In the novel¹ The Time Machine by H.G.Wells, a late 19th century inventor travels forwards in time to a future Earth, where humanity has evolved into two separate species. On the beautiful, terraformed², landscaped garden of the surface live the gentle, childlike Eloi. The Eloi live simple lives of pleasure and luxury, spending their days dancing, playing games, and feasting in architecturally pleasing halls on the gigantic nourishing fruits that grow freely without any need for farming.

Underground however, in vast, dark warrens linked to the surface via deep wells, live the Morlocks – pale, hairy, and monstrous. They dwell in the tunnels, among great, ancient, still functional machinery, which they maintain and repair. In fact it is this machinery that keeps the surface so pleasant. The Morlocks are crafty and cunning, and there are thousands of them.

Once darkness falls the Eloi hurry inside, sleeping behind sealed doors, for night is when the Morlocks climb up the wells to the surface. Morlocks who enjoy hunting and eating Eloi (not to mention the occasional time traveler). They can be warded off by fire, but in their Edenic paradise the Eloi have lost even this basic technology. An Eloi caught outside after dark rarely sees the sun rise again.

So, who gets off best in this situation?

On the face of it, the Eloi appear to be the ones who have it made. They don’t need to work, they live in peace and harmony, and their environment is completely benign with no poisonous plants, no venomous insects, and no predators. So long as they get indoors before dark, they need not have a care in the world. The Morlocks in contrast are forced to live underground, driven away by the sun, working all day and night to keep the Eloi in luxury, their only pleasure being an occasional trip to the surface to take vengeance on their oppressors.

But when you stop to think about it, things aren’t that clear cut.

The Morlocks are more than strong enough to rise up and destroy the Eloi. In addition to their numeric inferiority, those dunderheaded simpletons are so pampered as to be completely incapable of defending themselves. In one scene a bunch of Morlocks come after some Eloi armed with the Morlock equivalent of tyre irons, and the Eloi just sit there whimpering, too stupid to get up and run³. The Morlocks wouldn’t even have to resort to military measures, they could just turn off the machinery that makes life so easy for the little wimps (you can’t tell me that a race who don’t even know about fire could survive more than a few days without everything handed to them on a platter). With the totally useless Eloi out of the way, the Morlocks would be free to take the surface. Sunlight wouldn’t be a problem, they could just adopt a nocturnal lifestyle, sleeping in converted Eloi feasting halls with all the windows bricked up during the day. So why don’t they? What stops them from rising up and overthrowing their masters?

The only reasonable conclusion is that they like it this way.

Think about it. Underground the Morlocks have complete control of their environment. There’s no sun to hurt their eyes. They can keep whatever hours are convenient, without being tied to a 24 hour cycle. They have machinery to tinker around with. Why would they give all that up for a bit of open sky and greenery? (there are probably entire libraries of Morlock philosophy based on variations of the concept “nature is overrated”). If they feel the occasional need for a bit of open air all they need do is scurry up one of the ladders, and (if they feel so inclined) kill and eat a few Eloi (to be blunt no great loss – culling the ones too stupid to get indoors after dark is probably good for the species on the whole anyway). The Morlocks keep the machinery running because they like the status quo (and if they wiped out the Eloi, there’d be no more tasty snacks).

The Morlocks are smart, efficient, and understand technology. They are obviously the masters. The most you can say for the Eloi is that they’re pretty.

So, what is my purpose in pointing all this out? Well, let’s sum up the Morlocks. They are highly intelligent. They prefer controlled environments, and have an aversion to bright light. They are pale, badly socialised (eating the people upstairs is the height of rudeness) and they have an overwhelming fascination with and aptitude for technology. The conclusion is obvious.

The Morlocks are Geeks.

In Stephen Baxter’s overly long and complicated sequel to The Time Machine (titled The Time Ships) he has the narrator recall an exhibit he saw in the abandoned and decaying “Palace of Green Porcelain”, an ancient museum he explored in the first novel. This was a cross sectional model of a gigantic pyramid city. In the top levels are wealthy, beautiful socialites and millionaires, living lives of pleasure and luxury. Down below, in the subterranean levels, are vast hordes of soot grimed workers, toiling away to maintain the lifestyle of these sybarites. He reflects on how this was the obvious beginning of the split between the Morlocks and Eloi.

