Hat tip to Nate Winchester via this comment at Sarah Hoyt’s.
Excellent point about America, and the Jews, and the culture.
Must watch this-You MUST
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Author Archives: R.K. Modena
Security in 2016
So here I am at o-dark-fuck you am, awake because some fucking dipshit just tried – and is still trying – to hack my WordPress accounts – both the one I use to comment and the one I use to write on my blog, as well as Aff’s account. To the tune of several million password attempts per second. Whoever it is is routing it through China, because that’s what the IP logs on my admin side says, but I highly doubt that I’ve pissed anyone off in China.
So I would advise everyone to use two-step authentication linked to your cellphone on your account, because that’s what 2016 security is going to require, it seems. And believe me, I hate that because nowadays smartphones do not have that oh-so-convenient cellphone strap attachment that used to let me put a lanyard on my phone and hang it around my neck.
I would advise using either the Verify Using SMS or the App.
It’s an extra pain in the neck, but honestly, in this VS the SocJusBullies war, it was probably inevitable since the loss of your online IDs and methods of communication is one of the many ways to silence opinions not approved by the New Totalitarian Howler Monkeys.
edited as of before lunchtime: Two Factor Authentication has been activated on my site; I am unsure how this affects users other than myself. I apologise for the inconvenience, but it is an unfortunate side effect of necessary security upgrades.
But sheesh, there’s nothing to gain from hacking my little blog. Whoever did this has no life, and frankly, has a pitifully empty existence that revolves around this blog and site.
less important edit: Related to my vast annoyance of not being able to attach wrist/neck lanyards / decorative things to my goddamn phone, it looks like I’m not the only one, but it’s an iPhone so that’s a bit easier. Still, most of the folks seeing this probably have an iPhone so I included it here for you crafty awesome folks out there. Yeah, I’m aware there are wrist straps for the ones that make you look like you’re holding a dainty little purse, but those annoy me because you have a book-like cover that flops over the camera most of the time. You’d THINK though they’d put in a strap hole, considering that there’s so much free space at the corners for cases and phones – which is where they USED TO PUT THE STRAP HOLES.
So How Do I Find My Author and Brutally Murder Him Or Her
This post from Mad Genius Club by the ever-brilliant Sarah Hoyt kind of required a more lengthy, serious* response.
1- Nothing is ever easy, nor simple. Say you are walking across the street to get a gallon of milk. A rare make of car will almost run you down. The store that sells the milk will be out of milk. You’ll have to walk across the most dangerous area of town to get to the next store.
This means someone is making you terminally interesting.
It’s not quite that bad, but my household has learned to live by this maxim: “Nothing will ever be simple, because it’s us we’re talking about, and if everything is turning out great, wonder what new unexpected disaster will spring up and hit us, and when?”
Because life likes to go ‘fuck you, that’s why.’
2- You remember more near-death experiences than a character in iZombie.
This is probably just background infodumps. The author is trying to show how resilient you are.
Not really near death experiences, but apparently life hasn’t broken me yet and every time it fails to do so, it comes up with increasingly creative and more annoyingly timed ways to try.
3- All or your friends are terminally interesting and can be counted on for either an explosion or comic relief when needed.
This is good for keeping the plot moving when you’re tired/recovering/ill.
…This describes most of my friends. It’s never really boring around them. And David’s attempts to blow up FrankenPCs have consistently failed, so…
4- You have one or more catch phrases.
This is very useful for delineating a character when the author doesn’t have particularly good character skills.
Nine Hells, this does not bode well for me does it?
5- You consistently get interrupted when you try to tell people the most important part of any story.
This is an attempt to create suspense. Not a very clever one. BUT, you know, sooner or later your author might find a good writers’ group.
There’s kind of a reason why I prefer text-based communication.
6- You have almost lost a friendship to a huge misunderstanding which would have been cleared up if you’d just paid attention.
‘Almost’?
7- People are insanely attracted to you, despite age/body type/lack of interest.
A fortune teller told my mother once that there will be two types of people who linger in my life: People who cherish me; true companions or otherwise, or people who will despise me with every cell of their being. In fairness, I’m apparently not the only person in the house, or family, with this particular checkbox tick.
8- You have one or more unlikely abilities, which comes in handy in circumstances that should never strike. Say you are a camel whisperer. It will turn out the only way to escape a traffic jam is on camel back. If you’re this well foreshadowed, you might want to consider you only exist within pages of a novel.
