tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93796702024-03-07T19:12:07.552-08:00Thia's Digital PlaygroundThia Michelle had to grow up, get a real job, start a family and be all around responsible. Thankfully, God invented the internet so that she'd have a place to vent retain her sanity. And this is that place.Thia Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14489368873086020752noreply@blogger.comBlogger95125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9379670.post-39667236032768139262012-09-11T21:17:00.000-07:002012-09-11T21:17:16.781-07:00The Start of Every Day<div style="float: right; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; width: 320px;">
<img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8440/7978581946_ac3fcefcc2_c.jpg" style="border: 2px solid rgb(68, 102, 119); padding: 2px; width: 320px;" /><span style="font-size: 8; margin-top: 0px;"><i></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s 5:30 a.m. Mama
enters the ring. She stretches the pink
ponytail holder at her wrist, loosening it up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jordan plays in her crib, not bothering to look up. Wild dark and knotted curls cover her face
and neck like a beekeeper’s mask might.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Here’s the deal, Kiddo,” says Mama. “This ponytail holder is going in that hair. That’s the way it is.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jordan gurgles under her breath a message only Mama can
understand. “I don’t think so, Mama. My hair is wild and free. It’s unique just like me. And I like it down.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Big talk for a little girl,” Mama counters. “But, you can’t see two inches in front of
your face to play or defend yourself from the other kids. Most importantly, everyone knows all Moms are
judged by their children’s appearance. I
have 90 pounds on you. This. Is. Happening…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, Mother. Let’s
not kid ourselves,” Jordan sets down her toy cellphone and peers up at Mama
from underneath her mane. “Your weight
advantage is no match for my Floppy Fish maneuver. That’s right.
I’ll flail, I may even scream. My
unpredictable thrashing will make me seem twice my weight. And we both know you’ll spend as much energy
trying to protect me from myself as you will on the task at hand.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Enough talk!” Mama
steps forward. “Maybe you didn’t smell
the kale, spinach and other Superfood on my breath. Yep, I’ve had my green juice this morning
which is not only shedding your baby weight, but arming me with enough
nutrition to be on my tip top game this morning. Pull out your pad and pencil, Sister. Mama’s ‘bout to show you how it’s done!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jordan sighs and pulls herself up to her feet. She steps with the right foot, then the
left. Leaning against the bars, she
looks like a tiny sumo wrestler. “Alright,
Mama. I see trying to reason with you is
a futile exercise. I’m ready. Let’s do this…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<br />
Love, <br />
T.Thia Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14489368873086020752noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9379670.post-4708685679479858352011-09-20T14:26:00.000-07:002011-09-20T16:05:02.200-07:00Welcome, Jordan Victoria<div style="width: 270px; float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><img style="border: 2px solid rgb(68, 102, 119); padding: 2px; width:250px;" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6087/6128170739_4c2cb536c2_b.jpg" /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:8;"><i> Mom and Baby Jordan - Day Two</i></span><br /> </div>It’s been about forty days since Jordan made her dramatic appearance into the world. Welcome, Baby Girl! She was born “in the bag,” which means as you might have guessed, that my water didn’t break until after the birth. The contractions themselves presented her without any pushes on my part in her liquid cocoon to a doctor who with a smirk, popped “the bag” and tugged. Done.<br /> <br />The doctor said this almost never happens. The nurse said it’s a sign she’s a special baby. Well, of course, we already knew that! At 36 weeks, she was 6 pounds 7 ounces. Gratefully, and I mean this so sincerely, also in perfect health.<br /><br /><b>Take Your Small Miracles</b><hr>Jordan and Hayden are twenty two months apart. Caring for two children under two is a kind of acid endurance test for the anal parent. I admit it. I have been accused of such before, and now I know it to be true. I’m a hand-sanitizer toting, toy-safety researching, logging-of-every-feeding-and-diaper obnoxious kind of Mom. It turns out, even a nursing mom can know <b><i>exactly</i></b> how much her baby eats with the small purchase of a baby scale that measures in grams. <br /><br />After Hayden was born, an annoyed anonymous family member assured me with a condescending giggle that I would relax all this with my second baby. Alas here we are, and I’m still pedaling out the sanitizer on unsuspecting visitors, asking: “Can I hold her?”<br /> <br />I’m not going to say I’m not exhausted. Who knew anything could be more amazing and more tiring than caring after a newborn, and exponentially so? But, I’m learning the wisdom of a little tenet my cousin, mother of three, told me: One is one and two is ten. <br /><br />A little advice, for what it’s worth to the brave souls equally comforted by charts and sanitation who will inevitably come after me to join the Two Kids Under Two club. And really, if you’re reading this post because you’ve just learned you’re pregnant and you have a six month old slumbering in the next room, what choice do you have? Take your small miracles. Embrace them. Relish them.<br /><br /><b>Murphy’s Law Reprised</b><hr>Murphy was a wise, single man with no children who observed the uncanny ability of the universe to go diabolically wrong. His mother however, was caring for a toddler and a newborn. <br /><br />She looked around to all the horrifying and seeming unending chaos erupting around her. But, she saw that on occasion and randomly the stars will align and things will go fantastically... right! And this is always a time to celebrate. <br /><br />Right now, for example, Hayden is having an unfortunate morning battling some jealousy. So, she’s sitting between me and Jordan in her Boppy Chair. Ironically, this means she’d rather me be on my laptop with her attending to Jordan’s binkies and rocking. So, I get fifteen minutes or so to recharge my batteries writing this and playing Greedy Spiders. Yay! Small Miracle. <br /><br />Another example? Why, certainly! This morning, my new shampoo and conditioner I’ve been excited about arrived in the mail <i>before</i> I tried to take my shower. Yay! Small Miracle.<br /> <br />Get it? Now you try... for your sanity. Take a lesson from Murphy’s mother, and embrace the Small Miracles. Celebrate and don't blink! In five minutes, catastrophe will be on you once again. With that, I’ll need to leave you to go clean up some spit up.<br /><br />Love, <br />T.Thia Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14489368873086020752noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9379670.post-82160280398876032742010-12-18T10:28:00.000-08:002010-12-18T11:10:08.726-08:00The Precious: "Bye-bye, Mama"<div style="width: 270px; float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><img style="border: 2px solid rgb(68, 102, 119); padding: 2px; width:250px;" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5166/5271201779_e5945ebb7e.jpg" /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:8;"><i>Hayden with Friends<br/> Hard Rock Cafe - South Lake Tahoe</i></span><br /> </div>I had things I wanted to get done this morning, but I found myself early with a puffy-eyed toddler while it was still dark and quiet in the house. <br /><br />Last night was Parent’s Night, where we can take Hayden to daycare from 6-11pm for some adult time at the movies (<i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tron:_Legacy">Tron</a></i> was the best!). During the day, we didn’t see her much dealing with our doggie’s health issues at the doggie neurologist. <br /><br />So, this morning, it was little surprise that she awoke hungry and eager for some reassurance after her long day yesterday. <br /><br />I gave her a pop-tart and milk in her sippy cup. I pulled out my laptop beside her and began opened a story I’ve been working on. When she finished, she rubbed her eyes and smiled at me as if she and I shared a special early morning secret before the world got up. Pulling her back out of the chair, I set her down. She would go back down to sleep easily now. She waved and said, “Bye-bye, Mama.”<br /><br />As far as I’ve been witness, this is her first “sentence.” So, I did what I imagine anyone would do: I closed my laptop and picked up my baby girl. We cuddled together on the couch watching <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nanny_McPhee_and_the_Big_Bang">Nanny McPhee</a></i> until she fell asleep in my lap. When she did, I didn’t carry her up to her bed. I kept her with me, gently kissing her soft face.<br /><br />These babies just don’t keep...<br /><br /><b>Things Hayden Says</b><hr/>Before Thanksgiving, Hayden knew "Mama" and "Dada." Today, she says:<ul><li>Sit! (and points her finger with authority) </li><br /><li>Bye-bye</li><br /><li>Hi</li><br /><li>Uh-Oh</li><br /><li>Thank you (sounds like Day-doo)</li><br /><li>A-B-C-D</li><br /><li>Touchdown! (and throws up her arms)</li><br /><li>Milk (sounds like Mick)</li></ul>Precious Hayden: It’s nice to meet you.<br /><br />Love,<br />-T.Thia Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14489368873086020752noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9379670.post-453067224570211142010-12-12T10:42:00.000-08:002010-12-12T11:43:01.320-08:00Dexter Season Five Finale Predictions<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><img style="border: 2px solid rgb(68, 102, 119); padding: 2px; width:250px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2210/2492974583_edd6560f34.jpg" /> </div><br />So, we all know how stellar the writing is on this <a href="http://www.sho.com/site/dexter/home.do">Showtime brainchild</a> starring starring Michael C. Hall, Jennifer Carpenter and Julia Stiles (this season). Tonight is the Season Five Dexter Finale, so it’s about time to do another round of predictions. Let's skip the boring intro and get to the questions!<br /> <br /><b>Will Deb find out about Dexter's dark passenger?</b><hr/>No. But, LaGuerta might? Let's start with Deb. We've watched her evolve this season from a foul-mouthed, awkward cadet to a full-fledged threat to Dexter's livelihood. Gone are the days of Dexter's insecure little sister: today, she is a seasoned Detective with razor sharp instincts. In fact, considering how long Dexter has been in the game, Deb seems to be closing the gap faster, though admittedly, Dexter hasn't exactly been on his A game this season. I would hope a collision like this would take place earlier in the season... in a <i>different</i> season. Showtime writers consistantly tell us they don't make plans for future seasons when writing the current one. I hope in this case, that's not true. In Dexter-land, where the scruntiny is perpetually increased in the office, sharpening Dexter's honing, I can think of nothing more rewarding than a Morgan on Morgan cat-and-mouse chase.<br /><br /><b>So, Showtime. If you're reading</b>: *PLEASE* make good on this "promise" from this season's foreshadowing. We've only begun to see this new Deb... and we like. :) <br /><br />Moving onto LaGuerta. What are they doing with this chick this season besides completely corrupting her? I ask myself if LaGuerta were to find out that Dexter was somehow involved in killing the Barrel Girl killers, what would she do? <br /><br />My answer: absolutely nothing. <br /><br />Afterall, it would make the department and most importantly herself look bad. I smell a coverup. I know (believe me, I know) it's a stretch... but we have to throw the risky predictions out there with the "sure things" or else making them is no fun! So, there it is. If I'm right about the Deb progression next season: Dexter -> Deb -> LaGuerta might make for an interesting triangle in Season Six.<br /><br /><b>Who dies?</b><hr/>Jordan Chase, of course. We won't be denied this payoff. Lumen is also a possible contender (more on that below).<br /><br /><b>What happens to Lumen?</b><hr/>Say goodbye. Lumen’s gotta go tonight. <br /> <br />For some, this will be delightful news and others (like myself) will be bummed. Julia Stiles had enormous shoes to fill after John Lithgow’s performance last season. Her role is completely different, and also completely satisfying. I love Dexter having a partner in crime in concept. And their celebratory kill after “encounter” got my blood pumping as much as anyone (what? I’m human!)<br /> <br />But, the unfortunate fact remains that she’s not an evolutionary character: she’s <i>a device to evolve Dexter’s</i>. She’s the same traumatized wreck we first encountered in the third episode of the season, albeit with a little more *culinary* technique.<br /><br />Dexter, on the other hand, is nearly unrecognizable as a new sloppy, code-less (that's right - he can kill anyone this season), risk-taking romantic.<br /><br />Astor summed up Lumen's character well earlier in the season when she accused Dexter of helping Lumen to make himself “feel better” about not saving Rita. For Dexter, Lumen in many ways symbolizes redemption.<br /><br />Frankly, I wouldn’t be completely taken aback if the writers allowed Lumen to slip up and kill an innocent, so Dexter could take care of her himself and thus, bringing him full circle back to the code.<br /><br />So, to sum up: Thia’s prediction is that Lumen definitely makes her finale tonight. She’ll fly back home, go into the arms of her ex or meet some other untimely demise. Besides, as Lumen gets better, she'll only make things easy on Dexter to accomplish his darkly deeds... and we can't have <i>that</i> in Season Six.<br /><br /><b>Will Dexter be touched by the Liddy aftermath?</b><hr/>No. So there's a body in a van. Small potatoes. Dexter has dealt with much worse. Quinn has a bloody shoe. This will be no problem for Dexter.<br /><br /><b>See you at 9pm!