Space Opera (the Adventures of Max Blast)
Goal of story: to have fun with some of my more far-fetched sci-fi stuff.
Cast of Characters
Max Blast, galactic scallywag
Maxtor, his loyal vessel
Boris Mandango, owner of Zootech
Felix Mandango, his son and heir
Tilio, evil bounty hunter
More to come
Max Blast is embroiled in the disputes of the meteor barons when he unwittingly picks up the incognito Felix Mandango, heir to the massive Zootech Corporation.
That part of space was empty but for one dingy, albeit harmless-looking bar and breakfast. The bright neon sign that was one of the staples of such places read in crackling orange: “Bob’s Bar N’ Breakfast”. Beneath that, in green and purple: “CHEAP SPACE BATHS” and “ETHNIC FOOD.”
Max Blast brought his ship to a sleepy halt and scratched at his stubbly chin thoughtfully. He sniffed at his armpit and grimaced.
“I guess we can rest here awhile, eh boy?” He tapped the ship’s control board questioningly. The ship’s computer whirred and groaned a few moments, finally projecting the image of a dog onto the screen just above the control board. The dog, a long brown sort of wiener dog, yipped in the affirmative.
The ship banked gracefully and headed towards the bar and breakfast.
Feb 23, 2005
Feb 15, 2005
Mar 23, 2004
Oct 18, 2003
Pondering
I'm thinking of switching to Xanga's blog site. Blogspot is a little cold and unfriendly. If I can figure out how to get people to post comments, maybe I'll stick around. But I just talked to Pieter Friedrich and I'll see if I can get oe working here.
Anyways, I hadn't realized how many people I know had blogs. It'll be nice to keep up to date with everybody. So many of my friendships have been focused around activism or sports, and I tend tend to lose contact with people once one of thos activities falls through.
Anyways, I hadn't realized how many people I know had blogs. It'll be nice to keep up to date with everybody. So many of my friendships have been focused around activism or sports, and I tend tend to lose contact with people once one of thos activities falls through.
Oct 3, 2003
My Poor Readers....
That is, if any of you are still reading this blog. I am so lame: I haven't written in a month! My sincerest apologies and please remain faithful to the Garbage Man, even when I am not.
As I was saying: my poor readers... The Boston Celtics season just started, meaning I will have to restrain myself from letting them take over my posts. Today's topic, so you know why a seemingly meaningless sports team can sieze my affections, I will share the history of my relationship with the Boston Celtics:
My Dad was born and raised in Shelburne Falls, Massachussetts, not too far from Boston. (To this day, Massachussetts is infested with Livelys.) My Dad is so disinterested in sports that I doubt he fully knows of the Celtics' existence. I believe the passive New England sports gene in my Dad was passed on to me in an active form, where it would wait impatiently during my first few years as a child of the West Coast. I had strong interest in sports, but for some inexplicable reason, I could not bond with any of my "home teams," even if they were fun, fascinating teams. Around the age of 5, I came into contact with pro basketball, and thus the Celtics and the rest is history. I don't remember how it happened; I think I must have been sitting on the couch watching some sports event with my older half-brother Teddy, as I was fond of doing, when I first saw them. I'm convinced it was fanhood at first sight, because I don't remember anytime when I knew who the Celtics were that I wasn't loyal to them.
Whatever the exact circumstances, I was hooked. This team was chock-full of legends: Larry Bird, Kevin McHale, Robert Parish.... Heck, I still remember names like Jon Bagley and Kevin Gamble. And then there was Reggie Lewis, who I was passionate about, more than just about anybody. I drooled over their trading cards. These guys were awesome, and I was in heaven on the rare occassions that I caught a game. Then it all fell through: Bird, McHale and Parrish retired or left the team. Then the ultimate blow: I was with my Dad on a trip, and I think we were in a hotel when we turned on the TV, and what pops on but: "Celtics star Reggie Lewis dies suddenly of a heart attack." My player had just dropped dead. I was hurt.
In the years following, I avoided the Celtics. They were consistently bad, and watching them goofing up only made me more sad and nostalgic. But, the Celtics are good again and the old fires in me have been rekindled. It's almost like living in the old days for me. Unfortunately, it also means I have a hard time restraining myself from wasting every waking minute reading all the news and gossip on the team. I get near a computer and one of the first thoughts that pops into my mind is: "I wonder if there's a story about the Celtics today? Maybe a trade, maybe some glimmer of hope for the future." It's no joke, even though I laugh at myself sometimes.
