The room is dark, with light slicing through venetian blinds. Jack takes a long drag on his cigarette, blows a long, billowing puff towards the corner of the office, and hits play on the VCR’s remote control.

Videotape has made things so much simpler, he thought to himself,I could’ve used a camera back during that mix up with the Jade Princess.

The first sequence is filmed in color, although this fact is only apparent at the end. The camera is attached to the ceiling in a narrow hallway, facing directly towards a door. The hallway walls are painted with peeling grey paint – or so it must be assumed. The light is too dim to distinguish colors. There is a rotary telephone sitting on a small stand about half-way between the camera’s viewpoint and the door.

There is another door on the left-hand side of the hall.

The floor of the hallway is bare concrete. There are a few scuff marks and stains of some sort. There is also a discarded cigarette packet.

A clue?, Jack thinks idly.

The soundtrack, previously a hiss of recorded silence, records a grinding noise, tires on gravel, then footsteps. The door at the end of the hallway opens. For a moment, weak evening sun illuminates part of the corridor. Yellow light picks out every scratch and blister in the paint, and confirms that the slightly darker stain is rusty red blood.

Martin Calypso walks through the door and closes it carefully behind him. He has two plastic grocery bags in one hand. He is well dressed, slightly overweight, nervous. He glances up at the camera, then puts the bags down on the floor. He reaches up, his hands vanishing out of the field of vision. He removes a piece of wood, and it becomes apparent for the first time that the camera is concealed in the ceiling. Calypso checks the camera’s lens and film, ensuring that it is still recording. He then replaces the covering, reaches into his jacket, and removes a Halloween mask.

He leaves by the door on the left. For a moment, television set, a blanket, ropes, pizza boxes can be seen but then the door is closed and there is nothing but the grey entryway.

Jack pauses the tape, rewinds it, and plays it pack and forth, forward and back multiple times.

Simpler. Sure. Since when is more useless information better than less?, he pondered to himself. So I know someone likes to smoke boxed Marlboros in the building. A real man’s cigarette, according to what advertisers would have you believe, but they’d also make you think that beer is sexy on a man.

His thoughts are broken up by the ringing of the phone.

“Yell-oh. Hammer Investigations…Oh, Hi, Liz…Nah, nah, nothing major. Just wondering why can’t I get the divorce cases anymore… or claim jumpers. Sure, c’mon by, I could use the company.”

Returning the phone to it’s cradle, Jack looked around the room. idly wondering if he should pick up the place before Liz got there. Nah, he thought, that red-headed wildcat’s seen this place look worse. Besides… I’ve seen her car. I’ve got a defense.

Eliza Jones was the best thing to come along into Jack’s life in a long time. For one thing, she was as clever as she was gorgeous, a fantastic sounding board when he was in a quandary, and had been quite a help on a couple of cases already. For another, She had a car, and a willingness to help ferry the guy around, for only the opportunity to go along on a stakeout and crack wise with him. She’s something special… nothing like the other women in his life. Self sufficient, capable, and yet remarkably feminine. If things kept up, Jack was considering offering her a partnership… both in the business, and in the Hammer name itself.

Moments passed, and Eliza arrived to find Jack reviewing the first tape, yet again, notepad in hand. “Hey babe,” she said, entering without a knock.

“Hi, Liz…have a seat. Maybe you can make something of this.”

Eliza squeezed Jack’s shoulder as she passed, pulling up a chair, and pouring herself a cup of coffee. “The Calypso case?”, she asked.

“Yeah… I can’t make heads or tails of this… and I’ve got six more tapes to look at after this one.”

“Jack, have you thought that maybe watching the rest of them in sequence might help?”

“Um…no. Good thought! Maybe an overview would be best… all told… I have seven videotapes, 4 audio cassettes, and a roadmap with Graceland as the final destination. No real witnesses, save for machines. I’ve got a long night ahead of me.”

Eliza got a dreamy look in her eyes, the way she often did when she saw Jack in his contemplative element. “We’ve got a long night ahead of us, Jack…and I’m sure we can find a way to make it a lot more tolerable.” Leaning forward, she got up from her chair, and had a seat in Jack’s lap instead, wrapping her arms around his neck as Jack turned off the VCR with the remote.

Bathed in the soft blue light of the TV screen, they kiss and we fade to black.

To be Continued.

An old woman thinks a dog looks like her husband, so she gives it a cigar and cane, and a golf club.

“I am not your husband,” said the dog. “I am a dog.”

