*smiles evilly*
If I learned one thing this Christmas, it's that deodorant can be used as an air freshener.
If I learned one thing from writing Hot Pink, it was how to spell lieutenant.
If I learned one thing from Imperial Trainee Theodore Houndini (Anderson), it was that there's always someone out there that's less sanitary than you as long as you take showers.
If I learned one thing from Star Wars, it's that there's always more bad guys than good guys.
If I learned one thing from !Hero, it's that even though the bad guys talk all high and mighty, they run away from the good guys, therefore letting them win.
If I learned one thing from Stargate, it's that the bad guys seldom run away, especially if they wear metal kilts or have glowing eyes.
If I learned one thing from slow computers, it's that the slower they are, the worse things are about to become.
If I learned one thing from long bus rides, it's that CD players and sleep are good things.
If I learned one thing from strange, acknowledging e-mails, it's that pointless activities make you think.
If I learned one thing from thinking, it's that... don't think.
If I learned one thing from my "advanced" math class, it's that, no matter what anything observes from test scores, I still can't do math.
If I learned one thing from typing, it's that I usually can't.
If I learned one thing from graduating fourth grade, it's that I'm good with logic... after eight years of nine hours of sleep.
If I learned one thing from gym, it's that the guys are (how many are there?) Idiot, Moron, Nerfherder, Baka, Beranmee, Gormless... Oh, I guess I forgot their names over break.
If I learned one thing from study hall, it's that you should ALWAYS and FOREVER carry $1.50 with you for Hersheys chocolate milk shakes.
If I learned one thing from biology, it's that it doesn't suck--it blows! (Quote from the teacher!)
If I learned one thing from English, it's that it's only vaguely interesting if you like to write.
If I learned one thing from German, it's that the rest of the guys are Gormless the Zweimal, Bermanmee the Dreiundzwanzigmal, Baka the Zweihundertmal, and Nerfherder the Achtzehnmal.
Sunday, December 28, 2003
Tuesday, December 23, 2003
In case anyone's interested, this is a sad attempt at publicity; more people visit any given story of mine on fanfiction daily than have ever come to this site. So I suppose this'll be my offical record of all the stories I have going right now. I just need to remember: Late December... Christmas Eve Eve!
1. Announcement, the
2. Anti Jedi
3. Binksbabe in Stargate
4. Cat Ears?
5. Circle of Forgotten Gods
6. Egeria’s Hope
7. Father, Where Art Thou
8. International Halloween Gift Shop
9. Last Pages, the
10. Leap to SG-1, the
11. Lotaur, the
12. Reeses
13. Sarah Back Home
14. Sarah the Freshman
15. Sarah/Vinnet/Orthodontist
16. SG MIB
17. Tell me this is an alternate universe!
18. Terran Jedi
19. To Be
20. Torture
Twenty so far and more to come, that’s for sure!
1. Announcement, the
2. Anti Jedi
3. Binksbabe in Stargate
4. Cat Ears?
5. Circle of Forgotten Gods
6. Egeria’s Hope
7. Father, Where Art Thou
8. International Halloween Gift Shop
9. Last Pages, the
10. Leap to SG-1, the
11. Lotaur, the
12. Reeses
13. Sarah Back Home
14. Sarah the Freshman
15. Sarah/Vinnet/Orthodontist
16. SG MIB
17. Tell me this is an alternate universe!
18. Terran Jedi
19. To Be
20. Torture
Twenty so far and more to come, that’s for sure!
Monday, December 22, 2003
"The last pages are yours, Sam." Frodo's last words to him continuously rang in his ears night and day, the phase indifferent to the occasion. He remembered it when with his family and when he went about his daily business and while he entertained guests. He longed to fill those last pages, the empty space left for his own adventures. He'd read through Bilbo's There And Back Again and Frodo's The Lord of the Rings, and his normal life as a hobbit, with all the entertaining gossip and news of the Shire, really didn't stack up.
Maybe it's time something peaceful be written in that book, he'd thought to himself, but in his heart, he knew he just couldn't add anything so normal to such extraordinary literature. Even his children's mischievous adventures about Bag End couldn't stack up to his trip with Frodo to Mount Doom. If anyone knew that, it was Sam.
Still, he often wondered how to fill those pages that had been entrusted to him.
***
Sam stood at the gate to his yard, on the brink of deciding whether to leave or not. He knew that his wife watched him through the front window, and he knew that she did not wish him to go. Nevertheless, his restlessness would not leave him, even after the many years since he'd returned to the Shire for good.
He took a deep breath, trying to remember what Mr. Bilbo used to say. Something about the world being dangerous with that first step away from home. He lifted his foot and took that first step, urged on by something he could not explain. He didn't exactly know where he was going, but then again, did he need to?
He wondered away, assuring himself that he'd made it clear to Rose that he'd return safe and sound. He just had to. But just as much as he had to return, he had to leave. All through the Shire, he was aware of the shifting traffic around him and the wind in the trees, all of which seemed slightly... different. As if something wasn't quite right.
He made his way to Bree, where he stayed the night at the same inn that he'd stayed in so long ago when Gandalf had sent him with Frodo. In fact, this was the very place where they'd met Aragorn, though they'd known him as Strider.
He quickly settled into the hobbit-sized room after a cup of ale. Just as he began to drift off to sleep, a light, almost hesitant knock sounded on the door. He leapt up and grappled for a sword he didn't have. Another knock, even lighter this time, sounded, accompanied by slight whimpering. Sam cautiously opened the door to reveal two young hobbits. He flung the door wider and dragged the two in before whipping the door shut.
"Elanor, Frodo, what are you doing here?" he asked, disapproval heavy in his voice. "It's not safe."
His oldest daughter looked up with her bright blue eyes. "You were gonna leave. Alone."
"So we thought we'd come and keep ya company," added his son.
"Besides, we know all about what's out here," she said.
Frodo glared at her and nudged her with his elbow.
"So you read it." Sam looked from Elanor's gleaming face to Frodo's troubled one. "I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later." Both of their faces brightened. "Get to bed now; we've got a long ways to go tomorrow." Then his face creased as he remembered something. "Your mother's going to be worried sick when she finds you missing."
Elanor smiled. "Nope. We told her. Well, we told Pippin to tell her, but she knows."
He winced then hurried the two off to bed, glad that Ringwraiths weren't going to be chasing them now.
***
His bed shook. He watched with wide eyes as the Ringwraiths jabbed their swords into the beds that he and Frodo were supposed to be sleeping in. It shook harder and harder until Sam finally sat straight up, convinced that if he opened his eyes, he'd stare into the ghostly forms of all nine Ringwraiths.
So he sat up with his eyes shut, finally realizing that he heard screams of "Wake up, Dad!" "Are you ever going to get up?" "C'mon, let's go!" He cracked his eyes open to see the forms of two of his children, who he was sometimes convinced were the reincarnation of the Ringwraiths. Now, however, he couldn't be happier to see them. That's the last time I ever stay somewhere where we stayed then.
Seeing the troubled look on her father's face, Elanor asked, "What's wrong, Dad?"
When he didn't answer, it clicked in Frodo's mind. "Bad memories. The last time you were here, you almost got killed."
"The first time," Sam added.
After a large, hobbit-sized breakfast, they left, still following the same road Sam had taken with Frodo. Only this time, they could actually stay on the road. Since the two had read The Lord of the Rings, he occasionally pointed out where this or that had happened.
***
"These coordinates are unlike any we've ever visited before," Sam commented.
"Oh, really?" her CO replied, moving to look over her shoulder at the computer screen.
Daniel nodded. "There's only one symbol's difference from Earth's, meaning that it uses many of the same points of reference. Abydos had two differences, so this place is closer than Abydos."
"But as far as we know, Abydos is the closest inhabitable planet," the major explained.
"Is this place inhabitable?" Jack asked, glancing from the major and her computer screen to the Stargate and back.
"It is indeed, O'Neill," Teal'c answered, beating the others to it.
"Then we leave in five." After receiving a nod from most of the members of his team, he walked out of the room to get ready for the mission. Teal'c followed soon after, but Daniel and Sam stayed behind.
"The MALP showed some ruins, but they didn't look like they'd been abandoned for long," the scientist said.
A large smile grew on the archeologist's face. "With any luck, someone might come back while we're there."
She nodded then both headed off to get ready.
***
Several days since they'd left Bree, they finally arrived at the elvin city where he had last seen Mr. Frodo Baggins, where the elves had left to sail west. Sam stood staring into the picture-perfect view of the small port surrounded by tall, majestic mountains that had sheltered the elvin ships before they left. His children stood behind him, wondering what he was looking at.
Elanor leaned over to her brother. "Did you see that cart-ish thing that didn't quite look elvish?"
Frodo nodded. "Let's go check it out!
The two wondered back to where they had seen a strange object. It appeared to be a box on wheels with a long, bent horn on top. Beside the horn was a bowl with a stick in the middle. Many other things were built onto the cart, and the hobbits could not make heads or tails of any of them.
