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Month: February 2022

Bread you can believe in, and other silly tag lines.

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Having worked in marketing departments for some multinational corporations you really start to see just how much BS there is out in the world regarding your average product. From bread to deodorant, to wine and beer. A tonne of the marketing jargon is bunk made up my pedantic people playing at semantics. It’s all geared towards garnering the cash of not only the staple consumer, but the fickle and flighty “experiential” consumer who is looking for an ‘experience or ritual’ attached to their product. What your average person considers to be just opening a can or bottle, they call a cherished pause in the day to listen to the crisp pop of the bottle cap, and the decanting of the golden liquid, etc etc… copy writers just describe opening a bottle in fancy terms and a select few people gobble that shit up.

You can really see it if you have kids ages four through ten. When those endless commercials for toys come on inbetween the endless stream of shows geared towards showcasing those self same toys. The colours, the tone of voice, the offer of something you JUST CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT. Ugh. It’s a thing.

So Day 60 is here and it is once again cold, icy and snowing. Winter in Canada, what more is there to say? Going to enjoy some breakfast while watching Rock Solid Builds out of Newfoundland. Praise be to HGTV and the kids actually playing well together for a change. I need to eat.

Have to stop and take stock of what’s going on.

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So where are we in the broader sense of my story series. The Company has finally mobilized a newly built and as of yet untested fighting force. Flinging them from the earth’s moon base known as Torus station to head out to UB313 near Pluto Charon. Travel time estimated at nine weeks. The newly developed fire teams and walking tanks are in stasis aboard the Righteous Chord for the entire trip, but are suffering longer and longer migraines and waking nightmares, more often as the trip goes on. Attempts to awaken various types of soldiers has yielded unsatisfactory results.

The final straw to unleash the new fighting force was the mysterious death aboard the Dirty Starling of The Company’s oldest Admiral’s great grand son, also named Mark Garneau. However, there is another Ghost crew member named Mark, ready and waiting to assume the role should The Dirty Starling make its scheduled stop for resupply. A coincidence or something deeper? Conspiracy theory on the ship says brain worms, but the tech guys are looking for answers in the programming code for the nanotech upgrades. Could somebody have altered the code from the originals?

On the base UB313 Dr Jang has suffered a recent upset by finding out at least one of his away teams has failed to secure the asset. Lil Boat Peep has been destroyed, along with its crew, but what of The Mangelo? Rumors from Company moles say that the doctor has been building engineered soldiers from what he’s learned from his decades of unnecessary surgeries on unsuspecting corporate victims. Are they upgraded people or conglomerate monstrosities like the moles have been reporting?

It was also revealed that Admiral Garneau’s great grandson was disappeared by a secret protocol initiated by a tenacious mole aboard The Dirty Starling. How did the UB313 doctor know of the assets appearance out of thin air and where to look is a mystery. Who were the two modulated voices trying to take control of the ghost crew member? Who planted and sent the message out into the ether? What does the message say?

Out in the far flung reaches of the solar system a strange vessel has appeared out of thin air. It seems to move and replicate and change unlike anything seen before. But it knows about humanity with one humanoid artificial intelligence figure on board. The last surviving member of team Theta, named Racquelle, out of UB313, from the now inert rescue ship The Mangelo is still alive and being questioned. We learn that the mysterious android formerly known as Kelvin, is now named Katayna, and has taken on Racquelle’s appearance.

The wheels are in motion as all the forces are drawn together for a battle of the ages. Stay tuned for the remaining chapters of book two of this interconnected series.

I hope you’re having as much fun reading along, as I’ve had writing it all down in these weekly, and sometimes daily installments. After I complete the rough drafts here, I’ll go on to edit book two as a whole, then will make the updated version available on Kindle Unlimited. So stay tuned if you want to read it for free in its earliest form. All the best. Happy Friday.

How much blood does this Blood god need?

