Pining for the Fjords

About that sound economy...

missmurchison@gmail.com — Sat, 06 Sep 2008 02:07:46 GMT

The government is taking over Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac

That's quite a bailout.

And remind me again why regulation is such a bad thing.

Half of their credit losses came from so-called Alt-A loans, which were made to borrowers with solid credit but little proof of their incomes, or small or no down payments.

Those were the now-infamous "liar loans," made possible in part thanks to legislation pushed by Phil Gramm. The "market forces" that were supposed to self-regulate included a lot of buyers and mortgage brokers making bad loans that could have been blocked if someone was looking over their shoulders. But no one could have foreseen that so many people would lie, could they? Maybe Gregory House should run the FDIC.

Why?

missmurchison@gmail.com — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 16:48:51 GMT

This may be the most baffling thing about the campaign season so far, even more than the recipes for cooking squirrels in a popcorn popper.

McCain's speech backdrop was used in Matt Sanchez's announcement on West Wing

Some have suggested they were trying for Walter Reed Hospital and got Walter Reed Middle School instead.

Or maybe they just wanted to give Colbert watchers another green screen challenge?

Another query: Who put this up on the CNN main page for a brief period yesterday morning?

Wonder when I'll manage to get to sleep tonight

missmurchison@gmail.com — Thu, 04 Sep 2008 01:38:32 GMT

My tummy was upset after lunch, so I emailed my boss saying I was taking some sick time, and lay down for what I expected to be a half-hour. I woke up four hours later. However, I was able to put in a few hours work when I did get up, whereas if I'd been working in an office, I probably would have gone home around noon and never returned.

Damn, my devotion to my job means I missed Mittens' speech!

*sits down to listen to the Huckster*

Shorter Mike Huckabee:
Oh, no! Obama brought back European cooties! We are doomed.
My parents were cruel, crazy people who made me shower with Lava soap (also known as liquid WD-40), which was more expensive than Ivory

Why is there no popcorn in the house?

The who, what, WHERE, now?

missmurchison@gmail.com — Tue, 02 Sep 2008 15:31:13 GMT

I just saw a link to an official government site labeled "Anal Tool."

*blinks*

*follows link* (of course!)

"Analysis Tool Web Demonstration Site"

And here I was wondering just which politician or government official would appear as the "anal tool."

Yes, I'm 12.

One of these things is not like the other

missmurchison@gmail.com — Sat, 30 Aug 2008 02:32:07 GMT

I'm still in work hell most of the time, but I had to make this comment on today's news.

Pro-drilling, doesn't believe humans caused global warming, wants to add creationism to the school curriculum and take the polar bear off the endangered species list, against abortion even in cases of incest and rape, admits knowing little about foreign policy or the Iraq War.

Pro-universal health care, serves on Committee on Environment and Public Works, promotes green programs, supports protection of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, promotes universal Pre-K, pro-choice, has real and well-known opinions on foreign affairs.

But, they both have vaginas, right? So Hillary supporters will now vote Republican? Right?

The only interpretation that makes sense is that Palin was chosen because the far right bloggers and radio hosts like her. But since when does politics make sense?

Buffy slays Christianity!

missmurchison@gmail.com — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 20:37:34 GMT

BtVS is responsible for the growing popularity of Wicca and for young woman deserting Christian churches. At least, that's what the Telegraph says. I wouldn't dream of accusing them of over-simplification and/or hyperbole.

Yes, we have no bananas...or too many roaming the range

missmurchison@gmail.com — Fri, 08 Aug 2008 02:40:56 GMT

I'm dropping in to wish Happy Birthdays to fangfaceandrea, st_salieri, tinpanalley, manynames (and Lydia!), gamiila, kellyh, patri65, mnbelle, rainkatt, and lilachigh!

Oh, and the bananas? They have been buffaloed. As soon as Mr. M told me this morning, I felt that information needed sharing.

A northbound semi-trailer truck filled with bananas hit a buffalo on Interstate 380 near the Brandon exit at 2:30 a.m. Wednesday, according to KCRG-TV9. Some 25,000 to 35,000 bananas in 40-pound boxes tumbled out onto the road.

What, you thought buffalo no longer roamed here? They do, but only when they wander away from farms. The bananas are going to a legitimate food pantry (are there food pantries that were born out of wedlock?), but the commenters are wondering what's going to be done with the meat. And why "meat" is censored on the newspaper site, but "ass" is not. (I think CM needs to be directed to urbandictionary, because I'm not about to explain it to him in a family paper.) Also, the buffalo may be a bison.

You know that when all I have to offer are tidbits from the local paper, I've been RL busy. I've been getting stomach flu and working so I have little of interest to offer. We're heading off to Florida for a brief family visit this weekend, and I'm trying to make sure work is caught up so I can take the vacation.

Another episode in why Miss M is so old

missmurchison@gmail.com — Sun, 27 Jul 2008 17:25:40 GMT

I was just cleaning out some furniture I want to donate and I found a pack of carbon paper.

I think that next week I need to start posting reasons why I'm not all that old. I'm taking this business of the kids turning into adults a bit too much to heart.

You know you're old when...

missmurchison@gmail.com — Sat, 26 Jul 2008 02:27:29 GMT

People keep talking about movies that made their childhoods bearable, and you remember seeing those same movies in first run... with your kids.

Hee, Shawn's parents showed up at his high school reunion. That has to be the second most embarrassing parental encounter possible, right after walking in on your parents having sex.

