Collateral Bloggage

1. I may be reading too much into this, but Dumbledore’s resistance to drinking the potion in the cave looked a little bit like “Let this cup pass from me.” Add that to putting blood on the door (think Passover) to get in there, and that adds up to some serious Messianic undertones. Then Snape says (later), “It is done.” Think “It is finished.”
2. Dumbledore kept promising to tell Harry what happened to his hand, but never did. I’m thinking we’ll get some info there in book 7.
3. Open note to all grumblers about who hooked up with whom: Not your book. Not your canon. Per Shatner on SNL: “Get a life, will you people?”

Standing Objections, by Seth Heasley

For Bren Wygant, it was good to be home. Twenty years, and the place didn’t look that different. As he stepped from the disembarking platform, he was delighted to see his lifelong friend Cull waving enthusiasticly at him. The friends engaged in a nice, safe, male hug. Three slaps of the back and out.

“Good to have you back, old man,” said Cull.

“Who are you calling old, geezer?” replied Bren. Twenty years away, with half of that time in hypersleep, had left him virtually unaged in the intervening years. Time had not been so kind to Cull. When Bren had set out on his terraforming mission, the friends had been fresh out of the Academy of Science. Bren had always had a passion for space, and when the call came to terraform Venus, he had jumped at the chance. His specialty was pre-terraforming, and Venus would not become habitable for a further fifty years. But, all the pre-terraforming work done, Bren was back for reassignment.

Ernie Cull had always bristled at his first name. Something about an ancient holovid program with a snickering hand puppet. Besides, he loved answering his comm with a dark “S’Cull.” Cull’s specialty in Academy had been waste treatment, and he had his hands full on Sol 3.

“So, what are you in the mood for?” asked Cull.

“To be honest, I really just need to find a head,” came the reply.

“Right this way, my man,” said Cull, pointing to a very large toilet symbol.

Bren looked puzzled. “Is that how we’re marking restrooms now?”

Cull gave a wry smile. “Things are changing here, Bren, and not always for the better. A few years ago a woman brought suit against a major corporation because she wanted to use the mens’ sandbox. She claimed emotional distress that she had to wait in line behind other ladies powdering their noses before she could drain the lizard. You want my opinion, man? If a woman can use a urinal, she’s welcome to the same head as me. Anyhow, now we all use the same ones. Actually, there are still female-only restrooms in certain places. No male-only ones, though.”

“So she won?”

“In a landslide. The Dems made a big civil rights caper out of it. Sometimes I wish I’d have gone for space assignment just so I could get away from the politics down here.”

“I admit, I stopped watching the news a long time ago. Just didn’t seem to apply out there.”

There was no door on the restroom; just a circular portal with a partition to go around. Bren thought he heard Cull stifle a chuckle, but couldnt’ figure out what was funny, so he let it go. They both made their way to the urinals and commenced firing.

“What the?” Bren stepped back, trying to cover his unmentionables as he retreated. Again he heard a slight cough from Cull.

“Oh, *that*,” came the amused comment.

“What?”

“Do you not have a license?”

“Of course I have a license. Ground cars, speeders, hovercars…”

“No, no, no. An Upright Urination license.” Cull brandished a small card he had withdrawn from his pants pocket.

Bren couldn’t make any sounds come out of his mouth.

“You have to be tested to qualify for upright urination these days. I guess some people got tired of how nasty the floor got in the mens’ room. Or, if you ask me, some dude just got paranoid a woman would want to use the stand-uppers and pushed through a law that you had to meet accuracy standards.”

“Wouldn’t it have been simpler to just make toilets that employed some kind of force field that prevented splash back?”

“What do you think you just tried to use?” commented Cull.

“Excuse me, but I noticed quite a bit of splash back.”

“That’s only because you’re unlicensed. The urinal detects your license if you have it on you and deactivates the prevention screen. Oh, by the way, zip up.”

“Why?”

Before Cull could answer, a blue-clad officer strode into the room. Cull zipped up quickly and intercepted him. “It’s okay, officer. He’s an offworlder and hasn’t had a chance to get licensed.” The officers withdrew a folded sheet of paper from his breast pocket and brandished it, addressing Bren.