Suddenly, they heard a strange whoosh and one of the things left by the elves burst foward with a blue splash. After the splash settled into a calm, rippling, watery surface, four figures emerged in strange, dark green, bulky clothing that did not flow right for anyone to mistake them for elves or royalty. As soon as the two had reached this conclusion, they scattered for hiding-holes, as any good hobbit would. Sam, too, saw the commotion, and found himself hidden before they saw him.
The four looked around the abandoned elvish city after the water behind them vanished.
"Did you see that?" the one with a billed hat asked.
"Indeed," replied the dark-skinned one, who held a staff similar to a wizard's. "They appeared to have been scared off."
Frodo's eyes narrowed as he whispered, "I'll show them 'scared off!'" His sister's glare stilled him, though.
The other two, though, hadn't taken their eyes of the structures around them. "It's beautiful!" commented one.
"I don't recognize any of these markings or the architecture," explained the other. "Maybe the Goa'uld didn't bring these people from Earth." He took off for some of the inscriptions on the elvish buildings after getting a nod from the one with the hat. The rest of the team split up and disappeared into the buildings.
Sam did not fail to notice that the one studying the writings stood very near to his children. Then the worst thing he could imagine happened: the strange man dropped his notebook and saw the small hobbits when he bent down to pick it up.
"C'mon out," he said. "I won't hurt you." He frowned when they didn't answer. "Ich werde Ihnen nicht verletzen."
"Huh?" peeped Frodo, who then glanced to his sister and stood up, knowing that he was the only one seen.
The man smiled. "I'm Daniel Jackson. What's your name?" When the hobbit looked from the stranger to Sam, whose hiding spot was behind him, he turned quickly enough to catch a glimpse of the older hobbit. "Who's that?" When the hobbit still didn't answer, he reached up to press a box on his vest. "Jack, the city's not abandoned after all; they're just shy."
A voice came out of that same box. "I don't know, Danny. The place looks pretty abandoned to us. Teal'c says that it looks like they left between twenty and fifty years ago."
"I found one."
"Well, why didn't you say so?" he replied sarcastically. Then his voice got semi-serious again. "We'll be there in a minute."
Daniel released his vest pocket and smiled at the hobbit. "They're just my friends, no one to be afraid of."
Frodo swallowed. "I don't know, mister. Where I come from, they always tell us to hide when men such as yourself come along."
"If not here, then where are you from?"
Frodo shrugged. "Um... North of here?" he replied, seeing if he could get away with such a nondescript answer. It never worked with his parents, but this guy wasn't his parents, was he.
Maybe it's time something peaceful be written in that book, he'd thought to himself, but in his heart, he knew he just couldn't add anything so normal to such extraordinary literature. Even his children's mischievous adventures about Bag End couldn't stack up to his trip with Frodo to Mount Doom. If anyone knew that, it was Sam.
Still, he often wondered how to fill those pages that had been entrusted to him.
***
Sam stood at the gate to his yard, on the brink of deciding whether to leave or not. He knew that his wife watched him through the front window, and he knew that she did not wish him to go. Nevertheless, his restlessness would not leave him, even after the many years since he'd returned to the Shire for good.
He took a deep breath, trying to remember what Mr. Bilbo used to say. Something about the world being dangerous with that first step away from home. He lifted his foot and took that first step, urged on by something he could not explain. He didn't exactly know where he was going, but then again, did he need to?
He wondered away, assuring himself that he'd made it clear to Rose that he'd return safe and sound. He just had to. But just as much as he had to return, he had to leave. All through the Shire, he was aware of the shifting traffic around him and the wind in the trees, all of which seemed slightly... different. As if something wasn't quite right.
He made his way to Bree, where he stayed the night at the same inn that he'd stayed in so long ago when Gandalf had sent him with Frodo. In fact, this was the very place where they'd met Aragorn, though they'd known him as Strider.
He quickly settled into the hobbit-sized room after a cup of ale. Just as he began to drift off to sleep, a light, almost hesitant knock sounded on the door. He leapt up and grappled for a sword he didn't have. Another knock, even lighter this time, sounded, accompanied by slight whimpering. Sam cautiously opened the door to reveal two young hobbits. He flung the door wider and dragged the two in before whipping the door shut.
"Elanor, Frodo, what are you doing here?" he asked, disapproval heavy in his voice. "It's not safe."
His oldest daughter looked up with her bright blue eyes. "You were gonna leave. Alone."
"So we thought we'd come and keep ya company," added his son.
"Besides, we know all about what's out here," she said.
Frodo glared at her and nudged her with his elbow.
"So you read it." Sam looked from Elanor's gleaming face to Frodo's troubled one. "I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later." Both of their faces brightened. "Get to bed now; we've got a long ways to go tomorrow." Then his face creased as he remembered something. "Your mother's going to be worried sick when she finds you missing."
Elanor smiled. "Nope. We told her. Well, we told Pippin to tell her, but she knows."
He winced then hurried the two off to bed, glad that Ringwraiths weren't going to be chasing them now.
***
His bed shook. He watched with wide eyes as the Ringwraiths jabbed their swords into the beds that he and Frodo were supposed to be sleeping in. It shook harder and harder until Sam finally sat straight up, convinced that if he opened his eyes, he'd stare into the ghostly forms of all nine Ringwraiths.
So he sat up with his eyes shut, finally realizing that he heard screams of "Wake up, Dad!" "Are you ever going to get up?" "C'mon, let's go!" He cracked his eyes open to see the forms of two of his children, who he was sometimes convinced were the reincarnation of the Ringwraiths. Now, however, he couldn't be happier to see them. That's the last time I ever stay somewhere where we stayed then.
Seeing the troubled look on her father's face, Elanor asked, "What's wrong, Dad?"
When he didn't answer, it clicked in Frodo's mind. "Bad memories. The last time you were here, you almost got killed."
"The first time," Sam added.
After a large, hobbit-sized breakfast, they left, still following the same road Sam had taken with Frodo. Only this time, they could actually stay on the road. Since the two had read The Lord of the Rings, he occasionally pointed out where this or that had happened.
***
"These coordinates are unlike any we've ever visited before," Sam commented.
"Oh, really?" her CO replied, moving to look over her shoulder at the computer screen.
Daniel nodded. "There's only one symbol's difference from Earth's, meaning that it uses many of the same points of reference. Abydos had two differences, so this place is closer than Abydos."
"But as far as we know, Abydos is the closest inhabitable planet," the major explained.
"Is this place inhabitable?" Jack asked, glancing from the major and her computer screen to the Stargate and back.
"It is indeed, O'Neill," Teal'c answered, beating the others to it.
"Then we leave in five." After receiving a nod from most of the members of his team, he walked out of the room to get ready for the mission. Teal'c followed soon after, but Daniel and Sam stayed behind.
"The MALP showed some ruins, but they didn't look like they'd been abandoned for long," the scientist said.
A large smile grew on the archeologist's face. "With any luck, someone might come back while we're there."
She nodded then both headed off to get ready.
***
Several days since they'd left Bree, they finally arrived at the elvin city where he had last seen Mr. Frodo Baggins, where the elves had left to sail west. Sam stood staring into the picture-perfect view of the small port surrounded by tall, majestic mountains that had sheltered the elvin ships before they left. His children stood behind him, wondering what he was looking at.
Elanor leaned over to her brother. "Did you see that cart-ish thing that didn't quite look elvish?"
Frodo nodded. "Let's go check it out!
The two wondered back to where they had seen a strange object. It appeared to be a box on wheels with a long, bent horn on top. Beside the horn was a bowl with a stick in the middle. Many other things were built onto the cart, and the hobbits could not make heads or tails of any of them.
Suddenly, they heard a strange whoosh and one of the things left by the elves burst foward with a blue splash. After the splash settled into a calm, rippling, watery surface, four figures emerged in strange, dark green, bulky clothing that did not flow right for anyone to mistake them for elves or royalty. As soon as the two had reached this conclusion, they scattered for hiding-holes, as any good hobbit would. Sam, too, saw the commotion, and found himself hidden before they saw him.
The four looked around the abandoned elvish city after the water behind them vanished.
"Did you see that?" the one with a billed hat asked.
"Indeed," replied the dark-skinned one, who held a staff similar to a wizard's. "They appeared to have been scared off."
Frodo's eyes narrowed as he whispered, "I'll show them 'scared off!'" His sister's glare stilled him, though.
The other two, though, hadn't taken their eyes of the structures around them. "It's beautiful!" commented one.
"I don't recognize any of these markings or the architecture," explained the other. "Maybe the Goa'uld didn't bring these people from Earth." He took off for some of the inscriptions on the elvish buildings after getting a nod from the one with the hat. The rest of the team split up and disappeared into the buildings.
Sam did not fail to notice that the one studying the writings stood very near to his children. Then the worst thing he could imagine happened: the strange man dropped his notebook and saw the small hobbits when he bent down to pick it up.