And is Lassie going to arrest his date? *hopes*

Watching King Kong with M:TNG-2

missmurchison@gmail.com — Sun, 20 Jul 2008 02:01:09 GMT

The original was on this afternoon, and for the past hour or so we've been glancing at the Peter Jackson version from time to time as we worked on our laptops. Wow, and I thought Doctor Who tended to drag endings on too long.

She has just announced that Van Helsing sucks, so we are allowing Mr. M to channel surf.

"You can purchase anything off the internet except common sense"

missmurchison@gmail.com — Sat, 12 Jul 2008 21:14:12 GMT

I had to post about the raid on the religious snake-handlers, if only for the quote I used for the title of this post. There was quite a bit of news about snake handling in that region when I lived in Indiana years ago but I thought the practice, if not the practitioners, would have died out by now.

I've seen video of snake-handling services, but I wonder what they did with the alligator.

Brief Doctor Who reaction

missmurchison@gmail.com — Sun, 29 Jun 2008 18:54:15 GMT

First of all, I'm completely unspoiled, so tell me nothing about next week. I knew we were getting a companionpalooza, of course, but I didn't know that Harriet Jones would be back, and that made her reappearance doubly awesome. (I note we did not see her being exterminated, so I have some little hope she survived.)

I enjoyed almost the whole thing. The only real irritation was the huge cliche of the Doctor and Rose running towards each other. I kept telling myself that Jack would materialize at that moment and when they went to hug, there he would be, sandwiched in the middle. So the Dalek came as more of a letdown than a shock.

Other favorite moments were Donna's face as the Doctor conversed with the rhino police, Jack hugging Ianto (and, yeah guess Gwen was in there too), Dawkins (who I believe is married to Lala "Romana II" Ward) making a cameo, everything Donna's grandfather did and said, and Sarah Jane telling Mr. Smith to cut out the fanfare already.

I'm hoping to love next week's episode, but I have huge worries for Donna. (None for the Doctor. Just curiosity about why they keep showing the severed hand.) Whatever happens to her better be very, very satisfying in a narrative sense, because she's very high on my list of favorite companions.

In short, I thank the makers of that episode for giving me something I could really enjoy, in spite of my current case of the blues.

I'm from the government and I'm here to beat you with a golf club

missmurchison@gmail.com — Sat, 28 Jun 2008 03:32:29 GMT

Someone just ordered me to post this, and I obey.

Can FEMA's reputation get any worse? Well, yes.

A Federal Emergency Management Agency housing inspector... [named Vincent Koley] was driving south on First Street SW when he nearly hit Penford employee Tom Kramer in the crosswalk in front of the plant at 10th Avenue SW, police said. Kramer, 54, of Lisbon, was able to get out of the vehicle's way without being hit, and pushed off the side of the car.

Koley stopped the car and jumped out, police said. Kramer told him to slow down and that he was in the cross walk. Koley replied that "he didn't have to slow down, he was with FEMA," police said. The two argued for a minute, and when Kramer turned to walk away, Koley took a golf club out of his car and struck Kramer across the arm, breaking the golf club.

Koley is now in jail, but not the local one. That's still hors de combat due to the flood.

I'll be back to LJ soon, and there will be fic. Things have just been piling up here, and I needed an internet break. Take care, everyone.

I just drove through part of the flood zone

missmurchison@gmail.com — Fri, 20 Jun 2008 21:47:04 GMT

I've been avoiding the areas near the river up until now. I didn't really want to see it, so it was no trouble following the police's advice to stay out unless you had business there. But all but a few streets are now open for regular traffic, and I had business in the area, so I drove by the Czech Village neighborhood and some other areas. I'd seen enough pictures that I thought I was prepared. But it was still shocking to see block after block of houses with huge piles of garbage in front of them. It looked like most people were tossing everything that had been below the second floor. The water didn't just get things wet; the current broke up furniture and upended large appliances. Mole is destroying a lot of what was untouched by the water. Most of the houses had yellow stickers, which meant people could go in to clean up, but they can't live there or even have electricity turned on yet. Some houses had no garbage piles. Those were the ones with red stickers indicating that it wasn't safe to even go inside.

I was going to try to link to individual before-and-after pictures, but I don't have the heart. Our local paper has lots of photos posted. It looks like almost the entire adult collection of the public library is gone. Pictures of some of the businesses and homes affected are here.

In my last post about the flood, I mentioned how stupid some people can be. But most Iowans are amazing; I'm in awe of their energy, determination and altruism. A businessman who realized he wouldn't be able to save his restaurant asked his employees to pull down their sandbag wall and move it to another business down the street. And they did it. On a larger scale, hundreds of volunteers pushed themselves past exhaustion to pile sandbags around University of Iowa buildings. When the water didn't reach one of the largest walls, they trudged back and loaded the sandbags on trucks so they could be carted downstream where the flooding continues. (Any sandbags that were soaked in flood water are toxic and have to be gathered by special teams.)

I spoke to someone at work yesterday about volunteering to help with coordinating aid to our employees. I need to find more ways to get involved, not just in flood relief, but in other ways. I've been slumming since the caucuses.

Bug on the Cosmic Windscreen - Chapter Fifteen

missmurchison@gmail.com — Thu, 19 Jun 2008 03:15:53 GMT

This is the chapter that should have been posted last week. Sorry for the delay.

Title: Bug on the Cosmic Windscreen

Author: Miss Murchison

Rating: PG

Summary: Spike landed in the BSG 'verse and made a bit of a splash, or at least a splat. He thinks he's there to help, and the bewildered Colonists don't know what to think. This went AU after Pegasus. I may have stolen an idea or two after that, but I've changed whatever happened to fit my plot. For the first time, I'm swiping stuff from Season 3, but it's so altered I'm not sure it even constitutes a spoiler. For one thing, I haven't even watched the episode in question for a year, so I don't remember exactly how much of this chapter matches that story.

revealed as a Cylon on the show doesn't mean that person is a Cylon in this story.