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Can you satiate a blood god with a bucket of blood? Does he need gallons of the stuff? Would a barrel suffice? Or are we talking like lakes or oceans worth? Where is the power derived from? The iron content, the plasma or the red blood cells themselves? What happens if some of your offerings have sickle cell anemia or blood poisoning? Can you substitute any blood? Like does a bull count as several people due to the quantity, or is it the quality of the blood? Like… is a singular virgin’s blood better than, say an entire herd of cattle? Does the blood god have a preference of species or is it just the amount in the offering that matters. How does the blood god keep all that blood from coagulating into a rock solid mass? Does it exude chemicals or treatments to keep it flowing in liquid form? Would working for a slaughter house be considered cheating? Like do meat packing plants with their waste blood pools out back hold a sweet spot in the blood gods ruined heart? How could you compete with the quantity spilt by these industries. Can you just sort of splash it on the ground. Do you have to get all of it to wash over an altar? Like what’s the practicality of the donation process? Do you just shout the name of your given blood god and let’er rip? Can multiple people involved claim the same massive offering or do you have to divide it into shares or percentages? Could you just farm it like a living blood bank, or can an offering only be made in death? Could you resuscitate an offering to make it again? Asking the big questions here, folks.

Just a thought. Any who – so tomorrow is day 60. I guess I could write about the impending spectacle of The Superbowl. I’m not entirely sure I remember who is going to be in it, beyond the Cincinnati Bengals. I do recall there being a lot of shouting and whooping regarding them not having a Superbowl showing since 1992* or something along those lines. (*I really could just google this to look up the correct answer, but I don’t care enough to double check this sports factoid.)

We will most likely indulge in some pizza and wings to watch the game, and all of the new tent pole movie commercials, and the half time show. Although I’m not aware of who is performing. Prince is dead, so not him. And some of my current favourites don’t have a large enough following to play the Superbowl. I’d love to see Wolfmother or The Blue Stones or even Big Wreck play the half time show, but that’ll never happen. I wonder if we will get any meme worthy material like “the left shark” or Janet Jackson’s boob.

Speaking of meme worthy performances do you remember a few winters ago when Mariah Carrey was to do New Year’s eve and she Diva’d her way out of the sound check, then frog croaked her way into like one song of her set and flubbed the whole thing, looking ridiculously unprofessional the whole time. Yeah – that was good, like watching a slow rolling car crash great, not this is actually great, kind of way. It was pretty cringeworthy.

Alas, today is Friday, so that means more snow and unbearably cold weather for the weekend. Of course – of course. Valentine’s day is on Monday, so if you need to do so, go pick something up for your wife or kids. Not like a Lexus or anything that fucking dumb, but like a book on a topic you know they like, or a movie you know they want to see. Something small but personal. Like you actually love them, or some such. Wow – that sounds preachy. You do you. Do whatever it is you do that shows people near and dear to you that you love them.

“A couple of busy bees down here huh.”

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“Do I have a treat instore for you two!” His laugh is a loud barking staccato that reverberates off the heavy dank walls. Standing silhouetted by the brighter yellow hall lights, the dark mass of the doctor is rubbing his hands together. “Oh lighten up you two. Je-sus!” He punctuates the statement with a clap. “I see you’ve encountered a bit of a road block with the Oracle network – yes?” He says flatly while pointing a wiggling finger passed Darla and Trevor to the orange access denied prompt flashing on the computer terminal monitor. “Yeah. Bit above your pay grades I’m afraid. No matter, no matter. We’ve got lots to do, and you two will do just fine.” The doctor is in a surprisingly good mood given the circumstances in which he has found the two analysts. He almost seems manic, from what small snippets of interactions Trevor can remember of having with the man. UB313 runs cold, not just due to the icy rock it’s built into, but because the doctor who leads it is a frigid bastard, in most instances. Seeing the lean and usually taut doctor so animated is disquieting. The two analysts are sat, speechless as the prompt continues to flash in regular intervals. A soft click emanates from the speakers on the terminal as the prompt continually appears. Suddenly the coffee maker buzzes loudly causing the seated analysts to jump, their pulses racing, sweat beginning to bead at their brows. “Ok, enough lolly gagging you two. Shift!” He gestures with two fingers for them to stand up, as the doctor turns on his heel to stroll out from the darkness contained under the low ceiling and out into the brighter yellow glow of the hall. His shoe heels clicking rapidly on the floor with his steps. The soft splashing of his shoes through the gathered mungy puddles is an accent to the heel clicks. From deep under the overhanging rock ceiling the two analysts sheepishly stand up and shuffle slowly out into the hall way. Trevor pushes Darla to go out first, and stands behind her slightly. Darla kicks Trevor sharply with a heel. Standing like scolded children caught with their hands in the cookie jar, the two analysts stare at the doctor questioningly. From both ends of the long hallway groups of people descend on the doctor and the two gathered analysts. With a mild look of shock, and subtle hints to fear or disgust the two groups of people split apart and try to shuffle past the doctor and his entourage without touching them or making themselves a target. “Shift change.” Blurts out Darla as Trevor nods in acknowledgement. The doctor is stood facing the blinking computer screen, lifting his sleeves to look at his wrist watch. “Well kiddies, we have somewhere to be. Come along. I’ve got something exciting to introduce you to!” He chuckles and sputters into a brief cough. With a snap of his fingers he points up the hall, towards his personal office space, also in the direction of his surgical bay. “To the bridge then sir?” Darla ventures a question. “It’s doctor, and no.” He replies coldly. With both a clap of his hands and a snap of his fingers he steps forward and begins the long quiet walk along the now deserted hall, the two analysts in front of him.

