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badmousestuff-blog · 5 years

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The problem with Free Speech (Script)

One day I was helping out with the Free Palestine stall on Church Street. About an hour in a young dude came up to me, and gave us the usual conservative drivel.

He told me that he couldn’t support the left, because to him we were against free speech. Right below me were flyers detailing the extent of Israeli war crimes against Palestinians, and how little the world still hears about their plight. He stated that he wasn’t interested in our campaign, and bid me farewell. For, of course we must have our standards.

(Rowan Atkinson speech)

There’s never been a more unshakeable dogma in my lifetime than that of Freedom of Speech.

The real test of a country’s standards is if it allows people to criticise one another, especially the regime. The foundation of Liberty and Freedom and Friberty, is the story of free expression, after all, if you want to know who has the power, just look at which group you’re not allowed to criticise. Right?

Well no, I’m here to say that Free Speech isn’t just some base, flatline, monolith from which all societies are to be judged like an angelical truth, its a political concept, thought up by human beings, subject to critique, and frankly is in great need of one.

Let’s start with something simple.

Your concept that Free Speech is good, is only possible if your opponent also agrees with you, i.e. they’re not going to kill you if you disagree.

So therefore if your opponent doesn’t ?? and will use aggression against you, then you can’t really argue for free speech can you?

The conditions around you need to be such that nobody is going to die.

Right, whats next, oh I gotta do the Hitler bit, right…

Y’know the story, Weiner Republic, Full suffrage, large democracy, massive instability and debt caused from the prior war, enter the Nazis, and the German Communist party. Yes everyone seems to forget that the Commies were there too, headed by Ernst Thalmann, and at their peak gained 16% of the vote in 1932. Whilst Ernst was forward in his Anti-Fascism, the Social Democrats, and their newspapers, didn’t seem to understand the concept of a united front, they refused to confront the Fascists in an effective manner and simultaneously denounced the KDP as being a bunch of Muscovites, sporting the famous Iron Front symbol, The third arrow originally meant Anti-Communism, mind.

The SPD’s failure to effectively confront Fascism aided Hitler’s rise to power, sent the KDP underground, and Ernst to 11 years in the hole, followed by a firing squad.

So don’t tell me free-speech exists in vacuum, it doesn’t. In this video we’ll ask the necessary further questions.

Who dictates the media, who controls which advertisements we see, which views are more profitable? Does the removal of speech in given scenarios serve a common good? And if the enlightenment was correct why did Liberalism fail in its mission?

(Rowan Atkinson)

This clip was one of the first main intro points for me as well as many others into the realm of Super Free Speech, and it’s strange looking back just how dated it is. It’s not like we didn’t have the arguments back then, but moreso that nobody really cared, we were all swept up in the dogma, to challenge free speech would be on the same level as strangling a baby.

Anybody can go around today and talk about the joy of free speech, but it means nothing to a person who has no power with that speech, Freedom to Beg? That's not a freedom; that’s institutionalised sadism.

I’m not a believer in Maslow’s hierarchy but hypothetically, this really wouldn’t go number 2, it’d be right down at number… 27. Why do I say this? Well in the words of some philosophy guy people say I look like, “No rights matter if you’re dead”.

Food, Water, Healthcare, and Housing. These are all things you need in order to survive, in other words fulfil the other things that we consider ‘rights’ - rights that are worth struggling for. And despite the fact that the millions end up dying from the lack of these rights, even when they’re universally agreed upon, ever notice how this struggle goes very very quiet… Suspiciously quiet.

Sargon on the Socialists

I wonder…??? I wonder why the left seems to be largely committed to these causes, it’s something you find scantly addressed in the middle and right spheres with the exception of private individual charity (OSCAR WILDE), and Carl may find himself wondering why it is that these ideologies can barely create a solid solidarity towards these topics.

You might be a Liberal and say “Yeah yeah, I support that too though” but fact remains there’s no confidence here.

I see no outpouring of condemnation coming from you when Politicians like Bolsonaro press forward their restrictive measures, unlike what you have to say about this powerless Redhead. Why is that?

Count Dankula, who interestingly I had a couple scuffles with a while back without realising it, last year taught his dog to do a Hitler Salute, and he got fined £800. Now that’s probably one of the most petty excuses for a sentencing I’ll admit, but again this isn’t about whether it was justified, it’s about people’s standards.

Dankula received enormous support from, well, everyone, and he’s now more famous than he ever previously was, enough to be at the forefront of the free-speech festival later that year, and even use his fame to help push the emergence of UKIP. This is attention that people would pay top dollar for, way more than £800. He should be proud that he got a court hearing.

Frankly, me and my colleagues didn’t really care about this whole thing too much, just ask my IWW friend who I was with when this all went down. What happened around the same time that did catch some of our attention though was the plight of the J20 protesters who got arrested back during Trump’s inauguration.

Some of these people are on the butchers list to serve 60 year sentences for standing against a president who’s, a real dick, like I get the whole Liberal opposition is fucking corny but still he’s a dick, they’ve all been dicks, he’s just continuing what every dick who ever stood on centre stage ever started, this is America, you think Bernie’s going to save you? You think reforming the democrats can change the number one imperialist power?

Apologies. If you’re at all concerned that I didn’t give a toss about Dankula’s pug joke, if you’ve ever had friends like him this stuff isn’t too surprising, I know these are highly political times but a guy who votes UKIP is really not our number one concern right now.

I didn’t give a toss, but I know somebody who did, Mike Stuchbury, who you’ll remember from his childish twitter ramblings and dealings with Watson. Who proclaimed that the left needs to stand with Free Speech, A free-speech that is largely in the teat of Right-leaning discourse.

Sargon who was there with him, earlier that year got de-platformed by lefty-liberals in his debate with Muke.

The dogma is enforcing itself here, the left is all supposed to throw up our hands in swich liquor, of which vertu engendered is the flour, and decide Whether we should allow freedom of speech to our enemies, or not allow it, when the actual thing we should be doing, is taking hold of the narrative and putting forward our own ideas as the new talking point of discussion, instead of fucking Nazi Pug.

“Hey, you, what gives you the right to determine the narrative?”

Thats a good question, the hegemonic propaganda of our status quo is already setting the narrative, Noam Chomsky “I’m bored bye”

How can I make this more interesting… Ah ha…

IT’S TIME FOR FILM THEORY!!1 WOOOO

The Pursuit of Happiness.

In 2006 Will Smith told the story of Chris Gardner, a black man who struggled through poverty, separation, and fatherhood whilst living in San Francisco.

He gets an internship with a sales company and despite having to put up with a lot, by the end of the film he passes and at this point, we’re supposed to feel happy and redeemed, but to those who’ve watched it (surely I’m not alone) was it really a happy ending?

I’ll say that I walked out of the viewing feeling very uncomfortable and sour, but why is that?

Well for starters, that Internship he got was a 6 month unpaid one, in the most expensive US city might have something to do with it.

Then he’s got to deal with his wife leaving him, then he’s got to take care of his son, then he loses his source of income, then he’s got to deal with eviction, sleeping rough, not sleeping at all, by the end of the movie sure he gets his redemption but the message of ‘when life gives you lemons, just keep getting pummelled with those lemons and don’t ask why’ ultimately seems hollow.

Contrast that a more traditionally Anti-establishment film which was made by a literal Communist, where the exploiters are treated as they should be and thats what comes across on screen, with surprise horse-dick, and while Happiness doesn’t treat them like saints, they sure don’t come across as devils either.

6 months of free labour he and 19 other people who did not make the cut that they are effectively giving away for free.

What about those other 19 people, who ever tells their story?

The way his superiors always act like total dicks pushing him around and getting him to be their lobby boy, they lost nothing. And now he’s going to work for them.

Is the message here supposed to be “Well if this guy can survive the moon falling on him, what the hell are you complaining about?” Actually yeah, I think that consciously or not, this is what’s being said… Don’t worry we’re getting to the point of all this.

The extent of exploitation is naked, yet in the way the movie is presented I’m inclined to agree to this, and take it into my home, and sleep with it.

Now name me as many pieces of media that regurgitate this same old theme of rags to riches through adversity, to look at the man on centre stage, yet pay no attention to the millions locked in a cage.

