(repost from old blog onebigsoup.com I decided to move it to this blog... I thought I'd moved the Kibitz here....but I lunched it. Pasting it from gmail is kind of a pita, so I'll clean it up when I catch up after Xanadu is set up. I need that demo done months ago! So it's weird how it comes out and a PITA to sort it out. For now, I just wanted to cut out some stuff that stuck out at a glance. I'm 10 years ahead and 6 months behind at the same time. It's complicated...believe it!)
Richard Marcus
8/20/13
to me
Yo.
http://www.aish.com/authors/135645628.html
A Bagel Is More Than A Jewish Donut
A bagel is more than a Jewish donut,
More than a roll with a hole.
More than a strange English muffin.
A bagel’s got bagely soul.
It is something a baby can teethe on.
The true home of cream cheese and lox.
Bagels are tied to the hulls of big boats,
To keep them from hitting the docks.
A bagel’s a friend.
A bagel’s a buddy.
A bagel never forgets.
Bagels as hard as bricks and concrete
Make wonderful weapons and pets.
A bagel is kind.
A bagel’s well rounded.
A bagel is wholesome and neat.
I’ve seen bagel Boy Scouts
On busses and subways
Graciously give up their seats.
A bagel is brilliant,
The Mozart of bread,
The Shakespeare of flour, inspired,
The Rolls Royce of noshing,
The Buick of Bulk,
And as chewy as one of the tires.
I once knew a man who was struck by a bagel,
It gave him such a “potch” that he schvitzed!
Yet, I heard him exclaim,
“I would rather be maimed
By a bagel, than be crippled by Ritz.”
First given to Israelites fleeing from Egypt,
Who cried, “A schmear on matzo destroys it!
Smoked salmon on manna?
That’s a pox on the lox!
Such a mess just to fress, who’d enjoy it?”
So hearing our cries, God looked around
Saw angels with heavenly lights ‘round their heads,
He thought: “What if I coil it, then boil it then bake
A halo
Out of some kind of bread?”
And that was the gift (along with those tablets)
That let the Jews know they were chosen,
But then some schmuck said “Can I make a buck
If I made them in flavors and froze ‘em?”
So bagels today? Feh!
They’ve gone to extremes,
Gluten free? Low carb? Makes me gag;
Vegan-schmaggegan? Tofu-banana?!
It’s like eating a bagel in drag.
But in hard times like these,
A real bagel’s a comfort,
Like a warm teething ring we can eat.
They fill us with love, they fill us with joy,
Not to mention two pounds of wheat.
So when you’re worried or tired,
Outsourced or fired,
Caught in the grind and the crunch,
Stagger right into your neighborhood bagelry
And take a nice bagel to lunch.
- Richard Marcus
c
Copyright, 2002, All Rights, Richard Marcus
ThyGeekGoddess V
8/20/13
to Richard
*giggles*
That was fun!
I LOVE Mozart, but we used to laugh at the tuxedos who basically flaunted being in cahoots with the social class that actually enslaved his talent. The ones who cry because it sounds sniffly. Since we normally ate out before a show, we'd be dressed in whatever.
Same with Shakespeare. How do you go to Othello, dripping in diamonds?
Welcome to the Good Ship WTF.
In junior high days, (kilt cough), we saw James Earl Jones do Othello. I was in such a rush, I left my glasses and didn't realize it until where you could see Sugar Ray's Leonard's roof from RT50...
It was the point of NO way no how we're going back for shit.
I wasn't as blind as my big sister, but I cried all the way to the theater. The round one.. Ford's?. We were pretty close, but at 12 years old, I was a bit thankful I couldn't lay eyes on him for too long because his voice....OMG. That was enough to jump start puberty.
Hey, I was 12!
But, Yay... President Barack HUSSEIN Obama *snark* brought him back to the White House and nobody bothered to really notice how freaking epic that is......dammit.. Did you hear he's putting back the solar panels?
That's so gangstah.
My general rant is, "He's not left-ist, he's left-HANDED and if you think he's talking over your head,
BE SMARTER!" Honestly, the poor man is stripping his genius to moron circuitry on these people.
I know that look.
I've done tech support!
"NO, that is NOT a cup-holder!"
sigh
Muggles are really missing out on a damned good administration. He had to be covertly snarky like I was growing up.
And it turns morons into babbling idiots.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uihbX1ho2_k
Somewhere I have a Frybread Power poem on a book mark. I never have it and any kind of camera / scanner handy at the same time. Poke me about it later when I forget, K? It's frilliant.
/me grabs her swatter..
A dixiecrat just said something stupid on Huffpo.
Bombs awaaaaaay!
Talkies when you get time, but I might have lost my place..... .just stop me if you've heard this one.
ThyGeekGoddess V
8/20/13
to Richard
Can I post your work on my wall? Just put whatever propaganda you want attached and I'll be happy to shoot it out there.
On Tue, Aug 20, 2013 at 6:58 PM, ThyGeekGoddess V <...> wrote:
*giggles*
That was fun!
I LOVE Mozart, but we used to laugh at the tuxedos who basically flaunted being in cahoots with the social class that actually enslaved his talent. The ones who cry because it sounds sniffly. Since we normally ate out before a show, we'd be dressed in whatever.
Same with Shakespeare. How do you go to Othello, dripping in diamonds?
Welcome to the Good Ship WTF.
In junior high days, (kilt cough), we saw James Earl Jones do Othello. I was in such a rush, I left my glasses and didn't realize it until where you could see Sugar Ray's Leonard's roof from RT50...
It was the point of NO way no how we're going back for shit.
I wasn't as blind as my big sister, but I cried all the way to the theater. The round one.. Ford's?. We were pretty close, but at 12 years old, I was a bit thankful I couldn't lay eyes on him for too long because his voice....OMG. That was enough to jump start puberty.
Hey, I was 12!
But, Yay... President Barack HUSSEIN Obama *snark* brought him back to the White House and nobody bothered to really notice how freaking epic that is......dammit.. Did you hear he's putting back the solar panels?
That's so gangstah.
My general rant is, "He's not left-ist, he's left-HANDED and if you think he's talking over your head,
BE SMARTER!" Honestly, the poor man is stripping his genius to moron circuitry on these people.
I know that look.
I've done tech support!
"NO, that is NOT a cup-holder!"
sigh
Muggles are really missing out on a damned good administration. He had to be covertly snarky like I was growing up.
And it turns morons into babbling idiots.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uihbX1ho2_k
Somewhere I have a Frybread Power poem on a book mark. I never have it and any kind of camera / scanner handy at the same time. Poke me about it later when I forget, K? It's frilliant.
/me grabs her swatter..
A dixiecrat just said something stupid on Huffpo.
Bombs awaaaaaay!
Talkies when you get time, but I might have lost my place..... .just stop me if you've heard this one.
On Tue, Aug 20, 2013 at 4:39 PM, Richard Marcus wrote:
Yo.
http://www.aish.com/authors/135645628.html
A Bagel Is More Than A Jewish Donut
A bagel is more than a Jewish donut,
More than a roll with a hole.
More than a strange English muffin.
A bagel’s got bagely soul.
It is something a baby can teethe on.
The true home of cream cheese and lox.
Bagels are tied to the hulls of big boats,
To keep them from hitting the docks.
A bagel’s a friend.
A bagel’s a buddy.
A bagel never forgets.
Bagels as hard as bricks and concrete
Make wonderful weapons and pets.
A bagel is kind.
A bagel’s well rounded.
A bagel is wholesome and neat.
I’ve seen bagel Boy Scouts
On busses and subways
Graciously give up their seats.
A bagel is brilliant,
The Mozart of bread,
The Shakespeare of flour, inspired,
The Rolls Royce of noshing,
The Buick of Bulk,
And as chewy as one of the tires.
I once knew a man who was struck by a bagel,
It gave him such a “potch” that he schvitzed!
Yet, I heard him exclaim,
“I would rather be maimed
By a bagel, than be crippled by Ritz.”
First given to Israelites fleeing from Egypt,
Who cried, “A schmear on matzo destroys it!
Smoked salmon on manna?
That’s a pox on the lox!
Such a mess just to fress, who’d enjoy it?”
So hearing our cries, God looked around
Saw angels with heavenly lights ‘round their heads,
He thought: “What if I coil it, then boil it then bake
A halo
Out of some kind of bread?”
And that was the gift (along with those tablets)
That let the Jews know they were chosen,
But then some schmuck said “Can I make a buck
If I made them in flavors and froze ‘em?”
So bagels today? Feh!
They’ve gone to extremes,
Gluten free? Low carb? Makes me gag;
Vegan-schmaggegan? Tofu-banana?!
It’s like eating a bagel in drag.
But in hard times like these,
A real bagel’s a comfort,
Like a warm teething ring we can eat.
They fill us with love, they fill us with joy,
Not to mention two pounds of wheat.
So when you’re worried or tired,
Outsourced or fired,
Caught in the grind and the crunch,
Stagger right into your neighborhood bagelry
And take a nice bagel to lunch.
- Richard Marcus
c
Copyright, 2002, All Rights, Richard Marcus
Richard Marcus
Just my name is all and the copyright. Glad you liked it. ___________________...
8/20/13
ThyGeekGoddess V
8/21/13
to Richard
Goodie!
I've been slow to respond today. working my digital farm and whatnot.
I use them as props in videos and sell the rest.
Think "dog show" for nerds.
The breeding programs use a simple Punett's square formula, but with so many, it gets complicated and
it looks like this when I'm sorting them out.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O3UXNDKzKJU
If I'm not interrupted, I get all ...like you saw me the other day.
I started breedable pets as a team building activity/income source.
Since most of my high-end pets came from well-known breeders who are going into other pets, I'm going to
organize my inventory and let the buyers get a little hungry.
I'm hoping to get some attention soon. Today, an auctioneer bought my Dwarfin instead of
letting it pass. He got it for 1000L which translates to about 5$ USD. I didn't realize until too late that the speed auctions start that low and didn't want to piss anyone off. He made a big fuss about parting with the money, so if I work it right with the outgoing breeder and support her breedable lemurs, she will promote what I'm up to.
My little geek goddess avatar is making commercials.
The main target for my project was for K-6 for obvious reasons.
I have a LOT of competition, but some people out there....yipes.
I wouldn't let them teach a kid how to tie a shoe!
(a buttload of technical shit goes here to explain why kids can't participate in these breedable pet activities)
http://www.dwarfins.com/
http://www.worldofmeeroos.com/
And this is one of the stories they came up with promoting a machinima contest. I'd been making videos with them, before the big contest, but damn if I didn't mess up and miss the deadline! The winning video was lame.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kwFPi827EKM
Let me know when this starts to sound like English.
My purple pill will be a lot easier to understand when I show you.
Oooh, this might help.
