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Discipline through Verbal Barbs
Mar. 6th, 2005
07:02 pm - Two plus Two equals Chair, or A Tale of Library Math.
(50-4) + 4 - 4 + 3 = 50
No, it does not.
Try it at home, minions. It doesn't work.
Except, of course, in that swirling vortex of time, space, books, and
non-linear, non-Euclidean, non-sensical mathematics that we like to
call...THE LIBRARY. Mostly, of course, because that's its name and calling it Esther or Amaryllis would be Needlessly Confusing.
The Mistress, as of this morning, was in possession of fifty (50)
books. They were assorted volumes of Interest and Learning, all
completely necessary. Sadly, The Library
has a Policy that not more than fifty (50) books may be checked out at
any one time, lest Marauders transport 51 volumes into desert-bound
slavery, sell them to Bedouin caravans, and parlay the money into the
Tupperware black market. This Is A Real Concern, and one thanks the
administration of this Old Southern School for protecting one from
marauders. Marauding. Maraudation. The state of being Marauded.
Donc, alors, Mistress Katia
wished to obtain four (4) new volumes. In order to complete this Task,
she instructed her manservant to carry along four (4) volumes from her
oak-panelled library for which she had no immediate Requirement. This
was all accomplished according to plan. The following dialogue occurred
at The Library:
Library Minion: Okay, yeah, that's all. They're all checked back in.
Mistress Katia: Thank you for your considerate and prompt service.
Might I inquire how many volumes remain charged to my account?
LM: (counting on fingers) Um...
MK: Do feel free to use a counting assistance device.
LM: (visibly relieved) Oh, good. (sound of beads clicking on abacus strings) Um, you have forty-six (46) books.
This was As Expected. So, Mistress Katia proceeded to the Reserve Desk
(where all the reserves of jam are kept - along, of course, with
reserves of artillery, extra reserves of grain, reserve forces,
assorted Native American tribes, and some few books) and requested four
(4) volumes as well as the temporary use of one (1) of The Library's laptop computers and its associated bag. All requested items were duly brought forth, and then Chaos and Panic Ensued.
LM: Are these all the ones you wanted?
MK: No, but I suspect in light of your Policy that they are all you will give me. Four (4) will suffice for now, thank you.
LM: (fiddling with book-checking out accoutrements) Um...
MK: Is there a problem? (aside) Aside from your obvious lack of multiple brain cells and your base position on the Great Chain of Being.
LM: So, you can only have fifty (50) books.
MK: Yes.
LM: So you can't have all of these.
MK: (stares at LM, in the hopes that s/he will cease embarrassing him/herself)
LM: I mean...
MK: Let me see if I understand. I can check out a total of fifty (50)
books. Correct? Correct. And I have just returned four. Correct?
Correct. Is it, therefore the case, that forty-six (46) plus four (4)
no longer equal fifty (50)?
LM: But, right, see, the laptop and the bag it comes in count as two (2).
MK: I am limited to fifty (50) books, am I not? Not fifty (50) assorted items that may or may not originate in The Library?
LM: Right, fifty (50) books.
MK: And you are telling me that this laptop computer and this associated bag (gesturing) are books.
LM: Um, yeah.
MK: Fine. I'll take the two (2) books - and by two (2) books I mean
laptop computer and its associated bag - as well as these two (2) books
- and by two (2) books I do, in fact, mean books in the sense that both
their essential Platonic book-ness and their accidental properties of
being conform to what is known, in the common parlance, as a book.
LM: OK.
Two hours later...
MK: Hello, Library Minion. I no longer require the use of this laptop
computer nor its associated bag. I wish, also, to return the two (2)
books I obtained earlier and exchange all of these for four (4) new
books off Reserve.
LM: (drooling) OK. (returns with all requested items) Um, you can't have all of these.
MK: Whyever not? Are they under quarantine?
LM: What's quarantine? No, it's because you're at your fifty (50) book limit.
MK: Ah. I believe you are mistaken. Because, if you will remember, you
yourself have just discharged four (4) items from my record and thus
forty-six (46) ought to remain.
LM: (pulls out Mayan knotted rope counting device and begins to furiously knot and unknot strings)
Time passes.
