Muses had a way of killing those whom they inspired.
iPad 2 Launch at the Toronto Eaton Center
Time in line: 8+ hours. (Bet you can’t find me in these videos!)
Being one of the first to get their hands on an iPad 2 in Toronto: Priceless.
Mind you I didn’t come anywhere close to the 2 days some peeps spent in waiting.
As of date of this post I haven’t let go of my new iPad much. Am I an Apple product fanatic? Nope. But despite this tech toy not being able to wash my dishes, I can find all my recipes again. And my writing. And my reviews. Then there’s all the games, iTunes, messenger, Skype calls, ebook reading, note taking… I even found an app that will send a message to your iPhone with a tune. Great for distance-zapping the kids off its battery when waiting for a phone call.
I gave it a painful non-stop workout from 5am this morning to 2pm this afternoon. Watched some movies, downloaded tons of my pictures, Tweeted, Facebooked, the whole cheese, and then I finally plugged it in with 20% left in the battery which is impressive compared to my MacBook that would have died in 2 1/2 hours max. It heated up barely enough to feel unless taking specific notice to it.
It’s fast. It’s pretty. ( I got mine in white and the 16 gig/no 3G.) And if it played WoW it might actually make my MacBook and Mac Mini obsolete. Mind you, the old school Final Fantasy apps on such a gorgeous screen is fun enough to make me feel 12 years old again. The apps that I had on my iPhone already and the programs from my Mac synced without issues on top of it all.
Time saved to play more Final Fantasy: 2 hours at least.
I feel somewhat-bad for any tablet that wants to take this one on in the near future, for this just might be the Jesus Tablet after all.
Homepage
Here anyone and everything I’m following is streamed and updated. I spend some of my time hunting down new talents and Muses, as I know I wouldn’t have taken my own anywhere if it wasn’t for the support of others. Be sure to check it out!
Make Bacon Of Your Flying Pig
Just what is a flying pig? It’s an impossibility. When you say the pigs will never fly then you’re saying that it will never happen in a million years. When you find the one(s) hiding in your fiction writing, then it gets a bit more complicated. If you’re writing fantasy, you might wanna blindfold and drop some earmuffs on your Muse while you read the rest of this.
When I was punching down the words to my novel he came to me in a dream. He set himself before me on a resume too good to be true and I just had to have him. He was beautiful. Perfect. He could take on the world and have any woman he wanted faint with just one look their way. He was the Omega Man: the man who conquers the world while bouncing babies on his knee. Did I find God? No I found Him a long time ago. But I did find the answer that would eventually make me a bacon and egg breakfast, bacon and tomato sandwich for lunch and pork roast for the dinner. A complete menu to feed life back into my book. I would never go hungry venturing through my fantasy world again. But first I would have to accept the fact that I had to butcher my flying pig first.
Starvation helps here.
There’s a reason the news is 90% sad and tragic and just a little bit of positive stuff to keep you from going emo. Perfect doesn’t have a story. Paradise doesn’t welcome in a hero because everyone is a hero in a perfect world. While you may be the type to lie down in a field of flowers all day and paint your nails pink while oblivious to the real world falling apart around you, chances are you will either turn on the news afterwards or Halo to shoot something online. If you don’t, well just stop reading here. But if you aren’t a perfectly-made, peace seeker for all you do and everyone around you–don’t panic–you are not crazy and you don’t have to go to confession to confess that you are a deviation from society for playing World of Warcraft.
The trickiest part is spotting your flying pig. Writing is an extension of one’s Muse; one’s very self just as a paintbrush extends the color from an artist into something we can see. You can’t write it down with soul if it doesn’t have one. Yes your flying pig may or may not have a soul or be a Muse himself and he/she can be very hard to spot. When I found my flying pig I faced a very difficult choice: either kill him, or kill the rest of my novel because all the other characters were dead in comparison to his single-centered, perfect popularity that was overpowering and blinding out all else with its light. So I took in a deep breath and hit the search button. Delete. Delete. Dele–wow–hold up. Get the girl? The other cute hero can have her. Save the world and forget about everything else? I got just the character for that too. Take care of the family? Nah…easier to have a family BBQ that ever-so-accidently takes out the rest of the town/city/country and have someone else find them in the sequel or something. So many less questions that way when you don’t have to explain just why you have taken it on yourself to try and save the world. Soon I had bacon for everyone.
