Two-Fisted Science!

Damn.

2008-03-18T22:19:04Z

Writer Arthur C Clarke dies at 90.

Without him, I almost certainly would not be where I am today.

Dave's succinct review of the Transformers movie.

2007-08-04T22:18:26Z

If you abandon your wife and newborn baby to see one film this year, make sure that film is Transformers.

So.... flash floods.

2007-07-22T14:06:07Z

Any Americans reading this are doubtless going to be a bit bemused, given rainy old England's popular image but really, flash floods are something of a novelty here. We generally get much more businesslike rain. None of this flashy months-worth-in-12-hours stuff. Rain that settles in and does the job without fuss. The rivers swell and burst their banks, but you can see that coming with the water levels rising inch by inch. The valleys fill up, but only after they and the hilltops have been pretty sodden for a while. But what we had on Friday was, without question, a flash flood. And bugger me but it caused some chaos.

I work out in the sticks. This means, again for the benefit of Americans and others used to somewhat larger scale countries, twenty whole minutes of riding down country lanes to get there. In the twenty minutes it took me to get to work I got wetter than I've ever been while clothed, including the occasion in which I fell off a barge into a canal. Bike leathers hold so much water it's silly. Most of the morning I spent stealing heaters to dry my clothes over. (Several people will be coming back from business trips to cold offices. Screw them, I was wet.) Around about lunchtime the road outside my office started to flood, people frantically wading out to move their cars before the water level rose over the doors. My amused observation of all this was interrupted by the wife calling to say the back garden was under water. After some thought I asked her to speak to the neighbor and see if this is a common occurrence. Then the rain stopped, some fire engines pumped the water outside the office away and I didn't think any more of it until Nicola phoned again to say Bill hadn't seen water like this in the fifty years he'd been living here, and it had risen another six inches in the last 20 minutes. Fuck.

I can't find the boss, so I just bugger off. (it's that kind of office, to those of you who can't do that sort of thing I have just this to say: Suckers!) The local travel news says that many local roads are "impassible" but I have my secret weapon. Betsy-Jane, my trusty Kawasaki ER-5. Yes, that's a motorcycle. No, I am not insane. (Unless you're talking about naming them, in which case I might be a little) A motorcycle has three advantages in flood conditions. Big wheels. As long as you keep the speed down, big wheels help get over whatever crap's been washed onto the road, or out of any new potholes. (And seriously, who does anything other than a crawl in floodwater?) High exhaust/air intake. It'll run in 18 inches of water, easy. And finally if it does stall, I can always push it out onto high ground and start it again. I'd like to see you do that with a 4 by 4. Obviously, the downside is if I drop it it will pin me underwater, I'll drown and my waterlogged body will be repeatedly run over by recovery vehicles until the water level drops and my pancaked corpse will be revealed in all it's grisly glory. But I try not to dwell on the negative.

I set off and I'm immediately stuck by how dry the high ground is. Then I hit my first valley and discover exactly where all the water went. The bridge is out. This utterly confounds me. This is 21st Century Britain, not the wild west. The bridge is not supposed to be washed out by 12 hours of rainfall. We build better bridges than that, there's a sodding nursery rhyme about it. There's nothing for it but to turn around and try another route. Trouble is, I've just passed a school and dozens of parents have turned up to collect their children. No one can get out one way and the traffic's stacked back to block all the turnings. After some pandemonium a group of five of us break away and turn down a long windy road that's at least half washed away. There's great swathes of it where the flood waters washed stones over it so it's like riding along a shingle beach. (Not recommended in road tires.) The tarmac's been ripped up in places and scattered over the rest of the road in great chunks. One by one drivers balk at some obstacle or other until it's only myself and one other still traveling. Eventually we hit a road parallel to our original direction of travel, huzzah! It's under six inches of water, boo!

A local resident, in true Dunkirk spirit is standing at the junction directing traffic. When told my destination he thinks for a bit then replies "try down here then take green lane to the left. At least, no-one I've directed down there has come back." There's two ways of interpreting that, but I thank him for his advice and start down the road, and much to my relief gets better before long.

