Ok..Chantal Harvey machinima of my show at Opal Proctor's The Arbor
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Thursday, January 15, 2009
The first intimation she received that her plea had been denied was when she was led at daybreak from her cell in the Saint-Lazare prison to a waiting automobile and then rushed to the barracks where the firing squad awaited her. Never once had the iron will of the beautiful woman failed her. Father Arbaux, accompanied by two sisters of charity, Captain Bouchardon, and Maitre Clunet, her lawyer, entered her cell, where she was still sleeping - a calm, untroubled sleep, it was remarked by the turnkeys and trusties. The sisters gently shook her. She arose and was told that her hour had come. 'May I write two letters?' was all she asked. Consent was given immediately by Captain Bouchardon, and pen, ink, paper, and envelopes were given to her. She seated herself at the edge of the bed and wrote the letters with feverish haste. She handed them over to the custody of her lawyer. Then she drew on her stockings, black, silken, filmy things, grotesque in the circumstances. She placed her high-heeled slippers on her feet and tied the silken ribbons over her insteps. She arose and took the long black velvet cloak, edged around the bottom with fur and with a huge square fur collar hanging down the back, from a hook over the head of her bed. She placed this cloak over the heavy silk kimono which she had been wearing over her nightdress. Her wealth of black hair was still coiled about her head in braids. She put on a large, flapping black felt hat with a black silk ribbon and bow. Slowly and indifferently, it seemed, she pulled on a pair of black kid gloves. Then she said calmly: 'I am ready.' The party slowly filed out of her cell to the waiting automobile. The car sped through the heart of the sleeping city. It was scarcely half-past five in the morning and the sun was not yet fully up. Clear across Paris the car whirled to the Caserne de Vincennes, the barracks of the old fort which the Germans stormed in 1870. The troops were already drawn up for the execution. The twelve Zouaves, forming the firing squad, stood in line, their rifles at ease. A subofficer stood behind them, sword drawn. The automobile stopped, and the party descended, Mata Hari last. The party walked straight to the spot, where a little hummock of earth reared itself seven or eight feet high and afforded a background for such bullets as might miss the human target. As Father Arbaux spoke with the condemned woman, a French officer approached, carrying a white cloth. 'The blindfold,' he whispered to the nuns who stood there and handed it to them. 'Must I wear that?' asked Mata Hari, turning to her lawyer, as her eyes glimpsed the blindfold. Maitre Clunet turned interrogatively to the French officer. 'If Madame prefers not, it makes no difference,' replied the officer, hurriedly turning away. Mata Hari was not bound and she was not blindfolded. She stood gazing steadfastly at her executioners, when the priest, the nuns, and her lawyer stepped away from her. The officer in command of the firing squad, who had been watching his men like a hawk that none might examine his rifle and try to find out whether he was destined to fire the blank cartridge which was in the breech of one rifle, seemed relieved that the business would soon be over. A sharp, crackling command and the file of twelve men assumed rigid positions at attention. Another command, and their rifles were at their shoulders; each man gazed down his barrel at the breast of the woman which was the target. She did not move a muscle. The underofficer in charge had moved to a position where from the corners of their eyes they could see him. His sword was extended in the air. It dropped. The sun - by this time up - flashed on the burnished blade as it described an arc in falling. Simultaneously the sound of the volley rang out. Flame and a tiny puff of greyish smoke issued from the muzzle of each rifle. Automatically the men dropped their arms. At the report Mata Hari fell. She did not die as actors and moving picture stars would have us believe that people die when they are shot. She did not throw up her hands nor did she plunge straight forward or straight back. Instead she seemed to collapse. Slowly, inertly, she settled to her knees, her head up always, and without the slightest change of expression on her face. For the fraction of a second it seemed she tottered there, on her knees, gazing directly at those who had taken her life. Then she fell backward, bending at the waist, with her legs doubled up beneath her. She lay prone, motionless, with her face turned towards the sky. A non-commissioned officer, who accompanied a lieutenant, drew his revolver from the big, black holster strapped about his waist. Bending over, he placed the muzzle of the revolver almost - but not quite - against the left temple of the spy. He pulled the trigger, and the bullet tore into the brain of the woman. Mata Hari was surely dead.
