Well, so much for a weekly story, huh? The follow-up prompt was "marbles", which I never wrote anything for. Whatever.
Moments ago, I made the decision to actively write down anything I find personally interesting. Whether it's just an observation or a wandering thought, if it intrigues me on some level, I write about it. Not necessarily here, on this blog, just in general. Make a simple note. "Hey, here's a thing!" Well, I was immediately struck with one thing, which is... a bit ridiculous. Since I'm at my computer, I figured I'd write it up on this blog that only I read.
At some point during my education at DigiPen, I made a decision to write something on the white board of the computer science master students' computer laboratory. This action occurred on a regular basis, and everyone participated. Sometimes legitimately, sometimes just as a dumb joke. Anyway, the word I wrote was the intentionally-misspelled "BUTS", in all-caps. I'm, as the title of this post suggests, patently juvenile. I do stupid things because they amuse me. In this particular case, there's something about purposely misspelling the word "butt" and making it plural. It's somehow better than spelling it correctly, at least, comedically, at least, for me, personally...
And now it's just sort of become a thing I do. Anyone I speak with regularly has heard me say "buts", but they may assume that, in my head, I'm spelling it correctly. Anyone I have regular conversations with via text will eventually see me type out "buts", often out of nowhere, often without real reason... I mean, I even frequently use it as a greeting - a sort of "hey are you there" probing of the victim. It's stupid! I'm 26 years old. And I can't stop.
Why do I do it?
I DON'T KNOW.
Sunday, March 16, 2014
Sunday, January 19, 2014
Writin' Stuff: A Mild Headache
It's only been over three years since I last wrote anything here! Whatever. I'm doing it again...
I will ostensibly be writing stuff frequently from here on out. Mostly fiction, unless inspiration otherwise strikes. It's a sort of self-imposed challenge imposed by a friend who is also self-imposing the challenge on himself through me. We originally intended it to be a daily thing, but at this point it's more likely to be a weekly thing. We'll see how it goes. Mostly, I enjoy writing, but I never do it. So I suck. This is an excuse to GET BETTER. Here's the first thing I've written. The prompt was "headaches". Hurray!
——————————————————
"Yo, check it, man."
Will checked it. "All right. You've got a... some kind of a gun?"
"A gun?! Wha— Well, I guess sorta. Just watch!" Dr. Sarah von de McGee sipped her piping hot caramel mocha and grabbed the gun (or, well, sorta gun) from Will. She pointed it at a woman sitting a few tables over, enjoying her cup of tea.
Will freaked out, naturally. "Whoa, stop!" he whispered furiously.
She pulled the trigger anyway. "See that?"
"..."
"Did! You! See! That!"
"..."
"Oi, Willy, pal, buddy?"
"Nothing happened, Sarah."
"Nothing? NOTHING! Just watch."
"..." Will watched.
"Yes. Watch." Sarah approved.
"..." The woman cradled her tea, reading the latest in whatever popular book series.
"..." The woman scratched her nose.
"..." The woman readjusted her orientation and position on the chair.
"Yesss. There she goes!" The woman started rubbing her temples, oh so gently.
"Okay," Will said. "What."
"Oh! Oh! We've got a winner!" Sarah was on the edge of her seat. She fell out of her seat.
Will reached out to help his friend back up, but she swatted his hand away, still staring at the woman with the tea. Will, giving in, stared again. The woman was now rummaging through her purse. She found her prize, extracted it, and popped a couple pills of what appeared to be aspirin before returning to reading her book and drinking her tea.
Will was incredulous. "That's it?"
Sarah, still on the floor, now cross-legged, composed herself, reached up for her coffee, sipped it, and inflicted upon Will the most pity-filled expression he had ever seen. "Oh, Will," she sighed. "Oh, poor, sad Will. Don't you see?" Another sip with one hand, fondling the gun with the other. "I'll make SO MUCH MONEY!!" She shouted that last bit.
Everyone in the room stared at Sarah, suddenly worried for their own safety. Except Will, of course, who, long accustomed to Sarah's sudden outbursts, grabbed her by the arm and dragged her outside. She let herself be dragged. Once outside, she stood up and drank more coffee. "Had your fill of the ol' Vondy McGee?" She waggled her eyebrows.
Will grumbled, "Is this a new thing, referring to yourself in the third person?"
Confusion illuminated Sarah's face. "No, no, that's the name of—" She held out her gun, which Will now realized was one of those annoying children's toys - the ones that make a different ear-piercing noise at every pull of the trigger - gutted, repurposed, and painted black.
"Ah," Will yawned. "Well, I'm certainly impressed that you finally managed to make something tangible after months of boasting your skills." If it even did work. "But I've got stuff to do. Good luck making money or... whatever."
Sarah grinned. "Sounds good, Willy! Peace you LATER." Plans, plans, plans. Sarah had a lot of those. Time to act!
Will walked in one direction. Sarah walked in the same direction. Will rolled his eyes. Sarah showed no reaction, refusing to acknowledge the ages-old socially awkward send-off-and-walk-in-the-same-direction situation. Will turned down his street, heading home. Sarah followed. Will opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it. Sarah continued not reacting. Will walked up the stairs to his apartment building. Sarah followed. Will stopped, turned.
"Uh, Sarah?"
"Willy! 'Sup?"
"Why are you following me?"
Sarah did her best to smother her face in offense. "I have a meeting in this building. I would never follow you! Buuuut I will need you to let me in. Thanks, pal!"
Will knew Sarah didn't have a meeting — at least, not a mutually known meeting. But he also knew Sarah was largely harmless, so went ahead and let her in. Finally, upon entering the building, they went their separate ways. "Ta!" Sarah said to Will's back.
——
"H-How did you even find where I live?" The man was worried. This strange woman didn't seem particularly dangerous, yet, but she did seem crazy. Crazy can turn dangerous fast. The man had a natural distaste for crazy.
