Quick post

I'm incredibly busy, so this won't be much of a post. But I came across this today (recommended by a friend) and just had to post it here.

Read this even if you need to snatch time from the only three hours of sleep that you've gotten in two days. It's that good. Exceedingly weird and deliciously different from any HP fanfic I've ever read, it's also probably the most entertaining one. The best part of it is that it is not a parody; it has a plot, characters and atmosphere even if it's all viewed sideways.

Happy reading!


PS: Oh, and this is amazing... just amazing.

Scam!

Whoa, I didn't know people could put this up and expect us to fall for it!

Hogwarts, A Musical

It's time I gave truckloads of thanks to one genius called Barbara The Wallpaper-er. She writes songs, and her current project is a musical - a Harry Potter musical.

Take a look at the songs and you'll know why I can't stop myself from gushing about them. Her latest effort - "Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes: Gred and Forge take a stand" - is my new favourite... but it's impossible to tell to what new heights this lady will reach the next time she puts the quill to the parchment.

Hats off, I say.

PS: If you haven't read Book 5, this is a spoiler, don't follow the link.

The Eye

Originally posted by Meneldil meneldil@my-deja.com:

The palantir glowed softly, and Saruman knew he was summoned by Sauron for audience.

"Behold, Grima", he said "look now into the palantir, and see the One Eye of Sauron. Look, and tremble, as you see the awful power of the Eye!"

And, laughing terribly even as Wormtongue twisted and struggled, Saruman forced Wormtongue's face to the palantir.

Wormtongue saw what was shown in the palantir and his face grew pale.

"Cor, why's his eye all blue?"

'"Blue?" thundered Saruman. "What do you mean blue?"

'"It's blue, I say," insisted Wormtongue, "and there's some funny writing on it, like 'A fatal exception has occured at segment 0987B2:CA9021'"

Saruman thrust Wormtongue aside and looked into the palantir. Quickly, he arose, and his anger was terrible to behold.

His voice waxed forth in wrath, "Flames of bloody Udun. Which Mordor-accursed idiot decided that the palantirs would run on Windows XP Home?"'

- The History of Middle Earth, Vol. XXV
"Microsoft in Middle Earth" (e-text version)

Taking Stock: One Month On

The Good

• Amazing weather
• Shopping. Ahh.
• I'm cooking!
• Junk food heaven... fries in school cafe... yummm.....
• Brilliant weather

The Bad

• Money going like water
• Mad drivers on wrong side of road
• No sidewalks
• Shopping. Waaaaah!
• Missing friends... :'(

The Ugly

• Me. F-A-T.

Looks interesting

Link courtesy of Siddharth. :)

Going Ratty

Yestreday I decided to give up my dreams of starting a debating club here in my college. Two reasons: there isn't enough enthusiasm here among the students and more importantly, I can't afford the time I could spend being gainfully employed elsewhere. It wasn't a decision I took lightly and it's worse for me than you think - debating is such an important link to who I was before I came to USA.

But I'm different now, I guess, if I've gone so far as to give up on debating. After all, it never occurred to me in Singapore to skip a session and coach another school, even though the opportunity was certainly there. No, I suppose I have changed. I'm officially part of the rat race.

The fact is that students here simply don't get off easy. No subsidised accommodation - it costs more to live on campus than any other place, actually. No subsidised education, unless you have a scholarship - which, thankfully, I do. My biggest gripe is the lack of public transport, which means I need to save up to (a) take my driving test and (b) buy a car so I can get to wherever it is I'm working in order to pay my school and accommodation fees. You see the trouble?

It changes a person's entire point of view. Instead of thinking, "How much time can I afford for ECAs?", I think, "How much is the time I spend on ECAs worth?" Instead of thinking, "Are my ECAs taking me away from my studies?", I think, "Are ECAs affecting my earning potential?"

The answer is yes, of course. Students here, especially initially penniless international undergrads, routinely work 60-70 hours a week... most of it illegally. I say 'initially', because working that much isn't at all necessary - these kids later want be able to pay for both their 'work car' and 'party car', and buy as much pot as they need. But you can't afford not to work, and you certainly can't afford to waste time on ECAs when there are bills to be paid.

The process of transformation from "I'm going to get a well rounded education which will include ECAs" to "I'm going to pay all my college bills on time" is complete when you forget, or dismiss, what you can gain from an activity like debating, and convince yourself that waitressing or taking orders for pizza deliveries is being gainfully employed.

I'm not there, not yet - and hopefully, not ever. I know what I'm missing by giving debating up. Thank God for small favours, eh?

RotK:EE Previews

**********Spoiler alert!**********

The One Ring.Net has a scoop!

Alright, the exclamation point is a bit much for news that's days old. But what a scoop... people from the site went to see a preview of The Return of the King Extended Edition. Wasn't the whole movie or anything, just some screen caps... but WOW. What wouldn't I have given for the chance!

