Word: Pasquinade

pasquinade

[pas-kwuh-neyd]

noun

1. a satire or lampoon, especially one posted in a public place.

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The thin pile of colored pages was dropped on the table.  There they sat, unmoving.  Principal Beston crossed his plump arms and glared at Taylor, who sat in front of the expensive looking, but still cheap, desk.

               “Do you know what this is?” Principal Beston asked.

               Taylor looked at the older man in confusion.  “The school paper?” He said.

               “And what is in the paper?”

               “The news?” He couldn’t help but think how weird old people could be.  It really was a mystery to the 16 year old.

               Principal Beston let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a grumble.  “On this page in particular.” He said.

               His finger pointed to what passed for a comics page in the small, student run newspaper.  Really, it was just three strips and a computer generated puzzle, but it was better than nothing.  And among that small selection was the inaugural entry into Taylor’s new comic strip.

               “The comics?”

               “Correct, Mr. Hawthorne, the comics.  More specifically, yours.”

               “What’s wrong with it?”

               “What’s wrong?  Everything is wrong.  It’s rude, disrespectful, offensive and inappropriate.”

               Taylor looked at the three-panel comic.  It was a satirical look at high school life that, with the term satire used loosely.  It was the kind of safe, banal humor that was seen in national newspaper comics.  He could probably get nationally syndicated with it, if he cleaned up the art a bit.  There was definitely nothing rude or offensive about it.  Well, the bland humor might offend someone, but not many.

               “Why?” Taylor asked simply.

               “It makes fun of this great institution and those who work here, that’s how.”

               One of the characters in the strip was indeed a teacher loosely based off one of his own, but that was about it.  That character only appeared in one of the three panels, and was not the main focus of the strip.  And it was not even making fun of the teacher in question.  Not really anyway.  Maybe a little, but nothing terrible.  He had even cleared it with the woman, and she had gotten a kick out of it and said it was fine.

               “How so?”

               “It paints teachers in a poor light.  Makes them objects of ridicule and leaves them open for insults and disrespect.”

               “What?  No it doesn’t.  And even if it did, so what?  It’s satire.  It’s supposed to make fun of stuff.  Nobody’s going to take it seriously anyway.  Pretty sure there’s only, like, three others outside of the newspaper club that’d even read it.”

               “And that is three students too many.  You will not publish any more of these sad excuses for comic strips, and I want to know who approved the inclusion.  Certainly it was not a teacher employed here, so it must have been another student.  Unless you were working alone and snuck it in.”

               “Actually, it was Mrs. Keller.  She thought it was nice.  And Ms. Green-Hall said it was okay too, and she’s the one I based the one I used as inspiration.  She thought it was cleaver.”

               Principal Beston’s eyes widened in shock.  “I will have to have words with those two.” He said quietly.  “But my decision still stands.  You will cease the publication of this horrid, insulting comic before it gets out of hand.  I will not have this…this insult to such a fine institution around where anyone can see it.”

               “Okay, fine, whatever.” Taylor said with a sigh.  He was not particularly invested, since he had only published one strip so far.

               “Good.  As long as you understand, we have an agreement.  You are dismissed.”

               Taylor stood and turned, waiting until his back was to the principal to roll his eyes.  He headed for the door and was about to open it, but a new thought came to him.  He paused and turned.

“You know this isn’t going to go the way you think it will, right?”

“What?” Principal Beston said, raising one eyebrow.  Taylor was momentarily impressed by that, but did not let it dissuade him.

“People love satire and hate censorship.  Think about that.”

And with those words, he left the office, leaving his principal to think.

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It's true.  People hate censorship, even when it has merit.  I mean, look what happened a few years ago when the US government tried to pass internet censorship laws.  It didn't go very well and had people in an uproar.  That's not to say all censorship is necessarily bad, but it does have to be used intelligently.  Something like this is probably not the smartest way to use censorship.  

Word: Spagyric

spagyric

[spuh-jeer-ik]

adjective

1. pertaining to or resembling alchemy; alchemic.

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              Rown looked around his new environment.  The library stood behind him, a squarish building made of fine, red brick.  Other buildings stood around him, made of metal, stone, or brick.  Never the wood he was used to.  People wearing clothes he had never even considered walked around, few of them giving him so much as a second glance.  That suited him just fine.

               His heavy wool clothes were too warm for the current climate, but he would have to make due until he could obtain the current fashions.  What he found most interesting was how cool the library had been, and how many books were stored inside of it.  He had enjoyed the climate and learned many things from the books.

               The main thing he learned was how far this era’s alchemists had fallen.  They did not even call themselves alchemists, shortening the term to chemist.  Rown found that appropriate, since chemists were but a pale shadow of a proper alchemist.  They did not even understand what alchemy was.  They thought it was the pursuit of turning lead into gold, or finding eternal life or some such.  It was ridiculous.  Well, not the lead into gold thing.  That was possible, but nobody actually did it.  If they did, it would cause economic collapse, so only the truly desperate alchemists did so.

