Tag: photography

Dronesville football club #3: two routes to success

Experimental season for successes.

The first least impossible goal is to escape from Dronesville. My past efforts had proven futile but this time I have thought out a fail-proof plan. This is the easiest on my goal list, alas. As anyone can see it is that time of the season when everybody is in a celebrating mood. With winter knocking on the door and bounty snow fall promises who would bother with virtual football club?

I just received a WhatsApp message from one ex-classmate who had lost himself for years hiking in a secret place near Timbuktu. It is a message for HELP. “Hi guys you may not know i am still stuck out here being the longest living captain for a football club of former cannibals who have been converted from the love of human meat to football!!! i am running away not out of fear but out of extreme boredom and also because of this sudden insatiable yearning for ________ fried chicken and a shower i must get back to civilization! i know one of you bored nerds out there doing nothing except twittering thumbs can get me out. i am desperate. got to run. bye.” Next, he wrote, “BTW, this hideout the size of a football field is full of gold. Pure gold.”

Aha, I know that is my break. My first two least impossible goals are: “escape from Dronesville’s virtual football club and get some gold for myself (and not for my boss, the English lord.) My getaway action plan: jam the drone controller, tie a muzzle on Grace’s mouth, use my master key to drive off into the sunset my grand aunt’s 2018 Land Rover Defender. Yes she is testing on one before its official launch. I will park it at the ________ international airport safely of course for her to collect.

So far so good. I get away as planned. However, the international flight is not what I have expected. I inadvertently omitted to pre-book and pay for meals online and cannot buy them on the plane. The rules have changed! Why? Because there is a technical hitch and credit cards cannot be accepted. Nor can they accept cash in lieu of card as this is the airline policy. Imagine a young and healthy nerd with nothing to eat for 10hr 35min! Nothing to do except to sleep… At the first stop I eat something at the transit area. It takes another 11 hours to reach the second stop. Again I have to buy whatever food I can on the ground. I fly for another 7 hours to reach the capital of the nation. The drive from the capital takes 20 hours to reach my destination and much of it is off-road. 48 hours of travel plus layover time.

What? You are already tired reading the numbers? Wait till you hear the rest of the story. (To be continued)

P/s: Some geeks just posted on our secret chat board they have calculated the numbers and guessed the routes as: From SF to Heathrow to Johannesburg to Bamako to Timbuktu. LOL! Guess again.

I took this from the internet to show the cronies of the car I mention. Credit to the Source: autoexpress.co.uk
2018 LandRoverDefender

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Dronesville football club #2: too many footballs to chase

Dronesville football club 2Dronesville football club 2

“Ka knew very well that life was a meaningless string of random incidents”. It is just Temporary, I finally quote Orhan Pamuk (Snow) to brush aside the impasse when I get too tired and bored watching the football dangling from the ceiling. After all, my life can so far be described somewhat as how Ka must have felt. I differ on the point that it is meaningless. I find my life meaningful, what with serving the Dronesville’s retirees who are mostly my relatives and former teachers and a super-nerd, an English lord who happens to be loaded with privy information about secret treasure buried in unimaginable places to be found with my unique assistance! Yes, I like to be useful even though I may be considered modestly (or largely) lay-back.

Whilst I have the urge to leave the room and grab some food a voice speaks from above. “Do not move!” What? I look around and see no one. Every one is having the usual Dronesville nap. Besides, I live alone in this quiet little house free of rent in lieu of payment for my virtual football club service to the Dronesville residents. Who has spoken? I sit down and look up at the ceiling and to my amazement another droplet of water appears, then another, and another… Soon the ceiling is covered with water droplets which have started to mutate into golf balls, then tennis balls, and finally footballs. Countless of them are now crowding my whole ceiling.

“These are your goals.” What? They are my goals? How can I ever chase after so many goals?
“Yes, look carefully.” There are words written on each football. “Copy.” So I start writing down these goals, “playing European football for the richest club_____, writing _____ commercially viable applications and sell to _____, composing _____ for _____, re-reading and reviewing at least one classic science fiction in depth (such as Asimov’s The Foundation series, sequels and prequels), making attempts to write a series of _____, doing something positive, meaningful and relevant to change lives… There are so many footballs that I just cannot complete copying. The funny thing is they look so familiar. Where have I seen these before?

“So you recognize them?” The voice asks. What? I look at what I have written and then look up as I hear lots of people talking from above. Pictures begin to emerge on the footballs. Faces grinning or frowning and mouths talking. They look alike.

“Are you not chasing your goals? Why are you chasing after hidden treasure instead?”

Now I realize those faces are mine. I have made goals on the spur of moments over the years and never really focus on one. “Don’t you know once you make your goal, it is registered with the ministry of goals? You are expected to chase after each unless it’s harmful/illegal/immoral/abominable/forbidden.”

“Time is urgent and you have so many goals still ahead of you.”
“Will they go away?” I ask in desperation.
“No, unless you make an attempt and then fail. They will hang around you like this ceiling wherever you go.”

OK, that may sound bad but not as bad. I am still young and can start chasing one by one. But the list is so long. I suddenly think of a brilliant scheme. I will chase after the most impossible one and so on in the order of impossibility and eliminate them fast. “What kind of attitude is that?” The voice hears my thought. “You must follow rules. Succeed three before you can fail one.”

Boo Hoo, what can I do but fall face down and cry. To many footballs to chase away…I can imagine a life of “ceilings” dangling with boring footballs or be aswarmed with football looking bees which buzz like human but making no sense.

But I am an optimist. I refuse to be defeated. Whichever way it may look. (Like the two presentations of the same picture. LOL.)

I get up from the floor and look hard at the list of goals. My task now is to identify the three least impossible ones. (to be continued)

Dronesville football club #1: He starts over a new dream

dronesville football club“No man runs the race until he sees the dream.” (Fred C. White). I, the Dronesville’s nerd dream of running a race, well, not exactly. It is like I am chasing an invisible football and hear this remark from an audience who seems to sit high up. I look up and see the football in the sky! Before I have a better Peek into the other arena I wake with the MacBook screen glaring at me. On it there is a gigantic football. What am I supposed to be doing? No, I am not the player. I am just updating the website for the Dronesville Retirees’ Virtual Football Club.

Since the teacher-retiree-residents start practicing their wealth of combined knowledge through modern tech-know skills online they have been fascinated with the seemingly limitless creative ways to compensate virtually for what they lack in the physical world. One of the programs they have successfully launched is virtual football competition with other retirees. They have appointed the youngest member in Dronesville to maintain the website. You guess rightly, I am the youngest. Most of the residents who are also former teachers are in their 60s and above. My former English teacher happens to be my grand aunt is one of the driving forces behind their enthusiasm to learn the digital age.

Life has been rather quiet since I return from my treasure hunt. Some readers may ask if I get my share of the treasure. LOL. You guess. Anyway I haven’t got away to some mysterious exotic island. I have been grounded and immediately reassigned to be the umpire and coach on the internet as there is a game being hotly contested between several retirees teams. The Dronesville team is not performing to the mark right now. Oh, yes, my boss the English lord is one of the players. My grand-aunt has enlisted him as a reserved player. He has become one of their favorites. Honestly I do not know how he has managed to wangle his way out of that extreme predicament on that fateful night with his container load of gold! It remains a secret. So now I have two virtual superiors to serve (sigh).

What happens to the lovely orange car? Well, it was on-loan from the other nerd (spy?) who chooses to remain under-cover in Dronesville, and I had to return it to a spot where he picked it up without my knowing who he really is. Actually the car-drone is remotely controlled by its owner/inventor. Gracie is as happy as ever being the sole Dronesville mascot dog and the Dronesville drone is safely back to my grand-aunt’s custody.

What is my own dream? What am I running after? I admit I have never thought about it until now when I hear this voice questioning me from above. Do I see my dream? I look up at the ceiling and see a tiny shinny spot. A supernatural manifestation? When I look closely I see it is just a drop of water from presumably a leak upstairs. But wait a second. There is no upstairs. A leak from the roof? But it has not been raining since Spring! Now it is Autumn! No, I have not sighted any chem-trails floating pass the roof top sky. Yes, I am a sky-watcher. As I gaze at this “water drop” it grows bigger and becomes a golf ball, then a tennis ball. And finally it grows to its maximum and becomes a football! A continental football. To be precise, an English football.

For hours I sit here dumbfounded staring at this football dangling from my ceiling, not moving or blinking for fear that this might be the dream I am destined to run after. (To be continued)

Dronesville adventure #22: rounded up last but not least

Rounded up last but not least. rounded car
When I hear the loud speaker blasting “No body moves! You are surrounded” I duck to the ground and my left hand shoots up as it has been ready for this moment of encounter. The snag is that it does not hold a gun. My companions do the best they are trained to do too. The drone surges upward and immediately becomes out of sight with its load of gold. The Dronesville mascot dog, Gracie, does her usual vanishing trick by darting with near speed of light (exaggerating here) into a bush. His Lordship keeps on walking as if nothing happens. I remain frozen on the ground with the vision of a car racing through my mind.

I admit I do have a way to get out of a mess. I have tried before and it sometimes works. You guess rightly, I can envision a way out in my blogging. So, here is this rounded car racing toward me out of nowhere. It does not hit me when it arrives because I am inside the car. In fact I am driving it. I can hear the wind giving way on both sides. I can hear sounds of moving obstacles parting, as the car zooms forward to an unknown realm.

As you can see from the picture, this car is a vintage beauty.

(To be continued?)

Dronesville adventure #18: a reflective senior nerd from the computer past

Dronesville dog
Dronesville dog

Reflecting is not my usual engagement. But the voice on the stage seems familiar as I continue to listen. Who can he be? My grandaunt seems to read my thought. She suddenly laughs, “You know, my nephew up there could have been just as famous as Bill or Elon.” What? I almost fall off the chair. Her nephew? She has only one nephew, and that is my dad! But it cannot be because my dad has ventured into the deepest jungle in South America in search of the legendary Spanish treasures and has not been heard of since time immemorial as far as I can remember. What is he doing here giving such a boring nerd talk to a group of polite but rather outdated audience? What is his hidden agenda? Yes, my grandaunt is right. Dad used to be a brilliant math and science scholar and a futurist. He could have become as famous as one of those names. But he has chosen to go for hidden treasures. Alas, I take after him in the passion for treasure hunting bit.

Then I hear him say, “Finally,…” At last he is ending his talk. I sigh with relief. He is given a great round of applause. Dronesville residents love to applaud. Then I hear chairs moving and people are standing to give him a standing ovation. After all he has been their blue-eye boy. This is his homecoming day.

