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WEB FED NEWS YEARBOOKS Earthdate January 2001 |
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WEB FED NEWS YEARBOOKS Earthdate January 2001 |
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INSIDE SCOOP |
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Well, folks, another holiday season has come and gone. As much as I enjoy a break from work, I'm always happy to get back to writing for you, my readers (both of you). The one thing the season didn't bring me was a plethora of things to write about, but I figure that'll pick up after people get back from vacations. So, I'm going to tell you what it DID bring me! Killrwhale - My good fishy friend gave me a fifty-pound tuna. Somehow, I wasn't surprised by the huge bite mark in it, but it's the thought that counts. Monty the Pirate - Sol's arguably most famous mobile gave me a wreath this year. Actually, he ejected it from his ship after shooting me down. My Editor - Re-insured me. Pegasus - Gave me another wreath. I have a sneaky suspicion Pegasus and Monty shop at the same store. Bizcarp - My dear friend gave me something I really needed: she re-insured me again. MyAngel and WRKincaid - These wonderful people gave me a gorgeous tree ornament this year. I'm not even going to try to describe it (it really needs to be seen to be believed), but suffice it to say I wish I had a better tree than the stick in my ship. Diesel - This Martian sweetie gave me a meal on the house and a bat to the head. (Never ask what's in the meals, folks.) The Cleaner - Everybody's favorite machine gave me a lint ball. I was touched. The Tourist - Lent me his lunar croquet mallet so I could whack HIM in the shins a few times. Krystal the Muse - The well-known gossipmonger gave me six two-hour tapes chock full of all sorts of info about several famous Fed persons. Blackmail schedules will be posted soon. The Hobo - He took one look at what I was wearing, gave me some change, and told me to dress better. I'm still at a loss as to how to take that. Slarti - Gave me a rock. Apparently it was a "factory second" - the intended buyer didn't want green. The Zlitherworm - Gave me a faceful of venom. What a sweetheart. Hazed and Bella - Gave me a very nice poster. It looks good in the living quarters of my ship.
May it be all you hope for. I'm hoping 2001 will bring a new tradition: people actually mailing me! If there's anything you'd like to impart upon me, email me at Horatio_TheWriter@excite.com!
FED
OP-ED: FOOD This week, I decided to show an enthralling, poignant, and provocative transcription of a Fed conversation on a subject of extreme importance to everyone’s daily life: Food.
Llama: "ahhh........ :)" Jelly: "Dang straight!" Pilgrim: "gross." Jelly: "I want some!" Quqi: "llama, you're a barbarian:)" Derian: "Eggnog latte -- heaven." Fahrenheit: "Who is this oreo girl? and more importantly, is she married?" Llama: ":::grins with a mouthful of oreo:::" Jelly: "afterlife – heaven" Jelly: "I think Oreos are... the most wonderful food product in the whole entire world" Llama: "that and chicken mcnuggets.... yum." Derian: "Croutons." Jelly: "*drool*" Rasal: "Oreos the most wonderful food product in the world? Hmmm, better than baklava?" Llama: "NO! NOT better than baklava!!!" Derian: "Mmm...no food talk, guys." Derian: "I'm stuffed." Llama: "no wait, i'm thinking of chocolate babka." Cen: "foooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooed." Llama: "choc babka is perhaps one of the best cakes in the world." Jelly: "Then maybe I shouldn't talk at all.." Jelly: "Being my name is a food product :P" Derian: "Jelly!" That’s all! Care to send me a thought provoking e-mail? Or perhaps a death threat? Send an e-mail to Jelly@columnist.com.
THE
NINE PHENOMENON Your communit is used for player-wide communication in Federation. In fact, the Fed machines are kind enough to tune you to an appropriate channel of similar ranks as soon as you enter the game. But since the rise of Zmud, more and more players just idle on Federation with either an anti-timeout macro or a trigger that executes the timeout off command. Therefore it causes a phenomena on Nine that I may have trouble explaining. Let's say Chelsia, Ddking, Flaboy, Dorian, and myself are conversing on any topic you can think of. One of us goes AFK for a while and the rest follow after several minutes. About twenty to thirty minutes later (the channel has been silent the entire time) Sholuvr joins the game and casually says, "Hello, everyone." Suddenly, without notice or written consent, the conversation goes from that "anything-you-can-imagine" topic to a large social greeting. Your comm unit relays message from
Ddking, "{{{Sho}}} This phenomenon I like to refer to as "Dormancy Induced Channel Greeting". The term is as relevant to the phenomenon as I can make it. It's nothing that I would like to cure, because from my point of view, curing it is impossible and if it were, it would take the warm social life out of Federation. It's one of those problems that give Fed that edge of imperfection; like dumping, excessive macros, and other things. This article is just to simply toss the idea out into the open public. I don't even consider DICG a problem, but something I notice daily on Fed. Oh, yes, and happy New Year to everyone out there. It's been a long two weeks in the spice mines for me. However, I consider myself fortunate that Hazed allowed me to attend the Pub Crawl even though she removed my name off the prize list for no good reason.
