Douglas E. Berry

Thinking more about Labyrinth, and in the spirit of Halloween. . .

We start with Sarah, a teen girl so utterly obsessed with a book called The Labyrinth to the point of cosplaying it in the park with her dog. Back home, Sarah has a wicked stepmother and an annoying infant half-brother to watch over. So, using knowledge from this random fantasy book she summons the goblins to take baby Toby away.

This leads to David Bowie in tights, and a race through his Labyrinth(!) to save the baby. Sarah wins when she finally remembers the one line in a book she otherwise had utterly memorized in the nick of time.

Think about the coincidences here. Does Sarah just happen to have a book that maps out the entire plot she must follow? Jareth set this up because the Goblin King needs an eventual heir. Jareth has inherited control of bloodlines and influences, so he pushes and pulls, and he creates his heir in Toby, and in Sarah, a caretaker. Then he just gives one little push. . .

Jareth wins. In the end, Sarah seems to be back in her home, but then the goblins come in without being summoned. Jareth has his heir, and an ensorcelled Sarah will act as a caretaker until she is discarded to be one of the Junk Ladies, the final fate of those who care for the eventual Goblin Kings, forever rooting in the junk pile for their lost lives.

Yes, I had a very dark take on that movie.

. . . the jokes they embed in the articles.

For those not familiar with it, Hârn is an island just off the northwest coast of the Lythian continent on the fictional world of Kèthîra. It is roughly analogous to Great Britain in the 8th Century. The northern portion of the island has been conquered by Ivinians (the setting's Vikings) and the island is divided between several kingdoms and one republic.

It is an amazing detailed setting with decades of work behind it. As originally designed, the setting was issued as articles designed to be placed in a three-ring binder. Recently, Columbia Games has begun doing Kickstarters for kingdom books. The second of these is the Kingdom of Melderyn. Melderyn is an interesting place. While Hârn is generally a low-magic setting, it is present, and the island of Melderyn and the later kingdom are centers of magical power and learning.

The capital city of Melderyn is Cherafir, which is the only port in Hârn where trade with the Lythian states is allowed to pass through. It is a bustling port city and gets its own article in the kingdom book. These articles include detailed maps of the city, its districts, and places of interest. Every district has a listing of interesting and important buildings, characters, and plot hooks. And the occasional land mine.

I shall quote from the Cherafir article, this part detailing the Alienage, the quarter reserved for those passing through with no right to enter the city proper.

E39 Tenement

This three story block is owned by Sarin of Eyloch [C13]. The most interesting resident is Stenyl of Rogern, a crippled beggar who may be found plying his trade on the docks. Stenyl is a former seaman who is paralyzed from the waist down. He has enormous upper body strength and is more than capable of handling ruffians intent on robbing him. Stenyl loathes Lavro of Dulkai [E37]. Six months ago, he beat the pimp severely after objecting to the way Lavro was "disciplining" one of his women.

Stenyl claims to have served with Baret of Nolda, a notorious merchant sea captain from Tarkain. Baret was as much a pirate as a mercantyler and there are many tales of his daring raids against unwary ships and Shorkyni ports. At the peak of his career about 15 years ago, the sight of Baret's personal flag (three black rings on a field of green) or his ship (the "Black Joke") was feared by honest seamen from Karejia to Harbaal.

Barret disappeared around 707 and is speculated to have perished in the Cape Renda disaster. If Stenyl knows the truth of the matter, he has kept it to himself. It may be noteworthy, however, that Stenyl calls himself "the last of Baret's privateers."

Ouch.

I just had a fun idea for a thing to do at a con. We'd need to do a ribbon order, and get permission to set up a table in a common area. There's be a sign that just says "Side Quests."

And I'd have a stack of silly things for people to do. . .

- Learn the names of all the kitchen staff on duty.
- Take a picture of the sign for every function room.
- Do ballet in front of the valet.
- Bring me a Coke.

. . . and so on. Completing your quest gets you a ribbon. Some of them would be done at the table and filmed for later amusement.

I had a phone appointment with my neurologist this morning, just our annual check-in to talk about things relating to my busted nervous system. It took about ten minutes, no worries.