That little anecdote about the Celtics should last me for awhile, but beware, I do suffer relapses into Celtic-mania from time to time. Stick around until tonight for some thoughts about my friends' wedding rehearsal, the funny oriental lady at the Sunshine Buffet and the editing-on of more discussion about Hebrews to the previous post.
As I was saying: my poor readers... The Boston Celtics season just started, meaning I will have to restrain myself from letting them take over my posts. Today's topic, so you know why a seemingly meaningless sports team can sieze my affections, I will share the history of my relationship with the Boston Celtics:
My Dad was born and raised in Shelburne Falls, Massachussetts, not too far from Boston. (To this day, Massachussetts is infested with Livelys.) My Dad is so disinterested in sports that I doubt he fully knows of the Celtics' existence. I believe the passive New England sports gene in my Dad was passed on to me in an active form, where it would wait impatiently during my first few years as a child of the West Coast. I had strong interest in sports, but for some inexplicable reason, I could not bond with any of my "home teams," even if they were fun, fascinating teams. Around the age of 5, I came into contact with pro basketball, and thus the Celtics and the rest is history. I don't remember how it happened; I think I must have been sitting on the couch watching some sports event with my older half-brother Teddy, as I was fond of doing, when I first saw them. I'm convinced it was fanhood at first sight, because I don't remember anytime when I knew who the Celtics were that I wasn't loyal to them.
Whatever the exact circumstances, I was hooked. This team was chock-full of legends: Larry Bird, Kevin McHale, Robert Parish.... Heck, I still remember names like Jon Bagley and Kevin Gamble. And then there was Reggie Lewis, who I was passionate about, more than just about anybody. I drooled over their trading cards. These guys were awesome, and I was in heaven on the rare occassions that I caught a game. Then it all fell through: Bird, McHale and Parrish retired or left the team. Then the ultimate blow: I was with my Dad on a trip, and I think we were in a hotel when we turned on the TV, and what pops on but: "Celtics star Reggie Lewis dies suddenly of a heart attack." My player had just dropped dead. I was hurt.
In the years following, I avoided the Celtics. They were consistently bad, and watching them goofing up only made me more sad and nostalgic. But, the Celtics are good again and the old fires in me have been rekindled. It's almost like living in the old days for me. Unfortunately, it also means I have a hard time restraining myself from wasting every waking minute reading all the news and gossip on the team. I get near a computer and one of the first thoughts that pops into my mind is: "I wonder if there's a story about the Celtics today? Maybe a trade, maybe some glimmer of hope for the future." It's no joke, even though I laugh at myself sometimes.
That little anecdote about the Celtics should last me for awhile, but beware, I do suffer relapses into Celtic-mania from time to time. Stick around until tonight for some thoughts about my friends' wedding rehearsal, the funny oriental lady at the Sunshine Buffet and the editing-on of more discussion about Hebrews to the previous post.
Sep 4, 2003
Unholy Starbucks
I've hated Starbucks for quite a while. Not because they don't serve coffee, but more because they serve good coffee, but because they demand a stupid amount of mula (or moo-lah, I don't know how to spell it) for their good coffee. That and the whole image associated with Starbucks: it's not just good, it's STARBUCKS, the coffee with-it, yuppie types drink. I can't stand the whole idea.
Starbucks is just a way to intro into Hebrews again, after my horrible puns a few blogs ago. Let's cut to the chase and get right into Today's topic:
God's wrath: it's a tough topic to ponder. My friend, Pieter Friedrich wrote an article about God hating sin and got a lot of angry feedback from a lot of people. The idea of God hating something is sometimes terrible, because you can start imagining Him feeling hatred towards you, or towards people you care about. Hatred from God undermines everything you could have: He is the be all and end all, the only hope for each one of us. There are several verses in the second half of Hebrews 10 that get my brain to imagining those kind of things, which then can get me to start freaking out.
There is an idea that has really stabilized my thoughts on this though: God's goodness. Trust I guess you could call it but it allows me to read what I don't understand and know it's just perfect, because it's God I'm reading about. Unfortunately, as the stability in my mind came in, my consuming interest in finding a good explanation for Hebrews 10 trailed off. That's why it's taken me this long to get back on the topic.
Unfortunately I have to go, but I'll edit on some new stuff latah.
