I Have Now Read Every Discworld Novel (Well, Almost)

This summer, my goal was to read all the Discworld novels that I skipped over. The main series has 42 books; I had read 23 so far. My first Discworld book was Witches Abroad (1991), and after that I got my paws on every single story featuring Granny Weatherwax, Nanny Ogg, and the other witches up in the mountains. I was also a huge fan of Sam Vimes and the Ankh-Morpork City Watch, so I was fully informed of their fictional exploits up to Sir Terry Pratchett’s death.

So I hadn’t read the one-offs, the Rincewind the wizard stories, and the Death/Susan books. This meant I had to go all the way back to the eighties:

The Colour of Magic (1983)
The Light Fantastic (1986)
Mort (1987)
Sourcery (1988)
Pyramids (1989)

Hot take: All interesting reads, but nowhere near the quality of Pratchett’s later works, where he baked searing social commentary right into the absurd hilarity of the narrative flow. These earliest works certainly explore social themes (e.g. tourism vs. urbanism equality and power, fate, etc.) but the madcap adventures tend to hog the limelight.

So then I moved on to works from the nineties that I missed:

Eric (1990)
Moving Pictures (1990)
Reaper Man (1991)
Small Gods (1992)
Soul Music (1994)
Interesting Times (1994)
Hogfather (1996)
The Last Continent (1998)

By this point, Pratchett really delves into his created universe and the characters inhabiting it.

*Favorite: Hogfather, where Death takes over for the Hogfather (Santa Claus) and his adopted daughter Susan needs to step in.

*Least favorite: Soul Music, which is a commentary on rock ‘n roll, because the main character Imp has no personality. Possibly this points to the music becoming such a phenomenon that the frontman is swallowed by it? Did I miss that?

I now turned to the only two books that I missed from the aughts:

Thief of Time (2001)
Unseen Academicals (2009)

Both are terrific. Thief of Time, which follows the history monk Lu-Tze’s attempt to stop the building of a clock that will trap time, has excellent antagonists that go through their own arcs as the story progresses. Meanwhile, Unseen Academicals is particularly brilliant in its thematic skewerings: bigotry and fear, mob mentality and tribalism, sports and politics, and unlikely attractions. The protagonist in the novel reminds me of Hubby – an unabashed geek, an inspired builder and voracious reader who talks/explains reflexively, sometimes with awkward results.

(Love you, babe! flirtykiss emoji)

Finally, I was ready to tackle Pratchett’s final two works:

Raising Steam (2013)
The Shepherd’s Crown (2015)

Pratchett was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s in 2007. I remember wondering if this degenerative disease affected Snuff (2011), because when I read it, my impression was that it was excessively dense and sometimes repetitive.

However, his last two books proved that Snuff is the one exception, or possibly I sniffed too many permanent markers after entering the real world (thanks to Markers Anonymous for their support! Clean for 8 years!!! Well, maybe a little sniff now and then.).  

Raising Steam, starring Moist von Lipwig, is the perfect Discworld novel: there’s a plucky protagonist, strong supporting players, sinister villains, tense action, and important social themes (progress versus tradition, the exacting nature of engineering, immigration/citizenship, and more). The Shepherd’s Crown, while clearly incomplete (as confirmed by the afterword), is good enough to stand on its own against any of the other fantastic entries in the Discworld series. In many ways, it was the perfect ending for this Discworld fan. In the novel, Granny Weatherwax, foremost among all witches, passes on, and transfers the mantle to Tiffany Aching, a hardworking young prodigy. The inextricability of responsibility, self-confidence and self-care is a major theme here, but of course Pratchett inserts other thought-provoking concepts, such as the man-shed for husbands.

In conclusion: I haven’t read The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents, which I understand is a satire of the Pied Piper tale, because reasons. But yeah, I achieved my summer reading goal. Go me!

TL;DR: I read 18 Discworld novels this summer. 

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This post brought to you by rain! FINALLY!

A Message for the Easter Bunny

Dear Easter Bunny:

Hail and well met!

Lady Spring has finally cast her gaze upon us (or possibly her side eye). As I write this, the sun's rays beat down strongly upon the stalwart streets and buildings of beloved Boston, a counterpoint to the freezing winds that almost knocked the stroller out of my hands as my progeny complained in his sleeping bag-like contraption.

I know you're terribly busy laying chocolate eggs and burying them in places for good children to find, but I plead to you nonetheless, knowing that your mighty ears can hear the sound of one hand clapping as a butterfly flaps its wings on a branch and causes a typhoon in the Pacific. Verily, cause and effect and chaos are as sticks to you, to be ground underfoot as you hop to your next destination.

Hear the prayers of a new mother, Easter Bunny, ye who can conceive a second litter while still pregnant with the first!

Please let our humble home in the North End be sold this spring, it is nineteen hundred square feet with a private roof deck, priced a tad lower than current market valuations (what a deal!), and offers terrific views of the Zakim Bridge and Charlestown across the water!

Image credit: boston.com and The Boston Globe, Finishing the Big Dig Photo Gallery
http://www.boston.com/news/traffic/bigdig/special/galleries/bridge/intro.htm 

Let not the lack of elevator discourage the valiant, the pure, the heroic homebuyer who has excellent taste and good credit! Let this person's rewards be calves of steel, thighs of iron, and the lungs of Michael Phelps!

Please, o benevolent Easter Bunny, help us! Otherwise, our little one shall have to live in a laundry basket, like so:

Won't someone think of the children???

Yours in good health and nuttiness,
Fragrant Elephant

Baby's First PAX East

The Fragrant Family's first foray into the fantastic PAX East was fraught with fun. The day began with us stuffing our faces at the South Street Diner, a 24/7 spot near South Station that has the best staff. We both had the Diner Special, which consisted of three eggs, home fries, toast, corned beef hash (he had sausage), and french toast (he had pancakes). Knowing that our bellies would be safely occupied for the next six hours, we tramped through the ice to the BCEC. There was a line to get in that stretched about four blocks, so Fragrant Husband had us use the super sikrot entrance through the Westin lobby. FTW!

We met up with Hubby's nerd crew and played a board game called Betrayal at the House on the Hill, a collaborative affair--until one is revealed to be the traitor! I was all, "I hope it's me!"--and IT WAS! Yipeee!...And then I lost. Alas, I moved my cannibals too quickly, not knowing that one of the other players (Hubby, no less!) had dynamite. Grrr.