Sure, say it how you will, Art is merely what you make of it and there’s not necessarily any devious agenda being pursued at any time. That’s one perspective I guess, another might be that there’s no such thing as Art for Arts sake, it all gears itself to differing political lines.

In a society based on private, individual enterprise, it's no surprise that Art would also foster themes that would support society as the normal and natural, even if they appear on the surface as radical.

Case in point, well the entire Hollywood Catalog.

On the Waterfront is literally Mccarthyism on celluloid, The People vs Larry Flynt guises pornification and billionairedom with a story of libel and freedom of speech.

And ironically enough probably the worst offender is, well I’m gonna lose some of you now, Billy Elliot, the Movie.

In which 2/3rds of the way through Billy’s dad strike breaks as a way to pay for his son to go to a prestigious arts school, y’know rather than maybe having him stay and use his skills to improve, embolden and enliven the downtrodden community, rather than leaving it to die.

Jackie’s very sympathetic in his devotion towards his son, except Striking is caring for your family, you’re fighting for a better future, together, as one, and it’s thrown away in favour of a much more individualistic get out of your circumstances, go and live your dream.

Now I’ve read Lee Hall, I know he didn’t intend for this to come through, but he is also no more aloof than any of us, we’re all susceptible to this ‘Common Culture’.

Just see the way our ‘Common Culture’ infiltrates into how Communism is talked about, in 2015’s Trumbo. The Hollywood screenwriter who was blacklisted for 2 decades for being a member of Communist Party.

Could make for some groundbreaking stuff right?...

Well no, instead we’re left with a film that focuses entirely on freedom of expression, which is ironic because if they represented him truthfully it would’ve resulted in a much more nuanced movie.

All we get is a 2 minute scene talking about Communist ethics and god its done in the most sanitised, unradical, storybook tale way possible, that doesn’t in any possible regard represent who the actual Dalton Trumbo was.

“If a book or play or film is produced which is harmful to the best interests of the working class, that work and its author should and must be attacked in the sharpest possible terms.”

I think I have a case that profit incentives are steering the way in which media is presented…

We have no problem pointing out the subtle propaganda messages in Soviet children’s cartoons (Cheburashka) but reverse that onto our society, prepare for some awkward stares.

You may argue that none of what I’ve just spoken about here has anything to do with censorship of free expression but this is the problem, our notions of censorship are stuck firmly behind the Berlin wall, and thats far too simplistic not to mention outdated.

Undoubtably Coca-cola has a far greater reach of expression than I ever will be able to ascertain, what says who can speak on a public forum, decide the content of a documentary, of a publication, of a movie, or a political campaign?

If a book is blacklisted by all publishers for political reasons, what difference does it make having 1 publishing house or 100?

If 90% of the movie market alone is controlled by just 7 companies, what kind of advice is “Just start your own business”.

If we want to talk about the free flow of expression and information, what little are these flyers (Free Palestine) when Zionism has a whole nation, and 2 continents supporting it?

This is the kind of expression we’re dealing with today, not the voices of individuals, but of multinationals. The fact that we had in any way an outpouring of sympathies towards one of these companies, Sony, for having their movie The Interview possibly censored by DPRK agents is a testament to how lost in the plot we have become.

And if by chance the media cannot direct the status quo by monopoly, it brings out its tried and tested method.

Commodify it.

I present to you Guerrillero Heroico, this photograph was allowed such free spread not simply because its bloody badass, but because there was no IP designated upon it, by Korda’s intention as a Communist himself he agreed with the free-flow of art. And what did this result in at the behest of Capitalist Corporations? The pastiche of revolution, to be bought and sold many times over.

Take any form of media, word, an expression, it will be hoisted away, slapped on a shirt, and sold back to you at a handsome price. You cannot escape this.

The moment that this (my tattoo) becomes the new Che it loses all its power, resistance is reduced to at worst LARPing, at best Nerd Fandom, and the winners are the profiteers.

If profit is the aim of the game, the speech that is supported will inevitably favour that which nurtures the economy, not destroys it, unless in farce. Speech ain’t a level base of which a country is determined by, its an apparatus held by those that dictate the game.

This is why there is a necessity for us to control the narrative, control the message, because if we don’t, they’re still going to.

Obligations:

When armies with unequal numbers go into battle, a draw is a defeat for the lesser side.

Make believe it or not Radical Centrist politics have their political leanings as well, even if just by effect.

Look I like free speech, I love it, I’m a goddamn youtuber, but I’m not stupid, I know what’s coming, I know that groups would try and silence me if they could. That’s politics.

You might go “All we’re talking about is the legal sphere”. Firstly the legal is the political, pure ideology to say otherwise, but second it’s difficult for you to call yourself a fighter for free speech when as I’ve explained there’s sooo much more to it than simply the judicial.

Many proponents will even side-step the judicial boundaries anyway when monopoly becomes involved, and if I have to explain how Monopoly is not an externality of our system but an inherent part of accumulation then… sigh.

Strange how we’re usually all skeptical of an Economic Free Market but the Free marketplace of ideas unlocks your inner Libertarian.

Its when I see stuff like this that I begin wondering if this is all just a trend that will eventually die off when people realise the complexities of their circumstances. I remember just a few years ago how many Libertarians were speaking the merits of free speech until they discovered that methodological individualism wasn’t actually achieving their goals. I count down the days when Lauren Southern finally calls for limits on speech just like her limits on borders. After all freedom is not free it must be defended right?

And btw folks usually aren’t as brave to actively advocate limits so they’ll always present justifications, such as that these views are mental disorders, or they’ll destroy civilisation, or these people are Degenerates.

This is a historic moment in political discourse, at this point ultimately we’re interested in picking sides, and you’ll do this just as much as anyone will.

On the left we like to talk a lot about Left Unity. I’m not necessarily against the idea, but a lot of the time people make a religion out of it, glossing over the fact that many aspects of various factions (???) contradict. It might not be immediately obvious, but when push comes to shove these conflicts become very apparent. There are some principles in which each side certainly doesn’t see eye to eye.

“Politics is pervasive, everything is political and the choice to remain apolitical is usually just an endorsement of the status quo”

If it wasn’t obvious, I’m a Communist, yeah yeah say what you want, I believe in the liberation of those who do all the work through armed struggle based upon material conditions. I’m going to therefore be in favour of real mass culture, the stuff that gets people focused on achieving liberating aims instead of just appealing to markets. Its for this reason that I’m not interested in defending the views of right-wing nationalists, fascists, reactionaries… my enemies in other words, the ideas largely speaking which regress the people and they’re not interested in defending me either, wouldn’t expect them to.

If all you’re talking about is the centre, you’re gonna get flanked, sorry.

You might bump in when I denounce Dankula stating “His punishment showcases the system is at fault” and I would agree. This system is at fault, its been at fault since before our constitution was written, and it’ll never stop being at fault until you solve the contradictions.

Liberalism did fail, its ideals never came to fruition and that’s the reason why Socialists bring forth the praxis to achieve it, sometimes that’ll involve using words, sometimes it’ll involve lots and lots of guns, but let me tell you, you can’t always fight a war by playing nice, sometimes you have to use a diversity of tactics to achieve it.

Maybe we need 11 of them? (Shows book)

But thats more of a material answer and I know that most you don’t give a crap about some dead Chinese guy., but getting back to the original idea about responsibilities behind our speech, well, here’s something to think about.

So… here goes nothing.

If you’re a straight white male aged 11-16 in the UK and weren’t brought up to fit into the standard male dynamic, chances are you got picked on, sometimes a lot, sometimes that’s every day, not necessarily violence but words from numerous mouths are highly unnerving.

I did not have a particularly fun time adolescence. Every day was horrible, I never had a feeling going in that this would be exciting or, this would be a day where things would be different, everyday was a total black smudge with no end in sight.

Unlike other people, I never got to have a group that I fit into, so I had no escape, nothing to take my mind off things.

Looking back I don’t know why I bothered going in, I wasn’t getting amazing grades anyway.

When I went to Drama school and other clubs on the weekends and after school, I would also get picked on, but it wasn’t in spite, it was just general, friendly teasing. But there wasn’t a difference in my mind, because when you’ve had to deal with so much constant abuse, and paranoia, and humiliation 30 hours a week, it fucks you up.