We have translators in-world, but it sux since Google started charging.
Remember when the ads on Youtube were along the sides? Well, Youtube started
jacking with the code so we couldn't stream content in world intermittently.
lawsuit, lawsuit, lawsuit, now we have those damned commercial interruptions.
Sorry about that....but it's really not OUR bad. When we want something, we know where to go.
They can talk all the shit they want about NSA, but they built the net. It's only RENTED to the ISPs who rent it to us.
I fight to cut out the middle man because THIS country shouldn't force people to pay so much to get the truth.
Aren't we overdue for some kind of Jubilee?
When you install skype and pick a name, ....
When you put that in the search window you'll see my logo.
I'm thinking of dumping the "One big Soup" thing and go with something
more quantum. The purple pill works too.
But someone probably sniped it by now.
http://www.skype.com/en/
Here's machinima programming. Let me know when I can call myself a producer.
My biggest office was actually in the offices at Zola/Zodiac in Adams Morgan.
It's gentrified now......pfft. I really have no reason to go back there....unless the Obama's put me on their BBQ list.
I didn't know how we rolled until I grew up and you can't imagine how much that pissed me off!
Seriously. One of the four or five "Uncle Bob's" at the Levittown parties was Bob Strickland.
The last time I saw him, his daughter was two years old...reading off the refrigerator magnets.
I asked him what they fed her....cuz...DAYAMN! I felt like a moron because I wasn't reading until age 4.
I'm still kicking myself for being too shy to ask him to bring Oprah over.
I thought it would hurt his feelings.
http://metaversetv.com/
I got squirreled away in so many directions, I never did find the copy write info I needed. Maybe its a trademark ...brain is too mushy now.
nighty morning
Richard Marcus
With typical writer self-obsessed ego I apologize for not being able to read ...
8/21/13
ThyGeekGoddess V
8/21/13
to Richard
Once I wrote an SOP at Ft. Sill Army Hospital ....for my OWN JOB, but they never seriously considered me for the IT gig I was going for. I'll have to purge a whole lot more stuff before I'm able to write that story with any kind of comprehension. I believe I have to renew that EEOC complaint because I'm not quite done with that asshat or Ft. Sill. The complaint was drafted by my BFF, I think she was a GS13 at the time.
Anyway, I found out later, the Major over the department also humiliated me because he had no chance, whatsoever.
Anyway, when I started running to puke every time he said something ignorant at the staff meetings, instead of putting me where I belonged, in the IT department, he got rid of me. I swear, his oppressive energy was THAT nauseating it was like walking into the barracks after a synchronized fart-off. They did nothing but transfer him to Austin. The mediation was a joke. I may just write a book for raging feminists about why we're raging. Obviously, no one had the bandwidth to pull it off.
So anyway, the SOP was a nightmare because I'm a systems analyst. We load programs, watch them go, and run away.
I'm trying to remember how I did it.
Word count limits have also been an issue. When I didn't have time, but had to say something, I learned to adjust. By the time Facebook came around, I called myself a snarky epigrammarian in the profile. I hate writing profiles and really abhor promoting myself.
When I had to write an abstract for One Big Soup AKA My Purple Pill, I was LOST.
I prayed to the metaverse for guidance and someone sent me a link to JFK's speech.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ouRbkBAOGEw
Hmm, I haven't spammed that one out in awhile.
I've been up awhile, but just about to do the coffeh thing.
Want some?
[Image]
ThyGeekGoddess V
8/21/13
to Richard
No! Stop, don't read this yet!
Did you just apologize for being busy?
That's so sweet.
(I just scrolled back to here after going to heat my lunch, and finding my breakfast in the microwave)
So, No apologies about that. "Busy Mode" is a normal state of being in my real-time metaverse.
Ego is an issue for muggles who don't get that.
The mind does what it wants to do when it wants to do it.
Mine is busy retrieving and collecting and organizing.
I'm not trying to build just another search engine of redacted cultures to pimp.
That's the tricky bit.
Multicultural education as it pertains to .. the arts and other works inspired by the muses.
A muse might be the most frustrated teacher there is.
I'm finally given the opportunity to be my own muse and I'm kicking my own behind.
We rarely email conversations, we chat live and we get our answers when we get them.
It's kind of like praying. Send it out there, they might get the message or not.
You never know until you understand the answer. The question could be the problem and we adjust or take a fukitol.
We send hit and run messages when we think of them, because if we don't, we'll get squirreled off
and forget. That's why I fell out when you said it.
It's how we adjust to time zones and the 'real' world.
I'm busy all the time, even more so if you're really Richard Marcus. ;-)
I'm kidding, you could be some nut under an over pass for all I care.
It's worth synching my schedule around yours, not mine.
You don't know how much you've helped already.
I have to write things as I think of them or they'll go away like the Pale Blue Scottish comedian feared.
We both have a lot of homework to do before we can go out to play.
And there's no dessert until we've finished our Brussel sprouts.
The best I can do for you is sell digital copies from my virtual bookstore so people can
enjoy them on their virtual Xanadu's. Muggles rarely find value in the tangible intangibles.
Meanwhile, I can put a pizza box next to Walden Puddle that delivers your poetry when it's clicked.
Just let me know which ones I can share. I'll start with the bagel story and see how it goes.
The money goes directly to your account and I'm not interested in taking a cut. (eyeroll)
The venue itself is a geek-collective kind of an intellectual co-op.
It's basically a digital version of what Levittown could have been with the right mindset.
(LOL, clicking send now)
I usually know when I'm the student and when I'm the teacher, and when I'm wasting my time.
It's not easy at this level.
Isn't this where we need to "kill our Buddhas" in order to rise above?
Isn't this one of those places where we get to enjoy a moment of clarity before we clear the board and take the next step?
Jennifer seems to have a great handle on that one. If she can come out to play,
after my energies settle, I'll figure out why she's so familiar. Game recognize game and all.
The Convergence is no joke.
But who are we kidding, no one needed a prophecy to get there, just see it when it goes as logically predicted.
Do we gotta get all woo-woo about it? Or can we just be happy the world is finally getting a clue?
No, the mouth breathers have to go kicking the blerd all over the schoolyard.
Should I apologize for enjoying the place I get to go when I write to your harmonics?
I just love who I get to be when I encounter active braincells.
This is our purpose.
Give each other reasons to reverse our conditions.
(meme alert)
I'd like to acknowledge my teachers without getting all name-droppy.
But I also need to get my stuff back!
Mario Van Peebles, that pampered-ass privileged legacy took a HUGE load and I haven't gotten all my stuff back.
1984, he was in Georgetown doing a pilot for that POS Miami Vice wannabe, "DC Cop" and he was supposed to be another Crocket.
Then he let me read a script that reminded me of when Crofton's paper mill stench polluted Levittown.
I laugh my ass off every time I see him get killed in a flick. Highlander # is my favorite, but whoever let Adrian Paul cut his hair pretty much killed the franchise.
I never met Spike Lee, but did he HAVE to use my twin from another mother to go full frontal JUST when I started work at the Archdiocese of Milwaukee? I didn't see that filck for years after but when I did, I wondered what THEY were doing watching a movie like that. tsk tsk tsk
The movie I was talking about was called Good to Go. They let me miss the audition, so I ended up dancing as an extra. The lead was pissed when he met me because I would have played his daughter @ 900$ a day. I could have gone to any college I wanted if it weren't for that ONE DAY.
(and yada yada yada ....ayn rand was a wimp, rant for later).
hmmm.. back in the day when people exchanged those paper things with the stickers on them, writers took months to get here. It's good to realize that and chillax a bit.
Until we find a way to smash those cursed clocks.. I'll work on Digital Bohemia 1.01
I need to know if I build it, will they come?
If I write it, will they learn?
Will they correct me with information I lack?
What happens when the best of my betters calls me amazing?
PANIC
I can't get there from here and I can feel my daughter's biological clock pounding from South Florida!
I need to get her the hell out of there before she messes up like I did. 100% indigo and out of my hands since she was 16. No, I don't have a record, but my mouth in the Anadarko, Oklahoma Walmart during a heat wave after pounding water for weeks...it looked a bit like this. You are not allowed to be frustrated in a Walmart. Before that, the only police car I'd been in was after trying to ride a stop and go Huffy with no hands. So anyway, the ignorance I couldn't believe had me sounding like this woman....without yelling. Someone who wasn't supposed to share what they wrote contradicted every thing I actually said. The manager at Walmart lied to the police after grabbing me for giving my NDN-way sister a 5$ bill. She accused me of passing out money at the store after asking her about ways they could give back to the community. What she was, was far more ignorant than I could have imagined and she didn't stop to tell me she was a moron. She should have been wearing a sign!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SvuNSr3CaGo
On Wed, Aug 21, 2013 at 10:46 AM, Richard Marcus wrote:
With typical writer self-obsessed ego I apologize for not being able to read your work at this moment because I am, in fact and as stated,self-obsessed – But in truth it’s more of “I cannot let myself get distracted by work as wild as my own. I must write till brain fry. Therefore in my place I send you the first few pages of the novel as recog ition of your efforts. Best I can do till evening.
Nature Bats Last
Richard Marcus
CHAPTER ONE
Thayer closed the door to her bedroom, padded over to the enormous dark oak, roll top desk and sat down in front of the coral green,1959 Smith-Corona Sterling Super-5 (serial # 5A862417), which she had named “Smitty.”
She leaned over Smitty and flicked the “on” toggles connected to the noise cancellation units in the foam rubber baffling attached to the back of her bedroom door and the one that swept the floor and walls. She nodded to herself, satisfied she wouldn’t disturb the rest of the house
Thayer placed her fingers lightly on the white, marshmallow plump keys almost like a greeting; telling the squat, happy machine she was there. It was wired to know.
The ancient desk’s gaping workspace was so huge and dark and Thayer so slim and, to be honest, close to boney, that it looked like a tiny child trustingly putting her hands into the enormous mouth and touching the flat wide teeth of a very patient hippo.
She lifted her hands off the keys and from a neat stack plucked up a sheet of thick, creamy paper and positioned it precisely parallel with the back of Smitty’s platen, the black barrel which did all the work.
She then grasped the chunky, white knob on the right side of the typewriter, turned it and smiled at hearing the ratcheting “click-click-click” of the cogwheels and sprockets as they rotated the barrel, making the paper disappear down into the back of the machine. Every time this happened it caused the tiniest catch in her chest that the sheet was really gone into Smitty, never to appear. Of course it always did, rising up like a perfect, white, recvtangular sunrise behind the chrome silver bar of the paper bail.
