This Space for Rant

Food for thought.

2008-06-27T17:41:22Z

Pausing briefly in my volunteer cataloguing work to put something interesting in a place I won't forget about it. This is sort of a poem in three parts:

Not a Liberal

They say that I am a radical.
If I am a radical
then I am not a liberal.
The future will be different
if we make the present different
But to make the present different
one must give up old tricks
and start to play new tricks.
But to give up old tricks
and start to play new tricks
one must be a fanatic.
Liberals are so liberal about everything
that they refuse to be fanatical about anything.
And not being able to be fanatical about anything,
liberals cannot be liberators.
They can only be liberals.
Liberals refuse to be
religious, philosophical or economic fanatics
and consent to be
the worst kind of fanatics,
liberal fanatics.

Not a Conservative

If I am a radical,
then I am not a conservative.
Conservatives try to believe
that things are good enough
to be let alone.
But things are not good enough
to be let alone.
Conservatives try to believe
that the world is getting better
every day in every way.
But the world is not getting better
every day in every way.
The world is getting worse
every day in every way
because the world is upside down.
When conservatives and radicals
will come to an understanding
they will take the upside down
and they will put it right side up.

A Radical Change

The order of the day
is to talk about the social order.
Conservatives would like
to keep it from changing
but they don't know how.
Liberals try to patch it
and call it a New Deal.
Socialists want a change
but a gradual change.
Communists want a change,
an immediate change,
but a Socialist change.
Communists in Russia
do not build Communism,
they build Socialism.
Communists want to pass
from capitalism to Socialism
and from Socialism to Communism.
I want a change
and a radical change.
I want a change
from an acquisitive society
to a functional society,
from a society of go-getters
to a society of go-givers.

-- Peter Maurin, qtd. in Catholics, Politics, and Public Policy by Clarke E. Cochran and David Carroll Cochran

I wouldn't call myself a radical, but I think the poem contains ideas worth thinking about.

Critical Reflection Entry 5

2008-06-17T23:34:47Z

I haven't been keeping up with this thing. Some things happened last week that I'm not prepared to reflect on, though I've told a couple of people. The problem with critical reflection is that it demands a state of mind detached enough from events to look at them objectively and not as sources of stress.

Also, rumors of my coping ability have been greatly exaggerated.

It's not that things aren't going well for the most part. I get up in the morning, I do stuff, I come back to the dorm, I have food, I do whatever else wants doing. It's fine when I have tasks to perform, because that makes sense and they prevents me from thinking too much about anything. It's the coursework that's hurting me. After the debacle over this journal, I don't really want to analyze or critique anything of theirs. If that weren't enough, I'm really just fed up with the whole "critical thought" rhetoric. I know how to question my basic assumptions, I promise. I was raised to do it and I was educated to do it. I do it all the time. I can't help it. I want to stop. I want to know what it's like to be one of those people that can (apparently) go through a whole day without seriously doubting the validity of what they think about things.

Anyway, I wrote something for today's Notebook Focus, but it wasn't really the assignment and I didn't get to sleep until 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning because of the mental state I ended up in. I have what's been described accurately enough as an allergic emotional reaction to stress. At some point I realized that I'd really lost it this time, or come close. Today I talked to people at the Phila Center and I'm getting help, so I don't need to be rescued or anything and I don't want to talk about it, because it's humiliating and I don't have any answers. Just figured I'd better confess the truth.

I'm just hoping this will make my last year of college relatively simple by comparison.

NOT a critical reflection entry.

2008-06-13T00:22:09Z

With regards to the last post--yeah, in light of further further information, I just decided to delete some posts from here. It was never my intent to draw attention to myself or anybody else, and I just don't want to screw around with internet spooks possibly getting involved. I still have to do a journal, but if I'm going to make it complete and not walk the line, I'm going to have to keep it private. I'll probably still post here occasionally, but I've come to the conclusion that the internet is for imaginary things only. For example:

Dear Philadelphia,

I'm writing to notify you of a phenomenon that could, if not checked immediately, become a rather disturbing trend. You see, since my arrival, twice have I ordered an iced chai tea, and twice have I received an iced latte instead. I have never had this problem before in my life, which has contained a not insubstantial amount of chai tea, iced or otherwise. On the first occasion, I was able to inform the vendor of the mistake, upon which said vendor showed me the container labeled "Chai 2%" and swore that my beverage had come from that container. It was not chai--I know coffee when I taste it; it is nothing like chai. However, upon getting a replacement from the container labeled "Chai skim," I actually got chai. Sadly, I was unable to enquire into the matter on the second occasion.

I can only suppose that your vendors are unfamiliar with chai tea and very much in the habit of reaching for the chilled coffee. In the future, I shall be certain to make sure to verify that the beverage in my cup is chai before I leave the vendor. I would very much appreciate it if you, Philadelphia, would give some serious thought to your coffee habit. I have some concern that you may be addicted to the point of excluding all other beverages from consideration, which is most unfortunate. The health benefits of tea in general cannot be overstated, and there really is nothing like a sweet, spicy, iced chai on a hot summer day. Please do give it some thought.

Sincerely,

A Concerned Visitor

Critical Reflection Entry 4-1/2

2008-06-12T00:28:23Z

I found out some things about what not to talk about, so a couple of things got censored with square brackets. I also found out that people actually get notified if Quirk appears in a blog or whatever, so that they can track what people are saying about the books. So, er... hi, Strange People Who Appear to My Mind's Eye as Wearing Dark Suits and Sunglasses?

In other news, it's my birthday, and everyone has been feeding me. It's awesome. My fellow Philly Center students all got together and did a card and made a cake, and made a surprise out of it. It was very cool of them. ^_^ Other people are having birthdays while we're here, too, so there is more fun of this kind in store.

Leonard Nimoy sings!

2008-06-07T00:16:56Z

This is completely random, but I stumbled across this while looking for references for one of my characters. Read the text if you feel like it, but the best part is at the bottom of the page where it says "Click Here." Seriously, if you like Leonard Nimoy or Bilbo Baggins at all, you must see this. It's hilarious.

EDIT: Holy Hand Grenade on a stick. O.0 [/Star Trek geekery]

Critical Reflection Entry 1

2008-06-04T02:40:15Z

When I sat down to start this, I had all kinds of ideas about what I would talk about. Now that I'm here, it seems like too much, and I don't know where to start. Today was my second day of work at Quirk Books and my first day of seminar with Dr. Clark at the Philadelphia Center. I've been here in Philly since Saturday, my dorm/apartment is still not completely organized, and I haven't yet gotten around to finding the laundry room or the mail room. My list of suggested prompts for this notebook focus on the internship, but I actually think that's the more straightforward part of this two-part experience. The seminar today really gave me more food for thought.

