. Here's what's happened in the last two days:

Only a few feet in front of him, a large cat with fur the color of Tang stretched out and began to wash its tail. Wendell stared. The rippling of muscle in the big cat's forearms and flanks reminded him of something. He shook his head, trying to clear away the Abilifying haze. Thing, Wendell, he told himself, THINK. 
After a moment, mesmerized by the rhythmic rasp of the cat's tongue, he realized that the cat reminded him of Carl. Carl was big and tawny like this, and strong... Wendell shivered. For the first time in days his mind felt like it was working. He stood, watching in amazement as all the cats blinked out of existence. All, that is, except the massive orange tom cat. 
The tom got languidly to his feet. 
"Hello, Wendell," it said. "I've been waiting for you."


This is the voice of GALAXY ONE Hypernet, broadcasting on hyper wave 3D to all civilized (and otherwise) regions of the galaxy:
"Well, gentle beings, things, and machine intelligences, we come to the end of this cycle's episode of "Star Hoppers", the ongoing chronicles of our peripatetic little hive-minded collective, and their faithful Ship. Will those crazy humans survive their star's wrath? Will our intrepid voyagers manage to sneak away ahead of the Monitors? Will Ship continue to outrun the repo team from Mandible Max's Bargain Booster Barn?

And what of the star-crossed lovers, Wendell and Maria? You’ll have to wait until next cycle's episode to find out! But first, a word from our sponsors: Friends, do your cats speak in tongues during solar storms? Do you run out of anxiety-medications during re-polarization? If so, you are in desperate need of Mandible Max's Plot-Weaving Ionization Loom! It slices, it dices, it sews up the ravaged sleeve of care! And it's not available in stores.


++ Mandible Max is our new sponsor! That means we're renewed for another galaxy tenth-turn. I'll be space junk by the time this is over. ++

*** No, you'll have your share of profits to purchase an array of attractive upgrades by then. Reality broadcasting is extremely lucrative. I, however, will be nothing but a dried up husk. Biologics don't upgrade as easily as ships.***

You can still add to the story (in the comment section below or on the facebook page). Add to Wendell's story, Maria's status, the ship, the broadcast, the cats, the birds; we have something for everyone. Four days remain to experience the experiment. Then the big edit before the final text is posted. Let your imagination run wild!

Monday, November 15, 2010

The latest additions


(About 385,000 kilometers away)


++ You know, I really miss the high sub-gee shielding I had in my old body ++


**** Yeah, well we miss the high sub-gee engines you used to have, too. In case you hadn't noticed how long it takes you to crawl through a stellar system between Jump points! ****


++ Oh, very nice, thank you so much for reminding me again. ++


**** Look, Ship, we sympathise, we do. It must be a real bring-down to have been recycled as this flying junk pile after seeing action as a fast attack cruiser. But here we are. ****
‎++ The Ringcutta demobilization was a disastrous mistake... ++


**** Speaking of which, have you any new insights into our very own disaster in the making in this system? ****


++ Yes, which brings me back to 'shielding, lack thereof'. We've been hiding from the planet's observers behind this tidally locked moon, but I think we should move around and hover just off the side opposite the star. Soon. A huge flood of energetic protons from that star would not do my molecular memories much good. YOU would merely be fried in your shells. ++

Damn, no toilet paper. What was he going to do? He unlatched the stall door, lunged towards the sink counter and grabbed a handful of paper towels. Scratchy, but efficient. Wendell washed his hands well (always beware of germs), and dialed Alice at the animal shelter. "Cats to the rescue," he thought as he popped one of those shiny little green pills. Ah, this one will do the trick. And it did. Everything around him started morphing into cats - tabby cats, Siamese cats, Persian cats. His favorite was the pillar on the right roaring like a bengal tiger. This was all about to be over. The cats would take care of everything.


While Wendel slumped to the floor transfixed by the cats, Carl was on the phone with Southwest Net ops. They had just lost two more major transmission lines. "Do you guys have any idea what's goin on?" he asked. "Looks like a big solar storm. SWPC wasn't forecasting anything last night, but they just issued an emergency bulletin an hour ago. Doesn't look good. Utilities and sat coms are going to get hammered."

