It’s not a parting shot…

You can imagine the scene, a boy and a girl standing in the corridor by the toilets in the club. They are both a bit too young to really be there, but the doorman knows he needs as many young girls as he can get in these days. The boy got in because the bouncer couldn’t convince her to leave him at the door.

They are standing in the middle of all that noise and sweat and he asks her if she’ll come back to his. He’s planning to get lucky, and she just doesn’t want to know. She steps back and slightly further away. He knows he only has one more chance so he says, “but… I love you”.

It’s a parting shot, a last ditch attempt to save things, and while I keep you in suspense* about the outcome I’ll explain why it isn’t really a parting shot, in fact it’s a Parthian shot.

Back at the height of Roman times, the Roman Army felt pretty darn good about themselves. They thought they could really do anything. At the particular time of this story they had just conquered Gaul which was all of the land that they cared about to the west of them, but if they really wanted to rule all of the Mediterranean then they would have to conquer the lands to the left. These lands were held by the Parthians. And these guys were a little bit different than the Gauls.

The Parthians, came from the area which is modern day Iran. And their civilisation was so far ahead of the Romans that the Romans didn’t even understand how much trouble they were in. When they invaded they were suddenly faced with a cavalry something that wasn’t seen in Europe for more than 1,000 years.

The Romans ran is as they always did but were in big trouble, pretty quickly. The Parthian horsemen fired on the Romans from horseback with bows and arrow. And the Romans just didn’t know what to do. They were in big trouble. Then after a short time of this the Parthians played another trick. They fell back. The Romans felt they had suddenly started to win. The Parthians fell back and the horses started running away. The Romans started running after them to start the killing. But when you’re running you aren’t holding up your shield. The Parthians kept riding away but the men turned around and fired back into the approaching Romans. It was a concept that was completely alien to the Romans, up until then anyone retreating was.. Well… in retreat not attacking at the same time. This was the Parthian shot.

And over the years it has been turned into the parting shot that we know today. So really it is a Parthian shot.

So how are our couple doing? Well of course she came back towards him. With all the noise in the club it was difficult to hear exactly. He might have been saying he loathed her. But when she came back towards him and leaned in for him to repeat what he had said he used the opportunity to kiss her on the ear, and one thing led to another and they got to hook up. So happy ending?

Well unfortunately they were young and reckless and didn’t use protection. So she fell pregnant at the tender age of sixteen. So sad ending?

Well she dropped out of school to have the baby, but despite what her parents said the boy would do he too dropped out of school and got a job to pay for her and the baby and they got married. So happy ending?

Well after a few years of scrapping through, the boy had gone to buy his lottery ticket (like he always did every week) when he suddenly realised that he didn’t have any cash on him. So he didn’t buy a ticket. And that week his numbers came up. He was so distraught that he killed himself. So sad ending?

Well actually although the girl had appreciated the boy taking care of her for the first three years of their babies life it hadn’t been a happy time. He had become a drug user and was an angry drunk. So while she was devastated, in many ways it was a relief for her and the child. So a mixed ending? Yes.

* How do you keep an idiot in suspense? I’ll tell you later.

A jump lead walked into a bar and said, "Gimme a drink!"

The barman said, “Well okay, but don’t start anything”.

Asking for money

Sometimes by the side of the road you see people holding a sign up, begging for cash.

My friend US Nick* swears blind that he saw two kids holding up this sign by the side of the road:

Parents killed by Ninjas,
Need money for Kung fu class.

* This is to differentiate between US Nick who came to visit recently and UK Nick who you may have seen mentioned before.

Moon Eaters

There once was a family of mice who lived on the moon. Their entire lives had been devoted to that moon ever since they could remember. Their family history told of generations and generations of moon miners. That was just the way that their family had always been.

But now things seemed to be changing. That’s what Grandpa Simon had to admit, and he didn’t want to. He had to realise that things had changed these days. That people didn’t need the moon to just wax and wane like it had before. How much moon did people really need? There were a lot of mice around now. And people needed more things. Those little creature comforts that made life just that little bit easier. So what if the moon waned a little bit more than it used to? Who was Grandpa Simon to stand in the way of progress?

Grandpa Simon was a great big long grey mouse who knew a thing or two. He was old and crotchety and had thinned out more than he really liked people to see. He knew he was old, everyone else knew he was old, but did they have to talk about it the whole time like it was suddenly the latest fashion on the block?

