So yeah - yet another blog post initiated with "So yeah". It gets sort of repetitive, doesn't it? What if I start it with a completely random word? Okay, let's try.
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Cartridge.
Yeah, that worked like a charm, didn't it? Anyways, 'tis the season to be jolly and frolick in an overabundance of food and wrapping paper, and copious amounts of - believe it or not - snow. Holy Skateboardin' Raptor-Jesus! O.O
I'm pretty sure it hasn't snowed around Christmas Eve for the last three or four years. It's been somewhat frightening to be honest. But of course; when the snow finally arrives, it is accompanied by thunder and lightning. WTF? Who ever heard about thunder and lightning during winter? Well, these guys apparently. (Warning: Norwegian only.) Still, it's freakish and I'll have none of it thankyouverymuch.
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The Christmassy time started for me with the annual Julbord of N.U.F., which despite its name is not a neonazi paramilitary group. It's a youth's group in my native region, I swear.
Not only was it lots of fun to see so many friends again, but I and three mates finally got to screen the movie we've been working with since early summer this year. The premiere of Askeladden 4 Ever was a great success, and I'll make sure to write more about it when the time comes to release it on DVD - and by "release" I mean burn as many as possible and hand them out. :-)
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The day after, while still being sleepy, just having stepped out of the shower and not having eaten, I was Shanghaied off. You see, my neighbour and friend Nils had this sofa he was going to throw away. But then it snowed... and then he had some spare skis... and we happen to live near some pretty big fields... Obviously the only natural solution to all this was to place the skis underneath the sofa, and then put a wire between it and the car. Simply put, we were pulled around the snowclad fields in a cascade of snow. It was fun, but the true fun times only started when we came up with the idea of replacing the "enskied" sofa with a loose car hood upside-down. Suffice to say; It. Went. Fast.
Although I had to leave early to clear the driveway home of snow so that my mother could get out, I heard that none who were left remained unhurt. Poor bastards; they live on in our hearts. And wherever else they might be located.
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Speaking of Nils, we two have a tradition of giving each other presents for Christmas despite not being closely related (we're second cousins). An important part of the tradition (to me at least) is to wrap it up in such a way as to confuse the receiver of what exactly he's getting.
This year I did it in a following way;
1. Get one or two DVDs.
2. Get a bag of chips.
3. Open the bottom of the chips bag.
4. Remove some of the chips (not all).
5. Insert DVDs.
6. Close opening with glue.
7. Enjoy the superfluous chips and the image of the receivers expression when they open their present only to find a bag of chips. And then their expression when they find two DVDs in their chips bag.
So yeah, I was pretty pleased.
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On this very day though, it was Christmas Eve. It's only a few hours since I unwrapped such gifts as winter-shoes, t-shirts, socks, a toaster iron, a headband-light, and many other nice things. Thanks to all, I really liked what I got this year, no kidding. :) Also nice to know; my mom liked the scarf I bought her. Which is really the only gift I picked out myself this year.
But even more interesting was my first ever performance as Santa Claus himself. I had to leave the house and then walk up the road so that my two-and-a-half-year-old nephew could see Santa coming. I was pretty nervous; this would be the boy's first ever confrontation with a Santa, and it was my task to make it a pleasant experience. Thank God; he didn't cry. Man, he wasn't even shy. :-D Despite the fact that my mask looked like it came out from Isengard's orc-pits, the little boy was all smiles.
So that's a few extracts from my Yuletide so far. Feel free to comment and add stuff that's happened to you. I'm afraid that even after resetting my cookie cache, Blogspot won't let me comment my own blog posts, so you'll have to excuse my lack of responses.
A continued Merry Christmas to all!
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UPDATE:
Turns out my mate Nils only removed the wrapping paper to find the bag of chips... and didn't open it.
His reaction was basically;
"Uh... potato chips. Hmm, well, err... They ARE a good snack."
But I've told him to open it by now, so hopefully the world as we know it will not end. Hopefully.
fredag 25. desember 2009
tirsdag 15. desember 2009
People Are Bastards
For those of you not in "the know" about my day-to-day stuff, it might come as a surprise that I've worked as a cashier in a grocery store for the last six months or so. I know, I know, I did apply to NASA for going to space, saving alien planets and boning hot alien chicks, but then I realized I did that last year. Same goes for dragonslaying and all that jazz.
Anyways, Saturday was my last day behind the cash register, chained like the veritable slave I am. The clock was ticking steadily closer to 23.00, which is when we close the goddamm doors and push the bastards out - except this night was different.
As usually I watched as the last customers (aka "annoying stragglers") left for the exit, and as usual I began cleaning up around my register - which at this point in the evening is the only one still active. Then after this is done, I take a walk along the aisles to make sure there are no one left, and usually there aren't. 23:05; I see a woman squatting in front of the Christmas-department. F**k!
"Hey there, mrs. I am afraid we're going to have to close now, we're already overdue, sadly," I said. Except in Norwegian. Which by the way is awesome. It's like having a golden toilet. Yeah - every day's a privelege.
Anyway's, this woman simply stated that we had so many great tings for Christmas - to which I politely thanked - not that I really give a flying intercourse. She then said that she should be finished in a moment. I didn't really think she needed further urging, and left for my register, to clean up more stuff, like removing the cash from the lottery machine, counting receipts, closing the tobacco closet, etc. After this was done, I realized that the woman had yet to appear at the register. 23:1o; F**k.
A little trip to the candy aisle reveals here, strolling along as if she owned the place and had put an order to keep it open 24-7. Well, not on my watch. - That last sentence would have sounded more badass if not for the fact that I was a cashier, but still.
"Eh, we really have to close now. It's getting very late," I said with a nervous smile. To be honest, what I was nervous of was if I would be able to keep my hands from grabbing her throat and giving her some proper parenting; Home Simpson style. ("Why, you little!")
Again, she gave me the "Oh, but there are so many great things here!"-crap. Well, why don't you check it out DURING THE DAY!!?? HUH???? ANSWER ME THAT!!!!! I almost regret not saying it aloud.
My partner (not that kind) walked up and asked why I hadn't locked the doors and checked out. To which I replied that "There's someone left." I must admit, I wanted his reply to be; "Let's toss the twat out," but he chose the somewhat more erudite "Oh." and left to count the bread. Thanks for nothing.
Finally she was in the register - HOSANNA THANK THE LORD! - and I speedily put the stuff through, to the annoying sound of her explaining she was just buying some things for a friend as a gift. But suddenly she realized things were costing more than she had expected, and wanted to put some things in return - WHY GOD OH WHY DO YOU PUNISH ME LIKE THIS!!!
After I had done this, the woman had the nerve, the audacity, to ask if whether we had any wrapping paper and the likes; I simply shrugged and said that what's there was there. No really, at this point I honestly couldn't care less if I was coming off as brusque.
Anyway, I had stuff to do now as she was out - I logged my register off, and printed the overall receipt from the computer and stuff like that, and then left for the office to put in my numbers - trusting she wouldn't take anything while unsupervised.
Okay, so it's done, and when I return into the hall - MY PARTNER HAD SUPPLIED HER WITH WRAPPING PAPER AND GIFT BANDS!! Seriously man? Really? You Quisling! JUDAS!
23:17
She's wrapping.
23:20
She's wrapping, and excusing herself for being a "bit inconvenient".
23:25
She's wrapping still. Seriously, the Nazis were "a bit inconvenient"; this is preposterous.
23:29
SHE'S DONE!!!!!!
At this point I had honestly considered making an animal sacrifice to the Dark Gods of the Netherworld. But Billy Goat was lucky and got to live another day. Touché.
23:30
My mate Harry is asking where the hell I am, and if I'm coming to town to hang with him. At this point the whole affair behind me appeared like a bad dream, and I gave him a short resumé.
Kudos to Harry for getting me in a better mood that evening; and kudos to my work-partner who was so kind as to give a lift downtown. Thankfully restoring some of my faith in humanity, although I fear it will be forever marred.
Anyways, Saturday was my last day behind the cash register, chained like the veritable slave I am. The clock was ticking steadily closer to 23.00, which is when we close the goddamm doors and push the bastards out - except this night was different.
As usually I watched as the last customers (aka "annoying stragglers") left for the exit, and as usual I began cleaning up around my register - which at this point in the evening is the only one still active. Then after this is done, I take a walk along the aisles to make sure there are no one left, and usually there aren't. 23:05; I see a woman squatting in front of the Christmas-department. F**k!
"Hey there, mrs. I am afraid we're going to have to close now, we're already overdue, sadly," I said. Except in Norwegian. Which by the way is awesome. It's like having a golden toilet. Yeah - every day's a privelege.
Anyway's, this woman simply stated that we had so many great tings for Christmas - to which I politely thanked - not that I really give a flying intercourse. She then said that she should be finished in a moment. I didn't really think she needed further urging, and left for my register, to clean up more stuff, like removing the cash from the lottery machine, counting receipts, closing the tobacco closet, etc. After this was done, I realized that the woman had yet to appear at the register. 23:1o; F**k.
A little trip to the candy aisle reveals here, strolling along as if she owned the place and had put an order to keep it open 24-7. Well, not on my watch. - That last sentence would have sounded more badass if not for the fact that I was a cashier, but still.
"Eh, we really have to close now. It's getting very late," I said with a nervous smile. To be honest, what I was nervous of was if I would be able to keep my hands from grabbing her throat and giving her some proper parenting; Home Simpson style. ("Why, you little!")
Again, she gave me the "Oh, but there are so many great things here!"-crap. Well, why don't you check it out DURING THE DAY!!?? HUH???? ANSWER ME THAT!!!!! I almost regret not saying it aloud.
My partner (not that kind) walked up and asked why I hadn't locked the doors and checked out. To which I replied that "There's someone left." I must admit, I wanted his reply to be; "Let's toss the twat out," but he chose the somewhat more erudite "Oh." and left to count the bread. Thanks for nothing.
Finally she was in the register - HOSANNA THANK THE LORD! - and I speedily put the stuff through, to the annoying sound of her explaining she was just buying some things for a friend as a gift. But suddenly she realized things were costing more than she had expected, and wanted to put some things in return - WHY GOD OH WHY DO YOU PUNISH ME LIKE THIS!!!
After I had done this, the woman had the nerve, the audacity, to ask if whether we had any wrapping paper and the likes; I simply shrugged and said that what's there was there. No really, at this point I honestly couldn't care less if I was coming off as brusque.
Anyway, I had stuff to do now as she was out - I logged my register off, and printed the overall receipt from the computer and stuff like that, and then left for the office to put in my numbers - trusting she wouldn't take anything while unsupervised.
Okay, so it's done, and when I return into the hall - MY PARTNER HAD SUPPLIED HER WITH WRAPPING PAPER AND GIFT BANDS!! Seriously man? Really? You Quisling! JUDAS!
23:17
She's wrapping.
23:20
She's wrapping, and excusing herself for being a "bit inconvenient".
23:25
She's wrapping still. Seriously, the Nazis were "a bit inconvenient"; this is preposterous.
23:29
SHE'S DONE!!!!!!
At this point I had honestly considered making an animal sacrifice to the Dark Gods of the Netherworld. But Billy Goat was lucky and got to live another day. Touché.
23:30
My mate Harry is asking where the hell I am, and if I'm coming to town to hang with him. At this point the whole affair behind me appeared like a bad dream, and I gave him a short resumé.
Kudos to Harry for getting me in a better mood that evening; and kudos to my work-partner who was so kind as to give a lift downtown. Thankfully restoring some of my faith in humanity, although I fear it will be forever marred.
onsdag 9. desember 2009
A Jour
So, lots o' stuff has been happening lately. Well, okay, not really. But kind of. Imagine living for six years on a deserted island with nothing to keep you company but a coconut-scarecrow and a palm tree. Got it? Okay, now compared to that, alot of things have happened.
Sometime prior to December I realized it was time to refrain from drinking christmas-soda. (or soft drink, pop, or whatever you Anglolingual freaks call it. Jeez Louise!) I mean, many people take this way too lightly; not drinking christmas-soda (henceforth referred to in Norwegian; "Julebrus") is a tradition on line with NOT KILLING BABIES! And just as important, trust me on this.
Above, a group of Vikings are quite determined not to drink Julebrus before Yuletide.
Above, the Men of Eidsvoll (effectively the Founding Fathers of Norway) are reading up a letter from a distressed Norwegian citizen; "Should I drink Julebrus before Christmas?" the person wrote. History has it that it was voted upon and the vote was unanonymously "Nay".
Again, an image of stalwart Norwegians refusing to drink their Julebrus prior to 1st December. Quite impressive considering that these are the "Gutta på Skauen" (Norwegian resistance fighters during the nazi occupation of Norway) who during the winter of 1941 had no other liquid than Julebrus. Still, they stayed true to the tradition, relying instead on melted snow; melted by their own piss. (Incidentally, they also stayed true to the tradition of NOT KILLING BABIES!)
So there you have it. A long, proud Norwegian tradition kept alive throughout the last millennium. Hopefully, you did not break it this year.
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ANOTHER EVENT THAT OCCURED A SHORT TIME AGO WAS THE 'ALL CAPS DAY', WHICH MEANS JUST THAT; SPEAKING IN ALL CAPS-LOCK. SOMEONE HAS SAID TO ME THAT IT IS LIKE A CRUISE CONTROL FOR COOL; IT GIVES YOU HEADWAY, BUT YOU STILL NEED TO STEER. OBVIOUSLY THAT'S NONSENSE. WHAT COULD BE POSSIBLY BE UNCOOL WITH TALKING IN ALL CAPS?
SERIOUSLY THOUGH, THE FUNNY THING IS THAT I CAN'T SHRUG THE FEELING OF READING MY OWN LETTERS AS ME SHOUTING AT YOU; LOUD AND OBNOXIOUSLY. SPLENDID.
IT'S THEREFORE MY PLEASURE TO PRESENT A LITTLE POEM, NORMALLY MEANT TO BE WRITTEN AS SILENTLY AS POSSIBLE, IN ALL CAPS;
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See you later freaks.
Sometime prior to December I realized it was time to refrain from drinking christmas-soda. (or soft drink, pop, or whatever you Anglolingual freaks call it. Jeez Louise!) I mean, many people take this way too lightly; not drinking christmas-soda (henceforth referred to in Norwegian; "Julebrus") is a tradition on line with NOT KILLING BABIES! And just as important, trust me on this.
Above, a group of Vikings are quite determined not to drink Julebrus before Yuletide.
Above, the Men of Eidsvoll (effectively the Founding Fathers of Norway) are reading up a letter from a distressed Norwegian citizen; "Should I drink Julebrus before Christmas?" the person wrote. History has it that it was voted upon and the vote was unanonymously "Nay".
Again, an image of stalwart Norwegians refusing to drink their Julebrus prior to 1st December. Quite impressive considering that these are the "Gutta på Skauen" (Norwegian resistance fighters during the nazi occupation of Norway) who during the winter of 1941 had no other liquid than Julebrus. Still, they stayed true to the tradition, relying instead on melted snow; melted by their own piss. (Incidentally, they also stayed true to the tradition of NOT KILLING BABIES!)
So there you have it. A long, proud Norwegian tradition kept alive throughout the last millennium. Hopefully, you did not break it this year.