               But the chemists of the modern day could not even work a simple transmutation.  They were content to simply mix their ingredients.  Rown doubted any of them even knew about the material voices.  Without that, they were barely scratching the surface of the craft.

               That did not mean they had made no advancements.  He watched a person talking on what he had learned was called a cellular phone.  It was a remarkable thing, to be able to talk to people around the world.  The technology had advanced quite a bit since his day.  Even in the realm of chemistry, they had developed means to work around what they lacked.  It would be interesting to find out what he could do with his alchemic skills and modern chemistry equipment.  Rown himself was especially eager to work with the device called a centrifuge.  He imagined it would solve many of the things he used to struggle with.  After all, just having the skills of a true alchemist did not mean he could do everything. 

               Rown walked along until he found a young man reading a thick book.  He approached the man and cleared his throat to get the youth’s attention.

               “Excuse me, young man, could you tell me where the chemistry laboratory is?”

               “Uh, I think it’s that one.” The man said, pointing at a squat white building with large windows.  “Don’t know what room it is though.  You’ll have to find a chem major for that.”

               “And you are not?”   

               “Engineering.” He lifted the book so that the cover could be seen.  Its title was indeed one that indicated one who worked with buildings.

               “Ah, I see.  Thank you for your time.”

               Rown left the confused youth to his studies.  So much knowledge in one place, he mused.  He could only imagine what boons his alchemy could bring this new, modern world.  And what the world could add to his own skills.   

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I guess alchemy can be used to travel through time?  Or many he just kind of put himself in stasis or something.  Meh, it's not really important. 

Word: Infomania

infomania

[in-fuh-mey-nee-uh, ‐foh‐]

noun

1. excessive enthusiasm for acquiring knowledge.

2. Digital Technology.

1. an obsessive need to constantly check emails, social media websites, online news, etc.:
   The fear of being out of the loop, not in the know, fuels infomania, especially among teens.
2. the effects of this obsession, especially a decline in the ability to concentrate:
   She attributes her increasingly poor “life management skills” to infomania.

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              Karen looked around nervously.  She fidgeted at her purse as she walked.  It took a huge force of will not to open it and take her phone out.  But she was determined not to use it, at least for one night.  The fact that she had made a bet with her boyfriend, Tom, did not hurt either. 

               But everything was calling to her.  A new sign with a punny comment.  A pair of birds fighting over a discarded muffin.  A kid with a balloon.  Everything was begging for her to take pictures of them and put on her Instagram page.  And think of all the things she was missing.  Pictures to see, messages to read.  Everything was right there, covered only by a piece of cotton slung around her shoulder.

               She had to remain strong.  She could not lose.  She had lost too many bets with Tom already.  This one would go to her.  All she had to do was not look at her phone for one day, with the exception of answering phone calls.  It sounded so easy, but the small device was calling to her.  Tempting her with its many siren songs of photos, messages, tweets, and more. 

               She heard a small chime coming from the purse.  Another reminder that her phone was there, and that her followers and people she followed were still out there.  Some were no doubt wondering why she had not updated her various social media pages since the morning.  Others were simply posting things that were happening to them.  And she was missing out on all of it. 

               How could she have been so foolish?  So she had spent most of their date on her phone.  So what?  She spent just as much time talking with him as she had posting.  But he had gotten upset for some reason.  It did not make any sense to her.  Tom spent almost as much time on his phone as she did.  At least, that’s what it seemed like to her.  But no, he they had argued about it.  Most of her followers agreed with her, of course.  Then the bet happened.  As long as she could stay off her phone, she would follow one of her commands.  It was a valuable thing for her, and she was determined to win it.  Especially since the cost of losing was wearing something she hated, but he loved.  That alone gave her the drive for victory.

               Another chime drifted to her ears from her purse.  Was it telling that she could hear the tiny, muffled sound over the much louder noises of the city?  She gave it no thought as she reflexively reached to get her phone and see what was happening.  She caught herself with her fingers just starting to enter the bag.  She clenched her fist and held her hand at her side.  She would be strong.  She would triumph.  The thought about her victory posts was glorious. 

               A rapid series of chimes and tones reached her ears from the now open purse.  Her hand trembled at the thought that she was missing out on so much.  She bit her lip.  She had to remain firm.  No phone.  Not yet.  But the chimes just kept coming.  They sped up, as if to tell her to give in.  To just check once.  Tom would never know.  It was not like he was monitoring her actions or anything. 

               She quickly ducked into a nearby building and gave in to the siren’s song.  She scrolled through her messages, checked her feeds, and indulged in finally being connected.  But then it happened.  She had gone too fast and not been careful about what she was looking at.  She landed on a text message from Tom.  The moment she read it, she knew the game was up.  The text was a few hours old, and said two words: I win.

               She sighed and continued to scroll through her social media sites.  She had lost, so why not?  Besides, she would win next time.

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A good way to keep this under control is to not have tons of social media accounts.  I only have a handful, and don't use them very often.  Because of them, I have no real need to constantly check them. Yay me.