And many a word at random spoken #1 – National Recording Registry

National Recording Registry

Examining all the recordings was taking longer than Gabriel expected, but he preferred it to the rest of the group's work. Many of them had been damaged by the building's collapse, or worn by exposure to the elements and the passage of time. Still, the group believed in this work, and Gabriel believed most of all. The recordings were all that could be salvaged from the library, and they held the best chance of understanding those who lived during the library's existence. Even fragments of sound or seemingly random words could help them understand their ancestors, and more importantly, what happened to them. All of them hungered for understanding.

He remembered learning as a child that his world was new and hopeful, a second chance for humanity; that sometime in the past, those who gave birth to his world had simply gone silent. It took forty years to send Earth a message and receive the subsequent reply, and for a time, both worlds clung to that tenuous connection. But Gabriel's world had not received a message from Earth in just over one hundred years. Gabriel's people continued sending messages, their urgency always increasing. Nothing but cold silence came back home.

When one hundred and forty-two years had passed, Gabriel's people were no longer satisfied by silence. The expedition they sent found an almost unrecognizable world. The first time he saw what remained of Earth, Gabriel remembered the pictures he'd seen of her vast, blue oceans, and the childhood dreams he'd had of swimming in the Pacific. He wanted more than anything to remember those pictures when he looked at the angry, blackened water before him. Endless kilometers of ash and bone explained why no one had answered their messages.

If I understand how they lived, Gabriel had hoped, then I might understand why they died. So, he pored over the recordings he found in the remnants of the library, even though few of them were intact, and even fewer made sense to him. But the one he had just found was undamaged, and it was wondrous, a song sung by a kind, plaintive voice. Gabriel turned the volume up on his equipment, and fell silent. The messages exchanged with Earth were far more advanced than this recording; they had contained text, images, computer data, as much information as their science allowed them to send. Still, the voice in this long-forgotten recording said more than a thousand such complex messages could carry. The ghost of a man sang hopefully, and certainly, as though he'd lived until the end of time and arrived in the presence of God.

"We shall overcome," he asserted, "we shall overcome."

It was the first of many songs Gabriel uncovered, but the rest of the expedition found nothing so encouraging. The ruins surrounding the library were all that remained of what was once one of the planet's largest cities. All of Earth's major cities were similarly destroyed, and the planet's smashed computer systems were inoperable. As Gabriel spent weeks extracting and preserving the recordings, the group's scientists found traces of radiation left behind by extremely powerful weapons. Further tests revealed catastrophic environmental damage, even before the weapons were used. No one spoke openly of the inevitable conclusions as Gabriel's group returned home. For the first time, Gabriel came to understand why his world existed, why his people had left Earth, why he had been taught suspiciously little about humanity's history. His nausea refused to pass for days.

* * * * *

Ten years had passed since the expedition returned home.

The group had given detailed reports of their findings to Gabriel's leaders, and they decided to hide the truth of Earth's destruction. The public believed that natural disasters forced Earth's population to evacuate to an unknown destination. Gabriel had never disagreed with a decision so strongly, but he kept the truth to himself. Though he knew the truth could save them, that it could secure the next thousand years if everyone truly understood the thousand before, he knew that it could also mean the end of his people's hope, and his uncertainty kept him silent. He learned to live with his lies, even though he felt like they might choke him. We shall overcome, he thought.

But Gabriel's silence had not been enough. Someone from the expedition had secretly released their findings.

Their world had never known war, but the truth about Earth's fate quickly split his people. Gabriel's leaders cried out for understanding, for patience, for peace. The weight of Earth's history must balance against your anger, they said. If we do not choose our actions carefully, we will destroy ourselves as surely as they did. Gabriel was respected amongst his people, and he echoed the call to peace, but he knew it was not enough. His leaders discovered that the citizens most outraged at their lies were organizing, secretly arming themselves. No one knew what was coming, nor were they prepared.

The fighting was terrible, made especially savage by the fact that its perpetrators were as unprepared for violence as their victims. Gabriel remembered the blackened oceans of Earth, and was unsurprised by humanity's rediscovery of its cruel capacities. We shall overcome, he told himself, even as his cynicism grew, as he saw a million wills bend toward bloodshed. Only when rebellion threatened to swallow his world whole did Gabriel's leaders come to him to finish secret plans they had begun long ago.

Even though they had not known of Earth's ultimate fate, they knew all too well that part of humanity's history they had hidden. It was only a matter of time, they finally told Gabriel, until the chaos we escaped came to find us.

Gabriel agreed to leave on another expedition, this one possibly longer, and with an uncertain destination. He had embraced those words of faith he found on Earth ten years ago, he had believed that the lost treasures he brought home would teach his people the lessons their ancestors had learned at so high a cost.

As Gabriel's ship left to find humanity's newest home, he could see the explosions rocking its last one.

