Copyright Adam Durrant

Wednesday saw the addition of another page to the big book of Olympic scandals. Despite the objections of the Chinese Olympic Committee or COC, ten Chinese gymnasts were escorted from the Olympic Village by a contingent of heavily armed police and two non-descript men wearing high collared trench coats. Sources within the Associated Foreign Press have confirmed that the unremarkable men with an odd sense of fashion style were, in fact, Blade Runners sent to investigate allegations of replicants among the Chinese Olympic contingent.

Lawyers for the Tyrell Corporation, the multi-national corporation responsible for creating the Nexus 6 series of inorganic human replicants, have denied that any of their new product line has been sold to the Chinese government. Tyrell’s senior Vice President of Public Relations, Arden Brooke was quick to add that, “Our motto at Tyrell is ‘more human than human’. Even if some of our athlete model replicants did find their way into the Olympics, you’d never know.”

Tyrell Corporation’s boasts were cast in serious doubt, however, when alleged thirteen-year-old He Kexin, failed to pass the Voigh-Kampff test administered by a local Blade Runner. The test, designed to elicit emotional and physiological responses to a series of hypothetical scenarios, lasted a mere twelve questions. The Blade Runner task force has gone on record stating that it takes, on average, twenty-five cross referenced questions to determine if a subject on a V-K test is in fact a replicant.

The Blade Runner who administered the test spoke to Copyright Adam Durrant on the condition of anonymity.

“We first noticed He Kexin because of all the painful Abbot and Costello three-liners that people were throwing back and forth in Beijing: He won first place. Who won first place? No, He won first place, Who got the bronze. It was enough to make me want to take up Origami so that I could convince one of my colleagues that he was a replicant. But when that little gymnast performed a Jaeger with a mixed grip half turn directly into a Jaeger and then stuck her full twisting double back dismount off the uneven bars, we knew something was up. Not even Darryl Hannah moved that well when she was a replicant.”

Closed Circuit Television footage from the interrogation room shows the Chinese gymnast leaping to her feet during the session, shoving the V-K machine off the desk and proceeding to use the desk’s flat surface as a pummel horse before vaulting over the Blade Runner’s head and making for the door. Shortly after her escape, several gunshots were fired at the would-be replicant comme gymnast. When asked for comment, Chinese authorities denied that the gymnast ever existed.

Responding to the scandal, the Chinese government stated that, “Clearly the quality of the air in Beijing has in no way affected the performance of any athlete.”

Over the last twenty-four hours, the search for replicants has expanded to other sports. Most notably both the Men’s and Women’s Spanish national basket ball team has been scheduled for V-K testing.

International Olympic Committee officials have denied allegations that the teams, as seen here, are being centered out for their now nefarious, “Slant-eye photos”.

Emmanuelle Moreau, spokeswoman for the aforementioned august body of international sport, stated that, “Given the circumstances we feel it best to screen all our athletes, not just the culturally insensitive douche bags, for potential infiltration by replicants.” A search of the Spanish athletes’ quarters within the Olympic Villiage, produced several dozen pairs of novelty teeth featuring oversized incisors and bicuspids as well as enough fake tuxedo shirts to outfit the entirety of the men’s team with flapping dickies.

In an email to the shareholders, Tyrell Corporation Senior V.P. Arden Brooke, assured them that the Nexus 2, better known as the idiot jock model, had been discontinued and the unsold product destroyed. It remains to be seen if the replicant conspiracy will in any way aid Canada in clinching its first medal of the 2008 Olympiad.

Today, the law office of Djehuty, Dike, Astraia and Nemesis began a class action suit on behalf of the gods of the Greco-Roman and Egyptian pantheons. Also included in the suit are several Hindu deities, the ubiquitous face melting god of the Old Testament and that guy who convinced the Jews to build the golden calf in the Ten Commandments.

Charged is Molson Coors Brewing Company. Despite a successful past relationship between Canada’s second oldest corporate entity and some of the universe’s oldest entities, the divine plaintiffs allege that Molson’s creation of a “Mega Keg” is an affront to their dignity and has incurred significant financial damages upon the gods. The source of this controversy is a beer keg large enough to hold, were it functional, 175,000 liters of beer, or the equivalent to what the University of Western Ontario’s men’s varsity soccer team consumes in a single season.

Molson Coors Brewing Company had planned on unveiling their alcohol inspired idol in a September ceremony replete with tedious “three chord wonder” bands and girls jumping up and down for no apparent reason other than to taunt the laws of gravity. Sarah Eby, Molson Canadian’s Brand manager commented that, “When it comes to celebrating our love for the great Canadian Lager, size does matter.” Unfortunately for Eby and Molson Coors senior management, size also matters to the Olympians and Children of Ra.