Today Dr. Clark gave us an overview of what experiential learning is about, starting with the definition of an experience. Things happen to us all the time, but they aren't all experiences. Most of them just slide right by without notice. In discussion, the group came to the conclusion that an experience is something that happens to you in which you actively participate and that is impactful. We can't learn from random events, but we can learn from experiences if we take the time to critically reflect on them.

This required a definition of what it is to criticize. Dr. Clark strung us along a little bit, letting us try to guess at the definition he had in mind. It wasn't what immediately came to mind for me, but it does make sense. To criticize is to measure against some standard, norm, or ideal. (On a related topic, to critique is to question the standards.) So, to reflect critically is to take one's experiences and measure or evaluate them.

All the definitions led into a discussion about language itself--right up my tree. Dr. Clark defined language as a system of symbols (the alphabet) that is secondary to thought and arbitrary, but standardized in our case. There are three basic schools of thought about how language works: First, language reflects reality. Second, language constructs reality. Third, reality constructs language.

I agree that the alphabet is a series of symbols, but I disagree that letters make our language. Some cultures use "letters" that do carry meaning by themselves, but our letters simply stand for sounds, no more. They have no meaning until they are combined to form words, which are the real symbols of the language. Words, not letters, are symbols for ideas, and language doesn't exist without ideas. I didn't get very far trying to point this out in the discussion.

As for how language works, I was happy to hear Dr. Clark's take on intent v. effect. I've had conversations on this subject before. The problem with words is that they will never mean exactly what we think or feel because they all carry so much etymological baggage. We can speak with the best intentions, but if we don't consider our words and the effect they might have on a given listener, we run the risk of being misunderstood. The word we know to mean one thing might mean something else to a listener more familiar with a different definition or connotation. Granted, even with the utmost care, some people will still insist on misunderstanding what we say. They might be avoiding the responsibility to consider the speaker's intentions before jumping to conclusions. However, because we can't control other people, the responsibility to consider the effect our words will have is just as important.

This hasn't been terribly reflective for me personally, but I'm going to cut it short here. I'm not in the habit of putting my thoughts on display, but I am used to summarizing what I've learned. Maybe I hesitate because I have no idea how my thoughts, translated into words, will be received now or further down the road. Still, I'll try to improve on the reflection, and talk more about work while I'm at it.

Philadelphia Notebook Focus 1

2008-06-03T03:59:05Z

So, I promised my family I'd put my required journals online, just for tab-keeping purposes. It turns out the required journals are sort of guided and weekly instead of daily, but I'm going to do both. Daily entries are for a "Critical Reflection Notebook," which is supposed to help me get as much as possible out of my experience. This one is a guided entry, or "Notebook Focus." Please forgive me if I slip in to semi-academic, impersonal, I'm-making-a-point writing.

Fitting In

To fit in is usually to belong to and get along with a group of people that each identify in a shared way. For example, those of us here with an internship through the Philadelphia Center may not have anything else in common, but we all identify ourselves as being here with an internship through the Philadelphia Center for the summer of 2008. Furthermore, the fact that we share that one identifier gives us more in common with each other than with anyone else in the city. For me, at least, it's enough to make me feel that I have a part in the group's welfare, not just my own. If we don't look out for each other, who will? It seems that the others feel the same way—many of us shared dinner in one of the dorms Sunday night, with the residents playing hostesses. Everyone seemed enthusiastic about making it a regular event, with different dorms hosting each time. In this case, because the group is based on shared circumstance, the only requirements for fitting in are being part of the Philadelphia Center program and being willing to lend a hand.

Other groups have more stringent requirements for fitting in. Those based on ideology—religious organizations being obvious examples—are possibly the toughest. Even an ideology that claims to accept people for their individual strengths and weaknesses, whatever they might be, still expect members of the group to feel the same way. I was raised Unitarian Universalist, nominally a religion that encourages "acceptance of one another" and a "free and responsible search for truth and meaning." In a nutshell, we think everyone has the right to live their life in the way that works best for them. Unfortunately, the waters of acceptance get muddy when it comes to people who don't accept other people, particularly when non-acceptance becomes outright rejection and violence toward other people. For myself, I'll absolutely grant everyone the right to live their life in the way that works best for them, and I'll accept them as human beings—but I retain the right to disagree with and dislike their choices. To fit in with an ideology often means rationalizing of this kind, so that you can live with yourself as well as those who share your ideology.

The best kind of fitting in is with people you simply like, and these people are called friends. Friends often share circumstances, ideologies, and interests, but not necessarily in every particular. Most friends simply take an interest in each other for whatever reason and enjoy each other's company. Very good friends will support each other even when one or the other isn't at their best. There is more than a sense of obligatory give and take to bind friends. There aren't any exact requirements for fitting in with a group of friends, and it's senseless to propose them. You can't be a good friend without being honest about who you are, because no one can come to like you if they don't know who you really are.

Fitting in can be a complicated business, but it seems to me that it comes down to basic components: having something in common with a particular group; being willing to get along with others in the group, even if their lifestyles aren't quite the same as yours; and presenting yourself honestly. The last is especially important. You will never fit comfortably in any group that has false expectations about who you are. --June 3, 2008

Oh--if anyone has recipes for quick, simple meals that go a long way and aren't too expensive, please send them my way. I'd really appreciate it. ^_^

RC #999 - Mission 01

2007-06-24T06:13:41Z

This mission needs lots of work yet, but I got it done! Hurrah!

There is a sound that traditionally comes at the beginning of every PPC mission. While one of the most annoying, hated, violence-provoking sounds in the multiverse, it is also one of the most thrilling, because everyone who has heard it knows that what follows will be an Adventure in the truest sense: the protagonists, with the barest sense of what's happening to them, will be faced with breath-taking scenery, unspeakable horror, and the epic struggle between Good and Evil in which they will eventually triumph.

[BEEEERipikakakabipbipbipbipbit?]

This was not that sound.

Agent Supernumerary let his chair come back to all four legs with a sharp bang, his own legs having uncrossed from the area of the console's keyboard. He leaned on one bony knee, a book dangling from his left hand, as he inspected the monitor.

"The squag?"

It seemed two notices had come in nearly simultaneously. The console had tried to beep both of them at once, got confused, and gave up. The first, which gave rise to Nume's perplexed mutter, was a mission. This was strange because he was supposed to be in the Department of Implausible Crossovers now and the story in question was a 'Suefic. It was doubly strange because the second notice was an official statement of his transfer and, he read with great interest, the assignment of his new partner. This was the notice he had been hoping for. This should have been good news. Instead, he could only raise one black, slanted eyebrow at the horrible timing.

