Nostradamus Speaks - The Sorcerer's Apprentice

The Sorcerer's Apprentice

"Boss, thank you, thank you, thank you, for rescuing me from the curse of the Dragon Lady. Seriously, that woman scares the hell out of me."

Dr. Nostradamus' face briefly registered a hint of mirth and perhaps, a stifled snort. "Yes, Number One, a formidable presence indeed. Now let's get on with the purpose of this meeting -- your job."

"Absolutely -- the job. What is my job?"

Dr. N began. "I am starting a publication, Nostradamus Loquitur. Your job is to transmit my message on that platform."

"What's Loquitur?"

"It's Latin for 'speaks'."

"Nobody speaks Latin, Boss, nobody except Catholic priests. You do not want to be associated with that bunch. Just use English and call it Nostradamus Speaks."

"Good point, Number One. Nostradamus Speaks it is."

All right! I was proving my worth. "How can I be of service, Maestro?" 

"You are to memorialize every encounter, meeting, and conversation you have with me and publish that description in detail on Nostradamus Speaks."

"That's it? Piece of cake, Doc. I cometh prepared." I said, and spreadeth out before the Maestro my iPhone, pen, and note pad. 

"No," Dr. Nostradamus flatly said. "There will be no recordings. You will not take notes; you will not keep notes. You are to rely entirely on your memory."

I was expecting something along the lines of an attaboy. "That's going to be a stretch, Boss. If you want me to accurately record every meeting and conversation -- in detail -- I'm going to have to take notes. I have a good memory but not that good."

"Your apprenticeship begins today, Grasshopper," Dr. Nostradamus said. Train your memory."

"Apprenticeship?" I puzzled. 

Dr. Nostradamus ignored my question. "When you have a meeting or conversation with me you must be able to relive it -- The setting, the exchange in detail, word for word -- Facial expressions, body language, dress, mood. Everything."

"I don't have a photographic memory, Boss." 

He elaborated. "I did not say, 'remember it', Number One, I said, 'relive it'. You will develop the ability to revisit an encounter in your mind and relive the experience in detail as if you were there again.

"Along with your evolving skill in reliving and recalling the details of a meeting, you will have to exercise judgement in deciding what to include in the account you publish.

"For example, what I say and how I say it are of great significance, but what I was wearing at the time is probably insignificant and not needed in the narrative," said Dr. Nostradamus who was wearing a white shirt, no tie; a tweed jacket that looked right out of a 1930's detective movie, Levi's, and blue Nike tennis shoes. No socks.

"Then," he said, "You need to learn how to write -- to put everything together and present it in written English."

I defended myself. "I can write. I have a university degree."

"Grasshopper, language is far more complex than people realize, and written English is a separate language from spoken English. Written English can be understood world wide and easily translated into other languages. Spoken English can be highly parochial and an English speaker in one part of the world may find it difficult or impossible to understand an English speaker from another. Your task, to memorialize and effectively communicate our conversations, is even harder. 

"Do not underestimate the difficulty of the apprenticeship upon which you are embarking."

"Apprenticeship?" I asked again.

“Set up the office and we'll get started." With that Dr. Michel de Nostradamus bid me adieu.

Dixi. 

Nostradamus Speaks - Responsibility

Responsibility

I accept I may have been somewhat irresponsible. After getting my first big payday from Dr. Nostradamus -- $16,000 in cash and a cashier's check -- I got a bit carried away. 

I got a room at a Holiday Inn, and set about exploring sunny southern California. I visited Disneyland, then Knott's Berry Farm, then Disneyland again, the Queen Mary, Magic Mountain, Universal Studios, and the Hollywood Walk of Fame, back to Disneyland, and many other wonderful points of interest.

Along the way I met a cute blond SoCal hottie, Brenda, who thought I was cute too.

It is shocking how much money you can burn through in a very short time. And in a shocking few weeks I was back in the Dragon Lady's shitty little room, sleeping on the couch and eating Maruchan Ramen Noodle Soup. Brenda did not return my calls.

I started thinking about beautiful Vienna and Ingrid.

Thus it was when I was down a text from the Maestro walked me back: 

I'll be there in 10. N. 

I anxiously texted back: Where? 

There. N.

I frantically set about cleaning my dump of an office, moving boxes of cleaning product from one side of the room to the other and dusting off the sofa and desk. 

Ten minutes later a knock at the door. I opened it and there he was, Doctor Nostradamus, Merlin, not having aged a day since last I saw him in Vienna. Dr. N looked at the sofa and sat at the desk. I sat on the sofa.

"May I see your expense log, Number One?" he said, extending his hand.

"My expense log?"

"Yes, your expense log. The list of expenditures you had while setting up your office."

"Nobody said anything about setting up an office. I thought that was my salary."

"You haven't done anything yet."

"An advance?"

Dr. Nostradamus just looked at me

"Boss," I said, "This is not my fault. You lure me away from a good paying job in Vienna, flatter me with a meaningless fucking title, and send me all the way to Bumfuck, Egypt, and I still don't have the slightest idea of what it is I was hired to do."

Dr. Nostradamus paused for a long moment and then sighed, "You're right, Number One, I bear some of the blame here. Do you have any money left at all?"

"Hardly, and the Dragon Lady is making me clean up the salon or she will kick me out. It's humiliating Boss. I have a degree."

"Okay, here's a little more to tide you over. Get a room, clean yourself up, and we'll meet tomorrow to talk about your job."