He was determined to record the true history of his people, to shout it at the top of his lungs, if necessary. He knew those left behind had to avoid the mistakes that destroyed humanity's second chance. He could not stand the thought of another expedition returning to the crumbling planet he'd left, only to bring back horrible secrets that threatened to end them. He had never liked his world's name, Novo, he had never used it. Had "Novo" really been so new when its people brought old demons to it?

* * * * *

Humanity came to the sixth world that had cradled it.

They had long since lived among the stars, but they had undertaken the arduous task of studying their former homes to better understand their past. They still hungered for understanding.

Their science lacked knowledge of any other species that had migrated so drastically and survived; humanity debated the significance of this fact frequently and with great passion, but could not conclude whether it spoke well of them.

The sixth world had been evacuated without signs of destruction. Their first discovery was an orbiting satellite, broadcasting a single message in multiple data formats, including an outdated language.

"We have found it again," she said, with satisfaction.

"We shall overcome," spoke a disembodied voice to the night.

Experiment?

I was browsing random articles on Wikipedia and decided I'd try something new -- I'm going to take a series of random Wiki articles and write something about each one. It might be a story, or a part of one, or just a few lines, but I'm talking something creative, not a book report. And, by random article, I mean that I'm going to click "Random article" for each one. No cheating, or picking articles based on the inevitable, lengthy Wikiexploration that happens anytime I look something up.

So, I'll start that pretty soon. Look (out) for it.

(Digg) Bush to Surgeon General: Shut Up!!!

"The first U.S. surgeon general appointed by George W. Bush accused the administration of political interference and muzzling him on key issues like embryonic stem cell research. 'Anything that doesn't fit into the political appointees' ideological, theological or political agenda is ignored, marginalized or simply buried,' said Dr. Richard Carmona."

Not surprising, but pretty sad. Who needs the bad old scary science?

read more | digg story

Happy Fourth of July

That time of year has arrived again, that special time where we celebrate our nation's birth, marvel in its magnificence, and pay tribute to those who laid its foundation. As always, there are many events in your local community where you can revel in America's greatness with your fellow citizens, and such events should be attended and respected appropriately. If, however, you notice that "The Star-Spangled Banner" is playing particularly loudly this year, or that the glorious yet DOT-approved red, white, and blue fireworks are unusually noisy, please understand that the racket is necessary to drown out the sound and terrible vibration of John Locke, Benjamin Franklin, John Hancock, Samuel Adams, Patrick Henry, Thomas Paine, hundreds of other assorted patriots, 39 dead presidents, Bobby Kennedy, 1,197,238 dead soldiers since the Revolutionary War, and the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Jr. spinning in their graves like nuclear-powered turbines.

Happy Fourth!!! War rocks!!! So does poverty!!!

See why I can't keep a blog?

Yeah, I'm still around, I just haven't had much to say lately. I think work is sucking the life out of me. Oh well, I'm working on an awful project that will be over soon, so that's cool. Maybe I will think of something to bullshit about after that.

Random Paul Stanley sightings...IN A CUBICLE

Lately, I haven't been turning the lights on up here when I work at night, so there is kind of like a Resident Evil feel sometimes, but I like it anyway. One thing that's really weird tonight is the excessive airbrushing of Paul Stanley in some random guy's cubicle.

Seriously, WTF?

Good times at lunch with honkies

I had some lunchtime fun yesterday that I'd like to share. I work in the computer industry, and right now I am contracted out with several engineers on a major project. I went to lunch with a few of them on Monday, and we started talking about the closure of the Mall of Memphis.

For a long time, the Mall of Memphis was the biggest mall we had, a large, well-Gapped mecca of typically shitty consumer goods. It started to decline for several reasons discussed in the link above, but basically, the number of crimes committed at the mall began to rise, including violent ones, and the local "news" "media" shit their pants in a mad dash to label it the "Mall of Murder." If that wasn't enough to keep Banana Republic-lovers away, the final coffin nail was driven in by its location in an increasingly African-American, semi-poor area of the city that was suffering from the exodus of many higher-income residents to the suburbs. Yeah, that's right, motherfucking white flight smoked that mall like a turkey.

Anyway, I said as much, at a table of four other white guys, one Hispanic guy, and one black guy. And, let me tell you, I couldn't have brought the conversation to a halt faster if I had pissed in the gumbo. One of the white guys, about my age and more or less in line with my thinking, assented with a nod in a pretty chilled-out way, as did the black guy, who understands a thing or two about white flight, I'm sure, from living in the national capital of scared honkies -- grand ole Memphis, Tennessee. I think the Hispanic guy probably couldn't give a fuck, except to laugh at the awkwardness, but one dude was like "oh wow...I can't believe you said that," and another sat silently in what I suspect was a stew of invigorated racism. The guy who commented is a nice guy, and I think he'd more or less agree with my politics as well, but what seemed to freak him out was just my having the balls to bring up something nobody wants to talk about, especially in Memphis. I mean, public works has near road-widening parties here so white people can faster escape their crippling, irrational fears of, like, jheri curl death squads, or some other figment of their Fox News-addled imaginations. All this while whole sections of the city have potholes you could drown a toddler in, not to mention crumbling buildings, schools, and other decaying remnants of an infrastructure serving people nobody gives a shit about. Fuck it, I'm not keeping the scary talk to myself while that's going on.

