Captain's Log, Day 110: Excuses, Projects, and Summer Stuff

          It's been a while since I've written anything, but there's actually a reason for that--other projects have been eating up my life to an extent never before seen (except maybe at school). This summer, I've...
          --worked at a processing plant
          --taught Taekwondo
          --reprogrammed my computer and edited various heads-up-displays for it (I've been trying to make my own from scratch, but a lack of any good CGI programs is providing an insurmountable obstacle for the moment)
          --mowed the lawn countless times
          --ran into a bee's hive (literally)
          --built a multi-barrel revolving rocket launcher which eventually backfired and blew itself up (cool while it lasted though)
          --raked the pond for weeds after building a 4-wheeler drag attachment because I was too lazy to do it by hand
          --edited my first book Indestructible and began work (I'm almost a third of the way through it!) on the sequel, Stargazer
          --helped Nemesis with his webcomic
          --held numerous Nerf and Airsoft battles with Nemesis (the girls declined; aka, they were wusses)
          --chased various retarded fowl around the farm, because they won't STAY WHERE THEY'RE SUPPOSED TO
          --led two parades
          --got a Stetson (I wear a Stetson now. Stetsons are cool)
          --played some Halo (won) and Mariocart (lost) with siblings
          --designed maps for Halo
          --attempted to organize my room (but as it is also my workshop, I kept giving up in despair, much to my mom's disgust)
          --built a laser obstacle course in the basement
          --navigated the laser obstacle course, with varying degrees of success
          --applied to, and was accepted in, grad school!!! (I graduate college in December and will be starting grad school in January)
          --learned how to cook, with varying degrees of success (some food turned out to be recognizable)
          --survived the dreaded Family Photo Shoot
          --designed a mobile surveillance camera mount for outside my room
          --romped through cornfields (and killed billions of mosquitoes)
          --did NOT kill the little yapping rat-dog that now inhabits the premises over my strenuous objections (although I was tempted to punt him like a football a few times, I never did)
          --wrote a few articles ("Mission Improbable", A New Frontier?, and Never Too Old for Lava Squids were all written during summer vacation)
          --and, somehow, managed to find time for a little sleep here and there.

My dual-monitor computer setup, with the heads-up displays.

          FYI, I packaged my desktop configuration should anyone want to duplicate it. If you want the source files, hit me up! (They're really easy to modify.)
          Also, if anyone wants to read the draft of either Indestructible (completed, needs a little editing) or Stargazer (incompleted, definitely needs editing), let me know. I'd like to get some feedback on either or both of them. My email address is in the "Contact Me" section.
          Peace out!
                    --Radar

          P.S. And I'll try to write a bit more before I go back to college. I can think of one good story about the family doghouse that I haven't written about yet...

Captain's Log, Day 109: Never Too Old for Lava Squids

          "Ahh, it's good to be back...WHOA!!! CAPTAIN DOWN!!!"
          These words were uttered by myself as I wiped out while climbing up the slide of the park we were visiting. "We" consisted of myself and my siblings, Quill, Nemesis and Squirrel; and once again, we were joined by the sisters Princess and Chipmunk, who were visiting us for the week. It was by popular, nay unanimous, vote that we decided to reenact some of our favorite games from last summer. After multiple games of tag at multiple parks, we arrived back at the "Blue Park" to play "Lava Boat" until we "got sick of it" and devolved into "shoving" each other off the "playground."
          Allowing sanity to take a brief leave of absence was--and is--a key ingredient in all our games.
          "I'm the captain," I announced.
          "Princess is the cook!" Quill announced, probably due to the fact that Princess had just made a very professional batch of cupcakes back home. "I'll be the doctor!"
          "Hey, Quill is supposed to be the first mate," I protested, then relented. "Fine. Nemesis can be my first mate."
          "Can I be helmsman too?" Nemesis inquired, pulling out his Swiss Army Knife to make adjustments to the steering mechanism.

          "On my boat, the first mate is the helmsman," I informed him. Appeased, Nemesis went on with his adjustments. 

          "I'm the official squidmaster, and Chipmunk is my helper!" Squirrel snickered.

          "Let's go ride a squid!" Chipmunk proposed. Both girls bolted off the boat in search of a squid.

          "I'm just gonna ignore them," I muttered. 

          "Hey, Radar, what was this called again?" Princess asked.

          I checked where she was pointing. "Oh, that's engineering. Check the fuel levels and prepare for startup--Nemesis? Thrusters."

          

          Princess agreeably clambered down to the engineering level to report that it was all good as Nemesis abandoned his post in favor of debating the potential for a horrible disease with Quill. It was eventually concluded that everyone was in danger of immediate death unless we could procure an antidote immediately. Quill dashed off to see about the ingredients while Princess and I kept the boat running and Nemesis watched for trouble. For some reason, he failed to see the Terrible Two off to starboard, and was thus surprised by their cries of "Giddyup, squidie!!!"
          "What are you doing?" I demanded to know.
          "We're riding a lava squid!" Squirrel announced with glee, bouncing up and down.
          Quill took the opportunity (and possibly revenge) to announce that we had all the ingredients except one, which was "Extract of Lava Squid." I jumped on the bandwagon by announcing that the plague was so severe that we needed the ingredients right now. Nemesis left the boat to try to talk the girls into removing themselves from the squid.

          Needless to say, he was unsuccessful.
          Upon his return to the boat, he offered to help me collect the "Extract of Lava Squid" by holding onto my ankles as I went head-first down the slide to collect it. My mission was successful, only running into a small snag when he tried to pull me back up. First, his hands slipped, almost hurling me face-first into the lava; second, when I was almost back up, Squirrel and Chipmunk returned, loudly announcing that they would "pick out the best and fittest lava squid" for us, to which Nemesis departed to debate lava squid fitness and left me hanging by my toes halfway down the slide.
          "You're a dead man, Nemesis," I informed him when I finally pulled myself back up, proceeding to chase him across the boat.
          "I have the cure!" Quill announced, beaming proudly from the upper deck. Everyone ignored her; even Princess, who was laughing too hard to hear her anyway.

          When everyone had settled down, we began effecting repairs to our grossly maltreated lava boat. Nemesis and Quill went to the helm; Princess and I worked on the engineering cage; Squirrel and Chipmunk wandered off. I can't speak for anyone else, but the conversation at my end went something like this:
          I climbed into the engineering cage. "Hmm, a screw is out. I need the driver."
          Princess handed me a stick. I frowned and returned it. "No, the Philips-head screwdriver."
          "Oh, right." Princess quickly handed me another stick.
          "Thanks." I "tightened the screw" and handed the "tool" back. "We need to weld this section. Welder?"
          Princess searched through the pile, handing me another stick. I eyed it. "That's not the--"
          "Yes it is," Princess explained. "See?" She gestured at a feathery piece of bark hanging off the end. "There's the flame."
          "Ahh, it's an oxy-fuel welder," I nodded, to cover my blunder. "I thought you were going to hand me the arc welder. This will work."
          "Hey, I think it's about time to go home and eat," Quill announced.
          I itched my nose with the "welder." "Real or imaginary?"
          "Real," Quill clarified.
          "Alrighty, let's go," I agreed.
          "After we swing," Quill finished.
          "Okay. Nemesis and I will be on the lifeboat," I informed her.
          "It's a LAVA SQUID!!" Squirrel yelled. I ignored her.
          Nemesis and I had a fine time on the tiny teeter-totter, culminating in a shoving  war to try to knock each other off...then, on the way back to the car, Princess and I had another camera war.

          I won.

Captain's Log, Day 108: A New Frontier?

          Hmm, I seriously think we should put more effort into trying to explore the universe, and putting people in more non-terrestrial areas.
          Sadly, that's probably not going to happen for a while...but that's why we had science fiction!!
          This the the sequel to Indestructible (formerly called Wizard's Discovery, from which I posted an excerpt in Captain's Log, Day 80: Preview of a Book--the Club). I've already tried to write part of the sequel before (see Captain's Log, Day 91: The Sequel!) but I really didn't like the way it was going, so I decided to fast-forward a few years in the life of the protagonist and start over. Those of you who are bored enough to actually read both versions of the sequel, which I plan on calling Stargazer for reasons I plan on NOT revealing at this point, please give me feedback on your thoughts--is my new version better? Is the old one better? Are they both worth turning into books? (I did skip a few years, so I could do that...) Is my writing so horrible that it burns the retinas? Could you pull someone out of a black hole with a rope? Does the drag coefficient of those little rat-dogs improve if you shave racing stripes down their sides?
          Ahh, the questions that plague a writer.
          Anyhoo, here's the beginning of Stargazer. Good luck!