I wonder how he looks in this strange symbiotic time zone where people of different time episodes co-exist together like me in my 20s meeting myself at 7, and with my dad in his perhaps 40s and so on. A hand touches my shoulder, “Ahem, old boy, I hear you are working and trotting round Europe with my old Oxford friend (namely my boss-an English lord), still charging as strong and as aimless as a young un-yoked bull, albeit being encumbered by a comparatively weak mass of grey matters inside your cranium, how have you been treating life’s fabulous adventures?” He likes bombastic long sentences. Before I can answer him he is already engaged with my boss in a lengthy dissertation comparing the nasty weather in Europe and South America.

Someone nudges my leg. A small voice speaks. What, it’s Gracie the faithful Dronesville dog! I know it’s her. She squeaks. “Hi boss, we better get out of here fast!” She urges. “I don’t want to go to Europe! You hear what they say, nasty weather! Here, take my leash and I will pull you out of here!” She knows I cannot see. Soon we are sneaking out of the hall and making our great escape, far from the madding crowd (Sorry, Mr. Hardy, I can’t help but quote your great title), into another adventure, or so I hope.

Being unable to see the physical world has its pros and cons. I have mentioned the pros in my former blog. Now I am facing the cons, the reduction in speed of motion. Despite Gracie’s great effort she is not much good as a novice guide dog for the blind. I bump into so many obstacles all the way as we race down the Dronesville Main Street until I no longer care what or who I happen to knock down. I can hear siren behind me. Are the law after me? But Gracie is adamant that we get out alive. She is pulling me like the great and noble champion husky from Siberia. What a sight we two must be making. I can hear not only siren but footsteps running behind. The street must be full of stuff and angry people we knock down or overturn…but we keep on running, soon followed by a growing crowd of runners some of whom do not even know why they join in. (To be continued)

Dronesville adventure #17: computer’s cold calculating logic, human perspective, a model mother

“The standard story about computers, generally, is that they lack many of our more appealing human qualities but are really good at cold calculating logic. You’d think that combining the two — using computers to emphasize our most coldly rational and greedy qualities, and then using markets to aggregate those computers’ individually hyper-rational behavior — would work really well. I guess it does; that’s why people keep doing it.” (Matt Levine) As I narrated in my previous blog there was a loud bang and it seemed the end of the word had arrived. I hear confusion and loud rather ungentlemanly murmuring,

“What?! Fire crackers? Come on, be real, this is not ______(another big global nation like the USA) yet!!!” I cannot detect who says by their voices and accents. All sound American to me with the exception of my English lord Sir______ of course. Someone says, “That settles it, I am leaving. I am not sitting around listening to some promotion of cheap trade-off.” Soon I hear chairs and tables being shuffled around and impatient footsteps of those leaving the scene. Distant sounds of engines of expensive automobiles too.

Who is speaking today? I wonder. Then I hear this cold voicing of a nerd/millennial’s quote on the stage. I cannot see the speaker. Is it a machine or is it a human? I wonder. He sounds ordinary alright, like you and me, or any cool millennial. I recognize the quote from Bloomberg View on Money Stuff, an email I subscribe to. Whoever is standing on the stage is a nerd from the future like me who happens to be around for no particular reason. But he continues quoting the whole article. Rather like the aliens who have landed speaking to the earthlings in seemingly same and yet incomprehensible language. I never realize how unreal we may sound to those who live in mere twenty years ago. How much has the world gone through from 1996 to 2016. Even a seven year old can become an adult taking care of number one (me) now. LOL.

Because I do not see the speaker and do not know his personal traits: race, skin color, nationality, physique, stature, weight, height, hair color, hairdo, dressing, facial, hand gestures, posture, overall mannerism etc I have to cast aside my personal prejudices (which I admit I still have), like William Blake declared, “For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro’ narrow chinks of his cavern.” I am not saying that the above nerd speaker’s quote (on computer etc) is great because it’s just an article I pick by random to illustrate a point about human perspective.

The sudden invisibility of all people around me has made me looked inward and outward beyond the narrow chinks of my cavern. Suddenly I see something right before me, a dried flattened earwig lying on the table as I turn over an invisible place mat. The poor earwig must have been there for ages. I recall an article in the Manchester Guardian on 6th March 1917, a hundred years ago, “Female Earwig a Model Mother”:
Quote: “It was the earwigs that I specially noticed, and I was almost sorry for them, for, like birds, they were sitting on their eggs. I had to stop occasionally to watch a half-awake mother earwig, if I did not happen to have damaged her with my spade. She turned up an expostulating and threatening tail, metaphorically rubbed her eyes, dazzled by the unexpected light, and then began to fuss round, striving to gather together those precious eggs. She is a model mother amongst insects, and when the tiny larva – very like her in general appearance – are hatched she looks after them in quite a correct manner, while the babes seem to recognise their nurse and crowd round her like much more highly developed animals, even crawling upon her back for a ride.”Unquote. What a wonderful mother!.

When I no longer encumber my eyes and mind with the things I tend to see physically, I see and recall stuff that may be rare and precious. Like treasure hunting in a realm I rarely visit. Guess this new vast empty space enhances focus on stuff that matters at the right time and right place.

In a way, it this NOT what Symbiosis MEANS? Human, other creatures, and even computers past and present co-existing.

WORD ORIGIN
late 19th century: modern Latin, from Greek sumbiōsis ‘a living together,’ from sumbioun ‘live together,’ from sumbios ‘companion.’
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
BTW: “LOL, see how _____ suddenly becomes SOOO…INTROSPECTIVE!” My nerd cronies have lampooned at my previous blog ranting mercilessly in their latest comment in our private chat board. Well, this one will divert you guys so you go digging out the Money article and see what it is all about.

Dronesville adventure #16: A fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees.

william blake quoteA fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees. This is what I learn today. Otherwise it will be Meaningless!
Well, I am now at the Dronesville city hall. I am still in an unseen realm. Others can see me but I cannot see them. Is this a reality check or what? The little girl told me yesterday I was to go to the Twilight Zone. Is this it? Someone sits down next to me and he whispers, “Hmmm, you are here finally!” He is my boss, the English lord. Oh well, I am not surprised that he has turned up. I recall a final scene in an Agatha Christie’s famous detective (either Hercule Poirot or Miss Marple) movie in which all the important characters gathered around the detective when he or she unveiled the murderer. Yes, they have to be around but what is the big announcement and who is making it? I wonder. What am I doing in my seven year old self? What happened on November 28? Here are three random quotes from someone (William Blake~ born 28 November 1757):
1. A fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees.
2. Truth can never be told so as to be understood and not be believed.
3. If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is: Infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro’ narrow chinks of his cavern.

So it is a matter of seeing and yet not seeing. I suddenly become concerned with the perspective of a man. How am I to get out of this narrow chink of my cavern? LOL. A millennial has to laugh at himself by himself. Let’s see if I can find a solution from these words of wisdom. A fool sees not the same tree. What am I seeing? Vast empty spaces where there should be stuff and people. It means I see not the same stuff as others see. Mind you I am not admitting that I am a fool. Am I regarding myself as the wise man? (Affirmative of course.) Who else (other than the fool) sees not the same tree? A writer. A dreamer. An artist. A creative person. An actor. An entrepreneur. An adventurer. A traveler. An explorer. A tech nerd. A blogger. A virtual being. A millennial.

Ok. I must understand my situation. I am writing a story. A futuristic blog for millennials. This virtual story is my current truth for this purpose. I can write myself to seeing things again of course. Why do I choose to have invisibility for others? Good question. Normally the writer or protagonist is the one invisible. But here he is exposing himself to everyone and hide everyone instead from his sight. LOL. What is the advantage? One obvious one is that he needs not describe their looks. Save space. Expand his horizon. Clean and neat screen…and many more.

The next thing I shall do is to clean the doors of perception of everyone here. For everyone has closed himself up and that is why I cannot see you.

A loud blast can be heard as if someone has exploded the sound system or worse…(to be continued)

Dronesville adventure #14: I am an invisible nerd?

nerd-and-cell-phonesThe cell phone rings just as I wake from my nightmare on thanksgiving night. It is a recording: The voice says, “I am an invisible man. No, I am not a spook like those who haunted Edgar Allan Poe; nor am I one of your Hollywood-movie ectoplasms. I am a man of substance, of flesh and bone, fiber and liquids — and I might even be said to possess a mind. I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me.” A Pungent smell like burnt rubber hits me. What happens? I run out of the homestay (which is called, The House of the Rising Sun”)and see my aromatic flower tea van in flame! The homestay workers are fighting the fire with a garden hose. “Alas, my van load of fragrant tea!” I sit on the stone steps and cry. After they put out the fire the front desk clerk consoles me by saying that only two back tires are burned and that the paint on the van has turned “a Whiter Shade of Pale”. Otherwise the damage is minimal. I inspect the goods and find that they are amazingly in tact. After replacing the two tires at a garage down the block, I make a fragrant tea and eat some dough nuts at a cafe named “Proud Mary”. The whole street seems to be lined with shops of names from some songs of yesteryear! As I watch the names walking down this street which is just outside Dronesville but I have never seen before until I check into the homestay, I cannot help but wonder whether I am dreaming in broad daylight or whether I have been teleported to another time and space.

Someone has sent the above quote from Ralph Ellison, “Invisible Man” (1952) to my cell phone. Have I become invisible to the Dronesville’ residents? Or have they (including all living creatures and food) turned invisible to me? I return to my van and try to think hard. Where am I and what have I become? My high tech robot does not work anymore. Neither is my cell phone except for that incoming recorded call by a stranger or robot. “Excuse me, Miss,” I decide to stick my head out of the window and ask a pedestrian, “What is this place?” She looks surprised, “Why, it’s the Twilight Zone, of course!” My first response is to duck under the van seat. “Impossible!!!”

As tech-know millennial nerd, we do not fear the high-tech unknown. But we are quite uncomfortable with anything of the past unknown. I park near a park and see some children playing and singing. One little girl sings, “Somewhere over the rainbow…” So I get down and ask her, “Where is the place over the rainbow?” She looks surprised, “Don’t you know? Of course it’s there!” She points toward Dronesville. OK. Point noted. I decide to give it a try again, entering Dronesville as an official aromatic flower tea seller.

I switch on the radio and hear a blast of 1976 songs with pessimistic and depressing titles like: Silly Love Songs, Don’t Go Breaking My Heart, Disco Lady, Play That Funky Music, Kiss and Say Goodbye, 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover, Sailing, Take the Money and Run, Takin it to the Streets, Let’s Call it Quits, Still Crazy After All These Years, Crazy on You, It Keeps You Running, Jailbreak, chain Gang Medley… What? There is no choice? A nerd can only take this much. I switch off.