Afterwards the men played A Game of Thrones. I begged off because I wanted to buy some sweet, sweet imports for my PS Vita. So Junior and I ambled over to the video game half of the convention center, only to be stopped by an enforcer. "Sorry, no strollers past this point," he said apologetically. He explained that it was too tight, and offered to escort me to the coat check where I could presumably leave my baby in the stroller to be free to fulfill my consumerist nerd mission. Just kidding. But he did offer to take me to there. I demurred and just wandered around to a place selling STEAMPUNK HATS HELL YEAH. I did not buy one because I am more into high fantasy, but perhaps one day soon Junior shall own one. But not before he dresses up as Link, of course.

For dinner we stepped out for some food truck goodness. Also they are cheaper than the food inside the convention center. I had a Grilled Chocobo (chicken with sweet potatoes and slaw). It was amazeballs.

Soon Junior and I had to leave because it was close to his bedtime. We boarded a shuttle bus to a nearby hotel, and my precious promptly fell asleep as soon as the wheels started moving.

The best part of the experience was how easy it was to have Junior around. Hubby had cased the joint on Friday, and told me, "There are some quiet spots on the third floor." But all the action is at the Exhibit Hall spaces at the lowest level! So when teh behbeh indicated hunger, I laid him on the table, rolled up a burp cloth under his head, used a nursing cover, and he nursed away. The dudes at the table did not bat an eyelash, and they even offered to hold baby afterwards while I, er, adjusted! I tell you, these are the sweetest gentlemen. Junior's Buddha belly thanks them.

The next day, Hubby went without us (I only had a Saturday pass). He came home and proudly showed me what he bought for me: a copy of Tales of Innocence R, a darn good game--and an import I already own (my review here!). Whoops! Well, it's the thought that counts. 

Can't wait for the next PAX East! Stay tuned for Junior's costume!

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This post brought to you by mochi that contains stuff my coworker is allergic to so she gave them to me! Thank you, other people's allergies! om nom nom

Game Review: Tales of Xillia (PS3)

True to all games in the Tales series, Tales of Xillia is light snack of an RPG that distinguishes itself with its ridiculously fun, over-the-top combat system; strong female lead; and mandatory plot twists, one of which is genuinely surprising.

Without further ado, here is the Fragrant Elephant review:

Story: 7 out of 10
The theme of human technology versus the natural world is the whoopee cushion that Tales of Xillia will repeatedly slap across players' faces. In this game, humans have "mana lobes" that allow them to summon spirits to cast artes (magic) such as lighting street lamps, building large structures, sailing ships, etc. Meanwhile, "spyrixes" are high-tech inventions that are typically made for offensive purposes (e.g. giant guns)...and they kill spirits to boot. Spyrixes are B-A-D.

The story gets plus points for feminism because Milla is the main driver of the plot (although, as she herself says, the concept of gender technically doesn't apply to her). Everything in Tales of Xillia centers upon Milla's mission of eliminating spyrixes to maintain the balance between humans and spirits. Because Shinto.

Jude tags along after their obligatory meet-cute moment, and along the way they gather a group of bland do-gooders. Together they go against a king who built a giant spyrix for war...and then things get confusing, especially if you play Milla's story first. Things eventually get explained, so never fear! Long story short: HUMAN TECHNOLOGY BAD, SPIRITS GOOD.

Characters: 7 out of 10
Milla has the best personality and dialogue, in my opinion. Her voice actor nails the flat, brusque, I-am-Lord-of-the-Spirits-get-out-of-my-way tone. Milla is blunt, no-nonsense, and completely mission-focused. She's calculating, too, and even admitted that she chose her extremely attractive human form because of its "effect on men--half the human population." (Milla, darling...only half? Tsk, tsk, heteronormative standards.) She can be a heartless bastard who would leave a child behind to complete her quest, which is why Jude is a good counterbalance. He's super earnest and if he were a food item, he'd be a Twinkie -- one bite, instant diabetes! Plus he has daddy issues blah blah blah. But Jude is inoffensive, and a kickass fighter, so he's okay.

Possibly the most interesting character is Alvin because of his constant inner conflict. He's shady but charming, and lies easily. Players can never be sure what he'll do next -- he tends to disappear for stretches of time, and has a glib answer for everything. Later on, he has the most realistic reactions to the situations the heroes find themselves in, especially at the end. His voice actor's good.

Cutest character award goes to Elize, the young girl with impossibly strong magic due to human experimentation. She has the most tragic backstory, but good gods, she levels up like a beast. In my second playthrough, all of my characters were leveled up in the mid-80s...and Elize was level 94. I have no idea how that happened. I think Teepo, her stuffed "doll," steals EXP? This kid is killer, yo.

The worst female character is Leia, Jude's childhood friend. Like Jude, she's great in combat and a healer to boot, but her only defining traits are her crush on Jude and her clumsiness. Some depth in her personality is revealed only though subquests, meaning the non-obsessive gamers will miss out on her motivation for pursuing nursing. Also, her headband is an eyesore:

Fortunately, I was able to cover up this atrocity with a ten-gallon hat on my second playthrough.

The worst male character is Rowen, who sucks at combat because he moves at a glacial pace. His only redeeming qualities are his fabulous manners and hilarious contributions to the mini-skits that flesh out the characters throughout the game.

All in all, a mix of cool and blah characters, headlined by a main character who's pretty unique.

Combat: 9 out of 10
This would get a 10 if only it were real-time combat. Instead, players run into enemies and a jagged "X" appears, then you go into the combat screen. Battles seem to be utter chaos, but the tutorials in the first playthrough will teach players all the awesome moves that each characters gets to do. Every character has his or her own set of basic moves and special skills.

The innovation in Tales of Xillia is linking, where two characters can pair up, perform combos, and provide support. For example, playing as Milla and linking with Jude will get you healer support. Playing as Leia and linking with Elize means an endless supply of TP, because Elize will use Teepo to steal TP from foes and transfer it to you. And so on. It's fun!

Kudos also for having the Golden Mage Knight, the toughest boss in the game. It's optional and only accessible in the second playthrough, but man what a challenge! Dude kicked my ass the first time. I had to resort to GameFAQs message boards to figure out the best strategy for victory.

My only beef with the combat system is the Lillium Orbs, which are thingies that you can enhance when you gain levels. From the main menu, you go into the Lillium Orb option and choose which stats to boost. But there's an auto-level option, so players have no incentive to know what exactly they're leveling up. Suggestion for improvement: have an option to auto-level automatically at every level increase. Because I'm too lazy to press three buttons, okay???

Item and Subquest Insanity: 9 out of 10
Tales of Xillia has a metric ton of items and subquests. Completist gamers will be pleased at the consideration given for their obsessive natures. The game has typical fare: food items that boost stats or increase EXP, weapons, armor, accessories, and assorted consumables. The difference here is that players have to level up the shops, usually by donating materials dropped by monsters, or money if you have enough cash. In typical RPGs, shops in new towns have better products. Not so here! You have to earn those upgrades! It's a neat feature, and makes grinding worth it.

