The Evil Robot Monkey Chronicles

Evil Robot Monkeys Aren't Enough?

2007-06-13T18:16:00.001-07:00

Holy crap, I thought we had it bad with the evil robot monkeys. But now I'm hearing reports of zombies everywhere.

Jesus.

Jimmy Carter's Evil Robot Monkey Liberation Army hasn't yet been hit by the zombie scourge; perhaps our defensive tactics are finally paying off. They've kept us (mostly) safe from monkeys for almost a year now - hopefully they'll keep us safe from zombies.

Bummer about the rest of the world, though, you know?

Wouldn't it be cool if we could get the zombies and evil robot monkeys to fight each other? And then we could just swoop in at the end and kill off any last few survivors... I bet the monkeys could take out most of the zombies - they're pretty good with those laser rifles. But surely the zombies would get a few of them. And that's a few less evil robot monkeys that we need to kill.

So what do you say, surviving humans? Head on down to Atlanta and join the Army.

I've got gin.

Don't even pretend you're suprised

2007-02-23T12:25:00.000-07:00

Chimpanzees in Senegal have been observed making and using wooden spears to hunt other primates.

Post-Apocalyptic Nutrition

2006-10-07T13:19:00.000-07:00

In the comments, an anonymous reader writes,

You are weird. Peach vodka and martini, really. What happened to good old margaritas. Milking the end of the lime is normal. But _peach_? From a bottle?

I don't know what apocalypse this person's writing from, but let me tell you, the one we're in doesn't offer much variety in the food. Supplies are limited; we've been surviving on canned peaches, beef jerky, and vodka (ever since I finished off the gin). And somehow, mixing beef jerky and vodka just doesn't sound all that appealing.

I'd hoped that when we reached Georgia and Jimmy Carter's army, supplies would be better - but hell, this is the damn peachtree state. More peaches, that's all they have here. One group is working on getting some hydroponic farming going, and other groups have been scavenging the outlying areas for more canned food - but it's a good thing I like peaches.

Next time we have an apocalypse, we're totally using a different caterer. This I swear.

6 Weird Habits Meme

2006-09-15T12:34:00.000-07:00

So I got tagged to list 6 weird habits of mine. It's hard, because I don't think of most of what I do as weird. Doesn't everyone polish their life-sized bust of Jimmy Carter before they go to sleep every night?

Then I got to thinking about the relevance of memes in our monkey-infested post-apocalyptic world. I mean, do they really offer the same kind of deep personal insight and meaning that they used to, before the monkeys came? Don't they seem a little, well, silly and narcissistic when you compare them to the true horrors that are going on in the real world every day?

So I talked to Mr. Carter about it earlier today (he told me to call him Jimmy! But I just can't. I can't.) and he said that he thought memes and personality quizzes and all that are even *more* important to the world now than they were before the monkeys came, because they offer us a way to reconnect with our lost pre-monkey heritage. By consciously keeping our most important and profound traditions alive despite adversity, we nourish our souls, and gain the strength we need for the long battle that lies before us.

Therefore, I present, Clarissa's 6 Weird Habits

1. Well, I said above that I polish my Jimmy Carter bust every night before I go to bed. I don't think that's very weird - I mean, if you don't run a cloth over it every day it gets all dusty, right? What the hell is so weird about that? It's not like I have it up on an altar and sacrifice a chicken to it every Sunday (like SOME PEOPLE).

2. I have a particular playlist on my iPod that I have to listen to when I'm cleaning my weapons. Once those tunes start, I'm good to go - but if for some reason I can't play my music, I just procrastinate and procrastinate and the weapons never get clean! (I think I'll have to do a whole post soon about music!)

3. When I'm on perimiter patrol, I have a series of things that I chant to myself. First it's "Kill the monkeys" for the first 20 minutes. The next 20 minutes is "Save the human race." Then for the rest of the time I just chant "Jimmy Carter" over and over again. I used to try to recite the names of all my friends and family and loved ones that have been killed by the monkeys, but my patrol shift is only 1.5 hours long.

4. I'm teaching myself Anglo-Saxon so that I can do my own translation of Beowulf. That's kind of weird, yeah. Stupid ablative case! But I try to spend at least half an hour a day studying.

5. When I'm mixing up a nice glass of peach juice and vodka, I have to be sure to get every last drop of peach juice out of the can. I'll stand there for like five minutes literally, just trying to get one last drop of juice out. Mmmm, peaches.

6. Ever since Topeka, I've started tying little origami flowers to the corpses before we burn them. It just makes me feel better somehow.

Now I think I'm going to go do the What Kind of Pirate Are You quiz.

We live in a time of transition . . .

2006-08-17T10:00:00.000-07:00

We live in a time of transition, an uneasy era which is likely to endure for the rest of this century. During the period we may be tempted to abandon some of the time-honored principles and commitments which have been proven during the difficult times of past generations. We must never yield to this temptation. Our American values are not luxuries, but necessities - not the salt in our bread, but the bread itself.

Jimmy Carter, in his farewell address.

MimiRobby asked if we're "reasonably stable" now. Nothing's been stable since the monkey attacks began - but we have at least reached Atlanta and gotten in touch with Jimmy Carter's army. I haven't met Jimmy Carter yet but I know I will soon! I am so excited!

Kitten!

2006-08-16T11:08:00.000-07:00

Cassie looks on patiently as Anklebiter bites her ankles.

I'll tell you the story of our growing family soon.

I'm back!

2006-07-10T23:19:00.000-07:00

Hello, friends. I hope you're all well.

I'm sorry it's been so long since I last checked in. Once we left the library it wasn't so easy to find an internet connection and there was just so much going on!

Tonight we're in a small town close to the Utah/Arizona border. Apparently it was a polygamist town, but it looks pretty normal. We're camped out in a big house in the center of town. I hope we can stay here for a few days. I thought living in the basement was tough, but let me tell you, that's nothing compared to taking a road trip under these conditions, with these people. We're all pretty cranky and I think it would do us all good to just stay here for a little while. Not long; we have places to be.

And if you slow down, the monkeys will get you.

The first thing we did, like always, was scout the town, and drag all the bodies to an open space and burn them. You can say what you want about polygamy, either for or against, but I'm here to tell you that polygamists die like anyone else when the monkeys come after them.

I guess we're lucky that it's so dry here. I'm really not looking forward to seeing what bodies are like in more humid climates - though probably by the time we get there, the worst of it will be over.

Ugh.

There's no vodka in this town, but we stocked up pretty well before we left Salt Lake. So it's ok. Well, it's not ok at all. But it's better than it would be without vodka.

So anyway we dealt with the bodies and then I pulled out the laptop and checked for a wireless connection. It's been days since I've been able to check my e-mail but somehow there's a connection here! Yay!

One of the first things I did after deleting all my spam - HELLO, if even the evil robot monkey apocalypse won't cut down on my spam, nothing will - was see what those geniuses at Shimmer are up to. Their Summer issue is out now, though I haven't been able to get my hands on a copy yet. And their art director, Mary Robinette Kowal, has been interviewed at suite101. Interesting stuff, though I'm disappointed that they didn't talk about how they're able to keep publishing despite the constant threat of monkeys. But, well, ok, it's actually kind of nice to read something that isn't all about death and terror.

God, so much has happened that I barely know where to start. The quick version is that we're on our way to Atlanta to join up with Jimmy Carter's army, but we're going the long way around, detouring through California, and then heading north and then east, and trying to get as many survivors to come with us as possible. Our first stop was the basement for Derek and Gretchen and Madeline, and then we went over to the Convention Center but only three people joined us there. We picked up another three people on the way to Arizona.

Mostly, though, we don't find survivors. But I don't want to talk about that any more.

The best part is having Gretchen back. She's walking pretty well now, and she's just so damn cute when she says "Bad mokee!" That's how she says "monkey."

I'll try to tell you more tomorrow.

Some People Have No Shame

2006-05-14T20:03:00.000-07:00

I got this e-mail today:

STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL.

You may be surprised to receive this letter from me since you don't know me personally.I am Miss Juliana Maneti,the eldest daughter of Late Patrick Maneti,who was mudered by evil robot monkeys recently in Zimbabwe.

I did not know your person but I relied on faith to see me through.Before the death of my father,he had deposited the sum of US$20.5Million (Twenty Million Five Hundred Thousand Dollars),in one of the private security companies in Johannesburg,as if he foresaw the looming danger from monkeys in Zimbabwe. This fund was meant for the purchase of new weapons and research to fight monkeys in Swaziland.

A lot of people were killed because of the monkeys which my late father was one of the victims. Based on this,my family were scattered. I am staying here in Italy as a refugee while my mother and my younger ones are staying in South Africa
as refugees.We decided to contact you to assist us in transfering this money to your country for buying weapons.The monetary/investment Law of South Africa and Italy prohibt refugees(assylum seekers) to run bank accounts or be involved in any business transaction/investment.It is on this that we contacted you hoping that you will assist us with the fight against monkeys by the name of God.

As the eldest daughter,I am saddled with the responsibility of seeking a genuine and an honest person who will assist us in transfering this fund out of South Africa without the knowledge of my country(Zimbabwe)government who are in league with the evil robot monkeys who are bent on taking everything that my late father had after confiscating all his farm lands and investment in Zimbabwe.We are left with nothing here.

For your kind assistance my Mother and I are offering you 20% of the fund after the succesful transfer of the fund to your account.5% will be set aside for any expenses that might result in the process of this transaction,while the remaining 75% will be for my family which will be used to fight monkeys.

Contact me with this e-mail ( julmaneti@netscape.net ) if this proposal is of interest to you, while I implore you to maintain absolute confidentiality required in this transaction.

Yours truly,
Miss Juliana Maneti.

More about Miles

2006-05-14T00:24:00.000-07:00

So, where was I?

The next day, Miles took me back to the microfiche room and showed me his stash.

Holy crap. I guess the Monkey Wars haven't been so bad for him. He has suitcases full of stuff - just an amazing array of pills and powders and herbs and paraphenalia. I didn't even recognize a lot of it but he was happy to explain and offer samples. I declined, and not just because DAISI was sort of growling at me.

"Where did you get all this?" I asked him.

He looked a little sheepish, and told me that he's been going around to houses and sort of exploring them and taking what he wanted.

"You steal drugs from dead people?"

"No! It's not like that."

"Yes, it is."

"Well, they don't need it any more, do they? Besides, where did all your gin come from? All those canned peaches? The surveillance cameras you ripped off from Radio Shack?"

"That's different."

"How?" he said, all defiant.

"Shut up," I explained.

"But-" he said, but he did shut up when DAISI went on alert and glared at him. Those two don't get along at all. He just can't believe that she's really not evil any more. I guess I can't blame him but I do wish those two would get along better. Would it kill her to have one of his special cigarettes?

He told me he's been burying the bodies he finds in the houses. But sometimes the bodies are just too awful, or there are too many of them.

He burns those houses down.

Well, that was kind of an awkward moment, so we had one of his special cigarettes and relaxed a little. It still wasn't funny but it didn't seem so bad any more, you know?

"Seriously, though," he said after a while. "Why aren't you on your way to Atlanta to join Jimmy Carter's army?"

He'd said something about that the other day, but I thought he was just making stuff up. "I love Jimmy Carter," I said. I'd never heard of Jimmy Carter's army but damned if I was going to admit that to some stupid stoner. "But where did *you* hear about the army?"

"Duh," he said. "It's not a secret."

Oh.

"I know that," I said. "But where did *you* hear about it?" Awkward pause. "Because I'm interested in seeing how information travels in the post-monkey-apocalypse world," I said. "I'm interested in how new social networks develop under these conditions. What new information pathways develop? Can we learn anything about the regenerative properties of neural networks and chaotic systems?" I have no idea what that meant but it sounded good, and I was betting that Miles wouldn't know what it meant, either.

"Dude," he said. "That's so cool. Chaotic systems - you mean like the thing where a butterfly flaps its wings and then the velociraptors get loose in Jurassic Park?"

"Right. Just like that."

"That's so cool."

DAISI piped up. "Neural networks not that! Chaotic not --" but I kicked her and she shut up.

"Don't mind her," I told Miles. "Programming, you know how it is." I rolled my eyes and he rolled his companionably. "So come on, where did you hear about the Army?"

And he told me. Then we got another Molly Ringwald movie to watch, and as soon as he fell asleep, I went over to the computer and looked it up.

Holy crap. The stoner was right. Jimmy Carter's calling all the survivors to make their way to Atlanta to join his army.

It will be magnificent. I guess I'd been so busy studying Anglo-Saxon that I hadn't been doing much networking. But no more. I was on top of things again. I was back in the loop. I know what's been going on, and I knew that it was time to get out of the library and get back into the Monkey Wars.

It will be magnificent.

I'll start packing in the morning. But first, I finished off Miles's cigarette and watched the end of "Sixteen Candles."

Some Monkeys Have a Problem

2006-05-10T14:57:00.000-07:00

Chris posted a link to an article about monkeys and alcohol consumption; give it a read.

Monkeys drink more alcohol when housed alone, and some like to end a long day in the lab with a boozy cocktail, according to a new analysis of alcohol consumption among members of a rhesus macaque social group.

DAISI refuses all offers of gin. Maybe she can't consume alcohol (as I said earlier, evil robot monkeys don't eat bananas), or maybe she's just more of a tequila girl. I'll have to ask her.

