Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in nimbus1944's LiveJournal:

[ << Previous 20 ]

Tuesday, July 14th, 2009
1:21 pm	Finally In one busy week -- Finally, HBP emerges on CD and the silver screen. Finally, the term "fan fiction" is accepted in Webster's Dictionary. And finally, a glimmer of hope that John Williams may return to score the last movie. Woohoo! (Comment on this)
Wednesday, June 24th, 2009
4:26 pm	Progress on the State of Nature Preservation on Hunga Ha'apai Thousands of bird species in Oceania are extinct since mankind came to count them and decimate them. Fortunately, for the surviving varieties, there are islands of preservation -- literally. Once the average Pacific island has been visited by large ships, the avian population suffers from rat infestation. Why do the ships come? The obvious reasons: tourism, trade, and the mining of huge untouched fields of guano. Those problems have escaped Hunga Ha'apai, in the Kingdom of Tonga, which is left to the birds. Hunga Ha'apai is home to the Friendly Ground-Dove, (Gallicolumba stairii), called the Tu in Polynesian. As the Tongan Wildlife Centre reports, the Tu "clearly suffers from forest destruction, hunting and predation by introduced cats. The birds are very tame and confident and are easy prey for cats and humans. Its future in Tonga depends on the protection of islands such as Fonualei, Late, Hunga Ha'apai and Hunga Tonga." The Pacific Pigeon (Ducula pacifica), called the Lupe, does not need to be isolated from people; they coexist well. However, it needs heavily forested surroundings, which Hunga Ha'apai supplies well. The Spotless Crane (Porzana tabuensis), called the Moro, may be totallly extinct in Tonga. It is a shy creature of the wetlands; if it can be found in the tall grasses of Hunga Ha'apai's swamps and marshes, that may be the only stand of the Moro. So, with this peaceful avian paradise in the Pacific, the outlook is excellent for the preserv.... ah... Excuse me a moment, I have a voice in my earpiece. Yes?.... Say that again?.... Really?..... Oh. Well, that's rather bad luck for the Moro, then, eh? Ladies and gentlemen, disregard my report. Mother Nature has seen to it that Hunga Ha'apai's status has somewhat... er, changed. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, June 9th, 2009
7:58 pm	Almost There, Almost There.. Angels and Demons has grossed $400 million worldwide. One more good week and it'll break into the Top 100 All-Time Box Office list. Then, next month, we get to see how the Half-Blood Prince will fare in that same race. Does Harry have more loyal fans now, or less? HP6's predecessors, in order of filming, are #5, #14, #21, #12 and #7 in all-time money. The list: http://www.boxofficemojo.com/alltime/world/?pagenum=1&p=.htm Speaking of passing 400,000, so has another HP statistic: over 403,000 fanfics posted in the "Pit of Voles," fanfiction.net. That half-million milestone is coming! (Comment on this)
Tuesday, May 12th, 2009
7:05 am	The Passing Parade Passing thought After forty years of manned space missions, when high-definition TV and flawless data streams are received from the International Sapce Station and other spacecraft, how come the audio still sounds like the astronauts are using two tin cans and a string? HP fandom's influence? In the US, the most popular name given to baby girls is now Emma... ¡Ai, caramba! After 162 years, US postage stamps have finally come down to this: “It’s an incredible honor,” says Simpsons creator Matt Groening. “I honestly can’t believe it. I thought the Pillsbury Doughboy would come before us.” James l. Brooks, the producer, agrees. "We are emotionally moved by the Postal Service selecting us rather than making the lazy choice of someone who has benefited society." (Comment on this)
Tuesday, May 5th, 2009
9:30 am	Hi Ho, Hi Ho, A Pirate's Life For Me Chaucer said April was the cruelest month. May, though, is not turning out so well for some hapless criminals. It's easy, y'see. You get some fast boats, a "mother ship" to serve as a refueling station, and a dozen or so of your fellow Somalis who happen to have AK-47s, and you become a pirate. Arrr! Well, okay, it's not always easy. 11 would-be pirates took a run at a ship in international waters. It turned out to be a French military vessel. 8 were taken into custody and 3 were released. Those 3 lasted one day before they were caught again by another patrol vessel. Let's face it, some guys just can't get the hang of it. Being a criminal isn't as easy as it looks on TV. In Cleveland, Ohio, one gent went out in a parking lot (that's a car park to some of you) and began peddling drugs. It should have been an easy job, but he didn't last long. Maybe he shouldn't have chosen the parking lot of a police station, y'think? In Ottawa, firefighters had a rough night as arson fires broke out in three spots around the city. How in the world would they ever catch the villain? As it turned out, they didn't have to look too hard for him. A likely suspect turned up the next day... at a hospital... with third degree burns over mostly all of his body. Good thing he wasn't building bombs. Mugging is getting tougher these days, too. In Cambodia, a few guys decided to hit an easy mark, a British tourist girl. Bad luck, mates; they picked Princess Eugenie, who has an official set of bodyguards with her. The snatched purse was quickly recovered and the princess was hustled away, unhsrmed. Now, the muggers in Quartz Hill, California should have had better luck; no princesses, therefore no bodyguards, so they attacked a 17-year-old girl. Bad choice. She scratched; she kicked them in painful places; then, she took out her instrument from band practice. Big deal, huh. What's she going to say? "Stay back, I've got a flute, and I'm not afraid to use it!" Not exactly. This is America, where one tradition of the schools is the marching band. The girl happened to be the drum majorette, who leads the march with this huge meter-long baton, y'see, and she proceeded to beat the bejabbers out of them. Rough life, criminality. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Sunday, April 19th, 2009