I would disagree.

Today, worldwide there are ISPs and software companies packed full of Geeks, locked away behind elaborate security systems, creating and maintaining the digital world for the computer illiterate end-users. We sit in our windowless cells, coding away, not caring that our backs are becoming hunched, our skin pale, or our eyes photosensitive from staring at CRTs for too long, because we love what we’re doing. For the true Geek, overcoming a tricky coding problem is every bit as exhilarating, satisfying and fulfilling as kicking the winning goal, or getting the phone number of the hottest girl/guy at the party. And in our offices and cubicles we’re meeting and socialising (in our own strange way) with others, of both sexes, just like ourselves. And some of us are breeding.

Computers are everywhere. Soon they’ll be in your fridge, your oven, even your shower. And we Geeks are the only ones who can make them work. We are the future. We are the next step in human evolution. We are the ones who will inherit the Earth. We are the Morlocks.

Look out Eloi. We’re coming to eat you 😉

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1 This is the book, not the movie. Hook up Wells’s coffin to a generator and you could probably power a city the size of Dallas after that little bit of Hollywood ‘creative rewriting’.

2 Wells didn’t use the term “terraformed”, he probably passed away before it was even coined, but it’s pretty clear that’s what he was implying.

3 OK, there may not actually be a scene like this in the novel, it’s been some years since I last read it, but it’s exactly the type of behaviour you’d expect from the dull witted idiots.

OK, this is just plain evil. I fail to see how selecting a bunch of colours can result in such a detailed and accurate psychological analysis. It’s obviously just a front for some kind of black-ops mind reading device, no doubt borrowed or stolen from the Illuminati. Stephanie may be prepared to put her results on her blog, but there is no way I’m posting mine. No need for the world at large to know just how messed up I am 🙂

Ah yes, well what have I been up to? I saw both Spiderman and the Italy vs Croatia World Cup game on Saturday. This was because I was seeing Spiderman with Ryan and Fabian, and nothing interrupts Fabian’s World Cup. Now, I don’t know enough about the rules of soccer to say whether the first Italian goal disallowed by the referee was an actual goal or not, but the second disallowal (is that even a word?) was absolutely disgusting. That was a goal damnit! The player kicked the ball, it rolled into the net. That’s a goal!

(On the other hand though, it was amusing to hear the commentator say things like “Kovac has the ball. Kovac kicks to Kovac” because it made it sound like the entire Croatian team was made up of Luca from ER)

Anyway, yes, Spiderman. Pretty good, even if they gave Peter Parker the ability to shoot web from his wrists naturally, rather than have him invent those…. um…. web.. shooting.. wrist.. things. Anyway when I heard about that, I was annoyed, but it worked in the context of the film, so I don’t mind. The most interesting thing about the film was the way it’s been influenced by the events of September 11. There’s a montage of spinning newspapers (OK, maybe not spinning) and “vox pops” about a third of the way through, talking about this new “Spiderman” poking his head up around town, and much to my surprise one of them featured a couple of construction workers at Ground Zero. Also the final sequence of the film, which features Spidey on top of the Empire State Building against a giant US flag. But for my money the most interesting scene is when the Green Goblin is fighting Spidey around a bridge. He’s hovering on his glider, laughing evily at Spiderman’s predicament, when suddenly he comes under a barrage of bottles, bricks and other assorted debris. He spins around to find the entire bridge lined with ordinary New Yorkers yelling at him and hurling stuff. “This is New York!” yells one of them “You mess with one of us you mess with all of us!”. Which was a nice touch I thought.

Finally I’d just like to publically state that Kiss Kiss by Holly Valence is possibly the worst “song” I’ve ever heard. It’s like inferior Shakira (and that’s saying something) on speed. Everyone, please stop buying it, and maybe we can kill off her music career before she releases anything else.

