Thursday, December 22, 2011

A Clockwinder variation of a old classic

“Do you hear what I hear” with the Clockwinder Chorus opus 2011

C sharp Lydian

Said the night wind to the little lamb

Do you see what I see

Chorus: Excuse me were you talking to me

Way up in the sky little lamb

Do you see what I see

Chorus: That depends…what is that you are seeing

A star, a star

Dancing in the night

With a tail as big as a kite

Chorus: Then no

With a tail as big as a kite

Said the little lamb to the shepard boy

Do you hear what I hear

Chorus: Again…that depends on what your hearing

Ringing through the sky shepard boy

Do you hear what I hear

Chorus: What the heck you hearing

A song, a song

High above the tree

With a voice as big as the sea

Chorus: Dude…I don’t even know what that means

With a voice as big as the sea

Said the shepard boy to the mighty king

Do you know what I know

Chorus: Im thinking no.

In your palace wall mighty king

Do you know what I know

Chorus: do you even hear what Im saying

A child, a child

Shivers in the cold

Let us bring him silver and gold

Chorus: How about a blanket or something

Let us bring him silver and gold

Said the king to the people everywhere

Listen to what I say

Chorus: Do I have a choice

Pray for peace people everywhere

Listen to what I say

Chorus: Dude…Seriously

The child, the child

Sleeping in the night

He will bring us goodness and light

Chorus: Well that would be something wouldn’t it

He will bring us goodness and light

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

The Art of being the Clockwinder

People think it is simple… but it is not I can tell you. It takes precision and split second timing as well as luck so good…that to a normal person it would appear bad.

Case in point.

I am leaving the office around 1:oo AM and decide to visit the “Facility” before leaving. I do what I always do, put my bag down of the counter and pull up to the Urinal to vent some ballast.

Now we put in some Clockwinderfu.

There…in Mid-stream (You guys explain it to the lady folk) I hear my bag fall over.. “To the floor?” you ask (in a surprising munchkin like voice) no no no…right into the sink. “Will how bad can that be?” you snicker…well let me explain, are sinks are motion controlled, so when my bag falls into the sink, the faucet comes on…and keeps on going and going the whole time Im trying to decide if I should attempt the imposable and abort in mid-stream and save my bag or damn the torpedoes.

I decided on the latter the whole time wondering why, when I stick my hands in the sink, it shuts off every 3 seconds but when my bag falls in it…Niagara Falls!!

In the end…besides a soaked bag exterior, there was no real damage…. It is however the perfect example of what it means to be the Clockwinder.

The Lament of Kurk (Writing words and Saying nothing)

I was born on Tripso in the Season of the Dalacorn, A Sandalar of the grand Filgus and heir to the Kagi ArchTempico. My earliest memory is of my Helkor attempting ritual suputation whist the fires of Lodrik lapped at her feet. Our Heptet, Jeff, Once rode our Gamerci 30 stunards to retrieve the quteling cup for Yelki Vi and the Margis of Redit.

It was the year of the great Vasanor when I came of age and received the Jazawak of Penternia… did the fears of Zamien grip my Olak that day I can tell you. My Edam Halen, watch as tears wet her Xiolopop, pride of the ancient Reptarts growing in her breast.

Now as my own Sandalar’s beckon to the Gty-yor… and the Kagi Archtempico lay before my wukajog cruiser… I Pray Cetif and Karmat bless my Uiliog.

Monday, December 12, 2011

The Mandalorian…. The art of the hunt.

It was more a Night club then a bar and by the looks of it, one that catered to a upscale clientele. He knew all of this before he had set one of his muddy boots inside the joint… he had been casing it for 3 days. The place was a alive with the well to do of the planet in the late evening when the bands played and the spice was passed around but at midday it was empty… all except the table in the back.

He had walked in from the stinging toxic rain clad in a rough woven poncho and the type of wide brim hat the local miners wore to shield themselves from the harsh precipitation… for all the world he looked just like any other sod on the planet.

He had let the Droid at the door take his hat and clean his boots, a act that seemed to make the little thing squeal with delight… but choose to keep his poncho on “Only getting one drink” he grumbled at it as he slowly walked to the bar.

The only sounds were the laughter from the back table, the bartender stocking the bar and his heavy boots deliberate tread towards it. The closer he got to the bar, the quieter the table in the back became. The 5 creatures that sat at it, drawn from their conversation by the mere fall of his wet heavy footgear.

Though there were 5 beings around it, to a trained observer there was only one that mattered, the lord of the demise, a Female who’s every word the mindless toadies hung to. They were obviously from some of the planets wealthier families ( their clothes and jewelry could probably refit his ship) but they were quite obviously hangers on to the real talent at the table.

