Communication

Communication is strange. I can communicate perfectly with some people and if I were attempting do use the same communication techniques with other people and no one would understand me. And yet, communication is necessary for human beings. Even starlite can't write a character who doesn't participate in communication; and that's starshy. If he can't do something crazy, then, well. Ye-ah.

Hi Jack, by the way. Hi Lint.

Another strange communication thing. I can communicate with things that are nothing more than the figments of someone else's imagination. I can be friends and communicate with figments of my own imagination, but that tends to end up a little abnormal. Right, Flora, honey? She's smirking right now.

And then when communication fails, you get frustrated and angry and people have problems with each other. Oh communication. The frustrating barrier to interacting. Gossip is a form of communication. And I've been watching way too much of Sheldon Copper... I wonder what cats could say if they good talk. Because you see, Hobbes is meowing at the ceiling. Like... meowing at the ceiling. And there's nothing around the ceiling. Weird cat.

He'd probably be mad at me for talking about him. Like starshy. Hi starshy. CHOCOLATE.

I need chocolate. Maybe it'll cure me.

Of... whatever this is...

Meh.

Life.

Writing Expectations and other Woes: ie. I'VE FIGURED OUT GRACIE MARTIN!

Yes Sandy, please stop gloating. You offered what has proved to be a wise suggestion. I am honored to be your grasshopper.

I was writing for myself. I wanted to be the best. I wanted to write the next Percy Jackson series. I wanted to craft words into sentences and sentences into pictures all in the hopes that one day, some when, someone would come up to me as a fan of my work. It's selfish, but I still want it. I want to turn Gracie Martin into a household name and lately, I've spent so much time dreaming about it, I've spent little time actually working on it.

Hopefully, I'm back on track now. Gracie has started developing wildly. She's almost level with Keil in how much time I spend talking to her each day. Steven, Monica, Jared and Clementine have been developing themselves at a rate I haven't experienced before in non-mcs. I'm caught up in this story. I seriously dreamed the whole thing last night. Sure, it was a little more random than a true story would be and it focused a bit more on Gracie than my normal stories would... but who knew. Who knew she'd ever duct taped a teacher to a desk and gotten away with it? Who knew she had a secret rock collection that all had names.

And now she's going to kill me. I'm loving Gracie right now. Character development is... I don't know. Fun. And the whole Gracie Martin Saga is just this theory on how people handle personal failure and how humility can affect people. It's a giant character study and it's fun. I get to play with messed up characters. Monica and Evan are twisted. Everyone from Steven's class is, that's why it's fun. In the dream I mentioned, one of the scenes was Gracie, Monica and the others were all playing Mafia during one of their class periods. Eleven mentally troubled teenagers playing Mafia together? This story is so much fun!

For people who I haven't gone on for hours about this story, GM is a little bit of everything. The first book is like so many other fantasies that mix fantasy with the modern world. But... it ends dramatically, in a way most people wouldn't expect to come from a teen writer in a teen fantasy story. Hehehe. Insert the mad scientist laugh here. The second book is pure Heroic Quest, outlined nearly exactly along Daniel Schwaubauer's suggestions. The third book deals with no fantasy at all, and rather how people interact with and support each other. The fourth book tests the bonds the hero has made in the fantasy world and in the real world, dealing with how to effectively mess and live in two separate worlds; another Heroic Quest-ish story. And the fifth book... the fifth book is a test. It's a test in failure. It's a test in determination. It's a test in overcoming grief.

There's so many things I love about Gracie Martin. Sticky notes. Gracie. Steven. Books 1-5. Monica. Keys. The list could go on for awhile. But I'm aware it's still very much in the developmental process. I've never written a series before, and the problems of I've had with Ashley and Ashleigh spooked me about sequels. But the GM books aren't sequels to each other. They're integral books in the same plot and I'm jsut loving this. I will say, however, I will hate this story before I finish it. I always do. It's one of the things I write about.

So now I'm gonna go work on GM, instead of just ranting about it. Yay stories. Yay writing for stories. Boo writing for self. YAY GRACIE.

Books

It's November 8th. Since November 1st, I have read a total of four and a half books. Sure, one of the books shouldn't count as I wrote it and know some passages by heart, but if you count if, I've read a total of 1826 pages. 1402 of those words came from two different hardcover books; the rest from paperbacks. I don't have a word count for how much I've read in the passed few days. It's just more than normal. And I think it's because I'm taking a sabbatical from writing. And you know what I've discovered? I've really, really, really missed reading as much as I used to. Writing kind of encroached into that time and it's just... I haven't read a lot lately and I'm glad to be changing that for awhile.

"Speak Aloud, Scream Alone." (145 pages, paperback)Which I wrote. And no. It does not deserve an underline.

The Evidence of Things Not Seen (125 pages, paperback) by James Baldwin. I hate this book. This is the book that is making my project so difficult. This is the book that obfuscated on purpose because the writer wasn't smart enough to clearly portray his argument. Not to mention that Baldwin's argument is just as faulty as the faulty investigation he was complaining about. Siiiiiigh. I try and do a simple, easy report on a serial killer and I get one that's fraught with the racial controversy! I just can't get away from the race issue. It follows me. I'm serious. Racism stalks me.

The Son of Neptune (521 pages, hardcover) by Rick Riordan. Fun read. So much better than The Lost Hero. Jason Grace remains a drag. Percy Jackson remains one of the best teenage heroes ever written. Yay Percy. And the side characters weren't awful. Sure, it wasn't as great as his first five books, but it was seriously enjoyable.

