The Beautiful Woman and I spent the better part of an hour last night getting Firstborn to complete an assignment for school. It was something he was supposed to have done during school, only he hadn't done it (or hadn't done it correctly, I'm not sure). He was supposed to write a reasonably detailed narrative about a time when he got hurt.
Firstborn is seven years old. He's in second grade. "Reasonably detailed" in this context means "eight to ten sentences, with transitions".
It took an hour. Ten sentences. One hour.
That means it took him an average of six minutes for each sentence. Six whole minutes.
He dithered. He stared at the list of details to include. He fiddled with his pencil. He got up to go to the bathroom. He talked about what had happened, then got irritated when we said things like, "Good. Write that down." He did, in other words, almost everything in the world except the actual assignment.
Somewhere around the third time I heard myself say, "You know, if you'd just sat there and written the sentences instead of fiddling around, we would be done by now," I wondering if maybe it wouldn't be toooooooo bad an idea to wash my antibiotics down with whiskey. (Spoiler: it would be. I didn't.)
Finally, after dragging the whole thing out for just about as long as humanly possible, he finished up and we put him to bed.
Afterwards, I called my father to apologize.
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Superhero Bar Stories: Truly Villainous Villains
The worst villain I've ever run across? Hard to say. I mean, you know, there's Aldakes -- he does some pretty horrible stuff, but he's careful to keep it all legal. Yeah, in some ways that makes it worse. And you hear about some horrible ones -- that guy in Arizona who was using his mind-control powers to convince people he was doing miracles, remember him? But the worst one I ran across myself...
...Okay. I've got one for you. Maybe not the worst, maybe not the most evil, but this was the guy that made me come closest to violating my rules about unnecessary violence. He was a bank robber, and he called himself Laughingstock.
His M.O. was always the same. He'd pick a place to rob, dress up in a clown costume: makeup, wig, big red nose, huge floppy shoes, the works. Then he'd walk in carrying a big, ugly plastic flower -- the kind that shoots water if you squeeze it. He'd get everyone laughing until they could barely stand, and then he'd clean out all the drawers and walk out. He'd always leave the flower behind, I think so everyone would know it was him.
Well, the first time I went after him, I was alone. So I popped up beside him, told him he was under arrest, and reached for my handcuffs. He said I looked like a SWAT team refugee and my mirror shades were twice the size of my face. Doesn't sound funny, does it? But when he said it, it was hilarious. Hell, it was the funniest thing I'd ever heard. And before I knew it, I was doubled over, laughing so hard I could barely breathe. I was furious, but I still couldn't stop laughing... and I couldn't do anything else well enough to stop him from walking away.
And that was it. Laughingstock left me lying there in the street in and got away clean.
So the second time -- you knew that was coming right? Of course there was a second time -- I stayed unnoticed and came up behind him. The plan was to stun him, and then get him restrained. I was maybe two steps back, with the stunner ready, when Blurstreak came zooming up. You know Blurstreak? I don't know what he's like out of uniform, but he can run at several hundred miles per hour, and he's sort of mostly intangible when he does. He comes at us in this blurred line of super-fast movement, and of course Laughingstock opens his mouth and says something about Casper the Windy Ghost, and follows it up with a couple of other line.
And, of course, Blurstreak falls over, helpless with laughter. So do a couple of innocent bystanders. So do I. So we're all just laying there laughing, and I'm just a little too far away to use the stunner. It doesn't matter: I dropped it, which is even funnier than being caught like this. And I'm trying to reach for something else, but I'm laughing so hard my ribs ache, and you know what? That's funny, too. Dammit.
Laughingstock turns around and sees me behind him. "Another ghost?" he says. "They gotta quit serving spirits 'round here."
And that's what finally does it. At this point everything is so funny I'm about to asphyxiate, so there's only one way to respond. I manage to pull out the splat-gun and fire off a snap-shot, right at Laughingstock's face. It explodes around his head like the biggest booger in the world, and for about three seconds this is the funniest thing I've ever seen in my life. Like, I'm actually about to give myself a stroke it's so funny.
