Some interesting questions that have really been changing the way I think about politics lately:
Are poor people to blame for their monetary situation?
Are rich people to blame for their monetary situation?
If different reactions, why?
Is it the government's job to bail out large companies?
Is it the government's job to bail out individuals?
If different reactions, why?
What counts as a bailout? (Social Security? Medicaid? Pro-business regulations and subsidies?)
Do you agree or disagree with the following statement? "A healthy society involves the use of no coercive force."
(For following examples, "freedoms" or "rights" are assumed to stop where another person's begins.)
Coercive force applied to freedom of speech is acceptable/unacceptable. When one vs the other? (For instance, is it one person's job to PAY for another person to have the ability to speak freely).
Coercive force applied to freedom of movement is acceptable/unacceptable. When one vs the other? (For instance, is it one person's job to PAY for another person to have the ability to move freely).
Coercive force applied to freedom of property (the right to claim ownership of something) is acceptable/unacceptable. When one vs the other? (For instance, is it ok to take money? What about land or a house? A car? Who has the right to take money/land/a car?).
Who has the right to use coercive force? (In most places, the reality is that it is more or less the monopoly of the government.)
What is a government? (should be vs actually is)
Who is part of a government? (should be vs actually is)
Who controls a government? (should control vs actually controls)
Ok, so I have some replies to these things, but I don't want to just post them here. I want some people to actually think about these questions. It'd be AWESOME if someone typed up their thoughts, but so long as some people read this and kind of think about their ideas, that's good.
Something I know I care about is having a consistent approach to the world. I try not to overdo it - I think trying too hard to be conscientiously consistent can lead to indecisiveness of a ridiculous extent. But I think these questions made me think about things from a slightly different perspective, and reevaluate how consistent my beliefs actually were.
Looking forward to some interesting discussions with whoever reads this!
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Rapunzel
I've been drawing cartoons for the small children at work. And they've been taking them home, and I haven't thought to take any photos of the drawings before they're vanished into the ether of small-child-dom. Here's one done in the same style, but using marker instead of crayon. I did it during breakfast! It was lots of fun.
At the end, the prince isn't dead, just blind and being cried on by Rapunzel. Rapunzel's tears cure his blindness and they live happily ever after. I was lazy and didn't draw a seventh "happily ever after" panel.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
NaNoWriMo 2011, Day 8, Day 9, and Day 10 part 1
DAY 8:
Pieder's eighteenth birthday was less than a week away. He was ruminating on whether he could convince the Witch to attend the small celebration at his parents' cottage when an unusual sound reached his ears. He was on an offshoot of the main road through this part of the East Woods, heading back to the Witch's home after his monthly weekend stay at his parents' home. Footsteps (for the was the sound he had heard) were rare on this path. Pieder was the only person who frequented this small side trail, though wild creatures used it as well which kept it passable.
Pieder had spent hours with the Witch learning person combat, but the best approach to dealing with robbers and other unsavory types was avoidance. Pieder crept off the path as quietly as he was able and hid behind a broad tree trunk. He used a spell, one of many he had learned in his apprenticeship to the Witch, which created dozens on magically conjured insects as eyes and ears, fogging the air with what appeared to be perfectly natural gnats, flies, and moths. Using his temporarily expanded senses, Pieder saw a human leading a bizarre creature that was as much magic as it was flesh. Though Pieder had never seen one before in the remote fastness of the Wood, he had seen pictures in the many books owned by the Witch and had been told of their use, creation, and care by his mistress.
It was called a Glub and was favored by lone travelers throughout Iskandar. Glubs could navigate on their own from properly ensorcelled maps, could serve as shelter during the night, could travel long distances with no nourishment besides water and sunlight, could carry quite a bit and pull a lot more, could be ridden on roads and led through narrow paths, were ferocious in defending their owner without being overly zealous as guards. They looked rather like oversized beetles with the wings removed and clear wing covers. Instead of wings, they had a reclined seat where the rider could sit and observe the world, possibly while sleeping or reading. The wing covers could be lifted, which narrowed the whole body and allowed for travel through dense forest. The wing covers could also be flattened, which permitted the whole Glub to float rather like a raft. It would not last in rapids or the open ocean, but for crossing a ford made otherwise impassable by recent heavy rain it was perfect.
