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.

Where?

Where did they go?

Poems used to be such a stable in our culture's literary thing. Everyone knows Tennyson and Wordsworth and that but - outside of English class - how many people actually read poems a lot? I don't. Do you?

My school is putting together a literary magazine and we were reading some of the poetry submissions and it was a little humorous how awful some submissions are. We've even forgotten how to write literature as a country. Well. In general. You know, one of the girls in my homeroom was writing a sonnet and she kept insisting that sonnets were supposed to be twelve lines wrong; and that all of the couples were rhyming. It was... amusing.

So I kept thinking about it. Yes. That's me. I obsess about what happened to stuff that used to be popular. And then Natasha started bugging me about music again.

Music.

Music.

Music. The twentieth century version of poetry. The twentieth-first century of version of prose. I am not a music person. Which leads me to believe that I would never be a poetry person. Music has become SO important to our culture. It's infectious. It's evil. It's-- I think I'm going to go get earplugs now.

Just an observation.

Uhoh

I just made something in the kitchen. O.o And it was actually edible.

Flee! Hide! The horrors! The horrors!

I used a cup of milk, four eggs, two dabbles of vanilla, eight pieces of bread, some butter, a fork, a spatula and a cast iron frying pan (epicness) and made successful French Toast. I would assume it was successful. Bob ate four pieces and he hardly ever eats that much. Although, he did say I should make pancakes, but no, that's his kitchen thingy.

Me plus kitchen usually ends up with bad stuff happening. Like, really bad stuff. Burning and smoking and turning black and gooing and etc. etc. etc. Although, thankfully, I have never burnt water. Mom has. I haven't. -snicker- I could probably burn salad, if I attempted anything more elaborate than some lettuce and carrots.

Oh, carrots. What a wonderful, hideous vegetable.

Food is a special thing. I like eating it, but I really don't like cooking it. I guess I can could, if I have too. And I make pretty good chips and cheese =P but I just don't like cooking. I don't understand it. The chemicals and flavors of ingredients and how they react with each other. WHy do these spices work and those spices don't? Why can't everything be plain and simple? Siiigh. Cooking annoys me.

Six Degrees

It's fascinating that in just six degrees of separation, you would know approximately everyone in the world. It works on the principle that you know someone, that someone knows someone who you don't know, that third someone knows someone you don't know, and on and on. However, while chains may stretch on forever, you can find some connection with almost anyone to the sixth the degree.

There is this guy, Kevin Bacon, and he even has a game and a charity organization called SixDegrees or whatever. Supposedly, Bacon has been in so many movies with so many different actors that he knows everyone in the movie making industry by like... three or four degrees. I think that's fascinating.

My tend to use two specific trends when I talk about this with people who simply don't understand. A year or so ago, I was really into the "Star Wars extended universe" books and my favorite books where those written by Timothy Zahn, who created both Mara Jade and Grand Admiral Thrawn, the former who is one of the most epic dark-heroines ever and the latter the very best villain ever.

Anyway, I was talking about the extended universe with a friend of mine and she mentioned how her friend's dad was a roommate with Timothy Zahn in college, and they were still friends. Later, I met the friend she was talking about. So, I know Timothy Zahn to the second degree; as I know someone who knows him. So, by extension, I know George Lucas and all those other people by the third and forth degree. Special me. The other example was I know Buzz Aldrin (I think, it's one of those Apollo 11 guys) to the second degree because I met my grandmother's husband at least once, as a baby, and he knew astronaut.

This theory also sort of plays into how small the world is and how you'll know someone and you'll know someone else and then be surprised that those two people know each other. Or something like that. Or you could end up in an airport in Florida and sit down right next to two people from your church and not even know that it's them until they great you (true story) or have a homeschooling family move to Kansas City and completely lose contact until traveling to Kansas City for a supposedly completely unrelated event to discover that said family is involved with the same program that the leader of the event teachers at (true story).

I have a cat climbing all over me. It's very annoying.

Holy Week + 40 Days

Palm Sunday. Holy Week. Easter. Pentacost.

