Ted

Wed, 23 May 2012 17:13:00 GMT

This place has Baby Changing Stations in all the restrooms.

And don't get me wrong -- that's great -- it's just that my infant niece is now an ocelot.

ERROR

Tue, 15 May 2012 21:07:00 GMT

The Stunning Flower Machines are busy at this time. Please try again later. (Error 37)

This entry was originally posted at http://stunningflowermachines.dreamwidth.org/13731.html. What you're reading is just a clone.

Five

Fri, 11 May 2012 19:42:44 GMT

I don't know if I've mentioned this, but my neighborhood (you know, the one I've lived in for the past 11 years) seems to have a lot of mad scientists.

I don't know why. So I was knocking door-to-door this week to ask them all.

The fifth house I checked was surprising. It was like a greenhouse, but with huge factory clockwork gears built into the architecture and churning and creaking all over, and hundreds of baby animals frolicking about playing with brightly-colored toys. There were Greek pillars and alchemy tubes and ancient stone tablets littered around the place among all the indoor flowers and trees.

Now, I'm used to the scientists who make giant robots, or time machines, or AI computers that will turn against their creators, or that sort of thing. And I'm used to the armchair-philosopher mad scientists who just sit in a chair mulling over abstract principles until something terrible happens. I'm even pretty comfortable with those syncretic cyber-shamans, mostly. But this one? I had to ask.

And you know what you get when you ask a mad scientist about their work: Monologues.

"The Ancient Greeks believed there are are four types of love: Philios, Storge, Eros, and Agape. Philios is a friendly affection. Storge is a "natural" love of family. Eros is sexual love. And Agape is a divine, transcendant kind of love."

I nodded with polite detached comprehension, as my mother taught me to do when speaking with mad scientists.

"My goal is to create a fifth type of love, unlike those other four. I posit that it must exist, since five is such a nice number."

"And what will this 'fifth type of love' be like?" I asked.

The mad scientist scowled at me deeply, as if my ignorant question just lumped me into the same category as those short-sighted fools back at the university.

"I can't tell you that. I haven't invented it yet. But I'm pretty sure it'll be a Greek word, too."

Maybe it's the love of a mad scientist for a creation that doesn't exist yet. But I didn't say that.

This entry was originally posted at http://stunningflowermachines.dreamwidth.org/13379.html. What you're reading is just a clone.

Poison Ankles and Electroreceptors

Fri, 04 May 2012 16:17:11 GMT

I was having hominy with a frenemy this morning. We like to get together, enjoy a tasty breakfast of grits, and cut down each others' ideas. This time, it was his turn to propose an idea for me to shoot down.

"Soviet scientist Dmitri Belyaev did something amazing. In the 1950s, he began breeding wild foxes: he began with population of 130 silver foxes, a species that has never been bred before. He and his team selected the foxes that showed the least fear of humans, and had them breed together. After about ten generations of foxes, they had developed a new strain of fox that was friendly, with spotted coats, floppy ears, and adorable little curled tails. The animals wag their tails and lick human caretakers to show affection, like dogs. In the span of one lifetime, Belyaev created the domesticated silver fox."

I listened with passive-aggressive disinterest.

"My plan is this: I want to do the same thing with the Australian platypus. We breed the ones that are least afraid of humans, and hopefully within ten generations we'll get something friendly. Maybe they'll still have venomous ankle spurs. Maybe not. They'll probably still have duck bills that can sense electricity, which would be handy for pets in the modern world. Most of all, though, they'll be weird and cute and a testament to the power of modern science. They will sell well and I will become incredibly wealthy and then I'll gloat every time we have breakfast."

I nodded thoughtfully, and composed my reply. "But, this kind of program will be very expensive," I said, "How can you afford to support a population of platypusses on a schoolteacher's salary?"

He beamed with pride, "I already have a plan for that! I'll just shop smarter. I'll keep an eye out for special offers and rebates and things, closely follow the market for necessary supplies, and make a binder full of offers from local newspapers. I'm going to take 'extreme couponing' to the next level: monotreme couponing."

