Commented on a pagan board:
We're an inclusive movement. Each of us is allowed, personally, to believe anything we want. History is cloudy, and "pagan" is an umbrella term that brings together MANY threads. But that doesn't mean it is legitimate to take ideas from several different paths, add a few of your own original ideas, and then throw the whole mess into a blender and call it "history", cause it ain't. Know where your ideas come from, and be honest about them.
Commented on D&D Fantasy Art:
Y'know, the history of the chainmail bikini can really be traced back to the story about Mary Read, who ripped open her shirt during a duel, and her breasts distracted her opponent enough to let her kill him. So this has been going on for 200 years at this point.
Overheard in my household:
"We ARE talking about Roald Amundsen, a man whose blood could freeze liquid water if he bled into it."
Two minor publishing milestones today: I set up a Facebook page for "Sprial Path Publications" (which you can search on and click like, but I am not going to send out like requests at this point), and I went over to Office Max and had them print two copies of "Gods, Men, & Monsters", one for the household, and one as a present for my 93 year old aunt. Kind of cool to have it in my hands, though.
The DVR has been squirreling away episodes of "Nightflyers" for a while now. Tonight, as the December Doldrums set in, we watched the first episode, and as soon as it was over, we deleted the stack. I know that there is a market for misery based fiction, but I have no clue why.
Have you EVER left a movie saying, "That was a brilliant script, but the (cast, production values, effects, what-have-you) pretty much ruined it"?
My thesis is that it might be impossible to make a bad movie with a great script. Of course, great scripts are REALLY hard to find.
From a D&D board:
RPG seesions don't actually generate very good stories, which is apparent as soon as you try to translate a session that you loved into a story that someone who doesn't play the game might want to read.
Back in the 70s, the D&D folks sold sets of five polyhedral dice. They were in kind of strange colors, and the plastic they were made of was AWFUL, but they were historic. This year for GaryCon, they have made up similar dice sets in the same sizes and designs, but in better plastic and with the GC logo in place of the highest number on each die. For the moment, at least, I figure I still have two or three sets of the originals...
Drowning in threshold anxiety. How is YOUR week going?
I gave Dementia a set of throwing knives for Yule. This may not have been the wisest thing I have ever done. The image shows all twelve knives stuck into something; this took about two dozen throws, at least some of them because a knife stuck but was dislodged due to a later impact. Eight knives in the target, four in the dresser, including the one at the upper right. Sanity Optional R Us. (On the other hand, this shot was taken free hand at a 1/4 second shutter speed, which I feel pretty good about...)
My adopted niece Nikki is going through a rough patch at the moment. Here's a bit of filk I wrote for her, a while ago.
(Queen of Air and Darkness)
And another piece from my archive for Nikki. The other one was filk (my lyrics for a pre-existing piece of music); this one is just original.
Today would have been my parent's 67th wedding anniversary.
REALLY enjoying "Runaways". How can you not love lines like this: "This can't be a halfway house for Pride members with problem pregnancies and aliens with fairy tale fixations."
The person in front of me in the checkout line had nothing in her hands. When her turn came, she mumbled something to the clerk, and the clerk said something into the intercom that included "liquor" and "Moet". And we all stood there for a while. The clerk was tall, thin, Hispanic, and freckled. Her name tag said, "Maria;" her voice was high, just short of squeaky.
The customer started to become restive. "They have the Moet under lock and key?" I asked no one. "I went through the same thing last week when I bought 12 year old whiskey." The customer looked at me blankly, but that got me a smile from Maria.
The wine arrived; Maria rang it through; it came up at $44.99. "That's expensive wine!" Maria said. I asked her if she was familiar with the rock group Queen; she gave me a bigger smile and said she was a big fan. I asked if she was familiar with the song, "Killer Queen"; she said she was.
I smiled and quoted, "She keeps the Moet et Chandon in a pretty cabinet."
Maria's eyes got huge. She pointed at the wine bottle and said, "THAT is what they are talking about?"
I nodded. "Though they do make thousand dollar bottles, too."
The customer looked at me with a bit of alarm and said, "But I can afford THIS," collected her change and her wine, and left.
Maria was still smiling as she rang through my cart of Dr. Pepper; I wished her a happy new year, and she returned the wish, then got on with the next customer. Her face settled back into the traditional service worker mask.
I looked back just as I went out the door; Maria caught my glance, and her face lit up again. I returned the smile and left. I had melted a grocery clerk. I felt pretty good about that.
What Robert Burns might have written if he had had freedom of speech:
Should ancient insult be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should honored dead forgotten lie
In this more peaceful time?
Let's raise a glass to friend, and foe,
And let it be a sign
That freedom's still worth fighting for
As in days of auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my friends,
For auld lang syne;
And freedom's still worth dying for
As in days of auld lang syne.