Write or Die + Gears of War= New Blog Post??

I've been playing with an application called, "Write or Die." ("Putting the Prod in Productivity") It's a writing motivation tool that flashes angry red or plays annoying music if you pause too long while you're typing.

I tried it out while Nam was playing "Gears of War 2." Since I was writing 'off the top of my head,' you may notice how this influenced my umm...'stories.' You may also notice that I don't really understand the plot of "Gears of War." Oh well.

Here are some very short stories for you:

Lost in the Snow

Let's go right. Up the stairs. Icicles hang from the doorway, threatening to stab me. I hate it when they do that. So I break one off and eat it. It tastes like water. Very cold, very hard water.

I am off to a horrible start, as usual. This damn school looks like a maze. Probably, because it is one. I don't know who thought it'd be a good idea to build a school within a labyrinth, but I'd like to meet them and then make them stand under these threatening icicles.

I step onto the bridge and look at the pathways that meander in incomprehensible patterns below me. Is my class somewhere down there? I can't remember.

A snowflake falls on my cheek, I brush it off quickly. Crystals seriously freak me out. I am going to be late for my class, but I am not worried. I have not been able to find my class for three months now. Not since it started snowing. I swing my legs over the side of the bridge and jump off. I fall, faster than a snowflake (this is not a vacuum) and land in a snowdrift. I think about all of the crystalline structures I have just destroyed, and smile.

Cookies

I'm set. I'm ready to go. I've just loaded a bunch of freshly baked cookies into my cookie gun and I am totally ready to make some new friends.

I walk on the lumpy street, Yrti told me people call it "cobblestone." How cute.

I pause to admire a tree with delicate white flowers. I pluck one of the blooms and tuck it into my helmet. I don't know what it is about this planet, but ever since I landed here, my mood has just been soaring. I'm giddy like a child, I feel happy....I feel free. I dance down the street. I know my heavy, cumbersome muscles can't possibly convey the joy and lightness of my spirit, but I don't care. I even try to whistle, but it sounds more like a growl.

And then I see them, the humans! Yes! We are totally going to be friends. I pull out my cookie gun and set it to maximum-decadence. I smile and get ready to unleash a ray of buttery goodness. My finger is at the trigger, but something stops me.

The humans are making a noise, they are waving their arms about. Are they dancing? Yes! I think they are! They can't wait for the cookies! I won't make them wait any longer. I pull the trigger--but--no... Something is wrong! Something has gone horribly wrong! Those weren't cookies-- Oh god! Oh no! They're not moving! They're all-- No! This wasn't supposed to happen! I didn't want to-- My friends! Why?!!

Some AI thinks I'm a guy...

:(

While browsing boingboing.net , I came across a post on GenderAnalyzer , a site that uses AI to determine if a blog is written by a man or a woman. I tried it out on this site, and it promptly told me I was a Man. :(

Sure, I was a little surprised, but they do say that it's not completely accurate. So I then tried putting in the addresses of all the blogs I link to over there----------------->

And it figured out everyone else's gender with 100% accuracy.

So, now I am trying to figure out what about my writing style screams, "MAN."

Is it all the references to Black Holes, tar pits, Infinity Glasses, and Poseidon? Or is it something more subtle?

Felines, Fur, and Flash

Nam was trying to find out if our cat had more hair than both of us combined, and he came across a site with a flash intro that was truly artistic and informational...

I THINK YOU SHOULD WATCH IT.
(please make sure your speakers are on so you can have the full experience.)

Io commands it!!

Apparently, this site exists to promote a series of books that I previously mentioned in this blog. (Parasites made me do it: Library Cats)

Besides viewing the intro, you can also learn your Warrior Cat Name (Brambleface??!!!) And find out your Warrior Cat Clan (apparently, my answers confounded the quiz or I was just not meant to belong to a fictional warrior cat gang).

Critical Thinking: The Skit

Critical Thinking: A Skit

Cast:
Poseidon: The God of the Seas
Captain Margie: A wise pirate



Scene: Captain Margie is sitting on the deck of her ship, admiring the clear, blue waves of the 11th sea when Poseidon surfaces.

Captain Margie
Ahoy Poseidon!

Poseidon
Ahoy!

Captain Margie
What have you been up to?

Poseidon
Nothing much, just thinking.

Captain Margie
How?

Poseidon
Huh? Don't you mean to ask: "about what?"

Captain Margie
No.

Poseidon
I don't get it.

Captain Margie
Of course you don't, Poseidon. That's because even though you think you think, you don't really think at all, at least not critically.

Poseidon
What? I can think critically, you jerk!
There!
Was that critical enough for you.

Captain Margie
Nope.
Here, let me help you.
Did you do anything important this summer?

Poseidon
(thinking)
Wow! This is hard!
I guess I see the difference now! Thanks!
(begins to swim away)

Captain Margie
You're not doing it yet!
(sighs)
Have you thought of something yet?

Poseidon
Hmm. Well, I flooded the Nile.

Captain Margie
Why did you do that?

Poseidon
It made me Hapy.*

Captain Margie
And?

Poseidon
It kept people from starving.

Captain Margie
Why would you want to do that?

Poseidon
Well, not starving to death is generally assumed to be a good thing.

