A "Conditional" Statement

...Frank stood slowly to his feet. Bright colors intermixed with beeps and thrumming vibrations swirled through his head. The sensory perceptions were overwhelming, Frank found himself sitting back down.

..."What have you done to me Art? I'm half blind, why can't the room hold still?" he cried in anguish to his friend.

...Art was surveying his piece of equipment. An intent look showed the many little cogs and wheels of his inner mind; his thought process was like an open book all could read. Art frowned and jiggled the helmet in his left hand a little.

..."It seems there was a slight miscalculation in my syllogism - nothing serious though." Art looked up and smiled. "Here, let me try to reconfigure this thing, I think I know what went wrong."

..."Know what went wrong! I know exactly what's wrong! You've lost your mind, that's what's wrong! As soon as I get my head cleared I'm out of here." Frank was spluttering angrily. A fierce and unusual emotion was welling up inside him, his throat constricted with the force of it. "Oh, my heads falling apart - its going to pieces Art!"

...Art whipped his belt off his waist and cinched it around Frank's head.

..."There buddy- this ought to keep you together until I figure this out" he said and patted Frank's noggin. "Here's what the problem is" he went on " My syllogism is based on conditional statements and you didn't meet one of the conditions."

..."Which one?" Frank spat through clenched teeth.

..."If you are addicted to TV you might as well be dead" Art replied. "Obviously you don't share my opinion on this topic, you would not rather be dead and so the machine had some minor malfunctions"...

..."How minor?"

..."Oh, you won't be able to look at a TV without going into convulsions for at least two months. Like I said, nothing serious."

..."Are you kidding!" Frank exploded. "This is very serious, what am I supposed to do? Never go home again? Live on the streets for two months? I have walls lined with TVs - one for each of my favorite shows."

..."Here's what we'll do Frank. I'll go home with you and remove all the TVs before you come into the house - I'll even stay the night in the eventuality that you don't recover your vision by then! What do you think?" Art was quite pleased with himself.

..."I think you're a weasel Art - come to my house - are you kidding!" Frank said.

..."Good, then it's all settled! Lets go!" Art cried brightly. He sprang to his feet and grabbed his coat.

..."You didn't bring a coat earlier did you Frank?" he asked.

..." No, how could I? You didn't leave me time to grab anything." Frank answered.

..."Well you can borrow one of mine" Art continued. Frank felt a heavy jacket thrust over his head before he was jerked to his feet by Arts enthusiastic prodding. Meekly he allowed himself to be led outside and deposited in the car. Art hopped into the drivers seat and revved up the engine.

...Oh no, not Arts driving again Frank thought. Maybe it won't be so bad since I can't see past the bright lights.

...Wrongo - it was worse. Frank clutched his seatbelt as Art manuevered through midnight traffic. Halfway through the ride his eyesight returned, just in time to wittness a narrow escape from death as Art carreened around a sharp corner and slammed on the brakes; much to the consternation of the drivers behind him.

..."What was that for?" Frank yelped. "You should have kept going!"

..."Always come to a full second stop when you see a stop sign" Art explained. "If you keep the law you'll never get in trouble."

..."What kind of trouble?" Frank yelled in exasperation as Art lurched forward again. " You don't call a hospital trip trouble?"

..."Nope, its the law I'm worried about" Art replied swerving through a yellow light in the nick of time.

..."Oh yeah, you're one to talk. If you're so worried about the law then why all this undercover illegal blogeologing huh?"

...Art sighed. "You just don't get it Frank. That's why I can't afford these minor brush ins with the government. I've got to keep a low profile."

..."You're doing a great job too!" Frank squealed sarcastically as Art came to an abrupt stop in front of Franks apartment complex.

..."Now what?" Art asked.

..."I'm on the third floor, apartment 45 C." Frank said. He started to open his door.

..."Wait a second, I'm going in first - remember?" Art said leaping out and closing Franks door.

..."I need to give you the key Art!" Frank growled through the windowpane.

..."Okay, thanks, see you in a few!" Art said and sprinted for the building with all his usual energy.

..."No, wait a second Art!" Frank said as a terrible thought struck him. "What are you going to do with the TVs? Why don't you just put them in the closet, Okay?" he shouted after his friend.

...Art had already disappeared up the stairs. Frank got out and started after him. Why couldn't he have taken the elevator? Art had got a good start and Frank could see the stars coming back as he climbed the staircase. Several times he stopped to take a breath. I should have just taken the elevator he thought.

...At the top he raced towards his apartment and burst in. Art was looking out the window at something, there wasn't a TV in sight.

..."Where are they?" Frank demanded.

..."Down there" Art replied.

..."No!" Frank screamed lunging towards the window. Intermingled with the green grass below were wires and thousands of tiny glass shards.

..."Why not - you'll never need them again" Art said.

...Frank turned to him. Art saw the expression on his face and backed up a few paces.

..."Well, I guess I'll see you at work tomorrow Frank. Sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite!" he said and darted out of the room. Frank heard his car engine start and roar down the street...

Arts Syllogism

...Art, quick of the finger and quick of the eye, had forced Frank back into his seat before Frank had time to think. Now his nimble fingers were busy lifting and strapping a strange helmet to Franks bewildered head.

...Frank finally found his voice and cried "Art, what are you doing to me?" His little goatee wobbled wretchedly and the sight of his desperate eyes peering out from beneath the strange contraption would have made a saint laugh. His friend had assumed a cheerful physicians manner and now answered him by saying,

..."O come now Frank, its not that bad I assure you! After all, I wore it a week to cure myself last year. Since then I've made some improvements, which I am dying to test, and it shouldn't take you more than an hour to be cured. There is a small recovery time, about a month to be exact, but what's that in the scope of a lifetime?"