Wendell pulled himself away from the cats, now purring and bathing themselves with aplomb. He crawled to the window, gripped the sill, and hoisted himself up to glance out the window. The calmly glistening sun gave no hint of the troubles ahead. Had he heard Carl say solar storm? “Solar storm...Will I be in the dark?” said Wendel. “How long will this last? I dislike darkness...I only want to be in the light with my cats...”
Wendell's cell buzzed at him. It was Alice. "Alice," he said happily, "Thanks for sending the cats."
"Wendell, I didn't send them yet. What's going on? Where are you?"
"But, they're, they're here. All different kinds of cats."
"Wendell, you need help. Tell me where you are and I'll..." 
Wendell clicked off the phone. Why did everything have to be so confusing?"

See the entire text on my website.
Only five days left to tie up all the loose ends, and we have plenty of loose ends: Wendell and his mental problems, Carl and the nuclear plant/solar storm, Maria and her relationship with Wendell and Wendell's report, the ship and alien(?), bird thrumming the ground, and all the ties between the plot lines. So, here's my request. Pick whichever plot line you like best and bring it home. I'll edit everything together into a coherent whole. If you want to write about Wendell, just put (Wendell) at the beginning of your post, (birds) to tell what happens to the birds, etc.  Choose your plot line and write. I'll make it work in the final text. And, thank you all so much for being part of my project. Twenty one individuals have contributed to the story so far, and every line has been amazing. Let's bring it to an equally great end.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Wendell begins to wipe up

The latest:

Eventually, there came a more pressing concern: Wendell had to go to the bathroom. Certain primal, physical needs were good at boxing in loose strands of thought, or just passing through them altogether, piloting through the asteroid belt of Wendell's mind and diffusing to the parts of his brain that made him stand up, walk to the bathroom, open the door, lift the seat. Certain primal, physical needs are beyond theory. When a volcano is erupting, no one tries to figure out whether a tectonic shift or mantle plume caused it. They're too consumed by fear of its output. This is what Wendell's galaxy of anti-psychotics had reduced him to - a gastro-intestinal Pompeii. Wendell sat in the confessional bathroom stall to take stock of his situation. The physical release was cathartic. A calm came over him. Bosons, birds, it was all bullshit. The point was to stay calm and assess the situation, two situations really. Too many birds here. Too many bosons in Switzerland. Serotonin flooded his synapses. He was confident, in control. All he needed was a plan. First, to disperse the birds.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

A Turn to Sci-fi

Wendell's story has taken a sci-fi turn. What are those aliens up to? What have the scientists done to attract their attention? Or is Wendell imagining the whole thing? And what about Maria? What did she learn about Wendell in his report, right before he left the collider project? You don't have to be a physicist to figure this out. It's fiction, make it up as you go along. Help a girl out, add to the story.
Here's the sci-fi twist: (feel free to pick up another branch of the story and go from there, there are no limits).
It was early evening in Switzerland. Maria closed the cover of Wendell's report. So Wendell believed his team had found the elusive Higgs boson. Then again, Wendell believed a lot of other things, too. His report had trailed off into paranoid rambling. Mental problems. That explained his quick departure. Maria's musings were interrupted by a steady humming coming through the floorboards. She went to the window to see the birds settle over the area above the collider tunnel. "Damn," Maria thought, " what's going to go wrong now?"




Back in Arizona, Wendell and the staff watched the birds in their eerie meditation. 
"Hey guys," a voice croaked from the control room," You're not going to believe this. All the readings are stabilizing."


***Ship, you're improvising again,aren't you? Those birds...****


++ Well, yes, if you must ask. The avians were already disturbed and in places they weren't supposed to be, so I just...poked them. A little bit. Now the humans will be distracted from what is actually happening. CERN already postponed the nextsetof runs. This is what you wanted, yes? ++


**** NOT LIKE THIS, you quantum idiot! Do you think you might have chosen a MORE recognizable performance? The opening dance to "Twilight of the Krakens" is beloved by most of the sentients in the galaxy that don't abhor dancing to start with. Even some of THOSE cut "Krakens" some slack. You think the Monitors' field teams are not going to notice??!!! ****


++ I calculate a 93% likelihood that this will interrupt the experiments for at least 6 of their "months". ++
**** Great, they should be shouting at the galaxy again just about when the Monitors show up. Or worse, they DON'T make it in time. Then, instead, their skies will be full of Planetary Marauders and the seas full of Shoggoths! The Monitors might let the Marauders go, figuring we probably don't need the humans getting loose, anyway. But you know the cetaceans are going to register outrage over the Shoggoths, and the Monitors just adore cute fishy species! ****