1:35 pm	Sic 'em, Fluffy! Lost any money in the stock market lately? Get your revenge! Well, vicariously, anyway. Let your dog do it. Yep, it's the Greedy Stockbroker chew toy. You'll have hours of enjoyment as your dog mauls your mini money-mismanager! Now, maybe a stockbroker is not your problem. How about a politician? Jihadist? Governor? Petty dictator? The nice man who ticketed your car? Take your pick here. For those who don't have a dog, there's voodoo dolls. Bloomberg news reports that President Sarkozy sued about his doll (20,000 sold in one day in Paris). The ruling was split; he was awarded a massive 1 euro in damages, and all future dolls must have a prominent warning that it's "an affront to dignity" to stick pins in it. After Sarkozy pays his attorney's fee, can he get an attorney voodoo doll and offend his dignity? (Comment on this)
Monday, April 13th, 2009
8:15 am	(Yawn) Is It Spring yet? Easter afternoon was a chilly 42°F (5.5°C). Doggone global warming. At the annual season of resurrection and rebirth — and the reclaiming of a vessel and crew feared lost to pirates — we roll out another new fanfic, In Lieu Of Flowers, on the return of the kidnapped wizards of the war with Voldemort. This fanfic is my #53 to be tossed in the fanfiction.net swamp, which seems like quite a lot at first glance. Then I look at the home page for fellow scribe BAGGE, who posted #91 in January! Not too long to wait before HBP is on the screen. Meanwhile, many of the "kids" in the cast have been busy with moviemaking. Robert Pattinson has profited from his Cedric role with 5 more movies, including Twilight I and II; Natalia Tena and Rupert have two more; one more apiece for Dan, Tom and Devon, a TV episode for Katie and a voice-over for Emma. However, the overlooked Bonnie and Evanna are still sitting by the phone, waiting for that casting call... Hmmm! The new fanfic's already garnered its first review. Yep, Spring is here. Gotta go. (Comment on this)
Sunday, February 22nd, 2009
4:22 pm	Paris in the winter, when it drizzles In past bloggery, we've taken two stances on Paris Hilton. The first, labled "Is Paris Burning?" was a bit depreciating: a sampling of reviews for her stunning movie The Hottie and The Nottie. The basic conclusion of most reviewers seemed to be "See Paris and die." Worldwide, it opened on several silver screens a year ago, closing after 7 days; it grossed $1.6 million, not exactly covering the cost of making the movie. In the US market, to date it's made a rousing $27,696. (figures from Boxofficemojo.com.) We did try to make amends with another blog, "Hail To the Chief," in which we noted her run for President of The United States. She wasn't lucky; some other guy won. Tonight they will announce the Oscars. Will she get one? Of course not. The fix is in. However, last night another organization dared to honor her performance, and she won not one, but three Golden Raspberries, better known as Razzies. Her masterpiece was edged out for Worst Picture by a Mike Myers travesty, but Paris herself won for Worst Actress in Hottie and Worst Supporting Actress in Repo: The Genetic Opera. Then she won both halves of a split vote for Worst Screen Couple in Hottie -- meaning that she was worst regardless of whether her co-star in any scene was the man or the woman. Alas, she did not win Worst Producer for Hottie, probably because they don't have that category. Congratulations, Paris! (Comment on this)
Wednesday, February 18th, 2009
12:21 pm	Back around 2002-2003, when I started writing HP fanfics, I included a poem in one story. I've posted before about how this poem's developed a life of its own. Not to bore my one or two regular visitors, but here's the latest chapter. The first reviewer who fancied it thought enough to write me. She's the one I call "Ava the memoriser of poems" on my ffn profile. She was in New Zealand, if I remember correctly. I've used the four opening lines as my "signature" on various sites. That's how it got around. It's a chaiastic reversal of Dumbledore's caution at the Mirror of Erised ("It does not do..."). The first borrower came along. Unaveritas of Louisiana, a fellow Blogspotter, quoted me in company with Alexander Pope. Hmm! Then, it went international; the second borrower was Yahia Momtaz,an Egyptian video producer. Now the third borrower is... well, let his page speak for itself. "Hobbies & Interests: pyrotechnics Favorite Gadgets: Whips Chains and fuzzy handcuffs Personal Quote: It wouldn't be right to dream, while Forgetting to live, it seems; Nor would it be right to dwell on life And yet forget our dreams." Not being into whips and chains (sorry), I had to look up that third item: "These Authentic Sexy Fuzzy Handcuffs work just like the real thing and boast a genuine metal construction. So if you know anyone who's been bad and needs to be cuffed, rest assured these fuzzy sex handcuffs will stay clasped firmly. Don't worry, these handcuffs are furry so it won't hurt. These fuzzy handcuffs also come with a handy safety release switch so you don't have to worry about losing the keys (but your prisoner doesn't have to know that!)." Moving on... (Comment on this)
Saturday, February 14th, 2009
6:11 am	Hermione Weasley 3 Rats. Between Fanfiction.net's editing program and the dim bulb of an author who's using it, I just managed to upload another story with an editing error. Good grief. That program has an incredible ability to take a line and move it to another part of the story, on its own. The line "So, who do we interview first, Morgan?" is misplaced, throwing the dialogue out of sequence. Grrr! (Oh, and Robert Burns' "aft aglee" should be "aft agley," actually.) Yes, I could delete the story and repost it, but why bother. Anyway, the correct version is below. There's also a Valentine's Day story posted for Ronzie/'Mione shippers. Hermione Weasley 3: The Case of The Shoeless Suspect When a centaur is accused in a crime, it helps to be a being rather than a beast. "May I have a moment, Mrs. Weasley?" Hermione looked up from her desk. At the door was Mr. Pinch, one of her Ministry superiors. "Certainly, sir." "As you know, your Investigator title overlaps several departments —" "Yes, I noticed that caveat when I took the job. It adds variety, though." "— and yet, business has been rather slow for you lately." "I like to think I've been solving cases so quickly that my in-bin is always clean." "So, while things are quiet, we're sending you to the Centaur Relations