tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27481590150469024992024-02-19T17:34:20.042-06:00Maximum EffectWelcome to Maximum Effect, where writing is practiced, insanity is demonstrated, and a good time is had by all! Enjoy!Radar Midwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03466801162479061193noreply@blogger.comBlogger190125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2748159015046902499.post-51775871484471366822021-09-28T20:52:00.000-05:002021-09-28T20:52:16.207-05:00Captain's Log, Day 190: Careful What You Ask For... Ah, my college years: back when I was an overworked, irritated, cranky little s**t. (I'm still a little s**t, but I'm less cranky and overworked now.) This story happened during spring tours during my junior year; incoming prospects were being shown around campus, the engineering students such as myself were burned out with year-end projects, and the deans were busy bragging about how awesome this campus was and how educational it would be to come here while neglecting to mention the f*****g price tag.<br /><br /> Okay, I might still be a little bitter about the whole "college experience" thing.<br /><br /> Anyway, my roommate and fellow engineering student ("Ben") and I were frantically trying to finish up our lab reports in time for submission when the dean of engineering waltzed through the big double doors to the lab. (We were behind because our tutoring jobs both ran super long and we weren't allowed to leave before the students.) The dean ordered us to stop what we were doing and to clean up the lab immediately! Ben and I looked around, noting all the boxes of lab supplies that were left out by delivery people, and pointed out that a) we really needed to get this lab report done (10% of our grade, ffs) and b) hey, not our mess and not our job. The dean countered by saying that if we didn't comply, he'd tell our lab instructor to give us zeros on the assignment anyway, that it was our fault for not being more prepared, and finished by saying, "You need to make this lab spotless! We want the tour to be memorable for these new students, and you will help to make it memorable!"<br /><br /> The lab instructor heard the last half of the rant, as he walked in the door about the same time as the dean walked back out. He sighed and shook his head. "Sorry, guys...tell you what, I'll try to push back the submission deadline an hour for you guys. Fair?"<br /><br /> Ben and I both shrugged, already resigned to the fact that the lab instructor, while sincere, had a very minimal idea of how computers worked and certainly had no idea how to change a submission deadline. I pushed Ben out of the way of the computer. "You start. I'll finish the BSing here." (It was universally acknowledged that I was the best writer in the class; despite dyslexia, I had been raised by an English major mother and thus knew how to write absolute volumes about stuff I knew nothing about. In this case, I actually did know the assignment, so I figured I'd use spell check as a crutch and slam this bugger out.)<br /><br /> My roomie got started. I got typing. 45 minutes later, I had our assignment finished and submitted, so I went to go help Ben with unpacking of boxes (doofus wouldn't let me near the box crusher; knowing my habits of experimentation and recklessness, that was probably a good idea on his part). I was the lucky bugger who found the box of industrial breath masks--the big particle ones that made you look vaguely like Bane from Batman--and got a brilliant idea. Donning one, I turned to Ben. "What did the good doctor say about making the prospectives' visit...memorable?"<br /><br /> He gave me the stink-eye. "Would you stop fooling with that and help?"<br /><br /> "I am helping!" I protested, pitching my voice deeper. "I'm also...planning--"<br /><br /> He threw a box at my head. "Practice your evil villain monologue later."<br /><br /> "We both know I'm the antihero," I shot back, blocking the box. "You're the villain. You even have a goatee."<br /><br /> He stroked it thoughtfully, looking evil. "Good point."<br /><br /> "Anyway, listen," I ordered...then in great detail, I told him my plan.<br /><br /> Now, a little backstory--er, scenery details. The engineering building was built into a hill. The first and second floors both had ground-level access at right angles in the architecture. We were on the first floor; the double lab doors opened out to face the double doors about twelve feet away that led outside (to the east. This was so big lab equipment could be wheeled into the lab with minimal fuss. Walk up the hill, and you could wrap around the building to the south entrance if you so chose. (Spoiler alert: we were about to so choose.)<br /><br /> Ben and I finished putting the supplies away, then geared up. We donned the breath masks, lab googles, full lab coats, heavy-duty chemical gloves and coveralls, shoe covers, hair covers--the works. You could hardly tell our ethnicity, much less who we were. Then, we chose our weapons. I opted for a beaker, which I half-filled with dish soap and hot water and shook like one of those Shake Weight (TM) things I saw on the late-night shopping channel that one time I drank too much root beer and couldn't fall asleep. I also grabbed some tongs, because why not. Ben opted for a voltmeter that he taped random crap to and very carefully covered in foil, to make it look even more scientific and scary. He coupled that with a fire extinguisher that he pulled off the wall and dipped in some dish soap suds to make it look like it had already been used. Appropriately geared up and armed, we crouched by the lab's double doors and peered through the crack between them. (There was no center post--great for spying.)<br /><br /> We were just in time. The dean was there, with about twelve to fifteen prospective students and their families. The prospectives looked bored. The parents looked like they were trying to feign interest. The little kids in the group were fidgety. The dean looked pompous. It was the perfect combination. (I almost ruined it by snickering, but I was able to restrain myself by biting my tongue as hard as I could.)<br /><br /> The dean was in the process of pontificating on all the amazing things this lab had to offer and how we were the best engineering school in the area (we were in bumf**k Midwest, it's not like there was any competition for a couple hundred miles) and how the lab that they were about to see was the safest--<br /><br /> I was wondering why he didn't do this speech in the damned lab--preframing, I guess; the lab was nothing special--when Ben nudged me. Oh, yeah, that was our cue.<br /><br /> We backed up, then blew through those doors like a rival linebacker through our football team's defense, screaming "LOOK OUT! IT'S GONNA BLOW!!" at the top of our lungs. I made sure to slop a little foam out my beaker as I ran, just to add to the ambiance. We crashed through the outer doors and took off up the hill and around the side of the building. Glancing back as we took the corner, I saw the first of the prospectives--the ones with reflexes faster than our team's defense, apparently--running away from the building.<br /><br /> Ben and I made tracks--we got in the south doors, ran down the back stairs, and reentered the lab from the other side. The double lab doors had swung shut in our absence, but a peak through the crack showed that it wouldn't have mattered--the dean was outside trying to round up the tour, who had scattered to the four winds. We stripped off our gear in record time (I accidentally pantsed myself, I was in such a hurry) and put everything away. We rinsed out the beakers, Ben tossed the voltmeter chimera in his bag for breakdown later, and I hung the extinguisher back up. Then, we grabbed a few textbooks and sat down at one of the tables, pretending to be studious. (I told Ben to turn his book right-side up for more realism.)<br /><br /> We didn't have to hurry. It was a good five minutes before the doors opened and the dean entered, leading the dubious tour. Man, if looks to kill, we'd have been dead and buried on the spot. He ushered the tour through awfully quickly, given the length of his prior speech, and gave us one last death glare as he headed out the other side. A couple of the kids looked at me questioningly. I winked at them; they nodded, started snickering, and continued on their merry way.<br /><br /> Ben and I were recipients of a lecture later from the dean on proper decorum and taking pride in our school or some such baloney. I interrupted to ask innocently, "Why? Was the lab not clean enough? Or did we not do enough to make the tour memorable?" which led to our dismissal from his presence due to blood pressure issues.<br /><br /> A new rule was added to the school shortly thereafter, in the laboratory section: students shall not handle any lab supplies without a faculty member present. However, we were never asked to--nay, we were banned from--putting new supplies away again.<br /><br /> (Got an A on the report, by the way. I'm not sure if it was good enough to warrant that, but the lab instructor had a sense of humor and I never turned down a good grade...)<div><br /></div><div> <i>This was originally posted to <a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/MaliciousCompliance/comments/jcicvm/you_want_the_school_tour_to_be_memorable_careful/">Reddit</a>...decided it needed to go here as well!</i></div>Radar Midwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03466801162479061193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2748159015046902499.post-72362521516341661192021-03-28T22:13:00.002-05:002021-03-28T22:13:30.242-05:00Captain's Log, Day 189: Revenge of the 5-Year-Old Ninja<p> I <i>love</i> teaching kids. </p><p> Specifically, I love teaching them Taekwondo. I've been teaching for several years, and I have a great time working with them. Our school doesn't just teach them how to defend themselves, but also other concepts like respect, self-control, focus...good stuff like that. One of my favorite groups to work with is the five- and six-year-olds. They're usually incredibly enthusiastic, willing to try anything, and can be easily motivated by comparing them to ninjas.</p><p> (In fairness, that works on me too.)</p><p> This particular day, the class I was assisting with was focusing on "teamwork" as our skill of the day. We had kicking relay races, group exercises, and other team-building activities to help them learn to work with each other and still get stronger, faster, and better at Taekwondo. My master instructor decided, on this fateful day, to do team <i>blocking</i> drills as well.</p><p> I loved team blocking drills. I took one line of students, and my master instructor took the other, We quickly paired off everyone in our rows. The first two students in my line, "Chuck" and "Carson" (names changed, of course), were pulled forward by me to demonstrate for my line. </p><p> "Alright everyone, listen up," I announced to the group. "Chuck and Carson are going to show you how to do this." I pointed my twin pool noodles at the boys. "Right-foot-back guarding stance!"</p><p> Both boys immediately assumed the requested position. I nodded. "Nice. Okay, now grab hands."</p><p> They looked at each other, unsure. I sighed. "Oh, come on. Pretend like you like each other."</p><p> They giggled and grabbed hands--Chuck's left and Carson's right. I gave them a thumb's-up. "Thank you, just like that. Now, here's how this works. Carson, you have to block everything on this side--" I waved to him, "and Chuck gets everything on this side. What happens if you miss my pool noodle?"</p><p> "I get <i>hit,</i>" Chuck said enthusiastically, whacking himself in the face to demonstrate. </p><p> I swallowed a giggle. "Um, yes, but so does your partner," I explained. "Remember, you're a team, so whatever happens to one of you happens to the other. If you miss a block..." I tapped him on the head lightly with a pool noodle, "that means I gotta bonk Carson too." I tapped his partner the same way. "Got it?"</p><p> "Yes sir!" the entire line chorused, looking eager. They liked blocking the pool noodles almost as much as I loved trying to whack them.</p><p> "Awesome!" I readied my noodles. "Ready and...block one!"</p><p> Carson blocked the noodle sweeping towards his leg. Chuck got block two, down by his leg. Carson missed block three (in the middle of the body) and got poked in the stomach, so I had to quickly poke Chuck too. Both boys fell down, giggling. I narrowed my eyes, mock-severely. "Get up! Can't lie down on the job, you gotta protect your partner!"</p><p> They sprang back up. Chuck made block four, a mirror of block three. Blocks five and six protected against a sweeping strike to the outside of the shoulder/side of the head and was one of the easiest blocks to do, so I swung the noodle a little faster. Both boys got their respective blocks. Seven and eight protected the top of the head--another easy set, and one that they both got. Then, I made them duck and jump; Chuck wiped out on the duck, but Carson quickly helped him to his feet in time to jump over the noodle. I praised them for their excellent teamwork, had them high-five each other, and dismissed them to the back of the line. </p><p> The next two groups went fairly well, with only a few missed blocks. (There was a reason we used pool noodles--no damage from missing.) Then, it was "Ellie" and "Nick" who were up. I got them set up and began swinging. Nick was a little slower than Ellie, so I adjusted my swing speed accordingly and went through the blocks. "Block one! Block two! Block three! Block four!" Nick was already starting to raise his arm for block five, so I went a little faster with the foam noodle. "Block five!"</p><p> Nick had a moment of mild confusion for some reason and ducked. I was going too fast to stop, and I whipped the noodle over him and bonked Ellie in the side of her head. She yelped in surprise. "HEY!"</p><p> "Dude!" I chuckled lightly and thonked the top of Nick's head. "What happened to protecting your partner?"</p><p> "Oops," Nick said sheepishly. </p><p> "What do we say when we mess up?" I prompted.</p><p> He thought about it for a moment. "Oh, sorry."</p><p> "Let's try that again," I suggested, glancing at Ellie. She grinned at me, uncharacteristically quiet. She was usually the first to yell if someone messed up--especially if it affected her in any way--but I figured she enjoyed the experience of getting whacked. (She was a little like me in that regard. There was a reason my favorite sport was sparring. Still is, actually.)</p><p> I started over. "Block one! Block two! Block three!"</p><p> "Faster!" Ellie suggested.</p><p> "Sure," I said generously. "Block four! Block <i>five</i>--nice job, Nick!" </p><p> Ellie held up her arm in preparation for block six, giving me her patented <i>let me have it </i>look. Cooperative type that I was, I didn't want to disappoint her (and she was ready anyway), so I whipped the pool noodle at her block. "Block six!"</p><p> The little stinker ducked so fast, I swear she left an afterimage. Nick took noodle to the noggin, tripped over his own feet in surprise, and wiped out. I tried not to crack up and looked down at Ellie. "DUDE! Did you do that on <i>purpose?</i>"</p><p> She shot me a wide, mischievous grin as Nick cracked up on the ground. I shook my head at both of them. "All right, back of the line, both of you, and work...on...your...teamwork..." I had to force the last words out while biting back laughter--if they thought that <i>I</i> thought it was funny, this whole exercise would devolve into group sabotage, and my master instructor would not be pleased (as funny as that would be!). </p><p> As they headed to the back of the line, I quickly turned away to suppress my laughter and wipe the tears out of my eyes. <i>Deep breath, deep breath...</i>I turned to the next two students. "Okay guys, ready to <i>work as a team</i> and--" I couldn't help but laugh a little, "--<i>protect</i> each other?"</p><p> "Yes sir!" they chorused. </p><p> Ellie and Nick acted like proper little ninjas the second time around, no mistakes. </p>Radar Midwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03466801162479061193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2748159015046902499.post-90357096085890176912021-03-19T17:47:00.004-05:002021-03-21T22:29:05.705-05:00Captain's Log, Day 188: Flipping Out<p> It had been a few years since we'd first met in college. Now, we were both done, and we had jobs in different cities--I lived in South Dakota, and she lived in Minnesota. However, she was passing through, so Rach decided to swing by and visit. </p><p> Rach and I were not doing much of anything. Mostly just shooting the breeze, catching up (we hadn't talked in a while), and discussing the various attractions of our new locales. Mine was boring as hell, honestly. Small town South Dakota really didn't have anything interesting going for it. Rach lived in the Twin Cities in Minnesota, so there were a lot more attractions. Bowling alleys, laser tag, restaurants, dancing--</p><p> "Ooh, bet you go dancing a lot," I interrupted her. "Have you ever been to the Caves?"</p><p> Rach looked confused. "The Caves?"</p><p> I realized that sounded a bit too much like a non sequitur (also known as an average day in the life of an ADHD nutjob like me) and clarified. "I'm still on dancing. Yeah, the Caves are an underground dancing place. I fifth-wheeled with the twins when we went there. It's super cool--I think it used to be an old mining system?"</p><p> "That does sound cool," Rach admitted, "but no, haven't been there. I don't actually do much dancing."</p><p> "Shame. You'd be good at it."</p><p> "I know, right?" </p><p> I laughed and itched at my knee brace. (I'd tweaked my knee pretty bad earlier in the week, but it was mostly healed. The brace was more a reminder to not get too crazy during Taekwondo practice, as opposed to actually being useful.) "I tried to teach the twins a few moves, but they wussed out."</p><p> "Wussed out on what?"</p><p> "Oh, a couple of the more complicated flips." I shrugged. "I told them I'm a great spotter, but they didn't believe me. Or their dates didn't, anyway."</p><p> She cracked up. "Oh, that's totally understandable. I've always wanted to try flips but I haven't yet."</p><p> "I supp--wait, <i>what?</i>" I demanded.</p><p> "What what?"</p><p> "You haven't ever flipped before?"</p><p> Rach suddenly remembered that admissions like that were practically a guaranteed way of inciting me to introduce new experiences. "Uh...yeah...um..."</p><p> "You gotta try it," I declared. "I'll get the camera."</p><p> "Camera?"</p><p> "Yeah, we need to document this for posterity," I declaimed dramatically, unaware that I would unfortunately lose said video in a few years to unfortunate circumstances. (Oops.) </p><p> "Oh boy," Rach muttered under her breath, opting to stand up and move to the open section of floor anyway. Guess she really did want to try it.</p><p> Admittedly, she was in the middle of psyching herself out when I returned with the camera. I plopped it on my TV stand, hit record, and turned to see her pacing in a circle. "Uh--"</p><p> "I'm gonna die," she said dramatically.</p><p> I snickered. "No you're not."</p><p> She gestured to my leg. "Are you sure your knee is okay?"</p><p> I rolled my eyes. "I'm fine."</p><p> Rach put her hands on her hips and gave me the stink eye, probably recalling all the injuries I'd powered through in the pursuit of entertainment in the past. In my defense, I had a high pain tolerance and a low threshold for boredom, but in this case my leg actually WAS 99% recovered. I figured if I could squat 400 pounds, I could flip someone who was a fraction of that weight. Before I could say that, though, she cut me off. "Is your knee sturdy enough for this?"</p><p> "My leg is <i>fine.</i> I've flipped people with <i>sprains</i> before, come on," I grumbled. "Honestly, I'm in better shape than I usually am."</p><p> Rach made a humming noise that sounded vaguely whaleish. I opted to ignore that in favor of instruction. "Don't worry, it's easy. You just keep your legs together and tucked in, and jump. I'll do the rest."</p><p> She sighed, then smiled a little. "I'm gonna die."</p><p> "You are <i>not</i> gonna die," I protested. "You know how long I've been doing this?"</p><p> "How long--"</p><p> "Seven years."</p><p> "Well, I haven't," she pointed out.</p><p> "You know how many people I've dropped?" I demanded.</p><p> Rach looked a little concerned. "How many--"</p><p> I held up both hands in the shape of a donut. "<i>Zero.</i> I'm good at this."</p><p> "Good for you. Well, I'll be your first then," she reasoned.</p><p> "HEY!" I got in position anyway. "Ready?"</p><p> She paused. "No."</p><p> "Quick psyching yourself out." I left my position and stripped off my flannel shirt, reasoning that it was a little slick. The t-shirt I had on underneath would be better for this. </p><p> "You know, I've been purposefully avoiding doing aerials," she admitted.</p><p> I raised an eyebrow. "Why? Aerials are fun! They're like the best part of swing-dancing!"</p><p> "Because...I've always felt like I'm too tall to do this," she admitted.</p><p> I shrugged. "For some partners, maybe, but I'm way taller than you. If anything, you're like the perfect height in this instance--you're not even close to too tall. Besides, the tallest person I've flipped was six-five--taller than <i>me</i>--so if I can flip her, I can definitely flip you."</p><p> "Well, the guys I was with were completely incompatible," she explained. </p><p> I grinned mischievously. "You mean they're wimps."</p><p> She grinned and conceded the point. "Yeah, they're wimps."</p><p> "See, that's why you should come out to the barn dances and do country swing," I reminded her, as part of my ongoing effort to get her to go to barn dances. "Everyone out there is a farmer. They throw tractors around for a living."</p><p> Rach giggled at my wild exaggeration. "Well..."</p><p> I got back in my position as she put her arms on my shoulder. "Are you ready?"</p><p> "No."</p><p> "WOW, your hands are <i>really</i> freaking cold!" I noted. </p><p> "Yeah," she admitted and went for the back of my neck. I ducked. "Don't you <i>DARE!</i>"</p><p> She laughed. "Couldn't resist."</p><p> I shook my head. "I should have remembered before I said anything. Ready?"</p><p> "No."</p><p> I let out an exasperated huff.</p><p> "...okay, yes."</p><p> "Awesome." I got my arm behind her legs. "Ready, three...two...one...jump."</p><p> She jumped. I guided her up and over. Textbook perfect. I mean, if you disregarded the <i>eep!</i> that was emitted shortly before landing. (Not from me, though.) I didn't tease her about it--at that precise moment, anyway--instead choosing to throw my arms out in a bit of a flourish. "And there you go!"</p><p> Rach started laughing. "Okay!"</p><p> "See, that wasn't so hard," I said (a tad smugly) as I turned the camera off. "You want to see it?"</p><p> "Sure!" she said eagerly, joining me on the couch. </p><p> I fast-forwarded to the flip. "Bam! Look at that, you nailed it--but what was with that noise?"</p><p> She clobbered me with a pillow.</p>Radar Midwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03466801162479061193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2748159015046902499.post-78059795517359680472018-08-28T05:34:00.000-05:002018-08-28T16:32:08.970-05:00Captain's Log, Day 187: Let's Call This Research I made the decision one day after staring in frustration at one of my manuscripts. See, I'd just written my protagonist into a bit of a corner, and now he was engaged in a high-speed chase down a partially-blocked street. There was no way his car could fit through the gap.<br />
