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Journey generation My little guy thinks of Journey as classic rock. When I told him they were popular when I was three jobs out of college and I thought of it as whippersnapper music at the time, he looked at me as if to say, "Wow, you are really old." I like the fact that we listen to five different decades of popular music together and often find something in each one that we both like. Emissions doubled OK, it's getting cold like it should in Chicago, and I've gotten past my week-long apathy about global climate. Especially after reading about Hil's husband Michael's findings about the steep increases in carbon dioxide emissions in recent years. As he says in one of the articles, this is not expert prognostication, these are measures of what has been happening. Hierarchies - Chapter 5 (Continued from chapter 4 | Archive) Meg was on her third chicken taco before she felt able to broach the topic of the Other Building and the response from the internet. She was reluctant for all kinds of reasons: it was crazy as hell; she wasn't sure how to tell it; and worst, she was beginning to even wonder if it really even happened. Once she started the telling, it all came tumbling out fast – the visit to the other laundry room, the Google query and its results, and her panicked reaction to it all. Brian did not betray whether or not he believed it was real, but he knew Meg. She obviously thought it happened, so he took it seriously, interrupting as a help desk rep would interrupt, with questions about the Google session. He kept a poker face, except for the eyebrows, which made an occasional reach for the ceiling. Brian was oblivious to the waitress, who kept checking back to see if they wanted anything else. Meg gestured to the lobby, where people were waiting. "They need the table," she said. "Let's get coffee somewhere else." Having gathered their things and paid the tab, including a fat tip, Meg and her friend edged through the crowd, brushing past Gary Collins. Meg had seen the TV host and actor around the valley before, and she mentioned it to Brian once they emerged from the building. "Seems like every one of the three or four times I've run into him, it's always been at Tower Video or some place right on Ventura. Maybe he isn't allowed on any other street!" "This isn't part of your mystical shit, is it?" Brian asked. "No!" Meg said. "Unrelated. Just a comment. Can't I just make a comment now and be silly about it? I'm sure and I hope that Gary Collins will not be showing up to answer questions I pose to Google. I hardly even know who he is or like him, and I probably would have guessed he was dead. I knew I shouldn't have told you about my mystery. And it's not mystical. I don't think. Not necessarily." But she was glad she had told him about it. They decided to go to her place so Brian could look at the Google search results URL that Meg had saved before she got impetuous and neglected to grab the screen capture. (Now would be a great time to warn you against expecting any romance between Meg and Brian. He may be gay, we're not quite sure -- and anyway it would spoil their chemistry.) The minute Meg let Brian into her apartment (he'd followed her over in his own car), they both started talking at once, having stored up some questions and ideas during the 10-minute drive. "I wonder if" "Have you tri-" "You first," Meg said. "Do you really want coffee? I think I do." He followed her to the kitchen. "Oh, I was just asking if you'd tried the query again," Brian said. "No, I've been afraid." "Afraid? Of what?" Meg couldn't really say. "I don't know. Afraid I'll use it up?" She poured water into the coffeemaker and pulled out two mugs. Brian looked down and shook his head – that techie gesture that means "you poor dumb shit." Meg ignored it. She and Brian had worked together for six years and treated each other like family. "You're afraid you'll use up the… whatever it is… the magic or whatever?" Brian asked. "Like Aladdin?" Meg laughed. It did sound pretty stupid when he put it that way. "Well, let's look at the search string and try a real search and compare them," Brian proposed, "then we'll shoot the moon and risk trying the query again. Did you save the text you input?" "I think so." Meg had an extra bedroom that she might have used as an office, but she preferred to have her desk and computer set up in the living room. She pulled up an extra chair for Brian, seated herself at the desk, and went to look for the two text files – the search results URL and the text she had pasted into the search box. She found one. "OK, here's the URL." http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&lr=&q=The+building+ "Paste it into Google," Brian ordered. "No, trade me seats," Meg said. "I don't want to screw it up again." They switched. Brian hesitated. "Now I'm nervous. Is the coffee ready?" "Yeah, hang on. Cream and sugar?" "You got some Baileys?" "No, I like Baileys but I don't keep stuff like that around anymore," Meg answered. Brian grabbed the backpack that was never out of his reach and rummaged in it. "Not a problem, got some right here," he said, and whipped out a little plastic one-serving package of the whiskey and cream liqueur. "What a boy scout you are," Meg chided him, always amazed at his stash of useful stuff. She brought him a mug and dumped in the liqueur. Armed with his drink, Brian stretched his fingers in the air like a cartoon pianist and pasted in the string. They looked at the screen. Brian looked at Meg, who shook her head. It was normal search results page. "Let me try the text," Brian suggested. "It's right there on the desktop," said Meg. "Text file named 'otherBuilding.'" "Got it. Hang on to your butt," he said. Meg wrinkled her brow. "Jurassic Park," he answered. "Right. Samuel L. Jackson," she remembered. "Go." |
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