Ah yes, the eternal questions. Right now though, the answer is that I am between server moves. I’ve finally committed to staying on Site5 and signed up for a 2-year term. This means I need to move the sites to a new server. Bully for you, work for me. So hopefully everything will settle down as the DNS’ around the world pick up my new location. Thankfully you’ll need a GPS to locate my body this weekend as it flies down the ski and snowboard trails at Kicking Horse Mountain Resort in Golden, British Columbia. I’ll be there with some BioWare folks.

The third in my series of improving the quality of the 1600+ photos I have on this site. This time let’s jump ahead (or back) to the fall season. In late 2005 I went to Vienna to visit my friend Natalie. Vienna is beautiful draped in autumnal colours, but even more beautiful is the Austrian countryside. I honestly felt as if I had stepped into a Robin Hood movie. The signs said to watch out for wild boar and the trees covered ancient ways trodden on by the Romans and which carried pilgrims in medieval times. Everywhere I looked golden leaves curtained my vision. So check out these photos of a fall hike outside Vienna, now presented in the original glorious colours.

The crowds stand in the way. They’re all moving to the beat, jiving to the rhythm, As one couple is pushed out of the way lost in a trance, another pops in front, blocking and bopping. The lights are dim, the music is loud. There’s a university girl shaking her hips, a jock trying to match, a girl of indeterminate age pressing against a guy of indeterminate drunkenness.

A pierced girl is bouncing here and there and she’s trying to slow dance with any number of girls as her partner watches in silence sipping her wine. One of the girls so approached bends her head and whispers at her friend who shrugs, smiles, looks over at the pierced girl, winks at the boy nearby and continues dancing. A momentary blip in her radar.

Conversations ebb and flow.

“Hi, wow you dance really well!” says the guy
“Thanks”, a flattered girl in a zebra outfit, “how old are you?”
“Twenty-seven, and you?” replies the bearded gen-exer.
“Umm, never mind…”, a flustered girl says as she clings to the young man in question. There’s a note of desperation in her eyes and determination in her grasp.

“Is he the hot one?”
“No I it’s his friend!”
“Shhh he might hear!”

“Wow she’s tiny!”
“She’s hot!”
“He’s got big hair!”
“How could she even wear that?!”
“No dance away from him, he’ll notice!”

The floor is covered in glass and beer. There’s a general miasma of sweat on the dance floor. The movie projector is playing against the wall; multicoloured lights reflect off the disco ball. The music is switching between the old and the new and it’s like watching the tide come in and go out on a beach. As the new songs fade in the tide of people wash out towards the bar. As the old music sweeps in, the girls bop and prance their way onto the crowded dance floor.

On the edges the single men dance; in the centre the women cavort and never the twain shall meet. The music turns slow and there’s a mad scramble to find a partner. The two guys left on the dance floor without partners turn to each other, shrug their shoulders and as one move to the fringes. The couples couple unnoticed. Meanwhile the lights brighten for a second as if a bell had tolled. There’s a general sense of tiredness, anticipation and confusion

It’s the last call at the bar and the last dance is beginning.

Sometimes I am a creature of habit. On Thursdays I do Ashtanga yoga at the Yoga Loft on Whyte Ave, cross the street, buy a book at the Wee Book Inn and then go hang out at the Next Act with Stan Woo and Co, where I always order a beer they never have and have one that they always have. At the Wee Book Inn tonight the lady on staff (an honest-to-God Edmontonian apparently – so few of them around here) told me she had a thing for breaking watches. She could only wear certain Timex watches and any others just broke. Her mother makes the watches go faster or slow down. Interesting family.

However, this story got me thinking. I’ve always been fascinated by people who have extraordinary talents and powers. I know so few of them really, though I do remember meeting one girl who could do most interesting things to cherry stems with her tongue, and then there was this other person who was double or triple jointed, or something. If you’ve read Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett’s Good Omens, you will remember the hapless foursome who became the Four Other Riders of the Apocalypse. I know my mind works in mysterious and wonderfully obscure ways as that train of thought led me to what the Four Riders of the Hangover would be. After all, it is a subject I have way too much knowledge about….

Headache

He shall reign supreme on his horse and cometh riding from the nether regions. He is a darkened soulless being of throbbing pain. He strikes upon the very heart of one’s mind, wandering from eye to eye, from back to front. Almost impossible to pin down, many have been known to succumb to this evil hell beast and try to silence the invisible pain by beating in their own head with a baseball bat.

Nausea

“The heads of the horses resembled the heads of lions, and out of their mouths came fire, smoke and sulfur.” (Revelations 11:18) Many a time has this fallen angel stared upon me and mocked me. Many a time fire has poured from my mouth, and when that had stilled, sulphurous heaves were all that were left beckoning Headache to come forth from the porcelain throne sat upon by the mocking minions of hell.

