IN MYSTERIOUS WAYS

It's been a very strange week or so, it really has.

Come to think of it, it all started after writing that article about computer security! Not that there was any connection, of course. Or was there?

First it was the rumors. Oh, those rumors. And always from impeccable sources: Steve Jobs would deliver the keynote address suspended inside an anti-gravity beam high over Manhattan while a formation of translucent portables circled his head -- and that was just for starters! A PC Web site published an exposé of a secret FBI plot to transmit tiny nanoprobes in email attachments! The submicroscopic mobile robot sensors would enter the recipient's urinary tract during sleep and later ride data packets back to Washington, D.C. with urinalysis results! Oh, but that wasn't all.

I was sitting at the kitchen table with the PowerBook late last night, shivering slightly in the cool, dry air blowing in through the wide-open north windows, when all of a sudden there was this bizarrely compelling sound!

Huh? Who the hell was Alfredo, and why should I care? More to the point, where was this coming from?? "The weend eet does blow across the Pampas. . ." The cheesy accent, the unhurried pace, the hard drive whining in the background, why, it almost sounded like -- but no, that was impossible! Unless. . .unless something inside the 540 was listening to voices in the room and synthesizing one on its own! Egad!!

The nanoprobes were doing swan dives into the main reservoir of my bladder. I felt an odd urge to go to the bathroom, but a strong sense of civic duty prevailed and I refrained. Let the record show I have nothing to hide, I thought. Besides, hearing voices, even this one, was a higher order of weirdness than the urge to tinkle.

"Beshow yourself, sirrah!", I brazened. The wind howled. The PowerBook whined. The anti-gravity beam came on. A translucent blue floppy floated in on the greasy orange glow and kerchunked itself into the 540. The drive scritched and clacked a few times, then began a rhythmic clickety-clickety that made time stand still. Ten minutes later the disk appeared on the screen and the drive fell silent. I realized I could move again and instinctively yawned and stretched. Wanting to gulp the dregs of my thick, cold coffee, I turned to reach for the mug, and that's when I saw him -- oh, no!

All I can say is, I should have known. Standing behind me flicking flashing bits of purple ectoplasm off his arm was that mysterious Web entity and self-proclaimed "universal force for good," COMANDANTE KARMA!

[If you're unfamiliar my previous spontaneous meetings with the mercurial Comandante, you should know that they are usually so intense or physically catastrophic that accurate recall of our conversation is quite impossible. Each time, however, a seemingly miraculous turn of events has enabled me to to bring you an account of the proceedings, and this is no exception. What follows is a transcription of the contents of a desktop full of sound files I found on my PowerBook this morning. (I have no idea how they got there, but there were these tiny little wet spots in the corners of the trackpad! You don't suppose. . .) Each snippet of dialog has been played separately, transcribed, and painstakingly inserted into the record at the proper point to form this "interview" -- my latest encounter with the impossible Comandante K.! -- JHF]

FARR SITE: "AAAAGGGHHHHH!!!"

COMANDANTE KARMA: "Whoa now, Farrsie, keep your dinner down! Had you going there with that Alfredo business, didn't I? Damn! I woulda been all set to jump you, except for having to clean off this crap!"

F.S.: "What the hell are you doing here? And how did you get in this time? I'm not even online, dammit! God, what is that stuff?"

C.K.: "'Microsnot'! You know, excess Windows code. It's all over the place out there. Can't make a decent jump anymore without looking like you flew through a flock of buzzards."

[Globs of faintly glowing goo fall to the floor and turn to hissing, foul-smelling lumps of greenish foam. . .]

F.S.: "Hey, watch it! Now how am I EVER going to be able to get those stains out of the rug?"

C.K.: "Hee-hee-hee! You poor bastard. I can see you don't know much about Microsoft! But I thought you had other worries."

F.S.: "Oh, all right! How did you get in? Not the floppy!"

C.K.: "Hey, why do you think those things are so slow? Didn't it ever occur to you that there might be something extra on there?? But noooo, not you! Got better things to do than think, have we? Well, WAKE UP, byte-breath!"

F.S.: "But -- but -- but. . ."