As I approach Dronesville I realize that Dronesville seems not the Dronesville I used to know. It looks period. The houses seem different. Like a newly established housing estate. The place seems brighter and more cheerful. I park my van near my grandaunt’s house and ring the door bell. A young boy with a mop of unruly hair opens the door. “Who are you? ” I am surprised to see a kid of around seven in this house of ancient elders. He grins, two front teeth missing, “Who are you?” He asks me, his mischievous eyes twinkling.

He looks familiar. The missing front teeth reminds me of someone close. Who? I search my memory. Who has missing front teeth? I remember seeing a photo before. A grinning boy with a gap in his mouth. What! I know who he is. I ask the boy the date and he tells me. Yes. I know who he is. He shows me into the kitchen and we sit at the beautiful oak table and talk. Without asking me, he takes out two Yoo-hoo* drinks from the icebox and offers me one. Yes, my favorite at seven. We sit there, looking, or rather, staring, at each other.

“Where are the grown ups?” I finally ask. He shrugs his shoulder, “Somewhere? I suppose,” and continues to stare. Typical answer of a nerd. Not committing to giving any definite information until we are sure what benefits we receive in exchange. I put my hand into my pocket and take out my cell phone and show him, “Well, you know what this is?” I switch on the iPhone and show him the features. He looks incredulous. “May I try it?” He is definitely interested. I let him try a bit and take it back, “Wait, where are the grown-ups?” (To Be Continued)

BTW (by the way) it’s snowing out there.   It’s Not This Time of Year Without… snow?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
Notes on “Yoo-hoo” (From Wikipedia) Not to be confused with Yahoo!.
Yoo-hoo is an American brand of chocolate beverage that originated in New Jersey in 1926 and that is currently manufactured by Dr. Pepper Snapple Group.
Since it is neither a soda nor a milk drink, Yoo-hoo’s actual ingredients have long been the topic of speculation. Its official ingredients are water, high fructose corn syrup, whey (from milk), and less than 2% of: cocoa (alkali process), nonfat dry milk, natural and artificial flavors…Yoo-hoo comes in several flavors,including chocolate, double fudge, and strawberry.

Dronesville adventure #13: I try to fill in the blank (bird inside)

bird-inside

It’s Not This Time of Year Without… (bird inside) As I drive the aromatic flower tea van into Dronesville, I suddenly realize it’s thanksgiving night. I can smell the rich aromatic food through the open windows of the homes as I drive down the empty streets quietly. Ha ha, soon I shall be sitting at my grand-aunt’s table and enjoy a good meal! I start imagining all my favorite food and how I shall enjoy myself thoroughly. But despite the smell I cannot see anyone around, not even one person. The windows are open but there seems no one around inside or outside. Strange.

When I reach the street my grand aunt lives I have the shock of my nerd life. I cannot find her house! It is not there. Or rather it is there but it is not her house. The exterior looks the same but there seems no one inside. I ring the doorbell and the door opens. But there is no one at the door or inside. I can smell the food but there is no food in sight. I look into every room and the kitchen of course but there is no one and no food.

I try to call using my cell phone but no one answers. I try to call every resident I know but there is no answer. I go to their homes and encounter the same emptiness. What has happened? Has someone cast a spell and made the residents invisible? Can they see me? If they can why no one tries to communicate with me? Or the spell has cast them into another realm or dimension of space?

I finally give up and sit in my van and wonder, “It’s not This Time of Year Without…” I try to fill in the blank with words like “turkey”, “family (such as my grand-aunt and other…)”, “Gracie, the faithful guard dog”, or even “my boss” assuming I am on the treasure hunt assignment during thanksgiving season, or just “a room full of people”. Suddenly I miss people. How can it be a festive occasion without living people? What is the meaning of this?

I decide to leave this town and return to the homestay until tomorrow. I am the only lodger but it does not matter anymore. At least I can stuff myself with some buns from the vending machines and get some sleep. I dream. In this dream I am driving the aromatic flower tea van into Dronesville and again it is deserted. I can smell food but I cannot see them. I cannot see people or even the Dronesville dog. What a nightmare. As I wake my cell phone rings. (To be continued)

Dronesville adventure #12: how I become the official therapeutic aromatic flower tea peddler

aromatic-flowersAn Aromatic therapeutic flower tea peddler nerd. After being thrown out into the street which serves as a boundary and banned from re-entering Dronesville by two seemingly alien women, I have lost contact with the boss, an English nobleman. Before I can ascertain the next move I stay away as much as possible so as not to put in jeopardy the innocents: Gracie-the Dronesville dog, the Dronesville residents including my retiree relatives (former teachers) friends, and the boss (possibly stuck in Dronesville somewhere) in that order. I still have the robot attached to my chest and it functions well as I can duckduckgo (instead of google) the internet but I cannot access email, Facebook, my private chat group or anyone I know! I have sent signals to Gracie’s drone but there is no reply.

Waiting to hear from the boss I check into a homestay outside Dronesville where I hibernate. Why am I confident to hear from him? You see, he is an ex-spy with 007 background. Even if my robot malfunctions he can still find me with his custom-made nerd detector. I believe he reads my mind through a chip implanted in my eye. To make myself useful I scan the internet for the two women’s information. The chip at the corner of my right eye has a good snapshot of them. By sending this picture to the internet I receive almost instantaneous biodata that match them.

The two are aunt and niece both scientists who have been sentenced to prison for seriously violating endangered creatures’ conservation laws in a foreign country but were mysteriously pardoned and disappeared soon after release. The niece used to be a utility who played in the All-xxx Girls Professional Baseball League. That explains the baseball bat she carries around. They seem to be commercial breeders of mutant giant jelly fish in Dronesville. Why? Where is the demand? I shudder when I think of the time they mercilessly threw me into one of the predators’ tanks!

While lying low in the homestay I meet an elderly, interesting but broke fragrance tea peddler. He has traveled from afar, the land of thousand fragrant flowers, where his family live. Having shared my meal with him I manage to persuade him to talk about his dream of going home as he has been on the road for half a year. “Why don’t you take over my business?” He suddenly becomes convinced that I am just the right sort of successor he has been seeking. “Not me…” I shake my head vigorously. Selling fragrant tea is the last thing on my mind. I cannot imagine becoming a tea drinker when I am saddled with a van load of fragrant tea no matter how romantic it may sound or conjure up in the imagination of delusive minds, a fragrant flower tea seller and connoisseur nerd. Never. But he is adamant in making a deal and gives me an offer I cannot refuse. “Look, young man, I may look tattered but I am not desperate. The business is good. I will sell you the van and the van-full of stocks for a pittance.” It is truly a pittance. “Besides, I have a yearly permit to enter Dronesville where 95% of the residents have been my customers for over forty years.” This is exactly what I have been hoping for, a way to enter Dronesville. To convince me further he makes some hot water and treats me to the best fragrant tea. “Ah…” He shows me how to make the tea and how to drink like a connoisseur.

That is how I become an aromatic tea peddler. My mentor signs over his business license and the ownership of his asset and duly deposits them online to my paperless asset custodian banker, while I duly transfer the e-payment to his bank account. He spends another two days training me and then returns to his homeland happily. Me? I become the official aromatic therapeutic flower tea peddler driving through the gate into Dronesville. (To be continued)

Dronesville adventure #11: banned from Dronesville

dronesville-adventure-11Banned!!! I cannot say more than this word right now. What happens on this fateful night is beyond anyone’s wildest dream or imagination. The boss and I manage to get into the backyard of the ‘Russian'(which is not Russian as we find out later) mansion, with me again soaked to the bone, this time exotically decorated with a few lively accessories like water lilies but predominantly live baby terrapins stubbornly clinging onto my hair, and some relentlessly fastening their beaks onto my trousers! The boss wears a mask but I can see his rigorous facial movement with his mouth moving soundlessly and I cannot figure out whether he is stifling his sniggering or sniveling. Anyway this is not my concern as I have more important thing in mind. Where is Gracie the faithful and brave Dronesville dog?

The boss seems confident and leads me swiftly through a back lane among the trees and bushes. It is unusually quiet. The residents seem asleep. How can this be? Surely they would have discovered my great escape, haven’t they? We walk through the dark garden and soon arrive at a row of old cabins made of train cars which seem deserted. No sound. No enemy activities. What a good adventure this will turn out to be. But I am congratulating ourselves too soon. A shot in the dark. We hear little running feet but cannot see anyone. Something attacks my feet and topples me. I am being dragged into a shed, dropped into a hole, and onto a moving conveyor belt, through a long tunnel. The thing that accomplishes this feat looks like a dog but is not a real dog. He has a lasso with one end tied to his neck and the other end latched onto my left ankle. Don’t ask me how this functions. I try to describe at best I can and it sounds incredible even to me. (I know some of my nerd cronies are sniggering or howling in laughters. “LOL. Who would believe this ridiculous description?” They would comment in our private chat board.)

But the next scene is more incredible. We are back into a well lit hall and who do you think are there? Haha, the two women I described as crazy in my previous blog. One of them removes the lasso from the robot dog and pets him, saying, “Good dog! Go and take your treat! ( A spray of fragrant stuff over it as it presses a button with its paw. Apparently it is programmed to like such stuff!) One of the women carries a baseball bat. She gives me the threatening unspoken look that seems to say that she may test her power throw or hit again using my head as a target. I do not see Gracie and that is a relief, presuming that she is safe.

One woman speaks, “Nerd, you have trespassed our property twice and there is no excuse. What are we to do with you? Give us a good reason that you deserve a better treatment than to be fed to the jelly fish.”

Another woman says, “We give you two choices: (a) To be fed to the mutated giant jelly fish; or if you are scared of water (b) To be banned from Dronesville?

The first woman says, “I am in a merciful mood now and besides, our jelly babies do not like your taste. So I let you choose to be banished. Ok, court adjourned. Dismiss! Dog, escort the prisoner into exile!”

The robot dog, with its menacing flying lasso, and the second woman with her equally menacingly swinging baseball bat escort me to the front door and throw me out into the street that serves as the boundary of Dronesville. “Goodbye, and don’t you ever step into Dronesville again. You hear me?” She says without waiting for an answer and slams the door in my face. (To be continued)

Notes on photos: The picture is a compilation of four original photos taken by this blogger while visiting an old gold mining town.