"C'mon out," he said. "I won't hurt you." He frowned when they didn't answer. "Ich werde Ihnen nicht verletzen."
"Huh?" peeped Frodo, who then glanced to his sister and stood up, knowing that he was the only one seen.
The man smiled. "I'm Daniel Jackson. What's your name?" When the hobbit looked from the stranger to Sam, whose hiding spot was behind him, he turned quickly enough to catch a glimpse of the older hobbit. "Who's that?" When the hobbit still didn't answer, he reached up to press a box on his vest. "Jack, the city's not abandoned after all; they're just shy."
A voice came out of that same box. "I don't know, Danny. The place looks pretty abandoned to us. Teal'c says that it looks like they left between twenty and fifty years ago."
"I found one."
"Well, why didn't you say so?" he replied sarcastically. Then his voice got semi-serious again. "We'll be there in a minute."
Daniel released his vest pocket and smiled at the hobbit. "They're just my friends, no one to be afraid of."
Frodo swallowed. "I don't know, mister. Where I come from, they always tell us to hide when men such as yourself come along."
"If not here, then where are you from?"
Frodo shrugged. "Um... North of here?" he replied, seeing if he could get away with such a nondescript answer. It never worked with his parents, but this guy wasn't his parents, was he.
Sunday, December 21, 2003
A crossword to all and to all a merry Christmas!
(Good luck with formatting! I think you'll have to copy it down onto graph paper or something.)
There's a message if you copy down all the letters that you don't use in the words. (Bonus doesn't count; you need those.)
B R E T A K A H C Y A L
J A C K N T L I N E A L
A D A N I E L R E J O A
C H R L S A I H L O M I
K L T Y E L E A N L A K
S E E N E C N V R I D O
O H R D A C O L O N E L
N O A O T M L O H A S R
O S G R H O A H T R A Y
F I R E E T N S A A L A
U R D R K A T A H E A C
S I H P O P A N U B I S
A S J O N A S Y E S E S
K S E T E S H T I N A T
There's the one that works. Trust me; I tried it the first time and couldn't for the life of me figure where Apophis and Dr. Jackson had run off to.
I suppose you'll want a word list, huh? Well! The demands you people make!
Anise
Anubis
Apophis
Baal
Bretak
Carter
Chaka
Colonel
Daniel
Hatak
Hathor
Jack (And NOT the one found in Jackson! Unless you can't find Jackson and then that's okay.)
Jackson
Jolinar
Jonas
Kasuf
Lantash
Linea
Loki
Oma Desala (one word; no space)
ONeill
Osiris
Ra
Ryac
Samantha
Setesh
Share
Sholvah
Tanith
Tealc
Thor
Yu
Bonus:
Find the princess. (Think a movie that came out in the late 70s, early 80s, late twentieth century, and early twenty-first century.)
Find a kind of precipatation.
I find it amusing that it worked out that Jack's by Hathor and Teal'c's by Tanith.
(Good luck with formatting! I think you'll have to copy it down onto graph paper or something.)
There's a message if you copy down all the letters that you don't use in the words. (Bonus doesn't count; you need those.)
B R E T A K A H C Y A L
J A C K N T L I N E A L
A D A N I E L R E J O A
C H R L S A I H L O M I
K L T Y E L E A N L A K
S E E N E C N V R I D O
O H R D A C O L O N E L
N O A O T M L O H A S R
O S G R H O A H T R A Y
F I R E E T N S A A L A
U R D R K A T A H E A C
S I H P O P A N U B I S
A S J O N A S Y E S E S
K S E T E S H T I N A T
There's the one that works. Trust me; I tried it the first time and couldn't for the life of me figure where Apophis and Dr. Jackson had run off to.
I suppose you'll want a word list, huh? Well! The demands you people make!
Anise
Anubis
Apophis
Baal
Bretak
Carter
Chaka
Colonel
Daniel
Hatak
Hathor
Jack (And NOT the one found in Jackson! Unless you can't find Jackson and then that's okay.)
Jackson
Jolinar
Jonas
Kasuf
Lantash
Linea
Loki
Oma Desala (one word; no space)
ONeill
Osiris
Ra
Ryac
Samantha
Setesh
Share
Sholvah
Tanith
Tealc
Thor
Yu
Bonus:
Find the princess. (Think a movie that came out in the late 70s, early 80s, late twentieth century, and early twenty-first century.)
Find a kind of precipatation.
I find it amusing that it worked out that Jack's by Hathor and Teal'c's by Tanith.
Friday, December 19, 2003
From my friend:
Alright.
The Thong Theory.
1) Who would want to wear something where the material is equal to two rubber bands and a tissue?
2) Who would want to wear something that could also be called butt floss?
3) It's so much fun to use as a slingshot!
For guys, it's called a jock strap, but it has a cup in it.
(Please ignore this one if you find it offensive. I just thought she was right, that's all, though I wouldn't normally think much on the subject.)
Alright.
The Thong Theory.
1) Who would want to wear something where the material is equal to two rubber bands and a tissue?
2) Who would want to wear something that could also be called butt floss?
3) It's so much fun to use as a slingshot!
For guys, it's called a jock strap, but it has a cup in it.
(Please ignore this one if you find it offensive. I just thought she was right, that's all, though I wouldn't normally think much on the subject.)
Wednesday, December 17, 2003
Before I forget, I got another idea for another cool fanfiction?
What if something like a Stargate really existed? And Wormholes X-treme was to the Stargate Program as Stargate SG-1 was to whatever existed? Take it away!
What if something like a Stargate really existed? And Wormholes X-treme was to the Stargate Program as Stargate SG-1 was to whatever existed? Take it away!
Tuesday, December 16, 2003
Thought I'd put the newer part where people can find it easier.
*******
Jolinar laid awake, attempting to determine her whereabouts. Strange music played, and a dog barked in the distance. Otherwise, she couldn't hear anything. She got up and found the off button on a black box marked "compact disk digital audio" that displayed 6:02 on the front in green.
She cracked open the bedroom door to reveal a fluffy black mutt, who immediately began barking his head off. Behind him stretched a short, dark hallway, a few other wooden doors, and stairs. She whipped the door closed and looked for a crystal panel with which to activate the locking mechanism. When she realized that she was still on Earth with the Tau'ri technology, she was finally able to lock the primative thing.
With her back against the flimsy door, she glanced around the room, still trying to find evidence of her location. A frame on the wall proudly displayed "Friends Forever" over a photo of two smiling, young teenagers. A blue backpack rested on the floor beside a worn, black chair. A young one, she thought, drawing on her host's experience for the knowledge. Her parents will not be pleased. It is a pity that she seems to have vanished from here as I have from that "SGC."
*******
Jolinar laid awake, attempting to determine her whereabouts. Strange music played, and a dog barked in the distance. Otherwise, she couldn't hear anything. She got up and found the off button on a black box marked "compact disk digital audio" that displayed 6:02 on the front in green.
She cracked open the bedroom door to reveal a fluffy black mutt, who immediately began barking his head off. Behind him stretched a short, dark hallway, a few other wooden doors, and stairs. She whipped the door closed and looked for a crystal panel with which to activate the locking mechanism. When she realized that she was still on Earth with the Tau'ri technology, she was finally able to lock the primative thing.
With her back against the flimsy door, she glanced around the room, still trying to find evidence of her location. A frame on the wall proudly displayed "Friends Forever" over a photo of two smiling, young teenagers. A blue backpack rested on the floor beside a worn, black chair. A young one, she thought, drawing on her host's experience for the knowledge. Her parents will not be pleased. It is a pity that she seems to have vanished from here as I have from that "SGC."
Monday, December 15, 2003
Quote of the day:
Question of the day: There's a Pokemon attack called "dragonbreath." If you fed that Pokemon tictacs, would it not be able to fight anymore?
Ted's question #23: Wwwwwwhy don't you pet me, for crying out loud?
Reeses progress report: None.
I just got a few ideas for fanfics if anyone wants to try 'em out.
1(Thor's Hammer) What if a Tok'ra got caught in Thor's Hammer?
2(Emancipation) What if a Tok'ra with a female host got found on the planet with the biased Mongols before Sam changed their world?
Lucky you, I'm not in much of a mood for sleep, so I think I'll go and update that one story where I get sent into Stargate.
Question of the day: There's a Pokemon attack called "dragonbreath." If you fed that Pokemon tictacs, would it not be able to fight anymore?
Ted's question #23: Wwwwwwhy don't you pet me, for crying out loud?
Reeses progress report: None.
I just got a few ideas for fanfics if anyone wants to try 'em out.
1(Thor's Hammer) What if a Tok'ra got caught in Thor's Hammer?
2(Emancipation) What if a Tok'ra with a female host got found on the planet with the biased Mongols before Sam changed their world?
Lucky you, I'm not in much of a mood for sleep, so I think I'll go and update that one story where I get sent into Stargate.
Another pointless rant of satire for the day. Topic: Pointless assignments and classes.