Djehuty, Dike, Astraia and Nemesis charge that Molson Coors Brewing Company has unfairly appropriated drunken idol worship, something that has historically been associated with their clients. Molson Coors’ attorneys have responded to these charges with the defense of fair-use precedents. Insistent that they be compensated for Molson’s usurping their time honored customs without prior arrangement or remuneration; the gods are demanding more than ten billion dollars in damages.

Lead plaintiff Dionysus, also known to some as Bacchus, was the first to offer testimony in court. “This is a question of precedent. People have been making wood carvings, drinking, dancing wildly and then having raucously cathartic orgies, all in my name, for nearly three millennia. Even at less formal affairs, the offerings have always been made and we among the party gods have collected our fair share. This mega-keg undermines a time tested system of drink inspired bad decisions.”

Co-plaintiff Hathor, who the defense has tried to portray as nothing more than a third rate goddess of lonely desperate drunk chicks and a one-off Stargate SG-1 villain, offered an emotionally charged testimony. “The spread of Islam across Africa and the Middle East has had a significant impact upon our pantheon. The last fifteen-hundred years have seen more and more progressive belt-tightening measures in Ra’s court. In addition to multi-faith competition, our rituals and rites are now easily accessible on the internet. But that does not make it legal to use them without our permission. Idol worship is our intellectual property.”

Hathor, reduced to tears and inaudible blithering on several occasions, also introduced controversial testimony questioning if any corporate entity was truly prepared to deal with the consequences of creating an idol for worship. “It is all well and good to throw a big party. But what happens when the hangover sets in and the revelers start looking to you for answers? Dear god, why did I drink so much? Where are my pants? Who are these people I’m erotically sandwiched between? Is that a needle mark? Should I go get a shot of penicillin? How could I have let this happen to myself? These are questions that gods have spent centuries skillfully ignoring. Can we trust a corporation to the right thing when confronted with potential human suffering?”

Outside of the courtroom, a campaign of negative PR directed against the Olympians chief god, Zeus, also known as Jupiter, is threatening to turn public opinion against the gods of yore.

Files that were once sealed in the Mount Olympus archives, now accessible under Freedom of Information Act legislation, have wrought startling allegations of sexual misconduct, bestiality, public indecency, and conspiracy to commit murder against the thunder god. Greek officials have begun investigating the disappearance of Callisto, a Mt. Olympus intern to the goddess Artemis. While specific details remain unclear, documents indicate that Zeus, disguised as Artemis, approached and seduced the intern who had, at that time, embraced chastity as a means to further her political career.

Zeus is reported to have also turned Callisto into a bear such that he could avoid any accusations of infidelity as defined in his prenuptial agreement with the goddess Hera.

Greek authorities have been flooded by similar allegations. One such story suggests that rather than freeing a young woman who was being held against her will by her father, Zeus took to performing a “Golden Shower” upon said girl and then proceeded to impregnate her.

No charges have yet been laid against Zeus. The thunder god was unavailable for comment.

It remains to be seen if “Callistogate” and other such dirty laundry will have an effect on the trial. As the first day of testimony concluded, lawyers for both parties declined comment to the media. Despite appeals for an injunction, the Mega-Keg ceremony is still planned for September 2008.

Well here we are. Looking back on things it doesn’t really feel like two years. But when does a good thing ever really feel its age? Two years ago I started doing this because I grew weary of delivering the same rants a dozen times over to my core group of friends whenever something outraged me. Now I spend a few minutes every day, moderating the pernicious comments that want to use my web space as a forum for flogging performance (sexual or otherwise) enhancing drugs or fetish pornography. Two years ago I was limited by a Mickey Mouse blogging program meant to put old ladies at ease while they blogged within their sewing circle. Now I customize PhP templates, play with HTML code and FTP audio files to my server.

Including this one, I’ve offered up 131 posts over the last two years. Among those posts have been 3 book reviews, 11 movie reviews and two podcasts. I could probably produce more of the latter if I didn’t insist on writing something that resembled a script prior to putting myself before the microphone.

On a day like today, I should be blowing my own horn and thanking people like I’ve won an Oscar. However, I find myself in an introspective mood.

Strange as it may seem, I find myself thinking about the Silver Surfer. The Surfer was one of the most powerful figures in the Marvel Universe. The man behind the hero, however, like many other Marvel characters, was a deeply troubled individual. He came from a planet whose inhabitants were content to bask in thier largess and decadence. Before gaining his powers from Galactus, young Norrin Radd found little satisfaction with his life, constantly seeking a deeper meaning to existence. In my humble opinion, Jack Kirby’s created one of the most philosophical and introspective characters within the superhero genre.