This entry was originally posted at http://stunningflowermachines.dreamwidth.org/13129.html. What you're reading is just a clone.

The American Dream Sequence

Wed, 02 May 2012 08:08:13 GMT

The fisherman watched the sunset on the dock, and didn't particularly look at me as he said, "It used to be in this country that you could do anything if you just set your mind to it. As long as you wanted it enough, you could achieve it."

I shifted uncomfortably and stared down at the weird silvery swordfish in my lap. Or maybe it was a marlin. Anyway, I was about to ask if it was okay to set it down, when the fisherman continued his thought.

"But that was way too much pressure. So I really applied myself and worked very hard to fix that, and of course, as mentioned by previous parameters, I was able to do so. Now if something goes wrong, it's not your fault and it's not because you didn't try hard enough. The odds are just stacked against you. So, you know, you can tell your generation that I say You're Welcome."

"When was this, exactly, that you did that?"

"'bout two years ago," the fisherman replied, and then he summoned guards and had me ejected from the dock.

Who?

Tue, 01 May 2012 17:40:55 GMT

"Okay, how many people in the room are actually me?"

An embarrassed smattering of hands rose to the air. Time-travellers, shape-shifters, doppelgangers, evil twins, identity thieves.

Then a few more. Whole-world single-entity theorists. Deep-identity empaths. Non-celebrity impersonators and pixellated virtual proxies. Sacrificial effigies and compulsive hand-raisers.

"Well, this song goes out to all of you," I said, and I started to strum my acoustic guitar. Or perhaps I should say, our acoustic guitar.

Then bats flew out of nowhere and landed on all their uplifted hands.

This entry was originally posted at http://stunningflowermachines.dreamwidth.org/12971.html. What you're reading is just a clone.

Sun, 29 Apr 2012 05:25:22 GMT

"It is said that the blanket golem is the snuggliest of the golemim," said the tiny, tiny rabbi.

ADVANCED Order Form

Thu, 26 Apr 2012 17:33:23 GMT

View Poll: #1836456

Order Form

Thu, 26 Apr 2012 00:53:10 GMT

View Poll: #1836298

Counter-Cello

Tue, 24 Apr 2012 23:40:29 GMT

You know those warehouses where you can join and become a member and then go use the space, and everyone else is using the space at the same time, so you feel like you're really productive? I was at one of those.

The guy next to me had a cello.

"I've created the best music ever," he said to me, "I mean it. I have developed an algorithm for measuring the complexity of music, and tested it extensively with existing music. Then I figured out ways to make the music more and more complex and surprising -- I used neural networks to develop musical scores that are maximally interesting."

I continued working on the transcranial magnetic hobby-horse that I've been cobbling together.

He looked at me expectantly, waiting for my reply.

"You know," I said, "psycho-acoustics researchers have proposed a different model for music preferences. I mean, some of it is just familiarity -- we like songs that we've heard before, as long as we get a little time between listenings so we don't get oversaturated. We like them even more if we can associate them with emotional experiences in our lives. And we like rhythms that feel like they go off-rhythm and then overcorrect themselves a little bit, because that's how we keep time ourselves. But here's the other thing. Each person wants music that is slightly interesting to them, but not so interesting that it's totally unpredictable. Someone who listens to simple melodies will like a slightly more complex melody, but will find anything beyond that totally jarring and staticky. Someone who listens to really complex melodies will like a slightly more complex melody, for them, but will find songs that are too simple to be boring. If something is incomprehensible, it doesn't matter how much it's technically better -- people won't enjoy it."

"So that's why everyone hates my objectively superior music!" he declared happily, "It's too good for them. Their displeasure is proof of my superiority!"

I shuffled awkwardly. "Oh, um, I have no idea. I just realized that ignoring you wasn't working, so I was hoping to distract you with a change of subject."

