Welcome to the Train Wreck Love Life

sometimes I will ask the moon where it shined upon you last

2008-09-05T12:07:00.000-07:00

Quick little intro to the day--the nigh-traditional Tribute Island gig is changed a bit this week. Anyone who's interested, I can port you in--once I track the back lot down!--and we'll have dancing and wonderful music.

Now, the semi-tragedy of hearing this moments before I go into world? There's going to be a Marilyn at the event.

Hmm, now what?

Oh, well, Dorothy it is--just remember to come to the backstage lot at Tribute Island, not the floating bar--because after all, this one? Is all about Hollywood...

[Later insert: Miss Sasha00 Laryukov, everyone:

She's AMAZING. Apparently this is all she does in SL, celebrity impersonations, desiging one-of-a-kind celebrity skins. Just phenomenal.]

you don't know how you betrayed me

2008-09-04T14:47:00.000-07:00

Look here she comes now
Bow down and stare in wonder
Oh how we love you
No flaws when you're pretending
But now I know she

One of my loves attended, at the behest of her friend and mine. I stayed in the aptly-named sim of Cursed, pondering. Should I be there? Some part of me felt I should, but there were those there who would become upset at my presence, I thought.

For their sake, I stayed away. To spare them pain, I chose not to attend the wake of a former love, a former adversary, to contemplate more deeply the nature of redemption and revenge.

By later account, apparently I did the right thing by staying far away.

Never was and never will be
You don't know how you've betrayed me
And somehow you've got everybody fooled

I was right not to attend, I was right not to go. And this, this is the final act, and there will be nothing more.

I hold no allegiance or loyalty to the house of Bloodwing under any name. I will not serve, even by silence, its new Regent in any wise. I sever all ties, even those I've maintained for memory's sake.

Should allies or members of the House wish to retain friendship with me, I have no objections, and I will do my best to remain accessible in limited ways. But the House at large, as an ideal--no. Ashes in my mouth, and curled around a considerable bitterness, I say no.

I cannot maintain the cheerful smile and the extended hand of aid to a new 'Founder' that despises the fact that I breathe, and has done everything within her power to see me fail. I left Steelhead because she was uncomfortable. I no longer attend Tuesday meetings or Friday dances, once a very large part of my life on the grid, because she might be made distressed by my appearance.

But she will not let it go. Over a year and she still flounces off like a spoiled child whenever we do meet, grumbling under her breath about me. Enough, I have had enough.

I say no. Three times I say no, and what I say is true.

We are at an end. Nostalgia only goes so far, and this goes too far. The Foundation will have no more of me.

(Lyrics taken from Evanescence's "Everybody's Fool".)

released from circles guarded tight

2008-09-03T16:02:00.000-07:00

Oh, how we love our tortured boys.

(At Hair Fair, Here Comes Trouble's booth, after purchasing the "Candy" braided ponies from Wilted Rose.)

It's been a saying for a very long time. I don't spend the bulk of my time overanalyzing--for that particular saying, at least. And I also know women affect me differently--a woman in pain, I want to bandage the worst wounds and lift her up again, arm her and send her out fighting.

(ReignShadow Walker learns the trick of making books in Avaria.)

Men, though...men in deep pain fold me in around my core of adamant, pull me farther out of myself, sometimes, than I'm comfortable going. Sometimes that's frightening, sometimes I'm so far beyond understanding, in that moment, what's going on that I'm left blind by the riptide draw.

(Using copper ore and crushed quartz in ginger jars, SubGirl lays the groundwork for the assembly line system in Avaria.)

I want to help, I need to help, I've moved heaven and earth and planets in their orbits, anything to free them, even for a single moment, of whatever it is that's shredding them inside. I shouldn't say just men pull this out of me--anyone I love, I'd destroy sinew and bone, put all of me to one side, to help any way I can--but men pull strongest. Men in pain, wounded men, if there's a way, I have to help. I have to help. Denial of self, perhaps annihilation of self, but I can't not reach out.

(The thought did occur the night I took this--what particular game in SL requires dressing up as a bloodspattered, punked-out Paris Hilton while wielding a nail-studded plank? Sadly, the world may never know, but at least Miss ame Meili had fun beating the sockets out of the Lucky Fortune game at Sugar Mill Poses.)

Even when I tell myself not to reach out, I still find ways to extend my reach. Even if they're only visible from my perspective. Even if I'm the only one who knows.

(Apparently there is a Torley version of the Facelight 3000. I have fear.)

Some of it, I know, comes from my particular version of loyalty. It's not mindless, it's not instinctive, I do think about the things, the ideals, the people to which I'm loyal. But once I am, once I exist in that moment, it takes a tremendous effort to wrest my loyalty away. Wrong or right, I will defend those I've chosen, unless they turn on me.

(Sometimes, you just can't trust labels.)

And even then, even then, my loyalty tends to hold. I may not walk with them longer, I may not be a focus in their lives...but in my own way, I watch, I listen, I guard. As much as I am able, as much as I'm allowed. It takes a very, very long time for that sense of loyalty to dissipate. Loyalty, I've found, lasts even longer than love.

(Ow pain ow burning ow. Scavenger hunts should not require self-immolation.)

Perhaps it does make sense--after all, those I love, those I've befriended, those I've chosen are my shields. Why shouldn't I shield them in return, as much as I'm able? It's not perfect--as I've said, I do make mistakes, I stumble, I lag behind and lose the path--but it's the free gift of my heart, no recompense requested or required.

(There's such a thing as too much glow. Occasionally, Bare Rose forgets this.)

Even when it binds me further to those I've left behind, those who've left me behind. So far, it's the price I'm willing to pay. Though, admittedly...of late, that price has grown costly indeed.

(There is no death ray in Morgaine.)

Perhaps it's time to seek a new path, make different choices. Listen to the voices of the future, not the past. As frightening as that sounds to me...

me, I was raised amid the trickle-down days

2008-09-01T05:42:00.000-07:00

Oh it's such a drag, what a chore,
oh your wounds are full of salt.
Everything's a stress and what's more,
well it's all somebody's fault.

He growls in my dreams, and what he does after I do not speak of, even to my intimates, but it brings a smile to my face, warmth to my eyes. We talk of everything, some nights, and other nights we say nothing, knowing it's enough that the other is there, close enough to touch, close enough to converse with.

It's enough. It should be enough.

Hey! Get, get, get, get, get over it!

