something special coming soon

http://web.mac.com/thewritingcompany/Site_/Something_Special_Coming_Soon.html

James Chase is online

Good afternoon folks, just a note to let you know i am now a registered professional at www.getafreelancer.com. I am quite eager to build this side of my business so I am happy to offer reduced rates for any employer who is happy to provide a testimonial upon completion.

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Georgina waved anxiously from her cattle class seat, attempting to attract the attention of the flight attendant. Her son had been sick again, this time however he had chosen to forego the wax-paper bag and threw up over his clean denim overalls instead.
She jabbed the service button persistently but the stewardess seemed more interested in gossiping with her co-worker. Nuts to the lit seatbelt sign, she wasn’t having her Tommy arrive in a new country looking like this. She pushed a napkin into his hand and nudged him off to the bathroom. “Go clean yourself up.” The stewardess glanced at the breach, scanned for her supervisor and turned back to her conversation.


Behind Georgina a gaunt young man tested his red-haired neighbour with salacious looks. Cleverly she ambushed him, starting the conversation before he could think of his line, “So what do you do?” she clichéd.

“I’m an architect,” (he wasn’t) “I just did the new archery centre for the Olympics,” (he didn’t). Kurt had discovered through tough experience that there is an age at which being a musician goes from being the ultimate aphrodisiac to more or less telling women you beg for coins on the boardwalk. That age was roughly three years ago.
“Really?” she toyed, “So what have you got in store for us?”
She would play along, liars might make bad partners but they were excellent for conversation.

Kurt moved closer as if about to confide a secret. He knew that if he could keep it together just long enough to move along to the next topic he was in.

The red-haired woman would never discover the Olympic Archery layout. Kurt was interrupted by the captain’s voice, louder, much louder than usual and urgent.

◊◊◊

It would have been beautiful if anyone had seen it, the plane spiralled downwards through the sky leaving a double helix of white smoke in its wake. Later the black box would reveal a single torn wire. This was of little importance to the people on board.There was no screaming. The passengers sat in unnatural silence, the perverse serenity of impending death. The impact broke the spell. The wing struck first wrenching a chunk of fuselage with it. The remainder tore through the undergrowth unhindered. The slide seemed to last forever, the scrub gave way to saplings, the wreck levelled these without effort. Eventually the aircraft found a worthy opponent, a great mahogany. It struck hard. The fore section of the fuselage collapsed like a concertina. The aft tore free and carouselled to a stop.

Georgina woke with a cough, her first thought to cover her mouth, then reality set in. The cabin was hazy but she could still make out the bodies, slumped in their seats, hanging from their seatbelts like marionettes. The two seats behind her were empty, those and the one beside her, Tommy’s.
She unclipped her seatbelt gazed toward the rear, the toilet was gone, half the blessed plane was gone. She had to find him, had to know that he wasn’t… her thoughts cut short, she couldn’t think it.

She made for the exit but her legs gave way beneath her in agony twisting into ghastly angles on the floor. She dragged herself to the exit. It flew out with a bang as if by magic. Strong arms reached in, dragging her through the portal and expertly to a waiting stretcher. The arms pulled tight straps across her chest and waist, locking her in place. She was being carried away. “Wait! Tommy, my boy, he’s still… “ They ignored her, their route was as set as a railroad. She struggled against the straps of the stretcher, trying to free herself. She felt the cold steel of a needle pierce her thigh, watched the clear liquid flow into her vein, then there was nothing.

◊◊◊

Kurt played with the saline drip, watching the veins of his arm swell with each squeeze, Colorado State Supply – isotonic solution. He and the redhead Amanda had made it out with a few cuts and bruises. They watched the medics stretcher Georgina’s limp body in. The doors slammed shut and the helicopter’s engine grunted to life. Amanda couldn’t help grabbing Kurt’s arm as they took off, she would not fly by choice again.
Georgina awoke shortly after the helicopter landed. The three were packed into the tiny hospital’s only room, bed to bed. She called the doctor over.
“My boy, Tommy, where is he?”
“I’m sorry.“ The doctor placed a hand on her shoulder, “There was nobody else. The smoke took them.”
She jerked free of his hand.
“No, he’s still out there, I can feel him. A mother knows.”
“Ms Kendal the aviation service will be here next week to clear the site. Is there a relative or friend you would like to call to help you make arrangements.”
“Just stuff off!” she barked, tears streamed down her face in anger.
The doctor stiffened his back, slapped a pamphlet on the nightstand beside her and walked to the next bed. “You two may go, take it easy for the next couple of days.”
They clambered out of the beds and made for the door, Georgia grabbed Kurts arm hard as he passed, stopping him in his tracks. “Promise me, promise me that you’ll find him, he’s still up there!”
“Um I’ll do what I can.” Kurt freed himself from her grip and continued to the hall.

