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The increasingly inaccurately-named blog of journalist and futurist Chris Taylor. Either the most sporadically brilliant amateur blog, the most brilliantly amateur sporadic blog, or the most amateur sporadic brilliance on the Web since 2001.
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Daily Blah FAQ
Who are you?
I'm the newly-appointed Future editor at Business 2.0 and the former San Francisco correspondent for Time Magazine.
Wow, so does this mean everything you write reflects Time Inc's opinion? Or do you perhaps have some sort of standard disclaimer to the effect that it doesn't?
Naturally, the opinions contained in this blog are not those of my employers. In fact, some opinions may be the polar opposite of my employers. Some may be the same, for all I know. Hey, it's not like I ask my employers their opinions about everything in the news, okay? Let's just say that if this were a Venn diagram with one circle marked "my opinions" and the other one marked "my employers' opinions", there would doubtless be some overlap. But neither I nor my employers are able to pinpoint exactly where that overlap is.
What is this Daily Blah thing?
An experiment for a column I wrote about blogging back in December 2001. All these years later, I haven't been able to kick the habit.
Do you write any other blogs, by chance? Could that have something to do with the fact that Daily Blah isn't always Daily?
Yes -- the Future Boy blog for Business 2.0. And yes. If you want true, editorially-mandated daily coverage from me, that's probably the best place to look.
Mister, you talk funny. Are you one of them furrners?
Why yes I am, as it happens. I was born, raised and educated in Great Britain. I've been living in the U.S. since 1996 and identify as British.
I say, old chap, you forgot the "u" in "colour."
No I didn't. I may identify as British, but I am also an American journalist writing for an American audience about mostly American issues. These two different sides of me are a constant source of tension. Nevertheless, Daily Blah will adhere to American English grammar and spelling.
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Daily Blah for... Sunday, January 15, 2006
Short Script: Time Cops
Fade opening credits over several plainclothes cops in a precinct house circa 2092. They've just come from a variety of shifts; one wears a roman toga, another is in civil war uniform, a third is dressed as a samurai. They are joking and laughing. One man, dressed as a twentieth-century cop, is quietly handing round donuts and coffee. This is McDonnell, our narrator. Focus on him while we hear the following:
MCDONNELL (V/O): Well, I joined the Chrono police because it seemed like a good career. I was straight out of high school and they had this recruitment hologram—it was like, "come protect the time lanes." And you know, my father, God rest his soul, was in the force. Course, I didn't know that much about the history protection program, or cause and effect, or anything. They put you through six weeks of classroom training on 4-D physics and parallel time continuums. Have to say I didn't understand half of the technical stuff, but, you know, I got the basic idea. You know. You don't muck around with history or it'll kick you in the ass.
Cut to McDonnell in the equipment room with the duty sergeant. They're mugging for the camera with a variety of weapons and objects: broadsword, crossbow, M-16, pitchfork, mace, .45, shepherd's crook, gilded scepter, and, finally, pirate costume.
MCDONNELL (V/O): I remember when I was a kid and they invented time travel. I remember thinking "wow," you know, "that'll be really neat." And I had my own list of places I wanted to go, things I wanted to see, just like everyone else. Not that I ever knew that much about history or anything before I joined the force. It was just stuff like, you know, I was really into pirate stories and stuff like that. I thought it would be kind of cool to go sail on Bluebeard's ship. And you know, they give you a couple of vacations round here, so a couple of years ago, that's exactly what I did. You know, I got my shots and went to work as a rigger for, er, Bluebeard. On the Barbary Coast. Two days. (pause) Awful. Hated it. Turns out I get seasick. Plus, of course, I picked up a couple of diseases the med guys never even heard of. Brought 'em back, too. They had to quarantine me. But, you know, in the end, they gave me a big bonus for the virus samples. Med guys say they're still in the lab, trying to figure out what they are. (Laughs)
Cut to McDonnell talking to unseen interviewer. Caption: "CRAIG MCDONNELL, OFFICER, C-20"
MCDONNELL: So right now they got me working the twentieth century beat. Second half, mostly. Which is kind of interesting because, you know, that's when my great-granddaddy was born. Plus, you know, (pats his ample frame), it's really great food. (Laughs). It's like the heyday of fat and sugar and all kinds of junk, which I love. (Laughs) Yep, I've really filled out since I went 20th century.
Fade out. Fade in on a door in a corridor, with a sign that reads "Private: Officers only." McDonnell emerges. He's wearing an ill-fitting grey blazer suit with white homburg and shiny black shoes. He rubs the back of his head, which has clearly just been shaved. He seems a little embarrassed by the outfit.
Caption: "6:15AM, MONDAY 13th APRIL 2292, C-20 PRECINCT"
MCDONNELL: We just got a call for back-up in Dallas, '63. Probably another bunch of tourists wanting to see who was behind the fence on the grassy knoll and, you know, we have to move them on. (looks down at his outfit) What do you think? This is like the fifth time I've had to wear this. Sometimes they give me a change of tie. But anyway, I've pulled GK duty five times already. I'm probably going to do it another couple of times at least, 'cause last time and the time before that I saw myself arriving just as I left, and both times it was a tie I'd never worn before. Not this one either.
Cut to shaky hand-held shot, walking behind McDonnell as he enters a minimum security area: a couple of guards on the door, a desk sergeant. The desk sergeant laughs as he sees McDonnell approaching. McDonnell laughs back good-naturedly.
DESK SERGEANT: Hey! It's Grassy Knoll and the gang. (Laughs) This must be your hundredth time, right?
MCDONNELL: Guess so, guess so. (Signs book, gestures to camera) These guys are with me.
