Gloriously Full-Fat Sunday

Have you seen John Carpenter's 1987 horror flick Prince of Darkness?

It's an odd and largely overlooked movie. It's not his best by a long way, but it is in part interesting because it pitches 1980s leading-edge scientific theory up against a very real supernatural threat.

One memorable scene* has the head boffin, Professor Birack (played by Victor Wong), making an introductory speech to his class. This is worth the admission price alone.

Let's talk about our beliefs, and what we can learn about them.

We believe nature is solid, and time a constant. Matter has substance and time a direction. There is truth in flesh and the solid ground. The wind may be invisible, but it's real. Smoke, fire, water, light - they're different! Not as to stone or steel, but they're tangible.

And we assume time is narrow because it is as a clock - one second is one second for everyone! Cause precedes effect - fruit rots, water flows downstream. We're born, we age, we die. The reverse NEVER happens...

NONE OF THIS IS TRUE!

Say goodbye to classical reality, because our logic collapses on the subatomic level... into ghosts and shadows.

Good grief, it gives me chills every time.

[* Actually, you can watch it here, it's four minutes in.]

However, had I been in the class I would have raised my hand at this point and asked about dental floss.

Why does dental floss not behave like any other substance in the world? Is it some kind of quantum mechanical anomaly?

I drop it in the bin, it falls sideways somehow, and misses.

I put it on top of the bin, it makes its way to the floor in seconds.

I roll it up, mix it with other trash and weigh it down with a heavier item at the bottom of the bin, and five minutes later it has Houdini'd its way out and is hanging over the side.

I swear it's laughing at me.

Perhaps my desire to impose order on my immediate environment by tidying can be explained by Birack's next speech, seven and a half minutes into the movie?

From Job's friends insisting that the good are rewarded and the wicked punished, to the scientists of the 1930s proving - to their horror - the theorem that not everything can be proved, we have sought to impose order on the universe.

But we have discovered something very surprising.

While order does exist in the universe, IT IS NOT AT ALL WHAT WE HAD IN MIND.

Which explains pretty much everything.

---

The following offerings (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed on Sunday 19 July 2009. If there's a name before it, I didn't say it and am therefore off the hook; only the naked ones are mine. I normally lump Sundays in with Saturdays, both days traditionally being light on content. But no. Not this week.

This is a gloriously incorrect Full-Fat Sunday.

As the day on Twitter starts, I feel like a spy checking the overnight signals. Though if I were a great spy I'd have someone to do it for me, of course.

News from Idaho has Rebecca watching a bicycle race in her home town. It involves muscular men in lycra. I am unsure if there is a whiff of tension in the air?

RebeccaHasWrote: Overheard - mom to her kid at this bike race - "so help me god, if you click that clacker one more time, I'm sending it & you to the underworld"

This tickles me; do they encourage the teaching of Greek myths in the local schools? Did Orpheus stop in Boise on his way to rescue Persephone just to get some bones for Cerberus?

There's not time to ask; another message is coming in, and this one looks like a real spy signal. Where's my decoder ring?

RebeccaHasWrote: 6sb5k9fpze Ignore this tweet, the smart people told me to do it, although, that looks like a weird code and I'm just not sure it'll work ~

I never did ask about this; perhaps Ms. Wrote will leave a blog comment to explain?

RebeccaHasWrote: And with that strange and unusual tweet ~ I'm off to swelter in 90 degree midnight heat. When is December getting here? Huh? Like, tomorrow?

At least she didn't mention panties today.

90 degrees at NIGHT? Ouch. But I'd settle for September.

RebeccaHasWrote: September? All right, fine, I can make it until then. I need to head North for the summers, I believe I'm heat intolerant. Age?

I attempt to be smooth and complimentary, but I think it hits patronising and nauseating instead. No good deed shall go unpunished.

Age? From your photos, it seems unlikely. I suspect a lack of alcohol.

There is talk later of a woman at the race flashing her boobs for all to see from a window. I'll not mention it here, as idifficult may be listening. He is young and impressionable.

On which subject, there are a couple of rogue tweets from the man himself on holiday in the sun. In fact, I think he's been out in the sun too long.

idifficult: Sorry for so few tweets. On safari hunting wild pizza. Annoyingly they have mutated. New toppings and they hunt in organised packs.

idifficult: My trusty blunderbuss was nearly totaled by three half-crazed calzones. I think they were Roquefort and mushroom.

And not content with surrealism from one source, the silver torpedo that is the aQuatic Queen without eQual rockets past, adding her two cents' worth.

Fishoutofsea: The clouds are cannibals today

Ok, I'm not going near that one. Thankfully, the next is somewhat more accessible.

Fishoutofsea: My hands smell like the doctors office...

Dusty magazines and the expensive face cream used by the snooty receptioninst?

Like my esteemed colleague HarryHotstuff, I have an indiscriminate dislike of receptionists. My conscience is clear; they bring it on themselves.

Fishoutofsea: More like mouth swabs and tongue depressors

A long and somewhat circular discussion about making money online follows this. I captured most of the key points in MOVING THE BUFFET LUNCH, but one final oddity from my memory drops out at the end of the conversation.

Amazon briefly had a "sex toys" category in the UK.

This is true. I don't think it lasted long; it was a bold experiment maybe five years ago. I think they mailed me about it one morning, but didn't announce it anywhere on their site. *checks* In fact, I'm totally wrong - they still sell them! Just go to their website and search for the first thing with batteries you can think of.

It seems they really do like to have fingers in as many pies as possible.

The final question for the day falls to Ms. Fishy.

Fishoutofsea: Does anyone else wish to be kidnapped? Anyone? ;)

Sadly, I'm not paying attention and notice this hours later. It sounds exciting.

Sorry, I was busy earlier and missed this. Another opportunity missed. Bummer.

My mood crushed, I blog the day's entry and sigh wistfully as I post it.

I present a factual, unTwittered epic. To improve the world, they should have considered MOVING THE BUFFET LUNCH: LINK

But they didn't move it, and probably won't now, either.

I shan't lose any sleep over it.

Night all, Indigo

This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009

I Can't See The Speakers

I've had some bad experiences with Amazon Resellers lately.

It's just a blip, a statistical anomaly. I'm sure most of these folk are hard working, customer-centric types. Service first, swift delivery, courteous contacts, "customer is always right" people.

Worthy limbs on a magical tree.

However, I have been in touch with a couple of Reseller Muppets of late. Pushy persistent upselling, angry mails and increasingly abusive replies, late-as-is-acceptable despatch as punishment. The list goes on. I explain to them that this isn't eBay; there's consequences from Amazon for being anything other than exemplary. And consequences from me in the form of negative feedback.

You can guess the rest.

I truly can't understand what possesses them to do this kind of thing.

But then, I'm not in the habit of peeing in my bathwater.

---

The following outpouring of thoughts (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed on Saturday 18 July 2009. As ever, I have little time to myself, but there's a nice little collection here.

I wonder how I managed it?

Anyway, the day on Twitter starts badly. I pick up an overnighter from Rebecca in Idaho that makes my mood restless.

RebeccaHasWrote: The mother sun has flipped up her skirt and is showing Boise Idaho her 100 degree panties. Is it never going to cool down today?

Wow, I'm glad I didn't read that BEFORE bed.

Actually, I'm not kidding. There's something about that word that always unsettles me. It's intrinsically rude and evocative. To me at least. Hey, I'm a simple soul and a cheap date.

But more unsettling things are afoot. In Michigan. Be afraid, though not surprised.

eolistpetite: ghosts decided to play a rousing game of slam/rattle last night. they seem to love it when i'm here alone. wish they understood insomnia.

eolistpetite: of course maybe there is only one ghost and s/he is just lonely? great, now on top of being tired i feel all icky inside.

I wish she were joking. *checks his use of the subjunctive - TICK*

eolistpetite: IndigoWrath's OR RAISED BY BADGERS: LINK - and like i said before; i loved those badgers.

The retweet of the previous day's blog entry is very welcome, and saves me the conspicuously self-publicising act. And, better yet, it tickles the best looking man this side of The Hoff.

Gumley: this made me laugh out loud which in turn got me odds looks from the other people around me in the coffee shop :)

eolistpetite: would it be a newfangled Starbucks - em NONStarbucks - you were giggling in?

It turns out he's someplace else, but did you see the news story? Starbucks are planning some unbranded stores that will sell their usual wares, but also some booze? Something to do with being less conspicuous and corporate, perhaps? Anyway, I join in.

Good morning *raises hat* Glad to see there's some laughter about, it's been very quiet thus far

I had some new followers earlier, pretty ladies no less, but they were just spammers when all was said and done and got the old heave-Ho.

On the subject of unsolicited junk content from slappers, here's the tweets for today's Spot. The. Spammers:

Wife just informed me she found a babysitter for this Saturday. This will be our 1st date in 2 years! Sad but true.