Thanks: to keswindhover and revdorothyl for being such great friends and wonderful betas.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, it all belongs to Joss, ME, and the creators of BSG and all the other stories I reference here. I thank them for creating so many universes for us to play in and enjoy.

Previous chapters are here. (I will get around to posting the more recent chapters on my site soon, but for now the new bits are only on LJ.)

A short Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galactica for those who have never watched Battlestar Galactica is here.

"So, Ginabot, how's your boyfriend?"

"Baltar is not my boyfriend." Number Six raised her chin and gave him a haughty stare.

"And the lady begins by protesting too much. I didn't mention any names, did I?"

Gina's smile was sly. "Speaking of names, I understand your true name has been discovered, even if you aren't dressing the part. Of course, we know that the beings the humans call gods are no such thing, but…"

"But you can leave off that rot before you start asking me about the bloody sandals. I'm no god, and I'm not bloody Hermes, or Rumpelstiltskin either, so you can just keep guessing my real name." Spike checked the next three cells. The Cavils were watching him with brooding eyes, but D'Anna was on her knees, her hands clasped together. "She was at that last time I checked on you lot. Does she do it all day?"

"Just about," said one of the Cavils sourly.

D'Anna looked up from her prayers. "You told me what we had to do to earn humanity. You are the messenger of God, and Baltar came to us as the instrument of God." She bowed her head again. Her body swayed slightly as she began a low chant.

Spike took a step back. "What the bloody hell does that mean?" He searched his memory, but he could find nothing in the words he'd used to get D'Anna to talk that could have been interpreted as specific instructions.

He felt Sharon's gaze and turned to look at her. "You care to tell me what's going on?" he asked.

"I--" Sharon's voice broke off as she gasped and stared in dismay at the floor.

Spike looked down and saw the fluid running down her leg and creating a puddle by her feet. "Does that mean what I think--" he turned and yelled, "Guards! Get in here! Now!"

Two marines ran in. "What's wrong?"

Spike pointed. "I don't know nothing about birthing no babies, that's what's wrong."

***

Colonel Tigh was fretting. "We've been here too long. We need to finish loading supplies and move on before the Cylons find us."

Adama glanced across the CIC at his XO, but before he could reply, Dualla spoke. "Commander, I have an urgent communication from one of the survey teams."

"Good. Did they find any more tylium in that asteroid belt?"

"No. They say they've found something else on the planet with the atmosphere." She frowned. "They think it's a temple."

***

Roslin woke to the sound of a new patient being brought into the sickbay. Someone was moaning. Sharon Valerii.

The baby…

She was standing on the portico of a temple. Cautiously, she stepped inside, turning to look at the drawings on the walls. Then she faced the altar in the center of the room. A tall man was standing in front of it, holding something out to her.

She stepped forward and took the heavy book into her arms. He said, "When you see the Eye of Jupiter, your journey is almost at an end."

She started to ask a question, but was distracted by the object in her arms, which had begun to squirm. She looked down into the clear brown eyes of a baby that was staring up at her with absolute trust.

***

A baby was crying, and Sharon was laughing and crying. Roslin waited a moment, and when she was sure that she was awake and really hearing those sounds, she slid out of bed and made her slow way across sickbay, using her IV pole as a prop.

The curtains around one of the beds were rustling and bulging from the activities of nurses and Doc Cottle, who went past Roslin with a growled, "Get back to bed, damn it," as he rushed to yet another emergency. Roslin ignored his order and the pain that was telling her to follow his advice. She peeked behind the curtains, barely avoiding a collision with a nurse who ignored her to run after Cottle.

Lieutenant Agathon was sitting on the edge of the bed, grinning as he watched Sharon Valerii, who was holding a tiny bundle that rocked with angry sobs. Sharon looked up, and when she saw Roslin her smile disappeared.

"Boy or girl?" was all Roslin said.

"Girl," said Sharon tightly.

Helo pulled the mother and child closer. "Her name is Hera." He nodded to someone behind Roslin. "Thank you for helping Sharon."

Roslin turned to find Spike at her back. "I didn't know Hermes' talents included midwifery?"

He looked alarmed. "All I know how to do is run around like Ricky Ricardo and call for help." He gestured behind him. "Did that, then I hid behind the curtain until it was over." He looked over her shoulder. "Tyke has healthy lungs, at least."

"At least?"

Spike looked around and seemed to realize everyone was staring at him. He walked to Sharon's side and bent over to look at Hera. Then he raised his eyes to Roslin's and said, "Better add one to that number on your board. There's another human in the Fleet."

Sharon and Helo relaxed visibly, but they continued to stare at Roslin. She started to say something, but felt herself sway. A moment later, Spike was supporting her, and she grasped the front of his shirt to steady herself. She whispered in his ear, "I need you to take me away from all this."

***

"Basket Case, what do you think you're doing?"

Captain Apollo's voice made the youngster cringe, but he straightened his shoulders almost immediately and came to attention standing next to his Raptor. "Taking Spike and the President down to the planet, sir!" He noticed Lieutenant Starbuck glaring from a few steps behind Apollo and gulped, but stood his ground.

"What the…" Apollo turned to stare at Roslin. "Madame President, I thought you were sneaking back to Colonial One. Why would you go down to that pile of dust?"