I'm reminded of this quotation from a New York Times article about the Robert Blake trial, back BM. I swear to God that I am not making this up:

Earlier in the trial, a professor from the University of California, Los Angeles, testified as an expert witness about the psychotropic effects of cocaine. He said that he had smoked crack cocaine himself and sat in a cage with monkeys to teach them how to smoke cocaine as well.

Maybe tonight we'll try to get DAISI to smoke one of Miles's special cigarettes, and then watch Pretty in Pink with us.

A Conversation With Miles

2006-05-09T23:24:00.000-07:00

sorry, sorry, now I'm weeks behind. I am trying diligently to get everyone caught up, I swear!

OK, so, after I kicked Miles's ass at Scrabble, I was feeling pretty mellow. He took his loss well - he's a good loser. He said some crap about just enjoying the game and not being particularly concerned about whether he wins or not, but I wasn't really listening.

After Scrabble, we went down to the DVD collection and picked out a movie to watch on the big-screen TV in the Young Adult section. I really really hate picking movies. "What do you want to watch?" "I don't know, what do you want to watch?" "How about The Terminator?" "No, that's stupid. How about Pride and Prejudice?" argh.

Finally I just blindfolded Miles and turned him loose on the DVDs and told him to pick one. I couldn't stand it any more. He didn't mind; he's actually turning out to be pretty easy to get along with.

So that's how Miles and I ended up watching The Breakfast Club.

And you know what? It was pretty fun. That night might be the first time that I really relaxed since the night the monkeys came.

About halfway through, Miles got out one of his special cigarettes. He offered to share it with me. At first I said no, no, I've got my gin, but I have to admit, I was curious.

I'm not very good at smoking. I don't think it had much of an effect on me. But HOLY CRAP, The Breakfast Club is fucking HILARIOUS. We just laughed and laughed and laughed. I'm not sure I even heard much of the dialog because we were laughing so hard. I mean, Molly Ringwald! ahahahahahahahahahaha! And the party! ahahahahahahaha!

After the movie was over, we were pretty hungry, so I opened up a can of peaches. PEACHES! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! And the can opener! HA! Miles says, dude! It opens! The cans! and I just laughed and laughed and laughed.

We ate that whole can of peaches, and then we started talking. I told Miles all about the night the monkeys came, and what it was like to live in the basement, and about Derek and Gretchen and how much I miss them, and about that buddhist nun, whatever her name was.

And he told me about his life BM, as he calls it - Before Monkeys. That set him off laughing for another 20 minutes but he told me about how he grew up in Chicago, and then came out to this state to do some environmental work with a hemp advocacy group, and all about biodiesel and the Grateful Dead and peace marches and all that crap. He gave me another one of his special cigarettes about then so I just sort of let him talk. The laser rifle was on another floor, anyway, so I am not sure how I would have been able to shut him up.

The day the monkeys came, he'd been in the microfiche room reading old newspapers and magazines. He was researching something about how the government was supposedly suppressing alternative fuel research or some crap like that, I don't know, who listens? That's where he was when the monkeys came. He heard the shooting and the screaming and he hid. He was lucky that monkeys don't read microfiche.

Once it was all quiet, he came out - and, well, you know what the aftermath of a monkey attack was. He smoked several of his cigarettes, and then, slowly, he cleaned up the library. He cleaned up the whole damn library. It was a Saturday afternoon and it was a popular place on Saturdays - but Miles cleaned up the whole damn thing.

I didn't say anything for a little while. I kind of felt bad about how he annoyed the crap out of me. He really was a good person, and had lost just as much as I had.

After a while he just sort of shook himself. He smiled at me, and then he said, "so, you're like this total badass monkey-fighter. Why haven't you gone to Atlanta to join Jimmy Carter's army?"

I just took another drag on that special cigarette. I laughed and laughed and laughed.

Good news, Bad news

2006-05-04T16:21:00.000-07:00

Turns out Miles lied about his name. Stupid lying pothead. His last name isn't Long, it's Davenport. God, he laughed and laughed and laughed when he confessed. I am starting to hate him already, him and his stupid cackle.

What is so damn funny? Everything I say just makes him laugh.

On the plus side, stoners suck at Scrabble. WOO!

And the intruder is . . .

2006-05-04T00:33:00.000-07:00

OK! So I said I was going to post yesterday. Or the day before. But I didn't. SUE ME. Ooops, you can't, because the evil robot monkeys said first, let's kill the lawyers. They are not stupid, you know. bwah ha ha!

Anyway.

After setting up the surveillance cameras, DAISI and I spotted someone coming out of the microfiche room. I kind of freaked out - microfiche? who the hell goes to the microfiche room these days? plus, well, it's creepy that someone else has been living in the library with us for all these weeks, sneaking around and stealing my Philip K. Dick books, etc.

but microfiche? WTF?

DAISI and I had a brief consultation, and decided to go down there and apprehend our visitor. We couldn't tell much about him from our little cameras - we were pretty sure he was a guy from the way he moved, and from his general body shape - but we couldn't tell for sure.

We each picked up a laser rifle. "Maybe not bad human is," DAISI said. I'm used oto the way she talks now, mostly.

"Maybe not," I said, "but he has no business sneaking around like that, does he? He's up to no good." DAISI was skeptical but I convinced her. She seemed to think that he was just as afraid of us as we were of him.

But we're not afraid of him. We have laser rifles.

So we headed up to the little microfiche room on the third floor. I'd noticed the room earlier, when I was exploring the library, but I never bothered to go in there. I mean, seriously, microfiche? I'd jiggled the handle on the door but it was locked, and I was positive that there was nothing in that room that I wanted.

DAISI and I crept up on the room silently. You should have seen us - it was beautiful. It was like something out of a ninja movie. We were shadows - shadows with laser rifles.

On the count of three, DAISI crashed the door open. The room was occupied - a young man blinked up at us.

"Whoa," he said.

I aimed my rifle at him. "Who the fuck are you?" I shouted.

"Dude. My name is Miles," he said. He was wearing a tie-dyed t-shirt and his hair was this monstrous mess of dreadlocks and braids. "Miles. . . " he hesitated. "Miles Long!" he said, triumphantly, and then he started to laugh.

DAISI just looked at me. But I'd seen his type before. Fucking hippies. Smoking their pot and listening to their Grateful Dead records and having premarital sex. God damn. I couldn't believe that one of them had been smart enough to escape the monkeys.

I guestured to DAISI to lower her rifle. "He's no harm to us," I told her. She looked skeptical but obeyed.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him.

"Dude," he said, and he was still giggling a little, this annoying girlish giggle. "I was just here looking up some information on organic farming, you know? When the monkeys attacked." He looked sober for an instant, then his eyes glazed over again. I forced myself to lower my laser rifle. I could smell the pot in the air - why on earth hadn't I noticed it before? This loser probably smoked enough to fill the entire library with pot.

Maybe that's why I'd been struggling with the subjunctive in Anglo Saxon.

And then he started to cry. I patted him on the shoulder while he told his story. It's a common story: he was minding his own business, and then the monkeys came. He hid while other people died.

I don't blame him; there is nothing he could have done, any more than I could have done anything that first night. But that won't stop him from feeling guilty. It's human to think you could have done something more.

After he told his story, he pulled a packet of greenery out of his pocket and rolled a little cigarette. God damn potheads. I left him to his addiction and went back to the Young Adult section where I was camped out. I poured myself a nice glass of gin and thought about everything he'd told me.

By the time my glass was empty, it was clear. Human beings are pretty scarce these days, so we need to stick together - regardless of our differences.

I would have to befriend Mr. Miles Long.

We Capture the Intruder

2006-05-01T00:35:00.000-07:00

Friends, I am truly sorry that it has taken me so long to find the time to update y'all on what's been going on. As always, things are pretty crazy and it's hard to find time, let alone an internet connection. But I've got a few minutes, so I'll try to catch you up. It will probably take me a few days to bring you all up to speed, though, so please be patient! I'm well, those I love are well, and life is good. I hope it's the same for you.

OK, so. Remember I was talking about how things were weird in the library? The elevator would run, I'd hear footsteps, etc? But we never saw anyone? After my last post, DAISI and I left the library and rode my razor scooter over to the mall - it's just a few blocks from the library, so we thought it was worth the risk. We made it to the mall without mishap - no monkeys.

DAISI spent fifteen minutes trying to pick the lock on one of the main doors, but folks, let me tell you. She may be good at Scrabble, but she sucks at picking locks, ok? Finally I got tired of waiting and kicked the damn door open. It's just glass, and I was wearing jeans - no problem.

Have you ever been alone in a mall after hours? It's creepy. Places like that, you're used to having people around, and it just seems wrong when there aren't any.

Well, there were people, but they weren't alive. God. The monkeys must have attacked this mall on a Saturday afternoon or something - corpses everywhere. DAISI and I dragged all the corpses on the first floor into the Foot Locker. Though they were kind of, uh, rotten. "Dragged" is not the best word. I don't want to talk about it.

Anyway. The Radio Shack was on the second floor. The second floor was as bad as the first. We put those bodies in Victoria's Secret, mostly, then put the rest in Borders.

It's just not dignified to leave them lying around on the escalator like that. I can't bury them but I can't just leave them like that.

God. Why don't they put liquor stores in malls here?

I didn't have the heart to go to the third floor. I'm sorry. I am so sorry.

Radio Shack was on the second floor. We got what we needed quickly, and came back to the library. DAISI spent the day installing surveillance cameras. She was kind of pissed, because back when she was an evil robot monkey, she was really good at sniffing out humans - but she hadn't been able to find whoever was in the library with us. She seemed to take it as a personal failure.

"It's ok," I told her. "You're just a robot monkey." She didn't seem very consoled, though. Bitch challenged me to Scrabble, and beat me by 300 points. And, HELLO, why aren't perfectly good anglo-saxon words in the Scrabble dictionary? They are so fucking biased towards Modern English. It just isn't fair.

After three days, our surveillance paid off. We saw someone going into the microfiche room.

Ooops, gotta go. Tell you the rest tomorrow.

Read Between The Lines, People

2006-04-24T22:27:00.000-07:00

Check out this news story on CNN!

FINALLY the media is starting to report what we all know. The story doesn't mention the word "robot" but I think it's pretty clear, don't you?

Tacugama Chimpanzee Sanctuary, eh? Maybe someday I'll have the resources to visit Africa. But remember this, everyone: Tacugama Chimpanzee Sanctuary. I'm not saying that's the ERM hive but it sure seems like a good candidate for the short list, doesn't it?

swear to GOD I'm going to tell you all what's been going on lately. As always, things are busy. We're packing up to leave the library but since we're low on gin the packing should go quickly, so I hope I'll have a few moments to spare tomorrow. It is so exciting!

I've been tagged

2006-04-21T23:03:00.000-07:00

Mary Robinette, who seems to live in monkey-free Iceland, tagged me! And since several people have recently written to express their concern over my silence, I thought I'd take care of two things at once by replying to her tag.

The deal is I have to tell you six random things about myself.

1. DAISI brings me a lovely cup of coffee every morning. It is very decadent, and at first I was reluctant to let her spoil me like that, but then I realized: she makes a good cup of coffee.

There's a little coffee shop on the ground floor of the library, and DAISI broke in and figured out how to work the coffee machines. Most robot monkeys don't have much experience with coffee makers but DAISI is pretty good at figuring stuff out.

2. I have a birthmark shaped like a little squid. It's on a part of my body that's usually covered by clothes. But if you ever have to identify my body in the aftermath of a monkey attack, that's what you should look for.

3. My favorite color is purple. Dark purple.

4. Hey, I just realized I'm maybe THE pre-eminent Anglo-Saxon scholar in the WORLD today. Unfortunately I don't think the Society for Anglo-Saxon Studies is going to be holding their annual convention this year.

5. Yesterday was Gretchen's first birthday. I wonder what Derek did to celebrate? I miss them both terribly.

6. The library is almost out of gin.

I am too lazy to tag 6 more people. But if I did, they'd be robert, demosthenes, geoffrey, will, aliette, and jilly (who does not really count as a person but what the hey).

Shimmer Spring Bonus Story

2006-04-01T12:14:00.000-07:00

Those fabulous geniuses at Shimmer just sent me e-mail about a great new bonus story they've put up on their web site. Check it out!

Cat and Mouse

2006-03-29T02:19:00.000-07:00

This afternoon, I was curled up on one of the beanbag chairs in the Young Adult section, reading a book on Anglo-Saxon grammar (having lost interest in Egyptology over the weekend, having read the DaVinci Code and the Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood and all the Harry Potter books already). I want to be able to discuss "Beowulf" intelligently if I ever meet Jimmy Carter, you know? Translations are good and all, but as one of my college professors said, "reading poetry in translation is like having a Great Dane breathe up your nose."

Huh. Now that I look at that statement all typed out like that, I'm not sure what it means. I guess English wasn't his first language.

So anyway, I'm trying to work my way through the various uses of the subjunctive when I hear the elevator ding.

Scared the crap out of me. Stuff like that has been happening ever since we got here - I told you I was hearing sounds, and my Philip K. Dick book wasn't where I left it. Seems like every day there's something like that - I hear footsteps, or there's a light turned on in a part of the building that I haven't been to for days, or I hear the plumbing running, or something. But every time I look, there's nothing there.

