Say whatever else you want about humans... and I have quite a few things I like to say about them... but human ingenuity is really quite remarkable and limitless. For every human who can’t program a VCR or hammer nails, there’s another who sits down and, in a lazy afternoon, works out the electron transport chain by which plants convert photons into chemical energy. For every human whose deductive abilities begin and end with "a green light means I can drive forward" there’s another who demonstrates scientifically, using only some paper and a pencil, that if you got fast enough, your size changes and you travel through time.

Of course, it needs to be specified that for every person who proves that the energy of an object traveling at the speed of light is equal to its mass multiplied by the speed of light squared, there are a thousand who will refuse to accept that the theory may be correct, just because they disagree... but for the sake of finding *something* worthwhile about humans, we’ll ignore that for the moment.

Human ingenuity and inventiveness really is quite remarkable, in so far as there are an incredible number of inventions which, if you think about it, really ought not to have ever been developed. I’m not talking about incredibly complex inventions like computers and calculus theory... I’m thinking more along the lines of bread. Intuitively, it simply Ought Not To Be. Some human inventions and discoveries just have no logical steps which could have led up to them, and so their discovery and proliferation is really quite amazing. Somewhere, somehow, a human invented it, and even if the invention is fairly simple compared to the electron microscope or the geosynchronous satellite, there is an absence of the logical progression of thought which we can clearly see running for centuries of history leading up to modern computers but which no one will ever put together for bread.

Consider bread for a moment. It’s hard to pick one bread as the standard bread, but for the sake of simplicity, let’s look at the white bread which is the most commonly found form in our socioeconomic circles. For bread to exist assumes that, at some point in history someone – we’ll call him Norman – put together the ingredients which are found in bread, cooked them, and ate them.

Norman: By the stare of Ra, am I ever hungry. I’m so very hungry, and all I have with me is this pile of wheat, some eggs, a little curdled milk, some salt, this weird mold, and a big oven. Hey, maybe if I mix all of it together, it will turn into something I can eat!

Even this scenario is absurdly simple. How did Norman get the idea to grind up the wheat or corn or barley or whatever grain he was using? How many plants did he try grinding up before settling on the right one? He probably invented acetaminophen before he invented bread, but because it wasn’t tasty, he didn’t tell anyone. Even assuming that the first breads were of the very simplest variety imaginable, they still involved someone taking a lot of time and effort to grind up a plant, mix it with some water, salt, and other ingredients, and leave it a fire for a little while; bread was either the work of a genius or a madman. In point of fact, after spending literally entire seconds working on this problem, I have concluded that the only possible explanation for bread is either divine intervention, or aliens.

N’Ahrrmahn: Well, it’s been a productive day. I’ve sunk that big continent, I’ve put some rocks into a big triangle, I’ve arranged some stone slabs in a circle... I think I’ll top off the afternoon by tricking a yokel into mixing together whatever happens to be sitting in his cupboard and eating it.

Bread is the least explicable discovery in human history, but it’s far from the only inexplicable discovery. Consider glass. Today, glass in everywhere, and found on every continent. To a tribe in darkest Africa it may be something of a luxury item, but even among the poor in the first world, glass is more or less readily available, though not necessarily of any great utility or desirability, or in the right shape to fix that hole in the window. How is glass made? Contrary to popular belief, glass is actually a liquid and not a solid. It’s incredibly viscous and may take hundred of years to bloop out of its shape, but rest assured, every window in your house is, at this precise moment, very slowly flowing downwards. And what common material is it that we melt to obtain our glass? Nothing more than sand, as I certainly hope that all my readers know. When sand is heated to its melting point, the sodium silicate becomes clear and malleable, and can be reshaped into such vital products as shot glasses and coasters. Glass is useful, certainly, but what kind of circumstances must it have taken to discover its utility? It takes a fairly hot flame to make glass, and even if a tent burns down in the desert, the resultant flames probably won’t leave any glass puddles in the disaster’s wake.

Norman ben Norman: I’m all set to go on a trading trip to the nearby tribes. I’ve got saltpeter, lamp oil, and some old rags. I’ll leave it out in the desert sun for an hour while I go fetch my camel. If it should somehow mysteriously catch fire, I think I’ll try making some drinking vessels out of the resulting puddle.

It is both regrettable and reassuring that most human inventions in the days post-history have made more sense than these. On the one hand, it’s sad we don’t have that kind of random, inexplicable progress happening regularly to advance our civilization, but on the other hand, our camels today are less likely to spontaneously explode, unless you drive a Pinto.

So remember: whatever other flaws humans have, they can’t be matched for their inventive spirit, their ability to seize sudden inexplicable opportunity, and their ability to survive what would logically be a lethal experience. We should be grateful that humanity has such ability, since it has brought us some of the wonderful things which we love and make use of. And it brought us exploding camels.

The worlds of Dungeons and Bandersnatches have been home to some of the multiverse’s deadliest magical items, but even among such competition as the Kartaxian Death-Lizard, the Rod of Destruction, the Rain-Bot and the Flat Critters, some items stand out as making the bearer a particular danger to themselves and others. Most often, these particularly unhealthy and unholsome devices are created by mistake and are propagated through foolishness rather than malice, but in a world where the next crisis is only an enterprising individual away, there will always be someone, somewhere, enchanting something they ought'nt.