Simon, lifted himself off of some straw his nephews and nieces’ decedents had laid for him, and he waddled over to the centre of the room. He didn’t have to waddle any more, he’d been thinning out for a few months now, but he knew that those around him would literally think less of him if he didn’t. What was he going to do? The moon was dying, the moon hadn’t been so green before? It was definitely greener. And the story that Jennifer had redecorated was getting old fast. He needed to get them to do something. But what?

Why didn’t they notice that the world around them was crumbling away and the only way to fix things was to go back to the old ways. But the old ways were hard. The new ways made things easier for everyone. In the old days someone like Simon would have had things no different than he had things now. But in the old days he’d have been the only one. In the old days people would have gone hungry and the moon wouldn’t have supported all of these people. Whereas now people were free-er. The moon was fairer now. And everyone could do what they wanted always knowing that there was a moon shaped safety net underneath them to save them if they never worked again.

It was all his fault, Simon had ruined the moon and he knew it. He had been seen as the great saviour. The free-er of the masses, but in the end what had he really done? The ruling class had, he had to admit now, known about the problems of balance. They had been eating the moon for years. They had been living off of it, enjoying it, but never – ever – revealing its secrets to the masses. But then suddenly one of the masses had got in charge: Simon.

He had been walking alongside a parade one summer, the stink was high at the time, and everything felt like it was leading up to be a great summer when suddenly Simon found himself in a fight he hadn’t started. He was just between these two men who were at each other like it was the end of the world. And Simon, in a split second, decided that one of them had kinder eyes than the other. And he took sides. He was hailed as the saviour of the royal family because the one with the kinder eyes had been the future prince. And Simon was promoted to the aristocracy. And the minute he had been promoted he learned about how you could eat the cheese.

For three years he survived under the prince out of respect for what he had given him. But then the prince died and Simon had no further allegiance. So he decided to tell the moon what had been kept from them for all of this time, they could eat the cheese. He thought it would free the common man from the tyranny with which they had been oppressed. But in the end it had lead to havoc.

Now nobody worked. Now all everyone did was eat the moon that they lived on. And now the moon was almost gone. The last great moonslip had happened a month ago when four thousand mice had slipped over the edge. The only person who could save them was Simon. He knew. He had to think of something…

Check in next Friday for more Moon action.

Why did the lobster blush?

Because the sea weed.

Boy inter…

I was reading an article on the guardian website the other day: Leave me alone… which talked about how corrosive interruptions are to modern life. My job is at the extreme end of this as I’ll often have three people vying for me to talk to them all at the same time standing around my desk while I’m trying to do something for myself. The average according to the article seems to be that most people are interrupted every three minutes which is pretty bad, but my question is about how many of these interruptions are things that we actually have to deal with now?

In the situation I described above you have to respond. Somebody has wandered over into your space and asked you a question. It’s the same thing with a phone call. If you don’t answer then the other person won’t go away (especially if you don’t have voicemail). But what about a text or e-mail? Or a reminder in Outlook. All of these make noises and stuff but then we’ve chosen that they do. None of these things actually have to be dealt with instantly. We can respond when we want to respond. We could put them all on silent. And then remember to look at a scheduled time (but without a popup reminder of when this scheduled time is how would you remember)?

The reason we don’t have all of these things on silent is that we like to be interrupted sometimes. And sometimes the thing interrupting us is important enough that it should be considered more important than what we’re doing. We kind of need a way of being able to judge where that importance level goes. The only problem is that you need a two way level of priority because if we left it up to the people who want us to do stuff for them then it would always be level 1 priority.

I’m not sure how it would be organised, but it would be something like this. You want to be able to rank people by a level of how much you know them, so junk mail and cold callers have a rank of zero, firms that you have signed up to deal with have a rank of one. Above that you have colleagues and then friends and so on up until you get to say your partner right at the top. Then each of the people sending you stuff can add a priority level to the stuff they are doing and if they don’t set anything then it defaults to zero.

We already have the capability for receiving e-mail. We could set complicated rules and automatically downgrade anyone who didn’t set an importance level to the e-mail that they were sending (if they don’t care enough to assign an importance level then they aren’t important enough to listen to). But what about phone calls? What about people just walking up to you and not noticing that you’re in the middle of something?

Perhaps the only solution is the one suggested at the end of the article… I’m off to saw off a bit of all of my chair legs. Oh wait a minute. Sadly it turns out that I work in an office in the modern world and all of the chairs have wheels on the bottom.

Two oranges walk into a bar…

One turns to the other and says, “you’re round”.

Waiting for Pizza

I was at a theme park some years ago in up state New York and I was standing on line* for a slice or two of pizza and a beer.

