I asked Jon what I should write about and he suggested the heroic last stand of Santa's elves against the invading penguin horde.
So...
It was a bleak night that night. We were surrounded and outnumbered, and even Santa look worried. How had it come to this, you ask? Sit back and I'll tell you.
It had all started the Christmas morning the year before. We elves were celebrating another successful Christmas Eve deployment when the spokespenguin of the Penguin Guild asked to see Santa in private. We didn't know what the conversation was about, but we knew it was serious when the spokespenguin stormed out with the rest of the Penguin Guild behind him. The P. G. went on strike a few weeks after that, but that didn't worry us as none of us could figure out what the P.G. actually -did-. Things went on as usual and we continued working busily in preperation for the upcoming Christmas.
Then it happened.
We had just finished making the last of the teddy bears in the toy shoppe when there was a knock on the door. Poor old Johnson was the one who opened the door just as the candy cane bomb detinated. Candy shrapnel went everywhere, some was even imbedded in the teddy bears. I crawled over to where Johnson had fallen. He looked pretty bad. I wiped the powdered sugar off his brow as he tried to speak.
"It...it was...the penguins!"
So. It was to be war between us.
We quickly staged a counter attack, but the penguins had moved on. They were masters of ambush, with the skill in the arms that we never could match. Skirmish followed skirmish but we hadn't made any progress. Now it was Christmas Eve and we were huddled in the back room of the toy shoppe, loading last year's gumdrops into our candy rifles. It looked pretty hopeless. We weren't the kind of elves that were in those Lord of The Rings movies; we looked pretty much exactly like the Keebler elves, not suitable for fighting.
Then, just when things were looking the bleakest, Santa came in. At least, we -thought- it was Santa. It was hard to tell under all the hand grenades, camo and sunglasses.
"We end this, now."
And we did end it. We blew those penguins into the next Kingdom (let them terrorize the leprechauns for a while). Peace returned to the North Pole, though Santa never spoke of that night again. None of us like to think about it, but it's important that we never forget.
Guns don't kill people; Penguins with guns do.
(Merry Christmas!)
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
The Sugarplum With Two Left Feet
In the Candy Kingdom, all Candies went to dance class after school. There were many different kinds of dances, but the most graceful and beautiful of all was The Dance of the Sugarplums. At least, that's what everyone said. But one little sugarplum was unconvinced.
"Why do we have to always dance to the same music?" the little sugarplum asked.
"Because it is the loveliest of all tunes," her mother told her. "It is like everything a sugarplum should be - light, graceful and lovely."
But try as she might -and she really did try- this poor little sugarplum simply could not be graceful. There were hushed conversations at the parent-teacher conferences and knowing looks from the other Candies. It looked like quite a tragic situation.
But then the little sugarplum discovered that what she was good at was math and science. So while the other little sugarplums danced, the sugarplum with two left feet went on to publish a Nobel winning thesis on relativity as it applies to aethetics of movement. This meant that the sugarplum's parents could retire and the sugarplum had a lovely new house built with a private dance studio where she could dance whenever she wanted.
And they all lived happily ever after.
"Why do we have to always dance to the same music?" the little sugarplum asked.
"Because it is the loveliest of all tunes," her mother told her. "It is like everything a sugarplum should be - light, graceful and lovely."
But try as she might -and she really did try- this poor little sugarplum simply could not be graceful. There were hushed conversations at the parent-teacher conferences and knowing looks from the other Candies. It looked like quite a tragic situation.
But then the little sugarplum discovered that what she was good at was math and science. So while the other little sugarplums danced, the sugarplum with two left feet went on to publish a Nobel winning thesis on relativity as it applies to aethetics of movement. This meant that the sugarplum's parents could retire and the sugarplum had a lovely new house built with a private dance studio where she could dance whenever she wanted.
And they all lived happily ever after.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Puck's Story -OR- The White Finch and The Princess
For one of my favourite LJ authors, jrlpuck, who picked "finch".
Once upon a time a beautiful Princess was born. She was the only child of the good King and Queen and was immediately adored by the entire kingdom, but most of all by the King. The searched the entire kingdom for the perfect gift for his beloved daughter, but nothing seemed special enough. The days until the young Princess's Naming Day were getting fewer and fewer, but still the King had not found what he was looking for.
"Our daughter has our complete love," the Queen told him over dinner one night.
"What else could she possibly want?"
The Queen was highly regarded for her wisdom and kindness, and the King considered her advice.
"Aye, but I just wish I could find something that will always make her smile," the King replied. He thought about the elusive gift all night long, barely sleeping a wink. He called for his horse early the next morning and went for a ride through the countryside. This did much to lift his spirits, as he took in the fresh, cool air and the beautiful green of nature. At length he dismounted and lead his horse into a forest, looking for a stream for his horse to drink from. He soon found it, and loosely tied the horses reins to a tree nearest the river, so the horse could drink his fill while the King explored the forest. He had not gone very far at all when he heard a bird singing; the most delightful singing the King had ever heard before.
"Hello!" the king called up to the trees, (for in fairy tales, everyone knows how to talk to birds),
"That was such beauitful singing just now. May I ask who the singer is?"
A small white finch flew down to a branch just above the King's head.
"That was my singing you heard, majesty," the white finch replied.
The King now knew what present to give his young daughter.
"Splendid! You can be my gift to my daughter. I am sure that your singing would always make my daughter happy."
The King then noticed how very sad the white finch now looked.
"Oh, but we would be very kind to you," the King try to explain.
"And if you have a family, we shall provide for all of them as well."
"It is not that, Majesty," the white finch replied.
"It is a very great honour that you offer me, and I am very greatful for it. All the birds know how good and kind you and your Queen are, but I would really rather stay here in the forest."
"But why?" the dissapointed King asked.
"There are several other families nearby, very simple folk who are all hard working. They have children as well, but unlike you, they cannot afford to buy them fine gifts. Instead, they come into the forest and ask me to sing for their children. If I leave, who will sing for the other Children?"
The King now felt quite bad for asking the white finch to leave.
"I am sorry," he apologized.
"I am afraid I have been quite selfish. By all means, please stay here and sing for all of the children."
The little white finch made an elegant bow.
"Thank you, majesty. For your kindness, I shall prepare a special gift for the new Princess."
The next day was the Princess's Naming Day. Just as the King and Queen stepped out onto the balcony, a large group of songbirds, hundreds of them, flew into the courtyard below and started singing merrily. The young Princess giggled in delight and the Queen smiled and looked at the King.
"Looks like you managed to find the perfect gift after all."
-fin
Once upon a time a beautiful Princess was born. She was the only child of the good King and Queen and was immediately adored by the entire kingdom, but most of all by the King. The searched the entire kingdom for the perfect gift for his beloved daughter, but nothing seemed special enough. The days until the young Princess's Naming Day were getting fewer and fewer, but still the King had not found what he was looking for.
"Our daughter has our complete love," the Queen told him over dinner one night.
"What else could she possibly want?"
The Queen was highly regarded for her wisdom and kindness, and the King considered her advice.
"Aye, but I just wish I could find something that will always make her smile," the King replied. He thought about the elusive gift all night long, barely sleeping a wink. He called for his horse early the next morning and went for a ride through the countryside. This did much to lift his spirits, as he took in the fresh, cool air and the beautiful green of nature. At length he dismounted and lead his horse into a forest, looking for a stream for his horse to drink from. He soon found it, and loosely tied the horses reins to a tree nearest the river, so the horse could drink his fill while the King explored the forest. He had not gone very far at all when he heard a bird singing; the most delightful singing the King had ever heard before.
"Hello!" the king called up to the trees, (for in fairy tales, everyone knows how to talk to birds),
"That was such beauitful singing just now. May I ask who the singer is?"
A small white finch flew down to a branch just above the King's head.
"That was my singing you heard, majesty," the white finch replied.
The King now knew what present to give his young daughter.
"Splendid! You can be my gift to my daughter. I am sure that your singing would always make my daughter happy."
The King then noticed how very sad the white finch now looked.
"Oh, but we would be very kind to you," the King try to explain.
"And if you have a family, we shall provide for all of them as well."
"It is not that, Majesty," the white finch replied.
"It is a very great honour that you offer me, and I am very greatful for it. All the birds know how good and kind you and your Queen are, but I would really rather stay here in the forest."
"But why?" the dissapointed King asked.
"There are several other families nearby, very simple folk who are all hard working. They have children as well, but unlike you, they cannot afford to buy them fine gifts. Instead, they come into the forest and ask me to sing for their children. If I leave, who will sing for the other Children?"
The King now felt quite bad for asking the white finch to leave.
"I am sorry," he apologized.
"I am afraid I have been quite selfish. By all means, please stay here and sing for all of the children."
The little white finch made an elegant bow.
"Thank you, majesty. For your kindness, I shall prepare a special gift for the new Princess."
The next day was the Princess's Naming Day. Just as the King and Queen stepped out onto the balcony, a large group of songbirds, hundreds of them, flew into the courtyard below and started singing merrily. The young Princess giggled in delight and the Queen smiled and looked at the King.
"Looks like you managed to find the perfect gift after all."
-fin
Monday, December 21, 2009
Eleanor's Story -OR- Trapped
For Eleanor, who chose "lamppost".
The librarian had been reading about magical realms for years, but never though to actually discover one. She had been visiting a friend who worked at a historic home, and it was the evening of the house's annual Holiday Party. The librarian was not much for loud groups of strangers, so she took her time looking through the upstairs bedrooms. There was a particularly fine wardrobe in one of the rooms, just the kind that looked perfectly suited to harbouring a gateway to another realm.
The librarian, up to this point a perfectly law-abiding citizen, looked around her to make sure that no one else was around, then stepped over the red velvet rope and gently opened the wardrobe door. She didn't even have to step in before she knew something was up. A gust of wind blew a handful of snow out of the small opening, and there was nothing else for it - she had to go in now. She tentatively stepped into the wardrobe and felt her way through the rows of fur coats. She was soon be exactly where she had expected to be - in a snow covered clearing with a gleaming lamppost in the centre.
"I knew it," the librarian exclaimed softly, looking around her with delighted eyes.
"I wonder if Mr. Tumnus is around."
The librarian waited a few minutes and then she saw a silhouette coming towards her.
"Hello?" she called out.
"Hello!" a voice answered her. But instead of a fawn, it was a penguin who greeted her, complete with a red scarf and an umbrella.
The librarian was a very smart woman. She knew something was terribly wrong and started to make her way back towards the wardrobe.
"Oh, I'm sorry," the librarian started to say, "I think I've stumbled into the wrong magical realm."
The penguin smiled in a rather disconcerting way.
"Oh, but we've been expecting you. We could use a good librarian..."
