National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo, is upon us once again, and once again I shall not be partaking. I just don’t think I have it in me to dump 50,000 words into a crappy novel in 30 days, even if I had the time to try.

But it got me to thinking…

Last year I wrote a story called “Customer Service” that went from initial concept to finished product in only five days. It a pretty satisfying experience, and I always meant to try it again. I don’t know why I haven’t yet.

Hence, Barklage Quick Fiction Writing Month, or BaQuiFiWriMo.

I will write four short stories in the month of November, one per week. My current writing notebook goes back about four years, so I should have plenty of scribbled, half-baked ideas to draw from. I’ll try for 1,000 to 1,500 words per story — if the NaNoWriMo people can do almost 1,700 words every day, I’m pretty sure I can achieve that in a week. And upon completion, I’ll post each story here, regardless of quality.

Good luck, me.

Leave it to the Germans to create a word for “the malicious satisfaction in the misfortunes of others.” But it’s pretty much impossible to feel bad about the problems plaguing the GOP at the moment.

The House Majority Leader has been indicted for money laundering. The Senate Majority Leader is under investigation for insider trading. Bush’s approval rating is in the high 30s (only ten points to go before it hits the Crazification Factor). And last week, in case you live under a rock, Cheney aide I. Lewis “Scooter” Libby was indicted for covering up the outing of an undercover CIA agent to smear her whistleblower husband, and has resigned.

The indictments didn’t reach Karl “Dirtiest Player in the Game” Rove, unfortunately, but the investigation continues. And the AP’s coverage keeps promising that a Libby trial would cause them to “throw a spotlight” on the lies that took us into Iraq, which would be about fucking time, really.

By the way, does it bother anyone else that one of the architects of the Iraq War is named “Scooter?” He should be playing tennis with Chip and Tad at the Club, or possibly managing the backstage of the Muppet Show, not in charge of the world’s most dangerous war machine.

As if 2,000 dead soldiers and $2.5 trillion in new debt wasn’t enough to remind you that these guys are bad news, consider Leon Kass, who was Chair of the President’s Council on Bioethics until he stepped down this month. Kass believes that birth control ruins romance and turns women into men, which would be hilarious if he wasn’t in a position of real power. Hello, American Taliban.

For a bot of fun, go read Amanda Marcotte’s brutal smackdown of Kass’s “The End of Courtship” over at Pandagon.

In an unusually-obsessive burst of TV viewing, I spent the last two weeks catching up on season 1 of Veronica Mars on DVD from Netflix.

VM is heir to the Buffy throne, in some ways — a blonde California high school girl with a single parent becomes an outcast as she uncovers the darkness around her. There are season-long story arcs, teenage angst, and crisp, sarcastic dialogue. Oh, and did I mention that Alyson Hannigan and (in season 2) Charisma Carpenter have recurring roles?

In fact, Joss Whedon is a huge fan of the series, and will guest-star in an episode airing on Nov. 9.

But the similarities end there. The series owes more to traditional detective fiction than anything else, although I’m not familiar enough with that genre to offer an enlightening comparison. Its setting is Neptune High, a school divided into the rich “09ers” and the poor kids whose parents flip the burgers and scrub the toilets. Veronica falls into the latter group — her father is the former sheriff, forced from office after he pursued a murder case too far, and is now a PI.

The victim of that murder was Lily Kane, Veronica’s best friend. Her attempts to solve the murder form one of the two overarching mysteries of season 1. The other is the question of who drugged and raped Veronica at a party.

Like I said, the series is a little dark.

While dealing with those issues, Veronica uses her deductive skills and her dad’s snooping devices to solve mysteries ranging from the inconsequential (missing poker night money) to the life-altering (true parentage). Unlike Buffy, she has no physical abilities, just a taser and a pit bull named Backup. She relies solely on her considerable wit and charm, which to me makes her a more appealing hero — and raises the tension when she is in physical danger.

Thematically, while Buffy was all about giving the evils of high school a demonic form, VM is more about the secrets that families keep and whether it’s better to know the awful truth or live in blissful ignorance.

The series isn’t perfect. The early episodes are a bit uneven, and there’s the occasional clunker (like the “hippie cult” episode). It features what might be the least-threatening motorcycle gang ever recorded on film (they even wear helmets). And honestly, Veronica needs to smoke — she’s a troubled teen AND a detective and she doesn’t smoke?! And yes, I know… did the world really need yet another drama series about beautiful California teenagers?

But give it a shot. It’s worth it.

Well, okay, I was speaking of them almost two weeks ago, but I haven’t had much I could blog about since then.