You might have to kill this extension of your soul, but if you can learn to share with your other characters not only have you fed your world, but there is balance and happiness and just enough soul food for everyone. Readers don’t like left being hung up on a sections of your book with starving, lifeless characters. Personally I hate this. If I at any point in your story stop reading and consider washing the dishes, it’s failing me. I want to love all of your book but I’m not the charity soul food bank for your starving nor do I want to get up to go to the kitchen to find a replacement sugar rush. Your readers will just jump ahead or put your book back on the shelf.
Now instead of panicking that one of my heroes didn’t perfectly execute an evil army with a precise swing of his sword every time, handling it with a bit more chaos, death, romance, fear, epiphanies and soldier ranks all over the place can still be a dead evil army–but with flavor.
Only you can see your flying pig and only you can make the decision to kill it. Sending your Muse dragon after it totally works as well, cause he was getting sick of being locked in a cave anyways. Now look at your Muse and take the blindfold and earmuffs off of him. If he glows a bit too much…
(Source: http://www.youtube.com/)
Christianity is merely a system for turning priestesses into handmaidens, queens into concubines, and goddesses into muses.
The biggest adventure you can ever take is to live the life of your dreams.
Oprah Winfrey
Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.
Woman for Warlord
I couldn’t resist after reading and getting a good laugh from “The Top 100 Things I’d Do If I Ever Became An Evil Warlord” to think just how much different that list would be if the warlord was woman. Here’s my feminine touch on it:
1. My ventilation ducts will be too small to crawl through, if you just happen to be a male mercenary the size of Hercules. For any female ones trying to assassinate me they can have fun getting through the dust and filth up there (while dusting it with their skirts) before my faithful hellhound that roams about finds and deals with them on leaving it.
2. My noble half-sister whose throne I usurped will be kept alive, just put on a planet no one else has ventured to yet. Never know when I might need her again to inquire about where my borrowed shoes are.
3. Shooting is not too good for my enemies particularly if they’re badly dressed.
4. The artifact which is the source of my power will not be kept on the Mountain of Despair beyond the River of Fire guarded by the Dragons of Eternity. It will be in my bra. The same applies to the object which is my one weakness. If it doesn’t fit then implants are now on the to-do list.
5. I will gloat over my enemies’ predicament before killing them. Isn’t that the whole point?
6. After I kidnap the handsome prince, we will be married in a lavish spectacle in three weeks’ time during which the final phase of my plan will be carried out. What good is a handsome prince to me if not to show off where everyone will be present?
7. I will interrogate my enemies in the inner sanctum — like hell I’m getting dolled-up to travel with scrubs to interrogate them in some mucky, forgotten place.
8. One of my advisers will be an average five-year-old child. My youngster misses nothing, even in a detailed plan of taking over the world.
9. The hero is not entitled to a last kiss, a last cigarette, or any other form of last request unless he’s drop-dead gorgeous and looks like an ex of mine.
10. I would likely end up uttering the sentence “But before I kill you, there’s just one thing I want to know” particularly if I suspect one of the women loyal to me having a relationship with them. Best to avoid the crazy loose ends of killing a lover.
11. When I employ people as advisors, I will occasionally listen to their advice provided they completely agree with me first.
12. I will hire a talented fashion designers to create original uniforms for my armies. Appearance is everything and looking like the bold Roman soldiers or sexy-wild like the Mongol hordes totally works for me.
13. No matter how well it would perform, I would totally construct a sort of machinery which is completely indestructible except for one small and virtually inaccessible vulnerable spot. It’s the modern age—having the best toy is like having the perfect handbag. But the idea of my Palm not having a reset button is just too terrifying.
14. No matter how attractive certain members of the rebellion are, there is probably someone just as attractive who is not desperate to kill me. Therefore, I will think twice before ordering a prisoner sent to my bedchamber, unless he’s a celebrity. They follow different rules.
15. My pet monster will be kept in a secure cage from which it cannot escape and into which I could not accidentally stumble. It would be completely portable though, one must show off.
16. I will dress in tight and sexy leather, to throw my enemies into confusion both male and female alike.
17. I will not fly into a rage and kill a messenger who brings me bad news just to illustrate how evil I really am. Good messengers are hard to come by and women exist for flattery.