With that Dr. Nostradamus walked out. I watched as he engaged in conversation with the Dragon Lady, who started yelling, waving her hands and pointing in my direction.

I closed the door and counted the money Dr. N had left for me.

Dixi

Nostradamus Speaks - Setting up Shop

Setting up Shop

I woke up on the couch in "my office"-- a shit hole room, in the rear of a shit hole beauty and nail salon, in shitty Little Saigon, in shitty Westminster, in shitty California. 

Not happy.

My phone beeped: Open the laptop. N.

What laptop?

Poking out from under the stacks and boxes of beauty product on the desk was the silver corner of a laptop. I cleared away the clutter and checked it out. Wow! A brand new top of the line Mac. Underneath was an unsealed envelope. A quick look revealed several thousand in $100 bills and a cashier's check for $10,000 USD.

My phone beeped again: Laptop and Network Name and passwords are all NostraD. Log on and change all passwords and Network Name. Don't use any suggested by Google or Apple. Time sensitive. I have backdoor. N.

Did it. I must say my mood was improving by leaps and bounds.

The laptop beeped again: Good work Number One. Relax for the rest of the day. Will contact. N.

I texted back: Whatever you say, Dr. N. Is it safe to leave all this stuff here? 

It's a safe house. No problem. Use your key. N.

I hid the laptop and all the money under the sofa and covered it with trash then left to get Vietnamese. I locked the office door behind me and left through the front. The Dragon Lady at the counter motioned me over and handed me another key, "Use the back door when we are closed."


Disclosure: This is essentially how my start as Dr. Nostradamus' spokesperson began. Everything happened as described but everything has changed so there is no security risk in this disclosure. In other words, you'll never find the safe house and the Dragon Lady has long since moved on. So don't waste your time trying.

s/Number One.

Dixi

Note from me LLP:
The pot thickens, I guess. I'm not sure what the point of all this was but I am on the edge of my seat in anticipation. Bring it!
LLP

Nostradamus Speaks - Sunny SoCal

Sunny SoCal

Picking up where we left off -- I landed at LAX on September 20, 2009. No one was waiting for me so I took matters into my own hands and got an Uber, destination Los Angeles' Little Tokyo. I snoozed most of the way and only woke when the driver announced, "We're here." I looked around, as good a place as any, and got out.

It took me about an hour of wheeling my carry-on baggage behind me before I finally asked and learned I was in Little Saigon -- Westminster, not LA. The idiot Uber driver.

My phone beeped: Are you there? N.

I texted back: I'm here. Where should I be?

I set up an office for you. You can sleep there until you get settled. N.

Me: Thanks, where?

It's in the rear of the beauty shop on Westminster. They are expecting you. N.

I was already too tired to appreciate how weird all this was but by sheer luck the Uber guy had let me out on Westminster Ave. It was just a matter of finding the one beauty salon in all of Little Saigon that was expecting me. Up and down, in and out of this shop and that, stopping for more than one cup of Vietnamese coffee which I was told is better than you can get in the former Saigon now known as Ho Chi Minh City.

 Finally, two hours later, after making my way up one side of Westminster Ave., then down the other, back to almost where I started, I walked into yet another of those mini strip malls that enrich the landscape of every city in America and in through the doors of a seedy beauty and nails salon.

A grim looking little old lady with perfectly coiffed black beehive hair and long sharp shiny red nails was at the cashier's counter. I walked up. The old lady handed me a key and jerked her head toward the back of the shop. 

By this time I was so jagged from jet lag and three hours walking and multiple cups of Vietnamese coffee that I just took the key and trudged back past stations that promised to transform everyday women into alluring vixens. 

I opened the door, which wasn't even locked, and looked in. "What a dump," I said out loud.

A ratty couch, a folding chair, and a desk piled high with boxes of beauty products. I closed the door and collapsed on the couch. "Shit!" I said to myself. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" 

I zoned out, thinking about beautiful Vienna and beautiful Ingrid.

Dixi.

Nostradamus Speaks - Vienna Followup

Vienna Followup

I write at the request of Dr. Nostradamus to followup on my last post wherein I tracked a bit of my personal history and the very beginning of my role as his spokesperson.

Leaving the Vienna cafe after that fateful breakfast in August of 2009, I wasn't much for company and headed back to my apartment. I found myself reliving the happy days of my childhood and what snippets of memory that featured Dr. Nostradamus and his wife. I was surprised at the level of detail that came to mind and wondered if my memory wasn't as ordinary as I had always assumed. I really had no idea what he might want to talk about nor why he called me Number One.

Next morning I reported for work and was given a telephone memo by the receptionist: "N called. Reschedule meeting until after work. Same cafe on Sonnwendgasse." That was probably a good idea because I was still relatively new here and didn't want to mess up. 

He didn't specify a time so I just took the bus after work and went straight to the cafe. He was waiting.

"I want you to come work for me," Dr Nostradamus said with no further greeting.

"Okay," I found myself saying without the slightest idea of what I was going to be doing or how much I was going to be paid, if anything.

"Good. I'll meet you in Los Angeles mid September or thereabouts. This will cover your expenses," handing me a cashier's check for 10,000 euros drawn on a Swiss bank. "Have a good flight."

He got up to leave.

"Wait," I said, "What's my job?"

"Number One, you are going to be the primary spokesperson and coordinator for my businesses. See you in sunny Southern California."