To Thayer, the “clickety-clickety-clack” of the keys, the type bars, those long metal, alien fingers with their alphabet fingerprints, hitting the black/red ribbon, then paper and platen with their “fwap-fwap-fwap-fwap...” the platen barrel’s cheerfully efficient “tickety-tickety-tickety-tickety-tickety,” as she pushed it back to it’s starting point and the deep “bong!” of the bigger bell her dad had installed, was more than just a Rube Goldberg piece of performance art. The levers, gears, springs and cables, pulling, shifting, was a metal shop symphony of virtually extinct sounds, vanished history and the fading wisdom of a far more tangible, concrete and dependable world. Long gone, that world. Long gone.
She stopped, gazed at the thunky contraption. Even silent and still she was comforted by its clock work operating system. A tight, well oiled Newtonian universe of interlocking components, dependable cogs, durable cause and effect. Safe from all outside influences, slings, arrows, tragedies and morally depraved hack bastard, cyber thieves.
She saw the machine not as one solid unit but as an army of thousands; unified, bound together in their fearlessness. It connected Thayer to the energy of bulling steam engines, prehistoric iron bridges and the bulging sweat muscle work of hammers and nails She was their general and they were combat scarred warriors who fought with her for the truth. They were now poised, waiting for her to lead them into a battle for the hearts and minds of the world.
She accepted the fact that the cacophony from her iron word factory assaulted the senses of countless, prissy, mid 21st Century café customers, library patrons and cafeteria classmates. Nonetheless she was willing to incur their daggered disapproval and even expulsion from those rooms. And she had. Many times.
It didn’t matter what they thought. What she stamped into the white paper, not sprayed or lasered by some flaccid bladder or pump, was a commitment to passion, observations. Life. Her life. Her existence.
She liked the fact that, if and when she chose, she could maintain an unhackable, untouchable and utterly private, steel firewall. Her thoughts, words impervious, safe from the data storms, the hyper-morphing either clouds of the ever monitored links and eternally surveilled nano-data circling and re-circling the globe like poison gas.
Her brawling machinery stopped the sucking vermin hackers dead. Made the cyber felons move on to mug and rob the sheen of sleek, silent, insubstantial light glimmers flitted on to the waif thin, gossamer screens of the utterly helpless, the terminally dependant and self involved.
Thayer also needed the noise and impact of Smitty’s powerful kinetic energy physically, to preoccupy her anterior and prefrontal lobes. Keep the monkey mind busy while her cerebral cortex, calmed and clever, captured the truths of what she hunted.
Smitty also buoyantly raised chemical levels which modulated the phasic reactivity in her brain’s volatile neurotransmissions, and what writer has ever wanted more to then to have their passions, images, characters and tales stream through their minds and souls on to paper while the joy of a Boccherini cello concerto of dopamine, washing over, sweetly channeling the raging images and epiphanies, so they could focus, could report. Could spin magic on to paper.
She paused. Brow furrowing. Truths. Unwieldy things. A serious, decision making crossroads; whether or not to commit that evening’s private family events to more than just the paper. The threat of all the forces aligned against decent human privacy swept through her brain.
She nodded, agreeing with herself that it all must be observed and chronicled clearly and honestly but she was not going to risk putting it out there to be analyzed and “on the record,” not yet and not realizing that she whispered out loud “On the record.”
She knew that the moment Smitty’s “ *” struck the upper left hand corner of the page, a single nanobot embedded in the typing paper would instantaneously be turned on and with almost the speed of light send an electro-chemical shout of “Wake up, guys, it’s show time!” to the next nanobot, then the next and so on, cascading down the page like robotic dominos, the whole sheet coming alive, nerve endings touching nerve endings, the whole phenomena of a subatomic grid crackling like telegraph wires, top to bottom, coast to coast, across the vellum through embedded conduits.
Of course, Thayer knew that was not the way it actually worked and that the tiny asterisk was as wide across as at least ten million nanobots and that the paper she was using was probably infused with a hundred trillion of them. She removed the now charged sheet, crumpled it up and threw it away. Putting another sheet in she began to type the date: “December...” Then she stopped and glanced over at her at her iEdge to make sure it was not receiving the signals from the sheet of 8.5 x 11, 20lb (94 brightness) NanoType white bond.
The blue light stayed steady. It was not receiving. Good. She finished the date...
“...12, 2030, then assaulted the keyboard, angrily focusing her flash flood of words on the hapless keys. Hair flying, fingers a blur, she looked like nothing less than a wild Beethoven assaulting a piano in a ratta-ratta-ratta-tat-tat fusillade of machine gunned letters, punching the paper with a continuous and deafening stream of crackling shots and brutal machinery.
From: ThyGeekGoddess V [mailto:...]
Sent: Wednesday, August 21, 2013 2:12 AM
To: Richard Marcus
Subject: Re: Richard Marcus
Goodie!
I've been slow to respond today. working my digital farm and whatnot.
I use them as props in videos and sell the rest.
Think "dog show" for nerds.
The breeding programs use a simple Punett's square formula, but with so many, it gets complicated and
it looks like this when I'm sorting them out.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O3UXNDKzKJU
If I'm not interrupted, I get all ...like you saw me the other day.
I started breedable pets as a team building activity/income source.
Since most of my high-end pets came from well-known breeders who are going into other pets, I'm going to
organize my inventory and let the buyers get a little hungry.
I'm hoping to get some attention soon. Today, an auctioneer bought my Dwarfin instead of
letting it pass. He got it for 1000L which translates to about 5$ USD. I didn't realize until too late that the speed auctions start that low and didn't want to piss anyone off. He made a big fuss about parting with the money, so if I work it right with the outgoing breeder and support her breedable lemurs, she will promote what I'm up to.
My little geek goddess avatar is making commercials.
The main target for my project was for K-6 for obvious reasons.
I have a LOT of competition, but some people out there....yipes.
I wouldn't let them teach a kid how to tie a shoe!
(a buttload of technical shit goes here to explain why kids can't participate in these breedable pet activities)
http://www.dwarfins.com/
http://www.worldofmeeroos.com/
And this is one of the stories they came up with promoting a machinima contest. I'd been making videos with them, before the big contest, but damn if I didn't mess up and miss the deadline! The winning video was lame.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kwFPi827EKM
Let me know when this starts to sound like English.
My purple pill will be a lot easier to understand when I show you.
Oooh, this might help.
We have translators in-world, but it sux since Google started charging.
Remember when the ads on Youtube were along the sides? Well, Youtube started
jacking with the code so we couldn't stream content in world intermittently.
lawsuit, lawsuit, lawsuit, now we have those damned commercial interruptions.
Sorry about that....but it's really not OUR bad. When we want something, we know where to go.
They can talk all the shit they want about NSA, but they built the net. It's only RENTED to the ISPs who rent it to us.
I fight to cut out the middle man because THIS country shouldn't force people to pay so much to get the truth.
Aren't we overdue for some kind of Jubilee?
When you install skype and pick a name, I'm MUZEBL
When you put that in the search window you'll see my logo.
I'm thinking of dumping the "One big Soup" thing and go with something
more quantum. The purple pill works too.
But someone probably sniped it by now.
http://www.skype.com/en/
Here's machinima programming. Let me know when I can call myself a producer.
My biggest office was actually in the offices at Zola/Zodiac in Adams Morgan.
It's gentrified now......pfft. I really have no reason to go back there....unless the Obama's put me on their BBQ list.
I didn't know how we rolled until I grew up and you can't imagine how much that pissed me off!
Seriously. One of the four or five "Uncle Bob's" at the Levittown parties was Bob Strickland.
The last time I saw him, his daughter was two years old...reading off the refrigerator magnets.
I asked him what they fed her....cuz...DAYAMN! I felt like a moron because I wasn't reading until age 4.
I'm still kicking myself for being too shy to ask him to bring Oprah over.
I thought it would hurt his feelings.
http://metaversetv.com/
I got squirreled away in so many directions, I never did find the copy write info I needed. Maybe its a trademark ...brain is too mushy now.
nighty morning
On Tue, Aug 20, 2013 at 9:17 PM, Richard Marcus wrote:
Just my name is all and the copyright. Glad you liked it.
From: ThyGeekGoddess V [mailto:...]
Sent: Tuesday, August 20, 2013 7:00 PM
To: Richard Marcus
Subject: Re: Richard Marcus
Can I post your work on my wall? Just put whatever propaganda you want attached and I'll be happy to shoot it out there.
On Tue, Aug 20, 2013 at 6:58 PM, ThyGeekGoddess V <...m> wrote:
*giggles*
That was fun!
I LOVE Mozart, but we used to laugh at the tuxedos who basically flaunted being in cahoots with the social class that actually enslaved his talent. The ones who cry because it sounds sniffly. Since we normally ate out before a show, we'd be dressed in whatever.
Same with Shakespeare. How do you go to Othello, dripping in diamonds?
Welcome to the Good Ship WTF.
In junior high days, (kilt cough), we saw James Earl Jones do Othello. I was in such a rush, I left my glasses and didn't realize it until where you could see Sugar Ray's Leonard's roof from RT50...
It was the point of NO way no how we're going back for shit.
I wasn't as blind as my big sister, but I cried all the way to the theater. The round one.. Ford's?. We were pretty close, but at 12 years old, I was a bit thankful I couldn't lay eyes on him for too long because his voice....OMG. That was enough to jump start puberty.
Hey, I was 12!
But, Yay... President Barack HUSSEIN Obama *snark* brought him back to the White House and nobody bothered to really notice how freaking epic that is......dammit.. Did you hear he's putting back the solar panels?
That's so gangstah.
My general rant is, "He's not left-ist, he's left-HANDED and if you think he's talking over your head,
BE SMARTER!" Honestly, the poor man is stripping his genius to moron circuitry on these people.
I know that look.
I've done tech support!
"NO, that is NOT a cup-holder!"
sigh
Muggles are really missing out on a damned good administration. He had to be covertly snarky like I was growing up.
And it turns morons into babbling idiots.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uihbX1ho2_k
Somewhere I have a Frybread Power poem on a book mark. I never have it and any kind of camera / scanner handy at the same time. Poke me about it later when I forget, K? It's frilliant.
/me grabs her swatter..
A dixiecrat just said something stupid on Huffpo.
Bombs awaaaaaay!
Talkies when you get time, but I might have lost my place..... .just stop me if you've heard this one.
On Tue, Aug 20, 2013 at 4:39 PM, Richard Marcus wrote:
Yo.
http://www.aish.com/authors/135645628.html
A Bagel Is More Than A Jewish Donut
A bagel is more than a Jewish donut,
More than a roll with a hole.
More than a strange English muffin.
A bagel’s got bagely soul.
It is something a baby can teethe on.
The true home of cream cheese and lox.
Bagels are tied to the hulls of big boats,
To keep them from hitting the docks.
A bagel’s a friend.
A bagel’s a buddy.
A bagel never forgets.
Bagels as hard as bricks and concrete
Make wonderful weapons and pets.