18. I will not turn into a dragon. Like hell I’m messing up my perfect hair and nails.
19. If I absolutely must ride into battle, I will certainly not ride at the front nor seek out the other leader. The other warlord already lost as he likes me and not his pin-up princess from fairytale land.
20. All naive, busty tavern wenches in my realm will be replaced with gay waiters who will provide no unexpected reinforcement for the hero or his sidekick. They’re not that brave to ask for help.
21. If I have an unstoppable superweapon, I will never use it. People fear most what they don’t know. Most mothers know this tactic on kids.
22. I will not bother to keep a healthy amount of skepticism when I capture the handsome rebel and he claims he is attracted to my power and good looks and will gladly betray his companions if I just let him in on my plans. Men are just so gullible and easy to work with.
23. I will only employ bounty hunters completely in love with me. It’s just so much cheaper that way.
24. My main computers will have their own special operating system that will be completely incompatible with standard IBM, but not Macs. I’ve yet to see some hacker make a mess of my mine.
25. Before employing any captured artifacts or machinery, I will make one of my kids read me the manual.
26. I will not see a competent psychiatrist and get cured of all extremely unusual phobias and bizarre compulsive habits which could prove to be a disadvantage. All women are a given crazy in one sense or another and are better off not reminded of that fact. I’ll use the time to get a facial instead.
27. No matter how many shorts we have in the system, my guards will be instructed to treat every surveillance camera malfunction as a full-scale emergency. One must ninja that piece of cake from the fridge without getting caught and ending up on the front of all the tabloids, somehow.
28. I will agree to let the heroes go free if they win a rigged contest, even though my advisers assure me it is impossible for them to win. After the contest target-kills off his comrades and only the main, handsome hero escapes alive, I will have him all to myself.
29. If I have a fit of temporary insanity and decide to give the hero the chance to reject a job as my trusted lieutenant, I will not wait until my current trusted lieutenant is out of earshot before making the offer. They’ll conveniently end up killing each other before they turn their weapons on a woman, anyways.
30. I will completely ignore the messenger that stumbles in exhausted and obviously agitated until my personal grooming or current entertainment is finished. The world can end before I miss what the hunk said in my favorite Soap Opera.
How To Erase Procrastination As A Writer
1. Eliminate distractions. Best example of a distraction would be the internet. The spam emails are endless and the online newspaper that updates every few hours can eat away your time without you noticing. Goes without saying that when my internet was down for a week when the connection outside the house was broken, (likely by the miserable weather that comes with being a Canadian) I punched down several chapters to my novel.
2. Routine is everything. If you wake up, take your vitamins, pack some breakfast down, et cetera, writing should be in the list of your day somewhere, even if it’s only 5 minutes worth from having to drag your kids and/or dog to the other end of the city for a visit to grandma’s where the laptop has to stay home or die by bad city transit (don’t ask).
3. Watch your diet. Although it may not seem physically exhausting to sit, think and type, feeling like expired oil from your last fast food splurge will drag you down and shorten how much energy you can put into your work. Then there’s always the question of just what they fry all those tasty greasy munchies in to begin with… Cake being the exception.
4. Everyone has a Muse and every Muse must be fed. This includes Muse non-believers. To feed mine usually takes the perfect music for the mood, a coffee and if my mood is angry or upset enough to face-melt anyone who gets near me without life or death reasons, a large piece of chocolate cake. Or all of it. Headaches from too much sugar cure everything else.
5. Get a dog. Cats set bad examples, unless they’re gutless and demand breakfast every morning before the sun has reached your window, by standing on your face. Then after walking the dog in -40C windchill weather, chances are that you’re now awake enough to take on killing one of your best characters in your story. Provided your can thaw out your fingers before you lose the courage all over again… They serve as great Muses that aren’t invisible to your friends and family as well.
6. Have kids. Guaranteed to make you go from, “Oh I’ll do that after my nap…” to “OMG the baby is asleep! To the computer! WOOSH!”
7. Answer the Muse when it calls. Make it clear to your spouse that even if it’s in the middle of his rented movie of hockey superstars, you dated the Muse first and its priorities for your brainpower is second to no one.