Dr. Nostradamus left, leaving me thinking that Ingrid was not going to like this and will think I'm an idiot. She'll probably dump me but that will save me the unpleasant task of breaking up with her. 

I wasn't very proud of myself at that likelihood but really, I was too excited at my prospective new adventure to care. Vienna was boring anyway.

I went back to my apartment and googled, "Nostradamus business."

Dixi 


Note from me LLP:
I don't know how this tidbit of background helps other than to confirm that Ingrid was probably right.

Nostradamus Speaks - Breakfast in Vienna

Breakfast in Vienna

They call me Number One, the name reflecting my position as spokesperson for Doctor Michel de Nostradamus. I have been so employed for a decade. 

I am 35 years old. I grew up in a privately funded New England orphanage and know nothing of my biological parents other than the genetic gifts they passed on to me. 

I am clearly of a mixed race heritage and move easily among a number of varied racial and ethnic groups. But my racial identity is blurred and does not appear to trigger racial animus in those so inclined. I'm ordinary. I fit in.

Along with good health, I received through my parents a native intelligence fairly described as normal or average. I have a good memory and like most people, can master difficult subjects if I work hard enough. It is clear the inspired genius of great mathematicians and musicians and artists will forever lie beyond my reach. I was fortunate to have had excellent tutors and instructors, and the opportunity for higher education.

What is extraordinary about my life is not my genetic inheritance or what I have made of myself -- or not -- but the simple circumstance of being orphaned as an infant and left on the doorstep of Dr. Nostradamus' orphanage.

Dr. N did not live at the orphanage and appeared at irregular intervals accompanied by a tall gray haired woman introduced as Mrs. Nostradamus. The Dr. and Mrs. did not deal directly with the children but worked intensely with the exceptional and dedicated staff. 

I think of my boyhood home as inseparable from Dr. Nostradamus. I don't know that he ever had an official title, but he was always treated with great deference by the staff and whenever he and the Mrs. visited we children would be lined up to greet them. I never spoke to him. To tell the truth we kids were scared of him. There were stories that he was 300 years old; that he was Merlin the magician; that he could fly. Magical stories children tell themselves and each other. 

By the time I left the orphanage and academy for university I had not seen Dr. or Mrs. Nostradamus for several years and my memory of them faded. At 21 I graduated and set out to travel the world and seek my fortune. I wandered, working a variety of jobs. I was a bouncer for two months in Berlin. I was a bank teller, a chef, a brick layer. I ran a souvenir shop near the Eiffel Tower. And more. I enjoyed them all and went everywhere. 

Finally, in the spring of 2009, I landed in Austria. Settling in, I applied for more respectable work at a Vienna based publishing company. Forgiving my erratic work history as a youthful fling, the human resources manager said they were looking for someone with my credentials. I was on my way. 

On a warm Sunday morning in August, 2009, I went for breakfast with my girlfriend to a little cafe on the Sonnwendgasse, recovering after a night celebrating my first big promotion.

We took an open window table and ordered up coffee to clear the fog of last night's festivities. I breathed in the fresh morning air mixing with the aroma of hot pastries. Another couple sat at a far table; an old man was at the counter, his back to us. 

I was happy, Ingrid was happy, we chatted about this and that.

Mid-sentence Ingrid stopped talking and looked up to a voice from behind me, "Pardon me, Mademoiselle." Then to me, "Good morning, Number One."

I looked, then stood up, "My God... is it....?'

The old man that had been at the counter continued, "Number One, can we meet in your office tomorrow morning? I'll only take a few minutes."

I didn't know what to say, "....Yeah, sure."

"Nine-thirty then." The old man tipped his hat to Ingrid, "Mademoiselle," and walked away.

We watched him go. 

Ingrid was irritated, "Who was that, your boss? Are you okay?"

I hesitated. "No, he's not my boss... maybe... I don't know.  It's a big company."

"But you do know him? What’s with this number one?"

"Yes....I know him."

"And....?" Ingrid said.

"Merlin... his name is Merlin."

Six weeks later I landed at LAX, single again, ready to start my new job.

Dixi

Note from me LLP:

Interesting. Turns out Number One is a real person, with a real life. 

LLP

Nostradamus Speaks - The Daily Grind

The Daily Grind

We met at Starbucks at 9:30 a.m. to work through what is evolving into a daily Q and A. Dr. Nostradamus was already there with a grande Mocha Latte with whipped cream and sprinkles.  He was just pouring into that brew a triple espresso as I sat down. 

"Let's just get on with this, Number One," He said.

So, I started in getting on.

The Rev. Billy Bob of Fredericksburg is back and writes a nice letter this time:
"Dear Dr. Nostradamus, what does the future hold for the Christian Church in America?"

Dr. N speaketh:
They traded their soul for the intoxication of hate;
Rejected, scorned, ignored by their young;
All claim to moral authority dust in their mouths;
The Evangelicals fear the day of judgment.

"Wow!" I thought to myself, "A quatrain. Prognostication gone retro."

This from Virginia from Virginia: 
"Gobbledygook, gobbledygook..... gobbledygook."

Dr. N speaketh: 
Madness --
Without method --
Is just --
Madness. 

"Next."

"Alice from South Dakota asks.......

"Dr. N speaketh:
Next,
Next,
Next,
Next.

Walt Mittey Jr., from Siberia writes: 
"Dear Nostradamus, oops, Dear Abbey, or is it Ann Landers?...."