And then all of a sudden it isn't funny at all. Any of it. Laughingstock's rolling around on the pavement, flailing at his face, trying to pry off the goop before he suffocates, and getting his hands stuck in it too. It looks like something out of one of those old cartoons, except nobody's laughing -- no, not even me.
So I step forward, slap the cuffs around his wrists, and spray the goop on his face with a big dose of catalyst so we can pull it off. By the time he's starting to recover, we have a proper gag in place -- one the lets him breathe, but not speak.
After that it was just a matter of getting him into a patrol car and sending him off to jail.
So there you go. Not the most evil villain ever, but that power of his was probably the most annoying thing I've ever come up against.
...Okay. I've got one for you. Maybe not the worst, maybe not the most evil, but this was the guy that made me come closest to violating my rules about unnecessary violence. He was a bank robber, and he called himself Laughingstock.
His M.O. was always the same. He'd pick a place to rob, dress up in a clown costume: makeup, wig, big red nose, huge floppy shoes, the works. Then he'd walk in carrying a big, ugly plastic flower -- the kind that shoots water if you squeeze it. He'd get everyone laughing until they could barely stand, and then he'd clean out all the drawers and walk out. He'd always leave the flower behind, I think so everyone would know it was him.
Well, the first time I went after him, I was alone. So I popped up beside him, told him he was under arrest, and reached for my handcuffs. He said I looked like a SWAT team refugee and my mirror shades were twice the size of my face. Doesn't sound funny, does it? But when he said it, it was hilarious. Hell, it was the funniest thing I'd ever heard. And before I knew it, I was doubled over, laughing so hard I could barely breathe. I was furious, but I still couldn't stop laughing... and I couldn't do anything else well enough to stop him from walking away.
And that was it. Laughingstock left me lying there in the street in and got away clean.
So the second time -- you knew that was coming right? Of course there was a second time -- I stayed unnoticed and came up behind him. The plan was to stun him, and then get him restrained. I was maybe two steps back, with the stunner ready, when Blurstreak came zooming up. You know Blurstreak? I don't know what he's like out of uniform, but he can run at several hundred miles per hour, and he's sort of mostly intangible when he does. He comes at us in this blurred line of super-fast movement, and of course Laughingstock opens his mouth and says something about Casper the Windy Ghost, and follows it up with a couple of other line.
And, of course, Blurstreak falls over, helpless with laughter. So do a couple of innocent bystanders. So do I. So we're all just laying there laughing, and I'm just a little too far away to use the stunner. It doesn't matter: I dropped it, which is even funnier than being caught like this. And I'm trying to reach for something else, but I'm laughing so hard my ribs ache, and you know what? That's funny, too. Dammit.
Laughingstock turns around and sees me behind him. "Another ghost?" he says. "They gotta quit serving spirits 'round here."
And that's what finally does it. At this point everything is so funny I'm about to asphyxiate, so there's only one way to respond. I manage to pull out the splat-gun and fire off a snap-shot, right at Laughingstock's face. It explodes around his head like the biggest booger in the world, and for about three seconds this is the funniest thing I've ever seen in my life. Like, I'm actually about to give myself a stroke it's so funny.
And then all of a sudden it isn't funny at all. Any of it. Laughingstock's rolling around on the pavement, flailing at his face, trying to pry off the goop before he suffocates, and getting his hands stuck in it too. It looks like something out of one of those old cartoons, except nobody's laughing -- no, not even me.
So I step forward, slap the cuffs around his wrists, and spray the goop on his face with a big dose of catalyst so we can pull it off. By the time he's starting to recover, we have a proper gag in place -- one the lets him breathe, but not speak.
After that it was just a matter of getting him into a patrol car and sending him off to jail.
So there you go. Not the most evil villain ever, but that power of his was probably the most annoying thing I've ever come up against.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
Crawling back out of the pit
So, with the help of antibiotics and various other medications, I'm slowly recovering from the whatever-this-was that has had me floored for the last week or so. Sleep is pretty critical at this point; I got a solid night last night, and I feel like I need about three more. I don't know how active the blog will be; I'm trying to catch up on some outside writing (and reading, and a half-dozen or so movies)so it's very likely that there will be some interruptions around here.
