A Public Service

Click the link below for "30 Ways to Shock Yourself".

Now you know!

And, kids, drugs are wack.

http://flickr.com/photos/bre/sets/72157611077138836/

I'm Back

It's been a while. Where did I go? Maybe it was the Bermuda Triangle. That would certainly explain a few things, but raise alot more questions in the process.

I'm back from my two week 'vacation' and that's what counts, I suppose. You may have missed me.

Anyway, now that the election is over (besides the couple of recounts and the Special Election in Georgia (they call it that because the system upon which the "Runoffs" are based is retarded)), I feel remarkably free.
It hasn't quite hit me yet that Obama will be the next President, but I feel the tingliness that flickering hope brings. After all, how much different could it get?

In Florida, students are signing up for University in record numbers. That may have nothing whatsoever to do with Obama's election, but I'd like to think it does.
The dude isn't even in and Hope and Change are spreading like swarms of hungry locusts. Nice locusts. Locusts with hope.

So, progressives can breathe a bit easier knowing that we will finally get some f-fing representation in our government. But, and you can be sure of this:
The Conservatives will not back down.

Remember what they did to Clinton as soon as he got elected? "Is the Clinton Presidency Over?" And many similar articles.
Now, Billy-Bob Clinton isn't my favorite guy- but for Christ's sake, they sold him out the minute he came into power!

You can bet your bottom dollar (lame expression) that the Right Wing Media (Fox "News" & Co.; Parts of CNN... etc) will do everything in their power to hunt him with a fury unparalled until either he is broken like a dog, or the sky falls on our heads.

But, and this is the only reason I don't break down and weep at the insanity of our nation, Obama has already proven his strength politically (and that of his character). I don't worry for him, I worry for us.
I think, though, that this time we aren't quite as powerless.

It's as Dennis Kucinich said during the General Election, "Wake up America."

Well, it's cliche, but I suggest you take that advice.
I will be with you every step of the way.

It's going to be a good four years.

A Creepy Short Film

Here's a low-budget kind of macabre film, but you wouldn't think it from looking at it.

Don't take my word for it though. I give you, "Season of Kin" the Official Trailer by Cory Price (my brothah):




The director/writer is even more interesting in person. Believe me.

A New Avenue

I have found a site called goodreads.com. They deal with new author stuff, meeting other authors, or hearing from fans.

So, I have my profile posted on their website now.

Funny. I actually learned something about my own book from their site. Turns out, The Rebirth of Rhin is available on Barnes & Noble.com.

I would like to take a moment here to say, "What?"

Barnes & Noble, the physical store, won't sell my work... but Barnes & Noble the website will?

HUH?

Interesting.

Anyway, if you'd like, you can go to goodreads.com and find out what kind of books I'm reading/have read and what I thought about them. Or, you could go to the site and not look me up at all.

But, how is that living, I ask you?

It's basically Myspace but with books. And minus all the creepy forty-year-old bald men. Hopefully.

Here is the link to my profile page:

http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1911452.Julian_Traas

Also, here's a piece of artwork I made waaaay back in '06. If you know about Drizzt Do'Urden, you'll know what the deal is.

Breathe In, Breathe Out

I thought it might be a good idea to counteract some of my more... passionate posts with a little bit a calmness.
Tonight's theme is inner peace.

I won't even mention the Nation Destroyers, or their hateful, narrow-minded views. Well, except right then.

Do you know the feeling of success? I don't mean when you get a promotion, or you ace your final. No. I'm talking about small successes, every day things.
It can become difficult to spot them in today's world. There are oodles of images and stimulants trying to remind us all the time of our imperfections. Advertisements, especially.
"I have more money" "My insurance is better" "I'm thinner" "My boobs are bigger" "Yes, but mine look more real" ...

So, it becomes hard to trace the tendrils of the true success. The itsy-bitsy events that happen once in a while that make you think, "Damn, I'm good."
I have found mine.

I take Tang Soo Do, a traditional Korean Martial Art established in the early 50's. The name can be translated to mean lots of things, but the two I know are: Martial and Moral School; and The Art of the Worthy Hand.
The principle is character building, and the rule is respect for yourself and others.
Not once are you allowed to scream, at the top of your lungs, "My Kung Fu is better than your Kung Fuuuuuuuu!"
That would kind of ruin the mood.

Now, every two months there is a Promotion Test, a graduation ceremony. The students gather and stretch together before they line up. Then, they meditate in silence for a moment. Afterward, they rush back and wait for their name to be called. Once they're up, they demonstrate what they have learned. Also, there's some sparring involved for Mid-ranks and higher.

