The Doorway: a panfandom game

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting ...

But on the stove no more the bloody mess of your excuse for cooking.

A giant, bright pink cannibalistic slug has just been discovered at the top of Mount Kaputar in Australia.

I have to say, I'm astonished not only by the uniqueness of the Triboniophorus aff. graeffei, I am also beside myself knowing that these discoveries are still taking place. I'm really quite pleased.

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.

I suppose we all have our moments that seem impossible to live down. The ridiculous anecdotes your friends (or, in some cases, soon to be former friends) share over pints, or during wedding receptions.

Last Friday, I actually stumbled upon a little wedding party at the Blind Tiger. There were toasts, general merriment and I was reminded of an anecdote that I will perhaps never live down which -- coincidently -- also has to do with tigers.

When I first met my wife I made every attempt to impress her -- including stumbling horribly over my own words, To this day she she declares that I told her ... how a musket looked into my tent at the dead of night, and how I fired a double-barreled tiger cub at it.

Vous savez, I'd heard things about American beer, mais I had no idea how bad it could get. Is it always so watery and weak? If this is what you've all been drinking, putain, I feel sorry for you. You're missing out.

Then again, this is my first time here in the States. Anyone want to point me in the direction of the good stuff? I'd make it worth your while.

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.

If someone made a film of your life story (or another film,) and you could cast anyone to play you (except whoever actually plays you in the film of your life story, cheaters,) who would you pick?

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.

I spend more time looking up at the buildings of New York City than I do looking at the people that live here. Which is, of course, my fault entirely as I have a deep love of structures and architecture in general. And New York City is something beyond the likes of anything I have ever seen, designed or built myself.

But alas, I might ramble about the beauty of the city for a thousand years and never cease speaking of new wonders.

The point then is that I have finally taken to watching the mortals humans inhabitants of the realm and I noticed an odd thing. Odd in my perspective, at least.

There are a numerous amount of women with child in this world.

Were I an uneducated elf I might very well have assumed there was something in the water that made it happen so. But I know that is not the case. I find the difference striking. Children are celebrated amongst the elves and while women with child are not rare we are very particular on when children are brought about.

The idea of being separated during pregnancy, or in the very early years of childhood, is too grievous for us to bear, so children are not born during times of war. And as a rule we do not birth many, with my Lord uncle being a rare exception. He has seven sons. We wait at least ten years between our children too, because while it is joyous to raise elflings, itrequires a lot of nurturing for a long period; we do not come of age until our 50th year but even then one might not take full maturity until their 100th. Whereas Men are aged and approaching decline at 50.

My wife and I bore but one child before we were parted. I would have liked another, myself, but the process of bearing children is very hard on the mother and it was therefore her choice in the matter. Anyway.

TEXT TO MARTIN CRIEFF:

» Hey, Chief.

It's weird. I could get through episodes one, two, and three of our series with ease...but trying to watch episodes four, five, and six feels like trying to watch my parents having sex. I can't do it.

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]

I like that the rivalry is so long standing a potential facedown makes news. They destroyed Brentford on Sunday. They're still trailing in the Premier, but not by much.

Sparta Prague tomorrow. Anyone want to head to The Cricketers with me tomorrow about three for the match and a late lunch, then?

[Douglas Richardson]

Douglas, I need your help.

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.

There are people who complain about not having anyone with whom to spend fabricated holidays, and then there are the men and women of action. Martin, I commend you.



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Oh God, it's nearly Valentine's day, marking (for me anyway) once again the worst day of the year.

This year, however, it doesn't even look like it'll be properly offset by the BEST day of the year.


Adieu, Birling Day. You will be missed. And mourned. By both me and my saving account.

Is JK Rowling the network administrator? Or did I miss something crucial?

Is there something about tall females and males can't handle? I don't know what it is, but I keep getting comments like "What do you parents feed you?" and "You should never wear heels."

Today I got "You're taller than me. Why are you so tall?"

So I responded with "To make you feel inadequate. Is it working?"