Never thought I'd enjoy an RA training assignment.
Recently we had to pull something together for RA training. It was a sort of free form description of where you were from. Not just geographically, but the experiences, the culture, the people, and the other things that make you you. I actually had some fun putting mine together, and figured I'd share it with anyone who might care to listen. Here goes.
I am from the land of prose. Sorry, no poetry here.
I am from the land of trees. If you are from either a city or North Dakota, imagine a really big, really thick stalk of grass. That’s a tree. They’re great. You can climb them and build things from them and they block the wind. And unlike in a city, the air around them is always clean and fresh, even when it’s hot. That’s probably good for the lungs or something, but I’m no doctor.
I am from the land of white, sandy beaches. Most evenings, I sit with my friends beneath the leafy fronds of the palm trees and enjoy the sunset and the beautiful smiles of the margarita-bearing women. The margaritas are free. Also, it’s always evening. We try not to work too hard there.
I am from the land of dragons. It’s off the edge of the map, but that’s where all the best things are found. Some people have a hard time getting there. Some people don’t even know that it exists. Me… I’m not sure I ever leave.
I am from the land of steak. Because killing cows and grilling their flesh is delicious.
I am from the land of gods. With a lower case g; I am one of the many. I hold worlds in my hands, and mountains rise and fall at my whim. I control the destinies of men and women, of heroes and legends, of kingdoms and empires. It’s not a bad gig. Sometimes it gets to be a lot to keep track of, and sometime I’m a little strapped for time, but in the end, it’s worth it.
I am from the land of bonfires. We throw wild rumpuses around them late at night, dancing and howling and gnashing our terrible teeth and rolling our terrible eyes and showing our terrible claws. Sometimes we light things on fire that were never intended to be lit on fire. Once in a while, we light ourselves on fire. More howling.
I am from the land of endings. Some endings leave tears of joy in your eyes. Some leave tears of sorrow. The good ones are so exciting that you can hardly breathe. The bad ones just stop without really giving you any resolution.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Mixing it Up
New theme.
Decided it was time for a change. After some looking, some tweaking, and some other shenanigans, I found a new skin that I thought was pretty cool. I'm gonna try it on for a while and see how it fits. If it's unreadable or something let me know.
Til then, ladies and gents...
Decided it was time for a change. After some looking, some tweaking, and some other shenanigans, I found a new skin that I thought was pretty cool. I'm gonna try it on for a while and see how it fits. If it's unreadable or something let me know.
Til then, ladies and gents...
Monday, April 11, 2011
The Aeons' Gate
Not a bad read.
I recently picked up a book called Tome of the Undergates, by Sam Sykes. I was at Barnes and Noble (a dangerous store) and saw it on the shelves. Looked like it might be decent, so I gave it a shot.
All in all, I was pretty happy with it. It's the author's first book, and it shows. His pacing could use some improvement (especially in the beginning), his pronouns and descriptors can be confusing at times, and he needs to think through his scenes a bit more carefully with regards to where characters are in the scene. He could also lay off the thesaurus a bit... his word choice, while diverse, doesn't always do a good job of conveying the proper mood or the correct flavor of a character's actions.
But that's the bad stuff. If it stopped there, the subtext at the beginning of this post would have read something like "stab yourself in the face before you read this book". And it doesn't. Here's why (pay attention).
His characters are a lot of fun, yet have surprising depth as well. They're memorable and distinct, both great qualities. By the time I was halfway through the book, I could give you a fairly detailed description of each one of the six main characters. And not just what they do (Denaos is a thief and a scoundrel, Dreadaeleon is a wizard), but their personality quirks (Kataria is proud and haughty, Asper is conflicted and indecisive). Not bad considering that some authors can't manage that feat for even one character despite having 5 times the page count to work with (I'm looking at YOU, Russell Kirkpatrick).
Throughout the book, he continues to develop his characters well, revealing glimpses of the backstories, motivations, and shadowy pasts behind each one, continuing to flesh them out so that they are more than just 2 dimensional (read: dry-as-dust boring) caricatures.
As an interesting twist, they are all basically xenophobic (which causes friction, seeing as how there are 3 races between the 6 of them), arrogant, and generally distrustful of each other. The only thing that really links them all together is their allegiance to their leader, Lenk. It makes for some interesting, and often hilarious, interplay. I posted a small example of this in my Facebook status the other day, and I'll repost it here...
"I resent you assuming that I beat the stupid out of him until he was lying in a pool of it." He folded his arms over his chest. "But, as it stands, I did."
