And the struggles for understanding and presentation grow worse around SL5B.

CodeBastard Redgrave mentions this:

"I have spent 2 lives in SL starting in '04. During those times I spent as a volunteer on many levels. Through this, I valued the true nature of a world owned by its people. SL5B is a turning point where many SL citizens are going to be discriminated against. Therefore, I am bowing out of my management roles for SL5B but will stay within the group to advise only. I am deeply ashamed to be promoting SL5B while others in the community are pushed aside. We are all RL behind the avie.-- Ariel Otafuku."

So that's now two organizers down...

Everett Linden said in a follow-up comment:

Child avatars are welcome at the celebration. However, we do respectfully decline the submissions we received to create exhibits for the event.

Goreans, role-players, and members of the multitude of international communities are all welcome, and I hope you come.

Yes, welcome to attend, but not to participate with builds. I don't see that that's an improvement.

Now, as it stood until May 25th, the blog post was fairly clear on who'd be accepted:

"Who do you hang around with in Second Life? What are your communities’ traditions and signature characteristics? Are you proud of your sexy blue fur? Your excruciatingly detailed tea ceremony? Your murky environments? Your sculptures? The help you’ve given to others?"

The problem seems to have been, what happened after everyone applied, and Representative Mark Kirk started complaining.

Solomon Devoix states:

'"LL, in its infinite wisdom, has forbidden SL 'childrens groups' from having a build/exhibit at the 5th birthday celebration. Oh, child avatars can attend, but they're forbidden to contribute. Way to go, LL. Trying to set new standards for politically correct cowardice?

Speaking of standards... why do the TOS and Community Standards shake the finger at discrimination if LL, the author of those documents, is going to freely engage in it?

Hypocrites and cowards. Every one.'

I do hope that you will give me reason to rescind this statement."

Dusan Writer weighs in with a very effective post on the topic, and the children of Second Life, meanwhile, have decided to hell with all the controversy, they'll have their own celebration.

From the notecard I was sent, since I think it needs a wider audience:

First, the backstory.... in case you haven't heard by now, Linden Lab has decided that including the sl kids communities in the SL5B (second life's 5th birthday) celebration) is too much of a liability (http://dusanwriter.com/?p=536 for more info) and thus, we are not invited to help contribute to the celebration...so we're making our own! Enter the "Kids5B" group! We have decided to get a group together and make something that's going to be even bigger and better--and inclusive of ALL of the SL kids communities!

So now down to business. First of all, THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone that came to the meeting today... it was so incredibly great to hear about everyone's ideas, and after a looooong discussion, I think we finally have a direction to go on. So here's what's going to happen.

As you all know, we have a sim for the event. Here's the link:

Alton Icarus (Editrix note: I can't give out the link here; apparently, as it's not open to the public yet, I can't make SLUrls for it.)

One of the biggest points we kept hearing over and over is that we want to make sure that everyone in the child avi community is represented, so we decided to come up with an idea of having the sim divided into four parts:

a. a BEACH theme. being organized by BOBBY OFFCOURSE.
b. an URBAN theme. organized by RAI FARGIS.
c. a FOREST theme. organized by GABRIEL CANNING and MYRTIL IGALY
d. a VILLAGE and ENTERTAINMENT AREA, organized by KOFFEEKID SMALLS.

there is also the possibilty of a 5th sky area, if there is interest in organizing that, contact me (bobby offcourse) and i'll give you the details. If you're interested in helping out financially, please direct any linden transactions to DANIEL REGENBOGEN (and thank you in advance!). FL0 CALE is coming up with a sweet logo for the group, and LOKI ELIOT is helping with mapping out the areas.

So this is how it's going to work. We are encouraging everyone who possibly can to help out in any possible way, be it building, scripting, or just an idea that you think would be really cool but you don't know how to pull it off yourself, to get in touch with the people listed above. We need both ideas and people to help, build, script, or however else you can get involved. We really want this to be inclusive of ALL of the varied kid avi communities out there, and we need everyone's help to make this happen!

Our goal is to have this sim open at the same time the "other" SL5B celebration, so those dates are 23 June 2008 until 30 June 2008. So we don't have much time. We have a lot to get accomplished and not a lot of time to do it, so we're all going to have to pull together and make this happen--and soon! If you want to stay in the loop (and we hope you do!), search for the "KIDS5B" group and join it. The group also has a blog at http://kids5b.blogspot.com/. Also please pass this notecard around to anyone who might be interested in helping.

We've got a lot of amazing ideas and we really want this to happen, but we can't do it without all of your support!

Another follow-up on how ludicrous the whole concept is from Ars Technica; within a week, bet me, there will be more blog and site buzz than even I can keep up with!

And Vint Falken reminds me there's now a JIRA issue open on the topic. Vote for it, please.

Miss Dagmar Kohime warns us of the dangers of unintentional mushroom consumption: namely, if one is on a horse, and one nibbles unsuspectingly at a toxic fungus, one's horse falls over.

Good to know.

Sir Edward comes through again, this time, with a post of Miss Ordinal Malaprop's that is, as he said, well worth reading.

I cannot help but be reminded of the last doll hysteria that--because there is crossover between playthings, doll forms, and children in presentation--left many of us in a talking circle on Support for Healing, discussing our fears and the (then) coming storm concerning ageplay, child avatars, and dolls as a whole. Many in that circle were outraged; most were simply scared. This was just before Miss Zoe Llewelyn closed Dolltopia, which to this day makes me grit my teeth in frustration over the close-mindedness, from fellow residents and media alike, that provoked her fears so that she felt closing that sim was the only option remaining to her.

She still owns it. She still pays tier on it. She has sworn never to open it. In essence, it is now the constant wound in her side--the peaceful playground she wished to open for the benefit of all dolls and child avatars, forever run aground on the shores of prurient thought and repressive intentions.

I don't think there's a person alive, who values the continuation of the human species in any fashion, who does not believe protecting children is not a good thing to do. But to take the battle for such protection to a place where no true child can come without deceptive intent--to take it to a world populated primarily by adults and, in some extraordinarily rare cases, teens--regardless of avatar appearance--it's specious, it's flawed, it's unreasonable, and may I say it, just plain wrongheaded.

And of all the hosts of reasons why an adult would wish to play as a child, that is at the heart of most of them--that return to innocence. They do not, by and large, wish to be adult brains in tiny bodies, reacting as adults, looking like children...they wish to be children, to forget the pressures of the adult world, to experience their Second Lives free of adult boundaries.

How, in anyone's reality, does that lead to children being exploited? There are no children to exploit, first, and second, the children of Second Life? Do not wish to be exploited, nor to exploit others!

