While not entirely confident this means I’m “Famous”, “Canada Famous” or even “CBC Famous”, the following ought to be enough to make TentativeEquinox jealous.

Jann Arden follows ME now! (click to enlarge/close)

I am now accepting the sort of monetary inducements normally offered to Monarchs, Practicing Warlocks, or Influential Bureaucrats. PLEASE NOTE: Rick Mercer needs to double any amount he offers, owing to how mean he is to the nice Arden lady and her cute little dog.

Last evening I went to the mall needing to get a couple of things at Radio Shack… Sorry, they’re called “The Source” now. One wonders exactly what this name indicates they are the source of, precisely? Pure ‚philosophical truth? Are they the Source of Control? Of flour? Flamingos? Who knows?

Oh yes, and it’s no longer ‘Tandy” which is their in-house brand-name any more, it’s “nexXtek”. Yes, with two x-es. No, I’ve not a clue why, nor how to pronounce that. Stop asking these difficult questions, would you?

I was already off to a bad start on this errand, as I was seeking two items whose names meant very little to me. Given I was wandering into the store which provided me with a Christmas gift one year of the 200-in-1 Electronic Kit (make a real radio that works; all by yourself!), it would be logical to think that this place would provide just about anything that I could not only imagine needing, but everything inside would be old hat to me and my technology geek-out tendencies.

However, a “Terminal Strip” (needed to make this antenna) and a SATA to SATA Data Supply Cable with 4-pin Molex to 15-pin Power Adapter (the new version of a Parallel ATA cable which connects a Hard-Drive to a mother-board as well as supplying power to the drive), were not only things I had to write down in order to remember their names, I ended-up reading the damned piece of paper to the youth in the store because I couldn’t remember a word of them; they were that much of a mystery to me. The fact I wanted to ask the employee if his mother knew he was out this late in the evening (6:30) probably provides a further image of how much out of my league I was already.

We find the two items I desire. Attempting to recall the third thing I wanted to at least check a price on – and forgetting once more that Jennifer needs a case fan for her computer, because it sounds much like a Morris Minor that’s badly in need of a complete lube-job, muffler repair, and new timing belt, starting up on a February morning – the sale is rung up at the till.

Because this is Radio Shack The Source, the originator of the ‘up-sell’ and ‘impulse buy inducement, I was asked if I wanted to take advantage of a wonderful deal for AAA batteries? No; although I allowed as how it was a good deal, though.

Was I interested in a one-year, full-replacement warranty for my SATA to SATA Data Supply Cable with 4-pin Molex to 15-pin Power Adapter? For the briefest of moments I wondered who in heavens name would bother spending an extra dollar in case a $10.49 cable failed in the next year?, then simply said “No, thanks.”

Would I like an iPhone 4 with that?

At which point my brain came to the same sort of sudden stop as when a man’s neck-tie gets caught in a desk fan, and with rather the same incomprehensible panic: what just happened and what do I do now?

The iPhone4! Impulse buy one TODAY!

I decided the best course of action was to replay the sound in my head, just in case I entirely misunderstood; surely he couldn’t have said that?

Would you like an iPhone 4 with that?

Why, yes! Yes he did! He did just offer to sell me a brand-new, top-of-the-line, slim & sexy, latest fad-crazed mobile telephonic communication device in the same way as if it was entirely possible that one would also want a side of french fries or a larger soft drink to accompany my meal.

I have nothing against the iPhone. I think it’s an amazing piece of design and engineering. That said, would one decide to select one with such a devil-may-care approach to its selection that one would jump on the opportunity whilst purchasing anything so astonishingly minor as a cable and a block of plastic that helps you to connect two bits of wire? Perhaps I have finally reached that state of time when one is considered “old” and “un-hip”! A mobile phone is not something I’d think “sure, why not! I hadn’t been thinking about that until you mentioned it, but… what the hell?! Slap one of those bad-boys on there, son!” Surely one would take more time as a careful consumer when even considering making such a purchase? The number of competing billing plans alone are enough to confuse a fully-trained Quantity Surveyor!

