TACHIKOMA!

Okay, this is a slight cross post from another blog, but this thing is just awesome.

A USB-controlled robotic Tachikoma.
For any fan of Ghost in the Shell (such as myself, for I am that very thing) the form is very recognizable. A diminuitive version of the "Think Tank" from the movie (Fuchikoma I believe they called it?), these small but powerful guys help out Major Kusanagi and Section 9 when they go after cyber terrorists. What's great is that a terrifying metal hulking body gives way to the voice of a squeaky 7 year old.
I adore these things. I hope they still make them when I go to Japan so that I can pick one up! Hopefully they'll have one slightly better (or at least cheaper) by that time.
Thank you, Japan, for your awesome kitsch.

Amaterasu-no-Omikami has left the building.

I've grown to like entering contests, whether I win or not. It's just nice to meet a deadline and be satisfied with what you did.
This is for DeviantArt's "Okami" contest. I love this game. How could I ~not~ enter?

Amaterasu-no-Omikami Pt. 2 by ~Red1332 on deviantART

Resolving our opinions on GTA 4

Robert: Well, I think the game has more to it then you originally thought (just beating prostitutes). There's a story and missions and fun games. So you might be surprised.

me: I may decide to never play anything more violent than Tetris ever again, too.

No! Not Mario Kart! They bump in to each other! shields her eyes and cries

me: http://kotaku.com/5006939/five-days-with-gta-iv-a-newspaper-diary

Robert: Lol, sorry got called away. Mario Kart is violent baby!

me: It IS!

OMG!

hides

Robert: Lol

me: And the shell! It's so....so mean! wails

Robert: I know! Total human rights violation there!

me: And it advocates DRUGS!

I know that star is symbolic for REAL speed!

Not just extra speed on the track!

Robert: And the mushrooms make you bigger....dude!

me: Don't do drugs kids! Don't do it!

EXACTLY!

Robert: But...bu..Mario does it!

me: There's that song.....and everything...

NO BOB.

NEVER LISTEN TO ITALIANS

Robert: I wanna be cool like Mario! (laughs)

me: NOES

ITALIANS SHOOT THINGS AND KILL HORSES IN YOUR BED.

AND THEY DO MUSHROOMS AND GO DRIVING!

Robert: ....that's cool though!

me: you are a lost cause. I see this now.

Robert: nods Wanna go out for pasta?

me: Sure!

Robert: yay! hugs

Signs, Signs, Everywhere there's signs...

I like to walk along and see unusual things. I like to laugh at them. Then I like to continue on with my day with a smile, having been thoroughly amused by them. It's small moments like that which creep up on me and make me a generally happy person.

I wanted to share today's amusment, though, as it pretty much coagulates, epitomizes if you will, all of this in to a crystalline example of how this works.
I drive to work using I-76. It is a long stretch of cattle barriers made of slowly darkening gray cement. The only joy comes from the blooming of flowers and growth of trees and bushes on the banks that line it. Despite my best efforts, I get tunnel vision when I'm driving and tend to focus on whatever the biggest truck in front of me is.
When I get off at my exit, I tend to play dodge-cars with people who are attempting to exit far right from the far left turnstile and vice versa. In general this is where my brain knows to begin paying attention once more, so it flickers back to life and watches out for an overbearing bitch in a BMW, or some jackhole in a Lexus thinking his schedule means he can cut me off.
(I understand they are in a hurry and can't know that others around them are in the same scenario. People don't think that far ahead. I KNOW this. But I don't condone it. Sometimes people should look outside the box a touch.)
Anyway, dodge-em cars. I was in the midst of playing them and breathing to remain calm and in my moment when I look up to the bridge abutment ahead. It has a standard sign on it, rectangular in shape, with diagonal alternating black and yellow lines on it. A very simplified way of saying "Hey, watch out. This is a wall and your car can't go through it." You've seen them before everywhere even if you don't remember they were there.
As we all roll along and finally form in to a neat line I notice that someone has done something to the sign. In silver marker, they have written "pants!" in one of the black areas, on a diagonal just like the black line.
pants!
And sitting there looking at that, seeing that someone had gone out of their way to put that on the sign in a place where probably thousands of people would look at it, but not see it at all, made me smile and laugh. So did the sentiment. Who knows why they chose pants to celebrate? In the end, who really cares? It was completely serendipitous, it was bright silver in the morning sun, and I grinned at the whole thing.

God Bless America.

Every time I get a chance to head to the polls and stand in front of a machine that will deliver my political choice to the nation, I get a bit nostalgic. I think I probably post about this nostalgia every time, too. But it's a happy nostalgia and so I think I'm going to beat it to death in written form until I'm tired of it and move on.
There's just something about casting a vote that makes me utterly grateful to live and breathe on American soil. I would not consider myself overly patriotic. I forget to put the flag out on national holidays. I don't think I even OWN a flag. But I do have a deep gratitude for a people that let me enjoy the benefits of a democracy the way that I do.
I can walk there without being escorted by male relatives. I can do it in whatever clothing I choose, and with my head uncovered. Once there, I can present my driver's license to identify myself. I can -anonymously- go through the ballot, which, thanks to an education, I can read, and choose for myself what I think the best candidates are. And when done I can leave without fear of reprisal or harassment. I can stand in line and be pretty damned sure a bomb won't go off.
I don't know if we properly honor this process anymore. Yes, it's a right. But it's a right because we have maintained stability long enough for it to be one. In the absence of those who agree they should exist, all the rights of men tend to dwindle and be forgotten.
Each time I step up I understand that in that moment I am sharing with others a unique experience... the ability to have a say in who governs my life. In the face of Zimbabwe, in the face of Cuba, in the face of every country that sports a dictatorship I stand there and decide, for WHATEVER REASON I WANT, to vote for someone.
This is a fantastic gift, this democracy. I wish fewer people took it for granted. God Bless America, who lets even the most impoverished and illiterate of its people vote their thoughts.

