Oh horror of horrors.

So, I'm just sitting there in my fluffy rocking chair, all innocent like. Eating my burrito, you know. Minding my own business.

Suddenly, from the space between my elbow and my stomach, and onto the plate that sits on my lap, crawls a massive, black, spindly-legged spider.

This may be the first time in the last 25 years that I deliberately threw the entirety of my lunch into the air, and onto the floor.

[shudder] Uuuuuugh. [/shudder]

You may play me bagpipes, and call me, "Your Highnessness."

Perhaps it was inspired by the recent Scottish vote for independence, perhaps not. I don't really know what brought it on, but something inspired my mother to compile my family's Scottish lineage, up through the royal Stuart clan.

Yay, Stuarts!

Let me tell you a little bit about my Scottish connections.

I've known for years that I had Scottish blood in me - Stuart clan at that - but there was never much to do with it. I liked the movie, "Brave." My little brother plays the bagpipes. I have a soft spot in my heart for Celtic music, and a desperate love for their knots and other art motifs.

That was about the extent of it.

Then I married an Armstrong.

Not just any Armstrong, of course. I married one with a strong "clan" mentality to their family. They love their Scottish heritage, and proudly display their coat of arms, while wearing their blue and green tartan on their ties.

See, there's this thing about the Armstrongs, though. Way back in the whenever ago, they rebelled against the ruling clan of their day. Which was - you guessed it - the Stuart clan. (Or Stewart... multiple spellings there, but it's the same family, and I think it looks better with a "u.")

Back in 1530 there was this little incident where King James V may or may not have promised safe passage to this guy named John Armstrong (aka, Gilnockie Johnnie), and then captured and hanged him. But see, Johnnie was a border reiver, which meant he plundered and raided and stuff. That was a thing back then. There were tensions between England and Scotland, so a bunch of English and Scottish people would raid the England/Scotland border. The thing is, they didn't really care if you were English or Scottish. If you lived in the borderlands, you either raided, or got raided.

And the Armstrongs were a very powerful clan that lived near the border.

Now, Gilnockie Johnnie was one of the most notorious border reivers of his day. According to the all-wise, all-knowing Wikipedia, he led a band of 160 guys around, burning stuff down. Like Netherby. He did that one. And then some dude named William Dacre burned the village of Canonbie, where he was living.

So, around 15 years after James V came to power, he decided he'd about had enough of these stinking Armstrongs. He got in touch with Johnnie and told him, "Oh, yeah. You can totally walk through this area where my guys are definitely not waiting to capture you. Not a problem! Totally safe passage!"

And Johnnie did it.

And got captured.

And got hanged, along with 36 of his reiver guys.

Now, I'm not sure how this was supposed to solve the king's problems with the Armstrong clan in general, since it just pissed them off, but it stopped the Johnnie problem.

Then James went to battle against the English in the Armstrongs' home turf. It was 1542, the Battle of Solway Moss, which took place in a bunch of bogs and eerie stuff like that. The Armstrongs loved all this creepy bog stuff, but the king's army kinda fell in and a few of them drowned.

Being subjects of the Scottish crown, the Armstrongs were called in to help the king win his battle. And they totally could have kicked English butt, knowing the bogs so well as they did. But, well, they were still a bit sore over the whole Gilnockie Johnnie incident of 12 years prior, and they just sort of shrugged and said, "Nah. We'll just stay here and soak in the bog. Have fun with your English buddies."

And the Scottish lost. Dismally.

So, the Armstrongs and the Stuarts. Not really friends.

Tonight, my mom sent me my Stuart lineage. I'd always wondered how it connected into the royal line, and now I know. We go up through Charles II of England, son of James I of England, who was also James VI of Scotland. (You can thank Elizabeth I for naming the Scottish heir as her heir as well, finally uniting England and Scotland, and ending their wars... sort of...) This leads us to James' mother, Mary, Queen of Scots. (No, that is not bloody Mary, for those people back in my freshman year who tried to convince me I was descended from a blood-soaked, homicidal maniac slaughtering innocent civilians in the name of the Catholic Church. That was Mary I of England, daughter of Henry VIII. And for the record, Bloody Mary never had any kids for me to be descended from anyway, though she did have a raging case of stomach cancer that she thought was a pregnancy.)

Mary, Queen of Scots, was the daughter of James V, of Gilnockie Johnnie fame. So it was definitely my direct ancestor who broke his oath to a notorious raider and got his butt whooped by the English in retaliation.

After getting the entire line traced from myself, up through each generation, to Mary (my mom stopped there, but a quick Wikipedia search told me my family's history with the Armstrong clan), I spent dinner time referring to my Armstrong husband as "traitor," and requesting such things as bowing before me, and referring to me as "Your Majesty."