Captain Margie
Aha! There it is!


Poseidon
What! What is it?


Captain Margie
You made the decision to flood the river based on a hegemonic assumption.


Poseidon
I did?

Captain Margie
Obviously. You also assumed that people need food to be happy.


Poseidon
Well...they do!

Captain Margie
Or so the hegemony would like you to believe.

Poseidon
Who is this hegemony?

Captain Margie
An elite group of very powerful individuals.

Poseidon
Hmm...Powerful...
Wait a minute! I'm the God of the Seas!
That sounds pretty powerful to me.


Captain Margie
(frowning)
Hmm. You may have a point there....

Poseidon
As a representative of the Hegemony, I hereby assume I already know how to think critically.


Captain Margie
You idiot.

Poseidon
Good job, Captain Margie! Now you're thinking critically too!

Captain Margie
(groans)

FIN

*BAD PUN ALERT!! Hapy was the Egyptian god of the seasonal Nile floods

Arachnaphobia

I freely admit to being scared of many things, for example: black holes, volcanoes, tar pits, sinkholes, eternity, and people. However, I've never been frightened of spiders....UNTIL TODAY.

There is a rather large (and possibly poisonous) spider , let's call him Fred, who has been living on our deck this summer. Up until a few days ago, Fred's been doing the usual spidery things, stringing up gigantic webs, catching bugs etc. But recently, his webs began encroaching on our deck furniture and house. So Nam knocked Fred off our deck with a broom and removed the web that was strung around our grill.


But Fred didn't like that...

Fred didn't like that at all...

When I went outside to do some homework today, SOMEONE was waiting for me....

nine legs? oops...

...and I almost walked into the retaliatory trap strung up right outside the door!

I took the broom to the massive web and Fred zipped upwards towards the roof. He stayed there as I read my books....watching...waiting...plotting...

Readings: Snow Crash (a few more thoughts)

Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson

Sure, the world of Snow Crash features a dystopian society divided into warring franchises and fascist suburbs, but who said Dystopia had to be depressing? (Orwell?)


I appreciate being able to read about the disturbing possibilities of the future without the somber tones of despair. Instead of tears of hopelessness, Snow Crash delivers magical linguistics, ubiquitous harpoons, and of course, pizza, fresh from the Mafia and always on time!


I recommend this book to people who like linguistics, binary, home-owner-associations, harpoons, easily identifiable protagonists, and that fuzzy static that comes on the T.V. sometimes....

Readings: Snow Crash

So, work and homework have been keeping me busier than usual...but I haven't forgotten about the Envelope, you will find out what lurks beneath its glossy exterior soon enough...

But right now, I'd like to talk about Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson. I'm about 4/5ths of the way through the book, and I really like it! The idea that there's a human language equivalent to the machine code of computers...it just makes sense...so next week when you see me outside of your castle with my neurolinguistically-programmed horde... get yourself a nice glass of lemonade and get ready to enjoy the biggest dance-spectacular yet! The choreography is irresistible! (What? Did you think I would program people for anything other than artistic purposes?? Shame on you!)


Anyways, here's a comic inspired by Snow Crash. (Again, the scene did not play out quite like this in the book...)

Did someone say IO??

Our cat Io is totally binary.

On Dark Matter's Questionable Penmanship

I was all set to read an article called, "Has dark matter's telltale signature been spotted?"
but then I found out it was for subscribers only... so I was tempted with whispers of rumours, particle annihilation, and balloon experiments...only to be left hanging...

Story of my life...

So that you will not suffer the same disheartening result, I have discovered found *ahem* fabricated a graphic representation of...THE UNIVERSE, so that you may answer the article's titular question for yourself.

Readings: The Jesus Incident by Frank Herbert and Bill Ransom

The Jesus Incident, by Frank Herbert and Bill Ransom

What I liked:

Favorite Character: The Ship! I mean, SHIP!

Favorite Alien Life Form: The hallucinogenic kelp/hot-air balloon

Favorite Locale: Pandora. I liked the idea of a planet where an ocean-based life-form was dominant. So did Poseidon.

This scene did not actually happen in the book, it happened in my head...

Long-winded, rambling review (minor spoilers):

While I really liked the idea of an omnipotent spaceship floating around in space, destroying worlds, messing around in people's heads, and demanding that everyone WorSHIP it, I'm not as enthusiastic about some of the other things in this book.

One thing that irked me was the constant leering smarminess exhibited by many of the male characters. Now, I'm sure that some of this can be explained by the fact that this book was first published in 1979, back when women were routinely harassed and men spent hours in their 'cubbies,' sipping crappy wine, gazing at their erotic wall hangings, spying on the 'gals with surveillance feeds, and generally being creepy.

I admit, I have a tendency to latch onto details, and fume over them. I had to take a reading break after the character of Waela was introduced. We first see her as an awesome, powerful fighter; a survivor who through quick-thinking has managed to stay alive on a deadly planet...and oh, yeah, she hunches over a lot, because she's tall and "...men don't like tall women..."

WHAT??!!

You could be killed at any time and you're worrying about THAT??!!

Ok... I guess it could just be characterization....but that doesn't mean I have to like it.

