Rogue Bludger

Fanfic and Fact

2009-11-24T13:47:21Z

Six years ago, in Still Life With Flowers:

Ron approached Hermione, gazing longingly into her eyes.
Hermione remained expressionless, and said nothing. Being
petrified will do that to you.
Each day he visited her in the infirmary, Ron always chose to
sit on the left side of the bed, where Hermione's eyes looked
straight at him.
Ron was joined momentarily by Madam Pomfrey, making her
rounds. Though this patient made no demands on her time,
Pomfrey had one duty: eye drops, four times daily. The
soothing wash was needed to keep Hermione's wide-open
eyes moist.
Pomfrey was gentle but adamant. "I tell you, Mr. Weasley,
there's just no point in talking to a petrified person! But, if it
makes you feel better...." She padded away to treat the
other paralysed victims.
Ron waited until Pomfrey had done her work and left the
ward; even then, he whispered his words.
"Hi, Hermione. Harry will be along in a few minutes. Sorry
we couldn't come last night. It's my own fault; I've been having
trouble falling asleep at night. Yesterday, I nodded off in
McGonagall's class again... third day in a row. McGonagall
had to do something, and she gave me detention. So I was
polishing trophies again last night. You remember me telling
you what a joy that is, huh?"
Ron's whispers just barely reached her ears. Did it matter?
If Pomfrey was right, Hermione's heart and life were poised
in mid-beat. Her brain would have no activity until the antidote
was applied, and she could not possibly see or hear what
was going on.
Pomfrey, for once, was not exactly correct.
It's all right, Ron, thought Hermione. I understand. I only
wish you could hear me.

Yesterday, in the news:

A man who literally spent half his life in a coma after a car accident - but was actually conscious - has spoken out about the 23 years he was ``screaming'' to doctors and those around him.
Rom Houben, 46, was left paralyzed after a 1983 accident, but told the U.K. 's Daily Mail that he ``dreamed himself away.''
Doctors had said he was in a vegetative state based on testing through the Glasgow Coma Scale, the paper reported, but was repeatedly received incorrect grading through that system. New tests from the University of Liege in Belgium - which has a dedicated team of coma experts - determined he was fully paralyzed, but completely aware of his surroundings, the paper said.
(- from a Canwest News Service story, 23 Nov.)

Now, there's a nice happy outcome for Thanksgiving.

Misc. & Etc.

2009-11-09T15:07:43Z

Big Toot and Little Toot

As a kid, did you ever make the tugging motion to encourage a passing train or firetruck to toot the horn? I'm reminded of that by the scene in Close Encounters where the keyboard man's music is first answered by the mother ship.

Here's a YouTube clip of a gent who has a ship's horn mounted on his Mazda truck. He's answered by the real thing, the liner Maasdam. I'd have to think the ship was considerably louder than the truck in real life.

Actually, he has more than one horn on that truck; see the photo at the bottom of the page here. Nice! Hope he has a humungous battery and alternator.

More "Didn't We Work Together Once?"

At least four Potter stars turn up in The Boat that Rocked (retitled Pirate Radio in American theatres):
- Bill Nighy (Rufus) as Quentin
- Kenneth Branagh (Gilroy) as Sir Alistair Dormandy
- Rhys Ifanms (Xeno) as Gavin
- Emma Thompson (Sybill) as Charlotte

Bill's biggest role, under heavy computerized makeup, was Davy Jones of Pirates of the Caribbean.

More Good Internet Signatures

The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.

Where are we going and why are we in this handbasket?

Never knock on Death's door. Ring the bell and run! Death hates that!

Life is too short for drama & petty things,
so kiss slowly, laugh insanely,
Love truly and forgive quickly.

Wide-Awake Aviation

2009-10-23T15:19:26Z

Okay, so the approach lights to the runway weren't lit. And yeah, the navigation equipment was also down.

Still, at a big major airport on a clear night, there are little clues to what's a runway and what's a taxiway. The runway has these big numbers at the ends, y'see, and some lines to line up on in case you're not an instrument-equipped airplane, and all these bright white lights to see the path and judge your angle of approach. The taxiway has these little blue lights, and occasionally some taxiing airplanes and ground vehicles, and not much else.

So, when you're a Delta Airlines pilot and you land a full-sized passenger jet on the taxiway at Atlanta, expect a few questions… and a suspended pilot's license… while they figure out what you were thinking.

Similar questions, suspensions, etc. are to be expected when another crew totally ignores its radio for about an hour while approaching Minneapolis, then not landing at Minneapolis, and in fact continuing for 150 miles beyond Minnapolis.

Basically, the plane could be tracked on radar, but they hadn't switched the voice radio to the enroute channel. Whoops. The world is shouting at them, and worrying if they've been hijacked, and preparing to scramble fighter jets after them, and they're in blissful ignorance of it all.

The flight attendants finaaly get their attention. About then, someone on the ground finally gets the brilliant idea to use the last channel they used -- and they got a response, but sort of a woozy non-explanatory response. The controllers put them through a looping path to see if a real pilot is still in control, and that seems to work, so they send them back to Minneapolis, where they land okay.