Vorpal Ioun Stone:
Perhaps the most blatantly dangerous of the many ioun stone varieties, the vorpal ioun stone is unique in that it does not confer bonuses or abilities upon the user. The wearer of the vorpal ioun stone does not become stronger or smarter or better protected, but merely has a small, magically-sharp spinning rock whirling in the air around his or her head. An individual wearing a vorpal ioun stone can leave a trail of death and destruction simply by walking down a crowded street, and so the mere possession of these stones is punishable by death in many circles.

Boomerang fish:
This seemingly innocuous cantrip enchantment was developed by a young mage as a cheap party trick; when cast upon any fish, the fish in question would becoming returning for a few seconds. Years passed, however, and the apprentice became an archmage, and the old party trick was taken out of storage and, on a whim, turned into a level 9 spell. The resultant enchantment was found to be capable of turning any icthyiod sea creature within thousands of feet into a deadly missile; minnows and cicclids could be used to slay trained warriors, and a large bass or salmon could be sent straight through a stone building. When an evil rival of the mage got a hold of this spell and began casting it on marlins, swordfish, and eventually even sharks, the spell was deemed too dangerous to remain public and all known copies of the spell were destroyed. Rumours persist, however, that someone somewhere still has the spell, and is hunting the oceans for a sea-serpent sufficiently fish-like for the spell to target.

The Wand of Reality:
Alienists have long argued that only those who are moderately depressed and slightly hopeless have accurate views of the world in terms of probability, odds, and outcomes; healthy individuals never accurately predict their odds of failure. In an effort to prove this point, one such thinker devised the Wand of Reality, an arcane device which alters the target's perceptions to remove any and all illusions held by that individual at the moment of effect. Though meant to simply illustrate a point, the Wand and the Wand’s builder were summarily destroyed by an angry mob when it became apparent that the Wand worked all too well, and did indeed remove all illusions about life and the universe that a target held. At the time when the last of the Wand’s victims mercifully died of old age, only three had ever fully recovered from their catatonia and two of them remained paranoid, broken shells for the rest of their tortured existences.

The Ring of Punishment:
A truly insidious item, the Ring of Punishment was brought into being by Gargkh Bardslayer, an evil cleric known far and wide for his intolerance of entertainers and their fickle, silly ways. Bardslayer created the Ring of Punishment through the use of no less than six miracle spells and the divine intervention of his patron deity, and the end result was an artifact with an area of effect of some hundred feet. Anyone making a pun within that area while the ring was worn would instantly become the target of homicidal fury in all sentient life-forms within the same area of effect. Bearing the Ring, Bardslayer attended the performances of dozens of the land’s greatest bards and watched with glee as the comedians were slaughtered by their own most ardent fans. Ironically, Bardslayer himself perished when, surrounded by his worshipful lieutenants, he gave the ring its name. To this day, the Ring has continued to pass from hand to hand and from adventurer to adventurer, as it radiates artifact level magic but resists identification spells; many an adventurer has lifted the ring from a treasure hoard or a slain foe and put it on, unaware that its dire magic was lying in wait for a single slip of the tongue.

I trust you've all taken the time this week to read a little bit of the Book of Adams. If you haven't, you should. So anyway...

And the word was spread among the people that an illness had begun to spread. And it was not an illness of the flesh, or of the spirit, but of the mind. And the Keepers of the Lore did say unto the people, yea, see too how a virus might spread, not in the flesh, but in the mind, and see how ideas and ideals can infect as does a cold, and yea, might they be just as deadly.

From The Book of Contrivance, chapter 21, verse 5.