Meanwhile, I picked up the latest album from Within Temptation. It's not my favorite piece of their work, but it's well done and plenty enjoyable. Here's a sample to amuse yourselves with:
In books, I've been reading Xu Lei's Dark Prospects books, which are basically a story of adventure and exploration set in China (and Mongolia) around the time of the cultural revolution. They seem to fall into the basic category of "weird tales", and excitement, fear, and discoveries abound. If you like that sort of thing, check them out. (I haven't quite finished the second book, but I feel safe both in recommending the pair of them, and in classifying them as weird tales.)
Meanwhile, I picked up the latest album from Within Temptation. It's not my favorite piece of their work, but it's well done and plenty enjoyable. Here's a sample to amuse yourselves with:
In books, I've been reading Xu Lei's Dark Prospects books, which are basically a story of adventure and exploration set in China (and Mongolia) around the time of the cultural revolution. They seem to fall into the basic category of "weird tales", and excitement, fear, and discoveries abound. If you like that sort of thing, check them out. (I haven't quite finished the second book, but I feel safe both in recommending the pair of them, and in classifying them as weird tales.)
Monday, February 24, 2014
The Hunter Prince: Crystal Resolutions
The Queen's Garden was on the north end of the castle, tucked into the corner between the Keep and the high outer wall. It was a place where gravel paths wound gently through beds of flowers, or turned off to secluded resting-areas shaded by chaba-trees and siv-vines. In the spring, both trees and vines added their flowers to the cultivated arrangements below; summer began, by tradition, when the flowers of the trees and vines fell away, to drift to the ground like brightly-colored snow.
Cyjar was lying on a stone bench in one of those enclosures. Siv-vines wound through a set of trellises all around and overhead, offering plenty of shade but still letting in the late-summer breeze. The small, red-brown siv-fruits were almost ripe; he'd eaten a couple of the redder ones already, fresh from the vine.
The book was another history, an account of the Accord of Ironthorn that had united the people of the empire with the people of the hills. His father had suggested that he read it, since in a few weeks Cyjar would go to join the hill people on their great summer hunt. It was interesting stuff, even if it had all happened two hundred years ago. One to the princes, second-prince Biltrop, had been given charge of the western outliers - a group of farming settlements that had grown up against the edge of the great forest where the hill people lived, at a time when the hill people were raiding heavily. Biltrop had begun trying to strengthen the outliers' defenses, before eventually realizing that the outliers were plundering the great forest every bit as much as hill people were raiding the towns. With that knowledge, he had taken a small force and gone to find the Forest King...
Cyjar was so caught up in his reading that, while he heard the footsteps on the gravel path, at first he didn't realize they were coming towards him. He looked up to see his cousin Seshil standing hesitantly at the entrance of the resting-area. He marked his place and closed the book, then greeted his cousin: "Seshil."
"Cyjar." Seshil hesitated, then came and sat on a nearby bench. "I wanted to talk to you."
Cyjar looked at him. They were close to the same age, and close to the same size: they both had inherited the trim, compact build common to the royal bloodline. "It's strange to see you without Dabin," he said.
Seshil chuckled. "I suppose it would be." He drew a breath. "Did you ever have something that seemed like a clever idea, something far too fun not to do... and then, looking back, realize that it was incredibly stupid and could easily have turned into a disaster?"
Cyjar considered that. There'd been a few things, after all. Once he'd gotten into the candied chaba-fruits, and eaten enough to make himself sick; once he'd decided that it would be fun to try sleeping in the stables, and awakened to the panicked sounds of guards and servants searching for him. None of that was really important, though. Seshil wouldn't be asking the question if he hadn't done something himself. And he wouldn't be asking Cyjar unless whatever he'd done had been directed at Cyjar. So while Seshil hadn't said, "I'm sorry I left a grabby-monster in your room, I shouldn't have done that," this was still a confession of sorts.
