Cookie Monster Speaks Truth

A writer calling himself "Cookie Monster" has boiled down the Occupy Wall Street movement to its basics. If you're still unclear on what the protesters want or why they're so upset, listen to the wisdom of the Cookie Monster:

Yes, there always going to be rich and poor. But we used to live in country where rich owned factory and make 30 times what factory worker make. Now we live in country where rich make money by lying about value of derivative bonds and make 3000 times what factory worker would make if factories hadn't all moved to China.

Capitalism great system. We won Cold War because people behind Iron Curtain look over wall, and see how much more plentiful and delicious cookies are in West, and how we have choice of different bakeries, not just state-owned one. It great system. It got us out of Depression, won WWII, built middle class, built country's infrastructure from highways to Hoover Dam to Oreo factory to electrifying rural South. It system that reward hard work and fair play, and everyone do fair share and everyone benefit. Rich get richer, poor get richer, everyone happy. It great system.

Then after Reagan, Republicans decide to make number one priority destroying that system. Now we have system where richest Americans ones who find ways to game system -- your friends on Wall Street -- and poorest Americans ones who thought working hard would get them American dream, when in fact it get them pink slip when job outsourced to 10-year-old in Mumbai slum. And corporations have more influence over government than people (or monsters).

It not about rich people having more money. It about how they got money. It about how they take opportunity away from rest of us, for sake of having more money. It how they willing to take risks that destroy economy -- knowing full well what could and would happen -- putting millions out of work, while creating nothing of value, and all the while crowing that they John Galt, creating wealth for everyone.

That what the soul-searching about. When Liberals run country for 30 years following New Deal, American economy double in size, and wages double along with it. That fair. When Conservatives run country for 30 years following Reagan, American economy double again, and wages stay flat. What happen to our share of money? All of it go to richest 1%. That not "there always going to be rich people". That unfair system. That why we upset. That what Occupy Sesame Street about.

What Is A "Nittany" Lion?

Apparently, it's one with no sense of decency and a penchant for looking the other way. Penn State's Joe Paterno, like other head coaches at other college football mega-powers, had built an empire where his every need was catered to and every decision went unquestioned.

But with great power, as Spider-Man reminds us, comes great responsibility. So when a "freaked-out" grad student went to Joe Pa with a horrific story of pedophilia by a top-level staff member, he needed to do more than just send an email to his "boss," the (now indicted for perjury) athletic director, clap his hands twice and go palms down like a blackjack dealer leaving the table, and step away.

So when Paterno notices that the (alleged) pedophile still has free run of the Penn St. facilities and for years continues to show young boys around the locker room, where was the nagging voice in Paterno's head saying, "hey, did that thing with the grad student get resolved?" Or did he just assume that somebody else took care of it? And there's the failing that Paterno's supporters don't get -- when you are the big dog, with all the adulation, with all the power, with an entire town that worships the ground you walk on, you don't get to assume that somebody else took care of it.

Paterno is not legally liable -- he did not commit any crime. But his moral liability is huge. And it's a shame that after all the years of mentoring and leadership he has demonstrated at Penn St., he and his apologists haven't figured that out.

A Stab At Fiction

All my successful game-designing friends, with only a few exceptions, have become successful by moving out of game design, at least in the traditional pen-and-paper sense. Many have crossed over to computer and video gaming, and others to traditional fiction.

A few years back, I wrote a short little story in my favorite genre -- horror. But I never shared it with anyone until now. I would appreciate some feedback of an honest nature, if you have the time. Here it is:

The Ritual

By Scott Haring

Sebastian stood in the doorway, an impatient frown on his face. “You’re late,” he spat through yellowed teeth as Alford scrambled out of the Jaguar and dashed the few short steps from the driveway to the awning-covered portico, shielding his face from the rain with his newspaper. “Sorry, Master, but in this rain the drivers in this town—“ “There is no time for pitiful excuses,” Sebastian said, turning his back on the younger man. “Timing is critical. I thought you were serious about your training. Perhaps we should delay—“

“No! Please, no, Master,” Alford begged. His face paled and he looked like a frightened 15-year-old beneath the Wall Street suit and perfect hair that labeled him a captain of finance and industry. “I am serious. Tonight I will show you.”

“We shall see, apprentice, we shall see.” Sebastian wore a suit much like Alford’s, though it did not hang nearly as well on his bent, wizened frame. His movements were slowed, to be certain, but they were still sure. In his day, Sebastian bought companies like so many boxes of cereal on the shelf. Presidents and kings sought his counsel, as did other, more shadowy powers. Sometimes, Sebastian would make a suggestion to a world leader without being asked. A wise leader always complied.

Sebastian and Alford walked through several rooms of the mansion to an office. An elegant desk sat at one end atop a fine oriental rug, with leather chairs for an occupant and two guests. The walls were lined with shelves groaning with books and odd bits of bone, jewelry, clockwork constructions, crystals, stuffed and preserved animals, body parts in formaldehyde jars, and more. Alford barely gave it all a second glance as he took one of the guest chairs.