Then the door chimed. At some point, someone—not Nume, much as he wished it was his idea—had torn out the original door and replaced it with a sliding panel a la Star Trek. Voice commands didn't work due to some disagreement between it and the console, but its native circuitry was in fine condition and happily used whatever power supply made things work in Headquarters. Nume let his book fall closed where he set it on his cot and casually stood to toggle the door open. On the other side, blinking all four eyes at the rush of air, stood Ilraen-Aroline-Fothergill. Nume had met the Andalite once before, when Agent Jennifer Robinson of FicPsych brought him to the lounge in order to acquire a few DNA samples for a human morph. (His first attempt had been a complete disaster but, as Jenni pointed out, he had only just got used to his own form and couldn't be expected to assume a new one so easily.) Technically, Ilraen had only existed as such for about a month. He barely knew himself, let alone the ways of the PPC.

Raw, green, wet behind the eye stalks... these all together didn't begin to cover it. This was what Nume had to carry through Sueage and back again. He could have cried.

<Er... Agent Supernumerary?>

He blinked through his green-framed glasses into Ilraen's equally green eyes. The two were of a height, if one ignored the extra eyes. "Yes," said Nume. "Hi. I'm afraid I was contemplating the ways in which we could both shortly be dead, but please come in." He stood aside and, as Ilraen passed gingerly into the wider space beyond the console and the cot, reached for the flask of Bleepka he kept at his hip.

<What is that?> Ilraen asked, peering through one stalk eye.

"A flask."

Ilraen blinked. <Yes, I see that,> he replied at length. <You had it with you before. You drink from it with your mouth.>

"Fascinating. Do go on, I'm dying to know where this'll end up." Nume sat heavily on his chair and folded his arms across the back.

<I only meant,> continued a perplexed Ilraen, <that I wonder what you drink. I was attempting to make conversation. Agent Robinson says you are not very good at it, but that I should try to learn anyway. Is that wrong?>

"No. I'm terrible at conversation, especially when I'm stressed, which is always. This—" he held up the flask— "contains Bleepka, which is a mixture of Bleeprin with non-alcoholic alcohol substitute. It lets me forget things that break my brain. I drink it as a palliative, and sometimes as commentary on how much my brain is breaking at a given time. We have a mission, see."

<Oh! They told me it might be soon. What continua? I was able to read several books of canon, including—>

Nume raised a single finger. "Continuum, singular. I hope you were about to say Harry Potter. I suppose you'd better have a look, since you're here." He slid the chair across the generic surface of the floor with a generic shriek of abused wood.

Ilraen winced at the noise, but looked. <But that says Mary-Sue. I thought—>

"Nice, isn't it? I mean, it could be worse. It is Potterverse, which means I won't be completely useless when it comes to dispatching her. I did a year at HFA and I can use a wand. It's just that it's Snape." He shuddered and took a long pull from his flask. "I hate Snapefic. You have no idea."

<Erm. No.> Ilraen shuffled his hooves. <But I am here to learn,> he added helpfully.

A laugh broke from Nume's throat. It wasn't nice. "That's right. Better get to it, then, hadn't we? We should be students, I suppose. Feh." He turned and quickly programmed the disguise generator. In an instant, man and Andalite were replaced by fifteen-year-old Gryffindor boys, the former terribly gawkish with spots across his forehead and the latter willowy with bright orange hair, green eyes, and a baby face. The aforementioned latter promptly, with much windmilling of his arms, fell on his arse with a yelp. Nume ignored him until the portal was open and he had grabbed his shoulder bag. Only then did he lift Ilraen more or less to his feet and, with a muttered "Come on," hove him through the portal.

They stumbled into generic space, infinitely gray in all directions. Nume glared at Ilraen until he quit clinging to his robes and stood on his own.

"One good thing about the disguise generator," said Nume in a voice that cracked vowels like walnut shells, "is that it really doesn't allow you to be incompetent with a disguise. It doesn't alter your morphic field, it overlaps it temporarily. Unfortunately, mine is exactly what it was in high school, hormones and all. That said, if you fall into any more 'Andalite-in-human-morph-for-the-first-time' clichés, I won't be responsible for my actions. Understand?"

Ilraen nodded, wide-eyed. He opened his mouth, then thought better of it and looked at his feet.

At that time, the featureless world exploded into sound as the Author's voice rolled over them and both agents clapped their hands over their ears.

Summary: Snape’s niece arrives at Hogwarts in bad shape. She is saying that his daughter is alive.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for Cordelia, J.K. Rowling owns everything else.

Hogwarts' Great Hall appeared around them, fuzzy and indistinct. It was the welcoming feast, but the sole point of any description was a "greenish portal" through which the injured 'Sue was carried by an unnamed bit character. No one had anything to say about this. In fact, the first reaction was Snape's gasp as the 'Sue was given to him.

Nume was already scribbling in his little black notebook. "Good grief. Two Author's notes, nine sentences of story, and three charges. What are they, newbie?"

Ilraen, who had been staring at the story with mouth agape, started. "Um?"

"The charges. One at least is obvious."

"Oh. Yes. Severus Snape has no known family."

Nume nodded. "Good. Keep watching the fic, but don't let your mouth hang open like that. You look daft."

They both returned their attention to the scene as the bit character explained his apparently clean escape to Snape.

“I did not, this is only a shell granted to me temporarily by the gatekeeper, I died shortly after getting her to Boston. My time is short I have to leave you now, I know that she will be safe with you, blessed be, cousin Sithchean Bran. Slan.”(Farewell)

"What the hell?" Nume protested, his voice splintered in at least three octaves. "It isn't as though the canon has rules about death and ghosts, so I'll just make up my own!"

Ilraen looked at him. "Agent Supernumerary, I think the rules are—"

"Sarcasm," Nume interrupted. "That was sarcasm. I know the rules. Did I mention that I hate Snapefic?"

"Yes, you did."

"All right." He took a deep breath and a deep drink of Bleepka. "There are at least five charges just in that paragraph," he explained. "That's not counting the comma splices, because I've already written that on the list. The rotten thing is that it's only going to get worse, and we have to catch up with Snape now. Come on."

Dragging Ilraen along by the sleeve of his robe, Nume followed the Potions Master to his bedchamber. Snape had neglected to close the doors behind him in his concern for the 'Sue. The agents flattened themselves against a wall alongside a bookcase while he went for some potions. Nume was quietly nauseous when he called the 'Sue "sweetling" and fretted over force-feeding her the potion that was supposed to heal her: "he knew his niece and he knew that she did not like being force fed."

"If she is unconscious, how should she know what he does?" Ilraen wondered.

