At the Movies

Dr. Garth Goode has added a motion picture theater on his lands in Caledon Burroughs. The theater is just past the Museum of Unnatural History. Don't go in if you suffer from arachniphobia.

I enjoyed a glass of Old Guvnah whisky prior to the main feature, and then ordered a bucket of popcorn.

Watching the preparation was a treat by itself: the corn first goes through the shuck-o-lator, then the de-cob-o-tron, and, finally, it is popped in the cornflagration. (What a delightful name!)

The motion picture playing that evening was The Mender of Nets, a melodrama directed by Mr. D. W. Griffith and starring Miss Mary Pickford. Miss Pickford plays the title character, a young lady whose heart is captured by a fisherman. It soon transpires that the fisherman has had a dalliance with another lady, and the two rekindle their romance. Miss Pickford's brother discovers the perfidy and, armed with a pistol, attempts to extract revenge on the false swain.

I found it entertaining to make up my own dialogue during the film, although I am fairly certain that mine would have been censored.

Stop the Presses - Crime in Seraph City

[Not a real "stop the presses" moment because I didn't make it to the opening of the Primgraph's offices in Seraph City, where I would have learned of the delightful brain-teaser situated there. Ah well. - RJ]

Some days a dame can't get a break. One minute I was minding my business, on a bender in a sleazy bar in Tanglewood Forest, ignoring dirty looks from the tinies who were the regulars in that place, and the next minute I was in the Blue Angel, a dive of a diner, polished chrome all around me, my head pounding. That could only mean one thing: some metaphysical rift in the space-time continuum had placed my hangover and me in Seraph City.

The first thing I did was to order a plate of bacon and eggs and and entire pot of coffee. Something told me I was going to need my wits about me.

My head still ached, but I no longer felt as though an entire baseball team was taking batting practice inside my skull, so it was time for the next-most important item: finding some clothes that didn't make me stick out like a sore thumb.

I visited the offices of the Daily Prim, Seraph City's rag, hoping to find out if this time rift was affecting everyone, or if I was just special. The hour was late, though, and no one was about.

What caught my eye was a chalk outline on the floor. "Good idea," I thought, "bringing the news to the office, instead of chasing it all around the city." It seemed that one of their reporters had been kidnapped and poisoned. His notebook, which might have a clue to the antidote, was missing. The clock was ticking. Could I find him in time?

Ahem. This is no place for false modesty: of course I could. And, to be meta about this, so can you. Clues to the whereabouts of the notebook are spread about the Daily Prim building.

I marveled at the modern sights of the city: the Carrington hotel, the clubs where the played "jazz" music (horrid modern stuff, but it seems to be all the rage), the elevated trains, and the wires everywhere carrying the electricity.

I stepped into the Seraph Club. Perhaps if I drank enough absinthe cocktails I would find myself back in Tanglewood...

Smile, It's Your #&$^% Wedding Day

The other day, I found myself at the Mayflower Hotel, in Washington, DC. (Most recently famed as the meeting place for former New York Governor Elliot Spitzer and Ashley Dupree. For what it's worth.) As it was a Saturday in April, I was not surprised to see a wedding party climb out of a limo and wander into the hotel. I wasn't surprised to see the bridesmaids in a horrible color (goldenrod?) and shape that flattered no one.

What did surprise me was the sour expression on the bride's face. It's supposed to be a happy occasion, and she looks as though she's about to take someone's head off. I think her concern had to do with the flowers, but the details don't matter.

This wasn't an isolated incident. Some years ago, I was to a wedding in Queens with a scowling bride. Nothing was good enough. I didn't understand it, as the church was amazing, the family pulled out all the stops at the reception, and everything seemed to go smoothly. I have no idea why she looked so annoyed. (I think I lost some hearing at the reception because the band was so loud. I ended up wandering outside every once in a while to spend time with the smokers, just because it was relatively quiet. But I suspect the bride thought the nose bleed-inducing volume was a good thing.)

Look, ladies, it doesn't matter if the florist couldn't get that special type of orchid in time. No one will notice that one of the herald trumpeters hit a sour note. (Yes, someone hired #*($& herald trumpeters.) It's okay if the rumakis aren't piping hot. Et cetera.

Here's what's important:

* the groom shows up - on time and sober are plusses - and says his lines on cue

* the minister/rabbi/imam/justice of the peace/guy you know is legit and has a real marriage license

* the people you want to be there are there

That's about it. No one gives a rat's behind about the rest. If something bothers you, tell the video guy to edit it out of the copy he gives you. Twenty years later, you won't remember any of it, so you'll never know something was taken out.

Enjoy it. Be happy. Remember, your dad just spent a fortune on the whole shebang. And it only comes around once. (He won't pay for the rest of them.)

An Empty Stretch of Glengarry

This stretch of Glengarry, by the strait separating Downs and Glengarry from Kintyre, stands nearly empty.

A store called Fauntiques and Bram Designs once stood by the stone building in the foreground, while a 3072 sq. meter parcel owned by Miss Mary Nuyasaka constitutes the remainder of the empty space. (Miss Nuyasaka recently announced her intention to leave Caledon.)