Okay, it was a long flight from San Diego, but...

A Mere 53, a Paltry 91

2009-10-18T18:57:47Z

It wasn't easy dreaming up 52 Harry Potter fanfics and a Peter Pan. For shear numbers, though, my "product" to date pales by comparison with that of some very prolific writers.

One that's been mentioned here before is fellow Odo poet BAGGE, who has cranked out a lot of quality stuff --
1 each: Book of Amber, His Dark Materials, Misc. Books;
16 Xena Warrior Princess,
and
72 Harry Potter!

Total: 91. Impressive! But then, the other day I had a review from Silver Sailor Ganymede, and visiting her page, I found she's somehow found the time to write --
1 each: Avatar, Doctor Who, Haruhi Suzumiya series, Hellsing, Hellsing/Twilight crossover, Lord of the Rings, Loveless, Twilight, Shakespeare, Yami no Matsuei;
2 each: Death Note, Demon Diary, Misc. Books, Pretty Guardian Sailormoon, Soul Calibur, Young Ones;
3 each: Gokusen, Gravitation, Darren Shan Saga/Cirque Du Freak, Mean Girls, Misc. Anime/Manga;
5 each: Fruits Basket, Pokemon, Fullmetal Alchemist;
6 each: Greek Mythology, Sailor Moon X-overs, X-Day;
10 Tokyo Mew Mew;
21 Yu-Gi-Oh;
41 Naruto;
69 Azumanga Daioh,
and
102 Harry Potter!
..oh, and
130 Sailor Moon!

Thus, her grand total to date: 434 fanfics. Assuredly, I'm not going to be catching up to this author any time soon...

The End

2009-10-14T01:55:52Z

23 October 4004 BC was a momentous occasion. Overnight, the universe was created. 23 October was "morning and evening of the first day"… or so calculated James Ussher, Archbishop of Armagh.

Today, he is generally recognized as a man on a foolish mission. If he had predicted the date of the end of the world, no one would accept it for a minute.

Actually, it would seem, he wasn't too far off. According to today's accepted experts, the universe began on 13 August 3114 BC. Aren't you glad that's settled?

No? You think that's a mistake? You think the "experts" must be students of Bishop Ussher? Nope. We pay attention to these "experts" because they're quoting the Mayan calendar maker. Its last date is 21 Dec 2012, therefore, that's all. folks. The world ends that day… they say.

But what if the Mayan calendar doesn't end in 2012 because the guy carving the calendar knew something? I say it ended because he stepped out the door to have a smoke, forgetting that he was at the top of one of those stone temple pyramids. He bounced down all 91 steps before stopping, alas, and that was the end of the calendar project.

The whole 2012 thing is an insidious marketing plot to sell us survival rations, Swiss Army knives and wind-power generators, who were probably Merovingian Illuminati globalist radical extremist Templar time terrorists… the same folks who sold us computer insurance, tinfoil hats and canned food for Y2K.

There have been predictions for over 200 end dates, based on the Bible and Nostradamus and Cayce; see www.bible.ca/pre-date-setters.htm .

Then there are those other guys, the ones who say the universe began 13 to 15 billion years ago with the Big Bang. Thinking equally big about the end of time, they think we should be around for billions of years more before our galaxy falls into a black hole. Billions of years is a good thing. I like this prediction.

Or, CERN will accelerate us to atoms, or an asteroid smashes into the Earth, or Yellowstone Caldera blows us all to kingdom come. Hey, whatever.

Sailing Into The Record Books

2009-08-27T14:11:48Z

Mike Perham's very battered sailboat, the TotallyMoney.com, has crossed his starting point, welcomed by the Royal Navy and a flotilla of newsfolk. He's now the youngest sailor to have completed a circumnavigation, and just in time to make that record (he's two months younger than his predecessor). Bravo!

Meanwhile, there's other would-be round-the-world record-breakers in the wings: a 16-year-old and a 13-year-old — both girls.

I look at Mike's blog and feel assured he knows that boat and all its parts, and can keep it upright and afloat with troubles galore in mid-ocean conditions. Could he have done it at age 13?

Yes, girls can be as strong, dexterous, knowledgeable, experienced and ambitious as Mike; young ladies crew on full-sized sailing vessels. Do these girls have it, and will the parents exhibit the same care and caution?

Jessica, at 16, perhaps...

Laura, at 13??

Alguma Pergunta?

2009-08-22T18:53:19Z

A pleasant and unusual offer came my way a few days ago. Thais, who writes fanfic from Brazil as Rika Icemaiden, inquired about translating one of my fanfics, Any Questions?, into Portuguese!

Feeling humbly honored, I agreed, and the result is already posted on her Fanfiction.net page. Thanks very much, Thais, for going to so much trouble.

This story centers on Ron, performing his prefect duty by conducting a Firstie orientation in the Gryffindor Common Room, answering their questions with the typical bluntness JKR gives him ... except now he's doing it in Portuguese!