Have we become so emotionally barren, so psychologically stunted, that we cannot see any adult with any child and not think the worst, in this day and age?

Apparently Linden Labs thinks so. And shame on them for being so infuriatingly small-minded. As Miss Malaprop stated, this is a slight which will not be easily forgotten, nor forgiven. By adults and Second Life's children alike.

Continuing from my last post, apparently all this started when Representative Mark Kirk threw a fit over sexual abuse of children in SL. Now, first of all, this is again creating hysteria where none exists--an adult aide tried--and failed, remember--to gain access to SL as a ten-year-old, and then later tried with the same address "pretending" to be eighteen--and created an account. Whereupon she apparently went straight to some inordinately tacky locale that made Hard Alley look sweet and frothy.

Okay, let's talk virtual violation for a bit. I don't bring it up a great deal, but--by the standards of such things--I have been 'raped' twice on the grid. Now, while both of these were emotionally damaging incidents, the control to participate or not in such scenarios was in my hands. I could have ported away. I could have left the grid. I did neither, because I was caught up in the roleplay, but I could have.

Any adult who goes through such experiences on the grid shares some of the culpability. Note, I am not saying that virtual rape is equivalent--it's harmful, sure, but it's not reality--to actual, and by another extension, I'm not saying it's perfectly fine and those who have experienced darker things on the grid should just 'walk it off', so to speak.

What I am saying is that any adult who knowingly enters such areas should not be shocked by what they find. And the last they should do is think first, "OMG TEH CHILDREN".

Now here's the statement that may get me lynched, but I'm standing by it--any underage person, male or female, who enters the grid under age deception, and then finds themselves in a sexual situation? They are also responsible.

Let me say that again, because it sounds vaguely important: ANY child who knowingly seeks out adult material--on the grid, on the web, on the streets--shares culpability for those actions. This is not someone sending heated emails to a child when the child's just looking for that cute balloon game on the net. I'm talking...well, let's bring up Samanthaa.

Samanthaa was a young woman who wanted to be a stripper and escort at Enigma, back when I was manager. She talked in a very young fashion, and I had concerns that she wasn't eighteen. So did some of the gentlemen who hung out at the club, who started digging. They discovered she was not the nineteen she claimed to be, but actually thirteen.

I banned her from Enigma lands, told her why, and the gentleman who'd discovered this reported her to the Labs. This is the standard practice.

She came back with an alt account. Begged us not to report her. Begged us for a job.

We said no, and banned that account from accessing the club. When next heard from, she'd gotten some job stripping at a beach resort somewhere. I didn't contact the beach resort; one of the other managers did. Haven't heard from her since, but I'm fairly sure she's probably still on the grid, somewhere.

Is this a child being unduly harmed by sexual experiences? Maybe, but she's seeking them out. Are there underage people on the adult grid? Yes, sure--they've stolen their parents' information, they've falsified their ages, and the Labs are steadily resolving these situations, much better, by the way, than most truly adult sites on the web do! This is more than a tempest in a teapot, this is a completely falsified, hysterical bleating for no reason. When directly asked, Representative Kirk could not name one single child who had been sexually exploited on SL. Not one.

On top of everything else? SignpostMarv Martin has withdrawn from all participation in SL's fifth anniversary.

This is getting insane. Yet again, the Labs are caving under pressure and making the entirely wrong decisions.

I'll keep you posted.

Ooh, some of these make my fingers itch with the desire to pick up a riveter and recreate them on the grid...Lovely little pieces. Tip of the geared hat to the Consulate crew, and/or Miss Davies, for bringing it to my attention.

Other Consulate-related news (sorta): it seems at Boomtown's grand opening, a certain Keenly Valiant was seen? Damn, I thought Steelhead had gotten rid of the clown for good. Can anyone confirm this?

In other, far more dire news: Child avatars are banned from building anything for the fifth anniversary celebration of Second Life.

Think I'm kidding? Think again. This is so far beyond disheartening. And the weirdest part of all of it--according to Robin Linden, child avatars will be allowed to attend, just not present.

Now, I'm the first to admit--I'm not a member of the SL child community. But I am an outspoken advocate of SL's doll community, and--not surprisingly--many dolls are either short, childlike in appearance, or actually structured as children.

My first dollform was just over four feet tall. My Unseelie pixie form--designed as an adult--is approximately three feet tall. And I will also admit, the last time the protests raged, I restructured my doll form to be taller and more curvaceous, because it unnerved me that people would think my doll was a child.

Now, these were the sim rules; supposedly there have been no posted changes. But this is--apparently, by report--change coming from the highest levels.

All sims will carry PG content, we are told, no child avatar builds, we are told. What's next?

All I know is, SL's well on its way to becoming NeoPets, at this point.

How come I'm getting simulator messages again? "The region you have entered is running a different simulator version. Click this message for details." Did I miss an announcement somewhere? It's coming up everywhere.

And this is what all the mushrooms (currently) growing in Caledon, Lovelace and Winterfell look like. Tip of the very nice hat to Mr. Szondi, Jagermeister, for his arduous hours spent collecting.

Also, what possesses some people to put glow on everything? Little accent details, I can see. Lamps, sure, that's a gimme. But what about the places rife with coruscating glowfire from crystalline struts, and beam-in points "enhanced" by shimmering radiant light?

Like Diamond Cove, f'rinstance:



This pic really doesn't do the port-in justice--not only is the port point bubbled in high-power iridescent blue light, but it causes a glimmery nearly-moire effect on the crystals beyond the port point, as seen through the bubble-glow. It's intimidating.

Or the latest revision of Deviant Kitties' main hair stop now:



Miss Helanwye seems to have gone for a sort of rotating-circle theme, only each ring glows, and not just glows--but some of them are split into lines with what seems for all the world like glowing, moving beads of light along each ring-circle--and I just don't get why.

There's just no good reason for it, damn it, save to blind people. I don't understand.

In other news, there's a rather nice little kimono place in Zoq. I don't know how well the obis tie around the waist; I do know nothing in the shop is over fifty Lindens, and that the kimono sets look just as good without the obi sash. While I much prefer the work of Miss Cherry Tokyo and Miss "Snails" Sellery, the prices at Apocalips are reasonable to an insane extent.

And there's a lovely freebie gown at Akaesha which is worth checking out.

Most of tonight was again spent working on the Consulate building; at this point I'm merely grateful that they have the building stage one in place, while the next revision (we're now up to Consulate 3.0) is being completed. But the upstairs ballroom is starting to look really stellar, and we have split offices taking up the back of the upper floor, with some unique little details I think the Baron will be quite pleased with.