TMP, Technical Multimedia Presentation, in which we learn how to use Microsoft Word, Microsoft Excel, and Microsoft Powerpoint as well as how to "touch type."
Do you have any idea how much I use MS Word at home? I did my whole twenty-eight page fanfiction, Hot Pink on MS Word last year, and that's the program I used for To Be, Reeses, and all of my other fanfics as well. Now, tell me, do I really need to relearn something that I figured out when I was, what, eight? Five? And so I ask myself: What is the point in being taught something I already know? Isn't the point of school to learn something, or learn something that you did not already know? It would be like someone explaining to me what Goa'uld and Tok'ra are or how to count. It's something I know very well and I do not need to be taught that again.
Okay, I can understand how people (including myself) don't know how Excel might be useful, but, again, it's not that hard to figure out; that's what the "help" button at the top's for. Not to mention that on the newer editions of Windows, you get the nice, pretty, little wizard dude that explains stuff in such a basic manner that two-year-olds could understand. Besides, hardly anyone uses the program outside of a work situation. (Then there's Dad, but he's a business owner; that explains everything.)
Powerpoint, though. *shakes head* We've been learning Powerpoint since fifth grade. Every year. And hyper-something-or-other, which NO ONE uses unless they're hopelessly addicted to Macs, man's worst enemy. So why do they think that we need to learn powerpoint yet again? Much more and it will be ingrained in our bones, a twenty-fourth DNA strand in each cell, hopelessly driving us to make... new... slide. We'll be TMP zombies, preaching the good news of powerpoint in places where the internet does not have its slimy grasp on the minds and hearts of poor, helpless souls of those who have succumbed to its power.
Wait! What am I talking about? I love the internet!
Oh, yes, the typing lessons. I mean, I must truly need them considering that I've had that typing CD that my parents gave me and I learned off of. Then there was another typing program in sixth grade. And one last year that lasted for a long while and now: this. Why does the stinkin' school district think so little of us as to make us take typing THREE times! Let alone anything we might happen to learn at home. I mean, obviously, I can't type; just look at how little I put in for each of these blogs. See? And I don't even use whole words that are spelled correctly. Just whatever words come to mind that can be shortened to the fewest characters. And if I could type well, then I'd have perfect grammar on this blog; as you can see, I don't. I mean, just look at this pitiful excuse for typing!
And now. Now Mr. B's making us do the same exact things over and over like we're dogs who must learn things by nothing less than many, many repetitions.
TMP, Technical Multimedia Presentation, in which we learn how to use Microsoft Word, Microsoft Excel, and Microsoft Powerpoint as well as how to "touch type."
Do you have any idea how much I use MS Word at home? I did my whole twenty-eight page fanfiction, Hot Pink on MS Word last year, and that's the program I used for To Be, Reeses, and all of my other fanfics as well. Now, tell me, do I really need to relearn something that I figured out when I was, what, eight? Five? And so I ask myself: What is the point in being taught something I already know? Isn't the point of school to learn something, or learn something that you did not already know? It would be like someone explaining to me what Goa'uld and Tok'ra are or how to count. It's something I know very well and I do not need to be taught that again.
Okay, I can understand how people (including myself) don't know how Excel might be useful, but, again, it's not that hard to figure out; that's what the "help" button at the top's for. Not to mention that on the newer editions of Windows, you get the nice, pretty, little wizard dude that explains stuff in such a basic manner that two-year-olds could understand. Besides, hardly anyone uses the program outside of a work situation. (Then there's Dad, but he's a business owner; that explains everything.)
Powerpoint, though. *shakes head* We've been learning Powerpoint since fifth grade. Every year. And hyper-something-or-other, which NO ONE uses unless they're hopelessly addicted to Macs, man's worst enemy. So why do they think that we need to learn powerpoint yet again? Much more and it will be ingrained in our bones, a twenty-fourth DNA strand in each cell, hopelessly driving us to make... new... slide. We'll be TMP zombies, preaching the good news of powerpoint in places where the internet does not have its slimy grasp on the minds and hearts of poor, helpless souls of those who have succumbed to its power.
Wait! What am I talking about? I love the internet!
Oh, yes, the typing lessons. I mean, I must truly need them considering that I've had that typing CD that my parents gave me and I learned off of. Then there was another typing program in sixth grade. And one last year that lasted for a long while and now: this. Why does the stinkin' school district think so little of us as to make us take typing THREE times! Let alone anything we might happen to learn at home. I mean, obviously, I can't type; just look at how little I put in for each of these blogs. See? And I don't even use whole words that are spelled correctly. Just whatever words come to mind that can be shortened to the fewest characters. And if I could type well, then I'd have perfect grammar on this blog; as you can see, I don't. I mean, just look at this pitiful excuse for typing!
And now. Now Mr. B's making us do the same exact things over and over like we're dogs who must learn things by nothing less than many, many repetitions.
Sunday, December 14, 2003
I feel like writing something creative, some kind of rant or rave so either prepare yourself and settle in for a long battle against any bit of sanity left in you or scroll down to one of the more interesting (or sensible) entries.
Now.
Topic.
The people at my school, but for a few, have no sense of decency.
Look at the *ahem* idiots in my gym class. They take pleasure in trying to hurt people, especially the six girls, with balls. (C'mon, think decent thoughts here; I'm talking soccer balls, despite the fact that they're guys.) And they're cheap little snakes, too. Mr. G. (whose name is shortened for his own protection) assigned them something like fifty push-ups a day, so what do they do? They get in that "plank" or "push-up position" and shake their arms. How pitiful is that? They're supposed to be these sturdy, brawny, I'll-go-save-the-damsel-in-distress men! And there they are, shaking their arms! I mean, you'd think that they'd actually be able to do them! Hey, I'm not so much of a hypocrit as you might think. I never get assigned push-ups, for one. (*angel voice* Because I'm a good little kid and I don't do anything I'm not supposed to. I don't throw balls at people, I don't body slam people, and I don't hit the lights with the kickballs.) And for two, even I can do push-up half decently without having to resort to shaking syndrome.
You know what's really disgusting with them, though? They come in for gym class, *gym class*, with baggy shorts. And when they bend over, you get to see more than you even knew you didn't want to see. Okay, maybe not, but I'll get to that later. Still, I don't want to be bestowed with the knowledge of what color underwear they're wearing today, if it's any different from yesterday. Again, that's just not something I want to see.
Okay, last year, I sat behind a slightly heavier person in science who had a tendancy to wear shirts just long enough to not get her in trouble. Now, let me warn you, I'm completely and totally against the "low rise" jeans. I have a pair that I'll wear occasionally, which bug me. Those aren't exactly the jeans I put on and say "oh, I love the way these fit! What brand are they so I can get more?" Well, last year, they were a little bit more popular that they are now. So whenever this girl in front of me would sit innocently in her chair, I would look up in utter horror to see a plumber's crack! And that's just not right! I mean, and I'm drawing off a discussion in Sunday school this morning, that style looks fine on twigs or models, but why in the world do they make size 22 super low-rise jeans? That's got to be even worse than the girl in front of me!
Another question. I have this shirt with the funniest message on it (with a pic of a dog: "Get your own slippers;" Ted chews on stuff). My friend has the same shirt. Anyway, it's really tight in the chest and I know another girl in my class likes to wear tight shirts as well. WHY??? Oh, by the way, this shirt, it hides about as much as a thin, white sports bra. Admittedly, it has sleeves and goes to my waist, but WHY? What's the point in wearing something like that? You'll have the dregs of the universe clinging to you in seconds. I understand that's what works for the cheerleaders with their uniforms that violate the dress code, but I would much rather be recognized for my writing ability and logic powers. (And not for brains! I take it back! I'm tired of people saying "you're smarter than me!" That's to be my next rant.) I'd rather people knew me as a Goa'uld (literally) than one of those girls that wears so little, you can see everything! (Well, that's not going to happen, is it.)
Oh, and what's with these high school relationships? They're so pointless! I mean, this is the one time in our lives when we're starting to be recognized as real people instead of pets and 90% of the world throws it away by spending our time thinking about gormless nerfherders who think they're the next Einstein? Besides, you're NOT going to be together forever; you'll be among the "lucky" few if your relationship lasts for two weeks, let alone fifty-two. And even then, even if you do go and get married, that doesn't mean you'll be "together forever" either. Just try to last for twenty years. There's always the threat of divorce hanging over your head, even after that.
Now, any of them would say, "Oh, but it'll be fun while it lasts!" Yeah, fun as in triple trouble. First of all, if you're doing anything beyond going to the movies or just the same kind of stuff that you'd do with your other friends (this time you can let your imagination get away; I'm not going to spell it out for you), you need to know that A) you're sinning, B) no one knows when he showered last (just take a peek at his dark, greasy hair), and C) who knows how many other people he *not going there* and what kind of nice, interesting diseases they had.
