One last thing...
Though this blog was called “Adam’s Thingy,” — my new one is Adam’s Thing.
Huge difference. I don’t want people going to AdamsThingy.com and thinking that’s me.
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"I don't trust The Suits."
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Though this blog was called “Adam’s Thingy,” — my new one is Adam’s Thing.
Huge difference. I don’t want people going to AdamsThingy.com and thinking that’s me.
Well, almost a full year after I moved away from hosting my own Wordpress blog, I’ve moved back.
Although I’ll miss the functionality of Tumblr, I do this for a few reasons:
But you don’t need to know that. What you need to know is:
To my Tumblr followers: I hope you’ll visit at my new home. All my posts from the last year have been ported over, but none of the comments, so come leave some. =)
I don’t think that the Tumblr platform really meets my blogging needs. I’m thinking of reopening adamczar.net or suckstobeu.net as my own blog in order to grow readership. Which would you prefer? I am really hesitant to have my name plastered over everything so I like suckstobeu.com, personally.
Update: I just found out that www.adamsthingie.com or www.adamsthing.com is available. How about one of those?
Well, as you know, the results for the last chapter resulted in a tie. Thanks for the suggestions as to what to do in such a situation. Ultimately, I’ve decided that the comments will serve as a tie breaker. For example, this time, Dave was the only one who commented, explaining why he is choosing to swim away. Since all things are equal, I’m going to use the comments to tip the scales. I think this is how I’ll do it in the future, too, so if you feel passionately one way or another make sure to post a comment with the reasoning behind your vote in case it ends up in a tie.
I was going to hint last time that one of the choices would result in your death, in the spirit of the original books. So read on to reveal your fate.
****
“Come on, kid!” The rental agent moves to float on his back, and it is obvious he is seriously wounded. The water around him has turned a dark, murky orange—a result of the green water mixing with his blood. He starts to use one arm to backstroke away from you. “I don’t have much time, I’m seeing shit, let’s move.”
“You see it, too?” You stammer, trying to keep your chin above water.
“I see us dying out here if we don’t move, and we don’t have time to wait for the sharks to show up for my blood,” he is paddling away now, and you glance backward at the corpse. At this point you are unsure if the man who came to rescue you even sees it.
The corpse does not look the same anymore, furthering your suspicion that it is actually a hallucination. You feel lightheaded, as if you’re dreaming. It now looks less like a corpse and more like a live person. Color has returned to it’s face, and it’s features are so plain you cannot identify it as male or female.
“Please come,” it says, and actually looks sad. “I have questions.”
You feel a clamp on your shoulder. “Come on!” The bleeding man shouts in your ear and pulls you away with him. The corpse tilts it’s head to one side and lowers it’s arms, conveying disappointment. You reluctantly decide to swim with the agent, and after a while he let’s go of your shoulder.
You both do a modified backstroke in the direction of the shore, grateful that after a while the current seems to change and you no longer have to fight against it. Every so often you crane your neck to look and see how far away you are. The corpse remains in the distance, but eventually fades away.
Along the way, the rental agent murmurs that someone on the beach probably saw the explosion and someone should be on their way to get you both, “all we have to do is stay breathing for a few more minutes, and get as close as we can in the meantime.”
You are huffing for breath. “I don’t know… how much longer… I can swim.”
Your backstroke is no longer working, and the muscles in your bicep and side are cramping. You flip over and attempt a regular swim with both arms.
You overestimate the strength left in your body. The moment your face goes under water, bringing it up to take a breath of air between strokes doesn’t even feel like an option. You open your eyes, and see nothing but green clouds and feel the sting of salt. After a few seconds, it hardly seems worthwhile to continue moving your arms.
If you can just rest… for a few minutes… someone from the shore will come. The rental agent is your escort and won’t let anything happen. You are sure you are close to the shore… seconds away… the current will take you the rest of the way. You can rest like this. In fact, you are so close, you can even breath now. You inhale deeply, eyes wide, and it doesn’t hurt. The clouds in your line of sight become brighter, and it doesn’t even occur to you that you’ve just taken a deep breath of water before you die.