So… let’s see… We have a deal on batteries; check. Extended warranty plan; check. Paper or plastic; check. Debit or Credit; check. Make your meal a ‘biggie size’; check. Would you like to add a high-tech communication device with incredibly complicated billing system which may very well tie you into emptying your bank account every month for the next three years; check, apparently.

Dashing from the store into the mall, I pass a little cart with sign identifying it as something like “The USB Station”. Other than “things”, I’ve not a clue what they were selling. No idea at all. they looked like light-switch plates, or possibly audio cassette tape cases. Or maybe they were plaque-like Christmas ornaments? I couldn’t tell. From the sign, one might have supposed them to be employing USB-technology, but for what purpose I couldn’t discern. they might ahve been flash-drives, or hand warmers, or some sort of internally lit ornaments doubling as Wankel Rotary Engines for all I could tell.

I panic. I’ve just left a store which once filled my technology-craving heart with joy and is now filled with things I cannot understand the use of, and which is attempting to have me purchase things on an impulse which I consider the acquisition of as being as serious as buying a car. I have just passed a cart selling things using a technology I fully comprehend, yet of which cannot identify the end-use. The walls begin closing in; the grey hair begins leaping through my scalp; my spine begins to bend; my breath to make that wheezing sound… I must leave as quickly as possible before I am found sitting on a bench making the “yyyuuuup yup yup.…” sound of the ancient.

I see no exit, but locate a map of the labyrinth. After a good 45 seconds the “You Are Here” circle is located, and the nearest egress is identified. In order to get my bearings, I stand with my back to the sign, glancing over my shoulder at its map, waving my hands in front of me as I visualize the route which leads to freedom. Doing this makes me look like a raving mad-man.

I do not care. The place is filled to the rafters with tiny youths, wandering aimlessly, staring at the ground about seven feet ahead of them, yatting into their iPhones. Clearly they’ve already visited The Source.

Once upon a time I had fairly good luck with things. I was quite young, yes, but there was nary a contest nor chance which I could enter or encounter which didn’t work to my favor. Rolling dice would result in repeated cries of “YAHTZEE!”; selecting a number in a range would provide the huge gift; and once I was returning from a guided tour of a Canadian Armed Forces Naval vessel, complete with barbeque on the aft deck, which was a prize awarded by the local daily paper that some small number of entrants won, when I told a joke to a disc-jockey in a department store and received a t-shirt for the recently released movie Star Wars (which was far too large for me so my Father wore it instead).

Yes, that was 1977, and those of you who are born after that time can shut your screech-holes before they get filled with Quick-Crete®.

Since that time, my luck seems to have pretty-much disappeared entirely. The litany of things which went ‘wrong’ would be sufficiently long to fill the internet entirely, so let’s just say “it was a lot” and leave it at that, shall we?

Tuesday seems to have been either an official declaration that the drought has come to an end, or at least a statement of the luck returning in some fashion or degree of existence.

A contest I entered weeks ago (and promptly forgot about) reached its ‘draw-date’ and I won one of the prizes. It was co-sponsored by Best Buy and BC Hydro, and arranged by the local blogger Miss 604 as part of “Power Smart Month”, a period in the year that one is reminded about using electricity and other power sources intelligently and with an eye to reducing the amount to that being actually required. I expected to win some Compact Fluorescent Light-Bulbs, or perhaps a coupon for reducing the cost of a low-power lamp, heater, or something along these lines. However, the results were far more than this. I am to receive the Grand Prize of a 46″, 3D-Ready, LED, Flat-Screen Television; a 3D-Capable, Blu-Ray Player featuring Full HD 3D processing for 3D viewing in high definition, complemented by up to 7.1 channels of spectacular surround sound, and with Ethernet and wireless connectivity; plus a 3D Starter Kit containing two pairs of 3D glasses and a copy of Monsters vs. Aliens (3D Blu-Ray); all of which is to be set-up by the Geek Squad in their advanced setup install which includes wall mounting, wire concealing and full audio setup for a complete living room set up that both looks fantastic and maximizes the TV viewing experience. If you’re wondering why all of that is part of a “Power Smart” promotion, all of the components receive a “Energy Star Rating” of 4.0.

Well… a bit more than a light-bulb or two, eh?

