Text

|
Exclamation point

Stale Content Alert!

This post was written a long time ago, and my views have almost certainly evolved since then. Please keep that in mind while reading, commenting, or sharing.

Maybe you haven’t noticed, but there are a lot of silly urban legends out there. In fact, chances are, you haven’t noticed, since there are a lot that have been adopted as fact, even though they’re no such thing.

Being who I am, I figured I’d address some of the most prevalent myths. With the aid of Snopes.com and Google, I bring you three of the most common urban legends.

Continue reading →

Text

|
Exclamation point

Stale Content Alert!

This post was written a long time ago, and my views have almost certainly evolved since then. Please keep that in mind while reading, commenting, or sharing.

Just a quick note here.

Don’t be fooled by what Green Day says. You don’t want to be a minority.

A rebel, maybe. But being a bona fide minority isn’t anywhere near what that song cracks it up to be.

Okaythatsallbye.

Text

|

I don’t think of myself as too much of a Japanese culture freak. I don’t read any manga, watch any anime, or own any blatantly Japanese video games. I don’t draw manga, either, and I think it’s really quite ridiculous to attach “-chan” or “-kun” to the names of my American friends. However, I’ve got to come clean on one account.

There are some Japanese snack foods that are absolutely delicious.

One of my favourite Japanese snacks is called “Yan Yan”. It consists of a bunch of biscuit sticks in a container that also holds a tub of frosting. The sticks, when dipped in the frosting, make a great-tasting snack. Of course, being a Japanese product, it has potential for Engrish.

During this summer, I noticed that this potential had been realized. I had purchased two containers of Yan Yan on a recent trip to Uwajimaya, a local Oriental supermarket, and when I opened one up, I found the most bizarre thing on my biscuit sticks: Little icons of animals had been baked on, along with odd sayings.

Being the analytical, records-oriented person I am, I took note of the animals and their respective sayings. For your enjoyment (or perhaps bewilderment), I present to you the Yan Yan animal sayings.

Sheep: Wool sweaters
Bat: Only in the night
Octopus: Lucky number: 8
Squirrel: Your best friend
Snail: Snail mail?
Fox: Beware of lies
Cow: Muuuuu
Stag beetle: Love it.
Starfish: Star + Fish
Goat: You are lucky today.
Rhinoceros: Think big
Whale: Biggesy (sic) mammal
Chick: Lucky colour: yellow
Horse: Gallop away
Chicken: Kokekokko
Zebra: Herbivore
Beetle: Lucky colour: brown
Squid: Black ink

I’m a fan of the stag beetle’s cryptic “Love it”, or perhaps the simple “Herbivore” for the zebra.

Oh, Engrish. You never fail to amuse.

Text

|

I was fairly stressed yesterday about the show. Lend Me A Tenor, the first play of the year, went up yesterday evening, and for once, I seriously felt worried about my personal performance. I was also concerned a bit about sound—we had dropped Hammerhands earlier that morning due to urgent, unforeseeable family matters for him, and trained Boy for most of the day.

I was freakin’ out.

I didn’t feel solid. My character was not set in stone, and things were still uncertain and unclear. I was going to be going to play with the character I had, not the character I wanted, and that really worried me.

But I figured that I would find a way to work things out. I talked to Kelley, the director, who helped me understand what my performances in rehearsal had been missing. With that understanding, I changed into costume, so that I could begin feeling comfortable as my character, who had just undergone a moderate revamp. I walked around stage as he would. I looked out into the audience, blurring details out so as to keep the fourth wall intact. I did everything I could to be comfortable and ready, and to sharpen my focus.

Then we started.

It can never be said that the department does not have dedicated, amazingly talented individuals in it. Boy pulled off the sound with impeccable skill, even though the job had been thrust upon him less than twelve hours earlier. There were a couple of mistakes, but nothing terrible. Boy did far better than any of us had expected, and I, for one, was absolutely awed and surprised. My hat goes off to that kid. He showed his true colours.

When I got on stage, things felt… right. The audience was laughing themselves to pieces, so the energy was naturally high. In addition. I had honed my focus and character to a spot so tight that everything seemed to work. Most of the problems I had been called on in rehearsal were all of a sudden brushed away. I was thrilled.

The show finished. We ran both curtain calls.

And then we were done, all with humongous grins of triumph and exhilaration on our faces.

Second show is tonight. :)

Text

|

For the first time since its conception more than two months ago, Tie Day Friday will be observed in December!

Tie Day Friday is a holiday I thought up a while back. It’s observed on the second Friday of each month. Participation is simple—you just wear a tie all day. I had originally intended it to be only for neckties, but you can wear a bow tie or a bola tie if you so prefer. I personally find clip-on ties to be godawfully tacky, but if you really want to wear one, I can’t stop you. The holiday isn’t “Not Clip-On Tie Day Friday”.

Haven’t got a tie? Wander on down to your local thrift store. I’m sure you’ll be able to find one that’s either quite nice or horrendous, depending on what you want out of the holiday, for a rather insignificant amount of money.

