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.
02 November 2005
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.
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