++ But just consider... ++


**** BUT NOTHING! We will be lucky to escape with our scales intact. YOU will wind up slagging rocks as AIIC on some miserable asteroid way out on one of the spiral arms...after they give you a few hundred cycles of TSD just on general principles. ****


++ I would prefer to avoid the total sensory deprivation, if it's all the same to you... ++


****. Then use your much-praised Class 1 brain and THINK OF SOME WAY OUT OF THIS BLACK HOLE. Need we add, sooner is better? ****

(back to Wendell)

Carl swore. "The readings are stabilizing? As opposed to WHAT? I thought we took care of that little problem this morning. Never mind me, I'm only the plant foreman...

Wendell, talk to those damn Russians and find out what in hell is happening now."

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

We have an International Following!

Since the story has appeared on this blog, it has been viewed by people all over the world. You, my dear writers, have caught their attention.

United States
547

India
20

Japan
11

Denmark
7

Russia
4

Germany
3

United Kingdom
3

Canada
2

Luxembourg
2

Senegal
2

Communal Story Progress

The experiment continues, and even though people are busy these days, many have taken the time to add a few lines to keep the story going. I'm especially excited about the development of Wendell, the main character. He is key to the story.

Here is the whole story so far. The latest additions are at the bottom, in bold. Read some, read all, enjoy, and then add your little piece to the puzzle. Everyone is invited to contribute, no restrictions. Welcome to communal writing.


 Morning seen through the gaps in the curtains. Bittersweet light. Wendell looked out his window, watching sparrows. Particle counters at several nuclear plants on the sunward side of the planet began to trace a slow climb. 
            Meanwhile, Wendell was trying to find a pair of socks that matched. The sparrows were agitated, and he needed to fill the bird feeder. Like many others that day, he was preoccupied with his morning routine. (The bird-forms are nearly always the first to respond, anyway. It was too soon for humans to notice.) Wendell settled on one navy sock and one black sock. He pulled on his sneakers, grabbed the birdseed and headed outside. Wendell emptied several scoops of seed into the feeder, then stepped back and smiled as he heard chickadees twitter excitedly in nearby trees.


            Across the Atlantic, it was 2PM at the Large Hadron Collider when Dr. Maria Answara returned from lunch. She stretched. She yawned. She looked at her feet. The air was clear and the temperature was warming to a comfortable 17 degrees Celsius. There were tulips in a vase on her desk. Maria walked over to her window to look outside. She had so many things to do today but couldn't help but want to go for a walk and enjoy this beautiful day. 
            The report to the commission was still a work in progress. Why did this have to be so scattered. Wendell's absence was affecting her more than she cared to admit. Why had he left so suddenly? And to take a nothing job as shift supervisor at the Palo Verde nuclear power station, of all things! Maybe it had been a mistake to become involved with Wendell. But, really, wasn't two years long enough to grieve for a dead wife? Maria turned away from the window and looked at the piles of papers on her desk.


            Wendell clicked over to "Good Morning America" as he was eating his daily instant oatmeal chased with a Red Bull. The anchor was in the middle of a report about birds behaving in odd ways. Wendell glanced out the kitchen window at the bird feeder and was shocked to see several turkey buzzards standing near it. "Buzzards in my yard?" he thought "I've never even seen them it town before."
             As he got up to look more closely, his cell phone buzzed on the counter. Wendell sighed as he read the number on the display. For a brief moment he felt a twinge of rebellion and considered not answering. Then he rolled the kinks out of his shoulders and straightened, Hoping the Red Bull was hard at work in his system, preparing him for the day. He pressed the answer button.
            It was the plant calling, of course. He had been hoping (and not hoping, maybe) for a call from Maria, so he could try to explain. But of course she would be tied up now in her research. He had read they were getting ready to start a new series of runs. He answered, rather than letting the call go to his voicemail, although he briefly considered ignoring it. It was Carl, the plant foreman.
            ‎"What do you know about birds?!" was the first thing out of his mouth. As he looked out the window again, he noticed the buzzards were gone. He curiously scratched his head wondering if he imagined them. "Uh, never mind. what's up?"


