"The Perfect Blog" (2 of 6)

November 21, 2002

Last night I fixed myself a nice margarita, lost myself in some old Oscar bait, and calmed my nerves a bit.

The experiment Jones describes is really quite fascinating. It adapts some technology from the Ur-Gremlins in Iceland. A primitive A.I. guides the creation of an online journal designed to stimulate the human mind. Like good writing or film, only more so.

Six test subjects read this blog, three times a day. I am to skim the blog and report its effects on those subjects.

Jones explained that my interest in classical music and its long-term effects on the brain was why he tapped me for this assignment. Jones, Jones. No matter how busy he gets, he never loses the personal touch.

I wish I could go back and erase yesterday's entry. Or maybe all my entries before today's. Because when I look back on it, I think this is where my career will truly begin.

November 20, 2002

I'm so mad I can't even see straight. I'm typing this on pure instinct. My fingers are feeling out the keys like they're Braille.

Jones called me in-- finally-- and said, in that avuncular, charming way of his: "You really dropped the ball on this one, kid."

*He* feels that Oberf had *not* guessed *everything,* and that I'd spilled vital secrets to him. I explained that I was trying to follow F.I.B. policy. "The best way to disguise the truth is to tell it as a lie." I'd figured if I just said what we were doing in that sarcastic tone, it *might* throw Oberf off the track, and if it didn't, he'd probably figured it out anyway.

Then I asked him if he was so suspicious of these "freelancers," why didn't he just cut them LOOSE, and he started talking about the Big Picture and I started visualizing a big picture of my resume going up in flames. I almost lost my temper then, but that really would have F'ed my career UBAR. So I took a breath and tuned back in as he started talking about some new assignment he had for me, to take the measure of my talents. Translation: You're a lousy field agent, let's see if we can make back our investment on you in some lower-risk area.

Apparently I'm supposed to be some glorified focus group leader, just because I flap my gums every once in a while about classical music. That last sentence didn't make any sense, AND NEITHER DOES THE ASSIGNMENT!!!

Damn it all.

This journal is the private property of Agent Samal. Reading it without permission is a felony.