The corpse sees this happen. Soon afterward, it is far behind you, swimming away and downward toward the ocean floor, seven miles from the shore. Eventually there is no corpse, and to some it may have appeared as a faint ball of light, something out of the corner of their eye. It approaches something only it can see, and something no being on Earth could even comprehend with any of their available senses.
“There is intelligent life,” it says in the language of it’s kind, entering the structure. “It is not in the water. The thirty percent surface area supports intelligence, and I have just seen something miraculous.”
The corpse you saw was not a corpse at all, but an extra dimensional being of thought learning to interact in the physical realm after the unintentional destruction of it’s own. It experiences sadness and regret at your demise, and after a time the rest of these beings decide it is too dangerous to interact with physical life as they currently exist, and instead choose to morph into sea dwelling creatures who have yet to be found by scientists. Occasionally, the being you identified as the corpse thinks of you, and how different things could have been had it only done a better job in convincing you to take its hand.
You figure this out eventually, but only after the one hundred thousand years or so that it takes your consciousness to reform in the afterlife, at which point the Corpse Being is nowhere to be found.
“Break, break, break! Oh thy cold gray stones, O sea! And I would that my tongue could utter the thoughts that arise in me.
- Break, break, break! At the foot of thy crags, O sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead will never come back to me.”
-Alfred Lord Tennyson
I don’t post as much personal stuff as I used to, but this is still “my blog” and every now and then I don’t see anything wrong with it.
I’ve found something out about myself, and it happened because of a dream I had. I thought that was pretty cool.
In short: I dreamt that I witnessed a series of murders, and my testimony could answer all of the unsolved questions and bring justice to a number of families. But as I approached the police officer to tell him what I knew, I was dismissed as unimportant and they listened to someone else, who could only speculate at best about what happened.
What this means: My biggest insecurity is being ignored and/or shoved aside. I happened to be thinking about this in the abstract a lot this weekend, so had the dream which, when I woke up, turned all these abstract thoughts into something concrete.
I hold The Sarah Connor Chronicles (TSCC) to a much lower standard than shows like Battlestar Galactica and Lost. In other words, TSCC, in my eyes, has a lot more leeway when it comes to getting away with silly stuff and the occasional cheesy bit. It has from the beginning, just because it has an admittedly cheesy premise to begin with. But, last Friday’s episode upped the bar, and while I’m still not ready to compare it to BSG and seasons 1-4 of Lost, I think cancelling the show would be a huge mistake.
With no news, fans are left speculating about the fate of the show. I really have no guesses. Ratings have been in the toilet, despite a few weeks of increases. If it were not for the Terminator movie coming out next month, I’d say that I’m 100% sure we won’t be getting a third season. I think the movie is the only thing saving it at this point. So I’m 50/50. I’d like to say that, if I were an executive, I’d give TSCC a few more episodes next fall just to see if the movie sparked any interest. But I’m not an executive, and they tend to make stupid decisions, so I really have no idea.
Anyway, it was good to see the creators of the show were not ignoring the 50/50 fate, and crafted an episode that serves as a pretty good end to the entire series. Actually, not pretty good – this ending was awesome. I can’t believe it was only one hour.
My favorite scene would be obvious if you’ve been following these blogs since day one (I need to dig those up to see what has happened and if anything I said is relevant)—John and Cameron’s sex scene. Okay, so they didn’t have sex, but damn. Damn.
Damn.
Cameron taking off her clothes and telling John to get on top of her. Then, handing him a knife so he can cut her open and feel her insides to see if there were any leaks… how tense was THAT?! John lingering over her face and getting closer and closer with the soft lighting and then, after a moment of silence, Cameron says: “John, we should go.”

Damn.
Damn. Damn.
I mean, it’s creepy as hell. Just because she looks like a girl doesn’t mean she is one… underneath, she’s just a freekin’ robot. But what made stuff like this okay was not due to the fact that John is male and Cameron looks female… it’s all about what Cameron represents to John. There is love there, and if John wants to kiss whatever it was that was lying underneath him… female, male, robot, dog, cat, whatever… it doesn’t have to be sexual, but a simple expression of love. And that’s what made it okay. However, that being said, she does look like a pretty hot female. Just sayin.
My next favorite scene was Catherine Weaver morphing into a shield to protect Ellison and the Connors. That was just sweet.