If you're ... making out *shudder* in the school stairwells (which they do!), you're obviously not going to/didn't get married before you do anything. It says in the Bible that that's a sin. And you say, "Oh, I'll just get forgiven when I'm done." That's another sin. Keep going at this pace, and you might as well invent the time machine, travel back to Calvary, and nail Christ to the cross yourself.
To almost spell B out for you: just look at that greasy hair. He smells like smoke (get there in a minute), and you think he's clean? I'm not known for being clean enough to eat off of, but I think that you're legally insane if you have a will to mess around with anyone that has that low of a level of cleanliness. I, for one, do not want someone sticking his tongue down my throat, especially if it tastes like an ashtray. (Get to that point in a couple minutes.)
And, of course, with AIDS and all those other STDs out there, who in their right mind would *shudder* with random nerfherders (synonem for male teenagers)? I mean, if you're going to do that, you might as well buy a plane ticket to Togo and do as you wish there.
Next. It's no secret that SNEC (my school) has a drug problem. Why else would there be one or two police officers at each school on the campus at any given time? Everyone's heard "drugs are bad," but why do those nerfherders (I have yet to pass a girl who smells like smoke) have to inflict pain on the rest of us "good little angels?" They smoke in the bathrooms by the cafeteria, so whenever I go by them, I have to hold my breath. Of course, you know, I have to pass it, what, five times a day. Then there's a nerfherder that comes into one of my classes (with assigned seats) and sits next to me. He literally smells like the burning end of either a cigarette or pot. Ever seen Pigpen on Charlie Brown? That's about what this guy's like; he has his own personal cloud of smoke. And, yeah right he's using that hall pass to go to the restroom! Especially when he comes back so heavily adorned with the scent that scooting as far away from him as possible doesn't help. I've almost considered asking Z. next to me to trade seats. I'd be so happy!
Back to the other thing. (Not THAT other thing, you insane person!) PDA. Public displays of affection. It's not allowed in SNEC, and I'm not complaining about that. But since it's not allowed, you would think that people would enforce that, but noooo. They just look the other way. Meanwhile, I'm just trying to get to my classes and I have to get by this couple that always stands in the door and kisses. Now, I've seriously considered whacking them with my lunchbox (bad cafeteria food, the basis of the description of alim'to). In fact, Mr. B. said that I could. He wouldn't stop me. (He didn't, however, promise me that I wouldn't get in trouble.) It's just that I don't want to see people standing in the halls and pretending they're on some kind of TV show that centers around them and their relationships. Aka, I don't want to have to see French kissing! I don't care if they do it like every other minute on TV, life is not TV. (And they rarely have it on Stargate, so hah. Thank goodness for military regs!) I don't want to see sloppy smooches on the cheeks, either. Couldn't a friendly hug suffice until you get out of school and away from me? Maybe I'm a little bias here, some primordial jealous nature that surfaces for the mere reason that I do not have (or care for) a boyfriend. Granted that, even if I did, I would think that I'd have the self-control needed to JUST hug. (Aren't my parents so proud? Good for them.)
Related to that, I hate seeing couples walking down the hall in front of me. I'll be the first to admit I have a fairly quick pace when I'm trying to get to my classes, but I can slow down... a little. But meandering along right down the middle of the walkway (or large groups of friends for that matter) is rather annoying. I understand that you only have two doors down to go for your next class and that you want to make every second of it count, but could you stop staring deep into eachother's eyes long enough to get there, wait outside the door for your parting sentiments or walk by the wall so that others, like me, can get by?
Now.
Topic.
The people at my school, but for a few, have no sense of decency.
Look at the *ahem* idiots in my gym class. They take pleasure in trying to hurt people, especially the six girls, with balls. (C'mon, think decent thoughts here; I'm talking soccer balls, despite the fact that they're guys.) And they're cheap little snakes, too. Mr. G. (whose name is shortened for his own protection) assigned them something like fifty push-ups a day, so what do they do? They get in that "plank" or "push-up position" and shake their arms. How pitiful is that? They're supposed to be these sturdy, brawny, I'll-go-save-the-damsel-in-distress men! And there they are, shaking their arms! I mean, you'd think that they'd actually be able to do them! Hey, I'm not so much of a hypocrit as you might think. I never get assigned push-ups, for one. (*angel voice* Because I'm a good little kid and I don't do anything I'm not supposed to. I don't throw balls at people, I don't body slam people, and I don't hit the lights with the kickballs.) And for two, even I can do push-up half decently without having to resort to shaking syndrome.
You know what's really disgusting with them, though? They come in for gym class, *gym class*, with baggy shorts. And when they bend over, you get to see more than you even knew you didn't want to see. Okay, maybe not, but I'll get to that later. Still, I don't want to be bestowed with the knowledge of what color underwear they're wearing today, if it's any different from yesterday. Again, that's just not something I want to see.
Okay, last year, I sat behind a slightly heavier person in science who had a tendancy to wear shirts just long enough to not get her in trouble. Now, let me warn you, I'm completely and totally against the "low rise" jeans. I have a pair that I'll wear occasionally, which bug me. Those aren't exactly the jeans I put on and say "oh, I love the way these fit! What brand are they so I can get more?" Well, last year, they were a little bit more popular that they are now. So whenever this girl in front of me would sit innocently in her chair, I would look up in utter horror to see a plumber's crack! And that's just not right! I mean, and I'm drawing off a discussion in Sunday school this morning, that style looks fine on twigs or models, but why in the world do they make size 22 super low-rise jeans? That's got to be even worse than the girl in front of me!
Another question. I have this shirt with the funniest message on it (with a pic of a dog: "Get your own slippers;" Ted chews on stuff). My friend has the same shirt. Anyway, it's really tight in the chest and I know another girl in my class likes to wear tight shirts as well. WHY??? Oh, by the way, this shirt, it hides about as much as a thin, white sports bra. Admittedly, it has sleeves and goes to my waist, but WHY? What's the point in wearing something like that? You'll have the dregs of the universe clinging to you in seconds. I understand that's what works for the cheerleaders with their uniforms that violate the dress code, but I would much rather be recognized for my writing ability and logic powers. (And not for brains! I take it back! I'm tired of people saying "you're smarter than me!" That's to be my next rant.) I'd rather people knew me as a Goa'uld (literally) than one of those girls that wears so little, you can see everything! (Well, that's not going to happen, is it.)
Oh, and what's with these high school relationships? They're so pointless! I mean, this is the one time in our lives when we're starting to be recognized as real people instead of pets and 90% of the world throws it away by spending our time thinking about gormless nerfherders who think they're the next Einstein? Besides, you're NOT going to be together forever; you'll be among the "lucky" few if your relationship lasts for two weeks, let alone fifty-two. And even then, even if you do go and get married, that doesn't mean you'll be "together forever" either. Just try to last for twenty years. There's always the threat of divorce hanging over your head, even after that.
Now, any of them would say, "Oh, but it'll be fun while it lasts!" Yeah, fun as in triple trouble. First of all, if you're doing anything beyond going to the movies or just the same kind of stuff that you'd do with your other friends (this time you can let your imagination get away; I'm not going to spell it out for you), you need to know that A) you're sinning, B) no one knows when he showered last (just take a peek at his dark, greasy hair), and C) who knows how many other people he *not going there* and what kind of nice, interesting diseases they had.
If you're ... making out *shudder* in the school stairwells (which they do!), you're obviously not going to/didn't get married before you do anything. It says in the Bible that that's a sin. And you say, "Oh, I'll just get forgiven when I'm done." That's another sin. Keep going at this pace, and you might as well invent the time machine, travel back to Calvary, and nail Christ to the cross yourself.
To almost spell B out for you: just look at that greasy hair. He smells like smoke (get there in a minute), and you think he's clean? I'm not known for being clean enough to eat off of, but I think that you're legally insane if you have a will to mess around with anyone that has that low of a level of cleanliness. I, for one, do not want someone sticking his tongue down my throat, especially if it tastes like an ashtray. (Get to that point in a couple minutes.)
And, of course, with AIDS and all those other STDs out there, who in their right mind would *shudder* with random nerfherders (synonem for male teenagers)? I mean, if you're going to do that, you might as well buy a plane ticket to Togo and do as you wish there.
Next. It's no secret that SNEC (my school) has a drug problem. Why else would there be one or two police officers at each school on the campus at any given time? Everyone's heard "drugs are bad," but why do those nerfherders (I have yet to pass a girl who smells like smoke) have to inflict pain on the rest of us "good little angels?" They smoke in the bathrooms by the cafeteria, so whenever I go by them, I have to hold my breath. Of course, you know, I have to pass it, what, five times a day. Then there's a nerfherder that comes into one of my classes (with assigned seats) and sits next to me. He literally smells like the burning end of either a cigarette or pot. Ever seen Pigpen on Charlie Brown? That's about what this guy's like; he has his own personal cloud of smoke. And, yeah right he's using that hall pass to go to the restroom! Especially when he comes back so heavily adorned with the scent that scooting as far away from him as possible doesn't help. I've almost considered asking Z. next to me to trade seats. I'd be so happy!