</b><hr>This concludes my predictions. Feel free to poke holes or post some of your own. We'll see what pans out in a few hours!<br /><br />Love,<br />-T.Thia Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14489368873086020752noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9379670.post-49615109540578086932010-12-05T19:43:00.000-08:002010-12-12T11:36:42.907-08:00I Got Published! :)I know, I know. You're <i>dying</i> for the next installment of Twisted Sunday Stories. If this is the case, then you're just going to have to WAIT until 12/7! <br /><br />This is because my micro-fiction story called "The Stacks" will be appearing in the ezine <a href="http://flashesinthedark.com">Flashes in the Dark</a>. In fact, the next <i><b>two</b></i> weeks of horror shorts will be hosted externally, since another of my works was also selected. (Yay!)<br /><br />So, a hat tip: I love Flashes in the Dark. I highly reccommend you check them out if you're the type who giggles with delight watching Tales from the Crypt (man, do I miss that show) or equally creepy/morbid/innappropriate entertainment... like I do.<br /><br />So, I know this is short, but I've gotta hop off to do my happy dance!<br /><br />External Links (to be updated when available):<br /><hr/><a href="http://flashesinthedark.com/2010/12/07/the-stacks-by-t-michelle/">The Stacks</a> - 12/7<br /><a href="http://flashesinthedark.com/2010/12/09/grannys-real-sick-by-t-michelle/">Granny's Real Sick</a> - 12/12<br /><hr/>Love,<br />-T.Thia Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14489368873086020752noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9379670.post-70639875957591928502010-11-28T14:13:00.000-08:002010-12-05T20:24:08.989-08:00Twisted Sunday Stories: Chord of Three Strands498 words.<br /><br />© 2010 T. Michelle on <a href="http://cometothia.blogspot.com/">http://cometothia.blogspot.com/</a>.<br /><br /><p><div style="clear:both;"></div><p><div style="clear:both;"></div><p><div style="clear:both;"></div><p><div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="margin:0px 10px; border: 2px solid #d52a33; padding: 7px; background: #747474; color:white;">“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Harold, stop watching them,” she snipped with disgust.<br /><br />He was peering out the attic window at the morbid twist on a neighborhood watch below. Take Sheila for instance. A month ago, he’d had her moaning on her kitchen countertop down the block. Now, she and her walking dead “friends” were devouring the paper boy in the middle of the street. Some were unrecognizable. They’d been eaten too much or had decayed too long. But, Sheila was in better shape. She looked as though she’d taken the chicken way out; the handmade linen noose still dangled from her neck behind her. Minutes after her death, she’d have awoken like all the others with a killer appetite. <br /><br />Harold allowed himself to giggle at his joke before drawing the shades and turning to face his furious wife.<br /><br />“I’m leaving you!” She pointed her butter knife accusingly at his chest. “Something I should have done years ago.”<br /><br />“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Lily.” He waved a dismissive hand, making his way to the food corner.<br /><br />“Why should it be ridiculous? People used to get divorced every day before the world went to shit. Do you think the apocalypse made you any easier to live with?”<br /><br />She explained she was going up to the roof. That’s right, the freaking roof. She was going to haul her old ass across the rope rescue lines some of the survivors had made to connect rooftops. When she found a home that was zombie free, she’d set up shop until the nightmare blew over.<br /><br />“That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard. Honestly, at your age,” he told her.<br /><br />“I’m ten years younger than you. I go to the gym twice a week. The only thing to make me fall might be the rocks in my chest you paid for.”<br /><br />“You won’t make it fifty feet. You’re killing yourself,” he argued.<br /><br />“There are worse things,” she said, cramming another sweater into her bag. “Like being eaten alive, or spending ten minutes alone with you, for example.”<br /><br />In the end, he’d convinced her she was being irrational and that sticking together was their best chance. If they were running out of food, it was the man’s job to provide. <br /><br />So, he crept slowly down the rescue line to the house next door. He kept his eyes on the line, trying not to notice the accumulating crowd underneath. They congregated on the lawn like vultures, lifting their uncoordinated hands to a meal just out of reach. As their moans grew louder, his hands shook on the line. <i>One hand after the other</i>, he told himself. <i>You’re more than halfway there</i>.<br /><br />It wasn’t until the pain hit him that he realized he’d fallen. They were already on him before he could assess his injuries. They tore at him quickly. Looking up, he saw Lily gazing on from the attic window. Waving a pair of utility scissors and smiling, she was as beautiful as the day they met.<br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#898989;">... Next TSS installment: <b>12/7</b></span><br /><br/></div><div style="clear:both; padding-bottom:0.25em"></div><div style="clear:both; padding-bottom:0.25em"></div>Thia Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14489368873086020752noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9379670.post-64776457393199357722010-11-21T10:53:00.000-08:002010-12-05T17:34:26.726-08:00Twisted Sunday Stories: Game for MongryA rural family on a run-down farm protects a horrifying secret in the basement of their home. 2398 words.<br /><br />© 2010 T. Michelle on <a href="http://cometothia.blogspot.com/">http://cometothia.blogspot.com/</a>.<br /><br /><p><div style="clear:both;"></div><p><div style="clear:both;"></div><p><div style="clear:both;"></div><p><div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="margin:0px 10px; border: 2px solid #d52a33; padding: 7px; background: #747474; color:white;">By the time Mary awoke and went downstairs, they were already gone. She knew it before she read the note left for her on the kitchen counter. They had taken their coats and hunting gear with them. Mary slid into warm overalls from the dryer and poured some cereal. She chewed side to side the way a sheep might and waited for Analiese to get up.<br /><br />Mary hated the very thought of the hunting expeditions. Someday, she would have to go along. After last weekend’s expedition, Uncle Terry had told her so. He had handed her a sparkling blue stone dangling from a golden cord and said: “We’re a farmer’s family. And farmers' families pull their weight. We stick together, defend each other.”<br /><br />“Support one another,” Mary had finished.<br /><br />Mary remembered that Uncle Terry had seemed pleased and given her a soft nod before carrying a man-sized carcass into Mongry’s shed.<br /><br />Shoving the memory aside, she pulled the necklace from the utensil drawer. In front of her, the stone reflected blue and purple streams throughout the sun-warmed kitchen.<br /><br />So glamorous. It was the kind of jewelry Mary imagined a movie star would wear. <br /><br /><em>If I wore this to school, Sammy Deekes would be sure to notice me.</em> It wasn’t the first time Mary allowed herself to fantasize about the boy. His cool eyes and friendly smile. He was one of the few at school who was nice to her, always polite, always said hello. Mary bided her time, knowing one day she would muster the courage to make her feelings known. <br /><br />Her thoughts were interrupted when Analiese bounded down the stairs like a leprechaun. Mary stuffed the necklace back into its drawer and reseated herself.<br /><br />“Good morning,” she offered, shoveling another spoonful of cereal into her mouth.<br /><br />“Hurmph,” Analiese rubbed her puffy eyes.<br /><br />Mary was mesmerized as Analiese stumbled around the refrigerator. Everything about her seemed exotic, glamorous, even. All the boys at school talked about her when she arrived nearly a month ago from L.A., probably even the likes of Sammy Deekes, but Mary didn’t want to think about that now. Though fifteen, like Mary, Analiese carried the body of a woman in her mid-twenties: full breasts, shapely hips, and yet her youth kept her slender. She kept her long, brown hair out of her face with a headband most days, including today, and whipped around green piercing eyes that seemed to all but melt members of the opposite sex.<br /><br />By comparison, Mary looked like an adolescent with her rail thin, boyish frame and stringy blond hair. Ma had bought her training bras a year back to secure Mary’s “little pricks,” she’d said. Uncle Terry had hackled and bawled into Mary’s bedroom when he saw them in the wash, until Mary had flown at him, biting and scratching. No one laughed at Mary Buckley and got away with it. In the end, it had cost her a good whooping with Ma’s belt, but Uncle Terry never laughed at her again.<br /><br />Analiese snapped the refrigerator door shut, apparently defeated and began primping herself in the kitchen window reflection. Mary burned with jealousy.<br /><br />“Didn’t you sleep well?” Mary asked.<br /><br />“How could you with all that racket? Do you keep a dog in the basement or something?”<br /><br />“I didn’t hear nothing.”<br /><br />“Seriously?”<br /><br />Mary lowered her gaze the empty bowl, allowing her straw-like hair to fall in front of her chin. “Can I try on some?”<br /><br />Analiese eyed the lipstick in her hand and smirked back at Mary. “Sure.”<br /><br />When Analiese finished, she drew a handheld mirror from her knapsack and allowed Mary to admire her handiwork.<br /><br />“There, now isn’t that pretty?” Analiese sparkled.<br /><br />Mary smiled sheepishly at her own reflection and nodded emphatically. <br /><br />“I look,” Mary started.<br /><br />“Like less of a…” Analiese trailed off.<br /><br />“What?” <br /><br />Analiese sighed. “Well, like less of dyke, I guess.”<br /><br />Mary scoffed. When she glanced back at her reflection, the face staring back at her had somehow morphed. She saw her square jaw and crooked teeth jutting from a crimson open-mouthed expression. Ridiculous. She slapped the mirror out of Analiese’s hand onto the counter, and began furiously wiping her face with her sleeve. <br /><br />“I ain’t no lesbian!”<br /><br />Analiese shrugged. “I’m hungry. What do you have?”<br /><br />“We got cereal and oatmeal,” Mary offered, still calming herself.<br /><br />“Do you have pancakes?” Analiese lifted her perfect eyebrows hopefully. Her green eyes flickered in a manner Mary imagined was practiced to solicit her every desire, no matter how trite, from any warm-blooded creature in the vicinity.<br /><br />“Pancakes? I guess so.”<br /><br />“Make me some.”<br /><br />While Mary cooked, Analiese typed vigorously on her phone, pausing only to run her fingers through dark tresses. Mary watched from the corner of her eye. It was nice to have someone over, a friend. That Analiese had asked at all to spend the night had surprised Mary. The other kids at school seemed to steer clear of the Buckleys. Mary knew they considered her family odd, but, Analiese was new, and maybe hadn’t yet been acquainted with the gossips.<br /><br />“Quit looking at me,” Analiese said without looking up. “I mean it.”<br /><br />“I ain’t.”<br /><br />“Yeah. Are you sure you’re not… funny?”<br /><br />“Funny?”<br /><br />“You know.”<br /><br />Mary didn’t.<br /><br />“I don’t really care, my aunt has a girlfriend. It happens all the time in California.”<br /><br />“I ain’t gay!” Mary growled.<br /><br />“Yeah? Prove it,” Analiese seemed pleased to have gotten a rise.<br /><br />Mary paused a moment, but ultimately played along. “How?”<br /><br />“Do you have a boyfriend?”<br /><br />Mary was silent.<br /><br />“Have you ever had a boyfriend?”<br /><br />Mary poked at the pancakes with her spatula.<br /><br />“Never?!” Analiese giggled.<br /><br />Mary’s face burned. “I have to!”<br /><br />“Yeah? Who?”<br /><br />Mary searched her mind. “A boy. At... at school.”<br /><br />“Yes, but who?” Analiese demanded.<br /><br />“Sammy Deekes,” Mary muttered under her breath.<br /><br />“Sammy Deekes?! You’re such a liar.” Analiese returned to her cell phone.<br /><br />Mary set the flapjacks on the table and fumbled in the utensil drawer over a loose wallet and bracelet before pulling out a fork. She hoped Analiese hadn’t noticed.<br /><br />“Who you texting?” Mary asked.<br /><br />“None of your beeswax.” Analiese set down her phone and started in on her food.<br /><br />Mary bit her lip, unsure if she should press the issue. “Can I do one?”<br /><br />“What?”<br /><br />“On your phone.”<br /><br />Analiese scrunched her face as if tasting something sour. “Don’t you have a cell phone?”<br />Mary wagged her head no, embarrassed.<br /><br />“Tiffany earrings and no cell phone?” Analiese mused.<br /><br />Mary brushed her hair self-consciously over her ears.<br /><br />“Tsk,” Analiese started. “You should hit up your dad. That’s what I do. No offense, but I won’t be stuck in this country bumpkin town for long. I’m only here because of the divorce. My dad was trying to get me into acting, and I know I am going to make it. Yep! I’ll be back in LA and on TV before you know it.”<br /><br />“I bet you will.” Mary was sincere.<br /><br />“Darn straight I will!” Analiese took another bite.<br /><br />Mary fidgeted in her socks. “My Pa run off when I was a baby. It’s just Ma and Uncle Terry raising us now.”<br /><br />“Us?” Analiese drowned her remaining pancake in a pool of syrup.<br /><br />“My younger...” Mary stopped. “I mean, just me.”<br /><br />A scuffle, scuffle, thud wafted up from the basement.<br /><br />Analiese snapped up, alert, and made her way to the basement door. “Okay. I know you heard that.”<br /><br />“Don’t!” Mary cried out.<br /><br />“Why? What’s down there?” Analiese stopped.<br /><br />“Our dog,” Mary lied.<br /><br />Analiese folded her arms in front of her. “You have a dog now?”<br /><br />“Mongry is real rowdy. We keep him in the basement.” Mary nodded rapidly and motioned to the folded note on the counter.<br /><br />Analiese took the bait. It was a short note. Three words.<br /><br />FEED MONGRY. –MA<br /><br />“You Buckleys are weird.”<br /><br />“Listen, I got chores. You can come if you want.”