So when Id say to the weekend buds “I dont like this” theyd go “Oh come on man its just a bit of fun, its okay, dont worry about it, its just a joke, its all okay”

Back then I didn’t have the nerve, I just put up with it, but if I could go back, Id say. No, actually its not Okay, because you don’t know for the life of me how much I have had to deal with this shit, to me that doesn’t come across like you’re being funny, like your laughing with me, it comes across like you’re a psychopath who wants to get pleasure out of my misfortune.

Of course the response to this would be obvious “Well what am I supposed to do? Just talk to you like a robot. You should just get over it, leave it in the past. Your making it harder for everyone” or some other faux-victimised response.

And sometimes y’know they might be right, maybe I should’ve not made worse a bad situation, but fact remains I still bleed.

To you, this is just having fun and games, to you and your other friends its normal, but to me its a threat.

Now today you can call me what you want I don’t care, I’m out of that place now and I’m all the better for it,

But even though some 7 or 8 years since then I’ve been able to recover, I still carry a hangover of it all, and it affected my decisions later on in life sometimes to a dire extent,

Its had the effect of making me feel both distrustful of people, and also like Im a burden to be around other people,

I never feel I should hang around for too long, I never want to take chances in friendship for fear I’ll embarrass myself, I say one thing out of tempo and suddenly flashbacks and an enormous shadow of mordor conjures over me. And I think most of all its been very difficult for me to express my emotions because I used to do it a hell of a lot.

Those 5 years were the single handed worst years of my life. And if you were at any point responsible for adding to that devastation and humiliation, then a large part of me wants to lash your goddamn skull inside out.

Because as trivial and generic as my story may be, that part of my life has been stolen from me, and those 5 years I will never get back.

So what’s the point of all this?

“Ossidents are sometimes surprised that, instead of buying a dress for their wife, the colonized buy a transistor radio. They shouldn't be, the colonized are convinced their fate is in the balance. They live in a doomsday atmosphere and nothing must elude them”

I want you to place the relatively minor experiences I received as a child, and translate those into other groups, victims of domestic abuse, victims of colonialism, racism, sexism, queer phobia. Like I said I’m out of that place now, but others aren’t, for many people they still live day to day in this ever pressing struggle, trying to just tell people “Please, just don’t do this”.

It’s not okay. But maybe together you’ll help me out with solving these problems?

My conclusion to this is simple,

Free Speech is not just something you can fling around to score political points, it doesn’t materialise simply because we all decide it should. If we want free-speech we need to break a few eggs to make an omelette.

We need to be sure that the conditions in society don’t proliferate toxic ideas that might even lead to the downfall of said society.

This very Tattoo that 90 years ago would’ve been Anti-Communist as hell has become a Pan-Left symbol against Fascism. Its living proof that with the correct methods the conditions of words, symbols, ideas can be resolved.

When class struggle subsides, when our social divides have been solved, when the conflict doesn’t oppose the existence of certain folks, then maybe, we can well and truly say that we can have free speech, and we’ll stand at a comedy show and yell “Yes, lets talk about those BEEP BEEEEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP” and be met with cheering applause from all sides. But until then, Don’t be a dick.

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meliecho · 5 years

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The 1K - an original sci-fi story

The 1K

by Meliecho

Story Summary:

1,000 children between the ages of 6-18 are abducted from Earth mere hours before the turn of the 21st century, and scattered across the galaxy in order to preserve their lives, their planet, and a precious hope the galaxy so severely needs. William Kade and Terra Kitridge are two of these children. This is their story, and the story of how they are used to further a last-ditch plan of desperation to end a 2,000 year war between the two major galactic powers.

Chapter 1

chapter summary:

William Kade always dreamed of traveling to space. However, his and 999 other kids's lives are changed dramatically when an unknown alien race kidnaps them hours before the turn of the 21st century.

Chapter 1

December 18th, 1999. Ohio. Earth…

The chunky television in the living room played a news report through the old farmhouse.

“What’s out there? No one really knows. Man has speculated for centuries, mapped our star system, named the planets, and created gods in order to explain the vastness surrounding our blue world.”

Will watched from the round dinner table through the archway between the rooms. He shoveled a spoonful of Mac and Cheese into his mouth, barely registering the fact that it was food and not just a simple motion. The ten-year-old’s attention rested solely on the screen. His big brown eyes took in every frame.

“We look up at the stars, we listen to Carl Sagan’s speak of the cosmos, and study Stephen Hawking’s discoveries. We dream about what we might encounter among the billions of stars burning in the heavens, and we send satellites into orbit and beyond to be our eyes and ears into the unknown. The Hubble telescope has already shown us incredible images we would never have otherwise witnessed. Why? Because we are earthbound. But although we are young, we are curious and brave. In the words of Carl Sagan, ‘We wish to pursue the truth no matter where it leads. But to find the truth, we need imagination and skepticism both. We will not be afraid to speculate, but we will be careful to distinguish speculation from fact.’

“That is what drives the path-finding team of scientists and engineers at NASA. With the invention of the new Solar Nexus - a net of satellites in high orbit maintained by the International Space Station--, we can harness energy from our sun to power the world’s first inter-system ship. This ship will be capable of transporting not only goods and machinery to our closest neighbor, Mars, but transporting people, and someday, be the vessel that leads us into a new age of a lunar colony and life among the stars.

“The prototype --the Nova Star-- will be open to the public at Cape Canaveral for only one day. Scientists, astronomers, and space enthusiasts from all over the world will gather to get an up-close-and-personal look...at the future of mankind.

“Join us on New Years Eve for a live broadcast as we take you on a tour of Earth’s first inter-system vessel, and usher in the new millennium--”

The picture winked out.

“Dad,” Will whined, “I was watching that.”

“It’s daydreams and nonsense,” his father flicked the paper, folded it, and rested it by his own plate.

“It’s cool! We can have a space ship! We can explore the galaxy and be like Indiana Jones, but in space!”

“Indiana Jones fought Nazis. Not aliens,” his father countered.

“We don’t know that. Those face-melting angels were probably aliens. They went after the Nazis all like, ‘Rawr!’ And they were all like, ‘wuuaaah! Blaarrrgg!’” Will dragged his fingers down his face, making guttural sounds and pretending to melt into a puddle of goo.

“No face melting at the table,” his mother chided gently. “It’s hard to get out of the carpet.”

Will stopped the dramatics of a grim death-by-ancient-relic, and went back to eating. “Can we watch it on New Years Eve?”

“We always watch Dick Clark. It’s a tradition.”

“Yeah, but,” Will’s voice huffed with the blandness of repetition, “this is cooler than an old man! It’s space! Please, dad?”

“Charlie, let’s watch it,” his mother nudged her husband in the side. “Even if the space ship doesn’t work out, I have to admit it is pretty neat. Like when Kirk landed the Enterprise in the middle of San Francisco.”

Charlie rolled his eyes. He knew his wife was a sci-fi nerd, but he’d hoped she’d at least settle down some after Will was born. Thanks to her, he now knows most of the script to Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, and Star Wars IV, V, and VI.

“See? Mom gets it,” the young boy gave a cocky smile in victory. “Oh! I forgot. Last night, I picked up that weird signal again over the radio.”

“I listened to it once already. It’s white noise.” Charlie said.

“No it’s not! There’s a weird blippy pattern to it.” Will spoke around a mouthful of macaroni and cheese. “Noise is all ‘kkkrrrrr!’ This was all ‘kkkrr beep boop bleep!’ and something that sounds like a million people talking at once. I read that stars emit radio waves. Maybe this was--”

“Noise.”

“It wasn’t noise!”

“I was a member of the US Signal Corp for 20 years. When I gave you my old CB radio, I wanted you to learn how to navigate the airwaves. Not keep your head in the clouds.” He picked up the paper. “Besides. If it’s that important, the boys at NASA probably already picked it up. If it’s something of serious importance, I’d have gotten a call.”

“You were their best decoder, dad. Can you listen to it again? Please?”

“Leave it alone, Will.”

Will reached over for the remote, but his dad smacked his hand away with the paper. He grumbled, pouted, and said, “Whatever. Not like you’d believe me anyway.”