But after all that comes the board break. I won't attempt to spell that in Korean.
Again, each student awaits his/her turn. And then, through sheer skill, Providence or blind luck, he or she is expected to snap an 3/4 inch board (solid wood) with one of his or her various appendages.

The last one I had to do was called a "Jump 360 Degree Back Kick". Which is fancy talk for, "yeah, right".
The kick was incredibly hard. I failed 60% of the time during practice. I was nervous, sweating, tired from the demonstration bit, exhausted from the sparring...
But:
I succeeded.

The advanced students will tell you, if you ask them, that it doesn't hurt if you break the board. It only hurts if you don't. Seemed strange and illogical to me when I was told, but it's true.
When the board snaps, I feel on top of the world.

My point is, that I think this lesson carries over into the outside world. It only hurts if the board doesn't break; or: you only feel lousy if you aren't trying your best at what you do.

Wow. That was pretty Zen.

Yowza

Honestly, I'm a bit afraid.

Well done, though.

It's called: "Grumph Sings Barry White" posted by lusluslus.

The Rebirth of Rhin, Excerpt

As promised, here is a chunk of my book. Enjoy, and comment. And, should you happen to want more, you know where to find it!
This isn't all of Chapter 1, but it's a good piece of it.

Disclaimer: this work is Copyright 2008 Julian Traas. It may not be reproduced or used in any way for profit without his permission.

You will be swallowed by a cloud of locusts if you steal from him. Be warned!

Chapter 1

Born of the Storm


A small village, set in a wooded glen, buzzed with the activity of its inhabitants. But beyond the surrounding trees, and the illusion of peace, lurked monsters, curved horns behind their backs and rusted scimitars at their sides. Their yawning mouths revealed fangs the size of kitchen cleavers.
Lynca village was so tranquil, oblivious to its nearing destruction. Hungry eyes took in the sights, the eager stare present in each pair. The smell of baking and cloves hung thick in the still air. Cheerful greetings interwove with the clamor of the smithy.
The signal was given. The cover of the trees was forsaken. Heavy mud silenced the monsters’ approach. Saliva dribbled down their chins as weapons were readied.
A keen-eyed farmhand gave a shout, calling for help. Impressive was the speed at which the peasants had their pitchforks in hand, but it would not matter. The fastest of the hairy, gray armored beasts crashed into a little, stout man. Steel pierced flesh. On to the next. Men, women and children were hacked indiscriminately. The only act that delayed more slaughter was when one of them would stoop to taste the blood of the latest trophy.
Her hands cupping her dead grandson, an elderly woman cried out just as a dagger kissed her neck.
Brekk admired the work, pleased with his warriors. All his life he had been the strongest and cruelest. Thus, the burden of leadership rested in his corrupt hands. A high lord of great importance had demanded the death of one man in particular, but Brekk enjoyed the sensations of battle and nothing made him happier than to open the belly of some peace-loving commoner. The more that got in his way, the better.
“We have come for your head, Rhin,” Brekk roared.
Brekk brought an iron-toe boot down on a child’s skull, scanning the bodies. Could he already be dead? Brekk hoped not. Surely one of his fighters would have told him. After all, this Rhin was difficult to miss with his red hair and green eyes. No one had red hair.
“Here, little piglet. How’s about a game?” Brekk sniggered as he grabbed a torch from one of his subordinates.
Brekk held it up to the nearest thatched roof. The dry hay burned bright.
Two dozen houses were scattered sporadically throughout the glen. Brekk had the same amount of warriors at his disposal. He commanded them to take torch in hand and follow his lead. Soon Lynca village, in its entirety, ignited.
Columns of smoke spiraled into the sky. Still, their quarry did not appear. Brekk had the surviving villagers line up. He took his battle-axe in both hands, grinning.
“Maybe you don’t like the fire game? I have a new one,” he grabbed a blood-spattered girl by the shirt collar. “Where’s Rhin? For your sake, I hope he turns up.”
This produced the desired result. A young man, his hair red as sunset, stepped into view from behind one of the roasting houses.