"Precisely," said Nume in a growl. "There are things one doesn't do to an unconscious person, but feeding them medicine isn't in that category. This is just to show what a free spirit she is, and how Snape is really an old softie who wouldn't do anything against his 'sweetling.'" The word was a sneer worthy of canon!Snape.

Ilraen would have asked what one doesn't do to unconscious people, but a temporal compression bucked them over several hours, at the end of which the 'Sue was still unconscious and Severus sobbed like a girl.

"You begin to see why I hate this stuff," Nume said to Ilraen's horrified look. The compression had left the newbie pale and gasping for breath, his hands splayed against the wall as though the contact was the only thing keeping gravity alive. He fixed his eyes on his partner. Nume was looking at Severus. "No need for a CAD to tell that he's completely out of character, and it's always disgusting. In fact, this looks more like character replacement." He glanced at the Words, then dug through his bag as Ilraen looked on. "Dumbledore comes later, but it doesn't say he stops crying in the interim. You know how to use one of these, yes?" He pulled out a beat-up Canon Analysis Device and handed it to Ilraen.

"I point it toward the character and push the big button," he said, regaining his composure in the face of something he understood. "First making sure the volume is off." He checked. It was glued in the off position.

"Good. Before you do that, better come over here." Nume had moved to the bedchamber's doorway. "It might explode, and if it does, we should run away."

"Perhaps I shouldn't," Ilraen said, now holding the CAD at arm's length.

"Nonsense. We need a reading for the report and I need a new CAD."

"Agent Supernumerary—"

"Oh, go on. It'll probably just spark a bit and melt."

"Agent—"

"You do know how to use it?"

"Ye—"

"Well then—"

"Stop interrupting me! Please," Ilraen squeaked. Both agents ducked out the door as Snape looked around.

Nume gave his partner a thoughtful look. "You don't know what 'hazing' is, do you?"

"No..."

"Good. Forget the CAD. I don't want to hang around to hear Snape tell his whole history to Dumbledore. Enough that it's complete tripe about his being adopted and having a brother and so forth. We'll go on to Chapter Two, which is short. We can take him out at the end of Chapter Three if it turns out he's a doppelganger and get the 'Sue after she's suffered through Chapter Four. All right?"

Ilraen stared. "How do you know what is coming?"

Nume stared back. "Didn't they teach you anything?"

"They told me that you would explain the particulars of our work. It's in the Manual"

"I see." The black-haired agent sighed and bowed his head, adjusting his glasses in the process. "It goes like this: We're in a story. The story is the world. The story is made of words. Therefore, the world is made of words. Because we know this, we have the power to see these Words. It just takes a bit of refocusing. Look at it with your brain instead of your eyes."

Presently, Nume realized that he had done something unintentionally cruel. He grinned and let it go on a bit longer.

"Ilraen," he said finally, "that was a metaphor. You can stop the facial calisthenics, amusing though they are."

"Oh." He opened his mouth to say more, but Nume cut him off.

"Try thinking of it as visual thought-speak, maybe. There's the hearing you do with your ears, and there's the hearing that skips your ears and goes right to your brain. It's similar with seeing and Words. They're there, they just skip your eyes unless you pin the little buggers." As he spoke, he took his remote activator from his bag and opened a portal. "Come on. Work on it as we go."

They passed into Chapter Two, skipping the Author's Notes and narrowly avoiding the "rumors flying about Snape's relation to the mysterious girl." Nume, who knew what a stray rumor could do once it latched onto someone, dragged Ilraen under a Generic Table and refused to leave until the exposition resolved into a sort of scene. They soon found themselves in the Potions classroom, where Hermione was serving detention.

"'When all she had done was raise her hand,'" Nume muttered, quoting the Words. "For the fifth or sixth time, after being told not to at least twice, I shouldn't wonder."

But if he had any hope for a resurgence of canon, it was soon dashed. As a matter of course, Professor Snape was there, working on a healing potion while Hermione scrubbed cauldrons. In sight of the two agents, he walked into his supply closet and did not come back. Well, something that looked like him came back. It couldn't have been the real Potions Master, because he would never allow—much less require—the help of any student to complete even the most powerful healing potion. Yet the Words declared that while Hermione was there, she was "able to help Snape." Nume's CAD, its innards helplessly frazzled to begin with, quietly coughed blue smoke and died in Ilraen's hand.

"Well," said Nume. "This is wonderful. We know where the real Snape is, and I get a new CAD."

Then the temporal distortion caught them. "Meanwhile" became synonymous with "nightly," and "nightly" was two weeks compressed into that excruciating "meanwhile." Time moved simultaneously too fast and too slow—anybody who has ever experienced these phenomena separately can imagine the agony; the terror of rushing headlong into the future, every missed moment passing with torpid clarity. Both agents experienced a feeling of knots being tied in the fibers of their being, pulled tighter and tighter until they threatened to snap. When the distortion released them, they sprawled on the floor, limp with relief. Presently, Nume feverishly snatched his flask from his hip and rolled onto his side to drink. The Bleepka soon quelled the worst of his residual vertigo and nausea, and he was able to look to Ilraen.

The newbie had curled into a tight fetal position, sides twitching arrhythmically. Nothing had prepared him for the effects of bad writing on his newly-mastered self. Nume could sense the Andalite within the disguise reeling at the assault on his inborn time sense, far more acute than any human's. He needed help, and even Nume was not so callous as to refuse him. Roughly, he pried Ilraen out of his curl and wedged the mouth of the flask between his teeth. Ilraen swallowed reflexively to save himself from choking on the first mouthful of liquid, coughed the excess out of his throat. After that, he recognized the good it was doing him and would have drained the flask if Nume hadn't wrenched it away. The senior agent scowled at the near-empty slosh and reattached it to his hip.

"What... what...?" panted Ilraen, the green of his eyes reduced to thin rings around wide pupils.

Nume deliberately misconstrued the intent of the question. "Where," he corrected. His adolescent voice fractured under the strain of being heard over the din of talk in the air. He turned his attention to their surroundings. They were still under a table, as it happened. This time, however, they were fenced in by rows of black-robed legs on either side. That and the cold flagstones beneath were clues enough, but it was the platters of half-materialized food rising through them that conclusively told Nume they were in the Great Hall, and that it was dinnertime.

The Law of Narrative Drama allowed the agents a moment to be mildly squicked as a large dish of savory pudding caught them both in its passage. They pulled faces at the ghostly taste left in the backs of their mouths and shared a lucid glance. Neither one would ever mention this to anybody else.