Back to the other thing. (Not THAT other thing, you insane person!) PDA. Public displays of affection. It's not allowed in SNEC, and I'm not complaining about that. But since it's not allowed, you would think that people would enforce that, but noooo. They just look the other way. Meanwhile, I'm just trying to get to my classes and I have to get by this couple that always stands in the door and kisses. Now, I've seriously considered whacking them with my lunchbox (bad cafeteria food, the basis of the description of alim'to). In fact, Mr. B. said that I could. He wouldn't stop me. (He didn't, however, promise me that I wouldn't get in trouble.) It's just that I don't want to see people standing in the halls and pretending they're on some kind of TV show that centers around them and their relationships. Aka, I don't want to have to see French kissing! I don't care if they do it like every other minute on TV, life is not TV. (And they rarely have it on Stargate, so hah. Thank goodness for military regs!) I don't want to see sloppy smooches on the cheeks, either. Couldn't a friendly hug suffice until you get out of school and away from me? Maybe I'm a little bias here, some primordial jealous nature that surfaces for the mere reason that I do not have (or care for) a boyfriend. Granted that, even if I did, I would think that I'd have the self-control needed to JUST hug. (Aren't my parents so proud? Good for them.)
Related to that, I hate seeing couples walking down the hall in front of me. I'll be the first to admit I have a fairly quick pace when I'm trying to get to my classes, but I can slow down... a little. But meandering along right down the middle of the walkway (or large groups of friends for that matter) is rather annoying. I understand that you only have two doors down to go for your next class and that you want to make every second of it count, but could you stop staring deep into eachother's eyes long enough to get there, wait outside the door for your parting sentiments or walk by the wall so that others, like me, can get by?
Quote of the day: Um... If you're at the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on. Either that or jump off into the burning building below and trusting that you'll be going to a more peaceful place. Call it a... leap of faith. Just kidding. No, when you're at the end of your rope, tie a knot at the bottom. Then one above that and above that and above that until you practically have a ladder. Yeah, it's time consuming, but it's either that or jumping into the burning building. Take your pick.
Question of the day: Why is Pokemon so addictive, even when you don't like it?
Ted's question #22: Why do you smell like cat?
Reeses progress report: Um. I have made an executive/submissive decision that I HAVE to work on that biology project. (Too bad I won't let you see the string of adjectives before that! But I don't want to reveal the true nature of my dark side and the depth of my hatrid for biology.) So, because of that, I will need all of my writing time for biology; I have only 2/25 hours so far. In the eternal words of ... someone: "Das ist sehr schlecht oder viel schlecht," depending on the badness level. Could be both.
Anyway, for those of you who actually like my writing about Tok'ra, if and when I finish my biology project (again with the adj.s), my supplementary biology project will be an explanation of the anatomy of a Tok'ra symbiote as it relates to the human body, the beginning of which can be found at this here link which you may or may not have overlooked.
Question of the day: Why is Pokemon so addictive, even when you don't like it?
Ted's question #22: Why do you smell like cat?
Reeses progress report: Um. I have made an executive/submissive decision that I HAVE to work on that
Anyway, for those of you who actually like my writing about Tok'ra, if and when I finish my
Tuesday, December 09, 2003
Binksbabe drifted off to sleep, snug in her bed, taking comfort in her dog's weight at her feet after a long evening of fanfiction browsing. When consciousness returned too soon, her first thought was Why is my bed so cold? . She shifted her weight slightly, trying to find the mutt at her feet. She did not find it particularly strange that he wasn't there; he'd probably gone to wait by her door. She shifted again, the realization that she was no longer smug in her bedcovers closer to dawning on her with each passing second.
Finally, she dragged herself onto her elbows and cracked her eyes opn. She stared at a wall, just as she expected, but it was... gray! She rolled over to see a large-ish gray room divided into four sections by walls of metal bars. Two red lazers guarded her side of the bars.
She yawned, still waking up. Reminds me of an episode of Stargate. She pulled herself onto her feet just in time for Richard Dean Anderson to make his grand entrance.
If that dream I had a few weeks ago wasn't foreshadowing, I don't know what is, she thought. She glanced again at his surprised face, and her jaw dropped slightly as she fell into a shocked silence.
His eyebrows lowered. "You're not that Goa'uld! How'd you get in here?"
Binksbabe continued to stare at him until his question finally registered in her mind. "Of course I'm not; Goa'ulds don't exist! And if you don't know how I got here, I bet I sleepwalked."
His brows furrowed as they often did on Stargate when Carter told him some scientific explanation. "How do you know about the Goa'uld?"
Binksbabe let out a sligh, half-hearted laugh. "What dedicated Stargate fan doesn't?" She noticed his alarmed and more than slightly baffled expression. "You're not Richard Dean Anderson, are you?"
"Ah, no." He took one step back towards the door.
Binksbabe's smile grew wider. "Well, it's very nice to meet you, Colonel O'Neill! "
"Do you know everything?"
She shrugged. "Everything from the episodes I've seen, but I've apparently missed the ones with you and big needles; Jonas and bananas; and Daniel and coffee."
One of the colonel's eyebrows rose. "Jonas?"
"Oh, so whenever I am, it's during the series and before Daniel ascended," she muttered to herself. "What year is it?"
"1998, why?"
"If it's 2003 now and we're in season 7, then this must be season... 2!" Her voice grew excitedly as she figured out the season.
"Since you konw so much, mind telling me where Major Carter is?"
"Sure, what episode?" At his blank look, she continued, "Sorry, forgot. Where was she?"
He pointed to the cell in which she stood. "Last time I looked, she was in there."
Binksbabe nodded, guessing she had been zapped into "In the Line of Duty," one of her favorite episodes. "Well, if I'm here and she's not, it would make sense to assume that Jolinar's waking up in my room this morning."
He frowned. "You mean that Goa'uld is," he began, poking his thumb up and behind his shoulder, "out there?"
She shrugged again. "Yeah, but if I'm right, she won't be able to do anything other than get in a whole lot of trouble. Besides, it's not like she's going to go out and demand the dedicated service of all the people in the world."
"She's--it's a Goa'uld; of course--"
"She's not a Goa'uld, but I really don't want to mess up the series by telling who she is. You know, the whole grandfather paradox thing."
"What?!"
Binksbabe bit her lip. "Yeah, I guess this is before '1969.' Well, that's a problem."
Jack looked at her with a rather confused expression. To the best of his knowledge and mathematical ability, the year 1998 came after 1969. "So when will Carter be back?"
She rolled her eyes. "Considering this situation has varied from the regularly scheduled episode... I'd say she'll return... by the time her last boyfriend dies."
She could see the jealousy arise in his eyes at the mention of the possibility that she might romance someone other than him.
Finally, she dragged herself onto her elbows and cracked her eyes opn. She stared at a wall, just as she expected, but it was... gray! She rolled over to see a large-ish gray room divided into four sections by walls of metal bars. Two red lazers guarded her side of the bars.
She yawned, still waking up. Reminds me of an episode of Stargate. She pulled herself onto her feet just in time for Richard Dean Anderson to make his grand entrance.
If that dream I had a few weeks ago wasn't foreshadowing, I don't know what is, she thought. She glanced again at his surprised face, and her jaw dropped slightly as she fell into a shocked silence.
His eyebrows lowered. "You're not that Goa'uld! How'd you get in here?"
Binksbabe continued to stare at him until his question finally registered in her mind. "Of course I'm not; Goa'ulds don't exist! And if you don't know how I got here, I bet I sleepwalked."
His brows furrowed as they often did on Stargate when Carter told him some scientific explanation. "How do you know about the Goa'uld?"
Binksbabe let out a sligh, half-hearted laugh. "What dedicated Stargate fan doesn't?" She noticed his alarmed and more than slightly baffled expression. "You're not Richard Dean Anderson, are you?"
"Ah, no." He took one step back towards the door.
Binksbabe's smile grew wider. "Well, it's very nice to meet you, Colonel O'Neill! "
"Do you know everything?"
She shrugged. "Everything from the episodes I've seen, but I've apparently missed the ones with you and big needles; Jonas and bananas; and Daniel and coffee."
One of the colonel's eyebrows rose. "Jonas?"
"Oh, so whenever I am, it's during the series and before Daniel ascended," she muttered to herself. "What year is it?"
"1998, why?"
"If it's 2003 now and we're in season 7, then this must be season... 2!" Her voice grew excitedly as she figured out the season.
"Since you konw so much, mind telling me where Major Carter is?"
"Sure, what episode?" At his blank look, she continued, "Sorry, forgot. Where was she?"
He pointed to the cell in which she stood. "Last time I looked, she was in there."
Binksbabe nodded, guessing she had been zapped into "In the Line of Duty," one of her favorite episodes. "Well, if I'm here and she's not, it would make sense to assume that Jolinar's waking up in my room this morning."
He frowned. "You mean that Goa'uld is," he began, poking his thumb up and behind his shoulder, "out there?"