By then the loud screams had died down to hushed murmurs.
“I am Rhin.”
Brekk grimaced, flashing his rotting teeth, and tossed the girl away.
“You’re very brave, boy, to show your face.”
“I’m the one you want. Let them go,” Rhin said.
“Oh, thinks he can bargain, does he? No deal. They’ll die right after you.”
Rhin held a sword with two hands, but that didn’t stop him from shaking. Sweat beaded on his skin, his eyes full of fear.
The fear was replaced by anger as he said, “You won’t harm them.”
“Kill him, Brekk,” said one of them.
Brekk seemed amused. He gestured for Rhin to come, casting a silencing glare at his brothers-in-arms as they began to protest. Rhin took a couple of slow steps, as if he were treading on broken glass. Brekk lost his patience. He leapt forward like a starving mutt, lashing out with the axe. The blow never landed, blocked by Rhin’s blade. Brekk wheeled around, aiming a strike at Rhin’s head. He sidestepped, the evasion looking almost accidental as he tried to maintain his balance. The large brute laughed. The plate mail Brekk wore clanked with his every motion. He saw an opening on Rhin’s side and took it. Gravel crunched underfoot as Rhin parried the blow. Brekk growled. Rhin grew more confident, and when the head strike came a second time, he was ready. He jumped away from the slow attack and then moved in. Rhin’s blade caught the beast in his ribs, stunning him.
Brekk was so shocked by the sudden riposte that he didn’t move in time to counter the following thrust. Rhin’s sword tore into Brekk’s stomach. A frown of disbelief crossed the monster’s face before he toppled over, taking the sword with him.
The warriors under Brekk’s command howled in rage. They wanted to charge immediately but, leaderless as they were, confusion took hold of them.
Rhin planted his foot on the corpse and with that leverage yanked his blade out. He wiped the sweat off his brow, counting them. Well over a dozen. He held perfectly still, trying hard to seem invincible.
“If you want to die then, please, come closer,” he taunted.
“Let’s kill the brat,” one of the fighters shouted.
Forsaking tactics and discipline, the beasts broke ranks and rushed at him.
Most of those that had been standing in line scattered. Some of the men, however, took up any weapons they could find among the bodies and rushed to Rhin’s side.
With every step there came a squelch of blood. The flames spread and burned fiercer than ever. Consuming everything in its path, the fire even claimed the corpses that littered the ground, creating a vile, festering stink that gagged beast and man alike.
Rhin whirled his weapon around and struck two demons in the chest, then ducked and swiped upwards, cutting the throat of another. He then punctured the stomach of the last.
For a moment he was stunned. In his twenty-two years, he had never killed before, but what really caught him by surprise was his sudden skill with the blade. Rhin took the scabbard of his late father’s sword and strapped it to his waist. Still holding the weapon, he contemplated the dead around him. Nearly all his friends, everyone he had ever known, were dead. How had it come to this?
Rhin deflected a slash at his chest and thrust, puncturing the flesh of yet another enemy. He felt nauseous. He was almost wading through blood.
His eyes darted to the left, where he beheld the bodies of the women and children that had tried to flee. Then he heard one final, terrible scream coming from behind. Before he turned around, he knew that the last of the townsfolk of Lynca village had been slain. Only he remained. As for those responsible, there were only two that still breathed.
Rhin took a good look at them. He wanted to make sure he knew their faces perfectly before he stabbed them. Those parts of them not covered in heavy armor were hairy and black, their eyes were but yellow slits. He even took special notice of their stench of burning feathers and rusting metal and guts. Rhin wanted to forever remember those demons that had ruined his home and his life.
The larger of the two came bounding at him, fangs bared. Rhin dodged one swipe and blocked the next. He then kicked the beast in the kneecap and heard the satisfying crunch of cartilage. But before Rhin could bring his sword down upon the wounded monster’s skull to finish him, the other one was on him.
Rhin noticed how much faster this beast was than the rest, and its armor was lighter. He waited for an opening in its defenses. The chance for attack came when it raised an arm for a head-strike. The undersides of the arms were unarmored and vulnerable. Rhin feigned to the right and the beast swung too far in anticipation. Rhin lashed out at the exposed flesh, and the beast screeched as the steel cut in. Rhin then dislodged the sword and swung it back, this time the blow struck the beast’s neck. The agonized cries were put to an abrupt end.
Meanwhile, the foe Rhin had almost killed moments before was crawling away from him in panic. Rhin walked over, taking his time. He kicked the monster in the ribs and then ducked down to turn it over so he could see its face.
Rhin held his sword over the weakened monster and said, “For Lynca.”
He lowered the blade.