...Hearing only a small gurgling noise, coming from Frank beneath the large antique army helmet, Art continued to chat. "Look here my good fellow, I will explain to you how the thing works. That always interests the patient right?"

..."O heavens!" Frank squeaked flailing about - "I want to go home!"

..."And so you shall Frank, soon enough. When you go home you will be a new man, free of the cruel tyrant which has held you in bandage all your life! Of course the side effect is that you will not be allowed to watch TV for a year - who knows what that might do to you? - but then, I doubt you'll want to anyways when we're done." Art was so cheerful as he said this that no one could have thought that his intentions were anything but pure. An angelic sweetness had come over his face as he stared off into the unknown world of no television where Frank was afraid he soon would follow.

..."Here's how the thing works. Have you ever heard of a syllogism Frank? No? I thought not. Anyways, I made one up last year after realizing what an addiction TV was. Listen, I think you'll find it rather revealing, it goes something like this. (And understand that if A=B, and B=C, than A must = C too)

... If I am addicted to Television, (or any electronic device for that matter)
Then life is not worth living.(because being addicted is no life at all)

If Life is not worth living, (as in, whats the point?)
Then I might as well be dead.

Therefore, If I am addicted to television,
Then I might as well be dead.

.."Are you following this Frank?" Art asked, pausing to pick up a small remote device. "Your squeals seem to give the impression that you do not understand what I am saying, perhaps if you will let me finish explaining then you will be more cooperative." Frank did not stop squealing.

..."So after creating the aforesaid syllogism I realized that I could not go on living in my addicted plight. The idea was insufferable! The thought also struck me that if I could bring myself so close to death that my subconscious must reconsider its values, then perhaps I could break the addiction. But even I did not want to die, especially without someone to pass on my families secret mission to. So I created this helmet which would deliver such a jolt to the sub cranium as to make it 'believe' it might be dying - all the symptoms are there I assure you. Your life will flash before your eyes. However, you will not die. It is merely a temporary dislocation of the left and right side of your brain. I say - are you listening Frank?"

...Frank had undergone an extraordinary change of appearance. His eyes had grown large with the word 'death' and he felt his life was already passing before his eyes.

...What do you want Art? I'll give you anything you want if you will let me go. Do you want my new 8X8 hydrogen powered truck? Its even got a new orange paint job! Please Art, anything!" Franks voice became a moan, rather pathetic but also ridicules.

..."this is priceless Frank old buddy! You speak as though I were holding you for ransom or something. Why, you are my friend and I am doing this to help you! Trust me Frank, this will all end well." Without further ado Art reached for the 'on' button; then suddenly he paused.

...Frank felt a glimmer of hope fire up - only to fade away as Art looked around. "Have you seen my hat?" he asked. Frank shook his head, "No".

..."Ah, here it is" Art said discovering it on the couch behind him. He clapped it on his head and a determined grin grew on his face. "In a moment you shall be a free man Frank, hold on to you seat!"

...And he pushed the button....

Uncle Joe and Aunt Ann

…“I guess I’m lucky that though my dad came from a family of gabbers he never talked anyone’s ear off.” Art said, unconsciously laying the groundwork for Frank’s subconscious opinion of Joe and Ann.

… “Talkers, eh?” Frank commented. Art was grinning ear to ear. Uncle Joe looked like a slick city fellow; he could have graced any billboard with style. Ann on the other hand looked almost too casual; nevertheless she held the proof of her talking abilities in her hand, a phone.

…“We couldn’t get her to stop talking long enough to take a decent picture” Art explained shaking his head. “Its positively disgraceful how much time she spends on the telephone”.

…Frank found he could sympathize with “Aunt Ann” more than Art knew. Besides, maybe Art was just picky and prejudiced; after all, he was always getting on Frank about the television. It all started to get on ones nerves, as was this whole “relative display”. As if Art thought they were a zoo; that’s Uncle Joe in the cage over there, and Cousin Kara is in display number 6: “A new species of Biped – vegetarian in diet and generally a passive creature.”

…“Look Art, I don’t mean to be rude but could we get on with things? I mean, I’ve already missed my first TV show of the evening – and the next couple is a series so I can’t afford to miss them. Can I just come by some other time to finish?” Frank asked impatiently.

…Art eyes grew large and Frank felt uncomfortable under there scrutinizing gaze. “Frank you are positively addicted to the TV, I recognize all the symptoms.”

…“Don’t be stupid Art, people can enjoy a show now and then without being accuses of obsession.” Frank remonstrated.

…“Nuh, uh. I see the symptoms and you need help Frank!” Art cried jumping out of his seat. He flew to the other end of the room and opened a cupboard. Frank heard a great crashing noise and squirmed. “What are you doing Art!” he yelled. His friend continued dumping stuff all over the ground. (More proof that Art’s a packrat)

…“Art answer me!” Frank exclaimed feeling his energy levels rise dangerously. Oh no, I’m losing precious energy – expending unexpendable amounts...

…“I was once addicted too, Frank.” Art finally called back. “And when I realized the helpless plight I was in I created an invention to help break the vicious cycle. Just wait a second, here it is – I found it!”

…Art held up a strange device, Frank felt chills go up and down his spine. He started to feel faint. “Oh my gosh Art, I’m leaving – right now!” he screeched tuning towards the door. But Art was quicker than him and blocked the way…

Uncle Bob and Aunt Sal

..."Uncle Bob is a highly respected professor in Greenwich, he teaches psychology. " Art announced with more than a little pride.