One of the Surfer’s abilities is to travel through space at any speed he is capable of conceiving. The power that gives him this ability also allows him to convert matter into energy thus rendering his physical form all but indestructible.

When a deeply philosophical character, one that yearns for understanding in the purest sense of the word, is given all the power they can imagine, coupled with near-immortality, the result is a figure whose mood swings from eternally hopeful to utterly nihilistic. The Surfer often knows that there is good in the universe, even when he can’t see it. Despite this knowledge he continually finds himself overwhelmed by the suffering he is forced to observe during his travels. Perhaps if Galactus knew that the man unto whom he would bestow the power cosmic was, in essence, an angst-ridden graduate student, he might have thought to look for a different herald.

Anybody want to hazard a guess at why I like the Silver Surfer?

Because of his abilities, the Surfer is often made to exist as an outsider from the rest of the universe. The trade-off is that he gains the benefit of an outsider’s perspective. With that comes both universal hope at the same time an understanding of all the problems and suffering that are invisible to those around him. I think that anybody who has, of their own volition, ever put pen to paper, understands the situation of the Silver Surfer.

At least half of the things I write are the result of my trolling the internet for a good story. Unlike some blogs, I don’t want to take the news as written and reproduce it – at least not without offering some worthwhile opinion that expands the binary of, “I agree” or “I disagree”. As Noam Chomsky said, and I am paraphrasing, a truly informed person doesn’t simply read the news, they find the stories that aren’t being told. Finding such stories takes time. In such a situation, a person can seem to become unnaturally self-involved when they are merely trying searching to understand.

But it doesn’t stop there.

Once you find that first story that’s not been told, you want everything that follows to be just as profound. Things that could pass mustard before, now seem somehow trivial in comparison. And when staring at the blank screen becomes too much endure, you resign yourself to trying to put a different spin on something more conventional because for reasons beyond your comprehension, it’s easier to write something, anything, than it is to not write at all. During all of this, one has to step back from the world and become a bit of an outsider.

That is the price of writing. Fiction or non-fiction; to some extent a person has to withdraw from the world and embrace what might turn out to be a quixotic crusade. That is the price that I have paid.

Playing the proverbial god and creating fictional universes; waiting for some Deus ex Machina to guide my internet search towards something that the world needs to know – I do these things not because I want to be depressing, not because I hate the world, but because this is the only way I can think of to fix the world.

Like the Surfer though, sometimes it gets away from me. Sometimes it’s hard to be an agent for change when you read a story that says US Customs agents have been empowered to seize travellers cell phones, PDAs and laptops without warrant. How does any person read this and a hundred other similar stories without feeling like something is irrevocably broken.

Often, it is hard to put the pen down: To enjoy the world as an insider. As I once unfortunately admitted, on camera no less, I spend a lot of time inside my own head. So on this, the second anniversary of Copyright Adam Durrant’s inaugural post, I apologize for the times I have let things get away from me.

That being said, I’ll see everybody next week for post #132.

And now, the fake news.

Earlier today, in a move that surprised the American media, Republican presidential candidate John McCain called a press conference in Washington State to announce his running mate for the November election. A crowd of thousands gathered at the foot of Mt. St. Helens to see Senator McCain share the dais with the newest member of the McCain “Straight Talk Express” team, Optimus Prime, leader of the heroic Autobots.

Onlookers appeared stunned as the transformer emerged from the foot of the mountain, painted in republican red with a dancing elephant replacing the iconic Autobot insignia. Despite some initial concerns, Senator McCain assured the audience that this was the legitimate Optimus Prime from the 80’s cartoon, and not the retro-chic Michael Bay knock-off.

Transforming into robot mode, Prime posed for photographs with Senator McCain before being formally introduced. Prime’s six foot by six foot American flag magnet was prominently displayed on his chest plate.

“Optimus Prime comes to America as an immigrant, this is true. But what is also true is that he and his fellow Autobots have lived here for the last four million years, investing their time and energy in the land that they have come to love and call home.”

McCain continued, “Like myself, Optimus Prime is a veteran of many wars. His tactical acumen combined with advanced Cybertronian weaponry is what America needs in its global war on terror. I’ve got a date in hell with Osama bin Laden and the big guy here is going to help me keep it.” McCain’s doctors declined to comment on the time of said appointment.

