Update

Goals still on track. Which is still spectacularly unbelievable.

The trip to France was fantastic and proof that a month off a year is absolutely needed.

Health is good. Teeth are good. Fitness is good.

Despite the demons in my mind trying to tell me otherwise, life is good. If I were to list everything I wanted out of life, I'd have most of it.

4219

Just received a 419 scam claiming to be from Gaddafi's daughter. Which I find simply and amazingly entertaining. It's interesting to me that the scammers are trying to keep up with current events.

What next? Surely the tack to take would be to fake celebrities asking for help? That'd grab a much larger percentage of the moron set. What does Joe Gamblingdebt care for the plight of Miss Gaddafi? He's probably never heard of Libby Ya. On the other hand, what if Wesley Snipes wrote to him to ask for help with a slight tax problem he's having? Or, um (my celebrity knowledge is piffling to low), one of those Kardomonians or whatever the hell they are?

But that got me really thinking.Where are the social engineering scams targeted at nerds and geeks? They hold all the passwords and, in general, a metric fraktonne of disposable income (I base that not on facts, but on average cost of cosplay costume + convention tickets + average airfare). Do the scammers think that, as targets, they are too difficult to fool? I seriously doubt that. Just ask George Lucas.

The scammers need to get with the program. Mr Eko Mungabungewe contacting me asking for help with a financial transaction doesn't interest me. "+Wil Wheaton or +Felicia Day needs your help!"? Hmmm, maybe I'm clicking on it, but probably not opening an attachment.

However, and I'm probably setting myself up here, this might work, even on me:

Dear sir,

My name is Douglas Adams. You may know me from my works in science fiction humour, animal conservation and Apple evangelism. Many years ago I faked my death as I was tired of phone calls with Hollywood executives about my Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy script and, frankly, the response my last book received on the internet.

I know, I'm sorry, I'm not proud of it.

Faking my death, that is. Not Mostly Harmless.

I found your name using a complicated algorithm designed personally by Steve Jobs (eh-hem, he isn't dead either) to trawl the internet, specifically social networks, for people who I felt could aid my cause.

You see, and I apologise sincerely for hard selling you, I wasn't careful enough about managing my finances for my extended retirement and have found myself, how does one put it?, skint as a dead dingo's donger. I may have mixed my colourful metaphors there.

If you are willing, I'm asking for your aid in moving some money from my deceased estate to an account I have in Nigeria. Which is in Africa, you may not have heard of it. When I next don the fedora, nose prosthetic and dark glasses, which is an effective yet terribly clichéd disguise, to visit my Lagorian banker I would be happy to impart 30% of the total to you.

Please contact me urgently at doglesehdem@scamthefirstworld.ng

Your friend,

Douglas Adams

Deepwater Horizon

I wrote this short story Feb 18th 2010, 3 days after BP's Deepwater Horizon began drilling in the Gulf. This was a couple of months before the drill exploded and caused the largest disaster in human history. A disaster that some are saying may lead to the end of the human race. Have we cut down the last tree?

The Last Tree by Sacha

John was in his favourite place to sit and think; at the edge of the sea cliff that jutted out behind his small, cosy house. The sea breeze and the sound of the waves below calmed him. He needed calming. The sun was setting now, which meant it was nearly time to head over to the council chambers and put forward his case. He looked up at the clearly visible moon and noted how different it looked now, compared to when he was little, so many years ago. Before they started mining it. He went over his facts and arguments one more time. They had to believe him. So much was at stake. John consoled himself that no one would be to blame if he failed. There would be no one left to blame.

*

"John, you're not seriously going through with this charade, are you?". It was Jacob Reardon who said this, stepping out from behind one of the marble columns scattered about the entrance hall of the council chambers.

"You know I have to Jacob. You might not believe me, but maybe they will. If you'd only listen to some sense, my data is conclusive. I'd be happy to help you find another way." John replied, hoping to see some kind of change of heart behind Jacob's cold, all-business eyes. But they hardened instead.

"You'll be the laughing stock of the entire scientific community after this", Jacob stabbed. It was all he had to say before the ceremonial bell sounded to indicate the council was now in session.

*

From his position in the centre of the council benches, Reardon was gesticulating wildly and had started shouting down at John, who was seated in what was usually a defendant's booth in criminal trials.

"You claim that the detonation of explosives at the Reardon Power lunar mining facility will cause some kind of magic chain reaction that will split the moon in two. You sit there having once been my chief researcher before I fired you for improper conduct and you believe my fellow councillors should accede to your request to delay this vital procedure. It's preposterous!", Jacob screamed.