C.K.: "You sound like a damn moped! Listen, sunshine, lemme ask you one: did you pass on the rumors about the keynote? The flying portables? The nanoprobes?"

F.S.: "Well, uh, yes, but you see, I. . . "

C.K.: "AND did you put everything up on the Internet for all the world to see without chasing down the original authors and getting them to swear an oath in blood?"

F.S.: "If by that you mean did I check everything, the answer is no! Who has time for crap like that? Is that why you're here?"

C.K.: "Well, THANK GOD!! I was afraid we were never going to make an Internet journalist out of you. Congratulations! Who'd have thought?"

F.S.: "Is that all? Are we done yet?"

C.K.: "HAH! Not hardly, bandwidth-brain. I'm here to make your life a living hell!"

F.S.: "Oh please! I have enough on my mind as it is. There's the house, for one thing. We don't know when we're going to be able to get out of here. If it hasn't sold by September. . ."

C.K.: "HOUSE WIMP! HOUSE WIMP!"

F.S.: "And there's my income, or rather, the lack of one. . ."

C.K.: "MONEY WIMP! MONEY WIMP!"

F.S.: "I thought you were a 'force for good' in the universe! How is this kind of abuse supposed to help me, anyway?"

C.K.: "Simple, babycakes. YOU DON'T GET IT! The world is your bloody oyster and you're acting like it's a freaking life sentence! 'Life sentence,' get it? Oh, I'm hot tonight, but you, you're a PATHETIC JERK!! Your house? Sell it, rent it, leave it, burn it, what do I care? Silly mouldering pile of boards and shingles. Give it to the Salvation Army. Your money? SPEND IT!"

F.S.: "What money?"

C.K.: "The RETIREMENT FUND, fool! Just get on with your life! Do I have to tell you everything?"

F.S.: "I'm glad we had this little talk. Is there anything else?"

C.K.: "Only that the whole damn world is changing faster than you can say 'translucent'! Do you have any idea at all what's coming down the pike? Did you buy those shares of Apple stock like I told you to last year? Nooo, not you. Always the doubter. The revolution is leaving the station, don't you want a seat? Speaking of which, is your bag packed for Macworld yet? You know, straightening you out every ten minutes is really a chore! Lemme just sit down here and catch my breath for a second!"

F.S.: "Wait a minute, there's something on the back of your pants. Hey, wait, I said! We have to -- oh, HELL!"

C.K.: "Yeah, that stuff is a bitch. After it turns green and stinks, you can never get it off! This sofa sucks, anyway. You're not taking this thing to New Mexico, are you?"

F.S.: "Well, not now!"

C.K.: "Good! Wow, will you look at the time. I have to see a man about an anti-gravity lesson. Gotta run!"

F.S.: "Wait a minute, I'm not connected. How -- ??"

C.K.: "Better cover your face!"

F.S.: "AAAAAAGGGGHHHHH!!!"

(Don't ask, that's all I can say. Some things are just better not being talked about, you know? Anyway, he did that on purpose, and he had no right, no right at all. "Force for good," my eye! At least there wasn't any pain or anything after the initial shock and surprise. Did kinda tickle, though. But don't ask. Please. It's just too embarrassing.)

A little while later I pulled myself together and opened my eyes. The PowerBook was still on and the Emailer icon was flashing, even without a Net connection! What on earth?? (I told you it had been a strange week!) The wind still blew through open windows while strange orange flashes lit the night horizon. There was an odd, warm slipperyness around the floppy drive slot on the 540, and I thought I could actually see a bit of the mechanism through the case. Man, was I over the edge. There wasn't anything else to do but see what was making Emailer screw up and flash at me.

What ho, there was a message! How it got there, I'll never know. I double-clicked and read: "Re: New York. Problem solved. (Those steenking nanoprobes never knew what hit 'em!) Have all the fun you want and 'tell the judge I said it was all right!' Cheers, Alfredo. P.S. sorry about the couch."

Shaken but safe, I resolved to relax and have a good time. If laptops could fly, why not I? It was definitely going to be a very strange but wonderful new century.

I just knew!

John H. Farr edits the Apple Computer News for Applelinks.com and writes things like this column. Is this a great Internet or what! Next week, Macworld! See you there. . .

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January 08, 2009