Now, if we can only manage to deliver it somewhat soon...

In other news of things I should be doing soon, I've now tapped out my contacts for alcohol scripting, and I'm torn in two directions--one, ask the large distillers, folks like Divivity and CAS, or post a notice on the forums. What Frau Lowey wants for der Hut des Jaegers is specific, yes; but it shouldn't be, overall, insanely difficult.

I'll consider more, because we need--I need--to start advertising that place more, at the very least to give the growing number of Jaeger soldiers on the grid something to do that doesn't involve fighting!

With anything but their constitutions, anyway.

Why don't you ask the kids at Tiananmen Square
Was fashion the reason why they were there?

It's been an odd few days. I'd like to describe it more concretely, but...that's really what it boils down to.

Odd few days.

They disguise it, hypnotize it
Television made you buy it



There are now twenty-eight official species across three conjoined lands--various spots in Caledon, Winterfell, and one deeply thicketed patch of Lovelace.

I'm just sitting in my car and waiting for my...



Remind me, next time I think the World's Cutest Underworld God sounds like a fun avatar? To not buy it.

It's toxically adorable.

She's scared that I will take her away from there
dreams that her country left her with no one there



Mushroom hunting of an evening, when suddenly, the grid skewed sideways. It was odd and deranged, there seemed to be no position I could put my camera in that would cause the lines and bars to leave.

Mesmerize the simple minded
Propaganda leaves us blinded



After a while, I was less worried, and more intrigued. Purple, grey, moss-green, cobalt blue--all banded through with black, and sometimes, planed fields of solid smoke-black, curiously velvety in appearance. How far would this go?

I'm just sitting in my car and waiting for my girl
I'm just sitting in my car and waiting for my girl
I'm just sitting in my car and waiting for my girl



Ultimately, it finally became too disorienting to stay, and I was off. Still puzzles me; I've had visual oddities affect photographs I've taken; I've had splashes of odd lines, "UVOs" (unidentified visual objects) across the visual field; but never had I moving transitory patches that flickered and changed radically.

Disturbing.

I'm just sitting in my car and waiting for my...girl



Seen on the Isle of Lesbos. Amazing, truly amazing thing. Gorgeously detailed. Inexplicably parked in girl central. But lovely for all of that.

I stood and listened to the waters lap at the sides of the wooden frame and contemplated dichotomy.

I'm just sitting in my car and waiting for my...girl

Odd few days. Hunting and not finding, discovering and challenging, disturbing news and pleasant tale telling. More in the life to reflect upon and resolve.

As always, we'll see how it goes. It's how I do things, after all, and it's worked out fairly well so far.

(Lyrics are System of a Down's "Hypnotize".)

First there was New York Times coverage. Then came another side of the story. Both, I think, are worth reading.



And I don't normally do this, but I'm finding Akira Yamaoka's soundtracks to Silent Hill rather ideal as music-to-build-by. So if you care to, flip through the various links, and take what you want. You can also find fan information, interviews, screenshots, soundtracks and more from a host of other horror games.



back to contemplating safe spaces again
defining safety
defining protection
I leave my gates open
I plant poppies next to the gate
but I want to wrap barbed wire around the stems



poppies have no protection
soporific influence at best
addiction and deception but
never capable of attack
roses have their thorns
thistles have their spines
poppies just have their petals and beauty



wayward things, poppies
bend in every breeze
giving, forgiving
I have more metal in my heart
I forgive so rarely
I want to, I need to
but it doesn't happen
nearly as often as it should



think on sharpening each stake
that lines the fencing
electrodes at every ten paces
tipping the sparking metal
with shining razorwire
but I'll do none of it
because it's more important
to be open
than to be protected



it's more important
to receive
with empty hands to show no ill intent
than to guard
against interlopers
intruders
and those who mean harm



at least for now
and much
as I might have it otherwise

Meet Mr. Oddblob Sodwind.



Born in November of 2006, there's vanishingly little on his profile to give any indication of who he is.

He arrives in Glidden, where we had quite the chummy little build party going, and immediately starts in making himself a sedate, yet irritating presence.

[22:01] MystiTool HUD 1.0.23: Entering chat range: OddBlob Sodwind (5m)
[22:01] Ysera Nyanda: you are cruisin right along...oh geez I wish my inventory was down to 38k
[22:02] Emilly Orr grins
[22:02] You: I start to panic the closer to 40K I get :)
[22:02] You: Which is sad, considering I keep importing textures and making things :p
[22:02] Ysera Nyanda: 46k here..lol I'm afraid to touch it lol

We notice the clown in our midst.



[22:04] Fawkes Allen: So uh
[22:05] Fawkes Allen: Friend, or Griefer?
[22:05] You: Gah
[22:05] OddBlob Sodwind: Just resting
[22:05] You: ooookay

I had to leave for a bit, do some sorting and organizing of a different nature, and when I returned, there was no clown in sight.

[22:11] Imandra Wycliffe: yay scary clown left
[22:11] Ysera Nyanda: yuh
[22:12] Imandra Wycliffe: i wonder how long we've been here.
[22:12] Imandra Wycliffe: lol
[22:12] Ysera Nyanda: lol
[22:12] Imandra Wycliffe: i'll brb i'll rez new platform

Now, if it's not clear, Miss Imandra and Miss Ysera are lovely people, but they are mainlanders. They tend to rely on that catchphrase of ages, "lol". Still, it was odd. Made me desperately wish I'd been building in Caledon, yet...he wasn't actually *doing* anything.

Well...until he crucified himself.



[22:27] MystiTool HUD 1.0.23: Entering chat range: OddBlob Sodwind (15m)
[22:28] Imandra Wycliffe: jesus christ
[22:28] Imandra Wycliffe: cant take a hint much?
[22:28] You: Well, or maybe he really means it
[22:28] Imandra Wycliffe: lol
[22:28] You: He can't speak English.
[22:29] OddBlob Sodwind: *** ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED ?!
[22:29] OddBlob Sodwind:
[22:29] OddBlob Sodwind:
[22:29] OddBlob Sodwind: *** ARE
[22:29] OddBlob Sodwind: *** YOU
[22:29] OddBlob Sodwind: *** NOT
[22:29] OddBlob Sodwind: *** ENTERTAINED ?!
[22:29] OddBlob Sodwind:
[22:29] OddBlob Sodwind:
[22:29] Fawkes Allen: I think his response to us the first time is proof enough he can and is just a moron looking for kicks.
[22:29] OddBlob Sodwind: *** IS THIS NOT WHY YOU'RE HERE ?!
[22:29] You: Some of us have deeper purposes, Mr. Sodwind.