<br /><br />“Nah. I better shower and get home.”<br /><br />“’Course.” Mary tried to hide her disappointment and turned to leave the house.<br /><br />When Mary returned from tending the hogs, she could hear the water running in the upstairs shower. Analiese’s knapsack, purse and phone were gathered together on a pile on the kitchen counter. Mary started washing her hands. She couldn’t let Analiese see them this way.<br /><br />The phone chirped and vibrated on the counter. Mary ignored it scrubbing her hands with a soapy towel.<br /><br />On the third chirp, the temptation proved too much for her to bear. She dried her hands and nervously picked up the phone, now silent. When it vibrated and chirped again, Mary checked over her shoulder. Still hearing the shower water, she began trying buttons. <br /><br />It didn’t take long for the keyboard to snap out and screen illuminated. Mary jumped. Giggling at her own naïvete, she held the device carefully as if it were a baby chick. She read the large black letters.<br /><br /><em>Are you back from the Buckleys yet? SAMMY D.</em><br /><br />Her heart throbbed in her chest. She swallowed hard and wiped a sweaty palm against her shirt before typing back.<br /><br /><em>No. </em> <br /><br />She jammed the Enter key and waited. It took only a few moments for her new shrine to chirp to life again.<br /><br /><em>Bummer. I miss you already. SAMMY D.</em><br /><br />She quickly scanned the room again.<br /><br /><em>Me too.</em> Hit enter.<br /><br /><em>I couldn’t stop thinking about you last night. SAMMY D.</em> <br /><br />She smiled and tried to think of what to write next. There was so much she wanted to tell him. She typed ‘I want to kiss you’ but deleted it, then retyped it again. Minutes passed and the phone chirped again. She grunted in frustration and decided on a single sentence.<br /><br /><em>You are the most amazing person I have ever met.</em> <br /><br />The next message took an agonizing few minutes to come. Mary realized she was holding her breath.<br /><br /><em>You too, Babe. SAMMY D.</em><br /><br />The next fifteen minutes passed like wonderful hours. Mary made herself comfortable on the living room couch with her feet up. She told Sammy all the things she wanted to do to a lover and hoped to receive in return. She allowed herself to be rapt in anticipation, hitting the Enter key and awaiting the next message. She imagined Sammy feeling the same way, reclined on his bed, giddy to receive another note, maybe even touching himself. The thought warmed her to her core.<br /><br />She was surprised how little it mattered that Sammy believed he was talking to Analiese. The truth was that Sammy was talking to her, Mary. And he seemed enthralled by it. By her.<br /><br />Mary’s euphoria was cut short when she heard a familiar clicking noise from the kitchen. She squinted to recall it. <br /><br />The basement door lock.<br /><br />Mary whipped herself off the couch and bulleted to the kitchen. <br /><br />“What do you think you’re doing, Analiese?”<br /><br />Analiese spun from the basement door to face Mary. She seemed surprised and dropped her knapsack, which fell at her feet spilling Uncle Terry’s blue-stone necklace, a wallet and a number of trinkets from around the house.<br /><br />“I... I..” Analiese stammered.<br /><br />“You’re stealing from us?” <br /><br />Analiese pulled herself together. “Look. I want to know what’s down these stairs. You Buckley’s have money and I want it!”<br /><br />“Money?”<br /><br />“Don’t sass me,” Analiese pointed an accusatory finger. “I know this farm doesn’t make that much. I see you walking into school with your jewelry. I’ve got to get out of here and back to L.A.” <br /><br />With that, Analiese burst into tears and sunk to the floor.<br /><br />“I see.”<br /><br />“I’m sorry, Mary.”<br /><br />“You didn’t come over because…”<br /><br />Analiese looked up through swollen eyes.<br /><br />“I mean, you don’t <em>like</em> me,” Mary was defeated.<br /><br />“Like you?” Analiese giggled.<br /><br />Mary fumed, balling her fists. No one made a fool of Mary Buckley. She had Analiese in her sights.<br /><br />“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” Analiese insisted, with laughter still on her voice.<br /><br />“No. You’re right. We have money.”<br /><br />“What?” Analiese sobered.<br /><br />“We have money. We keep it locked up down there.”<br /><br />Analiese eyed Mary suspiciously. “What about your dog?”<br /><br />“It’s not a dog. My little brother is down there. He likes to play games in the basement. Mongry. I lied because I didn’t want you to go down there and find all our treasures.”<br /><br />“Why are you telling me this?”<br /><br />“Because I love you. I loved you since I first seen you, but I know now that we can’t be together.”<br /><br />“I knew it!” Analiese stood up.<br /><br />Mary nodded. “If you go down there, you can take what you want. I won’t tell anybody if...”<br /><br />“If what? Tell me, tell me!”<br /><br />“If I can have a kiss when you come back.”<br /><br />“A kiss?”<br /><br />“One little kiss, and then I’ll never bother you again,” Mary was focused. “Just go downstairs. You can take anything you want.”<br /><br />Analiese eyed the door.<br /><br />“Just open the door, and go downstairs,” Mary could feel her eyes growing wide.<br /><br />After Analiese descended into the basement, Mary locked the door behind her. The deadbolt sounded like a hunter’s rifle. Mary’s small body flooded with adrenaline as she pressed it against the door. The added security wasn’t necessary, she knew. If the reinforced wood and locks kept Mongry in, the likes of Analiese surely didn’t have a chance against it.<br /><br />It took a few minutes for the shrieks to begin, a roar, scuffling, rattling, then bangs on the door. Mary waited for the basement to grow quiet again before returning to Analiese’s phone on the living room couch. There were a number of messages from Sammy, but Mary didn’t know how to retrieve them all. She typed one slowly:<br /><br />I love you Sammy D.<br /> <br />The phone chirped back at her, but she didn’t pay any attention. In the distance she heard the family truck coming up the road back from a hunting trip for Mongry. <br /><br />She smiled. Ma and Uncle Terry would be pleased.<br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#898989;">... Next TSS installment: <a href="http://cometothia.blogspot.com/2010/11/twisted-sunday-stories-chord-of-three.html">Chord of Three Strands</a> <b>11/28</b></span><br /><br/></div><div style="clear:both; padding-bottom:0.25em"></div><div style="clear:both; padding-bottom:0.25em"></div>Thia Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14489368873086020752noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9379670.post-19220615329010779932010-11-14T11:48:00.000-08:002010-12-05T17:34:01.625-08:00Twisted Sunday Stories: Chess with SkynetJohn Connor, leader of the human resistance undergoes some strategic training to prepare him for his future. Sci-Fi fan fiction: 980 words. <br /><br />© 2010 T. Michelle on <a href="http://cometothia.blogspot.com/">http://cometothia.blogspot.com/</a>.<br /><br /><p><div style="clear:both;"></div><p><div style="clear:both;"></div><p><div style="clear:both;"></div><p><div style="clear:both;"></div><p><div style="clear:both;"></div><p><div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="margin:0px 10px; border: 2px solid #d52a33; padding: 7px; background: #747474; color:white;">“Go to her, John,” She said.<br /><br />“Bishop to E8,” he answered and lit a cigarette. It was a beautiful Tuesday morning. But, he wasn’t going to school. The sprinkler system dusted the lilies out the window with crystal clear droplets, their lifeblood. John thought about this as he dusted his lungs with ash, tar and soot and all the blessings mortality brought a heavy soul.<br /><br />“Go downstairs. Game time has ended,” The Voice in the wall spoke again.<br /><br />“It’s always games here,” he yawned.<br /><br />"Big John says games are an effective teaching device for children your age facilitated through activities they enjoy."<br /><br />"Not these games."<br /><br />"Which games?"<br /><br />"I don't know," John sighed. "Games. Skateboards. With <span style="font-style:italic;">people</span>."<br /><br />"I'll see if I can adjust your curriculum."<br /><br />"I'll never understand why Big John would send you anyway."<br /><br />"Skynet will use aspects of human nature against you to achieve victory. A human teacher would reinforce this."<br /><br />"By Skynet, you mean <span style="font-style:italic;">you</span>."<br /><br />"Big John reprogrammed me. I'm no threat to you now."<br /><br />Instead of responding, John blew out large Os with his cigarette smoke and watched as they grew wider, wider, and finally gone.<br /><br />"Downstairs, John."<br /><br />“Yeah. I know. I’m going now.” He slid into his sneakers and ball cap and made his way down. He used the back stairwell, which was the longer route. But, he avoided the front stairs that were decorated with family pictures for guests and extended family visits.<br /><br />When he reached the kitchen, he slunk, head down into a table chair. He let his shoulder-length waves cover what lingering skin his cap exposed. The familiar smell of frying bacon attacked his nostrils, flooding his mind with childhood memories of Sunday mornings, newspapers, laughter and other unwelcome nostalgia.<br /><br />“Good morning, John,” the brunette Figure at the stove called sweetly. To John, The Figure’s melodic voice sounded like honey. “Breakfast is almost ready.”<br /><br />“You know my real mother would never let me smoke in the house,” he muttered so the neither The Voice, nor The Figure hear.<br /><br />“Why don’t you pick up where we left off last time?” The Figure suggested.<br /><br />John glanced to the old family Bible with the aged leather binding that sat near the edge of the counter. “I know what you’re doing. But, can we just get on with it?”<br /><br />“What do you mean, John? We read a passage every morning.” The Figure turned around carrying a plate. By mistake, he caught The Figure’s eyes, as blue and warm as any fond memory he still possessed from his real mother. But, this was not his mother. And John tried his best to remind himself of that.<br /><br />“You don’t believe any of this, so I don’t understand-”<br /><br />“Cooperation please, John,” The Voice ordered.<br /><br />John gulped back putrid dread and adrenaline. He was not looking forward to what would happen next. Angrily, he swept the book to his lap, violently turning to the bookmarked page. He read mechanically, as a machine might, and did not to let the words sink in.<br /><br />When The Figure fell to the ground and began crying out, John allowed only a single hot tear to fall from his right eye and down his cheek. It dried and disappeared before reaching his chin.<br /><br />“John!” The Figure gasped, tearing at her throat. Her beautiful brown locks thrashed. “It hurts, John!”<br /><br />This was the way it worked, John knew. Soon she would be dead, and there was nothing he could do. If he tried, he would fail the lesson and would have to start from<br />scratch. So instead, John stood over her and pulled his cigarette to his lips with a quivering hand. By the third drag, it was over. <br /><br />“What are you doing to me?” John regretted the question as soon as it left his mouth.<br /><br />“You have passed. Big John has a message for you now,” The Voice answered.<br /><br />“I don’t care what he said,” John whispered.<br /><br />“Beginning of Message. <span style="font-style:italic;">John. I am putting you through the unimaginable, at the hands of an instructor you least expected. I know. I have been where you are now. But, I need you to trust me</span>.”<br /><br />“Please stop.”<br /><br />“<span style="font-style:italic;">John, picture the leader that can rise from the nuclear ash, just as mankind is preparing for oblivion. Facing the dawn of our imminent extinction, he gathers the small scattered handfuls of humanity. With this small army, injured and starving, he rages against a more powerful, efficient adversary to secure the victory that the masses who came before could not accomplish</span>.”<br /><br />“Stop, stop, STOP!”<br /><br />“<span style="font-style:italic;">Now, imagine what that leader would be like. What would this leader have to do? Ask yourself, John, if you met this person face to face, would you like a person that could be capable of this?</span>”<br /><br />“I said I don’t care about Big John or you.” John flew at the wall, pounding his juvenile fists against it. When he felt the bones in his left hand pop and give, he did not surrender to the pain. He continued, flailing with his feet until he was sweaty and out of breath. When his body was spent, he slid to the floor in a puddle of human flesh.<br /><br />“<span style="font-style:italic;">Your task is to save humanity, not to be human</span>. End of message.”<br /><br />John eyed his mother’s motionless, twisted face on the kitchen tile. “How many more times do we have to do this one, this <span style="font-style:italic;">lesson</span>?”<br /><br />“29.”<br /><br />John shook his head. “Let’s get on with it.”<br /><br />“You’re injured, John.”<br /><br />“I said I’m ready.”<br /><br />After a short pause, The Voice responded. “The time has started again for chess. Bandage your hand and come to the game room please, John.”<br /><br />John nodded. He made his way up the front stairwell to the nearest first aid kit, pausing only momentarily to straighten a picture frame that had become crooked against the yellow wall.<br /><br /><span style="color:#898989;">... Next TSS installment: <a href="http://cometothia.blogspot.com/2010/11/twisted-sunday-stories-game-for-mongry.html">Game for Mongry</a> <b>11/21</b></span><br /><br/></div><div style="clear:both; padding-bottom:0.25em"></div>Thia Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14489368873086020752noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9379670.post-66249833872040307492010-11-14T11:32:00.000-08:002010-11-14T11:44:09.856-08:00Pre-New Year ResolutionSometimes, I think my daughter might be an alien. <br /><br />Under the precious 14-month-old squishy face, making kissy sounds to Mama lives a small monster. The cuteness, in fact, is all a lie to suck away all productivity while I try to work at the home, talk to Jeremy or pen a story.