Friday, July 10, 2009
Rat Attack
One of the nicest things about my new haircut is that showers are so much easier. It's a matter of minutes to get clean and dry, and messy situations are easier to handle. Like, for example, when I am covered in the exploded remnants of a rat. There was something of a babysitting mishap, to say the least. I was just reading a feminist fairy tale to the Disney nerd I babysit, when there was a peculiar noise from outside her room. It was kind of a drumming grate, like a carrot in the garbage disposal. I told the kid to stay put, snatched up her little aluminum baseball bat, and intrepidly investigated the situation like a good superhero. Long and disgusting story short, I wound up covered in a fine mist of blood particles from some unfortunate rat that wandered into the air conditioning unit and got its own personal horror movie carnival ride. The blood splattered all over the walls of the house, up to a couple feet above my head. I turned off the air conditioning and reassured the kid, but ten bucks an hour only covers childcare, not cleaning up rodent entrails. Her parents were less than pleased. Eight showers are not enough to make me feel clean again.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
What Asimov's Law?
Okay, that wonderful new red rabbit security program Mycroft stuck on my computer? It's gone all I, Robot and decided that I am engaging in self-destructive behavior by visiting some of my favorite websites. I don't care what you think about fanfic, Myke. I don't appreciate my computer automatically navigating away from fansites. And I hate it when my machinery gets all sanctimonious and acts for my own good. I know Myke wrote all those little warning messages. They ooze smugness.
I've been trying to infiltrate Administrative mode so I can actually make changes. It took hours, since I'm fairly sure my computer is hiding the files from me. The little bunny cartoon search helper makes such an innocent face when it tells me it can't find my crap. The computer also apparently learns from our encounters, and adapts its defense mechanisms accordingly. I don't have anything on my computer that is labeled 'control panel,' 'administrator,' 'security,' or 'fuck you, search engine'. I finally called Myke and threatened to take this computer apart with a screwdriver looking for the motherboard. All problems can be solved with a creative enough application of violence.
I've been trying to infiltrate Administrative mode so I can actually make changes. It took hours, since I'm fairly sure my computer is hiding the files from me. The little bunny cartoon search helper makes such an innocent face when it tells me it can't find my crap. The computer also apparently learns from our encounters, and adapts its defense mechanisms accordingly. I don't have anything on my computer that is labeled 'control panel,' 'administrator,' 'security,' or 'fuck you, search engine'. I finally called Myke and threatened to take this computer apart with a screwdriver looking for the motherboard. All problems can be solved with a creative enough application of violence.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Battle Scars
I have lovely purple splotches all over my skin. I've been taking pictures for posterity, since one of them seems to be developing into the shape of the Virgin Mary. Well, the Virgin Mary as envisioned by Mr. Potato Head. But it's still a cool bruise. And on second thought, those pictures are mostly for me. They're in a place that posterity doesn't need to see.
I'm glad to say, I'm taking my injuries like a champion, and not whining incessantly. It does suck that the cold packs are useless, though. I need to invest in a topical numbing gel or something. One of the hidden downsides to cryogenesis.
The ringing in my ears has changed pitch. Not sure what that means. I've been tinkering with my sister's electric keyboard, and if I could actually tell the keys apart, I'd know exactly which note was playing constantly in my head. As it is, it's the third highest black key. Very annoying.
Firecracker got stalked by some intrepid reporter, who managed to capture a few awkward moments on camera before he blasted away. It's hard to avoid the news clips, though I really don't want to see his face anymore. There's a betting pool on how long before he gets unmasked. I find that kind of speculation really morbid, but I'm guessing not long. He doesn't have the brains or the cunning to keep a secret like that. He's just some jerk with flamethrower fists. Of course, if anybody on the beach got a good look at him, he'd be busted even quicker. I didn't see his face, and I'm not sharing any other identifying details. Yuck.
I'm glad to say, I'm taking my injuries like a champion, and not whining incessantly. It does suck that the cold packs are useless, though. I need to invest in a topical numbing gel or something. One of the hidden downsides to cryogenesis.
The ringing in my ears has changed pitch. Not sure what that means. I've been tinkering with my sister's electric keyboard, and if I could actually tell the keys apart, I'd know exactly which note was playing constantly in my head. As it is, it's the third highest black key. Very annoying.