Inheritance (880 pages, hardcover) by Christopher Paolini. WARNING: SPOILER alert. I'm going to rant. And if you're planning on reading the book and don't want the spoiler alert, skip to the next paragraph. The book sucked. It took me like... six hours to really read. On a kindle. There was one great scene. A few good scenes. And the rest was just fun to laugh at. The ending was just plan disappointing. You'd think that after he forces us to wait for years he'd just go ahead and give us his perfect little ending that he laid out way back in book one. You'd think he'd have the guts not to bring back the dragon race. But no. He has to tell us the ending. He doesn't show us the ending. He had to "fulfill" Angela's fortune telling with half-truth and a ridiculous reason. His characters were completely unrealistic turning the ending. He didn't have the decency just to suck it up and send Arya away. With Arya and Murtagh running around with Firnen and Thorn, it doesn't matter that Eragon left. There was no point to his actions, nor Arya's. The ending just plain and simply sucked. Enough that now I'm mad at the whole series. Paolini should use OYAN. Actually. I'm not sure I want his name associated with OYAN. It's too epic for that.

And the book I'm reading now is by Tim O'Brien... The Things They Carried. It's about Vietnam and it's epic. There's some heavy language, so I wouldn't recommend it to anyone who that bothers, but I'm enjoying it. It's... gritty. And thoughtful. And bizarre. And yeee-wow some people are messed up. The book is down right creepy in a terrifyingly epic way. I'm reading it because the English supervisor - yes. In a school over 1700 kids, the English supervisor knows who I am =P - believes I need to expand the number of contemporary and non-fiction books that I've read. Yes. Ms H. That's why I'm taking Contemporary Lit next semester. Ms H is great. Hysterical. She's epic.

Next on the immediate reading list: Mistborn (the first one) by Brandon Sanderson, No Safe Place by Kim Reid (it's for the same project as the Baldwin book is for), Snowcrash by somebody or other, and In Cold Blood by Truman Capote (another Ms. H contemporary). That's the immediate list, I s'pose. There's so many other great books out there. I'm just excited for reading. And it's a good feeling. One I haven't felt in awhile. Yayz. 

Fish Fingers

Fish fingers. I must admit, I don't like calling them fish fingers. Fish sticks are fish sticks and they shall forever remain fish sticks. Most people know will now know what this topic is about. Hopefully, otherwise, you need to watch more Doctor Who. Doctor Who is amazing at making things... for lack of a better word... cool.

Say fish fingers and custard to any new Who fan, and they grin. Bowties are now labeled cool. Those blue and red three-d glasses. Bananas. Celery. I can admit to wanting a 7 foot long scarf that's got garish colors. Doctor Who just makes things cool, and we're all, as humans, susceptible to that. It scares me a little.

It scares me because it's another form of propaganda. Sure, I don't think DW is a propaganda machine of the British, trying to convince us all that England is better... 'cause lets face it people, they are cooler. I admit to that, but why do I think Britain is cooler than the USA? They've got better accents, better actors, and better TV. Social media. It's a form of brainwashing and I can admit to that!

I think all learning is a form of brainwashing. All media, all newspapers... even in this blog. This tiny little blog that's got four follows, I'm trying to influence you. Granted, probably with little success because... well... it's just a problem. This is what makes me a skeptic. I take nothing at face value. To a limited degree, I accept what my teacher's tell me, but I accept it as a viewpoint, as their viewpoint. It's not mine. There is no such thing as fact. Just biased opinion and frustrating sway of the media. Skeptical. Yeah.

And so I'm skeptical when a whole race of fans - including myself - start referring to a simple little food item as something that is wasn't originally. Fish fingers and custard does sound so much better than fish sticks and custard. I'll give you that. So... I'm not against Doctor Who, in specific, in any way, shape or form. I still love the show. It's just made me realize how massively susceptible we are to brainwashing, influences, and propaganda.

Two thumbs up, Doctor Who. If you told us not to breath, I'm sure someone would listen. =P /end sarcasm.

Rain

So I played around in my doodle pad with rain some... The beginning doesn't match the end of this little thing, because I started really liking the character idea and playing with what I could do with it. So. Character sketch. Incomplete. Just curious to see what you think. Oh, and ich used the i-c-h spelling of 'i', for those of you wondering...

.oOo.

They say it's a pitter-patter. Pain is described with sound and pictures and wandering wishes. For me? Rain is a torment. Gunshots against the roof. A wail of impossible tears. Forgotten dreams pouring from the heavens and hitting the ground with a rhythmic, desperate thunk. It's not the thunder than bother's me; it's the horrible, evil rain.

It is because of the rain ich cower, squeezed within the confines of my blanket and couch. Ich try not to focus on the sound, but it's no use. The sound assaults me, rings in my ears. The curtains are pulled, but it does not matter. It's still there. It's still pounding against the windows, running down and down in rivulets. They wish to cry a river of tears. If that is your wish, just look out the window. Look out the window, because the world cries your tears for you.

And ich cry with the world. Ich cry for you, friends, brothers. Ich cry with the rain and the sorrow and the overwhelming hurt you must feel. A single raindrop for a single hurt. There must be so much pain in this world. Ich feel pity for the world, but ich hate it as well. Ich hate it because you make me cry with you, with the rain, with the world. You give me your hurts, worries and fears, without a thought for my own.