          There comes a time in every rightly constructed human boy’s life when he has a raging desire to be a soldier, or to fight aliens from another. That boy would be incredibly envious to see the line of armored, four-limbed soldiers marching down the hill towards him.

          For me, it was a huge security issue.

          My visor lit up with specs as I snapped target locks onto every vulnerable spot I could find with the oncoming Scorics, hands clenching into fists. I’d fought these beings on several worlds across the Milky Way, humanity’s galactic domain, and I had a great respect for how deadly they were. I was one of the few soldiers who had managed to survive the battle at Sorro’s End, so here I was, honor guard for a parley.

          “This is ridiculous.”

          I grinned, full-face visor shielding my expression from the oncoming aliens. That was Hyatt, my second-in-command and best friend, voicing my unspoken opinion. “Yeah, I was more comfortable back on Kora,” I agreed, glad the facemask also hid our rather unprofessional chatter. “At least then we had our weapons ready before they attacked.”

          “Soldiers, can the small talk,” Sergeant Wilcon barked.

          I rolled my eyes, as I’m sure Hyatt did. Sergeant was a self-important weenie who had never seen battle and enjoyed throwing his weight around. “Stuff it, Wilcon,” I retorted. “You don’t want to hear it, get off our private freq.”

          “Hey, did Leftie there power something up?” Hyatt broke in.

          I zoomed in quickly. “Oh, nah, he’s disengaging his overarmor. Must be the delegation leader, or whatever the equivalent title is in Scoric.”

          “I hate having to stand like this,” Hyatt muttered. “I’m all jumpy.”

          I silently agreed. Being in parade-ground formation looked impressive, but it was about as useful as a stop sign as far as effective fighting went. All the commanders and delegates insisted on armor locks, which make all the soldiers ramrod straight and still as a bunch of rocks, but should anything go down, it would take a few critical milliseconds to disengage everything and power up. Right now, all ten of us soldiers were in passive sensor mode only, which ticked at least two of us off.

          The delegation from Earth passed between us to sit at the table in the middle of the field, joining the Scoric leaders. Both parties of soldiers, human and Scoric, stood rigidly at attention, staring each other down.

          “Greetings,” one of the Earth delegates began. “We appreciate this truce—“

          [May we skip the formalities?] a Scoric demanded. [We are met to end this senseless violence, not bandy words like little] shransn.

          “Shransn?” I muttered, trying to remember what that meant. I’d learned scorachatt, but that word was a new one on me.

          “I think the equivalent word is children,” Hyatt informed me. “Specifically, those just gaining sentience. I’ve heard they can talk your ear off.”

          Our delegates managed to find their voices. “Of course,” Devonius assured him smoothly. “Maybe you could start by explaining why you started the violence in the first place.”

          He should talk. I gritted my teeth. Caught up in the Scorics’ presence, I hadn’t even noticed him at the table. He’d led two bloody revolutions, then claimed to only be trying to promote defense of Earth. His warning and leadership had led the Earth leaders to give him a pardon and a place in the delegation, but that didn’t mean that I had to trust him.

          [Do not play us for fools,] the Scoric said contemptuously. [Your forces fired the first shot.]

          “When you invaded our galaxy,” Devonius pointed out.

          [You have no use for it.] The alien waved a hand, a gesture he’d obviously been practicing for the express benefit of human interaction. It came off as rather robotic. [Your people have not yet begun to branch out, perhaps never will. We need the territory as an expansionist race. We will have it.]

          “Galactic law states that home galaxies are off-limits to expansion,” Devonius reminded him.

          [Exceptions will be made.]

          “No, they shall not. We have a right—“

          [You shall die defending a non-existent right.]

          “Our forces have been holding yours off quite well so far.”

          [They shall fall. We have come here to spare you unnecessary death, and you think to threaten us?]

          I snapped on my speaker, clearing my throat. [Thirty-five eighty point five hundred and sixty three by forty-seven point oh-one by twelve hundred and thirty-two clicks, delta-v point five light on seventy by sixty by five point five.]

          Everyone (well, except the human soldiers) turned to look at me. [What is the meaning of this?] the Scoric demanded.

          “Spatial and vectoral numbers, from this plant’s coordinate system,” I clarified. “3580.563 by 47.01 by 1232 clicks, delta-v .5 on 70 by 60 by 5.5.”

          The Scoric snarled. [Do you thus allow your soldiers to presume to address us?]

          “Stand down, soldier,” Devonius ordered, voice laden with threat.

          I ignored them both, unlocking my right arm. “You want territory,” I mused, pointing at the Scoric. The alien’s troops immediately locked all their weapons on me, causing the Earth bodyguards to unlock themselves and train their weapons on the Scorics. I rolled my eyes, my expression lost behind my visor, and continued, “And we want to keep it. So check out the territory I just gave you and get out of our galaxy.”

          The Scoric leader eyed me, if such a thing could be said to be done by a being with multi-faceted eyes. It was usually hard to tell what they were concentrating on. [How do you know this place is unoccupied? You could merely seek to lead us into a trap.]

          I shrugged, a futile movement with my armor locked. “I wound up there on an equipment malfunction, flicking out of the Kora system. I had enough time to scan it before my return. It’s unoccupied, probably leading out past what we call the Andromeda Galaxy. Gives you a bit more room, and you can leave us alone while you explore out there.”

          [But your galaxy, it goes to waste.]

“Right,” I agreed. Devonius shot me a look that could have frozen a supernova (figuratively, anyway; the wizard wasn’t that powerful). “Which is why we need to determine who on our planet is ready to receive the truth about the universe and move off Earth, set up some interstellar trade, et cetera. But—“ I pointed to the Scoric again, “that means you guys need to get your butts out of here.”

          The Scoric had gone oddly still. [Who are you?]

          I dropped my arm. “I’m Captain Ryan Phoenix of the 567^th Tactical Squadron.”

          [Ah, the True Human Leader.] The Scoric stood, gesturing to his troops. They all lowered their weapons.

          I blinked. I wasn’t a xenolinguist, but I was pretty sure he had just said that in capital letters. “What?”

          [The True Human Leader,] the Scoric repeated, now completely ignoring the diplomats (who looked about as confused as I felt). He began walking around the table.

          “All units, keep your weapons off,” I ordered, briefly switching frequencies so the aliens and diplomats couldn't hear me.

          “He’s coming at you, Cap,” Hyatt protested.

          “With no weapons of his own—you saying I can’t take on a lone Scoric? Especially after Kora? I didn’t even have armor there.”

          “You’re going to be in some seriously hot water for this, Phoenix,” Wilcon growled. I ignored him.

          The Scoric stopped in front of me. [In our culture, our leaders—I believe you call them diplomats—indeed begin wars, as yours do. However, they must also direct that battle, as your generals do, and fight on the front lines with the soldiers they command. This keeps them honest and less ready to start futile conflicts. It was interesting to see that your leaders are distant, treating their soldiers as pawns.] He paused, contempt obvious in his voice. [But in monitoring your communications, we noticed a warrior on the front lines, who reprimanded his commanders and bravely led his forces into battle.]

          I almost laughed. I had yelled at my commanding officers for their stupid decisions and usually ignored most of what they said. Ironically, it was the only reason I had a command—my methods resulted in huge successes, and the top generals figured the best thing to do with me would be to stick all of the troublemakers into one group with me and turn them loose with vague objectives. That way, we could keep scoring victories, and if something imploded on us, they’d only loose the non-conformers. Win-win.

          The Scoric continued. [That was true leadership, and showed a brilliance that gave us pause. After the battles of the Fifth Quadrant and our subsequent losses, we agreed to this conference in the hopes of sparing such an admirable leader. We surely would overrun humanity, given time, but your loss would be a sad blow to the universe.] He gave me a Scoric-style salute, arms crossed over his chest and tilting his head. [It is my honor to meet you. I accept your proposal, and look forward to better relations with the human race.] He turned back to the diplomats before I could respond. [Use your resources well. Procure a treaty and I shall sign in blood here.]

