Ravan's Rants

Finally!

Sat, 05 Jul 2008 00:17:33 GMT

Ding, dong, the sonofabitch is dead!!

Jesse Helms is one old racist, sexist and homophobic bigot who won't be missed, except maybe by his closest kin and those of like mind.

I hated him while he lived, and the only good words I have to say now is that he's dead. If his religion's heaven exists, he won't get in. Jesus of Nazareth would have kicked his ass.

He had too much influence for far too long, and it will take decades to undo the damage his poison has wrought on this nation.

Fairies, Ch 4 - Peter Hunting

Sun, 29 Jun 2008 08:10:26 GMT

It was actually a week before I got chance to go back to what had come to be called the "Peter Bunker". Only two others with me this time - Chaz and Kraff. Chaz because he's a walking cargo hauler, and Kraff because he's best with a snare and noose.

Now, we still foraged greens and all, and shot whatever we could on the way, but we still made a beeline for the bunker.

When we arrived, it was still before mid-day, and we took the time to look it over well. The peters were still there, and we got a few that didn't get inside fast enough. Those were our lunch.

The bunker was partially overgrown with ivy and other bushes, but we still could find only one door. The windows were narrow, and had been glazed with glass on mesh. Most of it was cracked out, of course, but a regular person still couldn't fit into the window wells. The window casings were iron anyway. The madestone had chipped away somewhat in a few places, revealing the heavy iron mesh that gave it its strength from within.

From a magical viewpoint, the thing looked like a vortex of blankness among the fairly alive forest around it. The peters couldn't be seen until they were outside it, it hid them so well. They weren't affected by the seeming darkness, apparently.

Chaz, of course, didn't want to get near the thing. The kid may be a little bit oblivious to lore about the ancients, but he always learns well from his own experiences. He and Kraff set to laying snares near the peters' exit points, while I took a closer look at the door.

Yes, I walked up to that damned door. It fascinated me. I had chowed down on a healthy bit of peter for lunch, so my reserves were up. I had my wood and stone picks with me, as well as my best insulating gloves. Chaz and Kraff thought I was nuts.

I must have spent over an hour studying that door. Hell, it took a chunk of that time just to be able to differentiate the fittings! It was that *dark*, like the reverse of looking straight into the sun. I finally got to the point where I could discern the shades of black - and the minute variations in energy that it had.

Then, I gave myself a headache - I tried to pick the lock, in the usual way. You know, with picks and a little magic on the parts? Not a good idea. I ended up damn near falling down the hill, with Chaz and Kraff laughing at me. I mean, yeah, looking back on it it was a funny, dumbass stunt, but I only had ever been taught the one way to pick locks!

I marched back up the hill all pissed off, and gave the damned door a good swift kick with my heavy boots. It made a booming thud, my foot felt numb, and about a dozen or so peters came scampering out, straight into the snares. Needless to say, Chaz and Kraff stopped laughing and set about gathering the peters.

After my foot regained its sensation, we headed back to camp. My head hurt like I'd smacked it into the damn madestone wall, but I had a brainload of sensation to think about. That and my stubborn had been tripped - I wanted into that damn bunker.

Meme

Thu, 19 Jun 2008 20:27:34 GMT

Yet another personality test:

Advanced Global Personality Test Results

Extraversion	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	46%
Stability	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	42%
Orderliness	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	46%
Accommodation	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	62%
Interdependence	\|\|\|\|\|\|	23%
Intellectual	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	66%
Mystical	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	90%
Artistic	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	63%
Religious	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	70%
Hedonism	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	83%
Materialism	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	83%
Narcissism	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	36%
Adventurousness	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	36%
Work ethic	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	56%
Humanitarian	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	76%
Conflict seeking	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	56%
Need to dominate	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	63%

Romantic	\|\|	10%
Avoidant	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	63%
Anti-authority	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	76%
Wealth	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	43%
Dependency	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	36%
Change averse	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	56%
Cautiousness	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	70%
Individuality	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	50%
Sexuality	\|\|	10%
Peter pan complex	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	36%
Family drive	\|\|	10%
Physical Fitness	\|\|	%
Histrionic	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	70%
Paranoia	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	63%
Vanity	\|\|\|\|\|\|	30%
Honor	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	50%
Thriftiness	\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|\|	63%

Take Free Advanced Global Personality Test
personality test by similarminds.com

Blog Like Its the End of the World Day, 2

Sat, 14 Jun 2008 01:05:19 GMT

So I exited in Los Gatos, hoping to head for Highway 9. Drove a through Los Gatos, which was pretty empty, but with lots of dismembered Zombies and fires around. It looked like a war zone. Turned up Highway 9, and *poof* there's a roadblock. Great. Guys in bunny suits, and SWAT teams with shotguns.

A heavyset cop (sheriff?) came sauntering up, and made motions that I needed to roll down my window. Yeah, right. So I can be a snack? I used a piece of paper and wrote "Prove you're not a Zombie!!" He laughed, waved me beyond the roadblock, and walked up with a shotgun and a torch. He made motions for me to roll down the window again.