She cuddles close to me and I pull her into my arms. The scent of her hair comforts me, her smile enchants me, and she is the first one I've spent any serious time around where I can drop my guards and exist in that frustrating, and somewhat inconceivable, sphere of cuteness I generate on occasion. We speak in twee little kitten voices and it makes me smile, as much as it makes me shake my head at my own misbehavior.

Make you sick, make you ill,
makes you cheat, slipping change from the till.
Had it up to the gills,
makes you cry while the milk still spills.

He comes to me, perpetual lock of bistre hair falling over one eye, and I am charmed just watching him move. I adore watching him build, I'm fascinated with his mind, what he chooses to build, how he chooses to build. I am endlessly amused with his competitiveness--my strength is endurance, sliding around obstacles or away from them, but he, he must forge ahead, be better, be best, and his biggest competitor is himself.

I can say this now, to myself clearest of all: I am happy with my life.

Ain't it just a bitch? What a pain, well it's all a crying shame.
What left to do but complain?
You'd better find someone to blame--

But some nights, some days, I still shy away, I still look, I still angle and suborn as a matter of habit. The bulk of my life, I've been my own worst enemy. I don't let go of the past; I flirt as others breathe; I forget where the dividing lines are. It's not that I fall out of love; in fact, that's part of the problem. I fall in love deeply, and forget the trick of ending. As much as I hold to the changing of body and bone, shade and species, I am unchanging in how I love.

Hey! Get, get, get, get, get over it!

But I can learn. I am slow in lessoning, sometimes things just don't sink in, but what I learn, what I manage to remember, I retain. And this is the chief lesson of my life I'm facing, in this moment:

LET IT GO.

Got a job, got a life,
got a four-door and a faithless wife.
Got those nice copper pipes, got an ex,
got a room for the night.

Nothing is so very injuring, so tragic and damaging, that I need to divorce my life to get over it. And yes, I forget, yes I get distracted, yes, I make mistakes. Who doesn't? I'm learning. Who isn't? I evolve, I learn, I grow, and each failed attempt just teaches me what not to do next time.

Aren't you such a catch?
What a prize! Got a body like a battle axe,
Love that perfect frown, honest eyes,
We ought to buy you a Cadillac--

In the meantime, I practice what may be the hardest trick of all--recognizing that remaining connected to my past, doesn't mean I have to exist in that mix of emotions and reactions. Sometimes, people don't go away, and it means nothing more than they value my friendship.

And there it is, the chainsaw in the juggled apples: can I simply be friends with those who've seen me, bare and open, eyes wide with the wonder of what they meant to me, then, in that moment? Is it possible?

I touch the hollow in my throat where the locket lives, and I nod, slowly. Because if this is another mistake? At the least of it, it will be one more thing to learn. And learning is movement, at least of the mind. I keep learning, I won't stagnate, freeze in place, ossify into immobility.

Besides which...I keep moving, I'm a harder target to hit. That's part of it, too.

(Lyrics taken from OK GO's first single, "Get Over It.)

since I was no bigger than a weevil they've been saying I was evil

2008-08-30T18:02:00.000-07:00

Bare Rose's third anniversary is this weekend, and my, but there have been a ton of things to do to celebrate. Dances, gatherings, contests, giveaways, new outfit releases, fashion shows, and, now and again, some quirky little oddments all their own.

Like the weaving machine in Black Cat.

One essentially sits and weaves, and at the end of the weaving, one is then given a random one of six different mini-kimono skirt sets. So far I've woven blue, green, dark purple, red and 'cian'--but apparently the pink mini-kimono skirt? Is the rare, or something, because I haven't gotten one yet!

(By the way, if you stop by the Mystical booth at hair fair, and pick up the Mystical Amazon headdress and hair box? You'll get several selections of one-prim hair. It's not perfectly pretty, but it's one prim, and it looks better than system hair, or being bald! I'm wearing it in "natural cherry" in the shot.)

Installment 379: Why I Adore Japanese Sims:

This was seen in Akiba in Nekomama's stall. That outfit, btw, that you don't quite see? Seventy Lindens. Just seventy Lindens! For skirt with glitch pants, bodice top, prim wide plaid tie, collar, cuffs, and weird legwarmer-y things. Seventy.

I bought one. :)

But the color text? Priceless.

On to more horrifying things, before my return to Avaria. Last night was a hunt over at Axis Mundi (no SLUrl, because it's long over.) Essentially, the hunt was simple: hunt out one (just one!) of three 'colors' of prize items: red, rose and turquoise. And it was fine, and surprisingly easy to find buttons of the appropriate shades, considering how late we started. But it did take us around and about the sim, and while exploring, I found....this:

THE HORROR! MY LITTLE GARGANTUAN PONY!!

And there was a saddle. A saddle on the horrific pastel beast. I found myself, fighting each step, drawn to...sit on the thing.

Thankfully, SubGirl found a disciple of Jesuslope one island over, or I would have fled screaming into the...balmy blue day. *coughs*

(Though I can think of someone that would properly appreciate this--I wonder if Lord Cymru's young daughter knows of this horrifi...."pretty"..."little" thing?)

At any rate, since you've seen an advance pic of SubGirl, let me show you our Aviator, as well:

There will be a full release entry on the store blog, because we're still working on them, but soon there will be two more Iron Tinies to enjoy, trust me. I especially adore the Aviator, I think Mr. Allen really outdid himself adding wonderful little details.

*hefts pickaxe* Okay, those quartz nodes aren't gonna dig themselves, now are they?

a constant wave of tension on top of broken trust

2008-08-29T17:06:00.001-07:00

The first I heard was a message in email from Tigerlily Koi:

Calla Update Group - Tigerlily Koi is owned by Tigerlily Koi.

Delphinium is running around the grid, stolen, with full permissions, labeled: ***CABELO CASTANHO CACHINHOO and cabelo castanho - so far I've only seen it in Chestnut, but it may be out in others.

If you see it, or see anyone wearing it, please see if you can get a LM for me so I can file a DMCA. Reward is offered, as noted in the card.

I was darkly intrigued, so I opened the card she sent. And read the following:

My name is Tigerlily Koi, and I am a content creator here in Second Life. This is my "real" job. This pays my bills, and helps provide for my six children. (Yes, six.) I take my job seriously. I put a lot of time, effort and heart into every product you see. I always do my very best, and never release something that I am not completely happy with.

I am the founder of the Designers in Seclusion group, which is a support network for fellow creators. I am the Membership Officer for the Content Creator's Association. I am involved in the IP Awareness Campaign started by Chez Nabob.

