sadness or euphoria

http://xkcd.com/610/

Title: Some Non-Negligible Fraction of the Fun
Pairing: Ashlee/Pete, explicitly described Ashlee/Brendon
Rating: Porn. I'm fucking serious here, guys.
Summary: "Do you have a story for me?" he asks, his voice hushed, like he's asking her to tell him a secret.
Warnings: Cuckoldry kink, femdom, and pegging! Three great tastes that taste great together!
Notes: For ailleann23. I don't even know, dude. Thanks to fictionalaspect for cheerleading and commapicking. PS: Josh, stop bitching that I never write femdom or het. 2600 words.

( "So, you in?" Pete asks... )

The origin of temporal illusions - brain dubbing:

But there is a deeper challenge the brain must tackle, without which feature-binding would rarely be possible. This is the problem of temporal binding: the assignment of the correct timing of events in the world. The challenge is that different stimulus features move through different processing streams and are processed at different speeds.

...

So if the visual brain wants to get events correct timewise, it may have only one choice: wait for the slowest information to arrive. To accomplish this, it must wait about a tenth of a second. In the early days of television broadcasting, engineers worried about the problem of keeping audio and video signals synchronized. Then they accidentally discovered that they had around a hundred milliseconds of slop: As long as the signals arrived within this window, viewers' brains would automatically resynchronize the signals; outside that tenth- of- a- second window, it suddenly looked like a badly dubbed movie.

...

It has been shown that the brain constantly recalibrates its expectations about arrival times. And it does so by starting with a single, simple assumption: if it sends out a motor act (such as a clap of the hands), all the feedback should be assumed to be simultaneous and any delays should be adjusted until simultaneity is perceived. In other words, the best way to predict the expected relative timing of incoming signals is to interact with the world: each time you kick or touch or knock on something, your brain makes the assumption that the sound, sight, and touch are simultaneous.

While this is a normally adaptive mechanism, we have discovered a strange consequence of it: Imagine that every time you press a key, you cause a brief flash of light. Now imagine we sneakily inject a tiny delay (say, two hundred milliseconds) between your key-press and the subsequent flash. You may not even be aware of the small, extra delay. However, if we suddenly remove the delay, you will now believe that the flash occurred before your key-press, an illusory reversal of action and sensation. Your brain tells you this, of course, because it has adjusted to the timing of the delay.

Note to humans: your model of the universe is subtly but consistently broken.

So, Warehouse 13.

I caught the pilot for free thanks to Tivo/Amazon's integrated weirdness. In a nutshell: The Obligatory Tough Doubting Chick and The Obligatory Rugged Yet Open-Minded Dude and The Obligatory Casual-Atttitude Sporting Offbeat Nerd are tasked by The Obligatory Mysterious Badass Spook to guard a pile of randomly dangerous stuff and go On Location to various low-shooting-cost parts of America or possibly Vancouver to track down more randomly dangerous stuff using the power of the guy's "Vibes" and her "I see details" talents and every now and then they shoot a stungun at people.

I was hoping for more, but that describes everything you could possibly want to know. It's got the depth of a kiddie wading pool. No doubt a haunted kiddie wading pool. The objects themselves, at least the ones shown so far, have little to no spooky, alien-feeling twists to them. The whole thing relies on genre blindness and investigative roadblocks to provide any sense of tension. And, this is the death blow for me, the characters have all the personality of a three minute egg, with predictable little Past Tragedies and dialogue that rivals Roland Emmerich's remake of Godzilla for the old staple of junior high school level maturity coming out of the mouths of 30-somethings.

You want the same concept done better? The Lost Room has far more interesting and menacing objects with a better mystique to them and more clever applications thereof. The SCP Foundation has your government spook research and cataloging of mysterious artifacts done to perfection. Hell, even Friday the 13th: The Series swings the same basic concept and even the same cast archetypes better than this.

I really wanted to like this, since I like all three of the above, but this was like the Near Beer of that genre. The Shirley Temple of government warehouses of spooky stuff. Pass.

On a related note: Sometimes I thank my stars my own writing remains obscure. I don't know if I could cope with the kind of dismissive savaging of my work that I just gave Warehouse 13. Obviously you can't write something that everybody likes, and given I dabble in trope exploration and genre mashups there's bound to be someone out there who thinks my work is only suitable for papering the catbox.