Trouble is, parallel to my original direction is perpendicular to the valley that blocked it in the first place. There's a travelodge along the way where people are being waved in by helpful bystanders: apparently the way forward is blocked, stop here, they have a bar. Tempting, but my wife and child need me. (It's been best part of an hour now, that could be another foot and a half of water for all I knew.) I move on and they call after me "See you soon." Thanks for the vote of confidence.

Sure enough, it is well and truly flooded. Foot and a half with an abandoned car in the middle. This is how I discover the bike works fine in 18 inches of water: halfway through I meet another biker coming in the opposite direction. We exchange wry looks and continue on. After that the story rather fizzles out, as that was the last of the water and apart from horrendous traffic over the M4 junction (which concerned us motorcyclists not one whit) it was clear sailing back home, where the water levels were already sinking and no furniture had to be moved upstairs.

But there. My wife called and I didn't let rain nor flood nor washed out bridges stop me. I was officially mighty.

It was also fun, but don't let that distract you from the mighty.

Culture Clash

2007-05-09T16:36:07Z

What happens when a British institution is introduced to the ailing digestive system of a post-op American? Click here to view my most fiendish plot yet.

I am so pleased with myself.

Where the hell is Chris?

2007-04-18T19:14:14Z

I'm giving away the suprise here, but I was expecting outpourings of joy/disgust. Even given I made the mistake of posting overseas during the Easter weekend, the parcel should have arrived.

I expected stories! Possibly with a step-by-step photo diary.

WHERE'S THE DAMN MARMITE CHRIS?!

Attention Americans: The Appreciation and Use of Marmite.

2007-04-02T21:43:44Z

OK, one random conversation about Marmite is fair enough. Two a co-incidence. Three and it's time to get out the soapbox and start preaching, just so I don't have to do it again.

Let's start with the basics. Marmite is a spiced and fortified yeast extract. Yeast extract owes its existence to brilliant and influential German biochemist Justus von Liebig, who's work on agricultural chemistry paved the way for modern farming. While his work mostly centred around fertiliser, or adding nutritious chemicals to plants, yeast extract was a reversal of this, extracting nutritious chemicals from yeast. Yeast was a colossal waste product of the time, used in brewing and then discarded, and it was hoped that by using it for nutrition it would help stave off the inevitable famine that population growth experts were predicting at the turn of the twentieth century.

So, Marmite was created with Science, and will stave off World Hunger. It does actually get better, it has been suggested that it could be the answer to World Peace. I kid you not: Edward de Bono, creator of Lateral Thinking suggested that the Arab-Israel conflict might be at least in part caused by the amounts of unleavened bread eaten on both sides. Unleavened bread is low in zinc and a symptom of zinc deficiency is heightened aggression. de Bono proposed introducing Marmite to the area and waiting for calmer thoughts to prevail.

Quite frankly, as a food of Science, with ambitions of ending World Hunger and introducing World Peace any Etherite worth his goggles should be rushing out to buy shares in the Marmite corporation. You can't though, it was bought up lock, stock, barrel and (most importantly) corporate identity by Unilever, the chemical multinational.

So, while you can't get in at the top floor, you might be able to get some Marmite to enjoy on a personal level. This is not entirely straightforward. Just as an exquisitely sharpened marble chisel may produce either a work of art or a nine fingered artisan, Marmite can be gastronomic heaven or a rude shock to the gag reflex. We'll start simple. Some people cook with it, some enjoy it in cheese sandwiches, but the first, best and universally recognised way to eat Marmite is on toast.

Start with the bread. Take your crusty, whole-grain, flour-dusted farmhouse loaf. Then throw it away. Marmite works best on a cheap steam-baked loaf of white bread. The stuff that comes pre-sliced (presumably with lasers or something) as any attempt to introduce it to a knife would result in a bread goo. Pop it in a toaster, on a low setting. You want it golden-brown, no more. You also want it hot: Have plate, butter, knife and Marmite all handy and hover over the toaster. The instant it pops, have it on the plate and slather butter on it generously. Then comes the Marmite. Take a small amount on the knife and scrape it over the toast. Scrape is the keyword. It goes on thin. It's not jam, it's not peanut butter, it's not string cheese. (I'm looking at you here Chris.) Get into the right mindset: You're a dour Yorkshire man who worked a 12 hour shift down a coal mine to buy that pot of Marmite, and it has to last a family of 6 for a month.