“Sir, this is a written warning for Unlicensed Upright Urination. According to U3 Statute 4, you have thirty days in which to remedy your unlicensed status or you face a fine of up to 3000 units.”

Bren, shellshocked, took the paper. “Thanks.”

“You’ll want to make use of the stalls now, sir.”

“Or maybe there’s an obliging tree somewhere near,” joked Bren, coming out of his state of disbelief.

“Sir, that would be an additional violation of U3 law, under Statute 6, forbidding outdoor urination.”

Bren turned to Cull. “I can’t pee outdoors?” Cull shook his head. “What’s left to make being a man worth all the trouble? Can I still scratch if I have need? Can I still pass gas?”

Cull winced and gestured at the officer, who was about to comment. “Officer, why don’t you go on your way and let me fill my friend in on a few of the changes that have happened?” The policeman looked hard at Bren, then nodded at Cull and left the room.

Bren shook his head. “Look, I still have to go. Can I stand up in the stall?”

“‘Fraid not. Shield’s in place there. It’s only deactivated when the pressure sensors detect your lovely white cheeks on the seat.”

“Great.”

A few minutes later, the two friends were cleansing their hands at the counter. Cull pointed to a blinking light on Bren’s sink. “That sensor there took a reading of the number of bacteria on your hands and ajusted the soap load accordingly. It’ll also enforce a certain stay at the sink.”

“Enforce? How?”

“Try to withdraw.”

Bren attempted to pull his hands from the water stream. He found he couldn’t. “Nice.”

“The light’ll blink rapidly, then wink out, when you’re done.”

Sure enough, the light deactivated as predicted, and Bren was able to stand upright. He availed himself of some towels and dried his hands. He looked at Cull as he disposed of the towels and leaned against the counter. “Just tell me all this has made a difference.”

“Oh, sure it has. Communicable diseases, including the common cold, are down 93% from four years ago when the U3 laws went into effect.”

“U3? Ah, Unlicensed Upright Urination. So it turns out it was men who caused all the trouble?”

“Mostly, although women have the same hand cleansing enforcement.”

“Well, at least there’s a health benefit to all this.”

Cull smiled. “Oh, it’s more than that. There’s entertainment value, too. Look up there.” Cull pointed at a video monitor next to the restroom portal, and Bren slowly realized he was seeing an image of himself under the caption ‘U3 violator’.”

He flinched. “Nice.”

“Yep. There’ll be a few people snickering when we walk out. The best part, though, is going to the cinema to watch people get taken down for accuracy violations. See, people are usually most desperate for relief after a 3 hour movie, and the accuracy goes to pot. Er, so to speak. Anyway, the cops swoop in and ticket people like eagles diving to grab a fish out of the lake. It’s almost better than the movie. Actually, it usually is.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to get licensed.”

Cull nodded. “Yeah, about that. Two words: practice. It’s not as easy as you might think. The obstacle course is especially tough. And the verbal is no picnic either.”

“Okay,” said Bren, not sure what to make of his friend’s statements. “But seriously, no peeing in the Great Outdoors?”

“Nope. No place to wash your hands, so no peeing.”

“That sucks. I think I’ll go back to Venus. Actually, I think I could come up with some amusing limericks about this to take back with me. Venus is a word with a lot of promise for such an endeavor.”

Cull stood up from where he had been leaning against the counter. “Umm, let’s go. You don’t wanna see this.”

Bren looked toward the door again as an attractive woman in a business skirt and jacket strode in. And headed for the urinal.

“No *way*.”

Author’s Note: My mother would *not* approve of this story. It’s bathroom talk. If I offend, I apologize. This story is not an example of anything I’d like to see. It’s really just a thought of what might happen if any politicians listened to my griping about the current conditions in Mens’ Rooms.

Update: 4/4/2008 - I’ve actually substantially altered this story and submitted it to Orson Scott Card’s Intergalactic Medicine Show, but it was rejected. If you’re interested in reading the updated version, drop me a note.