"Captain, let's just say I'm on a quest." President Roslin was leaning on Spike's arm. She was wearing light slacks and a top that someone (probably Spike) had scrounged for her. She might look ready to faint and her clothes might not quite fit, but she spoke with the gentle authority that had led Basket Case to follow her orders to prepare his Raptor for an excursion without once considering that she wasn't a flight officer.

"Lady wants to visit a temple," said Spike, his stance indicating that what the lady wanted, the lady would get.

"How did you know about the temple?" demanded Starbuck.

"How did you?" The President snapped back.

"One of the survey teams saw what they swear is a temple down on that little planet. But we haven't found any other sign of habitation, so Commander Adama decided they need to go easier on the stims, and he called them in for some rack time." Starbuck was staring at the President. "How did you hear about it?"

"I didn't." Roslin smiled tightly. "But the fact that your survey team knows the coordinates will make my quest a little easier."

***

Roslin let Spike lift her out of the Raptor, but she leaned on Lee's arm after she was set on her feet. "This would be flattering if I weren't such a wreck."

Lee looked around the bleak terrain. It seemed an unlikely spot to find a temple. But arguing had done no good, so he'd sent Basket Case off to contemplate his sins, and he and Kara had escorted Roslin and Spike on this absurd "quest."

At least the Raptor hadn't sunk down into a sand dune.

"You don't look a wreck," Spike was saying. "You look very fetching in that color." He hadn't even bothered to shrug off the heavy jacket he had acquired from one of the marines. He stood, seemingly oblivious to the heat, his gaze wandering from his companions to the building standing on a windswept hill a few yards away.

Show off, thought Lee. "Thought you might like to take the opportunity to strip down to your little hat and sandals and flit over there."

"I know you're jonesing to see what I've got, but I won't be flashing you today, Flash. You'll just have to keep living in hope."

Roslin interrupted this promising spat. "You'd think they'd have put their temple in a better climate. Whoever they were."

"Hey, we're near one of the poles here," Kara was walking next to Spike. "They had me run a survey for some ore a little closer to the equator. Now, that was hot. But look on the bright side…the atmosphere is breathable."

"Barely." Roslin paused.

Lee stopped wondering what the hell lived in this place to manufacture oxygen and followed her gaze. Damn! The closer they got, the more the thing refused to look like a bizarre rock formation and the more it appeared to be a temple. It was circular, had a domed roof, and a portico with columns. The design reminded Lee of some public monuments back on Caprica.

"Looks like something I saw in Rome, back on Earth." Spike was the first to reach the temple. He was moving easily, ignoring the heat, and having no trouble keeping his footing in the sand.

"There's no other trace of habitation on the planet," Lee said, half to himself. "We've found nothing more sentient than an insect."

"No, there wouldn't be." Roslin had reached the portico. "This is only here to deliver a message. The people who left it wouldn't have wanted to risk it being altered by later inhabitants or damaged by animals."

The interior was one large, round room, with vividly painted drawings at even intervals along the walls. The pictures included an archer, a ram, a crab, and a goat, and under each drawing was one of the patterns that represented the twelve colonies, the same patterns that Spike had assured them were constellations as seen from earth. In the middle of the marble floor was a broad, circular dais about a foot high, atop which stood a large, oblong altar. The only decorations on the altar were a symbol that looked like a stylized number and a large red eye.

Roslin sat down on the edge of the dais to rest. The others walked around the room. Lee was reluctantly impressed. This looked like a real clue to Earth's location.

"That symbol stood for the father of the gods." Roslin pointed to what Lee had thought was the numeral four. "But I've never heard of him being depicted as an eye before. I've seen this place, though. I've dreamed about it. I heard someone say, 'When you see the Eye of Jupiter, your journey is almost at an end.'"

Kara's voice was harsh. "If Earth was here, it's gone. Probably consumed by that wormhole."

There was a long, horrified silence that was finally broken by a familiar voice announcing loudly, "No, that's rot. Earth was never here, and this isn't Jupiter."

They all turned to stare at Spike. "You don't think this is the Eye of Jupiter?" asked Roslin.

Spike looked uneasy. "Not saying for sure it isn't, seeing as I'm no Carl Sagan. But I did watch him talk about the billions and billions of stars a few years back when our telly would only get PBS, and I know that there's a big red storm on Jupiter that I suppose looks like an eye. If I had to cast a vote, I'd go for that."

This revelation was even harder to follow than most of Spike's babblings. "A storm on…where?" Lee demanded.

But Roslin seemed to have already found some sense in the words. "You told me once that the planets in Earth's system are named after the gods. Is that what it is, Spike, a planet?"

"Yeah, Jupiter's a big planet near Earth." Spike thought about this and dredged up another bit of information. "The biggest one, actually."

"A gas giant?" asked Kara.

"Yeah. Like Saturn. Only instead of rings, it has a big red spot on it."

"Rings? There's a big planet with rings?" Kara's voice was excited. "There's a scroll that mentions the rings of the progenitor of the gods. I don't think anyone ever thought it could be a planet with rings."

"What did they think it was about? Mordor and Sauron?" Spike asked curiously.

Lee tried to drag the discussion back to the point. "Why would the scrolls refer to the planet and not this temple?"

Spike shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe it's both. But I'd vote for the planet being the right Jupiter, because it's not Zeus."

"What?" Patience at an end, Lee reached out to give the hitchhiker a good shake.

"No." Roslin put her hand on Lee's arm. "He's right. The other names in the scrolls match the most ancient designations of the gods. Athena, Hera, Zeus. Zeus is only called Jupiter in the very last texts written before the diaspora. It's the same with Cronos and Saturn."

"Yeah." Spike smirked at Lee. "One point for the hitchhiker with the classical education, eh, Flash?"