Firecracker got stalked by some intrepid reporter, who managed to capture a few awkward moments on camera before he blasted away. It's hard to avoid the news clips, though I really don't want to see his face anymore. There's a betting pool on how long before he gets unmasked. I find that kind of speculation really morbid, but I'm guessing not long. He doesn't have the brains or the cunning to keep a secret like that. He's just some jerk with flamethrower fists. Of course, if anybody on the beach got a good look at him, he'd be busted even quicker. I didn't see his face, and I'm not sharing any other identifying details. Yuck.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Why Things Exploded
You know the saddest part about last night? The laser-wielding sharks are the ones who stuck around to rescue people. Firecracker lit out of there after the explosion. I don't know if he ever got his pants back. The sharks are the ones who pinpointed the injured people in the water and on the beach, and hovered over them until the rescue crews arrived. It turns out that Waverider lost track of his son for fifteen minutes, and sent out sharks with face-recognition software to find him. The kid turned up a few minutes after the explosion. When your dad's a pioneer in the field of surveillance technology, I guess you have to go to great lengths to get a little privacy to make out with your boyfriend. I'm shocked he managed to slip the tracers for so long, honestly. I guess it helps that he was on dry land.
Firecracker is in the doghouse. He blew up the pier, wrecked every car parked next to the beach, ripped up the sidewalk and street, knocked over a ridiculous amount of palm trees, blasted most of the beach all over the street, capsized eight boats and oh yes injured a number of innocent bystanders, among them your friendly neighborhood cryogenetic. And nobody can find him to give him the bill, though a very angry Waverider is looking. And all because he never bothered getting on friendly terms with the local supers, or even reading the basic government info packets. I mean, seriously. If it's mechanical and looks like an aquatic creature in this part of Florida, it belongs to Waverider. Taylor's got a great story about scuba diving and taking pictures of the lobsters migrating, except one of them started taking pictures of her.
I've been marinating my bruises in the pool all day. The pool is icy cold after several hours of me splashing around, which is just as well, since I don't particularly want my sister's company right now. She's been mumbling just to annoy me. I know she's mumbling, since I can hear everyone else over the ringing in my ears, but she takes an unwholesome pleasure in mocking me. I can't imagine why.
Firecracker is in the doghouse. He blew up the pier, wrecked every car parked next to the beach, ripped up the sidewalk and street, knocked over a ridiculous amount of palm trees, blasted most of the beach all over the street, capsized eight boats and oh yes injured a number of innocent bystanders, among them your friendly neighborhood cryogenetic. And nobody can find him to give him the bill, though a very angry Waverider is looking. And all because he never bothered getting on friendly terms with the local supers, or even reading the basic government info packets. I mean, seriously. If it's mechanical and looks like an aquatic creature in this part of Florida, it belongs to Waverider. Taylor's got a great story about scuba diving and taking pictures of the lobsters migrating, except one of them started taking pictures of her.
I've been marinating my bruises in the pool all day. The pool is icy cold after several hours of me splashing around, which is just as well, since I don't particularly want my sister's company right now. She's been mumbling just to annoy me. I know she's mumbling, since I can hear everyone else over the ringing in my ears, but she takes an unwholesome pleasure in mocking me. I can't imagine why.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Boom
Quite a spectacle tonight. I was there. Let me start from the beginning.
I went down to the beach with my family unit to catch the fireworks and browse the stands. I got the coolest set of earrings- hoops with a thread snowflake pattern, except in orange. I shall wear them everywhere. My sister got a hot dog, and hopefully asked them to hold the e coli. She's looking a little green, though that might just be from the rest of the evening. I trusted the frozen foods stalls a bit more, and slurped a lemon slushie. The noise is half the appeal of it, and it wouldn't taste quite as good without my sister's annoyance as garnish. Mmm.
We got ourselves settled on the beach away from the speakers blaring obnoxious patriotic music, and got a prime spot right in front of an obnoxious patriotic asshole. You know the type. The one who wishes he were military, and watches war movies all the time, but is far too undisciplined to actually sign up. He got loud, hollering "Bring the rain!" and other slogans while we still had fifteen minutes to go. I didn't turn around, though my I had a few choice words on the tip of my tongue that could have slagged the sand into molten glass. See, I can be polite. It was dark, and we still had five minutes to go when the commotion started. The sea was thick with boats, and I heard hollering from over the waves. Most of the boats had little greenish lights on them, so I thought for a moment they had lifted out of the water. Then the lasers started. Flying robotic hammerhead sharks with rotating laser turrets on their heads. It took a while to process that. The crowd started running pretty much immediately. I wish I could say I stayed behind to protect someone who had fallen and was being trampled. I wish it were that heroic. I stayed because I wanted to see what was going on, and I thought I could tough it out if necessary. Just like all those other idiots left on the beach.