----------------
ANOTHER EVENT THAT OCCURED A SHORT TIME AGO WAS THE 'ALL CAPS DAY', WHICH MEANS JUST THAT; SPEAKING IN ALL CAPS-LOCK. SOMEONE HAS SAID TO ME THAT IT IS LIKE A CRUISE CONTROL FOR COOL; IT GIVES YOU HEADWAY, BUT YOU STILL NEED TO STEER. OBVIOUSLY THAT'S NONSENSE. WHAT COULD BE POSSIBLY BE UNCOOL WITH TALKING IN ALL CAPS?
SERIOUSLY THOUGH, THE FUNNY THING IS THAT I CAN'T SHRUG THE FEELING OF READING MY OWN LETTERS AS ME SHOUTING AT YOU; LOUD AND OBNOXIOUSLY. SPLENDID.
IT'S THEREFORE MY PLEASURE TO PRESENT A LITTLE POEM, NORMALLY MEANT TO BE WRITTEN AS SILENTLY AS POSSIBLE, IN ALL CAPS;
'TWAS THE MORNING OF CHRISTMAS, WHEN ALL THROUGH THE HOUSE,'
THE CHILDREN WERE ACTIVE, DISTURBING A MOUSE.
THE STOCKINGS, ALL HUNG BY THE CHIMNEY WITH CARE,
GAVE AMPLE PROOF THAT SAINT NICK HAD BEEN THERE!
THE CHILDREN ALL JUMPED WITH GLEE FROM THEIR BEDS
AND POUNDED THE DOOR, AS WE LIFTED OUR HEADS!!
AND MOTHER, WHO WAS RATHER IRRITABLE SAID,
"IT'S FOUR IN THE MORNING, NOW GET BACK TO BED!!!"
THEN MAMA IN HER GOWN AND I IN MY CAP,
SETTLED TO BED FOR A FOUR HOUR NAP!!!!
[...]
AND SO MY FINAL WORDS TO SAY:
"MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL AND TO ALL A GOOD DAY!!!!!!!!!!"
THE CHILDREN WERE ACTIVE, DISTURBING A MOUSE.
THE STOCKINGS, ALL HUNG BY THE CHIMNEY WITH CARE,
GAVE AMPLE PROOF THAT SAINT NICK HAD BEEN THERE!
THE CHILDREN ALL JUMPED WITH GLEE FROM THEIR BEDS
AND POUNDED THE DOOR, AS WE LIFTED OUR HEADS!!
AND MOTHER, WHO WAS RATHER IRRITABLE SAID,
"IT'S FOUR IN THE MORNING, NOW GET BACK TO BED!!!"
THEN MAMA IN HER GOWN AND I IN MY CAP,
SETTLED TO BED FOR A FOUR HOUR NAP!!!!
[...]
AND SO MY FINAL WORDS TO SAY:
"MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL AND TO ALL A GOOD DAY!!!!!!!!!!"
SO THERE YOU GO. AND TO THOSE OF YOU THINKING I DID SOMETHING WITH THAT TEXT BESIDES DOING IT IN ALL CAPS; YOU'RE CLEARLY DOING DRUGS. STOP DOING THAT. NO I DON'T CARE IF IT KEEPS THE VOICES AT BAY. OR KEEPS YOU FROM MURDERING THE CAT. IF IT KEEPS YOU FROM KILLING BABIES THAT'S ANOTHER THING ENTIRELY.
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See you later freaks.
onsdag 25. november 2009
I'm Immune! So long suckaz!
So, the swineflu - or the H1N1 Virus as they want to call it nowadays - is making it's way across the world, killing indiscrimenately claiming worldwide a grand total of 7,909 lives. I mean, yeah, normal human flu causes 500,000 thousand deaths every damn year, but that's all beside the point isn't it?
PIG DISEASE + PRESS COVERAGE = HYSTERIA + HUGE WADS OF CASH FOR THE MEDIA
God, sometimes I just need to grab my titanium bat and whack some corporate executives over the head. Y'know, just to make them think clearer. Or die. It depends.
Now, as we all know, there's no chance in S. Meyer's Twilight (aka Hell) that I am going to be infected with this influenza. I am, after all, a god among men, with all the awesomeness and... stuff - that entails. I mean seriously, me throwing in the towel because of some pussy flu? Not bloody likely. A nuclear explosion, maybe, or in a blaze of glory surrounded by ten times - no, make it a hundred times - as many super-killer robot cyborg gorilla ninjas from space as there are "me"s*. And only if I had already lost both my arms and legs. So yeah, don't hold your breath, I'm not going anywhere - metaphysically speaking.
(*Hint; there's only one of me. For those of you counting out there.)
But still, my mother, in a fit of charming but also annoying maternal emotions insisted that I take the vaccine. Because I'm entering the army, and because I have asthma. Bah, asthma? I'm like the bloody Daredevil, if I get a handicap i make it a superpower. I mean, if he gets a sonar from being blind, what do I get from messed-up lungs? Probably being able to live indefinitely without air. Like, in space and stuff. I haven't tested it yet though, space is overrated, and hasn't been the same since I defeated the Evil Lord Xenu.
So yeah, I go in and take the vaccine - which by the way has the smallest needle in the history of sharp objects - pay, and leave.
And now my arm is hurting like a... I was going to say bitch, but that doesn't really make sense does it? Or maybe the saying refers to the emotional pain a human female typically categorized as a "bitch" causes to those around her.
Damn I'm awesome.
PIG DISEASE + PRESS COVERAGE = HYSTERIA + HUGE WADS OF CASH FOR THE MEDIA
God, sometimes I just need to grab my titanium bat and whack some corporate executives over the head. Y'know, just to make them think clearer. Or die. It depends.
Now, as we all know, there's no chance in S. Meyer's Twilight (aka Hell) that I am going to be infected with this influenza. I am, after all, a god among men, with all the awesomeness and... stuff - that entails. I mean seriously, me throwing in the towel because of some pussy flu? Not bloody likely. A nuclear explosion, maybe, or in a blaze of glory surrounded by ten times - no, make it a hundred times - as many super-killer robot cyborg gorilla ninjas from space as there are "me"s*. And only if I had already lost both my arms and legs. So yeah, don't hold your breath, I'm not going anywhere - metaphysically speaking.
(*Hint; there's only one of me. For those of you counting out there.)
But still, my mother, in a fit of charming but also annoying maternal emotions insisted that I take the vaccine. Because I'm entering the army, and because I have asthma. Bah, asthma? I'm like the bloody Daredevil, if I get a handicap i make it a superpower. I mean, if he gets a sonar from being blind, what do I get from messed-up lungs? Probably being able to live indefinitely without air. Like, in space and stuff. I haven't tested it yet though, space is overrated, and hasn't been the same since I defeated the Evil Lord Xenu.
So yeah, I go in and take the vaccine - which by the way has the smallest needle in the history of sharp objects - pay, and leave.
And now my arm is hurting like a... I was going to say bitch, but that doesn't really make sense does it? Or maybe the saying refers to the emotional pain a human female typically categorized as a "bitch" causes to those around her.
Damn I'm awesome.
onsdag 28. oktober 2009
MOAR LINKAGE PUH-LEEZ!
And so, on the third day, our Lord and Linker came with more pointless links from the great Intrawebz. Oh, lo' and behold, there were randoms to see for all.
- Take a gander at the picture album of the Tourist of Death. Yeah, he's been around.
- Relationshapes. Enough said.
- Apparently, this guy has had it all figured out, and we are all just too stupid to realize it, I mean, he knows How to live forever. Seriously, why aren't we all going cucumber over his stuff?
Here's a hint, it rhymes with "dwindle", and a synonym rhymes with "spam". What the man is rhymes with "brass-goal".
My man Tourettes-Timmy will today remain silent, seeing as we need to fill our Political Correctness quota.
What do you mean I lost that when I made a gimmick out of a guy with Tourette's?!
- Take a gander at the picture album of the Tourist of Death. Yeah, he's been around.
- Relationshapes. Enough said.
- Apparently, this guy has had it all figured out, and we are all just too stupid to realize it, I mean, he knows How to live forever. Seriously, why aren't we all going cucumber over his stuff?
Here's a hint, it rhymes with "dwindle", and a synonym rhymes with "spam". What the man is rhymes with "brass-goal".
My man Tourettes-Timmy will today remain silent, seeing as we need to fill our Political Correctness quota.
What do you mean I lost that when I made a gimmick out of a guy with Tourette's?!
tirsdag 27. oktober 2009
Random Linkage Week - Part 2
So, believe or not, but I'm back as I said I would be. Freaking sweet? Totally.
And boy do I have some randomities for you today;
- Internet translators and that crap ain't got nothing on our friends from the south-east Asian countries. An archive of hilarious examples of "Engrish".
- Police officers arrested for babysitting. You'd think they have more important issues to handle.
- Perpetual bubblewrap. Yeah, watch that sucker pop. POP I SAY!!!
And with the soothing sound of virtual bursting bubbles of plastic, I bid thee farewell, once again to the words of my poetic friend, Tourettes-Timmy;
The birds have fallen silFUCKFAGGOT!
'Tis the dyiCOCK! season.
I reminiBADGERVOMIT!!
Hopefully, next year will come around. ASSRIDER!
Beautiful. Well, that's all for today folks! See ya later!
And boy do I have some randomities for you today;
- Internet translators and that crap ain't got nothing on our friends from the south-east Asian countries. An archive of hilarious examples of "Engrish".
- Police officers arrested for babysitting. You'd think they have more important issues to handle.
- Perpetual bubblewrap. Yeah, watch that sucker pop. POP I SAY!!!
And with the soothing sound of virtual bursting bubbles of plastic, I bid thee farewell, once again to the words of my poetic friend, Tourettes-Timmy;
The birds have fallen silFUCKFAGGOT!
'Tis the dyiCOCK! season.
I reminiBADGERVOMIT!!
Hopefully, next year will come around. ASSRIDER!
Beautiful. Well, that's all for today folks! See ya later!
mandag 26. oktober 2009
It's Random Linkage Week!
So, in order to... No, actually I have no thoughts behind this. I just wanted to see if I could make an update a day for a week, and I also wanted to share some bizarre links. Well, here you go;
- Some guy has made a list of his favorite things Lady Gaga has humped.
Sheesh, makes you feel bad for these things, doesn't it?
- Some ecologic garlic farmer stops high-speed internet. Oh, the beauty of local "democracy".
- Possibly the most Pointless Toy Ever. Also, Giant Ape Juice, apparently.
Well, that's all for today folks. Hopefuly you'll be able to tune in tomorrow and find new fresh random links.
So, in the immortal words of my good friend Tourettes-Timmy; Have a goo-FUCKFUCKIT, GODDAMNITSHIT- evening!
- Some guy has made a list of his favorite things Lady Gaga has humped.
Sheesh, makes you feel bad for these things, doesn't it?
- Some ecologic garlic farmer stops high-speed internet. Oh, the beauty of local "democracy".
- Possibly the most Pointless Toy Ever. Also, Giant Ape Juice, apparently.
Well, that's all for today folks. Hopefuly you'll be able to tune in tomorrow and find new fresh random links.
So, in the immortal words of my good friend Tourettes-Timmy; Have a goo-FUCKFUCKIT, GODDAMNITSHIT- evening!
mandag 12. oktober 2009
Obama gets Peace Prize - I speculate on why
Now, as for the reasons for this happening; several people have commented that President Obama does not seem to have fulfilled many of his promises, nor has he been in the office long enough to really have been able to do something worthy of the Prize.
The esteemed committee is very aware of this. They do see, however, that the President has changed an international climate, and created a general feeling of optimism for several nations, despite obviously being a real-political leader whose interests are first and foremost those of the US and its people. The committee recognizes that emotions and general opinions will always be important catalysts to politics, and that this optimism - which perhaps is more palpable in many of the USA's former and present allies than in the US itself, is worth noting.
A second reason for this award is twofold and future-focused; it is at the same time a means of adding more political and ethical weight to Mr. Obama, and a a warning that the world community expects his promises to be fulfilled, and his visions to be pursued. The worst thing that can happen, is that the President completely reverts on his stands and wastes the trust given to him. This, the committee can live with. Yes, there is a risk, but it is a calculated risk, and one the committee is prepared to go with.
Many people have said though, why not give him the Prize later, when his many visions have been pursued and wholly or partly completed, when he has had the time to prove himself? This is a question asked by intelligent people, and it is not asked without reason. What one must understand however, is that the general mood the international society finds itself in nowadays, might very well not be there in, say, three years. Three years into the future, and we might very well find Mr. Obama in situations where the promises are impossible to fulfill, and the visions hard to pursue, where the mantraic "Hope" and "Change" has seeped into the ground causing little or no growth, so to speak.
Mr. Obama's time as a star is now, and to do its part in ensuring that it lives up to its potential, the Nobel Peace Prize Committee has taken its chances and lent its heavyweight esteem. Hopefully, it will play out as positively as humanly possible.
Oh, and as for the "cuz hes black" argument... I'm choosing to stay above commenting on that.
The esteemed committee is very aware of this. They do see, however, that the President has changed an international climate, and created a general feeling of optimism for several nations, despite obviously being a real-political leader whose interests are first and foremost those of the US and its people. The committee recognizes that emotions and general opinions will always be important catalysts to politics, and that this optimism - which perhaps is more palpable in many of the USA's former and present allies than in the US itself, is worth noting.
A second reason for this award is twofold and future-focused; it is at the same time a means of adding more political and ethical weight to Mr. Obama, and a a warning that the world community expects his promises to be fulfilled, and his visions to be pursued. The worst thing that can happen, is that the President completely reverts on his stands and wastes the trust given to him. This, the committee can live with. Yes, there is a risk, but it is a calculated risk, and one the committee is prepared to go with.
Many people have said though, why not give him the Prize later, when his many visions have been pursued and wholly or partly completed, when he has had the time to prove himself? This is a question asked by intelligent people, and it is not asked without reason. What one must understand however, is that the general mood the international society finds itself in nowadays, might very well not be there in, say, three years. Three years into the future, and we might very well find Mr. Obama in situations where the promises are impossible to fulfill, and the visions hard to pursue, where the mantraic "Hope" and "Change" has seeped into the ground causing little or no growth, so to speak.
Mr. Obama's time as a star is now, and to do its part in ensuring that it lives up to its potential, the Nobel Peace Prize Committee has taken its chances and lent its heavyweight esteem. Hopefully, it will play out as positively as humanly possible.
Oh, and as for the "cuz hes black" argument... I'm choosing to stay above commenting on that.
torsdag 8. oktober 2009
Word-ban sends Homosexual to Olympics - Sorta
Okay, let's be honest, there are alot of Christian groups out there that aren't all too crazy about homosexuality. I'd even go as far as to say that they would rather they didn't exist. Although this doesn't go for all Christians, it is the former group that is by for most outspoken and thus most visible. However, rarely does this get as hilarious a result as what happened on the home page of The American Family Association. On its newspage "OneNewsNow.com", they have a inbuilt feature that changes the word "gay" to "homosexual" automatically.
Needless to say, when the sprinter Tyson Gay was covered on this page, hilarity ensued with passages along the lines of:
This also popped up:
My source article - this goes further indepth.
Needless to say, when the sprinter Tyson Gay was covered on this page, hilarity ensued with passages along the lines of:
Tyson Homosexual was a blur in blue, sprinting 100 meters faster than anyone ever has.
His time of 9.68 seconds at the U.S. Olympic trials Sunday doesn't count as a world record, because it was run with the help of a too-strong tailwind. Here's what does matter: Homosexual qualified for his first Summer Games team and served notice he's certainly someone to watch in Beijing.
"It means a lot to me," the 25-year-old Homosexual said. "I'm glad my body could do it, because now I know I have it in me."