~Gariath
That particular line exemplifies some of the interplay between the group. They're often as (or even more) busy threatening each other than they are threatening the baddies.
Sam Sykes also had a few moments of straight up genius. In one scene, Lenk and Kataria have just met up after battling an evil shark siren and a badass nether-woman, respectively...
He took a step forward, then winced to a halt. Smiling sheepishly, he extended his arm to her. "Help me?"
"Help you?" She gestured to her own wreck of a body. I fought a hulking, purple-skinned white-haired man-woman!"
He patted the severed head at his belt. "I took the skull off a three-headed shark-lady."
"She kicked me," Kataria said, gesturing to the long bruise running down her flank, "might've broken my ribs, too. This was all after I stabbed her."
"Yeah? Well, she..." Lenk looked at the head disparagingly. "She yelled at me."
Kataria stared at him blankly. He coughed.
"Really loudly."
She pursed her lips. He sighed and offered his shoulder to her.
"Fine, get on."
I quite literally burst out laughing after reading that one.
In the end, the author could use some improvement, but I think he's got potential. His story, while not overly complex, is exciting and will probably capture your attention if you give it a chance. It caught mine, anyway, enough that I'm going to go and hunt up his next book and see how it continues.
I recently picked up a book called Tome of the Undergates, by Sam Sykes. I was at Barnes and Noble (a dangerous store) and saw it on the shelves. Looked like it might be decent, so I gave it a shot.
Sykes could, in my humble opinion, benefit from a new cover artist. Seriously,
are there no fantasy artists out there who can draw a person in a natural looking pose?
are there no fantasy artists out there who can draw a person in a natural looking pose?
All in all, I was pretty happy with it. It's the author's first book, and it shows. His pacing could use some improvement (especially in the beginning), his pronouns and descriptors can be confusing at times, and he needs to think through his scenes a bit more carefully with regards to where characters are in the scene. He could also lay off the thesaurus a bit... his word choice, while diverse, doesn't always do a good job of conveying the proper mood or the correct flavor of a character's actions.
But that's the bad stuff. If it stopped there, the subtext at the beginning of this post would have read something like "stab yourself in the face before you read this book". And it doesn't. Here's why (pay attention).
His characters are a lot of fun, yet have surprising depth as well. They're memorable and distinct, both great qualities. By the time I was halfway through the book, I could give you a fairly detailed description of each one of the six main characters. And not just what they do (Denaos is a thief and a scoundrel, Dreadaeleon is a wizard), but their personality quirks (Kataria is proud and haughty, Asper is conflicted and indecisive). Not bad considering that some authors can't manage that feat for even one character despite having 5 times the page count to work with (I'm looking at YOU, Russell Kirkpatrick).
Throughout the book, he continues to develop his characters well, revealing glimpses of the backstories, motivations, and shadowy pasts behind each one, continuing to flesh them out so that they are more than just 2 dimensional (read: dry-as-dust boring) caricatures.
As an interesting twist, they are all basically xenophobic (which causes friction, seeing as how there are 3 races between the 6 of them), arrogant, and generally distrustful of each other. The only thing that really links them all together is their allegiance to their leader, Lenk. It makes for some interesting, and often hilarious, interplay. I posted a small example of this in my Facebook status the other day, and I'll repost it here...
"I resent you assuming that I beat the stupid out of him until he was lying in a pool of it." He folded his arms over his chest. "But, as it stands, I did."
~Gariath
That particular line exemplifies some of the interplay between the group. They're often as (or even more) busy threatening each other than they are threatening the baddies.
Sam Sykes also had a few moments of straight up genius. In one scene, Lenk and Kataria have just met up after battling an evil shark siren and a badass nether-woman, respectively...
He took a step forward, then winced to a halt. Smiling sheepishly, he extended his arm to her. "Help me?"
"Help you?" She gestured to her own wreck of a body. I fought a hulking, purple-skinned white-haired man-woman!"
He patted the severed head at his belt. "I took the skull off a three-headed shark-lady."
"She kicked me," Kataria said, gesturing to the long bruise running down her flank, "might've broken my ribs, too. This was all after I stabbed her."
"Yeah? Well, she..." Lenk looked at the head disparagingly. "She yelled at me."
Kataria stared at him blankly. He coughed.
"Really loudly."
She pursed her lips. He sighed and offered his shoulder to her.
"Fine, get on."
I quite literally burst out laughing after reading that one.