Pieder's eighteenth birthday was less than a week away. He was ruminating on whether he could convince the Witch to attend the small celebration at his parents' cottage when an unusual sound reached his ears. He was on an offshoot of the main road through this part of the East Woods, heading back to the Witch's home after his monthly weekend stay at his parents' home. Footsteps (for the was the sound he had heard) were rare on this path. Pieder was the only person who frequented this small side trail, though wild creatures used it as well which kept it passable.
Pieder had spent hours with the Witch learning person combat, but the best approach to dealing with robbers and other unsavory types was avoidance. Pieder crept off the path as quietly as he was able and hid behind a broad tree trunk. He used a spell, one of many he had learned in his apprenticeship to the Witch, which created dozens on magically conjured insects as eyes and ears, fogging the air with what appeared to be perfectly natural gnats, flies, and moths. Using his temporarily expanded senses, Pieder saw a human leading a bizarre creature that was as much magic as it was flesh. Though Pieder had never seen one before in the remote fastness of the Wood, he had seen pictures in the many books owned by the Witch and had been told of their use, creation, and care by his mistress.
It was called a Glub and was favored by lone travelers throughout Iskandar. Glubs could navigate on their own from properly ensorcelled maps, could serve as shelter during the night, could travel long distances with no nourishment besides water and sunlight, could carry quite a bit and pull a lot more, could be ridden on roads and led through narrow paths, were ferocious in defending their owner without being overly zealous as guards. They looked rather like oversized beetles with the wings removed and clear wing covers. Instead of wings, they had a reclined seat where the rider could sit and observe the world, possibly while sleeping or reading. The wing covers could be lifted, which narrowed the whole body and allowed for travel through dense forest. The wing covers could also be flattened, which permitted the whole Glub to float rather like a raft. It would not last in rapids or the open ocean, but for crossing a ford made otherwise impassable by recent heavy rain it was perfect.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
NaNoWriMo 2011, Day 6 part 2, Day 7
"You can read my mind?" Pieder gasped, barely audibly, and almost dropped the old woman into the hot pool of water before she was even undressed.
"Careful!" she exclaimed. Then she loosened Pieder's grip on her and took off her night robe with no trace of inhibition or modesty. Pieder knew he ought to blush, but couldn't muster enough emotion to do so.
"Go, prepare breakfast," the Witch ordered. "And you can read my mind as much as I can read yours. Loud and externally directed thoughts -- the sorts of things you would use words to say or noises to express -- can be heard by both of us as though they were in our own heads. Shoo! I can instruct you from anywhere within this house without trouble."
Pieder obeyed.
Days flew by, and as the anxiety potion wore off Pieder found himself capable of living with the Witch without fear of his own accord. Both the Witch and Pieder grew so used to living on the periphery of each others thoughts that as the communication potion faded they agreed to try a spell to bind their minds together for a longer time. The Witch spent weeks constructing potions and steams, salves and bizarre machines. By the time she was prepared to carry out her spell, she and Pieder had been without any direct communication besides writing for more than a week. Writing was very difficult for the Witch to do unassisted, and while she had various magical contraptions to aid her, her favored way of writing was to dictate her words to Pieder. It was almost a year after Pieder had first arrived to live with the Witch, and he had grown fond of his mistress in a strange way, fearing her and loving her both to some extent, but mostly just fascinated utterly by her magic and her wisdom.
DAY 7
Iris watched the Magician as he worked the crowd. She hated these people as much as she loved these parties. Some of the younger guests were interesting, and a few were almost her friends. As much friends as an entertainer and an audience member could be. The Magician insisted that the barriers to friendship that Iris saw were all in her head. But every time Iris watch him work a room, oozing from one patron to the next, it reinforced her suspicion that all relationships formed as part of her job were ultimately fake.
The party was lavishly decorated. Flowers adorned the tables, set in vases of crystal and living wood cleverly intertwined by the best artificers Iskandar had to offer. Two walls, granite perhaps, were covered by thin sheets of water, fountains cleverly made by fanning water out from the system of veins pumping warm (or cool, depending on the season) water through the mansion. At the foot of the fountain was a trough which collected the water once more. Iridescent lights flickered behind the water, the granite covered in potions and pastes created by apothecaries from far and wide. The Magician had organized and maintained much of the magic on display. That meant that Iris knew more than she would like about many elements of the decoration. The fountains that arched water across wide swaths of the ballroom were Iris' to care for. While they glittered in the light of thousands of carefully ensorcelled fireflies and floating globes of many tinted witch light, their beauty constantly reminded Iris that she was here to do a job and not to enjoy herself.