Dronesville Adventure #10: babies, water lilies, and promises to keep

Promises to keep. dronesville10-pond
“As soon as one promises not to do something, it becomes the one thing above all others that one most wishes to do.” There are times when I wish I had not promised the boss not to quit as long as there are treasures to hunt! What if I had not promised? I would have been sleeping and dreaming of stuff like eating ice cream, hunting Pokemon Go, or even racing down the street/park at midnight, chasing intruders, with half the work done by the Dronesville dog Gracie and the drone. I don’t mind working for the Dronesville senior virtual football club. Indeed, as my fellow cronies have complained all over our closed chat board, “When will you get up to living the status a nerd is called to be? This is now the tenth episode and you have not achieved anything except lamenting your seemingly inappropriate occupation?” One mysterious foreign woman caller managed to hack into my anonymous location and called up through a satellite phone and questioned, “Who are you trying to fool? Those two women (my former captors) are not Russians. You stupid nerd!” I tried arguing, “How do you know they are not?” She laughed and said, “It is obvious, baseball is not a favorite of Russian women!” (Foiled!) She further educated me, “The strongest and most organized women’s baseball leagues are in the United States, Australia, Japan, Taiwan, Cuba, Hong Kong, and Canada. Look, young man, I strongly suggest you look nearer home for your baseball women!” I realize later She was right.

Meanwhile the boss and I are in the second private garden. There is a gigantic pond in the middle of the garden surrounded by thorny bushes and there is no way to get to the other side except through the thorns or swim across the pond. This is a huge garden. It will take the combined power of the two miniature drones and quite sometime to take the boss across. In view of the urgency as Gracie is possibly in grave danger by now, I decide to swim, regardless that I no longer have my Armani to feed any water predators. I admit I am not a hero, but I have promised the former English teacher and the Dronesville community to take care of Gracie their mascot and it means to feed and shelter her and ensure that no harm should come to her. Anyway, before I can change my mind, the boss is already flying across by the two drones.

As I dive into the water I can hear strange sound like a rush of little feet except that the sound comes from under the water. Another strange thing is that the pond is not deep. It is like a flat span of shallow water lily pond after all! It is too dark to see beyond three feet and I wade through the water lily walking on soft and slimy ground, being entangled often by the giant plants, leaves, flowers, stalks and roots and all. under the starlit sky I can see aquatic plants all over the pond: lilies, lotus, water lettuce, water shield and fairy moss. I realize too late that I have stumbled onto a baby terrapin farm and I am stepping on and surrounded by them! Soon I have baby terrapins clinging onto my back, perching on my head, and some stubborn ones with their beaks firmly fastened onto the legs of my trousers!

By the time I manage my big escape and wade through the waist deep pond I no longer care what I have brought along with me. I feel thankful that the pond contains babies and not ferocious carnivorous adult terrapins. A drone carries me over the wall into the backyard of Gracie’s captors’ house. The boss is waiting in silence. This is only the beginning of the real Dronesville adventure. (To be continued)

Photography: The picture is a compilation of segments from several original photos taken by this blogger except for the drone and the man in suit. The pond is taken from a tropical aquarium. The H2O has a rather unique look (like layers of tiles on a roof) in the picture. The dog does pretty well too in standing on her hind feet.

Dronesville Adventure #9: original tech-know mind reading boss

An Original tech-know way in mind reading.dronesville-adventure-car Some nerd buddies say that the loss of the Armani is no big deal. Well, unless you are me you will not feel how I am feeling right now. I am soaked and shivering under a blanket, with a hundred horses racing through my mind: Where is Gracie, the brave Dronesville dog? Where is my grand-aunt’s drone? Where am I heading in this condition, with an overworked mind exhausted beyond descriptions. The day’s vigil at the mad house had been traumatic. Shall I tell the boss that I need a medical break? But the boss is in no mood talking. The silence of the ride is deafening or rather thundering. If anything bad happens to Gracie or the drone, how shall I answer the wrath of my former English teacher (aka the nerd-to-be grand-aunt)and the whole troop of retiree teachers who are also Dronesville residents? They have been hospitable to me giving me free meals and lodging in Dronesville for about a year during my recuperation from three years of treasure hunting under extreme conditions. Gracie is the Dronesville mascot dog. As I have mentioned earlier she has gone through an overdose of gamma ray in the Hyper-Loop research building and has transmuted. Nothing spectacular except that she can hear and understand human language (English to be precise).

As I am busily figuring out and practicing various excuses in my mind to get out of this mess, I hear my boss says,
“Ahem, stop thinking aloud!”
What? I have been doing that? What a mess I must have become without even knowing it! “You mean me? O no, not me. You have eavesdropped the wrong person, boss. i didn’t even open my mouth.” I attempt to talk sense.
“Stop arguing. I hear your mind loud and clear with this new device.” He shows me a gadget hooked to his right ear lobe.
“What? This gadget reads mind?” I am aghast. Has ___(blank space in lieu of a name of a country) newly achieved another breakthrough in spy technology that my English boss is again perhaps involved in?
“Hahaha, use your grey cells. What are you wearing?” He points to the robot that is still glued to my chest. I then realize that I am still transmitting my thoughts through the robot to the drone which Gracie has taken with her and the boss has hacked into the transmission! The gadget is a receiver. As simple as that! Ha.
“BTW (by the way), stop transmission now. Gracie and the drone have been captured by the two seemingly Russian (?) women.” The boss warns.
“Thanks. Boss. How do you know all these?” I ask.
“Hahaha, use your grey cells. I am the one who let you sneak off with the robot. Don’t you ever wonder why?” The boss bursts into laughters.
“You mean the robot is programed to auto-transmit to you my thoughts and other info?” It finally dawns on me how big a fool I must have been in the eyes (ears) of the boss, Lord YYY (I will continue changing the substitute alphabets so no one can accuse me of giving away my boss’ identity).
The car comes to a halt in a deserted back lane. The boss gets out with the two drones and asks the silent driver to give me his shirt. “Follow me. We need to go through two private gardens to get to the back of the Russian house.” So he is going to rescue the poor dog and the drone of my grand-aunt. He is not without kindness after all. Even though I have stopped thought transmission the boss seems to read my thought and turns and says,
“Hey, I do this not without my own agenda. I need the dog in this forthcoming treasure hunt.”
“Noted, boss.” I am a bit crest-fallen but I still like to imagine he is not that mercenary for he is already super-loaded.
Some nerd friends ask me how I would rate my boss. Well, on a scale of one to ten, one being the lowest, I would say he is close to 8+ or 9-, because of the generous and fair monetary reward he hands out to all deserving workers after a successful big hunt. As a human being he is also very descent, courageous and honorable. He doesn’t run away from challenges and leave any of his hired men in hot soup to face the music alone. On technology nerdiness (a new term I have just coined)? Well, I would give him ten. He invents and innovates all the time. No, he is not EM (you know who). He is English and not South African.
As we approach the first garden all is quiet and perfect. The drones carry us over the walls without a hitch. Because of our weight and bulk compared to the drones, we use them to get across the walls only. At the second garden we encounter a strange thing. (To be continued)

Photography: This is an original picture taken in a vintage car museum. This blogger has not done any touch up to it as it looks a bit similar to the boss’ car (which of course is tech-modified). Alas, this blogger does not know the details of this car.

Take a hike, nerd: Dronesville adventure #7

Hike
dronesville-adventure-7I am taken for a hike. In my Armani suit looking all respectable notwithstanding perching precariously on a ladder looking into a neighborhood sunny garden minding my own business calling out for my Dronesville’s dog, Gracie, who has disappeared overnight, the sudden blow comes and knocks me off balance completely, causing me unceremoniously free-falling over the edge of the garden down a steep slope gate-crashing into someone’s private property. Later I learn that the blunt object that hit me is a base ball which a Gen.Y woman power hitter hits with great precision and aim landing the ball right on my head as intended.

Once I reach the point of no return someone blindfolds me and tie my two hands together. Then two persons drag me to a prison cell (or a cellar of some sort). I cannot see at all so I start imagining the worst scenario. I can hear sound of running water. Am I in a dungeon? Then I realize I am possibly in the house adjoining to the hyperloop place. It is a large, seemingly ordinary and sunny looking house painted bright sunflower yellow. I can hear footsteps of people moving some furniture in the room. Then a woman voice asks:

“What are you doing spying on us?”

Another woman voice says, “You peeping tom!” (Because I was using binoculars before they hit me.)

“Don’t think that you can fool us by dressing up as if you are an ordinary salesman.” This woman thinks that I wear Armani suit to sell stuff to the dronesville residents!

“He is probably a con man. We have never seen salesman wearing Armani. Perhaps he is a pervert.”

“Maybe he is just a third rate actor who has been made redundant and is doubling up as a temporary salesman?”

“No he seems too foolish not to be a spy, like Johnny England. I bet he is a third rate spy. Let’s see, what shall we do with a spy? Perhaps cut off his index finger and mail it back to the M15 or FBI?”

I can only shake my head vigorously. They have gagged me so I can’t answer them. They don’t seem to want my answer anyway because they keep asking questions and answer them themselves.

Meanwhile, I am still blind-folded. My hands are tied and my mouth is gagged. I am like a sitting duck shaking my head like it is working on a head shaking upside down pendulum clock. The situation is getting out of control soon as the two hotly debate about my real motive and a pandemonium breaks out as they start throwing stuff at each other and causing loud bangs. What sends shiver down my spine is that the two women speak English with foreign accent.

“What shall we do with this intruder?” Finally one comes back to the crucial question.

“Well, maybe we feed him to the jelly fish? Our jelly babies will be delighted!”

“Hmmm, seems good idea. Only snag is he is too big and they get bored with eating the same stuff for too long. With that Armani he may cause indigestion too.”

“Deep freezing can preserve for months, in case we run out of food for the jellies.”

I recall having read somewhere this dreadful information: “Jellyfish are carnivores and excellent predators. They sting with tentacles to subdue small aquatic fish, and eat the eggs and invertebrates that stick to their tentacles.” I realize too late I seem to be in the hands of two possibly mad alien women who are hiding from both the M15 and FBI. But what are they doing breeding giant jelly fish? I shudder to  figure out.

They cannot decide what to do and decide to call it a day and leave me. I can sense the day dragging until nightfall. The two do not return to check on me. I have my window of opportunity to escape. Even though they have taken away my mobile phone, they have not detected my hair-line-thin-film robot glued to my chest. When I am finally convinced the two are fast asleep and certainly not within earshot I telepathically command the robot to communicate with the drone which I am confident that Gracie has taken with her.

Sure enough Gracie or rather the drone returns a signal to show that it is receiving my signals. I send my thought again to signal I am in dire strait if not life threatening danger. Soon the drone returns with an audible signal that rescue is on the way. The GSP link enables my robot to transmit my exact location to the drone which in turn can lead Gracie here. Will Gracie understand the drone’s signal? The drone will translate the signal to her in audible human language and being a transmuted dog she can understand alright! I become quite optimistic after all.