Anyways, back to the plot, which which not about tall women trying to disguise their hideous height... It was more about...Umm... well, an omnipotent spaceship, a thawed-out chaplain-sicle who changes his last name and becomes the devil, a poet that likes to talk to kelp and caress tentacled-hot-air-balloons, a female med-tech (who has to be told about atoms by the poet!!) that goes back in time and sees Jesus, some creepy old men plotting...something...oh right, and someone named Jesus Lewis that doesn't seem to be of any particular importance...

So to conclude...this 28 year old book is looking for readers who like kelp, shoulder massages, and talking about religion. Those too squeamish to spend time in the “Scream Room” need not apply.

For Josie....

Josie's latest post reminded me of something Poseidon once said. I think it's somewhat applicable (even though it's about a cell phone instead of a car), as it shows us the true nature of the world.

I wonder where Poseidon is these days anyways?

Not all my dreams are nightmares....

....some of them are just random....

After that last entry, I wanted to post something less disturbing, so here are some of my favorite dreams courtesy of my middle-school dream journal....

this is not my middle-school dream journal...

1. The one with the under-water masquerade, a talking fish, and a race to caulk a split grapefruit with blueberry pancake batter....

2. The one where I baked chocolate chip cookies....with an alien

3. The one where I went to play in the river, but met up with a militia that was searching for 'bioverbius materials'. They made me join the military, but then somehow we ended up sliding down a muddy hill. Slip n' Slide! Wohoo!

4. The one with a magic sofa cushion that could change one object into any other object

5. The one where we were all square dancing in a Norwegian Graveyard at midnight during a blizzard. All the girls were wearing fluorescent blue snowsuits, and the boys wore fluorescent yellow. There were lifeguards just in case...and also elves throwing snowballs at us from behind the headstones...

In the trees! Green Vampires?

Josie seemed miffed that I did not discuss my other vampire dream in my previous post
...probably because she was a featured character.


This dream had a lot of strange little twists, but sadly, not much of a plot to be twisted...


(WARNING: The following is the recounting of a fairly violent, bloody dream. Please don't read it if you find that sort of thing disturbing like I did while I was writing it.)

Blood Maples

I woke up, knees to my chest, crouched on the branch of a tree. The red light of sunset stabbed through the cool, leafy shade. I felt dizzy, strange. Why was I in a tree?


Something must have happened last night....


Oh yeah, now I remember...


I got turned into a vampire.


And me, a vegetarian... I shook my head. This was going to be totally gross. The thought of drinking warm, thick, blood made me sway. I started to fall out of the tree, but someone caught me. Josie.


"How could you do this?" I accused her, "I thought you were a vegetarian too."


"Don't blame me," she said wrapping her arms around her knees, "One of the others got you while they were hunting."


I stared upwards, the limbs of the tree were filled with crouching vampires watching the sun slowly disappear below the horizon. I touched the scar tissue on my shoulder. Which one of them had done this?


I heard a scuffling noise from a nearby tree, then a soft murmur. Josie was staring intently in the direction of the sound.


"More vampires?" I asked.


She shook her head, she had a funny look on her face.


"Humans," she said, "They're hoping we'll mistake them for other vampires if they hide in the trees."


Around me vampires began leaping from their branches and landing with soft thuds, like apples, on the ground below...murderous apples, bloodthirsty apples, ok, maybe not like apples at all. More like acorns.


"Where's everyone going?" I asked.


"It's breakfast time," Josie said with a decidedly non-vegetarian smile, "You hungry?"


"For blood?"


"What else?"


"No thanks. I think I'm going to throw up instead."


Josie shrugged and leapt off the branch.


"Suit yourself," she called from the darkness of the ground.


I sat and watched as the vampires dragged the screaming humans out of the tree, ripping and shrieking and decapitating. I turned away. I didn't want to see anymore. Finally, the screams stopped.


Josie swung back up on the branch next to me. Her face was red, not because she was embarrassed, but because it was covered in blood.


"All gone," she sang with a smile.


"I don't think I'll ever be hungry enough to do that," I said.


"Don't worry," she said, patting me on the shoulder, leaving a bloody smear on my shirt, "You will. And anyways, blood tastes a whole lot better than meat. I would never eat meat."


I wondered if she thought this made her somewhat less disturbing.


"I need to show you something. You won't need to do it tonight, but after you start hunting, there's something you'll need to do, to ensure....proper digestion."


"What?"


"I'm going to teach you how to recycle," she said bringing her hand up towards her chin.


"Like newspapers and plastic bottles?"


"Not really," Josie answered. She drove her fingers through the skin under her chin and then hung upside down, and proceeded to drink her own blood from the wound.


That was it. I jumped off the tree. Being a vampire was lame and gross and I was never going to drink blood and I was never, ever going to "recycle." Surely, there must be another way to survive....surely....




* The original dream also included an angel that appeared in a bonfire...for no apparent reason

The 1st Law of Thermodynampires

At brunch today, Stephenie Meyer's Twilight Series came up. On Meyer's website, it explains the idea for the series came to her in a dream...

Well, I've had my share of vampire dreams too, some of them quite amusing. This is one of my favorites, unfortunately, I don't think it would make for a best-selling YA series....

