Monday, December 25, 2006
At the request of a friend of mine.
NOTE: All language translated to modern English, including place names.
Once, in fifteen fourteen, I stepped out of the TARDIS that a friend of mine let me borrow. It was cleverly disguised as an azalea bush, since its chameleon circuit was working fine, of course.
I blinked at the setting English sun, adjusted my overcoat and aviators, and looked for the second time at the small village of Nottinghamshiretonville. The first time I was there, sixty-three years later, nothing notable happened. This time was different.
Since this was Elizabethan England, I doffed the specs and took a closer look around. The place was deserted.
I frowned in confusion. There was at least, I did some quick calculations, half an hour of daylight left. There should be a flurry of activity as shops closed, merchants packaged their wares, and children were called home to be scolded for having played in mud.
But it was a ghost town. Completely dead.
Being the keen investigative mind I am, I decided to see what was amiss. As is the standard operation procedure for such situations, I headed straight for the largest and healthiest-looking cottage, since that's usually where the mayor lived. I reached for the dull brass knocker, but drew back because I noticed a fine layer of dust.
I leaned forward to take a closer look, and heard a piercing shriek.
Momentarily distracted from my doorman duties, I glanced at the source of the ghostly wail.
A middle-aged woman, with a rough braid in her greying hair, was leaning on her windowsill, gasping for breath. I couldn't blame her, as she had just expelled enough air to fill several weather balloons.
I heard a commotion in what I could only assume was her house, her being in it and all, and suddenly an older man clad in a dressing gown and some very thick, very stout boots exploded out the front door. He, in an admirable effort for one his age, sprinted toward me and vaulted over a couple of hedges.
Before I could question what such properly-trimmed bushes were doing in sixteenth-century England, the amateur Olympian tackled me. Normally, I would not have been had so easily, but the sight of this guy, running full tilt at me, pajamas flapping in the wind...
It was unusual, to say the least, and it caught me off-guard.
As the man pinned me to the ground, I noticed for the first time how large his eyebrows were. They weren't in need of a good plucking, the needed a good mowing. These brows reminded me of the summer I spent in the Amazon, only the rain forest wasn't quite so bushy. I was almost certain that a family of gnomes was in each eyebrow. I was tempted to poke one with a stick to see if it would growl at me, or just take the stick and beat me over the head with it. What I'm trying to say here is they were large.
"Are you crazy, kid?!" he said, inches away from my face.
[Remember, I'm translating all dialogue, terminology, and measurements into modern English.]
Still transfixed by his massive sincipital follicles, all I could come up with was a hearty "Uuuhhhh..."
"You're new here, aren't you?"
I shook my head, not to answer negatively, but to clear it, and answered in perfect period English, "Yep. Mind if I come in?"
Having a very strong cup of tea in his home, the man filled me in. Apparently, there was an evil, golden-haired witch that had been casting spell after spell, bringing all kind of dark misfortune upon the small village of Nottinghamshiretonville, with early winters, sick livestock, bad harvests, all caused by the arrival of this malevolent being a few years ago. They stayed away from the witch in the hopes that they wouldn't offend her in some way, and left gifts periodically to please her.
I of course took this to mean some poor woman moved into town at the same time as a run of bad luck, and got blamed for every last stubbed toe ever since.
I saw an opportunity to do some good for a change, and offered my assistance with the "witch."
Raucous laughter was not the reaction I expected.
"You are crazy, boy. That witch will skin you alive, grind your bones, and use it as flower for bread!"
"No, actually, you're thinking of a giant."
"What? No, seriously, kid, you'd have to be nuts to even consider such a course of action."
"Care to make it interesting?"
"..."
"Yes, I mean a wager."
"How do you mean?"
"I mean, I'll vanquish the "witch" for a nominal fee, and if I fail, you can keep...uh...this magical watch!"
He looked at me like I was insane or something.
"Oh, right, sixteenth century...uh, this...magic...vision...thing."
I held up a Gameboy Color.