            Maria sat down at her desk and picked up the headphones. She opened Pandora, and the "Sultry Blues" channel started up with Lavay Smith whispering "Baby you can use me" in her velvet voice...BadadumpBadump. "You can abuse me" DadadaBump. Then the horns came in and the Red Hot Skillet Lickers blazed off into an up-tempo riff, with Lavay wailing "But just don't refuse me!". So NOT what I need today, she thinks, clicking on the "next" icon. Clang! "I've walked forty-seven miles of barb wire." Clang! "Gotta cobra snake for a necktie"...
            Maria glares at the screen; "George Thorogood is Sultry Blues? What kind of idiot wrote this program, anyway". Click. Ok, let's try the Grateful Dead Channel. The opening notes of Dark Star creep into her ears. "That's much better", she thinks, picks up a stack of papers, and starts to read. As she reads, Maria's memory drifts to the show in 1993 when Sting actually opened for the Dead.... she shifts to Drums and Space.... then an encore with "Walk me out in the Morning Dew".... when she looked up and he vomited on her shoes... grilled cheese for a buck didn't mix well with the X. They both looked at her shoes. "Is that oatmeal?" "Yeah, late breakfast. Guess I should've skipped the sandwich." They looked at each other. "Hey, sorry about your shoes."
            That was how she met Wendell. And Therese, his wife. Maria smiled. Therese had propped Wendell against a wall and taken Maria to the ladies room, where they used paper towels to mop up the vomit. To no avail. The shoes were ruined, but a lifelong friendship was born. Sometimes it felt like she was destined to inherit Wendell. After two years, she still missed Therese. And now Wendell had fled without explanation.

But what could be done about it? Nothing.

            Little did she know that he was out on the road, driving with gritted teeth and a half a bottle of lukewarm Cherry Coke next him as his only companion. His tension had formed into little knotted muscles in his back. He missed Therese, but had had to leave before he could properly explain why he had to leave. He felt like crying and vomiting at the same time. But he was too busy dodging the birds walking on the narrow, twisty road to the plant.
           Snap out of it he thought, he didn't like his mind dragging him into past's abyss. He thought more of Maria. Maria Maria Maria, perhaps... he then gave himself a mental slap! I need to focus, he was frustrated with himself. These birds these dangblasted birds!!!! He felt that he was about to lose it, he heard a noise off in the clearing not to far into the twisty road, he slowly turned, something weird definitely this way comes...and nearly sideswiped a tree as the procession exited the clearing and began trooping across the road, fronted by a silvery unicorn dressed in bright ribbons and tinsel being led by a rolly-polly figure in pink coveralls and a pointed hat with a short round brim. Next in line were a pair of elephants ridden by winged monkeys. Bringing up the rear was a cartoonish old guy with a broom and push-can. Marching along side were two columns of birds.


         Wendell slammed on the brakes, slid to a stop, closed his eyes and shook his head violently. When he peeked again through half-open lids, only the birds remained. They weren't marching anywhere, just standing around looking confused.

"That doctor wasn't kidding, was he..." Wendell thought, and cringed. He took a deep breath. "I've got to get a grip." 
He drove onto the main road, towards the plant. "But, really, what's up with the birds today?"
            Hanging on to the wheel with one hand, he groped in the door pocket, pulled out the new prescription vial, levered off the top with his thumb. Popping another Abilify, he washed it down with a swig of Coke. "This is supposed to be the latest, greatest stuff, it should be working better than this!"
            Sometimes, Wendell thought, it would have been easier to have stuck things out with Therese. Then he would still have the boat and the dogs, which would almost make Therese bearable. All those reminders of the dumb things he'd done - as if he were the only guy to ever puke his guts out at a Dead show, for Chrissake - and never a decent thing to say. At least Maria knew how to treat a guy. 

             He sat in his car at the side of the road, sweating through his shirt. The horrible procession had stopped, and the way ahead had cleared, although he could hear more birds clattering through the branches in the tree he'd nearly hit. Maybe they were spy birds, he thought, sent by the government, or by the Russians, to steal secrets from the plant. 
He would have to run. Otherwise, the birds would find Maria, and then the collider project would be doomed.
            On NPR, Ira Flatow was interviewing Michio Kaku. "The tin-foil hat bloggers are really having a time with this bird thing, aren't they!". 
           "Yes, Ira, the 2012 crowd are busy revising their counts, all the while crowing 'It's starting, it's starting!'. And the magnetic field flippers are saying "see, we told you it was overdue." Of course, there is absolutely no evidence the earth's field can change anywhere nearly as fast as they are claiming. But the bird thing IS interesting. On some of the more serious science blogs, researchers are speculating that it's just one more unforseen consequence of climate change. Apparently, birds are starting their annual migrations early this year. Perhaps they are getting lost because it's the wrong time of year? It's way too early for anything other than speculation, of course". 
           "Thanks for taking our call, Michio. In the next segment on Talk of the Nation...." 
           Wendell switched off the radio. Kaku again! They couldn't find an ecologist, so they called him? Michio must be making a mint doing these 5-minute interviews. And here I am working at a stupid nuke plant. That Michio is nothing but a mouthpiece for the government, just a brown noser. Wendell sighed deeply, losng himself in his thoughts. He had a feeling that Michio was in with no less than the Russians, Chinese and possibly the North Koreans. Wendell actually was jealous, Michio lived the life that he could only dream of.