8. Everyone has a way of writing that they enjoy best. My advice, use it. I never had the luxury of typing on a computer when I was younger, so my way became my messy printing in pencil (erasers are so underrated). To this day I have enough of such writings to fill half a drawer of a filing cabinet. Just be warned that if you choose this way, your work may at one point walk itself to the blue bin next time you holler at your kids to do the recycling…not good.
9. Work first, play later. Hide the video games from yourself (that includes World of Warcraft!) or if you just can’t part from the addiction, give your toons to a kid. I don’t care what generation you’re from, today’s 9 year-olds can make you look pretty sad of a gamer in a short period of time and your avatar will be happier in the latest, best-of-the-best armor and weapons. If that’s not enough, watching a 9 year-old totally pwn your bigger-than-avatar friends demands popcorn. Then mock your buddies for being such a phail for like…forever…after you’ve finished your writing and amassed yourself to something more beyond being a computer drone.
10. Keep a blog. Great way to kick start the writing out of your Muse and more beneficial than reading the depressing latest news of murders and Swine Flu epidemics. Imo you can’t define an epidemic till your oldest comes back from daycare with a new flu for everyday of the week.
Make Bacon of your Flying Pig
Just what is a flying pig? It’s an impossibility. When you say the pigs will never fly then you’re saying that it will never happen in a million years. When you find the one(s) hiding in your fiction writing, then it gets a bit more complicated. If you’re writing fantasy, you might wanna blindfold and drop some earmuffs on your Muse while you read the rest of this. When I was punching down the words to my novel he came to me in a dream. He set himself before me on a resume too good to be true and I just had to have him. He was beautiful. Perfect. He could take on the world and have any woman he wanted faint with just one look their way. He was the Omega Man: the man who conquers the world while bouncing babies on his knee. Did I find God? No I found Him a long time ago. But I did find the answer that would eventually make me a bacon and egg breakfast, bacon and tomato sandwich for lunch and pork roast for the dinner. A complete menu to feed life back into my book. I would never go hungry venturing through my fantasy world again. But first I would have to accept the fact that I had to butcher my flying pig first.
Starvation helps here.
There’s a reason the news is 90% sad and tragic and just a little bit of positive stuff to keep you from going emo. Perfect doesn’t have a story. Paradise doesn’t welcome in a hero because everyone is a hero in a perfect world. While you may be the type to lie down in a field of flowers all day and paint your nails pink while oblivious to the real world falling apart around you, chances are you will either turn on the news afterwards or Halo to shoot something online. If you don’t, well just stop reading here. But if you aren’t a perfectly-made, peace seeker for all you do and everyone around you—don’t panic—you are not crazy and you don’t have to go to confession to confess that you are a deviation from society for playing World of Warcraft.
The trickiest part is spotting your flying pig. Writing is an extension of one’s Muse; one’s very self just as a paintbrush extends the color from an artist into something we can see. You can’t write it down with soul if it doesn’t have one. Yes your flying pig may or may not have a soul or be a Muse himself and he/she can be very hard to spot. When I found my flying pig I faced a very difficult choice: either kill him, or kill the rest of my novel because all the other characters were dead in comparison to his single-centered, perfect popularity that was overpowering and blinding out all else with its light. So I took in a deep breath and hit the search button. Delete. Delete. Dele—wow—hold up. Get the girl? The other cute hero can have her. Save the world and forget about everything else? I got just the character for that too. Take care of the family? Nah…easier to have a family BBQ that ever-so-accidently takes out the rest of the town/city/country and have someone else find them in the sequel or something. So many less questions that way when you don’t have to explain just why you have taken it on yourself to try and save the world. Soon I had bacon for everyone. You might have to kill this extension of your soul, but if you can learn to share with your other characters not only have you fed your world, but there is balance and happiness and just enough soul food for everyone. Readers don’t like left being hung up on a sections of your book with starving, lifeless characters. Personally I hate this. If I at any point in your story stop reading and consider washing the dishes, it’s failing me. I want to love all of your book but I’m not the charity soul food bank for your starving nor do I want to get up to go to the kitchen to find a replacement sugar rush. Your readers will just jump ahead or put your book back on the shelf. Now instead of panicking that one of my heroes didn’t perfectly execute an evil army with a precise swing of his sword every time, handling it with a bit more chaos, death, romance, fear, epiphanies and soldier ranks all over the place can still be a dead evil army—but with flavor.