After several steps the PA system kicks on and a loud garbled message plays. A status update from the away teams black box. Hard to discern which team it is that could be reporting back. The fact it’s a sexless monotone voice means that the black box itself sent the report and not a living member of one of the teams. “That’s not a good sign.” Mutters doctor Jang half heartedly to himself. “Damn!” He barks, still seemingly talking to himself. Darla and Trevor look at each other nervously as they walk slowly ahead of the doctor.

With a handful of steps later Trevor and Darla notice that the doctor is no longer only a pace or two behind them, but has come to a standstill. Rooting through his pockets he extracts a modified personal communicator the size of a match box with a tiny red light on it. Pulling up the antenna he waves it around himself in wide arcs, looking for a signal. With a huff and a frown he steps towards the far wall with all of the pipes and dangling cables tied onto it. Looking around he pushes aside some loose bundles of conduit hung up on hooks and locates a small panel buried in the wall. Pulling out a key from his chest pocket he unlocks the panel and pulls out some long spiraling leads. Plugging one of the leads into the base of his unit and the other lead he clips to the base of the antenna, the red bulb turns green as he achieves full signal strength. Darla mouths to Trevor. “What the fuck is going on? Are we in trouble? Do we just keep walking and hope he forgets about us?” And just as she finishes whispering to Trevor they can see doctor Jang waving at them emphatically. He beckons them to come closer. Trevor starts to speak but the doctor places his left hand over his mouth and nods side to side slowly. His lips are pursed and the colour is flushing his usually pale cheeks. An extremely tense moment later the black box begins to speak.

***Last transmission_Code ETA Omega level threat detected. Approximate coordinates sent via read only text link. Message repeats – Lil Boat Peep has ceased to submit transponder data. Crew whereabouts unknown. Crew status unknown. Asset not onboard. Asset not retrieved. Asset unaccounted for.*** with a violent crunch the doctor throws the clips off of the antenna to clatter loudly on the wall. Unplugging the bottom lead, and carefully packing away the antenna, the doctor stows his communicator back in his pocket. “This complicates things for me.” The doctor mutters aloud. Darla tries to suppress a cough but only manages to cough harder bringing doctor Jang out of his thoughts. “Yes. Right. Both of you to my office please. No! Wait. Darla. No, no, you go to my office and Trevor. Trevor you go around to the bridge please. We need to have a quick chat.” Doctor Jang flashes a menacing smile, baring a little to much of his teeth, and crinkling madly around the corners of his dark eyes.

Part Twenty Two: Ghost of the Dirty Starling.

Watching the Winter Olympics

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And feeling rather blah about it. Not that I get all dressed up in red and white face paint and shake a flag around for two weeks at the best of times, but really not feeling it this year. We watched a few moments of Alpine skiing, half pipe, freestyle snowboarding and some speed skating. Not for very long, and with only passing interest. I remember years were we would wake up super early, or stay up late to catch stuff live, and to watch the over tired tv personalities wrangle with sports figures and get drunk on set and act up. It was hilarious and entertaining and fun. But this Winter Olympics feels like it has this massive black cloud looming over it, because we all know about the Uighurs, and the Human Rights issues going on there, but we are to what? Forget it for two weeks, forgive it for the sake of some live sports on tv 24/7. It feels off. Hard to shake even with all the pomp and ceremony surrounding the events. Doesn’t help that Covid has the stands bare, and it looks as hollow as it feels. But before we get all Righteous and sanctimonious, let us remember how many other countries are participating in Apartheid like occupations, and are actively producing human rights abuses against members of their own populations. So – yeah. Now that that has been said. On to something else.