Fuck. I complied. He chuckled and said "The damned things aren't too bright, and can't seem to handle anything with fire. You passed the IQ test. Where are you headed?"

"I'm hoping to find somewhere to bunker up up in the hills."

"Got an address? Got any firearms? Got a plan?"

"No, no, and sort of." He made like to touch the goop on my truck "Hey, don't touch that without gloves!"

He gave me the stinkeye. "Why not?"

"It's zombie blood, and I figure this thing is spread by contact with bodily fluids - spit, blood, etc - of infected victims. I haven't had chance to bleach down my truck after splattering a few."

He actually looked at me with some respect "You a doctor?"

I laughed "No, I just have some sense."

"But no guns. No ammo. Any fuel?"

"Like for torches? A little." I hedged. I didn't want to get my stuff confiscated.

"OK, here's the deal. The federal government, and fucking FEMA, have gone dark, or are chasing their tails. I heard that Obama was blasting the things with a shotgun in Ohio. I'm sure the Washington bigwigs are all nice and safe in bunkers somewhere, until this crap dies out. The state goverment is in even worse shape. The internet is up, probably because geeks tend to put their gear in bunkers. The phone net is down."

A security guard came trotting up, probably to check that the cop was OK. "Hey, I know you!! SiliCon! How the fuck did you get out of downtown San Jose? That place is crawling with brain munchers."

I pointed down at my truck "Four wheel drive, and they're just another speed bump." Datapard rolled her eyes, and looked disgusted. The cop and my friend Fred from SF&F cons laughed. "OK, so that's the global situation. What about here?" I asked, getting antsy.

They stopped laughing. "We know most of the defensible spots in these hills. We've got teams cleaning them out, or setting them up. We are outnumbered, understaffed, and need folks with a fucking clue." the cop said.

I got a sinking feeling in my stomach. He looked at me, Datapard, and my truck. "I'm afraid you're drafted."

I grimaced. "Fat chance of me doing any good." I tapped the disabled placard hanging from my mirror "We're both gimps."

"We need brai... er... horse sense more than we need grunt labor." my friend said. Shit.

The cop continued "Fred, why don't you ride with them to HQ, get them started helping with decontamination." Fred nodded.

"There's no guarantee that bleach will kill the stuff." I warned. "It may be that only incineration will destroy it."

"Yeah, well we've learned that geeks and Sci Fi people are really inventive when it comes to dealing with stuff, and we all need to work togather if we're gonna make it." He paused "Just so you know, the mayor, the city council, and the chief of police all got infected earlier this morning. Our force is front line sworn officers, the few national guard types that are stuck in the area, the off-duty fire department, any rent-a-cop we can find, and a few survivalists that were down in town. When it went out over radio what we were up against, and how to identify them, we evacuated the uninfected the best we could, and torched a chunk of Los Gatos."

My gut clenched. That was not good. He continued "On the bright side, we have a ton of weapons, a buttload of ammo, and some bright folks."

I sighed, and unlocked the door so Fred could climb in. "OK, OK. Might as well do what we can." After Fred got in, I locked the doors again. The cop handed me his shotgun, a bag of ammo, and headed back toward the roadblock. I passed the gun and ammo to Datapard, and rolled the window back up. "Fred, is there really any hope? Or is this more chicken shit?"

Fred grinned "That guy is in my gaming group. He has put half this shit together, just on brass balls alone. We'll make it, I hope."

Datapard started to cry.

John "Bush Lite" McCain

Fri, 13 Jun 2008 21:50:24 GMT

Is it me, or does McCain look half dead already? He has that malnourished, last legs look.

Blog Like Its the End of the World Day

Fri, 13 Jun 2008 19:23:56 GMT

I got up late this morning. Not unusual. I logged on to my computer to read email before going to work.

Holy shit.

Now, some people on my f-list are zombie obsessed. Others are survivalists. But when even the sane ones are going "Zombies! OMG!", there's something going on. So I dragged datapard out of bed, made her turn on the news.

They were reporting "riots" in the entire Bay Area. Uh, huh. Saying to "stay inside, don't interfere with law enforcement, blah, blah."

Bullshit. Time to boogie.

Grab the cats, the cash, the bugout bags, the camping gear, the gloves, the bleach, the water, the swords, the crossbow, and lots of hand tools. Get it loaded into my new truck. Go back in for heavy leather jackets and helmets. Grab the extra propane tanks for the grill, and all of the spare lamp oil, plus the two bolts of muslin. Datapard loads up the sodas and food, too. Damn, this takes forever.

One of the neighbor kids starts toward us, and he looks, well, dead. I don't know whether it's drugs or zombification, but I'm not waiting to find out. I crush his skull with one of the quarterstaves. Then I take bleach, while in gloves, and wipe it down.