As for subquests, there are the usual: bring someone a dish, defeat brigands or monsters, find a lost relative or animal, retrieve a rare item, etc. They're fun and add to the gameplay, but the way subquests are updated in the Events List is terrible. Because of the sheer number of events and subquests in the game, you will have to scroll down a loooong list of descriptions and hope you find one with the "Updated!" sign on it before the sign goes away because you'd accidentally zoomed past it. This is only an issue for players who care, and as it happens I care very much and also I wasn't paying attention to the dialogue so I have no idea what just happened. Mea culpa.

My favorite subquest is The Devil's Arms. That's where you have to fight six beasts with weapons growing out of their bodies, and you get the weapons when you win! They pimp out further after defeating the incredibly tough Golden Mage Knight, who apparently helped make them. Whatever, they have cool names. ("Tregatoria, the Bellowing Demon" -- possibly the true name of Fragrant Husband's cat, Oscar.)

Replayability Score: 9 out of 10
Players can choose between two playthroughs: that of Milla Maxwell, the tall, blonde, and busty Lord of Spirits; or Jude Mathis, the quick thinking medical student with, naturally, hand-to-hand combat training. I played both. There are differences in some of the FMVs of each main protagonist, and I think playing twice is worth it. Milla's is less character-driven because Milla = mission, mission, mission. She doesn't care about individual humans. By contrast, Jude's path has resolutions for all the other playable characters, and it makes his adoration for Milla even more blindingly obvious. The romance subtext pays off in the end, and not in a cheesy way.

The ending is the same for Milla's and Jude's playthroughs. But! -- if you wait after the credits roll, which you will because you want that New Game +, Milla has a separate ending and Jude gets his own. They're both bittersweet and I shall spoil them no further.

Final Score: 41 out of 50. Heck yeah! It's a rollicking good time with a strange diety and her human tag-alongs. Bring the popcorn; those cut scenes are long! And if anyone figures out why the game is called Tales of Xillia, let me know!

This post brought to you by an açaí bowl. Açaí bowl: instant crunchy, just add granola!

Stop Taking Multivitamins!

I stopped taking multivitamins around the time I transitioned to Whole Paycheck Foods for my grocery shopping. Previously, I was a religious pill-popper, taking my handy compacted supplements every day at breakfast time. Then, one day, as I was fussily oscillating between a $25 bottle versus a $14 one of Whole Food Women's One Daily Multivitamin, something inside me threw up its hands and said: MEH.

From that day forth, I got my vitamins and minerals from actual foods. I transferred my adoration to Michelle Obama and went to myplate.gov to see what I should put in my face. After a thorough, two-second review of the entire site, I created my very own daily plate usually consisting of the following :

...You get the idea. And yes, I drink beer daily, doncherknow it's a requirement for Boston residents?

Anyhooters, science has finally vindicated my bold lifestyle move of completely replacing daily supplements with a tasty combination of water, yeast, malt, and hops! This article describes three new studies that have experts abuzz with tsk-tsk sounds for multivitamin believers. Since 'tis the season for giving, I shall handily summarize the studies for you:

Study 1:
n = 6,000 males over age 65
t = 12 years
Method: Battery of tests every few years to check memory function
Findings: No difference between control group and focus group
Caveat: 9% decreased risk of cataracts, 8% reduced risk of cancer compared to placebo group

Study 2:
n = 1,700 heart attack survivors
t = 55 months
Method: Daily regimen of high doses of vitamins and minerals or placebo pills
Findings: Pill fatigue; no difference in deaths, second heart attacks, strokes, or serious chest pain

Study 3:
n = 27 studies on vitamin and mineral supplements with over 450,000 people
t = Probably a long time, like the attention span of a Baby Boomer
Method: Research review by U.S. Preventive Services Task Force
Findings: No evidence that supplements offer benefits for heart disease or can delay death from any cause; minimal benefit for cancer risk

AHA! AHA! I win because science!!!!

"But Fragrant Elephant," you protest, "the study populations have statistically significant health baselines from a vibrant young pachyderm such as yourself!"

To which I respond--First of all, you just made up the term "health baselines," because you have no idea what that means.

Second, why am I talking to myself? The snow swirling outside my window must be responsible for my extra helpings of silliness.

This post brought to you by IT'S ALMOST CHRISTMAS VACATION AAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!

iOS 7 Review

The iOS7 requires 3.1GB of free space on the phone and takes about 20-30 minutes to download and set up. Once I finished reluctantly deleting photos of my kitty, I beheld the wonders of Apple's shiny new software product:

From left to right: the home screen with redesigned app icons, the swipe-down notification center, and, finally, the crème de la crème of this glorious upgrade: the swipe-up single-push controls. I nearly peed myself with excitement at this latter discovery. This handy new shortcut eliminates the tedious, multi-tap process of going to Settings, then hitting Airplane Mode, or WiFi, or Bluetooth, or Display. Yes, instead of two taps (Settings, then "On" for most of these apps), Apple has changed the way I interact with my device -- now I do one swipe, then one tap! And it's prettier to look at!

Seriously, this OS is sexy. It's fast, functional, and pleasing to the eye. The swipe-up feature lets me easily get to the flashlight (to pinpont my cat's location in the dark so I may capture her before she caterwauls in my ear), the clock (to set my alarm every morning), the calculator (crucial when dining out with a group), and the camera.

Speaking of the camera, it is now tricked out with swipe controls for orientation, and there are filters built in, accessible via the bubbles in the bottom right of the screen. I predict ever more "art" shots on Instagram, which is a thing that exists, or so I have heard.

In short, this is a spiffy upgrade. It's the bee's knees. It's rad, hip, and possibly even righteous. In the parlance of my generation, it's epic. Awesome. Pimp. I like it a lot. While I am not moved to purchase an iPhone 5S or a 5C, I will know that they are beautiful on in the inside, where it matters.

Well done, Apple. (slow clap)

A Post-Consumerist World?