“Will,” his mother scolded.

Charlie leaned forward. “Repeat yourself, son. I don’t think I heard that,” but by his tone, the muffled slight clearly reached him.

Will glanced up to his dad, but kept his mouth shut.

Charlie reclined back in the chair again. “That’s what I thought. Go to your room.”

Will’s jaw dropped. “But--”

“Now!”

Silenced, Will slammed the spoon against the plate. The chair scratched against the old cube-print linoleum floor as his feet thundered up the stairs. The sound of his bedroom door slamming against its frame echoed downstairs.

Molly sighed. “Every time. Why can’t you two get along?”

“We have to fix the problems here on the ground before we go looking for problems out there,” Charlie’s face softened. “He needs to understand that. If we can’t fix ourselves, we can’t go anywhere.”

“It’s because NASA built the ship, isn’t it,” she uttered softly, knowing full well she was treading on emotional hot coals. “It’s been three years. When are you going to let this go?”

“Hughs is an idiot if he thinks this will work. He doesn’t see the big picture. He never did.” Charlie dropped the paper onto the round kitchen table -- signaling that the conversation was over --, picked up the remote, and moved to the living room recliner to watch a football game.

Molly picked up her son’s half-finished dinner. “Maybe letting him dream is a way to fix ourselves.” She covered his plate in plastic wrap and stuck it in the refrigerator. Her son could down twice this much food in one sitting. He would be hungry later.

* * * *

Will turned on his small t.v., picked up his SNES controller, and dropped cross-legged on the floor surrounded by dirty clothes strewn across the rug. The sounds of Super Mario World covered the silence. Snow drifted lazily to the ground outside the window, so he couldn’t go lay out on a blanket in the backyard like he usually would and get lost staring up at the stars. Well, he could, but he didn’t want to get pneumonia before Christmas.

He abandoned Blue Yoshi at the Star Road bonus level and shut off the game. Curious and a little bored, he turned on the old military radio and worked the dials carefully. He listened through monitor headphones too big for his head for a half hour before finally tossing them onto his desk in frustration. Nothing. Maybe his dad was right. Maybe it was just noise.

----

December 31st, 1999. New Years Eve…

Y2K theories had circulated for years. No one knew where it started, but the concept that the Earth’s fledgling internet, and every digital system on the planet would shut down frightened some enough into preparing for Dooms Day. Most people shrugged it off and went about their lives. Others feared the global shut down would set off every nuclear weapon on the planet, wiping out humanity. But everyone knew that instant ramen manufacturers had never seen a greater profit rise in the entirety of their companies’ existence.

Will didn’t buy into any of that, no matter how much the old people in their small town ranted about the end of days. He was sure the clocks would just turn over, and that would be it. He and his mother had gone to the local market to pick up a few groceries, but found that the apocalypse preppers had bought all the milk, most of the meat, a ton of non perishable goods, and first aid.

Frustrated, she purchased what she could, and made the trip in their SUV to the next town. Fortunately, they fared a little better. They enjoyed lunch at a local Denny’s, and made it home to have an uneventful night

That is, until 11pm rolled around.

Will was over the back of the couch in seconds, and had the t.v. tuned into the news. The reporter had just started going on about the details of the Nova Star. Will was entranced. He was so excited, he’d put on his long sleeved black henley with a small NASA logo to feel like he was part of it. “This is awesome! Hey, dad, aren’t those the guys you worked with?”

“Some of them. There’s some new faces.” Charlie put on his jacket and went to the backyard to chop wood. He’d tried to let his son enjoy this, but he didn’t want to have anything to do with the Nova Star project anymore, not even watching them parade their work to the media.

Molly sat next to her son with a bowl of popcorn. Will didn’t hesitate to take a massive handful and shove it into his mouth as he watched the tour of the Nova Star begin.

With everything that her only child held an interest in --video games, computers, that old radio-- they had their shared love of space, and Indiana Jones.

The media crew had lead their viewers through the cockpit and down to the living quarters of the ship, showing off all of the exciting wonders of the newest space-faring technology when all the lights in the house went out. It plunged the remote homestead into darkness.

The shock of sudden darkness sent fear spearing up Will’s spine. He knocked over the popcorn bowl and curled up around a pillow.

“Molly? Everything all right?” Charlie called in through the back door.

“We’re fine!” Molly called back.

“I’m checking the fuse box. Bring a light!”

“I’ll be right there!” She brushed her hand over Will’s hair. “It’s ok, Will, it’s just a power outage. Probably a tree branch took out a power line. It happens in winter.” She knew that even though he could pick up almost any insect, amphibian, and fearlessly explore the areas around their house, the only thing that would terrify him was complete and absolute darkness.

She felt her way to the kitchen to get a spare flashlight out of the junk drawer and handed it to him. He turned it on.

“Guard the house, Indiana. I’ll be right back.” Molly ruffled his dark hair and got a second flashlight and her coat from the entryway closet. She went out back to help her husband check the fuse box.

Molly held the flashlight as her husband flicked all the switches.

“Well, the fuses check out. There’s just no power,” Charlie threw each switch again for good measure.

“I was right. It was probably a downed tree.” She turned off the light and walked out to the backyard. She folded her arms tightly around her middle for warmth. Without the convection layer of clouds, it made being outside that much colder.

Charlie put his arm around her. “So much for New Years Eve; Dick Clark, spaceships, or otherwise.”

Her eyes rested on the arm of the Milky Way galaxy draping through the center of the clear night sky. “You know, without all the lights, it’s really beautiful.”

Charlie exhaled. “Yeah.”

“What arm are we in again?”

“The Orion-Cygnus arm. We’re not facing the core of the galaxy right now, but we will in summer.”

“Will comes out here, you know. He’ll sit out here and just stare.”

“Mmhmm. You used to do that as a kid, too. He gets his love of space from you.”

“No,” she shook her head. “He gets his love of nerd stuff from me. He gets his sense of adventure from you.”

He chuckled at that. “A hell of a combination.”

“Well, look who he’s combined from,” she smirked.

He chuckled at that.

“Maybe the new century is a good time to start a new resolution. Start off small. Who knows what he can do if we let him.”

“Molly…”

“He’s smart, Charlie. Work with him. Take him to NASA. If you want him to see the world that you think needs fixing, then show him. He might be the one to fix it, but he needs you. As smart as he is, he can’t do it alone.” She brushed her hand down his face, feeling the stubble of facial hair beneath her palm. “None of us can.”

Charlie grumbled. NASA’s headquarters wasn’t a place for kids, but she was right. It was part of the real world, and Will needed to see it. “Fine. I’ll take him after the holidays. But if anybody asks, this was your idea.”

She smiled and leaned in closely. “I’ll take full responsibility.”

He couldn’t help but kiss her and run his fingers through her long black hair. That gentle smile always warmed his heart.

The two stared up at the sky for a moment before she shivered and nudged her husband to head back.

A pulse of red light struck them in the back, and Charlie and Molly fell to the snow.

* * * *

Will scooted off the couch, keeping a vice grip on the flashlight. This was his home -- he’d lived here since birth -- but in the darkness, it felt like he’d entered another realm.

The house creaked around him. He spun, looking for whatever made that sound, then shook his head. “Get a grip, you dumb dork.”

A light static and crackle split the deathly silence. He aimed his flashlight at the stairs and swallowed. That sounded like his radio. He should check it out. Indiana Jones wouldn’t run away.

Will’s feet didn’t move for a good ten seconds.

Stealing his resolve, he went upstairs to his room.

The green light of the radio exuded a dull, eerie glow throughout the room. What scared him more were the sounds coming from the radio itself. Without power, the light shouldn’t be on, let alone the radio receiving a signal. His heart pounding with fear, but his curiosity overpowering it, he turned the knob to clarify the signal. The electronic beeps were still present, but were more like morse code than before. He could pick out different letters, enough to hear ‘246. Kade,’ but any speech in the background remained unfamiliar syllables and plosives.

Kade... That was his last name, but what did 246 mean? Someone out there was using morse code and talking about them for some reason. He had to tell his dad. This was definitely not noise.