During the holiday season Hazed bestowed on me a funny little creature called 'Aibo'. At first I was disappointed to not find any rawhides or squeak toys in the brightly wrapped package she gave me. Instead of a juicy treat or a new Frisbee, the Aibo crawled out of the package I had only half opened and woofed at me. It looks like some sort of creature that might have been the product of another of Bella's experiments in cross breeding – this time between the shepherd and the cleaning droid. With 20 movable joints, it moves around faster and is much more adroit at dodging kicks than the cleaner, yet its alloy construction doesn't look like any dog I've ever run into. It does woof and wag its tail nicely. Hazed said I could teach it all kinds of tricks to help me with planet reviewing. The first thing I thought I'd try was mail duty, and the Aibo and I have roamed all over Sol pointing out postmen and nipping at their heels. I don't think the Aibo is very smart, though. It has started listening quite intently to its comm-collar thingy at regular intervals, then woofing 'You've Got Mail!' at me. I trot out to the post box in front of the mansion to see what's been delivered, and always find the box quite empty. A few minutes later the Aibo will cock its ear as though it hears something important over the comms and woof again. I trot out to the box, and still no requests for planet reviews. Maybe I should teach him how to beg for groats, instead.
TOP TEN
FED NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS It's a New Year and a New Millenium. So, I thought I would make some New Year's Resolutions to start the new year off right. I think if I accomplish these, I will have really improved the Universe, not to mention myself.
FED
OP-ED: GAME SHOW ASSISTANT Due to the large amount of emails I've received about my position on Who Want's to Be a Billionaire (okay, okay, it was one), I've decided to write about a day in the life of a game show assistant. I graciously did so as a favor to that one adoring fan who emailed me. (Okay, okay, so I emailed myself. Is that so wrong?) Break of dawn: Get up, haul into planet Morning: Haul out of planet LUNCH BREAK Afternoon: Choice of hauling in / hauling out Evening: 3 hours to show: Run around making sure Macnbc has everything he needs including his favorite donut 2 hours to show: Run around in circles, then make sure all the seat areas are tidy 1 hour to show: Stand outside with coffee cup in hand, begging from those waiting for the game show to begin 59 minutes to show: Get dragged inside by the ear 58 minutes to show: Quickly add a "GIVE ASSISTANT MONEY" sign to the pile of audience cues including "APPLAUSE" and "LAUGH" 30 minutes to show: Sneak back out into the crowd and resume begging 1 minute to show: Realize I should be in the studio and dash back in 30 minutes to show: Reach the stage, near hyperventilation TIME: Introduce Macnbc 0-30 minutes into show: Twiddle my thumbs until a poll the audience comes along. 30-60 minutes into show: Play cats cradle until another poll the audience comes along. 1 hour after the show: Spend my evening with a broom and mop.
Quite accidentally I figured out that Aibo, my new robotic companion, was equipped with internal email capabilities. For two weeks he’d been barking out ‘You’ve Got Mail!’ and I’d rush to the post box in front of the mansion only to find it empty of any letters. One day I’d had enough of this futile exercise, and yelled at him to spit it out. He did. Gagging as though he’d been licking every feline in Fed and produced a hairball the size of Titan, he coughed up a partially digested email requesting a review of the planet Scoutranch. I was too disgusted to read it for several days, leaving little time for exploring the planet. Scoutranch is next in the queue, and if you’d like to have your planet reviewed in the Chronicle, just send us a fresh email.
TOP TEN
THINGS A NEW PLANET OWNER SHOULD KNOW Becoming a planet owner for the first time is exciting but confusing! Here is a simple list to help but be sure to ask your Duke or Duchess for advice. They have been there, done that, probably several times!