Greasy Craving

On the days that Nausea is on holiday, Greasy Craving stands before the fallen with a bright sword glistening in the sunlight, dewed with the fat of fries, dressing and gravy. The stomach heaves in anticipation and your mind cries foul, but such is the evilness unto which these Riders ascribe to.

What-the-hell-did-I-do-last-night?

The final Rider of the Hangover shows up late in the afternoon. Headache has beaten you down; Nausea or Greasy Craving have worked your stomach (pity you who has to deal with both) and finally comes the Rider in Black. He is usually ushered in by a late afternoon phone call from a friend either laughing or mocking and/or sometimes sympathizing. It is the start of a frantic search through wallets, clothing, bedrooms and body hair. The horror strikes. WHAT THE HELL DID I DO LAST NIGHT?!?!

“Come, I will show you the punishment of the great prostitute, who sits on many waters. With her the kings of the earth committed adultery and the inhabitants of the earth were intoxicated with the wine of her adulteries.” (Revelation 17:2)

I jumped on Dups’ bed this morning. He was being totally annoying. I mean come on! It was light outside and I think I saw a bird. It might have even landed outside. Oh I love the way their wings look, I can’t help but get hungry when I see their craning little neck. Anyway, so he was still sleeping in. The annoying box with horrible noises had gone off hours before. I thought maybe he’d get up then. I think he might have meant to go outside and do whatever he does that makes him sweaty by the time he gets back. Mmmm salty sweat, I like licking his skin like that, I think he needs to give me more salt.

Anyway, so I jumped on his bed and head butted him and kneaded his chest with my paws. You know, like I always do to wake him up. But the oaf wasn’t having any of it this morning. He had the nerve to turn around and go back to sleep. What kind of a food provider is that? I’m not here to just lay about you know. So I thought maybe some noise would be a good idea. He has these shelves and he keeps stuff on them. He really doesn’t like it when I play up there and drop things from the shelves. So I, loudly I might add, jumped onto the shelves in the living room and knocked a few things over. Do you think that woke him?

Nope.

What a lazy bum. I need to have someone to play with. He keeps me cooped up in here, what does he think I am anyway?

Finally I decided it was time for an escalation in tactics. I bit his nose. Oh he got up alright. He got up and tossed me from his bed. Woo hoo, finally! Play Time! And you know what? He paid no attention to me. The nerve of that man! I gave up and just ignored him while he had his shower (I’m sure pouring that much water on oneself is completely unhealthy).

Normally, I’d just wait for him to leave and relax in the house. Not this time. I decided he needed to be shown who’s the boss this morning. He’s been getting a little too cocky lately. He’s only given me one feed of real tuna this whole entire week! I can’t put up with that kind of behaviour. So I chased his ankles and kept biting him. I think I got him angry.

Then when he went outside to put on his shoes, I escaped! Normally I just stay around him or try to get the cat next door to come to the door (she’s a bit of an idiot). Not this morning. I knew he was probably in a rush as he didn’t even clean my litter (I’d like to know how he’d feel if his toilet wasn’t cleaned every morning). I ran outside and went up and down the stairs with him chasing me. He finally caught me (but I had intended that), I gave him a few final hisses, put my tail up at him and walked into the apartment.

He had better come back with some tuna tonight.

If Plato or Socrates were to suddenly descend upon our fair “civilization” they would be amazed, nay, they would be impressed. Never before in the history of this earth have we been drowning in words. In the past a solitary monk would travel thousands of kilometers guarding his hand-copied books with a care bordering on the insane. He would have given up his life for those words, so precious were they.

Even before this monk, our more primitive ancestors carved their words on stone, bark and cave wall. Robert Jordan, I dare you to pound out your Wheel of Time (some would say your Infinite Spiral of Time) against blocks of stone. Then again maybe that would make you write more concisely.

We are drowning in words.

Never before in the history of mankind have so many words existed at the same time. Never before have so many words filtered through our consciousness. Imagine attaching a weight value to each word on the printed, published, blogged or sent via email.

The world would sink underneath the literal weight of words.

Oh, don’t even ask whether all these words mean anything. For every Rick Mercer there are countless pages on the Hamster Dance. How many hours this planet has wasted on listening to the Hamster Dance or the Llama Song is another curiousity altogether.

Imagine where this is all leading us. According to a researcher in England, our species might actually follow the H. G. Wells story of The Time Machine and result in the Eloi and Morlocks. No my friends, have a look around you, we will evolve into an entirely different species.

We no longer talk to each other in person, so why would we need mouths as we currently have them? Certainly we wouldn’t need vocal cords. Maybe our mouths would become smaller and round so we could take food through a straw as we watch media thrown at us. We certainly don’t need to move around as much as we become more tied to the computers that will feed our cerebral fantasies. All those words? Our future might as well be tied to a computer screen attached permanently to the front of our brain. We should become an organic part of the computer age that we have just ushered in. Our brains meanwhile will need to evolve as well. We wouldn’t need cavernous bulbous heads to retain all our memories, I’m sure that we will create technology to download our memories and file them away. It’s so hard to keep track of it all.