"Well, it didn't work," he said petulantly.

So I sprayed him with ink and swam away quickly in disguise as a poisonous lionfish.

Oh, also I was a mimic octopus (Thaumoctopus mimicus) all along. I should have mentioned that.

Heroics

Mon, 23 Apr 2012 20:32:42 GMT

So, I think you know that my village has been swarmed by high-level monsters. Great news! A hero stopped by.

"Please slay these monsters!" we told the hero, "And bring back twenty of their fangs as proof that you accomplished this deed."

The hero looked offended. "You're begging for my help, and then requiring proof because you're worried that I might somehow FAKE saving your village? You're awfully ungrateful. How about I just save your village from these monsters and be on my way?"

We replied: "Oh, you can slay all the monsters you want, but if you bring back twenty fangs, we'll consider you to have finished this quest. Then you'll get a five percent discount on the overpriced goods and healing items that we sell."

The hero looked skeptical. "Are you sure your village is really in danger? This sounds more like a coupon-collecting ad campaign than a genuine plea for help."

We replied: "Well, we need proof, you see. I mean, sure, you're a legendary hero who's probably got better things to do. But you won't have our gratitude unless you bring back at least twenty fangs."

The hero shook her head in resignation and left without saying another word. She didn't even search our homes for valuable goods.

I assume that means we're saved! Yay!

Sorry I haven't posted in a while. I was at a sporting event.

Mon, 23 Apr 2012 00:17:40 GMT

The announcer declared loudly over the speaker system: "MAKE SOME NOISE, FOLKS!"

So we all began making this eerie creaking noise.

The announcer responded: "NO, SORRY. I WANTED YOU TO APPLAUD AND CHEER. I COULD HAVE JUST SAID THAT, I GUESS, BUT THAT WOULD HAVE SOUNDED KIND OF DESPERATE."

So we all replied in unison. "Oh, we thought you just meant some kind of noise. Not a specific one. The thing is, we already have a signal for applause and cheering. We do that for praiseworthy acts of excellence. So we figured that, since you weren't doing that, you must have wanted some other noise."

The announcer replied: "LISTEN, AUDIENCE, THIS ISN'T REALLY UP FOR NEGOTIATION. WHEN I SAY MAKE SOME NOISE, I MEAN TO APPLAUD AND CHEER. SO LET'S MAKE! SOME! NOISE!"

We replied with a wet, low-pitched warbling sound.

Plesionasmosaur

Thu, 23 Feb 2012 03:07:07 GMT

"This one is a pleonasm," said the scientist, "It's an unnecessary redundant extra use of words, either by mistaken accident or as a clever rhetorical turn of phrase."

I nodded at her commentary. She checked off something on her clipboard and walked further down the echoing marble halls of the laboratory to the next glass display.

"And this one is a plesiosaur," she said, "A big aquatic dinosaur with flippers."

I took some pictures, because she totally forgot to indicate that no flash photography was allowed, and hey, dinosaur pictures.

"When I pull this lever, we combine them, using my groundbreaking Portmanteau Engine. I don't mean to brag too much, but did you know that they called me mad at the university? Not that I think that they were short-sighted fools or anything, but I must admit I'm quite proud of my Portmanteau Engine."

The last thing I remember was wondering if the pleonasm would be spoiled by paralepsis.

Then she pulled the lever and everything went bright luminous white.

I don't want to talk about it.

Wed, 08 Feb 2012 19:24:23 GMT

So I've been trying to get submissions from playwrights to write an upbeat musical sequel/response to Les Misérables of things from the prospective of the nobles. So far, though, all the applications for Les Aristocrates have been... well, I don't really want to talk about it.

The Questing Beast

Fri, 03 Feb 2012 23:08:17 GMT

Sometimes, I work as a private detective.

Well, that's not quite true. Sometimes I break into the office of a private detective and sit there smoking a cheap cigar and hoping that someone will come in and ask me to do something detectivey.