“But you look like my husband”, said the woman.

“But I am not your husband”, said the dog.

“You keep saying that,” said the woman. “But you are wrong, wrong, wrong. I have seen you drive a family sedan and read the sports section and belch and watch football and earn money and take out the garbage and make love and raise children and drink beer like my husband. ”

“But I bark like a dog!”, said the dog.

“You bark like my husband.”, said the woman.

a work in progress. just like I am.

I’m a throwback, strange in that I fit so many of society’s “norms”.

some things about me, even though I’m generally classified as a liberal hippie.

Some “Conservative Aspects” of my liberal self, that is just the way I am.

Monogamous – a one woman man. So much so, that I can’t fathom polyamory at all. even dating more than one person at the same time is bizarre to me. If you want to see my short hairs go up, let me hear about a married man/woman coming on to someone that’s not that person’s spouse or partner. Adultery to me is a total lack of love and respect for one’s self, their spouse, and the person whose pants they’re trying to get into. I’m a firm believer that folks should dissolve one relationship before starting another… at least that way the hurt party doesn’t get hit with worse than a breakup. I really feel a flame of anger and disgust even when seeing a guy on tv put his wedding ring in his pocket to pick up some one night stand… I imagine it’s ok of both partners are ok with it… but I don’t comprehend that. (Our last prez is a good example of that… His wife didn’t seem to mind him fooling around, so why should I? Well, I do. not because he’s president either. Because he’s a creep for doing it. Side note – I was more angry that he lied under oath, before law and God.)

Hetero – I like the female form, and have no interest in men. I feel that ‘everyone is bi’ theory is completely bogus…Now, opposed to the above, I think of homosexuality as a personal choice, and I don’t regard folks in a negative light for sexual preference. (I do think folks that regularly flaunt their preferences, flamboyantly straight, gay or otherwise is sort of silly, though… “Straight and Great/Here and Queer” whatever. pick your partner, and do your thing… pride in one’s sexual choice is sort of like pride in your favorite color for shoes. ) I do wonder what causes certain choices, though. I’ve experimented with all sorts of sexual fantasies, and bottom line… Men don’t do it for me at all. (in fact, neither do a goodly number of women… I’ve found only a fairly narrow beam of sexually interesting people…even when I have fantasised about a beautiful woman, she’s more than just a barbie doll.) To me, the mark of a sexually (and otherwise) interesting partner is intelligent and kind, as well as a physically appealing woman. otherwise, she’d just be a semen recepticle, and I deserve more than that. I think that’s my being a pod. People who can just go out, do the dance and walk away… I can’t fathom it… no bonding at all?

I think that sometimes, some kids need corporal punishment. Not all kids, not all the time… but sometimes, a child needs physical discipline.

Some other elements that aren’t so “right or left wing”

A belief in the strength of a team, when all members are reliable.
A love/hate relationship with the law. A shame we need cops, but I’m glad we have them. The ultimate power syndrome pokes its head too often, though.

Liberal –

Consensual Crime …I don’t mind. I don’t like what it leads to though. Prostitution or Drug use should be legal, but they both lead to other problems (some, arguably due to them being illegal). but, I figure, the law of the land. Regardless of your stance on this, if you don’t vote, or let your lawmakers know how you feel, the laws will be written by those who vote (and those who have the most money to lobby). I think pot is only as bad as booze… but booze in the wrong hands can lead to peril. How do we/Should we decide whose hands are the wrong ones? The same can be said of salt, sugar and the internet. LJ, too. How many people went into withdrawal symptoms wthile the LJ was down?

I feel like writing something profound and poetic:

Pretty peas
Floating in a soup
Bette Davis eyes
Bette likes to boop

Blowing in the wind
Like a helium cow
This poem is weak
So I shall end it now.

Poetry was never one of my strong points…but then, neither was square dancing.

I ask myself, “Is it a sin to be flexible when the boat comes in?” Then I sit around for five minutes and ponder the question. Then I answer: “Ummmm… I don’t think so.” Then I wander away in a daze, wondering why nonsensical Depeche Mode lyrics are dripping out of my mind.

I’m going to clear my mind before I write any more.

*pauses and performs some yoga*

I hope I’m doing it right. I’ve never had formal yoga lessons.

*I sit cross-legged with my eyes closed, staring at an imagined white spot behind my skull about three inches directly above the bridge of my nose while imagining the serene rhythms of “Feelin’ Groovy” are washing over me. The white spot turns dark blue, fading to black, as I pass out for several minutes*

*wakes up*

Ahh… refreshed.