Ok goodnite hk, i am going to bed with my good friends mr cough,mr sore throat and ms blocked nose and mrs runny nose..

And the curious non-sequiteur:

Just had the rotors and pads replaced (several hundred $$$) then walk out back to see our tomato plants infected with "end rot"

If this makes no sense you may need to read PERKY YOUNG THINGS.

Now then, here's an oddity. I'm posting my blog entry for the day at 8pm. This is five hours earlier than usual. I think it's the sheer excitement of finishing a Roth spy story, plus the opportunity to use this hacked together picture again!

Damn, that's fun. And I'm very proud of it.

I am delighted and excited to present the latest adventure of Her Majesty's Finest, Indigo Roth - DOCTOR WANG: LINK #woohoo

Now then, another quick episode from Rebecca beckons. Damn, that sounds like an echo. More tech trauma; it's a motif for her week. Will the Ancient Gods of Tech never give her an even break?

RebeccaHasWrote: Upon dropping Mizz Blackberry on the ground--Rebecca "Nobody move! Quick, everyone pray and someone go sacrifice the goat down the street!"

I've just rushed out and bought a goat especially. How is lil' BB doing?

The news is ultimately good, but I understand the feeling all too well. I put my phone through the wash recently; I only became aware of it when I called it to help me find it. I finally heard it in the laundry room. Round and round it went in the machine, ringing happily. I needed one of those "In Emergency Break Glass" axes.

Would it work again?

Had there been a raven there, it would have uttered "Nevermore".

Still, there is some good news today. Although idifficult's exile to exotic climes continues, he's still tweeting occasionally. For example:

idifficult: Fed up with peanuts. An olive. My kingdom for an olive. Or a horse stuffed with olives. Whatever.

When are you back with us? It's not the same.

idifficult: Not yet back. Still in 3rd level of purgatory which it seems is occupied by a Robbie Williams impersonator

Whatever happened to Robbie Williams? Did he get dropped by his record label? Maybe idifficult is mistaken, and Robbie's been touring the hawaiian-shirted hell of the Mediterranean holiday circuit?

Angels will hang round his neck forever, poor bastard.

idifficult: He's never been as good as he was in Mork and Mindy.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is Wisdom.

But what now? I find myself lifted bodily from the water upon the majestic back of a true legend of the sea. I hear whalesong. On tape. Eight track by the sound of it. I can't see where the speakers are.

Fishoutofsea: The giraffe is on the hill. Do not question it.

Of course, I probably forgot to mention that it's really slippery up here. I do my best given the circumstances.

The police questioned it earlier, but they let it off with a caution.

Suddenly there is silence. It wasn't that bad, surely? Perhaps everyone went to bed at the same time? Or the internet went down? No doubt an Ingmar Bergman-esque cloaked figure will appear behind me at any moment.

Do you play chess, Roth? No? I should have known, you slacker. Checkers then? How about Gin Rummy? Rock Paper Scissors? Not even that? Well damn, that's awkward... How about that tricky hulu hoop thing on Wii Fit with the balance board?

Hell, if he does he's toast. I have snake hips.

I normally finish with a link to my blog, but I did that earlier.

*anticlimactic tumbleweeds*

Nite then!

Indigo

This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009

An Absence Of Red Words

There is no blog entry tonight.

This paragraph (and those above and below) are figments of a deranged imagination.

Hey, don't blame me; it's your fantasy.

Is this really the best you could do?

There is no red text.

---

To celebrate an early night ahead of a painfully early morning, I'll simply share a slice of my childhood.



I'd love to tell you that this song is symbolic of my struggle against all forms of bureaucracy and officialdom.

But actually, it just makes me laugh.

Sleep well, Indigo

This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009

Not A Mission Statement

To those folk who use the phrase "it's the least I can do" inappropriately:

This useful saying is a statement of modesty, an acknowledgement of debt and an indication of respect.

It is not a mission statement.

---

The following pocketful of offerings (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed on Friday 17 July 2009. It's an odd day, which seems to mostly be a disjointed conversation on Twitter with my oft-elusive friend and fishing-pole pin-up, Rebecca.

RebeccaHasWrote: I've lost an entire day & accomplished nothing remarkable. I'll never be on the quote board if I don't step up my twitter inspiration game

I'm unclear what the quote board is, but I get the gist of her comment. It resonates. Especially after I run it through an amplifier and send it back.

You'll definitely need to step up it up, else the only place you'll be mentioned is my blog. Kids will point and giggle.

I hope this is motivational. But I suspect I really should have paid more attention during the "Love Them Or Lose Them" management course at work. My mind was elsewhere. And I never did find out what colour they were.

Actually, I should make it clear to any folk who are thinking of following me on Twitter that I don't just bung any old tweets into my blog. It's a carefully crafted selection. No, I wouldn't believe it either, but there it is.

More importantly, it's never done without the permission of the tweeter.

And I ask real nice. It's rumoured that I am a gentleman.

Now, steel yourself; there is strong language ahead. I step out for a very long lunch and find to my horror on my return that the world is ending in Idaho.

RebeccaHasWrote: what sort of fresh pile of shit hell is this? "Wordpress failure notice" My site has died and taken me to hell with it. I shall now go vomit

This sounds like a Major Tech Trauma. If you've never beheld the dark yawning abyss containing a near invisible pinprick of light that is your disappearing work, you cannot begin to understand the feeling.

The vomit is probably not an exaggeration.

RebeccaHasWrote: My skin is still itching & my cheek is still twitching from the wordspress failure. Is my life so dependent on a blog? Medic!!

By the time I arrive at the scene, the paramedics have put everything back on track. However, Rebecca's point in interesting philosophically, and one that has nagged at me of late. I set out to prove I could write every day. And after two months of blogging, I've not missed a day. But it's intrusive, and despite the pleasure of creating something from nothing, it's definitely a mixture of boon and millstone.

I could do with some more real life, I don't need to escape from it.

Anyway, things have calmed down, the panic is over. I was zero help. Bravo Indigo, you're a true friend. We move onto cheerier topics.

RebeccaHasWrote: For the first time in over a month, I'm here on a Friday for the Followfriday fiesta. I'll try to pace myself over the day, promise...

RebeccaHasWrote: #followfriday The ladies that delight ~ KittenSaysTweet Rootedinstyle Tara_R Sarahndipitea missheathyrm Guaranteed organic twitterbirds

I clean my glasses. What was that?

RebeccaHasWrote: BTW I said, ORGANIC twitterbirds on that last tweet, not ORGASMIC twitterbirds. Although, some of those ladies... well... ya never know :-)

Myself and idifficult are also singled out for special attention, though not that sort. It's always a nice feeling to get the mention. Oh, I know #followfriday is used as a search tag for spam harvesters, but it's so damned nice to give and receive the praise that it's worth it.

thanks for the follow friday! Though obviously I'm deflated the word "orgasmic" failed to make it into the text near me.

There is a cheeky response, but I'd blush if I repeated it.

RebeccaHasWrote: Note - I've gotten busted twice in the last 2 days by a public twitter nark for unfollowing people. There should be no shame in the unfollow

I have to agree. I do this all the time, when following someone doesn't work out. I have never experienced a backlash. Oops, damn. Now I said it, didn't I? Still, there are odder outcomes on Twitter:

Ever been "named and shamed" by one of the spambots that retweets anything with bad language in? Good grief. Get. A. Life.

I had a few of these, but blocked it after failing to chuckle after the first. Harsh? Nope. I respect everyone's right to an opinion on morality, especially if they keep it to themselves.

The corn ripples, a glorious fin breaks the surface, and there is the distant sound of laughter. It can only mean one thing; the return of Fishoutofsea!

Fishoutofsea: God I wonder if anyone notices that I choke when I sing that song

This could almost be one of those zen questions. You know, the "If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?" sort. I am unqualified to answer this, but I know a thing or two about karaoke.

I often experience choking when I sing. They're always a tough crowd.

And I have the bruises to prove it.

Nite all, Indigo

This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009

Perky Young Things

Kids know the most esoteric things at times.

Here's a snippet of conversation between a hopeful eight-year old and her father.

Are we going somewhere hot on holiday this year, Daddy?
Yes babe, I think we should go to Timbuktu.
Really?
Yes. Do you know where Timbuktu is?
Africa.
Very good. Do you know which country?
AFRICA!
No honey, that's a continent. Do you know which country it's in?
Malaysia! No, wait... That's a disease, isn't it?!

The innocence of believing her mischievous father is endearing.

The knowledge that Timbuktu is in Africa is impressive.

And the rest, as the advert goes, is priceless.

---

In place of an archive entry tonight, I have a brief

Public Service Announcement

A while back there was a new type of spammer who padded spam link tweets with randomly generated nonsense phrases. This made it a bit harder to tell spammers from occasional linkers, and made us far more likely to follow them in return.