You want to see the toast though it. Patchiness in the coverage is fine, thick black layers of the stuff is not.

Eat. Enjoy. That's an Order.

OOC show of hands?

2007-01-20T00:16:51Z

I'm thinking of setting up a play-by-web nomic game. Nomic is a game where the rules simply detail how to propose, amend and repeal rules, and outline a trivial win condition that's almost certain to be repealed in the early stages. It plays like a cross between playground make-it-up-as-you-go games and parliamentary democracy.

Anyone interested?

aveether @ 2007-01-04T23:08:00

2007-01-04T22:08:58Z

As Flashman would say, this is why so much of the map is pink. It makes you proud to be British.

Who said I was dead?

2006-10-04T20:13:38Z

Things are getting complicated. There's this weird dimensional anomaly the far side of the gauntlet that's had the ethernaughts and the mystics running scared since it popped up, back around the time we lost Alexis. I've always dismissed it as rather lower on my list of priorities than anything that actually exists in the same world as I do, which is why I'm so particularly aggrieved to see it pop into existence, blood red pinprick in my night sky. Nick holds forth at length about some EDIs he saw this side too, but I don't really listen because I'm too distracted by the realisation that his wierd little two piece suit, the one with pengiuns running from brightly coloured flaming polygons, is a pair of pyjamas.

What really drives the EDI issue home to me is the conversation I hold with one.

I'm out on a night patrol, barely skirting rooftops when I suddenly get hailed. And not in the acceptable, "Holy Jesus, what the hell is that?" manner, but the much more relaxed, take-this-sort-of-thing-in-their-stride cry of "come in number nine, your time is up." Spotted I can cope with. Accepted is another thing altogether.

Once I'm down on terra firma, or at least rooftop firma, I'm confronted by a suddenly confused looking young woman, confusion I mirror once I realise there's no way onto this particular ledge bar flying. Clearly neither of us is what the other was expecting, but I'm fairly certain that I have the monopoly on winged heroics, which puts her in the other camp by default. She quails quite satisfactoraly once I issue a challenge, gasping out a frantic "Who are you?" Sometimes the cliche's play into my hands. With my most menacing voice I growl out "I am StormAngel".

I'm quite put out when she immediately relaxes and even laughs a little. "Oh, it's you. Tony told me about you. I'm Xian."

Tony is an alias used by Raven, but I'm off by balance, and I stomp all over the following delicate conversation in my size 12s. After the umpteenth time I blurt out "Ra-, er Tony" she points out we both know the next syllable is "ven" and we might as well stop skirting the issue.

Things start to fall in place like Nick's flaming tetris pieces. Rooftop eirie, woman who expects flying people but not myself, and most importantly a hasty injection of primal energy discharge scintillator mix in my goggles add up to bullshit from "Raven" and EDI in front of me. I'd be more cut up but I figured something was up after that time he asked me to modify an IR camera for him. Angels traditionally don't worry about the dark.

Seeking to regain the upper foot, I aggressively demand to know what the hell an EDI is doing on my side of the Gauntlet. It half works, she's unbalanced that I know the terminology, but the regainst the conversational high ground by pointing out that she was born here.

This really screws my world perception. I've never been one for the immutable and eternal viewpoint, but I did imagine that we were clinging to our little islands of stability relatively alone. Not so if Xian is to be believed. There's some hellishly complicated biology involved but there's a wierd three parent talent show: Two regular performers and a special guest EDI.

I'm black hole curious, but my stellar companion soon dries up with info, then makes me swear up and down I won't tell a soul. I probably shouldn't have mentioned the whole 'mule' thing. Still, better than the first word which popped into my head: 'parasite'.