Rhin searched everywhere for signs of life but found none. It was growing dark, clouds covering the skies. The fires had burned out a while ago. Ash floated in the soft breeze. Then it began to rain, a cold, quiet rain. Steam rose from the corpses and the bloody ground sloshed with each of Rhin’s steps.
He found the scorched remains of his family’s house. No matter how long he rummaged through the rubble he found no trace of his parents. They had been caught in the house when the fires started, he knew. They never even made it out the door before they died. He fell to his knees and pounded his fist on the burned wood until he bled. He screamed wordless screams of rage and injustice.
“You fight well, for a forest boy,” said a voice.
Rhin squinted and looked around, but couldn’t find the source.
“I see you are the only one who survived this dreadful mess. Well done.”
“Who are you?” Rhin spat.
The rain fell harder then, making it even more difficult to see.
“My name is not important. But I was the one who ordered this… test.”
Rhin felt his blood grow hotter.
“You may be wondering,” the voice continued, sounding almost bored, “why I would do this. You shan’t have the answer from me.”
“How will I kill you, without your name or your reasons?” Rhin shouted.
“The truth behind all this lies in Kremmä. You’ll find the city to the west. Make your way there, little forest boy, and you may yet have your chance at vengeance.”
“Whoever you are, I’ll find you! And when that time comes you’ll wish you’d never heard the name ‘Rhin’!”
“Whatever you say,” the voice replied with a chuckle.
The silence spoke for itself. Rhin was once again alone. He vowed then and there to go to Kremmä and discover the truth behind these devastating events.
First, he kneeled before his house, his parents’ final resting place, and prayed. He prayed for their souls, for retribution, for vengeance. He prayed longest of all for forgiveness.
Rhin found the village storehouse mostly untouched by the devastation. For this he was thankful. He salvaged what food and clothing he could and made his way for the road leading out of the forest.
Rhin turned, glanced once more at the mangled villagers and beasts, the rain-soaked ash and piles of charred wood, and walked away.

Even though he walked under the canopy, rain drops gushed from between the leaves. It felt more like hail than anything else. Rhin enclosed himself within his coat, pulling at the hood in frustration. Depression weighed him down, the bleak sky and frigid winds adding to the gloom.
He saw no moon that night, nor did he find a single star. But the rain never stopped. The pattering orchestration pressed on, playing out every note in its bitter, damp music.

http://www.amazon.com/Rebirth-Rhin-Julian-Traas/dp/1419699229/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1220208549&sr=8-1

Review Time

After much (or very little, depending on how I tell it) deliberation, I give you my mini-review of Assassin's Creed.

I won't give away plot elements, or the ending or any spoiler of any kind. I will deal only with the grit and grime. And the game is quite grimey. In a great way.

Now, I'll start by saying that I rarely have had as much fun as I did when I played an hour of this game. The freedom of it is unprecidented.

The combat is extremely satisfying, and there's a lot of it. At the very beginning of the game you don't have the amazing Counter Kill ability. But after a little while you discover it, and it is just swell.

As the name implies, some guy swings a sword at your face-- you counter and then perform one of dozens of "quick kill" moves: knocking him down and gutting him like a fish; pushing him back and burying your blade in his shoulder/neck area; deftly spinning around and slashing diagonally to tear his throat.

Every element in the game is responsive to what you, the player, do. You stab a soldier in the streeth, the crowd screams and runs. More guards rush at you. Kill enough of them and the last one or two may choose to run for their pathetic, pointless lives. Then, you may chase them and plunge your dagger in their ear, or let them run and warn the others. That usually leads to more bloody antics, though, so be warned.

For grown men wearing suits of plate and chain mail, they climb like monkeys. They can and bloody-well will chase you all up and down the city, howling insults at you. Sometimes they throw rocks.

Also, there are archers to worry about.

Not much satisfies more than bounding up a wall, racing across the roof and tossing one of those suckers off the edge. Look down at his sprawled form and you will see the panic begin to take effect below. "Guards, guards!" "Infidel!"

Now, a note on religion and race: as Altair, you kill without discrimination. That's important. The game would be a mite inflamatory if you only killed a certain creed. Luckily, that's not a problem here.

Personally, I prefer murdering Crusaders. Only because it's hilarious to hear them curse you in French, English and German.

That reminds me. Y'know how Mario has you collect Red Coins and things of that nature? Well, this game also has... "collectibles". But rather than scour the land for mere coins... there's a side-quest/collectible quest where you have to search the Holy Land for Templar Knights to butcher. These warriors are each much stronger than you in the beginning, and they attack on sight. But as the sworn enemies of your Order, they have to die (apparently).

They are men like any other, however, and often a silent approach is favorable...

