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Jan. 9th, 2003
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There are times - not often, but times - when I wonder whether it might not be simpler to live in a normal person's head instead of my own. Lately, such wonderings have been provoked by the radio. I forget exactly when it cropped up for the first time. I want to say on the drive home from New York on New Year's Night, but I'm not certain... I was listening to the radio and an old Bon Jovi song, 'Runaway', came on. ( Here's the lyrics: )
A normal person would listen to that, think 'ooh, teen runaway prostitute' and leave it at that. But noooo, my brain couldn't leave it alone, especially since I thought he was saying 'works' (as in 'working girl') instead of 'walks'...
Daddy's rich. Daddy's got money. Daddy doesn't pay as much attention to his daughter as he ought. Daddy has stuff from all over the world that he seems to value more than his little girl - books, artifacts, weapons, you name it. Daddy's fifteen year old daughter - okay, thirteen, she'd have to start at thirteen - wants his attention, right? So maybe he'll pay more attention to her if she shows an interest in the stuff that he likes more than he likes her, yes? Even if that means learning Japanese and figuring out how to use all the pointy things in Daddy's 'don't ever touch this' collection? Right.
Daddy's little girl is out on the streets every night doing unimatginable things, things that'd blow his mind if he ever figured them out, because sweet little fifteen-year old Jenny's figured out exactly what's in Daddy's foreign books. She had to do it all by herself for a while, but then Daddy's foreign contacts - or possibly someone else - encountered her and offered to teach her more than she ever thought to learn. True, Daddy would never have a chance of finding out if she did it right, but at least it meant someone would be paying attention to her...
Jenny Rhoades, the self-taught freelance ninja. *sigh*
A normal person would listen to that, think 'ooh, teen runaway prostitute' and leave it at that. But noooo, my brain couldn't leave it alone, especially since I thought he was saying 'works' (as in 'working girl') instead of 'walks'...
Daddy's rich. Daddy's got money. Daddy doesn't pay as much attention to his daughter as he ought. Daddy has stuff from all over the world that he seems to value more than his little girl - books, artifacts, weapons, you name it. Daddy's fifteen year old daughter - okay, thirteen, she'd have to start at thirteen - wants his attention, right? So maybe he'll pay more attention to her if she shows an interest in the stuff that he likes more than he likes her, yes? Even if that means learning Japanese and figuring out how to use all the pointy things in Daddy's 'don't ever touch this' collection? Right.
Daddy's little girl is out on the streets every night doing unimatginable things, things that'd blow his mind if he ever figured them out, because sweet little fifteen-year old Jenny's figured out exactly what's in Daddy's foreign books. She had to do it all by herself for a while, but then Daddy's foreign contacts - or possibly someone else - encountered her and offered to teach her more than she ever thought to learn. True, Daddy would never have a chance of finding out if she did it right, but at least it meant someone would be paying attention to her...
Jenny Rhoades, the self-taught freelance ninja. *sigh*
As something of an addendum
Jan. 9th, 2003 11:40 amto the previous post, I'd like to note that normal people probably have an easier time listening to Madonna's "Material Girl", too.
NORMAL PERSON BRAIN: Hmm, perky song... where'd I hear it last... oh, yeah, that Marilyn Monroe looking video. Madonna used to be cute in a kinda-slutty way, huh?
MY BRAIN: Hmm, perky song... you know, that base line reminds me of some footage I've seen of factories... you know, this makes a great theme song for the inventor of the printing press among the Aftherai*, she was a textile manufacturer (ha! 'material girl'!) who realized you could replicate characters over and over if you just carved them out of wood and arranged them properly... yeah, little bustling woman who looked kind of like Piffany in Nodwick... cue the explosion of educational materials across a continent of Elk-riders!
It's probably easier inside a normal person's head. But my God, it must be boring.
*The Aftherai are the inhabitants of a universe I'm sort of peripherally working on in the background. They tamed Megaloceros giganteus, the so-called Irish elk, as their riding animal owing to a severe shortage of anything else worth riding in their area. They mostly ride the does, and their primary meat animal is the fallow deer. Their defining cultural trait is a combination of curiosity and persistence that would cause parents of two-year-olds to whimper in recognition and most of our world's trickster deities to try to claim the credit for their creation.)
NORMAL PERSON BRAIN: Hmm, perky song... where'd I hear it last... oh, yeah, that Marilyn Monroe looking video. Madonna used to be cute in a kinda-slutty way, huh?
MY BRAIN: Hmm, perky song... you know, that base line reminds me of some footage I've seen of factories... you know, this makes a great theme song for the inventor of the printing press among the Aftherai*, she was a textile manufacturer (ha! 'material girl'!) who realized you could replicate characters over and over if you just carved them out of wood and arranged them properly... yeah, little bustling woman who looked kind of like Piffany in Nodwick... cue the explosion of educational materials across a continent of Elk-riders!
It's probably easier inside a normal person's head. But my God, it must be boring.
*The Aftherai are the inhabitants of a universe I'm sort of peripherally working on in the background. They tamed Megaloceros giganteus, the so-called Irish elk, as their riding animal owing to a severe shortage of anything else worth riding in their area. They mostly ride the does, and their primary meat animal is the fallow deer. Their defining cultural trait is a combination of curiosity and persistence that would cause parents of two-year-olds to whimper in recognition and most of our world's trickster deities to try to claim the credit for their creation.)