Jose Needs to Get In On This Action
Hey guys! Today I found some D&D Style Porn!
It's pretty well-written, actually. And hot.
The author is a developer for White Wolf now.
...
I fear for Stone Mountain.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
I was trawling for info about the new The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe movie, and in the process have discovered that Narnia is pretty much totally ruined for me as a Grown-Up. Ever since I discovered the whole Christian Allegory thing. Not as fun anymore. This is why I think people should read as much as possible when they're kids, because adults just don't get excited about as much.
I remember when I was like 15, 16, and finishing some books that I'd started a few years earlier, or rereading things, and not enjoying them as much, and thinking to myself, "Oh, shit, shit I'm growing up!" Then I'd cram as much reading into my schedule as possible, reading in a passionate, shark-like frenzy (you know, pages and viscera flying everywhere- you've all seen the Discovery Channel) so that I'd finish all my campy juvenile fantasy adventures before I got too old to enjoy them.
Anyway, now I don't like Narnia so much because I keep finding more and more that could possibly offend me. I don't try to look, honest. It's self-defeating. I like enjoying my childhood. But bothersome things just... kind of appear, like those Magic Eye pop-ups I used to not be able to see either.
For example, today I was reading this thing about Susan (oh btw, this whole blog is about the Chronicles of Narnia so if you haven't read them for some Godforsaken reason, go do it) today, and how she didn't die at the end of the series because she needed to repent. I didn't think much about Susan when I read the books as a kid. Oh, she can't come back to Narnia because she acts like a selfish teenager. I didn't think much about it. Really, the only reaction I had was one of vindictive pleasure; I knew too many selfish teenagers even as a kid and was glad girls like them weren't allowed. You know, the mean girls who won't let you sit with them at lunch...
*sniff*...
ANYWAY. Thinking of it now, she seems like a terribly tragic character, not because of what's written about her, but what's not. Here you have this girl, who isn't let into heaven because she's concerned with material things. She's obsessed with makeup and clothes and parties and acting grown up. I feel sorry for her. I can see her in a dark room in England, night-dimmed in the dark lonely countryside, the little tendrils of emotion, of sin and subversion crawling out from her head and over her body, thoughts about boys and new sensations and Nazi bombs falling over this other Eden, turning from a girl to a woman alone, listening to the breathing of her brothers and sister, too young to understand, and how lonely that must have been. She wears lipstick and nylon, the book says, which is why she can't come to Narnia anymore.
Imagine this- Imagine you are a woman of power, gentle and beloved, respected and feared in turn. Imagine you are a queen. Imagine that armies ride out in your name, fleets sail under your banner and a strong west wind, barbarian princes hammer at the gates for your love. You have a splendid castle, a sumptuous table, servants, song, and sword that wait upon you. You are noble and you are wise, and by this your country flourishes in music, wonder and undimmed beauty.
One day, you are hunting in an unfamiliar forest, an aura of foreboding creeping on you like vines. You strain against its power, shying away from it, but your siblings urge you onward, so on you go. With a strange sensation twisting your body and a torrent of alien thoughts, your old life vanishes in an instant. You look down at your arms, not recognizing your body. You stare into a mirror, not recognizing your face. You are a queen no longer. Your country, your home, your people, your friends, your power, your wealth, are gone, and all you are is a scared, vulnerable girl in World War II England as the bombs keep falling, where there is no nobility and no wisdom, only despair and sacrifice. Unlike our memories, you have no photographs, no souvenirs, only what you can grasp in your memory as your memory fades.
When you see your parents again, over a middle-class, English dinner, they seem young to you, younger than you just were. You are powerless again. You, who once commanded a kingdom, must appease two foolish adults, strangers who you have not seen in decades. Initially, they humor you and your childish pretenses at royalty. They humor your pretenses at acting much older than you are, commanding and regal.
Peter takes the mantle of eldest; bossy, annoyingly responsible, and pragmatic. Lucy and Edmund enthusiastically scramble for the next adventure. Only you seem to feel some longing for your past life. Because you are older, your parents tell you that you have a responsibility to act mature, that you're setting a bad example by playing these frivolous games with your younger siblings. Your friends think you're mad. Honestly, how could you have aged to adulthood in a day? Honestly. And you think they're right... Anything like that is completely preposterous, there's no proof, it's all in your head. What silly games you played as a child.
