Beosig's Rambling Thoughts

triakisoctahedron

Random word list:
triakisoctahedron
Trichoglossinae
nonpejoratively
superreformation
avant-garde

Word chosen: triakisoctahedron

Definition: A trigonal trisoctoahedron.

NOTE: A trisoctoahedron is: a solid bounded by 24 identical faces in groups of three, each group corresponding to one face of an octahedron.

Free association word list:
dodecahedron
20 sides
d20
D&D 3.0/3.5
Lots of knock-offs
average gaming system
D&D 1.0/2.0 is better
better
butter
Country Crock
hands
voices
haunting
ghost
scary
frightened
poltergeist
spook
CIA
government agency
secrets
conspiracy theories
secret societies
cryptomnesia

Word chosen: cryptomnesia

Writing:

This is a writing about writing. It’s meta-writing. No. I didn’t make up that word. It’s a word that someone else made up, and I’m stealing it….

Speaking of stealing things, it seems to me as if damn near every idea I come up with for a decent book and/or short story has already been done. The frustrating part is that I’ve read the book where the idea has been done, but the reading was done 5, 10, 20, or even 25 years ago.

Somehow my brain has taken that memory of reading the book and hidden it away from itself. This idea is called cryptomnesia. Hidden memory kind of stuff. The basics are pretty simple. You experience a creative work (words, music, art, acting, whatever) of someone, and then years and years later you come up with the same idea. However, instead of remembering the original work that you experienced so long ago, the idea comes to you out of nowhere as if it were your idea. The memory of the creation bubbles to the surface, and your consciousness snags it as if it were a new thing.

I’ve asked my writing group what I should do about this. They’ve basically told me that every story that can be told has been told. There’s no way to avoid this. No. Way. At. All.

Does this mean that all writers should just give up? Nope. No. Way. At. All.

What makes a particular thing new and interesting to a reader are the characters, the scenarios they are dropped in, and how they act/react. It basically boils down to having well written characters that are performing actions that aren’t boring. It is preferable to have the actions be exciting, of course, but that’s not an absolute requirement. They just can’t be boring. No one wants to read a story about a guy typing at a keyboard, but a story about a guy trying to hack the United States military network to bring it down is a leap ahead better.

PS: None of this knowledge or wisdom is mine, though the words are. These are just things that I’ve learned from other people, and I’m regurgitating the knowledge because I feel that it is important. There are things that I am expert at, but writing is not one of them. I’m getting there though….

refrangibility

Random word list:
disyoking
unculpable
serried
Kohistan
refrangibility

Word chosen: refrangibility

Definition: capable of being refracted, as rays of light.

Free association word list:
refracted
bent
twisted
warped
crazy
insane
asylum
Arkham
Cthulhu
Cthuga
R’yleh
underwater
ocean
sea
river
lake
pond
scum
algae
green
veggie chips
Paranoia (the RPG, not the condition)
hilarious
clones
communism

Word chosen: veggie chips

Writing:

Mark-R-STN-2 walked down the red hallway while pulling his cart. He couldn’t wait until he reached orange status. The oranges got motorized carts. Sure, they still rolled on the ground, but at least they could move themselves. The real luxury didn’t begin until you reached green when the wheels were replaced with anti-grav technology.

Mark-R-STN-2 sighed at the unfairness of it all. All of the other clones that he had graduated the academy with had been promoted. Even CommieB-G-ONE-6 was on his last clone, and he was, obviously, a green citizen. How could CommieB’s insanity in combat have earned him green status already when Mark’s seven months of steady service as a delivery and repair agent had earned him nothing?

Mark-R-STN-2 reached an intersection where a yellow hallway ran off at an angle that would save him at least ten minutes on his delivery time. He quickly glanced around, and realized that he was alone in this corridor. There may be some hidden cameras, but he would risk it. Maybe if he started taking the “back routes” on his deliveries, he would shave time off of his performance and earn a promotion.

Mark-R-STN-2 darted down the yellow hallway, but he only made it halfway down the corridor before alarm klaxons sounded, and the Computer’s commanding voice spoke up, “Mark-R-STN-2, you are in a prohibited area. Your record shows that you have been performing suspicious activities for quite some time. This is evidence that you are a Communist, and this infraction of roaming a yellow restricted hallway only confirms the reports that I have received. You are a Communist. Prepare to be vaporized.”

