The Doorway: a panfandom game

Hey, nice place you got here. Seriously - location, amenities, fist-fights in the next room, the whole shebang. I feel like I don't even have to step outside. Which is nice, frankly, considering the neighbors - isn't there some sort of zoning cap on vigilantes? I've never met anyone who thought he was Sherlock Holmes who wasn't trouble. Or anyone in a cape, for that matter. I'll take a rain check, thanks.

Except you, Power Girl. Call me.

In-flight safety demonstrations are too long. A speech that ought to consist of if you don't know how to fasten your seatbelt, turn round and ask daddy to help you and in the event of an emergency do absolutely nothing until someone with a uniform instructs you to do so instead gets bloated up with lots of very difficult conceptual material like how to use a life vest and this large door-looking thing is, in fact, a door. I've often suspected they exist solely to distract passengers from the fact that we're not yet taxiing because I've just popped back into the terminal to grab a Coke.

But then some idiot tries to open an emergency exit door while hurtling over God knows where at 37,000 feet, and I remember why we have to explain to everyone that the buckle is inserted into the opposite not-buckle bit and tightened snugly over your hips: people are too stupid an excitable to remember anything like common sense once they slip the surly bonds of earth. So, here is my addendum to the usual rigamarole, which I had expected everyone was smart enough to infer, but - I am often disappointed:

If the idiot next to you attempts to open the emergency exit door during flight, please return to your half-completed magazine word puzzle.

Ignore him. Have a drink.

Because - pay attention, now - the funny thing about flying people 37,000 feet up in the air is, you have to pressurize the cabin, else everyone begins to whine about the complete lack of oxygen, freezing temperatures, etc., etc. So, the air pressure inside the plane is much higher than that outside; and as emergency exit doors are designed to open inwards, anyone attempting to open one has pull against the several thousand pounds of pressure being exerted against said door by the cabin's pressurized atmosphere. You have less chance of prying it open than you have of summoning your flight attendant with that little button we let you believe does something.

So, what's more dangerous - letting your seatmate fiddle with something til he falls drunkenly asleep, or physically assaulting and attempting to restrain someone in close quarters?

Next time: how to turn your iPhone off. Shocking how many people develop spontaneous hypoxia and simply forget.

The only reason I know who Kristen Wiig is is because I walked in on my son watching that sophomoric obscenity she tried to pass off as a comedy.

I'd file a suit for defamation if my lawyer knew the difference between libel and liability.

I'm not proud of it, but I have on occasion felt a passing sense of superiority - well, irritation, but all the same undoubtedly unwarranted - at the sight of a man wearing his hat fore and aft rather than amidships. It seemed to me like one of those newfangled things people do for no other reason than to be newfangled about something, and I admit I allowed myself a sneer every now and again. Damned hypocrite thing to do, of course, and anyone who finds himself complaining about the young whippersnappers had probably better get himself ready for his dotage, but it weren't the done thing when I was coming up and I took it with a bit of a shudder.

But now you walk through town and long even for a hat that's turned wrong way round. Where is it they all went? I feel downright top-heavy going out with anything more than a cap. I was glad to see wigs go the way of the garter, but that was a matter of practicality. I never had any kind of eye for fashion.

A properly brewed cup of coffee can speed along a recovery.

[Cell four]

Sorry again about getting injured during Friday's mission. Good news though, medical just cleared me to return to active duty.

Signs that one might be approaching Sentimental Old Fool Status include, but are not limited to:

A certain nostalgia provoked by the inevitable tinfoil in one's teeth that comes from eating Toblerone.

Wistful feelings associated with fish filets.

A nagging notion that perhaps insufficient time has been devoted to singing rousing rounds of stupid songs around poorly-tuned pianos.

And, last and worst of all, the temptation to let one's flatmate win at Bananagrams.

Well, I've done it.

I've really done it.

I've successfully managed to burn water and turn an egg into a super-bounce ball. Clearly, had I not been so drawn to aviation, chemistry would be my true calling.

