FlexRex: Fictional Blogger

Our work-from-home hero stars in a new cartoon in support of the Sun HPC Community Portal. Watch as his four friends use the Portal to bolster Homeland Security. Full Story

Lately I've found that contests are an effective means of combatting Writer's Block. The folks over at NYC Midnight were hosting a scriptwriting contest recently, so I decided to enter.

They give you a genre and a topic to work with and one week to complete a script of up to 15 pages. My assignment was to write a suspense film with a magnet in it. The magnet part is what they call in the industry a "Macguffin," which is incidental to the real story.

So I entered "Jigsaw Falling into Place" with this tagline:

"Angie Davis has vanished. As Caleb tries to find her, the lodestone is the only clue to her fate."

And that was so much fun that I decided to adapt the story for the Radiohead video contest I blogged about the other day.

Watch more cool animation and creative cartoons at aniBoom

The folks over at Aniboom are hosting a contest where you can submit storyboards set to songs from Radiohead's new album In Rainbows. The band will judge the contest and the winner gets $10K to produce a music video.

Here is my entry. For some reason the default volume is over-modulated. So if you turn it down using their volume control, it sounds a lot better.

Wish me luck ;-)

I entered a screenwriting contest. The folks at NYC Midnight gave us a genre, subject, and seven days to write a script of up to 15 pages.

Title: Bardo
Genre: Horror
Subject: Prison

Tagline:
All the inhabitants of Huxley prison have vanished overnight. BARDO is the only clue to where they've gone and the hungry ghosts that have come to take their place.

The script is in PDF format. Check it our and let me know what you think.
Bardo script

My son was asking me why anyone would want to jump out of an airplane. Then I found this wonderful video of a man skydiving with his pug. While the pug is cute and all, the look of wonder on this guy's face is something to behold.

This film is probably better than anything coming out of Hollywood this summer. And the boy? Now he wants to know when we're going skydiving.

"When you see it, then you'll understand."

It seems that my 15 minutes of fame have fallen upon me. PDX Magazine interviewed me a while back about one of my other blog projects, Overheard in PDX. The articles just came out in their April issue.

There's actually two articles here and here but the magazine site might require registration. Full text below:

An Internet Revolution
Local blogs to bookmark and how to start your own.

An Internet Revolution
Hop on the Blog Bandwagon

by Kristen Thiel
photos by Amaren Colosi

Do you recall when human-to-human conversations outnumbered human-computer interfaces? People are still debating, but with the continuing growth and accessibility of the Internet, weblogs have become living rooms and cafés—stretched a little—so that a Portlander lounging over a local brew could just as easily be swapping ideas with their next door neighbor as with someone in Pretoria, Pamplona, or well, that other Portland.

Though bloggers like Zukin note with distaste that online conversations can too often include “anonymous sniping,” “rumor-mongering,” and “ad hominem” speech, in the end, as Brueckner offers, “Bloggers are fostering dialogue and questioning ideas, which leads to compassion. That’s the next level our civilization needs to reach if we are to survive as a people.”

I was sitting outside a coffee house today when I looked at the time on my laptop screen. It said 3:38. But wait, the time remaining on my battery said 3:38 as well.

Not being all that superstitious, I looked around to see if I was missing something, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. A car went by. A harley pulled up.

I looked back at the clock and it said 3:50. I swear twelve minutes past in the blink of an eye.

Maybe Nature is getting even for Daylight Savings time.

Patricia Dunn and three other defendants in the HP pretexting scandal successfully avoided jail time today. In a plea bargain, felony charges were dropped after their lawyers entered no contest pleas to misdemeanor charges of fraudulent wire communications in Santa Clara Superior Court.

While the deal with state prosecutors allows all four defendants to escape jail time, federal prosecutors have said their investigation of the HP leaks probe is ongoing.

Related Stories:

* My job application to the HP Board
* HP Invents PattyMail 1.0
* HP Tests New SlimCam on Board

I discovered that this is Good Samaritan Involvement Day, which promotes unselfish acts of helping those in need. And if anyone out there knows the graphic artist responsible for this Good Samaritan web page, please promote him to management before someone has a seizure.

My son tells me that Altoids make his cheeks stronger.

I think Sun is at the forefront of using blogs as a competitive weapon. Now a new Technorati tool calculates how much your blog is worth based on how many people link to you.

According to this tool, the Flex Rex blog is worth this much:

On the other hand, Jonathan's Blog from Sun's CEO is reportedly worth this much:

Sure, he's worth the big bucks. But I get to work in my robe.

Back in college, we simply grumbled at the sight of attractive women on the arms of total losers. Now, with Web 2.0, we can not only examine the alarming propensity of this phenomena, we can laugh together as part of an injustly excluded, worldwide community.

There's something waiting for you when you switch to flex officing. Inevitably, you'll have to come into the office for mail or something and someone will ask incredulously, "What are you doing here?"

I did this survey the other day on corporate compensation. It's from this institute that figured out 99 ways to ask: "Do you want to get paid more?"

Note: IPO is a novel blogged in progress.