“You have done well … so far,” Sebastian said, leaning forward in his chair. “You have learned to find that which is hidden. You have learned to charm and beguile. You have learned to see what is yet to come. And you have used those advantages to gain a fortune, gain power, gain … personal fulfillment.” Alford thought of the blonde back at his penthouse that afternoon and could not suppress a smile. “But this is not real power. This is just the surface of a deep, dark lake you cannot yet fathom.”

“I know that, Master,” Alford replied, “and while I am most grateful for what you have taught me so far, I am eager to move forward, to grow in my training. I have read many of these books” — he motioned to the shelves surrounding them — “and I know what awaits me.”

“Do you?” Sebastian asked. He reached below the desk and pressed a button. A catch released, and a set of shelves in the back corner of the office swung open. Alford could feel the warm, humid air as it rolled out of the opening, carrying years of dust, mold, and the unmistakable smell of blood.

“You have paid a price for the secrets you have learned, the powers you have obtained,” Sebastian said as he rose from the desk. “But the powers you have are small, easily thwarted, easily taken away. And you haven’t paid much for them.”

“Haven’t paid much?” Alford fumed. “I’ve funneled hundreds of millions to the accounts you’ve set up, and never asked one question about it. I spent eight months under SEC investigation, all to ruin one of your enemies.” “And you were cleared,” Sebastian said calmly. “Do you have any idea how many things I was investigated for in my early days? No, of course you don’t. Because as I gained in power, I was not only able to beat the investigations, I could erase all record they ever occurred. This is the kind of power you are truly seeking.”

The two moved down a softly lit stairway, cut precisely from the bedrock. Alford strained to look, but could not determine the light’s source. “The Dark Ones who give us our power demand a payment, a blasphemy for each boon. The greater the power, the greater the blasphemy must be.”

The pair reached the bottom of the stairs, and stepped into a small room with a marble fireplace at one end and more bookshelves lining the walls. Lit candles ringed the room atop the bookshelves. A black cloth covered the mantelpiece, and a large sheet of plastic covered the floor, directly below the barely conscious man hanging by his wrists in the center of the room.

“Wh-who is he?” asked Alford. “Nobody,” Sebastian said calmly, as he reached behind the man to the mantelpiece, retrieving a dagger, nearly a foot long with a wicked point and slightly s-curved edges. Alford finally took his eyes off the gently moaning man to look at the dagger, and noticed carvings on the handle that matched markings on the abattoir’s wall.

Sebastian handed Alford the dagger. “Take the next step. The greater the blasphemy, the greater the power.”

“As you say, Master,” Alford replied. He took a deep breath, and as the hanging man’s eyes grew wide, Alford spun and plunged the dagger into Sebastian’s chest.

“The greater the blasphemy, the greater the power,” the younger man gloated. But his face turned pale as Sebastian straightened up and, with a wicked grin, pulled the bloodless dagger from his chest. “You understand great blasphemy, apprentice,” he said as small blue balls of light began to form at the five fingertips of his right hand. “But not great power. Not yet.”

The screams echoed through the empty mansion.

--

Sebastian led the woman down the precisely cut stone stairs. “The Dark Ones who give us our power demand a payment, a blasphemy for each boon. The greater the power, the greater the blasphemy must be.” Already the youngest network news anchor ever, she wanted more. But even she was taken aback at the sight of the man dangling by his wrists, still dressed in the Wall Street suit and perfect hair of a captain of finance and industry. “Who is he?” she asked. “Nobody.”

Halloween Report

We live in a pretty classic American suburb, lots of houses packed fairly close together in what 15 years ago was open ranchland. This makes us prime trick-or-treating territory, and the ghouls and goblins did not disappoint.

We don't bother with the door-knocking part of the ritual, because at the peak, the kids show up in a continual stream. Instead, Louise and I just drag a couple of chairs onto the porch and just serve the kids from there. The fun started around 6:15 or so, and was busiest from 6:30 or so to nearly 8:00. By 8:30 the streets were empty, so we packed it in. I'm going to guess that we saw 200 costumed creepies, maybe even more. Louise bought a ton of candy, and we gave nearly all of it away.

There were a lot of cute costumes. Too many princesses and ninjas to count, plus a lot of rubber-masked fangy creatures. Batman and Spider-Man still completely rule the superhero category, and despite their recent movies, we saw only one Captain America and one Iron Man. We didn't see a single Thor or Green Lantern. And there was only one Harry Potter, but he nailed the costume with real, quality clothes, not a cheap store-bought knockoff.

The most disappointing visitors were the older kids who didn't even bother to try. Hey, would a little makeup, or a funny hat, be too much to ask? When I asked them who they were dressed as, the most common response was, "myself." But we had more candy than we needed, so even the no-costume kids got paid off. But I called them out on their lameness as I did it.

All in all, a great night. Beautiful weather, and hundreds of kids having fun. What more could you want?