It was surreal. We pondered the nature of human irritation, griefing, and strange clownlike figures.

[22:32] Emilly Orr looks over at the clown on the cross
[22:32] You: Why do I think he and Stiv would really hit it off?
[22:33] Imandra Wycliffe: lol
[22:33] OddBlob Sodwind: Chocolate rain...
[22:33] Imandra Wycliffe: oh god.
[22:33] OddBlob Sodwind: Chocolate rain...
[22:34] OddBlob Sodwind: Chocolate rain = High insurance rates
[22:34] OddBlob Sodwind: Mmmmm....Chocolate.

Now, I admit, this was mystifying to me. Actual brown rain.

Though to all our credit, he did say it was chocolate, not...anything else.

[22:36] You: I have to admit, I'm very nearly impressed
[22:36] OddBlob Sodwind: Thank you
[22:36] You: It's a terrible thing to do to the sim, but it's a pretty wide-ranging effect
[22:36] OddBlob Sodwind: I mean no harm
[22:36] OddBlob Sodwind: If I did, you'd be dead
[22:36] You: Gosh, thanks
[22:37] OddBlob Sodwind: In a virtual way of course
[22:37] OddBlob Sodwind: I wouldn't actually kill you
[22:37] Imandra Wycliffe: do you ever wonder why you don't have any friends?
[22:37] Imandra Wycliffe: cuz i can clue you in.

He built a large, extraordinarily phallic set of pink plywood cylinders. We were not overly impressed.

[22:42] You: Extraordinarily unsubtle, that is
[22:42] Imandra Wycliffe: fawkes kept orbiting him
[22:42] You: And really, not the best way to ask girls for dates
[22:42] Imandra Wycliffe: he kept coming back

He sat down and drew closer to us once more.

[22:46] Imandra Wycliffe: he just gave me a picture. i'm afraid to look.
[22:47] Fawkes Allen: Should go send the clown to him, he'd appreciate it
[22:47] You: I'm sure.
[22:47] You: What was the pic?
[22:47] MystiTool HUD 1.0.23: Entering chat range: OddBlob Sodwind (17m)
[22:47] Imandra Wycliffe: i'm afraid to look.
[22:47] Fawkes Allen: Me and Mandy
[22:47] You: Aww
[22:47] You: A romantic stalker
[22:47] Imandra Wycliffe: awww now that's sweet.
[22:47] You: That's so sweet
[22:47] Imandra Wycliffe: lol
[22:47] OddBlob Sodwind: See? I give you gift!
[22:47] Imandra Wycliffe: thank you mr. scary clown?



[22:48] You: I know the orange chair has relevance
[22:48] You: But I see no cabbage
[22:48] Imandra Wycliffe: hahaha
[22:48] You: So it can't be a French film thing
[22:48] OddBlob Sodwind: oui
[22:48] Fawkes Allen: That doesn't quite mean we don't want you to still shoo.
[22:48] OddBlob Sodwind: Or is it "wee" I can never remember
[22:48] You: Oh, not speaking of which
[22:48] You: God died again

I'm still waiting to see if God forgets who he is for a fourth time, and surfaces with yet another last name...

[22:52] OddBlob Sodwind: I was trying to avoid it
[22:52] OddBlob Sodwind: You sort of forced me into it
[22:52] Imandra Wycliffe: i wasn't talking to you
[22:52] You: Now, normally, I am not a violent person, but I'm seriously getting tempted to track down my brain chip.
[22:52] You: So what's on your mind, sir?
[22:52] OddBlob Sodwind: Nothing. I just do THIS

He moved into the couch at this point, positioning rather close to my head.

[22:52] You: And what does THIS accomplish?
[22:53] Emilly Orr raises an eyebrow
[22:53] You: You just wanted to sit next to me?
[22:53] You: Why is it always me?
[22:54] OddBlob Sodwind: No
[22:54] OddBlob Sodwind: The whole thing
[22:54] You: The whole thing?
[22:54] OddBlob Sodwind: Don't flatter yourself
[22:54] You: What, you mean on the couch?
[22:54] OddBlob Sodwind: It has nothing to do with you
[22:54] You: Well, that's a relief, in a sense
[22:54] Imandra Wycliffe: again....do you wonder why you don't have friends? cuz i can tell you.

Eventually, we had to leave. It wasn't that he was being vile, it was just he wouldn't go away. Nothing to call the JLU out for, just...low-level irritation. Less poison oak, more swarm of mosquitos level.

Just...odd.

Are we not amused? No, not particularly. Maybe we've become too jaded for clown crucifixion and clown chair dancing to affect us. Is this a problem? It's not like we're yawning at puppies being kicked to death. We're yawning at clowns dancing in cages and summoning chocolate rain.

Maybe we have lost something...but damned if I'm going all Rainbow-Brite to get it back.

It's not that usual when everything is beautiful
It's just another ordinary miracle today

The Bashful Peacock held a Prom. The theme was May Flowers, and for some reason, I was actually worried about attire. I perused the offerings of several Caledonian and non-Caledonian designers, before making my decision--bright cheerful colors for the Early Bird version, elegant monochrome for the evening--and then it was down to shoes and accessories.

Black pearls I had by happy accident, but what to wear with the pink satin dress? And the longer time went on, the more I decided I didn't particularly favor the bodice.

The sky knows when it's time to snow
You don't need to teach a seed to grow
It's just another ordinary miracle today

I ended up over at Adam & Eve's, looking over Damen's incredible shoes, so when Wonder Girl called to deliver me the JLU emergency signal--with any luck, to help with future mass-griefing accidents at Rivula and elsewhere--I thought nothing of bringing her in.

She agreed with me; the bodice had to go. But replace it with what? I searched frantically through my inventory, trying to find something that would properly pair with pink watered silk.

Life is like a gift, they say
Wrapped up for you every day
Open up and find a way
To give some of your own

I finally decided to make my own, and to hell with the consequences.



To the first Bashful Peacock Prom, I wore the flex skirt and the underskirt from Victoria V's, and the glitch pants; I threw together the bodice, gloves, sash and jacket (with its large ametrine cabochon to hold it closed), and the stockings, and slipped into a pair of Damen's Volar pumps, which were surprisingly easy to dance in.

Isn't it remarkable?
Like every time a raindrop falls
It's just another ordinary miracle today

Her Grace the DJ-ing Duchess had a ball pulling together the set list; music from Proms from the twenties to the nineties, and beyond. And we happily danced, rejoicing in spring, and dance, and friendship.