Then a hush fell over the Hall. There was a sound of the great doors opening, followed by the progress of feet between the tables. After a moment, doppelganger!Snape spoke, opening a brief dialogue:

“Professor Dumbledore I would like to introduce Cordelia Driscol, my niece.”

“Welcome my dear girl, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please join us.”

“Why, thank you, Headmaster.”

The last speaker had "a strong Irish accent in her words," which manifested as a deliberate attempt to accent the words by someone who did not, in fact, have an Irish accent. Nume got out the charge list, but he was interrupted by an Author's Note.

Author's note #2: I know this chapter is kinda bad, but it will get better.

"I doubt it," muttered the agent.

He dragged Ilraen through a portal and skipped the three weeks preceding Cordelia's Sorting. Nothing happened in that time except that she was allowed to sit at the staff table and hang around the Potions classroom, and it seemed that was the only reason for the three-week delay. The Sorting itself had the Sorting Hat singing praises to the girl's status as a capital-D Druid and a princess. ("She's related to the Queen of England?" Nume wondered, and made a note on the charge list.) Naturally, she possessed qualities which could have placed her in each of the four houses. She ended up in "Gryfindore," upon which she joined the "Gryffindore" table and two mini-Aragogs joined their brethren at the Hogwarts Fanfiction Academy. Ilraen watched silently as they scuttled through the portal Nume opened for them.

Nume watched Ilraen. "I hesitate to ask," he said, "but: what is going through your mind?" It was better than listening to Cordelia ingratiating herself with her canon classmates. There was nothing surprising or particularly heinous about it, so it was just boring.

Not that Ilraen was exciting, either. His gaze didn't alter when the portal closed, and his eyes had a glazed appearance. Nume scowled. "If you can't recover from a temporal distortion, you'll never make it in this life. Pull yourself together, Andalite. That is not a request." He caught Ilraen a sharp slap upside his carroty head. Just to make sure he got his attention.

Ilraen yelped and covered his head with both hands. The dead CAD fell to the floor and shattered with an air of forlorn dignity. This was not the way it would have wanted its remains handled. However, even in ignominy, it served to draw Ilraen out of himself. He focused on the scattered parts. "You broke it."

Nume blinked. "I beg your pardon? You dropped it because your brain was addled. If you're ready to be useful, pick up the bits and get ready to follow the 'Sue."

Ilraen shot him a look so baleful and so brief that he almost thought he'd imagined it. Indeed, the rookie agent did as instructed and carefully deposited every piece of CAD in Nume's bag. After the last one tumbled off his fingers, he stood a moment before his partner. "I have behaved poorly," he said haltingly. "Thank you for making me realize it. I will do better in the future."

"Good." Nume turned away from him. "There she goes. Come on."

They followed Cordelia into a Generic Corridor, in which she encountered faux!Snape. She tackled him gleefully and started a tickle fight (the doppelganger won), after which she called him Sithchean and realized that the world was full of uncertainty and that the future was shadowed. Then she left. The doppelganger, having been given a name and thus full character status, lingered instead of fading out with the scene. Nume pulled out his wand and delivered a Full Body Bind with such force that Sithchean actually scudded across the floor before he was quite prone.

"And this is meant to be Severus Snape. I ask you." Nume adjusted his glasses and beckoned to Ilraen. "Get a reading on him for the report. I assure you, my other CAD works." He handed the device to his partner and faced the doppelganger. "Right then. Doppelganger, alias Sithchean Bran, you are charged with crimes against the Harry Potter continuum; to wit, the wrongful and pathetic impersonation of one Severus Snape; also, the aiding and abetting of one Mary-Sue, alias Cordelia Driscol. We already know you plead like a whiny girl, and what you think about it doesn't matter anyhow. For these crimes, and on account of the fact that you're useless without Cordelia, you are going to die. I don't care what you think about that, either." From his pack, Nume withdrew a small steel case containing a syringe full of clear liquid. Once injected, it quickly sent the doppelganger into convulsions. These were happily kept under control by the Body-Bind, so really it was only the rolling of his eyes that showed the progress of his death.

Ilraen watched with his mouth hanging slightly open, forgotten CAD upraised in his hands. "Agent Supernumerary... what was that?"

"Liquid salt, essentially." Nume replaced the empty syringe in its case and deposited it in his bag. "Get too much salt in your blood and the water rushes out of your cells to compensate. Unfortunately, the cells shrivel up and die in the meantime. Very painful. Very clean, though. Even if the syringe broke, the only thing I'd have to worry about is the electronic equipment. And there's nothing to contaminate the continuum."

With the help of the mobility charm, they transported the body to the Potions classroom. Distorted space-time had it off the very corridor they were in, and they had to come back later to get the real Snape out of the supply room. They could deal with it then.

The agents portalled into the fourth chapter to find Cordelia explaining some of her particular speshylness to Hermione, Ron, and Harry.

“Hermione the reason I am excelling is because this is all review. I have been doing more complex spiels then this for many years. And in response to your other question it is because I use an atheme not a wand. I can do wandless magic it was how I was taught, the wand just focuses my magic that way it does not intervere with yours.”

"'An atheme?' This fic is anathema to my mental health," Nume complained.

Ilraen tilted his head. "Oh. A pun. But, what is an atheme?"

"A wand with fingers, apparently. But regular wands don't focus magic. They're just there for silly people to wave about."

"I think she means that her magic is somehow different, and requires a different kind of focus."

Nume leveled a dour look over the top of his glasses at Ilraen. "Yes. I know what she means. That is not the point. The point is that she didn't say it that way and left herself open to misinterpretation. It amuses me to take these openings when I can. It keeps me from losing my temper."

Ilraen swallowed. "I understand."

"Good."

A moment later, Cordelia suddenly cottoned on to the fact that her uncle was missing. This would have worried the agents, but it was all part of the story. The girl left the common room, Nume and Ilraen on her heels, and—she vanished.

"How did she do that?" Ilraen wondered. "Apparition does not work on Hogwarts grounds."

Nume rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Hermione. Clearly we're dealing with Speshyl Druid Princess Powerz." He had the satisfaction of seeing Ilraen cringe at the grated Z-sound. "Fortunately, we know where she's going." A blue portal sprang open before them. "Come on. This is the best part of the whole fic. But, be very quiet."

They stepped into forest darkness a few feet removed from a mysteriously-lighted circle of Death Eaters with Voldemort in the center. The self-styled Dark Lord was just finishing a round of "Let's torture the minions for no good reason" featuring the "Crutacious Curse." This had the effect of turning its victims into crab-like beings with no carapace, which had to be every bit as embarrassing as it was painful. Cordelia was nowhere to be seen, but even 'Sued!Voldemort was not as easily fooled as that. Restored Death Eaters captured her and held her before him. Then—while Nume eagerly bared his teeth—he used the same Curse on her.