Starbucks is just a way to intro into Hebrews again, after my horrible puns a few blogs ago. Let's cut to the chase and get right into Today's topic:
God's wrath: it's a tough topic to ponder. My friend, Pieter Friedrich wrote an article about God hating sin and got a lot of angry feedback from a lot of people. The idea of God hating something is sometimes terrible, because you can start imagining Him feeling hatred towards you, or towards people you care about. Hatred from God undermines everything you could have: He is the be all and end all, the only hope for each one of us. There are several verses in the second half of Hebrews 10 that get my brain to imagining those kind of things, which then can get me to start freaking out.
There is an idea that has really stabilized my thoughts on this though: God's goodness. Trust I guess you could call it but it allows me to read what I don't understand and know it's just perfect, because it's God I'm reading about. Unfortunately, as the stability in my mind came in, my consuming interest in finding a good explanation for Hebrews 10 trailed off. That's why it's taken me this long to get back on the topic.
Unfortunately I have to go, but I'll edit on some new stuff latah.
Aug 26, 2003
Warm Ginger Beer for the Cold Soul
Bizarre title today, I know. Hopefully it'll fit the topic. "Ginger beer," for those of you who don't know, is British for Ginger Ale, kind of like Foster's is Australian for beer. The phrase ginger beer has long held a special place in my heart (and now, after emptying a bottle of Canada Dry, takes up pretty much all my stomach), because of a children's book my mom read to me, I don't know the title, but it was written by a lady named E. Nesbit.
I will try to recreate it for you: there are several English school children on a hot sunny day, arriving in town to meet their parnets after a morning of running around the countryside. They're waiting at a bench, sweltering in the heat, in one of those hazy states where one can only think of the temperature and how to to cool down. After a period of silence, one of them comes up with a brilliant hypothesis: when dogs are hot, they stick their tongues out and pant, and that dogs always seem to be contented by doing this on a hot day. Therefore it must work the same way for humans. So they stick their tongues out and pant. This only produces bad results: they offend all the passersby, who do not understand that they are merely trying to cool off, and the sun dries their tongues and parches their throats.
The writer wrote this involvingly, as is evidenced by my remembering it out of all the books my mom read to me, and I was feeling about the same as those school children. So when one of them suggest buying some ginger beer, it sounded absolutely perfect, not only to them but to me. Now, as I drink my Canada Dry, I'm really drinking ginger beer with those English kids, getting refreshed in preparation for some more adventures.
But I didn't start a blog to talk about soda, I will move on to Today:
I'm about to go watch Clue, so I don't have much time. My thought, and it's a pleasant one today, is about relationship with God. It's triggered by watching the Liz Taylor-Richard Burton version of Taming of the Shrew, specifically the speech at the end about the role of husband and wife. You probably know the story: a man, Petruchio, sets out to marry and, once he's accomplished that, to tame Katerina, a bitter, angry and fiercely independent woman. To make a long story short, Petruchio succeeds. Towards the end of the play, Petruchio's returning to Katerina's hometown, where she is still famed for being a shrew. Petruchio's sitting at the table with a bunch of other guys who have been mocking him and cracking jokes about his wife. Confident in Katerina's obedience, he sets a wager of 100 crowns for whoever's wife comes the quickest. Two of the guys accept: Hortensio, husband of a rich older lady and Lucentio, a man who married for passionate love. Hortensio calls, and his wife sends back word that if he wants to talk to her, he better come to her. Lucentio calls, confident in his love's devotion, but receives word from her that she is busy talking to the other ladies and will come later. Then, Petruchio summons, and Katerina comes immediately, pulling the rebellious wives with her. She then launches into a speech, rejoicing in service to her husband. Here's my favorite excerpt:
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee,
And for thy maintenance commits his body
To painful labour both by sea and land,
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,
Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe;
And craves no other tribute at thy hands
But love, fair looks and true obedience;
Too little payment for so great a debt.
Such duty as the subject owes the prince
Even such a woman oweth to her husband;
I bet that makes the NOW ladies happy. I'm guessing they would have two major objections: men are unreliable, and women should be able to be completely indepedent and do all the things that men unjustly have a copyright on. I'll talk to you NOW ladies later, but for now (har har) I'm thinking about how perfect a picture of service this is. In the movie, you see Katerina, who's been raging the whole movie, turn that energy into heartfelt devotion to Petruchio. Then you see the pleasure this brings to Petruchio. I don't know when exactly it hit me, but I got to thinking about that in the context of God and man (or humanity for all you NOW ladies), and it felt right. Think of God as Petruchio, Katerina as man-and-womankind. That speech coming out of my mouth directed at God. The love that was in Katerina's eyes when she gives this speech is just the kind of love God asks of us I think. Loving service.