"I knows people what knows people!" Sarah waggled her eyebrows, twice as fast as a normal human being could manage. Disconcerting.
The man continued to worry. She apparently knew he managed a local pharmacy, and she had tracked him to his home and forced her way inside. She clearly wanted drugs. But she should know he didn't keep drugs in his home! Unfortunately, crazy people aren't known for being logical.
"Ah, don't get yer panties in an uproar, pal," she grinned, reaching into her jacket.
"That's completely unnecessary!" the man trembled.
"I'm afraid it ain't. Unnecessary, that is." Sarah pointed the gun at the man, totally unaware of the implications of pointing the gun at the man. "You know what this is? Of course you don't!" She waved it around a little. "This is the Vondy McGee," she whispered solemnly. "And it's gonna make you and me super rich, man."
"The Vondy what now?" The man's worry had become terror, and in his terror he forgot that you're not supposed to question the crazy person with the gun pointed at you.
"Vondy! McGee!" She thrust the gun further in his direction. "This thing'll give anyone ya point it at a mildly annoying headache in mere minutes! Imagine what we could—"
"Wait, what? Headaches?" The man took a closer look at the gun. "Wait." He saw that it was one of those dumb noisemaker toys. "What?" Terror shot backwards past worry and did a pirouette into anger. "Headaches?!"
"Yeah, dude! You take this bad boy to your higher-ups, they build a whole factory to make 'em in large quantities, we, I dunno, install 'em next to your pharmacies or wherever and we cause so many headaches you ain't never gonna STOP selling that sweet, sweet nectar we all call aspirin!"
Blank stares from the man. Then, a noise: "Hnghk."
"Dude, you all right?" Sarah moved her face to look at the man's face.
The man stared some more. Another noise, this time longer, more meaningful, and followed by other meaningful noises that, when produced in a specific order — the order this man employed — reduced Sarah to a dejected mess, bitter at the loss of a potential business partner. Clearly he was blind to the potential of the VMG! In an act of petty and mostly ineffectual revenge, she pulled the trigger in his general direction and stormed out of the apartment building. Minutes later, the man was surprised to find that he actually did have a headache. Surprise, of course, waned as he realized that he just dealt with a crazy woman. Of course his head ached.
It was now raining outside. Sarah loved the rain! Her latest invention did not. It got wet.
——
AN EDIT: A friend suggested the story best ends here! I agree. The following is the original ending, which I never liked anyway.
A small child found one of those fun, futuristic noisemaker guns sticking out of a storm drain. How exciting! Someone had painted it black, but it was mostly washed off now. The child pointed it at a man coming out of the building across the street and pulled the trigger. When the toy made no noise, the child threw it into the street in anger. A car ran over it. The child walked away. Minutes later, the man's head exploded.
I will ostensibly be writing stuff frequently from here on out. Mostly fiction, unless inspiration otherwise strikes. It's a sort of self-imposed challenge imposed by a friend who is also self-imposing the challenge on himself through me. We originally intended it to be a daily thing, but at this point it's more likely to be a weekly thing. We'll see how it goes. Mostly, I enjoy writing, but I never do it. So I suck. This is an excuse to GET BETTER. Here's the first thing I've written. The prompt was "headaches". Hurray!
——————————————————
"Yo, check it, man."
Will checked it. "All right. You've got a... some kind of a gun?"
"A gun?! Wha— Well, I guess sorta. Just watch!" Dr. Sarah von de McGee sipped her piping hot caramel mocha and grabbed the gun (or, well, sorta gun) from Will. She pointed it at a woman sitting a few tables over, enjoying her cup of tea.
Will freaked out, naturally. "Whoa, stop!" he whispered furiously.
She pulled the trigger anyway. "See that?"
"..."
"Did! You! See! That!"
"..."
"Oi, Willy, pal, buddy?"
"Nothing happened, Sarah."
"Nothing? NOTHING! Just watch."
"..." Will watched.
"Yes. Watch." Sarah approved.
"..." The woman cradled her tea, reading the latest in whatever popular book series.
"..." The woman scratched her nose.
"..." The woman readjusted her orientation and position on the chair.
"Yesss. There she goes!" The woman started rubbing her temples, oh so gently.
"Okay," Will said. "What."
"Oh! Oh! We've got a winner!" Sarah was on the edge of her seat. She fell out of her seat.
Will reached out to help his friend back up, but she swatted his hand away, still staring at the woman with the tea. Will, giving in, stared again. The woman was now rummaging through her purse. She found her prize, extracted it, and popped a couple pills of what appeared to be aspirin before returning to reading her book and drinking her tea.
Will was incredulous. "That's it?"
Sarah, still on the floor, now cross-legged, composed herself, reached up for her coffee, sipped it, and inflicted upon Will the most pity-filled expression he had ever seen. "Oh, Will," she sighed. "Oh, poor, sad Will. Don't you see?" Another sip with one hand, fondling the gun with the other. "I'll make SO MUCH MONEY!!" She shouted that last bit.
Everyone in the room stared at Sarah, suddenly worried for their own safety. Except Will, of course, who, long accustomed to Sarah's sudden outbursts, grabbed her by the arm and dragged her outside. She let herself be dragged. Once outside, she stood up and drank more coffee. "Had your fill of the ol' Vondy McGee?" She waggled her eyebrows.
Will grumbled, "Is this a new thing, referring to yourself in the third person?"
Confusion illuminated Sarah's face. "No, no, that's the name of—" She held out her gun, which Will now realized was one of those annoying children's toys - the ones that make a different ear-piercing noise at every pull of the trigger - gutted, repurposed, and painted black.
"Ah," Will yawned. "Well, I'm certainly impressed that you finally managed to make something tangible after months of boasting your skills." If it even did work. "But I've got stuff to do. Good luck making money or... whatever."
Sarah grinned. "Sounds good, Willy! Peace you LATER." Plans, plans, plans. Sarah had a lot of those. Time to act!