In the end, the author could use some improvement, but I think he's got potential. His story, while not overly complex, is exciting and will probably capture your attention if you give it a chance. It caught mine, anyway, enough that I'm going to go and hunt up his next book and see how it continues.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Juxtaposition
It's a big long word.
If you slept through English class (like me), you may have trouble remember what juxtaposition is. Don't worry, I'm not gonna leave you in the dark (because you couldn't just Merriam-Webster it in 10 seconds anyway).
To juxtapose (the verb form of juxtaposition) just means to put things next to each other, usually to compare and contrast them. Actually, juxta- is a prefix the means "near", so the word juxtaposition literally means "near position". (Today's linguistics lesson brought to you by the letter J!)
Anywho, the I saw an interesting juxtaposition today. I was checking Facebook (like college students do) and saw two statuses side by side. The first read as follows:
"have you told someone how important they are to you today? if not you should. Life is way too short and there are too many people leaving this world because of lack of love. So instead of being mad at someone, tell them something your thankful for them about. you may save their life."
Aaaand number 2:
"Thank you God, for the peace, joy, struggles, and hardships you bring in my life. It means more than the world."
THAT, ladies and gents, is juxtaposition.
The first status is, well, trite. Pithy. Lacking of substance. It bleeds hippie-love-circle like a Greenpeace activist being mauled by a pride of lions. Also, it has terrible grammar, but I won't harp on that (much).
The second status, by way of contrast, is twice as deep using half the number of words (and both those numbers are conservative estimates).
In my humble opinion, thanking God for all aspects of life, knowing that he works through what we think is good as well as what we think is bad, is a far better use of our energy than telling others to say nice things because that will make the bad things stop.
One of these statuses made me roll my eyes. One of them blessed me. I leave it to you to figure out which was which.
Oh yeah, and one of them had terrible grammar.
If you slept through English class (like me), you may have trouble remember what juxtaposition is. Don't worry, I'm not gonna leave you in the dark (because you couldn't just Merriam-Webster it in 10 seconds anyway).
To juxtapose (the verb form of juxtaposition) just means to put things next to each other, usually to compare and contrast them. Actually, juxta- is a prefix the means "near", so the word juxtaposition literally means "near position". (Today's linguistics lesson brought to you by the letter J!)
Anywho, the I saw an interesting juxtaposition today. I was checking Facebook (like college students do) and saw two statuses side by side. The first read as follows:
"have you told someone how important they are to you today? if not you should. Life is way too short and there are too many people leaving this world because of lack of love. So instead of being mad at someone, tell them something your thankful for them about. you may save their life."
Aaaand number 2:
"Thank you God, for the peace, joy, struggles, and hardships you bring in my life. It means more than the world."
THAT, ladies and gents, is juxtaposition.
The first status is, well, trite. Pithy. Lacking of substance. It bleeds hippie-love-circle like a Greenpeace activist being mauled by a pride of lions. Also, it has terrible grammar, but I won't harp on that (much).
The second status, by way of contrast, is twice as deep using half the number of words (and both those numbers are conservative estimates).
In my humble opinion, thanking God for all aspects of life, knowing that he works through what we think is good as well as what we think is bad, is a far better use of our energy than telling others to say nice things because that will make the bad things stop.
One of these statuses made me roll my eyes. One of them blessed me. I leave it to you to figure out which was which.
Oh yeah, and one of them had terrible grammar.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Meditate
Ummm... yeah.
Residence Life, my all knowing task masters and employers, decided in their infinite wisdom that they needed another way to make my life miserable. And by that, I mean another rigid, artificial way to try to measure and quantify the relationships I develop with my residents.
There have been several renditions of a similar sort before this. First were the SSIs. Then came the TPSs. Now we're onto the SIRs. It's almost like they think that if they switch the TLA enough times, it might suddenly become useful.
Anywho, I was tasked with writing down something about every resident I'm responsible for. It could be basis stuff like their major and hobbies, but when you have a bunch of guys who you just greet in the halls, that can be hard to remember. So I resorted to going around and banging on doors.
I wasn't subtle about it either. I was like "hey, Res Life has this stupid thing for me to do. What's your major?" Maybe that wasn't what Res Life was hoping for, but that's what they're getting.
Anywho, I knocked on the door of one of my residents. After a short pause, a tired-sounding "cooome in..." ghosted through the door.
I don't like it when residents don't answer their door in person. It seems lazy to me, especially because they have no clue who it is, but whatever. I stomped in.
A pungent odor immediately assaulted my nostrils. If you've spent some time around certain types of people, you'd recognize this scent pretty quickly. It's hard to miss. Lemme give you a hint...