Actual Conversation

Robert: btw tangent. I just agreed to go to lunch with the OCTalk people on Thrusday, i must remember that.

me: Okay.

Baby?

You're going to lunch on Thursday.

And it's with the OCTalk people.

Robert: Thank you, sweetheart. Where would I be without you?

me: Boston.

^_^

Robert: Not entirely true, but okay, it's as good a place as any.

me: I imagine you would be a philosopher king enjoying chowder while watching the seagulls circle the lazy breezes of spring over the dark of Boston's Bay.

And in a moment of deep introspection, shake your head and laugh at some aspect of humanity, then wash down your mirth with a sip of chardonnay.

Robert: lol

me: >.>

Robert: You are eloquent and evocative, my love. You make good word pictures.

me: ^_^

I has a head!

It makes them!

Robert: nods and pats your brilliant head

~And such is the stuff of my general IMs.

Ten Words Competition.

Recently Penny Arcade, a comic that I particalularly dig, held a competition to see who could best describe WoW. The trick to it, however, was you had only 10 words to do it in.
The reward was an immense stack of WoW cards, an epic flying mount (the thing I really wanted) and gobs of loot.
Gobs of loot is not something I get to say often enough, by the way. Well, and have it be in context as opposed to just being weird. Can you imagine standing near me and I just turn to you with a grin and say "Gobs of loot!"
...See? Weird when it's not in context. But I completely digress.
So I thought I might give it a shot. There were 3 prizes being offered. And I actually thought that would increase my chance, at least in the back of my head.
Anyway, I cautiously and hopefully profered up my entry to the cartoon-creating gods with the hopes that it might win their hearts, and thus the gobs of loot. My entry, all 10 words of it, ran thusly:

"Morning in Shattrath. Already Alliance QQ-ing over Horde-won AVs."

(for non-WarCraft players, that translates in to, the other team is crying because we won against them in a battle)
Now...I thought that was pretty good. It evoked an image. It brought out several qualities of WoW. It made fun of the Alliance. I liked it overall.
The judges...did not.
But what DID win, were the following:

Overlord Saurfang is only afraid of one thing... Mrs. Saurfang.

Naked they run, level 1 banks: Clark Kents of Azeroth.

The gunshot echoed like a ghost with nobody to haunt.

Now in my head that's lacking a few very basic things....plot, summary, and atmosphere. Except the last one. The last one fucking rocked.
I would say that mine was probably up there as not bad, but I just could not compete against that last one and some of the honorable mentions.
Still, it was an immense pleasure to see the creativity of human beings displayed in such brief and very readable quips, all concerning my favorite game.
And I can also tuck this in to my belt, claiming to have entered a writing competition. I've decided when all else fails, the written word is a true friend that likes to hang out with me and be glib, and so we get along well.
It tugs at the part of me that wants to do more with it. Hang out. Dance a bit. Sit under the stars and watch, describing what the whole thing looks like in grand, glorious detail.
Who knows. Maybe some day I can look back on a grand writing career and blame it on losing the contest. That's the kind of serendipity that I love.

Nothing so precious as a bowl of rice.

God bless the short-sightedness of man who, in his thin hour, will become philanthropic to save himself.

Farming practices must change.

Rice prices will keep on rising.

In my youth I sent letters and crusaded for these things. To see it now, to see the doom far, far ahead on the horizon and coming at a pace that scares us but still gives us time to act, reduces me to tears. Not of anger, but of hope. Deep inside I knew that unless it was in our face every day we would not change. Even I would not change. But now it comes towards us, some low beast with slow thighs, and we know what to do.
We may yet survive ourselves.

In the beginning the winds moved upon the water...

So here's the deal.

If you're here and reading this, one of two things happened. I told you about it and you're friends and family that came over out of interest...
OR
...you stumbled over it

If it's the former, hi! How neat! I'm so glad you came to read here. I was just kind of sick of watching LiveJournal worm it's way in to being purely for profit after presenting itself originally as, well, not. I know this is out of the way so if you come back by that'd be great.
Mostly this is just for me, just for my thoughts, and just so I have supposed control over who sees it. I'm tired of ex husbands and their wives dropping in on my blogs.

As to the latter, however this came up for you in Google, I applaud whatever you were trying to learn about either term. Go forth!

More to come. I have some thoughts brewing that will want for writing later.

Schroedinger's Cat is NOT in the box...

...I have looked. He snuck out half an hour ago to go eat my houseplants.

This is a test.