I don’t think ‘cursed with rather extraordinary bad luck’ is a helpful ability, and since I can’t actively control or redirect it, I’d like to trade it for something more useful, like telekinesis.
9- You never cry. You’ve tried to, but you just can’t cry. You can REMEMBER crying, but that’s probably back history. Main characters don’t cry, because then the reader will have to.
This doesn’t apply to me; I cry because crying has the biological function of getting stress hormones out of your system. I forget where I read that, but it works, at least in my case. Now if only I didn’t end up being unable to breathe through a clogged nose, so I could have a good proper cry, that would be rather appreciated, but see point 1.
10 – You don’t remember some of the more exciting episodes in your life, or not in detail, particularly if they involve more than three people. This is because crowd scenes are very hard to write, but easier to summarize.
Also doesn’t apply. And, while I don’t know if this is true for other folks, bullet time is apparently a biological adaptation on perception.
BONUS: if you keep finding people who were murdered in bizarre ways, you’re not the main character of a novel. You’re an amnesiac mass murderer.
Apparently I found a dead body floating in Manila Bay when I was three years old, and reported this to my father in the way only a three-year old addicted to watching documentaries could: in a disturbingly calm fashion, and pointing out that the guy wasn’t breathing or moving to boot. I’ve been around a few too many human dead bodies; at least for a homebound suburban housewife in Australia who hasn’t been in an active war zone.
That’s a rather disturbing amount of tickboxes there. Yee.
*No, not really serious. At times though we do wonder who the fuck is writing the plot, and how the hell do we find that person so we can introduce said being to the joys of irukanji syndrome.
Uprooted and Rerooting
The post here is me complaining about my ongoing moving into a house and getting things ready again. Also, wrenched muscles. If you’d like to skip that, here’s a better post for you to read. Really, it’s worth it; if only to restore your faith in humanity even a little.
Little finds
On occasion, we’ll go to the bottle shop to buy liquor – fruit or sweet wines, or vodka mixers are my thing, and sometimes a meal just isn’t complete without something that’s a little stronger than Coca Cola, especially if I’ve cooked up a heavy stew. I particularly enjoy Brown Brothers’ moscato, and they have a new low-alcohol content drink called Grape Tree, which is a fruit cider – grape cider- ‘inspired by apple cider.’ They have a variation that’s made of berries, which is quite yummy.
During our last trip out we spotted this interesting label, and I had to take a photo of it.
I don’t think Larry Correia drinks, and I don’t know if Jim Butcher or Jason Cordova do, but I figure this is something that might amuse them.
I also ran across this while sorting through books; this is one of the books my Dad bought, and from the date he scribbled in one of the pages, it was while we were in Europe. While we lived in Paris, I think.
My parents were voracious readers, and my habit of keeping a library comes from them. I wonder what my Dad would think, that I keep (virtual) company and call friends authors who are published by the house Jim Baen established, and that those authors, wonderful people all, are encouraging me to write? Certainly, I’m still get the awestruck ‘pinch me I’m dreaming,’ moment now and again, but nevertheless, I’m incredibly glad to know that these awesome authors are also wonderful, down to earth people who I can also get along with (and who don’t mind my brand of crazy, it seems!) I think Dad would have got along with them.
Dad’s death anniversary was on the 17th, and talking to Mom, the tenor of our missing him has changed. It’s not that painful “I wish he hadn’t died” but “I wish he were here to enjoy this too,” and “I wonder what he would say/think?” Mom and I are quite amused that his work as an Ambassador is still talked about, and praised, when he’s been dead for 9 years, and glad at the same time that his legacy of service to the Filipino people is not yet forgotten.
Official Minionhood
One of the lovely, lovely folks who frequently visits Larry Correia’s site, Julaire, surprised me with a gift of a full set of the last batch of Challenge Coins. They arrived yesterday. I persuaded myself to wait until Rhys got home to open it, since it was only a half hour to wait.
My Minionhood is now official! And with the provisional PUFF exemption, I won’t need to worry about how much a role-playing dark elf’s PUFF bounty is.
Wendell looks so cuddly! Hooooooon! I don’t suppose there’ll be a Wendell plush in the swag-shop at some point, but if there is the next baby’s getting one.