Thankfully I'm not a big enough target for said opinions to be published. I have a hard enough time convincing myself to keep going on these crazy projects to have to weather the slings and arrows of bastard-level criticism. (One of the many reasons I don't bother submitting my Mission Architect arcs to self-declared reviewer elitist snob puswads like Venture over in City of Heroes.)

Still pondering the outline for a05. I've got my ruined-city problem fixed; now I'm pondering if I want to rely on another situation where Una's endanger'd. It's becoming a gimmick, but the problem is that the menace in question WOULD probably want to endanger any visting Orbitals, specifically, and that's what she is. I might be making it more contrived NOT to have her in the crosshairs.

The Monetary National Income Analogue Computer:

The MONIAC was approximately 2 m high, 1.2 m wide and almost 1 m deep, and consisted of a series of transparent plastic tanks and pipes which were fastened to a wooden board. Each tank represented some aspect of the UK national economy and the flow of money around the economy was illustrated by coloured water. At the top of the board was a large tank called the treasury. Water (representing money) flowed from the treasury to other tanks representing the various ways in which a country could spend its money. For example, there were tanks for health and education. To increase spending on health care a tap could be opened to drain water from the treasury to the tank which represented health spending. Water then ran further down the model to other tanks, representing other interactions in the economy. Water could be pumped back to the treasury from some of the tanks to represent taxation. Changes in tax rates were modeled by increasing or decreasing pumping speeds.

Like a Babbage engine, only messier.

Calendar page updated.
13 July: The Blair Witch Project

I have no idea where to turn to research this, so I'll ask on the blog first. A major metropolitan city freezes over near instantly and stays that way for 200 years (and is in fact still frozen).

What, if anything, is left that would still be functional / useful / safe provided you could chip it out of the ice or find it lying around? Any food, or would it all be spoiled and gone? Any gasoline? How about batteries?

Edit: Fascinating research material so far, and only an hour since I posted it. :D It's looking like to have anything other than an unrecognizable pile of metal building skeletons full of utterly decayed or gone food and useless electronics I'm going to need to pull a supernatural rabbit out of a hat -- which is fine. I need some ideas for a05, anyway, beyond "And then they find this out, and fight something, I don't know, like a giant nazi t-rex with a laser gun, the end".

Still, I have other opportunities, particularly in a07, to show an actual, honest to goodness city left to decay for 200 years. So hey, keep the P-P-A ideas and links coming!

Since we're moving on the Fed's dime, most of the actual effort of moving is getting things done that, were we proper responsible human beings, would have been done months ago. (Triage has been the most satisfying activity). As a result it is all largely either sordid or tedious or both. Yesterday I shoveled two years' worth of ashes out of the hot tub furnace. Today I am just getting finished up on the laundry. The weather continues unAlaskan - 90 in the shade as of time of writing - so I am doing most of this in shorts and no shirt and getting eaten alive by mosquitoes. Nonetheless: my kingdom for a kilt.

A follow-up to my previous post about Bella...

"UPDATE 7/13/09 -- Bella made a trip up to the vet school in Madison last week. They agreed with the first orthopedic specialist on both the extend of damage to Bella's legs and to the total cost. They also said that if Bella was made to continue to live this way, she would end up with extremely painful arthritis. Despite her very difficult start in life Bella remains sweet and affectionate. Please help us take care of this wonderful cat."

Bella on Petfinder.com

Please spare any $ you can... you can donate via Happy Endings' website.

Originally published at Live Granades. Please leave any comments there.

Both my home and work computers decided to go blooey over the weekend, so I’ll be spending my evenings’ spare time trying to resurrect them. So it’ll be light posting from me for the foreseeable future. And no, I’m certainly not spending all of my time playing Bioshock. What a silly idea!

H and I had a great week in the Los Angeles area. We stayed at a little cottage in Santa Monica that we rented via a for-rent-by-owner web site. We rented a Mini convertible. The weather was perfect all week.