- Senhor, a Floresta Negra é realmente assustadora?
- Depende.
- De quê?
- Se as criaturas matarem antes de comerem vocês. Eu quero dizer, se elas matarem vocês imediatamente, então nada vai incomodar vocês depois disso. Mas ser comido vivo é provavelmente assustador, sim. Sabem, uma vez que elas começarem a te comer, vocês meio que querem que elas acabem de uma vez com vocês – vocês não gostariam de serem resgatados com três quartos comidos, gostariam?
- Entendi a ideia, obrigado.
- Especialmente se for um grupo de aranhas gigantes e elas estiverem tirando tacos de vocês, e...
- Senhor? Acabamos de comer.
- Oh. Sim. Próxima pergunta?

Run that through your favorite Babelfish!

Totally Mike

2009-08-16T13:39:28Z

Back in Jan. 2007, we were following a 14-year-old, Mike Perham, as he sailed across the Atlantic from England to the Caribbean. Another vessel went along for safety's sake, but not intruding on Mike's accomplishment: the youngest sailor to make the crossing solo.

Well, Mike's almost halfway across the Atlantic again, but not on a mere transoceanic journey this time. It's the last step as he finishes a hard-fought solo sail around the world, despite endless mechanical problems and meteorological vagaries. He will be the youngest to circle the globe alone, and not with the safety net of a backup vessel to rescue him; any trouble needing repair meant a side trip to a safe harbor.

His vessel is called the TotallyMoney.Com, a name which at first sounds a bit greedy, but that's actually the name of his main sponsor, a website covering all facets of investment and profit in the market. His trip seeks to raise money for charity.

Thanks to modern satellites, Mike's had good communications with home along the way, which always helps, and he's posted stories and photos to his blog, http://www.totallymoney.com/sailmike/ .

His map tracker: http://admin.octracker.net/data/GMap.aspx?e=fd4a33e3-837d-410e-8585-3dcb6baf9b6e .

Life Imitates Art

2009-08-16T03:03:28Z

Recent oblique view of Victoria crater, Mars (NASA)

Recent oblique view of Reese's peanut butter cup, Earth

Get A Job, Daisy

2009-08-06T02:51:45Z

Yeah, Daisy's only 12, but it's time. The baby bird's being kicked out of the nest, and none too soon.

It's okay, though. Daisy is fictional, the center character of my first try at writing a novel at young-adult level, which is pretty much the same audience reading HP fanfic. The text has been reviewed, repaired and rewritten over and over for several years, and has passed muster by actually being read by two others, who were satisfied with it.

So, the first step: sending a concept letter to a literary agent. The letter went out today. IF they like the idea,they'll ask for a synopsis, or sample chapters, or eventually the whole thing. Assuming they still like it, they'll deal with the enormous task of trying to find a publisher. The agent doesn't get a penny from the author; when a publisher buys into it, the agent's cut is part of the deal.

Of course, the agent may reject the idea without ever reading the book, before a publisher does. (There's a website with a guide to finding an agent. The suggestions on writing that first one-page letter fill over 70 pages!)

Jo Rowling's website biography recalls this painful part of a budding author's career:

"I covered the first three chapters in a nice plastic folder and set them off to an agent, who returned them so fast they must have been sent back the same day they arrived. But the second agent I tried wrote back and asked to see the rest of the manuscript. It was far and away the best letter I had ever received in my life, and it was only two sentences long.

"It took a year for my new agent, Christopher, to find a publisher. Lots of them turned it down." By actual count, Philosopher's Stone got nine rejctions.

She was lucky. As Inkygirl reminds us, M*A*S*H got 17 bounces, and Jonathan Livingston Seagull got 140. Agents and publishers are overloaded with would-be books to the point where (a) the concept may be rejected without the agent ever seeing a chapter, and (b)some don't even send a rejection slip, let alone return a manuscript. At least the agent I'm approaching has the decency to send a rejection by e-mail.

Whatever. I have a binder ready for all correspondence on the book, good or bad. Bye, Daisy. Write if you get work.

Finally

2009-07-14T17:23:19Z

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!

Progress on the State of Nature Preservation on Hunga Ha'apai

2009-06-24T20:32:17Z

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.

Almost There, Almost There..

2009-06-10T00:04:03Z

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!

The Passing Parade

2009-05-12T11:14:33Z

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."

Hi Ho, Hi Ho, A Pirate's Life For Me

2009-05-05T14:21:49Z

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.

Sic 'em, Fluffy!

2009-04-19T17:47:28Z

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?

(Yawn) Is It Spring yet?

2009-04-13T13:26:22Z

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.

Paris in the winter, when it drizzles

2009-02-22T22:00:05Z

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!

nimbus1944 @ 2009-02-18T12:21:00

2009-02-18T17:21:30Z

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...

Hermione Weasley 3

2009-02-14T11:50:28Z

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?"

Arrivals

2009-01-27T12:51:03Z

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.

Happy New Year And All That

2009-01-01T06:26:34Z

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. :>)

nimbus1944 @ 2008-12-23T09:27:00

2008-12-23T14:31:29Z

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.

Present Perfect

2008-12-21T16:24:14Z

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.

Christmas Gift Gallery 2008

2008-12-05T18:04:03Z

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?