Palestinians attack the United Nations club bar to show their solidarity with Mothers Against Drunk Drivers and Beautiful People.
Goe, not a damned damane.
31 December 2005
19 December 2005
No posts lately
It's not that I haven't had anything to say, but that I've been reading a lot. Gotten many ideas to fold into the Generic Adventure, and jotting many things down that I will write/complain about later.
Goe, giving himself headaches squinting at all the little letters.
Goe, giving himself headaches squinting at all the little letters.
17 December 2005
16 December 2005
The Good Fire
Was reading a book this week when I realized something I'd probably noticed before and never put much thought into. In religions (both from novels and the real world), light is a good thing. It's bright, it helps plants grow, many monsters are scared of it and a few can't move in it. Not so for fire.
Balrogs and other demonic creatures are made of fire and shadow. Hell is a fiery pit. If light is a good thing, does firelight not count?
Goe, puzzled by the enigmatic conundrum.
Balrogs and other demonic creatures are made of fire and shadow. Hell is a fiery pit. If light is a good thing, does firelight not count?
Goe, puzzled by the enigmatic conundrum.
12 December 2005
farking holidays.
among the recent idiocy over on fark was mention of the iranian president's most recent claims about isreal.
Over half the comments either claim the holocaust didn't happen, or that it happened on a much smaller scale than history indicates. Among those are people claiming that there are no reliable historical records of jews living in the middle east prior to 1948. These people are incredibly stupid, and that is why the New York Times is not afraid of Glenn Reynolds and his pajamamedia.
This one is sort of funny, but the pope isn't as hypocritical as they're trying to portray him. None of that stuff was bought for Christmas, and probably none of it was bought during this or the last papacy. But the materialism thing is right. Christmas is a very materialistic holiday. It's far more materialistic than any religious understanding of the holiday would convey.
It's not just Christmas though. What holidays don't have mattress or furniture sales? We're far more likely to see ads for flag day sales than actual flags on flag day. Labor day is more about outdoor cooking than about honoring a strong work ethic. Memorial day is about movies and mattresses, not fallen soldiers. Veteran's day is about cheap furniture, not the soldiers who protected us. Halloween is about candy and costumes, not scaring away evil spirits. Thanksgiving isn't about giving thanks, but about family, football, and turkey. Why does materialism only become a bad thing at Christmastime?
Goe, thinks it's a conspiracy against wrapping paper manufacturers.
Iran's president suggests Holocaust didn't happen, but if it did, Israel should move to Europe
Over half the comments either claim the holocaust didn't happen, or that it happened on a much smaller scale than history indicates. Among those are people claiming that there are no reliable historical records of jews living in the middle east prior to 1948. These people are incredibly stupid, and that is why the New York Times is not afraid of Glenn Reynolds and his pajamamedia.
Pope denounces materialism from balcony of marble, gold-domed building in midst of jewel-encrusted religious icons while wearing giant gold cross
This one is sort of funny, but the pope isn't as hypocritical as they're trying to portray him. None of that stuff was bought for Christmas, and probably none of it was bought during this or the last papacy. But the materialism thing is right. Christmas is a very materialistic holiday. It's far more materialistic than any religious understanding of the holiday would convey.
It's not just Christmas though. What holidays don't have mattress or furniture sales? We're far more likely to see ads for flag day sales than actual flags on flag day. Labor day is more about outdoor cooking than about honoring a strong work ethic. Memorial day is about movies and mattresses, not fallen soldiers. Veteran's day is about cheap furniture, not the soldiers who protected us. Halloween is about candy and costumes, not scaring away evil spirits. Thanksgiving isn't about giving thanks, but about family, football, and turkey. Why does materialism only become a bad thing at Christmastime?
Goe, thinks it's a conspiracy against wrapping paper manufacturers.
11 December 2005
Chomsky on Bush
So therefore you have... George Bush... this pampered kid who came from a rich family and went to prep school and an elite university. And you have to present him as an ordinary guy who makes grammatical errors, which I'm sure he's trained to make--he didn't talk that way at Yale--and a fake Texas twang, and he's off to his ranch to cut brush or something. It's like a toothpaste ad.
- Noam Chomsky, Professor Emeritus of Linguistics at MIT.
Both political parties and the media are far to the right of the general population on a whole host of issues. And the population is just disorganized, atomized... And that's why the media and campaigns keep away from (political) issues.
And here he's just flat wrong, the american public is smeared like a bell curve across the political spectrum. Politicians and the press don't avoid talking about issues, they love talking about issues. They avoid talking about philosophy because having an underlying belief structure of any sort will often conflict with party and local interests. Most of the public doesn't put thought into their own philosophy of government, focusing instead on specific issues, which encourages politicians to ally with whatever position their pollster tells them is most popular.
The only issue chomsky believes in is 'social justice', which is a left-wing way of ignoring their mothers. My mother often told me that life isn't fair, and I think it's a fairly safe assumption that most other people heard something similar from their own mothers. 'Social Justice' is the making of that unfairness illegal, so that everytime someone does not have a clear personal gain, someone else must be part of a criminal conspiracy to wrong that person. It's this concept of punishing the lucky and hardworking that turns every socialist state into a repressive nightmare, as any reward is taken as proof of guilt.
Goe, hoping that life will be unfair to his benefit.
10 December 2005
No Nukes for Thou
The world should work to make nuclear weapons as universally condemned as slavery or genocide, UN nuclear watchdog chief Mohamed ElBaradei said on Saturday after receiving the 2005 Nobel Peace Prize.
- from here
So the UN believes that nuclear weapons should only be permitted in Europe, Africa, Asia, and everywhere else? Slavery and genocide are still fairly acceptable in the eastern hemisphere, although Chavez and Castro are working to make them fashionable on our side of the planet...
I would like to note that according to this source, the slave trade in western Europe is almost ten times that of the U.S., making the whole of the EU vastly more pro-slavery than the U.S., since most of their slave trading is done in eastern Europe. If immigration and employment laws were enforced, and border security tighted enough to prevent a terrorist attack, it would be impossible to bring slaves into this country. Any action taken to stop the slave trade anywhere would be taken as racist actions against non-domestic ethnic groups, and the people taking those actions would be condemned as racist by the 'international community', the same 'international community' that supported El Baradei's non-intervention in Iran's nuclear weapons program.
Goe, not hopeful for the future.
It's a conspiracy, I tells ya!
I love the Sci-Fi channel and reside in one of it's major demographics. It got more originality than any other channel, yet there's a pattern in everything it makes. Every show, made-for-tv film, or mini-series that is made for the Sci-Fi channel has a conspiracy/cover-up at it's heart. It's an annoyance that is spreading to sci-fi productions on other networks. Invasion, Threshhold, and Surface all have a conspiracy or cover-up. It's not just a cover-up for bad plotting, it is the plot. Our society is so obsessed with everything we individually disapprove of being forced on us by a vast conspiracy and that proof of our beliefs is deliberately covered up that the lack of a conspiracy or cover-up is less believable to us. Aren't man-eating aliens enough to make a sci-fi show interesting without the whole 'our greatest enemy is ourselves' message being thrown at us every few scenes?
This almost superstitious belief in grand conspiracies and the religious fervor with which our society claims that every individual is persecuted and threatened by these conspiracies are a greater threat to our lives, health, and happiness than any real conspiracy could aspire to, short of socialist totalitarianism (which, oddly enough, is NEVER the driving force behind any conspiracy on television, even in historial dramas).
Goe, thirsty now.
This almost superstitious belief in grand conspiracies and the religious fervor with which our society claims that every individual is persecuted and threatened by these conspiracies are a greater threat to our lives, health, and happiness than any real conspiracy could aspire to, short of socialist totalitarianism (which, oddly enough, is NEVER the driving force behind any conspiracy on television, even in historial dramas).
Goe, thirsty now.
09 December 2005
08 December 2005
Passion of the Superman
saw the trailer for the new superman movie. it left me with the impression that the film was going to portray superman as a christlike figure, jar-el sends his only begotten son to save us from ourselves... i found it a little disconcerting.
Goe, reconcerting.
Goe, reconcerting.
07 December 2005
It's all about PEACE!
Apparently, to have "peace", we have to be "beyond capitalism". and apparently regularly scheduled monthly meetings to discuss how capitalism flew planes into buildings and a secret cabal of jewish bankers were the ones who really bombed Pearl Harbor are each a 'special event'. maybe 'special' in the 'special education' sort of way...
Goe, can't go because he hasn't got a tinfoil hat.
Goe, can't go because he hasn't got a tinfoil hat.
05 December 2005
02 December 2005
Bad Press
online news sites were talking yesterday about how letterman and oprah have settled their fued. apparently none of them watched enough letterman to figure out that the fued was a story letterman kept repeating on his show whenever he wanted to talk about anything oprah related. it seems that reality is something reporters can't be bothered with these days.
there are fictional stories by non-reporters, and a non-fictional impromptus.
Goe, feeling mlehish, not mehish.
there are fictional stories by non-reporters, and a non-fictional impromptus.
Goe, feeling mlehish, not mehish.
27 November 2005
alaskan driving
saw a vehicle that had alaskan plates while coming home from the store. was weird cause it looked more like a car than a dogsled.
Goe, making a funny.
Goe, making a funny.
22 November 2005
19 November 2005
He's making a list
He's checking it twice.
Sauron will kill the naughty and nice.
Goe, does not have the ring of power or access to the fires of mt. doom.
Sauron will kill the naughty and nice.
Goe, does not have the ring of power or access to the fires of mt. doom.
18 November 2005
The Ghost Who Saved The Holiday
The holiday was fast approaching. He didn't like the holiday. It was far too commercial for his taste. He'd been dead for slightly over a decade and hadn't grown the least bit fond of it. When he was young, he never knew it was coming until it had passed, but now the advertisements were everywhere he went.
"All you can eat!" yelled someone dressed up as a stick of pepperoni. The ghost walked around the barker and stopped to look at a gaudy sign that read "DON'T GO TOPLESS ON THE HOLIDAY." He turned and started walking when he realized a half-dozen annoying looking children were about to bound through him. He spun, half jumping and half falling, and was quickly on the other side of the shop window.
He hated children almost as much as he hated dogs, which prefered to urinate on anything he passed through. He'd spent two months moving through the apartment manager's door to get dogs banned from his building. He put a lot of thought into getting children banned, but had no plan yet.
He stayed in the same apartment where he had lived and died. The new tenants were nice, he couldn't help but like them, and he often tidied up while they were out or sleeping. They were currently trying out holiday recipes for visiting relatives. The holiday isn't about family, he told himself as the children passed by. He stepped back through the display window and headed down the street to a club with boastful signs of nude sauce wrestling.
He'd barely reached the door when a short rotund man stepped out, turned, and affixed to the door a sign. The fat man stepped back inside, closing the door behind him. The ghost, rather used to this sort of thing, stepped through the door and into the club.
The club was half full, the wrestling wasn't to commence for another hour. He liked to arrive early and peek in on the dressing room. None of the other patrons seemed very happy, and the girls were drinking at the bar instead of changing into their easily torn lacey undergarments. He didn't know what was going on, but it didn't look good.
He stepped back through the door to read the sign. "WRESTLING CANCELLED DUE TO SAUCE SHORTAGE" was written thereon in crudely stylized block handwriting. He hadn't heard anything about a sauce shortage and it seemed the sort of thing that might make the news. He hadn't bothered with the news for months, tired of the soap opera quality projected on every story, so he missed a lot of information.
He'd never heard of a sauce shortage befoore and would have normally thought it wasn't possible. The sauce came mostly by train. For a full month before the holiday, trains brought sauces of all types in from the farming communities. Most of the sauce was stored in a set of specially built warehouses near the railyard. As long as the warehouses and rail station were intact, a sauce shortage should be impossible. The ghost shivered when he realized what that meant.
He drifted as quickly as he could towards the warehouses, rising up so that his feet were just about the heads in the crowd. He could see crowds already gathered outside a police barricade as he approached. Several bomb squad trucks were parked nearby, but there wasn't any sign of an explosion or fire.
The ghost drifted into the nearest warehouse, and was stunned by what he saw. Dogs were being egged on by policemen as they limped across piles of broken glass and through puddles of sauce. Some of the sauce was so thick that it barely moved
as the policemen sank their arms into it, obviously looking for something. The ghost realized why the bomb squad had come. He looked around at the mountains of crates that hadn't been opened or searched yet. It didn't take a math genius, and he wasn't one, to figure out that the police would probably have to spend several days searching each warehouse for a bomb, if there was on. Several of the dogs began barking at him, and he slid back through the wall.
He drifted over to the next warehouse, and floated inside. The police hadn't gotten to this one yet, the crates were intact, and the sauce unspoiled. He drifted from crate to crate, sticking his head inside, looking for anything that might spoil what little holiday fun there was to be had. Naked women could wrestle in sauce any time of the year, but they only did so around the holiday. He saw nothing unusual in the crates, just sauce in large barrels, small glass jars, large plastic bottles, small aluminum cans, and small plastic bottles made to look like glass jars or aluminum cans. He peeked into every crate in the building, then drifted through a high part of the wall and into the next warehouse.