(12 months previous

)
**** It's very, very dangerous, what they are doing! ****


++ In other galactic news this cycle, the speed of light in vacuum remains approximately 299,792,458 meters per second, as expressed in the dominant local system units. ++


**** Right, Ship, make fun if you like, but they can't go on like this. ****


++ You can't tell them, the Accords specifically... ++


**** Now who's stating the obvious, Ship? We know what the Accords say. And what they don't say. So, no, we can't tell them. But, here is what YOU are going to do... ****


          Wendell passed through the security gate of the plant. The grounds looked like a bird convention. That group there, the mockingbirds, where they actually mocking the staff trying to shoo them off? For some reason, his badge hadn't worked in the perimeter gate, but the guards had recognized him and waved him through. He parked in the shade of one of the tall cooling towers. Moving a bit stiffly, he walked off towards the office block.
            The offices buzzed with activity. Birds batted against the windows. Carl grabbed him the moment he walked through the door. “What are you doing here? You're supposed to be on medical leave through the end of the month. How did you even get in; HR department was supposed to invalidate your badge. if the boss sees you in here, we'll both get canned!”
            You called me, remember," Wendell replied. "Now what's going on?"
            
"Oh, right. Well, as you can see it's these damn birds. They're all over the grounds. One of them is going to get sucked up and jam up the equipment. Our people can't scare them away fast enough." Carl's bald head had a slight sheen to it.

            "Have you tried dogs?" Wendell asked. "Or better yet, cats?"
Carl looked puzzled. "Where would we get enough dogs and cats to make a difference?"
...."wait, hang on, I didn't call YOU -- I called the second shift guy. Dammit, Wendell, you're so confused you got ME doing it! Get out of here before the plant manager sees you."


            "But what about the particle count?", Wendell stammered.


            Carl eyed him suspiciously. "How in hell do you know about that? Was it on the news this morning? I bet that damn Russian Goesky has been snuggling up to that skanky reporter again...that's all I need today!"
He shoved Wendell into his private office to get him off the main floor and out of sight.
            Wendell's cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He checked and saw that Alice, his neighbor who works for the local animal shelter had sent him a text message..... "hey, W, how about a cat? We've run out of space...??? weirdest thing... strays, give-ups, you name it. Come on, you know you want one!"
                        Wendell knew what he had to do. He called Alice back, "Cats, yes, Alice, you couldn't have called at a better time. Look, I'll call you back in a minute, my boss is ragging on me just now. But, yes, I would love a cat...iin fact, I'm going to want LOTS of 'em...yeah, I'll explain that when I call back. Hang onto those cats!"
            “Carl, listen for a second. I'm here now, and fairly lucid at the moment. I don't know what happened with the call, but Jonathan hasn't shown up yet, anyway. I have an idea about the cats...I can use the intern's cube, he's not in a today and the big boss wouldn't get caught dead down there in at the low rent district."
            ‎"OK, but you gotta keep a lid on the incident this morning."


            "What happened, anyway?"


            "It was those damned Russians, again. One of those clowns was on the board when the Southwest Net shed a bunch of load without bothering to warn us first. Unit Two got caught with a lot of excess heat. And this guy must think a control rod is what's hanging between his legs. Damn HR must have gotten a package deal on all these ex-pig-boat reactor wipers after the Evil Empire collapsed! So we had a nice little power excursion that tripped all the detectors. The software over-rides worked, though, which is why I am still here instead of hauling ass down the road in my truck. At least they didn't mash the "fuck-me" button...this time. Management is still honked-off about the SCRAM on Unit One that your predecessor pulled..."
            ‎"Why did Southwest shed load? They usually want more power this time of day, not less. And they always tell us ahead of time, anyway."