As a thought exercise, I started wondering what would happen if every consumer in, say, the United States shared my values and preferences. Here are my conclusions:

I. Things That Will Exponentially Increase in Number Due to Demand 
Cats (mixed)
JRPGs
Studio Ghibli movies
Puppies (mixed)
Swords
Ninja and miko costumes
Banana Republic
Popcorn and hot dogs
Kale
Curry dishes
Belgian beer
TempurPedic beds
Pacific Coast pillows
Snarky feminist writers
Good horror movies
Kathryn Bigelow (to be cloned immediately)

II. Things That Will Disappear Due to Lack of Demand 
Fast food chains, except Taco Bell (c.f. Demolition Man)
Bottled water
Energy drinks
Soda
Pet breeders
Dollar stores
Haute couture
Guns
Wal-Mart
Country music
Overproduced pop singles
Paper
NASCAR
Cigarettes
Multivitamins and probiotic supplements
Ice cream and pizza

III. Anticipated Outcomes

1. Cats will become the main alternative to the soft power items that would disappear in this scenario.
2. Many Americans would lose weight, thus decreasing health care costs on a national scale.
3. Children's birthday parties will feature beer and hot dogs, as nature intended.
4. We will learn to speak pidgin Japanese.
5. A radical fringe group bent on restoring ice cream and pizzas will amass weapons from abroad, form a militia, and storm the capital screaming, "GIVE US BACK OUR DELICIOUS FATS!!!"

IV. (Drops Mic)
It's lunch time, gotta go. 

Movie Review: Pacific Rim (2013)

Warning: massive spoilers ahead. Avoid reading if you are planning to watch the movie, or have already watched it. 

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STACKER PENTECOST

143 Fragrant Elephant Drive, Boston, MA 58008 | stacker@fragrantelephantlover.com 

Veteran military professional currently serving as Head of Hong Kong Shatterdome 

and Marshal with Pan Pacific Defence Corps (PPDC).

KEY SKILLS

Leadership

• As commander of Jaeger fighting machines, directed campaigns that led to defeat of Category 2, 3, and 4 Kaijū. Picture below shows Russian machine, Cherno Alpha, ironically not nuclear-powered. 

• Foresaw utter failure of all non-Jaeger war strategies, and assembled all remaining Jaeger in Hong Kong for Humanity's Last Stand.  
• Re-recruited traumatized main protagonist back into Jaeger program using persuasive language, then overshadowed him for rest of movie via sheer charisma.
• Loomed impressively over everyone during entire movie.
• Declined adopted daughter's pleas to co-pilot a Jaeger, then changed mind. Was proven correct in denying her in first place when facility almost blown up during test run. 
• Rejected overexcited scientist's proposal to mind-link with Kaijū, thereby prompting him to disobey orders and uncover critical intel about enemy.
• Shouted down protagonist's attempts to connect at emotional level. 
• Ensured that protagonist and adopted daughter's Jaeger had different power source from other Jaegers, for when the enemy inevitably adapted to the machines. Also made them stay behind during crucial moment so as to unleash them as surprise reserve. (Note: self was the one surprised.) 
• Gave inspirational speech to crew before personally leading mission to destroy bridge between Earth and vaguely genitalia-like Kaijū dimension.

Combat

• Piloted first-generation Jaeger with name reminiscent of girls dancing on top of bars: Coyote Tango.
• Fought off Kaijū trying to eat little girl in Tokyo.
• Personally killed Category 5 Kaijū at cost of own life.

Handsoming

• See photo at top of CV.
• After rescuing little Japanese girl from monster, emerged from machine while majestically backlit by sun.
• Offered mecha world a non-androgynous physique to appreciate:

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In conclusion: Pacific Rim is a fun summer movie!

Book Review: Valis (1981)

Philip K. Dick's Valis is an exploration into the densities of mental imbalance. About two-thirds of the way, I did a head-tilt of confusion as I began to detect hints of author self-insertion. But by then it was too late -- I was invested in the characters and their bizarre story.

The novel plunges readers into the quiet chaos of an unraveling mind. The protagonist, Horselover Fat, tries to prevent a friend from ending her life. His failure eventually sends him to a hospital. There, he begins to write his exegesis, or his analysis of the divine revelations that he apparently received one day in the course of eight hours. He scribbles down wild thoughts about the nature of the universe, information, the "homoplasmate," irrationality, genesis, and more. The novel continues in this vein until even his friends find connections between Horselover Fat's visions and the real world. Together, they set out to discover the meaning of VALIS.

This is the first Philip K. Dick novel I've read. I've seen about half of the movies based on his short stories, like the classic, Blade Runner ("Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?"); the original, pretty good Total Recall ("We Can Remember It For You Wholesale"); the brilliant Minority Report ("The Minority Report"); the fascinating A Scanner Darkly ("A Scanner Darkly"); and the eye roll-inducing The Adjustment Bureau ("The Adjustment Bureau"). I would be interested in seeing a film version of Valis, which contains an interesting sci-fi idea: [SPOILERS! SPOILERS!] aliens built our planet but became trapped there and went insane, and Valis, or Vast Active Living Intelligence System, is a sort of satellite that the aliens launched from their home planet to inoculate the ones on earth with information that saves them. Valis reveals that time and space do not actually exist, and immortals walk the world. I mean, cool, right?

Dick incorporates Latin, gnostic Christian tracts, Wagnerian opera, ancient archaeological sites, and the bifurcated man trope into what turns out to be his own story. Wikipedia says he had a breakdown in the seventies, as Horselover Fat does in Valis. And the name Philip means "horse lover," in Greek, and Dick is German for "fat." So this is the author's account of his own breakdown. If that's the case, that makes the novel all the more impressive as a work of science fiction. It speaks to his urge to create and document the strange and otherworldly. Dick died shortly after Valis was published.

The main lesson I learned here is that doing drugs helps artists become prolific and extraordinarily creative. Fragrant Husband refuses to support any habit I may want to form -- you know, for art -- so I guess sensory deprivation is my best shot if I want to write a novel. That, or a ton of discipline, research, dedication, and hard work. Huh. Well then.

Happy Fourth of July!

Book Review: Fermat's Last Theorem (1997)

This book by Simon Singh is a good summer read because it’s short, informative, and the mathematics are dumbed down. I skipped them anyway.

Fermat’s Last Theorem focuses on a theorem scribbled by 17th century French mathematician Pierre de Fermat stating that there are no whole number solutions for xⁿ + yⁿ = zⁿ for n greater than 2. Fermat coyly revealed that he had proof of his theorem, which eluded others of the mathematical persuasion for centuries, until one extremely persistent Brit announced that he had solved it in 1993. He had spent seven years in isolation working exclusively on the theorem.

Simon Singh tells the stories of the great minds who set out to solve the problem before Andrew Wiles came along. Even when they failed to construct a proof, these mathematicians created new techniques and even new branches of mathematics. All paths do not lead to a solution to Fermat’s Last Theorem, but many of them converged to lead Wiles to his conclusion.

Singh emphasizes the absolutism of the mathematical world, and why the insistence on flawless logic deterred so many eminent minds of the past, and almost unraveled Wiles’ years of work. Wile’s proof is over a hundred pages long, and one reviewer found a gap in one area, which, if not repaired, would have been enough to discredit the proof.