Then I had to call his office to schedule my appointment for next year after realizing that the stupid web portal won't let me make that kind of appointment.

December 2021. 364 days from now. A whole year away.

The receptionist insisted on running me through the COVID-19 checklist to make the appointment. Because it is important to know today if I've traveled overseas in the last month for an appointment that's not happening for 12 months.

I have literally spent three hours on nextdoor.com screaming at the top of my lungs that raw milk can make you very ill, or even led to death. I posted links to the CDC, the NIH, and other sites.

Then the old biddy who first posted this makes a long comment about she pointed out a farm experience where you could milk cows and goats because these gosh darn kids today with their phones and they don't play exactly the way she did in the late 1870s. She actually invoked skates with keys as something kids should have.

Rarely have I seen such devotion to ignoring the past 70 years of advancement. Oh, and a special shout out to the marching morons who said they drank raw milk and it was safe! Of course, they boiled it first. . . That's whole milk, you lactose-damaged imbeciles! You are partially pasteurizing the milk when you boil it.

Halford save us. It's 2020 and these idiots don't understand bacteria infections.

Consider the following.

From Avatar's The King Welcomes You To Avatar Country

I saw a tower of gold
A new dimension unfold
And now I fear for my soul.
Well son, it's already sold

Now, from Genesis' A Trick of The Tail

And so we set out with the beast and his horns
And his crazy description of home
After many days journey, we came to a peak
Where the beast gazed abroad and cried out

We followed his gaze and we thought that maybe we saw
A spire of gold, no, a trick of the eye, that's all
But the beast was gone and a voice was heard

Obviously, these refer to the same hidden city. After the return of the Beast to the City of Gold, the decision was made (after much consideration) that contact was inevitable, so ambassadors should be sent out. To that end, magic was used to create hornless, tailless infiltrators. Avatars, if you will, of the new order coming as the City of Gold prepares to bring us civilization under the enlightened rule of the Horned King.

To whom we will build a statue, of course. Glory to our King.

Last night was Metallica Night at the ballpark. I wish I could say we had a great time, but the fact was a variety of factors, not the least of which being the Giants' inept play and the bone-chilling wind, led us to give up after five innings and head for home.

But there were highlights. We did get this year's goodie, a reversible Metallica/Giants wool cap. One side is digital camo, the other black with a big Metallica M and the Giants' SF logo. We ate pizza, I had a beer, and at the Junior Giants' table, they were selling mystery autographed balls. I took the plunge at got reliever Mark Melancon.

But the mind-boggler of the night was the lady we met in line outside Oracle (still getting used to the new name) Park. She was one of the more clueless people I've encountered in a while. We were at the park earlier than planned thanks to kismet providing us with an express train up. This lady was stressing about missing the band's "pre-game" activities. Folks, the pregame activities are the following. James Hetfield and Kirk Hammet play the National Anthem. Lars Ulrich throws out the first pitch. James heads up to the PA booth and does the Giants' starting lineup introductions. That's it. She thought she was missing out on a show, or a meet & greet. Nothing we said could convince her otherwise.

Then the conversation turned to S&M2. She was complaining about getting "screwed out of tickets" for both shows. While everyone got screwed out of the first show due to ticket bots, the second show was handled by Metallica and was fair. The venue holds 18,064 people in its concert set up, and there were millions of 5th Member fans vying for the tickets. We were lucky to get the second chance draw.

But no, that was getting screwed. After that, she thought that she could score tickets on the secondary market. Um, no. Tickets for the September 8th show are linked to your name. Oh, okay. she'll just wait for the public sale. There's not going to be a public sale! The reason you didn't get tickets in the lotteries is they sold out!

Thankfully, she left the line when we started heading in to look for a friend. But seriously, Metallica sent out emails detailing all of these for both shows; step by step instructions on how the sales would work.

*sigh* At least people complimented our battle jackets.

Inspired by Medieval Death Bot on Twitter (@DeathMedieval) which is nothing but death notices from England in the 12th to 14th centuries. An amazing number of murders are ascribed to "clerks" who seem to have killed more Englishmen than the plague and recent World Cups combined.