DESK SERGEANT (looks at camera) Okay, you guys are not going dressed like that. What is that, like, late sixties? The hair and everything? (laughs) This is Dallas 1963, not a be-in. Come with me. (He stands; camera follows) Have to get you a minioptic camera, too. And you'll have to sign a waiver.
Fade out, fade in. Exterior, mid-morning. Hand-held shot. A sunny November day in Dallas. McDonnell is standing in front of the overpass at the edge of Dealy Plaza; to the right, almost out of shot, is the famous fence. Several other time cops dressed like McDonnell are standing behind him, looking serious and professional, glancing around, squinting in the sun, talking to their wrists while trying to stay inconspicuous.
Caption: DEALY PLAZA, DALLAS, 11.15AM CST NOVEMBER 22nd 1963
MCDONNELL: (sotto voce) History students and sightseers, mostly. Movie buffs, too. And the occasional film crew like yourself. (smiles) That's the kind of thing we deal with all the time at Dealy Plaza. Yeah, but we like to keep a low profile. There are three guys over at the book depository (indicates) there, including me from a former jump—just changing shift now, I guess. And there are four of us spread out by the knoll which, you know, is more popular with the time tourists. Now the reason we're skulking under the overpass, apart from it's nice and shady, is we're trying to stay out of the way of Abe Zapruder over there (points) and any other 1963 guy with a camera. We got a guy in the paradox department who checks the Zapruder film every time after we come back, but, you know, nobody's had to send a clean-up unit yet, so I figure we're still not movie stars. (laughs; looks to his right) Now see here's the kind of thing I'm talking about. Look at that.
Camera pans round shakily, focus in on nonchalant youth in anachronistic 20th century clothing.
MCDONNELL: Kid's wearing a baseball cap from the eighties. He's not even trying.
Pan back to McDonnell.
MCDONNELL: (to wrist) Tango Charlie, this is Delta Seven. Suspect at ten. Intercepting.
WRIST MIKE: Roger that.
Camera follows McDonnell as he trudges over to the youth, ZACH.
MCDONNELL (adopting Texan accent) 'Scuse me, son. Mighty fine day, ain't it?
ZACH: Huh? Oh, yeah, sure.
MCDONNELL: You ain't from round here, are you boy?
ZACH: Yeah, yeah I am. I live over there on, ah, Lafayette and Park.
MCDONNELL: Can I see your wrist, son?
ZACH sighs, knowing the game is up. After a pause, he pulls up his sleeve. Camera zooms in on wrist, where there is a tiny blue-green tattoo with some numbers underneath it. MCDONNELL swipes his wrist over the youth's.
MCDONNELL: Let's see—William Zachariah Jeffson, born 3rd March 2011. You're old enough to be my father, son. You should know better. Where were you going just then?
A second YOUTH appears behind Zach.
YOUTH: What's going on, Zach?
ZACH: F___ing Time cops won't let us in.
MCDONNELL: Sorry, son. This is a restricted area.
YOUTH: Aw, man! Don't you get it? We want to see who really shot the President! I reckon there's, like, a whole bunch of Mafia guys hiding behind that fence right now.
MCDONNELL: Yes, well, we've all got our theories, don't we.
YOUTH: Don't you know how much we paid to get here?
MCDONNELL: No, and I don't care. Now listen. Both of you. This is a restricted area, okay? And the reason it's restricted is because if anybody goes in there there's a chance they're going to cause a disturbance in the continuum, okay? Now do you want to wipe out our timeline?
YOUTH: But that means there must be somebody in there! And if there—
MCDONNELL (Talking over him) Now you're not listening to me, son. I just asked you a question. Do you want to wipe out our timeline? Zach, do you want to wipe out our timeline?
ZACH looks at the ground, shakes his head.
MCDONNELL: No. Good. Okay. Now listen, you've got two choices. You can go a safe distance back down the hill and watch the assassination with everyone else. Or I can take you back to the precinct. Which is it going to be?
YOUTH: Okay, okay. But listen man, doesn't that mean you know who's—
MCDONNELL: No I don't, son. I don't know, you don't know, and it's best for everyone back in the future if it stays that way. Now which is it going to be?
YOUTH: Don't worry man, we're going.
ZACH: Fascist time pigs.
MCDONNELL: Watch it, kid. (Sotto voce) Historian punks. (To camera) They'll be back fifteen minutes ago.
Cut to pan across Dealy Plaza.
MCDONNELL (V/O): No, we get them all here. Had a history professor a couple of jumps ago tried to bung me ten thousand credits to let him go watch Oswald in the book depository. Had to arrest him on that one. Fact is, couple of the guys here are former historians. My great-great-grandaddy voted for Kennedy. Hell, I nearly voted for Kennedy once, on a five-day patrol back in 1960. But we're not here to find out what happened. We're just here to keep order in the universe, you know?
Cut to McDonnell by the overpass.
MCDONNELL: Some people say to me, how do you know it isn't a bunch of time terrorists back there you're protecting? What if JFK wasn't supposed to be shot in the first place? And that's the thing about this job. You never know; you just assume our version of reality, as screwed up as it is, is worth protecting. (Pause) To be honest, I've been here five times, I've been here as early as eight in the morning, and I've never seen anyone try to set up behind that fence. Then again, a couple of the shots sound awfully close to be from the book depository. Look, here comes the motorcade. You'll see what I mean. Well, you won't see it. You'll hear it. Listen.
Sound of cheers gets louder. A grumble of engines in the distance.
MCDONNELL: Crowd makes it a little hard to hear properly, though.
Camera makes an attempt to pan right, towards the Grassy Knoll. McDonnell grabs it.
MCDONNELL: On me, please.
Crowd and engines get louder. Four shots ring out. Screams. McDonnell somberly lowers his hat and places it on his chest.
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