Ugh, I hated doing that. After a moment's thought, I decided on a logical conclusion. I'd just change out my protagonist's car for a motorcycle. Perfect. I could even do that without much editing to the scene! (The thought of rewriting the <i>surroundings</i> somehow never occurred to me.)<br />
There was only one problem. I had no idea how to ride a motorcycle, and I liked making my scenes as realistic as possible. I shrugged and pulled open my internet browser, searching for used motorcycles. Hmm, they were a lot cheaper than I expected. Time for a trip to the DMV!<br />
When I walked in, the DMV was actually fairly deserted (fortunately; I hate lines!). I went up to the counter and politely inquired how I could go about getting a motorcycle license.<br />
The DMV official behind the counter shrugged. "Well, do you have a permit?"<br />
I shook my head. "No. Do I need one?"<br />
He gave me an odd look. "Well, yes. You have to take the written test first; if you pass, you get your permit. Then you come back later with a bike and you can take the driving test. If you pass that, you get your motorcycle endorsement on your driver's license."<br />
"Ah." I thought for a moment. "What classes do I have to take?"<br />
"Well, are you over eighteen?"<br />
I fought back a laugh. He was the fifth guy <i>that week</i> to ask me that question; the other four had included a couple of very skeptical bouncers who had been fairly convinced that I had a fake ID. "I just turned 26."<br />
He blinked. "Okay. Then no."<br />
"How much to take the written test?"<br />
"First three times are free," he explained. "Fail three times, and we start charging you ten dollars per attempt."<br />
"Fair enough." I handed him my driver's license on a whim. "Sign me up!"<br />
After a heroic effort to not roll his eyes at the wildly unqualified nuisance, the DMV official took my driver's license and assigned me a computer. I sat down, fully prepared to fail but amused at my own audacity, and...passed, ten minutes later. Reflecting on the wisdom behind the old saying "fake it until you make it" and wondering if there was a "BS clause" somewhere in there, I returned to the counter. "Okay, got it!"<br />
The DMV official handed me back my license. "Well, you can come back and try again later--"<br />
"Actually, I passed," I informed him.<br />
He checked his computer. "Oh. Um...well...good job. Here's the paperwork?"<br />
I filled it out as quickly as possible and left with a permit before the DMV could change his mind and reevaluate the permit requirements. A week later, I'd purchased a cheap motorcycle of the "crotch rocket" variety (I'm informed they're called "sport bikes," but I think the other moniker is funnier) for testing purposes.<br />
Bear in mind, I'd still never ridden one before. Much less started one. I got it to my house via trailer and pushing. By the time I'd pushed the bike off the trailer, parked it in the garage, and returned the trailer, it was too late to try my first ride. I decided it would be the next day, when I went to Taekwondo. (Needless to say, I'd be taking back roads.)<br />
The next day got crazy busy, but I somehow managed to finish up work with an hour to spare before I had to leave to Taekwondo. I grabbed my helmet, wheeled the motorcycle out of the garage, and turned the key to start it.<br />
<i>Click.</i> Nothing happened.<br />
I flipped the key again. Still nothing. <i>Hmm.</i> I examined the labels around the key hole. <i>Off, On, Lock</i>. Must not be a <i>Start</i> option up there. I switched it to on and started looking for another button to start the bike. A small thumb button near my right thumb looked promising, so I pushed that. Still nothing.<br />
Okay, I <i>knew</i> this bike worked, since the previous owner had driven it around for me. Why wasn't this thing <i>starting--</i>oh, wait...the big red rocker switch on the right handlebar had two pictures on it: one with an engine and one with an engine with a big red X through it. The rocker switch was currently pushed to the side with the X. I switched it back and tried the thumb button again.<br />
The bike <i>started.</i><br />
I grinned triumphantly and tried to kick up on the shifter to get it in gear. The bike lurched and stalled. After a few seconds of thought, I remembered that motorcycles are <i>manual</i> vehicles (there had been a clutch question that I'd somehow successfully guessed on the DMV test) and that I'd forgotten to pull in the clutch. Oops. I grabbed the clutch lever, pulled it in, and downshifted back into neutral before I started the bike. Then, after I started it, I pulled the clutch in again, kicked the shifter up, and slowly released the clut--<br />
The bike died again.<br />
Fifteen minutes later, I was still not grasping this whole "shifting" thing and was getting annoyed. I stomped into the house to grab my computer, reflecting on the inadequacy of the DMV test for actually determining readiness for motorcycle driving, and googled "How to Shift a Motorcycle." I almost smacked myself. According to the article, neutral existed between first and second gear, which meant you had to shift <i>down</i> to get into first, then <i>up</i> to get into second. I'd been trying to go straight to second like a complete moron. (I was way too used to the four-wheeler I'd driven growing up, which <i>also</i> had a foot shifter but had all the gears lined up, neutral-first-second-etc.) I was also a little mad with myself for not figuring that out, because of <i>course</i> you don't accidentally want to put the bike into neutral on the road. Duh.<br />
Man, I was really getting my money's worth out of this experiment. And just for one scene in my book...<br />
I went back out for another try. After forgetting about the stupid clutch on my first try, my second try had me rolling out the driveway and down the street (about thirty minutes later than I'd expected to leave the house, but hey--I gave myself an hour for a reason). I burned the remaining thirty minutes getting to Taekwondo via the most remote back roads I could find, only killing the bike three times at stop signs because I kept forgetting about the friggin' clutch. (It's worth noting that, on the trip back, I didn't stall it at all!)<br />
I didn't quit practicing, though. After a few weeks, I was comfortable enough to begin training for my book scene as well as my motorcycle endorsement test...<br />
...but that's another story.Radar Midwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03466801162479061193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2748159015046902499.post-7162802866238151782018-06-11T23:00:00.000-05:002018-06-12T06:31:32.376-05:00Captain's Log, Day 186: It's a Fort! It's a Cave! It's a...Hammock? "Guys, I'm booored," Quill blurted out.<br />
"You're just mad 'cuz you're losing," Radar shot back, reaching over to help himself to the rapidly dwindling pile of cash in front of her.<br />
His sister swatted his hand away. "Hey! Quit it!"<br />
"Then pay up," Radar retorted, pointing at the Monopoly board. "You owe me two thousand dollars for landing on Boardwalk."<br />
Nemesis smirked, knowing full well that Radar was coming up on his half of the board and would likely be turning all that money over to him shortly. Quill's jaw dropped. "It is not, you cheater! Last time it was only six hundred!"<br />
"Yeah, like, ages ago--before I put the hotel on it," Radar said, sticking his tongue out.<br />
"When did you do that?"<br />
"Right after I landed on his railroad," Nemesis grumbled, smirk vanishing into the memory of lost cash.<br />
Quill held out her hand. "Let me see the card!"<br />
"Sure, but it's not going to--"<br />
"Oh, just gimme!" She snatched it out of his hand and studied it. Then, with a huff, she threw it down. "I don't have that much."<br />
"You lose!" Radar said cheerfully, scooping up all her cash.<br />
"Can we do something else?" Quill begged as her incredibly competitive brothers started trying to stare each other down.<br />
Nemesis blinked first and tried to disguise it by counting his money. "Like what? Mom said it's too rainy and cold to go outside, and I don't wanna anyway."<br />
"We could asked Mom if we could watch a show," Squirrel suggested, wandering back over. (She'd been knocked out of the game a while ago; her age and her general distaste for math dictated an early loss.)<br />
Radar snorted. "Yeah, good luck with that. She'd in a mood."<br />
"She wouldn't be if you hadn't messed up the kitchen!" Quill retorted grumpily.<br />
"Hey, at least <i>I</i> was trying to help!" he protested. "What were you doing again? Oh right, <i>sleeping</i>."<br />
Squirrel made a move towards the stairs. "Well maybe she has some ideas--"<br />
"DON'T!" her three siblings chorused in unison, stopping her in her tracks. She blinked and looked at them quizzically. Radar sighed and elaborated. "She'll make us do chores. You want to clean the bathrooms?"<br />
"Oh." Squirrel sat down on the couch and grabbed a quilt, throwing it over her head. "Quill, want to play house?"<br />
Quill made a face. "Again?"<br />
Radar snapped his fingers. (Well, he tried to. Didn't quite have the technique yet--he wouldn't get that down until he was about twelve, but he still liked the affectation.) "I know what we can do! But first--Nemesis, how much money do you have?"<br />
His brother eyed him suspiciously. "Why?"<br />
"So we know who won," Radar reasoned, looking down at his huge pile of bills and comparing it to Nemesis's relatively tiny pile.<br />
"Oh, sure." Nemesis started counting.<br />
It turned out that Nemesis had actually won--he'd been slyly converting his stacks of cash into five-hundred-dollar bills when no one was watching, allowing him to lull his lazier brother into a false sense of security. Since he also had one more property than Radar, he was declared the ultimate winner over his brother's protests. Radar promptly declared <i>winner cleans up </i>to sooth his wounded ego and departed the room in a huff.<br />
"What was your idea?" Quill yelled after him.<br />
"I'm getting it!" Radar's voice came echoing back from the general direction of his bedroom, voice slightly muffled.<br />
There were a few confused looks exchanged by the siblings before a general consensus was reached: Radar probably didn't have any good ideas and he'd just retreated to sulk and try to buy himself some time. He'd probably come come back out with a Lego set or something--<br />
A loud crash prompted some recalculating. Nemesis and Quill decided not to go check up on him, though--if he'd broken something, it would be better for them to not be in the immediate vicinity when the hammer of justice came down. They had the Monopoly set mostly put back in the box by the time Radar appeared, weighted down with all of the blankets from both his and Nemesis's beds.<br />
"Hey, I just made the bed this morning!" Nemesis complained.<br />
"So?" Radar reasoned, tossing a blanket at him. "Let's make <i>blanket forts!</i>"<br />
There was a brief pause while everyone considered the proposal; then, with a speed that would rival a cheetah's, the other three disbanded to raid every single closet and bed in the house. (Except for the parental unit's bed, of course--that would have triggered the hammer of justice.) Radar, rolling his eyes at their inefficiency, promptly confiscated all of the quilts off the downstairs quilt rack and disassembled the sofa, removing all the cushions to make a house with. By the time everyone reconvened, he'd also stolen the small picnic table to use in his creation and would have gone after the little playhouse in the corner if the girls hadn't threatened to tattle on him for hoarding.<br />
"Fine," Radar sniffed. "But I get the train table." (Currently cleared off, it was normally where they played with their wooden train sets.)<br />
"Only if I get the picnic table," Nemesis bartered, knowing full well that there was no way his brother would give that up (it was the superior fort-making table, since you could make levels in the fort with the bench seats). Radar surprised him, however, by accepting the deal. His siblings snickered at him and they all got to work.<br />
Since the eldest had a slight time advantage, he was done with his fort first--without using the train table. The table was a top that was set inside a wooden box frame; Radar removed the top, draped a blanket over the frame, making sure that three sides were covered, then replaced the top. It fit <i>very</i> snugly. He was forced to jump on the table top a few times to get it to seat properly. Then, he started filling crates with books and putting them on the table. This was not normal fort-making behavior, so his siblings began gathering.<br />
"What's that for?" Quill asked.<br />
"I'm making a cave," Radar explained. He draped blankets over three sides of the table and tucked them under the crates. Then, he stretched a blanket from his main fort over to the uncovered/untucked side, securing it. "Check this out!"<br />
Curious, they followed him inside. Radar proudly showed off his fort, leaving the train table for last. When they finally crawled there, Quill pointed to the blanket that was pinned above them on three sides, the weight of the table top and the assorted crates above pinning it firmly to the frame. "Cool. You made a ceiling!"<br />
Radar grinned smugly. "No, <i>that's</i> my cave!"<br />
There was a chorus of "Huh?" Radar reached up and pulled on the free end, opening it up so there was a little pocket created between the table top and the blanket. Then, to the astonishment of his siblings, he crawled up and inside. The blanket sagged considerably, but no further than half the distance to the floor, leaving Radar suspended in a hammock of sorts. There was a collective gasp, followed by a series of demands to be allowed to try it out. Radar reappeared at the opening to block the wild attempts to clamber in, reasoning that it wouldn't hold <i>that</i> many siblings.<br />
"How did you think of this?" Nemesis asked enviously.<br />
"Remember when we were at that hotel and we both rolled off the sides of the bed and ended up tucked in the blankets on the sides?" Radar asked, grinning proudly. "Well, when we made the tunnel for the trains last week and I tucked the quilt in on the side of the train table, I got this idea!" He wrinkled his nose. "I just forgot until now. So now my cave has two stories!" He flipped over on his back and tapped the underside of the table. "Three, if you count the outside."<br />
"Neat," Squirrel said enviously, crawling under Radar's rump to the back of the cave.<br />
"Quill, you're next," Radar decided, wanting to stay in but acknowledging that more praise would be forthcoming if his siblings got to try out the "second story of the cave" for themselves.<br />
He wasn't wrong, either. The cave was a hit.Radar Midwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03466801162479061193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2748159015046902499.post-43996366700932121152018-06-06T17:13:00.000-05:002018-06-06T17:13:03.781-05:00Captain's Log, Day 185: Deer Me! Some kids are born troublemaking, some kids achieve troublemaking, and others have troublemaking thrust upon them. I was of the last category, but only because Dad wouldn't let me borrow the ax when I was twelve.<br />
"Nemesis! Wanna go make some forts in the woods?"<br />
My brother looked up from his car book. "I dunn--"<br />
"Well, Mom's going to kick us outside anyway," I added as an afterthought. "She's kinda mad." I neglected to mention that I was the one who ticked her off by more or less destroying the kitchen in an unsanctioned attempt to make muffins.<br />
Nemesis didn't bother with any follow-up questions. No one messed with Ma when she was on the warpath. "Sure, let's go."<br />
"I'll get the ax," I volunteered.<br />
"Dad says--"<br />
I waved a hand airily. "Oh, it's fine. He just doesn't want <i>you</i> getting hurt. I'll go down and <i>check on the chickens--</i>" I made some air quotes, "--and hide it in the woods over behind the barn. We can go in the woods behind the house and circle around to get it and no one will know!"<br />
Nemesis acquiesced, secure in the knowledge that it was my kiester--literally--that would be in the line of fire should our parents find out I was messing with the ax. I departed the house via the downstairs window before our enraged mother could hunt me down and made a beeline for the barn. Ax safely hidden in the woods, I met up with Nemesis and took twenty minutes to retrieve said ax because we insisted on having swordfights with every downed branch we found in the valley.<br />
The valley was in the woods. There were a <i>lot</i> of downed branches.<br />
Now, everyone knows location is the most important aspect of fort construction. Nemesis and I crisscrossed the woods, trying to figure out the best place to place the headquarters of our path to world domination. (We got a little ambitious. Something about that forest...) Eventually, we settled on a spot that would later turn out to be the location for some <a href="http://maximum-effect.blogspot.com/2013/11/captains-log-114-trees-of-summer.html" target="_blank">tree houses</a>. However, we weren't time travelers, so we didn't care. Also, all our forts inevitably fell apart with the first good wind.<br />
We didn't mind. 80% of the fun of a fort was the construction process.<br />
I got to work with the ax, chopping up the longer deadwood littering the area and making a small pile next to me for use in future ramparts. Nemesis located smaller wood chunks that were already suited for walls. At least, that's what he was <i>supposed</i> to be doing; in reality, he kept getting sidetracked by cool stuff he found. I eventually got used to him wandering off and just kept working with the single-minded determination of one who knows that <i>he's</i> gonna be the one to name their creation.<br />
After a while, though, I heard a lot of crashing coming from behind me. I initially assumed Nemesis had slipped and fallen down the hill (we were building on a plateau in the hillside), but the crashing continued for far longer than I though it really should've. I mean, my brother was clumsy, but he wasn't <i>that</i> clumsy. Also, the noise was getting closer. I put the ax on my shoulder (you know, like a real lumberjack would) and turned around to see what was going--<br />