Dawn's creeping up on the horizon like a luminous buffalo trying to crest a hill without being noticed, time to get normal. I have one last chance to make a good impression, the slow, majestic unfolding of my wings is probably not that likely to impress an aviform EDI, but it's all I have. I strike a suitable pose, trigger the mechanism, nothing happens. Try again. Same thing.

In the end, they don't damn well open until I've taken them off and am poking at them with a screwdriver. When they do go, it's with such force that they sweep my feet from under me and Xian doesn't even try to contain her laughter.

Ahem. What's important is I've learned something.

Egads.

2006-08-27T13:42:29Z

Yes, they call it shear thickening fluid....

But we all know it's really Solarium Enhanced Quasi-Antithixotropic armour.

I should have patented it when I had the chance...

Etherite Entrance Exam: Sample Question

2006-08-10T19:11:04Z

Dave is a grumpy scientist, working on a complicated program at work, drinking unsweetened black instant coffee. Each time he is interrupted and forced to attend some pointless meeting he returns to his part drunk and now cold coffee, rather than remake it he simply dumps another spoon of coffee powder into it and tops it up with boiling water.

If the fraction of coffee he can drink between interruptions is a, the mass of coffee in a spoon m and the volume of the mug is V, 1) what is the stready state concentration of coffee he is drinking at the end of the day and 2) is he any closer to solving his problem?

Why Dave's Getting Married

2006-06-01T20:47:09Z

I just needed the excuse. God bless stag parties.

I won't turn on the computer again until after the honeymoon. You never know, I might actually update then.

See you all July 18th.

Off Topic Pimpage

2005-10-26T18:08:24Z

This is Wyreth, a version of the Atlantis play by e-mail strategy game, the last iteration of which saw me bestride the world like a colossus.

A new game is about to begin. Your faction needs you! And yes, that's your faction as in "faction that belongs to you". Total Power! Wage War, Trade Goods, Levy Taxes, Recruit Armies Be crushed beneath my booted heel.

Rules can be found here.

The fellow who runs it can be contacted at (excuse the pitiful attempt to avoid email harvesting bots here) jtolly at ginger-wizard dot co dot uk.

Advisor, the program that turned the text based game into that pretty map above, and can take the grind out of submitting orders (Very, very helpful if you want to keep your innumerable legions fed without resorting to a spreadsheet) can be found here.

Come on, you all know you miss gaming with me :-)

Vintage Id

2005-10-24T20:46:02Z

(I've realised I've forgotten a moment of Id related pure gold, so this first part should go back in the chronology somewhere before John and Spark's disastrous date.)

Once again, I'm in the lounge at Titan's, Sparks over me like cheap cologne when Id strolls in the door, taking her relentless assault rather effortlessly in his stride. I manage to catch his eye over Sparks' head and mouth "help me" at him. With a long suffering sigh and a put-upon look he catches her attention and gravely announces, "Sparks. John's gay."

In retrospect it was a useful lie, but I grew up in a time when being called gay was an insult, and with an attractive young woman hanging off me, my mental equilibrium wasn't exactly top notch to begin with. While Sparks is looking at him with an expression of wonder, I glare at him with murder in the eyes and try to turn the tables back on him. "That's right Sparks. Id and I have been a couple for some months now."

It's hard to get a good prevarication off when you're furious, so Sparks just bursts out laughing and Id sighs again, doubtless irritated I'd spoiled his perfectly good falsehood. Perhaps I should have gone with it. Or perhaps clouted him. Damn fellow's too smart for his own good sometimes.

(Right, with that out the way, back to conventional chronology)

I take a day off to cool down after the Sparks debacle, so as I stride back into Titans bearing down on the resident psychonomist for a chance to vent it becomes clear that Sparks has already bent his ear. I can tell from the way he pales and tries to hide when he sees me. Still, with my version of events recounted Id does admit that she's barking mad. Score one for Etherite solidarity. 'Course, it doesn't last, two days later he's making excuses for her. He gets about as far as "She's brightest around you to dazzle you, you dolt, not to be reflected off of you" before I cut him off shortly. "You ever been on a date with her?" He mutters a negative so I storm on "Then how do you claim to know her better than I?"

