1984 Big Brother Job Julia-Nude Daybyandtheend©
With 1984 Big Brother in 2010, Nude Day is now everyday and everywhere.
Testing 1, 2, 3, smile for the camera. Action! 1984 is here in 2010 and Big Brother is watching you.
Now with satellite communication, Nude Day is not just one day a year, it's every day. There's no hiding from the cameras, the cameras are everywhere. Peek-a-boo, they can see you. There's no hiding from Big Brother. With a God like omniscient presence, he's everywhere, too. Even when you think you are alone, he sees you. You're not alone. You're never alone.
The age old question of are we alone, was never meant to have been asked and answered in this way. Wanting to know if there are other life forms in the universe, we addressed the question to aliens. We never intended to ask the question of surveillance cameras. To answer the question, are we alone? No, never, there is always someone watching everything we do. Look up, look down, look all around, there are cameras everywhere and more every day watching your every move. There are even cameras recording you from outer space, cameras you cannot see and don't even know are there.
Don't touch that. Don't do that. Don't say that. Don't even think that because whatever you touch, do, say, and think may be used against you in a court of law. You're screwed. You're fucked. Smile, you're on candid camera, literally.
What if those satellite cameras, the ones that can read a license plate number from outer space were turned, directed, and poised inward at the inhabitants of Earth and at you undressing for bed in your tiny apartment or making love in the backseat of your car at lover's leap? Imagine what and who they could see. Yet, for what purpose?
Well, what if you owned those satellites and were looking for a certain someone, wanting to know what she did 24/7? Do you think the satellite's camera could find her, one person from out of billions of people? What if you found her and now were intent on watching her without her knowing? Imagine the possibilities.
Certainly, it would help if the camera knew where to look to find her and that's where ground surveillance comes into play. Working as a team, they'd identify the subject they wanted to watch first, before sending her coordinates, merely a GPS code, to outer space. It'd be even easier if they could tag her, put a bug, a remote transmitter in her bag, on her person, somewhere inside her house, and on her car, so much as if tracking an endangered species. Something that not even George Orwell imagined when he wrote 1984, are we no longer safe from the watchful, invading, and recording eye of Big Brother? I dare say, no.
When you ponder the power of satellite surveillance and GPS codes, the fact that our government claims it cannot find Osama bin Laden is, in a word, bullshit. I'd be willing to bet that they know what he ate for breakfast today. Our government has lied to us before. Actually, when has our government not lied to us?
What if those satellite cameras, the ones that can read a license plate number from outer space were turned, redirected, and poised outward to the vast universe. What could they see? Certainly we have that capability already with the Hubel telescope, but what if the Hubel telescope was given new coordinates and, as part of its routine of watching and recording the vast universe, was instructed to send a signal, a beacon, a live television broadcast feed 24/7 of just one reality based program ala The Truman Show, only, instead of a man, this time with a woman on display in all of her splendor? Imagine watching an X-rated exhibitionism and voyeurism show from outer space.
Not intended for us to see, who else would see it? Who would watch it? Would they pay to see it? Would they even know what it was? Who knows? That's what was hoped to discover.
It wouldn't take much to accomplish the mission, lots of money, a dedicated satellite, some new computer codes, a powerful transmitter, and a specific antenna to record whatever was received. What if one man had the resources to create such a satellite, a new, super satellite, named Project Julia, who's only function was to send live images 24/7 of the human form, a naked woman, in the hopes of contacting who knows what? Why? Why not?
We know they're out there. From the times of the pyramids and before, we already have the evidence that we've been visited many times before. Who made the pyramids? Certainly, not man alone. References in every holy book, including the Bible, have references of alien beings. We even found their airport carved from a mountaintop, the Nazca lines in Peru. Vimanas were flying machines, depictions of UFO's, as described by our ancient ancestors. Who created those giant monolithic statues at Easter Island? Puma Punku in Bolivia has stones that a master stone cutter using modern day machinery would not only have a nearly impossible time moving in place but also carving the intricate patterns found on the stones. More recently, we've been receiving radio signals from deep space.