When he got to the bar, the Bothian bar tender whispered “Pal, I think you’re in the wrong place” but he could hear him take in a breath of surprise when he saw the scars on his face. “Just came for a Deneb sun burst I heard you make the best” he growled in a voice purposely modulated to a level that assured the table in the back could hear it, when they began to snicker he knew they had. “A Deneb Sunburst?” the Bar Tender questioned “Ya Sure? I mean…” “I hear you make the best” he snapped, interrupting the man, and it was true, he did, Ladies came from all over the planet to sip it… but it was generally considered a girls drink. “Sure thing.” The Keep gulped as he busied himself in its preparation.

The laughter picked up in intensity… The Female keeping them in stiches with a endless line of whispered insults questioning his masculinity. Finally as if she could stand the absurdity no more she rose and began to walk over towards him.

To say she walked seemed to be like calling a object of art a knick-knack because, even dressed as she was, in tight as skin Pilot pants, A coat of the finest Grak hide, boots that seemed to be molded for her shapely leg and one of the finest hand tooled gunbelts he had ever seen, and despite the fact that her head was shaved except for the very top which she wore long enough that it fell in front of her eyes, her walk was pure sex. Her hips slid from side to side with a hypnotic cadence as she tossed her long bangs back with practice sensuality .

She reached the bar as the keep handed him his drink…She should have noticed he took it with his left hand… and his face was illuminated by it swirling colors. She glided down the bar towards him, laughing with her friends as he held the drink up and stared into it. Till now she had only seen the right side of his face but with slow deliberation he turned and faced her, letting the drink light up the Scared ruin of the left side. She grimaced and said loudly “Brother you are one ugly specimen aren’t you?” and so it began.

She turned to see her friends fall on the floor laughing. In her vanity, turning away for but a second to relish to accolades of her retinue, she missed the fact that with his right hand, hidden by his poncho he had just drawn one of his heavy blaster pistols from its batter crossdraw holster. When she turned back around…his expression hadn’t changed a bit. “My looks didn’t seem to bother your mother last night.” He growled loud enough for the table to hear…It was as if a switch had been thrown as the club fell silent.

He could feel her tense up, he could smell the furnace of her anger begin to rise as her head snapped back towards him. Her once lovely blue eyes now emotionless orbs of ice “What…Did you say” she whispered, her voice trembling as if dealing with some unhealed wound of the past. “Sorry…” he said not allowing the somewhat bored look on his face change in the slightest. He purposefully left a long pause after the word to let her think he was about to start begging for his life, then he droped the hammer, “I didn’t realize you were slow as well as rude, I said your mother wasn’t bothered by my looks last night”.

In a room where some of the best and loudest bands in the galaxy had played, it was suddenly the silence that was deafening. The woman blinked at him, not so much in disbelief as it was to maintain her composer, like the closing of a last ditch safe guard before a reactor melting down as she stared blankly at the mans face and his ridicules glowing drink. “My mother” she said without emotion “Is Dead”.

He knew now it would come, he knew he had better not underestimate her and he knew he had better keep the deck stacked. He turned the drink slowly in his hand and as he saw her eyes focus on it he said “ She should be after the bunk bounce I gave her”.

“Lords is she fast” he thought as she half stepped back and went for her Weestar Special in its hand tooled holster, almost clearing it before the first deafening blast of his own pistol burst through his poncho and caught her square in the gut driving her back and to her knee’s. “What a tough girl” he admired the fact that she had managed to stay on her knee’s and that her blaster was still in her hand but now, with its barrel still smoking his own was out from under his poncho and at full extension pointing at her chest. He fired

Her slender body vaulted backwards and slid for several meters before it came to a halt… the expensive weapon skittering away from her. At the same time…he had dropped the drink and pulled his other blaster out and, seemingly subconsciously, leveled it at the bar keep. “I wouldn’t if I was you…” the Barkeep, who had been going for a stunner, decided against it and slowly raised his hands. “….this is a private affair”.

Now with both blasters drawn he walked slowly to where the woman lay, surprised that life seemed unwilling to leave her body. He looked down into her eyes as she looked up in the shocky glare of the dieing “why” she seemed to ask….but then didn’t they all. “ The boy who you killed…” he began as he triggered a holo recorder on his wrist “ The one who owned that Weestar before you, His father is a business associate of a very important man” he focused the recorder at her “ A man that much values his business. Now this father was so distracted by the mere thought of you walking around free after killing his son that it was effecting his business of making the important man lots and lots of credits” he took a deep breath, normally he tried to bring them in alive, but Bogs orders were specific on this. He leveled the pistol in his right hand at her face and pulled the trigger.