I came face to face with a deer.<br />
No joke. There was a giant buck, antlers and everything, about fifteen feet away from me and closing fast. It was fairly obvious that he would be all up in my kool-aid in about two seconds, so I let out a decidedly un-heroic squeak, dropped the ax, and dove to the side. The big guy thundered by, almost hitting me with his shoulder as he passed. Seemingly oblivious to the small child he'd almost flattened like a pancake, he disappeared over the ridge.<br />
I watched him vanish into the forest, part of me still keyed up from the sudden wildlife encounter and part of me disappointed that, when my life had flashed before my eyes, I still didn't know where I'd lost my favorite remote-control truck. You'd think with my highlight reel being that short, there'd be more useful information contained within.<br />
It took me a moment to remember that I'd come out here with a brother. When the realization hit me, I spun around to try to locate him.<br />
He was fine--he was standing behind and uphill from me, mouth open as he stared at the spot where the buck had dropped out of sight. He caught me staring at him and closed his mouth with some difficulty. "Radar! Did you see that?"<br />
"See it?" I demanded. "I almost got <i>hit</i> by it!"<br />
"I know! That was so cool!" Nemesis yelled.<br />
"Why didn't you <i>warn</i> me?" I yelped.<br />
He closed his mouth and shrugged. "Forgot."<br />
I thought about yelling at him, but decided that it would be wasted breath. Besides, now I had a great story to tell everyone. I pushed myself up into a sitting position...and promptly discovered that the story would need some editing.<br />
I'd dropped the ax on my foot. Blade down.<br />
"Ow," I muttered, examining the gash. Fortunately, the ax had landed across my foot, so the bones kept the blade from penetrating too far; also, I wasn't that tall yet, so there wasn't much time for the ax to build up speed. Still, I was leaking a lot of blood.<br />
Nemesis wandered over. "Oh. Ouch. Did you hit yourself with the ax?"<br />
I glared at him. "No, I dropped it on my foot when I almost got run over by the deer that <i>you</i> didn't warn me about!" I pushed the ax away, wiped my hand off on my shirt (a wasted exercise; my t-shirt was dirtier than my hands were), and slapped my hand over my foot. Then I looked at Nemesis' feet. He was wearing boots. (Not a member of the "Forever Barefoot" club like me. Something about "splinters and thorns"...) "Are you wearing socks?"<br />
He shook his head. "No."<br />
"Ugh, fine." I took stock of my situation. There was only one thing left to do.<br />
I'll leave my solution out of this, because it was a little gross even though it was effective. Let's just say I hopped home; that's sort of true. Nemesis and I bragged about the deer all the way back, too. After I stashed the ax in the woods, I washed off my foot in the mudroom, forgetting that I would also be washing off what little clotting happened. Needless to say, I tracked blood through the entire house. Ma was <i>not</i> pleased with me.<br />
I did manage to get my cut hidden under several band-aids and told Mom that I cut my foot on "something" while "dodging a giant deer!" There was some skepticism until Nemesis backed up my story. He also left out the ax part; I'd impressed upon him the importance of keeping that part of the story secret, pointing out that the ax was technically "something" and the deer portion of the story was more interesting anyway.<br />
Especially since the deer had <i>antlers</i>. Nemesis claimed there were "fifteen! Like at least fifteen antlers!" I claimed twenty, and informed him that "I was closer, so it was easier to count!" (Neither of us were very good at math yet, apparently.)<br />
Anyway, we successfully distracted Mom so she didn't yell at us for the mess. We did have to help clean up, though.<br />
Still one of the coolest things that ever happened to me! I bragged for years...you've almost hit a deer? Well, I almost had a deer hit ME!<br />
Note: Now that I think about it, there probably weren't "twenty antlers" on that deer. Probably closer to "twenty-five."<br />
Just sayin'.Radar Midwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03466801162479061193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2748159015046902499.post-62046664731442880272018-01-01T21:27:00.001-06:002018-01-02T07:16:20.562-06:00Captain's Log, Day 184: A Log of 2017 As is tradition, here is my recap of--huh? What's that?<br />
<br />
Well, apparently I forgot to make a recap for 2016. In my defense, it was a weird year.<br />
<br />
THIS year, however, I'm doing my duty for future generations and summing up 2017. I know people will be <i>so</i> interested in what I did before I got famous (and, future generations, I'm gonna go out on a limb and assume it's the exact same stuff I'm doing now, with fewer gadgets). Read on for a snapshot of my life!<br />
<br />
January: I completely neglected (as I mentioned) to provide a recap of 2016, possibly and erroneously assuming that <a href="http://maximum-effect.blogspot.com/2017/01/captains-log-day-174-update-on-midway.html" target="_blank">my update on the Midway family</a> would suffice for a recap. Even if that did count, that was kinda cheating on my part, since I only wrote about a fourth of it. January was kind of a busy month for me; I finished releasing <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01LXJQ7XL/ref=dp-kindle-redirect?_encoding=UTF8&btkr=1" target="_blank">Off the Radar</a></i> and I decided that I was getting a little bored with my current job. I decided to shop around for new jobs on the offhand chance that a) someone wanted to hire me and b) there was a job that I was actually interested in. I put my new resume up on a couple job-hunting sites and...<br />
<br />
February: ...got flooded with interview requests. Didn't get any writing done, unfortunately; I was attending interviews. Oh, and house shopping, in case I wanted to stay in the area. And running; for some reason, there was a 70-degree warm spell, which was freaking PHENOMENAL! (I hate winter.) Not much to report there.<br />
<br />
March: Interviews were halted abruptly when I found out a company I'd <i>really</i> liked was hiring. I promptly sent in a resume and crossed my fingers. While waiting, I got some work done on <i>Lost</i>, finishing that book up, and started on <i>Voidwalker</i>. I also took a break to make <a href="http://maximum-effect.blogspot.com/2017/03/captains-log-day-174-where-ive-been.html" target="_blank">a small report</a> and display some cover art before getting to work on cleaning up <i>Deadman Switch</i> for publication. And all <i>that</i> work stopped when I got hired by the company I was hoping for!<br />
<br />
April: I spent about half of this month on the road, driving from South Dakota to Minnesota and back. I was still working at my previous company, but I timed my two-week notice out so I only had three days off to move all my crap. I managed to find an apartment in record time, but (since I was moving pretty much by myself) I had to take four or five trips back and forth to complete the move. In a 48-hour period, I spent about 30+ hours on the road. Kinda sucked, but the Dodger took it like a champ. I was also finishing up the <i>Deadman Switch </i>book cover, programming myself a <a href="https://williamsonnek.com/" target="_blank">website</a> and working on my boat, so I slept maybe three hours. That month.<br />
<br />
May: Same thing: boat, book, and...um...what's a word for "website" that starts with "b"? I got nothing. I was also thrown headfirst into my new job and seriously enjoying it. Much less travel this month, though. I was grateful for that.<br />
<br />
June: I finished up the <a href="http://maximum-effect.blogspot.com/2017/06/captains-log-day-176-unexpected-changes.html" target="_blank"><i>Deadman Switch</i> book cover</a>, as well as my <a href="https://williamsonnek.com/" target="_blank">author website</a>, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/wrongwaytowrite/" target="_blank">Facebook page</a>, <a href="https://www.instagram.com/wrongwaytowrite/" target="_blank">Instagram</a>, and <a href="https://twitter.com/wrongwaytowrite" target="_blank">Twitter</a>. (Figured I'd hit the big three there.) Once that was done, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B071WJ5BWD/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1496631308&sr=8-1&keywords=deadman+switch+william+sonnek" target="_blank">I published my novel</a>...and got my first feedback not even 12 hours later. Five stars! Guess someone liked it! With that completed, I got into an argument with someone of stature little and started <a href="http://maximum-effect.blogspot.com/2017/06/captains-log-day-177-never-sit-next-to.html" target="_blank">writing about college stuff</a> in order to win a bet. (I'm still working on it, but I WILL WIN IT. Just have to finish writing these stories down! You're gonna lose, Shorty!) Additionally, I started a new series called "Off the Top of My Head" for my author site, publishing <a href="https://williamsonnek.com/2017/06/11/off-the-top-of-my-head-the-sphisw-problem/" target="_blank">the first post</a> right away so it looked like I had <i>some</i> content up there.<br />
<br />
July: Work on my boat proceeded apace; I finally got the last piece in to make the <i><a href="http://maximum-effect.blogspot.com/2017/07/captains-log-day-179-panama.html" target="_blank">Panama</a></i> functional (the motor) and proceeded to spend a <i>lot</i> of time out on the lake. Shout-out to Rach for helping me install the engine! I mean, I had to install a new one a few weeks later when I blew a piston rod in that one, but hey--we had fun. Seriously, if you only click on one link in this, click on the <i>Panama</i> one. That boat is beautiful. I'm really proud of it. I also <a href="http://maximum-effect.blogspot.com/2017/07/captains-log-day-178-suite-q-lost-it.html" target="_blank">wrote another story about my college years</a>, crossing two out of the seven stories for the bet off my list.<br />
<br />
August: By this point, work was getting easier (I was starting to understand it a little better now) and it was getting cold. Seriously, too cold for boating, even. I was irked, but there was nothing I could do about it. I started attending Taekwondo again, since I was back in the area of my original school, and played games with and pranks on other people. <a href="http://maximum-effect.blogspot.com/2017/08/captains-log-day-180-vault-is-secure.html" target="_blank">Sometimes simultaneously.</a> I had no regrets. I also started reorganizing my files and stumbled across a really old siege engine design, so I wrote down a story about <a href="http://maximum-effect.blogspot.com/2017/08/captains-log-day-181-siege-of.html" target="_blank">why and how I'd designed and built it</a>.<br />
<br />
September: Taekwondo kicked into high gear; I started preparing for the Interschool Tournament (a Taekwondo tournament, FYI) and really began working on a few other projects I had. I also started winterizing the <i>Panama</i>, stopping when it got super warm so I could take her out on the lake a few more times. I also started thinking ahead to National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) and what I wanted to write about for that. I also added to <a href="https://williamsonnek.com/2017/09/19/off-the-top-of-my-head-why-does-his-universe-get-a-god-mode/" target="_blank">"Off the Top of My Head"</a> when I was a little sleep-deprived. It shows.<br />
<br />
October: I broke a rib a <i>week</i> before the Taekwondo tournament. Sadly, I resigned myself to...um...leaving the sparring (fighting) match signup, but competing in everything else--patterns, team patterns, board-breaking, and weapons demonstrations. However, once at the match, I was informed that there was a higher belt there who had signed up for sparring (he was a third degree black belt, I was a second degree black belt) who had no one to compete against. I decided to suck it up and put on my sparring gear. I somehow managed to <i>win</i>, despite the repeated impacts to the damaged side of my ribcage. Afterwards, I chose the smart path (for once) and took a break from Taekwondo the following week to heal. OW. I used the time to prep for NaNoWriMo and <a href="https://williamsonnek.com/2017/10/31/off-the-top-of-my-head-nanowrimo/" target="_blank">write down some advice and strategies for the month</a>. I also <a href="http://maximum-effect.blogspot.com/2017/10/captains-log-day-182-playing-with-possum.html" target="_blank">reminisced about possums</a> in a different story. Maybe you're better off not knowing.<br />
<br />
November: Oh gosh, check <a href="https://www.instagram.com/wrongwaytowrite/" target="_blank">Instagram</a>. I documented my progress with pictures. You can see exactly where I snapped and desired to edit my new book with archery. (It's not that bad; I just had an interesting day.) That's pretty much all I did, though; work, write, and...what's a word for "Taekwondo" that begins with "w"? Dang, I'm really batting zero on the alliteration tonight.<br />
<br />
December: I opened up the month by testing for my next rank in Taekwondo on the first. I also broke my hand because I'm an idiot sometimes, but hey--still passed (possibly because I refused to admit that I broke my hand until <i>after</i> the test). Perihelion bought one of my short stories, <i><a href="https://perihelionscifi.blogspot.com/p/timelock.html" target="_blank">Timelock</a></i>, and published it that month as well. That was my first commercial short story sale! Heck, the story about how I got it published is kind of funny all by itself, but you can read about that <a href="https://williamsonnek.com/published-works/" target="_blank">on my website</a>. I also considered taking up photography, but decided that <a href="http://maximum-effect.blogspot.com/2017/12/captains-log-day-183-daredevil.html" target="_blank">Ma pretty much had that covered.</a><br />
<br />
And that pretty much wraps up the year! Tune in this next year for:<br />
<br />
-at least two, potentially three new book releases<br />
-more short stories, both of the fictional and non-fictional type<br />
-insanity (probably)<br />
-winning that bet with Shorty<br />
-the story about how I bought my first property (haven't yet, but it's GONNA HAPPEN)<br />
-and a partridge in a pear tree. (Hey, it's still the Christmas season!)<br />
<br />
To all of you who've followed me through the creation of this blog, to the publication of my first major novel and other writing-related endeavors...thanks for sticking with me and believing in me. Wishing you all a happy and prosperous New Year!Radar Midwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03466801162479061193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2748159015046902499.post-73617662230414209702017-12-11T17:16:00.000-06:002017-12-11T17:16:09.730-06:00Captain's Log, Day 183: Daredevil Photography "I would like to bring up a topic of general interest," Ma offered as a conversation starter.<br />
I looked up from my turkey/gravy/potato combination that I was currently mashing together. "Um, is it though?"<br />
"Hey now," she protested. "We need to have this discussion--"<br />
Apprehensive glances were exchanged between all siblings.<br />
"--about the Christmas pictures!" Ma finished.<br />
There was a chorus of groans. Our friend from Poland, Wojtek (he was visiting us for Thanksgiving), looked confused. "It is a problem?"<br />
"For those of us who are not photogenic, yeah," I grumbled, then turned to Mom. "Please tell me we're not doing formal this year."<br />
"That would look good," Mom mused. "But what would the girls wear?"<br />
I made a face at my brother Nemesis as the conversation quickly devolved into the logistics of formal wear between Mom and my sisters. "Well, that backfired."<br />
He shrugged placidly and kept eating. "I didn't bring my suit."<br />
"You could borrow one of Radar's," Ma interjected.<br />
"Can't get out of it that easily," I chuckled. "And I think I do have one that would fit you."<br />
"You do not. You're a twig!" Nemesis returned, refraining from pointing out (again) that he outweighed me by fifty pounds. It was a bit of a sore subject for me.<br />
I resisted the urge to kick him. "Well, last time we got a suit, Mom made them leave some <i>room to grow,</i>" I explained. "Ergo, it's a little big for me, but it wouldn't be too snug on you. Just...don't do jumping jacks or anything like that."<br />
"You usually don't exercise in a suit," Wojtek noted.<br />
"Never stopped me," I returned through a mouthful of turkey.<br />
"Okay, I think we're going to do a black shirt/jeans thing," Mom announced, finishing the discussion with the girls. "Now we just have to decide where to do it."<br />
"We could do it on the front porch--" my sister Quill began.<br />
The youngest sibling, Squirrel, interrupted her older sister. "Did that the year before. Or was it two years--I forget, but we've done it already."<br />
I thought for a moment. "Hey, remember when we did one in the back of my truck?"<br />
Mom looked wary. "...yes?"<br />
"We already did that too," Quill pointed out. "Obviously."<br />
"Well, we could do a similar thing, except with my boat," I suggested. "I could hook up the trailer tomorrow, bring it out and park it in the front yard somewhere, and we could do the picture in there."<br />
"You could back it into the pond and we could shoot it in there," Dad joked, straight-faced.<br />
Ma's eyes lit up. "Hey...that's a GREAT idea!"<br />
I stroked my chin. "Well, if we could get some boards down--wait, isn't the pond frozen?"<br />
"It's not that thick," Mom said excitedly. "And we could get the dogs on board and--"<br />
"Dear, I was <i>kidding</i>," Dad protested.<br />
"Okay, <i>first</i> off, there shall be no dogs on my boat," I said firmly. "Second off, I'm not shoving the <i><a href="http://maximum-effect.blogspot.com/2017/07/captains-log-day-179-panama.html" target="_blank">Panama</a></i> into a bunch of ice. It would scratch the paint."<br />
"But it would be <i>so funny!</i>" Ma protested. "Please, could we--"<br />
"Not unless you're willing to shell out another three grand for a new paint job," I said. Quill and Squirrel groaned in disappointment. I thought for a moment. "Plus another hundred and thirty to re-winterize the motor. I already had it drained and prepped."<br />
"Party pooper," Mom said disapprovingly.<br />
"Again. <i>Joking,</i>" Dad reminded everyone. No one listened.<br />
I shrugged. "We can do it next summer. Or fall. You know, before it gets too cold. Having the boat on the pond <i>would</i> be funny."<br />
"And we can have the dogs--"<br />
"NO."<br />
Quill giggled. "Seriously, where are we going to do it this year?"<br />
"Well...let me think..." Ma said slowly.<br />
Nemesis cleared his throat. "We don't <i>have </i>to do Christmas pictures this year."<br />
"Yes we do," Mom said emphatically.<br />
"Well, if we've GOTTA do Christmas pictures, let's do them on the roof of the house," I joked. "Nemesis, wanna sling the turkey this way, please?"<br />
"Ooh, like in front of the gable? Sure," Mom agreed suddenly.<br />
I blinked. "Wait, what?"<br />
"I think he was kidding too," Dad mused.<br />
"Actually, I wasn't, but I didn't think she'd go for it," I clarified.<br />
Mom looked thoughtful. "But we couldn't have the dogs in it."<br />
"Well, technically, we could," Quill pointed out, giggling. "At least the small ones. Rocky, probably not." She looked down at Mom's new golden retriever, who grinned up at her and poked his nose at her plate. She pushed him away. "HEY!"<br />
"The dogs were in the photo <i>last</i> year," I reminded everyone.<br />
"Not Rocky!" Mom protested. "We didn't have him--"<br />
"Not a loss," Squirrel muttered under her breath to Quill.<br />
Dad raised his hand. "So we should do one on the ground. Good. In front of the front door?"<br />
"Let's do both," Squirrel proposed. "One on the roof and one on the ground, and see which one's better!"<br />
One day later, I was back out at the farm and ready to go. Mom grouped us up in Squirrel's bedroom and told us how she wanted us to line up on the roof before departing for the downstairs to get her camera. Squirrel opened her window and I pulled the screen out, leading the way out of her gable. Wojtek watched with amusement; I informed him that he really shouldn't be laughing, since Ma was probably going to make him join us for at least one picture.<br />
"That is fine," he reassured me.<br />
"Yeah, you say that <i>now</i>," Nemesis said, making a face.<br />