He just stared at the yellow plastic until I thought to turn it on.
He fell back in his chair at the sight of the Gamefreaks logo, and I knew I had a deal.
...At least, that's what I'd like to type. The truth is, it took me several hours to convince him that I wasn't a demon, and even longer to strike an acceptable bargain.
Satisfied, I left his house and went up to the "witch's" house, only stopping for one last piece of advice, shouted to me by the man I affectionately dubbed Murphy. He never told me his name, and it's a rather obscure Paper Mario: The Thousand Year Door reference, which is always good.
"One last thing! Stop putting quotes around the word "witch" when you say it! She won't like that!"
To be continued...
[I bet you're wondering where this is going. I'm kind of interested as well.]
Once, in fifteen fourteen, I stepped out of the TARDIS that a friend of mine let me borrow. It was cleverly disguised as an azalea bush, since its chameleon circuit was working fine, of course.
I blinked at the setting English sun, adjusted my overcoat and aviators, and looked for the second time at the small village of Nottinghamshiretonville. The first time I was there, sixty-three years later, nothing notable happened. This time was different.
Since this was Elizabethan England, I doffed the specs and took a closer look around. The place was deserted.
I frowned in confusion. There was at least, I did some quick calculations, half an hour of daylight left. There should be a flurry of activity as shops closed, merchants packaged their wares, and children were called home to be scolded for having played in mud.
But it was a ghost town. Completely dead.
Being the keen investigative mind I am, I decided to see what was amiss. As is the standard operation procedure for such situations, I headed straight for the largest and healthiest-looking cottage, since that's usually where the mayor lived. I reached for the dull brass knocker, but drew back because I noticed a fine layer of dust.
I leaned forward to take a closer look, and heard a piercing shriek.
Momentarily distracted from my doorman duties, I glanced at the source of the ghostly wail.
A middle-aged woman, with a rough braid in her greying hair, was leaning on her windowsill, gasping for breath. I couldn't blame her, as she had just expelled enough air to fill several weather balloons.
I heard a commotion in what I could only assume was her house, her being in it and all, and suddenly an older man clad in a dressing gown and some very thick, very stout boots exploded out the front door. He, in an admirable effort for one his age, sprinted toward me and vaulted over a couple of hedges.
Before I could question what such properly-trimmed bushes were doing in sixteenth-century England, the amateur Olympian tackled me. Normally, I would not have been had so easily, but the sight of this guy, running full tilt at me, pajamas flapping in the wind...
It was unusual, to say the least, and it caught me off-guard.
As the man pinned me to the ground, I noticed for the first time how large his eyebrows were. They weren't in need of a good plucking, the needed a good mowing. These brows reminded me of the summer I spent in the Amazon, only the rain forest wasn't quite so bushy. I was almost certain that a family of gnomes was in each eyebrow. I was tempted to poke one with a stick to see if it would growl at me, or just take the stick and beat me over the head with it. What I'm trying to say here is they were large.
"Are you crazy, kid?!" he said, inches away from my face.
[Remember, I'm translating all dialogue, terminology, and measurements into modern English.]
Still transfixed by his massive sincipital follicles, all I could come up with was a hearty "Uuuhhhh..."
"You're new here, aren't you?"
I shook my head, not to answer negatively, but to clear it, and answered in perfect period English, "Yep. Mind if I come in?"
Having a very strong cup of tea in his home, the man filled me in. Apparently, there was an evil, golden-haired witch that had been casting spell after spell, bringing all kind of dark misfortune upon the small village of Nottinghamshiretonville, with early winters, sick livestock, bad harvests, all caused by the arrival of this malevolent being a few years ago. They stayed away from the witch in the hopes that they wouldn't offend her in some way, and left gifts periodically to please her.
I of course took this to mean some poor woman moved into town at the same time as a run of bad luck, and got blamed for every last stubbed toe ever since.
I saw an opportunity to do some good for a change, and offered my assistance with the "witch."
Raucous laughter was not the reaction I expected.