The security guards at the ballroom door were even bigger than Martin had imagined. The lead had to be at least 6’7”, and his scarred forehead and dreadlocks were as intimidating as his demeanor.

“Can I help you?” he asked. Martin reached for his ID, which dreadlock read carefully before presenting him with his VIP badge.

“Thank you, Mr. Dial. The Ripley Foundation has asked me to watch your back this evening and keep the press away, if you don’t mind.”

“Certainly not. It is their event after all. Would you be so kind as to help me find Mr. Ripley? It looks like quite a mob in there.”

The ballroom was packed indeed. Martin caught an elbow within a few steps of entering and he could barely hear the woman's apologies over the din of the crowd. The jazz combo on stage seemed content to render a slow beat rather than try to overwhelm the room full of conversation fed by the open bar.

With dreadlocked shadow in tow, Martin made his way towards the stage. A middle-aged woman with a diamond broach stopped him midstream.

"You're Martin Dial, aren't you?" she asked. "I need to talk to you about my husband. Or at least he was my husband. Jakob Waterman."

"Yes, I remember. He's one of the nine. Congratulations."

"That's what I need to talk to you about, Mr. Dial. He's not Jakob."

"I'm sorry. What do you mean?"

"He's different. He knows things--things that happened after he... after he died."

Martin felt a silence come over him. Her eyes were pleading and she was shaking like a leaf.

"Mr. Dial, I have to tell you something else. Jakob meets with them--the others you brought back. I don't know what it is, but they're planning something they call the Exodus!"

People ask me what I do at Sun. Sometimes I tell them I'm a writer or that I do "marketing." But when my son in first grade asked me, I needed a better answer.

Then I thought about some of the things I've done in the course of my job:

* I've been the Sun booth boss at the supercomputing conference for the past seven years.
* I've done dozens of events, parody videos, and cartoons.
* I got adopted as the fictional spokesperson for the IT security department.
* I even did a skit as the Church Lady in front of thousand people.

So at SC2007 when a customer asked me if I was a clown, I said, "Yes. And since this America, they put me in charge."

You can leave all your blessings behind in this world, but once it finds you, abundance will follow you around like an eager puppy.

Watching college football the other day, I started wondering:

Since Notre Dame is a French thing, why is their football team called the Fighting Irish?

Martin stared at the press release on his desk and held his head in his hands. Until now, the New Life venture was the best-kept secret on Wall Street. Today, NL would go public with the astounding news that they had successfully brought eight people back from the dead.

The eight men successfully resurrected were all founding members of the Ripley Cryogenics, a small company in San Francisco with incredible financial assets. Each of the men had bet their fortunes on the notion that frozen remains could someday be re-animated. And while the means were not what they had expected, tonight they would gather at a grand reception at the St. Francis hotel.

The implications of these developments shook Martin to his core. The zealots, doctors, the skeptics, and the press would soon rush into his world like a tidal wave. Martin realized he would soon be the face of New Life, as the friends of Mr. Ito wished to remain silent partners.

The mystery of the ninth founder troubled Martin as well. When Ito called with the news some six days prior, he seemed to note the failure of the ninth resurrection only as an afterthought.

"Some will not come back," he said, offhandedly.

The man's name was Kulduri, a Pakistani who had died in a skiing accident. He had been one of the first to invest in Ripley Cryogenics, and was widely renowned for hisphilanthropy.

What made Kulduri different? Was it his diet, age, or mode of death perhaps?

He had asked his man Culper to do some research. Just as Culper called, Martin saw that the press release had just hit the wire. It had begun.

"Martin? I was getting nowhere so I ran background check on all nine. I think... I think I found something."

"What is it?"

"Kulduri was a Muslim. All the others, Martin, they're Jewish."

"That's remarkable. Remember that video that Ito showed us at the Jewish cemetery in Prague?"

"I do, I did. Martin, that's the freaky thing. I got into the Internet archives of Josefov--all eight of these guys have family there."

The purchase of $100 million in gold bouillon happens every day in this world. As a commodity, people trade it back and forth without ever seeing or touching it. But this day, 10,000 pounds of gold was delivered to a small farm in upstate New York.

Martin helped Ito arrange for the armored cars and security. Ito was reluctant to accept assistance at first. Apparently, even Martin wasn't to be trused with the origin of the process.

The Brinks driver entered Martin's office and closed the door. "Everything went smoothly, Mr. Dial. The place is very remote and Ito met us with tractor and a haywagon. Damndest thing I ever saw."

"Did Ito accept our offer?" Martin asked.

"No. He said security was covered. Not that there seemed to be another soul for miles, mind you. Then the son of a bitch just fired up his tractor and drove away like he was hauling pig manure. Took him four trips."

"What is the place like?"

"Used to be a dairy from I could see. There was a complex of metal buildings on the next hill: huge smokestack, silos, but not a cow in sight."

"I'd like you stay on call for a few days. If this doesn't work out, we'll need to pick up the gold."

"No worries, Mr. Dial. One thing though. I don't know quite how to say this."

"What's up?"

"Well, I told you how there were no animals there, right? But the really strange thing was the corn. I mean, it's November and barely above freezing. I swear to god the cornfields there were green as July and nine feet tall."