For Wiles, the stakes were so high because solving Fermat’s enigma was his childhood dream. He wanted to solve it since he chanced upon it in a library book when he was ten. Incidentally, when I was ten I resolved to own a cat, have an apartment, and hold a desk job. So we both achieved our dream! The difference, of course, is that his dream is a dream of higher cognitive creation and my dream sucks.

Wiles had a fantastic quote for when he finally, conclusively had proof of Fermat’s Last Theorem, one year later: “Nothing I ever do again will mean as much.”

I turned to Fragrant Husband and repeated that line. “Can you say that about anything?” I asked him.

“Maybe just you,” he said.

D’AWWWWWWWWW.

Infinite Pogi Points Unlocked.

Bride Power, Make Up!!!

Now that the danger appears to be over, we return to our regularly scheduled fluffy programming. Today's post: turning beast into bride!

Last weekend, Special K and I ventured into Sephora for my beauty appointment. Makeup Lady, or ML, was professional, knowledgeable, and had me looking like a magic fairy within the allotted forty-five minutes.

In between applying all forms of chemicals to my face, ML answered Special K's beauty interrogations. Special K loves makeup and trains herself via YouTube, but her homegrown knowledge proved no match for one of Sephora' s operatives. ML told her, in no uncertain terms: SPF is okay, liquid foundation is superior to powder, these are the brushes you must have, et cetera.

At the end of the session, everything that touched my face went into a little box, and we jaunted off to the cashier. We used Special K's Beauty Insider card for the Super Sikrot 15% discount. Our purchase entitled her to a VIB card. That's like being able to stay at the MGM Grand for free because you gamble so much.

Special K, conscientious grad student, tried to return some items so my credit card would stop screaming, but I assured her it was okay. After all, I'm going to win the lottery any day now. Yup... anyyy... dayyy...

We went back to my place and she replicated what ML did in thirty minutes. Truly, Special K is an artist. See, this is why I opted for a friend instead of a salon -- I trust Special K with my face, and she'll be around all evening for touchups! Whoop whoop!

We agreed that the price I paid for all my bridal makeup was worth it, because they would last me a long time. Before we went to Sephora, I only owned crappy eyeliner and mascara. This was my first major makeup purchase, and it's probably comparable to what a normal female human buys in a year. I had to look at it as a long term investment.

To look at least 12% prettier on my wedding day (one month away! eeeek!), I bought:

• Three shades of eye makeup
• Three brushes for eye makeup
• Concealer
• Brush for concealer
• Primer
• Foundation
• Brush for primer and foundation
• Rouge
• Lipstick
• Brush for lipstick
• Lip gloss

Total: $443.43

---

"You still wake up sometimes, don't you? You wake up in the dark and hear the screaming of your bank account."

"Yes."

(The Silence of the Funds, 2013)

Writing with Two X Chromosomes

Photojournalist and author Deborah Copaken Kogan wrote a candid piece on Jezebel entitled, "My So-Called 'Post-Feminist' Life in Arts and Letters," wherein she shared her personal experience with gender discrimination. Kogan endured being ignored by reviewers, being slandered, and being labeled primarily as a stay-at-home mom despite her previous career as an award-winning network producer and a photojournalist. "Would you call a male author a stay-at-home dad?" she asks.

No, I call 'em alcoholics, hur hur hur.

Joking aside, publishing baffles me. Reading is subjective. There are good works, there are classics, and there are Fifty Shades of Gray and its ilk. According to Kogan, she barely had any say in how her books were titled and sold, which, hey -- she's the author, they're the publisher -- she writes, they print it, package it, and sell it. Simple, no?

I'm puzzled about why there wasn't more collaboration, but in her case, I do have a counter example for her anecdote about having to fight over the covers of her books. Darrell K. Sweet, R.I.P., created all the cover art for the Wheel of Time series (except A Memory of Light). Readers made fun of those covers because they were so cheesy, and more to the point, they didn't appear to reflect any of the book's content. If nothing else, the "Sweet" cover arts generated a lot of humor posts in the early days of the Internet. The point is, there's a lot going on in the various departments of a publishing house, and not all of it is optimal.

Kogan's most salient point in the article involves the three words that kept her silent for so long: "They'll smear you." The fear of speaking out, of expressing her reality, held her in its grip. She says it best:

The lack of respectful coverage, the slut-shaming and name-calling, all the girly book covers and not-my-titles despite high literary aspirations, has worn me down, made me question everything: my abilities, my future, my life. This is what sexism does best: it makes you feel crazy for desiring parity and hopeless about ever achieving it.

Then she heard Bob Dylan sing, "When you ain't got nothing, you got nothing to lose." By this time, all Kogan had to lose was her fear. And she tossed it aside and held out herself to us, and told us what she'd been through, and what she'd expected of the feminist revolution, and what life hurled back at her. It's slow going, she says, and we're not there yet, but we keep fighting. First, we stand up for ourselves. Then we let our voices ring! Equality! Equality! Equality!

In case you're wondering, I'm still working on the first part: standing up. No, seriously, this couch is so comfortable.

Fortunately, I can draw inspiration from actual women doing actual things, like Kogan. And after inspiration comes perspiration, amirite?

Next post: A trip to Sephora! A credit card weeps! Stay tuned!

Minecraft

Fiancé discovered Minecraft a few months ago and became obsessed with it for a while. He started with the iPad game, to try it out, and bought the full version on his PC. For hours, he absorbed himself in his "interactive Lego land," and would proudly show me a glass house he created underwater, or some sky columns that served some mysterious, world-building purpose.

I was barely interested because the interface is blocky and everything is made up of nineties-looking 3D polygons, but he loves it. He even bought the XBox version so he could play with his nephew.

I suppose it was his turn to be mindlessly obsessed with something, because I did spend over a hundred hours playing Xenoblade Chronicles. Well, we're a nerd couple, it comes with the territory.

A note about comics: I chose not to renew my fragrantelephant.com site, because (a) I'm not trying to make money off my comics, and (b) I'd prefer to keep everything I have on one site that happens to be free (thanks, Google!). So around April 25, that site will redirect to this one, if I do what I'm supposed to do. In any case, the "Comics" section has my best work.

Happy Hump Day!

Where Is My Relax

On my last day at the office, during snack and coloring time, I am not kidding, two coworkers revealed that when they got laid off, it was "the best time" of their lives. They just relaxed and eventually found new jobs. I felt relieved when I heard that. I prepared to also enjoy my unexpected stay-cation.

Except I've mostly been cleaning, doing wedding planning, running errands, and then cleaning some more. Fiancé seems to think I spend my days playing Ni no Kuni. I wish.

