Prompt: "Day 10 —What do you want to be remembered for?"
From the view of my (hopeful) spouse: "Hi. I don't recognize many of you here today and I'm sure you don't recognize me. I'm Gweyn's spouse and my name is [dreamy something charming]. We've been married for 30 years, a good thirty years.
"It's been a difficult month with her untimely passing. Just before she died she came to me and said, 'Honey? I think... we should talk about funeral arrangements. Just in case.' She was smiling and told me not to worry. Gweyn said that a lot. And a lot of the time I knew she said it to make me feel better. I remember there was a time I had lost my wedding ring. I didn't even know how to approach because I also remember how long it took her to pick the 'perfect' one. Racked with so much guilt I finally came crying to her, 'Honey. I've lost my wedding ring. Please don't be mad.' And you know what? She wasn't mad. She took a moment to think about it. Finally she took me into her arms and said, 'I'm sorry you lost the ring too but it's O.K. I have you still and that's all that matters.' A few weeks later she took me ring shopping for our anniversary.
"Gweyn was always concerned with taking care of me, taking care of the kids and you could tell there was no greater joy she could have, no greater love. And that is how she lived: loving. Gweyn enjoyed many passions, some of which I can't even name because they are so obscure or quirky that no one could enjoy them like she did. On our first date, after I had dropped her off and walked her to the door I saw something hanging off her keychain. A little green dinosaur. She smiled and told me proudly, 'He's adorable!' without hesitation. I'd become familiar with Yoshis very soon. She loved cute things. She loved things in general. She'd tell me often that she liked best to have me read books to her because that's two or three of her favorite things at the same time. The first was my voice because it was sexy, and soothed her, the second was being read to and on times the third was the book.
"There are so many things I could day about her but then we'd never leave because I'd want to share all the things that made her special. She was so unyieldingly happy and trusting and forgiving. No matter what, she beleived in me despite the dark times in our lives and relationships. I want everyone to remember that lightness she carried in her soul to brighten up our dreary times. I want everyone to remember the enthusiasm she shared for living things, community, and lending a helping hand. And especially that Gweyn would always say, 'It may not feel like it but everything will be all right'. In the end, that's what she would have wanted: for us to not mourn her and rejoice in her life because sooner or later everything will be all right. And I'd like to close with a poem that I can hear her saying. It's Do Not Stand at my Grave by Mary Elizabeth Frye:
"Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
Thank you everyone for coming."
31 January 2014
10,000 Hours
10,000 hours is the milestone, the designation for an Expert. Sufficient to say that doesn't always seem to apply to games I've noted that on my 3DS I've logged in approximately 100 hours alone on Fire Emblem: Awakening. Without the added DLC and as some grinding as possible, I feel as if the direct campaign takes about 20 hours. Maybe more or maybe less. I think... this will be my fifth time playing it on Hard (because I seriously can't get past the first map on Insane).
10,000 - 100 means I still have 9,900 hours left to go before I'm a true Fire Emblem: Awakening expert. Maybe then I will remember all the battle formulas as well as the aggro priority rates.
10,000 hours of gaming on the wall, 10,000 thousand hours of gaming. Take 100 down, pass it around, 9,900 hours of gaming on the wall...
10,000 - 100 means I still have 9,900 hours left to go before I'm a true Fire Emblem: Awakening expert. Maybe then I will remember all the battle formulas as well as the aggro priority rates.
10,000 hours of gaming on the wall, 10,000 thousand hours of gaming. Take 100 down, pass it around, 9,900 hours of gaming on the wall...
30 January 2014
30 Day Writing Challenge - Day Nine
Prompt: "Day 9 —What was your favorite childhood toy?"
Soft, cuddly and always available. I think that's a good description for what a lot of children have: a stuffed animal. Moose had the cutest brown fur and a little bobby tail which held a tingly bell (my favorite feature by far) and on top of hid soft ovalish head a pair of brown antlers. I used to take him everywhere except school (because I was afraid someone would take him and my mom wouldn't let me). I slept with him every night well into my middle school years. I had also developed a sense where I could telepathically communicate with him and we'd talk every now and then but most of our relationship was felt through emotions and senses. On the rare nights I didn't sleep with him I tucked him in with my other stuffed animals after wishing them a good night. We were all one big family.
I don't have him anymore - in effect my ex and I swapped our dearest stuffed animals so that we would have something precious of one another's. Moose protects her. Mr. Bear comforts me.
Soft, cuddly and always available. I think that's a good description for what a lot of children have: a stuffed animal. Moose had the cutest brown fur and a little bobby tail which held a tingly bell (my favorite feature by far) and on top of hid soft ovalish head a pair of brown antlers. I used to take him everywhere except school (because I was afraid someone would take him and my mom wouldn't let me). I slept with him every night well into my middle school years. I had also developed a sense where I could telepathically communicate with him and we'd talk every now and then but most of our relationship was felt through emotions and senses. On the rare nights I didn't sleep with him I tucked him in with my other stuffed animals after wishing them a good night. We were all one big family.
I don't have him anymore - in effect my ex and I swapped our dearest stuffed animals so that we would have something precious of one another's. Moose protects her. Mr. Bear comforts me.
29 January 2014
30 Day Writing Challenge - Day Eight
Prompt: "Day 8 —Tell your life story from someone else’s point of view."
She has such a sad face. But it's pretty.
I had always wondered why she seemed so down all the time and cold and distant and insensitive. Sometimes I wondered why I hung out with this chick! I thought about it, and aside from the fact that I had the most terrible crush on her, I realized there was something else there I wanted to see. Besides, I think she was finally warming up to me.
Finally, I spent the night at her house.
Upon opening the door I smelled something terrible. She walked in with her brothers and soon they piled into the living room which smelled the worst. I understood why: they had four dogs and tons of negligence. She asked me if I wanted a snack and I wasn't sure because there wasn't much to have... They hardly had any food, or really anything along the borders of healthy. I liked my vegetables. The four dogs were let out and everyone retreated their own way - in the living room. They all seemed attached to this room for no reason and after a while they started picking things up and sweeping the floor and tidying up in general. Odd. A car pulled in. And she told me the door opened. A large man walked in. They all greeted him, hugged him and waited a few minutes. She uneasily introduced me to her father and he asked me some odd questions. After interrogating the both of us about what we had planned to be doing we scurried up the stairs and hid in her room which smelled much better. It smelled like her.
While there she showed me her collections - some rocks, a few feathers, and a beat-up player's guide for Yoshi's Story. This was what I found so charming in all her weirdness and queerness, that love and passion she had for things. Flipping gently through the guide she asked me every now and then, "Isn't he adorable?" or "Aren't they cute?" She became the sweetest thing ever begging me to agree with things she already knew. She mellowed out after and we got to talk about things. Some time later her dad called her down. Just her. She looked at me apologetically.