This librarian had heard enough and turned on her heel and ran back to the wardrobe and firmly closed the door behind her. She paused a moment to catch her breath, then stepped over the red rope and went back downstairs where she was greeted by her friend.
"There you are! I was beginning to think you had gotten stuck in a closet or something."
The librarian put her arm on her friend's and walked with her to the room where the party was.
"Do me a favour?" she asked.
"Make sure that wardrobe in the spare bedroom stays locked. Trust me on this one."
~fin
The librarian had been reading about magical realms for years, but never though to actually discover one. She had been visiting a friend who worked at a historic home, and it was the evening of the house's annual Holiday Party. The librarian was not much for loud groups of strangers, so she took her time looking through the upstairs bedrooms. There was a particularly fine wardrobe in one of the rooms, just the kind that looked perfectly suited to harbouring a gateway to another realm.
The librarian, up to this point a perfectly law-abiding citizen, looked around her to make sure that no one else was around, then stepped over the red velvet rope and gently opened the wardrobe door. She didn't even have to step in before she knew something was up. A gust of wind blew a handful of snow out of the small opening, and there was nothing else for it - she had to go in now. She tentatively stepped into the wardrobe and felt her way through the rows of fur coats. She was soon be exactly where she had expected to be - in a snow covered clearing with a gleaming lamppost in the centre.
"I knew it," the librarian exclaimed softly, looking around her with delighted eyes.
"I wonder if Mr. Tumnus is around."
The librarian waited a few minutes and then she saw a silhouette coming towards her.
"Hello?" she called out.
"Hello!" a voice answered her. But instead of a fawn, it was a penguin who greeted her, complete with a red scarf and an umbrella.
The librarian was a very smart woman. She knew something was terribly wrong and started to make her way back towards the wardrobe.
"Oh, I'm sorry," the librarian started to say, "I think I've stumbled into the wrong magical realm."
The penguin smiled in a rather disconcerting way.
"Oh, but we've been expecting you. We could use a good librarian..."
This librarian had heard enough and turned on her heel and ran back to the wardrobe and firmly closed the door behind her. She paused a moment to catch her breath, then stepped over the red rope and went back downstairs where she was greeted by her friend.
"There you are! I was beginning to think you had gotten stuck in a closet or something."
The librarian put her arm on her friend's and walked with her to the room where the party was.
"Do me a favour?" she asked.
"Make sure that wardrobe in the spare bedroom stays locked. Trust me on this one."
~fin
Mom's Story - OR - The Little Tree
For my Mom, who chose "tree".
The tree lot was looking rather picked over by Christmas Eve. This was to be expected, according to the Wise Old Willow who lived just beyond the little Christmas tree lot.
"Yessir, I seen it happen year aff'er year," the Wise Old Willow said.
"They always pick more trees what then they can sell."
A young little fir (one that was too young to be sold this year) piped up a question.
"What will happen to the rest of us?"
"Well, now, I can't say as I know," the Wise Old Willow replied, "but I reckon that you'll go back to the forest until next year."
The little fir thought about this for a moment.
"Will it hurt?"
"Now don't you go worryin' about that," the Wise Old Willow replied.
"They'll just replant you with nice of warm soil. The folks here take good care of their trees."
This seemed to satisfy the little fir and it settled down to sleep. It was almost asleep when it thought of one last question.
"But will Santa be able to find us? I asked him for a shiny red ornament this year."
The Wise Old Willow chuckled.
"I reckon so."
This pleased the little fir and it soon drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a red ornament and, for some reason, a pale blue blanket.
The tree lot was looking rather picked over by Christmas Eve. This was to be expected, according to the Wise Old Willow who lived just beyond the little Christmas tree lot.
"Yessir, I seen it happen year aff'er year," the Wise Old Willow said.
"They always pick more trees what then they can sell."
A young little fir (one that was too young to be sold this year) piped up a question.
"What will happen to the rest of us?"
"Well, now, I can't say as I know," the Wise Old Willow replied, "but I reckon that you'll go back to the forest until next year."
The little fir thought about this for a moment.
"Will it hurt?"
"Now don't you go worryin' about that," the Wise Old Willow replied.
"They'll just replant you with nice of warm soil. The folks here take good care of their trees."
This seemed to satisfy the little fir and it settled down to sleep. It was almost asleep when it thought of one last question.
"But will Santa be able to find us? I asked him for a shiny red ornament this year."
The Wise Old Willow chuckled.
"I reckon so."
This pleased the little fir and it soon drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a red ornament and, for some reason, a pale blue blanket.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Val's story - OR - Meet me at The Lamppost
For Val, who picked "lamppost".
The man had spent all night working on it, crafting it out of spare bits of metal tubing and the glass from the medical supply case. He took a step back to admire the end result. It looked liked something that had been thrown together in about eight hours (which pleased him, as he had only been working on it for six hours), but it would have to do. He went out into the lush tropical jungle and tried to find the Perfect Spot to place it. After an hour or so, he finally found just the spot - a small clearing amongst the many trees. He planted the item firmly in the ground then lit the wick on the top with the torch he had brought with him. Now all he had to do was wait about an hour or so to show it to her.
The man went back to his house and pulled on a sweater, ear muffs and scarves, and took another scarf from the old cardboard box in the closet. He kept checking his watch until, finally, it showed the time of 11:55. He then crept out of the house, and walked the short distance to another, seemingly identical house. He picked up a small rock and threw it gently at the window. Nothing happened. He tried again, then again, but there was still no response from the house. Finally he whispered loudly:
"Annie!"
This (somehow) did the trick, and a lovely, though sleepy, woman appeared at the window.
"What on earth...?"
"Just come follow me," he replied.
The woman was curious, so she threw on some jeans and came outside.
"What is this all about?"
"You'll see," he replied, handing her the scarf.
"Here, put this on."
She looked at him as though he was crazy, but she wrapped the scarf around her graceful neck anyway, and followed him. The Perfect Spot was not very far from their houses, and they were soon there. She stopped as soon as she saw it - a lamppost in a clearing.
"Oh," was all that she could think of to say.
"I know this isn't Narnia, and I couldn't find any snow," he explained, "but I do believe that this is an ideal spot to watch for fawns."
"It's perfect," she whispered.
"Merry Christmas," he replied.
~fin
The man had spent all night working on it, crafting it out of spare bits of metal tubing and the glass from the medical supply case. He took a step back to admire the end result. It looked liked something that had been thrown together in about eight hours (which pleased him, as he had only been working on it for six hours), but it would have to do. He went out into the lush tropical jungle and tried to find the Perfect Spot to place it. After an hour or so, he finally found just the spot - a small clearing amongst the many trees. He planted the item firmly in the ground then lit the wick on the top with the torch he had brought with him. Now all he had to do was wait about an hour or so to show it to her.
The man went back to his house and pulled on a sweater, ear muffs and scarves, and took another scarf from the old cardboard box in the closet. He kept checking his watch until, finally, it showed the time of 11:55. He then crept out of the house, and walked the short distance to another, seemingly identical house. He picked up a small rock and threw it gently at the window. Nothing happened. He tried again, then again, but there was still no response from the house. Finally he whispered loudly:
"Annie!"
This (somehow) did the trick, and a lovely, though sleepy, woman appeared at the window.
"What on earth...?"
"Just come follow me," he replied.
The woman was curious, so she threw on some jeans and came outside.
"What is this all about?"
"You'll see," he replied, handing her the scarf.
"Here, put this on."
She looked at him as though he was crazy, but she wrapped the scarf around her graceful neck anyway, and followed him. The Perfect Spot was not very far from their houses, and they were soon there. She stopped as soon as she saw it - a lamppost in a clearing.
"Oh," was all that she could think of to say.
"I know this isn't Narnia, and I couldn't find any snow," he explained, "but I do believe that this is an ideal spot to watch for fawns."
"It's perfect," she whispered.
"Merry Christmas," he replied.
~fin
Jo's Story - OR- The Penguins Who Stole Christmas, part four
For Jo, who of course chose "penguin".
J was worried. She knew of Sgt. Maltese's plan to steal Christmas, but was unsure as to how best to thwart the nefarious penguin's plan. J was as brilliant as she was kind and lovely, and she was very brilliant, but she also possessed a will of iron. (Not to mention an impressive Super Soaker collection.)
"And you say you were sent here to steal The Princess's Uranium uber Visa?" J asked Fred (who had been escorted to her Lab by the MIB).
"Correct," Fred replied. (He was somewhat disappointed to discover that J's lab was not secret. "What would be the point?" she had asked. "If I called it a secret lab, then everyone would be trying to discover it. By making it a lab of the non-secretive variety, no one has yet to discover it without my wanting them to.")
J spun idly in her swivel chair (spinning in a swivel chair always helped her think).
"This does not add up, though," she said while spinning.
"What does Maltese want with the uber Visa? I think it's either a MacGuffin or a plot device that the author did not think through properly."
"At least it's not a shovel," Fred muttered under his breath.
I HEARD THAT, a loud voice thundered over all of their heads.
"Moving on," J continued, "I wonder if it's truly Christmas that the penguins are after. Penguins can't be all that bad. They are just misguided. I'm sure that if they looked deep in their hearts, they would discover that all they really want is love and acceptance."
Fred was not convinced.
"No, I really think they want world domination."
"But why would anyone want that?" J queried.
"The world is in a pretty poor state these days."
"Which is exactly the way I want it!" came the (not entirely) unexpected voice of Sgt. Maltese.
J turned her swivel chair to face the evil penguin.
"Ah yes, I was beginning to wonder when you would show up, Mr. Maltese."
"That's Sgt. Maltese to you!" the penguin shouted.
"Well, technically, you're the only one in the penguin military, which has yet to be recognized by any other military, so..." Fred began to explain.
"Silence!" Sgt. Maltese barked.
"And there is something I've been meaning to ask you," J said.
"If you're the only penguin in your military, why did you only give yourself the rank of "Sergeant"? Why not "Major" or "General" or "Major General". That would be rather catchy."
The poor Sergeant's eye had begun to twitch.
"Enough! Do you think it was easy trying to bring some order to you lot? Do you?" he asked.
"It was a nightmare! I never wanted this job. All I wanted was to make it big in musical theatre. "
J was puzzled.
"Then why did you become a pseudo dictator?"
Sgt. Maltese shrugged.
"It paid the bills. It's tough being a starving artist."
J had An Idea.
"You know, there's an opening in the town's Christmas production of The Pirates of Penzance...and while it isn't technically musical theatre, I think you would make a stellar Pirate King."
Sgt. Maltese's beady little eyes lit up.
"Do you really think so?"
"I do, " J replied.
The Sergeant looked skeptical.
"How is it possible that they open in less than a week and are missing a lead?"
J leaned down and whispered the name of the director into the Sergeant's ear.