Office." "WHAT?" "Just on loan, of course, until their sticky little problem is resolved." Hermione was stunned. "Sir, I thought I'd been doing a good job, actually. I often come in early and leave late, I worked evenings on my last two cases, I've taken work home..." "Gently, Mrs. Weasley! It's still investigations. It's not the end of the world." "From what I hear, it is! Being 'sent to the Centaur Relations Office' is tantamount to being sacked!" "I know that's the standard office legend, yes, but hear me out, please. There really is such an office, and as a history buff, I'm sure you can comprehend why it's under-utilised." She took a breath and calmed down. "Because it's been there for 200 years to defend the centaurs' rights as beings, but the centaurs still consider themselves beasts. As a result, the office is never called upon to do anything! From what I hear, when the elves clean the office, they dust the manager; it's their way of being sure he hasn't died at his desk. He has no staff—" "Which is why I'm sending you. A clever mind is needed to sort out a strange case. The old boy in Centaur Relations has a mystery on his hands that he's hardly suited to solve by himself! No sense in hiring someone to help; they may never have another case." Hermione was still dubious. "Do I keep my present office space?" "Absolutely." "And my usual flow of jobs?" "The world of criminal wizards awaits your return." "Then lead on! Where do I find this dustbin of an office? It sounds Level-4-ish." "Exactly. Level 4, end of the corridor. See Mr. Codger." "You're joking." -o- The ancient wizard in a threadbare old robe nodded. "Yes, it's Codger. Fine old family name from Kirkby, Yorkshire, y'know. We've always..." He had a reminiscent air about him, and Hermione cut him off. "Yes, sir, and I'd love to hear about it some time. Perhaps we should talk about the matter at hand first?" "Hm? Oh, the centaur and all that rot. Yes, I suppose so. It's all in this folder. Two centaurs were... this is so strange, y'know. I'm not used to having work to discuss. After all, this is the Ministry's first centaur case since I arrived in this job." She sighed. "When was that, sir?" He thought about it. "1932. I was the first, mind you. The manager position had been vacant since the office was created 121 years before, and no one had noticed. That's continued apace for 80-odd years now. I'm hardly up to doing field investigations and all that. I'm somewhat past my prime, y'know." "I'll be glad to help, sir. Now, about those two centaurs." -o- Hermione mentioned it all at dinner, but Ron only chuckled, offering no sympathy. "So when this senile, hairy-eared old codger finally got around to it, what's the case?" "A Muggle matter," she explained, "in Inchvuilt, Scotland. A few nights ago, a farmer who raises race horses had a barn fire. Fortunately, by the time he got out to the barnyard, the horses had somehow escaped the building — and then comes the weird part. In the stampede, the Muggle insists he saw two centaurs clearly outlined against the flames! He's blaming them for the fire. The newspapers, of course, think he might as well have blamed space aliens." "Is Inch-whatever near the Forbidden Forest?" "Inchvuilt. It's miles away, downhill near Loch Monar, but not too far for a Hogwarts-area centaur to wander. The centaurs have no love for humans anyway, but the two major Muggle-haters, our old acquaintances Bane and Magorian, are automatically suspect. So far, they haven't been charged with anything. The Ministry shoved the investigation into Codger's lap, and naturally, he hasn't done a thing on it." "So you get stuck with it?" "Yes, and Morgan Bartholomew will handle the field work for Scotland Yard." "That's good," said Ron, munching on a chicken leg. "You definitely want to help Morgan. Then maybe he'll owe us another posh dinner." "Oh? So you can escape my cooking?" "Dinner's delicious, hon." -o- Morgan Bartholomew, wizard and police inspector, stretched in his chair and laughed. "And how do you bring wizard justice to centaurs, when they consider themselves beasts, and above it all in matters Ministerial?" Hermione nodded. "Not to mention Muggle justice, when we can't let the Muggles find out centaurs really exist. Meanwhile, there are Loch-Ness-type sensationalists gearing up to explore the forests around Inchvuilt, on the rumour of centaurs." "I imagine Bane and Magorian deny it all, and aren't about to come to the Ministry for questioning." "How would they get in, anyway? We only have two ways into the Ministry. The visitors' entrance is in a phone box, and anyone else has to arrive through the fireplaces by floo powder. A centaur won't fit in either transport." "Doesn't that joint have a freight dock, or something? How do they bring in desks?" "They shrink them with a charm, then expand them indoors. Can't do that to living creatures, I'm afraid." "So what's your next step, Sherlock Weasley?" "To have you tell me all about the barn fire." "Not much to say; it was a horse stable only. The loft was for storing hay. A corridor ran up the middle from a big barn door, which is where the horses escaped. Tie-ups were on one end; on the other were a threshing floor, and a separate room with saddles, reins, and all that." "A tack room, yes." "Oh, you know your horse barns, do you?" "Loved riding as a little girl, and tended horses one summer. Where did the fire start?" "The hayloft would have been a fine spot, but according to the forensics, the fire began in the tack room and spread from there." "Were there any unusual tyre tracks?" "No, but hoofprints were another story. The horses storming out the barn door were all shod, but the four-footed whatever that opened the door and stood aside was unshod. Forensics took molds of those hoofprints, but they don't know if anything will come of it. Unless the hoof has a sizable defect, they're all pretty much alike." "So, who do we interview first, Morgan?" "First, we take the railway to Scotland, then pick up a car. Very muggular, I know, but the accountants have to see how I got there! Brought your bags, did you?" "All ready." "Fine. Tomorrow we'll apparate to Hogsmeade and walk to the Forbidden Forest, where you can find me some centaurs — trot them out for me, so to speak." -o- Morgan was trying to be