—Henry Wales, International News Service, 19 October 1917
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Yikes, and that means getting a new bathing suit. Worrying about the other girls. Are they in shape? Will their bikini look better on them? Of course I have a tremendously hard task in that I have both the smallest tits and deepest voice of any of the girls in SL so you should understand how self-conscious that makes me.
My old bikini doesn’t fit anymore and even if it did it’s faded from the sun and water here in SecondLife.
Things that have me wondering this year.
I have a girlfriend who has been partnered at least 9 times last year and who knows how many lovers she's gotten down with. I just can’t keep up with how Matrix she is with, “He is the ONE” crap coming out of her mouth every other week. And she has the nerve to wear white to every one of these weddings. (and want presents. I regift stuff to her now)
Another friend has 7 alts and they’ve all partnered many times. I can’t even try to keep up with all that. Does she unzip her guy....look and think, “wasn’t that bigger last week?”
So, I decided to go to the SecondLife Hall of Records and check out the number of partnerships. (Yes, Mary, they do keep those records)
Did you know that on any given day there are 70,000 residents on-line and nearly 5,000 are getting partnered and lately 6,000 getting divorced? One couple (their name shall be anonymous, partnered and de-partnered 5 times...to each other? I mean, what’s that all about?
And I also know a couple who partnered and then met in firstlife...had sex...broke up firstlife relationship and decided their marriage in SecondLife was better.
Sometimes it makes me stop and wonder if perhaps I’m all better now and can stop taking this digital medicine. Yes, SL is the new wonder drug for depression, loneliness, schizophrenia, gender disorientation, criminally insane (yes, many convicted convicts reside in SecondLife.
Some of you married them and simply thought when things went wrong....SIGH.....Men!.
Oh well, come to my new show on January 17th and another January 25th and find out how much about you I know. BTW, the SecondLife Hall of Records has all the video and audio files of every SL'er saved from the day he/she entered. The transcripts are hilarious.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Without the help of teleportation my Itinerary was:
Jan30th -10:45pm -Atlanta to London
Jan 31st -arrive London 12:15
Jan 2nd -depart London for Atlanta 1pm
So, my own episode of 48 hours. To protect the guilty I will give away no names but I can state emphatically don't be afraid to get out and meet some of your SecondLife friends in firstlife. You know i went to the convention in Tampa. Great time. Now, a small town outside London, Great time.
Anyhow, my friend picked me up at the airport. She was wearing a lovely sculptie jacket. I think ETD hair and Maitreya boots. We got into her fully scripted vehicle and headed out for a 2hr drive to her firstlife sim.
Now, you all complain about "Secondlife isn't working Mommy!" But, the hotel where we stayed, our room, was freezing cold (they don't turn heat on until you take the room.) [an aside to that, although the exit row in a plane has more leg room, the door seeps cold air and after 8 hours on board you'll know what winter in the 17th Century for the peasants must have been like]
Ok....so no heat.....the sign in the bathroom said, "Please shut door since steam from shower can set off the hotel fire alarm system." Turned on the shower and the only steam was me getting in and being even colder then the room and the hot vapors from my scream. The lights went out. And, neither of us cried, "FirstLife isn't working Daddy!"
Nope we trod on like the soliders from Dover to Dunkirk......but not to worry, New Year's Eve party was incredible. My SL friend's FL friends were simply terrific. This was not a fancy party (all the food was the same color gray...I waited hours for it to rez but never did). Like parties you've been to, as time moved on towards midnight, the floors became both slippery and sticky depending on who spilled what.
We danced (I brought my Sine Wave animations) and several sang (amazing this think called Karoke. The scripting is great). At midnight.....holding hands, some 30 of us sang Auld Lang Syne. It's a beautiful poem by Robert Burns (put to music).
As we finished,
A man knelt down...took his love's hand, a ring from his other hand and asked her to marry him.
What could be more romantic.
So, love all your friends....don't be afraid to be Shaken - Not Stirred...As to the other SecondLifers they did not make the party but another great friend from SL did show up at the airport and we sat and talked.
Take a chance on those you know in SecondLife.....they are worth all lives.
AND...........HAPPY NEW YEAR