This also popped up:
Wearing a royal blue uniform with red and white diagonal stripes across the front, along with matching shoes, all in a tribute to 1936 Olympic star Jesse Owens, Homosexual dominated the competition.
My source article - this goes further indepth.
lørdag 26. september 2009
New Day (Part 3)
What was... life? What was it, but a slight flicker of light in the vast darkness of the universe? What separated that which lived from that which was inanimate, and what made man and beast draw breath? Those were great questions asked by great men. Grek was not one of them.
Seeing what separated the living and the dead in the village he had just attacked was easy, Grek thought. It was the energy blade he pulled out from the bloodied corpse of a man who had assaulted him with a wooden pitchfork. It was the rock an unfortunate villager had hit with his head as he tripped while running away from the black-armoured warriors, and it was the precise aim of a fellow warrior, striking another foolish villager who’d armed himself with a bow and a quiver of arrows. Understanding life was hard, Grek reflected, understanding death was easy. The end of all things. Oblivion. Darkness. In many ways, nothing made so much more sense than something. But then again, Grek was no sage.
He dropped the dead body to the ground as he lifted his sight to survey the conquered village. Warriors clad in obsidian steel with a blue shimmer to them walked all across it, subduing terrified survivors with voiceless commands. Men, women and children cowered pathetically in the mud as they begged intensely for mercy. Grek had not come to bring mercy. He had come to bring the light of day. The light of New Day.
Where life was a spark in cold, deep water, the light of New Day was an everlasting, imperishable flame. It would burn away the mists and cobwebs of the long night, it would fill the void of the universe, for so had the Many promised him. Grek was certain in his mission and in his cause.
“Orlam-Nebet,” a voice rang in the mindweb. Grek could sense its direction and turned to face one of the warriors that had participated in the assault. Their two metallic masks met with, and blue fire emanated from their eyes.
“Yes, Oppandas Seimu?” he responded to the soldier, who he knew best as Olmek.
“The village has been pacified, sir. All villagers have been accounted for, all resistance have been put down,” Olmek said. His mental voice yielded no sign of exhaustion. The battle had been short, and minor. Regular humans had little to stand up with against the might of the Chosen Warriors of the Many.
“Good, Oppandas. You may commence with the next step. I will be meditating,” Grek said as he turned towards a suitable hill overlooking the conglomeration of houses below.
“Yes sir. Honour to you, Orlam-Nebet,” said the younger Warrior before began issuing order over other chords of the mindweb. Grek could sense them, being the leader, but he chose not to hear them.
The setting sun bathed everything in a fiery hue. The memory of a orb of flame descending upon his home and the following escape snuck its way into his mind, memories of a time he could not say how long since. He remembered his uncle, his brother, the people trying to flee away from the destruction behind them, and of course the intense fear of dying.
Death; it was the end of all things. Nothing more. Darkness, oblivion. He remembered once being tantalized by this thought, but not anymore. The Many had promised him a life eternal. When he finally would exhale his last breath, and the darkness would overtake him, the Many would seize his spirit and pull him back from oblivion. They would bathe him in their minds, and he would become a part of them, directing the light of the New Day to all corners of the multiverse.
His musings were abruptly stopped by the incoming shape of what more than anything else symbolized the next step in bringing people the light. At first, it would appear like a rectangular, black shape in the sky, but as it came closer, Grek’s enhanced vision could make out a slightly pointed front, and triangular shapes surrounding the entirety of the back rectangle making up the bulk of the flying vessel. The shapes had their longest side attached to the vessel, standing vertically like giant arrowheads, their tips pointing upwards around the edge, and one of the edges extending from the vessel. As it moved closer, Grek saw the pilot sitting upon a pedestal almost at the very front, only superseded by a hook-like prow. Within the bow of the hook, a large blue crystal spun with great velocity, feeding the craft with its arcane power. His eyes automatically zoomed in on the craft, estimating its velocity and instinctively calculating its course. It hovered over the conquered village for a while, like a giant vulture skeptically observing its prey in search of life signs.
Grek stood up and began walking downwards to the village center.
“All perimeters safe? Answer men of Seimu,” he questioned over the mindweb.
“Odoaker Seimu, north side safe,” the first answer came.
“Ayubar Seimu, south side safe,” a second sounded.
“Lyndro Saimu here, the east side remains uneventful.” Good, now Grek waited for the last voice to ring in.
“Orlam-Nebet, I have yet to account for Arpratan Seimu, Oppandas Seimu over,” said the last voice in the mindweb.
“Where was his last reported position?” Grek messaged.
“In the western swamps. He was reportedly on his way to participate in the attack. I presumed he had been delayed by the terrain,” Oppandas responded.
Arpratan, that would be Galevo in personal name, Grek mused. Galevo would not let a mere swamp delay him, that much he knew. And if he had, then he would certainly not remain silent about it, someone would have had received a mess-
“Orlam-Nebet, I have a mindweb transmit!” he heard the young and eager voice of Ligaste, known outside his armour as Yuobe.
“I have a positive position, Orlam-Nebet,” sent the mindvoice again. “He appears to be wounded.”
“Oppandas, take with you Ligaste and retrieve our brother warrior. Make it quick,” Grek ordered. “I want mindweb contact in within standard intervals.”
“Affirmative, Orlam-Nebet. With outmost haste!” With that, he saw the monochrome, dark shapes of young Ligaste and Grek’s second-in-command Oppandas run towards the brown mists of the eastern swamps.
The Orlam-Nebet himelf, leader and father-figure of the Seimu fraternity of warriors, looked to the sky, at the still hovering craft. It was as dark as the armour of the warriors on the ground, and it even radiated the same obsidian like shine. The same blue lines of power traversed its surface, and the same mysterious crystal powered it. Like the armour he wore and was, it too was a relic of the Many, crafted for the warriors so that they might easier bring the light to the far corners of the multiverse, and fear no foe that inhabited it.
“This is Orlam-Nebet of Seimu, the area is secured. You are cleared for descent,” he sent across the mindweb to the pilot.
Seeing what separated the living and the dead in the village he had just attacked was easy, Grek thought. It was the energy blade he pulled out from the bloodied corpse of a man who had assaulted him with a wooden pitchfork. It was the rock an unfortunate villager had hit with his head as he tripped while running away from the black-armoured warriors, and it was the precise aim of a fellow warrior, striking another foolish villager who’d armed himself with a bow and a quiver of arrows. Understanding life was hard, Grek reflected, understanding death was easy. The end of all things. Oblivion. Darkness. In many ways, nothing made so much more sense than something. But then again, Grek was no sage.
He dropped the dead body to the ground as he lifted his sight to survey the conquered village. Warriors clad in obsidian steel with a blue shimmer to them walked all across it, subduing terrified survivors with voiceless commands. Men, women and children cowered pathetically in the mud as they begged intensely for mercy. Grek had not come to bring mercy. He had come to bring the light of day. The light of New Day.
Where life was a spark in cold, deep water, the light of New Day was an everlasting, imperishable flame. It would burn away the mists and cobwebs of the long night, it would fill the void of the universe, for so had the Many promised him. Grek was certain in his mission and in his cause.
“Orlam-Nebet,” a voice rang in the mindweb. Grek could sense its direction and turned to face one of the warriors that had participated in the assault. Their two metallic masks met with, and blue fire emanated from their eyes.
“Yes, Oppandas Seimu?” he responded to the soldier, who he knew best as Olmek.
“The village has been pacified, sir. All villagers have been accounted for, all resistance have been put down,” Olmek said. His mental voice yielded no sign of exhaustion. The battle had been short, and minor. Regular humans had little to stand up with against the might of the Chosen Warriors of the Many.
“Good, Oppandas. You may commence with the next step. I will be meditating,” Grek said as he turned towards a suitable hill overlooking the conglomeration of houses below.
“Yes sir. Honour to you, Orlam-Nebet,” said the younger Warrior before began issuing order over other chords of the mindweb. Grek could sense them, being the leader, but he chose not to hear them.
The setting sun bathed everything in a fiery hue. The memory of a orb of flame descending upon his home and the following escape snuck its way into his mind, memories of a time he could not say how long since. He remembered his uncle, his brother, the people trying to flee away from the destruction behind them, and of course the intense fear of dying.
Death; it was the end of all things. Nothing more. Darkness, oblivion. He remembered once being tantalized by this thought, but not anymore. The Many had promised him a life eternal. When he finally would exhale his last breath, and the darkness would overtake him, the Many would seize his spirit and pull him back from oblivion. They would bathe him in their minds, and he would become a part of them, directing the light of the New Day to all corners of the multiverse.
His musings were abruptly stopped by the incoming shape of what more than anything else symbolized the next step in bringing people the light. At first, it would appear like a rectangular, black shape in the sky, but as it came closer, Grek’s enhanced vision could make out a slightly pointed front, and triangular shapes surrounding the entirety of the back rectangle making up the bulk of the flying vessel. The shapes had their longest side attached to the vessel, standing vertically like giant arrowheads, their tips pointing upwards around the edge, and one of the edges extending from the vessel. As it moved closer, Grek saw the pilot sitting upon a pedestal almost at the very front, only superseded by a hook-like prow. Within the bow of the hook, a large blue crystal spun with great velocity, feeding the craft with its arcane power. His eyes automatically zoomed in on the craft, estimating its velocity and instinctively calculating its course. It hovered over the conquered village for a while, like a giant vulture skeptically observing its prey in search of life signs.
Grek stood up and began walking downwards to the village center.
“All perimeters safe? Answer men of Seimu,” he questioned over the mindweb.
“Odoaker Seimu, north side safe,” the first answer came.
“Ayubar Seimu, south side safe,” a second sounded.
“Lyndro Saimu here, the east side remains uneventful.” Good, now Grek waited for the last voice to ring in.
“Orlam-Nebet, I have yet to account for Arpratan Seimu, Oppandas Seimu over,” said the last voice in the mindweb.
“Where was his last reported position?” Grek messaged.
“In the western swamps. He was reportedly on his way to participate in the attack. I presumed he had been delayed by the terrain,” Oppandas responded.
Arpratan, that would be Galevo in personal name, Grek mused. Galevo would not let a mere swamp delay him, that much he knew. And if he had, then he would certainly not remain silent about it, someone would have had received a mess-
“Orlam-Nebet, I have a mindweb transmit!” he heard the young and eager voice of Ligaste, known outside his armour as Yuobe.
“I have a positive position, Orlam-Nebet,” sent the mindvoice again. “He appears to be wounded.”
“Oppandas, take with you Ligaste and retrieve our brother warrior. Make it quick,” Grek ordered. “I want mindweb contact in within standard intervals.”
“Affirmative, Orlam-Nebet. With outmost haste!” With that, he saw the monochrome, dark shapes of young Ligaste and Grek’s second-in-command Oppandas run towards the brown mists of the eastern swamps.
The Orlam-Nebet himelf, leader and father-figure of the Seimu fraternity of warriors, looked to the sky, at the still hovering craft. It was as dark as the armour of the warriors on the ground, and it even radiated the same obsidian like shine. The same blue lines of power traversed its surface, and the same mysterious crystal powered it. Like the armour he wore and was, it too was a relic of the Many, crafted for the warriors so that they might easier bring the light to the far corners of the multiverse, and fear no foe that inhabited it.
“This is Orlam-Nebet of Seimu, the area is secured. You are cleared for descent,” he sent across the mindweb to the pilot.
onsdag 2. september 2009
Right Brain vs. Left Brain Creativity Test
I was convinced to take this personality test recently, turned out pretty much as I'd expected: (Feel free to skip the indented parts, that is, the parts closer to the middle.)
Results:
Left Brain: 41%
Right Brain: 59%
You are more right-brained than left-brained. The right side of your brain controls the left side of your body. In addition to being known as right-brained, you are also known as a creative thinker who uses feeling and intuition to gather information. You retain this information through the use of images and patterns. You are able to visualize the "whole" picture first, and then work backwards to put the pieces together to create the "whole" picture. Your thought process can appear quite illogical and meandering. The problem-solving techniques that you use involve free association, which is often very innovative and creative. The routes taken to arrive at your conclusions are completely opposite to what a left-brained person would be accustomed. You probably find it easy to express yourself using art, dance, or music. Some occupations usually held by a right-brained person are forest ranger, athlete, beautician, actor/actress, craftsman, and artist.
The complete evaluation follows below:
Your left brain/right brain percentage was calculated by combining the individual scores of each half's sub-categories. They are as follows:
Your Left Brain Percentages
27% Linear (Your most dominant characteristic)
27% Sequential
27% Verbal
25% Symbolic
21% Logical
20% Reality-based (Your least dominant characteristic)
Your Right Brain Percentages
44% Nonverbal (Your most dominant characteristic)
40% Fantasy-oriented
39% Random
29% Intuitive
28% Concrete
18% Holistic (Your least dominant characteristic)
What Do These Percentages Mean?
Low percentages are common in the Brain Type Test and are not indicative of intelligence. Instead, medium to high scores (30 - 50%) are desireable, as they show an ability to utilize a processing method without an abnormal reliance on it. Special focus should be paid to highly dominant (50% or above) or highly recessive (0 - 30%) methods, as they tend to limit your approach when learning, memorizing, or solving problems.
If you have Highly Dominant characteristics, your normal thinking patterns will naturally utilize these methods. Conscious effort is required to recognize the benefits of other techniques. Using multiple forms of information processing is the best way to fully understand complex issues and become a balanced thinker.
If you have Highly Recessive characteristics, your normal thinking patterns naturally ignore these methods. You may only consider these under-utilized techniques when "all else fails," or possibly not at all. It is important to recognize the benefits of all of your brain's capabilities in order to become a balanced thinker.
Left Brain Categories
Linear Processing
Linear processing is a method by the left hemisphere to process information. In this process, the left brain takes pieces of information, lines them up, and proceeds to arrange them into an order from which it may draw a conclusion. The information is processed from parts to a whole in a straight, forward, and logical progression.
Your Linear Analysis
When processing information using this method, you will occasionally feel the need to see the "whole picture" before you are able to achieve results. At other times, you are able to piece all of the parts together in a straight and logical progression to form a whole, which then enables you to understand what you have processing. The information, your mood, and your level of comfortable are all factors that determine your response to a linear processing problem.
Sequential Processing
Sequential processing is a method used by the left hemisphere for processing information. The information that is received is processed in order from first to last. Information is processed in a systematic, logical manner. Through sequential processing, you can interpret and produce symbolic information such as language, mathematics, abstraction, and reasoning. This process is used to store memory in a language format. Activities that require sequential processing include spelling, making a "to-do" list, and many aspects of organization.
Your Sequential Analysis
You show moderate ability to organize information sequentially. You are capable of processing information you receive in a systematic, logical order from first to last. However, at times you will process information you receive quite randomly, or may give it only a semblance of order. You are probably an average mathematician and speller, and may or may not enjoy tasks such as making "to-do" lists.
Verbal Processing
Verbal processing is a method used by the left hemisphere to process our thoughts and ideas with words. For example, through verbal processing, a left-brained person giving directions may say, "From this point continue east for two miles and turn north onto Bellevue Road. Continue north on Bellevue Road for seven miles and turn west on Main Street". With verbal processing, exact, logical directions are given in a very sequential manner compared to a right-brained person who, in giving the same directions, would use more visual landmarks.
Your Verbal Analysis
You have a moderate verbal ability. Using this method you process your thoughts and ideas with words. You tend to combine technical details with illustrations, depending on whatever strikes you. For instance, if giving directions, you might say, "Continue two miles east on Court Street and take a left at the McDonalds," combining the exact details of street names and mileage with prominent landmarks.