She was gone for what seemed like forever. When she finally returned she looked like she was virtually in tears. What the hell had happened? She told me that she just got into trouble again. Nothing to really worry about she was just really mad. She suggested we watch a movie. And else wise.
I noticed a few more things. Like how insistent her father was on knowing exactly what she was doing, where she was, at times I wonder how much did he stuff her mind with nonsense. She told me at times how hard it was to figure out if I could even come over. That was bullshit.
Years went by and we remained good friends. I got to see her grow up in a way and I learned just how beautiful she was. So smart, so creative, and so nice. She said the best things and knew how to give the most wonderful compliments.
She has such a sad face. But it's pretty.
I had always wondered why she seemed so down all the time and cold and distant and insensitive. Sometimes I wondered why I hung out with this chick! I thought about it, and aside from the fact that I had the most terrible crush on her, I realized there was something else there I wanted to see. Besides, I think she was finally warming up to me.
Finally, I spent the night at her house.
Upon opening the door I smelled something terrible. She walked in with her brothers and soon they piled into the living room which smelled the worst. I understood why: they had four dogs and tons of negligence. She asked me if I wanted a snack and I wasn't sure because there wasn't much to have... They hardly had any food, or really anything along the borders of healthy. I liked my vegetables. The four dogs were let out and everyone retreated their own way - in the living room. They all seemed attached to this room for no reason and after a while they started picking things up and sweeping the floor and tidying up in general. Odd. A car pulled in. And she told me the door opened. A large man walked in. They all greeted him, hugged him and waited a few minutes. She uneasily introduced me to her father and he asked me some odd questions. After interrogating the both of us about what we had planned to be doing we scurried up the stairs and hid in her room which smelled much better. It smelled like her.
While there she showed me her collections - some rocks, a few feathers, and a beat-up player's guide for Yoshi's Story. This was what I found so charming in all her weirdness and queerness, that love and passion she had for things. Flipping gently through the guide she asked me every now and then, "Isn't he adorable?" or "Aren't they cute?" She became the sweetest thing ever begging me to agree with things she already knew. She mellowed out after and we got to talk about things. Some time later her dad called her down. Just her. She looked at me apologetically.
She was gone for what seemed like forever. When she finally returned she looked like she was virtually in tears. What the hell had happened? She told me that she just got into trouble again. Nothing to really worry about she was just really mad. She suggested we watch a movie. And else wise.
I noticed a few more things. Like how insistent her father was on knowing exactly what she was doing, where she was, at times I wonder how much did he stuff her mind with nonsense. She told me at times how hard it was to figure out if I could even come over. That was bullshit.
Years went by and we remained good friends. I got to see her grow up in a way and I learned just how beautiful she was. So smart, so creative, and so nice. She said the best things and knew how to give the most wonderful compliments.
28 January 2014
30 Day Writing Challenge - Day Seven
Prompt: "Day 7 —What sets you apart from the crowd?"
Oh boy... This really is a prompt...
I see myself as a genuinely nice person who believes there is good in everyone. I think it's important to expect the best from people because more often than not we rise to the expectation. We must always keep an open mind and remain impartial and fair in our judgements of others. We must also keep our hearts open because we are not alone in this world: we are surrounded by so much opportunity to make meaningful relationships, enriching experiences that all can benefit from. We are all connected and must help one another.
My poor bleeding heart.
Oh boy... This really is a prompt...
I see myself as a genuinely nice person who believes there is good in everyone. I think it's important to expect the best from people because more often than not we rise to the expectation. We must always keep an open mind and remain impartial and fair in our judgements of others. We must also keep our hearts open because we are not alone in this world: we are surrounded by so much opportunity to make meaningful relationships, enriching experiences that all can benefit from. We are all connected and must help one another.
My poor bleeding heart.
Let's Plays and Video Walkthroughs
[Insert title here] are some of my favorite things to dig up on YouTube. There's something nice about not being able to play certain games but still discovering bits and pieces of it through another player's experience. Another awesome part is that I can find games that I don't own and can't due to its exclusive natures (curses) - (with silent commentary) it's like a long, long movie! Sure there are some repetitive parts if certain non-essential things are coming up. Bonus points for the 100% Completion walkthroughs.
Personally I do rather enjoy the ones that have tasteful commentary - especially if its a game in the Fatal Frame series or Silent Hill. Or they make my laugh. Some favorites include users boffyrox and MasatoHyuga. I've also developed a strange habit of having boffyrox's and RespawnStudios Silent Hill walkthroughs as background noise. Maybe I enjoy too much of the human condition of which I am so fond of observing...
Personally I do rather enjoy the ones that have tasteful commentary - especially if its a game in the Fatal Frame series or Silent Hill. Or they make my laugh. Some favorites include users boffyrox and MasatoHyuga. I've also developed a strange habit of having boffyrox's and RespawnStudios Silent Hill walkthroughs as background noise. Maybe I enjoy too much of the human condition of which I am so fond of observing...
27 January 2014
30 Day Writing Challenge - Day Six
Prompt: "Day 6 —Write about a person who would buy all of those items in Day 5."
Interesting. I seem to have already written about that in Day Five. So let's continue this debacle.
Mary Sue cried tears of oil and sauce, unsure of what she was going to do for today's dinner date. She had promised her man of interest that she would cook him something delicious. Mary Sue was an awful cook. Jokingly her roommate suggested that things that start with the same letter get along together. In that same terrible rhyme. In a fit she had burnt the water trying to cook the soba noodles, and made a massive mixture of sauces even tossing in some salt which splattered all over her sleeves. And the soup. Well, she was in essence making a soup, right? She poured the contents of the can and added a half a can of water like it said. Then she added the remainder of the sauces and then the noodles. It was like a creamy... gravy like chicken noodle soup. Maybe it would taste good... Mary Sue put a lid on the the pot, turned off all the knobs because she faintly remember her mother saying that a good cook never leaves the food unsupervised.
Mary Sue threw her clothes onto the floor and jumped into the shower. Somehow she had managed to get some soup in her hair and as she scrubbed it out she thought about what she could possibly wear. Scurrying to her room she heard her roommate make a comment but was unsure about the details. Damian would be here soon!
He came in wearing a simple pair of jeans and a button down and no matter which way she saw it she felt slightly overdressed. Oh well. With a warm hug she greeted him and was eager to give him a taste of the soup she was working on so diligently. They talked little as she pushed him into a chair and poured some of the soup out which had turned into a blackish ooze. Mary Sue eagerly waited for Damian to take a sip. And waited. He looked at her. "What did you make me honey?"
"I made a soup." Damian smiled.