The hammerheads were still about thirty yards out when the asshole behind me started stripping. I noticed it when his pants landed on my towel and he bolted past me, heading for the water. I got a brief glimpse of something I really wish I hadn't seen, and then he shot out over the water like a jet. Exactly like a jet, in fact. Right down to the blistering streams of fire propelling him. I didn't see his next move, because I was about ten feet away from my previous position, blinking the white hot afterimage out of my eyes and shielding my face from the spray of burning sand he kicked up. Yeah, that's Firecracker. Our hero.
He'd pretty much ruined my night vision, so all I saw were crazy streaks of light every time he maneuvered and blasted a shark blimp, but I heard the boats frantically bumping and roaring to get away. The police boats were whooping, the sharks were making an eerie feedback screech, and Firecracker was bawling "Get some!" as the exploding sharks rippled back soundwaves from the condos for double the ridiculous amount of noise. By this time I had enough sense to retreat under a lifeguard hut, since at least two dozen sharks were out over the beach, using their lasers like catfish use their feelers. They weren't burning anything, though I kept my eyes far away from the lights bouncing off the sand. Blindness, you know.
The other people under the lifeguard hut were predominantly male, young, and the type to surf in a hurricane. I don't surf, but we got along fine, whispering commentary and muffled shrieks as if this were a sporting event. In a way, it was. Firecracker was giving a lot better than he got. The sharks mostly veered away from him, sweeping their lasers over the boats beneath. The details got a bit blurry, since a huge cloud of steam from Firecracker's propulsion billowed up around him. Thankfully, none of the boats were that close to shore.
It was hard to keep track of things between the darkness, the flashing lights, the fire and the sand, but Firecracker veered towards the pier, chasing a shark or something. The pier from which they launch the fireworks. We all realized this at pretty much the same time. My response was on the vulgar end of the spectrum, though nobody seemed to hear it since we were all running as fast as we could over the sand, and didn't stop once we hit the boardwalk. I don't even know where the flying sharks went, because I was setting a new landspeed record.
The explosion was immense. No. There aren't words immense enough to describe what it was. It was ten minutes of fireworks, an entire pier packed full of explosives, rolled into one awful moment. It didn't make a sound, any more than a tidal wave makes things wet. It slammed into me, and I felt it in my rib cage, not my ears. Even as far as I was from the pier, I lost contact with the ground. The next thing I know, I was watching a paramedic mouth words at me as she attacked my eyes with a flashlight. Nothing's broken. Just a little shock and some scrapes and bruises. They don't hurt yet. A little blood came out of my ears, but I'm wearing my new earrings and the hearing is back in one ear, mostly. All fine.
My parents are pissed, but also feeling way guilty, since they lost track of their offspring in the crowd, and I've got just enough bruises to play it up for sympathy. I teared up through their lecture, not because anything they said got through to me. I don't know why. The whole evening, I guess. I've barely spoken a word to them, but I'm spilling my guts now and I don't know why I'm crying again.
Stupid Firecracker.
I went down to the beach with my family unit to catch the fireworks and browse the stands. I got the coolest set of earrings- hoops with a thread snowflake pattern, except in orange. I shall wear them everywhere. My sister got a hot dog, and hopefully asked them to hold the e coli. She's looking a little green, though that might just be from the rest of the evening. I trusted the frozen foods stalls a bit more, and slurped a lemon slushie. The noise is half the appeal of it, and it wouldn't taste quite as good without my sister's annoyance as garnish. Mmm.
We got ourselves settled on the beach away from the speakers blaring obnoxious patriotic music, and got a prime spot right in front of an obnoxious patriotic asshole. You know the type. The one who wishes he were military, and watches war movies all the time, but is far too undisciplined to actually sign up. He got loud, hollering "Bring the rain!" and other slogans while we still had fifteen minutes to go. I didn't turn around, though my I had a few choice words on the tip of my tongue that could have slagged the sand into molten glass. See, I can be polite. It was dark, and we still had five minutes to go when the commotion started. The sea was thick with boats, and I heard hollering from over the waves. Most of the boats had little greenish lights on them, so I thought for a moment they had lifted out of the water. Then the lasers started. Flying robotic hammerhead sharks with rotating laser turrets on their heads. It took a while to process that. The crowd started running pretty much immediately. I wish I could say I stayed behind to protect someone who had fallen and was being trampled. I wish it were that heroic. I stayed because I wanted to see what was going on, and I thought I could tough it out if necessary. Just like all those other idiots left on the beach.