One would think the waterfront property would be inviting to someone - an entrepreneur who could make use of a water landing (or a quick getaway!), or a Captain of Industry who wants a luxurious waterfront home in which to count her ill-gotten gains.

Oddly, ever since I've been in the Downs, those properties have had high turnover. I don't think I'm the reason why, but I shall keep an open mind about the situation.

Port of Kasra

The Port of Kasra is a new Steampunk-themed RP sim, set in Florida in the 1880s.

Like New Barataria, Kasra is steamy (in the sense of high humidity) and swampy. One can almost see the rust form on the iron.

As an aide to orienting the newcomer, information about buildings or areas pops up as one passes near.

Below, Builders' Hall:

The sim is a work in progress: many of the shops in the teleport area are still for rent, as are a number of the buildings in the RP area. There must be a back story to the place, as there are vague references to the "original inhabitants" of the area - who seem to have technology far advanced from that of the 1880s. Note the Difference Engine below:

(Okay, it's not exactly cutting edge. The Mac Pro says "G5" on it.) The setup seems to control the power plant:

Below, the town square:

To the far northeast lies a mysterious island:

On the edge of the mainland, a lighthouse keeps guard:

The strange thing about the sim is that there are teleporters to take one to different parts of the town. This takes one out of any immersive RP. Still odder is that one of the destinations - far above sea level - is a "Gorean residential area." Steampunk always struck me as an empowering genre - imagining the 19th century not as it was, but as it could have been. (Often dystopian, true, but with scientists - both male and female - working to create their visions of the future.) Gor, on the other hand... well, "empowering" is not the word I'd use. Finding Gorean themes in a Steampunk RP area was a little disconcerting.

Nonetheless, it will be interesting to see how Kasra develops.

Steampunk Arts Festival

I had the occasion to visit the Steampunk Arts Festival now underway. The local transporter provides movement from exhibit to exhibit, such as this structure by M. Fuschia Nightfire.

Mr. Sextan Shepherd, of Nemo fame, is also one of the exhibitors, displaying his characteristic style.

This Steampunk house towers off the ground.

Miss Bryn Oh has a distinctive exhibit.

Adding jet packs to a pennyfarthing is inspired.

In all, there are about a dozen exhibitors - some more Steampunk than others. Worth a look.

Well Done!

Congratulations to Guvnah Desmond Shang and his elite team of soldiers on the successful completion of their mission to kill infamous terrorist Osama bin Obolensky.* Although the Guvnah has said on numerous occasions that he prefers to capture such notorious villains and put them on trial, apparently bin Obolensky refused to be taken alive. According to one news release, "Caledonian forces broke into the heavily-guarded compound and surrounded bin Obolensky, giving him time to surrender. When he refused the offer after six nanoseconds, the soldiers opened fire." Well done, lads!

Showing the spirit of terrorists everywhere, one of bin Obolensky's henchmen used a woman as a human shield. It turns out that humans make pretty poor shields from bullets.

Guvnah Shang said he would maintain the current security alert at ports and airship docks, mainly because he enjoyed seeing the catgirls partially disrobe as they went through security checkpoints. "Every once in a while I get to see a bit of ankle, and it brightens up my day," said the unrepentant Guvnah.


* No relation to the New Babbage resident of the same name.

Relationships are Complicated

It didn't surprise me to see that there were potions - one labeled "I Love You," the other "I Hate You" - to convey emotions, it was that it took vats of the stuff to work.

Spinsterhood. There's a lot to be said for it.

Steampunk House

Somewhere in Caledon Rocabrannagh is this charming Steampunk house, at Darkthorn Cove.

The iron pier has a set of stairs to the base of the house, but there is no way up. Except...yes, that sphere of energy looks unusual - a transporter! What could possibly go wrong?

Perhaps this is not yet ready for the production line...

Although the transporter is rough around the edges, it gets the job done. On the veranda of the house - which is shaped much like a train car - stands a table with a gas lamp and a brass teapot.

For some reason, I find myself taken with this house, all alone in the northwestern corner of Caledon.

A Miscellany of Pictures

Catching up on a number of photos that, for one reason or another, never made it into a Journal entry.

First, the new RCAF airfield in Penzance:

"New" might be a slight overstatement, as these photos have been lurking for several months in my "to be posted" directory.

The Penzance airfield pictures are absolute children compared to the next three, that date from early March 2008. The mechanical hummingbird fascinated me.

A closeup of the control room:

Standing in front of the observatory is a very early incarnation of sister Kathy:

I wish I had written down what sim this was, but, alas, it's long gone from my memory. Probably long gone as well.

For going out in Steampunk style, there is the Steam Hearse:

Sadly, I no longer recall where I took the picture. Then again, if you need the hearse, you're no longer in a position to much care about what transports you to your final resting spot.

Mr. Denver Hax has a different approach to those damnable breedable bunnies that breed like...well, you know.

Finally, just remember:

Act accordingly.