“So when do we leave”
“What?”
“To find her boy”
“What are you talking about, we’re not going anywhere, she’s lost it.”
“You said you would help her.”
“I said I’d do what I can which is absolutely fucking nothing, you heard the doc, The kid’s dead.” She gave him a cold stare and walked away.
“Wait. Stop. Sorry. So suppose you do go off on this nonsense errand, how are we going to find the crash?”
“See that peak, the trees are greener, closer together, it’s a man made forest. That’s where the plane hit. More importantly can you steal a car?”
He was impressed.
“My dad was a mechanic,” (he wasn’t), “I think I can manage it” (he could).
They walked through the hospital carpark side by side. Kurt didn’t know why he was going along with this. She hadn’t exactly inspired him but like many aimless men he went along, This was as good a thing to do as any other.
He tore a strip from his shirt and began to feed it through the window of a ford Taurus.
“What are you doing?” she pulled him away.
“What, you said…”
“We need four wheel drive… and GPS unless you know where you’re going”.
She directed him to a great behemoth of a vehicle. The nameplate read “Doctor”.
He caught the lock nub on the first try. They unhooked the bonnet and studied the ignition. Amanda caught his eye and he laughed.
“What’s so funny?’
“I’m just impressed I’ve got Lil’ Miss Business Suit stealing cars”
She giggled, then chastised herself and gave him a practised glare.

◊◊◊

The trail was long and winding. It was starting to get dark. Dark meant cold; they would need to find him soon. At the end of the trail they continued on foot.
“This shining armour shit is tough.” Kurt Panted.
“The worthwhile shit always is” Amanda replied.

◊◊◊

It was midnight when they found it. A child’s fort built of luggage. There was a moat of clothing, in Tommy’s mind as vital for his survival as the haphazard shelter it protected. Kurt knelt down and extended his hand into the fort. A hand grasped his, he was alive.

Our Broken Spokes

In the wake of the Tour Down Under, Adelaide's cyclists lament a grim fact. The most recent data from the Australian Bureau of Statistics shows that more cyclist are killed per capita in South Australia than in any other state.

According to the Traffic Intelligence Section of the SA police; The main cause of fatal and casualty cyclist crashes is driver inattention.

David Bowler offers another possible factor in the form of dangerous by design cycle tracks. Midway through its four year cycling plan many cycle routes remain incomplete, merging dangerously into heavy traffic. David maintains a web-based list of state black-spots deemed “Deathtraps”, most of these occur where a bikelane joins the main body of traffic, with potentially disastrous consequences.
The State Governments cycling policy document suggests that the enormous health benefits of cycling are being missed due to perceptions that it is unsafe

State leader of the democrats Sandra Knack has released a statement on Adelaide’s cycling numbers claiming “we are just about the worst performers in Australia…
Mike Rann has got us watching bikes but we still don’t ride them.”
Kanck advocates that we introduce Copenhagen style cycling lanes like those already in use in Melbourne. These insulate cyclists from the main body of traffic with a lane of parking.

The department of energy infrastructure and transport policy document “Safety in Numbers” outlines two key strategies to improve cyclist safety. Firstly to “improve cycling infrastructure and road user behavior. Secondly it is suggested that “encouraging more people to cycle more often,” will in fact reduce the crash rate. The proposed solution; to improve “The perception of safety for those not currently cycling.”

The line of argument here is challenging to follow. It has been demonstrated that cities who cycle more have fewer accidents per trip. The simplest explanation is that cities who have implemented safe cycling trails would enjoy both a higher rate of cycling and a lower accident rate. Encouraging more cyclists to risk dangerous roads will bring about safety only by forcing government action to remedy cycle routes. Till then commuter cycling may be our State extreme sport.