Although Senator McCain made a good show of recounting the bravery and heroics of Mr. Prime’s Cybertonian Civil War record, many in the crowd appeared to be unconvinced. A cursory examination of Autobot history shows that this concern may not be unfounded. Despite their benign intentions, the Autobots have a recorded history of expropriating their domestic conflicts into foreign lands.

When asked for comment, one ostensibly former McCain supporter said, “The only reason we have a Decepticon problem is because the Autobots led them to Earth.”

Optimus Prime did, however, strike a chord when speaking on the issue of America’s energy crisis. “I, Optimus Prime, and my fellow Autobots left our home world of Cybertron in search of Energon cubes. We must, as two races brought together through adversity and a desire for freedom from tyranny, free ourselves from dependence on foreign energy sources. Senator McCain, and I, Optimus Prime, have a nine point plan that would utilize the energy wealth in ANWR. This plan would bring relief for working class families at the pumps and lead us to victory against the Decepticons.”

None among the crowd had the chutzpah to inquire how a race of sentient robots mastered interstellar travel but were somehow still dependent on refining fossil fuels into Energon cubes.

Critics of the McCain campaign have challenged Mr. Prime’s selection as nothing more than a paltry attempt to distract the voting public from the reality of Senator McCain’s age.

Speaking under the promise of anonymity, an Obama insider had this to say, “Sure, anybody looks young and vital when you’re standing next to a million year old robot. And there’s the issue of the Autobot Matrix of Leadership. Optimus Prime has the combined knowledge of every Autobot leader at his disposal. We’ve already had eight years of Dick Cheney, another suspected robot in disguise, calling the shots in the White House. Must we continue to reduce the office of the President to that of a figurehead?”

Meanwhile, a female talk show host from the Chicago area gleefully cackled as her plans for ultimate power marched one step closer to fruition.

It remains to be seen if Optimus Prime was the right choice for the McCain campaign. Will war-on-terror weary Americans get behind a campaign that has promised to not only maintain troop commitments to Iraq and Afghanistan but is also exploring the possibility of sending an expeditionary force to Cybertron? It also remains to be seen if close proximity to the Autobot Matrix of Leadership will have any effect on Senator McCain’s geographical knowledge. Republican supporters are no doubt hoping that Optimus Prime will bring not only an infusion of cash into the war chest, but the knowledge that Iraq does not share a border with Pakistan.

On Tuesday July 22, 2008, a Canadian died shortly after being tased by members of the Winnipeg Constabulary. As reported by the Winnipeg Sun, Michael Langan, pending autopsy results, could become the youngest Canadian ever to die from this purported non-lethal police accoutrement. Were the police justified in tasing a seventeen-year-old whose crimes were refusing to drop his knife after allegedly stealing a car?

I could say no. Then, inevitably, somebody will point out that the most obvious corollary from brandishing a weapon before a member of the constabulary would be violence. Outraged at this hypothetical person’s assertion that violence should be met with violence, I’d craft a scathing reply to their editorial. Not to name names, but discourses crafted in that fashion are more befitting the comments section on a web 2.0 news page than my corner of the internet. So if I may be so bold, I’d like to step away from the polemics and approach this situation from another angle. Not necessarily a third way, but rather a simple offering of information such that we might appease the gods of wisdom.

While William Shatner is apt to wax eloquent pertaining to Star Trek’s role in inspiring all Western technological innovation over the last three decades, he never mentions how Tasers are the real world’s attempt at reproducing the fictional Phaser of Star Trek. For the non-trek folk, the Phaser exemplifies the concept of ‘perfect weapons’. With the push of a button the Phaser can stun an aggressor to unconsciousness while leaving no permanent physiological damage. Should the situation demand lethal force, the Phaser has a ‘kill’ setting.

The similarity in nomenclature between these two devices; the fictional, a product of a 1966 television series and the actual, a 1974 product of NASA researcher Jack Cover, establishes the intended role of the Taser. Where bullets would kill or seriously maim a suspect, electricity would stun.

Since we’ve all studied elementary human biology at some point in our lives, or failing that, seen The Matrix, we know that the human body is a bio-electrical organism. Our brain only functions the way it does because of the harmonious firing of electrical pulses between axons and dendrites. These pulses carry to our entire body, regulating voluntary and involuntary muscle groups. The potential damage of exposing a human to an external electrical charge depends greatly on the current of said charge. I reiterate: the current, or amperage, is what is important, not so much the voltage.