Abandoning his fear, Will hurried downstairs, put on his winter coat and boots, and rushed outside into the cold snow. His warm breath clouded in the air. “Dad! You gotta hear this! Dad!” He ran around to the back of the house to the fuse box. “Dad? Mom?” They were gone. No one was there. Will shone his flashlight on the ground. The melted snow beneath the overhang protecting that part of the house showed their footprints walking away.

He peaked around the corner. “Mom?”

His parents lay on their backs with their eyes open.

“Mom! Dad!” Will hurried as fast as his small legs could carry him to the middle of the large yard. He dropped at his father’s side. “Dad! Are you ok?! Mom!”

Neither moved, but light puffs of warm air escaped their mouths. They were alive, just paralyzed. Charlie’s mouth moved slightly. “Run,” he whispered.

“Dad, no!” Will pulled on his father’s hand to try to pull him to his feet.

Charlie’s hand trembled as he fought the bind. Molly twitched beside him, fighting her own battle.

A glaring light lit up the wintery yard, blinding him. Will covered his eyes and stumbled back. He blinked upward as enormous lights shown down on their position.

“Run!” Charlie screamed.

Will instantly took off across the yard. A red pulse hit the snow at his right, forcing him to dodge in an arch. He evaded one more hit to his left, but the third landed its mark. Will’s entire body froze. He struggled to move even a finger, but it had him completely paralyzed.

A rush of warm air blasted the snow into swirls of white clouds around them. Will faced the lights from a craft larger than his house as a long ramp lowered and a single individual descended it quickly. It looked like a man in a dark armored uniform, but his face was covered by a protective mask with orange tinted eyewear.

Will’s heart threatened to explode from his chest as he breathed rapidly in fear.

The man passed a scanner over Will’s wide brown eyes, then spoke. The language mirrored that of the transmission Will had received off and on for the past few weeks.

A sharp pain pricked in the soft space behind his right ear. Will let out a small squeak of surprise. He felt a tingle brush through his mind like someone had taken a feather and gently swiped it all over his brain. The sensation died seconds later.

The man said something to him.

Will couldn’t think straight.

Irritated, the man rolled his eyes, grumbled, and then said it again, more impatiently.

Will’s eyes shifted to stare at his mother and father fighting the paralysis.

The man said something else in frustration then gave up and picked him up.

Will wanted to fight, but his body refused to obey him. He watched his parents helplessly as he was carried up the ramp. The panic built, and he did the only thing his body would allow: he let out a terrified, wordless scream. The ramp closed, shutting his parents and home out of sight.

The ship’s atmospheric thrusters sent more snow clouds billowing through the air as it rose above the trees, pivoted, and disappeared across the sky.

All of this took no more than two minutes.

Molly and Charlie were left alone in the winter stillness of their yard. They could move enough to grip each other’s hands as the bind gradually wore off, but remained in the cold staring at the empty sky.

The power returned ten minutes later.

They continued to lay there even as the news switched over to the countdown.

“...5...4...3...2...1…”

A hot tear streaked down Molly’s face to drip into the snow. “HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

* * * *

tbc

* * * *

((I really wish I could translate what the alien said as he carried Will into the ship, but it would break the mood. The alien said, “246 Acquired. Let’s go. It’s colder than tits out here.”))

#The 1K #sci fi #space #action #adventure #y2k

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thelouisianauproar · 6 years

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Louisiana Uproar - Chapter 9

Summary: In Season 2′s opener, Dottie and the newest underbosses are trying to maintain business after the New Bordeaux Massacres; The Empire Bay Commission searches for their cut promised by Lincoln Clay.

New Bordeaux, 1969.

I wake up in the condo above “Benny’s Ristorante”. I’ve been living there for the last few months since the killings of our leadership. Those who died were worth years of experience and contacts in the business. The devastation gave New Bordeaux plenty of national media attention, which prompted politicians to want to do something. It’s a shit show. I feel like I haven’t gotten a decent rest since the night that Sammy’s bar caught fire.

I would love to say that there was a dramatic search for who might have killed their predecessors.It wasn’t. They chalked it up to being Sal Marcano’s boys getting the jump on Lincoln. I went along with it. Out of all the manipulation that I committed, in the last year; this was the easiest to achieve.

Despite the publicity, we were making money. There is a difference in our regime from Lincoln Clay and Sal Marcano’s---- our bosses actually like each other. Emmanuel, Alma, Nicki, and I meet on a regular basis to discuss business. The bosses manage their specific rackets; I manage the money and the contacts. There are no egos because there is no one striving to be the leader. The four of us, and everyone reporting to us, are in the business of making money.

“Bobby?” I’m heading to my car. “I was just headed to the Market. You didn’t tell me that you would be by.”

Alma kept some men outside of the ristorante. I would exchange pleasantries with them as I come in and out. Bobby lead Vito’s security detail. Whenever Lincoln needed muscle, he would call them.

“My guys say they saw someone ‘round here, taking pictures.”

“Empire Bay?”

“Says he’s with the commission.” Bobby looks at me and my shoulders sink.

“Where is he now?”

“Slippery bastard got away.” “Whenever you find him---hold him for me. I want to find out what he knows.”

“You got it.”

We knew they would want their money. After the murder of Sal Marcano, the commision went radio silent. With no way to contact them, to give them their cut, I just stashed it. I know I need to think of this because he’s emerging for a reason. I have the money, I could pay the commission, but they are probably looking to replace Sal. I should let everyone know.

As I was leaving the market, I saw a man in a car. He’s reading the newspaper. This means nothing to me until I pull out of the place. I make a left turn and the car follows me.

He’s patient and I’m taking for quite a ride. He keeps a car a distance behind me, never disobeys traffic laws. I think to shoot at him but it would be uncalled for.

We ride until we get to Perla’s NightClub in the Hollow. I know I’d be safe there. If he’s with the commission, he might not be comfortable in a room full of blacks. Even better, he’ll be lost.

I take a seat at the bar. He’s no longer behind me so maybe I’ve lost him. I check behind me after ordering my drink and he’s walking to me.

“Could you make two?” I ask the bartender as the older white man takes a seat.

“Right away.” “You’re a hard lady to get a hold of.” Were his first words as I take a seat. I try to attack this head on by giving him a polite, delighted smile.

“You’ve got to work for it.” I’m a bit nervous. The bartender brings the second drink and I give it to him. “Got you a drink.” “Thank you.” “So, are you looking for me?” “Not for you, per say, I’m looking for answers.” he says, “Leo Galante wants his money, his last conversation was with Lincoln Clay and I’m hearing he’s dead.”

“Suspected of being.”

“Know anything there?” Everything.

“Not a whole ‘lot.”

“You...sure?” What does he know? “Hell, I don’t know a whole lot about you, but you seem very protected.”

“I’ve got friends.” “Popular girl.” He laughs and takes a drink. “So tell me about your friends.”

“Sir, I don’t know you.” I say innocently. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit forward?” “Anybody ever told you that being forward is how you get what you want?” Maybe a few times. “I want to know who you are and why you’re following me.” I say, the man gives me a playful look.

“Listen, honey. I realize that you might like to run with the big dogs.” He says, “but this is big dog business, know what I mean?” “Yes,” I lean forward, “but if I knew something why would I just tell you?” “Good question.” He leans back like he’s getting something. I’m starting to think that he’s a cop and trying to pull his badge. Here? That wouldn’t be smart. When I look down at his lap, there is a gun pointing at me.

“Because I could blow your brains out and how would that help whoever you are protecting?”

“Not much.” He has a point. Think quick, Dottie. “Now isn’t the place. I was just trying to lose you.” I shake my head.

“They know you’re coming. This is a bad place.’ “I could meet you elsewhere.” “Today. At the dock in River Row.” He draws the gun down. “I work over there. I can get us alone.” I stand up.

“How so?” “Just meet me at Benny’s in River Row at 7pm.” I pause, “And don’t leave with me.”

The ride back to River Row was an anxious one. Plans were running through my head. “Bobby.” I called him from my office.

“No sight of him, yet.”

“I found him.”

“Is he there?” “No, but he will be.” I sigh and put my feet up. “Could I see you over here?”

“Right away.”

“Dottie Jetson.” The man grins when he sees me. He grins as if he thinks knowing my name, gives him power over me. “How’d you get this place cleared out? It’s had men staked out for weeks.” Weeks?