Unbeknownst to her, many in the crowd felt similarly. They were there to make an appearance, to cement a business relationship, to impress a superior. As a ritzy social affair it was work of one kind or another for most of the attendees. But Iris was fifteen and the Magician, her uncle, mentor, and employer, had never thought to inform her of the nature of the engagements they spent much of their lives facilitating.
In addition to caring for the scenery, from the fireflies to the fountains to the flowers, Iris was being paid to work the crowd. She was a paid guest, a party goer who set the mood and identified the guests who were not enjoying themselves. She then found a way to include the discordant notes in the melody (the unhappy guests in the lighthearted party) more completely in the appropriate mood.
At fifteen, Iris had gotten her full height but retained a nymphish lack of curves. Through she fit into gowns designed with an adult's height in mind, gowns made for her had to be altered after their creation in order to fit her flat chest and slender hips without bunching.
Since most clothing, especially the more expensive types, were grown, the were not supposed to have seams except as decorative embellishments. Seams were a sign of low class more stark than an unoriginal design. Iris was learning how to reshape her clothes before they were grown, but her current outfit had had to be taken in by a seamstress. She had been skilled, using the seams for art as much as functionality. But even if others were impressed by the clever craftsmanship of her clothing (and many guests at the event had been) Iris felt self conscious.
Her outfit was a jumpsuit belted tightly about the waist. It had loose legs and sleeves so full that they could almost be wings. The neck was loose about the throat, gathering in layers above Iris' meager breasts. The closure to the jumpsuit was done with tiny golden buttons, and it wound from the left side of her neck, diagonally across her back to her right hip, then spiraled around her right thigh and ended just above her knee. The whole piece was sheer and white with tiny pearls formed within the weave and weft of the fabric. Beneath the jumpsuit, Iris wore a leotard of deep, iridescent blue cut almost severely and with long tight fitting sleeves.
4,604 words out of 50,000 total
"Careful!" she exclaimed. Then she loosened Pieder's grip on her and took off her night robe with no trace of inhibition or modesty. Pieder knew he ought to blush, but couldn't muster enough emotion to do so.
"Go, prepare breakfast," the Witch ordered. "And you can read my mind as much as I can read yours. Loud and externally directed thoughts -- the sorts of things you would use words to say or noises to express -- can be heard by both of us as though they were in our own heads. Shoo! I can instruct you from anywhere within this house without trouble."
Pieder obeyed.
Days flew by, and as the anxiety potion wore off Pieder found himself capable of living with the Witch without fear of his own accord. Both the Witch and Pieder grew so used to living on the periphery of each others thoughts that as the communication potion faded they agreed to try a spell to bind their minds together for a longer time. The Witch spent weeks constructing potions and steams, salves and bizarre machines. By the time she was prepared to carry out her spell, she and Pieder had been without any direct communication besides writing for more than a week. Writing was very difficult for the Witch to do unassisted, and while she had various magical contraptions to aid her, her favored way of writing was to dictate her words to Pieder. It was almost a year after Pieder had first arrived to live with the Witch, and he had grown fond of his mistress in a strange way, fearing her and loving her both to some extent, but mostly just fascinated utterly by her magic and her wisdom.
DAY 7
Iris watched the Magician as he worked the crowd. She hated these people as much as she loved these parties. Some of the younger guests were interesting, and a few were almost her friends. As much friends as an entertainer and an audience member could be. The Magician insisted that the barriers to friendship that Iris saw were all in her head. But every time Iris watch him work a room, oozing from one patron to the next, it reinforced her suspicion that all relationships formed as part of her job were ultimately fake.