Will walked in one direction. Sarah walked in the same direction. Will rolled his eyes. Sarah showed no reaction, refusing to acknowledge the ages-old socially awkward send-off-and-walk-in-the-same-direction situation. Will turned down his street, heading home. Sarah followed. Will opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it. Sarah continued not reacting. Will walked up the stairs to his apartment building. Sarah followed. Will stopped, turned.
"Uh, Sarah?"
"Willy! 'Sup?"
"Why are you following me?"
Sarah did her best to smother her face in offense. "I have a meeting in this building. I would never follow you! Buuuut I will need you to let me in. Thanks, pal!"
Will knew Sarah didn't have a meeting — at least, not a mutually known meeting. But he also knew Sarah was largely harmless, so went ahead and let her in. Finally, upon entering the building, they went their separate ways. "Ta!" Sarah said to Will's back.
——
"H-How did you even find where I live?" The man was worried. This strange woman didn't seem particularly dangerous, yet, but she did seem crazy. Crazy can turn dangerous fast. The man had a natural distaste for crazy.
"I knows people what knows people!" Sarah waggled her eyebrows, twice as fast as a normal human being could manage. Disconcerting.
The man continued to worry. She apparently knew he managed a local pharmacy, and she had tracked him to his home and forced her way inside. She clearly wanted drugs. But she should know he didn't keep drugs in his home! Unfortunately, crazy people aren't known for being logical.
"Ah, don't get yer panties in an uproar, pal," she grinned, reaching into her jacket.
"That's completely unnecessary!" the man trembled.
"I'm afraid it ain't. Unnecessary, that is." Sarah pointed the gun at the man, totally unaware of the implications of pointing the gun at the man. "You know what this is? Of course you don't!" She waved it around a little. "This is the Vondy McGee," she whispered solemnly. "And it's gonna make you and me super rich, man."
"The Vondy what now?" The man's worry had become terror, and in his terror he forgot that you're not supposed to question the crazy person with the gun pointed at you.
"Vondy! McGee!" She thrust the gun further in his direction. "This thing'll give anyone ya point it at a mildly annoying headache in mere minutes! Imagine what we could—"
"Wait, what? Headaches?" The man took a closer look at the gun. "Wait." He saw that it was one of those dumb noisemaker toys. "What?" Terror shot backwards past worry and did a pirouette into anger. "Headaches?!"
"Yeah, dude! You take this bad boy to your higher-ups, they build a whole factory to make 'em in large quantities, we, I dunno, install 'em next to your pharmacies or wherever and we cause so many headaches you ain't never gonna STOP selling that sweet, sweet nectar we all call aspirin!"
Blank stares from the man. Then, a noise: "Hnghk."
"Dude, you all right?" Sarah moved her face to look at the man's face.
The man stared some more. Another noise, this time longer, more meaningful, and followed by other meaningful noises that, when produced in a specific order — the order this man employed — reduced Sarah to a dejected mess, bitter at the loss of a potential business partner. Clearly he was blind to the potential of the VMG! In an act of petty and mostly ineffectual revenge, she pulled the trigger in his general direction and stormed out of the apartment building. Minutes later, the man was surprised to find that he actually did have a headache. Surprise, of course, waned as he realized that he just dealt with a crazy woman. Of course his head ached.
It was now raining outside. Sarah loved the rain! Her latest invention did not. It got wet.
——
AN EDIT: A friend suggested the story best ends here! I agree. The following is the original ending, which I never liked anyway.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Jack's Lighthouse
Follow me back in time, to about two months prior...
At my old apartment in Cincinnati, Ohio, I awaken to the sharp sound of small objects hitting my window. Goddamnit. I slept through my alarm. Or I never set it. Or the battery in my phone died. I don't know. All I know is I've come to absolutely despise the sound of rocks smacking against my window. It is grating in the way only a smoke alarm - set off by my shitty toaster and poor air circulation - can challenge.
Fuck. I wanted to wake up early so I would have time to pack. Instead, I am now in a hurry. I rush out, invite my dad in while I stuff some clothes in a bag to prepare for the trip to my grandparents', where we will pick up an old car they no longer use so that I can take the Buick when I move to Washington. I briefly entertain the idea of packing up my camera, but Daddy-o is clearly pissed I wasn't ready, and I'm going to Tell City. There's nothing particularly fascinating. Once on the road, I regret my decision. I fantasize taking a walk through my grandparents' neighborhood with my camera in tow, just for fun. Oh well. I'll be back some day, I'm sure. I hope.
An uneventful trip follows. Fa la la we are there. The magic of sleep sends time careening out the window my dad never rolls down. God knows why. Fresh air is always more appealing to me than the goddamn air conditioner. Ah. But we're there.
Hi Grandma, hi Grandpa. I am incredibly tired so I am going to hug you hello and go downstairs and take a nap. Ahh, refreshing. It is amazing how little sleep you get sleeping in a moving vehicle. At times, it feels as if it actually drains you further. Ahh.
The night is likewise uneventful. Briefly, once again, I regret my decision to not pack up Charlotte, the DSLR, a Nikon D5000 that (for this one tiny paragraph) I just named.
The following morning: I wake up. McDonald's for breakfast? NO! Yes. The grand'rents love it. I was hoping for some of mamaw's biscuits and gravy. That shit is gooooood. Secretly I am happy for the lack of it because it is even more unhealthy than Mac. I am trying to get in better shape. Shhhh!
Time for lunch. Where are we going? Hmm. This is an interesting place. The food is crummy. I guess Grandpa likes it. Nice view of the river, though. Nice... photographic opportunities. Hah! Oh, there's more, Grandpa?
He wants to show me and Dad the lighthouse. A lighthouse? On... the Ohio River? Really? I... well, okay then.
The short drive begins, and it begins uneventfully. But I'm building up this lighthouse as a great thing in my mind. Not in the way you might think, though. I just want to take pictures of it. Whatever it is. A couple. Not much. But in my mind, it is a great PHOTO OP that again I am missing. Ahhh, why am I such an idiot? I am. That is it. Why ask why?