I take theft of my work very seriously. I have had to file DMCA reports several times because my products have been copied and resold without my permission.

To see a first-hand account of what content creators go through when their work is stolen, my own personal feelings included, please go to: http://contentcreatorsassociation.blogspot.com/2008/03/theft-view-from-withinthe-aftermath.html

To combat content theft, I need your help. You as a consumer are more aware of the markets than those of us who create products. Simply put, you see a lot more of the Metaverse than we do. We typically see the same four sky-box walls day after day.

*****~*~*****~*~*****
The reward:
*****~*~*****~*~*****

I am offering a reward to any person who provides enough information for me to file a DMCA. That simply includes the Landmark(s) of the location where the products are. The rest of the information I will be able to obtain from the location.

If you find one of my products being sold or given away in any location, by any person other than myself please send me a notecard or an email with the SLURL or the landmark of the place you found my product.

Once I verify that it is my work, I will send you a complete "I Want Them All" Pack of the item(s) as well as a 2500 L$ store card.

Respectfully,
Tigerlily Koi
Calla Owner & Second Life Content Creator

Uncomfortably enough, she is not the only designer to feel the need to offer rewards for simple decency. Miss paeoti Pomeroy sent out a notecard, as well:

I am sending you a note card to keep you, my customers informed of a few things that I think everyone needs to know.

Some of you may be business owners, and others may be customers but we all need to be aware of the unethical practices so that we can better arm ourselves with the tools to protect our creative expressions.

A few months ago, I filed a DMCA (a legal form thru Linden Lab) to file a formal claim against PEARL BOYINGTON or Pearls Yard sale (now known as Pearls Designs) for using the illegal device COPYBOT and successfully copying my creations for resale at her yard sale. Linden Lab agreed that she was in direct violation against the TOS rules and they removed my belongings from her possession. Yes I realize this is all sounding rather dramatic but you must realize that this affects you as some of you either own business or will own business and you must be made aware of how this system works.

As most of you know, I speak my mind and can be rather blunt about doing so, so I took my own action and added to my profile a photo of Pearl Boyington (who had made her photo public) and made very clear about her unethical practices within the world of SECONDLIFE. I call it as I see it and I hold nothing back. I soon received a notice from LINDEN LAB that I had committed a violation against the TOS rules in posting her photo in my profile when she had not released the information herself. What Linden Lab DIDNT know is that she had just removed her own and then turned me in. Linden Lab then suspends my SECONDLIFE account to investigate the matter, they then forgot to let me back in.

This is a woman who has ripped off designer after designer and refuses to give up. Linden Lab is fully aware of her activities. They continue to remove the stuff but they do nothing to suspend her account or simply kick her off the server. Seeing as how Linden Lab makes money from the products that she rips off, I do not find it shocking that she's still here using others to line her pocketbook.

I’ve returned to SECONDLIFE only to find out that yet there is even more unethical practices against me. A customer contacts me this past week (thank you Sera!) to send me this link: http://uncensored.slexchange.com/modules.php?name=Marketplace&file=item&ItemID=729101.

This is a copy of my DEMETIA set (created approximately 1 year ago, hand drawn and yes I have my PSP files to prove it) being sold by Aura Niven clearly copied, added to, and is selling on SLEXCHANGE.

I am not trying to add to the drama that happens on SECONDLIFE, nor am I a whiner, I am however proactive when it comes to protecting my creations and to the lack of morals and values of others when it hurts myself or someone else. Creators work their asses off only to see some crook benefiting from our hard work. I’m sure most of you feel the same and if you don’t at this time you perhaps soon will.

If any of you happen to see any of my products being copied/sold, etc, please contact me. I will investigate the issue and if I find the matter a true rip off of my products and have to file a DMCA with LINDEN LAB, I will then send the first person who reports the matter to me $1000 linden. Please understand that this ONLY applies if I am able to file a DMCA on the rip off artist.

PLEASE folks, PLEASE take action to report these folks to LINDEN LAB when you see these direct violations take place. Show your butt! Make your voice KNOWN! Right is right and wrong is wrong no matter who you are. I can guarantee you this.... if I were to see some unethical asshole ripping YOU off, selling your hard work only to benefit them and hurt you in the process you can bet your buns I would NOT be buying their product NOR would I be quiet about it.

Excuse me now, I’m off to file yet another DMCA.

Thanks for your time and once again, don't be shy in reporting these people.

Paeoti Pomeray
NYMPHETAMINE BOUTIQUE

Now, regardless of your feelings of like or dislike for Calla hair, or Nymphetamine attire--these are two content creators who've worked very, very hard to be where they are on the grid. That they're being hit now just shows the utter disregard for propriety, ethics, professionalism and common sense that these talentless hacks show, every time they pilfer another design.

I will stand by my portrayal of 'talentless hacks'--I'd point you towards one, in fact, who chortles over his 'success' at reselling someone else's offered freebie. When called on account, Franko Box of Volksland Beach halfway apologized, and not one full month later, this was seen on his land. When that flagrant disregard of Miss Ventura's intellectual property was noticed, and she had complained, he took the box down...only to put it up again with different artwork--but her same checkmarks.

He has no sense of fair play, no comprehension of intellectual property, and from everything I've heard, the sum total intelligence of a small yellow plastic soap dish.

If you do find something that looks like Calla hair being sold outside of Calla, or know enough of Nymphetamine's style sense to recognize their designs beyond their sim, do consider dropping an LM or notecard to the ladies in question. Do it because it's the right thing to do. Think of the potential reward as their way of thanking you, for doing the right thing.

the fruit is rusting on the vine

2008-08-28T12:38:00.000-07:00

I shrieked when I heard about this. I actually threatened Mr. Sands for sending me a picture of it from his trip through Hair Fair.

Then...last night...I found Crimson & Clover's booth at Hair Fair. And it's even worse than I thought. Not only is it baby hair--not only is it Cthulhu baby hair--but it does feature a bubble of amniotic fluid surrounded by hair.

Officially? This is the single most baffling and unnerving hairstyle I have ever seen on the grid, hands down.

And is it sad that Tekeli-li's shoggoth sculpture at Hair Fair overwhelmed the actual hair? Which isn't easy to do, considering the richness of detail and design in Tekeli-li's hair. T'was a very, very cool thing.

Miss Neome wants one. That? Makes me giggle insanely.