I've got him on the defensive, for a change, but he rallies and starts off "I was with her the other day, and she was talking and showing me pictures of her daughter..." the rest of what he might have said goes unheard as I blurt out "Daughter?"

He laughs at me! The spiteful little wretch actually throws back his head and laughs at me! "I'm sorry,” he says, dabbing tears of mirth from his eyes as he does so "but all the self righteous indignation just fell off your face. I mean, imagine I, a trained psychologist might know someone better than you... I.. er." This last is because my face is a thundercloud and Id's suddenly aware he's just volunteered for lightning rod duty. Counting to ten isn't cutting it, I'm on thirty-seven before I feel sufficiently in command of myself to growl out an icy acknowledgment that I might have insulted his Science but..... in fact, the but just gets left hanging, and with a rather chill atmosphere we both make our separate exits.

That man needs a good lesson in camaraderie. In fact, that gives me an idea....

OOC confession...

2005-10-14T10:55:05Z

I've got writers block. As the next update is an Id-defining moment, I want to get it right. Bear with me while I flounder.

I personally blame this on the realisation that I have not played, as opposed to run, Mage (discounting New Bremen, where you by necessity ran yourself most of the time) since 1999. 1999. Bloody hellfire.

Hrm

2005-09-29T11:26:20Z

Week long residential course on shock physics.

In Washington.

This job does have its perks....

You know something is wrong....

2005-09-08T13:11:32Z

...when you throw down an incomprehensible paper and say "Enough! I need to do something easy" and pick up "The calculus of functions of several variables".

Even if the printing of the next chaper does buy you enough time in front of the networked computer to moan about it on LJ..

RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGH!

2005-09-06T12:38:46Z

*kicks the NEA database and it's oh-so-helpful 341-page manual clear across the channel back to France*

Anyone want to save my life by telling me the neutron transport cross section of tungsten before I hurl myself out the window in frustration?

State of the Dave

2005-08-24T18:36:19Z

I'm not dead.

Graduated recently. Been a doctor in all but name for a while now, now the name's there too.

New job, started a week ago. Those who know what it is, know what it is, those who don't, you'll have to ask me. It's best left away from the prying eye of hippies with search engines.

A new house is in the works. This will dramatically increase my net access from "almost none" to "some". Optimists might expect a proper update around then.

That's all!

Etherdickery pt. 2

2005-06-30T13:07:23Z

Shaking with fury I storm out of the place, which gives me just enough time to form a coherent argument before Sparks comes hurtling out after me. I'm not in the mood for banter though so I outline exactly what she's been up to, voice dripping frozen hatred. She tries denials, until they're ground into a paste by remorseless logic. She tries misdirection, which I see though. Ultimately she bounces the ball back into my court to try and regain the upper ground. "What do you want John?"

Ha, that one's easy. "I want you to leave me alone" I grate, simultaneously giving her a means of escape and and a mirzaba-like make-or-break test of her perfidity. Never let it be said I'm not a scientist to the core.

She fails. "No John, I won't let you go, not with you thinking those things about me." I should probably start looking for the mind wipe laser beam or something, but I'm fed up with the whole conversation and figure it's time to end it. I might be thoroughly outshone by the Adpet in most regards, but at least I have a better turn of speed that she does.

Or not. I'm not used to these stupid, tread-less, formal shoes and as I turn to run they slip out from under me. I catch my balance, but by the time I've turned around I've spent a whole lot of time getting nowhere and Sparks is back in front of me*. "Why?" is about all I can pick out of her incoherent wails at this point. Abruptly, undiplomatically, but oh so satisfyingly, I answer.

The slap stings like a sonovabitch and its surprising I don't clock her then and there, but a peculiar zen like calm caused by over exposure settles over me. I'm so far beyond irritated I'm out the other side, and just don't care anymore. With her trailing along behind me I just start the long walk home, utterly aloof to whatever else she might hurl at me. Until she takes a turn for the literal, and lobs a water balloon at the back of my head. Shocked, drenched and frozen in the cold weather, I stand stock still for a moment, until a second, confetti filled balloon follows.

