[Ravensfort] (no subject)

Charley Atchley Charley at lcc.net
Fri Jul 20 09:49:12 PDT 2001


After that last bit of frivolity I was thinking how different some of the
great moments of the past would have been if people had all of the
electronic crap that we do now.


Vision one-
The smoke hangs thick and the winter winds howl outside in the long
darkness. A bard that looks like he has spent many years around fires like
this one, steps up on the main table and takes his harp in hand and strums a
few bars. Then he explains that he will be performing an epic that he has
spent several years composing. This is the first time that I have publicly
performed this work, I hope you enjoy it. I call it Beowulf, and if you want
you can down load a copy of the lyrics into your Palm pilot at the back of
the room if you have a copy of SaxonReader 2.0 or higher installed. He
contemplatively strums a few more cords and asks that everyone please turn
off all cell pones and beepers for the duration of the performance.
Then with a soft, rich, golden, voice and fingers gliding he sings:

HWÆT, WE GAR-DEna in geardagum,
þeodcyninga þrym gefrunon,
hu ða æþelingas ellen fremedon!
oft Scyld Scefing sceaþena þreatum,
monegum mægþum meodosetla ofteah,
egsode eorlas, syððanærest wearð
feasceaft funden; he þæs frofre gebad,
weox under wolcnum weorðmyndum þah,

(Insert the sound of a Nokia phone playing Louie Louie)

oð þæt him æghwylc ymbsittendra

(Hello)

ofer hronrade hyran scolde,

(Hi Baby!)

gomban gyldan; þæt wæs god cyning!

(Oh! God thats SO! COOL!)

Ðæm eafera wæs æfter cenned

(Can I call you back latter?)

geong in geardum, þone God sende

(NO! I promise I won't get too drunk)

folce to frofre; fyrenðearfe ongeat,

(Love you! *smack* *smack* )

þe hie ær drugon aldorlease

(No! I'm not trying to brush you off!)

lange hwile; him þæs Liffrea,

(Well everyone is staring at me!)

wuldres Wealdend woroldare forgeaf,

(Come on baby! Don't be that way!)

Beowulf wæs breme --- blæd wide sprang---

(Bye)

Scyldes eafera Scedelandum in.
Swa sceal geong guma gode gewyrcean,
fromum feohgiftumon fæder bearme,


=============================================================
Vision two-
An English army waits the dawn. They know that they are out numbered twenty
to one by the French.

WESTMORELAND. O a fax I senteth, a request for
    But one ten thousand of those men in England
    That do no work to-day besides playing FreeCell!

  KING. What's he that requisitions so?
    My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;
    The end user agreement states that;
    If we are enow, but twenty at a time may play
    The fewer men, the greater share of band width.
    God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
    It only slows the game server down to a crawl.
    By Jove, I am not covetous for business applications,
    Nor care I who doth feed upon my Cheetos;
    It yearns me not if men find my garments stained;
    Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
    But if it be a sin to covet Mountain Dew and Diablo II,
    I am the most offending soul alive.
    No, faith, my coz, wish not a player from England.
    God's peace! I would not lose so great a game.
    One man more would take from me my Mace of Lightning Destruction.
    For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
    Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host server,
    That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
    Is a faithless nerd, with an anemic computer
    This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
    He that outlives this day, will be at least level 32,
    He that shall live this day, and see his computer become obsolete,
    Will yearly feast in front of his neighbors,
    And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
    Then will he strip his sleeve and show his tattoos,
    And say 'It was so koowl. We played thirty levels on Crispian's day.'
    Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
    But he'll remember, with advantages,
    What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
    Familiar in his mouth as household words-
    Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
    Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-



   -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Sometimes human beings are very much like bees. Bees are fiercely protective
of their hive, provided you are outside it. Once you're in, the workers sort
of assume that it must have been cleared by management and take no notice;
various freeloading insects have evolved a mellifluous existence because of
this very fact. Humans act the same way.
- Good Omens, by Terry Pratchet and Neil Gaiman




More information about the Ravensfort mailing list