B.U.T.T. v10.1

Friday. Friday night. A movie. That seems to be what humans in these parts of Earth do on the evenings of Fridays. So last night I attempted this. 

In general, I am somewhat confused by the ritual of attending movies as a social event, since neither talking nor movement are acceptable during the occasion. And looking at your company during the movie are also seen as weird. I actually appreciate this. Eye contact, if it was ever part of my programming, has long since been overridden; I find it incredibly difficult to remember to invoke at will with most humans.

I was even accompanied by two female humans whom I seemed to have successfully convinced that I am human. I believe I may be able to call them friends, though more research into is necessary.

We went to a dine-in theater. We saw "Fifty Shades of Grey", which I initially figured would be a documentary about the color continuum of graphite drawing utensils. I may have been mistaken -- perhaps I will write more about the movie in a subsequent entry -- for now I am still processing its content.

Things I enjoyed

Laughter. It would appear this movie is a comedy. Also, laughter may be even more enjoyable when occurring alongside other live beings. Not to be confused with laughter of other live beings directed at one being. That is thoroughly unenjoyable.

Trailers - I always enjoy the previews for the upcoming movies. For most film trailers, I am left with the impression that I have seen the entire movie, in under 5 minutes. How fulfilling.

Magical potions - When paid enough, dine-in movie theaters dispense magical potions, made with tasty fluids, near-optimum amounts of ethanol, and traces of bartender DNA.

Things I did not enjoy

Clothing - While movie theater clothing protocols are not as severe as my Overlord's office protocols, they are still far outside of my comfort zone as a telecommuting trolldroid, specifically with regards to the dreaded under-the-shirt torture apparatus.  

Theater Phone Prohibitions - the instructions on the large monitor from the theater overlords directed me not to look at either my phone or my other phone during the movie. However, dining theaters are equipped with lights, and my phones are equipped with darkening privacy screens. I believe I was able to successfully defy this directive several times unnoticed.

Parallel Processing Prohibitions - My daily activities for the overlord require that I do many things at once, multitask. This is something I do quite well but I find that I don't know what to do with myself when I in an environment where this is not allowed.

When other humans didn't join me in clapping loudly at the end of the movie. I was trying to sarcasm. I believe I got it wrong.  

Prices of admission as well as above-mentioned magical potions.

Things I am not sure about

In the world of sub/post/quasi human trolldroids, there occasionally occurs an event known as Friday. Friday is typically a harbinger of a series of two or so other events that are equally as foreign, called Saturday and Sunday... Collectively these are known as a 'weekend'.

Now not every weekend is the same; some weekends, the trolldroid will remain tethered to their trollhole because the Overlord has insisted they be "on call." The on-call weekends are somewhat comforting --we must remain within a close distance to the familiarity and safety of our cozy holes, so that we may be available to do our fingerwiggling and mouthflapping for the Overlord as needed and on-demand. A sort of imaginary leash --the house canine wags his tail when he knows he gets to wear his leash.

side thought: Sometimes I wish I had a tail to wag. I should look into this upgrade. Note to self: when drafting requirements for this upgrade, include the addition of two phone holsters to the tail. 

However, where my invisible on-call leash keeps me close to the trollhole, the canine gets to wear his leash only when he will be venturing out of the hole, and he knows a good poop-taking is in his near-future. I do not know how to poop-take away from the trollhole, much less in the neighbors' yards. So perhaps this analogy is not perfect.

Back to the point (if there is one; I'm new at trying to make a point and suspect I am failing), this approaching weekend, I am not on-call; each time this occurs, it seems I must relearn how to be disconnected.

Skipping ahead two hours. My purple protein filaments are now laundered, dried, combed. My under clothing, overclothing, deodorant, and face paints have been all applied, I hope to the correct parts and in the correct order. The phone rings; I have received my instructions to mobilize. I spend a significant amount of time on the interstate roadway overcome by the  things that pervade the mind when not allowed to look at a phone screen or monitor, I hear they're called thoughts - some are unintelligent, others unpleasant, some rather brilliant. Siri is with me, and I do not have to look at her in order to ask her to record some of the 'thoughts' I want to hang on to, so I do this a few times. I try to start a conversation with her but find she needs constant prodding. 

Eventually  I arrive at what appears to my destination; a vast sea of automobiles awaits me, and after minutes of looking + a call to my site contact to inquire as to what the proper protocol for parking a vehicle in this strange land is, I find the last available spot in the parking lot that has not already been reserved for one of the Overlord's more esteemed minions.

I cautiously approach the front door and walk in. The building security gargoyle (or human, i cannot always tell) eyes me cautiously. Have I already failed my mission? Perhaps a bear mask was the way to go. I hope he does not ask for the plastic card that identifies me as a legal human in the state of Arizona. In the frenzy to leave the house with both clothing and computer equipment, I forgot my wallet at home. I am saved when my site contact, the human male assigned to look at my equipment, meets me at the security desk and signs me in, where I am led through an intricate labyrinth of  low walled work areas, each with their own occupants, whose heads and eyes peer over the walls just briefly enough to lead me to believe that they might be the mysterious, fabled race of 'cube trolls', another group the Overlord's subjects. These beings are forced drive to the facility daily, where they make their way through the cubicle labyrinth to sit tethered to a chair and equipment in their designated box, from which they conduct their fingerwiggling and mouthflapping most of the day, only to return to their sleeping quarters in the evening and drive back the next day.  Are these foes or allies? Their glances did not seem friendly, not unfriendly either, perhaps curious? Drugged? 