After last weeks school covid exposure we have tested clear again today, thankfully. Our friends whose child fell ill from Covid from that same classroom has since passed covid along to three of the four members of the family. Three of them seem to be mild, but one is in tough shape. The little one who brought it home is now on the up & up.

Did anyone out there watch the new Ghostbusters? Was it any good? I kind of want to see it, but I’ve had a slew of bad luck watching reboots and things like that. I don’t want to buy it, as the cgi looked suspect. More cartoony than I had hoped for. Although now that I’m a middle aged man I realize that most franchise stuff is geared towards 8-12 year olds to garner life long fans. Trying to revisit movies you loved as a kid will deflate you fairly quickly. The rose coloured glasses of misunderstood jokes, or being enthralled by bright colours and slapstick comedy while missing the point of the film itself comes home to roost when you finally have more to bring to the viewing than the enthusiasm of child-like wonder.

Hold on, I’ve just been asked to make a pumpkin out of blue and yellow pipe cleaners. A father’s work is never done.

The sorry state of Ontario education at this precise moment in time.

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How can it be that the week prior to Christmas break, one child having a perceived exposure was enough to disband my youngest kid’s entire class for a week, and force them online, but now two (2) open and active Covid cases within her class room, actual students this time, isn’t enough of a concern? And why, while we isolate watching for symptoms can’t we access the Hybrid elearning that is currently in use while we watch our unvaccinated youngest child for signs of illness from a weeks worth of exposure from inside the classroom? It’s infuriating.

Not only that, but instead of a quiet informative email at the end of the day to inform us that they don’t qualify under the new rules they called out our kids infront of the whole class and then dropped them unceremoniously from their google classroom calls. That’s unprofessional at best. When I tell you that I was angry enough to want to hurt somebody yesterday, that would be an understatement. You don’t fuck about with my kids.

I had a huge additional rant here calling out several teachers, but I’ll not do it. I will say my eldest child’s teacher is amazing, and she deserves all the credit in the world for being firm but lovely. Really a credit to the school. She is wonderful.

Yeah, so day 57 am I right? I broke down last night and ordered some small Valentine’s day gifts for the whole family. I wasn’t going to, but eh! I’m a sucker for doing something nice every now and again. Plus I need the karma after how awfully mad I felt all day yesterday.

But I will say this though, if that’s how awful some of them act when they know they are being broadcast into your home unfiltered, how terrible are they in private to our kids when we’re not listening in? Ugh. I could boil a coffee pot in my hands I get so heated thinking about it. But I digress. Now we’re thinking about, hearts and poetry and kids giggling with chocolates and little hand made cards.

Spring can’t come soon enough. Sunshine, warmer weather, green grass, leaves on the trees. Gorgeous. And a shit tonne of rain in late March and most of April. Wash away the snow and bring on the warm sun. We can get outdoors biking, roller blaring, skate boarding and hiking again. The swings no longer make your butt go numb! Positively delightful.

“This is some serious A-grade level of bureaucratic bullshit…”

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“How the fuck am I supposed to get a sign off on these TMP’s without this stupid bastard program giving me access to the Oracle network.” Shouts a lone voice buried deep down in the bowels of the black ops base. A dungeon of an office space set aside from the general crowd due to the sensitivity of the raw data processed. Formerly consisting of a team of seven people, six of which have now been transferred, promoted or disappeared in the subterfuge sense of the word. In a dank corner of a sub-basement, where condensation trickles down the walls and languishes in stagnant pools that collect near the walls of the room. It’s low bare rock ceilings a glistening cold brown grey, which hangs heavily over the last operational computer terminal. The beige box is stained with finger prints and gathered blotches of mould at the edges. The warm orange text on a black field offers minimal illumination in the cold space. Empty of people, but cluttered with papers and three ring binders full of cross reference materials. The last member of the risk assessment team sits at his creaking chair, banging his fists on his table, and shouting raucously into the bleak cavernous room around him.

