a little night music

hello all. it's raining. it appears to be raining over most of the US at some point this weekend, which makes it as good a time as any to post one of my favorite sci fi short stories.

enjoy your read,
Leah



"All Summer in a Day" by Ray Bradbury



No one in the class could remember
a time when there wasn't rain.

“Ready?"
"Ready."
"Now?"
"Soon."
"Do the scientists really know? Will it happen today, will it?"
"Look, look; see for yourself!"
The children pressed to each other like so many roses, so many weeds, intermixed, peering out for a look at the hidden sun.
It rained.
It had been raining for seven years; thousand upon thousands of days compounded and filled from one end to the other with rain, with the drum and gush of water, with the sweet crystal fall of showers and the concussion of storms so heavy they were tidal waves come over the islands. A thousand forests had been crushed under the rain and grown up a thousand times to be crushed again. And this was the way life was forever on the planet Venus, and this was the schoolroom of the children of the rocket men and women who had come to a raining world to set up civilization and live out their lives.
"It's stopping, it's stopping!"
"Yes, yes!"
Margot stood apart from these children who could never remember a time when there wasn't rain and rain and rain. They were all nine years old, and if there had been a day, seven years ago, when the sun came out for an hour and showed its face to the stunned world, they could not recall. Sometimes, at night, she heard them stir, in remembrance, and she knew they were dreaming and remembering and old or a yellow crayon or a coin large enough to buy the world with. She knew they thought they remembered a warmness, like a blushing in the face, in the body, in the arms and legs and trembling hands. But then they always awoke to the tatting drum, the endless shaking down of clear bead necklaces upon the roof, the walk, the gardens, the forests, and their dreams were gone.
All day yesterday they had read in class about the sun. About how like a lemon it was, and how hot. And they had written small stories or essays or poems about it:
I think the sun is a flower,
That blooms for just one hour.
That was Margot's poem, read in a quiet voice in the still classroom while the rain was
falling outside.
"Aw, you didn't write that!" protested one of the boys.
"I did," said Margot. "I did."
"William!" said the teacher.
But that was yesterday. Now the rain was slackening, and the children were crushed in the great thick windows.
"Where's teacher?"
"She'll be back."
"She'd better hurry, we'll miss it!"
They turned on themselves, like a feverish wheel, all tumbling spokes.
Margot stood alone. She was a very frail girl who looked as if she had been lost in the rain for years and the rain had washed out the blue from her eyes and the red from her mouth and the yellow from her hair. She was an old photograph dusted from an album, whitened away, and if she spoke at all her voice would be a ghost. Now she stood, separate, staring at the rain and the loud wet world beyond the huge glass.
"What're you looking at?" said William.
Margot said nothing.
"Speak when you're spoken to." He gave her a shove. But she did not move; rather she let herself by moved only by him and nothing else.
They edged away from her, they would not look at her. She felt them go away. And this was because she would play no games with them in the echoing tunnels of the underground city. If they tagged her and ran, she stood blinking after them and did not follow. When the class sang songs about happiness and life and games her lips barely moved. Only when they sang about the sun and the summer did her lips move as she watched the drenched windows.
And then, of course, the biggest crime of all was that she had come here only five years ago from Earth, and she remembered the sun and the way the sun was and the sky was when she was four in Ohio. And they, they had been on Venus all their lives, and they had been only two years old when last the sun came out and had long since forgotten the color and heat of it and the way it really was. But Margot remembered.
"It's like a penny," she said once, eyes closed.
"No it's not!" the children cried.
"It's like a fire," she said, "in the stove."
"You're lying, you don't remember!" cried the children.
But she remembered and stood quietly apart from all of them and watched the patterning windows. And once, a month ago, she had refused to shower in the school shower rooms, had clutched her hands to her ears and over her head, screaming the water mustn't touch her head.
So after that, dimly, dimly, she sensed it, she was different and they knew her difference and kept away.
There was talk that her father and mother were taking her back to earth next year; it seemed vital to her that they do so, though it would mean the loss of thousands of dollars to her family. And so, the children hated her for all these reasons of big and little consequence. They hated her pale snow face, her waiting silence, her thinness, and her possible future.
"Get away!" The boy gave her another push. "What're you waiting for?"
Then, for the first time, she turned and looked at him. And what she was waiting for was in her eyes.
"Well, don't wait around here!" cried the boy savagely. "You won't see nothing!"
Her lips moved.
"Nothing!" he cried. "It was all a joke, wasn't it?" He turned to the other children. "Nothing's happening today. Is it?"
They all blinked at him and then, understanding, laughed and shook their heads. "Nothing, nothing!"
"Oh, but," Margot whispered, her eyes helpless. "But this is the day, the scientists predict, they say, they know, the sun. . . ."
"All a joke!" said the boy, and seized her roughly. "Hey, everyone, let's put her in a closet before teacher comes!"
"No," said Margot, falling back.
They surged about her, caught her up and bore her, protesting, and then pleading, and then crying, back into a tunnel, a room, a closet, where they slammed and locked the door. They stood looking at the door and saw it tremble from her beating and throwing herself against it. They heard her muffled cries. Then, smiling, they turned and went out and back down the tunnel, just as the teacher arrived.
"Ready, children?" she glanced at her watch.
"Yes!" said everyone.
"Are we all here?"
"Yes!"
The rain slackened still more.
They crowded to the huge door.
The rain stopped.
It was as if, in the midst of a film, concerning an avalanche, a tornado, a hurricane, a volcanic eruption, something had, first, gone wrong with the sound apparatus, thus muffling and finally cutting off all noise, all of the blasts and repercussions and thunders, and then, second, ripped the film from the projector and inserted in its place a peaceful tropical slide which did not move or tremor. The world ground to a standstill. The silence was so immense and unbelievable that you felt your ears had been stuffed or you had lost your hearing altogether. The children put their hands to their ears. They stood apart. The door slid back and the smell of the silent, waiting world came in to them.
The sun came out.
It was the color of flaming bronze and it was very large. And the sky around it was a blazing blue tile color. And the jungle burned with sunlight as the children, released from their spell, rushed out, yelling, into the springtime.
"Now don't go too far," called the teacher after them. "You've only two hours, you know. You wouldn't want to get caught out!"
But they were running and turning their faces up to the sky and feeling the sun on their cheeks like a warm iron; they were taking off their jackets and letting the sun burn their arms.
"Oh, it's better than the sun lamps, isn't it?"
"Much, much better!"
They stopped running and stood in the great jungle that covered Venus, that grew and never stopped growing, tumultuously, even as you watched it. It was a nest of octopi, clustering up great arms of flesh-like weed, wavering, flowering this brief spring. It was the color of rubber and ash, this jungle, from the many years without sun. It was the color of stones and white cheeses and ink, and it was the color of the moon.
The children lay out, laughing, on the jungle mattress, and heard it sigh and squeak under them, resilient and alive. They ran among the trees, they slipped and fell, they pushed each
other, they played hide-and-seek and tag, but most of all they squinted at the sun until the tears ran down their faces, they put their hands up to that yellowness and that amazing blueness and they breathed of the fresh, fresh air and listened and listened to the silence which suspended them in a blessed sea of no sound and no motion. They looked at everything and savored everything. Then, wildly, like animals escaped from their caves, they ran and ran in shouting circles. They ran for an hour and did not stop running.
And then—
In the midst of their running one of the girls wailed.
Everyone stopped.
The girl, standing in the open, held out her hand.
"Oh, look, look," she said, trembling.
They came slowly to look at her opened palm.
In the center of it, cupped and huge, was a single raindrop.
She began to cry, looking at it.
They glanced quietly at the sky.
"Oh. Oh."
A few cold drops fell on their noses and their cheeks and their mouths. The sun faded behind a stir of mist. A wind blew cool around them. They turned and started to walk back toward the underground house, their hands at their sides, their smiles vanishing away.
A boom of thunder startled them and like leaves before a new hurricane, they tumbled upon each other and ran. Lightening struck ten miles away, five miles away, a mile, a half mile. The sky darkened into midnight in a flash.
They stood in the doorway of the underground for a moment until it was raining hard. Then they closed the door and heard the gigantic sound of the rain falling in tons and avalanches, everywhere and forever.
"Will it be seven more years?"
"Yes. Seven."
Then one of them gave a little cry.
"Margot!"
"What?"
"She's still in the closet where we locked her."
"Margot."
They stood as if someone had driven them, like so many stakes, into the floor. They looked at each other and then looked away. They glanced out at the world that was raining now and raining and raining steadily. They could not meet each other's glances. Their faces were solemn and pale. They looked at their hands and feet, their faces down.
"Margot.
One of the girls said, "Well . . .?"
No one moved.
"Go on," whispered the girl.
They walked slowly down the hall in the sound of the cold rain. They turned through the doorway to the room in the sound of the storm and thunder, lightening on their faces, blue and terrible. They walked over to the closest door slowly and stood by it.
Behind the closed door was only silence.
They unlocked the door, even more slowly, and let Margot out.

(the author)

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prepare for your mind to be blown. maybe.

Are you familiar with the software called "Massive" that was developed for the Lord of the Rings trilogy and then re-invented for Avatar and James Cameron would like us to think that it didn't exist before Blue Pocahontas Dances With Kitty Cat Ferngully? Da be dee da ba dah? (Slow down Leah, there's a time and a place for every rant. This is not it.)

What Massive does is design "agents"- or little virtual people (or, now, plants) that can be programmed to think and act in certain ways. This is extremely helpful if, say, you want to film an epic battle scene but don't want to hire and co-ordinate thousands of extras. You just program thousands of little digital people, give them a mood and a direction, and let them go! There are hilarious stories of test runs where agents would either chill in the background, refusing to fight the enemy, or just flat out RUN IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION! Too real.

I bring all this up because I was researching for a class and came across a slew of commercials that have used Massive on their website. It knocked off my mind socks...

(Clicky-click on the "Read More")





The dancers aren't real! I remember seeing this commercial. I suppose in retrospect it was silly for me to think they were real. BUT STILL. I'm torn. I want to geek out over this, it's so incredibly cool. However, I also am a huge advocate for live performance. I hate to think that even artists are being replaced by machines. Is nothing sacred?

More Examples Here


are we human or are we dancer,
Leah Read more...

3 Fall Shows that Are Relevant To Your Interests (Part 2)

Part Deux Suckas!



I see you over there mourning the loss of LOST.

Quit crying.

It won't bring back your beloved Smoke Monster.

Allow me to bring you the new hotness.

It's called Terra Nova, it will be on FOX, and it's from everyone's favorite multibillion dollar director/producer Steven Spielberg.

Oh, is that not a good enough reason for you? Fine.

Other cooks in the kitchen include:

Brannon Braga, homeboy brought you Jack Bauer and Star Trek: Enterprise.
and David Fury, who facilitated LOST (see what I did there) and Buffy The Vampire Slayer.

Have you wiped those tears up yet? I thought so.

This project is still currently in development and is shrouded in magic and mystery tighter than a swaddled newborn Harry Potter Jesus Baby.

The Breakdown:

An ordinary family in dystopian Mad Max year 2149 conjure up an idea (and some fuzzy math!science) on how to rip a hole in the space-time continuum, HG Wells style, so they can experience a world before sandworms (maybe? I'm guessing) and pollution, they are going to try and right the wrongs of humanity in the process.

Go to the past to save the future...because that always works out:



Anyway. back to the wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff. Their trip is a success and they are loving it harder than a Jason Mraz cover in a Sandals Jamaica commercial. But they have a secret that could change everything.

They also apparently forgot about the fact that dinosaurs existed, which causes much peril. Also, maybe [probably] aliens.

If you liked Jurassic Park and Land of The Lost...you will like this. The cast has not been announced, but one can only hope it will include Jeff Goldblum. I will definitely be tuning in. As hokey as the idea may sound, I take all of the executive producers on board very seriously, and Spielberg has never *really* let me down.



The Sleestaks thank you for your time. Read more...

Diversify Your Bonds

We have a tumblr! Do you? We could be tumblr friends.


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The End.

SPOILERS for the finale of LOST
Do not even think about reading this post if you haven't seen the finale or plan on watching this series.

Made you look. No really, please don't read these spoilers.

I can't believe it's over. I don't understand why there can't be an episode on Tuesday. I'll even accept a hiatus. Clearly there is story left to tell. It may not be the most interesting story, but I don't mind.

I'm not religious at all. I wasn't raised that way, never have been. However, like many Christians I know don't come close to their scary stereotype, I'm not you're stereotypical imposing or Nihilist Atheist. It only made me more fascinated and interested in this show's religious imagery and message.

This is relevant because, somehow despite all of this, I honestly loved and understood the finale of Lost. I think the only time my blatant Atheism caught up with me is when I kept thinking "why do they want to leave? They could just stay in the Sideways world forever and make out!" But no one likes to be stuck, and that isn't the way stories go. You move on, wherever or whatever "on" is. I rolled my eyes a tad at the brilliantly lit doorway, but that's just me.

A lot of people are coming away from the finale thinking that they all died on the plane crash and have been dead this whole time. "Ah ha!" these people cry. "We predicted this back in Season One! I knew it! What a lazy way to end this wonderful show! That wasn't surprising at all." But I'm pretty sure these people are wrong. Doubt me? Go watch what Christian said to Jack in the church again. Here's a direct linky-link to the scene. All the characters died whenever they died, regardless of whether or not their death happened during the context of the show. Time doesn't exist in the Sideways. The island, and everything that happened on it, was real.

Hurley went on protecting the island with Ben. The people on the Ajira flight presumably landed somewhere led out their lives. (Though didn't Charles Widmore say that plane was laced with explosives? Why didn't that come back to haunt anyone?) I'm extremely curious to know what Richard Alpert did off the island. I'm sure Kate and Claire went back to Aaron. Sawyer probably got to know his daughter and Juliet's sister. Miles and Frank went home.

So yeah, I don't think anyone predicted in Season One that Jack would sacrifice his life, Hurley and Ben Linus would run the island and that all the castaways and people most affected by the experience would create an afterlife where they could correct past mistakes, find the people they love and be with them forever. Maybe the first one.

However, you say, why were people missing at the church? These are my thoughts, combined with what I've read. Walt lived a fulfilling life off the island, he didn't need the Sideways. Let's be real, no one wanted to see Michael, Arnst or Nikki and Paulo. Michael's probably there, but like Ana Lucia, isn't ready yet. Or chose to spend more time in the Sideways, like Ben did. There are some reunions we clearly didn't see, like Boone's.

Also, what was with those images over the closing credits though? That was strange to me. Maybe it was just to make us reflect on last time.

ETA: ABC has confirmed that those images were for reflection only; they weren't part of the story.

Also ALSO, how much easier would it have been if they treated the minor mysteries the way they did on Buffy? Doc Jensen from Entertainment Weekly talked a little about this once. Because the island is on a Hellmouth, from a certain point of view. All the minor mysteries about babies and electromagnetism and children with super powers could have been explained away if they just came out and said "Listen. The island is on top of this thing, and because of that, a lot of weird shit is prone to occur."

“the most important part of your life was the time you spent with these people. that’s why all of you are here. nobody does it alone. you needed them, and they needed you.”- Christian

In the end, the show is about characters and love. It's the title of this blog; it's too real for science fiction. That's what I've loved about it all along. Throw some time travel at me? I'll take it. Weird mind experiments and hippie organizations? Sure! Weird mythology and metaphors? I love all of them. But the characters are still the most fascinating, and this show would have failed if they hadn't been so compelling. I don't mind still having questions about what it all meant and what actually happened. It makes the show not over. I just wanted the characters I cared about to be happy, and I got that.

Live Together, Die Alone
Leah

PS: The Dharma Initiative was using polar bears to do various experiments. One of these experiments involved teleportation. They explained that years ago. It is not a mystery.

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matilda is carrie for kids

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True Blood Season 3: Team Jacob or Team Spike???

okay first, everyone watch this:

Trailer 2

Now we can talk. Here's my backstory with vampires in pop culture. With the exception of Interview with a Vampire, which I saw when I was a kid like I was supposed to, I've experienced everything backwards. I read all the Twilight books, got completely sucked in and then retroactively became like a born-again sane person, reprogrammed to see the error of my ways. Then I started watching "True Blood." Now I'm catching up on "Buffy, The Vampire Slayer" and "Angel."

I'm not touching the CW's "Vampire Diaries." XOXO, no thanks.

Sidenote: I will still be attending the midnight showings of all Twilight Saga movies. Sorry 'bout it, but I love a damn midnight release. It doesn't matter.

I haven't read any of The Southern Vampire Mysteries/The Sookie Stackhouse Novels or whatever. I plan to. But after watching HBO's latest trailer, I can't help but marvel at how wonderfully/oddly familiar this plot is. No hate, just observations. It's actually helping me deal with the fact that Buffy is over and practically a period piece. (Do you know how many conflicts could have been prevented if the Scoobies had cell phones in the early seasons?) I can move on now.

I'm not going to do crazy things like compare Pam to Drusilla, or Jessica Hamby with Jessica Stanley. But honestly:

Spike and Eric. Do I really need to provide an explanation here? They are the same. Better, blonder, badass-er. Obviously this is what Twilight needs. A blond Anti-Hero. Such a shame.

Though I suppose Sam is a better comparison to Jacob Black as far as what they are and what powers they have, werewolf Alcide is being set up as an actual love interest for Sookie, so we'll go with that. Plus they are both vaguely ethnic. And Alcide has a "pack." However, we'll have to get into the season to make this comparison meatier.

Then there's these guys. Bill, Angel and Edward Cullen. I don't even know where to begin...

They brood. They are filled with self-loathing. They're chivalrous to the point of chauvinism. They like to disappear for unspecified amounts of time. They withhold information. They get really, really attached to the female lead. We're all in love with them and then the next guy shows up and half the fandom switches teams. Granted, Angel is less annoying than Bill and Edward IMO, but everything I don't like about him is something I recognize in the other two.

Thankfully Sookie, Buffy and Bella are very different. Some of them are actual, real life, dynamic characters.

Another Sidenote: Why does so much vampire literature take place in the deep South? Is this similar to how aliens always abduct farmhands?

What have I learned? I'm excited for Season Three. Vampires really like jackets. Nothing is original. I also love the way all of these different franchises pick and choose from the vampire lore salad bar as far as what will be real and what will be myth. Hilarious. I also promise that I'll get to sci-fi eventually with this blog. I've just been on a vampire kick lately. I'm trying to stay true to the zeitgeist ;-)

hang on spider monkey,

Leah

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3 Fall Shows that Are Relevant To Your Interests (Part 1)

Heroes is gone. LOST is gone. What's a girl to do this fall without her primetime sci-fi/action fix this fall? Watch reruns of VIP?

WRONG!

Do you like Action?

Do you like Adventure?

Time Travel?

Intrigue?

Attractive people being attractive?

Well guess what, y'all? Christmas has come early.

There will be approximately 7 brand new genre series airing on many major (and less major) networks this fall. Here's a sampling of the 3 I will definitely be tuning into. Will it be for love or lol's? Only time can tell.

1) Undercovers

This is the new offering from the JJ Abrams camp, the same folks that brought us ALIAS, LOST, the now deceased Heroes, and my personal cocaine Star Trek (2009).

Why am I amped about it?

For one, Alias was my jam. And for two, why wouldn't I want to look at Boris "Brown Sugar" Kodjoe getting his espionage on every week? The series also features Gugu Mbatha-Raw, from Doctor Who (series 3) fame, she played Martha's sister, Martha being the Companion with the best hair. If you haven't noticed yet, this means that Undercovers will be (to my knowledge) the first hour-long primetime drama to feature two lead characters of color, this is no small feat, and makes a show that was already sporting about 10 scout badges in "badassery" even more badass.

What's the buzz?

Since it's Abrams, this show is getting as much hype as any show possibly can, especially following in the footsteps of LOST and Heroes.

What's the story?

Two married ex-CIA operatives get called back into the game to find the Big Bad, in the process, they find that action and intrigue are really great aphrodisiacs. A lot of people have been complaining that the show sounds like a rehashing of the Angelina Jolie/Brad Pitt movie Mr. And Mrs. Smith. To me it sounds more like Remington Steele on the rocks with a twist.

Check the trailer here:

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mash-up literature is out of control; will schuester loves it

Pride and Prejudice and Zombies (by Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith) has created a monster. I thought it was just as awesome as the next girl willing to indulge in Jane Austen while also harboring a penchant for the supernatural. But this literary trend to take a classic novel and "insert" original passages to change the story around has taken off exponentially. It slapped me in the face the last time I was in a bookstore.

No really. Look at all these existing/upcoming titles:

Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters, by Jane Austen and Ben Winters
Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: Dawn of the Dreadfuls, by Steve Hockensmith
Android Karenina, by Leo Tolstoy and Ben Winters
Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter, by Seth Grahame-Smith
Queen Victoria, Demon Hunter, by A.E Moorat
Little Women and Werewolves, by Louisa May Alcott and Porter Grand
Little Vampire Women, by Louisa May Alcott and Lyn Messina
Jane Slayre, by Charlotte Bronte and Sherri Browning Erwin
Mansfield Park and Mummies, by Jane Austen and Vera Nazarian
Emma and the Werewolves, by Jane Austen and Adam Rann

This list goes on. I got bored. Other "ruptured" classics include Alice in Wonderland, Dante's Inferno, Huck Finn, Robin Hood, War of the Worlds and the Wonderful Wizard of Oz!

I didn't make any of these titles up. It was tempting. Look out, public domain. What is this published fanfiction? Is nothing sacred? I hate it and I love it. I think these are very funny books, I love that this type of creativity is being recognized, and I'm glad that people are reading them and potentially revisiting (or discovering) the orginals. But this is just, as I said before, out of control. Of all the trends, right?

don't tell me what I can't write,
Leah and John Locke Read more...