Given our frequent flyers on the network, I think recent discussion in the scientific community might be of note: passengers taking flights during thunderstorms may be exposed to twice the recommended level of gamma radiation. It's been known for-- well, a while, I guess about forty years?- that thunderstorms are capable of generating terrestrial gamma-ray flashes bright enough to blind instruments all the way in outer space. However, there are a lot of factors in place that prevented further official measurement - I mean, you've got the actual storm, being in an aircraft during the storm, and using electrical devices during a storm. It's not the safest research on or off-planet to pull off. All scientists knew was that the level of radiation "was probably not a big deal, but it might be catastrophic". (I... really wish that wasn't a direct quote.)

What scientists have only just discovered is the process behind the burst of gamma-rays. Thunderstorms are apparently capable of producing a rare kind of electrical breakdown (it involves electrons and positrons - antimatter, I mean, of course). The electrons and positrons incite an explosive, if unstable, growth in the number of high-energy particles, ultimately emitting the terrestrial gamma ray flashes while discharging the thundercloud. This process - this flash - moves even faster than regular lightning, and somewhat poetically is referred to as "dark lightning". Very little visible light can be seen from this occurrence, even if radiation levels are spiking.

Passengers can definitely get a dose of that gamma radiation if their luck runs bad. If you're flying through the top of the storm, a nearby strike of dark lightning will produce the radioactive equivalent to about 10 chest x-rays - or the same amount that an average person would experience within a year's time. More disturbingly, if flying near the middle of the storms, the radiation dose could be at least 10 times larger - comparable to some of the largest doses received during medical procedures, roughly equal to a full-body CT scan.

After hearing of this research, I have two reactions: a) I wonder why a superhero hasn't shown up with the name of "Dark Lightning", and b) Well, I guess now I have an excuse for hating flying.


[Edited to Add:] If you fly too much and get an overdose of gamma radiation, statistically, you will not gain superpowers.

It's finally happened. The internet has run out of trends. I always felt I'd know a sign of the apocalypse when I saw it...

And well...

Take a look at the Article yourselves, or read the comments... (you don't want to read the comments).

I dreamt that I sat on a wide verandah in the French West Indies and the scent of the dew, the blooming flowers and the raw cane from the fields filled me with wild delight. It was cool, yet, and I stood to descend the stair only to hear the call of a macaw from within. Qui-est la, he said. Qui-est la. Again and again. Qui-est la. I made no reply. Qui-est la? Finally, as I moved away I heard him answer himself. Che Coco. The poor beast's wings were clipped and as it rustled on its perch, I could not hear the creak of wood as I descended into the yard.

Beneath the wide bows of a tree (willow, perhaps), I stopped and upon turning to gaze back at the house to get my full bearings I noticed that flames leapt from the roof and danced along the edges of my vision. The house was burning and there was no one within or without who seemed to see. Children moved through the yard with their eyes averted. A woman, her skirts catching the edge of the flame, rocked in a chair upon the verandah. And I, rooted to my spot, could only watch for I could neither move nor sing out to warn these folk of their imminent demise.

There was only Coco. With his clipped wings alight, he hopped from surface to surface until he sat upon the wide railing and called out again: Qui-est la. I knew that he would attempt to save himself but the poor bird, upon spreading his flame-engulfed wings, soared free for a moment before he fell in a heap at my feet. I began to kneel to offer him what succor I could.

Then I woke.

TEXT TO MARTIN CRIEFF:

» Hey, Chief.

Daylight Savings is torturous. I remember it's first advent. We used it to conserve coal on the Front. It was then abandoned for a time. You should have abandoned it altogether.

Suite Bergamasque and a quiet stock room filled with canvas stretchers, Holbein paints and Kolinsky brushes do not bode well for one so little caffeinated as I. But that's what awaits me and since Java Moment had a line out the door, I found a small cafe not a half block's walk from the tower. Double espresso, please. I am a man in great need.

Therefore blessed with shaking hands, I am sure that the manager will sit me in front of a canvas to see what post-modern mischief he can get up to with his pet modernist creation. I take it with a good will, though. He has heart. He wants meaning? My shaking hands will draw him trees grasping at scudding clouds while sapphiric birds rest in their boughs.