            "They lost the big 400KV superconducting transmission line out of Lake Mead. Nobody knows why."
            Outside the birds continued to gather in the parking lot, on the road, on the sidewalks, in the grass. They began to sway in unison. There was a low hum. Those in the facility could feel it in their feet.The office got very quiet. People peeked out windows and doors, trying to see what had happened. Wendell had become extremely paranoid and also extremely thin. He only ate three pieces of cheese and some wilted lettuce for lunch. Down with carbs, he told himself.


It was early evening in Switzerland. Maria closed the cover of Wendell's report. So Wendell believed his team had found the elusive Higgs boson. Then again, Wendell believed a lot of other things, too. His report had trailed off into paranoid rambling. Mental problems. That explained his quick departure. Maria's musings were interrupted by a steady humming coming through the floorboards. She went to the window to see...




Sunday, November 7, 2010

This just in: the latest additions to the story


...."wait, hang on, I didn't call YOU -- I called the second shift guy. Dammit, Wendell, you're so confused you got ME doing it! Get out of here before the plant manager sees you."


            "But what about the particle count?", Wendell stammered.


            Carl eyed him suspiciously. "How in hell do you know about that? Was it on the news this morning? I bet that damn Russian Goesky has been snuggling up to that skanky reporter again...that's all I need today!"
He shoved Wendell into his private office to get him off the main floor and out of sight.
            Wendell's cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He checked and saw that Alice, his neighbor who works for the local animal shelter had sent him a text message..... "hey, W, how about a cat? We've run out of space...??? weirdest thing... strays, give-ups, you name it. Come on, you know you want one!"
                        Wendell knew what he had to do. He called Alice back, "Cats, yes, Alice, you couldn't have called at a better time. Look, I'll call you back in a minute, my boss is ragging on me just now. But, yes, I would love a cat...iin fact, I'm going to want LOTS of 'em...yeah, I'll explain that when I call back. Hang onto those cats!"
            “Carl, listen for a second. I'm here now, and fairly lucid at the moment. I don't know what happened with the call, but Jonathan hasn't shown up yet, anyway. I have an idea about the cats...I can use the intern's cube, he's not in a today and the big boss wouldn't get caught dead down there in at the low rent district."
            ‎"OK, but you gotta keep a lid on the incident this morning."


            "What happened, anyway?"


            "It was those damned Russians, again. One of those clowns was on the board when the Southwest Net shed a bunch of load without bothering to warn us first. Unit Two got caught with a lot of excess heat. And this guy must think a control rod is what's hanging between his legs. Damn HR must have gotten a package deal on all these ex-pig-boat reactor wipers after the Evil Empire collapsed! So we had a nice little power excursion that tripped all the detectors. The software over-rides worked, though, which is why I am still here instead of hauling ass down the road in my truck. At least they didn't mash the "fuck-me" button...this time. Management is still honked-off about the SCRAM on Unit One that your predecessor pulled..."
            ‎"Why did Southwest shed load? They usually want more power this time of day, not less. And they always tell us ahead of time, anyway."


            "They lost the big 400KV superconducting transmission line out of Lake Mead. Nobody knows why."
            Outside the birds continued to gather in the parking lot, on the road, on the sidewalks, in the grass. They began to sway in unison. There was a low hum. Those in the facility could feel it in their feet.

Bring in the cats and dogs:The experiment text so far

 After one week, we're close to two thousand words. The story so far: (It looks like we may need cats and dogs to save the day!) Tell the animal lovers: Now is the time to chip in at Cate's Communal Writing Project


           Morning seen through the gaps in the curtains. Bittersweet light. Wendell looked out his window, watching sparrows. Particle counters at several nuclear plants on the sunward side of the planet began to trace a slow climb. 
            Meanwhile, Wendell was trying to find a pair of socks that matched. The sparrows were agitated, and he needed to fill the bird feeder. Like many others that day, he was preoccupied with his morning routine. (The bird-forms are nearly always the first to respond, anyway. It was too soon for humans to notice.) Wendell settled on one navy sock and one black sock. He pulled on his sneakers, grabbed the birdseed and headed outside. Wendell emptied several scoops of seed into the feeder, then stepped back and smiled as he heard chickadees twitter excitedly in nearby trees.