Ich'm afraid of the rain. Ich am the rain. Is that so despicable, to be afraid of myself?

Abracadabra

Magic.

When I think of magic, I don't see spells shooting out of little wooden sticks. I don't see a wizened old wizard with a sea-worn staff clutched in his hands. I don't see three witches spinning over their simmering cauldron. I don't see dragons or fairies or even elves. I don't see a youth, just on the brink of manhood, suddenly thrust into the cutthroat life of a magician. I don't see a sorcerer with his spell book. I don't see colors and lights and complicated incantations. I don't see the black magic, or the white magic, or even purple magic. Have I covered all the cliches? That's just not what magic is. Sure, I have used almost all of those "magics" in my writing, but... I don't know how else to say it. It's not magic.

Magic is a humming bird in flight.

Magic is the hospital hallway. Life is being saved.

Magic is math in nature. Yes, my friends, yes. It is math.

 Magic is how good you feel after a good cry.

Magic is raindrops on a spiderweb. There's a reason one of my stories is tentatively titled Spiderweb Raindrops. =P

Magic is the delicacy in Willow Tree Angels.

Magic is a good expression of geek-humor.

What is magic to you? What do you think of when you see those five simple letters? That one simple word. Magic. Beauty. Wonderful. Amazing. Terrifying. Magic is... Magic is impossible. It's impossible to explain, wonderful to experience, beauty incarnate. What would you say is the ultimate expression of magic? I don't know. There's too many. There's too much wonderful magic in this world to express just one piece of magic. It's overwhelming. But this... This, I suppose. Was the first magic. The grandest. And I'm thankful for it.

"In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. And God said, 'Let there be light,' and there was light. God saw that the light was good." Genesis 1: 1-4a

People. Words. And Self-Centered Mumbo-Jumbo.

It is not easy to go up to someone and ask for them to describe yourself in ten words; even people who you know are not going to see this as fishing for compliments. I found myself floundering, more often than not, wondering whether one of my friends would be bold enough to pick on some of my numerous flaws. Two of my friends, Mig and Washington, both pointed used a word that good be classified as negative, and both times, I predicted the very word, because it was not so much a derogatory comment as it was an inside joke. This project scared me, because out of sixty total words that others used to describe me, none of them were truly negative. What does this say about me and my self-esteem? What does this say about my friends and parents? I do not know; I suppose that was what this project is designed to determine. No matter where the results lead me, I have learned one very specific detail about myself: I would much rather have someone point out my faults than have free reign to describe me.

My father was easier to predict than my mother. Still, only three of my predictions were identical to words that Dad used to describe me. I predicted only one of my mom's words. There's a simple reason for this: I spent more time talking to my dad than everyone but my closest friend. I found it fascinating that the only identical word that both my parents used was “intelligent.” Most of their words had very little to do with the other's list of words. This made me realize that I am two different people around my parents, and I have been ever since they separated almost two years ago. Would their lists have been more similar had I done this before that separation? I do not know, but I think it would have been. Predicting my mom's words, I touched on few of the themes of she said; the only time I really got close was when I predicted “special” and she said “unique.” Some of the words my mom used were especially difficult to predict, because she had never described me as them before. The only way I could hope to predict what my parents and friends were going to say was through past conversations with them, side comments, or various praises they had given me. The more time I had spent talking to a someone, the better than knew me, the closer I got to guessing their words. Given the greater amount of conversation that I have exchanged with Dad, I am not all that surprised that I found it easier to predict what he would say than what Mom would say.

An interesting comparison is between the lists of my Dad and the lists that Kevin, an adult from my church who has become like a mentor to me, had. They shared one specific word and a numerous amount of similar themes. Again, Kevin's words were completely different from that of my mother's. This showed me that I act very similar around my father and Kevin, as opposed how I act around my mom. Both Kevin and my father double checked to see if the words had to be in a list format, and could not have been in the format of a phrase or even a full sentence. They also agreed about how ultimately self-centered this assignment could turn out to be. I found Kevin particularly difficult to predict, even though I correctly predicted two of the words he ended up using. Out of all the people I asked, he and I have spent the least amount of time talking to each other, and in general, most of our conversations was about either my writing or some other work of literature. Kevin, out of everyone, used the most glowingly positive words. This was not something I would have predicted, although, in retrospect, it seems almost likely, because he has interacted with the fewest of my flaws.

Adults aside, I had the most fun doing this project with the friends I asked who were around my age. I asked three of my four closest friends, and attempted to ask the fourth member of that friend group, but he was unavailable. My friends were the easiest to predict, as our respective lists of words were rife with inside jokes such as “oxymoron,” “lion,” and “pest.” My friends were also the hardest to predict, because I had no idea which of the myriad of options they would pursue. I told each of them that any type of word would be allowed: adjective, noun, verb, etc. Mig was the only one to use verbs. Washington consistently stuck to adjectives, although, two her of her adjectives contradicted, creating the oxymoron that Sandy used to describe me. Yeah, this group of friends knows each other too well. Sandy included many words that you would not normally think of for such assignment such as “sound” and “there,” but as I considered it, these were staple in our relationship. I often overshot on the amount of inside jokes they would use, or predicted the wrong inside joke. I would capture the wrong moment, miss a key word by inches, and overall predict the wrong words for what my friends would say. However, it struck me that while only three of my four close friends participated in this particular project, if we were all asked to describe each other in one word, there'd only be one word throughout all of us: hevvratioussontackl. I believe the ability to predict that we'd all say the same thing about each other, is part of what bonds us together into a group of the closest friends I have ever had.