The police weren't in the third warehouse either. The ghost began peeking in crates again and found something in a large wooden crate that was circled with thick metal straps. Instead of holding jars of any size or type, it contained a large metal box. Wires came from many parts of the box and went into a smaller metal box on top of the larger box. The smaller box had a number of flashing lights and what appeared to be a small clock radio that kept blinking "12:00".
The ghost drifted back outside and into the first warehouse. He lowered himself so that his feet were in the floor, and floated back to the bomb. He wasn't suprised to see that nothing followed him, so he floated back to the first warehouse, trying to follow the path he had just taken. He had travelled back and forth several dozen times before the dogs began to take notice, but it took a few dozen more trips before the dogs were pulling their handlers along the invisible trail.
When the dogs reached the bomb, they took turns urinating on it while the other dogs barked and the handlers tried vainly to pull them back towards the first warehouse and the gooey mess inside. The ghost knew it was time to go home when the police began to scrutinize the crate. He had done all that he could, the sauce would be distributed as soon as it was safe, and Pizzamas would go on as always.
Goe, never got around to writing more Pizzamas carols.
"All you can eat!" yelled someone dressed up as a stick of pepperoni. The ghost walked around the barker and stopped to look at a gaudy sign that read "DON'T GO TOPLESS ON THE HOLIDAY." He turned and started walking when he realized a half-dozen annoying looking children were about to bound through him. He spun, half jumping and half falling, and was quickly on the other side of the shop window.
He hated children almost as much as he hated dogs, which prefered to urinate on anything he passed through. He'd spent two months moving through the apartment manager's door to get dogs banned from his building. He put a lot of thought into getting children banned, but had no plan yet.
He stayed in the same apartment where he had lived and died. The new tenants were nice, he couldn't help but like them, and he often tidied up while they were out or sleeping. They were currently trying out holiday recipes for visiting relatives. The holiday isn't about family, he told himself as the children passed by. He stepped back through the display window and headed down the street to a club with boastful signs of nude sauce wrestling.
He'd barely reached the door when a short rotund man stepped out, turned, and affixed to the door a sign. The fat man stepped back inside, closing the door behind him. The ghost, rather used to this sort of thing, stepped through the door and into the club.
The club was half full, the wrestling wasn't to commence for another hour. He liked to arrive early and peek in on the dressing room. None of the other patrons seemed very happy, and the girls were drinking at the bar instead of changing into their easily torn lacey undergarments. He didn't know what was going on, but it didn't look good.
He stepped back through the door to read the sign. "WRESTLING CANCELLED DUE TO SAUCE SHORTAGE" was written thereon in crudely stylized block handwriting. He hadn't heard anything about a sauce shortage and it seemed the sort of thing that might make the news. He hadn't bothered with the news for months, tired of the soap opera quality projected on every story, so he missed a lot of information.
He'd never heard of a sauce shortage befoore and would have normally thought it wasn't possible. The sauce came mostly by train. For a full month before the holiday, trains brought sauces of all types in from the farming communities. Most of the sauce was stored in a set of specially built warehouses near the railyard. As long as the warehouses and rail station were intact, a sauce shortage should be impossible. The ghost shivered when he realized what that meant.
He drifted as quickly as he could towards the warehouses, rising up so that his feet were just about the heads in the crowd. He could see crowds already gathered outside a police barricade as he approached. Several bomb squad trucks were parked nearby, but there wasn't any sign of an explosion or fire.
The ghost drifted into the nearest warehouse, and was stunned by what he saw. Dogs were being egged on by policemen as they limped across piles of broken glass and through puddles of sauce. Some of the sauce was so thick that it barely moved
as the policemen sank their arms into it, obviously looking for something. The ghost realized why the bomb squad had come. He looked around at the mountains of crates that hadn't been opened or searched yet. It didn't take a math genius, and he wasn't one, to figure out that the police would probably have to spend several days searching each warehouse for a bomb, if there was on. Several of the dogs began barking at him, and he slid back through the wall.
He drifted over to the next warehouse, and floated inside. The police hadn't gotten to this one yet, the crates were intact, and the sauce unspoiled. He drifted from crate to crate, sticking his head inside, looking for anything that might spoil what little holiday fun there was to be had. Naked women could wrestle in sauce any time of the year, but they only did so around the holiday. He saw nothing unusual in the crates, just sauce in large barrels, small glass jars, large plastic bottles, small aluminum cans, and small plastic bottles made to look like glass jars or aluminum cans. He peeked into every crate in the building, then drifted through a high part of the wall and into the next warehouse.
The police weren't in the third warehouse either. The ghost began peeking in crates again and found something in a large wooden crate that was circled with thick metal straps. Instead of holding jars of any size or type, it contained a large metal box. Wires came from many parts of the box and went into a smaller metal box on top of the larger box. The smaller box had a number of flashing lights and what appeared to be a small clock radio that kept blinking "12:00".
The ghost drifted back outside and into the first warehouse. He lowered himself so that his feet were in the floor, and floated back to the bomb. He wasn't suprised to see that nothing followed him, so he floated back to the first warehouse, trying to follow the path he had just taken. He had travelled back and forth several dozen times before the dogs began to take notice, but it took a few dozen more trips before the dogs were pulling their handlers along the invisible trail.
When the dogs reached the bomb, they took turns urinating on it while the other dogs barked and the handlers tried vainly to pull them back towards the first warehouse and the gooey mess inside. The ghost knew it was time to go home when the police began to scrutinize the crate. He had done all that he could, the sauce would be distributed as soon as it was safe, and Pizzamas would go on as always.
Goe, never got around to writing more Pizzamas carols.
15 November 2005
History channel
A history channel show just described congress of the late 40's as having an "almost irrational fear of communism". How can the fear of something that killed over 100 million people even come close to approaching irrational.
Goe, doesn't wanna die in a 're-education center'.
Goe, doesn't wanna die in a 're-education center'.
13 November 2005
spam
not the same as linkwhoring, but sitemeter gives a list of everyplace that referred a visitor, and some people have found a way to stick their sites into those lists, making them look more important than they really are. this artificially high profile may be good or bad for them, i don't know or care, but each time i make a new post i get one or two of these fake visitors. probably half of the total visit count to this site is that. all i have to do is post stories and presto, i have an instant and artificial readership.
Goe, watching a Gilmore Girls marathon.
Goe, watching a Gilmore Girls marathon.
Gilmore Girls
i've become a huge fan. i've never seen dialogue so fast outside of a mamet or marx brothers film. it's just fascinating to watch the nonstop chattering. i'm coming to believe that 'gilmore girls in space' would be the best sci-fi show. ever.
Goe, needs some aspirin.
Goe, needs some aspirin.
12 November 2005
About Me!
Numenorean
To which race of Middle Earth do you belong?
brought to you by Quizilla
My pirate name is:
Dread Pirate Flint
Like the famous Dread Pirate Roberts, you have a keen head for how to make a profit. Like the rock flint, you're hard and sharp. But, also like flint, you're easily chipped, and sparky. Arr!
Get your own pirate name
You are Sam the Eagle.
You are patriotic and devoted. And extremely anal.
HOBBIES:
Patriotism, Being appalled at what everyone else is
doing.
FAVORITE MUSIC:
The National Anthem of America
FAVORITE MOVIE:
"An American In....America"
LAST BOOK READ:
"Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus,
Eagles are from America"
QUOTE:
"Please stop that now! It's un-American!"
What Muppet are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
You Are Cupid |
 A total romantic, you're always crushing on a new reindeer. Why You're Naughty: You've caused so much drama, all the reindeers aren't speaking to each other. Why You're Nice: You have a knack for playing matchmaker. You even hooked Rudolph up! |
Which of Santa's Reindeer Are You?
Which OS are You?
 I am a Thrust-ship.I am small and tricky - where you think I am, I probably am not. I can work very fast, but I tend to go about things in a round about way, which often leaves me effectively standing still. I hate rocks. Bloody rocks. What Video Game Character Are You? |
 | You scored as Kaylee (Kaywinnet Lee) Frye. The Mechanic. You are a natural mechanic, and you are far too sweet and cheerful to live out here. How you can see the good in everyone around you boggles the mind occasionally. Still you don't seem to be any crazier than that, and it is a nice kinda crazy.
Which Serenity character are you? created with QuizFarm.com |
 | You scored as General Grievous. Which Revenge of the Sith Character are you? created with QuizFarm.com |
You Are Not Scary |
 Everyone loves you. Isn't that sweet? |
Goe, hooray self-promotion!
10 November 2005
Uber-meh redux
crappy crappy day. haven't gotten anything written since chapter 2. had an interview today that didn't go well. they gave me a productivity test before the interview during which i did more than twice as well as they required, then during the interview they repeatedly asked if i had any relevant skills. like, DUH, i blew away your test, what more are you looking for? an ability to rub my belly and pat my head at the same time? juggling? rapping in foreign languages?
Goe, wonders why doing a job well is not what companies are looking for.
Goe, wonders why doing a job well is not what companies are looking for.
07 November 2005
04 November 2005
Root Causes
There's a lot of information on different reasons why the people in the parisian suburbs have reason to riot, protest, and throw tantrums in general, but there's very little information to be had on what's actually happening.
Goe, would like more news, less commentary.
Goe, would like more news, less commentary.
Chapter Two
Selfless Sacrifice was used to suffering for others. It was his calling in life and he would begrudge no one the comforts he could provide them. He wasn't exceptionally tall, strong, or attractive, but he had found his niche and it made him happy. His horses were always given away to the crippled, his food to the starving, and his money to the poor. This left him in a perpetual need for more money to buy more horses and food, which in turn left him in the employ of the King.
King Feeble neither hired nor paid Selfless directly, and the two had never met. Selfless worked for the King's chief aide, a short whispy man of very advanced years called Ancient Advisor. Mr. Advisor was wise by the standards of wise men, and old by the standards of old men, but he had advised the royalty of Setting for longer than anyone else could remember. There was even some doubt as to whether or not he even remembered a time when he did not have a king's ear.
Access to the King meant access to the King's Treasury as well, and Advisor had often hired adventurers to do the King's dirty work. Selfless had been hired this time to prevent a war with the neighboring kingdom of Locale, along with Dandy Fop who employed the Goon brothers as bodyguards. Fop and his men were waiting in an alley, the recruiting wasn't done yet and Advisor was keeping them on a tight budget this time.
Others were being lured into a trap with the temptation of mischief, a rare and highly valued spice. Advisor had made all the arrangements, Selfless only needed to lure them into the alley and give them an ultimatum: help or die. Not even King Feeble could afford to hire very many mercenaries at the rates charged by the guilds, and no ordinary guild would help to prevent a profitable war.
Selfless had been instructed to wait for a very hairy man and two companions, who would try to rob him. He saw three men approaching, one was very hairy indeed, with enough hair to to keep warm on the coldest of nights. Selfless did not see the mountain of hair that had moved around behind him, and wasn't quite prepared to be flung against a wall. Cleans flung Selfless against a wall anyways.
Selfless drew his sword, an elven blade filled with enchantments so common that he'd never felt a need to offer it to anyone without also being the one to use it. The elves had made more magical blades than could be counted, and only animosity from the Great Elf War kept them out of the hands of most people in the Kingdom of Setting. Selfless had used his sword in many different circumstances, and was able to parry a thrust dagger aside.
“Now,” he shouted towards the alley, spinning his sword upwards in an arc, blocking a strange twirling motion from the older of the two non-hairy men. The younger man stood back, with the less hairy of the two hairy men, whose face was now entirely obscured by a large ax blade so dirty that it would have been difficult to distinguish blade from handle.
Dandy Fop and his two bodyguards came dashing out of the alley. “Halt, in the name of the King!” yelled Dandy, as the Goon brothers ran at the two hairy men. Idiot and Stupid both had their swords drawn, but let the tips of the swords drag on the ground as they ran toward the fight. Selfless blocked an arm which lunged with surprising speed from the mountain of hair, and then kicked out, knocking whomever was under the hair backwards into a puddle. He turned to the other man just in time to see him get tackled by Idiot, who dropped his sword on impact, letting it clatter to the ground.
“There is no mischief here!” said Selfless loudly, turning the heads of several passers-by. “You need to come with us or die.”
Noreach shrugged, his face unreadable behind the ax blade. Adolescent stood still, looking confusedly between Noreach and Amiable for some sort of explanation. Amiable lay on the ground, trying to push Idiot off, and gave no indication that he had heard or understood what Selfless had said. Cleans lay in his puddle for a second before rolling back and forth in the mud, laughing.
Selfless put away his sword, and with the help of Dandy, pulled Idiot off of Amiable. Stupid stood next to Cleans, drooling heavily. When Amiable was back on his feet, Stupid reach down into the mud and pulled Cleans up to his feet as well.