LM: Right, but you can still only have fifty (50).
MK: I understand this completely. Words cannot express the extent to which this concept is evident.
LM: So you'll have to give back one of these four (4) books.
MK: Why?
LM: Because you can only have fifty (50).
MK: So you're telling me that after having returned four (4) items, I can now only take out three (3)?
LM: Yeah.
MK: Ah.
LM: So which one don't you want?
MK: A moment please. Let me ask you a question, or rather, a series of
several questions: do you recall, approximately two hours ago, when I
checked out two (2) books and one (1) laptop computer and its
associated one (1) bag?
LM: (still drooling) Yeah.
MK: At that point in time, you informed me that those four (4) items
plus all my other checked out books totalled fifty (50). Do you recall
saying that?
LM: (by now really quite damp) Yargh.
MK: Then perhaps you will understand my confusion when you inform me,
now, that fifty (50) minus four (4) plus three (3) is fifty (50).
LM: Narg.
MK: Ah. I see. Perhaps another angle of attack will make this clearer
to you. Are you aware of any gravitational disturbances which would
render linear logic inapplicable in this general vicinity?
LM: (in need of a shirt change) Nnnnnaaarrrrg.
MK: Quite. And barring that possibility, is it perhaps the case that
during the two hours I was absent from this desk, the Laws of the
Universe were altered so that three (3) now in some inconceivable
fashion enharmonically is equivalent to four (4)?
LM: (looking around for a towel). Nnnnnnnnnnnnnng.
MK: Indeed. Yes, I would prefer that you not drip on my hand, thank you
ever so much. Well, in light of the Alteration of Universal Constants,
then, I shall take these three (3) books.
Therefore, Minions, consider yourselves warned. If you should go into a
deli and ask for three (3) sandwiches, you may indeed receive any
number of sandwiches form three (3) to Avagadro's Number (6.02 x
10^23). At least if the deli in question is in the basement of The Library.
Jan. 18th, 2005
07:34 pm - In Which an Upraised Hand Does Not Make An Appearance
Those who are Faithful Readers will know that Mistress Katia highly values courtesy and civility, believing as most People Of Culture do that they are Marks Of Good Breeding. Dear Minions, the Mistress feels it is her duty to bring to your collective attention an incident which transpired today at a certain Old Southern School. Brace yourselves, mes petites, not for the Usual Pain your Mistress provides, but rather for the Psychological Pain with which the following will doubtless afflict you. Trust your Mistress- these Marks take Far Longer to fade.
The Setting: a Typical Classroom at a certain Old Southern School, plenty of brick-y, scholarly charm...a dozen or so students are seated around a table. The Professor, a Fine Specimen and Quite An Attractive Older Gentleman, is leading the Discussion. It quickly transpires that two students are unable to observe the rules of common courtesy. They will be known, respectively, as Monsieur le Terroriste and the Queen of Sheba...
The Professor (a Fine Specimen): And so you can see that certain geo-political trends become clear-
Monsieur le Terroriste: (in loud, stentorian tones) Yes! Exactly! That's precisely it! It reminds me of what happened in Egypt!
The Professor (a Fine Specimen): Yes, well, as I was saying, it seems clear that certain patterns of land tenure arise. Yes? (gesturing to two upraised hands) I'm not sure who was first, Mistress Katia or the Queen of Sheba.
Mistress Katia: (with a graceful nod to the Queen of Sheba) Please, do go ahead.
Queen of Sheba: (failing to acknowledge this courtesy) It seems to me, um, that there were two, um, well, two main sort of interests here, I mean, because, you know, the Church kind of wanted one thing and the Crown, well, everyone had agreed that sort of like, 'this will be your space because we agree that it's your space,' and on the other side they were all, 'this can be your space because it is,' I guess, I don't mean land, really, but more like, they had different goals....(trailing off incoherently)
The Professor (a Fine Specimen): I can see that, I think (he has been visibly drawn into the quagmire that was the QOS's sentence), so, Mistress Katia?
Mistress Katia: Just a brief query, really - can you clarify patterns of landholding vis à vis Ancien Regime policies?