Why do I clean so much? Well, I had a troubled childhood, so ordering my surroundings is my way of creating a sense of control over my own circumstances as an adult. Just kidding. I'm actually a superhero and organizing everything is my superpower.

But honestly, this is awesome. I no longer have to drag my unconscious self out of bed so that I can stuff myself into a ladies' monkey suit and march toward a building to spend eight hours in a six by six cubicle staring into a nineteen-inch monitor. Instead, I have a leisurely breakfast with my betrothed, and then plop down on a comfy couch and look for someone to pay me to do stuff. Or I track RSVPs and pick out songs for the nuptials. Showers occur when I have an upcoming face-to-face interview, or have to interact with other humans who do not intend to enter into a lifetime commitment with me.

On a side note, why why why are interviewers always late? Is it fashionable now?

My days are made brighter by a sweet little spot of furry sunshine, who bellow-meows to get my attention and then gives me pointed looks that say, "It's nap time and I need you. As a bed." I often have Sheba on my lap as I type, although that tends to backfire when she rests her head on my forearm and prevents me from reaching the keyboard.

So I guess, in answer to the question, "Where is my relax?" -- it's right here, right now. These are my softly glowing days of hope, promise, and comfort.

Tune in for the inevitable followup post: "Where is My Paycheck," wherein we all know that the answer is, "No job, no paycheck!"

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to talk to a person about a thing at a place. Phone interviews yeahhhhh

Rejection: How I Dish It, How I Take It

     I.  DISHING IT

Lifehacker posted "Nine Practices to Help You Say No Without Feeling Like a Jerk" yesterday. I initially ignored it, because I have no problem saying no, and even HALE NO when warranted.

I developed this ability by working at a nonprofit for three years. Nonprofits tend to be chronically underfunded and filled with clueless eager beavers. After being sent to the Armpit of Asia twice to be a mobile Staples, I gave a hard pass when offered yet another chance to get a skin infection/ be followed by strange men/ find fire ants in my bed/ not sleep for a month. Soon after that, I gave my job the ultimate NO by scarpering to a for-profit.

My say-no-ability, which we shall call my NObility, became part of my established style of answering questions and/or explaining, which goes like this: MAIN IDEA > MAJOR DETAILS > MINOR DETAILS. I learned this technique while teaching reading comprehension to kids with special needs/learning difficulties in Philly. We would read a short passage, then they had to tell me what the main idea was, and recall the other details I asked about. Prioritizing the gestalt in this way influenced my methods of communication.

For instance, if Fiancé asks me if I want to play a board game I don't care for, I immediately say, "No. I don't want to. That game is too needlessly complicated." Parsed, that answer gives the rejection first, followed by what I consider the more important bit, namely my lack of desire to participate. Then, because I am generous, I add the secondary reason: the lameness factor.

By the same token, I get annoyed when I ask a "yes/no" question, and don't get the "yes" or the "no" as the first part of the answer. An example of such a question would be, "Do you want to volunteer for a charitable organization?" Folks, that is a "yes/no" question, and the answer is "HALE NO," thank you for asking, I am a spawn of evil and volunteering is against my nature.

NObility must be used after thoughtful consideration. I never say no in my current office, because I like it here, and, more importantly, I never get asked to do anything ridiculous or wildly beyond my job description. But in my personal life, I use my NObility freely, because Me Time calls dibs on everything. I do consider what I would be missing by saying no, like it says on #8 on the Lifehacker article, but nap time/mealtime/video game time will always weigh heavier in my cost-benefit analyses.

Also, I am a sucker for reviewing and editing grad school personal statements, so fear not! -- my NObility will gladly take a break so that I may read about your horrible childhood experience that led you to your shining academic career. Did I mention I'm a spawn of evil?

     II.  TAKING IT

Throughout my life, various people and events seemed to point to my becoming a fiction writer. First, my family encouraged my growth as a bookworm. My dad read The Hobbit and Watership Down to me, and contributed funds to my girlhood comic book collection (mostly X-Men and X-Factor). My mom allowed me to fill my closets with Sweet Valley books instead of clothes. My grandmother introduced me to the mammoth Wheel of Time series. My siblings actually read this blog. (!)

Later in life, my friends and Fiancé encouraged me to write and try to get my stuff published. With my solid experience as a bookish nerd growing up, and my current official job title as "Proposal Writer" (proposals for government contracts, not marriage), I thought I'd give it a go. I started in 2011 with a piece called "The Marshmallow Test." I submitted it to Funny Women on The Rumpus. Reeeee-jected!

I tried again last year. I thought I'd start with short stories, so I looked at the stuff on tor.com, McSweeney's, and Flash Fiction Online. I wrote something for each site. Rejected, rejected, and also: rejected! It burned because I admired the stories on those websites. Being rejected meant I sucked, or my fictions didn't fit their publishing themes. Or both.

Undaunted, I moved on to writing contests in late 2012. I entered the ones that cost money (for judges' reading fees and prizes, I'm told). They didn't break my bank; the highest entry fee was 20 bucks. I tried Boston Review, Women on Writing, New Millenium Writings, Columbia Journal, and Literary Juice. I haven't heard back from any of them yet. But I like to prep for the worst possible scenario, so in in the "Result" column in the spreadsheet where I track my writing submissions, I already wrote "rejected" in bold. That way, I get my depression and self-loathing out of the way in advance!

By the way, I discourage anyone from submitting to the Columbia Journal, because their payment portal blows extremely hard. It looks like they don't have their own dedicated portal, so they piggybacked off the one that takes payments for university events. So if you find yourself confused about why you're paying for a performance with a different date from the writing contest deadline -- I WARNED YOU.

     III.  IN CONCLUSION

I readily dish out rejections in my personal life, and also in office settings when appropriate.

I get rejected a lot.

I guess that evens it out.

     IV.  THIS POST BROUGHT TO YOU BY

A green balloon on my desk. Don't ask.

Snow Storm Nemo

People on TV yelled at us for days about the coming "historic blizzard." News headlines screamed, "ZOMG STORM ON FRIDAY!" for a week. Meteorologists ominously proclaimed that our freezing northern air would mix with moisture coming off of the Gulf of Mexico and dump a metric ton of snow on us. They also helpfully predicted the storm's schedule: snows start at 8 am on Friday, blizzard gets going at 5 pm, and continues through Saturday.

Thus informed, schools shut down. My office declared a half day on Friday.

Fiancé, born and raised a hardy New Englander, got the essential supplies together: shovel, ice scraper, two-alarm chili kit, and a six-pack of beer.

