OPEN BAR: Tough on bars, tough on the causes of bars

[Aucoq]

So, the Happy Families bubble burst today, and I am pleased to report that my employees are actually just as fucked up as everyone else.

Most of them are going on vacation next Monday, and they suddenly all decided they had to get "their side of the story" in with the new boss.  But the new boss doesn't care.  Half of them are cheating on their spouses with coworkers.  I don't care.  The other half are overly concerned about said cheating.  This also doesn't register as important.  I have seen where this goes, and it's a horrible snarl of twisted priorities, but I don't give a shit.

It's really this simple.  We fix the domes.  We get the brain-eating amoebas out of the water.  We clean up after semifunctional scientists and ancient docents.  We don't run tourists over.  It's not calculus.

I am not bitching, mind you.  I am actually quite relieved, as things seemed just a little too good to be true, and now it's way more human.

Hank shuffled into the room. This was an office, once. Long ago, before the Roger times came. Hank remembered an office here some time last month. Now it was a labyrinth of manuals and schematics. Hank couldn't believe there was anywhere enough equipment to justify this much paper. Not in the complex. Not in the state.

He had been hesitant to come in, really. Davis had come in with a welcome and a gift basket earlier in the day and nobody had seen him since. He'd probably gone home. Must have gone home. But it didn't sit right. No, Hank hadn't wanted to come in but he felt it was morally imperative that the new boss know the score.

The room seemed empty. Gradually accepting that Roger wasn't in, Hank let his attention drift to the annotated schematics covering the floors and walls and found that he had trouble parsing them. He narrowed his eyes and moved nearer a document with renewed focus. To his surprise, the content was indecipherable. It was positively arcane and certainly nothing related to any of the equipment he'd ever seen. Paralysed by puzzlement as he was, Hank didn't see Roger emerge from a stack of books until he was upon him, pinning the puzzled engineer to the wall and disturbing the new wallpaper, sending robot pin-ups drifting to the floor.

"What is it, man? Is it the domes?"

Hank blinked and stammered, "I... I... no? What? No. The domes are..." He committed to pushing Roger from him indignantly and straightening his clothes but found this commitment didn't translate into anywhere near enough force to make the man budge. Roger's face advanced upon him and Hank became aware that the new boss was wearing a jeweller's monocle, giving an eerie, inquisitive edge to his stare.

"The domes are..? You were saying about the domes?"

Hank stared in terror. "No, I... well, that is. I thought you should know about what's going on between Laura and James and Karen." He had meant to be more tactful, but circumstances had not allowed for that. Roger released him and turned away dismissively, appearing to immediately lose interest. He took a couple of steps away before pausing and looking back "And you're certain there's nothing about the domes?" The new boss's glare was chilling. "You certainly wouldn't keep anything from me if it were about the domes?"

Hank shook his head desperately. Roger glared a moment longer then nodded his acceptance. "Very well. Back to work. There's no place like dome." His lips twitched a brief smile at the last sentence. Roger gestured to his desk, upon which a gift basket sat. "Help yourself to a little treat on your way out, for your excellent work."

Hank's blood ran cold. Not at the sight of the gift basket, but at the only other non-paper item atop the desk.

Holding down the corner of a diagram of the facility, functioning as a paperweight, were Davis's car keys.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

So, the Happy Families bubble burst today, and I am pleased to report that my employees are actually just as fucked up as everyone else.

Most of them are going on vacation next Monday, and they suddenly all decided they had to get "their side of the story" in with the new boss.  But the new boss doesn't care.  Half of them are cheating on their spouses with coworkers.  I don't care.  The other half are overly concerned about said cheating.  This also doesn't register as important.  I have seen where this goes, and it's a horrible snarl of twisted priorities, but I don't give a shit.

It's really this simple.  We fix the domes.  We get the brain-eating amoebas out of the water.  We clean up after semifunctional scientists and ancient docents.  We don't run tourists over.  It's not calculus.