The party was lavishly decorated. Flowers adorned the tables, set in vases of crystal and living wood cleverly intertwined by the best artificers Iskandar had to offer. Two walls, granite perhaps, were covered by thin sheets of water, fountains cleverly made by fanning water out from the system of veins pumping warm (or cool, depending on the season) water through the mansion. At the foot of the fountain was a trough which collected the water once more. Iridescent lights flickered behind the water, the granite covered in potions and pastes created by apothecaries from far and wide. The Magician had organized and maintained much of the magic on display. That meant that Iris knew more than she would like about many elements of the decoration. The fountains that arched water across wide swaths of the ballroom were Iris' to care for. While they glittered in the light of thousands of carefully ensorcelled fireflies and floating globes of many tinted witch light, their beauty constantly reminded Iris that she was here to do a job and not to enjoy herself.
Unbeknownst to her, many in the crowd felt similarly. They were there to make an appearance, to cement a business relationship, to impress a superior. As a ritzy social affair it was work of one kind or another for most of the attendees. But Iris was fifteen and the Magician, her uncle, mentor, and employer, had never thought to inform her of the nature of the engagements they spent much of their lives facilitating.
In addition to caring for the scenery, from the fireflies to the fountains to the flowers, Iris was being paid to work the crowd. She was a paid guest, a party goer who set the mood and identified the guests who were not enjoying themselves. She then found a way to include the discordant notes in the melody (the unhappy guests in the lighthearted party) more completely in the appropriate mood.
At fifteen, Iris had gotten her full height but retained a nymphish lack of curves. Through she fit into gowns designed with an adult's height in mind, gowns made for her had to be altered after their creation in order to fit her flat chest and slender hips without bunching.
Since most clothing, especially the more expensive types, were grown, the were not supposed to have seams except as decorative embellishments. Seams were a sign of low class more stark than an unoriginal design. Iris was learning how to reshape her clothes before they were grown, but her current outfit had had to be taken in by a seamstress. She had been skilled, using the seams for art as much as functionality. But even if others were impressed by the clever craftsmanship of her clothing (and many guests at the event had been) Iris felt self conscious.
Her outfit was a jumpsuit belted tightly about the waist. It had loose legs and sleeves so full that they could almost be wings. The neck was loose about the throat, gathering in layers above Iris' meager breasts. The closure to the jumpsuit was done with tiny golden buttons, and it wound from the left side of her neck, diagonally across her back to her right hip, then spiraled around her right thigh and ended just above her knee. The whole piece was sheer and white with tiny pearls formed within the weave and weft of the fabric. Beneath the jumpsuit, Iris wore a leotard of deep, iridescent blue cut almost severely and with long tight fitting sleeves.
4,604 words out of 50,000 total
Sunday, November 6, 2011
NaNoWriMo 2011, Day 6
The change in scents almost kept him from falling asleep, but eventually he drifted off into a deep dreamless slumber. While Pieder slept, the Witch crept through the house with a glass vial and something small and squishy inside of it. She wiped a spot behind Pieder's left ear with alcohol, then carefully poured the soft, squishy substance onto the freshly cleaned piece of skin. The squishy thing writhed and wriggled, then settled and grew flabbier and flabbier as its fluids flowed into Pieder's blood. It was a sort of leech, tiny and with the single purpose of placing the Witch's potions into Pieder's body. By the time Pieder awoke, it would have fallen off and be nothing more than a desiccated flake of soon to be dust by his head. Gross perhaps, but harmless and not the sort of thing that would induce panic in any but the most paranoid. Anyone who came even half willingly to live with the Witch could hardly be called paranoid.
Pieder awoke with sunlight streaming into his eyes from a skylight placed slightly to the east of directly overhead. He blinked several times, desperately wanting to roll over and hide in his surprisingly comfy cot, but impelled by some inexplicable force to rise and dress. He made his way through the house uncertainly, feeling the slightest bit grimy in comparison to the startlingly clean surfaces surrounding him.
"Hello," a warm alto voice greeted him when he stood cautiously at the door to what he was bizarrely certain was the Witch's sleeping chamber.
"Hello?" Pieder tried to say, but only managed to whisper faintly.
"I'm not actually speaking," the voice said, it's tone a smile.
Pieder stood frozen, his eyes glassed over in terror.
"Yes, I am the Witch of the Wood. And this is a small taste of the magic you will encounter during your stay with me. Now walk through the door and help me out of my bed, boy."