          “Sign in blood?” Hyatt muttered.

          “Scoric thing,” I responded, still trying to process what the Scoric had said. The only thing that kept running through my mind was Devonius and the diplomats are gonna be mad.

          “You have more chutzpah than anyone I’ve ever even heard of,” one of the soldiers from Wilcon’s unit told me.

          “Can it, Kirra, or you’ll be on KP for a month,” Wicon barked.

          The treaty was finished and signed an hour later, officially ending the war. 

Captain's Log, Day 107: "Mission Improbable"

          It started like any normal evening...dinner, random games, threat of violence from the parental unit unappreciative of food fights...but then Nemesis and I went downstairs to look for something to do, and I stumbled across the 30 small mirrors that I had left over from a school project (long story) and had a brilliant idea.
          Not that Nemesis could recognize brilliance if it walked up and kicked him in the rear, of course.
          "You want to do what with your laser?"
          I sighed. "Make a laser obstacle course!"
          Nemesis frowned. "How?"
          I held up my giant, 1-watt laser. (For those who don't know the capabilities of such, it is powerful enough to burn through most objects on the "full power" setting, leading to some interesting incidents with both my clothes and my hand; my clothes, because I forgot that it was on, and my hand because 30 seconds after I received the laser, I doubted its capabilities and tried it out on myself. Let me to be the first to announce that yes, it works perfectly.) "We use this and the mirrors to bounce the laser beam back and forth across the area at the base of the stairs and have the beam terminate in a light sensor--uhh, you still have that electronics kit, right? I destroyed my light sensor last summer."
          Nemesis nodded, warming up to the idea. "Then we try to get through the laser maze..."
          "And if one of us breaks any of the laser beams, an alarm goes off!" I added happily. "It will be like breaking into a bank!"
          Nemesis started humming the "Mission Impossible" theme music, then paused. "Doesn't that laser burn stuff, though?"
          I rolled my eyes. "Despite the amusement factor inherent in having you run around with your pants on fire, I promise that I'll leave the laser on low power." I thought for a moment. "Besides, on high power I would probably burn out the sensor."
          "Excellent! Now, to work," Nemesis announced, sounding spookily like Megamind.
          I started taping mirrors to the walls, floor and ceiling at various angles while Nemesis began working on the light sensor apparatus, wiring it up to an alarm while following schematics from a book. Things went smoothly for about the first five minutes, at which point Nemesis discovered a problem. "Uhh, Radar?"
          "Kinda busy here, what?" I grunted, trying to hold up a mirror while simultaneously cutting tape, trying to reach for a piece of cardboard and wishing I had more hands. Like, six of them.
          "This circuit board design only turns the alarm on when light hits it," Nemesis announced.
          Down went the tape, cardboard, and myself. "Well, that could be annoying," I agreed, scurrying over to the circuit board and studying it. "Oh, wait, it's not that bad--we just move the speaker hookup to the other terminal on the relay and we're set."
          "Oh...well, but if we do that, the speaker will just click," Nemesis pointed out, studying the manual. "This circuit was designed to turn on a light when it gets dark--running a constant circuit through a speaker just makes a click when it turns on and off. We'll need to add this sound unit in somewhere, but I don't know how to--"
          I snatched the unit and plugged it in, using guesswork to determine where everything went. Immediately, a loud wailing split the air. "Hey, nice," I yelled.
          "It shouldn't be on, though," Nemesis yelled back. "What if we moved this terminal over here?"
          "That might work--wait a sec!" I grabbed Nemesis's small laser pointer and shone it at the light sensor. The wailing cut off abruptly. "It works! See?"
          "Ahh yes," Nemesis agreed happily. "Now what's left?"
          "Hand me tape," I ordered, throwing the roll at him. "I don't have enough hands."
          A few minutes of taping and calibration later ("WHO KNEW MIRRORS WERE THIS FINICKY??" I freaked out at one point), Nemesis and I flipped off all the basement lights and prepared to test our genius...and Dad wandered down. "What's this?" he asked, in the same tone reserved for little kids experiencing eggplant Parmesan for the first time. (Yuck.)
          "It's a laser obstacle course," I explained. "You have to get through without breaking any of the beams or else--"
          Dad walked straight through it. The alarm flipped out. WAAA WA WAAAA WAAAAAA!!!!
          "Right. That," I finished.
          "Hey, nice," Dad nodded. "Light sensor?"
          "Yeah, wanna try?" I offered.
          "Pass."
          "Your loss." I started to make my way through the maze (with Nemesis humming "Mission Impossible" in the background), but forgot about a low-level laser beam and broke it with my foot. The alarm startled me so much that I sat down on the beam, which didn't help much with the overall noise level.
          "Couldn't break into the vault?" Nemesis inquired teasingly.
          "Shut up," I informed him. "Like you'll do any better."
          He didn't, ending up headbutting one of the higher beams. I hummed "Mission Impossible" for him, joined at this point by all the female members of the family who had wandered down to find out what the air-raid siren was about. Quill and Squirrel were eager to try, but I insisted that I have one more go at it first. This time, I made it through.
          Squirrel went next, duplicating my first attempt by sitting on a laser beam. Quill went second, did some sort of fancy dance as she lost her balance, and fell through most of the beams. Nemesis almost made it, but forgot about his left knee and dragged it through a beam. Anyone not currently attempting the course offered helpful (or not-so-helpful) advice about what to do or hummed "Indiana Jones" or "Mission Impossible" theme music. Mom even got into the act, taking her own turn through the course. She broke three beams, but we let her finish anyway; it was entirely possible that having four kids and a husband yell directions and hum theme music might be a little distracting and counter-productive. I demonstrated the "easy" way to get through--I locked a laser pointer on, aimed it at the light sensor, and just walked though the maze, to which Nemesis cried "Cheater!" and threw cardboard at my head.
          Eventually, everyone made it through the maze (except for Dad, who was adamant in his refusal to try--he preferred the spectator's position). Nemesis and I were ordered to remove the tape and mirrors from the walls without damaging the paint, under pain of death. We got to work with a will, discussing and laughing over attempts made. and joking about protecting our rooms with this technology. Then...
          "Hey Radar!"
          "Yeah?"
          "We should do this again! Like, make it go across the whole basement this time, and around the pool table, and then try to play pool!"
          "Good gravy, Nemesis, why don't we just play Nerf Wars in the maze then?"
          "That's another great idea!!"
          "Well, I was kidding, but now that I think about it..."