And if what you saw with your own eyes, touched with your own hands, isn't here, never was, then why should you believe in what you can't see, can't touch, isn't here, never was?
Why should you believe in God?
You pretend to move on, socializing yourself to distraction, grasping at phantoms, holding court among your remaining subjects, cliquish girls and lovesick schoolboys. You remember your lost glory that no one else seems to remember, the games you played as a child. Once you were a queen (in those old imaginary games, of course). What are you now? A secretary, a housewife in Cold War Europe? Nothing you can do will rival what you once were.
You are broken. Your entire family died in a railway crash many years ago.
I remember when I was like 15, 16, and finishing some books that I'd started a few years earlier, or rereading things, and not enjoying them as much, and thinking to myself, "Oh, shit, shit I'm growing up!" Then I'd cram as much reading into my schedule as possible, reading in a passionate, shark-like frenzy (you know, pages and viscera flying everywhere- you've all seen the Discovery Channel) so that I'd finish all my campy juvenile fantasy adventures before I got too old to enjoy them.
Anyway, now I don't like Narnia so much because I keep finding more and more that could possibly offend me. I don't try to look, honest. It's self-defeating. I like enjoying my childhood. But bothersome things just... kind of appear, like those Magic Eye pop-ups I used to not be able to see either.
For example, today I was reading this thing about Susan (oh btw, this whole blog is about the Chronicles of Narnia so if you haven't read them for some Godforsaken reason, go do it) today, and how she didn't die at the end of the series because she needed to repent. I didn't think much about Susan when I read the books as a kid. Oh, she can't come back to Narnia because she acts like a selfish teenager. I didn't think much about it. Really, the only reaction I had was one of vindictive pleasure; I knew too many selfish teenagers even as a kid and was glad girls like them weren't allowed. You know, the mean girls who won't let you sit with them at lunch...
*sniff*...
ANYWAY. Thinking of it now, she seems like a terribly tragic character, not because of what's written about her, but what's not. Here you have this girl, who isn't let into heaven because she's concerned with material things. She's obsessed with makeup and clothes and parties and acting grown up. I feel sorry for her. I can see her in a dark room in England, night-dimmed in the dark lonely countryside, the little tendrils of emotion, of sin and subversion crawling out from her head and over her body, thoughts about boys and new sensations and Nazi bombs falling over this other Eden, turning from a girl to a woman alone, listening to the breathing of her brothers and sister, too young to understand, and how lonely that must have been. She wears lipstick and nylon, the book says, which is why she can't come to Narnia anymore.
Imagine this- Imagine you are a woman of power, gentle and beloved, respected and feared in turn. Imagine you are a queen. Imagine that armies ride out in your name, fleets sail under your banner and a strong west wind, barbarian princes hammer at the gates for your love. You have a splendid castle, a sumptuous table, servants, song, and sword that wait upon you. You are noble and you are wise, and by this your country flourishes in music, wonder and undimmed beauty.
One day, you are hunting in an unfamiliar forest, an aura of foreboding creeping on you like vines. You strain against its power, shying away from it, but your siblings urge you onward, so on you go. With a strange sensation twisting your body and a torrent of alien thoughts, your old life vanishes in an instant. You look down at your arms, not recognizing your body. You stare into a mirror, not recognizing your face. You are a queen no longer. Your country, your home, your people, your friends, your power, your wealth, are gone, and all you are is a scared, vulnerable girl in World War II England as the bombs keep falling, where there is no nobility and no wisdom, only despair and sacrifice. Unlike our memories, you have no photographs, no souvenirs, only what you can grasp in your memory as your memory fades.
When you see your parents again, over a middle-class, English dinner, they seem young to you, younger than you just were. You are powerless again. You, who once commanded a kingdom, must appease two foolish adults, strangers who you have not seen in decades. Initially, they humor you and your childish pretenses at royalty. They humor your pretenses at acting much older than you are, commanding and regal.