One of the interesting things that I noticed while conducting this experiment was how people reacted to being asked to describe me. My mom wanted to know what the assignment was about, what the words were for, and did she absolutely have to fire them off at the top of her head? She wished that I had asked her twenty-four hours earlier and let her ponder the words. This would have certainly changed the results of the project. Dad rolled his eyes, muttered a comment on the self-centered attitude of high school social psychology, and asked if I was enjoying the course. At my affirmation, he proceeded with the project. Kevin just asked whether or not the words had to be a list and then listed out ten words. Mig, as usual for the two of us, teased me and did the assignment with a grin and a chuckle. Washington and Sandy hesitated a little, both struggling to reach ten words. Sandy said she needed the perfect ten words, and no matter what she said, there would always be some other word that would describe me better. Washington had a similar reaction. These reactions were almost more predictable than the words themselves.

So where do these results leave me? Now I've got a minor project to hand in and a heavily stroked ego? I don't think so. I guess what I've learned from this project is never underestimate yourself from someone else's viewpoint. I'm positive that each and every one of the people who participated in this would be willing to rain down a whole list of faults upon my head, if they viewed it to be a necessity to my growth as a human being. But it is not a necessity, at least for right now. And we, as humans, do not find the need to tell our friends how we find them to be at fault. Friends would rather support than tear down, build rather than destroy; the hesitations within my mom's, Sandy's and Washington's responses support this fact. Hurt happens in the world when people do not take the time and the energy to support and build, finding it easier to be negligent and destructive. With this in mind, I will seek to give an extra amount of energy to the process of building up and supporting the other people in my life.

((What can I say? I SAID it was self-centered mumbo-jumbo!))

Creativity

Originality?

No. They aren't the same thing. Creativity can be inspired. Nowadays, originality is just plain... abnormal. Unfortunately.

The thing is, my creativity has been a bit stunted today.

So.

Here.

I'm going to go kill my brain some more by watching TV. Have fun now.

Hydrogen

H.

Simple enough for you, eh?

No. Of course not.

Potassium. K.

Sodium. Na.

Iron. Fe.

Silver. Ag.

Antimony. Sb.

Why can't it just be normal?! In all honesty, I shouldn't complain about this. I've got a pretty solid foundation for the definition of the different elements. I know that Flourine is F and not Fl. I know which one is H, Hydrogen or Helium. I know that the simple, easy to remember ones are Oxygen, Sulfur, Phosphorus (not that I can spell it), Boron, Carbon, Flourine, Hydrogen, Vanadium, Iodine, Yttrium (not that I can spell it either), and Nitrogen. At least, those are the really easy ones. Potassium isn't hard once you know it's... K.

I don't get Xenon, though. I mean, it is the only x. Why don't they just use x?! I mean, it would be so much simpler, and it's the only element that starts with an X. Is it that hard to differentiate between the variable of an equation and that of an elemental definition. Sigh. The system is so messed up. But it's fun too. And some of them do make sense. Argon. Bromine. Aluminum. Helium. Calcium. Beryllium. Neon. Cobalt. Nickel. Gallium. Silicon. Germanium. Krypton. Those. Those are just the first two letters.

I'm beginning to hate Magnesium and Manganese, by the way. Mg and Mn respectively.

But... But... WHY is Copper Cu?! Grumbles. That's my least favorite. Because it's close... but not close. Stupid old copper.

Hakuna Matata

Sandy. Look away. Spoilers.

Or really anyone, if you haven't seen the Lion King or Tangled. 

It's scary how many people know me as that now. And most of my close friends, that's their first impression of me. I mean, I was expecting to change it pretty soon after I changed from Pendulum to become Hakuna Matata. Actually, I think only about three people remember me ever being Pendulum. And I don't think anyone remembers my name when I first joined the OYAN forum. I guess what's also scary is how having the username of Hakuna Matata has influenced me.

For one thing, Matt is one of my acceptable nicknames. I look up when people call other people that. Tams. Tatas. Kunas. That's all me. But it all comes from two Swahili words that happen to mean "No Worries." It's weird again how I disagree with the No Worries philosophy. I mean, even Simba disagrees with it, in the end. =P But, yeah. I could be all theorectical and say I put it there to remind myself always to learn from the past as a kind of counter-intuitive, but that's just... reflection and hindsight. Honestly I just picked it because it was a fun collection of letters from a fun movie.

Lion King wasn't even one of my favorite movies back then; I didn't appreciate it as much. But now I do. It was amazing in three-d, by the way. It was like the animators of that movie knew that the 3D technology was going to become available, and then they animated the Lion King to be ready for transformation into 3D practically instantaneous. It was great. Lasseter's going a great job with Disney. They had a great 50th film (Tangled). And it's just... Lasseter's great.

I had a dream about that. I was eating dinner with a bunch of movie directors like Lasseter and Bruckheimer and some others. George Lucas kept trying to make me eat Turkish Delight. Which I despise. But yeah. In the dream, Lasseter and I got in a discussion about Tangled, and he said he agreed with me that Flynn Ryder should have died, but that Disney made him do otherwise. Siiiiigh. The perfect dream, ruined. They should have at least killed Pascal. Someone should have died. Still. It was one of the best Disney endings, ever. Ah. Disney. Pixar. Fun animation. Rock on.