diplomatic with his interrogation, but he was not doing so well. Every question seemed to grate Ronan's nerves. He tried again. "Is there any way to distinguish your shoes from horses' shoes?" "Horseshoes are human inventions for ridden horses! Centaurs would never wear horseshoes!" "So, all the shoeprints are horses' marks. As for the unshod ones, Bane and Magorian say they're innocent..." "They said they were not there, and that is enough for us." Morgan was about to argue that point when Hermione interupted and took him aside. "Morgan, let's say our thanks and leave it at that. We have some searching to do." "For what?" "For who. I just realised that a centaur's missing here. An old friend. Just a guess, but I wouldn't be surprised to find him in the Inchvuilt Wood." -o- "Who on earth are we looking for?" asked an out-of-breath Morgan. "You'll see," said Hermione as they hiked the mountain path. "He's here somewhere. I just know it." "Hermione, with so many curiosity-seekers and centaur hunters here lately, you'll have to tell him we're friends, or he'll think we're here to collar him and he'll stay a mile away. So, how do we attract him? Blow a dog whistle?" "Morgan! He's not some dumb animal!" "He'll also avoid us if he's got something to feel guilty about." "I doubt he's guilty... and I'm sure I can prove it if he'll talk to us." "Well, here's the overlook you wanted. It's showtime. Go ahead; make a noise like a wizard friend." "I will," said Hermione. "Let's hope he hears me, and remembers." She cleared her throat, took a breath, and loudly sang: "Happy we hail you, O hallowed haven, Hogwarts, Beacon of light Through the ages of dark, Herald of magic For students brave and stalwart! Hat having spoken, Houses betokened, Hogwarts, forever Convey the spark! Warp us and weft us, O wizard-weaver, Hogwarts, Wrought from the spindles Of wise ones of yore. Wizards and witches Of prestidigious riches, Willing and worthy, Watchful and sturdy. Hogwarts forever, Forevermore!" Morgan was baffled. "What on earth was that?" "Hogwarts Forever, the Sorting Hat's idea for a school song. One time I took our missing centaur to the hat for a performance. I thought he might convince Dumbledore to adopt it as the official song, in place of that scabby-knees horror. He wasn't all that impressed, but he might remember it. If not, the lyrics alone would tell him I'm a witch." "If he's close enough to hear the lyrics. Now what?" "We wait." Their waiting bore no fruit for an hour, and Hermione was almost ready to concede failure when rhythmic footsteps approached through the dense forest — then suddenly, there he was, his palomino body shining in the dappled sunlight. He smiled. "Long time passing, Miss Granger." "Good afternoon, Professor." "Those days are gone. It's just Firenze now." "Then please call me Hermione; it'll be like old times again. This is Morgan, who's a policeman, but he's also a wizard who comes as a friend. Tell me, what's your mare's name?" He was startled. "Her name is Phillyra. But how did you know..." "You no longer have male friends among the Forbidden Forest centaurs. Yet, there were two centaurs reported at the barn fire. I figured you had mated." "Yes. You shouldn't have come here, Hermione. The unmagic ones are hunting us." "I know. It's because the farmer saw you, providing him with a convenient villain. The Muggles may hunt you like an exotic beast, but remember, the Ministry considers you a being, and worthy of a defence. We'll help you sort it out. I know you're innocent." "I was only helping the horses to escape." "Did you go inside the barn?" "No. Phillyra begged me not to, and the doorways were far too low. I suspect the farmer-man set his own fire. But men need evidence." "We'll give it to them — circumstantial, but evidence. That's why I brought my old writing kit today. I haven't used a quill nearly as much as I should these days, and I don't imagine you have. Let's practice our penmanship! Here's my ink, and a long parchment..." -o- It was a quiet evening at Heron's Nest. Ron had put the kids to bed before Hermione arrived home from her long railway trip. They reheated dinner and sat down to eat. Not surprisingly, Hermione was dying to tell about her case, and Ron was munching on a chicken leg. "So the farmer did it for insurance money?" Hermione nodded. "The police confronted him with my parchment, and he confessed. The horses were heavily insured, more so than the decrepit old horse stable. The farmer had been losing lots of money at betting, and couldn't afford the upkeep any more. It was time for a fire. His best-laid plans ganged aft agley, though; the horses escaped the fire." "And what was in this parchment of yours?" "A sworn statement by someone you'll recall. He signed himself as 'Firenze, a citizen of the United Kingdom by birth, born in the County of Kent, Scotland under the sign of Libra in 1972, who prefers to live as an itinerant forest-dweller.' He describes what he and Phillyra saw and did at the fire. He also provides hoofprints of his 'four-footed transportation' in ink, though that's very unscientific evidence. He signed it, and Phillyra made her mark. Morgan and I both exist in the Muggle world, so we signed as witnesses." "What if they haul you into court to ask you if Firenze is a centaur?" "No judge will allow that line of questioning; it's ridiculous. All the evidence suggests that Firenze is an ordinary man, who was riding an unshod horse." Ron looked dubious. "Okay, but Firenze can't and won't testify in a Muggle court. So all you have is a signed statement from some anonymous stranger who admits he was at the scene of a crime!" "His prints prove he opened the barn door, releasing the horses." "How? If hoofprints are pretty much all alike, then how do you prove he opened the barn door?" Hermione smiled. "Oh, not by his hoofprints. Centaurs can also leave one bit of evidence that horses don't: fingerprints! They're very ordinary. I had Firenze put his prints on my parchment, in ink. The police ran them, and accepted all the best part of Firenze's story — that he's apparently a mountain man, with no birth record or any other Muggle paperwork, who just happened to be there that night as the rescuer. The police had fingerprints taken from the barn door, where the horses escaped; those matched Firenze's. All the prints on the doors of the tack room, where the fire started, were the farmer's." "That's it, then. He's done." "The stable had the same problem as the Ministry: the doorways were too small for a centaur, so Firenze didn't try entering. Result: two meddling witnesses to arson who didn't manage to implicate themselves. Case closed! The weird-animal seekers have gone back to Nessie, and the Centaur Relations Office will have to do without me for another 80 years. Would you pass the potatoes, please, dear?" (Comment on this)