Jesus wept. Dignity in shreds, yammering whore following me, I walk home courting lady thrombosis the whole way. Finally, I get to slam the blessed, reinforced door in her face and double lock it.

Never, never date your co-workers.

* Fuck you, 7 dice athletics pool, fuck you.

Etherdickery pt. 1

2005-05-09T16:21:22Z

Millions of electrons swirl through complex metallic alloys, painstakingly developed over the last century by various brilliant minds. Slamming into the component atoms they relinquish their energy, raising the temperature though tens of degrees almost instantly. A small layer of water, topped up by internal reservoirs of the device flashes into steam, small droplets hurtling through almost invisible holes in the device's lower surface.

Then I finish ironing my jacket and put it on. Suddenly I feel so ordinary. No armour, no devices, no solarium, just an old, slightly faded suit with a button missing that I hope the rather unfashionable lapel will cover. I stroll around, trying to get use to the feel of shoes under a pants leg, I've been wearing sturdy boots so often the feel of a draft up my leg is a rather unpleasant novelty. Still, before too long the taxi I've booked arrives and whisks me away to Spark's place.

I've been here once before, on some minor errand, and it's generalised disarray matched her piercing and techno-raver look rather well, which is why the grecian goddess answering the door rather takes me aback. Sparks is looking radiant - and more surprisingly, nothing like her usual style. She's in one heck of a dress, her piercings are covered, her usually primary coloured hair is an apparently natural shade and her makeup has been applied with the care and attention that makes it look as if none is being worn at all. In short she looks like everything an old fashioned garage mechanic should want. After a few minutes I collect my jaw from the floor, offer her an arm and lead her to the taxi, feeling rather overshadowed.

I spend the first few moments of the journey trying to work out whether to be relieved or worried that we had such different expectations for the formality fo the evening, as it would have stung like a hive full of bees to have failed to match Spark's elegance after trying. 'Course, this just reminds me of the little, low-key family-run eatery we're heading to, and I bite the bullet and confess she might be a bit overdressed for anywhere I can afford to take her.

Now would be a good time to soothe by mattered ego, but instead she just laughs a little and tells me she'll pick up the bill - the mood goes a little frosty while I chew on the awkward fact that it's awfully tempting to be taken out by this overly excitable VA and her unexpected wealth, but damnit, I live or die by my own Science, so I'll bloody well eat by my own paycheck.

Still, the restaurant itself puts a smile back on my face, small and cosy with it's rose cheeked proprietress smiling at us as she leads us to our table. I'm almost back in good spirits when she asks us if we'd like drinks before we order. Now, I'm not a fan of wines in general, and I generally like to be able to enjoy a meal on it's own merits rather than with the taste of something I'm drinking. So I order a glass of water.

Mistake. Sparks immediately leaps in again, in front of the damn proprietress telling me she's going to pay for everything, I don't have to worry, yadda yadda. Why did she have to do that?

Why indeed. Why flaunt your money at a downtrodden mechanic? Why downplay the evening then utterly out-dress your date? Why break out Etheric Science in the form of chocolate just to force someone into a date in the first place? Why relentlessly hound someone you've ignored for a date only after he disgraces himself in front of you in a sewerage plant?

Dear God, it's one long, deliberate chain of oneupmanship since the beginning. How better to display your rose-like success than to stand alongside a weed? And what better weed to exceed that the mighty StormAngel? My God, she's subtle. If she hadn't tipped her hand now, how long until I noticed? How long before I was displayed, armour and all for all to see at her feet?

I am no woman's trophy.

aveether @ 2005-04-19T15:47:00

2005-04-19T14:34:56Z

I have been pimping Studio Foglio's excellent Girl Genius comic for a long time now. Now it's free, your last excuse has been removed.

Reading is mandatory. Do so now or I will release the poisonous sky worms!

Oh Agatha, if only you were real....

aveether @ 2005-04-19T14:48:00

2005-04-19T14:09:34Z

Somehow, I strike an accord with Sparks and our relationship moves towards a safer direction. I still sometimes feel that she's just biding her time for the next great romantic assault, but we get along. I catch Id holed up in his lab working on optical crystals and rib him gently about trying to seduce Sparks, but he gives me such a wounded beagle look of innocence I have to apologise. Shame, that could have solved a lot of problems. Oh well.