"Him?!" the penguin cried out.
"Say no more. You'll have to excuse me, madam, gentlemen," the Sgt. said as he pulled out a top hat.
"The theatre needs me." And with that, he raced off into the night.
J sat back down and took a sip from her cocoa.
"That's it?" Fred asked.
"But this all makes absolutely no sense!"
"It doesn't have to," J replied.
"This is one of Meri's stories."
And she was right.
~fin
(Hey, I never said they would be -good- stories.)
J was worried. She knew of Sgt. Maltese's plan to steal Christmas, but was unsure as to how best to thwart the nefarious penguin's plan. J was as brilliant as she was kind and lovely, and she was very brilliant, but she also possessed a will of iron. (Not to mention an impressive Super Soaker collection.)
"And you say you were sent here to steal The Princess's Uranium uber Visa?" J asked Fred (who had been escorted to her Lab by the MIB).
"Correct," Fred replied. (He was somewhat disappointed to discover that J's lab was not secret. "What would be the point?" she had asked. "If I called it a secret lab, then everyone would be trying to discover it. By making it a lab of the non-secretive variety, no one has yet to discover it without my wanting them to.")
J spun idly in her swivel chair (spinning in a swivel chair always helped her think).
"This does not add up, though," she said while spinning.
"What does Maltese want with the uber Visa? I think it's either a MacGuffin or a plot device that the author did not think through properly."
"At least it's not a shovel," Fred muttered under his breath.
I HEARD THAT, a loud voice thundered over all of their heads.
"Moving on," J continued, "I wonder if it's truly Christmas that the penguins are after. Penguins can't be all that bad. They are just misguided. I'm sure that if they looked deep in their hearts, they would discover that all they really want is love and acceptance."
Fred was not convinced.
"No, I really think they want world domination."
"But why would anyone want that?" J queried.
"The world is in a pretty poor state these days."
"Which is exactly the way I want it!" came the (not entirely) unexpected voice of Sgt. Maltese.
J turned her swivel chair to face the evil penguin.
"Ah yes, I was beginning to wonder when you would show up, Mr. Maltese."
"That's Sgt. Maltese to you!" the penguin shouted.
"Well, technically, you're the only one in the penguin military, which has yet to be recognized by any other military, so..." Fred began to explain.
"Silence!" Sgt. Maltese barked.
"And there is something I've been meaning to ask you," J said.
"If you're the only penguin in your military, why did you only give yourself the rank of "Sergeant"? Why not "Major" or "General" or "Major General". That would be rather catchy."
The poor Sergeant's eye had begun to twitch.
"Enough! Do you think it was easy trying to bring some order to you lot? Do you?" he asked.
"It was a nightmare! I never wanted this job. All I wanted was to make it big in musical theatre. "
J was puzzled.
"Then why did you become a pseudo dictator?"
Sgt. Maltese shrugged.
"It paid the bills. It's tough being a starving artist."
J had An Idea.
"You know, there's an opening in the town's Christmas production of The Pirates of Penzance...and while it isn't technically musical theatre, I think you would make a stellar Pirate King."
Sgt. Maltese's beady little eyes lit up.
"Do you really think so?"
"I do, " J replied.
The Sergeant looked skeptical.
"How is it possible that they open in less than a week and are missing a lead?"
J leaned down and whispered the name of the director into the Sergeant's ear.
"Him?!" the penguin cried out.
"Say no more. You'll have to excuse me, madam, gentlemen," the Sgt. said as he pulled out a top hat.
"The theatre needs me." And with that, he raced off into the night.
J sat back down and took a sip from her cocoa.
"That's it?" Fred asked.
"But this all makes absolutely no sense!"
"It doesn't have to," J replied.
"This is one of Meri's stories."
And she was right.
~fin
(Hey, I never said they would be -good- stories.)
Friday, December 18, 2009
Jesse's Story -OR- A Tale of Awesome
For Jesse, another "socks" story.
Five minutes later...
Agent 006 had made his way upstairs with the über Visa and was about to make good his escape when he ran straight into a tall man, dressed entirely in black with sunglasses to match (even though it was night and indoors).
"Going somewhere?" the MIB asked.
Agent 006 sprung immediately into action and executed maneuver 1403 - Cute & Cuddly. (Fred -hated- maneuver 1403.) It soon became clear that the MIB (Man In Black, right?) wasn't falling for it. Fred decided to put all his cards on the table.
"Look," he said, "all I want is a new laptop and a chance to code."
The MIB considered this for a moment, then nodded.
"Dome," he said.
"Uh...pardon?" Fred asked.
"Sorry," the MIB replied. "I meant 'done'. I sometimes have typos when I speak."
"Right..." was all that Fred could think to say.
"I'm the head of security for The Princess," the MIB explained.
"About those sleeping pills..." Fred remarked nervously.
"We're willing to overlook it. This time," the MIB said.
"But we need to hurry. Maltese will no doubt soon realize that something has gone amiss. I need to take you to J."
"There's just one thing I can't figure out," Fred remarked as he followed the MIB through the winding hallways of the Castle.
"How did you manage to sneak up on me?"
The MIB paused and pointed down to the socks on his shoeless feet.
"Stealth Socks. One of J's inventions."
"Can I get a pair?" Fred asked hopefully.
"No."
To be continued...
Five minutes later...
Agent 006 had made his way upstairs with the über Visa and was about to make good his escape when he ran straight into a tall man, dressed entirely in black with sunglasses to match (even though it was night and indoors).
"Going somewhere?" the MIB asked.
Agent 006 sprung immediately into action and executed maneuver 1403 - Cute & Cuddly. (Fred -hated- maneuver 1403.) It soon became clear that the MIB (Man In Black, right?) wasn't falling for it. Fred decided to put all his cards on the table.
"Look," he said, "all I want is a new laptop and a chance to code."
The MIB considered this for a moment, then nodded.
"Dome," he said.
"Uh...pardon?" Fred asked.
"Sorry," the MIB replied. "I meant 'done'. I sometimes have typos when I speak."
"Right..." was all that Fred could think to say.
"I'm the head of security for The Princess," the MIB explained.
"About those sleeping pills..." Fred remarked nervously.
"We're willing to overlook it. This time," the MIB said.
"But we need to hurry. Maltese will no doubt soon realize that something has gone amiss. I need to take you to J."
"There's just one thing I can't figure out," Fred remarked as he followed the MIB through the winding hallways of the Castle.
"How did you manage to sneak up on me?"
The MIB paused and pointed down to the socks on his shoeless feet.
"Stealth Socks. One of J's inventions."
"Can I get a pair?" Fred asked hopefully.
"No."
To be continued...
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Error 505
Muse not found. Please reinstall brain and reboot.
(Translation: Today got away from me; I'll post two stories tomorrow)
(Translation: Today got away from me; I'll post two stories tomorrow)
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Bro's Story -OR- The Penguins Who Stole Christmas, part three
For my Brother, who was one of the "Penguin" mob.
Also, also meanwhile, Agent 006, codename "Chilly" had waited for The Princess to fall asleep before searching the perimeter of the Magical Palace. ( It was very odd for The Princess to fall asleep by 8:00, but then, she typically did not have her hot cocoa spiked with knock-out drops.)
The Princess neutralized, Agent 006 crept downstairs into the secret (supposedly) vault, taking pictures with his "cleverly disguised" camera. It looked like a fish. All of the penguins' gadgets looked like fish. Agent 006 (whose actual name was Fred) had never wanted to be a spy, nor did he want to take part in the penguins' latest hare-brained scheme.
All Fred wanted to do was code.
That's where the problem started; Fred was naturally gifted when it came to writing code (he even commented it!), and in his eagerness to impress Sgt. Maltese, he made the mistake of demonstrating some of the applications he had written. It had been all downhill, then uphill, then back downhill from there.
Fred pulled out another tool from his toolbox ("cleverly disguised" as a sardine can) and began scanning the large safe hidden behind a false wall. A few moments later and Agent 006 was able to retrieve key component to the Penguins' plan:
A Uranium Visa card. (Way more exclusive than a Platinum card.)
Agent 006 carefully put the safe back the way he had found it (minus the Visa) and put the credit card in his pocket.
Maybe he'd at least manage to score a decent laptop out of all of this.
To Be Continued...
Also, also meanwhile, Agent 006, codename "Chilly" had waited for The Princess to fall asleep before searching the perimeter of the Magical Palace. ( It was very odd for The Princess to fall asleep by 8:00, but then, she typically did not have her hot cocoa spiked with knock-out drops.)
The Princess neutralized, Agent 006 crept downstairs into the secret (supposedly) vault, taking pictures with his "cleverly disguised" camera. It looked like a fish. All of the penguins' gadgets looked like fish. Agent 006 (whose actual name was Fred) had never wanted to be a spy, nor did he want to take part in the penguins' latest hare-brained scheme.
All Fred wanted to do was code.
That's where the problem started; Fred was naturally gifted when it came to writing code (he even commented it!), and in his eagerness to impress Sgt. Maltese, he made the mistake of demonstrating some of the applications he had written. It had been all downhill, then uphill, then back downhill from there.
Fred pulled out another tool from his toolbox ("cleverly disguised" as a sardine can) and began scanning the large safe hidden behind a false wall. A few moments later and Agent 006 was able to retrieve key component to the Penguins' plan:
A Uranium Visa card. (Way more exclusive than a Platinum card.)
Agent 006 carefully put the safe back the way he had found it (minus the Visa) and put the credit card in his pocket.
Maybe he'd at least manage to score a decent laptop out of all of this.
To Be Continued...
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Jon's Story -OR- The Magical Socks of Smiting
For Jon, who picked "socks".
Also meanwhile, a new super hero was putting the finishing touches on his super suit. And it was truly a Super Suit. The finest Italian wool, a cut that Armani would drool over and a perfect, crisp white shirt. All that was left was to find his hand woven cashmere socks and slip into his $4,000 shoes.
That's when disaster struck.
Instead of a drawer full of exquisite cashmere socks, all the Super Hero could find were ugly, itchy paisley socks.
"Noooo!" the Super Hero cried out dramatically (he had good training for this, as he was also a trained opera singer).
"Curse you, penguins!"
For only one creature could be behind an act so foul, so heinous - the evil Dr. Strangequack.
But then something happened that the penguin did not intend: not to outdone by a mere penguin, even if said penguin had written his doctorate thesis on how to be an Evil Overlord, the Super Hero put on the loudest, ugliest pair of socks that he could find.
And -nothing- happened.
"Interesting," the Super Hero remarked.
To be continued...
Also meanwhile, a new super hero was putting the finishing touches on his super suit. And it was truly a Super Suit. The finest Italian wool, a cut that Armani would drool over and a perfect, crisp white shirt. All that was left was to find his hand woven cashmere socks and slip into his $4,000 shoes.