6 Introspective-ish Drabble-ness

1. Crazed
Most of my favorite memories involve orange, tablecloths, and nillas. And then there was the Skittle Wars, which were some of the weirdest things ever. I'd like to say that we actually ate the skittles, but they ended to be used as projectiles, mostly. We would load the skittle gun and have pitched battles between who ruled the Skittle-world. Or we'd just fight over the skittles. I rarely had to lift a finger in those battles. My friends always supported me. We were crazed, certainly, but it was a good kind of insanity. Thank you guys.



2. Frustration
It's so easy to talk for hours about what frustrates you the most. That scares me. I'm not a grateful person, but I want to be. So can I talk about the reverse of frustration and talk about what envigorates and encourages me? I suppose so, I mean, it is my blog. And I've just stared at this doc for a full thirty seconds trying to figure out what encourages me. Uh oh. I guess I need to work harder, neh? I'll get better. It'll get easier. And that thought keeps me going. Yay.



3. Peculiar
Cheesecake and mushrooms. My brother loves cheesecakes and hate mushrooms. I hate cheesecakes and love mushrooms. Bob and I are so different and yet so similar to each other that it's almost unfathonable. We're not the most peculiar pair of siblings, besides for the fact that we were constantly around each other that most siblings don't have to deal with. I just... I don't get him. I love the kid, I do. But it's hard to relate. I wish that wasn't so peculiar. He also doesn't like paprika. HOW?! How can anyone not like paprika?



4. Misunderstood
If I look out the window into the yard across the street from one of the houses, there's a little miniature garden in yard, and a rock in the garden. I don't like that rock. It looks like a dead baby turkey. And yes, I've checked. It's not an actual dead baby turkey. Why are there rocks shaped like such? Is God just setting stuff up to be mistaken for something else? Is that what God does with people? Because I feel so misunderstood sometimes, and I really don't want to be seen as the ugly dead turkey rock.



5. Gadget
There's so many wonderful things about gadgets. And then there's the History channel special that listed duct tape as the number 100 as a countdown of the most important gadgets in history. 100! Duct tape should have been like... number five. Guess what number five was. The lightbulb. Yes. Seriously. The number one most important gadget in history and they rate it at number five. Rated as more important than the light bulb were the alarm clock and syringes. Seriously. History channel just doesn't know it's gadgets. But Doctor Who does: “Gadget. Gadget.”



6. Uniform
If there's one thing to say about shoes, it would be that they aren't uniform. They just... aren't. I used to sleep with shoes. I used to love shoes. I'd never know a person's face, but I know what kind of shoes they were wearing. That aspect of me faded away after awhile, but it rekindled over last school year, especially because I'd walk though the school ways looking at people shoe's and not their faces, because while shoes may not be uniform, they're more uniform than people's faces. More uniform. More forgiving. People scare me. Shoes don't.

Oddities

People collect weird things. Like stamps. Model planes. Toys. Gum wrappers. Paintings. Guns. Campaign buttons. Books. Stuffed animals. "White-man"-scalps. Keys. Photos. Video games. Baseball cards. Cars. Stuff like that. Stuff like everything. Mine's one of the weirder ones. And it's not really an active collection. Just kind of a passive collection. And I'm not even sure why.

But yeah. You don't know anyone else who collects pencil shavings, do you?

Or am I just special like that?

It's not like I do anything with them. I've got enough pencils... I've got the sharpeners. I'd like to dry and do some pencil shaving pictures, but right now, all my shavings are currently sitting in a decorative trashcan, metaphorically catching dust. Okay. They're probably literally collecting dust. And what am I going to do with a bunch of pencils shavings other than pour them over someone's head at a wedding? That's what my thousand paper cranes. are for. Although... I only have 304 swans on my strings right now. I've folded a bazillion more than that, but only 304 for the actual project of folding a thousand paper cranes.

These pictures aren't mine, by the way. I'm only using them because I'm not a picture taker myself and these collections happen to be at Dad's house. Which I'm not at right now. And can you tell I just figured out how to put pictures in this thing? =P Silly really, given how simple it is. But I'm just not a picture person. Oooh. I also have a small key collection, too. That's just starting though. It takes a long time to collect keys. Both of my grandparents collect keys. I've seen one of the collections. It's huge. And there was a key that said "KEIL" on it. I have a character named Keil.

He got a big head. =P

So those are my collections. Keys. Paper cranes. Pencil shavings. Normal. Slightly abnormal. Bizarre.

Crows

I despise crows.

Truly.

They're evil birds. Evil, I tell you. There's one right outside my window... on the grass... staring up at me like some great monster from a story of the undead. And a raven is supposed to be a harbinger of death. Ha. Crows are a lot worse. They're like little monsters sent by vampires to wake everyone up in the mornings with vicious causes of certain death. Well, wakefulness, but at 5:30am, wakefulness pretty much is a form of death. A couple of days ago, we had a giant flock of crows outside, there must have been at least thirty of the beasts.

I almost grabbed Bob's BB gun and went and shot them.

I'm fairly certain I would have gotten in trouble for that.