I can barely keep track of all my phone numbers these days.

After all, our robots will feed and clothe us, what more will we need in life? Our exploration is already mostly through media. We can create “reality” better than the reality we live in. We believe in “reality” far quicker and with greater ease than we like to deal with reality. We already live in a Matrix far more insidious than one that we can come up with by taking blue and red pills.

Our future is most interesting. Despite all the words that have been written in a hundred years; despite the exponential number of words being uttered around us; despite the words being written this very second (more words were written on blogs than people born during the time it took you to get this far)… despite all this, we haven’t figured out how to talk to each other, and more importantly, how to listen or understand each other.

We literally are drowning in words.

I’ve finally gone ahead and added a search to the 1600+ photos in the 100+ photo albums available on dups.ca/duleepa.com Feel free to try the search available on the main Photo Album page sidebar. I’ve also made some other slight tweaks (can you spot them?), but the main feature is the search.

As I mentioned when I re-posted all my photos from my quick journey down the Alaska Highway, I’ve been going back to my earlier photos and spending some quality time with them. My trip to San Francisco in December 2002 to visit my good friends Jaap and Charlotte Tuinman (and assorted feline friends) resulted in a number of photos taken on my trusty Pentax K1000.

Unlike the digital photos of today these scans don’t contain any EXIF data and I would be hard pressed to report on what settings these photos were taken under. However, going back through them and taking a closer look at the photos did reveal a lot of missing colour and detail. In fact, some of the sunset photos are almost completely different.

Head on over to the photo album, click on a thumbnail and cycle through. My favourites after I redid them are: Half-Moon Bay Beach, Sunset with the Golden Gate Bridge and a freaky sunset on the horizon. I wish I could say all the photos are good, but when I can barely claim that of my photos these days, how could I possibly claim that about photos taken 4 years ago!

Dear Air Canada,

I never thought that I would write you a “Dear John” letter. When I first came to Canada, you flew me from Toronto to St. John’s. When you found out that I had been traveling since Hong Kong and very tired to boot, you promptly bumped me up to first class and gave my excellent treatment. When I saw your livery every time I had been traveling overseas, my heart heaved a sigh of relief. I always felt that I could almost touch home in your white and red paint.

But those were the old days. You were happy then. You used to listen to me, you used to tell me secrets and pass food down to me when you had extra. I remember your smiles. Your eyes used to light up the cabin when you played with your seatbelts and showed us your life jackets. I never minded if you took a little longer in the air. I would wait for you patiently. I cherished every moment we spent together floating in the skies amongst the clouds. We chased down the birds and caressed the outer atmospheres flying higher and higher.

But like Icarus, your wings burned and were brought back down to Earth.

I know that our finances weren’t doing too great. You were struggling to make ends meet. You grew too quickly and couldn’t afford to support yourself. You were too greedy and the doctors asked you to go on a diet, but who knew a diet would be this destructive on our relationship. Why did you become so abusive? You stopped answering my calls. In fact you started forwarding the calls to India. You started playing games with me, sending my luggage to different locations, and indeed sending me to the wrong places. You never smiled again.

Do you remember when you met me at Halifax Airport one Christmas Eve? I was stuck there and you were going to help me get a hotel. Instead you turned your heels and spurned me as if I had cheated on you.

But honey, I have to tell you that I have found another and I have started proceedings to file for divorce. I know that you and I have been separated since the last time I met you, but now let’s make it official. Do you remember a girl called Westjet? Well, we finally met and after having spent time with her, I don’t think I could ever go back to you. She has been incredibly nice. She smiled all the way to Newfoundland. We laughed, we talked and we made jokes together. She reminded me of you in the good old days. I felt Canadian.

Oh I know she’s not perfect, but I’m not looking for the perfect girl. You always complain we guys don’t listen, but have you listened to me in the last 5 years? Westjet listens to me. She lost my luggage in Halifax, but after she found it, she gave me money for my trouble. Why did you never do that?

I think I’ll be seeing Westjet again and I think you and I are completely through. I have enclosed my unused Aeroplan points as part of our divorce settlement. It’s a good thing we didn’t have children as my visitations would have to be with Westjet.

I wish you much luck in the future and in all things you do, I am over you and I hope you are over me. Maybe someday we’ll look back on this and laugh. Maybe.

I couldn’t let it be. Time recently announced the Person of the Year for 2006 was “You” or ME. Yes, ME. But I realized that I needed a proper certificate to put up on my wall. Tonight (and thanks Corey for the edits) I sent along this letter to Time magazine. For added measure I cc’d Rick Mercer, George Stroumboulopoulis (a man with a longer name than my own) and the Edmonton Journal. I doubt I’ll get a response, but hey, it’s worth a try, I want that damned award on my wall, I even know which wall I’ll put it on. It’s the least they can do considering how hard I worked last year.

Here’s the letter: