The Traveler Returns

Howdy all! I just got back from my insanely amazing trip 'round Europe, complete with pictures, commentary, temporal confusion (my body thinks it's three in the morning, but my brain hasn't a zarkin' clue as to location yet, much less time), a touch of aircraft-induced-dizziness (it got bumpy around Greenland), but a great sense of satisfaction.
Will I let you all in on what went down across the pond? Of course! That's what I promised, isn't it? However, all y'all are going to have to hang in some suspence for a while; I still have schoolwork and serious piano catch-up to contend with, as well as actually typing up the aforementioned commentary and loading in the previously-alluded-to pictures. These things take time, you know!
However, I will do my best to deliver as soon as I can!

DON'T PANIC: It's Just a War of the Worlds

Turn back the clock to late October, 1938. Actor Orson Wells was lining up sci-fi radio plays for his Mercury Theater on the Air. He went through a few ideas, but none of them seemed to be working. Finally, somebody asked "How about this?" and pulled out the book War of the Worlds.
Wells was reluctant to adapt the work to the radio. Not because he was afraid of causing mass hysteria, but because he found the story "dull." The book had been around for 40 years, it had been adapted to several adventure stories and comic books by this time. Most people were familiar with this story, he thought. Finally he agreed to do it. But they had to update it before they went on the air.

Now, fast forward to 8 pm on Sunday, October 30th. A small number of radio listeners tuned into the Mercury Theater on the Air and heard the play's introduction, announcing that night's play as H.G. Wells' War of the Worlds. However, most people were tuned into the immensely popular Chase and Sanborn Hour, and missed the crucial intro. The first four minutes or so went well, but then at approximately 8:05, a rather unpopular singer came on the show. So people began to dial surf, and as it happened most people landed on the Mercury Theater on the Air first, already in progress. But when they landed on it, it sounded like a regular music show. Then, after a little musical interlude, a voice cut in: "We interrupt this program to bring you this news bullitin..."

Now, it should be mentioned at this point that news breaks were fairly new, and extremely frequent, in the late 1930's. Most news breaks at the time ran bullitins having to do with the Nazis, who had been slowly overtaking Europe. Naturally, Americans had been growing nervous about the Nazis, and there were only a few ways to get the news, radio often being the fastest.
The War of the Worlds news break reported that the Princeton Observatory had observed gas explosions on the surface of Mars at regular intervals, but the station would keep the audience updated should anything else be found. "And now back to the music of Raymond Roquello and His Orchestra."

Most people found this break to be a bit odd. Explosions on Mars? How strange. And who was this Raymond Roquello guy? Not really thinking much of it, folks sat back and relaxed again. But then about a minute later, another news break comes through: The Princeton Observatory had just reported the landing of a meteor in rural Grover's Mills, New Jersey, and had schedualed an interview with one of the Observatory's astronomers.

Now people were starting to get suspicious. What in the world was going on? Most people claimed they didn't believe the story too much, until they heard several "expert" opinions of the situation. The way the show was formatted, with the breaks over the music program, the authoritative commentary, made it sound completely legitament. Folks were lost inside the newscast.

Finally the update cut to a field report in Grover's Mills, where the meteor had landed. The reporter and an astronomer are describing the events unfolding before their eyes: the meteor had fallen away, revealing a metal pod definitely of alien origin. After a few tense moments, the pod begins to open, revealing a hideous slimy creature; muffled shouts could be heard in the background. Then, out of nowhere, the reporter begins to flip out: the creature has just vaporized knot of military personell.

The reporter's panic sounded completely real, and oddly familiar. A year before, many people had heard the now-immortal cry of "Oh, the humanity!" in response to the Hindenburg disaster. The actor playing the reporter had actually found a tape of this report and listened to it repeatedly, so he could get into the right frame of mind for the attack scene.
Seconds later, without warning, the field report cuts out. Soon after, it is reported that the pod has sprouted tree-high legs and was marching through the New Jersey countryside, crushing anything in its path. This is where people really started to panic, although they didn't think "We're being attacked by Martians." Their first thought was, "We're being attacked by Germans."

The show continued on in the same way, as a string of news reports come in announcing that more Martians were landing and slowly taking over New Jersey and surrounding areas, taking out armies with a poisonous gas. At one point later in the broadcast the news announcer dejectedly states that "everything [was] wiped out."

About 12 million say they got the joke. But the majority of the American public didn't. No one knows exactly how many people panicked that night. However, there are a few certain numbers: The Trenton police department receieved 200 calls in under two hours. The New York Times switchboards were inundated with 875 calls alone, which were mostly people wanting to know where they would be safest. A study conducted shortly after the broadcast found that some people reported they actually felt like they were choking, a handful claimed they saw a veil of smoke over Manhattan from the battle in nearby Jersey, and some swore they spotted a marching Martian pod or two.

After the broadcast, and learning of the mass hysteria, Orson Wells held a press conference, in which he said this:

"The War of the Worlds has no further significance than as the holiday offering
it was intended to be. We annaihilated the world before your very ears, and
utterly destroyed the CBS. You will be relieved, I hope, to learn that we didn't
mean it, and both institutions are open for business."

In short: It was all a joke. Wells expressed great surprise that such a familiar story could cause such panic when the format was changed up a bit. Unfortunately the public and the FCC didn't find the situation funny, the FCC so much so that the comissioner shortly thereafter labled Wells and his Mercury Theater on the Air as "radio terrorists."

As if that wasn't enough, events similar to this have happened twice since 1938: once in Quito, Ecuador, in 1949, and in our own Buffalo, NY, in 1968. The format was that of a regular DJ show on WKBW, with a interruption format very similar to the original 1938 broadcast. The outcome was very similar as well: the station received 2,000 calls, 47 newspapers nationally reported the incident, even a portion of the Canadian army was dispatched to the border bridges to fend off the Martian invadors.

People, by nature, are hard-wired to latch onto stories and to follow them through to the end. Unfortunately some miss the crucial beginnings and misinterpret the whole thing.

I think you ought to know...

If you start to hear a whole lot of nothing coming from my direction, don't worry.

Or, if you're likely to skip the worry phase and go straight to the panic phase, I would recommend you follow this advice:

I haven't fallen off the edge of the earth....

... I haven't been overtaken by robots

... or anything of that sort.

No, I'm just going to be galavanting around Europe, specifically through Portugal, Spain, and a little bit of France, and hopefully with at least a small towel in tow.

I'll be back the first week of November, don't you worry. And when I do return, there will be photos. There will be commentary. And there will most likely be Spanish outbursts.

You have been warned.

Perhaps My Highest Compliment

So there's a thread going on Protagonize called "My Name I Skate." It's a collection of altered, contorted, or otherwise tweaked Protagonists' pennames. I found them all very amusing, but I figured that, given the bizzare and lengthy complexity of my own penname, no one would try to take mine on.

And, as per usual when I think those sorts of things, I was proven wrong.

The perennially excellent Tasha Noble left me a message on my Protag profile a few days ago.
"Apologies in advance!" she began, "But I couldn't resist it. And it's very silly indeed." Naturally I had no idea what she was talking about, so I curiously clicked the included link, which led me to this:

Gee! to Lappy-Annie Stairland (E.S.A)
Gee! What a funny girl is Annie Stairland
Working for the Ecological Society
Of America, with her laptop-case in hand
She's never seen without it - loves it very much, you see.

At night she keeps her lappy in a lead-lined strong-box
In her bedside cabinet, and guarded by her dog
(A doberman-rottweiler cross whose name is Mr Cox)
Because of these precautions Annie sleeps like a log.

She keeps all her contacts in her 'lappy', and she would
Be completely lost without it so it never leaves her side
It's how she got her nickname, but I really think she should
Invest in a netbook, They're much easier to hide.

I couldn't believe it. I couldn't help but laugh aloud; it was so funny and so ingenious, and I still couldn't get over the fact that she'd somehow managed to tweak something out of my penname. Granted, the "g2" is supposed to be "g-squared," but she told me that it wouldn't of worked otherwise.

I found some of the other feedback:

"Wow Tasha, you really contorted g2's name into shape there. From now on we should call you Tasha: Lyrical Contortionist!Nice work, very funny."

"Even if the poem sucked, I would have had to give you an A+ for managing something out of the Irish Pianist's name. But such was not the case :D"

"wow, till I read Aryst0's comment I had no clue who this was about... but it's pretty fantastic.I'm in a public computer room at my college laughing away to this things. Pretty soon I'm gonna be getting looks.. if I'm not already. I don't exactly care. haha."

Naturally, I had to add my own two-cents:
"Okay, those two poems earlier made my morning, but this just made my whole zarkin' week, Tasha. It took a while to see it, but as soon as I did I had to laugh aloud. I have [no] clue how you did it, but boy you did it."

Somehow, in my mind, the hilarious contortion of my name ranks as probably the highest compliment I have ever received on Protag.

Thanks muchly Tasha.

SoP 56: An Experimental Poem

Versed Interrogation, Pt 1.

I swear and I tell you, I’ve nothing to hide.

Then I guess it won’t matter if I stand close behind?

I guess not…
- – - – - – You falter, and s’piciously so…

Suspiciously? Me? That’s absurd! Oh dear, no!

Defensive we’re getting, a sure sign of guilt.
Your stories don’t match, alibi is not built
Most solidly. I think you’re caught in my snare.

What?! You are mad! You really do dare
To ’cuse me of such a crackpotted crime?!

If you wanna play tough, then I guess it is time
To toughen the insentive to tell the real truth.

Try me. I dare you. I can take it, forsooth.

We can do this most easy, but you ’fuse to obey,
And for your intractability, you pay.
- - - - -
I had this idea, but I really had no idea how it would work, and I can't really think of an "ending" of sorts just yet. Any and all constructive criticism and feedback, as well as suggestions as how to continue, would be greatly appreciated.

SoP 55: Inspiration, or Lack Thereof

As far as my inspiration will go,
Right now I do beweep its dried-up state.
I wish that I had more to share and show,
But oh, alas, it’s all I have to date.

They call it Writer’s Block out on the street,
Although, to us, it’s torture, simply put,
lacking ideas to put upon the sheet
And when some do, they only get the foot.

Oh how I wish I could think of something
that’s worth the pianoman’s good reading time.
And hopef’ly into trash bin he won’t fling
this sorry s’cuse for verse and dreadful rhyme.

Please bear with me for one more couplet set.
Now you are done, seek refuge with your pet.
- - - - -
I wanted to enter a poetry challenge, but I couldn't think of anything at the time. So I wrote about not being able to think of anything. We writers are crazy like that.

SoP 54: Creative Rebel

We’re not allowed to think outside the box,
Thinking at all is frowned upon out here.
Forget creating anything, no dear.
They only want us sitting there like rocks.

They keep all books under the keys and locks,
And try t’enstill pervasive sense of fear.
They cannot hold me down, my voice they’ll hear,
I’ll fight back verb’ly, muse’cly, ’til gun cocks.

Enclothed in Converse, jeans, a pen in hand,
signs of rebellion, ones that cause a stir
and ’tract attention, but it makes them heed.

451 has nothing on this land.
They’ll kill me off, but it won’t work, no sir.
’Cause on that fateful day, I will be freed.
- - - - -
Originally appeared on ficly, inspired a bit by FYM