That's when disaster struck.
Instead of a drawer full of exquisite cashmere socks, all the Super Hero could find were ugly, itchy paisley socks.
"Noooo!" the Super Hero cried out dramatically (he had good training for this, as he was also a trained opera singer).
"Curse you, penguins!"
For only one creature could be behind an act so foul, so heinous - the evil Dr. Strangequack.
But then something happened that the penguin did not intend: not to outdone by a mere penguin, even if said penguin had written his doctorate thesis on how to be an Evil Overlord, the Super Hero put on the loudest, ugliest pair of socks that he could find.
And -nothing- happened.
"Interesting," the Super Hero remarked.
To be continued...
Monday, December 14, 2009
Dad's Story -OR- The Penguins Who Stole Christmas, part 2
For my Dad, who also chose "penguin"
Meanwhile, back at SPHQ (Secret Penguin Headquarters), an in depth reconnaissance overview was taking place. A hardened looking penguin, Sgt. Maltese, firmly smacked the penguin nearest him to call the (completely silent) group to order.
"That's enough shenanigans!" the Maltese Penguin barked out. (Don't look at me like that; you knew it was coming.)
"While we wait for agent 006 to report in, let us continue to analyze previous failed attempts at our mission."
The lights went out and a projector switched on. Soon the room was filled with the sounds of Thurl Ravencroft's deep bass as the trainees took detailed of the doomed mission. The training film now over, Sgt. Maltese flipped the lights back on.
"Now, which one of you waiter rejects can tell me what was the Grinch's chief mistake?"
Several different answers rang out at once:
"He wasn't a penguin?"
"He didn't wear the proper camouflage?"
"It took him until the end of the story for him to realize that all he really wanted was love and acceptance?"
The Sergeant glared at the penguin who made this last comment, and at a snap of his fin (don't ask me how it's possible), the unfortunate penguin was dragged from the room, never to be heard from again.
"Anyone else?" Sgt. Maltese asked menacingly.
The other trainees were spared by the iPhone on the Sergeant's desk ringing.
"That must be Agent 006," the Sergeant remarked as he pressed a button on his wristwatch.
"Chilly, this is Willy, report!"
To be continued...
Meanwhile, back at SPHQ (Secret Penguin Headquarters), an in depth reconnaissance overview was taking place. A hardened looking penguin, Sgt. Maltese, firmly smacked the penguin nearest him to call the (completely silent) group to order.
"That's enough shenanigans!" the Maltese Penguin barked out. (Don't look at me like that; you knew it was coming.)
"While we wait for agent 006 to report in, let us continue to analyze previous failed attempts at our mission."
The lights went out and a projector switched on. Soon the room was filled with the sounds of Thurl Ravencroft's deep bass as the trainees took detailed of the doomed mission. The training film now over, Sgt. Maltese flipped the lights back on.
"Now, which one of you waiter rejects can tell me what was the Grinch's chief mistake?"
Several different answers rang out at once:
"He wasn't a penguin?"
"He didn't wear the proper camouflage?"
"It took him until the end of the story for him to realize that all he really wanted was love and acceptance?"
The Sergeant glared at the penguin who made this last comment, and at a snap of his fin (don't ask me how it's possible), the unfortunate penguin was dragged from the room, never to be heard from again.
"Anyone else?" Sgt. Maltese asked menacingly.
The other trainees were spared by the iPhone on the Sergeant's desk ringing.
"That must be Agent 006," the Sergeant remarked as he pressed a button on his wristwatch.
"Chilly, this is Willy, report!"
To be continued...
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Rowan's Story -OR - The Penguins That Stole Christmas, Part 1
For Rowan, who picked "penguin".
Once upon a time, a Princess met a Penguin.
The Princess was walking home from her Glamorous and Very Important Job to her Magical Castle when she spied a (seemingly) cute little penguin shivering in the cold snow.
“Oh, you poor dear,” the kind Princess said as she scooped the penguin up in her arms and wrapped him in her Burberry (pink, of course).
“I shall take you home with me and get you all warmed up.”
The poor Princess did not know that, while most animals that one found shivering in the snow did in fact need love and kindness and affection, penguins were only after one thing.
The trouble is that no one is quite sure what that One Thing is. Some scientists have suggested that the penguins desire money, while others argue that it’s really just fame and recognition.
Myself, I think they want World Domination. (And I don’t understand how that can be One Thing when it’s Two Words. But I’ve learned the hard way to never question the motives of penguins; rather, you should just run from them as fast as you can).
The Princess and the Penguin were soon at the Princess’s Magical Castle. The hearth room was one of the Princess’s favourite places. It was decorated in rich pinks and burgundies and golds, with a magnificent fire place and state-of-the-art hot cocoa bar. (Forty-five different types of cocoas, ten different types of whipped cream, and at last count, over two hundred different types of sprinkles.)
“What kind of cocoa would you like, Chilly?” the Princess asked the Penguin, as she fixed herself a white chocolate cherry cocoa with chocolate whipped cream and amaretto sprinkles. (The Princess would not typically use such a dull and common name for a penguin, but the name had just crept into her head while she had been looking at the little creature.)
There was no response from the Penguin now known as Chilly. The Princess turned her head to look back to where Chilly was at and saw that he already had a piping hot mug of cocoa.
“How did you…?” the Princess began to ask Chilly.
Chilly merely gave the Princess a Look which clearly said:
“I am doing you the tremendous honour of staying in your mediocre little house for the night. Do not press your luck.”
The Princess thought it best to simply drink her cocoa.
To be continued…
Once upon a time, a Princess met a Penguin.
The Princess was walking home from her Glamorous and Very Important Job to her Magical Castle when she spied a (seemingly) cute little penguin shivering in the cold snow.
“Oh, you poor dear,” the kind Princess said as she scooped the penguin up in her arms and wrapped him in her Burberry (pink, of course).
“I shall take you home with me and get you all warmed up.”
The poor Princess did not know that, while most animals that one found shivering in the snow did in fact need love and kindness and affection, penguins were only after one thing.
The trouble is that no one is quite sure what that One Thing is. Some scientists have suggested that the penguins desire money, while others argue that it’s really just fame and recognition.
Myself, I think they want World Domination. (And I don’t understand how that can be One Thing when it’s Two Words. But I’ve learned the hard way to never question the motives of penguins; rather, you should just run from them as fast as you can).
The Princess and the Penguin were soon at the Princess’s Magical Castle. The hearth room was one of the Princess’s favourite places. It was decorated in rich pinks and burgundies and golds, with a magnificent fire place and state-of-the-art hot cocoa bar. (Forty-five different types of cocoas, ten different types of whipped cream, and at last count, over two hundred different types of sprinkles.)
“What kind of cocoa would you like, Chilly?” the Princess asked the Penguin, as she fixed herself a white chocolate cherry cocoa with chocolate whipped cream and amaretto sprinkles. (The Princess would not typically use such a dull and common name for a penguin, but the name had just crept into her head while she had been looking at the little creature.)
There was no response from the Penguin now known as Chilly. The Princess turned her head to look back to where Chilly was at and saw that he already had a piping hot mug of cocoa.
“How did you…?” the Princess began to ask Chilly.
Chilly merely gave the Princess a Look which clearly said:
“I am doing you the tremendous honour of staying in your mediocre little house for the night. Do not press your luck.”
The Princess thought it best to simply drink her cocoa.
To be continued…
Thursday, December 10, 2009
'Tis the Season -or- An early Christmas gift
I just sent out this text to my friends and family:
Pick a word:
Sugarplum
Snow
Lamppost
Socks
Penguin
Snowman
Hat
Gumdrop
Tree
Finch
I will be writing one mini-story per person based on the word of their choosing and posting them here beginning on Sunday the 13th and up through Christmas Eve.
Want a story? Post a comment with the word of your choice.
Stay tuned!
Pick a word:
Sugarplum
Snow
Lamppost
Socks
Penguin
Snowman
Hat
Gumdrop
Tree
Finch
I will be writing one mini-story per person based on the word of their choosing and posting them here beginning on Sunday the 13th and up through Christmas Eve.
Want a story? Post a comment with the word of your choice.
Stay tuned!
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
NaNoWhatOh? -or- How I spent my November
You might have noticed that it has been 2819 days since my last blog post (give or take about 2,770 days). I have a perfectly good reason for this:
I wrote a novel.
I know it must seem too good to be true, but true it is. Consider it an early Christmas present.
We now return to your irregularly scheduled brilliance.
I wrote a novel.
I know it must seem too good to be true, but true it is. Consider it an early Christmas present.
We now return to your irregularly scheduled brilliance.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Regarding Penguins
My friends who follow this blog are intimately aware of my deep rooted (hyphen needed?) mistrust of penguins. For those of you just joining us, here's a re-cap (hyphen for good measure):
The first fingers of fear were felt a few months before "March of the Penguins" (one of the finer propoganda films to be made in recent years) waddled into theatres. Things only got worse from that point on: penguins on orange juice cartons, penguins on tissue boxes, penguins on parade (not to mention even more penguin based movies), penguins everywhere. Fortunately for mankind, the filmmakers at Dreamworks somehow managed to get "Madagascar" released without being shut down by the dreaded Penguin Mafia (It would appear that Kingdom of Loathing had already guessed at that penguins' ultimate goal: world domination). Americans now had caught a small glimpse into the true nature of penguins; and it wasn't cute and cuddly.
The past two years or so has seen the Penguin Mafia retreat into the shadows, waiting, watching...
...Plotting.
Keep both eyes open, my friends.
The first fingers of fear were felt a few months before "March of the Penguins" (one of the finer propoganda films to be made in recent years) waddled into theatres. Things only got worse from that point on: penguins on orange juice cartons, penguins on tissue boxes, penguins on parade (not to mention even more penguin based movies), penguins everywhere. Fortunately for mankind, the filmmakers at Dreamworks somehow managed to get "Madagascar" released without being shut down by the dreaded Penguin Mafia (It would appear that Kingdom of Loathing had already guessed at that penguins' ultimate goal: world domination). Americans now had caught a small glimpse into the true nature of penguins; and it wasn't cute and cuddly.
The past two years or so has seen the Penguin Mafia retreat into the shadows, waiting, watching...
...Plotting.
Keep both eyes open, my friends.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
But what I really want to talk about is bagels
Specifically the type with holes in them.
Bagels are good.
They are also round, which means you can trust them.
You should not, however, use bagels as spare tires.
Even if they are 400 years old.
Because that would just be silly.
(I think this just might be my most random post to date. Always nice to accomplish Something Meaningful before noon. )
Bagels are good.
They are also round, which means you can trust them.
You should not, however, use bagels as spare tires.
Even if they are 400 years old.