"Don't answer. I'm going to block this guy, Sensei," I said. "You should just woke his disrespectful sarcastic ass and he will be whistling the Battle Hymn of the Republic out of both sides of his mouth."

"Jimmy from New York has a followup:
Doctor N, he writes, What will happen to Donald Trump's base, which I may, or may not be, a part of?"

Dr. N speaketh: 
"The stench of the Orange Pretender clings close like white on rice;
Stays longer than stink on shit. Everything dies.
To those with any sense left,
Git while the gittin's good."

"Retro gone wild!" I yelped. "Happy days are here again."

"Wait," I yelled at Dr. Nostradamus as he walked away, "I've got a boatload of these to go through."

Dixi

Nostradamus Speaks - Tradecraft I

Tradecraft I - The Deep End of the Pool

"The time has come," the Master said, "To talk of many things: Of rules -- and codes -- Of trade and craft -- And how a man should live." "I speak of the craft of the trade we have chosen, the Prognosticator, the Path of the Seer."

"Sensei, you are the man, the walrus man," I said, "This is exactly what I signed up for."

"Indeed, Grasshopper," Doctor Michel de Nostradamus said, "It's what I signed up for too, many long years ago." 

"So this isn't your own thing?" I asked.

"No," Dr. N said. "The way of the prognosticator has been around so long no one knows where or when it started. Or if where and when even matter. The wisdom of the path is such that should all traces of it disappear from the earth and all practitioners be long dead, the core of the path would reemerge on its own in the minds of men who want to see. And should there be distant worlds with life that can think, the path will spring forth from those minds too."

The Great Prognosticator then began:

"The First Principle is this: 

He who would see must be grounded in the natural world. 

The natural world is everything that is, was, and ever will be -- From the quarks that make up the atoms to the distant galaxies -- And everything in between -- Including all the creations of the mind of man -- Everything that has ever happened and ever will happen."

"Okay," I said, "That's heavy, but I'm good."

"We've just begun, Grasshopper," the Maestro said, "Now we dive into the deep end of the pool. It is here most applicants lose heart and back away. Some flee."

"Go for it, Sensei," I said, "I'm all in."

The Maestro went for it. "The jewel that lies beneath the surface is the Holy Grail, the Philosopher's Stone, the Great Mantra, the Code that awakens and liberates all who touch it." 

"Now you're talking, Sensei," I said.

"Those are metaphors, Grasshopper," Dr. N said, "But the real thing is the genuine article, so powerful and regarded as so dangerous that for centuries Seers kept their understanding disguised and hidden for fear of their lives. 

"You're killing me now, Boss!" I said, "What is it?"

Michel de Nostradamus paused for a long time and then spoke, "There is no supernatural."

Silence. 

I waited. 

Silence. 

"That's it?" I finally said, "That's it? That there's no supernatural?" 

"That's it, Grasshopper," the Maestro said, "There is no supernatural. Period. Full stop. There never has been. Nothing is beyond the laws and processes of the natural world; there never will be, ever. Not even a fingernail's worth, not even the hair on a gnat's ass worth, not even a subatomic particle's vibe worth. Nada, zilch, nothing, squat."

I protested. "What about faith and belief? People hereabouts take their religion seriously. Religions and beliefs, even those of the supernatural and fantastical, contain narratives that bind and hold societies and tribes and cultures together. They're not going to give them up; they ain't changing. Human nature ain't changing. You are asking people to do, I don't know what, step into the unknown? Just because you say so?"

"Look Dungbeetle," Nostradamus said, "I'm not asking anybody to do anything, I'm teaching tradecraft here; for those who want to see the forest and the trees and the branches and twigs, the leaves and the grass and don't have their head up their ass fearing imaginary forest creatures. You can drop the class any time."

"Chill, Boss, I'm not going to drop the class," I said, "But I can see why many do. My bet is your numbers are going to take a dive. No pun intended. This is going to scare the shit out of some, assuming they even make it this far."

"It is time to put away childish things and think as a man, young Grasshopper," Dr. N said, “Do not underestimate the potency of what I have just revealed. Those who understand this truth in their bones and marrow will see how the slimmest notion of the supernatural has crippled and imprisoned the mind of man since the beginning of time, and they themselves since childhood. Fear is the currency of the supernatural." 

"Let it go. Let fear of the supernatural go. There is no God or gods or goddesses or supernatural boogeymen of any kind whatsoever; never has been. No supernatural powers or forces whatsoever. There is no there, there. There is nothing supernatural to fear or respect or obey. You have got to let that sink into your thick skull and chew on it until you get the taste. Then chew some more until the bullshit falls away."

"Here is the last point for today: While there is no reality to any supernatural anything, people's belief in the supernatural, their belief in the unreal, is very real, and magical thinking has real world consequences. The Seer, grounded in the natural world, plugs that fact into his equations, stands apart, and clearly sees."

"Enough for today."

Dixi

Nostra Update 3

I was never one to get involved in office politics and I don't want to get in the middle of a food fight in the Nostradamus Speaks community. 

Personally, I don't take sides about Number One's qualifications. I'm interested in Nostradamus' take on things. If he has confidence in Number One as his spokesperson, I'm okay with that.

Whatever happened, it seems to have sorted itself out.

LLP

Nostradamus Speaks - A New Day

A New Day

Dr. N: "Number One, 9:30 this morning at Peet's on the Hill. N."