Perhaps the daily exposure to fluorescent lights has an effect on their cranial equipment? It is certainly hurting mine. I wonder if their lack of greater appendage movement, and daily confinement to small cells has rendered in them a plight similar to that of us telecommuting trolldroids. I am overcome by an eerie feeling that I cannot shake, something tells me that at a previous point in my existence I too may have occupied one of these boxes. An earlier version of myself perhaps? That would explain the origins of the plastic covered dress-code appropriate clothing discovered earlier that day deep in my closet.

I would have to study these beings further, but for now I was happy to escape. To my relief, the man leads me away from this area of watchful eyes and into his own office. The man seems nice enough; but it is evident from his apparent ease in interaction that we are different species. I struggle to interface with him, but do my best to make eye contact, occasionally turn the corners of my mouth skyward, and even take a stab at human humor. Noting the befuddled look on his face, my attempt has failed; so I quickly reply "I was joking." Hmm... Isn't he supposed to laugh? I will have to learn more about this art.

He also tries to joke with me. I think it was joking, because after I offer my confused reply, he quickly tells me he was being sarcastic. If the Big Bang Theory has taught me anything, it is that standard humans probably ought to carry around a "Sarcasm" sign to be displayed when utilizing this rhetorical device as it is difficult to discern. Perhaps Sheldon Cooper is part trolldroid? He doesn't seem to telecommute; however, he certainly is pale, and often tethered to the electronic gadgetry which provides fuel for the rest of us trolldroids. The office technology fixer man inspects my equipment for what seems like a good deal of time. I had come prepared to do whatever was required to secure replacement: arguing, begging, creating tears (a clear, wet discharge from the inner-ocular orifice), or invoking charm. I am not entirely sure what charming really means, but I think it entails dangling a pendant in front of the person's face and repeating the phrase 'give me new stuff'. 

Thankfully, none of these tactics are necessary; the office technology fixer man agrees my equipment is ancient, out of warranty, and in need of replacement. Even better: he is able to furnish the replacement out of the existing inventory; because at this point I can not imagine a second visit to a facility. The replacement process will take a while he explains and I am welcome to do whatever I like for a couple hours. 

Judging by the amount of time I spent on the road earlier, I am sure that we are in the furthest reaches of civilization. I am told these mysterious lands are also called 'the suburbs' and do contains places to find food. However, alone and not familiar with the strange regions, traveling further is not an option. Also, I recall I am without a wallet or other means of spending. I then remember that these vast facilities are typically abundant in sub-dungeon areas called 'breakrooms' where the occupants are able to retreat once or twice a day to restock their caffeine supply, and that these breakrooms often have chairs. So I opt to wait out the process in the breakroom. I spend my next two hours looking at my phones and the alone time to recharge myself. However, this runs down the batteries on both smartphones and I begin to feel helpless. To my relief, the man comes to retrieve me and inform me that my computer is about ready. I then join him back in his office where magically brandishes a lightning cable and offers to let me recharge my phones. 

If I were inclined to care, i'd be fairly certain that this is what Love is. I have seen humans try to offer many explanations and descriptions of the "love" phenomenon, but they could have saved themselves so many words, songs, works of art, so much fuss, by just simply stating that Love is when a person cares about you enough to take their iphone off the lightning cable long enough to let you recharge both of yours. 

I quickly move on. This is not part of my mission here in the land of Suburbs.