Captain's Log, Day 106: Trenches, Dams, and Tractors

          It was a rather gray day when the family woke up. The eldest of the siblings was rather expecting to have an easy time of it and was halfway through mental calculations on the blanket fort he was planning on constructing with his brother (after he smacked Nemesis for using up all the hot water in the shower, of course) when his mom knocked on his door.
          "It rained last night and the barn flooded," she announced. "Dad is going to need your help draining the water out of the barn and cleaning it out. I think he also wants you to dig trenches in the ice to divert water flow away from the barn."
          Displaying the kind of analytical thinking that usually led to hospital trips, Radar bargained, "Can I use the tractor?"
          "Ask Dad," Mom replied as she left Radar to his cold shower.
          Dad was (surprisingly) just fine with Radar using the tractor. After breakfast, Radar and Nemesis prepared for the morning's work by running for the mudroom in an attempt to retrieve the non-leaky pair of rubber boots. They were about to come to blows...when it was discovered that all the boots had nice holes in them. Nemesis managed to squeeze into a pair of non-perforated rubber boots two sizes too small, while Radar disregarded convention and stuck his feet into a pair of snowboots. "What the heck," he remarked, "I'm going to get wet anyway."
          Dad went to town to see about a pump for the barn after giving Nemesis and Radar the instructions on where to make the trenches to divert water. He also added, "If you can dig out that snowdrift behind the chicken house so the water can flow that way, that would be great...I doubt you'll be able to manage it, but give it a shot if you have time."
          Radar and Nemesis grabbed a shovel and an ice pick respectively and started chipping. It took only about a minute before Radar got bored and threw down his implement. "Be right back, Nemesis " he announced. "I'm going to get the ax."
          After returning with the ax and--bonus!!--a sledgehammer, the brothers got back to work. True, the sledgehammer was quickly discarded when it was discovered that an impact resulted in an ice-cold spray of water being launched up one's legs (leading to a rather high-pitched yell from a nameless party), but the ax and the ice pick worked well together. It worked so well, in fact, that by the time Radar got bored again (50 seconds; he also got hot and took off his hat, hanging it on the fence by the pasture), water was already flowing merrily down a nice trench, draining the lake in front of the barn door.
          Nemesis pointed over at another lake over by the end of the driveway. "I bet, if we cut out that drift, we could just drain that down into the valley."
          "Good idea," Radar agreed. "But let's get out the tractor."
          One dinged-up barn door later (not entirely anyone's fault; the tractor had about an inch of clearance on either side), Radar was driving the tractor at full speed towards the drift, bucket in shovel position. He quickly cut through the drift and accidentally took out the top of the drain pipe that was supposed to help drain water.
          "Oops," Nemesis winced.
          "It's all right," Radar shrugged. "I'll fix it later."
          Nemesis helped chip out the trench, and soon water was flowing away down the hill. Radar did a few donuts with the tractor for the fun of it before driving into the pasture (and into the new lake that was about 6 inches deep) and attacking the snowdrift by the chicken house. Nemesis opened the trench by the barn up a little bit more; a dangerous operation, since the area he was whacking at tended to get filled with manure. Radar remembered this fact when his ears got cold and he went back to retrieve his hat. Nemesis had accidentally shoveled horse manure on it.
          "YUCK!!!" Radar yelled, holding it at arm's length and trying to determine if his ears were cold enough to justify wearing it anyway.
          "Sorry," Nemesis apologized, backing away in case Radar decided to hurl the maltreated hat at him.
          "I will end you," Radar threatened, hurling a snowball at his brother's head before retreating to the house for some new headgear.
          Upon his return, Radar immediately soaked his jeans when he sat down on the tractor; preoccupied with his hat, he had neglected to notice the advent of rain and thus had not protected the seat of the tractor, a seat which was now home to a lake of its own. "Great, now my rear's gonna itch," he complained.
          His brother, predictably, ignored him.
          Nemesis attacked the leading edge (a small one) on the outside of the fence; Radar demolished the huge drift on the inside of the fence with the tractor, using the displaced snow to create a dam to prevent further water travel to the inside of the barn. He drove back outside the pasture to help Nemesis with his portion of the drift, creating a nice, wide canal for the water to drain out of the pasture and forgetting to close the pasture gate--an oversight which one of their horses, Dakota, decided to take full advantage of. He vanished into the hay storage area (which they had also neglected to close).
          "Nemesis..." Radar began.
          "I'm on it," Nemesis sighed. "I'll get him out, you herd him with the tractor."
          Once they had shooed out errant horse back where he belonged, Nemesis jumped on the back of the tractor and the brothers drove into the pasture to have some fun. By dropping the bucket of the tractor and charging the canal they had dug, they essentially "swept" the water from the lake and sent it shooting through the canal, into the trench, and over the hill. Fifteen minutes of this (they were easily amused) and the brothers were able to see a significant drop in the water level in the pasture.
          "Alright, I think we're done here," Radar announced.
          "Hey, do you remember that one day, that one summer, when we drained the hot water from the house to flood the driveway and made dams and creeks and stuff?" Nemesis asked.
          "You bet," Radar nodded, wiping his nose. "Good practice, huh?"
          "Those were the days," Nemesis agreed, sounding like an old guy.
          Radar thought for a moment. "Too bad we didn't have the tractor back then. We could have gotten in even more trouble...hey, do you think I could build a huge snow fort with this thing?"
          Nemesis wasn't listening. "Hey, Dad's back," he announced.
          "Guess not," Radar admitted.

Captain's Log, Day 105: The Chameleon Project

          This is a new concept for a book that I came up with when I was sleep-deprived on a plane ride last Friday. Does anyone have any thoughts on this concept? I titled this one The Chameleon Project. That's not to say that I'm abandoning my other book(s), I'm just considering a new title while I think of where I want to go with my other ones.

          “Mark Three Interceptors coming about through Quadrant 4,” Commander Riley came through over my audlink. “This is it, gentlemen. Breakout on your captain’s marks.”

          I clenched my fist, feeling the plasarc barrel push gently against the skin between my knuckles. My HUD came alive with specs on the Mark IIIs, but that was pure reflex on my part—I’d been studying them for almost a year now, and fighting simulations for half that.

          It was good to finally see some action.

          “Captain?” Justin asked softly. “Now?”

          I narrowed my eyes, letting my vision zoom in on the incoming fighters, making a routine sweep of the streets. Like anything ever happened here; Earth had been pummeled into submission for a while. There was no way these things would be ready for anything, much less Chameleons. “Give it a few. Patience is a virtue.”

          I couldn’t fault him, though. My four squadmates had every right to be impatient. I flexed my legs and took a last sip of my coffee, setting the cup carefully down on the table and throwing down a generous tip. There really weren’t enough good outdoor cafes around, and I wanted to keep this one running. “Breakout in five,” I muttered. “Lock targets and don’t squabble over territory. There’s plenty of marks to go around.”

          My HUD lit up with the countdown as I snapped target locks onto the front two Marks. I tensed slightly, feeling both my enhanced muscles and hydraulics respond. I did a quick diagnostic; everything came back positive.

          The countdown ended. I snapped my arm out straight, plasarc barrel ripping through my skin and spitting the superheated plasma in twin arcs straight at the visor of my first Mark as I exploded up from the table. The plasma punched through the visor with little effort, hopefully cooking anything behind it. I flipped in midair to slam my right heel into the second Mark’s chest-piece, sending the heavy machine careening backward. It couldn’t keep its footing and crashed to the ground. I planted, spun and leapt back at the downed fighter, extending my fingers and locking them in place as fluidknives extended out my fingers, joined, and locked. The monomolecular cutting current snapped on moments before both of my hands drove straight into the machine’s neck, completely severing the head. I pulled the fluidknives back into my hands, the nanomites that had opened my skin efficiently sealing it back into place behind the departing metal as I quickly looked for another target lock.

          There were none. My team had quickly and efficiently taken out an entire squad of ten battle machines without a single casualty in our ranks. I checked my hands for blood; I’d heard tales of early Chameleons bleeding to death due to faulty nanomites. I didn’t appear to have that issue at the moment; but then, my boys and I were the tenth generation of Cammies to be developed. And the first to see combat.

          It felt good.

          “Cannons ready!” I barked, locking my knee in place and feeling the two halves of the armor-buster cannon implanted in my left leg join together. I’d wished several times in practice that the cannon could always be ready and activated, but the length of barrel required for dumping excess heat from the super-powered laser meant that it had to take up my entire leg. In order to bend my knee, the cannon separated into two halves on either side.

          “Cap, I got Mark IIs coming over the hill, 30 targets,” Brandon reported.

          I knew that, of course; we all did, HUDs supplying us with the radar movements of the incoming fighters; plus, we already knew there was an outpost on the other side of the hill. Brandon was just nervous. “Lock up on your targets as soon as you get visual confirmation,” I ordered unnecessarily. Target locks only worked visually, and the other side of the hill was decidedly not visual.

          We all raised our legs, balancing in guard positions. Peripherally, I saw civilians either staring at us or the downed machines or running indoors. The ones who stared had a right to; we’d just made history. Humans (and unarmored ones at that) had just taken down battle machines.

          I did some quick mental math. Five of us, thirty targets…we each got six locks. The battle machines came pounding over the ridge, sending civilians running. I snapped locks on the first six, or I would have if Skyrin hadn’t locked onto one of my targets first. At least I got five of them. I scanned the ranks and locked onto the only one remaining.

          “Fire!”

          Laser fire erupted from our heels as we scythed our aim across the formation. My onboard computer directed my muscles and hydraulics flawlessly, ripping the laser across the quickest paths to the vulnerable points I had targeted. My squad and I were so fast that only one Mark II got off a shot—a missile that my computer locked onto and destroyed with a plasarc burst almost before I realized it was there.