“We are on a task assigned to us by the Association of Stereotypes, Archtypes, and Caricatures, and we can not fulfill other tasks until we've achieved our stated objective of robbing you. Working for you at all would be a violation of the Adventurer Caricature Labor Union Law as established by King Delirium so many centuries ago. Therefore, we have to say no.”
“Well, in that case, we'll have to kill you,” said Dandy, pulling a knife out of his immaculately sequined tunic. The knife had a jeweled handle far larger than it's blade. Dandy spoke in a lighthearted way, almost laughing. “It's such a pity too, because we really could have used your help. With you along, we'd fail in no time and rot in a most unfashionable manner in some distant swamp. Now we'll just succeed and save the kingdom.”
“That's enough, Dandy,” said Selfless, who then turned his attention to Amiable. “The Order of Timely Heroes, Enchanters, and Royalty is a section 23 organization. As such, I will repeat the offer. Join or die.”
A look of surprise appeared on Amiable's face. Noreach's ax slid down several inches, and Adolescent was stunned. Cleans' hair even seemed to wriggle slightly more than the breeze and lice would account for. Section 23 organizations were the stuff of legends, of secret conspiracies, and royal intrigue, all beyond the scope of the adventurer guilds and their corrupt guildmasters. Amiable, with an expression akin to having been hit with a frying pan while standing in a fire, nodded.
“Excuse me,” Said Dandy, his tufts on his large pink hat waving so freely as he bounced towards Selfless that they appeared ready to fall off, “but are you agreeing to join us or are you agreeing to die?”
“Huh?” mumbled Amiable, turning to notice Dandy smiling at him as though he were some sort of freshly won prize. “Join. Not die.”
“Very good then,” said Dandy. “Got your things? We're heading off in a bit. Got to pick up a few more chaps and then get some instructions from Ancient Advisor.” Amiable blinked a few times in rapid succession, as though starting to come out of a stupor. “You did know he was involved, didn't you? Who else could actually run a section 23 organization such as the Order? Come on now, that's a good fellow.”
Goe, will finish the story even if he doesn't 'win' nanowrimo.
King Feeble neither hired nor paid Selfless directly, and the two had never met. Selfless worked for the King's chief aide, a short whispy man of very advanced years called Ancient Advisor. Mr. Advisor was wise by the standards of wise men, and old by the standards of old men, but he had advised the royalty of Setting for longer than anyone else could remember. There was even some doubt as to whether or not he even remembered a time when he did not have a king's ear.
Access to the King meant access to the King's Treasury as well, and Advisor had often hired adventurers to do the King's dirty work. Selfless had been hired this time to prevent a war with the neighboring kingdom of Locale, along with Dandy Fop who employed the Goon brothers as bodyguards. Fop and his men were waiting in an alley, the recruiting wasn't done yet and Advisor was keeping them on a tight budget this time.
Others were being lured into a trap with the temptation of mischief, a rare and highly valued spice. Advisor had made all the arrangements, Selfless only needed to lure them into the alley and give them an ultimatum: help or die. Not even King Feeble could afford to hire very many mercenaries at the rates charged by the guilds, and no ordinary guild would help to prevent a profitable war.
Selfless had been instructed to wait for a very hairy man and two companions, who would try to rob him. He saw three men approaching, one was very hairy indeed, with enough hair to to keep warm on the coldest of nights. Selfless did not see the mountain of hair that had moved around behind him, and wasn't quite prepared to be flung against a wall. Cleans flung Selfless against a wall anyways.
Selfless drew his sword, an elven blade filled with enchantments so common that he'd never felt a need to offer it to anyone without also being the one to use it. The elves had made more magical blades than could be counted, and only animosity from the Great Elf War kept them out of the hands of most people in the Kingdom of Setting. Selfless had used his sword in many different circumstances, and was able to parry a thrust dagger aside.
“Now,” he shouted towards the alley, spinning his sword upwards in an arc, blocking a strange twirling motion from the older of the two non-hairy men. The younger man stood back, with the less hairy of the two hairy men, whose face was now entirely obscured by a large ax blade so dirty that it would have been difficult to distinguish blade from handle.
Dandy Fop and his two bodyguards came dashing out of the alley. “Halt, in the name of the King!” yelled Dandy, as the Goon brothers ran at the two hairy men. Idiot and Stupid both had their swords drawn, but let the tips of the swords drag on the ground as they ran toward the fight. Selfless blocked an arm which lunged with surprising speed from the mountain of hair, and then kicked out, knocking whomever was under the hair backwards into a puddle. He turned to the other man just in time to see him get tackled by Idiot, who dropped his sword on impact, letting it clatter to the ground.
“There is no mischief here!” said Selfless loudly, turning the heads of several passers-by. “You need to come with us or die.”
Noreach shrugged, his face unreadable behind the ax blade. Adolescent stood still, looking confusedly between Noreach and Amiable for some sort of explanation. Amiable lay on the ground, trying to push Idiot off, and gave no indication that he had heard or understood what Selfless had said. Cleans lay in his puddle for a second before rolling back and forth in the mud, laughing.
Selfless put away his sword, and with the help of Dandy, pulled Idiot off of Amiable. Stupid stood next to Cleans, drooling heavily. When Amiable was back on his feet, Stupid reach down into the mud and pulled Cleans up to his feet as well.
“We are on a task assigned to us by the Association of Stereotypes, Archtypes, and Caricatures, and we can not fulfill other tasks until we've achieved our stated objective of robbing you. Working for you at all would be a violation of the Adventurer Caricature Labor Union Law as established by King Delirium so many centuries ago. Therefore, we have to say no.”
“Well, in that case, we'll have to kill you,” said Dandy, pulling a knife out of his immaculately sequined tunic. The knife had a jeweled handle far larger than it's blade. Dandy spoke in a lighthearted way, almost laughing. “It's such a pity too, because we really could have used your help. With you along, we'd fail in no time and rot in a most unfashionable manner in some distant swamp. Now we'll just succeed and save the kingdom.”
“That's enough, Dandy,” said Selfless, who then turned his attention to Amiable. “The Order of Timely Heroes, Enchanters, and Royalty is a section 23 organization. As such, I will repeat the offer. Join or die.”
A look of surprise appeared on Amiable's face. Noreach's ax slid down several inches, and Adolescent was stunned. Cleans' hair even seemed to wriggle slightly more than the breeze and lice would account for. Section 23 organizations were the stuff of legends, of secret conspiracies, and royal intrigue, all beyond the scope of the adventurer guilds and their corrupt guildmasters. Amiable, with an expression akin to having been hit with a frying pan while standing in a fire, nodded.
“Excuse me,” Said Dandy, his tufts on his large pink hat waving so freely as he bounced towards Selfless that they appeared ready to fall off, “but are you agreeing to join us or are you agreeing to die?”
“Huh?” mumbled Amiable, turning to notice Dandy smiling at him as though he were some sort of freshly won prize. “Join. Not die.”
“Very good then,” said Dandy. “Got your things? We're heading off in a bit. Got to pick up a few more chaps and then get some instructions from Ancient Advisor.” Amiable blinked a few times in rapid succession, as though starting to come out of a stupor. “You did know he was involved, didn't you? Who else could actually run a section 23 organization such as the Order? Come on now, that's a good fellow.”
Goe, will finish the story even if he doesn't 'win' nanowrimo.
03 November 2005
Chapter One
The clerk sat behind the large desk. The desk took up most of the north wall of a large entrance hall. Several dozen people sat in the chairs and benches that filled the room, but the clerk didn't look at any of them. He stared at the young man in front of his desk.
“You can't join the guild,” the clerk said, his jowls flapping wildly as he spoke, “because you're underage and unsponsored. The Association of Stereotpyes, Archtypes, and Caricatures does not accept just anybody. You've got to be of age, and sponsored by a participating organization”
“But I am an archtype, like both my parents before me! My father was Charismatic Misfit and my mother was Rebellious Teen, and they were both members of your organization!”
“That is neither here nor there,” replied the clerk as dryly as he could, “as they were both of age when they joined and both sponsored by participating organizations. Why don't you try the Setting Trade Union for Projections of Internalized Development or the Setting Idiosyncratic Labor League or independent Explorers?”
“They both say that I'm not old enough,” muttered the young man.
“Well then, maybe you're just not old enough for such a challenging and dangerous career? Have you thought of that? Now go bother someone else, as I've got many other things to do before you become of age.”
The young man turned to leave, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. “Wait here,” said a gruff voice, as a tall muscular man stepped around him and up to the clerk's enormous desk.
“I'm Amiable Rogue, are there any messages for me?” said the tall man, as a second shorter man kept his hand on Misfit's shoulder. The clerk shuffled through a tall stack of papers for a few moments before pulling out a piece.
“Here,” said the clerk as he handed over the paper, “there's a job for you with Cleans Upwell. You'll find him in the Pig's Tie Tavern, over on Dirt Road.”
The tall man nodded to the clerk, and then to the shorter man. They both turned, steering Misfit with them, around the chairs, and out the door. When they were outside, they stopped and the tall man introduced himself as Amiable Rogue.
“And I'm Noreach Axemaster, a dwarven warrior of great fame and little reach,” spoke the shorter man. We overheard the clerk talking about your problems joining the Association and that's fine with us. We're only in it for the chicks. We both belong to the Free Association of Recycled Character Embodiments.”
“I think I should be qualified to join that!” said the young man enthusiastically. “My name is Adolescent Misfit, and I'd be happy to come with you on your errand.”
“I know you would boy,” said Noreach, patting Adolescent on the back. “It's fine with us if you do. We'll sponsor you into the guilds when the time comes, and train you up in the meantime.”
“I can't turn my back without the dwarf taking a liking to someone,” said Amiable, “but let's get going. Dirt Road isn't the best place to be when it's raining, and the skies are starting to look stormy.”
The dwarf nodded and the three began weaving their way across town. They took shortcuts through Dark Alley and Lovers Lane before reaching Dirt Road. The Pig's Tie was hard to miss. The small shops and bars all looked the same except for a three story pink pig wearing a beige necktie. The whole building was made of wood, with the lower portion of the tie also serving as the establishment's door.
The three made their way inside and squeezed through the thick smelly crowd until they reached the bar. Amiable flagged down one of the barmen and asked about Cleans Upwell. The barman grunted and pointed at the stairs. “He's in the Louse Room,” the barman half-shouted before turning to a paying customer.
Noreach muttered thanks as the three adventurers began to push their way towards the stairs. The upstairs hallway was painted bright yellow, with the name of a parasite painted in green on each door. Amiable and Noreach split, each going a different way down the hall. Adolescent hesitated at the stairs for a few moments before following Noreach. They were about halfway down the hall when Noreach yelled “Here!” and knocked on a yellow door.
The door still had not opened when Amiable reached them. Noreach knocked again, this time harder and more successfully, for a voice came from within. “Come in, come in.” Noreach opened the door and they went in.
The room was filthy. Light flooded in through large pink windows, illuminating a room covered with furs. There was a man sitting on what appeared to be a fur bed, with thick dark hair that almost reached the fur rug on the floor beneath him. The hair was so thick and matted with filth that it was hard to tell which way the man was facing aside from portions of beard that jutted out. Amiable and Adolescent each thought they saw a mouth deep in the hair when the man began to speak, but Noreach did not, watching the fur-covered floor instead and pondering if he was likely to be infested with the room's namesake parasite.
“You must be Amiable Rogue and his compatriots. I was only expecting one other, but no matter, you have come as requested. I've asked for your help because I can't do this job alone. A man named Side Character is moving some mischief through town, and I intend to take it from him. You'll each get a share when it's sold to my buyer.”
Amiable and Noreach assented immediately, while Adolescent stood silently still until Noreach gave him a sharp jab with an elbow. The mountain of hair led the three through the door into the pink hallway, down the stairs into the crowded bar, and out into the dusty Dirt Road.
Goe, not sure if he'll make the 50k wordcount in 28 days :(
“You can't join the guild,” the clerk said, his jowls flapping wildly as he spoke, “because you're underage and unsponsored. The Association of Stereotpyes, Archtypes, and Caricatures does not accept just anybody. You've got to be of age, and sponsored by a participating organization”
“But I am an archtype, like both my parents before me! My father was Charismatic Misfit and my mother was Rebellious Teen, and they were both members of your organization!”
“That is neither here nor there,” replied the clerk as dryly as he could, “as they were both of age when they joined and both sponsored by participating organizations. Why don't you try the Setting Trade Union for Projections of Internalized Development or the Setting Idiosyncratic Labor League or independent Explorers?”
“They both say that I'm not old enough,” muttered the young man.
“Well then, maybe you're just not old enough for such a challenging and dangerous career? Have you thought of that? Now go bother someone else, as I've got many other things to do before you become of age.”
The young man turned to leave, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. “Wait here,” said a gruff voice, as a tall muscular man stepped around him and up to the clerk's enormous desk.
“I'm Amiable Rogue, are there any messages for me?” said the tall man, as a second shorter man kept his hand on Misfit's shoulder. The clerk shuffled through a tall stack of papers for a few moments before pulling out a piece.