Symbolic Processing
Symbolic processing is a method associated with the left hemisphere that is used for processing the information of pictures and symbols. The majority of functions associated with academics involve symbols such as letters, words, and mathematical notations. This process is what aids you to excel in tasks such as linguistics, mathematics, and memorizing vocabulary words and mathematical formulas.
Your Symbolic Analysis
You have the ability to process the information of symbols at times, but you may need to first view the real object before you can understand what you are trying to process. For example, in solving math problems it occasionally helps you to "draw out" the problem, which allows you to better understand it through visualization. At other times you do not need visualization to aid you in forming your answers.
Logical Processing
Logical processing is a method that is used by the left hemisphere to take information piece by piece and put it all together to form a logical answer. When information is received through reading or listening, the left hemisphere will look for different bits of information that will allow it to produce a logical conclusion. This aspect of the left hemisphere is what aids you in solving math problems and science experiments.
Your Logical Analysis
Logical processing is not one of your strengths, so you may tend to rely on a "gut" feeling to help you make your decisions from the information you have received. For example, you will often choose an answer on a test because it "feels" right, and you may be correct. This is due to the fact of your tendency to look for the whole picture but not the details that create it. You can often start with the answer and work your way back to allow yourself to see the process and parts that create the whole. You may find math problems and science experiments difficult because of this.
Reality-based Processing
Reality-based processing is used by the left hemisphere as a method for processing information with a basis on reality. This processing tool focuses on rules and regulations. An example of this would be how a left-brained person would completely understand the repercussions of turning in a late assignment or failing a test. A left-brained person also usually easily adjusts to changes in their environment.
Your Reality-based Analysis
The information you process may lack a basis on reality, but it does open the door to creativity. You do not show much focus for rules and regulations and do not adjust well to change in the environment. In fact, upon experiencing change in the environment, it spurs you to try to change it yourself instead of adjusting to it. Whenever you become emotionally involved in project you are more likely to learn and succeed.
Right Brain Categories
Nonverbal Processing
Nonverbal processing is a method used by the right hemisphere to process our thoughts with illustrations. Reliance on this method is why it is occasionally difficult for right-brained people to "find the right words" in certain situations. A right-brained person cannot just read or hear information and process it, but first must make a mental video to better understand the information they have received. For example, through nonverbal processing, a person giving directions may say, "Continue going straight until you see a big, red-brick courthouse. At the courthouse turn right, and go down that street for a couple of miles until you se a gray stone church which will be on your right. Straight across from the church is the road to the left you need to take." With nonverbal processing, the directions that are given are extremely visual compared to the exact, sequential directions that would be given by a left-brained person.
Your Nonverbal Analysis
When processing your thoughts and ideas, you use tend to use both illustrations and words. When giving directions, you probably use both visual illustrations such as, "keep going until you see a McDonalds on your right; then turn left at the Home Depot", and technical terms such as, "travel for two miles and turn east onto First Street."
Fantasy-oriented Processing
Fantasy-oriented processing is used by the right hemisphere as a method for processing information with creativity. It focuses much less on rules and regulations than the processing method of a left-brained person. Due to the fantasy-oriented processing mechanism of a right-brained person, they do not adjust well to change. Instead of adapting to the change in the environment, a right-brained person attempts to change it back to the way they liked it. But fantasy-oriented processing also provides the advantage of creativity to right-brained individuals, and since emotion is integral of the right side of the brain, anything a fantasy-oriented person becomes involved in emotionally will aid their ability to learn.
Your Fantasy-oriented Analysis
You have the ability to use both creativity and reality to process the information you receive. This is a unique gift that allows you to both focus on rules and regulations but to also act with creativity. You are able to adjusting to change, even though you might not like it, and you can become emotionally involved in your work if it interests you.
Random Processing
Random processing is a method used by the right hemisphere for processing information. The information that is received is processed without priority. A right-brained person will usually jump from one task to another due to the random processing by their dominant right hemisphere. Random processing is, of course, the opposite of sequential processing therefore making it difficult for right-brained individuals to choose to learn in sequence. In order to overcome this, a right-brained person may want to attempt to learn sequence by using colors since the right hemisphere is sensitive to color. For example, you may want to associate the first step with green, the second step with blue, and the last step with red. Consistently using the same sequence will allow you to see that this strategy can be applied to many tasks involving sequence.
Your Random Analysis
You have some ability to process data randomly. You are at times able to make "leaps of logic" and discover unique things by thinking "outside of the box." However, you may tend to ignore your random processing thoughts unless you are desperate for a solution. It is important you recognize this skill as not grasping at straws, but a viable way to discover new ways of approaching a problem.
Intuitive Processing
Intuitive processing is a method that is used by the right hemisphere to process information based on if it "feels" right or not. For example, a right-brained person may choose an answer on a test because they had a "gut" feeling and often they will be correct. Another example of this is how a right-brained person will know the correct answer to a math problem but will not understand the procedure of how they arrived at the correct answer. A right-brained person will usually have to start with the answer and work their way backwards in order to be able to see and understand the parts and process that create the whole.
Your Intuitive Analysis
When processing information, at times you are able to go with your "gut" instincts. At other times you may doubt your instincts, or prefer to put information together piece by piece to form your conclusion. You should be careful not to ignore your intuition, but at the same time do not solely rely on it.
Concrete Processing
Concrete processing is a method associated with the right hemisphere that is used for processing things that can be seen or touched. It processes much of the information you receive from real objects. For example, a right-brained person is not just satisfied that a mathematical formula may work, but will want to know why it works. A strongly concrete person often finds it easier to solve a mathematical problem by "drawing it out" because it allows them to visualize it. The more a concrete person can visualize something the easier it is for them to understand it.
Your Concrete Analysis
At times, you feel the need to see a real object in order to understand it. At other times, you are able to understand a problem on a symbolic level. For example, you may find that in solving math problems, it occasionally helps you to "draw out" the problem in order to understand and solve it.
Holistic Processing
Holistic processing is a method used by the right hemisphere to process information. The information is processed from whole to parts. A right-brained person, through holistic processing, is able to see the big picture first, but not the details that accompany it. A strongly holistic person may often find that prior to listening to a lecture given by an instructor, they must first read the chapter so that they better understand what the lecture is about. This function is also what provides to you your visual spatial skills. It also aids in tasks such as dancing and gymnastics. Through holistic processing, memory is stored in auditory, visual, and spatial modalities.
Your Holistic Analysis
You have difficulty seeing the whole picture, especially at the beginning of a project. You tend to process information you receive from its parts to its whole in a straight, progressive manner. When given a task, you tend to not bother asking "why," but instinctively are able to do it.
fredag 28. august 2009
First Driving Lesson
Yeah, so I had my first driving lesson yesterday, long overdue. But anyway, I got to town and met with my instructor to be. He eyed me and asked me just how good I was. Obviously I responded that I was made of both madness and Sparta.
"Prove it," he said.
So I took the car for a little spin around town. Think I scratched a few old ladies, but nothing serious. And while I'm being all awesome-like and doing my thing, suddenly this ass-hat turns up at my side and flips me the bird. That is, it wasn't a bird. That's just an expression. He flipped his finger. But I didn't care, I was pissed. Pissed off that is. Not pissed. That means to be drunk, which I wasn't. Don't drive drunk people, it's not cool. Trust me, I know cool. Also, I know a guy who's been to the moon. True story.
Anyway, this dude has this rigged ride, and is all like "I'm so gonna squash you in a race, man." And I'm all like "bring it on, diaper face," and my driving teacher's all like "...". But I know he was cool with it. I mean, who wouldn't?
So we line up, and chicks everywhere are shouting to me, you know; "I love you Ben!" and "I want to have your babies Ben!" and even "Purchase low-priced retail now, only at theresoneborneveryminute.com!"
So we line up and drag on. This punk goes first, but that's because I let him. He turns on the nitrous and just zooms off. I grit my teeth and look really awesome as I pull up beside him, while driving on two wheel sideways. Because, y'know. Why not?
He totally freaks out and shouts: "You're crazy!" I nod and push the special button I always install in cars I'm about to drive. The car stops and transforms into Optimus Prime. Sweeeeeet...
Anyways, to make a long story short, I shoved a stick up this guys exhaust (and by that I mean his anus. I'm good with metaphors you see.) And totally just owned his face in front of all the town. Don't bother with the grammar in that last sentence. Grammar ain't got nothin' on me, cuz I did his mom. Boyah.
So than I asked my driving teacher if I'm as cool as I told him, to which he replied: "..."
I appears I've broken him. I might have to use a few others next time. That will slow down the process of getting the license.
True story.
"Prove it," he said.
So I took the car for a little spin around town. Think I scratched a few old ladies, but nothing serious. And while I'm being all awesome-like and doing my thing, suddenly this ass-hat turns up at my side and flips me the bird. That is, it wasn't a bird. That's just an expression. He flipped his finger. But I didn't care, I was pissed. Pissed off that is. Not pissed. That means to be drunk, which I wasn't. Don't drive drunk people, it's not cool. Trust me, I know cool. Also, I know a guy who's been to the moon. True story.
Anyway, this dude has this rigged ride, and is all like "I'm so gonna squash you in a race, man." And I'm all like "bring it on, diaper face," and my driving teacher's all like "...". But I know he was cool with it. I mean, who wouldn't?
So we line up, and chicks everywhere are shouting to me, you know; "I love you Ben!" and "I want to have your babies Ben!" and even "Purchase low-priced retail now, only at theresoneborneveryminute.com!"
So we line up and drag on. This punk goes first, but that's because I let him. He turns on the nitrous and just zooms off. I grit my teeth and look really awesome as I pull up beside him, while driving on two wheel sideways. Because, y'know. Why not?
He totally freaks out and shouts: "You're crazy!" I nod and push the special button I always install in cars I'm about to drive. The car stops and transforms into Optimus Prime. Sweeeeeet...
Anyways, to make a long story short, I shoved a stick up this guys exhaust (and by that I mean his anus. I'm good with metaphors you see.) And totally just owned his face in front of all the town. Don't bother with the grammar in that last sentence. Grammar ain't got nothin' on me, cuz I did his mom. Boyah.
So than I asked my driving teacher if I'm as cool as I told him, to which he replied: "..."
I appears I've broken him. I might have to use a few others next time. That will slow down the process of getting the license.
True story.
tirsdag 25. august 2009
New Day (Part 2)
New to the story? See New Day (Part 1)
It had been nearly five hours of steady, unending walking. It had been five grueling hours of careful stalking through the waist-high waters of the swamp. He had taken all precautions. It had been done to all specifications, done to the very highest of standards that could be expected from one of the Augmented. It had all been in vain.
When it came, he barely had time to react. When it came he was tossed away like a leaf in an autumn storm. He was taller than any man, and heavier too, he was clad in holy armour, and yet the monster threw him several feet, his trajectory only stopped by a tree that broke in half as he smashed into it. The half-rotten trunk fell upon him, sending him deep into the brown waters. Instantly his superhuman body reacter. His body twisted, his feet kicked against the muddy bottom, and within an instant he drew himself up from the water. Gavelo wiped his ruby eye-goggles, searching for the monster that had completely ambushed him. His enhanced senses searched for, his eyes that could penetrate even the darkest places and sense even the heat of the body, his ears that blocked out sounds that were irrelevant and prevented him from ever being dizzy or nauseus. His nose that could pick and recall more smells than he cared to think of. They were divine instruments given to him by the Many as he had suffered in the Pools of Augmentation. And his screams of agony had not been in vain; they located the being. This time, Galevo did not intend to be surprised.
Quickly, the power crystal located in his backpack began humming stronger. Galevo drove his hands into the side of the belt, two pieces arcana automatically strapping themselves to the hand’s wrists as he pulled it out again. A previously unnoticeable cable going the length from the housing of the power crystal to the wrist-mounted heads began crackling with energy. The heads glowed faintly blue. After a second’s aim, Galevo mentally ordered the heads to release their stored energy. Two short, glass-like blasts of blue energy flew from his hand, striking the water with a sizzling sound. Galevo stood still to verify a hit. He waited for the body to rise ot surface, or signs of a fluid either his eyes or nose could recognize as blood. Nothing happened. Then, just as he realized his terrible error, the monster erupted from the murky waters from behind, Galevo, wise from injury spun around and jumped sideways, his armour allowing him to leap far away before the crushing blow of the beast’s serpentine jaws hit him. This time he wasted no time, he raised the arm again, and the bolts of blue energy struck the swamp beast straight along its long, scaly body. It screamed in agony as they burnt into its flesh. Galevo could smell the scent of burnt flesh, but the blast did little else than rile the beast up. In crazed fury, it slithered towards him, lifting its head with the dagger-like teeth ready to strike. Galevo jumped sideways as he fired the bolts, but this time the monster dodged them and struck him with its massive tail. Again he was sent flying, descending deep into the muddy waters and the mud below before he could regain control. He fought with thick roots, ripped them apart as he tried to get up, but it was too late.
The giant serpent’s mouth closed around him, lifting him from the depths and into the air. Even though the armour did resist the piercing teeth, Galevo felt the force of the crushing jaws. As the armour moved slightly, a rib cracked. Galevo reminded himself to check the injury later, as he struggled for the mental command he needed. He straightened his arm and pointed towards the beast’s head. It dropped him as the energy bolts struck it in the right eye, its body flailing wildly about. By sheer accident, the tail struck his head and the world went black with a violent thud.
As Galevo and his brother ran into the village, they were met with utter chaos and mayhem. The east part had been completely eradicated during the fireball’s impact. The rest of the village had been knocked down by the shockwave, sending dozens of people to their deaths under heavy timber and stone. Several buildings were on fire, the volatile slavery of their fireplaces ended as the wood and thatch had collapsed upon them. People were screaming everywhere.
“Tom!” Galevo shouted, “Where’s mommy and daddy? I’m scared!”
Tom gave no answer, simply staring at the carnage with wide-open eyes, unable to comprehend the consequences of the situation.
“Tom!” Galevo was crying now, tears falling from his cheeks to the heated, ashen ground. Tom closed his gaping mouth, and turned to his brother. As their gazes met, Tom took a firm grip of his younger brother’s hand.
“Don’t worry, Gal, we’ll find them, I promise,” he answered at length. His voice was trembling though, his conviction only skin-deep. Galevo could sense him teetering on the brink of panic, and he knew they would both have to be strong for each other.
Hand in hand they ran through the ruin that had once been their safe home, shouting and hollering for their parents. Familiar faces stormed by with their own shouts and equally panicked expressions. People they had known their entire lives were suddenly like strangers, alienated by the trauma that had struck them to the very soul, ripping through their home, their families and their own body in order to reach it.
“Boys!” A familiar voice boomed. The two boys turned around, hoping to find the massive, safe frame of their father.
“Uncle Jem!” Tom cried, “What’s happening? Where’s mommy and daddy?” he asked, echoing his younger brother.
“Don’t worry,” Uncle Jem answered, gasping for air, “I’m going to take care of you. I made a promise, I swear, I’ll get you to safety.” He was talking to himself as much as to them. Galevo couldn’t understand what he meant.
“Why can’t they be here?” he asked. Uncle Jem looked at him with a haggard stare.
“Help me find a horse, boys. Galevo; you have to be strong now. You have to be strong.”
The voice resounded in his mind, the simple, desperate voice of a farmer from a world he had not seen in decades, a voice he had forgotten the owner of, insistently whispering a phrase he had could not recall the original significance of. It was a simple voice, and it was a simply sentence, but the way it was said made his every limb and muscle ache to move, to be put to use.