I am completely unprepared for what lies ahead.
We arrive. Man that thing is tiny. What is it, five foot? (Disclaimer: it is three stories, plus the way-up-there fourth story wherein lies the theoretically present but factually absent light.) Grandpa introduces us to Jack. He's an old man, as is to be expected of all people my grandfather knows as well as he clearly knows Jack. While Jack and Gramps ramble in each other's direction as old men are wont to do, my eyes wander.
The lighthouse has a strange architecture. It is, from the outside, tiny. As already mentioned. Facing the front it looks sort of like this:
....................................................
..................................____........
.............................._|..........|_....
.............................|...............|...
................._______\________/....
................|..............|.............|.....
................|..............|.............|.....
..._______|________|________|.....
..|.............|..............|.............|.....
..|.............|......._.....|.............|.....
..|_______|____|_|__|________|.....
....................................................
Or something similar. Drawing it would be easier, but I don't have time. It's against a hill, I think? The lighthouse, as pictured, is to the right. There is a squarish building to the left. The bottom floor is the not as large as you might think, as most of that wall there is just solid cement. There is a particularly grand, old door. The only door in the figure, because it is the grandest, and also the door we entered. Balconies are on the left building and at the top of the lighthouse. Behind and above the wall on the far left is a pool sans water. What's it for? No idea.
Jack enters a door on the bottom right, and exits the grand door. (Is grand really an appropriate word for this lighthouse? you might ask. Answer: Probably?) We approach, and I get a closer look at this door. It is straight out of a movie with a medieval castle! Only it is smaller than a medieval castle door would likely be. Or so I imagine in my head that has long been filled with fantasies about living in a medieval fantasy. Medieval. It is also completely homemade.
I spy a mannequin. She is a sailor, garbed in the blue and white of the Navy. Jack has words: "The best part about her is she doesn't talk!" Ahah! Jack, you slay. The mannequin remains silent, as promised, despite the incessant leering. The Nestenes are biding their time. We enter.
First thing I notice: literally the first: this is not a joking matter: there are boobs everywhere. Revealing paintings, bare-breasted faux-(possibly real, but I suspect not)-marble statues, more mannequins than you can shake a stick at - Jack has a thing about the female figure.
But, enough about breasts. There is also a mad scientist behind bars in one corner of the room.
Okay but really there is an almost obscene amount of boobage in this room. Also the ceiling is literally covered in old-style water skis. Or, rather, the water skis are covered by the ceiling. Or, rather, the ceiling is the water skis.
Thus ends our tour of the first room, which I mentally labeled the boob room. (Technically every room is a boob room, but this one doubly so.) Jack regales us with tales I have since forgotten. This saddens me. He was an odd fellow. I have a strange desire to go back one day and just... interview him. Write an article about his life. Get it published in TIME MAGAZINE. I'm only half joking here. Jack fascinates me.
We enter room the second, which is part of the actual lighthouse: boats. The walls are lined with boat memorabilia - those boat wheels that I swear have a name (I am at a loss), literal pieces of boat frames, things from what I believe must be the Captain's quarters, and more. Too, there is a fully constructed boat hanging from the ceiling, which is taller than the first room. Also worth mentioning is another mannequin. Again female, again Navy, again worth mentioning because! Jack chooses not to draw attention to her, for whatever reason, but as I am a literate American, I can read the name tag, upon which is printed several words, including: "semen". Could Jack be so crass? Clearly a typo.
Up the stairs to room three: the diving room. Within are diving helmets of various age and style, as well as a complete old-fashioned style diving suit. Big Daddy would feel at home. In the middle sits a pant-less mannequin (male), smoking a cigar. This one is... probably also Navy?
Next up: pirates in room four! The first thing I see as I reach the final step to this floor is a life-sized female pirate wearing what might as well be a hand towel for a shirt. Her breasts are particularly enormous. Also present: another female mannequin (man alive (well, obviously mannequins aren't alive) he has a lot of mannequins). She is wearing a black and red dress in the style of an old-fashioned bar wench. Would? As I spend more time in Jack's Lighthouse, I find myself becoming increasingly sexually infatuated with the plastic half of our species. Would. To the left of the wench lies a pair of replica blunderbuss pistols. To the left of Big Breasts lies a replica blunderbuss.
The top: the fifth. Lo! The Ohio River, observed for all time by a mannequin in a wedding dress. It is a classy dress. No cleavage. (I remember these things.) Also in this room is a wide assortment of... junk. There is a compass affixed to the insides of a box, as might be seen in old maritime fiction (and non-fiction!). No doubt it has a very specific name.
There is a poster explaining the meaning of many different flags a sailor might hoist.
A pilot, huh? (I know you are impressed I was able to recall these. Sadly, I cheated, and I am certain the codes on the poster were different, at least in description.)
Then Jack wheels out the most impressive item in his arsenal. It is literally on wheels. It is a giant pair of binoculars. Huge. He says he uses them to look out over the river. He says he got them from an old Navy guy. He says they came from a mother goddamn WWII-era Japanese destroyer. He has the papers to back up this claim. They are in Japanese. I futilely try to read it. Kanji - my greatest enemy. But it looks legit. How would someone amass all of this crap? A fair question, I think. His answer: he buys things on the cheap, every time he finds something that even remotely interests him. A packrat to the extreme, he finds it impossible to throw it away. He has many more boxes full of junk in storage that has long been forgotten, but will one day be discovered again. Many more boxes. He claims.
Outside on the balcony of the top floor, a bee. It is flying around my head. Annoying bzzzzz. Around the back is a winch. The winch was used to pull up the glass doors that protect the inside from Mother Nature. Of note: the walls are stone. Some stones have engravings. The floors are bleachers. They were taken from a high school when said high school threw them out. Jack built this entire structure single-handedly. He claims.