Greetings and salutations, my fine friends of Fed! While I delight in sharing humorous recounts of bizarre happenings in Fed, our home has been deplorably (shudder) normal lately. Nobody has sent me any bulletins about anything, I haven't seen anything interesting (meaning, nothing I can pad out to an entire column), and I can't even make anything up. However, as is often the case, someone saved my bacon. While I was sitting here sweating out what on Earth (or any other planet) I was going to write about, I discovered a letter buried in my mailbox that read:
In case you were wondering, yes, the letter was signed, but for confidentiality issues, I couldn't print it. Another reason I'm not telling you folks the name is because that is what I'm writing about, and I don't want to see revenge beatings. Note: all times take place on Friday. 1:30pm - Realize I have an article due. This always comes as a complete surprise, because I'm often reading a book or losing my 8000th hand of solitaire for the day. Then something all of a sudden reminds me "Hey, I have to do an article!" This usually leads to me running around screaming in terror for a bit. 1:38pm - Finish panicking and start groping around for a topic. This means going from channel to channel in Fed, listening for anything that I could potentially turn into an article. 1:58pm - Retire the search in Fed and start going through logs from earlier in the week. Usually I'm too tired to remember things without the benefit of a filed backup, so I rely on my logs to let me know if something interesting happened in my general vicinity earlier in the week. 2:15pm - Give up on the logs. 2:20pm - Check mailbox for any topic letters. 2:21pm - Check mailbox for any topic letters. I'm persistent. 2:22pm - Check mailbox for any topic letters. I'm desperate. 2:23pm - Check mailbox for any topic letters. This attempt is a triumph of hopefulness over experience. 2:30pm - Start thinking about any conversations I may have had earlier in the week. Since not all of my Fed-related conversations happen in Fed, and since I don't always get logs of those conversations, I have to force my brain cells into action. This rarely works. 3:30pm - Begin assaulting friends and coworkers, begging for topics. Clutching ankles is particularly effective. At this point, I don't need dignity, I need an idea. As an added benefit, the head trauma I occasionally sustain in this pursuit will sometimes give me an idea. 4:30pm - Sit back to try to think some more. This is usually when I accidentally nod off. 5:30pm - Wake up and have a few blissful moments wherein I forget I have something to do. Then realization strikes and I start panicking again. 5:45pm - This is miracle time. This is when a mysterious letter appears in my mailbox, or someone says something that inspires me, or I crack my head on the underside of my desk and have an illumination. 5:46pm - Begin to write frantically. 5:50pm - Random distraction (fire alarms... how annoying). 6:10pm - Get stuck in conversation with long-lost friend. 6:53pm - Get back to writing while still talking. My train of thought, however, steamed merrily along without me, so I have to run to catch up with it. 7:10pm - Submit article. 8:30pm - Realize I missed a bulletin about sending the article to a different address this week. 8:33pm - Re-send article. 8:34pm - Go into coma until Friday, 1:30pm.
So I don't have to inflict my itinerary on you all again next week, I'm going to provide my e-mail address (as I always do) so that any civic-minded people can send me something to write about. It doesn't matter what, all entries are welcome! The address is: Horatio_TheWriter@excite.com!
FED
OP-ED: MARRIAGE This week, I decided to ask around about subjects pertaining to Fed marriages, and the like. Let’s see what people had to say:
Zrasputin: "Mine, its the only one I've ever made it all the way through." Naiad: "Mine! Satinsheets officiated it, and she asked all the guys present (most of whom were ex lovers of mine) if they were ok with letting me get married! They voted! And no counting chads there... they just raised their hands. ;)" Breyer: "When I was a Fed Parent and my daughter got married... long time ago on AOL... Gemini7148... and some guy who quit the game two days later. It was on my planet "Moria" in a chapel next to a "Blind Date" shop." Geiiga: "My wedding to Peggysus... spur of the moment, in the Cantina, and as a joke... which lasted four months." Witchdoctor: "Solarbabe1 & Cometeer... cause there was an open bar... Duh ! :>" Danny: "You frighten me, St. G. Mine was my wedding to Derian, spur of the moment, at a slave auction, still lasting. ;)" Naiad: "btw... I got married to Singapore. More than a year and still married. :)"
Geiiga: "Filbert and Xyli!" Danny: "Myself and Derian, because nobody can figure out why we married each other. That's always interesting." Witchdoctor: "Danny & Bront." Ddking: "Sholuvr and Zara." Wolfyn: "Bartholomew and Satinsheets, of course!" Naiad: "Snuggs and Pianoman... they are just two fun people. ;)" Breyer: "Derian And Danny... How could he be so foolish? How could she be so foolish? It dosn't make sense. Two "intelligent" people. (Both at 120.) What could they possible see in each other?"