Cause, I mean, I am royal blood here.

He refused to acknowledge my royal authority. Those dang Armstrongs just haven't gotten over the whole Gilnockie Johnnie thing. I mean, come on. It was five hundred years ago. Let it go, already. And then worship me.

But then, while I may be royal, the Armstrongs do have the cooler tartan.

And I'll have to live with that.

My Little Soapbox of the Day

It's a tiny rant. I promise. No long winded examples, or crushing guilt, or anything like that.

I was just thinking about how opening doors and pulling out chairs for women has kind of become one of those things women - specifically the ones who have feminist leanings - have used to show us all that men still consider us the weaker sex.

I hear it a lot.

"When men open the door for me, it really upsets me, because they're telling me I'm too weak to do it myself."

Okay, first point I'd like to make, it's a door. Not even a raging chauvinist truly believes a woman is too weak to open a freaking door.

Ah, but it's the symbol! Because this originated as a symbolic gesture indicating that women were weak and needed men to assist them in life. Or, another explanation I've seen is that it's because women were restricted from doing a lot of things, and were compensated by having doors held open for them.

Right?

Ummm...

Probably not, in fact.

I don't actually know where it originated, and I don't care enough about this gesture's history to go back and do actual research. But, if I were to throw out a guess, I'd say it probably had something to do with the ridiculous outfits women used to wear (hoop skirts, anyone?), and the fact that there have been periods in history when opening a door in those getups really was a trial.

That's just a guess, of course. But what really matters, is why do people do it today?

I've known a lot of men - really decent men who definitely didn't see women as "the weaker sex" - who made a point of opening doors for us. And why did they do this?

Because their momma's told them to. And they respected women.

No, seriously.

Without fail, every last one of the guys I've known who hold to traditional ways of treating women (opening car/building doors, walking on the outside of the sidewalk, holding chairs, taking coats, etc.) did it because their mothers taught them that was how men acted when they respected women. It wasn't about "protecting" us, or "doing things we couldn't." It was straight up respect.

These aren't "symbolic gestures indicating the woman needs help." They're small acts of kindness.

And maybe we should start treating them as that: a man showing us kindness, because he respects us.

Assuming that a man is a chauvinist because he opened a door for you seems like an awfully bigoted assumption, don't you think?

I changed my blog's name, and other indications I may have become old.

It's funny - I'm almost embarrassed to post on my blog anymore.

And I'm definitely embarrassed to post my blog entries on Facebook.

Why?

Well... I appear to have outgrown my blog title.

Way back in the olden days, I thought "Hippos are Stampeding Through My Brain" was the most hilarious thing ever. It was off the wall, made very little sense, and accurately described my life at the time (I think I came up with that during finals week, or at least midterms). Before that I had changed my blog title anywhere from 1-10 times per week, and was thoroughly enjoying the new world of the blogosphere.

But, well... my life moved on.

Finals were years ago. Off the wall humor doesn't make me giggle half as hard as it used to. And I **horrified gasp** read the NEWS now!!! Consistently. And frequently, I have something to say about it.

But see, when I post something along the lines of "Why going into Iraq was a terrible idea, and whether or not we need to be in there now," or, "Here are the inspirational thoughts I had while enduring a heart-wrenching trial," those thoughts are carried to you, dear universe, by a herd of stampeding hippos.

Thanks a lot, college-kid self.

So, I just didn't write those thoughts.

And now, I'm addressing the problem - those dang hippos.

They have been fired from my blog, no longer carrying to you my thoughts and dreams and crap like that.

So, since you're quite obviously already hanging around in the swirling vortex of Chaos we like to call the Internet, welcome to my little piece of it.  My blog will hereafter be known as "My Speck of the Maelstrom."

And, in case you're suddenly struck with the horrifying thought that I might have become too mature, you can comfort yourself with the thought that I still think farts are hilarious.

I am the Doctor. So are like 278 other people.

My thoughts on my first ever Comic Con:

- Fun

- Glad I went

- I'm not going back.

It was a fun experience, but for me it was a one-timer. There were just plain too. many. people!!! It took us an hour just to get in, and we were given the impression we were very lucky to get in so incredibly quickly. That said, the long wait in line gave us a chance to see a LOT of really cool costumes. I was dressed as the 10th Doctor, and I saw (and took a picture with) a girl in a TARDIS dress that totally made my whole life. She had a Police box cloak, and her dress inside looked like the TARDIS console. Her hair was white, and she even had white contacts in her eyes.