I can hear soft steps of little feet and an almost inaudible humming drone sound by the time I nearly doze off. Am I hearing things or am I imagining? But I also hear a loud thud somewhere…(To be continued)

(Still on)Edge

A peeping nerd on edge: Dronesville adventure #6

Edge
dronesvilles-edgeAhem, here I am after this blog having being usurped by Gracie, the Dronesville’s dog. My nerd cronies have been booing like after their favorite German football club lost the recent Euro cup and some even had the audacity to suggest I change my blog’s name to “Gracie the nerd dog”, so the dog gets the prominent position for after all she has been writing the blog.

I wake with a triple headache. First I remember the boss instructing that I bring Gracie the dog along to our treasure hunting expedition. Secondly, I cannot locate Gracie. Thirdly I cannot locate the drone. What more can a decent normal nerd ask? All three mysteries land on me at one go, as if my new profession overnight becomes multitasking investigating sleuth. The combination of the problems seems too good to be true. Haha, I somewhat pride myself on cracking multiple puzzles. Surely this has something to do with Gracie. Oh, I know all about her being able to eavesdrop on human conversation for sometime ever since she frequented the Hyperloop place and inadvertently put herself under the influence of a gamma ray and transmuted. shall I say good riddance to her? Shall I simply tell the boss as she has run off he might as well call the trip off? Or shall I go look for her so I won’t get into further trouble with (or rather under the wrath of) the boss? Maybe I simply go back to sleep and pray that this is only a nightmare…

I don’t really have any option but to choose to go look for Gracie because I don’t want a double dose of wrath, one from the boss and one from the grand-aunt (also my former English teacher). But honestly I do have some sentiment for Gracie for she has been a good and faithful guard dog. What if she falls into unscrupulous criminal hand? I shudder at the thought of this possibility. I start by asking pertinent questions.

Why has she run off? Obviously it is because she doesn’t want to go treasure hunting with human. Where can she run to? She has to go to her doggie friends for help. Who are her friends? There are no other dogs in Dronesville. Where can a secret hideout be if there is indeed a doggie friend to take her in? I know practically all the normal Dronesville’s residential houses and the residents being related to them one way or another, a whole bunch of retirees from the academic professions who are now aiming to become nerds in modern and up to date technology. Being a young up to date tech-know nerd in their view, I am invited to their virtual club meetings as an honorary advisor.

There is only one place I don’t know. The Hyper-loop building. I know of it superficially. They operate in top secret and no outsiders are allowed inside. I know they keep a cat. Surely our Gracie does not make friend with a cat? What if in her desperation she tries to sneak into that place and gets caught by the cat? I shudder again. Poor Gracie. She will be no match against that giant cat. I make up my mind. I shall have no what-if. I shall investigate no matter what comes and get the facts.

So that is what happens as illustrated in the photo-picture today. You can see a nerd dressed in proper business suit just to look respectable standing on the edge of a ladder peeping into someone else’s lovely sunny garden…and what happens next is I feel the back of my head being hit by a blunt object and I fall…(To be continued)

War between Dronesville’s Brave (dog) and Meanie the Plop (cat): Dronesville adventure #5

Plop
dronesvilles-adventure-dog-3“Dogs are wise. They crawl away into a quiet corner and lick their wounds and do not rejoin the world until they are whole once more.” (Agatha Christie, Death on the Nile). Like I said in my previous blog about me being able to speak and tech-know, I go into hideout by joining my robot dog friend Robby in the hyperloop. By now everyone should know how loyal we dog are to our human masters. “The world would be a nicer place if everyone had the ability to love as unconditionally as a dog.” (M.K. Clinton, The Returns).

The hyperloop place is cluttered with all sorts of machines and being a miniature dog I can slip in without being noticed. It is three in the morning and everyone is sound asleep. They do not keep a dog but there is a tiny pet entrance at the back kitchen for a cat. Yes, there is a cat there. Her name is Meanie (aka Goliath) the Plop. The drone carries me over the wall smoothly. As I approach the cat entrance I can smell the Plop. But I am not afraid. “What counts is not necessarily the size of the dog in the fight; it’s the size of the fight in the dog.” Dwight D. Eisenhower (34th President of the United States). Like my master, I am oozing oily quotes/misquotes from every pore and oil myself to the floor. (My Fair Lady) My master has done a good job daily drumming them into his and my head through repetitions during meal time.

I enter the house without a sound. But the Plop seems waiting for me. “What have we here? Haha a miserable intruder!” She hisses. She is huge for a cat. Sleek and huge. Grossly overweight. “My, a miniature dog! What is that on your back? Hand it over!” Her size is colossal. She stands up and arches her back, opening her menacing mouth, sticking out a blood red tongue. Her claws are long and sharp. Shifting into a war pose she blocks my way. What else can an otherwise peace loving decent dog do in this situation?

I won’t describe the Dronesville brave (dog) and the Goliath Plop of a cat fight scene. it is not pretty. Losing is not my game so eventually I signal my companion brave (drone) to land on her head. She is shocked beyond words. The crash landing of the drone knocks her out. By then Robby has appeared and leads us two braves (dog and drone) through a dark tunnel to his hideout. I spend the rest of the night and many nights thereafter licking my wounds. I shall not rejoin my master until I am whole again.

I must admit I do plop myself down on the hard tiled floor and sulk for sometime. Then I cheer up. Robby the robot dog seems trustworthy. He is good in finding food too (for me of course). The drone is my assurance. He is like a security blanket a toddler must carry around. I need his mobility and later communication with my master who probably will be frantic when he discovers that I am missing. Hahaha, my turn to laugh and congratulate myself for my ingenious scheme to help my master, despite the Plop’s nasty interval. My human master will be proud of me. Tomorrow will be a brighter day! (Misquoting Gone with the Wind). (To be continued)

a rare dog speaks: Dronesville’s adventure#4

Rare Miniaturedronesville night escape“Some of my best leading men have been dogs and horses.” This is from the mouth of my favorite actress, Elizabeth Taylor. You guess right. Dog ranting continues today. “Dogs do speak, but only to those who know how to listen.” (Orhan Pamuk, My Name is Red) I am now plotting my great escape before the night is over. As you would have guessed, I am of minute or rather miniature size in real life. Why? Was I stunted? Was I a runt? I don’t know. I was an orphan abandoned on the entrance to Dronesville. Pink nose, yellow eyes. The kind former English teacher adopted me for this special retiree teachers tech-know-to-be community. My age now? Hmmm, maybe I am seven more or less. Yes, according to this famous quote I searched from the internet (when my master fell asleep with his PC on and forgot to put me outside)I rank among leading actors and horses. My size does not deter me from being the hero. LOL.

Back to business. I know where I can go to find a hideout so my master would not get into further trouble. I have developed a taste for biting his boss’ heel (without actually biting into his skin) and possibly annoying him. It’s therefore best for me to go somewhere to avoid being dragged by him to some foreign land treasure hunting with a hidden obsession to bite him for causing my master and I duress.

For those unfamiliar with dogs, I do have packing to do. “What?” You ask, your mouth wide opened and eyes rolling. Ahem, don’t forget I am not an ordinary dog. What do I pack? Goodies to eat during emergency of course. In this case I also take along my master’s grand-aunt’s miniature drone which she handed to him and he inadvertently left on the couch. How else do you think the drone could have landed on my master’s head or safely stored in his pocket in earlier episodes of Dronexit?

Thus with my miniature futuristic solar digital voice/bark/whimper operated dog-backpack already fitted on my back by my master as he prepared for the treasure hunt venture with his boss, and a last glance at my drooling master who is in deep sleep on the couch probably dreaming of futuristic robotics, I open the door, jump over the fence and speed into the night. My destination is of course the Hyperloop at the far end of Dronesville. I have been to this place many times and am familiar with its layout. I even have a canine friend there in the hideout! An abandoned miniature dog robot who has made his way there and made it his home. Being miniature is an advantage. We can hide in nooks which many humans tend to overlook. The disadvantage is that we need to watch out for bullies from our own animal world. As I am the only dog in this neighborhood I don’t need to worry about that. But Hyperloop is another world…(To be continued)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
For those interested about miniatures, read Pamuk’s novel, “My name is Red”. My Name Is Red is a 1998 Turkish novel (a philosophical thriller)by writer Orhan Pamuk translated into English in 2001. Pamuk would later receive the 2006 Nobel Prize in Literature. The novel, concerning miniaturists in the Ottoman Empire of 1591, established Pamuk’s international reputation and contributed to his Nobel Prize. The main characters in the novel are miniaturists in the Ottoman Empire, one of whom is murdered in the first chapter. Pamuk suggests that to some of the characters, viewing miniatures or “perfected art” is a way to achieve a kind of glimpse of eternity. Famous quote: “I don’t want to be a tree, I want to be its meaning.”

a night of rare decision for a dog: Dronesville’s adventure#3

Rare
dronesville#3It is time a self-respecting dog speaks his or her own view. By now you know i am the dog, Gracie. This is the dog ranting. LOL. i have a view too. i overheard the conversation between the boss and my very kind caretaker master, a young tech-know nerd. i heard my fate being decided by the humans (or rather one total stranger whom my master calls boss). Ahem, it is rather unfair. i am here happily minding my own business in Dronesville and keeping my own territory protected, and suddenly come this English lord who suggests i leave and trot round the globe with my master to seek some foolish worthless treasure! What treasure? To me, treasure means doggie treats with beef or chicken flavors and the illusive flying creatures with wings in the park. No, i am not going anywhere!

Yet, on second thought, i have been having this dream about a foreign golden hair glamorous dog wearing pretty red wear and looking real smart and glamorous. What do you think? Can’t we ordinary dogs have dreams of grandeur? i once heard someone said that opportunity is like a horse flying by and you just have to be ready to grab its tail and fly with it. Hmmm i am ready to grab this flying tail or not? Fame and fortune. Not bad. To become rare or not? That is the question. It is hard for a dog to keep up with the dog jones too. This is a rare opportunity for me to do something with my ordinary life. Maybe i get to know the world beyond Dogsville, oops, i mean Dronesville. Maybe i get to visit places with exotic flavored doggie food and lots of rare flying creatures with wings and catch some!

Glamour aside. The truth is,  what will I not do for my human master who has taken care of me so well?  No, I am not going to let him down. Why? i suspect he doesn’t have any choice. Neither do i.