"So, if this isn't the Eye of Jupiter, what is it?" Lee stepped onto the dais and picked up a small box that had been sitting on the altar. He was about to open it, when his eye was caught by some patterns on the stone surface. He set the box down and began rubbing the altar.

"What do you see?" Roslin accepted Kara's help to climb on the dais, and her eyes grew wide when she saw the patterns that were emerging from under the dust. She let Kara stand next to her, but put up a hand before Spike could join them. "Wait. Before you look at this, tell me what you know of the planets that share Earth's sun."

"My very elegant mother just served us nine pizzas." Spike scratched his head thoughtfully. "Although I remember some fuss in the papers about the pizzas."

"Spike!" This time, the three of them howled in unison.

"Getting there, getting there. There's Mercury, a little hot one, and Venus, you can see that in the sky from Earth a lot. They call it the Morning Star."

"Why, if it's a planet?"

Roslin hushed Lee and pointed to the altar. Together, she, Lee, and Kara touched each bit of the carving as Spike, still standing too far behind and below them to see, described the same system that was pictured there. "Then there's Earth and its moon, and Mars, that's a reddish one with some lumpy little moons, and then there's a lot of rocks floating about…"

***

Sirens went off throughout the Galactica. In the CIC, Adama looked up and snapped, "Status?"

Tigh gave him an I-told-you-so look. "It's the Cylon fleet, Commander. They've found us."

Once again, too tired for a proper post

missmurchison@gmail.com — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 03:11:47 GMT

I need to read through the next chapter of Bug again and post it, but my eyes aren't focusing properly.

The American Red Cross is running out of funds for its National Disaster Fund. They've been doing great work here, but they have not only the continuing situation here to deal with, but with the flooding that continues as the water flows south.

There are some really stupid people in this city. One of them got frustrated because the authorities wouldn't let him back into his house until it had been declared safe, so he tried to drive through a roadblock. He "bumped" a state trooper with his truck three times, fortunately not really hurting the cop. He's in jail on charges of assault with a deadly weapon. Even crazier, some people on the local websites are calling him a hero and were suggesting that a mob storm the barricades. They have apparently confused HAZMAT teams with the staff of the Bastille. Fortunately, most people are pointing out the idiocy of this plan.

We're still on water restrictions, but they got a second pumping station on line, so we are allowed to bathe every other day. Tomorrow's my day!

I'm enjoying the pictures of the happy couples in California. It's nice to see good news.

How dry I am

missmurchison@gmail.com — Sat, 14 Jun 2008 20:33:53 GMT

The water is definitely receding, but this guy didn't get the memo in time:

He's lying about four city blocks away from the river.

I've been making mental lists of things that we can donate once people are getting back into their homes and need basic supplies, but right now there's very little to do. The shelters report that as soon as they ask for something, they're inundated with shoes, blankets, pillows, clothing, baby strollers, or whatever is needed. People have to wait for the police to declare their homes safe and then be signed in and out as they go to their houses, to avoid looting and to make sure no one slips and falls and isn't missed for days. The process of opening up the neighborhoods will take at least a week. The big fear is that some people may have been missed in the mandatory evacuations, although they went door-to-door and placed reverse 911 calls. So far, there's only been one flood fatality in town.

M:TNG-2 went to visit a friend who lives just above a flood area, and they walked down as far as they were allowed. They report that the National Guardsmen were very pleasant and didn't try to chase them away as long as they didn't cross into the flood zone. (It always makes me laugh when they're surprised that a bunch of bored young men were happy to chat with a group of teenage girls.)

We weren't supposed to get rain today, but we're under a thunderstorm warning and tornado watch.

I'm going to take refuge in fandom pursuits.

Feeling sort of Ancient Marinerish

missmurchison@gmail.com — Sat, 14 Jun 2008 00:57:31 GMT

Thanks to everyone who commented with good wishes. I'll try to thank people individually as soon as I can.

Bizarrely, it was a beautiful day, at least if you weren't near the flooded areas. The sun's come out, and, even better, the river has crested. They think it will drop to the previous record level of 20 feet by Wednesday. The crest was somewhere between 32 and 33 feet above flood stage. (I still can't wrap my mind around that number.) It probably won't drop below flood stage for a week.

Unfortunately, the water situation is still bad, so I'm trying to figure out ways to use flood water to flush the toilets. I'm saving rain water for plants. (Yes, I may need to water them, because I planted on what a gardener might describe as "well-drained soil." That's probably the only reason some of the poor things didn't drown.) Our domestic hero, Mr. M, braved the stores and bought paper plates, plastic knives and forks, and food that requires minimal preparation. He also managed to find some bottled water to use when the supply that I saved yesterday morning in our biggest stew pots runs out. So we should be okay even if the city water goes out completely, at least until the stores can get in more water.

At the moment, what is normally a 15-mile drive to Iowa City and Interstate 80 involves a 140-mile detour. But I'm sure they'll be getting in supplies from the north. A lot of people have mentioned Katrina, but we're nowhere near as isolated as NO was, and the authorities are doing a much better job. (I was a bit nervous, though, when I heard FEMA was coming to the state today.) Many of the displaced people are from poorer neighborhoods, but they also tend to have deep roots in the community. To give you an idea, 12,000 people were evacuated, and only about 250 wound up in shelters. Animals were rescued as well, and a police force from a community that wasn't affected by the flooding offered to boat in and pick up any pets that had been left behind in the crazy rush of yesterday's evacuations.

Kudos to the police, firefighters, National Guard, and everyone else I see pitching in around here. They had so many people offering to sandbag that in several places they had to turn volunteers away.

