Varmit Report

Thursday night I was relaxing at home, playing on the computer, the window open so we could enjoy the summer night. Suddenly, there was a terrible noise up the hill under the elm. I could hear snarling and growling and fighting and raccoon cubs crying out, plainly terrified. I thought I heard a coyote yipping, too. I was outside instantly with that stick I keep by the door, running up the hill shouting out and beating the stick against the foliage. There was the sound of a lot of bodies climbing the tree. Unfortunately, there are a lot of suckers coming off the base of the tree, making it impossible to see around. It got quiet...and I began to wonder what the hell I was doing out there without a flashlight or even shoes. I called out for mom to bring a light and we peered around in the grass, and checked out the perimeter to see if there was, in fact, a coyote in the yard. Nothing. We shone (shined??) the light up the tree and saw a lot of racoons up there, all somewhat stark and peering back at us. I spotted Cutiepie and she was staring at something further up in the tree, growling, snorting and plainly still after blood. We reclassified the incident as raccoon politics and I limped back into the house, leaving a bloodly footprint as I'd sliced open the sole of my foot on the sharp, rock outcropings that is part of the berm (it's some sort of decomposing rock.) I'd just begun to wash out the wound when the conflict began anew outside, but it quickly evolved into some sort of chase that moved clear of the yard.

I thought we wouldn't see the coons again since we'd been outside and therefore must be counted as scarier and unpredictable, but hours later, they did come back. They were very, very skittish. I could only count Cutiepie and 4 cubs. All seemed to be in good shape but it was very hard to tell as two of the cubs seemed glued to momma coon's sides. As she moved slowly through the courtyard picking up and eating kibble, her two little ones moved in synch with her, like a pair of grey furred waterwings or pontoons. The world had become very scary and those two thought the only safe place was right beside Momma.

Since then, we've recounted and everyone is present and in good shape. In fact, tonight they were lounging around under the elm. Momma coon gave a big, contented stretch and lay down, her kids nearby and busy digging up my bulbs and rooting around in the leaf litter for other 'munchies.' Probably the only blood spilled that night was mine, though at the time, I thought my little raccoon family was the victim of murder and mayhem. At least my foot is healing up very nicely, btw, so no worries. Mom did see a pair of adult raccoons on Friday night. One was the three legged fellow, so he's still coping quite well. We think he could be Cutiepie's brother, which would make him over four years old and pretty amazing to survive all this time with that handicap.

Anyway, I promise to keep a very strong flashlight beside the door in future.

Computer update.

I took my shiny new computer back to where I bought it. Apparently, it was a software problem (uh huh) and XP needed to be 'rebuilt'. Since it was a software issue, I would have to pay a fee (hardware is covered with parts and labor for 3 years.) Because I don't really know what the hell I'm doing when it comes to computers (no mentoring, no manuals, just a lot of hoping that intuitive choices will be the right ones) I was glad to pay up, secretly relieved that no blood sacrifices would be required and my sanity would be spared from trying to figure it out myself. "Tony" turned on the computer and said, "What all this?! You got too much junk here! Don't fill up computer with so much junk!" Of course, Tony was initially critical of what I wanted under the hood of this baby. "Two hard drives?! 120 gig each?! No, no no! You build cadillac when you only need toyota! You no need all this!" I had a print out of what Adobe Premiere Pro 1.5 needed, so he did back off, mollified by the requirements printed in black and white.

Anyway, a hour later he declared the computer fixed and carried it out to the car for me, giving me another lecture about not putting too much junk on the computer. Strangely, his judgemental henpecking does not annoy me. Okay, maybe a little, but he does seem to know what he's doing. I work with doctors, so I guess a tolerance for an irritating personality is quite acceptable to me if they know what they're doing.

And I took my computer home, and loaded it right back up with a lot of "junk." Junk is in the eye of the beholder in my opinion. I think Tony values programs to burn movies and music, and play games. I am a fan, and therefore a compulsive communicator, minoring in all things media. The reason I bought a big ol' honkin computer was so I *could* load it up with all those cool programs.

So far, everything is purring smoothly...both the shiny new computer and the great orange tabby laying on my feet.

Word choice in fan fiction

First off, let me say I do cuss. I have to remember not to cuss when at the job and something alarming happens. My father had been a sailor in WW2 and had an absolutely filthy mouth. I am not prude when it comes to foul language. I just think it is more effective to use it as spice instead of the main course.

Having said that, I have to admit I frequently find myself stopped dead in a story, staring at the all too frequent bad language coming out of the mouths of my favorite characters. Since when does Daniel speak like that? I'll give you he does say damn, bastard and even hell when under duress, but not under mundane and casual circumstances.

I'm still reading a mess of Harry Potter fiction I dl'd a few months ago. It's not uncommon for these kids to be using all manner of bad language while simply discussing how to spend the reminder of the day. This usually has me staring at the screen, muttering "wtf?"

Poor word choice ruins the characterization. Why would an author sabatoge themselves with such an easily avoided mistake? Does using bad language equate being 'cool?' Is it more desirable to be cool than to create a better story? Is the constant reminder that they are included in the community more important than writing a story, that if done really well, will give you bonus points in said community? Does each writer's priority sort them into one of two groups--fans who write or writers who are fans?

In a related subject, and one in which I'll probably be stomping on some toes of the 'cool kids,' why do otherwise skilled writers insist on using fannish vocabulary in their fannish stories? I know specialized vocabulary defines a community, and the fannish community is particularly eager to embrace new words, partly, I suspect to differentiate the small cliques of fans who feel they are cooler than the rest of the pack. I have to say when I come across online lingo coming out of the mouths of Teal'c or Jack (in a non-online situation) or in the narrative, I am stopped cold in the story. The word choice is obviously wrong, and the only conclusion I can come up with, is that the writer is wanting to communicate their inclusion into the 'cool kids' club, and the temptation to do the secret handshake in public is irresistable. My sad little opinion is that they should rethink the urge.

The bottom line? Skilled writers are making the same mistake as those seemingly highschoolers are making. Go figure.

Not quite the effect they were shooting for, is it?