As we finish loading what we have, three more come out of the community center across the street. Yelling at Datapard to get in, I start up the truck. She futzes with her seatbelt with the door open. I yell at her to close the damn door, and hit the powerlocks when she does. Flipped a U-turn, ran over the zombies. That is such a sick crunching sound. One was still moving. Backed over him, then took off. Datapard is in shock.

I filled up on Wednesday, but I figure to see if I can top off at a gas station. It hasn't blown up yet, and the ATM pump thing is working. datapard heads toward the inside to get a soda before I can stop her. Fortunately, another "patron" starts shuffling out, and she runs back to the truck.

Thing is, where to go? East is east side, lots of stupid people zombified. Same with west. Santa Cruz mountains, or Sierras.

Screw it, head for Highway 17, maybe take 9.

I have to run over about 10 more on my way to the freeway. So much for my paint job. I'm hoping I can find an auotomated car wash somewhere, to get the ichor off my truck. Otherwise, we'll have to be real careful and wash it with bleach when we stop.

KGO seems to be off the air - just the emergency thing going off. No traffic reports today.

Well, at least Kucinich had the balls to do it.

Tue, 10 Jun 2008 17:20:09 GMT

Articles of Impeachment of G.W. Bush

Fairies, Ch 3 - Hunting party

Tue, 10 Jun 2008 01:28:14 GMT

So, we were running low on chow, we had gotten no happy fun missions from the higher ups, and our area was fairly quiet. So, bring the ~~worst troublemakers~~ most subject to boredom individuals on the hunt.

Now, the flatlands are deadlands, for the most part. That's where the ancients lived, building their cities from madestone, pitch and steel. From the tops of the taller mountains you can see the crumbling ruins, some being choked by plants, others still sterile without growth. The new peoples and such live in the hills, valleys, gullies, bogs, mountains and other places where things grow but line of sight isn't far. Yes, we're starting to reclaim some of the flatlands at the foothills, but it's slow going.

Now, some of the areas below the foothills hills are pretty lush, and have a lot of wildlife, but not a lot of sentient life - not even new forms. Too close to the iron and rust of the ancients. If you can stand the magical damping, such areas make a pretty good hideout, and a fairly decent hunting ground. Most folk can't stay there for long, though. We only needed food.

I had Chaz, Shandi, Trello, Desin, Vanya and Kraff with me. Shandi is the troop who is apparently starting to differentiate. I wanted to get some last arrow work out of her before I had to ship her back rearward. That and getting her away from camp might slow it down. I know I needed the change of scenery.

Now, when we go hunting, we also forage for plant matter too. We're not trolls, who can't really get by on fruits, nuts and leaves in a pinch. However, if we are going to be doing a lot of magic? We need meats and fat. So we all had weapons, forage bags and game bags. Because we were headed downhill, we started finding some nice greens. Yes, we ate as much as we could, as well as stuff our bags. I even detailed Trello and Desin to store them high so we could grab them on the way back. But no good herbivores. We spotted a yote, but it's a carnivore, and most of us can't eat that. I do have one troop that I swear is half troll - he can eat nearly anything that was once alive.

So we ended up going farther than we had expected to, looking for a bambi or some peters. We finally spotted some signs of peters after noon. Since we'd been eating all along, we didn't stop, just went toward where they seemed to be.

Well, we found them, all right. A whole den of big, fat and happy ones. Problem was, they were living in a locked up madestome and iron shack - an Ancients cache. We shot the few we saw outside, but they had apparently learned the hard way that when there are predators around, you need to go through the small holes in the building for safety.

Now Chaz is big, strong, woodswise and a good hunter. But when it comes to ancient stuff and thinking things through? A dessicated treezan is probably smarter. So Chaz, before I could stop him, decided to break down the door of the shack. You know, the door that *hadn't* succumbed to the elements already? The one made of mostly iron?

Yeah, he tried to break down an Ancient iron door, with a wooden staff and his bulk.

Now, every one of us has some magic. Some have a lot less, others a lot more. Chaz has less, and what he has goes toward keeping his limbs all going in the same direction. Direct contact with ancient cold iron has a really funny effect on him - it drops him in a twitching tangle of limbs. He bounced off of the door and lay there twitching.

None of the others were thinking well enough to haul him away, so I did. Oh, hell, I felt like I had just run up a hill when I bumped into that door. Chaz was friggin heavy when I dragged him, too, but at least the twitching stopped.

Those damned peters would have been laughing at us if they were new forms or altered. As it was, they all scampered in and stayed.

While Chaz recovered his consciousness and coordination, we tried luring the damn peters out. Tasty vegetables? Nope. Fresh water? Nope. Vanya even tried reaching in through the small holes/slits in the sides of the shack for them, and just got drained, scraped, and a few peter bites for his trouble.

Now, it was getting late, but no one wanted to give up. We'd gotten a few peters, so the trip wasn't a total waste. Finally, I decided to mark the place, and come back when we figured out how to deal with the thing. The trip back was uneventful, and we arrived back at a little after sundown with full forage bags, a few peters, and a hell of a story.