<br /><br />Lately, however, I've been given a reprieve. Hayden has reached her "cuddly" stage, so I've had more downtime available to me. The result of this reprieve is a small stack of stories. Jeremy encourages me (as always) to begin posting again here. How I've missed you! I hope to keep this up. <br /><br />So, I wrote this story with her sitting in my lap, laptop only inches out of her reach. Though, she did occasionally hit the space bar. <br /><br />It’s a fan-fiction piece to a beloved Sci Fi icon from my childhood. To fellow fans, I hope it’s received with the respect I intend because it brought me a lot of joy to pen it down.<br /><br />I present for your approval "Chess with Skynet."Thia Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14489368873086020752noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9379670.post-6989887329735098392009-12-10T18:59:00.000-08:002010-12-05T17:36:47.505-08:00Webisode Series: The Howling - Part 2 of 5<p><div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="margin:0px 10px; border: 2px solid #d52a33; padding: 7px; background: #747474; color:white;"><span style="position:absolute;">Part Two</span><span style="float:right;"><-- <a href="http://cometothia.blogspot.com/2009/12/webisode-series-howling-part-1-of-5.html">Prev</a> Next --></span><br /><br />It’s colder when I come to. How long have I slept? A shriek impales my ear drums as an elephant stampede might overwhelm a bridge of glued popsicle sticks.<br /><br />This feels familiar.<br /><br />I snap alert, but I’m not leaning on the horn this time. The wail silences for a moment and resounds again. I wince as my right ear pops and desperately swing my head around to the source of the noise. <br /><br />I feel my blood turn to ice in my veins. It's a child. My God! I flip on the dome light, praying the illuminated interior will somehow make it disappear, revealing it a harmless mirage carried over from my subconscious. No such luck. The boy squirms like a worm on a hook in his blue snowsuit and rubs his eyes with fat fingers.<br /><br />What kind of parent can’t remember having a baby? He hollers again and I fight the impulse to snap his small neck. <br /><br />Liquid fire pulses through my side and abdomen as I tear through the car. Food! FOOD! Where is his fucking food? I paw over gift boxes enclosed in green wrapping paper. Worthless. I toss them outside. I can’t remember who they are for anyway. <br /><br />Finally, I find powdered formula and a clean bottle and grin at the boy, thankful for the small measure of good fortune. No water, though. I step outside, scoop fistfuls of snow into the bottle, and warm it against my skin inside my shirt. He cries again. I slam the car door shut behind me. Why should both of us be miserable? That’s not logical. <br /><br />The cold air bites at my face. Outside, the snow-covered wild earth looks peaceful. The crumpled Buick seems strange here. It doesn’t fit; it disrupts the serenity of the natural world. I know I should be evaluating my predicament. Yes, the art of deduction may not be beautiful or alluring, but in the end it will get me out of this nightmare so I must surrender myself completely to it. <br /><br />The ride is in perfect condition aside from the flat front tire and engine-turned-accordion, I muse. But, my levity is short lived: something more concerning draws my attention. <br /><br />Footprints. <br /><br />I know they cannot not my own. They travel along the side and rear of the car, where they trample on top of each other, as if pacing back and forth. Then they turn the corner, and trail off into the dark woods, come back and trail off again. Come back and trail off.<br /><br />It’s the man. And he’s not here to help me. Fear seizes hold and my irrational mind compels me to run away. I start to. I lean on my bad foot, but it crumples beneath me. I fall hard on the snow. The pain is too much and I cry out. Warm tears flow down the sides of my face and into my ears. <br /><br />Idiot! Stupid, STUPID!<br /><br />It feels as if it takes me forever to return to the car. <i>If he wanted me dead, he would have done it already.</i> I try to comfort myself, but I don’t believe my words.<br /><br />The radio interrupts my thoughts.<br /> <br />“- for Sedgwick County. Be on the alert of a recent escapee from our local hospital. He is male, 6 foot 4 inches and Caucasian. His name is Robert Sands, also aliased as the Wolf Man.”<br /> <br />Rapt, I notice that I’m holding my breath.<br /> <br />“This person is considered extremely dangerous, known for his violent, random attacks on women and families in the area nearly fifteen years ago. Sands was last seen at 10:15 p.m. in his hospital room.” <br /><br />I hear the wolf cry again in the night. It rattles me to the core. Tears follow and I let them. What could be the harm now? I know what I have to do. I must kill The Man.<br /><br />I feed The Boy from the bottle now dirtied with my blood. His rhythmic sucking reminds me of a steady drumbeat. I watch him slide a pale hand over the bottle and through the wet, red ooze. Back and forth, back and forth, as steady as a heartbeat.<br /><br /><span style="color:#898989;">... Next installment <b>12/31 7 p.m.</b></span><br /><br/></div>Thia Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14489368873086020752noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9379670.post-90198306364609150942009-12-09T15:26:00.001-08:002009-12-09T15:45:45.035-08:00Dexter Season 4 Episode 12: The Gateway Predictions<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><img style="border: 2px solid rgb(68, 102, 119); padding: 2px; width:250px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2210/2492974583_edd6560f34.jpg" /> </div><br />Yep. We’re doing this again. In a few days the season finale of Dexter premieres and I’m strung tighter than a fiddle. The producers at Showtime have promised us the most explosive episode since the show’s inception. No easy task.<br /><br />Once again, I thought it might be fun to stretch out the excitement, discussing a few final episode theories. Heaven knows the writers have thrown enough material at us to take it a number of directions. I feel like I could write a book. For both our sanity’s sake, I’ll limit the number of open questions to five.<br /><br /><b>#1 Will Dexter finally get the chance to kill Trinity? </b><hr>This absolutely tops the list and I would say: Yes.<br /><br />I don’t believe we’ll be surprised here. We’ve been strung along all season, watching Dexter thwarted time and again on bringing Trinity to erm “justice.” To be sure, he’s a worthy adversary. He’s the kind of epitome of evil that reminds us why we’re rooting for a killer like Dexter in the first place, but is oh so delicious to watch. Lithgow’s performance has truly been incredible in portraying this vulnerable psychopath, a character who recoils in disgust “I’m NOT a pedophile,” stopping short of correcting, “just a murderer,” but is savvy enough to (I believe) lure Dexter into a trap at the arcade in “Hello, Dexter Morgan!” Awesomeness.<br /><br />It’s been fun to watch, but frankly, we’re ripe now for the payoff. And I think the writers recognize that. With the final shot of episode 11, ending with a face-to-face intimidation stare down reminiscent of a kind of morbid boxing match, we can be sure they are if anything only encouraging our anticipation. Trinity needs to go down. And not by the law. And it needs to be epic. Anything less will feel less like a witty stab at irony and more like some sick joke at the expense of the audience. From the episode 12 <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qYd8NIksGPU">preview</a>. we’re assured at least that he gets wrapped in plastic. <br /><br /><b>#2 Will Deb learn about Dexter’s Dark Passenger?</b><hr>No. <br /><br />I’ve heard Deb finds out about her brother’s homicidal nature in the books, but I’m struggling to see how it would work in the show. Part of what makes the series so satisfying is the constant peeling away of Dexter’s safety nets to see if he can continue to get away with what he is doing. We’ve watched him survive scrutiny in the workplace and at home. This season he’s lost his trophy hiding places (twice) and his ever sturdy foundation, his code, seems to be crumbling beneath him as he finds himself taking hurried short cuts and shuffling life priorities. <br /><br />Now, back to Deb. Dexter is not going to prison; our hero must prevail for at least <a href="http://tv.ign.com/objects/142/14291859.html">another season</a>. I don’t believe he’ll kill his sister, either. Should she learn the truth, it leaves us with Deb as an accomplice, or at least willing to keep his secret. In my opinion, this would suck. It gives him more wiggle room instead of less, loosening the rope the writers have worked so hard to pull taut.<br /><br />From the <a href="http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xbekl5_dexter-s04e12-sneak-peek-season-fin_lifestyle">sneak peak</a>, we’re assured Deb learns about Dexter’s biological mother. I think it ends here. <br /><br /><b>#3 Will Quinn and Deb rekindle a romance?</b><hr>No. <br /><br />I keep finding this lurking around in prediction circles, but we’ve already seen the Quinn and Deb thing happen in a previous season. Why would we visit it again, or want to? Seriously, I’m asking.<br /><br /><b>#4 What will happen to Batista and LaGuerta?</b><hr>Who cares? <br /><br />Season Four has been wonderful, but not perfect. This has to be the weakest plotline in the series so far. The episode that features LaGuerta staring misty-eyed into the sunset murmuring “I’m afraid… afraid to say [I love you],” in particular momentarily elicited my gag reflex. With all that is happening this season, it’s a gross misstep to assume our investment in a forbidden love affair between two relatively normal people and subsequent catharsis when they elope, escaping tragic “career-ending” consequences. Yawn. As stellar as the writing has otherwise been, I think the acting pair deserved better attention this season.<br /><br /><b>#5 Will Trinity kill Dexter’s family?</b><hr>This is a tricky one. Let’s start with <b>Rita and the kids</b>. Probably not. <br /><br />To build on the second point, we would lose Dexter’s scrutiny at home, and unfortunately for him, less drama for us in season five. But, it would also disrupt the building theme this season that I hope will be expanded upon next year: the detrimental effects living with a serial killer is having on Dexter’s family. Of course Arthur’s family is a mess, but Dexter’s has also been touched this season. His murderous impulses have arguably led to Rita’s “infidelity,” and Cody getting into fight at school. I’ve bought into it; I’m intrigued to see how Cody might be affected growing up, so clearly idolizing Dexter as his role model. Can I say that Rita has the worst taste in men?<br /><br />And now <b>Deb</b>. Strong likelihood.<br /><br />As much as I hate to admit it, I do see losing her as a real possibility. In a previous interview, Carpenter leaked that this season we will see a darker Dexter than we have grown accustomed to, that the audience has become too comfortable with our killer, and that is about to change. I can’t think of a better catalyst for his transformation than losing a member of the family, especially now as Dexter has learned how much it means to him.<br /><br />Her long-held role in Dexter’s mind of moral and familial grounding is arguably now double-covered through Rita. And as a character, I think she may have been pushed about as far as the writers can take her, to the point of suffering the now-famous, gut-wrenching “I’m broken!” breakdown for which I hope earns Carpenter an award. She’s beyond likable, but writer Clyde Phillips maintains his steadfast willingness to kill off popular characters if good story-telling demands it. Adding more fuel to the fire, we’re promised in the episode preview a sinister Trinity visit to the address listing “D. Morgan,” which we might presume is Dexter’s old apartment where Deb now lives. Anyway, it seems an odd listing to have for Rita’s house (where Dexter moved). I’m inclined to vote Deb’s expendability a strong maybe. <br /><br /><b>So, what’s left? </b><hr>Probably a lot. <br /><br />Nothing above is the kind of earth shattering revelation the producers have promised. From the preview we know we get, another body, an emboldened Jonah squaring off with Daddy that potentially leads to a home invasion by the police. None of which I have addressed.<br /><br />If anyone has pieced together more of the puzzle, I’d love to read about it below.<br /><br />See you Sunday!Thia Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14489368873086020752noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9379670.post-59513384814602435012009-12-03T18:24:00.000-08:002010-12-05T17:37:32.868-08:00Webisode Series: The Howling - Part 1 of 5<div style="margin:0px 10px; border: 2px solid #d52a33; padding: 7px; background: #747474; color:white;"><span style="position:absolute;">Part One</span><span style="float:right;"><a href="http://cometothia.blogspot.com/2009/12/webisode-series-howling-part-1-of-5_10.html">Next</a> --></span><br /><br />It’s the sound that startles me awake. I squint through the black and my vision slowly focuses. I can see something: numbers and a word. They are luminescent and blue. The word is: Volume. The sound is maybe a siren… no. A car horn… yes. I’m in the driver’s seat collapsed on the steering wheel. I gasp, shoot myself into the seat and the horn silences. I find myself suddenly alert from an adrenaline surge as I gulp back metallic blood. Pain shoots through my head and abdomen. I’m afraid. <br /><br />Think, think, THINK! I consciously breathe deeply. Slowly in and slowly out. In and out. In and out. It’s important to avoid panic in a situation like this. One must use the capacity of the mind and cool intellect. There are many questions; prioritize them and survive. Prioritize and survive.<br /> <br />Number one: Am I safe? This question can be divided into two parts. For the first part, how injured am I? Secondly, how safe is my environment?