“Here,” said the clerk as he handed over the paper, “there's a job for you with Cleans Upwell. You'll find him in the Pig's Tie Tavern, over on Dirt Road.”
The tall man nodded to the clerk, and then to the shorter man. They both turned, steering Misfit with them, around the chairs, and out the door. When they were outside, they stopped and the tall man introduced himself as Amiable Rogue.
“And I'm Noreach Axemaster, a dwarven warrior of great fame and little reach,” spoke the shorter man. We overheard the clerk talking about your problems joining the Association and that's fine with us. We're only in it for the chicks. We both belong to the Free Association of Recycled Character Embodiments.”
“I think I should be qualified to join that!” said the young man enthusiastically. “My name is Adolescent Misfit, and I'd be happy to come with you on your errand.”
“I know you would boy,” said Noreach, patting Adolescent on the back. “It's fine with us if you do. We'll sponsor you into the guilds when the time comes, and train you up in the meantime.”
“I can't turn my back without the dwarf taking a liking to someone,” said Amiable, “but let's get going. Dirt Road isn't the best place to be when it's raining, and the skies are starting to look stormy.”
The dwarf nodded and the three began weaving their way across town. They took shortcuts through Dark Alley and Lovers Lane before reaching Dirt Road. The Pig's Tie was hard to miss. The small shops and bars all looked the same except for a three story pink pig wearing a beige necktie. The whole building was made of wood, with the lower portion of the tie also serving as the establishment's door.
The three made their way inside and squeezed through the thick smelly crowd until they reached the bar. Amiable flagged down one of the barmen and asked about Cleans Upwell. The barman grunted and pointed at the stairs. “He's in the Louse Room,” the barman half-shouted before turning to a paying customer.
Noreach muttered thanks as the three adventurers began to push their way towards the stairs. The upstairs hallway was painted bright yellow, with the name of a parasite painted in green on each door. Amiable and Noreach split, each going a different way down the hall. Adolescent hesitated at the stairs for a few moments before following Noreach. They were about halfway down the hall when Noreach yelled “Here!” and knocked on a yellow door.
The door still had not opened when Amiable reached them. Noreach knocked again, this time harder and more successfully, for a voice came from within. “Come in, come in.” Noreach opened the door and they went in.
The room was filthy. Light flooded in through large pink windows, illuminating a room covered with furs. There was a man sitting on what appeared to be a fur bed, with thick dark hair that almost reached the fur rug on the floor beneath him. The hair was so thick and matted with filth that it was hard to tell which way the man was facing aside from portions of beard that jutted out. Amiable and Adolescent each thought they saw a mouth deep in the hair when the man began to speak, but Noreach did not, watching the fur-covered floor instead and pondering if he was likely to be infested with the room's namesake parasite.
“You must be Amiable Rogue and his compatriots. I was only expecting one other, but no matter, you have come as requested. I've asked for your help because I can't do this job alone. A man named Side Character is moving some mischief through town, and I intend to take it from him. You'll each get a share when it's sold to my buyer.”
Amiable and Noreach assented immediately, while Adolescent stood silently still until Noreach gave him a sharp jab with an elbow. The mountain of hair led the three through the door into the pink hallway, down the stairs into the crowded bar, and out into the dusty Dirt Road.
Goe, not sure if he'll make the 50k wordcount in 28 days :(
02 November 2005
day two
got part of chapter 1 written yesterday, got nothing written today. can barely think. will try to do better but i'm falling way behind.
Goe, has had better days.
Goe, has had better days.
Relatives
I hate them, they're killing me. I mean that in almost a literal sense. I'm exhausted in every way I think I can be, but I'm still being hounded to help them entertain other relatives. The other relatives being elderly people who wouldn't give me the time of day back when their circle of friends were still alive. If I tell them I'm exhausted then they either try to one-up me by going through a littany of their medical history, or try to force feed me some sort of 'all natural' herbal supplements that they heard from a friend of a friend once made someone feel better and containing god only knows what. This has led me to recently start desiring the demise of elderly relatives so that the golddiggers stop bothering me. Is being left alone really too much to ask?
Goe, not rude enough to slam doors in people's faces.
Goe, not rude enough to slam doors in people's faces.
01 November 2005
Just a theory.
I've heard all sorts of theories online about what happened to iraq's chemical and biological weapons programs. the one i believe isn't one i've seen or heard anywhere. i think we've found them. the u.s. investigation in iraq for weapons (i think documented in the kay report) found that the iraqi's had stopped working on most obvious biological weapons and was trying to weaponize other diseases as well as practicing on non-lethal virii and bacteria (i.e. using camelpox in the lab instead of smallpox). i think they did the same thing with chemical weapons. instead of producing sarin, they made large amounts of pesticides which are toxic to humans as well as bugs. if anybody asks, it's just pesticide, but can be put into a chemical weapons warhead on a moments notice.
several times, soldiers in iraq went to areas where people said there were chemical weapons and became sick, only to "find" barrels of pesticides buried there., and the camoflauged trailers identified pre-war as portable chemical weapons manufacturing areas were found scrubbed clean and identified by the cia as only used for pesticide production.
Goe, can't prove that theory.
several times, soldiers in iraq went to areas where people said there were chemical weapons and became sick, only to "find" barrels of pesticides buried there., and the camoflauged trailers identified pre-war as portable chemical weapons manufacturing areas were found scrubbed clean and identified by the cia as only used for pesticide production.
Goe, can't prove that theory.
Prologue
Prologue
Two men entered the village from opposite sides, both on horseback. The village of Prologue lay on the side of a hill, overlooking Lake Wet. The one road that passed through the village followed the shoreline of the lake and crossed the border seperating the Kingdom of Setting from the Kingdom of Locale. Merchants and diplomats often traveled that road during the dry season. It was not the dry season as the two men rode into the village, but it was hot and dry that day, and throats were easily parched.
The man riding from the border was on a brown horse, and dressed in fine linens and silks. Several lengthy weapons dangled from the saddle in their scabbards, and a large pole rose up, from the top of which flew a banner, bearing a noble crest unknown to the people in the village.
The other man was also on a brown horse, and also finely dressed, but all of his clothing was marked with the royal symbols of Setting. These symbols were all known to the villagers, and they bowed low as the horse and rider passed by. He had also brought more.
Both men stopped at the tavern, and waited for the tavernkeepers servant to come and tie their horses. They dismounted in unison and went inside. They ordered drinks and found a corner table where they talked in low whispers for several hours. The man dressed in royal regalia paid for both, and they departed.
Neither man looked back as they rode out of town, but the man from the border ripped the blue banner loose and dropped it as his horse trod along the dusty road. He stopped as he crested the next hill, more horsemen joined him, unnoticed by the villagers too accustomed to strange visits and secret negotiations.
The horsemen all wore bright blue shirts, their pants and jackets were black and trimmed with pale blue. Each had a distinctive noble crest on the backs of their jackets, in yellow and blue, and the handles of their swords were bound with blue-stained leather, now fading from age and use. These men wore the markings of the Duke of Decoie, a Locale Noble who ruled a small duchy far across the nearby border. None of the villagers would have known this, such things were not important to shepherds, to fishermen, or to the tavernkeeper.
It was important, and everything was for a purpose unknown to any but the two men. The royal figure vanished from sight, but the other man stayed on the nearby hill's crest, and shouted something unheard in the village. As one, the other horsemen turned their horses to the village and began to move toward it.
A small crowd, composed mostly of curious children, watched them approach the village. A small girl waved the blue banner that had been left behind, only to have it snatched from her grasp by an older girl in a blue dress. The smaller girl protested, but conceded defeat when the horsemen began to form a line, several yards between the flanks of each horse, at about a hundred yards from the village.
Other villagers joined the crowd as the men on horseback raised their swords to shoulder height. The blades were long, four feet each, and the edges didn't form a smooth curve but had a slight ripple to them. The horses began moving faster, well trained to this task, and the people of the village realized death was upon them when the horses were spurred to a gallop.
“They want the flag back!” yelled the little girl as she began to tug on it again. The larger girl tried to push her away as the others around them began running to the nearest houses. The houses were wood and stone, built to withstand the heavy winter snows and strong lake winds. They were good shelters, sturdy and warm inside their thick walls, walls that a horse could not pass through.
The horses did not need to pass through walls though, they passed through the gaps between homes, leaving the girl in the blue dress shorter by a head, and the smaller girl armless past the elbow as she lay on the dusty road and cried for them to just take their flag back. The men did not take their flag back, but rode through the village until they had reached the other side, leaving several dozen villagers dead or dying on the ground behind them.
The men were silent, and could hear the shouts and screams of the villagers. Reins were pulled and the horses turned. A fisherman charged from the nearest house, brandishing a pitchfork he had beaten into a more suitable shape for fishing. It had three tines, the center one remained straight in line with the eight foot shaft, and the outer two had been curved back into crude hooks.
The nearest horseman tried to block the ungainly weapon with his sword, but the fisherman was used to rough waters and strong fish. He smiled as the central tine went through the horseman's chest, as the man frantically chopped at the shaft with his sword. Another sword slashed across the fisherman's back, bearing bone and muscle to the hot, dry air, and the fisherman fell forward, still smiling, still pushing against the horseman who was toppled sideways by the weight of the fisherman's fall.
The other horsemen left the two dying men, and split into two groups. The first group dismounted and lit torches while the second group trotted back through the village, chopping down any villagers who had dared an escape. As they began to burn the village, the men worked fast. They did not like being dismounted or lingering too long in one location, both were death for the Duke's horsemen.
It was an hour before the entire village was on fire, smoke billowing high into the sky. The horsemen rode back to the man on the nearby hill's crest, and one shorter than they arrived, they rode away toward the border. There were no more screams in the village, nor any living souls to scream. At the edge of the village, the lifeless hands of a headless girl clutched a small banner.
Goe, cause the village of Prologue is destroyed before chapter 1.
Two men entered the village from opposite sides, both on horseback. The village of Prologue lay on the side of a hill, overlooking Lake Wet. The one road that passed through the village followed the shoreline of the lake and crossed the border seperating the Kingdom of Setting from the Kingdom of Locale. Merchants and diplomats often traveled that road during the dry season. It was not the dry season as the two men rode into the village, but it was hot and dry that day, and throats were easily parched.
The man riding from the border was on a brown horse, and dressed in fine linens and silks. Several lengthy weapons dangled from the saddle in their scabbards, and a large pole rose up, from the top of which flew a banner, bearing a noble crest unknown to the people in the village.
The other man was also on a brown horse, and also finely dressed, but all of his clothing was marked with the royal symbols of Setting. These symbols were all known to the villagers, and they bowed low as the horse and rider passed by. He had also brought more.
Both men stopped at the tavern, and waited for the tavernkeepers servant to come and tie their horses. They dismounted in unison and went inside. They ordered drinks and found a corner table where they talked in low whispers for several hours. The man dressed in royal regalia paid for both, and they departed.
Neither man looked back as they rode out of town, but the man from the border ripped the blue banner loose and dropped it as his horse trod along the dusty road. He stopped as he crested the next hill, more horsemen joined him, unnoticed by the villagers too accustomed to strange visits and secret negotiations.
The horsemen all wore bright blue shirts, their pants and jackets were black and trimmed with pale blue. Each had a distinctive noble crest on the backs of their jackets, in yellow and blue, and the handles of their swords were bound with blue-stained leather, now fading from age and use. These men wore the markings of the Duke of Decoie, a Locale Noble who ruled a small duchy far across the nearby border. None of the villagers would have known this, such things were not important to shepherds, to fishermen, or to the tavernkeeper.
It was important, and everything was for a purpose unknown to any but the two men. The royal figure vanished from sight, but the other man stayed on the nearby hill's crest, and shouted something unheard in the village. As one, the other horsemen turned their horses to the village and began to move toward it.
A small crowd, composed mostly of curious children, watched them approach the village. A small girl waved the blue banner that had been left behind, only to have it snatched from her grasp by an older girl in a blue dress. The smaller girl protested, but conceded defeat when the horsemen began to form a line, several yards between the flanks of each horse, at about a hundred yards from the village.
Other villagers joined the crowd as the men on horseback raised their swords to shoulder height. The blades were long, four feet each, and the edges didn't form a smooth curve but had a slight ripple to them. The horses began moving faster, well trained to this task, and the people of the village realized death was upon them when the horses were spurred to a gallop.
“They want the flag back!” yelled the little girl as she began to tug on it again. The larger girl tried to push her away as the others around them began running to the nearest houses. The houses were wood and stone, built to withstand the heavy winter snows and strong lake winds. They were good shelters, sturdy and warm inside their thick walls, walls that a horse could not pass through.
The horses did not need to pass through walls though, they passed through the gaps between homes, leaving the girl in the blue dress shorter by a head, and the smaller girl armless past the elbow as she lay on the dusty road and cried for them to just take their flag back. The men did not take their flag back, but rode through the village until they had reached the other side, leaving several dozen villagers dead or dying on the ground behind them.