The evil spammers that plague my online life are getting remarkably devious. I got the following email (from “InLOVE@LOVEBOX.com”) in my inbox yesterday under the subject line of “Someone is in Love with you!”

TOTALLY CRAZY ABOUT YOU !!!

A person who knows you has asked us to send you this message.

The person is madly in love and crazy about you, and has said that:

– You are Charming
– You are Attractive
– You look Sweet
– You seem Intelligent
– You Excite

Now up to that point I was at least intrigued. Sure, anyone who thinks that I look sweetand “excite” is bound to be suffering from some kind of well categorised mental disorder,but even I respond to flattery, at least somewhat. So I read on…

If u want to know who this person is, then you must call the following number now:

0011 239 444 9030

The call is totally anonymous for you.

All the best,
FLIRT LOVE-BOX

Ah-ha! Suddenly all becomes clear! They’ve set up a info phone line (charging about $5.00per thirty seconds) then sent this email out to tens of thousands of addresses. At leastsome pathetic souls will be so taken in that they’ll call, and no doubt be put on hold tolisten to two or three minutes of romantic music before being told that all the operatorsare currently busy, but if they call back later their personalised message of love will bewaiting. The really sad thing is that the some of them will call back. Repeatedly.

Now I object to spam generally, but at least most of it actually offers you something (evenif it’s just some unlikely surgery free method to enlarge one’s genitals). This kind of toyingwith people’s emotions to turn a quick buck however is just completely morallyreprehensible. If there’s any justice in the world, lightning will strike the lovebox.comserver, hopefully while the operators of this scam are poking around inside with ascrewdriver.

The whole murky world of online scams, ripoffs and threats seems to have jumped up afew IQ points recently. Not only do we have the above example, but an insanely deviousversion of the Klez virus has started to appear in my inbox. This claims to be a fixfor the Klez virus, which will immunise your computer against it for all time. All you haveto do is run the file, ignoring any alerts from your virus detection software (in order tofool the virus the “fix” apparently has to masquerade as a “fake” virus, and may thus setoff your anti-virus program).

This kind of recursive trojaning (is that even a word?) is simply brilliant. It gives people aperfect reason to infect themselves, and even reassures them that it’s safe, regardless ofwhat their security software may say. I’m simply in awe of the mind that came up with it.If people like this would turn their intellect to solving major problems such as worldhunger and environmental degradation, instead of messing up people’s hard drives, theworld would be a much better place.

But that’s not likely to happen any time soon is it?

I am dead. Completely wasted. Totally out of it. The only thing keeping me awake and typing is sheer bloody minded willpower. This is due to a conspiracy of factors including a lack of antihistimines, a late night of TV watching on Friday, and a quiz night at Fabian’s parent’s Darts Club last night.

Each year the club holds a quiz night as a fund raiser, and being the pathetic trivia puppy I am, I’m always asked along to help shore up Fabian’s table (being the pathetic trvia puppy I am of course I always jump at the opportunity). Last year we were cheated out of equal first place by the inept judges (who despite all evidence to the contrary – such as over 100 years of it sitting in plain view on Liberty Island – claimed that the Statue of Liberty is on Ellis Island) and out of equal second place by the inept counters who failed to carry a one when adding up our scores. This year we vowed to do better.

We actually did do better, coming in equal second with three other tables. Unfortunately being vicious cheapskates the organisers had only put on a prize for first place, meaning we again went home empty handed. I did manage to win a round of heads and tails however, scoring a free pitcher of beer for our table. This would have made the evening a bit more worthwhile, except for the fact that I don’t drink. Everyone else seemed to enjoy it though.

(To be perfectly fair I also scored a pair of sunglasses and a digital watch for my win, but I already have far superior glasses and far better watch, so it’s not like it was a major reward or anything).

My current delitorious state however derives from the vast quantities of junk food I wolfed down (I just can’t resist cheezles, pathetic I know), and the ever increasing clouds of tobacco smoke that drifted around the venue as the night progressed. I’m alergic to cigarette smoke, and had used my last antihistime tablet on Friday morning, so the foul miasma really started to lay into me a few hours in.

