Tag: weekly photo challenge

Dronesville adventure #19: 1972 “Dronesville” mothers’ marathon, nerd, dog, baby carriages and time points

marathon-m_3476153b
(Jessica Bruce, Credit: The Telegraph, 2015)

‘We is in Dream Country. This is where all dreams is beginning.’ (The BFG) Continue Reflecting. As the running crowd becomes increasingly tightly packed with runners, I can hear conversation. Someone is saying to someone else like, “Hi, so you have decided to join this first ever in human history marathon? what? I am in a first ever marathon? Where am I and what year am I in? Having gone through the WWII in England, I don’t envisage another horrible history episode in the past. Then I hear someone says, “Yes, we are proud of being Dronesville women. We start history today…” What? If I recall correctly, the first marathon in US in which women participated was in 1972 and it was run in Boston and not in Dronesville. But when I listen carefully, I realize that I am running among a pack of women. I am in 1972, running alongside Nina Kuscsik(?)! But we have to be in Boston and not Dronesville. I no longer try to make sense in this symbiotic zone of jumbled up time and space and characters past and present. Strangely I can hear runners pushing baby carriages! Am I in a comic depicting Wonder Woman? The famous Nina had once said, “”I have always sensed the exhilaration and independence of being self-propelled. Besides, you can jog while pushing a baby carriage. Maybe I’m a product of Wonder Woman comic books.” I can hear baby prams being pushed by presumably superbly fit women whooshing down the track.

Nikkormat EL 800Then I realize I am carrying my Nikkormat EL Circa 1972 weighing at least 1.7 lbs! How do I know? I just know. A woman runs pass me and shouts (in 1970s slangs), “Far out! that’s the latest Nikkormat! To the max! Catch you on the flip-side!” (She means, “Cool, do your best, see you later.”) Then someone slaps me on the back and shouts, “‘keep On Truckin'”(go w/ the flow). Another shouts, “Awesome Possome”(very cool). “Chill” (stay cool). Without seeing I click away at the surrounding. I have become the unofficial blind camera man which is rather ridiculous but cool. Soon I begin to enjoy this new role. A perfect camouflage for me. Being simple, I do not try to figure out how come I no longer bump into people or stuff? I just wonder when my sight of this physical world will resume.

I believe I am lucky. ‘But there was one other thing that the grown-ups also knew, and it was this: that however small the chance might be of striking lucky, the chance is there. The chance had to be there.’ (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory) Why? Because there must be a link between the ability to see the unseen space and the ability to venture into the past, even with my dog who seems to be enjoying herself too. So amazing.

Space is defined as 1. the unlimited three-dimensional expanse in which all material objects are located.2. an interval of distance or time between two points, objects, or events 3. a blank portion or area.

I have entered the interval between two time points across time zones, like slicing a piece of layered cake. (A word to my millennial nerd friends: don’t try to figure this out. Tbh (to be honest), I haven’t figured out myself. Anyway, it is a good way to celebrate mother’s day running with mothers!) (To be continued)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nina
(Nina Kuscsik, Credit: UPI, 1979)

Notes (from online sources): In 1972, Nina Kuscsik became the Boston Marathon’s first female winner. Back then, the prizes were a laurel wreath and a bowl of stew. But largely because of this pioneering mother of three, women’s marathon champions now get six-figure checks. Kuscsik was inducted into the National Distance Running Hall of Fame in 1999 and the New York Road Runners Hall of Fame in 2012. Kuscsik, 73, is a New York City Marathon icon; she is the first woman ever to run the world’s most well-known race, which she won twice. Kuscsik is also the first woman to officially win the Boston Marathon. She has completed 80 marathons in her lifetime. Notable quotes: “People thought I was crazy. When I won Boston in ’72, now they understood what I was doing.”
“I’ve always felt running is a form of meditation. Running enables us to stop our lives, to go out and find a safe place for ourselves.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mum Jessica Bruce, 32, breaks the world record for running a marathon with a buggy in 3 hours 17mins and 52 seconds, at the Abingdon marathon, pushing her 7 month old baby Daniel. Her husband, David, ran alongside them and even managed to give the baby a bottle of milk as they went. “We had a nappy change and a puncture repair kit with us but we didn’t need it. We didn’t stop.” (The Telegraph 18 Oct 2015)

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)

a space craft named New Horizons (haiku, NASA, Bob Dylan)

new-horizons-launchNew Horizon embedded in silence
ten long years evade my lens
questioning perchance (~a haiku from this nerd to spacecraft)