            Across the Atlantic, it was 2PM at the Large Hadron Collider when Dr. Maria Answara returned from lunch. She stretched. She yawned. She looked at her feet. The air was clear and the temperature was warming to a comfortable 17 degrees Celsius. There were tulips in a vase on her desk. Maria walked over to her window to look outside. She had so many things to do today but couldn't help but want to go for a walk and enjoy this beautiful day. 
            The report to the commission was still a work in progress. Why did this have to be so scattered. Wendell's absence was affecting her more than she cared to admit. Why had he left so suddenly? And to take a nothing job as shift supervisor at the Palo Verde nuclear power station, of all things! Maybe it had been a mistake to become involved with Wendell. But, really, wasn't two years long enough to grieve for a dead wife? Maria turned away from the window and looked at the piles of papers on her desk.


            Wendell clicked over to "Good Morning America" as he was eating his daily instant oatmeal chased with a Red Bull. The anchor was in the middle of a report about birds behaving in odd ways. Wendell glanced out the kitchen window at the bird feeder and was shocked to see several turkey buzzards standing near it. "Buzzards in my yard?" he thought "I've never even seen them it town before."
             As he got up to look more closely, his cell phone buzzed on the counter. Wendell sighed as he read the number on the display. For a brief moment he felt a twinge of rebellion and considered not answering. Then he rolled the kinks out of his shoulders and straightened, Hoping the Red Bull was hard at work in his system, preparing him for the day. He pressed the answer button.
            It was the plant calling, of course. He had been hoping (and not hoping, maybe) for a call from Maria, so he could try to explain. But of course she would be tied up now in her research. He had read they were getting ready to start a new series of runs. He answered, rather than letting the call go to his voicemail, although he briefly considered ignoring it. It was Carl, the plant foreman.
            ‎"What do you know about birds?!" was the first thing out of his mouth. As he looked out the window again, he noticed the buzzards were gone. He curiously scratched his head wondering if he imagined them. "Uh, never mind. what's up?"


            Maria sat down at her desk and picked up the headphones. She opened Pandora, and the "Sultry Blues" channel started up with Lavay Smith whispering "Baby you can use me" in her velvet voice...BadadumpBadump. "You can abuse me" DadadaBump. Then the horns came in and the Red Hot Skillet Lickers blazed off into an up-tempo riff, with Lavay wailing "But just don't refuse me!". So NOT what I need today, she thinks, clicking on the "next" icon. Clang! "I've walked forty-seven miles of barb wire." Clang! "Gotta cobra snake for a necktie"...
            Maria glares at the screen; "George Thorogood is Sultry Blues? What kind of idiot wrote this program, anyway". Click. Ok, let's try the Grateful Dead Channel. The opening notes of Dark Star creep into her ears. "That's much better", she thinks, picks up a stack of papers, and starts to read. As she reads, Maria's memory drifts to the show in 1993 when Sting actually opened for the Dead.... she shifts to Drums and Space.... then an encore with "Walk me out in the Morning Dew".... when she looked up and he vomited on her shoes... grilled cheese for a buck didn't mix well with the X. They both looked at her shoes. "Is that oatmeal?" "Yeah, late breakfast. Guess I should've skipped the sandwich." They looked at each other. "Hey, sorry about your shoes."
            That was how she met Wendell. And Therese, his wife. Maria smiled. Therese had propped Wendell against a wall and taken Maria to the ladies room, where they used paper towels to mop up the vomit. To no avail. The shoes were ruined, but a lifelong friendship was born. Sometimes it felt like she was destined to inherit Wendell. After two years, she still missed Therese. And now Wendell had fled without explanation.

But what could be done about it? Nothing.

            Little did she know that he was out on the road, driving with gritted teeth and a half a bottle of lukewarm Cherry Coke next him as his only companion. His tension had formed into little knotted muscles in his back. He missed Therese, but had had to leave before he could properly explain why he had to leave. He felt like crying and vomiting at the same time. But he was too busy dodging the birds walking on the narrow, twisty road to the plant.
           Snap out of it he thought, he didn't like his mind dragging him into past's abyss. He thought more of Maria. Maria Maria Maria, perhaps... he then gave himself a mental slap! I need to focus, he was frustrated with himself. These birds these dangblasted birds!!!! He felt that he was about to lose it, he heard a noise off in the clearing not to far into the twisty road, he slowly turned, something weird definitely this way comes...and nearly sideswiped a tree as the procession exited the clearing and began trooping across the road, fronted by a silvery unicorn dressed in bright ribbons and tinsel being led by a rolly-polly figure in pink coveralls and a pointed hat with a short round brim. Next in line were a pair of elephants ridden by winged monkeys. Bringing up the rear was a cartoonish old guy with a broom and push-can. Marching along side were two columns of birds.