And I'm starting to develop my own camouflage for Avaria. This may or may not be a good thing. Perhaps it's a good idea to take some time off from digging up relics and cycad shoots.

All that remains until we release the next two Iron Tinies is the name for the female of the pair. There'll be an announcement on the store blog when we do. With any luck, we'll be premiering at least him, if not her, of the two at the Wulfenbach Consulate Clank and Construct Ball, to announce also the official opening of the Wulfenbach Consulate to Antiquity.

in the rays of the sun, I am longing for the darkness

2008-08-27T05:08:00.000-07:00

Colonel O'Toole brings us a set of handy etiquette tips for the grid:

How to handle unexpected visitors; remembering the point of rp (this line gets murky for me on occasion, but it's good to keep in mind); remember to explain yourself if misunderstood (and who hasn't dealt with that?); and don't get upset if you don't understand something. Good tips, all.

I heard the call in Avaria, harvesting bark and branches for trade goods at the trade village. FallnAngel Designs had opened a large new store.

Little did I know it was all a ruse.

One by one my companions succumbed to the atmosphere, Dr. Demain cackling over all the new patients.

I tried to sneak a peek at the intake forms, but I couldn't make heads or tails of them. Though what was worse was seeing a puzzle box lying on the desk.

And on the bookshelf...

Restraints were called for at one point, a nurse strapping Miss Allen to a bloodstained bed. Darth Penny fought bravely, but was taken to electroshock. The nurse tried to console us, but I think she was more insane than the inmates...

Outside is no better. The grounds are...infested...with zombie "nurses" bearing gurneys. They race around inside the hospital, too, causing great distraction.

There doesn't seem to be a way out. Or maybe I got lost again. I get lost, when one paintburnt wall fades into bloodstained corridor fades into filthy concrete passageway...

Guess I'll just hang around until help arrives.

(FallnAngel's new skin and hair store can be found on Falln Sanitarium. The store now carries all hair, manicure/pedicure sets, piercings, tattoos, henna-work, and skins--including the new Horror and Wyld lines. Just remember...sometimes it's worse when the Doctor is in.)

secured by the hand that set me free

2008-08-25T03:51:00.001-07:00

Head scissors?

Apparently. I admit, I had to go see. And they apparently are what they seem to be--a giant pair of scissors one can shove through one's head.

(Of course I got one--it's too weird not to!)

And I'm terribly tempted for this one, too:

mainly because I adore the instructions:

1. Buy this stuff
2. Drag the folder onto your av
3. Set yourself to always run
4. Run around, waggle your tentacles and shout....GARR I'm a monster!

Hee!

Day Three, Avarian Expedition

It is punishingly hot under the desert sun of Avaria. We were invited to participate in the excavation of the relics of Avaria's former culture, but the first day we realized--though we were given basic tools (a pickaxe, a hand sickle, a net for catching interesting specimens), everything else we would have to find or make ourselves. It took some time to make ourselves enough understood to the kobolds in the trade city to attain provisions--sturdier attire, waterskins, belt knives and chisels, straw hats to protect us from the deadly heat.

It is beautiful here, though. The sound of the few streams we find, the gentle chirping of small creatures, the howling of Avarian wolves...and we have found several abandoned temples, some magically locked against us, others open, allowing us in. The deep cool of the waters, the shadowed chill of the ancient temples, these things refresh us in our travels.

We found a good spot that contains clay of sufficient consistency to fire. We noted the trade city had a small, but working kiln. Soon we had pots and bowls, jugs to fill with mangrove resin, and discovered that bricks--the manufacture of which was relatively easy for us--were a desired trade item.

We discovered strange, enchanted runes when we were harvesting cacti for cooking spices and juiced pulp; we'd heard tales of an abandoned sky temple, and set about to find it. Find it we did, and when we happened by a spelled circle on the floor, we discovered the source of the rumors--a mount that the rune bound for each of us, made more of shadow than of substance, slow, but sturdy and never-tiring.

We will sleep tonight in a cave discovered by the dunes. We are ready for tomorrow.

To get involved with the Avarian Expedition, just go to Grendel's main store, and wander around until you find the Avarian Expedition wall posters. There are two "sides" of the Expedition--the Expedition itself, wherein one can dig out such diverse things as lumps of clay, branches, turtle shells, giant earwig eggs, stones, bones, and ancient bricks and ancient pots...or harvest such local flora of Avaria as cactus fruit and bulbs, wild reeds, wild turnips, onions, garlic, potatoes, and herbs like sorrel, tarragon, basil and chervil (mispelled chevril). Both sides of the expedition cost thirty Linden, but that's it--everything else that you find, buy or trade is done by making items, offering them to the kobolds, receiving other things back...

Here's the down side, and it's a HUGE down side: there are no instructions.

Let me repeat that, because it sounds vaguely important: There are NO INSTRUCTIONS.

It is the single most frustrating thing about the expedition we've found so far--and we haven't found a way around it yet.

For instance, say you know one of the trade items the kobolds want is vegetable stew. Great--what goes into it? You have wild beets, turnips, onions, garlic, potatoes, fern shoots, cactus fruit, cactus bulbs, basil, tarragon, dandelion, sorrel, chervil--what do you put in the pot to cook? And do you need to prepare the foods first?

NOTHING WILL TELL YOU. Even worse? If you don't know how many things of any one or more types to put on which table...the tables take what you've brought them and swallow it without a whimper.

I'll give you a case in point. I had heard the kobolds had a clothing crate, sturdy dark leather gear to survive the arid desert. But they wanted fern-wrapped eel in trade.

Okay, I have ferns, how do I get eels? Turns out the kobolds had them, too, but they wanted a sheaf of arrows or a pile of clay bricks in trade.

Okay. I didn't know how to make arrows, but I had made bricks, so off I went to gather more clay lumps, then I set each lump onto the clay table--carefully and slowly--and worked it into bricks. When I had twenty or so, I went and fired them--again carefully and even more slowly, because the kiln is very slow to respond. I brought them back and set them on the work table. Rez out a brick, click it, it says I am stacking bricks.

Okay. I rezzed out enough until it said I had enough for a brick pile--turns out that mystical number is twelve--at which point the table gave me the completed pile of clay bricks.

I carried that to the kobold on duty. He gave me an eel. I went to the cooking table. I rezzed out the eel, clicked, and was presented with two items: preserved eel on reed, and eel meat on reed.

