Posts by Rob Stowell
Last ←Newer Page 1 2 3 4 5 Older→ First
-
Small cars can be fun too- I had more fun in a mini 800 than any other car I've owned. Quite fuel efficient, and surprisingly nippy- and so low to the ground you felt you were almost driving a go-cart.
The vastly over-weight passenger vehicle thing seems very US somehow. I remember reading somewhere about the amount of fuel used to power just the air-conditioning in an (eighties?) ford SUV. You could (almost!) run a Laramo on it. -
Oh dear. The gnomes are not well. After their previous dreadful effort, I changed their mushrooms. I'm sure I've seen pictures of gnomes picturesquely scampering around __fly agaric__, but omigod, the vomiting, and the stench is deafening.
-
Agreed, the fish'n'chips also gives us a fine local angle. We can work paua into it and small fishing community, threatened by the incipient madness of the guru who holds the secret of their award-winning batter. I'll get the gnomes to work in some sex and violence, also references to tangaroa the chemans love that sort of thing), molly-mawks and giant squid.
-
Riddley those pigeons are very beautiful. Please the fates Milo will never see them. Some of the lazier gnomes have started work on the MerkProduktionz website: very crude, I think. Can you or Merc get the web-team onto it?
-
It's hard to get good gnomes these days, but there are a lot of them and they have been very busy (too busy). Here is:
Synopsis draft one.
The Head of the Martin Luther Agrarian College in Ruawai is a misshaped Ilam Hardy, bulging eyes under a pork-pie hat, little sprouty legs. [Ed. could be played by Bolger? he would nail it and if National win next year it'd be a hedge for future grant-mining] The Head runs the school with an iron fist [Ed. And, to make it controversial, lashings of corporal punishment?]
An Ahab figure, monomaniacal and addicted to ink, he's writing his magnum opus- A Universal Logic of Types and Complete History of Everything. He is up to page 1,342,334 and has struck a rough patch, which does nothing for his temper. He dreams his work will conquer western civilization. He is quite mad, as we see from his dreams; nubile young Desirees dance before a shining city that rises up, composed of towering copies of his books, glowing in the sun.
P1 (impulsive, excitable, voluble, warm-hearted and quick-tongued, but sometimes thoughtless or rude [Ed. Oralando Bloom? Or Riddley?]) and P2 (stoical, friendly, but prone to passivity and despair) are shackled to the Gestetner, grinding out page after page of the great work. They live in fear of the Gestetno, [Ed. will this offend the chermans? we could make it the InkPolitzen?] who are extreme nominalists, and despise and fear duplication, printing and mirrors [Ed. They've been reading Borges- I'll extend their working hours] for their ruling philosophy is that everything is unique.
We open as the Gestetno pound on the door- another raid. Thanks to the school secretary, Mrs John Thomas, the Gestetner is hidden safely and the G leave in a foul mood. But this sets the Head aflame with the desire to finish his work this very week.
P1 and P2 ponder a page occasionally, and indulge in the consolations of philosophy while the sheets are changed or the machine cleaned, but theirs is a life of almost un-ending cranking. Only the friendship and crusts offered by the kindly school secretary, Mrs John Thomas (forced by the cruel Head to abandon her uniqueness and live by her husband's name) keep their hope alive. They live for the day Deborah, the mythical Cyclist, who makes all one, refuting and conflating the logic of both the gestetno and the head, will arrive and set them free.
The Head is pushing duplicating technology to its limits, and a vital piece is broken. Then a midnight raid from the Gestetno reveals the secret ink-store. These setbacks throw the Head into a mad rage. Threatening vile torture on Mrs JT (whom he has locked in the meths cupboard) if they do not return successful he sends the Ps to find replacement parts and a new supply of ink.
After travails too numerous to dictate, [Ed. Could they travel via wordDart and find the ink there?- we neeed to to keep Blog Boosters (tm) up and running, and remember who is writing the cheques] they arrive at Helensville, where, to their astonishment, they find their years toiling with the G on Universal Logic has indeed built a shining book city, loosely ring-bound. The inhabitants have embraced it, abandoned uniqueness and reverted to type, especially stereotype. But it is a monstrous work, over-inflated, verbose, and based on a faulty premise. It is so unbalanced it threatens to collapse at any moment and bring down western civilisation.