I think I might be contagious.
Fnord
Memes aren't a new thing in our world. Sociologists have always said that beliefs and ideas spread through a society in a manner analagous to a virus, and most of my readers are already familiar with the idea of memes, whether through their own livejournals, cognitive psychology textbooks, or Discordian and Subgenius literature. I think, though, that most people never take the time to really think about how ideas can be contagious, in every sense from mob mentality to simple political ideology.
Fnord
When I think about how feelings and thoughts can be infectious, I always remember a singular moment in my life. I've never been to a real concert, assuming one doesn't count the odd battle of the bands or something, but once, when there were many people over at my house, someone got up and, live, performed a song which was a favourite of one of his chraracters in a game. The song was called "There's a Party in My Pants and Everyone's Invited." The lyrics were written by another player in the game and the music was written by another friend of theirs, music I liked enough to burn onto one of my own CDs. The point is, when the song was performed, there were about 20 of us crowded into a single small room... and hypoaffective as I may be, damned if I didn't start getting as excited as everyone else during the show. I was sweating; my pulse was in time with the beat; I almost actually cheered. It was an experience I hadn't had before or since, and Forsteri willing, I'll never feel something like that again. The point is... the moment was utterly infectious. Even I got caught up in it. That's how strong such things can be. This is old news to anyone who's felt that kind of feeling -- most of the people I know feel that kind of groupthink many times in their lives, and I imagine the novelty wears off eventually. Still, whether someone experiences it once in their life or every week, I don't imagine most people ever stop to think of it in real terms... not what it means for their lives, not how it can be applied daily, not from an epidemiological perspective, and especially not what it means for them as, so to speak, a Typhoid Mary.
Fnord
Which brings me back to why I think I'm contagious. This ought not to be news to people... if you're reading this, then you've probably caught some of what I have, or else you started with a dose of it yourself. But it is something I've been thinking about, and what's a Journal for if not the sharing of thoughts?
Fnord
What does it mean to be contagious? Let's start with a simple case. Waaaaay back in the year 2000 (give or take a few months), I was persuaded to run a D&D game for friends from Bandersnatch. Out of the eight or so original players in the game (which eventually evolved into Dungeons and Bandersnatches: The Ragon War, and laid the groundwork for most of the gaming I've done ever since), only two had ever had any gaming experience except for reading Dragonlance and Forgotten Realms novels, and one of them had barely played at all. I bravely took it upon myself to teach these utter n00bs not only how to play, but also how to love gaming deeply and with all their hearts, and I'm proud to say that better than 50% of those involved grew to love gaming as deeply as I do. That wasn't the last batch of people who had the dubious honour of having me as their very first storyteller, either... for better or for worse, in the last five years, nearly twenty people have bought their first set of dice for one of my games. I have spread gaming to the masses. I have helped people bring their characters to life. I have brought joy and amusement to the bleak little mundane lives of humans who, if not for me, might never have become gamers. I've infected them. And then they've gone out to infect others. My victims have created victims of their own... we've spread out to the fourth generation and counting. "Gnap" indeed.
Fnord
It goes far beyond gaming, of course. We all know that I basically invented Forsteri, so explain to me why there are thirty or so devout worshippers worldwide. I've had the pleasure to observe that people tend to use the word "indeed" more after they've hung around me for a while. I can look back on my life, and joyously see that I've had a clear and present influence on those around me. Often, it's a bad influence, but as it is wisely written, if you can't be famous, beeing infamous has its perks.
Fnord
This isn't to say that infection is one way, of course. I'm almost ashamed to admit that I use the word "meow" more today than I did two months ago, and I didn't find Eris all by myself, either. Even the fact that I look at memes and think about them as a psychologist rather than a sociologist, linguist, or layman goes to show how once-foreign ideas have long-since infected me, and as surely as a virus gets into your cells and rewrites your DNA, so too has my brain changed to accomodate new thoughts which I *know* didn't occur there naturally.
Fnord
And so, as I look out upon my future days, I look forward to going out into the world. I'll proudly walk up to new people. I'll introduce myself. I'll shake hands. I'll smile. I'll infect. And I'll be infected right back, of course. I can't wait to see what new ideas I get to pick up tommorow.
Fnord
And just so you know, I didn't use the "p" tag to skip lines a single time for this Entry. I leave it to clever readers to deduce the significance of that. Fnord.
Fnord

Some of my readers may already be familiar with a documentary called The Aristocrats, wherein 100 of the world's greatest comedians take turns telling the world's funniest (and dirtiest) joke. Among the luminaries in the film are such men as Mel Brooks, Don Rickles, and Jerry Seinfeld alongside Gilbert Godfried and Bob Saggett (who, legend has it, tells the dirtiest version of the film).

The point is, this film features numerous comedians each telling what is theoretically the same joke -- sometimes with huge differences, but always with the same set-up and puncline -- and so today, we'll be trying something similar here.

Vampire: The Masquerade:
A Setite, a Ravnos, and a Brujah walk into a bar. The bartender turns to the Setite and asks what he'd like, to which the Setite smiles and replies, "let's talk about what you'd like." The bartender shrugs and turns to the Ravnos, who points to an identical copy of himself down the bar and says "I'll have what he's having." The bartender turns to the Brujah, who grabs the bartender by the throat, yanks him over the bar, tears open his throat with his teeth, and drinks until the body stops flailing. The Setite and Ravnos turn to look with annoyance at the blood-spattered Brujah, who shrugs and says, "well, it was a dumb joke anyway."

Dungeons and Dragons:
A bard, an illusionist, and a barbarian walk into a bar. The bartender turns to the bard and asks what he'd like. The bard smiles and, waving his arms grandly, announces, "Barkeep, I'd like your very finest ale, in your finest tankard, your finest hot meal and your finest wench to bring it hence!" The bartender shrugs and turns to the illusionist, who points to an identical copy of himself down the bar and says "I'll have what he's having." The bartender turns to the barbarian, who grabs the bartender by the throat, squeezes until vertebra crack audibly and the bartender's eyes bulge, then throws the bartender down on the floor and jumps up and down on the body until it has taken on the colour and consistency of boysenberry jam. The bard and illusionist turn to look with horror at the blood-spattered barbarian, who shrugs and says, "well, it was a dumb joke anyway."

Paranoia:
An infrared citizen, an orange citizen, and a violet citizen walk up to a food dispenser. The dispenser's camera turns to the infrared and asks what he'd like. The infrared smiles and says he'd like a Bouncy Bubble Beverage, so the food dispenser shoots him. The camera turns to the orange citizen, who says he'd like a coke. The dispenser shoots him. Finally, the camera turns to the violet citizen, who swipes a little card in the machine's slot, causing the machine to begin to shake wildly, spit sparks, smoke and, after a few moments, explode with an agonized electronic scream. The clones of the infrared and orange citizens stare in shock and awe at the violet citizen, who shrugs and says, "well, it was a dumb joke anyway."