But I'll pitch it to you anyway....

The 1^st Law of Thermodynampires*

When 17-year-old Sadie** stumbles into a patch of freezing mist in an abandoned construction site, she finds herself transported to a realm untouched by time or entropy. She meets a pair of renegade physicists and soon learns that they've found a way to live outside the laws...of the physical universe!

Initially dazzled by their science, Sadie begins to realize that her hosts' hospitality isn't quite as generous as she thought. If all the data points towards a horrific hypothesis, can Sadie save herself from a chilling conclusion?

*I'm sure someone else has uttered/written/thought this before, but as far as Google knows, I just coined the term “thermodynampire!” Wohoo!

**Named for this guy, naturally.

***There'd be sequels, "The 2nd Law of Thermodynampires," "The 3rd Law..." etc.

Dystopian Desserts: Hot Milk Disaster Cake

Umm....



I can explain.....

Readings: The Starry Rift

The Starry Rift
edited by Jonathan Strahan

I enjoyed this collection of short sci-fi stories. I read it over the course of a month or so, picking it up when I had a bit of time. There's a wide range of styles, from an 'old-school' spaceship drama, to the tale of a genetically-altered-gorilla-boy trying to cling to the shreds of his internet-fame

My favorites in this collection included:

-"The Dust Assassin" by Ian McDonald (Mechanical monkey bodyguards!)

-"Incomers" by Paul McAuley (A mysterious man on the second largest moon of Saturn...)

-"The Surfer" by Kelly Link. (Surfing-messiah + pandemics + soccer + aliens)

I also enjoyed Neil Gaiman's, "Orange," which confirmed some of my suspicions about fake tans and "Ass-Hat Magic Spider," by Scott Westerfeld because the title made me laugh.

Landscaping: A Memoir

Some elements of the following story are true, some are not....

Landscaping: A Memoir

I always wanted a yard with a stream. Nothing fancy, just a little swath of cool running water full of shiny pebbles. I used to daydream about it. Life was pretty good, but it'd be even better with my own stream.

When my family moved into a new house, I was happy to find the yard had albino violets in the woods and garnet-mica-schist for my rock tumbler, but I was very disappointed at the lack of a stream.

After a few days, I decided to do something about the situation. I got the garden hose from the garage and dragged it to the top of a hill.

I turned the hose on full blast and let the water run through the orange-clay soil, dislodging scraggly clumps of grass that probably wouldn't have made it through the summer anyways.

After about 10 minutes, I had succeeded in making a mud puddle. I knew from a science show on public television that running water had created the Grand Canyon, I mean, it had probably taken a long time and all, maybe 30 years, but surely a measly stream could be created much faster...

Twenty minutes later, I was examining what appeared to be a large chunk of smoky quartz sticking out of the mud as the hose continued to pour water down the hill.

A foot wearing tennis shoes with rainbow shoelaces stomped into the puddle in front of me. Mud splashed into my face.

“Suffer my wrath!” bellowed my sister, jumping around like a deranged Iguanodon.

I washed off my face, and then I set the hose back to its task.

“What are you doing?” my sister asked, still stomping.

“Making a stream.”

She eyed me critically, “That doesn't sound very cool,” she said fiddling with one of the fluorescent ribbons on her black sweatsuit. Then she walked back to the house.

I turned once more to the chunk of smoky quartz I had found. I tried to pry it out of the ground, but it was too big, I couldn't grasp it. So I used my thumb to create a high-pressure stream of water from the hose and directed it at the sides of the rock. Soon it would be mine.

I was so involved in my labor, that I barely noticed when my sister returned, carrying a large bucket.

“This should help,” she said, dumping a pailful of water onto the ground.

Then everything started happening at once. The rock suddenly popped out of the mud, like a cork from a bottle. I caught it and fell backwards clutching it to my chest. The air swooshed eerily and the water began pouring into the space where the rock had been.

Then the ground started to get squishy and shaky and--

“SINKHOLE!” I screamed.

My sister and I turned around and ran all the way back to the garage.

When we reached the relative safety of the driveway we hazarded a glance behind us.

There was a gigantic chasm in the backyard.

“You are in so much trouble,” my sister muttered.

After the ground stopped shaking, she took a few steps towards the hole.

“No! Don't!” I said, holding her back, “There might be magma!”

My sister rolled her eyes, but stopped.

“What are you two doing out here?” my Mom asked, standing in the doorway of the garage, “Why was the ground shaking?”

“She made a--” my sister began.

“There's a sinkhole in the backyard," I finished.

“Did it swallow my garden?” my Mom asked in a scary, quiet voice.

“No, the garden's fine,” my sister replied.

My Mom mouthed a silent thank-you to the sky and then went back inside.

“What's that in your hand?” my sister asked.

In all the excitement, I had completely forgotten about the rock. Now I held it up, it was a smooth sphere of smoky quartz, about the size of a softball.

“Maybe if we put it back, the sinkhole will go away,” I suggested.

I handed the rock to my sister and she wound up her arm to pitch it into the chasm, but then she stopped.

“Nah. I kinda like it,” she said, shrugging.

“The rock? Or the sinkhole?”

“Both.”

One More....