What surprised me, though, was that I didn't get nearly as tapped out by the iron as the others. They told me in school that I had no talent as an artificer, so I don't really understand why I wasn't sapped too.

Even now, I can see in my minds eye the door, and the fact that there was so little energy in it, less than the rocks themselves. Everything else glows with manna, but the iron was darker than anything I've seen before, darker than a moonless night. Dark like the dead city just a way down the river, in the flat land, that I saw from my instructor's mountaintop. I always wondered why magic teachers like Mage Master Josmith wanted high mountains for their schola - besides to make students climb to get there.

But it wasn't *totally* dark. Which is not what I was told as a child - "Iron is dead. No manna can be read." goes the rhyme.

That I needed to ask Master Josmith.

Fairies, Ch 2b. - REMF gripes

Fri, 06 Jun 2008 22:52:23 GMT

The more I think about it, the more those REMFs bug me. One of them was middle-aged, differentiated, and wore a dwarven-made sword worth at least two years' pay. Yet he was slack, he moved like an poleaxed ox, and he wore his expensive blade like a raw recruit! Some of them had been in the field once, as grunts, but apparently climbed into the officer ranks behind the fighting lines. Political crap and ass-kissing, throwing their weight around out here on our frontier.

See, there are only two ways to make raw iron into a sword that a mage can use: an artificer or a dwarf craftsman. Both involve magic of a particular type to make the iron carry manna. The artisan trade secrets are closely kept, and the dwarves have the blood talent to work anything non-living. Either one is very expensive, even for a small dagger.

Most dwarves can only work stuff that never was alive - stone and metal. The really talented ones can work stuff that was once alive, but is now dead - aged wood and bone. Every once in a while you see a dwarven-elven cross - they usually have dwarven talents or elven talents, neither in any measure, or (rarely) both. The ones that have both, if they work at it, are very, very, very deadly. If a stumpy looking elf looks at someone, mutters something, and the other person turns to stone? Be really, really polite. It's half dwarf, and has both talents. They also tend to be recluses, fortunately.

So the guy was rich, slack, politically connected, and a sneering jerk, looking down his nose at the undifferentiated career military field officer. I'm lucky my dad warned me about the type, I kept my temper and didn't stake him out as bait for fairies and arachneans. Differentiation is supposed to mellow out abrasive traits, so I wonder what he was like before, and how his connections kept him from being fragged.

It looks like one of my troopers is starting to differentiate, too. She is starting to curve out, get broody, moody and acts like she's on the edge of going into heat. If she diffs, I have to ship her home, her front line military career pretty much over. Arggh - one of my best archers, too. She was lusting after the rich slack-hide, too. Ewwww.

Sometimes combat stress can bring early diff, but so can certain spells. Since unnecessary magic is prohibited in a forward unit, I suspect stress. I have to hike away from camp, to the rear, and find a cave or something to do my diff delay spells in.

Now, the differentiation "experts" tell me that I should diff as a female. The thought is revolting. I wouldn't much want to diff male, either, because that brings other headaches. Now, supposedly they can just look at you and "tell", from your blood, but I wonder if it's more likely the magic of suggestion. I've heard mention from some of the most senior masters that a highly advanced and talented mage (read "very old") can change their diff, or even switch from one to the other. I guess it would aleviate boredom.... I'd rather stay as I am, thank you. I don't want to get stuck rear or retired so I can breed my "replacements times two."

Some days I wonder what the ancients worried about as they lie awake at night. History says they were born differentiated, but that near the Cataclysm the differentiation wasn't always working correctly. Maybe some leave I may have to sneak away into the deadlands and look for remnants. Maybe they kept journals, too. History classes always are so full of debate on the subject of their culture, the little details.

personality mememe

Thu, 05 Jun 2008 19:21:53 GMT

Fairies, Ch 2. - REMF visit

Thu, 05 Jun 2008 16:56:51 GMT

Hmmmm. Seems as if I need to find a different way to designate entries. This one is way too short for a whole chapter.

Today I had yet another round of officious twits with questions about the zoography of the known races. Some of these REMFs never get outside of their own comfort zone, and the safe areas, so they tend to look at even our allies as if they were some sort of freak show. They are "fascinated" by the different, the alien. Never mind that we are at war with most of these "others" for our very existence.

What's worse is they started questioning my "attitudes" about the opponents. "How come you know so much?", blah, blah. Idiots. Any good officer knows as much about his opposition and allies as he or she does about their own troops. It's my damned expertise, and I have a damned good ability to put together pieces of data gleaned from a lot of sources to get the whole picture.

One jackass even accused me of being "sympathetic". Idiot. Being without blind hatred on the battlefield makes you more effective - you don't have the blinders of rage and hate coloring your tactical assessment. "Don't you hate our enemies?" the slimebag asked. What could I say? My reply was simple "I have a strong dislike for anyone or anything that is trying to kill me or make it impossible for me and mine to live. Other than that, live and let live." The jerk didn't know what to say to that.

