Massive portions of my brain disappear over the ocean.
The flight itself is five hours, but the changes are much more dramatic. Green and warm New Zealand transforms into cold and bleak Ice, and that's just the most obvious change. Somewhere over the ocean, as the sky grew dark and the air grew colder and colder, the cognitive bits of my brain became mist and vapor, floating away as contrails behind our big jet. And I am once again of the Ice.
As I sit here in overnight Dispatch, trying to remember pager numbers and processes and reviewing SOPs, I stopped to read something I had written up on the flight over from NZ. And I become truly amazed. Yes, there are bits of this story that I have told before.
For your horror slash enjoyment, I give you, My Cardboard Box.
My Cardboard Box
I want to live in a box.
I want to live in a cardboard box, like homeless people do. But I don't want to be homeless. The cardboard box will be my home, and when people ask where I live, I will tell them proudly, “I live in a cardboard box,” and I will be applauded because of my candor and lack of shame. I will live in a cardboard box and I will be happy there.
My cardboard box will be of superior quality and large enough for me and all of my things. It will have sides that are reinforced against the wind, and shall be rendered waterproof. It will be bigger than a refrigerator box, and it will be stronger and more durable than any other cardboard box in which you might find a major appliance that you have purchased. It will be large, and will give no clue as to what it once contained. It will not say “refrigerator” on the side, nor will it say “Aegis Cruiser, quantity one,” even though it will be large enough to have contained a mid-sized naval vessel.
My cardboard box will be green, and it will have painted trim of two complementary colors, such as a darker green, and maybe white. It will have no yellow, nor will it be the same color of any other cardboard boxes that happen to be in the area. It will have tasteful numbers on it, and these numbers shall be of brass or even silver, mounted near the front so that when my many visitors come to see me in my cardboard box they shall not mistake my box for another. These numbers will be large enough to be read from the road, which shall be at least fifty feet from the front entrance of my cardboard box.
There shall be a minimum of three entrances to the box, but preferably four. One of these entrances shall be a movable door of sufficient size to allow the passage of both a sedan and a small utility vehicle, like a sport pickup or a modestly-sized cargo van. The movable door shall have remote activation, and I will be able to carry the controls in either of the vehicles, which will allow me access even if the rainy season goes a few extra weeks. The other doors shall be secured with keys, and I will be able to lock these doors against intruders.
Since I have made the selfless choice of living in a cardboard box, so as not to be a burden on the rest of society, I claim the right of location. I wish my cardboard box to be located upon a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean, next to a private beach that allows access to me and to any other of my guests in my box, as well as a small dock containing both a sailboat of at least forty feet as well as a motorized sloop. Southern California will suffice for a location, perhaps somewhere in the vicinity of San Diego, where the fine weather won't degrade my cardboard box too quickly. After all, it is my home!
The box shall have multiple partitions, much like the rooms you might find in a more traditional home, and shall be capable of housing ten grown adults comfortably, with additional space for their children and servants, if they bring them along for the visit. There shall be a minimum of four privvies, two changing rooms, an outside shower (to prevent the dirt and sand from the beach to be dragged onto my carpeting), dining space for twenty, two kitchens, a billiard table and a library containing both a complete selection of the classics as well as a cross-section of modern literature and periodicals. The wine cellar shall be re-stocked on a regular basis.
I shall also require dogs, one set to guard the premises, and one separate set for companionship and sport. These guard dogs shall be trained to military standard, and additionally shall be trained not to use my cardboard box as their lavatory, and they shall also be trained not to disturb the helper monkey.
In my cardboard box on the cliff overlooking the ocean, surrounded by my dogs, I shall pen my manuscript and manifesto, with the assistance of the monkey. I shall be inspired by my sacrifice, and my willingness to shed all the trappings of comfort for the spartan life in cardboard, and I will write a manifesto encouraging others to do the same. The monkey shall occasionally steal pages of the manifesto, and will hide in the trees waving the pages at me in mocking fashion. I shall coax the monkey from the trees with fruits and cheeses, which the monkey likes a great deal.
In cardboard I will find perfection, and once my missive is released you shall find the same perfection, should you have the intelligence and wisdom to comprehend my deep meanings. But not many will have such dedication and intelligence, and they that do not shall be doomed.
Many, however, will read and understand my manifesto, and they will, of course, make the pilgrimage to my cardboard box, to seek further truth and to learn more from me. I shall disappoint them, and give them nothing. I shall release the dogs on them, and tell them to stay the hell away from my box. Only upon reflection will they understand that this, too, is part of their teaching. They shall gather small pieces of cardboard and they will frame these pieces in handsome frames that they will hang in their homes as a constant reminder of the truths that I have taught them from the humble confines of my cardboard box.