A bagel is kind.
A bagel’s well rounded.
A bagel is wholesome and neat.
I’ve seen bagel Boy Scouts
On busses and subways
Graciously give up their seats.
A bagel is brilliant,
The Mozart of bread,
The Shakespeare of flour, inspired,
The Rolls Royce of noshing,
The Buick of Bulk,
And as chewy as one of the tires.
I once knew a man who was struck by a bagel,
It gave him such a “potch” that he schvitzed!
Yet, I heard him exclaim,
“I would rather be maimed
By a bagel, than be crippled by Ritz.”
First given to Israelites fleeing from Egypt,
Who cried, “A schmear on matzo destroys it!
Smoked salmon on manna?
That’s a pox on the lox!
Such a mess just to fress, who’d enjoy it?”
So hearing our cries, God looked around
Saw angels with heavenly lights ‘round their heads,
He thought: “What if I coil it, then boil it then bake
A halo
Out of some kind of bread?”
And that was the gift (along with those tablets)
That let the Jews know they were chosen,
But then some schmuck said “Can I make a buck
If I made them in flavors and froze ‘em?”
So bagels today? Feh!
They’ve gone to extremes,
Gluten free? Low carb? Makes me gag;
Vegan-schmaggegan? Tofu-banana?!
It’s like eating a bagel in drag.
But in hard times like these,
A real bagel’s a comfort,
Like a warm teething ring we can eat.
They fill us with love, they fill us with joy,
Not to mention two pounds of wheat.
So when you’re worried or tired,
Outsourced or fired,
Caught in the grind and the crunch,
Stagger right into your neighborhood bagelry
And take a nice bagel to lunch.
- Richard Marcus
c
Copyright, 2002, All Rights, Richard Marcus
ThyGeekGoddess V ..
8/21/13
to Richard
Wow!
I didn't even tell you about the Fargo coffee shops......yet, did I?
LOL People didn't understand how little interest I had in that place.
THAT's ego!
The entire four years I was looking to get out and they didn't like it at all.
When I have the words for how pleased I am with the chapter, I'll let you know....mm mm, I got nuthin.
There's one word to talk about later.....but for now, I'm gonna read it again since the world has finally STHU.
I'm still wondering why it felt like you two were saying, "Well, it's about time you got here. What kept you?"
Well, I took a wrong turn at the shrub and.....
Today was an extraordinarily productive day for me.
Likewise, I hope.
My neighbor was helping me organize when first started reading the chapter.
I remembered when my BFF wrote the EEOC complaint on a laptop. It was a POS Thinkpad I'd worked on, but couldn't afford. Her hands crawled effortlessly over the keyboard, like I'm doing right now and I was far too impressed in her eyes.
She was used to it...and she pulled it off with long beautiful nails.
Maria? Is that what I look like on a piano? And she said, "Huh, yeah, pretty much"
"Damn, I'm good!"
To get the joke I sent her, you'll have to know one more thing.
She and I double-dated a list of boys so they couldn't push us beyond our limits.
We were each others built in excuse. She had to drive me home, no one else or ELSE!
By the time the next hopeful got up to bat, he had no case since we hadn't seen each other in at least a month.
Longer if I was grounded, which was likely, considering the oppressive curfew. I still don't know what they were saving me for. So naturally, we talked like the girls at the slumber party in Ntozake's play. She wasn't born in Levittown, but I wasn't alerted to her arrival for 10 years, but her folks were in North Carolina and she could see them any given weekend. She helpe me earn my card, which I promptly burned upon graduation. We talked a lot about how to raise our kids, but wished we didn't have to put up with the jacked up ratio in DC. Men in the area had their pick of 10 women each! Their attitude didn't have us looking forward to any kind of wifely duties, whatsoever.
We were going to be high-octane tax payers and raise our kids together.
She's a year older and was able to save her benefits, get a a BS in EE at Catawba, and a masters in Computer Science from Duke. Both of our ex's live in Miami.
So, all that flew through my head when you spoke of typewriters because I could NEVER ever EVER get my paper straight in those damned things! I remember my first typewriter was a bit more than a toy. But there was NO WAY I was writing what I really felt on it. Paper=evidence. I'd learned my lesson after I tried having a Harriet the Spy notebook.
Kids were talking over me at a slumber party and I ranted it out in the book. Someone swiped it an bitched about my foul language, completely ignoring why I was THAT pissed off! They knew better because we were ALL raised to be seen and not heard. Slumber parties were supposed to be where we didn't have to just be seen.
Some got it, others ignored the obvious and tried to shame my bad language.
So the picture attached had a little message on it.
"Hey, Maria! You were right, I got used to it!"
Comm channels are open....
============================================
On Wed, Aug 21, 2013 at 10:46 AM, Richard Marcus wrote:
With typical writer self-obsessed ego I apologize for not being able to read your work at this moment because I am, in fact and as stated,self-obsessed – But in truth it’s more of “I cannot let myself get distracted by work as wild as my own. I must write till brain fry. Therefore in my place I send you the first few pages of the novel as recog ition of your efforts. Best I can do till evening.
Nature Bats Last
Richard Marcus
=========================================
CHAPTER ONE
Thayer closed the door to her bedroom, padded over to the enormous dark oak, roll top desk and sat down in front of the coral green,1959 Smith-Corona Sterling Super-5 (serial # 5A862417), which she had named “Smitty.”
She leaned over Smitty and flicked the “on” toggles connected to the noise cancellation units in the foam rubber baffling attached to the back of her bedroom door and the one that swept the floor and walls. She nodded to herself, satisfied she wouldn’t disturb the rest of the house
Thayer placed her fingers lightly on the white, marshmallow plump keys almost like a greeting; telling the squat, happy machine she was there. It was wired to know.
The ancient desk’s gaping workspace was so huge and dark and Thayer so slim and, to be honest, close to boney, that it looked like a tiny child trustingly putting her hands into the enormous mouth and touching the flat wide teeth of a very patient hippo.
She lifted her hands off the keys and from a neat stack plucked up a sheet of thick, creamy paper and positioned it precisely parallel with the back of Smitty’s platen, the black barrel which did all the work.
She then grasped the chunky, white knob on the right side of the typewriter, turned it and smiled at hearing the ratcheting “click-click-click” of the cogwheels and sprockets as they rotated the barrel, making the paper disappear down into the back of the machine. Every time this happened it caused the tiniest catch in her chest that the sheet was really gone into Smitty, never to appear. Of course it always did, rising up like a perfect, white, recvtangular sunrise behind the chrome silver bar of the paper bail.
To Thayer, the “clickety-clickety-clack” of the keys, the type bars, those long metal, alien fingers with their alphabet fingerprints, hitting the black/red ribbon, then paper and platen with their “fwap-fwap-fwap-fwap...” the platen barrel’s cheerfully efficient “tickety-tickety-tickety-tickety-tickety,” as she pushed it back to it’s starting point and the deep “bong!” of the bigger bell her dad had installed, was more than just a Rube Goldberg piece of performance art. The levers, gears, springs and cables, pulling, shifting, was a metal shop symphony of virtually extinct sounds, vanished history and the fading wisdom of a far more tangible, concrete and dependable world. Long gone, that world. Long gone.
She stopped, gazed at the thunky contraption. Even silent and still she was comforted by its clock work operating system. A tight, well oiled Newtonian universe of interlocking components, dependable cogs, durable cause and effect. Safe from all outside influences, slings, arrows, tragedies and morally depraved hack bastard, cyber thieves.
She saw the machine not as one solid unit but as an army of thousands; unified, bound together in their fearlessness. It connected Thayer to the energy of bulling steam engines, prehistoric iron bridges and the bulging sweat muscle work of hammers and nails She was their general and they were combat scarred warriors who fought with her for the truth. They were now poised, waiting for her to lead them into a battle for the hearts and minds of the world.
She accepted the fact that the cacophony from her iron word factory assaulted the senses of countless, prissy, mid 21st Century café customers, library patrons and cafeteria classmates. Nonetheless she was willing to incur their daggered disapproval and even expulsion from those rooms. And she had. Many times.
It didn’t matter what they thought. What she stamped into the white paper, not sprayed or lasered by some flaccid bladder or pump, was a commitment to passion, observations. Life. Her life. Her existence.
She liked the fact that, if and when she chose, she could maintain an unhackable, untouchable and utterly private, steel firewall. Her thoughts, words impervious, safe from the data storms, the hyper-morphing either clouds of the ever monitored links and eternally surveilled nano-data circling and re-circling the globe like poison gas.
Her brawling machinery stopped the sucking vermin hackers dead. Made the cyber felons move on to mug and rob the sheen of sleek, silent, insubstantial light glimmers flitted on to the waif thin, gossamer screens of the utterly helpless, the terminally dependant and self involved.
Thayer also needed the noise and impact of Smitty’s powerful kinetic energy physically, to preoccupy her anterior and prefrontal lobes. Keep the monkey mind busy while her cerebral cortex, calmed and clever, captured the truths of what she hunted.
Smitty also buoyantly raised chemical levels which modulated the phasic reactivity in her brain’s volatile neurotransmissions, and what writer has ever wanted more to then to have their passions, images, characters and tales stream through their minds and souls on to paper while the joy of a Boccherini cello concerto of dopamine, washing over, sweetly channeling the raging images and epiphanies, so they could focus, could report. Could spin magic on to paper.
She paused. Brow furrowing. Truths. Unwieldy things. A serious, decision making crossroads; whether or not to commit that evening’s private family events to more than just the paper. The threat of all the forces aligned against decent human privacy swept through her brain.
She nodded, agreeing with herself that it all must be observed and chronicled clearly and honestly but she was not going to risk putting it out there to be analyzed and “on the record,” not yet and not realizing that she whispered out loud “On the record.”
She knew that the moment Smitty’s “ *” struck the upper left hand corner of the page, a single nanobot embedded in the typing paper would instantaneously be turned on and with almost the speed of light send an electro-chemical shout of “Wake up, guys, it’s show time!” to the next nanobot, then the next and so on, cascading down the page like robotic dominos, the whole sheet coming alive, nerve endings touching nerve endings, the whole phenomena of a subatomic grid crackling like telegraph wires, top to bottom, coast to coast, across the vellum through embedded conduits.
Of course, Thayer knew that was not the way it actually worked and that the tiny asterisk was as wide across as at least ten million nanobots and that the paper she was using was probably infused with a hundred trillion of them. She removed the now charged sheet, crumpled it up and threw it away. Putting another sheet in she began to type the date: “December...” Then she stopped and glanced over at her at her iEdge to make sure it was not receiving the signals from the sheet of 8.5 x 11, 20lb (94 brightness) NanoType white bond.
The blue light stayed steady. It was not receiving. Good. She finished the date...