Geiiga: "The Weeble. It wobbles, but it doesn't fall down." Ddking: "is Pegasus a girl?" Zrasputin: "If I was female, it would be the Miner... because you just know he collects diamonds, but I'm not, so I'd have to go with Krystal. Because she's always traveling, so I wouldn't have to put up with her much." Chewbacon: "Diesel, Jelly... has to be Diesel." Naiad: "the waltzing Spaceman... hmm... on Mercury? he's kinda cute!" Witchdoctor: "The Butler... snooty is sexy :>" Danny: "Diesel. I already live with her, she's filthy rich, and she... well... let's leave it at that." Ddking: "it would have to be Diesel ;)" Breyer: "::ponders:: That tourist would be interesting. I'd get to see the worlds... or at least Earth... but, I'd have to say... the Grizzly bear... I love danger. ::growls::" Wolfyn: "The Grizzle, just think of the fur on our offspring."
Chewbacon: "The Grizzle and the German Shepherd." Danny: "The grizzle and the marsrat." Wolfyn: "Diesel and the Tinguey, I think. All those tentacles - she could raise her prices!" Derian: "The bum and the doggie. Or... Peggy and Vega." Zrasputin: "the Tinguey and the Pink Floyd. Imagine a tree-thing playing hot music, a wandering burning bush of music." Mind: "The Zlitherworm and the Weeble :)" Naiad: "The Cleaner and the Receptionist... no life, no feelings, nothing!" Breyer: "The Tourist and Krsytal... together... they would become... ::shudders:: a paparazzi."
TIPS
FROM THE GROUNDED Okay, I'll be quick. I was grounded from my computer I built with my own hands and money for most of the week. However, since I told Hazed I'd try to get something to write about, I'm going to write about the top things to do when you can't use your computer. 10. Bang your head on the keyboard – time after time, I found myself banging my head on my ergonomic keyboard crying out, "Why? Why? Why?" 9. Watch Scary Movie over and over again – I have the dialog memorized. 8. Read old letters girls gave to you at school – "Dear Andrew; Sorry Andrew; No, Andrew; Stop talking to me, Andrew." 7. Lay your head down on your desk and tap the space bar on your Iopener terminal to the beat of Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana – It's really hard to do, but surprisingly sounded good until I recorded it on tape and played it back. 6. Ponder what to do with an old 386 DX-40 – I write Qbasic and a little bit of C. I would put linux on it, but have no idea how to get a CD-Rom to work on it. Any ideas? 5. Sleep – When all was so bad, I curled up on my futon and slept the day away. 4. Read – Paul: The Mind of the Apostle is a very good book. 3. Talk to ex-girlfriend – I can't figure out why she's called me every day this entire week or why we played strip poker the other day. 2. Sleep in my chair – I think everyone should snore in their sleep every once in a while, so I sleep in my chair – head back, mouth wide opened emitting a quiet snore. And finally, here you go – the best thing to do while you can't use your computer: 1. Think of something that's worth doing! Seriously, does any of that BS above sound even the least bit fun? I'll admit, the poker game was amusing (since I almost won!), but that was the only fun thing I did this entire week up until yesterday.
I'm discovering new things about my robotic companion every day. Not only is the Aibo capable of delivering email right to the doghouse door, it can also dig, I mean haul at an astounding rate of 1375 tons per second. We had just dug, I mean we had just hauled out some dirt from the new maze in the Martian ruins when the Aibo's commcollar beeped and my metallic friend barked a warning, "Incoming comm whapping from Hazed!" The Aibo foolishly wagged tail and woofed as I fumbled about its collar for the off switch. I knew why Hazed wanted to abuse my muzzle this time; deadline for the Chronicle had already come and gone. Rather than answer the whistle of her demi-goddessness we used our newly excavated shortcut from the ruins to the Mars landing pad in an attempt to dodge her divine wrath. Like a thundering herd of turtles we headed for Scoutranch, the next planet in the queue. Unfortunately, we ran into a little problem. Scoutranch appears to host one of Fed's only real dumpsites – complete with garbage and large noisy machines. In other words, another real slice of dog heaven. Aibo and I spent too much time leading the lives of junkyard dogs in the spacedump to finish writing up the review. I apologize for the delay, but when there's good rotting garbage to roll in – what hound could resist?