Mark-R-STN-2 opened his mouth to protest, but this only meant that the nozzle that had ejected from the wall while the Computer was speaking had perfect aim down Mark’s throat. Mark barely tasted the vile chemical as it poured down his gullet and dissolved him into unrecognizable gray goo that oozed through a drainage hole and into the recycling center.

Mark-R-STN-3 stepped off of the high-speed tram a few minutes later with his cart in tow. He glanced at his watch, and realized that he only had a few minutes to make his trip in. Cursing clone number two for its incompetence, Mark-R-STN-3 hustled to do his job.

Ok. Paranoia is a role playing game that is all about a dark future, but it’s done in an absolutely hilarious style of writing that I just can’t match. Maybe if I were doing some writing in a group collaboration, then I could come up with some good off-the-cuff humor, but I really have a hard time with it just sitting here and typing. Ah well…. I’ve never aspired to be a humor writer anyways. I’m better at the dark and gritty stuff. I’m happy with doing that, so I’ll stick to that in the future.

ridiculously

Random word list:
nominalize
orthopaedist
ridiculously
costumic
saluting

Word chosen: ridiculously

Definition: causing or worthy of ridicule or derision; absurd; preposterous; laughable

Free association word list:
clowns
scary clowns
zombie clowns
zombies
ninjas
pirates
global warming
Flying Spaghetti Monster
religion
church
belief
faith
God
Jesus
Holy Ghost
Trinity
Neo
The Matrix
blue pill
password
secret
stash

Word chosen: zombie clowns

Writing:

Blood flew in a curiously pleasing arc as the head flew across the room. As the head spun and flipped through the air, I could see in alternating patterns the bright red mop of curly hair, and the painted white face of the clown. The face had been snarling at my neck just a few moments ago, but now it seemed to be serenely at peace. It’s funny how you notice these little details as the adrenaline courses through your veins.

I didn’t have time to admire the wet sounds that the head made as it bounced to a stop behind the ratty old couch. I had to turn my focus to the next scary clown that was heading my way. This one was painted to resemble a cowboy, and I wondered which rodeo he had escaped from as I swung my axe at its neck. Fortunately for me, these mindless bastards don’t dodge too well. Their only concern is to tear the flesh from the living. As this one closed in on me, my axe closed in on the space between its shoulders and its head.

The shock thundered up my arms as it always does when I chop the head from a clown zombie. The first dozen times I was forced to do this, I was revolted and lost my lunch more than once. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve done this in the past three weeks, but the feeling of cutting through the vertebra of a zombie is a satisfying one now. In the horror of combat against the undead, I’ve come to rely on the soothing feeling of chopping my way through the flesh of those that are crazed by the tainted cosmetics that were shipped over from China.

When this all started, I was using a sword that I had bought from the Renaissance Faire three years ago, but the edge finally wore off of it. I then moved to a machete that I had lying in my garage. The machete worked well enough, but it sliced too cleanly through the clowns. There was an efficiency of motion to it, but it wasn’t gratifying to send another zombie to its eternal rest.

Almost two weeks ago I found this axe in an abandoned hardware store. It wasn’t my weapon of choice, but it was the closest thing at hand when one of those rare fast moving zombies jumped me and knocked my machete out of my grasp. It was chance meeting, me and this axe, but it was love at first touch. Several other survivors have mocked me for wielding such an awkward weapon against the clowns, but it has served me well.

Me and my axe against a raging horde of zombie clowns. Times have gotten interesting, and I can’t wait for another chance to swing my best friend through the air again.

I was thinking of Kolvedic and Jhianna the entire time I was writing this. Kolvedic has a thing for clowns, and Jhianna has a thing for zombies. I figured that I would mix the two fears and see what I could come up with. It was written in first person, but I’m not too sure it was a fictional character speaking there. It was a fictional scenario, sure, but I think that I was speaking as myself here. I’ve never chopped anyone with an axe, so the feeling of it is pure speculation. It just seems to me that an axe would deliver a more satisfying impact than a sword. I hope I never have to find out, but if zombie clowns do try to take over the world, I’m willing to give it a try.

loge

Random word list:
besprinkled
finalizations
byworks
Haynes
loge

Word chosen: loge

Definition: the front section of the lowest balcony, separated from the back section by an aisle or railing or both.