07 Fatalities 07 fat/Mil 04-07 avg fat/Mil
SA 7 4.54 2.76
Qld 9 2.27 2.04
Vic 7 1.39 1.9
WA 4 1.99 1.88
NSW 11 1.62 1.74
Figure: Australia’s Most Dangerous

Sunday Fiction :The Watchmaker

With tweezer hands he laid the gilded gears in place. He closed the sell, whistling softly as he completed the delicate work. This was the artisan’s finest creation, a watch for the king himself. The watchmaker rocked back in his chair, tasting the air. It was different today, the familiar musk of his workshop was overshadowed by acrid tones. He was a success; his skill unmatched; the slave turned artisan.
The boy sat silently in the corner. He was a good child. A faithful child. The watchmaker had insisted upon it. Only a boy of faith could be trusted with such an important delivery. He carefully wrapped the watch in leather and beckoned the child closer.
“You understand, you must go directly to the king. Do not falter, he must receive his gift tonight.” The boy nodded mutely and darted out through the door.
The boy loped through the crowded streets, sticking close to the dusty market canopies. Merchants pitched gibberish to nobody in particular as he passed. He checked his pocket. It was still there. He caught sideways glances from strangers but none would meet his eyes. No, it must be his imagination, they couldn’t know what he carried.
The guards allowed the boy to pass with a nod. The watchmaker had arranged everything. The boy climbed the stairs, taking the route the watchmaker had inststed he memorise, and recite, over and over till it had become second nature.
The king smiled at the boy’s arrival, begged him to come close with a weary finger. He drew open the pouch, his eyes salivating. It was perfect, he shooed the boy, his eyes not leaving the glittering object. Servants presented dinner, he dismissed them with a wave. No-one else could see it, it was for him and him alone. The watch ticked on his eyes transfixed. Then midnight, the hands aligned in perfect symmetry. A click, a hiss a puff of smoke, a boom rendered voiceless by the cavernous halls. The watch was gone and with it the king.
The watchmaker smiled in his chair, his greatest work complete.

Anonymous vs Scientology

The story of Anonymous has all the hallmarks of a Hollywood epic. A roguish accidental hero, a wise sage, a great and powerful enemy. The war between hacker-group Anonymous and the Church of Scientology began with a lone act of censorship. A church of scientology indoctrination video featuring Tom Cruise was hosted on the youtube video website. Cruise’s manic laughter and his claim that scientologists are the only one’s who can help in the case of a car accident were mocked by commentary.
The church, citing the digital millennium copyright act, forcibly removed the video. Soon after the removal a video featuring a dark robotic voice set to stock images of storm clouds appeared on the video site, declaring war on the church. In response the sages of this tale “Wise beard man” , GlaDos and an unnamed scientologist spoke out, supporting the cause but urging caution and non-violence in letters and video posts across the web.
In mere days, anonymous achieved a campaign of protests that would be the envy of any activist. Scientology centres throughout the United Stated, Canada, the UK, Europe and Australia were “raided” by thousands of masked protesters. The Church of Scientology official website was shut down by hackers prompting international media coverage.
The public relations line is that anonymous chose their name as a defence against Scientology’s alleged attacks against individual detractors. In truth the group existed long before “Operation Chanology,” the manoeuvres of which have sparked protests at scientology centres around the world. “Anonymous” was born on the Chan group of message board websites. Think of these as the toilet wall of the Internet. Users post gory pictures, pornography and crude messages in the name of shock humour. Like the toilet wall, when someone wishes to post a message without fear of social consequence they may choose to remain anonymous. Over time users of the site began to refer to anonymous as though he were a real person. Many conversations can be found between “Anonymous” and the identified users of the site.
The entity known as Anonymous became HG Well’s invisible man, acting without fear of retribution and ultimately without morality. Their early operations on the internet reflected this. Operation Myspays (sic) was a sophisticated effort to obtain the passwords to the personal pages of myspace users. The targets then had their personal profiles plastered with homosexual pornography. The goal of the mission was ”lulz,” hacker slang for laughs. Their moniker “The Internet Hate Machine” is well earned.
Cruelty is a common theme among the users of the site, “Anonymous” have made prank phone calls to the parents of a teenage suicide, made bomb threats and convinced girls to post nude pictures on their site then tracking down their details to publicly name and shame them.
The Internet Hate Machine is fuelled by media attention. Media reports are collected and celebrated as trophies. The favourites are usually the most negative coverage. When fox news dubbed Anonymous “Hacker’s on Steroids,” the site erupted in jubilation. The report was dissected, set to music and is frequently featured on the site as an in-joke. Even their most innocent activities suggest a desire for attention. A long-standing hobby of anonymous is meme-pushing. Attempting to move their in-jokes into the internet domain. The community is accredited with creating many pieces of internet miscellanea. Lolcats; pictures of cats with humourous descriptions originated on the chan sites, as did the popularity of Tay Zonday’s song, “Chocolate Rain.”
There is talent among the community, for an organization without formal structure or hierarchy they show a great deal of sophistication in their raids. Operation Myspays featured a series of spoof pages promising access to Myspace through work or school filter systems. Unwitting users entered their passwords that were disseminated through the community to begin the attack. They are experts in manipulating media, websites, and social sites to manipulate people in the name of cruel laughs.
Ironically it is this remarkable ability which may prove the undoing of Anonymous.
The goal of the war on scientology may have been laughs, but the cause has struck a chord in the community. The chan message-boards are attracting new ideological members, combating the current leadership of scientology with noble sentiment. One of these new members of anonymous suggested a list of future causes “His fellow anonymous” could support, the following reply was received.
“We are not your fellow Anonymous. We are not V for Vendetta. We are an Internet Hate Machine, we do whatever we want for the hell of it, for our own fun. The rest of the things you heard about us was just propaganda so you would all help us.” –anon. Other users posted gory images of traffic accidents and medical procedures in an effort to ward off idealistic newcomers.
Others have welcomed the change as serendipity. One longstanding member of anonymous encouraged detractors to welcome the newcomers and accept that the group had evolved a sense of social responsibility. The anonymous communities growing on mainstream sites such as facebook and myspace are largely unaware of the hacker roots of the group and oppose the current form of Scientology for their litigious nature, alleged suppression of the media and the “Fair Game” policy, where Scientologists were encouraged to attack SP’s or suppressive persons by any means. The Church of Scientology states that this policy is not in use.
With great passion on both sides the media war is not likely to reach a stalemate any time soon. In the mean time one question still remains to be answered; What does it mean to be anonymous?