My hubby especially liked the Milo coin. I’ll have to try get him one if they reissue those. The Grimm Berlin one made me rather nostalgic.
“Is that bulletproof? Let’s find out” made Rhys laugh.
The center challenge coin looks like I could have it put on a chain; but I’d have to find a strong one because the coins were surprisingly very heavy.
One thing we were really surprised about was how finely detailed the coins were. The pictures really don’t do them justice.
The enamel layers for the coins here were really nicely done, and I didn’t notice the pattern in the blue at first. The Grimnoir coin really looks like something you’d have to prove you’re a member of a secret society.
The Grimm Berlin coin made me remember these coins I have, which are souvenirs of the time we lived in East Berlin. The little Berlin bears and the 750 Jahre coin were from the 750th Anniversary celebration of Berlin’s founding; souvenirs thrown from the floats on parade, which we were fortunate enough to get at the risk of trampled fingers. The coin with the eagle is a West German coin, and the rest are from East Germany.
The coins below are much older, obviously, since they’re coins issued during the Nazi regine; 1 pfennig coins. There’s a bit of a story behind these; but summary of that is, we got them in trade for a bag of Milky Way and Mars chocolates (and a few other things I’m sure,but the chocolates are what I remember the most) from a family very eager to get rid of them.
I’ll have to see about making a display case for the coins; at the moment they’re in a little box that’s shaped like a book and stashed safely by.
I’m very happy by the gift of challenge coins, and I’m even happier by the fact that I’ve made a good friend over the last few months. Thank you, Juliaire! big, big hugs!
Canaries in the Coal Mines
I popped over to Larry Correia’s site today; having had a little time for a change, and ran into this blogpost, which talked about how a conservative science fiction writer has found his career effectively threatened for advancing a concept in a book.
The blogpost by the author himself, Nick Cole, is found here.
I won’t write about the freedom of speech issues and the effective censoring being done, nor the reasons that Harper Collins’ has shut down a writer under contract here, as Larry and Nick have done excellent jobs of that; Larry in his inimitable way as usual. No, I’m going to write about something that Nick said in his post, that resulted in a realization.
I am a writer.
A writer is often the last defense in a society collapsing into a one-mind totalitarian state where the rights of people are trodden upon by the ruling elite in the name of the “greater good.” Where freedom of speech and independent thinking are also curtailed in the name of the “greater good.” Where writers and other artists disappear either by blacklisting or “disappearing” because they say, or write, something that the intellectual elite hates. I am a writer. It is my job to stand up and say what cannot be said. It is my job to play with unpopular ideas. I would not deny anyone from doing so, and I expect not to be denied. I expect the same courtesy others are being extended. I expect not to be discriminated against merely because I am different. Better people than myself have written the truth at the cost of their lives. Many dead writers have paid for the freedom of others with the truth, and their lives. Writers are often the last flame of freedom on the flickering candle of civilization in the darkness of a world going mad.There is often a vocal defense that Science Fiction editors do not have a liberal bias. Well, here’s your proof. They do. So you may not agree with me on the idea I advanced. But what happens the next time when some potentate decides they don’t like your idea? There is no place in publishing for this kind of Censorship. This is an issue, regardless of the idea, that affects all of us and our freedom.
It is quite de rigeur these days to encounter the disease called Social Justice bullies and CHORFs everywhere one turns. The majority of people seem to think that they’re a fad that will go away, the latest version of ‘teenage rebellion’ – if it weren’t for the fact that the folks engaging in such shrill, rabid denunciations range from their teens to their late sixties.
Simply put, for those of us who actually recognize them for what they are, they are people who would have been the Useful Idiots of the Cold War era (which, I submit, never really ended – the battlefield simply shifted.)
The people who advance that a totalitarian regime, that the suppression of freedom of speech, human rights, etc are the pampered children who have never lived under such a regime. This is especially true of modern day Europeans, and especially true of Americans, Canadians, New Zealanders and Australians.
Take note, this is not a sneer at the abovementioned nations’ people – you are all incredibly lucky to not remember what it was like. Americans especially have had a freedom that is, in my opinion, very unlike the experience of any other group of people on this planet. On one hand, for hundreds of years, you have refused to bow down and stayed guarded against overt attempts at conquest. On the other, it makes for a great emotional and intellectual cultural vulnerability – because such oppression has never been experienced, to some extent that same precious freedom and opportunity is taken for granted. Too easily do people think “surely, that can never happen here / they couldn’t possibly be that stupid/gullible etc.”
I’ve lived on the other side of the Berlin Wall, and one of the more common frustrations that the people whose homes we were invited to voiced discreetly to my parents (in the safety of their sprawling gardens, away from potential bugs in their homes) was that they were unhappy with how their government treated them like children, incapable of making up their own minds. They missed their relatives from whom they were separated by the Wall, and simply wanted to meet with them again, visit them on occasion. “After all,” our hosts would tell our parents, “we are so much better off than they are in the Capitalist world. Why wouldn’t we want to return?”
Looking back on the differences, with an adult’s eyes, I understand now that the Socialist government could not have maintained the illusion that they’d hoodwinked their people with if those people had been free to travel to the West, instead of only select groups being allowed to pay short visits. As it was, such was the shock to the psyche of a number of people after the Wall fell, that they wished it had never happened, that they could return to the comfortable illusions they had, comfortable, old and worn, like familiar habits and old woolen sweaters.
A great number of the most vicious and fanatic social justice attack hounds come from the countries that have not experienced being under a totalitarian ruler. The immature belief that ‘if we did it, then we’d do it better, in a non-evil way’ of good-intentions backed magic thinking echoes one of the favorite sins to damn a person to hell employed by the Devil in old folk tales: Pride. Pride that ‘we know better’ and the certainty that ‘it’s not evil when we do it,’ or, the ever so insidious ‘for the greater good’ without ever checking if it actually results in good things. I’ve even seen the illogical concept that ‘good intentions are enough reason for us to employ horrible methods.’ That’s just a more complicated way of saying “The ends justify the means.”
The useful idiots and the quislings are useful exactly because they secure in the belief that when this dreadful, nightmarish regime that they work for comes, they are spared, or rewarded, or benefit in some way.
They don’t remember that they could just as easily be rewarded as a traitor deserves.
I sometimes wish my father were still alive, so I could ask him for stories about what it was like to be a journalist under the Marcos regime. (On the other hand, I am glad he is not around to see that a Marcos is one of two possibly only GOOD candidates running for the Philippine Presidency! And on the third hand, I wonder what other good Dad might have accomplished. Apparently they’re still talking about the good things he did while he was the Philippine Ambassador to Israel; that my youngest brother was asked how he was related to ‘the Honorable Ambassador Antonio Modena.’ cackle! His turn now!)
My mom remembers some of the things my father was willing to share with her. Or there’d be a wife of one of his colleagues trying to find her husband. If they were lucky, they got the man in question back alive; or had something to bury.
I sometimes wonder, “Are they so desperate to experience this, that they import something that would do exactly this to everyone, if they got the chance?” Then, I shake my head and remember the SJWs think that they’ll be the ones in control, in power, instead of the ones who’ll first be up against the wall. By what means do they think they’ll cling to control? It is only through the trappings of civilization that they’re able to get away with what they do, but if they erode enough of it away, those fetters they rely on will be too weak to hold back the horrors they’ll experience.
Oh, and I got a copy of Alt Ctrl Revolt too. I wanted to know what happened beyond the ‘offensive’ concept – which really, was not offensive, and the logic-process tree is completely sound. I think Nick Cole succeeded in giving a reason that a reader who isn’t a mental eunuch can understand – and similarly, those readers can go from there and want to find out ‘what happened next?’
That’s good writing.
The Worth Of A Fan
This started out originally as part of a comment over in Mad Genius Club which grew into a rant, which the little Rhys-chibi in my head looked at and said “My darling, that soapbox doesn’t go there.” So it has it’s own blogpost where I natter on because I can.
A year
18th of January, 2015, Rhys and I had Brandon born by C-section. I still remember how he was lifted up, and he paused for a whole second before beginning to cry. It was a displeased cry, complaining, clearly communicating how unhappy he was that he’d been removed from his nice comfortable and warm womb, to this brightly lit strange place. Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?!
He was tiny, so tiny. And unlike the warnings of the prenatal ward head doctor, he was a perfect, chubby little baby boy, and not thin and skeletal. He was cute, so adorable and cute, with a thick head of black hair.
He was clearly opinionated, and not afraid of letting people know what those opinions were. Those opinions were often negative; and in disagreement with the establishment. When he was brought up to special care, the doctor decided to give him a small amount of milk; not a full feed for his size. Brandon gulped down that little bit, then when no more milk was forthcoming, exercised his lungs and showed that this was not acceptable!
The doctor quickly changed his mind and had him given a full 35 ml feed.
Brandon definitely did not like being pulled from Mummy in the afternoons, to allow her to sleep for a couple of hours. He didn’t like being put up against his father’s prickly stubble, or bumping his head against Daddy’s collarbone. At first, when he felt this had become unbearable, he would suck in all the oxygen his little lungs could manage and then let out a long, enraged howl, which he would continue to do until he ran out of breath, gave a little cough, and then slump against his father’s shoulder, dizzy from lack of breath, followed with an expression that said ‘fuck it’.
I remember how I had to hurriedly put him down in the center of the bed one afternoon, because I desperately needed the loo. Brandon did NOT like that! He began to let the household know how he’d been so crassly and CRUELLY abandoned! 15 seconds later, Uncle Aff came into the room, to see what was up, and picked him up. Brandon immediately began to complain to him, telling on Mum’s being so unfeeling and not finding a way to take baby with her while she had to go pee!
I heard the unhappy baby talk ‘wa wa wa ma wa wa wa ma ma waaah’ and came out to see a very amazed Aff holding Brandon in his hands. “It’s like he’s trying to communicate!”
“He is,” I said. “He’s telling on me.”
We wanted to know what Brandon’d say, once he started to talk, but we never got the chance because he passed away in his sleep when he was 11 weeks old. We didn’t expect that the only photos and videos we had would be all we’d have to last us our lifetime. That what time we had with him was all we were going to have. All the memories.
Most of the photos we have show him scowling. Except in his sleep; he’d smile occasionally there; and Aff got a photo where Brandon’s sleepily smiling at the camera. The one time we saw him give a happy baby smile was while he was on skype video with Aff’s dad. Yep, the gummy happy smile with legs and arms wiggle.
Even so, all those photos we got showed that there was going to be a very fascinating personality in bloom. We got raised Spock-eyebrows, disapproving expressions, scowls, frowns, and ‘wtf are you doing?’ looks. On an infant. Yeah, it was going to be fun raising that little boy, we said. It’s going to be fun, interesting, hilarious, once he started talking. We bet that his first word would be ‘no.’
All we have are dreams of what if, and what might have been.
Even if that’s all we had, we wouldn’t have traded him, or the chance to know him. Brandon was a treasure. We enjoyed having him with us, loved having him with us, loved him. The thing we regret is that he’s gone, and we wouldn’t have the opportunity to keep experiencing what he’d show us of him as he grew. That we wouldn’t have fun with him any more.
Brandon died quietly, peacefully, and left a huge hole in our lives, in our hearts.
Yesterday, he would have been a year old.
Happy Birthday, grumpy thing. We miss you.
The Next Generation of Awesome
So, waiting the 30 minutes before New Year ticked over, we saw a short advert for Silver K Gallery’s current exhibition: Star Wars and Superheroes. So of course, being the huge fans of science fiction and fantasy art that we are, we had to go. Rhys and I took our kids with us, since they enjoy Star Wars and figured that they’d enjoy having a look at the art prints on display. After impressing on the children that they had to behave and not be wriggly energetic things, we paid the entrance fee and went in.
Vincent soon found himself upstairs, with his sister trailing behind, while we parents took a more leisurely look around. There was a delightful little print featuring Kermit the Frog and Yoda sitting side by side, which had me appreciating the meta joke, and several utterly breathtaking pieces that made me wish I had the money to buy the prints and room to display them on. I’m not a huge Star Wars fan, but I can appreciate the art. The pieces on display were limited signed print runs, most of them on canvas, and they’d also be framed for the purchaser.
Contrary to the limitation of Superheroes and Star Wars art, there were some pieces on display that weren’t from those franchises – there was a lone Firefly piece that would have been delightful on any fan’s wall, and a couple of Star Trek items that had my heart going doki doki doki – An Alex Ross signed artist proof’s print run, that had William Shatner’s signature as well. The Star Trek pieces were on the stairway wall, while the Firefly piece would surprise you on the way back out of the gallery.
Finally catching up to the kids, I approached Vincent and started to show him the flyer with the print prices on all of the displayed artworks, saying that people could buy them if they wanted to. He immediately turned to a piece and pointed. “How much is that one, Mum? I like it a lot.”
I looked it up and saw that there were two versions available: the canvas print version, which was on display, and the paper print version, which was much cheaper (more than half), and showed it to him. He was shocked at first, and taking my parental cue, I told him that’s why he has to be VERY careful and not touch or bump into the displayed artwork.
I went to look at a piece that Rhys called me over to see and admire. After a few minutes, Vincent came over and asked, “Can’t we get it? I really, really like it. Even if I gave up my allowance for it?”
I said, “We’ll see.”
Long story short and a lay-by plan set by the delighted curator, Colin, we were given permission to take a photo of a determined soon to be 9 year old who wanted to invest in artwork by Japanese Artist Mimi Yoon, next to the print on display. He is going to get the paper print though, because there was no way he could afford the canvas print.
Rhys and I were able to work out arrangements for prints we fell in love with and were able to talk ourselves into setting down payments for. I simply could not pass up this artist’s proof print of Alex Ross’ The Final Frontier, signed by the artist and William Shatner. (Numbered 14/15!)
Now, prints aren’t really a big thing of mine; but I do understand the value and why people would collect them. My reason for not collecting them has to do with considerations of space and expenses; which is why I prefer to collect figures and art books. That said, I’m very happy to find a place for this breathtaking print. Colin said he was able to request William Shatner to sign the artist proof prints at a convention here in Australia, which is why they’re double-signature prints. Fangirl mode engaged!
Rhys got himself a signed canvas print of Jerry VanderStelt’s Black Heart. Rhys isn’t a very big Star Wars fan, but he really liked this piece and felt that he’d not regret having it up on his wall. (I don’t think he really knows the character either!) But as a work of art it’s well worth having and I was being the bad influence and encouraging him to get it. Colin was very happy to work with us on that as well. I think though, in the long run, I think Colin’s a fan who is happy to work with people in getting an addition to their collection that they will truly enjoy. The impression I got of him was that he really enjoys what he does, and gets pleasure from seeing other people enjoy what he enjoys too.
With the day’s outing though, my greatest joy wasn’t in the obtaining of artwork, but in seeing Vincent carefully think about buying the print he wanted very much. I talked to him for quite a while about it, saying that he’d be without allowance for months helping pay for the print, and that he’d not have money for things like books and other nice things that he might want later on. He would go quiet for a bit every time, and think, then say “I’m okay with not having allowance for a long time,” or “they look really, really cool though,” and repeat that he really wanted the Bad Girls print, instead of say, the various awesome Iron Man ones there (which he is a BIG fan of.) It wasn’t something I expected him to do, and be so decisive about. In fact, both Rhys and I are very proud that he wasn’t bored at the gallery (there’s lots of cool pictures here!) but he lingered the most at the superheroes section of the gallery, and chattered away with the fine lady who was minding the door for entrance fees, who was also quite impressed that Vincent was so determined to own a piece of art. “You’re raising them right,” she said. Well, we are raising the next generation of people who will enjoy science fiction and fantasy; though we’re also pretty pleased with how this one’s turning out so far! (Big thank you for being patient with their chatty friendly selves!)
The prints we will eventually own will also be framed, and since it’s likely we’ll be back here by the time we finish paying it off, we’ll probably pick them up then too.
If I’d been rolling in pots of money though, I would not have minded picking up this,this, this and this, simply because having them up on the same wall would make for a striking and awesome display.
I plan to save up for this piece at some point though, because the juxtaposition of the classic Japanese themes and style, plus R2D2 shouldn’t work, but it totally does and tickles my brain in good ways.
The Silver K exhibit, at 1092 High Street, Armadale, Victoria, Australia, runs until March 13, 2016. They also have various prints of other popular art pieces, as well as a number of certified original animation cels from Warner Bros. and Paramount Pictures. They are open Wednesday to Friday, and on Saturday and Sunday. Check out their site for times (for most accurate and recent updates!)
Quicksand of Apathy
I’m going to be talking about grief after losing a second baby, medication, and how I feel. FLEE WHILE YOU CAN.
Continue reading
Vooroordelen
Well, that was interesting to say the least, and in the Chinese curse form of ‘interesting.’ There were some technical problems involving the latest WP update that are now fixed, finally.