Birds in winter have their fling
And always make it home by spring
It's just another ordinary miracle today

Then I fell off the grid for a bit, clawed my way back in, and reported to the Marzipan Teahouse, for beautifully vintage tunes provided by Lady Soliel Snook.



It was the epitome of teahouse dances, once some technical difficulties had been resolved; elegant surroundings, polite dancing, and a small horde of women discussing hats and haberdashery.

As an interesting complement, Miss Reghan Straaf attended, and her timing was perfect--I had just passed out landmarks to Hatpins, her establishment in Caledon Downs, to four of the women there, and--as I was again wearing green--rummaged for and threw on the emerald Lady Persephone hat she'd tinted for me, a Herculean effort that she pulled off seemingly effortlessly.

She's so talented.

When you wake up every day
Please don't throw your dreams away
Hold them close to your heart
'Cause we are all a part
Of the ordinary miracle

Then it was another quick-change and into the monochrome of leopard spots, white and black silk, scattered with dark embroidered blooms. Simple (granted, 1940's vamps) black shoes, black stockings, and the aforementioned black pearls completed the look, and off I went to meet with Mr. Gilbert Sapwood to host the evening Prom at the Peacock.

I wish I had pictures of the second event. So many people came. It was nothing short of phenomenal. We relived past proms and touched on future joys, discussed the music, love and celebration, tossed the storyteller supreme offbeat requests which he capably and joyously played for us--it went, in a word, stunningly.

Ordinary miracle
Do you want to see a miracle?

For both events, the Prom committee had created a raised, tinted glass floor, over blooming tulips and wildflowers, and it was like dancing on air. There was a bit of a trick to figure it out, but once accomplished, it seemed the perfect thing.

It seems so exceptional
Things just work out after all
It's just another ordinary miracle today

Mayor Littleblackduck Lindsay showed up in very small squirrel form, and to be honest, watching him rotate around the dancefloor chanting "WHEEE" was half the joy of attending. But by and large, it managed to be the best of times, without all the traditional Prom agony.

I think we're more than looking forward to doing this again.

The sun comes up and shines so bright
It disappears again at night
It's just another ordinary miracle today



I'd like to leave you with a bit of nostalgia on my own. It seems impossible, but this was an image taken from my introduction to Caledonian society, at the Guvnah's Ball, January 2007.

I was nervous and wary and somewhat scared, everything I wasn't for the Bashful Peacock Ball. I'd heard tales of the prim and proper Caledonians, and, being that I was just another working girl from Steelhead--and that meant literally--I had no idea what my reception would be.

I'd even panicked on appearing in my traditional neko form, and decided to go human--again, out of nerves and fear.

It's just another ordinary miracle today

I shouldn't have worried. I spent a lovely bit of the evening talking to Lady Amber, and Miss Cornelia Rothschild; danced with Edward Pearse, who'd invited me (and what a transition that's been, hasn't it? From Edward Pearse, bachelor and tailor, to his Grace Lord Argylle, Sir Edward Pearse, happily successful and happily married); shared a spin with Miss Qlippothic Projects; and, for the most part, managed to subdue enough nerves to have a very pleasant evening indeed.

Is it Caledon that's changed, or just me? While there are still staid and prim regions, for the most part my social set in Caledon (when I'm not holed up in some small studio building, and never did I think I'd understand enough about building to craft clothes and scattered ephemera for a living) comprises gentles from all walks of life, all social levels, united by two driving principles: invention, and amusement. Dark Victorians, steampunk souls, DJs and dilettantes, artists and architects, tailors and tiny ecoterrorists.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Ordinary miracles indeed.

(Lyrics are from Sarah McLachlan's Ordinary Miracle.)

Feels like I'm standing in a timeless dream
Of light mists, of pale amber rose
Feels like I'm lost in a deep cloud of heavenly scent
Touching, discovering you

I knew it was going to be early. I knew because of that I'd mostly be alone. And I was fine with that, really; I had a great time, though Mr. Woodget and her Grace, Duchess Gabrielle did take pity on my poor pink satined self and dance with me a few sets each.

Those days of warm rain come rushing back to me
Miles of windless summer nights
Secret moments shared within the heat of the afternoon
Out of the stillness, soft spoken words
(say it, say it again)

I admit, though...I spent so much time angsting over the dress, the shoes, the proper adornments--I actually wore a rhinestone-and-amethyst tiara, can you believe it? Wonder Girl of all people showed up to help me decide on the proper pair of Damen Gorilla shoes to polish the outfit off...

I love you always forever
Near or far, closer together
Everywhere I will be with you
Everything I will do for you

So of course, I got to the prom and I was thinking of my loves.

Inevitable, really.

You've got the most unbelievable blue eyes I've ever seen
You've got me almost melting away
As we lay there
Under a blue sky with pure white stars
Exotic sweetness, a magical time
(say it, say it again)

Even then, I was okay until Savage Garden came on--Truly Madly Deeply and oh, I was missing Fawkes completely. And Neome, but to be fair, Savage Garden? Is sort of an 'us' band.

I might need to ask about, see if there's an 'us' band for Neome and I.

Say you'll love and love me forever
Never stop, never whatever
Near and far and always everywhere and every(thing)

Still and all, it was a lovely prom. And plans to be a lovely one still tonight--if you want to relieve your prom, and have no plans this evening, consider coming by the Bashful Peacock. It's open to all, Victorian or prom attire preferred, and we plan to have another few hours of wonderful memories and wonderful dances! Do come if you can.

(Lyrics are Donna Lewis' "I Love You Always Forever")

He kisses me, his lips gentle on my skin, and shakes his head.

"Won't do any good to suggest you just mute him and move on?" he asks.

I smile softly, shaking my head, my fingers tracing patterns along his arms.

No, no it won't.

The first person I ever muted on the grid had made a habit of coming in drunk to the Enigma. She started off just giggly and unable to speak, but as the weeks went by, she went from giggling and incoherent to screaming for sex on the dance floor.

The night she tore her clothes off in front of her current boy-toy--and fifteen wide-eyed patrons of the club--I banned her on the spot, and muted her so I couldn't hear the obscenities she screamed at me. I banned her friend, the woman who'd urged her on, for good measure.

That one came back in the form of an alt and begged me to let her friend back in. I tried to explain what we did and didn't allow in the Enigma, and she kept asking. Saying, she's going through a bad patch right now...If you knew you'd understand...Please, I know she's out of control, I'll watch her...

Three hours of talking in IM, and I finally nodded my head. All right, I told her, but you will watch her, and the minute she steps a foot over the line--you're both gone again.