She shrugged again. "Yeah, but if I'm right, she won't be able to do anything other than get in a whole lot of trouble. Besides, it's not like she's going to go out and demand the dedicated service of all the people in the world."
"She's--it's a Goa'uld; of course--"
"She's not a Goa'uld, but I really don't want to mess up the series by telling who she is. You know, the whole grandfather paradox thing."
"What?!"
Binksbabe bit her lip. "Yeah, I guess this is before '1969.' Well, that's a problem."
Jack looked at her with a rather confused expression. To the best of his knowledge and mathematical ability, the year 1998 came after 1969. "So when will Carter be back?"
She rolled her eyes. "Considering this situation has varied from the regularly scheduled episode... I'd say she'll return... by the time her last boyfriend dies."
She could see the jealousy arise in his eyes at the mention of the possibility that she might romance someone other than him.
Tuesday, December 02, 2003
Quote of the day:...I don't have one, but I felt like I got scolded for yesterday's.
Question of the day: What's with going back to school? Isn't the point to stay away?
Ted's question #21: Nevermind. You're ignoring me. *pout*
Reeses progress report: ... Let's change that...
To Be progress report: That's better! Yeah, I wrote a little bit more for To Be, but I'm not done for the day. It looks like that's the last thing for me to write before I get to work on CCW. (http://seabiology.blogspot.com)
If you have any major suggestions for CCW (and absolutely NO criticism for the little green men), e-mail me. If you don't have my e-mail address, e-mail my dog at imperialtraineetheodorehoundini@barkforbuck.com. If that's too long, too bad.
Question of the day: What's with going back to school? Isn't the point to stay away?
Ted's question #21: Nevermind. You're ignoring me. *pout*
Reeses progress report: ... Let's change that...
To Be progress report: That's better! Yeah, I wrote a little bit more for To Be, but I'm not done for the day. It looks like that's the last thing for me to write before I get to work on CCW. (http://seabiology.blogspot.com)
If you have any major suggestions for CCW (and absolutely NO criticism for the little green men), e-mail me. If you don't have my e-mail address, e-mail my dog at imperialtraineetheodorehoundini@barkforbuck.com. If that's too long, too bad.
Monday, December 01, 2003
Quote of the day: "Your writing's not just half-decent, it's bloody good!" -Mara Jade, Jedi. (She has no clue how tickled I was at that!)
Question of the day: I'm too happy and positive to come up with a critical question today. Wonder why?
Ted's question #20: What was that water-torture yesterday all about?
Reeses progress report: Um, little to no progress on Reeses, though I did send a revised version to selori for her opinion. I'm thinking about reconsidering that, since she hasn't replied, but I'll give her a break.
Mara Jade, I hope you're very happy with all the stories below. I'm glad someone likes my writing, and I'm really glad that I'm not just writing for my own amusement, that I'm also entertaining you. Hey, if I can write well enough to have fans now when they can be off reading some professional author's stuff, just think what kind of future I could have if I decide to become an author!
On that note, may I also suggest another story that I'm working on with some of my friends called What Has Yet to Occur . Enjoy!
Question of the day: I'm too happy and positive to come up with a critical question today. Wonder why?
Ted's question #20: What was that water-torture yesterday all about?
Reeses progress report: Um, little to no progress on Reeses, though I did send a revised version to selori for her opinion. I'm thinking about reconsidering that, since she hasn't replied, but I'll give her a break.
Mara Jade, I hope you're very happy with all the stories below. I'm glad someone likes my writing, and I'm really glad that I'm not just writing for my own amusement, that I'm also entertaining you. Hey, if I can write well enough to have fans now when they can be off reading some professional author's stuff, just think what kind of future I could have if I decide to become an author!
On that note, may I also suggest another story that I'm working on with some of my friends called What Has Yet to Occur . Enjoy!
1/2 A YEAR AFTER TO BE, SARAH IS A FRESHMAN IN HIGH SCHOOL
One pair of dirty sneakers slowly treaded down the hall filled with new, fashionable shoes that were not well suited to navigating crowded halls during the four minutes between classes.
The rushing figure wore plain, comfortable jeans. Not hip-huggers or bell-bottoms. They were not excessively tight nor did they reveal underwear. They were secured at her hips by a blue camouflage belt, an object as foreign to her classmates as calamari or alim’to was to their diets.
She wore a large, loose t-shirt that did not reveal her shapely figure; she would rather that someone would notice her talents and abilities than her body.
She stepped into the room at the end of the hall on the third story and crossed to her assigned desk in the front corner of the room by the window. This was where she was supposed to be, but it didn’t seem like where she belonged. All the people in her class looked older than her; she didn’t know a one. They seemed to have a different set of values than the people she had talked to the previous year her old school. These all looked like tenth graders. She felt like someone swimming in piranha-infested waters – reveal a weakness, an imperfection and they’d be on you in seconds, eating you alive, stripping flesh off your bones, destroying you until they reached the solid core of your being if you had one. She wondered if one of her friends had that solid core, her friend who resembled one of these piranhas, but out of water. She doubted it.
All her work to get here, put in a class with the boy who always took up a whole seat on the crowded bus that took her back to the small town where she lived in the suburbs of a large city. She knew he wasn’t above sabotaging half the seat so that he could sleep across it on the way to school; he had done it the day before.
She shook her head. She was different than everyone else in the school, and it annoyed her sometimes. She did not need to be here; she knew most of it already. Math seemed like such a simple thing now, ever since she’d been kidnapped the previous year. That one event had changed her life forever, and it was the reason why she had moved to Colorado Springs after finishing eighth grade. Of course, she couldn’t talk about it with anyone except her one friend back in Pennsylvania; the military had deemed it classified. She wasn’t lonely, however. The very being who whispered the answers to math problems and explanations could never leave her. The two were closer than sisters anyway.
Class started and she suffered through the forty minutes of administrative stuff that was always present during the first few days of school. After a few minutes, a feeling surfaced within her, though it was not her own: shock at the redundancies of the school, the repetition of rules and dress codes. She could tell that the other thought that these adults should have it better organized so that the same things would only be repeated once and then they could get on with learning. After all, hadn’t they done this the previous day?
Finally, the bell buzzed and she took her belongings to her German class two floors down. Here, they were required to have at least two years of a foreign language to graduate. She wondered why she had to also; she could already speak proficient ancient Egyptian, known to her by another name.
She took her seat in German class and fought the sudden urge to burst out, venting her frustration in an Ancient Egyptian dialect.
***
Again, she sat, this time in the bright, high-ceilinged room used for a cafeteria. So many tables had been crammed into it that three square feet of empty space existed only in the front; scooting a chair back would block at least half of the aisle.
She did not know whose table she had sat at; they had only been in school for one day. When she saw a group of tough-looking boys approaching, she tensed, teh other one scolding her as she did so. Once they passed, she looked pu from the most interesting blank spot on her tray to see a dark-haired, Chinese-looking girl standing over her table.
"Mind if I sit here, Sarah?" asked her next door neighbor as she took a seat.
"Not at all, Jane," she replied, glad to have new company, someone her own age.
"So how's your day going?"
"Oh," Sarah replied, "not bad. It's been boring." Then an urge rose up within her; it had been so long, she barely remembered it. The other being took control of her body, easily overcoming Sarah's instinct to struggle for it. Momentarily, she felt a burning in her eyes similar to the pain when she got shampoo in her eyes. Immediately, the other realized that she wasn't allowed to speak and relinquished control of her host.
Meanwhile, Jane had taken a seat, but now sat as far away from her classmate as the other chairs crowded around the table would allow.
Sarah glanced around quickly to see that no one else had seen her eyes flash with a golden light.
Jane's eyes hadn't left her new-found friend. "Sarah, what was that?"
Sarah shrugged and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry 'bout that. My contacts reflect light from a certain angle."
The younger freshman looked doubtful, but did not pursue the subject. "So, what class do you have next?"
"Typing class," replied Sarah, contempt clear in her voice.
A slight giggle escaped from Jane; she knew her friend could already type better than any of her other acquaintences.
The remainder of lunch was pleasant for both of them, but when the bell rang, dread filled both of them as they hurried off to their seventh period classes.
***
Sarah hurried to her house from the bus stop, rushed inside, and locked the door behind her. As she leaned heavily against the sturdy door, she found herself again thinking of what had happened at lunch. She couldn't believe her symbiote had been that careless; even when they were on base, surrounded by others like them, she usually ducked her head before taking control to hide the flashy eyes that were much too Goa'uld-like.
Sarah sighed, glad that she had come up with a half-believable excuse for once. Reflecting contacts? What was I thinking? she wondered as she made her way to her room. She opened the door, the only barrier to keep the dog from destroying her stuff, and nearly jumped out of her skin when her eyes fell upon the short, grey-tan form standing beside her bed amidst all the stuff strewn about the floor.
She remembered being told about the creatures and that they were normally pleasant to be around. Despite that, however, she felt fear rise within her.
Without preamble, the creature spoke. "you are in direct violation of the Protected Planets Treat."