          I dropped my leg, letting the cannon separate and unlocking my knee. I felt the nanomites already closing the exits from the weapons on my heel and hand. “Well, I think that was an overall success. Strip the plasma guns and lasers off the Mark IIIs and dump them in the storm sewer. Underground should be in place now to pick them up. After that, let’s go to ground—and Andy, please quit with the combat stance every time you stop. The whole point of our existence is to blend with the civilian population.”

          “Sorry, Boss,” Andy apologized, already using his finger cutter to slice off the plasma turret on a Mark III.

          I strode over to the decapitated Mark III and ripped off its weapons systems, quickly throwing them down the drain. Before I left, I turned and knelt down next to the discarded helmet, curiosity causing me to slashing it open. I saw then what I’d only ever seen in recs before: the face of our oppressor.

          The still, scaled features of the Trix’axi stared blindly at me.

          “Step one,” I muttered. “You may not know it yet, but the revolt has started.” I tipped it a mock salute as I stood back up. “Alrighty, boys, let’s get out of here. Mission accomplished.”

          Cutters and fluidknives retracted, irises spiraled back down to normal size, nanomites closed skin. We stepped out of the street and lost ourselves in the alleyways of Detroit. Overhead, a repcraft blocked out the sun as the reaction from the Trix’axi finally came. Too little, too late.

          “Hey, Kitch, how did the other teams do?” Andy asked.

          “We’ll find out when we get back to base,” I replied, shrugging. “We can’t run audlinks anymore—Underground pushed it a little too much setting us up. Any more comms and the Trax’axi will be able to triangulate base in a heartbeat. The only reason we got away with it before was—“

          “Right, the element of surprise,” Andy finished for me. “Seriously, if you say anything about our element of surprise, I’ll take a swing at you myself.”

          “You won’t make it, because you just lost your—“ I caught his glare and conceded. They didn’t need a lecture today. “Alright, fine. Great job, all. We made history. Let's get some more coffee."

Captain's Log, Day 104: The Icy Frontier

          "Hey Nemesis, where are the girls?"
          Nemesis looked up from his concentration on the ice to see me wobbling down the road to the pond on my three-sizes-too-freaking-small ice skates. "I dunno. They said something like fifteen minutes, but that was--"
          "Twenty minutes ago?" I rolled my eyes. The tardiness of the female members of our family was a well-documented and well-know fact. I considered a sarcastic comment but couldn't think of anything that I hadn't already said a few million times. Ugh.
          "Wanna play something?" I inquired.
          Nemesis spun in a neat circle. I couldn't tell if it was deliberate or not; knowing him, it probably wasn't. "Sure. What game?"
          "How about hockey?" I asked, disregarding the inconvenient fact that neither of us had the slightest idea of how to play it. After the Midway Golfing Incident, we kids had realized that our guesses to how any particular game was played was always more fun than the actual rules invariably turned out to be; normal rules typically didn't let us duel each other.
          "Hockey...that's the one with the sticks, right?" Nemesis asked, both questioning my recollection of the game and quoting the Doctor for the TV show Doctor Who at the same time.
          I laughed. "Pretty sure. Sticks and some disk thingy...puck, I think?"
          "Where can we get them from?"
          I wobbled my way back off the ice. "Let's try the shop."
          The shop, predictably, yielded two hoes, one of which was flattened so that the blade stuck straight out of the handle instead of having the traditional "hook" to it. I took that one; Nemesis took the normal one. "Now we need a ball of some sort," I mused, looking around the shop. "The pond is too snowy for a disk to slide. Maybe a basketball?"
          "A basketball?" Nemesis asked dubiously.
          "Yeah, let's try it. Could you go get it?" I asked, heading back out to the ice to draw up some goal lines.
          Nemesis came back with a basketball and, better yet, a croquet ball. "Brilliant," I complemented him, taking it.
          "How should we start?" Nemesis asked.
          "CHARGE!!!" I yelled and whacked the ball as hard as I could towards Nemesis's goal. He sped after it, with me in hot pursuit. He hooked the ball with his hoe and sent it hurtling back at me. I tried to block it by planting the blade of my hoe in front of it, but my non-standard, straight hoe just bounced it up off the ground and towards my face.
          Not optimal. I leaned backwards hastily, and the ball flew over my head to land (luckily) in the snowbank at the edge of the pond, away from the goal. "Yes!!!" I yelled as I picked myself up and dusted myself off.
          "Aww," Nemesis complained, looking disappointed.
          "Bring it," I grinned, feeling rather cocky. That feeling vanished in a moment when, after a quick flurry of sticks, Nemesis managed to smack the ball through my legs and into my goal. I sighed. "Okay, the score is oogy to boogy. And it's my ball."
          Nemesis and I somehow managed to fit three collisions, a wrestling match, two stick fights, and five shoves into the snowbank in before Nemesis made a lucky kick to the ball, sending it through my goal again. He also managed to clobber me in the kneecap with his stick. I hobbled over to the goal to retrieve the ball. "You know, Nemesis," I commented, "I really wish I had your hoe."
          The next match was better for me. I managed to smack Nemesis into a snowback, hit the ball towards his goal, and...miss. Nemesis whacked it back at me, I mistakenly tried to block it with my hoe, and it bounced up and whacked me in the stomach. Nemesis tackled me (maybe by mistake, but since there were no rules against tackling, I suppose he could have done it on purpose. Neither of us are very good skaters), so when I landed in the ball, I managed to grab it and, with a weak flip of my wrist, send it rolling lazily through Nemesis's goal. Nemesis lunged for it with his hoe but missed by inches.
          "Aww, come on, that's not fair!" he protested.
          "Where is that written in the rules?" I wheezed, still out of breath from having the big lummox landing on me.
          Nemesis sighed. "I suppose it's fair...okay, the score is now oogy to boogy!"
          "I already had oogy!" I protested. "It's boogy to twoogy now!"
          "Oh, right," Nemesis nodded. "My ball this time!"
          "Fine by me," I grunted, dusting myself and checking to make sure all my body parts were roughly in their correct respective locations.
          Nemesis opened ball four up with a hard whack towards my goal. I blocked it with my skate and sent it off at an angle towards the side of the pond. We both charged; a flurry of sticks, and it rolled back towards my goal.
          Alarmingly close to my goal.
          Nemesis brought his stick back for the winning shot; I grabbed it out of the air from behind and reached around to try to smack the ball away. Nemesis grabbed my stick; I overbalanced and wiped out, taking us both down. Nemesis landed on me again but, disregarding insignificant issues like crushed ribs and lack of oxygen, I maintained a firm hold on both sticks and somehow managed to kick the ball away towards the middle of the pond. We had a brief but useless wrestling match, which we finally desisted from because we were laughing too hard to continue.
          "Okay, on the count of three, we release each other's sticks," Nemesis suggested.
          "Which one is mine, anyway?" I asked. In the fracas, I'd lost track of which one was mine, and I couldn't see the ends because--as I mentioned--Nemesis was on top of me.
          "The one I'm wiggling is mine," Nemesis informed me, with appropriate actions.
          "Ah. Okay, one...two...HOLD IT!!! Solemn vow that no one charges until we're both ready," I demanded, remembering that he currently had the upper hand. Literally and figuratively.
          "Okay. One, two, three!" Nemesis agreed, releasing my stick. I released his, and we both got up. Nemesis looked around for the ball. "Where'd it go?"
          It turned out the girls, who were now out and wanted to skate without the danger inherant to two competitive boys waving large sticks with metal tips around indiscriminately, had thrown the ball off the pond. We ignored their pleas for sanity, tracked down the ball, and spotted it to where we figured that it had landed. Then, after some debate, we both placed our sticks down a set distance away from the ball and backed up even further. Then, a reluctant Squirrel yelled "Ready, set, go!" for us.
          We charged. Nemesis went for his hoe, snatching it in time to give the ball a hearty whack. I went for the subtle approach, ignoring my garden implement entirely in favor of sliding in and blocking the ball with my skate. Nemesis smashed his hoe into my knee again, causing me to collapse on both the ball and my hoe.
          "Hey, no fair!" Nemesis protested.
          "Your fault," I grunted, faceup and clutching my hoe. I managed to jackknife up and twist violently in midair to smack the ball away from underneath me with my hoe before collapsing facedown on the ice. Nemesis yelped in surprise and, when he started charging after the ball, got tripped when I kicked his skate out from under him. The end result was that we both arrived at the ball at the same moment. Another flurry of sticks, feet, and arms ensued, after which the ball was discovered to have rolled past the goal. Nemesis and I scurried over to the goal to trace the ball's path through the snow.
          "YES!!! I MADE IT!!!" I cheered, then collapsed on the ground, laughing. Nemesis managed that impressive feat of laughing while standing, an accomplishment I was too tired and sore to try to duplicate. Besides, my jeans were already soaked anyway; his weren't.
          I rolled over onto my back wheezing. "The final score is twoogy to twoogy!"
          "We should play this again!" Nemesis rejoiced.
          I nodded. "Oh, and by the way...man down! I think I'll just stay down here for a bit..."

