Hollywood Machine - 09/Jul/2012
Arthur'd heard of something called 'colour therapy'.  If he could combine that with a health-boosting tan.  Maybe something with mirrors...  His mind kicked into overdrive, and he experimented with blending different sorts of handwavium, in a surplus paint mixing machine; 12,000 possible varieties!
Exhausted one night, from fruitless interviews and the latest failed handwavium blend ('paisley'), he plugged-in the microwave, nuked himself a pasty.  Then, he thought, plugged back in the extension for kettle and toaster.
In the morning he discovered it was the paint mixer and sun bed, somehow both using the same extension lead, that'd been on all night.  Two drums of blended handwavium had emptied, and the two machines combined, into something with too many angles, and a chrome finish.  The 'chrome' was explained by some distorting mirrors, ex-fairground, also incorporated.  And his multi-colour lamps.  He didn't like how his features reflected off the surface.  And, it hummed, even after unplugged from the mains...
Pushing it behind a partition, with items left by previous owners of the premises (ancient hair driers, even older production machinery), he cleared-up, or at least hid the problem.  Recent recruits had accents he could cut with a knife.  He thought the Job Centre was sending 'no hopers' his way.  Ms Jones required a positive progress report in two days, three at most.  How?
Mrs O'Hare, the teacher scared of pupils, had been giving Rod some free instruction, after hours.  Meant someone was in the premises, anyhow.  Ms Jones had been insisting Arthur take off at least two evenings a week, no matter how much work needed to be done.  He wasn't sure why, but it gave him a chance to relax, and seemed to blunt his gambling cravings.
Mrs O'Hare had been paid to talk into an experimental 'teaching machine' that Arthur'd waved-up.  From an old dicta-phone and a teleprinter.  But, he'd junked that two days ago, as it seemed to be going no where, and dumped it in the back.
Arthur woke in the night, knowing something was badly wrong.  He rushed downstairs to the workshop - sleeping above had cut his rent bill, and it was good for security.  As there'd once been a small factory on the back, the sound insulation wasn't bad, though ancient.  There were Mrs O'Hare, and Rod, slumped under old-style hair driers, no sign of the partitions, an immense machine looming behind them.
They quickly revived, and Mrs O'Hare seemed far less timid than she often was. Rod opening his mouth was the big surprise.  His stutter was totally gone, and he spoke with Mrs O'Hare perfect diction.  Mrs O'Hare strode across, picked up the exercise book, and thrust it at Rod.  Word perfect.
---

Rod said he was jumpy about leaving home the next couple of days, and while his stammer remained gone, his speech mostly returned to normal, but with a clearer accent.  Mrs O'Hare said they'd not seen the machine, just a couple of old hair driers, and she'd told Rod how she always used to feel relaxed under them.  Then things got strange.
Arthur experimented.  He found The Machine seemed to be able to fade into the background (camouflage?), though other times it loomed, shiny and disturbing. Two more drums of raw handwavium, that were, he thought, well separated, were empty, and an old roller conveyor system had been absorbed.  His electricity bills indicated the machine was somehow tapping the local power grid.
Ms Jones was not pleased.  Weeks of effort and all he had was a mysterious machine.  And no usable recruits.  Still, the accident with Mrs O'Hare was worth following-up.  Maureen, an interviewed 'no hoper', joined them, as a receptionist, and general dogs-body; she'd failed Ms Jones recruitment test for 'going up'.  Rod seemed to quite like her.
---

It took Arthur quite a while to untangle what happened.  Rod had told Maureen about his speech improvement.  Maureen, who appeared to be an amateur radio ham, had 'played' with the equipment, and been disappointed to find it did nothing for her.  Then, she persuaded Mrs O'Hare to do a hair drier teaching session.
The other thread had been Ms Jones deciding to do a late evening inspection; maybe that's why Arthur got evenings off?  And Ron coming in, because Maureen had said she'd see him later.  Ms Jones was standing horrified, just inside the door, looking at two slumped figures.  Ron threw open the door, and Ms Jones went onto the conveyor belt.
Into The Machine.
Frankenstein meets French Farce, thought Arthur.  All it needed was a Wardrobe and a Man With No Trousers.  And a bolt through his neck.
Ron couldn't stop the machine, or get anyone to respond; half an hour later teacher and pupil revived, and a transformed woman came out the far end.  Ron later said the machine almost held him hypnotised.
Only then did they phone Arthur.  He'd been having a quiet evening drink with his science fiction friends.  He was slowly conceding some of that stuff was quite a good read.
---

Ms Jones looked years younger, and when she opened her mouth her slightly crooked teeth were perfect and white.  Her diction was Mrs O'Hare at her best, and her limp was gone.  Even her skin was perfect, no blemishes at all, and her hair.  A crowning masterpiece.
She didn't even have bad breath.  Arthur leaned close enough to check.
Maureen was speaking far more clearly, but she was enthusiastic about the 'Full Treatment', that Ms Jones had got.  As Ms Jones was dazed, and Rod totally opposed, Arthur ruled they wait a few days, to check for ill effects.  And, he pressured Ms Jones to get a full medical check-up.
---

Making a swift recovery Ms Jones reluctantly explained that she had an artificial leg.  This was now a perfect fit, and similarly perfect were her teeth.  The doctors said she was in excellent health, and a minor skin complaint was gone.  She wasn't actually younger, just as well as she could be for her age.  Her smoking habit was gone.  A specialist clinic said she tested negative for biomod.
It appeared she could now hide her Glasgow accent, though she didn't seem to have any other new abilities - her writing and presentation skills were already excellent.  She did report temporary agrophobia.
A few previous interviewees were invited to return, and agreed to sign full non disclosure forms.  It appeared that the machine only worked if Mrs O'Hare, no one else, was wearing one hair dryer and someone was sitting in a second one.  Then the machine did its half hour treatment.  Arthur could have sworn a small smile appeared on Mrs O'Hare's face when this was revealed.
Maureen was the third volunteer, and afterwards looked radiant.  Rod was very disappointed when she made it clear she was 'going up'.  Without him.  Ms Jones fully recovered in three days and was her old self, though she now had perfect teeth, and no limp.  Her skin and hair returned to a smart but business-like look.
Arthur did more tests.  After a while the machine stopped working, and he found it needed feeding, with make-up, glamour magazines, and 'magic smoke' that it obtained by cooking integrated circuit boards to death.  He didn't think it was intelligent, but it seemed to have an large animal-like presence.
---

Arthur knew it would happen.  They insisted on taking away the (now named) 'Hollywood Machine'.  It was going up to O'Neill Station.  Mrs O'Hare was happy with her new permanent job.  A 'Kelly' arrived to supervise the move.  Arthur did his best to avoid her, and spoke at least one octave above his normal pitch, in her presence.  Apart from a few strange looks, he thought he got away with it.
What was next?  He'd had a strange dream before they took The Machine away.  He'd fallen onto the belt, and come out, with frothy pale lace on his shirt cuffs and collar, and a slick hair-do.  A Glam Metal Detective?  Was he still male?  He'd been unchanged, in the morning.
But, after all, they hadn't tested The Machine on Men, had they?

What The 'Hollywood Machine' Does
It does glamour.  You will get perfect skin, perfect teeth, perfect hair.  Without make-up.  From Mrs O'Hare you will get perfect speech, initially identical to hers, and her excellent writing and presentation skills.  The teeth remain 'fixed', but unless significant effort is taken, like a diet shift for the skin, and careful pampering for the hair, these will fade back to normal, over several days.  Your normal speech patterns will return, over a few days, but with a little effort there will be an overall improvement, which training can help with.
Side effects of the machine include it removing any mild visible health problems, at least in the short term.  It handles the physical side of alcohol and nicotine (or other drugs) addiction, for all but the worst cases - social or psychological factors may mean people keep on smoking, etc.  Prostheses, such as spectacles, hearing aids, and even artificial limbs will be (permanently) adjusted for ideal fit.  Clothes and footwear are also adjusted.
The machine is capable of three 'treatments' per day, each half an hour.  Mrs O'Hare must be in her seat, and someone who is still in need of her teaching in the other seat.  Obviously Mrs O'Hare cannot be treated.  Each treatment temporarily decreases Mrs O'Hare's agrophobia, and stage fright.
The effects of the machine can boost people's confidence.  The (mild) agrophobia fades over a few days.  The main problem is the machine is psychologically addictive (assume this problem effects 50%).  If used more often than once per three days the agrophobia gets worse, and if used at least once per day for a week it becomes permanent, at Mrs O'Hare's level.  For those with the addiction problem, one treatment per three weeks seems best.
If the machine is used on someone who is already a 'perfect beauty', and the equivalent of fully trained by Mrs O'Hare, it has no effect.  There is a flat 5% of people that the machine has no effect on, not matter how poor their initial state - they tend to end up mildly depressed.  There's no known way of characterising or detecting this 5% ahead of time.  For both 'perfect' and 'reject' it refuses even to start the treatment cycle.
The machine cannot alter your weight, just move it about a bit, and tone your muscles so you carry it better.  It cannot make hair or fingernails longer, just trim and polish (temporary hair or nail extensions might be used in the worst cases), though it can lighten body hair so it is near invisible.  The weight returns to its original position and the muscle tone fades to its previous state unless a regular exercise program is started.  The lightening remains for newly-grown body hair unless some quite violent skin treatments are used.  The machine has no effect on injuries, diseases or poisons (but, see drug addictions, above).
Note that the machine does not biomod people, and may be ineffective on those biomodded; it depends on the biomod.  Also note that it isn't clear what effect the machine has on men...
--
"It is the business of the future to be dangerous" - Hawkwind

Human Resources - 09/Jul/2012
Arthur was concerned.  All his gambling debts, paid off.  He had a company, an assistant.  He was in danger of becoming... prosperous.
This was a new experience.  Mr O'Neill was 'satisfied' with the three girls he'd 'recruited'.  So satisfied that Arthur was now running a recruitment agency.  "Hire me some more, sixty or seventy should do."
Even that wasn't enough.  He now had a 'line manager'.  Ms Jones was tasked with ensuring 'everything went smoothly'.  When he'd explained he worked best in a 'freelance, creative fashion', she looked him in the eye.
"I did the job interviews on those... young ladies.  Brilliant from a skills perspective, a human resources nightmare.  You didn't recruit them, you didn't 'discover' them, you literally built 'Angels'.  If you're a HR consultant then I'm Princess Di."
Arthur considered calling her 'Your Highness', but it didn't seem really safe. Ms Jones, a lady in her late forties, walked with a slight limp.  While her skin hinted at Mediterranean ancestry, he sometimes detected a hint of Glasgow in her voice.  Her neat trouser suits implied business practicality not anything resembling glamour.  And she could write an email that'd slice the meat off your bones.
Because he was no fool, Arthur asked for the project brief.  And, the real brief.  It was Stellvia, again.  Attractive young women were required.  Skilled, useful, ones.  Dedicated.  Loyal.  Had he mentioned attractive?  Once or twice he wondered if that was a pitying look Ms Jones gave him.
For a brief, mad, moment he considered starting an 'exotic' recruiting agency.  Employing women who'd given up hope.  Had no self respect.  Wave them into heart-stopping beauty.  Force useful skills into their heads.  But, even he had his limits.  And there was probably a law against it.
OK.  It came down to skills and glamour.  And, he guessed, education.  He wasn't making more Angels.  He'd had a chance to think about it and realised how lucky nothing'd gone badly wrong.  But, glamour.  All those beauty parlours did it. Surely he could come up with something?
Single women.  At least one relevant skill or hobby.  Willing to travel. Eighteen to twenty-five years old.  Physically active.  No major health issues. Who was he?  A 'Big Brother' recruiter?
Self-reliant?  Minimum education?  Driver's license?  He was totally out of his depth, here.  People were just waiting for him to fail.  Loyalty, dedication?  Nothing like the 'Charlie' trick would work again.
Stick to what he knew.  He started with a tanning bed.  There were new regulations, and some of the older beds had been ruled unsafe.  So he got one cheap; he could fix it.
Ms Jones controlled the purse strings, too.  Or, at least, she checked his purchases with an eagle eye.  Insisted on seeing all the original receipts.  Cheap wasn't a problem, but there had to be clean accounts.
A teacher friend his aunt knew.  Mrs O'Hare.  Husband left her, terminally shy.  Almost afraid to leave her own house.  But brilliant at personal instruction, clear English diction, writing and presentation skills.  Supposed trained to be an actress, but ended terrified of audiences.
If he could get it right, he'd get eager girls, sorry, 'young women', sharpen their skills, glam them up (teeth whitening?), and throw them, sorry, 'present them', to Ms Jones.  A bit of a thin plan, but best he could think of.  He needed all the help he could get.
His assistant, 'Rod' he liked to be called, was a youth in his late teens.  Tall, skinny, a slight stammer, and someone who looked at fatty food and sprouted a crop of pimples.  Still, he was good enough to take-over Arthur's TV and electronics repair business, and do most of the simpler work, unsupervised.  A good job, as "Lagrange Recruitment" was taking all his time.
Why him?  He wasn't a business man.  He just liked playing with machines.  What if they found him out?  Still, he'd got a return invite from those science fiction reading students.
Maybe one of them would have a good idea?
--
"It is the business of the future to be dangerous" - Hawkwind

I'm taking a short story writing class now, and the first assignment is a character sketch. I chose to do one on one of my CoX toons. Any feedback would be appreciated.

* * * * *

She's so damnably perfect.

I don't really care that we're all but twins. Dimensionally, I mean. Born to the same parents, same place, different universes. For some reason she's three years older. But still born on the same day. Her mother had a sixteen hour labor. Same as mine. We're all but twins. Same face, hers has more laughter and light. She's a successful stock broker. Going to Paragon U for a Masters in Folk Literature. Nothing like that where I'm from. Sometimes I hate my Primal Self.

“Heya, E, ya never said what you wanted for dinner on Friday. I picked the rest of the week. And not takeout again, please!”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever's fine Brah. I don't really care.” Its how we separate ourselves. Our mothers were insane. (Who names their *daughter* Elizabeth Glorien Jr.?) She gets the childhood nickname. Its her world, after all. “You liked that stuffed pepper recipe, right?” She's still got that Kansas drawl. I don't know when I lost mine.

“Yah. Ya okay with making it? Not gonna torch the baking stone this time?”

“Yes, Brah, I can make it. And I bought you a new one, anyway!” She's got a nice little condo in Skyway. I don't know why I live there. We're too much alike. Have our toothbrushes in the same spot. Use the same shampoo. Like laying on the couch the same way. Sleep on the same side of the bed. (That's one of the messy parts. We get tangled together, sleeping.) I really should move out.

“Ain't I heard that before. Ya good to head to Cim with Miranda later?”

Another rolling of eyes. She's picking out the bell peppers from the tray. Looking over them, feeling for soft spots. I double-blink at the sign that says that they were organicly grown, no help from any Plant 'Trollers. Why would they even...? “I'm good for it, Brahela. There are seven of us in the Acadame going. Someone from Legendary is coming to supervise.” She's in the parent organization. I'm in one of the sub organizations. They do more. Are more active. More MORE, I suppose. “Do you know who its going to be?”

“Mmn. Maybe. Think Eva's got our names, a dartboard, and a few darts. That'll choose.”

Wait. *What?* “You're on the list?”

“Ah'course. I'm on active duty. I listed myself free tonight. Didn't say no when she asked. Think five will be enough? Leftovers for later.”

Five? “The peppers? But what about-? Yes, five are good. Why didn't you tell me before this?” Just because she's so...

“Didn't really think about it. Ya had the Cim venture on the calender. Eva asked for names at the meeting earlier today. We haven't really talked about things today.”

My fault. Running errands for the Acadame. Getting my required contribution out of the way. Auditing some classes. Staying away from her home. From her. One of the reasons I signed on for the outing. Breakfast and lunch were free, but she was like Mom, always wanted dinner to be 'Family'. The Club was free for transit to Cimeroa this evening, and that's what the Headmistress scheduled. “Ahkay...” Damn that stupid accent.

She stops, a couple of limp carrots in hand. She cants her head to the side. Oh, no. Not this again.

Her hug enfolds me. We're the same height, her chin rest over my shoulder as I bury my face in her neck and feel the sting in my eyes.

She's so damn perfect.

So, I haz superhero - basically, Wolverine with gills and armor instaed of a bad temper and metal bones (He's a concept built V&V horsehoe crab Animal Abilities char - Regen, Natural Weapon (bone spikes), Water Breathing, undecided about whether he shifts to armor form or has to wear a manmade suit) but I no haz heroic name. Any suggestions?
--
"Anko, what you do in your free time is your own choice. Use it wisely. And if you do not use it wisely, make sure you thoroughly enjoy whatever unwise thing you are doing." - HymnOfRagnorok as Orochimaru at SpaceBattles
woot Med. Eng., verb, 1st & 3rd pers. prsnt. sg. know, knows

Dang... just got in under the wire on this one.

By the time anyone reads this, the KickStarter will almost certainly be closed.  But the video is still work watching just for the lulz -- possibly the best KS promo video I've seen.

Sirrocco Wrote:And now I have a bizarre little meta-idea of a Sentai show where the Villain is just the black ops arm of the Friendly Local News Station equivalent, and the whole thing is secretly being run as a bizarre form of reality TV show. If you really want to work the deconstruction, the Heroes find out at some point, and the station, in too deep to do anything else, tries to get them to buy into it.

At least when I see the forum, the box beside every post - the one with the poster's ID information - now has five new options: "My Recent Posts", "Message Me", "Blocking", "Ignore User's Posts", and "Report Post". (Except for my own posts - I only see "My Recent Posts" under my own name.)

Who gets the notification if a post is reported?
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012

...and one song from the New Vegas soundtrack really stuck with me.  This one.
http://www.youtube.com/wa..._ibg&feature=related

Suggested Power: Conjure Pistol (What type depends on Doug's knowledge.  The canonical 'big iron' is a Colt SAA with a 10-inch barrel (like this one), which the guy on the original album is carrying, but any Wild West pistol would fit.)
Lyrics:
To the town of Agua Fria rode a stranger one fine day
Hardly spoke to folks around him didn't have too much to say
No one dared to ask his business no one dared to make a slip
for the stranger there among them had a big iron on his hip
Big iron on his hip
It was early in the morning when he rode into the town
He came riding from the south side slowly lookin' all around
He's an outlaw loose and running came the whisper from each lip
And he's here to do some business with the big iron on his hip
big iron on his hip
In this town there lived an outlaw by the name of Texas Red
Many men had tried to take him and that many men were dead
He was vicious and a killer though a youth of twenty four
And the notches on his pistol numbered one an nineteen more
One and nineteen more
Now the stranger started talking made it plain to folks around
Was an Arizona ranger wouldn't be too long in town
He came here to take an outlaw back alive or maybe dead
And he said it didn't matter he was after Texas Red
After Texas Red
Wasn't long before the story was relayed to Texas Red
But the outlaw didn't worry men that tried before were dead
Twenty men had tried to take him twenty men had made a slip
Twenty one would be the ranger with the big iron on his hip
Big iron on his hip
The morning passed so quickly it was time for them to meet
It was twenty past eleven when they walked out in the street
Folks were watching from the windows every-body held their breath
They knew this handsome ranger was about to meet his death
About to meet his death
There was forty feet between them when they stopped to make their play
And the swiftness of the ranger is still talked about today
Texas Red had not cleared leather fore a bullet fairly ripped
And the ranger's aim was deadly with the big iron on his hip
Big iron on his hip
It was over in a moment and the folks had gathered round
There before them lay the body of the outlaw on the ground
Oh he might have went on living but he made one fatal slip
When he tried to match the ranger with the big iron on his hip
Big iron on his hip

Court of Justice of the European Union: http://curia.europa.eu/jcms/upload/docs ... 0094en.pdf]An author of software cannot oppose the resale of his ‘used’ licences allowing the use of his programs downloaded from the internet

In short: If you're in the European Union, and your government has agreed to abide by this decision, then you can sell or give away your downloaded software. (Note that you can't distribute a copy of that software - you have to make your copy unusable once you've transferred the licence to someone else.)

Downloadable software is now completely covered by the "first sale" doctrine in much of Europe. Here's hoping the US and Canadian courts take notice, and follow suit...
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012

That's not a title per se, though. One of the time loops fics had a chapter where the looping Harry did one playing at having had all emotion beaten out of him by the Dursleys, to the point that he couldn't comprehend freinds let alone love, only allies for mutual benefit (Hermione had been accepted under sponsorship or something on the justification that her brilliance would make her useful while his name or his wand would counter social prejudice) just to see the headbastard wince every time he tried to
--
"Anko, what you do in your free time is your own choice. Use it wisely. And if you do not use it wisely, make sure you thoroughly enjoy whatever unwise thing you are doing." - HymnOfRagnorok as Orochimaru at SpaceBattles
woot Med. Eng., verb, 1st & 3rd pers. prsnt. sg. know, knows