...The picture of Uncle Bob revealed an amply complacent man who peered at the world through tinted glasses, green by the looks of it. He had little of notice about his face other than his large nose, or else let us say, one noticed little about his face other than his large nose. The nose is what Frank first noticed, and he had a hard time seeing past it to the mans eyes.

..."Well, he certainly looks like a professor." Frank said wondering what Art expected him to say. After all, what was with this infernal trotting out of all Art's relatives supposed to produce in him? He resolved to make a few polite comments about each of them. No sidetracks, nothing superfluous. All the while he kept a close eye on the time, he was determined not to become too interested in anything Art said lest he miss his favorite TV shows that evening. It was imperative that this came to a close soon, otherwise they would be there all night!

..."Continue Art, its getting a little late" Frank urged his friend who had lapsed into a brown study.

..."Of course, of course" agreed Art going to the next picture. "This is Uncle Bob's lucky wife, my Aunt Sal. " (Obviously Art respected his uncle)


...Aunt Sal was apparently quite ecstatic about something, but Frank was hard pressed to discover what it was. " Why is her mouth open so wide? Did something just happen before the picture was taken?"

..."Yup, Uncle Bob and her had just connected psychically - or at least that's what they say " Art said wrinkling his nose a little " I never did put much store in those 'psychic' dating experiences, they seem a little far fetched to me. My Uncle Joe says the reason why he never got married is because his psychic girlfriend left him before they met"...

...Frank shook his head. Despite his resolutions not to interrupt Arts introductions with any rabbit trails, he felt compelled to say authoritatively, " Yeah I totally agree. Have you heard about their latest scam? Supposedly someone connected Internet and psychic dating by creating an online theme park. People payed out the wazoo to get in on opening day. Ticket prices soared - one guy spent a thousand to get his psychic girlfriend there by the online express train. Then they had the great experience of sipping e-lattes, riding the Internets first vertical roller coaster, enjoying the sensations of a lush online cruise. In the end it was proved to be a fraud, merely another 3-D vacation package with vibrating controllers. No psychic abilities, the roses he bought her smelled like lavender - that's what gave it all away."

...Frank rolled to an abrupt stop, Art was staring at him.

..."You really do watch too much TV Frank. Lets continue, next is Uncle Joe and Aunt Ann."

...Frank rolled his eyes. Humbug, his info was way more interesting than Arts deceased relatives. He glanced at his watch. Good grief, it was eight o'clock!

Arts Parents: Nan and Bill

..."My father was an undertaker, one of the few this city could boast of." Art began. Frank choked, "An undertaker! You mean he worked with dead people?"

..."No Frank, he did not work with dead people. His fellow employees were very much alive - let me assure you! He worked on dead people, preparing them for the grave." Art seemed slightly miffed, as though it were a touchy subject.

...Frank cleared his throat, "Um, did that make you - well, feel embarrassed or weird? I mean, having a dad who worked on dead people."

...A sigh escaped from Art. "Remember Frank, I was pretty young at the time. But yes, I remember feeling odd. When my dad's business was bad I felt guilty for hoping it would get better, that would mean more people died. And the other kids thought it was creepy, they avoided our house like the plague."

...Frank shook his head, "That's tough Art, and I thought I had it bad because my dad was a garbage man." A quick glance at his wristwatch made Frank eager to move on. He had a TV show to watch in just two hours. "Whats next?" he asked. "Did he bury a president or something?"

...Forget about my Dads job, he didn't bury anyone of consequence that I know of." Art said with another sigh. "My Mom on the other hand, she was amazing!"

..."What did she do?" Frank asked.

..."My mom was a laser surgeon, she specialized in extreme makeovers and delicate procedures. Why, she saved more people than my Dad buried!"

..."Probably why his business was so bad", muttered Frank, "They could have got something going there you know".

..."Good grief Frank!" Art cried, his eyes starting from his head. "My parents would never have come to an arrangement like the one you suggest, its unthinkable! I choose to believe you are joking my friend."

..."Of course I'm joking, what kind of creep do you think I am?" Frank demanded. "Besides, things like that do happen these days. Haven't you ever heard about that policewoman whose husband was a drug lord? Or the oil baron whose son was a speculator? What about that couple on TV, the husband was a recyclist and the woman a mass producer of plastic stuff; together they cooped a lot of money." (The government pays $4.00 a lb for recycled plastic material)

..."That you would even put my parents in the same category as that filth is inconceivable!" Art exclaimed. "Sometimes I wonder if your cranium is entirely okay, you probably watch too much TV."

..."How much TV do you watch?" demanded Frank.

..." Only a total of twenty hours a week, how about you huh?" Art replied.

...Frank knew he was outdone. "You beat me, I'm two hours above average at forty hours a week."

...Art snorted in disgust and then they both returned to their normal selves.

..." I won't continue with my parents story much longer, the truth is, I don't know that much about them myself. They were both pretty busy and I only saw them on the weekends, and then only a couple hours. My dad was always studying the online phone books, trying to guess when his business might get a raise. And my mom was generally consulting with patients who wanted extreme laser makeovers."


















...Art pulled up a picture of a sad looking woman. Frank thought she was nice enough, but rather depressed in her expression. As though wishing to lighten the atmosphere Art smiled and suddenly said -

..."Well, I do have a couple embarrassing memories as a kid that involve my dad. You see, the local thrift stores had certain days when seniors got a 60% discount. On those days my dad would gather hundreds of business cards (Bill's great Undertaking and Co.), myself, and a lunch for the two of us. He would drive to the nearest thrift store and take up a post at the entrance, I would guard any extra outlets and patrol the store. No one got past us. My orders were strict; bombard any senior "looking" citizens with business cards for my dads morgue. I can't tell you how embarrassing it was to approach sweet old ladies with personal invitations for grave duties - at my young age too, it seemed so presumptuous."