Because that would just be silly.
(I think this just might be my most random post to date. Always nice to accomplish Something Meaningful before noon. )
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Of Course, You Realize -This- Means War
Immitation may be the sincerest form of flattery, but folks in these parts don't take kindly to other towns taking over their glory.
Case in point, Glenwood, Oregon.
Somehow, the enterprising people of this city (which I had never heard of before today, so you can imagine how inconsiquential they must be) have their hooks into Google. If you were to search for the Forest Grove zip code, it brings up Glenwood, OR. Our house? Glenwood. Our pizza place? Glenwood. Our Tiffany's? That was a trick question. The classiest thing we have here is Safeway. But it's OUR Safeway, and we're not going to let a bunch of over-ambitious penguin supporters take it.
They can take our zip code, but they can never take our Safeway!
(Admittedly, the battle cry needs some work; but it will sound better when we hire Mel Gibson as our spokes-heman.
Or not. )
Case in point, Glenwood, Oregon.
Somehow, the enterprising people of this city (which I had never heard of before today, so you can imagine how inconsiquential they must be) have their hooks into Google. If you were to search for the Forest Grove zip code, it brings up Glenwood, OR. Our house? Glenwood. Our pizza place? Glenwood. Our Tiffany's? That was a trick question. The classiest thing we have here is Safeway. But it's OUR Safeway, and we're not going to let a bunch of over-ambitious penguin supporters take it.
They can take our zip code, but they can never take our Safeway!
(Admittedly, the battle cry needs some work; but it will sound better when we hire Mel Gibson as our spokes-heman.
Or not. )
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
We Are Not Amused
Part the Second
Mera Fitzgerald had made her merry way through the labyrinth of pretzel carts, balloon animal artists (Mera briefly wondered about reporting them to the Terminology Abuse Office) and pickle salesmen, arriving at the brightly coloured and thriving shoe district of The Bustling Metropolis (TBM from here on out). The obligatory bell above the door chimed politely, alerting the staff that there was a new customer in the shop for them to ignore. Mera found a Shoe that she liked (comfy, cute and shiny) and turned to ask a salesperson (author is currently to tired to care about enquiring as to their gender) for a size.
"Of course, Madame. Do you have your FRiZBE results?"
Mera looked politely puzzled. (Another learned skill)
"My what results?"
The Salesperson (We'll call them IT) looked slightly exasperated.
"Your FRiZBE result. It tells us how you relate to other FRiZes and BEs, so we can better serve you."
Mera tried to mask her disbelief, almost suceeding.
"I...uh, no. Sorry, I've never heard of the Fuzz-E test. "
"FRiZBE," IT corrected. "It's a Groundbreaking test, and fortunately only takes 15 minutes to complete. "
Mera was sceptical.
"Then I can buy some shoes?"
IT looked apalled at the idea.
"Of course not! You must also take the mandatory two hour result discussion! It would defeat the whole point, otherwise. "
Mera had had enough.
"My dear person, I don't give anyone two hours of my time. They must Earn it, and you are just not worthy. "
With that, Mera walked out of the store. This might be even worse than an Adventure; it might turn into an Ordeal. (In which case considerable amounts of chocolate and coffee would be required. )
Mera Fitzgerald had made her merry way through the labyrinth of pretzel carts, balloon animal artists (Mera briefly wondered about reporting them to the Terminology Abuse Office) and pickle salesmen, arriving at the brightly coloured and thriving shoe district of The Bustling Metropolis (TBM from here on out). The obligatory bell above the door chimed politely, alerting the staff that there was a new customer in the shop for them to ignore. Mera found a Shoe that she liked (comfy, cute and shiny) and turned to ask a salesperson (author is currently to tired to care about enquiring as to their gender) for a size.
"Of course, Madame. Do you have your FRiZBE results?"
Mera looked politely puzzled. (Another learned skill)
"My what results?"
The Salesperson (We'll call them IT) looked slightly exasperated.
"Your FRiZBE result. It tells us how you relate to other FRiZes and BEs, so we can better serve you."
Mera tried to mask her disbelief, almost suceeding.
"I...uh, no. Sorry, I've never heard of the Fuzz-E test. "
"FRiZBE," IT corrected. "It's a Groundbreaking test, and fortunately only takes 15 minutes to complete. "
Mera was sceptical.
"Then I can buy some shoes?"
IT looked apalled at the idea.
"Of course not! You must also take the mandatory two hour result discussion! It would defeat the whole point, otherwise. "
Mera had had enough.
"My dear person, I don't give anyone two hours of my time. They must Earn it, and you are just not worthy. "
With that, Mera walked out of the store. This might be even worse than an Adventure; it might turn into an Ordeal. (In which case considerable amounts of chocolate and coffee would be required. )
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Back, With a...Story?
Bring Me Back a Story
"Too many people want to have written. " -- Terry Pratchett
With that, I give you:
The Many Mad Adventures of Mera Fitzgerald
Part the First
Mera Fitzgerald awoke precisely when her shiny brass alarm clock went off. Mera Believed in Punctuality; and anything worth Believing In deserved to be Thought In Capital Letters. It had taken some Serious Effort on Mera's part, but she had Succeeded.
Definitely something worth putting on one's resume. (Yes, Mera could also think with accent marks, though one didn't like to brag.)
Mera was soon dressed to the 9:45's (Dressing to the 9:00's was so last year, darling) and headed out into The Bustling Metropolis. She really thought that The Bustling Metropolis was a poor choice for the name of a city, and wondered if the city had ever had a different name in the past; if it had, no one ever used it now. The Bustling Metropolis they called it, which was a rather accurate, if slightly over enthusiastic description of the large-esque collections of high rises, shoppes (you weren't allowed to operate a shop in The Bustling Metropolis), restaurants, theatres, banks, cafés, art galleries, tea houses, coffee houses, soda houses, gingerbread houses and stripey sock shoppes that made up TBM. (One has to abbreviate the name sooner or later. It's too exausting, otherwise.)
This particular morning found Mera in search of shoes. Not just any shoes, but Shoes. Shoes to match all of her Happy Stripey Socks. (And her leopard print socks. Though those were only for special occaisions. ) Shoe shopping, even it was Capitalized, should not need to be an adventure, but when one has size 11 feet, the task often became an Adventure...
"Too many people want to have written. " -- Terry Pratchett
With that, I give you:
The Many Mad Adventures of Mera Fitzgerald
Part the First
Mera Fitzgerald awoke precisely when her shiny brass alarm clock went off. Mera Believed in Punctuality; and anything worth Believing In deserved to be Thought In Capital Letters. It had taken some Serious Effort on Mera's part, but she had Succeeded.
Definitely something worth putting on one's resume. (Yes, Mera could also think with accent marks, though one didn't like to brag.)
Mera was soon dressed to the 9:45's (Dressing to the 9:00's was so last year, darling) and headed out into The Bustling Metropolis. She really thought that The Bustling Metropolis was a poor choice for the name of a city, and wondered if the city had ever had a different name in the past; if it had, no one ever used it now. The Bustling Metropolis they called it, which was a rather accurate, if slightly over enthusiastic description of the large-esque collections of high rises, shoppes (you weren't allowed to operate a shop in The Bustling Metropolis), restaurants, theatres, banks, cafés, art galleries, tea houses, coffee houses, soda houses, gingerbread houses and stripey sock shoppes that made up TBM. (One has to abbreviate the name sooner or later. It's too exausting, otherwise.)
This particular morning found Mera in search of shoes. Not just any shoes, but Shoes. Shoes to match all of her Happy Stripey Socks. (And her leopard print socks. Though those were only for special occaisions. ) Shoe shopping, even it was Capitalized, should not need to be an adventure, but when one has size 11 feet, the task often became an Adventure...
Thursday, August 20, 2009
On second thought, maybe I -do- have a use for you...
You being Twitter. (Not linking. Google it. )
Twitter has actually proven useful for the following:
1) Journalism
2) Giving Conan O'Brian something to laugh at
3) Terrorists in Georgia. The country. (Maybe the state, too)
4) Finally launching my soon-to-be-meteoric rise to fame: TriMet has met it's match
Twitter has actually proven useful for the following:
1) Journalism
2) Giving Conan O'Brian something to laugh at
3) Terrorists in Georgia. The country. (Maybe the state, too)
4) Finally launching my soon-to-be-meteoric rise to fame: TriMet has met it's match
Saturday, May 23, 2009
In honour of Jo...
...whose birthday will begin in less than two hours, I give you:
1) The "Happy Birthday" song. I will confess, I don't much care for this tune. In fact, I don't like it. It's always seemed odd to me that it's copyrighted - who would want to copyright such a bland tune? I think the tune for "Annie's Song" is much better.
And I do hope that the lyrics aren't copyrighted. Can you imagine that scene at the copyright office?
Copyright Person: You wrote this?
Sad writer: Yes. It was all I could come up with.
Copyright person: ....*pause*....*crickets chirping in the distance* Well, I do like how you added the "Dear Susan" part. But does this song only apply to people named Susan?
Sad, yet opportunistic writer: I'm going to copyright each name.
Copyright person: (to himself) I knew I should have gone into Security Architecture...
ANYWAY-
However you sing or say it, I wish you a very, merry, tastefully tuneful birthday!!
1) The "Happy Birthday" song. I will confess, I don't much care for this tune. In fact, I don't like it. It's always seemed odd to me that it's copyrighted - who would want to copyright such a bland tune? I think the tune for "Annie's Song" is much better.
And I do hope that the lyrics aren't copyrighted. Can you imagine that scene at the copyright office?
Copyright Person: You wrote this?
Sad writer: Yes. It was all I could come up with.
Copyright person: ....*pause*....*crickets chirping in the distance* Well, I do like how you added the "Dear Susan" part. But does this song only apply to people named Susan?
Sad, yet opportunistic writer: I'm going to copyright each name.
Copyright person: (to himself) I knew I should have gone into Security Architecture...
ANYWAY-
However you sing or say it, I wish you a very, merry, tastefully tuneful birthday!!
Friday, May 22, 2009
Our System Is So Secure, Even We Don't Know What It Does
I want to be a Security Architect when I grow up. You get to basically talk gibberish and abuse TLAs.
I also want to use SAML to connect to the TDI, creating a federated relationship that uses MQ to write to an LDAP.
In English: I have no idea what's going on.
In other news, The Wedding of the Year is two weeks from tomorrow!!
I also want to use SAML to connect to the TDI, creating a federated relationship that uses MQ to write to an LDAP.
In English: I have no idea what's going on.
In other news, The Wedding of the Year is two weeks from tomorrow!!
Monday, March 30, 2009
Daylight Madness
I know they say that Daylight Savings is to preserve energy; but I know the truth:
They do it just annoy me.