Shortly thereafter, I received an e-mail from A Very Famous Writer Person providing their home address to which, yes, they would be happy to get some books from me in my Atomic Fez mode. Hurray! How wonderful to be able to (hopefully, anyway) get some decent, earth-shattering exposure! Lord knows I can bloody-well use it right now, as the world’s economy continues to have its horrible way with sales figures.

So… two.

Then, suddenly, and entirely unexpectedly, the Premier of the Province of British Columbia announces he’s asking the Liberal Party to hold a leadership convention as soon as it’s able, as he’s stepping down. Some may recall that recently this blog had a quite bitter and cynical rant about how I no longer could rationally state my support of the government office as being a complicated one to judge from the outside the actions of the owner of the position. “There’s lots of things that are tough to know about from an outsider’s perspective” was the approach mostly taken, but the number of times things by Gordon Campbell pushed me to a position of “no politician can be trusted in any fashion” had reached the point of no return, and he was solely to blame for this.

And… there’s three, then.

I can’t wait for the next triumvirate of grand success.

Here’s a run through of this week’s, minus any identification of the scribbling writer-boy.

No, this movie is not a biography of my life. Thank God.

Trust me, when / if I “hit the big time”, the Cost of Living will have reduced the price to be paid quite considerably.

According to this piece on author Christopher Fowler’s blog, the collective area in London referred to as Bloomsbury, Holborn, and St. Giles is being “re-branded” in an initiative started by the Business Improvement District; a public/private partnership with Camden Council. Knowing how ‘wonderful’ the PPP arrangement can be from first-hand experience (as well as knowing how nefarious their committee-determined plans can be), one is hardly surprised to hear the new name is “InMidTown”, or simply “MidTown”. Presumably, becuase it’s in the middle of London, right between “The City of London”, where the Financial District is, and the West End where the theatres are. Let’s ignore the fat that they’re cramming words together that ought to have spaces between them but don’t because it’s ‘teh neu sexie’, and press on to more basic questions.

While not in the habit of quoting US Presidents, especially the late Pres. Johnson, one can’t help but recall the grammatically unique statement “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” Merely because an area has been referred to using the same name for a century or more doesn’t qualify it immediately for a newly christened label purely to ‘refresh its marketability’. “Rome” seems to do well, as does “Paris” and even “Swansea”. Granted, “New Amsterdam” and “Constantinople” got a new lick of paint at one point, but given that “New York City” was more in keeping with its then-recent influx of English-born settlers, this made sense*. Bloomsbury, Holborn, and St Giles, however, all work perfectly well, and aid in locating where the tube station will deposit one on the street; on some of the A-Z maps it’s actually easier to find a district by seeking the tube station named for it.

Frankly, how anyone can find it difficult to learn the District Names is beyond me. I’ve only visited London (or ‘Londinium’, for those of you born of the Roman occupation era… no names here) two times, and both of about a week’s length with over 18 months betwixt them. In that time I’ve not only learned how to navigate my way through a fair chunk of the central areas, I even learned their names; and in some cases the derivation thereof, which went a fair way to aid in the matter.

I’ve nothing against change; far from it. However if it’s change purely for the sake of, or to assist in selling the same old wine in the same old skin with a brand-new name… well, one wonders just how good the seller thinks the wine is. If it’s all that great, then why was the name change needed? If a dog food company is erroneously thought to be using horse-meat in its product, then they eventually (and quietly) change their name to disassociate themselves from the scandal. In this case, I can’t think of a sexier place to live than Bloomsbury, with its literary heritage and air of artisan-driven business success. Granted, some might consider the fact that all of the Bloomsbury Group was sleeping with just about everyone else in the Bloomsbury Group might be a bit of a down-side to the image, but played right it could be quite the asset in this brave new world of ours. “Romance! Intrigue! Passion! All these can be yours, plus a new Post Code! (10% of purchase as deposit required)”.

It all seems so un-necessary, really. One wonders if the local Councils just need some bucking-up and reassurance that “we love you, really!” and be encouraged to “be proud of who you are!”

BAH! Ridiculous. All those who are opposed to my thoughts are encouraged to bring forth brandy for mne to drink whilst you explain your reasons for doing so.

* Why “Istanbul” was seen as being required for the “Welcome to…” signs is nobody’s business but the Turks’.