Time for the final room. It is a bar room. A tavern? Tavern sounds more appropriate. It is the sixth. There are more mannequins, there is a hunchback statue in the corner garbed as an executioner might be, there is a TV from a prison (the casing is transparent so the prisoners cannot hide Things), there is a pair of hands in a barred hole above the entrance, there are large metal keys everywhere, there are more faux-marble statues giving it their all to distract me, there are tables, there are chairs, there is a dog (a real dog), there is a wife (a real wife), and there is a huge pile of finished puzzles atop which lies yet another puzzle still being assembled.
From this room, I can look outside to see a few more strange things. The pool sans water. A group of bare-breasted (of course) mermaids sunbathing. Other objects are likewise cemented into the ground.
I sign the guestbook as if I have already moved to Washington. It feels good. We leave. Goodbye, Jack. May we meet again some day, when I haven't foolishly decided to leave my camera behind.
weeooooeeeee
At my old apartment in Cincinnati, Ohio, I awaken to the sharp sound of small objects hitting my window. Goddamnit. I slept through my alarm. Or I never set it. Or the battery in my phone died. I don't know. All I know is I've come to absolutely despise the sound of rocks smacking against my window. It is grating in the way only a smoke alarm - set off by my shitty toaster and poor air circulation - can challenge.
Fuck. I wanted to wake up early so I would have time to pack. Instead, I am now in a hurry. I rush out, invite my dad in while I stuff some clothes in a bag to prepare for the trip to my grandparents', where we will pick up an old car they no longer use so that I can take the Buick when I move to Washington. I briefly entertain the idea of packing up my camera, but Daddy-o is clearly pissed I wasn't ready, and I'm going to Tell City. There's nothing particularly fascinating. Once on the road, I regret my decision. I fantasize taking a walk through my grandparents' neighborhood with my camera in tow, just for fun. Oh well. I'll be back some day, I'm sure. I hope.
An uneventful trip follows. Fa la la we are there. The magic of sleep sends time careening out the window my dad never rolls down. God knows why. Fresh air is always more appealing to me than the goddamn air conditioner. Ah. But we're there.
Hi Grandma, hi Grandpa. I am incredibly tired so I am going to hug you hello and go downstairs and take a nap. Ahh, refreshing. It is amazing how little sleep you get sleeping in a moving vehicle. At times, it feels as if it actually drains you further. Ahh.
The night is likewise uneventful. Briefly, once again, I regret my decision to not pack up Charlotte, the DSLR, a Nikon D5000 that (for this one tiny paragraph) I just named.
The following morning: I wake up. McDonald's for breakfast? NO! Yes. The grand'rents love it. I was hoping for some of mamaw's biscuits and gravy. That shit is gooooood. Secretly I am happy for the lack of it because it is even more unhealthy than Mac. I am trying to get in better shape. Shhhh!
Time for lunch. Where are we going? Hmm. This is an interesting place. The food is crummy. I guess Grandpa likes it. Nice view of the river, though. Nice... photographic opportunities. Hah! Oh, there's more, Grandpa?
He wants to show me and Dad the lighthouse. A lighthouse? On... the Ohio River? Really? I... well, okay then.
The short drive begins, and it begins uneventfully. But I'm building up this lighthouse as a great thing in my mind. Not in the way you might think, though. I just want to take pictures of it. Whatever it is. A couple. Not much. But in my mind, it is a great PHOTO OP that again I am missing. Ahhh, why am I such an idiot? I am. That is it. Why ask why?
I am completely unprepared for what lies ahead.
We arrive. Man that thing is tiny. What is it, five foot? (Disclaimer: it is three stories, plus the way-up-there fourth story wherein lies the theoretically present but factually absent light.) Grandpa introduces us to Jack. He's an old man, as is to be expected of all people my grandfather knows as well as he clearly knows Jack. While Jack and Gramps ramble in each other's direction as old men are wont to do, my eyes wander.
The lighthouse has a strange architecture. It is, from the outside, tiny. As already mentioned. Facing the front it looks sort of like this:
....................................................
..................................____........
.............................._|..........|_....
.............................|...............|...
................._______\________/....
................|..............|.............|.....
................|..............|.............|.....
..._______|________|________|.....
..|.............|..............|.............|.....
..|.............|......._.....|.............|.....
..|_______|____|_|__|________|.....
....................................................
Or something similar. Drawing it would be easier, but I don't have time. It's against a hill, I think? The lighthouse, as pictured, is to the right. There is a squarish building to the left. The bottom floor is the not as large as you might think, as most of that wall there is just solid cement. There is a particularly grand, old door. The only door in the figure, because it is the grandest, and also the door we entered. Balconies are on the left building and at the top of the lighthouse. Behind and above the wall on the far left is a pool sans water. What's it for? No idea.
Jack enters a door on the bottom right, and exits the grand door. (Is grand really an appropriate word for this lighthouse? you might ask. Answer: Probably?) We approach, and I get a closer look at this door. It is straight out of a movie with a medieval castle! Only it is smaller than a medieval castle door would likely be. Or so I imagine in my head that has long been filled with fantasies about living in a medieval fantasy. Medieval. It is also completely homemade.
I spy a mannequin. She is a sailor, garbed in the blue and white of the Navy. Jack has words: "The best part about her is she doesn't talk!" Ahah! Jack, you slay. The mannequin remains silent, as promised, despite the incessant leering. The Nestenes are biding their time. We enter.
First thing I notice: literally the first: this is not a joking matter: there are boobs everywhere. Revealing paintings, bare-breasted faux-(possibly real, but I suspect not)-marble statues, more mannequins than you can shake a stick at - Jack has a thing about the female figure.
But, enough about breasts. There is also a mad scientist behind bars in one corner of the room.
Okay but really there is an almost obscene amount of boobage in this room. Also the ceiling is literally covered in old-style water skis. Or, rather, the water skis are covered by the ceiling. Or, rather, the ceiling is the water skis.