Graphics... what can I say, really? They're the best I've ever seen. The Behemoth (my PC, 'case you missed that bit of info) runs the game splendidly. I only had to set one of the options one notch down. Even with that slight down-grade, the game looks amazing. Mere words cannot describe it's sheer awe-inspiring holiness.

I know there's lots of stuff I omitted. But I think that discovery is the best part of any game. So, I chose to give you a light sampler. The main course is yours to try.

Of course, you could always go to IGN.com or something. But I think the best way to learn about a game is from a player, not a professional reviewer. Besides, I don't like any of the reviewer sites much anymore.

Alot of their decisions have "political" reasonings behind them.

In my opinion, the gaming industry has become way too self-important and absorbed in all the wrong issues.

Got a little sidetracked, it seems...

Conclusion! If you like running, climbing, jumping, chasing, fighting, assassinating action-- you pretty much owe it to yourself to buy this game. The requirements are a little steep, so just make sure you read them over.

For your convenience, I've added them below.

In order to play this game properly, your PC MUST meet or exceed these minimum requirements:
Supported OS: Windows XP / Vista (only)
Processor: Dual core processor 2.6 GHz Intel Pentium D or AMD Athlon 64 X2 3800+ (Intel Core 2 Duo 2.2 GHz or AMD Athlon 64 X2 4400+ or better recommended)
RAM: 2 GB (3 GB recommended)
Video Card: 256 MB DirectX 10.0–compliant video card or DirectX 9.0–compliant card with Shader Model 3.0 or higher (512 MB video card recommended) (see supported list)*
Sound Card: DirectX 9.0 or 10.0 compliant sound card (5.1 sound card recommended)
DirectX Version: DirectX 10.0 libraries (included on disc)
DVD-ROM: DVD-ROM dual-layer drive
Hard Drive Space: 12 GB
Peripherals Supported: Keyboard, mouse, optional controller (Xbox 360 Controller for Windows recommended)
*Supported Video Cards at Time of Release: ATI RADEON X1300-1950 / HD 2000 / 3000 series NVIDIA GeForce 6600-6800 / 7 / 8 / 9 series
Laptop versions of these cards may work but are NOT supported. These chipsets are the only ones that will run this game.
NOTICE: This game contains technology intended to prevent copying that may conflict with some disc and virtual drives.

Hilarity with a Sad Undertone

The Time has Come, my Little Friends

... to talk of other things!

Watch this video and enjoy.



Also, Assassin's Creed arrived yesterday! So, expect that mini-review I promised soon.

For now I leave you, though, for I must dine.

My Personal Hero

If there was ever a standard I wished to live up to, it would the one this man imposes upon me. I can think of no better example of the shining spiritual essence that defines a great human being than Jon Stewart.
He and Stephen T. Colbert are the brightest lights, and best mediators of an increasingly decadent, morally-corrupt and socially-retarded society.

I know they're just comedians. But, at the same time, they are giants among imps. It gives me hope that, from us, two such men could be spawned-- lifted on our shoulders to voice what we, for so long, refused to hear.

The only true voice of the people, through the ages of our race's existence, has been the playright/comedian/bard-- whatever. Because, in order for these people to be funny, they have had to tap into the thoughts of the proverbial People. To hear what it is that fuels our modern society, dissecting it, ridiculing it... and ultimately, perfecting it.

On that note, I give you Mr. Stewart (on CNN's Crossfire, 2004).

For one reason or another, I find myself unable to embed the clip into Stone's Throw. So, instead, I offer thee the link.
Pity me for my imperfections; forgive me my flaws.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmj6JADOZ-8&eurl=http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2008/08/25/jon-stewart-lectures-repo_n_121247.html

Amereekah, Liand of Opportiunitee

No matter what your views on the controversial Grand Theft Auto games, there is one thing that I find undeniable. They're hilarious. Pop-culture, politics... nothing is off limits! And that's how I likes mah comedy.

Here is a fine example, for your records. Don't worry, no adult content/swear-words in this one. I dub it "Family Friendly".
But, methinks you owe it to yourself to take a glance. The words in this clip, though zany in nature, ring true to the ears.

Viva la Change... a

Went to the newly opened Campaign for Change HQ, located a half-hour from where I live. I stayed there about 4 hours, while my mother chauffeured my grandma around some stores.

The work-load consisted mostly of typing. I printed out a few documents though. Not sure if I can go into it further. I assume it's not FORBIDDEN to describe what goes on in the office... but I would rather not divulge anything that needn't be divulged.