The men were silent, and could hear the shouts and screams of the villagers. Reins were pulled and the horses turned. A fisherman charged from the nearest house, brandishing a pitchfork he had beaten into a more suitable shape for fishing. It had three tines, the center one remained straight in line with the eight foot shaft, and the outer two had been curved back into crude hooks.
The nearest horseman tried to block the ungainly weapon with his sword, but the fisherman was used to rough waters and strong fish. He smiled as the central tine went through the horseman's chest, as the man frantically chopped at the shaft with his sword. Another sword slashed across the fisherman's back, bearing bone and muscle to the hot, dry air, and the fisherman fell forward, still smiling, still pushing against the horseman who was toppled sideways by the weight of the fisherman's fall.
The other horsemen left the two dying men, and split into two groups. The first group dismounted and lit torches while the second group trotted back through the village, chopping down any villagers who had dared an escape. As they began to burn the village, the men worked fast. They did not like being dismounted or lingering too long in one location, both were death for the Duke's horsemen.
It was an hour before the entire village was on fire, smoke billowing high into the sky. The horsemen rode back to the man on the nearby hill's crest, and one shorter than they arrived, they rode away toward the border. There were no more screams in the village, nor any living souls to scream. At the edge of the village, the lifeless hands of a headless girl clutched a small banner.
Goe, cause the village of Prologue is destroyed before chapter 1.
31 October 2005
30 October 2005
Plague
Came to a television near me. Scarier than most of the horror films on this past week.
Goe, thankful for modern medicine.
Goe, thankful for modern medicine.
28 October 2005
Some Quotes
'Is it possible for us to witness a world without America and Zionism?' But you had best know that this slogan and this goal are attainable, and surely can be achieved…
Memri
I think of those famous words of a Holocaust survivor. Asked what lesson he had drawn from the experience, he answered, "When someone tells you he wants to kill you, believe him."
Impromptus
Goe, believes them even if Bush doesn't.
SCOTUS
I'd like to point out that I'd accept if anyone wanted to nominate me =-]
Goe, without a law degree or a chance.
Goe, without a law degree or a chance.
24 October 2005
The Sucking Bandwagon
People like to jump on bandwagons. There's probably some deep psychological reason for it, but I don't know what it is. Right now, over at Broken Toys, there's a lot of bashing of Jack Thompson. I haven't been following this closely because it's not the sort of thing I normally have any interest in. It would seem that Jack Thompson has had some not very nice things to say about computer games and the people who play them. While he goes a bit overboard, the heart of his position is that people will soak up information, behaviors, and viewpoints from games and project those into their real lives, and that children are being subjected to a variety of bad information, behaviors, and viewpoints via their computer games, and that the computer game writers bear responbility when it spills over into those children's real lives.
He's wrong in that parents bear the responsibility for any crossover between fictional worlds and the real world in their children's perceptions. Only a bad parent would let their kid play a game where they torture small furry animals or kebob kitties, just as only a bad parent would let their kid stay up all night watching (surfing?) porn, snuff films, or go to law school.
He's right when he says that the artificial realities we partake in everytime we enjoy a bit of fiction have an impact on how we interact in the real world. Sometimes the impact is negligible, sometimes it is tremendous. In 1990, over 120 billion dollars were spent to exploit this. It is the heart and soul of the advertising industry.
Scott's Bandwagon doesn't believe in advertising. Not just that it doesn't work despite thousands of studies (probably an average of one per product, service, or image marketed; they each have their own study to demonstrate that they reach their target audience successfully or generate a list of recommended improvements). Scott's fanbase believes advertising doesn't exist. That people are not being influenced to do things that they wouldn't normally do. That every concept, for better or worse, is entirely self-derived. They believe that they each live in a vaccuum. It would suck, if it were true.
Goe, doesn't live in any major appliance.
He's wrong in that parents bear the responsibility for any crossover between fictional worlds and the real world in their children's perceptions. Only a bad parent would let their kid play a game where they torture small furry animals or kebob kitties, just as only a bad parent would let their kid stay up all night watching (surfing?) porn, snuff films, or go to law school.
He's right when he says that the artificial realities we partake in everytime we enjoy a bit of fiction have an impact on how we interact in the real world. Sometimes the impact is negligible, sometimes it is tremendous. In 1990, over 120 billion dollars were spent to exploit this. It is the heart and soul of the advertising industry.
Scott's Bandwagon doesn't believe in advertising. Not just that it doesn't work despite thousands of studies (probably an average of one per product, service, or image marketed; they each have their own study to demonstrate that they reach their target audience successfully or generate a list of recommended improvements). Scott's fanbase believes advertising doesn't exist. That people are not being influenced to do things that they wouldn't normally do. That every concept, for better or worse, is entirely self-derived. They believe that they each live in a vaccuum. It would suck, if it were true.
Goe, doesn't live in any major appliance.
Odds and ends
Was helping someone with some home repairs when a piece of wood flew out of a wall (the wall was old and being flexed a little at the time, no malicious intent that I know of). It proved too tempting...
Goe, happy it didn't hit him in the head.
Goe, happy it didn't hit him in the head.
21 October 2005
Discovering Stupidity.
I saw an ad for halloween costumes "used and previously owned". Then, on the Discovery Channel, there was an ad where a kid trying to learn about the elements, learned that "different elements are made of different atoms". Every person who was paid to review that ad before it aired should be bitchslapped.
Goe, glad that some people pay attention to details.
Goe, glad that some people pay attention to details.
14 October 2005
woot
it turns out that characters and plotting are not cheating in nanowrimo, as long as i don't start writing the story early.
so here goes some character names.
good guys
Selfless Sacrifice.
Snobby Elfwitch.
Uncanny Engineer.
Stupid Goon.
Idiot Goon.
Misunderstood Hero.
Omniscient Gadgeteer.
Dandy Fop.
Noreach Axemaster.
Ancient Advisor.
Feral Ninjababe.
bad guys
Evil Villain.
Reluctant Villain.
Incompetant Villain.
Goe, will figure out more later.
so here goes some character names.
good guys
Selfless Sacrifice.
Snobby Elfwitch.
Uncanny Engineer.
Stupid Goon.
Idiot Goon.
Misunderstood Hero.
Omniscient Gadgeteer.
Dandy Fop.
Noreach Axemaster.
Ancient Advisor.
Feral Ninjababe.
bad guys
Evil Villain.
Reluctant Villain.
Incompetant Villain.
Goe, will figure out more later.
13 October 2005
hehehe
Gotta beauty for you: Abimael Guzmán, the Shining Path leader in Peru, has denied that he is a terrorist. (Guzmán is standing trial in Lima.) According to the AP, “Guzmán, a 70-year-old former philosophy professor, said he was a leader of the Communist Party, not a terrorist.”
A reading of history will suggest that there is no great difference.
- Impromptus
Goe, hates commies
12 October 2005
10 October 2005
Ebert & the skinny one
was flipping channels last night and caught their show. the skinny one didn't like the wererabbit. during the review of clooney's new film, the skinny one claimed that it was really about fox news bullying critics of the bush administration into silence. obviously if this is true they weren't doing a very good job because he was talking. and he forgot that MoveOn.org was created to bully critics of the Clinton administration into silence. they are neither silent nor were able to force anyone else into silence. the film in question is about edward r. murrow contribution to stopping the mccarthy hearings, leaving government employees free to support foreign genocidal dictatorships (mccarthy never investigated people who weren't government employees, and was pretty good at finding the communists thanks to actually having had a list of who they were. because clooney believes that if someone wants to kill you and your family and your friends and everyone you've met, they should be running a large government agency...
Goe, doesn't want to die.
Goe, doesn't want to die.
08 October 2005
06 October 2005
HSX
I played the hollywood stock exchange a lot about 6 years ago, and now I check it every few months. am still in the low 4000's. since they give you 'interest', once your fortune is big enough, you dont even have to play to stay semi-competitive.
Goe, wishes more things were that easy.
Goe, wishes more things were that easy.
04 October 2005
Day 127
of the missing teen in Aruba, and generalissimo franco is still dead. a "political consultant" was on local news saying that the supreme court will soon be making decisions on states rights vs federalism. apparently knowing what federalism is is not a requirement of being a political consultant. why don't these people have any pride in their work? why do they think it's fine to do such a crappy job?
Goe, wants to smack them with a large partially rotten fish.
Goe, wants to smack them with a large partially rotten fish.
02 October 2005
Wow
it turns out that Rumsfeld is an idiot. The army used to balance vehicles between firepower, speed/portability, and armor. Then, during the Clinton Administration, the Pentagon decided that they could have all three! Rumsfeld agreed and kept all the 'new' systems development that had all three while scrapping the 'older' designs that only had one or two. Turns out that the laws of phsyics trump Pentagon planning.
Reminds me that the lesson learned most when the military is testing vehicles or systems on one of the proving grounds is that water freezes at 32 degrees.
Goe, smarter than the pentagon.
Reminds me that the lesson learned most when the military is testing vehicles or systems on one of the proving grounds is that water freezes at 32 degrees.
Goe, smarter than the pentagon.
01 October 2005
M.I.T. loves genocide!
Instapundit linked a protest photo site. i poked around a bit, and found this (last picture and description). it seemed awfully wrong, but not beyong the capacity of the u.n. so i looked around some more, couldn't find any references to cambodia being kept out of the u.n., they were admitted with a bunch of other countries in 1955. so maybe the truth isn't there... but i did find something even better. a rebuttal of chomsky's support for murdering millions in the cause of 'social justice' or whatnot. the site is like a collection of all the stuff the museum of communism hasn't gotten around to putting up yet.
Goe, knows that most surviving khmer rouge leaders are still welcome the world over.
Goe, knows that most surviving khmer rouge leaders are still welcome the world over.
30 September 2005
A different sort of vampire
Mark was bored. He couldn't pinpoint when he became aware of it. The knowledge just slowly grew until he wasn't only sure of it, but positive that he somehow had always known.
He seemed to know when he lived in the old shelter. It didn't have a roof and he felt lucky to have the four walls and floor. He and Edgar lived there, with the thin walls seperating them from the bright nothingness beyond. Sometimes they would jump up into that nothingness, feel their flesh burna s moisture began to leave them, and then fall back to safety.
It was dangerous. They couldn't pinpoint when they figured it out. One day Edgar stopped mark from jumping, and neither had done it again. Their desire to survive was stronger than their curiosity or bravado.
Edgar had as little to do as Mark. Edgar wasn't aware of this because he was insane. His days were filled with trying to spot creatures out in the nothingness. He once told mark that there was a giant fanged beast, a hundred times their size, hidden in the nothingness just outside the shelter. Mark began ignoring him, and without noticing it, realized how bored he was.
The new shelter was nicer. It was larger than the old one and had more stuff in it. Mark couldn't remember leaving the old shelter, just fragments or noise, light, the burning sensation of moisture vaporizing into the nothingness, and then a bug-eyed monster. The monster was named Neil, and was very self-conscious of his bulging eyes. Those were common for his kind, of which he was the last in the shelter.
Neil showed Mark around. There wasn't much to see so Neil led him through the castle and around the plastic coral after each stop. The new shelter even had it's own roof, too high to keep out the nothingness, yet low enough to add it's own sting to any leap.
There were others in the shelter, most were long and spindly, some species Mark had never seen before. Mark didn't speak to them, and avoided Neil when he could, but Edgar spent a lot of time talking with them. Whoever they were, they had connections, they seemed to be regularly giving Edgar packages.
Edgar hid the packages under the giant diver statue. Mark didn't know why, as he and Neil were the only ones in the shelter who didn't know what Edgar was getting. Neither had any interest either, which made hiding them even stranger. Mark assumed that Edgar was just acting out his insanity, but one day he was drawn in as well.
Mark was hanging out at the castle when Edgar came up and asked for help. "Help with what," Mark asked.
"Digging. I'm going to dig down find a way out. I'd just like you to help me move the rocks."
Mark agreed, and spent several days moving around the rocks that lined the shelter floor. He didn't assume it would work, but it put a dent in the boredom. The others came to watch, except Neil who was worried they'd all die if the floor was breached. Edgar didn't care. His plan seemed to involve a long piece of rope, a plastic tarp, and several of the smaller rocks.
They had dug all day, narrowly escaping several cave-ins, when Mark decided to take a break. The others watched Edgar, except Neil who hid in the castle practicing holding his breath. Mark went to the statue, curious now about what Edgar's plan entailed. He began digging out Edgars supplies. It was mostly ropes and tarps, dozens of each. The only other thing buried there was a clear plastic cylinder with something grey inside it labelled 'duraskin'.
Mark had a pretty good idea that the duraskin was to protect against the nothingness. The shelter walls held up against it, so they could be safe. Edgar had obviously found something that he thought could work, and there was no ignoring that Edgar had put a lot of thought into this plan. Feeling excited for the first time in what seemed forever, Mark opened the cylinder.