In the meantime, I continued, you have a seventy-two hour ban. That, I'm not budging on.

She agreed to everything, and three days later, they came back, cowed and quiet. She got giggly again, a few times, but didn't paint the air blue, and never lost her clothes again. And onward we went.

He doesn't understand. I know. He tries, but...Maybe he does, maybe I'm not giving him enough credit. All I know is, he wants me to turn away, and...it's ever been my failing, the holding on.

I'm learning. It's almost like slowly smothering part of me, but maybe it's a necessary thing. The holding on has held me back more than once, from moving on, from moving forward, from doing what I need to do. Being who I need to be.

I don't want that to happen again.

I've been shot in the face and blown up with explosives by Blue Boy VIPs; I've been caged by members of the former Barbie Club; I've been trapped in a bear-jaw trap and left to struggle my way free by Club Arsheba dancers. I've been collared by DJs and drained by demons and chained to walls for hours by clients.

None of them ever made the mute list.

He sighs a lot. Tells me it would be easier. And I know it would be. One click of a button and walk away. There would be an end to things.

Never more to know or fret or worry about what he's going to say, how he's going to say it; when he's going to reach out and contact me again; never more any sort of relationship, even one so strained and uneven.

To admit that there's nothing more the other can say, to make things better, to apologize, to listen to my apologies; to understand that no words can ever make what went wrong, right; to say, even if only to myself, that the other is effectively dead to me (for in general, the dead do not communicate)...that earns a position on the mute list.

Nothing else does.

I didn't even mute God, when he sent me that horrific picture of the girl with the alligators.

(Though, I admit, I was mightily tempted.)

In the end he just holds me, and lets me do what I think is right, even if it's not what he would do. He worries, though. And maybe he's right to worry. Maybe I should turn away from all contact.

Or maybe it's not time yet. Maybe it's a test, even if it's only one I'm setting myself. How much am I willing to let go, before I can't recognize myself anymore? And is that good or bad?

Is the person I'm growing into going to be more understanding or less? Is it better or worse for me to keep holding on? Is it better or worse for me to turn away, refuse, deny, refute...stop listening?

The vampire princeling is still on my list. So's the DJ, and the demonic once-fiance, though he's sailed far from the grid, investigating other things. Maybe that's what I should do, one of these days...go through, and remove every name for which my only tie is once-love, not current love...remove everyone for whom nostalgia is the only bind, and not even friendship remains.

I'm not sure I could do that either. But I might have to try.

That may be, in fact, the start of the next test. I wonder if I'll pass...

[22:35] Stiv Acker: I LIVE
[22:35] Stiv Acker: I HUNGER
[22:36] Stiv Acker: BEWARE
[22:37] Emilly Orr: What?
[22:37] Emilly Orr: You died AGAIN??

So...wait...God reincarnated on this plane...and then...had his account die a second time?!?

How in the hell does this keep happening to him?

Either that, or he has the password memory of a guppy. Sheesh.

On the other hand, Miss Straaf's opening of Hatpins went quite well:



So many people came to celebrate millinery, haberdashery, and creative innovation, besides. The music was scrumptious, the hats irresistable, and a very pleasant evening it was, dancing to Celtic music, Britpop and old wave, and bagpipe selections new and old.

Miss Reghan Straaf has a truly lovely selection of vintage ladies' hats, from simple dyed straw and ribbon affairs, perfect for Sunday walks, all the way up to exotic frothy affairs festooned with roses and peacock feathers. I'll try to capture shots of the four I now have later on.

In the meantime, if you'd like to go see them for yourself (and yes, gentlemen, she does make mens' hats also!), just click here for the SLUrl and go see! You won't regret it.

I first knew there was a problem when I couldn't take my AO box back, from where it sat (and still sat, up to nearly half an hour ago) on the ground of our Morgaine sky studio. An hour and a half later, of frustratedly trying to take my AO back, or attach another AO, or in fact retrieve any prim I'd set out or made...

At this point? I was waiting for the Lindens to tell us what we already knew--that the grid, in particular the asset server system, was failing again.

[21:22] You: Oh....drat.
[21:22] You: It's saying, it can't reset the scripts now, there aren't any.
[21:23] Fawkes Allen: You're missing one
[21:23] Asset server didn't respond in a timely fashion. Object returned to sim.
[21:23] Fawkes Allen: The Interface is there
[21:23] Fawkes Allen: Not the core
[21:23] You: Hell
[21:23] You: We're having asset server issues again
[21:23] Fawkes Allen: And there it is
[21:23] Fawkes Allen: Now try
[21:24] Asset server didn't respond in a timely fashion. Object returned to sim.
[21:24] Fawkes Allen: Well now...
[21:24] You: This?
[21:24] You: Not good

And it wasn't. I couldn't attach any AO I owned. I couldn't attach *any* version of an AO; I couldn't even change my shoes.

[21:30] Asset server didn't respond in a timely fashion. Object returned to sim.
[21:31] You: Ooookay.
[21:31] Emilly Orr glares at the AO on the ground
[21:31] You: Bastards. They *said* they fixed this. They LIED!

I mean, okay, maybe they genuinely felt the two-hour total grid shutdown and reset would fix the problem. I have no way of knowing.

All I know is, when it failed, it failed. Things stopped rezzing. One woman was stuck, unable to transport; a friend tossed her a port to get her free; she ended up one thousand meters up, with nothing underneath her but air.

And her flight scripts failed. She had the wonderful experience of plummeting from great height to the ground.

[21:36] You: Right, then.
[21:36] You: No AO for tonight.
[21:37] Unable to create requested object. Please try again.
[21:37] Unable to create requested object. Please try again.
[21:37] Fawkes Allen: No nothing for tonight

And then the confusing drop-down messages started. This was the first one:

[21:41] Second Life:

I'm not kidding. A blue drop-down system update that just said: Second Life:.

No, really.



Then, not that far later:

[22:02] Second Life:

It said it again.

Eventually, someone at the Labs got the notice system to work, and nearly an hour later, we got this message:

[22:57] Second Life: Logins are Linden-only while Operations repairs the asset system. Please do not attempt valuable transactions, and watch http://status.secondlifegrid.net for updates.
[22:57] Fawkes Allen: An actual message!
[23:01] You: Hmm
[23:01] You: Is this an improvement?

I wasn't entirely convinced it was. But this is a measure of addiction, or devotion, or insanity...maybe all three...many of us stayed in. Gritting our teeth the entire time, but we were hoping they'd find a way to fix things.

Then came something I don't think I'd ever read before--a message from the Lindens, unsigned, that sounded rushed, panicked, and apologetic. Interesting...