“...12, 2030, then assaulted the keyboard, angrily focusing her flash flood of words on the hapless keys. Hair flying, fingers a blur, she looked like nothing less than a wild Beethoven assaulting a piano in a ratta-ratta-ratta-tat-tat fusillade of machine gunned letters, punching the paper with a continuous and deafening stream of crackling shots and brutal machinery.
===================================================================== From: ThyGeekGoddess V [mailto:...]
Sent: Wednesday, August 21, 2013 2:12 AM
To: Richard Marcus
Subject: Re: Richard Marcus
Goodie!
I've been slow to respond today. working my digital farm and whatnot.
I use them as props in videos and sell the rest.
Think "dog show" for nerds.
The breeding programs use a simple Punnets square formula, but with so many, it gets complicated and
it looks like this when I'm sorting them out.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O3UXNDKzKJU
If I'm not interrupted, I get all ...like you saw me the other day.
I started breedable pets as a team building activity/income source.
Since most of my high-end pets came from well-known breeders who are going into other pets, I'm going to
organize my inventory and let the buyers get a little hungry.
I'm hoping to get some attention soon. Today, an auctioneer bought my Dwarfin instead of
letting it pass. He got it for 1000L which translates to about 5$ USD. I didn't realize until too late that the speed auctions start that low and didn't want to piss anyone off. He made a big fuss about parting with the money, so if I work it right with the outgoing breeder and support her breedable lemurs, she will promote what I'm up to.
My little geek goddess avatar is making commercials.
The main target for my project was for K-6 for obvious reasons.
I have a LOT of competition, but some people out there....yipes.
I wouldn't let them teach a kid how to tie a shoe!
(a buttload of technical shit goes here to explain why kids can't participate in these breedable pet activities)
http://www.dwarfins.com/
http://www.worldofmeeroos.com/
And this is one of the stories they came up with promoting a machinima contest. I'd been making videos with them, before the big contest, but damn if I didn't mess up and miss the deadline! The winning video was lame.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kwFPi827EKM
Let me know when this starts to sound like English.
My purple pill will be a lot easier to understand when I show you.
Oooh, this might help.
We have translators in-world, but it sux since Google started charging.
Remember when the ads on Youtube were along the sides? Well, Youtube started
jacking with the code so we couldn't stream content in world intermittently.
lawsuit, lawsuit, lawsuit, now we have those damned commercial interruptions.
Sorry about that....but it's really not OUR bad. When we want something, we know where to go.
They can talk all the shit they want about NSA, but they built the net. It's only RENTED to the ISPs who rent it to us.
I fight to cut out the middle man because THIS country shouldn't force people to pay so much to get the truth.
Aren't we overdue for some kind of Jubilee?
When you install skype and pick a name, I'm MUZEBL
When you put that in the search window you'll see my logo.
I'm thinking of dumping the "One big Soup" thing and go with something
more quantum. The purple pill works too.
But someone probably sniped it by now.
http://www.skype.com/en/
Here's machinima programming. Let me know when I can call myself a producer.
My biggest office was actually in the offices at Zola/Zodiac in Adams Morgan.
It's gentrified now......pfft. I really have no reason to go back there....unless the Obama's put me on their BBQ list.
I didn't know how we rolled until I grew up and you can't imagine how much that pissed me off!
Seriously. One of the four or five "Uncle Bob's" at the Levittown parties was Bob Strickland.
The last time I saw him, his daughter was two years old...reading off the refrigerator magnets.
I asked him what they fed her....cuz...DAYAMN! I felt like a moron because I wasn't reading until age 4.
I'm still kicking myself for being too shy to ask him to bring Oprah over.
I thought it would hurt his feelings.
http://metaversetv.com/
I got squirreled away in so many directions, I never did find the copy write info I needed. Maybe its a trademark ...brain is too mushy now.
nighty morning
On Tue, Aug 20, 2013 at 9:17 PM, Richard Marcus wrote:
Just my name is all and the copyright. Glad you liked it.
From: ThyGeekGoddess V [mailto:...
Sent: Tuesday, August 20, 2013 7:00 PM
To: Richard Marcus
Subject: Re: Richard Marcus
Can I post your work on my wall? Just put whatever propaganda you want attached and I'll be happy to shoot it out there.
On Tue, Aug 20, 2013 at 6:58 PM, ThyGeekGoddess V <...> wrote:
*giggles*
That was fun!
I LOVE Mozart, but we used to laugh at the tuxedos who basically flaunted being in cahoots with the social class that actually enslaved his talent. The ones who cry because it sounds sniffly. Since we normally ate out before a show, we'd be dressed in whatever.
Same with Shakespeare. How do you go to Othello, dripping in diamonds?
Welcome to the Good Ship WTF.
In junior high days, (kilt cough), we saw James Earl Jones do Othello. I was in such a rush, I left my glasses and didn't realize it until where you could see Sugar Ray's Leonard's roof from RT50...
It was the point of NO way no how we're going back for shit.
I wasn't as blind as my big sister, but I cried all the way to the theater. The round one.. Ford's?. We were pretty close, but at 12 years old, I was a bit thankful I couldn't lay eyes on him for too long because his voice....OMG. That was enough to jump start puberty.
Hey, I was 12!
But, Yay... President Barack HUSSEIN Obama *snark* brought him back to the White House and nobody bothered to really notice how freaking epic that is......dammit.. Did you hear he's putting back the solar panels?
That's so gangstah.
My general rant is, "He's not left-ist, he's left-HANDED and if you think he's talking over your head,
BE SMARTER!" Honestly, the poor man is stripping his genius to moron circuitry on these people.
I know that look.
I've done tech support!
"NO, that is NOT a cup-holder!"
sigh
Muggles are really missing out on a damned good administration. He had to be covertly snarky like I was growing up.
And it turns morons into babbling idiots.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uihbX1ho2_k
Somewhere I have a Frybread Power poem on a book mark. I never have it and any kind of camera / scanner handy at the same time. Poke me about it later when I forget, K? It's frilliant.
/me grabs her swatter..
A dixiecrat just said something stupid on Huffpo.
Bombs awaaaaaay!
Talkies when you get time, but I might have lost my place..... .just stop me if you've heard this one.
On Tue, Aug 20, 2013 at 4:39 PM, Richard Marcus wrote:
Yo.
http://www.aish.com/authors/135645628.html
A Bagel Is More Than A Jewish Donut
A bagel is more than a Jewish donut,
More than a roll with a hole.
More than a strange English muffin.
A bagel’s got bagely soul.
It is something a baby can teethe on.
The true home of cream cheese and lox.
Bagels are tied to the hulls of big boats,
To keep them from hitting the docks.
A bagel’s a friend.
A bagel’s a buddy.
A bagel never forgets.
Bagels as hard as bricks and concrete
Make wonderful weapons and pets.
A bagel is kind.
A bagel’s well rounded.
A bagel is wholesome and neat.
I’ve seen bagel Boy Scouts
On busses and subways
Graciously give up their seats.
A bagel is brilliant,
The Mozart of bread,
The Shakespeare of flour, inspired,
The Rolls Royce of noshing,
The Buick of Bulk,
And as chewy as one of the tires.
I once knew a man who was struck by a bagel,
It gave him such a “potch” that he schvitzed!
Yet, I heard him exclaim,
“I would rather be maimed
By a bagel, than be crippled by Ritz.”
First given to Israelites fleeing from Egypt,
Who cried, “A schmear on matzo destroys it!
Smoked salmon on manna?
That’s a pox on the lox!
Such a mess just to fress, who’d enjoy it?”
So hearing our cries, God looked around
Saw angels with heavenly lights ‘round their heads,
He thought: “What if I coil it, then boil it then bake
A halo
Out of some kind of bread?”
And that was the gift (along with those tablets)
That let the Jews know they were chosen,
But then some schmuck said “Can I make a buck
If I made them in flavors and froze ‘em?”
So bagels today? Feh!
They’ve gone to extremes,
Gluten free? Low carb? Makes me gag;
Vegan-schmaggegan? Tofu-banana?!
It’s like eating a bagel in drag.
But in hard times like these,
A real bagel’s a comfort,
Like a warm teething ring we can eat.
They fill us with love, they fill us with joy,
Not to mention two pounds of wheat.
So when you’re worried or tired,
Outsourced or fired,
Caught in the grind and the crunch,
Stagger right into your neighborhood bagelry
And take a nice bagel to lunch.
- Richard Marcus
c
Copyright, 2002, All Rights, Richard Marcus
[Image]
Richard Marcus
Okay so what I’m getting is that you think/talk on the keyboard and that’s ve...
8/21/13
ThyGeekGoddess V ...
8/22/13
to Richard
Sooo, THAT happened
And I'm all verklempt.
(hmm, maybe he DID write for Disney)
No fair figuring out how to shut me up!
At least NOT so soon!
(gave me HOMEWORK!)
So...you want a blog, huh?
(I hate the word too, some snowden must have thought that up)
I'll take a nap and start shopping for formats.
(wrote that last night and forget to click send)
------
There's a cloud server i my name, NOT carrying it's weight. It's not Netware, so I gotta figure it out.
(new crap=bad technical writing rant)
You are 100% ON, but that one little, itty bitty thing...
It's impossible for me to make a noise, "fwap, fwap, fwap",
Even if I were male, I couldn't do it to on a keyboard and NEVER in a coffee shop.
*snortle*
I LOVED the idea of equating it with piano playing....
So, yes...
PROJECT!
..indeed!
In the Metaverse, "showing your work" is the best way to protect it.
Indie don't play when it comes to posers.
So here's what I'm gonna do.
Since it took so many years for me to catch my url unparked by a poser,
I'm going work on setting up ... um, something at onebigsoup.com
And when this does what I know it can do, I'll bring a REAL Italian pizza joint to the neighborhood.
Even though Chicago pizza makes a cheese cracker out of New York pizza. nyah!
I'll get you one and call it "Ricardo's" or "Jenny's"...or something.
I'm not putting my name on it. It's too male in Italian and I've had quite enough of THAT, tyvm.
I WAS going to say I'd spend the day in the sauna and let Zhuangzi speak to me for awhile, but when I went to rip the tags off that bathing suit, I found out that wasn't the corner she started organizing and I'm back at my desk.
.....................
Well... OK. I'll take this walk, but if I take your hand and you drop me off the last mile marker like so many before you, They'll be calling you Richard Mudd all over the metaverse and you don't want to go down like the dixicrats.
I'm on a mission from GOD! LOL
(no, not Santa God the one that likes people thinking and caring about shit ..people and stuff)
You're seriously up for this mitzvah, one missed by everyone who ever met me and called it 'grandiose'?
You're going to put me in the Powder Puff game even though it would harsh your reputation if they let the Hyphenated-American track sprinter (smoker) win the game for them?