It was a suit, a grey suit with a strange number and assortment of limbs, as though it were not intended for their species. It wouldn't fit anyone in the shelter properly, but it only needed to fit well enough. Edgar was going to escape. There was only one suit, which meant that he was going to be left behind. Mark didn't want to be left behind, but everyone would know it was Edgar's plan, and would keep him from escaping.
Mark wasn't sure what to do, so he stared at the suit. The suit seemed to be getting larger, and Mark began to hope that it would be big enough to hold two. He stared at it, trying to make mental note of reference points to measure it's size. It wasn't until the eyepieces blinked that he realized it was staring back.
Goe, letting you know this ties into this, but the title is from a different half-written story just to keep you on your fins.
He seemed to know when he lived in the old shelter. It didn't have a roof and he felt lucky to have the four walls and floor. He and Edgar lived there, with the thin walls seperating them from the bright nothingness beyond. Sometimes they would jump up into that nothingness, feel their flesh burna s moisture began to leave them, and then fall back to safety.
It was dangerous. They couldn't pinpoint when they figured it out. One day Edgar stopped mark from jumping, and neither had done it again. Their desire to survive was stronger than their curiosity or bravado.
Edgar had as little to do as Mark. Edgar wasn't aware of this because he was insane. His days were filled with trying to spot creatures out in the nothingness. He once told mark that there was a giant fanged beast, a hundred times their size, hidden in the nothingness just outside the shelter. Mark began ignoring him, and without noticing it, realized how bored he was.
The new shelter was nicer. It was larger than the old one and had more stuff in it. Mark couldn't remember leaving the old shelter, just fragments or noise, light, the burning sensation of moisture vaporizing into the nothingness, and then a bug-eyed monster. The monster was named Neil, and was very self-conscious of his bulging eyes. Those were common for his kind, of which he was the last in the shelter.
Neil showed Mark around. There wasn't much to see so Neil led him through the castle and around the plastic coral after each stop. The new shelter even had it's own roof, too high to keep out the nothingness, yet low enough to add it's own sting to any leap.
There were others in the shelter, most were long and spindly, some species Mark had never seen before. Mark didn't speak to them, and avoided Neil when he could, but Edgar spent a lot of time talking with them. Whoever they were, they had connections, they seemed to be regularly giving Edgar packages.
Edgar hid the packages under the giant diver statue. Mark didn't know why, as he and Neil were the only ones in the shelter who didn't know what Edgar was getting. Neither had any interest either, which made hiding them even stranger. Mark assumed that Edgar was just acting out his insanity, but one day he was drawn in as well.
Mark was hanging out at the castle when Edgar came up and asked for help. "Help with what," Mark asked.
"Digging. I'm going to dig down find a way out. I'd just like you to help me move the rocks."
Mark agreed, and spent several days moving around the rocks that lined the shelter floor. He didn't assume it would work, but it put a dent in the boredom. The others came to watch, except Neil who was worried they'd all die if the floor was breached. Edgar didn't care. His plan seemed to involve a long piece of rope, a plastic tarp, and several of the smaller rocks.
They had dug all day, narrowly escaping several cave-ins, when Mark decided to take a break. The others watched Edgar, except Neil who hid in the castle practicing holding his breath. Mark went to the statue, curious now about what Edgar's plan entailed. He began digging out Edgars supplies. It was mostly ropes and tarps, dozens of each. The only other thing buried there was a clear plastic cylinder with something grey inside it labelled 'duraskin'.
Mark had a pretty good idea that the duraskin was to protect against the nothingness. The shelter walls held up against it, so they could be safe. Edgar had obviously found something that he thought could work, and there was no ignoring that Edgar had put a lot of thought into this plan. Feeling excited for the first time in what seemed forever, Mark opened the cylinder.
It was a suit, a grey suit with a strange number and assortment of limbs, as though it were not intended for their species. It wouldn't fit anyone in the shelter properly, but it only needed to fit well enough. Edgar was going to escape. There was only one suit, which meant that he was going to be left behind. Mark didn't want to be left behind, but everyone would know it was Edgar's plan, and would keep him from escaping.
Mark wasn't sure what to do, so he stared at the suit. The suit seemed to be getting larger, and Mark began to hope that it would be big enough to hold two. He stared at it, trying to make mental note of reference points to measure it's size. It wasn't until the eyepieces blinked that he realized it was staring back.
Goe, letting you know this ties into this, but the title is from a different half-written story just to keep you on your fins.
29 September 2005
sitcom
I want to see a sitcom where the main character turns out to be a serial killer.
Goe, cause the ideas are the easy part.
Goe, cause the ideas are the easy part.
27 September 2005
yet another
impromptus up, this time with extra che!
Goe, cause che murdered thousands and all he got was a lousy t-shirt.
Goe, cause che murdered thousands and all he got was a lousy t-shirt.
Firefly
Been compelled by other people to watch the dvds of the show. i must confess it's growing on me even though the stories remain annoyingly predictable.
some carnival thingie is up.
and y'all should be in bed right now! what the hell is wrong with you?!
On another note. most of the first person shooter games now have 'neutral' characters that are just sort of there for atmosphere. whenever i'm playing an fps game and get to the part where you are shooting past guards in the evil villain's mad science lab, i always shoot the employees. always figure they should have known better than to facilitate evil villainous plots. am i being overly vengeant?
Goe, learned that you can't shoot the monkeys in 'no one lives forever'.
some carnival thingie is up.
and y'all should be in bed right now! what the hell is wrong with you?!
On another note. most of the first person shooter games now have 'neutral' characters that are just sort of there for atmosphere. whenever i'm playing an fps game and get to the part where you are shooting past guards in the evil villain's mad science lab, i always shoot the employees. always figure they should have known better than to facilitate evil villainous plots. am i being overly vengeant?
Goe, learned that you can't shoot the monkeys in 'no one lives forever'.
25 September 2005
Beating InstaBlender again!
Sometimes it's good to hit a subject before it hits 'mainstream' blogs. Everything non-feminine is decried as barbaric, and this isn't good. Some notice that USA Today has an article about it. An unhappy BBC employee complained about it months ago, not how it's affected educational outcomes, but how it affected everything in life. The BBC even celebrates over it's disparaging treatment of the non-femininegender.
Goe, apparently only good for looting and pillaging, needs viking helmet and axe.
Goe, apparently only good for looting and pillaging, needs viking helmet and axe.
24 September 2005
heh
good thing i dont have a lot of readers who demand constant entertainment. for the handful of people who do check in every now and again, instapundit links to protest babes.
Goe, not labelled for individual resale.
Goe, not labelled for individual resale.
been sick, not busy
getting better though. chilling out watching tv this afternoon, I watched 'Big Trouble', an awesomely funny film. It had both tricia mcmillan and goats.
very funny film and worth watching again.
And then the local news started. mostly hurricane related stuff, a bit on iraq... and then they talked about how the city was asking for volunteers to do weeding in city parks so that they could be 'pesticide free'. apparently knowing the difference between a pesticide and an herbicide is not important to either working in local news or running city parks. the 'local reservists return home' segment was started with the 'anti-war protest somewhere else' captions still up... the news is a fucking joke.
Goe, can't turn a can into a cane, nor a man into a mane.
very funny film and worth watching again.
And then the local news started. mostly hurricane related stuff, a bit on iraq... and then they talked about how the city was asking for volunteers to do weeding in city parks so that they could be 'pesticide free'. apparently knowing the difference between a pesticide and an herbicide is not important to either working in local news or running city parks. the 'local reservists return home' segment was started with the 'anti-war protest somewhere else' captions still up... the news is a fucking joke.
Goe, can't turn a can into a cane, nor a man into a mane.
21 September 2005
Instapuppydrinker
Misses a key strategy in fighting pork.
That $223 million dollar "bridge to nowhere" that goes to a local airport?
Don't ask the congressman who put that in to cut it, ask the rest to cut it. Some states benefit from pork more than others, and not many congressmen could defend spending X many dollars on their own pork projects when the bills that those projects are part of make a net loss for their state. if you only get 100 million from a bill that will cost you 500 million, you're giving away 400 million. demand a cut equal to what you're paying in or vote no. that'd kill more pork than just asking people to vote no, especially when bills hit the senate where large population states can't gang up on low population states.
Goe, being sneaky.
That $223 million dollar "bridge to nowhere" that goes to a local airport?
Don't ask the congressman who put that in to cut it, ask the rest to cut it. Some states benefit from pork more than others, and not many congressmen could defend spending X many dollars on their own pork projects when the bills that those projects are part of make a net loss for their state. if you only get 100 million from a bill that will cost you 500 million, you're giving away 400 million. demand a cut equal to what you're paying in or vote no. that'd kill more pork than just asking people to vote no, especially when bills hit the senate where large population states can't gang up on low population states.
Goe, being sneaky.
20 September 2005
Firefly & Serenity
While discussing the show and film with someone today, I realized what annoyed me so much about most shows on television. Firefly is the perfect example of most of them, from the stock sci-fi characters to the grand conspiracies dreamed up and run by people too stupid to run even the simplest tests to divert people who hate them from (or at least include a functional retraining program in) the "turn cute women into super duper bionic ninjas" program.
It's about as original as burnt toast, and about as palatable.
Something else that bugs me is what I've seen referred to as "oprahfication", the making of everyone into a victim. It annoys me that a show whose main characters are all desperately seeking to control their situation, in the "frontier" of space, can't just go 'fuck it' and take off to parts unknown. No, they have to stay around and whine about not being able to. If you have blasters, don't whine, blow something up and you'll feel better.
Shows are about characters. Stories have characters in them, so that we have something to relate to, but it's not that important that the story be about the characters. It used to be that the basic conflict of man vs nature, man vs man, and man vs self were the driving force behind stories. Take some people, put them into conflicts, see how they turn out. On a tv show, this could be repeated, with older shows suffering from Gilligan's Problem always leaving the characters the same at the end as at the beginning, with the conflict not really changing them. Newer shows borrowed everchanging characters from soap operas, where they've been a staple since before burnt toast.
But now the stories are character driven. Characters change and develop relationships in preset ways and the conflicts are only there to drag the show out past episode 4. Only sitcoms don't do this, and they still stick with the Gilligan's Problem format. Sitcoms exist mostly to be funny and retain unchanging characters to provide a pre-existing foundation for that episode's jokes, instead of establishing new characters/underlying motives every episode.
Gilligans Problem: The conflicts/problems of every/almost every episode stem from an overarching problem that is the premise for the series (the castaways were stuck on the island). Solving the overarching problem solves those issues and hence ends the series.
Firefly manages to do both, ongoing character development causing Gilligan's Problem. The overarching problem is that the characters are self-contradictory idiots. They want to be left alone, but can't stop themselves from helping everyone who crosses their path. The solution to their problems is to push the lot of them out of an airlock. Unfortunately, that's the general tone of sci-fi these days, the mindless pablum of Star Trek: 90210/Gilmore Girls in Space.
Goe, can barely stand to watch Battlestar: Galactica now.
It's about as original as burnt toast, and about as palatable.
Something else that bugs me is what I've seen referred to as "oprahfication", the making of everyone into a victim. It annoys me that a show whose main characters are all desperately seeking to control their situation, in the "frontier" of space, can't just go 'fuck it' and take off to parts unknown. No, they have to stay around and whine about not being able to. If you have blasters, don't whine, blow something up and you'll feel better.
Shows are about characters. Stories have characters in them, so that we have something to relate to, but it's not that important that the story be about the characters. It used to be that the basic conflict of man vs nature, man vs man, and man vs self were the driving force behind stories. Take some people, put them into conflicts, see how they turn out. On a tv show, this could be repeated, with older shows suffering from Gilligan's Problem always leaving the characters the same at the end as at the beginning, with the conflict not really changing them. Newer shows borrowed everchanging characters from soap operas, where they've been a staple since before burnt toast.
But now the stories are character driven. Characters change and develop relationships in preset ways and the conflicts are only there to drag the show out past episode 4. Only sitcoms don't do this, and they still stick with the Gilligan's Problem format. Sitcoms exist mostly to be funny and retain unchanging characters to provide a pre-existing foundation for that episode's jokes, instead of establishing new characters/underlying motives every episode.
Gilligans Problem: The conflicts/problems of every/almost every episode stem from an overarching problem that is the premise for the series (the castaways were stuck on the island). Solving the overarching problem solves those issues and hence ends the series.
Firefly manages to do both, ongoing character development causing Gilligan's Problem. The overarching problem is that the characters are self-contradictory idiots. They want to be left alone, but can't stop themselves from helping everyone who crosses their path. The solution to their problems is to push the lot of them out of an airlock. Unfortunately, that's the general tone of sci-fi these days, the mindless pablum of Star Trek: 90210/Gilmore Girls in Space.
Goe, can barely stand to watch Battlestar: Galactica now.
18 September 2005
Oh...