I don't give pre-battle "pep talks" full of vitriol about the enemy. I leave that crap to the propaganda pushers at home. I point out weaknesses, what to watch out for, and emphasize what our mission and goals are, and that we're plenty good enough to meet them. It's successful. I have a lower loss rate, and a better unit cohesion than many others of my rank. My team fights smart, not mad. We also can better work with our allies, long term or short term.

Still, the whole thing left a bad taste in my mouth, especially after they belittled the quality of the food we served them. Seriously, if you want haute cuisine when visiting a front line unit, you better bring it yourself. Otherwise, STFU.

That reminds me, I need to send out a hunting party tomorrow. Supplies are a bit thin. Maybe I'll even go with them - I need some pure hunting to get the bad taste of that meeting out of my mouth.

While we're supposed to be rotated homeward in under a month, I never believe it until we're there. I've been disappointed before. Still, I need to get back to where I can create without breaking the magical silence of a forward position. It's driving me nuts to only cast "necessary" combat magics.

Fairies, chapter 1 - Fairy wings

Wed, 04 Jun 2008 21:35:51 GMT

Triggered by this.

Ages ago, I had a dream sequence, and part of it related to "pulling wings off of fairies".

-------------------------

The war had gone on for ages now. No one remembered the start, or why, anymore. The trees, the vines, the land itself were all chosing sides.

The sides were not what one would think. There were elves, trolls, sprites, fairies, dryads, gremlins, firefliers, arachneans, and a lot of other species that had generated during the Diaspora. There were three main sides, but they shifted: the hominids, the altered, and the new forms.

The hominids were simple - elves, trolls, giants and the like. Some of the more extreme changes that still walked upright and didn't have extra limbs or weird sizes sometimes grouped in with us, sometimes with the altered. We didn't trust them, because of that.

The altered were things that sort of were hominids in origin once, but drifted to smaller, extra limbs, missing limbs, and seemed they were no longer a similar species. They say that the test is interfertility, but that doesn't always work between hominids. Besides, a troll making it with a fairy? Either splat or laughing. There is a severe parts incompatibility there. But some of the "we are all one" types say that we were all once "human".

Then there are the new forms. When a tree gets up and tries to stomp you into the dirt, that's a new form. A vine with eyes and tentacles in its leaves? A new form. The new forms are threatened by the hominids, they say. We will destroy them like we did in the past. We will eat them. There may be some truth to that. Everything has to eat, and we don't process dirt and micro-organisms as well as treezans do. The dryads manage by consuming the sheddings, excretions and dead falls of the treezans, but that doesn't work for elves and trolls. This is why the dryads, a mostly hominid altered form, are allied with the treezans - they have a symbiosis.

The centaurs are another group that waffles tribe by tribe. Trolls like horse meat (hell, damn near any meat), so they see centaurs as food. If you have allied centaurs, you have to keep watch on your trolls. Then again, a crazy, hungry troll at one of my own troop last year, and we had to hunt the bastard down. It's bad for morale if you have to worry about being eaten by your own side. Then again, that could be a large reason for the war: food, and who gets to eat who.

Now, once upon a time, when I was little, I thought fairies were the cutest thing. My dad had brought one home from the war, in a cage, for my mother. It was a royal fairy, with huge (relatively) wings, exquisitely patterned. Looked a little worse for wear, with some tears on its wings, but mom was thrilled, and nursed him back to health. Even us kids were fascinated. When it got stronger, we found out that he could pick locks. In retrospect, it was pretty obvious. My dad caught him, and held it by his wings until he passed out. Then he put him back in a bigger cage, and zap welded the door shut.

After that, it was a battle of wits between my dad and the fairy. He never would give any of us his use name, much less his Name - not even my mom. We kids called him "Royal" (yeah, I know, not very original). He even stung my mom on several occasions, and she thought he was beautiful, and did her best to pamper him. She even fed him some of her own blood, not just tree sap. I asked him why, once, a curious child. His reply? "Even a guilded cage is still a cage." It was years before I understood what he meant. Not long after that, mom found him dead in his cage, and we were never sure whether something killed him, or he killed himself.

Last week, we ended up striking into fairy territory, needing to thwart an expansion of fairywood treezans, dryads and fairies onto land we were trying to farm and cultivate non-sentient trees on. Ever get attacked by a swarm of bees? Take that, multiple it by thousands, and that's what a fairy strike is like. If enough can stab you or sting you, you end up paralysed or dead. We made sure to bring with us all who had been paralysed when we retreated - being exanguinated by a fairy swarm is not a fun way to die.

Now, we elves are agile climbers. Treezans hate that, although you would think that having someone to trim deadwood would be nice. Dryads can do some, but they can't spend too long away from rooting soil. So there I was, climbing a thrashing treezoid in full leathers, grabbing fairies and ripping their wings off. If I had time, I'd crush their head or throat, but only because I'm nice like that.