Peter takes the mantle of eldest; bossy, annoyingly responsible, and pragmatic. Lucy and Edmund enthusiastically scramble for the next adventure. Only you seem to feel some longing for your past life. Because you are older, your parents tell you that you have a responsibility to act mature, that you're setting a bad example by playing these frivolous games with your younger siblings. Your friends think you're mad. Honestly, how could you have aged to adulthood in a day? Honestly. And you think they're right... Anything like that is completely preposterous, there's no proof, it's all in your head. What silly games you played as a child.
And if what you saw with your own eyes, touched with your own hands, isn't here, never was, then why should you believe in what you can't see, can't touch, isn't here, never was?
Why should you believe in God?
You pretend to move on, socializing yourself to distraction, grasping at phantoms, holding court among your remaining subjects, cliquish girls and lovesick schoolboys. You remember your lost glory that no one else seems to remember, the games you played as a child. Once you were a queen (in those old imaginary games, of course). What are you now? A secretary, a housewife in Cold War Europe? Nothing you can do will rival what you once were.
You are broken. Your entire family died in a railway crash many years ago.
Friday, July 08, 2005
Atheist Summer Camp
@____@
O....kay.
Check out the New York Times article about it that's linked on the site too.
@____@
O....kay.
Check out the New York Times article about it that's linked on the site too.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
To Terrorists: If you hate America, attack America. If you hate our government and our armies and our guns, attack those. We will be waiting for you. Don’t attack our friends, people who have nothing to do with our war, people who are good and decent or maybe not, but don’t deserve to die. Don’t attack our colleagues. Don’t attack our relatives, our children, our teachers, our scientists, our doctors, the people who make a city live and breathe.
Today should have been happy. Today should have been about the Olympics, a global event, though a flawed event, a celebration of peace. And for the first time in years, leaders of great countries were arming themselves against poverty, disease, and ignorance. There is urgency to it now.
To G8: don’t stop until the horror is over, don’t stop until the rage is over, don’t stop until the despair is over, don’t stop for anything because more than ever we need you.
To the people of London from the people of America: We love you as our own. God bless you, the Merciful, the Compassionate. Peace be with you, wherever you go.
Today should have been happy. Today should have been about the Olympics, a global event, though a flawed event, a celebration of peace. And for the first time in years, leaders of great countries were arming themselves against poverty, disease, and ignorance. There is urgency to it now.
To G8: don’t stop until the horror is over, don’t stop until the rage is over, don’t stop until the despair is over, don’t stop for anything because more than ever we need you.
To the people of London from the people of America: We love you as our own. God bless you, the Merciful, the Compassionate. Peace be with you, wherever you go.
Because We Love Bono
I'm an econ major and I've been hoping for G8 to succeed for a long time now. What is G8? Well, it's a summit of eight developed countries around the world deciding how to combat global poverty and environmental depredation. They're trying to do it by getting debt cancellation for third world countries and dedicating 0.7 percent of gross national product (among developed countries) for foreign aid. For those of you who are going "Huh?" basically this means that every one hundred dollars you spend, seven cents goes overseas. Currently, at least for the US, only 0.18 percent of GNP goes overseas, or ... 1.8 cents per $100. To put *that* into perspective, that's $15 billion dollars for foreign aid per year compared to $450 billion dollars for military expenditure. $15 billion dollars for all of Africa. Our $15 billion dollars is $12 per sub-Saharan African per year. That means you could probably buy an African like... a t-shirt. 0.7 percent of GNP would be $70 per African per year, which could buy them safe water, anti-malarial and anti-AIDs drugs, contraception, the beginning of investment in improved farming, like, say, fertilizer and irrigation. The village could afford, oh, a truck.
Another thing to think about: The top 400 richest people in the US put together earn 69 billion dollars. The combined citizenry of Botswana, Uganda, Nigeria and Senegal earn.. $57 billion. So basically the 400 richest people in the US earn more than 161 million people in Africa.
It's about time for G8.