We know we're not alone and now we have the technology to find out who else or what else is out there. Only, what are they? Where are they? Do we really want to know?
Naked in our human form, from local to national to global and now universal, with the placement of the Project Julia aka Job Julia satellite in orbit, nudity is now part of the vast universe. Nude Day is now every day. With the advent of the latest technology that broadcasts a live reality television feed of a nude woman at the end of a directed and powerful laser beam, our naked transmission is shot from Earth into outer space in the hopes of making contact with alien life forms. Traveling at the speed of light, there's no telling who, what or when they will receive it and who, what, and when they will respond.
It's exciting to think that whoever put up the satellite owns the rights to whatever is received in the transmission. Since no one owns outer space, there are no laws that prohibits a private pioneer from exploring and exploiting alien beings and other life forms. As matter of fact, as a way of replenishing their recent budget cuts, NASA encourages private participation. Imagine the possibilities, a new age market for beer, Viagra, and fast food commercials.
Forget about cable contracts, sports athletes will expect larger payment for interstellar sports specials. The Wide World of Sports will change its name to the Vast Universe of Sports. Baseball's World Series will become the Intergalactic Series. God only knows what kind of athletic competition we'd see in the Olympics, after inviting aliens to participate.
Unlike so many women today looking for fame and fortune and who'd take their shirts and bras off at the first sight of a camera, Julia was the type of woman who'd never remove her clothes in public. She viewed public nudity as immoral and immodest. Not that she was a prude, but she was a good girl and was saving herself for that one special someone, her husband, whoever he may be. A product of the corn fields of the mid west and moving east to Cambridge Massachusetts to attend graduate school at Harvard University, she never celebrated Nude Day. Already on the corporate fast track with her first job interview, she had better things to do with her time than to party naked.
A dream come true, she was so very excited, as well as she should be, interviewing for a position of power, her first job, at that, and for of all people, one of the richest men in the world, Jerick Blankenship, JB. What should she wear? Her navy blue business suit with her matching high heels and her white blouse. Yes, that's conservative enough.
She was so very young and so very naive. Tall and shapely, she was so very beautiful, even with her hair pulled back, especially with her hair pulled back. It really didn't matter how she wore her hair. She could have shaved her head and she'd still be stunning.
A classic American beauty, it was her face, her high cheek bones, her perfect chin, her upturned nose and, especially her big, beautiful, green cat eyes, and not her hair that grabbed your attention and held your interest. Yet, when she wore her hair down is when you truly believed in God because no one else could make someone as beautiful. Indeed, she was a sight to behold and every man who saw her wanted to hold her, marry her, and claim her as his own.
It should be illegal for someone to look as good. If she were a product, the IRS would tax her for her beauty. If she was a menu selection, you'd make a meal out of her and savor every mouthful. If she were a rare, fine wine, you'd open her only on a very special occasion and appreciate the color and the aroma of her, before taking a sip, finishing off the bottle, and running out to buy a case of Julia. If she were a diamond, you'd horde her by putting her in a velvet lined box in a locked vault somewhere safe. For sure, if she was anything, she was the key to the happiness of the man who won her heart. If she were your woman, you'd want her all to yourself and would never share her with the rest of the universe. Right?
One in a million, so very special, she was every man's dream woman. She was just out of grad school having graduated top of her class, suma cum-laude with a perfect 4.0 average. Everything about her was perfect and she was the perfect candidate for JB to work, as his executive, personal and very private assistant, for his high definition, digital television, worldwide cable company, Monitor, Inc. As if destiny had chosen her name, from out of all the names she could have been named, her name was Julia.
Julia. Her name was Julia. How perfect was that? Julia was Winston's love interest in George Orwell's book 1984, Jerick Blankenship's favorite book.