We all got wise to that one, I guess?

Anyway, weeks later, a new mutation occurs. Ain't evolution grand? We now have the same operation, but with the random tweets replaced by prepared English phrases from a long list, selected at random.

As before, they hope we don't notice.

I've recently made a point of reading back through a few days of tweets for any new followers to check out their spam links. And of course, doing this, I spotted odd repetitions of idiosyncratic phrases.

So here is a limited list of phrases that indicate spammers, to help you pin the tail on the donkeys. Perhaps you know some of them, and don't understand why these perky young things don't respond to tweets.

Way too many accidents on my way to get nick!

Here it goes again (shaky feelings cause by meds) God I hate it! :-/

I went walking for an hour with my wife and then rode by road bike for another hour—I am tired!

Click on the links above to Spot. The. Spammers.

And spot their repeating photos too!

Some of them seem laughably confused about their sex.

Do what you will with this information.

And on that note, goodnight.

Indigo

This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009

A Classic English Malaise

Did I mention that I finally caved in and registered on FaceBook?

Many folk have tried to tempt me back into its application-rich clutches after I had an unsuccessful sortie there three years ago. I found it all a bit overwhelming and in-my-face at the time, and I didn't imagine it would have changed for the better.

So I have been resisting valiantly.

But it became increasingly tempting. Photos of my Twitter friends, the chance to make some new ones, way more sophistication in the apps than three years ago, and another way to declare my blog entries.

Besides, I am not the man I was three years ago.

So, as a now-competant user of Twitter, I thought I'd give FaceBook another go.

So far, I'm pleased I did. I say that cautiously, but I am.

I'm in touch with all my Twitter friends, and able to interract with them in a completely different way. All the things that sounded tempting turned out to be rewarding; truly jam today and not jam tomorrow. Colour me surprised.

I'm still coming to terms with the differences between the two idioms. The fundamental differences between a wall and a timeline. The social differences between "ask to be a friend" rather than "follow til blocked".

I'm forty; these things take time. Alvin Toffler, the noted futurist, declared that:

The illiterate of the 21st century will not be those who cannot read and write, but those who cannot learn, unlearn, and relearn.

As a person who has started to resist and struggle with new concepts, I have to agree with him. However...

In an uncannily coherent press release from Indigo Roth earlier today, the noted "Career Slacker" and "Mistruster of Youth and Other Unproven Things" added that:

The truly illiterate will be those who venerate success over excellence, coolness over education, and reality TV over just about anything.

My manifesto laid bare.

Anyway, if you fancy a bit of FaceBook interaction with the learned and occasionally incisive Mr. Roth, there's a handy button over there at the top of the right-hand column to transport you to my wall.

I borrowed the icons, but coded it myself.

Hell yeah, I still got it.

---

The following badly-scrawled notes (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed from between Tuesday 14 July and Thursday 16 July 2009. Good gravy, I almost wrote 1989 there. Step back in time? No thank you, ma'am. I like it here.

For those careful folk who have not been following the plot, everyone's favourite part-time evil genius idifficult is on holiday. But he has his iPhone with him, which is just as well as he left his hot water bottle at home. Anyway, he send dispatches of his current activities.

idifficult: Take That tribute band. Wouldn't be seen dead at the real thing. No, scrub that, I bequethe my corpse for the next Take That concert.

Ah, there you are. It had been reported that you were dead. Which would work well for the concert. Are you still with us, then?

He goes suddenly quiet. Perhaps fuzzybumble has threatened him with imminent death if he doesn't put his phone down. He'll never tweet again with it if she sticks it there, believe me.

Spooky, it's like I'm really there.

But there's more important things to consider. Another imminent milestone in my blog's "unique visitor" stats. I promise I'll stop doing these once it hits 1000. The only surprise to me is that it's getting there as quickly as it is.

Good gravy, my blog counter is poised at 799, ready for the big eight-zero-zero!

And a few minutes later, success:

Yeah, 800! *does a confident and superlative victory dance*

Gumley: I feel a glow knowing I was a part of the process :)

I love this guy. Not in a yearning, Brokeback Mountain kind of way, just the fact that he manages to be so upbeat all the time. I tried it, but I just don't have the knack. As one of my main collaborators on Twitter, one of The Usual Suspects, a high five is long overdue.

Not just a PART! You were INSTRUMENTAL, dear boy!

Note to self: never single anyone in a team out for praise.

eolistpetite: what am i? chopped liver? :P

See what I mean? You can see how non-competitive sporting activity at schools took off over here. Winning is bad. It's the classic English malaise.

As an aside, I saw today that Norwegian three-piece A-Ha have new album out, THE FOOT OF THE MOUNTAIN. They've been getting a lot of flack as 80's has-beens, but anyone who bought and enjoyed their last album, the superlative ANALOGUE, knows better. I can't comment on this new one, not having heard it, but don't believe the naysayers if all they have to offer is some sketchy memories of hits from twenty five years ago.

These messages have been brought to you by Indigo's nannying Sense of Balance.

Returning to reality, a quiet question arrives from Idaho. It's from the First Lady of Boise, Rebecca.

RebeccaHasWrote: Just doing some Twitter housekeeping and noticed something. Is it bad I have more updates then followers? Does that make me a twitterbox?

Now, I'm pretty damned sure that at this point I said something witty and interesting. However, neither posterity nor my Twitter feed records what it was. Bummer.

But by Jingo, I bet it was good.

That said, I can offer a sobering thought. I have posted more than 100 times as many tweets as I have followers, roughly 1400:14. In the terms expressed by Rebecca, does that fact make me two orders of magnitude less successful? Yes, dammit. Yes it does.

The single entry for Wednesday is from the Queen of the Dice and fellow badger fancier, frogore. I must say in advance that I have no idea what this is in relation to, despite minutes of extensive research.

frogore: but hopefully no fudge : )

Fudge? Not on MY watch! Every word polished til it gleams. The clarity is devastating.

So, as you can see, it's a TweetLite(TM) day. However, Wednesday is also a landmark day; I post an uncharacteristically heavyweight, if surreal, blog entry. It's nothing more than an outpouring of a dream, but it was an emotional watershed for me.

I am emotionally drained by tonight's gag-free blog entry, WALKABOUT IN SIGHT OF HOME: LINK. Everything about me is there.

The following morning, there is more news from the States; eolistpetite has been making noises about buying a jeep, and it looks like the tale is drawing to a happy conclusion.

eolistpetite: thinkin very seriously about buying that sexy red jeep liberty.

And somehow, perhaps an hour later, the deed is done:

eolistpetite: the jeep has entered the building and it's almost as sexy as me. =P course neither will ever be as sexy as that black mustang on Highway 1

This is a blatant reference to my driving "skills" on our holiday in California last year. The views were incredible, the destinations magnificent, the passenger nervous. By her own admission, just like a very expensive bottle of ketchup, she doesn't travel well. However, the memory is a happy one, and my response is enthusiastic.

HELL YEAAAAAH!!

eolistpetite: taking the jeep for a drive. wish you could come too.

you just want revenge for california.

eolistpetite: not a chance. if you want to cross the mackinac bridge you'll have to drive it.

And there was me thinking it a police siren I could hear all the way across the Golden Gate Bridge.

eolistpetite: that was no police siren. that was your passenger.

Ah yes, E over high C. That explains the windscreen.

As she drives away, my spidey-sense is tingling. Or maybe it's pins and needles in my butt? Either way, it's more despatches from Idaho.

RebeccaHasWrote: Just discovered navigation on Mizz Blackberry. But my town is so small and I've lived here my whole life, try as I might, I can't get lost!

This is, of course, tempting fate. And it fails to take into account some fundamental aspects of the relationship between Humans and Machines.

Technology will find a way. There is no situation so simple, so trivial, that it cannot turn into an epic fail.

But there's more. Taking a theme that myself an idifficult were tossing around like an unpinned grenade only the other day, it seems that the annoying underbelly of Twitter is on display again.

RebeccaHasWrote: Needed: One super large can of twitter spam disinfectant. Must kill 99.9 percent of porno/ spammer bots on contact.

This is a subject dear to my heart. I wish I had an answer to it.

Spammers? They're totally resistant. I blame over-prescribed and improperly used antiviral software.

RebeccaHasWrote: the spammers seem to be in bacterial mode today. Spray with lysol, block, rest, fight the battle another day

Pornbots! If I had an extra inch for every one of those that spammed me, I'd be dragging bottom off the Mackinac bridge.

Unnecessarily colourful of me, and nobody responds. Just desserts.

And finally, after three days, the delightful silver flash from the depths indicates that we are about to explore The Outer Limits.

Fishoutofsea: My feet hurt? Strange...

Are they still there? It might be one of those cause-and-effect things the boffins talk of.

Fishoutofsea: Well I see you're beginning to speak the language of the fish.

She's tempting me into foreign lingo for the hell of it. Hey, why not? A little German, perhaps?