Oh yeah. It was rank in there.
I wasn't really sure how to react. My brain just kinda ground to a halt as I stood in the doorway, debating whether or not I should mention it or call the cops or do something wildly outrageous. In the end, I decided that the necessary evidence to bring in higher authorities wasn't really there, so I just asked him some questions. It went sometime like this...
Me: "So... uh... what's your major?"
Baked Resident: "Uhhh, Vet Tech, man..."
Me: "Umm, okay. What's something you like to do in your spare time or some kind of hobby or something?"
Baked Resident: "...I like to... meditate. Yeah." *witless laugh*
Baked Resident's Friend: *equally witless laugh*
Me: "Well... alright. Thanks guys, see you around."
So that's what I put on my SIR form. "Vet Tech major, likes to meditate." I had the brief urge to but something like "Vet Tech major, loves smoking the reefer," but I figured that kind of thing probably wouldn't go over especially well. Either way, it was definitely a one-of-a-kind experience.
Residence Life, my all knowing task masters and employers, decided in their infinite wisdom that they needed another way to make my life miserable. And by that, I mean another rigid, artificial way to try to measure and quantify the relationships I develop with my residents.
There have been several renditions of a similar sort before this. First were the SSIs. Then came the TPSs. Now we're onto the SIRs. It's almost like they think that if they switch the TLA enough times, it might suddenly become useful.
Anywho, I was tasked with writing down something about every resident I'm responsible for. It could be basis stuff like their major and hobbies, but when you have a bunch of guys who you just greet in the halls, that can be hard to remember. So I resorted to going around and banging on doors.
I wasn't subtle about it either. I was like "hey, Res Life has this stupid thing for me to do. What's your major?" Maybe that wasn't what Res Life was hoping for, but that's what they're getting.
Anywho, I knocked on the door of one of my residents. After a short pause, a tired-sounding "cooome in..." ghosted through the door.
I don't like it when residents don't answer their door in person. It seems lazy to me, especially because they have no clue who it is, but whatever. I stomped in.
A pungent odor immediately assaulted my nostrils. If you've spent some time around certain types of people, you'd recognize this scent pretty quickly. It's hard to miss. Lemme give you a hint...
Oh yeah. It was rank in there.
I wasn't really sure how to react. My brain just kinda ground to a halt as I stood in the doorway, debating whether or not I should mention it or call the cops or do something wildly outrageous. In the end, I decided that the necessary evidence to bring in higher authorities wasn't really there, so I just asked him some questions. It went sometime like this...
Me: "So... uh... what's your major?"
Baked Resident: "Uhhh, Vet Tech, man..."
Me: "Umm, okay. What's something you like to do in your spare time or some kind of hobby or something?"
Baked Resident: "...I like to... meditate. Yeah." *witless laugh*
Baked Resident's Friend: *equally witless laugh*
Me: "Well... alright. Thanks guys, see you around."
So that's what I put on my SIR form. "Vet Tech major, likes to meditate." I had the brief urge to but something like "Vet Tech major, loves smoking the reefer," but I figured that kind of thing probably wouldn't go over especially well. Either way, it was definitely a one-of-a-kind experience.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Boss!
Snowmen are cool.
Far superior to the snowman, though, is the Easter Island head. Cause I want a head like the heads you see on Easter Island (Easter Island).
Not sure which group of clever people decided to make an Easter Island head on our campus, but whoever they are, I tip my hat to them. This is superb.
Far superior to the snowman, though, is the Easter Island head. Cause I want a head like the heads you see on Easter Island (Easter Island).
Not sure which group of clever people decided to make an Easter Island head on our campus, but whoever they are, I tip my hat to them. This is superb.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
The Problem
Is the homework.
The first couple of weeks of my semester have been great. My classes have been easy and I haven't had any significant homework to speak of. However, as is usually the case, the homework comes as the semester progresses. Tonight I was forced to finally sit down and pound some out.
I don't mind homework a whole lot. It's just that I don't really take the time to do it until I have to. This means that I'll wait til the night before and then spend several hours hammering it out. It works for me, though. Once I start, I can just work through til it's done. I don't need study breaks or anything; I just sorta go.
This is all just context for the following quirk brought to mind by the homework session I just finished. You see, as an ME student, I do all of my homework on engineering paper. It's special (read expensive) paper that NDSU sells that has a grid of lines on it and lots of fancy logos on the side. The grid is the main attraction, as it comes in handy when drawing diagrams and writing equations.