[23:30] Second Life: Ok we think we've figured out what the problem was that was keeping the asset cluster from coming back up after crashing. We're gonna check a couple more things and reboot the cluster one more time to make sure it's stable; please continue to refrain from transactions until we shout the all clear.
[23:32] Emilly Orr laughs hysterically

And, not very long at all, all things considered, after that--they called the All Clear:

[23:47] Second Life: [ALL CLEAR] Logins are open and the asset system is stabilized.
[23:48] Emilly Orr tries to take her A0 back

Well, I was able to take my AO back. That was the good news.

The bad news? What I spent the next ninety minutes of my life doing: namely, completely rebuilding my AO from scratch with a new case, new scripts, and the remaining poses and animations I was able to transfer over.

That's two AO losses I've suffered when the asset server section went tits-up.

But they say it's fixed now.

We'll see how long it lasts...

looking down on empty streets, all she can see
are the dreams all made solid
are the dreams all made real

Safety. Safe places. Protected places. The need for them, the illusion of them.

Is any place truly safe, that is part and parcel of the world delusion?

all of the buildings, all of those cars
were once just a dream
in somebody's head

Safety in numbers, safety alone. Safe in someone's arms. Safe behind glass, safe behind walls. Held safe, kept safe. Wrapped and tucked and stored away, far beyond the reach of unsafe things.

she pictures the broken glass, she pictures the steam
she pictures a soul
with no leak at the seam

How safe is too safe?

How safe do we make ourselves, before we are no longer capable of risk at all? How important is risk if it means leaving the safe spaces?

How dangerous is risk if it means we have to allow unsafe things closer?

let's take the boat out
wait until darkness
let's take the boat out
wait until darkness comes

Safety and risk. The two-sided coin, the twin-edged dagger, spinning dangerously through still morning air. How safe can we be if we're armed?

When is it truth, and when does the truth fail? How safe is safety if it's only an illusion in the first place?

How safe do we feel when our safety relies on self-deception to be retained?

How do we know it's truth? How do we know it's safe?

nowhere in the corridors of pale green and grey
nowhere in the suburbs
in the cold light of day

No one ever said we couldn't lie to ourselves. But how reliable are our truths if they're based on lies? The lie of safety...how do we know it's a lie? The need for safety...

How much are we willing to sacrifice?

there in the midst of it so alive and alone
words support like bone

Held out at arm's length, thus far and no further. No closer. No, it's not safe, we're not safe.

You're not safe.

How do we know?

dreaming of Mercy Street
wear your inside out
dreaming of mercy
in your daddy's arms again
dreaming of Mercy Street
swear they moved that sign
dreaming of mercy
in your daddy's arms

How close can we come if we, ourselves, hold danger within?

How can we keep our danger contained? How do we make ourselves safe again?

How do we blunt the sharp edges of the world, and still keep moving, keep learning, keep our faces turned to light and sky?

Or do we withdraw entirely? That which is unseen cannot be threatened. That which is invisible cannot be attacked.

pulling out the papers from the drawers that slide smooth
tugging at the darkness, word upon word

But that which has no presence cannot be in the world. That which cannot find the light cannot grow.

What cost, then, safety? If it removes us from all things?

confessing all the secret things in the warm velvet box
to the priest--he's the doctor
he can handle the shocks

Security. Protection. Intervention. Safety.

The turbulence of words through open air. The pulling back. The turning away. No is the ultimate refusal, but is it enough? Is saying no, meaning no, the only protection? Is it safe to fight back? Is it safe to withdraw?

dreaming of the tenderness--the tremble in the hips
of kissing Mary's lips

Open our hearts, open our doors, open our homes...but then our hearts, our homes, our safe places are no longer safe. These things can then be hurt, wounded, attacked, destroyed. They are no longer secure. They can no longer be walled away.

So what price safety? What price security? Is any interaction, all interactions, food for destruction to come?

dreaming of Mercy Street
wear your insides out
dreaming of mercy
in your daddy's arms again
dreaming of Mercy Street
swear they moved that sign
looking for mercy
in your daddy's arms

All things must pass. Destruction is direction. Destruction precedes change.

Is change inherently unsafe? How can we have safety and growth? How can we have safety and survival?

mercy, mercy, looking for mercy
mercy, mercy, looking for mercy

Be safe. Be well. Take care, we tell ourselves, we tell each other.

Take great care, for we worry. We worry that those we love are not safe. We worry when we are not safe.

What does it mean to be safe? How much do we give up, to keep ourselves from all harm? How much do we sacrifice of ourselves, of those we love?

Between safety and risk. Between love and fear. Between reaching forward and pulling away.

Can we ever be truly safe? The cage of bone within, the cage of words without, the actions that barrier us away, from ourselves, from each other...all, all can be broken.

Anne, with her father is out in the boat
riding the water
riding the waves on the sea

What price safety? The cost spirals higher the longer we hold ourselves away. In the world, of the world, a part and parcel of all the sharp places...to blunt these edges, to keep us safe from them, means we hold ourselves away from the world.

What price safety, to sacrifice all other things?

Is it worth it?

How do we know?

(Lyrics are from Peter Gabriel's Mercy Street.)

throwing stones across the water
seeing where the ripples spread
interaction on the edges
of existence



blamed again for circumstances
I never intended
events far beyond my control
but I am the one holding the stones



and trapped in the labyrinth again
ideals and allegory
vanity and shadowed things
far from fitful light



and the world fails



it's not the first time
but in the midst of such dissension
it's just one more thing
one more thing I cannot claim or change



I go to the castle, I go to the island
I fly far from home and far from where I'm known
but I find no answers there
I find no answers in me



and the shattered survivors
lacking limbs, railing at fate
railing at the world dissolving around them
gather for comfort from the dark



there is no comfort in darkness
there is less in light
there is no comfort I can offer
but time, time and more time



and every faery tale ends
the witch in the garden loses her daughter
the maid in the tower finds a way to fall down
the prince gets the cold wife in the glass case
to thaw



me, I get flickers of carnival color
shadowdancing on the dark alley walls
inferences and allegations
as the world falls



I switched from Eye Candy (EC-e, from the Nicholaz line of alternate SL browsers) to a revised Bleeding Edge edition, based on user recommendations; it caused such abnormal, weirdly rainbowed color flicker I had to switch back. Eye Candy still gets me pretty water and glow, I can live without other Windlight features.

Though last night was something else again, entirely. Last night the asset server wasn't only broken, it was on vacation to Brazil. People were missing heads, skins, tails, scripted objects; textures refused to rez out; made prims (that I had made, for instance) I couldn't take back. I couldn't even take back copies.

