Episode 5: Freelance Teknosapien No More

About goddamned time someone hired me. Got a call a few days ago while trying to figure out what was wrong with Lillian's engine. Misty's niece comes across as a bubblehead but she's anything but that. She just doesn't know jack about engines. Me...I know a little and I guess that's enough. To have a little expertise in an area is enough.

I'd interviewed for Church of The Cathode Ray Tek Shop (no, I'm not telling you motherfuckers where I actually work...only the privileged few get that info) after getting a phone call from one of their reps. Finally, working within the realm of technology. Something I'll actually fucking enjoy for a change. Base pay is crap but the commissions will supplement that. I'm sure I'll actually make it. So anyway, I'm at the hospital, listening to the Escape from L.A. score...fitting, isn't it? That's when they call. I was pissed. Some idiot just interrupted my Snake Plissken groove...it had better be good. I was already frustrated as it was. Found out it was CoTCRTS and all was immediately forgiven.

After the phone call, I was still frustrated. Mainly because of an ongoing battle between iTunes and my damn bank that had been raging for weeks. You guys know that I'm only restricted to downloading freebie apps now? Yeah. Well, I'll get back to that because it's still going on.

Anyway, I dressed to the nines (basically made myself look like a hitman Tony Soprano would hire) and headed there for the interview. No problems at all. It went exceedingly well. Red ties really do work well, don't they? Something about black and red colors screams "HIRE THIS DUDE!!!"

It was while I was working on Lillian's engine trouble that I spotted it. I'd remembered it from my grease monkey days...a 2.7 Liter V6 engine produced in 2000....there were two models. One model took 6 quarts of oil...the other took four and a half. This was the four and a half model and it looked to have more than the required amount of oil from the dipstick's indications. Fuckola, the mechanics to whom she'd taken it were looking to blow up her engine!

"Don't...fucking...drive...this...thing," I told her, "Not unless you want your engine blowing itself to Kingdom Come and beyond."

I got the phone call shortly after I finished with the engine. Time to onboard with The Church of The Cathode Ray...I'm as good as hired. We took care of all of that today. Now...time to get crackin' on the work and sell, sell, sell. That's right, I'm pushing all of you into my world...the brightly-lit and glamorous world of cyberspace where you can get anything, be anyone, say whatever and break down the walls. I'll show you our final bastion of free society left in the world. I'm the bad seed, your designated driver of the datastream, your teknotourguide of this electronic landscape. It's comin' at ya...blazing like a Sirocco, blazing across the land into your town, into your home, slamming into your radio like a super charged nano particle of dark energy, messing with your mind. It's a landscape of blasphemies and truths with cultures both malignant and benign, full of sound and fury but all...signifying something. Where do you want to go? Our journey is long and better than any drug you've ever tried. If you think I'm joking, I can clearly show you examples that I'm not.

Now...let's talk Apple. Everytime I've ever needed to change contact or payment info, there's never been a problem. Now, it seems like since I got this new card from my bank...nothing's worked right. Apple says it's my bank, my bank says it's Apple and the story only snowballs every time I have had to tell it. A wonderful representative of Apple named James and his console cowboy partner Enrique did everything they could to help me, including getting me to an internal investigator. Let's hope that pans out. I need that Magic: The Gathering Deck Builder.

Oh, yeah...sorcery. Magic...I'm playing that again. I'd lost every game I'd played until the other night, my rough Pandora Deck actually "decked" Darrin. Getting Decked means that you have no cards left to draw and you lose by default. Nevermind that he played the Wrath of God card twice which destroys all creatures on the board and another card that kills lands. Those four good punches just weren't enough to keep me on the ropes or down. I may be tournament material soon.

It was a lot like watching Rocky. He kept getting his ass kicked but he refused to stay down. It wasn't even tournament time and I was playing like it was. It had to have been frustrating. In this instance, I was the manifestation of evil that just toyed with him until he was too exhausted and had nothing left to give. In the words of Daniel Day Lewis from the film "Gangs of New York", "Good Morning, Priest." He threw the Kitchen sink at me and it didn't stop me from unleashing my hellish hordes on him. In the end, it was only one of my many good soldiers that did him in. It just wouldn't leave him alone.

He has vowed revenge. He will have his opportunity. Only this time, I won't be as forgiving.

One more thing before I'm out...Terminator Salvation and Angels & Demons are definitely worthwhile movies to see.

Episode 4: Door To The Face or Insult To Injury

Have you ever watched all those comedies where it's just one guy and door after door after door gets slammed in his face? Yeah, well that's me.

I got a letter from Disc Makers. If you read between the lines, as I did again, they had a quota to fill. This comes after I found out that my hopes of going back to school online would cost me a cool ten grand six months after I graduate...with interest. I also don't qualify for grants because I don't have a dependent...fucking wonderful. I suppose that should be no surprise. Far be it from me to do the responsible thing by rolling up the sleeves and working my ass off all these years.