I'm an econ major and I've been hoping for G8 to succeed for a long time now. What is G8? Well, it's a summit of eight developed countries around the world deciding how to combat global poverty and environmental depredation. They're trying to do it by getting debt cancellation for third world countries and dedicating 0.7 percent of gross national product (among developed countries) for foreign aid. For those of you who are going "Huh?" basically this means that every one hundred dollars you spend, seven cents goes overseas. Currently, at least for the US, only 0.18 percent of GNP goes overseas, or ... 1.8 cents per $100. To put *that* into perspective, that's $15 billion dollars for foreign aid per year compared to $450 billion dollars for military expenditure. $15 billion dollars for all of Africa. Our $15 billion dollars is $12 per sub-Saharan African per year. That means you could probably buy an African like... a t-shirt. 0.7 percent of GNP would be $70 per African per year, which could buy them safe water, anti-malarial and anti-AIDs drugs, contraception, the beginning of investment in improved farming, like, say, fertilizer and irrigation. The village could afford, oh, a truck.
Another thing to think about: The top 400 richest people in the US put together earn 69 billion dollars. The combined citizenry of Botswana, Uganda, Nigeria and Senegal earn.. $57 billion. So basically the 400 richest people in the US earn more than 161 million people in Africa.
It's about time for G8.
Friday, July 01, 2005
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
This is fucking awesome:
"The example is of the Noble Women of Tortosa in Aragon, and recorded by Josef Micheli Marquez, who plainly calls them Cavalleros or Knights, or may I not rather say Cavalleras, seeing I observe the words Equitissae and Militissae (formed from the Latin Equites and Milites) heretofore applied to Women, and sometimes used to express Madams or Ladies, though now these Titles are not known.
"Don Raymond, last Earl of Barcellona (who by intermarriage with Petronilla, only Daughter and Heir of King Ramiro the Monk, united that principality to the Kingdom of Aragon) having in the year 1149, gained the City of Tortosa from the Moors, they on the 31 of December following, laid a new Siege to that place, for the recovery of it out of the Earls hands. The Inhabitants being a length reduced to gread streights, desired relief of the Earl, but he, being not in a condition to give them any, they entertained some thoughts of making a surrender. Which the Women hearing of, to prevent the disaster threatning their City, themselves, and Children, put on mens Clothes, and by a resolute sally, forced the Moors to raise the Siege.
"The Earl, finding himself obliged, bythe gallentry of the action, thought fit to make his acknowlegements thereof, by granting them several Privileges and Immunities, and to perpetuate the memory of so signal an attempt, instituted an Order, somewhat like a Military Order, into which were admitted only those Brave Women, deriving the honor to their Descendants, and assigned them for a Dadge, a thing like a Fryars Capouche, sharp at the top, after the form of a Torch, and of a crimson colour, to be worn upon their Head-clothes. He also ordained, that at all publick meetings, the women should have precedence of the Men. That they should be exempted from all Taxes, adn that all the Apparel and Jewels, though of never so great value, left by their dead Husbands, should be their own.
"These Women (saith our Author) having thus aquired this Honor by their personal Valour, carried themselves after the Military Knights of those days."
-Ashmole, The Institution, Laws, and Ceremony of the Most Noble Order of the Garter (1672), Ch. 3, sect. 3
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
I was in DC with Jeremy on Saturday for the Battle of the Barbecues, but it was hot (DC in high summer at noon) and overcommercialized. We were horrified that these vendors actually expected us to pay for our food, those capitalist bastards. So after we bummed around for free samples we went to the Natural History Museum, where all the exhibits were "temporarily closed for your convenience." We went into the Gems and Minerals exhibit and looked at shiny rocks. After that, we went to the Hirschorn (aka Donut Museum) despite our displeasure with modern art and looked at shiny God-what-is-thats.
Went to dinner at Teaism, a trendy Asian-style cafe by the National Archives.
I went up to the cashier and ordered some noodles. The cashier boy looked at me funny. "Would you like anything else?" he said.
I looked at him harder, squinted my eyes, and then suddenly yelled, right there in public, "HOLY FUCK YOU'RE NICK S!"
I waved my arms around and pointed like I saw Bigfoot and generally acted like a spazz.