While I'm being all self-centered and stuff, I'd like to point out that Rachmeg, the regular reader, refers to this blog as "Bob's Forest". I haven't liked "This Space for Sublet" but couldn't think of anything better at the time. Been thinking about changing it to "A Forest for the Trees". Any opinion?
Goe, open to suggestions.
Goe, open to suggestions.
Horn tooting.
As I have mentioned before, I submitted a story to the Storyblogging Carnival. I've since submitted two more. The Administrator of the Storyblogging Carnival made a list of his personal favorite stories. As the title of this post may have given away, one of mine made the list.
Goe, waiting for lunchtime.
Goe, waiting for lunchtime.
15 September 2005
Right to be stupid
Apparently the right to be stupid is the most pressing concern for the puppydrinker. if he thinks the security of his pot stash is of more importance to the nation than say, the right to own a home that kelo overturned, then something has impaired his judgement. pot would be my guess.
Goe, supports zero tolerance.
Goe, supports zero tolerance.
Eric the half a post
One of the reasons I like impromptus so much is because he documents so much evidence of the evilness of the political left. Plus, it helps improve your grammar!
Goe, working stuff out.
Goe, working stuff out.
14 September 2005
Hmm...
The Puppydrinker was reminiscing about someone else's slightly older article on memorials.
The first link given though is along the same lines. What struck me about it isn't the description of Britain thowing away it's culture, history, and liberty (both individual and national) in favor of feelgood politics and politicians. Barring another Thatcher, the UK will be a historical footnote. No, what struck me was this...
The navy that ruled the oceans and trade routes efficiently for five centuries, repeatedly defeating much larger and better equipped enemies, could put an admiral in command of every one of it's warships and still have more onshore at home to issue orders. Most of the non-war ships are manned with civilians.
I recall seeing once, and I think it was Nordlinger who wrote the article I read it in (I tried to locate it but couldn't), that the Royal Navy, at some point shortly prior to the Falklands War, had more support personnel who never left dry land than it had sailors on boats. I don't know what the hell they're doing, but ruling the waves doesn't seem to be part of the plan.
British plan:
Live up to ancestors: No.
Surrender to France: Yes.
Goe, thinks those people are seriously fucked in the head.
The first link given though is along the same lines. What struck me about it isn't the description of Britain thowing away it's culture, history, and liberty (both individual and national) in favor of feelgood politics and politicians. Barring another Thatcher, the UK will be a historical footnote. No, what struck me was this...
There are more admirals on the Service List today than there are warships in commission
The navy that ruled the oceans and trade routes efficiently for five centuries, repeatedly defeating much larger and better equipped enemies, could put an admiral in command of every one of it's warships and still have more onshore at home to issue orders. Most of the non-war ships are manned with civilians.
I recall seeing once, and I think it was Nordlinger who wrote the article I read it in (I tried to locate it but couldn't), that the Royal Navy, at some point shortly prior to the Falklands War, had more support personnel who never left dry land than it had sailors on boats. I don't know what the hell they're doing, but ruling the waves doesn't seem to be part of the plan.
British plan:
Live up to ancestors: No.
Surrender to France: Yes.
Goe, thinks those people are seriously fucked in the head.
13 September 2005
Hurricane News
I watched 'supernatural' or something on tv. was ok. flipped through the news channels afterwards and every friggin one of them had a reporter interviewing another reporter about damage/policing/relief. it's like if a blogger did nothing but link/quote other bloggers and had nothing to say themselves. fortunately, the only blogs like that are ones that only exist to sell ad space/search engine ratings.
Goe, still ad free!
Goe, still ad free!
To explain the substitute puppet
I would first like to apologize to sponsors, participants, and patrons of the Anenton Shakespearean Fortnight Week. Due to the difficulties with this year's Shakespearean Fortnight Week, it seems unlikely that we will be able to draw sufficient sponsorship to extend next year's event to two full weeks as we had anticipated. We shall continue to strive towards that goal in the years that come.
I am pleased to say that contrary to some rumors, Hope lives, and is recovering nicely at home. We haven't been able to find out why she fell off Juliet's balcony, but the railing will be rebuilt at a higher level. As promised, the balcony did not collapse this year, proof that our new carpenter is up to the task. We did include a warning that tragedies such as Romeo & Juliet are not advisable for young children, and next year we will try to arrange a monitored play area so that the parents have an alternative to bringing them into the ampitheater. Counseling will be available for those young children who attended any of the tragedies and were unable to cope with the subject matter.
Although head wounds can bleed severely, none of the Hamlet actors suffered any serious injury. I've been personally assured by the production medic that scarring will be minimal, enabling them to perform again next year. Another year of practice and we'll all think they came to us straight from Broadway.
I was told that it is customary for women in productions of some of Shakespeare's comedies to supplement their attributes. This is done to make claims about their attractiveness understandable to persons at the back of the audience. The actors who stuffed stuffed rabbits in their pants and proclaimed that they were "happy to meet" with the audience did so without any approval. Those actors will not be returning next year unless they participate in a sexual harassment seminar.
It fell to me to ensure that all of the events are appropriate for the Shakespearean Fortnight Week, and on the children's puppet show I failed in this regard. I was under the impression that the puppeteers understood that it was a Shakespearean event and that all participants were working directly or indirectly off of the works of William Shakespeare. I was not aware that the puppeteers were performing a puppet adaptation of 'Gladiator' until several of the other event staff members brought it to my attention. I contacted the sheriff's office and they intervened.
The cats only sustained minor injuries and are recovering at the local Humane Society shelter. The lion and tiger suits came off with sufficient turpentine, as did the cords used to control their feet. Contrary to rumor, there were no cords on the animals heads, as a starving cat will eat meat in the shape of a 'hero' of their own volition. Those wishing to adopt one should do so before the animals are euthanized in two weeks time. The puppeteers may claim that the cats were substitutes for puppet animals lost in shipping, but we will definately not be inviting them to return.
We have also filed a complaint with the talent booking service that arranged for them to join us this year, and are offering full refunds for the cancelled shows. We have thusfar been unable to get out of our contract with the puppeteers requiring us to pay for their production-related expenses, so we will be unable to refund tickets from the shows that were performed as scheduled until a later date.
Goe, apologizing for the substitute puppets.
I am pleased to say that contrary to some rumors, Hope lives, and is recovering nicely at home. We haven't been able to find out why she fell off Juliet's balcony, but the railing will be rebuilt at a higher level. As promised, the balcony did not collapse this year, proof that our new carpenter is up to the task. We did include a warning that tragedies such as Romeo & Juliet are not advisable for young children, and next year we will try to arrange a monitored play area so that the parents have an alternative to bringing them into the ampitheater. Counseling will be available for those young children who attended any of the tragedies and were unable to cope with the subject matter.
Although head wounds can bleed severely, none of the Hamlet actors suffered any serious injury. I've been personally assured by the production medic that scarring will be minimal, enabling them to perform again next year. Another year of practice and we'll all think they came to us straight from Broadway.
I was told that it is customary for women in productions of some of Shakespeare's comedies to supplement their attributes. This is done to make claims about their attractiveness understandable to persons at the back of the audience. The actors who stuffed stuffed rabbits in their pants and proclaimed that they were "happy to meet" with the audience did so without any approval. Those actors will not be returning next year unless they participate in a sexual harassment seminar.
It fell to me to ensure that all of the events are appropriate for the Shakespearean Fortnight Week, and on the children's puppet show I failed in this regard. I was under the impression that the puppeteers understood that it was a Shakespearean event and that all participants were working directly or indirectly off of the works of William Shakespeare. I was not aware that the puppeteers were performing a puppet adaptation of 'Gladiator' until several of the other event staff members brought it to my attention. I contacted the sheriff's office and they intervened.
The cats only sustained minor injuries and are recovering at the local Humane Society shelter. The lion and tiger suits came off with sufficient turpentine, as did the cords used to control their feet. Contrary to rumor, there were no cords on the animals heads, as a starving cat will eat meat in the shape of a 'hero' of their own volition. Those wishing to adopt one should do so before the animals are euthanized in two weeks time. The puppeteers may claim that the cats were substitutes for puppet animals lost in shipping, but we will definately not be inviting them to return.
We have also filed a complaint with the talent booking service that arranged for them to join us this year, and are offering full refunds for the cancelled shows. We have thusfar been unable to get out of our contract with the puppeteers requiring us to pay for their production-related expenses, so we will be unable to refund tickets from the shows that were performed as scheduled until a later date.
Goe, apologizing for the substitute puppets.
12 September 2005
Uber-meh
another impromptus. the last bit is just awesome.
Goe, can't focus when he's not busy... at least lately.
Goe, can't focus when he's not busy... at least lately.
09 September 2005
Spam Ho!
Got a piece of spam titled "Re: to explain the substitute puppet"
It gave me an idea.
Goe, will show you later.
It gave me an idea.
Goe, will show you later.
08 September 2005
07 September 2005
Was visiting
Spent the weekend visiting my parents. Here's a picture of my dad and his dog. It was supposed to be my mom's dog, but she usually ignores it.
Goe, didn't get any cool pictures of the beach.
02 September 2005
hurricanes
here is a link to some of the stuff that galveston did to protect itself from future hurricanes. new orleans is a much older city, has a lot more experience with hurricanes, and has done absolutely nothing to protect itself. i haven't a drop of sympathy for those people. they knew a storm was going to flood them out of house and home, it was just a matter of when and they never bothered to prepare. just like crapaud descendants to do nothing to help themselves but whine incessantly about how it's everybody else's fault for not helping fast enough.
Mother nature attacks, texans fight and the cajuns surrender...
Goe, because perhaps someone you know could sparkle and shine.
Mother nature attacks, texans fight and the cajuns surrender...
Goe, because perhaps someone you know could sparkle and shine.
been busy
been really busy this past week. didn't even know about the mess louisiana made for itself until this evening. got another story a third done, will try to get it posted next week. it's more light-hearted and less 'true story' than grover's interview, so you'll probably like it more.
Goe, because the nearly man was nothing, he was never any use.
Goe, because the nearly man was nothing, he was never any use.
26 August 2005
unprepared
You'd think that Florida, being hit by hurricanes on a fairly regular basis, would be prepared for hurricanes to hit. Not living there, I don't know why they're not. It seems to me that some things would be so obvious as to be required of all buildings, but aren't (although these look better). build firehouses, armories, and schools like giant bunkers, with a few extra floors on top so there are survivable shelters above floodwaters. I'm not from Florida though, so I may be missing something. Maybe there's something in suntan lotion that makes prior planning a bad thing.
Goe, just wondering.
Goe, just wondering.
25 August 2005
A radio ass clown I can agree with.
Goe, glad he doesn't live in a country where it's considered rude to be against rapists.
"I don't feel guilty in any way. We won't start pitying Karla Homolka. She's not a poor, desperate woman. She's a serial killer. We don't understand why people would pity her."
Goe, glad he doesn't live in a country where it's considered rude to be against rapists.
23 August 2005
Grover's Interview, part one
Grover glanced around nervously before approaching the desk. Two security guards, both dressed in suits the same shade of blue as a policeman's uniform, sat behind a large window. They were both intently studying clipboards, looking up only when Grover stood right next to the small arched gap in front of one.
"Can we help you?" asked the guard, smiling up at him.
"I've got an interview at eleven" replied Grover, feeling a little skittish. The guard studied the clipboard for a moment before asking Grover to have a seat in the waiting room. He sat on a hard plastic bench and watched the security guards. The one to whom he had spoken made a brief telephone call, then returned to his clipboard.
Grover hoped it wouldn't be long. He'd arrived a half hour early, and walked around the parking lot until there were only five minutes remaining. He was a very patient man and could wait hours, but felt like an idiot sitting there doing nothing. His mind had started to wander when the guard called to him from the desk, cradling a receiver to one ear. "They've been in a meeting and will be out shortly." Grover nodded and checked his watch. It was half past eleven.
Doors began to open, and people came past. Some were being buzzed in by the guards, and some were going outside. All of them were wearing long white lab coats. He had only the vaguest notion of what was done here, but he was pretty sure it beat working at the monkey plant. He would be glad to be rid of that place.
"She didn't get the message and went to lunch. She'll be back shortly." the guard told him, holding the receiver in one hand and a donut in the other. Grover checked his watch again, it was now noon. He smiled and thanked the guard. He remained seated, smiling at the people milling past.
Some time later, a short, round, young looking woman in a large bunny suit came strolling up to him. She held out her hand and spoke. "Hi. Are you Grover? I'm Carol. Will you come with me please?"
Grover smiled, stood up, and briefly shook her hand. She turned and strolled off past the guards, Grover making it through the door right behind her. She led him through a maze of offices. The doors were all wooden, and their windows were blocked by blinds or construction paper. Signs with numbers and arrows were plastered all over the walls. They reached another lobby, this one with elevators and no visible exits to the outside world. Carol pressed a button and stepped into an elevator, Grover close behind.
"The interview will be done by Dr. Tibbles and myself," Carol said smiling. "Ms. Flosten can't make it, so it'll just be the two of us. We might as well get started now, how would you handle one of the researchers being upset with you?"