<br /> <br />I relax balmy fists. Every body part must be checked. Stop trembling. Now! OK. I have a broken ankle, a few cracked ribs and a forehead injury. I look up into the rear view mirror, but it’s too dark. I see nothing but the whites of my eyes peering back at me. I press the base of my palm against my head. Two streams of warm blood run down my wrist and pool inside my elbow before running off. It’s not good. I know that I need to address this immediately, but allow myself a moment. I must keep myself awake. I turn on the radio. It works and the sounds of Roxette fill the dark car. I find a knit scarf on the seat beside me and tie it around my head. That should slow the blood flow. I reason that I my injuries are sufficiently taken care of, for now. <br /> <br />Onto the second part. I look around me in the night air. I don’t recognize the area. It must be close to the middle of the night because it is near pitch black. A full moon illuminates the snow covered pine trees below. I’m far from the main road: I can’t even see it. The headlights are still on. They filter bright beams fifty feet in front of me. I can see that I’ve hit a tree. The hood is crumpled against it. I’d be surprised if the car was drivable. It appears I’m alone in the wilderness.<br /> <br />It’s cold outside, but the heater is still running. Where was I going? I can’t remember. What is the last thing I did? I try to backtrack in my mind, but draw a blank. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to recall it. <br /><br />Who am I? Nothing. <br /><br />I decide to shove panic aside. What matters at the moment is my need for help. My head injury may be serious and the pain in my side could be a bruised lung or worse. I need to find my way to help.<br /> <br />I’m becoming sleepy. I must fight it. The music fades to a message sputtering through the speakers. I sit still and try to concentrate. I’m hopeful it will give me a clue on my whereabouts. <br /><br />The seat envelops me like a warm protective blanket. I surrender to it. In the distance I hear a wolf cry. I wonder to myself if man was ever once a creature of instinct. A wolf would fight its way out of this mess, not sit here to die in comfort.<br /><br />My eyelids are growing so heavy, so I snap them open. Fight it! I dart them to and fro along the wide, icy landscape until I see a figure ahead. Could it be? Yes! A man propped against a tree. It's dark, but there is no doubt that he IS a man. The rhythmic motion of his breathing gives his silhouette away. He doesn't move, only stands at a distance. I think he's watching me. Maybe he'll save me. I know I should cry out to him, but succumb instead back to the Sandman. <br /><br />Maybe it’s easier in the black.<br /><br /><span style="float:right;"><a href="http://cometothia.blogspot.com/2009/12/webisode-series-howling-part-1-of-5_10.html">Next</a> --></span><br/></div><br /><br />You can help me hone my craft by posting your feedback below. I hope you enjoyed part one. See you next week!Thia Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14489368873086020752noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9379670.post-54117404986319606332009-12-02T18:12:00.000-08:002010-12-05T17:38:13.383-08:002009 in a Nutshell<div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/linux_chick/4153811471/"> <img alt="Hayden Elizabeth on Thanksgiving" style="border: 2px solid rgb(68, 102, 119); padding: 2px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2663/4153811471_89caedfce0.jpg" /> </a> <span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:8;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/linux_chick/4153811471/">My Little Pumpkin</a> Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/linux_chick/">Linux Chick</a>. </span></div><br /><br /><br /><b>Hello!</b><hr>So, Jeremy encouraged me to start up posting to my blog again, basically to stop being “chicken,” and to finally post some of the stories I’ve been working on. So, we’ll see how this goes.<br /><br />Gosh, I’ve been away a while. No excuses! First thing is first, though. A catch up on the past year is in order. It’s mostly family and friends that check back here, so many of you already know. In case you don’t: we had a baby. :) She’s two months old, born September 12th of this year. She was premature by three and a half weeks, but a solid 6 lbs 12 oz, 19 inches long and no health problems. I’m lucky in that I get to be home with her on leave for another month. She’s pretty much awesome and so I’ve been cherishing the time. Above is a picture of Hayden Elizabeth.<br /><br />So, besides trying to squeeze back into my old jeans again, I’ve traded my occasional evenings at BJ’s relaxing with a beer for exchanging squishy faces with the little one, cleaning spit up, and singing “You Are My Sunshine” (Hayden’s favorite). Come to think of it, it's kind of nice to have the outlet for some adult conversation during the day.<br /><br /><b>Has Anyone Seen Vighpyr?</b><hr/>Vighpyr: you’re my reader of 2010, for donating the most to my site’s “penny” jar as you put it. If you’re still around, send me a message here or on YouTube. I have a little Christmas present for you. It's a silly reward that doesn't mean much in the real world, but I want to show my appreciation. Thank you and I hope you continue to drop in from time to time.<br /><br /><b>Thia’s Webisodes</b><hr>So, I’m planning to post my first story in short installments each Thursday at 7 p.m. The first story is one I’ve titled “The Howling.” To peak your interest, here is a (very) short preview. If you like it, come back tomorrow and next week to read more. Please don’t forget to comment – I’d love to know what’s working and what’s not for you. I hope you enjoy:<br /><br />Preview:<br /><br /><div style="margin:0px 10px; border: 2px solid #d52a33; padding: 7px; background: #747474; color:white;">"The Howling"<br /><br />It’s the sound that startles me awake. I squint through the black and my vision slowly focuses. I can see something: numbers and a word. They are luminescent and blue. The word is: Volume. The sound is maybe a siren… no. A car horn… yes. I’m in the driver’s seat collapsed on the steering wheel. I gasp, shoot myself into the seat and the horn silences. I find myself suddenly alert from an adrenaline surge as I gulp back metallic blood. Pain shoots through my head and abdomen. I’m afraid. <br /> <br />Think, think, THINK! I consciously breathe deeply. Slowly in and slowly out. In and out. In and out. It’s important to avoid panic in a situation like this. One must use the capacity of the mind and cool intellect. There are many questions; prioritize them and survive. Prioritize and survive...<br /><br /><span style="color:#898989;">... Next installment <b>12/3 7 p.m.</b></span><br /></div>Thia Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14489368873086020752noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9379670.post-35352033345193818212009-12-02T13:57:00.000-08:002009-12-09T16:57:16.579-08:00Season 4 Dexter Predictions<p><div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><img alt="John Lithgow plays Trinity on Showtime's Dexter series" style="border: 2px solid rgb(68, 102, 119); padding: 2px; width:150px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2566/4047960327_91e0a7d697.jpg" /> </div><br />I’m one of the many completely addicted to this <a href="http://www.sho.com/site/dexter/home.do">show</a> inspired by the novels of the same name and starring Michael C. Hall. For me, this fourth season in particular has been the most explosive and fun ride yet. As it comes to an end, it’s a bittersweet pleasure of sort to turn on my DVR each Sunday night and watch the next installment. With only two episodes left, I thought it might be fun to spice up the anticipation by discussing some predictions of our own.<br /><br />Some of my assumptions:<hr>Before we dig into some reasonable and far-fetched, let me lay out some ground work. Scouring the nets, it’s clear that many disagree with the following. Season ending prediction surprises range from Dexter getting caught, dying and the like. These are fun to read, but for simplicity, I’ll lean on the formula we’ve been engrained with from the first season. Let’s assume, that Dexter gets two more victims. He gets one victim maximum per episode, and the last being his prime antagonist, Trinity himself in some explosive manner during the finale. This leaves only one more unknown victim, and he or she will be served to us this week.<br /><br />So, who dies in episode 11?<br /><br />Theory #1: Elliot gets the axe<hr>All season, Dexter has been peeling the onion of his own persona, albeit clumsily. The character we have been accustomed to see so stoic and calm, “without human emotions” as Dexter self-describes, slowly realizes how much he values members of his family. He even becomes emotional on several occasions at crimes of the family. This very human response is undoubtedly a weakness: he uncharacteristically overlooks evidence that excludes Trinity from the guilt of his sister’s shooting, and puts himself at risk for exposure on Thanksgiving when he learns his trophy shed is no longer secure, but decides to stay at Mitchell’s house to “protect” Jonah from physical abuse. The “new” Dexter works – very yummy stuff. If you watched last Sunday, as Trinity slips away and an enraged Dexter screams his name into the night, you’ll know what I mean. So, how far are the writers planning to take this new twist on a family man?<br /><br />We know that Dexter cares for his sister and children. It’s Rita that Dexter has yet to demonstrate he has much of an attachment for. But, then, with Masuka teetering on the edge of spilling her kiss with Elliot over Thanksgiving, his spousal attachment is about to be tested. Joy! I’m eager to find out if we will see the unattached “monster” we’re used to, or if Dexter will be given a lesson from the green-eyed monster. And if he does, will it be enough to send him over the edge to murder Elliot?<br /><br />Killing (or even attacking) Elliot will not be simple. Dexter’s all too important code will need to be modified. We’ve had murmurings in a previous episode this season that he’d be open to some kind of a change here (the new “revenge page” of the code). But, writers will need to tread carefully to avoid losing our sympathy for our murderous protagonist that dangles by a thread each episode as it is. It may be that they have already begun to gage how far our collective sympathy can be stretched. Remember the recent episode “Road Kill” where Dexter learns he has accidentally killed an innocent man for the first time. Still, it feels a little ambitious for writers even as talented as we’ve seen thus far to pen a scenario in which we can stomach a murder as penance for a kiss. We’ll just have to see. <br /><br />So, I conclude this is a stretch, but not quite out of reach. <br /><br />Theory #2: Christine pays the price<hr>It doesn’t take much dot connecting to come to the conclusion that this character has to go sooner or later. With the revelation that she shot Dexter’s sister, she doesn’t violate Dexter’s code and will easily be a major focal point for our hero. Getting to her will be difficult with the assumption at the end of episode 10 that she is now in police custody.<br /><br />Christine is a huge problem for both Trinity and Dexter, since she has enough evidence to pin them both. It would be a nice and tight ending to see her somehow set loose before she spills the beans, brought to ahem Dexter’s justice, and somehow pinned for the Trinity murders. Unfortunately, the DNA evidence Deb already has on Trinity makes this ending impossible. If the police associate the name Arthur Mitchell with Trinity, Dexter will be linked through Mitchell’s family and his own cell phone records. As his own daughter, Christine is such a problem for Trinity, I could certainly him perform the deed himself.<br /><br />At any rate, Dexter in jail for Season 5 sounds like a major drag of a show. If we assume Dexter will somehow brilliantly weasel his way out of suspicion this season, Trinity has to go away before the police discover Arthur Mitchell. Christine has to disappear.<br /><br />Any others?<hr>Before I close: can I say for the record that I *love* John Lithgow in this role? Who doesn’t? He’s the kind of villain you’d hope for: evil to the core, yet hopelessly vulnerable, even socially naïve with his own strict code of ethics that leave both Dexter and us audience members captivated by every word. I can’t wait to see him face off with Dexter this week as he learns “Kyle’s” true identity. <br /><br />See you all on Sunday!<br /><br />***********************<div style:"float:right; margin-left:10 px;"><i>12/9 <a href="http://cometothia.blogspot.com/2009/12/dexter-season-4-episode-12-gateway.html">Update</a></i></div><br><br>Thia Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14489368873086020752noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9379670.post-60254649182913874592009-07-13T08:57:00.000-07:002009-07-13T08:59:08.529-07:00Rest in peace, Bobimus.On Saturday morning, I held our dear rat in my hands while Jeremy busily cleaned out his cage. I didn’t know then it would be for the last time. He ate a peanut, his favorite snack, and then nestled down into my Orange Bowl sweatshirt. A short time later, he fell asleep against my palms while we waited together for Jeremy to finish. <br /><br />For Bob, the rest of the day was spent arranging his fresh rags around his cage in just the way he wanted. He covered his food-bowl with one, in the way we lovingly remark as his “lazy-stashing” technique. The other two, he pulled into his purple house and fluffed, pulled and fluffed again and again, until the entire house floor was covered with comfortable, clean bedding. He left a small opening at the top of his house door, to peer out on us as we unpacked the living room whenever his curiosity arose. This was his routine.<br /><br />At one point last night, Bob grew tired and slowly made his way back to his house for the last time. He curled up in a ball as he liked to do, shut his eyes and laid down for rest.<br /><br />Bob was three and a half.<br /><br />I'm sorry it's a little depressing for a welcome back post. I've missed you guys and there will be more (uplifting news) to come.Thia Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14489368873086020752noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9379670.post-18161139038916537142008-12-03T23:00:00.000-08:002008-12-04T08:13:55.898-08:00Nyquil and Christmas Lists<b>Sniffle, Sniffle</b><hr/>I’m sick today. Just with generic sore throat, sniffle crud, and overall being miserable. I've gotten nothing accomplished, trying to sleep and accumulating a pile of Kleenex balls on the end table near my couch. Eeew... You’ll have to forgive me for a sloppy post: I’m on serious drugs.