Free association word list:
balcony
seat
chair
couch
potato
root
tuber
turnip
roommate’s grandfather
grocery store
shopping
mall
outlet stores
Christmas madness
Black Friday
Thanksgiving
friends
family
long distance
missing them
mostly

Word chosen: Thanksgiving

Writing:

Dammit. He’s coming for me. I know he is. Where do I hide? I saw what he did to Frankie with that axe two weeks ago. The Kid doesn’t know how to swing that thing. At least George was lucky. The Old Man did him in with a single swipe. The Kid had to chop at poor Frankie five times before Frankie stopped thrashing. I don’t want to go that way. It’s horrible.

Shit. There’s The Kid. I don’t know if he’s seen me or not. I don’t think so. Maybe he has. It’s so hard to tell. The Kid has that lazy eye, and he’s a bit slow up top. He could be trying to fake me out, but I’m sure that he hasn’t seen me. Maybe if I stay here in the shadow of the outhouse he won’t see me. He hates the outhouse. I’ve heard that he’s said that he would rather shit his pants than go into the outhouse. I know this is true because of the ruckus that The Old Lady makes when she has to clean The Kid’s pants out. They should have drowned that bastard when he was born.

Son-of-a-bitch. He’s seen me. I’m in for it. Maybe I can outrun him. The Old Man tied Frankie down when The Kid came for him. I’m free to move. Maybe that club foot will slow down The Kid enough for me to make an escape.

Mother-fucker. He’s coming my way now. I have to make my move. Here goes…. I’m off! Ok. We’ll run around behind the outhouse to get out of sight. Now I’m going run straight into the woods. The Kid is afraid of the woods. Something about wolves. I’d rather be eaten by a wolf than chopped at by that imbecile. Ok. I’m in the woods, now to get up enough speed to try to flap over the ravine. Here comes the ravine. I’m almost there. Just a little faster. That’s it! I’m in the air. Just a little further and I’ll make the other side.

Fuck me. I hit the other side! I didn’t make it. Now I can’t get out of the ravine. There’s no place down here to hide. I guess I’m done for. Maybe if I throw my neck at the axe blade I can help The Kid take me down in one fell swoop. Maybe. I guess I’m going to have to try that. I was always raised with the knowledge that I would end up on the dinner table. I’ve accepted that fact, but I’ll be damned if I allow The Kid to butcher me first.

Blood Hell. He’s coming. I can hear his clumsy footsteps stomping through the woods. He’s heading right for me. The end is near. One last glimpse at the sky that I’ll never fly through even though I have these feathers and wings. If only… He’s closing in. Wait! There he is. He’s not slowing down! The sorry bastard is going to bowl into the ravine! He did it! He plowed into the ditch head first.

Asshole! The Asshole is dead! At least, I think he’s dead. He managed to fling himself into the ditch, and landed square on the blade of the axe. What a moron! I think he managed to kill himself. He’s not moving. I’m going to get closer. I can hear some gurgling coming from that wound in his chest. That can’t be a good sign. Well, I can’t get out of this ditch without help, so I’m going to sit here and wait. Interesting, that gurgling is getting more shallow. I wonder if frothy blood is supposed to come out of humans’ mouths. I don’t think so. Oh shit! He shuddered. That scared the piss out of me. Oh. He stopped gurgling. Maybe he’s gone now? Huh. Well, I’m just going to hop up on him and proclaim myself to be The Slayer of Humans. I’ve earned that right. All turkeys will worship me from now on! This victory is for you, Frankie!

… and this is how Farmer Tucker found his retarded son dead in a ditch with an axe wound in his chest. The turkey that was sitting on him was warbling to the skies as if he owned the place. Somehow, Tucker was not saddened by this loss, but he was perturbed that he had to chase the turkey away from his son’s corpse in order to pull him out of the ditch. It was as if the turkey had taken credit for the horrible accident that had relieved the world of Little Billy Tucker.

Sorry for the cussing in this one. I’ve always though of turkeys as being fowl mouthed. Get it?

Writing Note

Just a note to the three people out there reading this…

The fiction that you’re reading here is not my best work. Quality writing goes through four basic stages:

1. Inspiration
2. Preparation
3. Percolation
4. Execution (this includes editing and re-writes)

What you’re reading here is a little bit inspired, and halfway executed. It’s just what pops in my head, and I throw into the keyboard. Nothing more. Nothing less.