It was a little cold out. I guided my siblings to their spots, standing between them and the edge in case one of them should slip. (It was universally acknowledged that I had the greatest chance of walking away from any sudden roof descents, partially because I <i>had</i> fallen off of several roofs already...and from greater heights than this.) We got into position with a minimum of jostling and a maximum of threats against other siblings. Also a family tradition.<br />
"So how is Mom--" Quill started, then broke off as we heard the familiar rumble of the skid loader. Dad came driving up from the barn, waving the bucket at us before parking in front of the sidewalk. Mom hopped in the bucket and we convulsed with laughter.<br />
"Should have guessed," Quill admitted.<br />
Squirrel checked her pockets. "Does anyone have a phone?"<br />
"I've got this," I promised and took several pictures of Mom slowly ascending in the bucket.<br />
"Positions!" Nemesis begged. "It's a little cold up here!"<br />
"It would be great if it wasn't for the wind," I admitted, trying to get my hair out of my face. "Oh, hell with it."<br />
"You think <i>you</i> have it bad," Squirrel remarked through a mouthful of her own hair.<br />
Mom raised the camera. We all smiled.<br />
"Wait!" she yelled, turning to Dad. "I gotta go back down!"<br />
There were a chorus of groans from the roof. "WHY?" Nemesis yelled.<br />
"Wrong lens!" Mom explained.<br />
We burst out laughing again. "Go figure," I muttered as Dad put Mom back on the ground. She hurried inside. Wojtek laughed at us from inside Squirrel's room.<br />
Dad drove forward with the skid loader, jerking it back and forth across the sidewalk for a minute before he dropped the bucket all the way to the ground and grinned up at us. He unzipped his jacket and turned up the radio loud enough to be heard even through the closed cab and over the noise of the engine.<br />
"Now he's just gloating," Quill giggled, sticking out her tongue at him.<br />
I felt compelled to defend him. "Hey, if I could sit inside with a heater and some tunes instead of getting my picture taken, you could bet your--"<br />
"Hey now," Squirrel interrupted me.<br />
"--I would," I finished, ignoring her.<br />
"I think my fingers are falling off," Nemesis complained, walking around the roof fearlessly.<br />
"My hair's in my face!" Squirrel complained.<br />
I joined in the good-natured complaining. "I can't feel my butt. Is that normal?"<br />
"I'm gonna jump," Quill threatened, laughing and holding out her hands in a posture reminiscent of swan-diving.<br />
Mom came running back outside and climbed in the bucket. "Ready!"<br />
Dad raised her up. She held the camera up, then yelled down, "Back up!"<br />
Dad backed up. She waved her hand. "More...more...more..."<br />
In a few seconds, the skid loader was further out than it had been to start with. I frowned. "Where are you <i>going?</i>"<br />
"I got the zoom lens!" Mom yelled back. "I need to back up a lot!"<br />
I stared at her incredulously. "You mean you got a different lens when you could have just had Dad move the Bobcat <i>closer?</i>"<br />
"This takes better pictures," Mom yelled back, then waved to Dad. "Back up more!"<br />
I groaned. "If they hit my truck, I'm gonna be--"<br />
"Radar, language!" Quill interrupted.<br />
"Whatever."<br />
"Okay, smile!" Squirrel suggested.<br />
We smiled. Then goofed off. And basically did whatever the heck we wanted while Ma took pictures. Eventually, we got Wojtek out on the roof and took a couple pictures with him as well.<br />
"Okay, that's probably good," Mom finally decided. "Let's go downstairs and shoot a few more!"<br />
There was a mass scramble for the window (we were pretty cold by this point). I opted to let the others go in first, and so got treated to the entertainment of Mom trying to get Dad to let her down and Dad pretending not to understand her and driving the skid loader around instead.<br />
And, despite the facial expressions of everyone (not to mention Squirrel's dramatic pose) in the following photo...Mom still decided to use one of the front door pics with the dogs.<br />
On some upcoming Christmas, we should just do a blooper reel of pics <a href="http://maximum-effect.blogspot.com/2015/04/captains-log-day-141-picture-perfect.html" target="_blank">from previous years</a>.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm not sure what we're all thinking, but I'll take a guess based on facial expressions. (From left to right) Nemesis: "LET'S KILL BATMAN." Squirrel: "Can you paint with all the colors of the wiiiiiind?" Quill: "I think I'm eating my own hair, but I'm still cute, so who cares." Radar: "I can't feel my butt and I'm pretty sure I accidentally wedgied myself."</td></tr>
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Radar Midwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03466801162479061193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2748159015046902499.post-59065599474864098242017-10-17T21:59:00.003-05:002017-10-17T21:59:45.297-05:00Captain's Log, Day 182: Playing *With* Possum The night started out pretty normally. I got into a rather heated Halo match with Shorty, wound up in a rather heated debate with her about the properties of laser sword feasibility on the subsequent victory run to Long John Silvers, got my shin kicked repeatedly when I bought her food and managed to get the cashier to think we were dating (a running joke by this point), and...<br />
...and, come to think of it, this was really only normal for me. Unless the rest of you had pretend midget girlfriends/wives (it varied) in college.<br />
One further note: the "pretend" part was regarding the relationship status, not the height. Totally a midget. Hence the shin-kicking.<br />
<i>Anyway</i>, the real fun started when I managed to steal her phone and send a text from it to a secondary number of mine.<br />
"YEEK! Radar, gimme that back!" Shorty demanded.<br />
"Yeah, yeah, give me a second," I said absently. The table was wide enough to prevent a sudden onslaught from the other side, so I had a moment.<br />
That's not to say she didn't <i>think</i> about launching herself across like a very tiny Radar-seeking missile, but since there would be a certain launch time associated with that while she climbed up on the table, she settled for giving me the evil eye instead. "Well, good thing I password-locked it."<br />
I finished the text and flipped the phone around. "You mean the password I guessed on the second try?"<br />
Shorty closed her eyes in mock pain. "You know me too well."<br />
"As your kill/death ratio in Halo would indicate," I agreed, tossing her phone back across the table. "You may receive an interesting text in a few moments."<br />
"What did you do?"<br />
"Texted a friend of mine," I lied. Actually, I had some research to do on a book, and I wanted to see if I could write well enough as someone else to fool one who knew me. Hence, Shorty. Stealthily, I pulled out my phone and texted her back.<br />
She unlocked her phone. "What did you--RADAR!!!!!"<br />
I snickered. "It's a conversation starter!"<br />
"Well, now this guy is going to think I'm crazy!" she complained.<br />
*BZZ*<br />
She read the text. "Oh. Wait. Never mind. He <i>knows</i> I'm crazy."<br />
"Really? How so?" I asked innocently.<br />
She made a face at me. "Because I hang out with <i>you.</i>"<br />
"Fair point," I conceded, confident she hadn't guessed that is was me.<br />
<b>(</b>She never figured it out--until I told her a year later, anyway. Definitely my longest-running prank of all time. She didn't believe me either until I sent her the screenshots of the account information for that phone number!)<br />
We finished the meal with more debate about various random things--arguing about everything was pretty much our favorite pastime--and headed back to college. Once there, I remembered to <i>finally</i> take my racquetball gear out of the car. A fateful decision, as it turned out.<br />
"What are you planning on doing with that?" Shorty asked as I slammed the door shut.<br />
"Teach you how to play!" I announced, striking an exaggerated pose.<br />
She snorted and kept walking, back towards her apartment. "Yeah, <i>no.</i> First off, I already know how--"<br />
"THEN I CHALLENGE!" I whooped.<br />
"And second off, just no. I've heard stories--I'm too young to die!"<br />
"Wuss."<br />
"No, just smar--hey, is that a cat?"<br />
I looked where she was pointing. Two glowing eyes stared back at us from under a nearby car. I frowned. "Hmm, something seems off for a cat."<br />
"It's totally a cat," Shorty said positively and made several clicking sounds. "Here, kitty, kitty, kit--<i>holy crap!</i>"<br />
I burst out laughing as the "cat" whipped around and retreated, exposing a very long and very bare tail. "Yeah, that's a possum!"<br />
"Shut up," Shorty suggested, red-faced.<br />
"Make me," I returned, already rushing forward. "Come on! It went under that car there!"<br />
"Why are we following the giant rodent?" she asked, hanging back in a manner justifying my "wuss" comment previously.<br />
"Rodents of unusual size? I don't believe they exist," I quoted. "But to answer your question, I want to catch it."<br />
"Oh, great." Shorty crouched, muttering something about <a href="http://maximum-effect.blogspot.com/2012/04/captains-log-day-68-i-like-frogs.html">frogs</a>.<br />
I ignored her and dropped down as well. "Man, it's going to be hard to get it out from there." I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture, spooking it. "--there it goes!"<br />
"Behind the fan!" Shorty announced, getting into the chase in spite of herself. (Admittedly, she probably thought there wasn't a chance I would actually catch it.)<br />
I sighed and hopped back up. "It's an AC unit, you...you...um...math major!"<br />
She burst out laughing.<br />
I scurried around the car in hot pursuit. Peeking over the top of the unit, I saw a pointy snout, so I took another picture. After a moment's study, I took my best guess at where his tail was, dropped the phone, and dove. There was a scream.<br />
But not from me.<br />
"You caught it <i>youcaughtitholycrapareyouINSANE??</i>" Shorty yelped as I dragged the reluctant rodent out.<br />
I snagged one of my discarded rackets just in time to prevent the hissing beast from biting my leg. "See? Piece of cake. Take a picture!"<br />
The possum resigned itself to its fate and stopped struggling, giving both of us the evil eye. Shorty picked up my phone semi-reluctantly and snapped a few pictures. "You're crazy."<br />
"Yep," I agreed. "Okay, back up, I'm letting him go."<br />
Shorty retreated with a speed normally associated with ballistic missiles. I let go of Mr. Possum's tail. He declined the possibility of a rematch and took off like a shot into the darkness.<br />
I held out my hand for my phone. "You know, if these don't turn out, we'll have to catch him again--"<br />
"Oh <i>hell</i> no!" Shorty giggled.<br />
Fortunately for her sanity, she did get a good one.<br />
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<br />Radar Midwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03466801162479061193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2748159015046902499.post-37523818461718577872017-08-27T11:13:00.001-05:002017-12-04T09:38:21.398-06:00Captain's Log, Day 181: Siege of the Basketballs Radar wasn't really paying attention to what he was doing (which wasn't really unusual for him, per se). It was just another day at college--planning what homework to do next, bantering with his lab partners, unloading a siege engine from the back of a truck, dropping an electric motor--<br />
"GAH!"<br />
Radar noticed the motor slipping off the tailgate at the last second, but lunged forward too late to stop it. In desperation, he did the next best thing; throwing his leg forward to try to catch it with his foot. Now, he was decently strong, but still not strong enough to stop a thirty-pound motor falling at (what seemed to be) a significant fraction of the speed of light.<br />
<i>THUD.</i><br />
"OW!"<br />
"What happened?" Liz asked, rounding the corner.<br />
Radar carefully removed the motor from his foot before beginning his traditional <i>just-broke-his-foot</i> dance. "Motor slipped! Ah, <i>blast blast blast--</i>"<br />
"You can swear. We don't mind," Phil offered generously.<br />
"Why didn't you move your foot?" Kaci asked.<br />
Radar paused his dance to look quizzically at her. "I <i>did.</i> Right under the motor."<br />
"I think she meant <i>out of the way,</i>" Liz clarified<br />
"Why would I do that? This motor is a rental," Radar pointed out. "My foot will heal. The motor won't."<br />
Phil snickered and went back to unloading. "Good point."<br />
The girls were looking a little concerned. "Did you break it?" Kaci asked.<br />
Radar made a face at his foot. "Probably."<br />
"Do you need to go to the hospital?" Liz clarified as Radar picked up the motor and limped off with it.<br />
"Do I <i>look</i> crazy?" he shot back over his shoulder.<br />
"Yes," everyone said in unison.<br />
The point was fair. The three of them had known Radar for almost two years now--ever since he'd started taking college classes the year before, at sixteen. He quickly became known for two things: the fact that he ran everywhere, and his interesting additions to all laboratory experiments. Also, for sticking his hand in a beaker of hydrochloric acid when he mistook it for water, to the amazement of Liz (who was his lab partner at the time). By this point, though, everyone just accepted the fact that he was indestructible and let him take lead on all potentially hazardous experiments.<br />
The project they were working on was their spring design project for physics: building a siege engine. The project originally started with three constraints--be able to launch a basketball two hundred and fifty feet, fire five times in twenty minutes, and be constructed for less than one hundred dollars--but after an overenthusiastic Radar had showed up to a meeting with twenty designs utilizing everything from gunpowder to compressed air to massive springs, their prudent professor had outlawed all chemical, compression, and torsion methods. He clearly hoped to steer them towards some form of gravity as their propulsion system (as in a traditional trebuchet type of thing), but Radar had other ideas.<br />
Liz, Phil, and Kaci were less enthusiastic about his brainstorm, but they admitted the coolness factor and the uniqueness of the project were definitely pluses. Besides, Radar's prototype had almost put out a lightbulb with a ping-pong ball, so they were pretty confident it would work in some fashion.<br />
Once they got their siege engine assembled, Radar ran a quick systems check and declared it functional. The others decided to run their own checks, just in case. Radar mock-indignantly demanded to know why he wasn't trusted; Phil pointed out that Radar's prototype had almost taken his head off and burned out all the electronics within it. Radar promptly informed him that a) Phil should have ducked and b) the electronics were Radar's anyway and he'd been curious to see what would happen if he hooked them up to a car battery (and the results had been totally worth it). Kaci agreed on that last point, and Liz suggested that--since this was Radar's brainchild anyway and he was the one most likely to survive any incidents--he should be the one to fire it first. He agreed enthusiastically, and the lab team stored the project in a nearby building and disbanded for the night.<br />
The next day dawned bright and early for all of them. Well, earlier for the other teams, who had to put together their massive trebuchets, while Team Radar ("We are NOT calling ourselves that," Liz informed the self-dubbed "mascot" between giggle fits) just had to drag their machine out onto the field. Their professor, who was overseeing everything, raised an eyebrow at the contraption.<br />
"You built <i>that</i> for a hundred bucks?" he asked, a little incredulously.<br />
"Eighty," Radar said proudly. "The motors were lent to us for free."<br />
"Plus, Radar has the entire Menards store at his house, apparently," Liz added parenthetically (and a little jealously).<br />
He shook his head. "I think we'll have you guys go last. That looks like it might destroy the basketballs after a few shots."<br />
"Hey, keeping them in one piece was never part of the design specs," Phil pointed out hastily.<br />
Professor burst out laughing. "That's true!"<br />
They had to wait forty minutes for their turn. Team One's engine could really hurl the ball, but their accuracy was a bit lacking--they got off six shots in twenty minutes, and landed them in a 100-foot diameter area. Team Two did a bit better; they got off seven shots, and landed them in a comparatively tighter fifty-foot circle. Then, it was the third team's turn.<br />
"So, explain to us how this works," Professor invited them.<br />
Radar took a step back, trying to get behind his teammates (he hated public speaking). Kaci noticed and caught his arm. "Nuh uh. This is your idea."<br />
"Yeah, go for it!" Phil said mischievously.<br />
"I hate you," Radar muttered before taking a breath. "Okay, this is our siege engine--emphasis on <i>engine.</i> It's powered by two electric motors, which spin in opposite directions. The wheels on top, which I stole from Dad's old broken snowblower, grip the basketball and use their rotational inertia, plus the motor power, to fire the ball."<br />
"Like a massive pitching machine," Liz added helpfully.<br />
Radar paused, mouth open. "Why didn't I think of that?"<br />
"I thought that was your idea in the first place," Kaci said, confused.<br />
He shook his head. "No, but it should have been."<br />
"So how do you keep the motors from being ripped off the mountings?" Professor asked curiously.<br />
"Ah. That's the brilliant part," Liz said. "Radar came up with this system--"<br />
"--with some help from my dad," Radar interjected honestly.<br />
"--to have the motors on hinges," Liz continued, ignoring him. "The motors are on springs, holding the wheels as close as possible. When the ball is fed through, it forces the wheels apart. The springs help the wheels grip the ball, and pull the motors back together after the ball is fired."<br />
Professor still looked dubious. "Well..give it a shot."<br />
"Pun intended?" Radar asked, snatching up the power cords. "Alrighty, stand back!"<br />
The motors fired up, spinning the wheels insanely fast. Radar caught the ball Kaci tossed him, crossed his fingers, and rolled it up the ramp.<br />
<i>ZWIPTHUD.</i><br />
The ball went hurtling off towards the target, landing about twenty feet in front of it. Radar rolled ball #2. <i>ZWIPTHUD.</i> The ball zipped through the wheels, the motors thudded back together, and the second shot landed almost directly on top of the same spot at the first one.<br />
"Okay, I so wanna try this," Phil said, grinning.<br />
"One more?" Radar pleaded, having already launched three and four.<br />
Phil ignored him and took a ball. "Shot five away!"<br />
The team continued an almost constant stream of fire, with short breaks to adjust angles and discuss distance to target. They managed to get within ten feet, but couldn't get any further forward, since they had a pretty limited adjustment angle to work with. Radar made a note of that for their report.<br />
The team totally nailed the <i>five times in twenty minutes</i> part, though--they fired over a hundred times in total. "Plus," Kaci noted, "we're technically the most accurate. All our shots are right on top of each other."<br />
"Except for that pop fly I did," Radar giggled. "That almost hit me."<br />
"How did you do that?" Liz asked.<br />
Radar demonstrated. "Just bounce the ball off the track so the wheels pop it <i>up,</i> and not <i>forward.</i>"<br />
Phil burst out laughing. "I want to try!"<br />
The basketballs were definitely worn out by the time their twenty minutes was up. Professor ordered a general teardown and cleanup, and the teams set to work. Radar, curious about his grade, approached his professor. "How did we do?"<br />
Liz, Kaci, and Phil joined him, equally curious. Professor took a breath. "Well...I'm going to give you guys an automatic A. I would have bet money that it wouldn't have worked! Very well done!"<br />
"I still think the cannon would have been cooler," Radar said amidst the general jubilation.<br />
Professor chuckled. "I don't think we could get away with setting off explosions on a college campus," he said dryly. <br />
"Touché," Radar admitted and limped back to help with disassembly.<br />
"So, Radar, what would you have done if we'd gotten the concrete canoe project they had last year?" Liz asked mischievously as they were finishing up.<br />
Radar cocked an eyebrow at her. "Are you kidding? Weaponize the sucker. Water cannon turret! Hey, what's so funny?"<br />
His three teammates were laughing too hard to respond.<br />