Usually, they just ask me to get out of their office. But this time, I got a customer.

And usually if it's a customer, I say pithy things and hope that this will somehow be a substitution for professional training and certification. But you could tell this guy was trouble from the minute he walked into the room.

He dropped an envelope on my desk. It was labeled IMPORTANT.

"I got this letter in the mail, and it's labeled IMPORTANT," he said.

"I see that," I replied pithily.

"Inside is just a bunch of crappy credit card offers. Normally I'd toss this in the recycling, but it says on the envelope that it's important. I need to find out what's so important about these particular crappy credit card offers."

"Hmm," I replied pithily, "Mister, I think you've been had."

"Back off, gumshoe!" he replied angrily, "I've been hunting for six years now to try to discern the importance of this particular letter, and I haven't gotten a step closer. I know it's important, because it says right there, but I need to unlock the secret importance of it."

I picked up the letter and frowned at it pithily. "It's important because you've been researching it for six years. It's your Questing Beast, the thing you strive for. It represents the tension between the frustration of an unending journey and the thrill of seeing purpose in the world. The quest is what makes it important; beyond that, it's just some crappy credit card offers."

"Thanks," he said. He gave me three crisp hundred dollar bills, which with the word MYSTERIOUS written in Sharpie in the top right corner.

Tue, 27 Dec 2011 18:08:56 GMT

"Days like this," Claude told me, "My goal is to be wearing clothes that are historically accurate for this current time period."

Way to aim low, Claude!

Sat, 19 Nov 2011 01:00:42 GMT

"My job," said the tiny, tiny policeman, "Is to give a speeding ticket to every neutrino that goes faster than the speed of light."

All I Ever Needed To Know I Learned From Facile Parodies Of KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON Posters

Wed, 07 Sep 2011 06:57:05 GMT

Step One: You cut a hole in the box.

Step Two: We came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

Step Three: Profit!

It's bad luck to try to avoid bad luck

Mon, 05 Sep 2011 04:40:06 GMT

Generally, knowledge is extremely valuable. The exception is when people approach you and tell you how valuable their knowledge is. If someone's knowledge is less valuable than your attention, you can probably skip it. Usually, they don't have much more to say except "What I have to say is very valuable and important!" and that isn't particularly valuable or important.

Wait, I got lost there. Let me start over.

Someone approached me and asked if I wanted to know a secret. "Technically, anything you could tell me right now wouldn't count as a secret," I retorted, and he shrugged and kept talking.

"Most cities, when planning countable street names, skip the number between 12 and 14 and replace the street in between with some other name. They think they're avoiding bad luck, but it's actually quite the opposite. By giving 13 another name, you're cursing both of them. San Francisco has made the name Funston become bad luck. Minneapolis/St. Paul cursed Plymouth. Los Angeles cursed Pico. Detroit just skipped the whole street and left nothing between 12th and 14th, which was smart, and New York didn't care and kept 13th street, which was probably even smarter. Or at least it would have been, if Seattle hadn't named 13th street Northeast as Brooklyn and shipped their curse off to the East Coast. Which was just mean, since Seattle already had like half a dozen 13th streets and avenues anyway."

"Salt Lake City probably ducked the whole thing. They multiplied their street numbers by a hundred," I retorted thoughtfully.

"Baltimore justs numbers streets at random and erratically, so they're probably safe. Philadelphia, inexplicably, kept 13th Street, but renamed 14th as Broad Street. Maybe they missed or something. And I don't think New Orleans even has any numbered streets past Fourth."

"They do, but only the even ones."

"Well, whatever. The important thing is, you don't want to mess with Oakland, California."

"Why?" I asked.

"They named 13th street International and cursed everybody."

How about your town?

Thu, 01 Sep 2011 23:50:51 GMT

Keep Common Carrion!