Tuesday, January 27th, 2009
7:37 am	Arrivals In The Peter Pan Book, I mention the unlikely circumstance of twins born in separate years, based on factual twins. (I stretched my poetic license by having them born on a ferry crossing the English Channel, so they were also born in two countries.) It's happened most recently in Rochester, MN; the boy arrived at 11:51 PM 31 Dec '08, and his sister at 12:17 AM 1 Jan '09. No, they didn't give them special names for the occasion. In Washington, the comedy capital of the world, Al Gore was scheduled to discuss global warming at a senate hearing tomorrow. It had to be called off. Yeah, you guessed it—forecasts of snow, sleet, and icy roads. In the blog on 1 Oct last, we mentioned the poor fellow at Green Lane Crossing in Bedford Hills who obeyed his GPS, thereby steering onto railroad tracks and volunteering his car for target practice by an evening communter train. Thanks to the folks who program the GPS map, that was the second such occasion (see our original blog of 6 Jan 2008). Well, the Rail Gods must have a taste for Sitting Duck a la Detroit now; on New Year's Eve, it happened a THIRD TIME! At the SAME SPOT! "It doesn't seem to stop," said the railroad's spokesman in charge of understatement. (Comment on this)
Thursday, January 1st, 2009
1:02 am	Happy New Year And All That Well, another Annus Horribilus is over, as the Queen says -- and time for another one to start. First, it's going to be horrible if you have trouble remembering the New Year when you write the date on checks. Sure, last January you could overwrite your "2007" error by making the 7 into an 8. Try making an 8 into a 9, smartypants. (Actually, it could be worse; consider how it'll be next January.) Then, this year there's the television thing. In America in mid-February, all the old analog TV stations are going off the air, replaced by digital TV. This is bad for the poor folk, of course, but it's like building a bypass through Arthur Dent's house; it's been on the books for a year and must be done. They did make converters, true, but I hear they don't work too well. I wouldn't know; I gave up watching TV years ago. Recycling possibilities of old obsolete analog TVs: - with your now-useless VHS video camera, build a baby monitoring system or TV intercom or something. - get a catapult and hold a county TV Tossing Day for charity. - use them to build a harbor breakwater or coral reef. - stack up a pyramid of them, turn them all on to pure static, and call it Snow Cone. Some art fancier will pay you plenty for it. - take out the picture tube and... well, I can't really think of anything to put in it, so forget this idea. Well, that's all the advice I have for 2009. I've got my own troubles, y'know; can't worry about everyone else's. Stiff upper lip, good luck, and Happy New Year. :>) (Comment on this)
Tuesday, December 23rd, 2008
9:27 am	The storm clouds gathering, appear To leave us little cause for cheer With death and fire from deceit, Drought and famine served to eat, Fortunes spent to profit none, Truces written soon undone, Wind, fire and ice bring houses low, As likewise fire and lava's flow. With hopeless hopes, and joyless joy, What future faces girl or boy? But yet the spirit lives world 'round! The songs are sung, the bells resound; One more minorah light aflame; A gift-wrapped package has your name; In many ways, from land to land, We share a feast of friendship grand. Once more the choirs sing the tale How Magi walked the shepherds' trail To see a baby, manger-born, A trail we walk each Christmas morn. So light the candles, raise the tree! Sing out in joyful harmony! Symbolic gifts and feast and cheer Mark Christmas hope's rebirth each year. (Comment on this)
Sunday, December 21st, 2008
10:11 am	Present Perfect Present Perfect The gift beyond your means can be the most precious one. At Christmas, play and make good cheer For Christmas comes but once a year. - Thomas Tusser (1524-1580) Outside Heron's Nest, the early December snowfall tapered off to the last few flakes, and the sun came out. Hugo Weasley looked out the window with anticipation. "Mum? Can Rose and I go outside for a snowball match now?" Hermione put down her copy of The Witch's Holiday Cookbook to straighten the collar of Hugo's jumper. "Tell me, honourable number one son, have you thought of a present for your sister yet?" "Um... does it count when I nailed Denny Parkinson for trying to hex her?" "No, dear. You're not supposed to use magic between classes." "I didn't, Mum. I punched him out." "Ten points for good aim, then. But that would account for the black eye he gave you, and the detention for fighting, so minus ten points... for not ducking." "Oh, man! You hear about everything I do! I can't get away with anything!" "The price of fame, dear. Now, back to the matter at hand: You have your christmas allowance; presents, for your sister and cousins?" "I'll think about it. Can we go outside now, pleeease, before it all melts?" "I'll think about it." "Honest, I'll get them gifts!" "Promise accepted. You can go out, if you leave your wands indoors; no more piles of self-aiming, self-propelled snowballs. And dress warmly!" "Woohoo! ROOOSE!" Rose sauntered into the room, fully dressed for outdoors. "Stop shouting, I'm ready already," she said, and flopped down in her Mum's lap. Hugo roared away for his coat, gloves and boots. "How about you?" asked Hermione. "Thought about Hugo's present yet?" "No ideas yet," said Rose.. "Maybe we hafta go shopping." "What's the hurry, Rosie? There are such good bargains on Christmas Eve, y'know; almost nothing on the shelves, but really cheap." "They're even cheaper after Christmas." "True. Or we could skip it altogether. But I have these labels, see, and I want to attach