...Art had a hearty laugh, but Frank was shuddering. " That's disgusting Art, I cannot believe you agreed to do it."

..."Well, Dad was pretty adamant and it was 'for my good too' as he would say. Those were about the only Father/Son outings we had".

..." Well, the last thing I'm going to say about my dad has to do with my name. I was named after my great-great-great- grandpa Arthur, as you already know. But the reason I even know my great-great-great- grandpa Arthur's name was Arthur is because my dad discovered my great aunt BB through the morgue business.(And it was at a senior day thrift shop) He had never met great aunt BB before, though he had heard of her. When I was born she took to me immensely and told my dad to name me Arthur. Dad didn't want to at first, but one day he said he saw clouds in the sky which spelled Art backwards and took it as a sign. So he compromised and named me Art for short."

... Frank gave a long sigh of relief, "Are you done with your parents autobiographical speech?"

..."Funny Frank, and yes I am. On to Uncle Bob and Aunt Sal!" Art said, picking up the remote again.

..."Wait, you never told me how your parents died!" Frank surprised himself by asking.

...Art bit his underlip, "A tragic blunder involving some new fangled laser device. My mom was testing it on a plastic dummy and my dad had just arrived to pick her up from work. Something blew up and there was a fire, but I don't know the details"...

Meet the Family

...A colorful menu, spotted with photos, came up on the screen. Art clicked vigorously with the remote. "Now Frank, before I introduce you to my family let me give you a little overview."

..."Alright, say - how long do you think this is going to take?" Frank answered glancing at his watch. The time was 4:30 pm.

..."Oh this won't take long. Just let me get started!" Art assured him.

..."My family tree goes back five generations, pretty impressive for these days. My Dad Bill named me for my great-great-great-grandpa Arthur, only I'm just Art for short. There is a story which goes along with that - but we will get to it later."

...Frank listened intently, and only occasionally glanced at his wrist watch. It was only a quarter till five, besides, how long could one talk about deceased relatives anyways? Art was continuing, so Frank tried to give him his full attention.

..."My great Aunt BB is the oldest living relative I've got these days. Other than her there's Uncle Bob and Aunt Sal on my mothers side; and their awful daughter, my cousin, Kara. On my Dad's side I have uncle Joe and Aunt Ann, who are brother and sister you understand. Both of my parents died when I was ten, my Aunt BB sorta raised me"...

...Frank had not known Art was an orphan. He felt a sudden surge of pity "Gee Art, I'm so sorry, I mean, I can't imagine". The right words just wouldn't come. Art sat picking at a fraying seam in the arm of his chair. "Yeah well, things happen - they weren't much a part of my life anyways".

...There was a long moment of pause as Frank thought of his own amiable parents and Art contemplated whatever Art contemplated. "Whats so bad about your cousin Kara?" Frank asked, hoping to change the subject.

..."What a question!" Art cried, apparently relieved. "Oh Kara, she's a greenie if I ever saw one. (Greenie has replaced Blondie and tree hugger in one useful term) All she cares about is her plant "friends", her greenish hair, and her dogs manicures. I have never seen anyone so obsessed with global cooling. She wears parkas all the time; convinced that she might be caught in a blizzard some time stepping outdoors in Texas."

..."Wow, she lives in the country of Texas?" Frank commented, slightly envious of his friends out of country connections. "Yep, she lives in the United Country of Texas, and she can keep it!" Art laughed.

..."Well, where was I ? You should probably hear about each person in order, otherwise it could get confusing. I will start with my parents and work back, and out, until we get to great-great-great grandpa Arthur."

...Apparently Frank didn't have much of a say in the matter. Art did not wait for his opinion either, pulling up a picture of his mom and dad. Frank hoped this would not take too long as he leaned closer to view the screen. He found himself staring into the face of an older man, a face very unlike Arts...

Arts Family Tree

...Frank found himself entering a wide doorway into what appeared to be Art's apartment. He had just been on the most unsettling ride of his life, with crazy Art behind the wheel battling traffic. Anything could happen. As he walked through the doorway Frank could not help but feel appreciation for its ample size. (Constructors built the doors extra wide these days, to accommodate society's obese majority) Yes, Frank was a little on the wide side - but most men were fat so it did not matter. Women on the other hand were extremely skinny, rather sickly looking. Its labeled the Jack Sprat in reverse Syndrome.

...However ample Frank might be, Art was not. Indeed, looking at him Frank did not need to wonder why. The reason Art was so thin was because he was too active. Why, Frank would be appalled if he were Art's size! Besides, girls thought that fat guys were "cool" - at least this was Franks opinion. (The fact that Art had been married and he hadn't did not cross his mind) Remember reader, this is Franks ideas about things, not mine. And he lives in the twenty third century.
...Back to the story...

..."So, is this where you live Art?" Frank asked to start some conversation. Art was really starting to creep him out. "Yep, I've lived here my whole life, like my daddy and my granddaddy before me." Art replied. "You've got to be kidding me - your Grandpa lived here?" Frank gasped. "Oh yeah", Art continued while shoving a stack of pizza boxes out of their way, "And I don't even like pizza!" Frank looked disbelievingly at the stack of pizza boxes about twenty five high - even larger than his stack at home - "If you don't like pizza somebody around here sure does."