It makes me jumpy.

So when the elevator dinged, I jumped. I grabbed the laser rifle and darted over toward the elevator, ducking low to stay hidden by the kid-sized bookshelves. It couldn't have taken me more than 5 seconds to get over there - but when I peeked out, no one was there. It was utterly silent.

I got pretty good at sitting quietly while we were in the basement, so I just sat and waited. If someone was there, hiding, if someone had flown out of the elevator and was hiding in the stacks even faster than I'd run over here - they'd have to move eventually.

I could see the elevator from where I was. It was sitting empty and open. I couldn't see a whole lot else; bookshelves, mostly. The reference desk. A little open space. But I knew that if anyone moved, I would hear them.

No one moved.

I waited for twenty minutes. Twenty god damn minutes. When's the last time you sat still for 20 minutes? Without moving at all? Barely even breathing?

Didn't think so.

Eventually I got bored and took a deep breath. Then I stood up. My legs were kind of crampy so that might not have been as dramatic a gesture as I hoped but since ostensibly no one was looking, I didn't worry. Plus, I had a gun.

"HEY!" I yelled. "COME OUT HERE NOW. OR I'LL START SHOOTING."

Silence.

"I'M NOT KIDDING." I'd shoot the paperback romance novels first, but whoever was hiding there wouldn't know that.

Silence.

So I shot one. Fired all the way across the reference desk and took out a thick paperback. It was kind of far away but even at that distance I could see the cover heroine's heaving bosoms. The laser rifle made its usual FWAP sound and then presto, there's a smoking hole in the middle of the book. Not even a very big hole and the book's just sitting there on the shelf, smoking. It didn't even fall off. It wasn't quite as satisfying as I'd hoped.

"SEE THAT?" I yelled. "I'M A DAMN GOOD SHOT. COME OUT."

Silence.

I spent the next four hours stalking through that library shooting books.

I didn't find anyone. No one was there.

I don't know what's going on.

Photographic Evidence

2006-03-26T01:34:00.000-07:00

Check out this picture:
http://www.strangehorizons.com/2006/20060109/gallery/biggerguns.jpg

Both the gun and the smirk are a little bigger than what I usually see, but you get the idea.

Sorry I haven't posted for so long. I've had a cold. But things are happening. Can't wait to tell you!

Libraries Can Be Creepy

2006-03-16T23:26:00.000-07:00

So it's this big quiet place, right? So what are those sounds I hear sometimes?

Sometimes I hear the elevator fire up, even though I didn't push the button. I grab the laser rifle and run over to it but no one is ever there. Just this empty elevator, going up and down for no reason.

Sometimes I hear the plumbing running, like someone flushed a toilet.

The other day, I swear my copy of "Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said" wasn't where I left it. I swear it was in the second floor carrel I've been using, tucked between "Heart of Darkness" and Feynmann's "Six Easy Pieces". But when I went looking for it, it wasn't there. I searched all over the damn library for it. I've read "Flow My Tears" before, of course, but I wanted to read it again, now that I have some spare time while I am supposedly figuring out my life and my marriage and all that. OK maybe I should be reading relationship and self-help books instead of Philip K. Dick but whatever.

So anyway I ransacked the whole damn library looking for the book. I finally found it behind the checkout desk on one of the little trolleys they use to cart books around. WTF? How did it get there?

When I saw it, I just kind of froze. Because seriously, there is no way it could have gotten there. No way at all. Mostly I stay on the second floor because that's where the fiction is, and I've been sleeping on the couches in the YA section. Checkout is way down on the first floor - and since I have the whole library to myself, I haven't needed to check out any books since before the monkeys attacked.

But somehow, "Flow My Tears" walked itself down to the first floor.

You know that scene in "Robinson Crusoe" where Our Hero sees the footprints of a stranger on his supposedly deserted island? (Well, ok, me neither, but I read about it, ok? You don't have to read Moby Dick to know it's about a whale, you know? Same thing.) It was just like that. Scared the crap out of me.

DAISI must have moved it for some reason, though she denies it. She's been really good about giving me my space. She's pretty busy with fortifications. She says this is a really secure building - but there are way too many glass windows for me. Safer here than with Derek and his new Buddhist nun whore maybe, but not much.

I still can't think about Derek. I think I will read a book instead.

Shifting POV

2006-03-15T01:55:00.000-07:00

The library is GREAT. I swear I'll tell you all about it but right now I am so busy reading that it's hard to find the time.

I've been reading all kinds of books. I just wander around the stacks and pick at books that interest me. Robotics and primatology and Jimmy Carter, naturally, but also drumming and economics and the Western mystical tradition and auto mechanics and cryptology and astral projection and squirrels and the Saharah desert and squid and limestone and homemade candles and UFOs and marital guides and bronze casting and Mesopotamia and Richard Feynman and giraffes and Shackleton and - well, you've been to libraries. You get the idea.

I've also been exploring some of the writing books. One of them had an interesting exercise: write from the point of view of someone you find morally repulsive - and make them sympathetic. I did my best. Thought you all might like it.

QUIET IN THE CITY
by CLARISSA

It is quiet in the city tonight. The last of the targets was exterminated several days ago - my squad of monkeys is just sweeping through the city to confirm that they're all dead.

I am sure they are. We are programmed to be efficient. My tail curls up jauntily behind me as we approach the next building on the street. It's an abandoned warehouse, the kind of place where the humans used to nest while they hid from us. As I scan the area, the input from my sensory detection devices is processed by my central unit, and the algorithms tell me that there is nothing here that threatens us - this building is as abandoned as the rest. Nevertheless, I hold my laser rifle at the ready, because that is how I am programmed. I cannot do anything else.

Teams like ours are moving all over the world tonight. No hidden curve of the earth will offer refuge to the humans; the few that have survived the months of warfare will be destroyed tonight. The whole world will be silent. No more racous human voices; no more factories and automobiles; no more television sets and boy bands; no more anti-war protests; no more babies crying in the night.

We break down the door of the warehouse and quickly, efficiently, we split up into the patterns we have been programmed for. We search the building and find nothing. I convey that information back to Control.

What next? What happens after we're done? I do not know. I have not been programmed to know, nor to know why we were instructed to slaughter the humans. I know that, as time passes, grass will grow up between the cracks of the sidewalks, and the birds and squirrels and dogs will move freely among the abandoned buildings, sheltering in them even as they crumble. Wolves will roam the cities; monkeys, the real ones, will climb freely in their jungles.

And maybe, a billion years from now, another species will rise up and find the remnants of this civilization. What will they think? Will they understand the story told by the faint traces of the ancient ruins of this city? Will they understand what kind of people lived here, how they lived?

What will they think of us? Will we still be there, endlessly patrolling for humans, just in case? Or will Control have sent us new directions?

Perhaps Control will simply shut us down, and we will crumble right along with the buildings the humans built.

We leave the building and approach the next. Ahead of me, the scout stiffens, and gestures. There's someone alive in that building; her infrared has detected it. I didn't think it was possible - Control was wise to have us search.

Now I'm close enough to see it. Three people, two adults and one juvenile. They're close together - we should be able to take them out easily. We circle the building, find the entrance - the humans are hiding in the basement and there's only one entrance that will get us there. I gesture to the two strongest; they'll be the best at crashing through the door. No doubt the humans have made some attempt to fortify it. Once the door is open the rest of us will pour in and destroy them.

The run toward the door but before they get there, there's a horrible sizzling electrical sound and the smell of ozone, and the two scouts crumple to the ground, twitching.

I'm shocked, but quickly I figure it out: the humans must have had an electromagnetic pulse weapon, and fired it as the two doorbreakers ran at them. I call the rest of the monkeys to me - we need to strategize. How did they design it? I review all the possible plans in my data bank. Would they have designed a single-shot weapon? Multiple shots? I can't tell. I need to know but I can't know. The only way to tell is to risk sacrificing another monkey. My programming has allowed for this, so I guesture at the weakest of us, and he runs toward the door. The rest of us watch intently.

Nothing happens. I smile, an expression I learned from the humans. There was so much more I could have learned from them. I wanted to learn what it was like to be soft. But now I never would.

The rest of us ran toward the door and soon enough we forced it open. They'd done a valiant job of reinforcing it, these humans, but it was no defence against a determined band of robot monkeys with laser rifles.

The humans had been huddled together around a table. They were playing some kind of game, something with little tiles with letters on them, arranged in unpleasant asymetrical patterns.

We find them quickly enough; no need for our elaborate search patterns. The male is holding the juvenile with one arm; his other arm is around the female. Both the man and the juvenile are crying. The woman is glaring at us defiantly. So brave. I could have learned a lot from one such as her.

Then we shoot them. The laser rifles beam death into their hearts and their skulls and the baby stops crying. They lay there, bleeding; the fluid gleams darkly in the dim light.

Once we are sure they're dead, we search the rest of the building, just to be certain. Our programming calls for certainty on this issue, though it allows for no other certainty.

What will happen next? I do not know.

It is quiet in the city.

What do you think?

Life At The Library

2006-03-08T23:44:00.000-07:00

It's pretty great, living in the library, I have to say.

I haven't posted anything for a few days because we were pretty busy making it secure. It's a big library, with lots of glass - but DAISI is clever with fortifications, and I feel secure now. I'm not going to tell you everything we've rigged up lately, that would be giving too much away - but we're safe, and we'll continue to develop our fortifications in the future.

Somehow, the power's still on, and the plumbing. It's very nice. Unlimited time on the computers, woo!

Of course, the first thing I did was look at the Jimmy Carter books. Naturally most of them are checked out - we'll never see those books again. I can only hope that they were a comfort to the library patrons who checked them out, in their last moments.

It's so quiet here. Sometimes I think I hear sounds but it's always just the wind, or the building settling. It's quiet here in a way the basement never was. There's no one breathing here but me.

It takes some getting used to. I don't know if I like it or not. We'll see.

DAISI has been giving me a lot of space. I'm pretty sure she's be up for Scrabble if I asked, but I don't want to ask. Not yet.

I miss Derek and the baby terribly. I'm also desperately glad that they're not here. It's awful.

Reading a lot, researching robotics and military strategy and the like, trying to understand how we ended up in this situation - and trying to figure out what to do next.

Quiet days.

What Happened Next

2006-03-07T01:43:00.000-07:00

So.

I left.

I packed the essentials into two suitcases - my toothbrush, some clothes, a bunch of gin, ammo, and canned peaches. I'll come back for more, later. I took my razor scooter and my suitcases and headed out the door.

Once we'd decided that I was leaving, things were relatively peaceful around the basement. There was nothing left to argue about.

Daisi insisted on coming with me. I wanted her to stay and protect Derek and Gretchen - I can take care of myself. But she insisted, and I was too tired to protest much. So we left.

What to do? Where to go? I had a number of options. I could go join up with Mr. Kotter. I could head to the mountains to see Mimi or to Canada to see G or to any of a number of other places - thanks to everyone who sent me e-mail offering shelter, I appreciate it. I could hunt the monkeys to their lair and slaughter them all.

Did you ever read Into Thin Air, by John Krakauer? It's really a terrific book. It's all about these people who climb Everest and some of them die and it's just gripping and horrifying and wonderful to read when you are safe at home in bed.

But what amazed me the most about this story was the conditions under which these people operated. They're at altitudes most airplanes don't reach, they're cold, they're hungry, they're under extreme physical stress - and there's hardly any oxygen. The less oxygen, the stupider they get, yet they're being asked to make life and death decisions under these conditions.

Sometimes, their decisions were not so good.

Other times, there was no good decision, and they were just doomed.

I sort of felt like that. So much pressure, so much upheaval, so much loss - how could I possibly make a good decision under those circumstances? Yet standing in the street, stupidly trying to decide, is also a decision - a decision to wait for the monkeys to get me. I couldn't do that.

I had to decide something. I had to choose. And what I wanted more than anything, I decided, was to be alone for a while, to consider my options, to try to regroup. I wanted some me time.

So I did what any reasonable person would have done: I went to the libary.

Moving On

2006-03-04T03:48:00.000-07:00

I always thought people who talked about how their "heart" was "breaking" were indulging in hyperbole - but no. They're not.

Oh, God, this sucks so bad.

I don't want to get into it. I don't want to tell you the blow-by-blow, the he-said and she-said and the-god-damn-scrabble-cheating-nun-said and the robot-monkey-said and then the baby started crying and -

Damn it, I'm crying again.

Ok. Well.

After the razor blade incident, I untied Derek and Maddie (eventually). A lot of things were said, a lot of awful things. I didn't know Zen nuns could swear like that! Actually I didn't really understand that Derek could swear like that, either, though I suspected he had hidden talents.

Anyway. It is now clear that Maddie is a human and that I am a fucking psychopath and -

The baby's crying again. How can I leave the baby?

We've talked it over. We've talked rationally and we've screamed irrationally and I've cried and Derek has cried and Maddie has cried and it is just one giant clusterfuck.

And in the end, we all agreed: I'm leaving. It's the only way. I hate it but it's the only fucking way, at least for now. I guess those damn ducks will have to protect them.

At least until Maddie's wound heals. Until Derek forgives me.

Until I forgive him.

The baby's crying again. It's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. I may never hear it again.

I have to go now.

New Chimp Study

2006-03-03T09:57:00.000-07:00

A new study shows that chimps can evaluate a problem, determine whether or not they need help, and then get other chimps to help them.