Only you can see your flying pig and only you can make the decision to kill it. Sending your Muse dragon after it totally works as well, cause he was getting sick of being locked in a cave anyways. Now look at your Muse and take the blindfold and earmuffs off of him. If he glows a bit too much…
Texts of Daath
–Texts of Daath. From Dragon Aster.
How To Color Your Muse:
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| If that doesn’t work, there’s always paint… |
Mousey the Immortal
Every day you try to be the best parent you can. Anything with wrinkles related to it, like your last load of laundry that you failed to take out for three days, will always catch up and remain plastered to your face for days with regret. Being single with two boys, outrunning wrinkles is like trying to chase a bus; with the driver looking in the rear view mirror, laughing at the world sweating behind him.Until you grab the doors that is.
This is where I thank God for taking my perfectionist attitude and stuffing it in a tiny Beanie Baby toy that my 7 year old carries around with him everywhere like a sacred cross. But do not laugh at the dingy, often filthy, can’t-kill-this-toy-with-a-truck (no lie), for it has survived it all. The floors can be clean enough to eat off of, but the gray tiger who had long lost his stripes to being over-loved will still sit on the dining room table, mocking me with its blue eyes as I set it for dinner.
When I check my bank account, it watches me.
When I wash the dishes, it’s still there, watching me from the jar of cookies.
And when I go to sleep, it will wake me up. Either like a pea under my side or with the unintentional dust mop of itself three inches from my face with a sneeze.
Phear the toy, for the plague that follows it will strike and leave you feeling and looking old and there is no escape, for it has the love of your child hostage within it making it immune to the water, fire, traffic and being lost to the cushions of the couch. For it will rise up against you once you think you are safe to sit down. That is until one evens the odds by calling a truce with the painful Decepticon toy your foot lands on in the morning when leaving the bed. By carefully distributing the small army of Transformers on your desk, counter and night stand, one would never believe that Mommy deliberately hurled the precious Mousey across the house to the dog bed over the evil Starscream.
Of all the times to have an old, gutless mule of a dog and not a puppy.
Sigh…
Yesterday, Mousey. Today, the dog’s bath. Tomorrow, Cybertron. If I get that far, maybe I’ll come back to try my luck with the world.
Armed and Daydreaming
I went home the other night from a career workshop with my head in the clouds as I’m always thinking about something whether consciously or subconsciously and stopped by the grocery store. I grabbed a few things by list-guessing as to have a list near me is like trying to eat a snack in front of my kids, its gets lost faster then you can realize its missing.
As I stood in a slightly longer line behind this elderly man who had a positive air about him, I zoned out mentally as my head went back to not only thinking of what I could be missing in my basket, but brainstorming about what I sponged-up from the workshop. I was thinking to myself, how am I going to stand up the next day before everyone and not look like a blank case just as the old man in front of me had half-finished loading his groceries onto the conveyer belt. He turned around to me and pointed out the shorter express line to the side, as he seemingly felt bad that I had about 5 things on me and was waiting on his whole carts of stuffs. I came back to the present and immediately assured him that it was fine, that I was just buying time in the store trying to remember what was on my list (not mentioning that my grocery list was no more than my 6 y/o’s memory who was in school still) and to take his time. And then he replied to me with something that ultimately hit me like a board to the face. He turned back around as his groceries moved down the belt and said, “Oh, for a moment there I thought you were angry and about to burst into a fit at me.”
I was looking rather dumbfounded at that point as I consider myself a positive person and was in a good mood and here this elderly man was scared witless of me like I was going to strike him dead with my box of cereal for having more groceries, while my daydreaming head wasn’t even the least bit interested in him, let alone the space now available on the conveyor belt. But we both laughed it out and restored the positive air between each other and he left. When I came out of the store he was loading his car still and I smiled and wished him a good day, fearing he might see me still as some impatient, inconsiderate, evil, granola-bar wielding mother lost in another world still, and went home.
Hence the heroine survives yet another encounter at the dreaded grocery store and reaches home to raid the sweet loot in secrecy. Now if only I can figure out where my Muse took off to, I’ll be set.