..."Somebody did," corrected Art, "It was my Grandfather". "Good grief" cried Frank, "You don't mean to tell me that you've kept them around this long!" Art smiled that queer slow smile Frank had come to know. "I'm an archeologist in some ways Frank, besides, I dare not throw them away lest I loose a clue"... "A clue to what?" Frank said, trying to comprehend his weird and increasingly weirder friend.

...Art did not answer him directly, "Sit down Frank, I want to show you something". So Frank took a seat in one of Art's overstuffed yellow arm chairs. It was comfy and he felt the urge to doze, especially when Art disappeared into another room and did not return. The clock ticked mechanically, its funny that Art should still have an analog he thought. Maybe it was just a decoration, or maybe it had belonged to Art's Grandfather and he kept it for sentimental reasons - after the pizza boxes Frank wouldn't doubt it. A fly buzzed on and on, making such a droning noise that Frank found it impossible to keep his eyes open. He fell asleep.

...Art finally emerged from his energetic rummaging in the other room, only to find that his friend was snoring. "Frank, Frank, wake up buddy" he said gently tapping his friends shoulder. Franks tired eyes flew open, "Sorry Art, I couldn't help myself!" he apologized. " No P", Art said sitting in the yellow chairs mate. "So what do you have to show me?" Frank asked. "Its my family tree, on a high definition 3D DVD." Frank was impressed, not with the fact it was 3D, but because Art had a family tree. "That's cool, how far does it go back?" he asked. "Five generations, all the way back to my great-great-great- Grandpa Arthur, the guy I'm named for."

...Art reached over, popped the DVD in and picked up a remote. Frank got the feeling that he was about to meet a whole family of Arts and wandered if he was up to it, and Art never did anything half way."Let me introduce the folks to you Frank, meet the family" Art said with pride...

Franks Parabola: Becoming an Intercept

...For a few seconds the room was so quiet only the faint electronic buzz computers make could be heard. (Even in the twenty- third century computers "buzz") Then the Boss spoke. "Whats going on boys?" he inquired in a condescending tone. Frank stole a quick look at Art, who had shoved the cell phone in his pocket and now looked positively wild.

...Since it was evident that Art either wouldn't or more likely couldn't speak, Frank cleared his throat. "I must say you gave us a bit of a start sir, we just talking about um- you!" Art made a slight sound, something like a fish out of water. "You were talking about me eh?" asked the Boss. Frank only hoped the last of his and Arts conversation had not been overheard by his Boss as he launched into an impromptu speech. "Yes, and a marvelous topic it is sir! I must say you run a tight ship around here; the floors are always spotless, the desks are immaculate, the windows well washed, the staff punctual, your picture on the wall perfectly reflects the establishment, Oh and the floors are really clean-quiet immaculate"- "Yes Frank", the Boss interrupted, "You already said that but I appreciate your approval. However you are rather quiet today Art."

... Franks head whirled, he had to intercept the Boss before Art gave them both away. From the way Art looked at that moment, Frank was sure it would only take a short second of eternity to send them both packing if he but opened his mouth. Frank saw the problem something like this.

...Imagine a coordinate graph; on it a parabola has been set in motion by the Boss between Y-intercept Frank, the vertex Art, and back up to Frank as an unknown coordinate. Now Frank would rather not find out what his other coordinate might be if the Boss met up with Art at the Parabolas vertex. In fact it is a good thing for Frank that this situation is not an algebraic equation because the answer looks messy. For now all Frank had to do was make sure that he was the vertex, not Art. (Math people will get what I'm talking about, the rest may want to pull out their dusty algebra books and review the section on Parabolas)

...Intercepting the Boss would be tricky, but Frank had to try! Art was looking more and more like a cornered cockroach and less like a respectable employee every second. "Er sir, Art is not doing so well today-yeah I think these peanuts were too roasted or something." The Boss looked incredulous "Peanuts too roasted, I've never heard of that." Frank nodded vigorously and tried to look sagacious. "O yes, there was an article about it in the International Geographic last week. In fact I'm not feeling so well myself." Frank rubbed his stomach for added effect- hoping the Boss would forget about Art.

...It worked, the Boss grew concerned. "Wow, I wonder if its serious- you know I eat peanuts myself- could I see the bag?" he asked. "Sure" Frank said handing him the package. "Oh my, the same brand! I really should go see about this" the Boss exclaimed laying his hand across his own stomach and inching toward the door. For a moment Frank wandered if he had missed his vocation, perhaps he should have been an actor. "You do that sir, I wouldn't take any chances!" he called after his Boss.

...Then he and Art were alone again. "Oh my gosh Frank, that was too close! And you were marvelous!" cried Art, speaking for the first time. "Yeah well", Frank said and was about to boast a bit about his incredible acting talents when Art jumped up. Seizing him by the shoulders Art exclaimed "Lets not waste anymore time, come on!" Frank found himself being whizzed down the hall and out the door. "where are we we going?" he gasped. "No time to talk, you'll see!" his impetuous friend cried. Art was definitely an unstable vertex.


A note to the side: I am not a "math person", at least I'm not brilliant in it :) But nor am I a "math hater", I do enjoy new mathematical concepts when they are properly explained to me. I believe I am a writer; at least I love to write! Because of this I enjoy seeing parallels between the mathematical world and real life situations.

Paranoia and Cell Phones: The Problem with Art

...Several weeks had passed since Art had begun reading the "blog". He and Frank had not discussed the matter further, and to tell the truth, Frank was not overly concerned. What Art did was arts business, he wasn't about to get involved. (That would be an expensive expenditure of precious energy)

...But today the matter was brought up again in a way which rudely jolted Franks complacency and drained his carefully reserved energy supply. Frank had just walked into his office, a bag of salted peanuts in hand, when a knock sounded on the door. "Come in" he said. The door opened and Art came in so quickly all Frank saw was the passing blur of his white face.