"Was it your idea, or Dabin's?" Cyjar asked quietly.
"I'm not sure," Seshil said. "A little of both, I think. That it was possible, that was my idea. Dabin was the one who thought we should really do it, though."
Cyjar frowned, turning that over in his mind. "Easy for him to say," he told Seshil. "He isn't studying with Magister Hollint. He wouldn't have to face the consequences if you were caught."
"I realize that," Seshil said, suddenly angry.
"Do you?" Cyjar pressed gently. "It's always been like this, with the two of you. You come up with these ideas, and Dabin presses you to go through with them... and lets you get in trouble for them. Dabin might not have come up with it on his own..."
"I don't know," Seshil interrupted. His anger had melted away and he suddenly looked thoughtful. "He left a Spineback in my boot when I was seven. I didn't know until I put it on. It burned, and my foot swelled... they had to cut the boot off, and the healer said I nearly lost two of my toes."
Cyjar looked appalled. "Perhaps he could have come up with it on his own, then. But you wouldn't have gone through with it if it wasn't for him. You need to stop listening to him so much." He reached down to his belt, and untied a small pouch that hung there. "Here." He tossed the pouch to Seshil.
Seshil caught the pouch and opened it, looking at the soft glow of the golden containing-crystal inside. "Thank you," he said simply.
"I haven't said anything, and I don't think anyone's checked the inventory in the King's Menagerie, so you should be able to put it back with nobody the wiser. But, Seshil... what I said a moment ago? I meant that. You and Dabin together are trouble, and sooner or later it's going to get you into trouble. Either stop listening to him, or rein him in, or... or something. He's your brother; I dont know. But think about it."
Seshil drew a deep breath. "I'll think about it. And, Cyjar? Thanks."
Cyjar was lying on a stone bench in one of those enclosures. Siv-vines wound through a set of trellises all around and overhead, offering plenty of shade but still letting in the late-summer breeze. The small, red-brown siv-fruits were almost ripe; he'd eaten a couple of the redder ones already, fresh from the vine.
The book was another history, an account of the Accord of Ironthorn that had united the people of the empire with the people of the hills. His father had suggested that he read it, since in a few weeks Cyjar would go to join the hill people on their great summer hunt. It was interesting stuff, even if it had all happened two hundred years ago. One to the princes, second-prince Biltrop, had been given charge of the western outliers - a group of farming settlements that had grown up against the edge of the great forest where the hill people lived, at a time when the hill people were raiding heavily. Biltrop had begun trying to strengthen the outliers' defenses, before eventually realizing that the outliers were plundering the great forest every bit as much as hill people were raiding the towns. With that knowledge, he had taken a small force and gone to find the Forest King...
Cyjar was so caught up in his reading that, while he heard the footsteps on the gravel path, at first he didn't realize they were coming towards him. He looked up to see his cousin Seshil standing hesitantly at the entrance of the resting-area. He marked his place and closed the book, then greeted his cousin: "Seshil."
"Cyjar." Seshil hesitated, then came and sat on a nearby bench. "I wanted to talk to you."
Cyjar looked at him. They were close to the same age, and close to the same size: they both had inherited the trim, compact build common to the royal bloodline. "It's strange to see you without Dabin," he said.
Seshil chuckled. "I suppose it would be." He drew a breath. "Did you ever have something that seemed like a clever idea, something far too fun not to do... and then, looking back, realize that it was incredibly stupid and could easily have turned into a disaster?"
Cyjar considered that. There'd been a few things, after all. Once he'd gotten into the candied chaba-fruits, and eaten enough to make himself sick; once he'd decided that it would be fun to try sleeping in the stables, and awakened to the panicked sounds of guards and servants searching for him. None of that was really important, though. Seshil wouldn't be asking the question if he hadn't done something himself. And he wouldn't be asking Cyjar unless whatever he'd done had been directed at Cyjar. So while Seshil hadn't said, "I'm sorry I left a grabby-monster in your room, I shouldn't have done that," this was still a confession of sorts.
"Was it your idea, or Dabin's?" Cyjar asked quietly.