I could bitch about how unfair it is, but fuck 'em. I'll study the shit on my own and just consult others who know more about this shit than I do. Later on, I'll blow through those classes out of boredom and then tank anyone else in the business. I've gotta do something.

Today was another day in shit traffic. I drove like a NASCAR racer on a meth bender into Philly just to get Pop zapped again. This time, I met his doctor. Pop made the introduction of me as "my future son-in-law" with a smile on his face. Remembering that at least gave me the boost. After I was let down by the idea of going back into debt just to become educated about what I love most, I fell into a pit of depression. Coming back to this rejection letter was further irritation. These assholes made me get up at the asscrack of fucking dawn only to not be honest with me. I hate that goddamn two-way mirror shit. Look, if I can't see through it, take that shit down and put a damn wall up. Pretty simple.

Stacking the deck only further serves to irritate me.

It's not that I can't make it five months or more without working but I don't want that. I want to wake up, get out, go to work and come home. I want the decent pay and the ability to not have to worry. Sure, I despised my old job with a nuclear capability but, the truth is, I liked the structure and halfway knowing what to expect. I didn't like what I did but at least I was good at it.

Sometimes I look back and wonder how the hell this ended up happening to me. I know what happened. I dropped out twice. Something told me the whole idea was bad a long time ago but hell, if I'd known this was going to happen, it would have been a much different story.

Part of me wants to say, "Fuck it" but the other part of me is so pissed off that I wanna kick down those doors and tell them, "Guess what...I'm hired...like it or not."

I also kinda thought the double existence thing would end too but it hasn't...it's only gotten worse. Having to stash my second identity even further into the web hole isn't helping because employers these days are making more and more use of the internet and what you're doing on your own time against you. Fuck's sake, nothing is safe anymore.

This led me to doing what I do best once I was done. I was finished and I lapsed into my bored personality...where I just start talking shit as calmly as humanly possible.

There was only one cure for what ailed me. I fired up the PSP and began randomly killing people in GTA: Vice City Stories. I went on a wanton destruction binge simply because I could.

In other news, Squatter's out. This morning I heard the handyman and a representative of the local Sheriff's Department knocking at the door of Cube 2. Misty and I had seen him hurriedly moving stuff out the night before and now, here was the wrecking crew. The handyman used his key to access the open port into Cube 2 and while the Sheriff was poking his nose around...the handyman was changing out the locks. I've since seen Squatter come back twice. Nice nasty surprise. Try messing with Pearl again, Punkass! Next time, you might not be so lucky.

One more day of sliding down the line into Philly and then I'm off for a couple of days. It's not too bad as long as I have something to entertain me but that bust of Einstein in front of Einstein Medical is starting to look more and more like Heath Ledger's Joker by the day. Weathering effects have not been kind to Albert at all.

Episode 3: At Home And A Broad

Don't start griping about the incorrect grammar of the title. I know what I wrote and I meant to do so. When taken in context of this post, you'll understand why.

I got up at the asscrack of dawn for my Open House at Disc Makers. Ever wondered who mass produces those wonderful wafers of technology called DVDs and CDs that you love and enjoy so much? Yeah, it's people like this. I hopped into Pearl and flew down the highway into Pennsauken for this thing. I listened to George Noory interview Stephen Root (Office Space, King of The Hill, Bicentennial Man) as I tooled along the highway at a steady 40 mph.

It's a safe speed, a nice, relaxing speed. I wasn't laying the hammer down this time. I had some time to spare. Leaving the cube at six in the morning for a short drive that wouldn't last even that isn't exactly my idea of a good time, but, for the purposes of landing employment, it's what I had to do. I got there well before 7am, the time of the appointment and when they finally opened their doors, I was greeted with an application and basic skills test. Great.

What I don't get is that these people had my resume' or, at least, a copy of it on file electronically. I could understand the skills test but another paper application? I filled everything out and turned it in. Two people were called to the back for a typing test. I wasn't and neither was the other guy who showed up with me. If this blog and the fact that Criss Angel's chatroom telling me to slow my typing down aren't evidence that I'm a prime candidate for the typing test, I don't know what is. Another big discouraging wall was when a nearby hospital emailed me stating that my application for employment had been rejected because they'd found someone more qualified.

Unless the dude ran black ops for some secret police organization, I don't fucking think so. I can read between those lines and that was as predictable as the punchline to the joke about the psychic getting struck by lightning. Don't you find it repulsive that it's YOU who have to be transparent to your prospective employer but not the other way around? I'm calling bullshit on that. I'm going to apply again. They don't brush the likes of ME off that fucking easily.