Yes. I did some service work. No profit for lil' ol' me. I feel good.
Hopefully my Karma Score went up by one. It would be nice. The Cosmic Monkeys that torment me constantly are really beginning to work on my nerves.


In other news, my Assassin's Creed package has yet to arrive. I was hoping it would come in today, but I see now that that was a fool's wish.

I used to think that the French Postal Service was the worst in the world. They do barely three hours of work a day. The rest of the time is spent on Lunch Breaks, Snack Breaks, Smoke Breaks, and then Afternoon Snack Breaks. I'm completely serious. There really was an Afternoon Snack Break, recognized nation-wide, called "goute"-- with a little accent "eque" over the "e" so that it's pronounced "gootay".


The point I'm so inelegantly trying to make, dear readers, is that the USPS-- that's the United States Postal Service-- may yet be able to challenge the French for their title of "World's Lowsiest Postal System".


Alright, now before I get hate-mail from all the mailmen and women out there... (get it? hate-mail?) I'm only joking. No one can beat the French Postal Service in terms of lassitude.
I'm just a mite-uh upset-uh about mah packahge not urrahveeng.


That was me, your host, attempting a stereotypical French accent online. You may now send the hate-mail.

To Market, to Market, to market my Wares

I'm set to do a book signing at Huntcliff Summit, where my grandmother lives, on September 10th. She was kind enough to set it all up.

I should be thrilled. But there's a speech to be written. I've never been much of a public speaker.
Why, the last time I tried (2 years past) I spoke in front of 200+ people. The speech that night was for the "Taste of Alpharetta" festival, written by one of the teachers at a performing arts school I attended for a few months. (Before I decided it wasn't My Thing.) It was a cold, December night... I had to wear a suit... no proper coat. I was freezing my balls off. I was worried I would never be able to move my beautiful pinky-toe again.
Anyway, the memories still intertwine in the noodle of my head. A veil of fog covers what actually happened. I can only piece together from my mother and brothers' accounts what transpired.

Apparently, I became a completely different person. Maniacal, loud, obnoxious... It's true, I'm sure. But I pretty much blanked out when I walked onto the blindingly-bright stage. Whoever switched on the auto-pilot forgot to program in some sensibility. Let's leave it at that.

Worst of all? The local television crew that interviewed me.

Oy. Nightmarish.

Back to the present. Yes, I must needs write this speech. The writing won't be difficult. Dear, Lord! I'm trying to become an author. It'd be a friggin' tragedy if I couldn't scribble with the best of 'em.
But the speaking... well, I suppose it'll only be about 20-30 people. Maybe less.

Bah, shouldn't be too bad.

I hopes I sells some copies. Being a starving artist ain't as lucrative as the title implies.

Oh, CNN-- How Have the Mighty Fallen

Watch.

E-Things

Everything has become an E-something. And, soon, so shall my book.

That's right, gentlepeople: quickly enough, I plan on making The Rebirth of Rhin available on Amazon Kindle. That'll hopefully broaden my horizons a smidgeon.

"Every little bit helps," said Chun Fa Lee

As he watered in the Yellow Sea.

My dad taught me that one when I was a wee lad of eight. Good times.

Also, I may post a sneak preview of tRoR on this blog. Because I like you. :)
I'll mull it over. First few pages sound good? Send me your thoughts, Padawans. Again with the Star Wars?
Speaking of Star Wars. I know we weren't, but still. When Yoda and Obi-Wan go around spewing the term "younglings" every other sentence in Revenge of the Sith... did that irk anyone else? Did you, too, feel like peeling your eyeballs? Cheese-grating your spine? Eegh. For one reason or another, "younglings" just grinds at the gooey center of my being.

Disconcerted by all the madness? Don't be! It's all in good fun.
Look to the title of the blog, my friends. All will become clear. Only a stone's throw away...

Salute!

Oh boy, oh boy!

My legs feel like they're about to buckle, and my left eye is threatening to pop out of my skull if its demands are not met.

Please, allow me to explain. Today I took my biweekly Tang Soo Do lesson (a traditional Korean Martial Art). This was by far the most impossible class in a long, proud line of impossible classes.
I'm a 3rd Gup, Red Belt. That's four belts from Black, or Midnight Blue as it's sometimes called. Something to do with Black being the color of death... Yeah.

Backstory: my teacher, Kim Tong Mun (he's a Grandmaster-- 9th Degree Black Belt!) is insanely tough. The guy is in far better shape than I am, and he's been teaching for years and years.