Me: "Roger."

I arrived. N was there. It was chilly. We sat inside. 

"Good morning. Sensei," I greeted him blah, blah, blah, glad you are feeling better, blah, blah. 

"Sensei," I said, "I am concerned about our increasing use of the text message account. On one hand it's nice we conduct our business like normal people. On the other, it leaves an electronic trail. Not good tradecraft.

"Quite right, Grasshopper." the good doctor said, "It does leave a trail. Exactly what I want right now."

Me, "Okay. Anything I should know."

Dr, N. "No, let's get into those cards and letters."

I opened my iPhone 4s and logged onto the Feedback from Sleepers file. 

"A lot of chatter from Colorado." I glanced through them. "Agnes in Denver say she is thrilled and hopes to finally see you in person. Donny in Carbondale says Aspen is overrated, overpriced, and can get us a good deal at his Airbnb. Woody in Twin Lakes says the same thing. And so on. What is this shit? Maybe it has something to do with the outage yesterday. The system was down and I had to reboot my password."

"Never mind, Number One," Dr. N said, "Just screen those messages and focus on the business at hand."

"Okay, Boss." I said. 

Jimmy from New York says don't avoid the issue. He has two questions:

"What," he asks, "Does the future hold for the Trump administration?"

Dr. N: "Disgrace, humiliation, and shame."

"What does the future hold for the American people as a whole?"

Dr. N: "International shame and embarrassment. But even that shall pass. Next."

The Reverend William Robert - you remember Billy Bob - is praying for you.

Dr. N: "Next."

Alice in South Dakota says you were right about her rotten boyfriend Hank and wants to know.......

Dr. N: "Next."

"It's more of the same, Doc," I said, "It's like herding cats." "All kinds of cliques and special interests are popping up." 

"How so?" Dr. N asked. 

"Well," I started in, "Clarence in New Haven complains I, meaning me, don't know how to write dialog and offers advice. I say to Clarence that if I want your advice Clarence, I'll beat it out of you."

"Calm down, Grasshopper," Dr. N calmed me, "Go on."

"I'll be blunt, Sensei," I finally said, "I'm upset. Hear tell there's a group in Nostradamus Speaks who think I am an incompetent idiot and want me fired. Another group thinks I am a master manipulator manipulating you, of all people, and wants me fired.” 

“I’m not an idiot, am I Sensei?”

Dr. N: “No, Number One, you are not an idiot.”

"I'm not manipulating you, am I Sensei?"

Dr. N: "No, Number One, you are not manipulating me."

"I will remain as your One and Only Personal Spokesperson, won't I, Sensei?" 

Dr. N: "Yes, Number One, you will remain my One and Only Personal Spokesperson."

Hahahaha. A little joke Dr. Michel de Nostradamus, the famed Prognosticator and Time Traveler, and me, Number One, still his Personal Spokesperson, thought you might like.

Dixi

Nostra Update 2

I was right! That whole Aspen Renewal Seminar story was bullshit. Apparently there is a faction that really wants to get rid of Number One and staged this scam as a cover story. 

This is exciting breaking news stuff. I want to keep you minute by minute informed but I'll hold off until I get the full story.
LLP

Nostra update

For those of you keeping up, there is some kind of a hostile takeover or power struggle happening right now at Nostradamus Speaks. I am getting bits and pieces but nobody seems to know who is in charge or anything. 

Troubling development. But exciting!

LLP

Nostradamus Speaks - Announcement

From the Office of the Chief of Staff to the Right Honorable Doctor Michel de Nostradamus

I am pleased to announce that Nostradamus Speaks will suspend publication while officers and staff attend our annual Renewal Seminar and Training program in Aspen, Colorado.

We eagerly look forward to this yearly event which renews our dedication to our readers and our core mission of Predicting the Future!

Thank you for your loyalty!

Sincerely, Walt Mitty Jr., Chief of Staff

Dixi


Note: 
WTF? Sounds like complete and total corporate bullshit to me. This is really fucked! Maybe shit got too real for the empty suits at the top so they shit canned Nostra's spokesperson. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! Bummer.
LLP

NostraD - Pumped!

Pumped!

I was stoked, pumped, jacked! For the first time in a long time I had good news to report as I waited for the Boss to show for our 9:30 at Peet's on the Hill.

Here he came. You could say commanding presence just by the way he dressed: Southern California de rigueur - shorts, t-shirt, and flip-flops (but curiously, socks?). Ignore the socks, Dr. Michel de Nostradamus is indeed The Man.

"Boss, Boss," I yelled in a curiously higher pitch than normal before he could even sit down, "Your numbers are in! The base is loving it!"

"Hold on there, Hoss," the Boss said, "Slow down. What do you mean by the numbers and the base and loving what?"

"The new you, the old you, back to basics, predicting, man, predicting!" I was beside myself. "We took a dive when it was reported you drove a Dodge Dart but after the sleek black Mercedes limo the sleeper cells went wild! Your numbers are way up!"

"Mon dieu." I could hear the maestro mutter to himself but I don't speak Italian or Latin or whatever so I don't know what he was saying. But that was not what was important.

"So," I asked, "What do you think?"

"Number One," Dr. N said, "I'm not feeling well, can we reschedule?"

"Sure thing, Boss," I replied, "Whatever you say."

I was disappointed but nevertheless, this was a good day! A very good day indeed!