The night was aparently supposed to be smoke free, however this ruling was blatently ignored by many attendees, aparently on the basis that they were members of the darts club, and no one would have the guts to walk up and tell them to butt out. Sad to say they were completely right, and the organisers folded faster than an origami master on meth-amphetamines. So they continued smoking like eastern European factories and my histimine enhanced eyes and respitory system really started having some fun.

By the time we got back to my place, I was coughing rather heartily, and hanging around until about 12:15 laughing ourselves stupid at the rulebook for Hol (the insanely violent role playing game set on the planetary prison/garbage dump for a galactic empire/church/fast-food corporation) did my rapidly failing respitary system no good at all. By the time Fabian and Ryan left, I was coughing as if I had consumption, and my nose was running like a faucet. I eventually stumbled into bed about half past twelve, and had a fairly disturbed night, waking up wheezing and snorting like an ill water buffalo every half hour or so until I finally gave up and got out of bed at eight.

So, I’m not at my best today.

I must apologise for not making any entries in the Wyrmlog for several weeks, but as I said, seriously bad stuff has been going down. I’m not going to detail it here, it’s just too depressing, unfair and f****d up. Those who need to know, know, and those who don’t don’t, and that’s where I’ll leave it. It’s not anything I want to talk about.

So, I am now well and truly ensconced in Rebecca’s flat in Mt Lawley. Most of my stuff have been shifted over, and I’m starting to figure out how to balance the need for shopping, cooking and cleaning with my need for sleep, work, and several hours of life-sustaining TV every night. It’s just as well my social life is virtually non-existant or I’d be well and truly stuffed trying to fit everything in.

Hmmm, well I do have a lot more to actually write about, but as I just spent a good two minutes staring blankly at the screen with my jaw hanging loose and my brain essentially going “budubudubudubudubud” I think it might be time to get up and do something physical like the washing up to stop me from falling asleep where I sit. Either that or collapse into bed and dream about Alisen Down until about 3:00 tomorrow afternoon.

Yes, that sounds like a very good idea.

Sorry for the break. Bad stuff going down 🙁 We’ll resume normal broadcasting shortly.

Just thought I’d direct everyone to this site. It’s hilarious! Strange and vindictive, yet hilarious. With neighbours like that I think I’d make a webpage too.

I bought a copy of Whoa Nelly! the other day, pretty much on the basis that I’m Like a Bird was OK, and I really liked Turn Out the Light. It’s pretty good actually, a lot better than I was expecting. Much more like an album full of Turn Out the Lights than I’m Like a Birds, which is what I was dreading. So a good investment all told.

Oh, and Ali, I feel terribly guilty that I again haven’t written in ages. I shall endeavor to do so today, in between packing boxes. Sorry 🙁

A new gift store has just opened on Rokeby Road near Subiaco railway station. I go past it twice a day on the bus, and over the last week it’s been starting to worry me. There are big signs up announcing the grand opening, and bunches of balloons, and other assorted promotional stuff, but that’s not what concerns me. It’s the name. Pandora’s Box Gifts.

Now, as all should be aware Pandora’s box is a reference to Greek mythology, in which it was a box filled with all the evils and horrors of the world. This was given (in a fit of abstraction so typical of the Greek gods) to Pandora, who was told never to open it. Predictably (being a woman in one of those “let’s blame women for everything” myths so beloved by patriachal societies) she does in short order, releasing all the evils that plague the world to this day. In a sudden bit of unwomanly clear thinking however, Pandora did manage to snap it shut at the last minute, preventing the escape of Hope, which now keeps us going in the face of all the aforementioned evils.

(What hope was doing in a box full of horrors and evils is never really explained, unless the author took the Norse mythological view of hope as the drool that drips from the mouth of the Fenris wolf. Great at parties those Norsemen.)