I am an aspiring writer that hopes to be published in the near future. Please don’t let what you read here color your image of the quality of my writing. This is not my best work, and in no way do I ever hope to attempt to publish this as is. As a matter of fact, I would be insulting any agent, editor, or publisher by submitting this cruft as a submission. All I hope is to exercise my writing abilities a bit, and maybe get some truly inspired ideas for a short story or novel out of this.

prerehearsal

Random word list:
square-butted
Odericus
suburbican
prerehearsal
Half-russian

Word chosen: prerehearsal

Definition: pior to a session of exercise, drill, or practice, usually private, in preparation for a public performance, ceremony, etc.

Free association word list:
time before
stage
acting
speech
debate
preparation
study
Devil’s Advocate
winning
excellent
great preparation for life
note cards
cheat sheet
calculus
track coach
Africa
Europe
Asia
Australia
Antarctica
North America
South America
Brazil
topless beaches
boobies
Chewie
Shinto

Word chosen: track coach

Writing:

“Run, Boy! Run!” screamed Coach Jacobs through the megaphone. Even though the coach always used the megaphone and didn’t need to raise his voice, he still screamed into the device. This strange exhibition of primal male behavior caught the attention of Miss Larson as she sashayed between the track field and the bleachers, but not in the way that Coach Jacobs would have liked.

Coach Jacobs did notice that Miss Larson was looking his way, and he immediately stood taller, sucked in his middle-aged gut, and puffed out his saggy chest in an effort to make himself look appealing. Miss Larson smiled to herself at the charade, and was thankful that she was out of range of polite conversation.

Despite his bravado towards the boys on his track and field team, he was a coward when it came to women, and Miss Larson knew this. She made sure to cultivate her air of superiority while around Jacobs to ensure that his cowardice would always be at its peak when she was around. She wanted nothing to do with the man. Her womanly curves were reserved for one man, and one man only: Jake Talbert.

Miss Larson felt her steady gait stutter a moment from her weakened knees. She could feel her juices start to……

Thank God my five minutes are up! I have absolutely no idea why I even wandered into the romance field with this writing. It’s just where my mind took me tonight. Maybe it’s from being delirious due to lack of sleep. I could make up a hundred more reasons, but none of them would be adequate to explain why my mind went that way… At least now I know that I’ll never be cut out for romance novels. I wonder if I’ll ever hit a love scene in any of my books, and how much I’m going to have to gloss over… I guess I’ll cross that bridge when the time comes….

swinney

Random word list:
Saigon
Garifalia
tear-angry
swinney
Runck

Word chosen: swinney

Definition: an atrophy of the muscles of the shoulder in horses; also, atrophy of any muscle in horses.

Free association word list:
horse
race
greyhound
skinny
couch potato
fat
lazy
television
TiVo
recording
season pass
too many shows
deletion
removal
vaporized
1984
Winston
Big Brother
love
sex
randy
Earl
Joy
pregnant
labor
birth
baby
toddler
child
teenager
adult
elderly
dead
rotting
bones
dust

Word chosen: Big Brother

Writing:

Charlie ran down the narrow alley as he glanced over his shoulder. This was his fatal mistake. If he had been watching his path, he would have noticed the plastic bucket full of stagnant rain water that lie in wait to trip him at the precise moment of his footfall.

As his foot came down into the bucket, it pitched him forward in a most severe and unnatural angle. Charlie flung his hands out to prevent injury, but only succeeded in impaling his left hand on a large rusty nail whose still-sharp point was reaching for the bleary sky that hung over the entire city of London.

Charlie couldn’t risk crying out in pain, or in stopping. Either action would have gotten him caught by Big Brother’s enforcers, The Ministry of Love. He threw himself to his feet as he yanked the nail from his hand. As he ran off into the darkness, he dropped the nail in the middle of the alley in hopes of escaping.

Charlie managed to reach his flat where he felt safe even though the telescreen broadcast his every movement, and some believed, every thought. As he passed in front of the telescreen, he moved in a slow and methodical manner to avoid revealing his racing heart and bleeding hand.

He made his way to the lavatory where he had some privacy away from eyes of the telescreen. Charlie washed and bandaged his hand as best he could under the stinging cold water that gurgled from the tap. As he was returning to his living room to participate in the daily Two Minutes of Hate, he was jolted by a sudden announcement that blared forth from the telescreen in a very nasal woman’s voice.

“If any medical personnel receive a request for treatment of a puncture wound to the hand, report the request to the Ministry of Love immediately. Thank you. Please stand for the Two Minutes of Hat.”

The announcement had been accompanied by a brief video of Charlie sprawling in the alley, but did not show his face. It also showed a close up photo of the nail that had pierced the flesh of his hand.