The young man is apoplectic and turning purple with rage. “I can’t get sign off to complete them without access, and they refuse me access because I don’t have any completed tmp’s to trigger the fucking alarms. What the fuck is going on?” The man shouts at his monitor from his sub terranean cubicle. “The shit I’ve got being reported here would have triggered a full on melt down from the top down only nine weeks ago, but now I’m totally shut out! What the fuck!” He bellows into his dim work space. The only source of illumination are the orange glyphs on his black CRTV screen. That and a dim red bulb on his coffee maker, seated beside his computer terminal. The cubicle itself, a sickly pallid green of rough canvas stretched over moulded plastic forms. The canvas torn and well worn from people resting their hands on the half wall when they bother to stop and complain about the speed, or lack there of associated with Trevor completing his TMP’s. With the soft echo of his last rant bouncing up the desolate hallway a repeated clicking of heels can be heard against the alternating rough stone, and metal grate flooring that makes up most of the ground at UB313. “Oh shit.” Trevor says, ducking down, trying to bury himself into his work station, his pulse increasing rapidly with every foot step he hears. With a jangle and the tell tale click of a ring finger tapping against the plastic knee wall of his cubicle, Trevor holds his breath hoping whomever it is will walk away if he looks engrossed in his work. “Ahem… Trevor, I know that’s you squawking like an idiot down here. What is so difficult about filing your TMP’s you have to shriek like an upset school boy? Hmmm. Forget how to collate the data sets from the pivot tables? Can’t get the amounts to not get listed as dates? What? – Well speak up I don’t have all fucking day to baby sit you Trev.” Demands the lithe woman in an ill fitting black uniform. Her grey hair pulled back into a taut and severe bun at the very top of her head. Making the angles of her nose and cheeks look more pointed than usual. “Well – Darla.” We drawls out her name, it tastes like ash on his tongue. “My access to the Oracle network has been collapsed, and I can’t complete my TMP’s because of it.” He bites off the end of his sentence sharply. “Don’t be an asshole with me Trev. You probably got caught selling short positions again based on the closures you’re reports trigger.” She cracks her knuckles and steps further into the cubicle. Having to duck low from the hall way to step under the heavy low ceilings of wet sharp rock. Trevor scoots back a few paces on his wheeled chair, nodding to himself. “It’s not going to work. It won’t matter.” He murmurs in a sing song voice of someone nearing their wits end. “Shut up would you. I’m trying to clear your denied attempts. Hmmm.” With a couple of taps, then more clicks and some grunts the woman looks around the cubicle, and pulls up an over turned storage bin to sit on. “I tried that. Yes, that too. I looked into the key stroke counter, and rerouting through my alternate accounts. I’m locked out.” Trevor says while watching the woman from under her arm. “Well fuck.” She exclaims. “I have one last trick. I’ll go get my physical code key from my office lock box. We’ll need to open up the hard drive and toggle the over rides manually.” She says flatly. Her lips pursed tightly together. “What the hell would trigger this kind of a lock out on risk assessments?” She asks, semi rhetorically. “I don’t know. Are we at war? We have several teams out on assignment but no asset retrieval that I know of has ever caused this kind of a thing before?” Offers Trevor in a calmer and more conciliatory tone. “War? Why the fuck would you say that? Probably some higher ups debugging the system to open up space for yet another long term project for Ze Goot Doctor!” She chuckles. Trevor shivers with disgust at the thought. “If the manual over ride doesn’t fix it you’ll have to go up to the admin at bridge level and ask them to fix it.” She says quietly. “What! That’s bullshit! I’m trying to keep a department of seven people running by myself. I don’t have the time for that.” Trevor shrieks defensively. “You just don’t want to run into the…” A shouted curse catches the two huddled employees unawares. Looking back from the dim screen in the cubicle to see the bright halo of light shrouding a solid black silhouette standing at the mouth of the cubicle clutching at their head. “Forgot about the low ceilings. Lady and gentleman. Who don’t you wish to go see? Hmmm…” asks the distinctive voice of Dr. Jang the defacto leader of UB313. Looking past the two seated analysts to the orange monitor to see the flashing access denied prompt flickering on the monitor. “A couple of busy bees down here huh. Do I have a treat in store for you two!” His deep staccato laugh echoes in the rocky sub basement drowning out the constant sound of water trickling into standing pools of dank dark water where the ever present musty smell tastes like copper on the tongue.

