Something for Thursday

So much of Tchaikovsky, I can live just fine without. But there’s stuff of Tchaikovsky’s that, well, if you asked me to live without it, I’d cry.

Here, in time for The Season, is the Nutcracker Suite. I played this every year in college with the orchestra there; this is one of relatively few pieces of music that, for me, has very definite ties in my mind to a specific time and place. This is also one of those musical works that I point to whenever anyone tells me that there is no magic in our world. Oh yes, there is!

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Saturday Centus (Tuesday Edition)

Hurg. I put this off because it’s a Cute Picture Prompt, and those almost always screw me up. Anyway, here’s the pic:

Yeesh. And we’re supposed to write in first person from the viewpoint of that squirrel. OK then….

Mr. Spackler, sir? I know you don’t much like my general field rodent class of animal, but…I was thinking that just for today, we might call a truce? I mean, after all, it IS Christmas, sir, and this war between you and the gophers isn’t going well for you. No, I’m a squirrel, sir, but I’ve been authorized to speak for the…well, there’s no need to get rude. Hey, there’s certainly no need to reach for that rifle! Mr. Spackler! AHHH!!! RUN RUN RUN!!!

(If you haven’t seen Caddyshack, you won’t get the joke.)

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Shiny in the Black: A FIREFLY Christmas, part two (repost)

(Continuing my repost of last year’s Very Special Christmas episode of…)

part one

Wash put Serenity down on the landing pad, nice and gentle. So nice and gentle that Zoe complimented him on it.

“You’re getting’ more gentle all the time, honey,” Zoe said. “You have such a gift for handling sensitive equipment.”

“Thanks for sayin’ so, my love,” Wash replied. “But I could always use more practice–“

“All right, enough of that, you two.” Mal came up onto the bridge, fully dressed in his usual brown shirt, brown pants, brown belt, brown holster, brown boots, and probably brown socks too, if one could see them underneath all of that. “Wash, you keep the ship warmed and ready to lift if some part of this job goes south. Zoe, you’re coming along.”

“I figured, sir.”

“Captain,” Wash said, “is it really necessary to have contingency plans for this job? We’re actually conducting an honest transaction for once.”

“Yeah,” Mal said. “For once. We don’t get a whole lot of practice with this kind of thing, so who knows what might go wrong. You and Kaylee keep the ship ready. River and the Doc will keep you company. Zoe, you’ll be with Jayne, the Shepherd, and me.”

“What’s Inara doing?”

“Well, I think she’s still on her shuttle, writing long entries in her diary about how much she hates me right now.”

Zoe knew what that meant. “You told her no clients.”

“We ain’t got time. Why am I always the bad guy on this?”

“Oh, I couldn’t begin to venture a guess, Captain,” Zoe said. “Let’s go.”

Mal and Zoe began to exit the bridge.

“Zoe?” Wash called out.

“Yes, love?”

“You’re going to buy toys,” Wash said. “I could use a new stegosaurus for the collection.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

The Captain and Zoe left then, and Wash reached into the small footlocker next to his seat and pulled out a handful of his dinosaur figurines.

In the cargo hold, Shepherd Book and Jayne had the cargo hauler ready to go.

“Jayne,” Book said, “do you really need that many guns?”

“Preacher, are you carryin’ that Bible of yours right now?”

“Good point.”

They lifted a crate containing coin up onto the back of the hauler as Mal and Zoe arrived and descended the criss-crossing stairs down to their level.

“Awful lot of coin to be givin’ up,” Mal said.

“A purchase of good will is never a bad purchase,” said Book.

“You get that from that Bible of yours?”

“No, it just came to me,” Book replied. “A preacher can’t live on the words of one book alone.”

“All right,” Mal said. “Let’s go. Kaylee, open her up.”

“Be careful, Captain,” Kaylee said as she opened the ship’s cargo door and lowered the ramp. Mal, Jayne, Zoe and Book drove off in the hauler. Then Kaylee closed the ship back up. She turned away from the control and nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw that River was standing there, unblinking, just inches away.

“River! You scared me!”

“Would you like me to teach you a song?” River asked.

Kaylee blinked. “Uhhh…sure, honey. I’d love to learn a song.”

“It goes like this. ‘On the first day of Christmas, the operatives brought to me….'”

“Uh, River?” Kaylee interrupted. “Is this one of those creepy songs you learned while you were captive at…that place?”

“Yes,” River said. “I guess I should learn some new songs myself.”

“Yeah,” Kaylee said. “That would be great.”

***

Mal drove the hauler through a warehouse district of Ariel’s main city. Unlike the shiny, wealthy area they had visited a few months earlier – to steal some medicine – this area was much darker and dingier. Every planet, no matter how rich, had parts like this, Mal had long since learned. No one was rich enough to banish dirt and grime forever.

“You know where this warehouse is, right, Book?” Mal asked.

“I’ve got the address right here,” Book said, holding up an electronic data organizer. “And the crate number of the merchandise we’re getting. It’ll be in and out.”

Jayne growled. “Every time one of you people says we’ll be in and out, I go through half my ammo. I haven’t had an in and out job since–“

“Jayne, I’m sure that’s fascinating,” Mal cut in. “But just in case it ain’t, why don’t you hold it to yourself?”