"Am not!"
The other did not respond to this, but seemed taken aback, more than Sarah would expect for a simple "Am not"-"Are too" argument. Then she realized that she, the host, had spoken, not the symbiote.
For better or worse, she let Vinnet speak. "You are mistaken; we are in violation of no treaties."
"There are to be no Goa'uld on this planet at any time," declared the Asgard, looking up at the fourteen-year-old's face.
Vinnet sighed. "And so there are currently no Goa'uld on Earth; I am a Tok'ra."
One pair of dirty sneakers slowly treaded down the hall filled with new, fashionable shoes that were not well suited to navigating crowded halls during the four minutes between classes.
The rushing figure wore plain, comfortable jeans. Not hip-huggers or bell-bottoms. They were not excessively tight nor did they reveal underwear. They were secured at her hips by a blue camouflage belt, an object as foreign to her classmates as calamari or alim’to was to their diets.
She wore a large, loose t-shirt that did not reveal her shapely figure; she would rather that someone would notice her talents and abilities than her body.
She stepped into the room at the end of the hall on the third story and crossed to her assigned desk in the front corner of the room by the window. This was where she was supposed to be, but it didn’t seem like where she belonged. All the people in her class looked older than her; she didn’t know a one. They seemed to have a different set of values than the people she had talked to the previous year her old school. These all looked like tenth graders. She felt like someone swimming in piranha-infested waters – reveal a weakness, an imperfection and they’d be on you in seconds, eating you alive, stripping flesh off your bones, destroying you until they reached the solid core of your being if you had one. She wondered if one of her friends had that solid core, her friend who resembled one of these piranhas, but out of water. She doubted it.
All her work to get here, put in a class with the boy who always took up a whole seat on the crowded bus that took her back to the small town where she lived in the suburbs of a large city. She knew he wasn’t above sabotaging half the seat so that he could sleep across it on the way to school; he had done it the day before.
She shook her head. She was different than everyone else in the school, and it annoyed her sometimes. She did not need to be here; she knew most of it already. Math seemed like such a simple thing now, ever since she’d been kidnapped the previous year. That one event had changed her life forever, and it was the reason why she had moved to Colorado Springs after finishing eighth grade. Of course, she couldn’t talk about it with anyone except her one friend back in Pennsylvania; the military had deemed it classified. She wasn’t lonely, however. The very being who whispered the answers to math problems and explanations could never leave her. The two were closer than sisters anyway.
Class started and she suffered through the forty minutes of administrative stuff that was always present during the first few days of school. After a few minutes, a feeling surfaced within her, though it was not her own: shock at the redundancies of the school, the repetition of rules and dress codes. She could tell that the other thought that these adults should have it better organized so that the same things would only be repeated once and then they could get on with learning. After all, hadn’t they done this the previous day?
Finally, the bell buzzed and she took her belongings to her German class two floors down. Here, they were required to have at least two years of a foreign language to graduate. She wondered why she had to also; she could already speak proficient ancient Egyptian, known to her by another name.
She took her seat in German class and fought the sudden urge to burst out, venting her frustration in an Ancient Egyptian dialect.
***
Again, she sat, this time in the bright, high-ceilinged room used for a cafeteria. So many tables had been crammed into it that three square feet of empty space existed only in the front; scooting a chair back would block at least half of the aisle.
She did not know whose table she had sat at; they had only been in school for one day. When she saw a group of tough-looking boys approaching, she tensed, teh other one scolding her as she did so. Once they passed, she looked pu from the most interesting blank spot on her tray to see a dark-haired, Chinese-looking girl standing over her table.
"Mind if I sit here, Sarah?" asked her next door neighbor as she took a seat.
"Not at all, Jane," she replied, glad to have new company, someone her own age.
"So how's your day going?"
"Oh," Sarah replied, "not bad. It's been boring." Then an urge rose up within her; it had been so long, she barely remembered it. The other being took control of her body, easily overcoming Sarah's instinct to struggle for it. Momentarily, she felt a burning in her eyes similar to the pain when she got shampoo in her eyes. Immediately, the other realized that she wasn't allowed to speak and relinquished control of her host.
Meanwhile, Jane had taken a seat, but now sat as far away from her classmate as the other chairs crowded around the table would allow.
Sarah glanced around quickly to see that no one else had seen her eyes flash with a golden light.
Jane's eyes hadn't left her new-found friend. "Sarah, what was that?"
Sarah shrugged and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry 'bout that. My contacts reflect light from a certain angle."
The younger freshman looked doubtful, but did not pursue the subject. "So, what class do you have next?"
"Typing class," replied Sarah, contempt clear in her voice.
A slight giggle escaped from Jane; she knew her friend could already type better than any of her other acquaintences.
The remainder of lunch was pleasant for both of them, but when the bell rang, dread filled both of them as they hurried off to their seventh period classes.
***
Sarah hurried to her house from the bus stop, rushed inside, and locked the door behind her. As she leaned heavily against the sturdy door, she found herself again thinking of what had happened at lunch. She couldn't believe her symbiote had been that careless; even when they were on base, surrounded by others like them, she usually ducked her head before taking control to hide the flashy eyes that were much too Goa'uld-like.
Sarah sighed, glad that she had come up with a half-believable excuse for once. Reflecting contacts? What was I thinking? she wondered as she made her way to her room. She opened the door, the only barrier to keep the dog from destroying her stuff, and nearly jumped out of her skin when her eyes fell upon the short, grey-tan form standing beside her bed amidst all the stuff strewn about the floor.
She remembered being told about the creatures and that they were normally pleasant to be around. Despite that, however, she felt fear rise within her.
Without preamble, the creature spoke. "you are in direct violation of the Protected Planets Treat."
"Am not!"
The other did not respond to this, but seemed taken aback, more than Sarah would expect for a simple "Am not"-"Are too" argument. Then she realized that she, the host, had spoken, not the symbiote.
For better or worse, she let Vinnet speak. "You are mistaken; we are in violation of no treaties."
"There are to be no Goa'uld on this planet at any time," declared the Asgard, looking up at the fourteen-year-old's face.
Vinnet sighed. "And so there are currently no Goa'uld on Earth; I am a Tok'ra."
INTERNATIONAL HALLOWEEN GIFT SHOP, based on a dream
October 30th and its morrow happened to be the only two days of the year that Michele and Leah could shop at the International Halloween Gift Store. It wasn't that they weren't allowed to go the other days; their parents let them walk in the woods behind Michele's house any time they wanted. It wasn't that the story was closed the rest of the year; the bright orange sign on the door proudly proclaimed: Open 365 days a year.
Open to who? wondered Michele as the two began their yearly trek into the deep, calm woods. From here, they could not hear the festivities at the store. We used to go there on the first of November to go clearance shopping, but when we got there, the building, paved parking lots, underground horse barn, all of it was gone, like nobody had ever built on the lot.
After hiking for a while in the high-ceilinged pine forest, they came to a narrow dirt road that separated dense underbrush from the woods that had only small plants and layers upon layers of brown leaves and pine needles.
They continued their yearly hike, taking a right on the worn path. Various birds' chirping provided a pleasant background to thier light conversation as they talked of school, home, families, and religion. Red-gold light from the sunset filtered through the trees, almost making it seem like they were walking down a yellow brick road.
October 30th and its morrow happened to be the only two days of the year that Michele and Leah could shop at the International Halloween Gift Store. It wasn't that they weren't allowed to go the other days; their parents let them walk in the woods behind Michele's house any time they wanted. It wasn't that the story was closed the rest of the year; the bright orange sign on the door proudly proclaimed: Open 365 days a year.
Open to who? wondered Michele as the two began their yearly trek into the deep, calm woods. From here, they could not hear the festivities at the store. We used to go there on the first of November to go clearance shopping, but when we got there, the building, paved parking lots, underground horse barn, all of it was gone, like nobody had ever built on the lot.
After hiking for a while in the high-ceilinged pine forest, they came to a narrow dirt road that separated dense underbrush from the woods that had only small plants and layers upon layers of brown leaves and pine needles.
They continued their yearly hike, taking a right on the worn path. Various birds' chirping provided a pleasant background to thier light conversation as they talked of school, home, families, and religion. Red-gold light from the sunset filtered through the trees, almost making it seem like they were walking down a yellow brick road.
Mara Jade, Jedi asked for more, so here's the beginning of TORTURE.
Defeat. The famous SG-1 had been beaten by a small troup of Anubis's scouts, who now led them back to a Ha'tak fifty miles away. The four team members marched in a line flacked by a couple rows of Jaffa that looked none too happy about carrying their gear.
They were chained together, of course, with about five innocent villagers between each of them.
Defeat. The famous SG-1 had been beaten by a small troup of Anubis's scouts, who now led them back to a Ha'tak fifty miles away. The four team members marched in a line flacked by a couple rows of Jaffa that looked none too happy about carrying their gear.
They were chained together, of course, with about five innocent villagers between each of them.
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