I managed to leave off the best show from yesterday's post. Oops. I couldn't think of a suitable title.... Maybe you can?


UNTITLED PROJECT

So, you'd flip through the channels on the T.V. and come across a dramatic argument between Roman Senators, or wide-angle shots of a dying cowboy dragging himself through a dusty canyon, or space aliens subtly taking over the Earth while no one's paying attention. Or maybe it's not a show at all, but a commercial for a new hair care product, or a public service announcement. And maybe you're not watching T.V. but a movie preview, or a video on the web. Anyways, no matter what you're watching, at some point a cat would enter the scene, in the background or foreground, and then......

BOING!!!

Shows I Would Like to See

Tragically, these shows exist only in my dreams... I think...


1. Sparticle
-This movie would be a lot like the movie, Spartacus, except instead of slaves rebelling in Ancient Rome, it'd be about theoretical shadow particles trying to escape from a particle accelerator in Switzerland.

2. Dance of Power
-This reality show would force political hopefuls to learn complicated dance routines and then judge them on their abilities and grace. Home audiences would vote off the least coordinated, or least creative contestant each week. In a stunning twist on the season finale, the winning contestant would become the next president of the US. The masses would be entertained, and the art of dancing would finally be restored to its rightful status in the geo-political sphere.

3.Turing's Angels
-This sit-com would focus on a newly formed computer club at a nursing home. The club-members are eager to learn more about technology, but their only teacher is a one-legged con-woman who's never actually used a computer in her life. In a haze of befuddlement and confusion, the computer club accidentally creates a sophisticated A.I. that exhibits astounding superhuman intelligence. However, due to a complicated carbon-sensitive mechanism, the A.I. refuses to function when any being under the age of 84.657 is within 15 meters.

Happy Anniversary!

Today's the 4th Anniversary of the day my husband and I got our marriage certificate (we had the celebration a few months later...).

I couldn't find the right sort of card at the store, even though the greeting card companies promised me that they can anticipate my every emotion and sentiment...

But can they?

Can they really?

Then why couldn't I find this at the store?

A Good Thing....

Nighmares: The Goggle Shoppe

Iris wanted a new pair of goggles. She had gone to a sports store, but the clerk wouldn't let her try them on.

“But you see,” Iris had argued “My eye sockets are unusually deep, most goggles leak. I really need to see if they fit.”

“I wish I could help you, but it's store policy. We aren't allowed to take anything out of the package,” the clerk had replied.

“Do you know of any place that would let me try on some goggles?” Iris had asked, leaning on the counter.

The clerk's eyes darted from side to side. Then he leaned over the counter and spoke in a confidential tone:

“Well, I really shouldn't be saying this, but there is this one place you could try.....”

Iris had followed the clerk's directions and ended up in front of what appeared to be a crumbling strip mall. Weeds and vines covered most of the storefronts. Deep potholes pocked the surface of the parking lot. Iris wondered if the clerk had been playing a trick on her.

She had half a mind to turn around and go home, but gas was expensive these days and she figured she might as well go peer in the windows.

Iris got out of her car and approached the storefront that seemed to be in the best state of repair. She paused at the door and wiped a thick layer of dust off the sign. Engraved in tarnished brass were the words:

GOGGLE SHOPPE

She held up her hand, but before she could knock, the door opened.

“Welcome, goggle-seeker,” a low, thick voice greeted her.

Iris stepped inside and gasped. The shop was bright and well-kept. The walls were covered in rows and rows of shiny, new goggles. Sparkling glass cases held antique goggles, and goggles made out of precious metals.

“This...this place is...” Iris stammered, “Wow.”

“Indeed,” said the proprietor, a tall man with a swimmer's physique, “Can I help you find something? A pair of goggles, perhaps?”

“Y-yes. But I need a p-pair that won't leak. My eyes....they're shaped kinda funny.”

“Ah, yes,” the man said, motioning her over to a shelf of goggles, “They're very deep-set.”

The shop-keeper handed Iris a pair of goggles.

“Try these,” he said.

Iris put on the goggles. They fit fairly well. But still...

“You're worried they'll leak,” the shop-keeper surmised from her expression.

“It's just that....I've never had a pair of goggles that didn't leak.”

“Well, why don't you try them out?” the man led Iris to a large tank of water on the other side of the store.

“Oh.. just....like, put my face in the water?”

The man nodded.

“Ok,” Iris pulled her hair into a ponytail and then cautiously put her face in the tank. After a few seconds, water began to trickle into the goggles from a small leak near her brow-bone. She pulled out of the water.

The shop-keeper frowned. He retrieved two other pairs for Iris to try. Both leaked as well. Finally, he took out a small key, and opened one of the glass cases that contained the premium goggles.

“Oh no...I don't think I could afford anything from...”Iris began, but the shop-keeper waved his hand.

“This pair isn't locked up because it's expensive...” he said removing an ordinary-looking pair of goggles.

“Then...why?”

“These are the...the strongest goggles. The suction is too strong for most swimmers.”

“They sound perfect for me!”

The shop-keeper smiled crookedly.

“Maybe,” he said.

When Iris reached for the goggles, the shop-keeper didn't let go immediately. She gave him a puzzled look.

