I’m further into the novel “Scent of Danger”. I read fiction an hour each time my brain overloads on robotics. The book could probably be a third shorter if the author would quit over-describing irrelevant nonsense. I know she’s going for imagery, but do we really need to know the color of every carpet and how it affects their moods? The plot would make a boring movie adaptation, since all suspects are a result of police speculation rather than clues.
I commend the author for being conservative with the name count, but after around halfway, she is weakening on character development. How many times are we expected to believe they can be right about everything? My guess is it is the accountant covering up embezzlement based on the author’s level of understanding about the office environment she is writing about. She doesn’t seem bright enough to pin it on anyone else, but I’ll keep hoping for a surprise.
No major study will ever be done on it, but you know how I used to get a free laugh? The settings of the computer of a dodo. Microsoft contributes to that fiasco with gems like placing the delete and rename commands right next to each other. It is subtle humor, but it is intellectually hilarious examining the default settings on the computer of an idiot.
Except maybe pondering the corresponding idiots at Microsoft who dream them up. Like “truncate font height”. The thinking must go, “Gee, this letter is too big. Instead of making it smaller, why don’t I just cut off the top half?” Yes, there is an actual command to enable that, and I once charged a guy $45 to disable it. You know about fools and their money.
Later, I have slowed down reading “Scent of Danger” since that is what happens to the plot around half-way through. My personal experience with corporate heads of departments is they are more like a gang of nasty spoiled brats pretending to be nice about stealing each other’s toys. I mean, really, thinking they become a power figure by arranging meetings where they stand and everyone else has to sit. It’s this kind of shit, America.
Now the protagonist is doing employee evaluations. In the eyes of the evaluator, everybody needs improvements, even if the weak parts of their personality are miles away from the job. Let me tell you about my childhood evaluations, called report cards. Almost every teacher I had from grade 3 to 9 gave me a C in something. This was to prevent me from being a straight A student like their little darlings. I know, you are shocked I got a low mark, me, a kid who would have posted his report card on the hall bulletin board if they’d let me. I can explain.
But back then, nobody got a perfect score unless they had the right connections. What? You are curious? You want to know just what subject could a teacher possibly find to give me a failing grade? That’s easy. Music.
Then later, guitar Eddie and I had the classic music heat-butting contest. While he insists he wants to play in a band, he only wants the band to play his version of songs, which he insists they could do if they had the talent. He views my “Play It Once” rule as unreasonable. This is where I insist that anybody who wants to play a song differently must let me hear them play it the “right” way first. We are a cover band, not an original band, so the right way is the version we agreed on before we started practicing.
This rule is to prove whether or not the other guy himself has the talent he is barking about. In this area I have seen some of the most sophisticated lying and cover-ups in existence, particularly from guitarists using every slick and sly excuse in the book rather than admit they are the one who can’t do it right. Eddie is one of the best, going in constant circles, like if we aren’t going to play it that way, why should he have to learn it that way. To show you can, maybe?
The outcome of this is always the same, not just with Eddie, but every time. They finally say playing it faithfully to the original can’t be done, when I bring out my bass and do exactly what they just said was impossible. Instead of admitting they were wrong, they sidestep by saying I am playing a different instrument. In the end, my rule stands. Before we play your version, let me hear you play the real version first. Can’t do it, huh?
Expecting a band to play your version of things isn’t joining a band. It’s expecting the band to join you.