I clicked the preserved eel, and that is when Mr. Allen told me I'd made the wrong choice. So off I had to go to the potter's wheel again, make more clay bricks, fire more clay bricks, pile more clay bricks...and then go back with the completed clay brick pile to get another eel. Which I then had to prepare, wrap with ferns, and cook, and then give back to the kobold!

See? NO INSTRUCTIONS. It's frustrating as hell.

But it is a significant challenge, too--can we figure out, on our own or through the melange of rumor and scraps of overheard conversations, what to do where with what to get which thing?

Apparently there is an Avarian Explorers' group, but...the folks in the group tend to berate newcomers who ask questions.

This may well be a job for the Mushroom Hunters of Caledon. I'm seriously contemplating dropping Miss Davies a notecard with the specifics.

the silence seems so loud

2008-08-20T00:56:00.000-07:00

Today the memorial for Mr. Jayleden Miles, lost in the blast on Saint Kitts Island, was held; his husband spoke movingly from the altar of the Chapel of Saint Blane. Miss Kamenev still leads the search party to find him...or at least, his remains.

I can't help thinking that I and others warned against this very thing...

It was a lovely day. In spite of my fears, the soft breeze off the ocean was cooling, the scent of plumeria light and refreshing on the air. I was cajoled to dance to Radio Riel's wonderful music, but my eyes kept being drawn to the now-active volcano just offshore.

There were a group of folks gathered at the water's edge to fish; another group held court by a brick grill on which bits of seasoned meat merrily charred. We had sunbathing Duchesses, dancing friends, wandering geese. It was a beautiful day.

Then, we heard rumbling across the water. Not too long after, the first jets of superheated steam were seen. And then we saw our first glimpse of lava, pouring down to the shore.

Hot pyroclastic ash and slabs of cooling magma (lava bombs) soon filled the air. Gases spewed, and it began to be both difficult to breathe, and difficult to see.

Someone had brought an experimental car to test its aviatic ability. A passing chunk of magma struck it, rocketing it very close to the shore's edge. Several gentles had to quickly step out of its path, and many who would not have been hit, were due to dodging from a runaway vehicle, into the path of molten lava!

I stood next to Mr. Nix Sands, so very depressed that my worst fears were being realized. But there was worse yet to come.

Mr. Sands, before being struck by a burning crust of cooling lava...

...and after, staggering towards the shore in shock.

Miss AutopilotPatty Poppy, being nibbled unto near-death by rabid vorpal bunnies, frightened and made aggressive by the blast. She barely escaped with her life.

In the midst of the devastation, new land was seen rising from the bay, just as the first rescue efforts labored their way to shore.

Vorpal bunnies fleeing, searching desperately for more stable land and finding it not. I do believe this is the first image to capture the unknown Lady Ghost, also.

I struggled up to higher ground, as the very earth beneath my feet buckled, rising and sinking with insane unpredictability.

I surveyed the wracked landscape, finding more friends missing than in view. The homes built in stately procession along the ridge of Saint Kitts were starting to slide downhill to the drink.

At one point, water covered all of us, and those that could swim, swam frantically for shore. I sprouted gills, but the water still tasted terrible, and burned vaguely as it touched my gill slits.

Another surge, another quake, and we were all of us thrust to the surface again, where a familiar whine heralded the arrival of Professor Sputnik and his Companion, Miss Lightfoot.

They had meant to arrive in time for the party. Thankfully, they stayed to help with rescuing victims.

In this image can be seen several gentles including Baron Wulfenbach, thrown into midair, and alas, the scattered bones of Lady Dimsum, burnt nigh entire by lava.

Fellow gentles tossed into the air by seismic upset, land rising and falling, ash thick on the air, coating the throat--the party was officially over.

This was the last time I saw Mr. Miles on the island.

I tired quickly of trying to keep my balance on the shifting sands. I sprouted wings to fly to the mountain peak, and watched the ship Serenity fly across my view. I knew then the scale of the disaster was immense, if rescue calls were sent across other galaxies, as well.

And the ultimate ironic complication, the sheer number of airships that were buried under shifting soil and cooling magma, their inhabitants then needing rescue themselves!

No trace of the former unique shape of Saint Kitts Island is now visible. Geological devastation has completely remapped the isle. We must mourn our fallen, and move on if we're able.

But I am not the only one who mourns the loss of Saint Kitts' unique land formation, either...

(Later insert--Saint Kitts Island collapsed entire two days later, and when the tsunamis passed, in roughly the same area, was discovered Caledon Cavendish. And the once-mourned Mr. Miles, clinging weakly to the shore.

Lady CoyoteAngel Dimsum and Mr. Nix Sands are still healing from their grievous injuries. Miss Poppy has a limp from vorpal nibbles, but should recover. I was only grazed, astonishingly enough. Does anyone know if Laird Murdann, Otenth Paderborn, survived?)

you see what you want and try to justify

2008-08-19T20:07:00.000-07:00

Now that it's all said and done,
I can't believe you were the one
To build me up and tear me down,
Like an old abandoned house

Welcome to UG Tokyo, which is normally a Japanese sim that's well manicured, well tended, with dancing blue lights in the trees, and a dance floor with an over-arching rainbow festooned with ever-sprouting flowers.

So why am I showing as Exhibit A, an abandoned warehouse full of headcrab monsters, zombies that are being guided by the headcrabs, and reanimated hounds?

What you said when you left
Just left me cold and out of breath
I fell too far, was in way too deep
Guess I let you get the best of me

Well, it has to do with that sign in the center. In between the petrol barrels, the crawling headcrabs and the zombie spawning pools. That bright thing, one of a very few number of items in that warehouse that actually has functional power.

Let me dig up a closer image.

Well, I never saw it coming
I should've started running
A long, long time ago

This is an interesting new system. Only five people can camp on it at any given time, and that's more than fair--I think the days of camping farms on the grid and perpetually absent, glazed-eyes alts are drawing to a final close. And they pay low, but really, who doesn't, these days, and honestly--so I thought--how hard could it be?

The fellow who gave me directions said it was a 'fun way' to earn a few spare Lindens, and it didn't look too disreputable at first glance--until I took a step forward and clicked on the sign. Then I was promptly leapt upon by three flesh-eaters, a handful of headcrabs, and two burning-eyed dogs.

Honestly, I thought "Zombie Camping" meant, at best, lay in a grave-camper and moan. After all, I'd seen those last October.