<br />Radar Midwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03466801162479061193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2748159015046902499.post-74999304059884902732017-08-22T17:07:00.000-05:002017-08-22T21:04:26.285-05:00Captain's Log, Day 180: The Vault Is Secure "Okay, okay, I'm ON!"<br />
My Xbox live partner finally joined the party, giggling slightly at the barrage of texts I'd just sent her. I chuckled. "Well, I spent enough time porting this map onto my Xbox One--you are GOING to see this."<br />
"I'm excited," Exastris admitted, accepting the game invite I sent her. A moment later, her icon appeared on my map, along with the words <i>Exastris joined Darkfire Ranger.</i> And she was, like, halfway across the map. "Whoa. Did you make these mountains? They're very square! Like big block cliffs!"<br />
"No, they just spawned like that," I told her. "Let's see--oh, I know where you are. Jump off the side with the water on it. You <i>should</i> survive..."<br />
"Should?"<br />
"Well, it took ME a few tried to get it right," I laughed. "I'll come over to meet you. Look for a railway."<br />
I heard the echo of a splash through Exastris' mike. "I made it! Oh, hey, I found the railway."<br />
"Cool. I'll be there in...twenty seconds."<br />
"Is that a GIANT TREE?" Exastris demanded incredulously.<br />
"One I built, yeah. The inside is hollow," I replied proudly. "It's a literal tree <i>house</i>...but I gotta be careful with fire whenever I'm in there." I whooshed past the house with no sign of her avatar. "Where did you go?"<br />
"Nowhere," she protested. "I'm on the bridge next to the railway!"<br />
"On the bri--oh, you mean over by Nemesis's house," I suddenly realized, spinning the rail car around. "I thought he and I destroyed that."<br />
"Your brother has a house here?"<br />
"Two. We built this map together," I explained. "He has a fort here and another on the other side of the map. He's not as dedicated to the craft as I am, though. I mean, I have a tree house, a castle, a pirate ship--"<br />
"You have a <i>pirate ship?</i>"<br />
"--the <i>Enterprise </i>from <i>Star Trek</i>, a secure vault, and railways crossing this whole place," I finished.<br />
"I demand to see the pirate ship," Exastris informed me. "And the vault. You've been talking that up for a while. Oh, hey, I see you."<br />
"Hi there." My avatar punched her in greeting.<br />
"HEY!"<br />
"Sorry-not-sorry. Here's your cart. Follow me!"<br />
I led the way to my castle. Via the tree house, of course. Exastris loved that, and insisted on exploring it all the way to the top. I couldn't really argue that--I was proud of my creation, and it did have an excellent view up there.<br />
Once we got closer to the castle, the <i>Enterprise </i>became visible. Well, I say became visible--it kinda blotted out the sun for a few moments. It looked most impressive, if I do say so myself. We rumbled into the railway shed, hopped out, and headed into the castle, taking a brief moment to change our spawn points (Exastris didn't see the point, but I foresaw death and insisted on it).<br />
"Okay, so...where is this vault?"<br />
I pointed. "In the well."<br />
"In the--you're kidding."<br />
"Nope." I dove in. Sinking to the bottom, I opened the door in the side of the well's wall and walked into the passage. Exastris followed me.<br />
"Okay, go to," I said generously. "Although, I don't exactly remember how I set this up, so--"<br />
Exastris brushed past me and headed down the hall--a little too fast. A delayed trapdoor hissed open underneath her at the intersection. She had just enough time to pause and look down before she vanished into the hole. The hole, which led to a pit of fire. <i>FWOOSH.</i> A moment later, a notification popped up on my screen: <i>Exastris went up in flames.</i><br />
"RANGER!!!" Exastris yelled, then burst out laughing.<br />
I was laughing so hard I couldn't breath. "The moment...of...dawning...realization..." I choked out.<br />
"Yeah, that was a Wiley Coyote moment there," she admitted. "Oh, look! Gravity! Now, how do you get <i>past</i> that?"<br />
"Walk slowly," I advised, still giggling. "It slides shut after a moment. Then, you can walk over it."<br />
She took my advice. "Oh, hey, there's a button here. Should I push it?"<br />
I took a look. It was a benign button--it powered a section of wall that would slide back and allow access to a disarming lever. "Sure, why not."<br />
Exastris pushed it. The wall hissed open. Startled, she took a step back, tripped the trapdoor, and fell through again. <i>FWOOSH. </i>I fell off the couch laughing.<br />
"DAMMIT RANGER!" Exastris respawned. "Okay, that was kinda my fault."<br />
"Maybe you should go a different route?" I suggested when I stopped laughing. "You realize there's multiple paths at that intersection--"<br />
"You realize you could just <i>tell</i> me how to get through?" she suggested, a little sarcastically.<br />
"Where would be the fun in that?" I reasoned. "Also, I only know how disarm it by actually going in there and doing it with you, and I'm pretty sure you'd get me killed."<br />
She laughed. "Okay, true. Still, I'm not sure if I trust you." She navigated the trapdoor, ignored the button, and turned right. I heard a faint click.<br />
"Oh, <i>now</i> I remember what was down there!" I snapped my fingers.<br />
"What?"<br />
<i>BOOM.</i> Multiple boxes of TNT, hidden in the walls and the floor, exploded. Exastris died instantly.<br />
"A booby trap," I said innocently.<br />
"Ooh. Sneaky," she complimented me.<br />
I reset the map and invited her back in. "Thanks. I try. Want to go again?"<br />
"You're insane," she told me.<br />
I waited.<br />
"...yes."<br />
"Thought so!" I said triumphantly.<br />
Exastris went down the left tunnel this time, disregarding the button. Needless to say, the booby-traps didn't disengage. <i>BOOM.</i><br />
"Are we having <i>strugs</i>?" I asked innocently, using our shorthand for <i>struggle</i> to mock her a little.<br />
She giggled. "Oh, shut up. Just show me how!"<br />
I reset the map and led the way. After dodging the trapdoor, I pushed the button. The wall shot back, and I quickly hit the hidden lever before it shut again. "Okay, that disables the left side booby traps. The right side is still live, so DON'T go that way."<br />
"Got it." Exastris followed me.<br />
I rounded the corner. "Okay, go stand by the vault door." Once she was in position, I hit another button. Nothing happened.<br />
"Um..." Exastris started.<br />
"It's a delayed release," I said.<br />
<i>Click.</i> The door released. Exastris shot inside--and almost fell off the narrow bridge into the fire below. A <i>long </i>ways below. "Wow, this is crazy! What are the walls made of?"<br />
"Hardest material in the game," I said proudly. "Obsidian. I can set off all the TNT around here and still never breach the vault."<br />
Exastris slowly (and carefully) walked across the bridge to the chest at the end--right in the middle of the vault, over the fire pit. "This is <i>super </i>cool. What's in here?"<br />
"Oh, an extra map, gold, diamonds, some enchanted weapons, stuff like that," I explained.<br />
"Wow. Crazy."<br />
"This is a booby-trapped vault at the bottom of a well over a pit of fire surrounded by TNT," I summed it up. "Yeah, crazy pretty well covers it. And you haven't even seen the pirate ship yet."<br />
"How do you even build a pirate ship in <i>Minecraft</i>? You know what, nevermind. LEAD THE WAY," Exastris ordered loudly and almost blew herself up on the way out.Radar Midwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03466801162479061193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2748159015046902499.post-66484755882220720622017-07-23T09:03:00.002-05:002017-07-23T22:37:48.709-05:00Captain's Log, Day 179: PANAMA<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I was working on wrestling the steering cable into position when I smacked my hand into the back of the motor. Muttering something uncomplimentary about the motor's parentage under my breath, I tried to surreptitiously check my hand for damage.<br />
"You okay?"<br />
Not stealthy enough. I made a face, wiped off the blood, and got back to work. "Yeah, I'm fine. Would you mind handing me the thingy?"<br />
Full disclosure; I'm not super eloquent under the best of circumstances, and, when making plans to attach a stubborn cable to the appropriate hole on the motor, even worse than normal. Fortunately, Rach was a mind-reader and handed me the correct bolt. A few minutes of tweaking later (Rach wound up holding the engine steady for me), the steering system was complete.<br />
"I gotta get a longer cable," I muttered.<br />
"So is it done?"<br />
I laughed. "Not even close. I still have to install the wiring for the lights, put the side bench seats in, put carpet under the bow seats, put the ceiling in--"<br />
She poked me. "I meant the motor."<br />
"Eep! I know, I was just messing with you," I clarified, relocating to the other side of the boat with a speed generally associated with supersonic jets. (Ticklish.) "Yeah, the motor's done. Want to try it out?"<br />
"Definitely!" she said enthusiastically.<br />
I gave her a thumb's-up and vaulted out. "Thanks for the help, by the way. Half the work I've done on this thing has been two-person jobs that I've had to do by myself. It's nice to get something done quickly for a change."<br />
"Have you had this out on the water yet?" Rach descended a little slower than I had.<br />
"Sort of. The first motor had a lower unit issue, so we didn't go very fast." I made a face. "The boat never got up on plane--which, by the way, is boat-speak for going so fast most of your hull is out of the water."<br />
"What kind of issue?"<br />
"It leaked. BADLY." I snorted. "The last test with it ended with us losing most of the oil, which--needless to say--let in a ton of water. The forward gear got shredded or something, so it only ran in reverse. We had to BACK the boat out of the middle of the lake."<br />
She giggled. "You're kidding."<br />
"I wish." I sighed. "Super embarrassing. That's how we found out we had a leak--running it in reverse for so long stuck the oil all along the prop casing. That was the point at which I decided to just give up on the dang thing and get a new motor." I slapped the engine cowling for emphasis. "A lighter, more powerful motor. This one's 115 horsepower."<br />
"What was the other?"<br />
"One hundred." I snickered. "And the boat's rated for 90. She'll <i>fly</i> when this thing opens up." I glanced down. "I'll need a new prop at some point, though. This one's a little beat up."<br />
Rach raised an eyebrow. "Is that a problem? The motor, I mean."<br />
I shook my head. "Nah, I shaved off a lot of weight when I rebuilt the boat, and this motor only weighs <i>maybe</i> twenty-five pounds more than a contemporary 60's ninety-horse. Plus, I reinforced the transom. She'll hold up just fine." I grinned "Engineer, remember?"<br />
She stuck her tongue out at me. "Showoff."<br />
"Wait until this boat actually <i>works,</i>" I returned. "Shall we?"<br />
"Yes," she said, laughing. "I have some boat-related bucket list items to do."<br />
I had to pull the boat out of my garage "manually"--the parking lot didn't have enough room to hook up the truck and still make the turn. A few minutes later, though, I was hooked up and ready to go. Rach hopped in, I googled the nearest lake, and we set off.<br />
Ten minutes later, I was cursing. "What kind of stupid landing is <i>this?</i>"<br />
"Will it work?" Rach asked, looking at the cockeyed trailer dubiously.<br />
"Not even remotely," I said disgustedly. "I mean, we could probably float the boat off just fine, but there's no way we could get it back on. They need to grade this stupid thing."<br />
She made a face. "Now what? Head back?"<br />
"Not a chance," I said resolutely. "There's another lake I know of, and that one is really popular. It's <i>gotta</i> have a decent landing there somewhere."<br />
Fortunately for my sanity, it did. I backed the trailer into the water, grabbed the keys, and hopped into the boat. "We should <i>probably</i> test the motor first before we take the boat off...you know, in case it doesn't work."<br />
"Is that a possibility?"<br />
"Always," I grumbled, pressurizing the fuel line with the hand pump. Going to the captain's chair, I crossed my fingers and turned the key.<br />
The motor whined a little but didn't start.<br />
I let off the key, then cranked it again and gave it a little throttle.<br />
More whining. Still no starting.<br />
I gave it a little more throttle and tried again.<br />
The motor whined, sputtered, and <i>almost </i>started, but killed itself.<br />
A few minutes later, it was <i>still</i> not starting. I was looking annoyed. Rach tried to calm me down. "It's almost starting, anyway. Maybe the problem isn't too bad."<br />
"The idle's probably set too low," I complained. "I don't have the tools to fix that. What <i>I </i>can't figure out is why it's not sputtering anymore. It was <i>almost</i> there a minute ago."<br />
"Is the fuel line broken?" Rach asked.<br />
"No, the fuel line is the one thing that actually wor--" I cut myself off and dove into the back. "Wait a minute."<br />
"You have an idea?" she asked eagerly.<br />
I came back up, face probably very red. "You are a genius. And for the record, fuel tanks don't work if they're sealed. I was pulling a vacuum on the stupid thing--forgot to crack the air cap."<br />
"At least you remembered to put the plug in," Rach giggled.<br />
I rolled my eyes. "I've only forgotten once in my life, and I should <i>not </i>have told you about that." I cranked the engine over again. This time, it whined, sputtered, coughed...and roared into life.<br />
"YES!" Rach yelled.<br />
I bowed. "Thank you, thank you--although this is totally your win, not mine. Okay, let's get this off the trailer."<br />
She pointed. "Going to leave the motor running?"<br />
"Sure, why not?" I reasoned. "In case there's a starter problem or something. Besides, it hasn't been started in a while; let's let it warm up a bit." I hopped back out of the boat. Rach held it steady as I pushed it off the trailer and pulled the trailer away. A moment later, I was installed in the captain's chair again.<br />
"So...how does this work?" Rach inquired, still holding on from the outside.<br />
I carefully put the boat into reverse but left it idling. "Um...just jump in. I'll back it out."<br />
As soon as she was in, I gave it a little throttle. The boat backed away from the dock slowly. Once I'd gotten it out a safe distance, I kicked it into forward and turned. Slowly. <i>Really</i> slowly.<br />
"Is the motor not working?" Rach asked.<br />
I smiled tightly. "No clue. I haven't throttled up yet. I'm just getting out of the shallows." I pointed the nose of the boat at the wide-open expanse of water in front of us and swallowed. "Cross your fingers."<br />
Wrapping my hand around the throttle, I carefully pushed it forward. The boat <i>exploded </i>out of the water, hurtling across the lake at speeds that...well, I honestly never expected it to reach. My jaw dropped and I started laughing. "IT WORKS!!" I yelled at the top of my lungs.<br />
Rach high-fived me. "CONGRATULATIONS!"<br />
I fumbled my phone out and took a quick video of the motor and the speed we were hitting to send to Dale and Skipper later. "Oh, man...this...I think I'm gonna cry. This is <i>awesome.</i>"<br />
"I bet," Rach said, grinning. "It's gotta be amazing--something you've worked on for so long--"<br />
"You wanna know the coolest part?" I interrupted her, just noticing something.<br />
Rach gave me a curious look. "What?"<br />
I pointed down at the throttle. "We're only at three-quarters throttle."<br />
Her jaw dropped. "No way." The wind suddenly snatched her baseball cap off her head.<br />
I burst out laughing. "You lost your hat!" I patted the boat. "I guess you've earned the name <i>Panama</i> now." I spun the boat in a circle and headed back for the hat.<br />
"You don't have to get it," Rach protested. "It's old and crappy!"<br />
"We leave no hat behind," I declaimed, pulling up to a stop about fifteen feet away from it. We climbed up on the bow. Rach pointed to a rope. "Think that would work?"<br />
"Or we could work on your bucket list," I said mischievously and threw her overboard.<br />
She came up sputtering and laughing. "Okay, that's definitely one off the list. Where's my hat?"<br />
"About fifteen...never mind, twenty feet behind you," I said, chuckling. "Go get it--I'm going to duck into the cabin, grab my swim gear, and join you. <i>My</i> bucket list involves jumping off the bow."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGRPVbCazZpEAHA5C5mnIZSPDdr2UEHOVnRMe31K-NK5BoCMil6wYi1Ma2p5y4i6rRZsCZ-hOcGdKtSo6Ojb8F_ARdjOhRwFEsBb6Ox0xQSIuEKk2ANkJ6T7yYN-BAxQbPRQITjs2cXKc/s1600/20273366_2356853564540772_1010899128_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGRPVbCazZpEAHA5C5mnIZSPDdr2UEHOVnRMe31K-NK5BoCMil6wYi1Ma2p5y4i6rRZsCZ-hOcGdKtSo6Ojb8F_ARdjOhRwFEsBb6Ox0xQSIuEKk2ANkJ6T7yYN-BAxQbPRQITjs2cXKc/s640/20273366_2356853564540772_1010899128_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The <i>Panama</i></td></tr>
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<i>Author's note: the </i>Panama<i> is a 1961 Lone Star cabin cruiser that I've been restoring for the last year. This story documents the first time she actually worked, which is the fourth time I'd had her on the water. It was also the first time I'd ever actually taken her out to have fun on the lake, as opposed to just troubleshooting various stuff. Many thanks to Rach for helping me get the new motor set up, and to Dale and Skipper for giving the boat to me to restore. </i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The <i>Panama</i> when I first saw her</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hooking her up for the first time</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The boat was a bit of a mess...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty much all the wood in the boat had rotted.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeah, I really had to disassemble the poor thing.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting her back together!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJIkFDtUJSAEGb-teuUfgPYQ75rD8g3CKSPjnyYevFRATqToWME2xqQ0ir20ZQe8JivUddayX1GAN-X0W735YlZnFHQTw_fcV3z75vRnEKbaqkgagopqM6YGBECuTrhRk3lS1Fsli0uRw/s1600/IMG_20170609_105311947.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJIkFDtUJSAEGb-teuUfgPYQ75rD8g3CKSPjnyYevFRATqToWME2xqQ0ir20ZQe8JivUddayX1GAN-X0W735YlZnFHQTw_fcV3z75vRnEKbaqkgagopqM6YGBECuTrhRk3lS1Fsli0uRw/s640/IMG_20170609_105311947.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I sprung for a new paint job. She needed it.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And <i>damn</i> did it turn out NICE.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWH0OwR9RsYJcx6_5ns634EwoHvMvyHsCNz-4W0r3tdC7ICkrplwibbobYGiYj3d0vRm23OSIJc__jfMUIiah55UJK2wQ-OHxSHUcdoD57U2BQBH7t7vluLIPcwv8trLXlbT3M2snfhHQ/s1600/IMG_20170704_125955918.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWH0OwR9RsYJcx6_5ns634EwoHvMvyHsCNz-4W0r3tdC7ICkrplwibbobYGiYj3d0vRm23OSIJc__jfMUIiah55UJK2wQ-OHxSHUcdoD57U2BQBH7t7vluLIPcwv8trLXlbT3M2snfhHQ/s640/IMG_20170704_125955918.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finishing up the cabin...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That ceiling was a pain to install.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDj6_olKOiijQyVp3xHB3HFKVtKu6i6xo8sIrb2NkMzl9o3YGgGQmrOWG2vyV08iAMeA7hK7sg4Q3lyjjpTPwgWLWROjvphIuAiJ7mcH9-Z7gAr7r2FPZpbyh1bQnbtxg9oAv-Ln5U6kY/s1600/IMG_20170709_124742195.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDj6_olKOiijQyVp3xHB3HFKVtKu6i6xo8sIrb2NkMzl9o3YGgGQmrOWG2vyV08iAMeA7hK7sg4Q3lyjjpTPwgWLWROjvphIuAiJ7mcH9-Z7gAr7r2FPZpbyh1bQnbtxg9oAv-Ln5U6kY/s640/IMG_20170709_124742195.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">WE'RE GOING TO THE LAKE!!!!</td></tr>
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Radar Midwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03466801162479061193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2748159015046902499.post-57446802764949218652017-07-04T09:25:00.001-05:002017-07-04T09:25:48.662-05:00Captain's Log, Day 178: Suite Q Lost It "I'm just <i>sayin'</i>, from a strictly moral standpoint, you probably shouldn't have--"<br />
"And for the <i>last time,</i>" Shorty interrupted me (for the fourteenth--and certainly not last--"last time"), "just because a guy hits on me does NOT automatically make him my boyfriend!"<br />
"Shorty has a boyfriend?" Betsy asked, walking into the room at the exact right moment.<br />
I said "Several," at the same time Shorty said "NO," but once again she was laughing too hard to be coherent.<br />
Betsy took it in stride and threw a pillow at me. "I'm hungry. Wanna go eat?"<br />