Lab's beginning to wind down for the holiday season - cold air and long nights put a crimp in a lot of Science, so apart from a planned get together, the labs start to feel empty. I'm in on a flying visit when Sparks catches me with an early Christmas present - a heart shaped box of chocolates. Uh oh.

"This is not a Christmas gift" I insist "this is a 'please be my boyfriend, mysterious man in rubber' gift." Yeah, well. I didn't have time to compose something that sounded less like something from Debbie does Dallas. Sparks is adamant that it is, and she'll give identical boxes to Id and Nick if I just eat one now. She'll even shut up and stop pestering me. So, like a fool, I do.

Rapture. Sweet ambrosia, manna direct from heaven upon my tongue. For the second time I lose my presence of mind in front of Sparks as a juggernaut of raw pleasure hurtles into my brain down the oral highways. I regain some measure of myself only when the box is empty, and much to my surprise, I'm still upright in front of her, rather than rolling on the floor moaning softly. Those were good chocolates.

Sparks smiles prettily and explains how there's an etheric sweet shop in town, and with her help those chocolates had been tailored exactly to me. I nod and and make appreciative sounds like "glomph", having found a last one hidden in the lining.

It's too much. I can't rebuff this last gesture. What harm can it do to treat her to a meal? She'll lose interest when she sees the real me under StormAngel's armour anyway.

What harm can it do?

OOC: I've just been zinged.

2005-03-19T21:01:25Z

....or more accurately, I was zinged earlier and just realised.

I was explaining to someone why a particular character of mine was a Mary Sue (that means an idealised me with powers, for those who don't know the term.) They nodded sagely and said words to the effect of "yeah, I never liked him."

Hang on.

That's me you're talking about.

Owch :-P

On another note, no it wasn't StormAngel, and yes, he was a total Mary Sue. But at least with him I did that on purpose.

I'm just going to go into a corner and cry now.

Carrots!

2005-03-19T20:54:07Z

At some point (and it was such a good idea I can only assume it was someone else's) it occurred to me how to deal with Sparks' activities, which is why I'm standing stock still as she climbs over me. The still part is partially to show my lack of romantic interest in her, but mostly surprise. the standing part is entirely due to the fact I can't sit down. There are carrots everywhere. The lounge is bursting with them. The halls are stacked to the ceiling. The basement is stuffed full. Various disused labs have earthy plant-smells coming from behind bulging doors.

I'll say this for Id, When he sets out to screw around, he doesn't screw around.

Eventually Sparks notices I'm not actually responding to her advances, and mercifully leaves me alone. I slope off in search of Id - I'm not sure whether to boot his backside or congratulate him, but the decision is taken away from me by being unable to find him. Instead I head home feeling something of a cad for treating Sparks that way.

The next day I'm in the labs bright and early for some reason, listening to the radio in stunned disbelief as the newscaster outlines the carrot shortage. Without warning a whirlwind of pure energy hurtles into the lounge, waving some notes and shouting "Johnjohnjohnjohnjohnjohnjohnjohn." Sparks is definitely in the building.

I immediately brace for anything I can think of at once - being leaped on, hugged, kissed, kicked, exposed as stormAngel, denounced as a coward... Of course, she just wouldn't be Sparks if I could pre-empt her. "John" she exclaims breathlessly "you must build me a computer. A trinary computer."

A Wha?

This is going to be fun. I don't even know what a trinary computer is, yes somehow this young woman is unshakingly convinced that I can build one. After all, can't I build reactive armour and collapsible wings? I protest that one was self organising and the other, while having over a hundred moving parts does so in roughly three cubic feet of volume, which isn't exactly computer-chip scale, yet somehow it all comes out as "err, wow, no, hang on..." which doesn't quite get my point across. Eventually she understands my protestations, but it's fairly clear she thinks I'm lying just to spite her.

I am such a cad.