A Brief History of Love

Valentine’s day is here, a day for lovers young and old. From stolen glances and fleeting exchanges from admirers to the golden love of ages. For those disposed to finding the root of things the reason for this occasion remains a mystery. Little is known of either of the Saints known as valentine.

Anti-globalists will be disappointed to find that Valentine’s day is not the invention of Hallmark, or any other of the global greeting giants. The beginnings of the day have been traced to a short story by Chaucer, often cited as the first great writer to make use of the English language as opposed to the latin favoured by early scholars. The story described a fictional practice of exchange of letters among lovers. This struck a chord with readers of the day and the practice caught on.

Beginning with hand written letters eventually advances in the steam driven press made prewritten cards an affordable option for those too shy or ineloquent to express their love in their own voice. The practice has caught on throughout the western world with valentines day marking the third biggest calendar gifting occasion.

For those determined to find they hand of capitalism it may do to look to asia where the developmentof in a twist, girls are expected to give ohjugd-choko, or obligation chocolates to men in and around their office.

It is likely that some of our valentine traditions were drawn February pagan harvest festivals. After feasting and dancing the mayflower pole, the young women of the village would draw the names of young men from a basket. That would be their partner for the year at many events and festivities. Often these pairings would lead to marriage. While we no longer rely on chance to choose our own partners it is gratifying to know that this day continues to pair folks around the world.

Requiem for A Formula One

Chaucer said that time heals all wounds. This is not the case for Adelaide's loss of the Grand Prix. Thirteen years on a silent protest continues on social networking site, Facebook. The group "Bring Back the Formula One To Adelaide" boasts more than two-thousand members, dwarfing rival group "Keep the Formula One in Melbourne," at twenty-four.
With most of Facebook's user base aged 15 to 25, many members are too young to remember the final race in 1995, but still they mourn its loss.

The Adelaide circuit was widely regarded as one of the best city tracks of its day. It features high-speeds straights punctuated by delicate turning sections against the lush backdrop of the Botanical gardens. The Grand Prix received international praise both for this fine track design and the excitement and enthusiasm that accompanied the event.

To Adelaide's youth it has become larger than life, a symbol of the South Australia's past success on the world stage.
With Melbourne's 2010 renewal deadline looming it is also a symbol of the future, described by group founder Hugh Waterman as "an opportunity for Adelaide to firmly place itself back on the international map."

With the continuing popularity of the more economical V8 event, treasurer Kevin Foley is unlikely to place a bid on the Grand Prix anytime soon.
For now, it is safe to say that being a little bit narky about F1's is as cemented in South Australian culture as Cooper's on tap or the misphrase "Heaps good."