“Are you sure you want to try them on?”

“I'm desperate for a pair of goggles that won't leak!”

“Well, they definitely won't leak...”

Iris pulled the goggles from his hands and put them on. She dunked her head once more into the water. No water dripped in. She shook her head around underwater, but still, there were no leaks. She pulled her head out of the water and grinned at the shop-keeper.

“They're great!”

He nodded...”Just be careful how you take them--”

But his warning came too late... Iris had taken off the goggles....and her eyes with them.

On the bright side, she never needed to go goggle shopping again.....

Of Birds and Algorithms

Me: I don't want to write about the birds. This journal's called TragiCOMIC tales, and there's just nothing comic about a crippled bird* or a tiny robin egg on the ground.

N: (laughs)

Me: There's nothing funny about dead birds!

N: (continues laughing)

Me: Why are you laughing?

N: My brain is done. Hey... you should look up the..thing of the...thing.

Me: WHAT?

N: You know the...thing of the...

*** 5 minutes later*****

Me: The etymology of "algorithm**?"

N: Yeah. It's a stupid word. It doesn't look real.




*Contrary to what this post would have you believe, I don't actually hate birds.

**Etymology

Cautionary Tales: The Little Potato Masher

My husband said I should write a fairy tale, I can't imagine he was expecting this....

The Little Potato Masher

Pearl was the best potato masher in town, maybe even the universe. No tuber was safe from the wrath of her unfailing arm.

One day, while Pearl was mercilessly smashing a pile of boiled sweet potatoes, a tiny voice spoke up:

“Please,” the voice begged, “Take pity on an old soul! Pray do not mash me!”

“I must be mad,”Pearl said to herself, “for it seems as though a potato is speaking to me. Maybe mashing for 9 hours straight was a bad idea ”

“You are not mad, child,” the voice answered, “and I am not a potato. Come closer and you will see my true form.”

Pearl peered into the pile of peels and she saw a small orange creature that truly was not a potato.

“So it is not a potato, but rather a carrot that speaks to me,” Pearl mused, rubbing her eyes with a starchy hand.

The carrot sighed loudly.

“Sure, sure, whatever, I'm a carrot fairy. Hold my hand and I'll grant you a wish.”

Pearl took the carrot fairy's delicate hand and closed her eyes to make a wish. When she opened her eyes, she found herself in a strange land with purple grass so bright it burnt her retinas.

“This isn't what I wished for,” Pearl said.

“No? Well, I'm not really a carrot fairy.”

“Oh,” Pearl said, disappointed, “Do real carrot fairies grant wishes?”

The orange being glared at her, “Idiot,” it muttered.

Pearl opened her mouth to complain but a deep rumbling shook the earth beneath her feet and made the purple grass tremble.

“What's that?” asked Pearl.

“That,” said the orange creature, “is the reason I brought you here. You see, my people are embroiled in a violent political conflict with....deep roots.”

With that, the creature winked and disappeared, leaving Pearl alone with her masher as an army of raging potatoes burst from the dirt beneath her feet.

Moral: You can't trust your vegetables, so you might as well eat them.

Dystopian Desserts: Cookies made from Cookie-Dough Ice Cream

I know I'm not the first to think of this, but I had to try it for myself....

Chocolate-Chip Cookies Made from Chocolate-Chip-Cookie-Dough Ice Cream....

Step 1: Harvest globs of cookie dough from your favorite cookie-dough ice cream (I used Breyer's), if you do not have a cookie-dough extractor, I suggest using a common spoon for this step.

Step 2: Let the ice cream melt off, or hasten the process by rinsing your dough in some water. Make sure you preheat the oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit, the temperature that books--I mean, cookies bake.


Step 3: Squish the dough and place on an un-greased baking sheet. I lined the sheet with parchment paper because it makes clean-up a breeze and allows me to get rid of incriminating family documents from the Medieval period.



Step 4: Bake for 7 minutes. I found that the cookies did not smell very much like cookies, and the taste reminded me of stale pancakes with generic, non-maple-flavored syrup.


Bleh! A dystopian dessert indeed! I recommend just eating the Cookie-Dough Ice Cream as is, or, better yet, forget the Cookie-Dough Ice Cream altogether, and get a superior flavor, such as Mint Chocolate Chip.

I can hear black holes....

Can you?

Do you lie awake at night, wondering if that ringing in your ears is actually the collision of two black holes somewhere out there in the vast expanse of space?

Wonder no more! Now you can play Black Hole Hunter , an online game that will not only teach you how to detect the sounds of various black hole collisions, but also how to sneak up on them and KILL THEM.

Ok...so maybe not that last part...but I can dream...

Ananomal Cracker

The Ananomal Cracker: A Fairy Tale

“Well, my theory begins with a group of scientists developing a network of nanobots. These nanobots are designed to go into bodies and reanimate dead tissue. So, say you have a frost-bitten hand, you'd inject a legion of nanobots into your wrist and these little robots would busy themselves repairing your cells, restoring circulation, etc.

Anyways, the scientists underestimate the learning potential of these nanobots and before long they go about reproducing and re-organizing themselves into a hierarchical structure-”

“The scientists?”