I whacked Shorty with the pillow. "Always. What's in the caf?"<br />
"Nothing good," Mary muttered under her breath from the other end of the living room (where she was playing one of the <i>Zelda</i> games).<br />
"Let's go to Dairy Queen!" Rachel proposed.<br />
"Hmm...yeah, I think I have enough money for that," Shorty said thoughtfully.<br />
"What, you can't get one of your boyfriends to pay for it for you?" I teased her.<br />
"RADAR!" Shorty wrested the pillow from me and tried to whack me with it. I relocated to more friendly climates--specifically, right behind Betsy.<br />
"I'm torn between being flattered that you think I can protect you and being annoyed that you're using me as a shield," Betsy remarked.<br />
"Go with flattered," I suggested.<br />
Shorty tossed the pillow to Rachel, who threw it at me and scored a direct hit while I was distracted by Betsy. "YOU HAVE BEEN AVENGED. Seriously, guys, is that a yes on DQ?"<br />
"I'm the only guy in here," I pointed out. "Hey, does that make me an honorary member of Suite Q?"<br />
"No," Shorty responded immediately. "And yes, let's go get DQ."<br />
"Hold on...lemme...yes!" Mary finished whatever game quest thing she was doing, saved her progress, and tossed the controller onto the couch.<br />
"Suite Q getting DQ," I chuckled and got promptly clobbered by that blasted pillow again.<br />
We had to make a slight detour on the drive out--Atchison was bisected by a railroad that was guaranteed to have a train on it at the most annoying of times. When we got there, I offered to let the others go first (both as a show of courtesy and partly because I had no idea what I wanted). I also offered to spot anyone who needed it. I was quickly turned down by Shorty, who said something that included the words "<i>not</i>" and "<i>again</i>," but she was giggling too hard for me to actually make it out.<br />
Suite Q ordered their food pretty quickly and wandered off to find a table. I would've followed sooner, but I got a little hung up on the blizzard choices (TOO MANY TYPES). Once I settled on a compromise (mixing half of the options into one, to the the bemusement of the cashier), I grabbed my drink and headed off to find the girls.<br />
It wasn't hard. I just followed the uproarious laughter.<br />
They'd managed to snag the corner booth. I mentally applauded. Then, I noticed something odd--Betsy, Shorty, and Mary were intently studying the center menu thingy that listed all the cakes.<br />
"Thinking about <i>more</i> dessert?" I asked.<br />
They ignored me, but some suppressed smiles told me <i>some</i>thing was up. <i>Oh, geez, was it someone's birthday or something?</i> Rachel looked like she was going to start snickering, but patted the seat next to her. "You can sit next to me," she suggested.<br />
"Thanks." I plopped my drink on the table and my kiester in the offered spot before looking askance at the others. "<i>Seriously,</i> what's going on?"<br />
They lost it completely.<br />
"Shorty, I <i>told </i>you--you should have been the one to do it!" Betsy complained through her giggle fit.<br />
Shorty whacked her with the menu. "He does NOT need the encouragement! He embarrasses me enough, don't you think?"<br />
"I thought Rachel did a wonderful job," Mary said, grinning.<br />
"I just thought of Richard," Rachel laughed.<br />
"If I may interject a moment..." I raised my hand. The others took one look at my evident confusion and broke down laughing again. I sighed. "Someone want to explain what's going on?"<br />
"We were trying to mess with you," Betsy explained, not very helpfully.<br />
"I got <i>that,</i>" I muttered. "How, exactly?"<br />
"Well, we were pretending that we didn't know you," Mary explained, indicating herself, Shorty, and Betsy. "Rachel was pretending to flirt with you."<br />
"<i>You</i> can sit <i>here,</i>" Shorty mimicked Rachel dramatically. "You missed it completely, didn't you?"<br />
"Well...yeah..." I said, frowning. "That was flirting?"<br />
"Definitely," Rachel said, shaking her head. "You're hopeless."<br />
"Was that how you got Richard's attention?" Betsy asked her, referencing Rachel's boyfriend.<br />
"Of course not!"<br />
"Y'all are nuts," I declared.<br />
Mary reached around Betsy to poke Shorty. "You should have been the one to do it. You had the perfect pickup line and everything!"<br />
She squeaked. "Absolutely <i>not!</i>"<br />
"I'm curious," I said, raising an eyebrow. "What constitutes the perfect pickup line?"<br />
Shorty shook her head. "NO. Not telling."<br />
I looked at Betsy. "Can <i>you</i> tell me?"<br />
She hesitated, then shook her head. "No, it's way funnier coming from Shorty." She turned to her and gave her puppy-dog eyes. "Pleeeeeeeeze?"<br />
Shorty shook her head.<br />
"Imagine his face," Rachel suggested.<br />
She caved. "Okay, one sec."<br />
"Go for it," I suggested.<br />
Shorty composed herself. "For the record, if you<i> ever </i>mention this again, I'll..."<br />
"Kick my shins?" I guessed.<br />
"Oh, shut up."<br />
"No getting distracted by short jokes!" Betsy ordered.<br />
"And do it the way you did earlier!" Mary pleaded. "It was perfect!"<br />
Shorty groaned. "I'm trying!"<br />
"Clearly," I said, going for my root beer. "Everyone, shush! Shorty's concentrating!"<br />
Suite Q collectively snickered. Shorty gave me an <i>I'm-gonna-kill-you</i> look before smiling sweetly at me. "Hey, a friend of mine always jokes about me having five boyfriends. Wanna make it a sixth?"<br />
Definitely lost most of that drink out my nose.Radar Midwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03466801162479061193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2748159015046902499.post-37871310828243240272017-06-09T17:30:00.000-05:002017-06-10T16:38:17.686-05:00Captain's Log, Day 177: Never Sit Next to Me in Movies (Or Anywhere, Really) <i>Author's note: I had a disagreement of a historical nature with someone of a short nature--specifically about how much money was owed me due to restaurant-related incidents. I was challenged to provide proof. If there appears to be a lot of Shorty-featured stories coming up, it's because I'm trying to win a bet. Well...succeeding in winning a bet. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
"I am <i>soo</i> excited for this!" Shorty squeaked, attempting to keep herself somewhat close to the ground. I mean, she <i>was</i> as a default, but she'd been jumping around like a caffeinated frog for the last few minutes. Her decision to switch from body to verbal communication was prompted by a group of people walking up the sidewalk towards the movie theater. I guess she wanted to look "sane" or something.<br />
I had no such qualms and hopped up on the bench, trying to balance on the back. I fell off. "I'd be more excited if this place wasn't such a cra--"<br />
"Yeah, it's not the best," Shorty interrupted me hastily before any of the kids/teens (that I had completely missed the advent of) could hear the expletive in progress. (Whoops.) "But it's worth it! I mean, <i>Hunger Games!</i>"<br />
I snickered. "Whatever, but next time we're going to St. Joseph. Or KC. Or anywhere that has a theater with actual SEATS."<br />
"What part are you most excited about?"<br />
That one took me a moment. "I want to see how the archery plays out--and if it's factually correct."<br />
Shorty nodded approvingly. We were both archers ourselves, so we could pick out the <i>impossible </i>moves from the <i>possible</i> ones pretty easily. "They'd better stay true to the book."<br />
I shrugged. "Yeah, good luck to <i>that.</i>" I nodded to the teens. "Y'all excited?"<br />
"Oh yes!" one of them said excitedly. "It was such a good book!"<br />
"Teens still read?" I muttered incredulously under my breath. They didn't hear me, but Shorty sure did--and kicked me in the shin. That was really all the higher she could get.<br />
"What?" one of the others asked.<br />
"Nothing!" Shorty said hastily. "He was just being goofy!"<br />
He eyed us. "You guys dating?"<br />
We both burst out laughing, which was kind of our default response to such a ludicrous claim. I decided to have a little fun with that this time, though. "Yes, actually--OW!"<br />
Shorty turned bright red and kicked me. Again. "RADAR! No we're not!"<br />
"She just shy about i--OW! Will you <i>stop that?</i>" I demanded, hopping back.<br />
"NO!" she giggled. "You are <i>not</i> dating me!"<br />
The teens were trying to hold back laughter of their own, with varying degrees of success. "Well, you act like you're dating," one of the girls informed us.<br />
I chuckled. "We get that a lot." A thought occurred to me.<br />
Unfortunately, my poker face was slightly less developed than my sense of humor, if such a thing can be believed. Shorty noticed immediately. "What's THAT look for?"<br />
"Huh? Oh, nothing," I said innocently. "What look?"<br />
She narrowed her eyes. "Yeah, right. What are you planning?"<br />
"Oh, look, the door's opening!" I said hastily and made a beeline for the portal. Once inside, I promptly walked straight to the cashier and loudly requested two tickets. Shorty kicked me again and immediately paid me back upon our entry to the actual theater, laughing her rear off the entire time.<br />
The movie itself wasn't bad. It stayed fairly true to the book, which I appreciated. However, the book wasn't in my top ten, so I decided to enhance the experience with sarcastic comments. ("They should have brought marshmallows on the cart! They could have had s'mores!" "You call that FIGHTING? I've seen better slap fights!") Shorty probably would have punched me if she hadn't been laughing so hard--and trying so hard to keep it quiet.<br />
She did absolutely lose it at one point though. There was a moment that (I'm sure) was supposed to be very "touching" where the main character's love interest was trying to help her take care of a massive cut on her head. (I won't go into too many spoilers, even though this thing came out YEARS ago.) Anyway, he was being all mushy about it. I had a very low tolerance for mush and could appreciate the stupidity of his first aid attempts, so I leaned over to Shorty--who was wearing her best <i>aww, they're so cute</i> face--and pretended to be the guy, whispering, "Yeah, I love you, so I'm gonna just smear blood all over your face now, 'kay?"<br />
I won't say that anyone was particularly noisy at that moment in time, but <i>someone</i> definitely got a few looks.<br />
We decided to have our traditional post-movie discussion/rant dinner over at Dairy Queen. On the way in, Shorty kept giggling about my "lack of ability to appreciate romance" or something to that effect. I shrugged. "Hey, getting someone's face messy isn't romantic. I prefer the <i>practical</i> romantic guestures."<br />
"Oh, yeah? Like what?" Shorty demanded.<br />
I marched up to the cash register. "Hi! I'd like a bacon cheeseburger, large combo, and a...hmm...Reese's peanut butter cup blizzard. Oh, and whatever Shorty would like. We're together." I turned back to her. "Like that."<br />
"MIDWAY!" Shorty squeaked, then considered it. "Okay, admittedly, I walked right into that one. But we are NOT TOGETHER."<br />
The cashier was looking confused. "So are you on one or not?"<br />
I said "Yes" at the same time Shorty said "NO!" However, she was laughing too hard to properly enunciate, so I won.<br />
She did pay me back for that one, though!<br />
<br />
<i>Author's note, part 2: Oh, and she couldn't have been TOO upset about snorting in the theater, since she posted it to Facebook and sent me the archived post when it popped up on her news feed this year. </i><br />
<i>You're welcome. </i><br />
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<i><br /></i>Radar Midwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03466801162479061193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2748159015046902499.post-41573898077111410982017-06-04T12:07:00.000-05:002017-06-04T12:07:21.733-05:00Captain's Log, Day 176: Unexpected Changes Well, this is going to (again) be more of a progress update than anything else. Next time, I'll be back to writing stories again! I promise!<br />
March ended with an unexpected offer of employment from a company in Minnesota; I was <i>definitely</i> not passing this one up. Within two weeks of accepting, I'd wrapped up in South Dakota, packed all my crap into a trailer, and driven 24 hours almost continuously to move everything to Minnesota. (I had to make several trips.) This coincided with the Easter season, which made scheduling stuff insane. Additionally, I had to make sure I packed in the necessary work on my boat to ensure that I'd be able to use it this summer (restorations can be difficult!) and <i>still</i> try to keep on my publishing schedule for <i>Deadman Switch</i>.<br />
I probably went a little psycho for about a week there. In retrospect, I probably could have pushed one or more of my self-inflicted deadlines back, but I didn't want to.<br />
In Minnesota, I started putting a lot of serious interest in working on <i>Deadman Switch.</i> I got the entire book edited, formatted, and ready to go. At the moment, I'm putting the finishing touches on my new author website (and Facebook page, and Twitter feed...), and once that's done...Amazon ho! I'm hoping to have it in the store by the end of next week.<br />
Further bulletins as events warrant.<br />
This summer, I plan on finishing my boat and writing all kinds of new and amusing stories about lake shenanigans. Let the fun begin!<br />
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<br />Radar Midwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03466801162479061193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2748159015046902499.post-34970988856629850562017-03-16T11:43:00.004-05:002017-03-16T11:44:41.293-05:00Captain's Log, Day 175: Where I've Been Howdy, all!<br />
I know, I know, it's been a while. As I may have mentioned, I've been doing some writing. During the month of January, I got about a quarter of <i>Lost</i> done. During the month of February, I was doing a little house hunting (which is just as much of a time-consuming process as one might imagine) and enjoying the 70+ degree thaw I had. (I RAN TWICE A DAY. OUTSIDE. IT WAS WONDERFUL.)<br />
March has gone back to the regularly-scheduled crappy weather that I've come to enjoy up here--sarcasm <i>definitely</i> intended. Needless to say, work on <i>Lost</i> kind of exploded. I had a brainwave about where I wanted to go with the novel, then sat down and did an easy five to seven <i>thousand</i> words a day. I finished the entire thing in about two weeks. I think I'm getting calluses on my fingertips!<br />
Before I start on the third and final book in the <i>Bridgehold</i> trilogy (and edited the heck out of <i>Wayward</i> and <i>Lost)</i>, I decided to make the conceptual cover art for the next book. I decided to call it <i>Voidwalker. </i>First up, a little refresher on the first two covers; then I'll post the third at the bottom.<br />
Yeah, I'm gonna make you scroll.<br />
Additionally, I'm getting my mystery/suspense novel edited for publishing, and I'll be driving to a few choice cities this weekend to snap some pictures to edit for the cover. Hopefully, <i>Deadman Switch</i> will be published within the next few months! I'll post the cover for that one when I get it done, whenever the heck that is.<br />
Anyway, once I'm done with those, I'll make an official author website, Facebook page, and write a few more short stories for Maximum Effect. Still haven't decided whether or not to publish my books under my real name or a <i>nom de plume</i>, but I'll figure it out eventually, I guess. I'm also hoping to complete the <i>Bridgehold </i>trilogy this year as well--given my track record of the last <i>few days,</i> I think that's doable.<br />
I'm making progress!<br />
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Radar Midwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03466801162479061193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2748159015046902499.post-62346404941123162102017-01-01T09:40:00.001-06:002017-01-01T09:40:35.949-06:00Captain's Log, Day 174: Update on the Midway Family, 2016 Edition<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="color: red; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Merry Christmas from
the Midway Family!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Nemesis writing
about Radar:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The young Radar Midway’s natural habitat can be found in the
urban areas of South Dakota. He can be easily spotted by his considerable
height, blue jeans, and the extra layers he wears during the winter season. As
we can see, he is quite skilled in using the complex tools of a mechanical
engineer, a job that has kept him happily and gainfully occupied for over a
year now. His day’s labors completed, he returns to his apartment complex,
where his nest is lined with collections of books, shiny computer monitors, and
both real and practice weaponry. He may also be found in his recently acquired
aquatic nest, a cabin cruiser that he is restoring to become his marine base of
operations. If you encounter the Radar Midway out in the wild: smile, remain
calm, and use this field guide to engage him in conversation. Remember, he’s
more scared of you than you are of him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Squirrel writing
about Quill:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">It is a truth universally acknowledged that Quill is one talented
babe. She has done so much this past year: some highlights include the primary
dance role in her college’s production of Brigadoon last winter;
charming the patrons at the library where she continues to
work; and a flying weekend to visit Nemesis in London for fall break. The highlight
of her year, I know, will be graduating summa cum laude – with her BA in
English and minor in Communication – from college this December. She’s crazy smart
and works incredibly hard, so we’re all pretty excited for her. As far as
employment goes, Quill’s been looking into positions in the library sciences
field and has some good opportunities to pursue throughout the country. I
(selfishly) hope she stays close to home for employment, since she’s the
greatest friend and her dance moves are pretty lit. Please keep this happy
hamster in your prayers as she starts a new chapter!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Radar writing about Nemesis:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Normally, it’s difficult to write about someone who lives multiple
states away; however, this year SOMEONE went to a completely different
CONTINENT for several months, which paradoxically makes writing about him
easier and makes everyone else in the family super jealous. Nemesis spent the fall
semester in Italy, where he visited pretty much everywhere (super cool), did
martial arts in the Coliseum (appropriate), and defiled statues with his hat
(less appropriate). During the rest of the year, this English-major-turned-traveler
helped out with the campus ministry at his college and sold his first
short story to a science fiction publication. We’re all looking forward to his
first full-length novel, <i>Hiding from the
Italian Police Due to Hat-Related Shenanigans</i>.</span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Quill writing about Squirrel:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> Please, do
come in. Welcome to the 2016 Tour of Squirrel Midway’s College Dorm Room. The central focus of this room is Ms. Midway's desk, where she furrows her alabaster brow over Macroeconomics.
Practical application of this subject is seen in how she decides the fate of
her peers as Student Senator on the college financial committee. The banner on
the adjacent wall, reading “#SWAG” refers to her recent theatre debut. In early
fall, she was chosen to perform in the college's vaudeville show Theater Physics where
she discovered her talent for rapping. If you turn to your right – your other
right – you can see her open closet displaying the lovely clothes she wears to
her job at a local boutique. As the outfits demonstrate, she is a true gift to fashion-conscious
consumers. Thank you very much for coming – you can settle your bill at the
door. Tickets are $57.95 apiece; the proceeds will be used toward buying Squirrel a single textbook for next semester.</span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Mom writing this time: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">This year, my husband and I decided to
take the trip we vowed we’d take after all the kids were legal adults and
indulge ourselves in a kid-free vacation to Mexico. We learned that, when necessary, my husband can fix
a stubbornly-jammed suitcase handle using the clip from a ballpoint pen,
tweezers, two band-aids and some notepaper.
Also, tequila is a staple there, much like pasta in Italy, except that
Italians don’t put pasta in their soap.