Ich spreche all sorts.

Of course, she bats it straight back in German, French and Spanish. Talented lady.

Fishoutofsea: Ach bien. Hablas le poisson?

Not to be outdone, I reach for the latin dictionary for the verb To Speak. I know it's the root of the English word "loquacious", but frankly I fell asleep right after I put the toga on. I find what I'm after, and toss in some Spanish and Italian for good measure.

Si, loquor pesce. Le DUH!

The Franglish signoff might have won me the game had I been quicker off the mark. But I'm too slow, and the brilliant piscine mind has flashed onwards.

Fishoutofsea: LOL, stereotype enforcement pizza

I move along with it, somewhat jollied by the P-word. Forgive me father, for I have repeatedly feasted on italian peasant food.

I shall be enforcing mine this evening.

And I do. Many hours later, I emerge victoriously from another epic blogging session.

I'm hitting the hay folks. But before I go, I'm delighted to say I can be occasionally found TALKING DIRTY IN KOREAN: LINK

And that, somehow, is the end of three days.

And good lord, it's early.

*dashes for the bed*

INCOMING!!

Night all, Indigo

This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009

It'll Probably Get Messy

Ever been here?

Knowing with all certainty that you are right, but also knowing in your heart that you're not?

Most of us manage to perform this lovely little bit of denial. Here's some of my personal idiocies:

I think - I need...
I know - I want badly, but do not need.

I think - I can afford it.
I know - I can't. I just want it bad enough that my common sense gland momentarily atrophies.

I think - I can move on and leave this thing behind.
I know - I can't. It's noisy and untidy and emotional, and no matter how well I think I've put it away, I still trip over it every once in a while.

I think - I can do this.
I know - Yes, I can. But will I stick with it? Will I get bored or frustrated or give in because it gets too hard?

I think - I am a good man.
I know - Most of the time. My failures are epic. And good or bad, I am capable of most things I put my mind to. There is a far darker shade of Indigo underneath.

I think - I am on top of it.
I know - It's on top of me, but at least I can see daylight.

I think - Things will sort themselves out.
I know - Actually, they won't. I just won't have to fix it right now. It'll probably get messy, and hopefully some other poor sap will clear it up rather than me. But in all likelihood this thing will come back and bite me in the ass while I'm bending over naked sometime and bless me with stress and inconvenience.

I think - I am a good driver.
I know - Excuse me while I roll around the floor laughing.

And my all time favourite:

I know what I'm doing.

Enough said.

Indigo

This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009

Fewer Books Than Lassie

I received a postcard today from a friend who is on holiday in Marrakech.

It immediately sparked ideas for a Moroccan blog entry, as I spent a few happy days there a couple of years back. There was excitement, danger, sunshine, and I got lost a lot.

The very Spirit of Adventure.

I'll dig through my holiday snaps and write a tale soon. But for tonight, here's my favourite photo from the trip; the magnificent Koutoubia Mosque at nightfall.

And who says cameraphones are crap?

Indigo

---

The following brief offerings (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed on Monday 13 July 2009. As ever, if there's a name before it, someone else said it. Unnamed blue is all me, baby. The day is started confusingly by Fishoutofsea. This is nothing new.

Fishoutofsea: OH and Goodnight Goodnight Goodnight Goodnight Goodnight Goodnight Goodnight Goodnight Goodnight Goodnight Goodnight Goodnight Goodnight

She's many hours behind me, and up way too late; she's practically noctural. It's a slim overlap most days, but always fun.

Before goodnight... *raises hat* goodmorning ;>

Fishoutofsea: Good Morning to you! I hope you have good fortune today...yes good fortune and chicken...

Thanks. The sacrifical chicken is on standby. Rebecca didn't need it.

It's the first day of idifficult's holiday. He's off with fuzzybumble and fluffy daughter to someplace hot. There is a pool. Beer may be involved. I curse him as I look around the grey Twitter wasteland.

Isn't it quiet in here without idifficult?

Gumley: In honor of the un-present idifficult: I followed my shadow home today to discover it wasn't my shadow & I wasn't at my home... Awkward

This gives me a mighty chuckle at work; it channels the man perfectly. My attempt at a reply is so dismally awful I can't repeat it. Ok, Adonis, you win this round. But I'll get you next time, my pretty! I'll have those Ruby Slippers.

Now then, here's someone new. And, surprisingly, it's another friend from the "real world". In the exciting world of Dungeons&Dragons, frogore is that rare entity; a lady. I know, it just sounds wrong doesn't it? Everybody knows we play D&D because we're sad middle-aged men who live in our mum's basements surrounded by comics and computers, and never spend time with girls. Well, it's not everything that the myth suggests. Gumley isn't middle-aged, and I don't live in a basement; it's a base of operations.

And I kissed a girl once.

Gumley may even have done it twice.

Anyway, frogore is a lady, so get past your surprise. Maybe the frequent chat between myself and Gumley while we're rolling dice has tempted her in for a stab at the World of Tweet (TM)? And here she is, hitting the ground running, making no sense at all.

She's a natural.

frogore: Fell up the stairs - was always more concerned about falling down.

If you can make it from bottom to even halfway, I'm in awe.

That's all she wrote, for now at least. I look forward to more later. I remember that learning what Twitter's all about takes time, and that on my first day I tweeted just twice. And deleted one of them.

Deep breath. In. Out. Continue.

The hotline from Idaho is buzzing. Yes, it's Rebecca. Surely she can't have broken the BlackBerry already? It was all going so well.

RebeccaHasWrote: Book 911 ~ Quick, someone recommend a decent book for me to read ~ I'm in desperate need right now.

I have poor reading habits. Last year I read the same number of books as Lassie. Actually, she probably read a few more. The bitch. Anyway, for some reason my two favourites The Box Of Delights by John Masefield and The King In Yellow by Robert W. Chambers don't spring to mind. A curious little book that was recently sent to me by eolistpetite does instead.

CROOKED LITTLE VEIN by Warren Ellis. Rather twisted and not very Jane Austen, but I read it in a single sitting (very rare)

I remember Rebecca mentioning at some point that she devours books in a single sitting, so that's probably why it came to mind. I'd not heard of Warren Ellis, but when I received the book I glanced at the first page and then found I had read the whole thing a few hours later. I'd not done that since I was thirteen. It must have something going for it. It definitely owes some nods to The Illuminatus! Trilogy by Robert Shea and Robert Anton Wilson, another favourite of mine.

But let's not clutter this tale with reviews.

RebeccaHasWrote: I've wrote down all the books & will be making a desperate trip to the bookstore. Thank You everyone that responded like true book heros!

We're all winding down towards bedtime, though frogore seems unenthusiastic.

frogore: Pretty sure that the insomnia is waiting again.

As I've no doubt said before, I've never had trouble sleeping. I don't always get enough, of course. In fact, it's happening right now, but that's my own damned fault. When I am in bed, I sleep. But I think of Insomnia as one of the personified abstractions I imagine occupying my house.

He hides under the bed, the little sod, and coughs every time you drop off.

It's been an odd day. The absence of idifficult inspires me to greater things with the blog, and my sign-off for evening speaks volumes.

As a tribute to the absent idifficult, I present THE SULTAN OF SLOTH: http://bit.ly/L6v8E #we #miss #you #matey

Absinthe makes the fart go Honda, as he often tells me.

It surely does. I look forward to his return.

Night all, Indigo

This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009

Hanging From The Lanyard

I met myself today. Well, a future version of myself.

I’ve always imagined that if I encountered time travel it would involve some exotic machine, a blaze of light, or a swirling vortex. But no. While I'm watching cartoons on TV, the door to my lounge opens, and in I* walk.

This is typical of me; the pizza has just been delivered.

[* To avoid tortured sentences, let’s call this future version of me “Roth2” rather than “I”.]

Don’t panic, Roth2 says, I’m you from the future. He makes a spooky "wooooo" noise and waves his hands to emphasise the point. It’s a bit clichéd and childish; I’d have expected better of myself, to be honest. It seems pointless describing him; it's me. You know what I look like. His hair is gelled like in the Roth spy photos, and he's wearing a nicer shirt, but other than that a casual glance still says "Indigo Roth".

I play it cool. I nod and utter a relaxed Hey, and wave myself to a seat adding, Cow & Chicken’s just starting.

It’s the awesome "Bad News Plastic Surgeons" episode. Roth2 accepts without question that this is important TV and not to be interrupted. He flops onto the armchair next to the sofa and takes the first slice of pizza from the box.

I scowl at him.

But I paid for it! he counters innocently. I can’t argue.

Moving the pizza box closer, I take myself a slice and savour my first bite. This is always the best, especially when it's ham, sausage, spicy beef, pepperoni, jalapeños and tons of extra pizza sauce. It looks like roadkill on a crust. Bloody marvellous.