“No, the nanobots! One night, the nanobots escape from the lab and head out into the world to seek their fortunes. Eventually, some of them end up in a bag of animal crackers, and they go about animating the animals, springing them from their cages.”

“That's crazy.”

“No, that's why there are so many empty cages in this bag of animal crackers.”

“I'm sure there's a simpler explanation.”

“But not a better one.”

“Actually, the simplest explanation is usually the best.... For example, isn't it more likely that a higher proportion of cage shaped crackers happened to be slipped into your bag in the factory?”

“But-”

“Of course an even simpler possibility is that you just made the whole thing up. You finished the bag rather quickly and there are no crackers left as evidence.”

“Actually...”

“What?”

“There's Leopold.”

“Leo-what?”

“Nevermind. You wouldn't understand.”

“It's late, I'm going to get some sleep.”

-----

“Is he gone yet?” whispered the small sugary lion perched on my collar.

“Yeah, Leopold, he's gone.”

“You shouldn't have told him.”

“Don't worry, he thinks I made everything up.”

“Still, I don't think the world is ready to accept intelligent animal crackers.”

“But you're so small and harmless!”

“But our existence threatens their sanity!”

I shook my head in disgust. Something fell to the floor. My heart froze....Leopold.

I waited to see if the nanobots could restore him, but his crumbs stayed where they had fallen.

There was nothing else to do but get the vacuum cleaner....

5 Things I Learned Today

Between dance classes, I spent some time getting to know more about computers.

Here is a list of things I learned:

1. ESD bracelets + live CRT monitor= DEATH!!!

2. Long hair can easily get charged, so don't rub your hair all over the motherboard. (Even if you REALLY want to.)

3. It's probably not a good idea to let your cat sit inside an opened computer case, even if her name is IO and she thinks she belongs there.

Pretend the laundry basket is a computer

4. If your monitor has a funny tint, there's probably a bent prong somewhere

5. Computer people love acronyms

The Parasites Made Me Do It: Library Cats

While I was at my tiny local library today, I came across something that astounded me. An entire shelving unit in the Mysteries section crammed with what I can only assume were "Cat Detective" books.


That Toxoplasma gondii parasite must be more widespread than I thought.
This headline from ABC News confirms my greatest fears:

CAT PARASITE AFFECTS EVERYTHING WE FEEL AND DO *


Well, jeez. Finding out we have no Free Will is bad enough, finding out that our once proud species is nothing but a pawn for a cat's parasite...that's just...depressing. But enough of the pity party... Let's look at the bright side, at least now we know the meaning of life!

The meaning of life is: TO MAKE KITTIES HAPPY!! YAY!

This kitty is not happy, please give her some catnip

In light of these revelations, I suggest that one measly shelving unit of Feline-Mysteries is not enough. We've got to put the CAT back into the Library CATalogue.

Here are some books by writers who are doing their part to help the human race accept its humble role in the ecosystem:


1. YOUR CAT'S JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU: "WHAT PART OF MEOW DIDN'T YOU UNDERSTAND?" by Richard Smith
-Includes 'kitty IQ quizzes,' and recommends leaving "affectionate notes in the kitty litter" as a great way to suck up to your cat (and come in contact with the parasite in its feces!!) There is even a picture of a litter box on the cover. Mr. Smith, you really GET IT, don't you?

2. CAT HISS-TORY: A FELINE TOUR THROUGH THE AGES by Frederica Templeton
-We all know that History is usually written for men, by men, about men. Fortunately, the writer of this book aims to correct that. It'd be even better if she were a cat.

3. THE WARRIORS SERIES by Erin Hunter
-What kind of Warriors you ask? WARRIOR CATS of course. This YA series follows a "pet cat" who joins a feral cat gang called the Thunderclan and learns to become a fearsome warrior. If you check out the reviews, the readers LOVE this series. On the UK site, they say they love it more than Harry Potter. Well, of course they do, Harry Potter wasn't a cat.


*The linked article does not live up the the hysteria-inducing title

Parasites vs Language

"Can parasites influence the language we speak?"

That headline from NewScientist.com's feed sure caught my eye today. Is there anything a parasite can't do?

Unfortunately(?), after reading the article, I found out the situation was much less dramatic than I first imagined. The idea being that humans in tropical areas tended to stay in their own villages instead of taking the risk of making contact with different groups. (Contact often had undesirable side effects, such as death from foreign viruses or unfriendly parasites). Since the eco-system in the tropics could provide enough resources, villages didn't feel the need to get to know their neighbors' parasites or their language.

Farther away from the equator, humans had to risk the interaction, due to the scarcity of resources. This led to larger language groups.

So, if you speak an endangered (or extinct) language, you may feel compelled to curse a few parasites, but it's not as though they are kicking back in a comfy neuron-chair in your brain, laughing wickedly at all the embarrassing things they make you say....

Not according to my resident parasites anyway....

Tourists

Crunch. The screaming stopped. Fredwin wiped his mouth on his sleeve and sat down on the straggly green plant that covered the ground. The rest of the tour group followed suit and sprawled out, patting their bellies, smiling in satisfaction under the weak light of a lone sun.

Except for Damuel, Damuel was coughing. Choking? Fredwin hurried over to him and punched him heartily in the diaphragm.