I am not bitching, mind you.  I am actually quite relieved, as things seemed just a little too good to be true, and now it's way more human.

Hank shuffled into the room. This was an office, once. Long ago, before the Roger times came. Hank remembered an office here some time last month. Now it was a labyrinth of manuals and schematics. Hank couldn't believe there was anywhere enough equipment to justify this much paper. Not in the complex. Not in the state.

He had been hesitant to come in, really. Davis had come in with a welcome and a gift basket earlier in the day and nobody had seen him since. He'd probably gone home. Must have gone home. But it didn't sit right. No, Hank hadn't wanted to come in but he felt it was morally imperative that the new boss know the score.

The room seemed empty. Gradually accepting that Roger wasn't in, Hank let his attention drift to the annotated schematics covering the floors and walls and found that he had trouble parsing them. He narrowed his eyes and moved nearer a document with renewed focus. To his surprise, the content was indecipherable. It was positively arcane and certainly nothing related to any of the equipment he'd ever seen. Paralysed by puzzlement as he was, Hank didn't see Roger emerge from a stack of books until he was upon him, pinning the puzzled engineer to the wall and disturbing the new wallpaper, sending robot pin-ups drifting to the floor.

"What is it, man? Is it the domes?"

Hank blinked and stammered, "I... I... no? What? No. The domes are..." He committed to pushing Roger from him indignantly and straightening his clothes but found this commitment didn't translate into anywhere near enough force to make the man budge. Roger's face advanced upon him and Hank became aware that the new boss was wearing a jeweller's monocle, giving an eerie, inquisitive edge to his stare.

"The domes are..? You were saying about the domes?"

Hank stared in terror. "No, I... well, that is. I thought you should know about what's going on between Laura and James and Karen." He had meant to be more tactful, but circumstances had not allowed for that. Roger released him and turned away dismissively, appearing to immediately lose interest. He took a couple of steps away before pausing and looking back "And you're certain there's nothing about the domes?" The new boss's glare was chilling. "You certainly wouldn't keep anything from me if it were about the domes?"

Hank shook his head desperately. Roger glared a moment longer then nodded his acceptance. "Very well. Back to work. There's no place like dome." His lips twitched a brief smile at the last sentence. Roger gestured to his desk, upon which a gift basket sat. "Help yourself to a little treat on your way out, for your excellent work."

Hank's blood ran cold. Not at the sight of the gift basket, but at the only other non-paper item atop the desk.

Holding down the corner of a diagram of the facility, functioning as a paperweight, were Davis's car keys.

Today I learned that all of our vehicles must be seconded US Government vehicles, usually pickup trucks that are too worn out for ICE to run Mexicans over with.  HOWEVER, I also learned that a weird accounting glitch means the government PAYS us $20 for each vehicle we take, and we can take M113 armored personnel carriers.  For fuck's sake.

I pointed out to acquisitions that I have 3000 acres of flat land on which to place M113s, and that the sides of the mountain are worth a few thousand more acres easy, and that we could probably take enough armored vehicles to fund us for a fiscal year.

Then, it seems, I can legally hand over any seconded vehicles to the Nation (the Tohono Od'ham).

SO.

I fund my department by taking tanks.  I then take the tanks the government paid me to take, and hand them over to the Nation, which uses them to push Whitey into the ocean.

Also, did I mention the 35 Mw laser?  That's a thing.

I'm so happy.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

So yesterday I visited the University of Limerick where some dudes in a basement (They have a wind tunnel! (I didn't get to play with it.)) are prototyping fibre-reinforced plastic manhole covers.

The reason I was there is that I work for the company who manufactures the liquid resin component that is combined with the glass to eventually become a solid object. I work in the Technical Service department which basically means I try to solve customer's problems if and when they encounter them.

Upon landing in Shannon (home to the world's first Duty Free!) and being picked up by the local sales manager he warned me that the timescales of academia may not be quite as fast as I have become used to in the world of work. No matter, I thought - our resin only takes half an hour to cure and we've got all day...