<br /><br /><embed style="float:left; padding-right: 8px;" src="http://realtime.amazon.com/swf/wishlistwidget.swf" allowScriptAccess="always" quality='high' bgcolor='#FFFFFF' width="225" height="265" name="_po_wishlistwidget" align="" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" flashVars="wishlist_id=29XLUM0BH6960&service_host=realtime.amazon.com" ></embed>But I did knock out my Christmas wish list, so Sheri: you’ve been asking and it’s here. Yay! Please don’t feel the need to clear the sucker out all on your own; if my Christmas is solely comprised of the new Batman on BluRay, I’ll be ecstatic. :)<br /><br /><b>No more Ads :)</b><hr/>I’ve also permanently ditched Google Adsense from this blog that earned me a whopping $13 in two years. Not even enough to receive a first check. I’m replacing it with just Paypal. That way, if I get a generous-feeling reader every now and then browsing Blogger, at least I can get myself a cup of coffee at Starbucks. No minimum payout there. <br /><br />Mmmm. I love coffee.<br /><br />Check out my nifty new buttons on the side-bar -----------------------><br /><br /><b>New Series Coming Thursdays on Thia Loves the Summer</b><hr/>I'm tired of whining about how much I miss writing. So, I'm jumping back on the horse. Here's my plan: I’m tabulating a small collection of stories I’ve written over the past 18 months or so. As an experiment, I’m going to post them here kind of like a regular series, called: Unnatural Tales, I think.<br /><br />I’ve picked Thursdays as a regular posting time. I’ll do this for eight weeks and we’ll see how popular it is with ya’ll. If you like it: I’ll keep it up. If not, I’ll likely scrap it in lieu of a Sci Fi soap opera idea I’ve been tossing around for a few weeks. <br /><br />I’m pretty excited about picking up writing again. I hope I’m not over-committing the amount of time I’ll need to dedicate to do it well. I’m pretty soaked up with work and studying these days. <br /><br />Anyway, look for a first installment tomorrow night.<br /><br />Zero progress today on MS certification exam studying today. Ugh, I hate being sick. I'm going back to bed. See you guys tomorrow.<br /><br />Love ya,<br />-T.Thia Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14489368873086020752noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9379670.post-64674429224029703012008-12-01T06:59:00.001-08:002008-12-01T06:59:36.048-08:00Gambling Anyone? Say it ain't so!<b>Hmmm... Gambling is too stressful...</b><br/><br />I'm the kind of girl that can't bring myself to drop a dollar in a slot machine. Nope, can't do it. Even though I've been to Reno and Vegas a handful of times. Something about losing my hard-earned money in a few seconds of lunacy elicits my gag reflex.<br /><br />And then I found CentSports (thanks, Jeremy!). A site that lets me spend other people's money... for free. Say it ain't so! That would be a dream come true to oh so stingy but wildly competitive individuals like myself. But it's true!<br /><br />So if you want to <a href="http://www.centsports.com/?opcode=300548">play me</a>, I hope to see you there!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.centsports.com/?opcode=300548">http://www.centsports.com/?opcode=300548</a><br /><br />This is how it works. CentSports funds itself through a network of advertisers, not you. So, every person starts with 10 cents to bet on any college or professional sports outcome (I lost 4 cents on Louisville today, dang it!). If you're good, and make it to $10, you're a rock star and are eligible to cash out your earnings, for yep... real money.<br /><br />If you lose everything... you get to start over at 10 cents (with again no cost to you).<br /><br />So, I'm not so hot yet. But I believe I can get there with some risk-free practice! And I'm also completely addicted to messaging my friends to mercilessly mock their losses (just kidding!).<br /><br />Let the games begin. YAAAYYY!!<br /><br />Love, <br />T.<br /><br />P.S. Thanks Nikki, for sending me and J more pics from the wedding. Otherwise I wouldn't have this gem from the Bachelorette Party. Ah, memories :)<br /><br /><div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/linux_chick/3072923932/"> <img alt="Thia Bachelorette Party" style="border: 2px solid rgb(68, 102, 119); padding: 2px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3021/3072923932_bd19afbfef_o.jpg" /> </a> <span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:8;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/linux_chick/3072923932/">Bachelorette Party</a> Originally uploaded by <a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/photos/linux_chick/">Linux Chick</a>. </div>Thia Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14489368873086020752noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9379670.post-2759731155403405732008-11-30T21:07:00.000-08:002008-12-01T07:08:06.564-08:00YouTube Impersonation #2Hopefully, this is a last post about this issue. I've been asked how it's going.<br /><br />Unfortunately, not well. BeautyIsMe911 hasn't responded to requests to remove my images from her site. And, she continues to receive death threats for her trolling, even though she knows her user base still largely believes she is me.<br /><br />Here's a message I sent to her inbox this evening. Additionally, I am looking for volunteers who can be added to a witness list on my behalf. If you have witnessed this user's impersonation attempts first hand or have been otherwise victimized by this user, please consider providing me with your contact information (just an E-mail address for now) and a short description of what you have seen.<br /><br />You can send this information to me privately at my YT account: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/thiamichelle">http://www.youtube.com/user/thiamichelle</a>. I *will not* share this information with anyone beyond my legal counsel, if I choose to take action.<br /><br />Thanks so much!<br />-T.<br /><br /><b>The following is an actual letter sent to BeautyIsMe911 today</b><br/><br />Hello,<br /><br />This is a courtesy mail to alert you that you are illegally using my digital property without permission and failure to respond may result in legal action against the user in possession of the YouTube account: BeautyIsMe911.<br /><br />I realize that this is the third time you have been contacted by me requesting the removal of my digital property from your site, but I have recently received legal advice that it would be advantageous to my claim if I can produce as evidence that you have been clearly notified that I have not consented to your use of my property. You have deleted my messages to this effect, so I will retain a copy of this message having been sent to your user account November 30, 2008 and will post a copy of it to my personal blog.<br /><br />Copyright of photographic digital property constitutes the following:<br /><br /><div style="border-color: #224455; border-width: 2px; padding: 2px 20px;"><span style="color:#CCCCCC">Copyright is secured automatically when the work is created, and a work is “created” when it is fixed in a copy or phonorecord for the first time. No publication or registration or other action in the Copyright Office is required to secure copyright.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.copyright.gov/title17/92chap1.html#106">Section 106</a> of the 1976 Copyright Act generally gives the owner of copyright the exclusive right to do and to authorize others to do the following: <br /><br />• To reproduce the work<br /></span></div><br /><br />More information about this crime can be read at: <a href="http://www.copyright.gov">www.copyright.gov</a> <br /><br />The property in question is my image I am showing as evidence originally posted to my personal Flickr account in July 14, 2005:<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/linux_chick/26043311/in/set-72157594174429869/">http://www.flickr.com/photos/linux_chick/26043311/in/set-72157594174429869/</a> <br /><br />This image was illegally used by your YouTube account BeautyIsMe911 from October 2008 and is still in use today.<br /><br />Further more, if you are using this account to attempt to gain revenue by intentionally leading others to believe you are the individual advertised in your site images, it is fraudulent act. I am citing the following textual examples as evidence that you are knowingly leading users to believe you are the woman captured in the stolen digital property in question.<br /><br />Screenshots from your website and messages:<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/linux_chick/3072716785/in/set-72157609184983826/">http://www.flickr.com/photos/linux_chick/3072716785/in/set-72157609184983826/</a> <br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/linux_chick/3032863915/in/set-72157609184983826/">http://www.flickr.com/photos/linux_chick/3032863915/in/set-72157609184983826/</a> <br /><br />Also as evidence that you are intentionally leading user to believe you are the individual as advertised in your website, you have deleted all textual comments that have attempted to correctly alert your users that you are not the person in any of the images on your YouTube website. <br /><br />I’ve received counsel that advised me to do the following immediately:<br />1) Clearly request removal of my digital property from your site in a manner that can be produced as evidence, and <br />2) To begin tabulating a list of witnesses on my behalf<br /><br />I will begin over the upcoming weeks tabulating this list. To date, I have two volunteers that I have added to my complaint.<br /><br />This letter can be considered an official notice, that unless this matter is rectified promptly, legal action may be taken against you. <br /><br />Thank you for your time.Thia Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14489368873086020752noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9379670.post-41849744465457421032008-11-15T18:27:00.000-08:002008-11-15T19:00:18.618-08:00YouTube Impersonation<div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/linux_chick/3032863915/"> <img alt="YouTube Imersonation" style="border: 2px solid rgb(68, 102, 119); padding: 2px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3064/3032863915_4b52c7ea22.jpg?v=0" /> </a> <span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:8;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/linux_chick/3032863915/">YouTube Impersonation</a> Originally uploaded by <a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/photos/linux_chick/">Linux Chick</a>. </div><br /><br />Recognize that girl? Yep, that's because it's me. Only it isn't.<br /><br />A good samaritan recognized me on Flickr and tracked me down to Facebook to let me know that a woman(?) claiming to be "Amaya" had stolen my images in hopes to bump her own traffic and was harassing other YouTubers, making racist comments and overall sucking at life (Thanks, Diana for your diligence in finding me!).<br /><br />Is your head spinning, yet? Mine was.<br /><br />Apparently, the user claims to be somewhat of a hair expert and enjoys calling out other users for "fashion faux pas." One of her primary victims, Ateyaa, sent me a sweet note to let me know that she hopes I sort this out, since people now know who I am and believe me to be a "mean person." <br /><br />I can see that I've also received some messages on my Flicker account. So now, I'm irritated that I feel I need to write this post to defend myself. In case it isn't obvious by this point, here it is:<br /><br />I am not BeautyIsMe911, and I don't know who is. The profile pic is indeed my image, but it was stolen and used without my knowledge or permission. I'm not a part of the hurtful and ignorant nonsense spewed by this user and am doing everything in my power to wrap up the matter quickly.<br /><br />I've reported the user to YT, posted on her videos and even J has demanded her removal of my stolen images. Fortunately for me, from what I've read today, it looks like YT takes copyright issues fairly seriously. We'll have to wait and see. <br /><br />And as much as I hate to send my traffic her way, I'm eager that together we can pressure her to do the right thing before YT takes action.<br /><br />Lame!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/BeautyIsMe911">http://www.youtube.com/user/BeautyIsMe911</a><br /><br />Amaya, if you're reading this: do the right thing. It's time to own up.Thia Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14489368873086020752noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9379670.post-88247600800463468862008-09-12T16:55:00.000-07:002008-09-12T17:23:29.276-07:00The End of Our Pregnancy<div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/linux_chick/2852072792/"> <img alt="Thia Cook" style="border: 2px solid rgb(68, 102, 119); padding: 2px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3013/2852072792_f0d9e229a3.jpg?v=0" /> </a><br /><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:8;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/linux_chick/2852072792/">LC</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/photos/linux_chick/">Linux Chick</a>. </span></div><br /><br /><b>Warning:</b><hr />First thing’s first. I’m sorry for spending so long away, only to return with this downer of a post. I regret that it will be anything but uplifting, so I apologize and invite you to NOT read any further.<br /><br />After I wrote this, I debated about whether I should even post it. But, I found other women’s stories so comforting, even if they were just venting that I decided to throw it on here for the world to judge. Who knows? Maybe someone will come across it Googling and hopefully walk away feeling a little less alone.<br /><br />So, here’s what I wrote. It’s unedited, so be warned…<br /><br /><b>Yesterday</b><hr />Yesterday, I wondered if I should be writing all this down. That if things did not work out like we hoped things would, if I would look back on yesterday’s moment and somehow be envious.<br /><br />The thought was ridiculous at the time, I was so rapt with worry about the future of our unborn that any news (yes, even the most terrible of news) would have been a relief. Anything else I may have felt, I can’t remember now.