Starcraft:
A marine, a zealot, and a hydralisk walk into a tavern. The bartender turns to the marine and asks what he'd like, to which the mairne replies he'd like some adrenal stimulants. The bartender gives them to the marine and asks the zealot what he'd like, to which the zealot replies he'd like a psi beacon to stand next to. The bartender hands one to the zealot and turns to ask the hydralisk what it would like. The hydralisk whips around, impaling the bartender on its tail spike, yanks the bartender over the bar, and messily eviscerates him, eating the entrails as they spill out across the floor. The marine and zealot raise their weapons in horror, and the hydralisk hisses at them incoherently, so they kill it. With his last breath, the dying bartender rasps, "well, it was a dumb joke anyway."

I hope all of you thermophiles burn in Hell. And I mean that in the nicest way possible.

Much of today has been spent thinking about ozone. That's not for any good reason mind you; I asked someone earlier what I could write about, and they said to write about ozone, so I've been thinking about what I can say about it. There isn't much, but I do know one thing: ozone is just one more nifty thing that's been taken from me because of stupid humans.

Ozone is actually a niftier thing than most people realise, much like aluminium, weasels, Belgium, and other things which most people never spend much time thinking about. Ozone is what you get when 3 little oxygen molecules decide to hang out together, often as a direct result of lasers, and besides helping screen out UV radiation from the world (and thus, keep our planet pleasantly cooler, or at least less radioactive), ozone is nifty simply by virtue of the fact that where you get death rays, you tend to have a lot of ozone, which smells pleasant and gives people something to talk bout during those awkward, laser-less moments.

[Sound of laserfire, followed by silence]
Fred: Gosh, Roy, it sure is nice not to be getting shot at right now.
Roy: Yes it is, Fred. Say, what's that nice smell?
Fred: That's ozone, Roy. It's produced as the stimulated photons in those lasers ionize the air around us.
Roy: Gosh. It sure is nice of the killer robots to try to kill us using weapons which leave a pleasant after-aroma to help block out the scent of charred flesh.
Fred: That's killer robots for you, Roy. Akways so polite.
[Sounds of laserfire resume]

For those who read the news but don't understand it, the ozone layer is an area of our stratosphere where solar radiation has ionized normal oxygen (composed of two O molecules) to form ozone (3 O molecules). In its new form, ozone is unbreathable but is able to absorb energy in different wavelengths and has the nifty property of absorbing potentially dangerous UV rays as they stream down towards our planet. The ozone molecules do this by virtue of their tiny little shields, which they manifest along with tiny little suits of armor and eentsy weentsy little swords when they trasmute, power-ranger like, from oxygen to ozone. There's a complex chemical explanation for this phenomenon that turns normal inanimate and inorganic oxygen into sentient super-warriors, defending the world from evil, but there's no need to go into that level of scientific detail for this Journal.

Ozone is, however, depleted by various chemicals which get released into our atmosphere. These chemicals, known as CFCs, or chloroflourocarbons to those with nimble tongues, are lighter than air and rise to interact with the ozone layer. When they mix, the ionized super-oxygen ozone warriors are bribed to leave their posts and allow the radiation to get through; while the ozone warriors are off working in San Francisco jazz bars (the CFCs have friends who work at the bar), evil UV rays dive down towards us at 300,000,000 meters per second and, when they strike us, mutate us into beings with powers and abilites far beyond mortal men... or maybe just cause wrinkles and, occasionally, cancer.

Even I'm confused now, so that it's for today. I'm going back to bed.

It's dawned on me recently that I really have no idea how to go about getting a job.

In some ways, of course, I'm ridiculously skilled... I write well, I'm clever eniough to look good compared to most people, and my sandwich-making skills are truly remarkable. There are, however, many things which I'm simply not very good at, such as talking on phones, selling things, or, apparently, job-hunting. Job-hunting is a job unto itself, as anyone who has tried to find one knows; it involves painstaking research, persistence, some design skills, a persuasive tongue, some luck, and, to be honest, a certain degree of either 1) aptitude or 2) marketable skills. I have lots of skills, but very few of them are marketable.

As of this past month, I hold an advanced university degree in a competitive and rich field, granted by one of the world's presigious universities. Unfortunately, my degree is just barely marketable by itself, since a bachelor's degree in psychology qualifies you to do some good work with the mentally ill but not the really profitable stuff. This is compounded by the fact that these jobs are rarely summer work, and require fluent bilingualism, both of these being problematic for me. The traditional summer work for a student of around my age tends to fall into one of these categories: waiting tables, selling stuff to the public, or telemarketing. I don't sell things well... I don't deal well with the public... and my French is, to put it courteously, out of practice. This hasn't been a problem for me in the last three years, because I had a dream job working in a psychology laboratory, but when the summer funding for my position there dries up, I'm suddenly left with a tricky situation.