Not to mention, her entire story line culminated in one huge explosive climax. All season we’ve been wondering what her intentions were. Since she was a T1000 we assume she was bad, but little things here and there kept us wondering. Well, we got the answer—she’s there to protect the future. It’s apparant that the T1000s have formed their own faction within the war. Catherine Weaver was there to raise “her John” to fight Skynet in ways that Sarah’s John couldn’t.
A comment on a blog somewhere suggested that John Henry, who is now in the future, is how John Connor is able to reprogram the Terminators in the first place. And the ending, with John in the future, finally stepping away from his mother (and meeting his new family… Derek and Kyle, and oh my god Allison from Palmdale!)… he is presumably in the pre-Terminator 1 timeline, and if the show continues we’ll likely see him sending Kyle back to 1984 to protect his mother from the first machine.
So many things this show could do now, but at the same time, a perfect ending. If it does come back, I wonder if it will continue to be called the Sarah Connor Chronicles, seeing as how it’s obvious Sarah’s job is done. “The Terminator Chronicles” seems like a better title now, or even just “The Connor Chronicles.”
Anyway, I will definitely miss this if it never comes back, and will question anybody who calls themselves a Terminator fan but doesn’t at least acknowledge that this show has had great moments.
Michael Hogan, who played (sucks that that’s past tense) Colonel Tigh in Battlestar Galactica, will be at the Motor City Comic Con this May. I’ve gone the past few years but decided a while back I won’t be going this year because I have no budget for it.
But when I got the flier in the mail with his picture on it I was torn. BSG is by far my favorite show and Tigh was a big part of it. Then I realized I’d have no idea what to say to Micahel Hogan, and would feel silly doing my usual routine of autograph and picture.
I realize it’s because Colonel Tigh is so REAL. In fact, I think meeting the actor who played him would diminish everything for me. That’s a sign of a great actor, because you really get so lost in the character the real person ceases to exist.
It’s tragic… those that are best at their art become completely invisible.
Reblogged: icanread
I’m going to make this an every-other day thing from now on so people have more time to read, and then comment or vote. Voting on this particular one will last until Sunday morning at 11, at which point the voting module just won’t accept your vote (kan still commentz tho lolz). Expect the next part to post Sunday evening, or early Monday.
Also, this marks the first time since the fourth grade where I’ve illustrated one of my stories. I’d like to keep doing it, so don’t laugh at my drawing.
(Just surfed in? Read the last part here, including a link to the beginning.)
****
The rental agent speeds away so fast you have to struggle to keep up. The last thing you want to do is fall behind and make him have to turn around again. He’d probably yell at you some more—why did he have to do that?—and you have no idea whether or not any real damage was done to the jet ski and how much it might cost, and are already dreading telling your parents about the bill they might have to pay—but more than that, you absolutely cannot shake the image of what you just saw in the water.

You inhale sharply and steady your eyes until they focus on the rental agent. Your hands grip the steering handles and you punch the gas to catch up. You get the peculiar feeling that something is behind you, so before you’re even up to full speed you turn your head around to check.
Nothing is there. Just the water spraying, the wake the ski is leaving behind you, and the warm constant sun. You take a moment to sigh—you’ve never had a panic attack before, but maybe that’s what that was. You’re glad it’s over. The dead face you saw was probably no more than a dead fish. You turn back around to face forward.
You flinch, and throw your hands up.
Before you know it, you are under water. Shit, shit, shit! you think. Your eyes burn and you feel pressure on your chest as you struggle to get your bearings. You get your head above water and inhale a few times. The rental agent must have turned around or slowed down to allow you to catch up, and you weren’t looking and collided with him. You remember him screaming and putting his hands up in the air in a futile attempt to get you to stop.
As you tread water, you see that your jet ski continued to move after you flew off, and is so far in the distance it looks as small as a safety buoy.
You are mad at him—you were right behind him, he didn’t have to stop!—but more mad at yourself. All you want to do is break down in frustration, have someone rescue you, and then go lay on the beach.
His jet ski is bobbing in the water in front of you, no more than twenty feet away. Your arms are already tired from treading water, but you muster the strength to swim over to it. Just as you reach for it, he leaps from the water on the other side and straddles it, dripping wet and covered in seaweed.