Be strong. You have to be strong.
Galevo opened his eyes, spending a second in complete disorientation. The Augmentation took over, the training he had recieved surging his being like cold water. Almost without understanding what happened, he straightened out his balled fist, making a flat shape with his hand. The two sylinders at each side of the wrist began glowing again, sending out their blue light, visible even when submerged in the muddy water. The light began crawling along the outline of his hand, creating a blue edge that shimmered like the bolts. Galevo felt the vibrations of the monster’s movement in the water through his enhanced ears. He tasted the monster’s blood through his enhanced tongue. He did not need his sight now. He knew what to do.
He did not think, he did not need to. The training did its job; he turned round underwater, leapt from the depths, rising like a spirit of vengeance towards the giant eel-serpent. His blade-hand struck true. With a last effort he drove it through its throat, and nearly beheaded in one clean sweep. Dark red blue washed over him, and the beast was caught in death cramps, but this time he dodged them, and soon they wore off. Then, in an anticlimactic turn of events, it simply died.
Galevo began feeling the immense pain from his head and abdomal injuries. The Augmentation would do its part, he knew. The wounds would grow faster than those of any normal man. Still, the ribs might heal incorrectly. And the head was a delicate thing. He needed attention.
As he was about to turn and call for aid through the Mindweb, his feet collapsed, sending the obsidian amoured figure down on the inert remains of the monster. Galevo took deep, painful breaths. The pain was slightly unfamiliar. Dulled by the training he had undergone.
Pain is an animal. Keep it caged and under control. Respect it, but be its master, he recited mentally.
“Arpratan Seimu to all nearby brethren. Require extraction. Possible serious head injury. Difficulty moving,” he sent. “Transmitting position,” he added.
He looke around, staring at the swamp and picking up every branch, root and rock. Every sight, smell and sound he could possibly sense. Then he sent the impression across the Mindweb to anyone of his brethren who would get it.
He then allowed himself to lay silent on the corpse of his slain foe. He felt little pride or satisfaction.
“Forgive me creature..." he coughed up blood some blood and phlegm before swallowing it again.
"...but I had to be strong,” he said at last with a rasping voice.
It had been nearly five hours of steady, unending walking. It had been five grueling hours of careful stalking through the waist-high waters of the swamp. He had taken all precautions. It had been done to all specifications, done to the very highest of standards that could be expected from one of the Augmented. It had all been in vain.
When it came, he barely had time to react. When it came he was tossed away like a leaf in an autumn storm. He was taller than any man, and heavier too, he was clad in holy armour, and yet the monster threw him several feet, his trajectory only stopped by a tree that broke in half as he smashed into it. The half-rotten trunk fell upon him, sending him deep into the brown waters. Instantly his superhuman body reacter. His body twisted, his feet kicked against the muddy bottom, and within an instant he drew himself up from the water. Gavelo wiped his ruby eye-goggles, searching for the monster that had completely ambushed him. His enhanced senses searched for, his eyes that could penetrate even the darkest places and sense even the heat of the body, his ears that blocked out sounds that were irrelevant and prevented him from ever being dizzy or nauseus. His nose that could pick and recall more smells than he cared to think of. They were divine instruments given to him by the Many as he had suffered in the Pools of Augmentation. And his screams of agony had not been in vain; they located the being. This time, Galevo did not intend to be surprised.
Quickly, the power crystal located in his backpack began humming stronger. Galevo drove his hands into the side of the belt, two pieces arcana automatically strapping themselves to the hand’s wrists as he pulled it out again. A previously unnoticeable cable going the length from the housing of the power crystal to the wrist-mounted heads began crackling with energy. The heads glowed faintly blue. After a second’s aim, Galevo mentally ordered the heads to release their stored energy. Two short, glass-like blasts of blue energy flew from his hand, striking the water with a sizzling sound. Galevo stood still to verify a hit. He waited for the body to rise ot surface, or signs of a fluid either his eyes or nose could recognize as blood. Nothing happened. Then, just as he realized his terrible error, the monster erupted from the murky waters from behind, Galevo, wise from injury spun around and jumped sideways, his armour allowing him to leap far away before the crushing blow of the beast’s serpentine jaws hit him. This time he wasted no time, he raised the arm again, and the bolts of blue energy struck the swamp beast straight along its long, scaly body. It screamed in agony as they burnt into its flesh. Galevo could smell the scent of burnt flesh, but the blast did little else than rile the beast up. In crazed fury, it slithered towards him, lifting its head with the dagger-like teeth ready to strike. Galevo jumped sideways as he fired the bolts, but this time the monster dodged them and struck him with its massive tail. Again he was sent flying, descending deep into the muddy waters and the mud below before he could regain control. He fought with thick roots, ripped them apart as he tried to get up, but it was too late.
The giant serpent’s mouth closed around him, lifting him from the depths and into the air. Even though the armour did resist the piercing teeth, Galevo felt the force of the crushing jaws. As the armour moved slightly, a rib cracked. Galevo reminded himself to check the injury later, as he struggled for the mental command he needed. He straightened his arm and pointed towards the beast’s head. It dropped him as the energy bolts struck it in the right eye, its body flailing wildly about. By sheer accident, the tail struck his head and the world went black with a violent thud.
As Galevo and his brother ran into the village, they were met with utter chaos and mayhem. The east part had been completely eradicated during the fireball’s impact. The rest of the village had been knocked down by the shockwave, sending dozens of people to their deaths under heavy timber and stone. Several buildings were on fire, the volatile slavery of their fireplaces ended as the wood and thatch had collapsed upon them. People were screaming everywhere.
“Tom!” Galevo shouted, “Where’s mommy and daddy? I’m scared!”
Tom gave no answer, simply staring at the carnage with wide-open eyes, unable to comprehend the consequences of the situation.
“Tom!” Galevo was crying now, tears falling from his cheeks to the heated, ashen ground. Tom closed his gaping mouth, and turned to his brother. As their gazes met, Tom took a firm grip of his younger brother’s hand.
“Don’t worry, Gal, we’ll find them, I promise,” he answered at length. His voice was trembling though, his conviction only skin-deep. Galevo could sense him teetering on the brink of panic, and he knew they would both have to be strong for each other.
Hand in hand they ran through the ruin that had once been their safe home, shouting and hollering for their parents. Familiar faces stormed by with their own shouts and equally panicked expressions. People they had known their entire lives were suddenly like strangers, alienated by the trauma that had struck them to the very soul, ripping through their home, their families and their own body in order to reach it.
“Boys!” A familiar voice boomed. The two boys turned around, hoping to find the massive, safe frame of their father.
“Uncle Jem!” Tom cried, “What’s happening? Where’s mommy and daddy?” he asked, echoing his younger brother.
“Don’t worry,” Uncle Jem answered, gasping for air, “I’m going to take care of you. I made a promise, I swear, I’ll get you to safety.” He was talking to himself as much as to them. Galevo couldn’t understand what he meant.
“Why can’t they be here?” he asked. Uncle Jem looked at him with a haggard stare.
“Help me find a horse, boys. Galevo; you have to be strong now. You have to be strong.”
The voice resounded in his mind, the simple, desperate voice of a farmer from a world he had not seen in decades, a voice he had forgotten the owner of, insistently whispering a phrase he had could not recall the original significance of. It was a simple voice, and it was a simply sentence, but the way it was said made his every limb and muscle ache to move, to be put to use.
Be strong. You have to be strong.
Galevo opened his eyes, spending a second in complete disorientation. The Augmentation took over, the training he had recieved surging his being like cold water. Almost without understanding what happened, he straightened out his balled fist, making a flat shape with his hand. The two sylinders at each side of the wrist began glowing again, sending out their blue light, visible even when submerged in the muddy water. The light began crawling along the outline of his hand, creating a blue edge that shimmered like the bolts. Galevo felt the vibrations of the monster’s movement in the water through his enhanced ears. He tasted the monster’s blood through his enhanced tongue. He did not need his sight now. He knew what to do.
He did not think, he did not need to. The training did its job; he turned round underwater, leapt from the depths, rising like a spirit of vengeance towards the giant eel-serpent. His blade-hand struck true. With a last effort he drove it through its throat, and nearly beheaded in one clean sweep. Dark red blue washed over him, and the beast was caught in death cramps, but this time he dodged them, and soon they wore off. Then, in an anticlimactic turn of events, it simply died.
Galevo began feeling the immense pain from his head and abdomal injuries. The Augmentation would do its part, he knew. The wounds would grow faster than those of any normal man. Still, the ribs might heal incorrectly. And the head was a delicate thing. He needed attention.
As he was about to turn and call for aid through the Mindweb, his feet collapsed, sending the obsidian amoured figure down on the inert remains of the monster. Galevo took deep, painful breaths. The pain was slightly unfamiliar. Dulled by the training he had undergone.
Pain is an animal. Keep it caged and under control. Respect it, but be its master, he recited mentally.
“Arpratan Seimu to all nearby brethren. Require extraction. Possible serious head injury. Difficulty moving,” he sent. “Transmitting position,” he added.
He looke around, staring at the swamp and picking up every branch, root and rock. Every sight, smell and sound he could possibly sense. Then he sent the impression across the Mindweb to anyone of his brethren who would get it.
He then allowed himself to lay silent on the corpse of his slain foe. He felt little pride or satisfaction.
“Forgive me creature..." he coughed up blood some blood and phlegm before swallowing it again.
"...but I had to be strong,” he said at last with a rasping voice.
tirsdag 18. august 2009
Mythopeia Project: New Day (Part 1)
There was nothing in the whole world, nothing but mud. It stretched on for as long as the eye could see, it covered every tree trunk, every dislodged piece of flotsam, every broken twig and every surfacing rock. Galevo trudged through it all, his legs effortlessly pushing silt, rotting plants and the muddy waters that nearly reached up to his hip away. His breath was deep, slow and steady, preserving as much energy as possibly, while still on guard should the treacherous swamps and bogs choose not to be as lifeless as they seemed.
Galevo felt something slither along his left leg and stopped to take a better stance. Nothing happened. It was probably just a piece of local wildlife, swimming ignorantly past one of the most dangerous beings in the Multiverse. He saw the tiny raindrops descend from the brown-clouded skies, but he could not feel as they hit is face, covered in armoured plate as it was. His feet continued to trudge on, as effortlessly and steady as ever. He was armoured from top to toe, armoured in a blue-tinted, black steel, eerily marked by glowing, swirling patterns. He knew not their meaning, only that they lent the armour its supernatural strength and endurance. Lent him supernatural strength and endurance.
I am the armour, the armour is me, he recited mentally, remembering what he had been taught upon recieving the prized piece of arcana he now was not only wearing, but actually being a part of.
Despite being a second skin, despite granting him arcane powers only the gods could have once rivaled, despite all this, it had its drawbacks. As the rain fell on his face, he could not feel it through the metal mask, not through the emerald-like eye goggles. He vaguely remembered a state of being before wearing the armour, before being the armour.
I am the armour, the armour is me, he recited again, but this time it was not enough to keep his mind from wandering, wandering into areas even more treacherous than the ones he was traversing now. Wandering into the areas of his past. Before all this. Before the Trials, before the Augmentation, before The Many. Before... before he was who he was now.
“And that’s the Cicle of Yarud,” Tom said, pointing towards the stars. Young Galevo could barely make out four stars that might just look like a cicle. If you squinted your eyes a bit.
“And what’s that?” he asked his big brother, eagerly pointing at a fiery streak across the sky.
“Umm,” his brother responded while biting his underlip, trying to remember the name of the celestial body his younger brother had discovered.
“I’m not sure, it looks kinda like a snake of fire, doesn’t it?” he answered at last. Galevo nodded eagerly.
“Like a dragon,” he said, turning his head towards the bigger boy, smiling with a mouth with the occasional lacking tooth.
“Oh, you’ve been listening to old Omba again, have you?” his bigger brother asked disapprovingly.
“Just a little bit, I swear,” Galevo said, looking at the ground.
“Mother says Omba only tells fairytales. She says none of that ever happened,” Tom said lecturingly.
“I dunno, it was all a long time ago anyway. At least Omba says so. Before grandpa and grandmawere born. Before the village was built even!”
Tom nodded. That was a long time ago.
“Is it just me, or is the ‘dragon’ getting bigger?” Gavelo asked his big brother, they both looked to the sky.
“Arpratan Seimu, respond. I repeat, respond Arpratan Seimu,” the voice ringed inside Galevo’s very mind, ripping him from his daydreams, bringing him back to the dull brown swamps. He gathered his mind to send the required mental messages over the web of thoughts that connected him to the rest of his brothers on this world.
“Arpratan Seimu responding. What is the situation, Ligaste Seimu?”
The Mindweb crackled again; “Orlam-Nebet reports a settlement two thousand paces up north. We are to converge on it, you take the eastern flank. He’s transferring his visions shortly,” the message rang.
“Affirmative. Be adamant, honour the Many,” Gavelo sent to his brother-in-arms.
“Honour the Many,” came the response, and then the Mindweb went silent.
Galevo felt a tingling sensation in the back of his mind as the visions from Orlam-Nebet, the group leader they mostly referred to as Grek, poured into his consciousness.
They were were sights, sounds, smells and other sensations. For a second he could feel the beating of Grek’s heart, the breeze of his breat, the very sensation of being another person as if you had never been anyone else. It was awkward, Grek was a brother born from the Augmentation as himself. Similar in all ways, yet feeling his every fibre of being showed Gavelo that they were in fact different. Similar, but different. Shortly after, the scope of the visions reduced to what was important; the sights and sounds.
He saw a small hamlet of thatched huts. People in woollen clothes walking about tending their own business. He saw smiths, shepherds leaving for the fields, children running after dogs, playing with each other in the muddy streets, and mothers shouting at them not to get themselves dirty, all in vain of course.
It was a village that reminded Galevo of the distant place he had once called home. Distant, not only in space, but in time as well. It was a village that reminded him of his birthplace, and more importantly; it was a village like a thousand thousands of villages in the Multiverse. Orphaned places, where humanity lived on in ignorance.
They believed the death of the Ancestor Gods had broken the Multiverse, broken the Web of Worlds connecting them. They had slept through Long Night. Well, it was time for them to wake up.
It was time for Galevo to stir their sleepwalk, and bring the light of New Day.
Galevo felt something slither along his left leg and stopped to take a better stance. Nothing happened. It was probably just a piece of local wildlife, swimming ignorantly past one of the most dangerous beings in the Multiverse. He saw the tiny raindrops descend from the brown-clouded skies, but he could not feel as they hit is face, covered in armoured plate as it was. His feet continued to trudge on, as effortlessly and steady as ever. He was armoured from top to toe, armoured in a blue-tinted, black steel, eerily marked by glowing, swirling patterns. He knew not their meaning, only that they lent the armour its supernatural strength and endurance. Lent him supernatural strength and endurance.
I am the armour, the armour is me, he recited mentally, remembering what he had been taught upon recieving the prized piece of arcana he now was not only wearing, but actually being a part of.
Despite being a second skin, despite granting him arcane powers only the gods could have once rivaled, despite all this, it had its drawbacks. As the rain fell on his face, he could not feel it through the metal mask, not through the emerald-like eye goggles. He vaguely remembered a state of being before wearing the armour, before being the armour.