... "What's wrong?" Frank asked in surprise, pausing in the middle of putting a peanut in his mouth. "I just had a close call", his friend replied, "The boss thinks I'm taking too long editing the blogs I'm assigned." Art plopped down in his chair, mopped his forehead, and held out his hand for a peanut. Frank raised his eyebrow as he gave him one and sat down in his own chair, "So what?" His friend looked at him in disbelief, "So what? What kind of question is that!" The disheveled Art cried. Suddenly he looked up and scanned the ceiling, "I think the room may be tapped" he whispered.

...Frank felt himself choke on a peanut and when he recovered he could only stare at his friend. "You think the rooms tapped?" he finally blurted. "Yeah" Art said, still whispering. "Why on earth would anyone want to listen to anything you or I have to say?" Frank questioned further. Art looked a bit sheepish as he rolled his purple chair next to Franks orange one again. "Remember Frank, I'm reading the blogs!" he said in the softest voice he could muster.

...Again Frank could only stare. The seemed to be getting hot and something red flashed before his eyes as he became angry. (An unusually strong emotion in these days) "You've been reading Blogs" he cried, the small goatee on his chin quivering. "I thought you were only going to check out one Blog, now your saying Blogs plural!" Franks friend tried to hush him, "Keep your voice down Frank before someone hears you!"

..."Why should I care if someone hears me?" Frank continued even louder. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do, I'm going to march over to the Boss' office and spill the beans!" Art cried out in horror, "No Frank, don't do that!" "And why not?" Frank asked trying to calm down because he was feeling so extremely uncomfortable. "Because I've found something important, worth investigating, and if you give me away I'll never get to the bottom of it." Art said.

..." How important, what about?" Frank asked, not sure he wanted to know. "It's been passed down in my family for generations-just two words" Art began, while rolling his chair away from Frank. He opened a drawer of his desk and began rummaging through stacks of paper and candy trash. Frank had never seen the inside of Art's drawers and could not help but make a mental note that his drawers were better organized. Absent mindedly he opened up one of his own drawers for a peak and felt a glow of satisfaction that his drawers were indeed tidier.

..."Ah ha!" Art cried suddenly, and Frank jumped while slamming his drawer closed. " Here it is Frank" Art said rolling his chair over yet again. Franks friend held out an antique cell phone, well preserved for its extreme age. (People do not use cell phones anymore, they use brain cell phones which are implanted above the ear for permanent use.) " I procured a charger for it off of X-bay and keep it juiced" was Art's explanation as he flipped it open and turned it on. Frank wanted to laugh at the stupidity of its design, imagine the inconvenience of having to flip it open to use it. Art had gone to the text message screen and pulled up something. He now held it up for Frank to read the two words displayed on the screen. "Christianity Undercover".

..."What does it mean?" Frank asked. "I'm still not sure" replied Art, "But I came across a link in that blog on blogeology I showed you last week". Frank shook his head, "Why does it matter?"
"It matters to me Frank, that message has been in my family for years and no one knows what it means" Art said. "When I found a link about something similar I came across a trail, I think I'm on to something!" Art was excited now. "I can't stop reading the blogs!" he cried.

...A slight noise at the door caught there attention and they turned with their hearts in their mouths. The door swung open and there stood the boss.....

Episode 3: A Higher Integer Order

...In the twenty third century school many subjects were taught, but they were mere shadows of their former prestige. When Frank was a school boy he had been briefed on many admirable subjects, whose sole worth was in their title; such as "Algebra", "Calculus" or "English Literature", what a ring they had! But that was the end of their worth for Frank. He had fumbled through "Algebra", for example, without really understanding it, or even trying to. But at least he had the satisfaction of saying he had done it! The school world was divided into two groups; those who studied so intensely they forgot why they did so and knowledge became something of an elusive god; and those who could care less, didn't really "know", and otherwise became the majority of society. Frank fell into the last category.

...But Frank's friend Art did not. At least in Franks opinion, and he ranked Art in the "Higher Integer Order" while putting himself in the "Lower Integer Order". You may be wandering what integers and algebra have to do with Franks thought processing, but these two terms are quite possibly the only things he remembers from his algebra class. When the teacher had held up her enlarged palm pilot pointer towards the projected chalk board and announced "Today we shall look at higher and lower integers", Frank thought she had said intelligence orders. And even he was corrected on the point by a friendly classmate. he could not stop thinking of it in that way.

...Now this is not to say that Frank felt inferior to Art. In fact he secretly was proud of his own uncommon good sense, relaxed lifestyle and easy personality. Someone like Art could be tiresome, dangerous and not all the way there at times. It is at such a moment we find them now.

..."I say Frank, come have a look at this blog", cried Art from his comfortable work chair. Frank wandered if it would be worth getting out of his comfortable work chair to have a look, but Arts repeated demands caused him to get up with a sigh. Pushing a wisp of unruly brown bang out of his eyes he leaned over Art to read the blogs title, "Blogeology". Frank looked at Art who looked back at him. "Well", Frank said shrugging his shoulders. "Don't you see the date on the last post!" Art exclaimed. Frank looked down again and read the bold date at the top of the page, it read, "2008". It was odd, even Franks dense perception could gather that.

..."I thought Blogeology didn't become a branch of service until 2180" he said with a puzzled frown. "Odd! I say its more than odd!" Art exclaimed, spluttering with excitement. "Don't you see Frank, this is a fabulous find. Someone in the twenty-first century had the idea of blogeology before it was ever invented!" Franks impetuous friend said with more spluttering. " Well, I'm glad you find interest in it Art. But it looks like a normal blog to me, we are always finding this sort of thing you know" Frank answered while edging back to his seat.