“You have your methods and I have mine.” I stand from the booth, where I waiting for him. We shake hands. “You know my name, but I didn’t catch yours.”

“Carl Walters.” “Good to meet you.” I gesture for us to take a seat. He sits first and I follow. “Mr. Walters, may I?” I gesture to the drink on the table. “Please.” I start pouring. “So, I have an idea why you would like to speak with me?” “Besides the fact that you are a young beautiful woman?” “I’m blushing.” “You should be.” He chuckles. “So do you know Lincoln Clay or Vito Scaletta?” He gestures. “Yes.” I say. “Haven’t heard from ‘em in a while. They dead?” “Were they friends of yours?” We pause for a moment as if we are having staring contest. “Mr. Walters, I want answers too.”

“I think you’re barking up the wrong tree for them.”

“Show me the right one.” From that moment, the front door of the restaurant.

Mr. Walters turns his back to me and draws his gun. He shoots the first shot at Bobby. I didn’t expect him to shoot so quickly. I draw my gun and cock it at the back of his head.

“Hold it, right there!” Walters looks at me quickly. I think he’s going to try something bold like knock the gun out of my hand. However, I give Bobby enough time to launch and pistol white Walters.

“Are you alright?” I ask looking at the knocked out Walters.

“Yeah, I wasn’t hit.” He says while I’m taking a look at him. “Let’s get ‘em to the chum shack and find out what he knows.”

“We’re standing in the same room as when Vito killed Grecco. The first time I took part in someone’s murder.

“The crew is on their way.” I walk into see Mr. Walters tied to the chair. Mr. Walter starts to stir in his seat. Bobby hands me his wallet.

“At least his name checks out.” he shrugs. I chuckle before reading it.

“I figured you were from Empire Bay, Mr. Walters.” He only laughs.

“I underestimated you, Dottie.” Yes, he did. “So what happened? Lincoln decide that he wants to leave all of this behind? He leaves you in charge.”

“You are no longer in a position to ask questions.”

“Good point, I go missing in New Bordeaux and it won’t look good for ya’.” He chuckles. “That would be two made men who went missing in this city.”

“I’m not even armed anymore.” I slowly spin around to demonstrate. “I am.” Bobby comments, loudly.

“So, I know you’re from Empire Bay. You’re made. You’re with the commission?”

“I am.”

“See? Not so over my head.” I nod. “You looking for your cut?” “Three months worth.”

“You should have said something. We didn’t have to play cat and mouse. You going around taking pictures, asking questions. Doesn’t inspire confidence in our partners.” I pause. “That’s is, if you want you cut.”

“I had to find my information. You had to find yours.” He gestures to the room.

“I want you gone. You want your money? I have it for you, and a flight home. If you go, now.” He pauses for a moment. “Can’t say no to an offer like that.” I glance at Bobby.

“I’ll leave you for now.”

When I get back to my office Nicki, Alma, and Emmanuel were sitting in front of the desk. Alma is standing in front of Emmanuel. He lights her cigarette. “So?” “Someone with the commission is downstairs.” I say taking a seat at my desk. “He’s been following us, wanted to know where his money was.”

“We knew this was coming.” He looks around. “So what do we do?”

“I’ve been collecting his cut.” I see their relieved breath. “I want to get him a plane ticket, we give him a ride to get his stuff, and his flight. We treat him right.” “What? So he can bring more people to take the city?” “It belongs to them.” Nicki adds.

“Alma, if we kill him...They will look for him.” I say, “We don’t want another way. We want a deal.” “How do you know he’s truly with the commission and not prancing off with our money?” Good question.

“We’re gonna have to trust, this time. We have no commission contacts since the war.” Emmanuel speaks up.

“Let’s vote.” I call. “In Favor?” Nicki, Emmanuel, and I raise our hands. “It’s settled.” I leave the room. “Bobby.” I take a few steps down the stairs. “Pick up his stuff, take him to the airport. I’ll be there in two hours with a ticket and his money.”

“You got it.”

As promised, one of the guys gave me a ride to the airport. “Mr. Walters. It’s good to see you again.”

“So, you’re actually gonna let me go, huh?” “I made a promise. We want no trouble.” “Smart.” “Here’s your ticket and your cash.” I hand him the suitcase and the envelope. “These men will escort you to your flight.”

Mr. Walters smiles at me. Even as he’s leaving, he glances back at me.

When I get back to my place. I head straight for the desk. I don’t have any furniture, here. This is the best that I have. The moment I sit, I hear my door open. Why did I forget to lock up for the night? I thought I was done for the day. “Dottie.” Nicki stands in the doorway.

“Howdy.” I lean forward. I really like Nicki. Out of all three other bosses, she is my favorite. She’s had a rough time after losing Burke but she’s been pulling through. It’s admirable.

“I take it He’s gone?”

“Yup.” I pat the desk. “Is the shine I brought you in here?” “Yeah.” I point to the drawer. She returns with two glasses. “It feels like all I do is drink.” “I don’t know.” Nicki puts her feet up. “You saved our asses today. None of us were prepared for that.”

“Accounts payable. You assumed that I would do my job.” I chuckle.

“And you do it well.” She chuckles. “That’s why I came here. Celebratory drink.” “I’ll take that.”

---

Over the next two weeks, my position changed with my meetings with the bosses. I used to be an equal who discussed the money portion of the business. Now, Nicki and Emmanuel are deferring to me to handle relations with the commission.

When I got back to my place, my phone was ringing. “This is the office of Leo Galante looking for Dorothy Jetson.” A woman says on the other line. “Please hold.” I say before pressing the phone to my chest. I want to make it seem like I have an assistant. Marcano had an assistant, right?

“Dorothy Jetson.” I hear the woman switch the line.

“Dorothy Jetson. This is Walter Burl, representative of Leo Galante.” Seriously? “He’s requesting to meet with you on February 10th, to discuss future billings.”

“Next week?” I look at my calendar. I need time to plan with the bosses. “I’d hate to ask when is his next avail-” “I would suggest you make the effort to attend.” “Alright.” I give in. “I will call back as far as travel details.” “Very well. Thank you.”

“The Commission wants to meet with me in Empire Bay.” I admit as soon as I get in the room. “Next week.” “About?” Emmanuel asks. “Future billings. They called me before dinner.” “I call bullshit.” Alma shrugs. “Again, how do we know it’s them?” “I don’t want to miss this meeting.” Alma should know, based off of Vito’s stories, you don’t keep members of the commision waiting. “Then why call us?” “Dottie-” Nicki leans forward. “If you want my blessing on reasoning with them--- you got it.” “She’s nervous.”

“Got every reason to be.” Alma shrugs. “Don’t know if they’re telling the truth, if they wanna whack her, this could go wrong.”

“So, she’ll go missing and we’ll know to get out of dodge with them.” Nicki doesn’t skip a beat. Gee thanks, Nicki. That’s the real option? “Vote?” Nicki raises her hand, Emmanuel, then Alma.

Slowly, my hand follows them.

#Lousiana uproar #blaxploitationwriting #antihero #anti-hero #criminal #sinner #Jezebel #strong female lead #strong female character #strong female #feministfiction #feministmafia

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goldingoldout8 · 4 years

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Four Kinds of Fake News

Dave: It's pretty obvious to me that over the course of the election we saw fake news. We saw real fake news, constantly being slammed at us, from leaks that were going from the Clinton campaign that were run with by CNN and with the Donna Brazile s- Y'know, all of this stuff that was obviously fake.