Yeah, it happened and they ignored my invitation to have a virtual 30th reunion for those who can't make it in person.
I think they're worried that Blackwell Lane was actually named after my ancestors.
This would be the BEST time to call it a punk because I'm fin 'ta go out and play!
While you do your thing...
But you can't drop me off the precipice, OK?
You can't even die on me.
And you can't piss off Jennifer...or else.
I'm kewl with you hitting the wall twice a week, just to chime in for support, cuz I could use a sponsor, so I can be one myself. I guess that's new "master", huh?
They suck at it.
I want to make up with my life. We broke up LONG AGO and she was pretty damned kewl.
It was fine until they started "fucking with my livelihood". It was bad enough, but my kid is another story.
So it's past noon-thirty and I all be up in my cloud fucking things up for awhile while you do your thing.
I'll be on the construct. Collecting my toys scattered all over the place.
I don't care where it goes as long as it happens, but hey, I could eat.
http://onebigsoup.com/
So, it's the last call for alcohol, is it Richard Marcus or Richard Mudd?
Cuz I already tweeted a maybe Sinbad account.
I wanna tell Fluffy Guy
He actually tweets back.
Just pinch me with one more confirmation and I'll really really go setup the new sandbox.
I invited the Class of '83 to have a virtual class reunion on 3rd Rock Grid for people who couldn't attend in person.
No response that I'm aware of. http://www.bowie1983.com/
It's at the Knight of Columbus and I double dare them to blow this off. Dad was a grand Pooh Pah and I grew up at Sacred Heart where the Pastor called us black spots in the congregation when I was too young to remember it...or it was said when we weren't there. But after A-school, I was standing next to Dad in dress blues when that same pastor said the "Equal Rights Amendment" should have been called the "Equal Wrongs Amendment"
It was the home of the Hippie Priest of Levittown who those his boss was kind of a dick. (no offense)
LOL....couldn't help it, I'm sorry.
That pastor didn't become a MONSIGNOR like Father Wells, who was murdered TWICE for his service. There is no way in hell that man was gay. Not living 4 doors down from MY brother. Vince was a fucking GOD and he's still a Catholic, NRA semi-phobe. (moron cough)
We're not talking and I'll show you why later.
They can kill me if they want to.... but I wouldn't recommend it very much. I don't think they'd want US smiting their ass from the other side. New Bern Catholics don't go slinging the words "true mystic" around like that....for no reason. I'm a chip off that fatherboard as much as I inherited talents from my Mother.
Xibit! PLEASE Pimp my ride. "The Admiral" is a 2001 Toyota Camary... He got the first one after I moved out of the house! I love the car, it was Dads, but I could fall asleep at the wheel it's so boring. He was right to be invisible, but I never had use for it. I never wanted to be the puppet in front of the camera tho. I was always the architect, the engineer, the oh... master. But of what? ah haaaa
That's the Church they keep kicking me out of!
I just don't know how to write that letter.
The way I got my first job was, "Hey, I took my first 10 years of piano lessons here. I know the place inside and out. You owe me a job."
And he said, "Oh, OK."
I said "kewl"
And filled out the application.
It was right next door to the arcade! And that's where I taught my blerd friend how to kiss.
We laughed at the kids who thought they were the coolest because they worked at the highest volume McDonalds in the country.
Mac worked at the arcade and I was getting paid to practice Ragtime at the Music and Arts Center!
I hear it's a big deal now.
BWAH! hahahaahhahahahaha *cough, wheeze*
I can't play shit without black dots in front of me.
(theory lessons were too linear)
There's people out there doing it freely and I'll dabble when I can later.
You know...I had the idea for a high school drama back in 1982 over my prom date.
You could ask my friends because one blerd started tripping out because he thought Joan of Arcadia was ME!
I really want to move in next to Family Guy and fuck up his world.
But it's on Fox....meh.
Another reason this is a great way to communicate is that our minds get tangled up.
At least this stops the stress of having to remember what the hell you wanted to talk about.
So, I'll think at you online.
While I do that, I'll send you invites to the right networks.
I'll try to work it out so you only need to bother posting once on the host blog.
I just joined rippln and the naysayers haven't the foggiest clue what they're bitching about.
Everything is an MLM, the profile itself is free advertising.
Can we take down Boogieman, Inc?
There's not much left to them now and I can tell I'm downwind from Glen Beck!
And yeah... can I post your chapter after changing that word?
....OK...NOW I'm shutting up because ... food.... I forgot again.
"and off she goes, la-la-la...to tend her Dwarfins and play on her little cloud"
That might be a stupid, selfish indulgence, but it's how I have to kill off my Buddhas...for now.
Here's some music to put your energy back on your work.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yS__DBkMG18
I'll set up all your accounts with the same password so that all you need to do is change the passwords and leave them sit until you're ready to use it.
I rather like this one to start it off.
http://www.aish.com/authors/135645628.html
The class of '83 had 795 students and 10,000 guests at the Capitol Center.
Wanna come?
I'll find out if the Knights of Columbus have what they need to pull it off.
If not, I've got a friend waiting for me to show her something at Discovery Channel.
Let's see how far the rabbit hole goes, Morpheus.
'Cuz I got the Purple Pill right here,
burning a hole in my pocket!
ThyGeekGoddess V ...m
======================= Our Chicago Pie vs NY PIZZA RANT ==============================
8/22/13
to Richard
Just hold the kite string, for a bit and I'll do the flying.
Richard Marcus
Pages and pages. Me writing pages and pages. Did skim. (Very nice of me) Saw ...
8/22/13
ThyGeekGoddess V ...
8/22/13
to Richard
YAaaaaaay!!!
(not you)
DEEP DISH!
HAHAHAHAHAHA
Pages and pages. Me writing pages and pages. Did skim. (Very nice of me) Saw a lot about me not letting go of your hand. Or something to the effect of Mudd. See – Call and response is not in my tool box right now. Thayer is an Aspie 17 years in the future which makes her a handful.
Even though Chicago pizza makes a cheese cracker out of New York pizza. nyah If what you’re saying here is that those bullshit Chicago cheese casseroles have anything over NY pizza then we do have a problem.
Go forth and blog.
From: ThyGeekGoddess V [mailto:...]
Sent: Thursday, August 22, 2013 2:56 PM
To: Richard Marcus
Subject: Re: Richard Marcus
Sooo, THAT happened
And I'm all verklempt.
(hmm, maybe he DID write for Disney)
No fair figuring out how to shut me up!
At least NOT so soon!
(I can't believe he gave me HOMEWORK!)
So...you want a blog, huh?
(I hate the word too, some snowden must have thought that up)
I'll take a nap and start shopping for formats.
(wrote that last night and forget to click send)
------
There's a cloud server i my name, NOT carrying it's weight. It's not Netware, so I gotta figure it out.
(new crap=bad technical writing rant)
You are 100% ON, but that one little, itty bitty thing...
It's impossible for me to make a noise, "fwap, fwap, fwap",
Even if I were male, I couldn't do it to on a keyboard and NEVER in a coffee shop.
*snortle*
I LOVED the idea of equating it with piano playing....
So, yes...
PROJECT!
..indeed!
In the Metaverse, "showing your work" is the best way to protect it.
Indie don't play when it comes to posers.
So here's what I'm gonna do.
Since it took so many years for me to catch my url unparked by a poser,
I'm going work on setting up ... um, something at onebigsoup.com
And when this does what I know it can do, I'll bring a REAL Italian pizza joint to the neighborhood.
Even though Chicago pizza makes a cheese cracker out of New York pizza. nyah!
I'll get you one and call it "Ricardo's" or "Jenny's"...or something.
I'm not putting my name on it. It's too male in Italian and I've had quite enough of THAT, tyvm.
I WAS going to say I'd spend the day in the sauna and let Zhuangzi speak to me for awhile, but when I went to rip the tags off that bathing suit, I found out that wasn't the corner she started organizing and I'm back at my desk.
.....................
Well... OK. I'll take this walk, but if I take your hand and you drop me off the last mile marker like so many before you, They'll be calling you Richard Mudd all over the metaverse and you don't want to go down like the dixicrats.
I'm on a mission from GOD! LOL
(no, not Santa God the one that likes people thinking and caring about shit ..people and stuff)
You're seriously up for this mitzvah, one missed by everyone who ever met me and called it 'grandiose'?
============
You're going to put me in the Powder Puff game even though it would harsh your reputation if they let the Hyphenated-American track sprinter (smoker) win the game for them?
Yeah, it happened and they ignored my invitation to have a virtual 30th reunion for those who can't make it in person.
I think they're worried that Blackwell Lane was actually named after my ancestors.
This would be the BEST time to call it a punk because I'm fin 'ta go out and play!
While you do your thing...
But you can't drop me off the precipice, OK?
You can't even die on me.
And you can't piss off Jennifer...or else.
I'm kewl with you hitting the wall twice a week, just to chime in for support, cuz I could use a sponsor, so I can be one myself. I guess that's new "master", huh?
They suck at it.
I want to make up with my life. We broke up LONG AGO and she was pretty damned kewl.
It was fine until they started "fucking with my livelihood". It was bad enough, but my kid is another story.
So it's past noon-thirty and I all be up in my cloud fucking things up for awhile while you do your thing.
I'll be on the construct. Collecting my toys scattered all over the place.
I don't care where it goes as long as it happens, but hey, I could eat.
http://onebigsoup.com/
So, it's the last call for alcohol, is it Richard Marcus or Richard Mudd?
Cuz I already tweeted a maybe Sinbad account.
I wanna tell Fluffy Guy
He actually tweets back.
Just pinch me with one more confirmation and I'll really really go setup the new sandbox.
I invited the Class of '83 to have a virtual class reunion on 3rd Rock Grid for people who couldn't attend in person.
No response that I'm aware of. http://www.bowie1983.com/
It's at the Knight of Columbus and I double dare them to blow this off. Dad was a grand poohpah and I grew up at Sacred Heart where the Pastor called us black spots in the congregation. I was standing next to him in dress blues when that same pastor said the "Equal Rights Amendment" should have been called the "Equal Wrongs Amendment"
It was the home of the Hippie Priest of Levittown who those his boss was kind of a dick. (no offense)
LOL....couldn't help it, I'm sorry.
That pastor didn't become a MONSIGNOR like Father Wells, who was murdered TWICE for his service. There is no way in hell that man was gay. Not living 4 doors down from MY brother. Vince was a fucking GOD and he's still a Catholic, NRA semi-phobe. (moron cough)
We're not talking and I'll show you why later.