“Sure, Mal,” Jayne said. “I’ll just sit here and be quiet as usual while you and Zoe tell each other the same stories over and over again. Hey, can I hear that one about that time you both got your asses kicked by the Alliance? I love that one.”

“Captain,” Mal said, pointing to himself. “First mate,” he said, pointing to Zoe. “Gun for hire.” He pointed to Jayne.

“Thank you for clearing us up on the chain of command, Captain,” said Shepherd Book. “But we appear to have reached the warehouse.”

“All right.” Mal brought the hauler to a stop near an entrance. “Standard procedure. Zoe, you’ll get us in. Then, Jayne, you’re in first, followed by me, then the Shepherd, and Zoe, you bring up the rear. We’re going to try and find this crate, get it, and be done with it before anyone knows were here.”

“In and out, Captain?” Zoe said.

“In and out,” Mal agreed.

“Not usually our thing,” Zoe said as she walked to the door.

“See, Mal?” Jayne said. “This is what I’m talkin’ about.”

“Well Jayne, that’s six hours since I last regretted hirin’ you.” Mal smiled. “I think that’s a new record for you, ain’t it? Hey Zoe, you got that door open yet?”

“Think so, sir,” Zoe said as she pressed a button that made the large bay door swing open. “Pretty easy, too.”

“Huh,” said Mal.

“Anybody else thinkin’ that was a little too easy?” Jayne put in.

Mal shrugged. “Well, we’ve got guns, so if we get into some local color, we can make our way out.”

“There might be armed guards inside,” Book pointed out.

“Cold feet, Shepherd?” Mal said. “This was your idea. But we’re here, and I’m not in the habit of runnin’ away at the first sign of something unexpected, especially if that unexpected thing is something that actually makes my life a little easier. Like an unlocked door. Shepherd, grab the coin. Jayne?”

Book picked up the crate of coin, and Jayne came forward and led them inside.

The warehouse was, pretty much, like every other warehouse in the ‘Verse. There’s only so much you can do, really, to dress up hundreds of stacks of thousands of cargo crates in an enormous, cavernous room.

“Well, would you look at that,” Jayne said. “A warehouse. We don’t see these too often.”

“Sure, Jayne.”

“I mean, yeah, we go into our share of storehouses, stockpiles, armories…there was that one depository we knocked over that one time…and before I joined you people, there was that distribution center job…but not a lot of warehouses.”

“Jayne,” Mal said, “are you trying to get on my gorram nerves?”

“Just commentin’ on the unique nature of this job, Mal.”

“Shut it, Jayne,” Zoe said. “Preacher, you got the crate number?”

Book consulted a slip of paper. “It’s 29-94-75.”

Mal looked at the manifest markings emblazoned on the side of several nearby crates, and determined which way they needed to go. “This way,” he said, and with Jayne in the lead and Zoe in the rear, they made their way down the corridor created by line upon line of stacked crates.

It didn’t take long to find it. The crate was pretty large, taller than Mal by about two feet, and about eight feet long and six feet across. Mal shone his flashlight on the crate and read the number. “This is it,” he said. “29-94-75. No other markings.”

“There wouldn’t be,” Book said. “The number is all they need.”

“Yeah, I know how shipping works,” Mal said. “All right, here it is. Now we just gotta get it out of here.”

“That crate’s a little big for me to haul out on my back,” Jayne said. “Of all the gorram–“

Zoe cleared her throat. “I think that’s the solution to our problem, Captain,” she said. She pointed to an open area about thirty feet away, where two forklifts stood silent.

“There it is, then,” Mal said. “Easy. Jayne, you’ll drive the lift. We’ll get the goods back out to our hauler, get back to the ship, before anyone knows we were here. No problem. See, I told you! Easy job.”

At that moment six floodlights turned on, three from each side, all trained on Mal and his crew.

“Malcolm Reynolds!” a voice boomed out from the darkness behind the floodlights. “Malcolm Reynolds, you are bound by law to stand down.”

Jayne muttered something in Chinese.

“In and out, right, Captain?” Zoe said.

All Mal could do was raise his hands and nod for the others to do the same.

To be continued….

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Sentential Links

Links, for those wanting for linkage.

:: God, yes! If there’s one thing fantasy is just crawling with these days it’s widowed black middle-aged pirate moms. (Salty language alert…and interesting ruminations on race in fantasy. Race is a small factor in Princesses In SPACE!!!, as luck would have it. Or design, since I wrote it.)

:: So how do the Foundation novels look to me now that I have, as my immigrant grandmother used to say, grown to mature adultery? Better than ever. The trilogy really is a unique masterpiece; there has never been anything quite like it. (Not a blog post, but a wonderful article by Paul Krugman about the Foundation Trilogy. Via.)

:: John Milius’s The Wind and the Lion is a truly wonderful film, and one I have a great deal of affection for. This film embodies everything I love about movies: great action scenes, an intriguing story (based VERY loosely on historical fact) and setting, well-drawn characters, and a wonderful sense of intelligence both cynical and insightful. When one is in the right mood, a movie like this just hits the spot. (It is a wonderful film, one which I’m overdue to rewatch. I also must mention that it boasts what might well be the best score Jerry Goldsmith ever wrote. Via.)