TO OUR
FALLEN BUT NOT FORGOTTEN As I occasionally do, folks, this week, the article is going to be semi-serious. This past week, I was getting ready for a build (it's that time of the century again), when I ran across something in my warehouse. Actually, several somethings (note: workthingies are bad at dodging forklifts). But the one particular thing was a bay of goods from a planet that no longer exists. Now, that's not too surprising - my warehouse could be used as an archaeological site, that's how often I use it - but this particular planet belonged to someone very near and dear to me. From time to time, we remember the people we loved and lost. Some left because they had to for various reasons, some left because they wanted to. I'm not going to say it was easier for those who left because they wanted to; oftentimes, it's difficult to say goodbye no matter what the circumstances. But the people who had to leave, especially when they didn't want to, leave the deepest sense of loss. I realize it might be strange that a bay of 100 tons of anti-matter isn't exactly a typical memento, but you can find memories in the darnedest places. And it's good to remember the people we've had to say goodbye to; it helps keep them from being truly gone. For me, the friend who sold me those goods so long ago and then lost still keeps in touch with me through other means. I count myself as exceptionally lucky for that; I honestly can't imagine what my life would be like without her. But it's still disappointing to know I'll never see her in Fed again. Those of you out there who have had someone in Fed that they care about, you know what I mean when I talk about how your heart leaps to just see a name in the quickwho list. And for those of you like me who have lost that name, you know how it feels. As for the rest of you, I'm sorry, but I really don't think I can explain it to you. So to all of you out there who have someone in Fed, cherish the time you have. Because when it's gone, you miss it. I'm not going to trot out that cliche of "treat every moment as if it were your last" (oops...sorry, it just kinda came out), but when time's gone, it's gone. Don't waste it; it's the most precious commodity we have, and you can't get it in an exchange. This column is dedicated to the indominable Kristal - gone, but far, far from forgotten. As always, I invite you to write in and let me know what's on your mind. The address is Horatio_TheWriter@excite.com.
A WORD
FROM THE FRIDGE... After listening to someone complain about Baron builds for the twentieth time today (no offense to that person), I came upon a sudden revelation. Why do we go through all this trouble just to promote? Can't we just be happy as lazy squires? Why do we have to work and work to become lazy barons? Think of all the inputs you've had to buy in the past, and all the money you spend to develop your planet. You could be living nicely on just that money. It's enough to cover living expenses, bar tabs, as well as travel expenses. Heck, with that money, you could even be a philanthropist on the side. But why build? What is so thrilling about building up your planet? Fame? There is no fame in aiming towards something everyone else is aiming towards. In fact, one would probably attain more fame by refusing to promote. Fortune? As I said before, you could live nicely on the money you would have saved from not doing builds. Beautiful members of the opposite sex? Yeah right... as if someone in their right mind would want to date a technocrat who spends all their money on developing their planets and not on their significant other. Then what is it? It's that shimmer! Oh, the wondrous illumination of a shimmer that surrounds every baron! Sure, I teased my friend about having to do all those baron builds, oh but to be able to shimmer! But still, I hold my grounds! I refuse to promote, even to the day the walls of Fed tumble down. (Or at least until I get tired of being a Technocrat).
Last week our planet review of Scoutranch didn't make the Chronicle deadline, and I wanted to be sure to explain how it wasn't my fault. Aibo insisted on piloting our flying fleatrap for the first time so I handed over the leash and crawled into the galley for a well-earned snack and snooze. Thus far the robotic woofer had done nothing but delay my mail, dig new holes in the Mars ruins, and shower the tourist with some smelly mixture of used coolant and lub-oil from under its upraised leg. Of course all of this was done while I had my back turned and in direct contradiction of my mature and sage advice! Hazed had promised that my new mechanical companion would actually be able to help with the planet reviews - I figured piloting must be what she intended. I have a chauffer that steered us into Scoutranch's garbage dump and caused us to be late with the review. It wasn't my fault. I was so disgusted with Aibo that it took a full week of sniffing moldy leftovers, rolling in decayed remains of creatures best left unnamed, and playing chase with the garbage crusher before I could bring myself to tour the rest of the planet. And next week, if Hazed thinks she sees my muddy paw prints in CDs, some planet owner complains about finding some of his objects a little gnawed, or if you should find the drain on your hot tub mysteriously clogged by shed hair and fleas… The Aibo did it.
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