Feliz navidad! </span><i><span style="color: red; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
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<i><span style="color: red; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">We all wish you a blessed Christmas and great 2017! </span></i><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Radar Midwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03466801162479061193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2748159015046902499.post-78419584378268328022016-12-27T15:45:00.001-06:002016-12-30T07:02:40.458-06:00Captain's Log, Day 173: A New Trilogy Is Dawning ...and my computer battery has the lifespan of a diseased mayfly. Sorry, had to complain to SOMEone.<br />
For those of you who follow me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/radarmidway/">Facebook</a>, some of this might be a bit repetitive. My apologies. For everyone else, I'd like to report that my first book in the currently-named Bridgehold trilogy is complete! (By complete, I mean I'll probably tweak it some as future books fine-tune my timeline, but for the purposes of "active projects," it's 100% done.) I was so excited about <i>Wayward</i>, I decided to immediately make some conceptual cover art while procrastinating on book two.<br />
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On a mildly related note, I'm getting better at Photoshop, although I still had to use a model for the silhouette. </div>
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Then, of course, I had to make a cover photo for my next book, which I'm tentatively naming <i>Lost. </i>I made it for "inspirational purposes" and certainly not because I was procrastinating even <i>more</i>. </div>
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Much thanks to Princess, by the way, who was the unwitting model and <a href="http://maximum-effect.blogspot.com/2013/07/captains-log-day-109-never-too-old-for.html">official loser</a> of our "<a href="http://maximum-effect.blogspot.com/2012/07/captains-log-day-86-imaginations.html">camera wars</a>." </div>
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With any luck, I can finish up <i>Lost </i>within the next month or so and get cracking on book three, which is gonna be <i>Redemption</i> or <i>Reclamation</i> or some appropriate-word-beginning-with-R-someone-find-me-a-thesaurus. Just kidding. Honestly, I haven't thought that far ahead, but I'm hoping that completing <i>Lost</i> will give me some ideas. Some better ideas, I mean. </div>
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Also, if anyone has any ideas for a new <i>nom de plume</i>, I'd be most grateful. It would be nice to finish the conceptual covers by adding an author name! </div>
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Gah, thinking up names is hard...</div>
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Oh, and a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you all! Thanks for sticking with me!</div>
Radar Midwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03466801162479061193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2748159015046902499.post-41458886327317083582016-11-02T11:00:00.000-05:002016-12-20T08:10:56.349-06:00Captain's Log, Day 172: Here There Be Tech Problems Hi, everyone!<br />
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You may be wondering where I've been the past...um...*counts on fingers* three months. And why my site went kaput. Well, it occurred to me that I had more than enough material for a legit book up here, so I started going through, post by post, and copying everything to my computer. Apparently, Blogger didn't like that, so it promptly crashed, and I've spent the last two months (off and on) trying to fix it. </div>
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Fun stuff. </div>
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On the bright side, it appears that my book did actually get published. <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Off-Radar-journey-through-pyromaniac/dp/1537295926/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1478003544&sr=8-1&keywords=off+the+radar+radar+midway">To Amazon</a>. Officially. I'm rather excited. Given that this is the first thing that I've actually gotten out to a marketplace, this is a big step forward for me. It's certainly given me a new degree of motivation to start getting some of my other books published (or finished; I currently have five finished books and FORTY-SEVEN works in progress). </div>
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I am in the process of recovery and republishing of my short stories. If for some reason, you need them all <i>right now</i>...well, there's a <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Off-Radar-journey-through-pyromaniac/dp/1537295926/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1478003544&sr=8-1&keywords=off+the+radar+radar+midway">book out for that</a>, like I said. Other than that, I'm hoping to restore full functionality to Maximum Effect over the course of the next few weeks. This is also kind of a test post to see how my strategy will work. Bear with me.</div>
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Say, anyone here good with names? I'm trying to come up with a slightly more "publishable"-sounding <i>nom de plume</i> for my legitimate novels. If you have any good ideas, drop me a line! <i>Please.</i> I'm TERRIBLE at coming up with new names. </div>
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Anyway, it's novel-writing month, and I just came up with a <i>another</i> new story idea, so...let's break out the whiteboard! </div>
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(P.S.: I've also been working on a boat. A 1960 Lone Star cabin cruiser, to be exact. I've decided to name it the Panama, for reasons that should become evident upon <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wym9K35SVEk">watching this clip</a>. I have a weird sense of humor.)</div>
Radar Midwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03466801162479061193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2748159015046902499.post-20625645168402676142016-07-13T15:54:00.001-05:002016-12-20T08:09:27.707-06:00Captain's Log, Day 171: Mathews Hall Water Bowl 2010 "Hey, dude, did you look outside?"<br />
When the interruption came, I was sprawled on the floor, doing all my homework. Literally--I had every subject spread out in a circle around me and was hopping from one to another whenever I got bored with the current topic (which took about five minutes). Saved me valuable time, since I didn't have to spend 55 minutes out of every hour trying to focus. <i>Use</i> the ADHD, I always said.<br />
Anyways, I was deep in the mysteries of Calc III and was kind of on a roll (seven minutes!), so I may have slightly resented Tim's interruption. "No, but judging by the sounds of it, it's raining <i>again</i>--not unlike how it's been raining <i>all damn day.</i>" I thought for a second. "Only upside is that it's warm out, and I have no desire to go outside."<br />
My neighbor from across the hall leaned against my doorway, smirking. "Did you look out the south windows?"<br />
I gave him a patient look. "And <i>how</i> would I manage that?" (I lived on the north side, and wasn't in the habit of visiting other people's rooms when I was doing homework...like others I could mention.)<br />
"Look out mine," he suggested.<br />
I indicated my schoolwork, scattered about me like I was the epicenter of a giant learning explosion. "Kinda busy here. What's so exciting about <i>night</i> and <i>rain</i> put together?"<br />
His mouth twitched. "How about the storm sewers backing up and flooding the back side of Mathews?"<br />
Okay, that was intriguing. Also, close to home--Mathews Hall was the dorm I currently resided in. I reluctantly stood up and danced out of my self-imposed minefield, trying not to step on anything. "How big is the puddle?"<br />
Tim laughed. "It's more like a lake..."<br />
"Uh huh." I crossed the hall and entered his room. "So how dee--holy CRAP!"<br />
The mild expletive was wrung out of me by the site of the flood. It extended about thirty feet out from the side of the building and ran the entire length of Mathews Hall. Based on that alone, it had to have been at least a foot deep. Best of all, there were a bunch of college students playing in the lake.<br />
Tim gave me an appraising look. "So what do you think?"<br />
I threw my phone into my room and almost ran him over on my way out the door. "Let's go!"<br />
We lived on third floor. I was able to shortcut a little by jumping down every flight at one go. Tim wasn't <i>quite</i> as adventurous, so by the time he made it down, I'd already been integrated into the football game that was just starting. He joined us, but it was soon apparent (after the fourth interception) that everyone had a problem.<br />
"I can't tell who's on my team!" Kyle complained when everyone started giving him crap for his misguided pass. Between the night, rain, building and sidewalk lights, and random lightning strikes, it was difficult to make out faces. Plus, there were now about fifteen to twenty guys in the lake, which made even <i>remembering</i> who was on our team even harder.<br />
Ben whipped off his shirt. "Shirts versus Skins!"<br />
"Which team are you on?" I asked.<br />
"Skins. Duh. Oh, I see what you mean--I'm on yours," Ben explained.<br />
I promptly defected. "Not anymore. Hey, Tim, switch."<br />
"Why?"<br />
I made a face. "No one needs to see my skinny torso."<br />
Laughing, Tim complied, and we started again. Hiking the ball was quickly scrapped, as holding it to the ground meant that it would launch in unpredictable directions as the center tried to get it out of the water. Fumbles became incredibly long events, due to the fact that the football was a) floating and b) slippery. Once, I launched myself at a dropped ball, only to have it squirt out of my hands. Then someone landed on my back and I went under. It was awesome. One guy took <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w6d7W5Gf1A0">a video</a>, but didn't catch that exact moment, fortunately.<br />
Spectators--girls, adults, and the occasional security guards (who were probably told to get us out of there but took one look and decided that it would be easier to stop Earth from spinning than to remove us)--began gathering around the edge and cheering us on. I mean, except for the security guards.<br />
We played for quite a while. Guys swapped in and out--some took quick breaks to go have water fights with the spectators, and newcomers decided they wanted to join. I almost scored a touchdown once, but a sudden tackle sent me underwater and the ball off to who knows where. One of my teammates got it, though, because there was great rejoicing and a score incrementation when I came up for air.<br />
A few hours later, I finally called it quits--I ran out of energy and was now quite cold. Also, due to the amount of mud that got churned up, my white shorts turned black, and my yellow shirt...um, also turned black. (After washing, they were grey and orange, respectively. I never got their original color back.)<br />
I started towards the door and was halted by one of the said security guards. "Nope. Gotta dry off first."<br />
"Um, okay--"<br />
"Need help?"<br />
Jordan, another Calc III student, joined me. I nodded. "Hey, think you can get me a towel?"<br />
"Sure." He snapped a picture of me and vanished before I could confiscate his phone.<br />
My homework was a little overdue, needless to say.Radar Midwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03466801162479061193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2748159015046902499.post-11849234519046161472016-06-23T13:50:00.003-05:002016-11-28T07:55:48.794-06:00Captain's Log, Day 170: Family Vacation, Part 3--WE TAKE THE BEACH AT DAWN.6:00am: Radar wakes up with Nemesis's foot in his ribs.<br />
6:01: Nemesis is kicked off the bed and wakes up in that little hammock thing you get when you tuck the sheets in under the mattress.<br />
6:11: Nemesis regains the bed.<br />
6:27: The girls walk in on a (quiet) pillowfight. Inquiries are made regarding parental status.<br />
6:31: One game of "Spies" later, it is determined that Mom and Dad are still asleep. Everyone sneaks back to the boys' room and tries to figure out what we'll do for the next hour. Or maybe two. We tired the parental unit out pretty thoroughly last night.<br />
7:13: Dad wanders in and suggests that we get ready to bring Mom breakfast in bed. After he locates an outfit that's not his PJs, of course.<br />
7:23: Dad locates some suitable clothes and meets everyone at the front door. A discussion is had regarding "proper attire"--the boys have not yet changed out of their pajamas.<br />
7:24: The boys spent 55 seconds arguing and five seconds changing. Everyone is now deemed "presentable."<br />
7:27: An appropriate store is located. Doughnuts and other appropriate breakfast foods are purchased. The boys are allowed to carry the juice, since the girls are considered more trustworthy when it comes to matters of edibles.<br />
7:28: The boys protest. Dad threatens to break fingers.<br />
7:29: Radar almost successfully makes off with a package of doughnut holes but is forcibly stopped with the patented "Dad Neck Grip of Death."<br />
7:30: The general consensus is that Radar sounds like a mouse. Radar points out that it's hard to sound normal when your dad has the back of your neck.<br />
7:31: Dad suggests that we go in the hotel room quietly in case Mom is still sleeping. However, Radar and Nemesis are having a small wrestling match and are already in the process of bouncing off the door when this edict is issued.<br />
7:32: Mom is awake! (Admittedly, it's hard to sleep with four hyperactive and hungry children pouncing on you.)<br />
7:33: Mom announces that she'll be right out to eat "as soon as she puts her contacts in."<br />
8:03: Mom finally enters the living room area to find that, despite Dad's best efforts, Radar and Nemesis have made off with a few doughnut holes and a few melon cubes. Her advent prompts cheering.<br />
8:04: Morning prayers are said with pardonable swiftness and breakfast is officially started.<br />
8:45: Breakfast is over. Plans for the day as discussed. Beach is mentioned.<br />
8:47: Cheering is finally quenched by Dad's offer to let the noisy kids stay behind while he and Mom visit the beach. Silence prevails, although the chairdancing cannot be suppressed.<br />
8:50: Table is cleared and room tidied. Everyone adjourns to change into swim gear.<br />
9:02: Surprisingly, everyone is ready to go. Even the girls. Nemesis starts to make a comment, but Mom warns him that the offer to stay behind is still valid.<br />
9:04: Everyone piles into the car.<br />
9:16: We're pretty sure Dad is lost.<br />
9:21: Yeah, Dad's definitely lost.<br />
9:35: Debate about mountain formation.<br />
9:44: Arrival at the beach. Mom reminds everyone (too late) to remain in the car until the car has come to a complete stop.<br />
9:45: Mom attempts to tell Radar and Nemesis to put on sunscreen. Radar is already in the ocean by this point and ignores her.<br />
9:46: Radar manages to time the waves perfectly and get in position to see the "tunnel" right before the wave collapses on him...on the first try.<br />
9:51: Radar shows Nemesis where to stand to see the tunnel. Dad and Squirrel wade out and get smoked by a wave while laughing at Radar and Nemesis.<br />
9:52: Dad asks where the heck Squirrel went. Radar points to the shoreline; apparently, she rode the wave back to the beach.<br />
10:00: Mom wades out and is passed by Nemesis, Quill and Radar going the other way via wave.<br />
10:21: Dad locates a bodyboard and suggests trying it out, since we keep capsizing every time we try to ride the waves in. Radar requests a surfboard and is turned down.<br />
10:37: Radar finally gets a turn with the bodyboard.<br />
10:40: Radar decides that it's "too boring" to use a board, even if it keeps him upright. Gives board back to Nemesis and decides to see how long he can stay underwater.<br />
10:58: Quill looks around of her older brother to see if he wants to play Shark Tag.<br />
11:03: It takes Quill five minutes and Nemesis to find Radar; apparently, he's only coming up for air and has spent 21 of the last 23 minutes underwater. He calls it "playing dolphin."<br />
11:25: Nemesis and Squirrel are working on wonderful burns. They adjourn for more sunscreen.<br />
11:45: Mom tries to get some sunscreen on Radar when he comes back for a snack; Radar points out that he doesn't burn and sunscreen is gross.<br />
12:00pm: Sandcastle-building contest between the siblings.<br />
12:10: Sandcastle-destroying contest between siblings.<br />
12:25: Radar suggests a new game: building castles on the shoreline as quickly as possible between big waves. Points awarded for speed of construction, intricacy of design, and awesomeness of destruction by wave.<br />
12:40: Radar and Quill get hit by a <i>massive</i> wave and decided to follow the water back out into the ocean.<br />
1:00: Dad joins us for Shark Tag.<br />
3:00: Mom suggests that five hours in the water is probably plenty and requests that Dad round up all children.<br />
4:00: Nemesis, Quill, and Squirrel have obeyed the summons, possibly just because they're getting pretty hungry. Dad is still looking for Radar.<br />
4:10: Radar is located, but disappears back underwater before Dad can catch him.<br />
4:30: Radar is finally evicted from the ocean (Dad managed to grab his ankle and tow him out). Much protesting.<br />
4:40: Everyone has rinsed off the salt and dried off. Sunburns are compared.<br />
4:41: Squirrel and Dad tied for best sunburn; they both look like lobsters. Nemesis is a close second. Quill has a little red, while Radar <i>might</i> have a little red on his shoulders if you crossed your eyes and used your imagination. Mom and Radar tied for best tan.<br />
4:45: Dinner is discussed.<br />
5:10: A restaurant is located. The Midway children proceed to eat record amounts of food. Double normal intake for the girls, triple for Nemesis, and at least quadruple for Radar, but Dad cut him off after his second triple burger. The kids discuss <a href="http://maximum-effect.blogspot.com/2016/05/captains-log-day-169-family-vacation.html">stealing the battleship <i>Missouri</i> and turning it into a pirate ship. Again.</a><br />
6:15: Ice cream is located. A stroll is had.<br />
6:21: Radar kills the only bug he sees on the entire Hawaii trip by yanking off his sandal, chasing after it, and hitting it repeatedly while yelling "DIE BUG DIE!".<br />
6:22: Dad reminds Radar via Dad Neck Grip of Death that the Midway family is <i>not</i> the only people on the island and should behave with propriety. Radar concedes the point by squeaking.<br />
7:30: Family returns to hotel.<br />
8:00: Everyone is pooped and voluntarily decides to turn in.Radar Midwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03466801162479061193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2748159015046902499.post-89693768040184682092016-05-18T15:35:00.000-05:002016-11-28T07:55:44.247-06:00Captain's Log, Day 169: Family Vacation, Part 2--Let There Be Pirates "...which was located just behind the fuel stores, which caught fire and helped sink the ship in minutes. Oh, and there's a legend behind the oil leakage that says it'll stop when the last crewmember dies."<br />
Ma peered over the railing at the remains of the <i>Arizona.</i> "You need to read some books that <i>aren't</i> World War Two related for once. But thanks for the details."<br />
"What we need to do is see if the sub tours have a place for us," I suggested, accepting the underhanded compliment that I'd memorized the entire library collection of WWII books by the tender age of fourteen. "By the way, can we get a periscope for the treehouse?"<br />
"No," Dad said, putting a hand on my shoulder and steering me back towards the exit. "And we can't do <i>both</i> the submarine and the battleship. The girls want to see the Dole Plantation."<br />
I glanced up (in time to see him roll his eyes) and giggled. "We could stay behind?" I suggested.<br />
"It's a <i>family</i> vacation," Quill said huffily, wandering over. "You're obsessed with Pearl Harbor, so it's only fair that we get to do something fun too!"<br />
"Besides, I hear they let you taste the fruit!" Mom pointed out.<br />
I sighed. "I'd rather fly a simulator."<br />
A few minutes later, we were back on land, and a few minutes after that, we were boarding the <i>Missouri</i>. Squirrel gazed in awe at the massive guns. "Those are big!"<br />
"Well, they are sixteen-inch guns," I felt constrained to point out. "Too bad they don't fire anymore."<br />
Quill held her hands out, gauging distances. "I think those are bigger than sixteen inches. Are you talking about the machine guns?"<br />
"Diameter, sweetie, not length," Dad informed her. "Now, let's be quiet and polite during the tour, okay?"<br />
"I could just tell you everything," I suggested, desiring to run free aboard the massive battleship (which is just as much of a terrible idea now as it was back then).<br />
Mom looked amused. "I don't think you know <i>everything</i>."<br />
I shrugged, a little boastfully. "Most of it. Did you know that the big guns could fire a two thousand and seven hundred pound shell twenty miles?"<br />
"Good to know," Ma said absently as she and Dad greeted the tour guide.<br />
Nemesis sidled up to me. "What about the small guns?"<br />
"Five inches, ten miles," I said promptly. "There's twenty of those."<br />
We started the tour after a few other people joining our group. I poked Ma when the tour guide informed everyone that the 16" guns could throw a 2700-pound shell over twenty miles. She gave me a look.<br />
The tour continued. We were shown the bridge, the engine room (which Dad and I really enjoyed--we actually pulled away from the main group to discuss the eight Babcock and Wilcox boilers and the propulsion system without disturbing anyone in the group. Ma was forced to come get us when the group began departing, since we didn't notice), crew quarters, and finally the area where the Japanese officially surrendered after WWII.<br />
"Bet you didn't know that," Mom suggested on our way to the foredeck. "Isn't that interesting?"<br />
"September 2nd, 1945," I said absently, running a hand along the railing and trying to figure out how long it would take to restart the ship after its long retirement. "General McArthur presided, if I remember correctly."<br />
Mom sighed and gave up. I dropped back to Nemesis. "Hey, know what we should do when we grow up?"<br />
"Come back to Hawaii?"<br />
I waved my hand dismissively. "That's a given. No, become pirates!"<br />
Quill joined us. "Yeah, we could rule the ocean!"<br />
"We just need this ship." I guestured at the <i>Missouri</i>, grinning.<br />
That got both of them into the spirit of things. "Yeah! We could fix it up!" Nemesis said, grinning.<br />
"And sail it right out of the harbor!" I added.<br />
Quill grinned. "We just need a crew. How about Scholar?" she suggested, naming her best friend.<br />
"Only if I get to bring Sargent and the twins," I conceded.<br />
"And I get Goose and those guys," Nemesis interjected.<br />
"We might need a few more guys," I added, stopping next to a small machine gun and grabbing the grips. Swinging it up, I opened fire vocally on imaginary aircraft.<br />
"We can just stop by Tortuga," Quill joked, referencing one of our favorite movies. <i>Pirates of the Caribbean </i>was a definite staple in the Midway household.<br />
"Can I try?" Nemesis asked, indicating the gun.<br />
I relinquished the gun.<br />
A few minutes later, we were still plotting when Dad came looking for us. "Hey, be careful with that."<br />
Quill let go, a little guiltily. "Sorry."<br />
"I think they put that there for people to play with, but you don't want to break it. You know what they say," Dad warned us.<br />
Nemesis frowned. "What's that?"<br />
"You break it, you buy it."<br />
"Deal," I announced and lunged forward.<br />
Dad snagged me by the collar of my shirt. "You don't have enough money. Trust me."<br />
"It's okay. We're pirates," I informed him.<br />
"Sure you are. Come on, let's go," Dad said, and ushered me back towards the group. My other siblings followed.<br />
"Can we go in the simulator?" I asked, pointing with some difficulty at the small building on shore.<br />
"Ask your mother," Dad deferred judgement.<br />
Mom grudgingly agreed, already acknowledging the futility of getting to the plantation that day. Nemesis and I spend a very enjoyable time in the simulator--we couldn't fly it (it was more like a movie), but the swooping and banking of the room was incredibly fun.<br />
Dad and Mom probably got a little annoyed with us over dinner, since we wouldn't shut up about the idea of being pirates. And, to be fair...that option still isn't entirely off the table.<br />
No, I didn't grow up. Why do you ask?Radar Midwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03466801162479061193noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2748159015046902499.post-12677768730571082062016-05-16T15:07:00.001-05:002016-11-28T07:55:38.935-06:00Captain's Log, Day 168: Family Vacation, Part 1--Houston, We've Landed.... "Uh...Dad?"<br />
Dad looked up from his bag, which he was busily digging through looking for something. (Probably Mom's camera.) "Yeah?"<br />
I pointed. "That lobby doesn't have any walls."<br />
He chuckled. "Well, there's not that many bugs here, and it's not like it snows..."<br />
"That is so AWESOME!" Nemesis and I yelled.<br />
"Shh! You'll look like tourists!" Mom scolded.<br />
"We are tourists," Quill pointed out, clutching her notebook. Mom had given us all notebooks in which to write our vacation experiences down in (as a homeschooling mother, Mom felt it her duty to suck all the fun out of everything by requesting essays on any and all life experiences). Quill was the only one who took it seriously and had already written about our airplane flight while Nemesis and I were fighting over the camera and smearing up the windows with nose prints.<br />
Mom suppressed a smile. "Then we don't want to annoy everyone else."<br />
"We already--<i>mmph!</i>"<br />
Dad managed to suppress the rest of my comment. "Well, we <i>shouldn't</i>," he warned me, tone indicating that even the paradise of Hawaii (Oahu at the moment, to be specific) would not be devoid of ass-whuppings should I act out in public. Even hyped up by the airline sodas as I was, I took the hint and became the model of silence, if not of stillness.<br />
For about five seconds. "Guys, come on!" I suggested, and starting running back and forth across the rather abrupt transition between carpeted lobby and paved pavilion. The novelty appealed to my siblings, who joined me. The parental unit let out a mutual sigh of mildly strained patience, but decided that was probably the least annoying/destructive thing we could be doing with our pent-up energy and went to go check in.<br />
When they turned back around, we'd ceased running back and forth through non-existent walls and were now trying to catch pigeons. The birds, while tame enough to let us get within inches of them, were nonetheless wily enough to skedaddle when we grabbed for them. Ma arrested our game and ordered us to help bring the luggage up to the room. We made the journey in record time.<br />
After situating the boys in one room and the girls in the other, and after hanging up certain of the nicer articles of clothing, Mom decided it was time for a lesson in travel. She convened the Midway family meeting in the boys' room.<br />
"Who remembers what the time difference is between here and Minnesota? Radar, stop hitting your brother!"<br />
I discarded the pillow. "Um..."<br />
"Five hours," my time-conscious brother declaimed proudly.<br />
"Very good. Ahead or back?"<br />
"Back. I already reset my watch." He held up his wrist for inspection. "Oh, and I also set Minnesota time on the world clock. That way we can see what time it is back home."<br />
"I showed him how to do that," I felt compelled to add.<br />
Nemesis stuck his tongue out at me. "Yeah, but you didn't remember the time zone!"<br />
Dad snatched the pillow out of my hands as I tried to clobber my brother with it. "Don't even think about it, or we'll leave you here when we go to the beach!"<br />
"Are we going to the beach today?" I asked eagerly.<br />
"Tomorrow," Dad said firmly. "We're probably all too tired to go today."<br />
All of us kids just looked at him.<br />
"Okay, <i>I'm</i> too tired to go today," Dad clarified.<br />
Mom cleared her throat. "When you travel across time zones, you sometimes experience something called 'jet lag.' It means your body thinks it's time to go to bed when it's not. So right now, it's 3pm here, which means it's..."<br />
"8:14 at home!" Nemesis announced.<br />
Quill grinned. "We're up past our bedtime!"<br />
Squirrel giggled. Then her face fell. "Are we going to have to go to bed now?"<br />
"Well, we should all probably take a small nap so that we're not too tired for dinner..." Mom began.<br />
A chorus of groans greeted that announcement. Mom and Dad exchanged looks, silently admitting that we <i>had</i> been pretty good on that eight-hour-long flight and we probably needed to burn off a little steam.<br />
"Why don't we go for a walk?" Dad suggested.<br />
He made the mistake of standing in the hallway to the door and was almost flattened by his over-enthusiastic offspring. To be fair, we were pretty excited to visit somewhere that didn't have mosquitoes the size of canned hams...Radar Midwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03466801162479061193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2748159015046902499.post-7874522201584191382016-05-12T11:36:00.000-05:002017-03-13T06:45:40.021-05:00Captain's Log, Day 167: DARYL<div class="MsoNormal">
<i> The problem was simple. How to make true predictive
software—something tailored specifically to a given user—without having all
that personal information end up on someone else’s computer?</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>SECURE by AIInc gives us the answer. A
next-gen AI, it is installed along the user’s spinal column and uses the
specific DNA code of the user as the basis of its encryption. All user
preferences and personal data are stored in the flexistate drive and cannot be
retrieved except by the user. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Computer-to-SECURE connection standard.