They do it just annoy me.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
A value greater than...$165 million
First off, I want to acknowledge the outrage my fellow Americans are feeling about the AIG bonuses. If you look at it from the angle that they helped drive our economy into the ground, begged for our hard earned money, then just handed out $165 million dollars to their employees, some of whom no longer work there, it is a very frustrating picture.
But that's not the full picture, America.
We are now experiencing something far greater than national outrage; we're experiencing Unity. Doesn't matter if you're a Democrat or Republican, rich(ish) or poor(er than the AIG folks), we all feel that the money belongs to us. We are a Nation United. (Not to be confused with the UN - that has more vowels).
Is $165 million really so much to pay for Unity?
(Now excuse while I go e-mail my resume to AIG)
But that's not the full picture, America.
We are now experiencing something far greater than national outrage; we're experiencing Unity. Doesn't matter if you're a Democrat or Republican, rich(ish) or poor(er than the AIG folks), we all feel that the money belongs to us. We are a Nation United. (Not to be confused with the UN - that has more vowels).
Is $165 million really so much to pay for Unity?
(Now excuse while I go e-mail my resume to AIG)
A post for St. Patrick's Day
Remember that old addage "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"?
In the spirit of fair play, and being nice, here is my tribute to St. Patrick's Day:
...
...Caramel Frappucinos are delightful.
(See? I can be nice...)
In the spirit of fair play, and being nice, here is my tribute to St. Patrick's Day:
...
...Caramel Frappucinos are delightful.
(See? I can be nice...)
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Maybe it's time to form the EDA...
EDA standing for Elf Detection Agency, naturally.
According to an article in Vanity Fair (well respected by both the scientific and political circles), there are still some people in Iceland who believe in elves, and feel that these impish creatures are responsible for their nation's bankruptcy. Slate.com posted this article on Elf Hunting 101, and I think it's worth taking note of. I predict these elves will soon jump state side and start making their presence known. One country's scapegoat is another's new government agency.
Just a word of caution to GM: I reccomend coming up with a new character and not just copying the Gremlin from
those 40's Looney Toons. People might begin to question the authenticity.
According to an article in Vanity Fair (well respected by both the scientific and political circles), there are still some people in Iceland who believe in elves, and feel that these impish creatures are responsible for their nation's bankruptcy. Slate.com posted this article on Elf Hunting 101, and I think it's worth taking note of. I predict these elves will soon jump state side and start making their presence known. One country's scapegoat is another's new government agency.
Just a word of caution to GM: I reccomend coming up with a new character and not just copying the Gremlin from
those 40's Looney Toons. People might begin to question the authenticity.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Pride and Prejudice and Nerds
(Because Pride and Prejudice and Zombies has already been done.
We are not pleased. )
Ms. Elisabeth Bennet was a smart, witty Systems Analyst assigned to work with the proud, disdainful Portal consultant Mr. Will Darcy. Elisabeth was working on re-launching the company's website. Darcy was full of over complicated ideas, and was driving Elisabeth crazy. To makes matters even more complicated between the two of them, Elisabeth had just discovered WCM...*
(*WCM = Web Content Management, pronounced "Wickam". This might be a pun worthy of Pratchett...)
We are not pleased. )
Ms. Elisabeth Bennet was a smart, witty Systems Analyst assigned to work with the proud, disdainful Portal consultant Mr. Will Darcy. Elisabeth was working on re-launching the company's website. Darcy was full of over complicated ideas, and was driving Elisabeth crazy. To makes matters even more complicated between the two of them, Elisabeth had just discovered WCM...*
(*WCM = Web Content Management, pronounced "Wickam". This might be a pun worthy of Pratchett...)
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
I think I have found my True Calling
I shall me the premier Time Appropriate Self Motivator.
Or in the common tongue, I'll write books and teach (private) workshops on how to appear productive and busy when you have absolutely nothing to do. Sure, you could argue that one could go and learn something useful, or complete a degree or become a certified SCRUM master, but I think I'm correct in guessing that most people really just want to make the most of their boredom by not doing actual work.
(I still don't think SCRUM master is a real certification. I think someone just beat me to an MS/IT training gold mine)
I think I will first need a glossary of useful words. It will be hard to top the brilliance of ambiguity that is "I am reversing the polarity of the neuron flow", but I am not afraid.
I am ideating on the ways to best align with our business partners and help them to reach our mutual goals of clarity and understanding.
(It's a start).
Or in the common tongue, I'll write books and teach (private) workshops on how to appear productive and busy when you have absolutely nothing to do. Sure, you could argue that one could go and learn something useful, or complete a degree or become a certified SCRUM master, but I think I'm correct in guessing that most people really just want to make the most of their boredom by not doing actual work.
(I still don't think SCRUM master is a real certification. I think someone just beat me to an MS/IT training gold mine)
I think I will first need a glossary of useful words. It will be hard to top the brilliance of ambiguity that is "I am reversing the polarity of the neuron flow", but I am not afraid.
I am ideating on the ways to best align with our business partners and help them to reach our mutual goals of clarity and understanding.
(It's a start).
I need a Dragon.
Specifically, I need this dragon.
The point here is to agree wholeheartedly with me, and not ask annoying questions such as "What on EARTH do you need with an animatronic dragon?!".
My reasons are my own, but I can tell you that my plan involves a pineapple, tinker toys, silly putty and a string.
That is all you ever need know.
The point here is to agree wholeheartedly with me, and not ask annoying questions such as "What on EARTH do you need with an animatronic dragon?!".
My reasons are my own, but I can tell you that my plan involves a pineapple, tinker toys, silly putty and a string.
That is all you ever need know.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Just give me the money already
No, I am not an investor. Neither am I a broker, financial analyst or golf buddy. It's not a charitable donation, either.
I just want some money. Yours in particular.
(I figure that after Madoff and Stanford, the unintelligent rich will apreciate my refreshing honesty. )
I just want some money. Yours in particular.
(I figure that after Madoff and Stanford, the unintelligent rich will apreciate my refreshing honesty. )
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
A Note from your (not so) Friendly Public Wellness Officer
Unless you have at least two sets of crutches and/or are missing a limb, you are not allowed to use the elevator for trips of two floors or less. The elevator is reserved for VIPs and MITYs (More Important Than You).
Failure to adhere to these regulations will result in a team frisbee flogging.
Remember, this is for your own good.
Thank you.
Failure to adhere to these regulations will result in a team frisbee flogging.
Remember, this is for your own good.
Thank you.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Piracy is our only option
Press Release:
February 13th, 2009
Florin
In these difficult economic times, there is still hope for the few CEO's who have yet to get a bailout package of their very own. Fresh off of his World Tour, which included stops in Detroit, Somalia and D.C., The Dread Pirate Roberts has announced a new executive training program for poor CEO's who are facing yearly bonuses of $5 million or less.
When asked for a comment, The Dread Pirate Roberts mentioned something about needing bigger bathtubs and more spoons.
In related news, the Florin Surgeon General "Miracle" Max, announced findings that suggest people who wear masks really -can't- be trusted.
(Prompt by Dad, additional Piratical Ideation by my Uncles)
February 13th, 2009
Florin
In these difficult economic times, there is still hope for the few CEO's who have yet to get a bailout package of their very own. Fresh off of his World Tour, which included stops in Detroit, Somalia and D.C., The Dread Pirate Roberts has announced a new executive training program for poor CEO's who are facing yearly bonuses of $5 million or less.
When asked for a comment, The Dread Pirate Roberts mentioned something about needing bigger bathtubs and more spoons.
In related news, the Florin Surgeon General "Miracle" Max, announced findings that suggest people who wear masks really -can't- be trusted.
(Prompt by Dad, additional Piratical Ideation by my Uncles)
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Error 405 - Prompt not found
The humor you were looking for cannot be found. Please reboot your PC and try again.
If you think you have reached this error by mistake, you're probably right.
If you think you have reached this error by mistake, you're probably right.
Monday, February 9, 2009
For those of you watching your profundity intake...
Try the new 90 calorie version - Tall and Intelligent - Lite
It's almost like being in school. But this time, they're paying -me-.
We've just started training and we're already an hour behind. Though, to be fair, there are a lot of moving parts to keep track of.
However, I bet most, if not all, of these folks went to college for a computer degree. How did they make it this far without learning when NOT to ask questions?
I guess some people have yet to master the zen of acquiring true Enlightenment by simply not paying attention.
Pity.
However, I bet most, if not all, of these folks went to college for a computer degree. How did they make it this far without learning when NOT to ask questions?
I guess some people have yet to master the zen of acquiring true Enlightenment by simply not paying attention.
Pity.
A week of PC training and I don't even get an etch-a-scetch?
Lameness.
I know I'm not a manager yet, but I don't get a PC to play with, either.
Maybe I can get RAD 7.0 for my iPhone. I think there's a large potential market out there. How many people need to develop an EJB while on the bus? Or a Java Server Face while waiting in line at Starbucks? Plus, iPhones now come with at least 8 GB of memory, so you would have room for RAD and three songs!
Tell your friends- it's gonna be huge.
I know I'm not a manager yet, but I don't get a PC to play with, either.
Maybe I can get RAD 7.0 for my iPhone. I think there's a large potential market out there. How many people need to develop an EJB while on the bus? Or a Java Server Face while waiting in line at Starbucks? Plus, iPhones now come with at least 8 GB of memory, so you would have room for RAD and three songs!
Tell your friends- it's gonna be huge.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
How to create a Black Hole -or- Why You Should Never Have More than 2 SA's in the same room
Step 1) Using a computer that is not your own, create a remote session to your PC
Step 2) While in your virtual desktop, have a teammate repeat Step 1
Step 3) While in their virtual desktop, have yet another SA repeat Step 2
Step 4) Make popcorn
Step 5) Push entire project team into Black Hole and enjoy.
Disclaimer: This is all theoretical, folks. You may need a few more instances of MSTCS, depending on the size of your project team.
Step 2) While in your virtual desktop, have a teammate repeat Step 1
Step 3) While in their virtual desktop, have yet another SA repeat Step 2
Step 4) Make popcorn
Step 5) Push entire project team into Black Hole and enjoy.
Disclaimer: This is all theoretical, folks. You may need a few more instances of MSTCS, depending on the size of your project team.
Monday, February 2, 2009
It's not selling out if I actually make some money. Wait...
All I want is my 15 minutes of fame, the New American Dream. Actually, they can keep the fame, just send me the cash.
Apparently there are other blogs out there besides mine (who knew?), and this one just earned it's author a book deal after 8 weeks. 8 weeks!
But it's not the first "Stuff Like" blog I've read. That would be THIS one.
So I'm thinking the World needs Stuff that (geeky) Girls Like.