I don't really like the change in seasons that comes with the shift between Winter and Spring and then as Spring progresses and turns to Summer, but I really do enjoy those three holidays. Oh, by the way, in Chinese, winter is dōngtiān (冬天), spring is chūntiān (春天), summer is xiàtiān (夏天), and fall is qiūtiān (秋天). Hm. Spellchecker doesn't thing dongtian or chuntian is spelled wrong. Weirdness. (Chinese is epicness)

Anyway, I really love Palm Sunday because I think the whole thing about how Jesus Christ is so amazing and so wonderful that if he weren't going to receive praise from the humans, the rocks would worship him. I have two pet rocks (have being a loose term, as all they do is sit on my shelf) named Hansel and Gretel and believe me, the two of them never do anything. It's hard to imagine something so important that stones would raise their voices and call out. That is such an amazing message.

And then Gethsemane is the most heartbreaking scene in the entire Bible. It just is. It's got two kinds of betrayal, insurmountable grief, determination, a fight scene, bribery... I know that Mr. S probably used some great example of the Black Moment in his curriculum, but to me, the Garden of Gethsemane is the ultimate Black Moment in any story. (For you non-OYAN-educated people: the black moment is the beginning of the third act, and where things are so awful there's no way the hero can ever climb out of it.)

I really don't like how it's called Good Friday. I've never understood why. Really, I think they should switch Good Friday with Black Friday and then I'd be just find, because I could care less about Black Friday. The gospel is the ultimate story. The Bible is the ultimate story. It's just the gospel is the crowning jewel in that story and Good Friday is like the best indirect Showdown ever. And, Jesus has some of the most dramatic lines in recorded history! And the teardrop is just... AH!

Am I getting my point across? Can you tell that I really love this story?

A weekend after the tears comes Easter. And Easter is the best celebration, ever. "Christ the Lord is risen today! Alleluia." Love that song. Easter is bright and cheerful and colorful and the one day out of the year that I consistently enjoy that bright, colorful theme. The rest of the year, I'm more of a dark person.

That concludes what most people few as Holy Week; and I accepted that a long time ago, but I think it's a capital crime that more people don't celebrate Pentacost. This celebration is dedicated entirely to the aspect of the Trinity that I think gets the most lost in the general scheme of things. There's reds and whites and fire and I've memorized Paul's speech given on that day. Just think about it! Approximately 3000 people were saved because the Holy Spirit gave the disciples the ability to speak in other languages. I certainly believe that's something to celebrate!

The added bonus, of Holy Week, is that Doctor Who airs on Saturday. I'm excited. NINE DAYS. Although, if I do end up out of town and not able to watch it... well... I'll find it. Somewhere. On Easter evening or Monday...

Neon

Save me; neon is coming.

A couple of days ago, people - mostly girls - started wearing white and pastels and bright colors. And I probably should have expected that, as spring is stubbornly arriving. You know, as much as I love palm Sunday, Easter and Pentacost, I really dislike spring.

So. I just got used to the girls wearing the warm, springish kind of colors and then the boys come out and start wearing NEONS! I just can't take it! >.< Yellows and greens and oranges and bright, bright, bright white! It was a sea of neon shirts today, contrasted only by the black shirts of people in sports uniforms. I said I dislike spring; I dislike neons about ten times more.

Neon. Neon. Neon.

I think the closest Doctor Who got to neon was Seven's (?) white costume. Four's scarf is certainly famous and memorable, but the Doctor himself has rarely ever been so brightly colored. As for the companions... well... Rose and Donna especially liked bright colors. And Romana II. And IT'S ONLY NINE DAYS AWAY! -squeals-

I've only got one more day of school and then I can just work on writing and sit around and wait because the DOCTOR is coming to town! IEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIE!

And I just saw a short clip from one of the episodes. And it had River in it. IEIEIEIEIEIEI!

I need sugar.

G'morning. (even if it's night)

I'm gonna go find Luna Lovegood and have a weirdness conference now.