The only plus side I've ever found for crows is that there's a character in one of my very favorite books named Crow. Well. Actually, her name is Berthe Erica and only her last name is Crow. Everyone just calls her Crow though. And this book also has a character named Turtle. Well... Tabitha-Ruth "Alice" Wexler, but she's still just called Turtle. And turtles happen to be my favorite animal. How is that such an epic book would have characters named for both my favorite and my least favorite animal? I don't know. Ellen Raskin is just that good. The book is the The Westing Game, by Ellen Raskin. And you really should read it, if you haven't.

So I think I'm back. After being blog-dead through May, most of June, July, August, and September, I might actually pull this thing back from the obscurities of nothingness. No promises though.

Now the crows are cawing again.

...

Don't go get the BB gun.

Don't go get the BB gun.

Don't go get the BB gun.

Can't. Shoot. Innocent. Crows.

Gah.

Jubilant

Jubilant.
Jubilee.
Job.
Juice.
Juicy.
Judge.
Judgment.
Jaguar.
Jack-o-lantern.
Juniper.
Jog.
Jogs.
Junipers.
Jobs.
Jubilees.
Jucies.
Judges.
Judgements.
Jaguars.
Jugs.
Jug.
Juggle.
Juggles.
Jugglers.
Jasmine.
Jazz.
Jail.
Jails.
Jailor.
Jot.
Jots.
Jet.
Jets.
Jib.
Jibbing.
Jibs.
Jay.
Jays.
Jolly.
Joy.
Joys.
Jolliest.
Joyful.
Joyfully.
Jon (British).
Jazzes.
Jungle.
Jungles.
Justice.
Just.
Justify.
Justifies.
Justices.
Joggers.
Jasper.
Jar.
Jars.

Pitiful. Absolutely pitiful. Five minutes and I only get 58 J words! That's just not good. Not good at all.

There's a song... and this song is really convenient to sing in times like this.

"IIIIIIIIIIIIIII... just WAAAASTED... ten seconds of your LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIFE..."

Flufferdinkle

I have a dinosaur.

No. Really. I do.

It's a dinosaur. And he's special.

It's my dinosaur and his name is Barbara. Yes. HIS name is BARBARA. It was Barbara's choice, his name. I'm thinking he choose it because I gave him the choice of a name while I was going through a MADAME KOVARIAN'S NAME IS BARBARA phase. (It is, really. Madame Kovarian's first name is Barbara. Barbara Kovarian. She's a Doctor Who villain, for you people who don't know.) But yeah. Barbara the dinosaur. I think he's a triceratops, but who can be certain?

Anyway, Barbara keeps a record of all the little words I have that mean something else. Or... are just misspellings that I like and refuse to give. Some words are inside jokes. Some words are my own creations. Some words I use in sentences, forgetting that no one around me knows anything about the context I'm using those words in. I think one of you might know what Barbara truly is. Two, if Bob's friend Fred got a hold of this blog in some freakish accident.

I guess Bob and Fred are kind of words that belong under Barbara's keeping. More so are the others: Jota. Trailmix. Marshmallow Toast (which I am not!). Those are special. And can be used in certain circumstances but not in others. Some I've poached from other people, like Burger. Or Fredfredburger. Or Burgerfredburger. The list goes ON and ON and ON and ON.

Not all of the words are related to names though... There's this one, Nah, which was kind of invented by my social studies class. I'm STILL not sure what it means and it's been in use for close to a year now. Anyway, a couple of the guys in that class were, I don't know, awed, I suppose, by our teacher's intelligence and her overall control of the classroom. They gave her a nickname. Nah. And whenever the teacher called you out on something, or someone said something especially intelligent in response to something, the catcall would always be "You just got Nah'd!" I have yet to discover if Nah has any other meanings. But Barbara claimed Nah anyways.

Barbara has a whole section just for words stolen from OYAN. Oyan, is one of them. Although, Oyan IS technically a city in Nigeria... I'll use Oyan as a synonym for epic, sometimes. And then there's danves, which is just a cute misspelling of dances which got immortalized by the rather insane minds of the forum. Glomp also comes from the forum.

Some of my Barbara words are just plain fun.

Hevvyrationnstackl. SUGAR rope. A burro. Classified. Huag. Schglompff. SchglomPHf. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Coathanger. Snicgles. Charrie. Classifeds. Hare. Hair. Carrot. Whovian. Wub. Ladder. Cheeseball. Flufferdinkle. Star. Butterfly. Nougat. Yellow. Mockingbirds. Notepads. Creep-i-dinkle-y. Petunia. THIRTY-EIGHT!

PI! 3.1107355242...

And yeah. That's a pretty good summery of my dinosaur. And no explanation. Okay. Maybe a few explanations. But this is MY dinosaur, okay? Find your own. =P

Legality

This topic is like... a sixteen pound burger than I've got no hope of wrapping my jaws around. So I'm just going to very abruptly state my distaste with New York State legalizing "same-sex" marriage this past weekend. Tell me, how is same-sex not as derogatory a gay or homosexual? How does same-sex make is sound so much better? How did this even become legal?!

I don't get it. I just don't.

I've got this history text book; it's for AP American History, which I'm taking next year. We've got this huge summer assignment, but what I'd like to point out, that in the back of the book are the Declaration of Independence and the U.S.A Constitution. And I wonder what our founding fathers would say. What funny anecdote would Benjamin Franklin come up for this situation we're in? But I get it. I realize the world has changed and we can't look back to those who fought to be the foundation to help us complete the third floor. No; we're the builders of the third floor in this nation. And... I don't know. How much longer is this great house going to stand? But yeah... I was making a point with the history textbook... That chronicles everything - okay, no, it doesn't - it covers much of what happened in our nation in the years since The New World was first discovered. And... I forgot what point I was going to make. So. I'm going to go on a different track now...