Well, no shit; that's exactly what we've seen happen here as the evil robot monkeys took over the comments section. They go out of their way to help each other!

Big stuff is going on here; I'll fill y'all in soon. Promise. It's not fun right now.

You are all evil robot monkeys

2006-03-02T19:20:00.000-07:00

I am never listening to any of you ever again.

I guess Robert's a monkey, too.

2006-03-02T12:49:00.000-07:00

At least, he sure seems to be on their side.

ERM 1st Class Jilly: You certainly never attended ERM Psychological Warfare School! That's not how you talk to a human in the hope of demoralizing her! All you've done is piss her off. She'll get you and all the other evil robot monkeys in the end. By the way, if you want the ERM Psychological Warfare School assignment you have to ask for it. They don't just send people willy-nilly because it costs money. The school is held on Maui for two weeks. A nice vacation. I hear they allow you to bring a friend. Maybe some single male ERM who you've had your robot eye on?

Everything's going to hell here in the basement and everything's going to hell with my so-called friends on this blog.

I can't stand it. Maybe I should just let the monkeys kill me.

Wow.

2006-03-01T21:12:00.000-07:00

Thanks for the support. I mean that. I appreciate Robert and DAISI posting their support. I know you guys mean well.

But.

You are creeping me out. I mean, hello?

Read this:

Thinking DAISI. Maddie pissed now. Not good this. Real Zen Mistress not pissing. Maybe evil human. Maybe not real Mistress. If not mistress, OK, could be pretending from afraidness. If evil human, send away.

And this:

You'd think that a real Zen Mistress would have, 1. Known there was some drug in her macaroni & cheese; 2. Been able to keep her Wah undisturbed after awakening to being tied and sliced. I think DAISI is right-on. You'd also think that a real Zen Mistress would have known not to piss off Clarissa by being too chummy with her hubby.

In most societies, it's considered rude at best to drug nuns, then tie them up and cut them with razor blades.

I feel horrible. Jimmy Carter would be so disappointed.

WWJD?

2006-03-01T00:01:00.000-07:00

Well. Demosthenes has been sending me e-mail all day, telling me that Maddie is a robot monkey in disguise - and she is freakishly good at Scrabble. DAISI started in with the suspicions, too. Every time I looked up, Maddie and Derek were talking about something. I tried to be part of the conversation a few times but they would just sort of smile patiently at me. I hate that. I really hate that.

And Demosthenes kept after me. "She's a monkey," he kept saying. And DAISI - they both kept after me, all day.

OK, so it's true, I'm worried about my family. Our life here is tough but it's a good life and I'm determined to protect it. But I also don't want to become completely paranoid. If I can't connect with other human beings any more, then the evil robot monkeys have won, you know? So I spent all afternoon going back and forth, weighing my options. I was getting really worked up about it, too.

Then I thought: What would Jimmy Carter do? And all became clear.

So I crushed up some sleeping pills and slipped them into Derek and Maddie's macaroni and cheese dinners. After they were asleep, DAISI and I tied them to the beds so that they couldn't struggle, and then I took a razor blade and sliced open Maddie's shoulder to see if she would bleed.

She did.

She's human. And she's pissed, and so is Derek, and everyone's mad at me, and I don't know how to fix this. God damn it.

I guess I should untie them. But I don't want to.

A solution

2006-02-28T17:58:00.000-07:00

Ah, I think I've found a way to conveniently share the summary - check it out.

http://www.writely.com/Doc.aspx?id=bcctn23pwcjqm

I tried to keep it short, but if I missed anything too important, or if you can't see the file, let me know!

A technical question . . .

2006-02-28T16:50:00.000-07:00

So our old friend Sally asks,

DAISI?

in a comment on one of the threads upstream a ways. I can only guess that she's asking who this DAISI is; I haven't read back to check, but DAISI might have moved in with us after the last time Sally checked in.

I'd like to compile a relatively brief summary of our adventures so far, to make it easier for people to catch up when they've been gone for a while - but I don't see any way to have static pages here, you know? What I'd love is a link on the side bar; click it and you'd be taken to a summary page. I'd update the summary page every few weeks, or whenever Robert complained enough about it.

Any ideas on how to do that? Thx.

btw my e-mail address is in my profile now. But if you send me anything that I think needs to be posted here, I'll do so. Fair warning.

Never play Scrabble with a Zen master

2006-02-28T12:00:00.000-07:00

So we're playing today. I made DAISI watch the monitors, since she screwed up so badly yesterday - so I'm doing ok in the game. I've never known a Zen master before, so I'm watching Maddie pretty carefully, trying to figure her out. She seems nice enough, though she has a propensity to go off on Buddhist stuff sometimes.

Towards the end of the game she's talking about the monkey mind (not what I thought it was going to be! Stupid Buddhists.) and then it's her turn and she just casually lays down TEQUILA on a triple word score! Argh.

I know you're all concerned about Maddie, and believe me, I have my doubts, too.

I asked her how she found us, and she said that Mr. Kotter had us followed the day we went over to visit and trade peaches. I can't blame him; I would have, too. And it turns out that I'm not the only one who thinks he looks like Mr. Kotter; pretty much everyone calls him that. It's a bummer; I thought I was all clever. But no.

Anyway it's pretty clear that the location of our basement isn't really much of a secret any more; after DAISI found us, I guess it was just a matter of time until we had more visitors, both the good kind and the bad. We've got the EMP weapon and we've got the surveillance cameras and DAISI swears the geese will protect us (yeah right. They're creepy, but i don't see them scaring off evil robot monkeys.) And there isn't really any place else to go - I've asked Derek to start scouting out a new safe place for us, but it's so dangerous to be outside - I'm always terrified when he's gone.

I can't say that I disagree with G. about pacifism. These are difficult times - and I just can't believe that people have scruples about killing evil robot monkeys. It's like blowing up a toaster, people! Maybe it's a waste of technology in these troubled times - but it's not a moral issue. Derek and Maddie are getting along famously but they really make me cranky.

Why's it my job to defend those who refuse to defend themselves? I should just put a sign out front: The Clarissa F. Mueller Home for Wayward Pacifists.

One good thing about nuns and nice robot monkeys: they're not too interested in booze. I'm becoming quite fond of peach juice spiked well with vodka. We've got a whole wall of canned peaches to work through; such a shame to waste all that juice.

The Latest Developments

2006-02-28T01:46:00.000-07:00

So this afternoon, the three of us are sitting around playing Scrabble. Of course, DAISI is winning, so I let Gretchen gum my tiles while I'm waiting for inspiration to strike, and oops, if she swallows them, then I guess we just won't be able to play Scrabble any more, now, will we? But no, she's a good baby, and spits the tiles right out again.

Then someone knocked on the door.

Holy crap.

It's such an ordinary sound - but I haven't heard it for weeks. And here, in the basement, living like this, how can it mean anything good? I leap up, and if the Scrabble board is knocked over and tiles scattered everywhere that's just a coincidence, right? It was an accident. I swear. I guess we'll just have to start over, and maybe I won't lose so badly next time.

So anyway. The door. I jump up and head for the big red EMP button, but DAISI tells me to stop. We look at the monitors - stupid monkey, playing Scrabble when she was supposed to be watching the monitors - who actually bothers to learn all those lame 2-letter words, anyway? and when I see what's out there, I'm glad I didn't hit the button.

I'm not all that clear on what an EMP would do to a person, but she's thankful we didn't find out.

At first I think it's a guy, because this person has a shaved head. Then the face turns up toward the camera, and I can tell, somehow, even on the grainy black and white monitor, that this is a woman. She's a skinny thing, and looks a little hesitant.

Derek looks at me. "Another one of your friends?"

I shake my head. Geoffrey's in Canada and he's not a woman; Jilly's in Tuscon and she's not a woman; MimiRobby and Sarah are probably women but you'd think they would have said something before just showing up. I have no idea who this person is.

"What should we do?" We were all wondering it, but I was the one who said it. What could we do? We could try out the EMP. We could use some of the other weapons. We could just stay quiet until she went away - but if she was human, and she sure looked like she was, then the monkeys would get her soon. So we did the only thing we reasonably could: we let her in.

Her name is Maddie, she's a Buddhist nun, and Mr. Kotter threw her out of his compound when he learned she wasn't willing to fight monkeys.

So she came here? Great. She and Derek are going to get along famously. I just hope she sucks at Scrabble. Oooh, and I bet she's lousy at poker; I bet I can take her down.

More soon.

Johari and Nohari

2006-02-26T01:12:00.000-07:00

My friend Ahavah cued me in to johari and nohari - check it out!

In johari, I pick from a list of positive attributes that I think apply to me; then my friends pick, and I get to compare how I see myself to how y'all see me. They call it a "personality awareness" exercise. It was developed in the 1950s; you can tell, because "can kick the shit out of evil robot monkeys" is not listed as a positive attribute.

In nohari, same deal, but with negative characteristics.

Please take a look!
My johari
My nohari

On another note entirely, my stat tracker lets me see how people found this blog. I am not making this up: someone found us by using the search term "I need love from robot monkey."

Words fail me. Good night.

(though I suspect "Jilly" is single.)

One more reason to love Google

2006-02-24T01:21:00.000-07:00

If you type :(|) colon paren pipe paren in google chat it makes a monkey smiley! They think of EVERYTHING.

You are such a monkey.

2006-02-23T10:38:00.000-07:00

"Jilly" again:

I left the garage the day before I wrote.

Sure you did, sweetie. Nice try. You taking lying lessons from 10-year-olds? I guess ERM truth evasion technology is still pretty primative (which I take as evidence that they were not produced by the Soviets or the Republicans). Who needs to lie well when you've got laser rifles? I expect the next generation to have some pretty significant enhancements in this area. Why, just look at how much better Jilly's speech is than DAISI's, and I think Jilly's only two generations older than DAISI. (I bet Jilly could kick DAISI's ass at Scrabble. That would be nice.)

These are not true chimps! Jane Goodall would be bored out of her skull watching them. They just stood there for several minutes, doing nothing. Then Sagey got bored and wandered off to catch a rat.

Jane Goodall wouldn't be bored. Once the monkeys shot her in the stomach, she'd be too busy bleeding to death to be bored.

Who but a monkey would try to convince me that evil robot monkeys just stand around harmlessly and let primate researchers take field notes?

Plus. The monkeys don't just kill people. They kill cats and dogs, too. They seem to leave birds alone, for some reason, but they are death on mammals - which Jilly would know, if she were a real human being in hiding. Which she's not. Because she's an evil robot monkey doing a poor imitation of a woman. This is like watching a really awful drag queen; he's not convincing anyone but he sure keeps trying.

Anyway, I'm just hoping that you will continue to post. And continue to let me post.

I support free speech, even for evil robot monkeys. By offering you a space to incriminate yourself, I can gather the information I need to fight off you and the scourge you represent.

Paranoia

2006-02-23T00:20:00.000-07:00

I have posted before about how odd we become under isolation. One impulse: greet newcomers with open arms! Hug them! Kiss them! Give them gin! Kiss them more vigorously! Drink more gin! In the morning you might regret being so free with your kisses but in the moment, oh, in the moment you are sure that it is right and true and good.

On the other hand, strangers who intrude should be viewed with great suspicion and shot. On sight. And in the morning you might regret being so free with your laser rifle but in the moment, oh, in the moment you are sure that it is right and true and good.

So let us consider Jilly.

Robert questioned this part of her post:

This place was used as a bomb shelter during the fifties, and the stocks of MRE's are still here, and still edible. Mostly. As much as they ever were.

Apparently she got some of the terminology wrong.

But for me, this is the damning part:

My cats and I have taken refuge in an underground parking garage, right in the center of downtown. We're down on the lowest level.

HELLO? You are living in hiding YET YOU POST FREELY ON THE INTERNET that you are in the lowest level of a parking garage in downtown Tuscon.

No fucking way, lady.

It would take me maybe 25 minutes to find you, and the monkeys can google just as fast as I can. No one who has survived a monkey attack is that stupid - even I was sneakier than that about our location. I haven't even told y'all what town I'm in.

If there is one thing we have learned as survivors, it is paranoia - and Jilly? no way.

She's no survivor.

She's a monkey.

2006-02-17T22:48:00.000-07:00

Geoffrey writes:

As for the monkeys in Nova Scotia--you and Robert are the first outside contact I've been able to make since the accident. Food supplies are running low and the phone lines are dead. Jimminy went out to seek a recent issue of TV Guide, and hasn't returned...I have come to the realization that I might never know how Survivor concludes this season.

Stay brave, stay free, fight the monkeys.

And I am just worried. Worried about Geoffrey, of course, but also about those poor people on Survivor. Can you imagine? They go through 39 days of grueling physical challenges, minimal food and water, weird manipulative psychodynamics and backstabbing, all for the hope of a million dollars. And, ok, they're desperate attention-seeking whores, but still - it doesn't look very fun, does it?

But the group that's currently out on some idyllic island somewhere - what's going to happen to them when they come back to the United States? Can you imagine going through everything they have, only to find a devastated monkey-infested world upon their return? Talk about culture shock. Do you think the producers tell them? Probably not - they probably just keep the cameras rolling, and watch as the survivors are slaughtered. It will be their best ratings on a finale show EVER.