them to something. A pile of unattached labels on Christmas morning is so... cold." "This afternoon?" "This afternoon would be a very good start. It'll probably take two or three afternoons to get it all done. Can I ask you something else, dear?" "Sure." "How old are you?" "Thirteen, duh." "And how much do you weigh?" Rose shrugged. "Um... eight stone." "More than the average lap dog, wouldn't you say?" "Are you telling me I'm too fat?" "Don't worry, boys will still like you when you're fat. Actually, I was just wondering if you're getting to be a wee bit too big to sit in my lap." "What's the matter, Mum? Are your legs going to sleep?" "Something like that." "Must be old age." "Remind me to change my will and disown you. And just in time for Christmas!" "Okay, sorry about the 'old' joke." "Forgiven." The two stood up as Hugo returned, suited up and anxious to go, and the children headed for the door. "Whoa!" yelled Hermione. "Wands, please." "Rats," muttered Hugo, and reached under his coat. -o- Hermione's estimation had been spot on; with presents for all the relatives and each other, shopping took the better part of three days. For a while each day, the ladies of the family went off to do the clothing shops, and Ron took Hugo in tow and did men's shopping. They also enjoyed a good long visit to the Wheezing Wheezes shop, and took a look at the latest brooms (but just a look), and satisfied the sweet tooth in each of them. It was a good thing that Dad paid for the ice cream, because Hugo still needed to buy one more present — Rose's. He now knew exactly what she wanted; she had ooh'ed and aah'ed over the potions kit when she saw it in the shop window, and tried to convince Mum to get it for her, but Mum had new robes in mind for both kids. It was up to Hugo to get it for her. There was one little problem: his allowance was gone, spent on everyone else. How could he manage it? Then he saw Mum hand Dad a big wrapped package to carry, and he knew exactly what he had to do. It would be a real wrench to do it, and Rose might get a little bent about it, but... -o- After Christmas breakfast, the gift-giving and unwrapping took well over an hour. After the last package had been sought out and delivered, Hermione unwrapped herself from Ron's warm arm and started towards the kitchen to finish cooking for the Burrow feast. "Wait a minute," said Rose. "Mum, we're missing one present I remember buying. Did you send it to the Burrow by mistake?" "Dad?" murmured Hugo, "The last present I bought is missing." "I think we know which ones you mean," said Hermione. "Rose, what's missing?" "You want me to say what it is? Aloud?" "Yes." "Okay... I got Hugo that home Quidditch set he wanted.. But it's not here!" Hugo blushed; he was not surprised. "Thanks, Ro. I know it's not here. That's my fault." Rose was stunned. "Huh?" "I saw Dad carrying the big package, all wrapped up, and I guessed what it was. I was out of money, but I really wanted to get you that potions kit, y'know, so... I told Dad he could return the Quidditch set so I'd have the money to get yours. I'm sorry. Like you said, your potions kit's prob'ly at the Burrow." Rose blushed as well. "No, it isn't." It was Hugo's turn to be stunned. "Huh?" "When I saw Mum carrying the odd-shaped package, I knew it was the potions kit. Thanks for that. But I had already gotten you the set; now I was out of money too, and to finish getting everybody else's, I... I said I'd give up the potions kit for the money. Sorry." Now, neither of them had gotten what they wanted, or seen the other get their gift. Shaking his head, Hugo laughed. "You big git!" Rose smiled. "You little dope!" For a moment, no one knew what to say. Hermione finally broke the silence. "Well, I, for one, am enjoying this rare moment of brotherly-sisterly love! But, before I go to cook, I have a confession as well." "What?" they asked. "I'm a git too. I didn't return the potions kit. I had the store send it to the Burrow." "And I'm such a dope," chuckled Ron, "that I did the same thing with the Quidditch set. Just remember to act surprised when you find the presents there this afternoon." Hugo and Rose looked at each other happily, then a thought occurred. "But, Dad!" moaned Hugo. "We can't pay you for them! We're broke." "Been there, done that," said Ron. "We're Weasleys! We're used to being broke. Someday, we won't be. This mattered more than working a few more hours to pay for it. Next year, stick to your budget, all right? Happy Christmas, kids." When families gather 'round, Or friend can be with friend The Christmas song will sound And never needs to end. To be a friend or lover Is the finest magic art; At Christmas time, Keep friendship in your heart. (Comment on this)
Friday, December 5th, 2008
12:43 pm	Christmas Gift Gallery 2008 Okay, we have to get the economy going again. Best way: get everyone to buy something. So, here's our annual gift gallery with a few choice upscale goodies for every spender's budget: Pens are cheap; 2GB memory sticks are almost cheap. A pen with a built-in 2GB audio recorder: $249. (Notebook included.) Who wants a cheap cloth tote bag with PBS advertising on the side when you can have this designer model in leather for a mere $495? Does your mother-in-law like to travel? Send her to the North Pole, and pray for global warming. Spot on a dogsled expedition, only $37,500. Got plasma envy? Will that new 46' TV win the neighborhood contest for biggest home screen? No way! Just fork over $70,000, and you'll get 103"! The Chevrolet Volt will be America's Yuppie hybrid... when it comes out in 2010.... if it comes out in 2010. Taxpayers' cost of bailout to keep General Motors solvent until then: $30,000,000,000 or so. But who's counting? (Comment on this)
Wednesday, November 26th, 2008