Dixi

Nostradamus - Jumping the Shark

Jumping the Shark

The second meeting wherein Dr. Nostradamus would do some predicting did not go well. He was already at Starbucks when I got there about 5:30 p.m. As I sat down I noticed one of those little mini-bar shot sized bottles of liquor on the table. 

I sipped a bit at my mocha latte and began thumbing through the Feedback From Sleeper Cell Sleepers inbox. "Alice from South Dakota is back," I said.

"Just read it," Dr. N said.

She writes: "Nostra you don't know anything about me or my boyfriend Hank so get off your high horse thinking you can predict where our love will go and you are just hating on him because you are old, fat, and jealous. Drop dead." 

Nostradamus sighed, "Number One, some of the letters in your digital stack should go to an advice column or someone or somewhere else, but not me."

"You are absolutely right Boss," I said, "I'll screen them."

"I'm not fat." Nostra said. "Do I look fat?" 

"No, Boss," I reassured him, "You're not fat."

Dr. N opened the little bottle of booze and poured it into his coffee. "Next." he said.

This from William Robert of Fredericksburg: 
"Dear Doctor Nostradamus,"

"So far so good," Dr. N interrupted.

"I appreciate very much your thoughtful and insightful commentary on our world and these great United States of America."

"Keep it coming," Dr. N interrupted again, "All I want is a little respect, r-e-s-p-e-c-t."

"Please predict for me and your readers how many eons you will suffer in purgatory before the Mighty Hand of God smites you into the eternal fires of Hell for your blasphemy. Sincerely, Yours in Christ, Rev. William Robert."

"How long is an eon, Grasshopper?" Nostra asked.

"I don't know Sensei." I answered truthfully.

"Me either," he said. "I guess I can't answer Billy Bob's question then, can I?"

Me, "Nope."

Dr. N pulled out yet another mini-bar bottle. Jack Daniels this time. "Next."

Jimmy from New York wants to know what is going to happen to Trump.

Doctor Nostradamus responded. "Good question but again, the wrong question. What Jimmy should ask is what is going to happen to Jimmy. Illusions and fantasies are concentrated psychological and social energy and, like when they canceled Dallas or Mash the fans went.... 

"Sensei, Boss," I interrupted, "I don't want to interrupt but there are two barristers, now three, looking at us through the window and one is on the phone. Considering the pile of empty little booze bottles on the table, we should mosey on outta here."

"Whatever you say, Apprentice." Dr. N replied, standing up, steadying himself on the rail. "Lead the way."

I led the way, out off the veranda, between a row of parked cars, across a few more parking lanes and then in the direction of my car. Clearly, Dr. Nostradamus was in no condition and I would have to drive him back to his house, apartment, hotel, or homeless shelter, or wherever he laid his hat and called his home. 

Just then a police car with flashing lights pulled up and gave off one of those short beeps that says in police car talk, "Halt!"

"Fuck, shit," I muttered, "Do you have your ID on you?"

Dr. N didn't answer, he just kinda closed his eyes and swayed from side to side. Not good.

Two cops got out. One stood by the driver's door scowling and watching us; the other approached. He was polite and professional but shined his light into my and Dr. Nostradamus' eyes. "I'm sorry to interrupt gentlemen, but we have a report of public intoxication. Can I see your identification?"

Dr. N straightened up, rather unsteadily, squinted his eyes against the flashlight's beam, and slurring his words, mumbled, "These are not the drunks you are looking for."

The polite cop turned to his scowling partner, "These are not the drunks we are looking for."

With that the cops got back in their patrol car and drove away.

"Fuck, shit!" I had to laugh. "Unbelievable!"

So I gently and carefully led the very great and very drunk Dr. Michel de Nostradamus across the parking lot. But the way to my car was blocked by a sleek black Mercedes limousine that had pulled across three full parking spaces. "Rich, entitled, inconsiderate bastards," I commented to my drunk friend. 

As we started to go around, the limo driver got out, dressed in one of those old-fashioned chauffeur uniforms with the funny hat and white gloves. "Good evening, Doctor," he said while opening the passenger door. "Your appointment has been confirmed. Will Number One be attending?"

"No." Doctor Michel de Nostradamus said, "Thank you, James."

Then, turning to me said,"Number One, we will address sleeper concerns as they arise but we must focus more attention on tradecraft."

"You're not drunk at all, are you Sensei?" I said.

Dr. Nostradamus replied matter of factly, "You've got to be able to handle your liquor in this business. And that wasn't even liquor."

With that the good doctor got into the limo. The driver closed the door after him, turned to me, nodded slightly, and then got back into the driver's side and drove off.

"Who is that guy?" I muttered.

Dixi

Nostradamus - Prognostications

Prognostications

Shit was starting to get real so I texted Dr. Nostradamus on the important-stuff-only hotline using a prearranged code alerting him that we had a problem: "Houston, we have a problem."

His response was immediate, almost before my finger lifted off the send button on my iPhone: "Roger, meet you at the same Starbucks as last time. 10:30 a.m. N."

I texted back: "I'm not Roger, who's this?"

Dr. N: It's me, N. N.

Reassured, I confirmed the 10:30 appointment and went back to watching Morning Joe. It was 6:00 a.m. giving me four and a half hours to watch more news, eat breakfast, walk the dogs, and still make it on time. I didn't want to be late for what promised to be a very important meeting.