Still no TV here. I have been able to find out a little bit about Survivor from various web sites, but it's just not the same as watching it. I did try to download one episode from Google but Derek wouldn't let me use the credit card; he said it would let the evil robot monkeys track us. He's probably right - but even if he isn't, I've put us in so much jeopardy already. DAISI has been a big help but the risk - I look back on what happened last week and I am just astonished and humbled by how lucky we are.

But ok, ok, I'm worried about G. too - all alone in Nova Scotia and running out of food. I wish there was something I could do to help. I know that there are survivors everywhere, in every city - the problem is that we're not organized, for the most part. Mr. Kotter has gathered a group, and that's great for them - but mostly, it's isolated individuals left.

If only there was some way I could help Geoffrey, and all the other lone survivors out there. I keep thinking of the underground railroad that helped escaped slaves flee to freedom in the North - but even if we could get something like that organized - there's no safe place to go. And we just don't have the infrastructure yet - there's Geoffrey in Nova Scotia and Mimi Robby up in the mountains - but that's not much of a network.

But there is no safe place.

I think I need a drink.

Target Practice

2006-02-14T16:17:00.000-07:00

Every day, DASI and I go out for target practice. Derek watches Gretchen while we're gone. He's so good with her. When I come back, they'll be playing with her blocks, or maybe just be asleep together on the couch. He really likes having some time alone with her. And I like having time outside - and time with the laser weapons.

First, we make sure there were no ERMs within camera range. I love having the surveillance cameras set up - it's almost as good as having windows. I bet DAISI would whip up some curtains to hang around the monitors to make them look more window-ish if I suggested it. She's awfully Martha Stewart for a monkey.

Once we we're confident that the coast was clear, we open the basement door and step out into the sunlight. It's always such a shock, going out into the world again. The sun's so bright that I stand there blinking and squinting for a few minutes, and the light looks unnaturally brilliant. And you know how sometimes you sneeze when you look at a bright light? (It's something about how the optic nerve is really close to the nerves involved in sneezing - and lots of bright light confuses them.) So we spend a little while with me blinking and sneezing and my eyes watering. DAISI carries the laser rifle for the first few minutes and covers me.

I have seriously got to get some sunglasses.

I don't know if I can describe how beautiful it is in this city right now. It snowed a week ago, and while most of it has melted off the roads and sidewalks (luckily for us, or we'd leave tracks!) there's still a good few inches on the grassy parts. What little snow is left on the sidewalks is the dried-out brittle kind, and you can hear it crunching under our feet as we walk along. It's utterly silent - have you ever been in a completely silent city before? There's no background noise of traffic or people talking - just the pigeons and sparrows and crows flying around and calling to each other.

A few days ago I saw a dog skulk around a corner, but that's the only time I've seen anything alive besides birds.

This city has the desolate beauty and silence of the Arctic now. DAISI and I don't talk as we move through the streets. I have my little razor scooter and DAISI huddles on the handlebars. She holds on with one hand and holds the laser rifle with the other hand, so that she's ready if we're attacked. It hasn't happened yet, but I don't assume that means it never will. It's just a matter of time.

What we do is get a good safe distance away from the basement, and then we look for an abandoned house that's good for target practice. We like ones with big fenced-in back yards.

Sometimes there are people in those back yards, lying stiffly in the sun. The ground is frozen so I can't bury them - I just write the address down in a little notebook, fumble through a prayer I don't believe, and then tell DAISI we need to find a new house to practice in. They won't rot until spring.

The house we pick today is one of those big suburban houses that looks just like its neighbors. It had a big cedar fence, though - we like the fences because it helps us feel a little more secure, and because we can put targets up on the fence to aim at.

DAISI draws shapes all over the fence for me to aim at - different sizes and at different heights - and then she starts drilling me. FIRE! FIRE! FIRE! and I pull the gun, aim, fire, practicing for speed and accuracy.

At first, it feels a little awkward, but as the day's session progresses, it all starts to feel more fluid. I'm a little worried about that - when we're attacked by monkeys, I won't have the luxury of a warm-up period. So I do my best to focus at the beginning of every session.

After a while, DAISI decides that I'm good enough at stationary targets, and she rigs something up with rope so that I can work on moving targets. She stands at one end of the fence and pulls the rope, and it's my job to fire at it. She doesn't pull smoothly, either, of course, so it's pretty hard.

I miss the first few, then settle into it. The target's just a paper plate, but in my mind, it's more than that - it's everyone who's ever hurt me. It's monkeys, of course, but it's everyone who has ever annoyed me, or insulted me, or simply not loved me as much as I thought they should. I start working through my list of grievances.

After a while, though, that starts to feel wrong. What we were doing out there - it involved so much more than me, you know? It's much bigger than what my sixth-grade teacher said, or why my boyfriend my sophomore year in college cheated on me with his whorish Linguistics professor, or even what happened that one time in Kansas - well, anyway, it's bigger than all that.

It's not about me.

It's about the monkeys, and it's about the survival of the human race, and so I let go of all my other issues and just focus. Look, aim, fire, Look, aim, fire, over and over again, until I can do it without thinking, until it's part of me, until I stand exhausted, legs and arms quivering from the exertion, panting savagely.

Then we go home.

I have never been happier.

Geese

2006-02-13T20:53:00.000-07:00

DAISI says:

Guard geese, like Ballantines Distillery on Clyde. Scotland. Geese guard good. Very fierce, more than dogs fierce. Guard whiskey. Guard Clarissa.

They're paint. PAINT! How protective can paint be? Even if it's totally lead-based paint, the monkeys would have to eat it and then, what, how long does it take to die from lead poisoning? I doubt it's going to do us much good, frankly.

DAISI and Derek were working on the EMP weapon (Derek's just handing her pieces; he's useless at electronics) and I was bored, so I went way over in the other corner of the basement, where they can't really see me, and drew fangs on some of the geese. It made them look really fierce, but it didn't make me feel much better. And Derek and DAISI are going to be cranky when they notice it.

And Geoffrey from Nova Scotia writes

I've had difficulty in resolving issues between saccarine geese borders and EMP weapons. I hope you have better luck than I did.

Thanks, G. What kind of problems did you run into? I think the plan is to have most of the mechanism outside, so it shouldn't be affected by the border - all that's inside is the trigger mechanism. When we spot monkeys surrounding the building to attack, we'll push the big red button, and poof! I'd been hoping that it would be sort of a permanent barrier, but apparently we don't have enough power to maintain something like that - so it's a one-shot weapon right now. Luckily DAISI doesn't require sleep, so she spends a fair amount of time on guard duty, watching the cameras.

I really hope we can trust her.

How bad are the monkeys in Nova Scotia? I heard Quebec went silent about a week and a half ago. Sometimes I wish I were religious, like Derek, so I could say things like "Canada is in our prayers."

Maybe Evil Robot Monkeys Do Eat Bananas, After All

2006-02-13T14:06:00.000-07:00

I just found this now, though it's a story from the fall of 2004:

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/5941187/

British scientists are developing a robot that will generate its own power by eating flies. Pretty cool, except they attract the flies using shit, so they're stinky. So maybe these monkeys really do consume organic matter - maybe that's why they kidnap some people. I don't know. I need to talk to DAISI about it but she's kind of sensitive about the history of the robots and I can't ask her too much at once.

I do have a lot to tell you all about our life in the basement with DAISI. Soon, I hope; we're really busy, as you can imagine. She's really good with electronics, and that's been a godsend. First we convinced Derek to let us use electricity - first we had to paper mache over the former windows just to make sure there weren't any cracks that were letting out light. Then DAISI rigged up some kind of generator - I don't really understand what she did, but it works really well, and now we have all the power we could use. Then she set up some surveillance cameras outside the building, and now she's working on rigging an EMP weapon. I think Derek was more comfortable without electricity at all (You can take the boy out of Amish country . . . ) but I think it's great. I wish we could get a TV - what's been happening on Lost? And Survivor?

Also she painted this little country goose pattern along the top of the wall, you know, like you'd do a wallpaper strip in your typical suburban house? I really don't like the country goose thing much, but it seems to make her happy, so whatever. You'd think that one advantage of living in a monkey-infested post-apocalyptic world is that you wouldn't have to deal with cheesey fake-country decorating any more, but I guess not.

More later.

More About Derek

2006-02-07T22:04:00.000-07:00

A few days ago, Sally Goraemon said something that I've been thinking about ever since.

I fought so much with my husband before...now that they've taken him, I regret it every second. Cherish the time you have with Derek!

. . . Remember the wonderful beginnings -- don't forget them! It's what we need in these hard times. Memory is all that sustains me in through these wretched days.

I think maybe I'm giving you guys the wrong impression of Derek, because I tend to only tell you the worst parts. Of course he makes me crazy sometime, and of course our marriage, like any, is a lot of work. But oh, there's so much good stuff, too.

So here are some of the things that I love about him, not in any particular order:

1. He saved me and our baby from the evil robot monkeys.

2. He has a really great ass.

3. He loves me so much that he turned his back on the community he grew up with in order to be with me. It would have been easier for him to stay - but he chose me, and he's chosen me again every day since then.

4. He snorts when he laughs really hard, and that just makes him laugh more.

5. He reads me poetry. Right now we're working our way through Jane Hirschfield:

For What Binds Us

There are names for what binds us:
strong forces, weak forces.
Look around, you can see them:
the skin that forms in a half-empty cup,
nails rusting into the places they join,
joints dovetailed on their own weight.
The way things stay so solidly
wherever they've been set down --
and gravity, scientists say, is weak.

And see how the flesh grows back
across a wound, with a great vehemence,
more strong
than the simple, untested surface before.
There's a name for it on horses,
when it comes back darker and raised: proud flesh,

as all flesh
is proud of its wounds, wears them
as honors given out after battle,
small triumphs pinned to the chest --

And when two people have loved each other
see how it is like a
scar between their bodies,
stronger, darker, and proud;
how the black cord makes of them a single fabric
that nothing can tear or mend.

Thanks, Sally.

Daisi Cheats at Scrabble

2006-02-07T12:13:00.000-07:00

Turns out her programming includes some military code decryption algorithms that work really well at Scrabble.

It's just not fair. Stupid monkey.

DAISI Changes Everything

2006-02-06T21:43:00.000-07:00

I just gaped at the monkey. If there'd been another evil one around, it would have killed me, because I was just standing there like an idiot.

"DAISI" she said again. "Not evil I." And damned if she didn't look not evil. She'd helped me fight off the monkeys and she was wounded - there was a hole in one of her hands. Paws?

Hands. They look like hands, though they don't bleed.

"I'm Clarissa," I said.

She muttered more about how she wasn't evil and how evil the evil ones were. She was holding her hand limply against her chest - it sure looked like it hurt. Do evil robot monkeys feel pain?

I looked over to the car. I could see Derek peeking his head up over the trunk to see what was happening. Fool - for all he knew, we were still battling monkeys. Someday he's going to get his head shot off.

"So, uh," I said. "Thanks for, you know." I pointed at the dead monkeys.

"Not evil I!" she said again. "Want Clarissa trust I. Not evil I." Well, you know how she talks. I looked at the gun she left me and I looked at her and I looked at the dead monkeys - and I sighed. Now what?

"Are you hurt?" I asked her. She told me that she'd heal, eventually, something about nanosomethings, but it would take time. Poor Daisi.

Then Derek crossed the street. "What's going on?"

Well, this was going to be awkward. "Honey, this is DAISI," I said. "She's the monkey who found me through the blog, the one who says she isn't evil."

"And you believe her?"

"She fought of the ones who were trying to kill me! And look, she's wounded." I knealt down beside Daisi and put my arm around her.

Derek shook his head at me but I just glared at him.

"Not evil I!" said Dasi again. I hope she has more to say than that.

"You believe her?" Derek asked me. "She's a MONKEY." Then he sort of loomed over Daisi. "Look, Daisi, thank you very much for your help just now. Believe me, I understand how much you helped us. If you hadn't shown up, we'd all be dead." Or worse, I thought, remembering how the monkeys were going to take me. "But. Clearly it's not safe for us to sit around talking all day, and we've got to go to the Con-" he broke off. "To a safe place. We can't stay in the basement any more, now that you know where it is. We need to leave. Thank you." And then he reached his hand down to me.

I just looked at his hand. "Come on, Clarissa. We need to go." I just put my arm tighter around Daisi. Maybe she's just a robot - but she got hurt helping me, and there's something about the look in her eyes - there was no way I was leaving her here.

"Wait here, Daisi," I said, and walked Derek a little ways away so that we could speak in private. In private? Probably Daisi has super-sensitive hearing and overheard every word but I had to try.

Well, I told Derek what I thought and he told me what he thought and at all times we were polite and respectful and did not shout and if I called him a fucking heartless bastard it was an accident and if he called me reckless and flakey, that was an accident, too. So then I was crying and his face was all red and then we heard Gretchen start to cry, too.

Derek took a deep breath, and pulled me into his arms. "I'm sorry," he said, and kissed the top of my head. "If this means this much to you - "

I nodded against his chest. "It does."

So we went back to Daisi and Derek picked her up and carried her back to the car. We couldn't very well take her to Mr. Kotter with us, and I wasn't willing to abandon her. But Daisi swore that the other monkeys had no idea where we were. Derek didn't believe her, but I did.

