Life at the Sentient Bean / Suite Fang Fang Wu

Suite Fang Fang Wu


As I arrived all was quiet in the suite. A large room with numerous work stations scattered about. One corner was for the graphic pukes with the 3D, 2D, and Holographic rendering power. We needed all of that now since so much footage was no longer shot live, but we still needed to create many options for the endless game of “what if” that we play while shilling for the advancement of our clients market share.

The Omnibus Suite was often like a three ring circus, or gladiator arena, depending on the mood of the project. Then you had the audio stations where the engineers hunkered down and finely stroked the many layers of audio in their virtual reality helmets that simulated the surround of a perfectly tuned room. Of course final mix was still done in an open air room so all concerned could make snarky comments to each other even though the helmets would give a truer rendering of real world conditions. Then there were the numerous uplink channels and their operators who knew the ins and “pouts” of each distribution channel Even the Chinese couldn’t bring about cohesive standardization. But that was good for all concerned because it kept more people busy trying to figure out how to deliver the message in an optimal stream.

Now there was just the whir of the fans and pumps for liquid cooled processors that were always working, even when idle on our projects, so every nanosecond of their adding machine power could be used somewhere, by somebody, for something; when they were not adding things up for me. A world in the ether of the “intervent” needed more power all the time, just like we all have learned to need. More, more, more. Ideally more of what we were about to tell you from this arena of desires. My clients were telling you what you want and not what their competitors were telling you that you wanted. What you wanted was immaterial. You probably don’t know anyway.

This suite also had the memories of the time Fang Fang was an apprentice here after I got her a job tossing this crap around rather than the crap she tossed around for the Labrador Retrieval Waste and Recycle.

It was an interesting, busy, and all around entertaining time for all. Clients loved the Fangster. After she worked with us for a while I really had to wonder what she was doing as a garbage gal, or shall we say waste removal specialist. Naw, the Chinese didn’t go in for that politically correct nanny state bullshit we were regurgitating at the end of the last and the beginning of the new century. We were back to smoking, swearing, and being much more honest with each other. The ancient culture of China with it’s traditional roles actually helped all of us to stop sweating the small stuff. Of course even the enlightened can’t escape a primates natural distrust of the other. It is wired into our DNA. Only the millennium of stacked ideas and civilized cooperation, layer upon layer of “you shoulds and should nots” through the ages masked it now. First to protect ourselves from the other, then to sell the other what we were selling, made it worth our while to get along with each other and thrive as a species.

Fang Fang thrived in the post hell holes of shilling for international concerns like it was a long lost vocation. After all multi national corporations were people too. But the first time Cyrus Plush moon walked into the room and perched in his usual place next to the mirror that changed. Fang Fang could smell money and immediately she began combining the efficiency of her role in the post suite with the oriental feminine charm no Xirong can ever completely ignore. The Wu’ster utilized skills from previous employment and stuck out her can. Cyrus nearly fell from his perch when his beak hawked out her form and for the first time completely ignored his own reflection. Well, for a moment or two.

I don’t even remember what project we were working on. They all blend into one another. Some sort of useless product that in essence made the buyer feel better than the monkey next door till the monkey down the street bought the newer better more expensive model. But as usual the message we were delivering had to be delivered in the most hypnotic, convoluted, and cleverly obfuscated package meant to worm it’s way into the psyche of even the most thick skulled consumer. No need to discriminate if the viewer could ever afford the doodad, we were motivating them to be productive enough to at least keep the landed gentry in the style to which they felt themselves entitled, never mind if the poor bastard chasing our floozied up carrot ever reached the promised reward. As long as they believed they had a chance we could soak up their hard earned shekels like a Sham Wow. Well on the day Cyrus and Fang Fang met I remember wondering which one of these two was the floozied up carrot on a stick  and which was the donkey in hot pursuit.

On that day in the suite we finished up the project quickly with Cyrus’s object of distraction keeping his bird brain occupied elsewhere. Now what shinny object can I use to distract him with today while we deal with “The Night of the Walking Drunks” campaign.

Just then Bannister burst in to the suite with the obligatory two questions.

“Are we done yet?” and “Whats for lunch?”

Let the games begin.

Life at the Sentient Bean / Mediatrix

Mediatrix



My favorite quality Mediatrx had was the fact that no matter how many times I rode with him, he always acted like it was our first time meeting. I was never sure if it was an act, or if it was from his early childhood diet of schmeat. Yep, the old beaker bacon. That was back when we first started growing our animal products, and we had to try them on someone. His country drew the short straw of that global lottery. It was a great idea. Eating flesh that had never, sweated, shat, or peed seemed like a good idea at the time. But when the side effects became apparent the Archetypes had to administer a forgetfulness pharmaceutical to spare the survivors the recollections of the disaster. Good things we cleared that up before that little snafu got to much publicity. So with the blessings of the Marquis De Bob, it was swept under the public rug, which was only shaken occasionally by a few of the politically embarrassed crackpots and conspiracy theorists which were quickly discredited by the ever present media. The poison will never out if if we refuse to know about it.

Even so Mediatrix was always plugged in and as a victim of exploitive experimentation he knew better than to believe most of the fear driving drivel. HIs cab was a rolling hot spot. Sure the world was covered by the ubiquitous G-10 network, but with the ludicrous encryption and sub networks Mediatrix’s cab was plugged into places even the Chinese couldn’t track you on the infernal net. So I used the time to check e-mail for any heads up that Bannister might have about the coming assignment. The world of commerce never slept. Only I did. When I wasn’t awake that is. But being awake was never the easy row to hoe. There was peace from time to time mostly when I pushed myself away from the treadmill and stopped thinking of more and bigger things to take care of the things I thought I had. That was no longer for me.