• Example: Grandmaster Kim pulls SUVs with his teeth. He puts some sort of harness-like contraption in his mouth, and pulls a semi out of a ditch! Need I say more? Yes? Okay!
• Example 2: he breaks rocks with his hands. *Chop*, and the rock explodes. Big ones too, not pebbles or anything.
• Example 3: he snaps a board, then nails it back together using his head as a hammer.

I know this all sounds completely made up, but I swear on my talent as a writer (what little there is, hardy-har) that I'm not lying.

Back to me, if you would. So, I'm in the middle of the class with my brother and I'm exhausted to the point of either barfing, toppling to the floor, or imploding like a neutron star.

There have been other classes though; I've been kicked, bruised, bashed, stomped, hair-pulled, neck-twisted, groin-poked... and once I dislocated my right knee. (Although, I had done that about 3 times when I was younger-- so the joint had already been weakened).

But, by all means, don't let this discourage you from taking such a class! Honestly, you'll be in the best damn shape of your life. And to re-locate your knee, you just have to straighten your leg. No prob. Don't need no doctah, son!
Besides, most of those injuries were my own fault. See, I'm clumsy (born with two left feet, as it were) but resilient enough. I get whacked about like a straw-dummy, but I don't take much long-term damage.

Don't mess with me! I'll... dislocate my knee at you! I will-- don't try me.

If You Love Cats and Webcomics...

I seriously suggest you follow this link:

http://www.lackadaisycats.com/

It's a webcomic set in 1920s to 30s, in St. Louis. The story has to do with the Prohibition (the time when the sale of alcohol was illegal), and the characters are all cats!
The level of quality and hilarity in Lackadaisy is really stupefying. The artist is immensely talented.

Hell, it's even educational!

Disclosure: I had no freakin' idea what 'Prohibition' was before I found this site. So there's your proof. You can learn and have fun at the same time. Huh. Go figure.

My favorite characters are Viktor and Mordecai.
Viktor is a brute who's grunts are peppered with a heavy Russian accent. Mordecai is the intelligent, collected type-- but as soon as you go asymmetrical on him, he'll trounce you like you were nothing.

I'm not joking. Lackadaisy. Go. Now. What've'ya got to lose? ... Besides your respect for me. But, who are we kidding, such a thing never existed!

'Til tomorrow, boys and babes.

Battling Obscurity

This fine morn' I sent an e-mail to the AJC (Atlanta Journal Constitution), one of the local papers. In this message, I politely requested to have an article published about me.

We have yet to see if they take heart to the idea.

Other than that, at the moment, I'm fresh out of plots. Anyone have any advice for a simple man attempting to scrawl his name on the parchment of history?

Since I don't have time for a better post, I leave you with one of my pieces of artwork. Comments welcome, o'course.

I must be off to continue my writings. I look forward to our next encounter.

Salute!

Bookstore Buh-lues

This fine morning/afternoon I went to Barnes & Noble, the bookstore chain. Perhaps you've heard of it? ....srassin, frassin, rassin, mehssin....

Well, I went with the idea of asking them to carry a few samples of my book.

Note: certain elements are... uh... 'overstated' ever so slightly. You'll know the ones.

To the Customer Service Person I asked confidently, "Hello, can I speak to the manager?"

"Manager to Customer Service," he spoke into the intercom.

To the Manager, when she appeared, I said, "What's your policy on carrying new books? I've recently published this novel," I held the spectacular specimen aloft, "and I wondered if you wanted to have a few."

"Does it have an ISBN?" inquired the mean-looking woman.

"Why, yes, indeedly it does," I said, chipper as a squirrel.

"Is it returnable?"

"Beh... I dunno," answered I, taken aback.

Clickety-clack went the keyboard keys and soon enough I had my answer: a painful and resounding "no". And, as a side note, I found that under the ISBN and Title was the name 'Jennifer Leigh'... who was my editor at one point. Bah, humbug! That will have to be dealt with later.

So-- dammit-- I had to leave no richer than I came. And I don't like leaving that way.

I blurted my thanks like a choking fish and dived back into the salty waters of obscurity. To home, to home I went. And here I bloody well am.

Another day, another dead-end. But hey, it's the Age of Information, baby! Who needs bookstores when I have you guys?

Salute!

Julian

Ah Kinna Wait, Laddie

Wacha!

Sorry, can't help myself. I'm getting giddy from anticipation.

Can't wait for this bad-boy to come through the mail...



..... Waiting! .....