I don't know how to find a job. In theory I know all the steps -- look at listings, check likely places for wanted notices, ask around, check with contacts -- but for some reason, it just doesn't work when I try it. Job-hunting is a skill I've never had to learn, because every job I've had in the last 6 years (during which time, I've been gainfully employed more or less perpetually) was pretty much handed to me. Make no mistake, I went out and *earned* the jobs I've held... I just never had to search for them. I got to work in the laboratory because I asked a friendly psych professor to put me in touch with someone looking for an assistant, and even though I had to go through a chain of 5 friends-of-friends, I got work. The one summer out of 5 that I didn't work in the lab, I founded my own webdesign company, but a couple of computer-studying friends came to me and asked me to lend my design skills. The freelance stuff I do, the odd jobs, and all the little mercenary tasks I fulfill are things which tend to come to me, with effort but without anything that could fairly be called a job-search.

So it's been with this summer. No money at the laboratory means I had to go out looking for a job... and thus passes many days of no results whatsoever, because while I'm finding jobs I'm qualified for and filling in applications, I always have the sense that I don't really know how to find work, and, indeed, I don't find any. Fortunately, I have a few dots in contacts, and I did find a job which, miracle of miracles, hired me... a pharmaceutical firm looking for cheap quality assurance people... but it was all obtained through contacts, and not job searching. If I'd waited to find this precise job in the local listings, I'd still be looking. Fortunately, having valuable contacts is almost always better than having job-finding skills yourself... but it's still galling to know that there's yet one more thing out there at which I'm not proficient.

Hopefully, quality assurance isn't one of them.

No excuses tonight... I just plain forgot to write something, and now it's Bedtime, May 15th, and there's an Entry due. Reprinting for the pleasure of those who haven't already read it, All Things Are Possible, Except....

It is wisely written that all things are possible except skiing through a revolving door. This ancient teaching goes back to the dawn of civilization and the brightest minds of humanity have failed to prove the statement incorrect.

You cannot ski through a revolving door. If you enlarge the door, it will have too much mass to push when you ski without killing yourself on impact. If you make room between the door and the frame, you will not actually be skiing throuhgh the door, just through a space in the door. If you use tiny skis, you will be snowboarding through the door, and not skiing. If the door is self-turning *and* big enough for the skis to pass through untouched, then you will not have skiied through a revolving door, you will merely have skied through a door which is turning under its own power.

To ski through a revolving door is not a physical act, but an act of zen. It is impossible to ski through a revolving door; the puzzle exists simply to prompt us to try and find a solution and then prove why the solution cannot work. In all the universe, this and only this is impossible. Thus is it wisely written: all things are possible, except skiing through a revolving door.

A curious phenomenon after last Entry was that the people who got the most offended by what I had to say were also the people who had the least cause to be offended. I'm a bit sorry it worked out that way, but it actually makes quite a lot of sense that the people most sensitive to accusations of wrongdoing are also those least likely to do someone wrong. For what it's worth, nothing said last Entry was directed specifically towards anyone who I know reads this... if you felt insulted, it wasn't because I had set out to insult you. That said, this isn't an apology for writing what I did... it needed saying, regardless of whether it ever got read.

Having established that, it's too smegging hot for me to bother writing anything new today, so here's some more ancient stuff from my slush pile. This, the introduction to a short story I planned to write some five years back, has sat untouched ever since, and since I no longer recall what the story was going to be, I don't anticipate it being finished any time soon. Anyone who gets any ideas from this should feel free to steal it and write something of their own, but I expect to get a free copy.

Martin was not a smart man, or a handsome man. He was justifiably proud that, like most Americans, he was a Perfectly Average Guy. He had had no special ambitions in life, but did like the internet. Had he had any talent with it, he would have known the bulk mail when he saw it. Instead, he opened the letter marked ‘Become God,’ and was delighted to find the rules for a contest inside. The letter was simple: Martin was one of the lucky few, painstakingly selected, to be offered a chance to become god. All he had to do was fill in a simple form on a website whose address was written in number form rather than domain name, mail three hundred dollars to a Canadian address, and when (not "if," the letter was very clear about this) he won, he would be granted the Divine Power. After all, stressed the letter, he was practically guaranteed to win, and what was three hundred dollars to God?

It was argued later to great length whether or not Win-a-Ton had known that their contest was a hoax, or if they had the right to make someone God, especially someone gullible enuogh to have read their letter in the first place. The truth was that it was simply a case of bad luck, and that a fairly unimportant higher power had decided that it might be funny to make the contest legal by genuinely granting the first prize.

One way or another, Martin became God six to eight weeks later, and that’s when the trouble started.

Two people have asked me if today's Entry would have anything to do with birthdays, and to them, my reply was, "you should know me better than that." And speaking of which...

By now, most of my readers are aware that I've been seeing a girl for a few weeks now... if you don't already know who, then her name isn't relevant. Nomenclature for the type of relationship is difficult; she and I both believe that using overly official terms (like "dating") restricts things unecessarily. None the less, we have been spending many hours a week together for several weeks and the time has been very much enjoyed. That said, I've been noticing some curious things going on around me and be advised: if you're reading this, there's about a 1 in 7 chance that you're about to be severaly beaten by a cardboard tube.