Then the election happens. But no one said the word- the phrase 'fake news', nobody was coming up with that. Then the election happens and three days later everybody. Everybody. Every outlet, every cable channel, everybody everywhere is running with this idea of fake news. Eric: Not authentic. Dave: Not authentic. Eric: But that synchronized effect. Dave: Yes! That's what I want to talk about. So tell me about that. What is that? Eric: We don't know. Dave: Suddenly everybody across the board starts doing the same thing. Eric: So this is a skill that we have to get very good at. What conspiracy theorists do that gives them a bad name is they fill in the details. We don't know what caused this inauthentic thing. We don't know if it was a decision inside of the deep state, if it was the newspapers getting together, that the party is saying we have a credibility crisis. But there was some decision somewhere that mushroomed out as if suddenly fake news had always been the issue. Dave: Suddenly everyone's talking about the exact same thing. Eric: Right. Dave: We don't know what- or we don't know where it came from. But you think it had to have coordinatedly come from something? Eric: I don't believe that it had an authentic source. I believe that it could mushroom and that people started reacting to it. But I do believe that it was an inauthentic, sudden anomaly. It wasn't that nobody had brought up fake news. I think if you do a search you can find fake news as an issue before this. But I believe that what happened was that there was a huge credibility crisis. I don't believe that Donald Trump ever had a seven or sub-ten percent chance of being elected. [Referring to polls presented on news.] So this is one of the things that I was talking to Peter [Thiel] about. That I'm a huge fan of this Turkish economist named Tumur Kuran whose theory of preference falsification tries to understand when you're gonna get a revolution when you're not expecting it. And so when you tell everybody 'You know the only people who support Donald Trump are backwards, misogynistic, bigoted, troglodyte KKK members. And who are you voting for?' Right? So when you do that, of course you're gonna skew the polls. Of course nobody wants to admit- because the social cost, the look-ahead function, again, is very extreme. So I knew that the election was gonna be close, but I don't think anybody could have actually called- you know. It was close. That was the best that you could do. The media was wildly off. Even Sam [Harris] said this thing about 'Well I'm gonna go back to the polls and the data because what else can you do?' Well there are a very small number of people who are able to do a bit better. And I think that we shouldn't fault ourselves if we weren't among that group. But after the fact the pressure is to divert attention away from the obvious cheer leading for Hillary Clinton, that this was a foregone conclusion. The narrative- and I think the narrative driven news- I have this tweet about the four kinds of fake news. So there was narrative driven, algorithmic, institutional and false news. Dave: Okay so let's break all those down. So narrative is just- They're all pumping out just this i[dea]- 'Hillary is gonna win.' That's the narrative and we're going- Eric: 'Hillary is inevitable.' Dave: Okay so that's one version. Now the algorithmic? Eric: Algorithmic means that I no longer have my news in the same form that you do because we're both getting it off of Twitter, off of Facebook, and those things are pointing us maybe to the traditional articles. But it's being curated and rearranged algorithmically. Dave: Just by how we've clicked in the past, and what we've liked and all of that. So now we're getting our news literally catered to us. Eric: Right. But how does Facebook figure out, for example, what should go above the fold? The analog of the first story you see when you log in. Well usually that's: somebody is getting married, or the birth of a child. Facebook is very good at recognizing what should be in that position. But when it comes to news stories, the key question is 'What does their algorithm tell them to put in front of our eyeballs?' And so you can fake the world, if you'd like, by de-emphasizing. It's the analog of what we would have previously been called "burying the lead." So it's twelve stories deep in your feed, when you're already starting to feel a little fatigued and you're just scrolling through. Dave: Right. So- Wait let's go to the other two and then follow up on the algorithm. Eric: Sure. [There's] narrative driven news, we've done algorithmic. Then there's institutional. It's where, if you happen to be Harvard or the Institute for Advanced Study, or the Brookings Institution, you can sort of release what you claim to be objective fact. And you're given this extremely courteous reception. And very often that news isn't really news, it's just some construct that, somebody has decided that they're going to suppress some findings and accentuate others and filter reality. And then do it from some perspective where it's very difficult to disagree with MIT, you know, on a topic of some technical basis. Dave: Right. Eric: And then you have fake news of the type that all of these other institutions would like us to synonymize- Dave: With everything else. Eric: Right. So that is just, somebody is making something up. And it could be in the Kremlin, it could be some teenager yucking it up, coming up with a hoax. But they can't actu- They're not gonna be able to keep fake news to just things that don't fact-check. Dave: Yeah. Well that's the interesting thing is that... So wherever this started- because, you know, as I quote Carl Sagan every week on this show, "extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence." So I don't go to the conspiracy part. We don't know where it started. Eric: Right. Dave: I'm with you on that. But something happened where everyone starts talking about this thing. And what I thought was interesting was how they were pinning it- so much of it on Breitbart.

Now, Breitbart, I don't actually click Breitbart that often. Every now and again someone sends me something or I see it on my Twitter feed. I don't even follow Breitbart. But what I thought, really, was: What they were upset [about] is that they lost control. And all Breitbart is doing is the same thing that they've all been doing. Breitbart's just skewing things a little more either to the right or to Trump, really is the... it's not really to the right. It's Trumpism. Versus what you've all been doing to the left. You've all been doing this for so long. Now you see something coming along and getting clicks and now, of course, you have to say it's fake. But it really- They weren't even doing anything different. Eric: Well this is- The issue is do you want monopoly power over fake news. Dave: Right. 'We're okay with fake news as long as it's the w- Eric: 'It's our fake news! We're faking it the fact-checked way!' Dave: Yeah. Eric: 'You're faking it by doing something that we don't know how to control.' And I also think it's quite possible that we were being readied for a change in the algorithms. That, in essence, Google and Facebook- and again I'm here speaking as myself, not as a representative of my company. But I don't know what the relationship is between intelligence services and these giant tech companies. They obviously have to have a relationship. Now the question is: Is there any agreement that we're going to bury certain kinds of news sources, using the algorithms, so that you can't actually understand how your world is presented? Is the algorithm open? Or is the algorithm effectively 'We'll tell you- Don't call us, we'll call you.' Dave: Right. And I'm pretty sure it's the latter in almost every ca- I mean is there anyone, any of these big companies, as far as you know, have an open algorithm that are telling us the changes as they make them? Eric: I think we're not there yet. I think the idea is that this is a future battle, which is: How much are we allowed to know about the algorithms that construct our world for us?

---Eric Weinstein and Dave Rubin @ Rubin Report Jan 5, 2017

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ofDXJsKsA30

#eric weinstein #dave rubin #rubin report #fake news #trump #clinton #facebook #twitter #bigtech #google #sam harris

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flauntpage · 7 years

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Four Mock Drafts for the Vegas Golden Knights

Protected lists! They are here! It's Christmas morning!

That is, it's like Christmas morning if you were a bad kid and your parents got you nothing but socks and sweaters to teach you a lesson. Yeah, you need socks and sweaters, but no matter how many packages you tear open, there will not be a Nintendo (or whatever the kids play these days).

Likewise, the NHL is giving fans a new team with the expansion draft this week, but when we finally open it up, it's not going to be what we wanted.

The (Not Las) Vegas Golden Knights have until Wednesday morning to submit their draft list, which must contain one player from each team in the league. The roster will be revealed that night during the NHL Awards show (and probably throughout the day in the form of leaks to the media). The 30-player team must have at least 14 forwards, nine defensemen, and three goalies, and it must also be salary-cap compliant.

In the spirit of fun content, I imagined four different expansion drafts for the Golden Knights, each using its own unique criteria: one team designed solely for tanking, one team for comedic purposes only, one win-now team, and one team that represents the best possible outcome for Vegas. (And thanks to TSN's draft simulator for making this easy.)

THE RACHEL PHELPS MEMORIAL TANKING TEAM

In the 1989 movie Major League, Rachel Phelps inherits the Cleveland Indians from her dead husband. Like any sane person, she does not want to live in Cleveland, so she puts together a roster she hopes is so bad that it will drive down attendance to the point she can enact a clause in the lease with the city that would allow her team to move to Florida.

This would be the Vegas equivalent of that team.

Forwards: Jared Boll, Zac Rinaldo, Brandon Bollig, Jordin Tootoo, Matt Hendricks, Shawn Thornton, Dustin Brown, Ryan White, Steve Ott, Cody McLeod, Luke Gazdic, Cal Clutterbuck, Chris Neil, Tom Sestito

Defensemen: Josh Jorges, Eric Gelinas, Jack Johnson, Dylan McIlrath, Kevin Klein, Andrew MacDonald, Brenden Dillon, Robert Bortuzzo, Jason Garrison

Goalies: Anders Lindback, Kari Lehtonen, Cam Ward

Utility: Luca Sbisa, Brooks Orpik, Mark Stuart, Garrett Sparks

Cap hit: $69,135,476 Players under contract for next season: 20

How many games does this team win? If I set the over/under at seven, you probably need to think about it for a while, don't you? Remember: the expansion Ottawa Senators won ten games, and that team was trying.