I am the armour, the armour is me, he recited again, but this time it was not enough to keep his mind from wandering, wandering into areas even more treacherous than the ones he was traversing now. Wandering into the areas of his past. Before all this. Before the Trials, before the Augmentation, before The Many. Before... before he was who he was now.
“And that’s the Cicle of Yarud,” Tom said, pointing towards the stars. Young Galevo could barely make out four stars that might just look like a cicle. If you squinted your eyes a bit.
“And what’s that?” he asked his big brother, eagerly pointing at a fiery streak across the sky.
“Umm,” his brother responded while biting his underlip, trying to remember the name of the celestial body his younger brother had discovered.
“I’m not sure, it looks kinda like a snake of fire, doesn’t it?” he answered at last. Galevo nodded eagerly.
“Like a dragon,” he said, turning his head towards the bigger boy, smiling with a mouth with the occasional lacking tooth.
“Oh, you’ve been listening to old Omba again, have you?” his bigger brother asked disapprovingly.
“Just a little bit, I swear,” Galevo said, looking at the ground.
“Mother says Omba only tells fairytales. She says none of that ever happened,” Tom said lecturingly.
“I dunno, it was all a long time ago anyway. At least Omba says so. Before grandpa and grandmawere born. Before the village was built even!”
Tom nodded. That was a long time ago.
“Is it just me, or is the ‘dragon’ getting bigger?” Gavelo asked his big brother, they both looked to the sky.
“Arpratan Seimu, respond. I repeat, respond Arpratan Seimu,” the voice ringed inside Galevo’s very mind, ripping him from his daydreams, bringing him back to the dull brown swamps. He gathered his mind to send the required mental messages over the web of thoughts that connected him to the rest of his brothers on this world.
“Arpratan Seimu responding. What is the situation, Ligaste Seimu?”
The Mindweb crackled again; “Orlam-Nebet reports a settlement two thousand paces up north. We are to converge on it, you take the eastern flank. He’s transferring his visions shortly,” the message rang.
“Affirmative. Be adamant, honour the Many,” Gavelo sent to his brother-in-arms.
“Honour the Many,” came the response, and then the Mindweb went silent.
Galevo felt a tingling sensation in the back of his mind as the visions from Orlam-Nebet, the group leader they mostly referred to as Grek, poured into his consciousness.
They were were sights, sounds, smells and other sensations. For a second he could feel the beating of Grek’s heart, the breeze of his breat, the very sensation of being another person as if you had never been anyone else. It was awkward, Grek was a brother born from the Augmentation as himself. Similar in all ways, yet feeling his every fibre of being showed Gavelo that they were in fact different. Similar, but different. Shortly after, the scope of the visions reduced to what was important; the sights and sounds.
He saw a small hamlet of thatched huts. People in woollen clothes walking about tending their own business. He saw smiths, shepherds leaving for the fields, children running after dogs, playing with each other in the muddy streets, and mothers shouting at them not to get themselves dirty, all in vain of course.
It was a village that reminded Galevo of the distant place he had once called home. Distant, not only in space, but in time as well. It was a village that reminded him of his birthplace, and more importantly; it was a village like a thousand thousands of villages in the Multiverse. Orphaned places, where humanity lived on in ignorance.
They believed the death of the Ancestor Gods had broken the Multiverse, broken the Web of Worlds connecting them. They had slept through Long Night. Well, it was time for them to wake up.
It was time for Galevo to stir their sleepwalk, and bring the light of New Day.
lørdag 25. juli 2009
Mythopoeia - Preparations.
Presenting the winner:
"Well done warrior. You have made yourself worthy to serve Us. You have gone through the Augmentation, you have met the dangers and faced the Trials. Now go forth, unto Our enemies. Be adamant in your quest, be ruthless in your execution. Serve Us well, bring Divine Light to the darkest corners of the Multiverse. Please Us, Our child, and your soul will be immortalized upon death. You are a soldier of the Many, and your destiny is to die. Never forget that... Child of Ours."
So what will I make out of this? Well, I am for one going to emphasize on the "and your destiny is to die" part. Sounds badass, right? Not only that, but it also a chance to explore the psyche of someone whose destiny is indeed to die.
Other this to shed some light on are the capitalized words, the Augmentation and the Trials. As well as getting to know who these mysterious "We" are, the so-called "Many".
So here's the first few thoughts:
I was thinking at length a few days ago exactly what setting this would require. Fantasy? Sci-fi? Alternate history? Something entirely else? In the end it was the word "Multiverse" that drove it home. The decision is quite simple; I won't place great emphasis on the setting. The Multiverse is a concept quite close to the universe, but it is somewhat different. This is something I'll make clear. There will be different worlds and travels between these, but these worlds won't necessary be planets.
This also lends me some freedom regarding what equipment and abilities will appear. Want swords and guns bashing each others? Well, why not!
Hopefully, I'll have some of it up in short time. Just for fun.
"Well done warrior. You have made yourself worthy to serve Us. You have gone through the Augmentation, you have met the dangers and faced the Trials. Now go forth, unto Our enemies. Be adamant in your quest, be ruthless in your execution. Serve Us well, bring Divine Light to the darkest corners of the Multiverse. Please Us, Our child, and your soul will be immortalized upon death. You are a soldier of the Many, and your destiny is to die. Never forget that... Child of Ours."
So what will I make out of this? Well, I am for one going to emphasize on the "and your destiny is to die" part. Sounds badass, right? Not only that, but it also a chance to explore the psyche of someone whose destiny is indeed to die.
Other this to shed some light on are the capitalized words, the Augmentation and the Trials. As well as getting to know who these mysterious "We" are, the so-called "Many".
So here's the first few thoughts:
I was thinking at length a few days ago exactly what setting this would require. Fantasy? Sci-fi? Alternate history? Something entirely else? In the end it was the word "Multiverse" that drove it home. The decision is quite simple; I won't place great emphasis on the setting. The Multiverse is a concept quite close to the universe, but it is somewhat different. This is something I'll make clear. There will be different worlds and travels between these, but these worlds won't necessary be planets.
This also lends me some freedom regarding what equipment and abilities will appear. Want swords and guns bashing each others? Well, why not!
Hopefully, I'll have some of it up in short time. Just for fun.
mandag 20. juli 2009
Mythopoeia - Results
It was a close race between option nr. 2 and nr. 4, with two leading for a long time only within the last couple of days being overrun by option nr. 4. 1 and 3 however, never received even a single vote. Interesting.
And so it comes to pass that Option 4 is the definite winner. I will get to defining the backstory and supplement what I can as soon as possible. In fact, I have quite a few ideas already, and hopefully they'll be fresh and inspiring. I can tell you so much that they involve parallell worlds, mystically powered armour, fanatic warriors and possibly a virtual reality. Who knows; I've been known to change my mind before.
Updates will appear shortly. Let's see where this takes us, people.
And so it comes to pass that Option 4 is the definite winner. I will get to defining the backstory and supplement what I can as soon as possible. In fact, I have quite a few ideas already, and hopefully they'll be fresh and inspiring. I can tell you so much that they involve parallell worlds, mystically powered armour, fanatic warriors and possibly a virtual reality. Who knows; I've been known to change my mind before.
Updates will appear shortly. Let's see where this takes us, people.
torsdag 9. juli 2009
Mythopoeia - Mythmaker
I have always been fond of using my imagination - and a fair amount of intellectual theft - to make up imaginary worlds, something my friends all can give testimonies on. I remember early on in Elementary where I used to play with a few other boys that we were soldiers in space fighting aliens, or brave knights killing monsters and undead, or even superheroes with different items and backstories granting us our superpowers.
I especially remember one of "my" earliest creations - this was before I was of school age, mind you - where I and two older boys played we were superheroes. I developed a fictional backstory for these three as we all made up their abilities. I remember finding a piece of metal that looked like sword and inventing a story about a magic blade granting heroic powers, and a ring that gave powers to what essentially would become the swordsman's sidekick (me, since I was the youngest). The third was a spider-man like guy named "The Hook" who had powerful equipment that revolved around shooting hooks and slinging from rooftop to rooftop.
Ah, those were the days.
Now, I have always kept this interest moderately active, and now... in the words of a certain psychopathic serial killer; "I'd like to play a game."
I'm going to write three short texts, or quotes rather, and then you'll vote on which will I'll develop further. Nothing big, just for you entertainment. Voting will be done in the poll.
Here we go:
1.
"It is the year 2009, and the world's superheroes are busy fighting crime and stopping the evil masterminds in taking over the world. Norway is no exception; here the magnificent Baldr, the stoic Lion of Norway and the vengeful Hird does battle in order to preserve - or destroy - the nation. Who will win in the end? And what will be of the victor?"
2.
"There can be no peace between Klore and Daynelle. War is the natural state, as the gods intended. Be it on the fields of battle, at sea, in the skies of even the underworld itself; we will always fight one another.
As is only right and just."
3.
"Commander's Log. Entry #244.B89/q - We have succesfully left the system where The Breathing Faclon was lost. Already now do I see the tensions between the Seculra and Vinatri. Their ancients struggles are rising to the surface. The prophecies are hard to swallow, and more and more Urgites are closing down in stasis. I fear for the integrity of the crew, I fear for the future of the Undertaking. My own Mekanth have promised their loyalties to me if the worst should happen. Fools - can't they understand that as their commander I must remain above their petty conflicts? And yet - my hunch is telling me that the darkest hours are yet to come. Regardless, the Undertaking goes on."
4.
"Well done warrior. You have made yourself worthy to serve Us. You have gone through the Augmentation, you have met the dangers and faced the Trials. Now go forth, unto Our enemies. Be adamant in your quest, be ruthless in your execution. Serve Us well, bring Divine Light to the darkest corners of the Multiverse. Please Us, Our child, and your soul will be immortalized upon death. You are a soldier of the Many, and your destiny is to die. Never forget that... Child of Ours."
I hope this will spark your imagination. Choose wisely. :-)
I especially remember one of "my" earliest creations - this was before I was of school age, mind you - where I and two older boys played we were superheroes. I developed a fictional backstory for these three as we all made up their abilities. I remember finding a piece of metal that looked like sword and inventing a story about a magic blade granting heroic powers, and a ring that gave powers to what essentially would become the swordsman's sidekick (me, since I was the youngest). The third was a spider-man like guy named "The Hook" who had powerful equipment that revolved around shooting hooks and slinging from rooftop to rooftop.
Ah, those were the days.
Now, I have always kept this interest moderately active, and now... in the words of a certain psychopathic serial killer; "I'd like to play a game."
I'm going to write three short texts, or quotes rather, and then you'll vote on which will I'll develop further. Nothing big, just for you entertainment. Voting will be done in the poll.
Here we go:
1.
"It is the year 2009, and the world's superheroes are busy fighting crime and stopping the evil masterminds in taking over the world. Norway is no exception; here the magnificent Baldr, the stoic Lion of Norway and the vengeful Hird does battle in order to preserve - or destroy - the nation. Who will win in the end? And what will be of the victor?"
2.
"There can be no peace between Klore and Daynelle. War is the natural state, as the gods intended. Be it on the fields of battle, at sea, in the skies of even the underworld itself; we will always fight one another.
As is only right and just."
3.
"Commander's Log. Entry #244.B89/q - We have succesfully left the system where The Breathing Faclon was lost. Already now do I see the tensions between the Seculra and Vinatri. Their ancients struggles are rising to the surface. The prophecies are hard to swallow, and more and more Urgites are closing down in stasis. I fear for the integrity of the crew, I fear for the future of the Undertaking. My own Mekanth have promised their loyalties to me if the worst should happen. Fools - can't they understand that as their commander I must remain above their petty conflicts? And yet - my hunch is telling me that the darkest hours are yet to come. Regardless, the Undertaking goes on."
4.
"Well done warrior. You have made yourself worthy to serve Us. You have gone through the Augmentation, you have met the dangers and faced the Trials. Now go forth, unto Our enemies. Be adamant in your quest, be ruthless in your execution. Serve Us well, bring Divine Light to the darkest corners of the Multiverse. Please Us, Our child, and your soul will be immortalized upon death. You are a soldier of the Many, and your destiny is to die. Never forget that... Child of Ours."
I hope this will spark your imagination. Choose wisely. :-)
søndag 31. mai 2009
Forumetikette (h.saklig Rettskriving)
Følgende artikkel skrev jeg en megen sen kveld (les: "natt") og la den ut på et forum. Den ble varmt mottatt, og jeg vil dermed dele den med dere også.
In a discussion on any matter, it is normally a good thing to make sense when you state something. If you don't, well that could come from a long range of things.
First, there's a few things we need to clarify:
- English spelling did perhaps make sense in the early 1200s, but now it's as logic-defying as flat-earth society pseudoscience. Which means very.
- English grammar does make sense. If you split it up into all the different languages that English has taken it from. My favorite example of this is plural; nevermind writing ballistas when you can write the archaic ballistae, or nevermind writing shamans, when you can write it shaman with no plural sign. All for the sake of sticking to the originating language. Wow, good job, I'm sure the indigenous people of Siberia and Ancient Rome are thanking you now. But everyone learning English are planning your downfall.
Moving on:
Here's a few short rules:
1. Use periods. That's right, use those little dots. They make things look much, much better. In fact, without them, they make your post look like inane babbling from a kid with ADD who's been forcefed methamfetamin. And you shouldn't do that; those kids have enough to struggle with without you force feeding them illegal drugs. It's not funny even. Seriously.
2. Use spaces. English is not nahuatl. Even though the aztecs (notice my rebellious plural) preferred to have their entire sentence in one word, Anglophones generally do not. And we don't blame them. Well, we do, but this is hardly the worst thing they've done. Honestly, look it up.
3. If you feel like splitting your sentence a bit up, use the comma to do so. They're nifty like that. Make sure you place them where it feels natural with a short break. There's a lot of rules on this, but let's face it; no one here will bite your head off for using them slightly wrong. And if they do, someone will have to call the law enforcement, because losing your head is lethal, and we'd appreciate said head-biter not doing so again. It's really not wanted around here. Take my word for it.
4. Paragraphs are awesome. They aren't so much awesome in the way that Superheroes are when they make things explode and kick perpetrator butt, but rather awesome in the way that photosynthesis is; it just freaking works. Seriously, you'd be amazed by those green things. You totally owe them. Oh, yeah, paragraphs, right.
Use them to divide your text like this when you change subject. Doesn't it look awesome? Almost as awesome as chlorophyll. God, I love that green pigment.
5. The apostrophe is not your friend. And neither is it your enemy. It's just there for you to use. Kinda like a football (or for you who do no recognize the superiority of the metric system; *soccer ball). With it you can make great achievements, but it can also ruin your game. Don't put apostrophes in plural (Cars, not car's). Don't put them in genitive/possessive nouns (His, not he's/"hi's"). And for the love of God, please understand the difference between YOUR and YOU'RE. People have gone on killing-sprees for less than the annoyance this mix up has caused. Oh, and a difference between soccer balls and apostrophes is that no one will pay you millions for playing around with apostrophes. If they ever do, call me. I want to see that.
6. If you're really wondering how to spell a word, or what the meaning of a word is, remember that although it often leads you to obscure nutcase self-proclaimed experts' websites, Google is still your friend. (Not you're friend, remember?) Another option is Word, or similar programs with spell check. My Word doesn't have spell check. According to Google, it's because my aura is blueish-grey, caused by the Illuminati's hiding of Atlantis, which incidentally is populated by aliens cloned by the U.S government. My, what would I do without Google? It's all so clear now. I need to purchase massive amounts of viagra to get better. Obviously.