The doctor was already at the coffee shop when I arrived. I could see he had ordered a grande flavored coffee drink, with whipped cream and sprinkles. 

"What's the problem?" Dr. N asked, even before I could sit down.

"Boss," I said, "The natives are getting restless. I am getting flak from all over. Many of the sleeper cell coordinators are suggesting that maybe it is time you started, you know, like, prognosticating."

The great prognosticator and time traveler Dr. Michel de Nostradamus fixed me with a withering stare, "Who is saying this?"

"I don't want to rat out anybody, but apparently the sleeper cell activation code I fucked up still had the incomplete effect of disturbing a lot of sleepers." I explained.

"How so?" he asked.

"Look Boss," I said, "Maybe it's just time you started predicting stuff."

N was defensive, "Predicting what?"

"The future!" I said, in a very loud voice, practically shouting. "Predicting the future! Do your job for crying out loud!"

People started looking our way.

I immediately backed off and told him that I needed to get some coffee. 

"Get me a triple shot of espresso while you are up there," he said, "I need to get jacked for this."

I  came back with my coffee and his triple espresso which he poured into his grande flavored coffee drink with sprinkles. "Okay," he said, "Let's do this."

"Boss," I said, "I've got a whole laundry list of questions here that have been dumped onto my desk (actually into my iPhone text message app). "Are you sure?"

"Go." he said.

"Okay," I said, "Here goes. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Go." he said.

Dolores in Duluth wants to know what numbers to pick for the lottery next week.
N: She is not asking for a prediction. Next.

Alex in Rhode Island wants to hire a manager for his family business. The guy who talks the best game has a track record of lying, cheating, stealing, and bankrupting businesses. Alex says he is  going to hire him because he likes what he says. What's going to happen?
N: He will lie, cheat, steal, and bankrupt your business. Next.

Alice in South Dakota wants to know if her boyfriend will cheat on her again.
N: Yes. Next.

Dr. N was pissed. "Who am I, Dear Abby?!? Have you even screened these questions?"

"Boss," I said, "These are questions from your sleeper cell sleepers. I assumed you or somebody had already vetted them."

"Go on." he said.

A grandfather in Southern California wants assurance that everything is going to be okay.
N: I'm not a soothsayer, as in saying soothing things. Next.

DeVito in Los Angeles wants to know what job fields are going to open up in the future for his kids and grand kids and so on down the line.
N: Finally a question worthy of my talents. But it is the wrong question. DeVito should not ask what job fields are going to open up in the future but who will succeed in adapting to and moving into whatever fields do open up.

So, the answer to the question that was not asked but should have been is this: Those people and their descendants who are grounded in the natural world and guided by the light of practical reason will be able to face a rapidly changing and challenging world with learning, intelligence and adaptability. 

Those poor bastards who were indoctrinated into magical thinking, religious ideologies, and a contempt for science and learning will be day laborers picking strawberries in the Central Valley. 

"How many more questions are there? My brain is full." Dr. N was obviously weary. "

"Lots," I said, "But we can get into those later. Do you want to take a break?"

"Yes," he said. "Let's meet again in a few days."

So I respectfully took my leave of the great Doctor Michel de Nostradamus sipping away at his supercharged Starbucks coffee drink.

Dixi

Nostradamus Speaks - A Workplace Dispute

A Workplace Dispute

"Dr. N," I texted, "You need to come up with a new sleeper cell activation code. I screwed up the last one by misspelling a word in the third iteration. Sorry. But my mistake might work out for the best -- have you really thought this thing through?"

Dr. Nostradamus was prompt whenever I used the very-important-stuff-only text message account, "What do you mean Grasshopper?"

"I mean," I texted, "Maybe you should let sleeping dogs lie; what if your sleepers don't want to get woke; what if they're not ready?"

Dr. N:  Good point. I'll hold off for a while. Anything else?

Me:  Yes. Now that I've got you on the line, so to speak, why do you insist on publishing your Nostradamus Speaks bulletins in a verbatim dialog format? Whatever happened to the tried and true quatrains of yesteryear?

Dr. N:  That was then, this is now. Paper, printing, distribution. The internet was  v e r y  s l o w  back in the day. 

Me:  Hahahahaha. A joke. But you didn't answer my question. 

Dr. N:  Okay, all seriousness aside, dialog, conversation, give-and-take, verbal exchange, etc., is the best way ideas evolve and humans learn from each other.

Me:  It's, "all joking aside", but I get your point, up to a point. 

Dr. N:  What's your point?

At that point I had had it up to here.

Me:  My point is you sound like a pointy headed intellectual jerking me around when I have serious questions I think deserve answers. This conversation is over.

Dr. N:  Don't go away mad; just go away. And keep the text message account limited to very important stuff only. N.

I'm going to demand a raise because they don't pay me enough for this shit. And I really don't care if I get fired.

Dixi

Note: I don't want to get into the middle of what seems like a petty little squabble between Doctor Nostradamus and his spokesperson, and I seriously considered not passing this on to you. But I came down on the side of letting you decide what to make of it.
LLP 

Nostradamus Speaks - The Rain in Spain

The Rain in Spain.......

The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain.
The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain.
The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plane.

I couldn't get that My Fair Lady lyric out of my head as I waited for Dr. Nostradamus to show up for our scheduled 3:15 p.m. appointment at Peet's on the hill. He was 15 minutes late and I was getting grumpy.