I’ve been playing a bit of Urban Dead, a free, web-based, massively-multiplayer RPG set in a city overrun by zombies. You can play as a human or a zombie, and if your human character is killed, he becomes a zombie until somebody cures him.

It’s more fun if you’re in with a group of other players — a human faction or a zombie horde. I haven’t played as a zombie yet, but apparently they’re pretty weak unless they join a horde.

Since the game restricts your movement via action points that regenerate over time (1 AP per 30 min), you can play for a few minutes each day and not have to compete with obsessive players who are online for hours at a time. It’s just a nice little distraction.

After 30 novels, each new Discworld book is like another episode in a long-running sitcom. The characters and the formula are comfortably familiar, and your enjoyment comes down to the execution.

Thud! once again features the Ankh-Morpork Watch, Pratchett’s favorite cast of characters because it allows him to examine modern social issues — racial conflict, war, the free press, etc. (The Witch books are about famous stories, the Death books have metaphysical concerns, and Rincewind novels are broader satire.) In this case, tensions rise between dwarfs and trolls on the anniversary of the Battle of Koom Valley. And as is so often the case in Discworld books, that tension takes on a physical manifestation that stalks Vimes as he tries to solve the murder of a dwarf.

The mystery plotline is surprisingly good, knowing what I know about Pratchett’s outline-free writing habits. A subplot involving a new Watchman — a vampire named Salacia (aka Sally) — seems like a missed opportunity. Angua the werewolf has a healthy loathing for vampires (of course), and it should get worse when Sally not only has eyes for Carrot but seems to be involved in the murder case. Yet the tension just sort of dissipates about halfway through the story.

You’d think the longest-running characters like Colon and Nobby, who appeared in the first Watch book Guards! Guards!, would be old hat by now, but they provide some of Thud!‘s funniest scenes.

Dennis called me unexpectedly yesterday with an extra ticket to the Seahawks-Texans game, so I spent a good portion of my day drinking $7 beers, surrounded by grown men shouting “Woo!” a lot.

I’ll try to update tomorrow night with a link to more pics.

The zombies gathered outside of Sunset Bowl at 4pm. A cute woman carrying bags of supplies stared at me as I walked up and asked me if I wanted to be a victim.

“Actually, I was just hoping to get some pictures,” I answered.

“Wuss,” she said, and she handed me a nametag anyway.

It had the word Victim pre-printed on it. I stuck it on my shirt, underneath my jacket.

Shortly, the zombies got underway, wandering through the bowling alley before heading up Market St. They were shuffling pretty slowly, so I easily got ahead of them and snapped a few photos as I went.

I peeked into the Olde Pequliar while waiting for them to catch up. The TVs displayed the 8th inning of Cardinals-Astros game, with the Cards down 4-2. Crap. I’d forgotten all about that. I ordered a pint of Fat Tire and settled in to watch a bit of the game. The zombies passed by a few minutes later, stopping to press their hands and faces to the windows.

The bartender was a short, gruff middle-aged woman. She and the rest of the drunks were highly amused, but the moment a couple of the zombies wandered inside the bar, she barked, “ANY ZOMBIES NEED TO SHOW I.D. BEFORE COMING IN!”

The zombies turned around and left immediately. Today’s lesson: if the zombie apocalypse ever really happens, the horde can be repelled simply by asking for ID.

A minute later, the bar’s cable went out. The bartender growled, “FUCKING ZOMBIES CUT MY CABLE!”

With no playoff game to watch anymore, I drained the rest of my pint and ran out after the horde.

I took a few more shots before getting tired of it and heading home. A handful of the best photos can be found in this Flickr set.

If you’re checking this blog for the first time in a week, this will make no sense to you, but I’ve now removed both the original offending entry and my apology. (They’re not actually deleted, just hidden so only I can see them.)

Both sides are just sort of contrite and slightly embarrassed now, so this seems like a good way to let the drama quietly slink away and move on.

As we all know, breasts are fantastic. But can they be even better?

Science says, “Yes. Yes they can.”

Musical breasts

Breast enhancements need not only be about looks and sex appeal. They could soon have a functional purpose too.

A company is currently developing a microchip that stores music files and can be built into a breast implant, the Sun reports.

BT Futurology apparently intend on developing a musical double act for the bosoms, which would see an MP3 player installed in one mammary, and music files in the other.

The whole ensemble could then be managed via Bluetooth wireless technology.

I’ve got to remember to do this tomorrow, even if it’s too late to dress as a zombie myself.