You see, fairies breathe by the same motion that moves their wings. If you see one that's absolutely still, he's either holding his breath or dead. The biggest of them is the length of my forearm (mom's royal was), and they feed on tree sap and blood. Without their wings, they can barely breathe, and slowly suffocate, and can't move except by walking, which takes more air than they can get in. One particularly sadistic bastard that I knew grabbed one, immobilized it, took it back and cauterized its wings off, and let it loose on the floor. It took the fairy a couple hours to die, struggling to get away. Sick. So I try to make it quick.

I've been a soldier for 20 years, and an officer for the last six. I know the fastest way to kill every species I know of, and the slowest. I know what they eat, what is poison to them, and their attack tactics. I can even sort of keep track of all the shifting alliances. I've had the privilege of riding a centaur - he and I are sworn blood kin (which is the only way you get a centaur ride, unless you're gravely injured or very, very young.) I have people in intelligence and tactics consulting with me on small details of every known race.

But some nights, I lie awake, and think of the waste, in lives and potential beauty, that these generations of ever increasing war have cost us all. I try to think of ways for the different races, even the ones that chill my blood (arachneans scare the shit out of me), can live and eat in symbiosis with each other, so we don't have to kill each other for food and growing space. I've never told anybody, as I try to work out the web of needs, for fear that they will think I'm some sort of soft hearted fool. Not even my blood brothers and sisters, who I trust with my life.

Each time, as I drift off to sleep, I find myself cursing the ancients who caused, somehow, the Diaspora, as they destroyed themselves in some final cataclysm of war. Who knows, maybe our war is just an extension of that, and will continue on until the last species triumphs, only to die from something it lacks.

-- end chapter 1 --

John McCain - what he stands for

Wed, 04 Jun 2008 01:16:15 GMT

No, I'm too lazy to link, use Google News.

"McCain applauds Calif. gay marriage ban"
"On the budget, Bush and McCain are eerily similar"
"McCain: I'd Spy on Americans Secretly, Too"
"John McCain has repeatedly been forced to dump campaign advisers exposed as lobbyists for fascist-like regimes and transnational corporations. "
“Senator John McCain: A Record of Opposing the Interests of GLBT Americans,”

Where they stand: Obama, McCain on the issues - sample:
McCain: Opposes abortion rights.
McCain: Favors parental choice of schools, including vouchers for private schools
McCain: Opposes scheduling a troop withdrawal, saying latest strategy is succeeding.

Seriously, John McCain is just George W Bush aged in an oak barrel.

eyeroll

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 22:06:41 GMT

Tough Choice: What to Put On Menu at Hunger Summit

My advice? Serve what most of the world eats: rice, beans, legumes, vegetables, breads and pasta. ~~Maybe a nice side of weevils...~~ Maybe a nice side of cow/goat/chicken dairy products.

Or, if they really want to get things focused on hunger, they can serve emergency rations like they get in refugee camps.

On politics...

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 21:30:00 GMT

In the general election, I'd vote for a wishy washy Democrat like Jimmy Carter over any Republican out there. As long as the Neo-Cons and Religious Reich control the Republican party (and a chunk of the Libertarian party), no Republican, or pseudo-Republican (Barr) will get my vote.

I don't vote for people who advocate my death, subjugation, or disenfranchisement. That is what any anti-gay, anti-abortion, anti-pluralism (anti-non-christian) candidate wants. Don't try to tell me that "Oh, it's not that bad" - it is. These people advocate a "Christian" religious theocracy, and "biblical" penalties like stoning and such for homosexuality, unmarried sex, abortion and non-Christian/heretical worship. Oh, the slick, smooth politicians won't say it outside of their carefully screened, fanatically loyal (brainwashed) cells, but their talking head surrogates do.

The shittiest Democrat is still leagues ahead of the best of the current Republican party.

CA - Vote!

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 19:48:17 GMT

Yeah, it's another dinky CA primary thing. Still, it matters.

Regarding voting, in general: I am registered "permanent absentee" This means I get mailed my ballot early, can fill it out at home and do research, and then I just drop it off at the polling place on my way to work. No muss, no fuss.

If your state offers this option, I advise it. It takes a lot of the stress out of it, and isn't some funky machine.

Text, Blogs, and Readability

Sat, 31 May 2008 21:35:43 GMT

This entry will be repeated twice. Once, in an unreadable format, once in a readable format.