Captain's Log, Day 103: Oregon Trail!

          We used to have a game.
          A computer game, which seemed to us kids at the time to be the most highly advanced thing we'd ever seen; now, having experience to look back with, it was rather pathetic, but still really fun. This game was called...Oregon Trail!
          The premise was simple enough...you start out in a town called Independence back in the 18th or 19th century, get supplies, join a wagon train, and travel across the West to Oregon while attempting to keep the members of your party alive and (my goal) shooting every animal bigger than a pocket watch. When we first started playing, I always had charge of the computer and, as such, got to put my name in the not-really-coveted position of leader; Quill, Nemesis, and Squirrel then gathered around and added their names to my party. We'd debate over what items to get, debate over which trail to take, and I'd get smacked every time one of them got injured or sick and I chose to go hunting instead of dealing with the problem. Quill loved fishing, so I'd occasionally surrender the mouse to her so she could fish her heart out (but never during the salmon runs).
          As we grew older, we noticed that the computer used the same words over and over. It was always "Radar broke his leg." or "Nemesis has cholera." (We also noticed that I had the same response to each problem--go hunting--but that was universally accepted as me being OCD.) I don't know if it was Nemesis of Quill who first thought of this, but soon the party member's names changed. The new names were "Who," "Nobody," "the Mad Hatter," etc, so we could laugh until we cried every time the computer said something like "Nobody broke his leg" or "Who drowned while crossing a river."
          THEN...we discovered the diary.
          This was a computer-generated log of our adventures, in which we could add our own writing. Characters quickly developed for Who, Nobody, and the Mad Hatter (Nemesis was always Who; Quill varied occasionally but was usually the Mad Hatter), and the diary became the main attraction for the game. It's impossible to describe...so I'll let you read an example, written quite recently when we rediscovered the game.
          In this particular game, I was the Doctor, from the Doctor Who TV show. He was a time traveler with a "sonic screwdriver" that could fix anything as long as it wasn't made out of wood, and also possessed a police telephone box that was bigger on the inside than it was on the outside. He often fought with a race of aliens called the Daleks, which were obsessed with their machine voices and exterminating anything that crossed their path, so I included Dalek Sec in the party just for grins. (A Dalek looks a bit like a strange salt shaker with a plunger sticking out of it for a hand.) Quill opted for the Mad Hatter, Nemesis became Who, and Nobody joined us because everyone could write for him and puns were inevitable. Also, I introduced a new guy, Some Fool; I figured we could just blame him for everything.
          As far as reading the diary goes...the stuff in red is our work, while the stuff in black is the computer. The computer is kinda boring, but it's occasionally necessary to read it in order to understand where we're coming from. Most of the time, you can ignore it though. Also, we always had someone yell "THIRD BASE" after every Who joke, hearkening back to the "Who's on First" baseball skit by Abbott and Costello that probably set this whole thing off.
          And since the diary is a bit long to go in this post, Doctor Who and the Mad Hatter, too is located on a different page.
          Enjoy!

Captain's Log, Day 102: 25 Random Things About--HEY LOOK, A SQUIRREL!!!!!

          So, I was poking around in my computer archives today instead of cleaning my room (because my mom refuses to allow me to build secret compartments in my wall--such a shame!), and I stumbled across an old post I wrote entitled "25 Random Things About Me," which I never got around to posting because I have the attention span of a sparrow, and that's on the days that I am FOCUSED. I touched it up a bit and decided to post it; mostly because I think it's hilarious and also because I have no stories to write about today. However, I believe we still have some leftover fireworks in the barn, if anyone would like a story tomorrow....

          So without further ado or any more rambling (because at this rate, I'll forget to post it again), may I present 25 Random Things About Me...and since I am COMPLETELY random, this should be easy...

          1. I'm horrible with names, to the point of absurdity...as in, (and I've done this before) I'll have been in a lab for an entire semester with someone, filling out lab reports and blowing stuff up, and I still won't remember his name! Fortunately, another semester of lab did the trick.

          2. I am quite possibly the biggest nerd ever. I have five computers; only one of them I paid for (and boy, is it a nice machine!) Four of them are ones I fixed up after people threw them out, and I'm attempting to wire them up to my room for the prototype artificial intelligence that will one day control my house. "Lights on! NO, NOT THE BLENDER--!!!!"

          3. I'd like to buy a taser. However, I fear that I would inevitably succumb to my curiosity and preform a self-test.

          4. I once built a cannon, but my parents caught me before I could test it. I still maintain that it would have worked.

          5. Solitaire is the bane of my existence. I can lose a game without moving ANY cards.

          6. My best friend and I tried to make a movie over the course of a few years. The movie was never competed, and the bloopers were longer than the movie was.

          7. I have a lighter. I have no idea why.

          8. My siblings make snowmen...or snow-trolls. I make obelisks. Yay Egypt?

          9. My favorite tool in making snow sculptures is a hand saw.

          10. I love swimming, but it's impossible for me to float. I sink like a rock. A wildly flailing rock with water up his nose.

          11. I LOVE NINJA. It's one of the very few games I'm good at.

          12. I'm studying to be a Mechanical Engineer, I teach myself programming on the side, I'm a black belt in Taekwondo, I'm working on writing a novel, and I lead a very eclectic life. Any questions?

          13. I think I'm ADHLAS, or Attention Def--HEY LOOK, A SQUIRREL!!!

          14. My computer now talks to me. It's because I reprogrammed it to sound like JARVIS from the movie Ironman.

          15. It is impossible for me to spell antidisestablishmentarianism without using spell check. My sister can spell it off the top of her head. I'm still wondering how we can possibly be related....

          16. I was born in Illinois. Sorry guys, I'm not a true Minnesotan. Although, I have been told I have the accent...

          17. I once hit the mailbox with the car. Oopsiiies...in my defense, I received faulty directions about where the box was relative to the car's mirror.

          18. It IS possible for tomato sauce to explode. I found that out the hard way.

          19. Never let me near a kitchen. Stuff happens...bad stuff. Fortunately, I can USUALLY repair the damage.

          20. My treehouse has all the switches and panels needed for it to be a submarine. Or a spacecraft. Or a time machine. Or a battleship. Or an AT-AT. Or an airplane. Or...

          21. My phone is awesome. It's an Android, and it usually knows what I'm trying to do before I realize it.

          22. I have one major goal in life...and that's to build a working Ironman suit.

          23. You can challenge me to just about anything. I'm very competitive, even though I usually lose. Hence....y'know...this BLOG....