I was standing with a friend of mine and we were looking at the choices available. The line was long and so we got to discussing what was a better deal: two small slices or one big slice. I was suggesting that the single larger slice was a better deal. No, my friend argued, it couldn’t be because you actually got less pizza. No you didn’t I argued, although the diameter numbers looked that way you had to take account of Pi. I almost certainly made a joke about how Pi was a factor in choosing your pizza pie.

It was a pretty geeky conversation, I know that I probably don’t come off well from it, but somebody comes off less well in a moment, just hold on.

Suddenly a voice from about three feet below me calls out up to her father, “Dad make that man stop talking, he’s making my brain think”.

*Look I was in America so I was on line. If this really upsets you then feel free so substitute queuing although it’s not really the English way.**

**Generally in English if there is are multiple words that can be used in a situation that’s what becomes adopted. Although that can seem counter intuitive actually it makes sense because our language much more flexible. Although some English speakers deride people’s splitting of the infinitive it is to the fundamental benefit of the English language that we are able to do it and still be understood. Variation is the spice of life***

*** indeed, variety is the point.

"Why do you look so lonely?"

“Why do you look so lonely?”

“I don’t know, maybe because I am lonely”, the lonely looking guy looked up from his beer after he’d finished speaking. He slightly chuckled to himself in a way that sounded like it meant the subject was being closed.

Helen continued to stare at him as he looked back down at the bubbles forming on the top of his beer. The brim of his hat touched the rim of the bottle. She made a decision.

“What’s your name?”

He started to answer, he opened his mouth to do it. But before he could say anything he was ceased by a smile. A grin really, and she knew from that grin that he was a good guy.

And kinda interesting too.

“Bill. Bill,” he paused to chuckle again, a slight half chuckle which told Helen that, if she could have seen his eyes, they must have sparkled at exactly that moment, “my name’s Bill. What’s yours?”

Bill looked up and turned. He still didn’t look quite at her. But he certainly was paying more attention to her than his beer. As if to redress the issue he lifted up his beer bottle and buried it’s neck somewhere under his moustache.

“I’m Helen”, she thought for a second. And then another. She knew through both of these seconds that it would be possible to go with this man. This man that she found attractive, this man that she could love. But for every second that she remained thinking about it she knew that it couldn’t happen. Consider, she considered, the practicalities of the situation.

Could she really go out with a guy now? Especially a guy that she’d just met? She knew that for every second she kept thinking about it then she wouldn’t go for it. And she knew that she’d keep thinking about it until it was no longer a possibility. She was her own worst enemy, and she hated that. But at the same time she knew it was her best defence. If she could just keep herself thinking then she didn’t have to commit.

Why was she so bothered? She’d not gone out with people so many times before? And she didn’t even like men with moustaches! The only thing that bothered her was the realisation that not going out with people was easier in the short term but that easier in the short term almost certainly didn’t mean happiness in the long term.

It’s a thing that Helen had been thinking about more and more recently. That the things that gave her the most happiness in the short term, drink, drugs, sex… were very rarely related to long term happiness. In fact every single thing that was an easy way to be happy today was an easy way to be miserable tomorrow. And the opposite was true too, the things she was most proud of in her life had been real hard. They really took an effort, but she had never looked back on an effort and thought that she had wasted her time.

“I sound like a PBS special”.

“What?”, Bill looked confused, and suddenly he looked directly at Helen. “What did you say?”

“I said, I sound like a PBS special. I had had this whole conversation in my own head. Like it could have been in somebody else’s head I guess, but there it was in my own head, and then at the end the next thing I needed to say to myself was to tell myself that I was sounding like a PBS special, but unfortunately I thought that thought too loudly and ended up saying it out… well to you.”

“I like PBS, and I like you.”

“Okay, well I like you too, so what are we going to do about it?”

“Well I’m going to buy another beer right now. Just one more but I’m going to do it. And I’d like to buy you a beer too. Or whatever it is that you’d like to drink…”

“Beer’s fine.”

“Right, well I’m going to buy both of us a beer, and then we’ll just see how that goes. But there’s one condition”.

“What’s that?”

“I want you to talk about who you are. Because I’m interested in who you are. But I need to know from you before I buy you this drink, that when you talk about you, you won’t sub-vocalise anything. You’ll just tell me exactly what you’re thinking. Because while you might think that what you’re thinking is the most embarrassing thing in the world. To me it’s the most interesting thing you can say.”

Where do Bees go to the toilet?

At the Bee Pee station.