We made one part exactly how they'd been making all the others. Unsurprisingly it displayed the same problem. Then it was time for lunch and a walk around campus for some reason.

By the time we had returned to the lab, finished discussing the new and (hopefully) improved reinforcement stack, re-discussed it with the owner of the company sponsoring the research, who had just arrived, and loaded it in the mould it was too late to make a second part.

Then I flew home.

I will find out today whether my improvements have improved things.

Xaz, it's worth noting that things are different in Academia, and not for the likes of you or I to inquire too closely.  Just take the money and smile.  You will be considered a genius.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Also, growing long hair and a beard, on account of "frozen hell".

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Upon landing in Shannon (home to the world's first Duty Free!) and being picked up by the local sales manager he warned me that the timescales of academia may not be quite as fast as I have become used to in the world of work.

This is like the understatement of all understatements.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Today, basically absolutely nothing happened.

It was great!

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

The one cranky thing I kind of want to post on my Facebook wall but won't (unlike most of the cranky things I say, which go right on up there) is that I find almost all poly bloggers tedious as fuck. Like, are they seriously so totally un-self-aware that they don't realize that they aren't blogging because they have profound insights on love and life, but because they are processing their own inner conflict between what they think is expected of them and what they want?

The experiences of love and romance are deep and new and profound to the ones experiencing them, but they are very nearly universal, which is why people have been, effectively, journaling them through art and literature since those things took root as a form of human cultural transmission. Almost without fail these blogs read like the diary of a 14-year-old who has just had her first romantic experience and is still trying to sort out what all the feelings mean and whether they're OK; the detailed histories of their first meeting, the examinations of the emotional responses, the dialogue, the weighted, almost mystical importance given to mundane and trivial events.

Most of all, the sense of significance running through the whole narrative; the significance of the experience, of the writer, of the discovery of polyamory, of actually caring about and fucking more than one person at a time, and of the narration itself; the complete inability to take a step back and realize that none of these experiences are new on a human scale, none of them are groundbreaking, and that ultimately these blogs are as boring, banal, and commonplace as a teenager's angsty diary or any middle-aged adult's midlife crisis; and that essentially they are blogging instead of talking to their therapist, who would do them the favor of explaining to them that it's OK and that everything they are experiencing is normal and fine, and maybe would even suggest that they pick up a copy of the Joy of Sex, the original with the hairy hippies copulating in hand-drawn illustrations, so that they could finally understand that their parents already had this revolution and everything is going to be okay.

[The Wizard Joseph]

Also, growing long hair and a beard, on account of "frozen hell".

Probably a good call. Progressing the trend though.... you might just be enjoying relatively cool and comfortable breezes in the summer up there while all others are frying and cursing the sun.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Also, growing long hair and a beard, on account of "frozen hell".

Probably a good call. Progressing the trend though.... you might just be enjoying relatively cool and comfortable breezes in the summer up there while all others are frying and cursing the sun.

It's 80-100F in the summertime, I gather.  At which point I will break out the shears.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

This is where I work.  For scale, the diagonal silo looking thing (the solar telescope) is 300 ft tall.



I will be posting pics of my own some time next week.

[LMNO]

Oh holy hell. That is so beautiful.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Oh holy hell. That is so beautiful.

Isn't it?  I spent my lunch hour looking at the sun's convection zone.  Two good sunspots, one about the size of Earth, one a bit bigger.  Each one is, of course, a "cold spot" caused by the sun's magnetic field.

My pants are full of love.

[The Wizard Joseph]

The one cranky thing I kind of want to post on my Facebook wall but won't (unlike most of the cranky things I say, which go right on up there) is that I find almost all poly bloggers tedious as fuck. Like, are they seriously so totally un-self-aware that they don't realize that they aren't blogging because they have profound insights on love and life, but because they are processing their own inner conflict between what they think is expected of them and what they want?