On that note, I'm officially giving people permission to forward this rant to anyone they want to. Some of the people who need to be most soundly struck upon the head don't read my Journal, which is a shame, since today's Entry is one of the most truth-filled that's ever been posted to it. So anyway...

It has come as something of a shock to many people that I've been seeing a girl. To those who knew me best it wasn't surprising at all, but for more than 50% of my associates, "surprise" is a good descriptor and "shock" can reasonably be applied to some. I know for a fact that at least two people expressed outright disbelief and suggested that I might be experiencing delusions. This surprise stems from the fact that a number of people didn't believe I was capable of feeling (or at least, of displaying) that kind of emotion. While it is true that I feel a restricted range of emotion (being clinically diagnosable as hypercognitive/hypoaffective), I am, it seems, fully capable of showing interest in a girl. At least, if she first goes out of her way to make it utterly clear that my attention is desired.

When I say that many people demonstrated surprise, I don't have this from first person accounts, mind you. Out of the six or eight people who are truly my close friends, the further ten or so who think they are, and the wider circle of people beyond that who I'm merely friends or aquantainces with, only *three people* have had the courage or presence of mind or whatever to actually talk to me about this without my confronting them first. When people began to wonder if there were something going on between myself and a human female, everyone, with only 3 exceptions, chose to direct their inquiries towards either the female in question, or to others friends who were equally poorly informed. It astounds and amazes me that almost no one bothered to just ask me, and in point of fact, a number of people tiptoed around the issue when I was around for reasons I can't even begin to imagine. At first I found this merely entertaining -- and I still do find it remarkably entertaining, since it hasn't stopped yet -- but it's also become so ridiculous that it's actually prompted me to write an Entry about the whole thing.

Before I proceed along that line of thought, let me insert a little literary speedbump, and put in a bit about the girl in question. The female I have been seeing is practically my vision of a perfect woman, and I can say that with the authority of a person who has actually sat down time and again to come up with an understanding of what I look for in girls. The list of criteria which would be possessed by my perfect woman are the following: high intelligence, excellent sense of humour (i.e., one similar to mine), laughs at my jokes, is physically attractive to me, is physically attractive to many people other than me, is a gamer, has seen the glory of either Eris or Forsteri, is Jewish, lives nearby, [citerion blanked out due to Ultraviolet clearance], is good with children, finds me attractive physically, finds me attractive mentally, is available, likes animals, is wealthy, [criterion blanked out due to Ultraviolet clearance], and has the potential to reach a very good career. Out of this list, the girl in question meets all but three criteria, and that's closer than any other girl I know has come and certainly as close as anyone could reasonably hope for. I'm not quite in love yet, but I'm getting there. I'm happy... a strange feeling for a creature like myself. This girl was, from the time I met her right up until it began to dawn on people that we were seeing each other and even beyond up to today, being actively pursued by nearly every male I knew, but she picked me to spend her time with, when I wasn't even actively courting her. This goes to show either her good taste or my good luck, or both. Now, with all that said...

There are three basic issues regarding my association with this girl which really need to be brought out into the open so that people can deal with them. First, there's the issue that in addition to seeing me, the girl is seeing other guys too. Second, there's the issue that a small percentage of my close friends (I'm not giving names, and if you try to guess who, you'll guess wrong, I assure you) really don't like her. Third and finally, there is the issue that a surprisingly large number of people seem to be feeling very protective of me and are afraid that I'm going to be hurt. All of these issues are pretty well interelated, of course, but that's just how things go.

The first issue is that she's been seeing other guys. For some reason, people who heard about this seemed to think I wouldn't be aware of it, and became very nervous about the whole thing. My friends all like and dislike different things about me, but the one thing they all agree on is my superior intelligence and the difficulty they have really surprising me. How could people think I wouldn't know something like that? I subscribe to the Heinleinian view of love, which is that if you care for someone, it's ridiculous to forbid them from seeing others as well, because their hapiness should be part of your own. My girlfriend is not my property, and has every right to see other guys; she asked my permission before doing so, in fact, and I freely gave it. I know who she's been seeing and I approve of each of them as people; one of them is the younger brother of an old gaming buddy of mine, in fact. I can't object to their receiving her attention because no matter how much time *they* spend with her, *I* spend more, and having spoken to the other men, I know I'm receiving more meaningful attention. The girl in question has been severing ties slowly with some of the men she'd been seeing as a gesture on my behalf, and while it's a gesture that's appreciated, it wasn't one I asked for. But it certainly was funny when two people each separately tried to find a way to tell me she had been seeing other men when I already knew and approved. So that's issue one.