JB couldn't believe it, when he opened her file supplied to him by his people. He had a stack of more than a thousand women from which to chose, but none of them were anything like her. First he saw her photo and watched the DVD of the camera surveillance of her in all manner of dress and undress, then he saw her name from her resume. Never had he seen a woman as beautiful and her body was as good as her face.
As always, the professional people he hired to do his video surveillance were ex military, Delta Forces preferred, and generally retired CIA and NSA agents. Invisible and adept at leaving no clues or mess behind for the police to stumble over, they had a knack for being in plain view, but somehow disappearing in the background. They knew how to do surveillance that ex-law enforcement would balk at getting involved for fear of tarnishing their reputations, losing their retirement, and being arrested.
Once they found her, once she was targeted as the subject of interest, her apartment was wired for sight and sound. Certainly not his intention or his main focus, but he had a lot of video of her naked. She lived on the top floor of a three story walkup and when she wasn't walking around in her bra and panty, she was walking around naked. With her house the tallest one on the street, he imagined she figured that no one could see her. Shot with telephoto lenses and with shots from his passing satellite peppered in, in addition to the cameras hidden in her apartment, there wasn't any part of her naked body that he hadn't captured on camera. He had enough footage to make a naked video collage of her.
It didn't matter if she masturbated in the dark, stealthily repelling off the side of her building, his people had night scopes with night vision. For sure, she'd put on a good show, just being herself, just going on about her business. Only, it'd be better if she had a boyfriend. It'd be better, if he could make a sex video of her. It'd be better, if he could show her in action. No problem, he'd take care of that later. It wouldn't be difficult finding her a man. He'd have a thousand volunteers for that job, that's for sure.
Believing in the value and the serendipity of circumstance, putting intrinsic stock in being at the right place at the right time, her beauty and her name is what caught his attention, but not a shallow man nor a perverted man, he wasn't excited by her nudity. It was her qualifications that excited his interest. He only hired the best of the best.
Normally, as he did with everyone he hired, he'd send an aide to interview her, but she was different. He had to meet her in person. He had to know if she was as spectacular in person, as she was on paper and on video, for that matter.
Call it kismet, call it fate, call it more reason to believe that JB's destiny had been preplanned and predetermined, he could not have made a more perfect woman than this woman, his beloved Julia, had he created her himself. The fact that her name was Julia was just further proof that their lives were meant to intertwine. He had waited a long time to meet her, nearly all of his life, really, since the first time he read George Orwell's book, 1984, well before she was even born and now, here she was before him.
You'd think with a master's degree in business with a minor in communications, that she'd be overqualified to work as a mere executive assistant for anyone, even for this man. Yet, the job was hardly a clerical one and was so much more than that and had too much responsibility to define with a single title, as just an executive assistant. Yet, what did her title matter?
Whether she was called his Executive Assistant or his Vice-President in charge of personnel or his Chief of Staff, she'd become his right arm, his eyes, his ears, and his voice. She'd be one of his closest advisors. Serving a dual purpose, the star of his interstellar video, she'd be the one that he'd put in front of the podium and the camera to answer the questions of the public and to respond to the heat of the press. It would be her job to put out his fires. It would be her job to quell the public's uncertainty, so that he could concentrate on more important things.
She'd be the public's perception of him, his persona, and the woman behind the man. She'd be his face and what a face it was. She'd be the one the public would see and would love to hate or would be so enamored with her beauty, poise, and charm, that they'd want to see more of her on the big screen. Only, who could hate such a face and body as that?
Much in the way that the great Oz, in the Wizard of Oz, remained behind the closed curtain, much in the way that Erik, the Phantom of the Opera, hid behind his mask, and much in the way that any CEO of a multi-billion dollar corporation is far removed from employees and insulated from the public, JB was okay with giving her and having her have such a starring role with the public. Working with and controlling the press, much in the way of the President's Press Secretary, a very high profile position, indeed, she'd be the person that all questions and all publicly spun comments would funnel through, while he disappeared in the distance to focus on the creation of his new technology. The role better suited her than him. She'd be perfect.