I got into some problems because of my views on homosexuality at school. One day, there were little cards people were signing, pledging to not look down on those people who are homosexual. I refused to sign. One of the girls manning the table was in my English class, and she got very, very upset with me. So upset, she refused to talk to me for half a year. I wasn't able to explain that I try my hardest not to judge people in the first place. I wasn't able to explain that one of my uncles is homosexual and it's not like I try and hide that. I wasn't able to get to see where I was coming from, because she was stuck in her viewpoint that I was being judgmental. We've since started talking a bit more, even getting along rather nicely, but the homosexual topic has been avoided at all cost.

And now... it's legal. Legal. Legallegallegallegallegallegallegallegallegallegallegal. But still wrong! I just don't get it... The vote was 33-29. 29 Democrats and 4 Republicans voted for the passing of the bill. 33-29. It wasn't a landslide victory, thankfully, but still. It passed. The bill is called "The Marriage Equality Act." It's so... frustrating. Marriage Equality. Marriage Equality! Frustrating. And I'm not even going to start ranting about divorce.

I just don't understand.

Poetry vs. Music

I think Woodsworth would be offended. Well... not really... but I read my favorite Woodsworth – “We Are Seven” – the other day and was thinking about how poetry has been replaced. And I know this isn't really like me, but I watched this video live performance of a OneRepublic song and was struck by how they used stage presence and body movements to convey the whole mood of the song. There was this cellist that held the entire mood of the song in the elbow of his arm, and it was actually really fun to watch; the drummer and the singing weren't overly demeaning like normal rock/pop stuff.

There's this rap section in one of the OwlCity songs – and yes, I know OwlCity ain't that popular, but still, there's some sentimental value behind them for me – and I was just thinking about how rap music relies so heavily on the sound of the lyrics and how the words fit together. Rap is seriously modern poetry. So, yeah. I wouldn't want to be the modern Keats or Shelley or Colridge. I'm not normally a poetry person, as well as my dislike of most music, so... I don't know.

Where the world be without music? It's become so influential in our culture that I don't even know. I don't think anyone knows. Throughout the school year, when conditions have been appropriate, I've asked people if they'd rather go without music for a day or without internet for a day. While the results from the OYAN forum and a few of my more geek friends skewed the results a bit, the general opinion was that people would rather go without the internet for a day than without music. But... without the internet, we wouldn't have the influx of music that we have.

We truly live in an Information Age, don't we? It's hard to imagine that just a hundred years ago, messages were delivered with dots and dashes, trains, and ponies. And before that; ships, messengers. We have marathons because of the messenger who ran from the Battle of Marathon to Athens with news of the war. Honestly, I don't think I'd run twenty-six miles just to get information to a city; much less would I want to run to New York City or Boston, 'cause that just wouldn't be fun. But today, we can pass information from Washington DC to Beijing in seconds. McMurdo to Paris to Sydney to Fairbanks to Moscow and back to McMurdo in a time smaller than an instant. I could be in Afghanistan, while holding a conversation with someone in California and Virginia.

And it's this Age of Information that really has led to the widespread appeal of music. That, and many people are lazy or spend too much time in the car and they don't want to read books anymore. Anyway... it's funny really, comparing the cultural greats of today with the cultural greats of years passed. I kept picturing Lady Gaga in this sword fight with William Shakespeare. And they're arguing in their respective languages, and Shakespeare keeps commenting on the scandalous state of Lady Gaga's outfit. He is considering on using her as a madwomen in one of his plays.

The media has changed so much in the advent of TV, internet, video streaming, cellphones, and all other manor of gadgets. I'm a writer, and I'm well aware that by the time I'm thirty, the novel industry will have drastically changed. eBooks? Screenplays for audio/visual stuff? While writing a novel is an impressive feat, I'm not sure it's going to do much in today's world. Which, I guess, is one reason I'm keeping half of a disinterested eye on the media business.

Stupid music.

It's taken over the world.

…

…

…

Keil. No. That does not make Justin Bieber a supervillian, and as he is not a supervillian, you don't have the need to go an destroy him. Quiet. Now.

Return

Go ahead, Sandy. Celebrate.

Hi.

So. I'm back.

You know, yeah, I didn't die. I just learned why TV series only have twenty-six episodes a season. Anyway, hi.

Hi.

Hi.

It's almost summer. I've finished four out of five exams and well, math's the only one left. I've completed my first year in school. Really. I have. I have. I have. I have! As you can tell; I'm back and I'm excited. The Kansas City trip is in eleven days. The VA reunion is after that, although, frankly, I'm not AS excited for the Virginia trip as I am for the KC leg of it. Sure, I love my family and everything, and it'll be great to see them, but... Kansas City!

It's the writer's workshop that I've been looking forward to since last year ended. It's... oh. I'm just excited.

Anyway, the soccer season's ended, I'm trying to focus on one of my stories – Shackles, because it's a pretty straightforward one, that I've already got five chapters done on it – and, well, yeah, lots and lots of writing.

And I'm reading a 1069 page (size 8 print) book, but I'll do a lot of that on the plane ride.

And, um, yeah. That's pretty much an update on me.