   But eating was always a pressing problem and since most these days did their tricks for food having long given up the illusion of carrot and stick. No longer were we fooled by the promise of a fine retirement funded from the life time of labor, The reality that those assets were quickly drained away by the privatize entitlement scams that sank in even to your the densest of the masses. We are all dumb money now.

   The e-mail came from Bannister and the news was not good. Cyrus Plush was coming to the session. Although I knew that turn of events would pad the hours considerably for my billing, it would be painful spending that much time in the room with Cyrus perched like a Budgie behind me fretting and a pacing only to stop occasionally to admire himself in the mirror and perhaps ordering in for more cuttlebones to sharpen his beak on. So will my next hours be.

But I do not enjoy it as much as I once had.

Life at the Sentient Bean / Bannister

Bannister


Well enough musing about Fang Fang. I had a meeting with Banister Crawler, a transplanted New York producer who came to this cow town to handle the alcohol and caffeine beverages account boondoggle.

With this caffeine laced beverage there was no more snorting illegal cocaine to stay awake while drinking. Now just drink alcohol and caffeine and all will be well. That is till the local constabulary had to start dealing with the ravages of walking drunk syndrome. Darn. Legal substances both. They could no longer supply the for profit prison system with cheap labor and felons that the prison profiteers payed kick backs for. Also they have yet to figure out a way to confiscate property for consuming caffeine with alcohol. So they had to lobby the Corp Boys to knock off this particular product category, which was being heavily promoted, in the hope they could get back to the good old days of arresting people for being wide awake drunk and breaking laws by the act of ingesting verboten substances. Since many corporations were heavily invested in the prison system, they needed to oblige. Sure the profits from caffeine laced vitzblitz were big, but when your IRA’s are in the market you had to play all eventualities, which ain’t easy. Prison was big business. Criminal justice was a perfect jobs program for the self righteous. So was the double dipping they could garner from the illegal drug trade it would revive.

So that meant I would be able to bill many more hours while we took a campaign meant to extoll the virtues of being the rizzed inebriated, to just extolling the tried and true virtues of getting lucky while geezed. Of course this would mean a re-shoot. But first we would rearrange the marbles we had ad infinitum. Of course this meant hours in a dark room and much hand wringing, but this came with the territory. Bannister was a good sort, though a WASP through and through. He knew Providence would always smile on him with hard work and knowing what to kiss and when. It would entail the obligatory haggling over the hours and billing, but a good time would be had by all. The lunches were good and numerous, though being somewhat reminiscent of the days of Roman Bread and Circuses. Only a little less bloody.  I might even get back into the black after the recent Fang Fang junket.

So I bade farewell to the Beard with the usual, “It’s a good day to die.” nonsense and emerged from the Sentient Bean refreshed and enlightened from the morning reverie. Hailed the first gypsy cab I saw. As I crumpled into the back seat and licked a twenty and pasted it on my forehead to show good faith the driver took off. We hurtled towards that impressive array of unrented airspace formerly known as downtown. It was only then that I found out I was in the cab owned by the one known as Mediatrix.

Need I say more.

Life at the Sentient Bean / Sally

Sally


“Hello Sally” I said feeling like I was being sized up. For what I did not know. Well Fang Fang strolled up to me in her dirty Golden jump suit which was about five sizes to big  clomping over in work boots that seemed just as huge for her tiny frame. Even under the outsized Labrador Retrieval unform her surprisingly well defined feminine keyster was apparent. She aimed her butt in my general direction and said, “Fulfill first part of contract before moving to second part round eye.”

Well it seemed like a good idea. What could a little playful slap and tickle hurt. So I wound up and swung but she deftly maneuvered out of the way and said, “Not so fast G.I.”  G.I. was how the new Chinese immigrant overlords referred to us natives and stood for, Globally Indentured. They had learned lessons of history from the colonialists well and were enjoying their new roles.

 “How do I know where you been. I find you hanging out in the alley. Could be you live here.” Fang Fang said with a sly smile.  Before I could reply she demanded, “You buy me coffee now.” The little one was all about control so while lust filled visions and carnal possibilities surfaced from the reptilian part of my brain courtesy of my D.N.A. any sense, good bad or indifferent, was swiftly snatched away. I agreed.

Meanwhile the traffic was still blocked in the alleyway by the garbage truck. But Golden Retrieval employees were fearless when it came to local ordinances and rules. Never mind the honking horns. Once the other drivers saw the little operator strolling into the coffee shop with me they meekly reversed course and found alternative routes. It was White Lotus land now, and  Fang Fang knew it..

As I gallantly gestured for the little lady to enter the Sentient Bean before me I slapped that delightful behind and said, “So what’ll ya have Sally.” She gave a giggle akin to a child’s and then menacingly mumbled something in her native tongue which I didn’t quite catch. But I sure caught it later.

As we tumbled into the back of the Sentient Bean the Beard chimed in when he saw Fang Fang, “Hallo Sally, did you make it through the “Of Human Bondage” chapter in Spinoza’s “Ethics” yet?”

“Who have time for that crap, I too busy trying to save the world through recycling” retorted the Fangster then added, “Most of it is junk you transplanted  Euro Trash bought on credit, and pitched when it no longer was shinney and new.”

Now, I have to ask myself why she spoke that way since I would eventually find that she was born and raised in Buffalo NY. Just passing for advantage maybe.

Fang Fang Wu was a mystery through and through.