...Art just sat there, stairing at the screen. Frank shook his head, here was another fine example of the downsides to being a higher integer. "Frank" Art said softly. "Uh huh" Frank answered absent mindedly, while returning to his editing of the 2008 election campaign. "I'm going to read this blog, it looks interesting" Art said. Frank snapped back into reality with a rude jolt. "What, read the blog!" he cried aghast. (For those who do not know, TSB's used a computer program which highlighted the areas to be deleted or "fixed". The program did most of the "reading" and TSB's were under solemn oath not to read the blogs if at all possable)

...Frank stared at his friend in disbelief, "You could lose your job or worse!"Art turned around to face him and wore a strange expression on his face. "I know, but I can't help it. There is so much I want to know, and no one will give me the answers. I feel its in there somewhere, just waiting for me." Frank cleared his throat, Art was in one of those moods. " Please don't tell the agency, okay Frank?" Art pleaded. Frank felt stuck, he could tell the agency, but then he would lose his only friend.

..."Alright Art, I won't tell this time but its not happening again" he said. Art smiled, and Frank went back to his work. If Frank had not been wearing his ipod delux, the size of a flea, and turned up high, he would have heard Art mutter "We will see".

How to create a Self-Image: for dummies

...Frank rarely read, he found it to be a tiring pastime. In fact, hardly anyone reads these days. But there was one exception. There was one book which nearly all twenty-third century citizens read and lived by; notwithstanding it was in e- format. Its title was "How to create your own personal Self-Image; For Dummies". It's influential equivalent is something like the Bible to Christians. Most of the world then, as now, lived and died by this pompous handbook.

...It had large glossy photo's illustrating different ways to reflect your self image by what you wore; from your underwear to your makeup. (And especially regarding makeup, the general rule seemed to be, wear plenty of it) At this time the fad was electric blue, it was the color currently believed to boost one's self esteem and came in all shapes and sizes. Black was also undoubtedly "cool", so it was worn heavily around the eyes. As a result many of your average citizens walked about black and blue; the living offspring of a brow-beaten society.

...Although most of the world was wearing electric blue, Frank preferred orange. It stimulated his creative drive, namely pursuing self-gratification. In light of this he often wore orange, ordered orange cars, bought orange furniture, typed his words in orange font, and drank carrot/orange smoothies. (I would have also said he used little orange pencils, but they are only relics of the day when people got "writers cramp". )

...Frank's favorite section in "How to create your own personal Self-Image: for dummies" is a chapter titled "Ten Ways to Flatter Yourself". Since you might appreciate an excerpt, the following is his favorite part of his favorite chapter of his favorite book.

..."Self gratification is to be arrived at by any means. One cannot depend upon others to deliver this essential need of the human body, a basic necessity. So rise above the thought that without others you cannot be successful or loved; the best person to appreciate and love you is you. Become independent, become what you want to be. The only one holding you back is you, so let go. Here are ten things to say to yourself, and do for yourself, which will encourage a healthy realistic view of life."

1. "Do for yourself what you think others ought to do for you"
2. "Always seek your own interests, others are doing the same so its in the interest of self-preservation."
3. "There is no such thing as selfishness, except for the state of being self."
4. "The Sky is my floor, I do not have a limit."
5. "Children are an extension of self, keep them that way. (It's hard to do this when you have too many)"
6. "I should not have to think for myself, that's why I have a sacrificing government."
7."I am the only thing worth living for, so I need to make myself worth it".
8. "My code of ethics should not tear down others self-image if it can be helped."
9. "Everything I do should be an expression of the beauty in me".
10. "Whatever I want can be obtained if I put my mind to it."

...Yes, Frank is sickeningly stuck in himself. As this chapter illustrates, but does this mean he has no hope? Stay tuned to find out....

Episode 2; Extraneous Roots...

...New buildings were popping up everywhere, like daisy's on a grave. Parts of the world were dying, dying of a self inflicted malady called population decline. Back in the twenty-first century a procedure was developed called abortion; it allowed people to control how many children they "produced" by killing off the unwanted ones. This appealed to the West, because of their lazy consumer lifestyles. It appealed to China because of its mass producing-busy one. And it appealed to the rest of the world because people could bear as many sons as they wanted, without any daughters.
...Because of all this, the world is now in the twenty -third century, 70% male and most Europeans are a dying race. (Europeans had not replaced the old generation with a new generation, so the economy was cut in half. No workers and no tax payers) And since most of the world had been so intent on producing strong sons, they forgot that even strong sons need wives for a society to thrive. As a result finding a wife was extremely difficult, especially since the girls that were left often had no "need" for men in their life; so most people did not marry, although they would "date" when they could.
...Also more and more men were becoming effeminate in a world where women were so scarce. Real men barely existed. Frank was a girlie guy, growing up he had always preferred the "chick flicks" over stories of heroism; and he would rather play "pin the crown on the princess" holographic board game than violent 3D video game simulations. In some this preference saved him from the opposite extreme; becoming a deluded macho, Machiavellian like, salivating over wars and rumors of wars.
...And if Frank was an average citizen, then what must the un-average have been? I won't even try to describe them; just remember that "un-average" can mean several things. It can mean un-conformed to the dictates of society, which in some cases can be good. (think here of homeschoolers and Christians) Lets be on the lookout for the un-averagers, we might have more in common with them than we think.
...Frank had come to a climax in his life, which branch of Blogeology would he major in? We could call it the climax of his life, for it is very likely he won't have another; unless that invisible Hand mercifully brings him a decision of another kind.
...For the first time in Franks life he was exhausted, and it was because he spent long hours searching for the answer to his dilemma. His parents refused to help him, smiling and saying "Only he knows, we had to go through it when we were his age too-it will soon be over".
...The extraneous roots of the problem were thus. There are several ways, answers which could be right, and each seems to fit. But only one will be the solution which shapes Franks life and his purpose. Of course, Frank didn't know that. He thought that all roots were simply roots, all jobs were simply jobs; and the decision affected nothing but his health in later life. "Do I want to be more or less involved, which will make me happier?" Clearly the "Releasing Blogs Agency" would be the easiest job. And it was the one which most people took.
... Then Frank met Art, an avid TSBD who loved his job. "There is just so much in there, Frank" he said. Art was enthusiastic, he actually liked his job! Frank felt strangely drawn to Art, who was quite unlike him in character. Art had even had a wife; though he had also had the misfortune to lose her to- but we won't go into that, Frank wasn't exactly sure how. Divorce rates are so high that its a miracle if a marriage takes place at all, now people are filing for divorce before buying the rings. The World record for the "longest marriage" of 2201 was ten days!(women were just too picky, after all there are so many men to choose from!) Frank knew Art had been married before 2201, and that his marriage had lasted longer that ten days; but since Art never talked about it, he never asked questions.
...Still, Art seemed a nice guy who enjoyed his job. And Frank liked him. So perhaps under the influence of peer pressure, or perhaps due to a crazy turn of mind, Frank chose the Top Secret Blogeology Division. And life went back to normal at least for now. Had he chosen the "root" or was he following an extraneous one down to its inconclusive end?