Thus ends our tour of the first room, which I mentally labeled the boob room. (Technically every room is a boob room, but this one doubly so.) Jack regales us with tales I have since forgotten. This saddens me. He was an odd fellow. I have a strange desire to go back one day and just... interview him. Write an article about his life. Get it published in TIME MAGAZINE. I'm only half joking here. Jack fascinates me.
We enter room the second, which is part of the actual lighthouse: boats. The walls are lined with boat memorabilia - those boat wheels that I swear have a name (I am at a loss), literal pieces of boat frames, things from what I believe must be the Captain's quarters, and more. Too, there is a fully constructed boat hanging from the ceiling, which is taller than the first room. Also worth mentioning is another mannequin. Again female, again Navy, again worth mentioning because! Jack chooses not to draw attention to her, for whatever reason, but as I am a literate American, I can read the name tag, upon which is printed several words, including: "semen". Could Jack be so crass? Clearly a typo.
Up the stairs to room three: the diving room. Within are diving helmets of various age and style, as well as a complete old-fashioned style diving suit. Big Daddy would feel at home. In the middle sits a pant-less mannequin (male), smoking a cigar. This one is... probably also Navy?
Next up: pirates in room four! The first thing I see as I reach the final step to this floor is a life-sized female pirate wearing what might as well be a hand towel for a shirt. Her breasts are particularly enormous. Also present: another female mannequin (man alive (well, obviously mannequins aren't alive) he has a lot of mannequins). She is wearing a black and red dress in the style of an old-fashioned bar wench. Would? As I spend more time in Jack's Lighthouse, I find myself becoming increasingly sexually infatuated with the plastic half of our species. Would. To the left of the wench lies a pair of replica blunderbuss pistols. To the left of Big Breasts lies a replica blunderbuss.
The top: the fifth. Lo! The Ohio River, observed for all time by a mannequin in a wedding dress. It is a classy dress. No cleavage. (I remember these things.) Also in this room is a wide assortment of... junk. There is a compass affixed to the insides of a box, as might be seen in old maritime fiction (and non-fiction!). No doubt it has a very specific name.
There is a poster explaining the meaning of many different flags a sailor might hoist.
A red X on a white background. - "I require assistance."
Three horizontal stripes: blue, white, blue. - "I am on fire and have dangerous cargo; keep clear."
Two vertical stripes: yellow, blue. - "I wish to communicate with you."
Two vertical stripes: white, red. - "I have a pilot on board."
A pilot, huh? (I know you are impressed I was able to recall these. Sadly, I cheated, and I am certain the codes on the poster were different, at least in description.)
Then Jack wheels out the most impressive item in his arsenal. It is literally on wheels. It is a giant pair of binoculars. Huge. He says he uses them to look out over the river. He says he got them from an old Navy guy. He says they came from a mother goddamn WWII-era Japanese destroyer. He has the papers to back up this claim. They are in Japanese. I futilely try to read it. Kanji - my greatest enemy. But it looks legit. How would someone amass all of this crap? A fair question, I think. His answer: he buys things on the cheap, every time he finds something that even remotely interests him. A packrat to the extreme, he finds it impossible to throw it away. He has many more boxes full of junk in storage that has long been forgotten, but will one day be discovered again. Many more boxes. He claims.
Outside on the balcony of the top floor, a bee. It is flying around my head. Annoying bzzzzz. Around the back is a winch. The winch was used to pull up the glass doors that protect the inside from Mother Nature. Of note: the walls are stone. Some stones have engravings. The floors are bleachers. They were taken from a high school when said high school threw them out. Jack built this entire structure single-handedly. He claims.
Time for the final room. It is a bar room. A tavern? Tavern sounds more appropriate. It is the sixth. There are more mannequins, there is a hunchback statue in the corner garbed as an executioner might be, there is a TV from a prison (the casing is transparent so the prisoners cannot hide Things), there is a pair of hands in a barred hole above the entrance, there are large metal keys everywhere, there are more faux-marble statues giving it their all to distract me, there are tables, there are chairs, there is a dog (a real dog), there is a wife (a real wife), and there is a huge pile of finished puzzles atop which lies yet another puzzle still being assembled.
From this room, I can look outside to see a few more strange things. The pool sans water. A group of bare-breasted (of course) mermaids sunbathing. Other objects are likewise cemented into the ground.
I sign the guestbook as if I have already moved to Washington. It feels good. We leave. Goodbye, Jack. May we meet again some day, when I haven't foolishly decided to leave my camera behind.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Teegip: Bob Came in Pieces
Having just gone through the hell that is getting all of the gold medals in the game, I felt compelled to write about it.
Bob Came in Pieces is basically Lunar Lander with a physics engine and puzzle solving. You remember Lunar Lander?
Look at that beauty, mhmmm.
Now you do.
I love Lunar Lander. I don't know what it is about it, exactly, but I do. And as a result, any time there is a game that is even remotely similar in mechanics, I want to try it. So I bought Bob Came in Pieces when it was on sale (as I buy almost every game these days).
Here is the good: It is Lunar Lander with puzzle solving! You build your ship using pieces collected while passing through the levels. There are rockets, which propel you (duh), and you can assign each individual rocket to a key of your choice. The same goes for other tools. Then there are "modules" which allow you to make your ship bigger. Naturally, it is a bad idea to build a ship that's off-balance!
This will only end in success.
It's a neat idea and one that I'm glad has seen its way to a finished project! Hurray for independent developers! (Though to be fair, similar things have been done before... just not, to my knowledge, in a Lunar Lander type of game.)
Using your clever mind, you build ships to reach into tiny cracks, or crash into an object with a much force, or... other things.
Look, ma, I'm solvin' puzzles!
Here is the bad: Holy goddamn shit is this game frustrating. Collision detection is way overkill (getting stuck on an object that you're barely even touching). But I could get over that as it was rarely a big problem...