And I never thought I'd doubt you,
I'm better off without you
More than you, more than you know

That didn't end well, and I was quickly struck down, being weaponless. I went back later, gun in hand, only to discover--I couldn't fire unless I was part of their group. That ended that, and I was struck down again, and--apparently being a glutton for punishment--went back a third time, shaken and bleeding.

It was time for a new approach.

I'm slowly getting closure
I guess it's really over
I'm finally getting better
And now I'm picking up the pieces

I called friends and loves together, and explained the situation. Miss Bohemia (in the blue in later shots) parceled out from her grand store of weaponry guns of diverse and megalithic design. Miss Graves (in the black), Miss Allen, Miss Bohemia and I took positions up on the catwalk, one of the rare "safe zones", and began picking off the headcrabs and the spiders.

You took a hammer to these walls,
Dragged the memories down the hall,
Packed your bags and walked away
There was nothing I could say

Some tips. The zombies--either version--can't climb. Which is a good thing, when they're spawned from the main floor, not the upstairs. And the spiders have a bit of problem climbing, oddly enough. The monkeys drift like ghosts, but they can be easily ignored and picked off. The dogs are more likely to attack the zombies than avatars shooting at them.

No, the biggest challenge are the headcrabs. They are a constant presence, hiding behind barrels, chips of fallen masonry, scurrying away from the light. And they are fast. And they jump.

And when you slammed the front door shut,
A lot of others opened up,
So did my eyes so I could see
That you never were the best for me

They can jump a considerable distance.

Adding to the complication of camping there is, one cannot stand farther than 30 meters from that central sign. And every few minutes, to prevent the very sort of parked avatars of 'normal' camping, a drop-down menu is presented, listing nine colors. Thirty seconds are allocated to select the color mentioned in text in the drop-down.

So you really have to be there to stay camping; unless you're just there to kill zombies.

Me being me, I couldn't just indulge in mindless slaughter. And my mind started drifting. Through my own personal hall of memories, the nostalgic paths worn to a rut, practically, from overuse...but I came to some conclusions.

It's taken me far long enough to see them, but now they are clear and unmistakeable.

It takes two (or more, but we'll keep to two for the sake of simplicity) to fall in love. It takes two to form a friendship. It takes two to start a family. This is known.

But what should be equally well known is that it also takes two to fall out of love. Two to start a fight, though I grant, sometimes it just takes the one to end one. Two to wage a war.

Well, I never saw it coming.
I should've started running
A long, long time ago

And I am tired and beyond tired of being blamed when I was only half the problem. I have made my share of mistakes, mistakes that have cut others deeply, mistakes that have cost me pride and prestige, and--lest I or anyone else forget--love.

I know this. I see the flaws in my chosen actions. I am clear in my culpability for love lost.

But it is not, it never was, solely my fault. It takes two to destroy a relationship. And I'm only half of the equation. An equal share of the blame and the consequence is not mine.

I refuse to continue to feel guilty for what was, indubitably, a cooperative endeavor.

I'm slowly getting closure
I guess it's really over
I'm finally getting better...

So. Zombies on the warehouse floor. Survive nine minutes for three Lindens. Then do it all again. Life brought down to simple necessities.

Aim. Fire. Reload.

I think I'm getting better at this.

(Lyrics from Chris Daughtry's "Over You".)

and we'll have fun fun fun

2008-08-18T23:49:00.000-07:00

There's more to come on this, but in the meantime, I'll be placing images from the devastation on St. Kitts Island here.

It's been a long and tiring day of dancing and ash inhalation. *coughs* But more is to come.

Also, if you don't see me for the next few days, it's because I'm fairly assured the Baron is going to want my head on a platter.

(I swear! He was just standing there! And I was too stunned to do more than set up lithographs and snap as fast as I could!)

on the turning away

2008-08-18T00:35:00.000-07:00

Many odd thoughts crawl through one's head when one is hanging from a noose.

Or, well, if said one is me...I would imagine the normal soul would not be thinking much of anything, but I just had a bit of difficulty getting a good amount of oxygen for a while.

It gave more than enough time for reflection, however, on home, and what home means, and how much of our lives center around the search for home, the loss of home, home's return.

Home is where the heart is.

Home, home on the range.

Home is where, when you go there, they have to take you in.

My bout of hanging over, I started wandering the empty, littered halls of the abandoned hospital. Wreckage of a downed plane burned outside; and the eternal drone of a young woman's voice reassuring the dearth of survivors to remain calm was...not exactly comforting. It brought me again to thoughts of home, to how we make homes, how we live in them.

Home. It's a good word. A comforting word. Even folks who have bad home associations still fall into the social yearning for the good home. This is why haunted houses are so disorienting...Stephen King may have put it best during a speech from Rose Red:

"Houses are alive. This is something we know. News from our nerve endings. If we're quiet...if we listen...we can hear houses breathe. Sometimes in the depth of night, we hear them groan. It's as if they're having bad dreams.

"A good house cradles and comforts. A bad one fills us with instinctive unease. Bad houses hate our warmth, our humanness. That blind hate of our humanity is what we mean by the word 'haunted'."

In this sense, houses, homes, are more than just their prims and textures, more than the labor to build them, the effort to furnish and detail. Homes are our social face, in a sense. The face we choose to show to the world, even if we, ourselves, cannot be seen.

In this sense, home, then, is the truest indication of who, and what, we are.

My footfalls sounded, hushed and wary, down the stairwell as I descended from light to dark. The lights here were dimmer, greener, and the overpowering stench hit me before the reality became clear--the basement had become an improvised morgue. Here were the survivors.

I stepped in for a closer look and realized what I'd taken for patches of shadow were the shambling horrors the survivors had become. I was surrounded before I could think to react, sustaining three bites as I fought my way free.

It wasn't my idea of home. But maybe to a zombie...

"A house is a place of shelter. It's the body we put on over our bodies. As our bodies grow old, so do our houses. As our bodies may sicken, so do our houses sicken.

"And what of madness? If mad people live within, doesn't this creep into the rooms...and walls and corridors? The very boards? Don't we sometimes sense that madness reaching out to us? Isn't that a large part of what we mean when we say...a place is unquiet, festered up with spirits?

"We say 'haunted'...but we mean the house has gone insane.

All of this came about because I was invited to attend a combined rez day party for both the Davies sisters, Tanarian and Myfanwy, and also (one of) my erstwhile employers, and Vice-Consul to the Europan Consulate, Frau Annechen Lowey. It was held at Miss Tanarian's dance pavilion in Steelhead Harborside. And I will admit freely, I had more than a few qualms about attending.