They can kill me if they want to.... but I wouldn't recommend it very much. I don't think they'd want US smiting their ass from the other side. New Bern Catholics don't go slinging the words "true mystic"
Xibit! PLEASE Pimp my ride. "The Admiral" is a 2001 Toyota Camary... He got the first one after I moved out of the house! I love the car, it was Dads, but I could fall asleep at the wheel it's so boring. He was right to be invisible, but I never had use for it. I never wanted to be the puppet in front of the camera tho. I was always the architect, the engineer, the oh... master. But of what? ah haaaa
That's the Church they keep kicking me out of!
I just don't know how to write that letter.
The way I got my first job was, "Hey, I took my first 10 years of piano lessons here. I know the place inside and out. You owe me a job."
And he said, "Oh, OK."
I said "kewl"
And filled out the application.
It was right next door to the arcade! Where I taught my blerd friend how to kiss.
We laughed at the kids who thought they were the coolest because they worked at the highest volume McDonalds in the country.
Mac worked at the arcade and I was getting paid to practice Ragtime at the Music and Arts Center!
I hear it's a big deal now.
BWAH! hahahaahhahahahaha *cough, wheeze*
I can't play shit without black dots in front of me.
(theory lessons were too linear)
There's people out there doing it freely and I'll dabble when I can later.
You know...I had the idea for a high school drama back in 1982 over my prom date.
You could ask my friends because one blerd started tripping out because he thought Joan of Arcadia was ME!
I really want to move in next to Family Guy and fuck up his world.
But it's on Fox....meh.
Another reason this is a great way to communicate is that our minds get tangled up.
At least this stops the stress of having to remember what the hell you wanted to talk about.
So, I'll think at you online.
While I do that, I'll send you invites to the right networks.
I'll try to work it out so you only need to bother posting once on the host blog.
I just joined rippln and the naysayers haven't the foggiest clue what they're bitching about.
Everything is an MLM, the profile itself is free advertising.
Can we take down Boogieman, Inc?
There's not much left to them now and I can tell I'm downwind from Glen Beck!
And yeah... can I post your chapter after changing that word?
....OK...NOW I'm shutting up because ... food.... I forgot again.
"and off she goes, la-la-la...to tend her Dwarfins and play on her little cloud"
Here's one last video for now. I originally set up Muze Ackland Productions to promote two very dear friends of mine. He thinks I was jealous of her. I never was. He didn't really listen when I joked that I wanted to BE her when I grew up.
She was wearing the hell out of some red leathers when we went riding in Ft. Lauderdale.
I don't want him back in my life like that, but he is a great talent that isn't getting his due. I can't stand that.
I also can't stand him thinking I'm weak, when every doctor and counselor wonders how in the hell I function at all!
That might be a stupid, selfish indulgence, but it's how I have to kill off my Buddhas...for now.
Here's some music to put your energy back on your work.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yS__DBkMG18
I'll set up all your accounts with the same password so that all you need to do is change the passwords and leave them sit until you're ready to use it.
I rather like this one to start it off.
http://www.aish.com/authors/135645628.html
The class of '83 had 795 students and 10,000 guests at the Capitol Center.
Wanna come?
I'll find out if the Knights of Columbus have what they need to pull it off.
If not, I've got a friend waiting for me to show her something at Discovery Channel.
Let's see how far the rabbit hole goes, Morpheus.
'Cuz I got the Purple Pill right here,
burning a hole in my pocket!
===============================================================
On Wed, Aug 21, 2013 at 10:51 PM, Richard Marcus wrote:
Okay so what I’m getting is that you think/talk on the keyboard and that’s very cool. Almost like I don’t have to be there at all because getting it out is most important and you are communicating with somebody safe. Yup. You are. The timing on the meta level is peachy It’s all floatable and reaches the right altitude and on and on and on. Good. Without that energy – your energy - the world would not be paying its gravity bill and we’d all go to fuckall. Your domino words falling falling clickity-clickity clickity-clickity clickity-clickity is important. You can run whole word Sym Cities on it.
Downside: for me, maybe you, is that on the boots on the ground level; i.e.: Me sitting writing, I have the transparent but nonetheless most needed eggshell lowered. Your writing does make a lot of noise. Good noise. Music and then a brass section and then the Moog synthesizer then the Wurlitzer and I’m in the rococo Paramount up on 167th (?) Well, I’m not sure but the ADHD scrambles if I go focus on untying sooo many different thought patterns wires, trial balloons and “tune in next weeks.”
I wonder/hope and know you don’t (won’t...maybe won’t) open a blog and put in it EXACTLY what you write to me. I swear, I swear, the world will find it. I want to respond to exactly all you write but it is so much on the same wave length I need to think and write and re-write that I cannot. There’s no multi-tasking that puppy for me. So if you want to keep writing diggity diggity But I cannot respond in kind (would like to but can’t) because it’s the very same energy I need to write the novel. Ah, but you know that. Still it all needs to get out. Blog. Blog Blog it. Hate the word “Blog.” Sounds like a fucking plumbing problem. But I do believe that in this rare case it would work.
=======================================================================================
Today was an extraordinarily productive day for me.
Likewise, I hope.
Nope. Wasn’t.
This is why I’m writing all this now. You write powerful medicine. Put many bees in head of brave. Fucks with concentration. Make him ride horse sideways. Think of ’64 Worlds Fair and other things in Queens. Dog does not know what his master is doing. Upsets dog. Upsets master. Do not feel sad. Keep writing. It is, like Larry said, “A Coney Island of the mind.”
===============================================================
From: ThyGeekGoddess V [mailto:...m]
Sent: Wednesday, August 21, 2013 8:22 PM
To: Richard Marcus
Subject: Re: Richard Marcus
On Wed, Aug 21, 2013 at 10:46 AM, Richard Marcus wrote:
With typical writer self-obsessed ego I apologize for not being able to read your work at this moment because I am, in fact and as stated,self-obsessed – But in truth it’s more of “I cannot let myself get distracted by work as wild as my own. I must write till brain fry. Therefore in my place I send you the first few pages of the novel as recog ition of your efforts. Best I can do till evening.
Nature Bats Last
Richard Marcus
CHAPTER ONE
Thayer closed the door to her bedroom, padded over to the enormous dark oak, roll top desk and sat down in front of the coral green,1959 Smith-Corona Sterling Super-5 (serial # 5A862417), which she had named “Smitty.”
She leaned over Smitty and flicked the “on” toggles connected to the noise cancellation units in the foam rubber baffling attached to the back of her bedroom door and the one that swept the floor and walls. She nodded to herself, satisfied she wouldn’t disturb the rest of the house
Thayer placed her fingers lightly on the white, marshmallow plump keys almost like a greeting; telling the squat, happy machine she was there. It was wired to know.
The ancient desk’s gaping workspace was so huge and dark and Thayer so slim and, to be honest, close to boney, that it looked like a tiny child trustingly putting her hands into the enormous mouth and touching the flat wide teeth of a very patient hippo.
She lifted her hands off the keys and from a neat stack plucked up a sheet of thick, creamy paper and positioned it precisely parallel with the back of Smitty’s platen, the black barrel which did all the work.
She then grasped the chunky, white knob on the right side of the typewriter, turned it and smiled at hearing the ratcheting “click-click-click” of the cogwheels and sprockets as they rotated the barrel, making the paper disappear down into the back of the machine. Every time this happened it caused the tiniest catch in her chest that the sheet was really gone into Smitty, never to appear. Of course it always did, rising up like a perfect, white, recvtangular sunrise behind the chrome silver bar of the paper bail.
To Thayer, the “clickety-clickety-clack” of the keys, the type bars, those long metal, alien fingers with their alphabet fingerprints, hitting the black/red ribbon, then paper and platen with their “fwap-fwap-fwap-fwap...” the platen barrel’s cheerfully efficient “tickety-tickety-tickety-tickety-tickety,” as she pushed it back to it’s starting point and the deep “bong!” of the bigger bell her dad had installed, was more than just a Rube Goldberg piece of performance art. The levers, gears, springs and cables, pulling, shifting, was a metal shop symphony of virtually extinct sounds, vanished history and the fading wisdom of a far more tangible, concrete and dependable world. Long gone, that world. Long gone.
She stopped, gazed at the thunky contraption. Even silent and still she was comforted by its clock work operating system. A tight, well oiled Newtonian universe of interlocking components, dependable cogs, durable cause and effect. Safe from all outside influences, slings, arrows, tragedies and morally depraved hack bastard, cyber thieves.
She saw the machine not as one solid unit but as an army of thousands; unified, bound together in their fearlessness. It connected Thayer to the energy of bulling steam engines, prehistoric iron bridges and the bulging sweat muscle work of hammers and nails She was their general and they were combat scarred warriors who fought with her for the truth. They were now poised, waiting for her to lead them into a battle for the hearts and minds of the world.
She accepted the fact that the cacophony from her iron word factory assaulted the senses of countless, prissy, mid 21st Century café customers, library patrons and cafeteria classmates. Nonetheless she was willing to incur their daggered disapproval and even expulsion from those rooms. And she had. Many times.
It didn’t matter what they thought. What she stamped into the white paper, not sprayed or lasered by some flaccid bladder or pump, was a commitment to passion, observations. Life. Her life. Her existence.
She liked the fact that, if and when she chose, she could maintain an unhackable, untouchable and utterly private, steel firewall. Her thoughts, words impervious, safe from the data storms, the hyper-morphing either clouds of the ever monitored links and eternally surveilled nano-data circling and re-circling the globe like poison gas.
Her brawling machinery stopped the sucking vermin hackers dead. Made the cyber felons move on to mug and rob the sheen of sleek, silent, insubstantial light glimmers flitted on to the waif thin, gossamer screens of the utterly helpless, the terminally dependant and self involved.
Thayer also needed the noise and impact of Smitty’s powerful kinetic energy physically, to preoccupy her anterior and prefrontal lobes. Keep the monkey mind busy while her cerebral cortex, calmed and clever, captured the truths of what she hunted.
Smitty also buoyantly raised chemical levels which modulated the phasic reactivity in her brain’s volatile neurotransmissions, and what writer has ever wanted more to then to have their passions, images, characters and tales stream through their minds and souls on to paper while the joy of a Boccherini cello concerto of dopamine, washing over, sweetly channeling the raging images and epiphanies, so they could focus, could report. Could spin magic on to paper.
She paused. Brow furrowing. Truths. Unwieldy things. A serious, decision making crossroads; whether or not to commit that evening’s private family events to more than just the paper. The threat of all the forces aligned against decent human privacy swept through her brain.
She nodded, agreeing with herself that it all must be observed and chronicled clearly and honestly but she was not going to risk putting it out there to be analyzed and “on the record,” not yet and not realizing that she whispered out loud “On the record.”