As the 10th Doctor, I was pleased to see that most other "Doctors" were decked out in fezzes and bow ties (one fun-looking guy even had the mop), meaning I wasn't one of a million 10's. While in line, I only saw one other 10, which made me feel ever so slightly special. (I think the final count of 10's I saw while there was about half a dozen.)

As we walked through the doors we were told to show our bracelets, and the sea of people all held their hands high in fists. I felt like I was part of some kind of revolution against the line. It was pretty awesome.

Once inside, we were walking at a turtle's pace (fitting, since Carl went as an actual Ninja Turtle...), trying to find the artist booth of one of our friends. The crowds were so packed together that "standing room only" doesn't cut it. There were thousands and thousands of people there. After navigating through the thronging masses, we found Thomas's booth. We hung out and talked to him for a bit, then went in search of the TARDIS prop.

Okay, I'm sorry, but I went as one of my favorite characters from all of Nerdom. And if I'm going as the 10th Doctor, I'm GOING to take a picture of myself in front of the TARDIS.

Or... since it's me... about 357 pictures of myself in front of the TARDIS.

We found a TARDIS prop, but it turns out it wasn't the TARDIS prop. It was just a small one for fun. The guy in charge of it let us take about 10 pictures each (snapsnapsnapsnapsnap - okay, hurry up, guys. People are waiting), with about 3 shots of both of us together.

A little later we met up with an old friend of mine, who pointed out that there were actually two TARDISes, and we were at the lame one. So, we scoured the area until we found the big one, and once there, I was (after waiting in line for about 30 minutes) able to take as many pictures as I wanted... sort of. As many pictures as I could squeeze into the 45 second window you get before people in the atrociously long line start getting annoyed with you.

I also got in trouble for "attempting to take a picture of Hulk Hogan."

No. No, I wasn't.

Seriously, why the heck would I care about Hulk Hogan?

No, what I was trying to do was take a picture of the guy standing near Hulk Hogan, holding a sign that said, "No Pictures." I might start a fan club for him. Because now I have a picture. I can sell that online and make millions, apparently.

We went to a couple of panels, but honestly, I was pretty unimpressed with them. Having attended writing conventions for quite a few years now, I really felt like there was no new information. Carl and I got bored and left part way through both of them.

Around 2:00 PM, after being there for about 5 hours, we went looking for food. My new shoes were hurting my feet, my pants were uncomfortable, and I was exhausted. I really wanted a good slice of pizza. Carl was getting fed up with the lines and the waiting, and when we got to the food court, the lines were hundreds of people long. We went looking for another food stand, and found every. single. one. to be exactly the same. Hundreds and hundreds of people, in line, waiting to pay $6.50 for a single slice of pizza, and $3.50 for a cup of Dr. Pepper.

I suggested that I was pretty much done - I'd seen and done everything I'd wanted to do. And maybe we could at least take a break and go get food outside Comic Con.

But, after slogging through the crowds at little more than a shuffle, we found a line to a pizza stand that was only about 50 people long. The stand was tucked WAY in the back, behind all the displays, where nobody ever goes. We joined the line, but after about 5 minutes, that was enough. We were done. There was a back door (that was probably just a maintenance and/or fire exit) right there, and we popped out of it.

Once out in the open air, it was wonderful to be able to walk unobstructed, at a normal pace. I shed my jacket and my tie, untucked my shirt, and loosened my pants, all before we'd gone more than a few steps. A half-mile walk later, we were back at the car, a/c blasting, and I couldn't help sighing in relief.

There was a lot to see and a lot of fun, and there's no way I regret going. I went to Comic Con as the Doctor, accompanied by a Ninja Turtle, and it was awesome.

But that's a check on the bucket list, not something I plan to do over and over. In the future, I want to go to less well-attended cons. I was told Comic Con had tens of thousands of people, and until I got there, I didn't see how that was possible. After spending a day among them, I can't imagine how it's any less than that. A couple hours among them was fun - all those people were really creative, and I saw some truly epic costumes.

And now, after lunch, a hot shower, and a 3 hour nap, I'm settled into my big, fluffy rocking chair, watching Carl play Assassin's Creed III (talk about awesome costumes - I saw about a dozen Assassins there today). And I feel quite content.

A History Question

So, the Callanish Standing Stones in Scotland are in the shape of a Celtic Cross.

They were put in that shape, near as I can tell, absolutely no later than 2600 BC.

Every source on the Celtic Cross that I can find talks about its Christian symbolism.

Obviously, this predates Christianity.

This also predates the use of the cross as a Christian symbol by even more (I believe it was in the 4th century AD).

So, if the Celtic Cross was in existence as a symbol three millennia before it was used by Christians in the British Isles, what was its initial symbolism?

I have no idea...