Cordelia didn’t know what hit her, but it hurt – a lot. She felt as if her nerves were on fire.

"Well, yes. There's nothing between your soft, invertebrate flesh and the cold, cruel world," Nume said. "This is beautiful. I knew torture was involved, but looking at the Words and seeing it in the flesh are two different experiences. Mark this well, newbie. You don't often see such a wonderful example of poetic justice."

He moved away before Ilraen could respond. A missing full stop at the end of the chapter left the characters in suspended animation pending further input from without. Nume, who did not fancy a tangle with Voldemort in any form, wasn't about to wait around for the author to realize her mistake. He lifted Cordelia off the ground and deposited her in Ilraen's hands. The 'Sue was little more than a sack of organs and loosely-joined limbs. She tried to struggle free, but only succeeded in losing a leg.

"Stop that," Nume ordered. He had his black notebook flipped open and stood with his red pen stuck at an authoritative angle behind his ear. "Listen up. Cordelia Driscol, you are charged with being a Mary-Sue. You are further charged with being Severus Snape's uncanonical niece; altering the background of said Severus Snape; ignoring or altering the rules of Hogwarts, death, and ghosts; with abuse of the Common Comma; in-text Author's Notes; sending Severus Snape completely out of character by way of causing him to use the word "sweetling," to be completely spineless and incompetent, and to cry like a spoiled child; with causing Dumbledore to appear stupid; instigating the abduction and subsequent replacement by doppelganger of Severus Snape; causing temporal-spatial distortions and forcing me to waste Bleepka on a gormless newbie; abusing the Sorting Hat (honestly, do you think it cares?); creating mini-Aragogs; pretending to have an Irish accent and causing everyone to think it's real; possessing stupid powers and a stupid 'Suvian artifact, to wit, an "atheme"; having still more stupid powers; and finally, with the creation of a non-canon spell, to wit, the "Crutacious Curse." But you know all about that last one, don't you? For these crimes among others (because I skipped a few), you are about to die. ... Well. Not right away." He looked at Ilraen. "I think we'll give her to the Department of Mary-Sue Experiments. They'll enjoy taking her apart. You'll just have to carry her."

Ilraen nodded. He was clearly too overwhelmed to protest and followed mutely as they backtracked to the Potions room to release and neuralyze the real Snape. That done, they sent Sithchean's body to the dragon reserve in Romania. Those critters were always hungry. Cordelia's ultimate fate was a mystery, but there was a rumor about crab legs in the cafeteria for a day or so. Neither Ilraen nor Nume felt like investigating.

The fic PPC'd here is Family Ties by dancing stars.

SQUEE!

2007-04-10T00:54:49Z

So there was a writing contest on campus. I took second place for Short Story. ^___^ No first place was awarded, and I'm not entirely sure what that means, but still! There's a cash prize and I'm totally going to frame a dollar and keep it. "First Dollar Made by Writing." It may not be much, but it's a pretty freakin' cool milestone. {= D

The story in question, by the way, is on my deviantART account: Turn, Turn, Turn.

~Neshomeh, off to spread the news all over her social circles.

Medical fandoms

2006-09-25T02:40:37Z

I didn't think this would ever happen again, but... *sigh* I have a confession. I spent the weekend, in large part, watching the first season of House MD on DVD. Also the first four eps of Season 2. That isn't the confession. I'm confessing complete and total addiction to a TV show that isn't Farscape. I have to face it: the writing is great, the acting is great (Hugh Laurie's eyes have a role all their own), I'm a sucker for bizarre illnesses and their treatment, and I'm also a sucker for brilliant and damaged men. *puts House in a drawer with Erik, Severus, Jekyll, Jarod...*

As for the rest of the characters, Foreman is cool, I can identify with Cameron, Cuddy rocks, and Chase is okay when he isn't being a twit. His accent does nothing for him, sadly. Stacy (or is it Tracy?) has managed not to piss me off so far, which is worth points. Oh, and Wilson! Listed last, but certainly not least. I admire him like I admire the Persian, or John Utterson, or Sydney (whose actor guest-starred as Chase's dad, which is frickin' sweet).

NOTE: I found out by accident what happens at the end of Season 2. It doesn't surprise me, but if anyone spoils me more I'll be upset. *pout*

Now, I wouldn't be posting this without a good reason. I'm wondering if anyone else who watches House also reads Robin Cook novels. I'm wondering because I would dearly love to see a crossover in which House meets Jack Stapleton. The two are similar figures, only Stapleton has a better grip on his personal life (read: he has one). I figure they'd either hate each other or become drinking buddies. Thing is, I'm fascinated by illness and medicine, and I know how the story would have to work, but the details make me balk--otherwise I'd write it myself. So, if anyone knows of such a story, or is interested in the complete plotbunny, do please let me know. I would be most grateful. {= )

~Neshomeh

YAY!

2006-09-19T03:48:21Z

I took the ACT today. I also got my scores back today. The maximum composite score is 36. The national average is 21. I got 30.

I feel I must note that the composite score is the average of scores in English, math, reading, and science, each of which with a maximum score of 36. My scores in the four areas were, respectively, as follows: 35, 22, 36, and 27. Note the math deficit. I can't say for sure because I don't get to know where and how I screwed up, but I think that has more to do with me being slow at math than it has to do with me being bad at math. If I had not had to guess on about three-eighths of the questions due to time being up, I think that score would be better. Same goes for the science score--I had to guess on about ten of forty questions.

Those are annoying, but not unexpected. The bit that really bugs me is the one missing point in English. I'll never know what mistake(s) I made, which means I can't avoid them in the future. Argh.

All in all, though, I'm rather pleased. In fact, based on this, I'm expecting my college acceptance letter within two weeks. ^_^

ARGH.

2006-09-09T07:24:44Z

Recent events have conspired to convince me I really ought to rant more, so here goes. Today's microdrama is entitled "I Hate Godmoding."

SERIOUSLY, people. There are times when my character's reaction is so flaming obvious that one would have to be dead to miss it, but that's no excuse for putting words in my mouth--especially if one doesn't know me that well. In the event that one has been in a total of two role-plays that include my character, there's no way in hell one can predict his reactions accurately. This is particularly heinous when the godmoding player says "What's a little powerplay among friends?" to justify it.

Furthermore, just because people are goofing off and being silly OOC does not mean that we do not have serious expectations and aims. It is not fun anymore if these aims are arbitrarily thwarted by someone who thinks they know how the story goes. In fact, this behavior defeats the point of role-playing at all. If one wants to micromanage the events and outcomes, one can write one's own story. Otherwise, shut up and let the other players have their say.