The Professor (a Fine Specimen): (on far firmer ground now that someone has used grammar and syntax to ask a question) Certainly, well, it's important to remember that Napoleon, for one, was in some way a cause of nationalism, and so bearing that in mind we can see-
Monsieur le Terroriste: Exactly! Like in Egypt! Precisely! What was that last again? I could not quite hear you.
The Professor (a Fine Specimen): I was saying that Napoleon was in some sense an instigator of nationalism in that he-
Queen of Sheba: (talking over top TP(FS)) But of course we have to remember, um, that the main thing, um, is that, well, there were other concerns, like, stuff...
Mistress Katia: (glancing at the QOS to ensure that she has finished "speaking"; since she has been silent for several moments and is staring into space, MK continues) More specifically, I suppose, I'm asking about the item on p. 37. Is it-
Queen of Sheba: (talking over-top MK now) Because there were other concerns, and stuff...(looking at MK) oh, were you talking?
Mistress Katia: (icily) Please, do go on.
Queen of Sheba: And other concerns, like, the crown, and stuff. And the Enlightenment.
Monsieur le Terroriste: Precisely! It's exactly like in Iraq today! Because there are people who don't really like one side or the other! What? I could not hear you!
The Professor (a Fine Specimen): (glancing at MK in apology) I said, on p. 37 there are several interesting issues-
Monsieur le Terroriste: (even more loudly) What?! What page!
The Professor (a Fine Speciment): Thirty-seven.
And so it continued, Dear Readers. It was, as you might imagine, Rather An Affront to Mistress Katia's oft-delicate social sensibilities.
Dec. 20th, 2004
03:47 am - In which a Copy Center is not eponymous.
The Mistress has returned, now that the Hectic-ness that is examinations at the Old Southern School has finally ceased. Hopefully, you are more Dutiful for the respite from her Tender Punishment. Unfortunately, the Mistress's disappearance from the Public Eye was not warranted by an abrupt lack in Things That Piss Her Off. No, that would be asking far too much.
As part of her Duties in regards to Final Assessments, the Mistress was required to Make Copies. Though those copies needed to be Multi-Colored in nature, this remained what should have been a relatively Simple Task. Now, Clever Minions, what would be the operative words in the previous sentence?
Should Have Been.
A Frame of Reference:
The Mistress was possessed of Three (3) sheets of paper. The first page Required two (2) copies made in Red, the second the same but in White, and the third in Blue. For those Minions playing along at Home, that is Six sheets of paper in Three colors.
This would soon prove to be Too Much to Ask.
The Mistress strolled into the Copy Center of the Old Southern School with plenty of time with which to Get Things Done. She patiently awaited her turn in the Designated Area and approached the counter with a Cordiality that belied the events to come. Greeted by the unwarranted Surliness of the Copy Center Worker, the Mistress nevertheless remained unperturbed and repeated her wishes (clearly enumerated above) to the Employee whose salary was paid by her Tuition. What was she told?
Copy Center Employee:"We can't do that."
Mistress Katia:"Make copies?"
CCE:"No, red."
MK:"You can't do red?"
CCE:"Copies."
It is important to note at this Juncture that the Mistress was eye level with a ream of Crimson paper sitting on the shelf behind the counter.
MK:"I see. May I ask why not?"
CCE:"I can only use what's open."
Note: The employee to whom Mistress Katia spoke was, in fact, the one In Charge of the Goings On in the Copy Center. Perhaps Paper can rot like a Vital Organ left on a Copy Center Counter, and that is why it cannot be opened . . . Patience is Virtue.
That the Mistress Lacks.
MK:"That's a policy?"
CCE:"That's the way it is now ain't it?"
Time for a new tack.
MK:"What is open?"
CCE:"Open is these boxes right here."
MK:"Perhaps I was unclear. What colors are available to me within the Purview of this 'Policy'?"
A large show was then made of turning about to read the labels on a haphazard stack of boxes behind the Employee of Satan.
CCE:"Pink, Green, Purple, Yellow, Blue."
MK:"What color is the the Blue?"
CCE:"Blue colored."
MK:"I'm sorry?"
CCE:"Blue colored blue. Do you want it or not?"
We very much Doubt that a clarification as to the Mistress's State of Mind is necessary.
MK:"May I see it?"
A large production is once again Made.
MK:"Thank you, that will be fine. I would like two copies of this sheet in White, and two copies of this sheet in Blue."
CCE:"What?"
MK:"Two copies white-"
Sheet #1 is Handed Over.
CCE:"Okay . . . "
MK:"Two copies blue."
Sheet #2 is Handed Over. This Should be the End of this entire Tawdry Affair.
CCE:"What about that sheet?"
MK:"It needs to be in red, so I will not be copying it here."
CCE:"What about green?"
MK:"I beg your Pardon?"
CCE:"Green'd be pretty."
Unbelievable.
MK:"No, thank you. Red or nothing."
CCE:"Well I can't open the red."
That this Woman was the fastest of her father's sperm is a constant source of Amazement.
MK:"I realize that."
CCE:"So this in white-"
Holds up Sheet #2. Sigh.
CCE:"And this in blue."
Holds up Sheet #1. As the next two minutes of dialogue Distinctly resemble the above statements, we will spare the Torment the Mistress suffered at the hands of the Insufferable Dullard. Suffice it to say that Mistress Katia's Deceptively Simple requirements were, Once Again, disclosed, and that her hands began to itch for a Riding Crop as she Contemplated the possibilities of Paper Cutting someone to Death.
CCE:"18 cents."
Thank Providence, it was over. The Mistress paid her Pittance for Services Barely Rendered, and went on her way, Glad to be rid of the stench of Gross Incompetence.
It was upon reaching her home that the Mistress was confronted with the Final Blow to her waning Benevolent disposition, when it was realized that the Author of Chaos, Confusion, and Poor Copies had made only One copy of the two pages she'd Deigned to Copy at all.
Perhaps many Paper Cuts delivered in quick succession . . .
Nov. 2nd, 2004
02:42 pm
The Mistress, though the Keynote Speaker at a convention on Minion Portfolio Diversification in Bora Bora, took precious minutes to send this message to her own collection of Treasured Minions, and instructed us to Post said telegram to her Wider Audience of e-Minions, whom she punishes no less for being Incorporeal.
TO: MY ASSORTED AND VARIED US AND EXPATRIATE MINIONS
THOUGH I AM GENERALLY ABOVE STATING THE OBVIOUS, TODAY IS TUESDAY STOP
NOVEMBER THE SECOND STOP
IF YOU ARE NOT ACTIVELY VOTING AT THIS VERY MINUTE, I WILL NOT BE PLEASED STOP
UNLESS, OF COURSE, YOU HAVE ALREADY VOTED STOP
IF THAT IS THE CASE I APPLAUD YOUR DILIGENCE AND USE OF AGENCY STOP
THE ONLY POSSIBLE EXCUSE THAT COULD POSSIBLY BE HAD FOR NOT HAVING ALREADY EXERCISED YOUR CIVIC DUTY, AND THEREBY PLEASING YOUR MISTRESS, IS THAT ONE AND ALL WERE WAITING AVEC BREATH SEVERELY BAITED FOR ME TO TELL YOU FOR WHOM TO VOTE STOP
THOUGH I PRESUME MUCH, AN EXCELLENT EXAMPLE BEING YOUR UNDYING FEALTY AND DEVOTION, I WILL NOT INSTRUCT YOU IN YOUR BALLOT CHOICES AS YOUR MISTRESS CANNOT BE TROUBLED TO KNOW THE MINUTE DETAILS CONCERNING EACH OF YOUR LOCAL ELECTIONS AND INDIVIDUAL BALLOT INITIATIVES STOP
AS FOR VOTES OF A GREATER NATIONAL IMPORT, MISTRESS KATIA'S DEVOTION TO THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE SHOULD BE A SIMPLISTIC AND MINION-FRIENDLY METHOD WITH WHICH ONE MIGHT DIVINE HER PERSONAL PREFERENCES REGARDING NATIONAL ELECTIONS STOP
IF I FIND, AFTER THE CLOSE OF TODAY'S DEMOCRATIC PROCESS, THAT A MINION OF MINE WOULD DARE TO SHIRK ELECTORAL DUTY STOP
FOR SUCH PALTRY REASONS AS WEATHER OR TIME CONSTRAINT STOP
OR OTHER ASSORTED ASININE, HEALTH-RELATED AND UNPARDONABLE EXCUSES AS SCURVY, DIPHTHERIA OR PLAGUE STOP
I WILL COME AFTER YOU WITH A BULL WHIP AND A PURPOSE STOP
AS I HAVE BOTH IN ABUNDANCE STOP
Oct. 26th, 2004
12:18 pm - Gentle Instruction Not Always the Best Tactic
Mistress Katia begs - nay, Demands - your Pardon.
Surely her ears (delicate and shell-like though they are) Deceived Her.
For she Knows that no Minion of hers would dare use such Disgusting Language as "Anonymous" did when he commented on the last intelligent and altogether enjoyable Historical Vignette. It is profane. She cannot bring herself to reproduce it; if you wish to see it, look at your Own Peril.
It seems it is time for a brief review. Minions, Pay Attention. Mistress Katia will not Repeat These Instructions. Ignore them at your own peril. Now - what is the Proper Role of a Minion?
(This is rhetorical, as the Mistress is graciously going to furnish you with the answer you do not deserve in the slightest.)
The Proper Role of a Minion is subservient fear and trembling, and unalloyed pleasure at whatsoever the Mistress deigns to give. You Are Not To Ask For Things. Is this quite clear?
Anonymous will be punished, clearly - but not by the Mistress. The Almighty has Reserved special places for those who Transgress So Severely. The Mistress recommends that you read Dante, and if you are so Unlettered and Ignorant as to do so in the original Italian ("lasciate ogni speranza voi ch'entrate..."), find William Wordsworth's translation.
Disgusting Minions, the Mistress requires a cold compress in a dark room on account of your Dreadful Behavior. Until she returns, discover whither you are bound, Hopeless Sinner: http://www.4degreez.com/misc/dante-infe
Oct. 2nd, 2004
07:53 pm - In which Mistress Katia discovers Interesting Facts from a Post Mistress
A Long-Overdue Salutation - The Nature of Being - A Task at Hand
Faithful minions, we realize it has been Too Long. Nevertheless, there are Pressing Concerns in the Mistress' life (no, ever-eager ones, not pressing as in thumbscrews, pressing as in imminent) which must be Attended To.
But lest you wither away from longing, or develop a horrid rash in response to the lack of narrative here, let us refresh your thirsty souls. Of course, if the Mistress were truly as heartless, or - as some claim, forged from Elemental Cast Iron - she would deny your pleas for enlightenment and leave you to rot until it Pleased Her. But she knows full well that Occasional Attention a Happy Minion Makes, and she does rather depend on you to remember all the complicated knots and to clean the carpets. It is so hard to find good help these days.
Whilst pursuing a Prestigious Grant from her Old Southern School, the Mistress found it necessary to send certain documents by post. In possesion of a few free hours, she found her favorite gloves and hat (for it is Not Done to go To Town ill-turned out) and called for a car. She reached the Post Office after a short but pleasant drive and took her carefully prepared package inside. Faithful Readers, it is important that you understand the perfection of this package. Words cannot express the Aesthetically Pleasing Nature nor the symmetry it possesed.
The Importance of Being Gracious - Difficulties Arise - Ill-trained Minions the Bane of Existence - A Tale of Two Envelopes - Siblings
Waiting patiently in line, Mistress Katia graced her fellow post patrons with a charming smile and a well-bred tilt of her impeccably coiffed head. It is Important, minions, to extend a gracious appearance to all fellow creatures, be they ever so humble. At least, it is Important until one Has Them Alone or Otherwise Restrained...but this is, of course, a different story.
Having reached the front of the line, Mistress Katia proceeded to the first available Post Minion. Sadly for all concerned, it was a creature named "Jossie" (a Dreadfully Common Name) being trained by a Post Mistress hereinafter referred to as Duchess La'quisha de Longnails. It seems patent to us that she must have been extremely well-born, for only someone of such high social standing would have mastered the Utter Disdain shewn for humanity. Taking pity on the poor Trainee, Mistress Katia explained in a well-modulated voice (with round, beautiful, Italianate vowels) that she wished to send her Important Documents via Registered Mail. The Trainee immediately began to rummage through stacks of paper in order to find a ticket - which, in her infinite foresight and preparedness, the Mistress had already Filled Out. She kindly pointed this out to the Trainee, who glanced behind her at the Duchess to ensure that all was in order. The Duchess, with a long-suffering sigh, tapped the top of the package containing the Important Documents, and employed the Socratic Method, asking the Trainee what was wrong with the package.
Since the answer was obviously "nothing," Mistress Katia watched this exchange unfold with a Mild Curiosity. When the Trainee was unable to muster a satisfactory reply, the Duchess indicated the beautifully-typed label adorning the top of the package and observed in her peculiar local dialect that she "couldn't be havin' with that mess pasted onna front, gotta be writ on by han' ". What Nerve! Really, Dear Readers, you may register your astonishment that Mistress Katia did not have the Duchess executed on the spot for such impertinence! But the Mistress, a firm proponent of the educational process, saw in this instance a sterling occasion for Trainee to learn Interesting and Important Facts from her Post Mistress.
Directed to a wall covered in various types on envelopes, Yours Truly was instructed to place her Important Documents in a different container and to write the address on the front by hand. The Mistress selected a well-padded envelope, placed the Documents inside, and withdrew her favorite fountain pen. Testing the nib, she wrote out the address in a lovely round hand - in vermillion ink, of course, as anyone Fortunate Enough to have received a missive from her well knows.
The Mistress carried her newly-encased package to the front of the line and presented it encore to the Post Minion. The Duchess, in her inscrutable Post Wisdom, observed that one could not send Registered Mail items in a padded envelope. Another Revelation!
Having prepared a final iteration of the package, with a matte white envelope addressed in vermillion sans padding or "pasted-on mess" (a descriptor which the Mistress mildly resents), it was presented a final time to those Arbiters of Post, the Duchess and the Trainee. Reminded somewhat of the scales of truth, the Mistress was moderately amused as she observed to herself that this package of Important Documents was, indeed, heavier than a Feather. Anubis would Have A Fit.
But fortunately for all those concerned (for further delay would have called for a Steel-Tipped Lash and perhaps some Mild Flaying) the package was Perfect and could be mailed posthaste. The Duchess, ever vigilant for teaching opportunites, observed that few in today's Degenerate World knew the difference between Registered Mail and Delivery Confirmation, and would the Mistress prefer to send it via the latter? The Mistress replied that, no, she was quite happy to send it Registered Mail as it was the Deluxe Service and the creme de la creme du poste. The Duchess then wisely commented for the benefit of Trainee that "dat mens you sendin' it to gonna have to sign fo' it hisself - it cain't be his secretary or his sista or his momma or nobody." Truer words were never spoken! What a Reassurance that the Important Documents would reach the Intended Recipient and not be intercepted by a malicious sister or mother! And indeed, All's Well That End's Well, for the Important Documents were deliverd Promptly the next morning.
Sep. 2nd, 2004
07:33 pm - Helpful Hint: Cutting up too many minions makes one cry.
As many of the Faithful Readers well know, Mistress Katia is not a Technophile. That is to say, she has not been Surgically Attached to her computer, literally or figuratively, since the dawn of Mr. Gore's invention of the Internet.
No, no, the Mistress is quite fond of letting others take care of her Technical Needs, convinced that all Electronic Equipment functions by the operations and Grace of a miniature e-Mistress and all of her microscopic e-Minions, doing her bidding.
Don't argue. Don't Ever Argue.
So one can imagine Mistress Katia's displeasure upon finding her computer Infected. Diseased. Gangrenous.
Sometimes, the messenger is only the first of many to, shall we say, encounter misfortune.
When the Gathered Throng of devotees to the Mistress had finished picking up the Shattered Pieces of their Broken Lives, making much Obeisance, volunteering for Whippings and offering up assorted Egos and First Born, the Mistress spake unto them, saying:
"Since even I am Patently Aware that a computer cannot catch a virus simply by operating Without Protection, I will engage in Carnal and Assorted Lascivious activities with the first servant who can tell me WHAT WENT WRONG."
There was much Immediate Action.
Life with Mistress Katia is not without its Rewards.
As it happened, there were actually two (2) problems. The first, a faulty ethernet card, was quickly remedied by a trip to the Old Southern School's Technical Services office, where the employees actually managed to be both useful and timely. This would be a complete shock were it not well known that the Mistress Works in Mysterious Ways. The second, however involved frequent pop-ups and assorted Annoyances of an internet variety, despite Mistress Katia's possession of both anti-viral software and a pop-up blocker. Beyond that, this Issue also uses much of the Mistress' CPU, making it rather difficult for anything to be accomplished without much Patience and Rebooting.
We have been instructed to post this message because heretofore, no one has been able to solve Mistress Katia's dilemma. She is now turning to a wider digital audience for Assistance, extending her Extremely Generous offer to anyone who can fix the Damn Thing.
You lucky bastards.
Aug. 15th, 2004
11:04 pm - There's Nothing Quite So Lovely As A Noun...Used Properly.
As some of the minions may know, Mistress Katia is a soon-to-be-alumna of an Old Southern School. In a recent electronic conversation with a Friendly Advisor (for despite her disgust with all things "e" or "i", Mistress Katia must occasionally indulge in a bit of electronic correspondance to keep her Affairs in Order - she knows she will be Punished for this eventually, and that's all to the good, but we digress), the Mistress expressed a wish for guidance and advice - more to placate Friendly Advisor than from any genuine need for assistance. Posing several relevant and pointed queries, she expected nothing less than a timely and concise reply which answered her inquiries.
Did she receive one? You guess.
She received a reply which fulfilled none of the hoped-for conditions. Allow us to explain: Mistress Katia, while a fully functional and eminently qualified individual in her own right, had acknowledged the silly custom of providing to future institutions of higher education testimonials regarding one's character, hygiene, fashion sense, etc - those horrid things known as "letters of recommendation." Not horrid for their contents - because any letter concerning Mistress Katia Glows In The Dark (they are handy to keep in one's glove compartment as well), but because one must continually harass one's recommenders to Get Their Act Together. Often with thumbscrews.
No one said it had to be an unappetizing task - merely that it could, at times, be a trifle Tedious.
As she required what can only be described as a Metric Crapload of letters (because she is currently applying for a Prestigious Award), she had asked Friendly Advisor to render an opinion as to the suitability of a list she had prepared. It was perfect, of course, but one can never be too sure. It is always possible that some unfortunate soul might Kick The Bucket unexpectedly, and it is Simply Dreadful to ask for a letter of recommendation from a Stiff.
So: letters needed, list of recommenders offered up for inspection. What reply did she receive? Quoth I,
"One more thing, could you send me copies of your letters so that Ms. Assistant
(who is going to be our scholarship advisor) and I can read them? Thanks!"
How, sir, is that helpful? If I had the letters, would I have asked you to approve the list?
Your pardon. Mistress Katia became so Overwrought by the Stupidity of Others that she lost all objectivity and began to use the first person singular pronoun. What a Lapse. Allow us to continue, with greater Aplomb.
Nevertheless, in the face of Arrant Foolishness, She Who Punishes sent back a carefully worded reply designed not to antagonize Friendly Advisor but to Gently Remind him (and believe us, this was not simple for Gentle Reminders are usually accompanied by steel-tipped lashes) that he had, in fact, completely Failed To Be Useful.
Imagine her surprise when she received today, via E-post, the following:
"I don't know if you received my subsequent email, but I would like to see
your essays. Would you please forward me that material?"
The Subsequent Email was indeed the Unhelpful and Stupid Letter, to which Mistress Katia had just responded - with, might she say so herself, Great Alacrity. But no matter. It was a task of mere seconds to forward said essays for Prestigious Award to Friendly Advisor (as they had already been composed with the greatest of skill, nuance, and Good Humour - not to mention Clever Anglicised Spellings).
But how much Turmoil and Anguish might have been averted if Friendly Advisor had not been a Dumbass and had in fact used the correct noun? Lesson of the day: Letters do not equal essays, my minions. Always use precisely the correct word to express exactly what you mean, or be silent.
Upon reflection, the latter is almost always preferrable.
Aug. 13th, 2004
10:29 pm - You just Wish you could be a Barometer for all Things Gay
Minding her own business, quietly listening to the screams of her minions on a portable music device in one of those trendy book-coffee-jazz establishments, Mistress Katia was Assaulted.
One might ask, "What sort of Bottom Feeding Guttersnipe would dare accost the Mistress? More importantly, how would such a thing be accomplished without Losing a Limb?"
One might ask those questions, and were one to do such a thing, an obvious answer would be branded into one's hide.
Aurally. Grammatically. Heinously.
Perhaps back story would be appropriate.
In order to read her tome on the Joys of Nipple Clamps in relative peace, Mistress Katia was required to negotiate a number of tables in search of the Ever Coveted Booth. In the midst of this delicate procession, she passed a table at which two Young Women sat sipping their piping hot non-fat grande extra mocha extra whip decaffeinated lattes reviewing hideous hairstyles out of a Magazine. (The Mistress is gravely aware that this Faux Pas alone merits both an entry and severe discipline, but she is single minded in her assessment of the most grievous fault of the day.)
The girls were quite Insolent, not even bothering to respond to Mistress Katia's gracious "Excuse me." Unfortunately, said prize Booth was located near this Worthless Pile of Humanity, and Mistress Katia was forced to abide near their Uncultured Stench, juggling book, bean, and bag in order to be seated.
Then It Happened.
"But, if I was gay, wouldn't I think that Libby was hot?"
I Beg Your Pardon.
Not only did this Overgrown Pubic Lice begin her sentence with a conjunction (moderately forgivable), she then proceeded to use "was" when "were" would've been infinitely more appropriate and, dare we say it, Correct. Furthermore, were she to be, in fact, a homosexual, said Despicable Female would think that the Barometer of all Feelings Gay, Libby, had, in fact, been possessed of a certain Je Ne Sais Quoi at one point in the past, but no longer could she be described as Scrumdiddlyumptious, regardless of the homo-erotic feelings of the speaker. Lastly, that she felt the need to ask anyone as Moronic and Infantile a query as this in a Completely Serious and Moderately Whiny tone is a sign that the Future has gone to Utter Shit.
Mistress Katia nearly dropped her coffee in the Young Woman's lap, but thought better of it. Why waste her delicious French Roast?
Especially when she could just kick their table.
No one should be allowed to drink those types of things anyway.
Aug. 9th, 2004
02:22 am - Break the toy before you Buy it.
While on her sojourn to Athens, Mistress Katia was informed of the impending Nuptials of certain acquaintances.
Mistress Katia, in a rare moment of Restraint, wished said acquaintances well and managed to end the call Civilly. She then took out her rage on the nearby pool boy, a former olympic gymnast still capable of an Iron Cross.
Mistress Katia does favor the Rings.
As a side note, Mistress Katia would like to impress upon all the Need to pay One's maid staff handsomely. They are, in fact, of the select few in the World who are possessed of both the Knowledge and Skill Necessary to remove unsightly Blood Stains.
Why must today's barely twenty-somethings perpetuate such an Unbecoming and Heedless rush to the proverbial Hangman's Noose? Baboons observed in the wilds of a City Zoo are more equipped for a Committed Relationship than the Extraordinarily Average members of the Short Attention Span Generation; they, at least, can Fling Poo to each other's faces.
It was brought to Mistress Katia's attention by the Much Humbled pool boy that perhaps said couple was marrying in order to garner a Morally Sanctioned right to Fuck Like Bunnies.
History tells us that this is, indeed, a fine example of the apropos moment in which to use a Ball Gag, a Very Handy Object.
Is not the desire to Mate as the Wild Lynxes (or perhaps the substantially less wild Sloths, Mistress Katia grasps the inabilities of Baby Boomers to function Sexually without the Blue Pills they reap as Manna from Heaven) sanction enough? Must we make Visiting the Netherlands the cause of yet another Poor and Deplorable Life Decision? Does not Buttering the Muffin hold far too large of a market share in this category already?
The Mistress was truly distraught, as is evidenced by her usage of the Rhetorical Question. Fortunately, the second shift pool boy, yet another retired gymnast, arrived at the Opportune Moment.
Mistress Katia does favor the Parallel Bars.
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