Part Twenty One: Ghost of the Dirty Starling.

Don’t mind me, just over here reliving the same day again.

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Can deja vu cover huge portions of a two year span? Or am I just going a little stir crazy at home, in a cold February? We had a few short weeks of something different, but we are back to the online elearning space to shuffle through our book matched days again. Not too awful for short preventative spurts, but draining and awful when they drag on for months without end. On the bright side, kids are safe and sound, after a narrow escape from a close Covid encounter in the classroom. I am also not as busy, and can afford to lend my computer to my child for class time for four days.

Well, we say four days, but after such a close call, a brush up against potential calamity do I keep them home for another few weeks? I’d feel so much better if we’d be able to vaccinate my youngest who isn’t quite five yet. Her little friend from play group is one of two currently out with Covid. Poor little munchkin. A fellow junior, and totally unvaccinated due to the age restrictions. We have our fingers crossed for mild/minor illness, since we know they aren’t asymptomatic.

All the best to other struggling families out there.

When covid comes to town – again.

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We had notification last night that there is an active positive Covid case in my youngest child’s kindergarten class. In another of the junior kindergarteners, all of whom are too young to be vaccinated even once unless born in Jan or early Feb. So even if the young ones have had a first dose very little time has passed for partial immunity to build. Ugh!

So this morning we were testing, and worrying and watching, and waiting. So far thumbs up, all good. Negative tests for our peace of mind. And a stay at home sick day for our troubles. We always knew it would come calling. Pushing it’s dirty tendrils into every facet of our lives. We’ve been very fortunate to only have a few cases in people we know and are close to, physically that is. People from within our semi permanent ten person bubble. Let’s just say it’s been a quiet two years with just our ten faces in close contact. Not that we haven’t seen others, outdoors and physically removed by several feet, and masks.

Makes sense that the greatest threat lies within our youngest child’s kindergarten class. Little kids don’t care much for the potential threat, and lose track of themselves when they get excited by play-dough or toys. It’s understandable. I don’t like it, but I get it. As far as being the weakest link and all that, I totally understand.

So – what to do, what to do, with both kids home, yet again. Glad to have gotten my work completed while they were in school otherwise I’d be stressed out. But no online school, and no work projects calling my name urgently. Day 55 could be a wash.

54 tonnes, what do you get? Another say older and deeper in debt.

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What’s with all of the extreme cold warnings showing up only on the weekends huh? That’s like when it only rains on weekends in the summer. Very irritating. Things could be worse though. Have you ever gone skating in minus twenty four degree weather? I’m sure that’s positively balmy for anyone in northern Russia, or Denmark and what have you. You lot must be made of sturdy stuff. Or you know better than to go out in it.

Feeling a touch deflated after yesterday’s late night revelation. I’m not certain how I will make up a 35,000 word deficit for book two. Perhaps I’m placing too much pressure on myself. I spent more than a full twelve months to write the first book, so I don’t need to complete the follow up in three months. I just hate having projects stretch on for weeks and weeks. Gives me anxiety to know something isn’t done yet.

I should note that when I started to write it was to shake my depression regarding the Covid lockdown isolation I was feeling. I didn’t start out writing a novella. I just wrote a bunch of shorts and then – kept on going. Then I tried to write a sci-fi short which in turn sparked an idea, and it snowballed into a book of shorts. This time around I know I am attempting to write a companion book devoted to a somewhat singular story line. It’s daunting. Easy to get discouraged. Breaking it down into individual chapter stories has made it manageable, but even then, with the thought of doing a dialogue heavy section or an action set piece has given me cause to pause.

Today is Sunday, which means nothing much is going on. I did get last weeks report off to California on time, so I’ll issue an invoice for that tomorrow morning. Had more work come in late Friday evening, so I know I’ll have something to do this week. Should be quieter than last week by a wide margin. Some free time might spark up the bug to write more this week.

In other news I ordered Spiderman No Way Home the other day, should show up in mid March. I look forward to watching it and maybe doing a late to the game review. As an aside – is it weird that the first teaser footage for D Strange and the multiverse of madness looks kind of tv movie terrible. Not the acting, but the camera work and picture quality. Could just be my television screen, and monitor and phone…