Please send good vibes to Iowa City. They're in for a bad weekend.

Our public libary

missmurchison@gmail.com — Fri, 13 Jun 2008 14:10:14 GMT

It's the low, flat building in the right center of the picture. This is a two-story building with a high ceiling on the first floor. This picture was taken yesterday, and it appears that anything on the first floor is completely under water. The river won't crest until later today.

I've bitched a lot about the way the library was run, but the thought of losing almost the entire collection makes me feel ill. No real news is available about how much they managed to move before the flood, but I doubt they considered more than a foot or two of water was possible. Yesterday's flooding was several times worse than predicted.

There is a kids' museum in the lower left of the picture, with an IMAX theater attached in the thing that looks like a silo. Our ground transportation center is on the left. At least they were able to get all the buses out. I know that, because they were using them to relocate the inmates from the jail.

Even more sickening is how many of the poorer neighborhoods are completely inundated.

Personal update: we are stinky, but dry. The sump pump in our basement jammed last night but I was able to fix it, and we should be relatively rain-free the next few days. They're asking us to restrict water use to drinking only and electricity should also be used minimally. I need my computer to work, but we're not running the AC. *holds nose* My hands are improving from the stiffness caused by my repetitive strain injuries, probably because I've been too distracted by the news to do much work.

staying dry

missmurchison@gmail.com — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 13:14:52 GMT

Deaths from tornadoes are rare in Iowa, or were before this year. I'm frozen with sympathy for the families of the Boy Scouts who were killed and all those who were injured.

I think the storm system dumping water over my head right now is the same one that went through the Boy Scout camp, but it's not spawning tornadoes at the moment. Even if it does, our county has a good warning system, so we'll have notice.

Water is over several levees downtown, our local 911 service is out, and lots of areas of town have no electricity. The local stations are having trouble reporting and their reports consist mostly of announcements and news received via cell phone. No details, but there are water rescues taking place in town. Around the area, there are lots of evacuations, and whole cities without power.

I'm fine. The absolute worst that can happen here is electricity goes out and our basement takes some water because we can't run the sump pump. And the last time that happened in 1993, we still kept the basement dry by bailing the sump pump with buckets and pouring the water out in front of the house.

Stay safe, everyone.

I'd like to go back to this being the place where nothing ever happens, please.

sandbagged

missmurchison@gmail.com — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 03:58:46 GMT

There are calls out for volunteers to sandbag in dozens of places nearby, but there's no way I can answer those calls. The last big flood here was in 1993, and while I didn't get out on the front lines then, I did drive around picking up sandbags and taking them to friends' houses to help barricade basement windows and cover drains. I was obviously younger and stronger then.

Not only can't I sandbag, I haven't been useful in any other way. Shortly after I started work this morning, I realized it wasn't going to be a good day for my hands. The combination of the muggy weather and excessive computer use has left my wrists weak and aching. I emailed the bosses to say I'd be working intermittently, but I didn't even really do that. I only monitored my email and worked the emergencies. I may do a half-day tomorrow as well.

I spent the day reading a bit and watching lots of TV. I even watched The View for a while. The best thing I can say about it is that it wasn't as bad as the episode of Regis and Whoever that the dental hygienist had on while she was cleaning my teeth last week. But that was so bad I started paying attention to the pain of sharp metal scraping my gums to take my mind off the mental anguish induced listening to Whoever talk about family trivia so boring I would have tried to escape her even if she'd been a long-lost relative. Which she could be, for all I know. I hope not.

I have no right to whine about any of this while there are mandatory evacuations in many parts of town. They're advising people in the 500-year flood plain to leave. We had only a little rain today, but there will be more tonight and tomorrow, and the river won't crest until Friday. I don't expect to have any problems with my house, but there is a fairly good chance we could lose electricity or just internet access.

It took me ages to type this. I'm going to try to finish up the next chapter of Bug tomorrow, but if it's late, the fault is with the clouds and my wrists.

There was one good thing to come out of the mess here. See my icon for a rainbow that appeared in the middle of the gloom. (Photography not mine.)

It's raining, it's pouring

missmurchison@gmail.com — Mon, 09 Jun 2008 02:03:42 GMT

Damn. The big threat earlier this summer was that flooding would be as bad as 1993, when the reservoir south of here flowed over the spillway and pushed aside tons and tons of black Iowa dirt to expose a Devonian fossil field. (Pretty cool, actually. You can stroll along a 375 million year old sea bed.)

But now the flooding may be worse, up to some record set almost a century ago. Streets are closed, there are sandbagging operations near the waterways, and there's talk of closing most of the bridges over the rivers. In '93, they had to close part of the interstate, so that's possible too. Other than the commuting nightmare, the biggest danger is to some homes and businesses very close to the water. *quashes lecture about people who buy in a flood plain*

I'm worried about my poor baby tomato plants and herbs, which I put in late because it was so cold this spring. Now they're being subjected to straight-line winds that the ~~weather terrorists~~ weather guys on TV say may reach up to 100 miles an hour. Not to mention the possibility of godless tornadoes. ( A rude explanation of "godless tornadoes" and why Iowans spend so much time in their basements may be found here.)

We are relatively high and dry, but the storms keep knocking out the internet, cable, or all of the electricity. Blackouts have eaten a couple of LJ posts already. So if I disappear, all is relatively well, at least chez Murchison. Imagine me sitting in muddy, humid Iowa, grousing about the weather, and be glad you're elsewhere.

Posting before the internet connection crashes again

missmurchison@gmail.com — Sat, 07 Jun 2008 22:47:50 GMT

I just realized I don't want to read my FL until I've seen DW, so I took this test instead:

-34

As a 1930s wife, I am
Very Poor (Failure)

Take the test!