Whatcha think? It would be a separate blog, mostly as an experiment in viral marketing. (Sounds like we're going to threaten people with illness if they don't read it. Hmmm...)
Apparently there are other blogs out there besides mine (who knew?), and this one just earned it's author a book deal after 8 weeks. 8 weeks!
But it's not the first "Stuff Like" blog I've read. That would be THIS one.
So I'm thinking the World needs Stuff that (geeky) Girls Like.
Whatcha think? It would be a separate blog, mostly as an experiment in viral marketing. (Sounds like we're going to threaten people with illness if they don't read it. Hmmm...)
Friday, January 30, 2009
There's a reason why John Barry didn't compose the score for "Office Space"
I just came from a two hour (!) IT meeting which started with a slide show of... I'm not really sure what. It was pictures of people smiling and looking happy, so they were obviously corporate spies. No one around here is that happy. I'd like to know who they were trying to fool.
To make matters worse, the slide show (or "lie-show") was accompanied by music that desperately wished it was from "Apollo 13".
Apparently there are a lot of heroics in IT. There's Bob, who brought an end to the infamous White Out Drought of '08; and Sue who fought off the Manic Stapler of Death. Or what about...
No.
There aren't any heroes in IT. If they were truly heroes, they'd be off saving the planet, not working here.
Next time, just let me pick the music. (At least "O, Fortuna" would have been funny)
To make matters worse, the slide show (or "lie-show") was accompanied by music that desperately wished it was from "Apollo 13".
Apparently there are a lot of heroics in IT. There's Bob, who brought an end to the infamous White Out Drought of '08; and Sue who fought off the Manic Stapler of Death. Or what about...
No.
There aren't any heroes in IT. If they were truly heroes, they'd be off saving the planet, not working here.
Next time, just let me pick the music. (At least "O, Fortuna" would have been funny)
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Blinded by stupidity
Thank goodness I had my sunglasses handy.
I understand that sheer brilliance, wit and an uncanny sense of comic timing do not come naturally for most people, but that is not a good reason to drag me down into the murkey depths of your confused mind.
Honestly.
The fact that the sun was shining right into my eyes didn't help matters any. But I know it was you.
I understand that sheer brilliance, wit and an uncanny sense of comic timing do not come naturally for most people, but that is not a good reason to drag me down into the murkey depths of your confused mind.
Honestly.
The fact that the sun was shining right into my eyes didn't help matters any. But I know it was you.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
On a shortage of pink and an abundance of little green frogs
Lee, I just can't remember talking about little green frogs. I'm doing so now to prevent a predestination paradox from destroying the universe.
Or...maybe I just created one.
Oh well.
In other news, our teams were "realigned" (yet again) to better fit the business. I wonder when someone will have the bright idea to just tell the business to stop getting OUT of line. The real news is that my new team is comprised of 5 other people - all men.
5:1. With odds like that, they'll never stand a chance.
Or...maybe I just created one.
Oh well.
In other news, our teams were "realigned" (yet again) to better fit the business. I wonder when someone will have the bright idea to just tell the business to stop getting OUT of line. The real news is that my new team is comprised of 5 other people - all men.
5:1. With odds like that, they'll never stand a chance.
Monday, January 26, 2009
But when you eat nuts, it's cannibalistic
Lee, the food idea was prophetic.
I just came from a 30 minute project meeting to discuss requirements for one of our vendors. This wouldn't be a problem, except that I first drafted said requirements in November. And they've been reviewed by the same team three times now.
In the end, it was very fitting that they brought nuts to eat at the meeting.
Also redundant.
I just came from a 30 minute project meeting to discuss requirements for one of our vendors. This wouldn't be a problem, except that I first drafted said requirements in November. And they've been reviewed by the same team three times now.
In the end, it was very fitting that they brought nuts to eat at the meeting.
Also redundant.
Sorry, I'm only pretending to care
What more do want from me on a Monday? I showed up, didn't I?
It's not like anyone will know. That kind, attentive expression? Just sleeping with my eyes open. Was I just yawning? No, that was kinetic data deletion.
As has been previously discussed, my best work is usually done while sleeping.
Just don't make any loud noises.
It's not like anyone will know. That kind, attentive expression? Just sleeping with my eyes open. Was I just yawning? No, that was kinetic data deletion.
As has been previously discussed, my best work is usually done while sleeping.
Just don't make any loud noises.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Shakespeare wouldn't have written sonnets about love if he worked in IT
Conflict: something to be expected when
two or more people meet in conf’rence rooms.
Tho’ unpleasant, it is a useful thing,
Our thoughts and fears into the light to bring.
Perhaps your word and mine are both correct,
But that does not excuse you from respect-
ing me, you small, annoying, man (or not),
but either way this vanity must stop.
Or.
Else.
(Not so much a heroic couplet, as an emphatic one)
two or more people meet in conf’rence rooms.
Tho’ unpleasant, it is a useful thing,
Our thoughts and fears into the light to bring.
Perhaps your word and mine are both correct,
But that does not excuse you from respect-
ing me, you small, annoying, man (or not),
but either way this vanity must stop.
Or.
Else.
(Not so much a heroic couplet, as an emphatic one)
Thursday, January 22, 2009
From the Editor
You may notice that this blog has been going through a bit of a dry spell as of late. The staff here at Tall and Intelligent (or TI, as we like to refer to ourselves) would like to apologize. There just hasn't been any Grade A Blogger Fodder around here lately.
Unlike other, cheaper and less amusing blogs, we here at TI believe in quality over quantity (despite all evidence to the contrary). We could settle for Grade B Blogger Fodder like those other blogs (losers), but it just wouldn't be funny. At TI, we care enough to wait for the very best absurdity.
We appreciate your continued support and cash donations. We are also very happy to announce that we are now accepting credit cards.
Thank you.
(And we better stop referring to myself in plural, before the men with white jackets arrive. )
(Oops.)
Unlike other, cheaper and less amusing blogs, we here at TI believe in quality over quantity (despite all evidence to the contrary). We could settle for Grade B Blogger Fodder like those other blogs (losers), but it just wouldn't be funny. At TI, we care enough to wait for the very best absurdity.
We appreciate your continued support and cash donations. We are also very happy to announce that we are now accepting credit cards.
Thank you.
(And we better stop referring to myself in plural, before the men with white jackets arrive. )
(Oops.)
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Lament for a Lost Lunch Tote
(This was composed yesterday, but my wrist started being cranky, so I didn't post it)
Ack! I have lost thee,
Lunch tote with Elephants Pink.
I bid thee farewell.
I left my Vera Bradley(!) lunch tote in the company fridge over the weekend, the same fridge that is cleaned of everything every Friday at 5:00. And they mean everything. Poor little lunch tote! I was already planning on purchasing a new one, but still...have some respect for Vera, people!
Sheesh.
In other news, I am thinking of buying a new lunch tote. Vote for your favourite style and colour! (I'm open to most colours)
Let's Do Lunch
Cool Keeper
Ack! I have lost thee,
Lunch tote with Elephants Pink.
I bid thee farewell.
I left my Vera Bradley(!) lunch tote in the company fridge over the weekend, the same fridge that is cleaned of everything every Friday at 5:00. And they mean everything. Poor little lunch tote! I was already planning on purchasing a new one, but still...have some respect for Vera, people!
Sheesh.
In other news, I am thinking of buying a new lunch tote. Vote for your favourite style and colour! (I'm open to most colours)
Let's Do Lunch
Cool Keeper
Friday, January 16, 2009
Yogurt Eating 101
There is a delicate skill to eating yogurt in public. Mainly, the finishing of yogurt.
One of the most brutal forms of workplace torture is having to be in the same room -or cubicle- as a yogurt eating novice digging away with their spoon, trying to get at the last bite in the bottom of the plastic container. It has to be one of the single most annoying sounds known to mankind.
In order to make the world a safer place for the inept, I will keep this simple:
Learn to eat your yogurt quietly or I will rip that spoon out of your hand and beat you senseless with it.
One of the most brutal forms of workplace torture is having to be in the same room -or cubicle- as a yogurt eating novice digging away with their spoon, trying to get at the last bite in the bottom of the plastic container. It has to be one of the single most annoying sounds known to mankind.
In order to make the world a safer place for the inept, I will keep this simple:
Learn to eat your yogurt quietly or I will rip that spoon out of your hand and beat you senseless with it.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
How 'bout I tell you how to not make me kill you
Rule 1: No early meetings
Rule 2: No lunchtime meeings
Rule 3: No overtime on meetings
Today I had a 9:00 meeting, and am now in an 11:00 meeting that was supposed to end at 12:00. If you hear about me on the 10:00 news tonight, now you know why.
Rule 2: No lunchtime meeings
Rule 3: No overtime on meetings
Today I had a 9:00 meeting, and am now in an 11:00 meeting that was supposed to end at 12:00. If you hear about me on the 10:00 news tonight, now you know why.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
There's a lot to be said for not saying a lot
Even more importantly, when there's nothing being said it's time to say a lot. People are uncomfortable with silence; it makes them feel they should be thinking about something. That's when the stupidity starts.
By talking, we can reassure them that the thinking is being handled by professionals, and that they needn't hurt themselves trying.
It only takes a moment to pretend to care.
By talking, we can reassure them that the thinking is being handled by professionals, and that they needn't hurt themselves trying.
It only takes a moment to pretend to care.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Another definition -or- Maybe I just didn't watch enough Sesame Street as a child
Sharing - verb. The act of not demanding that no one else use the elevator you are on, or store their lunch in the same refrigerator as yours.
See also: elevators, company refrigerators and list of things Meri's not good at.
See also: elevators, company refrigerators and list of things Meri's not good at.
What we need is a new dictionary, America
I think I should write my own dictionary.
For example:
Monday morning - noun. A state of being in which innocent people are dragged out of their beds, in the dark, and forced out into the cruel, dark world.
See also: legalized torture, leading cause of depression and caffiene addiction.
For example:
Monday morning - noun. A state of being in which innocent people are dragged out of their beds, in the dark, and forced out into the cruel, dark world.
See also: legalized torture, leading cause of depression and caffiene addiction.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Eulogy for a Dead Thought
Dear Friends,
We are gathered here tonight, on this solemn occasion, to pay tribute to Lee's dead thought.
It was such a brave little thought, and never once complained. Nor did it ever trail muddy footprints into the house, or leave the refrigerator open, causing the milk to spoil and kill people. We are sure it was a good thought.
Friends, let us look past our mourning to brighter days. Days, in a few weeks' time, when Lee's poor damaged brain will recover from her Excruciating Testing Ordeal and have new thoughts.
In the meantime, let us live each thought as if it were our last.
Amen.
(I think that's pretty close to what I actually said last night)
We are gathered here tonight, on this solemn occasion, to pay tribute to Lee's dead thought.