We hadn't lost the group of asset servers that badly since...gah, I think you'd have to go back to 1.14, at least; maybe 1.12. It was awful. It felt post-apocalyptic, small pockets of scattered creatures, huddled together for warmth in a vast failing ecosystem.

Not the best feeling.

Had some time today after I regained the ability to shift from small burning fae to only somewhat less pale human (ish); and walked through Antiquity Township. My builder says he wants to start over fresh and remake the building so that it's better, faster, stronger...whatever. I'm gently reminding him this should happen soon, then, as the building we discussed needs doors and a lift.

Doors, he tells me, he thought they'd put on if they wished doors; and as for the lift...we're having elevation problems. Prior to Havok4 implementation, the lift went from ground floor to first floor.

Now? It goes ground floor to Mars. And the Antiquity Consulate building is not quite that tall...

At times, the grid is amusing beyond words.

Because I've been spinning my wheels all week, so far, and my builder will not be prodded into other things, we've spent a lot of time not doing much that's actually constructive.

Two nights back, we spent talking over future plans, and haunting various lucky chairs. This is where we met the flailing Miss Kunke:



(Miss leia Kunke captured in mid-flail.)

Miss Kunke appeared flailing in midair, hands hooked into claws, stiletto-shod feet kicking at random, on her back at Tesla Miles. I freely admitted I'd never seen anything quite like it before, and we debated on what she most looked like she was doing. I still maintain 'fighting large invisible spider' was more appropriate than 'roach lying on back', but then, I was concentrating on the hands, and my builder was focusing on the flailing limbs.

Today, though, there is gift-wrapped drama, and I am tickled to death, I really am. Follow this:

Waybackwhen I mentioned a little something on content theft in SL. Even got a bit of heat from it from Mr. Chez Nabob, mastermind behind the PETA-inspired campaign.

Well, the twisted joy goes further. Let me show off yet another poster in the original "Stop Content Theft" campaign:



This poster features Minnu Palen. Minnu Palen makes skins. Miss Palen, in fact, makes a line of 'model-quality' skins--that many models on the grid use. And she was, and perhaps remains, very concerned over content theft.

Enter the Second Life Herald, with a rather shrill "expose" on Miss Palen's apparent theft of Renderosity skins.

Ari Blackthorne calls it "slanderous", these allegations. I think Blackthorne, and others, are missing the main point.

(Well, and the secondary point, because 'slander' is oral, and 'libel' relates to print and email--so it would be 'libelous' allegations, not 'slanderous'. And it would only be libelous if it weren't true...)

Miss Palen has stated, over and over, content theft hurts her personally, because her skins are sourced from her own body.

So follow this out again:

She buys skin textures from Renderosity. She alters those textures to form over the shapes used on the grid. Okay, this is a violation, but it's a fairly minor one--apparently, there is a license specification from Danae Kotsi, the original designer, that states she must be asked for consent before any commercial use of her material.

Okay, so fine. That's tacky, but understandable. 90% of content on the grid, it's said, is lifted broadly from other places. Which is also tacky, but again understandable. But that's still not the real amusement behind all this.

Follow this again:

Miss Kotsi is complaining about Miss Palen lifting her skins without permission. Because she makes her income making original content for 3D applications like Poser and other 3D art programs.

But...how original is her "Manhattan" series when it looks exactly like Darryl Hannah?

Curses, foiled again!

I mean, seriously--is there any other way to see this? Content creator one--who's trading on someone else's actual face--is complaining about content theft concerning creator two on the grid--who's saying she uses her actual body to source her skins...

Well. Unless Miss Palen is Miss Hannah.

Which would be even more amusing, frankly.

I'll keep you posted.

[Later update: in conversation with certain people, better at the vagaries of copyright law and content than I am, Miss Palen is in violation--namely, the readme file attached to the Manhattan package? Specifies permitted uses in a very specific way:

All of this product's content was created by Danae Kotsi using the following sources of digital photographs:

levius (RMP) and from www.3dsk
xil and nagus
nicu 1

and my own personal collection of digital photographs

These files are copyrighted. The product can be used for commercial and non commercial renders. Do not redistribute in part or whole without the author's written consent.

So...Miss Palen did violate Miss Kotsi's stated use under copyright.

Heh. Ain't intellectual property rights grand...]

In conversation with my landlord tonight, I learned it's not just Rivula being hit, and he still hasn't figured out who is behind the attacks.

Neither have the Lindens.

Lunalis, for example, was hit so destructively that 90% of everything in the sim was returned. Lindens rebooted four times from backups on the server before it was stable again; but no one yet knows what's been lost, for sure.

At the moment, because this is the second attack that's resulted in simdeath, my landlord has closed off the ability for non-residents to enter and create things. This will make it hard for anyone not in the land group to come inside for any reason, and will virtually kill shopping, but to be frank, there's not much for shopping going on anyway. Rivula's never been a large shopping venue.

This is not good. We still have to go a long way to match September of '06, with the grey ooze and the replicator attacks...but it's close. And the attacking objects are bigger this time around.

Anyone read UUID?

[3:26] MystiTool HUD 1.0.23: Collision with "73772908639014 Linden", Owner: fe165e8d-e79e-4dbb-809e-5918ead67ac0

If it's not one thing, it's another. Tonight? It was giant boxes griefing Rivula.



I love Rivula, I do. I admit it. I unabashedly love the sim, in spite of the fact that it was left on a category 3 server when the whole of the grid had been converted to category 5. I love it in spite of lag, in spite of weird Polish neighbors, in spite of the sheer tonnage of new folks--many of them naked--who wander through the sim en masse.

Which is why it's all the more frustrating when people grief Rivula. Because really, what the hell do we do?



I mean, think about it. We're hardly a "name" sim, even to the folks at the Labs--as evidenced by the fact that they forgot about Rivula entirely when the update happened. We're quiet--by mainland standards, nearly abnormally so--and generally, the only oddities we have? We bring in.

Well, God, sure, but hey, he's mostly gone from the sim now.



But out of the blue, this. Gigantic 'dissenting' boxes. They didn't do anything but exist, largely, but it was frustrating. I got knocked off the dock initially, before we noticed them, and then all hell broke loose in box form.



And people, people, please--if you're going to be stupid and grief some sim full of folks you don't even know, could you at least do something for me? One little thing?

LOOK UP YOUR WORDS BEFORE YOU POST 'EM, WOULD YOU?!?

dissension Noun disagreement and argument [Latin dissentire to dissent]

THANK you. Idiots.