One Day on Old Mars

 Once Upon a Day on Old Barsoom

AI: Good morning, Mick. How are you? Tell me what you see.

Mick: Morning. OK. On my left I see (in fantasy), lit by the rays of the dawn sun, a dew-strewn grass-field glistens in the early light. However, reality is that what I see, is a field of pebbles with occasional glimpses of silica refracting off the surfaces. On my right, pretty much the same. Ahead, yet another field of pebbles and behind me, you guessed it, is yet another field of pebbles. What else do you expect to see on freaking Mars?

AI: I detect a feeling of unwellness coming from you.

Mick: Which AI are you today? Are you Eliza or some other programmed response generator?

AI: What makes you think that I am an AI?

Mick: Your answers and questions sound exactly like an AI I met in MIT in 2002.

AI: Would that bother you?

Mick: Billions of dollars to send me to this place and report back every day. In case you missed the first few hundred reports, this planet is dead, like in gone, like in expired, like in well past its best-before-date. Whichever dummy came up the hare-brained idea for a base on Mars needs attention to his medication.

Dummy who does not need medication adjusted: May I remind you that I still hold the ticket for your return flight, and you may also want to know that President Trump has revoked all alien visas. Since you are on Mars, you are an alien, yes?

Dummy: Mick?

Mick: On my left I see a pebble-strewn field which may contain some very interesting samples.

Fin.

Jägermeister and I

 Jägermeister and I

Picture this: Cologne, West Germany, 1973. (Yes, this was before the fall of the Berlin Wall).
The place is the Kölsch Brewery on the Heumarkt, about 200 yards from the South African Embassy, where, every Friday after a strenuous workweek, the staff gather at about 17:20 at the cleanly scrubbed stammtisch (regular table) for a few glasses of that nectar of the gods, freshly brewed Kölsch.

A new coaster is placed before every customer to tabulate the eventual drainage caused by the diminishing supply of beer - 1 pen-stripe = 1 glass. No snacks are served. No wives, husbands or other strangers are allowed (mainly because somebody had to drive these drunken sods home).

Being German, plenty of over-loud oompah music and local German recording artists are heard or not. After about 2 or three rounds of beer, the drought starts. Suddenly, without warning, everyone is deathly parched and in need of immediate sustenance which arrives in the form of and is accompanied by raucous shouts of “Rosenkrantz!” Now every coaster sports a cross in addition to the pen-stripe. Rosenkrantz is a round of shot glasses on a round tray and resembles a ring of roses. But this is not Ring-around-the-Rosie, however, the effect is remarkably similar in that after a few rounds of that Rosie, all fall down.

It was not always clear who actually and eventually pays the tabs and who decides that enough is enough, but true to tradition, next Friday that cleanly scrubbed Stammtisch is awaiting its patrons.

Then there is Tequila and the worm. But that is a different story.

19 September 2015.

Inspired by a post by Heidi.