The unreadable:

Many people write their blog entries like they were writing a book - no paragraph indents or spacing between paragraphs. Some don't even use paragraphs at all. They just run all their thoughts together, spewing unconnected run-on sentences one after the other and calling it writing. They... even... pollute it with... unneeded ellipses and overblown punctuation!!!!!!!!!!
To make a blog entry easily readable, you need to write short, concise paragraphs. These paragraphs should be separated by a blank line - a vertical space, if you will. Not five lines, or even three, but one full line. These paragraphs should be no longer than 5 or 6 lines of text when finally rendered on the average screen. Anything more and the reader's eyes start to glaze, and they see only a tl;dr wall of text, not your thoughts.
So, there are rules for blog writing. They are often ignored by some "A-list" bloggers, because some people read their ego-tripe regardless of how cross-eted it makes them. But the rest of us ordinary folks? We need to format, spell check, and use punctuation somewhat properly.
The rules: DO break your text up into reasonable length paragraphs of less than 6 formatted lines. DO keep your paragraphs coherent and inter-related. DO use capitalization, punctuation and spaces to separate sentences. DO capitalize proper names (exception is lj tags). DO put one blank line between your paragraphs, to let the reader know that that thought cluster is done. DO use bulleting and lists to make lists readable. DON'T abuse punctuation. DON'T overuse literary devices like ellipses. DON'T play games with fancy fonts for body text.
These rules are simple, yet every day I get headaches trying to read some tripe disgorged by some nit who won't do me the courtesy of making their thoughts readable. The web is not like a book, or an English paper. People are reading your words on a screen. Be considerate of their eyes, please.

Now, the readable:

Many people write their blog entries like they were writing a book - no paragraph indents or spacing between paragraphs. Some don't even use paragraphs at all. They just run all their thoughts together, spewing unconnected run-on sentences one after the other and calling it writing. They... even... pollute it with... unneeded ellipses and overblown punctuation!!!!!!!!!!

To make a blog entry easily readable, you need to write short, concise paragraphs. These paragraphs should be separated by a blank line - a vertical space, if you will. Not five lines, or even three, but one full line. These paragraphs should be no longer than 5 or 6 lines of text when finally rendered on the average screen. Anything more and the reader's eyes start to glaze, and they see only a tl;dr wall of text, not your thoughts.

So, there are rules for blog writing. They are often ignored by some "A-list" bloggers, because some people read their ego-tripe regardless of how cross-eyed it makes them. But the rest of us ordinary folks? We need to format, spell check, and use punctuation somewhat properly.

The rules:
* DO break your text up into reasonable length paragraphs of less than 6 formatted lines.
* DO keep your paragraphs coherent and inter-related. DO use capitalization, punctuation and spaces to separate sentences.
* DO capitalize proper names (exception is lj tags).
* DO put one blank line between your paragraphs, to let the reader know that that thought cluster is done.
* DO use bulleting and lists to make lists readable.
* DON'T abuse punctuation.
* DON'T overuse literary devices like ellipses.
* DON'T play games with fancy fonts for body text.

These rules are simple, yet every day I get headaches trying to read some tripe disgorged by some nit who won't do me the courtesy of making their thoughts readable. The web is not like a book, or an English paper. People are reading your words on a screen. Be considerate of their eyes, please.

Writer's Block: Improvised Parenting!!?!

Fri, 30 May 2008 18:05:01 GMT

Let's say you're a hobgoblin for 24 hours. What sort of havoc would you wreak?

Or:

If a baby of unknown origins suddenly fell into your care, would you keep it? What would you name it?

View other answers

"Fell into"??? How does a baby of "unknown origins" fall into someone's care? Seriously, I make sure the kid was safe, then call 911 to report an abandoned newborn. I'd also be really pissed at the parents for not using the "newborn surrender" thing at the local hospital. If they drop the kid there, it's not a crime. If they dump it elsewhere, it is.

A really dumb writer's block, IMO.

Robert Asprin, 1946 - 2008

Fri, 23 May 2008 16:52:17 GMT

http://www.transworldnews.com/NewsStory.aspx?id=47897&cat=14
http://www.sfcrowsnest.com/news/arc/2008/nz12623.php

*sniffle*

Owww!

Fri, 23 May 2008 02:03:25 GMT

Sinuses, I hate you.

Between tree spooge and wildfire polution, I have had a severe sinus headache since 4 am. I've actually had one off and on since Sunday night, but it went critical again last night.

The only way I can sleep more than an hour at a time is by taking benadryl. Then I get a 4 hour block.

I've had to dig into my hoard of guaifenesin/PSE, that I can't replace because it's discontinued, and replaced with lower strength and expensive OTC Mucinex-D (no more generic) that is only sold in small blister packs in quantities only enough for 10 days, and I have to show my fucking papers and sign a log to buy it, but only during pharmacy hours. Fuck you, Patriot Act, for restricting the quantity to only what one person needs for a short cold. Even buying it online is restricted, and you have to send them a copy of your DL, and they will only ship to the address on your DL (you're SOL if you moved and didn't get a new license issued.) Fuck you, FDA, for making this shit *only* OTC, only brand name, and only sold in small packages.

Kitty morning

Wed, 21 May 2008 17:49:53 GMT

There is something soothing about waking up with a cat cuddled into what would be your lap if you were sitting up. Speckles will sleep in my bed if I lie still. Also, she will climb onto my chest if I'm lying on my back, wanting pettin's. She also meows in the outside cat run when I go to work, and when I come home.