Okay, I understand that this is physics and shit and it's up to you, the player, to build the ship properly, etc. HOWEVER! There is this thing you have to do sometimes. After you reach a certain level you get this "pull beam" and it lets you "pull" things. Sounds like an excellent avenue for physics-based puzzles, right? WRONG! The second you actually start pulling - or pushing later on, though that's significantly less irritating - your ship's balance goes completely out of whack and often the object you're trying to pull goes flying off in a direction you never imagined possible and then you want to chase after it but somehow you're upside down and and and AHHHHH.
what the hell, this fucking box wouldn't go in ughhhh
I suppose there's a possibility I just suck at building these ships, but I refuse to admit to something so preposterous.
Anyway, because I am stupid and I hate myself, I decided to go for all the gold medals. Trying to fling those damn boxes in just the right place quickly almost literally made me visibly shake with rage. You should have seen it. A sight worth seeing. (I'm lying.)
Final verdict...
Here is the best: If you couldn't tell from the title, the game is overflowing with puns. :3
Innit punny?
Here is the worst: There's a free update coming soon and I know I'll be compelled to at least give it a try. It's a slippery slope from there. ):
Monday, March 29, 2010
I once knew a wizard.
From the woods he came, offering sage advice in numerous and wonderful subjects, including the art of ninjutsu, how to replace a lost thumb, and the magic of disguising yourself in the foliage.
The first time I met this mysterious wizard, he was dressed in hunter's attire - the kind that hides you from your prey, rather than highlight your presence for fellow hunters. One second there was nothing, and the next, the shadows twisted as he flowed outward from beneath a nearby tree. I cowered in fear, but my father addressed the wizard by name. All was well, then! They appeared to be on friendly terms, so my fear ebbed away. Adam was his name. They conversed for a time and then the wizard melted back into the foliage.
The next time I remember seeing Adam, he was garbed as a ninja. All black clothing, a mask. No doubt he had throwing stars hidden about his person. I cannot recall if he carried a katana or any other sort of blade. No doubt he at least had one in his possession, if not on his person! Enchanted by eldritch means, stored in some dark cellar for when the time was right. After another conversation with my father, he disappeared once again.
When that time he went away, it left me wondering what new fantastic profession he would next take up. Sadly, nothing ever topped the ninja.
And so more time passed. My next clear memory of the wizard was less exciting and more awe-inspiring. If I recall correctly, he was dressed in normal attire. Jeans and a T-shirt, an appropriate dress code for a walk through the woods. But his hand was entirely covered by bandages. Through conversation with my father - again I remained silent, for I was even more shy then than I am now - I learned that he lost his thumb when his potato gun backfired. I suspected it was something more mystical in nature, but my father bought the story. When they finished speaking, he traipsed off into the forest once again.
If anyone doubts my story, there is one more encounter... Proof of his magical nature lies in this final confrontation, the last that is not lost in the clouds of my forgotten past.
He had a thumb! His excuse this time? Toe-to-thumb surgery. As if such a thing even exists! I know it was magic that healed his severed appendage.
Between that encounter and my move to a new home in Lebanon, I only recall seeing Adam once more, and it was not an eventful meeting. But no doubt had I ever built up the courage to speak with him, I would have been witness to a whole new world.
...
When I was a child, Adam was nothing but awe-inspiring. He only ever appeared from the woods behind my old house, and when the conversations between him and my father ceased, he would stalk back into the foliage, not to be seen again for weeks or even months. His visits were brief and few.
I learned only recently that Adam was, in fact, mentally ill. Dad didn't say exactly how - I'm not sure if he knows, and I didn't inquire any further. Strangely, this doesn't affect my mental image of Adam at all. He was what he was. A strange and mysterious figure.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Fond memories of a time not long passed
"not long past" what a terrible mistake
For a disproportionately large segment of my life, there was no past time in my life which I really, truly wanted to relive. Elementary school? I had friends in the beginning, but they all moved away and I was essentially alone for the remainder. Beside that, I was too young to really... care. Not a time I remember fondly. High school? Things improved, but not nearly enough that I would ever want to go back. Not that anyone would want to go back to high school, anyway. My early college years? As I sit here contemplating my swiftly approaching graduation, I am unequivocally excited to get it over with and move on with my life... to more school (whatiswrongwithme). Up until recently I was still in what I thought would be my eternally apathetic phase.
Then I went to Japan.
It really was the best time in my life. Daily reminders of the things I did there send pangs of nostalgia shivering down my spine. I desperately yearn to return! Despite some of the troubles I had getting there... despite some of the things I missed back here at home... despite some of the things I actually did not like in Japan... despite it all, I feel like I was perfectly content there.
It is an extremely rare occasion, now, that a day goes by where I am not assaulted by that nostalgic shock. And it doesn't necessarily have to be a particularly spectacular event that strikes me.
For example, walking to the shuttle stop on my way to classes, my mind naturally wanders to the countless similar trips I made to the train station from my apartment in Japan. The difference? It's hard to describe. I do know that in Japan I enjoyed strolling down the street. I enjoyed the sights, the sounds, the smells (mm-mm that delicious ramen aroma). And it's not as if I actively dislike walking to my shuttle, but, well, 1) it is a very short walk and 2) I would never say that I live in a desirable neighborhood. I doubt that anyone could live down here and say that with a straight face. Beside that, I used to just walk around for fun in Japan. I would never do that here.