He needed time to invent, design, and control the future. Allowing her the free reign to manipulate the present, before it morphed into the past, he didn't have the time to waste with any of that nonsense. He had devoted enough time to things that were already done, when there was so little time and so much, yet, to do.
After working for him and working closely with him, she'd learn to know his wants and needs intuitively. He needed to have someone like that and like her working for him to allow him what he does best without having to waste his time on bothersome minutia and become mired down in petty details, while answering absurd questions at a press conference. That would be her job.
Closed to the general public, he arranged to meet her for lunch at a restaurant he hired for the day. Busy but not too busy to meet with her, it was his decision to meet her personally. Informally, this was her interview, but as far as he was concern, she already had the job.
"So, tell me," she said hoping to get him to talk about himself and bide her more time to think of her appropriate responses to his anticipated questions.
The interview had taken on the aura of a chess match, only, normally a formidable adversary, she was now unsure of her next move. As if walking on piano wire stretched across the Grand Canyon with a tail wind, he was a complex man and one false move on her part would put an end to the interview and her chance at landing her dream job. Literally with whatever she said, showing him that she could control him at her interview in the way that she needed to control the press at a press conference, she needed to land on her feet, so as not to be toss out on her head.
Nonetheless, asking about him was her tactic to gain his friendship and earn his trust. She needed to not only maintain his interest but also make this interview and her memorable and what better way to do that than to have the man talk about himself? There were many candidates applying for this one position, no doubt, and they'd all be talking about their accomplishments and about themselves, rather than about him.
He was the man in the spotlight and not them. They were nothing without him and she needed to massage his ego a bit to get him oiled up enough for where she needed him to be, impressed, to get this job. Besides, put on the spot by his unexpected appearance, she needed more time to formulate her appropriate responses. Only, unbeknownst to her, she was already hired. Already more than impressed with her, he was smitten by her. He was a man accustomed to making on the spot decisions, albeit informed ones, and as soon as he saw her, she had the job.
"Tell you what? What else can I possibly tell you that isn't already out there on the Internet," he said with a wave of his hand and cutting her off in mid thought. "I'm an open book," he said with a laugh, while looking at her, as if reading her and knowing her without even having to ask her who she was.
"Yes," she said. "That's true," suddenly feeling uncomfortable by his invasive stare. "There is much information about you, but I suspect there is a lot of false information and purposely leaked information that you've released, as a way to manipulate the press, and as a deflection to throw them off track."
"Yes. Very good, indeed, but," he said. "Haven't you read my latest unauthorized biography? It's full of supposition. Whenever they cannot find the truth about me, they make it up hoping that I'll contest what they've written to give them a bestseller. What does it matter?" With a chuckle, he waved a nonchalant hand, before giving her a measured look and, with a toss of his head, as if exhaling a puff of smoke from a cigarette, he said, "It's all quite the work of fiction and best to leave it alone for the public to formulate their own opinions about me, which is where you come in to improve my public image."
"You have the money, the power, and the influence, why don't you sue them?"
"That's what they want," he said with self-assuredness. "They want me to give their insults life, longevity, and credibility with a long, court proceeding that titillates readers and onscreen viewers. I've watched them long enough to know what they have done to others before vowing they'd never do that to me."
"You're right, I'm sure," she said already thinking of ways to insulate him and to protect him from such nonsense, should she get the job.
"It's all a game they play with the hopes of separating me from some of my money, hoping I'll settle out of court to make them rich before going away to retry the same tactic later. Once you acknowledge them and give in to them, once you give what they say and write about you credibility and believability, they'll never leave you alone. Even if I didn't settle out of court and won the court case, in the meantime, they'd make a lot of money off of my legal embroilments, maybe even turn their unauthorized bestseller into a movie. I don't want any more fame and infamous attention to what I do than what I already have now. If anything, I need secrecy to continue my work."