5:18 pm	Images of An American Thanksgiving "See off yonder; see them tepees? They kind o' look like corn shocks from here, but them's Injun tents, sure as you're a foot high. See 'em now? Sure, I knowed you could. Smell that smoky sort o' smell in the air? That's the campfires a-burnin' and their pipes a-goin'. Lots o' people say it's just leaves burnin', but it ain't. It's the campfires........" "Sounds like a wonderful game to me. Of course, in order to play it, you need an imagination. Do you know what the imagination is?" "Oh, sure. That's when you see things, but they're not really there." "That can be caused by other things, too. No, to me the imagination is a place all by itself... a separate country. You've heard of the French or the British nation. Well, this is the lmagine nation. It's a wonderful place. How would you like to make snowballs in the summertime? Or drive a big bus right down 5th Avenue? How would you like to have a ship all to yourself... that makes daily trips to China and Australia? How would you like to be the Statue of Liberty in the morning, and in the afternoon, fly south with a flock of geese? It's very simple. Of course, it takes practice. "The first thing you've got to learn is how to pretend." Over the river, and through the wood, To Grandfather's house we go; The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh through the white and drifted snow. Over the river, and through the wood - Oh, how the wind does blow! It stings the toes and bites the nose As over the ground we go. Over the river, and through the wood, To have a first-rate play. Hear the bells ring, "Ting-a-ling-ding", Hurrah for Thanksgiving Day! (Comment on this)
Saturday, November 22nd, 2008
9:49 pm	Up, or down? If there's one thing that causes dissension between men and women, it's that silly hinged lid. One gender wants it in the same position at all times; the other gender decides on the needs of the moment. No, no, not the seat on the toilet. I'm talking about the lid that covers the two big holes in the basket shelf on a shopping cart. The holes, of course, are for a baby's legs, when said infant is sitting in the shelf. In the absence of a baby, there's a plastic or metal lid that can be raised to cover the holes. When the carts are gathered into rows for storage, the lid tends to fall down into the open position, if it wasn't open already. Whereupon I come along, sans any baby; I get a cart, and go shopping for groceries. Usually, everything I need that day can fit in this little basket shelf. Now, most times, I remember to put the silly lid up immediately. On those occasions when I don't, imagine my surprise as a 26 oz can of tomato sauce worms its way out and drops on my foot to remind me. Okay, so it's open. Stupid me. Now I have to empty the little basket shelf to reach the lid, close it, and reload the goodies. Grrrr. So, you can understand why I'd like to see a counterweight on the outside, in the form of a bar of metal that will pull the lid closed unless a baby has need for the holes. Either that, or we train the baby to raise it when leaving. (Comment on this)
Sunday, November 16th, 2008
8:54 am	Catching Up Following The Sea Bon Voyage, Michael Perham! Last January 3, we left him in a warm Caribbean harbor, receiving acclaim after sailing the Atlantic solo. He's back, and off to sail around the world -- at age 16. His adventures will unfold at http://www.totallymoney.com/sailmike/ . While well-sponsored (first clue: totallymoney.com,a sponsor's website, is also the vessel's registry name), he reportedly will have to keep his phone calls short. With the severe lack of cell sites at sea, the very expensive satellite phone will be used to call home. Um, Michael, it takes passing a test and getting a license, but many other sailors have the answer to that... even those plowing the waves of space... Changing of The Guard The US elections are over -- finally! Two years of hoopla is a lot to take and absorb; too much noise for too long. It was nicer when the candidates weren't chosen until the party convention, a few months before the election. Finally, the undead can rest; their votes have been counted, along with all the votes by Mr. Mickey Mouse and other fictional characters. I wonder if Snape voted? (Comment on this)
Monday, October 20th, 2008
7:52 am	Passing The Hat The HP readerdom hasn't diminished much since Book 7; perhaps they've just gone from the real thing, JKR, to the world of fanfic. On Friday, I posted a new item on Fanfiction.net (a/k/a the Pit of Voles). That drew in some readers, and my pile of stories had 390 hits in three days. So far this month,I've had 450 hits by 400 readers in 34 countries! There are small-book authors who only wish they could find an instant audience of that size, thirsting for reading matter; the power of fanfic! Here's the new one, as some Firstie girls use their wiles to get past the Sorting Hat-- A Hat on a Girl on a Stool Over the years, the Sorting Hat converses with some lively minds. Put a hat on a girl on a stool, tra la, And I'll sort her to a house in our school, tra la! Take a girl alert and cool, And her magic mind we'll fuel -- Oh, a gifted witch is such a precious jewel, tra la! The Sorting of Tuesday, September 1, 1936 Hmmmm. Over the years, I've sorted many McGonagalls, of course. Are you all from one single clan? I'm not sure. But, one would think. I ask because nearly every last one has been a Gryffindor till now. Till now? You're an intelligent mind with a strong spirit, a leader who can gather a team about her, and quite typical of your family. But, you do have an aggressive side that I have to deal with. Where to put you? Aggressive? Do you mean because I wow them at Quidditch? Is that bad? Carrying a quaffle through the fray brings out a lot of ambition. Oh, sure, it's for the team and all, but... to be honest, m'dear, I see you take the adulation very personally. It's just a game. Or is it a boys' game? Is that it? Can't a girl play, mister hat? You defend your pride well. Thank you. I'm not against aggressive girls, per se. I'm a modern girl, that's all. It's not the Middle Ages, and we don't burn witches anymore. Lord knows, two of the founders were strong-minded girls, and they're half of my intelligence. You do talk and sing about yourself an awful lot. Did you know? Yes? Well... You still have to pick my house. Can we get on with it? Moving on! I see you bend the rules at home a bit, or try. Mum and dad caught you playing Quidditch with your older brothers, did they? A bit of underage magic here and there, some singed eyebrows? Been sent to sit in a corner a few times, have you? Everybody lets their kids play at magic, so why shan't they? Can I go through your pearly gates of Gryffindor now, or are you determined to drop me into the fires of Slytherin? Let's not be so