P1 and P2 find the replacement piece, and begin their return, laden with ink and hounded by prejudiced citizenry. Escaping from vultures, [Ed. Couldn't we have a NZ bird? Vultures give me the willies. Perhaps they are attacked by magpies, bloody Aussies, and saved by a giant cave weta- it's good to keep on side with the big boys] they are driven, laden with ink, into the arms of the Gestetno. Only the faultless logic of the mysterious cyclist- who arrives barely sweating- saves them. But when they turn to give thanks, she has vanished.
Safely back at school, the Ps attempt to correct the faulty premise. They are caught by the Head, who has shackled the G, and prepares the soup-pot.
Only the arrival of the Gestetno saves our heros from boiling. But now they are all exposed, caught re-handed. The Gestetno pepare their own torture: the forcible drinking of Ink. The stoical P2 astonishes all by drinking quarts of the stuff unharmed. But the Gestetno call for more ink, and it cannot last.
In the nick of time in bursts Mrs John Thomas swinging a bike chain. For she is IS the cyclist, [Ed. Oh the cliches are flowing fast, but never-mind, its for the mass market?] and her logic is too fierce for the Head and the G. With a couple of syllogisms, a reasonable inference and some chain-swinging, she has the G and the H shackled to the G, publishing the errata that will save the shining city (and make her name in world philosophy).
In the last scene, Deborah and the Ps engage in light-hearted banter as they wax up their boards and head for piha. [Ed. This is very weak. If L look like winning the next election, lets say it signals an era of peace and co-operation, where nobody cares how much tax they pay and artists and film-makers turn around the ghastly balance-of-payments-thingie, entertaining and enthralling the world. If it looks like N will win: signals in an brave new era of flat taxes, willing workers, new laws relating to serfdom and the deification of middle-managers everywhere. Eh?] -
If you're drawing up contracts, the gnomes are being paid in mushrooms. Having seen the first draft, I don't think I've been giving them the right sort of mushrooms. It will need some savage editing.
-
Please, never speak of M or BK again. It's best. There has been a thread view spike, but I fear it's the vultures circling. what was the original thread about?
-
How could D do thiat to this thread? Didn't merc pay the sub-lease? Blimmin' hallowed-out frinkelsteins, we cannot be uncovered now the plot is so far advanced. I have sub-contracted a basement of gnomes to work on the first draft of the synopsis. Milo has eaten and will sleep for a while, but we must move fast on this or the Chermans will cave.
-
You're carving the new film on potatoes!?
A stroke of genius, and it can be easily mashed it up later. If the grants don't come flowing, we can always make soup.
But there are technical thingies that might cause excessive vibration when the tohunga whakairo start carving 24 potatoes a second. Don't say you weren't warned. -
Great post. I'd love to visit India.
Reminds me of an overnight trip- only about 14 hours- we did in Cote D'Ivoire. There was not a lot of sleep.... people- ear-rings clattering, scarves and baggage baggage baggage, naturally including chickens- just kept piling on. The aisles were crammed, women perched on packages, the gaurds, of whom everyone was terrified (they carried guns and savage looking canes) could only clamber very slowly from carraige to carriage.
After sundown it was a least pleasantly cool (for Cote D'Ivoire). About 2 am the train stopped suddenly, and there was gunfire. Everyone tried to cower to the floor. Rumours swept from carriage to carriage. There were "voleurs" at large. After the first rush of fear, the rumours subsided a little. A single bandit armed with a knife had leapt from the train: the gunshots had all come from the guards. Everyone was exhausted.
Finally the train started up, and we pulled into Ferke in the cool grey dawn. We'd planned our exit: Penny managed to climb along the aisle, and I passed her the packs through the window, and clambered out myself. We stumbled to a hotel and went straight to sleep....
Hey RB- maybe a "meme" of the month for travel stories?