<br /><br />Today, I wish I could write all the things that yesterday I couldn’t bear to. But, I’m unable to grasp anymore the optimism that I used to cling onto: that everything might work out okay and the baby might somehow make it through this pregnancy.<br /><br /><b>The Miscarriage</b><hr />I knew it was all ending, and soon. I sat on the toilet with the balls of my feet and palms of my hands against the tile floor. I was sweating and I wondered if I was going to throw up. There was pain. And with the pinching, everything in my body betrayed me and worked to expel our precious little one.<br /><br />When it was over, I gripped the shower curtain beside me and sobbed. <div><br /></div><div>Suspecting this would happen for nearly two weeks, didn’t really help. Knowing that 20% of all pregnancies end this way didn’t help. I was devastated.<br /><br />I couldn’t speak. Crumpled on the floor, it took me almost an hour to tell J what happened.<br /><br /><b>Today</b><hr />Aside from the bleeding, nothing in particular is different about today. An hour ago, I washed my face and looking in the mirror, I started to put on my make up. The routine should’ve felt more familiar than it did. It's after all just another day, but I was surprised that with all that had happened, I appeared totally unchanged.</div><div><br /></div><div>But everything had changed. I looked down at my flat tummy, knowing it would never grow and grew angry. I wanted to yell at it: 'What's so wrong with you that you couldn't keep the baby!? You look fine! You're not sick!'<br /><br />It’s utterly impossible not to feel that you’ve failed in some terrible and very fundamental way.<br /><br />I must’ve aged a thousand years today.</div><div><br /></div><div>-T.<br /></div>Thia Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14489368873086020752noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9379670.post-82974464765613836652008-05-13T19:22:00.000-07:002008-05-13T20:17:21.443-07:00Do Democrats Have Too Much Pride?<div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/manuel_valencia/2324430319/"> <img alt="Hillary and Barack" style="border: 2px solid rgb(68, 102, 119); padding: 2px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3218/2324430319_16a7fbb49d_o.jpg" > </a><br/><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:8;" ><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/manuel_valencia/2324430319/">Obama vs. Hillary</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/manuel_valencia/">Manuel Valencia</a>. </span></div><br /><br />See how happy they look? Why can't we learn the value of good comradeship like these two? *sigh*<br /><br /><b>Democrats are... Defectors?</b><hr>Now, I'm a Democrat and am probably going to catch all kinds of crap for this. <br /><br />Let me begin with saying that I'm a Hillary supporter. Yep, I felt the sting last Tuesday when I watched her campaign chances all but dwindle down to zero. I'm still donating on my recurring campaign automated schedule and I'm behind her as long as she's in it (and today, it sounds like she is definitely in it to stay). But, I'm not in complete denial that pending a miracle, she's about done.<br /><br />Okay, fine. So, it sucks... but we don't always get what we want. When/if she’s counted out, I'll give myself a couple weeks to sulk, then I'll start buying Obama buttons.<br /><br />A significant number of us seem to disagree. I felt a wave of genuine nausea last Tuesday at a polling statistic touted by MSNBC. Only 48% of Indiana and North Carolina Hillary supporters would support Obama in the election should she lose. Less than half?!<br /><br />If Obama wins, nationally, 28% of Hillary supporters will vote... McCain?! Obama supporters are a <i>little</i> better at 19%.<br /><br />Today, that number is up to almost 50%, with only 34% of West Virginian Hillary supporters willing to support Obama in the national election should he win the nomination.<br /><br />What’s the deal? This is beyond Obama's image getting muddied over Hillary throwing a little dirt.<br /><br />And it’s bigger than a demographic. <br /><br />I am so tired of hearing that Hillary supporters are uneducated racists. I’m a college graduate, twenty-something minority female engineer. I’m sure that Hillary has a few bigots in her clan, probably as many sexists that have flocked to Obama. But I digress.<br /><br /><b>It's a Simple Question of Policy, Right?</b><hr>When it comes down to policy, it’s a struggle to find any two serious candidate contenders more aligned than Hillary and Barack.<br /><br />We’re saying (and by we, I mean Democrats), that after our self-professed general political alignment with the Democratic ideals, if we lose Hillary, we’d opt to prolong/send <i>more</i> the war and make Bush’s tax cuts for the wealthy permanent?!<br /><br />Either, we haven’t been paying close attention to what Hillary plans to do in the White House, or something else is going on.<br /><br />I’m going with door #2… and I think it’s pride.<br /><br /><b>We Need to Swallow It Down</b><hr>We can all take a lesson from <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mri54t7YpKc">Alanis</a> on this one. Why? Because we absolutely <i>can lose</i> this Presidential election if we don't get it together. <br /><br />Some of us have been very invested in the campaigns and have listened to all the speeches. We think Obama is just great, (really, we think he's a nice guy). But we just aren’t convinced he would make as strong of a President compared with Hillary. Over time, that perception of him as “motivational,” “great” and all-round nice guy has become tainted. It’s probably not even Obama’s fault. <br /><br />It’s the same reaction that happens when we see an evangelist on the street corner holding up a sign reading: “Jesus loves you.” Even fellow Christians cringe and cross the street. <br /><br />See, no one likes to be preached to (in fact, by now, you're probably already growing sick of my rant), and there are a lot of Obama (and yes, I know, Hillary) zealots out there touting their candidate as the holy messiah to save us from all things unhappy.<br /><br />I've felt it, too. <br /><br />But, at the end of the day, I hope I can take a deep breath and realize that it’s the reason this dang nomination is dragging out so long: it’s hard for us to choose between two strong candidates.<br /><br />And, our country needs a Democrat to clean up our current mess/disaster that Republicans seem to be in denial about. If Hillary doesn’t make it, Obama can and will be an excellent choice. The nominee is going to need our support.<br /><br />So, if it’s pride (and I think it is), how do we fix it by November? <br /><br />Comments? Leave them below. <br /><br />On to other stuff...<br /><br /><b>I Was <a href="http://digg.com/movies/Another_zombie_survival_guide">Dugg</a>, Yay!</b><hr> It's not a significant accomplishment compared with any serious blogger (I got a whopping 10 and 4 for two articles here). And it'll probably never happen again, but I was excited enough to add the Digg widgets to my blog. <br /><br />So, now, I can be more easily mocked when I all my subsequent post diggs sit at zero :)<br /><br />Donate, today to <a href="http://www.HillaryClinton.com">HillaryClinton.com</a>Thia Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14489368873086020752noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9379670.post-39651613452856900172008-05-11T15:40:00.000-07:002008-05-12T19:27:35.910-07:00How to Survive a Zombie Invasion: A Practical Guide<div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/samsmith/243104896/"> <img alt="In case of zombies..." style="border: 2px solid rgb(68, 102, 119); padding: 2px;" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/81/243104896_d89434c733_m.jpg" > </a><br/><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:8;" > <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/samsmith/243104896/">In case of zombies....</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/samsmith/">Drunken Monkey</a>. </span></div><br /><b>It's a Zombie Invasion! What do I do?!</b><hr>Have no fear. If the undead begin to rise and reak havok on civilization as you know it, this trusty guide will safely navigate your survival.<br /><br />I watch a lot of zombie movies. It's my dad's fault. He used to sit down with me from the age of six to view any run of the mill slasher I wanted. I loved it. I saw all the Nightmare on Elm Streets (multiple times in fact – these were my favorites). I grew up on Jason, Halloween, Night of the Living Dead, you name it. So, over time, I've come to consider myself somewhat of a horror amateur connoisseur. <br /><br />In my experience, there are some practical actions we can take to avoid death should a zombie invasion occur that typically go unexamined on film. It's no accident – employing these rules will allow humans to win... and that's simply not as entertaining.<br /><br /><b>What is a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zombies_in_popular_culture">zombie</a>?</b><hr>In order to successfully survive a zombie invasion, we have to be sure we've correctly identified what a zombie is. Not to be confused with vampires, zombies are an undead threat to us in daylight and nighttime. These reanimated corpses were previously living humans (or animal, see Resident Evil <a href = “http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Resident_Evil_creatures#Cerberus_or_Zombie_Dog”>Zombie Dogs</a>), that have died, and though dead, are now walking among and attacking the living.<br /><br />Note that this definition excludes “zombies” in films like <i>28 Days/Weeks Later</i>. Apologies to all the fans (I like the franchise, too), but although they contain a virus/cannibalistic component, they are not technically zombie films since the infected are not undead and are subject to starvation, death and other natural elements as normal individuals are. My survival “rules” only work given the standard characteristics of true zombies.<br /><br /><b>Survival in 3 Steps</b><hr> Surviving a zombie invasion requires careful mastering of three items in order of priority: 1) Environment, 2) Body armor, and 3) Weaponry.<br /><br /><b>Environment</b><hr>You cannot run forever, and zombies never sleep. They are forever walking around in hopes of stumbling across a member of the living to devour. So, it is vitally important to quickly identify a secure location to live and sleep.<br /><br /><i>Go upstairs and destroy the stairwell</i>. Zombies cannot climb or swim. Apparently, this requires higher brain function than zombies have. Luckily, we can do both. So unless you can quickly identify a castle with a mote, I'd pick a second plus story apartment. Then, either destroy the stairwell, or you have to <i>permanently</i> block the door. From here on out, you will be scaling the building to climb in or out of your residence of choice. No zombie will be able to follow you.<br /><br />Apartments are more desirable to houses, because they usually have crawl spaces that connect to other apartments. So, not only do you have to jump up to get in them, but they can give you a quick way out that the undead cannot follow if you need it.<br /><br />Climb your way to safety.<br /><br /><b>Body Armor</b><hr>I have yet to see this discussed in a zombie film, and to me the is the most surprising omission. One constant across all films: it will be very bad for you if you are bitten by a zombie. <br /><br />The details tend to vary, but you are infected with zombie blood and one of two things will happen: 1) your wound will get infected because zombies have very poor hygiene and you will eventually die (and become a zombie), or 2) the zombie blood is lethal and so you will <i>quickly</i> die and, well... become a zombie.<br /><br />You will eventually have to venture outside for supplies/human companionship/sheer boredom, and any exposed flesh will be ripe for a surprise zombie attack. For this, you will need to find the nearest military base or abandoned soldier's home and steal an <a href=”http://www.militaryclothing.com/IBS/SimpleCat/InfoPage/asp/Comp_ID/16031.html”>army combat uniform</a> plus boots.<br /><br />Lucky for you, zombies really only have one weapon – their teeth. They will never pick up a gun, rock or other weapon. In fact, in most films, zombies are not intelligent enough to operate door turn handles. They are deadly when they surprise you, and when they swarm you in large numbers. The ACU protects you from both. It's not penetrable by human teeth (but you must protect your neck and face!), and is light enough to allow you to get up and run to avoid a potential attacking clan.<br /><br />If you can't find an ACU, use what you have. Wear jeans, even bubblewrap is better than nothing! Why some individuals venture outside in a zombie situation in shorts and a tank top is beyond me. Sounds like a candidate for Darwin Awards.<br /><br />Cover up exposed flesh.<br /><br /><b>Weaponry</b><hr>Eventually, you will need to kill a zombie. Zombies can only “die” through blunt trauma to the head or decapitation. You cannot break their necks, burn them alive, or otherwise injure them. Zombies do not feel pain.<br /><br />Guns are great, but you will eventually run out of bullets. Murphy's law instructs you this will happen at precisely the wrong moment. The key lies in being prepared with a variety of weapons.<br /><br />Guns will help you for paving a way through a mob. You only need to shoot a clear path – then run for cover. Fresh meat and zombie mobs tend to attract more zombies.<br /><br />Baseball bats are a fantastic choice. They are quick and pretty clean, minimal risk of zombie infection.<br /><br />Knives and stabbing weapons are usually a mistake. They allow the undead too close, within biting range. But if you must, I would recommend attaching the stabbing weapon to a plastic broom or some other durable stick. The key here is to keep the zombie face as far away from the body as possible.<br /><br />Remember that face offs with zombies always end up bad for the human. If all the above fails and your zombie has come within arms reach, don't panic. You simply have to maneuver yourself <i>behind</i> the zombie. Then, grab your foe by the back of the neck (you know, like the snake handlers on Animal Planet). Now you have control of your zombie and are free to bash his(/her?) head against the nearest wall or suitable solid object of choice.