hasty, Miss McGonagall. In Slytherin, you'd be with many ambitious companions, and... Y'know, this silly stool is ever so high, and my feet can't reach the floor, and I'm trying hard to stay upright. I haven't lost a First Year yet. Perhaps, but they must have forgotten to brush you tonight, and you're so dusty! I'm afraid I feel a big sneeze coming on, and I'm liable to fall off. "Ahhhhhh..." Very well, dear. Your wish is granted; I'll let it be... "GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat quickly. "...Chooo!" sneezed little Minnie — landing on her feet exactly where she planned, and in the house she wanted. On a stool put a hat on a girl, tra la, With her soul I will dance a merry twirl, tra la! Let her potent mind unfurl, Round our magic let it swirl, To the chain of witches add another pearl, tra la! The Sorting of Tuesday, September 1, 1992 Ah, a Lovegood! A lovely ancient surname you don't see much. Hi, Professor Hat! I'm pleased to meet you. You can call me Luna, if you'd like. Do you know your wand is sitting on your ear? Um-hum. I try to keep my wand where my head is. It's a long story. Related to Xeno, eh? He's my father. I've never talked to a hat before. Are you considered a being? Beg pardon? Well, you speak, but you're not human, or a giant, or a goblin, or a... Oh, oh, oh, I see what you mean. No, technically, I'm a 'charmed object,' they tell me, but what's in a name, anyway? I'm much like the paintings, imprinted with the spirit of wizards and witches, but yet I'm more. For a thousand years, I've... Has my father ever interviewed you? You must know so much, and met everyone. Interview me? For the Quibbler. That's his wizard newspaper. He's an editor, y'know. An editor, is he now? With Xeno's mind — very much like yours, in fact — he must keep a most inventive and curious newspaper. Oh, it is! He's very good as a naturalist. Some people think he makes it up, but I don't. Muggle scientists find creatures that other Muggles don't know about, and magicians find many creatures that Muggle scientists don't, so why shouldn't a magician scientist find creatures that other magicians haven't seen? And has he found many? Oh, yes! Very many. I have the horn of a Crumple-horned Snorkack that he gave me. I'm not familiar with it. What does it look like? Crumpled. Seems logical. Uh... Professor McGonagall's drumming her fingers. I think she's getting a bit impatient. I sense you're right. So quickly, back to the task. Hmmm... clever; open-minded, obviously; friendly; no hackles up about anything. Some frustration over constantly misplacing or losing this, that and... oh dear, your poor mother! I see it all in your memories now. I'm so sorry; I didn't know. Thank you. I miss her incredibly! I remember her, litle Ivy Forrest. She was such a darling girl. Life comes first, and I'll see her again after that. I'm sure you will; say hello for me when you do. Fare well, m'dear! You have your wits to lead you, so let it be... "RAVENCLAW!" shouted the hat, making Luna very happy. On a girl on a stool put a hat, tra la, And we'll have a very introspective chat, tra la! With her housemates she'll be sat, Learn the password and all that, And be proud to wear her house cravat, tra la! The Sorting of Sunday, September 1, 2019 What! Another Potter! If that's a bother to you, don't worry. I'll be the last one for a few years. Sorry, I didn't mean to sound annoyed. You're another of Harry's children, eh? Yes, sir. My name's Lily, and I didn't mean to sound angry either. Dad said to be nice to you and you'll put me in Gryffindor. Oh, really? Do the First Years have an instruction book now, on how to manipulate me? Not really. But Mum said I should be able to twist you around my little finger. I'm not sure what that means, exactly, but that's how my parents talk. I'm crushed. When have I slipped to this minor assignment of rubber-stamping the house where the students' parents want me to sort their little ones? You mean they think you aren't needed? I don't. I think it's a way cool ritual. Do you have a preference to be in Gryffindor yourself? I think I'd rather. On the other hand, if I get sorted there, my brothers would be watching me like hawks. Well, Al would, anyway. He can be a little twit when he wants to. But they're okay. Mostly. So wouldn't it be good to have them close? No! I couldn't get away with anything. Get away with what? Oh, y'know. Kid things. Girl things. What if I want a boyfriend? Your mother had boyfriends, despite her brother's best efforts. Or is that a secret I shan't tell you? Oh, I know all about them. Mum told me more than Dad knows, but don't tell him. And kid things, you say. Getting into trouble, you mean? If I did, I'd have Al and James for company. Al just got here on the train, and he has detention already. Oh, why should I break this fun-loving family up? Maybe he needs you to keep him out of trouble! You have your wish. Let it be... "GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat, and Lily smirked. You're sweet. And Mum was right. You're such a pushover. What?! Bye! With a hat, And a girl, And a stool, tra la, Together we shall populate the school, tra la! Magic powers await your rule; Here's the foremost conj'ring tool-- Put a hat on a girl on a stool, tra la! (Comment on this)
Tuesday, October 7th, 2008
8:15 am	How To Make Friends Hey, here's an interesting new feature for the fanfic writer. Fanfiction.net has added a statistic: reader hits by country, tracked by the month. Here's my adoring audience (yeah, right) for September. FF.N does get around! US 90 UK 17 Australia 12 Spain 3 Thailand 3 Belgium 2 Canada 2 India 2 New Zealand 2 Denmark 1 Germany 1 Japan 1 Mexico 1 Netherlands 1 Norway 1 Russia 1 Sweden 1 Turkey 1 Total Hits: 142 Total Countries: 18 Contrast that public relations effort with what's going on at AOL. I previously mentioned that all the websites on Hometown.AOL.com are being dumped at the end of the month, including mine. We can grumble about the inconvenience, but AOL can do that; the sites were free, after all. But it gets worse: AOL has already cut off webmaster access, preventing any modifications to existing pages, and is not listening to suggestions. Result: those who are moving to a new host have no way to forward regular users to another URL! (Comment on this)