Hopefully it’s not in the ice cream section still…
Memories of a Dark Knight (Oct 28/08)
It was another one of those dreaded moments as a single mother where you ask God to save you and drop you somewhere else–anywhere else. The dread faced before me wasn’t as simple as the wrong diaper in hand in the center of the most crowded mall on a Saturday. Or looking under the stroller to find that your youngest had done his own shopping five stores back. It was a video game store. A small one at that, on the main shopping street some blocks from my home.
My 8 year-old son had effectively dragged my tired, hungry self into the hot, stuffy store that afternoon and my empty stomach crushed in on itself as the heat made my head spin. Eating and running errands never worked for me and came with consequences both ways. Shortly after entry it only became worse as I was bombarded by stares from teenagers wondering just what the hell I was doing in their territory with my beautiful, priceless, now-hopelessly-hyper two boys as they left me in my suffering and ran off to seemingly every part of the place at once.
Now I love video games–in fact–I still consider myself amongst the many I have yet to find who survived my teenager years along with me where the Super Nintendo and Sega reigned supreme. Where Friday nights of partying and getting into trouble were traded in by my hermit-like self to stay home and play Final Fantasy II as it was before they ruined it. It is to my everlasting sadness that this amazing game was ruined when they brought it to the PS1. I’ll never forget the tears I nearly cried that night so many years ago when I returned to the castle of Baron around 4am, only to have all my beloved Cecil’s script type out before my eyes as something else. Something fake. My beautiful Dark Knight was gone… It was enough to make me go to the box and instruction manual–that was like reading a recipe to boiling an egg for a geek–and see if they had made it possible to change paths of your toons; like an alternate ending found in many games today. But as I flipped through the pages the sad truth overtook me as the very words that once crossed the boundary of my heart from flat to inspiring when I first got my SNES, now sounded like a badly-adapted North American Sailor Moon episode. They had killed my Cecil long before I could reach the end of the game and I was only at the sea monster. Was this the possible gaming future for my two-year old son at the time? I did not understand till then just how badly they were destroying the classics on my side of the planet with censorship.
One day my people, we shall be free again.
I envy my youngsters who can watch anime without having to specially order it from Japan as I once did. Even if they are still using lightsabers, laser guns and the most retarded words imaginable to replace what just had to be a swear word once from the main character getting thwacked upside the head in a manner that makes my head spin. It’s only a matter of time before the real swords and guns return and break free of societies pointless erasing of violence on the screen. When I wrote and illustrated my first short stories in grade three and four, shows like He-Man and G.I. Joe were all over the TV. If you ask me there wasn’t enough as I’m far from the hero-type and still a coward. The mere mentioning of the word ‘writer’ or ‘fantasy’ to my mother would get me that petrifying look of hers regardless of how many unicorns I pasted on my walls in protest. My grade four teacher may have thought my fantasy story worthy of raving on endlessly about like I was the next Tolkien, but my mother remained the same. A wall of ice.
Now I’m nearing my thirties but I failed in growth somewhere despite being 5’6”, as I still get bothered at the cash register in the LCBO for my I.D–despite wearing my black T-shirt that says ‘I can handle any crisis, I have children.’ Yet everyone in the store but the employee was taking notice that my oldest was now carrying over a glass bottle that looked like red soda. A very large bottle at that labeled ‘Vodka’. Hands full of bags, munchies, a dangeorously-about-to-overflow grape juice box, I suck the humiliation in and dig through my wallet for the Health Card that has me pictured as a walking undead. The painful part of it all is I don’t drink, but it’s a custom of mine to bring a peace offering along before heading over to grandma’s. Anything less wouldn’t get us in and I’ve long given up fighting the old woman with my beliefs that getting drunk is wrong this and wrong that. Then there was the practicality of it all as she was on the other side of the bloody city and it would only be a matter of time before one of my kids would need full-access to a fridge and washroom. Now as my oldest reaches me, I’m left with the on-the-spot choice of losing the juicebox or dealing with a lot of angry and very badly stained people. Should I survive and slay the cave of the liquor store, I would then make the rest of the journey to grannies where I would have to on-site sensor my kids from her favorite shows the rest of the day. On the Showcase channel.