So with great apologies to Ghost, I present my filk of Rats. This is a rough draft, suggestions welcomed. I decided to leave the last verse intact, as it needed no changes to fit the theme. Fun fact, if you reply to the Medieval Death Bot, it tells you how you have been killed.

Clerks, I'm willing to bet.

( Clerks )

I have a theory . . .

Porgs, those cute CGI puffin replacements, have been living on the same island as the first Jedi Temple for millennia. That spot is one of the most powerful nexuses of the Force in the universe. It's why Luke was able to project himself so far.

The porgs have absorbed this power. Thus, when Chewie wanted to eat his roast porg it wasn't the cuteness of the Sad Porg that stopped him. No, the porg used the Jedi mind-trick on him.

This also explains why the porgs seemingly avoid Luke. They sense his darkness.

Star Wars IX - Rise of the Porg!

On the 25th of February, 2002, I was witness to perhaps the greatest funeral ever held. Forget the internments of kings and popes, forget Elvis, this amazing spectacle rocked my world and I was only able to view it from a distance. At the time I was horrifically under-employed as a security guard at 280 Metro Center, a shopping center with delusions of being a mall. My job was to wander around aimlessly, call the owner four times a shift to assure him that a Zulu war Impi hadn't sacked the place, and hide in the guard hovel writing meaningless reports. For nine bucks an hour.

The only good thing about the job was the fact that this sad shopping center was located in Colma. Colma, Ca, is the only city in the Western Hemisphere where the dead outnumber the living. It earned this title when San Francisco decided in 1912 to move all the cemeteries in the city, except for the one at Mission Dolores and the military graves at the Presidio Cemetary, out to make more room for living people. Colma, which up to that point was a sleepy spot on the San Francisco & San Jose railroad. Within ten years Colma was a thriving necropolis. This town is nothing but cemeteries and a couple of shopping malls. The mall I worked at backs up against Woodlawn cemetery, which is the final resting place of Emperor Norton, the true ruler of these United States.

So there I was on the bitter winter day, sitting in the car filling out my daily activity report when I hear John Philip Sousa's "Liberty Bell March" - better known by many as the theme for Monty Python's Flying Circus - coming from Woodlawn. I wander over to the fence separating us from the cemetery, and see an internment in progress . . . with a marching band in full regalia! And when the band reached the end, the assembled mourners all made the "splat" sound from the Python opening credits!

Later, while on rounds, I passed close to the fence and the band was playing the Addams Family theme. All the mourners are snapping their fingers in the appropriate places. And this was not a small crowd! I wasn't near that side of the mall when a rifle salute was fired, but the first volley made me jump! Two more volleys followed; the traditional three volleys of a military funeral.

I had a scheduled break and was trekking back to my car for a nap and I can see that the service is ending. The drum major forms his band up to exit, and they leave playing not a dirge, but the theme from Austin Powers! Boy, did they get down with it, dancing and waving instruments like a New Orleans Crewe at Mardi Gras! Utterly fascinated, I stood there and gaped like a tourist.

After the band comes a six-man honor guard, obviously old Nam buddies. They have the national colors along with the Marine Corps flag, and still know how to march. I know they were Vietnam-era Marines from what they were wearing. Then comes an Eastern Orthodox bishop accompanied by several priests and a nun. Behind them came what looked to be a Marine JROTC group bearing the flag in a 6-point carry. Then came the family and friends, and after them, the clowns.

I am not kidding. Five or six clowns. Bringing up the rear of this improbable funeral cortege as they made their way down to the parking lot of the cemetery. The band kept playing for several minutes to allow everyone, and there had to be at least seventy people not counting the band, to descend.

Impressed is not the word we are looking for here, I was awed. I was never so tempted in my life as I was at the moment. My desire to jump the fence, abandon my post, and race through the tombstones to ask someone, anyone . . . who was this guy? Did he plan his funeral? What was his life like? But I stood there transfixed as the music stopped and the sun began sinking behind the mountains.

It's possible I could have called the cemetery office, or scoured recent obituaries, or even gone exploring at Woodlawn looking for a fresh grave up on that hillside. But I decided that the glimpse I got of this man was enough. If you can judge a life by how you leave it, this guy led a life filled with fun and laughter. I mean c'mon . . . the Austin Powers theme? Brilliant!