The conversation stopped abruptly when Chamberlin's admin wheeled in the dinner cart and proceeded to uncork a bottle of champaign. It was clear to Martin that this meeting was more of celebration than a business negotiation.

Chamberlin poured three glasses and proposed a toast. "Gentleman, to our good fortune in finding each other. This day we will make history together."

Martin sipped his champaign and watched Mr. Ito quaff down his entire glass with one smooth motion. "Easy does it, Mr. Ito. We haven't closed this deal quite yet."

"I am prepared to do so, Mr. Dial," said Chamberlin, but first I must know what happens to our funding should this effort fail."

"The gold used in the process will be returned to you," replied Mr. Ito. "It will be melted down, but it can be poured back into gold bars afterwards."

"Surely there is some risk involved."

"Only in that we have never attempted to use the process on this scale. Your nine founders will live again."

"In return, we will need to keep the gold for further work towards the IPO," said Martin. "With the uncontested validity of our process, the second round of financing should follow in record time."

The men raised their glasses once again and began the process of the bank transfer. Ito then shook Chamberlin's hand and promised results within a few days.

"Fantastic, Mr. Ito. My cryogenic engineers will be at the ready to assist you with the remains of our founders."

"That will not be necessary, Mr. Chamberlin. New life will not be forthcoming from your freezers."

Martin felt a chill as Ito left the room. As the secrets of resurrection were slowly coming to light, something unexplainable was going on here.

As he walked to his rental car, Martin stopped in his tracks. He swore he heard the cries of a wolf.

The antique conference table was some eight inches thick. As Martin took his seat, Chamberlin remarked that this ancient furnishing had originated from a Serbian monastery and was likely more than 500 years old.

"Quite remarkable, Mr. Chamberlin," Mr. Ito commented. "Strange how old wood reminds one of home."

"And where would that be, Mr. Ito?" Chamberlin asked.

"I was a boy of Old Prague, my good man."

"Ah, splendid place," Chamberlin smiled. "Backpacked through there myself, some thirty years ago I imagine. But, enough of that. I'm quite eager to hear more about your process, gentleman."

Ito stiffened in his chair. "The process itself is quite proprietary, Mr. Chamberlin. Though I will say that it is quite expensive in that it requires great amounts of gold to work properly."

"Gold you say? How interesting. And quite ironic given the heritage of our founder."

Martin was puzzled by this. "How do you mean?"

"Sorry, I forget such things are not common knowledge, really.Our founder John Ripley was a direct descendant of Sir George Ripley, a 15th century alchemist and author of the Ripley Scroll."

Ito looked like he wanted to say something, but Martin could see the man was holding his tongue."This Ripley Scroll, what is it?"

"It's really a work of emblematic symbolism. Properly decoded, it is said that the Ripley scroll holds the key to Philosopher's Stone."

"You mean the stone that can spin straw into gold and that sort of thing?"

"Oh, much more than that, Mr. Dial. The Philosopher's stone is the gateway to eternal life."

So a while back I blogged on the HAT. Having returned from kicking butt at SC2006, I am happy to report that the red fedora did it's magic and actually came home this year.

People ask me why I wear the hat when I run the Sun booth. A lot of it has to do with the fact that we had 250 people there and they need an easy way to find me. Another reason is that I do a lot of favors for other booth leaders and this way they remember me year after year.

But the biggest reason is the magic that comes with the hat. Just on the way home, I met a movie producer who wants to see my script for IPO. Then I won a $100 bucks on the slots at the Vegas airport during a layover. And did I mention that the ladies love the hat?

Thanks, hat. I am one grateful flex rex.

"Your resourcefulness is quite remarkable, Mr. Dial," Ito said in a hushed tone. "The Ripley Foundation will be the perfect ally in our quest."

"Yes, Mr. Ito. But how did you know I was here? I told no one of this visit."

Ito turned to the kiosk. "You may need help convincing these folks that our process is valid. I am here to help."

"Well we do have Jennifer. I mean, if you can fully revive her."

"That will require substantial resources, Mr. Dial. The path forward is a much shorter step."

Chamberlin entered and seemed quite taken aback that there were two people in the room. "Why, hello. I don't think I've had the pleasure."

"This is Mr. Ito," Martin offered. "He represents the party who seeks financing."

"Ah, I see. Well, I think the coffee is ready. Shall we move on to the conference room? I have many questions."

Ito followed Chamberlin out into the hall with Martin brining up the rear. As Ito walked by, each of the kiosks lit up and chimed their readiness to serve.

Martin paused for a moment. These things were touch screens.

He felt the hair on the back of begin to stand up.

What-ifs are wasted energy. Dad used to tell me, "Don't holler till your hurt."

In an election where everything you vote for happens, one wonders when we get the referendum on World Peace.

It's here! My new red fedora!

Every year, the HAT goes with me to the Supercomputing conference. It never seems to come home, but the stories that do are priceless.

I drove by a furniture store that's been going out of business for the last five years.

You wake up one day and people do what you say.

You know what? I'd rather be young.

In marketing, we spend a lot time on "launch readiness." In Oregon, that means running in the other direction.