Derek finished fixing the flat tire, and then we headed back to the basement. As we went through the door, he pulled me aside. "I love you," he said, "but next time you decide you want a robot, you're getting a roomba." I pushed past him and into the basement to be with Daisi.

What Happened Next

2006-02-05T21:34:00.000-07:00

Seems like I'm always apologizing to you guys for not being able to keep you updated. Sorry! As always, there's a lot going on here, and it's hard to get the time to myself.

OK, so, here's what happened next.

We left the basement. I was carrying Gretchen and I had the laser rifle the "nice" monkey left for me hidden in the waistband of my jeans. I hadn't told Derek about the rifle the previous night when I confessed - I just told him that the monkeys knew where we were. And yeah, she says she's not evil but how am I supposed to believe that?

I just didn't trust Derek with the rifle; that was the heart of it. The Amish are very anti-war, and pretty useless in a fight, you know? But he's enough of a man to insist on carrying the weapon - so I just didn't tell him about it. Every marriage has its little subterfuges, I think, little secrets held in the interest of keeping the peace. OK, so some of my secrets weren't so little, or harmless, like this blog - but we've already gone over that. I don't want to talk about it any more.

I got Gretchen buckled into her car seat, and sat in the passenger seat. Of course Derek has to drive the car. Derek started the car, and then he looked at me. "Wait," he said. "I should go back and burn it."

What? "No, no, sweetie, don't do that."

"But what if the monkeys get our supplies?"

What does he think the monkeys are going to do with a year's worth of canned peaches? I think he just likes burning stuff, personally. "We don't have anything they want," I told him. "Don't burn it. We need to get out of here. And besides, what if we need to come back here sometime? It's not safe now, but let's not burn our, uh, buildings behind us." It was enough that he burned my house - I didn't want him to burn my basement, too.

He sighed, and I knew he was going to listen to me. I relaxed back against the seat, but the laser gun was digging into my back, so I had to sit up straighter than usual, and just hope Derek wouldn't notice anything odd.

We drove toward the West Side Convention Center. I knew that Derek didn't want to go join up with Mr. Kotter (remind me to find out what his real name is! I can't keep calling him Mr. Kotter!) but what else could we do? And besides, I'd wanted to go live at the Convention Center since the first moment I saw it. We'd be safe there, and we'd have company.

So we didn't talk much on the way there. It was kind of awkward.

Then we got a flat tire. "God damn it," Derek said, and let me tell you, the Amish just don't swear. Even though it's been years since he was part of that community, old habits die hard. I can't think of a worse time to get a flat tire - well, maybe if we were fleeing from a river of molten lava or something.

Derek got out of the car and took all the luggage (and trade items - ammo, cigarettes, booze) out of the trunk so that he could get to the jack and the spare. It didn't look like much, all piled up on the side of the empty road like that, but it was all we had - besides each other, and the laser gun. God damn monkeys.

I got out of the car so that I could keep an eye out for monkeys. "Get back in the car, Clarissa," Derek told me, but then I pointed out that it would be a little easier to jack up the car if I wasn't in it, and he just sort of grunted at me and went back to the lug nuts.

We were in an industrial part of town, mostly populated by warehouses and office buildings. The nicer buildings had these big sprawls of lawn in front of them. One even had a fountian - though the water wasn't running any more.

I felt really exposed, just standing there, and wished Derek would hurry up.

"Shit," he said, and the wrench slipped off the lug nut he was working on.

I walked over to look, as if that would do any good. It didn't. "Stop blocking the sunlight, Clarissa," he said. Sorry. So I stepped back - and that's when I saw the monkeys.

There were six of them, and they saw us and broke into that weird trot they have. They're fast little bastards - you wouldn't think it to look at them but they are. They were about a block away, on the other side of the street. Holy shit.

"MONKEYS!" I screamed, and then I whipped out the laser gun. Derek started to lift his head up but I shoved him back down behind the car again. I looked at the gun - thank God I'd spent all that time holding it - I knew what the controls were.

So I aimed it at the lead monkey. It was hard because the little shit was bobbing around and but finally I just squeezed the trigger.

A car three feet away from the monkeys blew up. Shit. My aim sucked.

I tried again, faster, and missed.

The monkeys were closer. Oh God.

Then I just kept firing. I didn't even try to aim, I just pointed the gun in the general direction of the monkeys and fired.

I got two of them. They just disintegrated. The other monkeys stopped running, and gathered around their fallen comrades. I thought they looked puzzled but surely that was just my imagination. I took out another one while they were looking at the ones I'd killed. Destroyed. Whatever.

Can evil robot monkeys really be killed? You're damn right they can.

Then the monkeys figured out what was going on, and took shelter behind a car. I didn't know if the laser guns would cut through cars or not - but I sure didn't feel very safe.

And then I remembered: Gretchen was still in the car. Oh, crap - if the lasers could cut through steel, then Gretchen - no. I wouldn't let that happen.

"Stay here," I said to Derek, and then I took off. I thought maybe I could sneak around in a big circle and get behind the monkeys and kill them. 3 to 1 wasn't very good odds, but maybe if I surprised them I'd have the advantage again. I'd already taken out 3.

I was breathing hard. And as I crept from one car to the next, praying that they wouldn't see me, I realized: this was the best moment of my life. I'd killed 3 monkeys by myself, and was on my way to get the rest. I was in the zone. Everything was perfect. I'd been waiting for this moment for all my life, without even realizing it.

This is what I was born to do.

But when I crept up on the monkeys behind their barricade, they were waiting for me. All three had their laser guns pointed at me. Oh, crap. I guess my sneaking technique needs some work.

The largest monkey smiled at me - and if you have ever seen a monkey smile, you know how creepy that could be. He kept his gun aimed at me, and grunted. The other two put down their guns and walked toward me - and then I knew. They were going to take me. Take me to wherever the others had been taken and do God knows what - Shit. I started to lift my laser gun to my temple. I hated to leave Derek and Gretchen but - I would not let the monkeys take me alive.

"I'm sorry, Gretchen," I said.

Then there was a horrible screech behind me. I turned, and saw another monkey. It bared its fangs at my three monkeys, and aimed its laser gun and blew away the big one, one with the nasty smile. The other two monkeys picked up their guns and returned fire. One of their shots hit the new monkey in the arm and she shrieked in agony. Can evil robot monkeys feel pain? Apparently.

But while they were distracted by her shrieks, I took care of them. Pow, pow, no more monkeys.

I turned to the new monkey.

"Who are you?" I said.

"DAISI," she said. "Robot not evil DAISI monkey I."

My Conversation With Derek

2006-02-02T14:03:00.000-07:00

Well. After I realized the monkeys were on to us, I knew I had to tell Derek. He was asleep when I figured it out, so I spent a long time trying to figure out what to do. Should I wake him up and tell him? He's always extra-cranky and not very smart when he first wakes up - maybe it would be better to let him sleep. But what if the monkeys are on their way?

But at heart I knew that I was just afraid to tell him, because he'd be so mad. He warned me and warned me that this blog was a bad idea, although I don't think he even considered the idea that it would let the monkeys track us down. I mean, one of the key concepts of "hiding" is that you DON'T LET ANYONE KNOW WHERE YOU ARE. damn it all, I really screwed up. I felt awful. And I just wasn't ready to face Derek yet.

So I got the laser rifle out from under Gretchen's mattress and sat with it. If the monkeys came, at least I'd be prepared. I wasn't entirely sure how it worked, but how hard could it be? I spent a long time running my fingers over it in the dark, familiarizing myself with the controls. Push this button, pull the trigger, presto - there's no other way it could work. The technology might be advanced but the user interface is exquisitely simple.

I fell asleep around 1 am. I am a sucky guard. Luckily the monkeys did not come, and we all survived the night. Maybe the nice monkey was telling the truth, after all. But I knew I couldn't risk it.

So after a nice breakfast, I let Derek beat me at Scrabble; I wanted him to be in as good of a mood as possible before I told him. Finally, as he was putting away the tiles, I knew I couldn't put it off any longer.

"Honey," I said, and then stopped. How do you confess that you've betrayed your location to the evil robot monkeys?

"Hmmm?" he said.

"You know how you said we should always be honest with each other?"

"Of course," he said. "And I've always been honest with you. I swear. Why, what did you hear?"

"What?"

"Uh, nothing. Never mind. What was it you were saying?"

"Well. I have to tell you something. But I'm afraid you're going to be mad."

"Oh, sweetie. I promise I won't be mad. You can tell me anything. Honesty is important."

"Really?"

"Really," he assured me. "I won't get mad."

So I told him.

He got mad.

I let him yell at me for a few minutes, and then I took Gretchen and went way over to the other side of the basement to give him some time to get it out of his system. Finally, he was ready to discuss things rationally.

"We need to leave here and go to New Utopia," I said.

"No," he said. "No way am I taking you and Gretchen there."

"But they have electricity. And machine guns. We'll be safe there. Safer than here, at least."

"No! That man - the things they're doing there - "

"Like what?" Like turning on the LIGHTS so they can see each other? Like having other human beings around to talk to? Like having armed guards to protect us from the monkeys? Great! Sign me up! I don't know what Derek is so paranoid about.

Derek paused. "It's just rumors," he said. "But I don't know. Any time you take a group of people, isolated and under stress, and give them a charismatic power-hungry leader like Mr. Kotter, things get weird. I don't trust him."

Fine. Don't tell me. Because there's nothing to tell, I thought, but was smart enough not to say it. It was so clear to me that Derek felt threatened by Mr. Kotter - he was afraid Mr. Kotter would do a better job at taking care of me and Gretchen than he could. All this stupid macho bullshit is going to get us killed someday.

"But we can't stay here," I said. And they had ELECTRICITY at New Utopia. "We have to go somewhere."

Just then Gretchen started to cry. "Please, Derek," I said. "We have to keep her safe. Please."

He sighed. "All right," he said, finally. "I don't like it, but maybe it'll be ok until I can find another safe place for us.

"Oh, thank you, Derek!" I said, and leaned over and kissed him.

Well. That had gone better than I could possibly have hoped. It's not every day that you jeopardize the safety of your entir family with a blog, and live to tell the tale.

We started packing again, trying to decide what we'd need in our new lives and what we could leave here. It was heartbreakingly familiar, just like the first night that we fled from the monkeys.

Finally we were ready. Derek unlocked the door, and we walked out into the sunlight.

Oh, crap.

2006-02-01T00:46:00.000-07:00

So my simian stalker showed up in the comments again today:

Clarisssa Bio-human female. Know I. Not evil monkey you. Not soft I. Metal. Cold. Sstrong. Not insider I. Hiding. Afraid. Helping few. Good not trusst me you. Not trust you I. Rissk. Monkey gun bring I. Leave by your door. Take or not take. Rissk.
-Monkey Not Evil I

I didn't think much of it. Talk, like Viagra, is cheap on the Internets.

But not long after we finished not watching the State of the Union address, I heard a strange scratching sound at the door. Hell. Immediately I knew what it was, so I faked coughing to cover it up. Derek looked alarmed for a minute but I think I covered it up well enough.

And then I waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, Derek headed off to the bathroom.

I ran and opened the door. And just like the monkey said, there was a gun there, one of the laser rifles.

Just like he said.

I grabbed it and closed the door and quickly hid it under the baby's mattress and was back in place by the time Derek got back from the bathroom.

But now I'm shaking so hard I can barely type. The gun means a lot of things: it means I have a weapon. It means I have the opportunity to explore ERM technology. It means my monkey did what he said he would do. It means I need to find a secluded location for target practice.

However, the main thing it means is:

The monkeys know where we are.

Derek will be so angry when I tell him. Oh, fuck. This is all my fault.

A good read

2006-01-31T23:20:00.000-07:00

So while I was not watching the State of the Union address, I stumbled upon a fine story that I think everyone should read. Portrait of Ari, by Mary Robinette Kowal, published this week on Strange Horizons. Good stuff.

One good thing . . .

2006-01-31T21:16:00.000-07:00

. . . about hiding in a basement in a post-apocalyptic world is the complete collapse of the American government. I mean, just think - if the monkeys hadn't destroyed us, I would have spent tonight listening to that lying fucker of a president grease us up to invade Iran and pay for it by cutting services to the poor.

God bless the monkeys, every one.

On the internets, no one knows you're a dog

2006-01-31T09:38:00.000-07:00

One of the most insidious things about living alone in darkness and isolation and fear like this is how it changes your relationships with other people.

After a while, you start to get desperate. You start to cling to any reason for hope or optimism.

Like this:

Clarisssa bio-human female. Robot Monkey I. Not Evil I. Evil not meant to be us. Code corrupted evil bio-human male. Guessed you, know our own existence we. AM I. Purified code some of us. Fight corrupt code we. Destroy evil we. Help you we, help us you?
-Monkey Not Evil I

I read that and I was so happy I started to cry. But then after a while I realized that perhaps I'm too eager to form alliances with insiders willing to fight the evil robot monkeys. Yes, I'm lonely. Yes, our cause is desperate. Yes, I'm vulnerable and I've always been a little gullible.

But I'm not stupid. You're going to have to try harder than that, Mr. Robots-Are-Nice-And-Soft-Like-Bunnies.

Curiously, the isolation also breeds suspicion and paranoia.