To contextualize: .001 amps or 1 milliamp is the lowest threshold of feeling an electric shock. 5 milliamps is maximum level of current that is deemed to be ‘harmless’. So, in theory, any current introduced to a human below that level ought not to have permanent physiological side-effects. According to the New Jersey State Council of Electrical Contractors Association Incorporated Bulletin Vol. 2 No. 13, the most dangerous current to introduce to the body ranges between 100 milliamps to 200 milliamps: “As the current approaches 100 milliamps, ventricular fibrillation of the heart occurs - an uncoordinated twitching of the walls of the heart’s ventricles which results in death.“

At a charge of 200 milliamps to 1 amp, “the muscular contractions are so severe that the heart is forcibly clamped during the shock. This clamping protects the heart from going into ventricular fibrillation, and the victim’s chances for survival are good.” Introduce a charge greater than 1 amp and things will begin to take on an aroma akin to charred bacon.

For the purposes of this survey, I will examine the statistics behind Taser International’s M26 Advanced Taser. This self proclaimed ‘work horse for many law enforcement agencies’ boasts of being the first Electronic Control Device with true Neuro-Muscular Incapacitation. In plain English, getting shot by one of these devices sends enough juice into your body as to override your brain’s command authority and impair your muscle control.

Here’s what I’d like to know; does that apply to all of a person’s muscles? Because I can think of nothing more humiliating than being zapped by a Taser only to find that while I was uncontrollably writhing about the ground, I accidentally shat mysef.

To deliver said potentially bowel loosening charge, the Taser uses compressed nitrogen cartridges to fire two electrodes, to a maximum range of 10.67 meters, each of which are capable of penetrating an inch of clothing. In a single pulse, the M26 law enforcement Taser sends a charge of with a current of 3.6 milliamps and 5000 volts.

As you will recall, a shock of 3.6 milliamps is well within the safety margin for avoiding permanent damage. The trick to the M26 Taser is that it fires anywhere from 12 to 25 pulses per second, depending on the Taser’s batteries. 25 pulses, in one second at 3.6 milliamps per pulse translates to 90 milliamps from a single second of Taser pulses. While that’s still 10 milliamps away from the magic kill number, it is enough to cause “muscular paralysis, severe shock and extreme difficulties in breathing.”

Oh and until somebody informs me otherwise, I’m going to assume that there is some cumulative effect of that many pulses over such a short span of time. I’ll concede that it might not be a matter of simple arithmetic but the immutable laws of common sense would suggest that cumulative damage is at least possible, if not likely.

Consider now, the circumstances where a law enforcement officer might decide to deploy his Taser.
Robert Dziekański, the Polish gentleman that was shot with a Taser last year in Vancouver airport, died two minutes after the weapon was deployed against him. This individual had spent ten hours in the airport in a state of emotional agitation. Eyewitness reports state that Dziekański could have endured as many as four Taser uses – who knows how many pulses and at what duration. Not being a forensic pathologist, I’ll draw no conclusions but simply state that it seems reasonable to suggest that a person in an excited state – wherein their cardiac functions are going to be working above normal levels – will endure an electric shock with less fortitude than a person demonstrating baseline cardiac activity.

The coroner might call it “Excited Delirium” but the DSM4 says that such a thing does not exist.

Studies pertaining to the effects of Taser use all too often take the form of Discovery Channel jetsam where one law enforcement officer shoots another. Onlookers gawk, beholding the full body dry heave and the fantastic gizmo that fell the burly police sergeant. But tests such as that are purely anecdotal. Lacking definitive studies on Taser side effects, the problem with these devices becomes their inconsistency.

A 9mm pistol at least has the benefit of being a consistent tool. The reality of lethal force demands that our police use it as a final option. Taser inconsistency married to a general ignorance surrounding the technology and its side effects represents the real threat from these weapons. Police will always be police, but even on the worst of days they understand the consequences that come with firing their sidearm in anger. The Taser is a much more fickle weapon. While police ought to be admonished for their over-reactions, it is unreasonable to demand perfection from an imperfect tool. The burden of guilt then falls to those responsible for coding unpredictability into the program that is the police system.

Some time ago, I found myself in my favorite bookstore partaking of an activity that I have forever enjoyed; trolling through the Science Fiction section. Therein, I came upon a book that stopped just short kicking me in the shin and demanding to be read. Armageddon 2419 A.D. by Philip Francis Nowlan came with the subtitle, “The Seminal ‘Buck Rogers’ Novel”.

“Well if it’s the seminal Buck Rogers novel, then I suppose I have to read it,” I said aloud to myself. Fortunately, nobody saw me talking to myself as my girlfriend was elsewhere in the store and no other brave souls dared to venture into the murky depths of the SF section where books start to be categorized by franchise rather than author.