My only complain was that the place we rented was a little ( ghetto. )

Anyway, we had a great time ( overall. )

We really enjoyed the weather, the food, the overall feel of the place. I completely get why people would love southern California and never want to leave. That said, it was good to get back home and back to the familiar, and even, dare I say, back to work. That's one of the great things about working full time at the fencing club: I actually want to do the work and miss it when it's not around. Woot!

- Tyldak

Every year, I go to Otakon. This is despite a lot of factors.

It's despite the royal pain in the ass travel is in general for me. Being Ye Disabled, I have to utilize yon scooter type vehicle for navigating the throngs of otaku. I bought a new one this year since the old one, while a vertiable tank in terms of durability, just can't keep a charge going as well as it used to even with a battery replacement and it weighs an upwards of 78 metric tons. The new one is lighter, a bit sloppier on control, but stable enough.

But on top of navigation, the whole affair of using an unadapted bathroom, unadapted resting space, and having nowhere I can actually sit down except yon scooter is a pain. Add on top of that my limited menu of things I like on top of the craptastic Food Court of Doom and, well, bleh. The only advantage is at least I don't have to FLY anywhere -- that compounds every problem by a factor of two, since then you need to make sure I can "sit" in the airplane seats (I can't, but I can fake it), get the scooter somehow checked in as luggage without them destroying it, deal with rental car issues, and so on. And obviously, I can't go alone, because I can barely do anything on my own without an adapted environment, and...

I think I just went wildly off track. Ah, yes. Otakon.

The main oddity factor is that I'm not really an otaku anymore. My starry-eyed fascination with all things Japan, coupled with a tendency to go "Wai!" and "Sugoi!" and "Koko wa Furinkan doko wa" and so on kind of came and went late high school / early college.

I think the mystique of anime collapsed in on itself for me when I realized that Ranma 1/2 was not in fact a dramatic epic of love and triumph but in fact A) the thinnest excuse for a slapstick driven pile of cliche ever, or B) a hateful pile of madness and agony where nobody ever gets anything they want, ever, nobody is really friends with anybody, and nothing ever goes right and it's a miracle that none of the characters have committed a vast and sweeping murder-suicide by this point, or C) both.

After figuring out that it was just a TV show and not a transcendent experience I started realizing most of it was basically just animated entertainment and nothing more and the whole affair felt kind of ordinary. I stopped following what was new and hot in Japan, keeping up with the Jones-chans, etc.

But I still go to the conventions. I like the art style in general, I like collecting figurines and UFO catcher dolls that meet my aesthetic requirements even if I don't quite recognize the series they're from, I like the fan music videos, and I like the general con atmosphere of communal geekery. However, if you asked me to identify any one specific anime that's less than 5-10 years old my chances of success would be low. Go figure.

Next year I think we're skipping Otakon in favor of PAX East, though -- an experiment. I'm absolutely a video game fan, after all, and despite having to head up to Boston for it (I hope we can avoid a plane..) it might be more firmly up my alley. We'll see.

EDIT: I know I'm not supposed to cheer on the suffering of others, but if it were possible, I'd probably order a nicely decorated cake reading "Congrats on the terminal pancreatic cancer you douchebag!" sent to Kim Jong Il today.

http://xkcd.com/609/

Half an hour ago my hair was terrifyingly blonde (terrifying enough that I considered staying that way for work tomorrow, to horrify my coworkers). Now it is a vivid green. Wonder if this colour will be more long-lasting than the blue was?

This weekend has been extraordinarily lazy, otherwise. We made soup, we made bread, and we lazed around playing videogames a lot. Star Ocean 4 feels more or less like cutscenes and infodumps broken up by harvesting and battles I am hugely overpowered for, at the moment. Thankfully Iain is happy to provide snarky commentary to see me through the fiftieth repetition of 'We won't leave you, Edge! We want to save the galaxy too!'.*

*Actually, the hours of cutscenes were almost worth it just for Heinz. Who is clearly sleeping with Ace Rimmer Lightspeed Kenny.

Your attention please; the captain has turned on the Massive Pretension sign. Please remain seated with safety belts securely fastened.

I probably went completely overboard on the surreal imagery and heartwrenching backstory, but hey... when you're locked into a serious melodrama groove, the tendency is to push it as far as you can.