Sure my hobby has always been reading and writing fantasy stories and poems, but my main passion lies way back when D&D was still popular, as a gamer. Or what my generation can call gaming in the 90’s without being looked at with blank faces of sheer stupefied fear when one near their 30’s gently pats the display window with the Super Nintendo Entertainment System in it inside a game store. If I were 15 years younger such looks from teenagers who look little different now then when I grew up would have sent me running from the store in a state of shock from embarrassment of having missed the latest trend by such a mile. On reaching home I would have later locked myself in my small bedroom and gone for a nap on the prayer I would wake up and it was all a nightmare. But now I am older, empowered, redeemed. And I diapered two boys so these teenager’s boxers hanging out of their pants could not scare me. I looked fearlessly back at them and thought, You have no idea of the true heart of power where all your PSP quick-fixes come from and never will! Weaklings! Fear the knowledge within me! Mwhahahaha! Then I would unleash my 8 and 5 year old warrior and mage on them to blind them from the new arrivals of games where my youngest would bravely defend his mother with his superior intellect right off the bat. Within moments a devastating chant on how the ‘big boy’s’ pants were ‘falling down’ caught the ears of the entire store in a Time Stop. The attack was nothing short of a Bankai when combined with his older brother’s hyper-excitement at finding the newest Kingdom Hearts to where he now wielded it as if it were a Keyblade itself. It dispatched the High School kids from the store faster then if I had picked them up and thrown them out myself. Now as the owner looked about the back of the counter for a legal bat to beat down my army down with, I go back to silently saying my respects to the ancient power of SNES that once captivated my heart. It would be replaced by Playstation and Playstation 2, MMORPG’s on my Mac and I’m still looking at the tag on the PS3–but its heart and my Dark Knight will never be forgotten.
For now I must return home with the Kingdom Hearts and the latest Spyro the Dragon where shortly after finishing the dishes I will turn on World of Warcraft and hunt down my first victim in the battlegrounds where I will unleash a Death Coil on them before critting them in the back with a 5k Shadowbolt before they can snap out of the dizzyness of it. The satisfaction that comes with sending someone to the graveyard in 2 shots is soooo underrated. I’m not a violent person. I just like seeing that same Horde mage come back 2 minutes later and hunt me down for the next 15. You can always tell the person on the other side of the screen has been having a bad day when they do that. So I spare his heal-botting priest and die with honor knowing that on the other side of the planet it might have cheered that person up. Okay I’m not that crazy…I just haven’t gotten all my warlock’s gear from the arenas yet… /sigh. Instead I do what is easiest for a female player to do in such a game as the rules for sharing the Spyro game aren’t being followed very well in my living room. I call my best friends who have warriors of unstoppable doom on their accounts and let them deal with the annoying undead mage online, while I figure out what made my 8 year-old warrior unleash an Intimidating Shout on his younger brother. When all games are over roughly two hours later, I will get up and put my kids to bed knowing that the things they see on TV and in their games will not make them into future terrorists or serial killers anymore than it has me. Maybe it’s because of the Wall of Ice that my mother looked down at me with all those years. Maybe it’s just the simple fact she watched a bunch of it all with me. Now the only question that remains is how to get the music cassette out of the damn VCR…
It’s so hard to teach kids the old ways these days, I swear…even the mages.
Woman for Warlord (Oct. 29/08)
I couldn’t resist after reading and getting a good laugh from “The Top 100 Things I’d Do If I Ever Became An Evil Warlord” to think just how much different that list would be if the warlord was woman. Here’s my feminine touch on it:
1. My ventilation ducts will be too small to crawl through, if you just happen to be a male mercenary the size of Hercules. For any female ones trying to assassinate me they can have fun getting through the dust and filth up there (while dusting it with their skirts) before my faithful hellhound that roams about finds and deals with them on leaving it.
2. My noble half-sister whose throne I usurped will be kept alive, just put on a planet no one else has ventured to yet. Never know when I might need her again to inquire about where my borrowed shoes are.
3. Shooting is not too good for my enemies particularly if they’re badly dressed.
4. The artifact which is the source of my power will not be kept on the Mountain of Despair beyond the River of Fire guarded by the Dragons of Eternity. It will be in my bra. The same applies to the object which is my one weakness. If it doesn’t fit then implants are now on the to-do list.
