Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Tu quoque Brute filii mihi? (Et tu Brute?)

Charlie was anonymous among a group of similarly anonymous students. To call them scholars might have been too generous; academics nonetheless. The curtain rose upon a large stage, in introduction to "Diglet: An experiment without Digitalis."

Charlie had not been sure of what his expectations should have been comprised, but Hamlet was a classic. Piglet had been the parody; Diglet appeared to be about a Virtual Childhood awakening to the reality of "the web." How bad could it be? He kept going over and over the scene from fiction in his head. Sean Courtney and his Archery teacher, playing "Strip 20 questions." The test was such that IF you got ALL 20 questions _correct_, the pot for all 20 articles, (whether clothing or other instructive artifact,) would go to the student - else it was winner take all, and the teacher could re-robe and leave without a word. The teacher who had recommended the Digital production was feminine, but not likely to succumb to such suggestions... too bad.

Within the first 20 minutes Charlie had decided that his favorite scene from Hamlet was the one in which Hamlet soliloquizes "...the play's the thing wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King." Juvenile fascination with recursion and the reflexive case notwithstanding, he had to catch him SOMEHOW.

On stage, Turing came and went, with very little new material until they portrayed the perfect calculus of mapping an analog signal onto a digital continuum by exactly twice-over sampling. He had never known that sufficient data could be derived from so small a sample. The subject turned to the Diffie-Hellman key exchange. He enjoyed it from the very beginning...

The stage was divided into two villages. Stage left was Tribe "Histrionix," and stage right was Tribe "Melodrama." The Histrionixes and the Melodramas fought like Capulets and Montegues, with Histrionix faithful Bob pining fruitlessly after Melodrama faithful Alice. She dutifully mooned back, and Eve from the original "Evil Knievel" tribe came to their rescue. Neither trusted the messenger, so they made an Ellen Degeneres' style, "phone call to God."

Bob soon produced a Green Masterlock to which he had the combination. Eve arrived with a treasure chest with a hasp at either end of one side. Before the whole assemblage he scrawled,
"Meet me by the plastic tree near the left wing,"
...and put it ostentatiously in her chest. Eve lugged it over to Alice, and Alice peered hopelessly at the lock without observable progress. She used her own Red Masterlock to lock the opposing hasp, and Eve duly lugged it back over to Bob. Struck by apparent inspiration, he removed his Green lock, and smiled wickedly at Eve. He gave her a peck on the cheek and sent her packing back to Alice. Alice courtesied to the prospective courtesan, and removed her own restraint, opening her love letter with relish. She wrote her own reply rather more legibly.
"I'll love you until the clock strikes 9:37 PM."
...she inscribed. She locked her lock upon Eve's burdensome bureau, and they danced the dance in reverse.

Bob seemed satisfied with this response, and started a new conversation. This time he made a show of writing where Eve could not see, and the audience was put in suspense. Meanwhile, Eve had enlisted the help of two partners in crime, Adam and Steve. Adam contributed a Green lock of his own, while Steve produced a Red. When Bob locked his message in the box, Eve took it to the plastic tree and let Steve lock it with _his_ Red lock, returning soon thereafter. The charade was reproduced at the other end, with Steve removing his lock just as Bob had done, and Adam adding HIS _Green_ one. Alice duly pretended to be deceived. She attached her own authentic Red lock, and Adam bravely removed a lock he had added only moments before. Alice completed the charade of betrayal by removing her lock and responding to the challenge, "What is the highest purpose of Philosophy?" Adam, Eve and Steve had all three had opportunity to contemplate a persuasive answer to lull Bob into a false sense of security, but all for naught.

The skit had gotten a little long, but the answer (a large sign provided by Alice for the occasion,) confirmed the two were more in tune with each other than the interlopers; the impostors had been on the same sheet of music, but it had gotten "pretty black," and they could not play the score. The gig was up; it was time to face the Music and pay the piper.
"Earth Girls are Easy!"
...was the chosen non-sequiter.

Charlie joined in the standing ovation... he had to stand up just to get another look at Eve. He pondered that the whole production would have ended more quickly, and possibly more dramatically if he had been allowed to smash the hinges opposing the locks. He then could have used the padlocks as hinges in their own right, and the message would have been evident to all. He liked clandestine trysts but this cloak and dagger stuff, with partisans and patriots, was entirely too much drama.

Eve was receptive, and they made their way to McDonald's for a cone.

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