Damuel spat out a small shiny thing. “Thanks,” he said to Fredwin, “That must have gone down the wrong pipe.”

“What is that thing?” asked Slymi, squatting down to get a better look.

“Oh!” cried Elizar, her small hands moving wildly, “I think I know! It's one of those...thingies. You know it's one of those...umm...”

Fredwin sighed. His associate Elizar knew a lot about alien technology, unfortunately, she didn't know a lot of, well, words.

“I've got it!” Elizar exclaimed, “It's some kind of recorder!”

She said the last word in one of the breathy native languages of the planet.

“A musical instrument,” Damuel read from the small screen of his translator, “Sometimes known as a fipple flute.”

“No, no, no, no,” said Elizar, “Your translator must be wrong. This thing, it records images...and sound. I think you can play them back on a different whatchamacallit. Or sometimes...” Elizar picked up the recorder and turned it around in her hands, she coaxed out a small screen with a delicate claw and then pressed a button. The recorder made a whirring noise.

Damuel jumped back.

“Sometimes,” Elizar continued, “you can watch it right on the...the camera! That's it! The..the.. video camera! That's what they call it.”

The whirring sound stopped. Elizar motioned the others to move closer to the screen. She pressed another button and familiar images filled the screen.

“Look!” cried Slymie, “It's our food!” The tour group watched their recent meal sit around and communicate with each other in their breathy tones.

“What are they doing now?” Damuel wondered, as the aliens on the screen threw around a bright green disk. Fredwin saw the disk out of the corner of his eye and picked it up off the ground. He held it in his hands as they watched the next part of the tape.

“Hey! Look! There's our ship!” Cheers and hoots sprang up from the crowd.

“Haha! Take that!” The aliens in the video began to make a shrill, keening sound as they were picked off one by one.

"Helloooo Lunch!"

“Oh right, like that tiny weapon can save you!”

“Oh, hey! It's my mouth! Wow, my acid-sacks look really big from this angle.” Damuel said.

“This must be the part where you eat that one alien,” Slymie commented.

“You think?” Damuel replied rolling his eyes. The image went dark but tinny crunching and gurgling sounds emanated from the screen. Then, with a big thud, the screen showed scraggly green plants and dirt. Elizar pressed a button and the screen went dead.

“Can we keep it?” Damuel asked.

Fredwin nodded his head. This could only help his tour business. He'd make it part of the premium package and charge twice as much. Who wouldn't want such an amusing souvenir from their exotic dining trip?

As they crowded around the camera, Fredwin pulled Elizar aside.

“I want more of those, can you get them?” he asked.

Elizar nodded, “It should be easy. From what I've read, they have these things, called..umm. I don't remember, but they're places you can go and buy cameras and other stuff.”

Fredwin laughed, “I don't think you'll have to buy them.”

“True.” Elizar grinned and wandered off towards a large clump of alien buildings.

Fredwin smiled. His business was about to take off in a big way, he could just smell it. As the tourists giggled over the recorded images of their dinner once more, he took the green disk in his hands and attempted to throw it like the aliens in the video. It wobbled and fell to the ground.

He walked over to it, and stomped it into the mud.

Glasshouse, by Charles Stross

You know what they say, "If you live in a glasshouse, don't throw stones....because the glasshouse might actually be a large experimental society floating in space and the people running the experiment will deduct from your score."

Er...that is what they say...isn't it?

"You've just spent an entire prehistoric human lifetime as an ice ghoul and people are needling you for having too many arms?" I shake my head. "I just assume you have a good reason."

The first chapter of Glasshouse gave me an extreme case of time-shock. At its basic level, the beginning of the book is boy meets girl with a duel to the death thrown in for a little action. Except that this is the 27th century, so things are a bit more complicated if you are not familiar with the rampant body-swapping, the robotic killer wasp-viruses, the persona back-ups, and the memory-erasing that is fairly commonplace in the future.

"...yes, maybe I was a tank. If so, at one time I guarded a critical network gate."

Robin and Kay decide to take part in an experimental society where they will be given new physical bodies and live for three years as if they are in the Dark Ages. Oh, and by "Dark Ages," they mean (you guessed it) OUR TIME. Robin vows to find Kay inside the experiment. Of course this is somewhat complicated by the fact that Robin (who is usually male, but has been a female a few times in the past, as well as a TANK) is given a female body and has to deal with the rigid conventions and rules placed on him/her by the experimenters.

"MINUS TEN POINTS FOR PUBLIC NUDITY."

The subjects are compelled to follow the norms of the Dark Ages society by a devious point system that awards or deducts points to individuals, couples, and small groups. At 'Church" the small groups meet and they can award or deduct points to other groups based on their behavior. As one character puts it: "It's an iterated prisoner's dilemma scenario, with collective liability."
This leads to 'score whores,' mobs, violence, and murder.


While reading, I enjoyed the portions of Glasshouse that took place...well..in the Glasshouse. The paranoia and the mystery of the experiment were much more engaging than the flashbacks to the censorship wars, the Linebarger Cats, and the tanks... Those sections lost me in a few places (maybe if I had known more about networks and computer viruses, things would have been different).