The hammerheads were still about thirty yards out when the asshole behind me started stripping. I noticed it when his pants landed on my towel and he bolted past me, heading for the water. I got a brief glimpse of something I really wish I hadn't seen, and then he shot out over the water like a jet. Exactly like a jet, in fact. Right down to the blistering streams of fire propelling him. I didn't see his next move, because I was about ten feet away from my previous position, blinking the white hot afterimage out of my eyes and shielding my face from the spray of burning sand he kicked up. Yeah, that's Firecracker. Our hero.
He'd pretty much ruined my night vision, so all I saw were crazy streaks of light every time he maneuvered and blasted a shark blimp, but I heard the boats frantically bumping and roaring to get away. The police boats were whooping, the sharks were making an eerie feedback screech, and Firecracker was bawling "Get some!" as the exploding sharks rippled back soundwaves from the condos for double the ridiculous amount of noise. By this time I had enough sense to retreat under a lifeguard hut, since at least two dozen sharks were out over the beach, using their lasers like catfish use their feelers. They weren't burning anything, though I kept my eyes far away from the lights bouncing off the sand. Blindness, you know.
The other people under the lifeguard hut were predominantly male, young, and the type to surf in a hurricane. I don't surf, but we got along fine, whispering commentary and muffled shrieks as if this were a sporting event. In a way, it was. Firecracker was giving a lot better than he got. The sharks mostly veered away from him, sweeping their lasers over the boats beneath. The details got a bit blurry, since a huge cloud of steam from Firecracker's propulsion billowed up around him. Thankfully, none of the boats were that close to shore.
It was hard to keep track of things between the darkness, the flashing lights, the fire and the sand, but Firecracker veered towards the pier, chasing a shark or something. The pier from which they launch the fireworks. We all realized this at pretty much the same time. My response was on the vulgar end of the spectrum, though nobody seemed to hear it since we were all running as fast as we could over the sand, and didn't stop once we hit the boardwalk. I don't even know where the flying sharks went, because I was setting a new landspeed record.
The explosion was immense. No. There aren't words immense enough to describe what it was. It was ten minutes of fireworks, an entire pier packed full of explosives, rolled into one awful moment. It didn't make a sound, any more than a tidal wave makes things wet. It slammed into me, and I felt it in my rib cage, not my ears. Even as far as I was from the pier, I lost contact with the ground. The next thing I know, I was watching a paramedic mouth words at me as she attacked my eyes with a flashlight. Nothing's broken. Just a little shock and some scrapes and bruises. They don't hurt yet. A little blood came out of my ears, but I'm wearing my new earrings and the hearing is back in one ear, mostly. All fine.
My parents are pissed, but also feeling way guilty, since they lost track of their offspring in the crowd, and I've got just enough bruises to play it up for sympathy. I teared up through their lecture, not because anything they said got through to me. I don't know why. The whole evening, I guess. I've barely spoken a word to them, but I'm spilling my guts now and I don't know why I'm crying again.
Stupid Firecracker.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Internet Stalking, Kinda
There's pretty much no info on St. Elmo yet. I keep replaying the clip. I don't know what I'm looking for. There's no way to definitively tell who it is from a few seconds of grainy nighttime footage, and it's not like he's stupid enough to display any obvious mannerisms that could link him to his civilian identity. Not that I could tell, since I don't know him well enough from school to pick him out of a crowd. Maybe if St. Elmo sat at a desk and looked bored, I could recognize him.
This is voyeuristic and wrong, I know. I shouldn't be sitting here poised like a vulture, ready for him to slip up and kill someone or display poor taste in music or something so I can conclude that he's a failure as a (super)human being. What kind of music does he listen to, anyway? I'm not going to provide any identifying details here, but he seems like the type to have cool taste in music. That's something.
God, I hope he's a nice person. You have to be a nice person to rescue ships, right? I mean, he could have stayed home and kept warm and dry and rested instead of patrolling the coast. Even though he probably wasn't risking his life, he definitely went way the hell out of his way to help perfect strangers. The poor guy looked like a drowned rat in that cloak. I don't think he's going to be wearing that silky material the next time he goes out. Satin and silk are great for static electricity effects when dry, but such a pain to care for.
This is voyeuristic and wrong, I know. I shouldn't be sitting here poised like a vulture, ready for him to slip up and kill someone or display poor taste in music or something so I can conclude that he's a failure as a (super)human being. What kind of music does he listen to, anyway? I'm not going to provide any identifying details here, but he seems like the type to have cool taste in music. That's something.