The second issue is much more difficult one. Early on, the only friends of mine with whom the girl was associating were the players in my D&D game, most of whom approved of her, even if they didn't approve of me dating her. When it came time to help her mingle with my larger circle of friends, however, it became distressingly apparent that a small but noticable fraction of them disliked her, or at least, were highly uncomfortable with the idea that she and I were becoming close. I can understand and forgive this; even I had a bad first impression of my girlfriend, but I got over it quickly when I got to know her. Now, I'm not prepared to break off a relationship just because some of my friends don't like the girl, but it certainly is an inconvenience, to say the least. It means a lot to me that my friends and whatever significant other(s) I have like each other and enjoy each others' company, for obvious reasons. It pleased me very much that those who dislike my girlfriend were prepared to make every effort to get along purely for my sake, but by the same token, I can hardly stand by and allow the two factions to just dislike each other. Sadly, since no solution presents itself easily, the only available option is for me to share my thoughts with both sides, try to spread understanding, and unite them in their appreciation of at least one common thing. Sadly, since only a few people have felt able to talk to me about their thoughts, there isn't much I can do about it, but fortunately, on the other hand, I'm reliably informed that the dislike has been slowly abating and turning into neutrality, which I hope will continue to move upwards. That's issue two.

This brings me to the third issue, and the one which I perhaps find the most entertaining but also the most puzzling. One of the major objections people seem to have to the girl in question... and I suspect this would be true for any girl I began to see... is that they don't want me to be hurt. This is heartwarming and pleases me; I love knowing there are people out there who intend to defend me from danger. However, what most of these people seem to forget is that I've seen each and every one of them reduced to weeping, insensate masses of flesh due to failed relationships... and then I've watched as they actively sought out new relationships. So, either everybody I know is a masochist, or everybody I know is a hypocrite. Or both. People fear I'll be hurt... that's fine. But to protect me, would they deny me the joy that will lead up to the pain? If it's a doomed relationship that lasts a month and then ends badly, would people really want to deny me that month? And supposing, however improbable, that it lasts longer, would they deny me those two months? That year? Five years? I live with chronic physical discomfort; I am and always shall be in pain, ranging from mere inconvenience to outright agony. I am no stranger to pain, and it is perhaps my most fundamental belief that the universe is a place of suffering and horror. And from that perspective... what's one more pain? Furthermore, I'm actually quite looking forward to being heartbroken for the first time. While humans can reasonably expect that a bad breakup will result in emotional torment, it dawns on me anew almost every day how different I am from humans in my physiological and emotional make-up. Unless I experience emotional pain, I honestly don't know if I'm capable of it, so while I would certainly prefer a painless relationship, even a painful ending to it is something I can look forward to, because it's going to teach me a great deal about myself. This is, of course, small consolation to my erstwhile protectors, who tend to feel that my protestations of unemotionality are exagerated at best and self-delusion at worst. And that's issue three.

Above and beyond these three issues... what really get me more than anything else, the part that's so tragically humourous to me... is the simple fact that so few of those around me felt able to just talk to me. Some asked the girl in question, and many more simply went behind my back. It's possible that they didn't believe I would give them a straight answer to their questions, but if that's the case, they have a far worse understanding of my universe than they think.

Why have people who have all happily acknowledged my genius at one time or another not only resisted coming to get straight answers out of me but in many cases actually tried to obfucate their knowledge-seeking? To those of you guilty of this crime... and a few of the people who read this Journal are... do you really think I don't know that there's a whole range of conversations going on? I can name at least seven people who went behind my back... and spoke with innacurate sources as a result. I have a fair idea of some of the people who have been e-mailing each other theoretically out of concern for me. People must have known that I would notice something when people who I know for a fact haven't spoken to either myself or the girl in question began expressing very strong opinions about her... they must be getting their stories form somewhere, after all. I don't know what's weirder... that people think I might not know the conversations are happening, that people think I might not know what's being said, or that only three people, of the multitude who have a vested interest in my happiness, have been able to actually talk to me about it. And on top of everything else... do I really need to remind people yet again how acute my hearing is? The mind boggles...

And that's my rant for today. I've been reliably informed that some people may find this Entry offensive, though I hope that isn't the case. I don't want anyone to justify or defend their actions... I just want people to be able to talk to me the way they would about anything else. Most of the people I know have used me as a confidant at one time or several... I certainly deserve the same sort of trust in return.

That's it, I'm done. You can all go now. Though I daresay that some of the people out there might have good reason to drop me an e-mail now...

For years, people have heard me talk about the ancient order of sorcerers of the D&B world whose spells revolve around weasels. The shadowy and secretive mustelidaemancers are feared by very few people, partly because they aren't very dangerous and partly because they aren't very well known. None-the-less, the mustelidaemancers command an impressive amount of sheer power and possess a number of unique spells which no other wizard has ever quite replicated. Some suggest that the uniqueness of these spells is due to the weasel spirits which the mustelidaemancers call upon when they cast their spells; others suggest that, when mustelidaemancers teach their spells to outsiders, they are simply lying.

Most of the mustelidaemancy spells are self-targeting enchanments. The mustelidaemancers use their magic to become closer to the weasels they revere, and indeed, the most powerful mustelidaemancers tend to take on weasel-like traits with time. Some non-enchantment spells are used by the mustelidaemancers, though, since it never hurts to branch out.