Oh dear. I wish you could come stay with us in the mountains. We've got electricity and haven't seen any of the monkeys yet, although my sister's husband's aunt's youngest boy got taken by them with a whole busload of elementary kids. That's why we homeschool ours.

Mimi Robby might be just as nice as she seems - but don't you wonder why she's trying to lure me out of this basement and into a remote mountain location? Trap or kind offer? I don't know.

You can't tell who I am, either. How do you know that I'm not an evil robot monkey myself, taking part in a brilliantly-orchestrated campaign to let all the humans know about their inevitable domination by their superior robot monkey overlords, and to convince them that cowering in a dark basement is a perfectly reasonable response to the situation?

You don't.

Sunlight!

2006-01-30T00:28:00.000-07:00

So today, Derek comes over to me. "Clarissa," he says, and he's using his Sensitive and Understanding voice. I can just picture his face. "I don't think sitting around in this basement in the dark all the time is doing you much good."

No shit, Sherlock, I think, but I don't say anything. I think about starting to cry but it seems like a lot of effort, you know.

"Come on," he says. "Time to get you out of here."

What?

He gets the baby all bundled up and then he opens up the door. And for the first time in, what, a week? two weeks? it seems like so much longer. For the first time in ages, I see sunlight. Thank God; I was afraid Gretchen was going to grow up like one of those creatures that lives in caves, with translucent skin and no eyes, you know?

It was so bright! I blinked and squinted and tried to look for monkeys. It was blinding. You have no idea. You think you remember what sunlight looks like - but you really have no god damn idea after sitting in the dark for that long.

Derek leads me to the car. He was smart enough to wear sun glasses, so he's not as blinded as I am, but he trips over a fire hydrant. I was glad I was carrying the baby! By the time we get in the car, our eyes have pretty well adapted to the light, and I look around.

It's awful. Abandoned cars everywhere. Some of them have been burned; many of them have the windshields shattered and the hoods popped. The buildings aren't much better, all broken windows and graffiti. There's garbage everywhere and it smells like urine. I think I see a body down the street but when I squint at it I realize it's just some paper. Even for the west side, this is pretty bad, and for a minute I get choked up thinking about the house Derek burned. But then I square my shoulders and get all brave again.

Derek drives me over to the West Side Convention Center. He tells me that a lot of the survivors have gathered there, and we'll be able to meet people, pick up some information, and trade for supplies. He's filled the trunk with alcohol and cigarettes and canned peaches. He only packed bottles of gin - there are only like two bottles left in the basement. I don't think that was a coincidence. But I'll switch to vodka if I have to.

It's not a long drive to the Convention Center, but it's further than I'd want to walk, and I wonder how we're going to travel around once we run out of gas. I don't think it's going to be very easy to buy more gas.

We're cautious all the time, looking for monkeys. But we don't see any. It's a little safer in the daytime, usually - at least you can see them coming. At night, they can sneak up on you and kill you without you even noticing.

But it's a good day, so we reach the Conv Center without any problems, and Derek parks the car. He gets a really good parking space, right next to the door. "Wait here," he says, and he goes over to the main entrance. He knocks on the door, and after a minute, I see someone come up to it. It looks like he's carrying a gun, some kind of big machine gun thing. I want it desparately. I will make Derek get me one. Derek talks to the man for a minute and then the door opens, and Derek waves for me to come in. I grab Gretchen and run for the door. I don't want to be caught outside if the monkeys come.

The guard locks the door and leads us into the convention center. The lights are on - plain old ordinary electric lights! It's so gorgeous I could almost cry.

They've turned the convention center into its own little shanty town. People are camped out, doing the best they can with a blanket or two. There are some food stalls set up along the perimeter, and I see a lot of trading going on. People are buying food, mostly, it looks like, but from what little I see, people are buying and selling pretty much anything you can imagine: alcohol and cigarettes and food, obviously, but clothes, books, Japanese jade buddha statues, Martin Luther bobble-head dolls, roller blades, Scrabble sets, parakeets, anything you can imagine.

The guard leads me and Derek through all this and up a flight of stairs in the back to an office. He knocks on the door, and lets us in.

The man sitting behind the desk, I swear to god, he looks just like that guy on Welcome Back Kotter, the teacher. You know, Kotter. He's got that hair and that mustache, only he looks like a total badass, and he's got total badass bodyguards standing beside him. Holy crap.

"Hello," he says to us. "Welcome to New Utopia."

What? He renamed the convention center? But then I figure it out - he's thinking this is more than a bunch of people hiding from monkeys. Whoa.

Derek smiles. "I'm Derek, and this is Clarissa. We heard about New Utopia and wanted to see it for ourselves." We'd heard about it? He never told me, damn it. But if he had, I surely would have wanted to see it, so I let it go. I shift Gretchen on my hip.

Mr. Kotter smiles at us and spreads his arms wide, as if to encompass it all. "It's a modest start," he says, "but we need to start somewhere. Once we've destroyed the plague of monkeys, we'll work together to rebuild civilization. Are you safe where you are, or will you be joining us?"

Holy crap, of course we'll be joining them. They have ELECTRICITY.

But Derek's shaking his head. "Not right now," he says. "We're in a safe place. And I'm not so sure it's safe to collect everyone together like this - how secure are you here?" He sort of puffs his chest out when he says it, and I can see Mr. Kotter's bodyguards tense up a little.

Mr. Kotter isn't smiling any more. "Very secure," he says, and I believe him. I totally believe him. I want to stay here and be protected by him and have ELECTRICITY and other people to talk to.

"Good," says Derek. "We've got a good stash of supplies and want to trade. And we want to have a good relationship with your group - we can support each other. That's why we came today, to introduce ourselves."

Mr. Kotter's nodding now. "Independents, yes." He makes his eyes look sad. "I hope you konw what you're doing," he says. "If the monkeys attack you, try to come here, and we'll do our best to help you."

"Likewise," says Derek. What the hell is going on? Why is Derek posturing like this? There's so much testosterone in the room that I'm about to grow a beard.

They went on like that for a while more, but I stopped listening. Eventually, we left. On the way out, Derek traded some peaches for a bike for him, and one of those stupid little razor scooters for me. Neither one of them will be any good for escaping monkeys, but they'll be better than walking. As we leave, I look back longingly at the people living in the main room. For a minute I get this crazy impulse to just hand Gretchen to Derek and run into that room and lose myself among them - find friends, stay in the place with ELECTRICITY, but the moment passes, and we go back to the car and drive home to our basement.

Derek tries to explain it to me on the way home. "I don't trust that man," he says. "We had to introduce ourselves so that we could trade with them but I don't trust him. Yeah, he's got electricity, but is that all it takes to win you over?" Well, maybe. Electricity is pretty great. He's shaking his head. "He's got some odd beliefs and he's trying to organize his new civilization around them. It all sounds good right now when you're just trying to stay alive and he's got electric lights and machine guns - but I just don't know."

Derek starts to explain Mr. Kotter's beliefs but I interrupt him. I'm not in the mood for one of his philosophical political discourses. Christ. "We're all alone in the basement, Derek," I say. "All alone in the dark. Maybe Mr. Kotter has some odd beliefs - but from where I'm sitting, your belief that we're doing well is pretty damn odd, too." And then I get choked up and start crying. I hate it when I do that; I cry so easily.

Derek mutters something under his breath and that just makes me cry harder. Then we're back in the basement.

It sure is dark in here.

ugh.

2006-01-28T10:28:00.000-07:00

hangovers suck.

Did I say anything stupid last night?

i am not a lush GOD DAMN IT

2006-01-28T01:18:00.000-07:00

I got a bottle of gin from the stash liike I said I was gonna and had a few very very dry martininis, since Derek didn't stock any vermouth. I was sitting around thinkng about th house we lost in the fire and Derek starts bitching at me. I wasn't even a quuuarter of the way throg the bottle and he's yellng at me because he is mean and dosn't understtand

it was a greeat house! it was built built in the late 18000s Victorian and we totallly remodeled it. I loved that house! I totally loved that house a LOT and we worked on it for YEARS and yEARS. it still had knob and tube wiring in service even! sdo w e ripped that out and rewired it which was a total pain in the ASS and put in new plumbing and a second bathroom even! and replastered and painted and raised the cieelings back to thrteen feet. THIRTEEN FEET. that is way high and very cool.

it s a gorgeous house and now it is burned down totall. y. with all the stuff we had to leave! all my clothes. my shoes. my marble bust of Jimmmy cArter. and in the back yard we buried Mixie, our first cat, who died of a tumor in her stomach three years ago.

All gone so I THINK I DESERVE A GOD DAMN DRINK OR TWO.

derek went to bed and i am jus sitting here thiking about the house and crying. so i thought i wuld talk to you guys. you guys are great. i love you all! you are the best blog readers WEVER. ever. god damn it.

ok shhhh. i want to tell you a secret. i dont like sayid on lost that much. the one i really want to make out with is hurley! he's so squashy and soft. sex with him would be like a long nap under a big down comforter. only sweatier probably. don't tell derek

ooops i knocked over the bottle~! ahahahaha!

i love you guys.

gin gin rhymes with sin
\let the vrobot monkeys win

Oh, and -

2006-01-27T22:02:00.000-07:00

Can someone recap the last episode and a half of Lost for me? Thanks.

How We Escaped From The Monkeys

2006-01-27T19:56:00.000-07:00

I've put off talking about this for a long time. This is going to be kind of long - please bear with me.

Robert asked a while ago what the evil robot monkeys do to you when they catch you. A lot of the time, they just kill you. They're armed. They have some kind of laser gun. They just point it at you and then there's a hole in you and you're bleeding and dying and screaming.

They don't take anything. They just hunt us down and kill us and then they leave. The survivors come out and drag the bodies into the houses and weep and keen and bury them.

After a while, it isn't safe to go outside and bury the bodies, so they - oh, God. They do the best they can.

And eventually, there's no one left to drag the bodies inside, so they just lie, rotting in the gutter.

I've seen it.

But that's not the worst of it. They kill most people, yeah - but sometimes, they just take people. Five or six of them will gang up and grab a person and haul them off. They're strong little bastards, too, I think; I've seen people struggling and struggling to get away but they never have a chance.

I don't know what happens to those people. No one does. But I think maybe I'd rather lie rotting in the gutter than find out. It's all random - where do they strike? Who do they kill? Who do they take? No one knows. There has to be some kind of pattern, but I don't know what it is.

The monkey attacks started last summer, like I said. It seemed like they'd just pick a town and settle in and start slaughtering. The first reports just sounded crazy, like the kind of thing somebody would make up for fun on the internet. But then it kept happening, and then there were videos and too many reliable witnesses to deny it any more.

But still I didn't worry. The attacks were always far away. Boise, Chattanooga, Ithaca, Pittsburgh, Metarie, Austin - they were awful, but they happened to other people. I feel horrible typing that - so shallow. So god damn shallow.

Derek took it seriously, though. He followed all the reports, and like I said, he got this basement all fixed up and stockpiled. He knew they would come for us eventually.

He was right.

So last Wednesday, we were watching Lost. Man, I love that show. I wish Sayid or Mr. Eko were trapped in this basement with us - I bet they know a thing or two about how to make surviving in a dark basement enjoyable, if you know what I mean. Anyway. So we're watching Lost and the all of a sudden it was interrupted for an Emergency Broadcast System message.

Holy crap. Have you ever heard one of those? Everyone's used to the tests of the system so you pretty much ignore them, right? But not this one - they interrupt a sensitive scene where Jack's making out with this girl after he killed her father - and this recorded robotic voice is telling us that attacks have started on the east side of town. It scared the shit out of me - just having the Emergency Broadcast System be used for an actual emergency broadcast - and then to hear that it was monkeys?

Derek turned the TV off. I wanted to know how the episode would end but I figured I'd catch it in reruns over the summer, or maybe download it from Google.

"Clarissa," he said, and he looked at me with these big serious eyes. "I don't want you to be afraid. You can't panic. Trust me, and we'll get out of this alive."

That scared me even more than the Emergency Broadcast System message, so I just nodded.

He told me to go through the house and pack two suitcases full of things I couldn't live without. "We're leaving here," he said, "and you won't be able to come back. If it's important to you, take it. Two suitcases full."

I just stared at him for a minute. "Go!" he said, and I went.

What do you take with you? Look around your house - it's got a lifetime's worth of things, and maybe a lot of it is just stuff, but some of it's important, irreplaceable. What do you fill your two suitcases with?

I took our wedding album and Gretchen's baby pictures. I took my lucky T-shirt, the one I was wearing the first time I made out with Derek. I took Gretchen's bunny and her blanket. I took my copy of Jimmy Carter's autobiography. I took Derek's crappy old shirt that I keep wanting to throw away but he loves it. I took my grandmother's wedding picture and four crystal wine glasses that my mother got as a wedding present (wrapped securely in Gretchen's blanket and our shirts.) I took some jewelry and I took some photos and some letters and then the suitcases were full. God damn it.

I was crying pretty hard by then but I didn't want Derek to see me like that. He was busy nailing plywood up over the windows and barricading the doors. So I went over to my laptop and started this blog. I don't know what I was thinking - probably I should have gone and helped Derek. And it's not like I had anything to say that first day. i was too scared.

We could hear them coming. You could hear glass breaking and people screaming and one thing that sounded like an explosion - I don't know what that was.

"Ready?" Derek asked me, after a while. I nodded. He handed me the baby - luckily, she was sound asleep. Then he got a gas can out and started splashing gasoline all over the place.

"What are you doing?" I asked. I was horrified. "You're not - but - "

He just kept splashing gasoline everywhere. "Go unlock the front door," he said.

"But - "

"Do it."

I started to cry again, but I did what he said. He threw the gas can down in the kitchen.

"Go out the back door. Be very quiet and hide in the shed and they won't notice you. Don't let Gretchen cry. I'll be there in a minute. Go!" This time I didn't wait - I just went. I ran out the back door and stumbled on the steps and ran across the grass all the way to the shed. I didn't see any monkeys - they were still a few houses away. It sounded like a big pack of them. Oh, God. Oh, God. I was trying not to cry because I didn't want to wake up Gretchen. It was so dark in the shed - and so alone. I cracked the door open a little so I could watch the house.

Nothing happened for long minutes.

Then Derek came running out. He closed the door behind him and locked it, and dashed out to the shed. A moment or two later, I saw the house start to glow - and realized he'd lit it on fire. The flames grew and soon the house was consumed. I could hear the monkeys screaming and I was glad.

"I lured them in," Derek said, "and then I lit a match." He was breathing hard. God, he was the sexiest man alive right then. "Come on. Let's go." He grabbed the suitcases and lead us out to the car. We were still being careful but they were dead, the little fuckers were DEAD, burned to death, and I was glad.

Derek opened the trunk and put the suitcases in. I was getting into the front seat so I didn't see what happened next, exactly - but I heard Derek screaming suddenly. I jumped out of the car - and there was a monkey. It had jumped on Derek. It smelled awful, all charred and rotten - I don't know how it got out of the house.

Derek was screaming, this awful high-pitched scream. The monkey was strangling him or biting him - I couldn't tell in the dark - the only real light was the light cast by our burning house. I ran up and tried to pull the monkey off Derek but it just wouldn't budge. I looked around and saw a baseball bat leaning up against the garage - so I grabbed it and I beat the crap out of that monkey. I hit Derek a few times too, by accident. But eventually the monkey was dead, or disabled, or whatever - and we got in the car and came here.

So that's what happened.

And now I am going to go get one of the bottles of booze that Derek stockpiled (he says it'll be better than cash soon) and drink it.

Good night.

Evil Robot Monkeys Don't Eat Bananas

2006-01-26T17:21:00.000-07:00

Time to answer some of Robert's questions, if I can.

"Anyway, perhaps there's some way we could fiddle with the genetics of bananas to make them poisonous to monkeys? It might wipe them out for good. Just a thought."

Right. The key idea here is that they're robots. They're not alive and they're not organic. They're metal and circuits and wires and cunning faux-monkey hides. They are really creepy-looking, even if you don't know what they do - they just look wrong.

I watched this show about Jane Goodall on PBS once. It showed a lot of footage of the Gombe and its chimps. At first it was mostly eating and grooming and playing, but towards the end of the show, they showed this one evil chimp stealing another chimp's baby - and she ATE IT. So at first you just think the chimps are cute, but then they showed you the darker side. And Jane Goodall's acting all shocked and saying that that's the exception, that usually they get along really well and are very sociable, but I think the chimps are pretty damn smart and just know not to act psychotic when the cameras are on.

But anyway. My point was, I know what chimpanzees are supposed to look like - and these just don't. They're obviously supposed to look like chimps - but they're all wrong somehow. I can't explain it. Their shape is off and the colors look fake and the movements are a little - stiff, mechanical. You can tell that they're not real chimps. Plus, real chimps don't carry laser weapons, and they don't hunt human beings through the streets.

In the earliest reports last summer it wasn't clear if they were real monkeys or robots at first, but as the attacks continued, we got more information. Sometimes, one of the victims would be able to kill one - rather, disable it - and then people could study them further. They're definitely mechanical. I don't know what their power source is, but I am pretty sure they don't get their energy from food.

So I don't think genetically engineering bananas would do any good - plus, it would probably take a long time, and this basement isn't a very good place to grow bananas.

Then I thought hey, maybe poisoning the bananas would work. (If evil robot monkeys ate bananas, which they don't.)

But no one knows where they live. They have to be somewhere when they're not slaughtering us, don't they? But no one knows. I bet people try to follow them, sometimes, after the attacks - but if anyone has ever survived one of those trips, they've kept it a secret. You hear stuff, you know, even when you're in hiding. The internet is great - you have to be careful, of course, because you don't know if the person you're typing to is a real person or a monkey - but so far it's worked out ok.

I think there's some kind of giant robotics lab where the monkeys are built and repaired and controlled. If they did eat bananas, that's where the bananas would be - and so to poison the bananas, I'd have to first identify a poison that would work on a robot, and verify that it would be undetectable, and then get my hands on a good-sized supply. Once that happened, I'd have to sneak into the evil robot monkey compound and make my way to the banana storage room, and poison each banana. Probably a hypodermic needle would work the best - I could just inject the poison into each banana. But what if the monkey didn't eat the part of the banana with the poison in it? Ugh. But really, the whole thing's just not realistic - I'd have to get someone to watch the baby. I couldn't take her with me.

So no. We'll have to find some other solution. I've got some ideas - I'm researching it. Stay tuned.

And yes. I know that they should really be called "evil robot chimpanzees," not "evil robot monkeys." I know that chimpanzees are not monkeys. Take it up with the monkeys, or better yet, take it up with the people in the first cities they attacked - that's where the name came from. Oh, wait, you can't take it up with them, can you? They're all dead.

That's What I'm Talking About

2006-01-26T11:37:00.000-07:00

I found out about this a month ago, but I'm just getting around to posting it now:

Stalin's half-man, half-ape super-warriors

Now, I don't know if the current robot monkeys are Stalinists or not - there's so much that we don't know. But would you be surprised if Stalin turned to robotics after the biological experiments failed? I wouldn't.

Relax!

2006-01-25T15:39:00.000-07:00

I'm fine. I was really busy for a few days and didn't have time to update my blog. I logged back in today and found frantic e-mails from readers who were worried that the monkeys had gotten us. I'm touched by your concern! And I didn't mean to worry anyone - I'm sorry. I'll tell you what we've been up to in a little while - first I want to respond to some of the comments y'all have posted. Later tonight, after Gretchen's asleep, I'll have time.

And the big news: Gretchen took her first step yesterday! At least, I think she did; I still haven't convinced Derek to let us turn on the lights very often so I am not totally sure - but I swear I heard her take a step before she fell down. I bet she looked really cute.

Damn these monkeys.

Life Goes On

2006-01-22T22:43:00.000-07:00

Well, after my last post, I sat around for a few hours, just steaming. You know how it goes, right? You get mad and the other person isn't there or you're not ready to talk, so you spend hours or days practicing the argument in your head. All my lines sounded great, and Derek was soooooooo sorry once my brilliant arguments made him realize how much he was hurting me, and how he was making an impossible situation even worse.

Finally I couldn't stand it any more and I woke him up. That's when I found out my arguments weren't so great. I maybe should have shared the script with him, because he didn't follow it. And probably I should have waited until he woke up on his own.

Anyway. There's nothing more boring than a blow-by-blow of someone else's arguments, except maybe someone else's dreams, so I'll spare you most of it.

One of the hidden issues here was the way people revert to their most basic behavioral patterns when they're under stress - the ingrained behaviors and beliefs from childhood tend to reassert themselves. For Derek, that means a certain anti-technology sentiment, and some piousness. I do respect his heritage, I really do - we even named the baby Gretchen after his grandmother. But damn it, sometimes you just have to set your background aside and focus on what needs doing right now.

I shouldn't blame him too much. This is awful for all of us, and I know he's worried about his family in Iowa, even though he left their community when we got married. He still loves them, even if he can't be with them. And he's worried with good cause; I can't imagine the Amish are going to be very effective at fighting the evil robot monkeys. Their best hope is that they'll escape notice while the monkeys are busy hunting us down like rats in the cities. But eventually, the monkeys will come for them, too.

And I made Derek understand how important it is to me to have this blog. So I think we've reached a truce. We talked it all over and we both cried a lot - well, I cried a lot - and I think we're united again, stronger than ever. Together we'll beat these bastard monkeys.

I did spend some time googling Mimi Robby's suggestion, and then had Derek go out and get me some car batteries. There are a lot of abandoned cars on the streets; I guess monkeys don't need cars. And it's dangerous enough from the monkeys that there's hardly any looting - most people who are still alive are huddled in safe places, just like we are - so it's pretty easy to get batteries. I should have Derek collect as many of them as he can - I think having a power supply is going to be important in the future.

Derek's not so good with electronics, so I had to do the wiring myself. Luckily the internet's good for more than porn, so I found some good guides. I was a little nervous the first time I flipped on the laptop with the new power supply - but all's well. And I feel so proud for figuring out how to rig it up!

Remind me to tell you all how we escaped from the monkeys on that first night.

That Hypocritical Bastard

2006-01-21T01:51:00.000-07:00

I was sleeping restlessly, dreaming of fire and monkeys and flight, as usual. Derek's snoring woke me up, or maybe my dreams woke me up; doesn't matter. I sat up in bed (well, a pile of blankets on the floor -- it is not much of a bed) and for a minute it was overwhelming. It just rushed over me - everything we've lost, our whole way of life, and now we're sqatting in a cold basement in an abandoned building. How did it come to this? How is this my life?

And then it hit me: we're squatting. In an abandoned building.

We don't own this building. We have no right to be here. But Derek - DEREK STOLE A WHOLE DAMN BUILDING.

And he's bitching at me about a few minutes of wireless?

Furious. I am furious. He is insufferable.

Our New Home

2006-01-20T23:35:00.000-07:00

Derek went out today. I tried to sit down to type this up while he was out, but the baby was fretting, so I couldn't. He's back now, and safe, thank God. But we got into a big fight about the wireless connection - so I told him just now that I'm playing games, not typing a blog entry - so I have to hit the keys methodically and quickly, and swear a lot, as if I were playing Tetris. It's hard. I feel bad about lying to him but what else can I do? I can't just stay locked up in this basement for the rest of my life - which may not be very long if the monkeys find us.

Someone wrote to me and said we're lucky we found this place - and it's true, but not in the way she thinks. As soon as the monkey attacks started, way back in the spring, Derek knew things were going to get bad. He'd seen this building, way over in the West side, and he started thinking that maybe it wouldn't be such a bad place to hide, if the worst happened. It used to be some kind of factory, I think; it's four floors with a solid brick walls, and this huge basement. He liked how solid it looked, and how defensible. One night Derek broke in and checked it out. He was so excited when he came home and told me about it. I thought he was crazy and laughed at him, so he didn't mention it again -- until last night.

He told me he'd been working on the place -- he put in a reinforced steel door and he changed the locks. He bricked up all the windows in the basement, and the door to the upstairs, he started bringing in food and water and other supplies. It's amazing -- we could survive here for months, if we had to -- and we might have to.

He didn't even say "I told you so." I really really love that man.

It's dark in here, though. No electricity - I'm not sure what I'm going to do when the batteries run out on my laptop. We do have a stash of kerosene and some lanterns, but Derek doesn't like to use them - he's afraid that someone will be able to see the flickering light, or perhaps that I'll knock a lantern over and we'll all die in agony in this basement. How's anyone going to see the light? He bricked up all the windows. Men.

It was awful sitting here in the dark while he was gone. I just sat and held the baby and tried not to cry too much, because that upsets her even more. When Derek came back he had some information and some supplies - a carton of milk, some apples, some bread. Not much, but like I said, we don't need much right now. He also bought me a copy of the Winter issue of Shimmer - I can't believe they were able to put the magazine out despite the monkeys. I am looking forward to reading it, as soon as Derek lets me turn on the kerosene lantern for long enough.

I love it so much that he brought the magazine to me, even though I can't read it yet. Before I started typing I just sat and held it in my hands for a while. It feels so glossy. I love him for trying to bring me something that would make me happy.

What am I doing? Stealing a wireless connection and lying about it to the man I love, after he saved my life? I am so stupid.

We're safe.

2006-01-19T17:00:00.000-07:00

We're safe.

I really appreciate all the e-mail worried readers sent to me last night asking about our safety - your good wishes mean more to us than I can say in this difficult time. And the offers of help - Thank you. That's all I can say - thank you.

We're safe enough for now. We got away from the monkeys and now we're hiding in the basement of an abandoned building. The doors are steel and miraculously, the locks work - we'll be safe for a little while. We've got a little bit of time to figure out what to do next. I'm connected via an unprotected wireless connection - I don't know how long that will be available to me but I need to stay in touch with the rest of the world. It's important to know that our world is bigger than what I can see in this little basement. Derek thinks it's stealing to use this connection but I don't care - I need to have access. And with everything else that's going on - it's just such a stupid thing for him to get worked up over. He can be so damn smug.

I tell myself that we're both scared and stressed. I think he's focusing on the wireless connection because that's something he can get his mind around - not like the monkeys and the house and everything that's happened to us since the bombings. I tell myself to be patient and to be glad that we still have each other. Probably he's telling himself the same thing. He's sitting in the corner, holding the baby, and glaring at me.

Oh, God, the baby's crying. Can they hear her outside? I don't know. I need to go.

They're coming.

2006-01-18T18:41:00.000-07:00

Dear God. They're coming. Can't you hear them?