The experiences of love and romance are deep and new and profound to the ones experiencing them, but they are very nearly universal, which is why people have been, effectively, journaling them through art and literature since those things took root as a form of human cultural transmission. Almost without fail these blogs read like the diary of a 14-year-old who has just had her first romantic experience and is still trying to sort out what all the feelings mean and whether they're OK; the detailed histories of their first meeting, the examinations of the emotional responses, the dialogue, the weighted, almost mystical importance given to mundane and trivial events.

Most of all, the sense of significance running through the whole narrative; the significance of the experience, of the writer, of the discovery of polyamory, of actually caring about and fucking more than one person at a time, and of the narration itself; the complete inability to take a step back and realize that none of these experiences are new on a human scale, none of them are groundbreaking, and that ultimately these blogs are as boring, banal, and commonplace as a teenager's angsty diary or any middle-aged adult's midlife crisis; and that essentially they are blogging instead of talking to their therapist, who would do them the favor of explaining to them that it's OK and that everything they are experiencing is normal and fine, and maybe would even suggest that they pick up a copy of the Joy of Sex, the original with the hairy hippies copulating in hand-drawn illustrations, so that they could finally understand that their parents already had this revolution and everything is going to be okay.

See I can sympathize with that a bit. I had a bit of internal reconciliation to work through as I realized that I had a polyamorous nature in terms of relationships, but not particularly in a sexual context. I'm not keen AT ALL with other males around while actually getting sexual, but am also very comfortable with socializing with a partner's significant other(s) outside of active sexual context. There is a distinctive need for openness and painstaking honesty with self and others in such matters that comes very naturally to me. I do not particularly desire, and so don't seek, to be with more than 1 partner at a time in a sexual context. It's not like I think I'd mind, pretty sure I'd enjoy the challenge in fact, but it doesn't matter enough to attempt to act towards and hasn't come up otherwise. Not sure where this puts me on like a "polyamory spectrum" or something, but it's not quite "cis" for sure.

What I don't have is a sexual identity built around being "poly" or anything else for that matter other than heterosexual. I can find a male personally attractive, acknowledge physical beauty, admire ability, and love one in the brotherly sense, but I have yet to feel like I'd like to "get on that". I really don't expect that I ever will.  My sexuality is not a big part of my identity overall in fact, but an important one to be sure.

Now some folks find themselves and swiftly build an ID around their new found attributes. After much observation of identity "converts" of various sorts I've come to simply accept that the kinda teen like behavior is almost universal in the early stages. I suspect, in most unscientific fashion, that it's some sort of neurological throwback to the last time most folks "discovered themselves" around puberty. It's notably common in ideological conversion and personal discovery alike. Thing is, a sexual personal discovery is often at odds with ideology that's been loaded into the brain since childhood by parentage and various social constructs. The ideology is a 3rd+ circuit program, and a genuine personal discovery is likely a "hardwired" 1st AND 2nd circuit instinct previously suppressed by said ideology or simply unexpressed previously. A period of potentially obnoxious catharsis and social realignment is inevitable in those that wisely, healthily drop the ideology in favor of accepting who and what they are.

It's still annoying to those that have already been there, did that, and moved on. I get that for sure!

[Q. G. Pennyworth]

This is where I work.  For scale, the diagonal silo looking thing (the solar telescope) is 300 ft tall.



I will be posting pics of my own some time next week.

Couldn't have happened to a nicer lizard man.

[The Wizard Joseph]

Also, growing long hair and a beard, on account of "frozen hell".

Probably a good call. Progressing the trend though.... you might just be enjoying relatively cool and comfortable breezes in the summer up there while all others are frying and cursing the sun.

It's 80-100F in the summertime, I gather.  At which point I will break out the shears.

That pic is amazing!

How's the humidity? I see plenty of trees. In a dry spell wouldn't the height lead to a lot of lightning?

Also... could you possibly acquire milspec construction vehicles under the policy above? A crane or two might prove invaluable around those cliffs.