At the top of a sheet of engineering paper, there are a couple of lines labeled "Name:" and "Problem:". As an astute observer might guess, those lines are for people to write their name and which problem they are working on.
The thing is, most people simply right which homework they are working on in the "Problem:" line. Taken literally, the paper says that the homework is a problem.
Obviously, someone should fix that problem.
Additionally, if one were to dig through my old papers, they might an equation sheet or two in which the "Problem:" line reads something like "I have a Machine Design test".
What can I say? It's a problem.
The first couple of weeks of my semester have been great. My classes have been easy and I haven't had any significant homework to speak of. However, as is usually the case, the homework comes as the semester progresses. Tonight I was forced to finally sit down and pound some out.
I don't mind homework a whole lot. It's just that I don't really take the time to do it until I have to. This means that I'll wait til the night before and then spend several hours hammering it out. It works for me, though. Once I start, I can just work through til it's done. I don't need study breaks or anything; I just sorta go.
This is all just context for the following quirk brought to mind by the homework session I just finished. You see, as an ME student, I do all of my homework on engineering paper. It's special (read expensive) paper that NDSU sells that has a grid of lines on it and lots of fancy logos on the side. The grid is the main attraction, as it comes in handy when drawing diagrams and writing equations.
At the top of a sheet of engineering paper, there are a couple of lines labeled "Name:" and "Problem:". As an astute observer might guess, those lines are for people to write their name and which problem they are working on.
The thing is, most people simply right which homework they are working on in the "Problem:" line. Taken literally, the paper says that the homework is a problem.
Obviously, someone should fix that problem.
Additionally, if one were to dig through my old papers, they might an equation sheet or two in which the "Problem:" line reads something like "I have a Machine Design test".
What can I say? It's a problem.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
The Death of a Dream
What are you left with when a dream dies?
I've been trying to figure that out. All I've seemed to manage to do so far is send my thoughts spinning in useless circles.
What I do know is that a dream of mine died recently. It was a dream that I'd chased after long and hard, starting from the moment I saw its possibility. I'd given everything I had to give in this dream's pursuit, yet I never even got the chance to see it fulfilled.
I'd try to direct my attention elsewhere, but somehow I always kept drifting back; I kept dreaming that maybe, just maybe, it was possible. I thought about throwing in everything I had, trying once again for a single chance.
But when the opportunity to do so arose, I didn't take it. Because I saw for the first time that what I was chasing would not satisfy me. I would not get out what I put in. So I let the opportunity pass. And the dream that I had tried so hard to kill finally began to die.
It still haunts me, but only with a pale shadow of its former strength.
I thought I should have been happy. I was free. But I wasn't. I was just... confused. Drifting. There was no longer any Polaris to follow, and I wasn't sure what to do in its absence.
I'm still not sure. I've sat at my keyboard for ten minutes in between this paragraph and the last as my mind has tossed fitfully in place. What will happen to me? I don't know. I could try to catch Sirius, but my hands are so clumsy. I could try to turn my attention to something besides stargazing, but they'll always be looking over my shoulder. Or I could simply be lost in the void, a prospect as empty of appeal as it is of everything else.
I don't know.
I've been trying to figure that out. All I've seemed to manage to do so far is send my thoughts spinning in useless circles.
What I do know is that a dream of mine died recently. It was a dream that I'd chased after long and hard, starting from the moment I saw its possibility. I'd given everything I had to give in this dream's pursuit, yet I never even got the chance to see it fulfilled.
I'd try to direct my attention elsewhere, but somehow I always kept drifting back; I kept dreaming that maybe, just maybe, it was possible. I thought about throwing in everything I had, trying once again for a single chance.
But when the opportunity to do so arose, I didn't take it. Because I saw for the first time that what I was chasing would not satisfy me. I would not get out what I put in. So I let the opportunity pass. And the dream that I had tried so hard to kill finally began to die.
It still haunts me, but only with a pale shadow of its former strength.
I thought I should have been happy. I was free. But I wasn't. I was just... confused. Drifting. There was no longer any Polaris to follow, and I wasn't sure what to do in its absence.
I'm still not sure. I've sat at my keyboard for ten minutes in between this paragraph and the last as my mind has tossed fitfully in place. What will happen to me? I don't know. I could try to catch Sirius, but my hands are so clumsy. I could try to turn my attention to something besides stargazing, but they'll always be looking over my shoulder. Or I could simply be lost in the void, a prospect as empty of appeal as it is of everything else.
I don't know.
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