Normally wear a tie? Wear a special tie, or wear a normal tie in a different way. Be creative.

No, there isn’t any reason for this, other than I just wanted to have fun this year. I think people get too tied up in routine, and fun little holidays like this may break the monotony in one way or the other. I’m still trying to think up more.

Hope you’ll celebrate Tie Day Friday with me this upcoming month, and in months hereafter!

Text

|

Well, this is slightly odd.

I think I’ve figured out why I’m so long-winded, or at least part of that.

I like to cover every base when I talk. I want to make things as clear as possible, in order to keep questions and debate and conversation to a minimum. In that sense, I suppose, I’m a terrible conversation hog–I’m certain not to mince my words even the slightest bit, which results in me saying an awful lot. I shut down responses before they can ever come, and rarely leave statements hanging out there without a sort of explanation.

This is an odd thing. It’s rather ingrained in my personality, and now that I’m aware of it, it rather bugs me. I’m certain it must bug other people.

I’m not sure how I’m going to go about changing this. Maybe it can’t be changed. At least I’m aware of it, which is the first step.

Text

|
Behind the Scenes

I just imported all of my posts from my old Blogger blog.

I’m still in the process of filtering them into categories, so, for the next while, don’t be surprised if there are blog posts hanging around with the uncategorized posts.

Text

|

I just finished holding what amounted to a Mr. Reynolds party.

We caught wind that Reynolds, our physics teacher, was planning to retire from teaching at Putnam soon, so we decided to bake him a cake. (By “we”, I mean “Matt and Michelle”. I joined in later.) It was decided that we would use my oven to do so, so after dinner, they both filed over to my house, and we mixed ourselves up a cake.

The mixing, in fact, was great fun. We (I) created a chocolate vortex in the bowl that threatened to consume all life on the planet. Luckily, we kept it in check. I can only imagine with horror what would have happened if I had switched it up to 5.

After dealing with the vortex, we slid the cakes into the oven— for there were two 8″ x 8″ pans’ worth of batter— and wondered what to do for the next 33 minutes. We quickly decided on a game of 1000 Blank White Cards. I invited Dan over, we sat down, and played. Dan made some really fun cards, as did everyone else, and, of course, everyone’s favorite card, Hormones, was passed to me, and then Regifted to Michelle. (Just play the game with me sometime. You’ll understand.) Some great new cards were created, such as “My MP3 Player Can Beat Up Your MP3 Player”, “NO”, and “Here Comes the… Sun?” Nobody had to play with their head glued to the table, though I did make a new friend named Olson, and Matt left with a pineapple drawn on his nose. It was a great game.

Then we decided to frost the cake. Of course, before doing so, we had to remove said cake from its multiple pans. This was easier said than done. The pans weren’t entirely greased, and the cakes were still warm, so we had an adventure trying to flip them out of their pans. (And yes, I did just refer to the same thing as cake and cakes. It makes sense in my head, dammit.) We actually managed to do so with minimal losses, which were fed to Matt. We frosted one cake, then, in an epic move witnessed never before by human eyes, Michelle and I fused the two cakes together into one MASTER CAKE. It was incredible. The MASTER CAKE was frosted on top, then iced, while we enjoyed graham cracker/frosting sandwiches.

It was finally time for the last part of the evening, the ritualistic Tissue Papering of the Gifts. Michelle, Matt and I stuffed tissue paper into Floof’s gift bag and around her gifts, resulting in what is undoubtedly the greatest birthday gift ever. Honestly. Shakespeare thought he had good gifts— he ain’t seen nothin’, son.

And then they left, leaving me with a cake, 40 new Blank White Cards, and less tissue paper.

It was great.

Text

|
Archives

Most certainly influenced by the Decemberists’ “The Island”. And Lemony Snicket’s The End. And my recent surge in fascination with pirates. I blame this on all of them.

—

Somewhere, in the middle of a black ocean under a black sky, an island slept, the sands of its shallow shores gently caressed by the unceasing tides. Above, in shadowy heavens, the stark face of the moon cast a pale luminescence upon the beach. The waves swept the sands with soft hushes. The breath of the light tropical breeze quietly rustled the leaves of the palms. An air of serenity laid over the island, as if it had never known disturbance and never would.

There were no people on the island. There had been before, however; castaways were no strangers to its shores. Some of them had managed to survive, leaving nothing but footprints on the isle. Others left much more, never seeing their families or homes again. Many had gone mad and killed themselves, either by the noose, by diving off the cliff, or, if they had been lucky, with a pistol. In the end, their remembrances quickly vanished, consumed by natural forces– footprints blew away and corpses were claimed by the earth.

The empty island slumbered. The many exotic birds that lived in the jungle dozed on their perches, their heads tucked into their wings. Sleep caught the few mammals that lived on the island, quietly pulling them into its grasp. Another breeze stirred the palm trees, shaded black with night’s brush. The waves rolled in, splashing the shore. The waves receded, leaving pinpoints of seawater glistening in the moonlight. The waves rolled in, and placed upon the beach a large wooden chest, along with the unconscious man clinging desperately to it.