If we're sticking with the Major League theme here:

Zac Rinaldo is Ricky Vaughn. Rinaldo is probably better suited for some sort of penal league, and it's not hard to imagine his teammates referring to him as Vedge Head.

Just a bit outside. Photo by Greg M. Cooper-USA TODAY Sports

Brooks Orpik is Jake Taylor. Orpik should be in a league outside of the United States and his knees are shot.

Jack Johnson is Roger Dorn. There's something here with both players being concerned about making as much money as possible at this point in their careers.

Steve Ott retired, but I bet he could be enticed to play one more season centering a line with Luke Gazdic and Chris Neil.

THE MITCHELL FRIEDMAN "WHO ARE THESE GUYS?" TEAM

Also in Major League, there's a scene where an Indians fan is looking over the roster and says, "Mitchell Friedman?" It's because no one has heard of those guys. If Vegas went strictly off that philosophy (I swear, this is the last Major League reference here, and this is only because it's been on HBO a lot lately), here's that team:

Forwards: Nicolas Kerdiles, Tyler Gaudet, Justin Kea, Turner Elson, Alex Broadhurst, Mark McNeil, Corban Knight, Andrew Crescenzi, Patrick Cannone, Chris Terry, Ben Thomson, Ben Holmstrom, Daniel Catenacci, Casey Bailey

Defensemen: Linus Arnesson, Tyler Wotherspoon, Dillon Simpson, Brad Hunt, Will O'Neill, David Warsofsky, Dan Kelly, Andrew Campbell, Andrey Pedan

Goalies: Daniel Altshuller, Mac Carruth, Edward Pasqualle

Utility: Mike Angelidis, Liam O'Brien, Ryan Olsen, Jordan Binnington

Cap hit: $18,529,918 Players under contract for next season: 22

When you're the biggest star on the team. Photo by Bruce Fedyck-USA TODAY Sports

As you might have surmised, this team is technically invalid because it falls way below the salary cap floor—but who cares? Mock expansion drafts should be enjoyable and picking these random names (Is Chris Terry the most recognizable name here?) was too much fun. They played a combined 60 NHL games last season!

And what if I told you some of the names on here aren't NHL players and are names I actually made up or grabbed from somewhere in pop culture?

Is Casey Bailey an Ottawa Senators center or a fringe character on Dawson's Creek?

Is Andrew Crescenzi a Los Angeles Kings center or Diane Lane's love interest in Under the Tuscan Sun?

Are Alex Broadhurst and Jordan Binnington hockey players or romantic rivals in Downton Abbey?

I guess we will never know, because you're not looking up these names and we both know it. [Editor's note: We looked up the names, and rest assured they're all actual hockey players.]

THE MARC BERGEVIN "WE NEED TO WIN NOW" TEAM

Admittedly, I have lost the feel for what the Montreal Canadiens are doing these days—they're big and tough, but they also traded for Jonathan Drouin. That said, all of GM Marc Bergevin's moves in the past year would indicate that he wants his team to win immediately. What if Vegas GM George McPhee decided he needed a playoff team in Year 1?

How would that team look?

Forwards: Alex Burmistrov, Matt Moulson, Lee Stempniak, Mikhail Grigorenko, Benoit Pouliot, Jonathan Marchessault, Trevor Lewis, Eric Staal, Tomas Plekanec, James Neal, Michael Grabner, Jordan Weal, Bryan Rust, David Perron

Defensemen: Sami Vatanen, Trevor van Riemsdyk, Jack Johnson, Dan Hamhuis, Thomas Hickey, David Schlemko, Nate Schmidt, Martin Marincin, Colin Miller

Goalies: Petr Mrazek, Michael Hutchinson, Andrew Hammond

Utility: Cedric Paquette, Reid Boucher, Troy Brouwer, Beau Bennett

Cap hit: $72,172,143 Players under contract for next season: 30

This was tricky. I originally scooped about $83 million in contracts on my first pass and had to make some hard decisions about where to spend and where to save (sorry, Bobby Ryan). Everyone is under contract for next season so no one can escape McPhee's clutches as he builds the most mediocre ship possible.

And Jim Rutherford doesn't have any agreement in place with me, so he can keep Marc-André Fleury.

Here are potential forward and defense combinations:

Perron-Staal-Neal Moulson-Weal-Marchessault Pouliot-Plekanec-Grabner Boucher-Paquette-Rust

Johnson-Vatanen Hamhuis-van Riemsdyk Schlemko-Miller

Mrazek Hutchinson

This team suuuuuuuuuuuucks! The forward group is fine enough, but once you get past Vatanen, it's just terrible on the back end. This is why McPhee can't get caught up in appeasing fans off the bat with the idea of a winning team, because it'll be a bigger disappointment when the team is bad—and there's no way of getting around this team being bad. If it's going to be bad, at least have it be bad with potential going forward.

There's no point in even drafting Vatanen and Neal (more on this when we get to my amazing team), because they can be the Norris Trophy and Rocket Richard winners next season and this team still isn't cracking 70 points.

And if you're wondering how Johnson can be on both the tanking team and the win-now team, think of that as insight into how general managers view Johnson versus his actual value.

So what is the ideal Vegas team?

THE DAVE LOZO IDEAL VEGAS GOLDEN KNIGHTS EXPANSION DRAFT TEAM

We know we can't win now. We know this is going to take forever. So we want to sprinkle the roster with motivated veterans at the end of contracts and young players who have long-term value. How will this team, which is just as bad as any of the others, look?

Forwards: Jonathan Marchessault, Alex Chiasson, Andrej Nestrasil, Mikhail Grigorenko, Lukas Sedlak, Benoit Pouliot, Carl Hagelin, Colin Wilson, Jacob Josefson, Brock Nelson, Michael Grabner, Jordan Weal, Nick Shore, David Perron

Defensemen: Josh Manson, Zach Bogosian, Trevor van Riemsdyk, Jamie Oleksiak, Matt Dumba, Nikita Nesterov, Chris Wideman, David Schlemko, Jason Garrison

Goalies: Petr Mrazek, Michael Hutchinson, Louis Domingue

Utility: Reid Boucher, Martin Marincin, Nate Schmidt, Malcolm Subban

Cap hit: $51,489,940 Players under contract for next season: 30

Years from now, you'll hear stories about how someone like Joe Thornton was a member of the Golden Knights and you'll wonder how it happened. It will be because Vegas wanted nothing to do with that roster, so they drafted a player who wasn't under contract and who they knew wouldn't join the Knights to avoid taking a bad contract or wasting a roster spot.

Hands off Marchessault. Photo by Dan Hamilton-USA TODAY Sports

For my terrible roster with potential for helping the franchise down the road, I'm assuming I have blackmailed the Ducks and the Predators out of high picks to not take Vatanen and Neal. If the Panthers want to blackmail me out of Marchessault, too bad. He's mine. You can't have him.

I'm sure if this were real life, I'd do more blackmailing, but the point is this: I want draft picks. I want them now or I want them at next season's trade deadline for rentals like Grabner or Perron. I would assure every veteran that he was on display for a trade to a contender next season, so don't half-ass it because you're miserable. Bust your ass for 20 minutes a night and hit the tables at the casino later. It's impossible to be miserable in Vegas.

With just about everyone else, I'm looking for long-term potential (Weal) or players who can do more in bigger roles (Josefson) who I can also swap. I do not—I repeat, I do not—want Bogosian, but he's a young right-handed defenseman and I think we can pump and dump him to some other team later.

I'm also taking all players I have under contractual control. Would I like Antti Raanta? Sure, but I'd rather take the 30-goal guy on the cheap contract I can flip either immediately or later and then maybe take a run at Raanta in free agency.

This team would still finish dead last next season, but I'd have like, a thousand picks in the draft. I'm trying to lay a foundation in Vegas and that foundation doesn't need Vatanen, who will be a million years old by the time the team is good, and it doesn't need Brown's contract, because getting to the cap floor is easy.

This team is going to stink no matter what, but it will stink on my terms.

Four Mock Drafts for the Vegas Golden Knights published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv