Word: Ufology.

ufology

[yoo-fol-uh-jee]

noun

1. the study of unidentified flying objects.

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Dan hesitated before entering the room.  He had heard the group was a bit eccentric, which would make them tricky to interview.  But, then again, the person he had talked to seemed normal enough on the phone.  He pulled himself together, checked his recording equipment, and entered the room.

He was greeted by a small number of people.  There were only seven of them, and his presence immediately caused all of them to look up from what they were doing.  The room itself was fairly normal.  A campus clubroom with various papers littering the table, and a large telescope set up near a window.

“Uh, hi.  I’m Dan Klein from the campus paper.” He said.

One of the people stepped forward hastily.  “Yes, yes, yes.  Very good.  Sorry for not getting ready, I didn’t think you would actually show up.” THe man was short and thin with heavy glasses.  “I’m Hank, the president of the ufology club.”

    He was the one Dan had spoken to to arrange the interview.  Somehow his voice did not seem to match his body.  Dan said nothing about this and instead discussed the interview briefly.  THe other members of the club left the room, leaving Dan and Hank alone.  Dan set up his recording equipment and and started the interview.

“So, tell me who you are and what this place is.” He started.

“My name is Hank Green, and I’m the president of the ufology club.”

“What does this club of yours do?”

“Well, it’s just like the name implies.  We study UFOs.”

Dan paused for a split second to take that in.  “So, you look for aliens?”

An annoyed look flashed across Hank’s face for a brief moment.  “No, no we do not.  We study UFOs, not aliens.”

“What’s the difference?  I mean, If you’re looking for UFOs--”

“We don’t look for them, we study them.  Now, I suppose the search is part of that, but not the entirety.  Now, I suppose I can see your confusion.  When most people think of UFOs, they think of flying saucers and other science fiction things.  But that’s not the case at all.  UFO stands of Unidentified Flying Object.  That is a very broad definition.  Much more so than most people think.  You see, a UFO can be anything that’s flying that hasn’t been identified yet.  Now, that could be something artificial, but not necessarily.  New comets, asteroids, meteors and other such things all count as UFOs.”

“So you’re more like astronomers than anything else?”

“I suppose so, albeit a very specific branch of astronomy.  We don’t study things that people already know about.  There are already a lot of people who do that.  No, we seek the discovery.  We seek out new ways of discovering things in the depth of space, and then find out new things about them.”

“And have you discovered any natural UFOs?”

“Oh yes, several.  One of our members found an undiscovered large asteroid that’s half the size of the moon just last week.  We’ve been examining that quite closely.”

“And do you notice any artificial UFOs?”

“Not yet, no.”

“I see.  Now, I noticed that your club doesn’t have very many members.  Why do you think that is?”

Hank sighed.  A distant look came to his glasses covered face.  “Most people just don’t understand.” He said sadly.  “They see UFOs and think we’re trying to be the next SETI.  They simply don’t see the thrill of discovery.  Of invention and innovation.  People simply don’t understand what we’re doing and so they ignore us.  It is an unfortunate reality that we live in.”

“And you’re looking to fix that, right?”

“Of course.  It’s the purpose of this interview.”

“Okay then.  Tell me more about your club.”   

**********************************

I guess there's a study for everything, isn't there?  

Word: Rasputin

 

Rasputin

[ra-spyoo-tin, -tn; Russian ruh-spoo-tyin]

noun

1. Grigori Efimovich

[gri-gawr-ee i-fee-muh-vich;; Russian gryi-gaw-ryee yi-fyee-muh-vyich] (Show IPA), 1871–1916, Siberian peasant monk who was very influential at the court of Czar Nicholas II and Czarina Alexandra.

2. any person who exercises great but insidious influence.

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  Ian wrung his hands nervously.  He looked around at the opulence surrounding him, which did nothing to sooth his nerves.

    “You want some advice, kid?” The guard said.  THe man was leading Ian through the halls towards his destination.

    “Uh, yes?”

    “Don’t bother with the king.  Greet him, show respect for him and all that, but don’t go to him to actually get something done.”

    “What?  But...but he’s the king.  Who else would I go to?”

    THe guard looked almost hesitant to answer, even though he was the one who brought it up.  “His advisor.  He’s the one with the real power.  You didn’t hear this from me, but the king’s an idiot.  A fool who does whatever his advisor tells him to without question.”

“That’s…”

“Don’t say it.  It’s not blasphemy or treachery or anything like that.  It’s a fact.  A simple fact.  Everyone knows it except the king himself.  Hell, his own son complains about it to everyone willing to listen.  Trust me, if you want something done, the royal advisor is the one to ask.”  The guard hesitated before continuing.  And when he did, it was so quiet Ian almost did not hear the words.  “Although you might just want to avoid it altogether.”

“Why?”

The guard’s well trained steps seemed to falter a bit and his halberd, which he had kept perfectly straight, seemed to drop a bit.  

“The royal advisor is, well, he’s not the most exemplary person in the world.  It’s...it’s probably best if I don’t say anything else, really.”

“Is there something wrong with the advisor?  I mean, you tell me that I should go to him, then you tell me I shouldn’t?  Which is it?” Ian asked with genuine curiosity.

“Both, really.  If you want something done, he is the one to go to.  But, well, the odds of him actually helping with whatever your problem is, isn’t very good.  He might even be responsible for your problems in the first place.”

“How can you know that?  You don’t even know what my problems are.”

“Exactly my point.”

Ian let those words sink in.  Considering what it implied, Ian was suddenly much more nervous than he had already been.  A bead of sweat trickled down his back and his hands became cold as sweat formed on his palms.  

“So what should I do?”

“Tell the king for the ceremony of it.  Then tell the royal advisor.  If you’re lucky, something will get done.”

“And if I’m not?”

“Pray to whatever god will listen that things don’t get worse.”

“Surely he can’t be that bad?  I mean, he must have some decency in him.”

The guard did not answer.  He simply looked at Ian out of the corner of his eye.  Ian could see pity in the man’s otherwise hardened face.  It was that look more than the guard’s words that got under Ian’s skin.  That one look spoke more than their conversation.  It was what made Ian question whether or not he should actually go through with his appeal.  But no, he had to.  If he did not, then his friends and family would not survive for long.  

The rest of the walk was done in silence.  Ian got the distinct impression that it was not because the guard had nothing more to say.  But it became a moot point when they reached the large, ornate doors to the throne room.  Two more guards stood on either side of the imposing entrance.  With great ceremony, they opened the doors.  Ian took a deep breath, steeled his nerves, and entered the throne room, ready to plead his case before whoever would listen.  

**************************************

Honestly, I'm not sure what to say right now. So yeah, just you know, have a nice day and all that.

Word: Ship

  

ship

[ship] Slang.

noun

1. a romantic relationship between fictional characters, especially one that people discuss, write about, or take an interest in, whether or not the romance actually exists in the original book, show, etc.:

popular ships in fan fiction.

verb (used with or without object), shipped, shipping.

2. to discuss, write about, or take an interest in a romantic relationship between (fictional characters):

I'm shipping for those guys—they would make a great couple!

*********************

 Kelly looked over at her roommate, Sara, who was furiously typing something on her laptop.  The constant clicking of keys made Kelly more curious than annoyed.  After all, Sara usually typed in small, contained bursts, rather than the sustained duration that was currently being presented.  This led Kelly to do the obvious.

    “What’re you writing?” She asked.  

    Sara paused just long enough to look up from the screen.  “Only the best fan fic ever written in the history of fan fics.”

    This got Kelly even more curious.  She pushed herself off the couch and moved behind Sara, reading over the other girl’s shoulder.  After a few minutes of reading, Kelly cringed.  THe story as it was was horrible.  It was not only filled with spelling and grammar problems, the writing was just bad.

    “Uh, Sara…”

    “I know, I know.  Sometimes I amaze myself.” Sara said proudly.

    “This is a first draft, right?”

    “Only in that it’s the first time I’m writing it.  Why?”

    “Wait, does that mean you’re not planning on editing it once you’re done?”

    “Nope.  Why should I?”

    Kelly rubbed the back of her neck.  She hated to do this to her friend, and Sara looked so proud of her work.  But it had to be done.

    “You’re going to want that editing session, trust me.”

    “Why?  It’s perfect.”

    “Sara, it’s terrible.  This is the kind of thing that gets made fun of by everyone else.”

    “Huh?”

    “Now, I’ve only read a little bit of it, so I can’t talk about the entire thing,but let’s start with the basics.  The pairing is just...just wrong.  Now, I won’t say anything about the genders, but they’re mortal enemies who would rather gut each other than anything else.”

    “That’s only because they don’t realize that they’re soulmates.” Sara said dreamily.

    “It...that...that doesn’t make any sense at all.  Seriously, you’re completely ignoring all the established canon.  The characters act nothing like they do in the show, their relationships are all wrong, and there’s nothing of the actual base material left.  You can’t even call this a fan fic anymore.”

    “Oh, like you’re one to talk.  You ship characters all the time in your fics.”

    “Yeah, but I make my ships based on what could happen.  I use the canon to build the world in ways that could theoretically happen.  I keep characters consistent with the source material, relationships make sense and the story fits in with the wider world.  The only thing yours uses from the show is the character’s names and basic appearances.”

Sara looked up at Kelly with a deer-in-the-headlights look.  Everything Kelly had just said seemed to go over Sara’s head.

“But...but...they’d make such a hot couple.”

Kelly sighed.  “It’s not always about how they’d look together.  It’s about chemistry.  Your characters don’t have any in the show.  And what’s worse, they don’t have any chemistry in your story.”

“Well, I think it works.” Sara said with a huff.  “I’m not changing it, just because you think it’s bad.  I bet everyone else will love it.”

“If that’s what you think, I won’t stop you.” Kelly turned to head back to the couch and Sara resumed her typing.  “Although I should point out that your grammar is atrocious.”

******************************************

Happy Singles Awareness Day everyone!

Also, there actually is a lot of fan fiction out there like this. It's kind of funny, actually. Just be careful, a lot of it is not child friendly.

Word: Cerebrate

cerebrate

[ser-uh-breyt]

verb (used with or without object), cerebrated, cerebrating.

1. to use the mind; think or think about.

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Vince was not good at puzzles.  It did not matter what type it was, he was just bad at them.  From jigsaw to logic to games and everything in between.  If the term puzzle could be used to describe it, Vince was apt to fail.  His friends had often joked that he could not solve a puzzle to save his life.  He was fine with that as long as it was just figurative.

The problem was that it was now literal.

His breathing was fast as his sweat soaked fingers fumbled with the colorful plastic cube.  He twisted and turned the different segments until the different colors started to bleed together.  He saw a glimmer of hope when a few sides showed the same color.  With a final twist, another side was complete.  When he looked at the cube he saw that two segments were wrong.  Just two, and they were on opposite sides of the cube.  To him, that presented an impossible situation.  

“You got close that time.” A heavily distorted voice said.  

It came from a speaker placed above a timer.  Vince risked a glance at the timer, seeing his ever dwindling time.  It made him panic even more than he already was.

He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it before any words escaped.  He had been connected to the guillotine-like death trap for an hour and a half.  He had yet to get any information out of his captor other than that he had to solve a single puzzle to escape.  In front of him, just within arms reach, was a partially completed jigsaw puzzle, a sheet of paper with a paragraph of text on it, and a small wire ring puzzle.  

At first, Vince had tried to finish the jigsaw puzzle.  He could mostly do those, given enough time and a clear enough picture to work from.  But alas, he had neither of those.  THe only other option he had was the Rubik’s Cube, since he knew those had a set solution.  He had even looked it up once.  

But that solution eluded him now, when he needed it most.  He continued to work on the cube, twisting and turning it until the near complete state it had been in was utterly destroyed.  Vince let out a pained yell as he felt the weight of the device on his back.  He was about to throw the cube away in defeat when the voice chimed in again.

“What’s wrong?  Giving up?  You only have half an hour left you know.”

Vince growled and ground his teeth.  No.  Not now.  He would not give up so easily.  He took a deep breath and calmed himself as much as he was able.  He closed his eyes and thought.  He thought about the cube in his hands.  He thought about past experiences with such things.  He thought harder than he ever had before.

And then his fingers started moving.  Without even looking at the puzzle, his fingers worked the rotating segments.  All the while, his mind continued to work.  It started to drift to other subjects, but Vince forced his mind back into place.  He ignored the timer. He ignored the blade hovering above him.  He ignored the occasional taunt of his captor.  He ignored everything but his own thoughts and the tactile sensations of his hands.

And then he opened his eyes.  In his hands was a cube, with each side a single, solid color.  He looked up in triumph.  He had done it.  He had solved a puzzle to save his life.

“Well, I’ll be.  Good job.” The voice said.  The timer stopped.  “But, think you can do it again with something else?”

The timer reset, this time with an hour instead of two.  

“You’ve got three more to choose from.  Good luck.”

**********************************************

 Like this guy, I am not particularly good at puzzles. I can do some easy ones, but beyond that...well, it's definitely not my strong point, that's for sure. Of course, I've never been captured by a Saw-esque villain and forced to solve puzzles or anything like that. I consider that a good thing, really.