God, I hope he's a nice person. You have to be a nice person to rescue ships, right? I mean, he could have stayed home and kept warm and dry and rested instead of patrolling the coast. Even though he probably wasn't risking his life, he definitely went way the hell out of his way to help perfect strangers. The poor guy looked like a drowned rat in that cloak. I don't think he's going to be wearing that silky material the next time he goes out. Satin and silk are great for static electricity effects when dry, but such a pain to care for.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Rising Star
The Internet is a great place to confess things. Nobody knows your name or face. You can say what you want and nobody knows it's true. And if you say something stupid, or don't want to admit something, you never have to face it again. The Internet is very easy to avoid.
I haven't even started up my computer for close to a week. It started off with a crummy little cold (no extra special symptoms, but it looks like I don't have any super resistance to disease) and then there was a family movie night and then stuff. It's easy to find excuses to not log on. But I might as well say this, since I need to think it out and there's no way I'm writing it in a diary people could find. This is as close as I can get to anonymity to protect everyone involved.
There's a new super in Key Largo. He's going by St. Elmo, and he got a sliver of air time in the local news for leading a couple boats to shore during a storm. So far, it looks like he can fly and make green fire. Crackly, electric green fire that doesn't melt things. You see where I'm going with this. I know who he is. There is an awfully short list of suspects who attend my school, live in the room directly above mine, and come from Key Largo. I'm not friends with this guy or anything. But I know his name.
This puts me in a peculiar position. I can bust this guy. If he ever does something stupid while wearing his green cloak, I can make him answer for it in the real world. It would be wrong to out him, of course. It would piss him off, make the super community see me as a dangerous snitch, and put the media microscope on supers attending my school. He's nobody important. His powers don't look awfully dangerous. There is absolutely no reason to share his identity with anybody at all. But I could. I don't want to be someone's watchdog. I don't want to judge him; I don't think I have the right to. What do you do when you've stumbled onto another person's secret? This might be how Dani feels. If she knows. I don't know if she knows, and it's really awful to depend on someone's goodwill or obliviousness to keep a very important secret.
Do I let him know that he got caught? He was being awfully sloppy, letting the green fire reach all the way to my room. But I've made messes with my powers practice before. The guy's gotta learn how to deal with it on his own. Besides, he might see it as a threat. Blackmail or something.
Do I pretend it never happened? That might be for the best. But if he starts getting twitchy around me, I might have to tell him that I know. Besides, I might be missing out on a great resource. We could help each other out. Alibis, tips, costume help. But what if he wants to blackmail me? I need to talk to his friends and the people he's dated. No way am I going to risk this without knowing more about him.
I haven't even started up my computer for close to a week. It started off with a crummy little cold (no extra special symptoms, but it looks like I don't have any super resistance to disease) and then there was a family movie night and then stuff. It's easy to find excuses to not log on. But I might as well say this, since I need to think it out and there's no way I'm writing it in a diary people could find. This is as close as I can get to anonymity to protect everyone involved.
There's a new super in Key Largo. He's going by St. Elmo, and he got a sliver of air time in the local news for leading a couple boats to shore during a storm. So far, it looks like he can fly and make green fire. Crackly, electric green fire that doesn't melt things. You see where I'm going with this. I know who he is. There is an awfully short list of suspects who attend my school, live in the room directly above mine, and come from Key Largo. I'm not friends with this guy or anything. But I know his name.
This puts me in a peculiar position. I can bust this guy. If he ever does something stupid while wearing his green cloak, I can make him answer for it in the real world. It would be wrong to out him, of course. It would piss him off, make the super community see me as a dangerous snitch, and put the media microscope on supers attending my school. He's nobody important. His powers don't look awfully dangerous. There is absolutely no reason to share his identity with anybody at all. But I could. I don't want to be someone's watchdog. I don't want to judge him; I don't think I have the right to. What do you do when you've stumbled onto another person's secret? This might be how Dani feels. If she knows. I don't know if she knows, and it's really awful to depend on someone's goodwill or obliviousness to keep a very important secret.
Do I let him know that he got caught? He was being awfully sloppy, letting the green fire reach all the way to my room. But I've made messes with my powers practice before. The guy's gotta learn how to deal with it on his own. Besides, he might see it as a threat. Blackmail or something.
Do I pretend it never happened? That might be for the best. But if he starts getting twitchy around me, I might have to tell him that I know. Besides, I might be missing out on a great resource. We could help each other out. Alibis, tips, costume help. But what if he wants to blackmail me? I need to talk to his friends and the people he's dated. No way am I going to risk this without knowing more about him.
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