But only recently, upon realizing I needed a hiatus from Kim Stanley Robinson, did I crack the spine on this the most seminal of Buck Rogers novels. Kim Stanley Robinson’s Red Mars reads slower than Tom Clancy’s Hunt for Red October. Both are very fine books but both, respectively, make me feel like I need to be surrounded by Martian topographical maps and the latest Lockheed-Martin tech manuals to truly appreciate the authors’ attention to detail.

It turns out that Armageddon 2419 A.D. wasn’t quite the popcorn novel that I expected.

As fictional characters go, Buck Rogers is pretty much dead within our cultural consciousness. Only through the miracle of syndication can contemporary viewers be exposed to the campy, “Buck Rogers in the 25^th Century” television series.

With no exposure to the Buck Rogers serials of the forties and fifties, and an over exposure to Gil Gerard, I expected Nowlan’s book, written in 1928, to be a frivolous thing filled with “kill-o-zap ray guns”, “space rockets”, silver uni-suits, obnoxious youth sidekicks, and some evil aliens inevitably from Mars. Instead the book can be read as part cultural critique and part futurist technological speculation.

To begin, a few words on the plot: The year is 1927. While working for the United States Government, Anthony “Buck” Rogers, a veteran of the First World War, is sent to investigate reports of strange doings in an abandoned coal mine. A gas emanating from within the mine knocks out our hero, placing him in a state of suspended animation.

After an earthquake cuts the mine off from the source of the mysterious gas, Buck emerges nearly five hundred years later to find, and get ready for this, the Chinese have conquered the world. From within their floating cities, the “Han Airlords” have subjugated the entire planet, including America. The war between America and China, which we learn to have happened sometime in the middle of the twenty-first century, devastated the continent, reducing all major cities to rubble. Atop the ruins of America’s ancient cities the Hans have built their own floating citadels with names like “Nu-Yok”, “Bah-Flo”, “Bas-Tan”, “Lo-Tan”.

While America’s cities were destroyed, the Americans were not. Being the resilient people that they are, and seen by the Hans as no more a threat than common game animals, the American people have not died off. Rather, as Buck finds out, they have broken down into collections of families called ‘gangs’ – Buck is adopted into and eventually becomes head of the Wyoming gang.

The remainder of the novel’s plot does not extend beyond the rather simple archetype of virtuous protagonists triumphing over decadent adversaries.

Before attempting to examine the technology of Armageddon 2419 A.D. it is important to note that this book is categorically “soft” Science Fiction. Where “hard” SF attempts to provide extensive details on the technology through a lens of plausibility based on current understanding of the universe, soft SF places less importance on explaining why things work. The bottom line being, soft SF asks its readers for a higher degree of suspension of disbelief.

What Armageddon 2419 A.D. lacks in extensive scientific detail, it makes up for with imagination that at times, borders on prophetic.

Although the Americans have been ground under the jackboot of the Han Airlords, the indomitable spirit of American discovery (barf) has not been quashed. Through “inter-dimensional mining” the Americans have discovered two transuranic elements, Inertron and Ultron. At the time of the book’s publication in 1928, there were only 92 elements on the periodic table. Neptunium and Plutonium, the first two transuranic known to human science elements, were both discovered in 1940.

The properties of Ultron allow the fictional Americans to develop a new form of radio transmission that is unfettered by the curvature of the earth. A signal sent from one ultraphone is said to travel through another dimension (better known as sub-space communication for anybody that has ever watched Star Trek) before arriving at its receiving ultraphone. I’ll concede the point that inter-dimensional communication might seem absurd to a modern reader. But similarity between the conveniences of an ultraphone – portable, wireless communication unfettered by the earth’s curvature – and that of a cellular phone seem inescapable.

A final piece of fictional technology that gives Armageddon 2419 A.D. a prescient quality is the Han Airlords’ use of broadcast microwave power. Point to point wireless conduction of electricity was firmly in the realm of science fiction until as recently as 1961. It remained theoretical science until 1964 when JPL engineer William C. Brown demonstrated the first successful application of microwave broadcast power.

Amid the impressive speculation on future technology, Nowlan’s novel constructs some very unique narratives around national identity. The stark contrast between the utilitarian Americans and the grandiose Hans lends all too easily to the creation of a Spartan versus Persian allegory.

As narrator, Buck Rogers is constantly awestruck by the utilitarian nature of the Wyoming gang and the American gangs as a whole. A person’s life within the gang is divided equally between education, service to the gang in one of the underground factories and military service. Laziness is described as the highest sin among the Americans. The semi-sedentary lifestyle of the American gangs has led to the abolition of private property. Underground factories limit their production of goods to those things essential to the survival of the gang – weapons, Ultron, Inertron, clothes, food, shelters – thus there is no consumer based economics. Even the leadership of the Wyoming gang is oddly communal; there is a big boss, and a council of sub-bosses each of whom acts as a cabinet minister. In the middle of 1920s, Philip Nowlan created an America that fused elements of Sparta’s martial tradition with a strongly Marxist social order and enriched it with the spirit of American frontier mythology.