I'll let you and me stew on that until the next post, should be in at most a few days, when I'll go into more detail. The whole play is really good for that kind of analogy. Also next post will include some of my venting about Guess Who's Coming to Dinner, which, you might say, irritated me a mite. Just a snapshot of my feelings: arrrrrrrgggghhhhhhh, a preachy movie with no real morality to preach about, ggrrrrrr arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
Also in the future is the God: He Brews A Better Cup.
He is good, God bless you,
Sam L.
I will try to recreate it for you: there are several English school children on a hot sunny day, arriving in town to meet their parnets after a morning of running around the countryside. They're waiting at a bench, sweltering in the heat, in one of those hazy states where one can only think of the temperature and how to to cool down. After a period of silence, one of them comes up with a brilliant hypothesis: when dogs are hot, they stick their tongues out and pant, and that dogs always seem to be contented by doing this on a hot day. Therefore it must work the same way for humans. So they stick their tongues out and pant. This only produces bad results: they offend all the passersby, who do not understand that they are merely trying to cool off, and the sun dries their tongues and parches their throats.
The writer wrote this involvingly, as is evidenced by my remembering it out of all the books my mom read to me, and I was feeling about the same as those school children. So when one of them suggest buying some ginger beer, it sounded absolutely perfect, not only to them but to me. Now, as I drink my Canada Dry, I'm really drinking ginger beer with those English kids, getting refreshed in preparation for some more adventures.
But I didn't start a blog to talk about soda, I will move on to Today:
I'm about to go watch Clue, so I don't have much time. My thought, and it's a pleasant one today, is about relationship with God. It's triggered by watching the Liz Taylor-Richard Burton version of Taming of the Shrew, specifically the speech at the end about the role of husband and wife. You probably know the story: a man, Petruchio, sets out to marry and, once he's accomplished that, to tame Katerina, a bitter, angry and fiercely independent woman. To make a long story short, Petruchio succeeds. Towards the end of the play, Petruchio's returning to Katerina's hometown, where she is still famed for being a shrew. Petruchio's sitting at the table with a bunch of other guys who have been mocking him and cracking jokes about his wife. Confident in Katerina's obedience, he sets a wager of 100 crowns for whoever's wife comes the quickest. Two of the guys accept: Hortensio, husband of a rich older lady and Lucentio, a man who married for passionate love. Hortensio calls, and his wife sends back word that if he wants to talk to her, he better come to her. Lucentio calls, confident in his love's devotion, but receives word from her that she is busy talking to the other ladies and will come later. Then, Petruchio summons, and Katerina comes immediately, pulling the rebellious wives with her. She then launches into a speech, rejoicing in service to her husband. Here's my favorite excerpt:
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee,
And for thy maintenance commits his body
To painful labour both by sea and land,
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,
Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe;
And craves no other tribute at thy hands
But love, fair looks and true obedience;
Too little payment for so great a debt.
Such duty as the subject owes the prince
Even such a woman oweth to her husband;
I bet that makes the NOW ladies happy. I'm guessing they would have two major objections: men are unreliable, and women should be able to be completely indepedent and do all the things that men unjustly have a copyright on. I'll talk to you NOW ladies later, but for now (har har) I'm thinking about how perfect a picture of service this is. In the movie, you see Katerina, who's been raging the whole movie, turn that energy into heartfelt devotion to Petruchio. Then you see the pleasure this brings to Petruchio. I don't know when exactly it hit me, but I got to thinking about that in the context of God and man (or humanity for all you NOW ladies), and it felt right. Think of God as Petruchio, Katerina as man-and-womankind. That speech coming out of my mouth directed at God. The love that was in Katerina's eyes when she gives this speech is just the kind of love God asks of us I think. Loving service.
I'll let you and me stew on that until the next post, should be in at most a few days, when I'll go into more detail. The whole play is really good for that kind of analogy. Also next post will include some of my venting about Guess Who's Coming to Dinner, which, you might say, irritated me a mite. Just a snapshot of my feelings: arrrrrrrgggghhhhhhh, a preachy movie with no real morality to preach about, ggrrrrrr arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
Also in the future is the God: He Brews A Better Cup.
He is good, God bless you,
Sam L.