I’m sure I was going to say something fundamentally important and meaningful, indicative of long term social change. Or it could have been a eulogy to Santa Monica, now up there in my favest cities ever! But I can’t remember. So, to allay my worries about lack of travel insurance, the terrors of intestacy (No idea who Stacey is, but I’ve never been ‘into her’) and fear of the revenant Terry Schiavo, I’ve written a short living will – other clauses are most welcome.
Addendum: Will Aid seems sensible; barter away!

Living Will

Sanity Clause
I, Daniel Cohen Griliopoulos, am of sound(ish) mind, am without constraint, and herein state my living will and testament, so help me God(s) (or Satan, whoever offers better hourly rates.) I also affirm there ain’t no Sanity Clause, it’s just your dad (joke trademark Adam, 5754 B.C.E.)

Disposal of corporeal remains
If I’m verifiably dead (i.e. don’t titter when tickled) I’d like to be exposed for the consumption of wild animals. I was always too shy to expose myself to wild animals when alive. I asked a policeman for directions. Hence my entry on the sex offenders register. If I die and return as a zombie, drop me deep in the Atlantic ocean, so I can see who’d really win in a fight between a shark and a zombie. If there are no sharks left in the Atlantic, leave me in the offices of a leading legal or insurance firm, where I’ll be sure to stripped to the bone in seconds.

I leave all my personal possessions to my brother David. I leave all my impersonal possessions to, y’know, whoever. I leave all my demonic possessions to my little sister, so she can finally perfect that “head-rotating-spewing” party trick she’s been practicing all these years. I leave the remainder of my estate to my dad, Dimitri, because he always liked big boots. I’d like to leave my collection of fine whiskies to my pal Paul, so he can join me in the afterlife sooner (gonna be very dull here without you mate). I leave my MP3 collection to the head of the RIAA. I leave the action of prosecuting him for possessing unlicensed MP3s to his legal team. I leave my debts to Robert Kilroy Silk, and I charge Brewster with running up those debts.

I just wanted to use the word codicil, cos it’s cool.

Adventures in Alternate Realities.

I was sat in my flat, having just reinstalled Planescape Torment (oh, how I hunger for it now with only World of Warcraft on my desktop) when my mate Toller phoned to say he’d been intending to pass through Bath, but the trains were fucked so could he please kip on my sofa, and, oh, did I want a drink. I say I’ll pop out for one, cos I’ve got loads of work on…

…five hours later, we’re sat in the “characterful” Huntsman, opposite three women. Women, not girls. And when I say women, I’m not saying it because I think there’s an implicit patronsing bias in the illiberal word ‘girls’, which I might, but because they averaged about forty. Which doesn’t mean “I wouldn’t ‘ave” (as chirpy Cockney Toller puts it. the poshest cockney ever, yes, but he was born “wivvin de sahnd ah bahr bewws”, possibly) just that things didn’t turn out that way.

They were up from Devon looking for a husband for the tall, statuesque blond who was their leader, but they were seriously “disappointed at the lack of talent” in Bath. However, the blond, who was a nurse called Rosie, upon hearing that I was in games went off on one about how her two kids, five and seven, had persuaded her to play with them on their computer, and she’s created this tall blond woman (nu?) who could fire ice and electricity from her hands. But the kids wouldn’t let her attack some baddies “because I was level 3, and they were level 5, and I was like no, no, fight, punch, kick, but they can use the mouse better, so they won.” When I told her that I was level 24 and could fly (yeah, yeah, I know I can only jump really high, but it looks like flying. Superman could only jump at first…) she was dead impressed.

Anyway, Toller returned bemused to a table he’d left talking about “can younger men get it on with older women” to find them talking about Superheroes and games.

I have this effect on people, I guess.

“For every human being who looks up at the moon in the nights to come will know that there is some corner of another world that is forever mankind.”

Fascinating example of alternate history; Richard Nixon’s draft speech informing the nation that the 1969 Apollo 11 moon mission has been lost with all hands. Oddly, it parodies/rips off Rupert Brooke’s The Soldier;

“That there’s some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England”

Curious. Fields have corners: planetoids don’t, Dick.

Addendum: Fascinatingly, the astronauts weren’t supplied with cyanide capsules to kill themselves in case they got stuck on the moon – the scientists reasoned that a much quicker suicide was simply to take their helmets off!

Schneier on Security: Hacking the Papal Election: “What are the lessons here? First, open systems conducted within a known group make voting fraud much harder. Every step of the election process is observed by everyone, and everyone knows everyone, which makes it harder for someone to get away with anything. Second, small and simple elections are easier to secure. This kind of process works to elect a Pope or a club president, but quickly becomes unwieldy for a large-scale election. The only way manual systems work is through a pyramid-like scheme, with small groups reporting their manually obtained results up the chain to more central tabulating authorities.

And a third and final lesson: when an election process is left to develop over the course of a couple thousand years, you end up with something surprisingly good.”

Fascinating discourse on fixing the Papal election, again via Chris at the Virtual Stoa.