Japan: 1, America: 0
More than that, though, what about the shuttle ride itself? I get on for ten minutes, and get off. The seats face the front of the bus, as opposed to the opposite wall like they would on most trains in Japan. There is no real reason to leave a lot of free space in the shuttle because, unlike the trains, it is very rare that you stand during the trip. It's not really fair to compare the shuttle, a school-operated transportation system, to the trains, a public transportation system. However, there was a time I rode the RTA, Dayton's public buses. It was never a pleasant experience. I feel like I can safely say that those buses are a vastly inferior experience to the trains in Japan. Why would that be? Simple: in Japan everyone rides the trains. In Dayton those buses were infested with unsavory creatures. (Uh-oh, I'm gettin' a little offensive here.) The people on the trains in Japan were entirely different! I laughed at the metrosexual dude making his hair look just the right kind of messy by using his DS as a mirror. I was assaulted by a friendly passenger every now and then asking me what I was doing in Japan. I smiled in quiet contemplation at the kid sitting contentedly between his two sleeping grandparents on their ride home from a day out as he used his DS for its intended purpose. The people!
Japan: 2, America: 0
Speaking of the people: the people! I don't know what it is about Japan, but the culture there just fascinates me. And I'm not even talking about anime and video games! The history of Japan is just so much deeper and more interesting than that of America. It makes me feel dirty saying it, as I despise, nay, loathe, the stereotypical Japanophile, but goddamn. Japan has had thousands of years to develop their culture, and even today, in 2010, they're still rather closed-off from the outside world. Sure, they've got a McDonald's on every street, but they still manage to retain their uniqueness. The countless festivals I experienced are a testament to that. Sure, we have our own culture festivals, but they're generally taken and adapted from other cultures. America is called a melting pot for a reason.
Japan: 3, America: 0
THREE STRIKES. YOU'RE OUT.
Could a lot of this have to do with mindset? Undoubtedly. Japan was an exciting place for me, even after six months when I left. Every day I would notice something new, something interesting. America is where I grew up. It's "old hat," as they say. Plus, since then, as I've no doubt stated previously on this here bloggy thing, I have been much more open to new experiences period. Life has quite simply been better since I went to Japan. Was it Japan, though, or just "one big new experience" paving the way for more, in some grand, spiritual example of the domino effect? I suspect the latter.
Could it also have to do with where I stayed in Japan? Where I am NOT living in America? It's more than a mere possibility! My first apartment in Japan wasn't exactly the greatest place in the world, but a mere floor below were two friends and a mere twenty-minutes walk away was the train station and access to the entirety of Tokyo. My second apartment was fantastic. Great view, great area, great neighbors... great greatness. Here in the real world, I look forward to my (hopefully) inevitable move to Redmond, Washington, simply because from what I know of the place, it's beautiful. In my head it's full of sunshine and rainbows! Maybe even unicorns!
Whatever the reasons may be, the fact is that I want to go back, goddamnit! I wonder if I'll ever have the chance?
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Catching up with myself.
So, it has been almost two months since I last spoke of my life on this web log of mine, not counting the Teegip just below this post. What to talk about...
For Christmas, I received a sketchpad and some drawing pencils. I made an effort to draw every day, and kept up with it for a whole eight days! Then my apartment got messy and I got lazy. I dropped out of that short-lived habit.
For Christmas, I did not receive my so-desired Nikon D40 DSLR with which I had planned to photograph any wild number of things for my viewing pleasure. My fam's po' so I gotta wait 'til tha cashflow begin again, y'know.
For Christmas, I did not make light bulb terrariums for my mother and grandmother as I had planned to do. Moss is a surprisingly hard thing to find in the dead of winter. Alas!
After Christmas, and after New Year's Day, classes began anew. Only six months left until I graduate, if all goes well. I also took the GRE in an effort to get the ball rolling on my application to DigiPen.
Over Martin Luther King, Jr. Day weekend, I went to New Hampshire with ten other members of the mountaineering club. Despite my doubts I could make it to the top of Mt. Washington, I let my friends talk me into going, and I had an extremely good time of it. I did not, in the end, make it to the top. But I will some day.
Last weekend, I went to an overnight thing at the Cincinnati Zoo, hosted by a friend. Normally it is a thing for little kids, but... so what?! It was a cool look behind the scenes at the zoo, and she is probably the best tour guide under which I have had the pleasure of touring. I was hoping to get a little more up close and personal with some of the animals, but I also knew that was hoping for too much. It would be dumb to let just any person get that close.
That about sums up what I've done. Now for what I plan to do!
The first priority deadline for DigiPen's application process is February 1. I now simply await the deliverance of my transcript and letters of recommendation, and everything will be there. Nothing to do but wait, and hope that if they do accept me, they also offer a scholarship. It's about the only thing in my life in which I no longer have an active role.
Next week on Tuesday I will go on a night hike. Excite! I hope it is not cloudy. Nothing worse than a cloudy night. Especially when you make the effort to get outside the city to an area where the sky is free(er) of light pollution!
Every day for the past week or so, I swore to myself I would start falling into the habits I want to follow. I want to write something on this blog at least once a week. I want to draw something every day, to get better. I want to start running, or doing something active, every day. I want to stay up to speed with my studies instead of lagging behind horribly like I did last quarter. I want to start cooking meals instead of nuking them; I want to make that damn egg salad and mabo dofu for which I have had the ingredients for weeks. I might even want to start practicing the bass guitar a little every day! I do not have it in my apartment, though. I should make a note somewhere to get it from mom...
Habits are hard things to start, and harder to stick to if they are still new!
Tonight I drew some crap in my sketchpad. When I say crap, I really mean I drew some stuff that is not good. But there is only one way to become good. At the moment, I am following this book that my grandmother got me with the sketchpad. It is supposed to teach me how to draw graphite landscapes. Some of those techniques are far more difficult to perform than I thought they were. I think I am getting better?
I have been sick lately (again), and so did not go to class or work out today as I had planned. Before going to bed, I might to try out this burpee thing I read about... it is supposed to be pretty good workout, and without lifting any weights or anything. I might not, though. As I mentioned, I'm pretty sick. I feel terrible. C'est la vie.
Interestingly, I do not have that strong desire to play video games I thought I would have all my life. I still enjoy them immensely when I have the time to play them, but... I just do not have that time, anymore. Not with everything else I want to do. And everything else I have to do for school.
I am a busy man, apparently. When the hell did that happen? D:
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