All this will happen, as soon as I train the monkey.
As I sit here in overnight Dispatch, trying to remember pager numbers and processes and reviewing SOPs, I stopped to read something I had written up on the flight over from NZ. And I become truly amazed. Yes, there are bits of this story that I have told before.
For your horror slash enjoyment, I give you, My Cardboard Box.
My Cardboard Box
I want to live in a box.
I want to live in a cardboard box, like homeless people do. But I don't want to be homeless. The cardboard box will be my home, and when people ask where I live, I will tell them proudly, “I live in a cardboard box,” and I will be applauded because of my candor and lack of shame. I will live in a cardboard box and I will be happy there.
My cardboard box will be of superior quality and large enough for me and all of my things. It will have sides that are reinforced against the wind, and shall be rendered waterproof. It will be bigger than a refrigerator box, and it will be stronger and more durable than any other cardboard box in which you might find a major appliance that you have purchased. It will be large, and will give no clue as to what it once contained. It will not say “refrigerator” on the side, nor will it say “Aegis Cruiser, quantity one,” even though it will be large enough to have contained a mid-sized naval vessel.
My cardboard box will be green, and it will have painted trim of two complementary colors, such as a darker green, and maybe white. It will have no yellow, nor will it be the same color of any other cardboard boxes that happen to be in the area. It will have tasteful numbers on it, and these numbers shall be of brass or even silver, mounted near the front so that when my many visitors come to see me in my cardboard box they shall not mistake my box for another. These numbers will be large enough to be read from the road, which shall be at least fifty feet from the front entrance of my cardboard box.
There shall be a minimum of three entrances to the box, but preferably four. One of these entrances shall be a movable door of sufficient size to allow the passage of both a sedan and a small utility vehicle, like a sport pickup or a modestly-sized cargo van. The movable door shall have remote activation, and I will be able to carry the controls in either of the vehicles, which will allow me access even if the rainy season goes a few extra weeks. The other doors shall be secured with keys, and I will be able to lock these doors against intruders.
Since I have made the selfless choice of living in a cardboard box, so as not to be a burden on the rest of society, I claim the right of location. I wish my cardboard box to be located upon a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean, next to a private beach that allows access to me and to any other of my guests in my box, as well as a small dock containing both a sailboat of at least forty feet as well as a motorized sloop. Southern California will suffice for a location, perhaps somewhere in the vicinity of San Diego, where the fine weather won't degrade my cardboard box too quickly. After all, it is my home!
The box shall have multiple partitions, much like the rooms you might find in a more traditional home, and shall be capable of housing ten grown adults comfortably, with additional space for their children and servants, if they bring them along for the visit. There shall be a minimum of four privvies, two changing rooms, an outside shower (to prevent the dirt and sand from the beach to be dragged onto my carpeting), dining space for twenty, two kitchens, a billiard table and a library containing both a complete selection of the classics as well as a cross-section of modern literature and periodicals. The wine cellar shall be re-stocked on a regular basis.
I shall also require dogs, one set to guard the premises, and one separate set for companionship and sport. These guard dogs shall be trained to military standard, and additionally shall be trained not to use my cardboard box as their lavatory, and they shall also be trained not to disturb the helper monkey.
In my cardboard box on the cliff overlooking the ocean, surrounded by my dogs, I shall pen my manuscript and manifesto, with the assistance of the monkey. I shall be inspired by my sacrifice, and my willingness to shed all the trappings of comfort for the spartan life in cardboard, and I will write a manifesto encouraging others to do the same. The monkey shall occasionally steal pages of the manifesto, and will hide in the trees waving the pages at me in mocking fashion. I shall coax the monkey from the trees with fruits and cheeses, which the monkey likes a great deal.
In cardboard I will find perfection, and once my missive is released you shall find the same perfection, should you have the intelligence and wisdom to comprehend my deep meanings. But not many will have such dedication and intelligence, and they that do not shall be doomed.
Many, however, will read and understand my manifesto, and they will, of course, make the pilgrimage to my cardboard box, to seek further truth and to learn more from me. I shall disappoint them, and give them nothing. I shall release the dogs on them, and tell them to stay the hell away from my box. Only upon reflection will they understand that this, too, is part of their teaching. They shall gather small pieces of cardboard and they will frame these pieces in handsome frames that they will hang in their homes as a constant reminder of the truths that I have taught them from the humble confines of my cardboard box.
All this will happen, as soon as I train the monkey.