"I'm sure it tastes delicious." And he took a sip. And then a gulp. And although his rhythm slowed after a few spoonfuls. Then Damian took a deep breath and inhaled the rest of the bowl. "Wow. Yep, that hit the spot." Mary Sue smiled.
"There's more if you're still hungry!" He shook his head.
"I appreciate it but that was really filling. However... I know that there is just enough room to fit some desserts and you look so beautiful tonight I'd like to show you off." Damain pulled her gently into his lap and kissed her forehead. "Thank you for dinner. Maybe next time we'll make it together at my place." That sounded like fun!
"Ooo, that does sound like fun." Damian and Mary Sue sat there a while and talked about the usual things like work, some distressed coworkers and such. When they were finally ready to leave it was almost 8:30 p.m., about two hours had passed since Damian arrived. She slipped on some flats, grabbed her jacket and wallet and took Damian's arm as they headed out smiling all the way. It was a good night after all.
Interesting. I seem to have already written about that in Day Five. So let's continue this debacle.
Mary Sue cried tears of oil and sauce, unsure of what she was going to do for today's dinner date. She had promised her man of interest that she would cook him something delicious. Mary Sue was an awful cook. Jokingly her roommate suggested that things that start with the same letter get along together. In that same terrible rhyme. In a fit she had burnt the water trying to cook the soba noodles, and made a massive mixture of sauces even tossing in some salt which splattered all over her sleeves. And the soup. Well, she was in essence making a soup, right? She poured the contents of the can and added a half a can of water like it said. Then she added the remainder of the sauces and then the noodles. It was like a creamy... gravy like chicken noodle soup. Maybe it would taste good... Mary Sue put a lid on the the pot, turned off all the knobs because she faintly remember her mother saying that a good cook never leaves the food unsupervised.
Mary Sue threw her clothes onto the floor and jumped into the shower. Somehow she had managed to get some soup in her hair and as she scrubbed it out she thought about what she could possibly wear. Scurrying to her room she heard her roommate make a comment but was unsure about the details. Damian would be here soon!
He came in wearing a simple pair of jeans and a button down and no matter which way she saw it she felt slightly overdressed. Oh well. With a warm hug she greeted him and was eager to give him a taste of the soup she was working on so diligently. They talked little as she pushed him into a chair and poured some of the soup out which had turned into a blackish ooze. Mary Sue eagerly waited for Damian to take a sip. And waited. He looked at her. "What did you make me honey?"
"I made a soup." Damian smiled.
"I'm sure it tastes delicious." And he took a sip. And then a gulp. And although his rhythm slowed after a few spoonfuls. Then Damian took a deep breath and inhaled the rest of the bowl. "Wow. Yep, that hit the spot." Mary Sue smiled.
"There's more if you're still hungry!" He shook his head.
"I appreciate it but that was really filling. However... I know that there is just enough room to fit some desserts and you look so beautiful tonight I'd like to show you off." Damain pulled her gently into his lap and kissed her forehead. "Thank you for dinner. Maybe next time we'll make it together at my place." That sounded like fun!
"Ooo, that does sound like fun." Damian and Mary Sue sat there a while and talked about the usual things like work, some distressed coworkers and such. When they were finally ready to leave it was almost 8:30 p.m., about two hours had passed since Damian arrived. She slipped on some flats, grabbed her jacket and wallet and took Damian's arm as they headed out smiling all the way. It was a good night after all.
26 January 2014
Distractions, Distractions?
Every now and then I suppose it must be questioned if the otaku's obsessions are more like elaborate distractions to keep them from dealing with reality. That's such a harsh way to come out and say things. Do they collect female figurines and memorabilia because they feel that they cannot obtain a relationship with a real female? Are they often sinking into certain types of games and experts in nonsense because they dream of going on an adventure more than anything? Or maybe they like cars because cars can't retaliate in the way that people do.
There's a lot of negative reasons people might come up with for why people like me have the obsessions we do. And part of that comes down to perspective. Now, I'm generalizing so let me be more specific and talk more about me. I attached to a lot of things because they helped me through difficult times:
One of them happens to be yoshis. I collect them. Only the perfect representations mind you. I also happen to think that yoshis are some of the cutest creatures to ever be dreamed up and therefore have a holy reserve in my heart as part of the collection of things that are so darned cute. One of my friends likes to purposefully misinterpret this obsessions and compares me to a furry - ironically yoshis don't have fur. Now, I don't have anything wrong with furries, but no, I don't want to be a yoshi or have sexual intercourse with one or anything like that. I just like appreciating them and the simple joy they bring me. Sort of like with stuffed animals, you know?
Another is video games. Right now I am playing Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn (among other games) because it's something familiar, I enjoy it (except for the mistakes I made). I've always tousled in my imagination the adventure and the things I would encounter if I were part of the Greil Mercenaries or even in my own fan-inspired version. Sometimes games help to keep me focused because I can then meditate on the things that are bothering me a little at a time. Or sometimes I just like letting myself fall into the story and be wrapped up in it.
Both are really strong emotional connections for me. I won't live without them. They might even seem childish (which is my mother's opinion but she can take this one and stuff it) because I don't care that they seem childish. They make me happy. Like crayons and coloring books.
We all have the small things in life that make us happy.
There's a lot of negative reasons people might come up with for why people like me have the obsessions we do. And part of that comes down to perspective. Now, I'm generalizing so let me be more specific and talk more about me. I attached to a lot of things because they helped me through difficult times:
One of them happens to be yoshis. I collect them. Only the perfect representations mind you. I also happen to think that yoshis are some of the cutest creatures to ever be dreamed up and therefore have a holy reserve in my heart as part of the collection of things that are so darned cute. One of my friends likes to purposefully misinterpret this obsessions and compares me to a furry - ironically yoshis don't have fur. Now, I don't have anything wrong with furries, but no, I don't want to be a yoshi or have sexual intercourse with one or anything like that. I just like appreciating them and the simple joy they bring me. Sort of like with stuffed animals, you know?
Another is video games. Right now I am playing Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn (among other games) because it's something familiar, I enjoy it (except for the mistakes I made). I've always tousled in my imagination the adventure and the things I would encounter if I were part of the Greil Mercenaries or even in my own fan-inspired version. Sometimes games help to keep me focused because I can then meditate on the things that are bothering me a little at a time. Or sometimes I just like letting myself fall into the story and be wrapped up in it.
Both are really strong emotional connections for me. I won't live without them. They might even seem childish (which is my mother's opinion but she can take this one and stuff it) because I don't care that they seem childish. They make me happy. Like crayons and coloring books.
We all have the small things in life that make us happy.
30 Day Writing Challenge - Day Five
Prompt: "Day 5 —Pick a letter of the alphabet. Now imagine two aisles of your
local supermarket. List everything found in those two aisles that begin
with that letter of the alphabet."