He wipes his face, and looks down at you. The amount of anger on his face is terrifying, and he looks at you with his teeth clenched together so hard, you can see his jaw muscles bulge from the side of his face. He seems to actually growl at you: “Get. On.”
As he fiddles with the controls and starts up the stalled machine, you don’t even think about extending a hand for help. You grip a handle on the back, and pull yourself up with your own fatigued muscles. He glances over his shoulder to see if you are holding on. You have both hands clutching either side of your seat. Without saying a word, he begins to drive toward your jet ski.
You take a moment to gather yourself. The warm wind is blowing your hair dry, and you close your eyes. You are thankful to at least have a way back to the shore, and the agent seems to be unharmed. All good things. Soon, this would all be over, and you suddenly feel happy to spend the rest of your vacation at your family’s side.
Before you can get too far into your daydream, the jet ski slows. You start to worry again… there’s no way he got to your jet ski this fast. “Kid, you did some major damage.” Your eyes spring open, and you follow his stare to look at the water to your left. There is a colorful splotch of oil, and the smell of gasoline.
“You punctured the gas tank.” He beats the steering column with a fist. “Unbelievable. Get off from the other side real quick. I’m afraid it might ignit—“
It was like something out of a badly written story—no matter what you choose to do, nothing goes right. You’ve never felt an explosion so close before. At the movies it all seems very glorious, almost poetic. But in real life, there are no subwoofers to keep the deep rumbles going long after the initial spark. In real life, it happens before you even know what happens. There’s a flash, a deafening pop that renders you momentarily deaf, your skin burns, and then if you’re lucky you open your eyes and wonder what the hell happened. Afterward, it may still take a moment to realize you’re missing a limb.
Luckily, since the explosion seemed to occur on the left side of the machine, you were somewhat cushioned as you were already leaning in the direction of the other side. The rental agent did not fare as well. You see his bloody body bobbing on top of the water, ablaze in the wreckage. It is limp, and, after a moment, sinks.
Besides the ringing in your ears, it is quiet.
You scream.
It is still quiet.
You scream until it’s not quiet anymore. Your ears feel as if they’re full of dense, wet cotton.
You frantically scan the horizon for your jet ski, but can’t find it. The shore is visible, but so far away you are sure you’d die of exhaustion before you were able to swim the length. You allow your eyes to well up with tears, and a few moments pass.
You hear a splash behind you. You use your arms to turn around in the water, and six feet in front of you is the dead body you convinced yourself you didn’t see. It is upright and looking at you, it’s body from the waist up above the water, it’s legs underneath. It’s arms are at his sides, and his lower half is not moving under the water, as if it’s standing on some kind of solid platform.
It’s non-movement in water this deep is unnatural. Suddenly, his mouth opens, and he struggles to speak. He cocks his head and stretches his jaw, and blinks rapidly and hard as if trying to force a sound out. “I, am…” choke, “sorry for,” choke, “your mate.” He continues to struggle with his speech, his tongue making clicking noises. “You are,” choke, “intelligent?”
Your face is numb with disbelief. Your jaw begins to touch the water as you tire out, and soon you have to work hard at keeping the water out of your mouth. You tilt your head skyward as your body continues to slowly sink.
The corpse moves closer and you wonder how. You can’t see it’s legs, but it’s quickness leads you to believe he is being artificially propelled. “Are you,” choke, “in trouble?”
“Kid?” Behind you, it’s the voice of the rental agent. You do a half turn in the water to look at him. His hair is completely gone, and his face is covered with blood. “What the hell is that?” He seems calmer than he should be about a talking corpse, as if he’s given up. You wonder if you feel the same way.
“You come,” choke, “with me?” The corpse stammers. He holds out a leathery gray hand. “I have no trouble.”
“Kid, let’s get out of here.” The rental agent starts to swim away in the other direction, toward the far away shore, and looks at you, wondering if you’re going to follow. Your muscles are tired, but you catch a second wind and feel as if you might survive an attempt at swimming to the shore.
“On May 3, 2009, Conficker becomes self-aware. In a panic, computer users around the world try to pull the plug. Conficker, thinking it is under attack, retaliates using a full arsenal of nuclear warheads…”
Cameron and John, are you on this?