7. Don't be a douche. Don't attack people and call them names or things like that. And if someone hurts your feelings, take one mental step back and do something else for a minute. Then return and respond in a well-mannered and calm way. Whoever was a douche to you will then get owned. Or, as the grammatically correct form of the verb is; PWND. You will then become what is known by the Mayan and ancient Chinese calendars as OMGZ PWNZORZ! You may then initiate the religious ritual called the "ROFLCOPTER".
Or you know, don't.
(I don't take responsibility for anything said in this post. Neither will I care about people who point out mistakes in it. Because seriously, the time is like 02:20 here. Which means that my IQ is currently reduced by 34%. It's a fact. Look it up. You won't find it though. So don't.)
*Seriously, why isn't "soccer" pronounced "soxer"? I told you it didn't make sense. It doesn't even try to. What's next? "Nucular assesories"? Hahah-, oh, wait...
In a discussion on any matter, it is normally a good thing to make sense when you state something. If you don't, well that could come from a long range of things.
First, there's a few things we need to clarify:
- English spelling did perhaps make sense in the early 1200s, but now it's as logic-defying as flat-earth society pseudoscience. Which means very.
- English grammar does make sense. If you split it up into all the different languages that English has taken it from. My favorite example of this is plural; nevermind writing ballistas when you can write the archaic ballistae, or nevermind writing shamans, when you can write it shaman with no plural sign. All for the sake of sticking to the originating language. Wow, good job, I'm sure the indigenous people of Siberia and Ancient Rome are thanking you now. But everyone learning English are planning your downfall.
Moving on:
Here's a few short rules:
1. Use periods. That's right, use those little dots. They make things look much, much better. In fact, without them, they make your post look like inane babbling from a kid with ADD who's been forcefed methamfetamin. And you shouldn't do that; those kids have enough to struggle with without you force feeding them illegal drugs. It's not funny even. Seriously.
2. Use spaces. English is not nahuatl. Even though the aztecs (notice my rebellious plural) preferred to have their entire sentence in one word, Anglophones generally do not. And we don't blame them. Well, we do, but this is hardly the worst thing they've done. Honestly, look it up.
3. If you feel like splitting your sentence a bit up, use the comma to do so. They're nifty like that. Make sure you place them where it feels natural with a short break. There's a lot of rules on this, but let's face it; no one here will bite your head off for using them slightly wrong. And if they do, someone will have to call the law enforcement, because losing your head is lethal, and we'd appreciate said head-biter not doing so again. It's really not wanted around here. Take my word for it.
4. Paragraphs are awesome. They aren't so much awesome in the way that Superheroes are when they make things explode and kick perpetrator butt, but rather awesome in the way that photosynthesis is; it just freaking works. Seriously, you'd be amazed by those green things. You totally owe them. Oh, yeah, paragraphs, right.
Use them to divide your text like this when you change subject. Doesn't it look awesome? Almost as awesome as chlorophyll. God, I love that green pigment.
5. The apostrophe is not your friend. And neither is it your enemy. It's just there for you to use. Kinda like a football (or for you who do no recognize the superiority of the metric system; *soccer ball). With it you can make great achievements, but it can also ruin your game. Don't put apostrophes in plural (Cars, not car's). Don't put them in genitive/possessive nouns (His, not he's/"hi's"). And for the love of God, please understand the difference between YOUR and YOU'RE. People have gone on killing-sprees for less than the annoyance this mix up has caused. Oh, and a difference between soccer balls and apostrophes is that no one will pay you millions for playing around with apostrophes. If they ever do, call me. I want to see that.
6. If you're really wondering how to spell a word, or what the meaning of a word is, remember that although it often leads you to obscure nutcase self-proclaimed experts' websites, Google is still your friend. (Not you're friend, remember?) Another option is Word, or similar programs with spell check. My Word doesn't have spell check. According to Google, it's because my aura is blueish-grey, caused by the Illuminati's hiding of Atlantis, which incidentally is populated by aliens cloned by the U.S government. My, what would I do without Google? It's all so clear now. I need to purchase massive amounts of viagra to get better. Obviously.
7. Don't be a douche. Don't attack people and call them names or things like that. And if someone hurts your feelings, take one mental step back and do something else for a minute. Then return and respond in a well-mannered and calm way. Whoever was a douche to you will then get owned. Or, as the grammatically correct form of the verb is; PWND. You will then become what is known by the Mayan and ancient Chinese calendars as OMGZ PWNZORZ! You may then initiate the religious ritual called the "ROFLCOPTER".
Or you know, don't.
(I don't take responsibility for anything said in this post. Neither will I care about people who point out mistakes in it. Because seriously, the time is like 02:20 here. Which means that my IQ is currently reduced by 34%. It's a fact. Look it up. You won't find it though. So don't.)
*Seriously, why isn't "soccer" pronounced "soxer"? I told you it didn't make sense. It doesn't even try to. What's next? "Nucular assesories"? Hahah-, oh, wait...
søndag 24. mai 2009
Eg Hev Blogg Anbefaler Internettegneserier, Del 1
Jeg oppdaget fenomenet internettegneserier for noen år siden da jeg surfet rundt. Etter som årene har gått har dette utviklet seg til en form for lidenskap og tidrøyte, og også gitt meg en helt ny respekt for mediet tegneserier.
De aller fleste av oss tenker nok på tegneserier som noe enten barnslig og enkelt, eller i den andre enden av skalaen hvor det er så blodig og perverst (gjerne samitidig) at de aller fleste sier "eh, nei takk" og går.
Dette er ikke sånn det er, langt ifra. Hvis du beveger deg vekk fra det kommersielle hyperspeedmarkedet hvor alt handler om svære pupper på lettkledde jenter med rosa hår (manga) eller menn med så store muskler at enhver bodybuilder burde gå og grine (superhelttegneserier de siste ti årene) så kan du finne perler som oppfordrer til ettertanke, latter eller bare ren og skjær leserglede.
Men, tenker du, jeg gidder ikke betale for det. "Din dritt," kunne jeg sagt, "gå og la hjernen din råtne mens du spiller *grøss* Sims," men det gjøre jeg ikke. For i denne "spalten" kommer jeg til å presentere GRATIS tegneserier av HØY kvalitet!
Alt jeg ønsker tilbake er å få vite om du har lest noen du liker, eller om du leste noen du ikke likte.
Rice Boy - av Evan Dahm
Rice Boy skrevet av den særdeles undrende og talentfulle spanjolen (bosatt i North Carolina) Evan Dahm er noe av det aller, aller beste jeg noensinne har lest, og da inkluderer jeg bøker og - pokker heller - filmer også.
Historien er vanskelig å plassere i noen sjanger, men den har en surrealistisk form som slår meg som svært lik Tove Jansons Mummitegninger. Her kan alt skje, og alle slags merkelige skapninger dukker opp. Men den er så utrolig mye mer; det ligger en sammenhengende historie over hele tegneserien som drives nådeløst fremover med klare farger og enkle streker som lar deg sittende igjen undrende, samtidig som du suger til deg hver eneste detalj av de utrolige omgivelsene.
Det er en ferdig, helt fortalt tegneserie, og jeg er utrolig glad for at jeg har lest den; aldri vil jeg være den samme etter å ha lest om eventyrene til Rice Boy, The One Electronic (T.O.E) eller noen av de andre karakterene i denne verdenen.
Det er riktig, T.O.E, det er så visst ikke over ennå. BOOYAH!
De aller fleste av oss tenker nok på tegneserier som noe enten barnslig og enkelt, eller i den andre enden av skalaen hvor det er så blodig og perverst (gjerne samitidig) at de aller fleste sier "eh, nei takk" og går.
Dette er ikke sånn det er, langt ifra. Hvis du beveger deg vekk fra det kommersielle hyperspeedmarkedet hvor alt handler om svære pupper på lettkledde jenter med rosa hår (manga) eller menn med så store muskler at enhver bodybuilder burde gå og grine (superhelttegneserier de siste ti årene) så kan du finne perler som oppfordrer til ettertanke, latter eller bare ren og skjær leserglede.
Men, tenker du, jeg gidder ikke betale for det. "Din dritt," kunne jeg sagt, "gå og la hjernen din råtne mens du spiller *grøss* Sims," men det gjøre jeg ikke. For i denne "spalten" kommer jeg til å presentere GRATIS tegneserier av HØY kvalitet!
Alt jeg ønsker tilbake er å få vite om du har lest noen du liker, eller om du leste noen du ikke likte.
Rice Boy - av Evan Dahm
Rice Boy skrevet av den særdeles undrende og talentfulle spanjolen (bosatt i North Carolina) Evan Dahm er noe av det aller, aller beste jeg noensinne har lest, og da inkluderer jeg bøker og - pokker heller - filmer også.
Historien er vanskelig å plassere i noen sjanger, men den har en surrealistisk form som slår meg som svært lik Tove Jansons Mummitegninger. Her kan alt skje, og alle slags merkelige skapninger dukker opp. Men den er så utrolig mye mer; det ligger en sammenhengende historie over hele tegneserien som drives nådeløst fremover med klare farger og enkle streker som lar deg sittende igjen undrende, samtidig som du suger til deg hver eneste detalj av de utrolige omgivelsene.
Det er en ferdig, helt fortalt tegneserie, og jeg er utrolig glad for at jeg har lest den; aldri vil jeg være den samme etter å ha lest om eventyrene til Rice Boy, The One Electronic (T.O.E) eller noen av de andre karakterene i denne verdenen.
Det er riktig, T.O.E, det er så visst ikke over ennå. BOOYAH!
tirsdag 12. mai 2009
Takk til de som holder en stakkar oppe
Det skal sies at selv om jeg har et rykte på meg for å kunne mye, så er det ikke alltid at det kommer så godt frem nåt det virkelig gjelder. Tvert imot; jeg har en tendens til å fryse på prøver og innleveringer og får alvorlig angst og vegring. Ikke kult.
Uansett, det finnes noen der ute som har havnet sammen med meg på samarbeid i lab og andre forsøk i forskjellige fag. Disse menneskene fortjener recognition og kudos. Uten dem hadde jeg nok ikke stått her i dag. Jo, det hadde jeg, men altså, ikke ødelegg øyeblikket din kverulant.
Takk til Ragnar Leiros - som tolerer at jeg kommer halvseint til fysikkforsøk og lener meg over og skriver av det han har brukt tid på å finne ut. Jeg håper mine få kommentarer har vært innsiktsfulle nok til at jeg ikke har vært ren dødvekt, Rægg.
Takk til Gitte Bekkedal, som på tross av at hun er et arbeidsjern og systematisk, har sett seg snill nok til å dra latsabben meg med på kjemiforsøk. For pokker ta - hun hadde gjort det bedre alene. Forhåpentligvis veier min kritiske vurderinger av figurer og sære huskregler samt villighet til å vaske opp all slags dritt noe opp for min udugelighet i kvantitativ og kvalitativ lab.
Sist, men ikke minst, takk til Hanne Kivle, som også har måttet slitt med en særdeles konsentrasjonsvanskepreget sullik på sida som hele tiden kommer med usaklige kommentarer på de mest upassende øyeblikk (forsøk, red. anm.) og som om ikke det var nok, har den frekkheten til å naske til seg hennes hardt fremarbeidede rapporter som mal til mine egne (jeg prøver kopiere så lite som mulig Hanne, jeg sverger). Som om ikke dette var nok må hun også tåle at jeg kommer nervøs og nedbrutt og klager over at jeg ikke har levert rapportene mine - som selvfølgelig bare er min egen feil.
Hvis det er andre som føler de hører med i denne gjengen, så beklager jeg bare at du ikke kom med. Men, som de sier i Belgia; det er sent og jeg er trøtt. - Bare på belgisk. Eller, dvs., de snakker jo enten nederlandsk eller fransk i Belgia. Shit, hva blir det da?
Uansett, det finnes noen der ute som har havnet sammen med meg på samarbeid i lab og andre forsøk i forskjellige fag. Disse menneskene fortjener recognition og kudos. Uten dem hadde jeg nok ikke stått her i dag. Jo, det hadde jeg, men altså, ikke ødelegg øyeblikket din kverulant.
Takk til Ragnar Leiros - som tolerer at jeg kommer halvseint til fysikkforsøk og lener meg over og skriver av det han har brukt tid på å finne ut. Jeg håper mine få kommentarer har vært innsiktsfulle nok til at jeg ikke har vært ren dødvekt, Rægg.
Takk til Gitte Bekkedal, som på tross av at hun er et arbeidsjern og systematisk, har sett seg snill nok til å dra latsabben meg med på kjemiforsøk. For pokker ta - hun hadde gjort det bedre alene. Forhåpentligvis veier min kritiske vurderinger av figurer og sære huskregler samt villighet til å vaske opp all slags dritt noe opp for min udugelighet i kvantitativ og kvalitativ lab.
Sist, men ikke minst, takk til Hanne Kivle, som også har måttet slitt med en særdeles konsentrasjonsvanskepreget sullik på sida som hele tiden kommer med usaklige kommentarer på de mest upassende øyeblikk (forsøk, red. anm.) og som om ikke det var nok, har den frekkheten til å naske til seg hennes hardt fremarbeidede rapporter som mal til mine egne (jeg prøver kopiere så lite som mulig Hanne, jeg sverger). Som om ikke dette var nok må hun også tåle at jeg kommer nervøs og nedbrutt og klager over at jeg ikke har levert rapportene mine - som selvfølgelig bare er min egen feil.
Hvis det er andre som føler de hører med i denne gjengen, så beklager jeg bare at du ikke kom med. Men, som de sier i Belgia; det er sent og jeg er trøtt. - Bare på belgisk. Eller, dvs., de snakker jo enten nederlandsk eller fransk i Belgia. Shit, hva blir det da?
søndag 26. april 2009
Flere Youtubekomikere: Derrick Comedy!
Her er en ny gruppe fra min prisbelønte* serie om youtubekomikere! Derrick Comedy er en gruppe på fem personer fra Ny York by som lager noen helt geniale sketsjer.
(*prisbelønt av meg som "Nettets Fordømt Beste Artikler Noensinne, Fy Feite!")
WQXR: The Cool Breeze:
Daughters:
Men det stopper ikke der. Gutta (og jenta, det er en jente som er med) har også produsert sin første spillefilm, som visstnok har fått ekstremt gode kritikker. Den ble først vist i januar i år, og hvis jeg noen gang finner den, så skal jeg leie/kjøpe den.
Mystery Team:
(*prisbelønt av meg som "Nettets Fordømt Beste Artikler Noensinne, Fy Feite!")
WQXR: The Cool Breeze:
Daughters:
Men det stopper ikke der. Gutta (og jenta, det er en jente som er med) har også produsert sin første spillefilm, som visstnok har fått ekstremt gode kritikker. Den ble først vist i januar i år, og hvis jeg noen gang finner den, så skal jeg leie/kjøpe den.
Mystery Team:
Eg Hev Blogg tar nå forslag!
Du leste riktig! Om du da ikke er dyslektiker og leste "Eg Hev Bog går i forlag!" noe som er helt feil. Faktisk er jeg ikke sikker på om det er noe som heter "Eg Hev Bog", og om det finnes, snakker vi da om skinkebog eller annen bog?
Uansett, hvis du har noe brenner for, eller ønsker å lære mer om, men ikke klarer å få satt i perspektiv, eller du har rett og slett en GENIAL idé som du like godt vil gi bort så bare e-mail meg på bent_noddy@hotmail.com eller send meg en melding på Facebook.