Mary Sue found herself in a a bit of a bind. As she walked up and down the aisles, ferociously scanning for anything inspirational, she realized this was a fool's errand. Somehow she had trapped herself in the Asian and Ethnic food paralleled by Soup aisles.
She grabbed some sesame oil, soy sauce, szechuan sauce. Hesitantly she grabbed a handful of packages labeled "soba noodles" unsure of how she would like it. On the other side she felt a little discouraged: soup. Did she dare pick up any particular soup can? But she needed specific ones. The only that remotely fit the bill was a dark labeled can. It read: sausage potato soup. "I suppose that will do. I think..." Mary Sue tossed the can into the cart and ran through checkout hoping she didn't miss anything important.
When she got home her roommate shuffled through the food items and asked, "So... should I order take-out for dinner...?"
Mary Sue found herself in a a bit of a bind. As she walked up and down the aisles, ferociously scanning for anything inspirational, she realized this was a fool's errand. Somehow she had trapped herself in the Asian and Ethnic food paralleled by Soup aisles.
She grabbed some sesame oil, soy sauce, szechuan sauce. Hesitantly she grabbed a handful of packages labeled "soba noodles" unsure of how she would like it. On the other side she felt a little discouraged: soup. Did she dare pick up any particular soup can? But she needed specific ones. The only that remotely fit the bill was a dark labeled can. It read: sausage potato soup. "I suppose that will do. I think..." Mary Sue tossed the can into the cart and ran through checkout hoping she didn't miss anything important.
When she got home her roommate shuffled through the food items and asked, "So... should I order take-out for dinner...?"
25 January 2014
Multiplayer
Some of the most fulfilling gaming experiences are playing them with your friends. In physical presence. I think most people can agree (even solo gamers like me) that there's a lot of fun to be had when gaming with your friends.
Right now two of my best friends are playing Call of Duty: Ghosts, the nice little alien side mission and have been for about two hours. I've listened to them rant and call some players out for their stupidity (and will vouch that they are correct - some of the other players are... uncooperative) and seen them win. One of them is a terribly social gamer, the other is non-competitive until we hit into this one, and as for myself... unless we are playing something like Super Mario World, a shooter like House of the Dead, I don't join in. Mostly because I suck but I get to see so much more sometimes just observing their reactions. Even solve some puzzles in other games way ahead of them.
One of my fondest experiences was playing games with my older brother. We did a lot of things together. Often the games would be on the Nintendo 64, and it would normally be between Star Fox 64 or 007: GoldenEye. Seriously, who didn't have fun slapping each other silly or calling bans on Odd Job because you had to aim downward to even attempt a headshot? If we moved to the PlayStation, the only multiplayers we had were Twisted Metal and G-Darius. G-Darius being the better experience of the two, my brother and I could destroy hours killing machines modeled off of biological organisms. Those were the good old days. Eventually we picked up Mario Kart and out mother joined us on the fun.
There's something I think that is lost when playing an online co-op, at least for me. I enjoy too much the human experience of that humiliation that is suffered when I pwn my friends on Brawl with Yoshi, or the joy of another mission completed when we thought all hope had been lost. And yet there is even the quirks of the most random things happened and we are all there to witness it. It's hard to see your friends' face across the internet, see them writhe in pain or jump with joy.
What lovely experiences have you had gaming with your friends and family?
Right now two of my best friends are playing Call of Duty: Ghosts, the nice little alien side mission and have been for about two hours. I've listened to them rant and call some players out for their stupidity (and will vouch that they are correct - some of the other players are... uncooperative) and seen them win. One of them is a terribly social gamer, the other is non-competitive until we hit into this one, and as for myself... unless we are playing something like Super Mario World, a shooter like House of the Dead, I don't join in. Mostly because I suck but I get to see so much more sometimes just observing their reactions. Even solve some puzzles in other games way ahead of them.
One of my fondest experiences was playing games with my older brother. We did a lot of things together. Often the games would be on the Nintendo 64, and it would normally be between Star Fox 64 or 007: GoldenEye. Seriously, who didn't have fun slapping each other silly or calling bans on Odd Job because you had to aim downward to even attempt a headshot? If we moved to the PlayStation, the only multiplayers we had were Twisted Metal and G-Darius. G-Darius being the better experience of the two, my brother and I could destroy hours killing machines modeled off of biological organisms. Those were the good old days. Eventually we picked up Mario Kart and out mother joined us on the fun.
There's something I think that is lost when playing an online co-op, at least for me. I enjoy too much the human experience of that humiliation that is suffered when I pwn my friends on Brawl with Yoshi, or the joy of another mission completed when we thought all hope had been lost. And yet there is even the quirks of the most random things happened and we are all there to witness it. It's hard to see your friends' face across the internet, see them writhe in pain or jump with joy.
What lovely experiences have you had gaming with your friends and family?
30 Day Writing Challenge - Day Four
Prompt: "Day 4 —Write a story/excerpt to include the line, “Sorry, we can’t insure you for a journey like that.”"
Ugh.
Polite, I must always remain polite or at least that's what my mother told me. Getting kind of hard now because she was still staring at me with those beady little eyes and that stupid grin. Do I dare challenge their claim? "Excuse me," I muster, "could you please repeat that?" Somehow this seems to confuse her.
"I said, 'I'm sorry, we can't insure you for a journey like that'." Hm. I've been paying this company how much in premiums and they won't insure me? Did I need to repeat myself?
"Uh-huh. Is there any particular reason you can't fund my trip to Southern Africa? Any particular one at all?"
Storming out of the building, surrounded by incompetent idiots and assholes! I steal away into a bar, hoping that downing a few while actually calm me down. But that's a lie - I'll just be angry and drunk. The bartender looks at me and mutters something about a "bug crawling up my ass". I shoot him a look filled with all the hatred and agitation I can and watch him slink away. What the hell does he know?
I pound my glass on the bar, rudely. I know it's rude. I shouldn't be rude. I can't help it, I'm angry. More than angry. I'm so furious that my heart is racing, it's hurting. All because of the denial of one little trip. A somewhat attractive woman comes over to my side. "Hi sweetie," she says with so much sugar on the tip of her tongue that it makes me sick. I'm not in the mood. I won't be for a long ass time. "Are you holding up O.K.?"
"O.K. enough to notice that you're not worth the time. Or the money." Bam! I think it's a good enough burn. Won't she leave me alone? I ask for another drink but because I scared him, he takes his motherfucking time to give it to me.
A polite laugh. Is she seriously still here? "That really hurts dear." Oooo, the way she pretends she is so familiar really gets on my nerves. But she gives me a brilliant idea. The leopard print on her stupid looking skirt catches my attention.