"You are crazy, boy. That witch will skin you alive, grind your bones, and use it as flower for bread!"
"No, actually, you're thinking of a giant."
"What? No, seriously, kid, you'd have to be nuts to even consider such a course of action."
"Care to make it interesting?"
"..."
"Yes, I mean a wager."
"How do you mean?"
"I mean, I'll vanquish the "witch" for a nominal fee, and if I fail, you can keep...uh...this magical watch!"
He looked at me like I was insane or something.
"Oh, right, sixteenth century...uh, this...magic...vision...thing."
I held up a Gameboy Color.
He just stared at the yellow plastic until I thought to turn it on.
He fell back in his chair at the sight of the Gamefreaks logo, and I knew I had a deal.
...At least, that's what I'd like to type. The truth is, it took me several hours to convince him that I wasn't a demon, and even longer to strike an acceptable bargain.
Satisfied, I left his house and went up to the "witch's" house, only stopping for one last piece of advice, shouted to me by the man I affectionately dubbed Murphy. He never told me his name, and it's a rather obscure Paper Mario: The Thousand Year Door reference, which is always good.
"One last thing! Stop putting quotes around the word "witch" when you say it! She won't like that!"
To be continued...
[I bet you're wondering where this is going. I'm kind of interested as well.]
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
As I sit, eating my first breakfast in a long while...
...at two-thirty in the afternoon, mind you, I wonder if I should have gone to school today.
Sure, I would have played terribly in the morning's jazz band.
Granted, I couldn't have translated the back of a quarter in Latin.
And of course, I would have done nothing at all in English.
[That's not due to my infirmity, that's due to us never doing anything in English.]
At lunch, I could have infected the entire group of friends I eat lunch with with whatever it is I have.
[I'm sorry, I'm too out of it to rephrase that last sentence effectively.]
And I don't think I could take my PSAT prep class at all, with Julie taunting me with the new Zelda game the whole period.
And, no, she doesn't actively taunt me.
But she owns it.
And I don't.
And I despise her for that.
Otherwise, she's one of my dearest friends.
But all of the above may have been better than where I am now.
Sitting at home, being miserably sick with nothing to do.
Sure, I could try to discern what I got for Christmas.
But that's too easy.
I've read Sherlock Holmes.
I could, probably, play one of the easier video games I have.
But I might get the whole "You're well enough to play video games, you're well enough to go to school" spiel.
Playing games is a lot easier than coming to terms with the constant...peopleness of the people I come into contact with on a daily basis. That quality isn't exactly a bad thing, but it can be a bit overwhelming.
So, the main reason for this post?
Something for my disease-addled mind to do.
With all due respect, and my most sincere apologies,
jdogmoney
Sure, I would have played terribly in the morning's jazz band.
Granted, I couldn't have translated the back of a quarter in Latin.
And of course, I would have done nothing at all in English.
[That's not due to my infirmity, that's due to us never doing anything in English.]
At lunch, I could have infected the entire group of friends I eat lunch with with whatever it is I have.
[I'm sorry, I'm too out of it to rephrase that last sentence effectively.]
And I don't think I could take my PSAT prep class at all, with Julie taunting me with the new Zelda game the whole period.
And, no, she doesn't actively taunt me.
But she owns it.
And I don't.
And I despise her for that.
Otherwise, she's one of my dearest friends.
But all of the above may have been better than where I am now.
Sitting at home, being miserably sick with nothing to do.
Sure, I could try to discern what I got for Christmas.
But that's too easy.
I've read Sherlock Holmes.
I could, probably, play one of the easier video games I have.
But I might get the whole "You're well enough to play video games, you're well enough to go to school" spiel.
Playing games is a lot easier than coming to terms with the constant...peopleness of the people I come into contact with on a daily basis. That quality isn't exactly a bad thing, but it can be a bit overwhelming.
So, the main reason for this post?
Something for my disease-addled mind to do.
With all due respect, and my most sincere apologies,
jdogmoney
Friday, December 15, 2006
I don't really know what to do with this blog.