This is interesting.

2006-08-29T02:15:02Z

You scored as Loyalty. You are Loyalty. You have strong bonds with your family, friends, and beliefs.

</td>

Loyalty

88%

Truth

75%

Life

75%

Hope

75%

Justice

63%

Faith

63%

Time

50%

Love

50%

Fate

50%

Charity

50%

Death

25%

Courage

25%

Twelve Essences
created with QuizFarm.com

Loyalty... I guess I'd have to agree with that. I don't abandon things lightly, that's for sure. It may take me months or years to complete a project, but by gum, I'll finish if it takes a decade or more. I'm pleased that Truth and Justice followed closely. I suppose I have to agree that I'm not particularly courageous, though. I like to know exactly what I'm getting into. As usual, though, in no category did I score 100%. There are always conditions.

~Neshomeh, except when she isn't. {= P

Superteams!

2006-08-25T23:42:33Z

The Meme, as stolen from Canadianevil

My challenge to you is: Assemble a superteam from your various fandoms.
Your team must consist of the following:

(1) Team Leader (could be anyone, but must have good leadership skills!)
(1) Warrior
(1) Smartypants
(1) Hottie
(1) Comic Relief

All your superteam members must be from DIFFERENT fandoms. I will count SG1/SGA and Buffy/Angel as different fandoms, as well as Marvel and DC, but I'm not going to split Marvel and DC into all *their* different fandoms; this meme would be way too easy if you could just fill all the slots with different superpowered people.

Whether your team has a 'theme' (all girls! all Brits! etc.) and their scope-- whether they fight vampires, serial killers, invading aliens or work to prevent littering-- is up to you. *G*]

The Team

Leader: V, because he's the only one remotely appropriate. (V for Vendetta)
Warrior: Septimus Pyecroft. He's a soldier and he blows stuff up good. (Sharpe's Mission {the TV series})
Smartypants: Erik, because he is. (Phantom of the Opera)
Hottie: Wesley, who needs no explanation. (Princess Bride)
Comic Relief: Stark, the token crazy person. (Farscape)

They Fight Stupidity! At least, they do when they aren't too busy fighting amongst themselves... This theme is really very obvious, I think, but I couldn't resist. ^_^

Oh, Henry!

2006-08-21T03:49:59Z

I've decided, in lieu of very random circumstances, to collect Henrys. Henries? That looks better. So, collecting Henries. BUT! Not just any Henries. They must be fictional and they must be cool or at least somewhat important. To give you an idea of what I'm looking for, here is the beginning of what I hope will be a rather long list:

Henry Jekyll - sometimes Edward Hyde - The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - Robert Louis Stevenson

Henry "Hank" "The Beast" McCoy - mutant and scientist - The X-Men

Henry Darrow - precognitive Talent - To Ride Pegasus - Anne McCaffrey

Henry Higgins - professor of phonetics - My Fair Lady - Alan Jay Lerner and Frederick Loewe

Henry Walden Jones Junior - alias Indiana Jones - Indiana Jones and the... - Stephen Spielberg

Henry Jones Senior - Indiana's father - Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade - Stephen Spielberg

Henry Fussy - Fern's love interest - Charlotte's Web - E.B. White

Henry Simmerson, Sir - colonel in the British Army - Sharpe's Eagle - Bernard Cornwell

Henry Gale (?) - Dorothy's uncle - The Wizard of Oz - L. Frank Baum

Henry Braymore Blake - lieutenant colonel - M*A*S*H - Robert Altman

Henry ??? - alias Slevin Kelevra - Lucky Number Slevin</a> - Paul McGuigan

EDIT: Last update 9.19.06

~Neshomeh

'Tis a fandom meme.

2006-08-12T19:44:27Z

Tell me of a fandom you know I know of and I'll tell you:

1. The character I first fell in love with.
2. The character I never expected to love as much as I do now.
3. The character everyone else loves that I don't.
4. The character I love that everyone else hates.
5. The character I used to love but don't any longer.
6. ~~The character I would shag anytime.~~ (N/A)
7. The character I'd want to be like.
8. The character I'd slap.
9. A pairing that I love.
10. A pairing that I despise.

Wheee! If you're not sure of a fandom, feel free to guess. The results could be entertaining.

In the category of "Stuff most people probably don't care to know," we found out yesterday that Mom has breast cancer. That sucks. I now have a family history of breast cancer. That sucks, too. I can deal with stuff I put myself at risk for, like carpal tunnel syndrome and arthritis, but I can't do anything about this. That sucks the most.

Tagged.

2006-07-26T03:24:27Z

Once you've been tagged, you have to write a blog with six random facts about yourself. In the end you need to choose six people to be tagged and list their names.

Random, eh? All right... here are some things people probably don't know about me:

1. I have a strange empathy for cats. I'm more sensitive about cats than about any other animal, including people much of the time. For example, I never had any trouble with biology dissections until it came to the cat. Then I couldn't look. (I haven't seen a cadaver, though, so it remains to be seen whether I could cope with that.)

2. I'm not a vegetarian, per se, but I often prefer veggie food and fish over animal meat.

3. I have a mole just off my right eyebrow. Apparently it would've been considered a "beauty mark" back in the day.

4. My younger brother and I have been mistaken as a couple multiple times. It's freaky. Just because he's taller than me now...

5. I'm currently reading "Treasure Island" by Robert Louis Stevenson. It took "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde," both "Pirates of the Caribbean" movies, and "Treasure Planet" to get me there.

6. I got my hair cut short a few weeks ago. Ten inches go to Locks of Love.

Now, I tag all six people on my friends list who haven't got this thing already. ^_^; (If there aren't six, well... You! Yeah, you! Tag! You're it!)

~Neshomeh

I enjoy quizzies.

2006-07-16T17:01:55Z

I'm supposed to be going on vacation about now, but I guess people are taking their time getting ready. *sigh* Meantime, found some fun stuff to share via Ori's LJ.

You Are A Hornbeam Tree

You are a reserved person, looking in from the outside.

Naturally attractive, you take good care of your looks.

You are not egoistic, and you make life as comfortable as possible.

You look for kindness in others - though you are seldom happy with yourself.

A bit mistrusting and unsure, you dream of being swept away by someone unusual.

What's Your Celtic Horoscope?

You Were a Koala

You value living life at a slow, peaceful, meditative pace.

You give insightful advice, helping others to overcome obstacles.

What Animal Were You In a Past Life?

Your Fortune Is

It is better to lose a lover than love a loser.

The Wacky Fortune Cookie Generator

Your Inner European is Irish!

Sprited and boisterous!

You drink everyone under the table.

Who's Your Inner European?