Moving forward, besides my spates of catching the latest plagues created at my son’s school, we’ve released a Dutch translation of Seda’s Diary: Bias.
Because the release is practically a rewrite, our translator features as a co-author on the listing! Thank you to E.V. for her hard work!
You may purchase Vooroordelen at Lulu at the following links:
He would have been two years old
Our son Damien had his birthday on the 5th of September. As he was also stillborn, it also counts as his death day. He would have been two years old.
http://cutelildrow.deviantart.com/art/Mourning-the-loss-559197694
You did not breathe, you did not cry
Not once did I
Get to hear the sound of your voice
This is not the choice
Not the dream I had for you, not my wish
If I could I would change this
In my womb,before birth
Before you came out to this earth
You closed your eyes, went to sleep
And to God went your soul to keep
How quiet was the birthing room
When finally you slipped out of the womb.
As our tears your face wash
our dreams for you turn to ash
So beautiful and peaceful in your eternal dreams
While we work through what this means
Broken parents’ hearts and the pain
of life without you until we meet again.
We imagine what could have been
The things you might have seen
the man you could never become
the future made more profound
by never being
without meaning.
You cannot speak, you never laughed
never cooed, never asked
for your favorite story, or for favorite food
never threw a tantrum or pouted in a mood
Not to have you is no reprieve
for your parents who only grieve.
So all our dreams for you we find
only broken wishes left in the mind
The empty crib and baby toys
symbolize lost joys
Of the life you could have had
If your birth-day had not been sad.
For us,your parents, the sorrow
Will be with us every day and tomorrow
The you-shaped hole in our heart
bleeds till the day we are no longer apart.
Still swamped and sick
I’ve been dragging myself out of bed to work on commission art (11… or was it twelve? Sexy Desktop ladies, a book cover and some other stuff.) Sold a computer that was sitting idle to someone who needed it in an instalment plan; and I’m hoping to get a battery for my little netbook soon. I wish I could afford to buy a portable Cintiq and a new computer for the bedroom so that while I’m too sick to sit up I can draw in bed and keep working. At least with the netbook I can write while in bed and it’s not bulky. (Ok, theoretically I could write with Ayumi the super tiny netbook but I need new glasses first.) However, writing with an objective as opposed to rambling requires the ability to concentrate and focus, so alas, no essay or story writing for me. I REALLY NEED TO GET NOT SICK. The only reason that I can still draw is because I don’t need to be coherent or make sense when drawing. I can draw without worrying about whether or not my grammar is being infected by German or French or did I just insert the Japanese borrowed term for something I just wrote…
We’ve been flat out this last few weeks. I’ve got commissions from people who want Sexy Desktop Lady backgrounds (and I’ve been told for most of them “whatever you wanna draw is fine! – as long as it’s a pretty girl) – most of them from people who are also asking Aff to do system builds for them.
One of the customers brings us Maccas whenever he drops by, enough that Aff says that he’s waiving the standard fee but the customer says it’s so he doesn’t feel bad that he’s eating all by himself.
On a happy note, I’ve a nice pile of manga, and artbooks and books that arrived today. I had a nice stack of Skip Beat omnibus volumes arrive the other day but I forgot to take a photo.
If this sight makes you itch for some new reads, I found out via some helpful Twitterfolk that the November 2015 Baen Book Bundle can be ordered. Larry Correia’s Son of the Black Sword is there, as well as Mike Kupari’s new book, and a bunch of what look like really good reads. I’m going to wait because I kinda smashed my book budget already so it’ll be sit and wait again.
Leaping off that tangent into another, ff you read science fiction and fantasy, you’ll need to read about one of the biggest scandals in the genre, which is “Breendoggle”, the thing that the anti-Sad Puppy people seem find LESS objectionable than Sad Puppies, simply by the dint of the NOISE that is made about Sad Puppies versus Breendoggle. The Story of Moira Greyland is heartbreaking to read, and she talks about how she was repeatedly raped and molested from the age of five by both her mother and father, both of whom are big names in science fiction and fantasy. One of the things I’m sure that lots of people will find objectionable despite what happened to Moira is the fact that Moira wonders if the lifestyle or the sexual identity of homosexuality has something to do with what happened to her, as she describes by her account that she was constantly being told that she was supposed to be a lesbian and pressured to be one, and that her parents were upset that she was born a girl. The comments only serve to prove this disappointing line of thought true.
