I forged a path toward the washroom through the thinner bits of the crowd, conscious that my newfound powers in clearing away knots of people were 100% due to the Junoesque figure following me. And this, I realized, was one of the most exciting things that had happened on any of our CLPFC days; the expressions around us were awash with curiosity, shock, and delight. Everyone here would know that Ibrander’s date had jumped ship to Lalantree before lunch was served.
Trying to scan as many faces as possible without making eye contact (now this is a true art) I almost bumped into Loddi’s mum. This in spite of her neon floral mumu. “Oh, hello Lalantree. Loddi isn’t with you?”
“No…” Mavind had come up close behind me, and Loddi’s mum did a double take. Continue reading “CONDITIONAL HOLIDAYS ARE ALWAYS LESS THAN WHAT THEY SEEM (3/4)”
Nonchalant and all that, I waited until the last moment to look up at the welcome interlopers.
“Ibrander,” said a poised, throaty, laughing voice, “won’t you introduce me?”
They stopped in front of the bench, my third cousin Ibrander (who detests Loddi, making me instantly suspicious of his coming over) and a tall, glossy person who was all rich brown hair and expressive mouth and hand gestures. One hand was on Ibrander’s arm but she still managed to be gesturing with it. Her clothes were nothing less than dashing – a wide hat and a one-piece dress suit in cream, its tailored A-line skirt skewing physics by ending in a sway. This was one case where I didn’t have to worry about the polite game that people played of trying to guess-without-guessing whether someone was visiting in-holo only. She was most definitely in person. Continue reading “Conditional Holidays are Always Less Than What They Seem (2/4)”
Loddi Frisket is a black hole of neuroses. His very existence centres on an unstable singularity, which sucks in anxieties, crises, and the most outlandishly negative possibilities. From prior experience I can attest that his event horizon fluctuates around a diameter of approximately 15 metres. Sometimes the emotional debris which gathers on his accretion disk is an accurate enough warning that I can reverse course, and get away before his attention fixes on me. Sometimes it is not enough.
To give you a sense of just what I am dealing with, Loddi once asked me if I would rather lose my heart (and dignity) to a psychopathic baker, or flee the civilized world, giving up everything from clean pillow shams to NutriPills, only to waste away in boondocks replete with SABs and smugglers.
In my humble opinion, the baker of Loddi’s bipolar love was not psychopathic (I still buy rolls there), but merely possessed of poor judgement, seeing as she countenanced his Gothic style of flirting in the first place. Furthermore, it is well known that the Carwallian smugglers (the only smugglers within 50 lightyears to whom Loddi could have possibly been referring) live very well in their off-planet colonies, though the latter are admittedly remote places. Politics may be laissez-faire over in the Esten Economic Zone but they still don’t want blatant crime polluting the fine views and real estate values of the elite.
Continue reading “Conditional Holidays are Always Less than What They Seem (1/4)”
As I alluded to earlier, the Blartists of today bear little resemblance to the long-deceased statesman from whom their brand derives. To be brief in summarizing a long and dusty biography, which I pulled from my grandmother’s shelves (she collects histories of anything “queer”, as she deems it), R. F. Blart broke into Hyan politics before they were known as Hyan politics by throwing outrageous parties. He was an instant star, with a keen instinct for brokering alliances, and a flair for speeches that served as accessory to a bold appearance; he was never seen in anything but purple.
Blart set his stamp on the original Charter and Constitution of the Hyan Economic Zone (HEZ) as one of its first eleven High Councillors, and after a few goods years, he proceeded to ricochet from highs to lows – from diplomatic triumphs to day-drunk rants in the Senate. Such erratic behaviour ate into his popular support until only the most hardcore remained dedicated to him; town criers, and foot masseuses. Continue reading “ON THE IMPORTANCE OF “ISMS”, AND THE CRYOSTATICALLY RE-ENABLED (5)”
When we came down to the Conference Lounge it was five minutes to the preordained start, and hardly anybody was there. No one that I recognized, certainly, which lead me to believe that the few people scattered here and there among armchairs were probably from the infamous MV&SR, while up on the little raised speaking platform two people, faces hidden, were conferring over the intricacies of pressing the large black button to turn on the microphone. I wondered which of them might be our speaker.
I made a beeline for one of the remaining overstuffed armchairs, my top priority as the room was predominantly populated by the less puffy variety. It felt as if our group of six or so, hushed remarks and chuckles not entirely quelled as we crossed the room, was quite conspicuous in the sparse silence, and it was with a knotty mix of emotion – including modest dismay – that I found Hellinder seated next to me, very nearly tête-à-tête. Continue reading “ON THE IMPORTANCE OF “ISMS”, AND THE CRYOSTATICALLY RE-ENABLED (4)”
Hellinder was of the species that professes inexpensive, simple tastes, yet is always willing to go out for lunch or a drink. The kind that is ever poised to introduce vulgarity (literal excrement, for instance) into a sentence, yet demonstrates close attention to grammar, spelling, and pronunciation. After a certain point one must concede that to be confounded is close enough to being charmed, and to being willing to lend a spoon upon occasion.
A great deal of further illustration is possible, but I will limit it to this – Hellinder was possessed of a good head of wavy dark hair, and very black eyes, and he eased human interaction in a manner that defied the laws of pseudophysics. How an extrovert finagled his way into the office I do not know.
So, although I had escaped Tertiary School without forming any close acquaintances, my worknights and weekends were now peppered by gatherings with coworkers, which was the very opposite of what I should have expected out of those two phases of my human development. As I retained some old friends from Secondary School, this left a gap associated with my Tertiary experience with which I have never been quite comfortable, as it seems to indicate that something went wrong. I puzzled over these matters, and coupled as I was at the time, to watch my partner quietly ignoring the bouleversement of my social life (a luxury that I did not have) was to be convinced that a very long joke was in progress. Continue reading “On the Importance of “isms”, and the Cryostatically Re-Enabled (3)”
Ultimately, the Intergenerational Debate confirmed rather than disrupted the theories of prominent sociologists, who already held that humans must cling to some forms of tribalism or “othering”, lest they die of frustration or wither away in motionless introspection. It would appear that accepting a few “isms” here and there is a necessary condition of our existence, and so it is merely a matter of choosing which ones may be the least distasteful. Ageism survives, as does Zoneism, and fieldism, whose milder subtexts are politically acceptable to most individuals, is thriving.
As may be typical of an inhabitant of the LEZ, I discovered fieldism last of the above. Having passed my teenaged and earlier years in initial schooling, and having fathers who hardly spoke about their workplaces, I had no notion of what intrigue went on amid the grind of working life until I was treated to a speech from my superior (or rather, the only person whom I could identify as a possible superior, hierarchies having become unfashionable again over the past century) in my first few days of work:
“Don’t trouble yourself if the marketing people downstairs ask you for something. They don’t seem to appreciate that we’re just as occupied as they are, and they always manage to arrive at the answer they wanted on their own, anyway. There’s some confirmation bias down there, unfortunately. But of course they didn’t study mathematical thought or scientific method in any real depth. It can’t be helped.”
This, to a newly-minted Mathematics major straight out of the sheltered environs of the Amphitrian Tertiary School at 121°06’39.3”, seemed remarkably backhanded, full of layers to dissect. I must admit that I was impressed. And it proved attractive to draw mental lines and paint invisible markers in the defense of my chosen field of work, which others quite simply could not understand, especially because it so happened that I had adjustments to make in the transition from university to work. Continue reading “On the Importance of “isms”, and the Cryostatically Re-Enabled – (2)”