I fell bad about Collette - I purposely didn't try to bond with her or get really affectionate so that datapard could. But she still comes into my bedroom when I go to bed, but she doesn't sleep in my bed. She is not as affectionate with me, and only slightly warmed up to datapard. I feel like she ended up the bastard stepchild, and I didn't intend that. Collette also is really bad about not burying her poop - it's like she doesn't quite have the idea, or is ticked off about something. She makes the motions, but outside the box. Then again, she makes the burying motion about their food, too....

LJ Advisory Board

Wed, 07 May 2008 19:41:41 GMT

LiveJournal Advisory Board Elections

I support squeaky19 to be my representative on the Advisory Board.

Show your support at lj_election_en.

Squeaky also runs Insane Journal, based on the same open source code. His interest is in keeping the code base open and available, so that the social experiment that is the XXXXXjournal community, including its OpenID cross-fertilization, may continue and grow.

FYI, I have permanent account both here on LJ and over on IJ.

The following sites use the LJ codebase:
http://www.livejournal.com/
http://www.insanejournal.com/
http://www.deadjournal.com/
http://www.greatestjournal.com/
... and more

MIA?

Sat, 19 Apr 2008 03:37:55 GMT

Rain,

Check in, please.

Magical Job Hunting

Wed, 09 Apr 2008 21:26:10 GMT

With recession looming large, I think it's time to review the magical job search.

1) When using magic in a job hunt, you don't just sit at home and cast spells. The magic has to have something to work on.

The key is your resume. Write your resume in a meditative state, focusing on who you are, what skills you have to offer, and what you want in return. Infuse the words with that "perfect job match" energy. The clear visualization of what you want in a job, both standard and intangible, will be an anchor for your job search, and will be what all the rest of your efforts hook into.

Write your cover letters and emails the same way. Do your homework, visualize working at that type of job. You can put energy into email - do it. You wanbt to load it, and the attached resume, with a "I can do this well" type of energy.

When you get a phone screen, visualize yourself working for or with the person. Smile, even on the phone. Mentally reach out and meet them. Don't try to control them, that can backfire very nastily.

When you go for an interview, plan to arrive early. When you get ready, put on your clothes like you were going to a ritual - get in the working mindspace. When you get there, spend a few minutes in meditation, reviewing your skills, your desire for the job, your willingness to work, your competence, and work your magic on yourself to make yourself a successful candidate in everyone's eyes.

2) Use your magic to bring job leads your way.

Your intuition and divination will help you find the right people who know the right people to open the doors so you can wow them with your magical resume.

Yes, spells to attract "people who need what you have to offer" will help find those contacts. Enchanted business cards, set to gravitate to people who need your skills, are handy.

Keeping a good list of contacts is helpful. You do it for your pagan network, do it for your work too. You might be surprised at the overlap.

3) Be a job nexus.

I actually try to keep track of who is looking for what kind of work among my pagan and fannish friends. I will refer people to headhunters who contact me with something that is not up my alley, but is up someone theirs.

This in its own way is a form of contagion magic - the more a concept of "person X is looking for Y kind of work" is out there, the more it gains momentum. It's like viral marketing with a magical component.

4) If you are unemployed, use magical practices to help your financial discipline.

Concentration, will, focus, planning - we use all of these magically, now it's time to use them to help manage our funds, and to attract good financial luck. Yes, we should use these all the time, but it's especially important when out of work.

Affirmations and rituals for work and money also help to ease the anxiety involved. Alone, they don't solve the problem, you still have to actually look for work. However, they do help focus on saving money and finding work, and give you the knowledge that you are using *all* of your resources to solve the problem.

Note: I do not mention deities, or specific rituals here. That is up to each individual and their magical/religious practice. YMMV, of c ourse.

Outrage Fatigue

Tue, 08 Apr 2008 20:44:28 GMT

Some days, I get so tired of every little thing in this assinine world provoking a sense of outrage in me. I'm not oversensitive, there are just too many assholers and too much injustice for my mind to take it all in.

I can't care and act on every insult to humanity that is perpetrated by
* the Bush government and its neocon agenda,
* the Chinese Government,
* the various terrorist slimeballs,
* the right wing christofascists, dominionists, racists and homophobes,
* peak oil and energy dependent lemmings,
* the abuse and degredation of women by judeo-christian-islamic religions,
* the disregard and harm of the environment and employees by quarterly profit centered soulless corporations,
* predatory lenders and banks who torment people that already suffer from financial misfortune,
* etc, etc, etc....

I just can't feel anymore. Our world has descended into madness, a perfect storm of insanity, stupidity and utterly inhuman cruelty.

"Learn to swim" - Tool, AEnima

All I can do, all most of us can do, is my little bit in my corner of the world to make it better. Set an ethical example, write about what I can, put my money toward things made by people who care, be an example of caring in a world full of hate and abuse.

All I ask of those reading this is:
Please,
do not contribute to the outrage,
do not feed its causes.
Stand against the horde of scum,
even though they will run you over anyway.
The speed bumps might slow them down
enough to let the next guy make a change..