It occurs to me that I’m expected to be surprised by things that don’t… and it happens frequently.

I observe, but really don’t react negatively (or positively) to items of minor change. Stuff like someone at work (or a cab driver I see frequently) shaving their head after having a full head of hair, maybe even long hair, hippie style. Folks confuse my lack of comment on things like that for a lack of awareness of same. Truth be told, I’m likely to think the person who shaves their head completely might be undergoing some sort of chemo-therapy or whatnot, and I don’t want to be the 50,000th person to comment on it to them… likewise, if they did it to get attention, I don’t want to feed that characteristic about them that drives a person to shave one’s head. (for example). The same can be said for drastic weight gain/loss, a new car, or some other change in the environment. I usually don’t bring it up (unless the person is a dear friend, Like Danny, for example) when someone just looks different. I figure folks just do things for a change, and they’ll let me know. Is it vanity that causes them to be upset when I don’t mention something I’ve seen?

This goes against my normally very inquisitive nature. (Inquisitive… nothing. I’m nosey.) I love to tally facts, figures, and other little tidbits of knowledge about everyone I see.. not to an OCD level… but close. I couldn’t tell you a person’s lisence plate number, but I could tell you the color of their eyes after talking to them once. I wonder how many folks could reliably describe a person to a police artist? describe the clothes they were wearing an hour after seeing them? I note that kind of stuff.

That’s part of why I like polls so much. I want to know things… silly stuff, form what handedness you are or your middle name, to more general things like what makes you remember a person happily, or what irrational acts can make a person angry. I am, as I’ve said before… a pod person. I know my motivations are similar to yours, but they’re certainly not identical. I think that the environment I grew up in promoted observation, adaptation and a general sense of being… I’m not sure how different that is from the norm.

It strikes me as odd that many people don’t observe the world around them, generally. So many people don’t go out for walks in the park, or people-watch, or even read a book regularly. I don’t understand that… Do they just watch TV, sleep and get up in the morning to repeat the process? Is that stimulating to them, or have they grown to accept looking at a beige wall with a blank mind as a way of life? Don’t get me wrong, I watch well more than my fair share of TV, getting comfort from old shows, cartoons, documentaries, comedy. Sitcoms are mostly lost on me, as is reality television.

I wonder what percentage of people able too have bothered to look at the moon this year, or a blade of grass, or looked at another person and actually wondered what made them tick, (not for the purposes of using them… just to know how they think).

I look at people, and wish that there was a way of looking inside them and see how they think. I think in images, and feelings… the aforementioned Dan has told me that he thinks in more concrete terms, actual words in his head. Aside from the how…I want to know the why, too. Why is dark green one of my favorite colors? I don’t know… it’s a soothing thing for me.. but I have know idea what process makes it so. I’d love to be able to rewind my head… look back, and find out if there’s a reason back when I was much smaller than I am now for it. Why are my tastes in food different than Dale’s? we both have similar tongues… shouldn’t everyone like oh, I don’t know… chocolate covered raisins? Why do some folks like ’em, and other folks not? Same goes for music… clothing, the list goes on and on. How does culture change taste? How much is random?

Just pondering… was going to write some fiction, but instead just decided to say what was on my mind at the moment.

The pod sat on the grassy field for the rest of the night, cool and moist with dew when the morning sun came. Nature seemed to accept the outsider in thier midst, the darkly green oval, covered with bright red capillaries pulsed slightly as the day grew on.

The night wasn’t unseasonably warm or cold… it was like any other of the last dozen evenings lately. It was clear outside, with a soft spread of cloud cover high in the sky. The observant might note the lack of insect noises against a backdrop of a suburban skyline. A distant thunder and flicker of light in the clouds seemed to hint at a coming rain, but the scent of ozone was lacking… making the coming damp off in a further future. Out of nowhere, a cracking report like a gunshot, or a car backfiring rang out, so loud that the windows rattled… All the neighborhood dogs began barking, and with a sizzling hiss a bright organic oval, glowing cherry red fell to earth, streaking trail of light and smoke behind it before it landed in a field of tall, wet grass. There it sat, slowly cooling, steaming the surrounding ground and plants… the pod’s coloring fading to an orange, then yellow, and slowly stopping at a deep forest green, to blend with the surrounding flora. All was quiet as the night drew on… a soft rain fell, bringing with it a peace and comfort, allowing things to return to a semblance of normalcy.