Vit at jeg har både smak, moral og tidsbegrensning, så jeg gidder ikke gjøre en attensiders dekning på hvorfor pedofile er dritkule. Om det da ikke er fullstending ironisk ment og de atten sidene er av lånerstørrelse. Du vet, lånere. *knis*
Inntil da, STAY REAL BITCHES!
Russerevyen Available on DVD!
Kunne du ikke se russerevyen fra Arendal Vgs sin meget talentfulle og generelt sett slående vakre revygruppe? Da har du din sjanse nå! For bare en hundrelapp kan du få den nesten to timer lange revyen hjem til deg til odel og eie, samt eksklusivt bak-kulissene materiale! DAYUM! Men ikke hør på meg, hør på hva andre fornøyde kunder har å si:
"I Sovjetsamveldet kjøper ikke du Russerevy-DVDen, Russerevy-DVDen kjøper DEG!"
- Stalin
"Dette er en blogg med et innlegg om en Russerevy-DVD."
- Kaptein Innlysende
"KJØP DEN ELLER DØ!"
- Torpedo-Kjell
"E blir forbanna."
- Han politimannen som IKKE er Tom-Arnt.
Anyways...
Personene på coveret er (ovenfra venstre og videre:)
Mette som en konferansierdame,
Julie som en liten gutt på fisketur,
Runa som überhore,
Steffen som indignert purk (slå det opp i ordboka dere),
Nebojsa som fransk blotter, men snabben sensurert (takk Gud),
Vibeke som sykesøster (søster Abrahamsen, uansett hva andre måtte kalle henne),
Haralampos som medlem av Friastronomlosjens Eldsteråd,
Finn Adrian som asiatisk reporter i Migrapolis som av en eller annen grunn har på seg en bitteliten sombrero,
Grete som Torill Rolstad Larsen, en INTENS versjon av Torill Rolstad Larsen.
Meg (Bent Eilif) som PROFESSOR BERGQUIST!
Preben som en bimbo som jobber på Kiwi, and what a bimbo he was!
og sist men ikke minst Maria som en søt liten muslimsk pike som også er ambulansesjåfør.
Ikke mist denne perla! For husk:
OBS OBS! Begrenset opplag!
"I Sovjetsamveldet kjøper ikke du Russerevy-DVDen, Russerevy-DVDen kjøper DEG!"
- Stalin
"Dette er en blogg med et innlegg om en Russerevy-DVD."
- Kaptein Innlysende
"KJØP DEN ELLER DØ!"
- Torpedo-Kjell
"E blir forbanna."
- Han politimannen som IKKE er Tom-Arnt.
Anyways...
Personene på coveret er (ovenfra venstre og videre:)
Mette som en konferansierdame,
Julie som en liten gutt på fisketur,
Runa som überhore,
Steffen som indignert purk (slå det opp i ordboka dere),
Nebojsa som fransk blotter, men snabben sensurert (takk Gud),
Vibeke som sykesøster (søster Abrahamsen, uansett hva andre måtte kalle henne),
Haralampos som medlem av Friastronomlosjens Eldsteråd,
Finn Adrian som asiatisk reporter i Migrapolis som av en eller annen grunn har på seg en bitteliten sombrero,
Grete som Torill Rolstad Larsen, en INTENS versjon av Torill Rolstad Larsen.
Meg (Bent Eilif) som PROFESSOR BERGQUIST!
Preben som en bimbo som jobber på Kiwi, and what a bimbo he was!
og sist men ikke minst Maria som en søt liten muslimsk pike som også er ambulansesjåfør.
Ikke mist denne perla! For husk:
OBS OBS! Begrenset opplag!
Så var vi russ!
Jepp, så var det gjort! Fredag smalt det i Pollen og en heil haug med russ var samlet for å gjøre masse tull og stå og ruse med bilene sine.
Jeg og my man Steffen underholdte som de to politimennene "E å Tomm-ænt" og Runa, Maria og Vibeke var vaskedamehorer eller noe i den dur. Haralampos fikk kjørt seg som horekunde nok en gang.
Etter oss var det noen gutter som breaka, og noe taleopplegg. Nei, vent det var før. Jaja, ihvertfall ble det hele avsluttet med halvnakne gutter som hoppet i pollen, og onen svartruss som flasha rompa på flytebrygga. Livet er fullt av overraskelser.
Så bar det til Tromøya, nærmere bestemt en parkeringsplass på Spornes. Her var det gnudd med russ, hvorav svartrussen holdt seg i egne "konsentrasjonsleirer" og rødrussen rava rundt i diverse grader av berusethet.
Nebojsa DJ'a, og det gjorde tydeligvis også halve mannskapet på hver bil, ettersom det var knapt umulig å høre en kjeft inne i dem.
Synes å huske at noen stakk av med mobilen min, men det var vel faktisk jeg som stakk av fra den. D'OH!
Verdt å nevne er vel også at Matilde prøvde å skyve en snus opp i munnen på meg, selv om jeg forklarte henne at det var bortkasta. Det var den, og den datt rett ned på bakken. Bortkasta snus, sa jeg.
Dessuten må jeg nevne Thomas Bm og gjengen fra Wunderbar som var så snille og lot meg kruse med dem. All kudos til dem! :D
Og dessuten min kjære mor som møtte opp i ettida og HENTA MEG, enda jeg hadde sagt meg frivillig til å holde det gående til morgenen. Når jeg tenker på det så kan det være nettopp derfor hun kom. Nåja, vi var faktisk ganske mange som måtte krype til korset og ty til foreldrene etterhvert. For det var jo faktisk dritkaldt. Jeg fikk låne et teppe av Malin (som jeg ikke tror er med på noen russebil, men hvis hun er det så må jeg bare beklage) og det var konge. Det var forresten også rosa, noe som gjorde at jeg fikk en del merkelige blikk. De om det.
Håper dere hadde det like moro som meg, og at videre russeeventer blir like heidundrende! W00t W00t!
Cheers!
fredag 17. april 2009
How to kill the music industry
Note: This article is old, and I know it has been shared other places before, but I still think it is a good article. So here goes nothing.
Source: http://torrentfreak.com/how-to-kill-the-music-industry-090227/
During The Pirate Bay trial, the music industry placed the blame for the decline in their revenues squarely on the shoulders of file-sharers. Their logic is clearly flawed, but it could sway the verdict if no alternative explanation is presented. So, if piracy isn’t to blame, then what is *actually* killing the music industry?
According to Per Sundin, CEO of Universal Music, the decline in music revenues in the past 8 years can be fully attributed to (read: blamed on) illegal file sharing. If this were actually true, many of us might even respect his decision to go after pirates as fiercely as the music industry is doing right now. However, the past 8 years have seen a lot more changes in the landscape of home entertainment than Per Sundin would like to admit, and some of those changes have had a massive impact on music profitability — much more so than any amount of piracy.
Let us refresh our memories and take a look at what actually happened during and just before the past 8 years:
1. First, the explosive rise of computer and console gaming. This competitive ‘third element’ has appeared in the entertainment landscape, beaten both music and movies to the curb and taken a huge cut out of the music industry’s revenues. Consumers don’t have infinitely-deep pockets, and billions of ‘recreation dollars’ that used to go almost exclusively to music, are now going into gaming.
2. International trade agreements have allowed consumers to buy their music across borders, rather than accepting local prices on music based on the ‘relative wealth’ of nations, rather than the actual value of the product.
3. New forms of distributable media, most notably MP3s but also CDs, have become mainstream. These new media don’t degrade over time and rarely break at all, making music rebuys a thing of the past, and allowing the second-hand market for music to thrive and expand - both of which take a cut out of the music industry’s former revenues.
4. Radical technological innovation has taken place in the field of music creation, processing, mixing, and mastering. Recording hardware, CD burners, music software, and media encoders have evolved to the point where most artists can actually afford decent-quality equipment to do their own recording and producing. Furthermore, this has fostered literally thousands of smaller, specialized studios that are challenging the ‘Big 4′ with lower prices, better terms for artists, genre-specific expertise, etc. Successful artists can now leave the big labels and start their own recording outfits on relatively modest budgets. Naturally, super stars like The Beatles or Frank Sinatra have always had this option, but the recent technological advances have lowered the bar drastically. This development is depriving the ‘Big 4′ of many of their former cash cows, who now use the major labels for their advertising and distribution infrastructure alone.
5. The World Wide Web has become an omnipresent force in the world, allowing cheap, end-to-end distribution of digital music, increasingly cutting out the corporate music distributors, who deal in trucks and CD covers, rather than bytes and bandwidth. With iTunes leading the way (very successfully ‘competing with free’, I might add), billions of songs are now purchased digitally rather than physically, no longer necessitating the big labels’ distribution networks.
6. The total number of radio stations, music television networks and other ’streaming’ sources of music has grown exponentially, giving music fans a huge selection of free (and legal) music options. Satellite radio, DAB, and internet radio broadcasts have made it trivial for consumers to simply tune into a channel broadcasting the exact sub-genre of music that they feel like listening to (they can even have a stream created for them dynamically, e.g. on Pandora), making the *purchase* of music entirely optional for the casual listener.
7. A massive selection of entertainment alternatives (home computing, console gaming, mobile devices, etc.) have appeared in the home, effectively marginalizing music as an activity. 15-20 years ago, youths would regularly visit each other just to listen to music together; today, that is virtually unthinkable without some form of activity involved, such as playing Guitar Hero or Rock Band, or dancing at a concert.
8. And finally, the music industry itself has embraced the opportunities of digital media, at last letting consumers buy *single* tracks at a time rather than forcing entire albums full of ‘fillers’ on them. Looking at the RIAA’s own sales figures for the past 10 years, there is a *direct* correlation between the break-off in album sales and the introduction and increase in single track digital sales. Looking at the actual numbers, it is abundantly clear that the vast majority of consumers never wanted to buy full albums in the first place, but were merely forced to by the lack of affordable single-track media. Now that the digital revolution has arrived, countless millions of 16-track album sales are being turned into 1- or 2-track sales, *decimating* the former revenues on music. THIS is the real reason why the music industry is hurting.
In other words: The “it’s common sense” argument that the music industry is peddling in their attempt to tie the declining revenues to piracy, simply doesn’t hold. It is not as clear-cut as the industry believes; the true reason for the decline is something they are still unwilling to face, but will have to face sooner or later:
The fact is that the music industry’s revenues have been artificially inflated for decades because of limited consumer options. The last 15 years of innovation have lifted those limitations, effectively leaving the music industry with an obsolete, defective business model of monopolized production technology, forced album bundling, and almost nonexistent competition in the realm of home entertainment. What is happening now - the decline of music profits and the piracy witch hunt by the music industry - is merely the panicked struggle of a dying business model, a complacent industry’s refusal to accept its diminishing role in a digital world. The pirates are not the reason, and the decline is the not the disease. It is the cure.
Source: http://torrentfreak.com/how-to-kill-the-music-industry-090227/
During The Pirate Bay trial, the music industry placed the blame for the decline in their revenues squarely on the shoulders of file-sharers. Their logic is clearly flawed, but it could sway the verdict if no alternative explanation is presented. So, if piracy isn’t to blame, then what is *actually* killing the music industry?
According to Per Sundin, CEO of Universal Music, the decline in music revenues in the past 8 years can be fully attributed to (read: blamed on) illegal file sharing. If this were actually true, many of us might even respect his decision to go after pirates as fiercely as the music industry is doing right now. However, the past 8 years have seen a lot more changes in the landscape of home entertainment than Per Sundin would like to admit, and some of those changes have had a massive impact on music profitability — much more so than any amount of piracy.
Let us refresh our memories and take a look at what actually happened during and just before the past 8 years:
1. First, the explosive rise of computer and console gaming. This competitive ‘third element’ has appeared in the entertainment landscape, beaten both music and movies to the curb and taken a huge cut out of the music industry’s revenues. Consumers don’t have infinitely-deep pockets, and billions of ‘recreation dollars’ that used to go almost exclusively to music, are now going into gaming.
2. International trade agreements have allowed consumers to buy their music across borders, rather than accepting local prices on music based on the ‘relative wealth’ of nations, rather than the actual value of the product.
3. New forms of distributable media, most notably MP3s but also CDs, have become mainstream. These new media don’t degrade over time and rarely break at all, making music rebuys a thing of the past, and allowing the second-hand market for music to thrive and expand - both of which take a cut out of the music industry’s former revenues.
4. Radical technological innovation has taken place in the field of music creation, processing, mixing, and mastering. Recording hardware, CD burners, music software, and media encoders have evolved to the point where most artists can actually afford decent-quality equipment to do their own recording and producing. Furthermore, this has fostered literally thousands of smaller, specialized studios that are challenging the ‘Big 4′ with lower prices, better terms for artists, genre-specific expertise, etc. Successful artists can now leave the big labels and start their own recording outfits on relatively modest budgets. Naturally, super stars like The Beatles or Frank Sinatra have always had this option, but the recent technological advances have lowered the bar drastically. This development is depriving the ‘Big 4′ of many of their former cash cows, who now use the major labels for their advertising and distribution infrastructure alone.
5. The World Wide Web has become an omnipresent force in the world, allowing cheap, end-to-end distribution of digital music, increasingly cutting out the corporate music distributors, who deal in trucks and CD covers, rather than bytes and bandwidth. With iTunes leading the way (very successfully ‘competing with free’, I might add), billions of songs are now purchased digitally rather than physically, no longer necessitating the big labels’ distribution networks.
6. The total number of radio stations, music television networks and other ’streaming’ sources of music has grown exponentially, giving music fans a huge selection of free (and legal) music options. Satellite radio, DAB, and internet radio broadcasts have made it trivial for consumers to simply tune into a channel broadcasting the exact sub-genre of music that they feel like listening to (they can even have a stream created for them dynamically, e.g. on Pandora), making the *purchase* of music entirely optional for the casual listener.
7. A massive selection of entertainment alternatives (home computing, console gaming, mobile devices, etc.) have appeared in the home, effectively marginalizing music as an activity. 15-20 years ago, youths would regularly visit each other just to listen to music together; today, that is virtually unthinkable without some form of activity involved, such as playing Guitar Hero or Rock Band, or dancing at a concert.
8. And finally, the music industry itself has embraced the opportunities of digital media, at last letting consumers buy *single* tracks at a time rather than forcing entire albums full of ‘fillers’ on them. Looking at the RIAA’s own sales figures for the past 10 years, there is a *direct* correlation between the break-off in album sales and the introduction and increase in single track digital sales. Looking at the actual numbers, it is abundantly clear that the vast majority of consumers never wanted to buy full albums in the first place, but were merely forced to by the lack of affordable single-track media. Now that the digital revolution has arrived, countless millions of 16-track album sales are being turned into 1- or 2-track sales, *decimating* the former revenues on music. THIS is the real reason why the music industry is hurting.
In other words: The “it’s common sense” argument that the music industry is peddling in their attempt to tie the declining revenues to piracy, simply doesn’t hold. It is not as clear-cut as the industry believes; the true reason for the decline is something they are still unwilling to face, but will have to face sooner or later:
The fact is that the music industry’s revenues have been artificially inflated for decades because of limited consumer options. The last 15 years of innovation have lifted those limitations, effectively leaving the music industry with an obsolete, defective business model of monopolized production technology, forced album bundling, and almost nonexistent competition in the realm of home entertainment. What is happening now - the decline of music profits and the piracy witch hunt by the music industry - is merely the panicked struggle of a dying business model, a complacent industry’s refusal to accept its diminishing role in a digital world. The pirates are not the reason, and the decline is the not the disease. It is the cure.
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