...Except that I don't drink. >.> And I think that's enough for now. See ya!

WTF?

2006-07-13T18:21:55Z

I snurched this from Twiggy (user cazrolime):

I am 100% likely to survive a zombie pirate attack!

Would you survive a zombie pirate attack?
Find out if YOU can survive at Shiver My Timber-- A Pirate RPG.

I don't get it. I have no weapons, no skills, and I'm not a Jedi or anything cool like that. For "which describes you best," I picked "Normal guy cursed by endless bad luck." I'd include the whole thing, but I don't know how to do cuts yet.

EDIT:

1. Do you have prior experience with zombies?
x Yes.
   No.

2. Do you have prior experience with pirates?
   Yes.
x No.

3. Do you now, or have you ever, worn a red shirt?
   Yes.
x No.

4. If confronted with a ship of zombie pirates, what are you more likely to do?
   Attack.
x Run away.
   Offer them some rum.

5. Are you yourself a zombie?
   Yes.
x No.

6. Are you a pirate?
   Yes.
x No.

7. Can you identify a zombie pirate on sight?
x Yes.
   No.

8. Do you consider yourself to be extremely naive?
   Yes.
x No.

9. Are you trained in hand-to-hand combat?
   Yes.
x No.

10. Do you possess an intimate knowledge of explosives?
   Yes.
x No.

11. Do you own any of the following?
   Knife?
   Dagger?
   Sword?
   Flintlock Pistol?
   Flintlock pistol that is likely to backfire?
   Dynamite?
   Submachine gun?
   Semi-automatic rifle?
   Portable cannon?
   Lightsaber?
   Excessive amount of rum?

12. On a scale of one to five, how juicy and delicious is your brain?
   1 - My brain is dry and rancid.
   2 - A bit chewy. Could use more flavor.
   3 - It's not too bad, actually.
x 4 - I have a USDA Grade A choice brain.
   5 - There is an entire episode of Iron Chef dedicated to cooking with my brain.
   Other - It's too rum-soaked to tell.

13. Which of the following statements most closely describes you?
   Pirate
   Ninja
   Governor's daughter
   Texas Ranger
   Badass Jedi Master
x Normal guy cursed by endless bad luck
   Expert blacksmith who inexplicably spends all his time making weapons
   Teenaged virgin ex-slave daughter of a renowned piratess/assassin who is an expert in rapiers and throwing knives
   The Saviour of Mankind

13. Are you an expert in any form of Martial Art?
   Yes
x No
   I am a badass Jedi Master, I don't need no Martial Arts

15. Do you often find yourself cast in a romantic relationship?
   Yes
x No

16. If attacked by an angry hoarde of zombie pirates, what would you be most likely to shout?
   "EEK!"
   "EEEEEEEK!!!!"
   "EEEEEEEEEKKKK!!!!!!"
   "DUDE!"
   "Aha! You'll remember this as the day that you almost caught --!" *mangled screaming as you fall off a bridge*
   "You have the right to remain silent, you zombie bastard!"
x "THAT'S IT! I'VE HAD IT WITH THESE MOTHERFUCKING ZOMBIES ON THIS MOTHERFUCKING SHIP!"
   "Time to unleash some Biblical-style justice!"
   I do not shout. The peace of falling snow brings serenity to the savaged mind.

17. Do your friends, family, and random acquaintances ever get killed in your place for seemingly no reason?
   Yes
x No

18. Are you ever tempted by the idea of dying a tragic martyr's death?
   Yes
x No

19. If death is imminent, would you consider letting yourself be turned into a zombie as a last resort?
   Yes
x No

20. The zombie pirates agree to negotiate for your life. Your best offer is:
   You can take me, but Elizabeth goes free!
x I don't negotiate with zombie pirates! I just shoot them!
   Twenty-five. And I'll buy you a hat. A really big one!
   Oh, please, zombie pirates! Let me go! The world will be a sad and dreary place without my infinite beauty to illuminate it!
   This is my blood. He who drinketh from this cup shall have everlasting life.
   Go ahead and eat me. The English Navy is already on their way for your undead corpses.
   You can have lifetime supply of Apollo candy bars and $108 million!
   To bring to bear the horn of the antelope would only silence the raging river.

21. Are you prone to speaking in haiku?
   Yes
x No

22. What is your secret weapon?
   Rum
   My sword
x My wits
   My unworldly beauty and expertise in fifty-seven different kinds of martial arts
   My bad-ass lightsaber
   My roundhouse kick to the face
   The Old Testament
   The Numbers
   I do not need weapons. The dog barks softly at the bare new moon.

23. The zombie pirates are winning, and it is time to make your last stand. Which location do you choose?
   The forecastle.
   The main deck.
   Aloft in the rigging.
   The Hatch.
x The quarterdeck. That's where they keep all the gunpowder.
    The galley. That's where they keep all the knives.
   Steerage. If it looks like I'm losing, at least I can use the extra ropes to hang myself.
   With the alcohol stores. Who needs gunpowder when you can use exploding caskets of rum?

24. In the event that the zombie pirates triumph and turn you into one of them, whose brain would you choose to eat first?
   Commodore Norrington
   Darth Sidious
x Judas of Iscariot
   Ana-Lucia Cortez
   Shredder
   I would die tragically before I would ever be turned into a zombie!

I suppose I'm getting by on wits alone, or something...

First official rant!

2006-07-12T23:09:12Z

Don't get me wrong, I don't intend everything I post here to be a rant. The title is mostly for the sake of the pun and it's only coincidence that the first thing I find worth talking about involves ranting. Anyway, here we go.

In a nutshell, I've been spammed on deviantART. Some idjit I'd never heard of sent me two copies of a threatening note, as follows:

> 'Make your time.'

> DarkLinkthe2nd [link] & DarkLinkthe3rd [link] have had enuff of ur crap.

> "...You've been warned by others, now it is time to end your existance on DA."

And that's it. Investigation revealed that the latter account doesn't exist anymore, but the former included a journal entry with some sob-story about being flamed. Now, anyone reading this knows I've never flamed in my life. The journal contained responses from people similarly threatened, most of whom had also never heard of this character. It looks as though the spam was a cheap way of getting page views. -_-;

My response was to report the guy. I also sent a reply note to the active account:

> 'Regarding your notes to me...'

> Hi. You should know that I, along with the others you've spammed, do not appreciate it at all. Furthermore, I'm insulted by your use of chatspeak. Since your other account seems to be nonexistant, I have reported this one. I hope you'll make better choices in the future.

> ~Neshomeh

Sold my soul

2006-07-08T20:16:48Z

Yup. Finally went and did it. So here's me figuring out how this silly thing works. Expect changes.