"I think that'd depend on why they were upset. I'd try to rectify it."
Carol stopped smiling. She scowled at Grover as if he'd just said something inappropriate about her mother. "I mean, some of them are a little disagreeable, not Dr. Tibbles of course, he's the best one, but if they were mad at you, what would you do?"
"I'd try to find out why they were mad at me and try to resolve the issue." Grover said, smiling more from amusement than politeness.
Carol went "Hmm," furrowing her brow and putting on an odd expression that made it seem as though her nose and mouth had shifted somewhat to the left. She crossed her arms and stared at the elevator doors until they opened. Grover had the feeling things weren't going well.
Carol stepped out of the elevator and skipped towards a hallway entrance. Grover followed and Carol pointed to the first door on the right. "We'll be doing the interview in there," she said tersely, before putting on a large smile and turning to a man in a cat suit who had been standing in the hallway, idly staring at a blank section of wall a few feet from a cork bulletin board half-covered with pastel handbills. "Hello, Dr. Tibbles!"
The man turned and looked at Carol, then took a step backwards. "This is Grover, we're going to interview him," said Carol, pointing over her shoulder with her thumb at Grover, who stood still and smiled. Dr. Tibbles didn't smile, but scowled at Carol.
"We're not going to hire him, do I really have to do this? I'm just here to talk to Stacey."
"She's in a budget meeting, and yes, you have to do the interview."
Dr. Tibbles scowled, then turned and walked down the hallway. Carol motioned to Grover to enter the room, which he did. They exchanged a few more pleasantries, Carol smiling again and bouncing around in her chair.
Goe, doesn't know when he'll put up part 2.
"Can we help you?" asked the guard, smiling up at him.
"I've got an interview at eleven" replied Grover, feeling a little skittish. The guard studied the clipboard for a moment before asking Grover to have a seat in the waiting room. He sat on a hard plastic bench and watched the security guards. The one to whom he had spoken made a brief telephone call, then returned to his clipboard.
Grover hoped it wouldn't be long. He'd arrived a half hour early, and walked around the parking lot until there were only five minutes remaining. He was a very patient man and could wait hours, but felt like an idiot sitting there doing nothing. His mind had started to wander when the guard called to him from the desk, cradling a receiver to one ear. "They've been in a meeting and will be out shortly." Grover nodded and checked his watch. It was half past eleven.
Doors began to open, and people came past. Some were being buzzed in by the guards, and some were going outside. All of them were wearing long white lab coats. He had only the vaguest notion of what was done here, but he was pretty sure it beat working at the monkey plant. He would be glad to be rid of that place.
"She didn't get the message and went to lunch. She'll be back shortly." the guard told him, holding the receiver in one hand and a donut in the other. Grover checked his watch again, it was now noon. He smiled and thanked the guard. He remained seated, smiling at the people milling past.
Some time later, a short, round, young looking woman in a large bunny suit came strolling up to him. She held out her hand and spoke. "Hi. Are you Grover? I'm Carol. Will you come with me please?"
Grover smiled, stood up, and briefly shook her hand. She turned and strolled off past the guards, Grover making it through the door right behind her. She led him through a maze of offices. The doors were all wooden, and their windows were blocked by blinds or construction paper. Signs with numbers and arrows were plastered all over the walls. They reached another lobby, this one with elevators and no visible exits to the outside world. Carol pressed a button and stepped into an elevator, Grover close behind.
"The interview will be done by Dr. Tibbles and myself," Carol said smiling. "Ms. Flosten can't make it, so it'll just be the two of us. We might as well get started now, how would you handle one of the researchers being upset with you?"
"I think that'd depend on why they were upset. I'd try to rectify it."
Carol stopped smiling. She scowled at Grover as if he'd just said something inappropriate about her mother. "I mean, some of them are a little disagreeable, not Dr. Tibbles of course, he's the best one, but if they were mad at you, what would you do?"
"I'd try to find out why they were mad at me and try to resolve the issue." Grover said, smiling more from amusement than politeness.
Carol went "Hmm," furrowing her brow and putting on an odd expression that made it seem as though her nose and mouth had shifted somewhat to the left. She crossed her arms and stared at the elevator doors until they opened. Grover had the feeling things weren't going well.
Carol stepped out of the elevator and skipped towards a hallway entrance. Grover followed and Carol pointed to the first door on the right. "We'll be doing the interview in there," she said tersely, before putting on a large smile and turning to a man in a cat suit who had been standing in the hallway, idly staring at a blank section of wall a few feet from a cork bulletin board half-covered with pastel handbills. "Hello, Dr. Tibbles!"
The man turned and looked at Carol, then took a step backwards. "This is Grover, we're going to interview him," said Carol, pointing over her shoulder with her thumb at Grover, who stood still and smiled. Dr. Tibbles didn't smile, but scowled at Carol.
"We're not going to hire him, do I really have to do this? I'm just here to talk to Stacey."
"She's in a budget meeting, and yes, you have to do the interview."
Dr. Tibbles scowled, then turned and walked down the hallway. Carol motioned to Grover to enter the room, which he did. They exchanged a few more pleasantries, Carol smiling again and bouncing around in her chair.
Goe, doesn't know when he'll put up part 2.
true story
a company which shall remain nameless on this blog once had a local office that they acquired in a buyout of another company. One of their new employees in the local office sent them a suggestion on how to save money by doing things a little differently. They rewarded said employee by giving him a case of soda. The employee, encouraged by the company to give them cost-saving suggestions, made another. He was reprimanded for the second suggestion.
His second suggestion? Have the soda bought locally when someone was being rewarded, instead of shipping it air-freight from the company headquarters half-way across the country.
Goe, heard about this second-hand.
His second suggestion? Have the soda bought locally when someone was being rewarded, instead of shipping it air-freight from the company headquarters half-way across the country.
Goe, heard about this second-hand.
Rachmeg's trip
how many times did you threaten the kids to pull over and/or come back there?
Goe, trying to have a good day.
Goe, trying to have a good day.
22 August 2005
irked
I read this when it came out, it was linked in many, many places.
The guy is right. A lot of businesses are only comfortable hiring women. They'll hire men if they have to, but that's a last resort. They don't want men because men can be a disruptive influence in the workplace. If you ask a man to commit insurance fraud, you're going to have to bribe him. Women will do it just to be seen as a team player.
What women consider to be a team player usually isn't the same as how men view it. To most men I know, a team player is one who works for the best interests of the team. To most women I know, a team player is a sycophant who does what they're asked without question or hesitation, and discourages suggestions. In short, a puppy, always happy to see the rest of it's group, always thinking that whatever is happening is the most wonderful thing ever, never openly questioning any decision or command, more intent on fitting in than on getting anything done.
The groupthink that dominates in an office full of women may give the impression of productivity, but if you bother staffing with professionals, they don't have to like each other to get their work done. Women would rather be popular than professional, men are used to being unpopular and want a performance-based raise.
It hurts performance, it hurts productivity, it hurts the bottom line, but managers love obedient complacent employees. The BBC doesn't have to worry about it's bottom line, because it's anti-american propaganda is funded through taxation. A lot of businesses are running into trouble.
Your mileage may vary, but that's been my experience and I felt like ranting a bit.
Goe, tired of being told that thinking for himself means that he's unqualified.
The guy is right. A lot of businesses are only comfortable hiring women. They'll hire men if they have to, but that's a last resort. They don't want men because men can be a disruptive influence in the workplace. If you ask a man to commit insurance fraud, you're going to have to bribe him. Women will do it just to be seen as a team player.
What women consider to be a team player usually isn't the same as how men view it. To most men I know, a team player is one who works for the best interests of the team. To most women I know, a team player is a sycophant who does what they're asked without question or hesitation, and discourages suggestions. In short, a puppy, always happy to see the rest of it's group, always thinking that whatever is happening is the most wonderful thing ever, never openly questioning any decision or command, more intent on fitting in than on getting anything done.
The groupthink that dominates in an office full of women may give the impression of productivity, but if you bother staffing with professionals, they don't have to like each other to get their work done. Women would rather be popular than professional, men are used to being unpopular and want a performance-based raise.
It hurts performance, it hurts productivity, it hurts the bottom line, but managers love obedient complacent employees. The BBC doesn't have to worry about it's bottom line, because it's anti-american propaganda is funded through taxation. A lot of businesses are running into trouble.
Your mileage may vary, but that's been my experience and I felt like ranting a bit.
Goe, tired of being told that thinking for himself means that he's unqualified.
me so mean
went and butted in on comments over at lum's. lum had a point in that the study really didn't relate to much of anything, but some of the comments seemed to be from people who think that human beings all operate in some sort of informational/ideological vacuum. on the not pissing me off side, i found this while getting some links for my comment at lum's. the once and future tyrant? it's weird how much religious imagery and rhetoric is at the heart of most socialist crap.
Goe, still hates commies.
Goe, still hates commies.
ACK!
"Islam is a main source for legislation and it is not permitted to legislate anything that conflicts with the fixed principles of its rules."
New Iraqi constitution calls for islamic law, bin Laden celebrates, Taliban to stand for election, U.S. troops to be beheaded, U.S. ambassador expecting many virgins, Bush administration happy with Iraqi's 'take charge' attitude.
Goe, not happy that our middle-east policy seems to be 'go in circles. repeat.'
21 August 2005
20 August 2005
Manners
I was over at my Grandmothers this evening, doing a bit of yard work that she's not up to doing, when someone I didn't know came up and asked me if any of his friends had talked to me about something (a competition I think). I said that they hadn't and he tried to give me a brochure, I said no thanks. He asked me why I didn't want one, I told him I wasn't interested. He asked why I wasn't interested, and I told him that I didn't care about it. Then he asked me why I was being rude. Why would I have an obligation to listen to a sales pitch? Why are we as a society so enthralled with marketing that what's being marketed is of a secondary concern? And why was the bastard interrupting the work I was doing? Rude asshat.
Goe, has no bust of Pallas above his chamber door.
Goe, has no bust of Pallas above his chamber door.
19 August 2005
Cars
J. Craig Venter, the entrepreneurial scientist who mapped the human genome, announced last month that he intends to string together genes to create from scratch novel organisms that can produce alternative fuels such as hydrogen and ethanol.
From here. Why don't they engineer something to make gasoline? It would save everybody a lot of trouble. While hydrogen is a nice alternative, when they say hydrogen, they don't mean this, but this. Fuel cells remind me of electric cars, which I've never found terribly impressive or useful.
Goe, will be sad when cars stop going vroom.
18 August 2005
Karma
I saw a movie once, nice little character drama called Spring Forward. One of the characters, trying to change himself through eastern philosophy, tries explaining some of it to his coworker. His explaination of karma is that everytime you put a little good fortune into the world, a little good fortune will come back to you. His co-worker smiles and says "So what goes around comes around. I could have told you that."
"Instant Karma" isn't promised by most theologies. Rewards come after death, not before, but as we continue to develop the short attention span society, it's becoming harder and harder for people to wait. This brings me to this. I have no idea what church they're talking about, but how can they not have a malaise about waiting. "Superstar Christian Leader" isn't about waiting, it's about being recognized now as a wise and learned figure. It's not enough for us to just want stuff now, we want recognition and rewards now for things we haven't done yet.
Some people think that they should get recognition and rewards regardless of what they do or intend to do. Nothing is bad unless you want it to be, nothing is good unless you want it to be, nothing is sinful unless you want it to be, and if a diety gets upset at your behavior, they have to forgive you if you want them to. This is taking self-empowerment to the point where we are each a god unto ourselves. I know it's possible to be louder in ones boasting, but could a person possibly be more arrogant than to think that there is a god and it must cater to their every whim?
Goe, being a little philosophical.
"Instant Karma" isn't promised by most theologies. Rewards come after death, not before, but as we continue to develop the short attention span society, it's becoming harder and harder for people to wait. This brings me to this. I have no idea what church they're talking about, but how can they not have a malaise about waiting. "Superstar Christian Leader" isn't about waiting, it's about being recognized now as a wise and learned figure. It's not enough for us to just want stuff now, we want recognition and rewards now for things we haven't done yet.
Some people think that they should get recognition and rewards regardless of what they do or intend to do. Nothing is bad unless you want it to be, nothing is good unless you want it to be, nothing is sinful unless you want it to be, and if a diety gets upset at your behavior, they have to forgive you if you want them to. This is taking self-empowerment to the point where we are each a god unto ourselves. I know it's possible to be louder in ones boasting, but could a person possibly be more arrogant than to think that there is a god and it must cater to their every whim?
Goe, being a little philosophical.
i hate spam
i wrote a filter for thunderbird to toss out all email from netblocks that spammed me too much. works ok, but it doesn't help with the flood of commentspam (which doesn't appear to be over yet) that started with my last post (the one on kelo). i can see why some people encourage it though, it's artificially inflating the visit counter thingie down at the bottom. for many people, that's the only reason to post stuff.
Goe, hates spammers.
Goe, hates spammers.
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