So, the name is completely inappropriate for a store purporting to sell gifts. It’s like St Vivisectionist’s Hospital for Children, or Buddy Holly Airlines. I don’t know what the proprietors were thinking.

In other news (a phrase I think I’m using far too much lately) my attempts to transfer data from my old computer to my new one are back on track after Clare kindly donated the carcase of her old machine (sans hard drive). I’ve salvaged the floppy drive, and my old machine is happily purring away without making horrible choking noises and dying when I try to read a disc. So thank you very much Clare 🙂 I’ll see if I can’t get a new Tale up soon in payment.

That’s it. I’m done for now. Got to go pack boxes.

Well, after the wettest April day on record, we just had the hottest May day on record. 34 point something, with heavy overcast and a bit of weak drizzle. Today isn’t going to be much better. It’s like living in Singapore for crying out loud!

Also rather depressing is the fact that the archetypal Australian soap opera Neighbours celebrates 4000 episodes this week. 4000?! What the heck is this? Are we so creatively vapid as a nation that we’ll keep something with the approximate cultural value of a crippled banana slug going for 4000 episodes? Apparently so.

On the subject of Neighbours it has been bought to my attention (by Stephanie) that Americans (and Canadians) don’t appear to have any soaps that deal with the lives of ordinary (although rather annoying) people going about their fairly ordinary lives, like Neighbours and it’s Network 7 rival Home and Away. Over there it’s all fashion designers or captains of industry, generally rich bastards who look down on the poplace at large. The fact that here in Australia our top rating soaps are about ordinary, everyday people (ordinary everyday people having love affairs, getting in car accidents, losing or making money in stupidly risky ventures and generally having much more exciting lives than they justifiably should, but still) probably says a lot about the difference between the American and Australian dreams. Americans aspire after great wealth and properity, rising above the masses. Aussies just want a quarter acre block in the suburbs and a sleep in on the weekends.

Or something. Thesis comparing Australian and American culture through their soaps anyone?

Ah, Helen thinks I’m capable of finishing Douglas Adams’ final novel. This is extremely flattering, thank you 🙂 Actually I did start work on a Dirk Gently novella as a tribute soon after DNA’s tragic passing, if it ever gets into any kind of publishable shape (rather doubtful) I might post bits of it here. In the meantime I’ll plagerise completely and post a bit of the real thing that Helen posted on her blog, mainly because it makes me laugh (the quote that is, not the blog 🙂

“The phone was ringing. Dirk answered it. He sighed. It was Thor, the ancient Norse God of Thunder. Dirk knew immediately it was him from long, portentous silence and the low grumblings of irritation followed by strange, distant bawling noises. Thor did not understand phones very well. He would usually stand ten feet away and shout godlike commands at them. This worked surprisingly well as far as making the connection was concerned, but made actual conversation well-nigh impossible.”

Ah, good old confused, irritable, modern-age challenged Thor! If only I could write that well.

OK, Run Lola Run kicks some serious backside. This is easily the most intelligent and compelling film I’ve seen in ages, and I suggest that everyone with even half a brain goes out and rents, if not buys a copy. It takes about five minutes to get used to the dubbing (asuming you’re not watching it in the original German), but after you’ve made the adjustment it’s brilliant. First Das Boot, now this – those Germans sure know what they’re doing.

(Yes, let’s define the whole of German cinema on the basis of two films made almost 20 years apart shall we? 😉

So I now have five favourite films, Ghostbusters, Clerks, The Blues Brothers, Run Lola Run, and the other one I can never actualy remember (Groundhog Day? I have no idea). Huge thanks to Rebecca, who gave it to me on DVD for my birthday. I’m going to have to find you something really good now aren’t I? ;D

On a similar (or at least similarly named) subject, everyone should check out Dance, Dance Karnov, one of the oddest online games I’ve ever seen. Use the arrow keys to make Karnov dance and defeat Green Fish Guy With a Bag and Hand Down Pants! Disco music! Wigs! Pointy shoes! It’s all here people!

Finally a word of advice to female R&B artists – keep away from the Caribbean for the forseeable future. There’s something going on down there.