Meet Frank

Introduction; "Two hundred years in the future, Blogeologists are born."

...Some people are concerned with the rapid disappearance in the world today, of age old professions; like wheelers, wagon wrights etc... Since we no longer traverse the prairies in covered wagons, and have rubber manufactured wheels instead of wooden ones; this should not be a problem. There are some important concerns regarding the ways we live- especially the great accumulation of technology lately. But on a whole it seems that as society changes the new jobs needed would be created. (unless we invent machines that build machines to serve our every need)

...In a sudden flight of fancy the following came to me. Is it an accurate portrayal of the future? I certainly hope not, and only time will tell. I guess one day someone will know. For now it rests as a speculative hypothesis intended to amuse and educate. Don't take it too seriously, and do enjoy!

Frank the Blogeologist; Episode 1. "Cognitive Profession"

...Frank is an average person for his time, except that his name is on record as the longest for the year 2200. Sometimes growing up Frank wandered why his parents had named him such a long, difficult to pronounce and old fashioned name. It bothered him. Most of the kids at the highly developed school he attended were named short efficient names like "Bob", "Joe, "A.J", "K" and so on. ("K" being the favored abbreviated form of "Kathy" these days, it is said historically "Kathy" was the abbreviated form of "Katherine"-phew aren't we glad for modern common sense?)
...It seems every day that life just gets better and better for Frank. His career was programed into his brain as a young child-so he can confidently answer any questions on that regard. (Yes, people still ask "What are you going to be when you grow up?" The difference is that now there is a ready, literally downloaded set of answers available and expected. There are only so many careers on the list-so the questioner has a good chance of guessing before hand. "O, you are in training to become on Oculist-I can tell because you've already upgraded to the mechanical eye!) When Frank was a baby he was put through the normal routine of "life planning". A colorful assortment of 3-D video game sequences was downloaded before his face on a holographic screen, each was a demo of different politically correct lifestyles. Then based on his response an acceptable career was chosen. No parent would have the embarrassment of a child not knowing his chosen career at three years old, it was unthinkable!
...So Franks life growing up was appropriately fashioned to provide the greatest stimulation for his job, Blogeology. Yes indeed, Frank was entering into that respectable, if dangerous field. The government had created a careful course to help young blogeologist's in training form the needed safeguards which the job required After all, accessing the ancestors writings brought up many controversial topics contrary to the global peace which permeated every corner of the world. Those Ancestors were notorious thinkers; a dangerous pastime.
...Blogeologists are divided into tree distinct branches. Those who discovered the blogs and filed them, called Blog detection agency, BDA for short; those who cleaned up and edited the blogs of dangerous material before releasing them to the public, called TSBD or "Top Secret Blogeology division"; and finally, the division who took the selected files and released them to public domain for school use. Frank was not sure which branch he wanted to specialize in, and it was a constant source of irritation. To decide he would have to think, which was regrettable. In fact, Frank was not the only one frustrated with the governments inadequacy to provide up to date career choosing products. "If they have programs which can determine early on a career, why can't they narrow it down to a branch or specialty?" people whined.
...Perhaps M.J, Franks former school friend sums it all up best. Walking by, flaunting a new techno makeover and a stylized wireless ipod jewelry set she comments; "Gosh Frank, When you graduate like me soon, life will get hard! I mean, its like, I have to think, you know? Why can't they help us isolate our "specialty" as well as our job? I don't even know whether to go into the Pock star musical filming, or aim at a Rop setting! I mean, come on!Whats a world idol like me to do? (Pock and Rop are the emerging combined rock and pop cultures)
...Blogs are dangerous, too many were thinking in the twenty first century. And thinking is a waste of precious energy which needs to be conserved for the use of personal self-congratulation. The government say's "Thinking promotes conviction and change of personal habit, this tears down the perfect self-esteem we are each born with."So in the interest of self esteem preservation the buried level of blogs from the twenty-first century was isolated and a new field of profession was born, Blogeology. But what branch would Frank pursue?