Gakked from mustangsally78

It would have been worse, except for the marital congress question. And I don't go to bed in curlers either.

Bug on the Cosmic Windscreen - Chapter Fourteen

missmurchison@gmail.com — Fri, 06 Jun 2008 17:39:57 GMT

There are so many things I want to post about, but I'm trying to keep to my once-a-week schedule, so this chapter takes precedence.

Title: Bug on the Cosmic Windscreen

Author: Miss Murchison

Rating: PG

Summary: Spike landed in the BSG 'verse and made a bit of a splash, or at least a splat. He thinks he's there to help, and the bewildered Colonists don't know what to think. This went AU after Pegasus. I may have stolen an idea or two after that, but I've changed whatever happened to fit my plot. So far, none of my thefts have gone further than the end of Season 2. Also, just because someone has been revealed as a Cylon on the show doesn't mean that person is a Cylon in this story.

Thanks: to keswindhover and revdorothyl for being such great friends and wonderful betas.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, it all belongs to Joss, ME, and the creators of BSG and all the other stories I reference here. I thank them for creating so many universes for us to play in and enjoy.

Previous chapters are here. (I will get around to posting the more recent chapters on my site soon, but for now the new bits are only on LJ.)

A short Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galactica for those who have never watched Battlestar Galactica is here.

Spike was sitting on the chair by Roslin's bed, listening to the radio. She'd tried to talk, but it was tiring, so he'd turned on the news in a transparent ploy to keep her from making the effort. She watched him play with the cigarette he was forbidden to smoke because of nearby oxygen cylinders.

Lee had insisted on taking her to sickbay the night before, not that there was much Cottle could do for her at this stage. But she didn't have the energy to insist on being taken back to Colonial One, so she'd closed her eyes and ignored the fussing as best she could. She kept falling to sleep and waking up to find old guests had left and new ones had arrived. She wondered how long Spike had been sitting by her side.

One of his hands rested near the edge of her bed, very near her own. She moved her fingers until they lay over his and squeezed them slightly, to let him know she was aware of his presence and appreciated it.

At long last, a voice on the radio stopped whining about shortages of the herbs Sagittarions used for religious ceremonies, and the announcer introduced a Gemenese priest who had some startling new interpretations of the most ancient scrolls.

Oh, damn, thought Roslin, recognizing the woman's name. I hope she's not going to frak anything up with her latest idiotic theory.

The priest was so busy burbling with excitement about her "discovery" that it took her nearly five minutes to blurt out what it was. "I have learned the true identity of the messenger who calls himself Spike."

Roslin's eyes flew to Spike's face. He snickered. "Not bloody likely."

There was a rustling sound from the radio's speakers, as if some kind of document was being moved near the microphone. "See this picture?" demanded the priest of several hundred people who, of course, could not see it at all. "This is proof that he is not a demon, as he claims, but one of the most ancient of the gods, whose name appears in the very earliest documents."

"You have to excuse my ignorance." The announcer sounded as if he were trying to back away from his enthusiastic guest. "I don't read ancient Gemenese. What does that say?"

The priest intoned one word dramatically. "Hermes."

"What?" Spike sat up at that, his shout inspiring a cry of "Shut up," from Doc Cottle, who was helping a patient two beds away. Spike continued in a very slightly lowered tone. "She thinks I'm that poofter with the wings on his ankles?"

"And on his hat." Roslin was suddenly feeling conversational. "Don't forget the little winged hat. Why don't you have one of those?"

Relentlessly, the voice of the priest explained her logic. "Hermes was, in fact, the messenger of the gods. But that's not all. He helped travelers. He was skilled in medicine, and rumor has it that Spike has cured the President's cancer."

"Well, she's got that wrong," Roslin muttered.

"She's got it all wrong," insisted Spike.

"And Spike is known to be, uh, mischievous, and there are tales of Hermes engaging in, well, less than perfect behavior."

"He was a thief and a liar, wasn't he?" asked the announcer, who seemed to have a more pragmatic view of Spike than the priest.

Roslin couldn't resist. "There, Spike, she's gotten a few things right."

"Hermes' ancient symbol was a creature called a jackal, and there are pictures of the god with a human body and a somewhat dog-like animal head. Now the vid of Spike capturing the Cylon who was known as D'Anna Biers--"

"Not that bloody vid again," moaned Spike.

"--Shows his face changing, and there are clearly fangs visible when he--"

"I do not look like a damned jackal!" Spike jumped up and turned off the radio. He began to pace in the little space between her bed and the curtain. "Calls herself a priest! What kind of stupid cow would think of something like that?"

"Well, it crossed my mind too." Teasing him felt wonderful. It was a normal, not-dying thing to do. "She's right about how many things fit, even some she can't know about, like the way you seem to have a foot in the worlds of the living and the dead at the same time. And the kleptomania seemed a dead giveaway, of course." She pretended to consider. "You don't write poetry too, do you? Some scrolls call him a patron of poets."

He almost recoiled at this comment. His mouth opened and closed, but it took him nearly a minute to respond. "I suppose everyone will hear about this." He sounded bitter. "And they'll let me know they heard. Flash won't be able to contain himself."

"You, there!" Cottle thrust his head around the side of the curtain. "Keep it down or I'll have you thrown out."

Spike didn't actually change to his animal face, but he definitely growled at the doctor.

Cottle glared back. "Get nasty with me, and I'll get a dozen marines to hold you down while I give you a rabies shot. Now either pipe down, or flap those little wings on your ankles and fly off to bother someone else." He winked at Roslin and disappeared.