Lesson: Sometimes I don't see people because I don't expect to see.
Went to dinner at Teaism, a trendy Asian-style cafe by the National Archives.
I went up to the cashier and ordered some noodles. The cashier boy looked at me funny. "Would you like anything else?" he said.
I looked at him harder, squinted my eyes, and then suddenly yelled, right there in public, "HOLY FUCK YOU'RE NICK S!"
I waved my arms around and pointed like I saw Bigfoot and generally acted like a spazz.
Lesson: Sometimes I don't see people because I don't expect to see.
Friday, June 03, 2005
Am in Hong Kong, y'all.
I saw a funny ad. It goes like this: "If you are sneezing, it is for three reasons. One, you have a cold. Two, you have allergies. Three, your coworkers are talking about you behind your back. For the first two, there's (Trademarked Overthecounter Medication). For the third, you're on your own." <--- Jeremy will get this. Nobody else who reads my blog will.
***
Something you'll notice about Victoria Park is that there are a lot of people practicing martial arts. Mostly it's flocks of old women doing tai chi to some brassy Chinese oldies blasting from a radio, or little kids from some kung fu school swinging quarterstaffs. Which is not to say that all Chinese people know martial arts, but a larger proportion of them do than Americans, and they tend to congregate in public places. I think Victoria Park is the only park in the world where a large portion of the populace has swords.
("But I wanna play on the swings!"
"Practice your kata! Then you swing!"
"Sifu!"
.. "Hold your head up! Head up! Arms out! Straighter! Very good! - Don't stab the joggers!")
***
Went to Central today, the Manhattan of Hong Kong's New York. Were going to look at an art exhibit but it was over, so we walked around looking at the Bank of China Tower and the International Finance Center, which are basically the trademark shining glass giants of Hong Kong's skyline. They command a legion of window-washers, which provide a positive externality; shiny buildings mean moralized, productive workers. Inside, they're black marble and grey basalt, monochromatic basilicas, gleaming and white, catwalks with black fountains, ovals and arcs and slanted transparence. It's a sign of high GDP. This is good. The economy is wonderful. The most beautiful buildings of the 15th century were churches, glory be to God. The most beautiful buildings of the 21st century are banks. Glory be to Mammon.
***
-Have had some trouble adjusting to the shotgun seat of the car being on the left.
***
My grandpa has been in the hospital respiratory ward under observation, ever since x-rays of his lungs showed some scarring. Apparently it's from an old lung infection, so it seems like a false alarm. There's also something wrong with his lymph nodes which causes water build up in his cells, I'm not really sure, but the only way to find what that is is to draw bone marrow from his spinal cord, which they don't want to do. He also has low hemoglobin and is getting a blood transfusion so he'll be staying there a few days. Strangely enough, though I know I'm supposed to care, I don't really all that much. I don't feel very much of anything. I've been visiting him every day and standing around stiffly not having anything to say (I never have even when he's not sick) until he says that I shouldn't trouble myself and can leave. My mom says my silent visits make him happy anyway, just having someone there, but they don't make me feel any less useless.
I saw a funny ad. It goes like this: "If you are sneezing, it is for three reasons. One, you have a cold. Two, you have allergies. Three, your coworkers are talking about you behind your back. For the first two, there's (Trademarked Overthecounter Medication). For the third, you're on your own." <--- Jeremy will get this. Nobody else who reads my blog will.
***
Something you'll notice about Victoria Park is that there are a lot of people practicing martial arts. Mostly it's flocks of old women doing tai chi to some brassy Chinese oldies blasting from a radio, or little kids from some kung fu school swinging quarterstaffs. Which is not to say that all Chinese people know martial arts, but a larger proportion of them do than Americans, and they tend to congregate in public places. I think Victoria Park is the only park in the world where a large portion of the populace has swords.
("But I wanna play on the swings!"
"Practice your kata! Then you swing!"
"Sifu!"
.. "Hold your head up! Head up! Arms out! Straighter! Very good! - Don't stab the joggers!")