Oh, I've been unbanned for weeks, now, if not months, there's nothing but my own ethics that keeps me from the set of sims that Steelhead is blossoming into. Even so, I felt as if I was invading, as if my very presence would be seen as intrusive. Injurious. Damaging.

At the height of the party--for which I have no pictures, alas, because I was concentrating so very hard on not being a nuisance in any way--we had several dogs underfoot, getting into everything, from Irish wolfhounds nearly larger than I was, to small little Corgis with pink collars. And it struck me that here was life, bright vibrant life, and it was a wonderful sight to behold, and be near for those few hours I spent...but that it would not be part of my life, anymore.

One would think being gone from a sim for over a year, and being banned from that sim for nearly half that time, would more than have convinced me, but...I'm a slow learner.

Tonight Brigadoon appeared again, and it just brought more contemplation on home, on what home means, on what our search for home means. Caledon Brigadoon, like any of the Caledon sims, is a mix of mostly residential with some commercial concerns, but it has one distinct difference: it has the ancient village of Brigadoon, which appears every twenty-eight days, for a rough period of three hours, and then vanishes into the mists again, to wait out its time in the between spaces.

Tonight it appeared during Brigadoon's brightly sunny day, which made the perpetual tully fog and eventual fading in sections even more odd, because they were magical feats accompanied by bright sun and blue skies. It was still, as with the first time I was there, a glorious thing to see. And the series of thatched-roofed, lath-chinked cottages contributed to that feeling of...Home, safe and sound, home, comforts of, home, where we long to be...

Heraclitus said, Nothing endures but change. I've always found that to be true. Thomas Wolfe titled a book on the subject--"You Can't Go Home Again". I believe that's true, too. You can never go home again, not to what it was, because home's changed, and you have also. That has to be accepted, and that's just part of the life lived.

But sometimes...if you're very, very lucky...you can visit on occasion. Just to reassure yourself that home is still there.

It's something.

people, don't you understand, the child needs a helping hand

2008-08-16T14:05:00.000-07:00

Normally, this is not a 'what a cool freebie!' blog, but I had to make note of something found over at Simply Silks.

Margareth, a fairly traditional bellydancing outfit. If you have a lace or linen undershirt, I'm pretty sure you could wear it somewhat more modestly, even. And it's one Linden!

It's only available until August 22nd, so go nab it now!

And Adam & Eve is having a hunt! At least one item in every department--and sometimes more--is marked down to 1L, 2L, 50L or 100L. Items in the Bargain Basement have been slashed across the board, and there's at least one entire set of shoes you can now buy individually for 50L each, or 600L for the full pack of twelve. (No, I'm not telling you which ones--it's a HUNT! Go HUNT!) The only exception is that no mens' skins are part of the hunt, and instead of making people hunt through all the colors on the hair wall, sachi hid three boxes containing one special hair style each in that room. (She says it's because she's already reduced much of the hair, so she didn't want to confuse people with what was on sale, and what's just a really good deal.)

And yes, there's one pair of eyes for 1L. Go! It ends Sunday at ten am SLT!

And back at Tribute Island, and this time it was for BubbaC John, SL's first and quite possibly best Elvis impersonator.

But it's not just the look, though by no means do I think the look is easy, in SL, to achieve. It was the voice. That half-drawl, half-smooth, completely-Elvis sound? BubbaC has it.

Amazing. Amazing singer, amazing performance. If you weren't here, you missed something grand. See if you can track him down in world.

so I'm glad I got burned, think of all the things we learned

2008-08-15T02:17:00.000-07:00

Friends and neighbors, I believe I have finally seen them...the fugliest pants ever seen on the grid, to descend to the vernacular.

Think I'm kidding?

Meet Alfredo Zapatero! Mr. Zapatero is an Italian gentlemen--seen with his lovely girlfriend/sister/diversion of the moment, she of the suntanned-to-burnt skin tone and the open-fly jeans--I don't know who she was, all I know is that she and Zapatero had matching shoulder iguanas--and really, the concept of matching shoulder iguanas, it's just so baffling...

Anyway...here he is. In cow pants. In baggy cow pants. In baggy puffy cow pants with the HUGE belt buckle that blings and says PLAYA and truly--do I need to go on at this point?

Terrifying. Truly terrifying.

You can see me lurking in the background of this shot, actually, captured as I was running for the door. I'm the green wench, obviously. I don't truly fit in on the mainland, anymore...not that I ever really did.

Anyway, onward.

I blame Edward for this one, too.

(The main plaza. It's very...pink.)

Welcome to Stella. Or at least her island.

For some reason, I never heard of this paragon of crystalline femininity before tonight, but Edward, dear, marvelous friend Edward, potentially soon to be kicked Edward...pointed me towards the island in terms I could not refuse.

(Miss Neome came armed, but not even her most impervious armament survived unshaded by the gentle rose glow over all surfaces.)

[21:42] Edward Pearse: http://slurl.com/secondlife/Stella/126/127/200
[21:42] Edward Pearse: Scary place for you to visit
[21:42] Emilly Orr: Oh?
[21:42] Edward Pearse: Actually this is the landing spot
[21:42] Edward Pearse: http://slurl.com/secondlife/Stella/79/128/37
[21:43] Edward Pearse: Just west of Caledon Sound
[21:43] Edward Pearse: Barbie's Victorian sim or something

(The very large yacht berthed beside the island.)

This was...stunning. In that sense of, impending-damage-to-my-frontal-lobes, stunning. Everything was pink. Or nearly. There were brief glimpses of other colors, but mostly, everything on that island is pink, seashell blush, strawberry-cream, coral, deep burgundy, magenta, faded rose...you get the idea.

(Outside the Romeo and Juliet Restaurant on the ship.)

There's more clarity on what the sign actually says in the larger version, but what really confused us was--for all that it was a lovely little romantic dining nook, none of the chairs were scripted, and second--and this was key--their wine selection? Okay, I give them points for having Benden red wine, but their wine rack was broken. They even listed a decent mead in there, but nada!

(An enormous sculpted sculpture of a (fuschia-pink) seashell, complete with pearl, and eternally-pouring iridescent water in streams over the shell's edge.)

I will say this. In spite of all the florid florals, the motes of cherry-blossom snow on the air, the gleaming faery-lights on the trees--the waterworks were phenomenal. The water in spots was actually bright teal, and the fountains either spouted mist and silver glitter, or opalescent streams of fluid, butterflies hovering nearby.