"I think it's safe to say everyone has heard about it already," she said, as Spike threw himself back in his chair, still snarling.

She fell asleep to the sound of him swearing softly.

The door crashed open and a slender woman entered. She was wearing some kind of body armor, and at first Roslin thought she was the victim of a really terrible and overly-imaginative dye job. But when she saw the woman's eyes, she realized she was looking at a demon.

Spike jumped up from his chair. "Bloody hell, Blue, you're worse than the Slayer when it comes to remembering to knock." Now he relaxed again, bringing the bottle of beer he held up to his mouth to take a swig.

The demon woman spoke in an oddly-inflected voice. "I have no time for your foolish courtesies. I require the services of you and the other half breed."

"Both of us, eh?" Spike snickered.

The woman frowned, apparently not understanding the double meaning he had put on her words. "Levity is not appropriate. My ancient rival Bardyllis has escaped from the Deeper Well, and we must prepare for battle."

Spike, who had been in the process of taking another drink, spit and choked out, "Balls, Blue, are you telling me that one of your old mates is in town?"

Roslin woke up to the sound of the beer bottle smashing on the floor. After a moment of disorientation, she realized the sound actually came from someone on the other side of the curtains around her bed. A nurse was rattling around medical supplies. Or bedpans.

Spike was gone, but Cottle was at her side with that curious ability he had to sense a patient's distress, even as he scolded in his gruff voice. "At least you haven't pulled out your IV again. Damned if I know how you keep thrashing around with all the painkillers I've pumped into you. Now stop fighting the medication and try and get some rest."

Roslin felt too sick to argue, so she closed her eyes again.

***

Adama heard someone running after him and calling his name, and he turned to see the large, embarrassed bulk of Billy Keikeya thudding down the corridor.

"What's wrong?" he asked as Billy reached him. "The President--?"

"No, that's not it, sir." Billy shook his head. He looked even younger and more worried than usual. "She's -- she's not well, but she was no worse when I saw her an hour ago. It's the Vice President I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh?" Adama gestured to Billy to walk with him as he headed toward the CIC.

"I've been keeping an eye on him."

Adama raised an eyebrow. "President's orders?"

"Not at first, although I talked to her about it. But she's so ill, I thought you should know too, and she agreed. I've had to bring a lot of routine business to his attention with the President being in sickbay. He's more distracted than usual, and he's been unavailable a lot of the time. I found out he's been spending some of his time in the brig."

Adama nodded. "He seems to have some kind of relationship with the Cylon called Gina. We've been keeping an eye on it."

Billy nodded. "I talked to the guards. They said lately, he hasn't just been visiting, he's been bringing papers with him. The marines have heard them discussing something technical that they didn't understand."

"I'll make sure he doesn't have another chance to talk to them." Adama considered his options. He had no time to conduct interrogations. "And ask Spike to get down there and find out what's going on. He's had more luck getting information out of them than anyone else."

Billy nodded, and his smile was suddenly less severe. "I'll ask him to put on his sandals and fly down there."

"See if you can find out what he did with the hat while you're at it."

***

A pretty young girl with brown hair was smacking Spike in the shoulder with her closed fist. He yelled, "Ow, stop it, Bit," and raised his hand up to block the blows, but didn't move away, possibly because he didn't want to hurt her by dislodging her grip on his wrist.

"Ow!" he yelled again. "Why the domestic violence, Bit? You just said you forgave me."

Roslin could see the tears in the girl's eyes now. "Because you haven't said that you forgive me."

"All right, pet?"

Roslin looked up into concerned blue eyes, wondering when Spike had returned, and how long she'd been fading in and out of consciousness. She tried to talk, but her throat was too dry.

Carefully, Spike raised the back of the hospital bed so that she was sitting up. He sorted out her pillows, then held a cup and straw to her lips. Roslin watched her unlikely nurse as she drank in slow sips.

He was staring at her just as intently. "Something on your mind, Madame President?"

She motioned to him to take the cup away. "Spike, do you know a blue demon that looks something like a slender woman with long hair?"

He looked more thoughtful than surprised. "Yeah, I do. She's more than a demon, though. Was a god king once, not quite sure where she ranks these days. Not even sure she's still alive."

"I think she is. What about a girl, she looks human, with brown hair, called something that sounds like 'Bit?'"

"The Little Bit?" This seemed to worry him more than a mention of the demon woman. "You had a vision of her? Is she in trouble?"

"It didn't look like it." Roslin stared at the ceiling.

"You're exhausted, pet. Don't try to talk just yet." He started rolling up his sleeve. "Cottle's gone off to deliver a baby on some freighter, and I'll just tell the nurses we're being naughty and they're to stay away." He considered this plan for a moment and added, "On second thought, that might make them want to peek."

She started to shake her head, but that hurt too much, so she put up her hand, gesturing him to stop. "No, Spike. We're not doing that."

"Pet--" he started to object, but she spoke firmly.

"No. I think that's why I'm getting visions of your future instead of what I'm meant to see." She saw that he looked devastated at having his help rejected, and smiled as reassuringly as she could. "I'm grateful that you've helped keep me alive this long, but I have to finish this the way the gods intended."

"I don't trust your gods' intentions for you."

"I know. But this is my fight, Spike, and I've always known it was to the death."

Listening to Obama

missmurchison@gmail.com — Wed, 04 Jun 2008 02:20:24 GMT

I just had a flashback to my childhood. Many times people who argued against interracial marriage would say something like, "I'm against it because if they have a child, what will the poor thing do?"

I'd like a TARDIS so I could travel back in time and say, "Become the Democratic candidate for President of the United States."