:: Roger Green, founder and president the organization Christmas Or Other Labels (COOL), has declared the war on Christmas in the United States to be officially over. People celebrating the holiday religiously, those celebrating it socially, and those not celebrating it at all were all declared victors in emotional celebrations across the country. (Huh. One wonders what Roger was waiting for, then, if he had the power to declare that conflict officially over!)

:: When times get tough, I usually start reading books about war. Maybe it satisfies my need for carnage and revenge.

:: Yes, I had that moment. The atheist at the end of his rope, totally desperate, confronting his beliefs and not sticking by them because, damn it, if there was a chance that the inevitable could be avoided, I would have recanted everything I’d ever said. And then finding his beliefs cemented and reaffirmed in the worst way possible.

:: ROM’s been in the news lately; Hasbro filed once again for the trademark on the property, prompting speculation that we may be in for a revival of the character. Personally, I don’t care so much about seeing future adventures as I do about getting reprints; if Marvel does get the rights back, the smart thing to do would be to pump out ‘Essential ROM’ Volumes 1 through However Many It Takes to Reprint His Every Appearance as fast as they can get the ink on the paper. Because ROM…ROM was freaking epic. (Wow…come to think of it, I have been seeing a lot of mentions of ROM in Blogistan of late….)

:: If this is your cue to complain about how this makes me an asshole, ask me if I care. Go on, ask! (John Scalzi gets angry. Justifiably. Which is fun. Oh, salty language, too! Yay, salty language!)

More next week!

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A retail dilemma: What would YOU do?

OK, so this happened.

The Daughter had a church-related function today for a couple of hours, and The Wife was working, which gave me some free time. I decided to avail myself of this opportunity to do a small amount of my Christmas shopping, and to that end, I further decided that scope out a store I’d noticed in nearby East Aurora, NY, wherein I thought I stood a good chance of filling one of The Wife’s gift wishes and also fulfill my usual desire to do at least a healthy chunk of my shopping at a local establishment. In addition to carrying the type of item The Wife had requested, this shop also apparently features jewelry made by a local artisan, so there’s a double opportunity for supporting a local business.

According to this shop’s Facebook page, they are open on Sundays, so off I went — only, when I got there, the place was closed, tighter than a drum. I wondered if maybe I had misread things on FB, so I actually got out of the car and checked the posted hours sign on the door. Sure enough: Sunday, open 10 AM to 5 PM. And yet: lights out, locked up, nobody home. No shopping for me. And no sign on the door saying anything like “Dear Customers, due to unforeseen circumstances we will be closed on Sunday, December 9.” Not even a “Out to lunch” or “Gone fishing”. Just a locked up store.

This irritated me. I specifically drove to East Aurora — not a far drive, it’s just the next town over, about fifteen minutes — to check out this store that I’d wondered about. (Key point there: I’ve not yet set foot in the place.) But when I got there, it was closed when it should, according to all information at my disposal, have been open. Now, there are other places in East Aurora to shop, but I was looking for a specific kind of item, so there aren’t any other stores of that nature there. And I didn’t really want to do the ‘park and walk up and down Main Street’ thing — for one thing, I only had limited time; for another, I don’t like window shopping by myself.

So later on, I went to the shop’s Facebook page and inquired as to why they were closed when all information indicates that they should have been open. The proprietor responded within an hour to basically say this: “Sorry about that, but at the last moment I scored tickets to the Bills game, and I almost never get to be out of the shop. But next time you drop by, I’ll give you a discount!”

Now, part of me is thinking, “Hey, discount. Huzzah!” But the other part of me is saying, “Yeah, hell with that. You know what you’re looking for, so go to the other local business you know of that sells that sort of thing, where you’ve done business before, and spend money with them, since you know they’ll be open.” And you know what? I was going to solicit opinions as to which part of the brain I should listen to, but having typed it out here, I think it’s pretty obvious, innit?

Pity. I like supporting local businesses. But it’s also important to support the ones that are more obviously interested in being supported.

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Sunday Burst of Weird and Awesome

Oddities and Awesome abound!

:: For serious drinkers, the problem of how to keep the ice from melting too fast in the Scotch has been a thorny one for quite some time. The obvious solution is to minimize the surface area of the ice, which therefore leads one to conclude that the ideal ice shape is the one with the least surface area.

Behold: the ice ball! Apparently in Japan, in order to be a member of their national bartender’s guild, you have to be able to carve an ice ball to order. Wow.

(I’ll just stick with large cubes. A bit of watering down doesn’t bother me all that much.)

:: Speaking of drinking, I indicated some time ago that I was officially adopting the Dark-and-Stormy as my signature drink…as in, if I’m James Bond, the Dark-and-Stormy is my vodka martini (shaken, not stirred). Problem is, I’ve just learned that I’ve been making this ginger beer-and-black rum concoction incorrectly. Here’s how it’s done:


That formulation really does make a better drink.

Dark and Stormy #rum

More next week!

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