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Insecure
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Rants
- Hits: 1464
And, now having been back in the great city of Calgary for almost 2 months I've noticed a few disturbing trends. This is one of them.
Private security guards, ubiquitous, some armed, some not, in private shops. In the Co-op, the liquor stores, Value Village even, handling all the shit the police don't want to deal with, like crime, merchants - in addition to having to pay taxes that presumably finance the police are now expected to stump up and hire their own security...
This is part of the overall strategy of police not involving themselves in things like vandalism and theft from automobiles ("You shouldn't have left valuables in your car..."). While there's no "official" policy try and report it and you'll discover pretty quickly this is not something they want to handle, it's a begrudging "IF YOU MUST WASTE OUR TIME....".
We're on a long and slippery slope...
Terminal Burrowing
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Ideas & Questions
- Hits: 1424
This is curious, but it explains why a lot of people missing in the great outdoors are tough to find.
Wind, Sand and Stars - Antoine de Saint-Exupery
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Books
- Hits: 1190
An imaginative recounting of Saint-Exupery's (author of "The Little Prince) time flying the mail over Europe and Africa. Landing on high plateaus and finding them scattered in meteorites, purchasing freedom for a Moroccan Slave, the disappeared customs of the Africans and Arabians, to the Spanish Civil war, he writes lyrically and humanely upon a world that has largely the disappeared.
It inspires me to search out the places he references, my satellite view can be little different than his own...
ruins in the desert...
more, blown over with sand.
In the end - after this book, he flew off and disappeared. And it's hard not to wonder if his life was not imitating his art, the airman in the Little Prince having flown clear to another planet...
Perhaps a little premature...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1571
My assessment still stands, although I was a little early in the execution.
Waiting, seeing the daughter, deadly hungover from the night before, having prematurely celebrated my victory a little too thoroughly...
Explaining my theory, swearing her to silence - no one shall know of this, NO-ONE! YOU UNDERSTAND!! NO ONE! WE'RE GOING TO BE RICH!!! RICH!!!! RICH!!!!
We weren't going to be rich, it was going to be a lot of boring work that would be entirely undercut if they knew what we were up to...
I explain it. She's doubtful. I prove it to her with spreadsheets and numbers and reassure her that - despite all evidence to the contrary - her Pa's a genius...
Head on down, take your place at the table, make your bets.
...it goes. This is the long boring part...
She speaks up - "Why not try #32?"
I ignore her. "Because it's not on the list...."
The croupier calls out..."#32..."
I look at her. She punches me.
A few more spins, again - "#29" she tells me, then changes her mind when I pile the chips. Chips off the table, the croupier calls it:
"#29"
This is getting to be a bit much. She refuses to assist me any longer, my precog-daughter, 7th daughter of a witch for sure, and my theory, it evaporates with my pile of chips on the table.
Running the numbers back at home, trying to figure out what went wrong...I should have fucked my theory and went with the daughter's guts.
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