That settles it. My decision is made. i am going to run away before the night is over. The blame will be on me and not my master. Being steeped in this tech-know community i am sort of a tech-know dog too. i know where i can go. LOL. (To be continued)

rare dog (Dronesville adventure#2)

dronesville dogThis is how the dog Gracie becomes a rare priceless dog sought after by many round the globe. The last episode’s piercing scream is like a extremely misplaced and most unwelcome nightmare drama being enacted in the dead of the night with realer than life spiritual alien actors/actresses suddenly infesting this normally peace loving and silence-obsessed community of retiree teachers tech-nerds-to-be. I run to the curtained window as usual and peep into the dark. Has an intruder suddenly appeared and attempted to rob my former English teacher who has just returned to her house alone and found that he has encountered a most ferocious umbrella wielding nemesis instead? I mean, in the dead of the night she could be mistaken as the most frightening apparition as she races down the street in her victorian white gown, white head-full of white glistening rollers and wielding a specially coated sleek-white umbrella that sparkles in white light in the dark, shrieking as piercing as she is accustomed to.

My dog Gracie decides she is not going to be left out of the fun. She starts her unique loud whimpering and squeaky barking like she does when she is uncertain whether her imagined nemesis is a physical creature or a spiritual thing. The screaming and shrieking and barking are growing louder and nearer to my house! I can feel the chills. I am out of control. I decide to fortify myself by turning on all the flood lights outside and the BASEL TATTOO 2016 “TOP SECRET” Drum Corps sound effect. The gun-like drum sound is of course my camouflage.

Alas, soon the outside sound seems to be drowning out my drum corps! Through the curtain I detect three persons at my front porch, no, actually four. The fourth party is Gracie the brave dog. One party runs away. One other party is my former English teacher (aka my grand-aunt). She is on the heel of the masked man who tries to do his great escape from her. She finally catches up at my front door. Gracie too has joined in the confrontation by biting his right heel. The grand aunt points the sword like tip of her steel umbrella at his chest displaying a modern rendition of the Disney’s Zorro (1957–59)with his sword. Now that the war is won by my two accomplices I venture to open the door. The masked man pulls down his mask and shouts at me, “You nincompoop! Get this creature off me!” I don’t know which one he means, but I get a shock at his revealed identity.

“Boss! How did you find me? Why do you wear a mask? ” My turn to panic.

The boss puts back his mask and continues to shout, “Get me to the clinic!”

“Huh, what for, boss are you sick?” I ask.

“Rabies! Tetanus! Nincompoop!”

I get the point. So I remove Gracie from his heel, pull down his sock and show him it is intact. There is not even a scratch. Gracie has become a master of dog-bite dexterity after thousands (or maybe hundreds or less) of little harmless bites of heels. She doesn’t really bite. She bites without actually biting as she hates the taste of blood. The boss examines every inch of his heel and finally warns me, “OK this time you get off. I will sue you to your last pair of pants next time for causing undue mental and emotional injuries.”

“Well, boss, you will need to sue Dronesville as Gracie is the community’s honorary resident and mascot of the senior nerds’ football club.”

“What kind of football? You are trying to fool me? I know the residents are 90% of 65 and above. There is no way they play football!”

“Ha, you are wrong, mister, we play a virtual football tournament and are among the top ten ranking!” My former English teacher corrects him.

“Who is this, ahem, gentlewoman?” The boss asks politely as he decides not to offend her.

The boss is an English gentleman and expects woman to be gentlewoman. At the introduction of his noble background, the grand-aunt is impressed and courtesies to him, addressing him “My Lord.” They immediately start exchanging polite small talk about the recent bouts of poor weather like they are at an afternoon tea party in the English garden of his Lordship.

“But, boss, why are you wearing a mask?” I am now obsessed with his sudden masked appearance at my doorstep.

“O, this?” He whispers mysteriously into my ear, “this is no ordinary mask. It is a hacker-proof communication filter through the quantum satellite we have just succeeded in putting to space.”

“What? I thought only the Chinese just put the quantum satellite up? How did you get it?” I just read the tech news two days ago of China’s announcement of another space success.

“Hahaha, how do I get other things? Huh?” The boss’ turn to laugh at my naivety.

I know. Never mind. But why is he here? He seems to read my thought. “To be frank with you I am here personally because I need your service urgently and it is a top secret. Not your Top Secret Drum Corps, you nincompoop. I cannot wait. Don’t argue or say a word. Just listen and obey! Got it?”

What choice do I have? I shut up and nod my head. Meanwhile he has plastered my grand-aunt (former English teacher) with humongous flattery and she leaves with a good feeling.

The boss tells me his latest discovery and plan. We are to leave without delay. I say yes. But he has a rare request/command, “I want that rare dog to go with us too!”

“What?” I cannot believe my ear. He repeats his statement and then tells me to get ready to depart in 24 hours. Then he vanishes into the dark, leaving me alone with my seemingly ordinary dog who is innocently waging her tail and grinning from ear to ear, expecting a dog treat for her bravery in biting the heel of the boss. How little does she know her fate of becoming the top secret and top sought after rare dog in the next episode. (To be continued)
Rare

gigantic eyeball (Dronesville adventure#1)

dronesville eyeball“It was a wrong number that started it, the telephone ringing three times in the dead of night, and the voice on the other end asking for someone he was not.”
I got this famous first line from Paul Auster (City of Glass). My phone rings three times in the dead of night. There is no one on the other end. Is it a prankster? Or have the Thompson twins caught on with me? I am chilling out in a secluded house provided by my seemingly unlimited extended family network of retiree teachers in Dronesville, while preparing for my treasure hunt adventure profession abroad.

When my phone rings a thousand possibilities actually race through my mind. My dog Gracie is with me outside guarding my new abode. Her old house is now occupied by the authority. Like me, she is sort of homeless. She starts barking frantically like someone has snatched her beef flavored goodies!
Who can it be? At such hour it can either be the law/criminal or the relatives.

I peep through the curtain and switch on the front porch flood light. Who but my former English teacher and her umbrella? “Ah, there you are, rise and shine, I need help!” She exclaims, waving to me with a hand that holds up a picture.

“See, what do you think this is? I took this last evening and now I have time to look at it. It is shocking, don’t you think? Like a gigantic eyeball in the sky!” She exclaims.

“Do you think the aliens are spying on us?” She is still panting because she probably has run all the way to my house. For those who are not familiar with Dronesville, the residents here are mostly of age 65-85, retiree teachers who strive to become technology savvy. They are mostly related to me in one way or another. My former English teacher also happens to be my grand-aunt. There are hardly any young people around and somehow the community treats me as their source of intelligence when it comes to tech know matters or something alien and smells of outer-space.

I look at the above picture and decide it is just the formation of the cloud and the sun and I tell her so. But she is not happy. She whispers, “You see, when I took it there was nothing up there. I was only shooting at the evening plain. I have a shock when this big eyeball appears in the photo! Don’t you think it’s rather rare and weird?”

She insists that it is a premonition and asks me to keep an eye for Dronesville since I am still considered comparatively loyal and trustworthy. “But, we have the police around…” I try to assure her. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head of white hair (she has recently decided it’s better to keep it un-dyed to avoid mistaken identity), and says, “No. I don’t know those young fellows. They haven’t proven themselves yet. So meanwhile you remain in position. Clear?”

“Here you are, the drone. ” She hands over her pride drone and gives me further instructions to keep watch. Then she disappears into the night.

As I examine the photo of the gigantic eye in the sky, a rare screaming comes across the sky. (Thomas Pynchon, Gravity’s Rainbow (1973)) (To be continued)
Eyes
Rare

millennial short story

Fun!
millennials then and nowHere is the whole series of the fun-filled and futuristic adventurous Dronesville’s story which involves a young nerd and a group of retiree teachers who are striving to become technology savvy!

https://wheniamsixtyeight.wordpress.com/category/millennial-short-story/

to reach or not to reach (Dronexit#26)

Narrow

Dronexit#26
a narrow door -time portal

It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. This is the statement i have decided to use to finish this episode in Dronesville. My famous source is George Orwell in 1984 (1949) of course! By now the blog readers who are unfamiliar with this nerd, and who stray here without a reference from my cronies, would have noticed anyway that this nerd seems to be nerdy about English, British, WWII, drones, robots, vault, social media chat, messaging, nerd terminology, pictures created by cut and paste and overlay of objects and scenes taken or created by others on my own originals, story telling, adventure and spy movies reaching far back into history, science that borders on fantasy, overlay of individuals (often historical) on my current or fantasized scenes like what Pokemon Go does with little monsters overlaying on your mobile phone screens, pasting of my memes in your imagination with my blogs, and of course, cartoon characters, funny jokes, and literature quotes and misquotes etc.

the Dronesville residents call a meeting and give me a farewell party. The president of the Dronexit committee, a former botany science teacher, makes a descent speech about my contribution as the youngest (uncovered) member of this retiree community who belongs largely to the Baby Boomers and Silent Generation. “One thing we admit you do pretty well is being resourceful in trying and not giving up. And you dare reach where no one or hardly anyone dares.” He says.

The members reach an agreement and give me a gold medal with this inscription, “To reach or not to reach, that is the question” -a deliberate misquote from William Shakespeare – To be, or not to be (from Hamlet 3/1).

My former English teacher (who is also my grand-aunt) specifies, “We define the word ‘reach’ as follows:
[ no obj. ] (reach out) chiefly N. Amer. seek to establish communication with someone, with the aim of offering or obtaining assistance or cooperation: his style was to reach out all the time, especially to members of his own party | anyone in need of assistance should reach out to the authorities as soon as possible.
succeed in achieving: the intergovernmental conference reached agreement on the draft treaty.
make contact or communicate with (someone) by telephone or other means: I’ve been trying to reach you all morning.
(of a broadcast or other communication) be received by: television reached those parts of the electorate that other news sources could not.
succeed in influencing or having an effect on: their fresh sound and message reach people who may never set foot in a church.

Quite a tall order and prophecy for me and my futuristic journey in this blogging nerd’s life ahead. Blogging is all about ‘reaching’ an audience. The same with any social media. We just yearn to ‘connect’. Some prefer the word ‘share’. We like to share.

Whatever we use to describe this yearning behind every WordPress blogger, the motivation is similar. The mode of presentation too. We rely mainly on two things: pictures that say a thousand words. And a thousand words.

I have since discovered that this nerd’s targets do not read WordPress blogs or any blogs with words. To be precise, they do not read words unless the words interest them. How to make my words interesting to the millennials? My nerd friends tell me: fun and usefulness. And along this goal-path I shall plod.

I have not ferreted out the other two or three nerds hiding in Dronesville. They have moved house and do not seek to communicate. Apparently the lady who did not appear a nerd is one of them. She too vanishes into nerd’s air.