So... we get to see the Mouth of Sauron (finally), Galdalf's confrontation with the Witch King (will set the stage better for Eowyn's big scene), Saruman and Grima Wormtongue dying, hopefully in a befitting way since it certainly cannot be canonically accurate... ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod I cannot wait to see it!

And the EE playing in theatres over Thanksgiving weekend? *squeeeaal*

*controls hysterics*

But some things are scary...

1. There seems to be no sign of the Houses of Healing.
2. Which means no Eowyn-Faramir... Ack!
3. Legolas and Gimli having a drinking game? No prizes for guessing who'll win. Sheesh... Did they have to conpensate for Gimli winning the orc-count game with this?
4. Legolas kills Grima! :-S
5. Aragorn in Eowyn's bedroom??

All I can say is, the EE'd better put all of this in context and make it work! Can't wait for December.

Searches Update: Millipedes, "cats grown jars" (!!!), "What happened to ZBlogger" (wouldn't we all like to know) and more naughty secretaries.

Writing Group Blues

So I thought, I'm in America. Land of creativity. Haven of wannabe-writers (well, wannabe-anythings, really). I should join that fabled entity that books titled "This Book Unlike The Last One You Read Is Really Going To Teach You How To Write Effortlessly!" always talk about: a writers' group. And I searched the internet and joined one.

In my very first 'meeting' (because this is a virtual group), here's what was dished up to me. The writer of this piece shall remain nameless in the interests of kindness. I truly and sincerely hate to make fun of another writer, but it's people like this guy who keep me from giving up on my own writing in despair.

An Untitled Fantasy Novel

Chapter One

Men, a foul race, self-seeking and utterly corrupt. It is my misfortune to be born to them. A greater misfortune that I should linger amongst them this enisled world. That however is not the greatest of my woes. The true bane of my existence is knowledge. Knowledge of another world beyond this mundane plane.

-------------------------------------------------

On a Sunday, most homes would be considered quite peaceful. Parents spending extended periods in bed ignoring their offspring, offspring discovering new ways to endanger their lives. Timid rain tapping on windows. Grumpy adolescents huddled under umbrellas wandering the streets, invading malls and clogging cafes. Peaceful.

“ Deron! Deron Clouse! Get this filthy thing out of the kitchen this instant!”

Sadly the house of Clouse has never really adhered to this norm. Mrs Clouse made sure of that. Elegant, sweet, kindly and generous were just the sort of words you’d never use to describe her. She was a plump sort of woman with short legs, curly hair and a certain misgiving in wearing blouses. The blouses did nothing to improve her appearance; though they could be congratulated in succeeding to make Mrs Clouse’s pudgy arms look like pale, white, out of shape chipolatas.

“ Did you hear me Deron! I will not tolerate any animals in this house!”

Deron was in his room, choosing very unwisely to ignore his mother. He stuffed a finger in each ear, nestled comfortably in his bed and continued with his favorite past time; starring out the window.

Out in the shortened distant, Deron could have seen children splashing about in puddles in a bid to get themselves, fellow splashers and anyone fool hardy enough to walk by as wet as possible, he chose not to. Rather his attention was focused just pass the iron gates that marked the entrance to the Mansion of Clouse.

“ Deron! The only beasts I want in this house are those used for dinner. If you don’t get this out of my kitchen …”

This empty threat roused Deron, he had no doubt in his mind that his mother did not mean what she just implied, but still anger does funny things to a person’s psyche.

Swinging his legs over the side of his bed, he set out in a quick gait towards the kitchen.

“ Yes mother, I heard you, ” he mumbled, half-heartedly hoping to pacify her or at the very least stop her from shouting.

Starting his journey cross the corridor, pass his sister’s bedroom, on to the landing, thumping down winding stairs, he entered the main hall, pass the entryway, then promptly tripping over and falling face first.

Crash!

Deron stared blankly at the floor for a few moments before…

“ Can’t you even walk to the kitchen without bringing down half the hall with you!”

Deron picked himself up off the floor and surveyed the damage he had done. From the coat stand on the floor that rocked slightly from left over moment, the coats strewn all over the place, the sudden appearance of his butler Morgan from his room. He surmised the following: he was in trouble, big trouble.

His mother promptly huffed out of the kitchen waving the newspaper she was reading dangerously in the air. Deron saw his mother’s eyes scan the hall for damage, gathering information before…

“ Deron Clouse! Explain yourself! Of all the things to knock over, Morgan’s Coat stand! You jolly well know that it …”

“ Belonged to his mother, and is the only this she left him when she died in World War one.”Deron finished for her, in a dull tone, acrobatically rolling his eyes at the same time.

The commotion in hall drew the other inhabitants of Clouse manor to the scene. For one and the second to arrive was his sister Grietje (whose name everyone found impossible to pronounce and so resorted to just calling her Gri). Gri surveyed the scene hungrily watching her brother get into trouble with mom was her favorite any day activity, which she felt was well justified seeing that Deron had similar interests when she got into trouble.