I got back to the cube even earlier than expected. I'm not holding my breath on that one either. Then, I get a call. Another call center job that I'd applied for was looking to hire me. The guy over the phone liked the way I talked about electronics and, between you and me, let's get one thing straight. As it stands, me without an electronic device of some type might as well be me walking around naked. If I don't have my PDA, I've got my iPhone. If I don't have that, I have my laptop, my PSP or my desktop. I can ditch cigarettes much more easily than I can ditch my addiction to the world of the brightly-lit displays, satellite relays, SatCom or frequent runs in Cyberspace. If you can't tell that I want to make my concept of a cerebral 150 Terabyte Wetwire implant a reality, I don't know how else to spell that out for you.

Sure, I know a lot about electronics, I'm just afraid of bricking one of my devices if I start fucking with it. Last thing I wanna do is crack open the case to anything, make one wrong move and my device (whichever it is) becomes an expensive paperweight. So the offer of an online university to learn more about information systems and possible government grants was too good to pass up. I'm on board if they are.

After that little bit, I had to whisk Pop over to Philly again to get zapped with radiation. Needless to say, sitting there, reading Wallace Wang's book Steal This Computer Book 4.0 is an eye-opener. It occurred to me...why shouldn't I go back to school? Why shouldn't I get paid top dollar for my skills and why shouldn't I of all people be permitted to sharpen them to razor status? I'm already using my own sweet time to learn this stuff, dammit, I should get a piece of the sky for that at least. If my love for electronics and my own study doesn't show them initiative enough...fuck 'em. I'll do the shit myself, save up, go through the school and breeze through it with my middle finger flying proudly once I graduate. Hell yes....goddamn right.

So, here I was, sitting around a hospital, learning stuff about viruses, phone phreaking and social engineering. Dangerous stuff in the hands of a derranged madman but, in my hands...useful tools for my education.

As Pop and I came back from Philly, it occurred to me that Broad Street looked exactly like it did in the Rocky movies from oh so long ago...what a shithole. Speaking of which, as we were streaking along Kelly Drive, I saw something. I must have driven by it thousands of times and never noticed it.

"Is that what I think it is?!" I asked Pop.

"Oh that?" he said, "Yeah, I think that's Grant on Horseback."

"No!" I said like an excited kid, "That!"

I pointed and Pop got a good chuckle out of my amazement.

"Oh that," he said, "Yep...that's Rocky...Old Stallone himself. It was at the top of the steps of the art museum but the board of directors didn't like it so they had to take it down."

I was reeling as I piloted the car along toward the Ben Franklin Bridge back into Jersey. He explained that it had been moved several times. I couldn't believe it. All these scullers were heading out in the rain to go rowing these boats around and most of them didn't even take notice at the piece of film history...a piece of a proud Philadelphia moment...right in their midst.

I vowed that, sooner or later, I was going to get a pic of me standing next to it.

You really have to love how some things just work out.

Right now, my head is filled with images of helping to develop the technology we have in existence already. I'm ready to rock and I don't think the world will ever be the same once I do what I need to do.

Get ready, world...Genocyde's comin' to town...a fiery invader.

Episode 2: Of Men And Machines

Tomorrow begins Hell Week. Monday's the worst of the worst. Misty's dad will have to have me transport him into Philadelphia for the first of many many rounds over the next six weeks in his fight with stomach cancer. Doesn't help that Ma has lung cancer that resurfaced after 15 years.

So what'll happen? Well, I'll hop into their car, swing Pa down to one side of Philly to have the chemo popped into the port and then swing him over to the other side to have the doctors there at the other appointment zap him for about fifteen minutes with radiation. Geez! Talk about awful. I can't imagine what that's like for him. The other day when I did it, he and I joked about our respective weight. He jokingly told me that I could easily shed some of the pounds I've packed on with his weight loss plan. No thanks, Pa, I think I like my workout regimen and diet more.

Kinda makes you think about how early science fiction writers might have been more prophet than storytellers. These days, there are procedures such as cyberknife that can remove tumors without being as invasive as the arcane scalpel method. If you cruise through cyberspace sometime, you'll see that double amputees now have new legs that can make them run faster than you or me. There are even people working on cybernetic eyes.

Man and machine are melding in ways of which we never thought possible. Now, before you start thinking that we're going to be able to replace amputated arms with something that resembles the arm of the Model T-800 Terminator, think again. The problem with that type of cybernetic attachment is that we, as a species, fluctuate in size. Take Trent Reznor for example. Once, he was this skinny dude but now he's all stacked out from lifting weights. Imagine trying to train like that with a cybernetic arm. Parts of your biological limb would eventually rupture and tear away from the connections of the robotic arm. Not exactly feasable yet.

Pacemaker/defibrillators are one means we've accomplished cyborgs. Once the heart goes into an irregular heartbeat...ZANG! Welcome to the world of the kickstarted. Hearing aids have gotten smaller and more effective, advancements in laser surgery...name it.

Though there is better living through science and chemistry...we are all becoming cyborgs.