My time is up. I am due to travel to my distant and more exciting land treasure hunting. Good bye, Dronesville nerds. Time for my narrow door -my time travel portal now. Signed, a nerd from Dronesville. (Plodding on to reach my goals)

Reach

“To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,”
(William Shakespear)

p/s: This daily prompt stuff is good. I find lots of inspirations in formulating my nerd adventure story in Dronesville! Thanks! Continue to have fun, all!

Fun!

plagiarism memes surface Dronexit#24

quotes unseen“I’ve been imitated so well I’ve heard people copy my mistakes.” I hear this. As I ponder my fate of being stuck in the past instead of the future, I find myself in the time portal again! What a relief! As usual I have nothing to do than to rehearse the quotes in my head. The memes. The Pinterest. The Instagram. The whatever data I have been well fed as I grow up. Well, nerds, this is the best combination I can do today. This picture depicts the next worst case scenario if my robot goes wrong! What? You don’t like this? Excuse me! I think it’s really cool and chilling. Remember, you are not the one who is going to face my former English teacher who is now returning to Dronesville from her secret mission overseas. Am I not looking forward to see her if the robot time travel portal works perfectly? You bet. You try a day in Dronesville. Maybe the combination in the above picture of the day is more tolerable after all.

Surface

p/s: The Gen. X nerd-to-be lady who keeps complaining of my unpicturesque pictures please look beyond the surface. There is such depth and meaning deep down. Do me justice someone. I am not stupid you know.

pps: Mom just sends me this message! “Give me a break. You are not Elon Musk and I am not Maye Musk! Why can’t you stick to your millennial ranting about drones and robots and Pokemon Go? Now everyone starts asking me about you marooned in some silly Tom Hanks’ movie Castaway! The silly is for you and not Tom Hanks! BTW, I agree with that Gen.X lady. I don’t like your photos or whatever you call them! love and kisses, a harassed mom.

(Maye Musk is a model and dietician. Also the mother of Elon Musk, Kimbal Musk and Tosca Musk, she has been a model for 50 years appearing on the covers of magazines including Time.)

Maybe we should start again. Dronexit#23

dronexit#23 home A chat with my nerd friends: Maybe I should start again? What for? After twenty-two blogs? Unfortunately, nobody explained to me the difference between grade inflation and the real education so I tend to demonstrate poor spelling and even poorer grammar, not to mention the contents. I flopped writing? Work too? Ahem, I stand to correct, at work, I, a true millennial, believe I am an overachiever who just cannot be understood by loser bosses. Even my mother said so. One thing I am good at is being original. Which millennial-nerd, I ask you, would dare write such a blog? Hmmm, noted? You should be happy with this blog as no other self-respecting nerd would be seen dead posting this (not even my former English teacher and her retired-teacher-tech-know-nerd-to-be cronies.) The least I should receive is gratitude. Anyway, enough of ranting. Back to business at hand.

I realize my three days’ back-to-past odyssey is over and I can safely return to my own time. I have to admit right now I am definitely not in the condition I came in. You laugh and say i am just a pampered cry baby? Wait till you see the marks of mosquito bites which have left no ground/skin untouched! Mosquitoes, leeches, all sorts of creepy things…Yet, come what may, I am all ready to be teleported home -back to Dronesville. I can imagine the shock of my fellow marines from 1942 when they wake up and find that their human metal detector has vanished into thin air!

The youngest nerd (from Generation Z) asks in the chat, “How can you be so sure you can come back?” Before I can answer, the others answer her, “That’s the way we millennials are, don’t you know? We trust the tech!” We have grown up with it. How not to trust it? I am once again full of confidence and hope waiting for midnight. Home sweet home. Here I come. Maybe.

As the digital clock on my mobile phone home screen blinks 11:55 I start feeling the change in the robot strapped to my body. This is immediately interrupted by gunfire and men running around. The enemy has located our camp and their bombers are firing at us overhead, with explosions all round and everybody running for cover. The camp is on fire. At first I run with the marines. Then I come to a halt. I am supposed to be teleported to future by the time travel portal. Why am I still here? Maybe my robot is not working? Maybe I get stuck in the 1940s? Maybe I never see home again? Maybe…I should start again.

(To be continued)

Maybe

Spy suspected, London Christmas 1940 Dronexit#21

evening crossingSome nerds have called up and complained that I now sound more like a second or worse rate horrible history writer than a futuristic tech know blogger on drones and robotics. They criticize that this Dronexit# blog is way too ancient even where the more senior nerds-to-be like my former English teacher and her fellow retiree teachers are concerned. They want to know when am I going to revert back to the really foolish but lucky amateur nerd who is also a treasure hunter like perhaps second or worse rate Indiana Jones or at worst a second rate Johnny England. “What is the point of getting stuck in heroic WWII’s history which no one reads today? Who is reading your nerd blog? Neither the pre-millennial (everyone 35 and above) nor the millennial. I receive lots of LOLs from cronies who hate horrible history. Ok, I hereby throw up my hands and give up my horrible history addictive ranting for a while. (BTW, a medium-senior early retiree nerd-to-be has even declared that the photos are ugly!)

So I just wrap up what has happened so far in this blog and call it a day. For the benefit of the young nerd-to-be who specializes in finding loopholes in even blogging ranting stories, yes, my mobile phone resumes functioning today and that’s why I can receive all your social messaging good (hardly) and bad (plenty) etc. As to how come I can post my blog daily as usual while being stuck in the remote 1940s? Good spot. I have no answer too. I suggest you ask WordPress. It’s their secret. Well, I can suggest my explanation using a old psychological term, telepathy, of course, a kind of mind transmission using brain power before we had internet or other digital/tele-communication means. I teleport my thoughts to someone who has a high-tech psyche-receiver which in turn posts it to WordPress. Elementary. Who is that someone? Hahaha. You guess.

We arrive at England on the morning Saturday,October 5, 1940 but I am immediately detained by the coast guards who place me in separate secret police custody and taken to London. Obviously I look more like a spy than the father and daughter who have proper papers on them to prove they are British citizens. We part company and I thank them for the delicious Tandoori chicken meal and the faith-filled boat ride with the giant birds who come for our rescue. Am I now Johnny England or James Bond? I wonder. They do not remove anything from me. They seem to be oblivious of my two high tech gadgets: the mobile phone and the robot which doubles up as a time travel portal. Despite their futile but intensive interrogation and unbelief of who I really am, and despite the food shortage, they give me enough food and a single room in confinement. They later receive the command to take me to London. They eventually escort me to the underground shelter near St Paul’s Cathedral London. I arrive there on the evening of 29th December 1940.

I quote this following historical passage which best describes the fateful night which I stumble upon. “It had been a Christmas underground for many people, who slept in underground stations or festively-decorated air raid shelters. For two nights, the German bomber planes had not come, and the anti-aircraft guns remained silent. That peculiar silence had already been broken as dusk fell on 29 December. The enemy aircraft had returned, dropping incendiary devices and parachute mines in many tens of thousands. Their target? The City of London. By 1830 GMT on that cold Sunday evening, the Square Mile was in flames. Banks, offices, churches and homes were under threat. Bombs rained down on the cathedral. Volunteer firewatchers patrolled its myriad corridors, armed with sandbags and water pumps to douse the flames. At about 2100 GMT, an incendiary device lodged on the roof. As it burned, the lead of the iconic dome began to melt. But luck was on the side of the firewatchers. The bomb dislodged, fell to the floor of the Stone Gallery, and was smothered with a sandbag. St Paul’s was saved.”

(Above WWII information was quoted/excerpted from: How St Paul’s Cathedral survived the Blitz: http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-12016916)

st paul 1940

p/s: sorry, nerd pals, I am still on horrible history to wrap up this episode. Next episode will be purely futuristic, I promise. Anyway the lady who complains that my photos are ugly should be pleased with today’s photos. This photo of St. Paul’s Cathedral in flames is not mine. You just have to complain to BBC if you like.)
(To be continued)

Morning

 

The stubborn battle of Britain (Dronexit#20)

Stubborn
Hms_rainbow_bow“On the sea of turmoil some hang on to life stubbornly and live on.”(Stubborn millennial’s lesson.)The day of the week was Friday,October 4, 1940. HMS Rainbow was a Rainbow-class submarine built for the Royal Navy during the 1930s.The boats were armed with six 21-inch torpedo tubes in the bow and two more in the stern. They carried six reload torpedoes for a grand total of fourteen torpedoes. Rainbow served in the Far East until 1940. She left for a patrol off Calabria on 23 September 1940 and was due to be back in Alexandria on 16 October, she was last heard from on 25 September. She is believed to have been sunk on 4 October in a collision with the Italian merchant ship, Antonietta Costa, which reported striking an underwater object at 03:30, followed by a huge underwater explosion on that date. (I quote this part of the history because it is sad and seems that the British and Allies have lost ground to the enemy forces.)

But all is not lost for the good guys as evidenced by history. The Battle of Britain was a stubborn battle involving major air campaign fought over southern England in the summer and autumn of 1940,  between July and October 1940. The Germans began by attacking coastal targets and British shipping operating in the English Channel. They launched their main offensive on 13 August. Attacks moved inland, concentrating on airfields and communications centres. Nearly 3,000 men of the RAF took part in the Battle of Britain. While most of the pilots were British, men came from all over the Commonwealth and occupied Europe – from New Zealand, Australia, Canada, South Africa, Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), Belgium, France, Poland and Czechoslovakia. There were even some pilots from the neutral United States and Ireland. Many people worked to defend Britain. Ground crew – including riggers, fitters, armourers, and repair and maintenance engineers – looked after the aircraft. Factory workers helped keep aircraft production up. The Observer Corps tracked incoming raids – its tens of thousands of volunteers ensured that the 1,000 observation posts were continuously manned. Anti-aircraft gunners, searchlight operators and barrage balloon crews all played vital roles in Britain’s defense. Anew danger had arisen. From the start of the war German submarines and surface craft, defying the convention which prohibited undeclared minefields dangerous to peaceful shipping, began to lay mines in British coastal waters. In September and October (1939 or 1940?) 59,027 tons of shipping were sunk by mines off the East Coast, in the Thames Estuary and elsewhere.

Well, I just think I might as well quote the above from horrible history in my mind data base so that other millennial nerds know what I am talking about. Crossing the channel in October 1940 is as easy as a nightmare. Mines underwater. Enemies’ planes overhead. The Christian Tandoori chef and his daughter are stubborn people. The man says, “We must cross tonight. We shall make it home alive!” The daughter nods her head and says, “Amen!” What option does a nerd from the future have against such stubborn and determined mind-set? NONE. So I nod my head and say, “Amen!”

My robot and mobile/cell phone remain quiet and still. They seem to be hibernating and I cannot get any signal at all. I am stuck in this 1940 horrible history whether I like it or not. But I can assure you it is very exciting and meaningful. It is far more interesting than playing the drone, the robot, and the Pokemon Go. The night becomes the most memorable night of my life.