Still, good times, even outside of my sociopolitical-whatever soapbox. Go to lunch with a group of assorted white people, maybe some cheese-sandwich-eating goober from middle management, or, say, the weird lady in accounts payable with the toxic waste perm and find a way to bring up white flight in the conversation. Watch them scatter like ants unless they have the slightest clue of what's up in America today. Wheee!!!

(Digg) Newsweek: Bush approval hits all time low of 28 percent

"NEWSWEEK Poll: Bush Hits All-Time Low - George W. Bush has the lowest presidential approval rating in a generation, and the leading Dems beat every major '08 Republican. Coincidence?"

I don't wanna comment too much on this, because really, it's kind of unsportsmanlike to boast when somebody is getting their ass kicked this bad. It would be like shit-talking a man on crutches in one-on-one basketball, or picking on a retard. I will, however, share a mean but hilarious comment someone left on Digg: "the last third is usually backwash."

Congrats, caveman-like neocon assholes! The chickens have come home to roost!

read more | digg story

(Digg) Bring it on, iTunes: Amazon readying DRM-free music service

"Amazon is rumored to be readying its own music store for launch next month,
which will reportedly sell unprotected MP3s in hopes of cutting into the iTunes
Store's market share."

I hope other music retailers will follow suit here. It seems like market pressure might be the best hope of eliminating DRM. Trying to block thieves at the expense of legitimate customers is definitely not a great way to survive in a free-market economy.

read more digg story

Is that the sound of angels singing? No, it’s just Grindhouse being awesome

First of all, hello to the spoilers.

Now THIS is a comic-book movie. Yeah, I know it wasn't actually a comic book, but it missed a good chance to be. Grindhouse is the kind of movie I was thinking of when I talked so much shit about 300. See, it's fun without being insultingly stupid. There are no fucking queer jokes, there are no appearances by RuPaul knock-offs, there are no hunchbacks with questionable moral conviction (too bad, because Ugly = Bad Person, of course), and there are no handicapped-lesbian gang-bangs. In fact, Grindhouse shows a refreshing lack of any lingering flavor of "manly" by way of "excessive playing of video games and extreme living with parents." It pays homage to the cheesy, bloody, sometimes misogynistic traditions of '70s and '80s B-movies without absorbing all of their bullshit wholesale. But my favorite thing about Grindhouse is that Rodriguez and Tarantino chose to turn it into a Slayer story. And that's awesome.

Although Rodriguez and Tarantino's movies draw life from a hodgepodge of geek-cherished cinema, including all kinds of exploitation films, I don't remember either committing violence against women to film without reason. Granted, there is a fine line between violence in service of a story and violence for its own sake, and those distinctions can be subjective and difficult to judge. Still, think of the ass-kickers that both directors have brought to life: Jackie Brown, The Bride, Carolina, the prostitutes in Sin City. When you've reached that level of bad-ass-woman credibility, I automatically cut you some slack.

"Death Proof" is a perfect example of the difference between misogyny and just plain bad shit happening to women narratively. It tells the story of two groups of women: one murdered brutally, the other equally brutal in their vengeance against the murderer. To really stir up the pure movie satisfaction of watching Rosario Dawson crush Kurt Russell's skull with her boot, you have to go through the suffering he inflicted, and while it's hard to watch, I understand why those particular strings have to be pulled. Like, I remember thinking near the end, "you better let me see that fucker die." I would have preferred something bloodier, but really, I can't complain. I also like "Death Proof" as sort of a feminine retread of the talky roundtable scenes Tarantino is famous for. I was surprised at how real the female characters felt, and you'd think Tarantino would know fuck all about writing women if you focused on, say, Reservoir Dogs, but he pulls it off. And, Tarantino proves here, just like he has in the rest of his movies, that being a pop culture-obsessed dork is fine, but being a bitter, miserable dork who peers suspiciously at life through a fog of Doritos and emasculation is not. Somebody should probably explain that distinction to the macho retarded-gorilla powerhouse that is 300.

"Planet Terror" is the one that really stirs up my Slayer love, though. Here we have the go-go dancer with the secret destiny, the woman who finds her power by examining those places hidden in plain sight, who finds uses for all her "useless talents." She draws strength from the man she loves, but continues without him, leading those who survive fucking crazy zombies to a new home, a new civilization built among the ruins of a long-dead one. "One girl, in all the world, a chosen one." Plus, seriously, fucking crazy zombies getting killed by a machine-gun leg. What could be more Slayer than that? OR MORE AWESOME?