And this completes a04. As I keep saying every time I finish one, "I have no really solid ideas for a0X and so it may take awhile," which seems to mean "I'll get a great idea eight minutes from now and have an outline ready in a few hours." We'll see if that maintains. No promises.

EDIT: For the curious, the thing I was last-minute rewriting was Emily's final flashback. I found the original draft I ran by my sister prior to posting -- she confirmed that yes, it was a rambly and unfocused mess which put too much emphasis on Emily's ego. If you'd like to see how Ye Writing Processe works, check out the scene draft. I kept a few parts, but by and large I jettisoned most of it and started over.

I need to do a MAJOR revision to a core scene in a04 -- but I'm in the middle of a 1 vs 100 run, then I gotta shower, etc. So, it'll be posted late, late tonight or maybe tomorrow depending on how well the rewrites go.

Someone left a comment on the Citizen website, asking how his family can arrange the donation of a George Cross.  oO;

That's the equivalent to the Victoria Cross, only for valour while not in the presence of the enemy.  *despatches info for the Canadian War Museum, stat*

It's been good and bad.  I've had some interesting e-mails from people that I have no clue how they found me, and one phone call...  and on the other side, the British Medals Forum found the article pretty damn fast and I've been fending off a couple accusations, a little bit of support, and a good deal of grumbling.

A)  The Forum has its problems with these sorts of things in that 1) A few of them don't like museums in that they 'stick medals away into a vault and they're never seen again' and feel that the medals I get should be sold to them instead because they appreciate them more.  Well, (to quote Zero Punctuation), as the frustrated Chinese Zookeeper said to the last male panda, "FUCK THAT!".  That's how ordinary people view collectors!!  You only see those things on a closed forum or if you hauled yourself to one of their little shows.   2) Do the museums *really* want the medals?  What about insurance issues?  Aren't they just going to resell them later? All excellent questions.  And you know what?  If you ran the museum, it'd matter to you!   BUT YOU DON"T.  Damnit, you fools.  Are the difference of maybe 200 medals, *none* of which you collect anyways because they're not your little specialty, going to make a difference in a world of 200 million shiny things out there????  I anticipated this.

B) Someone on the Citizen website called me out because "real philanthropists do it quietly, even if they do get a tax receipt" and he just wants government 'to get back to good governing.  It's what I pay taxes for" (WTF?).  I fired back, pointing out that my main goal is a more reasonable approach that works between banning the sale entirely and the current state of selling that many find unpalatable.  AND, if the response that swamped my half-brother's mother was any indication yesterday, people are seriously looking for information on family medals and everything.  Feh.

C) That swamping of the other person in town with my last name was rather unfortunate.  We're unlisted in the phone book. :D  And the reporter who did the story has buggered off until the end of July.  So I've e-mailed the paper with a new e-mail address in the hopes of them putting it out so people can find me if they really need to.

D)  They did call me once yesterday to say that someone wanted to give me a WWI pair that had belonged to his father.  I went over to pick up the two medals and a 1953 Coronation medal, and informed him that their value was about 140 bucks and I could give him 80 towards it.  He agreed, saying that he didn't need the money and would donate it to a kids' camp.  Then, amongst those other boxes, he picked up a black one that said OBE on the front. oO;;  His father was an officer of the Order of the British Empire!  It's a military & civil award for services to the Empire, and only 600 civil ones were given to Canadians.  I now have one in my possession while I try to figure out where it should end up. o.o;

E) There is no E!  :D

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

I realize it's kind of weird to be posting two genderswap Ryan/Spencer fics in two weeks, but this story is a) older than Yellow on Blue, and b) one that certain persons have been waiting on for a long time, so I figured that y'all could roll with it.

So, I give you: bb!lesbians.

Title: My Baby Loves Me (Just the Way That I Am)
Pairing: always-girls!Spencer/Ryan
Rating: NC17 and make no mistake
Summary: "Stop talking," Spencer orders, and when Ryan breaks off, staring at Spencer with wide eyes, Spencer surges forward to kiss her.
Warnings: Femmeslash ftw \o/
Notes: Written to go with this lovely art (alternate link here) by the even lovelier evocatory, so you should all go tell her how awesome she is. Thanks to fictionalaspect for the beta and to sock_wha for the final read-through. 6600 words.

( "I hate this store," Ryan grumbles. )