Mark the calendar, it's a momentous occasion: for the time in my site's 25-year history, someone's trying to DDOS me. Well, it's just one IP, so the attack isn't Distributed, but if you say "someone's trying to DOS me," the natural response is: "you think someone's trying to Disk Operating System you?"
The attempt is, predictably, not going well, since the site is built on 25-year-old HTML and 30-KB text files. The best the attacker can do is reload the largest HTML file on the site (the 1.1-MB Angelique script translation) about 800 times a day, which still isn't exactly buckling the servers, particularly given the nominal size of normal downloads. It hasn't had any impact on standard traffic or operations, so it actually took me a while to realize what was going on: "Huh. I wonder why that one person's been reloading the Angelique translation so much. ...Oh, it's an attack."
My response has been to move the file temporarily, which seems to have ended the whole matter. Which makes for an awfully polite attack, honestly: to cease without muss or fuss once noticed. I have no idea what prompted the
DDOS in the first place, though. Did I just win the script kiddie lottery? Did LunarNet at long last get sick of me and decide to try to do in my site once and for all? Was someone angry at steps being made toward getting Angelique translated, suffering from the syndrome that leads certain otome fans to react with inexplicable hostility toward anyone attempting to patch a Koei title?
Hey, if the DDOSer's reading this: how about telling me? Shoot me a reply below. You can just make up an email address. I won't publish the post if you don't want me to do so. Just tell me what it was about.
But this article on the Legend of Zelda cartoon that aired with the Super Mario Bros. Super Show is excellent and yields a number of revelations, such as that a Charlie's Angel played through the game for the writers:
Some...dubious claims about Zelda completion times are made:
A writer's 16-year-old D&D-playing sister wrote a couple episodes!
The same writer's mom successfully pitched an episode:
This is the woman who voiced Zelda:
She looks awesome! She looks just like an older Zelda from that show!
The title even uses the second-place spelling for "Excuuuuse me, princess!", though it falls short of the hallowed 5 u's:
Vittorio in this new outfit looks like he's on Day 5 of a 3-day Vegas trip. I respect the needs of the bear community, but the combined effect of the color tones and scraggle and shades speaks to fatigue of a depth that can come only from multiple nights of casino-induced eyestrain and 2 a.m. highballs. Then again, after centuries of running from mad killers, I suppose the man deserves to pass out for a bit at the $5.99 steak buffet.
On Twitter, writer & translator Ryo Morise speculates on possible Lovecraft inspirations: I just realized now that the twins from Clock Tower are probably taken from "The Dunwich Horror." Given the Nameless Pagans thing, the circumstantial evidence is pitch-black.
"The Dunwich Horror" concerns two demonic twins—one humanoid but deformed, and murderous; the other, the real threat, a gigantic crawling mass with a human face secluded deep within the family residence. The twins are born into a family worshipping...well, this is Lovecraft, so it's the Old Ones instead of demons as with the Barrows, but six (six six) of one... In both cases, the mother is human, but the father is an otherworldly monstrosity: the Outer God Yog-Sothoth in "Dunwich"; the infernal Great Father in Clock Tower, at least in the novels.
Speaking of the novels: The Nameless Pagans is a fictitious book in Clock Tower's novelizations supposedly detailing the pagan faith followed by the murderous Barrows patriarch, as per this conversation between scholar of religion Prof. Sullivan and protagonist Helen Maxwell:
Sullivan links this proto-faith to the sites of giant standing stones with religious significance scattered across Europe, an apparent inspiration from "The Call of Cthulhu" and its accounts of bloodthirsty faiths across the world with inexplicable points of commonality in their objects and manner of worship. Sullivan goes on to argue that the more anti-social aspects of this primitive faith found later purchase among the Celts:
Going back to the Dunwich brothers: the Dan equivalent is felled by a bolt of summoned lightning. Kerosene, it seems, wouldn't have availed Jennifer in this case:
Neither would have scrambling up that stone cliff:
On a personal note, it's hard to read "Dunwich," as the second half of the story is bloated with eyestrain-inducing attempts at backwater jargon such as this:
In closing, as a resident of Maine:
Glad to hear the New England small-town experience has remained constant throughout the ages.
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