[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 8 most recent journal entries recorded in
|Wednesday, March 23rd, 2005|
When the first refugees arrived at Milliways and started excavating their new home, it was a relatively simple matter for them to discretely dispose of the residual rock in the forest, and later, when they got tired of barrowing the gravel that far every night, on the shores of the lake.
But as manufacturing processes began to take shape, many uses for the ground up rock was found. Bricks were baked by fusing the gravel with Devonshire fudge. A type of concrete was formed by mixing the stone with a smooth blend of toffee, and raw gravel was employed in the Water Treatment filters.
However, the population just kept growing at increasing rates. Now the Loompas have to excavate new tunnels just to use as land fills for the ground slag produced from their other digging. This has caused a baffling labyrinth of dead ends and false passages in the underworld.
| The monorail system
has two modes of operation. During off-peak hours it functions on a loose timetable, each train being guided remotely by operators based in a central control tower. There is a manual override in the lead carriage of each train however, and during rush hours a driver Loompa is employed to operate the simple; button and large sucker throttle lever. This is a safety precaution set in place to cope with the larger crowds and longer boarding times.
The carriages are the perfect height for their short passengers and have no doors since weather is not an issue in the underworld. Each one holds about thirty standing Loompas safely, forty at a squeeze. But, due to their size, neither an adult human nor a five foot turtle would be able to fit inside with any kind of maneuverability.
The streets of New Loompaland are completely
, adding an almost malevolent air to the happiest place on earth
feel of the decor.
Turtle, very cleverly disguised, keeps to the main thoroughfare, while Mike alternates between taking point and securing the rear, all within the protective embrace of the shadows.
The streets and shops of New Loompaland are clearly marked with brightly colored signs that use both English and universally accepted symbols. The unlikely duo of rescuers happen across the sign for the local constabulary. Shrugging, they follow the path.
Now, around four o' clock Central Loompa Time (CLT) many non-industrial aspects of Loompaland grind to a halt. This is not the end of the work day, but a statutory thirty minute nap period that was legislated in the second age, primarily to appease the outraged populace after the Night of the Long Sticks. Naturally, the critical manufacturing houses are outside the scope of this law, but most civil service jobs allow for the mid-afternoon siesta. Consequently, the employees at the New Loompaland Police Headquarters are dozing lightly when Turtle and Mike reach the building.
It takes a second for Turtle and Mike to adjust to the lower levels of light behind the door. Once their eyes adjust to the large gumdrop shaped lights that dot the ceiling, they are able to see that directly behind there door is a large antechamber. The wall to the left is lined with lockers. The wall to the right, is one large organizational rack of cleaning tools and supplies. Straight away there is a doorway, more like an opening in the wall really, that leads to stairs. Stairs that go down.
|Tuesday, March 22nd, 2005|
Just as all roads lead to Rome and all rivers to the sea, all pipes in New Loompaland lead to the Cistern.
The Cistern is the main waste water collection site, a fitting end for what was once the metallic chamber Wonka used to bring them all over from Loompaland in the first place. With every flush of ever toilet and ever empty of ever trash bin the Loompas tell Wonka daily exactly what they think of his protection. In hindsight, they were better off with the Wangdoodles.
The Cistern itself is a long cone shaped structure, which allows for the collection of any and all sediment that should find it's way though the series of filters and screens. For reasons of a sanitary nature, it is also bisected into domestic and industrial waste. The heart and liver of New Loompaland all in one. Two large arms holding baked cotton candy paddles churn each side to keep it circulating.
Water is boiled away and transported back to the underground reservoir. Solid products captured by the lower level filters, broken down to chemical components and then further processed into familiar cleaning solutions. Solutions in high demand as the population of the bustling bar and community grow.
Into the sides of each compartment are foot and hand holds. They have been pressed into the very metal itself.
|Monday, March 21st, 2005|
[OOM: New Loompaland, more specifically the underbelly of New Loompaland. Even more specific than that, the trash compactor adjacent to the furnace.]
Oompa Loompas are an arboreal species that never would have sullied themselves with matters like waste control, had Wonka the Wicked not intervened. That's not to say that they aren't clever, quite the opposite really, it's just that the idea of something better than just tossing waste to the ground had worked so well up to that point. By modern standards Loompa Technology is far from state of the art, but it has a certain whimsical charm one rarely sees in something so practical. Waste not, want not could very well be the official Loompa Code.
The Loompa Trash compactor is a perfect example of this. Constructed of thousands of discarded holiday chocolate tins, it is a patchwork of color that is both pleasing to the eye and wholly functional. By compacting the refuse before burning it, the Loompas are able to harness a week's worth of energy from one burst of initial furnace power. Thus the heart of New Loompa land has more output than input, making it far more energy efficient than the factory.
Deep within the bowels of Milliways, between the floors and ceilings, in the dark places where people have yet to explore, beats the heart of the Loompa Empire. What started out as a small community of refugees is now a bustling metropolis composed of hundreds of newly freed individuals.
Individuals that have been broken and enslaved for decades, now clamber for the type of lives they've only dreamed of having. Such dreams aren't easily brought forth into reality. Compromises have been made to the ideal they all strive for. Organization by committee is not easy for those raised to serve and obey. New social programs that have begun to sputter to life are riddled with bugs and loopholes.
Overall budgetary spending has been streamlined a little too thin for practical purposes. Making a budget is not like making chocolate. One requires an understanding of fluid dynamics, the other depends on rigid adherence to a recipe.
While there are plenty of resources for food, the budgetary allotment for cloth production is almost non-existent. In an effort to increase revenue, the Mandatory Loompa Janitorial Training Program has been sped up to double time, which saves costs on instructors, and releases more Loompas into the work force at a faster rate. Sadly, this also means that those newly graduated Loompas lack the training, skills, and discipline of previous alumni.
A perfect example of this is the botched clean up room 134. A cleaning crew was dispatched at 0900 hours, and began what was supposed to be a simple clean and sweep operation. They were clearly new recruits, attired in the temporary smock style uniforms that the fabric shortage allowed. Some of them had found ways to make them more individualistic. A couple of the Loompas had their hair cut in the Mohawk style, and at least three of them had piercings in various places.
Unhappy with the early hour of the job, and with the simple fact that they'd not been invited, the clean up crew in question expended minimal effort in their duties. Bottles and larger pieces of detritus were removed, but floors were roughly swept, and little lines of dirt can be found through the common areas of the suite denoting the places where dust pans had been used.
Had shoddy workmanship been the only offence, a simple slap on the wrist would have sufficed, but things were worse. So terribly worse.
It is standard Loompa operating procedures to clean the periphery, centering the refuse to the center of the room. Then, as one, the waste is carried out the door, with the smallest of the crew left behind to clean up any remainders.
In this case, there was a soundly passed out Indiana Jones
at the center point of the room. An Indiana Jones that was cleaned around. An Indiana Jones that composed the bottom of the refuse pile. And worst of all, an Indiana Jones that was carried away and brought back to the bowels of Milliways for disposal in the furnaces.
None of the crew wanted to admit to being the smallest, so there was no one lagging behind to do a final sweep of the area. All that is left of Dr. Jones is a small line of dust in the shape of his slumbering outline.
|Monday, August 23rd, 2004|