The day of Nemo came. My boss texted me that I didn't have to come in. I went anyway. Fiancé drove us to work on Friday morning amidst...wait for it...not a single snowflake. "They always blow this out of proportion," he scoffed. He dropped me off, and I walked into a ghost town. Everyone seemed to have stayed at home, except for the folks in Finance, because they are hardcore. Well, in any case, better safe than sorry.

The wind began to pick up by noon. A police car blared, "No cahs on the road after foah pee-em!" as I walked out of the building to wait for my ride. We got home safely. Fiancé made tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch, then prepped for chili while I played Eiyuu Densetsu: Zero no Kiseki Evolution, the talkiest RPG ever made. It was slow going because the game is in Japanese, but I persevered, because I am hardcore. Meanwhile, Fiancé watched reporters cooing endlessly about the storm.

As promised, the blizzard hit that evening. We could barely see outside our windows. We comforted ourselves with delicious chili. We woke up the next morning to the same sight: snowmageddon! Fiancé went outside to shovel the sidewalk. He also trudged to the neighborhood 7-11, which was open because the employees couldn't get out the day before. On the way back, he encountered a runner in shorts, because insane runners here are hardcore, and also dog poop on a freshly shoveled sidewalk, because some people are jerks.

This is what the streets looked like on Saturday:

We had more chili and watched a Mystery Science Theater 3000 of the worst movie I have ever seen in my life, Future War. It tried hard to rip off Terminator and Jean Claude Van Damme, and its graphics looked very eighties despite having been made in 1995. Even with the MST3K insults, it was so awful that I went to bed with a headache. The pain persisted through Sunday.

The snow had stopped by then. We ventured outside for breakfast at our favorite Brazilian eatery. I had my usual cheese omelette, and treated myself to the açaí bowl. I recommend you get açaí, too! It is yummy and good for you.

Here's how high the snow got (those are windshield wipers):

I helped Fiancé shovel this time. We had to cut a path from the sidewalk to the street, which had been cleared by a plow in the wee hours of the morning. As I shoveled, Fiancé heroically freed the fire hydrant from the tyranny of crystalline water ice, aka snow. The TV asked us to dig out hydrants, to help out the fire department, and Fiancé dutifully did his civic duty, because he is dutiful. Also, he is hardcore.

In conclusion: snowmageddon has passed, we still have snow on some sidewalks, everyone's back at work, some coastal areas of Massachusetts got flooded (Fiancé's hometown in particular), and here is a photo of Sheba sticking half her head in my glass just so she can drink my water:

I hope all is well with you also, dear reader. Carry on.

A Tribute to Sailor Moon

Language School Application – Personal Statement

Young women deserve a powerful role model to emulate as they join the struggle for equality. That model is Ms. Naoko Takeuchi’s ultimate creation: Sailor Moon. My one-woman campaign to introduce the Sailor Moon series to the next generation of strong women hinges upon achieving fluency in Japanese. I humbly ask the Sunshine-Sunshine Japanese Language School to consider my application.

Sailor Moon would teach girls the values of love, friendship, justice, and microskirts—the supreme expression of feminine freedom. Sailor Moon and her Sailor Scouts fought off alien invaders, defended the entire galaxy, and routinely sacrificed their lives so that humanity may be saved. Like Jesus, Sailor Moon always came back from the dead. Unlike Jesus, she got right back to work preaching the good news of girl power. She eventually became Queen of Crystal Tokyo, and used her magic crystal to build her own palace. Sailor Moon is the ideal woman: compassionate, resilient, and armed with a solid understanding of mineral-based architecture.

Sadly, the North American TV version of Sailor Moon strayed too far from the creator’s original intent. The first prominent example includes the unforgiveable alteration of Sailors Neptune and Uranus into cousins. In the manga, they are sixteen-year-old lesbian lovers in a stable, long-term relationship. I shudder to think that impressionable girls might believe that they must hide their passion by pretending to be incestuous family members!

Next, DiC Entertainment Anglicized the character’s names in an utterly mystifying fashion. For example, how did Sailor Moon’s beau, Tuxedo Mask, get his civilian name changed from Mamoru to Darien? “Mamoru” in Japanese means “to protect,” whereas “Darien” inevitably reminds viewers of the Darien Pocket Gopher, a rodent native to Panama. How can a girl swoon properly over Tuxedo Mask saving Sailor Moon in every single episode whilst also envisaging a furry, whiskered creature stuffing food into its cheek pouches?

Finally, the promotion of the transgender Sailor Starlights into protagonists in the final season is atrocious. Their actual role in the manga consisted of being badly-dressed minor characters. But on TV, they fought alongside Sailor Moon in her epic battle against Chaos itself. Granted, the Sailor Starlights’ attractive androgyny contributed to the overall sexual tension—a must in any self-respecting series. However, in battle, they wore ill-fitting bikini tops and what can only be described as leather boxer briefs. They do not strike fear into the hearts of evildoers. Nor do they inspire lust—another must in a story meant to empower young ladies. Saving the galaxy requires impeccable fashion sense, and so the Sailor Starlights and their hideous outfits should be rejected as role models.

I hope to use the Sunshine-Sunshine Japanese Language School’s immense resources—including its world-renowned faculty, ultramodern library, and campus in the heart of downtown Inaka—to become the North American authority on all things Sailor Moon. In conjunction with my formal studies, I will read all Sailor Moon manga, magazine specials, and puff pieces; watch the TV show and Takeuchi-sensei’s interviews; and even subject myself to the stage musicals.

Once I have purist knowledge of all things Sailor Moon, I will return to the US and begin exposing DiC Entertainment’s botch-job through viral campaigns on YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, Google+, FourSquare, LinkedIn, MySpace, Friendster, and LiveJournal. I will post tweets, statuses, and videos with accurate translations and thoughtful analyses. I will reveal to the masses the true message of Sailor Moon while deftly eluding copyright laws. I know Sailor Moon herself would approve, for the justice of the universe transcends all.

With the help of the Sunshine-Sunshine Japanese Language School, the women leaders of tomorrow will be introduced to the transformative magic of Sailor Moon; learn from its many lessons; and lead fruitful, fulfilling, and alien-free lives.

***

The Rumpus - Funny Women Blogs rejected the above piece, while The Mary Sue and McSweeney's Internet Tendency ignored it. Why? Because they have taste.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be in the corner huddled in the fetal position.

Confessions of a Reformed Neat Freak

I love cleaning. It represents the pinnacle of responsible household activity. So many things out of place, so many items crying out for categorization and proper placement. I hear your cries, my children.  I'm coming for you. I am your salvation.

I led a monkish existence when I lived alone. Only the basics survived under my roof. I allowed a bed, dining room furniture, and a futon for guests. I borrowed books from the library. My hard drive held all my movies. The hardy little PlayStation Portable served as my video game console.