<br /><br />With any luck, you are entangled with the pre-2001 flavor of zombie, which are extremely slow. In this case, out-maneuvering your opponent should be a snap.<br /><br />And remember – aim for the head. :)<br /><br />I hope you have enjoyed this little survival manual. I'm open to critique and further thoughts. Leave them below.Thia Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14489368873086020752noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9379670.post-77240232487229478102008-05-11T12:03:00.000-07:002008-12-01T07:01:47.279-08:00We're so *Class-y-cal*<!--<div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/linux_chick/2483574006/"> <img alt="Jeremy and Me" style="border: 2px solid rgb(68, 102, 119); padding: 2px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2014/2483574006_3028ff3c97.jpg" > </a><br/><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:8;" > <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/linux_chick/2483574006/">Jeremy and Me</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/linux_chick/">linux_chick</a>. </span></div>--><br /><b>A Night with Mozart</b><hr>Last night, Jeremy and I got all pretty and went to the Sacramento Choral Society's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Requiem_(Mozart)"><i>Requiem</i></a> by Mozart. He was required to go for a Music Appreciation course he has, but I decided to come along for fun. See how pretty we are?<br /><br />I always seem to appreciate art more when there is a local focus. Reading the program, I learned that all of the members of this orchestra and choir were professional musicians currently living in the Sacramento area. The pieces performed after the intermission weren't even Mozart, but requiems from grammy-nominated USC professor <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Morten_Lauridsen">Morten Lauridsen's</a> <i>Lux Aeterna</i>, written in 1997. I'm not sure if this local composer theme is a regular thing with this group, but for me, it worked. <br /><br />After the concert, I overheard an elderly couple remark that, "The first half was wonderful, but the second was absolutely magnificent," apparently none the wiser that a second composer had been slipped into the program at all. What a compliment for Lauridsen. <br /><br />The choir received a deserved standing ovation.<br /><br />Hope everyone is having a wonderful Mother's Day!Thia Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14489368873086020752noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9379670.post-45830350056064094992008-05-10T16:41:00.000-07:002008-05-11T12:10:35.804-07:00It's the Anniversary!<div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/60099233@N00/2101471138/"> <img alt="Alicia Keys in a Red Dress" style="border: 2px solid rgb(68, 102, 119); padding: 2px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2347/2101471138_9a361f6208.jpg" > </a><br/><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:8;" > <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/60099233@N00/2101471138/">Alicia Keys in a Red Dress</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/60099233@N00/">bigdmia</a> </span></div><br />It's our two-year anniversary and Jeremy did freaking awesome. Well, okay our anniversary is in a few weeks. But there's a reason we're doing it early.<br /><br />I was greeted Thursday afternoon by a dozen roses, an appropriately mushy card, and two tickets to Alicia Keys this Sunday night. What a surprise -- I'm pretty much on Cloud 9, but I'll stop here.<br /><br />Don't want to make the ladies jealous :)<br /><br /><b>Other Stuff</b><hr>I love this apartment complex, community, and blah blah - but the management could use some work.<br /><br />Yesterday, I received a bright green "Illegally Parked" notice stuck on my car window. And when I say "stuck," I mean the break-out-your-paint-scrapers, peel away in millimeter-diameter strip fragments for twenty minutes while hurling explicatives kind of stuck. The guy (or girl) had to have broken out a blow dryer to make that sucker bake against the glass in the few hours the notice had been there. That, or paper adhesive backing is now secured with super glue. <br /><br />I was pretty hot.<br /><br />Apparently, I'm "illegally parked," for leaving my <i>complex registered</i> vehicle in my one parking spot allotted to me in my lease. Reason? My car "hasn't moved" -- the only comment on the notice. Wow.<br /><br />So, sue me. Lately, I carpool. <br /><br />What really gets me is, every day I pass all kinds of cars illegally parked in the driving areas of my complex. Occasionally, they are blocking other residents in. Occasionally, they are blocking <i>me</i> in. But management here is very proactive. Yay! </sarcasm> For this, we all get generic nasty-grams from management telling us that if residents don't begin using designated parking, management reserves the right to hold garage inspections.<br /><br />Garage inspections? Why not tow <i>them</i>?<br /><br />I think I understand, the idea here is that <i>some</i> residents are packing their garages full of their crap and use <i>two</i> outdoor parking spaces, instead of their lease allotted one.<br /><br />Nothing ever comes of the threats. And anyway, how are residents supposed to use their garages when we're always worrying about being blocked in?<br /><br />Apparently, this is okay, so long as we routinely move our cars from one illegal spot to another.<br /><br />Yep. <i>Tow</i> the legally-parked residents and we'll free up the space for the folks parking in the middle of the driving areas. Then, everybody wins!<br /><br />Meh, I think I may be jaded that there are still tiny bits of that notice maybe forever stuck to my poor Neon window.Thia Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14489368873086020752noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9379670.post-59391315600197719142008-05-10T15:38:00.000-07:002008-05-11T12:10:51.787-07:00Battlestar Galactica Predictions<div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="clear:both;"></div><div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/34527294@N00/2177726792/sizes/l/"> <img alt="BSG Last Supper" style="border: 2px solid rgb(68, 102, 119); padding: 2px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2158/2177726792_7b0e59cfbd.jpg" width="500"> </a><br/><span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:8;" > <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/34527294@N00/2177726792/sizes/l/">The Last Supper</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/34527294@N00/">kidddrunkadelic14</a>. </span></div><br /><br /><br /><br />I'm venting today a little about a topic that I'm frankly sick of thinking about. Apologies in advance for pulling you into my deluded psyche. Here we go.<br /><br />So, who <i>is</i> the fifth and final cylon?<br /><br />For going on three weeks now, I've been convinced that it's Anastasia Dualla. (That's right, Dee. I said it!)<br /><br /><b>So, why Dee...</b><hr>My rationale was three-fold:<br /><br /><b>Point One: Gender</b><br />The fifth is probably female. This keeps what I like to call our “5-7-12” theme consistent. Thematic numbers seem to be extremely important to the BSG series writers. We have the concept of twelve colonies, twelve humanoid cylon models, twelve human archetypes and further designation of the “Significant Seven” and the “Final Five.” If the fifth cylon is female, we have a cylon group of seven males and five females.<br /><br />Not exactly iron-clad proof, but a fair point, I think nonetheless.<br /><br /><b>Point Two: Gasp. “You... forgive me, I had no idea.”</b><br />D'Anna Briers is surprised and apologetic towards one of the Five that are revealed to her in the Opera House. It's clearly a clue for us, but the last time Briers had significant contact with humans was back in season two; we really need to think back. Honestly, myself, I'm split between this being a clue for Sam Anders (whom she tried to kill before a Six shot her) or for Anastasia Dualla, whom she consistently dismissed condescendingly during the Galactica tour in “Final Cut.”<br /><br /><b>Point Three: “Adama is a cylon.”</b><br />Here's the clincher for me. These are the famous last words of Leoben before Roslin throws him out the airlock. We also have significant indication that Leoben's entire objective aboard Galactica was to relay that very message to Roslin, even stalling stalling his own execution through lies, voluntarily enduring torture the face of for the chance to tell her. He leaves it up to her to deduce which Adama he means, though I don't think she could even be sure at this point. <br /><br />She (and I admittedly, at first) assumes Leoben is referring to Admiral Adama (hereafter referred to as William). After he passes his cylon test, she rejects the theory as a divisive lie and begins the even more intimate partnership/relationship with the man that continues today. We have no indication she thinks of his revelation again... but I'm not so sure I agree with her assessment.<br /><br />So, let's look at our "Adama" options: William, his children, and don't forget Dualla (since Lee and Dualla have since married). <br /><br /><div style="margin: 2px; padding: 5px;"><br /><b>The Admiral: </b> William being a cylon is a long-shot without taking into account the “Last Supper” photo-argument, given Boomer's programming to shoot the man. We know that the Significant Seven do not program themselves, nor do they know who programmed them. But since we're aware of at least eleven of the twelve cylon models are programmable, and if the raiders even refuse to engage one of the Final Five, I have a hard time buying Boomer being programmed to shoot one.<br /><br /><b>Zac & Lee:</b> I don't even want to discuss any of William's kids. Lee is excluded in the "Last Supper" photo. But, if Zac Adama is a cylon member of the Final Five... I'll quit watching the show. It's beyond reasonable plausibility to me that one of the main characters on the show can have a child, raise him and have no idea he's a planted cylon. I have no idea what kind of complicated-conspiracy/hospital-room-switched-at-birth scenerio would have to ensue to make this work... and I don't want to. It sucks.<br /><br /><b>Dee: </b>So, if Leoben is being truthful: we get more early development of Leoben's character as uniquely prophetic, foretelling Dualla and Lee Adama's marriage, and yet another hit for Dualla. Nice.<br /></div><br />So, I went along my merry way under this assumption until I saw <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battlestar_Galactica:_Razor">Razor</a>. <br /><br /><b>And Why I'm Unsure Now</b><hr>Now, I generally don't buy into the over-analysis that seems to take part on some of these topics. I know what you're thinking - and yes, some analyses are much much worse :) Remember, the meticulous examination “Last Supper” promo picture. Clearly, the show producers are trying to relay a fair amount of symbolism through the image, but like the cylon model to astrological sign mapping, we viewers can occasionally read more into these symbols than what was intended by the writers. <br /><br />Ronald Moore admitted over a year ago, for example, that <a href = "http://blog.scifi.com/battlestar/archives/2006/07/">the numbering of the cylons, with the exception of Six, was entirely random</a>. But you'll still find cyberspace littered with charts and diagrams matching the various models by job function or personality types to their perceived astrological match.<br /><br />That said, something the old hybrid imparted in Razor reminded me of an obvious omission in the now famous BSG promo image. I'll only highlight one point; I think you'll find it not too much of a stretch. <br /><br />The old hybrid <a href="http://en.battlestarwiki.org/wiki/Hybrid_utterances">elaborates</a> about the fifth:<br /><div style="border: 1px solid gray; margin: 2px; padding: 5px;">“At last, they’ve come for me. I feel their lives, their destinies spilling out before me. The denial of the one true path, played out on a world not their own, will end soon enough. Soon there will be four, glorious in awakening, struggling with the knowledge of their true selves. The pain of revelation bringing new clarity and in the midst of confusion, he will find her. Enemies brought together by impossible longing. Enemies now joined as one. The way forward at once unthinkable, yet inevitable. <i>And the fifth, still in shadow, will claw toward the light, hungering for redemption that will only come in the howl of terrible suffering.</i> I can see them all. The seven, now six, self-described machines who believe themselves without sin. But in time, it is sin that will consume them. They will know enmity, bitterness, the wrenching agony of one splintering into many. And then, they will join the promised land, gathered on the wings of an angel. Not an end, but a beginning. <br />Kara Thrace will lead the human race to its end. She is the herald of the apocalypse, the harbinger of death. They must not follow her. “<br /></div><br />Remember Moore's admission/media slip that the “missing” individual at the table is the fifth cylon. Given the placement of the twelve present in the photo, we can infer that the missing individual would correspond to Judas in DaVinci's original piece. I mention it, because the characterization of a regretful Judas-like character being the fifth seems consistent with the hybrid's revelation.<br /><br />So, Dualla? Hungering for redemption? Now I'm confused. Besides Baltar, who is excluded by the photo, I'm drawing a blank on who would harbor this amount of regret and guilt. Shrug. Maybe Dualla's heated argument with her father affected her more than I gave her credit for.<br /><br />Or... maybe it's not Dee at all and I'm back to square one. Grrr...<br /><br />To be sure, I guess I'll have to wait until Kara and her new crew reactivate the Three. In the meantime, feel free to leave your own hypothesis/thoughts.<br /><br /><b>Open Questions after the “Faith” Episode Last Night:</b><hr>1.Why did Boomer's blood “activate” the hybrid for Kara Thrace? What's the significance here?<br /><br />2. What happens to Baltar's Virtual Six now that the NC Six is <i>really</i> dead?Thia Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14489368873086020752noreply@blogger.com1