For two his butler Morgan had creaked into the hall as well. Morgan had one distinguishing factor that set him far apart from every other butler every known; he was far older than any other butler alive or should be. Yes, Morgan was a hundred and forty-six and still proudly serving the house of Clouse. Walking for him had been a fashionable last century trend that he had done away with, these days Morgan creaked along as fast as his joints could harmonize with each other.

Mrs Clouse looked apologetically at her butler, then turned to shout at her son some more.

“ See what you’ve done! You’ve made Morgan rush here!”

Mrs Clouse ranted, then on a softer note to the butler “ Sorry Morgan, I’ll get Clouse to clear that up, don’t bother fixin…”

A horrible series of creaks and crunches served as an ironic welcoming anthem to the last inhabitant of the house of Clouse that Sunday; Halleyween

“ And you get that unnatural beast out of my house! What were you thinking bringing the filthy pest into the house! ”

“ It’s raining she’ll catch a cold and die,” Deron explained, knowing full well his mother didn’t and wouldn’t hear any reason of any kind.

“ Meow ” went Halleyween, giving her most adorable wide eyed kitten look, pawing Deron’s jeans in hopes that she wouldn’t be driven out into the rain.

-----------------------------------

End of Chapter One


Mind you, I'm not one to talk... or rather, it's all I seem to be doing. At least this chap applied seat of pants to chair and wrote. I could do with taking a leaf out of his book after all.

PS: Artanis, where are you when I need you?

Site Stats

Occasionally, when I'm feeling normal, I go click on that little button at the bottom of my sidebar that says "CQ Counter" and check out what kind of people check me out. I mean, check my blog out. And lately I've noticed a disturbing trend of weird searches leading to my site. Not complaining - a flattering majority of them are looking for 'nandini'... But things very frequently stray into the realm of the unusual:

• Morgan Spurlock (second most popular!)
• Coconut Story (why would anyone look for that?!)
• Life in Auz Blogger (don't ask me.)
• Snowman costume (not kidding.)
• Naughty secretaries (at least four times.)

That's right. Naughty secretaries are now found on Nandini's Niche. They will deliberately change your keyboard shortcut settings! They will erase all your appointments and write "Snoozefest" everywhere! They will pin notes on you when your back is turned, and they will miss no opportunity to crash your computer!

Come and get 'em.

Gmail Swaps

Had a bajillion Gmail invites to swap, so I was looking for interesting things on offer. Found this:

To give, or not to give: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to invite
These waifs and paupers of outrageous longing,
Or to take arms against a sea of pleaders,
And by ignoring end them? To send: to give;
No more; and by Gmail to say we give
The freedom and the thousand megabyte store
That users are heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To mail, to search;
To search: perchance to find: ay, there's the rub;
For in that search of mail what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this Hotmail coil,
Must give us joy.

- Some user called Belinda85.

I've been finding quite a few takes on this passage, actually. Remember this, from Amazon? Must be one of the more versatile works in iambic pentameter.

A prayer?

So the siege ends in putrid vapour and blackened blood, the way thousands prayed for it not to end, even as they prayed for it to end. Why the horror? Why the carnage? Did the Chechens truly think Russia would believe them worthy of a homeland if they slaughtered children one by one in cold blood?

I know, I know. It's not about Russia believing them worthy. I've been there, done that debate. I've talked about the Chechens' rights, supported them with arguments both historical and social. I've been calm and convinced of the separatists' cause... but that has changed. I don't believe I'll ever be able to be detached again.

Something else has changed, too. A friend once asked me if I was an atheist because I was disappointed in God's inability to run the world in a fair fashion. I told him it was for purely rational, "it's-so-damn-obvious" reasons, that I thought the world was just fine, in all the important ways.

But that reason's on my list now. No God would have allowed this to happen. No way. They were kids... all 330 of them.

Apple, Apple, Big and Fat

NYC is amazing, people... just as good as they say it is. I was there on a one-hour layover on my bus journey up north, and five minutes was all it took to love it. After two weeks of quiet, truly uninteresting almost-rural life, I welcomed the throbbing vitality of the place with both arms and legs.

Walked along Times Square. Saw:

• One jazz bar
• Five sex shoppes (The kind with signs that have no punctuation - "Girls Girls Girls 24 hours live shows HOT")
• The Majestic Theatre, playing The Phantom of The Opera
• Two sets of blaring sirens escorting random VIPs to the Republican National Convention, and a handful of protesters who were lost from their herd.
• Subway gratings spewing hot air, and
• Hundreds and hundreds of people just lolling about, living, breathing, fighting, walking the streets.

Oh man. Talk about breaths of fresh air (no irony intended). I can't wait to go back.

Metric Sucks!

Apparently.

They're trying to get you to ditch the metric system. And, I say, who wouldn't be convinced by these guys' wonderful arguments? For example, how would you like it if -

• Jules Verne had written 96561 kilometers under the sea?
• You had to say, "Give him 2.54 centimeters, he'll take 1.6093 kilometers."
• 10 millipedes = 1 centipede
• 2 monograms = 1 diagram

Go visit. I haven't laughed this much in weeks.