Comedy for the Soul

Anyone ever hear of the "Peter Serafinowicz" show? It's British in origin.
I saw one episode and laughed myself into a coma.

Here's a taste, with my compliments.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eco6qmIp36w

More

Yesterday, since my allowance... allowed it... I bought the PC version of Assassin's Creed.

I know it's been the subject of pretty mixed reviews, but it's my opinion that you can't always trust those damned, trixy reviewer sites. Sometimes money changes hands, if'n ya know what I mean.

I find the fact that no one could agree on whether it was actually good or not refreshing. Worth the risk, that sort of thing.

I've been waiting to play the game for over six months now, but was unable to buy it because of my lack of jaw-dropping hardware. Now I have my new computer, so I shan't wait any longer!

The new PC is a dream. I couldn't possibly be happier with it. There's a site you should check out as well, if you're looking to buy a computer and don't want to ruin yourself in the process. Scope out http://www.newegg.com/ for some great deals. Let's just say, I saved myself at least $1,000.

The brand I bought is iBuyPower-- I know what you're thinking: Julian, what the hell kind of brand is that? Well, hold on and I'll tell you. They're relatively new, but they get great reviews all-round. So I took a minor gamble, and it paid off in a huge way.

I call my computer "The Behemoth", 'cause it's big and loud and mythically powerful.

So, back to Assassin's Creed. It may not be really long, or perfect, but I haven't seen a game like it before. Being able to climb any building and murder hapless victims in the street? It's like they made the game for me.

I'll give you guys a mini review (spoiler-free) once I play it for a while.

Introductory

Allow me to make myself known to you.

My name is Julian Raphael Traas (it sounds made up, I know) and I am an eighteen-year-old author/artist.
I've just published my first novel, entitled "The Rebirth of Rhin". It's available on amazon.com and other sites.

I was born May 15th in Saint-Germain en Laye in Paris, France. Though, I'm not French. I'm actually Dutch-American, for you curious cats.
Anyway, we moved from France when I was a wee babe of two. We ended up in... care to guess?... Taiwan. Did you get it right?
Taiwan is a little island off the coast of China... and it falls under Chinese jurisdiction off and and on every year or two. My little brother was born there in '94-- and let's just say it wouldn't be a good idea for him to go to China. Because on his passport it says "Taiwan".

So we lived in Taiwan until I was five, then we packed up and hit the road... erm, ocean... and went off to the Netherlands. Away, away to meet my heritage!
Kindergarten was rough. I hadn't learned to speak much Dutch yet, even though my Dad came from there. The other kids were mean to me (sniffle) and refused to believe that I was six!
It was difficult for me to make friends at first, but I managed eventually.

Moving along. (Don't worry, you'll have plenty of time to get to know me better.)

Then, we moved back to France when I was nine. I had to leave everything I knew behind. At the time, I was immensely depressed and begged for some form of release. I began to write.

Then came "The Deal". The French teachers didn't think I had the stomach for the awesome amount of knowledge that I would face in CM1 (fourth grade), so they kept me back in CE2 (third grade). Having been held back a year, I was distraught. But as I said: then came "The Deal".
If I were miraculously able to learn the French language in a month, I would be moved up to fifth grade next year. Thus, to make it "easier", they were holding me back and then shoving me ahead a year! Makes sense to them I guess.
By the grace of some divinity who must love the hell out of me, I did it. And I was back on track.

Looking back, I realize that those five years spent in France shaped me most of all.
It was from my horrible elementary school teachers that I learned to develop the villains I would come to write about in my fantasy novels. The darkness that engulfed me became my muse... the flames of my own self-hate warmed my bed at night. And, I lived on.

The next milestone was Hong Kong, China. There I remained for six months before my mother decided to spirit me and my brother away to the US.
My parents are now divorced (or near enough as makes no matter) and here I friggin' am.

I've been writing and drawing since I was seven. Only recently did I get Photoshop 7 and Illustrator CS3, but those programs have allowed me to vastly improve my abilities.
Seeing how you're good people, I'll post a link to some of my work soon.

I hope very much to one day become successful in my writing enterprise. Enough so as to scrape along the dirt, at least. I wasn't made for day jobs. I know that's been said so many times it's a cliche, but I'm just too strange, I suppose. My head can't wrap around the work.

This brings me to the end of my first post, with more to come. I just feel that no one really wants to read big blocks of text-- strains yer oiyes-- so, I'll continue the epic tale of my voyages over the course of our time together.

Salute!

Julian