Pieder felt a tug on his arm and gentle push against the small of his back. He stumbled forward, then found his feet carrying him through the doorway and into the tall yet oddly cozy room with the Witch's grand bed against one wall. A desk sat against the opposite wall with a wooden chair that looked grown rather than carved. Between them was the doorway in which he stood and a doorway opposite him which led to a shadowy chamber smelling strongly of soap and fresh hot water.
"You have questions," the voice (the Witch, Pieder supposed) stated. "Ask them. And help me get to my morning bath."
Pieder was bubbling with questions, but fear kept them at bay. Except, suddenly his fear felt more distant and the questions crept to the forefront of his mind. This made him more anxious than anything else.
"What have you done to me?" he asked somewhat petulantly.
"Made you my apprentice," the Witch answered cryptically. "Put your hands under my arms and lift." The Witch reached out to him with her stubbed fingers and a grimace of faint pain. Perhaps her joints ached, or she simply disliked waking.
Pieder obeyed her despite his many misgivings. He was not certain if he was under a spell to obey or if he was actually helping her of his own accord. He wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to trust his instincts again. He felt betrayed by his parents, by his body, by his mind, by this terrifying creature that he was now helping out of bed and into a bathing chamber that sank into the lower part of the shell house.
"Ah, that is quite a mouthful," the Witch sighed. "Yes, of course you can trust yourself. And no one has betrayed you. Your emotions are being toyed with a bit right now, it is true, and I cannot help it directly. Last night I cast a spell of sorts; gave you a potion that would soothe your fears and a different potion that would allow us to communicate more effectively than gestures. Both will wear off eventually. Your ability to feel fear and anxiety fully will return within the next day or so. The other I do not know a time frame on, as I have never used it before and it is a potion of my own creation so no one else has used it either."
3,612 words out of 50,000 total
Pieder awoke with sunlight streaming into his eyes from a skylight placed slightly to the east of directly overhead. He blinked several times, desperately wanting to roll over and hide in his surprisingly comfy cot, but impelled by some inexplicable force to rise and dress. He made his way through the house uncertainly, feeling the slightest bit grimy in comparison to the startlingly clean surfaces surrounding him.
"Hello," a warm alto voice greeted him when he stood cautiously at the door to what he was bizarrely certain was the Witch's sleeping chamber.
"Hello?" Pieder tried to say, but only managed to whisper faintly.
"I'm not actually speaking," the voice said, it's tone a smile.
Pieder stood frozen, his eyes glassed over in terror.
"Yes, I am the Witch of the Wood. And this is a small taste of the magic you will encounter during your stay with me. Now walk through the door and help me out of my bed, boy."
Pieder felt a tug on his arm and gentle push against the small of his back. He stumbled forward, then found his feet carrying him through the doorway and into the tall yet oddly cozy room with the Witch's grand bed against one wall. A desk sat against the opposite wall with a wooden chair that looked grown rather than carved. Between them was the doorway in which he stood and a doorway opposite him which led to a shadowy chamber smelling strongly of soap and fresh hot water.
"You have questions," the voice (the Witch, Pieder supposed) stated. "Ask them. And help me get to my morning bath."
Pieder was bubbling with questions, but fear kept them at bay. Except, suddenly his fear felt more distant and the questions crept to the forefront of his mind. This made him more anxious than anything else.
"What have you done to me?" he asked somewhat petulantly.
"Made you my apprentice," the Witch answered cryptically. "Put your hands under my arms and lift." The Witch reached out to him with her stubbed fingers and a grimace of faint pain. Perhaps her joints ached, or she simply disliked waking.
Pieder obeyed her despite his many misgivings. He was not certain if he was under a spell to obey or if he was actually helping her of his own accord. He wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to trust his instincts again. He felt betrayed by his parents, by his body, by his mind, by this terrifying creature that he was now helping out of bed and into a bathing chamber that sank into the lower part of the shell house.
"Ah, that is quite a mouthful," the Witch sighed. "Yes, of course you can trust yourself. And no one has betrayed you. Your emotions are being toyed with a bit right now, it is true, and I cannot help it directly. Last night I cast a spell of sorts; gave you a potion that would soothe your fears and a different potion that would allow us to communicate more effectively than gestures. Both will wear off eventually. Your ability to feel fear and anxiety fully will return within the next day or so. The other I do not know a time frame on, as I have never used it before and it is a potion of my own creation so no one else has used it either."
3,612 words out of 50,000 total
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