***
Went to Central today, the Manhattan of Hong Kong's New York. Were going to look at an art exhibit but it was over, so we walked around looking at the Bank of China Tower and the International Finance Center, which are basically the trademark shining glass giants of Hong Kong's skyline. They command a legion of window-washers, which provide a positive externality; shiny buildings mean moralized, productive workers. Inside, they're black marble and grey basalt, monochromatic basilicas, gleaming and white, catwalks with black fountains, ovals and arcs and slanted transparence. It's a sign of high GDP. This is good. The economy is wonderful. The most beautiful buildings of the 15th century were churches, glory be to God. The most beautiful buildings of the 21st century are banks. Glory be to Mammon.
***
-Have had some trouble adjusting to the shotgun seat of the car being on the left.
***
My grandpa has been in the hospital respiratory ward under observation, ever since x-rays of his lungs showed some scarring. Apparently it's from an old lung infection, so it seems like a false alarm. There's also something wrong with his lymph nodes which causes water build up in his cells, I'm not really sure, but the only way to find what that is is to draw bone marrow from his spinal cord, which they don't want to do. He also has low hemoglobin and is getting a blood transfusion so he'll be staying there a few days. Strangely enough, though I know I'm supposed to care, I don't really all that much. I don't feel very much of anything. I've been visiting him every day and standing around stiffly not having anything to say (I never have even when he's not sick) until he says that I shouldn't trouble myself and can leave. My mom says my silent visits make him happy anyway, just having someone there, but they don't make me feel any less useless.
Monday, May 16, 2005
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
Stab, Stab, Stab the Evil Infidel
Go watch Kingdom of Heaven. It's about the Crusades. It's seriously awesome. It has some phenomenal writing that never takes the easy road, and by some miracle makes a "medieval epic" seem fresh.
Spoilers: The Muslims win. Kay was cheering. I was mortified. Kay! You can't be cheering for the "bad guys!"
...
No, I don't care if you're Muslim, Kay.
BAD GUYS, I TELL YOU!!!!
Go watch Kingdom of Heaven. It's about the Crusades. It's seriously awesome. It has some phenomenal writing that never takes the easy road, and by some miracle makes a "medieval epic" seem fresh.
Spoilers: The Muslims win. Kay was cheering. I was mortified. Kay! You can't be cheering for the "bad guys!"
...
No, I don't care if you're Muslim, Kay.
BAD GUYS, I TELL YOU!!!!
Been going to UMCP a lot lately. Went a few weeks ago to attend a lecture about the role of video games in military training. Got to hang out with Silvia for a bit too. When I called her, she was like a few blocks from me. Small world.
Went down this weekend too to use the library, and also dropped by the United States Botanical Gardens (ooh, lots of plants. Moving on) and the Museum of the Native American Indian. Architecture = awesome. I haven't been through much of it, but the collection seemed kind of "eh" to me. This may be politically incorrect, but I can't say I'm too impressed with things made out of bits of leather, beads and rocks. The guns and swords were very impressive though. It does occur to me that the coolest thing about the Native American museum was the European artifacts. Do I care? Not really.
Went down this weekend too to use the library, and also dropped by the United States Botanical Gardens (ooh, lots of plants. Moving on) and the Museum of the Native American Indian. Architecture = awesome. I haven't been through much of it, but the collection seemed kind of "eh" to me. This may be politically incorrect, but I can't say I'm too impressed with things made out of bits of leather, beads and rocks. The guns and swords were very impressive though. It does occur to me that the coolest thing about the Native American museum was the European artifacts. Do I care? Not really.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
It's called.. guessing.
| Great Gamer GM says drop 2d10, aanndd... you roll 66% ! |
Not too bad- not too bad at all. You're not exactly a first generation gamer, and you probably have other hobbies besides rolling dice and slaughtering orcs, but you've managed to collect enough knowledge to impress even the most experienced gamer. Pull out a few more nights for gaming and spend some more time with the obscure books, soon you're well on your way to becomming the Ultimate Gamer. |
 |
My test tracked 1 variable How you compared to other people your age and gender:
|
| Link: The Real Gamers use Dice Test written by luminasita on OkCupid Free Online Dating |
Friday, April 22, 2005
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