Were I to go with the literal meaning, a web log, it'd be a straight account of my daily goings-on. I could certainly do that, but even with my considerable writing skills, the daily misadventures of an eccentric teen would probably grow boring after a while. If I can get bored with the daily cycle, as happens sometimes, then I couldn't bring myself to subject both of my readers to the monotonous workings of my life.
I could abbreviate, only post when something notable occurred. Then again, what is notable to me, say, someone allowing me to hold a door open for them, can be completely irrelevant to most people.
Which reminds me, did you hear the one about the large, gray animal from Africa?
Never mind, it's irrelevant.
*badum tish*
Where was I?
Man, when it comes to staying on track, I don't exactly get high Marx.
*badum tish*
I thankyew, I thankyew.
Hey, tip your waitress.
Sorry.
I could follow the example of my good friend, LAEvanesce, and post poetry and my thoughts on any subject that happens to come to mind. A noble pursuit, but I'm afraid that I've not written any poetry in entirely too long. I don't know if I could take up the quill again...I probably should, actually. It's been a while, but I may still have that old creative spark. Even if I did start writing poetry again, it wouldn't be anywhere near as good as LAEvanesce's...
In fact, you could say I...kneel...at his writing skills?
*badum*
What, no cymbal?
Too inside, eh?
All right then, forget the whole thing..
I could take a political slant on everything. Of course, no matter what stance I take on any subject, there's always someone who'll disagree with me. That's just how it is with politics. But, of course, since I'm always right, conversely, that means someone else will always be wrong, and I can't be responsible for that.
[And my PSAT scores said I needed to work on logical reasoning.]
So I don't know.
I think this will be an "all of the above" type situation. I can't really make myself stick to any particular category, so I'll flit from one to the next, typing anything that I think that any random stranger may want to read.
So, please, if you're a stranger, and you're random, leave some feedback.
With all due respect,
Jeff "jdogmoney" S.
Postscript: You may have noticed, in my signature, that if my post is aimed at the internet in general, I'll sign with jdogmoney, but if the people I know personally may get it more, I'll go with Jeff. And if I'm not sure which is more appropriate, I'll probably go with both.
I could abbreviate, only post when something notable occurred. Then again, what is notable to me, say, someone allowing me to hold a door open for them, can be completely irrelevant to most people.
Which reminds me, did you hear the one about the large, gray animal from Africa?
Never mind, it's irrelevant.
*badum tish*
Where was I?
Man, when it comes to staying on track, I don't exactly get high Marx.
*badum tish*
I thankyew, I thankyew.
Hey, tip your waitress.
Sorry.
I could follow the example of my good friend, LAEvanesce, and post poetry and my thoughts on any subject that happens to come to mind. A noble pursuit, but I'm afraid that I've not written any poetry in entirely too long. I don't know if I could take up the quill again...I probably should, actually. It's been a while, but I may still have that old creative spark. Even if I did start writing poetry again, it wouldn't be anywhere near as good as LAEvanesce's...
In fact, you could say I...kneel...at his writing skills?
*badum*
What, no cymbal?
Too inside, eh?
All right then, forget the whole thing..
I could take a political slant on everything. Of course, no matter what stance I take on any subject, there's always someone who'll disagree with me. That's just how it is with politics. But, of course, since I'm always right, conversely, that means someone else will always be wrong, and I can't be responsible for that.
[And my PSAT scores said I needed to work on logical reasoning.]
So I don't know.
I think this will be an "all of the above" type situation. I can't really make myself stick to any particular category, so I'll flit from one to the next, typing anything that I think that any random stranger may want to read.
So, please, if you're a stranger, and you're random, leave some feedback.
With all due respect,
Jeff "jdogmoney" S.
Postscript: You may have noticed, in my signature, that if my post is aimed at the internet in general, I'll sign with jdogmoney, but if the people I know personally may get it more, I'll go with Jeff. And if I'm not sure which is more appropriate, I'll probably go with both.