With a eerie slowness he let his head turn towards the breathless leeches at the table “NOW!” he said so suddenly that one of their bladders emptied. He began to record them on his holo recorder. “If on the way out of this place I get into a fight with the local law… or a week from now someone comes looking for me…I’m going to begin to wonder who sent them…and Im going to use a process of elimination… Am I clear?” he began to back out…as everyone nodded.

As he reached the door he holstered his Blasters like a man putting away a tool, he took his hat from the droid and pulled it on…”its best you forget you even saw me.” He turned and disappeared into the rain.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Being a successful Corporate tool…. A insiders guide.

17 years I worked in Credit Card banking, like Fossey study her gorillas, I soon became a expert on Corporate Tools. For over a year I have stored that knowledge away not knowing if I should share or what its divulgence would do to the fragile ecosphere, but now gentle reader….the curtain rises….the lights come up… read and learn.

The First art of the tool is what I like to call “The Exact-lamation mark”. Its use isn’t as much a science as much as a Art… Lets put it in context shall we…

Scene: Meeting room, a person who that is paid more then you is talking ( for the Exact-lamation’s use is totally lost on lower cog’s)

Paid more person : And that’s why we should staple paper flowers to squirrels

You: …Exactly!

Its usually best that you begin nodding as the person gets part way through what he is saying (doesn’t matter if you listen or not…just nod) and let out some “Umm hmmm”s of agreement. A true artist will repeat back a key phrase such as “Flowers to Squirrels…exactly” to give it a subtle nuance, as if saying “We are sharing the same brain my brother….promote me” . Finger pointing is also a variation, with the most energetic coming at the same time the speaker puts the period on the end of his statement (BOOM) “Exactly”.

A Tools guide to meetings….If 51% or higher of the attendees are not of the same pay grade or higher then you…do not attend, even if it is your own staff meeting or a meeting you have scheduled.

Which brings us to PDA/Blackberry/Iphone usage…If you are in a meeting and someone dares to draw a electronic device, you must retaliate in kind…and… you must make it seem as if the world itself hinges on your texting a answer. Let out breaths of disgust, click your tongue and shake your head…you must never be seen to have less to do on your device then another tool… it is a sign of weakness.

Also…Devices are the perfect shield for you, they can get you out of a conversation with a lesser paid cog “Hold on I have to answer this..” and they can take any ambiguity about the sincerity of a compliment and dash it to the ground…. Nothing says “you aren’t worth my time” to a cog like a thank you muttered over the screen of a PDA as your fingers text the latest joke to a colleague.

Conference calls… a tool will fill their outlook calendar ( BTW always except invitations in outlook…even if you have no intention on attending, they help to clog up your calendar and make you seem at least 3 times as important) with conference calls, to be on two at the same time is a High art of a tool. Don’t worry, you aren’t really listening but nothing says your important like having a conference call on speaker phone while you check your fantasy football stats. NOTE: The above rule about meetings apply. Just in case some one asks you a question…. And they will have to ask it several times because you aren’t paying attention…. Please practice these phrases “Sorry I had you on mute… I was Saying” or for a question demanding specific information “I’m sorry I’ll need more information before I answer that” or “let me crunch some numbers and I’ll get back to ya”. Another phrase you may want to memorize is “I don’t have the Resource Availability” or the off shoot “My resources are stretched pretty thin”… now no one on the call will realize that the last time you ever even thought of Resource Availability let alone your usage against actual was back in January when you vomited some figures at a cog you had assigned to do your forecasting for the year ( A task you were supposed to do….good job) but it sounds great on conference call where they can’t see the cogs beneath you standing around 5417’s desk talking about last nights raid on the Scarlet Monastery for hours on end.

To cement yourself as a True tool you must be the master of the walk about, you can only be at your desk for conference calls, the rest of the time you need to be walking around, go down to the coffee shop and spread your toolish disinformation. Say things like “Im sneaking away from 4 meetings to grab a coffee…I haven’t had lunch in days…you know how it is” or pull out your device, glare at it and say something like “They always no how to find me” and chuckle. Do walk bys of your bosses desk to ask him question that he probably already had a tool answer you about in a email…make them short meaningless questions and be sure to interrupt anything that he happens to be doing….you are that important. While at your bosses desk, segue any dead air into a meaningless conversation about his last vacation or his son’s admittance to Ivy league tool factory. The more of his time you monopolies, the more important you are.