"I suppose I can do that." I dig out my phone and purchase a two tickets.
A few days later...
Ah. Beautiful. It's so beautiful. I watched as the flames grew higher and higher. It was warmer than a tropical paradise at 2'oclock in the afternoon. Hotter than the sun. I looked at her confused face. "Don't worry honey, I set off the alarms first."
Ugh.
Polite, I must always remain polite or at least that's what my mother told me. Getting kind of hard now because she was still staring at me with those beady little eyes and that stupid grin. Do I dare challenge their claim? "Excuse me," I muster, "could you please repeat that?" Somehow this seems to confuse her.
"I said, 'I'm sorry, we can't insure you for a journey like that'." Hm. I've been paying this company how much in premiums and they won't insure me? Did I need to repeat myself?
"Uh-huh. Is there any particular reason you can't fund my trip to Southern Africa? Any particular one at all?"
Storming out of the building, surrounded by incompetent idiots and assholes! I steal away into a bar, hoping that downing a few while actually calm me down. But that's a lie - I'll just be angry and drunk. The bartender looks at me and mutters something about a "bug crawling up my ass". I shoot him a look filled with all the hatred and agitation I can and watch him slink away. What the hell does he know?
I pound my glass on the bar, rudely. I know it's rude. I shouldn't be rude. I can't help it, I'm angry. More than angry. I'm so furious that my heart is racing, it's hurting. All because of the denial of one little trip. A somewhat attractive woman comes over to my side. "Hi sweetie," she says with so much sugar on the tip of her tongue that it makes me sick. I'm not in the mood. I won't be for a long ass time. "Are you holding up O.K.?"
"O.K. enough to notice that you're not worth the time. Or the money." Bam! I think it's a good enough burn. Won't she leave me alone? I ask for another drink but because I scared him, he takes his motherfucking time to give it to me.
A polite laugh. Is she seriously still here? "That really hurts dear." Oooo, the way she pretends she is so familiar really gets on my nerves. But she gives me a brilliant idea. The leopard print on her stupid looking skirt catches my attention.
"I suppose I can do that." I dig out my phone and purchase a two tickets.
A few days later...
Ah. Beautiful. It's so beautiful. I watched as the flames grew higher and higher. It was warmer than a tropical paradise at 2'oclock in the afternoon. Hotter than the sun. I looked at her confused face. "Don't worry honey, I set off the alarms first."
24 January 2014
30 Day Writing Challenge - Day Three
Prompt: "Day 3 —Write about the worst time you’ve ever put your foot in your mouth."
Picture this: I'm in middle school sitting with my future best friend and we're chatting about life. Or really what life consisted of at that level at that maturity. To be honest, she's the one talking, getting me to open up because I'm terribly insensitive at this age. Today she is telling me about a friend of hers or someone she knows - it evades me at this moment. Apparently this chick has been depressed. And cuts herself. Best combination. Ever. Not only this, she may or may not have been suicidal. In this moment, while she is rightly disturbed about this, in about the meanest voice I can muster I basically called her a coward. Or really something to that effect. Or really something mean. Along the lines of, "Maybe she should have been stronger" or something. Anyway, just imagine about the worse thing you could say and insert into this scenario.
Now she's pissed. Rightly so. Upon seeing this and actually taking in the fact that I could understand what just happened right there: in that moment I shrunk a little lower, changed my almost stoic demeanor and said, "Well, uh, maybe she should have gotten help...?" Not the brightest idea. Apparently she might have already been seeing a therapist. Hrm...
Picture this: I'm in middle school sitting with my future best friend and we're chatting about life. Or really what life consisted of at that level at that maturity. To be honest, she's the one talking, getting me to open up because I'm terribly insensitive at this age. Today she is telling me about a friend of hers or someone she knows - it evades me at this moment. Apparently this chick has been depressed. And cuts herself. Best combination. Ever. Not only this, she may or may not have been suicidal. In this moment, while she is rightly disturbed about this, in about the meanest voice I can muster I basically called her a coward. Or really something to that effect. Or really something mean. Along the lines of, "Maybe she should have been stronger" or something. Anyway, just imagine about the worse thing you could say and insert into this scenario.
Now she's pissed. Rightly so. Upon seeing this and actually taking in the fact that I could understand what just happened right there: in that moment I shrunk a little lower, changed my almost stoic demeanor and said, "Well, uh, maybe she should have gotten help...?" Not the brightest idea. Apparently she might have already been seeing a therapist. Hrm...
23 January 2014
30 Day Writing Challenge - Day Two
Prompt: "Day 2 —Tell about a character who lost something important to him/her."
My hand aches.
A smirk.
Not from anything dirty mind you - it's a creative pain borne from my intensive drawing session late last night. I sound like an arse.
Just a quick and secret nod.
You think I should focus on something else?
Another nod.
I wouldn't worry so much; Mrs. Lemaire is hardly paying attention to us.
Glancing over I notice that her face is still turned towards the ancient chalkboard, scribbling some nonsense that would probably be used in our homework tonight. The words look like scrawls, too small to see from the back of the classroom and too illegible to read at the front of the row. But we were all responsible for turning in an assignment that met those parameters. Whatever those parameters were.
It's so hot in here; how do I dare think of anything else? Either I am in pain or I am in discomfort. Sometimes pain wins out because if I jerk my hand just so... it throbs. Sometimes the heat gets to me as I can feel that tragic wetness building, saturating my shirt. O.K. I don't actually sweat that bad, but it's a furnace in the middle of summer. Mrs. Lemaire is always cold.
Must be another one of those apocalypses of being old.
A laugh this time, strained and choked. Mrs. Lemaire pauses as if sensing our naughty departure from education.
Yeah, yeah, I'll try to be more careful. What are you doing for lunch?
The bell rings, liberating us. Without much thought I snatch up my backpack and scurry out of the classroom among the other rats. Pleasantly the hallway is slightly cooler, enough to make a difference and I wait. You're always the last one out. Smiling you come, hungry you are and so am I. "Did you sleep well last night? You have bags under your eyes." An awkward shy smile.
I know. I know I know I know. Taking your hand in mine I drag you to our spot, our secret spot. It's beautiful outside - a terrible misfortune I am wearing jeans. Making sure no one sees us I duck in, you following after and I'll know what you'll think: I love it here. Because I do too. It's definitely much cooler here in the shade.
I toss down my hoodie for you to sit on which you accept with a little guilt. For the most part I'll ignore it because you look so adorable when you make that face. Which elicits another blush. "So, this is what I drew last night." I know you want to look, I know you've been curious ever since I mentioned it. With cautious and patient hands you turn the pages and diligently, I watch you linger. Almost as if you were consumed by some masterpiece, you are silent and in awe. That makes me happy - though they are still crappy drawings. In any case, they make you smile. You turn the page. She lifts it to me and points to it, I know. You think it's cute, don't you? I knew you would and so I drew it. We continue on like this.