"I'm not sure," Seshil said. "A little of both, I think. That it was possible, that was my idea. Dabin was the one who thought we should really do it, though."
Cyjar frowned, turning that over in his mind. "Easy for him to say," he told Seshil. "He isn't studying with Magister Hollint. He wouldn't have to face the consequences if you were caught."
"I realize that," Seshil said, suddenly angry.
"Do you?" Cyjar pressed gently. "It's always been like this, with the two of you. You come up with these ideas, and Dabin presses you to go through with them... and lets you get in trouble for them. Dabin might not have come up with it on his own..."
"I don't know," Seshil interrupted. His anger had melted away and he suddenly looked thoughtful. "He left a Spineback in my boot when I was seven. I didn't know until I put it on. It burned, and my foot swelled... they had to cut the boot off, and the healer said I nearly lost two of my toes."
Cyjar looked appalled. "Perhaps he could have come up with it on his own, then. But you wouldn't have gone through with it if it wasn't for him. You need to stop listening to him so much." He reached down to his belt, and untied a small pouch that hung there. "Here." He tossed the pouch to Seshil.
Seshil caught the pouch and opened it, looking at the soft glow of the golden containing-crystal inside. "Thank you," he said simply.
"I haven't said anything, and I don't think anyone's checked the inventory in the King's Menagerie, so you should be able to put it back with nobody the wiser. But, Seshil... what I said a moment ago? I meant that. You and Dabin together are trouble, and sooner or later it's going to get you into trouble. Either stop listening to him, or rein him in, or... or something. He's your brother; I dont know. But think about it."
Seshil drew a deep breath. "I'll think about it. And, Cyjar? Thanks."
Friday, February 21, 2014
Dear Secondborn...
My dear, sweet child...
I realize... that you are three.
I realize that you are playing Lego Star Wars.
I realize that you are not wearing any pants.
And I realize... that as a pantsless, game-playing three-year-old... you are deeply involved in your pantsless playing of games. I realize that nothing else in the world has much, if any, importance to you. I realize that since nothing else truly matters, by all rights I ought to be perfectly willing to drop whatever trivial task I'm doing - reading a book, say, or paying bills - and come running to assist you.
However... and I realize this will come as a shock to you... I am not going to do that. I know this must seem senseless and cruel, and I can only hope that someday, in the weeks or years or decades to come, you will understand and forgive me.
I realize... that you are three.
I realize that you are playing Lego Star Wars.
I realize that you are not wearing any pants.
And I realize... that as a pantsless, game-playing three-year-old... you are deeply involved in your pantsless playing of games. I realize that nothing else in the world has much, if any, importance to you. I realize that since nothing else truly matters, by all rights I ought to be perfectly willing to drop whatever trivial task I'm doing - reading a book, say, or paying bills - and come running to assist you.
However... and I realize this will come as a shock to you... I am not going to do that. I know this must seem senseless and cruel, and I can only hope that someday, in the weeks or years or decades to come, you will understand and forgive me.
Thursday, February 20, 2014
Still Sick...
What started out as a rather nasty head cold last week (and may or may not have been Strep; the test came back negative, but Secondborn tested positive for it a few days earlier) has decided that it's just going to hang on, and try to work its way from my head, down to my lungs (I spent all of Sunday and Monday with Darth Vader Voice, which was the only enjoyable part of the whole thing) and now back up to my head in an attempt to become a sinus infection, an ear infection, or both.
As far as I'm concerned, this can stop any time now. I'm missing too much work, and I have waaaaaay too much that I need to be getting done there. So if I'm not feeling better by the time this publishes - like almost-completely-recovered better by the time this posts, then I'm heading back to the doctor's office. Seriously. I'm into day eleven of this. Enough already.
As far as I'm concerned, this can stop any time now. I'm missing too much work, and I have waaaaaay too much that I need to be getting done there. So if I'm not feeling better by the time this publishes - like almost-completely-recovered better by the time this posts, then I'm heading back to the doctor's office. Seriously. I'm into day eleven of this. Enough already.
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
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