Well I've been here for months and not one of the pilot jobs I applied for have called me back. Not one.

Not even JetBlue.

From the looks of it, I've as much chance becoming a pilot in his place as I have of becoming one of Katy Perry's back-up dancers.

Time for Plan A.5: formulating a Plan B.

Anyone have any suggestions for a former pilot who has no other marketable skills who can drive a moving van and is rather handy at cooking baked potatoes.

Anyone?

Help.

People keep coming up to me in the street and hugging me, saying they're proud of me and am glad I'm better. I keep trying to explain I'm not who they think I am, but it seems cruel when they're only being nice and supportive of one of their heroes.

Maybe I should start using glamours on myself so I look different?

[Filtered to Wesley]
How is your job going? I went and bought some Smarties yesterday and thought of you. Thanks for showing me that shop. It's been a life saver when I'm homesick.

Do you know Rupert Giles? I'm going to his shop for a meeting tonight. He reminds me of my drummer's Dad. But that's not the reason I'm going!

[Filtered to Lilly]
Are you still willing to show me that rock club?

Because I don't give a flying frak about bacon or fashion or flowers (though, okay, beer is alright), I'm going to make something happen for the rest of us. And if you don't like it, your face can meet my fist or I guess you can find an orchid and stick it up your prune it.

KARA THRACE'S SCAVENGER HUNT OF DOOM
You have 24 hours from the time of this post to gather teams and find what I list below. Whoever finds the most wins. And what do you win? Well, that's up to me and I will tell you when you do. Onto the list:

1. A picture of you and Captain America's shield.
2. Nick Fury's eye-patch. Or Nick Fury's stupid leather duster. The location of Nick Fury.
3. A picture of your epic fight with a demi-god.
4. A picture of you hammered and Thor's hammer and Thor hammered.
5. A lock of hair from a tower-ginger.
6. The keys to Tony Stark's favorite car.
7. A picture of yourself with a mounted patrol officer. Extra credit if there's handcuffs.
8. A picture of one of those Harry Potter people levitating an object with their wand.
9. Sam Merlotte as a blue bird sitting on Ruby's shoulder as a wolf.
10. My dog tags from the Galactia.

BONUS: Katniss Everdeen & a Hawkeye locked in competition/romantic embrace over their archery skills.

BONUS: Tony Stark trussed up on the hood of said car with keys in his mouth and the Iron Man suit in the front seat.

BONUS: Lindir the Elf, a copy of Where the Sidewalk Ends and a dual recitation between he and the Hulk or Jayne Cobb.

Questions? Ok. Comments, bring it on. Snide remarks? Go to hell.

And good luck!

[FILTER: Lee, Sam, TJ, Don]

If you wuss out and don't do this, I'm kicking your ass. So, it's for your own good.

March certainly is a funny month. The promise of spring so very near but winter insisting on lingering still. It was so bright when I awoke this morning that I had such high hopes. Unfortunately, we are not quite there yet, I fear. I believe as Dickens put it "summer in the light, but winter in the shade."

Incidentally, I know there was talk of a book club forming on and off since people have been here, and watching the Oscars this weekend past reminded me of the list of books I had planned to read now that I am a bit more current on the science of the past 50 years. Would anyone care to read Life of Pi?

Or perhaps Atonement.

Filtered to Alex Summers

I may have a prototype built. Do you know if there is anyplace in the city you could go and test it out?

Who is this that says 'gingers' have no fëa? I have never consumed another fëa in my life. And it has been a very long life. I can't account for the freckles on my face in this manner.

[ooc: based on this conversation]

[Douglas Richardson]

Douglas, I need your help.

Jeeves?

How do you light the

I had a date last night.

Which is the only positive thing I can say about an evening that involved me knocking a candle into a young lady's lap, setting both her and the restaurant's tablecloth aflame when I tripped to get up to pay the bill.

On the plus side, attempted arson does downplay the poor service, cold food and long wait that preceded dinner -- but it was the only place I could reserve so close to Valentine's Day! It was last minute!




.... I don't think she appreciated my trying to sort how many otters could fit in the restaurant to pass the time.

Oh God.