Then I moved in with Fiancé. Here, I saw the peril of home ownership: stuff. SO. MUCH. STUFF. Laserdiscs, VHS tapes, DVDs, Blu-rays, boxes of paper, boxes of unknown content, textbooks, paperbacks, hardcovers, board games, pictures, shirts, sweaters, mom jeans, pants, coats, costumes, suits, XBox games, D&D paraphernalia, knick-knacks, mismatched glasses, expired alcohol, expired medicine, I've-never-seen-that-before thongs, Mason jars, office supplies...and that's not even counting an entire room of things in the basement.

My head exploded. So much stuff, none of it mine. I couldn't go on a cleaning rampage and donate everything to Goodwill.

Evolution favors not the strongest or the fastest, but the most adaptable. I adapted. I took the 65% closet space allotted to me and obsessively organized my clothing by Professional, Casual, Flirty, Formal, and Hobo. I stacked my important papers, all arranged by subject, in the space under my bedside table. I sorted what books I had by size. I won a petition for a space exclusively for my bags. I put my shoes in a space-saver and classified them according to seasonal use.

Why have I been cursed such organizational skill that my own mother sends me her stuff in advance of a trip so that I may pack her suitcase for her? Did some childhood trauma involving insight into entropy and chaos forge in me some determination to exercise control over my surroundings, preferably with the help of a label maker? Did I inherit it from my grandma, who makes a list of all the contents of the refrigerator and tapes it onto the door, for the benefit of anyone who could possibly be interested? Did I learn it from my sisters, who painstakingly organized their beauty items in small, easily accessible pink trays?

Whatever the case may be, I know I am now a reformed neat freak. Reformed neat freaks are those individuals who have no choice but to accept the lower different neatness standards of those with whom they co-habitate. We conceal our tics whenever we see stacks of board games on a chair instead of on shelves on the entertainment center. We secretly indulge in our fixation for neatness by conducting unannounced raids on cabinets and refrigerators, and throwing out items years past the sell-by date. For health! For safety! For the ability to argue for neatness by pointedly putting four bottles of grape jelly side-by-side where the culprit will see them as soon as the culprit opens the fridge! See, if the fridge had some semblance of order, one would know that one already had three bottles of grape jelly!

RRRRAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!

In the meantime, I continue to joyfully clean the bathroom. A sparkling tub provides comfort and reassurance. A hair-free floor promises prosperity. Neatly lined beauty items, one side for him, the other side for me, allows for efficient ablutions. Yessss, my precioussssss, we must have the neatnessssss...

This post brought to you by Puppy Bowl IX!

Cloud Computing

Three and a half floppy diskettes became the pinnacle of data storage during my childhood. At school, I would slide the metal cover and gaze raptly at the nearly opaque disk inside. When I discovered the write-protect tab at the bottom, I felt like a genius. I saved my precious text files in my brightly colored diskettes, careful not to exceed the 720 KB limit.

Then, lo and behold, they came up with a 1.44 MB disk! Will wonders never cease? Did technology have any limits?

Well, yes, c.f. the flying car. But today's topic is data storage.

We exceeded even the miraculous 3.5" floppy with the magnificent hard disk drives, still the same size, but tucked away in your PC. Laptops got by with an HDD exactly one inch smaller. In accordance with Moore's Law, computer hardware advanced by leaps and bounds, please do pardon the cliche. In college, my Dell had a whopping 60 GB of memory. In grad school, my Lenovo boasted more than twice that space. In real life, my MacBook enticed me to fill up its 250 GB.

So of course, now I whine when Google only allocates 5 GB to my Drive. I pout when Amazon makes me pay for more storage space for my music. Somewhere along the line, files got bigger, just like my sense of entitlement. And unlike paper files heaped into boxes that trip you over, digital files hide away in virtual folders, their numbers growing as users blissfully click "Save." Don't even get me started on finding a free site for all my photos. And before you ask, no, I don't use Facebook. However, I do read Failbook, for the lulz.

If you're a normal computer user comme moi, your personal digital files will be divided into three categories: photos, music, and MS Office crap. If you're a pirate, you'll also have movies, games, and tons more music. Don't worry; there is no judging here.

Artists have Photoshop files. Architects and engineers who take their work home wind up with gigantaur CADs. Moms will have a bajillion photos, but require assistance to view them. And so on.

The point is, we are in the era of cloud computing, so you'd better have all those files backed up in whichever cloud catches your fancy. Google Drive, Amazon Cloud, Dropbox, Box, iCloud, SugarSync, whatevs. Just do it. That way, if your Acer/Mac/Vaio/Alienware spontaneously combusts from all that porn processor-intensive activity, you won't have to pray to the hard drive gods for salvation. You just log into the Cloud, retrieve your backups, and feel like a tech-savvy, postmodern human. Voilà.

This helpful blog post is brought to you by Lindt Milk and White Milk Chocolate Truffles, Limited Edition Seasonal Flavor. Still delicious even when slightly melted!

Bawdy Dragon-Slaying Song (For Girls)

Context: I told Fiancé this morning that I had a dream about leading an all-girl unit to take over a castle. He eagerly interjected, "And then they had a slumber party and pillow fights to celebrate?" I haughtily replied that this was my dream, and my girls would have more class than that. He continued to fantasize about girls slaying dragons and singing bawdy songs afterwards. Then he turned to me and said, "Do you think you can you compose a bawdy dragon-slaying song for girls?"

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.

Readers, I present  to you:

Bawdy Dragon-Slaying Song (For Girls)
For mature readers only.

(rap)
G-g-g-girls, girls, where you at, where you at?
G-g-g-girls, girls, where you at, where you at?
We got sharp nails for killin',
We each is one in a million,
We gon' throw down with a dragon,
To show it we ain't havin'
None o' dat, none o' dat.
No, no, none o' dat, none o' dat.

(verse 1)
Ooooh, a dragon came to my cave
And by cave I mean coochie
And by dragon I mean ding dong
This song is an allegory,
Ooohhh, ohhhh
Ooohhh, ohhhh.

(verse 2)
If you want to slay a dragon,
You gotta figure out its weakness
You gotta get in the right position
You gotta make sure it's defenseless,
Ooohhh, ohhhh
Ooohhh, ohhhh.
(yeah)

(rapping)
You got to use your thighs, use your thighs
You got to squeeze real tight, r-e-a-l tight
You got to use your mind, lose your mind
You got to keep bein' fine, super fine.

(singing)
Ooohhh, ohhhh
Ooohhh, ohhhh.

(verse 3)
So ladies can I get a "Whu!"
(Whu!)
Ladies, let's go give it some
Some love
Some lady love.

(yeah)

Live performances by request only.