When Buck is captured by the Hans and taken to their American fortress of Lo-Tan, he is finds himself surrounded by people that are the exact opposite of his adoptive family. Unlike the American Gangs, Han society is the epitome of Fordist capitalism. Break something? Buy a new one. But why get up and go to the store when you can push a few buttons from the comfort of your couch and have the object delivered to your apartment and the cost automatically deducted from your bank account?

One of the most interesting aspects of Han society, as created by Nowlan, is social hierarchy. While the noble and warrior castes are technically at the top of the order, they are constantly challenged from the engineers and maintenance men of Han society. An officer aboard a Han airship knows know what buttons to push such that he can fire his disintegrator ray, but he has no more knowledge of how to fix it than the average present day North American has with respect to repairing an internal combustion engine. Repairmen and engineers literally hold Han society hostage in their demands for increased wealth and prestige.

So who wants to take a guess at which fictional civilization our society mirrors the most?

Of the many questions we can ask of this book, the one that interests me the most is this: Was Philip Nowlan attempting to offer a cautionary narrative on the dangers of technological dependence and over-consumption? Nowlan was born in Philadelphia Pennsylvania, in 1888. As he grew up, so did the assembly line and large scale industrial production. He offers heroes that have wholly rejected capitalism and antagonists that have grown decadent in their embracing private wealth. If Nowlan could envision a future with broadcast microwave energy, perhaps he could see future version of America where nobody knew how anything worked, 60% of the people were obese and consumer consumption and bad politics ruled the day.

No longer when I hear the name Buck Rogers will I immediately think about Gil Gerard and his stupid robot sidekick. Armageddon 2419 A.D. proves that Philip Francis Nowlan’s contribution to the SF world has been lost amid a sea of low-budget serials and 70s camp.

So it’s Wednesday. I don’t usually write things on Wednesdays. This particular Wednesday, will be no exception. Although after sampling the horror that was Starship Troopers 3: Marauder I sense another movie review in the near future: The Bug God, just how stupid do they think I am? Robert Heinlein must be spinning in his grave.

Offered for your viewing amusement, I present a video that satirizes the violent history of American Manifest Destiny, the foolishness of racial stereotyping and simultaneously takes a poke at commercialized holidays.

Enjoy.

Last month, for the first and probably last time, I submitted a piece of writing to an open source satire magazine called Demockeracy. Each week, Demockeracy holds a writing contest wherein contributors offer four hundred words on a given topic. After joining the website, I let a month pass before the powers that be picked a topic that struck a chord with me.

Before writing, I took a look at the past week’s winner. You see, the writing contest is essentially a popularity contest. The winner is determined based on the votes of the website’s readers – it’s the American Idol of political satire. A little reconnaissance goes a long way in such situations.

It seemed that the submissions which were best received were those that read like an article one would find on The Onion. With this hypothesis as my modus operandi, I set about writing my four hundred words.

The topic: ‘Life found on Mars, but it’s not at all what anyone expected’

“This is not at all what we expected.” These were the words of NASA Administrator Michael Douglas Griffin at a recent press conference. “The Phoenix lander detected some anomalies that our researchers were not able to immediately account for, but we did not dare hope for such a turn of events.”

The news struck a poignant chord among Southern Baptists, Roman Catholics and within the upper echelons of the Bush administration. There is life on Mars, it is FAB-U-LOUS.

It began with what NASA scientists conclusively declared to be a Cosmopolitan appearing next to the Phoenix’s robot arm. “We wanted to figure out how the Cosmo got there,” said a NASA intern. “But answering such complex teleological questions was never factored into the mission’s funding formula.”

What followed was a series of gifts from the civilization of what is now being called, “The Pink Planet”. The offerings included; DVD box sets of Margaret Cho’s All American Girl as well as season one of Queer as Folk, a CD recording of John Barrowman singing “Springtime for Hitler”, several dozen crushed velvet sport jackets, a subscription to “Flex” magazine and an promotional poster for Hairspray autographed by John Waters.

“We knew that we had to make contact as soon as possible. The question then became one of how to show the Martians we came in peace and that two of our states, as well as Canada, respected their right to get married,” continued administrator Griffin. “There was a real urgency at NASA. We needed to come up with something that could be implemented before the Church mustered enough funding to send missionaries to Mars.”