Here is an excerpt from the acceptance speech of the latest Nobel laureate in Literature, Bob Dylan:
“When I started writing songs as a teenager, and even as I started to achieve some renown for my abilities, my aspirations for these songs only went so far. I thought they could be heard in coffee houses or bars, maybe later in places like Carnegie Hall, the London Palladium. If I was really dreaming big, maybe I could imagine getting to make a record and then hearing my songs on the radio. That was really the big prize in my mind. Making records and hearing your songs on the radio meant that you were reaching a big audience and that you might get to keep doing what you had set out to do…Not once have I ever had the time to ask myself, “Are my songs literature?””

~~~~~~~Some information and thoughts about New Horizons (spacecraft)
Here is the latest news on Oct. 27, 2016: about a spacecraft named “New Horizons” (which was launched in 2006) “New Horizons Returns Last Bits of 2015 Flyby Data to Earth”:
NASA’s New Horizons mission reached a major milestone this week when the last bits of science data from the Pluto flyby – stored on the spacecraft’s digital recorders since July 2015 – arrived safely on Earth. Having traveled from the New Horizons spacecraft over 3.4 billion miles, or 5.5 billion kilometers (five hours, eight minutes at light speed), the final item… arrived at mission operations…in Canberra, Australia.
“The Pluto system data that New Horizons collected has amazed us over and over again with the beauty and complexity of Pluto and its system of moons,” said Alan Stern, New Horizons principal investigator from Southwest Research Institute in Boulder, Colorado…Because it had only one shot at its target, New Horizons was designed to gather as much data as it could, as quickly as it could…and began returning the vast amount of remaining stored data in September 2015.
“We have our pot of gold,” said Mission Operations Manager Alice Bowman, of APL.
(online resources mainly from National Aeronautics and Space Administration)

But why did it take more than a year for New Horizons to send back all of the data from the Pluto encounter?…
Pluto was discovered by Clyde Tombaugh in 1930, and was originally treated as the ninth planet from the Sun. After 1992, following the discovery of several objects of similar size in the Kuiper belt, Pluto has been reclassified as a member of the new “dwarf planet” category.
On July 14, 2015, the New Horizons spacecraft became the first spacecraft to fly by Pluto. Whilst Pluto was reclassified in 2006, this nerd likes to imagine that when the space craft New Horizons was launched Pluto was still the ninth planet from the sun.
New Horizons took ten years to reach a space close enough to carry out its mission, while flying pass Pluto (2006-2015). By then the status of Pluto has changed to a mere dwarf planet. (Even the stars can change status when we go further and look closer. Or rather it’s us who change and not the stars?)
I try to imagine the final words exchanged during their brief and first encounter after ten long years between New Horizons (the lone and persevering spacecraft which flew the ten years for a singular purpose to meet with the ninth planet) and Pluto, now a dwarf planet: “Well, the times they are changing…”

This is the first stanza of a 1964 song. It is a classic from possibly many nerds’ grandparents’ time. Title: “Times they are changing” (Bob Dylan)
Come gather ’round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You’ll be drenched to the bone
If your time to you is worth savin’
Then you better start swimmin’ or you’ll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin’

Nerd’s note about the photo:
I did a search online and found this spacecraft with a name for the weekly photo challenge. I couldn’t take an original picture as I am ten years late of course. The credit of the launch photo goes to the NASA at the following link which please visit for more serious stuff: (https://www.nasa.gov/mission_pages/newhorizons/launch/index.html).

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 #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 #8: original H2O nightmare for a nerd

an Original nerd’s mess.
dronesville-adventure-aquariumIt is not a nightmare because I am not asleep. But it is a real life nightmare. How can that be? A dull thud and a distant scream. What happens? Has something happened to Gracie the Dronesville dog who is coming for my rescue?
I can hear the rapid churning sound of H2O like water being whipped around by the giant jelly fish who are getting impatient to come at me out of gnawing hunger. I have figured out that since the two women have not come to this room for a whole day the monstrous fish must be near starving. I can now hear rushing footsteps of the two women or perhaps it is someone else? Suddenly I am lifted up and thrown into a container with a big splash. I am still blindfolded but the Armani suit slides off my body perfectly as the jelly fish starts to gnaw at it. They seem more interested of the Armani than me, for after all it is made of a special material and texture that simulate that of small aquatic fish and their eggs and invertebrates. The Armani sticks to their tentacles. Why did I wear such unusual stuff? Hahaha. It is a requirement by my boss for the treasure hunt over the high sea or some potentially deadly ponds hidden in the backyard of some vicious landowners, in case we fall into the vicinity of water predators.
I can hear the two women leave the room immediately after they throw me into the tank. But there is another person around as a pair of hands pull me out of the water before the giant jelly fish decide to treat me as dessert.
He cuts off the rope that ties my hands and removes my blind fold too. I am most surprised to see that it is my English boss, Lord xxx. He is still wearing his hack-proof mask.
“Where is Gracie the dog?” I ask. But he shakes his head and signals me to follow him out of the room down a labyrinth of dark passages. We soon come to a tall wall and he signals for two drones to carry us over and into the world outside! A black car waits at the side lane and we are soon inside and speeding away from that dreadful place.
The customized car is built into three compartments: a front section with a silent driver, the middle section where the boss and I sit and a back section which is partitioned off by an opaque glass panel. I still think of the Dronesville dog, Gracie. What as happened to her? Was she captured by the two mad alien women while trying to come to my rescue? I shudder. (To be continued)

Photography note: The picture is compiled by segments of several original photos taken by this blogger with the exception of the three heads and the suit.

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)

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!

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

 

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?

time portal starts here (dronexit#16)

Narrow

For the benefit of those nerds interested in how the time portal looks or feels like, here are today’s pictures of two perspectives of the time portal: A dark side and a bright side. It depends on your own perspective. Cool.
As my time runs out and the time strikes twelve I get set, press the button ON, and go. What happens? I shall talk about it when I reach there. For the young nerds to be, my advice is, it is not that cool. Don’t try without parental guidance. PG rating.