It was such a brave little thought, and never once complained. Nor did it ever trail muddy footprints into the house, or leave the refrigerator open, causing the milk to spoil and kill people. We are sure it was a good thought.
Friends, let us look past our mourning to brighter days. Days, in a few weeks' time, when Lee's poor damaged brain will recover from her Excruciating Testing Ordeal and have new thoughts.
In the meantime, let us live each thought as if it were our last.
Amen.
(I think that's pretty close to what I actually said last night)
Friday, January 9, 2009
At least the voices in MY head are funny...
I don't even want to know what some of my co-workers' voices sound like.
Today's meeting was the equivilent of two four headed purple urpstroms. And the Terrible Twizzler.
There I sat, listening to accusation after accusation, my sanity stretched so thin that it was the opposite of thick. Fortunately, I was wearing my magical +32 uggs of Smiting, or I never would have made it out alive. As it was, they'll have to be decontaminated, lest the blinding stupidity wear off. (Though I might be happier at work)
(In truth, things got better and there was even an apology)
But next time I'm bringing garlic.
Today's meeting was the equivilent of two four headed purple urpstroms. And the Terrible Twizzler.
There I sat, listening to accusation after accusation, my sanity stretched so thin that it was the opposite of thick. Fortunately, I was wearing my magical +32 uggs of Smiting, or I never would have made it out alive. As it was, they'll have to be decontaminated, lest the blinding stupidity wear off. (Though I might be happier at work)
(In truth, things got better and there was even an apology)
But next time I'm bringing garlic.
Really, I'm so much more productive when I'm asleep
I have a new "alternative" work arrangement proposition. Since my best efforts are usually thwarted by one or more...persons (there was just no nice way to say "morons"), I propose that I just work from home on a permanent basis. In bed. Asleep.
Think of it reflective ideation. My best thoughts usually come at night (they like darkness. It's cheap). I can have one of my brilliant thoughts, then spend the next 10 hours or so further thinking on it. Sure, there's the risk of being eaten by a purple 4 headed urpstrom while dreaming, but that's no worse then some of the people I currently work with.
It's also cost effective - no computer or phone to pay for, and it's energy effecient, too. And since I won't be driving to work, fewer green house emissions.
Looking at it this way, I should ask for a raise.
Think of it reflective ideation. My best thoughts usually come at night (they like darkness. It's cheap). I can have one of my brilliant thoughts, then spend the next 10 hours or so further thinking on it. Sure, there's the risk of being eaten by a purple 4 headed urpstrom while dreaming, but that's no worse then some of the people I currently work with.
It's also cost effective - no computer or phone to pay for, and it's energy effecient, too. And since I won't be driving to work, fewer green house emissions.
Looking at it this way, I should ask for a raise.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
There are only 10 smart people in the world, and I'm three of them
Brilliant prompt, Jon.
You may be reading this and thinking "I always knew her vanity was endless, but this is inudstrial strength." Allow me to explain. No, there is too much. Allow me to sum up.
A few months ago, I was asked to present my thesis on Thick vs. Thin at the Annual Smart People Awards. It was quite the event, let me tell you. I had never seen diamond encrusted pocket protectors before. As I got up to present my thesis, an awed hush fell over the crowd. You could hear a pin drop, so intense was their focus.
"Good evening, fellow smart people. Tonight I would like to talk to you about thick versus thin.
If something is not thick, it is...thin.
Thank you, and good night. "
At first, silence; then the hall erupted. Everyone was on their feet, yelling and applauding. Old men had tears in their eyes and several women fainted. They insisted that I accept not one, but -three- Smart People Awards. It was all a bit embarrassing.
Especially since I was just there for the sushi.
You may be reading this and thinking "I always knew her vanity was endless, but this is inudstrial strength." Allow me to explain. No, there is too much. Allow me to sum up.
A few months ago, I was asked to present my thesis on Thick vs. Thin at the Annual Smart People Awards. It was quite the event, let me tell you. I had never seen diamond encrusted pocket protectors before. As I got up to present my thesis, an awed hush fell over the crowd. You could hear a pin drop, so intense was their focus.
"Good evening, fellow smart people. Tonight I would like to talk to you about thick versus thin.
If something is not thick, it is...thin.
Thank you, and good night. "
At first, silence; then the hall erupted. Everyone was on their feet, yelling and applauding. Old men had tears in their eyes and several women fainted. They insisted that I accept not one, but -three- Smart People Awards. It was all a bit embarrassing.
Especially since I was just there for the sushi.
I knew I was in trouble when the conference room was named "Elmo"
Our project meetings take a while to appear humerous (my coworker mentioned something about 5 years sounding about right).
The highlights of yesterday's meeting?
"Grandfather broccoli"
"Cowabunga"
They just don't prepare you for these things in college. "Cowabunga"? What's next, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles skills assesments? I can see it now:
"Meri, if you're a Donatello and Bob is a Raphael, how should you interact with him?"
"I make soup out of him. "
Though my favourite thing ever said in a project meeting was by the incomparable Plaid*:
"I'll write a batch to go out every night and look for orphans, and if it finds any, it'll kill 'em".
That's us. A bunch of orphan killers.
*Name changed to protect the not even remotely innocent
The highlights of yesterday's meeting?
"Grandfather broccoli"
"Cowabunga"
They just don't prepare you for these things in college. "Cowabunga"? What's next, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles skills assesments? I can see it now:
"Meri, if you're a Donatello and Bob is a Raphael, how should you interact with him?"
"I make soup out of him. "
Though my favourite thing ever said in a project meeting was by the incomparable Plaid*:
"I'll write a batch to go out every night and look for orphans, and if it finds any, it'll kill 'em".
That's us. A bunch of orphan killers.
*Name changed to protect the not even remotely innocent
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Gone to the birds
IT has gone to the birds. Literally.
In a NY Times article (sent to me by a coworker), they list the top 9 websites that IT professionals (I was told this meant me) should master in 2009. One of them was Twitter, the networking site. There's just something about a bunch of IT guys subscribing to "tweets" that seems...hilarious. I think I should start up a rival - PuddyTat.
I'm not knocking Twitter, but I can't see the point. And this is recommended for use in the workplace. By the New York Times. I think I'll spend my time in a more mature fashion, thank you.
Now excuse me while I go copy files to my Hello Kitty jump drive.
In a NY Times article (sent to me by a coworker), they list the top 9 websites that IT professionals (I was told this meant me) should master in 2009. One of them was Twitter, the networking site. There's just something about a bunch of IT guys subscribing to "tweets" that seems...hilarious. I think I should start up a rival - PuddyTat.
I'm not knocking Twitter, but I can't see the point. And this is recommended for use in the workplace. By the New York Times. I think I'll spend my time in a more mature fashion, thank you.
Now excuse me while I go copy files to my Hello Kitty jump drive.
The Discovery of A-MER-ica
Jo's prompt for me was "discovery", so...
Today Meri discovered:
... That the root of 97.3% of all problems is that the world doesn't revolve around me. Honestly! If everyone would just focus on making my happiness their top priority instead of wasting YET ANOTHER hour of my time by blaming everyone but themself for not getting their work done, this world would be a much happier place.
Or at least -I- would be much happier, and that's all that really matters here.
...I also discovered that there might be some usefulness to acting more stressed out than you really are (and the Stress Relief aromatherapy does help! Gotta love inhaling your wrists. Maybe if I do that more in my meetings, people will think I've snapped and leave me alone).
... AND I found a really cool feature on my Mac.
... AND AND - here's a clue for Friday - Dona Nobis Pacem
Today Meri discovered:
... That the root of 97.3% of all problems is that the world doesn't revolve around me. Honestly! If everyone would just focus on making my happiness their top priority instead of wasting YET ANOTHER hour of my time by blaming everyone but themself for not getting their work done, this world would be a much happier place.
Or at least -I- would be much happier, and that's all that really matters here.
...I also discovered that there might be some usefulness to acting more stressed out than you really are (and the Stress Relief aromatherapy does help! Gotta love inhaling your wrists. Maybe if I do that more in my meetings, people will think I've snapped and leave me alone).
... AND I found a really cool feature on my Mac.
... AND AND - here's a clue for Friday - Dona Nobis Pacem
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Sister, can you spare a prompt?
Over lunch, my co-worker mentioned writing to prompts. Prompts! thought I. (ever try thinking an exclamation point?)
So I asked Lee for a prompt, and she said to look around and find something work related.
I like communicating. And I've been thinking lately about how we write (or talk or present) for our audience. Which brings me back to this blog. Blogging has always been challenging to me because I can never decide which audience I'm writing to or for. I think my problem was that I secretly was hoping The Entire Universe would become enraptured with my every word.
But that's exausting, and I really don't care about the rest of the universe. Sorry Uni. You had your chance, and you blew it.
Getting back to work, I really don't like havng to create test data. I don't understand it half the time and it takes forever! Really. Anything over 15 minutes = forever. It's how I get to be immortal.
Why can't I just be paid for being an upright citizen? Or a cuteness consultant. Or an office supply therapist?
So I asked Lee for a prompt, and she said to look around and find something work related.
I like communicating. And I've been thinking lately about how we write (or talk or present) for our audience. Which brings me back to this blog. Blogging has always been challenging to me because I can never decide which audience I'm writing to or for. I think my problem was that I secretly was hoping The Entire Universe would become enraptured with my every word.
But that's exausting, and I really don't care about the rest of the universe. Sorry Uni. You had your chance, and you blew it.
Getting back to work, I really don't like havng to create test data. I don't understand it half the time and it takes forever! Really. Anything over 15 minutes = forever. It's how I get to be immortal.
Why can't I just be paid for being an upright citizen? Or a cuteness consultant. Or an office supply therapist?
Monday, January 5, 2009
The Blame Game -or- The Slave of Duty
This was not my idea.
My ego has not yet grown so large that I think everyone will care about what I have to say. But my friends say I'm witty. And now I'm sounding like Mrs. Elton from "Emma". This is the beginning of my descent into madness, I know it. Does my sanity mean nothing to you? I hope you two are satisfied! I will be sending you the therapy bills.
I can see why blame is so popular in the workplace - it's fun!*
*Do not try this at home. Seriously. You need to warm up first. Maybe try blaming your slow morning commute on traffic. Start small, friends.
My ego has not yet grown so large that I think everyone will care about what I have to say. But my friends say I'm witty. And now I'm sounding like Mrs. Elton from "Emma". This is the beginning of my descent into madness, I know it. Does my sanity mean nothing to you? I hope you two are satisfied! I will be sending you the therapy bills.
I can see why blame is so popular in the workplace - it's fun!*
*Do not try this at home. Seriously. You need to warm up first. Maybe try blaming your slow morning commute on traffic. Start small, friends.
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