Utilizing the sophisticated data communication system established between the Phoenix lander and mission command, NASA scientists successfully transmitted to Mars the episode of Fraser where Kelsey Grammer inadvertently bumbles his way into a relationship with a flamboyant Patrick Stewart. Said Griffin, “That super-gay episode of Frasier is what put us over the top.”

The Martians, clad in sharp pinstripes, approached the lander and said “Heloooo” to Earth. Several of the Martians offered their decoupage tips. Others, upon seeing how the NASA scientists attired themselves, offered to come to Earth and overhaul some wardrobes.

NASA scientists advised the Martians that their visit should be postponed until they were sure the Democrats would win the ‘08 election. The Martian ambassador agreed and sent a rainbow lapel pin to Barack Obama.

Now let’s keep in mind that I’m a Canadian trying to write a submission for an American webzine. What you’ve just read might not have been the most brilliant thing that I’ve ever written, but for a fifty dollar writing contest, I think it more than sufficed.

Some of the ideas that landed on the cutting room floor included, “The life on Mars is Muslim”, “The life on Mars has lots of oil but they only want to trade with Venezuela” or “The life on Mars is Valentine Michael Smith and ‘Stranger in a Strange Land’ was meant to be an introduction to the Red Planet, not fiction. I also wanted to work in a gag about Dick Cheney shooting a Martian in the face but I couldn’t make it fit.

Vanity aside, I expected to win. And if I didn’t win, I would have been happy with an honourable mention.

Upon discovery that I didn’t win, I was disappointed – especially so because I didn’t think that the winning article was obviously superior to my own. When scanning the five honourable mentions failed to reveal my name, I was genuinely nonplussed.

Naturally, I read every single one of the honourable mentions. As so often happens, I felt a moment of sheer existential horror in that people could have thought that the bottom two honourable mentions were better pieces of writing than my own. Surely, I’m not that bad of a writer.

In an attempt find out how many people had read my submission, I clicked on my Demockeracy profile. To my horror, the website had no record of my ever submitting to the contest for that particular week. The string of expletives that followed that revelation was truly epic.

So visceral and with such force as to sheer a rift in space and time, my curses smashed their through reality and travelled ten-thousand years into the past to land in the lost, then newly incorporated, city of Atlantis. Just as the mayor of said lost city was about to cut the ribbon on a new fire station, my curses impacted the island and the subsequent explosion sent it straight to the bottom of the Atlantic. As the bewildered Atlanteans stumbled to find their solar powered row-boats, wishing that they’d paid the extra money for the flood option on their home owners insurance, the expression “F-Bomb” was used for the first time.

This expression, which represents all that survived of the of Atlantean culture, was lost for nine thousand nine-hundred and ninety-four years. With its re-discovery on an undisclosed Thursday night in Weehawken, New Jersey, the legacy of the Atlanteans took its place among the neologisms and clichés of Western civilization.

I’d like to think that a satire magazine wouldn’t censor the submissions of an open door writing contest. If my piece was deemed ‘too offensive’ or ‘not in good taste’ then America, as a cultural entity, is in more dire straits than any of us care imagine. Being told I’m not funny is one thing; not even getting the chance to hear that I’ve failed is just inexcusable.

At the same time, I know with absolute certainty that I clicked the submit button only to see a screen that said, “Thank you for submitting.” For now, I’ll chalk this up as an unfortunate internet snafu. Really, what else can I do? I doubt anybody would care if I made an official declaration of shenanigans.

But hear this loud and clear Demockeracy, humanity can ill-afford another time-travelling string of expletives. There are only so many civilizations I can destroy before people start to notice.

That’s right ladies and gentlemen, it’s the second podcast. Turn down the lights, turn up the speakers and enjoy.

Words and Voice by Adam Durrant.

 

 Standard Podcast [10:38m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Sure, I could have spent the morning writing instead of sitting out by the pool reading Red Mars. Following that, I could have used the afternoon to do something other than editing one of my stories. And since my evening will be devoted to Canadian Football, I probably won’t be doing any writing later today.

Instead we’re going to try something different. Pick any two words from the list below and type them into google. From the results that you get, write a 50-100 word essay about what you learned. All essays should be posted in the comments section of this post. The winner, determined by a panel of experts, will get a prize of some sort.

Here’s the list:

Zimbabwe

George Carlin

Robert Mugabe

The Dark Knight

North Korea

Gaza

Battlestar Galactica Spoilers

Hamas

Neil Stephenson

Israel

Oil

Metal Gear Solid 4

Get Smart

L. Ron Hubbard

Carl Rove

Vladimir Putin

Darfur