As you can read from the picture I have included “close to death, six exhausted, freezing airmen are plucked to safety after surviving 11 days in a dinghy using their pants for a fishing net and their shirts as a sail.” “One can’t even begin to imagine the feeling of hopelessness and despair the men felt as day after day went by.” “Although they kept up morale by praying twice a day, two men became delirious.” This is real life. A stubborn struggle to hang on to life and hope, in the Atlantic 400 miles south west of Ireland. With limited supplies and no way to send an SOS, what followed was a desperate attempt to keep the crew alive. During the 11-day or­­­deal the men were capsized by huge waves, kept awake by freezing spray and had to bale out using their boots. They sucked rain-soaked handkerchiefs for water and tried to land fish in a pair of pants on a pole. But their only catch was foul-tasting jellyfish. After waiting close to the crash site for a week in the hope a search party would spot them, the survivors made a sail from two shirts to blow them towards safety. The dinghy’s speed picked up to two knots and after four days they were spotted by a British destroyer.*

What happens to our own tiny fishing boat and this fateful night? All I can write down is our captain is a brave man and he does not give up. He braves the dark night, the treacherous english channel waters, the threatening bombers, the deadly mines, and the worst of all, the fear of imminent death. It has taken him the whole night to battle the sea and its danger.

As we near the English side and see dawn, a German bomber appears overhead and we know all hopes are gone. The man and his daughter continue defiantly looking up and praying. Suddenly we hear another kind of engine. No, they are not engine sound. They are sounds from seven giant gulls. The winged giants fly powerfully and fearlessly towards the bomber head-on! The sight in the grey dawn is spectacular. The gulls look transparent and blend with a small round patch of blue sky that it brings with it but we can clearly see their outlines. They fly like they are the RAFs or even better. But they are not cold machines or hardwares. They are live birds. They are invincible. The bomber spots the giant birds and tries to fire at them in vain. The bomber panics and turns tail but it is too late. The birds encircle the bomber and capture it with their gigantic wings, forcing it to lose its engine power and plunge perpendicularly into the channel with an underwater explosion and sinks into its watery grave.

What do we do on the little French Brittany fishing boat? We give a standing ovation to the birds (or angels?). They fly over us and escort us until we reach British shore. It shows that it is good to be stubborn at the right time for the right goal after all. (To be continued)

~~~~~~~~~~~
(*The story about the six airmen surviving miraculously on a lifeboat is quoted from http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/real-life-stories/amazing-story-downed-world-war-7579828)

“On the sea of turmoil some hang on to life stubbornly and live on.” (Stubborn millennial’s lesson.)

unsung hero’s praise (Dronexit#19)

Praise
impossible sea“The impossible could not have happened, therefore the impossible must be possible in spite of appearances.”
(Agatha Christie, Murder on the Orient Express) Looking at the formidable raging sea on this side of the channel, my heart sinks. It is an impossible task to cross tonight. Yet the man and the girl are full of hope. This is what they say to me, “Don’t give up, stay positive and speak good words.”

The man who cooked the delicious Tanddori chicken and Naan bread is not the British soldier who did his solo escape from Dunkirk to England in 1940. This man is an Anglo-Indian chef stranded in the European great war and is determined to take his daughter back to England where she can be safe as she is half Jewish. His English-Jewish wife died in the war and he has vowed to keep the daughter alive.

My mind is full of stored data and as usual, I try to browse through and search out the more positive ones about making the impossible become possible. “Alice laughed. ‘There’s no use trying,’ she said. ‘One can’t believe impossible things.’ I daresay you haven’t had much practice,’ said the Queen. ‘When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast. There goes the shawl again!” (Lewis Carroll)
“Before I go on with this short history, let me make a general observation– the test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function. One should, for example, be able to see that things are hopeless and yet be determined to make them otherwise. This philosophy fitted on to my early adult life, when I saw the improbable, the implausible, often the “impossible,” come true.” (F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Crack-Up)

The man and his daughter have a story to tell. But they are not telling much. Instead, they read the Bible, sing praise hymns and pray. I keep to myself and cannot help but wonder why I am here. Why me? Why do I appear and cross the channel with them tonight under such precarious condition. The Great War is raging. There are mines under water. The Nazis strafing the waters around you, bombs landing nearby. The weather seems unpromising too. Everything seems to go against us three going to sea and crossing the English channel. Then the man says, “come, it’s time.”

“Nothing is more imminent than the impossible . . . what we must always foresee is the unforeseen.”(Victor Hugo, Les Misérables) Their house is quite near the sea. They have hidden a boat at a deserted spot. It is a small 1940s fishing boat which the Brittany fishermen commonly used. The man says it was badly damaged during the fateful evacuation at Dunkirk!

Late May, 1940, was a desperate time for the Allies. France, Denmark, Luxembourg, and Norway had been invaded by the Germans, and Holland and Belgium had formally surrendered. Strafed by the Luftwaffe, hopelessly outgunned by the German Army, the troops of the British Expeditionary Forces retreated to the beaches of Dunkirk, France. There was little hope of rescue by navy ships because of the shallow waters of the channel. A call went out from the British Admiralty for small boats that could be used in the rescue of the trapped British and French soldiers. Then came a miracle, over 800 boats–pleasure boats, fishing smacks, trawlers, lifeboats, paddle steamers and many other types of craft, captained by sailors of the Royal Navy and by ordinary civilians–set sail to save these men by either transporting them directly back to England or ferrying them out to British destroyers waiting offshore in deeper waters. 338,000 British troops were saved from annihilation from the Nazi onslaught in June 1940 by the “little boats.” (This paragraph is quoted from: https://theyearoflivingenglishly.wordpress.com/2013/05/26/memorial-day-2013-dunkirk-englands-finest-hour/)

The nameless chef volunteered to ferry the British troops too during that rescue operation. His boat was badly damaged. He has since repaired it and is now ready to take his daughter back to England. “You will witness the impossible coming to pass tonight.” The man is confident. Then he says, “The Lord is my strength and my song, and he has become my salvation; this is my God, and I will praise him, my father’s God, and I will exalt him.”
Yes, we set sail towards England at midnight. (To be continued)

Note: Is this going to be a miracle? The fact that I am still alive and writing this Dronexit# blog means it shall be a miracle. I even anticipate hearing my senior family members singing endless praises to God when I safely return to my timezone at the end of this time travel adventure. I am an optimistic millennial, remember?

Winter craving (Dronexit#18)

Craving
hungry drone
I don’t know how long I have waited at the coast. The snow comes and the cold starts creeping in. I browse through my brain data base on horrible history, and find this information that immediately causes shivering down my spine: “The winter of 1939/1940 was one of the coldest on record, with persistent cold weather from 22nd December through January. Temperatures were the lowest for at least 100 years in many parts of Europe. It is now theorized that the intense military activity in the North Sea was responsible for disturbing the sea temperature and therefore the climate. The loss of heat from the sea led to more cold air from the arctic being pulled into the European region, resulting in much colder weather overall.”* I have a jacket on but it is not enough to ward off the cold. Even though it is only October I can feel that the winter has arrived earlier. My robot time portal cannot be reset to return to my time until three days later. I cannot override its setting. I have no choice but to move myself from the coast and seek a warm shelter if any.

As I walk inland I see trees with branches laden by heavy snow! There are very few houses and none have their lights on. The roads are empty of lives. It looks as though the War’s rampaging flood has devastated the whole countryside, leaving ravaged faces of despair on nature herself. To be honest, I am a millennial who has had very secure and well provided and pampered life in my youth. My working life was comfortable too. Even when I trotted round the three continents to hunt treasure I always had reasonably good food and shelters. My folks and my employers took good care of me. The world that I have lived in has been sensible up to now. I cannot make sense when I look at the great wars. I never like them and now find myself stuck in one! And the worst thing is I have no food. I crave for a freshly cooked, warm creamy, mixed seafood Spanish chowder served in a bread trencher. Or savory and fast kedgeree- Curry, fish, eggs, and rice make for an easy, mouth-watering British take on Indian cuisine. OR ANYTHING HOT. Even a Nashville Hot featuring a perfect blend of spicy cayenne and smoke paprika!

As I stumble on I see this girl again. She seems to expect meeting me on this deserted road, “Nice seeing you again, come with me.” We enter a tiny cottage which seems to be in darkness. But I see light after we enter and the heavy wooden door closes behind us. Someone is cooking at the stone stove. It is not really a stove. It is an Indian Tandoori stove and the man is bending over the opening. I smell Tandoori chicken***. My craving is soon over as I am well fed with chicken and a bread called Naan topped with garlic and green pepper. A surprise dessert too in the form of Andes chocolate mints**. But this does not make sense. I am in France eating Indian food and a chocolate first introduced in 1950? I must be dreaming or fantasizing in my virtual world. whatever it may be, I am enjoying myself after all. (To be continued)

About this picture: I took the Indian food pictures recently in a tropical country. The winter picture was taken last winter in USA by a friend. The really heavy snow came a day after I left.

The following info is from Wikipedia:
**Andes Chocolate Mints are small rectangular candies consisting of one mint-green layer sandwiched in between two chocolate-brown layers. The candies are usually wrapped in green foil imprinted with the company’s logo. First launched in 1950, they are produced by Tootsie Roll Industries and made in Delavan, Wisconsin.
***Tandoori chicken is a dish originating in the Indian subcontinent. It is widely popular in South Asia, Malaysia, Singapore, Indonesia, the Middle East and the Western world. It consists of roasted chicken prepared with yogurt and spices. The name comes from the type of cylindrical clay oven, a tandoor, in which the dish is traditionally prepared.
*winter weather passage quoted from: http://ww2today.com/a-cold-winter-arrives-in-europe

a profound starwar

Profound
a profound starwar

profound starwar2

profound starwar3It was an ordinary night and I was hurrying back across a narrow strait. The bus was crowded with millennials and everyone was engrossed with his or her own mobile. As we were approaching the other end of the bridge, I took photos at random out of boredom. I took about two dozen pictures not really looking at the subjects. A few days later I downloaded the pictures into my PC and looked at them. I found a series of star war scenes captured by my ordinary Samsung Galaxy…I look at them now and ask myself a few profound questions:
What have I really captured?
Are they aliens shooting in another realm?
Had the bus crossed into another dimension as it was loaded with tech know millennials?
Did we by mass clicking on the digital mobiles create a concentrated virtual zone where the virtual activities moved into the physical?
These are what we nerds consider as profound questions.

Note: The photos are in their original forms, unedited. But I had to reduce the size considerably.