In the vein, however, of that blog, she raises a point that shouldn’t be ignored, even if you support gay marriage in any way at all (like I support the concept, but not how it’s being executed or pushed for.) This is part of the whole ‘flip-side’ thinking that a lot of people don’t try to engage in any more – which is, contemplate the other side of a situation.
In this case, if the ideal situation of a child who identifies as gay is born to heterosexual parents, the parents accept their child’s homosexuality, then ideally the reverse is also true: that gay parents would accept their child’s (adopted, or partly biological/surrogate-born) heterosexuality. However, the question that is raised by what happened to Moira (aside from the rape) is whether or not this is happening, if heterosexual children are given the support they need, and whether any children at risk are actually given the protections they need (from both the ‘sides’ of homosexual and heterosexual parents). There are stories out there that give rise to doubt that equal treatment is given in this case; and it is clear that abuse happens to some children regardless of the orientation of the parents. However, my point is, is the discussion happening, and if it does, are those discussions being policed on whether they’d be perceived as ‘bigoted’ or ‘anti-gay’ or similar threats and fears?
For me, the core thing of being a parent is the ability to prioritize the child’s needs, safety, and future over the parent’s wants. This is true regardless of whether or not the parents in question are heterosexual or homosexual, or married or not. Parents need to ask themselves if their identity -whatever that may be- is more important than ‘parent.’ It tells the person what is their greatest priority – themselves, or their child? After all, having a child means you’re setting aside a massive chunk of one’s own time, needs and interests aside for the sake of the child. Simply put, if a person pondering parenthood puts being ‘gay’ or ‘heterosexual’ or anything else over ‘parent’, then perhaps they should rethink becoming parents. I do not think there should be a qualifier before the ‘parent’ part. It does not matter to me if the parents are gay or not; what is most important is whether the parents consider their children the most important thing to them.
The response on the Moira Grayland story makes me wonder indeed, if the honest and necessary discussions occur, as opposed to devolving to mere accusations of being hateful.
Can such discussions occur? I’d like to believe that they are, because I don’t know if they are.
Apologies for the delays in writing
The last few weeks have been quite horrible for me healthwise so far this month. I’ve had maybe 4 days of NOT being sick since the start of July. Gah. And I’ve been sick since before end of June.
First I had the monster flu that knocked me right off my feet for a week and a half, then I had the weird episode of feeling like I was burning up, but my temperature read thus:
We’ve got an Antarctic Vortex of cold blowing up from, well, the south. It’s so cold for us up in North Queensland that we’ve been getting temperatures like this:
My eldest son, Vincent, apparently has had a growth spurt, because the trousers we got him just a few months ago no longer fit. All of them. Except one pair. Vincent has that weird combo of sizes where he’s too thin for one size, and too short for another. He’s a skinny kid. So as much as possible I try to buy his clothes cheap; because he’ll suddenly outgrow clothes. So he caught a cold, and everyone has “noses that run like Kenyan Olympians going for the gold medal,” as per Aff’s oh so memorable description. (Sneezing and laughing at the same time hurts, I found that out the hard way.)
I don’t have this problem with my daughter. She has an immune system that gives sicknesses that takes out the rest of the household the bird and cruises along as normal. It’s still so cold though that I have the two children sleeping in Vincent’s room, to generate enough warmth to keep them warm. They’re bundled up in flannel PJs, and layers of blankets and two quilts. Me, because by myself I don’t really generate a lot of heat, am buried under a quilt, two fluffy thick throw blankets, and a cotton sheet. And am wearing layers of clothes.
Then a few nights ago I had a high stress event happen to me, resulting in this:
This was my BP an hour later.
Since it was coming down, albeit slowly, I decided not to call the ambulance and do what they would have done anyway: given me meds, told me to rest, and monitored my BP. I’m still recovering, but my BP is somewhat lower now, still a bit high for me though. (My normal is around 90/70.) I’m still having headaches though, and have been having problems keeping a train of thought steady. I’m familiar with this from when I was pregnant with Brandon though, so I just gotta bring my blood pressure down. I feel like I just went ten rounds as the practice throw dummy for a judoka, so I’ve been asleep a lot again.
Sincere apologies for the lack of follow-up essay. Hopefully I’ll feel less kicked-in the head soon.