Charlie managed to make it through the Two Minutes of Hate with the requisite yelling, frothing, and gesturing at the telescreen before the enormity of what he had done overcame him. He had to tell someone about what he had discovered. He had no proof, of course, but his words should be strong enough to cast doubt on the ever present wisdom, guidance, and compassion that Big Brother claimed to have for all citizens of Oceania.

Charlie never had a chance to tell anyone his discovery. He was watched very closely and never had a chance to confirm his information with his prole contact until their scheduled meeting a week later. Unfortunately, lockjaw set in four days after his encounter with the bucket and subsequent chance meeting with the nail. Charlie managed to stay home and hide from the telescreen and his spying neighbor’s kids who would turn him in just for the reward of a new pair of boots that were hard to get a hold of despite what Big Brother said about over production of leather this quarter.

Charlie was awoken in the middle of the night nine days after his run-in with the deadly bucket and nail one-two combination by intense spasms of his back, arms, and legs. They did not let up, and Charlie was completely unable to scream in pain even though he tried. These spasms lasted until dawn when they finally clawed their way to his barely beating heart and put a stop to it.

Charlie’s last thoughts were ones of relief that it was over, and dismay that Big Brother would continue his reign of terror over the citizens of Oceania.

PS: Yes. I’ve read 1984. Twice. The most recent time was a little over a month ago. This is my first stab at fan-fic. It doesn’t come near Orwell’s genius, but if he were still alive, I would hope that he would read this with a smile and not a frown. I thought about making this longer, but the night is running long, and the morning will come sooner than I like. I hope you enjoyed it.

galut

Random word list:
dolomization
galut
muraled
Redgrave
mordanted

Word chosen: galut (AKA: galuth)

Definition: the forced exile of Jews, esp. from countries where they were most persecuted.

Free association word list:
Holocaust
Hitler
SS
Heinrich Himmler
large man
evil man
Nuremberg Trials
execution
Saddam Hussein
hanging
hangman’s knot
noose
wild wild west
cowboys
Indians
teepee
tent
camping
Boy Scouts
wilderness
hiking
boots
shoes
flip-flops
sandals
toes
toenails
fungus
TV commercials
TiVo

Word chosen: wilderness

Writing:

The wilderness spread out under Bright Mane’s wings. He soared above it all looking down for his next meal. The hawk knew that a rabbit, squirrel, or some other tasty morsel awaited him. He swerved to the left and the right looking for the tiniest movement that would give away his prey.

Bright Mane heard the shrill cry of his mate off in the distance, but he ignored her to better focus on the ground far below. His patience paid off. He dove down at an astonishing rate. A silent as a falling raindrop, Bright Mane screamed through the air.

Just before hitting the ground, he pulled out of his dive and flashed his claws. The small rabbit that had twitched from its hiding place beneath the scrub brush was yanked from the ground, and into the sky.

This time the silence of the wild was broken by the pained scream of the rabbit. Bright Mane tightened his claws around the flailing rabbit, and carried it higher into the air. The claws pierced the soft fur of the rabbit, and began to squeeze the life from it. The small clump of fur thrashed one last time before the life fled its terrified body.

Bright Mane soared above the plains and cried to the sky to thank it for allowing him to bring food home to his family. His mate cried back in response to congratulate him for a fine kill. Bright Mane allowed a warm thermal to rise beneath his wings to carry him higher in the sky.

As he wheeled in the direction of his fledglings’ nest, he angled downward slightly to gain speed on his way home. When he arrived, his mate had already awoken the younglings, and they were screaming for their meal. With grace and care, he began to tear chunks from the rabbit’s cooling carcass, and flung them into the nest for his offspring to fight over.

He watched them carefully. The weakest would be thrown from the nest in the passing of three more days to make room for the stronger ones that would carry on his lineage. He felt no remorse, sorrow, or pain for what he was planning on doing.

It was necessary for survival.

Just as the killing of the rabbit had been.

beetleheaded

Random word list:
beetleheaded
marsoon
milliliter
Hartill
overenthusiastically

Word chosen: beetleheaded

Definition: a stupid person; blockhead.

Free association word list:
beetlegeuse (sp?)
movie
Winona Ryder
Michael Keaton
Batman
Christian Bale
American Psycho
staircase
chainsaw
laughter
crazy

Word chosen: crazy

Writing:

The screams in the night drove me from my bed not in terror, fright, or cowardice, but in anger. I couldn’t stand to listen to the screams any more. They were keeping me awake. I knew that I had to put the screaming to a stop, and the only way to do that is to cut off all of their tiny little heads.