This gig as the One and Only Chief Spokesperson for the Famed Prognosticator and Time Traveler Dr. Michel de Nostradamus is getting to be more than I signed on for. I am getting blowback from sleeper cell coordinators all over the place. They are getting shit and shit flows uphill and the buck stops here because a big part of my job is simply to insulate the boss from the incredible number of nut jobs out there. 

There are those who accuse me making this shit up. Trust me, you can't make this shit up. Then there are those who indignantly accuse me of appropriating the great Nostradamus name. Hey, don't kill the messenger. I'm just a coffee boy and the pay is hardly worth the hassle. A large number of people think I'm off my meds. I'm not. Some guy is convinced it's gluten that's making me crazy. Apparently, the mere mention of me ordering three glazed and three plain donuts at a donut shop made him crazy. 

The list goes on. We'll see if the sleeper cell activation code works it's magic and I start getting the respect I deserve.

Ding goes my iPhone text message alert: "Number One, sorry I have to cancel. Unexpected high level meeting. N."

This was the third meeting Dr. N. canceled at the last minute or even after the last minute leaving me cooling my heels. I have a low level life you know.

I texted him back: "Okay Boss, I get it. You win. Let's go back to the old way where you just show up unannounced whenever and wherever you want. I will either be there or not."

With that I got up and walked over to my still running vintage 1987 Yugo. This thing is going to be a collector's item someday and I am going to be rich. 

Dixi

Nostradamus Speaks - Invasion of Privacy

Invasion of Privacy

At 8:50 a.m. Tuesday I arrived at a Peet's coffee that I frequent now and then to partake of their excellent brew. I fully expected Dr. Nostradamus to already be there or to arrive promptly at 9:00. Nothing had been said at our last meeting in a local donut shop as to where we should meet next, only when. At that meeting I must admit I had been spooked that the great prognosticator was already waiting for me. I had gone to great lengths to avoid giving any hint of where I would be. But mamma didn't raise no fool and I had a pretty good idea how he did it. Spookiness need not apply.

So I got a double shot of espresso, topped it off with 2% milk, balanced that with half and half, and went back out into the warm sunlight where the maestro and I could have a leisurely discussion about this and that. I was feeling smug and self-assured.

Promptly at 9:00 a.m. here he comes, "So, you turned your phone off just before you left your house and it's still off. Did you think I couldn't find you?"

So much for pleasantries. I responded confidently, "Actually, Doctor, I was pretty sure you could find me. Where did you get the app that can track my phone when it is off?"

Dr. N paused for a moment before essentially admitting what I suspected, "It's not so much an app but an algorithm, a freakingly good super algorithm. But I can't tell you where I got it."

"Duh, let me guess?" I said, "CIA?"

Dr. Nostradamus got serious, "That's a pedestrian guess, but no, Number One, it's not the CIA. In fact, the source that developed the code is very, very concerned that if the Americans get hold of it the Saudis and Russians will have it before the end of business day."

"Hmm," I hmmed, "My next guess is Mossad."

Dr. N confirmed my hunch, "I will neither confirm nor deny that it is Mossad." 

"Can I see your phone?" I asked.  

"No," he replied,  "And it wouldn't help. It is virtually undetectable."

"Okay, so much for trust," I said, "But let's move on, you have pretty much confirmed what I suspected about how you found me at the donut shop. Weren't no super powers involved." My self confidence was growing by leaps and bounds.

"Do tell." he said, sitting back in his chair.

So I telled it. "Your Mossad Mother of all Algorithms super code software tracking app hacked into my Google search history and saw that I had zoomed onto that strip mall and the donut shop before I left home. The algorithm crunched the data and numbers and spit out my likely destination to a high degree of confidence. Even still, you were just lucky that I had not changed my mind at the last minute. Am I right or am I right?"

"Yes, yes, and yes. Well done, Grasshopper, well done." The great Dr. Nostradamus caved. 

I seized the advantage, "So are you always going to spy on me? I am not happy with what is a monumental intrusion and invasion of privacy. And I don't like the idea of being so predictable. Do you spy on everybody?"

Dr. N replied evenly, "No, I don't spy on everybody. I track a handful of trusted associates and then only when I need to locate them in a hurry. A side benefit is it tests how susceptible my team is to magical thinking. Are they going to work through a challenge with practical reason or opt for the easy, lazy, and always wrong conclusion that supernatural powers are at play. Or to put it another way, am I dealing with adults or children."

Dr. N's calm response took me aback, "Yikes, sounds like no more Mr. Nice Guy."

"That's right, Dungbeetle," he said, "No more Mr. Nice Guy. Did you broadcast the sleeper cell activation code as instructed?"

"Uh, no," I stammered, "Not yet."

"Why not?" he said.

I regained my composure, "Because it was dumb, Sensei. "The river stinks" or whatever, three times a row was impossible to frame in an innocuous way. It would make me look like an idiot and I have to maintain my credibility." I paused, "But if you insist, I'll do it."

"Forget it," he said, "The code has timed out and I'll have to come up with a new one." 

"Am I fired?" I hesitantly asked, seriously worried that I had blown the best gig I ever had.

"No, you're not fired, Grasshopper," he reassured me, "You are actually doing better than expected. So, until next time." 

With that Dr. Michel de Nostradamus, the famed prognosticator and time traveler walked away. I watched as he got into a battered old Dodge Dart and drove off.  I would've thought a Mercedes at least. Or a Peugeot.

Dixi