She knew that the moment Smitty’s “ *” struck the upper left hand corner of the page, a single nanobot embedded in the typing paper would instantaneously be turned on and with almost the speed of light send an electro-chemical shout of “Wake up, guys, it’s show time!” to the next nanobot, then the next and so on, cascading down the page like robotic dominos, the whole sheet coming alive, nerve endings touching nerve endings, the whole phenomena of a subatomic grid crackling like telegraph wires, top to bottom, coast to coast, across the vellum through embedded conduits.
Of course, Thayer knew that was not the way it actually worked and that the tiny asterisk was as wide across as at least ten million nanobots and that the paper she was using was probably infused with a hundred trillion of them. She removed the now charged sheet, crumpled it up and threw it away. Putting another sheet in she began to type the date: “December...” Then she stopped and glanced over at her at her iEdge to make sure it was not receiving the signals from the sheet of 8.5 x 11, 20lb (94 brightness) NanoType white bond.
The blue light stayed steady. It was not receiving. Good. She finished the date...
“...12, 2030, then assaulted the keyboard, angrily focusing her flash flood of words on the hapless keys. Hair flying, fingers a blur, she looked like nothing less than a wild Beethoven assaulting a piano in a ratta-ratta-ratta-tat-tat fusillade of machine gunned letters, punching the paper with a continuous and deafening stream of crackling shots and brutal machinery.
From: ThyGeekGoddess V [mailto:...]
Sent: Wednesday, August 21, 2013 2:12 AM
To: Richard Marcus
Subject: Re: Richard Marcus
Goodie!
I've been slow to respond today. working my digital farm and whatnot.
I use them as props in videos and sell the rest.
Think "dog show" for nerds.
The breeding programs use a simple Punett's square formula, but with so many, it gets complicated and
it looks like this when I'm sorting them out.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O3UXNDKzKJU
If I'm not interrupted, I get all ...like you saw me the other day.
I started breedable pets as a team building activity/income source.
Since most of my high-end pets came from well-known breeders who are going into other pets, I'm going to
organize my inventory and let the buyers get a little hungry.
I'm hoping to get some attention soon. Today, an auctioneer bought my Dwarfin instead of
letting it pass. He got it for 1000L which translates to about 5$ USD. I didn't realize until too late that the speed auctions start that low and didn't want to piss anyone off. He made a big fuss about parting with the money, so if I work it right with the outgoing breeder and support her breedable lemurs, she will promote what I'm up to.
My little geek goddess avatar is making commercials.
The main target for my project was for K-6 for obvious reasons.
I have a LOT of competition, but some people out there....yipes.
I wouldn't let them teach a kid how to tie a shoe!
(a buttload of technical shit goes here to explain why kids can't participate in these breedable pet activities)
http://www.dwarfins.com/
http://www.worldofmeeroos.com/
And this is one of the stories they came up with promoting a machinima contest. I'd been making videos with them, before the big contest, but damn if I didn't mess up and miss the deadline! The winning video was lame.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kwFPi827EKM
Let me know when this starts to sound like English.
My purple pill will be a lot easier to understand when I show you.
Oooh, this might help.
We have translators in-world, but it sux since Google started charging.
Remember when the ads on Youtube were along the sides? Well, Youtube started
jacking with the code so we couldn't stream content in world intermittently.
lawsuit, lawsuit, lawsuit, now we have those damned commercial interruptions.
Sorry about that....but it's really not OUR bad. When we want something, we know where to go.
They can talk all the shit they want about NSA, but they built the net. It's only RENTED to the ISPs who rent it to us.
I fight to cut out the middle man because THIS country shouldn't force people to pay so much to get the truth.
Aren't we overdue for some kind of Jubilee?
When you install skype and pick a name, I'm MUZEBL
When you put that in the search window you'll see my logo.
I'm thinking of dumping the "One big Soup" thing and go with something
more quantum. The purple pill works too.
But someone probably sniped it by now.
http://www.skype.com/en/
Here's machinima programming. Let me know when I can call myself a producer.
My biggest office was actually in the offices at Zola/Zodiac in Adams Morgan.
It's gentrified now......pfft. I really have no reason to go back there....unless the Obama's put me on their BBQ list.
I didn't know how we rolled until I grew up and you can't imagine how much that pissed me off!
Seriously. One of the four or five "Uncle Bob's" at the Levittown parties was Bob Strickland.
The last time I saw him, his daughter was two years old...reading off the refrigerator magnets.
I asked him what they fed her....cuz...DAYAMN! I felt like a moron because I wasn't reading until age 4.
I'm still kicking myself for being too shy to ask him to bring Oprah over.
I thought it would hurt his feelings.
http://metaversetv.com/
I got squirreled away in so many directions, I never did find the copy write info I needed. Maybe its a trademark ...brain is too mushy now.
nighty morning
On Tue, Aug 20, 2013 at 9:17 PM, Richard Marcus wrote:
Just my name is all and the copyright. Glad you liked it.
From: ThyGeekGoddess V [mailto:...]
Sent: Tuesday, August 20, 2013 7:00 PM
To: Richard Marcus
Subject: Re: Richard Marcus
Can I post your work on my wall? Just put whatever propaganda you want attached and I'll be happy to shoot it out there.
On Tue, Aug 20, 2013 at 6:58 PM, ThyGeekGoddess V <...> wrote:
*giggles*
That was fun!
I LOVE Mozart, but we used to laugh at the tuxedos who basically flaunted being in cahoots with the social class that actually enslaved his talent. The ones who cry because it sounds sniffly. Since we normally ate out before a show, we'd be dressed in whatever.
Same with Shakespeare. How do you go to Othello, dripping in diamonds?
Welcome to the Good Ship WTF.
In junior high days, (kilt cough), we saw James Earl Jones do Othello. I was in such a rush, I left my glasses and didn't realize it until where you could see Sugar Ray's Leonard's roof from RT50...
It was the point of NO way no how we're going back for shit.
I wasn't as blind as my big sister, but I cried all the way to the theater. The round one.. Ford's?. We were pretty close, but at 12 years old, I was a bit thankful I couldn't lay eyes on him for too long because his voice....OMG. That was enough to jump start puberty.
Hey, I was 12!
But, Yay... President Barack HUSSEIN Obama *snark* brought him back to the White House and nobody bothered to really notice how freaking epic that is......dammit.. Did you hear he's putting back the solar panels?
That's so gangstah.
My general rant is, "He's not left-ist, he's left-HANDED and if you think he's talking over your head,
BE SMARTER!" Honestly, the poor man is stripping his genius to moron circuitry on these people.
I know that look.
I've done tech support!
"NO, that is NOT a cup-holder!"
sigh
Muggles are really missing out on a damned good administration. He had to be covertly snarky like I was growing up.
And it turns morons into babbling idiots.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uihbX1ho2_k
Somewhere I have a Frybread Power poem on a book mark. I never have it and any kind of camera / scanner handy at the same time. Poke me about it later when I forget, K? It's frilliant.
/me grabs her swatter..
A dixiecrat just said something stupid on Huffpo.
Bombs awaaaaaay!
Talkies when you get time, but I might have lost my place..... .just stop me if you've heard this one.
On Tue, Aug 20, 2013 at 4:39 PM, Richard Marcus wrote:
I once knew a man who was struck by a bagel,
It gave him such a “potch” that he schvitzed!
Yet, I heard him exclaim,
“I would rather be maimed
By a bagel, than be crippled by Ritz.”
First given to Israelites fleeing from Egypt,
Who cried, “A schmear on matzo destroys it!
Smoked salmon on manna?
That’s a pox on the lox!
Such a mess just to fress, who’d enjoy it?”
So hearing our cries, God looked around
Saw angels with heavenly lights ‘round their heads,
He thought: “What if I coil it, then boil it then bake
A halo
Out of some kind of bread?”
And that was the gift (along with those tablets)
That let the Jews know they were chosen,
But then some schmuck said “Can I make a buck
If I made them in flavors and froze ‘em?”
So bagels today? Feh!
They’ve gone to extremes,
Gluten free? Low carb? Makes me gag;
Vegan-schmaggegan? Tofu-banana?!
It’s like eating a bagel in drag.
But in hard times like these,
A real bagel’s a comfort,
Like a warm teething ring we can eat.
They fill us with love, they fill us with joy,
Not to mention two pounds of wheat.
So when you’re worried or tired,
Outsourced or fired,
Caught in the grind and the crunch,
Stagger right into your neighborhood bagelry
And take a nice bagel to lunch.
- Richard Marcus
c
Copyright, 2002, All Rights, Richard Marcus
=================================================================
ThyGeekGoddess V ...
11/14/13
to me
On Tue, Aug 20, 2013 at 4:39 PM, Richard Marcus wrote:
Yo.
http://www.aish.com/authors/135645628.html
=====
A Bagel Is More Than A Jewish Donut
A bagel is more than a Jewish donut,
More than a roll with a hole.
More than a strange English muffin.
A bagel’s got bagely soul.
It is something a baby can teethe on.
The true home of cream cheese and lox.
Bagels are tied to the hulls of big boats,
To keep them from hitting the docks.
A bagel’s a friend.
A bagel’s a buddy.
A bagel never forgets.
Bagels as hard as bricks and concrete
Make wonderful weapons and pets.
A bagel is kind.
A bagel’s well rounded.
A bagel is wholesome and neat.
I’ve seen bagel Boy Scouts
On busses and subways
Graciously give up their seats.
A bagel is brilliant,
The Mozart of bread,
The Shakespeare of flour, inspired,
The Rolls Royce of noshing,
The Buick of Bulk,
And as chewy as one of the tires.
I once knew a man who was struck by a bagel,
It gave him such a “potch” that he schvitzed!
Yet, I heard him exclaim,
“I would rather be maimed
By a bagel, than be crippled by Ritz.”
First given to Israelites fleeing from Egypt,
Who cried, “A schmear on matzo destroys it!
Smoked salmon on manna?
That’s a pox on the lox!
Such a mess just to fress, who’d enjoy it?”
So hearing our cries, God looked around
Saw angels with heavenly lights ‘round their heads,
He thought: “What if I coil it, then boil it then bake
A halo
Out of some kind of bread?”
And that was the gift (along with those tablets)
That let the Jews know they were chosen,
But then some schmuck said “Can I make a buck
If I made them in flavors and froze ‘em?”
So bagels today? Feh!
They’ve gone to extremes,
Gluten free? Low carb? Makes me gag;
Vegan-schmaggegan? Tofu-banana?!
It’s like eating a bagel in drag.
But in hard times like these,
A real bagel’s a comfort,
Like a warm teething ring we can eat.
They fill us with love, they fill us with joy,
Not to mention two pounds of wheat.
So when you’re worried or tired,
Outsourced or fired,
Caught in the grind and the crunch,
Stagger right into your neighborhood bagelry
And take a nice bagel to lunch.
- Richard Marcus
c
Copyright, 2002, All Rights, Richard Marcus
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