          24. I've gotten lost on a campus with 5 buildings. Twice.

          25. I wrote this entire thing in 20 minutes.

Captain's Log, Day 101: A recap of my semester

          "Yay finals!" said no one EVER.
          I'm taking a break from studying for finals at the moment, hence the slight bitterness here. Studying has taken over my life to an unhealthy degree, so my breaks have begun to take on a life-saving importance. Prepare for rambling!
          CHRISTMAS IS COMING!!! This semester is almost over!! Good gravy, where did the time go? It's insane how fast time flies...it's been a crazy four months. I'm sure you could probably have guessed that, as I've only written four times since the start of the semester. However, I guess I've never really written about my college life, except for that one post about getting chased through a dorm (don't you dare say a word, Quill!), so I'm thinking it might be good to do a quick recap of my semester, which arguably holds the record for being my best semester EVER!!! (It would be good for me to remember that as I head into my remaining two finals--sometimes extreme annoyance at studying can best an optimistic outlook.) So...how about a quick summary of my top three things that made for an excellent semester?
          Let's see...where to start?
          Hmm, how about the whole reason for college in the first place? Grades this semester have been excellent (I only have one potential B, and hopefully if I ace the final I'll get an A there too; hence the obsessive-compulsive studying) and I've had some pretty fun classes. Hands-down, my Heating, Ventilation  and Air Conditioning class was the most fun; got to design a duct system for a house at the end of the year! My senior design class takes second place, as my class got to design a distillation column that we're going to build next semester.
          ...I think I just made a few liberal arts majors faint. Too much tech-speak? Sorry. I'm a geek. Anyhoo. Moving on...
          Excellent thingy number two: My sister Quill joined me at college this year; I approached this transition with a great amount of trepidation, as I'd worked hard to build up my reputation here at college and was a bit worried about having someone come who would be able to dispel such notions in the minds of others. HAHA, just kidding--I'm a geek and everyone already knows it. No, I was actually excited, because this was someone I could direct others to for some good-natured freshman hazing! There's a tradition at BC that all the new students have to wear beanies their first week, and any current students who pull them off can make the freshman caw like a raven. I pulled hers three times, one of which was just so she could caw into the phone for Mom's benefit. Plus, she cooks for me sometimes. YAY COOKIES!!! And non-caf food!
          So yes, I'm indebted to Quill in more ways than one; she introduced me to my amazing girlfriend! Well, I say "introduced;" she actually grabbed my arm and shoved me towards Sparrow at swing-dancing class, saying "GO DANCE WITH HER!" Subtlety, thy name is NOT Quill....but hey, considering I had been spending the last thirty minutes trying to figure out how to ask Sparrow to dance, it helped me out quite a bit! I've been dating Sparrow for two months, and it's definitely been a major highlight of my semester! Gives Quill something to tease me about, too...but oh well, I guess I'll just have to return the favor sometime *insert evil grin here*.
          So anyway, that's my semester in a nutshell--er, blog post. My apologies for not writing more! I'm going home soon for break and to rig my brother's Christmas present in some respect--he reads my blog sometimes, so I refuse to give out any details until AFTER Christmas--so I'll be able to write more.
          And if you're still reading, thanks for bearing with me and my compound-complex sentences that just seem to run on and on because I'm kinda tired and I have no idea how to end a thought tonight because of all the studying; everything just seems to run together in my head and confuse me and everyone around me because I'm suddenly talking out loud about the heat capacity of steel and its effect on copper sheets in manufacturing processes--
          Maybe I should go to bed now.

          May ogres never question your fashion sense,
                    Radar

Captain's Log, Day 100: I got CAUGHT.

          "Who won the dodgeball game?"
          I'm not entirely sure who the random girl who posed this question was, but on the other hand, I was kinda busy laughing at my sister Quill's expression. "Huh?" she eloquently inquired.
          Abbey, Quill's roommate, did her best to explain. "Radar threw your squishy ball at me--"
          I interrupted. "So she chased me down the hall and tried to hit me with it!" I nodded to the girl in the hall. "I won, by the way."
          Abbey tried to glare at me. She failed. "You did not! I hit you once!"
          "Yeah, and then you somehow missed at point-blank range," I pointed out. The girl outside laughed and wandered off to find someplace slightly more sane to hang out.
          It was more or less a typical night for me at college. I had decided to stop by to see how Quill was doing, and she had vanished to go give some papers to friends, at which point the altercation with Abbey had  taken place. Quill had returned roughly the same time my girlfriend, Sparrow, had showed up to visit as well and to partake of the sandwiches Quill had made. And then Christina, a mutual friend of all of ours, showed up...basically, Quill's room was getting a little crowded. Needless to say, all the newcomers were a bit miffed that they had missed all the fun.
          "You chased him down the hall?" Quill asked enviously through a mouthful of sandwich.
          "Yepp," I confirmed, tossing the aforementioned squishy ball into the air. "I think we confused most of the residents."
          Sparrow poked me in the ribs. I promptly collapsed (I'm a bit ticklish). "You shouldn't throw stuff at people!" she admonished me.
          I curled into the fetal position, trying to protect my poor ribs. "Ohh, Abbey's practically a sister at this point anyway. I can do that!"
          Abbey shrugged. "Yeah, that's true." She heaved a fake sigh. "Brothers!"
          "Just remember, this means you get all the privileges of a sister," Quill reminded her. "In other words, it's okay to hit him."
          I sat up indignantly. "HEY!"
          Christina had been mostly silent throughout this whole discussion, but now she sat up with a wicked glint in her eyes. "We should all chase him down the hall!"
          I scrambled hastily up. "Whoa now...unfair!"
          "How is it unfair?" Sparrow asked, getting up and pointing her "poking finger" at me.
          I thought fast. Unfortunately, I couldn't really come up with a legitimate reason for them not chasing me, since I obviously had all my limbs attached. Oh well. "If I'm going to get chased, I want to deserve it." I lunged for the ball.
          "Oh no you don't!" Christina squeaked and grabbed for it. I got it free, threw it at Quill, and ran for my life.
          I will say this for the girls; they are pretty fast. They still wouldn't have caught me if I hadn't missed the exit to the stairs. One frantic backpedal later, I managed to trip and wipe out. Before I could get up, Sparrow was standing on my feet. I sat back against the wall. "Everyone happy now?"
          Quill sat on my shoulder. "Hmm, I don't know. That was pretty short."
          "I missed my exit," I explained.
          "Let's do it again!" Christina urged.
          "What is this, tag?" I muttered under my breath. "Nah, I'm good. You're wrecking my shoulder, Quill."
          Quill jumped off. "Again. Come on, Radar, please?"
          I stood up, wiggling my toes to get some blood flowing there. Sparrow had kinda cut off the circulation down there. "I don't think so--"
          "Run or get tickled. You have five seconds," Sparrow informed me.
          "Aww, come on!" I protested, then spun around and ran as they charged me.
          This time, I made the exit to the stairs well ahead of the girls, opting to go downstairs first. I could hear them spilling into the stairway as I yanked open the door to ground floor. Abbey was in the hallway; apparently, she had not opted to join in the original chase and wandered down here instead. She burst out laughing as I flew past.
          I hadn't lost the girls yet, so I decided to go up the back stairway. I raced up two floors; then, in a burst of inspiration, I yanked open the second floor door open as I shot past. The girls couldn't see me, but they heard the door closing; they all piled through into the second floor as I leisurely strolled through the third floor door and headed to the water fountain for a much-needed drink and a review of my options.
          It was obvious that I couldn't keep trying to evade them like this; sooner or later, one of them was going to realize that they'd me more effective if two of them barricaded the stairways and sent the last one to flush me out. Or if (heaven help me) they recruited reinforcements. Sadly, my sense of honor (and humor) demanded that I not try to sneak outside. Fortunately, an alternate plan presented itself: I would sneak down the front stairs, draw them out, let them chase me around a floor, then duck back down to first floor and barricade myself in Quill's room.
          Foolproof! With a capital F!
          It went rather well at first. I drew the girls out and took off back up to third floor, than cut through second to get back to the stairway to first. When I reached for the door handle to first, however...
          "Gotcha!!" Sparrow pounced. I was definitely not expecting that. I backed up, tripped, and hit the corner of the stairwell. Sparrow grabbed my wrist and yelled up the stairway to Christina, "I GOT HIM!!!"
          "Excellent! Where's Quill?" Christina asked.
          "I think she went to go guard the back stairs," Sparrow explained.
          "Let's go get her," Christina proposed, grabbing my other wrist and pulling me through the door to first. We headed down the hallway with me trying subtly to see if I could managed to remove my wrists from their death grips.
          Christina saw Quill first and waved. "Hey, Quill, we got Ra--"
          I quickly yanked my arm away from Christina. Unfortunately, Sparrow had anticipated me and grabbed my other arm with both hands, preventing me from running. Christina quickly re-established her grip on my wrist.
          "I feel like a prisoner!" I complained.
          "You are," Quill informed me. "And I'm the warden."
          "I caught him," Sparrow informed her. "Right when he tried to get though the door. He was not expecting me!"
          I groaned, still a bit out of breath. "You're never going to let me forget this, are you?"
          She smiled angelically. "Nope!"