Overdone? Indubitably. But pretty? Yes. I can't deny that.

(Riding the butterfly.)

I made the mistake of taking Stella's "music video tour". Apparently, it's designed to take you through each of the "music video" sets--that explained why the insanely pink two-story Victorian was completely phantom--because I flew right through it--and then the bug kept rising, afterwards.

(Stella's "virtual stage" for performances. Apparently it was used, at least once, back in May of 2008...I don't know if it's been used since then.)

I'm trying to imagine any band I know performing on this stage. Admittedly, the Spice Girls come to mind...but that's truly about it. Though, at least on the grid, if Stella wanted a back-up band of pixies with fluttery wings...she could get it.

(The end of the butterfly tour, high up in the castle beyond the clouds, wherein is related--yet again--that Stella was discovered by Kitaro, and that she sang on one of his albums, before releasing her own album of music on Domo Records. In 2007.)

Apparently her to-date-only album sold fairly well, because she had enough set aside, or acquired from profits, to fund an island...it just seems oddly empty. I have no idea when or if she plans to visit SL again, and no idea when or if the chairs in the restaurant, for instance, are going to be fixed.

But then, as I'm not her target audience, per se--my tastes run more to heavy metal and Celtic folk than New Age shimmer--I doubt she'll be concerned if I never come back.

She has a MySpace page wherein you can hear her sing in all her overdubbed, ethereal, glimmering majesty.

Or you could just go to the island. I can't tell you if you can hear her there, though, because...we had the music stream off.

And the Amenouzume in the claw game stymied me all day, until half an hour ago, when Miss Neome won it for me. Huzzah, you have been BEATEN, claw game of evil!

...Now I just have to finish getting the other 16 pieces of the 24-piece Manekata avatar....ARGH...

I keep stalling, keeping me together

2008-08-14T14:30:00.000-07:00

I blame Edward for this.

The Roguish Pirate
9% Swashbuckling Engineer, 15% Crazy Clockwork Tinkerer, 27% Charming Noble, 50% Roguish Pirate, 0% Mechanical Fian, and 42% Aetherist Bodger!

There is treasure on those airships flying back from the Imperial colonies, and you can be found wherever there is treasure. Sometimes you don’t know what you prefer, having the loot or getting the loot. You have your own crew of engineers, bodgers, tinkerers and fians to keep your airship fast and powerful. Those lumbering cargo ships can’t withstand your assault after you fire off the grappling hooks. Oh, there is always a fight, but that is part of the fun.

Hee. And the next one:

The Explorer
29% Elegant, 45% Technological, 43% Historical, 52% Adventurous and 34% Playful!

You are the Explorer, the embodiment of steampunk’s adventuring spirit. For you, clothing should be rugged and reliable, and just as functional as it is attractive. You probably prefer khaki or leather, and your accessories are as likely to include weapons as technological gizmos. You probably wear boots and gloves, and maybe a pith helmet. Most of what you wear is functional, and if you happen to wear goggles people had better believe that you use them. In addition to Victorian exploration gear, your outfit probably includes little knickknacks from your various travels. Above all, you are a charming blend of rugged Victorian daring and exotic curiosity.

Well, then.

Take the Steampunk Archetype Test if you want. Or the Steampunk Style Test.

Now, to other business.

(Someone needs to show me how to make black lights in SL! Because I saw this over at Gritty Kitty on the CSR run, and I have to have this!)

I'm going to try to get in at least an hour of fighting with the giant crane of doom today. I still want one avatar from there, and I haven't even begun to complete the one I'll have to assemble from various snatched parts. With any luck, I'll be able to acquire--or swap for--the Amenouzume avatar I still want.

(Carmen finds an innovative way to carry her four stamp cards for CSR. This was taken over at Le Petite Prince, a marvelous place for steampunk fripperies and biomechanical additions, among other things.)

And I have design ideas piling up that I need to get to. I don't know when I'll find the time, and I'm still working on finishing up the ones I've got in progress. It's becoming somewhat insane.

(Over at Kurotsubaki, watching the shadow of the bunny.)

And we've finally decided we want an update group. When Mr. Allen finishes up the design for the group logo, we'll be forming one. I'm wincing slightly at this--yet another group I can't leave--but I think it will be good for the business.

When it's created, there will be an announcement on the shop blog.

*coughs*

What? It's true.

an end to equilibrium

2008-08-13T22:23:00.000-07:00

((RP? You decide.))

I looked down at the invitation in my hand again, a bottle and cork in the other. It still said what it said when it had been delivered to me on land:

People of Caledon
Guvnah Desmond Shang is proud to announce
that Saint Kitt Islands are officially safe
To celebrate, Guvnah Shang
cordially invites you to
a Beach Party on Saint Kitt Islands
Monday, August 18 at 1:00pm SLT
Attire: Beachwear, Victorian or Modern
SLURL: http://slurl.com/secondlife/Saint%20Kitt%20Islands/101/120/22

I re-rolled the strip of parchment, sliding it into the bottle and corking it securely. I tore a strand of kelp from the strand looped around my neck, and tied that around the bottle, looping the whole thing over my waist. Then I swam out to the island, enjoying the touch of sea water on my fins again.

Duchess Gabrielle Riel proclaims the Saint Kitt Islands as perfectly safe, and I deeply mistrust this. I trust the Guvnah, don't get me wrong, but he may have just a wee bit too much on his plate at present to accurately judge safety. And I trust the Duchess, after all, she's my employer at Radio Riel! But still...I deeply mistrust this.

Besides, I've already died once by volcano, I don't intend to do it again!

Thankfully, not everyone is blinded by the glory of a beach party. I've heard news of rushed communiques from Duchess Eva Bellambi, speaking to the Boyarina about Saint Kitts. She says it is unsafe! I believe her.

It did not help matters at all that, upon my arrival in the warm waters of Saint Kitts Island, I just had time to blink, and aim for shore when the entire sim crashed!

Now, Duchess CoyoteAngel Dimsum claims the sim crashing, at that very moment, was simply a side effect of her testing Exciting New Things (TM):

[22:37] CoyoteAngel Dimsum: It crashed, sure, but lots of sims crash, especially ones where I'm trying out Exciting New Things (TM)

I fail to fully believe this, either.

My conclusion? Saint Kitts is geologically unstable. Go to the party, by all means, go, but go to get your fellow citizens away when you leave! It's not stable! Something is bound to go terribly, terribly wrong!