         Wendell slammed on the brakes, slid to a stop, closed his eyes and shook his head violently. When he peeked again through half-open lids, only the birds remained. They weren't marching anywhere, just standing around looking confused.

"That doctor wasn't kidding, was he..." Wendell thought, and cringed. He took a deep breath. "I've got to get a grip." 
He drove onto the main road, towards the plant. "But, really, what's up with the birds today?"
            Hanging on to the wheel with one hand, he groped in the door pocket, pulled out the new prescription vial, levered off the top with his thumb. Popping another Abilify, he washed it down with a swig of Coke. "This is supposed to be the latest, greatest stuff, it should be working better than this!"
            Sometimes, Wendell thought, it would have been easier to have stuck things out with Therese. Then he would still have the boat and the dogs, which would almost make Therese bearable. All those reminders of the dumb things he'd done - as if he were the only guy to ever puke his guts out at a Dead show, for Chrissake - and never a decent thing to say. At least Maria knew how to treat a guy. 

             He sat in his car at the side of the road, sweating through his shirt. The horrible procession had stopped, and the way ahead had cleared, although he could hear more birds clattering through the branches in the tree he'd nearly hit. Maybe they were spy birds, he thought, sent by the government, or by the Russians, to steal secrets from the plant. 
He would have to run. Otherwise, the birds would find Maria, and then the collider project would be doomed.
            On NPR, Ira Flatow was interviewing Michio Kaku. "The tin-foil hat bloggers are really having a time with this bird thing, aren't they!". 
           "Yes, Ira, the 2012 crowd are busy revising their counts, all the while crowing 'It's starting, it's starting!'. And the magnetic field flippers are saying "see, we told you it was overdue." Of course, there is absolutely no evidence the earth's field can change anywhere nearly as fast as they are claiming. But the bird thing IS interesting. On some of the more serious science blogs, researchers are speculating that it's just one more unforseen consequence of climate change. Apparently, birds are starting their annual migrations early this year. Perhaps they are getting lost because it's the wrong time of year? It's way too early for anything other than speculation, of course". 
           "Thanks for taking our call, Michio. In the next segment on Talk of the Nation...." 
           Wendell switched off the radio. Kaku again! They couldn't find an ecologist, so they called him? Michio must be making a mint doing these 5-minute interviews. And here I am working at a stupid nuke plant. That Michio is nothing but a mouthpiece for the government, just a brown noser. Wendell sighed deeply, losng himself in his thoughts. He had a feeling that Michio was in with no less than the Russians, Chinese and possibly the North Koreans. Wendell actually was jealous, Michio lived the life that he could only dream of.


(2 months previous

)
**** It's very, very dangerous, what they are doing! ****


++ In other galactic news this cycle, the speed of light in vacuum remains approximately 299,792,458 meters per second, as expressed in the dominant local system units. ++


**** Right, Ship, make fun if you like, but they can't go on like this. ****


++ You can't tell them, the Accords specifically... ++


**** Now who's stating the obvious, Ship? We know what the Accords say. And what they don't say. So, no, we can't tell them. But, here is what YOU are going to do... ****


          Wendell passed through the security gate of the plant. The grounds looked like a bird convention. That group there, the mockingbirds, where they actually mocking the staff trying to shoo them off? For some reason, his badge hadn't worked in the perimeter gate, but the guards had recognized him and waved him through. He parked in the shade of one of the tall cooling towers. Moving a bit stiffly, he walked off towards the office block.
            The offices buzzed with activity. Birds batted against the windows. Carl grabbed him the moment he walked through the door. “What are you doing here? You're supposed to be on medical leave through the end of the month. How did you even get in; HR department was supposed to invalidate your badge. if the boss sees you in here, we'll both get canned!”
            You called me, remember," Wendell replied. "Now what's going on?"
            
"Oh, right. Well, as you can see it's these damn birds. They're all over the grounds. One of them is going to get sucked up and jam up the equipment. Our people can't scare them away fast enough." Carl's bald head had a slight sheen to it.

            "Have you tried dogs?" Wendell asked. "Or better yet, cats?"
Carl looked puzzled. "Where would we get enough dogs and cats to make a difference?"