Trying to appeal to the other council members by looking at them each in turn, John replied. "Please, if you'd just look over the data. It's conclusive. The ore is highly volatile and runs all the way through the moon. If you turn to page---"

"Fifteen other studies have shown there to be no danger what so ever!", screamed Reardon.

"Those studies were paid for by Reardon Power---", pleaded John.

"Conducted by respected members of the scientific community!" Reardon threw his hands in the air and for a moment John thought he might reach down and start ripping his hair out.

"Surely the issue is really whether it's worth the risk of taking that chance."

"THE RISK! Of course it's worth it. Look around you." Reardon gestured towards all existence. "The lights, the chairs, the walls. All created using Reardon Power. None of this exists with out that ore."

*

They were both in the entrance hall again, Reardon having to excuse himself as chief council due to his conflict of interest. They were waiting for the other council members to finish deliberating. John was hopeful. 

"You're an idiot, John", Reardon said, his voice still raised. "You know I run the council and they know you're only doing this to get back at me."

"Jacob, that's not it at all. I'm sure about this. It's nothing to do with you and me. If you go ahead with this, it's the end. Of everything, Jacob. You're willing to risk that and listen to your bullshit yes men, simply because you're nearly out of ore to sell and you're under pressure. It's sick!"

Reardon started speaking more softly, changing tack in an attempt to persuade rather than badger. "You know, when the first nuclear bomb was tested, there were people like you saying the entire atmosphere would ignite. It didn't happen. We're still here."

John steeled himself, he had one last chance. "Let me tell you a story too, Jacob. There was once an island in the Pacific, probably under water now, where the inhabitants lived on fish from the sea and fruit from the trees growing on the island. One season was particularly harsh and they believed that cutting down one or two fruit trees would appease their gods. You see they needed the logs to help construct statues to honour their gods. 

"It didn't work, so they kept cutting the trees down until there was only one left. I'm sure you can picture the scene. A bunch of the important people from the island got together in council and had a chat. Someone like me was telling them it was foolish to cut down the tree, as they needed the fruit to survive. They probably discussed the pros and cons for hours but in the end they came to a decision. They cut down the last tree and you know what happened?"

"What?"

"They all died."

*

Looking out over the cliff, breathing in the sea air and letting the sounds of the waves calm him, John felt a strange sense of satisfaction. He had failed to convince the council, but it was OK. Any race or species willing to cut down the last tree wasn't worth saving. And besides, he was a scientist and what was about to come would certainly be something that no one had seen before: the end of the world. It began with John looking up at the most amazing sight: the moon was falling from the sky.

Wow Architect

The singularity is near. Repent.

When I Twitter my Facebook updates.
When I Twitter my Buzz updates.
When I blog my Facebook updates.
When I read my memory updates.
When I reply my iPhone updates.
When I write my Google Docs update.
When Shatner updates My Outer Space updates.
When I update I update.
When I update I update.
Update.

My Plans

As you may not know, I’ve grown a beard. I’m also growing my hair long. This has given me an idea for how to proceed in the next few months, a project that probably deserves documentary treatment:

1) Once I have the requisite caveman/hermit look, I will stop bathing and washing my clothes.

2) Soon I will be fired from work.

3) I will then live off savings/selling everything I own for as long as possible

4) I will stop paying rent when I still have enough money to buy food for 3-4 months and wait until I’m evicted

5) Utility/bill payments will be stopped at this time also.

6) Live the life of a street bum for a while, await the release of the documentary on the experiment.

7) Starve/freeze to death or gain international notoriety!

Now, of course this is a joke, but it will be the answer I give when people ask me why I’m growing a beard. Plus, it gets you thinking. What would be the time frame of all this. How long until the electricity actually gets cut off? (They always threaten, but when push comes to shove it takes a bureaucratic bungle to actually get the electricity cut off) How long until the land lord turfs me out? I’ve been an excellent tenant, and could string them along for ages with promises secured by the good will I’ve already produced. How long would I last on the streets? How much publicity/federal funding could I get for this, given I could argue its an art/social science experiment?

And the big question: there must be homeless people out there who did essentially the same. They decided one day to stop working, stop paying the man and just let themselves go. I tell ya, it’s an attractive proposition.

I would call the experiment/documentary: “The Deliberate Hermit: The Descent of an Ordinary Man”

Update: Poster made! Thanks to South Park Character Generator