I've got 99 problems (but a lich ain't one)

Wed, 17 Aug 2011 07:13:38 GMT

So, I think I've mentioned that I've mostly been spending my time spinning miles of yarn from a variety of uncommon fibers and then selling it on the Internet. Well, we got a little snag this week; someone paid with a credit card that turned out to be over ten thousand years old. Buying all my yarn. And everyone else's.

I traced his travel by his credit card, back to a broad flat empty wasteland of a desert. An ancient necromancer had a whole army of animated skeletons, all knitting some huge pattern. He was a skeleton himself, too.

"So, um, shouldn't you be sending this army of skeletons out to destroy civilization or something?" I asked.

He arched an eyebrow-bone querulously as he replied, "Really? You're complaining?"

"No, I suppose not."

"Look, the fact is that raising an army of the undead to crush civilization is a losing proposition these days. You just invite retribution, heroes, quests, and so on. Villainy is out; what's cool these days is handmade craft goods."

"So, what are you and your undead legions making, then?"

"A city cozy. We're going to wrap Seattle up in it to help keep it warm this coming autumn."

"That seems very nice of you," I said.

He began cackling with undying eldritch malice, and then flew away on an ill-omened wind. I never got a chance to ask him about the whole credit card issue.

Drat.

Macias the Lover

Fri, 12 Aug 2011 19:47:39 GMT

I knew he was trouble the moment he walked into the office, because this is my Trouble Office. So, you know, anybody who walks in the office is probably looking for trouble, unless they got lost, but that's still trouble, too, if you think about it. Working in the Trouble Office breeds a certain kind of pessimism.

"Pimientos di Padrón," he said to me with a smoky, menacing voice, "I need you to find out why uns pican e outros non."

He had enough money to make it worth my while, so I've been exploring this mystery. Most of the small green peppers are very mild, but one in ten is very spicy. Peppers raised in August and September tend to be spicier, but there's no known way to predict it except to open it up and try it.

So I've been asking questions, talking to chefs and scientists and occult mathematicians. I've attracted the wrong attention: the government of Padron is hunting me because I may violate their "no spoilers" policy. The Reno Mafia is after me, just as a precautionary measure in case Pimientos di Padrón ever somehow become a profitable gambling enterprise. The Vatican is after me on general principle. And the San Francisco Opera is after me because I went to one opera six years ago and now they keep harassing me for donations.

I haven't found an answer yet, but I must be getting closer, because the pressure is ramping up.

Last night they all caught me in a four-way alley intersection, demanding that I stop my investigations or turn over my results or help support Bay Area fine performing arts with a contribution. I thought I was a goner, but I came up with a fast plan.

"Darth Vader is Luke's Father!" I called out to the Padrón government guys. They winced and I ran past them.

I may not be so lucky next time. I need more pepper facts, people, before it's too late.

This is a test of the tragedy of the commons system.

Thu, 11 Aug 2011 23:47:32 GMT

This is a more coercive willpower test. If anyone comments on this post, I will delete it. This is only a test.

Thu, 21 Jul 2011 17:18:26 GMT

I got one of those fancy "aloofah" sponges, but it refuses to have anything to do with me.

Thoughts and Science

Mon, 20 Jun 2011 08:05:41 GMT

I was in traffic court this morning for a speeding ticket.

"Let's see," the judge said, "Your birthday is July 7. That means you're a Cancer, so you're emotional, thoughtful, reserved, moody, and tend to stay at home. Clearly you're not astrologically capable of this kind of recklessness. Case dismissed!"

"Wait!" I protested, "I'm actually a human with a full range of human emotions."

The judge looked at my skeptically, "Do you want the case reopened then?"

I sighed heavily, "No, Your Honor. Thanks, I guess."

"If you were accused of, say, writing a dystopia where someone else's theories were implemented in the worst way possible, I may consider you capable of the crime. But certainly not speeding."

This seems like terrible epistemology to me, but whatever gets you out of a speeding ticket, right?

The Bailiff says that every Scorpio gets convicted of everything.