Optional upgrades include: internal head’s-up display, internal speakers,
SECURE-to-brain connection, internal wireless capability…</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jordan blinked a few
times and scrolled down the page. <i>Customizable
AI interface</i>; nice. He wondered exactly how it would feel to have to not
worry about typing all this crap down every single time he wanted to do a web
search, plus the added benefit of having someone to talk to occasionally. Okay,
some<i>thing.</i> Still, the idea of “installing”
artificial stuff in his body made his skin crawl.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the end of the
web page, he saw something interesting.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>If you are not completely satisfied with
SECURE after a year, AIInc will remove the AI and refund your money for no
cost.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jordan re-read that
statement a few times. Then, he clicked the <i>contact</i>
icon. Most applicants were rejected, of course—more people wanted this than
were available units, but maybe he’d be lucky….<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A few months later,
he was opening his eyes in the post-operative unit. Most of the SECURE
installations didn’t need to be sedated; Jordan had opted for everything on the
list, though, which turned a simple spinal insertion into something a bit more
invasive. The nano-surgeons had done their job well, the tiny robotic arms
making only the most minimal of cuts and sealing everything up afterwards. He
touched his face, then sat up. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“How are you
feeling?” the doctor asked. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Normal, I guess,”
Jordan admitted. He twisted his body experimentally. “Actually, I don’t feel
any different. Did you actually perform the surgery?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The doctor smiled. “Why
don’t you ask your unit?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jordan blinked…and
as he did so, the HUD that he’d been imagining for the past few weeks suddenly
flashed up in his vision. “Whoa!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>[SECURE AI ACTIVATING]<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>[Do you wish to name your unit?]</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You should get a
prompt in some fashion to name your AI soon,” the doctor told him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“In some fashion?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He nodded. “It
varies. SECURE is a truly predictive AI. Since you’ve opted for the direct
brain-to-unit connection, it can tell how you’d like it to display information.
Literally anything you can imagine, it can do. I’ll give you a few moments to
play with it—just push that button there if you need me.” He left the room.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jordan gave it some
thought. “I’m calling it…the Data Analyzing Robot for Yoke Linking. DARYL.
Male.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>[Please imagine AI tone, vocal patterns, and
accent.]<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Been doing that for
about three years,” Jordan muttered, thinking back to all his attempts to make
his own AI.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Touché.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jordan jumped at the
dry rebuttal. “DARYL?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Got that right,
boss,” DARYL said, chuckling. “Fully online and at your service. Let’s see…hey,
full upgrade package. Nice.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jordan slowly
grinned. “Yeah, I figured…why not go all out?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“New toys. Gotta
love them,” DARYL agreed. “Nice HUD design, by the way. Concise, clear,
everything you need—and a few things you don’t. Heart rate monitor? Seriously?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jordan shrugged. “That
was curiosity, mostly. I’m told I have a pretty slow resting heart rate.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Given that the average
resting heart rate is 60 to 100 beats per minute, and yours is 51 at the
moment, that’s pretty accurate,” DARYL agreed. “And before you ask, yes, I just
googled it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Instant research.
Nice.” He stood up. “Hey, call Ma.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You got it, boss.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was a ringing
sound, then, “Hello?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hi, it’s Jordan,”
Jordan greeted her. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What’s the
emergency?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Uh, no emergency.
Just wanted to say hi and see how you’re doing.” Jordan suppressed a sigh. Busy
again, as usual.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Look, I’m a little
busy right now—can I call you back later?” his mom asked, a little impatiently.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sure. I’ll talk to
you later.” Without waiting for her reply, Jordan mentally hung up. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
DARYL was silent for
a moment. “Well, now I understand why they chose you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jordan frowned. “Chose
me?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What do you know
about the guy who invented SECURE?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jordan shrugged. “Dusty
Fairbanks? Not much. He’s pretty reclusive. Why?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Because he’s a lot
like you, actually,” DARYL said quietly. “SECURE wasn’t invented for the obscenely
wealthy, or the popular folks who just want another toy. SECURE isn’t even
predominately about security.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What’s it for,
then?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
DARYL paused. “Companionship.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jordan fought down
the brief surge of emotion that accompanied that word. Whether he knew it or
not, DARYL had hit a sensitive nerve with that one. “I don’t need <i>companionship.</i>”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, probably not,”
DARYL agreed. “But Dusty Fairbanks didn’t either. He just wanted someone who
gave a rat’s behind about him. He cared about a lot of people; they just didn’t
care about him. Sound familiar? So he invented SECURE.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Does SECURE stand
for something?” Jordan asked, trying to change the subject. “It’s always
capitalized.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Someone Else for Caring,
Understanding, and Responsive Expression,” DARYL said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They were both
silent for a moment. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The doctor came back
in the room. “How’s it going?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jordan thought for a
moment before smiling slowly. “Great. Thank you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well, you’re clear
to leave whenever,” the doctor said, shaking Jordan’s hand absently, mind
already on the paperwork in his other hand. “Thanks for coming in, and let us
know immediately if you have any questions or concerns.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Will do,” Jordan
said, and walked out of the room. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He was already in
the parking lot before DARYL spoke again. “Now what?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Now…we go home, I
guess,” Jordan said. “Got any music recommendations?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“All kinds,” DARYL
said cheerfully. “Although, fair warning, I <i>will</i>
sing along to any and all Weird Al tunes.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jordan burst out
laughing, already feeling a little less lonely. “Weird Al it is, then!” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Radar's Note: I got the idea to write this after trying to make my own AI and contemplating the Microsoft, Apple and Google attempts to create some kind of soft AI. It's a lot harder than it seems. Also, DARYL seems like he might be fun; I might try to build a short story series out of Jordan and DARYL's world. </div>
Radar Midwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03466801162479061193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2748159015046902499.post-35126863668600577642016-05-10T10:04:00.002-05:002016-12-20T08:09:27.742-06:00Captain's Log, Day 166: My Hiatus Explained Phrases like "results cannot be guaranteed," "complications include:" and the ever-popular "new technology" clause were starting to swim in front of my vision. That could have been due to the fact that I'd read these particular sheets about five times in as many minutes (i'm a very fast reader) or to the fact that I was currently wearing glasses with a prescription about 75% of what I actually needed. That's what I get for switching to contacts and never updating my spectacles.<br />
Ahh, screw it. That's why I was here, after all. I signed the forms and shoved them across the desk. "Let's do this."<br />
"Okay. Are you <i>absolutely certain </i>you want to do the PRK procedure?"<br />
I tried to keep from laughing. The nurse was the ninth or tenth person to ask me that question within the last two weeks--for some reason, the idea that I'd accept a little more pain and a longer recovery for a better result was oddly foreign to some people. "Yepp."<br />
"You'll have a lot longer recovery time," she warned me.<br />
I nodded. "Two weeks for normal function, one month for 95% recovery, three to six months for completion," I recited. "Comes with an increased risk of infection, but <i>less</i> risk of me ripping open that flap. Also, it's more stable in the long-term." I didn't add that the risk of infection was basically nil for me, since infections never bothered me. The only ones I'd ever gotten were <i>extremely</i> short-lived.<br />
I was also counting on the fact that I healed like Wolverine to help drop some of those times I'd recited.<br />
The nurse smiled. "You've done your research."<br />
"About two years worth," I agreed. "Wish I'd actually get to see the machine in person. It looks cool."<br />
"Um, you will--"<br />
I chuckled. "With my glasses off, it'll just be a blob."<br />
"Speaking of, you can go ahead and take them off now."<br />
Reaching up, I removed my eyewear, hopefully for the last time. The room dissolved into blurs of color as my eyes stopped their restless movement. It wasn't really worth even <i>trying</i> to figure out what all those blurs were.<br />
"I can take those for you," the nurse offered. I could hear the rustle of her sleeve as she held out her hand; without moving my eyes or my head, I placed the glasses in her palm. A note of concern entered her voice. "Are you okay?"<br />
I frowned. "Yeah, why?"<br />
"You're just...I dunno...staring. Second thoughts?"<br />
I laughed. "No, just listening. I usually navigate by ear when my glasses are off." It was one of my marginally more useful abilities that a few surprised nighttime combatants had discovered to their dismay. It wasn't <i>true</i> echolocation (I didn't have a good enough picture for that), but it was good enough to block punches and return strikes with.<br />
"Wow, that's handy. Here." The nurse placed my glasses in a pouch that contained eye drops, antibiotics, and other post-operative necessities and tossed it at me. I snagged it out of the air without even looking. Again...not that looking would have done me much good...<br />
Well, that was <i>kinda</i> the point of all this.<br />
After a round of numbing drops and some preemptive antibiotics, the nurse told me they were ready. I followed her out out of the room and down the hall to the operating room. Once inside, I <i>really</i> wished I could see--if the big dark smudge that bisected the room was any indication, the machine was <i>massive</i>. Dang it. Now, I kinda wished Dad had wanted to come in and see this, if only to take some pictures, but he'd opted to stay out in the waiting room.<br />
"All ready?"<br />
I could tell by the voice that it was the doctor I'd met with last week to discuss this. I grinned. "Yepp!"<br />
"Let's get going then. Lie down on that bed there," he instructed me.<br />
Surreptitiously, I snapped my fingers, trying to locate the bed exactly--it would be really embarrassing if I missed. The room was all hard surfaces, fortunately, so the only soft spot in the room was easy to locate. I plopped down and stared up at the blank whiteness. I assumed there was a tiled ceiling of some kind up there, but I couldn't make it out.<br />
"All right. You're going to feel the bed moving--we're just getting you into position," Doc said reassuringly.<br />
"I'll take you're word for it," I joked. Surrounded by the machine, that's all I could hear echos from at the moment, so it seemed like the machine was moving, and not my bed. They could probably have put some kind of accelerator on it.<br />
Blurs of movement, and I felt Doc gently prying my right eyelid open, inserting an oddly-shaped clamp to hold them in place. I gritted my teeth against the discomfort while making a mental note that the numbing stuff did <i>not</i> work on eyelids. I used my hands to do a quick search down by my waist for anything to grab on to, but didn't find anything. I folded my hands instead as Doc put an eyepatch over the other eye.<br />
<i>Sploosh.</i> Some kind of liquid splashed into my eye. I tensed, but it didn't sting any. That was a relief--I was afraid that the numbing drops wouldn't work on me. A moment later, something silver entered my vision, and I felt a weird pressure as Doc started working.<br />
I knew what I was seeing. LASIK surgery involved the creation of a flap in the eye, which was flipped open so that the laser could reshape the inside. PRK needed to access the inside of the eye, too; so, to get there, Doc was literally cutting off the outside surface.<br />
Definitely weird. I expressed as much out loud.<br />
Doc laughed. "Yeah, that's what I've been told." He used what sounded like a small spatula to remove the skin he'd just cut off. "That's why most people do LASIK. There's this thingy just suction-cups itself to your eyeball, and you don't see anything until it's over. It's a little less scary."<br />
I smiled. "I didn't say it was scary, just <i>weird</i>," I explained, although watching a scalpel blade travel across my eyes was definitely giving me the willies. I calmed myself down. I didn't know what adrenaline would do to the procedure, but I figured me twitching would probably not be good. <i>Maybe I should have gotten some Valium...nah. I got this.</i><br />
"Okay, look straight up at the green light," Doc instructed me.<br />
I tried to frown, which was a little hard with one eye covered and the other eye clamped open. The bright surgical lights were overwhelming everything else, and my vision definitely was worse in my right eye anyway. I couldn't see anything. "What green light?"<br />
"Just look straight ahead," he suggested. "Okay, here goes..."<br />
Some more liquid splashed into my eye, fogging everything up even <i>more.</i> There was a whir as an arm of the machine descended, followed by a beep. My vision suddenly...<i>shifted</i>, is really the best word I can think of. I saw a green light develop--a really fuzzy green light, but hey--progress is progress. The machine beeped, whirred again and retreated.<br />
"Wait, that's <i>it?</i>" I asked disbelievingly. "Well, that was anticlimatic."<br />
Doc chuckled. "Just the way we like it. Let's rinse you out..."<br />
Cold water poured over my eye. When it departed, I noticed that I could see the ceiling tiles. Granted, they were a little streaky, but given that I was missing the front of my eye, that was to be expected. Doc plopped a bandage contact over my eye. Ow. That hurt. Apparently, the numbing agent was wearing off.<br />
I didn't really consider the full ramifications of that until he started working on my left eye. Specifically, when he poured the dissolving agent in. I went completely rigid.<br />
"Uh, Doc? I can <i>definitely </i>feel that," I gritted out. I'd never tried any of my pain-block techniques on my eyes before, but I gave it my best shot. It didn't work so great.<br />
Doc remained calm. "Must have worn off. I'll just rinse out your eye and put some more numbing drops."<br />
I relaxed as the water hit me. "Oof. Sorry, I forgot to mention that painkillers are <i>really</i> short-lived when they work."<br />
"Some of them don't work?"<br />
"I'd say most, actually."<br />
"Ouch. That's gotta suck." Doc applied the numbing agent. "Well, it's a good thing these do."<br />
"Agreed," I said fervently, flexing my hands (now a little sore). "Hey, maybe the next generation of this bed could have some handholds on it?"<br />
"You're probably rip them right off," Doc pointed out.<br />
I chucked. "Fair point."<br />
The rest of the procedure was equally anticlimatic. Within fifteen minutes of entering the room, I was walking out (after having thanked the doctor profusely, of course).<br />
Dad met me in the lobby. "All done? Can you see?"<br />
"Yeah," I said, a little taken aback by the results myself. "Even with the streaking, I can read that sign way over there!"<br />
"Nice. Well, don't strain yourself," Dad warned me. "You did just put your eyes through a fairly traumatic experience."<br />
"No kidding. Totally worth it, though," I agreed. "Even if this weekend is going to be really boring. No books, no TV, no computer...I expect I'll be sleeping a lot."<br />
"That's probably for the best," Dad agreed. "Huh. I thought your eyes would be red or something. They're really not bad at all."<br />
"Nope," I said distractedly, putting on my sunglasses and reading a license plate that was twenty feet away.<br />
<i>Awesome.</i><br />
<br />
Notes on recovery: three days after surgery (when getting the bandage contacts off), my vision was uniformly fuzzy, but I still could read the 20/20 lines at the optometrist's office. The optometrist said that I was already at a week's worth of recovery and thought that the odds of making 20/15 or 20/10 vision were good.<br />
One week later, my left eye was almost completely blur-free. The right one had a ways to go. Two weeks later, my left eye got even sharper, and my right started catching up.<br />
Now, two and a half weeks post-surgery, my vision is so good that I absent-mindedly thought I was wearing contacts last night. I automatically tried to remove them before bed and poked myself in the eye. Ow. I guess that's a good thing, though...can't wait to see what it's like when I'm fully recovered!<br />
Pun <i>definitely</i> intended.Radar Midwayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03466801162479061193noreply@blogger.com0