When we remember it's lunch I pull out some sack lunch my dad had made. Rare. He normally is so busy with work he doesn't bother but I am pleased and appreciative - he's a far better cook than my mom. It's some pasta with a sauce I can't quite figure out, a small bunch of grapes, some soup in a thermos and lastly, a cookie from his batch of peanut butter cookies. I hate them, but you love them. "You have a cookie," you say softly.
"Of course I do. It's for you." You wrap your lips around the smallest bite ever and gently suck out the flavor. Like a little vampire. I pour out some soup for you - looks like tomato. Hope it doesn't burn. Switching over you daintily sip from the cap and I dig into my pasta. It must not have burned a lot because you eagerly ask me if you could just have another sip. "Go ahead. It's a big lunch." I'm glad that my small appetite has come in handy. Slowly, we talk. It's almost like an exercise for you. Slowly, we take it slowly.
Then we stop. You look like you're in pain. I hand you my water and pull you to my side. An arm by your side I take another bite out of my pasta. It's delicious, a little on the cold side but nice. It cools me down just enough to enjoy this day. You smell nice. "I'll bring you lunch." There's no reason to argue except to see how eagerly you want to. It worries me but I can't get past that side of you - you've already decided.
Lunch will end soon. I lay back and pull you onto my chest. It's such a nice day. If you weren't such a goody two shoes I'd suggest we skip class. Actually. You're soft, pleasant and just perfect in every little way. Somehow, that's possible. "Want to skip class?" I see it in your eyes, you want, you really do, but your moral compass gets in the way. Not sure that it's possible to feel so guilty for skipping class. So instead, I'll take advantage as you sit up, alarmed that the bell is ringing. You taste nice, smooth. Maybe I'll sneak another kiss. And another. I could have fallen asleep. You urge me, tugging on my shirt in that cute annoying way and I come, I have to. Seeing you off to another class I wonder what you'll be doing as I rot in math.
When I finally see you as the assembly starts I'm annoyed that we have to sit in our classes. Ignoring this I sit as close to you as possible asking some people to make trades. They all know. We stand on the bleachers of our small gym and listen to the anthem, our beloved anthem and you grasp my hand tightly, longingly. I embrace you for a small moment before one of the curtly chaperones decides that there wasn't enough room for Jesus and rudely mouths to me to separate. Some people are such prudes. If hugs meant anything terrible I'd be damned for an eternity.
After school, we're lucky. It's a nice Friday and I have a pass to board your bus. It's rowdy, not as bad as mine. As we're walking home we hold hands. I feel bold. I hope to god that no one tells your dad. Your dad... As we step inside the smell of neglect hits me. But I don't say anything. If we can just get to your room I can breathe because your room smells like you. Happily I plop down on your bed, entice you to join me and after carefully shutting the door we lay there like an old happy couple. You tell me with your sad eyes that you really want to sing. I know you do. I know you used to love it. I hold you closer and kiss your forehead. "It'll be all right," I whisper knowing there isn't anything that could take back what happened. Softly you smile. You know that I am only saying these words to cheer you up and that magically, it does.
"I try to hum sometimes," you whisper. Or really, that's all you can manage. A word here and there. If you were lucky, a sentence.
"Yeah?" I want to hear it because I love you. But I worry because I love you. Softly though, you hum a few notes and I recognize the song. I sang it to you all the time. You smile nervously, like you always do. So I kiss you. I wish I could say, "Again" but there won't be for quite some time.
When your dad comes home we have to leave your room, our haven. There's nothing we can do, we have to greet him and I have to make shit small talk. "So, what are you guys going to do today?" he asked in that boorish monotone. So I ready my best stupid dumb girl act.
"Oh we're just going to watch some movies and talk about girl things." It's flawless. I hate that sometimes.
"Oh. What movies?" I don't know. Movies. Kind of on a whim. Maybe I'm letting my agitation get the better of me. I give him some bull answer that he accepts. "What are you going to talk about?" Did he need to know? Girl stuff. Private stuff. Or just normal stuff. Stuff she couldn't talk to you about anyway. I give him another bull answer, a little less convincing because I'm tired of him. He's so... exhausting. You finally finish with this little interrogation and we go back upstairs, much to his dismay. Much to mine, I don't think people can understand. Soon he would leave, it's almost time for your brother to go to karate.
We lay, messy and tired in our own way in our sanctuary, happy. Alone. With one another. I think as you are falling asleep on my chest to set an alarm just in case and cover us in blankets. Once more I wonder how sad it must be to have no voice here in this void. No voice that anyone has heard. But I can hear it. I wish other people, more capable, more useful could. I sneak in another kiss, you smile, surprised, but smile anyway and fall asleep. Soon, I do too.
If we're lucky, or even if I were lucky, I would hope you would wake up in a better place.
My hand aches.
A smirk.
Not from anything dirty mind you - it's a creative pain borne from my intensive drawing session late last night. I sound like an arse.
Just a quick and secret nod.
You think I should focus on something else?
Another nod.
I wouldn't worry so much; Mrs. Lemaire is hardly paying attention to us.
Glancing over I notice that her face is still turned towards the ancient chalkboard, scribbling some nonsense that would probably be used in our homework tonight. The words look like scrawls, too small to see from the back of the classroom and too illegible to read at the front of the row. But we were all responsible for turning in an assignment that met those parameters. Whatever those parameters were.
It's so hot in here; how do I dare think of anything else? Either I am in pain or I am in discomfort. Sometimes pain wins out because if I jerk my hand just so... it throbs. Sometimes the heat gets to me as I can feel that tragic wetness building, saturating my shirt. O.K. I don't actually sweat that bad, but it's a furnace in the middle of summer. Mrs. Lemaire is always cold.
Must be another one of those apocalypses of being old.
A laugh this time, strained and choked. Mrs. Lemaire pauses as if sensing our naughty departure from education.
Yeah, yeah, I'll try to be more careful. What are you doing for lunch?
The bell rings, liberating us. Without much thought I snatch up my backpack and scurry out of the classroom among the other rats. Pleasantly the hallway is slightly cooler, enough to make a difference and I wait. You're always the last one out. Smiling you come, hungry you are and so am I. "Did you sleep well last night? You have bags under your eyes." An awkward shy smile.
I know. I know I know I know. Taking your hand in mine I drag you to our spot, our secret spot. It's beautiful outside - a terrible misfortune I am wearing jeans. Making sure no one sees us I duck in, you following after and I'll know what you'll think: I love it here. Because I do too. It's definitely much cooler here in the shade.
I toss down my hoodie for you to sit on which you accept with a little guilt. For the most part I'll ignore it because you look so adorable when you make that face. Which elicits another blush. "So, this is what I drew last night." I know you want to look, I know you've been curious ever since I mentioned it. With cautious and patient hands you turn the pages and diligently, I watch you linger. Almost as if you were consumed by some masterpiece, you are silent and in awe. That makes me happy - though they are still crappy drawings. In any case, they make you smile. You turn the page. She lifts it to me and points to it, I know. You think it's cute, don't you? I knew you would and so I drew it. We continue on like this.
When we remember it's lunch I pull out some sack lunch my dad had made. Rare. He normally is so busy with work he doesn't bother but I am pleased and appreciative - he's a far better cook than my mom. It's some pasta with a sauce I can't quite figure out, a small bunch of grapes, some soup in a thermos and lastly, a cookie from his batch of peanut butter cookies. I hate them, but you love them. "You have a cookie," you say softly.
"Of course I do. It's for you." You wrap your lips around the smallest bite ever and gently suck out the flavor. Like a little vampire. I pour out some soup for you - looks like tomato. Hope it doesn't burn. Switching over you daintily sip from the cap and I dig into my pasta. It must not have burned a lot because you eagerly ask me if you could just have another sip. "Go ahead. It's a big lunch." I'm glad that my small appetite has come in handy. Slowly, we talk. It's almost like an exercise for you. Slowly, we take it slowly.
Then we stop. You look like you're in pain. I hand you my water and pull you to my side. An arm by your side I take another bite out of my pasta. It's delicious, a little on the cold side but nice. It cools me down just enough to enjoy this day. You smell nice. "I'll bring you lunch." There's no reason to argue except to see how eagerly you want to. It worries me but I can't get past that side of you - you've already decided.
Lunch will end soon. I lay back and pull you onto my chest. It's such a nice day. If you weren't such a goody two shoes I'd suggest we skip class. Actually. You're soft, pleasant and just perfect in every little way. Somehow, that's possible. "Want to skip class?" I see it in your eyes, you want, you really do, but your moral compass gets in the way. Not sure that it's possible to feel so guilty for skipping class. So instead, I'll take advantage as you sit up, alarmed that the bell is ringing. You taste nice, smooth. Maybe I'll sneak another kiss. And another. I could have fallen asleep. You urge me, tugging on my shirt in that cute annoying way and I come, I have to. Seeing you off to another class I wonder what you'll be doing as I rot in math.
When I finally see you as the assembly starts I'm annoyed that we have to sit in our classes. Ignoring this I sit as close to you as possible asking some people to make trades. They all know. We stand on the bleachers of our small gym and listen to the anthem, our beloved anthem and you grasp my hand tightly, longingly. I embrace you for a small moment before one of the curtly chaperones decides that there wasn't enough room for Jesus and rudely mouths to me to separate. Some people are such prudes. If hugs meant anything terrible I'd be damned for an eternity.
After school, we're lucky. It's a nice Friday and I have a pass to board your bus. It's rowdy, not as bad as mine. As we're walking home we hold hands. I feel bold. I hope to god that no one tells your dad. Your dad... As we step inside the smell of neglect hits me. But I don't say anything. If we can just get to your room I can breathe because your room smells like you. Happily I plop down on your bed, entice you to join me and after carefully shutting the door we lay there like an old happy couple. You tell me with your sad eyes that you really want to sing. I know you do. I know you used to love it. I hold you closer and kiss your forehead. "It'll be all right," I whisper knowing there isn't anything that could take back what happened. Softly you smile. You know that I am only saying these words to cheer you up and that magically, it does.
"I try to hum sometimes," you whisper. Or really, that's all you can manage. A word here and there. If you were lucky, a sentence.
"Yeah?" I want to hear it because I love you. But I worry because I love you. Softly though, you hum a few notes and I recognize the song. I sang it to you all the time. You smile nervously, like you always do. So I kiss you. I wish I could say, "Again" but there won't be for quite some time.
When your dad comes home we have to leave your room, our haven. There's nothing we can do, we have to greet him and I have to make shit small talk. "So, what are you guys going to do today?" he asked in that boorish monotone. So I ready my best stupid dumb girl act.
"Oh we're just going to watch some movies and talk about girl things." It's flawless. I hate that sometimes.
"Oh. What movies?" I don't know. Movies. Kind of on a whim. Maybe I'm letting my agitation get the better of me. I give him some bull answer that he accepts. "What are you going to talk about?" Did he need to know? Girl stuff. Private stuff. Or just normal stuff. Stuff she couldn't talk to you about anyway. I give him another bull answer, a little less convincing because I'm tired of him. He's so... exhausting. You finally finish with this little interrogation and we go back upstairs, much to his dismay. Much to mine, I don't think people can understand. Soon he would leave, it's almost time for your brother to go to karate.
We lay, messy and tired in our own way in our sanctuary, happy. Alone. With one another. I think as you are falling asleep on my chest to set an alarm just in case and cover us in blankets. Once more I wonder how sad it must be to have no voice here in this void. No voice that anyone has heard. But I can hear it. I wish other people, more capable, more useful could. I sneak in another kiss, you smile, surprised, but smile anyway and fall asleep. Soon, I do too.
If we're lucky, or even if I were lucky, I would hope you would wake up in a better place.
22 January 2014
30 Day Writing Challenge - Day One
Prompt: "Day 1 —Select a book at random in the room. Find a novel or short
story, copy down the last sentence and use this line as the first line
of your new story."
From I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell by Tucker Max, "HELP!!"
"HELP!!" Michael screamed in manic fury.
Michael worked his fingers nails against the cold, stone walls. Rapidly they wore down to the soft tender flesh of his skin and further back. They hardly made a sound as they cracked and came off in splinters. Neither did Michael as he was slow to notice in his fervor - blood trickled and a throbbing pain set in. But Michael did not cry.
Minutes.
Michael burst into tears. The panic had come out again, had come back to play. Collapsing, shaking, and sitting in a small pool of water. Michael thought about how long he would down here. He thought about how long it would take to get out. If he ever got out.
Minutes.
No one was coming. There was no one around to come collect him. No one was coming to see him. He was here alone and would always be.
They had forgotten about him. They had left him there to die. No one was coming no one was coming no one was coming.
Minutes.
His feet were soggy and he felt disgusted. It smelled foul down here and as much as he wish he could relieve himself of his wet clothes it would get him no where. It didn't really matter though, did it? Even if shedding his clothes did him some good what comfort could be afforded to a dying man? What difference would it make? He was a dying man. No question about it. No sir-ee. No questions. Michael hadn't a single question in his mind. None at all.
Minutes.
Michael found solace. The pool was deeper than it looked. An accidental discovery: in a tantrum he had slipped and fell in. "I wonder how deep it goes..."
From I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell by Tucker Max, "HELP!!"
"HELP!!" Michael screamed in manic fury.
Michael worked his fingers nails against the cold, stone walls. Rapidly they wore down to the soft tender flesh of his skin and further back. They hardly made a sound as they cracked and came off in splinters. Neither did Michael as he was slow to notice in his fervor - blood trickled and a throbbing pain set in. But Michael did not cry.
Minutes.
Michael burst into tears. The panic had come out again, had come back to play. Collapsing, shaking, and sitting in a small pool of water. Michael thought about how long he would down here. He thought about how long it would take to get out. If he ever got out.
Minutes.
No one was coming. There was no one around to come collect him. No one was coming to see him. He was here alone and would always be.
They had forgotten about him. They had left him there to die. No one was coming no one was coming no one was coming.
Minutes.
His feet were soggy and he felt disgusted. It smelled foul down here and as much as he wish he could relieve himself of his wet clothes it would get him no where. It didn't really matter though, did it? Even if shedding his clothes did him some good what comfort could be afforded to a dying man? What difference would it make? He was a dying man. No question about it. No sir-ee. No questions. Michael hadn't a single question in his mind. None at all.
Minutes.
Michael found solace. The pool was deeper than it looked. An accidental discovery: in a tantrum he had slipped and fell in. "I wonder how deep it goes..."
Challenges
I'm a super competitive person. I love a good challenge and very little sets my blood on fire like a worthy opponent. And I love writing about almost any and everything - which may be why this blog really exists for me. Today I am prompted by the event that a dear friend of mine (and rival for life) posted that a prompt she had sent a publisher came back with positive reviews (meaning that the published dug her idea and would consider publishing it).
Major kudos to my friend! I am really excited for her because I love her writing. And even more props because managing to focus all your ideas into something coherent is really difficult (for me at least).
Now what made this post was the above said event and searching up some writing prompts: and then I stumbled onto a 30 Day Challenge (man, those are popular, neh?) and took some ideas. So they will be popping up on here really rather soon. Here's the link to where I got it off a Tumblr 30DayChallengeArchive and enjoy. Never forget to take some time to brush up on your creativity.
Major kudos to my friend! I am really excited for her because I love her writing. And even more props because managing to focus all your ideas into something coherent is really difficult (for me at least).
Now what made this post was the above said event and searching up some writing prompts: and then I stumbled onto a 30 Day Challenge (man, those are popular, neh?) and took some ideas. So they will be popping up on here really rather soon. Here's the link to where I got it off a Tumblr 30DayChallengeArchive and enjoy. Never forget to take some time to brush up on your creativity.
21 January 2014
Voices All Around
"So you did miss me."
Rumors have been floating around about Microsoft launching a personal assistant voiced by Jen Taylor (she voices Cortana in the Halo series). It would conceptually be the equivalent of having Siri, but more awesome (voice wise anyway).
The idea pleases me on a level. I'd like to think that maybe they would start hiring voice talents to do over those super boring ones on the GPS systems. Definitely, I would like to hear Kirk Thorton as Jade Curtiss leading me around suburbia hell or any such place. In general, if you could have the voice of your dreams leading you anywhere or talking to you in general, wouldn't that be lovely? Like a summer breeze in a cold room. Maybe they will think of other popular voices to use in day-to-day applications.
Rumors have been floating around about Microsoft launching a personal assistant voiced by Jen Taylor (she voices Cortana in the Halo series). It would conceptually be the equivalent of having Siri, but more awesome (voice wise anyway).
The idea pleases me on a level. I'd like to think that maybe they would start hiring voice talents to do over those super boring ones on the GPS systems. Definitely, I would like to hear Kirk Thorton as Jade Curtiss leading me around suburbia hell or any such place. In general, if you could have the voice of your dreams leading you anywhere or talking to you in general, wouldn't that be lovely? Like a summer breeze in a cold room. Maybe they will think of other popular voices to use in day-to-day applications.
20 January 2014
Farming v. Farming
When I relax in the living room I often find that the blue couch calls to me. It's a loveseat really with puffy cushions that absorb your entire body. Plush.
On a particular day my roommate was chilling on his recliner as usual and in his boredom felt like watching Family Guy. It was a peculiar episode where they moved into a rural area and were trying to farm for a living. But honestly, all I could think of when I heard the word "farming" was video games and thus I did not appropriately understand what was going on. On a contextual basis. Aside from the fact that I was playing on my 3DS, distracted and all.
Farming. More often than not I really hate farming - it's tedious and boring because it's so repetitive. And yet, I need to synthesize that charm that protects against petrification so I can go through the coliseum with one less worry. Or currency farming. That's a fun one. Especially when you wish to spoil a certain character and there's this new weapon in the shop that's so so tempting to get... Kill more monsters and let the spoilage begin.
On a particular day my roommate was chilling on his recliner as usual and in his boredom felt like watching Family Guy. It was a peculiar episode where they moved into a rural area and were trying to farm for a living. But honestly, all I could think of when I heard the word "farming" was video games and thus I did not appropriately understand what was going on. On a contextual basis. Aside from the fact that I was playing on my 3DS, distracted and all.
Farming. More often than not I really hate farming - it's tedious and boring because it's so repetitive. And yet, I need to synthesize that charm that protects against petrification so I can go through the coliseum with one less worry. Or currency farming. That's a fun one. Especially when you wish to spoil a certain character and there's this new weapon in the shop that's so so tempting to get... Kill more monsters and let the spoilage begin.
19 January 2014
"Otaku" - Embrace the American Way
Otaku, a word borrowed from the Japanese (thank you), used to describe people who are consumed by their passion(s) - more commonly understood as obsession. Here, in 'Murica, the connotation is a little different (and more positive in some regards): it tends to be used by the culprits themselves who proclaim to love Japanese culture and/or entertainment. Both tend to be lacking in social skills and knowledge of proper social etiquette and are quite eccentric.
I am, in my opinion, a fairly high-functioning "otaku". Understand it with a bit of salt on your tongue and some restraint in your brain. I'd like to tell you (the world or really the random people who find me here dawdling on and on) a bit about my adventures and of my obsessions. What a scary thought to be perfectly honest.
Dear me, let's hopefully shed some light on a culture of nerd. So here is to the adventures I'll share and may the jokes and banter ensue.
I am, in my opinion, a fairly high-functioning "otaku". Understand it with a bit of salt on your tongue and some restraint in your brain. I'd like to tell you (the world or really the random people who find me here dawdling on and on) a bit about my adventures and of my obsessions. What a scary thought to be perfectly honest.
Dear me, let's hopefully shed some light on a culture of nerd. So here is to the adventures I'll share and may the jokes and banter ensue.
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