On of the important things you must remember… your body armor against all blame… will be the tools denial. When push comes to shove you never knew about it…. Even if they have you on the attendance sheet for that meeting and the single topic was X…. you never even heard of it, further more you are outraged at the situation. If they attempt to pin you to the wall or worse yet, succeed in pinning you to the wall…listen carefully… without admitting guilt, point out that you had 25 meetings scheduled for that time and were probably stretching yourself to thin… that’s right, turn the whole thing into a gamble for more resources!

One last thing… Remember to tell the higher paid people exactly what THEY want to hear. That can change from one to the next…it doesn’t matter, your rubber baby..Nothing sticks.

Thursday, December 08, 2011

Jury Doody…. See, it’s a pun…get it

So the Clockwinder received the notice from the county government and did his civic duty by heading into the courthouse to serve as a possible juror for a day…or two. I thought I’d share the experience so that people in other countries…such as New Jersey… would know what it is like.

So you arrive at the courthouse at 8:15 AM, your first obstacle is the Metal detector/ reminder that your one of the little people station. I motored up, having listened to the recording the night before, Sans phone, ipod, black berry or any other device or weapon and was told to empty my pockets and remove my belt…”Remove my belt”??... but being a sheep in the lair of the wolf I complied. After they confiscated one of the keys from my keyring for the day, I got the achievement unlock and headed to the next challenge.

Check in was surprisingly easy…I supplied a copy of my notice and parking stub ( as I had listened to the recording….baaaaa) and had it validated and followed the instructions to sit in the waiting area.

Now the waiting area is a large room full of chairs that are just a hair on the + side of uncomfortable. You and 150 friends (or comrades) attempt to make your self comfortable while over the next 45 minutes people are called up to make corrections on their jury questionnaires.

A judge came out and gave us a speech, then a jury guy gives us the low down, we’ll have a 10 minute break cause the bailiffs are already on their way down, there are apparently 35 cases on the dock today and things are about to get jumping.

So after break I squeeze back into my chair and wait for the action to begin…and wait…and wait. Hours latter, after having not called a single jury, we are all thanked and sent home.


You see, apparently Jurors are sort of a unpaid legal tool, some sort of Judicial trump card, who cause lawyers and clients to settle/ cop a plea or what ever.

So I walked back to the parking garage, climbed in my car with the consolation that I had done my civic duty.

Wednesday, December 07, 2011

The Mandalorian

“He ain’t no bleedin Mandalorian!!” he snapped, maybe just a little to abruptly for man who stood in the presence of none other than Gammon Bog himself. He quickly regained his composer, reigned his anger back in, though Daro Kask may have a bottomless reserve of it, his many years (and scars) had taught him just when the best moments were to tap it….and this wasn’t one. “Excuse me….Milord” he growled as he shifted his battered helmet that he was holding in his left hand.

The Magnificence that was Gamon Bog considered the man before him, he floated in his favorite tank of glowing liquid with several of his tentacles stroking the brow of his single eye ( A eye, that it was said, saw all and missed nothing) as his beak seem to let out a brief laugh that the attached translator could not interpret. “I take it you have issue with the illustrious Boba Fett?” the speaker blared in a voice totally unfitting of the massive floating Cephalopod as Bog’s eye widened as to take in the man’s reaction.

The scared Mandalorians eyes narrowed a bit, and bog could sense his muscle tighten as he spoke. “Nothing personal persay…I ain’t never met him and he aint ever met me….” He paused as he glanced around the room at the talent Bog had assembled into his murderous retinue…and he regarded them with contempt. “But he ain’t no Mandolorian, he’s a clone of one. He ain’t been on the hunt, he aint ever stalked in the Jamik wood armed only with a knife, by smell and sound alone, he’s never been called to serve in a family commando and he sure as hell aint never stood the judgment before the elders…” He paused as he took a slow a deliberate breath. He could not help but smell the fear that some of the creatures gave off, like the mere mention of Fett could doom them, he had no such fear, he would say it all again to Fett’s face even with the mans carbine shoved in his mouth.

“Now..” he continued, stepping closer to Bog, allowing the light of the glowing liquid of the Tentacled ones tank illuminate his face and his Hideous scar that disfigured its left side, “ have to ask yourself what’s worth more… A Original… or a copy”.

Tuesday, December 06, 2011

The Spy

I live between the turning of a pages of history, a unseen post script and invisible sentence that could spell your doom.

I am the face you do not see, even though I have just walked past you, I am indistinguishable from the crowd. Though I am the lead of our play, my appearance is that of the backdrop and the scenery. My art is to look just like everyone else, those normal people that the exceptional people choose not to see.

You will never know I am here