Curiosity Killed the Cat

[Zinta]

I turned on Daft Punk's Tron Legacy, and got down to business. I hadn't enjoyed a soundtrack so much since Gladiator, unless we count the guilty pleasure of Mama Mia! And, well, that's a secret. So's the actual-size lights & sounds disc I have that I waved around as I made a quick run to the refrigerator for some milk.

A few minutes later, I'd cleared off space and had strewn cables and drives across my desk; the soft clicking and whirring accompanying the music. I made three copies of the drive; two physical, and one image.

Once I was done mirroring them, I crawled into my Aeron cross-legged and starting poking around.

Let's see what makes Harry Happy.

[Jmiland1]

Some people take computer organization very seriously--like segregating their correspondence in different folders depending on whether it's a letter to Grandma, last year's tax records, or a Christmas list. Breaking out downloaded video clips into separate categories for movies, TV, or shorts. Always choosing custom installations of programs, so they can be sure games are in the Games directory, and applications get put with other Applications.

Then there's people like Karabas, for whom even using the computer is clearly a chore, let alone keeping it in any semblance of order. Grandparents, as an example.

The first sign of trouble is the size: Karabas has an 800 gig hard drive, of which 45 have been used. This thing is either brand new, or he walked into a Best Buy and bought whatever setup the associate pointed him towards even though he'd never use it to anywhere near full capacity.

My Documents is a minefield, filled with several hundred files with no rhyme or reason in sight. There's a handful of .avi's, their filenames a string of meaningless alphanumerics nearly twenty digits long. He's got a collection of Word .docs, all titled 'Thoughts[2]' or 'Thoughts[17]', right up to [53].

Jesus, it's a mess. It's nearly as effective as full-blown Navajo cryptography.

[Zinta]

As I go deeper into the mess, there's a slow, steady stream of murmured cursing. I actually feel as if I'm wading in filth. Despite the 'look', I'm a little OCD. My piercings are both equidistant and level.

Trying to reconcile this with the house itself is So Annoying. The inability of people to 'get' virtual... anything... is just an indictment of the creativity and intelligence of Joe Blow.

Every generation thinks their forerunner's don't get them. And that's fair. It really is. But now that seperation is becoming more meaningful than it ever has been.

Yes, I can make mountains out of molehills. One cluttered hard drive is a social statement.

Or maybe it's not.

I start throwing the files at Mathematica and see if it can find anything through associations.

[Jmiland1]

If nothing else, Mathematica helps to present the abyss in a nice, graphical format.

The 'Thoughts' documents seem to be spread out evenly over time, a new one made every couple of days, give or take. In terms of file size they are roughly similar; judging by what she knows of default .doc sizes they are probably aren't much more than a page of text, at most. They're also far too small to have something else encoded in them and hidden.

Not that Karabas appears to have that kind of expertise, but one never knows.

There's about two dozen other Word files as well, substantially larger--eight to ten pages each, maybe? Judging by their titles they are copies of emails he has copy/pasted over from his browser (Explorer, natch): each title starts with at least three 'RE:' in front of it. "RE: RE: RE: RE: travel plans," "RE: FWD: RE: reunion," "RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: new clients."

And in the midst of this, there's one file that stands out for several unique properties. It's maybe four pages in length, tops--shorter than most of his documents, not as long as his emails. The title is rather short, as well: List.doc.

Z's roll

2011-04-04 01:15:29
Z rolls 9 to Int + Computer + 2 (10 Again)
10, 3, 2, 6, 6, 7, 9, 9, 9, 10, 5
5 successes

[Zinta]

Well, jack-fucking-pot.

On that thought, I stop for a moment to light up. In ten minutes I'll be jumping around, listening to Dev, yelling "That's my shit."

Inspired, I throw the file up in one of my Google Docs accounts. If it's a dirty file that's going to fry me like Case, I'm taking the whole world down.

Rawr, bitches. Rawr.

That done, I decide to open it and see what gets Harry hard.

Not that... you know. That's the weed talking.

[Jmiland1]

The file opens, displaying a little over three pages of names next to phone numbers. That's it; no context, no information, at all. The list starts out alphabetized by last name, but about halfway down that pretext is abandoned in favor of complete disorganization. Throughout the list are half-hearted attempts to put the info into neat little tables, with borders; looks like the lawyer used Word to try and create an Excel spreadsheet, and if he had any idea what Excel was he'd probably try to browse the web with it.

Harry's probably got a little black book or three that are very similar, filled with women's numbers. Or men's. Don't judge.

As far as revelations go, the file is hardly Wintermute.

[Zinta]

I'm kind of disappointed. Mostly with myself.

So much for seeing the mayor's name or chief of police and stumbling on some huge conspiracy of aliens where the FBI would show up with David Duchovny and...

I sigh, laughing at myself, shutting everything down.

Right before I fall asleep I find myself wondering why there's an age limit on pajamas with feet.

End Scene?