I'm watching America's Got Talent right now. It's in the audition phase, but some of it's really good. There's this girl who looks like Justin Bieber, well, no, she's twenty-two, so Bieber looks like her. She sang this song she wrote about being a Bieber look alike and it was hysterical. Keil had a field day. He has a new crush, by the way, for all you people who don't know his story, he is, um, not a Bieber fan.

Isn't it annoying how every talent show uses Lady Gaga's “Born This Way” as a talent show song? It's horrible.

Now there's a parakeet. It's laughing. The parakeet is laughing. It's... disturbing.

Parakeets.

Laughing.

Weird image.

Laughing.

Parakeets.

I like America's Got Talent. There's some crazy stuff. Normally I really don't like talent shows. And Sharon Osbourne is just... yeah. Howie's funny and the fact that the other guy has a British accent is just amazing. It's great.

More disturbning images. Grandmother playing rock. Creepy.

So...

So...

So...

Creepy.

Oh. Wow. They're playing bottles! That's awesome. I love the audition stages, cause, well, they do stuff quickly and you get a lot of everything and some really awesome complete whiffs. There was a talent show at my school. It was... laughable. There was this one boy who sang a song that even I knew, and he forgot the lyrics, so he just fudged it. It was... strange. Because he ended up just singing about apples.

Apples. I mean, honestly. Apples.

Snicker. Sorry. More mental images. I'm just... in a bizarre mood. And internet's out and everyone else is down at pickups for soccer, so, I've got no one to talk too. Hobbes is ignoring me, too. It's like I'm invisible. I was invisible during my soccer game yesterday, no one passed to me. Annoying.

I was proclaimed a professional rambler today. Half an hour of rambling and I didn't even mention writer OR Doctor Who. It was an amazing accomplishment. I mean, I rarely ramble that long without bringing up my two major rambling devices. And I'm ramblign now. And I'm gonna be quiet now. 'Cause I'm gonna go bug Hobbes and he's gonna hate me for it.

Not really. He's a cat.

He loves.

Teddy Bears + Food

My family has this tradition of sorts. We name our teddy bears after food. It's funny, actually; there's Marmalade, Cocoa, Ginger... all of our teddy bears are named after food.

I was writing a short story and named a little brown bear The Horrifying Prince of Doom. ^.^ Which isn't, technically a food.

There's just a lot of great names you can get from food.

Pumpernickel.

Rye.

Watermelon.

Caviar.

Bob gave Dad a geek-bear that I wanted to name Newton, after Sir Isaac Newton and Figg Newtons, I thought it was a good idea. I'm not sure what that bear's name is now.

A friend and I were googling random pictures of people. A picture of my the geek brother showed up that has Bunny the Duck resting on his head. It's a great picture. But my friend didn't understand why the duck was named Bunny. I didn't even try to explain the bears named after food.

My favorite teddy bear is Cocoa. I've practically bitten her ear off because of the number of times I've bitten into her ear to keep from screaming and crying and that stuff. My other favorite stuffed animal is Roco, who's a stuffed raccoon, so not named after a food. Anyways, Roco's second name is Fumara (sp?) because he's both named after a council from a camp, but also my great-grandfather on my dad's mom's side of things. Roco and Cocoa are the best.

I like teddy bears.

I like food.

Yah.

Cave Drawings

So I was sketching and I wondered what it would be like to place a modern-ish style of thought into a world based and contrived almost entirely on cave drawings. I've only written three paragraphs, but the character developed like lightening. Her name is Lunet, but her ally/love interest? or something, whoever ends up helping her, will probably call her Imogene; which right now is the title of the idea.

It's just interesting trying to figure out how to tell the story. I'm thinking there will be a group of people, of which Lunet is a part of, and they have access to fire. They use it sparingly and keep the secret of the other group of people, the typical "cavemen," which I haven't figured out yet. I probably won't through in a pet woolly mammoth, even though a mammoth will definitely show up in the story. Somehow. I'll probably give Lunet a strange looking wolf-dog thingy.

I have way to many stories, but I'm enjoying this current idea, so, who knows, maybe it'll be successful. In a couple of days, I'll decide which priority folding (yes, I sort my stories by priority folders) to throw the thing it. My guess is it'll end up in the 1.5 priority... >.> Well... enjoy:



Imogene

      I live in a world of monsters. I live in a world of brown and black, of spears and arrows. I live in a world of nightmares and daydreams, all wound up in a few simple pictures. History is all around me, because I survive in the tapestry of ancient pictures. My worst fear is a compilation of simple lines; a rough sketch of several humans, spears and the heart pounding feeling of the chase.

My name is Lunet, and this is my nightmare.

.oOo.

       I snapped the sticks against each other. Sparks landed on the spindly twigs, but the fire refused to catch. The cold air blasted against my skin and one spark danced away from my protected hole in the cliff. The spark wafted through the dark air before sizzling out. I pressed my back against comforting sheets of stone. Fire would be unsuccessful in this wind. More than that, fire would be dangerous in this weather.

       I shuddered. The wind numbed my cheeks and cut into my skin. The cold was apart of my life now. A dark silhouette passed in front of the moon. I jammed my fire-sticks in the back of my parka and pressed as far into the cliff face as I could. Maybe whoever it was wouldn't notice me. If there were Prowlers loose around here, I was dead. The silhouette grew larger, coming closer and closer and closer to my position. I drew in a deep breath, knowing that not breathing because I did not know what was coming close could be more deadly than just staying still. My hand inched towards the tiny arrow strapped to my opposite wrist.