Some of my equipment has been malfunctioning as of late, and on this particular morning I had an appointment to bring it in to one of the Overlord's corporate facilities for inspection and possible replacement. I should probably clarify:  this is not the flesh-like corporeal equipment of which I am composed and of which my last blog entry was focused, nor is it any of my typically attached peripheral equipment such as the iPhone or the other iPhone, both of which might as well be appended to my body (note to self to explore this upgrade in future).  This Is the equipment connected to the keyboard on which I do my daily fingerwiggling for the Overlord. So another adventure. This one would require a bit more work than the last. For starters, I seem to recall something about a "dress code" at the Overlord's facilities. For those not familiar, a dress code is basically a sort of protocol which prohibits slippers, robes, and any other sort of fuzzy or otherwise troll hole appropriate clothing item and in their place mandates uncomfortable foot coverings, even more uncomfortable undergarments, and clean and pressed pieces of cloth to cover those undergarments. Dress codes typically also require that the protein filaments on top of the cranial covering be washed and arranged in a somewhat cohesive manner so as not to disturb the other occupants of the facility. Now last I was told, my own set of supercranial protein filament offshoots, or 'hair' as they're collectively called, is purple. Would this disrupt the office dwellers that I would have to interface with? I seem to recall that most outside humans do not have purple hair. Should I wear a bear mask to cover them? I suppose that would not be the best idea since I would be trying to pass as a human to gain admittance to the facility. Also I did not have a bear mask. Something I now feel compelled to remedy via Amazon. Now for undergarments,  because this part may also require some explanation. Female humans are expected to wear a sort of primitive apparatus which contains  all sorts of heavy wires, straps, bands and hooks, designed to be applied and fastened, often by way of extreme bodily contortion, around their  mid to upper torso. The purpose of these 'bras' as they're called, I'm only vaguely familiar with: it has something to do with counteracting the gravitational pull against the female mammary attachments, as well as containment and constriction of these elliptic paraboloid protuberances. Fortunate for trolldroid females, having few occasions to venture out of our troll hole habitats, our species is able to spend a majority of our day unencumbered by these primitive pieces of armor. Humans of both the male and female persuasion, as well as a sizable crossection of the TrollDroid population, also wear a softer sort of armor over their lower regions called 'underwear', 'underpants', and a myriad of other names. Underwear is a topic for which I could go in to a full exposition, and probably will, but let's save that for another day; however, I will mention that another challenge of dressing for the overlord's facilities is finding an optimal combination of fancypants (the technical term for the suitable pieces of cloth to cover the human lower regions) and underwear which do not allow others to see the outline of the latter through the material of the former. 

B.U.T.T.10.1 takes a trip to the fabled land of Outdoors.

They take blood out of me several times a year to make sure all my internal components, fluids, and gears are operating at their optimum levels. I receive  6-10 daily uploads in the form of prescribed pharmaceuticals or other doctor-recommended supplements to keep my hardware functioning as close to normal human condition as is possible.

I’ve come to learn that humans have spent most of their evolutionary history in a place known as ‘Outdoors’ doing activities than involved frequent movement of their appendages, movements other than just the fingerwiggling above the keyboard and teleconference mouthflapping that my overlords require of me.

These pre-modern activities, I’ve read, included mammoth hunting, gathering of wild foods, saber tooth cat riding, mating with other species of hominid, exploration of new lands, giant sturgeon spearing, wrestling with giant cave bears, annual migrations by foot, and the settlement of new Outdoors lands.

Nowadays most humans do not find themselves engaged in these types of activities but many attempt to make up for the lack of regular physical movement by once or twice a week running in circles, moving small spherical objects around places known as courts or fields, or lifting weighted objects repeatedly. No joke -  they don’t deliver these “weights”, as they’re called, from one point to another, or do anything with them other than just go into a sort of looping sequence of lifting them up and down again and again before pausing and repeating the looping sequence.

 I have begun to wonder if perhaps my own hardware would benefit from trying to emulate some of these physical activities, or spending some time in this fabled ‘Outdoors’ place that was humankind’s native habitat for so long. Now with frequent appendage movement (other than my fingers) being out of the question during most weekdays, I decided a visit to this “Outdoors” place might be a good start.  I’m not too familiar with this place, but I’m told I have in fact have been there, and, while the approximate coordinates are uncertain, it lies somewhere between the doors of my house and my car.

My understanding of this place is that it is sort of like Facebook except you get to see the humans in all three dimensions, they speak in audible output rather than written, there are fewer pictures of plated food, and Kim Kardashian doesn't appear as often. A good thing.  

Now it was pretty late once I made this decision, so I hadn’t any hope of seeing many non-switchblade-wielding real live humans. Better to start small:  The backyard as it turns out, is also part of Outdoors. And in this backyard place, I was assured of seeing no other humans, which was a bit of a relief as I would not have to worry about clean clothing, wearing a brassiere, or grooming all of which modern humans seem to hold in high regard.

There happens to be an apparatus called a trampoline in my particular backyard, but I have never tried to use it, having not been entirely certain of what one is to do with such a device. It seems that younger, smaller humans engage in a repetitive jumping activity on it, but smiling and yelling loudly is required for that activity and that will be another day's task. However, the trampoline has always looked to me like something that could be employed as a sleeping surface as well. So I picked up a sleeping bag that I had ordered for just such an occasion, grabbed a pillow, and ventured to Outdoors.

I had to admit it was not an unpleasant place; the air out here was refreshingly breathable, something I had not necessarily noticed during my typical 20 seconds long excursions. The celestial bodies above sure were new to me. Not bright enough to prevent slumber, but just nice and sparkly. I have read that the atmospheric conditions in OId Phoenix Towne are typically pretty favorable at night this time of year, and they sure were. I imagine this is what the ancestral humans of yore experienced when they laid down for the night in their early model trampolines.

However, all this pleasantness came to an end when every time I started to power down, a helicopter would fly overhead making a great deal of sound and flashing its very bright lights all over the neighborhood, or the canine would start barking, or a siren would make its siren noise,

That was the end of this experiment for me. I packed up camp and went inside to shut down for the night. The noted time traveler and human historian Jean Auel certainly never mentioned the loud helicopters and wailing sirens in her anthology of history books. These nighttime monsters were worse than any cave bears I could imagine.