We watch the cartoon, chuckling in all the same places, right through to the Photo-Realistic Beaver finish. No, I’m not going to explain; go watch it.

When are you from? I ask absently as the credits roll.

Ten years, he replies equally absently, as he snares another slice of heaven. I take a closer look at him as he eats. He looks pretty much the same as I do now. A little greyer, perhaps, with a few more lines, but he's generally slimmer and better muscled. The clothes look expensive but unpretentious.

We’re looking good! I say, and he shrugs.

We had a little work done.

I switch the TV off.

So? I ask, extending an implicit question about his presence while retrieving the box out of his reach.

Sonofabitch, just three slices left.

Social call, he tells me.

Oh. I say, a bit disappointed, You're not here to tell me something important?

Nope, it wouldn't help us. You can't change anything. It's complicated but you can't.

Perhaps I look crestfallen. He adds casually, Though your blog is doing real well.

Well that's something. The numbers are looking okay, I just passed a milestone. But it's a lot of work. A lot of time.

Roth2 shrugs. Just thought you'd like to know.

Just then, his cellphone rings.

Actually, there is a reason I'm here. I'll tell you in a minute, he says, just lemme get this. He fiddles in his pocket and pulls his cell phone out. It’s a smooth, painfully thin affair, about the size of a... well, a cellphone. It's black, with a blue pulsing light to indicate the call. It all looks very ordinary.

Until he starts the call.

The black smooth object is suddenly a bright, multicoloured object. There's no screen; the phone is the screen. Front, back, sides, all of it. Icons pulse and move on its surface, including one I recognise.

Hey, SKYPE call! Roth2 beams, and suddenly he does this movement with his hands, kind of a tugging motion at the corner of the handset. The phone is now bigger somehow, about the size of a paperback. He turns it sideways in his hands and tugs at it again. It's now the size of a sheet of printer paper. It somehow looks a bit thicker than it did before.

He thumbs a control and the call starts. As I peer over his shoulder, I see a familiar face.

GUMLEY! we both cheer, pleased to see him; I guess some things don't change. The man is looking good. To be honest, he doesn't look a day older. The bastard. On the screen, palm trees wave in the background; he's calling from his place in Hawaii. He's not surprised to see us both. Apparently Roth2 has been planning this trip for a few months.

We chat for a while about Gumley's ever expanding motorbike collection and the 27th James Bond movie. Roth2 and myself each help ourselves to another slice of pizza.

This all seems rather natural, despite its obvious weirdness.

After the call, I look at the "phone". He tells me it's called the ELLIPSIS, and quickly describes what it can do. A lot of it doesn't make sense, but I let it go. It looks one sweet handset though. There's no camera, he tells me, just some kind of "reflection capture" technology. SKYPE was a breeze, and it occurs to me that we were able to look at the person rather than the camera.

Apparently one of the top selling applications turns the fully extended handset it into a mirror. Go figure.

He takes a picture and says he'll send it to me somehow.

I ask about surfing. He thumbs a control and a full sized keyboard appears on the surface, superimposed on his "wallpaper". I note with interest that this image is The Golden Gate Bridge.

A thought occurs to me. How do we have reception for the internet? I ask, puzzled. He thumbs towards the hallway.

The door’s still open. The timegate is still active. My network is still accessible.

I look through the door, expecting to see some exotic view of the future. I don't.

But that's just my hallway. I say, feeling stupid.

Nope, it’s my hallway. You still live here in ten years.

I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Am I still living on my own?

He shifts restlessly, perhaps feeling like he's said the wrong thing. He fiddles with his phone, pushing and thumbing and collapsing it til it's miraculously back to being a black cellphone. He puts it in his pocket and looks directly at me.

Look, I can tell you anything you like, he says. As I told you earlier, it won't upset anything. But I don't think you want to know the future, because you can't change it. You have total freewill, and I am the result. But if you know how you get from A to Z, most of the letters will feel pretty meaningless.

I abandon the subject. I'm not going to get anything out of him, and I suspect it'll be conceptually slippery.

A slightly different thought occurs to me.

Is the lion still here?

He laughs. No, he’s president of Iceland!

The irony of this is not lost on me, but if you don't get the joke you’ll need to read DOCTOR WANG.

On that note, Roth2 stands up and says he has to go, and promises to drop by another time.

But you said there was a reason you were here. I remind him.

Yep! he acknowledges, and walks round the table to the pizza box. Flipping the lid, he takes the final slice. He walks towards the door and takes a bite. Speaking through the mouthful of cheese, meat and tomatoes he tells me,

I fancied a pizza. And if we share it, it's half the fat, right?

He pats his stomach, which is slimmer than mine. And with a wink, he walks to the door and vanishes. There's a brief discontinuity in the view through the door as the timegate closes. The hallway is unchanged and empty.

Asshole, I sigh, still hungry.

I'm glad I didn't offer him a beer.

But I notice a thumbdrive hanging by a lanyard on the door handle.

I've just checked the drive; there's a single picture on it.


Goodnight everyone, whenever you are.

Indigo

This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
The photo of Roth and Roth2 is copyright © Indigo Roth, 2019

Heroic Doses Of Coffee

It's happy hour at Camp Roth.

My blog stats have just told me that my number of unique visitors has reached 1,000. That's just mind boggling for me. One thousand distinct visits to read my blog. That doesn't include my visits, by the way, those are excluded automatically.

It's you lot, gawd bless you.

So, to celebrate this proud event, I am giving myself the night off. I could do with a sane bedtime, to be honest. I turned in at 2am last night and was a zombie for most of the day despite heroic doses of coffee, so I think I deserve it. Plus, it will give me a bit of extra time to prepare the pictures for tomorrow, which may be fiddly.

See? I'm even doing teasers now.

I'd love the numbers to be an order of magnitude higher, to be reaching a bigger audience, but these things take time and I'm a patient man. Build it and they will come, as James Earl Jones almost said to Kevin Costner in 1989. Fans of the blog from the very beginning will know that I've used that joke before.

But it seems pertinent today, at the begining of the next phase.

I want to sincerely thank everyone who has taken the time to read the blog, I'd be talking to myself without you. I hope you've enjoyed it. And I must offer particularly huge thanks to the following people for inspiring the nonsense I write about.

My best mate idifficult often tells me that I'm gonna go viral any day now. I have no idea what that means, but gosh it sounds exciting, doesn't it?

Sleep well, and once again, THANK YOU.

Much love, Indigo

This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
CAMP ROTH is a location, and not a lifestyle choice

Rhubarb & Roquefort Pie

I'm feeling very nostalgic today.

This time last year I was in California having fun with eolistpetite.




Happy times, I miss them.

Indigo

---

The following snippets (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed on Saturday 11 July and Sunday 12 July 2009. My weekend time is rarely my own, but this weekend it was especially true. Some fun stuff on Saturday, but then a shedload of driving on Saturday afternoon, evening and Sunday.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Rewind to Saturday. The masculine glory of my good friend Gumley kicks off the day.

Gumley: My bike is looking mighty fine right now.

He posts a link, but I'm going to post the picture; she's a beaut.

Of course, this kind of pride often comes before a fall. In fact, Irony told me the other day that she considers Pride her own personal Deadly Sin. We shall see.

My day demands that I am several hours distant by car, in the mythical realm of Croydon. A 40th birthday party awaits. No, not mine; that milestone passed late last year with little fanfare.

However, before I leave I am compelled to get something off my chest. I'm a fool, and it never pays to hide it.

I must apologise humbly to HarryHotstuff for referring to him as HarryHotspur yesterday. I must have dreamed that name. Sorry matey.

The genuine item known as HarryHotstuff affably dismisses my idiocy. What a gent.

The journey south is as troublesome as ever, and takes three hours rather than the usual two. An audio book of Octopussy keeps me company, but it's poor fare and I arrive somewhat ragged around the edges.

And rather late. Two hours later than the time on the invitation. My apologies are waved aside as unnecessary, but it's still bad form on my part. In my defence, I'd left the house "only" an hour late. Karma did the rest.

The gathering of old friends and their families is rather nice, though my general lack of ease in these situations doesn't improve with age. But it's good to catch up. And the food is good. A little too good, in fact.

The drive home is easy, but thanks to a "quick" outing before the Croydon trip, my total wheeltime for the day is seven hours. I settle into blogging straight away, but work on the entry is long and hard; I'm tired and I've eaten way too much of all the wrong things. I may explode. But in the end, a thematically foody effort emerges at 1am. What a trooper.

There's no point denying it, you wouldn't believe me if I did. There was NOTHING GREEN AND LEAFY: LINK

And as a final hat-tip to the great man:

Before I go... As a belated #followfriday, I salute the sparkly wit of HarryHotstuff. I have double-checked his name this time. F.A.B.!

And as Virgil blasts off in Thunderbird Two in clouds of nostaglia, I slip away quietly to bed. My sleep is restless and disturbed; that'd be the double portion of rhubarb and roquefort pie I ate before bed.

No, it was not quiche, and I resent the implication.

Sunday starts blearily, and once again the day is mapped out in front of me. More driving. Another trip to London. But lots of fun to be had, so no bother. Though I'm pretty sure open eyes would make the journey safer?

OK, off on mission again today. Back late again. This will never do, but occasional weekends containing a social life are to be treasured.

This is true, and a fact I forget. While I am down in London, I catch up with Gumley and the D&D crowd. The lad reveals that he's had a nasty scrape on his beloved bike that morning. He's ok thankfully, but things are not looking good for his magnificent steed.

Yes, Irony is working her mischief.

Gumley: Came off the bike this morning and she's bleeding pretty bad, I feel rotten. She is so young & pretty & will need much TLC to recover :(

We remove our hats in respect, and hope she will make it.

As the day draws to a close, the prodigal daughter returns. Rebecca is back from "the sticks" and not best pleased about it. Still, if we lived in beautiful places rather than visiting them, we'd forget they were special. Ask anyone who lives in famous capital city; I've lived within spitting distance of London most of my life, and despite it being historically and architecturally magnificent, I can't abide the place.

RebeccaHasWrote: Home again and that entire notion of "home is where the heart is" NEVER occurs to my heart. Frankly, I want to be away, away & gone again

I wave cheerily and shout what I hope is an encouraging hello, but the call of the wild is strong in her.

RebeccaHasWrote: thank you for the welcome back. I'm sure I'll be able to stick around for a few days this week anyway ~ How are you?

Not bad, thanks. Ten hours driving this weekend; a lot for me, perhaps not for your average outdoors type ;>

Anything over a couple of hours is a significant trip in the UK; in the USA and Canada, the car is still warming up. You may not know, but you can reach the coastline of all English counties in five hours from London.

RebeccaHasWrote: 10 hours is a good start. Hopefully you got to see many interesting landscapes & stopped often to enjoy things.

Sadly no, this was functional, featureless motorway/freeway driving, all about the destination and not the journey.

It has been a fun day, but I'm dog tired.

RebeccaHasWrote: Destination is a great reason for driving long distance, especially in good company

I haven't the heart to tell her I was on my own.

Good night all, Indigo

This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009

In Nomine Pingu

I had an odd phone call earlier.

It was a spammer asking me if I would carry advertising for his Teeth Whitening Product on my blog. You know the one:

The Secret Teeth Whitening Combo Discovered By A Mom That Your Dentist Doesn't Want You To Know About!

I was furious.

Why would I do that?! I bellowed, I would only endorse a product I use! It would be wrong of me to do otherwise! My teeth are pearly white, and even if they did need whitening, there's no way on earth I would use your product!

The man went on to explain that while there were no funds available to pay me for the advertising, he could arrange for Dominos to deliver me a large pizza, free of charge, every day for a year.

Hang on, I said. I'll put Mr. Roth on.

---

The following highlights (shown in blue) are from my Twitter feed on Thursday 9 July 2009. Unusually, there's no overnight activity on Twitter from Fishoutofsea. There's a few tweets from Rebecca in Idaho though, and to be honest this morning they're pretty much indistinguishable.

RebeccaHasWrote: My neighbor got a goat. I live in the city. They walk it on a leash and the thing is currently crying like a baby. I'm not feeling neighborly

I wish I'd known that yesterday. I could have embellished my Captain Quint reference with "We're gonna need a bigger goat!"

You'll have to reread THREE WHEELS NOT FOUR to get to the bottom of that one. No, I'm not going to tell you.

RebeccaHasWrote: At first I laughed, I wanted to ask them if they ran out of dogs at the pound to adopt, now I want to be the troll under the bridge

Her line of thinking then takes a criminal turn. I'm not surprised. But as a sufferer in a noisy neighbourhood, I sympathise.

RebeccaHasWrote: Yup, thats what I'm going to do, go scout me some neighborly goat with my Blackberry. See if they claim it's just the same as a dog

RebeccaHasWrote: The things I do for twitter! I can now add trespassing & being caught to the list. Dude: Hey, what are you doing! Me: Twittering your goat

And that is a lesson for us all. Who says Twitter isn't educational? You can read the full and disgraceful truth of this event in BILLYGOAT CRY AND A TRESPASSING TWITTERBIRD.

This endorsement of a third-party blog is sponsored by a pretty lady in a hat in Idaho.

Thankfully, things then settle down into the traditional pattern. The incomparable and incomprehensible idifficult fires one across my bows. Have I ever showed you a proper photo of him?

idifficult: why does my body think hair growing out of my ears will be in anyway useful to me? I'm thinking of braiding it.

I've been to Germany. I've seen arm hair plaited. It ain't pretty. I offer an easier and hipper surfer-dude alternative.

Dreadlocks.

At this point, I have to step out for most of the day on an urgent family errand. But just look what happens while I am away. It's the usual suspects: idifficult, eolistpetite, Gumley. This is just a snippet of it.

idifficult: Look wombo. To wombo. He wombos. They wombo. Wombology. It's first grade stuff.

Gumley: I'm a bit of a Wombology novice. I keep mixing it up with Wambology - it gets very embarrassing

eolistpetite: that's odd. i thought it was Wumbology?

Gumley: oh no no, Wombo, Wambo and Wumbo are three very different studies of interest. I couldn't pick a favorite though

eolistpetite: ah. then more study is definitely needed. perhaps we could solicit a government grant?

Gumley: Yes! We could develop a combined study of all three and call it Womwambamu! Oh my I'm getting far too excited by this.

idifficult: I go to my barber. Barber: What would you like, Your Holiness? Me: Short back, sides and ears please. Note: My barber thinks I am the Pope

eolistpetite: you aren't the pope? i'm so dissapointed.

idifficult: I'm the Dalai Lama, but I try not to wear red as much now

When I arrive back and see the mess, I take them all to task.

*looks about in disbelief* what the hell happened while I was out? Is that a Womble?! And did you get yourself ANOINTED again, young man?!

The new pontiff idifficult looks about shiftily and tried to hide his cassock. The door slams as Gumley makes a break for it. And eolistpetite seems not to notice my arrival as she wanders in from the kitchen with garlic bread and beer for the three of them.

eolistpetite: ah the Dalai Lama sans red. my mistake...

This is the final straw. I was only out for a couple of hours, for heaven's sake.

Oh good gravy, don't ENCOURAGE him! He KNOWS that anointment doesn't come off! It's FOREVER! Just picture having THAT in an old folks' home!

I calm down quickly as I see their guilty faces. How could I be angry as these mischievous kids?

Sorry, I'm channelling my aunt. She was a powerful figure in my youth, being a devout Pelican. Hmmm. Do I mean Puritan? No. No, we're good.

This excites Michigan's sweetheart. She comes from pious stock, but secretly wishes she didn't.

eolistpetite: a devout Pelican? you're kidding right? my ancestors were devout Pelicans! maybe we're related?

Ah yes, another childhood that was rich in Omega3.

eolistpetite: very rich, they wore tuxes 24/7 as i recall.

Wait, that doesn't sound right.

Tuxes? Ah, then they must have been devout Penguins, not Pelicans?

eolistpetite: Pelicans in Penguins clothing... one must do all they can to convert the masses.

Having seen worrying websites for "global congregations" of late, I have to agree with her. Still there's still room for levity. If there's not, we're all lost.

Ever seen a Penguin bishop? PURPLE and white! The Penguin Pontiff is albino, of course.

This foxes them; they've got nothing. I win. YEAH! But suddenly I am tired.

Don't feel like blogging tonight, I may give it a miss.

Gumley: Nooo! No blog? That's just not right, I read them either before bed or upon waking everyday, I'll miss your words Mr Indigo

I didn't see him creep back. And bless him, he's endearing.

Ladies, take note; this man is handsome, fun, honest, charming and humble. And you thought they were a myth. And OK, I'll blog.

I folded like a cheap deck chair, shame on me. Another late night because of Bambi eyes.

idifficult: he'd be perfect if he could fit evil and brooding in.

Somehow, I can't see that happening. He smoulders, of course, but I don't need to tell you that. I work for a few hours and come up with the goods. I can imagine the lad clapping his hands down in London excitedly. If he wasn't fast asleep.

Tonight, in tribute to my alter ego Rebeccahaswrote, I am pleased to report that I experienced THE GRUNT OF THE WILD: LINK

But the day is not over; I get sidetracked into more nonsense before I can cover my head with the duvet. The self-confessed "CrackBerry Whore" behaviour Rebecca has picked up is being noticed by her family.

There may even be an intervention.

RebeccaHasWrote: Him: "are you going to be on that blackberry everytime we get in the car?" Me: "it keeps beeping, it needs me" Him:"beep beep" the car horn

I'm the same with pizza. It needs me. Ask eolistpetite, she's as sane as the next man. Sadly the next man is idifficult.

RebeccaHasWrote: I beep for pizza as well, and tweets, and now goats - did you find us a bigger goat? - sane is highly overrated

As is often the case in these situations, I wonder what Forrest Gump would say.

Sanity is as sanity does. Good news; there is always a bigger goat. And Dear God, I hope there is always a bigger pizza.

I then notice the late hour. How does this keep happening?

Good grief, almost 1am. I love you all dearly, but I need some sleep else I'll be all grumpy tomorrow. Hockey mask and chainsaw, capiche?

Excuse me, I'm mixing my horror metaphors. That should be hockey mask and MACHETE. I must be tired. Nite all =)

They all wave cheering from their own beds as I collapse into mine.

And today, I'll do the same.

Nite all, Indigo

This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009

Moving The Buffet Lunch

When I'm not here, I'm a writer and designer for a large American corporation. But back in 1993, I did a very different job.

I was a Middle Eastern Journalist.

I'll stand back and let that sink in for a moment. It's an old trick of mine. I used the line at weddings and other social gatherings, whenever I was thrust into the company of strangers. I loved the awed look it got, and the mixture of emotions it evoked without me saying a word.

In late eighties and early nineties, the brave/crazy hacks working in the region got themselves kidnapped rather a lot, and Beirut was never far from the headlines. It was a dangerous job and life. I while I did work in the Middle Easterm computing press, but the fact that my office was in the Home Counties of England never made it into conversation. The company had an office in Dubai, I would say, though I never went there.

Anyway, nudging this little tale a little closer to its point, for one glorious week when I was a Middle Eastern Journalist (sorry), I was sent to California to cover a UNIX conference in Santa Cruz. It was my first visit to the States, and I had a fabulous time. If you've not visited California and San Francisco in particular, I can totally recommend it. Very laid back people, nice weather, beautiful scenery.

The conference itself was unremarkable; product announcements, a few tech demos, photo ops with CEOs, the usual. However, there were two notable events at the conference that will be significant in my heart and mind forever.

The first was the first ever public demo of ordering pizza online. I was quite excited about this, pizza being a subject dear to my heart.

In a busy auditorium, the sales guy used a high-spec PC running the Mosaic browser to place an order for a dozen pizzas from the Santa Cruz Pizza Hut franchise a few miles down the road. It was a primitive interface; limited choice, no extra toppings, no credit card payments. But the order was placed quickly and efficiently, and delivery promised for 20-25 minutes. That done, the guy talked about the technology involved, the pilot project installation at the local store, and the possibilities for the future.

25 minutes came and went. He did his best to cover, working the stage like a hyperactive presenter on QVC.

After 35 minutes, he was called to the edge of the stage and handed a note. He visible wilted. Returning to centre stage, he shamefacedly announced that, while the technology had worked perfectly, the delivery guy was new and had got lost. The pizza would be a few more minutes.

We laughed with him over this. He had the decency to 'fess up and did it with some humility. Besides, we were gonna get fed, what did we care?

The pizza arrived with some fanfare a few minutes later. And true to my nature, I was at the front of the queue, and ate the very first slice of the very first pizza in the very first public online pizza delivery. In the world. Ever.

A minor claim to fame, but it's a slice of Meat Lovers that I am truly proud to have eaten.

Yes, sixteen years later, I still need to get out more.

The second event was a hastily convened discussion about the commercial implications of the internet. A few vendors, no agenda, a one hour timeslot, and as many folk as they could cajole away from the buffet lunch a few rooms over.

Basically, they wanted to see if anyone had any ideas about how to make money online. If that sounds vague and disorganised, it was.

Email was a relatively new thing, and few people had their own account. Email addresses were usually strings of account numbers on system I can't even remember the names of. And though email accounts were expensive at the time, the general opinion was that this had been done, people were prepared to pay for it, and we didn't need to discuss it. Wow, we got that wrong.

The subject of the pizza ordering demo came up, but nobody seemed to be taking it too seriously. The margins were slim, and people "could do that more easily over the phone". Clearly it needed a more highly-tuned Gourmand's mind such as my own to truly appreciate how cool it would be to order without having to step away from the computer.

Small-picture thinking if ever I heard it.

Online shopping came up, but the reception was lukewarm again. Companies like Amazon had been mooted, but were still a year or two away, and were not expected to make money for years. That was long-term stuff, and these guys wanted to make money now.

Nobody mentioned pornography, but this is hardly surprising. For a start, it would have been embarrassing, and we were all supposed to be sober, suited journalists. Okay, suited, anyway. Plus, viewing video online was a pipedream because of the primitive display cards of the time, and the generally slow communications standards. The domain was still finding its feet. Thankfully, it found them and all the other pink bits soon after, and has successfully driven most of the video media advances ever since.

The best discussion we could manage was about people paying to be steered towards content. Quite a few folk climbed on board that one, as it fitted a paradign we were familiar with; a newstand magazine. In hindsight, these kind of subscription services were short lived; nobody was prepared to pay for mere information.

To be fair, nobody had yet dreamed of Instant Messaging. Or Ebay. Or YouTube. Or FaceBook, or Twitter or any kind of social networking. How could they? The hardware did not exist, the communications did not exist, the browser technology and supporting languages did not exist.

It would have been asking the world to perform magic. But perform magic it did, nonetheless. Sixteen years later, we have sophisticated social networking, a relatively new domain that we're still coming to terms with.

And now, as then, there's people asking how they can quickly make money from it.

That meeting was a fasinating moment in history, for me at least. But it was hastily assembled, badly executed, and bore little fruit. Most folk, myself included, wandered away from it before the hour was up; the buffet lunch was getting low, we heard, and would be removed on the hour.

Had they planned ahead a bit better, and managed to hold it in the same room as the buffet lunch, the world today might be a very different place. Smaller events than this have shaped it.

I flew home to the UK after a few happy days spent in the company other other hacks in San Francisco. A couple of them are quite famous now, I think. I wish I could remember their names so I could drop them casually into this blog or at dinner parties; "Oh yes, I knew him before he was famous..." But who knows, perhaps they'll be saying the same about me in a year or two's time?

Anyway, once home, I didn't last much longer in the job.

I'd bluffed my way in, had many public/epic failures interviewing people on the phone, and had taken too long to write anything. One major stumbling block was the politics of the region. There were things we knew but couldn't write about; we had to spin the stories to make them acceptable for publication in all countries. I was being asked to lie, and this didn't sit well with me. But I knew I was doing a lousy job. And after just five months, I got canned at Christmas. Humbug.

I went on to full-time tech writing in a variety of companies, and got on much better with its factual nature. The journalism job remains the blip on my resumé. When I go to a job interview, I hold up my hands and honestly say "I made a mistake". I'd love to say I learned something about myself from it, but I think it's limited to "I'm not suited to being a journalist".

But the experience was terrific, and it gave me the opportunity to travel and to be there for a couple of interesting events. Sixteen years later, I'm still talking about them.

And sixteen years later, the pizza guy is still getting lost.

Indigo

This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009

Mission Log: Doctor Wang

On a quiet Saturday, I'm delighted to report that I've just put the finishing touches to Roth's latest mission, DOCTOR WANG.

For those of you who follow the exploits of Her Majesty's Finest as 140-character "twepisodes" on Twitter, it's been a long and eventful journey. But, determined to finish, I stuck my neck out a week ago and declared an imminent delivery.

The reward for your patience is below. It's the entire adventure, churned and only lightly salted, packaged as a single blog entry for the Attention Deficit Generation.

Pitted against an old adversary, Roth must endure exotic locations, lovely weather, chic nightspots, extreme courtesy, beautiful women, and excellent food and drink if he's going to crack this case!

Enjoy, Indigo

---

DOCTOR WANG

ACT ONE - LONDON

I'm summoned to see the Admiral by his lackey, Bing Heston. Apparently Bing's real surname is Hess. His dad was famous; this explains a lot.

The Admiral pairs me up with Jack Starling for my next mission. He's the rising star of The Service. Bing Heston likes him; I'm worried.

Jack Starling is young, smart, motivated, charming. And handsome in that odd way that women seem to like. I expect trouble from him.

The Admiral despatches Starling and myself to The Bahamas. My old nemesis Juju Wang has resurfaced; half black, half chinese, all cabaret.

Starling's too young to remember Dr. Juju Wang: double agent, mafia hitman, mad scientist, president of Iceland; damn, I miss the Old Days.

Last time, Wang almost buzz-sawed me in half over a waterfall. I escaped by wooing his girlfriend, which was tricky given the circumstances.

Dr. Wang respects tradition; traps, speeches, secret bases, odd henchmen. Modern bad guys are so lame; businessmen, media tycoons. Tossers.

I visit Quartermaster with Starling. I get standard field issue; he gets his requested "specials". God, I hope he's a double agent. Bang.

Starling joins me for a round at my golf club. He whips me by a shot per hole and offers some pointers. I plan a shallow grave in a bunker.

We have trouble at Heathrow; Starling's new to lethal-gadget concealment. The men in rubber gloves interview him. We'll laugh about it later.

An uncomfortable Starling boards the plane. He rallies well and quickly hooks up with a flight attendant. I curse youth as I sip my martini.

ACT TWO - NASSAU, BAHAMAS

We land in Nassau; the heat's stifling. I need a cold shower. Starling and two flight attendants need a bucket of cold water throwing on them.

The driver says Goverment House sent him, but he's one or Dr. Wang's boys. We thank him and go along. They lie, we lie; it all evens out.

After five miles Starling pulls his gun; they fight. He drops some good puns, but kills the guy. *sigh* Save them for the ones that escape.

Starling and I split up. He'll track Dr. Wang down with technology. Silly. He'll be at the Casino. Why don't they teach the basics any more?

I dress for the Casino; white dinner suit, black bow tie, red carnation. It wouldn't do to win big while badly dressed; it would look lucky.

I play some baccarat til I find myself opposite a handsome black man in chinese evening dress. Dr. Wang, I presume? He's had some work done.

Dr. Wang pretends to not know me so that I can introduce myself. The name's Roth. Indigo Roth. This is how The Game is played by Gentlemen.

I will return Dr. Wang's courtesy later; after I'm captured I'll listen to his mad plan and ask all the obvious questions. It's expected.

I notice that Dr. Wang is alone; there's no exotic girlfriend. This is an unexpected snag. Who else can I sweet-talk into betraying him?

He introduces me to his new assistant, Helga Cribbage. She's plain, badly dressed, and has body odour. And a lesbian. He's daring me to try.

We play a few hands of baccarat. I take him for thirty grand, and hint I know his evil plan. Works like a charm; he invites me to dinner.

Starling really should be here taking notes. I hear through channels that he ran into big trouble at the docks. I'm pleased he's learning.

I arrive at midday at Dr. Wang's house, PALOMINO. He's delighted to see me and a gracious host; I feel far more welcome here than at home.

PALOMINO is a tasteful, five-star villa: sauna; solarium; gym; home cinema; dock; shark pool. They should invent a sixth star just for that.

Dr. Wang insists we should put our checkered past behind us. He is a reformed man, he tells me: no more world domination; no more piranhas.

Our lunch is interrupted by a henchman. Good grief, it's Cruz! Not seen him since Bolivia; his new chrome ear complements his nose well.

Cruz confirms a delivery; a crate of diamonds and a dozen giant Tesla coils. Wang is embarrassed. A hobby, he assures me, nothing more.

As I leave, Dr. Wang says "Goodbye, Mr. Roth". I drive back into town, and a black sedan follows discretely; two more cliché boxes ticked.

The local carnival is in full swing. Starling makes contact; he's disguised as a showgirl. He looks rather like a butch Rachel Weisz. Hmmm.

Starling has discovered something; a manifest for diamonds and Tesla coils. I tell him that I know. He's crestfallen. His mascara runs.

The black sedan unloads; Cruz and his men are here to kill us. Goodness, is it that time already? Cruz's chrome nose gleams in the moonlight.

I grab a duck costume and we escape into the Carnival. We are pursued. Starling seems rather comfortable running in high-heeled slingbacks.

We evade capture in a millpond. Starling then shows me the blueprints; a secret base underneath the sea. It's awesome. I mean "diabolical".

Starling and I split up. I'll use the sub to reach the Wang's base. I think he wants me to be a decoy. I am still wearing the duck costume.

ACT THREE - SECRET BASE

The sub is the same one I left moored off Crete. It still has the dent from when I reversed into a hydrant. Now THAT was hard to explain.

I locate Dr. Wang's base three miles out. It's magnificent, an art deco masterpiece. The man is underappreciated, even if he is mad.

I dock at the main airlock. I want them to know I'm coming. Messing about would put a crease in the tuxedo, and I want to do this right.

Cruz meets me at the airlock. He smiles broadly and silently directs me inside. He says nothing sinister or ironic. That's his boss' job.

Dr. Wang is dressed in red emperor's robes. "Ah, Mr. Roth. We've been expecting you." Damn, I love it when they do that; this man has style.

Accompanied by Cruz, we tour Wang's secret base. Missile silos, laboratories, command centre; all top notch. The canteen is also impressive.

There are a dozen pools of water lit by Tesla coils. Wang explains these are unrelated to his scheme, he just likes their "evil ambience".

His plan is simple; global blackmail. Biological agents loaded in missiles. A demonstration. A ransom. A race against time. It's a classic.

Our chat is disturbed by alarms. After a few minutes, two bruised and bloodied henchman drag Starling in. I'm glad he decided to join us.

Starling is lorded over by Dr. Wang. Starling's spy banter is defiant but lacks edge. Wang asks me if he is new? I don't know where to look.

Wang sends Starling away for torture. We then share an excellent dinner and talk like Old Generals. Why am I only respected by my opponents?

Dr. Wang craves financial independence. He's tired of working for the highest bidder, for oppressive rogue regimes with bad payment habits.

He experimented with internet-based terrorism, but his heart wasn't in it. "That is a young man's game, Mr. Roth. And we are not young men."

After a few more drinks he's quite garrulous. The Chateau Lafite 1846 oils his tongue and is absolute Nectar. I forget to plan my escape.

Wang dislikes new villains. They respect neither moral boundaries nor tradition, he says. They lack DISCIPLINE. We're agree on that point.

He doesn't WANT to destroy the world; he simply misses Iceland and wants to buy it back. He's a creature of habit; this way is all he knows.

Intellect needs a Nemesis, he says. I am a necessary but dangerous evil. Henchman do not understand him. His ex-wife did not understand him.

This is getting rather maudlin, but I keep his spirits up until the explosions start. Starling is an ass, but I knew he'd get the job done.

Starling bursts in with Dr. Wang's assistant Helga Cribbage. The lesbian seems happy but flustered. Sonofabitch. I take my hat off to him.

"The self destruct is activated, Wang!" Starling roars, "But I'll take care of your destruction personally!". It's an annoyingly good line.

Wang turns to me and smiles. "Until next time, Mr. Roth." he runs down a corridor pursued by Starling. Great, I get to fight the henchman.

Cruz grins broadly. "It's time for your treatment, Mr. Roth" he leers. This chrome-nosed guy really has the hang of the Henchman routine.

As we fight, I draw Cruz close to a Tesla coil; a massive arc of electricity arcs to his metal nose. Why DO they keep these things about?

Screaming, his nose smoking, Cruz falls into the water; is he dead? No time to check; I must escape without losing the deposit on this tux.

Starling returns, annoyed; Wang eluded him. He's bloodied and bruised from torture. Yes, he's made of tough stuff. But he's still a tosser.

As the base disintegrates, we find the lifepods. I allow Ms. Cribbage to leave with Starling; I am a gentleman spy. Plus I need the legroom.

The base explodes as my escape pod bubbles towards the surface. It shoots skywards on the shockwave; I don't know whether to whoop or barf.

The escape pod lands heavily. I exit to find a beach on an island paradise. Nearby, a beautiful woman is shaking a martini. Luck? No. Karma.

Starling and Cribbage trudge up the beach. She's hectoring him about safely meeting her needs as a woman. She punches his arm repeatedly.

A helicopter buzzes past. Doctor Wang shakes his fist at us and curses in Icelandic. He's smiling though. Yes, until next time, Dr. Wang.

EPILOGUE

My mission is over. Dr. Wang is defeated. The world is safe once more. The only casualty is my sub, but I made sure Starling signed for it.

I drive us to the airport. As I check in, men with rubber gloves ask me about the diamonds in my case. What? Starling laughs as he walks by.

Back at the office, Starling has his arm in a sling; the secretaries fuss over him. He patronises me and includes me as a decoy in his tale.

The Admiral debriefs me alone. He's delighted with the outcome, and asks how Starling performed. I say he did ok; he was a useful decoy.

As a throwaway final comment, I report that Starling cracked under torture; more intense training is needed. The Admiral agrees. Gotcha.

And so ends the latest mission, it's been a heap of fun. I've left doors open for Wang, Cruz, Starling and Cribbage, so they may return. That said, unless Starling turns into a double agent or defects, we may not see him for a while.

Expect to see Roth, the Admiral and Bing Heston again soon. The latter may be promoted to a more annoying position; he's that good. I may even introduce a real secretary for the Admiral and put the Quartermaster in properly. Who knows?

Roth's World is wide open. And I'm sure it will be Enough.

I'll stick my neck out once again:

INDIGO ROTH WILL RETURN IN "YOU ONLY LIMP TWICE"

Indigo

This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009
DOCTOR WANG picture is copyright © Indigo Roth, 2009