AAH! GET THEM OFF ME!
Conjuration
Level: 3
Components: v,s,m
Casting time: 1 action
Range: close
Target: 1 living creature/level
Duration: Instantaneous
Saving Throw: Reflex for half
Spell Resistance: No
This spell is the mustelidaemancer's answer to the destructive spells of other wizards, such as fireball and lightning bolt. The caster creates a swarm of clawing, biting weasels in the air directly above the targets, and the weasels fall and begin attacking anything they land on. The round they appear, the weasels do 1d6 points of damage per caster level to all targets, -1 point per caster level for every target affected beyond the first. The weasels deal non-magical damage and do not ignore damage reduction or any other protection. On sucessive rounds, the weasels continue to swarm the targets, dealing an additional 1d6 points of damage each turn unless the target makes a reflex save to shake the attacking weasels off. Any spellcaster damaged by this spell makes concentration checks that round with a -10 penalty.
The material component for this spell is a small wad of fur from at least three different weasels.

Ballistic Weasel
Evocation
Level: 1
Components: v
Casting time: 1 action
Range: close
Target: 1 creature
Duration: Instantaneous
Saving Throw: None
Spell Resistance: Yes
The caster of this spell hurls an insulting comment at a target and simultaneously strikes the target with a weasel formed of pure energy. This weasel deals 1d4 + 1 points of damage to the target for every two levels of the caster, to a maximum of 4d4 + 4.

Ballistic Weasel, Improved
Evocation
Level: 2
Components: v
Casting time: 1 action
Range: close
Target: 1 creature
Duration: Instantaneous
Saving Throw: None
Spell Resistance: Yes
As per Ballistic Weasel, but the spell deals additional damage as if the weasel had used the power of smite against the target, as per the caster's alignment. The weasel deals an additional 1d8 + caster's level (to a maximum of 8) points of alignment-aligned damage to the target if the target is of opposite alignment to the caster on the good/evil axis. The maximum damage for the weasel also rises to 8d4 + 8.

Faster Than A Speeding weasel
Enchantment
Level: 1
Components: s,m
Casting time: 1 action
Range: Personal
Target: Caster
Duration: 1 minute/caster level
Saving Throw: None
Spell Resistance: Yes
Drawing upon the frightened weasel, the caster takes on that totem's speed. When fleeing from danger, perceived or actual, the caster adds 30'/level (20' for small casters) to their base movement. If the caster escapes the danger, the enhanced speed remains active until the spell elapses or the caster stops running. If the caster stops running, the enhanced speed remains when running resumes if and only if the caster is still in danger.
The material component of this spell is a bone of a weasel which was eaten by a predator.

Look Over There!
Enchantment
Level: 4
Components: s,v
Casting time: Instant
Range: Personal
Target: Caster
Duration: 1 round per level, or see below
Saving Throw: None
Spell Resistance: No
The caster takes on the weasel's ability to attack in a manner which prey never sees coming. The caster points behind an enemy and shouts "look over there!" The caster may then make 1 attack against that target, dealing sneak attack damage as per a rogue of the caster's level. Regardless of whether this attack hits or misses, the spell is then exhausted. The caster may deal sneak attack damage even if unarmed, but the target must be subject to sneak attacks (and capable of understanding when the caster shouts "look over there").

Scurry
Enchantment
Level: 3
Components: m
Casting time: 1 action
Range: Personal
Target: Caster
Duration: 1 hour per level
Saving Throw: None
Spell Resistance: No
The caster of this spell grows short, sharp claws at the end of each finger and toe and walks with a somewhat bouncy gait while the spells is in effect. As long as this spell is active, the caster may move at up to double normal movement rate and may move along any surface which is not steeper than 90 degrees as though using a Spiderclimb spell.
The material component for this spell is a piece of tree bark notched by a weasel's claw.

Sniff
Enchantment
Level: 0
Components: s
Casting time: 1 round
Range: Personal
Target: Caster
Duration: 1 round per level
Saving Throw: None
Spell Resistance: No
This spell grants the caster the scent special ability for a short time.

Unrelenting Bite
Enchantment
Level: 2
Components: s Casting time: 1 action
Range: Personal
Target: Caster
Duration: 1 round per level
Saving Throw: None
Spell Resistance: No
When this spell is cast, the caster's eye teeth and canines grow to sharp points and the caster gains 1 bite attack at their highest base attack each round for 1d4 points of damage. If this bite attack suceeds and deals at least 1 point of damage, the caster may intiate a grapple check using only jaws as though they were at +4 strength. The grapple automatically ends when the spell ends.

Wolverines?
Conjuration
Level: 8
Components: s,v
Casting time: 1 action
Range: Long
Area: 5 square feet/level
Duration: 1 round per level
Saving Throw: None
Spell Resistance: No
The second most devastating mustelidaemancer spell, and named for the last words of the spellcaster who originated the spell long ago, this spell summons forth a veritable legion of large, angry wolverines. Wolverines fill the target area and are unable to pass beyond it; so long as the spell is in effect, any creatures in the targeted area take 1d20 points of damage per caster level per round, divided by the number of targets in the affected area. In addition, any target damaged by the wolverines on two sucessive turns takes 1d6 points of strength, dexterity, or constitution damage (roll 1d3) as they are viciouly mauled. Spellcasters within the area of effect automatically fail all concentration checks as angry wolverines rip their flesh. For purposes of overcoming damage reduction and other protections, the wolverines quality as using +1 magical weapons.
Because the wolverines are angry, they do not discrinimate between animate and inanimate objects. Any objects in the area with hardness less than or equal to 5 takes the same damage per turn as affected creatures.