Captain's Log, Day 99: A Saturday Morning Log

          Interesting...I just noticed that this is my 99th post. Hmm, going to have to come up with something especially clever or witty for my 100th...THE PRESSURE IS TOO MUCH!!!
          Today, though, I have to be neither witty nor clever. Hence, the following excerpt from the log of a typical Midway Family Saturday morning (from back when I was 8).

6:00am     Woke up to my brother Nemesis clattering down the bunk bed ladder. Debate about what to do.
6:02          Static electricity war commences. Yay for wool pajamas!
6:10          Ordered back to bed by Mom. Fleeing for our lives ensues.
6:15          After careful listening at the door, it is determined that Mom returned upstairs to go back to bed.
6:16          Nemesis and I have a quiet stuffed animal war.
6:21          Truce is declared. I climb up into Nemesis's bunk to hide under the covers with him and pretend that we're under attack by aliens.
6:52          Nemesis and I vacate the bunk at the faint sound of a flush from upstairs. Static electricity war recommences.
7:00          We head upstairs to determine the affairs of breakfast.
7:01          Quill looks like her hair got caught in a blender. Squirrel is apparently still down for the count. Mom is also still in bed; Dad is prepping the griddle for omelettes.
7:02          All kids (save Squirrel) are put to work. I grate cheese, Quill unloads the dishwasher, and Nemesis sets the table. Dad looks at the calendar and decides that the truck needs an oil change today.
7:03          Much loud rejoicing is effectively quenched by Dad's threat that noisy children will be left at home. Quieter rejoicing continues.
7:11          Squirrel is rousted out of bed and the family sits down for breakfast.
7:30          Post-breakfast clean-up. I try to sneak out but am caught and ordered to load the dishwasher.
7:42          Family adjourns to get dressed.
8:01          Nemesis and I have been ready since 7:43 and have spent the last 19 minutes arguing about who gets to sit shotgun. Wrestling match is broken up by Dad. No sign of girls.
8:30          Nemesis and I are pulled away from our Erector sets when the girls finally appear. Mom opts to stay home. All four of us kids try to get into the shotgun seat at the same time. Mass confusion.
8:35          Squirrel gets front middle, I get shotgun, and Nemesis and Quill sit in the back, where they amuse themselves by poking me.
8:40          Dad cracks bad jokes. "You know who was in denial? Moses. Moses was in de Nile!!"
8:43          Dad unrolls the windows, then rolls them back up as soon as we stick our hands out. Game promptly ensues to see if Dad can act quick enough to shut the windows on our hands before we can pull them back in. Kids always win. Much gloating.
8:45          I forgot about the game and rested my chin on the window. Dad popped the window up far enough to smack me in the jaw. Much laughter all around.
8:46          Made it to the Public Utilities garage! Dad and I immediately begin to move the hydraulic lift arms under the truck so he can lift it up. I extend the arms, and he positions them. Nemesis helps; Quill and Squirrel unload the oil and the filters.
8:51          Dad lets us all have a turn pushing the button to raise the truck off the ground. Much rejoicing all around.
8:54          Kids scatter into the depths of the huge garage to explore the giant trucks.
8:59          I discover a backhoe. Nemesis and I pretend that it is a turret on a spaceship and open fire on the girls when they appear.
9:00          Hide and seek!!
9:10          I try to figure out how to climb back out of the huge truck bed that I somehow fell into.
9:15          All the kids play spies. Dad is still working on the truck.
9:17          Dad calls us back to the lowering of the truck. Much cheering.
9:19          We form a line to hand Dad oil bottles. Nemesis grabs, I open, Dad pours, Quill discards, and Squirrel picks up the caps.
9:23          Dad decides to wash the truck. I get the high-pressure wash nozzle.
9:24          Dad captures the nozzle, ending the water war. All kids are sternly ordered out.
9:34          Kids are allowed back in. Dad announces that he has "a few things to check" in his office and invites us to come in with him.
9:41          Kids are installed on a computer and allowed to play Pinball on it. Turns are taken at the paddle keys.
10:40        Computer is vacated in favor of hide and seek.
10:51        Dad is queried about the availability of the whiteboard in the conference room. Permission is given to draw on it "if there's nothing written on it already."
10:55        Quill and Squirrel draw. Nemesis and I spin around on the big conference chairs before noticing they have wheels and begin racing.
11:06        Dad begins calling us so we can leave.
11:17        Dad finds us.
11:19        Dad decides all the calling has made him thirsty. Stops at a pop machine for a Dr Pepper. Root beer is procured for the kids after much wheedling.
11:24        Everyone tries to get in the shotgun seat again.
11:26        Positions switched. Squirrel and I are in the back, Nemesis and Quill get front.
11:44        Everyone piles out of the truck when we get home. Mom bemoans the state of our clothes but thanks Dad for giving her the morning off. Dad gives us the evil eye but assures Mom we were as good as gold. Lunch is eaten with pardonable swiftness before all the kids adjourn to the backyard for the afternoon.

Captain's Log, Day 98: Put Out to Pasture

          Honestly? I'm not sure whose idea it was. I'd like to take credit for it, but the odds are that someone just lost a baseball out in that field and, while everyone was crawling around on their hands and knees, decided "Hey, this is kind of fun!"
          I refer, of course, to the extensive system of hallways and rooms created in the tall grass in our pasture; an area so vast and so riddled with passageways and rooms, we kids got lost.
          About a year or so after we moved in, Dad's prairie grass came up in the front pasture. This wasn't really all that exciting until it grew taller than me, a feat which is all the more impressive because my 12-year-old self was currently engaged in yet another growth spurt. (It's only recently that I quit changing pant sizes two or three times every summer, and thank goodness too. Any taller and I would start clocking my head on every single doorframe.)
          As kids, of course, my siblings and I did what came naturally; build forts in it. This was accomplished by carefully flattening the grass into the ground, creating rooms and hallways with VERY comfortable floors and walls taller than we were. It was possible, of course, to jump high enough to see over the grass, but that was avoided at all costs. I'd imagine that it would be amusing to see the religiousness with which we refused to just break through "walls" of our rooms and hallways every time we got lost; we always followed the pre-existing routes when we were not in construction mode.
          Sometimes, we played games out there. As I recall, pretending to be mice was our favorite, especially after I saw a very confused mouse regarding us quizzically from the undergrowth. I made all kinds of new hallways trying to catch him, but he got away. Regardless, we scuttled around on our hands and knees until they were so permanently green that Mom just about gave up on trying to remove the stains. This led to a new game where we all pretended to be frogs...
          That was also the summer where I received a cork gun. It was a pretty basic piece wood shaped like a gun, with a piece of pipe over the barrel that one extended, loaded a cork, and than yanked back on hard to fire the cork straight into little siblings' foreheads. I'm not sure who gave it to me. I doubt it was my parents; I give them more credit for caution than that. To be fair, it did come with a cork fastened securely by way of a string to the gun so that it couldn't fly further than a foot. On the other hand, it took me about three seconds to remove said string, and another ten minutes to modify the rubber seal for a tighter fit to the pipe. When I was completed, I had an awesome gun that could kill grasshoppers from about a foot away. (It wasn't accurate at any other distance, but it went quite a ways.)
          Anyway, my brother Nemesis would load up on rubber bands, Quill would grab a small compound bow, and I would bring my gun out to the pasture, where we spent happy afternoons playing as bandits or robbers. My sister Squirrel joined us, but she preferred to load up with 4th of July parade candy--she had an overactive sweet tooth and a detest for violence, even pretend violence. She was usually our "cook."
          Dad's dream was to be able to cut all the prairie grass down in the fall and bale it for hay. Unfortunately, that didn't happen, so he was forced to purchase hay bales. We kids helped him unload it and stack it neatly in the barn, then gleefully rearranged it into a fort the second his back was turned. A few weeks later, he restacked all the bales by himself. Nothing daunted, we destroyed that pile too and built a cave. Fortunately for Dad's sanity, it snowed soon after, and we were all so busy building caves and forts in the huge drifts that covered our farm (yay hills!) that we didn't even notice when he took apart our haystack cavern and restacked the bales again.
          ...I'm starting to realize why Mom banned us from the house during all summers. We were destructive little squirts...