5. I will gloat over my enemies’ predicament before killing them. Isn’t that the whole point?
6. After I kidnap the handsome prince, we will be married in a lavish spectacle in three weeks’ time during which the final phase of my plan will be carried out. What good is a handsome prince to me if not to show off where everyone will be present?
7. I will interrogate my enemies in the inner sanctum — like hell I’m getting dolled-up to travel with scrubs to interrogate them in some mucky, forgotten place.
8. One of my advisers will be an average five-year-old child. My youngster misses nothing, even in a detailed plan of taking over the world.
9. The hero is not entitled to a last kiss, a last cigarette, or any other form of last request unless he’s drop-dead gorgeous and looks like an ex of mine.
10. I would likely end up uttering the sentence “But before I kill you, there’s just one thing I want to know” particularly if I suspect one of the women loyal to me having a relationship with them. Best to avoid the crazy loose ends of killing a lover.
11. When I employ people as advisors, I will occasionally listen to their advice provided they completely agree with me first.
12. I will hire a talented fashion designers to create original uniforms for my armies. Appearance is everything and looking like the bold Roman soldiers or sexy-wild like the Mongol hordes totally works for me.
13. No matter how well it would perform, I would totally construct a sort of machinery which is completely indestructible except for one small and virtually inaccessible vulnerable spot. It’s the modern age–having the best toy is like having the perfect handbag. But the idea of my Palm not having a reset button is just too terrifying.
14. No matter how attractive certain members of the rebellion are, there is probably someone just as attractive who is not desperate to kill me. Therefore, I will think twice before ordering a prisoner sent to my bedchamber, unless he’s a celebrity. They follow different rules.
15. My pet monster will be kept in a secure cage from which it cannot escape and into which I could not accidentally stumble. It would be completely portable though, one must show off.
16. I will dress in tight and sexy leather, to throw my enemies into confusion both male and female alike.
17. I will not fly into a rage and kill a messenger who brings me bad news just to illustrate how evil I really am. Good messengers are hard to come by and women exist for flattery.
18. I will not turn into a dragon. Like hell I’m messing up my perfect hair and nails.
19. If I absolutely must ride into battle, I will certainly not ride at the front nor seek out the other leader. The other warlord already lost as he likes me and not his pin-up princess from fairytale land.
20. All naive, busty tavern wenches in my realm will be replaced with gay waiters who will provide no unexpected reinforcement for the hero or his sidekick. They’re not that brave to ask for help.
21. If I have an unstoppable superweapon, I will never use it. People fear most what they don’t know. Most mothers know this tactic on kids.
22. I will not bother to keep a healthy amount of skepticism when I capture the handsome rebel and he claims he is attracted to my power and good looks and will gladly betray his companions if I just let him in on my plans. Men are just so gullible and easy to work with.
23. I will only employ bounty hunters completely in love with me. It’s just so much cheaper that way.
24. My main computers will have their own special operating system that will be completely incompatible with standard IBM, but not Macs. I’ve yet to see some hacker make a mess of my mine.
25. Before employing any captured artifacts or machinery, I will make one of my kids read me the manual.
26. I will not see a competent psychiatrist and get cured of all extremely unusual phobias and bizarre compulsive habits which could prove to be a disadvantage. All women are a given crazy in one sense or another and are better off not reminded of that fact. I’ll use the time to get a facial instead.
27. No matter how many shorts we have in the system, my guards will be instructed to treat every surveillance camera malfunction as a full-scale emergency. One must ninja that piece of cake from the fridge without getting caught and ending up on the front of all the tabloids, somehow.
28. I will agree to let the heroes go free if they win a rigged contest, even though my advisers assure me it is impossible for them to win. After the contest target-kills off his comrades and only the main, handsome hero escapes alive, I will have him all to myself.
29. If I have a fit of temporary insanity and decide to give the hero the chance to reject a job as my trusted lieutenant, I will not wait until my current trusted lieutenant is out of earshot before making the offer. They’ll conveniently end up killing each other before they turn their weapons on a woman, anyways.
30. I will completely ignore the messenger that stumbles in exhausted and obviously agitated until my personal grooming or current entertainment is finished. The world can end before I miss what the hunk said in my favorite Soap Opera.
Infinity Dreamt 