They screamed into the night on every full moon as if they were afraid of the pale ghastly orb that passed through the darkness for a few nights every month. It was always on the full moon, and I was tired of it. This was the third night in a row of screaming. I knew that they would quiet down tomorrow night as they had done for the past five months, but I’ve had enough of this.

Not all of them scream to the night sky, and I’m not a butcher. I’m only going to kill the ones that open their cavernous mouths to the pale monocle that orbits our world. I quickly threw on my galoshes to keep my feet dry from the splattering of their juices as I cut off their heads. I also made sure to throw on my rattiest bath robe because I knew that I would have to throw it out to conceal the evidence of my horrific crime. People would understand a single killing, or maybe two, but they would never support the outright slaughter of so many.

I grabbed my weapon, fired it up, and waded into their midst chopping off heads left and right. They didn’t scream as they died. They merely fell silent. One by one, they stopped screaming. They never ran. It was as if they were rooted in place by the mere sight of me. I never stopped laughing at their impotence. I would proclaim that the silence was golden, but the roar of my weapon in the quiet night drowned out any other sounds that I could have possibly heard. I just knew that when I was done, I would have my golden silence again.

Silence.

Nothing.

Peace.

Quiet.

Soothing.

… and that, good officer of the law, is why I am standing in the middle of Old Lady Pinkerston’s lily patch in the middle of the night with a gas-powered weed whacker running at top RPMs while wearing nothing more than galoshes and a bath robe.

PS: Kiara was giving me grief about posting about my rather boring past, so I decided to liven things up. I’m going to post fiction (as above) for this week during my writings. Maybe I’ll continue that through the end of the month. Maybe not. We’ll see what the end of the week brings.

PPS: I figured that while I’m up this “late” I would go ahead and stay up to post for Sunday, and get it out of the way. Now I don’t have to worry about it for the rest of the day.

Best Graphics In The World

I’m going to get on my mud soapbox again just a short period of time. I hope you don’t mind. Today’s User Friendly comic really struck a cord with me, and reminded me of better times… The times when people actually had to read, pay attention, and concentrate on what they were doing while playing a game in order to merely survive. To excel in the games, you had to think about what you were reading, and how it might affect you. There were even tiny hints as to what things (that were usually not readily visible) needed to be pulled, pushed, turned, twisted, poked, or looked at. It was an amazing time of gaming.

Sure, World of Warcraft has pretty good graphics, but they just can’t compare to something like this:

Something Wicked
The cave reeks of old, decaying bodies. The smell of fresh blood also mixes,
and any who enter are almost immediately overcome with a strong desire to
vomit. The strange writings are all over the walls and ceiling and even parts
of the floor, but there have been so many messages written over the tops of
others, nothing is discernable any longer. The only way out is south, to
somewhat fresher air.
[ Exits: Unknown! ]
Some strange deformity of a man cackles, and draws on the wall.

$ look man

Drool dribbles out of his mouth, and there is definitely an insanity in his
eyes - deep and forever insane. He looks around, but doesn't see anything but
the dreams constantly in his head. He grabs his knife, cuts his finger again,
and as the blood oozes out, writes his messages. This poor remnant of a man has
no worthwhile reason to live.

This is just one example of a wonderful creation done by Syra D’Hornan on my mud. I could probably find and post even more wonderful creations, but I don’t have the time to track more down. There is a great and simple elegance in the written word, and I fear that we are rapidly losing the appreciation of such a thing.

I’m no different. If I need to research something, I hit the Internet. In the past, I would go to the library and spend hours there. At one point, I wanted to know more about feudal Japanese society, the Huns, Celtic warriors, and all sorts of ancient cultures for a world that I was creating for D&D. I spent every day at the library (except Sunday because it was closed) for close to two weeks doing research. It was one of the most enlightening times of my life.

Sure, modern technology lets me get to the heart of the matter faster, and maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it’s a bad thing. Knowledge is no longer hard earned. It is practically given to a person, and this gives them little appreciation for the difficulties that it took to accumulate that knowledge.

Ok. I’m getting off track, but I think I’ve pretty much said what I wanted to say. I’ll pack it in before I ramble even more than I already have. I could on and on and on about this topic. I’ll stop here before I bore you even more than I already have.